Disclaimer: I do not own the Alex Rider series.

Never Say Uncle

The elevator doors opened and a man emerged. He momentarily looked lost before turning left, towards the office he had had for two years. This hesitation did not go unnoticed. A woman, smelling vaguely of peppermint, followed the man to his office.

The man was still standing at his desk, looking out the window at Liverpool Street. "Ian? May I come in?"

"Tulip, yes – please." He sat down and waved towards the other chair in the small, spartan office.

"So, Ian, did you speak with the Heads? Have you made your decision?"

Ian rubbed his face with both hands, and then clasped them on his knees. "Yes. Yes, I have. I'm staying on. I can't bear the thought that those bastards think they've won."

Mrs. Jones nodded, lips pursed. "So it's confirmed? It was Scorpia's work?"

"Well, the forensics report came back – it was definitely a bomb. Remote controlled. However, Scorpia still hasn't taken credit. Sir Martin and Blunt have some theories. You know that Scorpia likes to style themselves that they 'never forgive, never forget'? The thinking is that they would normally want to advertise internally the penalty for disloyalty or failure. They fact that they have not done so would seem to indicate that there are internal politics that we don't understand. Perhaps John's role as an instructor for so long would create a crisis of confidence in the loyalties of the most recent trainees. Or maybe it's just the humiliation of having been penetrated so deeply for so long."

The woman cocked her head to the side. "Perhaps we should precipitate such a crisis? Let the story circulate, create some chaos?"

"Sir Martin was leaning that way, but Alan talked him out of it. If they are keeping the story under wraps tight enough, and we eliminate the players… well, it gives me immediate credibility to penetrate Scorpia again. They know I'm MI6, but John indicated they had been feeling him out for months about whether I could be turned… Hell, it's one of the things that made John attractive in the first place: leverage against me. If the events of Albert Bridge are still credible, then I've got a rock solid excuse for changing teams." He gave a weak smile. "Of course, that means that I have to consider you my mortal enemy."

"It sounds incredibly risky, Ian. How would you know that we had rooted out the entire cabal?"

"Knowing Blunt, he'd dangle me in front of them and see whether they killed me or not. But Sir Martin believes that if it turns out that it was Julia Rothman that burned John, she would have kept the circle small indeed. She was personally invested in John's rapid rise to prominence, and that fact would not have been lost on the other directors of Scorpia. This is actually the most likely scenario, in Sir Martin's opinion, because if any other directors were aware, they would no doubt use it take Rothman down a peg or two."

"Well, I just wanted to say once again how sorry we all are for your loss. What will you be doing with John's boy—Alexander, is it?"

"I know John wanted to take Helen and Alex away from this world, but… I'm going to raise him myself. Alex is the only family I have left, and a living connection to John's memory. I can't give him up."

"Mommy, mommy, watch this! Mommy!"

Ian sat with his back against the trunk of a large chestnut tree. It was a little further away from the play equipment than he would have liked, but it provided an excellent view of the park entrance.

"Mommy, William pushed me!"

He tried to adjust his seat, looking for a more comfortable position. However, with his bruised ribs, this just wasn't going to be possible. He eyed the benches enviously. Unfortunately, he knew that if he grabbed a seat on the bench, the young mothers there would grill him mercilessly. Which one is yours? Does he go to a play group? Where's his mother? Ian was much more comfortable fading into the background. At least as much as a young, fit, seemingly unattached man could at a playground.

"Daddy, kick the ball!"

He kept his left hand in his jacket pocket. A sling would have attracted too much unwanted attention. He performed another scan of the perimeter, noting the new arrivals.

"UNCLE IAN!"

Ian worked his hand free of his jacket just in time to catch the human projectile aimed at his chest. He suppressed the groan, but was not able to avoid wincing from the sharp pain in his ribs. In his peripheral vision, he saw several of the mothers turn at the shout. I guess, as a parent, you get so used to filtering out the Mommy, Daddy, Mommy, Daddy, he mused.

Ian looked into the four-year-old's smiling face. "Hey there, tiger." For a brief instant, he considered whether he should tell Alex to call him "Daddy". Protective coloring, don't you know. But looking into the spitting image of his big brother's face, he just couldn't do it. Even four years later, the pain of the loss was still too great.

He tickled Alex's sides. As the little boy giggled and squirmed, Ian said "You know what, little man? I'd like it if you just called me Ian."

Ian looked down at the caller ID on his phone. The Bank.

"Bloody hell." He was supposed to have a week off after his last mission.

Since they were in Paris, Ian spoke to Alex in French. «Alex, I need to take this call. It's work. Stay right here. I need to step outside.»

Upon reaching the sidewalk, Ian keyed in his passcode and accepted the call. "Rider. This better be good, I'm on holiday with my nephew."

After a few moments, it was clear that the call was an administrative matter that could easily wait for his return. As Ian turned to re-enter the clothing store, he spotted one man stopped dead on the sidewalk not fifteen feet from him. The man looked like he had seen a ghost – which was not surprising in that Ian had faked his own death at the end of that particular mission. What are the odds!

Ian smoothly returned the phone to his ear as he continued to turn, as though he were agitated and distracted by the phone call. The man quickly turned to examine the store window in front of him. This was less than convincing, as the store was currently closed for renovations. Ian would have snorted, if the situation were not so serious. The man mustn't see Alex!

Ian paced toward the store entrance, turned the other way and took a few steps back the other way. All the while, continuing to simulate a phone conversation. He hoped the erratic pacing would give him a few seconds before the man would venture to follow Ian into the store. Ian wrenched open the door and strode quickly into the store.

«Alex, I have a challenge for you. Here, hide in this clothes rack. Two points if you can make it to the other end of the store without any other customers seeing you. Another two if you can hide under the desk without the cashier seeing you. I'll go outside and count to a hundred.»

Ian put the phone back to his ear and went back outside. The arms dealer was nowhere in sight. Ian dialed the Bank. "I've been made. If I do not check in within the hour, contact the Paris station and send someone to this address to collect my nephew. He will be speaking French and hiding under the cashier's desk."

"His safety phrase is 'Chelsea blue'. And tell him his father's brother sent you…. That's right, not uncle. It's 'father's brother'."

"Mr. Rider, a moment, if you please." The karate instructor intercepted Ian and Alex as the headed for the door of the dojo.

"Yes?" Ian's eyebrows invited the sensei to continue.

"As you may know, I'm starting an advanced class. I was wondering if you would be interested in signing up Alex? To prepare for district competitions."

"I don't know. You don't think he is a bit young? I was mostly just targeting basic self-defense."

"Well, you know what the say about American football, right? The best defense is a good offense."

Alex looked up at his father's brother. "Please, Ian? I promise it won't interfere with my homework."

"OK, OK. We'll give it a go."

It had only seemed like a moment, but when he looked up, Ian was nowhere in sight. OK, where did we last exchange words? Alex knew that if they got separated he was to return to the last location where they had been together and stay put. Right, we talked about where we would eat lunch as we left the department store.

Alex went directly to the department store entrance on the corner. He positioned himself close enough to a group chatting on the sidewalk that, from a distance, he would appear to be part of the group. But not so close that the group would feel the need to engage him in conversation. Angling himself away from the group further decreased the chance that he would catch their eye. Alex settled in to wait.

After waiting for nearly fifteen minutes, Alex was looking longingly at the ice cream stand on the corner. If only Ian had left me with some money. Of course, then I could have just called his mobile... Alex's attention returned to the ice cream stand with a start. He remembered noticing a beverage stand as they exited the store; he had almost asked for a Coke. I'm at the wrong entrance!

Alex hurried around the corner without drawing too much attention to himself. As he approached the other entrance, he spotted Ian almost immediately. To Alex's eyes, Ian looked frantic; despite standing perfectly still, he was scanning the flowing crowd twice as frequently as normal. He spotted Alex and quickly closed the gap.

This week was Spanish. «Alex, I was ready to call out the army.» He then muttered in English, "Of course, it would probably take them two days to get here."

«You should have called me.»

«I didn't have any money.»

«Well, you should have borrowed a phone!»

«Ian, I'm not supposed to let anyone know I'm by myself. How am I supposed to borrow a phone without speaking to anyone?»

Ian gave Alex an appraising look. Coming to a decision, he stooped down to be closer to Alex's level. He switched to English, which was totally against the rules. But under the circumstances, Alex wasn't going to point that out. "OK, pay attention." He looked into Alex's eyes. From the back of Ian's throat came a noise that Alex felt more than heard. Was Ian snoring? Growling? After a moment, the noise paused, then continued. He repeated it a couple more times. "Now you try." Alex tried to duplicate the noise, but Ian cut him off. "We can work on that later."

"See that group over there?" With a tilt of his head, Ian indicated a group of people browsing a newspaper stand. "Stay here. Watch their hands." Ian moved to the group. A few moments later, several of the people stopped browsing. A businessman reached into his inside jacket pocket. A women began pawing through her handbag. A young man patted down his front pants pocket. One old lady continued to browse undisturbed. Ian returned to where Alex was standing.

With a slight smirk, Ian asked, "Now, where do you think they keep their mobiles?"

They started walking back toward the Tube.

"Generally, the inside jacket pocket is the easiest, but with your height..."

Pain shot through Alex's shoulder as his arm was twisted behind his back. He was bent nearly double trying to relieve the strain.

"Hey, Cub, you have to know when to say 'uncle'."

Snake's leg was too far forward. Alex jabbed his knuckle into the nerve cluster beside the larger man's knee. He released Alex's arm as he tried to move his weight to his other leg. Alex spun away into a ready stance.

"I never say 'uncle'."

A/N: "Say Uncle" is a phrase that means "admit defeat" (traditionally, someone will force another to say "uncle" to acknowledge their superiority). I do not know how widespread this usage is. It's a phrase that most Americans seem to know, but no one actually uses. I don't think it is used in England, but c'est la vie.

It bothered me that I couldn't think of a benign/defensive reason for Ian to introduce Alex to pickpocketing. Re-posting with this small addition...