All in the Faculty

Chapter 1: Paid Vacation

"I don't want time off."

Mrs. Jones sighed. Alex had certainly come a long way from the days when they had to trick and manipulate him into helping them.

"Alex, you don't have a choice. None of our operatives work nearly as much as you do."

"That's because they're not as quick on their feet as me!"

In truth, this was because most of them died at the height of their careers before having the chance to. Alex Rider, now a man of twenty-three, was easily their most effective spy, if only because he'd practically been brought up since birth to become one. Add his above-average IQ and the fact that he'd been gifted with the devil's luck, and you had MI6's current record-holder for amount of successful missions – and on that note, fewest casualties. Alex paid a lot more attention to collateral damage than most others. Mrs. Jones imagined many of her employees were a little more concerned with keeping themselves alive during missions, whereas Alex worked in such a laughably efficient way that he once reported having stopped at a McDonald's drive-thru during a high-speed car chase that had apparently not been high-speed enough for him (he'd been driving a stolen mini-van, too. A series of strategically executed turns and he'd lost them in under five minutes).

She'd shaken her head at that, momentarily lost for words. The time before that he'd picked up a hitchhiker. The man was later reported to have gone around claiming "batman" gave him a ride to the airport.

"No," Mrs. Jones said flatly.

"Then surely it's because nobody can stand to place a finger on my pretty face?"

"That's a possibility," Mrs. Jones conceded demurely, placing a peppermint on her tongue. Alex pulled a face.

"Eh, don't go along with my jokes Mrs. Jones, it's weird."

"Fine. You are unbecoming."

"Aww, come on, that's not what I meant…"

Mrs. Jones rolled her eyes – something she only ever did when she was around the young man. "Enough. You're taking the time off whether you think you need it or not. I'm sorry for not being sorry, Alex, but you're a textbook workaholic."

Alex jutted out his bottom lip at the head of MI6. "Is it really an appropriate term when 'work' applies to saving the world?"

"You are not a superhero, Alex. You need a life."

He frowned. "Fine. I suppose I can't exactly force you to give me missions…"

"Very true. Come now, Alex, don't look so upset. It's paid vacation. You ought to catch up with some of your old friends."

Except Alex had lost touch with most of his friends a long time ago, and he told her as much. Sitting back down in the chair, he placed his elbows on the desk and allowed his chin to drop into hands, which rested on each cheek beneath a hopeless expression. Mrs. Jones seemed genuinely saddened by this.

"I'm tempted to just hang around your office during my vacation and annoy you," he informed her. She gave a half smile.

"Well, you know you're welcome here anytime as long as I don't have some kind of conference… which is pretty much all the time…"

It was lucky that Tulip Jones didn't have much of a life herself, for taking over from Alan Blunt was no easy task. Being head of MI6 was, contrary to popular belief, not a figurehead position. She could no longer count on both hands the amount of times she'd fallen asleep in the very chair she was currently perched in, gazing at Alex over a tall pile of paperwork.

Alex had come to terms with the undeniable fact that the world needed him when he was fifteen, and signed on as an official agent of MI6 at sixteen years old (although he still did missions for other intelligence agencies granted they were on good terms with the UK – he had gathered such international acclaim that he'd become somewhat of a gambling piece within the realm of national security). Jack returned to America with Alex's blessing, for they readily stayed in touch and she and her family were guarded day and night from afar by CIA agents. He would never forget the support she offered during those first few stressful years after Ian's death, and even if his entire being had ached with the weight of her absence, he knew she had to live her own life, and that meant returning to her home country eventually.

After that he started picking up missions like wildfire. He found that when he was properly briefed and prepared for a mission (and they weren't incredibly personal, involving family history and identity crises to throw him on an emotional roller coaster), the experience was really quite different. Easy, even. Embarrassingly easy. He infiltrated the world of crime, sabotage and terrorism with a mind educated from the inside out – even if his time spent in Malagosto had been dark and confusing, there was no denying that what he learned there helped shape him into the profoundly good spy he was now. And with that, the perks to being a spy were also discovered– namely the fine wine, high-rolling, and just all-around extravagant lifestyle often undertaken when he was undercover.

And, of course, the women. The unforgettable women.

That being said, there was only one woman that stuck around as a constant in Alex's life, and that was Mrs. Jones, who he had developed an uncommonly close relationship with. It was nice being able to invest time into a relationship with someone he wasn't endangering the life of, and he imagined it was a similar case for her, since they shared one big thing in common – they'd both sacrificed their own personal lives for the purpose of the greater good.

His friendship with Mrs. Jones was relaxed and quite entertaining, considering how patient and difficult she was to get a rise out of. He could say the most outrageous things to the woman and she somehow managed to receive it all with a straight face.

Naturally, Alex's amicable mannerisms and personal association with the head of MI6 had stirred whispers in the beginning, and someone even let it slip just how absurd it really was, considering that Alex had reportedly, at one point, attempted to assassinate the woman (of course nobody believed this and scoffed at the audacity of some gossips…). But they soon grew accustomed to it, attributing it to Alex's extraordinary orbit. Many people in the Royal and General noticed this and began gifting Alex with the same level of respect and slight fear borne of awe that Mrs. Jones was treated to, much to his amusement and her chagrin.

"Yeah, alright. Wanna grab lunch tomorrow?"

She glanced down at the small tablet built into the desk, pawing it with her index finger to bring up a calendar. "Oh, god… it looks like a swamp tomorrow, but I'll contact you later this week. Keep out of trouble, Alex."

"Don't I always?" he quipped, jumping up out of the chair and turning to head through the door.

"Not what I want to hear…"

Alex allowed her voice to fade out behind him as the elevator doors closed. Now what was he going to do for a month?

0o0o0o

Tom Harris heaved a sigh as he stepped out of the comfort of his car and into the looming building ahead of him. Brookland Comprehensive School looked the same as it always did, with its red brick exterior and tall entranceways. He used to loathe going through those doors every morning. "They couldn't pay me to spend another year here," he could remember having told his friend James upon the day of graduation. And now, well, that's exactly what they did.

"Good morning Tom," the secretary greeted him. Mrs. Bedfordshire had retired not long ago and the current secretary was an attractive brunette who played the "sexy librarian" look quite effectively. Tom forced himself to send her back a polite grin.

"Morning, Alison. Sleep well?"

"Not much," she replied with a secretive smile. He swallowed. Yes, definitely flirting with me.

This was Tom Harris's first year teaching his very own class. He'd graduated college early at twenty-one years old, having been a December baby, and subbed for two years until the shortage of teachers finally got to the board of education and they were forced to give out a few more permanent jobs. And Tom, with some of the best reports in the area, was one of those lucky people. It was pure chance that he'd ended up back at Brookland, really.

He collapsed into his chair after unlocking the dark classroom, tiredly setting his chin onto his desk. Closing his eyes for a moment, Tom tried a little harder to recollect Sunday night's events: he'd been invited out by some buddies for a "harmless" night of watching the football game that had quickly turned… not so harmless. Really, the alarm bells should have been ringing when the car pulled into the local pub.

As such, Tom was now gathering the teaching plan together in his sluggish hands from what felt like underwater. His mind was processing things with all the speed of a slug as he attempted to quell the throbbing hangover by popping a few painkillers.

"Morning Mr. Harris!" a young girl chirped, swinging into the classroom with a beam. He winced, waving at her weekly.

"Good morning Lauren," he returned, sinking back into his chair.

"What's wrong? Are you sick?" She was one of the louder children in his class.

"Ah, yes," he decided to concede. "Try and keep your voice down–"

"Morning Mr. Harris!" the next student's voice smacked him in the face, making him wonder if they weren't all shouting this particular morning or if things were just unpleasantly magnified due to the hangover.

"Morning," he mumbled, trying to shield his head from the fluorescent lighting.

Being a teacher was rewarding and all, but he had a feeling he would never get used to Monday mornings.

0o0o0o

Alex was sitting hunched over a small laptop, one hand lost in his hair and the other clutching his knee. "Tom is a teacher?" he muttered quietly to himself, eyebrows raised.

He was sitting in an internet café called The Blue Cheese ten minutes away from his home, which was also, coincidentally, ten minutes away from Brookland in the opposite direction. The spy had decided to check out his old school's website and find out how much had changed – the last thing he'd expected was to see Tom's face in the front page's newsfeed reading "Brookland Comprehensive's New History Teacher".

Well, that made sense, he supposed. Tom always had enjoyed history. He was also good with kids, Alex remembered, thinking back to Tom's sympathetic attitude towards the children in younger years.

But a teacher.

Oh, this would be fun indeed.

Pulling out his mobile, Alex scrolled through the contacts until he reached the name he was looking for. "Ah, Lola? It's Alex! … Yeah, it's alright I guess – actually, about that. See I was wondering if you wouldn't mind helping me with something…"

0o0o0o

Hello friends!

So I'm sure you're all wondering what you're doing here, reading a story by me that is not a one-shot and not Life's a Beach. I assure you, I have no excuse.

This is a light-hearted piece and will remain a light-hearted piece. It will not have any sort of intense plot and is mostly for my own intentions (namely, writing something Alex Rider-related to inspire me to continue working on Life's a Beach and ultimately finish it, as well as practice whatever writing techniques I feel like experimenting with… or just an outlet for comic banter. Ah, I've been found out…)

I hope you'll all forgive me and provide feedback anyway! Honestly, I've wanted to do something Alex/Tom!Friendship for a very, very long time. (Too much K-unit makes Maddy a dull girl… ugh.)

As I am a sponge for reviews, here is my customary plea: I'll trade you feedback for writing! That's pretty fair, eh? Some free reading for you, some critique for me… everybody wins! We wouldn't want this to be a one-way street, would we? You're all too kind, too kind…

Next chapter: "Why are you at my door after ignoring every attempt at contacting you I've made over the past eight years?"

0o0o0o

October 2016 Edit: OKAY SO... I LIED. THIS STORY HAS A PLOT. (And it's pretty intense!) Read on to watch Tom & Alex fight to preserve their highly improbable friendship amid heartbreak, intrigue, betrayal – and most testing of all... nosy schoolchildren!

(Another quick note: this story diverges before the events of Scorpia Rising, which is why Alex isn't an emotionless wreck... yet *cue evil cackle*)