Author's Note: Other than the fact that I don't own Alex Rider, nor will I ever have the means to do that, I just wanted to say that this fandom needs to have stories that are not written by hormone driven, teenaged girls that like to write themselves into the story. And not very skillfully, mind you. (Seriously, all I'm asking for is punctuation, capitals, and a plot that's not full of holes. That's it!)
Though Ian remains a mysterious character in the Rider series, we see little parts of Ian in Alex. After all, he was the closest thing Alex has ever had to a father.
Lesser Men Cry
Prologue
Like the mother lion that pushes her cubs down the cliff so that she can raise only the strong that climb back up, Ian Rider routinely left his nephew-turned-successor challenges, from the time Alex was four, up until his own death.
When Alex was five, Ian had left their house in Chelsea before Alex had even gotten up. There was no note, no explanation. On the kitchen table, there was a row of objects. The first was a loaf of bread, the second a can of tuna, the third; a can opener. Then, as if Ian had an afterthought, there was a box of self-adhesive bandages.
Alex began to internalize everything after he realized that his uncle was never going to provide a stable pillar of support. His first injury had brought no tears. Alex had simply sat down on the concrete floor and watched the blood seep from the cut, until Ian had found him. Ian bandaged the cut with the same care and concern as a father; he just never seem to be able to express what he felt. Caring hands and a soft touch were eager to say the words their owner couldn't.
Chapter One
Now, half a year later, another challenge lay in store for Alex.
The surreal noises of a foreign city at night barely registered with the small, fair-haired boy. Having been in more motel rooms than houses, this experience was definitely not something new for Alex.
A six-year-old Alex Rider sat on the floor of a cheap motel room, entertaining himself with a couple of plastic race cars. His mind was in emotional turmoil. Well, as much emotional turmoil as a six year old could be in. He was bored with the cars - they held their monotonous shape and offered nothing to a growing mind.
He also had no idea where in the world they were; just that he was with his uncle Ian, and that was enough. Just moments ago, Ian told him to 'stay put' and left the sparse motel room.
Desperate for entertainment, Alex scanned the motel room, taking in the cold tiles and the tacky green dinette set in the corner.
How much times must he sit in a motel room, alone, and without explanation? Without company? How many times must Ian leave him before he realizes that there may not be something for him to come back to?
There was an inexplicable pull towards the forbidding metal door. What was beyond the door was a mystery, and definitely alluring. The door seemed to have an aura that both repelled and attracted; the forbidden was tempting, but hey, it was forbidden for a reason - and probably a dangerous one.
His innocence manipulated the distance, lengthening the journey from where from where he wanted to be, and where he was supposed to be.
Finally, he made a decision. He leaped up with grace; more than the average six year old, carefully lined up his cars (he was an overly-organized six year old as well...), and used his short, overall-ed legs to propel him to the door.
Vietnam in the rain is a solemn place, Ian Rider half thought, half sighed. He waited at the dirty curb for a moment, taking in the side of Vietnam that shows its face only at night. Prostitutes, shady dealings, and a destitute war amputee made Ian glad he had left Alex at home. Surely, a moment's loneliness was worth being spared the broken English being meant to entice him to enter the...Well...If there was a roof, it could have been called a brothel. Though it really would have been a stretch.
"Mee-stur! I ver-ly ceep!" A particularly garish woman called out.
Yes. Ian Rider thought. I'm sure you seep from numerous places...
Looking left and right before he crossed the street - after all that was what he taught Alex - something else caught his eye.
The blinking motel sign angrily accused Ian of not being there for his orphaned nephew, leaving him in a motel room, and not one of decent monetary worth at that! How could he!?
Though not a God - fearing man at all, (Please. Missions past had taught Ian to fear Man more than God. God would never gun you down. Plague you maybe, but never gun you down. Man, not so much...) Ian said a quick prayer for his nephew and walked away. It may not have appeared as such, but Ian Rider had made a sacrifice.