As always, thank you for the reviews, and I hope you enjoy the fic.

Yassen let Alex sleep until eight that Saturday. It felt like a luxury. He was rested and awake, and workout that morning was less chore and more enjoyment.

Crux had left before Alex was even up. For the first time in a week, Alex was really alone with Yassen again and awake enough to appreciate it.

It was still weird to see him with a beard, all neatly trimmed and groomed like he had always had it. It had given Alex a whole new appreciation for how little it took to change your looks. Daniel Owen looked very little like Yassen Gregorovich, who was wanted by any number of intelligence agencies.

"You have done well," Yassen told him when they had almost finished breakfast. It felt bizarrely normal, like any other family, in a way the safe-house in Russia never had. Alex had been Yassen's student then. He still was, but their cover called for being father and son now. He suspected that had bled into their normal interactions a little, too. The Owens' house felt like a home.

"Thank you." It mattered, coming from Yassen. Alex took a deep breath. "So what are the plans for today?"

"Hunting." Alex's good mood abruptly turned darker at Yassen's words. "I have tracked down several operatives that belong to one of our competitors. There has been a security leak. We need to eliminate them before they become a problem."

"We," Alex repeated.

"We," Yassen agreed. "You are still reluctant to kill, Alex. You hesitated in Nice. Not enough that it could not be excused to the board as a wish to be certain of the shot, but I trained you."

Yassen trained him. Yassen knew him. Alex didn't try to deny it.

"I know. I'm sorry." He wasn't even sure what he was apologising for. Maybe for almost failing. For almost forcing Yassen to take the shot instead and deal with the consequences. Maybe for not being what Yassen had tried to teach him to be.

"You will learn."

Promise and threat and order all in one. Alex considered arguing for a moment but knew it would do nothing. Not when Yassen had made up his mind.

"Yes, sir," he agreed, because that was not Yassen speaking to Alex but Cossack to his student.

He stared at his mostly-emptied plate. The nausea was back. His breakfast felt like lead in his stomach. It had to be obvious to Yassen, because he sighed.

"Alex." He waited until Alex actually looked up before he continued. "If someone is willing to pay SCORPIA's fees, the target is already dead. You do not hire a Malagosto graduate on a whim. If you do not kill them, someone else will, and your life will be forfeit for your failure."

Alex took a slow breath. "What, you're not going to tell me they all deserve to die? That they have to have done something to earn that sort of attention?" He couldn't keep the anger out of his voice.

"No." Calm, cool, and unruffled as always. "You are one of SCORPIA's assassins. You are a graduate of the most elite school of murder in the world. It is not your place to care about the reasons. It is not your concern if they deserve death. Someone paid to have them killed. Your only concern is to see that done. It is business, nothing more. You are not the judge or the jury, Alex. You are only the executioner."

Executioner. The word settled dark and horrible in his mind.

"And if I don't want to be?"

"Then you will fail, and you will die."

Alex had to wonder if that alternative was really that bad. Yassen's words were calm and rational. They made sense, and he didn't want them to. Was that how his father had justified it? But his father had faked some of his assassinations, too. The people who might not have deserved to die.

It would have been a low blow from Yassen to compare him to his father. Alex appreciated that he didn't. Alex did quite enough of that on his own, and the rest of SCORPIA wasn't much better. Being Hunter's son had taken on a much darker meaning after Nice.

"Finish your breakfast, Alex. We leave in half an hour. Bring your rifle."

Alex took that as the order it was. He picked up his fork and forced himself finish the last bites, fighting his nausea all the while.

With Joanne Owen unexpectedly called into work, Alexander and his father had the day to themselves.

In a brand new country they still weren't used to, they decided to spend the day sightseeing. With Yassen's camera, Alex's backpack, sunglasses, and light, loose clothes for both of them, they could have been any father and son out to play tourists for the day. Those same outfits carefully hid two guns and a pair of combat knives on Yassen, the same on Alex, as well as two concealable sniper rifles in his backpack.

The Audi was a hideously expensive waste of money, what with cabs and public transportation everywhere, but Alex really appreciated the air conditioning. Yassen checked the car under the guise of indulging his teenage son's natural curiosity about the powerful machine. It was the first time Alexander's father hadn't been busy until well into the evening that week.

They had a tail but lost it easily. It was not particularly experienced agent, Alex guessed. They still took their precautions and spent several hours in a mall and reappeared with a number of shopping bags for the both of them as well as a gift for Joanne. They passed by several tourist spots as well and took photos like everyone else. It felt weirdly like when he had travelled with Ian, before everything had gone to hell.

Only then, with their cover firmly established, did Yassen continue on to their actual target.

Their destination turned out to be a marina, all calm water, expensive boats, and lush greenery with expensive-looking buildings lining the waterfront. They parked a good distance away and walked the last bit, just tourists out to admire the place.

Yassen led them to one of the newer buildings that rose high above them. Well-dressed, perfectly at ease, and with the required keycard and key, no one looked twice at them. Through the lobby and the blissful air conditioning, then into a lift. Neither spoke on the way.

Alex had expected a hotel, but the building was clearly all private apartments. The one Yassen led them to had a name on it that Alex didn't recognise but the place looked perfectly ordinary.

Yassen unlocked the door and they stepped inside. The first impression Alex got was stale air and a perfectly cleaned, high-end home, mostly kept in light wood and white materials, and with large windows and a balcony overlooking the marina.

Yassen watched him as he looked around. "Tell me what you see."

It was a familiar order. Alex turned around slowly to take in the place proper. "The air smells stale, like the windows haven't been opened proper in a while. The air conditioning is still on, though. There's nothing on the tables, no shoes sitting out, and there's a key rack but nothing on it."

He moved further into the apartment, careful not to leave any evidence behind, and Yassen followed like a silent shadow. "Nothing on the kitchen table or the counters, the mail's in a neat stack, the sink is bone dry, but the plants look fine." He glanced at Yassen. "The owners are gone for a while. It's an expensive place, though, so I'm guessing the help drops by occasionally?"

"Every three days," Yassen confirmed. "She was here yesterday. The owners will be gone for two more weeks."

"She's bribed?" That would explain how he had the key.

"Inadequate security. It was easy to steal the key and keycard and have copies made."

He crossed the room to stand by the window. Alex followed. The water was clear blue and the marina full of a number of white boats, all in neat rows and almost painfully bright in the sunlight.

"This place also has a very convenient view of the larger yachts. The large one closest to the island is the Victory. Currently rented, through a number of perfectly legitimately businesses, to the vice chairman of one of SCORPIA's competitors. He is unfortunately not enough of a fool to be here in person, since there is a significant prize on his head, but the Victory does serve as a mobile base for their people. I spent the last four days watching them and hunting down their hired muscle. Security is too high to get close enough to plant explosives, but they are a little more lax about snipers."

"We won't get more than a few shots in before they find cover." Yassen had to know that.

"We have a few priority targets. The rest are low-level grunts and would merely be an additional bonus. Two shots each should be enough. I will hunt down the stragglers myself later. With the primary operatives dead, they will be useless."

Two shots each, assuming Alex hit his targets. Assuming he did it fast enough. Assuming he didn't hesitate.

Yassen had effectively gambled their success on Alex's abilities. It was one thing for Alex to know his own life was at risk if he failed. It was something else to realise that Yassen would be held accountable in this case as well.

"Right. No pressure, then."

Yassen glanced at him. "I trained you. If I cannot trust you with this, the blame lies with me."

Alex nodded mutely. He didn't quite trust his voice. Yassen had trained him. Yassen knew him. Well enough to pinpoint the one thing that might actually teach Alex not to hesitate – when it wasn't just his own life on the line, but when his hesitation could get someone close to him killed as well.

He had learned to work through his horror of the human-shaped cut-out targets through repeated exposure. Real murders, with real bodies and real consequences … that was something else entirely, but Alex had the horrible suspicion that Yassen would make him learn the same way he had with the cut-out targets in the first place.

Repeated exposure. One kill after the other until they stopped being human, until they became targets again, and he became desensitised to it. Was that how Yassen himself had learned? Was that was Hunter had taught him? But Hunter had told him to run, to get away from SCORPIA. He had trained him but he had never wanted that life for Cossack.

Had Yassen taught himself, then? Or had it been a natural result of his job? Alex didn't ask. He wasn't sure he wanted to know the answer.

Instead he forced himself to focus on the yacht below them again. "Has the leak been found?"

"We have a reasonable suspicion. Crux's task for the day is to confirm it and handle any containment."

Alex nodded. "One of those things I shouldn't ask about?" he asked, just a little bitter.

"In this case, a way to keep you above suspicion." For a second, it seemed like that was all Yassen would say about that. Then he continued. "There is a small but significant risk that this operation will go wrong. If you know nothing but the most necessary about operatives, plans, and objectives, if you do your job to the boards' satisfaction and ask no question, you will be held blameless for anything that happens beyond your own objectives. It is a black mark on your record to have your first real operation fail. New operatives draw suspicion in a way experienced, tested ones do not. Operatives have been disposed of for less."

Point to Yassen. Alex could live just fine without drawing the suspicions of SCORPIA just yet, especially for something he had nothing to do with. He couldn't blame them, either. If they had a leak somewhere, it would make sense to look to the new operatives first. To Alex. What he didn't know, he couldn't pass on to competitors or the authorities. On accident or otherwise.

The wide windows offered a perfect angle and the blinds enough cover to hide them mostly from sight. The position would be a little awkward, but that didn't seem to bother Yassen. He had probably tried worse.

They set up the rifles in silence, careful not to leave evidence behind. Alex had it mostly down to instinct after endless hours of practice, but watching Yassen reminded him how far he still had to go. Swift, efficient motions, and never a single movement more than necessary; the rifle was nothing more than an extension of the man.

Blinds mostly down and the window cracked open just enough to take the shot, they settled in to wait.

It took nearly three hours before anyone appeared. Yassen never moved, his breathing slow and steady in the silence. He was used to the wait, Alex knew. He had age and experience on his side.

Alex, fifteen and restless and horribly aware of what he would have to do, had a harder time. He tried, tried to throw his mind back to lessons in Russia, to hours spent in silence, but his mind was too loud.

"Alex." Yassen's reprimand was little more than an exhale.

Alex nodded. Very slightly. Took a steadying breath. Tried again. Calm, steady. Even heartbeat. Even breathing. No focus in the world but the scope. Nothing that mattered but the white yacht in his sight. Trust Yassen to know the apartment was safe. Trust his precautions. Trust his experience. Trust his training.

He had to focus. Block out the thoughts. Block out the discomfort. Block out everything but the rifle and his targets.

Time stilled. Stopped and sped up in a way he couldn't quite explain. Nothing changed, and he was aware that the minutes ticked on, but the sense of the time passed was hazy. The shadows shifted, slow and steady. The sky grew cloudier. His rifle never moved.

Finally someone appeared from inside the yacht and stirred Alex from his mild trance. He blinked.

Two people, both male. They moved with the grace of trained fighters, the slight edge of restrained violence. Alex's world narrowed down to the two men on the deck, and then three more appeared behind them, male as well.

"Front left, white shirt. Priority target one. Front right, t-shirt. Priority target two." Yassen's instructions were calm, low, and clinical. "Back right, blue shirt. Priority target three. Back middle and left, secondary targets, four and five."

Alex didn't answer and Yassen didn't expect it, merely continued his instructions.

"You have priority target two and secondary target four. Clean head-shots. Ten seconds."

Alex shifted his rifle slightly. Focused on the man with the t-shirt. Yassen didn't offer a name or the list of crimes the man had undoubtedly committed as an operative for one of SCORPIA's competitors. Alex shouldn't need it. It was not his job to know. He didn't need the complications.

He made a brief note of his secondary target's location. Then he focused entirely on his primary target. Took the wind and distance and their location and motions into account.

Memories of Nice pushed their way through his sharp focus – the rough surface of a rooftop, the smell of sea and city and sunlight – but he forced them aside to deal with later, because right now he couldn't afford the distraction, couldn't afford -

Yassen's low countdown snapped him out of it. "Three, two, one -"

Alex didn't allow himself to think. He pulled the trigger and shifted his aim an instant later, his second target already in his sight. He was only vaguely aware of the crack of Yassen's rifle beside him as it fired for the third time even as Alex's second bullet found its target.

Then it was over. Five dead bodies on the yacht, pristine white stained with blood, and far below someone screamed.

"We leave. Now."

Alex obeyed without hesitation. They took only long enough to make sure any evidence of their presence was gone and everything looked exactly as it had when they had arrived.

The lift was empty. The mirror showed the two of them, Yassen calm and unruffled and the very image of upper-class, and Alex's slightly paler expression. His eyes didn't look like his own, too wide and weary, and Alex shuddered.

There had been a lot of blood on the yacht. He wondered if they would get the white clean again. Did it just wash off on a surface like that?

"Calm," Yassen told him, too low to be picked up by any microphones but still utterly unyielding. "If you look suspicious, you draw attention we cannot afford. I assure you, the body count will be much higher if we have to fight our way out."

It wasn't even a threat, Alex knew, but simply a statement of facts. Alex took a shuddering breath. Closed his eyes. Forced his frantic heartbeat to calm a little. When he opened them again, he looked a little more normal.

Not a moment too soon. The lift came to a gentle halt. The door opened. They were in the lobby, all light and airy and populated.

There weren't too many people, and they were cluttered by the main entrance, though still inside as if the glass doors might protect them from a bullet.

Alex couldn't hear their words from that distance, but he could hear the low, indistinct murmur and read the body language. Shock, worry, fear – someone died out there, someone got killed, murdered, shot, and they were close enough to see the blood against the white boat in the marina.

There was a lot of blood, Alex remembered.

The first, faint sound of a siren appeared in the distance. Yassen led them away from the crowds, out through one of the emergency exits. From air conditioning into the open, and the shock of the heat and humidity helped clear Alex's mind a little.

The sirens had grown louder.

The walk to the car, calm and steady and so careful not to look out of place, had Alex expecting a bullet through his head at any moment. It wasn't just SCORPIA present, their competitors were there, too, and the authorities were on to them -

There were a lot of people that wanted him dead. That wanted both of them dead. Dead or imprisoned, though in Yassen's case he knew it was the former. In his, probably both, not that SCORPIA would consider imprisonment an acceptable situation.

Alex had just shot someone. Had shot two someones. He carried the evidence of five murders in his backpack. If they could target five people like that, how did he know a sniper wasn't watching them as well?

He didn't. He didn't, but Yassen looked at ease, entirely like he belonged there, and Alex would have to trust him.

The first police car drove past them, sirens on and lights flashing. There was an ambulance close behind, though Alex knew there was nothing to be done.

They passed by a small group of people, pointing back towards the marina. Yassen kept walking.

Alex had never appreciated the value of a teenage operative until he had seen how his presence made people overlook everything else. Yassen was not a threat or the assassin behind the five dead bodies, Yassen was the father of a teenage son, and it was simply impossible that he could be both. Assassins were solitary creatures. They didn't work well with others, and much less with a teenager.

The car was where they had left it. Alex didn't know why he had expected anything else. Yassen checked it thoroughly inside and out before they started the drive back, no different from any other car on the road.

The air conditioning kicked in. Alex still felt sweaty and the backpack felt impossibly heavy in his lap.

They still had the rifles. They were evidence. A liability. If they were pulled over …

Yassen took a large detour to the safe-house and an entirely different route than on the way out, but about halfway back he found a parking spot near a number of stores.

"We have weapons to dispose of," he said before Alex could ask.

Alex followed him inside what looked like a mid-range jewellery store. Yassen looked around for a second before he crossed the room to where a middle-aged Asian man stood behind the counter. Alex guessed Chinese, though he had no real idea. He didn't have enough experience to even begin to guess what country he was from, though if he stuck around with SCORPIA long enough, he would probably learn.

"I called about a ring for my wife. Under the name Daniel Owen?"

The man smiled. "Of course, sir. Please, follow me."

He called an assistant to take over and led them behind the counter, through a room in the back. Down a hallway, and up a staircase, and into an office that the man locked thoroughly behind him.

"Mr Cossack, I was told to expect you," he greeted respectfully.

Yassen nodded. "Ang, this is Orion, my student and a recent graduate. Orion, this is Ang, one of SCORPIA's primary contacts for firearms in this area."

"Pleasure, sir," Alex greeted politely.

"Likewise, Mr Orion."

Patience for pleasantries over, Yassen got to the point. "We have two rifles to exchange. They are evidence now, so treat them accordingly. Orion?"

Alex took his cue and unpacked the two riles from his bag. Ang accepted them and put them in a large case. Two new, identical rifles appeared from a second case. Yassen checked them both thoroughly with practised motions before he accepted them with a small nod.

Alex packed them away. The whole thing had taken less than five minutes. Ang handed Yassen a small box as well.

"A suitable ring. It should fit Ms Crux's size."

"Efficient as always," Yassen agreed. "Your payment will arrive through the usual channels."

Ang led them back downstairs. The backpack felt a little less heavy. The rifles would still get them into a ton of trouble if they were found with them, but at least they were no longer a death sentence.

Only when they were back inside the car – thoroughly checked again, because Yassen would accept nothing less – did the man speak again.

"You did not hesitate. You managed well today."

Alex closed his eyes. Saw blood and bodies and weapons, but accepted it with tired resignation in a way he hadn't done in Nice. This was his life now. Yassen had proven that to him. He hadn't wanted to kill the two men but he hadn't hesitated, either. It didn't matter what Alex Rider wanted, not anymore. He could refuse, but Yassen knew him too well. He knew just what strings to pull to get the result he wanted. "And tomorrow?" He wasn't sure he wanted to hear the answer.

"We handle the security leak."

Correction. Alex knew he didn't want to hear the answer.

Next: Theory gets put into practice. Alex really wishes it didn't.