Chapter Text
Ryland didn’t remember falling asleep, only that he’d been exhausted to the point of stumbling over his own feet after the last meeting with Stratt at nearly four in the morning. He remembered a deep indigo sky between buildings, muddy yellow lights leading him down gray hallways, and fumbling with his keys three times before he finally opened his door.
Less than a week until launch and the work had become astonishing in its urgency and volume— people rushed the facility, in and out of meetings, for last minute approvals and tests and problem solving. Finding a moment to himself, let alone a few hours to sleep, was a miracle he felt in his bones. His exhaustion wasn’t cleared entirely, likely he’d need to sleep an entire week to feel like that, but he did feel… existent. That was something.
Ryland rubbed the sleep from his eyes and rolled to his back, groaning; he may feel present, but his body wasn’t a huge fan of the constant conference chairs and his own bad posture. And he needed a shower, he thought idly, as he groped around for his phone and glasses.
Finding both, he made a curious sound at the notification he’d gotten, then sucked in a breath when he found Colt had sent him some videos while he’d been sleeping. He did his best to push aside the fact he hadn’t even heard the notifications, having slept right through them, but let the emotion come anyway when he played the first one.
The beach filled his screen, all soft waves and rushing water, and a dove blue sky splotched with silver clouds. Ryland could hear Colt’s shuffling footsteps through the squishy sand and his high pitched curse when he waded in the cold water; surprisingly, he didn’t make a snarky comment about the things I do for you, and Ryland almost wished he had because he knew how to handle that.
“I miss you, Ry,” Colt said softly off camera, between the break of waves around him. He panned the camera around, pausing now and then to let Ryland linger on the view. “It’s been a wild year— I know we only saw each other sporadically, when we could, but at least that was familiar. I… I’ve never been more aware of the distance until all this started.”
Ryland was aware— he just didn’t think about it because there wasn’t anything he could do about it. Not yet, not with the things he could and needed to fix. It hovered above his consciousness, a spear scraping against his heart, ready to drive in but held back by sheer stubbornness that was crumbling under Colt’s words.
“Can’t wait to have you back,” Colt whispered; Ryland couldn’t remember him sounding so raw— no, wait… once. A long time ago. “Remember I love you, okay, Ry? You got this, just remember that, yeah?”
Ryland didn’t realize he was crying until a shuddering breath broke through him, but there it was. His chest was tight, and his throat ached from the sobs he held back to hear Colt speaking. He covered his mouth with his free hand and watched the videos three more times, the beach ever changing and soothing.
Ryland closed his eyes and took a long breath in, feeling a tiny chip of the tension he'd stored up over the past year melt away as he let out out.
A knock rapped against his door, urgent and swift; Ryland's eyes snapped open just as the door opened and Court appeared, bag dangling from his hand, and a look he'd never seen before.
Ryland dropped his phone to his side on the bed and sat up, watching Court intently, a familiar dread bubbling up inside him. He had seen Court look like this before, in a room with peeling yellow wallpaper and a threadbare blanket draped over a small bunk bed in the corner. It'd been desperate, broken, and terrified. Ryland's heart hammered the same way it had back then; he felt sick with it.
“Court—” Ryland swallowed around the dryness in his mouth. “You're leaving.”
But I just got you back, was what he didn't say, the selfishness of it coming to him in overwhelming waves.
Court's grim stance didn't falter but his eyes flickered with traces of guilt. “Yes. I— Ry, I'm sor—”
“Wait.” Ryland sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bunk. “Hang on, just… give me a minute.”
It was no use though, Colt's videos had primed him for an emotional outpour and God, he was so tired— tired from everything with the project, tired from holding everything back until a better time, a time he was beginning to think would never come. And, biggest right now, he was tired of not being able to keep hold of his family, of watching them be taken away or hurt again and again.
Head in his hands, Ryland sobbed, his body shaking with them. The door shut and Court threw his bag down as he crossed the small room and rested a hand on Ryland’s shoulder. The touch was grounding, and he knew Court’s voice in his ear was meant to be soothing, and it was… but that just made room for a surge of something hot and fierce.
Cover your ears, Ry. It'll be okay…
How many freaking times did he have to hear that before it was actually true? Of all the lies Court told them, either to protect or spare them, this was the worst.
“It’s happening again.” Ryland's hands twisted in his lap; he wanted to hide under a blanket— or punch something, that sounded nice, actually. “We’ve done this before.”
Court’s hand tightened on Ryland’s shoulder and even he sounded shaken, his voice flimsy. “Ry— it’ll be okay.”
Nope— he'd hated it as a kid, he hated saying it to his students, and he hated hearing Court try it on him again.
“It wasn’t though!” Ryland lifted his head and fanned his fingers out, like it was an obvious, maddening, conclusion. “You killed dad and they took you away. It wasn’t okay. And now you have to do that again.”
“...he found Colt, at the beach.” Court sounded distant, and he cleared his throat but it didn’t really help. He released a thin breath, stone in his voice now. “He’s headed to Hong Kong and I can't get in touch with Fitz. Or Claire.”
Something ugly flared in Ryland at the injustice of it all. Court's hands were gentle beneath the strength, his heart large and soft behind its stoney wall. He mentally cursed everyone who saw the exterior of Court and exploited it, twisted it— even Fitzroy, even if they had come to find something like family with each other. Ryland was Court's family first—
“It’s not fair.” Ryland dropped his forehead in his hand and looked at Court who closed his eyes and clenched his jaw. “I hate this— I hate that it’s always you.”
Court's hand squeezed on his shoulder and now he sounded tired. “Me too, kid.”
They both knew that wouldn't stop him though, not while one of his own was in danger and everyone else failed her. Ryland wasn't sure if it made him love Court more or— no, it was all love. That's what made it hurt so much.
Except for Ryland’s ragged breathing, smoothing with each second that passed, it fell silent. His chest still felt cruelly tight, the impossibility of this choice revisiting them a looming shadow, but breathing— that became manageable, even as Ryland worked to get his next question out, starting and trying over again.
“When do you leave?”
“Two hours.” He hesitated, his jaw tightening again. “Stratt is allowing me passage on a cargo flight already scheduled to go out. An old contact will pick me up from there.”
Ryland’s breath had hitched again, unprepared for how soon Court would leave, but he let out a disbelieving scoff. “She could very easily order a flight— and back up, what the actual f—”
“Ry.” Court leveled Ryland with a weighted look, stopping him. “She can't use taskforce resources to mobilize against a CIA director. They're chomping at the bit for her already, she'd be eviscerated on the global political stage. And before you say anything, Lloyd was an independent mercenary. You're her leading scientist and second in command, of course she did all of that for you.”
“So she can bomb the Antarctic, but she can't save my sort-of niece.” Ryland's petulant eyeroll was weakened by his wet sniffle, but he stood his ground against Court's withering look.
“I told you, she's not my daughter.”
“Yeah, okay.” Ryland shot him a doubtful smile, eyes misty all over again. “And we're not your sons.”
Ryland knew he wasn't alone in how he felt about this; if he called Colt right now, he'd back him up and would probably sound annoyed at being questioned about it. From day one in Court's life, he'd been their protector and provider. He'd endured their father's cruel hands, put himself in front of the twins to spare them; he'd made sure they had enough to eat, that they had reasons to smile. He'd helped with homework, wiped away tears and cleaned up bruises and cuts.
Court wouldn't deny it either, he didn't now, but Ryland got the feeling that his own anger and wish for things to be different was so strong that it twisted itself into something like guilt. It'd been the one thing he couldn't fix for them so it wasn't something he'd outright accept either.
Ryland didn't know the full picture of Claire's life, only that it'd been unnecessarily hard, that Court had protected her once, and she'd claimed him as her own. Smart kid; he couldn't wait to meet her.
“Do you know where she is?”
The stoney look in Court's eyes returned and he closed his free hand in a fist. “No… but I can track her pacemaker, I just need to access the database…”
Ryland's eyes narrowed, studying Court as he gave a shrug. Somehow, that had him thinking the nearest hospital was about to be broken into. Scrubbing a hand over his eyes, and then cleaning all the emotion off his glasses, he stood.
“C'mon, I think— if I'm actually Eva's second— I can help with that.”
“I'll allow that, but don't get yourself in trouble either.” Court waved away the defiant look he got, using his intense stare on Ryland. “You can't steal a plane.”
“...Stop sounding like me, all reasonable and stuff.”
“Don't say ‘and stuff.’”
“Oh my god, shut up…”
Dr. Lamai was more than happy to snoop into the database, using one of the many resources Stratt bullied her way into possessing. It was a strange request though, something Dr. Lamai wasn't shy about expressing, furrowing her brow for a moment before nodding.
“It's a family matter,” Ryland said, smoothing away the doctor's worry as she typed in the serial number Court had memorized, and ignoring the sharp jab Court's elbow made in his side.
“You could try calling, you know.” Dr. Lamai’s light chuckle suggested she wasn't sure what was a joke and what wasn't; when neither brother laughed, she cleared her throat. “Well— the device is still online… and still in Hong Kong. Perhaps it's just a spot of teenage rebellion.”
Relief hissed out of Court but not completely. There was a lot of open space between him and Claire on the map and a lot of time between now and when he'd arrive. Aware of Dr. Lamai's analytical eyes still on them though, Ryland cupped a hand on Court's shoulder.
“Yeah, it's a delightful age.” Ryland steered Court away, nodding his thanks to Lamai and finding a genuine laugh bubble up as a thought occurred to him. “You probably thought you missed this stage— just wait. We can swap war stories later.”
Technically, Ryland had meetings scheduled. Somewhere in this facility, Carl was probably halfway to losing his mind looking for Ryland. Hopefully being with Court was enough for him to keep relatively cool.
The brothers sat on a couple of upturned crates in a quiet corner near the airfield, tucked away next to a storage shed that had a view of the tarmac but was still far off that no one would bother them. They were safe in the hazy fog that hung over everything, blotting out their features to any observers.
An empty pack of Skittles lay crumbled on a barrel between them, Court's bag a puddle next to that. Court checked his watch for the tenth time, his eyes level with the gray tarmac, watching personnel run through protocols and checklists and timetables as they prepared a black cargo plane for flight.
Ryland's heart and blood buzzed with nerves; the only thing keeping Ryland from vibrating apart from those nerves was the Skittles and the dumb, winding conversation that had started with a question about Court's tattoos and was now a passionate defense of a movie Ryland didn't actually care about.
“...But factor in their weight, the weight of their wet clothes, the water in the door— I doubt its manufacturers sealed the inside of the hollow points, so water could have easily seeped in— and the fact that it wasn't even raft shaped.” Ryland, hands held up together, curved them inward slightly, then back out into a flat shape. “Water was all over it, on top and inside, so of course it sank.”
Court snorted and shook his head, holding up a hand of mercy at Ryland. “Okay, okay, I get it. You hate romance.”
“If you want a romantic's point of view, talk to Colt. Besides, a movie called Titanic? Jack was always going to die.”
Out on the tarmac, someone shouted something and held up a thumbs up; their clipboard was lowered, and they started waving everyone away from the plane.
“Hey, Ry?”
“What.”
“When you visit Colt on sets, do you also bring this positive, upbeat attitude?”
Ryland had the strong urge to whack Court on the arm but he didn't because the argument wasn't worth it, but mostly because Court stood and grabbed his bag. The guys on the tarmac had all stepped back from the plane and were just standing there now, seeming to look for something— for someone. Ryland’s stomach churned and he began to regret the Skittles; he desperately searched around him for another distraction, his eyes snagging on Court's bag.
Other than needing a starting point, Court hadn't shared his plans. Between debates on controversial movie plots, Ryland had wondered about Court's journey to Croatia, how he'd gotten there, where he'd gotten the weapons and armor he'd worn… it made him think of Claire, in Ryland's position— whether she was with her uncle or alone. He knew with certainty she was afraid, and she'd need someone gentle and patient when this was over, someone to help her navigate through any dark shadows forming in her mind.
Cover your ears, Ry…
“Gun shots are loud.” Ryland said, ignoring Court's dry yeah, no shit, I'm a professional look. He fiddled with the hem of his coat, then stopped for how much noise it added to the tension between them. “I, uh, can hear it sometimes. Still, you know? It wakes me up or something will remind me, or my brain will be dumb and say, hey remember this?”
Even with Court's necessities, the bag was mostly empty, its sagginess almost comical with how much free space it had; Ryland could make an educated guess on what his next moves would be.
Something flashed over Court's face, something stricken and guilty, but he swallowed it away and nodded. “Claire likes music. She's always playing something when I'm there.”
“Good,” Ryland breathed, nodding, actively avoiding looking over at the plane and Court's bag; the sky seemed safer. The tears welling in his eyes couldn't fall if he was looking up. “Hopefully her favorite song isn't ruined…”
An engine fired on, the area becoming loud with new shouts and machinery. Court cleared his throat, the sound coming out more like a grunt, and brought a hand on Ryland's shoulder. “Homeward Bound.”
Ryland blinked away from the sky. “What?”
Court's smile was a little lopsided, and so reminiscent of the last days in their father's house. Boyish, young, and hiding behind a mountain of pain. Gentle. “A movie where they came home because the title said so.”
And then he was wrapping Ryland in his arms, pulling them both close. Ryland breathed out, sagging into it, all at once overwhelmed with the familiar safety of Court and the rising grief of letting go. He closed his eyes, forehead resting on his brother's shoulder, and tried not to fall apart.
“I'm bad at goodbyes.”
Court's voice rumbled in his chest. “It's not goodbye, I'll see you again.”
Ryland nodded and stepped back, his arms falling to his side; he grimaced at the damp patch left behind in Court's shoulder but instead of apologizing for it, he wiped away at his eyes and got a final look at Court— and groaned.
“You look so much like an action hero, it's not fair.” He sniffed miserably which was decidedly not cool. “Why is everyone so much cooler than me?”
Court had the audacity to wink at Ryland, all smug and brave despite the silver lining his eyes, and Ryland cracked out a laugh, feeling grateful for it. “Love you, kid.”
“Yeah.” He wiped away more tears, his smile failing him now. “Love you, too.”
Backing away a few steps, Court took a long breath and held it for a few seconds; when he released it, all the warmth he carried seemed to empty with it. Back straight, shoulders squared, stride unbreakable, he left.
Ryland sank back down on his crate and watched as Court first spoke to the flight crew, then boarded, then as it rumbled toward the runway. The sky was so pale with fog that it seemed void of anything; Court's plane was a stark black speck against it, until it wasn't. Ryland watched it for as long as he could and when the air finally quieted, when the plane disappeared into the mists of the void, he slipped his phone from his pocket.
Soft waves and Colt's voice spilled into his ears; he closed his eyes as the videos played, the quiet not feeling so empty. He was about to call Colt himself after the last video ended but a different call interrupted him. He groaned, but accepted it.
“Hey, sorry for missing those meetings,” he said with no preamble, fingers pinching between his eyes. “But I'm not really in the mood to be chewed out right now.”
Stratt sighed in his ear; she said something that was muffled to him but sounded like found him, before saying, clearer now, “the UN wants to speak with us. You have ten minutes.”
Ryland tipped his head up toward the sky, missing the blue and warmth of daylight, and feeling a hollow ache from his morning. Whatever restfulness he'd felt earlier was long gone. He tracked the position of the sun, orienting his mental compass, and looked east. He wondered what would happen if he got up and left, followed after his brothers.
What would Eva do then?
“Dr. Grace?”
The prompt held a history of long, exhausting nights and lost time, ruined landscapes, and small, frightened faces. He squeezed his eyes shut and held back a sob.
Soon soon soon
“...okay.”