Chapter I: Forget Me Not

" –lex! Hey, Alex! Alex! Al!" The dark-haired boy sighed. It was lunch break at Brookland School and Tom Harris had just spotted his best friend making his way towards his usual secluded tree by the edge of the courtyard. He had tried getting Alex's attention to no avail, the other boy seeming more preoccupied than usual.

Shaking his head, Tom ran to catch up to the retreating figure. Drawing level, he reached out to tap Alex on the shoulder – in hindsight, that had been a really bad idea. Alex whirled around and suddenly Tom found his arms trapped behind his back. Not having expected it, Tom offered no resistance and his shoulders immediately felt the strain. Well, it wasn't as if he could have countered that move, regardless. Tom was perfectly in shape, if he does say so himself, but football training still fell short of the physical conditioning Alex did as an active agent.

"Ow! Shit, man!"

When the recognition returned to Alex's eyes a split second later, he jumped back, releasing Tom immediately with a soft expletive. Reflexively, Tom rubbed his sore arms but stopped in light of the stream of apologies coming his way and Alex's guilt-stricken gaze.

"Alright, it's fine, Alex," he interrupted. "You can stop now – no, seriously, I'm fine. Stop with those puppy dog eyes."

"What – puppy dog eyes? Tom, when have I ever–?"

Tom was tempted to continue on with the banter. It was familiar and safe. But he was proud to say that he was a good friend and as the friend of an international spy, he had responsibilities. Clapping Alex on the back, he steered them down to sit on the stone ledge in the shadow of the tree.

"Bad day?"

Alex snorted and stretched out in a picture of leisure, though Tom could see that the action wasn't enough to relieve all the tension. "Guess you could say that."

In the beginning, Tom had thought that spying was the height of cool, as would any other teenager that had seen too many Bond films. Since then, he'd been offered a rare insight into the harsh realities of that life and so, over the course of just over a year, that perspective changed drastically. And change Alex did, as well, to the point where his already small group of friends dwindled down until only Tom remained.

It had not been easy, either. Alex had been away often enough that he barely had time to spare for his social life but he also hadn't made any efforts towards it, especially in the last couple years. In fact, Tom had had to endure a few frustrating weeks of Alex actively trying to cut ties. However, even the highly skilled agent couldn't outlast Tom's sheer stubbornness. Rather than giving in, Tom turned around and hounded Alex every day during that period. He even managed to wring out a promise, albeit half-hearted, that Alex would speak to him each time he returned from an assignment.

It took a while, but eventually Alex opened up a bit and talked to him. Tom could tell he was leaving out many of the details. That was okay. It was better than nothing at all, and honestly, Tom wasn't sure he wanted to know. Some days, Tom thought he might consider becoming a psychologist; he liked to think he was already fairly decent at it.

The most recent mission had been a bad one, Tom could tell. Alex was more withdrawn than usual and he just didn't seem to want to care anymore. It was as if he'd reverted close to the state he was in two years ago.

Speaking of which, that'd been a truly terrifying time for Tom. He had never seen his best friend so angry. It had been fine the first couple days Alex had gotten back from the hospital, but one day, he snapped. The two boys were walking back from the park and a couple of the Brookland thugs had come looking for some fun. Alex had walked on calmly until they said something they really shouldn't have.

"What? Going to run home crying to that red-headed American slut?" The guy didn't even see the fist that knocked him out in one blow.

There was nothing Tom could do to stop Alex's rampage. He did sprint after him, though, when Alex finally turned and stalked away. The four thugs were left groaning on the pavement.

Arriving at Alex's house, Tom had managed to catch the door before it slammed and he followed Alex inside. The missing red-headed presence in the spacious house had stolen his breath away like a blow to the stomach. Tom hadn't really known Jack well, but she'd always been a constant at Alex's side. Tom never had to worry too much, because she had been there.

As Tom joined his friend slumped on the cold kitchen tiles, he found himself wishing he could go back and add a few more bruises to the bullies' ribs.

In the present, Tom felt he'd been making valuable progress in helping Alex re-establish a life outside his work. He couldn't be faulted, as such, for feeling rather disheartened that the progress seemed to have been undone to some degree. It was, without a doubt, strange to have the hero who had saved the world more than once sitting right next to him, but at what price? It seemed so unfair to Tom that Alex risked his life time and again to save others and he never got anything good out of it.

Tom knew he had no power to stop MI6, but he swore he would do whatever he could for his friend.

"Why don't we play some football after you and I have that heart-to-heart you've been putting off? After class, yeah?"

Alex didn't meet his eyes. Tom sighed.

"…or we can go straight for the football."

Alex opened his eyes blearily and blinked in the shaft of sunlight streaming in through a crack in his bedroom curtains. He glanced sideways at his digital alarm clock to make sure he hadn't overslept. He hadn't. With a slight groan, he dragged himself out of bed.

Alex descended the stairs minutes later and almost called out a "good morning!" before remembering that no one was there to reply. Not anymore. He ran a hand through his hair. Even two years after the fact, part of him didn't want to believe it.

He entered the empty kitchen and got himself a bowl of cereal. It tasted a bit like cardboard. He grimaced. Alex had long since gotten used to making his own breakfast. He wasn't incapable, after all, but sometimes, he just couldn't bring himself to stand where she should still be able to stand.

The less than satisfactory breakfast lasted about five minutes and then Alex was out the door. He didn't really want to stay in that house any longer than he had to. Once upon a time, it was occupied by two, occasionally three people, and they were happy. One by one, the others left and Alex was left by himself. Alex forced himself not to dwell on that. It wouldn't do anyone any good, sulking.

His spirits were lifted slightly as he hopped onto his bike, school-bound. The morning breeze was refreshing against his cheeks and the sun shining brightly overhead in the cloudless sky could lull anyone into a sense of security. Alex allowed himself a small smile. It was her kind of day; he'd make sure to enjoy it for her. He would have to do his best before he was called away again.

Sitting in homeroom, it was easy to pretend that nothing had ever gone wrong. The bell had not rung yet and Tom was yapping as usual and even the random insults thrown his way were bearable.

"Hey, Rider! Did your gang pals beat you up again? Or did a drug deal go wrong?"

Alex closed his eyes briefly without turning to the owner of the voice. Tom's chatter had cut off and out of the corner of his eyes, he saw Tom's fists clench.

"Tom, leave it, it's fi – "

He cut himself off, the hair on the back of his neck prickling. That familiar sense of being watched washed over him. But how could that be? He was at school. School was safe. Ironically, the only exceptional time was when Blunt himself decided to take a shot. Whether or not that counted as enemy fire was debatable. He wasn't in actual danger then but Tom had gotten hurt; he would never forgive Blunt for that.

He saw it then, and knew his instinct, sharp as ever, hadn't deceived him. The metallic sheen of a gun blinked at him and he ducked, not a moment too soon. His mind registered Tom speaking his name, concerned, before a jagged hole appeared in the window next to him, accompanied by the sound of glass shattering. Alex had barely shifted in time – a fraction of a second later and the bullet would have been lodged in his brain. It was also with a miraculous stroke of luck that the bullet hadn't hit anyone else, as Alex verified with a quick sweep around the room.

In surreal realization, Alex acutely felt the distinct rush of adrenaline that came with a brush with death. It was as if time had slowed to a halt but only for him and a few select others. He met Tom's horrified gaze and Alex's usual bullies looked on in confusion, but the rest of the class remained oblivious. The spectacle of the breaking window had been lost in the general hubbub, though, not for long.

"Hey, what just happened to the window?"

That loud question was sufficient in drawing the attention of most of the class and Alex felt the stirrings of panic, rising with the noise level.

"Did someone throw something?"

"I didn't see…"

"That doesn't look big enough to have been a ball."

"Alex…" Tom Harris was the only one in the entire room that could possibly understand the gravity of the situation.

"Hey, you're bleeding," Tom told him in a strained voice. Only then did Alex feel the sting of a thin cut, ruler-straight, along a cheekbone. He numbly wiped away the slow trickle of red, leaving a faint smear.

Fuck. This might be easy to deal with if he were on his own, decked out in gear, and fully immersed in the mindset of a field agent. But he was stuck in a classroom surrounded by students, with nothing but a small pocket knife and stationary to defend himself with. With blood pounding in his ears, he took deep breath, trying to settle the chaotic jumble of thoughts in his mind. For god's sake, he should only have to think about maths problems or the topic of his next essay, not how to divert the attentions of any number of trained personnel in order to keep innocent school children from dying. There was no doubt that whoever was out there would not be satisfied with leaving without fulling their mission.

Speaking of stationary, though…

Alex pulled out insignificant looking pen from his pocket, twisted the cap one-eighty degrees counter-clockwise and clicked the top three times. A distress signal was now being transmitted directly to MI6 headquarters. Well, it was actually being sent to Smithers, who was one of the few at MI6 that knew the nearly the full extent of his missions and actually cared about the boy. His "toys" had saved Alex many times.

In the meantime, Alex needed to figure out a game plan. His classmates were continuing their speculations about the window, finally attracting the attention of the dozing teacher. Mr. Smith's approach attracted more students to get up with the intention of crowding around, which was very not good in Alex's books. He too stood up, prepared to say something, anything –

Shadows loomed behind him and he whipped around to face the window. Three men had descended down from grappling equipment, landing right outside. Clearly, they'd been hiding on the roof, probably as backup in case the sniper in the bushes failed. So much for any possibility of evacuation. Alex might have laughed at the Hollywood-esque sight of men dressed in black dropping from the air like spiders if not for the dread pooling in his stomach.

Alex heard himself shout, hopefully something coherent, as he dove for the corner, dragging Tom down with him. The moment the rest of the class realized the men dressed in black were dangerous was apparent as the screaming started. Alex could only hope everyone got down in time before the bullets started flying. At least they would be aiming for him – Alex never thought he'd ever be glad of such a fact.

This time, the window suffered more than just a small hole, and the ringing of the school bell in the background was the farthest thing from anyone's minds. The barrage of metal stopped and the three men proceeded to break away the remaining pieces of glass on the frame. As they vaulted nimbly into the classroom, a sharp exhale escaped Alex's lips. Against the black of the men's gear, little embroidered silver scorpions mocked him.

Alex should have been frightened at the sight of three trained assassins who could have no other goal then to end his life. Instead, a wave of blinding fury rose up inside him. These were the people who had ruined his life, starting from when he was just an infant. They were like his shadow – one he couldn't seem to get rid of. They were the ones who killed his parents, Ian, Jack.

How dare they come here?

How dare they shatter the one place of normalcy Alex had left?

But Scorpia never forgives, and they had not forgotten.

[2015/08/19] I actually don't remember much of what happened in the original stories, so we'll have to see how that turns out. And for the purposes of this story, Alex never went to America. And he's obviously still in the business.

[2017/05/23] So, guys, when I finally came back to story a few days ago, I discovered I had begun to revise a few of the chapters but never uploaded them to the site for some reason...so now I've put up chapters 1-3 and I'm going to update the rest. But anyway, hopefully I can get this moving again because it's been seven years since I first started this wtf why do I even bother. But I would really like to complete this before I die since I said I would. So any time between end of this summer and twenty years.

(Is anyone even still waiting on this?)