A/N: Hello all and happy 2019! We're starting this year off RIGHT with a holiday fic written by your friendly neighborhood AR authors. That's right! This year, Spyfest brings to you a fun collab fic, filled with hectic mischief and ships you never knew existed. Updates every week-ish. Please give every author the love they deserve!

Disclaimer: Alex Rider and all its discontinuities belong to Anthony Horowitz

1. TOM HARRIS

AUTHOR: dalekchung

The best thing about being terrible in school was that no one ever batted an eye at Tom's erratic decisions, most of which involved conveniently 'forgetting' to do his homework. Usually, his impulsive decisions consisted of football practice or hanging out with his best mates, but today was different. It was bloody cold outside, complete with icy roads and heavy snow, meaning kicking a football around was unfortunately out of the question. Alex was off, up to who-knew-what. His friend had gotten quieter and more serious since the last time he had disappeared. Tom could never fully relate to the kickass teenage spy, but he couldn't blame Alex for withdrawing, however slightly. He was probably sad—torn up from his adventures overseas. Tom frowned. He assumed it was overseas anyway. Alex didn't tell him much, but he imagined it so. There was probably a damsel in distress he couldn't save—a poor, innocent soul. Tom paused in his thoughts once more. Perhaps getting caught up in his own imagination wasn't the best idea. Regardless, Tom wanted to help Alex. And what better way to do that than to throw a massive party, complete with cute girls, booze, and loud music? A grin unfurled itself on Tom's face. Yes, that sounded perfect.

Yet, Tom paused as he reached for his cell phone. Would Alex really appreciate such a party? Alex was the quiet type of person, always preferring a small group of close friends rather than a large one. So, probably not. But Tom sure would. He would make sure to drop a hint next time they had a serious conversation.

Shaking his head, Tom picked up his phone, dialing a number with a few impatient taps.

"Yeah, what do you want?"

"So rude," Tom stuck his tongue out at his phone, despite the fact that the other couldn't see him. He brought the phone back to his ear, "You wound me, James."

"Yeah, yeah," James sounded like he couldn't care less. Faintly, in the background, Tom could hear indistinct shouting and muffled gunshots. "I'm about to win this game, so this better be important."

Tom shook his head fondly, as if James was a young child. What else would he be doing? It was the holidays, after all. No school, no homework (that Tom cared to do, anyway).

"It's about Alex."

A pause. Tom heard the frantic smashing of buttons, "What about him?"

"Don't you think he looks stressed? Tired? Maybe a little sad?" Tom asked.

"No, no, NO!" the last word was a scream. Tom pulled his ear away from the phone, a little taken aback.

"Okay, you didn't have to be so angry about it," he muttered into the receiver.

A sigh, "You just made me lose, Harris. I'm kicking your arse next time I see you."

"I didn't make you do anything," Tom shot back, only half joking. "You're just naturally a—"

"If you finish that sentence, you're dead," James said flatly. Tom could hear the underlying amusement in his voice. The playfulness dissipated with another sigh. "Yeah, Alex has been a little distant lately. I thought it had to do with whatever he does when he misses school."

"Maybe," Tom pretended to muse along. "But anyway, I was thinking we could do something to cheer him up. You know, show him that we're there for him. I just don't know what we could do."

"Throw a party?" James suggested.

Tom perked up, "That's what I was thinking! A ton of people, alcohol, smokin' hot—"

"—not what I meant," James cut in. "I meant like, a family party. It's the holidays. Holidays are about people who are close to you, am I right?"

Tom pondered over the idea for a long minute, "James. You might be a genius."

Pleased, James replied, "I try."

"We should plan a party—all for Alex!" Tom bounced on his bed, excited at the prospect. "Who should we invite? He's not very close with our classmates. Oh, maybe we should ask Jack first. She knows him best, and oh, she'll have to know if we want to surprise him at his own home. What kind of food should we get? And what should we do about presents? There has to be presents! Okay James, I'll call you back later."

He didn't give his friend time to answer before he had hung up. His fingers were already dialing Jack's number before he could pause to answer any of his own rambling questions.

"Yeah, what's up?"

"Jack!" Tom greeted enthusiastically. "How do you feel about hosting a holiday party for Alex?"

"Um," Jack didn't sound nearly as enthused as Tom had expected her to be. "I don't know if Alex would like that. He just got out of the hospital..."

"Which is exactly why we should hold a celebration!" Tom latched onto the subject eagerly. "James and I think that we should do something special for Alex, to let him know that he still has friends that care for him."

Jack was extremely lucky that they weren't talking face to face. This was the point in the conversation when Tom would have brought out his puppy-eyed, pleading look. No one could resist the infamous Tom-Harris-look.

"Well," Tom could nearly taste the indecision in Jack's voice. Wait, no—that was merely her heavy American accent. "I guess it would be all right as long as you have a plan."

"Yes!" Tom grinned. "Okay, so I'm going to invite all of Alex's friends. He does have friends besides James and me, right? Well, no matter, I'll have to do a bit of lurking—"

"Tom—!" Jack interrupted, sounding amused. "I don't care who you invite. Just take care of the food. You know I can't cook."

Tom wrinkled his nose. It was an understatement. Jack most definitely could not cook. He could remember twelve separate incidents in the past two years alone that left an acrid stench lingering in the depths of his memory. He shuddered, "I'll be sure to tell everyone to bring a dish."

"Good idea," Jack sounded relieved as she hung up.

And now Tom was stuck. He frowned, tossing his phone to one side of his bed. He prided himself on being one of Alex's closest friends, but if Tom was being completely honest with himself, he didn't know Alex as well as he used to. That much was evident as he pondered over who to invite. Alex used to be close with the football team, but that had all changed last year, when his uncle died. He had not been, by any means, antisocial. If anything, Alex had been popular and well-liked. It should have been easy to figure out who to invite and who not to invite.

Tom sighed, falling onto his bed, back first. A holiday party with only Alex, James, Jack, and Tom would be a sad party indeed. He couldn't allow that! The whole point of the mission was to bring joy and cheer into his lonesome mate's heart.

"Sabina!" Tom sat up straight at the revelation. He raced for a pen and paper, scrawling her name down on the first line. He waited, pen poised, for another realization to hit him. Waited. And waited.

None came to him.

Tom sighed, dropping his pen down onto his desk and returning to his former position on his bed. It was an impossible task. Perhaps he could simply call Alex and ask—covertly, of course—about his friends. Yes! Tom could pull that off. He was the master of secret operations. Simply the best at fishing for information in an unsuspecting victim. He was perfect for the job—!

Tom reached for his phone, unlocking the screen and ready to pluck the knowledge right from Alex's brain.

He paused, finger hovering over the call button. The unfortunate thing about knowing someone well was that that someone also knew Tom extremely well. He would never be able to make it through a whole conversation without at least raising some suspicion about what he was doing. Paranoia and espionage? Tom didn't have to be well-versed in the inner workings of a spy's mind to know those two things didn't go well together.

Annoyed, Tom pressed the home button on his phone, bringing him to his home screen. Little icons greeted him with red bubbles. Notifications that he had neglected to acknowledge. Most of them came from social media accounts that he didn't care much for.

The lightbulb in Tom's head flickered on and stayed on. Social media. The way the world stayed connected. Tom was certain he could find Alex's other friends on there!

Ignoring the little "9" in the corner of the blue app, Tom tapped the icon several times, impatiently gnawing at the insides of his cheeks. The whole two seconds seemed longer than an eternity, and as soon as the page fully loaded, Tom made his way, tapping and giggling at his own genius, to Alex's profile, where—success!—his friends were located.

Alex only had a few friends on Facebook, and only two of them were from Brookland Comprehensive. Tom had been there when the fair-haired boy purged his account, muttering something about receiving less than friendly messages. The thought made Tom frown. He couldn't understand how easy it was for his peers to turn on someone they used to adore. He shook his head to himself. Whatever the case was, Tom's work had been cut out for him. This page contained only his closest friends. He was sure!

Tom tapped on the first profile to show up. The boy in the photo looked like he was the same age as he was, complete with the lanky teenager look of a boy who hadn't quite grown into his limbs yet. He stood awkwardly in the picture, lowering his hand in an aborted thumbs-up position, Big Ben in the shot behind him.

James Sprintz. Tom stared down at the name, wondering if he had heard it before. No, he was fairly certain he hadn't, and as he scrolled down to the 'about' section, he realized why. The kid lived in Germany. Tom didn't even know that Alex had been to Germany. It would have come up in conversation, he thought mournfully.

Tom swiped back to the previous page and selected the next profile. The profile picture didn't do the man any favors considering his face was barely visible. Only his bushy black eyebrows and brown eyes were visible in the picture, and along that vein, were uncomfortably close to Tom. Even if it was just a picture, Tom leaned backwards, wary. This "Wolf" character hadn't even bothered to put his real name. Besides his relationship status (set at a heartbreaking 'single'), Wolf didn't have any information in the about section of use to Tom. He did, however, have many public photos of guns. Maybe this Wolf was American.

Uncertain, Tom swiped back to the friends page and clicked on the next profile. This one was of a woman sitting sternly in a rocking chair. Well, as sternly as one could with a kitten, dressed as a peppermint, nestled in her slightly wild hair. Yes, Tom determined. Very promising.

Without hesitation, he tapped on the 'chat' option.

'Hello, Ms. Jones.'

Tom stared down at the words. Was that too formal? If this woman was Alex's friend, shouldn't he address her causally? But, the woman in the picture looked older. Tom frowned and erased the words, starting anew.

'Hello, Tulip!'

There, that was much better. Tom felt an easy smile slide onto his face.

'Hello, Tulip! I'm arranging a surprise party for...'