Just an idea for a one-shot that I had that might expand. It's kinda set up as the first chapter of a story, and the ending doesn't close it up like it would for a one-shot, but I'm not sure if I'll have the time to expand on this. Anyways, please review and tell me your thoughts on a continuation?

Summary: Kicked out of MI6 due to his predicament, Alex Rider finds himself back at Brookland. One-Shot (or maybeee more?).

~oo0oo~

The Four Fifths Spy

Sunlight streamed through the window, refracting off the glass and flickering throughout his room. His fingers shook as pulled back the curtains further and further, letting through more light through. It wasn't enough.

Light.

He needed it to see, of course. Didn't everyone?

Because after all, what did he have if he couldn't see?

He slowly walked out of his room into the brightly lit hall, failing to turn off his bedroom light. It didn't matter. Not really.

MI6 paid his electricity bills, and currently, Alex couldn't care less about the state of the environment. Even if he was diligent with turning off lights, it didn't really make an impact. Not with the rest of the population ignoring this problem. So Alex decided to just follow along with the rest of them, which of course, he figured, was the real issue here.

Apathy.

And yet, Alex still couldn't bring himself to care.

He stalked into the kitchen, shoving bread into the toaster and waited for a few minutes before realizing it wasn't plugged in. Cursing under his breath, Alex ripped out one of the cords - a lamp - and shoved the toaster plug into the wall.

His mood darkened with the room, as that one lamp flicked off.

Of course it didn't leave him in absolute darkness; the ceiling lights shone brightly and various lamps were plugged in throughout the room, but now he couldn't see into that one corner of the room as well.

Alex busied himself by getting out butter and jam as he waited to hear the ping of the toaster. After setting the table (for one, because she was gone), he finally marched back over to see what was wrong.

Alex scowled.

The toast had finished, and by the looks of it, had been done for a while.

The burnt smell wafted into his nose as he plucked the already cooled bread out with his fingers. He quickly downed it, along with a cup of coffee as he stared out the window, lost in thought.

His watch vibrated, a violent motion against his wrist, and Alex jumped to his feet.

Time to go.

Time to be normal.

He knew he could do this, because after all, there were no more missions in his future. He wouldn't have any more unexplained absences. MI6 was done with him. The frown on his face deepened as he remembered his last meeting with Alan Blunt. The man had dismissed him without a second thought (but only after he had signed copious paperwork). While he had hated working for them, Alex had naively thought that he meant something to the organization. That he was a special tool that was irreplaceable.

But he knew what happened to tools when they were broken - they got thrown out.

And so Alex, the physically and mentally broken toy, was kicked out of MI6 without a glance.

Which was funny, of course. They had managed to take his school life from him, but Alex had always thought that at least he'd have a stable job (or at least as stable as it could be for a spy). But now, now...MI6 had managed to take his entire life away from him. At least they still payed the bills-

Alex shook his head.

He could finish the year normally.

He just had to pull it off.

Slinging his backpack over his shoulder, he stepped outside the house, almost tripping over a package at the door. A cold chill washed over Alex as he realized that he had no idea when it had been delivered. Were his instincts really this dampened? Would he be able to defend himself from intruders if he couldn't sense a person delivering a package?

Only the cool metal of the gun pressed against his skin kept his wits intact. He still had defense, and even though it was illegal, Alex wouldn't be going to school unless he had weapons with him.

And he had more than a gun. A large portion of his school supplies had alternate uses; remnants of his previous missions, and Alex wasn't about to leave any of it behind. Especially now that he didn't have MI6 backing his movements.

Was it safe to open the package?

So many things could be concealed inside the flimsy looking cardboard.

Alex leaned down to study the label, hoping that it wouldn't blow up in his face.

A familiar address gleamed back at him. The Bank.

Alex groaned. Should he really open it?

But curiosity got the best of him and he ripped open the seal, revealing a pair of black rectangular glasses. The lenses were thick, implying that they were for someone with terrible eyesight and Alex couldn't help but feel a bit disappointed.

He peeked back into the box, discovering a thin piece of a paper. It was from Smithers.

The ghost of a smile flickered across his face as he read the message from the only person truly on his side.

Alex slid the glasses onto his face and boarded his bike, beginning the short transit to Brookland Comprehensive.

~oo0oo~

"Morris, Sarah?"

"Here!"

"Michaels, Andrew?

"Present!"

"Orson, Kyle?"

"Here, sir!"

Mr. Browning, the English teacher at Brookland, paused momentarily. He had heard rumors of the boy from his colleges; about how the child was barely passing his classes and had a spotty attendance record.

"Rider, Alexander?"

"Here."

The voice echoed quietly from the back of the classroom, and Mr. Browning looked up from his list to see a blond haired boy sitting in the back of the classroom. The seats near him were unoccupied, almost as if the other students were afraid catching a disease.

Then again, from what he had heard about Rider's "sicknesses," he wouldn't be surprised if other rumors would have gone around about the boy.

He'd be sure to assign seats soon. Rider might be able to make friends soon, or at least it might begin to diminish that stigma

The teacher quickly finished the roll call, and moved straight into a lecture about the requirements for his class.

The room was full of questions, which was a little surprising since he wasn't expecting that many students to be interested in how grading worked, but even amid the distractions, Mr. Browning didn't miss the way that Rider stayed focused on him the entire class.

He didn't look down to jot notes as the other students did. The only time that Mr. Browning saw Alex turn his head downward was when he announced that he'd give them five minutes to write a short paragraph about their summer.

But for the rest of the class, Rider stayed oddly attentive.

He seemed the model student; quiet and interested, but something was off.

And it wasn't until the end of class that he realized. Rider never made eye contact.

Not like the other kids, who would momentarily make eye contact before their eyes flitted away in fear of being called on.

No, Rider seemed focused on the lower half of his face. It seemed closer to his...mouth maybe? Mr. Browning turned his back to the class and quickly swiped his mouth with his shirt sleeve. Was there something on his face?

He seemed good?

Perhaps the boy was just shy and didn't want to meet his eyes?

But it seemed like so much more.

"Please pass up your assignments! I'll hopefully have them all graded by the end of next week." It was only a paragraph, but when there were nearly a hundred of them, the time added up. Mr. Browning knew he was going to spend a couple hours a night reading about his student's summers.

But it was worth it. Every year he used this as a way to get to know his students and figure out the level of writing they were on before he started with longer assignments. It gave him a starting point.

And perhaps, it would give him an insight on Alex Rider.

~oo0oo~

Tom Harris had heard the whispers that had rippled across the halls. At first he hadn't believed it, because after all, they had gone several months without contact, and it seemed just too good to be true.

But as he left his first period, Tom spotted a familiar blonde head bobbing throughout the wave of students.

Alex Rider was back!

"Alex!" The joyous cry left his lips as he scurried after his friend, but the teenage spy didn't even turn.

Had he not heard Tom? But that was impossible wasn't it? Tom knew that Alex's senses and instincts were impressive.

He could spot a threat a mile away (that might have been a slight exaggeration) and on multiple occasions, only Alex had heard the comments that Tom muttered under his breath.

In fact, in their fifth year, Alex had once bragged to him about his superior ears after they had both gotten their physicals done. Since then, Tom had always called him Dumbo (after the elephant with the large floppy ears).

Was Alex ignoring him?

No... Tom hadn't done anything. Well at least not recently.

Tom had already apologized for that shaving cream incident a few months back.

A few months. Had it only been that long? Tom had other friends, of course, but he had known Alex for so long. It was hard for him not knowing if his best mate was alive or dead.

"Alex!" Tom finally reached his friend and grasped him on the shoulder.

Alex twirled around and before Tom knew it, he had a sharpened pencil pressed up against his throat.

"Uhh.. Alex?"

"Sorry. Instinct." Alex muttered as he lowered the pencil, eyes skimming the hall. He was probably making sure that nobody saw that incident.

"It's okay, mate. Remember that time that you once judo flipped me onto the ground? That was pretty epic, though I did have a bruised back for a week..." Tom rambled, suddenly quite worried for his friend. When had Alex's eyes gotten that dark, or his face so gaunt? He looked like he came back from the dead.

"Hey wait... when'd you get glasses?"

"This morning." The reply was short and clipped and Tom couldn't help but feel his stomach sinking further and further. Who was this Alex who couldn't seem to manage a smile?

But he kept trying. "Is it some new type of, you know... gear? Do they, you know, shoot lasers or explode or something? Can you get me a pair?"

"No."

"Er... now that you're back do you wanna do something after school?" Tom brightened, "Maybe Jack could-"

"Tom, I-I... I gotta go."

Tom watched as Alex quickly strolled away from him, and this time, he didn't try to follow.

Alex would come to him when he was ready...right?

~oo0oo~

It wasn't Tom's fault - he couldn't have known. It was just so soon. Alex could barely look at her stuff, still scattered throughout the empty house, much less hear her name.

And it was all his fault. If it wasn't for him, Jack would be living in America, happy and carefree.

Her parents would still have a daughter.

Oh god, he didn't even know how her parents were faring.

He assumed that they were approached by some MI6 agent, or government official. They would have been given condolences in a strict and unfeeling military voice, and left to wonder if anyone really cared. And the official would leave the house, crossing that one duty off a large list of other jobs.

It would be just like Ian.

"She was a patriot."

"She served her country well."

She wasn't even supposed to be involved!

And it was all on him.

An elbow jabbed into his rib, jolting Alex out of his thoughts. He looked around wildly, finger sliding to the waistband of his jeans.

No.

He didn't need a weapon. It wasn't Scorpia or some other terrorist organization. It wasn't an assassin. And yet, as he spotted the group of boys whispering to each other and pointing at him in the corner, Alex Rider's heart couldn't stop racing. He never felt safe, and he doubted he ever would. His instincts from MI6 had been ingrained into him for longer than a year. This was who he was.

This was who Ian had trained him to be.

Alex stared at the group of boys, words sliding across his vision, courtesy of the glasses.

Druggie.

Adict.

Gang member.

Retarded.

He shut his eyes tightly blocking out the words.

The blackness was almost overwhelming - one of the reasons why Alex had started leaving the lights on.

MI6 hadn't only taken away his life. On his last mission he hadn't lost only Jack.

He slid off the glasses and continued to stroll through the hallways, confidently like Ian had taught him.

It was so much easier to pretend you weren't affected by the rumors when you couldn't hear them.

And Alex couldn't.

So he walked through a busy hallway, full of chattering students, and didn't hear a word.

It was his senses that had always saved his life.

Sight, taste, touch, smell, and... hearing.

Taking one of those away made him less of a spy didn't it? That was the reason, after all, that MI6 "let him go." A spy that didn't have all his senses to rely on, who wouldn't be able to respond to the sound of a bullet, couldn't really be counted on to fulfill a mission, could they?

So to MI6, Alex was useless.

Only one fifth of him was gone and yet it felt like so much more.

He missed the sound of the birds in the morning, of music, of other people's voices.

And he knew it was never coming back.