These will be short drabbles. They may or may not be connected. You have been warned.

I don't own Alex Rider. Or his uncle. :)


He remembered the day they died. Remembered it like it was yesterday.

It was worse than any torture. Like someone had torn a hole in his heart where his brother was supposed to be and left it empty and desolate, a dark void to swallow him whole. He wanted to throw himself into his work, to find an escape from the knowledge that his brother was dead. It wasn't fair. They were supposed to get out. This was supposed to be their happy ending. They were supposed to be free.

They had a baby.

A baby boy.

He needed them.

MI6 had suggested giving him up for adoption. Putting him in foster care. It made sense. Ian was a spy. A full-fledged, MI6 operative with no time to care for a baby. But he looked at that sleeping child, held his perfect form in his hands, and couldn't do it.

This was his brother's child. His brother's orphaned child. And damn him if he didn't do something about it.

He hired a nurse, a baby-sitter, took a few months off of active-duty and had full-custody within a week.