A/N: this is really bad, but it's been in my head for ages, its choppy and weird, but I'd appreciate if you read it and gave me some feedback.
/Alex as a father and then going on from there./
I do not own Alex Rider.
He decides the baby's name should be Carver Troy Rider, he probably thinks it's stupid to name your child after two people you barely knew, but even three years later their faces haunt him. He feels that they haven't been properly laid to rest and it just feels right to do this.
He was a father at seventeen years old, very irresponsible, he knew that, but humans made mistakes and he was human. Maybe, considering he was an official MI6 agent, he'd been expected to make better decisions. Be careful. You know, that sort of thing. He could remember the reactions of both Blunt and Jones. His of blankness, but not the sort that was expected, more like he hadn't known what to do or say or think. Hers of dread and annoyance.
He hadn't been happy either, devastated and sad and ashamed and empty and feeling absolutely idiotic. He'd been so so stupid and what the fuck had he been thinking, sleeping with a girl who didn't deserve this because nobody deserved to be pregnant at sixteen. After that she'd wanted nothing to do with him, it'd only been a onetime thing, he'd known that and he too had only wanted it to be a onetime thing, and he knew that the reason she wanted nothing to do with him was because she and the rest of the school still considered him some strange abnormal outcast.
He thought it was kind of unfair that she put all of the blame on him, considering, well, there'd been two bodies doing the work and she could've told him to stop whenever she wanted to. When a guy had a girl in front of him, telling him things and grabbing things, the last thing on their mind was condoms. So they'd made a mistake, a huge mistake, and it was mostly his fault but not all of his fault.
What few friends he'd had drifted away, not treating him the way others did though not exactly being supportive either. He hadn't really expected anything else, but the dull ache in his chest was something he wouldn't ever forget, not anytime soon at least. Even after so many times of being put off to the side and abandoned, the pain of the dismissal never failed to feel like a new and painful wound. In a way it was worse than being shot because at least that could heal but the feeling of being shoved aside always stuck with you, no matter how much time passed.
Tom stayed, not entirely unexpected, if he could handle an assassination attempt, he could accept his bestfriend being a teenage father.
She hadn't wanted the baby which her parents had easily agreed with, words such as too young and they didn't have the type of money it took for an infant came up. After Mariam refused to hold him or even give him a name, a nurse came to the waiting room and got him (Mariam wouldn't let him in while she was giving birth). He was brought to the room, with both of her parents standing closely next to their daughter and her lying sweaty and tired in a bed but still having the energy to train him with her distrustful eyes.
"Why are you here?" She asked warily.
He stood there, hands tucked into the pockets of his black hoodie, and looking steadily back. "Well, it's not everyday a girls having my baby."
"I don't want it." She said. Her mother, a short hispanic beauty, grabbed her hand and gave it a squeeze. "I don't want it."
"You're... you're not giving it up are you?" He felt a pressure on his chest, from what, he had no idea.
"I don't know." She said, and he saw that there were tears in her eyes. Even if she hadn't wanted the baby, nine months of carrying it had bonded them. It was obvious she was feeling more than just physical pain. "I don't know what to do."
He stood there, awkwardly, feeling a burning deep inside his throat. "I could.."
She'd put a hand over her eyes and had her face turned down, he saw that her mouth was open in a wide grimace and her lips were shaking, her choked sounds were quiet. She was crying.
"I could take him." Alex said, and it was as if he was hearing his voice from far away. He was in water and they were on land, he was already imagining the consequences of what he said, the problems that he wouldn't know how to handle. The long nights. He was alone in this. "If you don't want him. I could take him."
He was surprised when she laughed. "You!? You couldn't do that. You wouldn't want to."
"I have the money." He said cooly. The people in the room could probably tell he was more than well off, Tom had said that he just gave off the air of someone who did. "More than I can spend. Anything he needs, and I can give it to him. And if I didn't want to, I wouldn't of said I would."
"Your parents?" Her mother said, Mariam looked just like her, down to the thick dark hair and the fullness of her lips. "They would allow this?"
"If they were alive, they would." He said shortly. "I'm emancipated."
Not really. But they couldn't exactly know of MI6 owning his ass.
"You would take the child?" Her mom asked, her dark eyes were softer than he'd expected, friendlier than he deserved for knocking up her daughter. "With being so young? With school?"
He smiled at her and for a moment she looked taken aback, before smiling hesitantly back. "It's not the hardest thing I've ever dealt with, trust me."
Over the years he thought back on those words, sometimes. It was probably the most untruthful thing he'd ever said and being in espionage that was quite a statement. But he'd had help, he hadn't been all alone. Despite Mariam not wanting him, she was there as much as she could be, whenever she could afford to gather spare money she was showing up at his door with a new toy or stuffed animal, she always greeted her son with a smile and sometimes she'd even spare Alex one. He never minded this, her coming, because he understood the feeling of growing up with knowing what it was like without a parent around and even though Carver had one already, it was best to have both if you could.
Tom was there too, and for that Alex would forever be greatful. The amount of love and affection he felt for Tom grew as the years went on, his bestfriend was his family, his brother, his hope that everything would be okay. He was a constant, and even if he'd grown from the short, fairly goody two shoes to a more party adjusted teenager, he was still good. He had that... that innocence in his heart that Alex didn't. Whenever Alex got in that state of grieving he sometimes fell into, Tom was there to help him fix things, he guided him the way back after so many times of wandering off track.
After so many people not coming back, it was a relief that he could always count on Tom to not leave.
"I'll take him off your hands for a little while, if you want, we can go to the park, get some ice cream... maybe I'll even pick up a lady. You know how much they're into cute kids." Tom was laying comfortably against the sofa, arm thrown behind his head and legs falling over the edge of the arm rest. He'd hit his growth spurt at seventeen, and now, at the age of twenty four, Tom was often seen bending down to avoid low ceilings.
Alex was seated at the desk, in one of those moods that consumed you, and made you feel close to exploding with emotions. It'd been a bad week, every year it was the same, it was the week Jack had passed... and today was the day. Maybe it should've been easier as time went, but Alex had found out long ago that the pain of it never really went away. His fuse was shorter, feelings of annoyance and rage spiking his temper.
He hadn't meant to shout at Carver the way he had, but... he just couldn't help it.
"Alex..?" Tom was slowly sitting up, eyes dark in the low lighting of the room. When no reply came, he stood. "I'll take him out, you obviously need time for yourself."
"I'm just not feeling well at the moment." Alex said, quietly, not looking at his friend, hardly even aware that he was speaking. "I'm not..."
"Mate, I get it." Tom glanced at what Alex was staring at and felt pity throb in his chest, a framed photograph of a woman with fire red curls stood in the middle of two older people who looked to be of relation, probably her parents, sat next to Alex's closed laptop. He looked away from the picture, feeling like he was intruding. "We'll be back later."
When it was time to leave and Carver had a tight hold of his hand, Tom glanced back into the room, and the last thing he saw before he left was Alex sitting with his head in his hands, shoulders shaking.
"Do you think he hates me?" Tom looked down at the kid, eyebrows furrowed. Carver had inherited most of his mother's looks, the darker hair and the rich caramel skin, but his eyes were all Alex. Mariam had nice hazel eyes, lighter than everything else about her, like chips of fading Amber. Carver's eyes were dark and somber, the color of burnt coffee beans.
Tom pulled the boy over to a bench and thought about the incident earlier, in which Carver had thrown a tantrum over not being able to go to his friends birthday and Alex had shouted at the boy until his son had left the room in a fumbling mess of tears. He felt an old sort of tiredness close around his body, making him feel almost as old as his dead great-grandmother. Tom put a hand on top of Carver's head and attempted to flatten the messiness. "Alex could never hate you."
"He yelled at me." Carver said in a tone far too serious for Tom's liking.
"Your dad's just stressed, he didn't mean it."
Carver looked down at his hands, which sat in the middle of his lap. He had long thin fingers, and Tom remembered Mariam saying that he'd be brilliant at an instrument. Alex had paid for piano lessons. "Why's he stressed?"
Tom looked over at his surroundings, some teenagers were playing footy over in the open expanse of grass and a couple girls sat against a tree, peaking over their phones and laughing quietly to eachother. His gaze wandered to the pond that had gentle ripples lapping up into the dirt, and the few kids who threw bread for the geese.
He felt Carver shift. "He just has to sort some things out."
"What kind of things?"
"Personal things." Tom said. He thought back on Ian, who he'd never really known, but Alex had always come back from school breaks excitedly telling another story of him and his uncle snowboarding or snorkeling or something equally interesting, and he thought of how Aex had never really had the time to grieve his uncle. He remembered Jack, who had been nothing but kind to him and the small crush he'd had on her for a short time, and he thought on how Alex had never stopped grieving her. "Someday, he'll tell you."
"Someday? Why not now?" Carver had a tendency to ask a lot of questions, and good thing for him, because Tom didn't really mind. He found it rather endearing. "Is it because I'm not old enough? Dad always says it's stupid to judge because of something like age."
Tom smiled, "It has nothing to do with that. It's more - more personal. Alex has a lot of things he likes to keep close, but he'll tell you. When he's ready."
"So I probably shouldn't ask?"
He ruffled Carver's hair. "No. Probably not."
"Who's that?" Carver was eleven years old and still persistently curious, he'd never been in his father's office and the photographs had immediately caught his attention. He'd never seen these people around, and it was strange that his dad had never brought them home if he had pictures of them.
He held the picture out in front of Alex, pointing at the red haired woman. Her smile was huge and her eyes were squinting from the rays of sunlight shining down, two older people were on either side of her. She was a plain sort of pretty, maybe it was one of his dad's ex's that he'd never met.
Alex gently extracted the framed picture and set it down where it had originally been, adjusting it and brushing his hand along the thin delicate wire that made it look like vines surrounding the people. "I said not to touch anything."
"Was she your girlfriend?" Carver felt the bitterness twist his words into something hurtful, and tried to cover it up by softening his face, by the look on his dads face he wasn't successful.
"No." Alex said awkwardly, "She used to take care of me when I was younger."
"And you have a picture of her?" He felt like that was weird.
"She was like my sister." Alex said quietly, and his tone conveyed that he'd rather not talk about it anymore.
Carver's gaze wandered to the next frame, it was of his dad, a way younger version, and a man who looked like him, though more quietly observant. "Is that your dad?"
Alex turned away and started rifling through a stack of papers that were haphazardly arranged, his voice was bland as he spoke. "That's Ian. He was my uncle. And the picture next to that is of my parents."
He'd just been about to ask who they were, the blond man was very handsome and the woman almost as pretty as his own mother, she had kindly eyes and long hair wound into a braid. He'd never really thought about his grandparents on his dad's side, never really thought of his dad as the type to have parents, however ridiculous that sounded.
"What happened to everyone?" He asked, and knew deep down that the answer wasn't anything good. Carver may have been a bit naïve but he wasn't stupid. He felt awkward asking, they never had personal conversations, he either went to his mom or Tom for that.
Alex's movements slowed but didn't stop, and Carver could hear the tired whoosh of air that fell from his mouth. "They're gone." He said. "Died years ago."
It was quiet after that and Carver listened to the beating of his heart, it felt loud enough that he could hear it, thumping frantically behind his ribs. These people's hearts had stopped long ago, and Carver felt a bone deep fear constrict his chest, he didn't want to die, death was... unstoppable. He didn't want to be an empty body, he didn't want his heart to leave him.
He swallowed past the burning in his throat and looked at the people who were gone, dead, and felt his eyes brim. "I'm sorry." He said, and the words made Alex still, made Alex look at the ground. "I'm sorry they're gone."
His dad was away a lot, business trips he said, though Carver never really believed him. He was pretty sure you weren't supposed to come back from business trips with bruises all over your face and cuts on your hands, but he never asked, his conversation with Tom from so long ago always came back to him. Alex has a lot of things he likes to keep close, but he'll tell you. When he's ready.
Carver usually stayed with Tom and his longtime girlfriend, sometimes his mom, though she'd moved to Scotland for a job and he didn't really see much of her anymore. Tom was like a second father to him, like a brother, or a crazy uncle. It was fun to be with him, but he'd rather be at his dad's, Tom was a loud obnoxious guy, into partying on the weekends and yelling at the television. He liked his dad's quiet way of things, he felt more comfortable in silence, more at home.
"Do you think he's gonna come home soon?" He was sitting at the window, holding up a slot in the blinds so he could see out in the street, feeling anxiety and a hesitant sort of excitement well up in his chest. It was always like this.
Tom was watching him, a weird look on his face.
"Why're you looking at me like that?"
Tom grinned a little, the crows feet at the corners of his eyes becoming more pronounced. "You just remind me of him." He said. "Whenever Ian was gone on a trip, Alex would sit on the porch and wait for him to get back."
"His uncle." Carver remembered the solemn looking man in he photo, tall and rich looking, someone his mom would probably turn her nose up at. "Did he go on business trips too?"
"Yeah. Alex works... at the bank where Ian did."
"So it's like a family thing?" Thoroughly interested, he turned more towards Tom. "Do you think I can work there when I'm older?"
Tom stared at him in horror, like things weren't going the way they were supposed to. "Uh - "
"Maybe I can ask him about it." He smiled.
"Carver - "
"Do you know what he even does on these business trips? He's never told me."
"You wouldn't like it. It'd be too - boring."
"How would you know if I liked it or not?" He asked sharply. "I'm tired of everyone dictating my life. Maybe I'll like it, you don't know."
Feeling angrier than he probably should have, he stood from where he'd been sitting and stormed off, slamming the bedroom door shut behind him.
His father had been shot.
Shot.
Shot in the abdomen. Twice.
He found out in the middle of one of his exams, Tom had come to the school and told the office, and soon he was running out of the front doors and Tom was following closely behind, calling his name, but he wasn't listening because all he could think was that his dad was probably dead. Dead. His heart - it'd stopped - like his parents, like the girl, and like Ian. Death was a fear Carver had had since that talk.
Sometimes he worried irrationally about whether his dad would even come back home when he went out of the country, or Tom not making it back on a run to the store, but now it was happening in real life.
He threw himself into the passenger seat and forced himself to not scream at Tom when he fumbled with the keys, and tried to calm himself down. Close your eyes. Deep breaths. Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale. In -
Tom was talking.
"He'll be okay, it's going to be fine." It didn't help that it sounded like he was trying to reassure himself more than Carver. "Everything's going to be okay. Everything's fine."
The ride was the longest torture he'd ever had to sit through and when they made it to St. Dominic's, he couldn't help but turn to Tom in panicked confusion.
"Why're we here!? Isn't this place - this is for famous people, isn't it? Like, celebrities?"
"Just come on."
The receptionist pointed them in the direction Alex Rider's room was and they made their way through the halls, taking the elevator to the top floor and looking quietly through the windows on the doors, seeing if Alex was the one lying prone on the white hospital bed.
Finally, at the end of the hall, they saw him. But it wasn't what they'd expected. He was lying down, but he wasn't asleep, and he definitely didn't have tubes all over his body. His face seemed more lined than Carver had ever seen it, and he was talking, talking to a woman who sat by his bedside.
She was compact looking, with shoulder length black hair and an equally black dress suit. She looked formal, refined.
" - that whole time they'd known, Tulip. They'd known. There must be some sort of spy, a leak, I killed Tayle but it was like - it was like they'd wanted me to. Then Rodney shot me and -"
"And Ben Daniels showed up at the right time." The woman - Tulip - said. Carver was still stuck on the part about his dad killing someone. "It's a good thing you alerted us when you did, or you'd be dead right now. You've got to be more careful, Alex."
"I was." Alex snapped, glaring at Tulip with so much heat that Carver was surprised that she hadn't burst into flames. "I swear, but there's a leak. They knew."
Tulip sighed and Carver watched closely as she leaned forward to lightly touch his shoulder. "But you're alright? You're healing?"
Alex hadnt shrugged off the hand. "Yes. I'm fine." He rubbed a palm over his face and let out a deep breath. "They called Tom. He should be here any minute, he probably went to get Carver from school. I'll have to come up with something believable, like I was mugged or something."
"Your son. Is he doing good?"
Alex smiled thinly, "He's good. Better than I ever was."
She retracted her hand, like she'd been burned, and her face flickered for a moment. Alex saw it, and his body seemed to relax more, his dark eyes were calm and dark as he spoke, "I don't blame you anymore. It's been a long time, I'm not Scorpia. I forgave you a long time ago."
"You must know that I never wanted any of this to happen..."
"But it did, and there's nothing that can change it, is there?" He didn't sound angry or anything really, just tired.
Tulip looked at him and nodded slowly. She stood from the chair she was sitting in and glanced down at him, "Heal well, Agent Rider."
And with that she turned toward the door and both Carver and Tom ducked hurriedly out of the way and sat down on the bench opposite the room, looking anywhere but the door when it opened. Carver immediately stood, anxiously staring at the woman who stared back at him.
"You must be Carver." It wasn't a question.
He nodded.
She smiled dully in response and nodded at Tom, saying a mild, "Mr. Harris. "
Tom inclined his head, "Mrs. Jones."
"He's all for company, if you're ready. " With one last parting smile, she turned from them and made her way down the corridor, disappearing around the corner.
Without wasting another second, Carver barged through the door and stared at his father, who looked at bit startled at another visitor so soon after the previous.
"Carver - "
"You killed someone!?"
Alex stared at him.
"Are you some sort of assassin? Or a mobster, or what? Is that your job!? Killing people?" He felt his voice rise, felt it tremble.
Alex struggled to sit up, and when he finally was, his face was tight with pain. "Quiet down Carver."
Carver backed up until both Tom and his dad were in his vision and he turned to Tom, "You heard that woman, you heard what she said, why are you just standing there?!"
Tom was looking at Alex, "You need to tell him."
"Tell me what?" He looked from one to the other, backing up until he was pressed against the wall.
And so his dad told him.
After that, things were different.
Carver was more accepting of the business trips, though they made him worry more, now that he knew that there was an actual chance of his dad never coming back. He ignored it as best as he could and just hoped because that was all he could really do anyways. He didn't ask as much questions, knowing that with Alex Rider everything was a little more complicated than with the average person. Things weren't as tense, and Carver felt himself smile more often than not.
He sometimes looked at the picture of Helen and John and Jack and Ian and felt himself mourn them even though he hadn't known them, they'd been his dad's family and so they were his too and he felt sorry that he'd never get to know them. On the days that they died, Alex took him with him to visit their graves and he was silent as his dad kneeled over the weather beaten stones.
Sometimes he felt glad that he knew, but other times Carver just wished he hadn't found out. Things had been a bit easier, he'd been naïve about the world, but now he knew that not everything went how you wanted it and bad things were always going to happen. He wondered if his dad felt the same.
yeah.