Chapter Text
Joe looked down when his phone chimed with an alert for an incoming text. He’d take any excuse to not talk to the suit he had gotten stuck with that was “showing him around.”
‘ You can’t find good help these days. ’
Rider.
Of course. It wasn’t bad enough to be stuck at an intelligence summit but he had to deal with a mouthy head of a criminal organization too. It was his own fault, really, he hadn’t quite brought himself to shut off the phone number he had given the kid in Murmansk all those years ago. He was glad he hadn’t, it had saved him more than he wanted to admit and honestly he knew he could use some humor in his day, no matter where it came from.
‘ Have you tried not shooting the messenger?’
The next chime came before Joe put his phone back into his pocket. Someone was eager.
‘ Anger management is more expensive than a bullet. ’ He snorted and the diplomat in the elevator next to him shot him a concerned look.
‘ I have some psychs that would do it for free.’
‘ Room and board free too, I take it? ’
‘ Of course, we’re very hospitable. ’
Sometimes setting Alex up for a joke was half the fun, if only because he knew it would bring a smile to the kid’s face and Lord knows he needed it too. The sat images of him lately were...concerning to Joe.
He could remember the analyst briefings in his sleep, if only because he’d sat through so many of them. Everyone wanted to know what the young Head of SCORPIA was doing, and that included any information they could glean about his mood. Months after taking control of the organization, the whispers Joe was hearing weren’t good.
Physical signs of stress and exhaustion, no physical indicators of personal attachments to strike team as noted in prior observations. Possible fracture in conference of team? Some concerns regarding destabilization.
Not what anyone wanted to see about someone running half the criminal underworld.
This time, the reply took longer. A full six floors of delay, each number lighting up inoffensively as Joe tried to keep his patience and not let the diplomat know that the head of SCORPIA was making his life harder with every passing moment.
‘ I’ve noticed. Nice hotel room, what has you in Brussels, anyways? Maybe we can grab coffee. ’
Well fuck.
He shouldn’t be surprised Rider knew where he was, but that told him quite a bit more than he wanted.
‘ Heard about what happened to Reyes in Brazil, would rather share a drink with Putin. ’ There. Boundaries were important things to set, especially with terrorists who were still growing their wisdom teeth.
‘ He’s a terrible conversationalist, you’d be in better hands with me” He wasn’t sure if Rider was lying. He wouldn’t put it past him or Putin to have met up recently. “ But no bringing Ronaldo. He just kills any conversation he’s in. ’
But if that wasn’t a tip-off, Joe didn’t know what was. Despite everything, the kid had a mouth on him. It wasn’t entirely a compliment. ‘ Have you considered that you’re the problem? ’
‘ Nah mama said I talk good ’
That was the fastest reply yet. Interesting.
‘ Your mom is dead, and wrong. ’
‘ Watch yourself or I’ll send you up to meet her so you can say that to her face. ’
‘Don’t threaten me with a good time .’ Joe hadn’t gotten to where he was without more credible threats than vague insinuations about the afterlife. And wasn’t worried about most things that got said in these conversations, even if all common sense argued otherwise.
‘😂’
An emoji was always Rider’s sign off.
Fucking kid.
Joe turned to the diplomat as the doors opened again, just in time to make nice. Then he would get his men on Ronaldo.
……………………...
Byrne was used to being shoved into vehicles. This time was no different. He didn’t blink, especially when he heard the crack of bullets on cement and then on reinforced doors, spider-webbed cracks spreading over the windows near his head. Wasn’t the first time and with any luck, it wouldn’t be the last.
“Get me Troy on the line,” he barked, already considering their options. Setting a perimeter, trying to address the shitshow that was a sniper with a skyscraper-view. How the fuck had he blown security so bad that Byrne was being targeted in Seattle?! And had Trudeau’s fuckup been hit too? They’d left a minute or two prior. Courtesy for the foreign dignitary but Jesus fuck.
“Well?” He scowled when no one moved. The men shared a look and it was only then that he noticed they weren’t in suits - black ballistics shirts and vests with a silver scorpion stitched on the arm.
Oh fuck.
He had been caught.
By Rider.
He twitched, drifting down toward his gun.
“Wouldn’t do that, sir,” the man next to him cautioned, but didn’t lay a hand on him.
Byrne grimaced and obeyed, laying his hand in his lap instead. The mercenary wasn’t wrong, it wasn’t like Byrne was in a position of power here. Not in this company.
They usually told people to go along with political abductions, not to make a fuss that could end in an international political incident. Somehow Byrne had never imagined that it would apply to him.
The grim look on his face must have said more than a hundred words, because a silent ripple went around the car. The same operative as before - team lead or tapped for diplomacy - nodded at the door. It lacked a lock or handle on the inside, but Byrne was going to be generous and assume that SCORPIA was having trouble affording vehicle repair rather than a purposeful threat.
“We’ll be letting you off in the garage of the FBI building in just a few minutes, sir.”
In different company, Byrne would have rolled his eyes. He’d almost rather stay with them, honestly. Being abducted by terrorists and left at Forman’s doorstep? He’d never live it down.
“Then what the hell does Rider want?”
“You safe, sir.” There was no hiding just what the man thought of that . With more emotion in his voice, an accent had also crept in at the edges. One of theirs?
“If he wanted me safe, then he wouldn’t have had me shot at,” Byrne said, fishing.
“Wasn’t us. We wouldn’t have missed.”
The man clearly wished that he had been the one with the order. Definitely one of theirs. Must have really fucked up on this one.
“Then who the hell was it?”
“Hart took the contract.”
Great, so he was in the middle of a pissing match between criminal organizations.
“And I’m supposed to believe this is out of Rider’s heart of gold?” Byrne refused to acknowledge the play on words. That might hint that the Head’s sense of humor was contagious, and that was something he didn’t want to consider.
“Believe what you want. He just told us to tell you: ‘the retirement age is sixty five for a reason.’”
Rider would, the fucking brat.
His phone dinged and he looked to the man next to him.
“Slowly,” he ordered, voice flat. Byrne refrained from giving him an equally irritated stare, reminding himself that hotheads with guns were hardly unique to Rider’s men.
And speak of the devil…
‘You’re welcome for the lift, Uncle Joe’
Byrne scoffed under his breath. Official confirmation that he was out of hot water, more or less.
‘Didn't know you took over Uber. Might want to look into some customer service training.’
‘Sorry the ride isn’t to your liking. You can take it out of their tip.’
‘How much is this going to cost me?’
‘Favor owed.’
‘We don’t negotiate with terrorists.’
‘😂🤣😂’
Alright. So maybe he deserved that.
‘Could’ve saved us both the trouble by giving me a heads up.’
‘I got some bullshit form email about you being out of the office. And I didn’t trust your people to do their fucking jobs.’
Nothing to say to that given he had been shot at and abducted on his own turf. Speaking of -
‘Any chance I can change the destination?’
‘No. The route is secure. No unplanned deviations.’ Rider had done some planning on this then. ‘ And I don’t negotiate with terrorists.’
This. Fucking. Kid.
‘ Besides, I owe the FBI for getting me started back in Miami. Wouldn’t be where I am today without them, seems only fair I give them a thank you present.’
Just what he needed, another reason to hate his ‘sister’ agency.
‘12 years later?’
‘Better late than never. Might want to keep that in mind for my birthday present, it was 2 months ago but I don’t hold grudges.’
‘Hard to send you one when I don’t know where you are’
‘If you want to visit then just say the word, would spare you the FBI.’
Tempting.
‘The Feds are better company.’
‘I’ll remind you of that when I get a hold of Forman’s debrief on all of this.’
He’d have it too. Wouldn’t be the first time Rider had sent him ‘classified’ documents for a laugh. Byrne didn’t bother with a response. Best to let the kid have the last word this time. Wasn’t like his pride couldn’t afford to take another hit after all of this.
---
Joe spun the phone on the polished glass of his desk topper. He’d been at it for 5 minutes as he debated making the phone call. He wasn’t one to leak intel but this was one of those many times that he had to weigh the ‘right’ thing - America's interests in a terrorist off the street or international stability? That there was more personal reasons didn’t matter.
He dialed.
The call picked up after a ring and a half. Byrne didn’t hesitate. Last thing he wanted was the kid asking questions about why. “How’s Alexandria?”
“Wouldn’t recommend it for a retirement home if that’s what you’re asking.” Well Rider certainly was in a mood.
“I wasn’t.”
“For starters the traffic’s killer.” Squealing tires told him all he needed to know.
“The French always were awful drivers.” He didn’t know why it was important that Rider knew that he didn’t have anything to do with this. Probably because the last time someone had gone for him the ISI had gotten a chance to remodel their headquarters and he had become quite partial to Langley.
“Americans aren’t much better.” Byrne didn’t think he was imagining the tension in Rider’s voice. It plainly wasn’t a good time to be on the wrong side of the law. That should have made him feel better than it did. “If you’re looking to retire you should really stick with Florida, heard they have plenty of assisted living homes there and it was nice when I visited last week.”
“Should have let me know, we could have grabbed a Dolphins game.”
“Don’t watch handegg. And you’re a Cowboys fan.” There was a loud explosion in the background and muffled cursing in….Swahili?
“You okay?”
“You worried?” Rider shot back just as quickly.
Byrne closed his eyes and resisted the urge to rub his temples. This had been a mistake. He had hoped to catch the kid before the attack but obviously his intel was just as good as Rider’s.
There was a rustling and he could barely make out the words
“... could be using the signal to …”
“ Alright. Fine, ” Rider snapped but it was muffled and after a few seconds and some static the line went clear again. “I have to go.”
“Wait.” He couldn’t believe he was about to do this. But he’d come this far.
“What?”
“Maybe skip the docks, they’re a bit of a tourist trap this time of year.”
There was a beat of silence. He pulled the phone away to see if Rider had hung up but the seconds ticked on.
He almost missed the quiet: “Thanks, Uncle Joe,” before the line went dead.
He set the phone down. What happened from here was the kid and his team’s problem. He’d done what he could, he wouldn’t necessarily say it was the right thing but he had stopped trying to pick apart right from wrong it didn’t work in his line of work. Around Alex Rider, even less.
----
Years of texting under the table, the odd scattered phone call. Always for their mutual interest - the strange balance of international relations that meant the CIA was better served by SCORPIA being present and stable than wiped off the map.
But aside from a few meetings in an official capacity where they did their level best to pretend they’d never met, this was the first time they’d met in person without babysitters hovering over them.
Made sense that it would be with an overpriced hotdog in his hand and the home team behind.
Next to him, Rider chewed the straw of his blue raspberry slushie. He hadn’t taken a sip yet, and Joe doubted that he would. No matter his thoughts on terrorists, it wasn’t a kind life the kid had signed up for.
Byrne took a bite, and didn’t mind the smear of mustard on his chin. For once, he wasn’t in a suit. It was his day off, the sun was shining, and if Rider was going to crash his ball game then he could be the one to open this can of worms.
And sure enough, Rider eventually started talking, frowning at the field. If he wasn’t a fan of ‘hand egg’, Joe doubted he was getting much out of baseball.
“Why did you save me?”
“Didn’t want the instability,” Joe answered easily. It had the benefit of being mostly true. “What’s your excuse?”
“Same,” Rider said.
Well at least they were on the same page.
----
Byrne tucked the Christmas card into the file carefully, not taking any chances with a corner poking out. Certain things you just didn’t want to get ruined. He would swear up and down that he wasn’t a sentimental man, but keepsakes had their place.
The place for this one was in a manila folder, in the bottom drawer of his desk, with the lock double-checked.
Lottie, comfortable in the reading chair that she’d claimed as her territory in the ‘home office’ watched the small ritual with what could only be skepticism.
“Who’s that from?”
Joe waved his wife off, shuffling his papers to try and distract her. It hadn’t worked yet in twenty seven years of marriage, but he figured there was always a chance. Optimism was a requirement to get through the day in his line of work. “Just someone from work.”
She hummed, looking back down to her magazine. “Oh? Did you bring home the President’s card this year?”
Joe hadn’t been on ‘keeping card’ terms with the President since the number of missed national security briefings climbed into the double digits. Lottie knew that, because she’d been the one to listen to Joe grumble about having to make nice with someone who wouldn’t either step back to let the agency get on with business or sit down and shut up to learn something.
“No, why?” He asked, heading over to the rack in the corner to tug off his jacket. “Was I supposed to be angling for a party invitation?”
“Just wondering who could be more important than him.”
“The White House one is stamped, not even signed,” he defended himself. Not that Rider’s was much better - it wasn’t exactly heartfelt, and it was an obnoxious color to top it off. Joe should have locked it away on account of good taste alone.
“Mmmhhmm.” Another hum, more doubtful than the last.
Joe couldn’t blame her. He wasn’t sure he believed himself.