The Book of Sad
Disclaimer: I do not own Alex Rider and crew. They belong to Anthony Horowitz. The only thing mine is some of the plot and the OCs. Enjoy!
Also:
I'm using Alex's birthday as February 13th, 1987.
This takes place right after Never Say Die, though the only spoilers from NSD are in the first paragraph of this fic.
I'm welcome to any suggestions, so comment away!
EDIT: TBOS has been edited to be as canon as possible. [Thanks Anthony and your inability to stick to one date.]
Chapter 1: I Didn't Sign Up For This
Alex Rider is watching the carpenters in his Chelsea house with his housekeeper, Jack Starbright. They had just returned from Wales. After an around-the-globe search, Alex was glad to have his best friend back. After Jack received her $5 million reward for helping save the Linton Hall children, she decided to renovate the house they shared.
Currently, the carpenters are putting a new carpet in the bedroom that once belonged to Ian Rider, Alex's late uncle. In the closet, one of the carpenters exclaims: "Excuse me boss, but we've found a book under the old carpet." He hands the ratty book to Alex.
Alex examines it and laughs. "Jack! Can you believe Uncle Ian kept a diary! Come on, let's read it! Maybe I can find some dirt on Blunt or something!" He laughs again.
Wanting privacy, he leads Jack to the kitchen once the workers leave. Cracking open the book, they begin to read.
August 12th, 1986
"Congratulations on your latest mission, Agent Rider. You have successfully stopped the assassination of the American ambassador." I looked up at my new boss. He was just promoted about 6 months ago. Never have I seen a man so colorless. He stares, awaiting a response. I nod. My boss, Alan Blunt, accepts this and hands me an envelope. He gestures towards the door of his office. "Dismissed, Agent Rider."
I get out of my chair and head for the door. On an impulse, I turn around. "Is there any news on John? Helen and I haven't heard from him in weeks. I thought he was just preparing for the undercover operation."
Blunt glared at me for a few seconds. His expression softened, slightly. "Classified, Rider. Go home, you deserve it."
Sighing, I leave the office. This is the most emotion I've ever seen Blunt portray. Seriously, he's more lizard than human. I get into my car and drive to the dilapidated little house that Helen and John are staying in as a part of his cover.
"Any word on John?" Helen questioned me as soon as I entered her small kitchen.
"Sorry, H," I said, kissing the top of her head. "Bossman won't give anything up. He should be home before he is sent off to Venice, though."
Helen sighed. John hasn't been home in about 5 weeks. Blunt says he is training for his upcoming mission to investigate a new criminal organization called Scorpia. I, however, am growing suspicious. Usually, John at least writes his wife, telling her that he is okay. Helen is concerned too. She is trying to conceal it, but I can tell by the obscene amount of baked goods in the living room. She's always been a stress baker.
I laughed and picked up a muffin, taking a bite. "Damn it, Ian, you'll spoil your dinner!" Helen exclaimed.
"Awww, H? You're cooking for me?" I teased.
"You have an active job, Ian. You need to be well fed. Cheap pizza in that lowlife apartment of yours isn't going to cut it." She said, only half joking.
I laughed, about to say that her house is no better than my apartment, but the phone rang.
Helen ran over to pick it up. "Hello?"
"Helen." The low voice said hastily. "It's John. I haven't got much time, because I'm being sent off to Scorpia tonight. I'm sorry I haven't called. Bossman wouldn't let me. Shit. My plane is boarding. I'll contact you when I can, don't try to call or write me it's too dangerous. And ask Ian if you need anything. Stay safe! I love you so much."
I looked over at Helen. Tears were welling up in the corners of her eyes. I went over to console her, but how the hell do you comfort a woman whose husband may never return? Spy training never covered that.
"Ian, do you think you can stay here tonight? I don't want to be alone." Helen said, still crying. "There isn't much room, though. I hate this stupid house."
"Of course, H," I said gently. "The Couch is only a little lumpy." She hugged me before going back into the kitchen to finish dinner.
August 13th, 1986
I wake up on John and Helen's couch with a crick in my neck. Goddamnit, I guess the couch was lumpier than I'd thought. I write Helen a quick note, telling her I'm going to work. I grab a muffin and head to my apartment to change for work.
Walking in, I realize that Helen was right. This place really is a shithole. I should buy a house.
I've always liked Chelsea. I thought. I should start looking for a house there.
August 19th, 1986
It's official, I'm a homeowner! I bought a beautiful home in the middle of Chelsea.
August 23rd, 1986
I'm at the Royal and General Bank when my office phone rings.
"Hello, you've reached the office of Ian Rider," I answered. "How can I assist you?"
"Ian! Cut the shit! I need a ride." Helen.
I was taken aback by Helen's panicked tone and sharp language. She is usually a very collected person. "H? What's wrong?" I said slowly.
"I need your help. Come pick me up, it's an emergency." I paused briefly, considering telling her that I can't pick her up because Blunt is a hardass and won't let me skip work. "Ian! Just get your ass down here!" Helen yelled again, making up my mind for me.
I race into Blunt's office, mumbling something about a family emergency. He gave me a puzzled look. "Agent Rider..." Blunt starts, but I'd already left. I ignored confused faces as I zoomed to my car. I sped to Helen's house, expecting to find her in a pool of blood. However, as it turns out, Helen's lack of blood is the issue at hand.
She hugs me quickly, before getting into the passenger seat of my car. "Ian," she pants, clearly out of breath, " I need you to do me a huge favor, no questions asked."
I'm about to protest, but this is my brother's wife, and he left me to take care of her in his absence, so I just go along with Helen's pleading. Nodding slowly, I say "Anything for you, H. Where are we going?"
"The pharmacy." She replied. I turned left, in the direction of the local drugstore, suppressing my hundred questions.
She barely waited for the car to come to a complete stop before raceing inside. I decide to stay in the car, both curious and wary about Helen's plans.
Ten minutes later, Helen comes out holding a bag, and two bottles of water. She hands one to me and drinks her own in record time. Still confused, I ask where she wants to go next, to which she replies "home."
Everything seems to be calm for now, so I sit next to Helen on her lumpy-ass couch. She gets up to use the bathroom, and I continue watching the news.
A few minutes later, I hear a scream from the bathroom. I race in, water bottle in tow.
"H, are you okay?" I ask, taking a sip of the cold liquid.
"Ian," she said, clearly scared. "I'm pregnant."
Shocked, I spray water all over Helen's face. I apologize profusely before asking "Are you sure?"
"YES! I would never lie about this. That's why I needed you to take me to the pharmacy: to pick up pregnancy tests."
I sit down, dizzy from the bombshell Helen just dropped. "It's...um...how do I say this...John's...right?" I asked, hoping, praying that it was.
Helen burst into tears. "First you spit on me, then you accuse me of cheating!? Of course, it's John's baby! Can't you at least be happy for me? I've wanted a child for years. Unfortunately, John picked the absolute worst time ever to actually knock me up, infiltrating Scorpia and all."
I sit back, stunned. I'm too shocked to comfort, to console, even to laugh at Helen's attempt at a joke. I did not sign up for this. There's a reason I've never married: children scare the shit out of me. Hell, I'd rather infiltrate Scorpia than have a baby, and yet...
I hug Helen, finally finding my voice. "H, I love John, and I love you, and I'm so happy for you two." I manage to get out. I truly am happy for Helen and my brother. I know they've both wanted children for years.
Helen and I lock eyes. "What the hell are we going to do? What about John? What about MI6? What about Scorpia!?" She wailed.
"This is a clusterfuck," I said.
"Indeed, plain and simple," Helen said, before laying her mess of fair hair onto my lap. What a pair we are. On the floor of a shitty bathroom sits a traumatized MI6 spy with his hysterical sister-in-law sleeping with her head on his lap.