Chapter 51: Contracts and Resignation

Three had effectively cornered him. Yassen was not about to just walk away. Just wonderful. The doctor was not an easy man to 'accidentally' ditch, especially when he followed you out the door and onto the edge of the grounds. "Yassen."

Yassen turned. "I think we are about far enough."

The executive board member could almost admire that degree of paranoia. He was fairly confident Yassen wasn't about to murder him, even if they were in a camera blind spot. They were there to give the illusion of privacy. Both Yassen and he knew this. "So, Yassen, why are you and Nile at each other's throats?"

Yassen huffed. "We are having a disagreement over the handle of a certain ongoing situation."

Three was piqued. There were very few things that were singular enough to provoke this amount of dramatic action. "And this requires one of you to murder the other?"

Yassen looked at then man. "Well, I told him to keep his hands out of it, but he hasn't listened."

Three looked bemused. Yassen occasionally wanted to punch the smirk off the man's face. "Yes, telling Nile to keep his hands out of something tends to have the opposite effect when one is the same rank. Did you two, perhaps, consider some sort of compromise?"

Yassen scowled. "There is no compromise."

Three just raised an eyebrow at him. "I thought as much. Do you two really want to have the logistics branch in for arbitration?"

Yassen resisted the urge to glare at the man. The logistics branch was rather infamous for being a bunch of penny-pinching bastards, and their version of arbitration would not leave him very happy. "Not in the slightest. If I can just impale Nile's carotid on the nearest dinner fork, it will all go away."

Three was resisting laughter. Yassen was one of his favorites for a reason. So quiet, so homicidal. "Yes, Yassen, but sadly we very much want Nile alive and able to do his job."

Yassen looked at him with a look of resignation. "And he had better not have any kind of accident with you anywhere on the continent, either."

Yassen knew this was a threat and a promise. "Very well."

He could always find some other sucker to do the job. Alex had psychotic family members, right? Then again, Alex probably wouldn't appreciate more dead family members courtesy of SCORPIA. "You two will be meeting after lunch to discuss a compromise."

Yassen resisted the urge to hiss. "Very well."

Three smirked. "Do be nice."

Yassen raised an eyebrow. "I am not a nice man and I will be destroying all the cameras before we begin."

Three resisted the urge to sigh. "Very well. I trust you two will not proceed to duel each other to the death after you destroy our security cameras."

Yassen shrugged. "He will not be dead after I finish, but if he attacks first, there will be consequences."

Three stepped back into the boundary. "I can live with that."

It would be Chase's problem, after all. Nile was having a very similar conversation with said board member at the moment.

Nile was not looking forward to his and Yassen's little, uh, talk. Yeah, that was definitely only going to contain only talking. No fighting, his ass. Grrr. Why couldn't he and Yassen just duke it out like a few of the others had done with major disagreements? Of course, that usually resulted in dead bodies, but it wasn't like they both didn't have a body count higher than the population of some small towns. Chase was eyeing him suspiciously from the minute Yassen walked in to finish his lunch. They both exchanged a look. Nile wasn't quite sure, but he felt like it was a 'can you believe this shit' look. Yassen looked rather sour, so Nile pretty much guessed he'd gotten the same 'don't murder each other, you're both too profitable' talk as he had. Otherwise, he would look like the cat that got the canary or somewhat similar and more Yassen-y. The entire cafeteria was nearly dead silent. Eerie and still, like the moment before a gun was fired. Nile didn't blame them. Neither he nor Yassen was known to be particularly patient if they were already in a piss-poor mood. Nile recalled several occasion where Yassen had shot people for simple mistakes or being "annoying". Nile could honestly say he wasn't all that much better, plus he was pretty much the Brendan Chase's de-facto executioner if someone screwed up badly enough to warrant the man's undivided attention. Yassen was getting older, but Nile knew fighting him would not be without its' own risks. For one, Cossack was one of the few people who could actually win against him. The man also had a pretty terrifying reputation, with good reason. Nile was pretty sure Yassen would win a fair fight against him, but not for much longer. He was getting close to thirty-five, after all. Alex was well worth the fight, in Nile's opinion. Plus, winning would have given him a huge reputation boost. It was a pity they weren't allowed to actually carry through with it. Nile watched Yassen from across the room. Yassen finished with his usual grace and soundlessly set the silverware down. Nile placed his silverware at the side of his plate. The two board members were watching them like hawks. Everybody knew what kind of damage you could do with the evening cutlery. Mind you, it was steel evening cutlery. Silver was too soft to stab people effectively. It would bend like crazy and occasionally broke. They both got up and headed to the nearest small conference room. The door shut behind Nile with a slam. Nile wondered if Yassen was going to straight-up strangle him. To his surprise, the man reached toward a spot on the wall and ripped a small camera out. Nile flinched.

Yassen went for the next one with a little more force than strictly necessary. Rip. Crunch. Property destruction was oddly satisfying. Rip. Crunch. Rip. Crunch. Rip. Crunch. Nile stared at him in horror. "What are you doing?!"

Yassen blinked. Rip. Crunch. "Debugging."

Nile kept looking at the man like he had lost his mind. Everybody who was smart enough to discover those cameras was smart enough to know SCORPIA really did not appreciate when you ripped them out of the wall and various...other...spots. "The bathroom?!"

Yassen had made a beeline for the place after. "They might listen through the door."

Rip. Crunch. Rip. Crunch. "Hmm. Only two. Odd."

Nile gaped. "Only?!"

Yassen continued searching the toilet. "Ah, here we go."

Rip. Crunch. "Best not to stop at three."

Nile stared. Okay, he could not possibly be blamed for Cossack losing his shit and ripping all the bugs out. Chase wasn't unreasonable, even if he was obsessed with that Pierre dude. Well, Nile wasn't going to pry, but he was beginning to think Chase was just as bananas as Rothman, he just hid it better. "The good doctor gave me permission."

Never mind. Everyone in this joint was batshit. Nile was going to need more therapy. ASAP. He needed Blondie to tell him to screw off again. That would make this normal. "Fuck. You're going to drown me in the tub instead of strangling me."

Yassen gave him an amused look. "Actually, I was going to impale your carotid on the nearest fork, but the good doctor intervened."

Nile just glared at him. This was not helping his nerves. "Cossack."

Rip. Crunch. "After I am done."

Nile sighed. It was about fifteen more minutes before Yassen was satisfied he got them all. Nile was patently horrified by the sheer amount of money this was probably going to cost. Holy shit, the guy was fucking nuts. Three must really like the guy. Nile shuddered at the thought of what Chase would do to him if he was the one destroying fancy surveillance equipment on a whim. "Cossack."

The man's cold blue eyes flick up to him. Nile realized he sounded out of breath. "What are we going to do about Blondie?"

Yassen's eyes hardened to ice. "We are doing nothing. He is mine."

Nile felt his temper beginning to rise. "Fuck you."

Yassen raised an eyebrow. "You have an alternate plan?"

Nile sighed. "Alternating months?"

They both knew the Yassen would not live in the same house as him. "Alternating every six weeks; I get the first one and you do the kidnapping."

Nile huffed. "Why do I get the brunt end of this?"

Yassen huffed. "Because you have the combat team that also specializes in kidnapping."

Nile felt like he'd been swindled. "Fine. Can I punch you, at least?"

Yassen smirked. "You could, but then I would be forced to break your face on the shiny marble sink."

Nile swore under his breath. "Language. We will be co-parents soon."

Nile raised his hand in a very rude gesture. "Screw you, Cossack."

Yassen smirked. "If we did that part of parenting, Nile, you would be the wife."

Nile resisted the urge to punch Yassen in the face for that. His voice came out even, though. "Really, dude?"

Cossack smirked. It was then Nile noticed the man was bleeding. "You're bleeding."

The man didn't look down. "I will live, rest assured."

Somehow, that cheery thought was not going to let Nile sleep any easier. "Do you want help taking care of that?"

Yassen gave him a very suspicious once over. "Fine, but if I start feeling the slightest bit sleepy I will stab you. Painfully."

Nile sighed. He had a feeling this was going to be a long day and they hadn't even started curriculum negotiations yet.

Alex Rider was back to the house again. Ian was relieved. Perhaps more relieved than he should have been. Alex was mostly responsible with his train trips. Besides the occasional trip to Japan to shoot at the Yakuza. And the occasional trip to Germany stalking terrorists. Ian wasn't sure what to do. It had all seemed so right until it didn't. Then there was Crawley and contract killers and another kill mission. The stupid family had to get involved on top of all that. It was a complete and utter disaster. At least Alex and Tom managed to have a fun dead-body free day in the park together, by all accounts. Ian sighed. He felt like he was failing personally and that was not including the whole transfer program thing. Amanda had probably already told him. What was he supposed to do? He couldn't up and quit his job. Patrick was already on his case about preventing incidents. The man would probably be frothing with fury if he found out about the latest incident. Patrick was freaking perfect. Never forgot a damn thing in fifty goddamn years. He was trying okay? It was just so goddamn hard. Ian wasn't really sure what to do. He could never be as self-assured as the rest of them. John had always known what to do. Ian was never meant to be doing this alone. Alex had a dog, sure, but Ian knew it was not exactly a good replacement. Jack Starbright had taken care of it until Alex had one day found out what he actually did for a living. And then, everything had started crumbling. Aunt Crazy had made sure to twist the knife before leaving. Ian wasn't sure whether to be proud or angry. Alex had technically gone above and beyond, but it had been terribly risky. The child was far from fully trained and even if he had been, Ian wouldn't have wanted him to go. Ian didn't want this life for Alex. It should have been better. Alex shouldn't have gotten the attention of the damn rest of the family. Or the assassins. Or his bosses. Like he couldn't see the grasping glint in Blunt's eye. Ian would say screw it all and kill Blunt himself before that happened. The family was bad enough. Alex was not inheriting his job. Ian unlocked the secret compartment in his bedroom. Alex wasn't the only one. His bedroom door was locked for his private bedroom. Inside his wall was a case. In the case was a suit of armor. The family had a few toys that were ahead of everybody else. Ian touched the armor, running his hands over it. It was lighter than kevlar and stronger than steel. John had given it to him before the whole SCORPIA ordeal. It was Alex's when he became old enough, but for now, Ian was its owner. The armor was said to be a gift from the embodiment of death. Ian didn't believe in it, but the stuff was a miracle. There was also a smaller case inside. Ian picked it up. It contained the family throwing knives and sword. John's complete set from SCORPIA was in the basement, but these were from before. Passed down. Ian wasn't sure how old they were. Alex would learn how to use the knives first, but this year, they would start the sword in earnest. Ian ran his hand over the blade. It was nearly three feet long and made of steel. He had learned to use it from the age of twelve. When he was older he had used the sword and armor to carry out many assassinations that were sanctioned only by himself. Technically, he was also an assassin who had his own codename and file at MI6. In the same cabinet as "Cossack" and "Nile". Ian thought it was particularly ironic that he was their best agent and one of their most wanted assassins. He turned the blade in his hand as he tried to make up his mind about whether or not to outright hunt down and kill Nile as "Shade". Ian sighed and put the blade away. Nile was safe from him for now.

Alex was enjoying his few days off with Tom before he spotted a drug dealer in the park. He mentally cursed. At least Skoda was dead. Tom noticed his sour mood right away. "What's wrong?"

Alex subtly pointed at the man. Tom's gaze sharpened. "Yeah, I don't like it either. What are we going to do about it?"

Alex huffed. "We are doing nothing. I will take care of this."

Alex fingered his knife and prepared to follow the man. Tom grabbed his forearm. Alex was so surprised that Tom nearly got a lethal strike to the face. "The hell I'm not. This affects us, to. He sells to Brooklands."

Alex practically hissed. "You'll bring it to the group."

Alex stiffened. Then, he reminded himself that this was Tom, not Ian or Blunt. Tom was his friend. Alex looked at Tom. The difference was that his friend was actually concerned with his well-being. He loosened instantly and felt something twist inside him. "Alright."

Tom looked a little shocked. "Really? You're usually more...um...strong-willed."

Alex gave his friend a look that said he wasn't at all fooled by Tom's attempt at diplomacy. Tom stepped back. "For you, Tom, I will try."

Tom let his arm go. "You're not going to give me the silent treatment for this, are you?"

Alex gave Tom a look that was more amusement than anything else. "No, Tom. I'm not Ian."

Or John Rider. Certain people would do well to remember that. Tom grinned. "Thank, God. We'd never do anything remotely fun or unhealthy ever again."

Alex was overcome with a wave of uncontrollable laughter before he could stop it. The funny part was that Tom was completely right. Tom poked him after a minute. Alex managed to quit. "What?"

Tom rolled his eyes. "Are you sure you're feeling okay? There's a children's shelter nearby and an asylum in walking distance."

Alex cracked a crooked smile that he knew was one of Tom's favorites on him. "Never been better."

Tom's disbelieving look suggested his friend really didn't believe him but was going to let it rest for the moment. "Hey, Tom, speaking of group things, I want to get Jamie out of his marriage contract."

Tom gave him a long look. "How?"

Alex gave Tom a grin that would send shudders down the spine of any sane, law-abiding citizen. "We're going to make sure what's-her-name-"

Tom interjected. "Megan Spencer."

Alex rolled his eyes. "Megan dearest breaks that contract so hard it may as well have spontaneously combusted. Bonus points for publicly ruining her reputation."

He honestly didn't give a shit what her name or pedigree was. Jamie was not getting married off like a piece of property to some inbred cow. Alex would personally run her and her entire family through with a kitchen knife before that was a scenario. Some of his murderous intent must have shown because Tom gave him a look that was a mix of concern and consternation. "Alex, I love you, but I will turn you in if you murder them without a good reason."

Alex gave Tom a look. "My plan is way better than that Tom. Everybody knows that the two things rich people like are drugs and orgies. I just plan to film her in the act."

Tom glanced at Alex. "And how do you plan to get her into cocaine-filed orgies?"

Alex gave Tom a grin. "Don't worry. It'll all work out splendidly."

Tom trailed after him and attempted to get the leash back on Fenrir's collar while trying to follow Alex. Fenrir dodged the leash attachment repeatedly. "Alex that's not very reassuring."

Alex was already out of earshot. Tom sighed.

Ian Rider heard the boys getting home, rather than seeing him. He was, of course, barred from the current investigation into Nile. Jones wanted him alive and Ian was not known for bringing back SCORPIA assassins back in less than six pieces...ever, in fact. Ian felt a smug sort of pride at that. He was rarely that aggressive without severe provocation, but Ian felt that every last member of SCORPIA deserved to be hacked into pieces and was more than happy to do it for himself. He'd lost John and they would certainly target Alex given half the chance. Anyway, Ian was focusing on the boys getting home. Right. Alex wasn't speaking to him. Ian was almost in tears again. Right. Maybe he should try to sleep more. Ian felt a bleak sort of mood set over him. Goddamnit. Why did they all have to be so stubborn? His way was best. Ian would defend his decision to keep Alex away from the family cult until he was dead and blue in the face. Because fuck them. They had done bugger all after John died. Ian had gone AWOL and hunted down quite a few of a certain school's graduates for revenge. Jones had just barely managed to cover up the fact that it was him. After that, he was always told no more and that MI6 wanted them alive. Hiss. It wasn't enough. It would never be enough. John and Helen were dead and the hole in his chest still ached and burned. Ian knew that John wouldn't want him to go on a murder spree, but it was a little too much to ask. John was the golden child, after all. Not him. Never him. Yet, he had never hated the man, his brother, for a single second. John was just too John to ever really hate. Ian, promise me… Sorry, John. There was a promise that didn't have an ice cube's chance in hell. At least take care of Alex. I'll do my best. And Ian? Yes, John? His brother had been in one of his rare intense moods. Don't trust Alan Blunt. He's a fanatic. Fanatics will always turn on you in the end. They go crazy. Ian had taken that advice, but he hadn't understood at the time. He wished John was still here. Alex and Tom were in the kitchen. Ian was still kneeling in his room. He sighed as he rose. Ian knew he was almost too old for this. Even still, Blunt would want him until retirement age at the very least. Ian knew best of all what happened when you said no to Blunt. MI6 pretty much used him as the go-to for non-civilian blackmail, after all. Plus, you know, being their back-up assassin. You know, he just loved doing stuff outside of his job description of an intelligence agent. At least Tulip got him the extra pay for it. Ian was not about to do that shit for what they paid him normally. Then again, having MI6's protection was a pretty decent bonus. Ian sighed as he wondered how to approach Alex. It would help if he hadn't crapped up their relationship with the whole I-forgot -your-birthday-two-years-in-a-row debacle. Crawley was heading up the Nile investigation but had said no when Ian wanted in. John's reasoning was that Ian would track the man down and murder the crap out of him, resulting in them both being on probation. Ian hadn't been able to look Crawley in the eye and promise to bring that fucking terrorist in alive, so no information for him. MI6 was turning into a bunch of pacifist pansies. Damn it. Ian remembered a time when they would have sent a bunch of people out with sniper rifles that cost you about a grand and four Russian lives on the black market. Needless to say, his bosses were on pretty thin ice. Oh, well. Ian knew he wasn't going to get the info he wanted legitimately or semi-legitimately. Time to go old-school. Ian took out a bug that was the size of a piece of confetti. Patrick had forked 'em over no questions asked when he said Alex might be in danger. Of course, Patrick would probably have a way to listen in, but Ian figured they could agree on protecting Alex. Crawley had been nice enough to tell him when and where the debriefing was supposed to take place. Ian would just have to stick the thing inside a piece of gum and get it in the room. Nobody would know the difference. Now, he just had to get Alex to take more lessons from him.

Alex felt a little suspicious when Ian started hovering at the edge of the room where he and Tom were. Years of on-again, off-again intelligence work had honed his sense of when somebody wanted to talk in private with him. It was about time to apologize and make-up with Ian, anyway. Alex's rage had pretty much cooled as much as it was ever going to. The inward sigh. Alex wondered if other people kept this much behind a poker face. Tom glances at him and then at Ian and paused. "Tom, I need to talk to Ian."

His friend hovered. "In private."

Tom slowly left the room with a lot of backward glances. Alex felt a sense of amusement and warmth toward his very concerned friend. Ian hesitated at the edge of the room. "Well, go on then. You've only been hovering for the past hour."

Ian gave him a dry look. "And you left me standing."

Alex gave his uncle an innocent look that neither of them believed. "I'm helping you stay fit Ian, that way your heart doesn't fail you in your old age."

Ian rolled his eyes. "Sure you are, brat."

Alex smirked. "Oh, but you love me anyway."

Ian gave him a wry look. "Heaven help us both."

Alex snorted. "Was there a point you were getting to, uncle dearest, or do you just like messing with my somewhat paranoid mind?"

Ian sighed. "Yes."

Alex gave his uncle an expectant look. "You could have just asked me to lunch like a normal person."

Ian raised an eyebrow. "Oh, but would you have gone?"

Alex shrugged. "My issues with you notwithstanding, yes."

Ian let out a long, slow breath. "Sooo, since Aunt Crazy decided to reiterate how important family traditions were. I decided to teach one I happen to like. Sword fighting."

Alex stared. Well, in truth, Nile was the only person he knew who actually carted around swords to fight with. "Um, okay."

Ian huffed. "You could look a little more excited."

Alex retorted. "And you could spend more time remembering my birthday and less time bickering with Aunt Marion and Patrick about my curriculum, but you don't."

Ian looked like a dying deer with the way his eyes projected his feelings. "I thought we were speaking again."

Alex rolled his eyes. "We are. I've got better ways of getting back at you than the silent treatment. Plus, I'm mostly over it, you know."

Ian gave him an odd look. "Was there anything you wanted?"

Alex mentally groaned. He wanted to snap out something hurtful. A damn card on time would have been enough. "Can you take me to the Tower of London? Just the two of us."

Ian seemed vaguely surprised. "Sure."

Alex gave him a smirk. "After all, I never finished my tour after I ran away from the church school trip."

Ian laughed. "Try not to burn down any more churches on route. Jones will have a fit."

Alex gave Ian a wide-eyed look. "I was trying to help."

Ian chuckled. "I don't think the Church of England wants your inflammatory brand of help, Alex."

Alex pouted. "Too bad. It definitely improved the service."

Ian shook his head. The man's eyes were glistening with amusement. "Touché."

Alex returned to the subject at hand. "So, sword fighting."

Ian did a sort of theatrical flourish. "To the basement."

Alex rolled his eyes. Ian should have become an actor. It would have been far less trouble for all involved. Alex followed him down to the basement. He figured Tom and Fenrir could get along for a few hours with him. Fenrir seemed to actually like his friend. They both went into Ian's study and Ian got them both in. "I've been meaning to ask you about the lab."

Alex had seen this coming for ages. "I figured I could get it up and running. Don't worry about it, Ian."

Ian let it lie. Alex had gained a few inches on the man, but he still barely came up to mid-chest. Ian ruffles his hair. "You've grown."

Alex gave him a wry look. "Kids do that Ian unless all those health lessons were a lie."

Ian barked out a laugh. "You know, this reminds me of a time when Helen got food poisoning when she met the family."

Alex felt a soft smile appear on his face. "So, what happened?"

Ian smiled. It was a rare thing. "Well, as it so happens, your father had brought her to a somewhat dodgy restaurant the night before…"

Ian remembered that night as clear as day. Helen has walked in wearing a tasteful blue dress. Ian had stared a bit. She looked lovely, after all. She never had eyes for anybody else after she met John. John had closed the door behind them and walked in with a smile on his face. He was definitely the better-looking brother. After a few polite greetings, they had all sat down to dinner with Ian and the parents. His mother had prepared a pork chop for them and greens. She'd really gone all out and made asparagus and those hand-mashed potatoes, too. Ian had laid out the actual silverware and the fancy wine-glasses. Ian had been surprised when his mother had brought out the fancy china. Man, she must have really wanted grandkids. Helen had sat down while his parents cooed over the couple. Well, his mother did. "A nurse. Such a lovely caring woman. John must have met you at the hospital. What, with his frequent accidents, I'm glad you're around."

His father had sat with the appropriate amount of approving stoicism. "You seem quite lovely, Ms. Beckett. Tell me, any relation to a Patrick Beckett? Dark hair and eyes. We met each other during the war. Bit of a rough sense of humor."

Helen had looked at the man. "Oh, he's my father. It sounds exactly like him."

His father had seemed startled for a minute. "He must be proud. You're a lovely woman. You resemble your mother quite closely. It was a shame when she passed."

Helen stared in shock. "You knew my mother, too?"

Ian had felt a little sorry for her then. "Yes, not well. We lost touch when they moved to Israel after the marriage."

Helen had looked at the man. Ian realized this must be the most anybody had ever spoken of her dead mother. Patrick Beckett was not really a warm, comforting individual if memory served. Quite the opposite, in fact. His father seemed to either take mercy or have pity on her. "She was quite beautiful. Her hair was fairer and her eyes were blue but nearly grey instead of your color. She liked to cook vegetarian and never did get her pork to cook anything less than dry to the bone. She enjoyed dancing the waltz and knitted your first blanket and her favorite color was green."

It was the most Ian had ever heard his father talk. The man usually answered in monosyllables or went into long, manly lectures about weapons or spycraft. Ian had never seen the man remotely sentimental about any person and pets were strictly banned in the Rider household when they were children. Helen had given the man a rather watery smile. "Thank you."

His father had cut into the perfectly cooked pork chop. "You are welcome, Ms. Beckett."

His mother proceeded to heap extra vegetables on her plate and began to insist she take the leftovers. She was like that. Helen seemed to bare it quite gladly. "You really must. I imagine nursing and cooking for John must be quite taxing. Your poor feet."

Ian felt his lips twitch. His mother had wanted a daughter, but his father insisted they stop after two kids. John looked at him across the table and they were both restraining their laughter. It was the first time he'd looked away from Helen the whole evening. Ian couldn't exactly blame his brother. John seemed pretty serious about her. Brought her home and everything. Suddenly Helen looked quite ill. "Are you alright, dear?"

His mother, while talkative, was not stupid. "I believe I need to borrow your washroom."

His mother had escorted her to the bathroom with the whole family trailing. Helen walked in a promptly through up into the toilet. John was delicately holding her hair. "Could you be pregnant?"

Ian was occasionally horrified at his father's complete and utter lack of sensitivity. Fortunately, Helen had a sense of humor, even while retching into a toilet. "Not unless the nursing school was a lie and you can get pregnant by sitting in the loo."

Ian had been unable to contain his snort at his parents' relieved expressions. His father spotted John's offended look. "I apologize, Ms. Beckett. If you are not feeling up to the ride home, John can stay in his old room and you can stay in the guest room."

Alex stared at Ian. He never told stories or got sentimental the last time. 'What happened next?"

Ian smiled. "She stayed the night with mum fussing over her like the mother hen she was."

Alex looked at his uncle. "And then?"

Ian shrugged. "Well, she and your dad kept dating. Your grandparents had a bit off a row, but I think mum put her foot down because dad never actually tried to break them up like Patrick did. But, that's a story for another day."

Alex mentally sighed. Well, at least he had one story about his parents from Ian. Ian was sitting in his lab. "So, what do you do here?"

Alex gave him a look. "For a spy, you aren't very subtle."

Ian grinned. "For a twelve-year-old, you aren't very innocent."

Alex grinned. He'd missed this, not that he'd ever admit it to anyone other than Tom. Or maybe Jack, in a pinch. "Oh, and whose fault is that?"

Ian smirked. "I blame Patrick and Aunt Crazy. It works wonders."

Alex snorted with laughter. "They say the same thing about you."

Ian threw up his hands. "Grey hair. You're all going to give me grey hair, I swear to God."

Alex grinned. "Oh, but then you might actually look your age and people will stop thinking you and Jack are a couple."

Ian promptly elbowed him in the side. Alex knew it was a sore point for both his uncle and Jack. Alex just kept shamelessly smiling. "Low blow, Alex."

Alex smirked. "So do you or Crawley-"

Ian didn't even want to know how Alex was planning on finishing that sentence and had lightly swatted him upside the head. Alex's eyes were sparkling with mirth. "Insufferable brat."

Alex mock scowled. "Grumpy, humorless old codger."

Ian yelped. "I'm not that old."

Alex took the bait. "Yes, you are. You're old enough to be Jack's father, you shameless old man."

Ian gave him the evil eye. "You know full well that was never on the table."

Alex couldn't wipe the stupid grin off his face to save his life. "So you're two-timing Jack and Crawley? For shame."

Ian rolled his eyes and gave up. Sarcasm was the answer to all of life's problems, right? "Yeah, and Tulip, but don't tell anybody."

Alex was torn between laughing and gagging at that mental image. Ian looked satisfied that he'd 'won' one of their conversations. Alex glared and then mock-whined. "Ian, I'm permanently traumatized by that mental image."

Ian rolled his eyes. "You have Belinda. Patrick pays for it."

Alex pouted. "Speaking of Belinda, I wanted to discuss terms."

Ian sighed. "For what?"

Alex looked at him funny. "Our relationship."

Ian was suddenly serious. "What do you want?"

Alex snorted. "Not much. I want you to knock and I want you not to go through my mail. The paper one, that is."

Ian huffed. "But-"

Alex cut his protests off. "In return, if shady people send me threatening letters, I'll let you know."

Ian opened his mouth. "But-"

Alex raised an eyebrow. "Have I ever not come and gotten you, with the exception of that first note?"

Ian stopped. "Well, no, but-"

Alex cut him off. "I'm twelve and I need my privacy."

Ian was quiet for a bit. "Alright, then."

Alex let out a sigh. "Is that all?"

Alex smirked a bit. "I'd like if you quit bugging my phone, but I realize it won't happen anytime this century."

Ian gave him a sort of half-smile. "No, it won't."

Ian got up and headed toward their underground training center. The weapons wall rivaled Malagosto. "Shall we get started?"

Alex took the sword that was held out to him. He weighed it in his hand. It was pretty heavy. "Sure."

Ian gave him a playful sort of look. Alex was suddenly quite glad he'd come back.

Antonio Rodriguez was a patient man. Miguel had not exactly inherited that trait. The child had been surprisingly persistent about asking for Alex back. Antonio was actually quite surprised. Oh well, it was good Miguel was more obsessed with Alex and friendship than some local village girl. Antonio sighed as he viewed the latest records of the CIA agent he was supposedly sheltering. They were worse than a good majority of his men when it came to conduct. He was annoyed when they ignored his repeated insistence that they didn't have to take undercover that far. Plus, they ditched his security teams. Overconfident little shits. He hoped SCORPIA or one of his rivals murdered them in their sleep. Joe Byrne refused to listen to the hundreds of misconduct complaints he had his accountants/paperwork servants (they were paid) fill out. Apparently, all of his agents were perfect little angels. Antonio had done a little research into Alex's family, speaking of corrupt intelligence agents. That family of his was awful. No wonder the child had already run away twice. Antonio knew he wasn't the only one looking Alex's way. Outside the family politics, there were at least three contenders. The Black Circle wasn't nearly as subtle as they thought. At least, they weren't to Antonio. He suspected most of the others either couldn't, wouldn't, or didn't put the pieces together. MI6 and the CIA were both slippery when it came to their side of the damn treaty. Antonio was starting to wish he'd simply shot the two others when they came to his house. It would significantly reduce the headaches he had to deal with. Speaking of headaches, "Agent Smith" walked in. Antonio doubted it was the man's real name, personally. He didn't respond quite quickly enough after a few drinks to it. It, however, wouldn't matter after tonight. The man was not going to survive dinner, not that the dear Agent knew that. Antonio stood up. "Do sit down, Agent Smith."

The man looked at him suspiciously but obeyed. He had to at least keep a facade of trying to keep Antonio happy. "What did you want?"

Antonio inwardly smirked. Rude, that man. "I can't eat dinner with one of my lieutenants? A shame, considering I've done it already with everyone else at least once a week."

He relaxed. Foolish, but Antonio was not exactly surprised. The man waited as the food came out. "How are you doing?"

The man immediately launched into a mix of complaints, the actual information that Antonio mentally cataloged, and excuses for why he wasn't following Antonio's rules. His words didn't really matter. Antonio had surrounded the man with men who were actually some of his most loyal. They had reported every last detail to him. The man thought he was so clever, trying to skim off the top and keep his rule-breaking a secret. Plus, he was communicating and attempting to work for some of Antonio's rivals behind both their backs. Antonio had his food poisoned to such a high dose, a single bite would kill the man. Agent Smith waited for him to take the first bite of their food before beginning. It was not nearly as secure a method as most people thought. You could use a long-term poison. You could have someone's specific glass or food spiked with radioactive pellets or liquid. You could use the time-honored method of swallowing oil and vomiting up the poison later - it only worked with certain ones. At any rate, the man should really know better than to accept a single bite of food from a cartel leader who had several reasons to be pissed off with him. Antonio had not been in a patient mood when selecting his poison. The effect was almost instantaneous. The man began choking almost instantly. "Agent Smith, tsk, tsk. Going behind my back and against my rules. You have ingested a species of death cap mushroom that grows in Mexican soil. This will be labeled a tragic cooking accident. I do not suffer traitors or fools."

After sword practice with Ian, Alex had one more stop to make in the house. He'd set up the plant Jack had given him in one of the tiny greenhouses in the basement and switched on the UV light. One of the relatives must have been paranoid about the others stealing or finding their work because all of the greenhouses were carefully made to look empty from the outside, no matter their true contents. The mirror design had surprised Alex with its intricacy. They could all let light in, but they did not reflect light out. It was interesting. Alex usually only saw that kind of design on interrogations rooms. Alex shuddered and tried not to remember the many theoretical lessons that thought brought up. The plant had already started to grow. Alex took it out of the greenhouse and noticed it gave off a faint glow. He took out his notes and recorded times, dates, and how much the plant grew. The vine had already needed a stake to hold it up. Alex noticed it was starting to bud, too. The buds seemed to glow brighter than the rest of the vine. All in all, it was shaping up to be a pretty interesting plant so far. Alex honestly had no idea what it was, which was an accomplishment, considering he'd done all of Jet's extended reading. Maybe it was just decorative? Jet only covered edible and extremely poisonous plants. Alex figured he would show it to Jack when it bloomed. The vine seemed to prefer tropical conditions. Alex had stuck it in the garden for two afternoons and it had turned yellow no matter how much he watered it. Some plants really were that picky. He wondered vaguely if Jet might know what it was. The only problems would be getting it to her and convincing her to spend some time on it. Maybe if he impersonated a professor online and wrote some papers on space-saving hydroponics that weren't technically invented yet? Alex would feel bad about stealing other people's work, but it might get him enough credit to open a communication line with Jet without arousing suspicion. There had to be nutty plant professors, right? Alex poked the vine a bit and it shone brighter where he touched it. Hmm. He scribbled down the results. Alex knew he was going to get a professional opinion on the vine before putting it in a garden. It would be irresponsible not to, after all.

Author's Note: Yes, I am continuing the story. I just have finals coming up and I caught the plague (read: a very bad cold) this week and had earsplitting headaches while conscious. Not really conducive to writing. I'm better now, don't worry.