Little White Lie

It had only been a harmless dare; a rebellious act of defiance against his guardian, simply just to revel in the joy of doing something he'd been expressly forbidden to. But somehow, nine-year-old Alex Rider has managed to stumble across Ian's most dangerous secret… and he isn't quite sure how he's supposed to deal with it. Mini-fic.

DISCLAIMER: Owning nothing…

Chapter One

"Alex, I really think this is not a good idea," a small whiny voice said for the umpteenth time, ten feet below from where he lounged. He was lying with two feet propped up against a tree branch in an attempt to coax his friend, Tom, to join him and that it was perfectly safe. He was having no such luck.

"Tom, you were the one who started this," Alex said, unable to hide the exasperation from his voice. "Don't you ever want to see what he hides in his office?" He leaned down a bit to look his friend in the eye, catching hazel with dark brown, but the act caused the branch to wobble precariously. Tom gave a terrified sort of squeak.

"I know Alex but – you know adults, they just keep papers and books and stuff in their office, what else could there be?" Tom offered weakly.

"There could be a U.F.O. or something stashed away in the cupboard! For all the secrecy he maintains, there's got to be something," Alex retorted, his patience beginning to thin. "Stop whining and get up here will you?"

"I dared you to break into his office," Tom sniped back, terrified at the prospect of climbing up the swaying branch but quite unwilling to admit his fear.

Alex took one last look at his friend and sighed. He knew a lost cause when he saw one. Still, it was too good an opportunity to miss; Jack was still out shopping and wouldn't be back until five at least. And he highly doubted Ian would return from Poland in the span of two days. No, his guardian still had the routine of going 'skiing' and collecting a new series of injuries and scars to perform before returning. Often he wondered how Ian could possibly sustain his 'cool' image while being so embarrassingly accident-prone. Just a week ago he'd returned from his trip to Beijing with a nasty gash across his cheek because he'd fallen down quite a flight of steps after drinking. Ian didn't drink, but apparently it had been necessary to ensure business went well with his clients.

"Stand guard then," Alex called out after his friend, before nimbly twisting his body so that his chest was pressed against bark, and slowly began to inch forwards.

Ian's office was located on the second-floor of their house facing the backyard, and it required an eight-digit passcode that changed every week. There were alarm systems and trick-wires lining across the threshold sometimes, and Ian would be notified every time the edge of the door left the frame. All this was of course, noted by hard experience. Today however, Alex was resorting to his final desperate attempt - to infiltrate the forbidden office through the window.

The only tree they had in their garden was conveniently located outside the box-window, with its branches stretching out towards the non-existent balcony. The trick was to calculate his momentum to the exact; any further and he would crash painfully into the window, any less and he would probably fall to a tragic death or perhaps permanent paralysis. Curiousity and fear fought for supremacy in Alex's heart, but he soon discovered the former won by a large margin.

Steeling himself, he balanced precariously at the edge of branch, which was bent strained to maximum point under his weight. Fragile dry wood creaked ominously in the backyard, earning another muffled squeal from Tom, but he ignored it. Instead he leveled his focus solely on the small ledge outside the window and took in a shallow breath, muscles tensed. Then he lounged.

His legs pushed off the branch even as it snapped with an audible crack! and Tom gave a terrified yell. For a moment he hung in the balance of gravity and weightlessness, but as the ground reached up to claim him he hooked his right arm firmly on the ledge. His muscles screamed at the strain, but Alex gritted his teeth and held on. He finally managed to haul himself up, barely balancing on the little space the ledge provided. He spared a moment to look down and flash Tom a thumbs-up sign. His friend's face was ashen. He couldn't really blame him.

Heart still racing from adrenaline, Alex carefully ran his fingers around the window. It seemed as though Ian had neglected security on this part; there were no alarm wires lined around it save the one connected to the mainstream which circuit ran through the entire house. It was turned off at the moment.

Taking a leaf out of Ian's book, he extracted the tools from his pocket (ironically enough, a present from Ian) and picked the lock with sufficient ease. A moment later, he had landed lightly in the oddly quiet room that was Ian's forbidden office.

X

There was no one in sight, but for some reason Alex seemed to hold his breath as silently dropped onto the floor from the open window. There was a strange aura in the room, and every glance around the office had his conscious mind repeating illegal, illegal, forbidden in a mixture of fear and reverence. He felt strangely elated, excited even – at finally managing to outsmart Ian; few people ever got past his uncle. His guardian was careful that way.

The office looked much the same as it had been the first time he'd been allowed to look. The walls and ceiling were painted a darker shade of pastel, a polished wood table facing the door and a soft black leather chair. A single cupboard stood off in the corner. There were four desk drawers with an individual lock each, but Alex didn't have to try them to know that they were locked. Ian's laptop was there too, its silver lid snapped shut against mahogany.

The colours that painted the office were considered warm and harmonized, but there was a cold draught in the room where Alex stood, eyes assessing. An odd chill crept through the cold tiles to his toes and up his spine and spread to his fingers, and he moved away from the window to Ian's desk.

In truth, Alex had managed to obtain Ian's laptop password just three days before Ian left for Poland. It had been approaching dawn then, and he'd woken up from a bad dream with thirst clawing in his throat. With the intent of getting a drink, Alex had crept downstairs but he paused at the landing when he saw Ian slumped over at the dining table.

It was clear that Ian was completely worn out – his head rested heavily against his uninjured arm, and his hurt leg was held stiffly at an uncomfortable angle. Alex suspected the pain was preventing his uncle from moving to his room without creating a huge fuss. And funnily enough, Ian's mouth was hanging slightly open as he slept on.

Alex had barely given the scene much thought before he had snuck back into his room, grabbed his digital camera and zoomed in the focus, training it on Ian. Finally he had something on Ian. A devilish smile played on his lips as he took a few more pictures. The man clearly wasn't as perfect as he thought!

It seemed a bit of a waste to leave it at that, so Alex proceeded to the video settings. Start: video record. Alex grinned and pressed the OK button. He hoped Ian would snore.

To his disappointment, Ian immediately twitched slightly, indicating he was about to wake. Sighing, Alex left his camera balanced precariously on the railing and chose to skip down the steps, a little louder than usual.

"Good morning Ian," he said brightly.

Ian looked up, but the pain and fatigue in piercing azure momentarily caught Alex off guard. Alex felt his smile falter slightly, but he stuck out his tongue to cover it up, before entering the kitchen. When he went upstairs with a glass of water in hand, camera in the other, he reflected on Ian's expression and pondered over it. There was just something he couldn't quite place. It couldn't have been fear…

Sub-consciously Alex had reviewed the video, grinning at Ian slumped over beside him laptop. He pressed the fast-forward button after Ian woke and pulled his laptop towards him to start working again. It was towards the last minute that Alex realized, with a jolt of his heart – he had caught Ian typing his laptop password on camera.

He had spent hours reviewing the video; now he knew the passcode by heart. It was a series of numbers with odd alphabets interjected in between, seemingly in complete random number, but Alex knew there was a pattern. He would need next week's password for further analysis, but right now he had what he needed.

Heart in his mouth, Alex approached Ian's laptop and quickly turned it on. The screen lit up at his touch. Please enter password for user IR.

Without hesitation Alex quickly keyed in the code and pressed ENTER. The keys in the password were arranged vaguely in a pattern of a Celtic symbol for fire in the keyboard. The mouse icon whirled in a circle, before finally permitting access. Welcome user. He was in!

Fighting down a triumphant whoop, Alex took to scanning through the files. Most of them required another passcode to view, which irked Alex immensely. Fifteen minutes passed and he was still yet to discover something out of the ordinary of Ian's laptop. The next ten minutes he spent on trying to infiltrate the drawers. The locks proved even more stubborn and complicated, and the only one he managed to pick revealed an empty drawer.

Frustrated, Alex returned to the laptop, sulking. He clicked on the last icon, hardly expecting anything – but there, out from the recycle bin a file popped up on screen, available for viewing. It was titled '09RC. BJG' '. He didn't know what RC stood for, but he guessed that 09 meant the month – and BJG was Beijing.

He clicked on the file and stared at the screen, puzzled. A picture of a dark-haired Chinese man stared back at him, eyes thinned to slits, lips pulled into a mirthless smile. There was a name available below; Zhao Kay Feng. There was a strange scar running down the side of his neck, where the skin was pale and raw.

Alex scrolled down the page, scanning through lists of details when the name of a bar caught his eye. It wrote 'known to frequent Shang Jie Bar.' Alex felt something click in his mind as he recalled his last conversation with Ian –

"You're back."

"Fortunately."

"In one piece?"

"Unfortunately, not quite." There was a hidden wince in the tight lines of Ian's features. The bloody gash running down his face was hardly invisible.

"Let me see," Alex said sarcastically, "you got involved in a car accident – "

"Not exactly," Ian remarked, sounded slightly amused. "I fell down a flight of steps. Drank a shot too much at Shang Jie's Bar. I knew I shouldn't have let them persuade me."

It had been Shang Jie's Bar alright, Alex was certain of it.

But who was this man? Zhao didn't look like a man who dealt with business; for all he looked he seemed like the leader of a gang. Could Ian possibly be dealing with clients like these in Beijing? Well that would certainly explain the injuries.

He scrolled down to the last page, and there – printed in small but bold red font he read the word 'OVER'.

For the next few days Alex kept mostly to himself, constantly trying to solve the enigma that was Ian Rider.

It still brought him a chill when he thought of it. He'd looked up Zhao; there were hardly any records on him, but he managed to find a small article on the man from a local Chinese newspaper. Apparently the man had been killed in a brawl, and his death was dated fifteenth. Ian had returned from Beijing the very next day.

Had it really been a coincidence? But why would Ian store information on Zhao in his laptop? Why did the name Shang Jie Bar crop up again? Most importantly, what did 'OVER' mean?

Tom refused to talk to him at school, opting to only communicate by grunts and one-worded answers. Apparently he was still angry at being left behind standing guard in the backyard when Alex was the one who invited him over. Alex didn't know how to deal with it; he wasn't sorry – Tom himself had refused to scale the tree – so he'd settled himself to a few more days of hostile silence. After all, he knew Tom never bore grudges for long.

On the down side, his attention kept wandering, even when he was out on field. As a result he'd missed a goal during his match. Luckily he'd been able to pull upfront with two consequent goals, but it had been a close shot. Jack had bought him a triple scoop ice-cream to celebrate his victory, and Tom was in such high spirits that he forgot his hostility towards Alex.

The fifth day of his discovery came with the arrival of Ian Rider, back from his trip to Poland. He walked in the dining room when Alex was cleaning up the rest of the pot roast Jack made for dinner.

There was a short pause when both nephew and uncle surveyed each other, almost critically. Alex didn't give Ian the chance to comment on the new throbbing bruise he'd gotten on his cheekbone from football practice and broke the silence first.

"You're back," Alex commented, keeping his tone carefully neutral. His gaze trailed down to Ian's right leg which was wrapped in a cast. "…not in one piece this time, I see."

Ian gave a slight chuckle. "You could say so. I was – "

"Skiing, and you lost control and had a painful tumble," Alex snapped, suddenly angry. "Yeah, I get it."

Startled blue eyes snapped to him, piercing and demanding, but Alex didn't care. He turned away and stabbed a potato viciously, purposely not looking at Ian. He could tell his guardian wanted to say something, but there was a building tension in the atmosphere and he couldn't be bothered to relieve it.

"How was the match?"

Alex froze in mid-chew, taken aback slightly – he certainly hadn't expected Ian to remember. He opened his mouth to reply, but Jack's timely appearance saved him from answering.

"So you did remember" Jack commented with a smile, mirroring Alex's thoughts exactly. She was still wearing a kitchen apron. "They won spectacularly Ian, you really should have seen them! Alex was brilliant," she added, ruffling the younger boy's hair affectionately, causing him to scowl.

Ian nodded slightly, sending Alex a cursory glance. "Perhaps – "

"It's okay," Alex cut in for the second time that day, rather frostily. "You already promised next time Ian."

He finished his potato, grabbed his plate and left for kitchen to wash the dishes, ignoring the gaze burning holes in his back.

Xxxxx

It wasn't wise to antagonize Ian Rider.

That he knew, and he had learnt the hard way about talking back to his guardian – or being rude to anyone at all in general. Ian did not deliver blows, nor did he subject Alex to painful spanking often – though he would hardly forget his first and last experience – he just simply ignored the boy. There was once when Ian had simply left home even though he'd just returned from India without informing his nephew, and all day round no caretakers turned up. The refrigerator was devoid of food, even Alex's money had been taken. He'd been forced to survive off his classmates (Tom especially) and he earned his lunch mostly by dares and bets among his peers. He'd always been a fast runner.

Alex's classmates thought it was fun living without an adult. "You could stay up all night if you wanted to," they told him. They failed to understand why Alex was not excited at the prospect of having the house to himself, or that he had the freedom to go wherever he wanted to without Ian's restrictions. They seemed unable to grasp the point that that was Alex's life in general, and that he was tired of living alone. The times when his guardian came home were few; that Ian would sacrifice them for the sake of punishment made his heart burn with something more than anger. Ian couldn't help the business trips; that he could.

But well, this time Ian Rider was hardly viable to go anywhere, Alex reasoned to himself. Ian's leg was already wrapped in a cast, and he was pretty certain Ian's shoulder was hurt somehow; his posture had been rigidly stiff when he moved. And besides, he wasn't six anymore. Even more importantly, he didn't need any caretakers; he had Jack. Unless Ian Rider decided to fire her, there wasn't much else he could do to make Alex miserable.

Still, he felt oddly fidgety as he crawled into bed and buried his face firmly in his pillow, trying to pretend everything was normal when it wasn't. He was sure Ian wouldn't notice; he wouldn't know. But normally on such evenings he would still be downstairs, fighting off sleep and pretending to struggle with his homework while he taunted and jabbed at his uncle good-naturedly across the table.

A moment later the something prickly stabbing him slowly inside was beginning to get harder to ignore, and he was soon suspecting the culprit to be guilt. Though that didn't quite make sense – what had he done wrong? Aside from being cold and more than a little rude? Ian had been asking for it; he had lied right to his face, and Ian was a raging hypocrite for forbidding him to do the same. He could see it now, something years of observations and analysis had taught him – the subtle difference between Ian's smile and the one that reflected in his eyes. The thin line between a blatant, outright lie and not telling the whole truth. Why couldn't Ian tell him what really happened? Did he still treat him as a child?

But what was the truth? His guardian was a contract killer? Just because the man Zhao had died coincidentally the day before Ian left for London, and they'd probably met at Shang Jie's didn't mean Ian was responsible for his death. Even Ian's story seemed more believable. Or perhaps Ian was dealing with shadier figures in the society. Perhaps backdoor tax reduction? The latter was probable given Ian's claim at working in an overseas financial bank, and of course Ian would want to keep it from him… but that didn't seem quite right either. He couldn't imagine uptight and perfectly law-abiding Ian Rider dabbling in anything less than legal.

Upstairs, there was the sound of a door opening, punctuating the stagnant silence. Alex sat half-upright, straining his ears, but he couldn't hear anything else. There was a soft muffled sound that could have been footsteps, but for all he knew he could have imagined it.

For a moment Alex considered going out. He pushed off the covers and walked to the other end of the room to put on his slippers even though he normally wouldn't have bothered with it. But then as he reached for the doorknob, he heard a loud click of the switch. The crack of light under his door disappeared and his room was plunged back into darkness.

Alex gave up and walked back to his bed, where he lay down and stared at the ceiling. He imagined he heard footsteps pause outside his bedroom door, but he couldn't be bothered to check. It was probably nothing anyway.

He listened quietly for a full moment, and finally he heard the door upstairs snap shut. Alex rolled over his bed and walked towards his desk. He switched on the lamp and drew out the drawer with one hand. The newspaper cutting of Zhao's picture stared right back at him. Under the dim light the words 'accident' and 'death' seemed to stand out to him, and Alex snapped the drawer shut again with determination in his eyes.

If Ian wasn't going to be honest with him, Alex just had to find his own way into his secret.

A/N: I've been trying to regain inspiration to continue my other WIPs, Last One Standing especially as I feel guilty for leaving you guys so long. This has been an idea I've had for a long time; no worries though, it's a mini-fic and will have 9 or 10 chapters tops. I finally wrote this out in the faint hopes that I'll get back my flow for writing in the AR fandom, goodness knows it's been a very long time. Hope you liked it!

Please review! :)