Making a Stand
"Lex! Pass it to me," a dark-haired boy yells to his friend.
Lex kicks the ball towards his friend but it ends up missing the boy with a few metres. The boy huffs and puffs for a few seconds before turning to run after the ball. He comes back with the ball in his hand and mock-glares at his friend.
"How am I ever going to become a pro if you can't keep up?" His voice isn't very serious and Lex cracks a smile.
"I might be able to convince my uncle to help you," Lex says before grabbing the ball and running off, throwing behind him a, "if you can catch me!"
Someone is watching them.
A young man, although man might not be the right word, is remembering something which was lost. Because dreams are torn and broken into pieces just to be set on fire too easily. Once he had wanted to be a pro football player as well.
Once he had a dream just like that boy.
He's been sitting on the newly painted bench for an hour now, in solitude, yet he is never truly left alone.
"Once, I was like them," he states quietly, and he doesn't move in surprise when he gets a reply.
"Once every little boy was like them. Everyone has to grow up and let go of their dreams."
"I was fourteen."
"I know."
"I was too young for all that."
"Yet you acted during your thirteenth Christmas." There's silence for a moment. "Your uncle had records."
"Of course he did."
"He was proud of you, Alex."
"He told me. Sometimes." He shifts a bit. "When he was around."
"I apologize."
A non-committal sound. A shrug.
"I did not mean to-"
"- drag up any bad memories. It's fine, Mrs. Jones." A bitter laugh. "It's been a long time. I'm not a child anymore; I haven't been one for a very long time. I can deal with it."
"I am sorry, Alex." She takes half a step towards him, from behind. Alex moves his head to keep her in his eyesight. "I really am. I never wanted you to work for us. Alan insisted. He said you would be an asset, and look, Alex, at everything you've done. Look at everyone you've saved; at the children playing, at the students that are laughing with each other and the businessmen that are resting on the benches. Would they be here if you'd never worked for us? If we hadn't introduced you to our world?"
"You had other agents."
"None quite like you."
"No, I don't suppose just any parent would give up their child for the sake of their country."
"You know it wasn't just your age. You were brilliant." A pause. "You are brilliant. Alan wishes-"
"I don't care."
"You were made for this. No other agent has your records. No other agent has your experience. You've yet to truly fail a mission. You're too good to quit."
"Then change your training. Make new 'me's. I won't always be around. It almost sounds like you are dependent on me. I'll die one day, you know. One day a shot to the heart or an injection of poison really will kill me. What will you do when I'm gone?"
"But you're still here today." She shoves her hand into her pocket, picking up something before popping it into her mouth. Peppermint. "There's a mission. We need you to-"
"No."
"Alex." Her voice is a mix of reproach and pleading.
"Give me a week, or a month." Alex stands up, stretching slightly and looks up at the blue sky. "A year, perhaps."
"Alex, we need you."
"Stop. Just... stop it." Alex turns to face his old acquaintance. Acquaintance, never a friend. Perhaps his boss as well. Sometimes. "It doesn't matter. Did you ever think of what I might need? I need a life. I've been splitting my time between work and education these last few years. I have one civilian friend left. One. Do you know how depressing that is?"
"Alex."
"Listen, I'm tired. I'm not out of my teens yet and I'm already exhausted. I need a break. I need to go and learn how to live in a different setting. I need to learn how to with my life not being in any kind of danger. You know, Tulip, you should never die without having lived yet. I just want to make up for some lost time. Catch up on what I could have been doing now. Learn how to smile at stupid jokes and lay around relaxing with friends without having a plan. I want good memories. I want to be proud of myself. I don't want any regrets, that's all."
"What you've done already is good. You've made a difference. You've saved countless lives and taken care of some of the cruellest people of our age."
"Sure, I've saved people and some parts of the world might not be here today if I hadn't done it. Taking care of the bad guys? How many of them have I killed by accident, and how many of them have I killed in cold blood? It's not what I want to remember and be remembered by."
"You could do so much more."
"Haven't I done enough? Just because I can and do have the means to do so doesn't mean I have to. There's plenty of other who have stood in silence and done nothing. This is my life and I say I need a break."
"But, Alex-"
"If I go back now, do you know what would happen?"
"Alex-"
"You don't. Personally I'm guessing that I would be one step closer to losing my sanity." A humourless laugh. "Did you ever realize that I was human too? Did you ever think that I could be broken? Were you ever concerned, concerned enough to stop using me? I'm just human. Even if it seems like I don't have any limits to what I can do, I do have some limits to how much I can take. And this is it. This is the limit. I've had enough. If I go out there in the field right now I don't know what would happen. Nothing good, I'm sure."
"A break then. A month, in Bath perhaps. It is nice there this time of the year and we already have a unit down there."
"No. I don't want you to fix me a holiday. Let me go do my own thing. I deserve my freedom, don't I? Let me have my own kind of a break for as long as I feel as I need it. Let me be the master of my own life for once. You know I can take care of myself, Mrs. Jones. I'm good at surviving and adapting and I do have enough money for a holiday with no work."
"I suppose so. Alan won't be pleased but if you're certain..."
"I am."
A sigh.
"When can we expect you back?"
"You know me, I can never stay away for too long."
"No, you have had problems with that before, I remember. Damian Cray was never really your mission, and you were at fault for ending up in Kenya."
"True, true. Knowing me I'll already be in trouble the next time I call."
Alex nods towards Mrs. Jones.
"Mrs. Jones."
"Alex."
He smiles. It's small, and perhaps a bit bitter, but it's there.
"Hasta la vista, Mrs. Jones."
The teenager walks away with a backpack dangling from his shoulder. He has an athletic body and his looks are handsome enough. His blond hair and his startlingly serious brown eyes are not easily forgotten. He holds himself with confidence, as if nothing could rock his world. Yet, he seems weary, as if he is a real-life incarnation of Atlas. If you look closely enough you'll find a collection of scares on him. Worthy of note is a thin white scar on the right side of his neck, likely from a knife, and his left hand that is peppered with a series of small white scars, almost as if something tore off scattered pieces of his hand.
There are others; a gunshot scar, burns and wounds that were left untreated for too long. His body is the remnants of a battle field. The teenager, or perhaps it is the young man, has lived a life of danger for far too long. Change however is inevitable. Soon, something really has got to go.
No one will ever know the full story of Alex Rider. Some of it has already been lost in memory and time. Some of it has not happened yet. The past will never return. The future is always reborn.
Every step he takes brings about change and shows him his path.