A/N: I don't own Alex Rider; Anthony Horowitz does.

Read and enjoy!

Inside Director Alan Blunt's office, Ian sat opposite the Heads of Special Operations, idly twirling a pen as the Deputy Director flipped through a file.

"As you can see, Operation Horseman doesn't have much to go on, yet, since Agents Daniels, MacAvoy, and White took out the Scorpia watchers. They have some information with unfortunate implications, but since Alex never talked about the things you made him do, they can't do too much damage. From the looks of it, Cairo's where everything's meant to go down, but we'll still need to track down any intel that made it out of that house."

He'd spent the past two and a half hours detailing everything he had discovered from Scorpia over the last eight months. His captors had developed loose lips once they thought he'd been abandoned by his agency, and torture was a poor excuse for not gathering intelligence. Now, they were approaching the crux of the matter: his nephew Alex.

"Hard to imagine all of that was over a few old sculptures," Blunt mused.

"A thousand ships were launched to war because of one woman's face," Ian replied, "At least the sculptures last longer. It wasn't just the sculptures, it was crippling the British government, and restoring Scorpia's reputation by killing my nephew. Which was stupid; history showed they can't even hold out against one Rider, what did they think would happen when they took on two?"

"Quite," Jones murmured, "Alex..."

Ian leaned forward, a plastic smile on his face. "Yes, let's talk about Alex."

"We can understand your anger, Agent Rider -"

"I'm bloody furious, actually, Ma'am." Ian crossed his arms, the fake smile slipping away into something cold. "You wilfully put my nephew, a civilian and a minor, in danger -"

"Alex performed most admirably on all his missions, and the world is safer for it," Blunt replied blandly, "You trained him well."

"I'm aware how well he did," Ian snapped, "I've seen his files. And if you'll pardon my language, Sir, fuck you, I most certainly did not train him up as a spy. I don't care that you abandoned me to Scorpia, but you had no right to bring Alex into this world, much less to blackmail him."

"Perhaps. If you're planning to threaten me, Agent Rider, please, do hurry up."

Ian's lips twisted, halfway between a grin and a snarl. "Like I said last night, Sir, I'm not here to threaten you. Just remind you of Algiers. And Omaha. And Sana'a."

Blunt frowned, and Ian's grin turned sharklike. "Come now, Sir, you didn't think I'd leave all that information just lying around in my house, did you? I've got assets, protocols, to prevent that information from getting anywhere I don't want it to. One word in the right ear... Well. I'm sure you don't need me to spell it out."

If Blunt were any other man, he might have sighed. But, he didn't. "And what, exactly, is it you're after?"

"I want all of Alex's missions on record, sealed, and I want him to receive backpay and all the benefits of a full-fledged Agent."

"I would love to do that for Alex after everything he's done for the Service," Blunt replied, "But the fact remains that he is not a full-fledged Agent."

Ian leaned back, uncrossing his arms in a show of nonchalance. "As I recall, in Sana'a, there were four MI6 operatives under your command, and two on loan from the DGSE -"

"Sana'a was seven years ago."

"The Frogs have long memories. I remember Luc Fontaine expressing a lot of... interest over the Sana'a debacle when I talked to him before leaving for Cornwall."

"A trust fund may be possible," Blunt allowed, "This is all highly irregular, of course -"

"Pardon me, Sir, but you broke all the rules bringing in Alex."

Blunt shuffled the papers on his desk for a moment, before replying, "Bringing Alex on board has saved this country four times over, and the world three times more. He is able to pass undetected where our other Agents are not, and his resourcefulness makes him an excellent asset -"

"My nephew is not an asset," Ian hissed acidly, "This isn't the KGB or World War II France, Sir. We are not in the midst of a total war, and we're doing a piss poor job of defending the Realm if we need to enlist children to do our jobs for us."

Mrs. Jones swallowed the last of her peppermint and unwrapped another one. Ian made a mental note and continued on carefully. For all that he wanted Blunt to pay for what he'd done, Alan Blunt was already history. What mattered was the future.

"I won't bore you with some impassioned 'children-are-the-future' speech, everyone in this room already knows that to be the truth."

"If only our enemies shared your idealism, Agent Rider," Blunt replied dryly, and Ian didn't need to him continue to think of young Afghanistani boys strapping C4 to their chests because their fathers and uncles told them to kill infidels.

"I wasn't aware stooping to the enemy's level was protocol, Sir. The sooner you stop thinking of Alex as an asset, the sooner we'll make some progress."

"As you say," Blunt replied dismissively, "Though, if that were true, there would be no call to mention him and his missions, would there."

Ian snorted. "Sir, if you disavow my nephew, I will walk into DGSE headquarters myself and tell Capitaine Rousse the truth about Sana'a and Agent Leonid. I love this country, Sir, but every time you have made me choose between it and Alex, I have always chosen Alex."

If Alan Blunt were any other man, his lips would have pursed in a scowl. Ian Rider had worked under him for fourteen years, and as a member of the Elite, the man only answered to him and Mrs. Jones. Blunt was intimately familiar with Ian Rider's tells, and right now, he was not bluffing.

Ian leaned forward again. "You used Alex as an Agent - almost a black-bag operative - for nine months. It's high time you gave him the protection that comes with that."

"Protection can be arranged, of course, for a price."

"The price is my silence on the cock-up in Sana'a."

"And what's to stop us from simply issuing a termination order, Agent Rider?"

"You mean apart from the other four Elites standing outside and the Agency that already thinks you tossed me out into the cold because you didn't like me? I know you're leaving soon, Sir, but I rather thought you'd like to have a pleasant last few days."

An ugly look entered Blunt's eyes, but he moved on. "Agent Rider, you've been legally dead for thirteen months. Given that your housekeeper plans to return to America to take care of her parents, you must realise that leaves Alex in a very delicate position. Restoring identities takes a lot of paperwork, a lot of cover stories and details to be laid out. That takes a considerable amount of time, and Alex, as a minor, cannot be left without a guardian. There is, of course, that lovely family in Glossop..."

Ian's fists clenched instinctively in anger, and he tensed up, feeling the stitches in his bicep strain. Then he relaxed with a laugh. "You wouldn't send Alex to those bastards, Sir. You do care about Alex - maybe not as much as you care about this country, or even whatever mission you're focusing on, but you do care about him - because he's John's son, and everyone knows how much you liked John. You won't send Alex to Glossop, Sir, for the same reason you wouldn't let me put a bullet in that man's head when I was twenty-five. I'm not bluffing here, Sir. Do me a courtesy and don't throw out cards you're not willing to play."

Ian swore he saw the corner of Mrs. Jones' lips twitch upward as she looked between him and Blunt, but it could just have been a trick of the light.

The Director's expression remained bland and uncaring, but Ian caught the glimmer of something in his eyes, something eager. A challenge.

This was where things got interesting, because they were moving out of the opening and into the middlegame.

"Sana'a for Alex's protection -"

"And recompense."

Blunt stared down Ian for a long moment, before continuing, "And recompense. Is that all?"

Ian pulled a flash drive from his pocket and set in on the table with a grin. "Not yet, Sir."

"Jack," Alex said curiously, looking at the plate he was washing, "How'd the plate get cracked?"

"Uh... well, you see..." Jack scratched her head sheepishly. "I brought up something that set Ian off, and he stabbed the plate."

Alex's eyebrows rose. "He stabbed the plate so hard it cracked? Did you try and set him up on a date with that bloke from the fish and chips shop again?"

"Alex!" Jack lashed out at her charge with a wet towel, her cheeks faintly pink. That was a period of their lives she wasn't very proud of. "For your information, we were talking about your Cousin Martin out in Glossop. He's not... exactly a nice person."

Alex's brow furrowed. "Ian said he didn't like him much when I asked as a kid, yeah." Alex's frown disappeared and he promptly grinned.

"What?"

Alex shook his head, trying to push his grin back down. "I - I guess I'm just happy. Really happy."

Jack smiled softly. "Having Ian back... It's unreal, isn't it?"

Alex nodded, handing the plate to Jack to dry. "I didn't realise how much I missed him, until he came back. It's like... Ian and I, we used to do everything together. And then, after he... disappeared, I remember thinking I'd never see him again, hear him laugh, or mess about with him one some weekend evening instead of doing my homework. When I got the part for Grease... I remember when Ian took me to see Lion King, and I fell asleep because I'd had so much sugar right before. I woke up for a bit in the car, and he was humming along to one of the songs under his breath."

Alex remembered sitting on the sofa until late at night whenever Ian returned from his longer trips, talking about school and what he'd been up to until his voice went hoarse. Ian always listened attentively, teased Alex gently over the more outrageous shenanigans he and Tom got up to, and talked him through his problems.

Having Ian home was the best feeling in the world.

Alex rested his hands on the edge of the sink. "Ian's going to keep working for MI6, isn't he?"

Jack sighed. "He said he was planning to."

Alex's smile dimmed. Jack saw, and bumped his shoulder lightly. "Hey, come on. Ian's going to be home for several weeks at least, with that leg of his. Maybe even longer, if he has to get back into shape and healthy again. He'll be around so much, you'll get sick of him!"

Alex shook his head. "I don't think that's possible, Jack."

"Oh, you mark my words - I can just see it now. Ian's going to spend all day sitting on the couch, moaning about how he can't do anything. Men like him are horrible patients, and he will drive us all bonkers."

Alex burst out laughing. "Say that to his face, I dare you."

Jack sniffed dramatically. "Ian Rider may be a spy, but he is no match for the wrath of a housekeeper!"

A/N: Thoughts? Comments? Concerns?

Thanks for reading!