A/N: I'm not entirely sure where this came from. It has very little plot and even less point, but I hope you enjoy it anyway!
***
"Too late, we learn, a man must hold his friend // Unjudged, accepted, trusted to the end" – John Boyle O'Reilly
***
Alex's eyes flickered left and right along the bar. In front of him was a coke. Just coke – he was working after all – but anyone would be able to smell the rum on his breath and draw their own conclusions thanks to an unorthodox mouth spray provided by Smithers.
He shifted in his seat and glanced at the mirror behind the bar. He could just about make out the club entrance in it, and he was pretty sure his target had just come in.
Once a mediocre assassin, Marco Carracci let himself go since he took over the Italian mob. Never tall, his paunch only exacerbated the problem and the course black stubble across his chin turned Alex's stomach.
Unfortunately, he liked his partners young and had a thing for blonds, so Alex had been assigned the job.
It would be an easy task, thankfully. Caracci was already drunk and over-confident, feeling secure with bodyguards surrounding him. All Alex had to do was draw Caracci's attention to him and then persuade the mob boss that they really should be alone.
Alex glanced over his shoulder and started as he caught sight of a group of people from his school. Luckily, they didn't see him and Caracci was also approaching. He suddenly leant drunkenly sideways and bumped into the guy next to him.
The man turned abruptly and his elbow knocked over Alex's coke.
"Aw man!" slurred Alex, jumping up as the drink went all over his shirt.
"Sorry," said the man next to him, wincing.
"Aw that's gonna stain," whined Alex, bunching up his shirt as if to assess the damage, knowing that the smooth, taut skin of his back was on display to everyone behind him including...
"It's ok," said a rough voice. "I'll by this young man a replacement. What was it my friend?"
Alex pretended to blink stupidly and turned to the newcomer. Marco Caracci, perfect.
"Rum and coke," he said, smiling. "And thank you..."
"Marco," said the man and Alex's grin widened.
"Alex," he said, extending a hand. He stumbled and caught himself on Marco's shoulder, brushing provocatively against him as he did so.
"Sorry," he mumbled. "Might have had a bit too much."
Marco laughed expansively. "That's ok. Just sit down."
Alex obeyed, and pretended not to hear as Marco told the bartender to make it a double.
"Come here a lot?" asked Marco and Alex shrugged.
"Not too much," he admitted. "My friends don't really like it here – I'm on my own tonight."
"Maybe I could keep you company," said Marco and Alex had to repress a shudder as one pudgy hand rested itself on his thigh.
"Sounds fun," he said and Marco leered at him.
He only drank part of his drink, before standing abruptly.
"I don't feel too good," he said, swaying slightly. "I think I'd better go to the bathroom."
Marco quickly joined him, abandoning his drink. "Let me help you," he said.
"Such a gentleman," slurred Alex, leaning heavily on the mobster and ignoring the hand cupping his arse. Christ he hated his job.
Marco didn't waste any time, pushing Alex against the wall as soon as the door closed behind them. Alex played the wasted teenager for a moment, letting the elder man rut against him, before staggering away.
"Is there a way to lock the door?" he asked and Marco turned to check.
The man probably never had a chance to register the hand that closed on his chin from behind.
"Sorry, Marco," said Alex grimly, looking down into the glassy eyes of the dead man. His neck had been cleanly snapped. "Guess you're just not my type."
He slipped out, blending right back in with the clientele of the nightclub.
He saw Tom sitting among the group he had spotted before and turned towards them.
"Tom!" he called, jostling in to sit beside his friend.
"Alex!" greeted the dark haired boy with a grin. "What are you doing here?"
Alex shrugged. "Fancied a night out. Mind if I join you?"
There were a few mildly unhappy faces, but no one objected, and Tom had already moved over to give Alex a space in the overcrowded booth.
"Never thought I'd see you outside school again, Rider," said Hale with a grin, Alex grinned back.
***
Fifteen minutes and two pints later, a scream cut through the room. A woman, closely followed by a pale-faced man stumbled out of the bathroom.
Five minutes after that, the police were there.
"Cold," said one of them, pressing a hand gently to one stubbled cheek. "Dead at least fifteen, twenty minutes. Whoever did it will be long gone."
The man's partner cursed.
Alex's group slipped out of the door; the police simply saw a group of drunk, and scared, teenagers and, deciding mercy was probably the best policy, let them go.
The alcohol had given him a buzz and it seemed as if he were more sensitive to his surroundings. The wind on his cheeks, the stone beneath his feet...
Tom's accusing glare on his back.
***
They didn't talk about it that night, nor over the weekend. In fact, they didn't speak at all until Monday.
"Hey," said Tom, sitting down on the wall beside Alex.
"Hey," said Alex, glumly.
"It was you wasn't it?" said Tom quietly, not looking at his friend.
Alex nodded.
"Why?" asked Tom.
"Because he was an Italian mobster and MI6 needed him dead," said Alex, dully.
Tom groaned frustratedly.
"I don't know what to say, Alex," he said, eventually. "You killed someone as if it was nothing but... you're still my friend."
Alex smiled and met his friend's gaze. "Thanks Tom. That means a lot to me."
"I guess it's not all like in the movies then," commented Tom with a shrug.
Alex looked at him flatly then smacked him upside the head.
"I've been telling you that for years!" he protested.
"Yeah," said Tom with a grin. "But who ever listens to what you say?"
He grinned and raced off.
Alex huffed then took off in pursuit.
"You are so dead, Harris!"