A/N: I'm not sure how this is going to turn out. It was just a passing thought, though I don't really have any idea where it is going. Any ideas are welcome.
DISCLAIMER: I don't not own Alex Rider, or any characters/places invented by Anthony Horowitz.
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Previously:
"Never call a target by it's real name. It personalizes him it opens a door into his life and, when the time comes, it may remind you what you are doing and make you hesitate."
"You saved my life," he said.
Hunter considered, "To take a life and save a life with one bullet. . . That's not bad going"
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The helicopter didn't take long to come when the signal had been sent from Hunter's mobile.
Only a few minutes.
Scorpia had been circling the area for a while now, waiting for their men to emerge from the deadly depths of the Amazon Jungle.
The has received the signal at two in the morning, from a clearing 40 miles west of what had been their current location. Now they were half way across the Atlantic ocean, on their way back to Malagosto.
Hunter was strangely withdrawn during the journey. Cossack, the younger man, had known Hunter long enough to sense the English man's unease.
"Hunter?" He said tentatively.
A grunt of recognition from Hunter showed that Cossack had gained his attention.
"You ok?" the young Russian ventured. Hunter gave a curt nod, showing that he didn't want to talk any longer.
Cossack sat back in his seat and listened to the vibrations of the helicopter, moving swiftly through the sky.
Hunter was the only person he had, and, it seemed strange for one of the nest Scorpia assassins, Cossack had become quite fond of the man. Even Cossack found it hard to understand. He hadn't felt any emotions for anyone in years.
Trying to put Hunter out of mind, he thought of what he was going to buy with the money that Scorpia would give him in a brown envelope almost the moment he got back. He had a car, one of the best, and was presently happy with the state of his living quarters, even if Scorpia was low on space at the moment and he had to share. At least it was with someone he liked. He could think of nothing he wanted. Perhaps a new gun was the best option after all.
Land came into view just out of the window.
Europe.
It wouldn't be long until they were home. If that's what you'd call the island just off the south of Italy.
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Touch down.
Even though Hunter and Cossack had been sent the best pilot, the ground meeting the helicopter was not a nice sensation. Hunter grimaced at the Russian lad he felt like a father to, and gestured for the boy to get out.
Cossack jumped out of the craft gracefully. He had the body of a professional dancer. Lean and strong. At a glance, you wouldn't expect him to be an assassin. It was the eyes that gave it away.
That was the first thing that had struck Hunter the first time he had seen Cossack.
His eyes.
Cold. Icy. They were not the soft blue eyes that you would expect a child to have in a fairy tale.
But then again, the man's life had been nothing like a fairy tale. He had grown up on the streets of Moscow, for Heaven's sake. If that didn't hurt you mentally, nothing did. . .
Hunter climbed out after his comrade. Being the older of the two, Hunter did not show off. He merely jumped down, a bored expression lingering on his handsome face. He too had eyes of a wary solider.
Several people were talking to him at once. He held up a grubby hand (he so wanted a hot shower) and they all fell silent. Without a word, he pointed at one of the men, signally that they could speak.
"Sir, you and Cossack are required to attend a full check up at the Medical Block before your debriefing with Mrs Rothman." A curt nod from Hunter showed that the man was dismissed.
Another man, taller and slimmer than the one who had just spoken to Hunter hurriedly, strode forwards. He had authority. He did not need to wait for Hunter to tell him to speak. It was natural. They just fell into step beside each other.
"I trust all went well, Rider." the man knew the answer already. Hunter, or John Rider as he was known to the higher members of Scorpia, had never failed yet, "Yeah. Nothing too serious. Only an unfortunate incident with a Black Widow." Hunter turned to give Cossack a grin. It was returned weakly, "But all resolved."
"Good, good." came the reply, "Don't be too long. Rothman won't be pleased if you keep her waiting."
"I know." Hunter said, taking the extended hand and shaking it vigorously.
Hunter and Cossack separated from the man as they walked over to the Medical Block. Hunter shoved his hands in his pockets moodily. It was common knowledge that he hated this place, so he wasn't afraid to show it.
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"I don't want them." Hunter protested.
Cossack sighed, still pressing the clean lien to his throat, almost crushing his wind pipe. The chief doctor was trying to persuade Hunter to take some sleeping pills to take every night. Cossack knew that Hunter suffered from insomnia, especially after a mission. He looked shattered even now.
"You need them." Cossack commented, knowing he probably wasn't helping the situation. That was the fun of it.
"Stay out of this." Hunter commanded. Cossack merely shrugged.
"Rider," The medic spoke patronisingly, "Just take the damn pills. Rothman, and other members of the board, know about your condition. If you refuse to take medication, I will inform them, and you are unlikely to be employed again until you cooperate. No one wants the famous John Rider to hurt himself."
Hunter snatched the bag of pills, "Fine." he spat.
Cossack stifled at chuckle.
The medic turned to him, "Not much I can do I'm afraid. You're incredibly lucky that you have suck a quick-thinking partner, or you'd be dead already. You want pain killers?"
"No." Cossack replied, he knew he was lucky, "I can cope with the pain. It's only my body telling me that something is wrong. But I already know that."
The medic gave Cossack an approving nod as Hunter snorted in disgust. Cossack looked very smug at this. The medic didn't notice, "It will heal quickly. Just don't do anything strenuous. I don't want to see either of you in here for at least a week. Take a break for God's sake."
Both men nodded. Though neither meant it.
If you lived on Malagosto you had no breaks. There was always someone there, for revenge, for shear thrill. The reasons didn't matter, but there was always someone who wanted a fight.
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"A close call." commented Julia Rothman from across the desk. Hunter was sick of hearing this. Every time he came from a mission she would say it. She had just finished reading both reports on how the mission had gone, "I am impressed, John." She said, using the man's first name deliberately. He winced. She knew he hated it, "Quite a little hero." He winced at this too. Little, he thought incredulously, I'm flipping 6ft 2. "It seems that once again somebody owes you their life."
Cossack shifted in his seat. Nobody paid him any attention.
"And you are sure of the Commander's death." she asked, not looking up.
"Yes." Hunter spoke coldly. Of course the man was dead. He wouldn't have bothered coming back if he wasn't. he would have just killed himself somewhere quietly in the corner. To save himself a very painful death, and Scorpia the trouble.
"And Yassen," The young man looked up questioning the woman with his eyes. She could not help but shiver. "You still want your job?"
"Yes." Cossack also spoke coldly, "Why wouldn't I?"
"Some trainees find their first kill difficult to deal with. But apparently not you, Mr Gregorovitch." Rothman shook his hand across the desk. He gripped her hand tightly and she flexed it under the desk when she, rather quickly, withdrew it, "Well done." she said sarcastically.
Hunter took his envelope with a small sigh, "We knew he wasn't going to quit, Rothman." He said quietly, "He's far too good for that."
Cossack felt a small surge of pride. Hunter never said anything he didn't mean.
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Cossack was searching the internet intently for something (probably a new gun, if Hunter knew him well enough) while Hunter sat watching the TV. They had to share an apartment, but it didn't really matter. It their relationship, if that's what you wanted to call it, slightly stronger. There were no secrets between them as far as Cossack was concerned.
"I S'pose I can call you John now?" Cossack asked, in flawless English. Hunter didn't expect anything less from the man he'd trained himself. Even though the question sounded slightly childish.
"S'pose." John replied absent-mindedly from the sofa. He was playing with something in his hands. Cossack ignored this. It was normal for Hunter. . . John he corrected, himself to be fiddling with something. The man was incredibly impatient. And he could never sit still. That annoyed Cossack, but it wasn't his place to say anything.
In truth, John wasn't watching the TV at all. He was using it as an excuse. And he wasn't really impatient. He was just putting it on, so when he was fiddling with something he didn't want Yassen to see, the Russian wouldn't even notice it, because it was so normal. John had tried to explain that to someone over the phone, but it hadn't worked. Nevertheless, he understood it.
In truth, John didn't even work for Scorpia.
The piece of paper had been given to him by Alex Fletcher, the tall man who had met the agents off the helicopter. He had given the scrap of paper to his colleague when they had shaken hands. And Yassen had been oblivious to the whole thing. It was what was written on the paper that was keeping John occupied.
John,
MI6 can pull you out. Just give me the say-so and everything will be organised. Hang in there.
Alex.
Before going on his last mission, John had reluctantly confided in his 'friend'he was beginning to find this too much. He wanted to get back home to Helen. To his friends. His family. In his mind, he wanted a normal life. But that was pushing it. There was no way Blunt would leave him alone.
John smiled to himself. Blunt wouldn't leave him alone because he was too good at his job.
The problem was, did he really want to go back. He was torn. Between someone who felt like family, but wasn't and the real thing. He knew what he should do. MI6 had enough information, so he couldn't use them as an excuse.
He thought about what Ian would say. Ian would say come home, maybe even without hesitation. John could even imagine his older bother's voice in his head.
Yes. It was time to go. . .
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A/N: Thanks for reading. Please review. I am happy to take criticism and please point out anything I have done wrong. Thanks!