(no subject)
I'm going through and posting some of my older oneshots. I probably won't do the chaptered ones. Those would take too long. Anyway, enjoy!
Title: Tuesdays
Rating: K+ (PG)
Wordcount: 553
Warnings: It's a deathfic, people.
Summary: Alex Rider dies in a "tragic accident," and Jack is left to grieve.
AN: My very first AR fanfic. I'm so proud. *tear* Not really, though. This has been edited through hell since it was first posted. Hope you like the changes!
It is a rainy Tuesday afternoon the day Alex Rider dies.
She had learned once that the police ringing your bell at three in the morning never brought good news. And she learns now that the same is true for three in the afternoon. Especially when they're wearing their apology faces. "So sorry, nothing could be done, our condolences..." It's happened twice now, once when Ian Rider "wasn't wearing his seatbelt" and now that Alex Rider "was caught in a gas explosion."
She remembers the numbness that had set upon the first time around, and she wishes for it now, now that her body is wracked with sobs and her fingernails are digging into her palms and her tears are running down her cheeks. She thinks of the numbness and wishes for it. (Because anything is better than the pain.)
Alex, poor Alex, strong Alex, brave Alex. She feels cold and callous for even thinking it (but anything is better than the pain), but she wishes that someone else, some other fourteen year old, could have taken his place. Alex belongs everywhere, not confined to a space six feet by three and six feet under. Anyone else, why couldn't it have been anyone else? The coldness only lasts so long before the pain buries her again.
Alex, poor Alex, tragic Alex. She's angrier than she's ever been when they won't tell her how he really died. (But anything is better than the pain.) He gave his life for them and they won't honor him by telling his story? The true story, not the load of bull they’re feeding her? They won't acknowledge that he was the best thing that ever happened to them, that they were the worst thing that ever happened to him? That everything is their fault? The anger only lasts so long before the pain returns to drown her.
Alex, poor Alex, underestimated Alex. There is a swell of righteous hatred toward MI6 when the truth gets out. (But anything is better than the pain.) The reporter, bless him, dug a little deeper, refused to believe the lies fed to him about why a child was in the custody of a bank and hit the jackpot: the whole of Alex's file, in every newspaper in the world, translated into a hundred languages. They gets what's coming to them, Blunt and Jones, when they're forced to resign, and the Prime Minister when he is forced to acknowledge his wrongs. The hatred only lasts so long before she's suffocating again.
Alex, poor Alex, heroic Alex. She is overwhelmed by pride; pride and sad resignation, this time. (Because anything is better than the pain.) This time, when she is finally told the truth. Tom Harris, covered in gauze and probably blind for the rest of his life, finally tells her what no one else would. Alex gave his life to save Tom's, and probably others as well. Pushed him right out of the way.
The pain doesn't bury her this time, because there's a sliver of humor: MI6 was telling the truth. Alex Rider was finished off by a gas explosion.
Title: Tuesdays
Rating: K+ (PG)
Wordcount: 553
Warnings: It's a deathfic, people.
Summary: Alex Rider dies in a "tragic accident," and Jack is left to grieve.
AN: My very first AR fanfic. I'm so proud. *tear* Not really, though. This has been edited through hell since it was first posted. Hope you like the changes!
It is a rainy Tuesday afternoon the day Alex Rider dies.
She had learned once that the police ringing your bell at three in the morning never brought good news. And she learns now that the same is true for three in the afternoon. Especially when they're wearing their apology faces. "So sorry, nothing could be done, our condolences..." It's happened twice now, once when Ian Rider "wasn't wearing his seatbelt" and now that Alex Rider "was caught in a gas explosion."
She remembers the numbness that had set upon the first time around, and she wishes for it now, now that her body is wracked with sobs and her fingernails are digging into her palms and her tears are running down her cheeks. She thinks of the numbness and wishes for it. (Because anything is better than the pain.)
Alex, poor Alex, strong Alex, brave Alex. She feels cold and callous for even thinking it (but anything is better than the pain), but she wishes that someone else, some other fourteen year old, could have taken his place. Alex belongs everywhere, not confined to a space six feet by three and six feet under. Anyone else, why couldn't it have been anyone else? The coldness only lasts so long before the pain buries her again.
Alex, poor Alex, tragic Alex. She's angrier than she's ever been when they won't tell her how he really died. (But anything is better than the pain.) He gave his life for them and they won't honor him by telling his story? The true story, not the load of bull they’re feeding her? They won't acknowledge that he was the best thing that ever happened to them, that they were the worst thing that ever happened to him? That everything is their fault? The anger only lasts so long before the pain returns to drown her.
Alex, poor Alex, underestimated Alex. There is a swell of righteous hatred toward MI6 when the truth gets out. (But anything is better than the pain.) The reporter, bless him, dug a little deeper, refused to believe the lies fed to him about why a child was in the custody of a bank and hit the jackpot: the whole of Alex's file, in every newspaper in the world, translated into a hundred languages. They gets what's coming to them, Blunt and Jones, when they're forced to resign, and the Prime Minister when he is forced to acknowledge his wrongs. The hatred only lasts so long before she's suffocating again.
Alex, poor Alex, heroic Alex. She is overwhelmed by pride; pride and sad resignation, this time. (Because anything is better than the pain.) This time, when she is finally told the truth. Tom Harris, covered in gauze and probably blind for the rest of his life, finally tells her what no one else would. Alex gave his life to save Tom's, and probably others as well. Pushed him right out of the way.
The pain doesn't bury her this time, because there's a sliver of humor: MI6 was telling the truth. Alex Rider was finished off by a gas explosion.