Alex Rider has always been an asset, an agent. Useful. Used. He left normal life behind him years ago.
When he's kidnapped, tortured, and left for dead by contract killers, hired by someone he doesn't even know and can never find out, he finds hims...
Mrs Jones could see all his hurt, anger, confusion, thinly veiled behind a composure that was betrayed by the slight tremble of his hand.
What had this life done to him?
There was no way he could continue. Not now. Clearing the red tape to get him back to normal living and seperated from any connections to MI6 was going to be an absolute nightmare but nothing could be done about it. It was the least they could do now that this had happened.
They could give him money, protection, whatever he requested, but they couldn't replace his leg.
She had rehearsed what she would say to the boy over and over. Nothing sounded right. She hated what she had done and any apology would be empty to the broken child sitting before her. She would just have to pray it was enough.
"Alex," she began tentatively, "there is nothing I could say or do to fix what has been done to you. But I can tell you that you will be removed from action and allowed to return to your old life.
It won't be easy. What happened to you was inexcusable, both of them and of us. We'll be placing agents for a while for your protection unless you have any objections.
I only hope that you can move on from your experiences. You will have the best team we can get looking after you. Whatever you ask of us, we can provide."
He offered no reaction other than keeping his impassive gaze.
"We've covered your injuries with an orchestrated car accident if you have to explain to friends or family. I have to remind you that nobody can know of this or anything else you have been through.
I... I am truly sorry. For everything you've endured. You have done so much good and I know it isn't fair to finish with such an uprooting to your life. Try to find yourself some peace. It's all over." She took a deep breath.
"Alex, we need to know everything you remember about the kidnapping."
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"Okay, keep still."
Cool hands carefully peeled away the bandage that had covered half his face for so long. His eyes were squeezed shut against the brightness that trickled in.
"You can open them now."
Hesitantly, he opened his good eye, and then the other. He felt the pull of scar tissue as he blinked the cloudiness away and cringed at the tightness of the skin around it.
Images of how it got there flared to life at the back of his mind.
Alex had barely been able to report to Mrs Jones. Somehow he kept his voice level as he relived, in concise, flat sentences, the events of his kidnapping and everything he'd overheard- but the moment she left the door he had completely broken down inside. Everything came flooding back, smashing into the fragile sense of calm he'd just exhausted with the force of a tsunami.
He lay shaking for almost an hour, his heart pounding, as he was assaulted by the hundreds of memories of pain and hopelessness he had accumulated.
He hadn't wanted anyone to see him in that state, even though he could barely produce a coherent thought without feeling like he was drowning, burning, bleeding, beaten all over again. But someone had.
Jack.
It was painful to think about her right now.
Jack had seemed so ordinary, so fine, at least while Alex was wearing his cracked and crumbling mask of normality. Staying far away from the topics she knew he couldn't touch. How she managed to talk for so long without asking what had happened or what came next he didn't know.
Then she walked in.
He was still mentally thrashing against the memories the debrief had released, his breath coming in tight, fast gasps. In his confusion, the sight of someone entering his room pushed him over the edge. He screamed in absolute terror, grasping the edge of the bed for dear life. Jack looked at him in shock for a few moments and started to sob, sobbing in the doorway, and he did nothing, nothing but lie there and stare until she ran out of the room.
How could he have missed it? So caught up in his own problems to notice that Jack was far from okay. She was breaking apart inside because of what happened to him. He deserved it, he had to be strong and he wasn't, and the shattered look in her eyes was going to join the endless heap of his personal ghosts, he was weak, he'd failed, he deserved to lose his leg, he deserved to be tortured, he should be dead, why didn't he die, blood was on his hands, all around him, he loved Jack and he had smashed her up with a single scream, he was worse than his kidnappers, why didn't he die, he had been ready to die-
He registered dimly that the doctor was shouting his name and waving a hand in front of his face, concern in his eyes. He squeezed his eyes shut, utterly unable to deal with this, wishing he had both hands available to block out the noise.
Someone put a hand on his shoulder and he yelled, the sudden touch sending electric fear shuddering through his body. His eyes snapped open and he twisted away, striking out at the doctor's arm reflexively. Instantly he pulled his arm back, horrified, staring into the middle distance. He whimpered slightly, and then louder, until he was sobbing, heaving for breath, his good fist clenched so tight that his nails were scoring deep grooves into his palm, the pain barely getting through to his mind.
He felt a needle prick his arm and barely had time to register it before he was gone.
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Right then. I said it would only go downhill, didn't I?
Shout-out to idkwhoiamanymore15 for being the first commenter and voter! Appreciate it ;)
Pretty proud of this chapter. Lotsa angst. My too much torture gene is really getting a boost out of this book, I swear
This is the closest image I could find of what his scar looks like. It's a pretty big part of the plot, so thought a reference for just how prominent it is would be nice:
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In my head it finishes a lot sooner down the cheek, just between the mouth and nose, and doesn't actually pass over the eye, but turns out it's pretty tricky to find an exact scar. So project that with those differences onto Alex's face and you got it. Edgy, but not that edgy, because he fucken despises it for obvious reasons. Also it's fainter.
Sorry for the long AN, I just like talking to nobody
Disclaimer: I'm an idiot and would never be allowed to run a major book series
