Chapter Text
Court’s boots hurriedly thump around the house, usually he keeps his footsteps as silent as possible, but someone had fallen asleep after her alarm went off.
“Claire! Do you have your toothbrush?” Court calls out from down the hall, he’d been awake since 5 in the morning, being so restless thinking about all the things that could go wrong and how he could possibly be able to prevent them as his own packing had been long finished. He actually thought about learning how to control a plane when it’s going down, but he figured that might be a little much. It didn’t stop him from looking up what to do anyways.
A grumbled voice clearly full of bubbles answers him from the bathroom, “I’m kind of using it right now!”
He growls slightly annoyed. It’s already 8:14am and they have to be at the airport by at least 9:45, they have to go through security and check in, and make sure their bags are less than 60 pounds and, a little more importantly, make sure they even get on the damn plane!
“Claire, I really need that toothbrush.” He turns his head, a few strands of hair from his mussed scalp peeking in front of his eyeline. She stomps down the hall in her comfiest outfit and shoes.
“Right,” She sets the dripping wet toothbrush on the table he has her open bag laid on, “Here.”
He tries not to make a face as he picks it up with as much caution as possible, using only his middle finger and thumb, and puts it in her pink patterned travel bag of toiletries.
Her bag is honestly full of things. Sketchpads, a couple animal figures, pens and pencils with various colour toppers, a camera, a stale snack from a past trip, scattered jewelry with assorted flower charms, a stack of stickers and even a pair of sunglasses. Good thing she remembered those.
In hindsight though, the most important thing she had forgotten in that array of items is a hairbrush. And her wallet. Great job, kid. Good thing the people they’d be hanging out with aren’t short on cash.
– –
They finally get in the car, Court almost ripping up the asphalt off the ground. Going from town to city, uniform fields of neatly mowed grass to thick intersecting concrete sidewalks. Ever since the events of Llyod Hansen went down, the two had moved to Philadelphia. Well—technically they live in a small, unknown rural town just outside of the city, but close enough to blend in if need be. He hopes that they never need to move again. He’s tired of moving.
Somehow, Claire is not. She has been talking non-stop for the whole 45 minute ride to the airport. Court always wonders how kids do this. His brothers did this all the time. It used to drive him fucking crazy. They’d be in the car for whatever it was they wanted to go to at about 10 in the morning, and Court would still be drinking coffee while Ryland and Colt yapped their heads off in the backseats.
“Did you get your taser?” She suddenly asks, her big brown eyes peering into his soul. He tries to keep his eyes on the road, y’know like a responsible 34 year old, but he whips his head to give her a quick bewildered look.
“My what?” He sputters. Why does she think he needs a taser? Hasn’t she seen him knock a man unconscious with his bare hands before?
“Your taser? For me?” She pokes him in the arm. He squirms away like it personally offends him. “You told me you’d get me one.”
“When did I say that? I’m not getting you a taser.” He grumbles. Claire makes an indignant noise.
“Why not?” Now it’s her turn to be baffled. “I’ve literally been kidnapped before, Court!”
“Because I-” Court sighs heavily, weighing the options of this decision. “Because I'll teach you to fight. Or I’ll have Francis teach you.” It was a slip of the tongue. Goddamn it.
She hooks onto this instantly. Screw the damn taser, this was juicy. “He’s Francis now? When did that happen?” She quirks her voice higher, whenever her interest piqued. This is one of those times. Her eyebrows practically raise all the way up to her hairline.
“Nothing happened.” He grunts. Shit. Fuck. Shit.
“Clearly something did.” She wiggles her brows, it makes her look incredibly silly, Court has to look back at the light he’s stopped at to keep himself from laughing.
“Stop doing that,” He fails, he’s chuckling. “You look dumb.”
“Hey!” She smacks him in the arm across the control divider in the car. He purposely swerves around crazily, getting honked at like a madman.
“Don’t distract the driver.” He means this, the Sierra program trained him to drive a car. He’s still not good at it. He avoids driving at all times. It’s awful and stressful and bad for the environment anyways. This is something Francis has made fun of him for. He doesn’t appreciate it.
The Philadelphia airport comes into view on the next exit of the highway. Winding between the lanes, he orders Claire to do her job as “passenger princess” and look for their terminal while he scours around the parking lot. This airport is huge. They have way too many sections for every country you could possibly visit. Good thing that Claire is a very smart girl and finds it rather quickly. And then Court finally finds an empty parking space after circling around probably looking like an idiot. This is why he doesn’t drive. Seriously. It’s a problem, he almost crashes into the curb a million times. He even lets Claire out with her stuff when he parks. Curse you, parallel parking.
The two have priority access for this flight because of her heart condition, so now they get to skip all the lines while people give them the dirtiest looks like Court and Claire had just shot their dog in the head. Even Court wouldn’t do that, that’s heartless. She even brags when a metal detector beeps when it detects her pacemaker.
But the one problem Court has now, is that they have 3 hours until they can even board the plane. They still have a whole 12 hour flight ahead of them. Italy, you better be worth it.
– –
The drone of the airport air being spilled out for them to breathe has slowly been making a knot in his brain for the past 5 hours. It feels like there's a drill slowly making a hole in his cranium. Right now back in Philadelphia it’d be about 3:18 in the afternoon, in Italy though, it’d be 9:18 at night. Fortunately for him, Claire has managed to fall asleep. He’s been anxious about this flight for a while now and how her body would respond to being miles up in the sky, she seems to be alright so far, but there is still another 7 hours left.
He tries everything. At first, Claire fell asleep on his shoulder, but after an hour or so, he had to move her so he could get up and use the bathroom. Then, after sitting there for about thirty minutes just staring at the person’s phone sitting in front of him, they were watching some movie about someone driving. Seems a little boring but the main character looks cool. He got bored again and decides to shuffle through Claire’s bag to steal a piece of paper from her sunshine-yellow sketchpad and a sparkly well-sharpened pencil.
Court was never the restless child, he was well-behaved and was often the one who had to look out for his brothers, they were the high energy ones. Ryland, Colt’s younger twin by about 7 minutes, was always the nerdier one of the three. He loved his biology and chemistry classes when he got to high school and passed with flying colours. The last he heard of him, he was living a quiet life teaching middle schoolers about his own favorite subject. Colt, the older twin, was always the problem child. Getting into scraps and coming home with a note from his teacher about being disruptive in class. He followed his attention span and got himself a job as a well-regarded stuntman for action films. Maybe Colt had done stunts for this driving movie, he thought.
But Court never got to experience things like his brothers, he was stuck in protective-guardian-mode, making sure their father never got too close without Court stepping in front of his younger brothers. He followed a path too, getting put in jail for killing their father, recruited in the Sierra program, continuing the cycle of violence and becoming numb to the sensation of a bone breaking in his hands.
But recently, things have changed. He gained custody of Claire, they got their place in Pennsylvania, and he met some people. And boy, are they some characters.
– –
It was a late night, Claire was at home studying for a test and Court had the cameras of the house pulled up on his phone. He was sitting at an open bar in some sticky pub, when all of a sudden, a man got tackled to the ground by a tall man in a three piece suit. The man stood, dusting off his suit and extending an envelope to his associate, an even taller and bigger man, who tucked it into his inside coat pocket. The two men strolled out of the booth, the thinner man stepping onto and over the man left on the ground.
Court had caught the two men’s eyes, only one of them giving a scathing look to Court, the other grabbing the thinner man’s arm and dragging him out like he was a child needing to be dealt with. It made Court chuckle. He paid his tab and left the pub, the humid air of August hitting his face.
That wasn’t the last time he saw the twins, as their next meeting was a week later. Claire was at a friend's house and Court was in the city wanting to see something entertaining, a movie, maybe a musical or a play, just something. He ended up finding this bar that had a downstairs: a huge wrestling ring. There were large concrete ledges that you could see the ring in the middle from, spiraling into stairs to the front row of this event. Court took his surroundings in, it was a dangerous place, but the air was thick and electrically charged. The thump of the bass and cheering every time a punch landed thrummed deep in his body, but there was only one thing people were laser focused on.
A man, tall with blood and sweat streaming down his body wearing a dark blue tank top stained with hot red blood, clearly from his opponent, who was currently sweating like a pig and looked the part with all the pink and purple bruises forming across his bare back. But no one cared about his opponent, they cared about him. He was quick, a gold pendant flying around when he dodged and swung. It was a dumb move, keeping jewelry on like earrings and necklaces, but it showed confidence. Maybe a little cockiness too.
The brunette hit dirty, knocking his knuckles into his opponents throat, slamming fists into his exposed ribs, already coloured a dirty purplish green from how much he’d targeted the area already. When his opponent swung, he dodged and caught the man's arm, pulling him towards him and slamming his fist underneath his arm and into his jaw. His opponent jerked and fell backwards, the referee counted the seconds he was down while the potential winner loomed over him, fists to his side with his sweat-slicked, curly hair bouncing along to the rhythm of his panting.
It was called, he had won. The man raised his fist in the air, claiming his victory. After looking around the roaring first row, he looked up all the way up to the third platform, exactly where Court had placed himself. A thick line of blood steadily streaming down his face, jewelry glinting in the strong white light beaming down on the ring, nose bleeding and pretty pink cheeks flushed, bright blue eyes looking pale and icy. He gave Court a toothy grin, he had sharp canine teeth, like a predator. Just the look of him was addicting, like a drug you know you shouldn’t take.
But that was them, the twins. Liam and Francis, codenames Lemon and Tangerine. Wet work operatives harboured in a dangerous Italian agency. After the fight, he had followed the two into the locker room where Liam had been putting plasters on his brother’s wounds. At first they were hostile, Liam especially. But Francis had a smug smirk paired with some heavy eyes, letting his brother know that Court had watched the fight. “Watched” was an understatement. Court had pinpointed him, taking him in like breathing in smoke, he was enticed by him. Liam had made some comment in Italian that resulted in him getting a tired pinch in the arm and an exhausted but adorable pouty-angry look.
A few months had passed and the three of them had bonded well, Francis and him especially. He learned that the two were foster siblings but their birthdays are on the same day, though Liam is a year older. Court had even introduced them to Claire, albeit with some hesitation and a little bit of deadly threatening that they wouldn’t hurt her. They agreed wholeheartedly.
Now, they had all agreed that they’d take a break from work to have a small vacation over in Italy, the twins’ home country. Who knows how this’ll go.
– –
The flight concluded, Court finally getting some sleep while Claire had woken up and drew to some music playing in her headset for the remainder of the time they were in the air. They walk through the Aeroporti de Napoli, the main airport closest to the twin’s home in Salerno, to reach the baggage claim area where they wait for their luggage. It is quite a fancy airport, with large trees beyond the huge glass windows outside and a faint smell of coconut, nothing alike to the American airports he had visited with the stale scent of sweat and nerves.
He had been to Italy before, only in Venice on a mission Fitz had sent him on. He had no time to look around and see the sights of late June Italy, too busy trying to track down an unreliable contractor that had gone on the run.
But now, he had time. Time to spend in the dying sun, in the salty seas, with friends and family, time to learn and experience things he never would have had if Lloyd Hansen didn’t kill Fitz, if Lloyd hadn’t been killed, if he didn’t get custody of Claire, and if he never stumbled into that pit-fight.
It feels surreal. It’s a warm feeling, one he hasn’t felt in a long time, not since his last visit to his own brothers. But soon enough something else is adding to that feeling, he and Claire get their suitcases, hers a bright yellow and his plain black. They stand and wait in the section of the airport where you can meet with family and get a ride home.
They are quite easy to find, bright platinum dyed hair, this time in some twisted, longer style and a yellow bandana styling them well, along with dark curly hair pulled back into a simple but messy small bun. Already arguing, though in a language Court could only guess was Italian, speaking so fast it’s difficult to decipher, not like he understands Italian anyways.
Only because of the temperature outside, the two’s outfits are light, not layered like they were in winter. Liam’s consists of a white tank top with an embroidered train on the side of the shirt, laying just above his left pectoral. Some light blue flowery denim shorts and a bandana tied in his hair to match. Francis’s outfit is an open button down light olive green colour with a white undershirt underneath, along with some long, brown, fancy pleated pants, a thick brown waistband wrapping his figure well. The two have their respective jewelry on. Francis looks gorgeous. Court checks his mouth if he’s salivating. He’s not. But he mentally might as well be.
They look incredibly well put together, their styles matching them perfectly. Court and Claire, however, are not as up to par. They’re exhausted and most likely look awful from being thousands of miles high in the sky for 12 hours. Court with his incredibly wrinkled shirt and Claire with her mussed, golden hair, the small pink clip she has in her hair barely even doing anything. She looks half awake, the poor girl.
Claire pinches him, getting him out of some weird stare-y state he got into, “Court, cmon..” She whines, so ready to go and sleep in a bed. It doesn’t matter whose bed, just a bed.
Court pokes her in return, “Okay, okay. Sorry.” He hisses and rubs the part she pinched unexpectedly. They start walking towards their hosts, already arguing about something in Italian, at least Claire can’t understand their curses, then again neither can Court.
There is something inherently “Italian” about Liam and Francis that Court didn’t pick up on until he saw the two in their natural habitat, so to speak. The tempers, the rapid hand gestures, the familial love no matter if the person was blood or not, the exception of these standards being that they have the snark and slang of two Londoners along with the customs. But, now that they’re in Italy, they seem to look softer, more comfortable. Maybe it’s the fact that they had lived here and had good memories or simply just because they aren’t on a job, not bothered by having to keep an eye on your peripherals at all times. They look like a side of them Court has never seen.
It’s exciting to him to get to see how they are here. If their personalities shift at all, if their customs or way of speaking change, he’s curious. Hopefully, Court didn’t resemble a cat. He wants to learn here, the language entices him, the history is the most exciting but, of course, the food, the people, everything.
Finally, after a minute of literally standing in front of the siblings, Francis turns to them, he smacks a hand to Liam’s stomach to get his attention.
“Oh, shit.” Liam mumbles. Francis smacks him again, Liam punches his shoulder. The two hiss like cats at each other. Francis rolls his eyes.
“Glad you guys got here alright.” Francis moves to get Claire’s suitcase, she eagerly accepts, looking like she was about to pass out right there on the cold floor of the baggage claim area. He gives her a soft smile, placing a gentle hand on her back and guiding the four to where a black, shiny Audii is parked.
Court eyes the way he treats her so tenderly, it is sweet. Almost a little unexpectedly sweet from the Francis he first met. First introducing himself as Tangerine, the name suiting his sophisticated style. Or so he had told Court.
“How was the flight?” Liam asks, walking alongside Court while Francis opens the backseat car door for Claire to hop in, then pops open the trunks and sets her bright suitcase in, practically illuminating the dark space inside.
“It was fine.” Court shrugs. “Pretty long, though. I was barely able to distract myself.” He sighs heavily, so ready to drop into the sleek car and watch the Italian countryside whisk past in the window.
Liam chuckles warmly, the twists framing his face moving in tandem with his movement. The hairstyle is nice on him and is a pleasant change to his usual loose, natural style.
With how the twins had already presented themselves, it seems like it will be a warm vacation. There is a soft feeling in his belly when he thinks about Francis showing the same tenderness to him in a different setting. Maybe with less clothes in the already suffocating heat. It seems practical. Court blinks away the fantasy, trying to focus on the vacation, on taking a break, on relaxing.
Well, that would technically be a relaxing scenario. And the lack of clothes is practical! It’s hot! “Whatever you tell yourself, Court”, he thinks to himself. He straps into the carseat and sets himself to looking out the window. Here we go, Italy.