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He had known that one of these missions was going to eventually get him killed and he’d finally met his match.
Marrakesh, Morocco.
‘It’s just a surveillance operation’, Mrs. Jones had said. He had long stopped believing her when she said that. But what did it matter? With the amount of blackmail they had on him now, they basically owned him.
His mind drifted to Jack. Like it did most days. They’d barely given him 2 weeks off after….what had happened to her.
He swallowed as bitterness flooded his veins.
The sound of water tricking down the stone wall pulled his attention to the cell he currently occupied. It had been months since he had been outside. The first 4 weeks he had kept count of the days, or as best as he could without any form of sunlight. But without being able to see the sunlight the days merged into nights.
Of course, the merging of time had only gotten worse after they started him on the drugs. After his 4th desperate escape attempt they had kept him drugged for most hours of the day.
He would be in one place and then what felt like seconds later he was the other side of the cell with fresh bruises and cuts littering his body. Time moved strangely and he struggled to remember conversations with guards. Just as he thought he was getting over the drug, they would inject him with more.
There was no way out. He didn’t even know why they were keeping him. Why hadn’t they killed him yet? That question crossed his mind frequently.
No one had come to help. Either MI6 hadn’t been able to find him, or they hadn’t bothered. And he had no family that would be waiting for him to come home.
Home. Now there’s a word he tried to block from his mind. The big empty house only highlighted just how alone he was. Even Tom had become a distant friend in the last year which he couldn’t even blame him for.
He tugged on the chains encasing his wrists. He felt present at the moment. Maybe the drugs had worn off quicker than usual or a guard was slow to administer the next dose. He tried to savour the feeling of being aware.
He had to get out of here.
More time passed before Alex was given another opportunity to escape. After administering the drug the guard had made the mistake of turning his back to Alex before taking the appropriate distance away.
The sound of guard falling to the floor was louder than he would of liked. He waited with baited breath while he listened for any other guards. There was nothing.
He frantically searched the unconscious guard with shaky hands. The only sound in the cell being uneven breaths of panic and desperation.
He found the key with relative ease and released the chains. As he patted down the guards pockets he hit a large object. A radio. Fuck. He had hoped it would be a gun or at least some other sort of weapon.
He ran down the corridor, desperately trying to remember which way he had run the previous times. The pounding of his heart drowned out his own footsteps.
After a few turns he came to a dead end and saw a door with a small window. He ran up to it, looking out, starved of sunlight.
The bright white hurt his eyes and it took several painstakingly long seconds for his eyes to adjust. He squinted, trying to focus on the outside.
Guards. Guards. And ….a vehicle.
His breath hitched before he let out a sudden resounding sigh. It was a suicide mission. Even if he could get past all of the guards, hot-wire the car and then get out of the complex….what would happen when the drugs took full effect? He’d be useless.
His optimism was quickly dwindling and he stumbled back, looking around. There had to be something anything. If he couldn’t get out, maybe he could get someone to come in and help him.
He walked back up and around to another corridor. Empty. He scanned each door before coming across an office and stopped.
The phone.
His heart fluttered in his ribcage. He unsteadily made his way into the room to the phone before he stopped again.
He had already noticed his vision was blurred in the edges. He deliberated momentarily. MI6 had given him an emergency number. However, he had used it before but he had broken himself out before they had even arrived (if they even planned to save him.)
He knew he only had one shot at dialling a number. He could hear shouts echoing up through the corridors, signalling they were aware of his escape.
His hand trembled as it picked up the phone and started dialling a number.
He wouldn’t have time to make a second call. A bead of sweat ran down his temple.
He swallowed and dialled.
Please pick up. Please pick up.
The line rang on. And with each ring his stomach tensed more. He leant on the table, the room swaying uncomfortably. The line continued ringing. He could hear his heartbeat in his ears as it thumped loudly and aggressively. This had been a massive mistake why the fuck had he-
The line was answered.
“Please, I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t need help, please I’m i-“
A gunshot echoed in the room as he fell to the floor, his leg exploding in pain. God, no, he didn’t even get a chance to say what country he was in, let alone what city.
He looked to the phone and saw it bouncing up like a bungee cord.
The guard followed his gaze and saw the phone still off the hook. He took a step forward as Alex swung out his good leg, tripping the guard up. Pain erupted around his body and he could hear someone screaming. He had a vague feeling it was him.
He looked down and saw blood. So much blood. He prayed the bullet hadn’t hit a major artery.
Then he was being punched.
Then there was the end of a gun slammed hard against his head. There would be an ugly bruise on his temple by the time he awoke. He could no longer tell where sweat ended and blood started.
But the phone stayed off the hook.
Please track it. Track me. Or at least give MI6 a heads up…
Time swirled and left his mind behind.
The next time he was aware, everything sucked.
What had happened? His leg was bandaged up shoddily and there was a substantial amount of blood that had seeped through.
He frowned and tried to stretch it out in front of him but immediately bit down a scream. His leg was in agony.
Had he been… shot?
What the actual fuck.
He poked at it, not quite believing his own eyes. What kind of drugs were being injected into him if he couldn’t remember a bullet tearing apart his fucking flesh.
Over the next few days he overheard snippets of conversations between guards. Apparently he’d taken a 5th escape attempt. His heart had sunk lower. This was it. There was no getting out of this. Alex rider had finally run out of luck.
“Karim needs to stop fucking about and sell to the next highest bidder. I didn’t sign up to be a fucking babysitter.”
This sentence had bounced around his skull for hours. So this is why he hadn’t been killed. Money. Many people were out for Rider blood at this point. Ian, John and Alex had all succeeded at bringing down countless criminal organisations.
He swallowed back the bob in his throat and focused his glare on the opposite wall.
Last Rider left.
The next time he ebbed into the world of awareness there were multiple voices again. They weren’t the usual guards.
He shifted slightly and then opened his eyes frowning.
Great, how the hell did he end up on the floor face down again.
He rolled over slowly, careful of his injured leg. As he put pressure down on his arm he winced in pain. More blood. He brought his arm up to his face and saw a deep cut running 2 inches across the top of it.
A frustrated groan left his lips.
He supposed this is what it felt like to wake up with a hangover from a mental night while trying to piece back together what the fuck had happened. With the exception that this was more sinister. And had already lasted months.
“He’s down here.” A deep voice said. “Alive, as requested.”
As the footsteps drew closer he cowardly thought whether he should feign sleep.
The two men slowed their pace as they got to Alex’s cell. He looked up and saw Karim smirking down at him and then, standing to his right…
His mouth fell open as he struggled to contain the shock of seeing a set of cold blue eyes.
“What-“ Alex starts, not knowing what else to say.
Yassen’s eyes meet his own. There’s no surprise. No expression.
A harsh ring echoed several times throughout the hallway. Karim grabbed the phone from his belt muttering “Feel free to taunt him. Or slice him up a bit. It’s a personal favourite.” He mused, before excusing himself to take the call.
There’s a beat of silence before Alex spoke.
“Yassen…what.. what are you doing here – Tell me you don’t work for them. I need help.” Alex stuttered, struggling to articulate himself. “I’m going to die here.”
Yassen gave him an odd look.
“You don’t know me.” Yassen said, carefully.
Alex scoffed. He had known he wouldn’t get help from the Russian.
“You’re right, I don’t know you. One minute you’re bleeding out and telling me….things.” He couldn’t bring himself to say out loud the confessions of love the man had said to Alex on Air Force One. “Then you’re sending me to SCORPIA! And the bull….” Alex trailed off, losing his train of thought. His thoughts swimming in the muddled waters of his brain. He flashed back to Indonesia last summer when he had last ran into the man. Surprisingly, they had both been trying to stop the billionaires plans. Alex as part of MI6 and Yassen because it eliminated his employer’s competition. That had been nice. They had talked of his dad.
Time is jumping again and he has to physically shake his head to regain focus. It had been hours since his last injection, he was fine.
He wasn’t sure how long Karim had been back from his call but he was turned to Yassen and talking. Alex blinked owlishly before narrowing his eyes trying to re-focus.
“The price is as we discussed. There are a fair few guards here who would’ve wanted to see the shit beheaded. I guess its not their lucky day.”
“There are a great many people who desire to see that. Fear not, he will be made an example of before he is tortured and killed.” Yassen said, as if commenting on the weather. Or perhaps discussing dinner plans.
Alex’s mouth opened while anger coursed through his body. His mind jumped over the place before focussing again on their Air Force One conversation.
“You’re a traitor!” Alex shouted. The noise seemed to reverberate off the walls.
Yassen gave Alex a look. He couldn’t decipher it and he didn’t care. The man had just revealed he was going to kill him, so he was going to give him a piece of his mind.
“My father would be so disappointed in you.” Alex rasped, balling up his fists tightly. “He’d hate you like I do.” He spat, seething with untethered rage.
The room went silent for a long period of time. All that could be heard were the distant barks of dogs outside the complex.
“What’s the boy talking about?” Karim asked, his eyes narrowing as he turned to Yassen. His hand subtly twitched by the gun in his belt.
Without missing a beat, Yassen said “You tell me.” Before fixing Karim with a cold gaze. “You’ve clearly got him on something. Something you chose to not disclose in our discussions.”
The guards hand didn’t move from his belt. Another period of silence stretched on. Despite the hot climate Alex felt goosebumps erupt over him.
“Open the door.” Yassen demanded.
Karim, somewhat cautiously, gestured for Yassen to back up before he unlocked the door to Alex’s cell. Yassen stepped into the cell, every fibre of his being oozing danger. Alex’s goosebumps intensified and he scooted back until his back was up against one of the walls.
Yassen walked forward slowly before grabbing Alex’s chin sharply.
“His pupils are blown.” Alex frowned. Great, so even when he thought he was himself he will still half drugged.
Karim coughed. “Yes, well, he was quite the escape artist. We inject him daily with double the normal dosage to …stop those tendencies.” A smirk formed.
Yassen reached down slowly to his combat boots and pulled out a pocket knife. It swung open revealing a sharp blade, glinting from the bulb hanging overhead.
“Perhaps he will cooperate with the right motivation.”
“Please, Ya-“
And quick as lightening he swiped down, embedding deep into the flesh of Alex’s leg, next to the bullet wound.
Alex screamed out. All the air leaving his lungs. He couldn’t find the breath to say ‘fuck you’. Something told him he wouldn’t have the chance anyway.
Yassen pulled the knife out and wiped it before sliding back into his boot.
“Problem solved.” Yassen announced. Karim’s hand was now lax at his side, no longer twitching by his gun. The smirk was still fixed on his face, enjoying Alex’s pain.
Yassen walked out the cell and stopped by him. “I’ll say this once. Do not question my loyalty again.”
Tears dripped down Alex’s face, as he grasped at his leg with a soft moan. He sniffed wetly and pressed his temple against the wall soaking up the cold stone on his forehead.
A guard entered and Alex, for the first time, was actually grateful to see the needle. An escape from the sheer pain his body was under.
“Triple dosage this time. He needs to be out for a longer time.” Karim informed the guard.
A few minutes passed in gasped breaths before he was out.
He was faintly aware he was being man handled and tossed into the trunk of a car. There was a flash of blonde hair. He was saying something to Alex, but he couldn’t hear him. The rope scratched at his wrists.
He had to escape. He wriggled in the rope. Blood oozed out his bandage on his leg and thick drops splattered in the boot interior.
In what might of been considered petty, he started moving his leg back and forward, smearing the blood into the fabric of the car.
That’s what he deserved.
Russian bastard.
Everything swayed. Swished. Swirled. He felt warm arms carrying him.
The light above was so bright. The brightness of a thousand suns. Oh maybe it was the sun. It felt warm. But no, too bright.
He was placed down on something soft. Gravity? No that sounded hard. Like gravel. He kicked his good leg out and felt sheets twist around him.
His wrists were pulled up and tightly knotted rope secured them together against something. Oh no, not stuck again. He wriggled. But he was so tired. Maybe he would just rest for a bit. The ropes felt permanent and never ending. They could be dealt with later.
It was okay. He would escape. He always escaped.
“You don’t need to.”
He was on a bed. His wrists were bound. Everything hurt. Without opening his eyes, he pulled at the rope, enough to open the wounds on his wrists.
“Stop moving. You will break more stitches.” It was Yassen’s voice.
“Ffff,” Alex murmured, trying to find the energy to say fuck you. Because by god did the man deserve it. He wriggled more just to be plain disobedient, despite the fact the movement was causing him pain and not the man.
“Rest.”
The sound of water running woke him up. Except, it didn’t sound like it was trickling down the stone wall in his cell. And he wasn’t lying on concrete… He peaked open an eye.
A hotel room? It looked more like a hospital with the amount of medical equipment and first aid kits.
He furrowed his eyebrows. Was he aware? What had even happened? He could vaguely remember being in a boot?
He looked down and saw his leg bandaged up. Fuck, he remembered being shot. And…Yassen.
His eyes bulged. He needed to escape. And it seemed he was presented with the perfect opportunity, despite his head feeling a bit fuzzy.
He sat up, careful to keep pressure off his left leg. He slid out of bed and put his weight on his right leg. Now came the small matter of undoing these godforsaken knots.
After a solid minute of picking at it, he gave up and started pulling harshly, ignoring the blood seeping through the bandages around his wrists.
“Stop.” He jumped and turned to see Yassen stood at the side of he room, towel in one hand and his gun in the other. Alex continued to struggle, unwilling to give up. He knew it was pointless but he couldn’t just stop.
“I am not the enemy.” Yassen said, putting his gun on the desk and walking forward.
Alex frowned as a foggy thought came to him abruptly.
He whipped his head around. “Did you stab me?!” He exclaimed, outraged. Yassen raised an eyebrow.
“You mother f-“
“Alex,” Yassen warned, cutting him off. “It would not of been necessary had you of listened to me.”
“Oh right, which part? Where you were going to torture me or kill me? Because I certainly heard you,” Alex said, going back to frantically pulling at the rope despite its futility.
“You were going to expose my cover. I stopped that from happening.”
“By stabbing me!”
“Don’t forget, Little Alex, that you were the one who called me and asked for help.” Yassen once again raised an eyebrow.
Well, that shut Alex up. And also stopped him for tugging on the ropes. He stared at Yassen, not knowing whether to believe him. He marvelled at the fact he had the guts to call Yassen a mother fucker but not a liar.
He sat down on the disheveled sheets, as he desperately tried to put the pieces together. He vaguely remembered making a call, or did he? He groaned, and put his head in his heads.
If he really had called the man, then that would be incredibly fucking awkward. He hadn’t really known why the man had given him his number in Indonesia but he doubted it was to be called to Marrakesh to be shouted at.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t know…” Alex trailed off, his head was starting to pound. He squeezed his eyes shut from over thinking and tried to clear his muddled mind.
“Try to rest more. We will be leaving soon.” Yassen said as he walked over to the ropes binding Alex to the bed post and cut them off. “I trust you’re aware enough to remember you don’t need to escape, hm?”
Alex ignored his question, feeling hot with embarrassment. “Where are we going?” Alex asked, rubbing his wrists over the bandages.
“We will move north through Spain until the drug has exited your system. At which point you will be able to get a flight back to London.” Yassen responded.
“I don’t have a passport.”
“Do not worry.” The man said simply. “Rest.”
He jolted awake, bracing his hands on the dashboard of the car.
“What the fuck.” He gasped, breathing heavy looking around at the landscape whipping past outside the car window.
“We are near Valencia.” Yassen said, as if that made everything clear to Alex.
“I was sleeping…and now….what,” He said, looking around, frankly feeling a bit sick. “We were in a hotel room.”
“Yes. Now we are driving.”
“You could of at least woken me up,” Alex muttered, stretching his arms out in front of him.
“You were awake. You walked to the car yourself.” Yassen glanced over to Alex. “You were talking too.”
…
“What?” Alex asked, mouth going dry.
A ripple of dread settled over him. What had he said to the man? He didn’t know if he wanted to hear or not.
“You should rest more. We are a few hours from our next destination.”
His stomach tensed at the deflection.
“And where’s that?”
Yassen didn’t answer. And honestly, he didn’t expect the man to.
As reluctant as he was to sleep again, he felt weary to his bones. He settled back in the seat and watched the world whip by as they drove on.
The next time Alex awoke he was very aware that he wasn’t in the car. The warm reclining seat had long gone and he shivered against the cold tile floor.
He was in a bathroom. On the floor.
He groaned, bringing a hand up to his head. It throbbed uncomfortably.
He made to stand up, grabbing the edge of the bathtub being cautious of his bad leg. Small bottles of toiletries were next to the bathroom tap. So he was in a hotel again. He felt like a detective as he inspected the room.
He took a step forward and frowned in the mirror. He looked a mess. His hair was all over the place, cheeks flushed, neck blotchy and eyes slightly puffy. What the hell had happened. He felt miserable to his core.
He ran the tap and splashed cold water on his face before opening the bathroom door.
Yassen was sat on the bed, his head in his hands. Alex once again found himself frowning. Well, this was unexpected.
Alex cautiously approached. “What happened?”
Yassen looked up and eyed him, before sighing. “How much do you remember?”
“The last thing I remember is that we were in the car. You mentioned Valencia?” His could feel his heart beat in his head.
Yassen shook his head, standing up. A stone settled in the pit of his stomach. The man was an enigma to him. He was stabbing him, saving him, driving him and now….what? Putting up with Alex’s temporary drug fuelled memory problems?
“Why are you doing this?” Alex asked, anxious to understand the mans motivation.
“Because you asked.”
“And it’s that simple?”
A long moment passed. Alex brought a hand up to rub his head.
“Sleep. They should be worn off by the morning.”
Alex swallowed and eyed the twin bed. He trudged over, the miserable feeling still overwhelming.
He awoke to the sun shining through onto his bed and was pleasantly surprised to recognise his surroundings.
There was a bottle of water on his bedside table with a granola bar and an apple. He looked over and saw Yassen typing on a laptop.
“Morning.” Alex muttered. Yassen looked over slowly and looked over his face, analysing.
“How do you feel?”
“I feel aware. If that’s what you’re asking.”
Yassen nodded before he set down the laptop and walked over to Alex.
The next 30 minutes were suitably awkward as Yassen changed the bandages on Alex. He was surprisingly gentle, being careful not to cause Alex any more pain.
He leaned forward at one point, flashing a light in Alex’s eyes. His cheeks had reddened at the close proximity to the man.
Then his wrist was held gently but firmly as Yassen took his pulse.
It was quiet and Alex couldn’t help but feel like something had shifted between them since last night. He wasn’t sure he wanted to broach the subject again, but he needed to know what had caused this shift in atmosphere.
Already regretting what he was about to say, he coughed uncomfortably.
“You didn’t tell me what happened last night.”
“You’re right, I didn’t.”
Alex could of groaned out of sheer frustration, but the man continued.
“You were upset.” Alex remained quiet. Last night he had an uncomfortable feeling that he had cried and this just confirmed it.
“We had spoken about….family.” Yassen said, picking his words carefully. At Alex’s slightly confused look, he added “Or lack thereof.”
Alex’s stomach started to hollow out thinking of Jack. Ian. Mum. Dad. His mouth felt dry, he reached for the water, swallowing lots to distract himself. He had thought about them a lot while he was captured in Marrakesh.
Yassen, shifted on his feet, a strange sight for the otherwise usually cold man. He looked at Alex. “I said this last night, but I’ll say it again. I am sorry, Alex. For being the one who took Ian from you.”
Alex looked down, his heart constricting. He couldn’t conjure up any words. He couldn’t pinpoint on why he felt weird. From the mention of a second apology, or that he couldn’t remember the first.
Despite this, he somewhat felt a sense of closure. At least from Ian’s death. But Jack, the last person he could even remotely call family-
“We are even more similar than I had first thought.” Yassen said quietly, Alex wasn’t sure if it was even meant for his ears.
The man knelt down, tending to the bullet wound with immeasurable carefulness.
“I’m also sorry you are alone.”
Alex was grateful Yassen had his head down, so he wouldn’t see the heart ache flash across his own face.
The car ride after was silent.
Later that evening, after looking out at the Spanish countryside all day they pulled up outside Barcelona airport.
“This is where we part ways, little Alex.” Yassen said, putting the hand break on.
Yassen reached behind him and picked up his laptop bag. Inside a side pocket was a folder. He pulled out the documents and a British passport. Genuine or fake? Alex couldn’t tell. He just hoped it worked.
“I checked you in to the flight at the hotel earlier. Here is the paperwork should you need it.” He handed the documents over to Alex.
Alex swallowed. This was it. He had dreamt of going back to England for months and now he felt almost reluctant. Not just because of the big empty house but because it felt as if there was so much unfinished business between them. So much unsaid.
“Thanks. For everything.” Alex said, politely and he meant it. God knows what would of happened without the man stepping in to help him.
“Keep safe. Try to rest up more, should your employer allow it.” It was evident Yassen was not the biggest fan of MI6. “My number is now disconnected.” Alex nodded clumsily. He didn’t blame the man for cutting Alex off, but it still stung.
He looked to Yassen again. He wanted to say so much more, but for the umpteenth time, no words would express whatever he was feeling inside. He nodded and got out of the car.
In a full circle fashion, mimicking the goodbye on the rooftop after Sayle, he held up a hand as Yassen left.
“Sorry about your boot interior!” Alex shouted as an after thought, remembering his petty smearing of blood, even though the man wouldn’t hear it.
He walked through the airport, looking for where he could go through security to get to his gate.
As he opened his passport a slip of paper fluttered to the ground. Alex frowned.
A phone number. A new number. He turned over the paper.
Call me. If you ever need anything. Even if it’s just to talk.
His heart flip flopped as he stared at the paper. And clutched it tightly in his hand all the way to London Heathrow.
Surprising even himself, 3 weeks later, he called.