His work often had him leaving at odd times. Alex had stopped expecting him to show up to any events anymore.

The house-keeper he had hired, Jack, had taken to shooting him dark glares every time he left in the middle of the night without even a goodbye. But he tried. He really did try.

Alex had joined football a few weeks ago and he had immediately roped Smithers into finding out the dates for all of Alex's matches. It was unlikely he would be able to make it for most of them, MI6 had a habit off calling him in at the worst possible moments, and this time was no different. He was 12,000 kilometers away from London, in a foreign country, with a broken arm and more bruises than he could count. He hadn't slept in three days, and he was supposed to check into the Bank as soon as he re-entered friendly territory. But he had promised Alex.

Screw the Bank. He was going to see his nephew's first match dammit.

He booked the first flight to London and wasted no time catching the first taxi he could find. It cost him a thousand dollars, but he was pretty sure that man wouldn't have driven any faster if the world was ending.

He made it two minutes before the game began, paid the teacher fifty dollars more than the ticket was actually worth and sprinted the entire rest of the way.

People avoided him like the plague. He was pretty sure he looked like he had just survived the zombie apocalypse, and in all honesty, he was surprised no-one called the cops on him...but he made it!

And despite the absolute agony engulfing his body, despite the fact that he smell like he had just crawled out of the sewer and he felt as if he'd just gone twenty rounds with a tank, despite the fact that he was probably going to get a formal reprimand for this and likely get in some serious trouble with the Bank...the smile on Alex's face made it completely worth it.