9.54 am, Wednesday, 20th May
Royal and General Bank, Liverpool Street
Twenty-four years old and suddenly his brother was assassinated, his sister-in-law became collateral damage, and a screaming wriggling bundle was deposited in his arms.
With heavy bags under his bloodshot eyes, Ian cradled Alex in his arms, hopelessly trying to shush him while blatantly ignoring the disapproving glances that everyone else in reception was sending his way - which immediately increased as the three-month-old let out another piercing, inconsolable cry.
The weight of sleepless nights and the weightier burden of grief hung heavily upon him, and he was glad to be immediately waved through to the elevators by the woman in reception.
They were expecting him, after all.
In a feeble attempt to calm the baby down, Ian gently bounced him up and down, humming some wordless song he vaguely remembered Helen singing to Alex only a few days before - but even the thought of his sister-in-law's name caused his eyes to burn, and he quickly buried his face against the baby's soft tufts of blond curls.
Alex continued to wail.
Ian desperately wished that he could join him.
The elevator doors opened and he stepped out into an uncarpeted hallway on the sixteenth floor. The intermittently spread brightly coloured abstract paintings somehow managed to make his headache even worse.
Finally reaching the large wooden doors at the end of the corridor, he paused for a moment - both to compose himself and to hush Alex as he continued to cry - before knocking.
10.01 am, Wednesday, 20th May
Royal and General Bank, Liverpool Street
"Enter".
Stepping into a room just as featureless as the hallway outside, he wasn't surprised to see Alan Blunt sitting at the cool metal desk - as bland and dull looking as his office was. Standing behind him and slightly to the side, was Mrs Jones - who gave a worried frown when she saw him.
Ian wasn't surprised. He knew that the woman always had a soft spot for him and John - two brothers in addition to being the youngest in the agency. He also knew that she lost two of her own sons thanks to this job, so it was no wonder that she was concerned.
"Ian. You look…"
"Dreadful?" he suggested with a tired smile, "Everything else aside, this one was up all night screaming. Ear infection".
She briefly frowned, a surprising amount of worry visible on her usually emotionless face.
"Antibiotics?"
He shook his head. "Too young".
Which-
Wasn't everyone, these days? Too young for antibiotics, too young to be an orphan, too young to be a parent, too young to die.
"Hmm... You should try a warm compress when you go home. It won't cure anything, but it should help him with the pain".
There was a rather pointed cough and Ian nodded once in thanks before turning to face the other person in the room. Blunt sat behind his desk, as stoic as ever, but there was a spark of uneasiness in his eyes whenever he glanced down at the wrapped-up bundle in Ian's arms.
"Have a seat, Agent Rider".
He did as told, and thankfully, Alex started to settle down.
"Sir".
Blunt briefly looked at the baby again and then frowned.
If John had been alive to see his son cause an actual human emotion in the heartless bastard, he would have cheered in delight.
"Is that really… necessary?"
"Sir?"
"That… The… child" he said haltingly, and, oh boy, an emotion and stuttering? Ian was already bursting with pride for the little tyke.
He was smart enough to keep his expression blank though.
"I'm afraid I don't quite understand, sir".
Blunt pursed his lips and gave him a derisive look.
"I had mistakenly believed that you were more professional than to bring an infant to a classified meeting, Agent Rider".
"Oh yeah? And who's he gonna tell?"
Jones snorted and then very poorly tried to cover it up with a cough.
"Agent Rider-"
"Sir, with all due respect-" which was none "-my brother and his wife were just murdered. Forgive me for not wanting to let the only surviving family member I have out of my sight!"
"Murdered?"
Because, of course, that was what the callous reptilian prick would focus on.
"Contrary to your belief, sir, I am not, in fact, an idiot" he replied, just on the right side of not-snapping, "A plane accident? Really? Not three months after John betrayed the world's most ruthless terrorist organisation; are you seriously telling me that their plane blowing up was an accident?!"
Blunt clasped his cold lifeless hands together in front of him.
"I am not. We believe it was SCORPIA. That's the why. The how and what are rather obvious. Which only leaves the who".
"Suspects?" Ian asked shortly, painfully aware of the baby now dozing in his arms.
"None as of yet" Blunt admitted, "We are, however, considering Yassen Gregor-"
"No". He shook his head. "Gregorovich wouldn't kill John. Not after what they went through".
"You sound rather sure of yourself".
"I am" he replied firmly, "John mentored the kid, not to mind saved his life! I know you don't believe it, sir, but not all contract killers are heartless bastards".
Unlike you went unsaid, but based on the slight twitch of his eye, Blunt had gotten the memo anyway.
"... While that may be, Gregorovich is already making a name for himself. If we don't catch him soon, he's going to become a problem".
"Catch him?" He barely refrained from snorting in disbelief. "Sir, the boy was trained by John Rider… Do you honestly believe that you can find him if he doesn't want to be found?"
"He's twenty years old. Young. He'll slip up, sooner or later" came the calm response, "And when he does, we'll be there".
Ian shook his head again.
"No. No, sir, you won't. Gregorovich was trained by the best. The best is now dead… So just who the hell do you think is going to fill John's shoes?"
Alex wriggled restlessly in his hold, and he quickly looked down to shush him. When he turned back, Blunt was also staring at the baby with a strange gleam in his eyes.
"Who indeed…"
Warning bells started clanging loudly in Ian's head.
Jones, too, looked vaguely uneasy, and she took an abortive step forward.
"Alan?"
Blunt blinked and then looked back up at Ian as if nothing had ever happened.
"Despite your worryingly sympathetic attitude to the man, the fact remains that Yassen Gregorovich is an assassin for hire currently under the thumb of SCORPIA. You know better than anyone that SCORPIA doesn't forget and SCORPIA doesn't forgive".
"So, what? You think they ordered Gregorovich to kill John? His own mentor?"
"It does have a certain sense of… poetic justice if you will. And SCORPIA always did have a twisted sense of humour".
They're not the only ones, Ian wanted to reply but held himself back at the last minute.
"No" he said instead, "I'm telling you, sir, Gregorovich wouldn't do it. He- He couldn't!"
Blunt peered at him over his grey spectacles for a moment.
"I have a terrible feeling that you're not telling me everything you know, Agent Rider".
This time, he couldn't hold back his snort.
"The feeling's mutual, sir".
10.17 am, Wednesday, 20th May
Royal and General Bank, Liverpool Street
Blunt pursed his lips before sitting back in his chair.
"Alright. Let us say, hypothetically, you are correct and Yassen Gregorovich didn't plant that bomb… Who did?"
"I don't know" he admitted, briefly tightening his hold on Alex, "But I do know it was someone working for SCORPIA… and that the list of people who knew where John and Helen were flying from is a very small list indeed".
"You believe that there's a mole in the agency?"
"Whether or not SCORPIA was behind it is irrelevant, sir. The fact is, whoever planted the bomb, knew that John Rider was going to be on that plane… No matter who pressed the button, they had to have gotten their information from somewhere".
"Only a handful of agents were aware of the existence of that airstrip".
"Well, there's your list of suspects".
Blunt considered him for another moment before the tiniest, most minuscule smile possible ever-so-briefly flashed across his face and Ian was immediately put on guard.
"We'll need to open an investigation... I need someone to run it".
He blinked in surprise. "Me?"
Even Jones looked troubled. "Alan, don't you think that Ian is a bit too close to this-"
"Nonsense". He waved a dismissive hand. "It's personal for him, yes, but that puts him in the perfect position to not make mistakes. It will also allow him to find… closure".
Blunt was looking at him while he said this, and Ian got the strangest feeling that 'closure' was code for 'revenge'.
"I require an immediate answer, Agent" he continued, gaze piercing, "Whatever resources you require, whatever personnel is necessary, you need only ask. I'm sure I don't have to remind you that time is of the essence here… You can lead the task force to success. To your family's murderer".
Ian felt his breath catch, his head reeling from the sudden possibilities. He would be in charge, an entire team, an entire agency at his disposal. He could track down John's killer, Helen's killer, the bastard who orphaned his nephew and left Ian alone and abandoned asides from him. He could fly all over the world, tracking down leads and names and eventually put a bullet in the bastard's head himself. He could get revenge.
"What-" His voice was hoarse so he cleared his throat. "What about Alex?"
"The child? I'm sure we can… arrange something".
Arrange was said with the same odd tone that closure had been said with, and Ian wasn't quite sure how he felt about that.
Still, he couldn't help but consider it. Continuing to work for '6 was one thing, but being able to work for them and use them to destroy the people who killed his family was… incredible.
Ian pictured how his life could turn out, taking care of Alex in between missions, using MI6 resources to pinpoint SCORPIA assassins, jetting all over the world on the off-chance that he'd find out who killed his brother and sister-in-law and-
-and leave an innocent, defenceless, orphaned infant at home, having to hire a nanny and housekeeper to feed and care for and raise the child that he would be neglecting just so he could track down a ghost.
Was it what he wanted?
Maybe.
But was it what John and Helen would have wanted for their only child?
… He wasn't so sure.
Ian glanced down and stared at those warm beautiful happy brown eyes, brown eyes the exact same colour as John's, brown eyes far too young to understand the gravity of what just happened and… he couldn't do it.
Seeking vengeance would be a long-term job for a very short-term reward, but raising Alex, actually raising him and watching him grow up and ensuring that he was happy and cared for and loved…
That seemed like a far better way to honour his dead brother's memory.
Alex opened his mouth and grinned at him with a toothless smile, incredibly small and terribly fragile.
Ian had never felt parental before. He liked to claim that it was because he was still young, but as John had regularly teased him with - and perhaps what was closer to the truth - was that he had commitment issues. It was also why his partner's never lasted longer than two months. He simply couldn't imagine the thought of tying himself down to one person for the rest of his life, a person who couldn't know about his work or lifestyle, let alone creating an entirely new human being and then remaining tied to that loud messy defenceless creature for the next eighteen years at least.
His aversion to permanence wasn't something that he was proud of, but nor was it something he was ashamed of. It simply… was.
So he never expected that he'd ever feel parental. That he'd ever love someone more than himself. That he'd ever feel a surge of protectiveness so fierce that it terrified him.
That he'd ever look at someone, someone so small and needy and impossible and then suddenly be hit with the realisation that… that he would die for them.
That he would kill for him.
As he stared into warm brown eyes, so like his own, he realised that he'd already made his decision. And then he wondered if there had ever even been a decision to be made in the first place.
Taking a deep breath, he turned back to Blunt, the man's expression as blank as ever but the gleam in his eyes revealed his confidence. Confidence - arrogance - that he'd convinced Ian to abandon his new responsibility in favour of a decade-long quest for revenge.
He wanted to wipe that smug look right off the bastard's face, and then, with a sliver of satisfaction, he realised that now, finally, at last, he could.
John would be proud of him.
He'd make sure of it.
"Well, Agent Rider? What is your decision?"
Ian glanced over at Jones, knew that she knew what he was thinking by the slight upward curl of her lips, smiled, and then turned back to Blunt and stared him straight in the eye.
"I quit".
10.29 am, Wednesday, 20th May
Royal and General Bank, Liverpool Street
He was after standing up, walking across the room, and placing a hand on the doorknob before the man snapped out of his shock.
"You- You- You what?!"
He'd made Blunt yell. John would definitely be proud of him.
"I quit" Ian replied simply, pushing open the door, "Expect my resignation papers by the end of the day".
"You can't just quit!"
"Fine. I'll retire then". He shrugged, briefly turning back.
Blunt was standing, both hands on his desk as he leaned over it, looking for all intents and purposes like a raving bulldog.
"This is not a department store, Agent Rider! You cannot simply leave whenever you feel like it!"
"Actually, sir, I believe you'll find that I can" he shot back, "I have a contract just like every other employee, and there are some very clear loopholes when it comes to getting out of it. I've already signed the OSA and I will gladly sign whatever other Non-Disclosure Agreements you want me to".
"But- But what about John Rider? And SCORPIA and- and Gregorovich?!"
"I already told you Gregorovich had nothing to do with this!" Ian snapped, "And as for the rest of it… well, you said you're setting up a task force and that's… that's good enough for me. In case you haven't noticed, I've got someone else to think about now".
"Exactly! And what will the boy think when you tell him that you had a chance to find his parents' killer and you turned it down?!"
Jones stepped forward with a shocked look. "Alan! You cannot-"
"No. No, it's okay" Ian interrupted, "He's right. Alex is going to grow up eventually, and… and he's going to have questions".
He glanced down at the baby in his arms and smiled when he realised that he'd fallen asleep, a trail of drool dribbling down his chin, tiny eyelashes fluttering as he dreamed.
"I can only hope that my answers will be enough for him. That seeing him grow up happy and safe made it worth not knowing who pressed the button... That his parents would have wanted him to be happy and safe and not abandoned to the care of babysitters or housekeepers while his uncle went on a revenge rampage!"
He gave Blunt a hard look and the man, surprisingly, actually looked ever-so-slightly contrite.
"I might never find out the truth, sir, and- and maybe Alex will hate me for that. But right now? Right now he doesn't know a thing. And I plan to keep him this happy and ignorant for as long as I bloody well can!"
10.54 am, Wednesday, 20th May
Ilford, East London
Ian had made a choice, a choice fueled by the desperate need to protect his family - what was left of it - and he'd be damned if he went back on that decision now. There was a lot he still needed to do - for starters, buy a car seat because carrying a fussy three-month-old in his arms on the packed tube was not something he would be repeating again.
After arriving back home and carefully placing the sleeping baby in the spare bassinet Helen had left at his flat, he looked around for paper and a pen - and after a moment, mentally updated his to-do list with item number one: buy paper and a pen.
Finally feeling vaguely normal again now that he had something to do, he grabbed his coat and turned back to the door and-
Wait.
Shit.
Baby.
Ian paused and glanced back at Alex who was thankfully, oh so thankfully, still asleep. He didn't want to wake him up, because neither of them had slept in about twenty hours, but the only other option was to leave him there while he went-
No.
He couldn't leave a three-month-old alone in an apartment while he ran to the store - Ian at least knew that much. Even if that was all he knew about babies. He mentally added buy parenting books to the list and then sighed heavily as he hung back up his coat.
Fuck.
It was going to be a long few years, now, wasn't it?
A Long Few Years later
Ian probably should have released that quitting MI6 wasn't as simple as it seemed.
It took many ambiguously worded threats to get out of there, threats surrounding his own brother mostly - If the world found out that an English agent had been trained and killed as an assassin, undercover or not, the media would rain hell down on the British government.
Initially, he'd felt bad about using his dead brother as a scapegoat but then he remembered that he was only doing so to keep his dead brother's son safe, and eventually, he decided that John would be proud of him for doing so.
He'd heard rumours that not long after he left, Ash had quit as well; although his reasons were less about the morality of the job - or lack thereof - and more because of his own wounded pride that Yassen Gregorovich had gotten the drop - and a knife - on him a few months before.
Ian had been secretly amused when he'd heard what had happened and refused to feel guilty about it. In fact, he secretly thought that the entire Malta incident had done the man some good.
Ash had always been John's friend rather than his, but even then, Ian often wondered if his brother had even liked the man to begin with. Initially, he probably had - there had to be some reason they became friends after all, but Ian himself had always found Ash to be somewhat… needy. Always wanting to be the centre of attention, always having to be praised and congratulated and patted on the back and told well-done mate, that was a jolly good show!
It was about time that someone put him in his place - Perhaps Ian should even send a thank you card to Gregorovich for knocking him down a few pegs.
After Ash quit - leaving to go join the ASIS by all accounts - there were very few people left in London that Ian even knew of, let alone was friends with. So, he quit, and he took Alex, and he left - moving into a slightly larger flat off the coast of Chalkwell, where the River Thames met the North Sea. He didn't plan on them living there for long; just until Alex was old enough to talk, anyway, but he felt that it did them both some good to get out of the city.
Ian kept himself inside as much as possible those first few months - which was honestly not as difficult as he thought it'd be because babies were needy little bastards and he didn't know how John did it.
Then again Helen had been the smartest person he knew and a nurse to boot, so he doubted that she ever freaked out over the noise or the mess or the general larger-than-life personality of a sleep-deprived teething baby.
Then again, she'd never gotten that chance.
Christ, Ian had been in RTI sessions more enjoyable than this.
Either way, Alex kept him plenty occupied, and he got all of his groceries and baby things delivered. Once Alex began to walk, they started venturing out into the world, and Ian found himself filming everything the baby did, too, which was never something he thought he'd ever find himself doing - but soon enough there was an entire shelf dedicated to DVD cases, with his own scrawling writing in marker down the sides.
Alex's first steps.
Alex's first word.
Alex's first birthday.
He burned the videos from his phone onto blank disks, labelled each DVD case, slotted them into the shelf once a month, and very, very carefully did not think about the fact he had no one to show them to.
Not any family. Not any partners. Not any friends - Not even John and Helen, the parents of this loud messy child who could be knocked over by a stiff breeze and yet stubbornly picked himself up again each time it happened.
He had Alex, and Alex had him, and that would simply have to be enough.
As soon as Alex started talking - at twelve months, two weeks, and four days; Ian was very proud - they packed up their flat and left. Being perfectly honest, Ian no longer had anything keeping him in England, and he'd rather make it as difficult as possible for Alan fucking Blunt to rope him back into spy work.
John and Helen had left nearly everything to him - asides from a trust fund for Alex which he could only access once he turned eighteen - and since Ian's own parents had passed away a few years before, he no longer had to worry too much about money.
His family had been quite poor while he was growing up, and he didn't ever want Alex to experience that, so they spent the next few years moving around from country to country, while Ian picked up the odd seasonal job here and there and kept an eye on the stock markets. He didn't consciously lay low, as such, but he definitely avoided getting either him or Alex into any sort of sticky situation in case it drew the attention of MI6 - or, even worse, made it easier for them to be found if Blunt had a change of heart or-
Well.
A change of mind, anyway, considering that Ian seriously doubted the bastard even had a heart.
Maybe that was how he'd survived in his position for so long - the target for assassins was practically non-existent.
He watched Alex grow and taught him everything he could - kayaking in Germany when he turned four, karate and aikido in Bordeaux at age six, mountain climbing in the Alps when he turned eight - things that, perhaps might not have been necessarily life skills, but things that still kept him healthy and, more importantly, happy.
He homeschooled Alex, too, teaching the intelligent young boy how to read and write, how to speak three languages fluently in addition to his mother tongue, how fractions and percentages worked, how clouds formed and why countries had borders and the art of pickpocketing and how petrol bombs were made and-
You know.
Primary school stuff.
When Alex turned eleven, they moved back to England, buying a cute little terraced house off Cheyne Walk in West London - Ian was a patriot at heart, after all, and even though he hoped that Alex never served, he still wanted his nephew to come to love his homeland as well - if only to feel closer to the country that his parents had died for.
Not that Alex actually knew that, however. Ian had long ago decided that he never wanted this happy, carefree, innocent child to know all about how MI6 had led to his parent's murder, and he had raised the boy with the impression that they had been killed in a plane crash.
Ian also taught him how to shoot.
He was… cautiously optimistic that MI6 had forgotten all about them after the past ten years or so they spent living abroad, but as he had carefully instilled in his nephew while he was growing up - only the paranoid survive.
And the last name Rider had always been a synonym for trouble.