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Thlipsis	By : AislingSiobhan Category: A through F > Alex Rider Series Views: 3074 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Alex, or any of the affiliated characters, events, etc. I make no money from this so please dont sue. And credit to where credit is due: Mr A Horz!

Chapter List
- 2
- 3
- 4
This was written as part of the Spyfest 2010, and I’m very
pleased that I decided to take part! Here is the next part.

Epic thank you to Annephoenix and PalletofPaintedSkies for being
amazing betas!

If no one is interested, I might as well take this down?

* * *

Words: 6,631

Chapter 3/4

April 4th 2001. Same day.

Scorpia phoned Alex barely an hour later. Mrs. Rothman had first
taken the time to fine tweak her plan with Nile, making the necessary
changes to include Yassen’s involvement. She still had need of
Yassen and had hoped to leave him out of it, but it had become
apparent that his first loyalty was to the boy. Not Scorpia…
not her! And that wouldn’t do at all.

The mission statement was simple. Alex memorised it immediately as
Nile read it over the phone to him. He was to wait for Nile to
arrive. Another operative would escort Mr. Alvisio back to Malagosto
in a private jet for debriefing. Nile would wait in their motel room,
and Alex whose mission it was, would go alone and retrieve Yassen. He
was apparently supposed to rescue Yassen to make up for failing the
Stormbreaker mission, which he hadn’t actually failed, though
his protests had been ignored. If Yassen could not be taken back he
was to kill Agent Rider, or if Yassen had been injured further or
killed he was to kill Agent Rider. Alex’s breath had stuttered
then, and he had missed the next part of Nile’s sentence as he
fought to beat down his fear. Once the mission had been completed
Alex was to return to the motel and Nile would personally detail the
next step of their plan.

What Alex had missed Nile saying had actually been part of what
Julia had changed to their original plan. They wanted Ian Rider dead,
regardless. If Alex didn’t kill him, Alex would have failed her
test.

“The boy could be used,” Julia had mused once she hung
up on Mr. Blunt.

Nile was in her office, stroking his hand lightly over the head of
the slumbering tiger. He looked up at her from where he was crouched,
and frowned. He did not like Yassen, who had come first in their
class, rendering Nile to second place, and he did not like Alex, who
seemed to be the next best thing since John Rider had swanned around
the place. He didn’t see what was so great about either of
them, especially since he knew he was much better.

“Why? What use is he?” Nile said, trying to keep the
hatred from his voice.

There had been a time when Julia had liked Alex. Certainly she
hadn’t loved him, but he was a sweet baby and he looked so much
like his father in infancy. As her relationship with Nile grew, he
became more and more pronounced in his dislike of the boy. Every
memory she had of John, Nile used and twisted, pinning Alex at the
crux of all of the bad ones and tainting all of the good memories
until Julia’s heart hurt to remember. She knew he was
manipulating her, but it gave her the excuse she needed to take
revenge. Killing John and his wife hadn’t been as sweet as she
had thought it would be. Their deaths had pleased her. But they were
simply dead. There had been no opportunity to hurt them, to play with
them, but Nile would have that chance with Alex. He would tell her
all about it, and as she imagined Alex writhing and screaming in
pain, she would replace his face with John’s. She would watch
his mouth move as he begged, imagine him speaking in John’s
voice and telling her he loved her.

Julia smirked to herself, hiding her mouth behind her champagne
glass.

“He is one of our best operatives,” she murmured. She
wanted revenge, undoubtedly, but she had to put her personal issues
on the backburner when it came to work. In terms of usefulness, Alex
was at the top of the list. The only problem was whether or not he
knew that she had been the one to kill his father. “We’ll
give him a fighting chance,” she said, grinning, “Yassen
will appreciate the irony of that.”

Nile raised an eyebrow, waiting.

“Inform the boy that Ian Rider needs to be killed by him and
no one else. Regardless of whether Yassen is successfully retrieved
or not, Rider must die. I wonder if he will do it, pull the trigger
on a man who looks so similar to John, to himself? I’m
surprised Alex hasn’t guessed that they are related, but then
again Yassen never mentioned any family aside from John, nor did we.
It is a good thing that Alex has never questioned us.” She
paused, sipping at her champagne with a smile. “If Alex cannot
kill Rider, kill them both, Nile.”

“Yes, Ma’am. And Gregorovich?” He tried not to
look too excited as he waited for her answer. He knew what she was
going to say and Nile couldn’t quite keep the grin off of his
face.

“He will not forgive us if we kill Alex. He will be of no
use to Scorpia,” she said softly. A part of her regretted her
next words, but she ignored the niggling doubt. This was a cutthroat
business and personal issues needed to be kept aside from business
concerns. Yassen had been the best student Scorpia had ever seen, and
he had been a friend of hers while John was alive, and she was still
fond of him even now, but business was business. If Yassen would not
follow her orders, they had no need for him. “Kill him too.”

“Yes Ma’am.” He turned to leave, a grin on his
dual-coloured face.

“Nile,” she said warningly, “only if Alex fails.
If he kills Rider let him and Yassen return here alive.”

“Yes Ma’am,” he gritted out, annoyed that she
had practically read his mind. How she kept doing that he would never
know, but this had been the one time when Nile had hoped to act on
his desires without a rebuke and an order not to.

When Nile appeared at the motel Alex was ready for him.

MI6 would be waiting for them on the 6th. They were probably
suspicious about Mrs. Rothman’s ready agreement, so the next
two days were going to be tense.

Alex knew better than to let his guard down, even around allies.
The only person he was truly relaxed with was Yassen, and the Russian
was moderately calm around him too. If Yassen weren’t always
tightly strung he simply wouldn’t be himself. It was a part of
the Russian that Alex had easily got used to as a child. He should
never sneak up on his surrogate, wake him unexpectedly should he
happen to be sleeping, or even address him by a name that was similar
to ‘father’. Yassen did not like to be taken by surprise.

“Are you ready?” Alex asked.

Nile shook his head. “Sleep now.” The black man said,
running his fingers through his close shaven hair. “You will
need to be fresh for tomorrow.”

Alex waited until Nile had fallen asleep and then he snuck out.
Ernesto had left with another Scorpia employee and Nile was a heavy
sleeper. There would be no one to miss Alex during the night. Alex
understood that Alan Blunt wasn’t stupid. He wouldn’t
keep Yassen in their own headquarters, just in case the enemy knew
its location. As secure as the Royal and General building probably
was, if Yassen was determined enough he could escape. Mr. Blunt
probably knew that. If he was this interested in Alex he probably
knew all about the boy, including perhaps how far Alex was willing to
go to protect his lover. He would break into the MI6 building on
Liverpool Street if he had to, but he didn’t think he did.

Alan Blunt would know better than to keep Yassen Gregorovich in
the most obvious place. But the second most obvious was as good a
place as any for Alex to start searching. Yassen had told him the
address; Alex could only hope that Ian hadn’t moved house since
Yassen had kidnapped him years ago.

“Cheyne Walk, Chelsea,” he told the taxi driver, when
the cab had come to a stop beside him. Alex climbed into the back of
the taxi and in silence he watched the scenery passing by. The closer
he got to Ian Rider’s house the more nervous he began to feel,
but he told himself it had nothing to do with seeing Rider and
everything to do with bringing Yassen home safe and sound.

He wasn’t afraid to face his father’s killer. He
wasn’t.

XXX

April 5th 2001.

Ian Rider had managed to talk his bosses into stashing Yassen in
his own home. The Russian had listened incredulously: unable to
believe what he was hearing, unable to deny that he actually was
hearing it. It was outrageous. Rider was actively luring a known
assassin to his personal home by using another assassin as bait? And
MI6 was letting him!

“Alex will come for him,” Ian had promised. “We
want Alex to come for him, remember. Please, just let him come.”
Ian knew what he was doing. He believed that if Alex were anything
like John had been there was no way that Alex would kill a family
member, never, not for anyone. He just needed a chance to tell Alex
the truth. Just a few moments, that was all, and then Alex could come
home to him. Ian knew, just as Alan Blunt did, that if Alex were
captured by MI6 first he would rather go down fighting than
surrender. But if Ian spoke to him, and if Alex listened, every thing
could be different.

Ian would have his family back.

Yassen’s arms were tied above his head with wire. When
Yassen had struggled, the wire had cut into his wrists and blood had
flowed sluggishly down his arms. Ian had taken a few moments to clean
him up and cover the cuts, and warned Yassen not to try slitting his
wrists again. That hadn’t been the Russian’s intention;
he had been testing his restraints, trying to calculate his chances
of escaping, but he had said nothing in response to Rider’s
teasing.

He turned to stare at Ian.

“You will leave Alex alone,” Yassen said after an hour
of uncomfortable silence.

The housekeeper moved around downstairs, tidying or cooking or
doing whatever Ian paid her to do. Upstairs, both men had been in the
same room for over an hour, sitting tense and silent and hyper-aware
of each other.

“I would never hurt Alex,” Ian whispered. “I
believe I’m quite like you in that respect.”

“We are nothing alike. I did not betray my family.”
Yassen turned his head away, missing the confused expression that
stole over Ian’s face.

“You don’t know!” Ian breathed. He should have
guessed, he supposed. Since Ian had found out that Alex was alive,
Alan and Tulip had continually assured him that Yassen would never
hurt Alex. He should have known that Yassen still cared for John. He
would never remain working for the people who had truly killed the
man. Ian could relate to him. They really were quite similar. For
years, Yassen had believed that he and Mrs. Jones were the murderers
of his closest friend. Similarly, Ian had believed that the man bound
and helpless before him had tortured and murdered his infant nephew.
There were so many possibilities for revenge, with Yassen tied up
before him, but now Ian knew better. He knew the truth and it was
time for Yassen to as well.

“I know enough!” the assassin spat, turning back to
glare at the agent. “You betrayed him. If you touch Alex I will
kill you.” Blue eyes hardened as they met Ian’s, and the
elder man just smiled softly in response.

“They talk of a man betraying his country, his friends, his
family. There must be a moral bond first. All a man can betray is his
conscience,” Ian quoted softly, not bothering to defend
himself. When Alex arrived, there would be time enough to tell them
the truth.6

Yassen bared his teeth, his face contorted with anger and hate.
Ian pitied him. He could sympathise, he supposed: so much time wasted
needlessly hating someone. Yassen was not the target for his hatred,
not really. No one had killed Alex and the boy had grown up unharmed,
physically at least. But John! John was still dead and replacing the
faces of his killers would not change that fact. Yassen was entitled
to keep his anger, but anger was a destructive force and seeking
revenge against Scorpia, no matter how justified, was a destructive
action. Ian pitied the man before him, the man whose life and beliefs
were about to change so drastically, and he wouldn’t even have
Alex to help him through it.

Ian would be keeping Alex.

The phone rang downstairs. Jack, Ian’s housekeeper called up
to him, breaking the horrid silence. “Phone, Ian! It’s
the bank!” she shouted.

“Don’t go anywhere,” Ian quipped before he
slipped from of the room. Yassen heard the front door slam a moment
later and then a car engine turned over outside.

Yassen was in the larger of the two spare bedrooms. It might have
belonged to Alex, had Ian been the one to raise the boy. Yassen
clenched his fists, his nails biting into his palms. The thought of
Alex being left alone with that man, in this house, made his stomach
twist, and he was so very thankful that he had chosen to follow the
suspicious-looking black car from Liverpool Street to Cheyne Walk
thirteen years ago.

Yassen tensed. He heard the front door open and close. He heard
the housekeeper’s shocked cry and then the familiar soft ‘phut’
of a bullet through a silencer. Jack’s body hit the floor, and
Yassen heard footsteps as someone made their way slowly up the
stairs.

“Hello ìàëåíüêèé
àíãåë,” Yassen whispered as
Alex closed the bedroom door behind himself.4

A wide smile spread itself across Alex’s face and his eyes
brightened. “Hello lover,” he greeted, as he bent over
Yassen’s head to cut away the wire that bound him to the
headboard.

Yassen rotated his hands slowly, rubbing at his wrists to get the
blood circulation flowing properly again. His legs had been left
untied. He swung them easily to the side and slid off of the bed. The
moment he was standing, he pressed himself against Alex’s back,
with his lips on Alex’s neck. He kissed lightly down the column
of Alex’s throat.

“Mmm, thank you,” he whispered between kisses, “my
hero.” Alex melted back against Yassen’s chest with a low
moan, arching his neck to offer more of his throat to the assassin.
“How can I ever repay you?” Yassen teased, his hands
running up the sides of Alex’s legs, pulling them apart so that
he could settle comfortably between them.

Alex pulled away. He half-turned his body towards Yassen but the
Russian’s hand on Alex’s shoulder twisted him back again.

“Yassen no,” Alex hissed, bucking lightly. “Now
isn’t the time.” Yassen ignored him. With a scowl, Alex
reached behind to shove at Yassen’s chest, “We have to
go.”

“Now is the perfect time,” Yassen insisted. One hand
grabbed Alex by the short hairs at the base of his skull, and he
tugged the boy forward, knocking him onto the bed. Yassen moved
behind him, pinning Alex in place with his own body. He had the boy
bent over the side of the bed. Alex shoved back at him but Yassen’s
grip on his hair tightened and Alex stopped struggling.

“Here is the perfect place.” Fucking Ian’s
nephew in what should have been Alex’s room: it was too good an
opportunity to stick it to Ian Rider for Yassen to pass up.

“Yassen! Please!” Alex shouted. He began panting
softly, as Yassen reached beneath him to palm the bulge in his
trousers. “We need to go.”

“No. You need to take off your clothing.”

The Russian’s hands busied themselves undressing Alex. The
boy didn’t struggle as Yassen pulled his t-shirt over his head,
and he pushed his hips back, aiding Yassen in slipping off his
trousers. When the elder man bent to remove Alex’s shoes and
socks Alex made no attempt to escape. He lay there compliantly, and
it was only when he heard the sound of Yassen’s zipper opening
that he began to protest again.

3“Seriously, ìîÿ ëþáîâü,
we must go. Don’t… ah… I said don’t!”
A finger probed his entrance, rough and dry, and Alex pushed back
against it, seeking more. “We can’t, we, stop! Oh god!”
Above him, Yassen chuckled lightly, his face pressed to the back of
Alex’s neck, his lips brushing soft kisses to the skin within
reach. “Do that again,” Alex commanded, and Yassen added
a third finger within him.

Yassen removed his hand, licking over his fingers. He stared down
at Alex with a curious smile on his mouth. Alex turned his head, a
groan of protest forcing its way passed chapped, trembling lips. “Do
you really wish me to stop?”

“If you dare, I’ll never let you touch me again!”
Alex hissed, his eyes narrowing.

Yassen chuckled again, having expected that answer. He pushed
three fingers into Alex without warning. The boy arched off of the
bed, moaning loudly, before pressing his hips down against the sheets
seeking friction. “Be still,” Yassen commanded, and Alex
instantly stopped moving, lying completely, frustratingly still as
Yassen fucked him with his fingers. “Do you want me to stop,
Alex?”

“God no. Don’t stop. Fuck me, fuck me please?”

“Are you certain?” Yassen’s lips twitched. He
freed himself from his trousers with his other hand. He jerked his
hips forward, letting the tip of his erection brush lightly against
one cheek of Alex’s arse. “Is this what you want,
àíãåë?”4

“Yes, yes, I want this, I want you. Please, oh, please.”
Yassen listened to him begging breathlessly for a moment, before
pulling his fingers out slowly, smirking when Alex groaned as they
dragged against his prostate. “You bastard!” Alex
shrieked, as Yassen left him empty and wanting. “Fuck me
already!”

“As you wish.”

He pushed forward, his cock sinking into the tight warmth offered
up before him. Yassen let his head drop forward onto Alex’s
shoulder blade with a strangled groan. It had been so long, far too
long since the last time he had touched Alex. He hadn’t even
seen the boy in six weeks, not since before he’d begun the
Stormbreaker mission, and before then Yassen had been too injured to
indulge himself in the pleasures of Alex’s body. It had been a
while, but it had definitely been worth the wait. The feel of Alex
was everything he remembered it to be, except he was tighter than the
last time Yassen had taken him. Almost two months without being used,
Yassen remembered. It had been almost two months.

“Fuck,” Alex grunted beneath him as Yassen pulled out
and pushed back in again. Alex jerked his hips back and forth in time
with the Russian’s thrusts, rocking his cock against the cotton
bedding that felt oh-so-good against his swollen erection.

Yassen muttered something into the hollow between Alex’s
shoulders. While not having heard him, Alex knew what had been said.

“Love you too,” he whispered, turning his head against
the pillow, pressing his face down to muffle his cries as Yassen
struck his prostate again. “Love you.”

Yassen kissed his neck and his back, arching into him, covering
him and pressing down on him. Every part of Alex was touching Yassen,
and the teenager panted at the thought of belonging entirely to one
person. No one else had ever touched him. Yassen would never have
allowed it, and he had never wanted it. The thoughts of being with
Yassen, of being his entirely, made Alex’s cock throb with
excitement, and he ground his hips against the bed frantically.

Yassen’s free hand crept between Alex and the sheets,
circling the neediest part of Alex’s anatomy. He jerked Alex
off roughly. The boy gasped in pain a handful of times, but loved
every moment and every feeling because it was Yassen inflicting it on
him. When he came, he cried out Yassen’s name loudly, throwing
his head back and thrusting into Yassen’s tight fist. The
muscles in his arse convulsed, squeezing and unclenching around
Yassen’s cock as the assassin roughly fucked the body beneath
him. The hand that was sticky with Alex’s come dug into the bed
sheets beside the boy’s head. He clamped his free hand around
Alex’s hip hard enough to bruise. Yassen came shortly after:
the tightness and warmth of Alex overwhelming him. He tugged Alex’s
face to the side for a sloppy kiss as his hips jerked and he orgasmed
within his teenage lover.

“Alex,” he breathed, as he drew out slowly. Alex
whimpered at the feeling, cringing at the obscene noise as Yassen
separated their bodies. “Love.”

Alex could hear the accent in Yassen’s voice. He smiled,
rolling out from under the fully dressed man and tugging him back
down on top of him. His bare legs wrapped around Yassen’s waist
and his arms locked around Yassen’s neck. “Say it again.”

“I love you, Alex.” The accent faded as Yassen
regained control over his body, but before he could completely
compose himself Alex dragged him into a kiss. It was wet and vicious
and Yassen bit at Alex’s bottom lip savagely. He pressed Alex
possessively down onto the bed, as he claimed the child’s mouth
for his own. Yassen’s right hand wandered downwards, but Alex
caught his wrist firmly.

“We really can’t. I won’t let you distract me
again.” Alex managed to keep a straight face but he couldn’t
stop the longing from seeping into his voice. He wanted Yassen to
touch him again, but they just didn’t have time.

“Alex,” Yassen said warningly. He broke free of Alex’s
grip, and grabbed hold of Alex’s cock, stroking the organ until
it hardened.

Alex panted, fair hair falling into his eyes. He looked up at
Yassen half-lidded. “Please stop.” Yassen didn’t.
He stroked faster, wringing a low groan from the boy. “I can’t…
this is a mission!” He finally managed to say, but only after
he was brought to orgasm.

Yassen paused, half way through licking the come off of his
fingers. “Why didn’t you say so sooner?” He was
composed and businesslike in the blink of an eye. Yassen zipped up
his pants, straightened his shirt and turned to the teenager. “Get
dressed, Alex. What was your mission?”

“To rescue you?” The boy fiddled with his socks,
turning them inside out before pulling them on one after the other,
and then he tugged up his trousers.

“I would say I have been sufficiently rescued. What else?”
Yassen handed his t-shirt over, and Alex gratefully accepted it.

“If you were dead or had been tortured then I was to kill
Rider. Nile is waiting at the motel for us. He’s supposed to
tell me the rest of the plan when we get back.”

“Nile is here?” There was something off about Yassen’s
voice again, and it was unexpected enough that Alex snapped his head
up. He met wide blue eyes, and realized that Yassen was afraid!
“Where?” He grabbed Alex by the shoulders, and shook him
lightly.

“The motel Ernesto and I booked after Sayle’s arrest.
Nile and I are using the same room.”

“You’re alone?” Yassen questioned. None of his
weapons were here. They had remained behind at the Royal and General.
The Russian felt half-naked without them. “Do you have a gun?”

Alex handed over a loaded Glock; the silencer was still attached.
He had left it down on the bookcase when he had entered the room,
along with a hunting knife. “I’m not alone with him.
You’re here now. We really need to go though. They’ve
arranged to exchange us tomorrow morning, and I bet you anything that
Scorpia are planning to double cross Blunt!”

Alex turned to grin at him, but ended up frowning. Yassen stared
back at him, his head tilted to one side, and calmly said, “They
are not the only ones Scorpia plan to double cross.”

Brown eyes narrowed. “What?” Alex took a step back,
his hand moving instinctively to grab the knife he had also brought.

Yassen’s eyes closed, his fists clenched at his sides. He
prepared himself to tell Alex what he had heard of Julia’s
plan. He opened his mouth. Then snapped it closed again.

Ian Rider was framed in the bedroom doorway, his gun pointed at
Yassen. In his free hand was a mobile phone. “Going somewhere?”
he said, grinning.

XXX

April 5th 2001. Same day.

Ian didn’t know how he had done it. He was quite sure he
didn’t want to know. After all, how does one actually manage to
sneak into MI6’s headquarters, tap the phone line of the Head
of Operations, and place a call from a different place while making
it appear to have come from Alan Blunt’s office? Ian didn’t
know how he had done it, but Alex Rider had done
it. He had impersonated Mr. Blunt. Ian had driven from his house to
Liverpool Street, doing far more than an acceptable speed, and had
left Yassen Gregorovich alone with Jack.

It had been a ploy. A very clever trick, he had to admit. While he
was gone, arguing with several secretaries and lower-downs who were
all insisting that Alan had gone to see the Prime Minister, that Alan
wasn’t in his office, that Alan didn’t want to see him,
Alex had broken into his house and murdered his housekeeper.

Ian had got himself home as quickly as possible. He broke every
Road Traffic law that he could name but he had still been too late.

Jack Starbright’s body was sprawled across the bottom two
steps of the staircase, her red hair fanned over her pale, dead face.
Wide eyes stared up at him accusingly through the curtain of her
hair, and Ian turned his face away in disgust. He couldn’t even
hate Alex for doing it. He couldn’t hate Alex, ever, no matter
what evils the boy committed.

Scorpia had made him do it.

Ian pulled his phone out of his pocket, holding down the number
‘9’ until it started ringing. He didn’t hold it to
his ear; there was no need. It was the agent’s emergency
services number, and as long as Ian kept on the line MI6 would be
able to track his phone signal back to the house. Response time when
the number ‘9’ was dialled was less than ten minutes. He
just had to keep Alex talking for ten minutes. He had to stop
Gregorovich from escaping.

There were voices upstairs, muffled but urgent. While Ian would
have liked to listen in and learn all he could, he was far more
theatrical than John had ever been. At the top of the stairs, he
paused. Covert was one thing, and suspicious another. But a real spy
did it like James Bond!

He kicked at the bedroom door, and it smashed inwards, bouncing
off of the wall. Gun cocked, he pointed it at the Russian’s
chest. His phone was still held loosely in his free hand. He placed
it down on top of the bookcase beside him, smiling slightly at Alex.
“Going somewhere?”

Alex sighed. “Well at least he knows how to make an
entrance.”

Yassen took a step forward, and raised his own gun.

Ian clicked the safety off on his. “Sit on the bed.”

Alex sat down. Almost immediately, Yassen moved in front of him,
but still didn’t sit. The assassin didn’t think Ian would
kill Alex but he wasn’t taking any chances on his lover getting
hurt because of him. Alex had wanted to leave, but Yassen had kept
them there. This was his fault, and if anyone would suffer for it
he’d rather it be him.

“You should be careful with that,” Yassen said softly,
eyes never leaving Ian’s face. “Wouldn’t want to
cause an accident.”

“It isn’t an accident if I meant to shoot you.”
Brown eyes mocked him, pale pink lips twisted into a wry smile. Ian
flicked his wrist in Alex’s direction, twisting his body to
half-point around the assassin, and then switched the gun’s
safety back on. “But you’re right,” he drawled, “I
wouldn’t want to hurt Alex.”

Mostly hidden from sight, Alex pulled his t-shirt off over his
head and dropped it on the bed behind him. He had done this plenty of
times in the past. There was no reason for him to suddenly feel
uncomfortable. His age and his body had gotten him out of some very
sticky situations in the past, and Alex had never had a problem
flaunting himself before. This time should have felt the same as ever
other time: clinical, necessary and impersonal. But instead his hands
were shaking as they popped open the button on his jeans, and his
heart hammered in his chest as he nudged Yassen aside.

“What do you want, Rider?” Alex asked, his voice soft
and smooth. He slid from the bed, gracefully rising to his feet. Alex
walked forward slowly, swinging his hips teasingly.

There was a resemblance between Ian and him, and that was what was
making Alex nervous he realized. Not only did they share the same
surname, but also they shared similar features. Someone would have
told him if he had a living relative out in the world somewhere,
wouldn’t they? Surely they would have. Alex brushed the concern
aside. He had to play his part.

“What exactly can I do for you?” A sexy smile fitted
itself on Alex’s mouth, the edges turning up. His lips barely
parted from one another before Alex flicked his tongue out to moisten
them.

Behind him, Yassen went rigid with jealousy. Ian blinked, his face
drawn and pale, and he watched in confusion as his nephew sauntered
towards him. The boy was practically chest-to-chest with him by the
time he managed to react. “Stop that!”

Alex smirked. He reached out with one hand, gently trailing his
fingers down Ian’s chest until they rested just above the
waistline of his pants. Looking coyly up at Ian through his
eyelashes, Alex breathed, “Do you really mean that?”

He placed a soft kiss to Ian’s cheek. As the man went to
shove him back Alex reached out with both hands, grabbing Ian’s
wrists lightening quick and pressed his mouth to the elder man’s.

“Tell me what you want.” He moved forward again,
pressing a bolder kiss to Ian’s mouth and the man couldn’t
stop himself from responding. Alex panted against Ian’s lips
when they broke apart, “Tell me what you need.” He let go
of one wrist, moving his hand to press against the bulge in Ian’s
trousers. “What can I do for you, Agent Rider?”

Ian shook his head, his eyes squeezing closed. It was the sound of
his title that had awakened his senses, and he shoved Alex back
viciously. For one moment he didn’t care about hurting the
child. All he cared about was getting away from the boy – his
nephew – who he suddenly and undeniably wanted to fuck.

“I need to tell you the truth!” Ian shouted his hands
clenched at his sides. “And don’t, don’t do that
again!”

“People never mean it when they say stop. Not people like us
anyway.” Alex tilted his head to one side as he spoke, studying
the fair-haired man curiously. “We say ‘no’ but
what we really mean is ‘god yes, but I’m not supposed to
want this’. It’s a form of denial you know, and we all
indulge in it. Myself included. In fact, it was minutes ago that I
was begging Yassen to stop.” Alex allowed
his lips to curve upwards, loving the green tinge that spread across
Ian’s cheeks. “Luckily for me, Yassen doesn’t take
no for an answer.” Alex licked his lips obscenely. Behind him
Yassen chuckled.

“That is enough.” Ian took a deep breath. He didn’t
want to hear anymore, he didn’t even want to think about what
Alex had been implying. It was the same lie Mr. Blunt had told Felix
before sending him to Cornwall. Had Ian’s employers known the
truth and failed to tell him yet another secret regarding his nephew,
or had they been making a wild but accurate guess? His head hurt just
thinking about all of the lies that surrounded his life, and while
usually he hated them, this one time he was fine with being lied to.
He had no desire to know if Alex really was fucking a man twenty-one
years his senior.

“I need to speak to you Alex,” he said.

“So speak. It’s a free country. I’m not
promising to listen though.”

Ian’s lips twitched. Alex sounded just like he had many,
many years ago when John had first decided to join the army and Ian
had refused to let him explain his choices. The similarities between
them made his chest hurt. He took a step towards the boy and smiled
sadly. “You don’t need to listen now, Alex. I have the
rest of our lives to tell you. You aren’t going anywhere.”

“The hell I’m not!” Alex hissed, “I have
places to be.”

“MI6 has already deployed a response team. They’ll be
here in probably a minute or two. You aren’t going anywhere
Alex.” He cut a quick glance at Yassen, “Neither of you
are.”

“The hell I’m not,” Alex muttered again. The
thought of staying here, of having no choice but to remain here,
surrounded by all of the people who had conspired to kill John Rider
made Alex feel sick. His stomach felt like it had been tied into
knots, and he swallowed heavily, gritting his teeth. He couldn’t
stay here. He couldn’t. MI6 would use him, twist him, and force
him to hurt people that he cared about. They’d take his life
into their hands and destroy him just as they had destroyed his
father. But his death would take years. It would be years of working
for his enemy, instead of just a quick shot in the back. Alex
squeezed his eyes closed for a moment. Then coming to a decision, he
opened them again. He’d rather die here than go with them
willingly.

Alex lunged forward, tackling Ian around the waist and knocking
them both to the floor. He had to wrestle the gun out of the older
man’s hands, and when Alex stood back up, untangling his legs
from Ian’s, he cradled the gun lovingly between both of his
hands.

Ian raised his palms, fingers spread wide, and he looked up at
Alex imploringly. “Put down the gun, Alex,” he whispered.

Instead of pointing the gun at Ian, as the man had thought Alex
would do, the child held it against his own temple.

“I’d rather die than stay with the people who killed
my father.” His voice was cold, his jaw clenched, and his hands
had finally stopped shaking. Alex had one finger on the trigger, and
his other hand hung limply by his side. Yassen reached forward for
it, clasping it gently in his own while his other hand moved to point
his own gun at the fallen spy.

“Ok! Ok! Don’t!” Ian screamed, holding his
hands up unthreateningly. He lay back on the floor, placing his arms
slowly down by his sides. Alex’s hand trembled as he lowered
the gun. “Go,” Ian whispered.

“You’re letting us go?” Alex’s voice
shook, filled with disbelief.

“Go.” Ian said. He turned his face away, unable to
watch as Alex was taken out of his life again. Yassen pulled the
child forward, all but shoving him down the stairs and out of Ian’s
front door.

Alex still held the gun in his hand, and in a few hours when Ian
finally noticed it was missing he would laugh. It had been his
favourite gun and he had asked Mr. Smithers to place a tracking
device within it.

XXX

April 7th 2001.

Alex had wanted to go back to the motel. He had wanted to give
Nile and Mrs. Rothman the benefit of the doubt, because after all
they had helped to raise him and train him and make him who he was.
Not to mention that he had left his possessions behind when he had
gone to rescue Yassen. While they were mostly things that he could
replace, one or two of them had sentimental value, gifts from Yassen
and such, that he liked to bring with him when he left home.

Yassen had convinced him that they were best left behind. With his
mouth and his fingers and his tongue, Yassen had convinced Alex to
avoid the motel for now and to avoid Nile completely. Just as they
would avoid any British government official.

The arranged swap-over could not take place without either Alex or
Yassen present. The two assassins had taken precautions to keep
themselves completely below radar until that day and the one after it
had passed. It was only when the sun had finished setting that Yassen
looked over at Alex and nodded.

They would treat this as a general cooling-off period; the same
Ernesto and Alex had been treated to after the Stormbreaker
assignment had failed. When a mission goes wrong, you hole up
somewhere with your partner and you wait. If it is
not safe, if you feel you are in danger (and Yassen most certainly
felt Alex was) then you wait. When it is safe, you ignore all
previous orders and make your way back to Malagosto, unless an agent
is already en route to collect you.

If Nile complained, Yassen was sure they would be able to avoid
any serious repercussions by claiming that they had been following
standard protocol. Once they were back at Malagosto everything would
be fine. There were eleven other governing members to seek protection
from, after all. Mrs. Rothman did not control Scorpia alone. They
would be safe once they were home.

Of course, Yassen did not know that Julia had changed her plan. He
still thought she out and out wanted Alex dead. He did not know that
she would only kill him if he failed his mission. Yassen was well
aware that failing a serious mission and endangering another
operative because of that failure was a crime punishable by death in
the eyes of all of Scorpia’s founding
members.

Unfortunately for them, Nile knew that Ian Rider was still alive.

When Yassen and Alex left the B&B they had been staying in,
Nile was waiting for them outside. He fired at Yassen first, the
bullet ripping through his thigh. The shot had been carefully aimed
to miss any major arteries but to bring Yassen down with just one
bullet. Ian’s gun was tucked into Alex’s belt, and the
boy fumbled to pull it out. The sight of Yassen falling face first to
the ground, blood pooling around him as he gasped in pain and
surprise, had been enough to stun the teenager momentarily. By the
time he had the gun out and cocked, Nile was already on him. Black
hands closed around Alex’s throat, thumbs pressing down just
beneath the chin and Alex felt his head swim. He panted and kicked
wildly, trying desperately to buck the larger man off of him. Nile
merely grinned down at him as he squeezed Alex’s throat harder.

Alex’s vision swam, his eyes blurring in and out of focus.
The last thing he saw before darkness claimed him was Nile’s
eyes bulging out of his sockets, his teeth flashing white. He
reminded Alex of Judge Doom, just before he died.7

XXX

6 – Paraphrased from: “They talk of a man betraying
his country, his friends, his [sweetheart]. There must be a moral
bond first. All a man can betray is his conscience.” - Joseph
Conrad 1857 – 1924.

7 – Judge Doom, the sadistic judge of Toontown District
Superior Court, is from ‘Who Framed Roger Rabit’. He
melted to death and it wasn’t pretty. http:// media .
photobucket . com / image / judge % 20doom / scalpod / Judge_Doom .
jpg

* * *

Thanks again for reading!
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