Chapter 1 – Laughing on the wrong side of his face

Hi! This is my first fic, so please review so I know what was good how I can improve! Also, a favourite and a follow would be appreciated! I'm going to try and update frequently, but I can't make any promises, because school starts next week!

The cold, biting wind sliced through the teenage boy's fair hair. He reached over his head and pulled up the hood of his jacket, trying to keep out the abnormally wintry air. He shoved his empty hand inside the pockets of his hoodie and stamped his feet, trying to get some warmth into his extremities. There was a scattering of snowflakes being whipped around by the harsh wind, so the boy had his eyes squinted. But through his half-closed eyes, he could see the half-open gates of Brompton Cemetery. The boy sighed, and trudged through.

He wandered along the central avenue for about ten minutes. He passed many statues of angels and the crucifix, all crumbling and weathered. Many of the angels had lost hands, arms and even heads, making them a sorry sight. Every now and again he passed small mausoleums and pillar tombs, marking the riches of the deceased inside. He ignored them and carried on walking.

Soon, he reached the newer part of the cemetery, with polished marble and granite gravestones, still intact with legible inscriptions. It was here that the boy left the central avenue and started to weave his way through the headstones. He passed wilting and dead flowers adorning most of the graves, with a few embellished with fresh flowers no more than a few days old. The boy himself was carrying two posies of wildflowers he'd bought from a small florist shop on Fulham Road. His eyes were fixed on a headstone three rows back from the main path, and about eight graves across. He continued to zig-zag his way through the stones, and then came to a halt. He squatted down next to a headstone that read:

In loving memory of Ian Rider

17thOctober 1960 - 25thMarch 2001

He was a good man. A patriotic man. He will be missed.

Alex Rider removed a bunch of dead roses from the small metal vase by the grave and replaced them with one of the posies of wildflowers. He threw the brown flowers to the side, then bowed his head, deep in thought. If only Ian had not got involved with MI6. If only Ian had left him to his childhood. If only MI6 had not roped him in...

Alex mentally chastised himself; thinking about the 'if only's' never helped anyone, especially not himself. What had happened had happened, and there was no way that it could be changed now. Nothing would change the fact that Ian Rider had been recruited by MI6, and that he had been training Alex from the moment he could walk and talk. It wasn't his uncle's fault that Alan Blunt had grabbed hold of Alex almost as soon as Ian had been killed, and had subsequently packed him off on a mission. Sure, his skills had been useful, but Alex never knew if Ian had truly been preparing him for a life of espionage, or whether he just wanted Alex to be able to protect himself from the dangers of the world. All the evidence pointed inexplicably towards the former, but Alex was always reluctant to put any blame for what had happened to him on his uncle's shoulders. He had, after all, been a good substitute for a parent for Alex, and Alex had truly enjoyed all the activities he had done, and the holidays his uncle had taken him on had been really fun. Whenever he was actually around, Ian was always up for a laugh with Alex. He remembered when he was six and he broke his ankle when he fell out of the apple tree at the bottom of the garden. Alex hadn't cried, and Ian had praised him for it.

"It's okay to cry you know, Alex." Ian had said, "But it shows true strength when one can control his emotions."

Ian had taken him to Chelsea and Westminster Hospital's children's A&E unit, where he had a cast put on. Ian had told him that it was like a special boot that gave him superpowers. He could even have people sign it if he wanted. Alex had grinned at this.

"What kind of superpowers?" he asked.

"Erm…how about super-strength in your arms?"

"Why my arms?" asked a puzzled Alex.

"Well you can't walk, so you'll have to use crutches won't you? And you have to swing your whole body forwards with them, and you need to be really strong for that! I bet you're now stronger than me!"

To illustrate his point, Ian had pulled over the table that went over the hospital bed. He had rested his elbow on the surface, and gestured for Alex to do the same. Giggling, Alex had grabbed Ian's hand, put his elbow on the table, and pushed.

Ian feigned weakness, trying to push back his nephew's hand, but to no avail; Alex had forced Ian's fist back down onto the table, then erupted with squeals of glee.

"You were right! I am super-strong now!"

Alex smiled at the memory. He had been so young, so innocent. No, more than innocent. He had been totally oblivious to what had truly been going on, and to what would be awaiting him in the future. To this that would be awaiting him. To the fact that in ten years' time, he would be kneeling at the foot of his uncle's grave, reminiscing a time when he didn't have to worry about being watched or even attacked.

Alex sighed, then pushed himself to his feet. He looked at the inscription in the headstone. Underneath the name and dates, it read 'He was a good man. A patriotic man. He will be missed.' Alex remembered the priest at his uncle's funeral saying the same words. At the time, he had been confused. His uncle? Patriotic? As far as Alex had known, Ian had barely spent any time in his country, let alone loved it. He had assumed at the time that his uncle wasn't around because of his job at The Royal and General Bank. He had been told by Crawley that his uncle had worked as the overseas finance manager, hence why he wasn't always around. Alex had already known this, but it seemed strange coming out of the mouth of this man. It shouldn't have done, as he did work with him, but it sounded odd. Already he knew that something was amiss. For starters, his uncle had always worn his seatbelt, and had made sure that Alex was fully strapped in before even turning the key in the ignition.

There had also been something off about Mr Blunt. The way he looked at Alex through his glasses made him squirm uncomfortably. Also, everything was grey. His clothes, his eyes, even his skin. There was nothing remarkable about him; he looked exactly the part of a bank chairman. His face always remained expressionless, and there was a cold, calculating part to him. That was exactly why he was so good at his job. His real job, at least.

There had also been the pistol. The driver of Alan Blunt's Rolls Royce had been carrying a pistol, concealed under his jacket. Why was there a pistol at a bank worker's funeral? Unless there were tensions with a rival bank, which was highly unlikely and would most definitely not be requiring a gun, Alex saw no reason why a bank manager's personal chauffer should be carrying an automatic pistol. Maybe the driver had it for personal protection. Alex had doubted that; when Blunt saw that Alex had noticed the pistol, something very close to an emotion slithered over his face. Was it fear? Interest? It looked more like a knowing smirk. It had confused Alex at the time, but now he understood.

Alan Blunt had known that he would come looking. Alan Blunt was ready for him to come looking. Alan Blunt wanted him to come looking. It would make his job easier; Alex would find him, so he didn't have to go find Alex.

He was shaken from his reverie by a hand on his shoulder. He jolted at the touch. Turning, he saw Sabina standing behind him. She was wrapped up warm with her huge winter coat, scarf and bobble hat. She had her face buried in her scarf to keep it from completely freezing.

Alex smiled.

"Hey Sab."

"Hey. You ready?" Sabina's voice came out muffled from behind her scarf, but Alex understood.

He nodded his head, and motioned for Sabina to make her way back to the lane that ran the length of the cemetery. She turned around and meandered her way through the headstones, back to the main path. Alex followed.

"Oh wait!" he exclaimed. "I haven't visited Jack yet."

Sabina nodded.

"Do you want me to come, or are you alright on your own?"

"I'll be okay on my own, thanks."

Alex set off along the path, passing row upon row of new headstones, until he reached an area where the stones were closer together. There were no bodies buried here, so the headstones were more tightly packed. Alex navigated his way through them, until he came to one with a gilt inscription reading:

With love we remember

Jack Starbright

12thNovember 1973 – 1stMarch 2002

Devoted friend to so many,

Her sacrifice will never be forgotten.

"Hi Jack." Alex whispered. "I really miss you."

A single tear slowly snaked its way down Alex's face, leaving a glistening track on his red cheek. He quickly raised his hand and brushed it away.

"Life's good over in America. I can see why you liked it so much." Alex continued. "But I miss living with you, I really do. The Pleasures are wonderful people, but…I want you back."

Alex fell to his knees, and covered his face with his hand. He wasn't crying – not after remembering what Ian had said. No, he wasn't crying. He was laughing on the wrong side of his face. (BBC Robin Hood reference XD)

"I'm sorry Jack," he whispered into his hand. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm so, so sorry. If only I hadn't listened to Blunt, you would still be alive. If only I had said no two years ago, you would be in Washington, I would be somewhere other than here." Alex then realised that he was going through the 'If only's' again. Inwardly chiding himself, he placed the other bunch of wildflowers in the small metal vessel by the gravestone. He straightened up, took one last look at the stone, then walked back to where Sabina was standing, by Ian's grave.

"Sorted?"

"Yeah, I think so. Do you want to go grab something to eat?"

"Sure! What about that small café by your old house? They do a mean cream tea! Plus, Mum and Dad said that they were going there for some lunch, so we can meet back up with them there."

"Great idea! Let's go."

Alex reached into Sabina's coat pocket and found her warm hand. He laced his fingers through hers and squeezed.

They started walking back the way Alex had come, back towards the entrance gate, huddled together against the cold.

So how was it? More will be explained in the coming chapters. I'm going to try and post the next chapters in the next few days, maybe a week, i'm not sure. Please review!

~Liz~