Journey - REVISED EDITION

Alex Rider

DISCLAIMER: Seriously? Sure, I can own Alex Rider but I'll hire someone more proficient in the art of writing than me...like Anthony Horowitz?

Note: This chapter is dedicated to Avengemyheart_Barton because of their comments on the other version of this. Seriously, it means so much when people comment or vote or even read. I'll try not to let you down.

The hustle and bustle, the noise of a busy airport seemed non-existent to Alex. In his mind, he was still in America, at Glenwood Cemetery, watching Jack's brothers lower the empty coffin into the ground. With no body to place in the box, it only required four people. He'd never forget the tears on everybody's faces except for his. He couldn't seem to cry. There was just a heavy emptiness inside him, threatening to swallow him whole. He couldn't feel anything. And it scared him.

After that, MI6 had bustled him off, back to England. He'd wanted to talk to Jack's parents or one of her brothers, to apologize for her death, to ask for forgiveness, to lay the blame on him, to take some of this suffocating pressure off his chest. Blunt, it seemed, had different ideas.

So, here he was, two weeks later, waiting at the London International Airport for his ride to Brecon Beacons. To be honest, he didn't actually care what happened to him. He was used to hiding his feelings behind a mask in front of people for hours. The real challenge would be keeping his past hidden and the true extent of his skills concealed.

He sat on the hard bench, his black bag beside him, containing the last of his belongings from his Chelsea house. Men in combat gear strode back him, eyes ahead, doing their duty. Business people with their brief cases and small suitcases bustled about, lost in their own important world. No-one spared a glance for the boy sitting alone at the bench.

Hours came and went. Time meant nothing. Now that Jack was dead, what was there really left to live for?

A pair of boots stopped in front of him.

"Hello Alex."

He looked up. He smiled, one that didn't quite reach his eyes. His heart was not in it. He was tired of all the facade. But spies didn't get to choose. He had to play the game.

"Hello again, Fox. How's life treating you?"

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(A day earlier)

It was strange, being back. After everything he'd been through as a Special Op., it felt almost wrong to step inside the borders of Wales, to familiarize himself with the SAS training schedule, to see old friends again. It would hurt. There were some things that would never be the same, especially with the K-Unit. They'd probably never forgive him for leaving and joiningMI6.

Faces turned. Soldiers stared. Then the whispers started flying.

"Is that who I think it is?"

"Is is he really back for good?"

A hand touched his shoulder, but he wasn't surprised. He knew it was coming. People can't really surprise a spy; it comes with the job description.

"Fox."

"Snake."

"It's good to see you again." The man's green eyes searched Fox's face, before breaking into a grin and pulling the ex-SAS member into a tight hug. "We've missed you." They broke apart, smiles and tears on both faces, before Snake grabbed Fox's bag and continued with him to the Sargent's hut. "How long are you here this time?"

Fox shrugged. "I have no idea. My superiors didn't really specify. So I guess just until they need me again. Maybe they think I need the training." Secretly, he had other ideas, speculations of why MI6 was reinstating his status as a SAS operative and it definitely had to do with a certain teenage spy, but he didn't dare voice them. It just wasn't his place, especially without the proper proof.