Hello there, people!
Well, here we have it... Chapter 7. I rather liked this chapter, so I hope you will as well! Unfortunately, coursework and so on is bearing down on me, so I'm doing the totally logical thing...
...totally ignoring it and writing fanfiction. Yes, I'm subscribing to the time honoured tradition of the Doctrine of Procrastination, and it's working wonders. So far, I've got a whole 12 pages of HIOP 7 written. Doesn't that just delight your hearts?
And yes, the Alex Rider/Chalet School horror is going well. I hope you're happy.
Oh, and another plot bunny just bit, due to my latest, greatest (but weirdly, not NEW-est) obsession - an Alex Rider/Supernatural crossover. I'm so going to hell. But then, I might meet Dean Winchester there, so I shan't complain.
:D
DISCLAIMER: The only thing I own at the moment is my coursework. I even lost my pride writing an Alex Rider/Chalet School crossover...Everything else has been given to my teachers in an attempt to assuage their coursework lust. Even my gold teeth have gone.
Alex offered Don a quick 'good night' as the man left the garage, responding with a nod and a quick smile to the customary instruction to lock up when he left.
A little over a week ago, Alex had had his cast taken off, though his arm was totally healed – he'd substituted the support of the cast for a Tubey grip, and no one at the garage had thought to question the decision. Don had simply asked – kindly, and not unreasonably – that Alex start work as a mechanic as soon as possible. Though his arm and had were both stiff and a little awkward, Alex hadn't felt that he was in any position to refuse.
He had spent just over a week under Derek's careful eye – ever since he'd got the cast taken off, in fact – before being pronounced as 'competent', and was now given smaller jobs to deal on his own: simple part-replacement, jumpstarting, and swapping tires, nothing that Alex couldn't easily deal with. Occasionally, he was asked to clean out the cars which had come in for a full service, but he was rarely asked to do anything either too menial, or too complicated, and his wage had gone up by nearly fifty pounds, something Alex was eternally grateful for. He didn't quite dare stop with the 'secretarial' side of things, knowing that that was what he had essentially been employed for, and unsure as to whether he was supposed to stop now. Cautiously, he decided that he wasn't about to risk this job by stopping half of it without being told that he was allowed to – so he generally stayed late most nights to deal with the paper work. Don hadn't called him on it.
Staying late every night served another purpose as well, however; his wages, even with the increase, were sufficient for food and travel, but without the fifty pounds from MI6 every month – which had stopped coming – he was finding it more and more difficult to put anything aside, something which was becoming increasingly urgent. He had no doubts that MI6 were still keeping half an eye on him, waiting for the moment when he looked physically fit enough to use again. To that end, he made sure to limp heavily between the house and the Tube station, but he was far from sure how long this situation could last, especially now that his external injuries – bruising, the cast, and all – were fading fast. Saving money for when MI6 used him again was becoming imperative.
However, for the purposes of earning money, staying later than everyone else was perfect; none of the people he worked with – who had begun to like him and get as close to him as he would let them, which was a novel experience for him – saw where he went after he locked up the garage.
To ease his desperation to save money, Alex had started looking for an extra job, and he'd managed to score several shifts a week at a pub local to the garage, using a fake passport he'd scored from Smithers about six months ago and had carefully 'forgotten' to give back. He worked there most nights, from whenever he left the garage, generally around six thirty, for however long they needed him, and he rarely got off before ten thirty. After that came the hour long commute between his house and the area where he worked; this new, extra job had the side-effect of making his days extremely long – he rarely got to bed before at least eleven thirty, or midnight – and he had to be up at five every morning except Sundays, when he often picked up an afternoon shift at the pub. However, the extra money meant that he could afford to eat a little better, at least.
Life was tough, undoubtedly, but he was surviving, and he had learnt the hardest way that that was the most important thing at the moment. Now that he was at least half on his feet again, and he didn't dread each day quite as much, he almost relieved. Certainly, he thought, with black humour, he could always put off killing himself until MI6 put him in a position where he could make it look like an accident.
"You're here." William, the manager of 'The Goose on the Green', where Alex now worked, gave him a rather harried smile as Alex appeared in the back room of the pub. "You OK?"
Alex nodded. "Yeah. What do you want me to do?"
"Emily gets off at nine thirty – can you do clear up till then? You can take over after her at the bar."
Alex nodded silently, grabbed a cloth, and began on the endless rounds of cleaning and clearing the tables.
At nine thirty, the barmaid, Emily – a cheerful blonde girl, with whom Alex had a warm nodding acquaintance – ended her shift behind the bar, and Alex took over, something he was relatively comfortable with after three weeks. His shift would go on until eleven, tonight, when another boy – a 'real' 18 year old this time, who called himself 'Mac', but whose real name was apparently Michael – would take over, and he, Alex would start the long trek back to his house.
When Alex finally fell into bed that night, at half-twelve, he was knackered – but relatively happy, all the same. Almost independent, almost supporting himself – and MI6 could hardly take the credit for paying his house bills, when they came out of his uncle's money – and without MI6 bothering him for the moment… life was almost good. He would have preferred to have being taking his AS-Levels than working himself half to death at a garage and a pub, but if he had to work, this was good.
The next morning, Alex nodded at Don, still tired, wishing desperately – as he often did now – that he was asleep, rather than working, and managed to dredge up a smile for Derek. He was already looking forward to his lunch break; he'd taken to sleeping curled up in the office, rather than getting something to eat. Not only did he store up some much nodded sleep, he also saved money on food – as far as Alex was concerned, it was a win-win situation.
"Hey kid!" Don called over to him. "Got something slightly more difficult for you today…"
"Oh?"
"Yeah… someone's really fucked over their car. Idiot thought he could fix it himself, and it's not pretty. Think you can manage it?" Don shrugged. "I'd get someone else to deal with it, but everyone's busy."
Alex shrugged. "I can manage." He said, confidently, and waited until Don was out of earshot before adding, almost under his breath, "I hope…"
Derek, over-hearing him, gave him a quick grin. "Just ask, if you've got any problems. It's not like Don'll fire you for not knowing how to put an engine back together."
Alex gave him a tight smile. "Yeah." He agreed, quietly, without much confidence.
The car he to sort out was given was a mess; Alex worked on it solidly until lunch break, abandoning it at one on the dot, and heading into the little office to sleep. He was still shattered from the combination of late nights, frenetic days, and never quite enough food, and while he was happy – and not a little flattered – at being given a slightly less 'boring' task, it was really taking it out of him.
Once his lunch break was over, he was heading back over to restart work on the car, when he paused, listening half-out-of-sight. The garage was still pretty much empty – Alex made a point of 'arriving' back early, so no one caught him napping and asked any awkward questions – but Derek was there, and it sounded like he was talking to someone.
"…long is it going to take?" a voice Alex didn't recognise asked. Risking a glance round the edge of the doorframe, to determine whether it was totally safe to come out yet – old habits died extremely hard, it seemed, especially when they had been drilled in by MI6 – Alex saw Derek stood by the car he had been working on, talking to another man, presumably the owner, who had his back to Alex and who was, from his stance, annoyed and irritable. For a second, the boy deliberated over it – then retreated fully into the office. He could hear well enough from here, and it was foolish to walk into a conflict he could easily avoid. Just this once, he'd let someone else handle it.
"Don't know." Alex could hear the shrug in Derek's voice. "We've got one of our newer mechanics working on it; it's nothing too difficult," Alex smiled a little, picking up on the faint sarcasm his almost-friend was using, "Nothing he can't handle, certainly. But it's fiddly."
"How so?"
"Well – you took half the engine apart, sir. We've got to put it back together."
"And how long is 'putting it back together' going to take?" the man asked, faint sarcasm colouring his own one.
"Nothing less than three days." Derek said, blandly, and Alex twitched a smile, knowing that the other mechanic would have predicted at least a day less if the owner had been a little less sarcastic with him.
"Three days." The other man repeated, slowly. "Just how new is this mechanic?"
Alex smiled, and let Derek deal with the owner, waiting until the man had left before heading over to the car.
Derek gave him a quick smile. "Good lunch?"
Alex spared a thought for his poor, empty stomach, and nodded. "Yeah, not bad. You?"
"Fine till just now. I just dealt with the guy who fucked up this car for you." Derek shrugged, eloquently.
"Yeah, I heard…"
The man gave him a half-hearted glare. "And you didn't bother to come and help me out?"
Alex gave him the nearest he'd got to an impish grin for at least six months. "But you were doing so well…"
Derek was about to reply when the owner of the car in question reappeared in the entrance of the garage. "Look, is there anything can…" Alex and Derek looked at him almost as one. "Cub?!"
Alex stared, sickly, at the owner. "Eagle."
Derek looked between them. "Do you two know each other?" he asked, dryly.
Alex swallowed, trying to bring moisture to a suddenly-dry mouth. "Um…" he cleared his throat, awkwardly. "Yeah. Yeah, we do." He finally managed to tear his eyes away from Eagle. "D'you mind if I take a few minutes off? I'll make it up later…"
Derek shot him a wry smile. "No one else is back yet – I think you've got a couple of minutes."
"Thank you." Alex looked back at Eagle. "Um – uncle? Could you come through here… please?"
Eagle followed the kid out to the back of the little garage, still almost completely dazed; of all the places to find the kid, this had to be the one he would never have dreamt of looking in.
"Are you OK?" he asked, quietly, immediately as Cub turned to face him.
Cub turned on him, eyes angry and – scared? "Fine, thank you." he bit out, voice carefully suppressed. "Not that it's any of your business."
"Of course it's my business! Jesus, Cub-"
"It is none of your business." The boy repeated, harshly. "I don't know what the hell you're doing here…"
Eagle held his hands up in an attempt to placate the kid. "Hey, I was just hoping to get my car fixed! But – God, are you sure you're OK? You look…"
"Fuck off." Cub said, angrily. "I don't need you here, prying around about me. I need this job, I'm not going to let you fuck it up for me…"
Eagle looked the boy over. He was taller than he remembered from when he last saw him – but that had been two years ago, and, unless his memory was playing some serious tricks on him, the boy was thinner, too; thinner than any sixteen year old should be, especially in a country like Britain, which was hardly in any difficulties food-wise. There were dark purple shadows under his eyes, which had no right to be here – all in all, Cub looked old, tired, pale, and even slightly ill. The faint traces of what had to have been horrific bruising was still in evidence around his eyes, though it was difficult to distinguish from the lack-of-sleep shadows – and the same traced bruising was echoed along his jaw. Combined with his dirty overalls, the boy looked – vulnerable.
"Cub – you should leave this job, you need…"
He didn't even manage to finish the sentence – and he certainly hadn't expected the fist which hit him an impressive blow to the jaw, though he did manage, instinctively and blindly, to block the second attempt to hit him. "Holy shit, Cub, what was that for!?"
The kid stared at him, eyes wide with blown pupils, breathing heavily in what seemed to be a potent, dangerous mix of anger and fear. At that moment, Cub looked like nothing so much as a cornered, scared animal; Eagle stared at him for a long moment, worried and confused.
It was Cub who finally broke the silence. "You have no right to try and tell me what to do." He said, voice fierce but rigidly controlled. "I am not leaving. I want to be here; I need to be here…"
"Cub, you're – you're ill." Eagle said, rather helplessly. "We can help you; honestly, I promise, we'll help you. But you – you need to rest. I mean, you were hit by a car just, what, six weeks ago?"
"Oh, and now you care!?" the boy threw it at him, viciously; Eagle winced. "I've had enough of being helped by people like you, and I have nothing left to give you!" he sounded pleading and terrified and helpless, and Eagle could hardly stand it.
"Shit, Cub, I don't want anything from you, I promise." He said, gently, but he didn't get any further.
Cub dragged a hand over his face. "I don't need you – any of you – fucking this up for me."
"I'm not trying to fuck anything up for you; I wasn't even expecting to see you here. But – God, I'm just surprised you're even mobile. I mean, didn't you break anything?"
"It's been five weeks, and I'm a quick healer." Cub returned flatly, no traces of his former emotion left in his voice – somehow, he had managed to get himself under control in the last few moments, and Eagle recognised, with a sudden sinking feeling, that he was unlikely to get anything further out of him. "Look, Eagle, if you've got nothing important to say to me, I need to get back to work. I'll get your car done for you, but please." He looked up and met the man's eyes squarely, warning clear. "Stay away from me."
Eagle tried to say something further, but Cub didn't wait to hear it, firmly ushering him out and not allowing him the chance to say anything.
Once Eagle was gone, Derek re-approached, putting a hand on Alex's shoulder, and saying, concernedly,
"What was that about? Are you OK? Who was he?"
"Oh…" Alex paused, before giving Derek a quick smile, and saying, as calmly as he could, "Yeah, I'm fine. That was just my – uncle. We don't get on all that well."
And there you have it. Hope you enjoyed - do tell!
I have English coursework to do - it's a bitch, I tell ya - and reviews would make me smile.
Yeah, it's blatant. Sue me.
-ami xxx