A/N: So I maaaaay have forgotten that I'd posted this fic on here at all, which is why there have been no updates. I'm gonna be uploading a chunk of chapters today, to match up with how many there are on AO3.
Disclaimer: I don't own Alex Rider, Anthony Horowitz does.
Read and enjoy!
Eight forty-five saw Ian and Ben in an armoured car, on their way to the Royal and General Bank. Ben was driving, and Ian was in the front seat, his head tilted back and face contorted in pain.
"Remind me what's stopping me from driving you straight to St. Dominic's instead of the Bank right now?" Ben demanded.
"Because I can get to your gun faster than you can," Ian snapped back, his breathing laboured.
Ben cast him an irritated glance. "Please tell me you haven't broken your ribs again."
"I wouldn't be breathing if I'd broken them again, you idiot. Getting tackle-hugged by your nephew when he's fifteen, turns out, is a lot more painful than getting tackle-hugged by him when he's ten."
Ben's grip on the steering wheel tightened. "There's Lidocaine in the dash."
"Need my mind clear for the meeting."
"You -" Ben groaned in frustration. "There's some paracetamol in the back - do not try and find it yourself, I'll get it at the next red light. How's your leg?"
"On fire."
"Shoulder?"
"Also on fire."
"Is there any part of you not in pain?"
"... My fingertips?"
"You don't have functional nerve endings in your fingertips."
Ian turned with difficulty, throwing Ben a questioning glance. "Do I want to know how you know that?"
"I got bored standing guard outside your house all night."
"And you were giving me grief for not sleeping enough."
"I am not malnourished and recovering from being tortured by Scorpia interrogators for thirteen months."
The car drove over a manhole cover and Ian choked back a groan of pain.
"Damn, I'm sorry -"
"Ngh. I'll be fine."
Ben huffed. "I can see where Alex gets his stubbornness from."
"He gets it from his father," Ian correctly softly, "We both do."
"... Right."
The car rolled to a stop in front of a red light, and Ben immediately turned back, retrieving a sheet of pills and a bottle of water. "Here. Paracetamol and water."
"God bless you and all your descendants," Ian muttered, taking the offering.
"... I really should just take you to the hospital."
"I will shoot you, Daniels, don't think I won't."
"Goddammit, Rider, you are such a pain in the arse..."
For the first time in recent memory, the whole of the Royal and General Bank was in an uproar.
There'd been minor upsets over the years, of course, usually from the Science Division, with their many explosions. There was even that memorable day when the Head of the Legal Team had stormed in from Vauxhall Cross just to throw a stapler at Director Blunt's head.
But this... Today, the cause of upset was a man who had been intimately familiar with every department, nearly every worker in the building. A man who, for thirteen months, had been labelled killed in action, to the quiet sorrow of many.
A man who had made his way to Director Blunt and Deputy Director Jones' office, his head held high, and his stride sure.
Ian Rider had returned to MI6.
"I forgot how much of a legend you were around here," Ben muttered as he escorted Ian through the corridors, "I'm no longer sure whether this position is supposed to be a promotion or a demotion."
Ian smirked. "This is MI6, Daniels. It's clearly both."
Behind Ian and Ben, four people were falling into step, further increasing the excitement within the Bank.
For the first time in over a decade, all five of MI6's best Agents, the Elite, were in the same city. Not only the same city, but the same building. Rumour had it that it was actually an international agreement that the five best Agents would never be together. Rumour also had it that the Chechen ambassador refused to set foot in the same city as Colin MacAvoy, so there was room for error.
"Try not to kill Sir, alright?"
"I make no promises."
"Then at least make sure to keep your job," Callum added in amusement, "We'll take care of the rest."
Ian smirked. "That, I can do."
An Agent held open the door to Blunt's office, and Ian stepped through with a nod.
Liz waited until the door closed again before turning to Ben. "How bad is he?"
Ben grimaced. "On a scale of one to ten? Probably in the twenties. He refused Lidocaine, all he's got in him is water, two paracetamol tablets, coffee, and a plate of scrambled eggs."
Liz pressed her lips in a thin line. Out of all the Elite, she had the largest soft spot for Ian. He was the one who brought her into MI6, ten years ago, when she was lost, angry, and doing nothing useful with her life. He wasn't part of the Elite, then, but he showed a lot of promise. They rose through the ranks together, Ian always ahead, her mentor.
She knew that field operatives weren't supposed to form attachments, not when their lives were built on deceit and shadows. No relationship they built would be strong and healthy, and they ran the risk of dying every day. They ran the risk of leaving behind broken hearts and homes every day. Or worse, the people they loved would be used against them and turn into collateral damage. Some operatives did it anyway, and it made them stronger for it - and more vulnerable. There had to be a balance, she supposed, and incredible self-awareness and understanding of human nature to juggle all that.
Spies didn't have much in the way of affection, but they had something more - they had loyalty, and they had debt. Loyalty to their country, loyalty to their colleagues. Debt to those who saved their lives. Spies turned on each other all the time - Howell, Richardson, Cormack proved that well enough - but to those to whom they were loyal, they were ferociously so. And good spies always repaid their debts.
Liz knew she might one day have to choose between saving him and taking out the enemy. She might even get the order to kill him if he ever went rogue. It would be easier to make that call if she didn't feel anything for him. But human nature didn't work that way, and until that day came, she would be damned if Ian Rider got himself killed because of his own recklessness.
"When he gets done here, take him back to St. Dominic's."
"You're just trying to get me killed, aren't you," Ben groaned, but he was already making the call.
"She's still getting back at you for flirting with her three months ago," Callum replied lightly.
Ben replied with a rude gesture, turning away to talk lowly on his phone as the Elites made their way away from Blunt's office.
"Is it true?"
The Elites paused at the edge of a large common area spanning the fourteenth, fifteenth, and sixteenth floors of the building. A nervous young man stood at the head of the stairs behind them, not more than twenty-two years old, the Agents beyond him in the common area resolutely not paying attention.
"Is what true, lad?" Colin asked.
"They say... That is, I heard... Agent Rider was... abandoned. Given up for nothing in exchange."
The rookie Agent's voice was low and soft, and he kept glancing behind the Elite to Blunt's door, as if he were expecting the Director himself to burst out of it.
"Do we work at MI6 or a gossip mill?" Taylor snapped.
It was as good as a yes.
The Agent's eyes widened. "But... why?"
And therein lay the danger. For all intents and purposes, Alan Blunt had abandoned Ian Rider to Scorpia in a power play. Out of all the Elite, Ian had the most blackmail on Blunt, and everyone knew it. Blunt had used Ian's kidnapping to retrieve the information Ian had on him, and blocked all search attempts for thirteen months. There was nothing gained from it, no prisoners exchanged, no crises averted. His recovery had been officially unsanctioned.
If Blunt turned his back on Ian Rider, one of the best, simply because he didn't like him, what hope did any other field operative have?
"Keep in mind that Ian is responsible for bringing us the information we need to finally take down Scorpia, for good," Callum cut in quietly, "If Sir hadn't left Ian there for all those months..."
"Are we so far gone that we take pyrrhic victories, then?" another Agent asked sharply. Jenny Chisholm, 38, blonde hair, blue eyes. Not the best Agent, but not the worst. She and Ian had... Well, she had; Ian had been about as receptive as a brick wall. She still carried a torch for Ian, and hadn't forgiven Blunt for closing the book on him prematurely.
"Nothing's ever black and white, we all know that," Callum replied, "We've got Ian back, and critical access to the world's foremost terrorist organisation. That's more than we had yesterday, and one of the biggest wins we're likely to get in this job."
"Besides, does it really matter anymore?" Taylor added, "The past is the past, and we all know Sir isn't going to be around much longer."
Jenny and the rookie Agent nodded reluctantly, returning to their work at the Elite's glare.
Colin glanced between his colleagues. Liz's fists were clenched, though her expression was as blank as Callum's, and Taylor's mouth was set in a faint frown. "Let's take a walk. Daniels, keep watch."
Ben nodded, and Colin led the other Elites away from the view of all the other MI6 Agents. They barely made it to an empty office before Liz whirled on Callum and Taylor, demanding furiously, "Do you mind telling me what the two of you thought you were doing back there?!"
Taylor looked around the office before turning back to Colin. "You trying to say something, mate?"
They were in Ian Rider's office.
Colin simply smiled blandly, while Callum answered, "Liz, Ian said he didn't want a Crusade. More importantly, who are we to go around tearing down rookie Agents' faith in the establishment? They're the one who'll have to carry on after us; if they don't believe in the Service, the country won't have much a Service left!"
"But Blunt? After what he did?"
"Blunt's over and done with. Jones and Colin are next in line for the Directorship -"
"Wait, what? Don't bring me into this, Callum."
Callum rolled his eyes. "Oh, please, we all know that the four - five of us, now that the Prime Minister knows Rider's back, are the top choices for Director and Deputy Director. We're the best in the business, and the most capable to lead the Service. More importantly, the entire cock-up with Rider and his boy was the result of the heads of SO being desk jockeys who hadn't been in the field for over a decade. It's a toss-up between Jones, who Downing Street knows, and Colin, who's got the most experience and success in the field under his belt.
"Back on point, I am angry with Sir over Ian, don't think I'm not. Hell, I'm angry over Ian's kid, too. But Alan Blunt has lead the Service for seventeen years, and he's done it well. Does he deserve the knighthood? Less worthy people have gotten it. Besides, that ball's in Ian's court."
Callum crossed Ian's office over to the window. He looked out over the streets of London, over the cars filled with people starting their day, and sighed. "In an ideal world, yeah, Sir would go to prison for what he's done. We probably all would. But Sir knows too much, holds power over too many people - and Libya, God, Libya, if it weren't for him, none of our boys would have come home. No one's going to look at Libya and then turn around and condemn him for something unsavoury that gave us such a big win. If Ian had died - if Rider had died, then I'd be all for sticking his head on a pike. But it's not going to do anyone any good now. Rider's back, Scorpia's done for, and no madman has managed to blow up the country today."
Liz scowled at Callum's words, and then sighed. "I hate it when you use logic."
A/N: Thoughts? Comments? Concerns?
Thanks for reading!