Disclaimer: If I was this brilliant, you'd own a book with my name on it.
Summary: When the doorbell rings at three in the morning, it's never good news.
One Last Tear
Ian Rider silently cursed himself. He was almost certain Yassen had seen him, seen and recognized thanks to his connection to John. Why did his brother need to have a soft spot for the assassin? And besides, it made the situation much worse. If Yassen was here, that meant Sayle was dealing with Scorpia and Scorpia and Riders were a deadly mix. His only hope now was to get as far away from here as possible and hope against all home that Yassen hadn't seen him. That chance was so small, however, it was practically nonexistent. The man, still a boy at the time, had been trained by John and his brother had been the best.
Fueled by determination and despair, he switched gear and floored the gas paddle as he hit a stretch of open road. He had over two hundred miles to travel and too much time on his hands, too much time and tarmac for things to go horribly wrong, but he had to make it for Alex. He couldn't allow Sayle to kill his nephew. And even if, by some miracle, Sayle's plans were foiled without him, Blunt was there, patiently waiting in the shadows, for a dead body to go over and get to Alex. No, if he wanted Alex to continue living a relatively normal life, he'd have to come home alive and preferably in one piece.
He hadn't gone very far when he spotted a single light in his rearview mirror and he knew his luck had run out. A motorcycle; no matter how fast his car went, it would never win from a motorcycle. He was sure it was Yassen, but even though he knew he probably wouldn't be making it home ever again, that didn't mean he would stop trying. Pressing down the gas paddle even further, the car picked up speed, until he could barely keep it on the road. All the while his thoughts started drifting toward Alex, no matter how hard he fought to stay focused.
The time John and Helen had told him he would become an uncle and then the crying little bundle that had been placed into his arms for the first time. He never could have guessed how much that little bundle would come to mean to him and that it would play such a big part in his life. He had never meant to train Alex. He hadn't known anything about raising a child and his own parents hadn't exactly won parent-of-the-year awards, shipping their sons off to boarding school as soon as possible. He hated that life had forced his hand. Alex had never suspected a thing. He had loved all the extreme sports when it had just been them and learning how to pick pockets had been a fun game to him. Jack had been heaven send and Alex clearly adored her, but she couldn't replace the ever absent uncle. So Alex grabbed on to every opportunity to spend time, just the two of them. Ian had loved watching Alex overcome the challenges he set for him, as he always knew the boy would. Athletic, bright and resourceful, he was so much like John and still so different.
Looking back in the rearview mirror, Ian noticed that, despite all his efforts, the motorcycle was quickly gaining on him. It started to become ever more real that he would not leave Cornwall alive. This was it. When he signed on, he knew this job would be the death of him as it had been for so many before him. Among those to die, were, as he had learned long after that first mission, his own parents and many others in his family tree.
The motorcycle had caught up and pulled up beside him. He could not see the rider's face behind the reflective surface of the helmet's visor, but somewhere he just knew with full certainty that it was Yassen. As he stared down the barrel of the semi automatic, his thoughts turned one last time to his nephew, probably going to bed right now, not knowing he would soon be the last Rider. Nor would he know that the family business would most likely be passed down to him.
In an explosion of sound, glass, blood and bullets, one last tear ran down Ian Rider's cheek after years of being locked behind high walls. One tear for his greatest regret: never telling Alex. The boy would never know how much he loved him. He would be pulled in to a world unfit for a child and he would think his uncle trained him for it. Never would Ian get to explain, he wasn't teaching Alex to spy. He was teaching him how to stay alive.
With no one driving, the car slipped off the road, the muddy ground bringing it to a gentle halt, but Ian was beyond noticing. His lips moved around his final breath, forming words no one would ever hear.
'Alex, forgive me.'
A/N: I hope you like it. Please review. Some stuff mentioned refers to the other one-shots I've written. You don't need to read them, but they are nice companion pieces to this one.