Spy Games
Summary: In which Charlie Westen causes enough disturbance to have his teacher call home. Hypothetical post-series AU one-shot.
Notes: Spawned by the second episode of season seven. There shouldn't be any real spoilers in here. I imagined a world where Madeline had passed away, and the next female in line took on the role of caring for Charlie. I actually am in the process of outlining a longer fic along these lines, but just a tad bit different and more involved, as it would probably be ten to fifteen chapters long. Please don't hesitate to give me some feedback. This isn't beta'd and I mostly wanted to get the idea out, to gauge the interested audience for a longer story focusing on Fiona and Charlie's relationship, and of course to answer the hypothetical post-series question of "where in the world is Michael Westen?
XXX
Fiona Glenanne's cell phone rang, sending a cool-toned melody to resonate throughout the kitchen. The sun shone in through the window at the Westen residence, illuminating the window to the side of the dining room table. Setting down a cup of yogurt – her lunch – on the counter, she made her way towards the vibrating and ringing contraption, flipping the smart phone over to see the phone number.
"Hello?" She recognized the phone number and answered immediately.
The voice on the other side sounded quaint, but definitely frazzled. "Hi, this is Miss Tremont, from Coconut Grove Elementary. I'm calling for Ms Glenanne." She paused, and her call's recipient could hear the echo of children laughing, their voices almost squealing over the airwaves. "It's about Charlie."
Sighing, "Hello Debra," She drawled in her non-native accent. "What's he done this time?"
From the other end, Debra shushed the other children, coming across mute. "I'll be back in just a moment, children. Until then, listen to Mister Rivera." There was a scraping sound, and Fiona could hear the student teacher for Charlie's class begin to speak about Christopher Columbus. "Sorry about that," The young teacher recovered. "Mark still needs some help in re-directing the kids. Now about Charlie."
Fiona's tone exuded boredom."What about him?" Not that she didn't care, but she only had a few more hours before she had to get him off the bus, and she still had a few "social calls" to make.
"Well, he just refuses to come inside from the playground."
"Tell him he'll have to stay after," Fiona countered, without batting an eyelash. "Either myself or Sam can pick him up later on."
The teacher hummed. "Well, you see, Ms Glenanne, that isn't quite the problem. I've told him that."
Fiona scoffed. Surely Charlie got into his fair share of trouble, but he was a boy, and a Westen boy, at that. He understood actions had consequences, and had suffered more than most boys his age. He was just barely a decade into his life and had lost his mother, father, and grandmother already – suffering grief that grown men had difficulty with. There were going to be issues, despite his naturally gifted stubbornness, and he was already seeing a therapist, that he hated, as per the request of Child Protective Services. He was almost through with sessions, and though he had no illusions – he knew what happened, and the only person he truly remembered was Madeline – he was still a handful. Fiona chalked such a thing up more to his last name than to his life experience.
"Then what is it?"
"Well, he says he's not Charlie Westen. He won't answer me."
"This definitely isn't the first time, Debra. Tell him spies get sent to the principal. He listened last time." Fiona sighed. Michael's nephew had an uncanny love for pretending he was a spy. And just like his uncle, he had a knack for finding things out and staying in character.
Debra sighed. She loved dealing with families almost as much as she loved dealing with unruly children. It was never the child's fault, it was always the teacher's for being unable to control what parents obviously let go at home. "This isn't the usual. I've tried. He says his name is Charlie McBride, and he's an Irishman from outside of Belfast-"
"I'm on my way." The Irish woman paused, trying to calm her fluttering heart. "Just – just leave him alone until I get there, okay?"
"Is there something I should know here, Fiona?"
The only reply the teacher received was a dial tone.
XXX
She drove much faster than she should have, her vehicle screeching as she drifted around corners at speeds much beyond the legal limit. She barely remembered to fasten her seat belt, much less bring her gun – thankfully there was one taped under the driver's side seat, just in case. She pulled into the school parking lot and parked directly in front of the playground, pulling the keys out of the ignition with a flick of the wrist while she gracefully descended from the vehicle.
Completely ignoring the teacher, she went straight to the playground, eying the small castle tower that lead to the tube-slide Debra had mentioned. Her own experiences told her that he wasn't there, and she could see the shadow in the dark blue plastic tunnel that was on the opposite end of the playground.
Obviously Charlie's teacher couldn't keep up with him.
"Charlie Westen," Fiona addressed to the blue tunnel, looking up at it from her spot on the ground. "Get your behind out of there, this instant."
"Miss Glenanne, Charlie's over-"
"He's right here," She breathed quietly, watching a mop of dark hair poke out from the left side of the tunnel. "Come on, let's go," She continued, her voice making her sound much bigger than she looked.
Charlie refused to budge, and she could hear the sound of him shuffling over to the other side of the tunnel, trying to stay out of sight. "I'm not Charlie Westen. I already told you people!" If it weren't for the heartstrings that he was pulling by sounding that much like his uncle, Fiona would have laughed at how much he sounded just like Michael. "Me name's Charlie McBride. I'm from a wee town just outsidda Belfast. Ya hafta believe me, thare's no Charlie Westen 'ere." He continued, in a brogue that he seemed to pick up on his own.
The teacher came to stand beside Fiona. "See what I mean? He could be an excellent actor," She continued, offhandedly. "Most children can't pick up accents like that without having someone in the home who speaks exactly like that."
"Charlie can speak three languages," Fiona said, curtly. "And that's not including the accents he can use, too." She gazed at the teacher, knowing how to continue. "Well then. Charlie McBride, git yer arse oudda thare 'afore I cohme up thare 'n make ya."
"You mean to tell me that you're-"
"I com' from a dinghy town just southa Dublin," She breathed in the teacher's direction. "Charlie, now," She looked over at Charlie, who had moved from out of the tunnel, but continued to look at her with eyes that could break her heart, shaking his head. "Charlie," She spoke his name in her native brogue.
Seeing that he wasn't going to move, she made her way onto the playground apparatus with grace that the teacher had never seen before, Fiona's petite frame danced fluidly around the obstacles in her way until she reached him.
"Ma, I don' wanna be Charlie Westen. I wanna be a McBride." He was sitting Indian-style in front of her, and she lowered herself so that she was sitting beside him, dangling her feet off the bridge beside the blue tube.
"And why's that?" She carried on in her native accent, matching his very natural imitation of it. "Yer a goo' Charlie Westen, tha's fer sure."
He smiled, but then his face scrunched up and got serious. "I wan' ta be a par' of tha happy endin'. Like yah say in tha' stories yoh 'n Uncle Sam tell."
"Wha happy endin'?" The question on her face just barely contained her soul's pain. She knew what he would say. When she got custody of him after Madeline's passing, she knew then and there that there were no lies to be told. Not about her past, not about Michael. Madeline had decided she was not going to lie Charlie about where he came from, and why things were how they were. It wouldn't be right, or fair to him. When Maddie's duties had been passed along to her, she upheld the same beliefs. He deserved the best, and nothing but the truth.
Charlie huffed, and reached out for Fiona's hand, clutching it tight. He was a charmer too, with those gorgeous blue eyes and cute pout that he abused frequently and Fi was immune to. This time though, the pout was accentuated with almost-tears and serious eyes. "Tha endin' where Michael comes hom' and we be a fam'ly. I don' wanna growwup no' knowin' 'em, Mammy."
There was nothing she could say to that, so instead, she pulled him closer to her, embracing his rapidly growing frame with her petite arms. "Oh Charlie," She stood, composing herself in a second, despite her gut wrenching emotions and pulled Charlie up with her. "Let's go," She whispered to him, glad she called Sam and asked him to handle business for her. "Maybe Uncle Jesse will have time to have lunch with us." They stopped holding hands once they reached the steps leading off the playground.
"Debra," Fiona switched back to her Americanized way of speaking. "I'll be taking Charlie home."
"All for a game of pretend?" The teacher shook her head.
Fiona had to restrain Charlie, who cried out in surprise.
"It isn't a game," Fiona quipped, her words daggers edged with ice.
"Then what of this deep cover nonsense? His spy games are distracting the other children, they shouldn't be rewarded with a half day and lunch." The teacher gulped, realizing her mistake immediately as the woman she addressed tensed up. No wonder all the other teachers in the grade hadn't wished Charlie to be in their class.
Had it been five years ago, Fiona would have lied and told the teacher it was a game, that Charlie needed a session with his therapist to talk things over. "Debra," Fiona willed herself to speak in a polite tone, knowing that she couldn't shoot the woman if she wanted to keep her child. Thus why she joined Jessie at the security firm, and why her "social calls" stayed just barely on the side of legal. "Do you know what my child has endured in his short existence on the planet earth?"
"I don't treat my students with any favoritism, Ms Glenanne."
"I'm not asking for favoritism." Fiona's eyes glinted like gunmetal against her long dark bangs. "Merely a little empathy is all the situation requires."
Shifting her weight from one foot to the next, the teacher looked beyond Fiona's penetrating stare to the car parked a few meters away, where a stony faced Charlie Westen remained leaning against the Chevrolet emblem on the bumper. "And why exactly is this?"
"My name is not Fiona Westen, if you hadn't noticed. And the only person in his biological family who might be alive hasn't been seen in over half a decade. So, you'll have to excuse him for pretending to be a part of a world where he has some hope. These things can't be helped." Turning on her heel, Fiona turned toward the car, and threw her boy the keys as she approached. He unlocked his door and tossed the keys with perfect precision and trajectory over the hood and into her hand, without looking.
Watching the exchange and finally, the duo driving away, the teacher shook her head, grumbling to herself about why she even bothered becoming an educator, anyway.
She also wondered if she needed her eyes checked, because she could have sworn she saw a man in a tan three-button suit with matching sunglasses standing on the roof as she turned to head back into the building.
It must have been a trick of the light: When she blinked, he was gone.