Seasons Greetings! Wishing you all happy holidays on this Merry Christmas Eve!
After the mission-oriented talk died down, Alex stood up from the couch. "Little one needs a change. I'll be back."
"I'll help you," Charles said and quickly followed her.
"I didn't expect you to be dying to change a diaper," Alex said.
"Well, not exactly. But we need to talk."
Alex stopped and glanced down the hall, then looked back at Charles. "What, now?" she whispered.
"We can't keep putting this off," he replied.
"Okay," she let out a sigh. "You're right."
Rossi stepped out onto his back porch. "Ah, here we are, gentlemen; allow me to share some of my new cigars." He handed them to Hotch and Mitchell. "I hope you weren't pulled away from something important."
Mitchell repeatedly inhaled his cigar, then put the lighter down on the table. "No, I was between assignments. And besides, when Alex needs me, I will always be there."
"Do you mind if I ask you a personal question?" Hotch leaned forward.
"I do not," Mitchell replied.
"Did your loyalty waver while she was locked up in prison for treason?"
Mitchell took a sip of whisky. "Let me just say that when I heard about what happened, I didn't believe it at all. There is no way the person I knew would do something like that. Betray everything and everyone she ever believed in? There had to be another side to the story. Which it turns out there was. Now I acknowledge that I don't agree with some of the actions she took, but I believe she more than made up for those mistakes. But, traitor? Never."
"She obviously earned your trust," Rossi said.
"Yeah, well, that wasn't easy," Mitchell said wryly. "The first time working with them wasn't exactly a picnic for me."
"How so?" Hotch asked.
"Well, it seemed like a million years ago, back when I was a captain. I was pulled out of a combat zone and told that I was being given a special assignment. A CIA agent who was embedded deep undercover was discovered and taken hostage. I was to work with a new 'hot-shot' team from the CIA. I knew the region well, and I was told they had skills that would be crucial to this mission. Well, I was none too pleased when I discovered that I was assigned to work with these… kids. I had been a marine longer than they have even been alive. And I'm supposed to put my trust in this nascent group who are barely old enough to drive, and one of them is piloting the helicopter? I was not going to put my life on the line for a bunch of punk kids who will most likely get me killed."
"What did you do?" Hotch asked.
"I would never disobey an order, so I went and spoke with my handler, Hawthorne."
Rossi put his tumbler of whisky down on the table and leaned forward. "Hawthorne? As in the Hawthorne? His reputation borders on mythological."
"And then some," Mitchell said. "But that didn't stop me. I marched right up to him to voice my concerns with the case."
Not quite a million years ago…
Mitchell stormed into the room. "Hawthorne, this isn't going to work!"
"I take it you aren't overly pleased with your latest assignment."
"You can say that again! I have put my life on the line and will continue to do so for my country. But I will not go on a suicide mission while I'm also expected to babysit!"
"Oh, you are too harsh on the Little Rascals."
Mitchell grimaced. "That's even worse! I will not go on a mission with Alfalfa!"
"But would you go with Darla?"
"This is no time for jokes, Hawthorne!"
Hawthorne stood up and placed the palms of his hands on the table as he leaned forward. "You are correct. This is no time for jokes. These four CIA agents have proved themselves over and over. You may only see their age. I see their accomplishments. This is an important mission, and for it to succeed, I need the best. They are the best! Now stow that attitude, marine, and get to work!"
Mitchell let out a deep breath through his nose and stood up straight. "Yes, sir." He turned around and left the room. He walked down the hall and then stood in front of a closed door. He took a second, then opened it to see the four teenagers sitting at a table chatting like they were in a school lunchroom.
Hugh stood up. "Captain Mitchell. I'm Hugh Barlow, Charles Sullivan, Alex Marcus, and Spencer Reid," he said, pointing out each person.
"Nice to meet you," Mitchell said through gritted teeth.
Mitchell joined them at the table, and they quickly got to work.
"Okay, so we all know the plan," Charles started. "I will hack into the security system and do the voodoo that I do. Spencer will secure your escape route, and the captain and Alex will enter through the front of the hotel. Then when we're all set, Hugh will come and give us a lift."
Mitchell put his hands up in front of him. "I don't think Alex and I will be able to get away with just walking in there together. They will pick up on our age differences right away."
"That's where I come in," Alex said. "I'll be your bratty teenage daughter."
Mitchell scoffed. "I'm not old enough to be your father."
"Okay then, I'll be your teenage mistress. Which do you prefer?" Alex asked while the others stared at him.
"Daughter… Definitely Daughter."
"Glad that's all sorted," Reid said. "Let's go."
"We have a chopper waiting," Hugh said.
The team started toward the hanger. "Are you sure you know what you're doing in one of these things?" Mitchell asked.
"Relax," Hugh said. "I have been a certified pilot for over five years. If it has cyclic pitch control, I can handle it."
"And since you're new to our team, you can choose the first song," Charles said. "We have Another Night by Real McCoy or Cats in the Cradle."
"I love Harry Chaplin," Mitchell said, a bit surprised.
"No, by Ugly Kid Joe," Charles said.
"I should have known," Mitchell grunted to himself. "Damn, kids."
The team stopped at the helipad and readied themselves. Charles opened up a case and pulled out two laptops. He started each of them up and typed in some code, then closed them. "Computers are ready." He then reached into the other bag and pulled out two handguns, and double-checked the magazines.
"So, you aren't just some kind of tech. You're actually an agent," Mitchell acknowledged.
"That's right," Charles said. He held a gun in each hand and pointed them toward the helicopter. "I have two guns. One for each of you," he said in a southern accent.
"What?" Mitchell questioned with a scrunched face.
Charles dropped his hands to his side and scoffed. "Don't tell me you haven't seen Tombstone."
"Listen, kid, we have a lot more to be worried about at the moment than whether or not I watched a movie."
"Suit yourself," Charles replied and placed the guns in the holsters on his hips.
"Mount up," Hugh called out as he opened the door and got in. The team secured themselves in their seats and put the headphones on. "Final systems check." Hugh looked around, then back towards the team. "Last chance to abort, captain."
"Let's get it done," Mitchell confirmed.
Hugh took off toward the horizon.