A/N: I hate to say this, but this last chapter is mostly set-up filler. I actually hate this chapter with a passion. But please, bear with me.
By the way, I went ahead and edited Chapters 1 and 3. After having the timeline pointed out by a lovely reviewer that Alex's birthday would actually have to be around mid-winter, I went back and edited that part of Chapter 1. And I edited the news article in Chapter 3 to make it sound more realistic and journalism-y. None of these edits have any impact on the story, but I'm just letting you know, so that no one will get mad at me trying to change anything sneakily or anything.
Oh, and, Madam Empress of Oranges? This is the present I mentioned!
Previously:
"Just a question," Alex said. "What…what happened to Jack? Her body, I mean?"
"She has been brought to a private morgue within our building – our evidence room."
"Can I see her?" Alex asked.
"Yes," Mrs. Jones said. "The morgue is underground – not far from Smithers' office. I'll take you there."
Alex nodded, before once again, both of them left the office.
They headed for the elevator. A series of familial hallways later, and Alex was standing in front of a drawer as Jack's body was pulled out of the wall, black body bag glinting under the unforgiving florescent light. Taking a deep breath, he braced himself to look once again at Jack Starbright's lifeless eyes.
The zipper pulled back, and he stared at her corpse. It just wasn't right – Jack was never this still. The bloody woman practically had ADHD – she never stayed this motionless, even in her sleep. She always moved around and talked in her sleep. He'd know – he's spent many a fortnight falling sleep beside her and in her arms, as a child, in front of the telly or in her bedroom or his after a night of just…what did she call it? Chilling? Hanging out? He never could always make sense of all her American phrases.
He blinked again, his thoughts coming back to the present.
Her lips were cold and blue. They haven't been so dark since the last time they went guising together and she used black lipstick…and black everything else, her vampire costume earning her many wolf whistles and cat calls while they were out, a laughing matter for the whole bloody week afterwards. What would they have done this year, for guising? She'd jokingly suggested that they go as spies, the kind from James Bond or Mission Impossible III, as a joke to his secret life.
Now what was he supposed to do? He only ever went guising with her. This wasn't right. They were supposed to have fun later and they were supposed to go and get as much candy as possible then she was supposed withhold enough from both of them to prevent dental damage. She was supposed to be bloody alive.
"This isn't right…" he mumbled. His brain was still as frozen as her skin. Her eyes were closed and her red hair was laid out around her head, unnaturally even, her fringes brushed away from her cold, pristine face. A sheet still covered her until just a bit below her neck, but her arms were still laid to her side, and not wrapped around a pillow or Alex like they were supposed to be when she slept.
She wasn't alive like she was supposed to be when she slept.
"Alex?" Mrs. Jones asked after a moment, her silent question hanging not just in the air, but on it, the air thick with unspoken grief as Alex just stared at her face.
"What's going to happened to her, now?" he asked quietly. How was it possible for his voice to be so low and quiet in a room this low and quiet?
"The body will be shipped to her family in Washington. They have already been informed of her death. They have been told the same thing as the newspapers…"
"Right…" he mumbled, only half-listening but still taking it all in. "Is there…is there any chance I could go to America? For the funeral."
Mrs. Jones shook her head. "I'm sorry, Alex – we're already taking a big risk letting you go back to your house and school. America just can't happen – not right now."
Alex nodded. What was he expecting?
He brought his fingers up, but held them in the air. What was he supposed to do?
Resting them on Jack's cold, cold arm, he leaned over her, taking in her features. Knowing how fast MI6 could be, when they wanted, Alex knew this would be the last time he'd ever see her.
He blinked back the moisture in his eyes, before slowly, he leaned down and pressed his lips to her forehead, a spot of warmth on such cold skin. It was a small shock, but he didn't move, doing for her what she'd done for him for almost eight years.
"I'm so sorry," he mumbled as he pulled his face up a moment. "I'm so sorry, Jack…"
Pausing for a moment, Alex looked down at her serene face. He should be comforted by the fact she was in a better place. Or at least, he hoped she was. He didn't know.
"Say hi to Uncle Ian, yea?" he mumbled. "For the both of us…"
He swallowed down the tears threatening to break free again, before suddenly taking a shuddering breath and turning away.
He heard the zipper being pulled up again and listened to the scraping of metal as she was slid back inside, just like a drawer.
Mrs. Jones led him to a counter, were the mortician's assistant pulled out a plastic box, with several random things inside.
Jack's things.
"Her personal effects…" Mrs. Jones said. "Except for her clothes, phone, and wallet, for the obvious reasons."
Alex nodded. Her hair clip, two hair ties, a purse, and a few things for vanity.
Her purse was on top. Crafted in fine silk, made and bought in Japan, it was small but useful. It was mostly old cinema tickets and receipts and her clear-plastic make-up pouch. He still couldn't tell apart one item of make-up from another, no matter how many times he's watched her use them.
A friendship bracelet Alex made her when he was seven, just two months after they'd first met. It was black, with a zig-zag blue center and a blue, and had a blue, glass bead for the clasp. He brought it up to his face for a moment as memories of making it for her and giving it to her for her birthday came back.
He clutched it tightly for a moment, before he took a deep breath again and looked back.
The only other major thing left was a necklace. A St. Luke's cross necklace from Kit Heath. Ian had ordered it online and both of them had given it to her for Christmas just about five years ago. She'd never taken it off since then.
It was a beautiful Celtic cross, with flowing silver on a thin, elegant chain. It had soon become quite a strange sight to see her without it.
Then again, it was quite a strange sight to see her dead.
He realized he was crying when a lone tear snuck down his face while he clutched the chain tightly in his hands, staring it glowing with its own light under the harsh fluorescents.
Jack would never wear it again.
Ever.
And it was all his fault.
"Alex?"
He took another shuddering breath through his nose before turning to look at Mrs. Jones.
"Sorry," he mumbled.
"It's all right," Mrs. Jones said.
Alex nodded, turning to look at the necklace and the bracelet, before silently draping the necklace around himself, clasping the chain behind his neck, the cross itself resting not far below his neck. The bracelet was a little too big for Alex's wrist, so he bent down and put it on around his ankle. He reached inside the box and picked up the purse, his intent lying mostly on getting the old cinema tickets inside as he dropped it into his bag.
He turned around, facing Mrs. Jones again.
"I…let's just leave. Please."
She nodded and strode out the door.
"The overtime room?" she offered. She was being far too nice, and far too motherly. Alex knew it was fake. At least it didn't feel too fake. He could stand it.
"No…I'd never get to sleep…"
It was rather obvious way.
"Would you like to see Mr. Smithers for a while?" she asked. "I know seeing him tends to cheer you up."
Alex allowed himself a small smile. He could use that. Anything, a distraction, something to do…
"Yea, it does."
She hit a different button on the elevator and they got off sooner, before she led him down the hall to Smithers' lab.
"I have to go back upstairs," she explained. "Do you know your way back to our office?"
"I think so, yeah," he said. "Eighth floor, three doors down the hall from the elevators?"
She nodded and left without another word, while Alex knocked on Smithers' door.
The door opened on its own as soon as Alex finished knocking. A moment later, Smithers appeared in the doorway.
"Alex!" the jolly bloke greeted him. "Come in, come in."
"Hello, Smithers." When did his voice become so wispy and quiet?
Shutting the door behind MI6's youngest spy, Smithers gestured for Alex to sit on a stool by the work bench. Alex silently took the seat, lips set in a straight line.
"I'm so sorry to hear about your caretaker," Smithers said. "How are you doing?"
"Just fine," Alex said with a carefully planted smile. An upside of being a spy were the acting and lying skills one gained in that line of work. He wasn't going to put a dampener on the one thing he had right now to cheer him up and keep him from having a mental breakdown.
"I figured you would need quite some cheering up," he said, gesturing around his rather large tech lab. "Anything that interests you?"
"Aren't you in the middle of working?" Alex asked blandly, looking around at the multitude of assistants working on random things in the lab.
"Actually, right now, I'm just checking over the security designs for your house," Smithers said, gesturing to a bunch of blue prints on the table which, indeed, were of the house in Chelsea. "Though there's not much I need to do."
"Why not?" Alex frowned, looking in to the house. The outer blue prints were the same as the house…but the engineering of the internal design were a little strange. "And what's all this?"
"Well, mostly because your uncle's already made the house quite secure. The paint is somewhat fire resistant – not much, but certainly enough."
Explains how Jack and Alex never managed to set the house on fire when they started experimenting with their cooking.
"The walls and glass are all bulletproof. We're only replacing the glass with a newer type of glass, able to withstand higher-caliber bullets. There are chemical and fire sensors in there, including sensors specifically to search for bomb-typical components."
Alex nodded again. Hm, if it had all those, he can get how he and Jack never burned down the house, but how come they rarely set off the alarm when they kept burning things while messing around?
Oh, well. He doubted he'd find out. Jack was gone – there was no one to mess around with in the bloody kitchen on lazy Sunday mornings.
"It also has a very nice robber's alarm set in," Smithers continued. "We're simply arranging it to now also send a signal to MI6, along with the usual blaring and sirens and all that."
Alex nodded. He should've known that's what his uncle would do. How come he never thought of it before?
Did he set this security up for him, or for me?
That was one question Alex wasn't entirely sure he wanted answered.
"I'll be placing in a few hidden emergency call button, catering them to your fingerprints, along with anyone else MI6 deems 'safe'," Smithers said.
So MI6 gets to choose. Why wasn't he surprised?
"After that, it's just a basic manner of you needing to take care of yourself."
Alex nodded.
"How do you change the fingerprints and who can come into the house and all that?
"With the way I make them, most of them are easy to reset after you simply prove you're you. Fingerprint, DNA, MI6 ID-"
"MI6 ID?" Alex asked. Smithers gave him an odd look.
"Don't you have an MI6 ID?"
"…I don't even know what that is." Well, he had a vague idea. But he wanted to keep Smithers talking. MI6 was taking over his life again, and he wanted to know everything to pull the rug out before that could happen.
Smithers sighed. "It's, well, an ID – but for MI6. Gets you through the building and whatnot. If any law enforcement ever tries to arrest you, this will tell them to let you go, ect…"
"So why don't I have one?" Alex asked.
"That's the thing – I thought you did."
Now Alex almost growled as he looked down at the blueprints before him. "Blunt and Jones. They can't give it to me – it would give me free reign to come into the building, not to mention I could control those security systems you mentioned…"
Smithers shook his head to himself as he pulled up a laptop.
"Well, I have to say I disagree. But don't worry – I'm friends with the head of MI6's more bureaucratic departments. And…good."
Alex frowned, and Smithers showed him the laptop. It showed some sort of file of sorts – and it was Alex's, by his picture, name, and all the nonsense of numbers and letters underneath.
"You're already a registered agent in our system. Which means getting you one is very simple."
He turned the laptop back, Alex fidgeting in his seat as he continued to stare at the blueprints for his home. So much had been hidden and he'd been living in it all for his whole life without noticing it.
How the bloody hell did I miss so much? How much more did Uncle Ian hide from us?
Alex looked up as Smithers tapped a few last keys, and he smiled. "The actual card will take a few minutes, to print and get here from that department…but here's how it'll look, front and back."
He turned the screen back around and smiled as Alex leaned over the edge to take a closer look.
It was an interestingly different looking ID. The card was black instead of white, with bright blue writing, and his picture was on a beige-white background, with the MI6 insignia emblazoned in gold across the whole thing, in a way that one had to tilt it in the light to see it.
On the back, it said Level 3 Security Clearance and Case Officer Status 3 under that, along with a smaller version of the same insignia underneath. Across the middle was a barcode, next to a fingerprint, presumably his, and across the bottom, it had 6(02)/02131993-001/03, with SIS-(SO)/CO-SC:03 underneath that.
"I suggest you keep this to yourself," Smithers said, and Alex smiled at the childish joke. Part of him actually liked the idea of a "secret ID". That small, tiny part of his soul that remembered what a child was, what it was like to be one.
So small a part of his soul…
"What's all this, then?" Alex asked, pointing to the numbers and letters, trying to make sense of it all.
"Well, put simply, it's your ID – for government use only, though. The back is the most important part."
"Case officer? Level 3 security clearance? And what do the letters and numbers mean?"
"Quite simple, really. You are a case officer – meaning you carry out foreign intelligence operations – and you have a status of 3, out of 14 levels of status operations, and three is actually pretty good. So long as you're above four, there really isn't much you can't see, apart from mostly files of people above you."
Alex's eyebrows rose. He had a bloody status? He never considered how "official" his presence was inside MI6, or what his presence was in the system. Shit – how much had Blunt and Jones hid from him?
Oh, who was he kidding – they hid everything.
"How did you get me up this high? I was never allowed this much, before."
There was a mischievous glint in MI6's top technician. "Alex…they have you set down as a case officer, officially, especially because of all the bloody hell you've gone through. You'd be surprised how much of what goes on in MI6 is purely statistical – and how it works. You were probably starting out at about a 9 or so…but with your missions and all that, you're now a 3. Almost as high as you get, really. Almost. Though, best not to mention it to Blunt or Jones. I don't know how much they know, and let's not give them a reason to look into it."
While it was still a miniscule smile on Alex's, it was real, this time – his first real smile since…well…Jack.
It was nice to have something over Blunt and Jones, even if it was something stupid like a status, or an ID. After so long of them having the upper hand, Alex might at least have just some slight help to tug out that rug…
"And the numbers and letters?" Alex had to understand it all if he wanted to truly get anything over Blunt, Jones, and MI6.
"The numbers are your MI6 ID. There's a bunch of meanings and whatnot behind the numbers, but it's rather complicated. Though, if anyone happens to understand it, if the take a look at just the number, they'll see how old you are, that you're MI6, a case officer, and have a level three security clearance. It's a little difficult to explain, but I'll try…"
Alex nodded as Smithers explained how the numbers worked. Though bloody hell, it was complicated. Was it purposely designed as such?
He has to stop asking questions to himself with such obvious answers. Of course it was.
"And the letters?"
"Mostly the same thing in a different form, honestly, but more streamlined, so someone barely has to look. SIS is, well, the obvious. SO is special ops, CO-SC is for Case Officer and Security Clearance, which again, you're at level three. 1-14 is basically our version of rank, and if you're above a 4, you're…well, most anyone in civil service or intelligence will know it's best to listen to you. Anyway, that's SIS-(SO)/CO-SC:03."
Alex smiled.
"A lot of power for a bunch of silly numbers and letters."
"One of the only upsides to the convoluted bureaucracy that is our government, m'boy."
Alex was actually smiling at this point, which was really saying something. He was right, coming down here had been a good idea. Finally, he was getting some overdue rewards from MI6, even if it was just recognition. "Thanks, Smithers…this really means a lot to me." He actually swallowed. Damn.
But Smithers smiled. Being Alex's only friend in MI6, he was largely sympathetic to Alex's plight, and his general distaste for all things MI6 – and the man helped soften the blow just ever-so-slightly, enough to help Alex get a hidden rise out of all this.
"Just be careful with it. But keep it on you – for one thing, if you get arrested by the police again, just have them take a look at this. Not to mention that now, you can come in and visit any time you want – me, or…er, anyone else. No need to call. A little bit of free reign."
There was a sudden bang from that the assistants were working on, on the other side of the lab.
"Oh, that better not be my exploding tennis balls, again…" he said, running off, shouting over his shoulder, "It's yours, Alex! I'll be back in a tick."
Alex looked back at the card on the screen. Bloody hell, he didn't know he had so much fucking power. If nothing else, it was some recognition – and that was almost all he ever wanted, instead of being treated like some damned tool by the MI6 heads. At least now, he was a person. Or at least as much of a person as a print, picture, and a bunch of numbers and letters were when in MI6.
He was starting to understand how Blunt and Jones were able to send him on so many missions and all that, along with everyone else, even when it was almost certain to cause death. After all, how much emotion can someone feel sending in a 'number' to a 'statistical scenario'?
He silently memorized the numbers and letters, easy enough when you understood the system behind them. But he needed to keep these in his head, just in case. He liked Smithers and all, but if there was one thing Alex learned from all his work with MI6, it was this: Trust No One.
"Sorry about that," Smithers said as he came back, face covered in soot.
"Do I even want to know what that was about?" Alex asked.
"Not really."
Smithers smiled again, holding something out in his hand.
It was the actual card.
"How-"
"Technical details, Alex – no need. Keep it, it's yours. Again, get out of problems with the police – depending on what you did, anyway. And not to mention you can now come in any time you wish. All you ever have to do is go into any elevator you wish when you come in here. Press the insignia to the surface of the fireman call button and push – it'll scan the microchip inside the card and after that, the elevator will take you to MI6 instead of the bank front."
Alex smiled again as he carefully slid that small, plastic rectangle if hidden and minute power into his wallet. One day, he'd surprise Blunt and Jones with this little sly of the hand. One day, there'd be hell to day from them for ruining his life.
Just as he was about to speak again, there was suddenly a ringing sound…from his pocket?
His phone was ringing. That bloody iPhone…he answered, anyway.
"Hello?" Alex asked apprehensively.
"Alex," Mrs. Jones said. "Please come up to Mr. Blunt's office. Immediately."
"Right. Bye, Mrs.-"
She hung up before he could finish. Figures.
"I have to go," Alex said, sighing. "To the plank, I guess."
Smithers smiled again, more gently this time.
"If you ever need anything…feel free to come by. You need all the help you can get, and I'm happy to be the one providing it. Even if it's just a little lunch of sorts, or just a little company. Just call to make sure I'm here and not somewhere else. Or even just come in – most everyone here likes you, Alex."
Alex smiled a little sadly as he slid off the stool, eyes resting on the damn blueprints.
"I think you lot are the only ones."
"I guess I don't know, m'boy. But go on up, now. I'm sure we'll see each other soon."
Alex gave him another sad smile and left. Time to begin the end of his life.
"Yes?" Alex said as he walked in, not even bothering with a greeting, in typical MI6 fashion.
"We have selected someone who should be very effective in protecting you…and you can take care of your self in other aspects, we assume," Mrs. Jones said.
"He has been in Baghdad for the last six months," Blunt said. "His entire unit is on a bit of a reprieve duty, which means that for a year or so, they will be doing more work in the city and local country. Using him to guard you will be simply more convenient. That, and we are in charge of living arrangements for SAS units, so this will take care of that aspect as well. You should recognize him: Jason Webber."
Alex frowned. "Who?"
Mrs. Jones turned Blunt's monitor around, and Alex's jaw dropped. No, it couldn't be…but it was.
"WOLF?! From SAS? Why him of all people?"
"Well, for starters, you did train with him," Blunt said. "We do, occasionally like to have people protected by someone they know and trust to care for you-"
"I don't trust him to care for me! The man made me miserable in my training-"
"But," Mrs. Jones said, sliding a piece of paper which, Alex could see, was filled with Wolf's credentials. "It doesn't matter if you trust him to care for you. Exceeded dramatically in his 18-week training, an additional 6 weeks of specialist training, and has particular knowledge of defending against terrorist attacks, and assassination attempts. He even took a bullet for you in Pointe Blanc. You may not trust him to care for you…but do you trust him to guard your life?"
Alex sighed. Wolf was a bloody bastard, but he was still SAS – and a very well trained SAS agent, as well.
"Yeah, I do," he said regretfully as he set the credentials down. Now what was MI6 shoving him into? Hell on Earth, the sequel?
Mrs. Jones nodded. Did she just read his mind? Well, regardless, it answered.
"There will be a few things that need to be cleared up, mostly in Baghdad and the consulate, but he should be here soon – three days, at the most."
Alex nodded.
"So, until then…?"
"If it's one thing we know about Scorpia," Jones said. "We know that they don't do things of this importance too quickly. It will probably be at least a week or so before they try again. For two or three days, we do believe you will be just fine on your own."
Alex nodded. This was good – at the very least, he would get some time alone. While being here was all right and visiting Smithers was great, Alex did still want to be alone, in the end. If to rest – truly rest, away from this world entirely – and not much else. Just fall asleep and not wake up for a few days.
"So…" Alex said. "Anything else I should know?"
"There isn't much else," Mrs. Jones said. "The locks now have security codes on them, along with needing keys. The number needed to get in is 60203, and should be relatively easy to remember."
Alex nodded again.
Another nod. "That it?"
"Yes."
Mrs. Jones stood up from her seat next to Blunt.
"I'll take you to be driven back home, after picking up everything from Smithers."
With a curt nod to Blunt, Alex got up and left, walking down to the garage behind Mrs. Jones.
Alex got into the same car that brought him here, sitting back as the driver expertly navigated the streets of London, before easing into Chelsea, and finally arriving in front of his home.
"Remember, Alex-"
"60203. I know."
Mrs. Jones smiled, motherly, almost making Alex want to gag, and she watched as Alex entered in the numbers in the small pad under the door. As Alex shut the door behind him, he saw them in the car already driving off.
He turned around and looked back in. The last time he'd been in this house, Jack was still alive. There was already so much to remind him of her. The mismatched pile of shoes in the closet, the array of coats, her spare set of keys still in the nearby tray next to some random bit of lip-gloss…
Alex sighed before collapsing onto the couch and staring at the clock on the wall.
Two in the morning. Hm…three days of peace until Wolf got here. Three days. Just three days. Tops.
Sighing, Alex laid back against the arm of the couch and closed his eyes, begging his mind for sleep, dream less sleep, just so he wouldn't have to remember looking into Jack's lifeless eyes.
A/N: So, there ends Lifeless Eyes, and Part I of the Night Cast Series.
Thanks to JK Mafia for being there as I wrote this and offering me advice when I asked to make sure this wasn't as much of a shit hole as it originally was. Please remember to go check out her story and leave her plenty of oranges. And thanks to CunningMascara for pointing out several holes and irregularities in the story and helping me make it stronger, even if unintentionally. Please, m'lady, keep it up - I need all the help I can get!
And, of course, shameless advertising: I've made two banners for the story Lifeless Eyes, the links for which are at the top of my profile. Also, I've started a writing blog with tips for writing - mostly geared towards fanfiction, though really helpful in all circles of writing. If you are a writers, please check out the blog. It's very helpful, and you can find the link for it as the top of my profile.
Up Next
Part II: Three Days Grace
I'm sure plenty of you know that 'Three Days Grace' is actually the name of a band. (And if you didn't, now you do.) Why do I name my 10-chapter fic after a band? Well, if you can't guess, you'll find out when I post in exactly one week. (Though, anyone who does figure it out will get an honorable mention when I post the first chapter). Keep this story on your alert - I'll update an announcement when I post Three Days Grace, and take it down soon after.
See y'all in a week! (Unless you read my story 'Malagosto', in which case, see y'all in four days!)