AN: I didn't realize until recently that it had been well over a year since I'd updated this. Yeah...sorry. I don't really have any excuses that you'll find acceptable. Just know that I do have a plan for this story, and it is being written. Thank you for enduring the wait, and I hope you enjoy the short-ish chapter anyway!

Disclaimer: I do not own Alex Rider.

"With the situation in Tehran worsening everyday, the Prime Minister has pledged action should the retaliation against the protests worsen. Anna Blackwell, Press Secretary, released the following statement: 'The Prime Minister understands the commitment of the Iranian people to a freely-elected government, and he recognizes that they deserve one.' This comes just behind the news of American President…."

Alex, attempting to peel potatoes one-armed at the kitchen sink, heard the news report with half an ear. The other was busy listening to Jack complain—this time something to do with the amount of makeup work his teachers had assigned.

"I just don't get it, Alex. High school isn't supposed to be this hard!"

Alex laughed but kept his eyes on the peeling—his wrist was almost healed, but he was having fun seeing what he could accomplish one-handed—throwing the raw potatoes into a bowl. "First of all, Jack, we're not in America. Ix-nay on the 'high school.'" Jack, doing something unholy with a turkey baster, stuck her tongue out at him.

"Secondly, I've missed so much school that this is actually reasonable." Jack opened her mouth, but Alex cut her off. "Seriously, I don't mind it. It's better than…lots of other things." Such as pretending to socialise, or avoiding the classmates that now knew what he was capable of, or going to physical therapy. Or being on a mission.

Jack sighed through her nose, a sure sign of frustration. "Just let me know if you want a tutor or anything, all right? There's nothing wrong with needing help."

Alex grinned. Jack caught it and threw a snapped green bean at him, scowling. "You haven't won! I still intend to talk to your teachers, young man!"

The doorbell saved Alex from having to make a response. "That'll be Tom," he said, wiping his hands on his jeans and heading for the door.

Jack muttered behind him. "On time, for once." Alex fought back a grin. Tom was rarely ever late—if anything, he was perpetually early, always eager to escape his feuding parents. But Alex knew that their recent ordeal had calmed things considerably in the Harris household. Tom's parents were walking all over one another to be the more "sympathetic" parent. Tom had loads of new clothes, video games, and even a new telly in his room. The Harris parents seemed to think that trauma could be repaired with material goods. Alex only wished that was so.

But it wasn't Tom at the door. Ryan Kent stood there awkwardly, avoiding eye contact. Alex tensed immediately.

"Ryan."

"Er…hi Alex. Could I—could I come in?"

Alex didn't respond, but opened the door. Kent scurried in. He looked even more out of place in Alex's living room. Alex couldn't remember the last time that someone other than Tom had been in his house.

Jack peeked her head out of the kitchen, wiping her hands on a dishrag. She seemed taken aback to see Kent there. Alex waved at her, and she shot him a tentative smile before returning to the kitchen.

Alex sat on the arm of the couch, arms crossed over his chest. "All right, Kent," he said. "Why are you here?"

The other boy shuffled his feet around awkwardly. "I wanted to apologize," he said in a low voice, "for everything I've said about you in the past. It was…cruel of me. I didn't know what I was saying."

Alex's voice was flat. "Obviously not."

Kent flushed. "I'm really, really sorry, Alex. Seeing what you've had to deal with—well, it really put my life into perspective. I've had it easy, compared to you."

It was Alex's turn to shift uncomfortably. "Don't make me into some sort of martyr, Kent," he said. "I only did what I had to do."

Ryan nodded. "I know." He paused. He opened his mouth several times, but no words came out. He seemed to reconsider his thoughts every time. It was another moment before he spoke. "So, are you back in school on Monday?"

Alex nodded. He got the sense that Kent was trying to bury the hatchet. "Yeah."

Kent offered him an awkward smile. "You…you, er, want the homework or anything? We haven't had a lot, but Parkinson assigned this stupid project on the "Founders of Chemistry" yesterday."

Alex paused. "That would be nice. Thanks."

He half expected the school to be buzzing with his return on Monday, but as Alex rode his bike through the gates—it was really getting too small for him—only a few people glanced his way. The whole school knew the story. This time, Alex hadn't been the only one to disappear.

His first class of the day was chemistry, of course. His classmates quieted as he entered the room, all blatantly staring at him. He sighed. It was a mistake to think that he was past this. Whatever unity they might have shared had evaporated.

But there were no whispers. Maybe it was conceited of him to expect them, but he was surprised when they didn't come. Just eyes, all focused on him. He saw Regina's crutches lying awkwardly on the floor. She had a cast on her leg—Alex knew that she'd been shot, but he wondered if bones had broken as well. Tom patted the seat next to him, and Alex made his way toward the second-to-last row and slid in, leaving his bag on the floor. Mrs Parkinson, who knew the basics of the situation but had no hope of learning the truth, cleared her throat and began the lesson.

As Ryan had promised the previous Saturday, all talk was about what Mrs Parkinson called the "parents of modern chemistry." Tom patted his shoulder regretfully when she told them to break into their pairs, not noticing Alex's wince.

"Sorry, mate, but you weren't here when the project was assigned. I'm stuck with Kent for this one."

Alex smiled at him and shook his head. "'S fine. It doesn't look like Regina has a partner, either. I'll work with her."

Tom looked as if he'd been smacked in the face. "On second thought, why don't you work with Kent and I'll help Reggie out—y'know, since you get along so much better with him than I do."

Alex grinned and stood. "No can do—look, Ryan's already wondering what's holding you up." He leaned in closer to Tom. "But if you really want, you guys could probably come over some time to work on your project at my place. I might be able to orchestrate that."

Tom might've been a bit slow sometimes, but he wasn't stupid. "What do you want from me? I can do anything."

Alex laughed out loud and lifted his bag, smiling at Regina, who gestured at her crutches and then at the seat next to her. "Let's say you owe me a ticket to the cinema, eh?"

Tom let out a theatrical groan, but nodded. "Deal."

"'Lo, Alex!" Regina called out brightly when he approached. "I guess the two of us were the only ones still out last week?"

Alex nodded. "Seems that way. How are you, by the way? Is your leg healing up all right?"

Her smile faded. "It's on its way," she said without elaboration. Her eyes were cloudy, and Alex felt ill. "What about you? Your—well, you're healing went well?"

Mrs Parkinson was suddenly hovering overhead, passing them both the rubric for the assignment. "Perfect, you two are working together. You're both feeling better, I expect?"

They nodded, and she flitted away, still too close to their table for them to speak freely. Alex took out his notebook and uncapped a pen. "I'm getting better, too. I'm going to be in physical therapy a few times a week until they tell me I'm acceptably fit."

To Mrs Parkinson, "they" probably meant the doctors. Regina understood Alex's point, though. She blanched and leaned closer, whispering. "They can't…they aren't possibly still going to make you do those things anymore, though?"

Alex snorted. He leaned in to whisper, too: "You would think so, wouldn't you? It's not so bad anymore, though—they've promised me pay and benefits now."

Regina was clutching the desk. She blinked a few times, and then shook her head. "I can't even believe that," she said, her voice growing stronger. "That's awful."

Mrs Parkinson made another round. Sighing awkwardly, Alex looked at the rubric. "It says here we have to pick one of the founders of chemistry and do a presentation on them—oh, bollocks, we have to do a poster. I'm no good at those."

His partner seized on the topic change and grabbed her own sheet. "Well, how about we work on the research together—I'll do the biography, you do the chemistry part—and then we find a day to work on the poster?"

"Sounds good," Alex said, leaning back. "Say my place on Thursday? Does that work for you?"

Regina nodded, and the two of them started to make their outline. A buzzing in his pocket told Alex that he had a text.

FROM: TOM

u get it?

TO: TOM

yeah, she's coming over thurs…that good for you?

FROM: TOM

r u kidding? my parents pay attn now, but i'll find a way to get there

Alex smiled and slid his mobile back into his pocket. Despite the fact that nearly everyone in this room knew his secret, for the first time in well over a year, Alex Rider felt remarkably like a normal teenager.