DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN THE ALEX RIDER SERIES.
This was written for The Firm's April prompts. The prompt I picked was 'snow flakes'. So... Yeah.
The snow escaped from the cloudy sky brilliantly, sticking to the ground with apparent ease. Usually in London it would be bonneted away by the omniscient rain. This was not the case. The flakes drifted lazily down to the ground, sticking to Alex Rider's eyelashes. He smiled up at his Uncle Ian from under the warm woolly hat the man had bestowed on him at the door of the house.
Ian smiled wearily back down, more a loosening of tense facial muscles than any real signal of relief. He looked serious and sever in his uniform. Alex's tiny fingers tightened on his uncle's larger paw. At the precocious age of seven, he was canny enough to notice that something was bothering his Uncle. His flaxen eyebrows furrowed as he puzzled it, gazing around the small, private. He reached his hand out and trailed his fingers across the top of the marble gravestone, the stone polished and cool beneath his fingers.
He stuck out his tongue eagerly, desperate to catch a single flake in his mouth.
The snow heaped to the ground heavily, puffing out in a fine white powder. The back garden was blanketed; the world had pulled on a snowy white jumper. The flakes cartwheeled exuberantly to the ground, sticking to Alex Rider's eyelashes. He smiled up at his father from under the thick, snug beanie he'd had forced upon him as he'd hastily sprinted from his room to the back door.
John beamed back down, a smile that lit up his eyes warmly. He tugged his son up into a bear hug and nuzzled him, growling noisily. It was strange to see him fooling around in his full dress uniform. Alex squealed and giggled loudly at the sensation of his father's scratchy beard brushing against his smooth cheek. John spun around twice, wheeling his son out as if to drop him, his careful, strong grip secure around him. He swung Alex up onto his broad, muscled shoulders and Alex tugged at his father's hair, beaming.
He stuck out his tongue eagerly, desperate to catch a single flake in his mouth.
Ian stopped once he found the small, well kept plot. He gently placed the flowers down by John's head stone, murmuring something too low for Alex to hear. Alex could feel the morose air surrounding them. He didn't really understand why his uncle was so sad. He pulled away from his as Ian stooped to dispose of a few overlooked weeds. He watched his uncle for a minute and then padded around to the other headstone, tracing the letters carefully.
Helen. Beloved daughter, sister-in-law and mother. Alex blinked back a big fat tear when he saw his mother's stone. The marble was cold to touch, cold and unyielding. Unforgiving. Empty. Alex's fingers clasped at the tiny, withering poppy on top of the gravestone. He wondered who'd placed it there. It was nice, the red providing the only touch of colour visible under the blanket of snow. He lifted it gently. There wasn't much of an indent. It was a recent addition.
"Ian". The woman in grey's voice rang clear and high throughout the cemetery, disturbing the tranquil, miserable peace that the graves exuded.
John stopped one he reached the washing line, snatching a few pegs and pinching one Alex's tiny fingers. Alex yipped and shook it off easily, giggling as his father leaped and sprang beside the washing line, jostling him playfully. He didn't really understand why his father was so happy. John set him down on the ground and proceeded to complete a series of complicated acrobatic feats, much to Alex's delight. The seven year old's eyes widened longingly, desperate to learn.
Helen appeared suddenly by the porch steps and John sprinted back up the garden in a race with his son, scooping him up when his small legs got tired. Helen grinned at her loping boys. John deposited Alex into his adoring mother's lap, her arms melting warmly to cuddle him. She stroked his hair fondly, holding him gently the same way she had since he was a baby. Alex tugged at the poppy pinned to her white blouse. It was nice, the red complimenting her glowing cheeks. He hadn't seen it on her before. It was a recent addition.
"John". The woman in grey's voice rang clear and high throughout the garden, scratching at the loving, warm peace the Rider's exuded.
Alex watched his uncle watch the woman, listening to her every word. He tried to interrupt her once but was shut down immediately, his shoulder's slumping in resignation. Alex felt a twinge of anxiety. He knew that look. It was one of the signs of trouble before Ian had to leave for a week or two on a conference or a business trip. Alex felt a fat tear dribble down his cheek, the cold of his mother's stone burning against his hands.
Ian nodded sullenly and Alex felt something tear inside of him. He whimpered and both adults turned to stare at him, Ian guiltily and the woman calculatingly. She said something to Ian and Ian nodded. She strode over and crouched beside Alex, smiling. She wore a poppy on her coat. She reached out tentatively and took the poppy from Alex, placing it back on his mother's grave. She smiled a strained smile and Alex blinked back more tears. Ian's face was chalky and scared.
"Do you know what that is, Alex Rider? That's a Remembrance Day Poppy. Your mother and your father would have worn them, if they were still here" she said, adjusting her hat slightly. "I wear one for my sons. They're... gone, you see. When you're a little older, you will wear one for your parents"
Alex nodded, his eyes wide with horrified wonder.
Alex watched the woman approach his father, smiling easily, her hands raised in a gesture similar to 'Don't Shoot'. At either side of her their was a small boy, about his age. They were both tow-headed, grinning admiringly up at his father. John shook the woman's hand easily, grinning as he took his hat from Helen at put it on, straight and proud. He crouched down beside the two boys, his poppy gleaming, and smiled, shaking hands with both of them.
The woman said something to John and he shook his head, smiling. He laughed at something one of the boys said. Alex felt a small twitch of jealously. The woman walked over and smiled, bending down to talk to Alex while his father entertained the two boys. She smiled at Helen and then beamed down at the seven year old. She too wore a strange red poppy on her jacket. Everyone was dressed up. Alex wondered vaguely why.
"Do you know what this is, Alex Rider? This is a Remembrance Day Poppy. Your mummy and daddy wear them because of the ceremony. That's why were all dressed up" she said, adjusting her hat slightly. "I wear one for all my colleagues, to help me remember them. You're coming to the ceremony with your parents, aren't you? These are my sons. George and Michael. You know, you're father saved their lives not long ago".
Alex nodded, his eyes wide with curious wonder.
"I have to borrow your uncle now, Alex. He's missed most of an important ceremony and he really should know that he has to show his face at it. Every year he slinks off here to do his own thing. He needs to share his remembering with all of us, doesn't he, Alex? It's selfish to keep his sadness all to himself" the woman said, glancing up at Ian. Alex nodded diligently and he saw a look of betrayal flit across his uncle's face.
His fingers skimmed his mother's stone again, brushing the snow off. The woman reached out and took Alex's tiny, freezing hand, holding it palm upwards while she scolded Ian about the lack of gloves. A single snowflake drifted into the centre of his childish hand. Brilliant and beautiful, it was an individual crystal. Alex smiled down at it happily, forgetting the sadness his parents' graves held for him.
"You're father's very brave, Alex. And very kind. He saved my children. It was a very unselfish thing to do. I'm very sorry about today Alex. Every year we drag him off to a stuffy ceremony to parade him around as a hero. I'm sure you'd much rather be playing football with him in the snow. But he's a good man, isn't he? But he's generous with his time" the woman said, smiling up at John. Alex nodded diligently and he saw a look of embarrassed pride flit across his father's face.
His finger's reached out to take his mother's hand and the woman went back to his father, watching him speak animatedly with her children, gesturing. He was telling them a story. Alex fell back into his mother's comforting embrace again. A single snowflaked fell into the centre of his glove. Brilliant and beautiful, it was a unique crystal. Alex smiled down at it happily, forgetting his brief jealousy.
Every snowflake told a different story.
Deireadh.