Disclaimer: I do not own Alex Rider, nor do I own Burn Notice, from which I got the idea of having Alex Rider get "burned".

Author's Note: I'm pretty proud of this idea, mostly because I haven't read another AR story like it. I'm not saying there isn't one, but I am unaware of it. I am assuming there are no recent ones, seeing as I'm pretty up-to-date on Alex Rider fics. I know the prologue is short, but it's necessary and I think it makes a better impact by itself (if it makes an impact at all). The point is, subsequent updates will be longer. Thank you to anyone who decides to read this, and please review! Everyone was so nice with reviewing my last one-shot, and I really appreciated it.

Don't Burn the Day

Prologue:

It's unfortunate, Alan Blunt thinks.

He stares down at the file in front of him. He's read it over twice. He's been on several phone calls for the past six hours, and he's read and reread the explicit instructions for any signs of a loophole. The fact is, there's just no way around it. It has to be done.

Tulip Jones is sitting across from him, her lips pursed in displeasure. She's been getting rather fired up over this issue, Blunt recalls. Not that he cares. He closes the file in front of him and takes a sip from the glass of water on his desk.

Unfortunate, indeed.

"It has to be done," Blunt decides finally. "It's quite simply out of our hands."

"I understand that," Mrs. Jones practically snaps. "I don't have to like it, do I?"

"Whether you like it or not has no affect," Blunt assures her coolly. "Where is he?"

"The hospital. Still recovering."

"Injuries?" Blunt inquires without much interest.

Mrs. Jones pauses to unwrap a peppermint before informing her superior, "Dislocated shoulder, bruised ribs, and a limp left over from the stab wound five months ago. Stress was put upon the injury, but the doctor says he will walk normally in a couple of weeks. He can be discharged two days from now, as long as nothing goes wrong."

"Nothing bad, then," Blunt dismisses.

Mrs. Jones grits her teeth.

"Tell Crawley I want this to happen in two days, right from the hospital."

Blunt looks up, and Mrs. Jones nods.

"Good," he says, his voice a clear dismissal. Mrs. Jones stands up and makes to leave.

Blunt watches Jones' retreating back. Just as she is opening the door, he clears his throat.

"You realize it's nothing personal," he says.

Mrs. Jones turns back towards him, nods stiffly, and leaves.

Nothing personal.

Alex Rider is a machine.

A nineteen-year-old machine, used nonstop for five years with a flawless record. It's the best idea MI6 has ever had. Alex is always at their beck and call. He's so young that he doesn't know other agents, or the normal protocol for said agents. He doesn't know about the required leave after missions, the psychiatric tests, the bonuses for particularly hazardous missions. Therefore, he gets none of these amenities.

He is inexpensive, emotionally unattached, and pre-trained.

And he's also a rather fucked-up human being. No one minds that part, really, because Alex hides it well enough. He's cold, detached, apathetic, and everything else that effectively hides what's underneath. It's so well-hidden that it's easy to ignore. So that's exactly what everyone does.

On a more personal level, Alex is doing alright. He's been a full-fledged agent ever since the age of sixteen, when he failed out of school. He was crushed at first, but it's not so bad, really. He's not only the youngest agent, but the one with the best track record and most experience. After five years, he's still a fairly well-kept secret, all things considered. Most people who find out he's a spy end up dying.

Jack was sent off to America as soon as Alex turned eighteen. It's probably better that way. They still keep in touch – Alex even visits occasionally.

Alex limps into the Royal and General, knowing Blunt and Jones are expecting him. He's surprised they're still around, after all this time. But Jones treats him alright, and at this point his interactions with Blunt are limited, although Alex is still the agent that most frequents Blunt's office.

The meeting is short and about nothing Alex doesn't know already .Everything would be normal, except that as Alex is walking out of Blunt's office, he starts to feel dizzy.

The next thing he knows, he's waking up in a hotel room.

Alex has no idea how he got there.

Yassen Gregorovich is in Dubai when he gets the call.

"Yes," he says curtly into the phone. He's sitting in an expensive restaurant in the hotel he's staying in. As he waits for the other person to speak, he spears a piece of meat and chews it methodically.

"I am calling about the matter we discussed yesterday." The voice is distinctly English and distinctly that of an older man.

Yassen puts down his fork and leans back in his chair. "I'm listening."

"Are you interested in partaking?"

"Do you have a date?"

"Eight days from now."

Yassen smiles thinly. "Do you have the situation with MI6 under control? I don't want to have to sort out undercover spies along with everything else."

The man chuckles. "MI6 won't be bothering us. Trust me, I don't think MI6 will be able to do anything."

This captures Yassen's attention. He deliberately keeps his voice even as he inquires, "You have a reliable source?"

"Yes."

There's a long pause, as Yassen considers, although his mind is mostly made up already. He takes a sip of water, staring down at the clear liquid before placing the glass back down on the table. Waiting never hurts anyone.

"I will be in London in five days," Yassen finally says into the phone. "I will contact you."

"Very good," the man says.

Yassen hangs up and stares down at his food thoughtfully.

The situation with MI6 might merit a deeper inquiry, he considers. Yassen's thoughts are drawn to Alex Rider, as they often are. He hasn't run into the boy in several years – at least, as far as the boy knows. There is no doubt Yassen has been looking closer into Alex than he probably should. Yassen wonders if the boy has figured out that Yassen isn't dead.

Not a boy, he corrects himself. Alex is nearing twenty, after all.

Yassen flags down the waiter with the slightest nod of his head. He slips his phone into his pocket and returns to his room. Once in his room, he pours himself a drink and sits in the chair by the balcony. He sips the scotch and his thoughts return to Alex Rider.

So, there it is… a new story. Don't worry, this isn't going to be a carbon copy of Burn Notice. I merely took the idea of a spy getting burned. Although Alex will be wondering why he got burned. Please review!