Fool's Errands

AN: Written for the SpyFest Revival, for the April 2016 prompt, "April Fools"

"I'm dismissing you, of course."

"Of course."

"Now that Blunt is gone and I'm in charge, I don't think utilising teenagers as spies is the way of the future."

He looks at Mrs Jones and she smiles slightly, apologetically.

"They have bees now, you know," she says. "Remote-controlled signals right into their brains. Organic drones."

"Does Mr Smithers know?"

"Of course he does. You should tell him goodbye."

"Yeah."

"He's where he's always been."

"Except Cairo."

"Except Cairo."

"Just because I'm leaving doesn't mean you can't call on me. If you really need help, I mean. I don't want you to think I'd sacrifice the world, or even this country, for my sake." He doesn't know what makes him say that, but it's said now and he can't retract it.

"Thank you," she says, and stands.

Just in case, MI6 decides to enrol Alex in a sixth form college other than Brookland. It's a military college. Typical. But he agrees because the appeal of a new life is tempting, and well, it doesn't really matter what college he goes to.

"Is this seat taken?"

Alex looks up at the girl. It's his first class, and she's the first person his age he's spoken to since… since Cairo, he thinks.

"No."

"Thanks. So are you excited for all the – you know, the military stuff?"

"I suppose."

"I am – I mean, I've always loved reading about soldiers and spies – there aren't very many good ones, are there – and I know real life isn't anything like that, but I just really wanted to try it for myself, and I thought, why not the last two years of my high school career? I've gotta focus if I'm to get the right A levels, but then I don't really know what I want to do – do you?"

"No."

"Wow, you don't talk very much, do you? Or is it me that's talking too much… do you think I'm talking too much?"

"…No."

"Really? Because my dad and my brothers always say I natter on all the time – they're in the army too; that's what really made me want to join this school. I don't know if I'm cut out for a career in the army, so I thought I might as well try it as early as possible. What about you? Did you choose this place, or did your family send you here?"

"My family's dead."

"Oh. Oh, I'm sorry." She looks like she wants to say more, but the teacher has entered and started talking. Alex feels a bit guilty, but he shakes off the feeling and focuses on the lesson.

"You're doing Duke of Ed with me? That's great!"

"I'm doing it with everyone else here, too, you realise."

She grins. "Yeah, yeah. I know you love me."

They share several classes, and he looks forward to seeing her. There are some other boys he's friendly with, but no-one presses their company onto him except her. Tom, of course, thinks it's great and wants the two of them to hook up.

"Not as much as you love the army."

"True, true. So do you mind if I do the navigating on the expedition?"

"Go ahead. I don't think the others mind, either."

"Great!"

They both graduate with decent grades. She goes on to join the army, and he goes to university. He lives on his own now, a small apartment near the university, which the Bank pays for. After the past two years of boarding, the quiet is a relief. Especially on nights when assignments are due.

Ring, ring.

"Hello?"

"Hi!"

"Where are you?"

"Somewhere classified. In Cyprus!"

"What's the time?"

"Five o'clock. What time is it back home?"

"Three."

"…Were you awake?"

"I got to bed at one."

"What were you doing?"

"Studying."

"Really? Gosh, that's terrible."

"I'm glad you think so."

"Well, I'm due back in a couple weeks. Wanna catch up?"

"Sure."

"Congratulations on graduating!"

He isn't really surprised to see her at his graduation ceremony. She's wearing her number twos and attracting stares. She strides up to him, hugs him and gives him a quick kiss.

"I'm glad to see you'll finally have a job." She likes to rub in the fact that she was employed full-time earlier than he.

"Just doing my job as man of the house." If anything, he's been the housewife while she's gone on tour.

"Come on – I've only got leave for a few hours. Had to grab a favour from a mate who flies helicopters."

"Should I be jealous?"

"Don't be a fool. I'm here, aren't I?"

Ring, ring.

"Hello?"

"Mr Rider."

"What is this?"

"There is a very urgent issue with your accounts. The Bank wishes you to come in to sort them out."

"I thought I was done with this?"

A different voice comes over on the line. "You said you would come if we really needed your help. Well, the world does." A pause. "We will compensate you this time. Whatever it takes for you to agree to help."

It's a good thing his girlfriend isn't here. He's trying to find a job in the middle of an employment slump, and besides – he did say he'd help. And Mrs Jones sounds like she really needs him. He'll just say he got the money from a serving gig at a festival or something.

"Just this once. I'll be there as soon as possible."

"We really should get a better system for you to call me." Alex says this the next time he's called by Mrs Jones for another urgent, world-ending crisis. "So many bank issues is kinda suspicious, don't you think?"

Mrs Jones agrees. "We could put you on our payroll so your fiancée knows that you have a job. We can provide you with the same cover we apply to all our other employees."

"You don't really think you'll be needing me that often, do you? How many omni-powerful villains in the world do you think there are?"

A faint smile graces the face of his sometimes-employer. "What you do for us is much more than we ask of any other agents," she says. "MI6 can afford to pay you a constant wage that should amount to the total sum that we owe you for all your missions."

Alex doesn't know what to feel. Flattered, proud? Abused?

"And," she adds, "There have been circumstances in which MI6 has paid agents, despite retirement, for compensation or as gratitude for outstanding contribution to the service. Even if we never have need of you again – and I truly hope that we won't – a substantial salary will be acceptable."

"That would be great," Alex says, and he wonders what it means for him – he will no longer need a job, but then what would he do if MI6 truly never called on him again? He has to think about that.

"How's the book going?"

"Great! Fine, perfectly."

"That sounds optimistic."

Alex shrugs. "Tom's students seem to like the drafts I show them."

"And how's the job at the bank going? You should ask your employers if they could send you to conferences near where I'm stationed."

"Somehow I don't think they'd really be doing business in Iraq…"

"True, true. Hey, are you going to be able to organise the wedding on your own?"

"I have Sabina, don't I? Fashionista and stylist extraordinaire – how difficult could it be?"

"Considering that I'd rather go on tour than organise it…"

"You just stay safe and get back in time, and I'll sort everything."

"Promise?"

"Promise."

"You're late!"

"I know – I'm really sorry."

"I asked for leave especially for today!"

"I know," Alex huffs down the phone, dodging around brick walls and slipping on cobblestones. He stops next to a tree and bends down.

"What are you even doing?"

"You wouldn't believe me."

"Alex."

"Picking the perfect stone."

"You haven't chosen a ring yet?!"

Alex looks at the rock he has in his hand, hefts it, and then chucks it at the man chasing him. It flies straight into his forehead, and he topples like Goliath. "I'll see you soon," Alex says and hangs up quickly. In the same breath, he dials another contact. "Fucking hell, Mrs Jones – get me a plane. And don't send me on a mission on my wedding day next time." He's annoyed because he knows Mrs Jones had no choice and so really, he's being unfair on her, but that doesn't stop him from swearing a few more times and hanging up before she finishes speaking.

"I'll see you again, soon."

The honeymoon has been halcyonic, but now it ends. His wife needs to go back to her duties in the army, and Alex, well, he has no real duties.

"Get your book done," she says, cupping his face.

"Sure. I'll dedicate it to you."

"Of course you will."

They kiss.

No longer has she stepped out the door and walked to the army truck than the phone rings.

"Yes?"

"There is a conference that we wish you to attend."

"Fine. But you'd better have a bloody good reason."

"Hi!"

"Hello."

"Where are you, then?"

"Copenhagen." The madman he's currently chasing has an underwater lair on the harbour.

"Any particular reason?"

"Just the water, I suppose."

"I could meet you there in a week."

"That would be great." He has to hasten his plans if he's going to be done in time, but seeing his wife is worth it.

"We could see the manneken pis."

"I think that's Brussels. Copenhagen has the little mermaid."

"You know what I mean."

Alex smiles and looks forward to next week.

For once, Alex is glad to be away on a mission. He's been ignoring all phone calls, except those from Mrs Jones and Smithers. But he can't keep putting it off.

"I'm sorry, Alex."

"There's nothing to be sorry for."

"Well, you're making me feel like there is! Look, I've arranged to finish my tour early. My CO was surprised that I even continued with this tour."

"It's not like you're incapacitated."

"I know that. I'm just saying. If you want to keep avoiding me, then don't come back next week because I'll be there. Just let me get through this, and I'll get out of your hair. Stay with my mother or something."

"It's not that I don't want you. Or the baby."

"Bit of an odd way of showing that." Her voice is flat.

Alex sighs, and glances out the window as the sun sets. He has to be going soon. "I don't react well to surprises," he says finally. "I didn't want to say something I'd regret. Really. I love you. I'd love a family."

"… So, I'll see you soon, then?" Her voice is cautiously hopeful.

"I'll bring you a postcard of the manneken pis."

"Don't forget the chocolates."

He's also bought her earrings from a designer called Anne Zellien. Mrs Jones recommended it.

"I swear, Alex, you take me to the strangest of places."

They're staying in the house of an old, eccentric woman in the heart of Paris. Alex wouldn't have taken the mission if it weren't so close to infrastructure and doctors, and the situation not so critical. He aims for a light-hearted tone. "Where else should you have a baby, but the city of love?"

She laughs.

"I have to get going, then," he says uncomfortably.

"Bye, then," she says, and catches his hesitation. "Don't worry. If anything happens, Madame will take care of me."

He's still worried.

"Alex! Go – I've been in more dangerous situations, by far. I'm not one of those women who has to have her husband with her every step of the way."

Alex is very familiar with what she thinks of 'those women'. "Okay," he says finally. "Don't get into trouble."

"Pussy," she says. Tom tells her stories sometimes of the hijinks that were supposedly commonplace with young Alex. The boy in those stories is nothing like the man that is her husband.

Alex is lucky Mrs Jones is on good terms with the French ambassador. The jocular man is standing with Alex in the hospital while Madame attends Alex's wife.

"Don't worry, my boy," he says, a Gallic-infused simulacrum of Smithers. "Women, they have been having of the baby for an age. They have no need for us, but to provide the scolding and the loving to let loose the temper."

"I'm such a fool," Alex laments. "How are we going to do this?"

"You love her, non?"

"Yes."

"Then do not be – what is it – a fool, you say. The child, it will have a life most intéressant with you to discipline, and your wife to spoil."

"She's in the army."

"All the better to give the gifts when she is home, yes? You will be there always, and so you will be the annoyer."

"Annoyer?"

"Ennuyer. Ah, you are a fool, yes, for the worrying."

They flinch at a muffled scream, and the ambassador claps a hand on Alex's shoulder. "Come. It is not for the men to be audience to such things."

"You're a fool," she laughs. "Get down from there – you're setting a bad example for the children!"

"Sorry," he says, climbing down. "Just trying to get a good picture." Coincidentally, the photo will hold the abode of his next target. Mrs Jones said they had no one else free. It was just one man, and his family got a free holiday out of it. "Speaking of examples for the children, why don't you take the kids for a granita or something this afternoon? Have a little mummy time while old daddy stuffs off for a nap?"

"You're always so boring…"

"Well, after my nap we can put the children to bed and be a little less boring." He waggles his eyebrows.

She laughs. "Alex!"

"Not right now –"

"Daddy, you gotta tie my hair!"

"I'm busy – can't you tie your own hair? …Hello? Yes?"

"But, daddy! We have to tie our hair for school!"

"Shhh. Yes, I hear what you're saying. Yes. I understand."

"Don't worry, I'll take care of her hair, daddy."

"Thanks… Oh, thank you too. Not that you needing me is good. But the break will be a relief."

"Daddy?"

He kneels down. "I've got a new nanny for you. Her name is Eve, Eve Moneypenny, and she's going to take care of you because daddy has a few errands he needs to run."

"…Does she know how to braid my hair?"

"I think so."

"Okay!"

"I had to hire her."

"A nanny. To take care of our kids. Without even asking me first."

"She's been brilliant. You have to admit it, she… she brings a certain influence –"

"A maternal influence? Because I'm never there?"

"No! They have enough maternity as it is. No, I mean, she's teaching them to be independent and to take care of themselves without me, in a controlled way."

"They're only children, Alex!"

So he had been, but now he's coming to realise and be thankful for Jack.

"And if they never get taught otherwise, they'll be children forever. Look, I'm sorry. I was just having a lot of trouble."

She softens.

"It's not like she's taken over the full care of them. Just, every so often. When I need a break."

"I suppose she's useful. Otherwise we'd never get time together."

"Hey, why don't we go on holiday for the next week while you're on break?"

"That sounds lovely."

"So you're not mad anymore?"

"Alex, you fool."

"Are you coming to the graduation ceremony, Moneypenny?"

"I didn't know I was invited, sir."

"Of course. We'd love you to come."

"Well then, I'd love to. Gosh, it feels like only yesterday I was cleaning spaghetti off their chins!"

"I know what you mean – they grow up so fast."

"Your son makes three in service to the country, now. Your wife must be proud to see him follow after the two of you."

"…They don't know about me."

"Still?"

"Still."

"They'll find out."

"I know. But it's all in the past. I'm retired now."

"Taking the opportunity of a suddenly emptier house?"

"Yep. Our youngest are finishing up and they won't want to see us much. We're going travelling, did I tell you?"

"No, you didn't. Where are you going?"

"Morocco."

"Sounds relaxing."

"Mr Rider. We are very deeply sorry, but you are the closest agent –"

"I'm retired."

"Apologies – the closest confirmed loyal citizen, and haste is of utmost importance."

"If you say so."

"The bomb goes off in five hours."

"… Fine. Tell me where to go."

"How impressive."

"Yes, your majesty. Alex Rider is our oldest serving agent in the entire history of MI6."

"The youngest, too, or so we have heard. A medal may be in order."

"I'd rather not, your majesty. My family… They don't know about all this."

"Such a state of affairs is not to be admired, Mr Rider. Surely there is a reason for your reticence?"

"I don't know how to tell them."

She stares, but years of experience on the throne have taught her when to stop pushing. "We hear you're writing a book."

"Yes, your majesty. Have been for years."

"Well, you'd better hurry up, then. You wouldn't want it left unfinished."

"Yes, your majesty. Thank you, your majesty."

"No – thank you, Agent Rider."

"Just Mr Rider, please. I'm retired."

"Of course."

It isn't the guns that get him. Nor the amazing fantastical remote-controlled bees that have come out in the last few years during Alex's service. No; a month after he returns from Mongolia, he has a short spell of dizziness. After stabilising himself against a wall, he finds he's wheezing.

A week later, it's headaches.

Finally, Alex decides to take himself to the doctor – the protégé of the very first doctor who had treated Alex when he was shot by that SCORPIA sniper so many years ago.

"Hypertension."

It's not a death sentence, but Alex's wife won't let him work anymore. She and he go travelling, taking it slowly – while she takes naps, sometimes, he'll run a short errand.

And then, one morning, for some reason or another, he finds himself unable to speak. The doctor is called.

"The blood pressure tends to be higher in the morning for preparation of waking," is his explanation. "What you experienced is called a 'stroke'. It's affected the part of your brain that produces speech."

Alex is taken to the hospital, but eventually released. He can speak again, though slower. The jobs he runs are simpler – it seems like they're just giving him token errands than actually needing him anymore, but he accepts them nonetheless. How could he not?

"Mrs Rider? I, ah… I knew your husband." The uniformed man holds his hat in his hands.

"You – you did?" She's too tearful to put up much of a fight. "Well, come in, I suppose."

The man stands at the foot of the bed and salutes. "His Majesty thanks you for your service, Sir," he says.

"At ease, soldier." Alex coughs tiredly. "I'm retired."

"Not what I heard, Sir."

"What is this, Alex?"

He finds it very hard to speak. "You'll have to forgive me," he says. "I've been a fool."

End