Becoming Agent Rider

Birthday Surprises

Everyone knows that when the doorbell rings at three o'clock in the morning, it's never good news. But when the doorbell rings at five o'hell in the morning, an hour before his usual time to wake up after working and training for a full fifteen hours and getting to bed at after midnight, Alex isn't sure if that was any better. What he does know is that it had better be important. Or he would be very tempted to shoot someone. Non-lethally, of course. He groaned as the doorbell rang again, followed by a few knocks. Thursday morning of his work experience week was not off to a good start.

Forcing himself to get up, Alex unconsciously grabbed one of the pistols that Yassen had left behind for him to practice with as he trudged downstairs. Cautiously, he opened the door just a crack to see a wiry delivery man holding a package. Instantly, his senses went on high alert. He wasn't expecting anything in the mail.

"Yes?" Alex asked shortly.

"Uh hi," the delivery man said uncertainly. "Express delivery for Mr. Rider?"

"Who sent it?"

"I don't know," the delivery man shrugged. "But I need a signature for it."

Alex considered the man for a moment. Deciding it wasn't likely that he could get any other information from him, he instructed, "Put the package and the paper down, inside the doorway, and wait here."

The delivery man complied, grumbling under his breath about difficult people. His jaw dropped when the teen promptly shut the door in his face as soon as he put everything down. Great. Now, he didn't have the package or the paperwork. He dithered about on the doorstep, not sure if he should just leave or not. In the end, he decided to wait two minutes. At least he could say he tried. His bosses could just deal with it if he returned without the paperwork or the package. They should understand, since the sender had been insistent about a lot of procedures for executing the delivery and just generally being a hassle, even though quite a bit of extra money was paid to ensure correct delivery at this godawful hour. If the sender was that way, who knows what kind of people lived in this house.

Inside, Alex had locked the door and pulled out his phone to check the fingerprints that the security system would have recorded as soon as the man's skin had touched the doorbell. Running the prints through MI6's database, he found that there were no matches. So, either this person had no records of being associated with anything suspicious or he was wearing fake prints. He ran facial recognition from the image captured by the security cameras next. What popped up was the man's driver's license photo and all the standard information that the government had on every citizen. Nothing suspicious. A little more confident that the delivery person, at the very least, was just a civilian doing his job and posed no danger, he signed the packing slip with an unofficial signature that no one would be able to derive his name from. Not before pulling on some latex gloves first though. Just some precautions so no one could get his own fingerprints or trace his signature, in case the sender was an enemy.

Alex opened the door and handed the packing slip to the delivery man, who stared at his latex gloves before leaving hastily. He closed the door and watched the man until the delivery truck was out of sight. Only then, did he turn his attention to the package. After thoroughly examining it, he was uneasy to see that it was from an anonymous sender but was fairly certain it wasn't poisonous or explosive at the very least.

Sighing, Alex opened the package carefully. He frowned when he saw a stack of textbooks on aviation. Aerodynamic theory, the basics of how to operate (and read the instruments) in an aircraft, maintenance before and after flights, and how pilots should navigate different weather conditions. Perplexed, he was just about to write this package off as a mistake or prank when one of his phones vibrated, signaling an incoming text message from Yassen.

С днем ​​рождения. Когда вы закончите читать книги, мы приступим к урокам полета. (Happy birthday. When you finish reading the books, we will start flying lessons.)

It was his birthday? Alex checked the date and blinked. It was his birthday. And Yassen had gotten him a gift. Yassen had gotten him a gift and had it delivered at five o'clock in the bloody morning. Did the man even know what sleep was?

Вы не могли бы его доставить через час или что-то в этом роде?! (You couldn't have had it delivered an hour later or something?!)

Вы хотели, чтобы кто-нибудь заметил доставку? (Did you want someone to take note of the delivery?)

Alex blinked. The contract killer had a point. No one in the neighborhood would have seen the delivery take place. It was too early in the morning for that. Then, the implications fully hit him. He was sixteen now, he realized a little disbelievingly. There were many times in the past two years that he hadn't thought he would live long enough to see his next birthday. But he had now reached two of them and it was partially thanks to the assassin. And that was the other thing. The contract killer hadn't just saved his life and given him chances, but was training him as well. And now, Yassen had remembered his birthday and planned out a present - a surprise - for him with enough care to securely deliver it in the little bit of free time he had in both of their busy schedules. Sure, the gift was training related. But it felt less like a training requirement and more like an extra. An indulgence. Besides, even Ian, his own uncle, hadn't done anything like this. Once Ian was away from London, it was like Alex didn't exist. It all came down to Jack celebrating with him. And she was never going to be able to do that again. He wanted to laugh and cry at the same time.

Спасибо. (Thank you.)

Пожалуйста. (You are welcome.)

Alex just sat there, flipping through the textbooks as he came to terms with the revelation that his arrangement with Yassen extended beyond just teacher and student with a side of complicated history. He should probably get a gift for the man's birthday too, he thought. Only to realize that he didn't know anything about Yassen that wasn't SCORPIA or training related. Although it was absurd, to him, it was like SCORPIA had been the man's beginning. But that wasn't true. Where had Yassen come from? How had he ended up with SCORPIA? Had the man always been this capable and cold? He didn't know the answer to any of these questions and doubted that the man would tell him either. Maybe he could get a gift for a special occasion instead then. Christmas, perhaps.

His phone's alarm rang, startling Alex out of his thoughts. It was time to get ready for the day. He went through his morning routine of necessities and training exercises, but still had plenty of time to get to the Royal and General. However, when he walked through the front doors of the Bank, there was an instant sense of foreboding. Because instead of Crawley being ready to take him to whatever they had planned for the day, it was Mrs. Jones standing in the reception area, waiting for him.

"Is something wrong?" Alex asked warily.

"No," Jones replied, a twinkle of amusement in her eye. Then, she frowned slightly. "Unless your instincts say otherwise?"

Alex shook his head, which Jones took as enough of an answer and started walking to the lift. Following her, they were sat in Jones' office a few minutes later. He politely declined her offer of a peppermint.

"Alex, I would like to start this off by saying happy birthday," Jones said after popping the candy into her mouth.

"... Thanks."

Jones smiled wistfully at his hesitation. "I understand if you have doubts about my sincerity in wishing you a good birthday. Alan and I have made it a rough two years for you. Frankly, I am amazed that you still have the ability to trust people and find the will to keep going. Although I would prefer that you keep out of our business, I know that you have already made up your mind."

She pushed a folder across the desk.

Alex raised an eyebrow. "Mrs. Jones, I hope your idea of a birthday celebration isn't to send me on another mission."

"No, Alex, it's not a mission," she sighed in exasperation. "I am not that heartless."

"Could have fooled me," Alex snorted, pulling the folder towards him and flipping it open. He stared, not quite believing what was inside. "An employment contract?"

Jones tilted her head in acknowledgement. "If you would still like to sign on as an official agent, consider it your birthday present."

Alex hesitated. This was not what he had expected when he saw her in the reception area ten minutes ago. He had thought that the official employment would be sometime after his birthday. That he'd have more time. Not on his birthday. And even with the preparations that they had been making, somehow, he didn't quite expect them to actually give him the legal paperwork to back it up. But this was what he wanted, right? He'd been spending the last few months working towards this moment. So why did it feel so... anticlimactic? Maybe it just hadn't sunk in yet. He was still recovering from Yassen's present after all. Slowly, he nodded. "Yes, I'll sign on."

Jones nodded briskly. "Let's get started then. Unfortunately, there is a lot of paperwork to go through for this. You will be here for the whole morning. I suggest you read through the contract first and ask any questions you may have. Most of our employment contracts are standard, with no negotiations. However, in light of your unique circumstances and experiences, you can negotiate for reasonable things you would like in the contract."

The next two hours were spent reading over the contract with a fine-tooth comb. He did not want to be surprised by anything that may be in the fine print. MI6 had too much power to indulge in saving time and energy in the moment by not reading thoroughly, only to spend even more effort later on trying to escape.

As Alex went through the ten-page employment offer, he saw the standard information included in every hiring process. Official employee as of today, permanent position as an elite agent, level 9 clearance. It was the rank that surprised him. Crawley had said that it usually took more than a decade of service to even have a hope of reaching the rank of senior agent, never mind elite. And as for the pay, there was £500,000 of back pay for all his previous missions, which included damages for the illegality of using him. The full amount had already been deposited into his account today. Going forward, the salary he was being offered was £17,500, which was only half of the highest starting salary for the administrative stuff to take into account that he wasn't a full-time employee. On top of that, there was bonus pay of £1,000 per day for high-risk missions. Little assignments, like the dead drop or surveillance he completed two days ago, did not get any extra pay. An annual performance review would be done to determine his salary increase and discuss his future. Alex noted with amusement that he was paid as an entry level employee for the administrative duties and small assignments but a high ranking one for the actual missions. He doubted this distinction had ever happened before.

Because he was going into the field for high-risk assignments, the contract specified the length of paid leave for different circumstances. After missions and injuries of varying degrees, on top of the military's standard of thirty days that are unrelated to post-op recovery. Plus, mandatory therapy sessions after every mission and annual fitness and psych evaluations. Health and dental care were fully provided and paid for. Pension and life insurance were to be fully contributed by MI6, to be paid out in monthly installments to him when he retires or as a lump sum to his stated beneficiary in the event of his death. All in all, the benefits were quite good. Certainly a world away from their treatment of him in the last two years, even though these were standard. And didn't that just illustrate how badly Blunt had treated him.

Finished going through the pay and benefits, the next section was about his responsibilities as an employee. Following orders, adhering to standards and procedures of which he had been taught by Crawley already but a thick packet was included in the documents anyways and required his signature on every page, and other boring stuff that was standard no matter where you worked. Of course, being MI6, there was the confidentiality agreement to sign, which detailed the fun consequences of breaking the OSA too. And then, there were the responsibilities specific to his circumstances. Training to the best of his ability and keeping his fitness levels up. A minimum of three hours for administrative work per weekday after all his training was completed. Taking assignments and being on loan to other intelligence services as needed. Pursuing further education. Legally permitted to carry concealed weapons, including at school, but it was his responsibility to make sure they remained concealed unless absolutely needed as a last resort for self-defence. And lastly, let Mrs. Jones know of any self-appointed investigations that he conducts and coordinate where necessary. He knew that was put in with the Damian Cray fiasco in mind.

Moving on, the contract went on to list the employer's responsibilities. Providing training and tutoring, standard field support and backup. Coordinating schedules and operations with the SAS in regards to his employment, including informing the SAS of his real age. Apparently, the memo for that had gone out to the SAS' leadership this morning. And that was it for this section. Alex mentally snorted. Of course, MI6's responsibilities in the contract would be kept as short as possible. Although, he was well aware of the fact that this much detail in an employment contract was unusual, showing him that Jones was actually doing her best to keep things above board with him. Ten pages was a long contract for hiring someone. He was pretty sure most places only had four pages maximum. Still, he didn't sign this section just yet. He had some things to negotiate for here.

Alex read on. And was surprised that the next section was about joint responsibilities of the employer and employee. There were two things in this part, both already mentioned during the meeting with C and the politicians. The first one stated that, until he turned eighteen, all seven people had to agree to a mission before Alex could be sent out. These seven people were the Prime Minister, C, the foreign and defense ministers, Jones, Morris, and Alex himself. The second one stated that Alex and MI6 would do everything within their power to keep his employment as low profile as possible until he turned twenty-one. The definition of low profile was to not have his mission history, or the fact that the government was employing a minor, known as common knowledge. Rumors were fine, as long as they remained that.

Finished reading the contract, Alex closed the file and looked up at Jones. "I want a few extra things put in. We've discussed them before but I want them in writing."

"Go on."

"I'm not working for black ops. That includes any assassination assignments, like the one in Afghanistan, whether I'm aware of the true nature of the mission or not."

"Your previous training is suited for those types of assignments," Jones replied carefully. "It would be a waste of potential."

"No. Black. Ops."

Jones considered the problem for a minute. She was proud of the teen for holding on to his morals, however little this profession allowed. It wasn't like she particularly wanted the teen involved in black ops either. But she had a job to do too. And that included ensuring efficient use of resources. This condition would close off the option of calling on the teen, if needed, for those assignments. Eventually, she proposed, "No black ops until you are eighteen. We can re-evaluate then."

Alex grimaced inwardly. He would prefer to never have to think about doing black ops again. But he knew that was the best offer he was going to get for the contract. At least Jones was willing to compromise. He nodded sharply and moved on. "Fine. Make sure you put the re-evaluation part in. Next one, I get a say in what kind of education and training you provide."

Again, Jones was silent for a moment. But the answer came quicker this time. "Agreed, as long as your request is within reason."

"My school and friends get protection when I'm not around and I get back up if any bystanders are targeted along with me."

"Done."

"I suppose putting no lying to me in a contract is too much to ask?" Alex questioned dryly.

"That would look strange and be difficult to enforce, yes."

Alex shrugged, letting that one go. He knew it wasn't possible, not in their line of work. At least his clearance level was high enough to know most of what was going on. But a little insurance wouldn't hurt, if he could get it. Contemplatively, he suggested, "What about putting in that it is the employer's duty to inform me of all risks and threats as they relate to me?"

Nodding slowly, Jones replied, "That could work. Anything else?"

"No more making use of minors. I know the Prime Minister and C have already passed down orders for this but I want it in my contract too. And if there are other agencies using children, you will inform me."

"If we do not inform you?"

"I'll never work for you again," Alex replied coldly. "Or those agencies that use children. And I'll do whatever it takes to bring you down, along with those divisions within the agencies. Bring the matter to the UN's attention, give the contract to SCORPIA, personally get the kids out. I don't care. Whatever it takes."

"And what do you intend to do when we inform you?"

"Not work with those agencies and get the kids out."

"You're expecting our support in getting the children out?"

"It's in your best interests," Alex replied, giving her a pointed look.

A long pause as Jones examined him. "We will inform you and provide support within the appropriate political parameters. Our agency as a whole cannot be seen to be causing international political incidents."

"Fine." He understood that there were lines that even MI6 did not have the power to cross. Neither could he, if he was going to avoid being blacklisted or put on watch lists. At least, not until he was well-connected and skilled enough to survive being freelance if he did end up listed as such, he thought darkly.

"Is that everything?"

"Yes."

Jones nodded and called for someone to put his additions into the contract. "While we're waiting for it to be finalized, let's talk about your will. As a field agent, you know very well that there is a chance you will die on the job so every field agent writes up a will that is updated annually and when big life events, such as a marriage, happens."

"Great birthday present, Mrs. Jones," Alex deadpanned. "Do you always have someone contemplate their death on their birthdays?"

Jones had the grace to look regretfully ashamed. "I'm sorry, Alex. It was not my intention. The will is just standard paperwork that needs to be completed with the employment contract for field agents. I didn't think."

Alex rolled his eyes. "Is there a template I can follow?"

"You can follow your uncle's will as a guide," Jones answered, relieved to be on more neutral ground. "It will be more useful since most agents do not have the kind of assets that have been passed down in your family."

Alex nodded, both eager and apprehensive to see something of his uncle's. Even though it had been two years since his uncle's death, he hadn't seen the will yet. And after spending ten minutes reading through it, he understood why. Ian had never had a wife or girlfriend, as far as he was aware. Jack was the closest female to fill that role, in terms of trust and running the household. So, in keeping with the security measures put in place by the Rider bloodline of passing assets matrilineally on the surface, Jack had been named as the apparent beneficiary of all the assets while everything still belonged to Alex because of the holding account. That would have been hard to explain to them without showing them all the assets in the first place. And for security purposes other than manipulating him into working for Queen and country, MI6 couldn't show them the assets. Not with Alex living half a foot in their world and half a foot out. Or with Jack completely against anything to do with their world. It would have put the two of them in more danger to know. Exactly what had Ian been thinking? Was there another way or had that really been the best choice given the circumstances? Maybe he would never know. But what was he going to do about his own will? That was a more pressing matter. Like his uncle, he didn't have a wife or girlfriend either. Or a child to pass on the assets to, making the holding account useless in his death.

Sabina was out of the question. Within the intelligence and criminal communities, she had been too publicly associated with him. It would be foolishly dangerous to name her as the beneficiary. And she hadn't trusted him when he first told her about his MI6 life. That still stung, even if it was understandable. He didn't hold it against her but, coupled with the fact that she and her family had moved countries after everything, showed him that the Pleasures wouldn't be able to handle the trouble that came with his assets. And Tom, while trusted, was too young and inexperienced to deal with this. Although Tom went with the flow, he wouldn't fall for anyone's tricks as easily as the Pleasures. That was a point in his favor. But his friend also had no legal power and would physically be unable to fight off anyone with their eye on the Rider assets, including his own parents who definitely couldn't be trusted. So, Tom was out. Who was left? It would have to be an adult he trusted, with good legal standing, who couldn't easily be blackmailed or physically overpowered. That was where Ian had failed. He didn't really know anyone like that though. So, maybe he had to break tradition and come up with his own security measures. Just like he had done for everything else in his espionage career so far. Tentatively, he began to pen his will, portioning out each of his assets to different individuals and organizations, carefully chosen so that no one held enough to do anything significant to each other or the general populace.

By the time he was finished, the legal team had gotten back to them with the additions. They swapped the will for two copies of the revised contract. Alex compared both copies to make sure they were exactly the same before signing them. MI6 kept one copy, he kept the other. They did the same for the will when the legal team had finalized that. Then, Jones gave him an employee ID card that was disguised as a bank business card but would give him access to the lifts at the Bank and Vauxhall according to his clearance level.

Alex thought that was the end of the paperwork but he was wrong. Because he was going to be MI6 and SAS, he needed to sign an employment contract with the SAS as well. He sighed inwardly at the amount of paperwork this involved. The Director Special Forces, Major General Mark Chiswell, was overseeing this and had requested to speak with him privately during this process. Because of course, one of the highest ranked people were involved, he thought exasperatedly as he was being led to an empty conference room to meet with the DSF.

Upon entering the room, Alex immediately saluted and stood at attention. Chiswell examined him coldly from head to toe before giving the command to be at ease, gesturing for him to sit.

"Trooper Rider, as you should already know, I am here to formally accept you into the SAS," Chiswell stated. Alex noted that the man's jaw tensed for a moment. "Do you have any questions or concerns before we begin?"

"No, sir."

"We have just been informed of your actual age." Ah, that would be where the tension was coming from. "I do not like this. We do not employ children. The regular army may accept recruits of sixteen years of age, but the SAS does not. We require much more experience in our recruits. However, it seems that the SAS has been overruled in this matter and you have done well in selection, even before the legal age for the regular army was reached. Quite a feat you've managed. So, while I respect that you have the skills for the SAS, given the circumstances, I have to ask, are you being forced into service by certain people?"

So, that was what the Major General was worried about. At least the top brass wasn't an arrogant douchebag who looked down on him for his age. Earning respect for capability seemed to fit in with his general impression of the military. From his limited experiences of the British and Australian SAS anyways. Steadily looking the man in the eye, he answered evenly, "Not anymore, sir."

"Anymore?" Chiswell questioned sharply in alarm, having signed off on the teen's initial training based on the reasons given to him, without questioning the former head of Special Operations about the legitimacy.

"Permission to speak plainly, sir?"

A pause. "Granted."

"Blunt blackmailed me into service two years ago. Jones hasn't, ever since she took over. It is because Jones is in charge right now that I even considered coming back to the country permanently." Honestly, how many times did he need to go through this speech? But it was needed to make things as clear as possible.

"I... see," Chiswell pursed his lips, clearly unhappy about things. Alex could practically see the gears turning in his mind as the man came to a decision. "You are signing this contract of your own free will?"

"Yes, sir."

"You understand that the SAS will have jurisdiction over you?"

"Yes, sir."

"You understand that this jurisdiction means we have control over your life? That we can send you wherever we want, punish you in whichever way we see fit, and protect you as necessary? That you will obey your commanding officers or suffer the consequences?"

Was it just his imagination or was there a slight emphasis on protection? He tucked that into the back corner of his mind for later. "... Yes, sir."

"Here is the contract," Chiswell said gruffly, pushing the file towards him. "Most of it is standard. There are just a few tweaks to accommodate for your unprecedented situation. Read through it, ask questions if you have any, and sign on the dotted lines."

"Yes, sir." Alex took the file and read through another contract for the morning. This one was two pages and listed his position as Trooper in K-unit. As he was mostly an inactive member when it came to operations but participating in some training, he would be paid a salary of £5,100 which was a quarter of the usual pay for his rank. But if he factored in his MI6 pay, then he would be making more than each of K-unit's individual members, excluding Wolf if he didn't count bonus pay. Not bad for a part-time employee. Especially since the benefits were the same as MI6. Essentially, he would be getting double the benefits. However, the contract, and law, also stated that he cannot be deployed with the SAS until he reached eighteen and was bound to service until he reached twenty-two. Everything else in the contract was standard. No extra conditions and seemingly obvious responsibilities for each party like the one he signed earlier for MI6. That was fine. With the SAS, he didn't feel like there was anything to worry about when it came to their treatment of him. He did have a question before signing this contract though.

"Sir, it's likely that I'll be working with the SAS before I turn eighteen," Alex said. "Doesn't that break the law and this contract?"

"If you are referring to the likelihood that MI6 will have you working with us, it does not technically break the contract," Chiswell said stiffly, still uncomfortable with the idea of a teenager being used. And not impressed with the technicalities of the arrangement. "You will be considered MI6's employee. For you to be considered working as a soldier, the SAS would have to be the ones to deploy you. Otherwise, you are the... attachment or consultant to the SAS."

That was a roundabout way of putting it, Alex thought as he signed the contract and gave it back to the Major General. The man checked it over, gave him a copy, saying, "Welcome to the SAS, Trooper."

"Thank you, sir!"

The Director Special Forces dismissed him so Alex saluted, turned sharply on his heel like he was taught at Brecon Beacons, and marched out of the conference room back to Jones' office. There was more paperwork to complete. However, this time, everything passed by in a blur. He was at the age where he could get his provisional driving license so even though he already knew how to drive, Jones had him take the theory exam for everything to become official. Passing that, they rearranged his schedule so that Crawley would teach him more evasive and defensive driving techniques to build on the SAS' lessons. He would legally be allowed to drive on his own by his next birthday. And have the driving skills to deal with any trouble that came after him by then as well.

After getting that sorted, she led him down one floor. He thought she was passing him over to Crawley for the day. He was wrong again. They stopped at office 1504, next to Crawley's, and Jones handed him a key.

"This is your office."

Alex stared at the key and office number. "... Wasn't this Ian's?"

"It was. I thought you'd like to have the same office. If you don't, we can give you a different one on this floor."

Did he want to be sitting in a dead man's office every day? Not particularly. But it was his uncle's. He'd be able to see what Ian saw every day. What was the view like? Did Ian look out the window or stare at the screen in thought? And hadn't he risked his life just to get a glimpse of Ian's office? Solemnly, he took the key and thanked Jones for her thoughtfulness.

The corner of her lip quirked upwards. "Come. You'll have time to explore the office later."

"What are we doing now?"

Jones smirked. "It's time to introduce you to some of your colleagues."

"... Isn't that the opposite of keeping a low profile?"

She glanced over at him. "It is exposure within reason. You have an office on the same floor as these colleagues and it is likely that you will have to work with some of them in the future since they are assigned the same level of missions as you."

Alex didn't have time to reply to that. They had already arrived at another conference room and he shifted uncomfortably when several pairs of eyes swiveled over to them.

Some of the agents and officers went pale at the sight of him, others came off as hostile towards his presence. Yet, others were indifferent. Crawley just observed everyone expressionlessly.

One of the pale ones recovered from the shock and blurted out with a slight British Indian accent, "You have got to be joking, Jones."

At the same time, Alex heard another person in the background whisper faintly, "Oh god, he looks like a carbon copy of John."

"I am not known for joking, SSA Patel," Jones said calmly, addressing the outspoken man. "As you are all aware, this is Alex Rider. He has officially signed on as one of our field agents, as of today. He has a spotless mission record over the last two years. Ian's old office is his."

"Two years?!" a chorus of voices shouted. Clearly, his files had been classified beyond even what elite agents could access.

"Goddamnit, Jones!" Patel cursed. "What the hell were you and Blunt thinking?! Haven't the Riders suffered enough already? Do you want to wipe their family out of existence?!"

"Alex has proven to be very capable. An invaluable asset."

"He's... what? Seventeen?" a woman with a sophisticated air questioned.

"Sixteen," Alex answered, feeling the need to speak for himself. "As of today."

A deafening silence engulfed the room.

The woman glared at Jones with cold eyes and said with a controlled voice tight enough to remind Alex of a snake poised to strike, "Fourteen when you first used him? The games that you and Blunt play have gone too far. The Riders have given everything they have to serve. And this is how you repay them? By treating their last descendant, who is underage might I add, like a toy soldier? To treat us elite agents in such a way is understandable but still bad enough. To completely disregard the very laws we are supposed to uphold and treat a child the same way? No one has infinite lives, Jones."

"Pretty sure everyone only has one life," Alex muttered sarcastically to everyone's amusement. It was just such a John and Ian thing to say, timing and everything. "Unless I've missed some memo about supernatural beings."

"I am aware, SSA Fairbanks," Jones said quietly. "For what it's worth, I never agreed with Alan about using Alex."

"Then why are you still using him?" Patel asked.

"This time, it wasn't my choice. It was Alex's. The Prime Minister and C have signed off on this but our employment of Alex is to be kept as classified as possible. Do you understand?"

"... Yes, ma'am," came a muttered chorus of replies, disgruntled at the whole affair.

"Good," Jones said briskly. "One more thing before we conclude this introduction. Alex's codename is Bloodhound."

Everyone, including Alex and Crawley, stared at her. They all knew that a permanent codename like that was only reserved for the elite division. While his colleagues were shocked at the rank he had already achieved, Alex had gotten over it by the time he had finished signing the employment contract. What did surprise him was the codename that Jones had chosen to give him. Blunt had once told him that MI6 didn't have double O agents. As he had learned from Crawley's lessons on the organization, that was technically true. MI6 didn't have double O agents. But they did have a close equivalent, which was the elite division.

Normally, agents only used the name of whoever their cover was supposed to be or a standardized format for radio communications so that they could remain as anonymous and discrete as possible throughout their career. After all, the average agent's career did not usually involve so much fighting and explosions. Or other high-profile things. However, much like the double O in the Bond movies, the elite agents had more permanent codenames. Due to the nature of their missions, they were more likely to have flashy moments that gained a lot of attention. Unlike the double O though, these codenames were created by reputation and not made common knowledge. The lower-level employees would likely never hear their codenames. And if they did somehow encounter it in the field, they were unlikely to know who it referred to. The only reason the names even existed was because the methods of the elite agents, not necessarily their identities, tended to be well known signatures in the criminal underworld and it was found to be more effective to capitalize on that in some situations. Creating a new legend or building upon one that already existed gave a certain kind of power and flexibility to the agents. A credible option. It was something they could use to slip into places and influence things when they wanted to. The name given to an elite agent signified an expectation. Bloodhound, while not as cool and conspicuous as Phoenix, still meant something to Jones. The problem was that he couldn't figure out exactly what. Was it simply a reference to his role in the SAS? Was he nothing more than a glorified attack dog under MI6's control? Or was it a clue to something else that Jones had in mind for him? All three, perhaps? He resigned himself to figuring it out some other time. One thing he did know though, was that the name suited him. Looking back at his career so far, he could see where the reputation had come from. And that was what his colleagues had picked up on when they finally recovered from the shock.

"Bloodhound?" Fairbanks repeated, examining him shrewdly. "You find a lead and refuse to let go, no matter what, until you've found answers?"

"Yeah, I guess you could say that," Alex replied.

Fairbanks nodded to herself. "That's certainly a trait that you don't see too often. You could be quite useful in some cases."

"Just remember that your survival comes first," Patel advised. "No lead is worth losing your life for in a rush. There's always another chance, another way, to find the answers."

Alex nodded. "Thanks. I'll keep that in mind."

"Agents, that is all for now," Jones intervened before anyone else could add their own comments. "Alex and I still have places to be and I'm sure you all have work to do. Dismissed."

Everyone gave her a two-fingered salute and filed out of the room, talking amongst themselves about the new addition to their division. Once they had all left, Jones led him to the lift, pressing the button that would take them to B4.

On the way down, Alex filled the silence by asking, "What was Ian's codename?"

"Silver-Tongue."

"... his specialty was persuasion?"

"Yes. Lying convincingly, persuasion, negotiation. If it involved talking, he excelled at it. When he wanted to anyways. You have inherited the skill as well, to an extent."

"What about my father's codename?"

"Hunter," Jones answered quietly. "His first assignment for us when we pulled him out of the Paras was the deep cover mission. It was such an established and legendary name that he had made for himself within SCORPIA's ranks that we didn't see the need to change it. And other than deep cover work to hunt down information that we would never have gotten otherwise, his other specialty was sniping. It fit."

Alex was quiet for the rest of the ride down to the shooting range, absorbing the minuscule amounts of information that he was getting about his father and uncle. When it came to knowing more about his family, he was like a starving man. He thirsted for more and cherished everything he could find out about them. And Jones stayed silent, letting him take his time.

All too soon, the lift doors opened and Jones led him to the racks of weapons on display in the armory. She held out his concealed carry permit for him to take and gestured to two firearms, saying that they now belonged to him. Alex recognized the models right away. A Sig Sauer P228 for standard use and one of the newest concealed carry pistols in the market, the Smith & Wesson Bodyguard 380, for more covert use like he would need at school. He chose a few holsters to take along with the guns and put them in his bag. Next, he was given the option of carrying combat knives. Although he wasn't an expert with knives, he wasn't one to turn down a weapon. Besides, he knew he could always get more training to polish off what the SAS had taught him, either from Yassen or Tomohiro. So, he chose two sets of twin blades, already sheathed. Fairbairn-Sykes for everyday use and Steel Eagle for wilderness survival, just in case he gets kidnapped and brought to the middle of nowhere again. He tested the balance on the blades before tucking them into his bag with a few knife holsters as well. Jones raised an eyebrow at the number of weapons he was now carrying but didn't comment. Instead, she chose to drop a little tidbit of shocking information.

"One other thing you should know," she said blandly. "Government employees are not allowed to accept rewards or bribes. They are, however, able to accept formal awards from governments for outstanding service. In your case, we do not wish for the awards to be conspicuous so they are not to be publicized. Do you remember that Kiriyenko talked about giving you an award for that Sarov business?"

"Yes..." Alex replied warily, not sure if he wanted to know what this was about.

"You declined, but we have accepted the Hero of the Russian Federation award on your behalf without the ceremony. It is the highest honorary title in Russia, awarded to Russian citizens and foreign nationals for extraordinary service to their state. The medal is currently still sitting in one of our safes but can be transferred to one of yours, if you wish."

"... I'd like it transferred, please." Everything that had happened today had thrown him off-kilter, making him feel wrong-footed at every turn. There were so many developments to think about later that adding the fact that he actually received an award, from Russia no less, to the list of things to process didn't seem significant. But for now, securing the medal into his possession was his primary concern. At the time, he hadn't wanted it. But since it had already been awarded, who knows if it might come in handy in the future. Better with him than MI6.

Jones nodded. "I will arrange to have it transferred to your bank safe tomorrow. You can retrieve it when you wish." She paused. "You have been awarded the Conspicuous Gallantry Cross medal as well, which we have accepted on your behalf. It is a British military decoration for acts of conspicuous gallantry during active operations against the enemy. There are two bars on it to indicate that you have been awarded the medal twice. The Victoria Cross is the only award that is higher than this in the category. I will have it delivered to your bank, along with the Russian medal. You are expected to wear the Conspicuous Gallantry Cross whenever you are in military uniform on formal occasions."

"... Yes, ma'am," was all he could think of to say. He had a lot of information to process. How had he been awarded three times without his knowledge? Another question, which he voiced out loud, was, "Which missions were these two awards for?"

"Operation Invisible Sword and Operation Horseman."

SCORPIA and SCORPIA then. One in London, the other in Egypt. Two of the most devastating threats to the UK during his service, if they had succeeded. He rolled his eyes, muttering, "Nearly lose everything to serve and all I get is a chunk of metal attached to some fabric."

"It is what it represents that matters."

Shrugging, he replied, "They're next to useless though. And it's not why I do this."

"I know. And I am glad of that." She took a deep breath, switching topics. "But enough for now. You have the rest of the day off. No work and no training. You should enjoy your birthday. However, I expect you to be here at 0900 sharp tomorrow so don't have too much fun. Welcome to MI6, Special Senior Agent Rider."

Alex paused at that. A part of him felt the wrongness of it all. But another, much larger, part of him felt the title settle over him like a well-worn cloak. It was comfortable in a way that made him feel like he had never been called anything else in his life. Like coming home. Lips unconsciously curling upwards into a sharp smile, he gave her a casual, two-fingered salute and left, not quite believing that he had the day off. It had been so long since he had this much free time. A luxury that he planned on making good use of.

Waiting for the tube, Alex pulled out his phone to text Tom, only to find that he already had quite a few messages. Tom, James Hale, Sabina, Edward and Liz, Sahara, Sophia, the Adair men, and the Prime Minister had all wished him a happy birthday. Byrne and Smithers had as well. He was surprised that so many people had remembered his birthday when even he had forgotten. Nevertheless, he replied to Tom first, letting his friend know that he had the rest of the day free. Within seconds, Tom texted him back to say that he would come meet him so they could celebrate his birthday. Alex smiled as he got on the tube and simply texted "great" before moving on to reply to everyone else.

Just as he finished sending his messages, his phone notified him of someone ringing the doorbell at his house. Tom couldn't have arrived already and would have texted first so he had no clue who it might be. Curious, Alex checked the video feed. His mouth nearly fell open at the sight of Ben and K-unit standing on his doorstep, the latter shifting uncomfortably and scanning their surroundings every few seconds while the former hissed reprimands at them. He got off the tube and started speed walking towards his house. Having a group of tough looking men loitering around his house was not a good idea. The neighbors would likely call the police. He paused mid-step for half a millisecond as a text from Tom came in, notifying him that his friend had brought James Hale along and they were about to reach his house. Shit, this was not going to go well. He started sprinting. His two worlds were about to collide which was the last thing he wanted. Especially when James didn't know a thing about his espionage life.

Thinking quickly, he called Ben to try to control the impending damage while keeping his pace. The man picked up on the second ring but Alex didn't even give him time to say hello. As soon as he heard his former unit mate's breath on the phone, he rapped out, "Civilian friends headed your way. Pretend you're from social services and remember Germany. I'll be there in two minutes."

Ben blinked as the dial tone sounded. Alex had hung up on him. He cursed out loud, putting K-unit on edge. This was not how he had imagined his surprise for the teen to go. He had been so excited to organize it too, even if it was put together last minute when Jones had casually informed him of today's importance as he walked into work this morning. Why did he not factor in the likelihood that Alex had friends outside of the service? Stupid. He hoped he hadn't buggered up the teen's birthday too badly.

"What is it, Fox?" Wolf growled at him impatiently.

Maybe they could just leave before they could give themselves a chance to leak classified information in front of civilians and ruin the teen's already bleak life. Wait, never mind, too late. He was pretty sure the two teens just out of earshot were the friends that Cub was talking about. Fuck. Hurriedly, he muttered, "Civvies at three o'clock. Pretend to be social services."

"Wha - ?" Eagle started before Snake stomped on his foot to get him to shut up. Badger had already taken care of Wolf for his cousin by slapping a hand over his unit leader's mouth to stop the yelling.

"Who are you?" a teen with brown hair and blue eyes asked, both boys glaring at them suspiciously.

Badger removed his hand from Wolf's mouth as Ben smiled pleasantly, both of them ignoring the dirty look that the unit leader was throwing their way. Holding out his own hand, Ben greeted the two teens amiably. "Hi, I'm Luke Parker from social services. These are my colleagues. We're just here to check on Alex. Are you friends of his?"

The brown-haired teen automatically shook his hand, attitude thawing slightly. However, the black-haired teen was staring at his hand like it was roadkill. In fact, the boy's eyes narrowed at his introduction and, before his friend could answer in kind, he questioned frostily, "Five people to check up on one kid is overkill, isn't it?"

"... Well, we've all met Alex and taken a liking to him," Ben explained lamely, smile falling a bit. Jesus, this kid was tough to please.

That was what Alex walked into when he arrived. He rolled his eyes at K-unit, who seemed to have taken his instructions to mean not saying anything at all and were looking everywhere but the two teenage boys. Not to mention that they were fidgeting uncomfortably with their civilian clothes. Deciding to announce his presence before things could get worse, he called out, "Tom, it's fine. I know all of them."

"Alex!" everyone exclaimed. Ben breathed a sigh of relief, glad to have some help with controlling the situation.

"When did you get here?" James asked, baffled at how he could have missed his friend coming down the street. "And why are you in a suit?"

Alex shrugged as he unlocked the door to let everyone in. "Work experience credits to graduate. And I got here a few seconds ago. Anyways, this is Mr. Parker and his co-workers from social services. They've been assigned to my case since I got back to England."

"Really?" Tom asked skeptically as James nodded his understanding.

"Yes," Alex said pointedly, leading them into the kitchen so he could get some water. He knew Tom wouldn't fall for the social services act but the lie he had instructed Ben to use was meant to achieve three things. Keep Ben and K-unit's identities safe, let Tom know that they had something to do with MI6, and leave James unaware of the truth.

Tom examined his best friend for a long moment. "Fine," he relented, giving Alex a look that said he expected an explanation later as he sat down at the dining table, prompting everyone else to follow suit. James caught the exchange and raised an eyebrow at them, clearly unhappy at being left out, but didn't say anything.

Alex smiled even as he couldn't help the sensation of his stomach dropping at another wedge being put in place between James and himself. At this rate, it wouldn't be long before he lost another friend and dragged Tom down that road with him too. He sighed inwardly. James would continue to be suspicious but in the dark and Tom had gotten the message. Mission accomplished, at least. As long as K-unit didn't openly slip up. Turning to Ben, he asked, "Mr. Parker, was there something specific you wanted to see me for?"

"Umm... we just wanted to throw you a surprise birthday party," Ben admitted, fidgeting with his tie.

"... Thank you," Alex said softly. "You didn't have to."

"No, but we wanted to," Eagle chimed in cheerily. "No one should have to spend their birthdays alone."

Smiling, Alex hummed noncommittally. "Has anyone had lunch yet?"

Everyone looked at each other and sheepishly answered, "No."

Alex smirked. "So, you all came to celebrate my birthday by looking for a free handout?"

"Umm..."

Snorting, Alex waved his hand dismissively and headed towards the stairs. "You lot are hopeless. I'm not cooking for this many people so someone order pizza or something while I change and put my bag away."

"Cooking?!" Eagle squeaked. It quickly changed to a moan. "We don't get a home-cooked meal!"

"What do you want to eat though?" James asked their host, giving the brawny redhead a weird look as two of the man's co-workers cuffed him around the head. If these men were from social services, they were being downright unprofessional.

"Doesn't matter as long as I'm not paying and you lot clean up after yourselves," Alex called down. Strolling towards the office, he heard his guests argue over what to order as he let the security system scan his retina to unlock the door. They sounded like a bunch of five-year-olds. Alex shook his head in amusement.

Closing the door behind him, the sound of his guests immediately muffled. He put his bag down carefully, minding the new weapons in his possession, and exhaled loudly. The day kept getting stranger by the second. Giving himself fifteen minutes of peaceful quiet before facing the tightrope situation downstairs, he pulled out his copies of the employment contracts and filed them away in the cabinets, laid out his new weapons on his desk for later, cleaned the Sig Sauer P228, and checked his other phones. No unread messages from Yassen. His own secure phone indicated a text from an unknown number came in a couple of hours ago though. He opened it.

Happy birthday, top of the class! Now we don't need the tides.

Walker. The man had gotten the coded message he'd left at Greenwich Pier then. How the American had known his birthday though... There were plenty of ways to get that information. He'd be disappointed if Walker hadn't managed to find it. Alex smiled. He had one more contact in his network. It was progress.

Thanks. How did you know?

Walker felt his phone vibrate and took a look at who was contacting him. He smirked.

Schools need better security.

Alex sighed. Of course. Brooklands. One of the few weaknesses in his security. Unless he quit going to school though, there was nothing to be done about it. He put away the phone and mentally prepared for the balancing act he was about to go back to as he changed into his usual hoodie and jeans. Hopefully, his two worlds had managed to play nicely and not announce classified information during his absence.

When Alex came down the stairs, a warm, savory aroma of baked crusts and melted cheese wafted through the air. His stomach grumbled at the smell, reminding him that he hadn't eaten in seven hours.

"Hey, Al!" Tom greeted enthusiastically, making everyone turn around to look at Alex.

Spontaneously, Eagle started singing "Happy Birthday" and the rest followed, some more enthusiastic than others and all at different times. As a result, it was a garbled, unintelligible mess that was off key and made Ben and Snake look at their companions in despair but Alex couldn't help grinning anyways.

When the last person finished singing, somehow that was Eagle even though he started first, Ben gestured to their lunch and said helplessly, "We don't have a cake for you but we stuck a candle in the pizza. Why don't you come make a wish?"

And Alex did, a hopeful warmth spreading in his chest for the first time in two years. Blowing out the candle, he said sincerely, "Thanks guys. I really appreciate it. Let's eat, I'm starving."

Immediately, a mad scramble for food began and Alex couldn't stop smiling even when someone accidentally flung a piece of chicken at him. That didn't stop him from flinging the offending piece of meat back though, reminding his guests that they would be the ones cleaning everything up. No one fought for the food after that. But while that was less chaotic, it created another problem. Without the fighting, no one knew what to say to each other. Well, more accurately, they had stuff to say to him but no one was sure what was off limits because of clearance levels so they ended up in an awkward silence.

Alex sighed inwardly. This was going to be a long afternoon if they kept this up. What was something that the soldiers and the teens had in common? Food, obviously. But they just finished talking about it. School experiences? No, he doubted anyone would want to dwell on that. Pop culture and everything to do with the rich and famous? Maybe not. He was a bit out of the loop on that kind of news and he wasn't sure the soldiers were any better. A mental note was made to catch up on the topic. Who knew when it might become relevant to the job. Football. Yes, that could work. He knew for a fact that everyone here was a football fan. And even if he didn't, it was such a popular sport that there was a good chance at least a few in the group were. But everyone was nearly done eating anyways so maybe no conversation was needed.

"Everyone finished?" Alex asked. Various noises of agreement were made. "Alright, clean everything up and we can go play a game of footie if everyone's up to it. We've got just enough people for teams of four."

"Yes!" came a chorus of shouts. Then, everyone was rushing around to get things to, more or less, the same condition they'd been in before their stay. Alex snorted. It was like herding a bunch of kids at daycare.

Thirty minutes later, they were at South Park, splitting into their teams. Alex, Ben, Tom, and James were one team. K-unit were another. Since Ben wasn't all that familiar with any of the boys, he took up the position of keeper. Badger did the same for some friendly cousin rivalry. Alex specifically chose to be a midfielder to reduce the chances that the soldiers could unintentionally injure his friends. That left Tom as the striker and James as the defender for their team.

The game started out slow as both sides got a feel for how the other team played. In particular, K-unit was acutely aware of the danger they posed to the two civilian kids and were trying to restrain themselves. However, the game soon picked up as their youngest unit mate's friends taunted them and their competitive nature took over. But since Alex had chosen the role of stealing the ball from K-unit's possession and sometimes intercepting them so they couldn't reach his friends, the soldiers were able to relax their control a little bit which added another layer of competitiveness that everyone but James understood. Dealing with elite soldiers as opponents, Alex had unconsciously slipped into his professional mindset even as he let go of his own control to fully enjoy the game. This resulted in a visible difference to his movements that all of them noticed. Silently stalking his prey. Faster, sharper reactions which more than made up for the slight deterioration in his footwork skills from lack of football practice. Always on the lookout for opportunities and threats to their defense. Quite a few times, he was so quick on his feet that K-unit was surprised at his appearance at their sides and lost possession of the ball without registering what had happened until a couple of seconds after the fact. These were the times when Alex's team scored an easy goal, having taken advantage of their recovery time to pass the ball to Tom. When they called for the end of the game three hours later, Alex's team had won 6 to 4. Everyone was grinning from ear to ear. Although K-unit had lost, even they were in good spirits. It wasn't often that they could do something for fun that was completely unrelated to their jobs.

"Wow, that was amazing, Al!" Tom exclaimed.

"You've actually improved since the last time we played! You should really rejoin the school's football team!" James shouted excitedly. "Are you sure you haven't been secretly training without us?"

Alex laughed, pupils dilated from the high of the win. "It's a team sport, James. Where would I even do football training without you guys?"

"Maybe you signed on to be a professional player," James suggested jokingly.

"If I had, I think you would have heard it in the news by now," Alex retorted dryly.

Tom gasped in mock hurt. "I thought we were best mates. You're leaving us to find out in the news instead of telling us yourself?"

"Yes," Alex said simply. "Anyways, what time are you guys supposed to be home by?"

"What time is it?" James asked.

"Around 17:00," Ben answered.

"Shit!" both boys exclaimed. They ignored the chastisement that Ben and Snake had automatically given out.

"I'm supposed to go out with my aunt and uncle for dinner!" James said.

"That's an early dinner," Alex commented.

"It's more of a formal party," James groaned. "I hate wearing suits. Anyways, I've got to go or my uncle is gonna give me a two hour lecture. See you guys at school!"

"I've got to go too," Tom said. "I promised my mum I'd go grocery shopping with her. See you around, mate!"

"Alright, see you!" Alex called out as his two friends ran off, leaving Alex alone with Ben and K-unit.

To Alex's amusement, the men let out a loud exhale of relief. Being around civilians for an extended period of time was always hard. Being around teens was worse, with the exception of Alex once they got over their rocky start. Rubbing his neck sheepishly, Ben said, "Sorry, Cub. I didn't mean to ruin your birthday. I don't know why I didn't think that you already had friends to celebrate with you."

Shaking his head, Alex reassured the man. "You didn't ruin anything. This is the be - "

"But we - "

Alex held up a hand. "Let me finish. Yes, it would have been better - easier - to keep my two lives separate. I'm amazed that we barely needed to use any names. But you didn't ruin anything. No secrets were spilled, I had people to celebrate with, and we had a great time. Honestly, I'd forgotten it was my birthday until Jones reminded me this morning. Even when she dismissed me for the rest of the day, I thought I'd only have Tom. This is the best birthday I've had in two years so stop worrying."

Ben smiled weakly. "Alright, if you say so."

"Do your friends know what you do?" Eagle asked.

"Just Tom," Alex replied.

Wolf gave him a scrutinizing look. "Are you sure that's a good idea?"

"He's not going to betray me," Alex defended. "And I had to let him know because I needed to borrow some BASE jumping gear from his brother once."

Blanching, Wolf asked suspiciously, "Why did you need that?"

"Following a SCORPIA lead."

They all paled. Snake shook his head, muttering, "I don't know how you can talk about something like that so calmly."

Alex shrugged as they started walking back to his house. "How did you lot know it was my birthday anyways?"

"Snake remembered from your medical files," Wolf grunted.

"... Jones told me this morning," Ben mumbled, ashamed that he hadn't bothered to find out on his own.

"... Mrs. Jones told you?" Bloody hell. What was she playing at now?

"Umm... yeah, it was weird," Ben answered with a hint of confusion. "She made it sound like she was talking about the weather."

He'd have to unpack the implications of that later. "And how did you all get time off?"

Ben shrugged as they crossed the street. "I asked. She said I could as long as I worked double time tomorrow and reminded me that attachments were dangerous."

Definitely needed to pay attention to this. It had to be a clue into what Jones wanted with him. "And K-unit?"

"Fox called us. Sergeant told us to be back at base in twenty-four hours," Wolf said shortly.

Badger and Snake gave their unit leader an exasperated look, the former groaning, "Details, Wolf."

"Since Wolfie here has all the communication skills of a malfunctioning robot when he's not in the field," Eagle smirked, "let me do the honors."

The whole unit, including Alex and Ben, moaned at that. Eagle just ignored them and went on to zealously ramble about how the unit ended up on Alex's doorstep.

"So, last week, we were in the mess hall eating dinner and gloating to Lion about beating his unit three consecutive times at the assault course. I was just about to use the forks and spoons and plates to re-enact one of our wins when Snake suddenly interrupted. No fair, by the way! Anyways, Snake yelled out that your birthday was coming up and everyone stopped talking..."

Alex had a feeling that Eagle was making up for all the talking he couldn't do around Tom and James. He tuned in and out of the man's story, noting the actually relevant parts of it. Basically, Snake remembered his birthday from the medical files. The three units that trained him decided to explain it to the sergeant and ask for some time off. Only K-unit got approved. So, they left Brecon Beacons mid-morning today and Ben called them halfway through the car ride to London. Ben and K-unit met up and went to his house. By the time Eagle had finished telling the story, fifteen minutes later, the six of them were on Alex's doorstep again.

Unlocking the door and waving them inside, Alex said, "Well, if none of you have anywhere else to be, you might as well stay the night. Although, maybe you shouldn't tell any more stories, Eagle. I don't want to have your dead body in my house after Wolf is done with you for annoying him."

"Hey, my storytelling is way better than Wolf's! He's just jealous."

"And if you don't shut your mouth, I'll make sure you're running the assault course until you're too busy puking your guts out to say anything for the next two weeks!" Wolf snarled as Alex led them to the living room.

Eagle held his hands up. "Alright, alright. I'll shut up." That lasted for two seconds. Just enough time for them to sit down on the sofas and chairs. "So how old are you now, Cub?"

Wolf snarled and stalked off to another room while the rest of the men gave the weapons expert incredulous looks.

"Really, Eagle?" Badger asked. "Have you forgotten that topic is off limits for security reasons?"

"Actually..." Alex trailed off to get their attention. Hearing this, Wolf stalked back into the room and glared at him to keep talking. Better get it over with now. Otherwise, with his luck, it would end up being in the field when it was a really bad idea for them to lose their heads. Smirking at the unit leader's impatience, he continued on nonchalantly. "The necessary measures have been put in place now so C ordered Mrs. Jones to inform the SAS about my age. I doubt the sergeant has gotten the news yet, but the Director Special Forces was just informed this morning."

"... So what does that mean for us?" Ben asked. Then, he realized something else. "Wait, you met C and the DSF?!"

"Yes, I met them," Alex sighed before adding casually, "And I'm sixteen."

Deafening silence. Their brains tried to process what they just heard. Then, they all cursed up a storm, having finally realized why the teen's age had been classified.

"YOU WERE FOURTEEN WHEN YOU FIRST TRAINED WITH US?!" Wolf roared. "WHEN I FUCKING LED YOU INTO BATTLE?!"

"That wasn't even my first mission," Alex said calmly. The veins near Wolf's temple pulsed, in danger of popping. All the leader managed were unintelligible snarls as he stalked off to another room again. Alex called after him. "Wolf, I swear, if you damage anything, you're paying for it!"

"How?" Ben questioned in a tight voice once Wolf came back.

"I told you how I got recruited already," Alex replied evenly.

"Yeah, but how was this even legal?" Badger elaborated for his cousin.

"It wasn't."

"Why are you doing this then?" Snake asked.

Alex shrugged. "Conscripted at first. Now, I can't go back."

"What do you mean?" Eagle joined in.

Again, Alex shrugged, waving a hand in dismissal. "It's in my blood. Trained from birth. Too many enemies to pull out of this completely. Take your pick."

"There's no way out for you?" Ben asked with a frown.

"No. At least, not anytime soon. Besides, after Mrs. Jones took over, I chose this. You can't really reverse it either and I would appreciate if you respected my choice. The Prime Minister, foreign and defense ministers, and C have all signed off on it. Today, I officially signed on as an MI6 field agent and the Director Special Forces formally recruited me into the SAS. Spent the whole morning going through those two employment contracts."

Wolf's jaw tightened. "Give me your phone," he ordered. Alex raised an eyebrow but complied, unlocking the device. After a few minutes, Wolf handed the phone back to him. "All of our numbers are in there. You run into trouble, you call, got it?"

"But you might not even be in the same continent..."

"I don't care!" Wolf snarled, stalking up to him. "You just said you had too many enemies to get out of this! Even if we're on duty somewhere else, we could still talk to the CO to organize something! It's another option for you, got it?"

"... Yeah, I got it. Thank you."

"Good", Wolf said gruffly, taking a step back as Alex checked the new contacts in his phone and sent off a group text to all of them so that K-unit would be able to recognize his number as well.

"So... what's for dinner?" Eagle interrupted.

Wolf pinched the bridge of his nose while the rest of them smirked in exasperated amusement.

"I'm not eating takeout again." After teaching him all about nutrition and the dangers of ordering meals, Yassen would probably make sure he ate nothing but the healthiest and blandest homemade foods for a month if he had takeout a second time that day. "So, I'm cooking. No, I don't know what I'm making yet. And no, you don't get to choose."

Alex headed to the kitchen, leaving Eagle to pout and whine to the rest of K-unit, who were staring after him in amazement over the fact that he could apparently cook. However, Ben and Snake soon joined the teen.

"Anything we can do to help?" Ben asked.

Alex didn't answer right away. He was still looking through the fridge, deciding what to make. It didn't help that having guests in the house had thrown his mind back to one of his favorite activities: talking to Jack while she cooked. He had to turn his face away from the men and take a few calming breaths to compose himself.

"Don't let Wolf or Eagle near the kitchen, by the way," Snake advised conversationally. "They're more likely to end up setting the place on fire than succeed in making anything edible."

Turning his head to the medic, Alex raised an eyebrow and asked, "How do they manage that?"

Ben snorted. "Eagle just doesn't know how to cook."

"And Wolf knows how to cook really well but usually gets too distracted doing other things to remember that he has the stove or oven on," Snake added with a smirk.

Alex rolled his eyes, muttering about soldiers who can't survive on their own out of the field. He pulled out the chicken and broccoli from the fridge. "What about the rest of you?"

"We can make simple stuff as long as there's a recipe to follow," Ben answered.

Reassured, Alex nodded and instructed them on how to prepare the two ingredients he had just taken out. Once they got to work, he went to cook the quinoa and make the alfredo sauce. Soon, everything was ready to be put into a casserole dish and Alex added some cheese on top before sticking it in the oven.

"Alright, I'm off then," Snake announced as Ben went to play mediator between Wolf and Eagle. "I want to see Karina before we need to head back to camp."

"Karina?" Alex asked.

Snake startled. "Did I never tell you I have a daughter?"

Alex stared. Snake had a kid? Actually, it was weird to think of any of them having families. "How old is she?"

"Blimey, we really don't know much about each other's personal lives," Snake commented before settling into a chair to tell him more about his family. "My daughter is five years old, just started primary school. She lives with my parents in Fulham and I stay there too when I'm off duty. With this job, I don't get to spend much time with her but I do the best I can."

Alex bit his nails, tentatively asking, "And the mother?"

The medic's face darkened at that. "She didn't want the baby and broke off our two year relationship. Signed over full custody to me as soon as she gave birth. Haven't seen her since."

"Sorry," Alex said quietly.

Snake shook his head. "I'm just dreading the day my daughter really understands what her mother did. Karina means beloved. I named her this so that she knows how much she is loved. And she really is. She's got my parents, me, and this unit." Smiling, he added, "And she's been making a lot of friends at school. Her teachers love her too."

Looking at the proud father, Alex couldn't help smiling too. "Well, don't let me keep you. Get going so you can have dinner with your family. My uncle wasn't around much. I know how much it would mean to her."

"Yeah, I better get going," Snake said, getting up. "Take care of yourself, Cub. And happy birthday."

Alex smiled. "Go back to your daughter, Snake. Before I kick your arse to your parents' place."

"Alright, alright, I'm going," Snake held up his hands in surrender. Just before getting out the door, he yelled out to K-unit, "See you lot tomorrow!"

They yelled insults back and then Snake was gone. Even without the medic, eating dinner with K-unit felt like being back at Brecon Beacons, minus the horrible food and threat of a night exercise to curb their appetite. Insults, whining, snarling, laughing. Talking about assault courses, weapons, and the other units. Re-telling bits of past missions. All that was missing was Snake's understated remarks and responsible attitude. It was a familiar rhythm that Alex hadn't realized he'd missed. It wasn't like anyone at school would understand any of this. Or be able to handle the insults without throwing a fit. So he just sat back and enjoyed their company, tossing out his own snarky comments here and there. And once everyone was full, Alex made them clean up before assigning rooms and handing out toiletries. They went to bed early since all of them had to get back to work tomorrow. More specifically for K-unit, they were apparently shipping out to Afghanistan the day after tomorrow and had a lot of preparations to do as soon as they got back to camp.

The next morning, Alex was up before any of the men and went through his normal routine before waking them. While that was fine for K-unit since they had another three hours until they had to leave, Ben was swearing at the teen for not waking him sooner as he rushed around to get ready for work. Alex just said he should have set his own alarm, which the older man flipped a finger to. Shaking his head, Alex went to make breakfast and put on a pot of coffee for all of them. Soon, Ben and Alex were out of the house, leaving instructions to just make sure the front door was closed when K-unit left as it would lock itself.

As Ben drove them to the Bank in his Ford Focus, he tried to find out more information about the teen. "So, you're official now, huh?"

"Yes."

"Do you have a cubicle or office?"

"Yes."

Ben glanced over at the teen in exasperation. "Can you say anything other than 'yes'?"

Alex smirked. "Yes."

"Cub."

"Fox."

"Come on, you said we'd probably be working together again. Give a little."

"Then maybe you shouldn't ask yes or no questions."

Ben narrowed his eyes at Alex. The teen had been open enough last night, so what was up with him? Deciding to take the boy's suggestion, he asked, "Where is your cubicle or office?"

"1504."

It took a second for the meaning to register in Ben's mind. But when it did, he ended up jerking the wheel sharply as he turned to stare at the teen with a gaping mouth, forgetting that he was driving. Horns blared and only Alex's quick takeover of the wheel saved them from being in the centre of a car accident. Once the teen managed to pull them over to a safe spot, he glared at the man, unimpressed. "Really, Fox? Are you trying to get us killed?"

"No way," Ben breathed. "You're an elite agent?"

Alex rolled his eyes. "First, you can't even format your questions to get effective answers. Then, you're an open book and have no control over your reactions. And you call yourself MI6?"

That shook Ben out of his stupor. Looking at the teen sheepishly, he said, "Sorry, it just surprised me."

Alex gestured for him to start driving again, replying, "Well, you better work on it before you get yourself killed in the field."

"Yes, sir!"

Alex groaned.

Grinning, Ben started the car again. "You're one of the highest-ranking people in the agency. You'd better get used to hearing that."

Now, it was Alex's turn to flip him the finger. Ben just laughed and continued driving. Soon, they were at the Bank, going underground to the parking garage on B5. This wasn't a level that Alex had visited before without a black bag over his head so he looked around curiously, memorizing everything as they got out of the car and into a lift.

Parting ways at Ben's floor, Alex continued on to his new office. On the way, he passed by Patel, who joked, "No girlfriend to get you away from work, Bloodhound?"

That was when Alex remembered that it was Valentine's Day. "Too young," he called back as he unlocked his office door. "Besides, I don't see you doing any better, Patel!"

"Touché. And it's Player!"

Hearing the man's call sign, Alex stuck his head back out of his office. "Player?"

The man turned around, grinning as he walked back over to him. "Take a guess as to why."

Was this a test? Frowning, Alex thought of what the codename implied about the agent. Unlike his own, it was actually a multi-layered name. That alone should tell him not to underestimate the man, no matter how friendly he seemed. "You're an influential man-whore of an actor who likes toying with the enemy?"

Patel chuckled loudly at that. "Covered all your bases, haven't you? But basically, yes, minus the man-whore part. Good job. I don't think anyone else has gotten it on the first try." He walked over to Alex and stuck out his hand. "Kabir Patel. I look forward to working with you."

Alex shook the agent's hand. "Alex Rider, but you already knew that. I look forward to working with you too."

Smiling, Patel informed him, "For anyone in the office, the agents on this floor try to have lunch together once a week to promote some level of familiarity and build rapport, if not camaraderie. It's to help any joint missions run as smoothly as possible since none of us trust easily. We've already done one this week so it won't be today but join us next time when you can, alright?"

"Yeah, I will."

"Good. Some of us have also split into different groups to train together a couple times a week after office hours as well to keep our skills sharp," the agent added. "Something to think about if you're interested."

"Thanks, Player. I'm going to have to get through all the training Mrs. Jones is putting me through after school hours first though."

"Ah, I see. Later, perhaps. Well, alright," Patel said, lightly slapping a hand against the doorframe. "I've got to run and give Jones a report so I'll see you later."

"See you," Alex replied as the agent walked off.

Bemused, Alex closed his office door and took in his surroundings. That was a warmer welcome than he could have dreamed of. He was sure some of the other agents wouldn't be as open to his presence as Patel though. There would be time to deal with them later. For now, he sat down in his office chair and spun around to look out the window. He was staring at the glass windows of another building but, if he got closer and looked down, he could see the tiny figures on the street. People going about their day. They were ants from this height, which made him feel powerful. This was where he could make a difference in their lives. A reminder of why he was doing this. He wondered if Ian had thought the same. It was something that he would never know.

Sighing, he turned back to the room. A filing cabinet to the left of his desk. File trays for organization. Standard office stationery. Double monitored computer. Phone with the same extension number as his office. He called Smithers to get the password to the computer and the gadget master told him how to access his new work email too. That done, he turned to the stack of files in the middle of the desk. The stack he had been working on two days ago in Crawley's office. Time to continue planning an op for some lower level agent then.

Three hours later, he finished putting everything together. With research, reading intelligence reports, going back and forth with the logistics team down in Communications, and writing his own reports, Alex was amazed that he had actually managed to get it done by the deadline that was given. It was a lot of work. And while he wasn't bored per se, like he had found most of the other tasks this week, it was still tedious. Frustrating too, whenever the logistics team told him something couldn't be done. It made the time pass by that much more slowly. But he was finally done, submitting the files to mission control for approval. And just in time for Ben to knock on his door, making good on the promise to have lunch together so the man would be reassured of his safety.

After lunch, Alex visited Skylar and Olivia. Since they were both released from the hospital, he went to their home, ignoring the agent assigned to watch over the two from a distance. Instead, he checked up on how the sisters were doing and asked Skylar some more questions about the neighborhood as they played with Olivia. It turned out that he had come to the right person. To help out with their family's finances, she had taken a bartending job. Because of this, she heard about a lot of things that happened in the area and, with her help, he was able to map out locations and a timeline for the abductions. Some possible identities for the victims too. He thanked her and they exchanged numbers, just in case she needed help or he had any more questions.

When Alex returned to the Bank and handed over the new information to Crawley, the man glanced at it and sent it off to the head analyst with instructions on how to proceed. Once those orders were issued, Crawley turned his attention back to Alex again. Mission control had given the green light for the operation he had planned and Crawley went over it with him. After a few minor adjustments to the details and another round through mission control, it was fully approved by everyone.

"Our shooting instructor for the new recruits, Agent Smith, has called in sick for the day," Crawley said blandly once the assignment was sent off to the chosen agent's handler. "Mrs. Jones wants you to substitute. The class starts in two minutes and lasts an hour."

"... Are you sure that's a good idea?" Alex really did not want to teach. Then again, now that he was officially employed, he supposed he couldn't just cherry pick the tasks he wanted to do. Still, it wasn't the act itself he disliked so much as the reactions he was likely to receive. Carefully, he added, "Don't you think that my youth would make the lesson counterproductive?"

"Perhaps," Crawley stated. "But perhaps it will teach them some other lesson."

"Not to underestimate anyone?" Alex guessed.

Crawley nodded.

"Fine. But you may be putting too much faith in their maturity and professionalism," Alex said.

"Then, consider it a test for them," Crawley hinted.

"Are they going to get binned if they act up?" Alex asked.

"Perhaps."

Amused, Alex walked out of Crawley's office and took the lift down to the shooting range, where fifteen recruits were waiting in the ceasefire area for their instructor and whispering amongst themselves in a debate over whether they should leave or continue the lesson themselves in the absence of the training officer.

"I really wouldn't recommend shooting practice without supervision," Alex called out with raised eyebrows. "Not until you're out of the training phase and have your skills certified. Even then, best safety practices dictates that a range conducting officer is present."

All of the recruits jumped and turned to him in shock, uncertainty visible as they saw someone around their age leaning on the doorframe without a care in the world. It wasn't outright dismissal or hostility so he supposed aging himself up through clothes and hairstyle was still working. One of the braver, or perhaps more hot-headed, recruits asked, "Who are you?"

Alex pushed off from the doorframe and strolled to the front of the room, answering, "Your instructor for the day. Agent Smith has called in sick so I'm substituting."

"What's your name?" the same recruit asked.

"Doesn't matter," Alex replied coolly. "I'm only here for today so you don't need to know." Grimacing inwardly, he forced himself to say the next words without hinting at his distaste for it. "However, for the duration of this lesson, you can call me 'Instructor' or 'sir'. Is that understood?"

A few mumbled 'yes, sir'.

That wouldn't do. They'd never listen to him if he didn't correct their attitude now. Never mind that he didn't have a clue how to teach them yet. Putting as much steel in his voice as he could with a dangerous glint in his eyes to go with it, Alex repeated quietly, "I said, is that understood?"

"Yes, sir!"

Much better. Perhaps this would work out after all. Time to improvise. "Good. Now, before we get into the lesson, I'm going to give you some friendly advice based on what I've seen of you lot so far."

The class bristled at that.

"Yes, I know I haven't seen any of you for all that long," Alex answered their discontented thoughts pointedly. He was trying to buy time for his brain to think of how to teach the class. Easiest way to do that was observe out loud. So, continuing on with his impromptu speech, he said in a cold voice, "However, in the five minutes since I've laid eyes on you, I can already tell you three things. First, you lack situational awareness. None of you noticed me standing there, listening to you talk amongst yourselves, until I spoke. An enemy agent could have killed all of you in that timeframe and still have room in their schedule to grab a coffee before anyone realized what had happened. Second, when you did finally notice me, none of you were able to hide your surprise. How do you expect to be able to keep your cover out there if you can't control your emotions? And third, I can see that you're still doubting me. Doubting my abilities, my right to teach you. Why? Because I look like I'm on the younger side? Well, guess what? Looks can be deceiving. And you'd do well to remember that. Any questions?"

The recruit that had spoken earlier scoffed. "As if you'd have any experience. You can't be much older than us!"

Alex turned an icy stare on that recruit until all the trainees shifted uncomfortably and averted their eyes. Only then did he speak. "You can take my advice or not. It's your choice, your life on the line. But enough of this. Today's focus is shooting and demonstrating the skills for that is simple enough."

Turning on his heel, Alex headed straight for the armory and emerged a few seconds later with a Glock 19, the first gun that he came across in there. Snagging a pair of earmuffs, he instructed the recruits, "Stay in the ceasefire area and observe. And always remember to protect your ears when possible."

Before any of them could reply, Alex stepped up to the firing point for one of the lanes and emptied a third of a clip of bullets into the target, seemingly without looking.

Taking off the earmuffs, he turned back around to see the recruits gaping at him. His gaze was enough to shake them out of their shock.

"What a joke. Did he - "

"Just because you can pull the trigger - "

" - even aim?!"

" - doesn't mean you can hit the target!"

Alex waited until the commotion had died down. Then, he pressed a button to bring the target closer for them to see. He had fired five times. There were four holes, all within the bullseye. As soon as the recruits saw the results for themselves, there was an abrupt silence.

"As you can see," Alex said sarcastically, "I am quite capable with a gun. Any other questions about the legitimacy of my skills in this area?" He paused and nodded when silence continued to greet him. "No? Good. Now, someone tell me where your lessons left off before we waste any more time."

Strangely, the recruit that had been questioning him this whole time actually stayed silent. Instead, another trainee raised her hand. When Alex gave her permission to speak, she said, "We were practicing with firing the Sig Sauer P226. Our instructor - um, usual instructor - went around correcting us."

Alex nodded slowly. So, no lecture was needed. Good. Cause he still didn't know what he would say. "Alright, then you'll continue with practicing and I'll walk around to assess your skills. Everyone grab a P226 and earmuffs, choose a lane, and you can get started after I check you over."

None of them moved.

"What are you waiting for?" Alex barked out. "The skills to magically seep into your bones? Come on, move it, you maggots! Before you waste any more time! Or you'll be doing push ups until the end of the lesson!"

The recruits tripped over each other in their haste to comply. It still took fifteen minutes for them to succeed in getting themselves situated in their lanes. That was a full minute for each person. Alex wrinkled his nose in displeasure and gave a long sigh. If this had been SCORPIA training, they would have been killed already for their incompetence.

"Pathetic," Alex growled. "Disorganized and slow. Did I take that long to prepare? No. You should have been able to do this in five minutes."

"Of course, you were faster than us. Not like you had to fight through fourteen other people in the armory to get a weapon," one of the recruits muttered.

"That is rather the point," Alex said icily. "Even with fourteen other people, as you say, you shouldn't need to fight through anything. You are allies, classmates, and future colleagues. You are on the same team. You are supposed to work together. And yet, you do not have two brain cells between the lot of you to realize that taking turns would be more efficient, not to mention basic manners. Going into the armory in groups of three, perhaps, would have given each group one minute and plenty of space to get what you needed in a timely, orderly fashion. I repeat, disorganized and slow. Now, check your guns to make sure they are in good working condition."

Silently, the recruits complied. Some hanging their heads in shame, some indifferent. Some in awe, others stiff with burning anger over being told off by someone so young. Alex didn't care what they thought. Even though he didn't want to teach, Jones had handed him the responsibility for the day and he wasn't going to shirk it just because of... undesirable attitudes towards him. That would get them killed in the field. So he mostly ignored their behavior, only keeping an eye out for the angry ones, in case they got violent.

Five minutes later, half the allotted time for the lesson had already gone by, but they were finally ready to start shooting. Alex gave them the go ahead and watched. He took in each person's stance, posture, and grip. Then, he went around to clinically make corrections. Some took his advice easily. Others, mostly the angry ones, preferred to continue doing things their own way and stubbornly refused to make the corrections that he suggested. Those were the ones that wouldn't last long out there. But that wasn't his problem. They were old enough to make their own decisions and live with the consequences. And he had done as much as he could for them in this lesson.

"Alright, that's it for today! Class dismissed!" Alex called out when time was up.

As one, the recruits sighed in relief. They cleaned up their lanes to get them ready for someone else to use while Alex made sure they returned all the guns to the armory before letting them leave the range. That process took another fifteen minutes before Alex could leave as well and head back up to his office.

Before he could get there though, Crawley intercepted him. He was led to the man's office, where he was informed that they needed to get started on deciding who to pull out of their positions in Gladius. The rest of the workday was spent poring over employee and mission files, examining intelligence reports on Gladius and SCORPIA, and debating different approaches that SCORPIA could take as they assessed the agents' viability to continue in their roles. By the end of the workday, they had succeeded in deciding on the course of action for three out of the eight agents but Alex was ready to pull his hair out. His nails were looking worse for wear too. Because they were most likely up against Yassen and there was so much riding on their decisions. Which ones should stay and what their next moves should be. Which ones should go and what the safest ways to extract them were. Each agent had different circumstances which meant a different plan for each of them. There was no one size fits all here. And all of these were mostly his decisions. Because there was no doubt in his mind that his input held a lot more weight in the decisions than Crawley's due to his relative familiarity with both the organization and the Russian assassin after having come up against them more than once in his missions. Crawley was just here to help guide him and fill in the information gaps about Gladius. Even with the guidance and his knowledge of their enemy though, he couldn't help second guessing himself.

However, some of the decisions had been made and there was no use agonizing over them. In any case, there was still tomorrow. Maybe he would have a fresh perspective by then that would give him more confidence in his decisions. Or change them as it wouldn't be too late yet. Either way, it was time for a break from this and he had the rest of the evening's training to get through.

By the time Alex got home that night, he had Jones' signature for the work experience form and a headache from the day's training and work. He was just glad the week was over. At least the weekends offered some leeway in his schedule for a bit of quiet time where he could just think about absolutely nothing, if he wanted to.

And instead of homework after training exercises and household chores, that was exactly what he did the next morning. Took two hours to do, and think about, nothing. One hour of his usual homework time was used to finish writing up his work experience report for the rest of the week. Yassen let him know that they were training tonight. Then, it was lunch and back to tutoring and training sessions. Except, the schedule had been rearranged when he got to the Bank. Instead of the tutoring and training, he and Crawley were continuing where they left off the day before because the SCORPIA-Gladius situation was too time sensitive. Now that he had a much clearer mind from the break he'd taken that morning though, Alex found that he was biting his nails less. He was calmer. The analysis and decisions came more easily. A few details from yesterday got corrected. And by 1700 hours, four hours later, they had finally finished. Everything was ready to be put into action.

"Mrs. Jones has received requests for your service in this matter from quite a few intelligence agencies," Crawley told him when all the orders had been issued to the appropriate people.

"Which ones?"

"The Americans, Australians, Spanish, French, Germans, Egyptians, and Russians," Crawley answered. "We know that the Italians and Iranians have people in Gladius as well, but they have not reached out."

Alex stared. That was a lot of agencies requiring his help. Half of them were from European Union countries which was probably why they felt comfortable enough to risk giving someone from a foreign agency access to sensitive information. In addition, just over half of the agencies were ones that he'd had direct contact with some form of their leadership. So, he couldn't discount the possibility that this willingness was, in part, due to the help specifically coming from himself. And that was a bafflingly bizarre thought. Clearing his throat, he said, "Right. So, what's the plan?"

"For their own security purposes, each agency wants a non-disclosure agreement signed and to meet you at their own headquarters. Unfortunately, that means you would have to fly to a lot of countries within the next week."

"What about school?"

"Tutoring sessions via video call during your flights," Crawley said, faintly apologetic. "Your lack of presence in your school's classes and social life can't be avoided."

Alex sighed. He knew how important these meetings were. They couldn't be pushed back, couldn't wait for a time that would be convenient to him. Still, it was frustrating. "What's the schedule then? Am I even going to be able to fit travelling to seven countries in the span of a week?"

"Are you sure you want to agree to being a consultant to all of them?"

Alex blinked. "I can choose?"

Crawley shrugged. "They are asking for help. We are not obliged to provide it."

Scowling, Alex said, "I'm not leaving people to die needlessly if I can do something about it."

"Then, yes, it will be an extremely tight schedule but you will be able to make it to all seven countries. Your first flight is on Monday at 0400 hours to Madrid."

Alex rolled his eyes. "I don't know why you bother putting up a pretense of asking me if you've already booked all my flights."

"We were fairly certain of your answer but thought it best to confirm it," Crawley stated blandly. Somehow, Alex could still detect the amusement which continued on with the man's next words. "However, you should also be aware that, instead of leaving a favor to be fulfilled in the future, we have negotiated for the Americans and Australians to provide you with some extra training."

Alex couldn't decide whether to grin or groan at that so he settled for something neutral. "Okay."

"And remember that you are a representative of our country," Crawley added. "That means keeping in mind that the Egyptians and Russians are not our enemies at the moment, but not our allies either, when you interact with them. And don't offend anyone. Be careful."

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Alex repeated, "Okay." He really hated politics.

Crawley pushed a file towards him. "This is purely an administrative based consulting assignment. There will be no fieldwork. Even so, you are leaving the country so the necessary people need to sign off on it. We are just missing yours."

Alex flipped the file open and read through everything. Finding nothing wrong with it, he signed on the only empty line that was next to the other six signatures and handed the file back to Crawley.

Nodding, the man said, "The schedule will be sent to your email. You have two hours of Krav Maga and knife combat with Tomohiro. After that, you have the rest of the night off like usual."

As Alex left the office and headed down to the training floor, where Tomohiro was already waiting for him, Crawley picked up a call.

"Did you see the footage of yesterday's training session?" Jones asked before he could speak.

"Yes, I was watching it in real-time."

"Your thoughts?"

"Better than Ian," he immediately answered.

"But?"

"But... maybe he's still developing his teaching style."

A beat of silence. "Possible. You don't sound like you believe that though."

Crawley sighed. "There were at least three personalities shown in that session. It's not the first time he's done something like that. I think he did it on purpose for some reason that's unclear to us for now."

"Also possible. Keep a closer eye on him and see if you can make any progress on your investigation into his contacts. I want to know when he's ready for the next phase," Jones ordered before hanging up.

Crawley swore silently. Why were the Riders always so much trouble? He hadn't been able to get a thing since the boy had sent two of their agents to be mobbed to unconsciousness outside a lingerie shop. Trying to keep in the teen's good graces meant leaving holes in his surveillance that he would really rather close, especially when the whole family was more slippery than an eel. He rubbed his eyes and hoped the teen wasn't doing anything shady. Otherwise, his failed surveillance could be disastrous and things would not end well for himself.

Meanwhile, Alex and Tomohiro did Krav Maga training, which lasted for an hour, and switched to knife combat for the remainder of the time. He got a refresher on the knife skills that he had already picked up from the SAS and Yassen's armed combat training. Then, they did a more intense session, where he lost spectacularly and got nicked every time. By the end of it, he had an assortment of shallow cuts all over and left with Tomohiro's instructions to keep his knives on his person at all times so he could get used to them.

Once the driver dropped him off at home, Alex got out of the vehicle and was surprised to see a Cannondale Bad Boy mountain bike on his doorstep. He grinned. There was a note taped to the seat but even without it, Alex knew who had sent the bike. Picking up the note, his guess was proved right when he read it.

Happy birthday, my dear boy! I thought you could use a replacement to go with the rest of the toys. Sorry I couldn't give it to you in person. The bosses have you on quite the schedule!

P.S. The features are the same as last time. Try not to destroy this one! And do watch your hands.

As soon as he finished reading the last words, the note predictably disintegrated into ashes. Still grinning, he moved his new bike into the foyer and sent off a quick text to thank Smithers for the gift. Then, he hurried off into the house - empty again - to have dinner before his training session with Yassen for once.

When he finished eating and cleaning up, Alex strapped on his P228 and Fairbairn-Sykes knives before riding his new bike to Oxleas Wood at the usual time, instinctively avoiding the cameras. Walking in the ancient forest, he was even more alert and cautious, expecting the contract killer to attack from the shadows at any given moment. This turned out to be a good idea when a dart narrowly missed his throat and he blocked a knife hand strike to his kidneys a second later. The fight quickly became armed and ended with a dagger to Alex's throat as he stared up into Yassen's cold eyes.

"Где ваша деталь безопасности?" Alex asked with raised eyebrows. (Where's your security detail?)

The assassin's lips thinned even as he released the teen, saying sourly, "Вернувшись в отель, полагая, что я в своей комнате." (Back at the hotel believing that I am in my room.)

Alex smirked. "Похоже, подросток сбегает на свидание." (Sounds like a teenager sneaking out for a date.)

Yassen just gave him a flat look and walked off. Alex followed. After a few minutes, he asked, "Don't you need to be somewhere else, doing board stuff?"

"I managed to take the UK as one of my jurisdictions on the board."

"... What about the chemical attack and expanding the organization?"

"The board saw an opportunity and took it," Yassen stated, staring straight ahead as they hiked to whatever spot the man had in mind.

"It wasn't in your plan?" Alex asked in surprise.

"Not exactly."

"... Have you ever lied to me?"

Yassen stopped in his tracks, nearly making Alex run into him, and turned to examine the teen. Given their lines of work and training, the question shouldn't have come up. Because the assumed answer should have been obvious. That it had been asked at all, indicated a naivety that he thought the teen had lost, which was a problem. And instead of the accusation or anger that should have been present in the query, there was an almost vulnerable tone to it, like the boy was afraid of the answer. It was a cry for help. He doubted the boy knew it. Another person may have reassured the teen and given a definite no, whether it was true or not. But he wasn't other people. He needed the teen to learn a lesson. At the same time, he wanted the teen to have a chance at growing up in a kinder environment than he did. Frustrated with his own sentimentality when it came to the Rider family, he sighed mentally and stated the truth, "Once."

A flash of hurt crossed the teen's face before it was gone, so fast that it could have been imagined. Alex swallowed hard. "When?"

"After the Stormbreaker operation."

Frowning, Alex tried to recall the events of his first mission and replayed the memories in his mind, searching for the lie. He found it in Sayle's death. "... You killed Sayle... and said that there were no orders about me... That's not SCORPIA's style though. Which means you did have orders to do something about me. Kill me or bring me in."

Yassen tilted his head in acknowledgement. "I had no orders concerning Sayle. It was you that the board wanted dead."

Alex stared, aghast. "I was on SCORPIA's hit list that early and you didn't tell me?!" He paused. "Wait, you defied a direct order from SCORPIA! How did they not kill you for it?!"

"I justified Sayle's death with the same reason I gave you," Yassen said. "It still sent a message which was acceptable enough for the board to let both of us go."

So, the assassin had spared him, at risk to the man's own life again. Giving him another chance while MI6 had left him unprotected. "Спасибо." (Thank you.)

Yassen frowned imperceptibly. He had a feeling his intended lesson had somehow backfired but wasn't sure where it went wrong so he just said, "Do not thank me. Keep training so you can take care of yourself. Now, Belgium. That hesitation is not acceptable."

"I'm not a killer."

"No? How about Grief and Cray? Your clone? Sicherheit?" Yassen pressed on coldly despite the teen's flinching at the mention of each dead person.

"They were going to kill me!" Alex protested.

"And that is the point," Yassen continued on ruthlessly. "Either they die or you do. In this business, sometimes, you need to be the killer. Sometimes, you need to assassinate someone. Or you don't survive. If you hesitate, or cannot stomach it, then you have chosen the wrong path and you need to get out now."

Alex was silent. Then, he said quietly, "I don't want to lose my humanity. I can't become a cold-blooded killer like you. I don't know if I can do it. I don't want to. I'm not like you. I can't be what SCORPIA tried to train me to be."

"And you do not have to become a cold-blooded killer like me, Саша," Yassen murmured. "You still have a choice in that. But you do need to be desensitized enough to do what is necessary to survive, without hesitation. That is something you can do. You're already halfway there." He paused, considering whether his next words were worth the security risk to himself. He decided, for John Rider's child who had proven himself as loyal to him as an enemy operative could be, it was. "I was not always like this. Did you know that I failed my graduation assignment because I refused to kill the target? I could not make myself pull the trigger and another SCORPIA agent made the shot as soon as that became clear."

"You failed out of assassin school?" Alex asked in amazement, both at the revelation that one of the greatest contract killers couldn't do the job at first and at the fact that the Russian was willing to share something personal about himself.

"Yes," Yassen simply answered. "I still clung onto my morals, much like you are doing now. Surely, it was in my file that MI6 no doubt has on me?"

"Umm... no, actually," Alex replied. "It looks like my father didn't really give them any information about you. Most of what MI6 has on you was provided by Ash or collected from rumours later on."

This time, Yassen was silent. All these years, he had thought that John Rider had trained him to the best of his ability and saved his life, despite ultimately betraying him. But it turned out that his mentor had never betrayed him. Rather, the man had always protected him from both sides and had his best interests at heart. How wrong he had been in judging his mentor. The man had done everything he could to turn his life onto a better path. Things could have been so different if he had just listened to Hunter. It was too late to change that now. Nodding to himself, he continued with his story. "I refused to kill and the target still died. You need to understand that, as long as someone is willing to pay for a murder to take place, your refusal to do it will only result in a loss of profits for yourself. Those profits do not have to be monetary either. And in the worst-case scenario, it will result in your death. That is the lesson learned from my graduation assignment."

"But SCORPIA kills those who fail the island's graduation," Alex said. "How did you survive and become one of their best?"

Yassen shrugged. "A combination of my unique lack of identity and youth that SCORPIA found useful, Julia Rothman's interest in me, and my exemplary performance in training saved me from execution. It was my very first time out in the field and they took that into consideration as well. My guess is that Hunter also used his weight to influence their decision to give me a second chance, offering to pair up with me. From there, it was your father that taught me how to operate and win a fight in the field, control and hide my emotions, and make myself disappear so no one could find me. He taught me to never have preferences or habits. That sentimentality gets you killed. And to be able to use my left hand just as well as I could do things with my right. I admired your father from the beginning when I first met him. And that admiration only grew with time as I learned more from him, spent more time with him. I trusted him and never wanted to let him down. And then, our second assignment together was in Paris and I failed again. I still hadn't found my killer's instinct."

"What happened after that?"

"I decided to cut my losses and go on the run from SCORPIA. Hunter suggested I go to Berlin first to make things harder for anyone that might try to track me. He left to go get coffee, leaving me to watch our things at the airport. I saw a battery in his bags that was known for being the British intelligence agencies' choice for a radio transmitter and knew in my heart that he was a double agent. I thought he had betrayed me to the intelligence services so I didn't take his advice and went back to Paris instead, taking a couple of trains to get to Moscow. I wanted to get revenge for the betrayal by proving him wrong. To prove that I could be a killer. I went back to Moscow to kill the person who enslaved me for four years before SCORPIA found me. Because I knew that if I could kill the bastard that enslaved me, then I would find my killer's instinct."

"You succeeded," Alex stated the obvious, reeling from the new information about his father and the assassin's history with him.

"Yes. And I went back to SCORPIA with the events in Moscow being proof that I had what it took to continue in this line of work. They continued to pair me with Hunter, up until your father's extraction in Mdina, but I never hinted that I knew, nor did I confirm my thoughts, about Hunter being a double agent. My suspicions were only officially confirmed after my escape from MI6's custody. Hunter made me who I am today in more ways than one. Even with his perceived betrayal, I could never betray him in turn. So, I settled for becoming what he didn't want me to become."

"I'm not becoming a killer for hire," Alex repeated. He knew why Yassen had told him this story.

"No, you aren't," Yassen agreed. "But that does not change the fact that you will need to learn much of the same skills to survive your choice of continuing in espionage. Now, will you apply yourself to our training sessions or not?"

"Yeah, fine, okay," Alex sighed.

"You have your own gun and knives now," Yassen said, gesturing to the places on his body that Alex had hidden the weapons. "Keep them in good condition and do not take them off for the next month. Having them on you and using them needs to become second nature."

"Done. My MI6 combat training instructor wants the same too."

"Хорошо. Сегодня мы будем работать над вашими боевыми навыками в среде, где вам не на что полагаться. Я завяжу тебе глаза, и ты попытаешься защититься от моих атак." (Good. Today, we will work on your combat skills in an environment where you do not have your sight to rely on. I will blindfold you and you will attempt to defend yourself against my attacks.)

"Как мне это сделать? (How do I do that?)" Alex asked as the assassin stepped behind him and tied a band around his head to cover his eyes.

Instantly, his heart rate picked up as the loss of sight disoriented him, making him turn at every sound. Alex heard rustling from all directions but couldn't tell if it was Yassen, the wind blowing leafless branches against each other, or animals scavenging for food. The first hit didn't even register until it had landed on his body. He recoiled and put his arms up in defense but it was useless. He didn't know where to block, much less where to strike.

"Фокус (Focus)," Yassen's voice came from somewhere on his right. "Слушайте свое окружение и разбивайте его, пока не сможете отследить источники. Почувствуйте воздух вокруг себя на предмет любых изменений." (Listen to your surroundings and break it down until you can track the sources. Feel the air around you for any changes.)

Alex tried to follow the instructions but he couldn't pick the sounds apart in time for the next hit. This pattern went on for what seemed like an eternity, with Yassen giving him advice after every hit, until he could just start to make out the differences on his own with the help of meditation. After that, each hit became a little easier to block but his attempts at offense were still wildly off. By the end of their training session, he was bruised and battered all over. He didn't mind though. He was proud of the progress he'd made.

"Acceptable for a first attempt," Yassen stated. "There is a Chinese martial arts style called Wing Chun that you may want to look into learning. I do not know the martial art myself but have heard that it has a technique called Sticking Hands which can help train your touch sensitivity to aid in sightless combat. The style was originally developed for women, with the techniques created to defeat someone larger than yourself in close combat. Since you still have a few years before your size can match your opponents', you may find it useful."

"I'll bring it up with the MI6 combat instructor."

"See to it. How are you coming along with the aviation books?"

Alex winced. "I haven't started yet. Jones is keeping me busier than usual. I think I'll have some time to start reading them next week."

Yassen nodded. "Ask questions if you do not understand something and notify me when you are ready to start flight lessons."

"Why flying?" Alex asked curiously. "Even in our lines of work, not very many people are pilots."

Yassen silently led him to the car of the day, where he fastened his bike to the roof for transport. It was only when both of them were in the car that the man spoke. "It was my childhood dream to become a pilot, perhaps for the Russian army. Or just transporting cargo for businesses. It did not matter as long as I was flying. I suppose it reflected my desire to be free of the village that I grew up in. My life turned out to be very different from my dream and, by the time I was able to get my pilot's license, it was only another means to increase my survival rate. I hope that it will do the same for you."

"The freedom or survival?"

"Both."

The rest of the ride was silent as the two of them became lost in their own thoughts. One reminiscing about simpler times, the other going over everything that had been shared with him tonight and deeply touched by it. When the car came to a stop a few streets away from his house, Alex barely noticed it.

"Саша," Yassen said to get his attention. Alex startled upon noticing where they were before turning to look at the man. "When you next go to Paris, perhaps you would like to visit Sacré-Cœur. Before we carried out the Paris assignment, Hunter said he had something personal to do and I secretly followed him out of curiosity. He went there to meet with your mother."

Alex listened hungrily as the assassin weaved a story in Russian about two young lovers doing whatever it takes to steal a few precious moments in each other's company on the doorsteps of a church cathedral in the city of love, even if it was dangerous to meet. One was visibly pregnant but still brave enough to travel to another country on her own, just to spend a few minutes with her husband. The other rushing forward to see his wife, worried about assassins and criminal organizations targeting those he loves but missing them too much to stop himself from meeting them. The tension melting away as soon as the lovers touch, holding each other like it's the last time they'll ever get to do it, presumably whispering reassurances and sweet nothings. And the young apprentice witnessing the couple's interaction as an outsider, turning away to let them have their private moment. By the end of the story, Alex felt a tear roll down his cheek, chest hurting from the thoughts of what could have been. He turned away to regain his composure.

"С Днем Рождения, Саша (Happy birthday, Sasha)," Yassen said quietly. "Пришло время узнать немного больше о своих родителях." (It's about time you learned a little more about your parents.)

Swallowing hard in an effort to contain his emotions, Alex croaked out, "Спасибо. За все." (Thank you. For everything.)