Author: HallowedInk
Recipient: Kermitaa
Title:Tom and Alex
Characters/Pairing(s): Alex, Tom - no pairings except unrequited OC/Tom
Summary: Tom finds out firsthand why the truth hurts.
Rating: K+
Disclaimer: All Alex Rider characters herein are the property of Anthony Horowitz and the Penguin Group. No copyright infringement is intended.
Warning(s): Mm... Alex with a gun, but no real violence or anything. None.
Word Count: 4,574
Author's Notes: Firstly, thank you very much to my brother and Muhaaauder for proofreading for me, especially to my brother for doing so at such short notice. Also thank you to Kermitaa – I've wanted to write a story about Tom and Alex for a while, and you gave me the perfect excuse to do so. Sorry that I didn't quite fulfil everything you wanted, but I hope you enjoy it anyway.

...I also think that this is quite possibly the longest one-shot I have ever written (and published).

A/N: Written for the Spyfest 2010 on Livejournal. Check out the other entries! They are just amazing.

"Since knowledge is but sorrow's spy, it is not safe to know." – William Davenant

Prologue

Alex met Tom on a sunny December day when he was twelve. He had been on his way home from karate lessons – that day had been a good session – when he suddenly came across a group of boys around his age in an alleyway near to his home.

Normal, human instinct would have told any normal human being to carry on walking, especially if they were feeling a little bruised and tired already, and certainly if they were face to face with this particular gang of boys, who were fairly vicious. Alex, however, was not a normal human being. And besides, he knew karate.

So, maybe it was a stupid rationalisation, but he got involved.

"Hey! What are you doing?"

The mass of boys parted to reveal another boy, small and a little cut up, crouching against the wall. One of the larger boys was holding something above his head. "Jump for it," he jeered. "Jump you runt!"

The little boy was crying miserably, failing to reach whatever the thug was holding.

Alex had seen enough. He lunged into the group and threw himself in front of the little boy. "Stop it, stop it!" he yelled.

The gang of boys – Alex now recognised them as attending his own school, one or two years above Alex – laughed mockingly. "What are you gonna do about it?" one of them shouted, amid more laughter.

Alex thought fast. He couldn't take them in a fight; there were too many for that. However, he had the advantage of the unknown, and he was an excellent liar. A plan started to form in his head, so he went for it.

"Well, I'm not going to do anything," he started innocently. "Except for my Dad's in the car just out there, and he knows where I've gone, so if I don't come back in a minute he'll come and look for me." And then, as if it was just something he was proud of, which he added on a whim, he told them, "He's a policeman."

The boys exchanged looks with each other, and then turned back as if sizing him up. Alex put on a radiant, childish smile; the picture of innocence.

The boys scattered.

Alex turned back to the smaller boy behind him and held out a hand. "I'm Alex," he said as he pulled the dark-haired kid up.

"Tom. Thank you for helping me out." He peered at Alex from beneath his fringe. "Is your Dad really a policeman?"

"Not at all." Alex grinned and winked. "But it got rid of them." He didn't add that his Dad was dead.

"So, I've not seen you around here before," he said as they started out of the alley. "Where are you from?"

"I've just moved here," Tom confided in him. "I don't know who those boys were. They just found me when I was on my way home from the shops." He looked mournful. "I've lost the shopping for my Mum now."

Alex, feeling generous, gave Tom the money he needed and told him not to worry about paying it back.

His good deed was rewarded a couple of days later, on Monday, when he discovered that Tom was now in his class at school. It had been the start of a very close friendship.

It was only a couple of months later that Tom's mother served his father the papers for breakfast. With Tom's house newly turned into a brutal war zone, the small boy began spending more and more time with Alex. They discovered what similar tastes they had, spending many an afternoon shirking off their homework, playing video games or, when the weather allowed, kicking a football around in the park.

By the end of it they were as close as brothers; which was good, because they were going to need it.

Tom and Alex

Alex had disappeared again.

Sixteen-year-old Tom Harris, currently sitting in his GCSE physics class, gave a long sigh as his eyes found the empty seat usually occupied by his best friend. He respected that Alex had more important duties than school, in fact he thought it was pretty cool that Alex was a spy, but he did wish that his friend could perhaps warn him before he disappeared again, at least so that Tom could prepare an excuse on his behalf.

"Tom? Any idea when Alex will be back?" Hearing his name, Tom turned his attention to the front of the class. The teacher was standing there tapping his pen on the register book, and looking expectantly at Tom.

Tom sighed inwardly. "No, sorry sir, I'm afraid I don't know. Alex is sick again, you see."

There was not much that the teacher could answer to that – except sigh, which he did with gusto – so he moved on. "Sean Rigby?"

"No sir, I think I'm sick sir." A chorus of giggles from the back of the room accompanied Sean's words. "I think I need to take three months of school sir." Sean smiled broadly at Tom, who had turned around to glare at him.

Tom just sighed.

Later the same day, he was on his way home, walking because his bike was in the repair shop. Glancing up at the sky, Tom shivered and drew his coat closer around him. It was going to rain soon.

Just as he reached the corner where he turned off of the main road into his estate, a car drew up next to him. It was silver, of good quality but fairly unremarkable. The windows were darkened. The one closest to him, on the driver's side, suddenly slid open.

"You Tom Harris?" a voice demanded roughly. Not giving Tom their chance to answer, it continued, "Alex Rider's little friend?"

"I— who's asking?" Tom shot back.

"We're with MI6. Listen, we received notice from your friend. You're in danger. Get in the car; we'll take you to a safe place."

Somewhere behind him, someone was moving, and Tom suddenly became aware of a fact which he had been suppressing since he left school. He was being followed.

Without pausing to think, Tom wrenched open the back door and threw himself into the car. And it was at that moment that he realised his grave mistake. For the second the car door had closed behind him someone suddenly grabbed his head, and a cloth was pressed over his mouth and nose. It smelled slightly sweet.

The next second, everything went black.

"If anyone ever tries to talk to you about me, anyone official looking, always, always ask them for ID." Alex was walking slightly ahead of Tom as he spoke so Tom couldn't see his face. He hurried to catch up with his friend

"Alex? What— why are you telling me this?"

"Just listen, Tom. It's really important. You could be targeted because of me."

"Targeted? Why would I be targeted?" Tom shivered, trying to suppress his overactive imagination. He didn't like where this conversation was going.

"So what if I'm targeted, anyway. You can come and help me."

Alex seemed frustrated. "Tom! Please take this seriously! What if I'm not there?" Tom felt guilty.

"Sorry Alex. But why wouldn't you be there?"

Even as he spoke, Tom started to realise what he was asking. And then Alex turned around to look at him, and the expression on his face drove the answer straight home.

When Tom came to, he was in a cell. It looked like a cell – plain white walls, concrete floor, security camera in the corner – felt like a cell – sterile, clinical atmosphere – and thus Tom came to the conclusion that it must actually be a cell. So he'd been locked up.

Sighing, he pulled himself to his feet and started to examine the room, inwardly contemplating what Alex would do in this kind of situation. Find a way out and wreak havoc, he was sure.

His examination revealed virtually nothing new: the walls were still walls; the floor was still a floor. They were both made of smooth concrete, with no cracks in sight. The door was, Tom was sure, industrial steel or something equally unbreakable. The camera was too high to reach, not that it would do any good anyway. There was a chair in the middle of the room, but it was bolted firmly to the ground, and Tom didn't think that it was going to be moving any time soon.

He supposed that he might have felt better if he had at least had an enemy in front of him – a face or a name which he could blame for his capture. At least a reason for why he was here, standing around in a stupid, boring cell, feeling his heart sink further and further towards his stomach with every passing minute.

He was hungry.

After a while, Tom sighed and slumped down in the chair. If it was there, he may as well make use of it. He wished he had another to kick his feet up on – why couldn't the prison master plan to accommodate teenagers, too?

Oh yeah. He shouldn't even be there. That was why.

Tom gave another sigh and fell to staring blankly at the door. He imagined that it was opening, and that someone was coming in – that Alex was coming in! He imagined that Alex would come in, any second now, and free him. It was a comforting thought.

This is probably all Alex's fault. That was not a comforting thought. Tom pushed it away. No – he wasn't here because of Alex. Alex was going to save him.

And yet... "Listen, we received notice from your friend. You're in danger."

In danger from who?

Scowling, Tom let himself slump down in the hard metal chair. Hopefully, someone would come and relieve him of his boredom soon.

"Hit harder Tom! You've got to do damage. It'll never work unless you actually deal your opponents damage." Alex effortlessly dodged another punch from his friend before throwing his own, which landed Tom on his back on the ground.

Tom scowled. "Well, what if I don't want to hit harder?"

Alex frowned at him. "You will if it's a choice between them and you."

"What do you mean?" he asked as he pulled himself up off the ground

"A choice," Alex explained, "Between you and your enemy. Life and death." And he walked over to take up his position again.

Sounds behind the door brought Tom to his feet.

The door opened again, and the man entered. He looked very stern, and was dressed all in black. Tom immediately wrote him off – this was an enemy, not the rescue party.

"Sit down," the man ordered. Tom obediently sat down on a chair in the middle of the room. The man clicked a pair of handcuffs around his wrists and snapped them into place around the arms of the chair.

"What—"

"Shut up."

Shaken, Tom followed the order. The man stepped back a little and lifted a radio to his ear. He received an order which Tom didn't understand because it was in another language. The man said something back in terse, clipped tones, and then hooked his radio back onto his belt. In a smooth, practised motion, he spun around to face Tom, pulling a gun from the holster on his belt. Before Tom had a chance to react, before the fear even had a chance to settle in his veins, the gun was at his temple.

He choked on air.

"Stay calm. Whatever you do, don't panic." They were sitting in the park one weekend. Well, Tom was sitting; on a swing. Alex was walking in a circle around him, almost prowling.

"What are you talking about?" Tom asked, warily following his friend's movement with his eyes.

"If you ever get attacked." Alex's eyes were averted, staring at his hands. "You have to stay calm."

"Alex, I'm not going to get attacked."

"Tom!" Alex looked up now. His eyes were burning. "I'm being serious."

There was something in Alex's eyes, something dark and horrible. Tom shuddered, and then went abruptly still. Too fast for him to register, Alex had moved to the side, standing very close, and there was something cold and metallic against his neck-

Tom sucked in a breath. A knife.

"Alex..." He was all but frozen, but Tom could still move his eyes, and they were darting around desperately, looking to someone to help...

There was no one. He was alone with Alex.

"Stay calm, Tom," Alex are saying, and his tone was somewhat mocking. "Don't panic. Don't do anything to enrage the person holding the knife."

"Why are you doing this?" Tom asked, and he was proud that his voice was only slightly shaky. Alex was holding a knife to him – Alex! What was he doing?

"You have to learn." Alex was pulling away now, secreting the knife away to someplace Tom couldn't see. "You need to listen and take me seriously. Next time, it might not be me holding the knife – it might not be a knife. It could be a gun. What would you do then? What if I'm not there to help you? You could die because of me!"

Alex was breathing hard, staring directly at Tom. His eyes were wild, and for a brief moment Tom could feel his friend's fear, almost as if it had solidified in the air between them.

"Okay, okay, Alex. I understand." Tom wasn't sure what he was saying, but he knew he needed to say something to reassure his friend. Though Alex was the more mature of the two of them, Tom was definitely the better person to deal with emotions. "I'll take care. I promise."

Alex was still staring at him, and when Tom finally looked up to meet his friend's eyes, he noticed that they had softened. He had to hide his sigh of relief.

"What... what's going on?" Tom asked once he had half-way recovered. He had never been one for quiet, and had decided that this tense silence had gone on long enough.

Immediately, Tom realised his folly. Annoying the man with the gun was exactly what Alex had told him not to do. However, the man remained silent for a long while, and eventually Tom's fear that he was about to be shot abated. He had just resigned himself to the fact that he was probably not going to get an answer when the man suddenly made himself heard. He had a thick accent, though not one which Tom could place. Alex would probably have known where it came from.

"You had better hope that your little friend – Alex Rider, wasn't it – starts talking, or else your brains are going to be decorating the floor soon."

Well, wasn't that a cheery message? Tom gulped fearfully.

Time passed slowly.

The worst was the feeling that something was happening and Tom could do nothing about it. Nothing, that is, except sit frozen on that chair in the middle of that room with a gun to his head. How utterly useless.

It was cold in the room.

"Don't you ever get tired of this?" Tom didn't know why he spoke, but he figured if these were going to be his last moments he may as well make the best of them...

...Alex wouldn't let him die, would he?

Never...

The man shifted his weight subtly from one foot to another and didn't reply. Tom got the feeling that he wasn't very sociable.

"What's your name?" he tried again.

Still, there was no reply. Getting the same feeling one would acquire if one were to attempt to converse with a brick wall – not that Tom would any know anything about that – Tom plunged onwards. "Well, aren't you just Mr Antisocial? You know what; if you don't want to answer I'll call you that. Mr Antisocial."

A sudden, painful pressure made itself known on the gun at his temple, causing it to dig into his skin. Tom flinched and heeded the warning.

The silence which fell in the cell seemed as loud as any racket Tom had ever heard. It even beat the noise he and his football friends could make if put together in the same room for any period of time at school.

The only thing louder than the silence was the pounding of his heart, lodged firmly somewhere in his throat. Tom was sure that the man beside him could hear it. Hell, he was sure the people on the other end of that camera up there could hear it – however far away they were.

He really wished Alex would hurry up and get here.

After a while, Tom opened his mouth to have another go at a conversation. He had never been able to bear silence well. However, another jab to the temple kept him quiet, except for the sighs which escaped from him at very precise one minute intervals.

Tom was counting.

He wasn't sure if he was trying to annoy the guy into going away, or just into shooting him and getting it over and done with. He had wanted company before, to relieve the boredom, but now he wished that he was alone.

Be careful what you wish for, his mother always said. She had never been more right. He thought of his mother, then, and his father and older brother. His parents were divorced now and his father had moved out. As for Tom, he moved between the two every few weeks. It was a bit of an awkward arrangement, but it had been the best they could do when his parents reached the point at which they refused to even speak to each other.

Tom hadn't been close to his parents since they started fighting, but he had never loved them more than today. He wondered if he'd ever see them again...

His thoughts had just taken the turn from depressing to downright morbid when a sudden commotion had him and his equally slumped companion standing – or sitting, as it were – to attention.

Suddenly, the door exploded inwards. Tom breathed a silent sigh of relief. It was Alex.

Sometime later, as they were leaving the park, with darkness already falling, Tom managed to ask the question which had been bothering him since the earlier incident.

"Alex... you carry a knife?"

Alex looked up from where he was tying his shoelaces.

"Sure I do."

"Oh." Tom wasn't sure how to answer he knew that. He knew Alex needed to defend himself, but...

"It's actually just a stand-in," Alex continued in a bland tone. "They won't let me have a gun."

Tom shuddered.

"Let him go," Alex said coldly. The man at Tom's side said nothing in reply, but he did demonstratively press the gun harder into Tom's temple. Tom flinched visibly and gazed beseechingly at Alex. Come on, please...

Alex held his ground. "Look, your mates are all dead, and this building is going to blow up in a minute. Let him go and we'll all get out alive."

It was the wrong thing to say. The man gave a bark of laughter; "You aren't meant to get out alive, kid!"

Alex frowned and stepped closer. "Come on, let him—"

He was cut off, however, by the sudden arrival of a set of fearsome, mean-looking men, dressed in military uniforms and bearing guns. Tom decided to affectionately nickname them the "Cavalry".

Alex smirked. "It's about time," he murmured as the men spread out around the room. The gunman at Tom's side took one look at the Cavalry, who had now all pointed their guns at him, and dropped his weapon. One of the men broke ranks and detained him effortlessly with a whack to the back of the neck.

Mr Antisocial dropped like a stone.

Grinning in relief, Alex strode over to where Tom was sitting. He took the keys handed to him by the dark-skinned army man with a "thanks, Wolf" and unlocked the cuffs around Tom's wrists.

Tom smiled gratefully. "Well, it took you long enough."

Alex offered Tom a sardonic grin in return, sticking out a hand and pulling him up. "Come on Tom," he said, suddenly looking and sounding a million years old, "Let's go home."

After it was all over, Tom and Alex sat on the fence outside Brooklands School, watching the students hurry inside but making no move to join them.

"So what was it this time?"

Tom was swinging his feet and watching as they banged against the wooden bar below, unable to face his best friend. It was all very well hearing about Alex's adventures, but actually being involved in one?

"Oh, you know, just some bomb threats, international terrorists; the usual. Sorry you had to get involved."

Alex was making light of it for him, Tom knew, but that didn't make him feel any better. He appreciated the effort, sure, but it wasn't enough. He just felt... uncomfortable in his skin at the moment.

"I wouldn't have actually done it," Alex said suddenly, talking to the tree behind Tom's shoulder.

"Done what?" Tom asked, confused.

"Shot him. That guy. I wouldn't actually have…" Alex was rambling, and Tom wasn't sure what to say. He wanted to – needed to – cut him off, because this was really something he didn't want to hear. He didn't want to know that Alex's life wasn't as glamorous as he had thought. He was just a civilian; wasn't meant to get mixed up in this…

Tom was saved from responding when Alex cut off suddenly. Looking up – his feet had finally lost all interest for him – he saw why. Someone was approaching.

He recognised the person instantly. Lara. Oh dear. He glanced at Alex for help, but Alex was just raising an eyebrow at him. Off course, Alex knew the full story – in more ways than one, but Tom ignored the second meaning. He knew about Lara's… affections.

"Hey Tom," the girl in question simpered as she reached the two boys. Then, with her expression distorted into some kind of dismayed grimace, she added, "Alex."

Alex nodded to her, before jumping off the fence. "I'll leave you two alone, shall I?"

Tom really wanted to kill him at that moment. Lara apparently shared that opinion – perish the thought – but for a different reason. "No, stay!" she blurted out suddenly.

Tom and Alex exchanged a surprised glance, and Alex acquiesced.

"What did you want?" Tom asked Lara, trying and failing to smile.

Lara must not have noticed his expression, though, because she sidled closer. "Well… As you probably know, I'm having a party next week, and I was wondering if you wanted to come." She turned around. "Of course, you can come as well, Alex." She turned back to Tom. "Well?"

Tom realised at that moment why she had wanted Alex to stay – obviously inviting him was some kind of bribe to get into Tom's good books – or perhaps it was just that a friend of hers had requested that she invite Alex. Heaven knew Alex fit the bill that they seemed to judge all boys by.

Handsome, mysterious… Would he become like that too, now that he had experienced Alex's world? Was it going to ruin him too? He already had to keep the secrets…

He shook the thoughts off when he realised that Lara was still waiting for an answer. "Yeah, sure, we'll be there," he told her, uncaringly. A party was a party, after all, no matter who was holding it. It was still free alcohol.

Lara grinned brightly, and Tom saw for a moment what the other boys saw in her. Then she turned and jogged off, with a "see you there" tossed over her shoulder, and the illusion was gone.

With a sigh, Tom turned back to Alex. "Glad that's over with."

Alex was looking at him rather oddly. What had Tom done now? He mentally ran over what he had said. Hang on a minute...

"We'll be there?" Alex asked with a raised eyebrow.

Tom flinched overdramatically, and asked, "Should I be running?"

A very evil-looking grin overcame Alex's face. Tom shuddered, and purposely repressed all thoughts of the night he had spent in a cell under... No.

"Yes," Alex said very slowly. "Yes, I think you should."

And as they dashed off, mock-fighting and easily falling back into the rough-and-tumble relationship of the past, Tom thought that maybe, if given time, he might be able to move past what had happened.

Maybe, just maybe, things would be okay soon.

Epilogue

He had a photo sitting on his desk. Occasionally, when his family was out and he was taking a break from his work, Tom would pick it up and look at it. It was a photo of two teenage boys, each around fifteen or sixteen years old. They were sitting on a park bench, arms slung around each other, laughing at the camera.

Sometimes when Tom stared at the photo he would remember that day; the day he spent in a cell under a facility, praying that his friend would find him. He never did find out where he was – or what was actually going on. Somehow, every time he had inquired Alex had managed to skilfully, subtly change the subject.

Other times, he would just look at the photo. Those days, when he was feeling particularly nostalgic, he would remember the happy days. All the happy memories they made in their long years of friendship.

It was only once that he looked at the photo, and pictured the happy blond boy with the dark, tired eyes. I wonder where Alex is now, he thought to himself.

Somewhere on the other side of the world, a young man in his mid-twenties was jumping onto a motorcycle, and speeding off to make an escape, followed by gunfire. For a moment, as with every time he made a narrow escape with his life, he thought about the people he had left behind; Jack, Tom, Ben Daniels...

But now wasn't the time for Alex to reminisce about the past – he had a world to save, after all.

"A little knowledge is a dangerous thing. So is a lot." – Albert Einstein

END