When the bank calls the Rider residence, it's never a good thing. Alex knows that much. It's a normal event, but it's never a good one. Every time that phone rings, Alex feels a rock of Pavlovian worry drop into his stomach. So when the phone rings out in his empty house (which he will never get used to, nor does he want to), he already knows what's going to happen. Something bad. He abandons his literature homework on the desk and moves towards the kitchen, where the phone is.

The phone rings once, twice, three times before Alex gets to it.

"Hello?" He says into the receiver, already expecting the reply that follows. No one besides the bank calls the house phone. No one besides the bank is even sure that he lives here anymore. None of his neighbors have seen him, and his school mates don't come over.

"Hello Mr. Rider! This is Jessica at the Royal and General calling, we seem to have encountered a problem with your account. Would you be able to come by at two p.m. tomorrow to get this sorted out?" The overly perky voice chirps pleasantly. Alex knows Jessica, he's used to the blonde's constant unnecessary cheer.

"Two is fine, I'll be by then." Alex replies.

"We can send a car to pick you up, if you like." Jessica offers.

"I'll take the tube." Alex insists. He wants to hold on to some of his independence, and taking the tube is the only way for him to spit in the bank's face without Blunt and Jones getting upset. Ever since Jack died, he's been on thin ice with Alan Blunt.

"Okay! Have a nice day, Mr. Rider." Jessica chirps pleasantly. Alex doesn't actually mind the secretary, but her unwavering cheer gets on his nerves sometimes.

"You too Jessica." Alex doesn't wait for a reply before hitting the off button on the phone and slamming it on the counter. He sighs heavily, leaning against the wall. He wishes more than ever that Jack was still alive. Still here to comfort him and threaten MI6 and breathe life into the house that's been dead and dreary and downright depressing since she passed.

But dwelling on the past never did help anyone, so Alex Rider moves forward.

The front of the bank used to be imposing. Alex used to feel a sense of fear, staring up at it's seemingly endless floors and ornate decoration. Now he has to swallow the bile rising in the back of his throat because he's not looking up today. He never does anymore. Now, every visit he makes to this bank is consumed by the block of concrete just outside it's doors. The one that's just visibly darker than the rest, stained in a splatter pattern so light that you really have to squint to see it.

But Alex doesn't need to squint. It's his blood that stains that concrete, after all.

He walks into the back totally stone-faced and neutral. There are a few other people milling around, but no one that Alex recognizes. Not that he's particularly well versed in MI6 agents, but he knows the higher up ones fairly well.

He marches past the desks, all attended to by beautiful men and women, and Alex briefly wonders if the job requirements say you have to be at least an 8/10 to work there. No one says a word to him, simply allowing him to go as he pleases. He spends more time here in the bank than he does in his own home, after all. He walks past the elevator, like always. Even in MI6, Alex isn't willing to risk locking himself in a solid metal box that he can't open. He takes the stairs two at a time until he comes to the floor that houses Blunt's office.

He knocks once on Blunt's office door, but doesn't wait for a response before he marches in. Blunt is sitting on the plain office chair behind the bland and unremarkable desk, some ugly thing that anyone could purchase in their local Ikea. Mrs. Jones sits beside Blunt, looking some mix of uncomfortable and pitying, and that's how Alex knows he's going to be leaving this office angry.

"Alex," Alan Blunt greets, folding his pale hands on the desk in front of him, "have a seat." He gestures to an ugly and uncomfortable looking chair pulled up against the desk. Alex pulls the chair out from the desk, depositing it in the middle of the room and sitting. Blunt, now four meters from Alex instead of the one he'd intended, sighs.

"Mr. Rider," he begins again, this time with a slightly icier tone to his voice, "it's been brought to our attention that you're living without a guardian." He says.

Alex snorts. "Huh. Just clued into that one, have you? I wonder why I'm living without a guardian. Could it be because you MI6 prats got her killed?" He questions sarcastically, ignoring the sting in his heart that comes up whenever he talks about Jack.

"Alex." Mrs. Jones says in a warning tone. She sounds more like a mother scolding her child for making a fuss in a supermarket and less like the deputy head of a national intelligence service.

"Tulip." Alex says mockingly, using the same tone. "Can we please get this conversation done? Tell me what foreign country you're sending me to get killed in and we'll call it a day. I told Tom I'd meet him at the park for a footie match at half past." This is a blatant lie, but Blunt and Jones don't need to know that. Alex is starting to get a little unnerved about this whole situation, and he just wants to get out of here as soon as possible.

"This is not a mission." Blunt says. "We are concerned for your safety, living alone as you are. So, we have decided-" Blunt stops speaking as Alex cuts him off.

"Seriously?" He asks, leaving forward in his chair. He folds his hands together and braces his elbows on his knees. "Blunt, you and I both know that you're not concerned about my safety for any decent reasons. So let's agree to be real with each other here, shall we?"

Blunt shoots Alex a look of very clear annoyance, but maintains his composure. "Very well. Alex, you are one of our best agents. There is no denying that. Which is why we have decided that it is very important not only that you are kept safe, but also that you don't arouse suspicion in school or social circles. Tonight, you will be moving in with your new guardian in his flat in Chelsea."

Alex bristles at the idea of moving in with a complete stranger, but he knows that it's entirely pointless to argue with Blunt. "Alright. Give me the address and I'll get myself there." He says.

"No need for that," Blunt holds his hand up when he sees Alex open his mouth to object, "Agent Daniels will be accompanying you."

As if he had been waiting outside the door (although he very well may have been), Ben Daniels leans in the door frame. "Did I hear my name?" He jokes.

"Ah, Agent Daniels. Please accompany Agent Rider to his home while he packs for his indefinite stay." Blunt says, very clearly dismissing the two spies. Alex shoves his chair back as he stands up, allowing it to topple helplessly to the floor, which is coincidentally exactly what Alex feels like doing in this exact moment.

Alex makes it halfway to the door when a voice stops him. Mrs. Jones speaks for only the second time since Alex arrived. "This is for your own good, Alex. Perhaps you should try to open up to your new guardian, you might have more in common than you previously thought."

He doesn't reply as he leaves, kicking the doorstop and allowing the heavy wood door to slam shut behind him with a resounding thud.

Well! That's chapter one out of the way! I know that this fic plot is a little bit generic, (read: way overused) but I would really like to do something new and inventive with it, so I promise I will work hard on that! Also, there is a possibility that this story will contain slash (Alex/Tom, for those of you who are wondering). I haven't decided yet, but it's a definite possibility.