The one night of enforced sleep opened the floodgates of exhaustion he'd been ignoring since those first few days back in Malagosto.
Alex kept up a old familiar pattern of waking up groggily, eating the proffered food delivered without fuss and going back to sleep, curled up on his bed buried in an excess of pillows and blankets.
Little work or progress in planning occurred over the next few days. Though Yassen returned to Malagosto at some point and, instead of staying in his own rooms, seemed to prefer spending the majority of his time in Alex's.
On the second day of this new arrangement, Alex woke long enough to inhale the green, murky-looking protein smoothie he was handed by the far too content assassin and settle back into bed.
Alex grumbled at the look of amusement Yassen sent him over the screen of his laptop.
Curling back under the covers, Alex couldn't help but be contented by the fond memories of it just being him and Yassen in simpler times: training in the cabin, on the yacht, at his suite.
Yassen still didn't condone laziness but accepted that Alex needed to crash after missions and certainly was behind Marcus' visit and the pizza bribe to ensure Alex got his needed time to crash.
A little over a year ago, he remembered asking Yassen about why he allowed Alex's unusual sleeping habits after a rather daunting mission. The man brushed off the question, asserting, "Teenagers need sleep." And that was that.
Too soon, a light hand shaking his shoulder woke him from his nap, likely to ensure he ate at more normal intervals. Alex blearily grumbled and rolled over, snuggling deeper into his bed.
"Alex," A hint of exasperation though with a lightness of humor.
Praying an eye open, he took the proffered vitamins and scarfed down the half of sandwich with a scowl before dropping back into bed and falling unconscious.
Two day later found Alex seated at a table with Dr. Three, Yassen, and Marcus in an isolated room likely bombarded with every security measure imaginable.
"Alex, always good to see you up and moving," Dr. Three said, kindly. He almost sounded sincere.
"Dr. Three," Alex greeted with a nod.
The doctor skipped further small talk and stated pragmatically, "A combat team led by Nile is being arranged to handle Blunt. I am certain they will—"
"No!" His outburst echoed in the space but thankfully had been only a fraction louder than Dr. Three himself. He had not anticipated this.
Alex had improved at controlling his emotions around Three but still had trouble suppressing the knee-jerk reaction to his disagreements with the doctor.
A pointed look from Yassen clearly indicated his disapproval of Alex's tone but the doctor himself seemed more amused than offended.
"I respectfully disagree," he amended in a more controlled manner. Searching for something to explain his disagreement, he settled on one key fact. "Nile does not have first-hand experience of MI6 headquarters. I do."
Alex was almost hurt at the oversight. After his first near-assassination he was required to address the matter himself. Now it is Blunt and he gets sidelined? He sustained injuries from the Hurghada event and still had some pain in his leg but nothing of consequence.
Dr. Three even went to the effort of looking surprised at his words. Yassen remained perfectly still.
"I will handle Blunt and will take whoever is available from Sagitta and team Danube to lead the operation."
A bit of pride showed in Yassen's eyes at the initiative.
"You do realize how valuable a subject like Blunt would be for interrogation. Will you be handling that part as well?"
A fair question. It made logical sense. Alex's stubborn willfulness opened a rather dangerous door. Instead, he gave an answer his policy negotiator instructor would be proud of. "Yes, Blunt would be valuable. I can have that matter addressed as well."
It didn't contradict Three's suggestion but it didn't affirm Alex himself as the interrogator.
Three was not so easily fooled and simply pouted lightly at the remark.
"Your recovery could take up to another two months. What value is there in waiting further?" Another fair question. From Yassen, of course.
To say 'because I want to' came first to his head, thanks teenage brain . But instead, he used their own words against them. "The attack was directed at me and it would show weakness to not respond myself."
To make it seem less petty, Alex continued, "Nile is a well-trained operative but first-hand knowledge of both the building and of other individuals working around Blunt is valuable. Rushing into such a situation would be rash and waiting for the opportune moment would allow for easier extraction. My doctors believe it would take another 3 to 6 weeks to recover based on my current progress. I will defer to their expertise but they had admitted to believing it to be closer to the lower end of that estimate considering my age and fitness."
Dr. Three's eyes flitted to Yassen's.
"Approved," Yassen affirmed. "You will provide a report on your extraction and interrogation plans by the end of the week. Dismissed."
"Yes, sir."
Alex spent the next week diligently following all doctor instruction, handling his physical therapy exercises with due diligence, and preordering Yassen-approved meals that also coordinated with the nutrition requirements of the doctors' notices.
He never had siblings to contend with growing up but for Dr. Three to recommend Nile instead...? He was irked by the suggestion and intended on doing everything he could to recover quickly and give them little further reason to doubt him.
He had few visitors but quickly addressed any of their concerns and questions be it Dr. Javarti, Commander Hill, or Marcus before returning to his prep work.
Blueprints of air traffic, sewage passes, the streets of London were laid out around his bedroom, using all available open surfaces. He knew where Blunt had lived, which cafés he had visited more than once, and how he received his groceries.
He considered launching the attack at Blunt's residence but then images of the members of Sagitta killed in Hurghada, specifically of Adams, came into mind.
No, he needed to send a message: he would attack MI6. After all, that was the leverage he had used in convincing Dr. Three against using Nile. He couldn't disappoint them now.
On Thursday, he finished his draft and ran it by both Marcus and Hill before submitting it Friday morning before breakfast.
Anticipation clawed at his senses leaving him on edge. It was happening. He took off for a short run, feeling exhilarated. His six-point security following diligently beside and behind him.
He had passed the first round of physical assessments the day prior and scheduled a follow-up assessment for the following Thursday. Physically, he was healing quickly, though his head injury had been the last concerning factor.
From what the doctor had suggested, there was something off about his head injury that they wanted to reassess in a week; he knew he could review in his medical file himself to find out specifically what had them calling for a follow-up but he didn't want to. After finding out about his likely Stockholm Syndrome the first time, he was remiss to take a another peek.
If his doctors said he was fine and just needed a second evaluation, he was.
Stopping off to pick up a protein smoothie, he continued on his way back to his room.
Opening the door, he hardly noticed its organized chaos decor. Papers, textbooks, blueprints were strewn everywhere: taped to walls, lining the floor, covering all surfaces except for a third of Alex's bed, a space just large enough for Alex to get his recommended hours of sleep for maximum recovery.
Settling in the free spot, he grabbed his laptop and diligently read through the other active Scorpia operations, evening checking up on the progress of their current class of students.
Eventually he'd be taking over the organization himself and Yassen always handled matters seamlessly. He doubted he'd ever be as good as Yassen in that role but he should at least put in the effort to start learning.
The weekend passed uneventfully and the approval for his plans came Monday morning. He was pleased. He celebrated with a longer run and an extra trip to the shooting range, which Ross had been more than willing to accommodate.
Training longer and harder, Alex felt back to normal, if not better than normal. His injuries no longer inhibited him and he never dreamt at night.
On Wednesday, after finishing his morning run, he spotted the current class entering the dojo for morning lessons. He had been sparring with his security to get back in shape but they were a far cry from Malagosto graduates, even the students.
When he passed the initial medical assessment he was encouraged to slowly introduce rigorous activity. This likely was not what they had in mind but he needed this.
He was practically healed anyway. The doctor had said so themself.
A familiar face was among the trainees...Yaxley, his mind supplied helpfully. He recalled when reviewing the current students' progress that Yaxley had passed his RTI and Interrogation classes with flying colors but struggled in controlling his temper during combat and at the shooting range. His graduation graduation assignment was even delayed because of it.
Yermalov was always content with guests to his lessons and seemed pleased to include Alex to even out the numbers when pairing off for practice.
Now, the man in question was standing across from Alex, locking eyes with him in clear contempt.
Respectful to the teachings, they both diligently worked through the instruction, focusing on technique and conditioning. However, the lesson ended with sparring and Yaxley did not hesitate to take up the opportunity.
Soon they were deep into combat and Alex focused more on defense. His movements were swift and smooth, almost teasing as Yaxley attacked vigorously.
With Alex dodging blow after blow, Yaxley paused choosing to take up a more defensive position and they simply stood at an impasse.
Glancing behind Yaxley, his attention was drawn to noticing one of his guards accepting a phone call and talking into the receiver.
He almost didn't notice Yaxley addressing him. "Rumor has it you were an MI6 bitch before Gregorovich picked you up like a stray." Alex returned his attention to the man and narrowed his gaze. Yaxley was taunting him, that much he gathered, but why?
"Did your daddy pay to have your spy dreams come true?"
Alex dodged a few more haphazard blows before swiftly pinning Yaxley to the mats.
"Or perhaps you just fit Gregorovich's tastes nice enough," the man said in a derisive tone just loud enough for Alex to hear.
Alex released his hold and got to his feet; he could tolerate personal jibes but to make such a suggestion of Yassen's character was taking things too far.
Yaxley leveraged himself to his feet just in time to take a hit to his chest.
Another series of hits swiftly followed crushing the man's spleen, bruising a lower rib, and cracking his knee cap.
The man cried out and crashed down hard on the mats as the rest of the class stood around watching curiously. Yermalov stopped to watch impassively as well.
Alex was hardly winded by the actions—a true testament to how hard he worked getting back in shape lately—and stalked up to the man laying winded and groaning in pain in a heap on the mats.
"I'm sure Mr. Gregorovich has some thoughts of his own about your opinion of my station, but I don't think he'd appreciate having his time wasted," Alex said cooly looking down at the scowling man.
His eye caught a glint of metal and he was moving before his brain processed the item. A knife embedded in mat where his foot had been.
Alex kicked Yaxley square in the face feeling the crunch of his nose as his fist grabbed at Alex's shirt.
Before he realized what he was doing, he grabbed Yaxley's free arm, twisting and pinning it along the mat before prying off the the man's hold on him and pinned it to the mat with a knife through his palm.
"Alex!" Several voices spoke up at once, heard barely over the howling of the large man pinned to the mats. One exclamation was from d'Arc who rushed over. The other was from Marcus who helped Alex to his feet.
At some point d'Arc had come by and decided now to intervene; Yermalov had approached as well.
"I think it's best to discontinue Yaxley's education, "Yermalov said flatly. "Crux may have use of him."
D'Arc may have been the head of the school but he was wise enough to accept advice from his instructors and nodded. "Yes, perhaps that is best."
He had no idea when Marcus arrived. Alex felt detached from the scene. His mind refusing to process the last few minutes of the spar.
"Alex? Orion," Marcus must've lead him out of the dojo and off to the edge of the school as he shook him lightly by his shoulders to get his attention. "Are you hurt?"
He stared at Marcus blankly but responded by shaking his head. Yaxley hadn't even landed a single blow. Alex was simply confused, his mind foggy and he was coated in sweat.
"Alex, hey." At the softened tone, Alex snapped from his reverie.
"Hi, I'm sorry. I don't know what came over me." Alex felt ashamed.
"For that?" Marcus scoffed. "That asshole deserved it. Though I don't remember medical clearing you for that kind of activity yet."
Alex laughed tightly, starting to feel more like himself again. "I was 'slowly reintroducing rigorous activity'. Didn't you notice?"
"Yes, boss. Whatever you say." Marcus said with a light smile.
"You clearly haven't been checking your phone. I had to call Rogers to track you down but Yassen has confirmed a date."
That got Alex's attention. "When?"
"May 25th," Marcus said lowly to prevent eavesdroppers.
The anniversary of his parent's death. There was no coincidence. Leave it to Yassen to remember the date. Alex had been so young at the time, it had hardly been of consequence.
Operations marking an anniversary of a distinguished day or event were always riskier than simply selecting any random day.
If Yassen believed he would be suitable for the added challenge, he wouldn't disappoint.
Also, if he passed his assessment on Thursday like he expected, he would be cleared by medical almost two weeks in advance of the operation. Yassen was taking no chances with his health. He made a face, thinking of all those days he diligently ingested every gross high-nutrient doctor-recommended meal and pushed through exercise after exercise to get his system back in shape in record time. Yassen probably had the date picked out weeks ago.
"Does that date mean something?" Marcus had been dutifully observing Alex through his internal monologue.
"Yes," Alex admitted with a breezy laugh, smiling outwardly. "Which means we'll have to be extra careful. They may suspect it."
"Alright then." Marcus, picking up on Alex's good mood with a light chuckle as well. "Have you eaten yet?"
Alex rolled his eyes at the comment. "No. I've been busy in my room all morning," he said with faux-derisiveness.
"Well, neither have I. Come on, let's get some food and we'll run through the op again."