Author's Note: I haven't read Nightshade yet. So, this fic ignores it. Though I don't think it matters...
Disclaimer: Alex Rider is not mine. I have no claims to it. Only Anthony Horowitz does.
It has been a while since she's sat on this side of the table to him, thinks Mrs. Jones, as she slides a file across the table to the current head of the MI6. She usually prefers to stand or leave after handing over a file or report, but today, he is in her office. He pulls the file over with barely a glance at her, eyes resting for a second on the name of the person of interest before skimming over to the details.
She'd stepped down from her post as Head, back to Deputy, ten years after accepting it following Alan Blunt's resignation. It's been five years since then-when a new head was appointed, and so far, he's doing a fine job. Today's matter, though, is a little on the personally sensitive side. She looks at the mop of blond hair, which hides his expression as he pores over the file, wondering what he will decide.
One of their agents, Oakley Cade, has been killed on a mission, leaving a sixteen-year old son - Oliver, behind. With no other living relatives, his care comes under the bank-much like another boy once. She sighs, that was a mistake, but Crawley is all for recruiting Oliver, 'He's sixteen'. As if sixteen was an improvement over fourteen.
A clearing of throat draws her attention back to the only other occupant of the room, "Mrs. Jones, you look like you have something to say."
She gathers herself, "Agent Crawley believes we can- we should recruit the boy, he is fifteen. He has a lot of potential." Hypocrite.
"Hm, And what of his GCSE's?"
"We could approach him after them, they will be over the next month."
He gives her an assessing look, "That is doable. He might not agree, of course. What have we to… persuade him?"
She blinks, "We can dig up something if we are going to recruit him or arrange for a test…" she says cautiously. Would they really go through with it again? Would he turn out no better than Blunt? "Perhaps something similiar to…"
He hums lowly, "Do you think we should recruit him?"
She leans back, now that is the question. He'll listen to her input, but what will he do with it? She has to tread carefully. Had it been her on the other side of the table, she'd have agreed with much less delay- it would have been an opportunity they couldn't have let go. But here, on this side it isn't so easy. She'd agreed once, and it had been terrible, the man in front of her knows it, could she do it again? Why is he even asking?
"Mrs. Jones?" his voice is sharper now, with an edge of impatience.
She speaks slowly, weighing her words, "I think, should the occasion arise, and if there is no other option, we should. There is much a younger agent could accomplish- they're underestimated. We could do it. You know it yourself."
She winces as she meets his eyes, any emotion in them has seeped out through the course of her speech, "You think we should do it. Certainly, we should then, please call Agent Crawley in." he says softly. She stills at the quiet intensity of his voice as she beckons to Crawley, who is standing outside. It holds the promise of something ominous.
Something tightens and unfurls in her; She knows people change, slip on masks, become adept at being who they are not in this field, but she's never contemplated this.
"Oliver Cade. "
"Yes," Crawley says, "He'd make a good recruit for a teen; he's quite athletic, a quick learner, even knows his way around gadgets well. He's fluent in Spanish and quite proficient in French. Oakley sent him to learn Krav Maga, not unlike-"
"That's enough…"
There is silence for a moment, and his face seems to settle into hard lines as he closes the file, "Your decision?" she ventures, glad that she sounds steady.
He turns to her- lips pulled into a smile that usually means destruction, "Why Tulip, you're already acquainted with it."
Her stomach plunges to her toes as bile rises at the back of her throat, "Alex? You-"
Alex Rider snorts, contempt blatant on his face, "Mrs. Jones- "
She barely registers that Crawley has stepped back to the door, Alex's disdainful gaze remains on her, one eyebrow raised, she realises she must have made an involuntary noise "I'm sorry-"
He smiles again, it containing all the warmth of a winter morning, and twists away, wrinkling his nose, "We do nothing but find him a proper foster family, occasional surveillance and let him live his life."
He whirls around, fixing both of them individually with his patented stare, the one which usually sends the newer agents scurrying out of his office and speaks, enunciating each word with care, "Should I hear that anyone has interfered, disobeying my orders…" the threat goes unsaid.
Alex motions to Crawley, who has managed to gain back his balance- he gives a respectful pale-faced nod and strides out.
They're alone again, but the tension now can be sliced even with a blunt knife, "Alex. I-"
Alex huffs and gives a bitter chuckle, "Spare it for those who care Mrs. Jones…Don't even know why I expected… I'm disappointed, you know, I'd thought you, being a mother, would understand."
With a curt nod, he walks out of her office as she crumples into her chair, a hollowness growing in her chest.
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