Disclaimer: I do not own Alex Rider.

Legend: SAS

Fowl, part of the newest batch of SAS recruits, first heard about the Legend of Alex Rider the second day he was with his unit. It had been brought up in a side comment, which he had questioned. A second later, he had been hustled to a corner, where his unit mates whispered in hushed tones about Alex Rider.

They said he was lethal. Deadly. As quick as a snake and as clever as a fox. And he was young. Younger than all of the recruits, which seemed very unlikely to Fowl. It was hard enough for someone his age, twenty-five, to work in the field. He couldn't imagine someone even younger surviving that kind of work.

He had his suspicions that "Alex Rider" wasn't a real person. Or perhaps this "Alex Rider" was, but the tales of his missions weren't entirely true. Fowl had been quick to ask that, but it seemed that the rest of his unit had thought of that too. It was confirmed that "Alex Rider" was a real person. The older units, K, U, D, and B, had met him at least once before.

Fowl had quickly gotten together with the other new recruits, asking if they had heard the same. Of course they had, and they had their own doubts too.

The subject became Fowl's obsession for the next few days. He wanted to know exactly how old this "Alex Rider" was. He wanted to hear more about his missions. He wanted to know how exactly "Alex Rider" had managed to enrage five terrorist organizations, then manage to take them all down with a single blow. It just wasn't possible.

Eventually, the obsession faded. It had taken a solid month, but it had faded.

Until now.

"He's coming here?" Fowl couldn't believe his ears. The legendary Alex Rider, the one to complete over a hundred (hopefully, an exaggeration) missions, was coming to Brecon Beacons?

"Yeah," Fowl's unit leader, Puma, was excited. Fowl could tell by the way he fought off a grin on his face. "He's going to be teaching us!"

"Teaching us?" Sparrow, the unit medic, echoed, looking dubiously at Puma, "What is he teaching us?"

Puma leaned forward like he was sharing a secret, "Shooting."

"Shooting?" the rest of the unit echoed, including the quiet, reserved Trout. Ironically, he specialized in communications.

"Shooting," Puma confirmed, leaning away again, "I heard from one of the senior units that he's the real deal. One hundred precent accuracy."

Fowl scoffed, "That's impossible. There's no way. He can't not miss! I mean, you have to factor in the wind, the-"

"Okay, okay Mr. Sharpshooter," Sparrow rolled his eyes, "Save us the lecture, please."

"Are you guys crazy?" Puma demanded, "Do you know what this means?"

Fowl's eyes widened at the implications, "We're going to meet Alex bleedin' Rider."

"I do hope he's not bleeding," Trout muttered quietly, making a small scoffing noise. Fowl ignored him.

Fowl was in his own dream land, gazing to the side, "We'll finally get a chance to ask him about his missions! And about how old he is, and about the last time he was at Brecon Beacons, and about how he survived Selection – I barely did – and about-"

"I think you broke him."

LEGEND*SAS

"It's today!" Fowl whispered dramatically to his unit mates as they lined up for breakfast. The Sergeant had confirmed that Alex Rider, dubbed "Cub", was coming to teach instinctive shooting. Of course, all the soldiers had been trained in instinctive shooting, but Fowl wasn't very good at it, and he'd heard that Alex Rider – Cub – was the best.

"You'd think he was meeting the Prime Minister by the way he's acting," Puma grinned over to Trout and Sparrow, who returned the gesture.

"Haven't you heard?" Fowl asked, a bit dreamily, "He's met the Prime Minister. And the President. And a whole bunch of other political leaders."

"Oooh," Sparrow winced, "that's horrible."

The conversation around the unit ceased for a moment.

"What?" Sparrow demanded, "Political leaders are known to be..."

He let the statement trail off. The soldiers seemed to understand where it was going, and turned around to resume their conversation.

Fowl picked up his tray and followed Puma to their usual table, Sparrow and Trout behind him.

"When do we have shooting?" Fowl asked, shoving his food hastily in his mouth. He already knew the answer, of course, but he wanted to make sure.

It was surprisingly Trout who answered this time, "1000 hours to 1200 hours, Fowl."

"Two hours!" Fowl exclaimed, "Two hours with the legend."

"We're not going to be the only ones there," Sparrow reminded, "There's going to be four units there. Sixteen people."

"So?" Fowl asked, "If it's divided up evenly, we should get..."

He paused, trying to do the math.

"Seven and a half minutes," Puma supply. He had obviously spent some of his time trying to figure it out.

"He's not going to spend exactly seven and a half minutes with each of you, idiots!" Sparrow rolled his eyes.

Fowl frowned, "I know… wishful thinking, that's all."

"You don't know what that guy is like, Fowl," Sparrow said reasonably, "He might be absolutely vile."

"He can't be," Fowl replied confidently, "How could someone, who has saved the world multiple times, be a horrible person?"

"I dunno, Fowl," Puma said thoughtfully, pushing his plate away from him, "Sparrow might be right."

"Right..." Fowl nodded hesitantly, still refusing to accept it, "Maybe..."

1000 hours rolled around the corner before Fowl could fully comprehend it. He was going to meet his obsessi- hero. He was going to meet the enigma.

As he and the rest of his unit began the trek to the shooting range, Fowl began to hum "We're Off to See the Wizard" underneath his breath.

The shooting range looked normal at first glance. In fact, everything was normal. Except for the young man who stood in the center of the range, his face, stony.

This had to be him. Alex Rider. He was tall. No less than six foot. He had fair hair, brown eyes, and a cool, nonchalant aura about him.

Fowl gulped. No one had lied about his age. In fact, it seemed the rumors hadn't stressed enough how young this man was. He couldn't have been out of secondary school, let alone university.

There was something about him that made Fowl uneasy. Was it the blank expression on his face? Or was it the body language that screamed "dangerous!"?

The other three units arrived shortly after Fowl's. They lined up in four neat rows, standing to attention in front of the young man.

The man assessed them for a moment, circling them predatorily. For a moment, Fowl wished he was in the center of the group, shielded from his prying eyes that seemed to be trying to carve out his soul.

The man stopped in front of the group, "At ease, gentlemen."

The soldiers followed his orders in one, quick, fluid motion.

Fowl couldn't help the chill that crawled up his back when the man talked. He seemed so… cold.

"My name is Agent Alex Rider," the man said, "but you will address me as either 'sir' or 'Cub'."

It seemed completely wrong to call the man "Cub". He seemed far too authoritative to use such a casual name.

"I was called here today to teach you the art of instinctive firing," Rider began circling them again. Fowl kept his eyes determinedly forward. "Instinctive firing has helped me out quite a bit in sticky situations. Observe."

It was like the guy had pulled a gun from out of thin air. He was standing in front of the group again, his gun aimed at the targets behind him. The only thing was that he wasn't looking at the targets. He just fired a round, his eyes fixed on the group, watching with a certain smugness as the group openly gaped.

"Go look at them," Rider holstered his gun, "everyone."

The soldiers shifted awkwardly, taking off in the direction of the targets. Fowl was among the first to reach the targets.

"What the fuck…?"

Each of the human targets (there were six) had exactly two bullets in them. One in the head, another on its heart.

"That's not possible," Fowl muttered lowly, eyes wide. He'd never seen anyone hit so accurately. Scratch that – he'd never seen anyone fire a gun without facing the targets and actually hit them.

Puma nudged Fowl, who had been staring at the targets in amazement.

"Let's go," he murmured, following the small crowd.

"I'm going to be here for the next week, teaching you to perfect this skill," Rider explained. "This will start with a lesson on how to disassemble and reassemble your gun."

There was a ripple of thinly veiled irritation. They were soldiers. Of course they knew how to disassemble and reassemble a gun.

"You misunderstand," Rider was smirking as he led them over to a table. He pointedly set his gun down before nimbly taking it apart and putting it back together in a blink of an eye, "That is how well you need to know your gun."

The soldiers stared at him incomprehensibly, slack-jawed.

"Get your guns," Rider clapped his hands with childish delight, "we've got a lot of work to do!"

LEGEND*SAS

"My fingers are sore," Fowl moaned as his unit made their way back to their hut.

"My brain is sore," Sparrow muttered dryly, "That took more brain power than needed."

"Who knew so much went into instinctive firing?" Puma agreed, shaking out his own hands.

Trout remained silent.

"So, Fowl?" Sparrow prodded as soon as they had all collapsed on their respective cots, "Was the legendary Alex Rider as great as you thought he'd be."

Fowl groaned, his face buried in his pillow, "Definitely not."

A/N: So. Hi... Surprise?

I'm still overly frustrated with math, so I've decided to run away and procrastinate.

What did you think? Good? Bad? In need of more editing? Okay... I just realized it's 3 AM. How? I swear it was 1 AM a second ago (haha, jokes... it was two hours ago).

I don't normally do this, but requests for one-shots, anyone? Just so you know, I might combine one-shot ideas and/or not use the complete idea.

Anyway, thanks for all of your support! Don't forget to leave a review on your way out, and I'll see you next time!

-Alice xx