Masks

When Sabina drags Alex to a party a couple years after he's out of the business, Alex suddenly runs into an old acquaintance. Though it may be for the best neither realize it.

Notes: For people unfamiliar with the States, drinking age here is 21. I've put this in some universe where Crocodile Tears (etc.) never happened.

Disclaimer: Fanfiction. Pretty self explanatory.

The hall was dazzling. A crystal chandelier spun in the center of the room, casting a soft glow on the painted figures dancing across the ceiling. Spans seemed to stretch from wall to wall, every inch filled with people dressed to the nines. Women shimmered in their gold and silver dresses while the men dotted the between in their black, and every face wore a bright masquerade mask adorned with feathers and jewels. The room was warm, piano runs twined sinuously through the air, and Sabina Pleasure was in heaven.

Alex, on the other hand…

"Don't be such a killjoy!" Sabina scolded as she pulled Alex away from his latest hidden corner.

"I don't want to be here, Sab," he said, eyes flitting from person to person as they pushed through the crowd.

She sent a glare from beneath her mask. She had spent hours finding the perfect one, deciding to go with simple gold inlaid with small pearls that shimmered like her red evening gown. It was perfect for her, and she hardly noticed its weight as she flitted from group to group, beaming like the young socialite she was. Alex's mask had been more difficult to choose. A plain black mask swamped his face, such an ill fit that they had been forced to tie it on too tight. It pressed uncomfortable lines into his face and was not helping his mood, if his grousing was any indication.

"I heard that," Sabina said, rolling her eyes.

"You were supposed to," he grumbled.

They ducked beneath a waiter's serving tray. "The people here aren't all jerks," she insisted. "I'll introduce you to Ethan, he's pretty nice. And hot. God, Alex, he is so hot, you have to see—"

"I don't like talking to people," Alex interrupted. "I don't like people, period."

Sabina ignored him. "Or there was some other kid they were talking about, likes to hide during these things, like you. Paul…" she paused, biting her lip, "Paul Donovan? Dresden? Something like that. Either way, I bet you guys would have loads to not talk about together." They finally spotted the party's small group of teens through the shifting crowd, and Alex knew he had to get out before he was trapped.

"Seriously, I just want to sit this one out." Alex tugged against Sabina's grip on his wrist, pulling them to a stop. Sabina sighed, turned to face Alex, and sandwiched his hands between her own.

"Alex," she said, trying to catch his eyes from behind his mask, "there will be someone here who you will not completely hate, I promise you. Just give them a chance."

"I don't want to," he muttered, scowling at the festivities.

"I know you don't want to, but you can't live like a hermit forever."

"I'm here, aren't I?" Alex nodded vaguely around them.

"That's not the same thing," Sabina huffed.

"With me it is," he said stubbornly. Sabina's stare hardened as her hands clenched around his. Alex felt her manicured nails bite into his skin.

"Enough," she sniped, drawing the attention of nearby guests, "you are not a special case for every situation you don't want to deal with, which is everything—"

"I can't just let go of everything that happened to me, Sabina."

"You can't, or don't want to?" She shook her head at the floor. "Back when we first met at Wimbledon, you were the person standing in the middle of the group of strangers, helping everyone become friends. And I know you enjoyed it. So what happened, Alex? Hmm? That can't have all disappeared."

"Are you serious? You can't think of a single thing that might stop me from feeling like a normal person again?"

"You haven't been on a mission since you were fourteen! Stop playing wounded soldier, Alex; it got old four years ago, and you need to get over it already." A small crease furrowed in Alex's forehead. He pulled his hands from Sabina's grasp, turned, and strode away, ignoring the frozen look of horror on her face. "Wait, Alex," she called after him. "I didn't— I didn't mean it like that! Alex!" Sabina took a few hesitant steps towards the direction he left. She shook her head. It was a lost cause and she knew it. With a single, worried glance back, Sabina returned to Ethan and his friends.

Alex slumped against the wall, champagne swirling around the bottom of his glass. After leaving Sabina, the press of people had been stifling and sweaty, unpleasant to the paranoia that still swelled in his mind at inconvenient times. In his rush to escape the crowd, Alex had snagged a flute of something liquid from the back of a waiter's tray and headed towards the small, round tables that dotted the periphery. The emptiest spot he'd found was far too close to Sabina's group to be entirely comfortable, but the only person within talking distance was sitting at the nearest table, his back to the crowd.

They sat and stood in their separate silences, neither acknowledging the other. Finally, the man shifted in his seat, pulled his gaze from his empty glass, and startled when he saw Alex.

His stare slid to the glass in Alex's hand. He snorted. "You've turned to drink, too?"

Alex glanced at the small collection of empty glasses by the man. "I think you understand why," he replied wryly.

The man balanced his chair on the back two legs, scrutinizing Alex. He nodded at the empty chair next to him, and after a slight hesitation, Alex slid into the seat.

Alex reconsidered the man before him. He looked significantly younger up close, only sixteen, nineteen at the very most. His silver mask drew a sharp line against his pale skin and left his blue eyes disturbingly direct. Blonde hair topped his head with messy abandon. His rumpled suit was exceptionally fine quality as was the silver watch gracing his right wrist. Rich, deviant, classically handsome around his mask—there had to be a reason why he wasn't with the rest of the in-crowd, the ones Sabina was currently wooing within Alex's unfortunate eyesight.

Silver Mask followed Alex's line of vision. "Don't really get on with that lot," he scoffed, no doubt a small truth of a longer story. "But was that an accent I heard in your voice?"

Alex gave a small nod. "You're not from the states either?"

"Nope," he said, thumping back onto the ground, "moved to New York four years ago."

Alex twirled the flute between his fingers, thinking about four years ago and a different life that once belonged to him. "Miss it?"

"Not much of a difference to me," Silver Mask shrugged, crossing his arms. "People are all bastards wherever you go."

A rough laugh escaped from Alex. "I will drink to that," he said, lifting his glass.

The teen downed his in one go. He leaned on the table, eyes scrunched shut as he rubbed the back of his neck and jaw roughly before shaking his head out. He squinted at Alex, hand tapping thoughtfully against his mask. "You seem like a sensible guy. Which raises the question, why aren't you mingling? Or better yet, why are you here at all if not for networking?"

"My friend dragged me." Silver Mask looked around, confused when he spotted no one nearby. "She's the one in the red dress," Alex said, pointing to the flash of color hanging on the arm of someone presumably-named Ethan.

Silver Mask's eyebrows quirked up. "I thought the theme for this thing was gold, silver, and black."

"It is," said Alex.

He blinked. "Okay then."

"Why are you here?"

"My mother," he said, hand falling against the table with a loud thunk. "She thinks I'm 'socially inept' and need more practice, so ever since she got custody, I've been stuck going to every one of these stupid parties."

Alex frowned. "What about your dad?"

Silver Mask's hands tightened against the stem of his glass, fingertips turning white. "He's dead," he said shortly.

"Sorry," Alex said. Silver Mask chuckled to himself. "What?"

He tried to wave off Alex's concern, before offering, "It's a complicated story. You probably don't have much to be sorry for."

Alex pulled at his mask, running a soothing thumb against the line on his cheek. He sighed, feeling pressed to offer up his experience. "My parents died when I was one, and my uncle, my first legal guardian, died when I was 14. Since then, I've physically seen multiple people die. And somewhere in there, my absent, two-faced, psychopathic godfather died, too," he stated with clinical detachment, "so I understand complicated deaths. They don't mean you can't feel bad."

Alex looked over to see Silver Mask's face frozen in horrified surprise, eyes wide and mouth twisted. "I think I'm the one who's supposed to be feeling sorry for you."

"Don't bother," Alex said, cutting away Silver Mask's protests. "It doesn't do much for me. Maybe if I could 'learn to deal with it,' sympathy would be nice, but I don't want to and don't care. Reasons to sit in the corner of a party, drinking our sorrows away, yeah?"

"There's nothing wrong with that."

"I think you might be biased."

"Doesn't mean I'm wrong," he smiled, motioning a waiter over for two full glasses.

"So have you tried talking to them?" Alex asked, taking one of the flutes.

"A while ago." Silver Mask bristled at Alex's raised eyebrow. "It's not like I wanted to! Mum was watching, so I thought I'd, y'know, give it a go. A couple of them were okay, but the rest? Complete douches. It's like they hear my name and there goes any chance of me being a normal person."

Alex tilted his head, wondering what he was doing. The most he knew about this kid was that he was probably the guy Sabina mentioned earlier, and his instincts were clamoring at him to figure out more before he got hurt. At the same time… it was nice. Because really, what were the chances that this kid in front of him was a danger to him? If anyone in the room was a spy, it wouldn't be the disgruntled, anti-social teen drinking away the time. Before everything, Alex wouldn't have had any compunctions in getting to know the guy in front of him.

Maybe there was a grain of truth to what Sabina had said. And maybe now was the perfect time to start getting some it back.

Alex shifted his mask to a more comfortable position. He nodded at the array of glasses, asking, "So many drinks have you had so far?"

Silver Mask grinned wide. "I'm Russian. Doesn't really matter."

It was midnight when time Alex checked his watch. Silver Mask was good company, something he hadn't realized he'd missed. Sab could only do so much, especially on the days she decided she was going to fix Alex Rider and make him whole again.

Alex stretched in his chair, contemplating dragging Sabina out now that they'd been at the party the requisite four hours they'd agreed upon. Yes, home sounded like a wonderful plan. All he had to do was deal with Silver Mask.

"How long are you in L.A.?" Alex asked.

"I fly back to New York in about two weeks."

Alex slouched in his seat, fiddling with his mask. "Sab and I were planning on watching some football this Friday. You up for it?"

"You're talking about football football, yeah?"

"'Course. Chelsea against Arsenal, sure to be fantastic."

"Hell, yes! God, I've had enough of American 'football.' They don't even use their feet! Soon they'll start calling cricket 'bowling.'"

Alex laughed. "Here," he said, handing Silver Mask his phone, "give me your number."

"Cool. Just remember to text me so I have yours," he said, tossing the phone back.

Alex watched the screen pop up a 'CONTACT ADDED.' "Speaking of, I don't think I actually caught your name."

Silver Mask stood up, sticking out his hand for a shake. "Paul Drevin, at your service."

Alex stared at the hand. His stomach churned and it took all of Alex's old skills to stop from grimacing and letting his horror spill onto his face.

He looked up to see Paul's head tilted, uncertain why Alex had locked up. Finally, Alex managed to blurt out, "No."

Everything Paul had been talking about, all the cynicism he noticed in the other boy, was Alex's fault. He was the reason Paul was stuck moping on the sidelines. It made a horrifying amount of sense. The talkative, asthmatic, well-meaning kid should have grown up better than this; he would have, barring a teenage spy barreling into his life and wreaking havoc on his father.

Paul let his hand fall to his side. "Is there a problem," he glowered, knowing the answer.

Alex's voice caught in his throat again, mouth gaping as he tried to say anything to this boy whose life he'd ruined and never forgot, anything at all. "I'm sorry, Paul," Alex said quietly, eyes dropping to the ground.

"What are you on about?" Paul asked, confusion overcoming his anger.

Alex wiped his palms against his pants. The warm air scorched his lungs and he needed to leave, before his clothes choked him and his mask grew into his face. It had been four years since Alex had to deal with anything he didn't want to, and the break was not helping him now.

But Paul deserved an answer, not another cut and run at the sound of his name. It was the least Alex could do. He stood and reached behind his head to pull on the ribbons tying his mask back. "Hi, Paul. Haven't seen you for a while. Four years," he said, slowly lowering the mask and tossing it onto the table.

Paul looked nonplussed, scanning Alex's face for recognition. Finally, his eyes widened. "Alex Rider," he mused, frowning up and down at the petrified ex-spy. "You haven't changed much." Paul fell back into his seat.

"I'm sorry," Alex croaked out again.

"'I'm sorry?'" Paul looked up at Alex, incredulous. "I owe you something." Paul rose from his seat and tucked his chair under the table. He then turned to Alex. Paul drew a deliberate fist back, and punched Alex square in the face.

Alex stumbled to the floor. He felt his heartbeat pound through his face, hitting most beneath the forming bruise. He tasted blood on his lips. Alex glanced at Paul stretching his hand, a matching smudge of blood on his knuckles. Paul had his eyes closed, lips pressed thin. He looked tired.

Paul approached Alex, stopping just close enough to be heard. "I'm sorry, too," he muttered, before slipping past the growing crowd.

A cloud of sympathy and pity smothered him, filled with variations of 'Oh, how awful that boy is," and "You poor thing! Are you sure you're not hurt?" and "What could possibly be wrong with that boy?" He pushed away the hands straining to pick him up, trying to find space between the clustered bodies.

"It's fine, I'm fine. Really, just, leave off. It's nothing big," he mumbled, looking for an empty glass to spit blood into. A flute was shoved into his hands as he head Sabina yelling at the guests to go away.

"God, Alex, are you okay? Do you need anything else? Water? Ice?" she said, motioning for a hovering waiter.

"I'm good," he slurred past his fat lip, discarding the used flute onto the waiter's tray.

"Liar." Alex didn't respond. Sabina's eyes softened. "What was that about? Do you want to talk about it?"

Alex pointed to his bruised, bleeding face. He'd need a better plan of avoidance once they left, but Alex would take what he could get now. "Um, right, let's get you cleaned up and home." She left to get a first aid kit after leading Alex back to his chair.

His mask stared at him.

Alex picked it up and threw it against the wall. He then fished his phone out of his pocket, scrolling through his meager contacts.

Paul Drevin, he highlighted.

Options, Delete.

"Are you sure?" Hit Yes.

Contact Erased.

A/N: Hello, all! Long time no write. 1) Thank you guys so much for continuing to read, review, and favorite my other stories, most notably An Unexpected Return and its companion piece, The Eagle Incident. It's always a wonderful surprise to get a notification for new reviews, favorites, and alerts. 2) Please review? I did something in this fic that I normally hate reading in stories, and I'm freaking out over why I made it happen. (I so should have gotten a beta for this.) I've also been working on my descriptions. In general, anything you say will definitely make my day, so please review!

As always, I wish you all well, and please leave me your ideas, comments, questions, concerns, criticisms, witticisms, and/or limericks!

Edits 9/16/14: Minor grammar fixes.