first words the guard learns when they learn another language:
andy learns “im coming for you” and its either a promise or a threat. she likes that. simple.
nicky learns “you’re safe” and its important he gets the accent right. important his words offer immediate comfort and safety.
joe learns “are there any other dangers?” and sometimes dangers comes out like hurts, comes out like threats, comes out like bleeding wounds.
booker learns “is it safe?” because he doesn’t often talk to the victims they rescue, but when he does its to ensure his team is secure.
nile learns “im here for you” and for now its a promise. in time it may become a threat, but not now, not yet, not when there are people counting on her and she will show up for them before ever considering revenge.
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eliot’s the oldest. he doesn’t remember when he was born, or where, but he’s lived longer than he’s ever wanted to.
he finds sophie in the late 10th century. they revolve around each other for a few centuries, neither staying together or venturing too far apart. she saves him, once, and never lets him live it down.
they find each other when they dream of nate in the 1300s. eliot steals sophie away from the play she’d snuck into and looks away as she changed out of her trousers into a favored dress.
“do you know where he is?” she asks, like she didn’t get the same dream he did; nothing but grief, the night sky, the slice of a blade on thin skin, and then nothing at all.
“im thinking he’s north,” he says anyways and she raises an eyebrow. he sighs heavily and crosses his arms.
“the stars were a little off.”
“the stars,” sophie says, voice familiarly teasing.
“it’s distinct,” he grumbles and grabs her bag over his shoulder.
-
they find nate drowning in grief, killing himself over and over again. they spend a few years with him, living together, just to make sure nate lives through first a single day, then a week, then a month. they sit beside him as he cries for his son, for his wife, and help him rebuild on sand. it’s not the best, but it’s enough, and the glint in nate’s eye may be too hard, but at least it’s there.
-
eliot leaves, sophie stays behind. he can tell from the set of sophie’s shoulders that she’s going to force him into shape and eliot decides he won’t go too far, just in case.
when sophie runs, nate chases, and eliot follows behind to make sure they don’t get into too much trouble.
and it’s just the three of them for a long time. they don’t always live together, but sometimes they do; the three of them tucked away in some hole or in some overpriced hotel. sometimes it’s just eliot and sophie, breaking into parties and stealing whatever catches sophie’s attention. sometimes it’s just eliot and nate, eating cold takeout on a dusty floor trying to make peace with whatever it is they are.
-
it’s early in the 21 century when nate snaps. the world has always been nasty, but it’s becoming easier and easier to learn about it all.
his first con, fighting against the injustice of a child’s needless murder, swept under the rug to protect a ceo, is sloppy and reckless and eliot has to drag nate’s dead body away to safety until he can regenerate.
eliot’s furious. sophie’s furious. nate’s drunk. eliot can’t let nate go off halfcocked again, and so they make a plan.
the next con is good. the third is even better. soon they work like a well oiled machine. they’re not always subtle, but eliot’s long grown used to being the boogieman and so if he exists in some dark, hidden file tucked away amongst the world’s secrets, then so be it.
-
meeting parker was an accident. meeting hardison was intentional.
-
parker had been stealing something priceless, eliot kept swiping it out of her bag to put back. initially, he was correcting a wrong, but then it morphed into some kind of game between the two; and then parker started showing up on their jobs, squirreling something of his away when he wasn’t looking. a watch here, a walkie there. nothing that would get him killed, but enough that he’d notice. then one day he finds her in his apartment, eating plain cereal out of a box, sitting on his counter and all she says is, “you should get something more colorful next time,” around a mouthful of bran flakes. suddenly, their little group of three immortals grows by one mortal.
-
hardison tracks them down through the internet. he whistles upon breaking into their meeting place and raises his hands in peace. “y’all really need cyber security, huh?” eliot likes him instantly. gutsy, cocky, genius. the kid could be a huge asset. sophie’s excited to grow their little trio even further and nate, though clearly annoyed, does nothing but offer hardison a mocking salute and down his glass of whiskey.
-
they’re working together for three months before parker kicks her feet against eliot’s thigh until he looks away from the book he’s reading and up at her.
“what?” he asks gruffly and she frowns, bites her lip and presses it into a thin line.
“you don’t die,” she says. it’s not a question, but not fully a statement and eliot’s heart pounds in his chest.
“no,” he agrees cautiously. he could lie, but he hates doing that to strangers, refuses to do it to parker.
“how?” and eliot sighs, marks his page, and explains everything to her.
-
eliot tells nate and sophie what parker knows. habit tells them to run, but instinct tells them to wait it out, and when angry mobs don’t burst through their doors, and parker doesn’t vanish in the night, the decide it’s time to tell hardison.
hardison pauses for half a second, then finishes pushing the chip he’d been about to eat into his mouth.
“yeah, i know,” he says and eliot frowns, looks over to nate, who’s wearing a matching expression, and sophie, who’s eyebrows are high in surprise.
“you... know?” nate asks and hardison shrugs, leaning back with a wide grin that eases something in eliot’s chest.
“i was serious when i said you needed cyber security. most governments knew about you,” he says and eliot blinks.
“knew?”
“what,” hardison asks with a laugh, “you think i’d just let them keep the family secrets?” and eliot grows warm.
-
he hasn’t been close to a mortal since the early days of his second life. he’s a little terrified of how these two will ruin him, but he truly wouldn’t change a thing.
-
they’re in the middle of a con and parker is dangling ten stories in the air by her finger tips. her harness is secured around her torso, but it’s a little comfort when the harness itself is hooked onto nothing.
she can’t find any traction for her feet, any leverage for her hands to gain a better hold, and she looks over her shoulder at the thin grass below her. the team is in her ear and if they weren’t in their own danger they might be able to rescue her. as it is, she’s on her own.
taking a deep breath, she lets go.
she curls herself into a ball and hopes she doesn’t make a sound when her body crunches into the ground.
-
eliot’s exit is hot when he spots her. parker’s in a crumpled heap on the grass and without warning his eyes go up to the ledge he’d known parker had climbed out on.
unwilling to escape his pursuers and abandon her, he turns and fights and dies and fights some more, until he’s the last man standing. he runs over to her and skids to his knees beside her.
“parker? c’mon parker, wake up,” he says, tone tense and frantic. he can’t hear the others questioning in his ear, but he can’t focus on that. he finds a racing pulse and his hands roam over her body, checking for breaks or wounds. he gently feels along her neck, making sure the delicate vertebrae were aligned before he carefully picks her up in his arms.
“pull the van around,” he orders. “parker’s unconscious.”
there’s more chatter in his ear but all he can care about is the rise and fall of her chest.
-
parker comes to in the car with a sharp gasp and wince.
“what was that?” she rasps out, rubbing at her shoulder absentmindedly.
“that was a ten story fall,” eliot growls and parker’s eyes narrow in thought.
“huh,” she says and then gives a wild smile, “i’ve never fallen from that high before.”
-
hardison’s running.
he knows the rest of the team is somewhere nearby, but he’s lost his flashlight and gotten disoriented and is unwilling to disclose his own location to his pursuers by shouting for them. he can hear the sounds of crashing waves and he moves towards it, hoping that at least near the water he’ll be able to orient himself.
he’s just stepped into the small space between the forest and a cliffs edge when he hears debris snap behind him. he spins and sees the shadowy outline of a man holding a gun.
hardison takes a step back towards the angry ocean behind him.
“on your knees,” the man says sharply and hardison swallows hard. talk about a rock and hard place.
“you know,” he starts to say, but the sound of a gun cocking cuts him off.
“i’m not asking again.”
well. if he’s going to die, it’s going to be on his terms.
he twists, throwing himself backwards and he thinks he hears his name being called before the sound of a gunshot rings into the night air and he hits the water with a gasp.
-
eliot has just enough time to watch hardison fall backwards into empty space before he reaches the gunman. he knocks into the man like an unstoppable force and wrestles him to the ground. it’s a fight, but eliot knocks him unconscious before running to the cliffs edge where he last saw hardison.
eliot grabs the flashlight from his pocket and flicks it on into the dark waves below.
“hardison!” he yells and waits for a reply. his heart’s pounding in his chest and his breath catches in his throat. he wasn’t even supposed to be out here! rage makes his hands shake.
“hardison!” he shouts again. he can hear people moving in the woods behind him and he hopes it’s his team moving towards his location. he opens his mouth to shout again, when he spots him.
hardison’s belly-down, rising and falling with the waves, moving ever closer to the sharp rock wall.
there’s no time to get down there safely. eliot pockets his flashlight and jumps.
he’s able to angle his legs to slice into the icy waters and break his fall, but what he isn’t able to account for is the strength of the waves when he’s disoriented and trying to find which way’s up. the waves snatch him and slam him in every direction. eliot takes in a lungful of salt water when his head smacks into the wall, and everything goes black.
-
eliot wakes quickly. he struggles against the current and fishes his flashlight out of his pocket. he tries to blink the burning water out of his eyes and breathe as he looks around once more for hardison’s body.
he sputters as he’s shaken by the tides and then could shout when he spots him. eliot swims out to him, fighting with everything in him to reach hardison, praying to a god he doesn’t believe in anymore that he’s made it in time. he flips the man over and miraculously, hardison sputters, coughing weakly as more water splashes into his mouth.
“you’re okay,” eliot tries to say. “i’ve got you, you’re okay.” he’s not sure if he can be heard, but it makes him feel better nonetheless.
it feels like it takes years, but he’s able to keep them both afloat and pulled to the side, where eliot can drag hardison onto semi-dry land.
hardison’s still. so still.
eliot struggles to catch his breath as he crawls over him, leaning down and pressing a hand to his chest. his heart pounds in his ears and eliot shifts, readying his hands over hardison’s sternum. he rises to do the first set of chest compressions when hardison’s chest follows his hands, and then his whole torso is jerking as he coughs up water from his lungs.
relief sweeps through eliot so strongly he feels dizzy with it. immediately, his hands are on hardison, helping him elevate so he can cough without suffocating himself and eliot rubs his arms soothingly.
“you’re okay, hardison, you’re okay,” eliot says and he’s not sure which of them he’s trying to convince.
-
when the immortals sleep, they have normal dreams. sometimes they’re nightmares, sometimes they’re not, but they’re never the inky splashes that indicate they’re viewing life through someone else’s eyes.
they don’t need to. they already found each other.
please,, how do they find out hardison is immortal?
continuation of this post! i used the rundown job as a basis for this BUT i still hope you enjoy it :)
he tried to send them home. he tried, but they’re too stubborn, too filled to the brim with loyalty (loyalty eliot doesn’t know how he could possible deserve, but is grateful for nonetheless) and when he watches them dig their metaphorical feet into the sand, he knows he can’t do anything but accept their help.
he tries not to think of the stakes on this one, but this is so much larger than anything he’d run with nate and sophie. this is- this is terrorism and eliot can’t stop thinking about how very human the people in front of him are.
when hardison tracks down an address, and both hardison and parker turn to leave, eliot feels something tight constrict in his chest.
“you’re staying here,” he says, voice tight and firm. there’s no excuse for the anxiety making his blood run cold; they’ve dealt with murderers, with kidnappers, with sociopaths, with warlords and crime bosses. they’ve been threatened at gun point, disarmed bombs, raced into danger without caring about the consequences - all because the world could be better and they wanted to make it so. but through all of that, eliot knew he could count on nate and sophie to help keep them safe if he couldn’t. and he’s alone now, with them, and he can’t stop thinking about how he’s made them both a promise to keep them safe.
above all else, he has to try to honor that promise.
so he plays dirty, when they start to protest, and stops them in their track with a soft, “please, just wait for me here.” he feels a little guilty for it, but that’s absolved when they physically slouch and nod.
“i’ll be back,” he promises and slips out of the van before they can reply.
-
he doesn’t feel the phone in his pocket vibrate while he’s working the man for information, while he learns the where and the when and the why.
it’s not until he’s finished, when he’s leaving the small house after cuffing the man to his own stair rails, that he pulls out his phone, intent to call hardison and parker and tell them where to meet him, that he sees he’d missed their call.
he’d missed their call three times. they left a voicemail and two text messages.
found bomb. then, can’t wait. meet us. there’s a string of coordinates and eliot’s heart falls to his feet.
-
there’s not enough time.
he tries calling them, but the phone goes straight to voicemail and he knows they’re already there, in the tunneled underground searching for a bomb that’s set to explode far too quickly.
he races across town, first in a car and when he hits his first stretch of congestion, he abandons it on the side of the road and runs.
one of them must’ve called in the threat, because the streets are being blocked off as several blocks are being fully evacuated. there’s a fiercely guarded line, that’s pushing gawking onlookers back further and further and eliot fights to the front and tries to look around the cops blocking entry.
he knows it’s risky, but leaving them down there is not an option.
he looks for a way around and spots a delivery truck nearby, climbs to the top of it and before anyone notices, jumps behind the law enforcement line. his ankle snaps at the landing, but he can’t afford to hesitate. he charges towards the building, ignoring the screams and shouts behind him. he hears the crack of a gun going off and feels the built bite into his back. he flinches but keeps running.
more hit him as he enters the building and he allows himself a second to fall to his knees as his back heats in healing, before pushing himself back to his feet and running to the stairwell.
it feels like it takes years to get to the tunnels under the building. he’s suddenly blinded as he leaves the florescent-lighted staircase and enters the dim tunnel and he breathes heavily.
“parker!” he screams. “hardison!”
“eliot?” hardison’s voice echos from his left and he turns, running towards the sound.
“get out! get out now!”
he can see them more clearly now. they’re behind an abandoned subway car. they look uninjured, but panicked. hardison takes a step towards him, but he’s looking back at parker- parker who’s kneeling beside the bomb like she might know how to stop it; like it’s a safe she’d spent her whole life cracking.
“go!” eliot shouts. begs. he’s getting closer to them now, he just needs a few more minutes to reach them and push them a safe distance away.
he’s close. he can do it. he pushes himself to go faster.
and then suddenly, parker jumps to her feet and shoves hardison, pushing him towards eliot. hardison stumbles and like deja vu, eliot sees the first time hardison stumbled when a bomb was going off. back then, eliot had been beside him, had been able to grab him and jerk him back to his feet, push him to safety. eliot’s hands burn with the memory and his own feet become clumsy.
he’s out of time.
parker throws her body over hardison’s as if that alone would protect him from the flames that suddenly explode outward.
eliot throws himself at them, is close enough to grab hardison’s wrist, when fire burns through him.
-
sophie is ghosting down the hall with sterling at her side when she overhears two agents talking together.
“something exploded in dc,” she hears and her heart immediately is thundering in her throat. she jerks to a stop and ignores sterlings startled, “what are you doing?”
“when?” sophie asks, grabbing the phone out of her purse and holding it tight in her grip.
“just now,” the agent says, eyes wide. “they think it’s a terrorist attack.”
“what?” sterling says sharply and sophie grabs the phone and puts it to her ear.
“nate,” she says, breathlessly and she hears him take a sharp breath.
“i’m coming to you,” he says and sophie nods, but moves towards the direction he’ll be coming from anyways. she can hear sterling talking to her, but she can’t focus long enough to understand him. her thoughts spin and race in her head and only begin to settle when she sees nate coming down the hall.
“we have to get to dc, now,” nate says, hands going to sophie’s back as he looks intensely at sterling.
“we can’t just get to dc,” sterling says, and she can tell his mind is racing as fast as nate’s does, can tell the moment he realizes why they have to get there.
“the others...” he says slowly and nate nods. sophie mirrors him, feeling like a vice has closed around her throat.
“i’ll... i’ll see what i can do,” he says with a heavy sigh and pulls out his cellphone.
-
eliot lives with a gasp, choking on dust and blood catching in his throat. he rolls to the side and immediately regrets it; his freshly made insides pull and pinch at the weak muscle and he tries not to groan. he breathes shallowly, despite the pain, trying to take in as little dust as he can while the previous events slot themselves into place in his mind.
his new heart cracks and shatters. he feels bile burn at his partially healed throat and a sob catches in his chest.
he curls tighter in on himself and tries not to think of the two people he loves most in the world in ash behind him.
-
sterling gets them to dc.
sophie doesn’t know how, and she doesn’t particularly care. all she can think about are the three members of the team that aren’t returning her phone calls.
they follow sterling tightly through the throngs of people and she wraps nate’s suit jacket around her shoulders, feeling exposed like a nerve. sterling flashes his badge and gets them entrance to the front of the perimeter. nate’s eyes are wild, red rimmed despite not shedding tears, and his breathing is erratic, coming out in sudden quick gasps.
sophie reaches out to him and grips his hand tightly as they peer over sterling’s shoulder to watch surveillance footage of eliot racing to a building that’s nothing but a smoking mess of debris.
“nate,” she says at the same time he lets out a strangled noise, low in his throat.
“hey!” sterling shouts, catching the nearest agent that isn’t rushing around with duties. “this man. did he come out?”
“i-” the agent says hesitantly, looking at sterling and then around for help.
“yes or no,” sterling warns and the agent shakes their head.
“no, no we haven’t seen any proof he left.”
sterling pales and nate’s grip on her hand has turned almost painful. her own fingers dig nails into his flesh.
“he... he wouldn’t have gone down there if... if they weren’t...”
sophie chokes on her sob.
-
eliot lets himself scream in agony, growling into his knees as grief saps all the energy out of him.
he should have been faster. smarter. should have had his phone on. should have sent them home when this whole mess started.
gravel rains down on him, echoing against the concrete below him, as the crumpled building settles above him. he tucks his head firmly against his knees and for the first time in years, prays for an end.
-
“we have to get down there,” nate says distantly, eyes far away. he takes a step back and sophie lets go of his arm. nate meets her eyes. “we have to get down there.”
he’s right; they can’t leave eliot to dig his way out, not after having just seen--
“we can’t just go down there,” sterling says, but not nearly as exasperated or sharp as he usually is. “the... the tunnel will have collapsed--”
“james,” nate says, voice suddenly strong and firm, but his eyes are still wild. “i need you to trust me. he’s down there and we have to get him first.”
sterling’s face crumples as he looks at nate but he sighs and nods. “i’ll see what i can do.”
-
if they go out far enough, the police presence is less and sterling’s able to get them into the tunnels with a flash of his badge and promise of reprimand if he isn’t obeyed.
the lights dim and they use the flashlights on their cellphones to create a narrow path of light. sophie walks next to nate, holding his hands tight in her grip and she feels like her heart is going to burst out of her chest with every step they take. sterling walks quietly behind them and some part of her aches at feeling supported by that action.
she likes sterling, they all-- they both do. but some part of her knows this will have to be the last time she sees him. she knows once they get eliot and bury whatever’s left of hardison and parker, they’ll disappear; vanish to lick their wounds and let the universe know they get it, they understand: the mortals are not for them to play with.
they reach the edge of the cave in and nate walks forward and starts pulling at the debris. sterling, after pausing a moment and shrugging off his jacket, joins him.
-
eliot’s laying on his side with his eyes closed, trying to muster up the energy to stand and find a way out, when he hears it.
a shuttering gasp of a breath.
his eyes snap open and he twists, his back cracking as his bones shift and relax from the position he’d forced them in. he pushes to his knees and holds his breath.
hardison’s finger twitches.
“hardison?” he asks in a raspy breath. his hand clenches tight. eliot scrambles over to him, all thought evaporating his mind. his knees bleed and bruise as he reaches with shaky hands for hardison. he touches his fist and lets out a shaky laugh as hardison responds to the touch.
“el?” he hears and looks up, looks at parker’s face scrunched in pain.
confusion and relief flood through him so sharply he feels dizzy with it. he collapses, catching himself on his elbows.
“you’re alive,” he says and feels tears burn his eyes and fall down his face. “you’re alive.”
with a trembling hand, he rests his palm against parker’s dirty cheek and does the same to the top of hardison’s head. hardison shifts and they make twin noises of pain that laces through eliot.
eliot will never live long enough to repay the universe for this.
-
sophie sinks to her knees as they dig and her chest feels split open. it feels like it takes centuries before they make entrance to the little pocket of dust and smoke and the smell of charred flesh and flames rush to escape past them.
“eliot?” nate calls out and sterling looks over at him as sophie gets to her feet.
“nate,” eliot replies and there’s a hysterical tone to his voice. sophie rushes forward, ignoring sterling’s questions.
“soph,” eliot says breathlessly from where he’s kneeled on the ground next to the others. tears are already flowing down her face and she tries to catch her breath when she gets to his side.
“what’s going on?” nate asks from behind her, voice rough in confusion.
sophie makes a noise of her own confusion when she looks behind her at him, but then follows his gaze to eliot... eliot who isn’t crying, who looks almost... relieved. without meaning to, sophie’s eyes dart down to where his hands are and sees parker’s face, screwed up in pain and notices hardison’s hand tight around eliot’s.
“how...?” sophie trails off and eliot shakes his head and shrugs, a helpless smile on his face.
“i don’t know,” he says, voice light and disbelieving. “and i don’t care.”
sophie reaches out and strokes hardison’s arm, runs her hand through parker’s hair. they both relax at her touch and she feels her own disbelieving laughter escape her in a huff.
“what is going on?” sterling demands, confused and angry and sophie looks over as nate smiles, looks upward and then over to his friend.
“i promise i’ll explain everything, james, just give us this,” nate says and he meets sophie’s gaze with a relieved smile.
okay so I don’t have a concrete plot yet, but nile is anemic and always cold and when booker finds out, they’re on a mission and it’s early winter, just after first snow fall, and he grabs her hand and is surprised at the chill but maybe they’re running and he can’t address it but when they get far enough away to catch their breath, he puts his gloves on her hands. and when she starts to protest he just tightens his hands around her now gloved fingers and resists the urge to kiss her knuckles and says “you need your hands, boss” and gives her a wild grin before jerking her along as they continue their escape
wait why did i just get the most vivid image of nile and joe on the edge of a building, preparing to swing themselves into the floor below, just giving andy twin mocking salutes before falling backwards
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like i genuinely love complex characters but my heart yearns to fix this found family and like I get bookers reasonings but the execution is just so bad!!! so lets consider an au where booker didnt offer up his family like sacrificial lambs!!!
bc what if booker goes to copley on his own? copley gets ahold of booker and says he knows, he knows the truth about him, about andy and nicky and joe. and initially, instinctively, ice floods his veins and his mind goes to the others, scattered somewhere around the world. they can take care of themselves, but something fierce roars in bookers chest because these people are all he has and they’re in danger.
he’s just about to hang up, mind already flashing to figure how he’ll get in touch with andy when copley’s voice comes across the phone, desperate and tinny. he wants to meet, and booker absolutely will not, cannot meet with copley because this is obviously a trap and he still dreams of quynh, trapped and dying forever alone under the sea...
“please,” copley says, voice shaky and crackling across the phone and fuck, bookers always been weak against grief.
—
he meets with copley in a cafe. it’s packed with locals dressed in lightly layered clothing and booker sits after casting a cautious glance around the room. it doesn’t seem to be an ambush; the locals dont acknowledge his arrival and any bags are loosely guarded with feet. no ones tense or sweating more than the weather should allow. booker sits across from copley, noting the agent let him have the seat facing the windows and door, with the entrance to the back of the cafe within his peripherals.
it doesn’t put him at ease, but it does spike his curiosity.
copley’s nervous. hands fluttering as he talks, twisting his mug back and forth as he tries to make small talk.
“mr. copley,” booker says interrupting and leaning forward. “what is it you want from me.”
“my wife,” copley says and his voice trembles and breaks under the weight of the words. tears shine in his eyes and booker feels a punch to the chest. his wife is ill and copley thinks he’s found a cure.
booker shifts in his seat, swallowing hard against the knot in his throat. he wishes, more than anything, he could give it away like people desperately think he can.
he opens his mouth to apologize, to offer his condolence and disappear before the shouting starts, when copley finds his voice.
“died. she died. last spring. and I couldn’t,” his voice shakes but he clears it and continues hoarsely, “i was looking through her work. she is- was a historian. i found this.”
he flips open the small file sitting in front of him and slides a photograph towards booker. it’s old and grainy, the lines going fuzzy from being enlarged and booker feels the hot panic that’s been sitting in his stomach since copley’s phone call melt away.
it’s obviously a picture of him and joe, sitting outside tents in a war booker can’t remember, but it’s grainy and old and fuzzy and he knows without a doubt the resemblance can be waved away to a man lost in grief.
he allows the relief to translate to amusement when he looks back at copley.
“mr. copley,” booker says, “what is this?”
and booker can see the muscle in copley’s jaw jump as he clenches his teeth.
“that’s you,” he says and booker forces his lips into a relaxed uptick.
“perhaps a great grandfather”, booker says lightly and copley’s hand shoots across the table to angrily tap the picture.
“that’s you. and that’s your friend.”
booker makes a show of squinting at the photograph and he looks at copley.
“how old do you think I am?” he says, forcefully keeping his tone light.
he pushes the file across to booker and booker rests his hand on it lightly. he watches copley’s face as he opens it and glances at the contents.
it’s pictures of him, in all eras of record; papers detailing dates and locations, wars and plagues and natural disasters.
that rock of panic grows tenfold in his stomach.
he looks up at copley, certain the fear in his eyes makes him look manic, and glances out the window, to the door, to the kitchen. his eyes rapidly scan the room, looking for any sudden new threats.
“im not,” copley starts, then pauses. he takes a deep breath and continues, “im here to ask for your help.”
and booker is prepared to run. adrenaline pounds through him and he feels flighty, feels panicked and unnerved in a way he hasn’t since before he got used to waking in a jolt over quynh. but then copley reaches across the table and places one hand loosely on top of bookers clinched fist.
“please,” he says and fuck! what is he supposed to do with that? booker leans cautiously back in his seat, body tense, waiting for copley to continue.
there’s a pharmaceutical company, booker learns, that is doing amazing things. copley tells him about the life saving drugs merrick pharmaceuticals creates, tells him about the drug trials his wife had been a part of, the ones that slowed her illness and gave him a few more precious months with her. he tells booker about his desperation and his meeting with merrick and how he’ll only need some dna- some hair fibers, a vial of blood, a cheek swab.
“that’s it?” booker asks, eyebrow raised.
“that’s it,” copley says. “he’ll be able to reverse engineer what you are and- and save countless lives. this could... this could change the world.”
booker thinks the idea too romantic for him, but he turns the words over in his mind. if this merrick can reverse engineer immortality and use it to cure disease, he could find out how to stop it. the thought makes his heart race.
“okay,” he says and blinks in surprise at the sound of his own voice.
“okay?” copley repeats, voice high in hope.
“I will meet your mr. merrick,” booker says and when he stands to leave, copley lets him.
—
he doesn’t tell the others. he knows, with every ounce of his being, they will think this is a bad idea. (he knows it’s a bad idea). but he just can’t shake the thought of being done, of being able to choose when he can leave on his own terms. it captivates him; he can’t turn his mind away from it. it sneaks up on him when he’s doing the mundane mindless chores of existence and makes his heart race in his ears.
the others wouldn’t understand. nicky and joe have never been alone, have never lost everything. not like he has. not like andy has. and well, andy might understand, he knows she’s as tired as he is, but she’s the leader and he knows she feels responsible to be at their side for as long as destiny dictates.
but booker doesn’t have that. no one aches for him. no one would be haunted by his loss. he thinks of copley’s desperation, thinks of how that made him brave.
when booker stands outside merrick pharmaceuticals, he takes a deep steadying breath and hopes, as he walks in the side door, this makes him brave.
—
he’s frisked, then guided to the elevator and an armed guard steps in long enough to swipe a keycard and press a floor number before stepping off again. booker holds the mans eye contact as the doors slide shut and only looks away once he’s alone.
he blinks, rolls his neck and shrugs out his shoulders. his nerves coil tighter and tighter in his stomach as he rises. the floor numbers tick forward and he wishes he had the reassuring weight of a pistol at his back, or a blade strapped to his side. he cracks his knuckles and forces away the feeling of being naked and exposed.
the floors continue to tick past and he takes the extra moments to breathe before the elevator slows to a stop and the doors slide open.
more armed guards meet him, but before worry can fully settle in his chest, he spots copley leaning against the far wall.
copley looks up at the sound of the elevator arriving and a relieved smile falls across his face.
“mr. booker,” he says warmly and booker offers him a tight smile as he eyes the guards that turn and watch him step onto the floor.
a guard moves slowly to the walkie pinned to his collar as talks into it.
“keane, mr merrick’s guest has arrived.”
there’s a pause and booker joins copley across the room. booker takes a moment to survey his surroundings; it looks like a doctors office from a pill advertisement- booker thinks that’s appropriate. they’re standing in a waiting room and there’s a hall just to the side that leads to rooms with closed doors. hyper aware he’s being watched, booker doesn’t let his eyes rest on one thing too long and so he’s looking in the opposite direction when the click of a door opening sounds from down the hall.
he turns and watches as a man, followed closely by a woman in a lab coat and a broad shouldered muscle-man, and then a handful of men in suits walk towards him.
“you must be booker!” the man leading says loudly, gesturing largely with his hands.
“mr. merrick, I assume,” booker says, reaching forward to offer his hand. merrick shakes it and then shifts so he can face both parties.
“this is the brilliant dr kozak and my head of security,” merrick says and booker offers his hand to both. kozak’s hand is soft against his and the man’s is strong. booker looks at the other men in suits but it doesn’t appear he’ll be given anymore names.
“now that we’re all acquainted, let’s take this someplace a little more private,” merrick says almost teasingly, waving at the suited men and armed guards. he turns to go back down the hall. the suited men head towards the elevator while the doctor follows at merrick’s heels. copley gestures for booker to lead and so he steps after them, watching as copley and the security head take up the rear.
he’s lead to a conference room, where some medical supplies are laid out on one end. booker looks out the large wall of windows and tries not to feel caged as he’s walked into the room.
“If you wouldn’t mind sitting here, mr. booker,” the doctor says in a soft voice. she gestures to a chair facing the window and the hair the back of his neck bristles at the location.
“i thought the view might make you more relaxed,” she explains softly with a smile and booker appreciates the thought. it absolutely doesn’t, but it’s a nice sentiment.
he sits down in the chair she gestures to and takes a settling breath. merrick moves around to sit on the other side of the table and he’s almost silhouetted against the backdrop of the sky.
“do you mind answering a few questions for me while dr kozak gets your vitals?” merrick asks and booker nods, eyes following kozak’s movements.
“how old are you?”
“forty-two,” he says with amusement as kozak straps a cuff to his bicep. pressure squeezes his arm and he watches as the cuff swells, his heart pounds in his ear.
“when were you born?” merrick asks, a tinge to his voice that makes booker look up.
“1770,” he says, watching merrick’s reaction.
“remarkable,” the man mutters and writes it down.
“how many times have you died?”
booker hesitates, watching as kozak takes off the cuff and wraps a rubber band just above his elbow. she taps the veins and he watches in fascination as they bulge like a beacon calling out to the needle on the tray in front of him.
“too many times to count,” he says finally and he sounds old, suddenly, feels old.
“if you can get this... this cure you’re searching for. can you undo it?” booker looks away as the needle bites into his skin and meets merrick’s gaze.
“you wish to undo it?” merrick asks incredulously.
booker looks away at the skyline, ignoring the way his arm burns as it tries to heal around the needle tip.
“can you?” is all he says as the needle is slipped out. he can feel the heat of healing and his eyes flicker to kozak when she lets out a little sound of surprise. her eyes find his and she gives him a small tense smile.
booker thinks she’s doing remarkably well, all things considered. they’ve been treated far worse when discovered than a little sound of shock.
he looks back at merrick when kozak turns and sets the bandaid back down on the tray. he’s about to press his question again when kozak gently turns his face towards her.
“look at me, please, mr. booker,” she says. she points to the spot between her eyebrows and shines a flashlight in his eyes. he flinches his head back, squinting his eyes as his hands fist.
“im just checking your reflexes,” she says quickly, taking a step back. there’s movement behind him but when booker looks over his shoulder, both copley and the security guy are standing still.
“checking my reflexes,” booker repeats slowly, looking back over merrick and then kozak cautiously.
kozak nods. “yes, see,” she says, leaning forward and shining the flashlight into her own eyes. “it checks your pupils and peripherals.” she waves her free hand next to her face and then clicks the light off. she’s looking at booker expectantly and so booker nods, resting back in his chair.
kozak leans forward and shines the light again in his eyes. they water and he blinks hard until kozak gently instructs him to keep staring forward. his eyes burn and kozak moves the light from eye to eye without reprieve.
kozak makes a small humming noise and as if broken from a trance, merrick shifts.
“so you want to end your immortality,” merrick says softly, scribbling on his paper as kozak switches from eye to eye again.
“do the others feel the same way?”
the words shoot fear prickling like glass through booker’s veins.
“the others?” he recoils away from kozak’s light and blinks hard, desperately trying to regain his vision. someone grabs his arms and yanks them hard enough to wrench his shoulder out of place, zip tying his wrists together behind the back of the chair.
he throws his head back, hoping for skull to meet skull, but the security has already moved far enough away, twisting to avoid booker’s suddenly violent movements. he grabs booker around the neck and panic, then fury seizes his chest.
he bounces in his seat, trying to dislodge the large man at his back unsuccessfully. he does manage to tilt his chair sideways, catching the man off balance and sending them both tumbling to the ground. booker tries to see around the bright spots blinding his vision and he kicks out.
his foot connects and he uses the momentum to twist and spin, turtling with the chair on his back, but that just gives the man opportunity to grab the chair legs, yanking booker up by them and then slamming his face into the ground.
he’s dazed for just a moment, but it’s enough for the man to get the edge. he drops to his knees and knocks booker to the side then presses his hand to booker’s temple, holding him flat to the ground. a syringe plunges into his neck and booker gets one more second of all-encompassing rage before all he knows is darkness.
so this ended up being way freaking long. it’s a 5.3k ficlet draft PART ONE that i guess i just want to post to hold myself responsible to finish it lmao so here’s part one of this monster :)
i want to write a fic that details joe’s hurt tbh. aside from andy, its shown he and booker are closest. we’re shown all these little moments of them sharing a glance, of sharing mannerisms, of teasing nicky and watching football together; in a bts cast thing, we’re shown booker ghosting along joe’s back as they move through the compound at the beginning- that they’re a team and its nicky-and-joe but its not a surprise to find booker and joe gravitating towards each other- and we’re shown that booker’s betrayal hurts. joe yells and insults and is angry at booker, showing more emotion than we’ve seen when he’s not professing his love for nicky. and then in the end, he’s the one who looks at booker when they’re in the restaurant debating, he’s the one who gives booker one last look before he follows his family away.
so i really just want to angst my heart out and detail joe trying to deal with this. when he’s around others he’s fine, because he has to be right? booker betrayed them and hurt them and he shouldn’t miss him, shouldn’t be sad about his absence, and so he’s not. whenever booker’s brought up, he lets his heartache come out as anger, because if he doesn’t talk about it he’s afraid the words will harden inside him and never leave- so he has to be angry, has to curse booker with every word because these emotions have to have somewhere to go, but he can’t entertain it for too long before tears prick his eyes and when he leaves, he makes sure it’s in a huff- makes sure it’s in anger and not heartbreak.
one of the things nicky loves about joe the most, is that joe genuinely thinks this is fooling anyone. it’s not. they know his anger. they also know his sadness.
but joe can’t sleep. he doesn’t have an appetite. life moves on and he tries. there’s a lot to do here; andy’s mortal and that means reevaluating everything, nile’s here with them now and they have to get to know her; copley’s joined the team and they have to just trust he won’t betray them twice.
there’s a lot to do here but joe can’t stop thinking about booker. it haunts him; his mind, whenever he’s alone, immediately retreats to the past, fixating on all their reactions, trying to pinpoint the exact moment booker decided spending the rest of his life with them was worse than being kept in a cage. was his smile duller here? was his laugh forced there? did he hesitate when joe reached out to him then? or has the knowledge he has now twisted the memories into what he wants to know?
he hates that he can’t stop thinking about it. when, when, when. when did he lose booker? had he always felt this way? they all knew booker was struggling, but had he spent the last 200 years faking it, just waiting for the moment to leave them? was joe truly that blind to not have seen it or was there something that made booker break beyond repair?
joe’s not sure which is worse: that booker played them all, or that booker broke suddenly and violently, and no one noticed.
and amid his heartbreak, he is angry. he’s so angry. because how could booker do this? to them?
he wishes his anger was enough to make him hate booker, but it’s not. (and that just makes him angrier). he can’t eat without wondering if booker’s been eating. he can’t go out without seeing something that he knows booker would like and the desire to talk to him burns in his chest like physical heat. he can’t sleep without lying in bed wondering if booker truly thinks it’s worth it.
and when he’s curled around nicky, holding his love in his arms, feeling the steady rise and fall of his chest, nuzzling his face in the warm patch of skin on nicky’s neck, he has to blink back furious tears lest they mar nicky’s pale skin.
it’s not fair. this is supposed to be booker’s punishment, so why is joe the one not able to sleep, or eat, or live without the reminder that he’s missing a brother, that he’s been betrayed by someone he loves.
joe closes his eyes and tries to make his mind go blank, tries to focus on the warm weight of nicky in his arms, against his chest, but all he sees is a dark room, suddenly lit with lights shining in his eyes, with nicky so far away when bullets start burning into him. sees nicky on a table with blood staining his skin, sees keane put his gun in nicky’s mouth and pull the trigger. sees andy with a red wound that won’t heal. sees fucking booker taking a grenade to the chest before all hell breaks lose and he’s choking on gas.
at the time, one hundred years seemed fair, but it’s only been a handful of months and joe dreads thinking about how the next century will be. he doesn’t want to feel like this anymore, but he doesn’t want to move on without booker, is a little terrified of healing so soundly that when booker comes back, he won’t care.
the sun peaks over the horizon and nicky stirs in his arms, breathing deeply as he slowly wakes.
“good morning, nicolo,” joe says softly against nicky’s neck and feels nicky press harder against him. he hums and joe smiles against him.
“you’re up early,” nicky says in sleepy italian and joe just presses a kiss to the spot behind nicky’s ear. nicky turns his head and then slowly turns his body, rolling in joe’s arms until they’re face to face.
“your eyes look tired,” nicky says in a whisper, slipping into arabic and joe’s heart clenches.
“i am tired,” joe confides and nicky frowns, a little wrinkle forming between his brows and leans forward to press a kiss to the corner of joe’s lips.
“then sleep, my love,” nicky says and raises his hand to card his fingers through joe’s hair and then cupping his face. “you’re safe here.” and joe knows he is, but curled against nicky’s chest, being held and cradled and promised security, his eyes drift closed of their own accord. nicky’s fingers scratch against his scalp and he whispers something as joe drifts into sleep.
and when joe wakes up hours later, warm in nicky’s arms, his husband smiles at him and presses a kiss to his temple and asks if he’s feeling better. and he’s not, because his heart is still broken, his family is still broken, booker is still broken, but for once, the words refuse to come to his lips and he doesn’t know how to explain all the emotions writhing around inside of him.
“you didn’t have to stay the whole time,” he says, half teasing because of course nicky would stay with him the whole time, he promised after all. nicky lets him avoid the question for now and smiles again, so softly it makes joe ache.
“you know i like watching you sleep,” he says and rolls his eyes but snuggles deeper into his pillow, hiding his face away.
“very riveting, im sure,” joe says and waits for nicky’s snark but it doesn’t come. he peeks one eye open and sees the intense look on his face, the muscle in his jaw jumping; his lips twitch like he has something to say but changes his mind. joe rolls his head, revealing both eyes and he frowns at the expression.
“i love you,” nicky says finally and joe frowns deeper at the tone.
he remembers once, in the late 90′s when a compromised mission ended with them separated by hundreds of miles. nicky had called the safe house they were holed up in and promised he’d be home soon and joe gripped the landline tight in his grip, pressed the receiver against his head as if that closeness would take him to nicky instantly. i love you, nicky had said, voice low and soft and promising that the distance between them means nothing.
he thought he’d been able to imagine nicky’s face, then, thought he’d seen every aspect of nicky so completely that the recreation of these emotions was second nature in his mind. but looking at nicky’s face now, he realizes he’d misunderstood then.
thats the tone nicky uses for near misses, when they’ve been separated and are finding their way back to each other.
his heart cracks in his chest. im right here, he wants to say. i’m here. he wants to grab nicky’s hand and put it to his chest, force him to feel the beating heart inside so he doesn’t look at joe with such sadness. he wants to say i’m sorry. i’m trying to come back from this.
instead he lets his lips twitch up into a halfhearted smile and says, “and i, you,” and his voice cracks and he tries to keep his breathing steady. nicky says nothing, but reaches and grabs joe and pulls him back into his chest.
—
and it continues like that. with the team just a little broken because they don’t know how to work like this, not really. with andy mortal and nile so new and booker leaving the gapping hole he tore through them, with nicky heartbroken and joe fluctuating between anger and loss so strongly he feels like he’s the epicenter of an earthquake.
and they try. they teach nile and bond with her, help her cope with her own loss. they learn new methods, come up with different plans, that will keep andy safe. joe tries his hardest to be normal for nicky, to ease his suffering and heartache, but he knows he’s unsuccessful and that is the worst of it. they tell nile stories and tiptoe around booker’s involvement because they don’t want to talk joyfully in front of the others but also don’t want to inadvertently turn her against him, not when he’s coming back. and it’s not what it was but it’s something, something joe’s desperately trying to cling to with both hands.
and then andy gets sick.
nile promises up and down it’s just a cold, that she’ll be fine, but it’s been so long since any of them got sick... does their immune system even accept today’s germs? what if andy’s immune system hasn’t truly worked since her first death and now she’s going to be killed by something no one can even see?
nicky scarcely leaves her side and joe is left to pace nervously down the hall until nile grabs him and forces him to sit at the table, shoved a warm mug in his hands and crosses her arms until he takes a sip.
“she’s going to be okay,” nile says and joe bites his lip.
“you can’t know that,” he whispers around the fear suffocating in his throat.
“joe,” nile says softly and then sighs. she reaches out for him and rests her hands on top of his. “her fevers already going down. she’s waking up to eat. this is just a cold, okay? i promise she’ll be okay.”
and maybe it’s the conviction in her voice, the way she seems to stare into his soul, but he believes her.
nile handles the lions share of the work during this time. she feeds them and ushers them to bed when she can; she watches over andy and gives her medicine when she needs it, recording her temperature down on a notepad so nicky can keep sane watching the numbers gradually lower.
joe can’t do anything but feel guilty. guilty because he should be helping nile, he should be at andy’s bedside helping nicky keep guard over her, he should be the one making sure nicky’s fed— but he can’t find the energy to do more than obsess over his own fears, cannot step foot in andy’s room lest he disturb whatever peace the universe has given and tips the scales irrevocably, cannot force nicky to eat when he himself can’t bare to stomach anything.
and even worse, he feels the weight of his lost family like physical pressure. quynh should be here, booker should be here. nile swears andy’s healing and joe believes her, but she’s mortal. anything could go wrong. she could choke on her meal, she could catch a flu she can’t beat, she could be hit by a car, they could train too hard one day and break her-
the world’s spinning, faster and faster. his breath can’t catch up to the speed he’s moving. there are hands on him and he flinches away and then nile’s face is in front of his. her hands are in his line of sight and he wants her to grab him, now that he can see her. he’s going to float away, catch a wind current and be gone forever.
and then nicky’s in front of him and joe’s eyes fill with panicked tears.
“yusuf,” nicky says, ancient arabic filling joe’s ears. “my heart, you’re okay. please breathe for me.”
he can’t. he wants to; more than anything he wants to obey nicky’s plea, but he can’t. his hands fist on his thighs and nicky grabs his hand and thrusts it at his own chest, holding joe’s fist over his heart. joe feels like his world gets brighter at the touch. his breaths become even more ragged and then he feels a hand on his shoulder, rubbing his back and nile’s voice joins nicky’s calming one. he feels better, feeling nicky’s firm grip around his wrist, his chest under his now-open palm, feeling nile’s hands tight on his shoulders, pressing hard into his back. he takes in one shuddery breath, and then another, and then another. he hears them praise him and he swallows, before collapsing forward into nicky’s chest. he feels his husband’s arms wrap around him and nile shifts, pressing her body against his side so nicky can rub at his back.
“you back with us?” nile asks and joe nods, too tired to lift his face from the warmth of nicky’s chest.
“good,” nicky says and joe feels a kiss pressed to the top of his head. there seems to be a silent conversation happening above him, because he feels nicky hum and shift, and then nile’s moving away from him. nicky moves them and suddenly he’s in his arms, cradled to his chest.
“come on, beloved,” nicky says, still in arabic. the language anchors joe like he couldn’t have anticipated. “lets take a nap.”
joe doesn’t say anything, but he nuzzles his head in nicky’s neck and lets himself be carried to bed.
--
joe wakes hours later, curled around nicky. he sighs softly and nuzzles his face against nicky’s neck. nicky squeezes their intertwined fingers and shifts his head, giving joe better access to his neck and shoulder. joe takes advantage and places soft kisses along the exposed line of him.
“you have good timing,” nicky says softly and joe hums in question. nicky glances over his shoulder. “nile’s making lunch.”
suddenly joe can smell it and his stomach gives a quiet grumble. the guilt from earlier comes creeping back over him and he squeezes nicky tighter, just for a moment, before letting go.
they make their way to the kitchen quietly, joe ghosting along behind nicky. nicky calls out a greeting as he leads joe to a chair and nile turns away from the stove and smiles at them. her eyes rake over joe and then flicker to nicky, who joins her at the counter and reaches for some plates.
“grazie, nile,” nicky murmurs softly and joe watches as she bumps shoulders with him.
“benvenute,” she replies back and joe can see from nicky’s profile, how he smiles at her. guilt crushes his chest once more; this should be enough.
nile and nicky come to the table and nicky sets joe’s plate in front of him before he sits down. they don’t speak; nicky seems to know somethings on the tip of joe’s tongue and nile is content to wait him out. he’s struck, suddenly, realizing this is what they’ll be like in fifty years, if they’re lucky, and his leg starts bouncing under the table.
“i think i need to see him,” joe says, breaking the silence.
they move in unison, he can feel their gaze on him and he looks up, first to nile and then to nicky. nile’s face is carefully blank and she has one eyebrow raised; her eyes fall to nicky as joe’s does.
nicky’s eyes are pinched and his lips press into a sad line.
“i know,” is all he says.
“i’m-“ joe starts but nicky cuts him off with a slight shake of his head.
“i would feel better, knowing how he is,” nicky says slowly and his tilts his head just slightly and gives joe a small smile.
joe feels something in his chest loosen and he looks over at nile who nods with wide earnest eyes.
“give me a few days,” she says, “i’ll track him down with copley.”
he knew they wouldn’t deny him this, but their easy open acceptance washes over him like a wave.
“thank you,” he says and then looks at nicky and he hopes his husband can see the love joe himself is drowning in.
—
andy’s better the next day and nile insists she take it easy around the house. she showers and dresses in fresh clothes and joe’s heart soars at how well she looks. he picks up his sketchbook for the first time all week and scribbles down rough draft after rough draft; he can go back and add the specific details later, but he has to capture the moments as they happen: nicky bumping andy’s feet off the coffee table, andy leaned against the kitchen counters laughing at something nile said, andy reclining on the couch with her feet in nicky’s lap.
nile and nicky have left to go to the grocery and andy was supposed to be taking a nap, so joe focuses on shading the sketch of nicky and andy on the couch. he’s so absorbed in his work he doesn’t notice andy emerge from her room and startles when she sits beside him.
“you should be sleeping,” he chides with a laugh and she rolls her eyes.
“don’t you start,” she huffs with a smile. “between nile and nicky, i’m surprised i wasn’t swaddled and strapped down.”
joe laughs and shifts to face her. “oh i think he considered it.”
andy’s laugh joins him and he wallows in it.
“it scared me,” joe confesses once silence falls gently between them and andy reaches out, rests a hand on his knee and squeezes.
“i know,” she says. he reaches out and rests his hand over hers. it seems so much smaller, he doesn’t remember her being this small.
“i need to see booker,” he says, even softer than his first confession. he’s not sure why the words feel like they must exist secretly; like he can only mention him as a whisper or a shout.
“i know,” andy says again and reaches out with her other hand, cupping the back of joe’s neck with a firm grip.
“you know no one’s upset with you for that,” she says it like a fact but her eyebrows stay raised until joe nods in answer. she pulls him in and bumps their foreheads together before letting him go. he stays angled toward her, though, and swallows hard.
“it wasn’t- it wasn’t right that he wasn’t here. i... i want to bring him back.” joe feels andy take a deep breath.
“that’s not a light decision,” andy warns and joe exhales through his nose.
“what do you think?” he asks and her brows slide into a furrow as she thinks.
“i think,” she says slowly, “that i miss you. and if bringing booker back early is what you need to come back to me, then that’s what you need to do.”
his throat closes at that and he looks away from her, unable to meet her eyes. he hadn’t realized how much his own turmoil was hurting them.
“i’m sorry,” he says, looking back her and her face twists in sorrow but her mouth pulls up into a sad smile.
“oh, joe,” she says. “you know not to apologize for that.” she bumps against his shoulder and jostles him; he forces out a weak laugh at that and andy stretches her arm along the back of the couch, resting against his shoulders.
“do the others know?” andy asks, almost hesitantly, like she didn’t want to upset him further and joe is struck sick with how much he’s going to miss her.
“they know i want to speak with him,” he says and andy huffs a breath through her nose.
“sounds like family meeting then,” she says and stands. “i’ll start the coffee.”
---
“coffee?” nile says upon coming home. “its seven o’clock.”
nicky frowns beside her and his eyes scan the room, seeing andy standing in the kitchen, already nursing a cup, with joe at the table, his back to the door. nicky looks down at nile and presses his lips into a thin line.
“it’s a family meeting,” he says and walks into the kitchen without another word, leaving nile to follow.
—
“did something happen?” nile asks hesitantly after everyone’s seated at the table with a cup of coffee in front of them. her eyes look over at andy and joe’s shoulders tense as he leans forward.
“no, no, it’s...” he hesitates and nicky’s foot nudges against his under the table. joe takes strength in that, even as he knows what he’s about to ask of him.
“i think we need to renegotiate the terms of book’s exile.” he’s watching nicky as he says it, and sees the way his husband stiffens, folding his arms over his chest.
“oh,” nile says, voice high in surprise and in the corner of his eye, sees her look around the table before reaching for her mug and taking a deep swallow.
they talk long into the night, shifting through the house like fog across a field. it’s an even tempered conversation; nicky stays frustratingly quiet as joe makes his argument and the rest tentatively discuss booker’s exile, until finally, they’re back at the kitchen table and the sky is starting to turn a light dusty grey.
“i can’t work with him,” nicky says eventually, soft but firm. beside him, andy nods.
“it’s a little soon for that,” she agrees and joe himself nods.
“i don’t think he should be back,” he says and looks at nile, then andy, before back to nicky. “but i don’t know if he should stay gone.”
“where would he stay?” nile asks, voice low and joe opens his mouth, then hesitates.
“he could stay nearby? in the same city?” andy suggests and joe watches as the muscle in nicky’s jaw twitches.
“nicolo, if this is too soon-” joe says in rushed italian and nicky shakes his head.
“no, no, it’s-” he starts in italian and then stops, switching to english for nile’s benefit. “i just need time.”
joe nods, prepared to put the matter at rest, but nicky shifts, his lips parting just slightly as he takes a breath.
“but if i don’t have to be near him, it’s... it’s okay.”
nicky’s still tense; the lines of his body hard and closed off, but that doesn’t stop nile from moving closer to him, providing silent support. joe aches to take him in his arms, to apologize in any way that matters for feeling like he does, but before he can take a breath, andy’s exhaling.
“we’ve been at this for too long,” andy says, running a hand through her hair. “we don’t even know where he is yet. nothing has to be decided right now.” she’s looking around the group, but her eyes linger on nicky for just a moment longer.
“we’ll have a better discussion after we sleep,” she says, voice brooking no argument.
as one, they all seem to relax at andy’s words and start to move towards their own rooms. andy brushes her hand along joe’s shoulders and she sees her grab at nicky’s wrist before letting it fall and turning to give nile a pat on the back, physical reminders that she supports them all. his heart thumps heavy in his chest and he turns away, forcing down the ache suddenly creeping up his spine.
joe hates disagreeing with nicky; he hates the way he goes quiet and his silence weighs heavy, hates the way his voice stays soft in disappointment. nicky follows him quietly back to their room and shuts the door without a word. they climb into bed and joe lays on his side stiffly. there’ve been many nights where disagreements were only paused because of droopy eyes and while they rarely slept apart, they don’t always lay curled around each other. joe doesn’t know what to expect and tries to steady himself as nicky quietly pulls the blinds and climbs into bed after him. joe’s heart thunders in his ears and he tries to keep his breathing slow and even as he watches nicky settle on the other side of the bed-- and then nicky rolls, presses against his back against joe’s chest and joe let’s out a soft exhale. he immediately wraps his arms around nicky’s chest and pulls him even closer.
“i’m afraid,” joe confesses into nicky’s hair after sleep evades them. nicky’s fingers spasm over joe’s hand.
“of what, mi amore,” he asks, voice just as quiet as joe’s.
joe hesitates and nicky runs a finger over the back of his hand in silent encouragement and joe takes in a shaky breath. “of being whole without him.”
--
midday comes and with it, the acceptance to no longer be confound to their rooms. there’s faint sounds coming from the kitchen, gentle rustling of glass and then the sound of the faucet squeaking to life. joe listens as the sounds of footsteps softly move through the old house, the floor settling just enough that joe knows they moved into the living room and then the faint click as the front door opens and shuts.
he thinks it’s andy; the tread and pace familiar in a way that nile’s isn’t just yet and joe is torn between wanting to stay holding nicky and getting up to move so the restless energy surrounding his heart will stop choking him.
“we should get up,” nicky says like he knows what joe was thinking. after so many lifetimes together, they do know what the other’s thinking. there aren’t secrets that can be kept between them- not that they have ever wanted to keep secrets from the other. when they were young and new, joe would test if nicky truly was a mind reader. he’d bait his love with friendly teases, blushing confessions, wild questions, all formed in his mind to see if nicky would react.
(and nicky would, but only because he was so in tune with joe’s body language. when joe thought his teasing jokes, he got a mischievous glint in his eye that had nicky smiling to match it, when he thought his blushing confessions he stared at nicky so intensely nicky could scarcely meet joe’s eyes out of embarrassment to be the subject of such affection, and when he would ask his questions, his shoulders loosened, he’d breathe easier and nicky longed to know what was running through his head.)
i love you so much, joe thinks, trying again because he wants the simplicity of before. when he dreamt of women warriors and loved nicky and that was all he needed to know.
“come on,” nicky says, stretching to his feet and giving joe a small, barely-there smile that melts him. “let’s get something to eat.”
when joe stands, nicky grabs his hand and leads him out to the kitchen.
--
“how’d everyone sleep?” nile asks as she enters the kitchen not long after he and nicky enter. she moves to the fridge and grabs some orange juice and pours herself a glassful before downing it and refilling. joe watches her with eyebrows up in amused concern and nicky from the stove.
“about as well as you did,” nicky says and nile raises an eyebrow in acknowledgment before turning to put the juice away again. she walks over to the stove and peeks around nicky’s shoulder.
“omelets?” she asks and nicky shifts so she can stand more easily beside him.
“frittatas,” he corrects and joe tries not to flinch at knowing why nicky needs this comfort food. nile makes a hum of encouragement and looks around.
“need any help?”
despite his guilt, joe feels a smile as love blossoms in his chest as nile follows nicky’s instructions. he hears the soft click of the front door opening again and soon andy’s standing in the kitchen doorway, watching the scene unfold as nile and nicky talk in choppy italian. joe looks over at her and she gives him a tired smile as she moves to sit at the table beside him.
they don’t talk, content to let nicky and nile fill the kitchen with sound.
--
they fall silent when they sit for lunch and the room only grows more and more somber as lunch finished; it’s only after joe’s putting the last dish on the drying rack that andy let out that familiar sigh that preludes a talk.
“i know none of you slept, but does anyone have any more to say?” andy asks, looking around the table.
“booker needs to be here,” nicky says after a long moment. “as angry, and hurt, as i am... joe’s right. i don’t want to heal without him.”
joe’s heart thumps hard in his chest, his hands ache to reach out and grab him.
“i got his address,” nile says softly and clears her throat. “he’s in paris.”
paris. of course he’s in paris. anger flashes through joe and dissolves as quickly as it comes; booker always avoided france, if a mission called for their presence in the country, they always made sure it was quickly wrapped up because booker refused to even sleep there. joe always understood. these old cities remain stubbornly resistant to change as centuries pass and he hated the look booker got in his eyes when they’d walk down the worn streets. he’s not surprised booker would return there to enhance his suffering.
beside him, he hears andy exhale hard out of her nose and nicky’s hands tighten around his crossed arms.
“that’s only a few hours away,” andy says.
suddenly, joe’s nervous. his mouth goes dry and he licks at his lips.
“i can be back before the evening,” he says, almost distantly, and nile nudges his foot under the table.
“do you want us to go with you?” she asks and he tries to give her a thankful smile.
“no, no i think it’ll be better if i go alone.”
andy and nicky scrutinize him and he tries to make himself look more confident than he feels. he’s certain he didn’t fool any of them.
“it’ll be okay,” he says, reassuring them as much as himself.
--
joe drives and his mind drifts. nicky had been reluctant to let him go alone and joe flexes his hand on the steering wheel, feeling the phantom press of nicky’s lips against his knuckles. he feels a bundle of nerves in his stomach grow and writhe inside him and he grits his teeth.
this will be fine. this will be good.
he repeats the mantra as he drives. he repeats it as he navigates the busy streets of paris. he repeats it as he lifts his hand to knock on the old wooden door to the address nile gave him.
ozai has always hated zuko and loved azula too much. ursa still dotes on zuko, neglecting azula because zuko is easy to love because ozai got to azula first and ursa doesnt know how to break through to her daughters humanity.
iroh comes back from his ba sing se failure and realizes something isn’t right with his niece; she’s a little too cold, a little too bloodthirsty, a little too detached from anything not involving her father’s approval.
ursa kills azulon and disappears. iroh watches the dynamic of the royal family shift; watches zuko fall further and further from his father’s grace, watches azula become more and more beloved-- watches both children burn themselves up and out for a father who doesn’t love them.
and iroh just lost his son, his only son who he loved so much that the loss affected his inner flame. iroh, who was a childless father, steps in to fill the role these children need.
he watches their firebending practice and praises them both, offers them both advice on improvement. works with them individually to provide an environment where they aren’t competing and get to learn their element.
and they hate it at first. zuko is self deprecating and thinks iroh’s praise is a trick. azula is overly confident and thinks herself above the need for anyone’s approval.
but iroh persists. he coaches zuko into managing his frustrations through meditation and watches as the boy becomes more confident in his presence. he redirects azula’s cruelty into something more constructive; he invites her into games of strategy and teaches her of his military expertise.
he helps them through the loss of their mother and as a new year approaches, they accompany him to remember lu ten and then they turn and do the same for ursa.
and then something happens.
a blue masked thief is found darting over the royal garden walls.
the palace is on high-alert after that. iroh sits with his niece and nephew for breakfast the next morning and silently sips his tea as the two pick at their food.
“you don’t think they can really get in, do you uncle?” zuko asks, breaking the silence.
“don’t be stupid,” azula snaps, “no one’s going to get past the royal guard.” then she pauses and looks over at iroh with her eyes pinched in worry. “right?”
iroh smiles and sets down his tea. “i think it’s very unlikely,” he says and azula looks over at zuko, beaming with pride at being right and iroh’s stomach twists at the sight. “but,” he says and both children look over at him with open, scared faces. iroh continues, “i should think you both have enough skill to look after one another. siblings are a great blessing. they can be your best friend, and your fiercest defender.”
zuko and azula both look at each other out of the corner of their eyes, jerking their head away when they catch the other looking, and iroh has to stop himself from smiling. “not to mention, you have me and your father here to protect you.”
this catches their attention and iroh catches the slight blush appearing on their faces. twin “thank you uncle”s are issued and with their minds free of worry, begin to eat their meals in earnest.
their joint bending practice seems to go smoother than ever, and that night after dinner iroh watches as the two seem to shadow each other; hovering in the same rooms for no apparent reason and following when one leaves.
iroh had taken the role of walking the children to bed since he’d been home; a habit he’d had with lu ten that now makes him sleep better in the present; usually azula darts off to her own room and leaves iroh to check in on her after walking zuko to bed; but tonight, before zuko and iroh can reach zuko’s chambers, azula pokes her head out of her room.
“hey zuzu,” azula calls, racing down the hall and jerking to a stop right in front of them. “if youre too scared to sleep alone you can stay in my room.”
her voice is light and mocking, and zuko bristles at the tone and the nickname, but then he pauses. it’s not like azula to volunteer something like that, even as a joke. azula in the past is more likely to send zuko away to be alone with a comment that would scare him. azula’s hands are held behind her back and she’s balancing on her tiptoes; everything about her screams mockery and iroh feels physical pain at the sight of his young niece being so afraid of being genuine.
zuko looks up at iroh, which causes azula’s eyes to dart to him before back to zuko, and iroh smiles at his nephew. zuko nods, and then nods to azula. “okay,” he says slowly. “thanks azula.”
azula smiles widely at him and spins on her toes before bouncing back down the hall. zuko and iroh follow her to her room and iroh is bidding them goodnight when azula stops him from leaving.
“uncle?” she asks and iroh looks back at her with a smile. she’s putting even more effort to appear nonchalant and unbothered.
“yes, princess azula?”
she perks up at the title and looks down at her nails, picking at the cuticle.
“if you would like to stay, youre welcome to.”
iroh looks from his niece’s blank face to his nephew’s eager one, and nods once in a small bow.
“i would be honored to stay with you both.”
iroh angles azula’s lounge chair so he can keep an eye out the window and also on the door. he lights a small flame in his palm and lets it rise and fall with his breathing; soon the children fall asleep to the shadows dancing hypnotically on the ceiling and iroh lets the flame stabilize in his hand.
it’s been a long time since iroh’s pulled an all-night watch, but he remembers the mental exercises designed to keep him alert and runs through the drills tirelessly, until he hears a near-silent scuff in the hallway. immediately he snuffs the flame in his palm out and stands, moving in the shadows of the room towards the doorway.
he can just barely make out a dark figure moving towards them, the glint of metal catching on the moon for just a moment. fierce protectiveness stokes the fire inside him, but there’s something off about the gait of the intruder that gives him pause. he waits a moment for the intruder to get closer, before stepping out, throwing a fireball in warning at their feet. dual broadswords are illuminated and iroh falls into a fighting stance as the flame on the stone floor goes out. there’s a soft shink as the swords are sheathed and the intruder gestures largely with their arms. iroh holds out one hand, willing a flame into existence and sees the intruder holding their empty hands up in a sign of peace. intrigued, iroh straightens out of his fighting stance, but doesn’t move away from the doorway.
“who are you?” he asks in a whisper and the blue mask shakes its head.
“what do you want?” again, the blue mask shakes its head in silence.
“well surely you haven’t broken in the palace to have a walk,” iroh says and the blue mask pauses before shaking its head slowly.
“do you intend to do harm?” this time, the mask shakes quickly.
“do you know who i am?” this earns iroh a nod.
“are you looking for something?” again, there’s a pause and iroh knows he’s on the right track before the mask nods.
there’s sound coming from the bedroom behind him and iroh cocks his head to listen without taking his eyes off the blue masked intruder, and that’s how he sees it. sees the way they lean forward, head cocked just slightly like they’re also listening. iroh’s blood turns to ice.
“ursa?” the intruder freezes and then backs up a step on instinct. iroh feels sick, with relief or guilt he’s not sure. he opens his mouth to say more, but he’s cut off by a gentle “uncle?” coming from a half-asleep zuko.
iroh turns to look into the room. “just a minute,” he says and turns back to an empty hallway.
“is everything okay?” zuko asks, sounding more alert.
no, iroh wants to say. “yes, there’s nothing to worry about.” iroh says, stepping back into the room. “i was just checking, go back to sleep.”
zuko looks at him blearily, but then nods and lays back down, curling against azula.
iroh sits back down at his seat, just in time to see a dark shadow propel itself back over the wall.
