Gibbs had laid down the law the moment Alex had sat down in his car. If he was hungry, there were some leftovers in the fridge, but if he wasn't, lights were to be out as soon as they got home. He was to go only in the bathroom and his bedroom—not poke around and explore Gibbs' house. If he got up before Gibbs (which the Marine found unlikely) he was to go into the kitchen and eat breakfast.
"Any questions?" Gibbs inquired as he led Alex to the quest bedroom. The teenager was examining his bruised face in the mirror, and at Gibbs' question he shook his head.
"Nah, I'm good," Alex responded. "Don't touch anything, go right to bed, don't cause any trouble. Relax, the house will still be standing when you wake up."
"It better be," Gibbs grumbled as he shut Alex's door and checked to make sure the house was locked before heading down to the basement top work on his boat.
It was around three in the morning when Gibbs was woken up by a loud thump. Thinking that the kid had rolled and fallen off the bed, the Marine sighed and got out of bed. As he placed his hand on the doorknob and heard another sound, he got a gut feeling and grabbed his gun. Walk stealthy down the hallway, Gibbs grew more and more concerned by the muffled sounds coming from the room where Alex was staying. Pausing outside the door, he waited a moment before bursting in, gun at the ready.
"Freeze! Federal agent!" Gibbs screamed and stopped short at the sight in front of him; it was like finding Damian Wayne all over again. Alex Rider was tied to a desk chair, gagged, with blood dripping down his cheek. Slade Wilson stood over the boy, fist pulled back in preparation to deliver another punch to Alex's face.
"Leroy Jethro Gibbs," Slade muttered. "Fancy meeting you again. Do you mind coming back another time—the kid and I have some unfinished business to attend to."
"Step away from him and put your hands where I can see them," Gibbs ordered, assessing Alex with his eyes. The boy was frantically shaking his head at Gibbs and his eyes were wide. Gibbs was unable to do anything before a blow to the head sent him sprawling across the floor. Gibbs struggled as he was forced into a kneeling position and his hands were bound in front of him; he cursed himself for not realize Slade had two men for backup. He saw his gun given to Slade and the man examined it before tossing it aside. Gibbs locked eyes with Alex and tried to convey to the young man that everything would be alright.
Slade gave Gibbs a sinister smile and turned his back on the Marine in order to face Alex. "Now, Gibbs," Slade began, sliding a knife out of it sheath, "perhaps you'll be more forthcoming with information than the boy over here."
Gibbs' eyes widened as Slade held the blade to Alex's neck; the mercenary drew a shallow cut along the teenager's collarbone, causing blood to run onto Alex's shirt. Gibbs saw Alex wince at the pain and he called out to the mercenary.
"Stop! Stop!" Gibbs shouted. "Leave the kid alone—Alex has nothing to do with this!"
Deathstroke chuckled. "You sound just like Grayson—don't either of you two realize just how special this boy is? The potential he has…"
"He isn't yours!" Gibbs shouted, struggling against his bonds and the man holding him.
"I want answers," Slade demanded, ignoring Gibbs' outburst. "So start talking. How much do you know about Bruce Wayne? How about Timothy Drake? Or Damian Wayne? Or Officer Dick Grayson? About vigilantes? How much digging have your really done, Gibbs?" Gibbs remained silent and only glared at Deathstroke. Slade sighed and slice off Alex's shirt so that the teen had nothing on but his shorts. Motioning to the man behind Gibbs, the man came forward and handed Slade a branding iron. Alex's eyes widened and he struggled frantically against his bonds, his words muffled by the gag in his mouth.
Gibbs lunged at Alex, but the second man restrained him. "This is what happens, Gibbs," Slade told the struggling Marine, "when you don't cooperate." Gibbs' protests and pleadings were drowned out by the muffled and anguished screams of Alex. Slade pulled back the iron with a cruel smirk on his face. Gibbs was unable to tear his gaze away from where the teenager sagged against his restraints, panting heavily and holding back tears. On the boy's lower ribcage a stylized 'R' was inflamed, and Gibbs had never felt so much hatred for a single man as he did for Slade.
Slade was examining his work and gaging Alex's reaction. When the mercenary saw the hard look in Alex's eyes he chuckled. "You would definitely make a good little Robin. Or a good app—"
The window shattered at a figure came crashing through the glass and hurtled himself at Slade. The two men rolled and stood, staring each other down. Slade held up a hand to halt his two men in the room. Gibbs gazed at the man in shock—this was someone that he had never seen, only heard rumors of.
"Nightwing," Slade acknowledged. "How good of you to come. How is the family? I'm curious to know how the little Robin is faring."
"Shut up Slade," Nightwing hissed. "I don't have time for your games. Let the kid and the old man go. You have a problem with me—you take it up with me." Gibbs, slightly affronted at being called an old man, tore his eyes away from the confrontation to check on Alex. His eyes widened and he quickly glanced to see if anyone else noticed that Alex was no longer tied to the desk chair. A swift glance at the two men who held him proved that they were to focused on Nightwing and Slade to check behind them at the "helpless" kid.
The guard to Gibbs' left made a choking sound as he fell to the floor; at the same time, Gibbs swung his hands into the right guard's gut. Catching him by surprise, Gibbs was able to subdue his captor with only a little effort. The Marine looked over and saw that the other guard was down for the count as well, thanks to the teenage spy.
A tackle brought him to the ground and Gibbs prepared to beat whoever it was, but stopped short when he realized it was Alex. "Jesus, kid—what the hell was that?"
"Slade deflected something at you," Alex panted, snatching a pocketknife from the bedside-table where Gibbs presumed he had stashed it. The man made a mental note to check Alex for weapons the next time he stayed over. The boy sliced through Gibbs' bonds as the Marine kept a watch on Slade and Nightwing, who were fighting, ruining the walls, furniture, and the rest of the room.
"What did you say about my house still standing in the morning?" Gibbs remarked to Alex as the kid pulled him up. The boy laughed, but Gibbs noticed that he was still in a great deal of pain—no matter how much the adrenaline was masking it for now. "You sure you ok, kid?" Alex nodded, trying to conceal a wince as his skin around the brand stretched.
A loud crash caused Gibbs and Alex to whirl around, but they weren't fast enough. Deathstroke snatched Alex and pinned him by the throat against a wall so that his bare feet dangled and kicked about two feet from the ground. Nightwing pulled himself out from the debris that, five hours ago, was the bed the Alex slept in, and yanked Gibbs behind him.
"Tell me what you see when you look at him, Nightwing," Slade ordered, continuing a conversation the two of them have been having. "Tell me. Is he not as great as you once were? He has the athletic capabilities, the stamina, the drive, the courage. He is about the age you were, is he not? And he would be so much easier to train—after all, he has already killed dozens." As Slade spoke, he continued to choke the life out of Alex; the teen struggle but was unable to do anything. Nightwing was growing angrier with every word Slade uttered.
"Don't you dare," Nightwing commanded in a cold and hard tone so full of hatred that it sent shivers down Gibbs' spin.
Slade laughed. "I think I shall. Alex," the mercenary said, using the hand not choking the boy to force Alex to stare him in the eyes, "would you like to become my apprentice?"
Nightwing sucked in a breath and clenched his hands into fists, while Gibbs stared confusingly at the masked man. Alex's eyes widened and he made rapid choking sounds; Gibbs thought it was possible he was laughing. Slade loosened his hold so that Alex could speak.
"Are you crazy?" Alex croaked at the man. "Why the hell would I want to work for you after you kidnapped and tortured my friend? Are you sure that whatever pierced your eye didn't affect your brain?" Slade slammed Alex into the wall, snarling in anger.
"I was prepared to offer you a trade," Deathstroke hissed. "You service for your friend's life."
"Don't do it!" Nightwing shouted. "It's a trick and a trap—he did the same to me when I was a teenager."
Slade grinned. "And you made a great Red—"
Nightwing, snarling, pounced and sent himself and Deathstroke sprawling. Alex dropped to the floor and lay there, gasping heavily. Gibbs grabbed his gun, positioned himself in front of Alex, and pointed it at the two men fighting. "Freeze or I shoot!" he commanded.
Deathstroke looked at Gibbs and kicked Nightwing so that the vigilante collided with Gibbs. The mercenary then climbed out the window, leaving everyone behind.
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