EDIT: Sorry if this updated anything, but Nyxelestia kindly pointed out that I since I had not done my homework, I did not realize that Britian has a nationalized health-care system and my point for Crawley hating Blunt is now moot. So I redid the last part. Thanks.
So, so sorry for the long wait, but I tried my best. I ran into more beta problems and such, but we fixed it.
Disclaimer: Plot idea is mine! I can claim it!!!!
"Torture is not about battering a man's body. Yes, that's what torture uses, but it is not for the purpose of breaking bones. It is for breaking the mind… Yes, I admit, my colleague, Mr. One-eye breaks your bones. He does it well, no? Heh, but in time, his medieval methods and outdated devices will be a thing of the past.
"Even Chinese water torture and water boarding is all about tricking the mind. That's what I do, Mr. Englishman. My name is Dr. Murdock, and I am here to ruin your brain. Oh, please don't bleed on my floor. Concrete stains very easily; it's very porous… Very good… Now, shall we get to it?"
The Englishman jerked awake, expecting to be lying in his uncomfortable cot. Instead he was warm and comfortable, almost groggy. It was almost as if he had got a decent night's sleep.
That was impossible.
He warily reached out a hand, expecting it to bash into the hard concrete wall. Instead it just sailed over a soft down comforter and bed.
His grogginess disappeared as he sat up. Now he was alert as he scanned the dark room. His eyes had adjusted to the night. The room was bigger than he remembered. There were actually a few pieces of furniture and the stench was gone.
The Englishman began to breathe heavily as the fear crawled into his mind. He didn't know if this was another of Dr. Murdock's tricks-it probably was- but he hoped not.
His eyes snagged on an oil painting that Jack had bought him. He actually remembered the conversation:
"What's this?"
"It's a lotus flower. It symbolizes a long life in China." The red-head smiled as she offered the framed painting to him.
"No, what is this?"
Jack just placed a free hand on her hip and glared. "It's a freaking gift; you get some for me all the time. Now take it."
He gave Jack a hint of a smile and took it. "Fine Jack, thank you."
Ian groaned and fell back on his bed, berating himself. For almost two months this had been going on. For almost two months it never ceased to scare him. Maybe it would be better his second night here.
As much as he would like to curl up and go back to sleep, it was impossible. Once he woke up that was it, he could never go back to sleep.
He rolled out of bed and padded to his dresser. Quietly, he slipped a pair of sweatpants and a warm shirt on. No doubt Alex was listening to Ian's every move. Even if he wasn't awake, he was listening. It was called being alert.
Like the trained-if not rusty- spy he was, he quietly opened his old window. Goosebumps erupted on the man's bare skin as he cold air came in contact with it. It would be a nice night for a walk. He jumped out the window and scanned his surroundings.
The air warned of impending rain. The grass was soft under his feet. The neighbour next door had fallen asleep with the telly on. The two agents in the black Audi across the street had also fallen asleep. The streetlamp was sputtering out again.
Ian chuckled and darted out from the side of his house, momentarily exposing himself. The neighbourhood snoop, Mrs. McAllister, stuck her head out of her curtains to glare at him. He waved. She made a face and closed the gap angrily. She hated getting caught.
He laughed softly again and slid into the shadows once more. There were four more agents at the end of the street. In an hour and a half they would change shifts. It was typical operating procedure. His plan was to jump a few fences and make his escape through another street. Then, he wouldn't be spotted.
Ian was not the only man who couldn't sleep that night. Another lone man simply stared at his white-washed ceiling. He was almost engulfed in his plush king sized bed and mass of pillows. A beam of pale moonlight illuminated his grey and pallid features. Neon green numbers from his alarm clock seemed to almost float in this darkness.
3:15. Only computer nerds, teenagers, and night employees are awake at this hour!
The man named Alan Blunt sighed and returned his gaze to the roof. This situation with Ian Rider never ceased to annoy him. Ever since he showed up at the Bank he had been a thorn in his side. The man threatened everything Blunt had worked to achieve in Alex.
The real thing that annoyed him was that the man was sane. Yes, he did have some mental instability, but he was sane! If he wasn't, then MI6 could deny custody on those grounds. But he wasn't, so if he wanted to take the child, he could. Under no circumstances could that be allowed. Blunt needed to expect the impossible in this business.
His agents were having a hard time keeping up with him as well. Ian had been a phenomenal agent. For example, very few field agents had their own offices, and it was an honour to receive one. John had been willing to give up his life for his job. Ian was so good he didn't need to. Now Alex, with his uncle's training and the Rider blood… he was the perfect agent.
An idea hit the old, cynical man as his mind wandered. If his spies couldn't watch Rider, maybe someone hired could. Ian was a master at cloak and dagger. He was famous for it. Blunt had been trying to match it, so what if he tried to counter it?
One of his new spies came to mind, Daniels. He was a greenhorn, yes. But he had black-ops training with the Special Air Service which had given him an advantage. He also had a team in the SAS…
The man's black eyes gleamed in the darkness. If he couldn't match Ian's spy skills, he'd counter it with brute strength.
When a black car started trailing behind Ian, it scared the living daylights out of him. He was walking on the pavement, enjoying the night when a car pulled up behind him. It was a dark colour with its windows blacked out.
He didn't know if it contained hostiles or friends. He didn't know if it was Veritas coming to get him. He didn't know if it was MI6. He didn't know if it was someone else.
But he did know he had two instinctual choices. Fight or Flight. Before Ian could make his choice, his training set in like an anvil in his mind. There was a third choice that went against his instincts. He could wait.
His natural feelings were telling him to run. His human nature was telling him that waiting would get him in trouble. But he knew that in some cases following his "gut feeling" could get him killed. The trick was to know when.
Ian slowly came to a halt and let the car draw even with him. It was a dark blue, he now realized. MI6 didn't have blue cars in their official fleet. He made a fist to try and calm his panic, his nails digging deep.
The window in the back rolled down.
"There are cameras on this street," a woman's voice announced. "Up ten paces or so there is an alleyway. Meet me there."
The lone man let out a sigh of pure relief as the window rolled up and the car rolled away. His heavy heartbeat began to slowly abate. He gave a small smile and shook his head. It was Mrs. Jones. Once again his fear was unfounded. He hoped it would stay that way.
Ian met up with the car and slid in the back.
"Hello, Ian."
"Good morning, Mrs. Jones." He looked at the driver. "Crawley."
Crawley nodded before putting his hat back on. He had taken it off so Ian could see his face, but he didn't want anyone outside the car identifying him.
"How have you been Rider?" Jones asked. "Long time no talk."
It was true. They had their professional courtesies, yes, but over the years they had actually become… friends. It was surprising but true. It had started when Ian had first been charged with raising Alex. He had been in the Bank's cafeteria when she first approached him. She had only stopped because he had looked like a complete mess. They had begun to talk, she had recommended a nanny, and the rest was history.
After that they met pretty frequently at the same spot. They usually discussed the highs and lows of raising a kid while being a spy and such. Ian even had begun to have a sneaking suspicion that she was beginning to become attached to Alex… But they were both good at keeping their personal and professional lives separate. Therefore, Blunt never had a problem with their friendship.
Ian smiled ruefully and ran a hand through his hair. "You're telling me."
"How's Alex?"
He grimaced. "He's aged. He's… The look in his eyes is like the look those kids have that you see in the field. The kids who have been raped and their parents murdered… The kids who are trained to kill you…" Ian took in a deep breath. "I never thought that would be my nephew."
Mrs. Jones licked her lips nervously as she looked away.
"Yes," She started after a few moments of silence, "I know…"
The woman refrained from saying anything along the lines as "I'm sorry." It would be useless and pointless now. Even if she could have done something, she didn't. She would have to live with herself now.
She decided to change the subject after another few seconds of silence. "…Do you have the contacts?"
Ian reached into a pocket in his sweats and pulled them out.
"I only take them off my person when I'm in the Bank and sleeping."
She took them and put them in her purse. "Good. Your house is going to be searched on Thursday. Probably sooner, knowing Blunt's paranoia."
Ian sighed and leaned back. "How do I know that I can trust you?"
"Surely you've weighed my motives." Mrs. Jones smiled slightly as she rooted through her purse. "Even if I was allied with him, and I helped you, I'd be in charge. Why would I want to keep him in? If Alex or any other of his projects is discovered, then I'd have a mess to clean up. The list goes on, and I know you've thought about it. I have a lot of selfish reasons for this, I admit it."
She took a pack out of her purse, pulled out a white and yellow stick out of it, and pulled out a lighter.
"I thought you quit," Ian stated.
Mrs. Jones succeeded in lighting her cigarette and took a deep drag. Her eyes closed in bliss as she leaned her head against the seat.
"The peppermints didn't have as much as a kick as I needed tonight," she sighed.
"Can we trust Crawley?"
Jones nodded, never opening her now closed eyes. Getting no explanation from her, Ian looked towards Crawley.
The man in question took a deep breath and his knuckles turned white from the tight grip he had on the steering wheel. He was obviously fighting with his anger, which he was well known for.
"My son..." he ground out, "... always wanted... Always wanted to be like his dad. He joined MI6."
The Englishman nodded. He remembered this. Bill Crawley was a shrewd kid, if not impressionable. Ian had taken a liking to him almost immediately.
"When he was still green, Blunt sent him on a job that was meant for someone more experienced... A job that-that was meant for me... He had no training, no back-up... no plan! It was a fool's mission that not even I could have done!" Crawley started yelling and hit the steering wheel in pure rage. He whirled around to face Ian, his face red and his eyes puffy.
"Alex is not the only one who has been used. Blunt's killing off all of our children, all of the younger generation. If a spy has a family tie, it's easy to assume that the family tie is going to dissapear one way or another. Familes have broken up because of him. People have died because of his foolishness! If anything is going to do something about it, it's going to be me... My-My son's death will not be in vain..."
Sobered, The Englishman nodded and Crawley whirled back, seething in anger and satisfied that he had gotten his point across.
"I hate him." The spy in the front snarled one last time.
For good reason, my friend. For good reason.
A little bit of a filler, but please review! I'm working on the next chapter now. If there is anything you'd like to see, confrontations, hook-ups and such, please tell me! If it jives with the story, I'll work it in.
Next Chapter: Alex and Ian interactions.