Originally posted on ao3 as part of the Spyfest 2022 exchange. Written for TheInverseUniverse's prompt "Alex has to deal with the consequences of his parents actions NOT related to Scorpia."

Massive thanks to cthulhu_is_chaotic_good for all the feedback and suggestions and the amazing beta-reading.

Quick note on the timeline: Everything up to and including Snakehead happened as in canon, but it's now summer again. It's also set roughly in the early 2000s, but we'll handwave the exact date like Horowitz does.

The Sins of the Father

"We need your help for this mission, Alex."

It was the last week of school before the summer holidays, and Alex once again found himself in an office on the 16th floor of the Royal & General Bank on Liverpool Street.

The person who had spoken was Mrs Jones. Unlike previous meetings, they met in her office. Apparently Alan Blunt was in a meeting and couldn't attend. Alex's initial question whether the man was on holiday had been met with a 'very droll, Alex'.

Mrs Jones sucked on a peppermint, a faint look of concern on her face. "We have been looking into a man called Iñaki Ibarra-Aldana, a Spanish millionaire and philanthropist. He rotates between several houses that he owns around the continent, but he's currently staying in San Sebastián in Spain. One of the causes he supports is Basque nationalism, and we suspect him of having ties to ETA, a Basque separatist terrorist organisation. He's known for hosting charity events, but we have heard rumours that suggest he may be involved in weapon smuggling as well."

"That sounds bad, but why me? Couldn't you send another agent?"

"We already did. Unfortunately Agent Barnaby is currently in the hospital in San Sebastián, recovering from a stroke. A perfectly natural stroke," she added, seeing Alex's expression. "But the timing puts us in a difficult position. You see, Alex, Ibarra will only be in San Sebastián for another few days. He is throwing a fundraising party every night this week and is expected to leave town after that. Agent Barnaby managed to get an invitation but will not be able to attend."

"So you want to send me in? A fifteen-year-old schoolboy is not exactly the typical guest for this sort of party."

Mrs Jones shook her head. "We will send in another agent. But we will need you to come along to provide a cover. Another unknown British man travelling suddenly to Spain will stand out. A man taking his teenage son on holiday, less so."

Right, so that was it.

It was nearly three months since MI6 had shipped him off to Stockholm, which was already longer than there had been between the last two missions. Alex supposed he ought to be grateful they'd decided to wait until the end of term at least. He'd only miss three days of school this time. Never mind that he had been hoping to spend those days hanging out with his friends and making plans to meet up over the summer.

There was no real question of whether he'd refuse. Mr Crawley had asked some 'casual' questions about Jack's plans to visit her family over the summer when he'd called Alex that morning. Alex had taken the hint and stopped by the Royal & General.

He was already missing school to be here, but then they both knew he would not be going back for the last days of term.

"Right." Alex sighed. "Will I get to go home to pack at least?"

"We've sent someone to the house to pack your suitcase. I'll take you to meet your partner for the mission and you'll need to stop by Smithers' office and then you should be off to the airport. We've booked a flight for you for this afternoon."

"How thoughtful of you."

"Don't let it get you down too much, Alex. Think of it as a paid holiday. I've been told that San Sebastián has a very lovely beach and the food is very good. Of course, we would also like you to keep your eyes open and perhaps help where you can, but most of that is likely to be in the evening. You will have most of each day for yourself. Enjoy your holiday."

"I'll be sure to send you a postcard," Alex said.

Alex's partner for the mission was called Paul Graham. He was a large man, around forty, with short, brown hair cut in a military fashion. He didn't look all that much like Alex, but that apparently wasn't stopping MI6 from making them pose as father and son.

He also seemed to dislike Alex from the moment they met.

"You have got to be kidding me," Graham told Mrs Jones after taking one look at Alex.

A look of annoyance flashed across her face. "I am not," she said. "We need you for the operation, Graham."

"I thought you didn't want me in the field any more."

"We need someone who can speak Spanish."

"What about the boy?"

"He will provide cover and support."

Graham looked at her with stubborn defiance, clearly not convinced.

Mrs Jones signed and looked at Alex. "Alex, why don't you go see Smithers while I have a word with Agent Graham."

Alex quickly got up, only too happy to get out of Mrs Jones's office.

A little three hours later, Alex was sitting next to Graham on a commercial flight to Bilbao, Spain. There was an airport in San Sebastián, but it only served domestic flights, so they would have to take a hour-long bus ride after they landed.

Graham seemed to have decided he was going to speak as little to Alex as possible, which suited Alex fine.

They were Alex and Daniel Hill for the mission, a British father and son going on an early holiday in Spain. They had spent time in Spain before, and both father and son were fluent in Spanish. Alex had learned the language when he'd lived abroad with Ian for a few months when he was seven, and apparently Graham's mother was Spanish.

Their cover would hold up at first glance, but only just.

Any differences in physical appearance would be chalked up to the fact that Alex took after his absent mother. A mother, Alex thought cynically, that nobody would be surprised to hear had divorced her husband the first chance she got.

When Graham was forced into interacting with Alex he was cold and dismissive, with a resentment burning in his eyes that never really seemed to go away. Clearly the agent was not pleased to have been put on an assignment with Alex.

The unfairness of it all made resentment well up in Alex's chest. He hadn't wanted to be here either. He would much rather have been sitting through his last maths lesson of the term while looking forward to the summer holiday.

He swallowed his irritation down, though. He knew Graham's type, just as he knew that confronting Graham would only make things worse. Best to just avoid him as much as possible until the mission was over and done with. It would only be a few days anyway, since Ibarra was expected to leave town in three days.

And at least there would be a beach.

Alex's suitcase had been waiting for him outside Mrs Jones's office, packed with a number of shorts and T-shirts, his swimming trunks, and a pair of slippers. After a quick visit with Smithers, who had apologised for the lack of creativity on such short notice, he had been able to add three gadgets to the case as well.

There was an innocent-looking bottle of sun lotion, which when rubbed onto glass would make it melt, leaving a faintly acrid smell behind. The beach towel Smithers had handed him was made of a special, bullet-proof fabric, and could be used to cross barbed wire. Lastly, Alex was given a pair of thick sunglasses, with a small button on the side of the frame that would let you take pictures.

Without knowing their secrets, anyone would think these were all completely normal items that could be found in the suitcase of any boy going on holiday. To anyone who knew better, the gadgets were perfect tools for infiltration and gathering intelligence.

Alex just hoped he wouldn't need any of them to save his life this time.

It was late afternoon by the time they arrived in San Sebastián. Or Donostia, as it was known in Basque. Alex had spent the journey trying to brush up on his Spanish, but when they'd landed it had quickly become clear that it would only help make sense of half the words they saw on signs.

Bilbao and Donostia-San Sebastián were in the Basque country, a region of Spain where the local language was very different from Spanish, or really any language Alex knew. When he was in Italy he hadn't understood everything, but he could still make sense of some of the words because they resembled Spanish or French. There was none of that resemblance here.

At least the signs were printed in Spanish as well.

Their hotel was in an up-market area and looked nice enough. It had to fit the cover of someone who might attend Ibarra's fundraiser party, after all.

Unfortunately their cover as father and son meant that they would be sharing a hotel room. The room was spacious, with two queen-sized beds, a desk and chair, two plush armchairs, and an adjoining bathroom.

"Bed near the window is yours," Graham told him.

Alex didn't argue. He put his case next to the bed furthest from the door and had a look in the bathroom. It was expensively decorated, with a combined bath and shower, and the expected toilet and sink with a mirror.

Returning to the hotel room he found Graham unpacking his things already and decided he'd rather not be stuck in a room with the other man.

"I'm going for a walk," Alex said.

Graham gave an annoyed grunt, which was all the acknowledgement Alex needed. He took one of the room keys and let himself out.

It was nice outside, the warm evening air made pleasant by a breeze coming in from the sea. It took Alex only a few minutes to reach the beach.

Donostia-San Sebastián was surrounded by water on two sides. Close to the hotel where Alex and Graham were staying there was La Concha Bay, a half-moon shaped bay with clear blue-green water with a small island in the middle. This was Santa Clara island, covered with trees and reachable only by a small ferry that Alex could see in the distance.

A boulevard ran the full length of the bay, with stairs leading down to the beach.

Tourists were walking along the pavement. Most of them were wearing shorts and T-shirts, but Alex spotted a few groups of teenagers wearing sports jackets with colours and names of different countries. Team Denmark had settled down on a bench nearby to enjoy some ice cream, and he saw the blue-white-red of Team France further away.

Clearly there was some sort of sports competition happening in town as well.

Down below on the beach, some people were still lying on towels, but most were packing up their things or leaving. It was getting late in the day and the tide was coming in. Already a sandcastle that had been built earlier in the day was being washed away by the waves.

Feeling as though he should get to enjoy some of his holiday while he was here, Alex bought an ice lolly from one of the stands along the boulevard.

MI6 had been kind enough to provide him with some pocket money for the trip to go with his cover. It had saved them from having to buy Euros at the airport at least.

It was also, Alex thought cynically, the most MI6 had ever paid him for one of his missions.

Slowly licking his Twister, Alex enjoyed the gentle breeze ruffling through his hair as he leaned on the balustrade. He watched the water. The sea wasn't quite as azure as it had been near Skeleton Key, but Mrs Jones had been right: it was a lovely beach.

There was a marina to one side of the bay, filled only with small sailing boats. And there, beyond Santa Clara island, was the cool water of the Atlantic Ocean.

Maybe this mission wouldn't be too bad. Still, Alex couldn't shake off a lingering sense of unease that had been hanging over the mission from the beginning.

He stayed out for close to an hour, walking around the bay, all the way to the Old Quarter, a part of the city with small streets and dozens of little restaurants. Finally, Alex could put off returning to the hotel room no longer, and headed back.

He'd barely opened the door when Graham snapped at him.

"Finally back, then? It's about time."

"I was exploring," Alex said.

He went over to his bed, opening his suitcase. Graham had already unpacked and changed into chinos and a white, open-necked shirt.

"Enjoying yourself, I'll bet," Graham said darkly. "I don't know what they were thinking, putting you with me."

"Yeah, me neither," Alex muttered.

"What's that?"

"Nothing. Where are we going for dinner?"

Earlier, Alex had noticed that the hotel didn't have a restaurant, so they'd have to go out somewhere to eat.

"You can do whatever the hell you want. I have an invitation to Ibarra's party, I'm leaving in fifteen minutes."

"That's fast."

Graham ignored him. "Don't bother waiting up," he said, before locking himself in the bathroom.

Alex let himself fall back on his bed, staring at the ceiling. Well, at least he wouldn't have to be around Graham for a while.

In the end, he went back to the Old Quarter. There were dozens of small bars and taverns serving pintxos, small snacks similar to the tapas he'd had with Ian in Spain. Alex tried a few different types, seafood or spiced sausage stuck on a small bread, and enjoyed all of them.

He wished he wasn't eating them alone, though. Pintxos were clearly meant to be eaten with friends or family, and he got a few strange looks sitting alone as a teenager.

A group of teenagers his age with Team Wales sports jackets were eating and laughing together at the next table. When was the last time Alex had been that carefree?

He wished he could be here on a real holiday with Jack or even Ian, or maybe on a trip with Tom or some of his other friends from school. But increasingly it seemed his life these days consisted of sudden high-risk trips to exotic locations, followed by Alex desperately trying to get back some semblance of a normal life.

Graham was still out when Alex returned to the room about half past ten, so Alex took a quick shower and settled in to wait.

By the time Graham finally returned it was around one o'clock and Alex was already in his pyjamas, reading a tourist map of San Sebastián to stay awake.

He sat up in bed. "Any luck?"

Graham paused in the act of grabbing his toothbrush and glared at him.

Alex folded his arms and met his glare with a stubborn one of his own. The man may not like him, but Alex was part of the mission too, and to help he would need to be informed.

In the end, Graham relented.

"I'll tell you in the morning," Graham said grudgingly, like he would much rather keep Alex out of the mission altogether. Or perhaps he just didn't want to talk to him.

Alex resisted the urge to roll his eyes. "Great. Night, then."

He put away the tourist pamphlet and slid under the covers, turning off the night light.

It was still night when Alex woke up. The digital clock on the bedside table read 3:26. Outside the open window the night was quiet, the town asleep.

He wondered what had woken him.

Alex was about to roll over to try to go back to sleep when he heard a choked gasp from the other bed. It was Graham. From the sound of it, the man was having a nightmare.

Alex lay frozen in bed, not sure what to do. He felt a twinge of sympathy for the other agent. He knew very well what it was like to re-experience old horrors in his dreams.

But Graham had given no indication that sympathy would be welcomed, and Alex didn't want to risk waking the man when he wasn't sure how Graham would respond.

"Oscar..." Graham mumbled in his sleep, shifting restlessly. "No, don't-"

There was a choked scream, and then just heavy breathing.

Alex kept quiet, half-open eyes fixed on the alarm clock.

After a minute or so, he heard the rustle of bedsheets as Graham got out of bed. Alex expected to hear the soft pad of footsteps going to the bathroom, perhaps for a glass of water. But instead a chill went down his spine as he sensed the man coming to stand at Alex's bed.

Alex kept his breathing calm and steady, still feigning sleep. Inside he felt anything but calm, and he had to will his body not to tense up. What was Graham thinking, watching him like that? What was he doing?

The silence stretched on for several long minutes. Finally, the man shifted, and soft footsteps walked away to the bathroom. The light in the en-suite went on and Alex could hear the tap running. A few minutes later, Graham returned to bed, and went back to sleep.

Alex lay in the dark, eyes fixed on the open window, feeling unsettled. He didn't fall asleep again for a long time.

The next morning, Graham appeared to be in a better mood. There was a strange gleam in his eyes as he woke Alex.

"Get up," Graham said, brusquely. "Breakfast is in fifteen minutes."

Still groggy from little sleep, Alex dragged himself to the bathroom for a quick shower.

Half an hour later found them both sitting in the breakfast hall of the hotel, enjoying a continental breakfast.

"You know, there is something you can help me with after all," Graham said, still with that odd glint in his eye.

"At Ibarra's mansion?"

Alex wasn't quite sure what to make of Graham's apparent change of heart. Just yesterday, the man had seemed incredibly opposed to working with Alex.

"Yes." Graham explained briefly how he had been able to see part of the manor when he claimed to be looking for a lavatory. "There are only guards posted at the doors and near the areas reserved for the party. It should be child's play to get in through a window at the back, and you'd be able to go down to the basement, which is where we're most likely to find evidence."

"So I'd sneak into the basement and you'd, what, attend the party again?"

"Don't be stupid," Graham snapped. "I'd slip away to find Ibarra's study and look for evidence there."

Alex thought about Smithers' gadgets that were still resting in his suitcase. With the sun lotion getting in through a window would be no problem, and he could use the sunglasses to take pictures of anything he found.

"Okay," he said. "Tell me more about the security you saw."

He spread more jam on his toast as the man talked, and tried hard to ignore a faint yet niggling sense of unease.

The night had so far followed Graham's plan. In the garden of Ibarra's mansion, Alex was currently crouching next to a window looking in at a deserted hallway. Like many houses in this area of San Sebastián, Ibarra's mansion was built against the mountain, and what was a second floor at the front was only half a floor from the ground at the back.

It had been almost laughably easy to climb the spiked wall that surrounded the back garden. Alex had used the beach towel Smithers had given him and been over in half a minute.

All in all, the house and garden seemed designed for aesthetic rather than security. Alex got the distinct impression they weren't expecting any uninvited visitors to drop by.

Uncapping the sun lotion bottle, Alex poured a generous amount on his hand and spread it on the glass, across a wide enough area that he would be able to crawl through.

For fifteen long seconds, nothing happened. Then there was a light sizzle, and the familiar, slightly acrid smell, as if of burning plastic, and the glass melted before his eyes.

Alex grinned. Good old Smithers had come through once again.

He put the bottle of sun lotion back in his pocket and looked around again to check if the coast was clear. The corridor inside was still deserted, so he put his arms through the opening he'd created and wormed his way through.

Landing lightly on his feet on the other side, he looked around.

The mansion was nicely decorated, with portraits and paintings on the wall, and a number of closed doors. The hallway continued to both sides, but Alex decided to go left, hoping to run into the stairs. He needed to get down to the cellar.

He had not yet taken two steps, however, when two guards rounded the corner in front of him. Graham had been wrong about the lack of security.

It happened so suddenly that Alex had no time to hide. He was caught frozen in the middle of the hallway, staring at a pair of equally surprised guards. They had clearly not expected to find a teenager in shorts.

To their credit, the guards reacted quickly, and all too soon Alex had two guns pointing at him.

Alex raised his hands slowly.

"Who are you?" the first guard asked in Spanish. "What are you doing here?"

"I got lost," Alex said. "I don't suppose you could point me towards the bathroom?"

The guard's eyes narrowed and he exchanged a glance with his partner, then seemed to come to a conclusion.

"This way. Walk." He gestured with his handgun.

With little other choice, Alex followed the direction. He cast a quick eye around for an escape, but the guards were careful to always keep a gun trained on him, and with two of them he wouldn't have a chance to disarm them both.

They led him down the corridor, and around two corners, before stopping in front of a closed door. Two other guards lingered outside, who looked as surprised as the first two to see Alex there.

The guards said something in Basque that Alex couldn't understand, then one of them knocked on the door and opened it.

Still standing in the corridor, Alex couldn't see in the room, but he suspected this must be the head of security. The guard said something else in Basque, gesturing at Alex, before another voice answered in Spanish.

"Bring him in."

There was something familiar about the man's voice, but before Alex could work out where he'd heard it before, a guard prodded him forward with his gun, and he stepped into the doorway.

Alex got one look at the man in the office and froze.

The head of security standing behind the desk was not a tall man, but his cold, blue eyes and intimidating demeanour made him seem larger. He had short blond hair, and just like that afternoon almost a year ago, when Alex had seen him in the south of France, he wore jeans and an open-necked shirt.

Alex knew that man. It was Yassen Gregorovich.

A/N: Chapter two will be up later this weekend. Please let me know if you liked it!