A/N: Welcome at the first chapter of 'miracle'.
This story takes place after Snakehead, Alex is fifteen here.

If anybody sees any grammer/spelling mistakes, please point them out to me!
I'm also looking for a beta reader for this story, anyone interested?! Please PM me!:)

Disclaimer: I don't own Alex Rider or any of the recognisable characters. Nor do I get money out of writing this stuff

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Somewhere in St. Dominic's, in a room far away at the back of the hospital -in fact, you'd have to walk for about ten minutes, to get from the main entrance, to this deserted – so it seemed – part of it- started machines suddenly beeping.

Within three minutes, 3 docters and 2 nurses were present. All looking with great surprise at the man laying in the bed in front of them. His eyelids were moving, like he tried to pull them up, but without result.

One of the doctors walked to the machines, set some changes and examined the man.

"Is he…. uhm…. gonna awake?" One of the nurses asked.

"Looks like it, we'll just have to wait, and even if he does, there might be brain damage." The doctor answered.

"Do we have to call his family?" The other nurse asked.

"No, to be honest, I doubt if he even has family, they haven't been here to visit him, not even once, and he's here for about a year now. But we were given strict orders that if something happens to him, we'd have to call a certain number." Another doctor said.

The third doctor hurried out of the room, with the mention of the words 'a certain number' he'd immediately known who to call. It was his job to call these people. Out of experience, he knew he better didn't let them wait. He'd done once, with another patient, he had examined the man and had found a bullet wound around his hip, wich wasn't reported earlier. So he'd decided to let it pass by, considering it as unimportant, the wound was very small, and the scar seemed very old – at least five years.. - It nearly cost him his job, they were furious. Apparently, the man himself hadn't told his bosses either about it.

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Two days later…..

The man opened his eyes, for the past two days, he'd become more and more aware of his surroundings. He wasn't able to speak, but he knew it wouldn't take long for him to do so. Or at least, he hoped it wouldn't take long. He didn't quite know what had happened. The man thought back at the things that occurred to him right before his 'accident'… He had been on a mission, everything was going fine, at least he thought, before he realized he was there…

He got pulled out of his thoughts when two people came into his room. They examined him, and he noticed, that they looked with compassion at him. Questions started to rise. How long had he been there? What had happened? But before he could think of it any more, he felt a sudden sting at his arm, confused, he realized they'd drugged him.

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One week later……

The man awoke by voices. He opened to see three people standing near his bed. 'great, just the person I'd like to see here…' he thought and gave a quiet sigh.
His recovery up so far went better than everybody had expected. After three days, he'd been able to speak a little. It wasn't quite understandable, but nobody blamed him, after all, he hadn't used his voice for about a year. A year! He grimaced at the thought of it.

After being shot, he had been in a coma for about a year. He hadn't believed them when they told him. For him, everything felt like it happened only two weeks ago or so.

It was then he started thinking of his family, he asked the doctors about them, but they couldn't say anything about it.

He knew all the people he saw standing beside him, while he sat up in his bed.
Two of them worked in the hospital, but the third person, was the one that worried him.
It was a woman, she wasn't very tall and had her hair tied together. A smell of peppermint seemed to chase her everywhere she went. She was the one to speak first.

"How are you?"

He gave a growl as an answer.

"You know, we thought you wouldn't wake up anymore" The woman continued.

"Well, I did." He said with a weak voice, though full of sarcasm.

"I've heard you asked about your family, and we have to confess something about that though…" His puzzled look made her go on.

"Well, they think you're dead."

Those words felt like a punch by a hammer for him, why would they said he'd be dead?! His confusion became greater when he saw the puzzled faces of the nurse and doctor. Apparently, they hadn't been told that information either.

"Where are they?" he asked.

"They're fine… You just need to keep an eye on your recovery! You'll see them soon." She said as she walked out of the room.

"Do they know about my… uh… job?" he asked, not knowing how else to ask it.

But the woman hadn't heard his question, or at least acted like it.

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A month later he was discharged from the hospital. He walked up to the road and got into the taxi the hospital had ordered for him. He sank into the chair and said his destination to the driver. Once on their way, he looked out of the window, wondering about how much, and yet how little London had changed in the time he was 'out'.

When arrived, he payed the driver and slowly got out. Even more slowly he walked into the street. For the last four weeks, he had been continually into physical therapy. He now was able to walk on his own, but it wasn't going very fast, and he was tired easily. He sighed at the thought of needing to go to therapy for at least the next three months.

After about ten minutes, he stood in front of a house. He walked up to the front door and immediately noticed something. The plate with their names on it -his name on it - , that hung next to the door was gone. 'ofcourse' he thought, 'they think I'm dead.'

He was a bit afraid for their response when they would open the door. Would they be glad to see him? He didn't quite know They'd gone on with their lives, he wasn't sure if there was a place for him anymore in those as well.

After five minutes of hesitation, he rang the bell.

And after another twenty seconds, the door opened.

"Hello.." he said, with a grin on his face.

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