This is AU; Alex Rider never left for America, he never stopped working for MI6.

This is side story of some kind to my other story 'five times Alex Rider meets James Bond'. You don't need to read that one to understand this one.

Warnings: language, probable OOCness, slight violence.

Disclaimer: The Rights to James Bond belong to the heirs of Ian Flemming, the rights to the films belong to the Broccoli Family and the rights to Alex Rider belong to Anthony Horowitz.

For those who do not know this: Double-O agents are agents with a license to kill (not a license to get killed!)

Anyway: Enjoy!

He was cold and he hurt all over. His lip was split, both his eyes were black and swollen and bruises marred his right cheek and his collarbone. And that was just the visible part of his body.
He was sure that the parts of his body underneath his clothing were far worse.
And still they kept kicking him.

He felt weak and helpless and he wished he could have fought back – like Alex would have done – or gathered the attention from nearby people towards him – like Tom would have managed to do. But he couldn't so instead he wished that someone – anyone – would come and help him.
It didn't take long before he blacked out completely after a particularly vicious kick to his stomach.

When he woke up again he found himself on a white covered metal bed in a white room. His distraught mother was nearby and the scent of disinfection clung heavily to everything. He was in the hospital.
His leg and arm were in casts and his upper body and head were covered in bandages.

Soon after he woke up a doctor came, quickly followed – after the doctor had left – by two police officers who asked him what had happened and if he could describe the men who had beaten him up.
He couldn't remember much of what had happened and he most definitely couldn't describe the men who had hurt him this badly.

The police officers left with the promise to find the men who had viciously beaten him because they could. But he knew that he they never would find those men; not even if they managed to get the CCTV recordings of that area.

He promised himself when he finally left the hospital a couple of days later that he would never be that weak and helpless again.
His age at the time: seventeen years old.

oOo

Two years later – age nineteen and a half and after he had managed to get his GSCE's – he joined the army.

In the two years that had past he had decided that 1) he would never, ever let himself get hurt like that ever again and 2) he would make sure that he would always be capable of helping others. The last thing he had added after he had seen how Alex became more distant, colder, more unfeeling and bitterer with the world with every time he disappeared. He had wanted to help his friend, but he hadn't been capable of doing anything to help him. So he vowed to himself that he would.

He trained and trained until he became good at defending himself and others. But he didn't stop there. He made sure that he was as good as he could possibly be at everything the army offered to teach him.

oOo

He was asked to join the SAS a little before his 24 birthday. He agreed almost immediately.

His 24 birthday was used to celebrate both the fact that he was asked to join – though he told his friends and family that he got promoted – and the fact that he turned 24 with some of his closest friends. They also used that moment to catch up.

Tom had decided to try his hand at becoming a professional football player. He had been asked to join one of the smaller clubs and he was doing well for himself.
Quinn had chosen to study geography and he was almost done.
John had followed Quinn into one of the colleges though he had chosen to study at a university of applied science. He had chosen to become a history teacher and he had already finished his study. He was – coincidentally – working at Brookland's.
And Alex; Alex couldn't make it to his party. According to Tom he had been promoted to manager affaires overseas or something along those lines and he had been sent to Malaysia a couple of days before his birthday. He had sent him a gift through Tom though, an original Swiss pocketknife engraved with a winged knife and the words: 'who dares wins'.
It was three days later – when he finally joined the SAS training at Brecon's Beacon – that he found out that the engraving was the official sign of the SAS.

He always kept wondering how Alex had known.

oOo

It was three days after his 24 birthday that he joined the rest of the SAS recruits at Brecon's Beacon in Wales.
There were 17 new recruits and they were all asked to line up as soon as they had arrived.
They did as they were told and it didn't take long before the Sergeant appeared.

"You are here because you're supposed to be the best of the best," the man – a short, heavily muscled, olive skinned, short tempered male in his late thirties – bit out, "you have no name here, just a codename. You'll listen to your commanders or you'll be binned. You'll do as your told no matter who speaks or you'll be binned. You'll do you very best, or you'll be binned. You fail something, you'll be binned. You misbehave, you'll be binned."
He looked them all, one for one, in the eyes before he barked, "do I make myself clear?!"
"Sir, yes sir!" they all answered.
The sergeant nodded, "I'll call your name. You'll come forward where you'll receive your codename, your rank in the unit and the name of your unit."

A soldier walked forwards and handed him a short list.
The sergeant accepted the list and started to read the names.
It didn't take long before, "Hale, James." was called.

He moved from his lone spot in the line until he stood right in front of the sergeant.
"Your codename will be 'Bat', your rank will be communicator expert and your unit will be F-Unit," the man told him. He saluted the man and made his way over towards the two men in front of the barrack with the large, paper F.

Silently they waited until they were joined by a fourth member and the sergeant was finally done with the list.
"You have the rest of the day to get to know your unit members and to figure out the lay out of this terrain. Dismissed!"

They all saluted before they got their luggage – in case of the recruits – and entered the barracks.
The inside of the F-Unit barrack was large but full. There were four bunks, four nightstands and four cabinets.
Two of the bunks were already occupied. The closest bunk to the door was occupied by a fair-haired, tall but lithe, older male. A cigarette dangled from his lips and his attention was fully focused on the gun he was taking apart. The other bunk was occupied by a dark-haired, dark-skinned, small but heavily muscled – not unlike the sergeant – male. He was watching the two of them closely.

Bat turned towards the other recruit, "which bunk do you want?"
The other male – a tall, heavily muscled Caucasian male – just shrugged and dumped his sack onto the closest bunk, "this one."
Bat nodded and made his way over towards the other bunk before he started to unpack.

Five minutes later found them all sitting on the bunks and looking at each other.
"I'm Snake," the older male introduced himself with a heavy Scottish accent, "I'm this unit's leader."
"I'm Coyote," the dark-skinned male took over, his tone far more curtly, "sharpshooter."
"Stingray," the other recruit said, "medic."
"I'm Bat," he introduced himself, "I'm the team's communicator expert."

They spent the rest of the day as the sergeant had told them to do. They exchanged personal information like age and nationality, the reason why they joined the army and how many years they had been in the army. Afterwards the two more experienced men showed the two of them around.

The next day the training started.

oOoOoOo

4 years later.

"You asked for us, sir?" Snake asked politely as soon as they had entered the sergeant's office.
There were already two other men inside. One of them was dressed in a fancy suit. His blond hair was neatly combed and his shoes were polished. He seemed to be around the same age as both the sergeant and Snake and it was clear from the soft greeting of 'Snake' that he knew both of them. His face was angular, his right cheek was heavily scarred and his face was marred by some deep worry lines.
The other male's features were a mystery as he had his back turned towards them and his full attention on the large map in front of him. He wore more casual clothing; a pair of sturdy blue jeans, a dark brown long-sleeved shirt and a pair of sneakers. His light brown hair streaked with black and blond was pushed begin his ears and a metal stud could be seen. The sleeves of his shirt were rolled up to show some slight muscles and a whole range of scars. A gun was tucked in the back of his jeans.

"It wasn't me who asked for you, men," the sergeant said as he turned his attention towards them, "these are MI6 agents Daniels and Double-O-Three. The partner of Double-O-Three is held captive in a house in one of the villages nearby and they need him back."
"But why us?" Snake asked, "why not someone from MI6?"
"Because I can't keep sight of all three the exits at once and because SAS is trained to barge into houses," the male bowed over the map said as he straightened and turned around.

Bat gaped at him as his face became visible, "Alex?"
The hair was slightly different, he had bags under his eyes, his brown eyes were hard and cold and a gash above his left eye but it was most definitely his friend. A second hand gun could be seen in a small holster at his right hand side.

"Bat," he greeted him before he turned towards Snake, "Snake, your unit has some experience with city warfare and criminal organisations, right?"
"Yes," F-Unit's leader said.
"Good, join me," Alex said. Snake shared a look with the sergeant and after a curt nod stepped forward until he stood right next to the once fair-haired boy.
"Double-O-Seven is held in this house here," he told him as he pointed something out on the map before he pulled a piece of paper from underneath the map, "the exits are here and here and this window is large enough to use as an exit."

"It's just one group," the young man continued, "consisting of five men and one woman. She is mostly not dangerous."
"Mostly not?" the sergeant asked.
"Yes, unless she manages to seduce you," Alex told him dryly, "in which case you might end up next to my man-whore of a partner in the basement."
"The men have had training in hand-to-hand combat," the young agent continued, "they prefer machine guns over handguns though one or two of them might have a handgun on them."

"How do we know your partner is still alive?" Stingray asked.
"Because he knows a lot of classified information," Alex told him absently.
"How do we know that they won't run?" Snake asked sceptical, "and why just one unit?"
"Because they believe that MI6 thinks we're dead," the Double-O agent deadpanned, "they are convinced that I'm dead and that my partner is somewhere in Italy."

"Are there more questions or shall I continue?" he asked. The men shook their heads.
"The woman is most likely in one of the upper rooms," Alex told them, "she is an ex-prostitute who faints when she so much as thinks about blood. The five men will be most likely spread around the house. I suggest attacking at witching hour, as most people will be asleep."
The other agent stepped forward, "I'll be joining you as the communicator on this mission."

Alex nodded, "we will use the back entrance as the front entrance is 1) visible on CCTV and 2) the entrance to the basement is near the back entrance. Daniels will be stationed at the front of the house. I'll be taking one of you with me downstairs, the others will be tasked with making sure that the men are captured."
"And the woman?" Coyote asked.
"She is to be taken in for questioning," the MI6 agent told them, "but she's low priority."

"Any questions?" Daniels asked.
The men shook their heads.
"Good," the sergeant said curtly, "do you need anything else, Cub?"
"You don't happen to have ammunition for a Beretta 418, do you?" Alex asked, "or a Walther PPK/S 9mm short?"
"You still have that woman's gun?" Daniels asked surprised, "I thought they had forced you to take a new gun?"
"It works for me so I told Q to keep the new gun and as the gun is excellent shape they couldn't force me," Alex stated with a shrug, "and I believe Double-O-Seven will want his gun back."

"You'll find those in the ammunition depot," the sergeant told him, "if that's all?"

oOo

The mission had gone well. Alex had easily led them into the house and he had just as easily shot the first two men into their shoulders and legs so they were completely useless but alive.
Coyote had followed him into the basement while the three of them apprehended the other two men – as the fifth man was likely in the basement – and the woman.

The two other had appeared not long after with two men; one unconscious and knocked out and one free but wounded. The free one was shipped of towards a hospital while the unconscious one – along with the four others and the woman – had been driven by Daniels to MI6 headquarters for interrogation.

F-Unit and Alex had made their way back towards Brecon's Beacon for debriefing – which hadn't taken long at all.

It was the morning after the mission that Bat finally managed to corner Alex just after the spy came back from the sergeant's office.
"Why didn't you tell me that you work for MISO?" he almost hissed as soon as he had him pressed against the side of one of the barracks.
Alex easily managed to get loose.
"Because I'm bound by the OSA," he replied, "just like you are."
Bat sighed and shook his head.

"Then how did you know that I had been asked to join SAS?" he asked with a raised eyebrow.
"I trained with the sergeant," Alex said with a shrug, "he told me the last time I was here. Which was, incidentally, just a few days before you came here for the first time to train."

"How did you become one of the Double-O's?" Bat asked him softly.
"You might have guessed already but I started as a spy just after my uncle died," Alex told him as he dragged his hand through his multi-coloured hair, "I got promoted on my eighteenth birthday as a happy birthday present from my former head."

"They gave you a gun when you were eighteen?" he asked surprised, "isn't that a little… irresponsible?"
"I learned how to shoot to kill when I was fourteen," Alex shrugged, "and I killed for the first time during my first mission. It might have been an accident at the time but the person ended up dead because of me."

This time it was Bat's turn to rack his hand through his short hair – a sign of stress he had taken from the young man standing next to him.
"Jesus," he breathed, "no wonder you were so fucked up during those years. Or that you were never in class."
Alex nodded before he quickly checked the time.

"I need to go," he told him softly, "I promised Ben – agent Daniels – that I would be back in London by five o'clock."
He nodded in response.
"It was nice seeing you again," Bat told him sincerely, "and you being a spy makes sense. It fits you far better than a job as a bank managed ever would."
"Thanks," Alex said with a smile, "and it was nice seeing you too, James."

And he walked away.

I hope you liked this story.
Reviews are much appreciated.

~Marwana