Series: Alex Rider

Pairings: A little bit of Alex/Kaito and Hakuba/Kaito, in the way that KID loves his innuendo and veiled flirting.

Warnings: Is it wrong to blame a recent natural disaster on SCORPIA? They had planned to stage a tsunami anyway. KID. In drag again. For the whole story. C4. Ambiguous plot points.

A/N: The first of what will hopefully be a full month of Magic Kaito crossover oneshots. A friend suggested that the black organization could be SCORPIA, and I ran with it. Set two years after Crocodile tears but pretending that M16 would actually give Alex more than a week at a time off, let alone two years. But it was the only way he was waltzing straight into the lion's den. Line about the scorpion stinging itself taken from the pilot of Macguyver. So. Who out there's read Alex Rider anyway?

A Common Enemy

It was more than a little unnerving, Alex thought as he casually sipped from a flute of pink, disgustingly sweet champagne and smiled obligingly at the punch line to a presumably humorous anecdote that he hadn't actually bothered to listened to all that closely, strolling back into the scorpion's nest with only a bit of red hair dye and a dusting of painted on freckles across his nose and cheeks, the faintest Irish color to his vowels and a semi-modest two year retirement from a life of espionage to – hopefully – make any memory of him and his work vague and blurry to those that might still wish him dead.

He hadn't been dragged off to a dark corner and quietly garroted yet in any case, so he was already doing quite well by all accounts. Though he had yet to manage anything more devious than evade the amorous advances of an heiress from Brigby with forearms as thick as his neck and a shiny mouth of metal that looked particularly menacing whenever she smiled at him from across the room.

"They're pooling an awful lot of their resources into Japan as of late and we want to know why." Mrs. Jones had explained, sucking on her ever present peppermint candy and Alan Blunt blessedly absent from the meeting. "There's a Haiti earthquake charity ball being held in Tokyo by a Chris Vineyard later this week, who we have reason to believe holds a relatively influential place in the organization – yes." She'd interjected briskly when Alex made a motion to say something smart concerning irony and perhaps also involving the word 'hypocrite'. "We find the idea as preposterous as you no doubt do, but Miss Vineyard is an actress of veritable esteem among high society and as such has a certain type of image to uphold. We've confirmed that at least half of the current administrative board will be present at that party and so we want you there as well, Alex."

Alex beat a hasty tempo across her desk with his fingernails. "I don't speak Japanese." He'd reminded her, unnecessarily. Remarking that he'd quit already would have proven far more superfluous, so he hadn't bothered. He had learned a little something about futility during his time with MI6, if nothing else.

"And we don't expect you to." She'd said agreeably enough as she unwrapped another peppermint. "The party is being held in Japan, but some people can prove to be a tad particular concerning raw fish so all of the food is being flown in. And all of the guests as well." Her lips had twisted upward in a rare show of humor. "I believe that the most exotic person you are likely to come across there is a gentleman who was born originally in Camden Town."

Excusing himself discreetly and relinquishing his still half full glass to the platter of a passing server, Alex maneuvered his way through the guests in a charmingly vague manner – polite enough not to catch anyone's ire but dull enough not to catch their interest either – and disappeared up the carpeted stairs to the back of the building before anyone would even think to question him as to his motives.

Alex climbed two flights without stopping and skirted past a half a dozen unlocked doors on the next level before stopping to kneel at the keyhole of one partially hidden by a curtain in a recess in the wall. He moved to unscrew a piece from his watch that held a needle thin dropper of Smither's own metal corrosive to eat through the lock when the soft squeal of hinges distinctly near prompted him to glance up rather quickly not at the elegant mahogany door that he'd been expecting but a soft, white chiffon skirt. A skirt that belonged to a young, faintly amused looking girl who was carefully tucking a hairpin back into her expertly done up-do before offering him a hand gloved in equally immaculate white silk. He hesitated only the briefest moment before taking it. If he was going to die as a sneak, after all, he'd much rather not do so on his knees.

"Let me guess." She said as he brushed the wrinkles out of his trousers, voice pretty and clear, like bells, and that Cheshire smile that never left her face. "You're looking for the bathroom? Well good." She continued, hardly allowing him a moment to draw a breath, let alone answer, relinquishing her grip on his hand only to hook her arm through his and pull him to her hip in an overly familiar manner. "So am I. Shall we find it together?" Again, not waiting for an answer, she tugged him back into the room she had just come from. "Were you hoping to melt the lock?" She asked, kicking the door shut behind them with a rather perilous looking heel. "Only it's just about as obvious as leaving behind a calling card and, if you're going to leave behind something like a calling card anyway why not just stick with the card, I figure."

Alex looked down dazedly at the watch mechanism still clutched in one hand before hastening to replace it. "I had planned to." He admitted after a moment, seeing no real point in refuting the matter at this point. "Of course, I hadn't planned on being abducted by a completely barmy girl either, so you can see how well my plans seem to have panned out so far."

"As plans so often do." She agreed, hardly seeming to take offense at the inference as to her sanity or lack thereof, leading him over to an already open safe set on the floor in the middle of the otherwise empty room and crouching down to hand him several generic looking packages before taking two for herself. "I was planning on dragging my date away from where he was no doubt exchanging veiled, semi-threatening barbs with our esteemed host to help me crate these out, but I figure that you'll do well enough in a pinch." She finished with an over exaggerated wink in his direction, plucking at his elbow once more to navigate the two of them back out, and pausing only to shut and lock the door (with that hairpin of hers making its reappearance) behind them.

He quietly watched her slot the pin back into place, shifting the boxes into a more manageable position in his arms and tried to figure out whether he'd seen her face before in the sea of people below. There was something distinctly feline about her features and it wasn't just in the light, padding steps she took across the hallway – beckoning him to follow with a coy little finger wave – or the way she titled her head to the left to listen at a doorjamb before uncovering a smaller, more modest set of stairs that were likely there for the hired help. It was only dimly lit but he managed to keep close behind her, trailing after the faint red glow of her jeweled white lace choker necklace, the even fainter yet encompassing, nearly comforting, white ephemeris of her overall ensemble.

Alex felt as if his own steps were almost lumbering in comparison. Perhaps he was simply out of practice, but this girl was practically a ghost. A very corporal ghost, Alex came to realize as she stopped short suddenly and he couldn't help but jostle her a bit, and there was something in the curve of her collarbone and the delicate bones in her wrists as she traced a crudely carved scorpion in the wall to her right with an index finger that struck Alex as…

"I was told there weren't any Japanese on the guest list." He said as she once again took up their little game of follow the leader, wondering idly just how far down she was planning to take them. "Though you speak English well enough that I doubt many would notice without paying particular attention to you, which considering what you're up to now, I sincerely doubt you would have given anyone half the chance."

She paused at the foot of the stairs, mostly swallowed up by the encroaching shadows now but for her necklace and eyes, shining faintly in the dark and so blue they were almost purple. "I was the plus one." She admitted after a moment. "They thought it funny to invite the police commissioner's son to dabble in their affairs and so he thought it funny to bring a thief as his date."

"A thief?" Alex echoed back, the image in his head not reconciling itself terribly well with the one before him.

She was sulking now, cheeks puffed out and eyebrows furrowed, the faintest tinge of pink to her cheeks. She almost seemed embarrassed, though she'd certainly made no secret of the matter. "Not everyone gets approached by special operations after their family dies." She defended, turning to hurry back down the narrow passageway and clearly expecting Alex to follow (he did). "Some of us had to make our own way. And I always return everything I take in the end. Most times. If it survives the transit."

Alex nearly dropped the boxes through suddenly nerveless fingers. "How did you know about—"

"People talk, Alex." She said, slanting him a look as she apparently reached the end of the journey and knelt down to arrange the boxes in a neat little semi circle, graciously taking his from him as well. "Just count yourself lucky that those self same people are all under the impression that you're dead and keep your head down and you just might live to retire for real next time." She pulled a length of wire out of pockets that Alex hadn't been aware those sorts of dresses actually had. And a bit of putty (C4, his mind supplied helpfully).

Dazedly, he watched the strange girl calmly and quite competently construct a bomb. While she gave him a lecture on self preservation, apparently. Alex wondered when his life had gotten quite so surreal.

She seemed to catch something of his incredulity in his expression and smiled up at him reassuringly. Strangely enough, it did work a bit. "I don't normally play around with something so crude – I'm really quite fond of elaborate schemes of sabotage you know." She said as she worked, molding and connecting fuses. "But the Big Bad Base is a bit harder to stick my nose in than, say, an abandoned warehouse or a playhouse running three shows a day all week and four on Sunday, and I simply don't have the time or resources for anything more interesting. Considering the hand they had in the earthquake in the first place I can think of no better time or place to send them all a message. And I have a quadratics test tomorrow besides."

College or high school Alex wanted to ask, but decided it wasn't any of his business, and he more than anyone should understand a little something about privacy. Instead he offered her a hand back up, which she took with a saucy sort of smirk, sliding what he figured for a detonator into a slim white purse that he hadn't noticed on her before. To be fair, he had been a little distracted. "What happens now?" He asked, taking the lead this time as they made their way back up to the party and making a note to inform M16 of SCORPIA's involvement in the Haiti disaster. It would be nice to bring something back to them, at least, rather than just the champagne tasting god awful.

"Have you ever seen a scorpion sting itself to death?" She said with a wicked little smile.

He glimpsed her a little later that evening, on the arm of a boy a bit taller than her and dressed rather fussily in tweed, who kept touching her elbow and leaning in to whisper her in her ear in a way that was an awful lot less sneaky than he likely thought it was. For her part she simply smiled dotingly at him and patted his cheek and led him toward the door in much the same way Alex himself had been led about earlier that night. Like a sheep to slaughter. Lemmings, off a cliff. Alex, stupidly, to secrets.

Her eyes caught his for the briefest moment and she smiled at him, brought a finger up to her lips in a shushing motion and let him witness the other hand creep meaningfully into her purse.

Alex made hastily for the exit, endeavoring to make it look like he wasn't fleeing from a bomb.

The party ended much earlier that night than anyone had expected it to. He didn't spot her or her friend (or whatever he was, Alex didn't really care to contemplate) outside in the ensuing chaos and, deciding she rather had the right idea, quickly made himself scarce as well.

He found the calling card in his coat pocket eight hours later, having spent most of that time explaining to MI6 that, no, he hadn't been the one responsible for the explosion, hadn't even known what was in those boxes that he'd been heavy handed – in an entirely nonviolent, simply extremely overbearing sort of way – into moving, and though he still hadn't the faintest idea what SCORPIA was doing in Japan he rather thought whoever it was they were doing it to had the matter well in hand.

It was blank except for the tiny cartoon scrawl of a grinning man in a top hat and monocle in the bottom right hand corner. And a name beneath it:

--Kaito KID