Child's Scoop
By Simply Shelby
"Take him out for an ice cream... he deserves a treat."
-Alan Blunt, Alex Rider: Operation Stormbreaker
He was surprised when the car didn't stop in front of the bank.
He was surprised to see the car in the first place. MI6 had stopped sending the black, unmarked cars to pick him up when he'd reached his majority. An organisation could only afford so many slashed tires and scratched paint jobs, after all. So, when one pulled up in front of his Chelsea townhouse, he'd frowned and told Sabina to wait in the house while he went outside to meet whatever stepped out from behind those four doors.
He was even more surprised to see Mrs Jones step out.
"Hello, Alex." Her voice was soft and he knew she wasn't here on business.
Motioning to a curious Sabina, he tilted his head and responded, "Mrs Jones? Is there something I can do for you?" His wife joined him at his side and he wrapped an arm around her waist. She was a form of support, standing there and offering her hand to his... boss.
"You must be Mrs Jones," she greeted warmly, but Alex could hear the confusion lying beneath the surface. "I'm Sabina Rider. But, I'm sure you already knew that."
The Deputy Head of Special Operations didn't refute the statement. She simply continued to suck--Alex could almost believe nervously--on her ever-present peppermint. "I've come for a favour." Not business-related, Alex knew, but he had no idea what Mrs Jones would want with him besides a job well done and tied off with a pretty bow. Perhaps not pretty--more sensible, he supposed.
"What sort of favour?" He'd gotten tired of this dancing around a long time ago, so he dug his heels in the ground. "Not a mission." The woman moved the peppermint around with her tongue and he felt Sabina tense beside him. A glance showed his wife's smile was firmly in place. He brushed the small of her back comfortingly. "I'm not due back for another month or so."
On his last mission, he'd aquired a several severe lacerations and a serious knife wound to the stomach. Sabina had been terrified when he hadn't woken up after surgery and had taken her fear and frustration out on the surounding agents. They'd given him three months resting time as a consolation. Or as an attemtp to secure the good graces of his wife. He wasn't sure which.
"No," Mrs Jones finally conceded, "I'm not here on business. As I'm sure you've gathered." A beautiful and perfectly executed spin around the dance floor. Around him.
Alex sighed. Figuratively dropping to the floor in front of his dancing partner, he asked, "What do you want?" No one tensed at his gruff tone.
Cool eyes met his. "I want to talk." Step sideways with the left foot and bring the right foot to close.
Feet firmly planted. "We are talking."
She didn't respond to him, instead turning to Sabina and questioning, "Do you mind if I borrow him for an hour or so? He'll be back in time for dinner at the Ramsay."
Sabina looked carefully at Alex. Alex shrugged. Of course MI6 knew they had reservations for tonight. He'd gotten used to them keeping tabs on him. "So long as you bring him back exactly as he is by six o'clock. Reservations are at--"
"Six-thirty." Mrs Jones smiled and Sabina turned to re-enter the house.
Alex quickly kissed his wife, whispering, "I'll be back," and following Mrs Jones to the black towncar. They were silent the entire way.
He was surprised when Mrs Jones suddenly spoke up. "This is fine, James. Stop here." They were nowhere near the Royal and General. Mrs Jones opened the door and stepped onto the sidewalk. "What are you doing?" He leaned forward.
Mrs Jones held out her hand to help him out of the car. He disregarded it out of habit. "Something I'd meant to do a while ago. Your first mission? Do you remember?" She started walking down the way, her stride easy and confident. She blended in quite well with the other business men and women on the street. No one would know she co-ordinated espionage across the world. No one would suspect that she held several hundreds of lives in her hands. Dressed in a simple grey T-shirt, jeans and trainers, Alex felt somewhat out of place.
"Yes..." Alex answered warily.
She stopped in front of a van on the corner. "Yes, well, Alan had suggested I take you out for an ice cream." She gestured to the ice cream van. The man inside it was handing out the dairy treat. "For all your hard work."
Alex stared at her in bewilderment. "That was almost a decade ago."
Mrs Jones looked slightly uncomfortable with that observation. "It wasn't exactly high on my priority list." She reached the head of the line. "Two 99 Flakes, please." Alex supressed a smile and wondered when she'd last ordered a Flake 99. It must have been years ago. When she'd had a family to treat. When she'd had a family to enjoy it with. His smile disappeared.
The young agent accepted the ice cream with a soft, "Thank you." They continued walking.
They'd walked almost two blocks when Mrs Jones finally spoke. "Alex..." she started, trying to put everything into words.
Alex licked the drops of the vanilla ice cream from his knuckles. "I know." He threw her a line. "And I don't regret it."
Her eyes bore into his. "Don't you?"
He sighed, slowly, chasing the soft-serve ice cream with his tongue as it dripped. "Well, not all of it."
They kept walking.
"I--" Mrs Jones began again, several streets later.
"Don't apologise." There was a calm resignation in his voice. "Some things are more important than the well-being of a teenage boy. And I didn't turn out so bad."
"You've done very well for yourself." She agreed.
The street signs seemed to blur.
Alex tossed the rest of his cone and napkins into a rubbish bin outside a shop. His hands were sticky. Mrs Jones's ice cream had completely disappeared, chocolate and all, and she hadn't used napkins. Her hands weren't sticky and her face was clean. Alex felt like a child. Carefree and messy.
"Thank you." Her words weren't enough.
"Don't." And Alex knew. Actions were always, always louder. And her actions spoke differently.
The towncar appeared in front of them and Mrs Jones hurriedly stepped forward. "I'll see you soon, Alex. Goodbye, Mrs Rider." She waved to a point behind Alex and as he turned around, the car left.
He was surprised to be standing in front of his home. Sabina was outside the front door.
Glancing down at his watch, he wasn't surpised to find it was six o'clock on the dot.
AN: I grew up calling this treat a '99 Flake' but a recent trip to London informed me that they are now called 'Flake 99'.