Scratched Record-

Disclaimer- I do not own the story book or movie, A Clockwork Orange or its characters.

Plot Summary- Alex fancies a girl who works at the record shop he goes to. However, the girl well pretty and music literate, is too pure and trusting. Will Alex take advantage of the young lady? Or will she be an exception to everything he has always stood for?

Notes: This is my first Clockwork Orange story (huge fan of both the book and the movie), as such, my nadsat may be a little weak in a few places, but I've tried my best to keep Alex and others in character (a feat that turns out to be very difficult), however, I should remind readers that this is based off the missing chapter of Anthony Burgess's original story, where Alex starts to think of giving up his evil ways, and I'm trying to reflect that in this story. Also, my OC character may be a bit…annoying with lack of better words or even Mary Sue (I hope not, but I can't be certain that she is or if I'm just being paranoid). However, I am trying to intentionally create a love interest which is opposite of Alex—that being said, I figured a contradiction to Alex's careless, evil, and dark life would be a woman who is good, light, and perhaps a little bubbly. That being said, I appreciate criticisms, but please no flames. That being said and done with, here is Scratched Record—enjoy!

Chapter 1: The Rabbit

Daytime—could he get use to doing this all the time? Walking around like an average man in his petticoat and ascot, surfing through the records and making his purchases without taking company home? It didn't feel like it; right now, he felt as if he was living in different skin.

Alex looked up at the clock—he was due (Due—when had a schedule ever mattered in his life?) home soon. A sniff of dinner and a change of clothes and he'd be with his droogies once more, creating the usual havoc and destruction. The only part that bothered him was 'usual'. He was growing weary of it. Sure, when you were a child, it was fun to take and destroy what didn't belong to you. But now—almost nineteen years of age—it seemed like more of a chore than an outing. Men his age were engrossed in their careers; building lives, and building families.

Perhaps that's why she interested him so. 'She' being the girl behind the counter. The young woman was stacking c.d.'s just down the aisle from him. A small little thing—both in weight and height; her hair almost seemed bigger than she was—long trench of wavy blonde hair fell over her shoulders and stopped just about her waist. Through it, Alex could see a pair of large headphones attached to a cassette player. He shrugged; pretty enough but not particularly moving or grand. Pleasing to the eye none the less.

Most days he came in, she was working, appearing completely oblivious to the world around her. She only spoke so many words to him—a 'will that be all for you, sir?' here and a 'good afternoon' there. The girl couldn't have been working there for more than a year, yet in that year, he had never taken much of an interest in her before. But things had changed since his revelation, meeting up Pete and all. He noticed these women more often now.

The reason? Perhaps he wondered—was this the type of woman (even though she didn't look much older than sixteen) men like Pete sought out? The kind you didn't feel the immense need to give the old in out, in out to, but had a calming aura about them? He wasn't sure if he could ever be inspired by such a female—so mundane to behold, yet he was curious as to why exactly men had such a fascination with them.

Deciding it was better than looking through the exhausted old tapes and records he had already browsed through; he wore his dazzling smile for the young lady he approached. "Pardon dear Devotchka, but might a brother have some warble by Beethoven switched on? If it be no razdraz."

She removed her headphones and turned to face him. Her doe eyes off-set everything else on her face. She reminded somewhat of a small rabbit with her narrow face and small nose. "Oh, None at all—I'll set up a booth for you." She responded in her high voice, with a smile—so wide and white that it made his stomach sick like eating too many sweets.

Alex followed her to the set of booths while she switched the cassettes behind the counter. When he placed the headphones on, he could hear the sweet sounds of Beethoven playing. The one thing this revelation hadn't changed. "Is that all you be needing sir?"

"Yes sister, this is quite fine." He watched as she set back to work. The phone rang and she jumped—only furthering his comparison of her to a bunny. She jumped to the counter to answer the phone. Leaving him behind to watch her.

She was almost child-like, he decided. Not even the way he considered his droogs children, but the kind that parents chased and followed—making sure they didn't make asses of themselves. The way she spoke and made hand gestures told him that she was enthused type—a nice change from his supposed co-workers who seemed to hate everything about their work lives. He himself, never particularly enjoyed misery unless he was the one inflicting it. He disliked the sort of people who whined and bitched about their troubles as if the world was coming down.

"Fancy working at a disc-bootick, sister?" He asked after she hung up the phone. She looked up at him with an eyes in the headlights sort of look. Not always on par, this one, he secretly thought, or at least not quick to be so.

"Yes, I like it well enough. Not a career, but it suits me until I get one." The girl returned to her duties—ignoring him once more. He might have been annoyed had he not noticed what time it was getting to be.

"Afraid there be no such thing as a 'career' sister. After all, no one rabbits once they've snuffed it." He put the headphones down, expecting a response, but not getting one. Just a simple shrug as she set back to stacking c.d.'s He left the booth and prepared to set home to get ready for his night out. "I bid you dobby afterlunch, dear devotchka…"

"Good night sir," She said. Troublesome, these girls could be. Alex shook his head as he walked out the door. No looks. No personality. What did these everyday gentlemen see in them?

Perhaps only interest; that was after all, the only thing he felt towards the girl.

()

"Dobby nochy, is it not brothers?" Len asked. Alex didn't agree or disagree as they basked in the late night. It was indeed a good, if cold, night. The streets were empty box seats, waiting to be filled by the youth of the night as they set out to raise havoc. It amazed Alex how little the city had changed in the past couple years—it was almost as if he had never left and returned at all. Being a narrator, did make your surroundings timeless.

"Ain't be nothing zammechet about it." Bully scoffed. Alex frowned—too much like Dim for his liking at times.

"What plans do we have this night, Alex?"

Alex shrugged, slinging his cane about his shoulders—it use to be that he was totally possessive of the leadership role. He however, was uninspired to think of anything. "Your master has nothing to viddy, dear droogies. What viddy you, Bully? We do ye suppose we itty?"

Bully's foul mood receded immediately—just as Alex figured. He was all set to take over the gang once Alex retired (which he knew was impending as well as Alex did). And since he was all set to take the role, Alex figured the decision was best left to him. "I suggest the milk bar first, droogies. Then perhaps we shall shift through a domy just up town. Does this suit you little Alex?"

Alex was unimpressed but shrugged. "Well enough I suppose droogie…Well-"

"Pardon me, sir…" That voice—he had heard it earlier today. From where had shocked him. Sure enough, his eyes set to across the street.

The little blonde rabbit from the record shop was coming face to face with two men—droogs from another gang judging by their clothing. Both blocking her way as she made her way down the street—home from work, no doubt. He had seen this scene so many times—participated in it as well—that he could see the trouble in their eyes and understand what it met.

For some reason, he was bothered by this. He didn't like the googly eyes they made at her or the intentions he was sure they were thinking. Why should he have cared? The girl gave him nothing earlier; she even ignored him when he gave her the grace of his presence. So what did it matter to him that she was dumb enough to walk home alone—just asking for a couple of droogs to give her pretty little head the time of its life?

He didn't know—but he didn't stand for it either. "Go on ahead, malchicks. I shall join you in a moment. Go on then, sing to your heart's content! Master will follow shortly."

"You heard him, droogies. A soviet from the malchick, himself. We'll viddy you later, dear droogie. Oh, I don't dare to viddy how much ye be missed!" Alex felt irritated at how quickly his droogs had thrown him off—yes, Bully was indeed, too much like Dim for Alex to ever truly enjoy him. However with both Bully and Dim far from his mind, replaced with only his task on mind, Alex began his trek across the street.

"Well well, what is a wee little thing like you doing here? A sharp as pretty as you could be at the mercy of all sorts of strack"

Even facing them, she appeared just as indifferent at the shop. Alex could have admired her bravery if it didn't seem so illogical. "No need to worry; I know my way home well. Like red riding hood through the woods, I suppose. Now, my way, sir?"

They laughed, appreciating the irony of what was about to go down. Or so they thought. She grasped onto her purse. Just as a beat of panic picked up in her heart—just when she realized the kind of danger she was truly in. An angel—or perhaps a demon—freed her from it. "There you are! Naughty, naughty love! Thy knows better than to itty off on your oddy knocky!"

An arm slinked itself around her shoulder—she loosened her grip and looked up at its owner. Surprised to see the young man from earlier with a bright and dangerous smile, leaning both himself and her against his cane. Every day, he had entered the shop—sometimes buying a load of classical music, other times, just hanging about in the booth listening to music. She never minded him; he usually left her alone to her business and she enjoyed the way she talked.

She had never seen him dressed like this though; and the more she thought about it—the more she realized just how dark he had become since their last meeting. The clothes, his eyes, even the friendly, if mischievous smile, he wore had a hint of unspeakable evil in it. It made her shiver. "This be your soomka, bratty?"

The once confident men had turned into little boys when Alex had arrived. He smiled, happy to see he still enjoyed the fear he brought on to others—especially of his own kind. Alex ran his fingers through a strand of loss hair; making her jump once again.

"Indeed—my polly money malenky devotchka, she be. Afraid the gulliver isn't as polezny as the litso on this one, but still quite a horrorshow of a cheena, eh?" He lifted her locks up and away from her shoulder. She tried her best not to flinch. "Now, dearest, ye weren't causing these malchicks grief, were you?"

Realizing that she was part of the performance. She cleared her throat and carefully spoke. "No, darling, I was just looking for you when they came upon me."

"I see, and they didn't cause you vred, did they?" Alex took on a stone hard glare that made the men shrink back. She didn't miss the undertone in his voice. Whether he was doing this for his sake or for anyone's sake; she belonged to him for the moment being. The girl shook her head.

"No darling, they were quite concerned actually. They wondered why I was out all alone and I haven't the chance to tell them I was looking for my beloved." She said turning to him with a big and grateful smile. He genuinely enjoyed it, even with as easily as she had given into him—the way it made her doe eyes sparkle. Perhaps there was potential for this one yet.

"Right then, appypolly loggy, my brothers—I pray she didn't cause too much trouble." Alex's friendly tone spoke volumes more than his vicious thoughts. He bared his teeth like a wolf.

"No trouble at all, veck—devotchka." One of the men stepped aside. "Have…Have a horrowshow of a nochy."

"As do you, brothers…" Alex lowered his arm to around her waist and roughly pulled her close, making her grunt. Putting his cane forward and balanced on it. He walked past them, feeling quite like Moses parting the red sea. "As do you…"

The two men wasted no time in furthering the distance between them. With a sigh of relief, the young woman fought to keep up with his quick strides. Not noticing that he was pulling her. "Thank you so much, sir. If you hadn't come well, I dare not ponder what would have become of me."

"You're quite razdraz to gooly this way, sister. Indeed, thank god or bog for your uncle Alex and his horrorshow rasoodock." A little too cheerfully he said. Her body swaying against his—her hip every so often, bumping into his—spiked an old flame within him he hadn't felt for awhile. In this setting, she wasn't nearly as plain as he had originally thought her to be. Now that she was out of her work clothes and into the usual female fashions and he was close enough to smell her—and she did have an incredible scent on her. Like lavender or hot bath water.

"Is that your name? Alex?"

"Yes, and what is the eemya your pe and em gave you, fair sister?" He was more curious than he cared to admit. Usually, he preferred not to personify his victims. Not so much to keep the guilt at bay, but more because they were undeserving in his eyes to have an identity. They were nothing more than objects or dolls for him, for the narrator to play with or create. Yet, this new Alex surprised him, even after playing hero to his usual victim. At least, for now he was…whether he continued to be so or not was her choice.

"Ophelia. After the Shakespeare heroine of Hamlet. My parents being huge fans and all." The newly recognized Ophelia turned her head over her shoulder. "Pardon Alex, but those—what do you call them in your razzle-dazzle language? Malchicks—are far behind us now. Could you let go of me?"

He smirked, choosing to stop but not release his grip. "Not quite Oppie-feelie-ah." He tested a variation of the woman's name, not sure if he quite liked it or not. Alex turned so she faced him, putting his face close to hers. "Would you not viddy that without your dear uncle Alex, ye would have been razrezzed to pieces?"

"I suppose I would have." Ophelia answered, not much caring for the gleam in his eye. Her body was telling her to run, but her mind reminded her that this man had saved her. The same man who came into her record store every day and just this morning had tried to make polite conversation with her. Surely if he meant harm, he would have caused it already? "Is there something you be needing in return? You being my hero, I'd feel terrible if I didn't reward you."

His mind snapped back into the building flame. It didn't matter much if her appearance had failed to impress him earlier. In this light and this state of vulnerability, she looked good enough to eat. "I— "

"Oh! Oh, oh!" Ophelia beamed suddenly. She turned away from him to reach into her bag. Alex's smile faded—in a rare moment, he was confused by what the young girl was doing. She produced a tape, extending it to him. "Here—it doesn't make things fair and square, but music does raise the score."

"What?" When was the last time he had used that word solely? Without any hint of his nadsat accent? He couldn't remember. His brain too seething with annoyance and impatience.

She glanced down at it, perhaps making sure it wasn't broken. "It's a tape of orchestra and piano songs styling's, composed by Joss Hyfreed. He sort of gives a different take on the classic music. I know you prefer the classics pure and untampered with, as do I, but I think you'll enjoy his rendition of Beethoven's 9th symphony…"

Again, he was caught by surprised by the young woman. With a friendly smile, she pushed the tape into his non responding hands. "It's not due to be released until tomorrow—I only got it because I work at the record shop… But if you give it a go, let me know what you think of it… I assume you'll be stopping by the record shop, right Alex?"

His hand clenched around the tape. Something didn't sit right with him. No, this wasn't right at all. But he didn't feel so angry at her, nor did he feel like throwing her down and giving the old in-out, in-out. In fact—he was tranquil. Calm. At peace for the first time in so long.

And he couldn't understand why—he just knew she was to blame.

"I know not, Oppie-feelie-ah—if I should, I'll viddy what I have slooshy from this tape."

She just kept smiling—bright white in the darkness, just serving to confuse him more. "Well, I suppose I must be getting home before I get myself into more trouble. Thank you, Alex, for being my... black knight." She laughed softly, this being a comment on the height of fashion he was wearing.

With that, she turned and took small strides home. He could hear her singing a tune to herself—the 9th, he noted. Soon after, he left to join his droogs as usual. Yet, it felt as if things were more different than they had been before as he considered everything that had happened.

Without explanation, his whole world had been turned upside down by this supposedly mundane little rabbit girl who worked in the record shop.