A long wait, I know, but here it is! The long-awaited... well, sort of... second chapter of this story!
I hear no cheers of joy.
Dammit.
Well, here. Have a disclaimer, then read it.
DISCLAIMER: Not mine, never was, never will be.
John looked down at his small son in despair. "Alex…" he said slowly. "What have I told you about not touching things?"
Alex replied with a stream of Polish that basically amounted to 'I was only trying to help' and 'what did I do wrong'. John resisted the urge bang his head against his desk.
"Al, you can't…" the phone rang, and John eyed it like it might bite him. "Just – sit on the sofa, right there, OK, Alex?" he pointed at the black sofa opposite his desk. "And keep your hands in your lap. DON'T. TOUCH. ANYTHING." Watching to see that Alex was doing as he was told, he picked up the phone.
"John Rider."
"John?" it was Halton's cool voice. "Come up to my office, would you?" John closed his eyes for a moment, knowing what was coming next. "And bring that boy, too."
"…Right. Yes. OK, I'll be there soo…" the dial tone sounded at the other end, and he put it down with a sigh. "Come on, Alex."
"Where are we going?" the little boy asked, in Polish, sliding off the sofa and trotting over to his father.
"To see Mr. Halton. The man we went to see this morning."
"OK." Alex nodded, perfectly happy. Looking down at him, John wondered, idly, if he had any idea what they'd done.
The thoughts were less idle by the time they'd reached the lift, and by the time the lift reached Halton's floor, he was an internalised mess of nerves. He could face down a worldwide terrorist organisation, but he was terrified of his own boss – or, more precisely, what said boss could do to the seven year old skipping along beside him.
Well, maybe not skipping. John didn't think Alex had ever skipped. Maybe the seven year old walking energetically beside him.
Something like that.
He knocked on Halton's door. This is it, he thought, his mind racing, We're going to have to move again, this time to keep Alex away from MI6. All across Europe, thank god Alex speaks Spanish, maybe South America too, that'd be good, they won't find us in South America…
"Ah, John." Halton's eyes weren't looking at him, though – they were fixed on Alex.
…There might be somewhere in the States we could go – maybe I could do a deal with the CIA? See if they've got a job for a top MI6 agent… stranger things have happened…
"I hear your son has been causing some problems for us."
…Yep, we're all screwed.
"Look, Michael, he may have accidentally caused a bit of a problem with the computer system, what with managing to break our password code, but I'm sure he doesn't remember what he did…"
"Yes, I do!" Alex piped up, forgetting his father's earlier edict to speak in nothing but Polish. John took a deep breath.
Twice over.
"OK, so he does remember – but it was an accident. And…" Halton didn't look convinced. Those cold blue eyes were fixed on Alex, and John fought a fierce, brief internal battle against the urge to step in front of his small, innocently smiling son. "…Please don't kill him."
"Kill him?" Halton's eyes snapped up to his, coldly amused, then went back to studying Alex. "Why on earth would I want to kill someone so… promising?"
Oh, shit.
"Tell me," the blue eyes flicked back up to John's. "Have you thought about his work experience yet?"
John frowned, minutely, reassured that his son was safe for the time being, but now a little worried about his future. "Well, he's got about nine years to go before then."
"No harm in being prepared." Halton pressed.
"Alex wants to be a footballer…"
"Yes, yes, he wants to be a footballer now." Halton waved an impatient hand, "But in a few years time… with the proper influence…"
"I'm not going to influence him either way."
"Oh?" Halton smiled slightly. That was never a good sign. "You've made sure that he does karate, he speaks several languages fluently already, he's bright enough to hack into our computer system, and you've brought him with you today to get a taster of what working for us is like…"
"Only because my wife couldn't take him!" John defended himself. "And he's seven years old, Michael, I'm not trying to influence him – if I could have done, I'd have left him at home!"
"But you couldn't, and he has caused us, as I said, some considerable problems."
"I'm not going to sell his future to you because he got too curious when my secretary couldn't remember her password." John said, crossing his arms over his chest.
"Don't be melodramatic." Halton said, impatiently. "I'm asking for a fortnight of his time when he does work-experience, that's all, not his entire life."
"What would he be doing on this – work experience?" John asked, suspiciously.
"We'll discuss that nearer the time." Halton evaded. "For the moment – well, don't worry about the password system." He smiled again, coldly. "It was time it had an overhaul – we'd had it too long. And if a seven year old could hack into it, anyone could. After all, first name, and date of birth are hardly restricted information; if someone knew that, they could easily break our code. I'll have some of our technicians replace it."
"Thank you." John said, quietly.
"Take him to Pierce. He needs to get these contact lenses – he still looks too much like you." Halton was no longer looking at him, and John didn't say anything more as he held his hand out to Alex, and led him out the office.
There was someone already in the lift when they got there, and John almost groaned on seeing her. It seemed like someone had decided that today was the day god had decided to screw up everything.
"John."
"Tulip." He smiled tightly at her, and watched as her face softened, looking at Alex. Not that he couldn't understand people's faces softening when they looked at Alex, but he was the boy's father. He was supposed to feel insanely proud of him, and expect everyone else to realise what an amazing and special kid he was.
It was sometimes rather a shock to John when people agreed with him.
But then, Alex would generally do something awful, like throwing their cat in the pond 'to see if cats can swim', and he would go from being 'such a sweet little boy' to 'that demon of a son of yours'. John rather preferred it when they got to that stage; at least then he wasn't treading on eggshells, waiting for them to realise what a horror the kid could be. The red-haired American student living with Ian had fallen for Alex in a big way, until Alex had asked her, quite casually, in the middle of a meal, whether she was 'doing' Ian. And then went on to ask her 'if not, why not'.
"And who's this?" she said, smiling sweetly, to Alex.
Alex raised an eyebrow at her. John sighed. It was going to a long journey down to the basement.
"I'm Alex." He said, solemnly, brown eyes wide. "You're Tulip?"
"Mrs. Jones, dear." She said, a slight catch in her voice.
"Then why did Dad call you 'Tulip'?"
"Adults are allowed to call each other different names." She said, her smile beginning to falter as she looked at John for support.
"C'mon, Al, it's like I call Mum 'Helen', and you call her 'Mum'. I call Mrs. Jones 'Tulip', and you call her 'Mrs. Jones'." He gave her another tight smile.
"Oh. OK."
A brief pause. John thought of it as a brief reprise.
Then, Alex piped up again. He swallowed his groan.
There were days when John wished passionately that Alex was already grown up, and thanked god that he had Helen had never had any other kids. Today was one of those days.
"Then, why can I call Ian, Ian?"
"He… he's your… He's related to you. There are different rules for relations." John said, desperately.
"Oh. Right. OK." Alex said, nodding seriously.
There was silence for a few blissful seconds, until Alex broke it, saying, "Do you have any children?" The moment it was out his mouth, John would cheerfully bashed his son's head against the lift doors.
Mrs. Jones voice wavered as she said, "No. Not any more."
"How do you stop having children? If you've already got them, I mean?"
"Well… they can get lost." She said, eyes suspicious watery.
Alex, who, though intelligent, had all the empathy of a healthy seven year old, which is to say, all the empathy of a brass candlestick, continued doggedly. "Why can't you find them again?"
"Sometimes – they get hidden by bad people."
"They get kidnapped?" Alex said, brightly, before his face fell. "But – kidnapped children always come back. They get given back to their Mums and Dads."
"Not always Al." John cut in, quickly, seeing that his colleague was probably incapable of answering, and cursing his son in several different languages inside his head. There were things which everyone in MI6 knew not to mention. Tulip Jones' children were two of those things. Alex opened his mouth to say something else, and John shook his head, eyes warning. Alex took the hint and shut up.
Tulip got out on the next floor, and John felt a guilty twinge of relief seeing her go. Knowing that her children were probably dead and – well, not buried, but dead and discarded made him feel strangely guilty for having his son with him, alive and healthy.
They managed the next few floors down to basement without further mishap, though Alex insisted on pressing all the buttons in the lift, so it would visit all seventeen floors in the building. There were going to be some pissed off spies by the time that particular journey was done.
Thomas Pierce, the head of Q section met them with a nod to John and a grin for Alex. John had unwittingly destroyed too many things given to him by Pierce for the man to really like him, but they tolerated each other fairly well.
"Rider." He nodded. "My new assistant's waiting for you. Something about contact lenses for this little fellow?" he reached out to ruffle Alex's hair. Alex, who had never been big on hair-ruffling, moved out of the way, which earned him a chuckle. "Iron-willed little boy, isn't he?" he glanced up at John. "How did you get landed with him, anyway?"
"You'd have to ask his mother about that." John said, grimly.
"Oh. A mercy case. Was the situation very bad?" Pierce threw the question over his shoulder, leading the way presumably to his assistant.
Oh, you have no idea.
"Pretty bad. It was the case in Warsaw I was just dealing with." John said, casually.
"What happened?"
"Oh, you know I can't tell you that." He said, swiftly. Pierce just nodded.
"Right." He said, pointing through a small doorway. "Through there you'll find my assistant. New man, very bright. Name of Smithers." He paused, and cleared his throat. "He's quite… enthusiastic, Rider. Just – just, be aware of that."
And, with that, he left him.
John steered Alex through the door, and came face to face with a tall, rather rotund man, who was looking up from whatever it was he was doing at the moment.
"Ah, Rider, old chap!" he said, standing up with a huge grin on his face, to all appearances absolutely delighted to see him. "And this must be Alex."
"Don't you mean 'Oktav'?" John asked, ironically.
"Ah, yes, of course. Oktav." He winked broadly at Alex. John was hit by a sudden sinking feeling.
Alex had just found the perfect partner in crime. A man who would not only not stop him doing any of the awful things the boy could think up, but would encourage him. This man, Smithers, would cheer him on. Hell, he'd probably give him gadgets to help him.
Today was suddenly looking so much worse.
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lol, ami. xxx