Forget Them Not III
Summary: Alex does and doesn't remember. Something happened, something that left him without any memories. Was it a mission that left him like this? Or was it something else? Alex remembers. A collection of connected oneshots.
"- if there's no changes you'll be released by tomorrow afternoon. I strongly suggest you take a week off from school to recuperate. Actually," the young doctor grinned. "Consider it an order. You'll be on pain meds for a while, but, as you know, you were very lucky. I doubt you'll need them in a week. Well, unless you strain yourself unduly that is. Remember, you are only to take it for so long as the pain remains hindering, as in making it hard if not impossible for you to sleep. Understood? "
The boy nodded.
"I know most of your memories have returned, so I feel that it's fairly safe to say that the rest will come by themselves. Just give them the time to do that. I'm sure Doctor Connors have already told you this, but writing down your memories as they come will help, at the very least as a way to keep track of your progress."
The boy listened to his doctor, following the conversation with ease for the first time in a while. He knew he had been lucky. The doctor really did not know how lucky.
Alex didn't know where that thought had come from.
"Ah, that's it, I suppose. I'll see you before you leave tomorrow for a last minute check up, but personally I think you're good to go. Now, there's this young lady waiting for me and I really shouldn't keep her waiting. Bad things happen when I do. As I rather like avoiding her temper… Sayonara."
The doctor flashed him another grin before leaving the room.
The boy shook his head bemusedly, grimacing as the action caused him to pull at his stitches.
He was looking forward to freedom.
He was six, nearly seven. Ian had been gone for days. The sitter looked uncomfortable where she sat and watched the boy draw a picture of his family for his tutor. He was in the process of writing nicknames. There was no 'mum' or 'dad', just 'tío', which she assumed meant uncle. For himself he wrote 'sobrino'.
There was some colour in the picture but not nearly enough for a normal child. The house was coloured a rusty red, the steps grey, the windowsills white and the curtains a light green. The stick characters both wore blue jeans, black shoes and black jackets.
There was something odd about the picture.
All of the colours fit in with the real world. It matched the house they were in and the clothes they usually wore. It was too real. She'd seen other pictures hanging on the walls of the boy's room and they all resembled this one. It was too realistic for a child. Children were supposed to have a wild imagination which translated into unreal paintings or pictures.
But this is Alex, she reminded herself. The too serious child that has tutors instead of teachers and so far speaks two languages, the independent child whose uncle is only home sixty percent of the time during the school year and the lonely child who never complains and always listens.
The poster boy for the old saying of how children should be seen, but not heard; little Alex Rider.
Of course the picture was more real than the normal drawings of a six year old child. The boy was much more mature than his year mates. She'd seen the boy's uncle talking to him as if he were talking to an adult. The boy had been extremely polite to her and he seemed to do everything right. He went to bed at the right time, did his homework neatly and he never seemed to make a mess. He was very well behaved. None of the other children she'd ever watched had ever acted like him. The sitter looked down at what Alex' was doing and tried to figure out why he was so different. She could only guess.
Alex was finishing up and she noted his satisfaction as he wrote the last letter of his name at the bottom and added the year. She rose and looked at the picture and started praising him and telling him how impressed she was and how his uncle would love to see this.
His eyes lit up in a smile as he took it in, just like a normal child.
For a moment he was just that.