Hey, guys! So, if any of you have noticed or read the author's notes on the original (or even just noticed the title of this fic), you'd realise that this is a rewrite/edit of Rider's Return, which I wrote a while back. The reason for the rewrite is because of my rewrite of the prequel, The Gibbs Project - rewriting that meant that some of the characters in this were fairly inaccurately written, so I wanted to fix that. Of course, that meant that some of the plotline may also change so... instead of just editing it, I thought it would be a good idea to rewrite some of the chapters as well.

Anyway, thank you to those who helped with my decision, and thanks to all of you who've decided to read this story as well! I actually look forward to going through this story again. I hope this one is better written (both character-wise and plot-wise) than the original, and I hope you guys all enjoy this fic!

He looked over his shoulder as he sprinted down at alleyway. Were they still chasing him? The echoing sound of pounding footsteps gave him his answer. He mentally groaned.

They were still after him.

He had to lose them.

He tried to sprint faster down the alleyway, only to hear the footsteps behind him speed up as well. He took faster and deeper breaths to get more oxygen into his lungs and to his muscles, so that he could push himself harder. So that he could get away faster. He could feel his muscles tiring and weakening, but he pushed himself on. He could see the end of the alleyway. If only I could…

His train of thought was stopped suddenly when he heard a bang and felt the ground beside him crack and explode. He nearly fell to the side. Bullets, great, he thought as he continued to run on. The next set of bullets landed closer to his feet, almost catching him on the heel. He nearly cried with relief when he ran out of the alleyway into an open street… right into the rain. He'd forgotten about how hard it had been pouring when he'd entered the alleyway.

The rain would hide any tears anyway.

His eyes searched frantically for somewhere to hide as he resumed his sprint and headed down the street. He knew they wouldn't shoot when there were innocents around that could alert the police, so hiding in the crowd wasn't that hard to do… if there was a crowd.

Everyone had left the usually busy shopping area already to get home to their families, so there was barely anyone there – only the few employees leaving work late milled around, heading to their cars or walking home in the rain. He could easily get shot and barely anyone would look over, let alone realise what had happened.

He spotted another alleyway on the same side of the street, just a few blocks down. If only he could get there in time…

He sped up as he neared the alleyway. His chasers would be out any minute.

He leapt into the small alleyway, diving to hide himself behind a large trash can, and took slow, deep breaths to calm himself. He hoped they wouldn't find him…

Upon hearing the sound of footsteps, he held his breath – it was painful, but he did it. The footsteps neared the alleyway entrance before there was a shout. A moment of hesitation, then the footsteps retreated slowly, before disappearing altogether.

He gave a huge sigh of relief before getting up and walking cautiously out of the alleyway. He looked around to make sure his pursuers were actually gone before pulling the hood up on his hoodie; only to hide his face, and not to cover his already soaked hair.

Now to find shelter.

Petty Officer Peter Marks opened his fridge to find it, yet again, completely empty (save for a carton of milk, maybe – if it wasn't out of date). He sighed. "I really have to go food shopping this week," he grumbled, more at himself than anything else in the room.

The Petty Officer was around twenty-eight years old, of average height, with close-cropped red hair and bright blue eyes, and had a square jaw that gave him what some considered to be handsome features. At that moment he was wearing an old Harvard sweatshirt with a pair of grey jogging bottoms. The Harvard sweatshirt wasn't his – it was a 'hand-me-down' from his older brother who worked as an attorney, up in Boston.

Peter picked up a small Chinese menu from a counter to his right before walking into the living room of his home and picking up the house phone from its stand. He dialled the number at the top of the menu.

"Hello, Spring Garden Chinese, how can I help you?" a man with a slight Chinese accent answered on the other line.

"Hi, I'd like to order some Chinese?"

"Of course. May I take your order?"

Peter looked down at the menu. "Yeah, I'll have some barbecue roast pork…"

"How many portions?"

"Two please." His eyes continued to scan through the menu, looking for other items he might like. "And… some spring rolls – two portions."

There was some hesitation on the other line as the man continued to note down Peter's order. "Ok. Anything else?"

"Uh, can I also have one portion of Chicken Chow Mein and…" Peter paused when he heard a knock at the front door.

The sudden abruption wasn't something the man on the other line expected. "Anything else, sir?" he prompted.

Peter ignored the voice on the line and made his way slowly towards the front door, grabbing his gun from its holster on a table by it, just in case it was some murderer. No one would come to his house at this time of night for a good reason; especially as he usually lived in Quantico and this was his spare house when he needed to get away from it all.

"Sir?"

Peter placed the phone down on the table by the door before clicking off the safety slowly, his finger ready on the trigger if need be. Should I just shoot through the glass or look at who it is and then shoot? He placed his hand on the doorknob carefully, taking a deep breath, before suddenly twisting it and pulling the door open, pointing the gun at whoever stood there.

The person stood in front of him froze, almost jumping back at the sudden appearance of the gun aimed at them. "All you could've said was that I'm not wanted here."

Peter stared at the person in something akin to shock.

A teenage boy stood on his front porch, soaked to the bone, with a strong jaw line and handsome features. He had deep brown eyes and a tall, muscular figure – he was probably around 5 feet 10 inches tall, give or take a couple of inches. He wore a dark blue hoodie with the hood up so that his hair wasn't visible, and a pair of dark jeans with a pair of Nike trainers. That wasn't what unnerved him, though. The features were frighteningly familiar to Peter, like he'd seen him a couple of times before…

The teenage boy pulled back the hood he was wearing, revealing a mop of fair hair that hung down to his ears with his fringe in his eyes, and Peter nearly gasped. He knew where he'd seen the boy before.

"A…Alex? Alex Rider?"

Alex sent the man the slightest of smiles, his lips quirking up a little to one side. "I see you still remember me, then."

Peter clicked the safety on and blinked at the boy for a few moments, before remembering what he'd been doing before the teen arrived and picking up the phone. "Uh, that'll be all, thanks," he finally answered.

"Ok. Your delivery should arrive in about half an hour to an hour, sir."

Peter gave some sort of awkward smile. "Thank you." He hadn't bothered about telling them his address – he'd phoned the place so many times (never with the same order, mind you), they must've remembered it. He ended the call and turned to Alex, who was still standing outside the door, hands firmly in his pockets, soaking in the rain.

"Well…"

"Aren't you going to invite me in?" Alex asked somewhat cheekily, shivering a little from the cold, wet weather. He was used to this back in England, he supposed, but in the U.S.? It was usually a little warmer here, wasn't it?

Peter couldn't help but smile a proper smile. The boy's behaviour, no matter how cheeky, was pretty amusing, after all. "Sure. You need to get out of the rain, anyway." He stepped to the side as the boy walked into his home, leaving a trail of water behind him.

Alex eyes darted from left to right as he looked around the place. "Nice place you have here," he complimented casually.

Peter shut the door and followed Alex into the living room. "Thanks. It's all I could afford, really."

The blonde, soggy teen stood in the middle of the living room. "Are you going to put the gun down, then?"

Peter chuckled lightly at Alex's comment as he placed the gun on the coffee table. "You must be freezing, Rider," he noted aloud as he noticed Alex shivering a little as he observed the room. "I'll get you some clothes."

"I'm fine… really…" Alex tried to convince the Petty Officer, sounding fairly weak.

The older man rolled his eyes. "Sure you are." Peter left the room and headed upstairs to fetch Alex some clothes.

As soon as Peter had left the room, Alex shuffled towards the window that overlooked the street in front of the house. It was dark outside, making it hard for him to see anything properly out there. Yes, he could still see outlines of people walking out on the street, but it was too dark to confirm any of them as his pursuers, even if they were still there.

He sighed and moved away from the window, knowing that if he stayed there any longer his pursuers (if they were actually there) could shoot him. That was, if they'd followed him here. And chances were, even though he'd lost them, they would've found a way to track him.

"Here we go," Peter said as he re-entered the living room, carrying what looked like a blue t-shirt with a pair of loose jogging bottoms. He'd also brought down a pair of socks and one of his old hoodies. He handed the pile to Alex, who took them gratefully.

"Thanks." The teen looked through the pile of clothes in his arms, his eyebrows rising. "This many clothes?"

Peter chuckled. "You looked cold when you were standing at the door. Be grateful."

Alex gave a single nod. "Yes sir."

Peter smiled and gestured out to the corridor. "Bathroom's the first door on the left, Alex."

Alex nodded again before leaving the room to head off and change. Just as the boy left the room, Peter heard the doorbell ring. He walked out to the front door and opened it, expecting it to be the Chinese delivery guy, but he frowned when he instead saw a short blonde woman standing at his door.

"Uh… hi?" Peter asked.

The woman appeared to be looking around frantically, but even Peter could sense that there was some sort of lack in emotion in her movements. "Hello," she started gently, "I am looking for my son?" the woman said.

Peter frowned deeply at that, warning bells almost immediately going off. "Sorry, I haven't seen any little kids around here…"

"He's not little," she corrected, before going on to explain, "he's about fifteen years old, with fair hair and brown eyes. Not too tall, but… about average, his father usually says."

Peter looked slightly taken aback for a moment, the warning bells just ringing louder in his head at that. "Uh, sorry. Not seen anyone around here like that. Try next door." Before the woman could try talking to him anymore, he shut the door in her face.

"That the delivery guy?" Alex called out to Peter as he walked out of the bathroom wearing the dry clothes Peter had provided. All of them fit almost perfectly, maybe a little on the baggy side, apart from the hoodie which was about two sizes too big. To Alex, however, it felt snug. With the extra long sleeves, he almost felt like a little child again.

Peter turned towards the teen and shook his head in response to his question. "No." Folding his arms (and looking fairly intimidating as he did so), Peter gestured back towards the living room. "Alex, come and sit down. I need to talk to you."

Alex frowned and followed Peter into the living area, sitting down on the sofa so that he was facing the window. Peter sat and faced him on the sofa, instead facing away from the window. There was a short silence before Peter spoke.

"Alex, why exactly are you here?" he asked.

The teen tensed. He should have known that this was coming. After all his months of spying, after all that time of forced employment, it only took one month of relaxing for him to finally drop his spying habits. He cursed inwardly. "Uh…"

"Alex…" Peter warned, his brows furrowing at Alex's reaction to his question, "I can still take my clothes back and kick you out of the house."

Alex sighed through his nose, pursing his lips. He didn't want to explain what was going on, why he was there, why he had come to Peter for help and a place to stay… but he supposed now he had to. After all, he was his guest now. Peter technically had a right to know. "Well…" he started.

But he never got to finish his explanation.

There was a small clink as something cut through the glass window, and Peter gasped sharply in pain, eyes wide, before slowly tilting and falling off the chair, landing with a thud on the floor. Alex moved to kneel beside the Petty Officer before he realised what he was doing, and he frowned before he noticed the blood pooling around his body, leaving blood stains on the teen's knees; it took him a moment longer to realise that the blood was actually coming from the man's back, leaking out at an almost steady pace. He looked up at the window quickly, trying to find what had caused the injury, and noticed the small glint of the sniper gun before turning his attention back to Peter. The Petty Officer had been shot. And now he was dying. He quickly turned the Petty Officer onto his front, pressing his hands down on the wound to try and stem the bleeding. He was so busy that even though he heard a second click, he didn't realise it was actually the click of an opening lock.

He didn't register the pursuer come into the house until it was too late.

It was the soft footsteps behind him that alerted him to an unwanted presence, and even though the man in front of him was dying, he turned to see who it was. Because he definitely didn't recall Peter mentioning anything about another person being in the house, nor had he heard another person in the house for the entirety of the few minutes he had been there. He got a glance at the pursuer's face, but he didn't get to study the person.

Nor did he get to save the Petty Officer's life.

Because before he could even comprehend what was happening, he was out cold.

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