May Flowers 2009
By Simply Shelby

Accusation

"You cheated."

Snake quickly turned around to face the blatant accusation. A large pile of large notes was quickly, and creatively, hidden as one of the men he'd just won all the money from stalked towards him, looking quite unhappy. The SAS soldier blinked in the face of the man's anger and stabbed a thumb into his chest in the universal gesture for, 'Who me?' while looking around him to see if the man could be talking to anyone else.

"Yeah, you! You lousy, cheating bastard!" the man's voice drew the eyes of most of everyone in the pub, not to mention the ears of everyone loitering outside. "You and your friend hustled us!" the man accused and was suddenly joined by several other familiar men.

"And we don't take kindly to being hustled!" Another put in.

Snake, not a bit confused as to what they were referring, questioned, "What friend?" Eagle was instantly spotlighted, the surrounding crowd of slighted men parting easily to make his presence apparent. "Him?" Snake's voice sounded astonished, "He's not my friend."

"He's right," Eagle spoke up, "I don't even know his name. For all I know, he could be a cheating snake."

Snake seemed to take offense, "I'm not the eagle preying on these fellows' hard-earned money!" Honestly, what were they doing bringing code names into this little con?

"Why you little--" Eagle lunged forward, but was held back by several men closest to him. They were bewildered at what had just happened. The two partners in crime had suddenly turned against each other.

Snake laughed derisively and turned to leave.

"Fucking halfwit!" Eagle yelled, as planned, and Snake turned on his heel.

He threw the first punch. As planned, of course.

The right-hook was aimed for Eagle's head and the restrained man noticed that his compatriot was taking his sweet time in landing the stupid punch. He took personal offense at that. After all, he had been trained in how to duck. It wasn't like Snake had to pull punches or anything. Which, he wasn't. At least, not literally.

In any case, the right-hook flew over his ducked head and landed squarely on the nose of the man behind him. Then, in all due fashion, the crowd within the pub broke into a free-for-all.

From his vantage point beside the door, Wolf rolled his eyes and downed the rest of his pint. "Snake! Eagle!" he barked, "Get your arses over here!"

Everyone froze at the tone and stared at the lone soldier by the door. Eagle scurried out of the foray, Snake in tow. "We'll do this again sometime, gentlemen," he offered.

The door slammed shut behind the three men.


Sleepwalking

John tried the front door.

Locked. As he knew it would be, but, still, it never hurt to try.

Behind him, Ian swore. And not as quietly as he could have. Shooting a glare at his brother, John moved over to the window. It slid open soundlessly. He gestured to Ian and they tumbled neatly into the parlor. Breathing a sound of relief in tandem, they headed towards the stairs, confidant that they were now in the clear.

The lights switched on.

"Hold it." Their father's voice was low and annoyed and slightly amused at their sneaking. John signalled for his brother to retreat to the hall and Ian nodded his thanks. "Ian Rider." The eldest Rider stopped the youngest in his tracks, "Don't think you can slither out of this."

The brothers turned, as one, to face their father.

The man in question, dressed in his pyjamas, was seated in his favourite chair in the far corner, feet propped on the footstool. A half a tumbler of bourbon was on the table to his right accompanied by a dime novel. His eyebrows were arched and his face was entirely too smug for the boys' liking. "Just what are you two doing?"

Ian's mind raced for an appropriate answer, preferably one that wouldn't land them in trouble for mucking around. John, however, was quick on the draw. "Sleepwalking," he deadpanned.

"Sleepwalking." Their father repeated, rolling the word around his mouth as if tasting its absurdity. "What? The both of you?"

"Yes, sir." The boys chorused.

From the look on his face, it was obvious their father realised just how stupid the question had been. After all, none of them could remember a time when the brothers hadn't done everything together. "Your mum's furious," he snapped, "So you'd better come up with a better excuse than 'sleepwalking' come morning."

The boys nodded simultaneously.

"Next time, Ian, keep your comments to yourself. Unnecessary noise gives away your position. Not to mention the fact that nobody wants to hear how fluently you can swear. Least of all your mother," he advised.

Ian blushed slightly, but tipped his head in acknowledgement, "Yessir."

"And, John," the man admonished, "You couldn't come up with anything more creative than the parlor window?"

But John simply shrugged it off, "Like I said--sleepwalking."


Corruption

Helen had insisted.

"I just need to know that he's going to be safe."

John Rider had stared at his wife wide-eyed in complete confusion. He'd heard somewhere that a woman's intuition was often spot-on and not something to be trifled with, but he simply couldn't see where she was coming from. "Helen, nothing's going to happen."

She hadn't wagged her forefinger in his face, but she'd come pretty damn close, "No. No. You can't say that to me. Ever since I met you, you've told me, 'What I do is dangerous, Helen. Anything can happen.' I'm just taking a page from your book."

"Okay," John conceded, "But even if something does happen to the both of us, Ash'll take care of Alex." She'd pursed her lips and he'd defended, "He's Alex's godfather. My best friend, Helen." This conversation was really beginning to throw him.

She'd crossed her arms and looked away before whispering, "I don't trust him." And his wife knew him well, must have known the fury burning inside him in response to that statement because she rushed on, "He's changed, John," she asserted, "Ever since--" she broke off before concluding, "He's a different man now, John. Not one I want raising my son."

She was right about that. Ash had changed. In fact, there had been a time when John had harboured the theory that his best friend might be working for the other side. And not deep cover like John had been doing for what seemed like ages. No, he'd had this niggling feeling that Ash was working the opposite side of intelligence, really and truly. However, it was a theory John couldn't wrap his head around, no matter how much evidence was put before him.

But, still.

"I'll ask him." John didn't relish the thought of proposing guardianship of his son to his brother, but Helen had insisted. "In all likelihood, he's bound to tell me to shove it."

"Don't be ridiculous. Ian's never said no to you."

What was worse was that John feared Helen might be right.


Incomplete

Ian appeared in the wooden chair beside Alex.

In a swift side-glance, he took in his nephew's bruised lip and bloodied nose, his crossed arms and defiant posture. Stretching his legs out in front of him and leaning back, careful not to bump the headmaster's desk, Ian asked, "You want to tell me what happened?"

Alex's nostrils flared and his tone was tinged with fury when he offered a curt, "No."

Distinctly reminded of his own time spent in the headmaster's office, Ian shifted uncomfortably. "Alex... I can't help you unless you tell me what happened."

The twelve-year-old glared at the desk in front of him, "I don't need your help."

Ian's eyes narrowed and his voice took on a particularly dangerous quality, "You want to try that again?"

Alex's shoulders hunched and his head fell forward, "'M sorry." Before he could say anything more, the door to the office opened and the headmaster stepped in. He was a tall, rather portly, man with a receding hairline and a pair of observant eyes. Ian had to stop himself from sliding down in his chair as the man sat behind his desk and fixed him with a firm stare.

"Mr Rider," he began and both Riders sat at attention. He smiled. "Mr Rider, your son was involved--"

Alex interrupted before Ian had the chance, "He's not my dad."

"Uncle," Ian explained.

"Ah." The headmaster nodded, understanding gleaming in his eyes. "Ah. As I was saying, your nephew was involved in a fight this afternoon. Thankfully, it was broken up before anyone was too beaten up. I was going to ask the routine questions, but I think I have an idea as to why this might have happened. Starting with the fact that you're his uncle and ending with this." He set down one of Alex's literature assignments on the desk.

Ian glanced at it. It was marked 'Incomplete' in bright red ink. Ian turned to his nephew whose face was as bright red as the ink. The boy reached forward and snatched up the paper, holding it against his chest. Ian's brow furrowed in confusion.

"Well," the headmaster concluded, standing to his feet, "I'll leave you to it." He shut the door behind him.

Gently, Ian pried the paper from Alex's hands. The kid was more tense than Ian had ever seen him and he was looking anywhere but at his uncle. Ian read the title. And cursed, softly. "Alex..." he began, but didn't know where to go.

Alex shrugged. "It's just some stupid project."

The man swallowed and said thickly, "Yeah."

Nothing more was said. The two Riders leaned back into their seats, heads bowed, and did a successful job of ignoring the situation at hand. Ian glanced down at the title once more, feeling his heart sink slowly into his stomach.

The title read: Mother's Day Assignment.


AN: In regards to Corruption--While I am very much aware that a godparent's relationship with a child is in no way legal, I like to think that the Riders would have legally made Ash Alex's guardian after their death. Until, of course, Helen insisted Ian take over. And, yes, I do realise I'm taking a tonne of creative license. Hope you enjoy!