A/N: I know the end of Scorpia Rising was brilliant. It was probably the best thing to do. But it didn't stop the fangirl part of me raging at Sabina and Alex's relationship (I don't hate her, just the fact that they like each other lol) and since the writer part of me had already been considering a realistic SAS story, this story is now born.

This is AU- Alex didn't go to America at the end of the book. Slight oocness in this chapter because him going would've been the most IC thing - I had to snip a few sanity strings, unfortunately. Also, like I said, spoilers ahoy. (And, fear the attempt at copying AH's style! xD)

Big massive awesometastical thanks go to Crimson Cupcake, for reading over this chapter :3

Trial and Error by Kiyuzanova

Chapter One: Failure of the Worst Kind

Leaning against the window, the fair-haired teen shook himself from sleep. Around him, stewards bustled around the too-white cabin, hurriedly discussing with passengers as they completed each check. Routine. The seatbelt sign lit up to his side and the plane lurched forward for descent.

Alex Rider took no notice, just trying to shake the memories from his mind. It was always the same dream, for him.

Jack.

She hadn't been on the screen this time. Instead he'd been thrown in the stony cell with her, watching as she scraped away the sandy mortar. His dream-self screamed for her to stop; to warn her about the dangers ahead.

Not one noise would leave him.

The rest of the dream remained the same. She'd knock out the guard. Julius would press the button, detonating the explosives hidden in the escape vehicle.

Alex clutched his head. Of course, those had been the events from that night. Razim just using him to test the boundaries of emotional pain. He and Jack blindly strode in, underestimating Scorpia and their desire for revenge.

And why was it that Alex always pressed the button, every time he tried to reach for the memory?

He knew she could've been saved. He should have warned her not to escape. If only he realized Scorpia's trap sooner. He shouldn't have gone and sought after them. Heck, if he really wanted to trace back that far then he shouldn't have interfered with Damian Cray and he shouldn't have let MI6 boss him around in the first place.

Should've, could've. Alex sighed. It wasn't as if he was able to go back on any of his decisions, and he wouldn't have anyway. If he didn't interfere with Cray's plans, then several countries would be off the map. If he never listened to MI6 for the Stormbreaker incident, then he'd probably be dead from the R-5 virus. If that didn't kill him, Invisible Sword would.

Alex suddenly realised how many missions he'd succeeded at in the past. This time he'd been overconfident. He'd just let Jack come with him to a location Scorpia was interested in, and he should've realized the danger before.

It was all his fault Jack was dead. Screw shooting Julius and destroying Razim's plans; his mission had ended with his failure. Maybe he should have killed himself instead of his doppelganger. Alex Rider died by face that day, after all.

The fuselage under his feet shook and shuddered, signalling the plane's landing. Instinctively, Alex glanced out the window to see where they were, but ended up staring at a curtain of rain. In London, rain falling so heavily wasn't a common occurrence in late-May. It was something that seemed more suited to long and dreary October days instead.

Even nature decided to mirror the battle with his manic counterpart, both days ending in a numbing downpour.

The Boeing 757-200 came to a stop, and Alex didn't have to wait long until they allowed him to leave. The CIA were understandably uneasy about letting him leave Cairo alone, but they'd obliged; probably after putting some people onboard. Though, Alex hadn't had the time to appreciate the benefits of business class in the four and a half hour flight, too busy trying to get some solid rest.

He bypassed the baggage collection area and as a result became one of the first people to pass immigration. They gave him a few odd looks as he tucked his passport back into his pocket. Those were expected, since he was so young and his passport had so many stamps in it. They'd probably assume he was a jetsetting kid with parents rich enough for him to go to a country and back in the same day.

He'd let them draw their own conclusions, it didn't matter.

Alex didn't know why he ended up in front of the Royal and General. He'd just gotten on a black cab and asked the driver to take him to a street near his house (you could never be too careful), before paying the man with the Euros he'd been given just in case.

But instead of going home – how was it a home, when Jack wasn't there anymore? – he'd ended up backtracking to the nearest station. From there, he'd absently taken the tube and arrived at the very place he wanted to avoid. Travelling on autopilot did possess its flaws, even if burying his analytical side shut up the never ending stream of should've, could've, would've.

At least the rain'd stopped, though the overcast skies still remained.

The building towered over him, as always. Tall and antique, the large Union Jack had been stored in order to protect it from the rain. Today of all days it seemed to loom more menacing, mocking Alex Rider's first failure. The failure of the worst kind.

"Alex?"

Alex turned around to see Mrs Jones walking out from the building. Of course, their security cameras would have picked him up. Briefly, his instincts muttered that something changed about her, but he couldn't place it. But the faint wisps of peppermint were still around her and she carried herself with the grace of the Deputy Head, so he ignored it for the time being.

She spoke again. "What are you doing here?"

Nothing, he felt himself think. But what he said was, "Isn't the front door insecure?"

Mrs Jones glanced at him, trying to gauge his intention. "No. But Scorpia have disbanded after three humiliating failures in a row, so the risks have lowered greatly."

He nodded, acknowledging the statement though he couldn't care less. Scorpia had taken everything away from him, and the only thing he had left was Alex Rider, the failure.

"—You are no longer an agent," Mrs Jones' voice broke into his thoughts. "You are free to do what you wish, and there is no need for you to come to the bank, Alex."

"What..?"

"We've shelved your file, Alex. After all the life-threatening missions you've been on in the last year and a half, it is immoral to continue exploiting a child."

Alex bristled. "That hasn't stopped you before, has it? It's because I failed that mission in Cairo, isn't it?"

"On the contrary, the lives you saved—"

"I still couldn't save the life of the person closest to me, could I?"

"You—"

"Give me another mission." The voice that came out of him didn't belong to a fifteen year old anymore. "If you're going to end up giving me one later, you might as well give it to me now. I'll show you that I can still succeed."

The traitorous, analytical part of him knew why he wanted it. Like it or not, spying had become expected, one of the constants in his life. He was wrong during the downtime before the shooting at his school; he hadn't gotten used to the lack of assignments, he'd just been stuck in a dream he hadn't left.

Mrs Jones shook her head. "We don't doubt that, Alex. And besides, you aren't suited for the missions available at this time."

"Make me suited, then! Teach me, train me, whatever—"

She pursed her lips.

"Let's continue this discussion inside."

Alex nodded once, and followed her as they entered. He committed the route to memory without even a second's thought. Past the brown marble floor and the leather sofas, past the row of clocks against the wall, the two entered a smaller elevator hidden near the three visible from the lobby. It was marked along the top from G to 3 and seemed rarely-used.

Mrs Jones removed her right glove before pressing the call button with her index finger. The elevator that arrived bragged the same buttons, G to 3, but soon enough a metal cover slipped open and revealed the switches for floors 4 to 19.

When the door pinged open for floor seventeen, Alex finally pinpointed what was so off around his guide.

"Blunt's retired, isn't he?" He asked. Though it hadn't been so noticeable outside the building, her gait now excluded more command than it did before.

"Yes, he is," she replied with the slightest inflection of surprise. "How did you know?"

"Byrne said he was going out."

The two came to a stop before a dark, elegant door. A silver plate attached to the side possessed its number – 1709. There was no keyhole or handle against the wood, but Mrs Jones just placed her palm against it. Not a second later a small, unlocking schnick resounded and the door slid out of the way.

Inside, the room looked like any other office. It could have been chosen from another building, or even from the other side of the world. And yet, Alex somehow knew that the drawn curtains were just to create the illusion of windows, and that the area would have been the hardest to snipe into from the entire building.

She took the leather chair on the other side, and gestured for him to take a seat. Alex hesitated. But he couldn't help but rethink his decision once he'd sat down, since the wide desk added an unwelcome professionalism to their conversation.

"Alex," Mrs Jones began. "We can't train you."

"But last year—"

"We do not have the facilities needed." When he opened his mouth, she cut across. "Before the Stormbreaker incident, we had you training with the SAS at Brecon Beacons. This is no longer a viable option, as all of the troops are in the later stages of their training."

Alex frowned. "Aren't there any other places I could go?"

"Of course."

"Then let me—"

"Their training techniques are not at the SAS's standard." Mrs Jones interrupted again. "Please leave, Alex. There is nothing more for you to do."

Alex couldn't help the sinking feeling in his stomach. His failure had gone unspoken already for long enough, and to hear it only increased his guilt. He wanted to leave, he really did, but his body wouldn't move. It was as if his bones had been switched out for lead. The inability to move only reminded him of his dream.

Mrs Jones just kept looking at him in something akin to...pity?

"—I'm sure Miss Starbright wouldn't have wanted to see you here."

If Alex had been having second thoughts, those were all gone. He couldn't explain why one moment he felt like giving up, a fiery streak of determination in the next. Sure, the despair was still there in the corner of his mind, but it had been overshadowed.

Somehow, Alex knew exactly what he wanted to do.

Leaning forward and gripping his hands against the edge of the desk, he was pretty sure that his eyes blazed.

"Let me join the SAS," he said.

Mrs Jones frowned. "That's impossible. The Regiment only takes people from the armed, air and naval forces—"

"Doesn't matter. You got me in training before."

"—and furthermore," she continued, "Selection is long and arduous. As I said, Miss Starbright would not have wanted you to be here."

Alex clenched his jaw. "Don't bring Jack into this. I failed her in Cairo, you know? I failed. If there's anyone who knows what she would have wanted, it's me. And I know she wouldn't have wanted me going off into more danger, but you know what? If I don't get more training, then I'm going to end up getting more people killed."

"Alex—"

"You can say you've shelved my file or something all you like, but I know you'll just end up pulling me into another mission eventually and I'm not going to fail again if I can help it. Heck, I'm practically asking for you to use me. That's what you've wanted all this time, right?"

"Listen, Alex—"

Vehemently, he shook his head. From her tone, he could tell that she'd been intending to mention Jack again. "Don't try it. I wouldn't be here asking you this if I didn't want to do it. Why can't you let me do what you want for once? Jack... would understand."

Yes; Jack would have understood, but it didn't dissipate the ghostly impression of betrayal in his heart. But Mrs Jones either didn't notice the pained grimace or the slight pause, only getting up to open one of the filing cabinets. From it, she extracted a single file before returning to her seat. A few terse, painful minutes passed, filled with anxiety on Alex's half and a composed sorting of papers on the other.

But finally, Mrs Jones looked up again, her eyes unreadable.

"SAS Selection isn't anything to sneeze at, as there is a ninety-seven percent fail rate. Your previous training only comprised of about a third of the actual regime. Are you really sure about your decision?"

Alex nodded.

"Very well. We will provide you with additional training for the Winter Selection, since it's unlikely that you'll be ready by July—"

"July." Alex repeated. "I'll take it in July."

"But one month is nowhere near enough—"

"I'll make it enough," he stated.

Hesitantly, Mrs Jones conceded.

"Then, if you insist." A few papers were shuffled again. "As I said, we will provide you with preliminary training to increase your stamina. One of our former-SAS agents will be in charge. Any issues?"

He shook his head. "No. Who is it?"

Somehow, just somehow, a small part of the old Alex knew he never should have asked.

As Alex reached the end marker, he almost collapsed. Unfortunately, any chances of getting any rest were soon gone as Ben waved him on again. So, there was nothing to do but keep going.

He bit his lip, unable to sigh. His chest hurt. His legs burned. He'd thought himself fit, what with all the sports he did, but those still weren't enough.

But he had to keep going. He couldn't stop, not now.

It had been five days since he arrived in Wales. That had been when he'd been reunited with Ben Daniels, one of the SAS men he'd formerly trained with and a man once referred to as Fox.

Alex didn't think it would be easy. In fact, he'd almost been expecting it when Ben had them run the mile east from the small town of Crickhowell in Powys to Curt-y-Gollen, training base of the British Army, instead of taking a car. And regarding the training schedule, he wasn't disappointed. Though Ben had left the SAS, he still knew their techniques from being drilled day after day. He wasn't a substitute for an actual instructor, but he knew enough of what would be needed.

So, Alex hadn't been surprised when the larger man declared that the schedule involved endless hours of drills, no matter the weather. In the morning and during most of the day it would be runs and stamina, and if the skies deteriorated so much that they needed more than a single, weak flashlight, the two would quickly seek shelter under the edge of a nearby building and discuss tactics and strategy in hushed tones.

Most nights they camped in sleeping bags and the bare minimum of equipment, eating the tasteless food Ben scrounged up for each of their meals. During those times, Alex learnt that Ben had once been part of the navy. He'd been from the lucky few who passed Selection on their first attempt, but the SAS man chalked it up to his cousin's insider tips and assistance.

Alex knew his decision had been rash and began to double-think more and more with every passing day, but he wouldn't give up. He couldn't give up. Ian taught him to be a man of his word, and he would train for his and Jack's sakes. For the sake of every death that could have been avoided if he'd taken the proper training before.

When he finally stumbled through the last of the next lap, Ben waved to mark the end of the exercise. Alex sighed with relief. In fact, his legs felt so asleep from the build-up of training he nearly collapsed if the SAS man didn't catch him in time.

"You right, Alex?" Ben asked. To Alex's weak nod, his eyes softened. "Sorry; I shouldn't have pushed you so hard."

"No..." Alex muttered. "Not hard."

Ben rolled his eyes, the action strange against his squarish features. "You can barely stand. But hurry up and cool down—"

"—don't want my muscles to seize, I know."

His tired comment was replied with a smile, before the sound of a loud curse caught his attention. Some thirty metres away a group of men mainly wearing black shirts and worn jeans, a few actually wearing camouflage, ran around with rifles in hand. The source of the cry couldn't have been more obvious; one of the soldiers had been ambushed in the middle of the exercise. Probably, he'd gotten distracted with Alex's training.

After all, his presence wasn't a closely guarded secret, and he'd already spotted several soldiers watching him from afar.

Alex then couldn't help noticing one of the soldiers hidden behind a block fumble as he reloaded his rifle. The guy wasn't doing too much of a good job, getting the angles wrong and jamming the magazine in all the wrong directions.

"Amateurs," Ben scoffed. "Alex, if you make the cut, learn how to lock the magazine."

Alex shrugged. "Glad to see you have so much faith in me."

"Though," the older man continued, ignoring the interruption. "Since this is an army base and all, I wonder if we can borrow one of the rooms. Have you used a gun before?"

Alex returned with a non-committal shrug. He hadn't done any of the firearms training with K-Unit, and didn't know if he wanted to share information about Scorpia yet. "Some," he answered vaguely.

"Great. It'll be a right change of pace."

"If you call shooting things up a change of pace."

Ben sighed and threw his hands in the air, a show of resignation. Sometimes he didn't know how to deal with the kid, but at least it was more like his usual self.

Times like these, he wondered why he joined MI6 after all.

A/N: This chapter is really just me testing the waters for interest. (I prefer to write crossovers, I know people are interested in reading and it gives me a guaranteed audience.)

So, are you in? :D