Becoming Agent Rider

New Beginnings

A lone figure carrying a duffle bag walked down the street in the late Wednesday evening. He had just gotten off the tube and his slouched posture spoke of a long and tiring day to match the grey sky. If anyone had been watching, they would have thought that it was just another schoolboy coming home from a particularly rough sports practice after a day at school. The neighbours knew better. They had watched the boy grow up with a housekeeper and an absent uncle. Until the uncle had died. After that, the boy was frequently away, just like his uncle, and came back looking more serious each time. Then, the housekeeper had died as well and a sign had been put up to indicate the house was for sale. Some people came by to dismantle what the neighbours assumed was a leased security system but the boy still never showed up. Since then, there had only been two potential buyers that had looked at the house. They never bought it so the "for sale" sign was still there. The neighbours didn't know what was going on in that house but sensed that they shouldn't get involved. They only shook their heads at the misfortunes of that family, feeling sorry for the poor boy, and carried on with their lives.

Alex trudged up the stairs of the front porch of his large Chelsea home and unlocked the door, not quite sure why he still had the key but glad that he did. He stepped into the entrance hall and breathed a sigh of relief, feeling some of the tension of the last two weeks fade. Letting the duffle bag drop to the floor with a small thud, Alex looked around the silent house, noting that nothing seemed to have changed. Everything was just as he and Jack had left it when they flew to Cairo. The only thing that was strange was the lack of dust in the house after nearly three months. Someone must have come in to clean regularly so that the house was presentable to potential buyers. Feeling hungry, Alex opened the fridge to see if there was anything edible in it. He jumped back immediately, hastily closing the door. The rotting smell coming from the fridge made him gag. Evidently, whoever came by to clean the house had never cleaned out the fridge. He would have to throw out the contents and go grocery shopping later. Tiredly, he rifled around the pantry and found some leftover cereal and canned tuna. They were the only edible things left in the house. Shrugging to himself, Alex hopped up onto the kitchen counter to eat his meager dinner. He didn't want to sit at the dinner table. It reminded him too much of mealtimes with Jack and he wasn't ready to face that yet. The dinner itself was already enough to bring back memories of how Jack would never cook meals that took more than ten minutes to make. The only difference was that Jack's meals still managed to taste delicious most of the time.

A drop of liquid soaked his cereal, startling Alex out of his thoughts. A single tear had rolled down his cheek. He hadn't realized that the memories of Jack, made stronger just by being in the house, had made his eyes well up. In the two months since her death, this was the first time he had let himself feel enough to cry. Chest heaving, Alex took in several ragged breaths and blinked back the tears threatening to stream down his face, wiping his eyes on the back of his hand. He winced. The motion made his new bullet wound twinge and he gingerly let his arm down again, careful to keep it within his doctor's recommended range of movement. At least for now, he would follow the instructions he was given. He wanted to recover as fast as possible. Later though, he would probably get too restless.

After the MI6 helicopter reached England at around 1400 hours, he had been taken to St. Dominic's Hospital immediately. He wasn't surprised. He had been shot, among other visible injuries, so Jones would want to make sure that he was treated. And St. Dominic's was the preferred place for agents of MI6's Special Operations division to recover. It was one of London's most exclusive private hospitals, having a world class reputation. His previous stays at the hospital made him inclined to agree with the five star rating. Despite this, all he wanted to do was leave. Each time he had been treated at this hospital, it was because of injuries he had gotten from a mission. Each time, Jack had been there to comfort, support, and fret over him. This time, he was alone. Even MI6 wasn't around. Ben had been sent to do the paperwork for the mission they just finished and Mrs. Jones had only stayed long enough to make sure he would live. Being at the hospital made him painfully aware of what he had lost. His desire to leave as soon as he set foot in the building didn't matter though. Checking over every inch of his body, the doctors had found a hairline fracture on one of his ribs and suspected a concussion. It was the possible concussion that had the doctors keep him for observation until the evening. Other than that, there wasn't much to do about the split lip or bruises. His ribs had been examined with instructions to ice it and rest but the bullet wound had been treated further. He had been told that it was lucky he had been wearing the bulletproof windbreaker at the time. If the bullet had hit him a few inches to the side, it would have hit his chest but it would only have bruised. It hadn't though. Instead, the bullet had hit his arm where the sleeves of the windbreaker were only bullet resistant to give the wearer a larger range of motion. While the sleeves of the windbreaker couldn't stop the bullet completely at point blank range, it had slowed it down enough that the bullet hadn't penetrated his arm as deeply as it could have. Alex supposed he was also lucky that Sicherheit had been wounded enough to miss shooting at any fatal points that weren't protected. Although he didn't like to think about it, in the back of his mind, Alex also knew that his brief SCORPIA training had played a part in his survival.