Alex stood firm. He had made his decision, and it was only his to make. Jack had argued with him- no, not exactly argued. It was more of a discussion where she pointed out all the cons to his decision. But in the end, she had supported him.
It honestly did make sense, in a way. She had truly been more upset that it had come to this than anything else, that it truly was almost necessary. She had gotten angry, and Alex had then had to calm her down as well as he could.
Now, he was in the Principals office at Brooklands, for the last time. He was giving up on trying to be normal anymore. MI6 would provide a tutor for him in between missions and training. He would complete school on his own time.
MI6 had done all the paperwork, gotten all the permissions signed and whatnot. Today was Alex's last day, and he had been pulled aside soon after walking through the doors. Now he was facing a gauntlet of rather confused and disgruntled teachers, who apparently had not bought the 'terrible illness' line MI6 had touted.
Alex had had no idea that any one of his teachers had been so worried for him, or really given him an extra thought. Gentle (at least compared to some he'd experienced, his gauge wasn't the same as most others) questioning followed, and he had deflected and misdirected as well as he could, wondering why those omniscient-when-convenient people he 'worked' for weren't here to help.
He gazed dully for a moment at the off-white ceiling, then let his view flicker on the various plants around the room, naming them and their practical uses in his head for 'fun' as he awaited the next line of questioning.
He was tired, still a bit in pain from his last joy filled adventure that involved explosions, knives, guns, and very disgruntled bulls. All the teen wanted to do was get his stuff out of his locker and go home before he was bombarded with questions from curious students addicted to the tales of Scuttlebutt over why he was leaving for good.
It had been Ms. Vera's question, or statement rather, that almost pushed him over the edge, "Alex, you are, whether you believe us or not, still a child. And we want to help you. Will you let us?"
Alex had wanted to laugh at that. Help him? A child? That was a laugh riot. If they only knew how many times he had helped (read: saved) them. And his childhood had been forsaken for it. In the name of 'the greater good'.
True, he had clung to the false idea that he could do both, be both an adult and a teen, but in the end there was no way to truly do so. Had there been any room to compromise, he could have allowed himself to be a strange mixture of adult and not. But 'not' had a way of getting him in trouble on missions, and he couldn't afford it.
Now, after all these very long months, he had been brave enough to admit it. He was an adult wearing the mask of a teen. A far older mind stuck (cursed) in a young body.
He turned his attention to encompass all the occupants in the room.
"If I were truly a child, Ms. Vera," he stated softly, "then perhaps I would require your help. As I am no longer a child, there is nothing you or anyone can do. Thank you for your misplaced concern, but I must clear out my locker now. Good day."
And with that he finally managed to slip out the door, leaving behind confused grownups, who in a way were younger than the boy-man who had just left for good.
My first Alex Rider fanfic. No, I don't own Alex Rider or anything like that.
I imagine this as sometime after Snakehead, but you can place wherever you like.