Chapter Text
She had never really seen him relaxed, but Claire could practically feel Six—Courtland, she began to retrain herself—tense in paranoia when they crossed the border into Florida.
“Where are we going?” she asked when they continued to drive south.
“...Miami,” he finally answered. “I know someone there who could get us off the grid.”
“Oh.” His tone suggested otherwise, but: “That’s a good thing, right?”
”Yeah. Just…it’s been a while since I was back.”
She didn’t push the subject further, but surveyed the pleasant suburban neighborhood they turned into several hours later with renewed interest.
Court knew for a fact that his family was no longer in the area, but he still felt as though he was being watched—being judged—by every partially-opened curtain they passed. He stopped the car on the street outside of a small, weathered… normal-looking home. “Stay in the car and lock the doors,” he ordered before he got out. Knowing better than to ignore that kind of tone, she did, and sunk down into her seat. Even from her lowered position, though, she could see him approach the door cautiously.
The front of the home hadn’t changed in 20 years, but he knew better than to assume the owner was the same too. He only had to stand in wary anticipation for a few seconds, though, before the door he knocked on opened. His shoulders dropped and he smiled automatically. She had obviously aged, but the same sense of safety and security surrounded her.
“Hi, Mrs. Westen. You probably don’t remember me, but I lived a couple streets over and my little brother and I used to stay here with your sons sometimes. I’m—”
“Courtland,” she cut him off in disbelief. He was unrecognizable, but Nate and Michael didn’t have many friends; and even fewer who thought coming here was a reprieve. She checked up and down the street, then around his shoulder to the running car with a teenage girl hiding inside, then back to him. “What brought you here?” she tested.
“Needed to get away,” he huffed at the old phrase that still held the same weight.
“Park around the side to unload your car. Does Michael know you’re in town?”
“No. I didn’t know he was.”
“Has been for a while," she looked at him intently, conveying a deeper meaning. "I’ll call him. Something tells me you’ll need his help more than mine.”
"Thank you." He walked back to Claire, his mildly pleased expression causing her to sit normally in her seat.
“Who was that?” she questioned the second he closed the door.
“Someone safe. I used to come here when I was a kid.” She startled at the easy explanation. “Her older son…well, he should be able to help with our situation.”
...
“Uuugghh.” Sam and Fiona smirked at the common reaction. “Hi, mom.”
“Hi, Michael. I need you to come by. Your friend needs help.”
He froze, suddenly serious, and glanced at his only two friends standing in front of him. “What friend? Who’s there?” Sam downed the backwash of his beer and helped Fi collect the weapons and supplies scattered around the flat.
“Court.”
It took him a long moment to process that. “Cour—Courtland?”
“Yes.”
“Are you okay?” he demanded.
“Of course, but he and the girl it looks like he’s protecting aren’t.”
“I… yeah, okay. We’re on our way.”
...
Claire used the quick drive to absorb the new information before following Six inside.
“Hey, honey, welcome! I’m Madeline.” She smiled openly, but didn’t wait for Claire to respond. “You have any allergies? I was about to make lunch.”
Claire blinked dumbly, then remembered herself. “Oh, uh, no, ma’am, but I can help.”
“Great, come on in.” She grabbed the light cooler from Claire’s hands and looked over her shoulder to Court: “Michael and his friends are on their way.”
...
“Ready, Mike.”
He stood there in shock long enough for Fiona to come face him. “Michael?”
He followed her out the door blindly. “There was a kid I grew up with who needs help.”
“And?” Sam started the car.
“Well…he’s not the sort of guy who should need help.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Last time we crossed paths, he was working covert ops.”
Fiona hummed. “You think he got burned too?”
“No. They don’t just blacklist guys like him. And if he came here…he’s desperate.”
They pulled into the driveway behind a crappy minivan with Florida plates.
Michael scanned the area for obvious traps or threats before entering through the side of the house. “Mom?” He kept his gun tucked into the back of his pants, but his friends held no such reservations, flanking him a few steps behind.
“In the living room,” she called back.
He took in his mother sitting calmly across from two people on the couch and the three empty plates on the coffee table.
“Hey, Mike,” Court smirked up at him, remaining in (what he probably considered to be) his most non-threatening position.
“Court,” he drew out. His eyes flickered to the arm resting on the back of the couch, hand barely touching the girl huddled against his side. He took a breath and gentled his tone. “Been a while.” He slowly lowered himself into the other empty armchair. “Hi, I’m Michael. And that’s Fiona and Sam.” They waved from where they stood by the front door, guns now hidden away.
“Courtland. And this is Claire.”
“Nice to meet you, Claire…Heard you guys are in a bit of trouble.”
“Oh, well, you know me. Can’t seem to stay out of it.”
Unfortunately, Michael could relate. “You came to the right place.” He smiled at Claire, “We’re good at getting people out of trouble, so I bet we can help you too. First thing’s first, though: when was the last time you guys slept?”
Court snorted. “Been busy.”
“Claire can take Nate’s room. My mom can show you. There’s a bathroom down the hall, and you’ll be safe to rest here.”
She waited for Court’s nod of confirmation before following the other woman out.
He kept track of Claire until she was out of his eye line, his confident facade only slipping when she was well around the corner. “Thanks. I didn’t know you were back in Miami. Thought you were a Company man.”
“Yeahhh, that’s a long story. Could say the same about you, though,” his looked pointedly at Court sitting on his mother’s couch.
“Yeah, I guess that’s a long story too. You still have friends in the intelligence business?”
“Not really.”
“Okay, well did you hear Prague was on fire recently?” He posed instead, drawing Sam and Fiona closer.
“That was you?”
“Legally?” he made a show of thinking about it. “No. It was a few dozen operatives sent to retrieve information.”
“Did they get it?”
“Eventually.”
“And where are the operatives?” Sam asked dubiously.
“Uhh… around,” Court implied.
Michael exhaled sharply. “Are you clear now?”
He grimaced and shrugged. “For the most part? They were gonna keep Claire as leverage to put me back in the program, but… We weren’t followed, and they wouldn’t know why I took her to Florida even if they tracked us this far.” Fiona opened her mouth to question that, so he offered: “I don’t exist on paper, and the only two people who knew my background are now dead.” He paused like he hadn’t considered that until now, before refocusing on Michael. “Her uncle wanted her to have a normal life and entrusted me to give her one. I came here because I needed someone I could trust to shelter us before we disappear,” he tilted his head in the direction Madeline had gone.
“What do you need to do that?”
“I have a cache nearby, but Claire needs a new identity.”
“Do you need backdated papers so your names match?” Sam offered.
“Hell, if you know someone, then, yes, I’ll pay for any IDs, birth certificates, adoption papers, whatever they think we’d need to pass inspection. I’d still rather not fly commercial, though. You know of anyone who could get us out of the country? Any direction—just, untraceable?”
“Yeah, I think I might know someone who can help with that too.” Michael looked to Fi, who pulled out her phone immediately. “What else?”
“Claire’s estate. Her uncle would have had a contingency plan for her once he was gone.”
“Not sure he can find the information about her inheritance; but, if you know your monitored accounts, I know a guy who could transfer them offshore.”
“Sounds good.” Even without all of his funds available, he knew he could support them financially; but it wouldn’t hurt to keep everything in a place that he could access.
“Alright.” He handed his keys to Sam and raised his eyebrows in expectation until Court did the same. “Take the Charger and dispose of the ‘rental.’ I’ll call Barry.”
“Good luck with that!” Sam joked as they left.
Now alone, Michael reevaluated Court’s posture and tone. He kept up a good front, but Michael knew him well enough, that to say he "looked like hell" would be an understatement. “What are you hiding under there?” he gestured to the baggy clothes.
Court smiled tiredly and closed his eyes for a few seconds. It was nice being understood. “Nothing I haven’t survived before.”
Michael winced at the familiar phrase. “Take my room. I’ll keep watch.” Court opened his mouth to protest. “Seriously. Go. Adrenaline is a hell of a drug, but it runs out eventually. I’ll wake you if something happens.”
Court hated to admit Michael was right when he pushed himself up and felt his muscles constrict from the short reprieve on the couch. “Thanks,” he repeated genuinely before heading in the direction of Michael’s childhood bedroom. Apparently the interior of the house hadn’t changed much either.
He scrubbed off the layers of sweat, blood, and grime in the shower, before changing back into the only clothes he had. Court understood why this house held little comfort for Nate and Mike growing up, but it always seemed like a safe haven to him. Whether it was the familiar scents, sounds, or security, it kept Court asleep well into the evening. It probably didn’t hurt that he inherently trusted Michael to stay alert for him, or that his body was still healing, or that he had just driven about a day straight while fearing that they were being tailed most of the way. He couldn’t deny that laying flat on a mattress felt heavenly, but his brain and body were still too wired to sleep. The latter he forcibly relaxed using meditation, but it was only hearing Claire and Maddie’s soft voices next door that calmed his mind enough to drift off.
Madeline was warm and welcoming in a way Claire hadn't felt in years. Her sister, her mother, her aunt, her grandmother—she'd been missing a maternal figure since Donald took her in. Her nannies and in-house nurses did their best, but it couldn't compare to having someone focus on your well being without asking for anything in reciprocation.
Claire was the daughter Madeline never realized she wanted until much later in life—partially because her boys had been enough trouble themselves, but mostly because she couldn't imagine having a daughter grow up the way they had. She knew there was no way Michael would grace her with a grandchild, not with the life he lived; and Nate's life—and relationships—were so unpredictable and inconsistent that he was just as unlikely to settle down and be a reliable parent.
It was an unusual situation for both of them, but having Madeline rhythmically brush the knots out of Claire’s still-damp hair was comforting. When she was done, she helped her unpack the few belongings she had brought into the nearly-empty dresser.
“So, how did you meet Courtland?”
Claire hesitated for a half-second before sticking with a familiar story: “He’s my uncle.”
Maddie smiled. “Hm. Maybe not biologically, but he will protect you like one.”
“No, we, I mean, he’s my…” her weak defense waned under the knowing gaze. “How do you know?”
“Call it a ‘mother’s intuition,’” she chuckled. When Claire continued to stare at her, she elaborated: “People in Michael or Court’s line of work couldn’t afford to have families because it was a weakness people exploited.” Claire reconsidered the protective measures Donald had taken in that context—including having Six stay with her originally. “Settling down would risk those around them.”
“And now?”
“Well, now they’ve chosen to leave that life behind because they found something more important to fight for.” She didn’t touch Claire, but pointed her finger at her nose, causing the girl to smile.
“Court and Michael follow their own moral compass, but they don’t act without thinking through the consequences of their actions. He brought you here because he wants to change, but doesn't know how.”
“He went to prison,” Claire whispered like she was sharing the world’s biggest secret.
“I know. Did he tell you for what, though?"
“No, I guess not.” She realized she only scorned him for it before he had the chance.
“Maybe sometime he will. Everyone makes mistakes, Claire; but that doesn’t mean they made the wrong decision.”
...
It took Sam and Fiona nearly two and a half hours to get down to the Keys, but it was a worthwhile endeavor. Sam got out of the Charger when Fi’s ride slowed to a stop on a deserted back road.
“Alright, where to now?”
“There’s a well-known smuggling port down that road,” she pointed out her window to a barely-noticeable, well-disguised path. ”The car will leave prints easy enough to follow to the dock, and I’ll backtrack through the woods so anyone who finds it will think they got into a boat.”
“You want help?”
“No, I think this requires a… lighter foot,” she smiled innocently.
“What are you saying?” He looked at her in mock offense, putting a hand on his beer gut.
“Absolutely nothing. Call me if there’s anything suspicious, otherwise I’ll meet you back here in 10 to 15.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he agreed before climbing back into Michael’s car to turn around and wait.
...
A few hours later, Sam and Fiona joined Michael to return his keys and plan their next steps.
"My buddy in the Marshal’s office compiled a list of documents they should have and agreed to fast-track their chosen aliases.”
“Customs is easier to fool if they go South first, and they'll adjust and blend in better if they travel East from there. I reached out to a few smugglers I know who can get them out, and I wiped the car and left it to be found—if it gets found—on the coast.”
“The CIA will probably check the local haunts and find the car within a few days. I’m thinking they should stay here until then to be safe.”
“Give them time to recover,” Fi agreed easily and stood up to relay the plan to Madeline.
Michael appreciated the times they were all on the same page.
It was well into evening when Fiona caught Claire pushing Michael’s bedroom door open. “Don’t,” she warned quietly, causing the girl's head to snap her way. “Trust me, don’t do that.”
Claire moved away from the threshold at Fiona’s prompting so she could enter instead. Courtland was lying on his back, plank-still, breath deep and even despite the change in his environment. She knew better than to assume he was in any way vulnerable, though. Fiona remained poised as she closed the distance, weight distributed on her back foot while she positioned her right hand over his shoulder and held the left firmly in front of her waist. The second she made contact, Court’s eyes opened and he turned into her, rolling onto his left elbow and raising his right arm defensively. Fiona caught it gingerly with her steadied arm to stop him from causing more damage to himself and blocking further attacks. “You’re in the Westens's home, Courtland. You’re safe.”
His body went slack and he exhaled sharply when he remembered. “Sorry.”
“Don’t be," she released him and stepped back. "Claire wanted to see you.”
Fiona encouraged her in, but she still entered more slowly than she thought she had needed to. “I just... wanted to let you know that Madeline said dinner is almost ready. And Michael mentioned that you should really eat something.”
He smiled at her. “Thanks. I’ll be there in a minute.”
She nodded and backed out of the room, Fiona following and closing the door behind them.
He took a few minutes to calm himself, even as he realized how dangerous could be to people who didn’t know who he was. Didn’t know what he was. Fiona had seen it—probably saw the same signs in Michael, if Court had to guess—but what if it had been Maddie? What if it had been Claire?
He covered his eyes and tried to even out his breathing at the thought that he knew how to fight for, die for, and protect someone… but he had no idea how to care for them. He checked the handgun under his pillow again before refortifying his mask and joining the others in the dining room.