A Cold Day in Hell
Chapter IV: A Changing of Circumstance
Disclaimer: Obviously, I own nothing.
Mrs. Jones had experienced a good many things in her life, some of which bordered on the impossible. None, however, could compare to the report sitting on her desk. The fingerprints were a match, as were the blood and DNA tests the boy had endured with resigned patience.
The photos within the file showed Alex Rider at seventeen, and his current age of eight years old. Other photos documented the condition in which they found him, the multiple bruises, lacerations, and dislocated limbs, as well as the child's broken fingers. It painted a fairly grim picture, and yet...
"Gregorovich didn't kill him. And he didn't dump Alex after becoming aware of his... condition," Mrs. Jones thought, contemplating possible reasons for the assassin's restraint. Alex mentioned before that Gregorovich doesn't kill children, but Mrs. Jones was beginning to think that there was more to it than what Alex told her...
That aside, Gregorovich escorting a British scientist defecting to a country with cold temperatures year round confirmed the theory Mrs. Jones was formulating. Adding in what Alex reported about Roswell and the drugs, it all added up to a worrisome possibility.
Mrs. Jones permitted herself a deep sigh before taking a peppermint and popping it into her mouth, allowing the peppermint to flood her senses and ease the tension she carried constantly.
She allowed herself one last moment of hesitation before picking up the phone and making the call.
"Bring him in," she stated grimly.
White walls, white sheets, white pillows; St Dominic's Hospital never changed. If Alex didn't know better, he would assume he'd been placed in the same room as his last visit. The only differences currently were the amount of nurses and doctors who eyed his body's beaten condition with protective eyes and silent questions.
Alex behaved himself, trying to act like a normal eight year old. He'd submitted to the DNA and blood tests, and then given his report to Mr. Crawley once his identity was confirmed, leaving out only the details he felt were more... personal.
After Crawley's visit, Alex was left alone, aside from the MI6 agent stationed outside his door. When Alex protested having a guard, Crawley gave the child an unimpressed stare and reminded Alex that Yassen Gregorovich was not a man who left loose ends, and they still had no clear idea who he was working for.
Crawley vanished through the door before Alex could question the man about Tom, the dock worker's, safety. Mrs. Jones said it would be taken care of, but she hadn't said anything beyond that. He really hoped MI6 would actually do something.
After all, as everyone constantly reminded him, Yassen didn't leave loose ends.
Rubbing tiredly at his face, the child-teen resigned himself to both the guard and typical lack of information, as well as the subsequent boredom of being trapped in a hospital room alone.
Alex tried to remember if he'd even seen Tom after the police arrived, but he couldn't quite recall. After the police found Alex, they'd phoned for an ambulance and began asking questions he couldn't answer. Fortunately for the former spy, an MI6 agent appeared in the midst of the chaos and suddenly he was being shunted quickly into the ambulance on his way to St Dominic's, leaving a group of curious policemen behind.
At least Alex's body was healing well. Most of the swelling in his joints was down, though the first knee Yassen dislocated was still not fully recovered. His fingers were splinted and the doctor was optimistic; apparently, Yassen broke them cleanly. Lucky, Alex supposed. Or just Yassen's rather frightening skill.
A male nurse stepped into Alex's room. He watched the man cautiously as the nurse went about his work. He grinned at Alex, warm brown eyes crinkling cheerily. He seemed to be in his mid-twenties and he wore a Batman-themed lanyard with his ID dangling against his chest.
The nurse proceeded to check Alex's IV, shifting the pole slightly and resituating the bag and tube. Alex placed a hand over the catheter in his arm, disliking the slight tugging sensation. The doctor requested it as a way to give Alex pain medication, as swallowing pills was both painful and too much of a risk with the boy's throat being so deeply bruised.
"Hey, kid, you feeling hungry?" the nurse asked, turning back to Alex, taking note of his vitals and checking each bandage before moving on to the bruising on Alex's throat. "The doc says you can have yogurts and ice creams, mashed potatoes... Anything between solid and liquid," he continued, smiling at the cute boy.
"Some ice cream would be nice," Alex said politely, keeping his voice quiet and soft; he'd learned that his throat was more damaged than he expected, and speaking normally was extremely painful.
Thankfully, Alex's hyoid bone hadn't fractured from Yassen's grip, but the bruising was deep and had partially damaged his ability to speak and swallow. Alex assumed with everything else happening (and Yassen's impromptu torture session) that he hadn't felt the full depth of the damage. But now that Alex was resting and still, with no more danger to distract him, he was feeling the full brunt of everything done to him.
After asking Alex what flavour of ice cream (chocolate), the nurse left, giving Alex a casual wave as he left the room and a friendly nod at the guard.
Alex relaxed after the door shut. He felt exhausted and everything ached deeply, like he'd been rolled around in a barrel of rocks. Even his eyelashes ached. He wondered if it was perhaps a side effect of the drug he'd been given; the rapid de-aging had put a great deal of stress on his body. He desperately hoped that maybe he'd grow back after it wore off. If it wore off.
Somehow, he really doubted it.
He took a deep breath to calm himself and winced, then briefly wondered why his ribs ached on top of everything else; he didn't remember getting hit there.
"Fuck my life," groaned Alex quietly, scrubbing a hand harshly over his face and through his hair, swearing again when the movement reminded him his shoulder was still sore and his face still deeply bruised.
"My, my. Who taught you such language?"
Alex jerked up, practically flinging himself off the hospital bed, hands up defensively as he faced the door, the tube from the IV trailing his movement.
"Hey! Easy, Alex! It's just me."
Focusing on the man who suddenly appeared leaning nonchalantly against the wall next to the door, hands raised placatingly, Alex abruptly recognized the man's face.
"Ben?" asked Alex cautiously, voice hoarse.
The man nodded, dark blue eyes regarding Alex with concern.
"Your hair's longer," Alex finally said, relaxing his stance.
"And you're shorter," Ben replied, amused, stepping further into the room now that Alex had recognized him.
The child-teen's knee abruptly gave out, still weak and unused to the strain of movement and weight. Ben shot forward, catching the boy swiftly and lifting him back onto the bed.
"Careful," he murmured, eyes darkening as he got a better look at the amount of bruising and injuries on Alex's small form.
"Thanks. I'm alright," Alex said, gritting his teeth as he shifted himself into a more comfortable position on the bed.
Ben moved to sit down, pulling the single chair closer to the bed. Once settled, he regarded Alex for a long moment.
"How old are you?" he finally asked, watching the boy carefully.
"You know what happened?" Alex asked, slightly surprised that MI6 let Ben into the loop.
"I wouldn't be here otherwise," Ben shrugged, "I don't think they're comfortable with you being "kid-ified" and alone here. They're probably going to move you soon," he warned.
"Naturally," Alex muttered, just managing to not roll his eyes. "Any idea where?" he asked, turning calm brown eyes back to Ben.
"I would assume a relative."
Alex shook his head, "I don't have any."
Ben's eyebrow raised at the blunt response.
"You're a teenager, right? You could theoretically live by yourself, so long as MI6 sets up a decent cover."
"My body is currently eight years old. Jones won't go for that, even if I am seventeen mentally. And things are..." Alex trailed off for a moment, "Complicated right now," he finished, a wry grin twisting his lips.
"Make some enemies, did you?" asked Ben, eyebrow raised in amusement.
Alex shrugged.
"Most are dead, but I imagine there are some still alive enough to be pissed."
"Like the guy who tortured you?" probed Ben, eyes serious as he leaned forward.
"Yassen?" Alex said, surprised.
Ben froze.
"Yassen? Yassen Gregorovich?" he asked incredulously.
"Yeah. We've had encounters before. I thought he was dead until he caught me at the airport," Alex explained, confused at Ben's reaction.
"Encounters," Ben muttered, running a hand through his black hair, "He didn't kill you? Why?" he asked, disbelief readily apparent on the agent's face, "If you shrug again, I'll phone Wolf," he threatened, correctly interpreting Alex's closed-off expression.
"Classified," the eight year old teen said, a small smirk crossing his lips.
Ben glared.
"I didn't shrug," Alex pointed out.
Alex's childish response got a quiet huff of laughter from the older agent and he relaxed.
"Seriously, though. Yassen?"
Alex nodded, feeling strangely at ease and loose. Talkative, for him.
"You could say he's a friend of the family."
"Doesn't seem very friendly," Ben replied, reaching forward and gently touching the bruise marring Alex's small face, tactfully ignoring the boy's minute flinch.
"Considering it would have been easier for him to just kill me or dump me into an orphanage out-of-country, this is almost protective," Alex said sardonically, drawing his legs cautiously up and putting his hands protectively into his lap, cradling his broken fingers.
"He choked you," Ben deadpanned, blue eyes hard.
"He was proving a point after I attempted to escape," Alex replied, fidgeting and scowling slightly, unable to keep his mind focused and feeling oddly light-headed, as though detached from the rest of his body.
"You sound like you're defending him, Alex," Ben frowned, wondering if perhaps Alex had developed a mild case of Stockholm syndrome.
"No. Not a chance in hell," Alex said stridently, eyes grim. "It was terrifying and painful. But he wasn't cruel. Not like a lot of the people I've dealt with, anyway. Just... business-like." Alex tried to explain, "He's frightening. Like when you come across a wolf in the wild. You know they can kill you easily, but they'll leave you alone as long as you don't give them reason to attack."
"You seem to understand him quite well. Have you spoken with him that much?" asked Ben, intensely curious. Alex was probably one of the only people to go against Yassen and not be killed for the trouble.
Alex blinked in surprise, "Not really. I've seen him kill a man for dropping part of a shipment. Twice now, I think," Alex frowned, remembering the primal fear that simple action evoked, "When I asked why he didn't kill me, he said it was because he doesn't kill children. Which applies now more than it did before. Honestly, I don't know why he keeps letting me live," Alex finished quietly, an undercurrent of confusion trailing his voice.
The boy fell silent, brown eyes starting to close before Alex jerked himself awake. He rubbed at his eyes, wondering why he suddenly felt drowsy. His gaze drifted to Ben, who sat quietly, watching Alex calmly. His tired mind made the connection just as he slumped back into the pillows, unable to keep his body upright. Tired brown eyes glared at Ben, a sense of betrayal following him as he slowly fell asleep.
Ben sat back. He got far more out of the conversation with Alex than he expected, even with the nurse slipping Alex a very small amount of pain killers to induce Alex's urge to speak, although none of it was precisely pertinent information.
The betrayed look Alex sent him just before the boy passed out pinched at him. More than betrayed, though, Alex looked resigned, as if he had been expecting Ben to visit on MI6's behalf. While it wasn't entirely wrong, Ben liked Alex and had genuinely wanted to visit him.
The kid looked small and decidedly vulnerable, the bruising on his face awakening an oddly protective feeling in Ben's gut. It was unbelievable. The last time he'd seen Alex, the spy was a slim, athletic teenager who'd been done with the adults in his life. And now he was stuck as an eight year old with no cure in sight with MI6 hesitant to run too many tests, worried about complications.
"They need a sample of the drug," Ben thought pensively. The problem being, of course, that it was last seen in the hands of two assassins who'd vanished without a trace. "Damned ghosts. And Alex is the only one who's likely to recognize any of them on sight."
Ben sighed, feeling far older than his twenty-five years. His gaze returned to the small boy on the bed. Alex was really going to hate where Mrs. Jones planned to send him.
It would almost be worth it to see Alex's face when he was told, Ben thought, smirking. Sadly, he wouldn't be there. He had a mission of his own, after all.
Standing silently, Ben walked to the door. He paused for a moment to look back at Alex, hand resting lightly on the door's handle.
"Good luck. Knowing you, you're going to need it," Ben said quietly, knowing the boy couldn't hear him, but still feeling the need to say something before he left.
Ben exited the room, nodding at the guard before striding off down the hall. If he came across Yassen Gregorovich, he'd make sure to get a few hits in.
When Alex woke up, he was unsurprised to find Ben gone. He was surprised, however, at the amount of time he'd been asleep.
Twelve hours is a long time to be asleep, Alex reflected grimly, still groggy from the pain medication. He was irritated with himself for not realizing that the nurse had dosed him while adjusting the IV, and for automatically assuming Ben had no ulterior motives. It stung all the more because he liked Ben, and somewhere in Alex's mind he'd counted the former SAS man as a friend.
Alex brooded, digging his sore body into the pillows and blankets, trying not to think too much. It was difficult. He had no idea what MI6 intended to do with him. Field work was probably out of the question, as was living alone. He had no relatives or any adults to step into guardianship. Blunt's long ago threat to put him into fostercare came to mind, but it seemed unlikely. Alex knew the bank wouldn't want him where possible enemies could reach him so easily (he was an easy target for classified information now, and a growing asset).
The obvious solution would be to assign an experienced agent to be Alex's guardian and to enroll him into a primary school. As unpleasant as that sounded, it was also the most logical decision, as well as the safest, for all involved.
Alex spent the next week feeling anxious and antsy, waiting for MI6 to sweep him out of the hospital and dump him on the nearest agent. However, things remained the same, Alex slowly recovering while an MI6 specialist collected more samples of Alex's blood, tissues, and bone marrow (which had been exceedingly painful) in order to run passive testing on the samples.
He gave the man credit. The specialist was quick and efficient, and had a marvelously good poker face despite the eager excitement and curiosity evident in his eyes.
That was the extent of MI6's presence, aside from the rotating guard at his door. A few days into the next week and Alex's doctor, Dr. Grace Reed, pronounced Alex ready to check out. His fingers still required support and his knee was still weak, but exercise would get it strong again. The bruising was gone, except for a few lingering areas on his neck, and the lacerations on his wrists were healed over, as was the cigarette burn on his collarbone (though the newly healed skin would likely scar for a while).
"The scarring will fade with time," Dr. Grace explained kindly, tapping Alex's wrists gently.
"Thanks," Alex said, smiling slightly at the woman.
"You're very welcome," said Dr. Grace, "You've been a model patient. I wish my kids were as well-behaved as you," she teased, her intelligent eyes glimmering with humor.
"I aim to please," Alex said seriously, an answering grin lighting his face.
"We're going to miss you, Alex. Though please don't make a habit of visiting," she joked, standing to her full height and stretching, her bright pink crocs standing out oddly against her white coat and scrubs, "You're uncle is here to take you home. Try not to get into any trouble!" she called, waving good bye as she left Alex's room.
The nurse with the Batman lanyard entered a few minutes later, bringing Alex's clothes and a new pair of shoes since he didn't have any when he arrived.
The man gave Alex another cheery smile despite Alex's glare, waiting patiently as Alex dressed. He noticed that his clothes were clean, smelling fresh but unscented. Alex assumed the hospital laundered them once they'd been given the okay by MI6.
Once dressed, Alex was escorted out of the room and down to the lobby where his "uncle" waited. A bland face, marginally twisting into a semblance of a smile when Alex appeared, and a dark suit somewhere between blue and black identified the man as an MI6 agent.
"Come, Alex, let's get you home," the man said simply, dropping a heavy hand onto Alex's shoulder and guiding him out of the hospital.
As soon as the two were outside, Alex pushed the agent's hand away. The man didn't protest, just urged Alex into a dark car and slammed it shut after him, barely making sure the boy's legs were fully inside.
"So where are we going?" Alex asked, his younger voice still making him cringe; he missed his older voice. He may have looked young as a teen, but at least he hadn't sounded it.
"Mrs. Jones wants to see you."
"The bank, then."
Alex winced as the car hit a pothole and jarred his knee. He cursed Yassen silently and hoped he wouldn't run into the assassin again. It was doubtful that he would; Alex highly suspected Jones wouldn't be sending him out again.
As the grey city scenery passed by the window, the child-teen found his thoughts turning to Roswell. Something about the man bothered Alex. When Roswell had asked what Yassen planned to do with him, the scientist's expression had filled with greed before reverting to fear at Yassen's negative response. Roswell was somewhere between "bully" and "henchman" and that odd combination made Alex wary, like the man was involved in something globally bad.
At least Alex wouldn't run into the scientist again. He was defecting to a country with cold temperatures all year round. Normally, that could refer to any of a number of countries.
But Yassen Gregorovich was involved. Alex frowned in thought; inevitably, Russia came to mind. There were a dozen different ways new drugs in Russia could end badly, nevermind a defected British scientist who probably knew more things than he should.
"Was Roswell the job Mrs. Jones was going to have me look into?" Alex wondered abruptly, the thought surprising.
It made sense in a strange way. Perhaps he could ask when he saw her. The bank was only a few blocks away, judging by the signs passing by outside his window.
To Alex's surprise, they drove past the front of the bank, instead driving down into the garage beneath the building. Once the car stopped, Alex pushed the door open and stepped out, hiding a wince as his knee throbbed.
"Follow me."
Alex eyed the man skeptically, but followed the agent into the elevator. It rose quickly and smoothly, though Alex swayed slightly and reached out to touch the wall to steady himself.
With a soft ding, the doors opened and the agent stepped out, Alex following silently down the hall. The man knocked on the door at the end of the hallway, a quiet reply had the man opening the door and ushering Alex inside. Mrs. Jones sat behind her large desk, orderly piles of paper and files stacked neatly on its surface. A bowl of peppermints sat off to the side on top of a closed laptop. The room didn't seem to have changed much since Alan Blunt sat behind the desk.
Mrs. Jones looked up and gestured for Alex to take a seat. The agent left quietly, no longer needed, the door closing with a soft click.
"How are you, Alex?" asked Mrs. Jones, eyeing Alex's lingering bruises with concern.
Alex gave her a deadpan look, raising a purely teenage-sarcastic eyebrow.
"Yes, well. I suppose this has all been a bit jarring for you," Mrs. Jones continued, seemingly not needing or expecting a response.
"What's going to happen now?" asked Alex, satisfied the MI6 head wasn't planning to ask any more inane questions.
"That's a difficult question to answer, Alex," the woman sighed, steepling her fingers on top of the desk and looking tired.
Alex didn't buy it for a second. Mrs. Jones may have been more sympathetic towards him when Blunt was in charge, but now that she was the head of MI6, she'd steeled herself. She may not like that Alex was working for MI6, but she would use him regardless, or at the very least keep him on standby.
Just in case.
"Initially, as you may have figured out by now, I'd intended for you to investigate Roswell by way of befriending his nephew. Somehow, you managed to start the job before we even briefed you," she said, a tight-lipped smile crossing her face briefly.
Alex shrugged, "I like to get a head start on things."
"Be that as it may, you discovered that Roswell was defecting and selling two vastly differing drugs on his way out. One set to whoever hired Jason Weste
and Yassen Gregorovich, and the other to the country he's entering," she continued, "You didn't find out which country?"
"Not for sure. Though if I had to guess, Russia would be my bet."
"We'd come to that conclusion, as well," she said, "Can you think of anything else? Did Yassen let anything slip?"
"You really think Yassen would slip up with me around? Particularly after something as... distracting as this happened?" Alex said skeptically, gesturing to his eight year old body.
"I suppose not," Mrs. Jones sighed after a moment. "We'd best sort out your living arrangements. I have a couple options for you to consider," she said, voice suddenly cool and business-like.
Alex felt his heart sinking, a pit opening in his stomach. Ben's rather cryptic comment before he left.
"She wouldn't," Alex thought incredulously, almost instantly followed by, "She would. Definitely."
"Unfortunately, I don't have any agents available with the qualifications to keep you safe. The few that can are currently in the field, and most haven't the faintest idea what to do with a child, let alone one with your particular circumstances," began Mrs. Jones, "Ben Daniels would be the obvious choice, but he is currently working an operation out of country. He will be absent for some time."
Alex cursed silently. Ben would have been a good choice, and Alex was at least moderately comfortable with the former soldier.
"The safest place we can send you at the moment is Brecon Beacons."
The sinking feeling in his stomach abruptly became a straight drop.
"No! No way in hell," Alex gritted out, his young face hard.
"Alex-" Mrs. Jones started, attempting a soothing tone but falling flat.
"Let me live by myself, or put me in a private school with dorms! Anything else!"
Mrs. Jones sighed before picking up a file and handing it to Alex. Slightly confused, the eight year old opened the file and immediately blanched.
"This is the alternative?" Alex asked angrily, brown eyes glaring at Mrs. Jones, "Stay at Brecon Beacons or act as cover for this agent in a different country?" he spat, the calm face of an MI6 agent staring up at him from within the file.
"Yes," she stated simply, a distant part of her hoping Alex would pick Beacons, though she had presented these choices knowing which he would likely choose.
"I didn't think you would send me out like this," Alex finally said, slumping into the chair, the file dangling from his hands. "I'm stuck in this eight year old body, I'm not gonna be of much use. This agent," Alex vaguely waved the photo and file, "Will consider me a liability," Alex frowned, "And he'll be partly right," he thought hopelessly.
"You won't be expected to do anything other than attend a few politician's parties and relax in a luxury hotel," Mrs. Jones said, again trying to be soothing but missing the mark.
"You've said things like that before," Alex said quietly, brown eyes piercing as he glanced up the MI6 head.
Mrs. Jones withheld the flinch. Alex hadn't even been particularly biting, and nor had he sounded angry. Perhaps it was the boy's eyes, large in his now smaller face, with his emotions more readily visible.
"Nothing will happen. It's simply an exchanging of information from one agent to another," explained Mrs. Jones finally, "We can't let you live by yourself. It's too dangerous, for multiple reasons that you should be well aware of. It's either this or Brecon Beacons while we wait for a suitable agent."
Alex closed his eyes in resignation. He didn't see Mrs. Jones' eyes flicker with regret before being hidden once more.
"We've retrieved your things from the airport, but you're going to need new clothes. As you can't do the shopping yourself, I've already sent for clothing in your current size to be bought. In the meantime, acquaint yourself with the file and go see Smithers for your equipment. He's excited to see you again," Mrs. Jones said with a slight smile, pressing a button beneath her desk.
The door opened and another agent stepped in. Holding the file with clenched fingers, Alex stood and left the office, struggling to keep his face blank and his stride even; his knee was throbbing. He pointedly ignored the fresh-faced agent escorting him.
Green eyes glanced down. The agent was young and still relatively new to MI6, and he was certainly not a field agent, but he was able to keep his confusion hidden. It wasn't his job to ask why the head of MI6 would have a private meeting with a child, let alone have an agent escort the child to see the head of the weapons/inventions department.
But it was damn curious. He'd ask around. Someone had to know something, or at least have heard a rumor.
Despite himself, Alex was glad to see the bubbly Irishman when he walked into the lab. The young agent at Alex's side gave Smithers a nod before turning on his heel and vacating the room.
"Alex! Good to see you, old chap!" Smithers exclaimed happily from his wheeled office chair, making no comment on Alex's shrunken appearance.
"You gained weight again," Alex grinned, noting the man's fat-suit façade.
"Yes, it's curst hard to keep it off!" joked Smithers, "Now then, I take it you're in need of gadgets to suit your new age. And I must say, you look positively adorable," complimented Smithers, a genuine smile creasing the fat of his face.
Alex gave a rueful smirk, "Thanks for the compliment, though I'd rather be my actual age," he said, "And yeah, Mrs. Jones sent me down for a whatever you can scrounge up."
"Scrounge? I'm offended! I've never scrounged a gadget in my life, let alone for you," huffed Smithers, wheeling his fake bulk over to a table scattered with different items.
Alex trailed after him, curious as to what Smithers had for him this time despite himself. All he saw on the table, however, was a pair of expensive looking headphones (wireless), a small smartphone, a watch clearly designed for kids, and a fidget spinner attached to a Spiderman keychain.
"Now then, technology being how it is these days, the eight year old son of a foreign politician would certainly have access to something like this," he began, reaching out and plucking the metallic blue wireless headphones off the table. "These are synced to your phone and protected from other wireless interference. Press the logo on the side of the left earphone and they are able to record and play back any sound nearby. And if you press the logo on the right earphone, it will translate any language automatically into English as you listen. These headphones will also extend the range you can naturally hear at, as well as protect your ears from sound over a certain amount of decibels," Smithers explained, almost tripping over his words with excitement over his invention, "I thought that safety measure would be good, since it's you after all," the man teased, eyes glimmering with humor.
Alex rolled his eyes, but didn't hide the answering grin as he took the headphones and looped it over his neck.
"This smartphone does everything a normal phone does, of course, but it connects safely with the headphones and automatically stores any recordings in a hidden folder within the phone's memory. It also has an emergency beacon built in. Press the home button in the pattern of S.O.S. and your location will be beamed straight to us! The case around the phone both protects it physically and prevents cloning, scrambling, and other such things," Smithers continued airily, tossing the phone to Alex who scrambled to catch it in surprise, small fingers feeling decidedly clumsy and stiff though still managing to catch it safely.
"Warn me next time," frowned Alex.
"Oh, it would have been fine. My gadgets don't break so easily," the Irishman said, waving a hand dismissively before picking up the watch. "Have a look at this!" said Smithers, handing Alex the watch.
Alex pocketed the phone and took the watch. It had a distinctively childish feel to it, the band a blue-black-grey camo pattern with a large, round face. The digital display was easy to read and also showed the date and surrounding temperature. It was a nice design, obviously for a young boy, but discreet and professional-looking enough to wear with anything, including formal wear.
"That can handle any situation you find yourself in. Water-proof, impact proof, and with a built-in compass. It also doubles as a flashlight. It's rechargeable and can be charged by leaving it in the sun or on it's charging stand, though the battery can last for seven days on its own. The screen can flip up and be used as target sight for the built in anesthetic dart. Squeeze the hinge nearest you with both fingers after lining up your shot with the crosshairs. It's strong enough to down most adults, but I was only able to fit in one dart," said Smithers seriously, "I hope you won't need it."
"Me, too," muttered Alex, slipping the watch onto his left wrist, slightly pleased that it effortlessly concealed the new scarring there and made a mental note to get some kind of thick bracelet for his other wrist.
"Last, but not least, is this keychain and fidget spinner, which incidentally is a marvelous invention by itself," began Smithers, happily spinning it with a flick of his pudgy fingers to demonstrate.
Each of the three prongs were different colors; one black, another dark blue, and the third white. The general shape of the ends reminded Alex of a shuriken, which he supposed is why it'd be something that would appeal to a young boy.
"This fidget spinner, while still full functional by itself, conceals a ceramic blade of impeccable sharpness in the black part. Squeeze and hold the center, the blade flips open not unlike a pocketknife. The dark blue contains a basic lock pick that detaches from the main body of the spinner. And the white is a pen-drive with a built-in booster to increase the speed of downloading and copying files," continued Smithers cheerily, "And this Spiderman medallion here on the keychain is a smoke bomb if you pull out this little pin. Once pulled, it takes five seconds for the smoke to release."
Alex reached a cautious hand out to take the keychain, studying it carefully. He flipped through the spinner's functions quickly, small fingers getting familiar with the pieces before moving on to the medallion. It seemed like solid metal, a few millimeters thick and about three centimeters in diameter. The pin Smithers mentioned was the small metal hoop that connected to the keychain. It required a special twist in order to remove, so Alex didn't need to worry about accidentally activating it.
"Thanks, Smithers," Alex said, smiling at the man as he slipped the keychain into his other pocket.
"Always a pleasure, old chap!" said Smithers, a grin causing his chins to wobble.
Unsure of what he was supposed to do after receiving his gadgets, Alex lingered awkwardly, gently shifting his weight off of his sore knee and wishing he had somewhere to sit. Sensing Alex was at loose ends, Smithers offered him a chair and a cup of tea, a lab assistant appearing from nowhere with the cups and placing them onto the table before vanishing again. The child smiled gratefully at the Irishman as he sat and began sipping his drink.
Smithers watched him fondly for a moment before excusing himself back to his work, wheeling himself away through a doorway. Alex watched him go, the warm tea relaxing him in a way he hadn't felt for a long time.
"Too bad they won't consider Smithers fit to be my guardian," Alex mused, moving to take another sip of his tea and abruptly realizing he'd already drank it all.
Placing the cup down with a resigned sigh, Alex turned to the folder he'd been given earlier and began reading over the information. The papers detailed both his cover and the cover of the agent he'd be accompanying.
The agent's real name and information wasn't listed, only the alias the man would be using, Johnathon Kingsley. Johnathon Kingsley was a political liaison between England and Russia, with an eight year old son: Alexander Kingsley.
"Which basically means he's operating as a translator and a mediator, officially. Unofficially, this is a hand-off of information from one agent to another using a formal party. And I'm going along as insurance. Because what kind of spy would bring their eight year old child into a potentially tense political climate in a foreign country not known to be friendly to England?" Alex thought, a wry grin twisting his mouth as he began memorizing the details of both his "father" and himself.
Roughly an hour later and Alex closed the file, information memorized. He sat up and stretched, his body sore and stiff. Brown eyes glanced around, finding himself alone at the table. Just as Alex was contemplating looking for the eccentric Irishman, a loud explosion startled the child-spy into running towards the sound.
Smithers emerged in a cloud of smoke from another room, shedding his smoldering fat-suit and coughing. Alex raced over, catching the scientist's forearm in support.
"Thanks, old chap," Smithers coughed, stumbling slightly as he kicked off the remnants of his fat-suit.
"What the hell happened?" asked Alex, eyebrows furrowed in concern as he assisted the man towards the table.
The two made it back to the chairs and table, Alex carefully helping Smithers to sit.
"It happens, you know. Experiments don't always go smoothly the first time. Or even the one hundredth," he joked, his considerably less bulk barely shifting the office chair as he sat down.
Alex stared at the man, torn between laughing or face-palming. With a slight laugh, he simply handed Smithers a cup of now-cold tea. Smithers nodded in thanks and proceeded to down the tea, sighing happily after he finished. Alex shook his head, finally settling on just being amused.
"What were you trying to make?" asked Alex, sitting back down in his previously vacated chair.
"Can't tell you that, old chap," Smithers replied, looking distinctly apologetic.
Alex just shrugged.
"Sorry about your fat suit," the child-teen said after a pause, noticing one of Smithers' assistants carefully collecting the smoldering remains; it looked disturbingly like a real dead body.
"Not to worry, I always keep a spare," the older man said airily, waving a hand dismissively.
"Are you sure you're alright? Shouldn't you go get checked out or something?" Alex asked, looking vaguely worried as he noticed the light pink burns on Smithers' arm.
Smithers glanced down at the burns consideringly and sighed.
"I suppose you're right, dear Alex. But I will wait until they come pick you up," the normally jolly man said, glancing at the elevator.
"Someone's coming to pick me up?"
"Of course! Though I don't know when they're supposed to arrive," Smithers said, glancing at the clock on the opposite wall.
"I can just stay here quietly until they arrive. Burns aren't something to let sit," Alex commented, voice heavy with prior experience.
A sad expression crossed Smithers normally cheery face for a brief moment before it vanished.
"Alright, Alex. If it'll make you feel better, I'll get it checked," the man said, standing up carefully. "It shouldn't take long. But if you're gone before I get back, take care, my friend," Smithers continued, offering his large calloused hand for Alex to shake.
"I will. Try not to blow anything up while I'm gone," grinned Alex, taking Smithers' hand and giving it a firm shake, trying to ignore how small his hand was in comparison.
"Same to you, old chap! I've heard some things about how your previous missions ran," Smither laughed.
"There are rumors?" asked Alex, visibly startled.
"My dear boy," Smithers gave him an amused look, "You have been involved in very public incidents and you've been in and out of a building filled with intelligence gatherers."
"Guess I was too busy to really think about it," Alex frowned pensively.
"No one has connected those missions to you. Mrs. Jones has been very thorough. The incidents are hard to keep under wraps, but the agent involved is easy enough to keep classified," said Smithers, trying to reassure the boy.
Alex nodded in understanding, forcing himself to relax. Smithers gave Alex another smile before turning away and heading out. Alex waited for the lift's doors to close before dropping back into the chair, exhaustion abruptly catching up with him.
With nothing else to do, Alex found himself falling asleep, still sitting upright in the chair. The first few times he started to doze off, Alex jerked himself awake, but eventually his exhaustion pulled his young body into a light slumber.
End Chapter
