Alex Rider: Alternate Timelines

Waking up

Regaining his senses, Ian jumped out of the chaise and rushed to the unconscious slumped figure. Rolling the guy on his back after having made sure there were no major injuries, Ian gasped as the face of the stranger came into view.

The visage sported a few cuts, none of them serious, and was way younger than Ian had previously thought. But the real surprise was that the traits were in all points absolutely identical to his nephew, Alex Rider, that was supposed to be in France in his bed at this very moment.

His book and mug now completely forgotten, Ian got his phone out of his pocket with steady hands as he had immediately fallen back to breathing exercises he had learned to avoid a complete freak-out (he was allowed: it was not every day your nephew materialized in your living room).

Dialing his brother's number, Ian waited calmly, externally if not internally, for John to pick up the phone. As he took even breaths, he tried and list all the ways someone could make such an entrance but came up, not surprisingly but rather frustratingly blank. Finally, the long-distance call connected.

"This is John Rider speaking, who is this?" There was no trace of an accent as his brother spoke in flawless French and no more of it as Ian answered:

"Hello Johnny, it's Ian." The spy was reassured to find his voice calm and collected as he spoke into the receiver.

"Hey Ian, why are you calling? Is there a problem?" Immediately, John's voice took a more serious and concerned tone, but since he was not in any immediate danger, Ian was quick to dissipate the worry

"Don't worry, I'm alright. I was just wondering how Alex was doing."

His brother was not completely appeased but he now seemed more suspicious about the sudden mention of his son. Ian was in a mood to skate around the topic, but he didn't want to alarm John either.

"He's gone to bed, nearly two hours ago."

"Okay, strange request, but bear with me, could you go check on him?"

"Why?" John's tone took a worried edge as he started walking towards his son's room, which turned into a jog, when his brother failed to answer immediately.

"Ian?" John silently turned the doorknob, his heart beating in his chest and his body going cold. He sagged; relief flooded him as his eyes settled on his son's peacefully sleeping face. A few seconds of contemplation latter, he quietly exited the room, and put the receiver back against his ear.

"He's in his bed, like I told you. Now what is this about? You nearly gave me a heart attack, Ian!"

"I'm sorry, I just wanted to verify something. I'm sorry I worried you, I'll tell you more when I can."

Hearing the truth in his brother's words, John let the matter go, trusting Ian's judgement, but slipped a cautionary statement before hanging up.

"Whatever it is, be careful and call me if you need anything."

"I will, thanks John."

After hanging up, Ian pocketed the cell and turned towards Not-Alex before carrying him to the sofa. He was lighter than the man had imagined, and he finally opted to put the unconscious boy in the guest room.

Knowing that he would not sleep after the ordeal, especially with a stranger in his house, Ian made himself another cup of tea and set himself to cleaning up the mess in the living room, hesitating a milli-second to erase the proof of Not-Alex's appearance, before soldiering on as he had a feeling he wouldn't find anything useful within the broken pieces of his furniture.

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Alex woke up gradually with a pounding headache and a bad taste in his mouth. Opening his eyes, he was met with the unfamiliar decor of a clean bedroom, that was obviously a guest room going by the simple linen and bare walls. Getting up cautiously, Alex went to the closed door and turned the knob to find that he wasn't locked in. Good sign.

Taking care not to make any noise, Alex walked to the top of the stairs. Crouching low, he tiptoed down and trudged towards the living room, not letting any floorboards crack under his sneakers. Entering the room, he immediately noticed a familiar painting that had hung at one point in his and Ian's house. He had said he had acquired it during one of his business trips, and after learning the truth about his uncle, Alex had often wondered how Ian had come in the possession of this piece of art.

It was a very well-done oil painting of a ship sailing off in the sun rise, its entire form bathed in golden sunlight. To find it here, in a house he had just woken up in with no recollection of how he had ended up there could not have been a mere coincidence. His pounding headache and the fact that he was very immersed in the painting and his own thoughts should not have prevented him from hearing footsteps coming in the room. And yet, he was severely startled when a voice stated behind him:

"Beautiful painting isn't it?"

Turning to face his captor he was met by the face he would have never expected to see again. His dead uncle's face stared back at him.

"Who...?"

Closing his gaping mouth, Alex schooled his features into a neutral mask, as not to give anything away to the doppelganger and continued in a more assured tone of voice:

"Where am I? What do you want from me?"

Ian's look-alike answered in a pacifying tone as if talking to a wild and hurt animal, which must have been what he looked like, Alex thought with a dry sense of humor.

"You're in my house, my name is Ian. I'm sorry if I scared you, do you have anyone I can contact for you, ...?"

Ignoring the other man's question, Alex asked bluntly, as he wasn't up to beating around the bush while his brain felt as if it was being tap-danced on with iron-clad boots, "You look an awful lot like my uncle, Ian."

The Ian-look-alike answered without a pause and without surprise. His face only betrayed curiosity. "And you look an awful lot like my nephew, Alex."

Repressing a flinch at his name being spoken without him having introduced himself, and at the words the stranger had spoken, Alex asked.

"How old is he?"

The young spy had seen a mad scientist clone himself, time travel was not out of the realm of possible. Of course, it was much more likely this was a grand stratagem by a supervillain to trick him, but at this point Alex had a hard time getting himself to muster up any wariness. Advienne que pourra as the French said. That wasn't to say he wouldn't try escaping as soon as he could but for now he would play along.

"He's fifteen. How old are you?"

Alex sighed and ran a hand in his dishevelled hair, before offering a little smirk:

"Fifteen. So, Ian, what are your thoughts on alternate dimensions?"

"Since I saw you appear of thin air and crash on my coffee table, I'm willing to keep an open mind, as my perspective on life has considerably shifted in the last few hours."

Ian was intrigued by this second Alex Rider: he was in appearance and by his cocky, yet calm attitude eerily similar to Ian's nephew, but there was something that just ruined the resemblance, and yet the older man couldn't quite put his finger on it.

"Do you know how you arrived here?"

"Not exactly, no."

Ah. So, the physics rule-breaking display was as mysterious to Other-Alex as it was to him, although he seemed to be blaming alternate dimensions?

Just as the boy was opening his mouth to provide a more articulate answer, he grimaced, visibly in pain, before collapsing on the sofa while his limbs twitched and convulsed in wild uncontrolled movements.

Rushing to his side, Ian shook gently his shoulders trying to rouse him out of his epileptic-like state, but to no avail. After checking Not-Alex's pupils and airway to make sure he was neither choking nor having a heart attack, the man decided to wait the episode out as he did not think going to the hospital would be very welcome in the boy's eyes, and it was nothing seemingly life-threatening yet.

Suddenly, the doppelgänger's eyes flew open, his gaze fixated on one point and all of his muscles contracted, before he fell back onto the sofa, unmoving.