Chapter Text
The Bucephalus 11:43AM 3 weeks PT (Post Thanksgiving)
“Boss?”
“Hmmm?” Alex nibbled absently on his pen. Something wasn’t adding up on the Caracas account. He’d been crunching some of the numbers, and while he had people for that, he wasn’t quite willing to give this up. Not when something had obviously been missed. Something big if what he was seeing was anything to go off of. Maybe Crux might...
Marcus dropped something bright and flashy onto the papers and Alex turned his glare up to meet his CO’s own intent, obviously disapproving stare.
“Before you shoot the messenger, take a look at it first.”
It wasn’t a gentle suggestion, but he and Sagitta had never been careful with each other. They had earned a certain level of candidness with him. He had yet to find the edge to what was acceptable from his team. Maybe it was because he was soft for them, or maybe because Marcus kept away from any boundaries he sensed. Probably a bit of both. Alex glanced back down to see a card with a smiling old man and woman on the front. A very familiar man and woman.
How the hell ….
“Delivered to one of our offices. By hand. In Russia.”
Marcus didn’t have to say who by; the look he gave was damning enough.
Alex’s eyes narrowed onto the local mailing address and a wave of nausea rose up sharp and sour under his ribs. Yassen. How in the world had Byrne found him? Alex hurriedly checked his personal cell. Nothing. It shouldn’t surprise him. Yassen would have had to deliver this days ago for Alex to have received it just now. If he hadn’t said anything about being contacted back then…
Alex kept clutching the phone like a lifeline, debating whether or not to call. All of him wanted to warn Yassen that his location had been compromised, that his comfortable retirement was going to be interrupted by the CIA because Alex had failed him -
Rationale cut through the panic. For the letter to have been delivered by hand, Yasssen already knew he’d been found. And for the Byrnes to have his address… and maybe ‘Byrnes’ was an unfair assumption, given the handwriting it had to be Lottie. No way Joe Byrne dotted his i’s with hearts. Then again, Alex had seen stranger things from their clientele. Being a billionaire came with plenty of quirks.
With the very tips of his fingers, Alex opened the card.
“ Merry Christmas from the Byrne family.” And then below it the words that made his heart sink to his knees:
“Be a dear and get this to your boy, would you? There’s a plate waiting on him (and you!).
Affectionately yours,
Lottie. ”
Oh God.
“Sir?”
Alex wasn’t even sure where to start processing it. What, exactly, was the protocol for dinner invitations from the Byrnes’ sent to Yassen Gregorovich’s doorstep.
With his brain on strike, Alex retreated to well-trod smartassery instead. “We can’t turn down an invitation like that, now can we,” he joked… a little.
A pained look crossed Marcus’ face. No doubt going through the logistics of getting Alex into America, during the holidays, with the former head of the CIA knowing that he was coming, and having sent the invitation to Yassen Gregorovich’s home…
Oh this was a nightmare but if it was going to be a nightmare for him then it would be a nightmare for everyone involved.
At least he would get pie out of it.
“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” It wasn’t. They both knew it. But Alex found himself warming to it after that rough mission in San Diego.
“I didn’t know you’d taken to questioning orders.” Alex replied, tapping the card thoughtfully against the desk top.
Marcus shot him a look that clearly said ‘ only when they’re stupid ’ which was, admittedly, fair. “I’m a security advisor, you can fire me at any time.”
They both knew he would never but that didn’t stop Marcus from getting glare back in return.
“You’re coming with,” he paused. “I’ll make sure you get an extra slice of apple,” Alex wheedled.
Marcus sighed and Alex knew he had won. “I want hazard pay. Byrne’s security detail are card sharks.”
“I thought Adams taught you to cheat better.” He handed the card back.
“Do you think that man would have blown so much money if he knew how to cheat?”
——-
Chicago, IL 3 weeks PT (Post Thanksgiving)
Getting a goodnight call from Lottie was just the way he needed to end this day, Joe mused as he settled heavily on the hotel bed. Between ATL, O’Hare and a plane delayed twice and a missed cab it had been a day .
He pressed the phone to his ear and let out a huge sigh. Relief.
“How are you darlin?”
“Not good.” Byrne closed his eyes. Damn. “Well you see I have this sweater I’ve been working on...” Alright, just a knitting problem, it wouldn’t be the first time. Probably a relative who did something ungracious and now Lottie was second guessing. Barry held the record for that. “-and it’s in your office. Your locked office.”
Oh hell. “I’ll be back on Friday.” He sunk his head in his hands. He knew how she got about these things.
“It’s Monday .”
“Lottie, it's just a sweater. We can buy one...” It was a weak argument but a good way to fish for information from his typically closed-lipped wife.
“We can not, Joseph.”
“Not everyone needs a sweater- ” Joe started to say, placetingly
“You’re damn wrong, and it’s a shame I don’t have one to work on.”
Joe almost wanted to protest the unfairness. He hadn’t gotten one in their near forty years of marriage. Barry had gotten three. He didn’t know who had told Lottie about the Knitter’s Curse but he could think of some things to say to them, especially once it hit the time of year she always had her projects out. Was getting a sweater really too much to ask of your wife?
“You could make that one mine,” he said hopefully. “Have a late exchange after the holidays.”
“Joseph. Byrne. Do you want to get rid of me?”
“I don’t believe in old wives tales.” It was a well-tread argument between them by now.
“Well this old wife does and I need to get this finished, Christmas is right around the corner.”
He could practically hear the hands on her hips.
“You can always give it to them after.”
“I can’t and you know that’s not…”
Everything clicked into place. “Please tell me this isn’t for Rider,” Joe groaned, massaging his temples.
“Ask me no questions...”
“That’s my line” he huffed, more out of habit than anything. His mind was too busy spinning on just how Lottie planned to get this sweater to Rider.
“Then you should be picking up what I’m putting down.”
“Lottie he’s a terrorist , he doesn’t need a sweater.” How was he having this conversation? He settled heavily back against the pillow. Not even bothering to move the prim mint or check for bugs - literal or mechanical.
“He ain’t in Dubai all the time,” she returned pointedly.
He pulled the phone away staring hopelessly at it. How in the world did she know… “Which of those gossips at Church do I need to put on the watchlist?”
“That ain’t your problem anymore and neither is this. The only thing you need to do is get me in this office.”
Right. Office first and then when he got home a nice long talk about not giving gifts to terrorists. “Bit hard for me, hun, since I’m in Chicago .”
“Don’t you have people for that?”
“I am retired .”
“Oh I see how this works. If you’re so ‘retired’ then you won’t mind if I get in there.”
‘In there’ being the office he’d had for years. One that had withstood lockdowns and terror threats and Joe hiding from his mother. It could surely withstand one Lottie Byrne.
He’d take the terrorists any day.
“If you can get through the door, all the more power to you,” it was said with more confidence than he probably deserved.
“Best way around a locked door is through a window.”
“There’s not even a window in there”
“I have a hatchet and I’m not afraid to use it.”
Joe paused. “Lottie you can’t. This is the one rule -“
“There’s not even sensitive documents in there! They took all that when you retired, I remember because they tracked mud in my house. Let them come traipsing in willy nilly meanwhile the only time you allowed me in that room was to help your lazy self clean it.”
“You have your own chair,” Joe argued back.
“That don’t mean you like it. You know how many times you shooed me outta there.”
“It was for national security.”
“It was my house. Now get someone to open this door since it’s still my house.”
Joe stretched out on the bed, feeling the starched hotel sheets crinkle around him. So this was what defeat felt like.
“I’ll call Martino. Just don’t break anything.”
“No promises.”
A heavy pause to see who was going to say their ‘I love you’ first. Feeling vindicated, Joe managed to hold out.
“Love you, Joey Bear.”
“Love you too, Lottie Love.”
As he dialed again, hoping Martino wouldn’t break a rib laughing at his predecessor, Joe remembered that he was going through all this fuss so a terrorist wouldn’t have cold elbows.
“Damn.”