DISCLAIMER: I do not own Alex Rider, nor do I own "Simple Man". They belong to Anthony Horowitz and Lynryd Skynyrd respectively.

Simple Man

"Alex."

Alex looked up at his uncle, eyes wide. He was short compared to his uncle, which was an unfair comparison, seeing as he was only seven years old. He put down the pencil in his hand, moving his homework (which was completely in French, a language that he was just beginning to understand), "Yes, Ian?"

His uncle sat across from him, leaning awkwardly to one side. He was hurt, and Alex was the only one around to patch him up. It was a long cut, stretching from Ian's shoulder to the small part of his back. He didn't tell Alex where he had gotten it. Instead, he told Alex to grab a needle and thread, something to sterilize the wound, and a belt for him to bite down on. Alex didn't want to hurt his uncle, but Ian insisted.

"Alex, I need to tell you something. You won't understand it until you're older, but…" Ian visibly braced himself. "Listen closely, 'Lex, because I've made so many mistakes that I don't want you making."

Alex nodded, leaning forward and resting his elbows on the table.

"Take your time on the little things. Don't live too fast because you'll miss all the good stuff," Ian looked meaningfully at Alex at this, a bitter smile curving onto his face. "Troubles will always be there, and they'll always pass, alright?"

Alex nodded, tilting his head as he tried to comprehend his uncle's strange advice.

"When you get older, make sure you find love—a nice girl," Ian closed his eyes, a pained look rippling across his face. "Be a simple kind of man, promise?"

Alex didn't understand what he was agreeing to, but how could he? He wasn't damaged from life's horrors. He fiddled with a strand of his shaggy hair, "promise," he said in French.

Ian smiled, reaching over to ruffle Alex's hair, "Good kiddo," he replied in French. "Now get back to work."

Alex didn't recall his strange conversation with his uncle until much later, after he had broken his promise of being a simple man. It was right before he was going to leave with Jack to Cairo when the fiery red-head forced Alex to sit on the couch, an uncharacteristically serious look on her face.

"What's wrong, Jack?" Alex ventured.

"I know you think you're trying to do the right thing," Jack said, "but kid, I need you to promise me you won't take any more missions after this. Whatever you're thinking—getting an adrenaline high or whatever"—she ignored Alex's protests—"it's not worth it. If you want the money, find a better job—one that the only thing you need is your soul."

She poked Alex in the middle of his chest. He looked down quizzically, confusion written on his face.

"Be something you love and understand, not a person being forced to live life," Jack told him seriously. She softened when she saw the deer-in-the-headlights look Alex was sporting. "I just want you to have a good life."

Alex remembered the words that his uncle had spoken to him so long ago. He swallowed the lump in his throat, "So you want me to be a simple man?"

Jack looked surprised, "As a matter of fact, yes. Yes, I do. Follow what your heart wants, not what your head is telling you."

Alex looked away, his heart beating loudly in his throat, "I wish," he muttered bitterly under his breath. "A simple man, huh?"

Alex's life was anything but simple, and he had most definitely not kept his promise about being a simple man. His life was full of moral ambiguity. He constantly questioned his choices and decisions. In fact, he was doing it now, holding his trusty gun in a hand.

"Please, Rider…" the man on the ground was pleading. He was filthy, his skin oily, and his face smeared with dried blood. He was clawing at the stone floors, his fingernails already broken. "I made a mistake. I can fix everything, I swear!"

Alex gritted his teeth, the grip on his gun tightening, "'Fix everything'? For whatever reason, Jones already gave you a second chance, and you ratted us out again. We're putting an end to this, right now."

The man whimpered, and before Alex could change his mind, he pulled the trigger. The man was dead in an instant.

Ring! Ring!

It was his phone.

Alex holstered his gun, wiping invisible gunpowder from his hands. He answered it on the third ring with a cheerful, "Hi, honey!"

"Where are you? Helen's recital is in an hour, and you promised her you would be there!" came his wife's furious words. She was panicking, but Alex smiled comfortingly, even though she couldn't see him.

"I'll be there," he said confidently. "I just have one more thing to finish up at work."

"Oh, alright!" his wife huffed, "Just come quickly, alright?" Her voice softened, "I love you."

"I love you too," he stared at the corpse before him.

As his wife hung up, Alex laughed humorlessly. He wasn't and would never be a simple man—he had learned that much.

Alex grabbed his already prepared bottle of gasoline, sprinkling it over the corpse, "I am," he told himself, unconvincingly. "I am a simple man."

Dropping a lit match on the corpse, Alex knew there was no tricking himself. He was just as complicated as his uncle, the elusive spy who had died with a chest full of bullets.

Alex wondered how he would turn out in the end.

A/N: Again, none of the lyrics belong to me. I didn't include them, but I warped some of them. If you haven't heard "Simple Man", you gotta! It's so good. I love it.

Anyway, SpyFest is here, so go, go, go! Prompts are headed your way, and it'll be a fun way to get more awesome fics out there!

Review, my darlings. I love y'all (*MWAHHHH*) I'm also really hungry, but it's 3AM... (*cue rumbling stomach*)

-Alice x