Work Text:
It's Thursday night, which means popcorn and another dumb movie—the kind of movies you watch when you don't want to think about any of your usual problems.
"Dumb character, dumb plot, dumb morality," Claire recites, ticking off three of her fingers as Court selects a few action movies with the remote. Court grunts when she lets her head fall on his chest as she all but curls up into the sofa. "Nice food to make us all brain-dead!"
"Let's watch one with Colt in it, then," Court retorts. He can't fight the grin on his face when Claire laughs, her head bobbing against him as she does.
"Hey!" Colt snaps. His finger is pointed at Court as he emerges from the kitchen, but the way he precariously cradles three bowls of popcorn on his other arm makes his threat fall short. "I heard that!"
Jody follows behind him with two other bowls. Court doesn't let it show, but he's internally cracking up at how Colt freezes, as if sensing his wife's glare boring a hole into the back of his head.
"Colt," Jody warns, "I swear if you break dishes again because you're too clumsy…"
"Oh, please Uncle Colt, break one! Watching Jody beat your ass is so much better than all the stunts you make in movies!"
And that, Court thinks, is why she's my girl.
But at his daughter's huge disappointment, Colt crosses the room and puts the bowls on the coffee table without any damage.
"Ha-ha," Colt deadpans when Claire boos. "I'm feeling really attacked by all of you right now. Where's Ry when I need my bit of sunshine? Ryland!"
"Coming!" Ryland shouts back from upstairs. He's no doubt grading papers or—nope, he's working on another science project, if the dull thud followed by a muffled "Holy moly," is anything to go by. "Just dropped a huge model of the sun!" Ryland yells for their benefit. "But I'm alright!"
"Okay, sunshine!" Colt replies. Court has to sit here for a minute and stare into space as he wonders how he got himself a pair of really energetic twins.
"Are you saying Jody isn't your ray of sunshine, Uncle Colt?" Claire quips back. His minute of reflection is over, so Court high-fives her. He always does when Claire makes fun of his brother.
"What? Of course not! Why do you think I wear sunglasses all the time?" Colt slouches into the couch and gestures at his face. Sure enough, black, ski-style sunglasses are covering his eyes, even though the sun is setting outside. Sunglasses are definitely not necessary in this soft, warm glow, but Court guesses his brother likes how it adds to his mystique. Or how it perfectly fits his romantic tirade, since Colt adds smugly, "I couldn't look at her without turning blind otherwise. That's how radiant my wife is—it's like looking directly at the sun."
Loud steps echo down the stairs as Jody ushers Colt to make more room for her on the couch. Claire is quick to retort with another snarky comment. Meanwhile, Court closes his eyes. He's pretty sure even his cell wasn't this loud. How did he find himself in such an animated house? Even Jean-Claude—Jody and Colt's dog Court begrudgingly accepted to take in—is sighing happily from his cushion, his tail wagging with excitement.
"You'd turn blind only if you looked at the sun through a telescope, actually," Ryland pipes up when he finally reaches the living room. He runs a hand through his dirty blonde hair and strides towards the kitchen without a glance back. "But maybe sunglasses could be a nice addition for an EVA suit—you know, the one for astronauts—"
"Oh, not you too!" Colt whines. "Don't rationalize my metaphor! Jody's so bright, your little scientific calculations wouldn't stand a chance anyway—they'd be vaporized on sight, leaving only the fire and my indisputable love for her."
"That was… actually really, really sweet," Jody smiles warmly.
Claire fakes a gag when Jody presses a quick kiss to Colt's mouth. Court lifts his eyebrows at how compliant Colt becomes, a lazy grin tugging at his little brother's lips. Court doesn't chide Claire for her theatrics—he's actually considering pulling a face at his brother, too. Colt has grown so soft! Nothing but a lovesick fool!
Or maybe Colt has always been this sweet. Ryland, too. Court wonders if he's ever been like them, once. Before their father—
Court holds Claire closer to him. He hasn't noticed he’d wrapped his arm around her shoulders in the first place, but he doesn't have to think too much of it because Claire simply shifts to get into a more comfortable position, resting her head against his chest once more.
Court settles back against the cushions. His house might have become loud with never-ending bickering, but he's sick of denying the warm feeling his home brings him. Even the popcorn Claire has just dropped all over his shirt doesn't change that.
Court shoves any thoughts of his father to the back of his mind, focusing on Claire's soft breathing. Why should he care about that monster? That man won't hurt him or his brothers anymore. He certainly won't hurt Claire. And Court promised himself a long time ago that if he ever had children, he'd never be like his father.
But it's not like Claire is his daughter. Sure, sometimes the word crosses his mind, but that doesn't mean anything. The two of them are like family. There. They don't need to have a word for it, especially if it's one that doesn't fit. Court is protective of her. He's her… guardian. But he's also the reason why Claire doesn't have Fitzroy anymore. Her real family.
"Ryland! What do you want to watch?" Claire yells, startling Court. He can't help but groan, raising a hand to his ringing ear to make a point. Claire raises an eyebrow when she notices, adding, "What, did I just wake you up, old man?"
Court rolls his eyes playfully. "I'm not old."
"Sure are," Court hears Colt whisper next to him. Court shoots him a glare.
Ryland pokes his head around the kitchen door. "I don't know," he shrugs as he crosses the room. "Brain-dead kind of movie, right? Why not one with Colt in it?" He suddenly stops in his tracks. "…What? What did I say?"
Jody and Claire are howling with laughter. Court has to bite the inside of his cheek to stop himself from joining them, but then Colt squeaks in fake fury, and Court lets out a snort.
But the chuckle that follows completely escapes him. Court is quick to clasp a hand against his mouth, but it's already out there. He can't stop it. His shoulders shake with the force of his laugh—no, of his giggles. Oh, this is bad. He's giggling.
When Court wipes a tear from the corner of his eye, still heaving with his full-belly chuckle, the first thing he sees is Ryland standing in front of the coffee table, looking at him with his mouth hanging open. A quick glance around the room shows him Colt and Jody openly gawking at him, though Colt's eyes glimmer with a touch of mischief—or are those forming tears? What the…?
Court clears his throat. God, he's embarrassed. And he's usually not the kind of guy to get embarrassed. The flush Court can feel spreading on his face all the way to his ears is definitely not a good feeling.
Court's gaze drops to Claire. He looks away immediately, but it's no use because he's noticed her wide eyes, and the way her huge grin makes dimples appear on her cheeks.
"He can laugh?" Jody asks. "I didn't know that."
Court glares when Colt snorts a laugh, but dutifully ignores the way his brother shuts his eyes to clear the tears away. Happy tears, but still tears. So emotional.
Seriously, why can't anyone just react normally? Sure, Court doesn't talk much, doesn't laugh as openly as the others, doesn't smile with as much confidence—though he's working on it—but that doesn't mean they have to act so surprised when they realize he's just as much of a human being as they are.
Court is not a killing machine anymore. He doesn't have to shield all his emotions. He's allowed to feel human again.
Even Ryland is smiling now. His eyes meet Court's, and they're so affectionate that Court lets out a breath he wasn't even aware he was holding.
My family is here, Court forces himself to repeat in his head. My family is here. They’re not shocked that I'm not some emotionless assassin. It's their way to show that they care.
Ryland sits on the couch on Court's other side. His brother casually rests his feet on the coffee table, hooking his ankles as he stretches. "Never seen you blush so hard, Court," Ryland teases.
Court grunts. Grunting is how he communicates. Whenever he's sad, annoyed, angry, or hurt? Court grunts. Grunting is safe. Grunting doesn't give anything away. It's Court acting normal. Just like the way Colt always teases, or how Jody deadpans. How Ryland chatters when he gets passionate about science, and how Claire sings under her breath when she's distracted.
Court knows all of the smiles and the stupid comments are their way of extending a hand to him. Greeting him back to what life is supposed to be. To a mundane, normal, human life.
So grunt it is. "I'm not blushing."
Court risks another glance at Claire. Her eyes twinkle with so many emotions, but her grin tells him everything she's not saying. Everything that can't be put into words. She understands him.
That's why Court isn't surprised when Claire's attention shifts to Ryland, effectively changing the subject when she gasps, "Uncle Ry, you made two other bowls of popcorn? We already have five!"
Court hides his smile behind her dark hair. He's so lucky to have her in his life. To have all of them, really.
"Oh, fudge!"
"Fudge? Just say fuck already!"
"Colt! No swear words in front of the kid!"
"I'm not a kid!"
"Oh shit! I mean—cover your ears for a sec, Claire, please? Thanks. Ryland, just say fuck! Okay, you don't have to cover your ears anymore, Claire."
"I don't want to swear! It's vulgar! And violent!"
"You know what's violent? Me when I'll beat your ass to get all of you to stop stuffing yourselves with popcorn—Colt! Seriously, you're gonna choke if you don't slow down!"
"What? Now that the food's here, we shouldn't waste it."
"… Good point."
"So Jody, you're not gonna tell me 'I told you so' when I'll have a stomach ache later? Just to be clear."
"No, Claire, I won't say 'I told you so.'"
"Cool! I wanted more popcorn anyway."
"Well, don't thank me."
"Thanks Uncle Ryland!"
The moment passes, and soon enough they're all munching on popcorn as The Fall Guy plays. Court's head falls back against the couch, reveling in the tranquility settling over them.
None of them talk for the first part of the movie. Court notices how engrossed in it Claire is. She denies it, but Court knows she's always been fascinated with the art of movie-making. She kept asking Colt and Jody questions about stunts and directing when she found out they were from the field, deflecting her interest as mere curiosity.
Court asked Jody if Claire could come with her on set, one day. Jody was thrilled, telling him how she's been considering having an apprentice for a while. She promised not to ruin the surprise for Claire. Court plans on telling her next week, when Claire's birthday comes up.
"They kinda look like you guys," Ryland suddenly pipes up from Court's right. The couch isn't that spacious, so they're all basically snuggling, with Ryland's shoulder grazing Court's side. When Jody asks him to elaborate, Ryland peers around Claire—who's comfortably nuzzling against Court—to gesture at Colt and Jody. "The characters look like you two. I mean, I know Colt did some of the stunts in that movie—"
"You mean all of them—"
"— so of course the main character looks like Colt. But I meant more about the story."
Claire sleepily perks up. "Yeah, it's like we're watching your love story unfold. It’s a bit unsettling, now that I think about it."
Court feels Colt chuckle next to him, his brother's arm resting next to Court's left side. "Oh, I get it! Especially with the song, right? I was made for loving you baby," Colt sings over the soundtrack, nudging Jody with a smirk, "You were made for loving me…"
"Please spare me your mediocre talent for singing," Court mumbles, earning a laugh from Claire and Ryland.
Jody stretches her arms above her head, yawning as the end credits roll. Court stifles a yawn of his own—mostly because Claire will tease him for it, telling him he's an old man again, even though he's pretty sure she'd have dozed off in less than ten minutes if no one had talked. Court absent-mindedly pulls the blanket over her shoulder from where it has dropped at some point during the movie.
"I agree with Ryland, though," Jody says after having finally stopped yawning. "It reminds me of our big fiasco two years ago. I mean, look at that poor woman, with all of this shit happening to her on a random day—I bet it was on a Friday. Fridays always suck."
"You just say that because you have a meeting with Gail on Fridays, which means you get back home really late," Colt points out.
"Yeah, well. That's why I hate Fridays."
Court feels Claire shift, and when he glances down, she's looking up at him with a knowing smile on her lips.
"At least it's not just another Thursday, huh?" Court smiles back.
Claire nods. The dimples come back at full force. "At least it's not another Thursday."
"What's with your 'Thursday' thing?" Ryland asks curiously. "I thought it was just a random thing, but you two keep talking about it. What happened on Thursday?"
"What didn't happen on a Thursday," Claire counters, making Court laugh softly. He hugs her tighter without even realizing.
Colt notices and smiles. "Oh, look at you two! Is that 'Thursday' thing a special father-and-daughter inside joke?"
Claire and Court suddenly straighten up, as if they've just been struck by lightning.
"He's not my dad!" Claire scrambles to say.
"She's not my daughter!" Court exclaims at the same time.
Court sees the eyebrows shooting up and the incredulous looks exchanged between his brothers and Jody. He can't help but grunt. This time his irritation is justified.
"But…" Ryland trails off, a crease appearing between his brows as he visibly looks for the right words. "You guys are Claire and Court. You're… family."
Claire folds her arms with a sneer. "That doesn't mean he's my dad."
Court nods, ignoring the frowns around him. The blanket covering the two of them has slipped off when he and Claire rushed to sit as far apart as they could get on the crowded couch, but now he notices Claire shivering with the cold. He reaches up and pulls the blanket tightly around her shoulders again. "Exactly," Court grumbles in agreement.
"Exactly?" Colt stammers. "I should say 'exactly.' Court, don't you see how you're acting?" he asks, gesturing to Court's hands gently patting Claire's shoulders over the blanket before retreating. "You both are just proving my point: you act like a dad and a daughter!"
Court drags a hand down his face. "It's not because I'm… protective of her that it automatically means what you're implying."
"And I'm not a kid anymore! I don't need a dad," Claire chimes in. "I'm a teenager!"
"She's… almost independent," Court concedes, but backtracks quickly at Claire's stare. "She can take care of herself just fine," he corrects. "So me being here to make sure she has a roof over her head doesn't make me her dad."
Claire and Court ignore the knowing smiles Jody, Colt, and Ryland exchange at how similarly defensive they both get. Although Ryland has the decency to hold his hands up in surrender.
"And she is right here," Claire retorts. The expression on her face makes it clear this conversation is over. "His name's Six. I'm not calling him Dad."
"Six? Dad! Dad!"
It's Friday afternoon, which means Court is outside to help Ryland feed his turtle Armando. He curses under his breath for being out of the house, where he can see Claire's knees buckle under her weight on the patio. Court is already rushing through the field before Claire has the time to cry out 'Six.' But hearing her call him 'dad' makes him break into a full sprint.
Something is wrong.
He can hear Ryland running behind him, but Court is faster. Still, he feels like he's nowhere near fast enough to get to Claire, who's clutching at her chest, her face contorted in pain.
"Claire!"
Jean-Claude is barking, no doubt alerting Colt of the commotion. From the corner of his eyes, Court catches sight of Colt dashing out of the garage towards Claire.
"Colt, get the car!" Court yells to his brother. He shifts his attention back to Claire when he sees Colt darting back to the garage.
Court gets to his daughter.
Terror and pain fill Claire's voice when she croaks out, "Dad, something's wrong."
Court's knees hit the ground hard enough to leave bruises when he reaches for her, but he doesn't even register the ache. All he can see is a younger version of Claire falling on the floor and crying out, "Six? Something's wrong!"
Court shakes the memory away. He picks Claire up in his arms in one swift motion and turns to his brother. "Where's the car?"
When he doesn't immediately spot it, Court is about to run in the direction of the garage, but Ryland spins him around. "There!" he points at the car speeding across the yard towards them. Colt hits the brake and the car comes to an abrupt halt right next to Court.
Court doesn't have the time to thank his brother for his efficiency. He hauls Claire into the backseat and hops into the car, closing the door behind him. A second later, Ryland's own door snaps shut.
"Hospital, now!" Court orders, even though Colt is already pulling away, accelerating down the driveway. The adrenaline rushing through Court's veins is familiar, but an unsettling sense of urgency overtakes him, prompting him to add, "Drive!"
"Don't worry about the car, just fasten your damn belt so I don't have to drag you into the hospital too for getting a concussion!" Colt replies, his gaze steady on the road as the sound of the engine speeding up blares around them.
Ryland has already fastened Claire's belt, and he's helping Court hold her upright when she doubles over.
"Dad?" Claire's voice sounds weak.
Court's heart drops. How can a single word mean everything and still crush his insides at the same time? To think he was stupid enough to pretend Claire wasn't his daughter. The gut-wrenching feeling is threatening to swallow him whole, and in that moment, desperation makes him see clearly. His daughter is hurt. And he can't do anything about it.
For the first time in a really long time, Court feels helpless. Completely, utterly useless.
"Dad?"
"Shh, it's okay," Court says, trying to soothe Claire, but the crack in his voice betrays him. God, he needs to get a grip. He clears his throat. "We're on our way to the hospital. We're almost there."
Claire nods, and Court steadies her as her shoulders start to shake.
"Court, I'm not kidding about the belt!" Colt snaps. When Court looks up, Colt's eyes are fierce but filled with worry as his gaze locks with Court’s through the rearview mirror. "Please buckle up."
As if on cue, a sharp turn on the right forces Court to grab onto the back of the driver's seat to keep his balance.
"Okay, done," Court grumbles after fastening his belt.
"Thank you."
Claire groans. Court hugs her tighter and finds Ryland's eyes.
"Maybe the pacemaker’s battery needs replacement," Ryland says. He chews on his lower lip in thought.
"Bullshit," Court replies, all too aware of the way Claire is shivering in his arms. Shit. "The doctors said it didn't need replacing for two more years!"
"I know. But what if…"
Ryland trails off, but Court hears the end of his sentence anyway. What if someone targeted Claire's pacemaker?
"No," Court shakes his head, but doubt still makes his face blanch. "I don't know what is happening, but it's not that. It's fine. We'll figure it out," he adds to Claire when her breath catches. "It's just another Thursday, okay?"
Claire clings to him. Court can't think beyond his own racing heart. He watches the city blur past through the windshield. He knows Colt must be driving way past the speed limit, but it still feels like they’re running out of time.
"Dad?" The word is nothing but a whisper.
"Almost there," Court reassures when he recognizes the road leading to the hospital. "Hang on, kid."
And then Claire stops breathing.
Court freezes. His own lungs stop functioning for a long, painful beat, before he lets out a panicked grunt that sends his heart racing again.
This can't be happening.
Claire sags against him, and it's so reminiscent of the way she was resting her head on his chest the fucking day before that tears instantly prickle at Court's eyes, turning his vision blurry.
What the hell is he supposed to do? Court was taught how to kill people. He knows exactly where to hit, where to stab, where to press. He might know how to keep himself alive when injured, but it's mostly about how to make a tourniquet efficient enough to prevent him from bleeding out. Court never learned how to treat someone else's injuries, let alone perform CPR on someone in cardiac arrest.
What the hell is he supposed to do?
"Court! Court!" Ryland is shouting insistently as if it wasn't the first time he was calling him. Court hasn't even noticed Ryland unfastening Claire's belt. "Help me lie her down!"
Court obliges. His hands are shaking. He cradles Claire's face, his eyes locked on her pale cheeks. On her unmoving chest.
"Keep her still!" It's all the warning Court gets before Ryland's hands settle on Claire's chest and he starts chest compressions.
The following minute is unbearable. Court wants to rip himself from his own body, to scream, to hit his head against a wall again and again and again, just so he can somehow escape this moment. But all he can do is watch.
He's worried Ryland is going to hurt her. His brother keeps pounding on Claire's chest, and Court is pretty sure he hears her ribs crack under the strain. But Ryland looks like he knows what he's doing, counting under his breath as he performs CPR in a steady rhythm.
Court just holds his daughter.
"Come on, Claire!" Colt repeats frantically behind the wheel. "Come on!"
After what feels like a few agonizing hours, Claire's lips part slightly. Ryland stops the compressions and holds two fingers against her carotid.
"Pulse!" Ryland yells with a smile big enough to split his face in half. "She's breathing!"
Court grunts. A grunt mixed with relief, fear and panic.
He doesn't even have the time to process any of this before Colt announces, "We're here," and pulls the car to a screeching halt.
The doors fling open, Claire is hauled out of the car, and before Court knows it, people in white gowns are taking his daughter away on a stretcher.
Colt is staring unblinkingly at the white door. Every other second, he checks his surroundings to brace himself for a threat that doesn't come. All he's seen for the past five hours so far are white walls, white gowns, and white lights. Oh, and did he mention clipboards? Guess the color. White!
Court, however, knows he's about to see red if another doctor tells him he needs to wait. To be patient.
Ryland must sense his restlessness, because he stands up and makes sure Court sees him walk towards him before resting a hand on Court's shoulder. Court suppresses the urge to bristle, but he can’t stop a grimace from escaping. He's not some unhinged animal that needs to be approached carefully! He's not going to leap at the first thing that touches him!
Though he can't deny that if a threat appears, he will eviscerate it. Court still knows how to recognize suspicious individuals. Assassins can roam hospital corridors without anyone noticing—Court would know: he was one. But anyone targeting Claire will be shot on sight. Or more likely stabbed on sight, since right now, Court's most accessible weapon is his knife sheathed under his shirt. The others are hidden between his shoulder blades, and a few daggers are tucked in traps around his ankles. You know, just in case.
Old habits die hard.
"Why don't you sit down a bit, Court?" Ryland asks so softly that Court wants to punch him. "You've been on high alert ever since they took her to the operating room. Can you at least take a break to drink some water?"
Court groans in response. His unvoiced 'no' must be clear enough, because Ryland's hand retreats from Court's arm.
Court barely notices his brother's shoulders tense or his features harden, too focused on watching the other end of the corridor for… something. Someone. For the one who made this nightmare happen in the first place.
But Court's eyes dart back to Ryland's face when he hears him snap sharply, "No one is coming, Court! No one is going to barge into this room and kill Claire! The threat you're so desperately trying to brace for isn't one you can take down with a gun!"
Court's eyes widen. From the corner of his eyes, he can see Colt startle, no doubt as taken aback as Court at their brother's outburst. The way Ryland's eyes flare is so unfamiliar that Court freezes.
"You've been keeping watch of Claire's room like some CIA bodyguard, but it's not going to help her, and it's not going to help you. I know you're used to fighting. Trust me, I know what you're carrying right now," Ryland adds, swiftly looking over his shoulder to make sure no one's eavesdropping when he gestures to Court's hidden weapons. "But the doctors told us why Claire's heart failed, and it's not because of some grand scheme someone pulled off to get back at you."
Court's jaw clenches. He doesn't have the time to snap something back because Ryland is already opening his mouth to speak again, so Court just grumbles.
But this time, his brother's voice is gentler as he runs a hand through his messy hair. "What happened was just this: a heart failure. No one is responsible for that, Court. Not even you."
Court flinches.
There's a rational voice in his head telling him that Ryland is right. No one targeted Claire on purpose. His knives are useless because the only thing that can help his daughter right now is an open-heart surgery he certainly can't perform himself.
Blaming the doctors for not warning Court something like this could happen is something else entirely, though. But as Ryland reminded Court after a surgeon briefly explained the situation, the pacemaker wasn't at fault. It's not something anyone could have prevented.
But Court could've seen it coming. He should have seen it coming. Did he miss how Claire got tired more frequently, or how she was out of breath after the smallest effort? There must have been signs. He should've paid more attention.
Another part of him keeps urging him to do something. And you know what? Court is pretty good at guarding doors.
"Court?" Ryland's voice breaks through the fog in Court's head, but Court still can't bring himself to look his brother in the eye. "Darn it. I shouldn't have said that," Ryland whispers to himself before clearing his throat. "Sorry."
"Don't apologize," Court mumbles. It’s the closest to ‘you were right and I was wrong’ he can muster right now. He folds his arms around his torso, breaking the tense posture he was in from staying on the lookout for so long.
Court can tell Ryland is waiting for him to say more, but Court stubbornly keeps his eyes away from his brother and doesn't budge from where he's standing against the wall.
Ryland wants him to stop tracking an imaginary threat? Fine. But Court isn't going to sit there and do nothing. He'll stay right next to the door to pester the first surgeon going out of that room so he can see how his daughter is doing.
"Let him be, Ry," Colt calls from his seat across from them. "If he wants to keep watch, he'll keep watch."
Ryland sighs and goes back to his uncomfortable chair without another word.
Court has too many things on his plate to feel guilty for letting his brothers worry about him. But he can't deny he has the urge to explain himself. He blows out a long breath.
"I'm not keeping watch. I know there's no…" Court trails off, still anxious to admit there's no threat out loud. Colt raises an eyebrow. "I'm just… standing."
"Right. Look, I get that the chairs aren't really cozy," Colt replies, "but maybe Ry's right and you should—"
"I can't just sit, okay?" Court snaps. So much for looking composed. His will to make things right was short-lived indeed. Court pretends to lower his voice when a nearby nurse shoots him a glare, but it's really because he feels bad for the way Ryland's face just fell. "I can't." Not when my daughter might be dying behind that door, he doesn't say.
Looks of comprehension meet his words, and Court has to look away again. He doesn't need his brothers' pity. He has enough guilt and worry to last him a lifetime, thank you very much.
Court goes back to staring unblinkingly at a white wall, because every time he closes his eyes he sees Claire's pale, dead face. He shakes his head, willing the image to go away.
Court finds the nearest bin and spits out his chewing gum, immediately shoving another one in his mouth so that the sound of his teeth muffles the desperate 'Dad!' replaying in his ears. Also, it helps keep the nausea at bay.
Not knowing how Claire is doing is killing him. What if her heart stops beating again? Would he know it? Would he feel it in his very core?
"They know what they're doing," Ryland says out of the blue, as if reading Court's mind. "She'll be fine."
Court doesn't reply. He folds his arms, lets his head fall back against the wall, and stares at the white tiles.
It's past ten P.M. when the door opens. Court swivels towards the sound and tries to peer above the surgeon's shoulder, but the door closes again before he has the time to catch a glimpse of the room.
"How is she?" Court immediately asks, and then he realizes he doesn't have to. "Let me see her."
Fortunately for him, the doctor is quick to reply. "She's stable."
This time when Court briefly closes his eyes, flashes of Claire dying in the back of Colt's car disappear. He just sees his daughter's trademark smirk, her laugh echoing in his mind.
Behind him, one of his brothers lets out a long breath while the other murmurs a quiet, "Thank God." Court feels a comforting hand on his shoulder. But he notices how the doctor hasn't answered his other question.
"Let me see her," Court insists after opening his eyes again.
"I will. But first I need to tell you what happened. Follow me."
Court, however, stands his ground. "No."
The surgeon looks puzzled. "No?"
"I'd rather we talk here," Court clarifies for good measure. "Or in that room so I can be with my daughter."
"Court," Ryland whispers, and right, Court reminds himself, there's no one out there trying to kill Claire while I'm gone.
Still, the thought of straying from Claire doesn't sit well with him.
Colt takes a step forward. "Forgive my brother, he's a bit on edge. And for rightful reasons," he adds at Court's incredulous scoff. Colt gives his most charming smile to the surgeon. "Do you mind if we stay here for this discussion? We would feel better knowing that Claire is just a door away."
The doctor's eyes dart from Ryland, to Court, and finally to Colt. He's no doubt acknowledging the resemblance between the three of them. Court couldn't give a fuck if the guy has just realized Colt is a movie star. Court wants to see Claire, and if the obstacle preventing him from doing so is a discussion, he'd rather have it out of the way as soon as possible.
"Very well."
The surgeon takes a step back to make sure none of them are bothering anyone milling about in the corridor.
"Start talking," Court impatiently pipes up, ignoring Ryland's comment about his rudeness. "I'm listening."
"Of course," the doctor replies politely, though Court can tell he's annoyed. Doctors always think themselves above everyone else. This man must be asking himself, "How dare that guy speak to me this way?"
But then Court folds his arms, making sure his muscles stand out. He's not provocative per se. He's just… reminding Mr. White Gown he doesn't stand a chance against him. Court sees Colt hide a smirk next to him.
The surgeon clears his throat. Good, he's finally talking.
Court listens intently, but he feels as if he's drifting out of his body at the same time. The doctor repeats how Claire's pacemaker didn't fail. He goes into medical jargon and procedures that Court doesn't fully understand. Court gets the gist, though. He can ask Ryland to explain it to him later, if Court's ever feeling like reliving his daughter's death again—which would be never. But Court knows he will ask Ryland eventually. If only to make sure nothing like this happens again if Court can help it.
The doctor sums up the operation in two main points: the heart surgery and the pacemaker’s upgrade. But then he says something that will hunt Court for the rest of his life.
"We lost her twice during the surgery."
Court has to curl his hands into fists to keep himself from freaking out, or do something stupid, like fainting. His nails are biting into his palms hard enough to leave half-moon dents on the skin.
The surgeon is talking about something else by the time Court is able to hear past the buzzing in his head. He's pretty sure all the blood has left his face, so that might be the reason why his voice sounds so weak when he rasps, "Twice?"
The man interrupts his speech on new accommodations long enough to give Court his full attention. "Yes, sir." The confirmation doesn't help Court's stomach settle. "But we got her back twice, too. That's what matters."
Court nods faintly. He doesn’t bite Colt's head off when his brother gets closer to steady him, which is a huge feat for Court. He's usually not so amenable to letting his little brother rein him in. "Maybe we should—"
Nevermind. If Colt mentions sitting down for a moment, Court is going to lose it.
"It's fine. I'm fine," Court dismisses. He knows he's not fooling anyone, but what's the saying again? 'Fake it 'till you make it'?
"I have to admit, your kid had a huge part in it, too." When Court frowns, the doctor clarifies, "She fought. She didn't stop fighting in that operating room. And she fought well."
Court can't help but smile back. "That's her. My little fighter."
Once the discussion is finally over, the surgeon takes a step back to leave. Court, drained from this roller-coaster of a day, almost forgets to remind the man of his first demand.
"Can I see Claire, now?" he asks.
"I'm afraid you can't, sir," the doctor says apologetically, though his face remains professional. "Only staff is allowed until the anesthesia wears off."
That was the wrong answer. Court knows he's acting erratically—going from smiling to sneering in less than a minute—but he can't help it. Now that he knows how close Claire has been to dying three times, Court is determined to see her.
"I don't care," Court grumbles. He would've taken a threatening step forward if one of his brothers hadn’t tightened his grip on his arm. "Let me in!"
"That's the procedure, sir. But—"
"I'm her father," Court interrupts. The word feels heavy on his tongue, as if carrying the force of the meaning behind it. It's both the hardest and the easiest thing to say. Court can't believe he was shying away from this word just the day before. Sure, being a father is scary. A dad has to be responsible for someone else. To care. To love.
But who is he kidding? Court was already doing all of those things. He's been a father for longer than he even realized.
"Let me see my daughter."
Unfortunately, the doctor isn't swayed by Court's epiphany. The man merely squares his shoulders. "It's protocol, sir. You can see her when my colleagues deem it safe. Probably in an hour."
"Court," Ryland calls with a crease between his brows. On Court's other side, Colt is tilting his head to meet his eyes. "Come on. We can wait an hour, yeah?"
Court sighs half-heartedly. The fight instantly leaves his body. "Okay."
He's about to turn around when the surgeon lets out, "Oh, I almost forgot! I believe one of you performed CPR on Claire on your way here?"
Ryland nods. "Yeah, I did," he says, looking almost sheepish. "I tried my best."
"Don't be so modest," the doctor smiles. "You actually saved Claire's life. We wouldn't have been able to reanimate her if it wasn't for you. We would've been too late."
And with that last bombshell, the man leaves.
The three of them stand there for a minute. Court is pretty sure his brothers feel it too—the quiet ripple of relief that suddenly morphs into a tidal wave, hitting them with the knowledge of everything that could have gone terribly wrong.
This time Court doesn't argue when his brothers suggest sitting down.
Court all but sinks into the chair, grateful when his brothers sit on either side of him. None of them look at one another as Colt exhales deeply and Ryland runs a hand through his hair.
There's too much and yet nothing in Court's head as he stares at the white door in front of him. Seconds or minutes might have passed when Colt suddenly pipes up, "Told you the chairs were fucking uncomfortable."
That takes Court so off guard that a short snort escapes him. But just like the night before, it quickly turns into a breathless laugh. Court covers his mouth to stifle the sound, only to bend forward, elbows on his knees and face hidden behind his hands when his eyes start to burn with unshed tears.
"Dude, it's the first time you're laughing at one of my jokes—though it wasn't really a joke…" Colt laughs awkwardly.
Court doesn't respond—can't respond. Trying to hold back what is definitely not a laugh, he clenches his jaw so hard he's scared he might break his teeth for a second.
"Court?" Ryland asks, and God, Court is embarrassed. Court usually knows better than to let himself look so vulnerable.
The doctor's words spin over and over in his head. We lost her twice. We would've been too late.
Court groans to try and mask his sniffles, but he knows his brothers have caught on the way Court's shoulders are shaking with quiet sobs.
Oh shit. He's crying, isn't he?
Only then does Court finally feel the tears running down his cheeks. The moment he stops fighting the emotion overtaking him, sobs claw their way up his throat, and he can’t hold them back any longer.
"Ryland, oh my God. He's crying," Court hears Colt stammer distantly.
"Yes, I can see that."
"What do we do?"
"Well, what do I do when you cry listening to Taylor Swift's sad songs like some depressed teenager?"
"Oh right. A hug. Let's do that—"
"If you touch me," Court croaks out through his tears, "I swear I'll…" he trails off, his voice cracking. It's not like he can think of any threat right now.
"Yeah, you can come back at us for that later," Ryland says softly before putting his arms around Court.
Court grunts, but the lump in his throat doesn't make it sound as intimidating as he wants it to be. It certainly doesn't stop Colt from giving him a hug, too.
His brother rests his head on top of Court's before whispering, "Please don't hit me for this."
Truth is, Court would've if he weren’t so surprised at how good that group hug feels. It's like he's cocooned, safely tucked away from the world's harsh reality. Or even better—like there are arms inviting him to lean on them through this ordeal. Telling him he's not alone in this.
"Claire is okay now," Ryland reassures him. Court is pretty sure Ryland's hand is gently running through his hair. "You're going to see her soon, okay?"
Court takes a stuttering breath. "I—I know that," he swallows thickly. Will the tears cease at some point? Court feels like he's just opened a floodgate, the pressure too strong to hold back the torrent. "But… Three times. She—" Oh, and the sobs are here again. Court forces the words out through the pain. "She died three times."
"I know," Colt murmurs. The arms around him tighten. "That sucks."
"Yeah," Court cries. Everything fucking sucks. His dad sucks. Prison sucks. Killing people sucks. Being tracked down sucks. But this? This is another level. "It—It wasn't this bad last time," Court confesses when the sobs quiet down long enough for him to breathe. "I got her to the hospital in time. But today…"
"Court, we made it on time today too," Ryland insists. Court feels his glasses dig into his neck. Stupid little brother wearing his glasses askew all the damn time. "We got her there on time."
"Yeah, thanks to you," Court points out. He finally straightens up on his chair. His brothers lean back slightly, but they don't pull away, either. "She wouldn't have made it if you hadn't saved her in the car. If you hadn't been there—"
"But I was there," Ryland interrupts. His face is set in determination. "What would've happened doesn't matter because we were there. You're not alone anymore, Court."
Court furiously wipes at his wet cheeks.
"But…"
"No, no buts," Colt warns, though his face is nowhere near stern when Court peeks at him. The worried lines between his eyebrows soften slightly when his brother smiles, "We've got each other's backs no matter what. You can't get rid of us that easily. And look—I'm really good at this little game of 'what ifs.' Sometimes I wonder where I'd be if Ryland hadn't put up with me after my accident. Or… where Ryland would be if you hadn't saved him from Stratt in time," he adds, casting a cautious glance at Ryland.
"Probably dying alone in deep space," Ryland smiles sadly. "I think about that a lot."
"Yeah, but the thing is—you see how thinking about it doesn't change the outcome?" Colt says. He pulls away to look Court in the eye. "We're here. All three of us. I mean, look at us—I'm married and back to do stunts again. Ryland has become the coolest teacher that everyone and their moms find hot. Oh, and their dads too, of course," Colt corrects smugly at Ryland's indignant squeak. "And you get to be pranked by your amazing daughter for the rest of your quiet, chill life. Because you're going to see Claire again. And that's not a 'what if.' That's real. Okay?"
Court looks away, brushing away fresh tears before nodding. He gratefully accepts a tissue from Ryland, ignoring the way his brothers are exchanging glances behind him. It's only when Court's breathing eases and the tears stop that they break the hug.
"That was a really nice pep talk, Colt," Ryland grins. "I'm proud of you."
"Aww. What would you give it? A ten out of ten?"
Court groans. "You two are not grading this."
"Yeah, because that was priceless, right?" Colt teases. "Come on, Court. You can admit we did a good job."
Court closes his eyes, feeling his lips quirk up against his will. "You did. Thank you," he says quietly. "Sorry for freaking out."
"Don't apologize!" Ryland chastises with a soft pat on Court's shoulder. "You had every right to freak out. In fact, I'd honestly be really worried if you hadn't."
"Totally," Colt pipes up. "And don't worry, big brother. It's okay for men to cry."
Court shoots him a glare. "Of course it's okay for men to cry! I know that!" he protests. "I'm not a macho asshole like dad!"
"No," Colt agrees. "You're so much better than him, Court."
Court doesn’t have time to respond. Not that he could have. The declaration leaves him at a complete loss for words before Ryland speaks again, making his heart grow warm.
"You're a way better dad than anyone could ever hope to be."
Claire greets Court with a rock-and-roll sign when he's allowed to visit her.
After making sure everything's alright, the nurse attending to Claire tells her she'll be here if needed, and, surprisingly enough, gives Court a smile on her way out, leaving Court and Claire alone in the room. Colt and Ryland insisted on giving the two of them some privacy.
"She needs her dad, not her uncles," Ryland told him earlier, ignoring Court's mutter at the word 'dad'. Sure, Court had a father epiphany, but hearing people calling him a dad out loud is still strange. Not disagreeable, but Court will need time to get used to it.
"She does! And I'll wait for Jody outside in the meantime," Colt explained. "But don't worry, once she's here, it'll be a full family reunion!"
"Why the long face?" Claire asks, pulling Court away from his thoughts. Her voice is slightly muffled because of the oxygen mask on her face. It doesn't stop her from narrowing her eyes to study him when he settles in the chair next to her bed. "Uh… Your eyes are red. And puffy," Claire notes with a frown. "Why?"
"What, am I not allowed to suffer from my allergies in peace?" Court deflects. He can't help but look for any injuries, even though he knows none are displayed on her skin. Court folds his hands in his lap to stop himself from reaching out. "How are you feeling?"
"You don't have allergies." Claire doesn't even bother answering his question. She tries to straighten up on the bed, but Court keeps her shoulders down when he sees her wince.
"Don't move yet, kid," he warns, pretending to be exasperated to mask his blatant worry. "It's usually better to stay still after, you know, an open-heart surgery."
"Yeah, I know, I know," she dismisses easily, shrugging despite Court's glare at the movement. "Come on old man, I'm not going to melt."
Court grunts in dismay, not pointing out how Claire needs a second to catch her breath. He notices the transfusion poking out of her arm, and eyes the device monitoring her heartbeat. It looks steady. Court lets out a relieved breath at the sight.
"You don't have allergies," Claire repeats.
Court rolls his eyes. "Yes, I do," he lies. "Can you tell me how you're feeling now? Does it hurt? I can ask the doctors for more pain medication if you need it."
"Really?" she asks, and Court is ready to leap up and demand morphine immediately, but he realizes she's not talking about the medicine when she adds, "What allergies do you have, then?"
"Claire, come on. I'm not asking you a difficult question. Are you in pain?"
She pauses as if to make a mental check. But it's obviously a pretense because instead of answering, she asks, "Is it a pollen allergy? But you always keep Jody's bouquets—"
"Claire!" Court snaps. His eyes widen a second later. Shit. He didn't mean to sound so harsh. Court wants to slap himself in the face. He sounded just like his own dad, didn't he?
But when he glances down, Claire doesn't look scared of him. She's just watching him, eyebrows shooting up in surprise. Court breathes just a little bit easier, but worry still clutches at his insides. Did he just screw everything up?
"Sorry. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to snap like that." He digs his fingernails in his lap. "I just… Are you okay?"
Claire's reply is serious and immediate. "I'm okay. Not hurt, see?" She lifts her hands to make more rock-and-roll signs. "Just a bit sore. And tired." She lays her arms back down over the covers, moving one hand closer to Court with her palm tilted upward. She doesn't say anything else, but her gesture is clear enough.
Court carefully reaches up and takes her hand in his. "Okay," he whispers, watching the way Claire's small hand practically disappears under his.
Claire closes her eyes at some point. Court can’t help but think she looks so small in that hospital bed.
“I’m here,” Court murmurs when her eyes flutter open. Claire settles back at the sound of his voice. “I’m not going anywhere.”
She squeezes his hand, as if to make sure he isn’t going to leave. “Really?”
“Really.”
“You’re not going to guard the door or something?”
Court feels a lump form in his throat. He knows his past bodyguard role was needed at the time, but now he wants to bang his head against a wall for having let her alone then.
Well, Court can’t change the past. But he can act differently now.
“No,” he replies softly. “I don’t need to guard doors anymore. I’ll stay right here.”
Claire’s eyes suddenly well up with tears. She clears her throat. “Good,” is all she manages to say.
Court’s grip on her hand tightens. When Claire smiles, her face brightens, making her look less tired than before.
They stay like this for a while, Claire's heart monitor beeping in a slow, steady rhythm as Court draws little circles with his thumb on the back of her hand.
Claire is the one to break the comfortable silence. "So, you don't have any allergies, huh?"
Court huffs a laugh. "No. Obviously."
"You were… crying, then?"
Court doesn't look at her when he nods.
Claire's hand tightens around his. "Was it that bad?" she asks quietly.
He glances up. Claire's features settle in determination as if bracing for impact. Court sighs. "Did they tell you what happened?"
"Did they tell me about my multiple heart failures and how I was brought back to life three times? One time thanks to Uncle Ryland?" She shrugs. "Yep. But come on," she adds when Court can't bring himself to speak, "you know the routine by now. All of this?" she motions to her heart. "That was just another Thursday."
"But it wasn't, though. It wasn't just another Thursday. It was…" Court trails off when he feels his voice quiver. Should he push? If Claire isn't as alarmed as he is, should he scare her by telling her how close she'd been to dying?
"It was bad. I know."
"Yeah."
Claire's thumb gently taps Court's hand, drawing his attention back to her. Her smile is making the corner of her eyes crinkle. "Today's Friday, right? Then let's say all of this was just another Friday."
Court tilts his head. "Are you planning on dedicating the rest of the days of the week to other traumatizing events?"
"Definitely not. I'm drawing the line at near-death experiences," she snorts. "All I’m saying is that it was just another Friday. It sucked. Like, really, really sucked. Way more than a random Thursday. But we’re still here.”
"Okay," Court hums. He swallows thickly, feeling his eyes sting again. Court lifts Claire's hand with both of his and presses a kiss to the back of it, hiding the tremble in his chin. He props his elbows on the edge of the bed and rests his cheek against their interlaced hands. "Just another Friday," he smiles back.
Later that night, Ryland, Colt and Jody come to see Claire. Their warm smiles and quiet words fill the room with so much love that Court has to blink away a new wave of tears. He hides his laugh when Colt jokes, bragging about how he knows the best ways to fight boredom while stuck in a hospital bed. Colt is actually thrilled when Claire accepts to play a silly game with him.
At some point, Ryland goes into 'Teacher Grace' mode when Claire asks him questions about his medical knowledge.
But it's Jody who brings the sweetest of smiles on Claire's face when she produces a camera out of her bag.
"I bought it for you when Gail wasn't looking this morning," Jody grins. "I was planning on giving it to you on your birthday. But you definitely deserve it after today."
"So cool!" Claire brightens. "Can I start a vlog right now?"
"A vlog!" Ryland claps his hands in excitement. "I love vlogs!"
As the night goes by, Court keeps holding his daughter's hand. And Claire doesn't pull away.
It's late in the night—or early in the morning—when they go back home a day later. Earlier that day, Jody, Ryland and Colt took turns between staying in the hospital and going back home to make sure Jean-Claude was okay. And prepare some food, judging by the plate of pancakes sitting on the table.
Court stayed at the hospital with Claire. Needless to say, he's exhausted and sore from taking short power naps on really uncomfortable chairs.
He drapes a blanket around Claire's shoulders when she plops down into one of the kitchen chairs.
"Can I have—"
"Maple syrup, I know," Court interrupts, already opening the fridge to fetch it. "God forbid you eat your pancakes without drowning them in syrup."
"Hey, maple syrup is exquisite," Claire points out, rubbing her hands when Court puts the bottle on the table. "And I'd be betraying Ryan Gosling if I didn't like it. He's Canadian," she adds, as if that was enough of an explanation.
"Who's Ryan Gosling?"
"Don't worry about it. Oh, hey Jean-Claude!" Claire exclaims. The dog wags his tail in excitement. "Come here!"
The dog jumps onto her lap and showers Claire with slobbery kisses. She chuckles as she pets him to settle him down.
Court puts Claire's plate away from Jean-Claude to make sure the dog doesn't take a bite and smiles, piling his own plate with pancakes. Jean-Claude eventually relaxes and lies down on Claire's lap.
"You should go straight to sleep after you're done eating," Court suggests. "Don't argue with me about this," he adds when she narrows her eyes at him.
"Can I have my moment of emotional regulation with Jean-Claude before going to bed?" she asks with hopeful eyes.
Right. Jean-Claude has become their emotional support dog throughout the years. Court still doesn't know how that happened.
"Sure," he agrees.
Claire is hugging Jean-Claude and stuffing herself with her fifth pancake when Ryland pokes his head around the door.
"You're back!" Ryland smiles, patting Claire on the shoulder when he walks past her. He laughs when Claire hums something unintelligible as she takes another bite of pancake.
"You're up early," Court notes.
"Couldn't sleep," Ryland replies with a shrug. He sits down across from Court and grabs a plate. "And I was pretty sure I heard Jean-Claude barking when you got home."
"You just wanted a late-night snack," Claire says with a grin after gulping her pancake down. "Admit it."
Ryland gasps exaggeratedly. "How did you know?"
"A girl never spills her secrets."
Once they're all done eating and Claire has spent nearly half an hour hugging Jean-Claude, Court puts the dishes away. "Come on, Claire. Time to go to bed."
"But I want to stay with Jean-Claude!"
"You can see him tomorrow."
Claire gently cradles the dog and sets him down on the floor. "Not fair."
"Why don't you take Jean-Claude with you?" Ryland offers.
Court doesn't like how Claire's eyes brighten with mischief. "No," he says, but his will is weakening the longer Claire watches him with her big, pleading eyes. "He’ll wake you up."
"No, he won't," Claire retorts, and ushers Jean-Claude to follow her. But she turns back towards Court when she reaches the door. "Um. Can you…" she trails off as she motions to the staircase. "Can you choose a record for me?"
Court can't help but smile. "Of course."
"Goodnight, Claire," Ryland says as they climb up the stairs. “Oh, and Court, I'm expecting you to go to sleep, too!”
"Goodnight, Uncle Ry!"
“Court?”
“Yes, I’ll go straight to bed too, Mom,” Court dismisses. Claire chuckles.
After turning on the soft light in Claire's bedroom, Court pulls a face when Jean-Claude hops onto the bed as Claire pats the spot beside her on the covers.
Claire rolls her eyes at the look on his face, hugging Jean-Claude in clear defiance. "What? It's not like he just got out of a trash can. He's not full of microbes."
"He is full of microbes."
"Fine. He's not full of bad microbes."
Court sighs and flips through Claire's vinyls. Once he's satisfied with his choice, he puts on the record.
Two of Us starts to play.
"You and Uncle Ry really love the Beatles," Claire says. She rubs at her eyes tiredly.
"They have great songs."
“I agree. I’m just saying, for a guy who has a Sisyphus tattoo and pretends to bear the same burden as Sisyphus like some tortured poet, you have quite a lot of support to lift that boulder up the hill.” She gestures to the record player. “Like your Beatles fan brother.”
Court raises his eyebrows as he sits on the chair next to her bed. “You remember the story?”
“And I looked it up. Turns out, Sisyphus can never get the boulder to the top. It always rolls back down the hill when he gets there.” She shrugs. “It’s a shame you’ve got that tattoo, because you're definitely not cursed like he is—at least not anymore. Is that what you have in mind when you say you made reckless decisions in your teens? Because I swear the tattoo I plan on having will be thought-through.”
The rest of Claire’s words blur as Court frowns.
Cursed. That's how Court feels like, sometimes. Achieving something, always to be crushed by the weight of another ordeal right after.
“Who says I’m not like him?” he jokes. “Cursed?”
But Claire becomes serious again, even though she’s fighting a yawn. “Well, you did lift your boulder. And guess what? You saw all those motherfuckers from the CIA below, including that Stratt woman, and you pushed the boulder over the edge so they could all be crushed under it. And just like this: Boom! Free from the curse!”
Court laughs fondly. “I guess we are.”
The song ends with one last “We’re going home.” When Claire struggles to keep her eyes open, Court leans down to kiss her forehead.
“Goodnight, Claire.”
“Goodnight, Dad.”
If at the end of another Friday, I get to hear her call me dad, Court thinks, then life isn’t so bad.
She’s already asleep when he opens the door to leave. Court looks back, watching the steady rise and fall of her chest. “You’re the one who broke my curse, kid,” he murmurs, even though he knows she can’t hear him. “I didn't push that boulder over the edge. You did.”
He closes the door behind him quietly, unaware of the small smile tugging at Claire’s lips at those whispered words.