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okay gang what should we cry about today? the fact that when andy was unnerved by copley knowing who she was, she called out for booker? or the fact that both booker and his son died at forty-two?
#like....... the implications of booker continuing to be in his familys life for decades is just too much for meeeeeeeeeee#and also just....... he didnt realize how IMPORTANT he was to the guard. he was a rock and a safety net all in one#he was the one who fucking found their jobs! who made sure they were kept safe!!!!#AND THEY FELT SAFE WITH HIM#when copley knows who she is she doesnt say 'what are you talking about'#she doesnt threaten him or argue with him or take him on alone#she pauses and says 'book?' because she NEEDED to know booker was at her back#SCREAM#liz watches tog
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Another Life
Babys first bioshock infinite fanfic. Please be kind lol. Takes place in between Infinite and Burial at Sea.
A knock on the door startled Booker out of his sleep. He lifted his head off the kitchen table, squinting at the door, wondering if he’d just imagined the noise. The knock came again, making him frown. He may have been a private investigator, but he still deserved to sleep at night.
Of all the things he expected upon opening the door, a young woman who looked like his daughter's twin was not one of them. He caught himself staring and shook his head. Even if this woman looked like Anna, it clearly wasn’t her. The clothes, the hair, the demeanor, they were all wrong. Maybe not in any obvious ways, but wrong nonetheless. “Can I help you?”
“Hello, Booker,” not Anna said, solidifying that it was not his daughter on his doorstep. “May I come in?”
“Who are you?” he demanded.
“Elizabeth. I won’t take much of your time, I promise.”
Still wary, Booker stepped back, allowing the woman to enter before shutting the door. She glanced around curiously, before looking back at him.
“I suppose you’re wondering why I’m here.”
“Mostly wondering how you’re a dead ringer for my kid.”
“There are only so many faces in the world, Mr. DeWitt.” She gave him a wry smile. “But in this case, it’s because I am ‘your kid,’ as you put it. From a different reality.”
It was way too late for this shit. “Why isn’t your name Anna, then?”
Elizabeth shrugged, crossing her arms over her chest. “It’s complicated. Does the name Comstock ring a bell? Or Lutece?”
“Can’t say they do.”
She looked surprised at that. “Can you tell me something? After wounded knee, did you go to get baptized?”
Booker stared at her. “No. I was given the option, but I never even went. Didn’t seem any point. Only way to wash away your sins in a river is a lot more permanent.”
Elizabeth seemed to think this over, nodding. “You’re right on that count, at least. I’m glad that there’s a few of you left.”
Booker scowled. “A few of who left?”
“You, of course.”
This conversation just kept getting weirder. “Is there something I can help you with, or did you just come here to talk circles around me?”
Elizabeth hesitated, hands twisting together in front of her. “I… suppose I just wanted a proper goodbye. But the only Booker’s left are the ones who never knew me. At least, not this version of me.”
Booker softened. She looked… fragile. Small. At least, for a moment, until she stood up straight, schooling her face into a blank expression.
“I shouldn’t have wasted your time.” She made to move towards the door.
“Wait,” he said softly, reaching out to grab her wrist. She paused, staring back at him. “I don’t know your Booker, or what happened to him but… I’m sure he’d want you to take care of yourself.”
Elizabeth smiled sadly. “Thank you, Booker.”
He hesitated. “If you ever need anything, the doors always open.” She wasn’t his daughter but she was a Booker’s daughter. And it sounded like she didn’t have anyone.
“I-thank you. I… don’t think I’ll be back.” Elizabeth pulled her hand away. “But thank you.”
Booker nodded. “Sure.” There was a part of him that wanted to convince her to stay. Anna had always wanted a sibling, after all. But he could tell she was dead set on whatever she had to do. “Stay safe out there.”
Elizabeth laughed. “Probably not. But I’ll do my best.”
“All I can ask, I suppose.”
There was a moment of silence between them, before Elizabeth spoke again. “Can I ask what she’s like? Anna?”
“She’s a good kid.” He paused, chuckling. “Not really a kid anymore. And maybe not so good. She picks locks and knows how to get any man to do what she wants. Me included. And when she’s not doing that she’s reading any book she can get her hands on. Wants to be some sort of physicist. It all goes over my head but I’m sure she can do anything she sets her mind to.”
“You sound happy,” Elizabeth said wistfully.
Booker paused. “Yeah, most of the time. I haven’t always been a good dad. I hope I was at least a decent one.” The first few years were the worst. One day it just hit him out of the blue that if he didn’t shape up, he was liable to lose Anna one day as well. It wasn’t always easy, but he liked to think he had a better handle on his worst habits nowadays.
Elizabeth smiled the same sad smile. “I’m sure you were.”
“You’re stalling, you know.”
“...I know.” She wrapped her arms around herself. “I never had this life. I was locked in a tower, alone, for most of mine. Until Booker broke me out. But we didn’t know who we were, then. And it… didn’t end the way I would have hoped. It ended the way it had to.” She sighed. “And it’s not over yet. I have one more place I have to go.” Her face hardened. “I really do have to go.”
Booker nodded. “Like I said. Doors always open.”
“Thank you.” And before he could say anything else, she was gone.
#bioshock infinite#Booker DeWitt#elizabeth bioshock#my bioshock fic#this is not shippy I cannot stress this enough#mans got parental instincts buried under 20 layers of self loathing and alcoholism and gambling lmao
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Falling into a New Life
For @nilefreemanweek2021 and the alternative prompt Canon Divergent AU! Andy doesn’t get to the base in time, and Nile is on the plane to Germany and tests. When she dreams Andy calling Booker, what happens when Nile calls the same number? You can read it below or over on my ao3 account here. Gen | Rated T | ~2.1k
“Corporal Freeman,” the soldier’s voice cut through her music and brief moment of peace. “Been looking for you. Wheels up on your ride.”
“Yes, sir,” she said.
She felt a tightening in her gut, one that got worse as she flew away from base towards Germany. Towards more tests. Something was rubbing her the wrong way about all of this.
She hadn’t slept well since waking up in that hospital bed, so despite her nerves, she began to doze as the hours ticked by.
“She’s just a baby,” she heard a woman say, looking down at a sketch of Nile’s own face.
“Damn it!” A fist crashing into the side of a Humvee as a plane, the plane Nile was on right now, took off into the sky.
Numbers were being punched into the phone, then dialing. “Book, I didn’t get here in time. Word is she is being sent for more testing and you know what they will find. You have to cut them off. Get to her before they find out.”
The man closed his flip phone, turning to the other two men on the train.
“We need to get to Germany,” he said.
The plane rattled side to side and Nile woke, looking around frantically.
What was that? A dream? A vision?
She scrambled through her pockets, grabbing her notepad and writing down the numbers before she could forget them. Pulling out her phone, she looked furtively around the vast open area, but aside from her, the only other people on the plane were the two soldiers who had escorted her to the plane, sitting near the cockpit, and the pilots.
If she called this number and someone picked up, she would know she wasn’t crazy. And if no one did… then maybe it was a good thing that she was being carted off for testing.
Nile hit dial before she could stop herself.
It rang twice before a slightly accented voice answered, “Hello? Who is this?”
“What the fuck…” she whispered, pulling the phone away to stare at it. The call had connected, the seconds ticking by. She pressed it back against her ear, shaking her head slowly.
“Is this the Marine?” the man continued.
“Yeah,” she answered, her voice rough.
There was a rustle, then a different voice was speaking, “Can you tell us your name?”
A voice in the back of her mind was yelling about strangers and danger, but she didn’t think that the talks adults gave her as a child ever could have anticipated this.
“Nile,” she forced herself to say. “Corporal Nile Freeman. Who are you?”
“We’re like you, Nile,” a heavier accented voice said. “We want to help you, but first, you have to help yourself. You cannot get tested by those men. It will lead to something much worse.”
“I don’t understand,” she murmured, keeping her voice low to avoid the other soldiers hearing.
“You have to get off that plane, Nile,” the second voice said. “We will come and find you, we swear.”
“That’s insane,” she hissed.
“Welcome to the world of coming back from the dead,” the first voice said sardonically.
Holy shit.
That’s what had happened, wasn’t it? She had felt herself die. Dizzy had seen it. Everyone thought she was gone. They had even taken her dog tags to send to her family.
But then she had come back.
“Shit,” she whispered.
She looked around the plane and spotted the jump door and parachutes.
“No, this isn’t happening. This is some bullshit. Is this hazing or something? Is this fun for you?” Nile demanded.
“Nile, please,” the heavily accented voice said. There was so much emotion in his tone she stopped. “Please, you are not safe. I know you are scared and alone. But they will do horrible things if they discover you can regenerate. A jump off a plane is much better than an eternity in a cage.”
“I can’t go AWOL,” Nile said. “My family- I can’t do that to them.”
“Corporal Freeman!” One of the men who had brought her to the plane said, approaching. “I need to take your phone.”
She lowered it without hanging up, alarms ringing in her head. “What, why?”
“Protocol for testing. Could interfere with the machines.”
And he could be telling the truth, but the voices on the other end of the phone were getting desperate even though she couldn’t make out what they were saying.
“Are we that close?” she asked, buying time.
He shrugged. “Somewhere over Ukraine.”
“I’d like to give it to you closer to Germany, sir,” she said, trying to toe the line of defiance and deference.
“Orders are orders,” he said, reaching for it and this didn’t feel right, something was so wrong about this whole thing.
“NILE!” the voices on the phone shouted all at once, loud enough it reached her ear.
She ducked his grab and undid her seatbelt, sliding away from him.
He looked at her, considering. “C’mon, kid. Don’t make me break out the restraints.”
She stared at him. “What the fuck?!” she finally said, putting her phone in her back pocket. “Nah, nope. Come and get it.”
He swung at her and she ducked it and hit him in the ribs. He let out a grunt and bent over. She grabbed the back of his head and slammed his face into her knee, hearing a crack as he groaned in pain. He stayed down, clutching his nose.
“Hey!” The other guard had gotten up from his seat at the struggle and she turned to face him, trying to keep one eye on the other man.
The man took out his gun and pointed it at her. “You are under arrest for assaulting a superior officer.”
She raised her hands slowly. “In fairness, he started it,” she felt compelled to say.
He didn’t think she was funny.
“Stay still,” he said, taking a pair of cuffs out of his tac belt.
Nile looked at them apprehensively, because those were not standard to have for soldiers in her division, and so why the hell did he have them?!
She stood still, weighing her options. He holstered his gun, holding the cuffs in his other hand. She watched him until he was close enough to strike. She knocked the cuffs out of his hand and they flew down the plane. He tried to punch her but she parried it and went to dislocate his shoulder, but he kicked out and caught her in the knee. There was a crack and a searing pain, and she cried out, but kept fighting.
He drew his gun again and they grappled over it. She knew that she was losing the battle with one leg out of the game and pain fogging her mind.
His finger reached the trigger.
She felt the bullet go through her side and her whole body went momentarily numb as it was overloaded with pain. Nile fell to the ground, clutching her side.
The guard holstered his weapon and went to check on his buddy and get the cuffs. Nile breathed through the pain and then paused.
Something was going on with her leg.
She looked down as much as she could without using her stomach muscles that were still screaming and watched as her knee popped back into place, no longer inverted.
Her side started to hurt less, and she lifted her shirt to see the skin that the bullet had torn through slowly knit back together.
Regenerate. That’s what the man on the phone had called it.
Shit.
She pulled out her phone and spoke over the voices on the other side, “I’m jumping. We’re somewhere over Ukraine. I have your number.”
Then she hung up and put her phone in her zippered pocket, got up and ran at the parachutes and hit the button that opened the jump door.
“Corporal! Don’t do it!”
She looked back as she shouldered the parachute and clamped it into place. The soldiers were reaching out to her, trying to get to her in time.
Nile jumped.
She fell, waiting until she was well away from the plane to pull the pin to activate the parachute.
Nothing happened.
“Shit!” she said, trying to pull the backup, but it didn’t budge.
Had they purposefully put dud parachutes in the plane? Was this some kind of test? Or had this been a terrible coincidence?
She kept falling, spreading her arms and legs to slow her descent as much as possible. She forced herself to look down, scope out the area below her. There was a lake in the middle of a field, and she angled herself towards it, gritting her teeth. Neither option was good, but with no trees in sight to cushion her fall, she would splat either way. At least the water would eventually mask her blood.
Nile really hoped that she could actually come back from the dead, cause it didn’t look like she was going to survive this.
The water got closer and she forced her feet below her so at least she wouldn’t meet it head first. She tucked her arms close to her sides and felt herself shoot downwards faster than before.
She concluded, just before she hit the water, that any fall where she could think about how long she had been falling was too damn long.
Then everything was black.
The three men hopped off the train.
“She’s off the plane, haven’t heard anything since,” the blond said over the phone. “Said she was somewhere over Ukraine.”
The woman sighed on the other end. “Fine. We’ll meet in the middle and find her. Deal?”
“See you soon, boss,” the man said, hanging up.
“At least we will be able to keep Copley off our tail,” the man with a head of curls said.
“We will still need to go after him eventually,” the blond said. “He knows about us.”
“Nile first,” the man with the heavy accent and kind eyes said.
Nile gasped awake and immediately coughed up water. She was floating on top of the lake now, the waters around her red. She groaned as her body slowly knitted itself back together again, bones and organs recovering from hitting water so fast it felt like concrete.
“Ow,” she concluded once the last shift was done.
She turned her head, looking for the closest bit of shore, and starting off towards it.
It took a lot of effort to drag her waterlogged body onto the sand. She lay on her back, staring up at the sky for a moment.
Then she reached for her phone, only to find it cracked and even more waterlogged than she was.
“Shit!”
She pocketed it anyway, because she might still be able to recover the memory chip, even if the rest of it was worthless now.
Okay. Priorities.
Nile was still wearing her uniform, as wet and bloodstained as it was. She shucked off the long sleeve shirt of her uniform and surveyed the damage to the short sleeve brown shirt beneath. The cold water of the lake had washed away much of the blood that had been saturated in it, but she took it off and scrubbed a bit more, just to get as much as she could out.
There was still a hole where she had been shot, but she would deal with that if it came to it.
She found a large rock and tied her shirt around it.
Then paused. Rested her head against the rock and the uniform she was about to toss away.
She had been a Marine, like her dad before her. It hadn’t been an easy decision to join, not with how it had ended for her dad, the imperialism that was steeped into the US military, or the fact that she was a black woman and that would affect her entire experience. But it had been her life, her brothers and sisters in arms had been her family, and she felt like once she heaved this rock into the water, she would be irreversibly throwing that part of her life away too.
She breathed. Then she lifted the rock and with a grunt, sent it flying through the air. There was a large splash and it sank, taking her uniform with it.
Nile watched it go, her throat burning with emotions she couldn’t even name.
Then she turned to find the others who could regenerate like her.
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So you asked about prompts? ;D What about Joe/Nicky + any team member cuddling for warmth? Or something about all of them sharing clothes? Huge bonus if Lykon is still part of the Guard ❤️❤️❤️
Thank you anon for the ask!! 💕 This took forever but here it is~
Read on AO3
“Whose idea was this, again?” Joe complained, readjusting the weight of the front half of the giant plastic evergreen. He was sweating and freezing at the same time, which was decidedly one of his least favorite feelings ever.
“Yeah, I wonder,” Quynh seconded from behind him, throwing Andy a dirty look.
Andy sauntered hands-free in front of them, talking animatedly with Nicky and Lykon as they walked. The three of them clearly loved the snow, though Joe doubted they would be having even half as much fun if they had to carry the tree.
Quynh spat out some plastic pine needles. “Andromache! It’s your turn to carry this, come here!”
“Pleeease babe, we’re almost home!”
“Yeah,” Nicky interjected. “Besides, we have to carry the presents!” He waved the small, sparkly gift bag at them before pointedly turning back around.
Joe muttered something in Arabic about lazy spouses with nice asses, and Quynh cackled.
“Alright, alright,” Lykon interjected, jumping in front to get everyone’s attention. “Booker just texted me that he’s managed to get Nile out of the house under the pretext of, and I quote, ‘the snowball duel of the century.’ They’re going to the mountain pass, so we have two hours to get set up.”
“Perfetto,” Nicky said. “It’ll take me about twenty minutes to get the cookies in the oven, and then I’ll help decorate the tree.”
“You better get out in less than twenty,” Quynh warned. “When am I supposed to work? Do you even know how long it takes to cook chicken?”
“He doesn’t,” Joe confirmed.
“Habibi, that’s not fair. What about that time I made-”
A long, ominous buzz innervated all of their phones simultaneously. It was an emergency weather alert.
“Blizzard warning until 2:15 AM. All inner city residents are encouraged to shelter in place until further notice. Sudden snowfall and landslides may prove deadly,” Nicky read.
“Lykon, text Booker,” Andy ordered.
“On it.”
“No use,” Nicky cut in. “They’re probably already at the mountain pass. They won’t make it back in time.”
Andy swore loudly. “Joe, get the car. We’re going after them.”
Quynh and Joe dropped the tree and ran towards the house. By the time Joe started the car, Quynh was climbing down the porch steps with an armful of towels. The five of them piled into the car and tore down the icy roads.
The storm picked up with terrifying haste. When they got to the bridge near the mountain pass, visibility was already nearing zero. Joe switched places with Andy, clambering into the passenger seat so she could take the wheel. If anything could help them now, it was Andy’s extensive experience with driving in extreme weather conditions.
As they traveled through the pass, everyone kept their eyes trained on the snowy slopes, looking for any signs of Nile and Booker.
Suddenly, Lykon cried out in horror. Only a few feet away from the road were two motionless bodies, almost fully buried in a snow drift.
“Cazzo!” Nicky yelled, leaping out of the car. “There must have been an avalanche!”
Andy shoved the gearshift into parking and followed, joining the others as they attempted to dig out their friends with their bare hands. About two minutes after the frostbite set in, they were able to pull Nile and Booker free of the drift.
“Why aren’t they waking up?” Lykon asked, a tinge of panic in his voice. Andy rubbed Nile’s wrist as she looked at her watch, attempting to measure a pulse. Nicky tried to do the same for Booker, unconsciously chanting a Hail Mary under his breath.
Quynh stepped forward. “We need to get them back to the car. The heater will warm them up and help dry them off. Come on.”
Joe picked up Nile in his arms, cradling her head. Quynh threw Booker over her shoulders in a fireman’s carry. This time, they noticed neither the weight nor the cold. Their entire focus was on getting their friends home to warmth and safety.
“Joe, your coat,” Andy said as they got to the car. “It’s fleece. Take Nile’s ski jacket off and give her yours.”
Joe obeyed without hesitation, bundling her in his own winter gear and buckling her into the back seat. Meanwhile, Quynh and Nicky used the towels to dry off Booker’s snow coat as best as they could. Lykon climbed into the passenger seat, and Andy began to drive.
Thankfully, the storm didn’t get worse on their way back (though Joe seriously doubted it could get worse). By the time Andy pulled into their driveway, Nile and Booker were beginning to stir.
“Hey, easy now,” Lykon soothed, helping a dazed Booker out of the car. “Let’s get you inside. There we go, you’re okay. Just a little farther.”
Behind them, Nile leaned heavily on Quynh as she half-carried her up the porch steps. Joe paused, watching them enter.
“All okay?” Andy asked, placing a hand on his shoulder as the wind whipped the snow around them.
“The tree…” Joe muttered, fazed. “I dropped it somewhere. We were going to surprise Nile, and I-”
Andy turned him gently to face her, pulling his woolen beanie down to cover his ears.
“It’s alright, love,” she said softly, switching to Arabic. “She needs a different kind of comfort from us now. She and Booker both. Let’s go take care of them, okay?”
Joe nodded, following her into the warmth of their home.
A fire blazed happily in the hearth. Someone had expanded their futon and pulled it closer to the fireplace. Nile and Booker were seated on it now, wearing large, clean sweatpants - Nicky’s sweatpants, Joe noticed - and fuzzy Christmas sweaters. Quynh and Lykon were snuggled up on either side of them, feeding them something from a thermos flask and adjusting the heated blankets.
“Room for two more?” Andy grinned, curling up next to Quynh and gesturing at Joe to sit. “What’s that?” Joe asked, sliding under Lykon’s side of the blanket and pointing at the steaming drink in the thermos.
“I made apple cider earlier and left it in the instant pot,” Lykon replied. “It was still hot.”
Lykon held the drink to Nile’s lips. She took a large sip, sighing happily. Joe made a mental note to pour himself some cider if he ever got out from under this heated blanket.
Just then, Nicky walked out of the kitchen, balancing a large tray in his hands. “Soup time! Everyone sit up, let’s eat.”
Joe blinked, wondering how his husband had had the presence of mind to immediately go into the kitchen and make soup, of all things. He himself was still recovering from the last hour’s ordeal.
Nicky tutted disapprovingly. “Boss, get changed. Joe, you too. Why would you think it’s a good idea to get under an electric blanket in wet clothes?”
Andy grimaced, throwing her jacket and t-shirt on the floor and snuggling up to Quynh in just her bra. Quynh tugged Andy closer.
Nicky turned to Joe, raising an eyebrow. “Habibi?”
Joe pulled a face. “Do you have any sweatpants left for me?”
“Always.” Nicky ruffled Joe’s curls. “My gray university ones are in the dryer. They’ll still be warm if you hurry.”
Joe got up, returning two minutes later in the gray sweatpants and a black tank top he stole off of Andy’s dresser. He hastily dove back under Lykon’s heated blanket.
In the middle of the couch, swaddled in blankets and eating soup, Nile and Booker were looking much more alive. The color returned to their cheeks, intensifying as Nicky began to scold them.
“Booker, what the fuck were you thinking?” he demanded.
“I don’t know! You said to distract Nile, and she wanted to have a snowball fight. So I said yes!”
“Why didn’t you just go to the park?”
“I thought driving out to the mountain pass would buy you guys more time. It was a bad idea. I’m sorry.”
“You could have died, Book! Just because we’re immortal doesn’t mean we can play with our lives like that. Not to mention, you put Nile in danger!”
Quynh sat up, reaching for Nicky’s hands. She swiped her thumbs over his knuckles in a soothing gesture. “Hey, lay off him, would you? They’ve had a tough night.”
“But what if-”
“No what-ifs, Nicky. It’s alright. They’re safe. Now put the rest of that soup down and come here.”
Nicky sighed in secret gratitude. This was not a night he wanted to be left to follow his thoughts. “Fine.”
He squeezed onto the futon between Quynh and Nile, accepting the blanket Andy threw over him. He wrapped his arms around Nile, who snuggled closer.
“Nicky?” she mumbled after a moment.
“Hmm?”
“If you’re not still angry, can I ask you a question?”
Nicky pulled back to look at her. “Sorellina, I’m so sorry. I was never angry at you. Nor at Booker, really. Just a bit worried.”
“Yeah,” Joe piped up from the other end of the couch. “He gets mean when he’s scared.”
“I am not mean,” Nicky insisted. “Nile, what was it you wanted to ask?”
“Why did Booker say you wanted him to distract me? Distract me from what?”
Lykon laughed. “Should we tell her, Nicky, or do we plan to try again tomorrow?”
“We lost the tree, so I think we should just tell her,” Joe voted sleepily.
“You just don’t want to carry another tree,” Booker accused.
“Easy for you to say!” Quynh jumped in. “Next time, I’ll distract her, and you can walk a mile in the snow with plastic pine needles in your face.”
“Okay, that’s enough,” Andy said, lips twitching. “No more attempts. Jesus wasn’t actually born on this day, anyway. I was there.”
Nicky blinked at her, and then rapidly shook his head to clear it. He looked at Nile. “We were trying to surprise you with a Christmas party. Remember last Thursday, when you were telling us how your family celebrated it back home?”
“Yeah.”
“We wanted to recreate all the same traditions. We got a tree, and some ornaments, and stockings with your initials on it, and, uh…”
“Presents! And that Christmas music you like,” Joe added.
“Yes, and Nicky was going to make cookies shaped like reindeer,” Quynh said.
“Also,” Lykon pointed to a folded-up tripod in the corner, “we were going to take family photos in our sweaters and put them on postcards. Copley said we can’t send them to anyone, but we could still make some.”
Booker sighed. “Sorry I ruined it, Nile. I thought- wait, are you crying?!”
Nile sniffled, turning away from Booker to tuck her face under the blanket. “No.”
“Oh, honey,” Quynh cooed. We can still do it all tomorrow, if you want…”
“It’s not that,” Nile croaked. “It’s just- You guys did all that just to surprise me?”
“It’s nothing,” Nicky assured. “Well, it’s really nothing now, but even if everything had gone according to plan, it still wouldn’t have been any trouble. It’s your first Christmas with us, and we wanted it to be memorable.”
“You’re the best,” Nile said, voice choked with emotions. “All of you. And this is the best Christmas Eve ever. Thank you.”
“Hush,” Andy smirked. “In this house, we show gratitude by not dying unnecessarily.”
“Oh, that was all Booker’s fault,” Nile countered smoothly. “I would have been content with a snowball fight in the park.”
“Really loving the underside of this bus,” Booker muttered as the others laughed.
Over the next hour, the lighthearted conversation drifted into sleepy silence. By the time Nicky thought to ask who would turn off the lights, Joe was only half-pretending to be fast asleep.
#the old guard#joe x nicky#fanfiction#kavi writes#tog fanfic#fluff#hurt/comfort#found family#platonic cuddling#holiday season#lykon#nile freeman#andy#booker#yusuf al kaysani#nicolo di genova#quynh#yes quynh is alive as well!!
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The President Wears Prada (William Nylander) | Epilogue 2: A Queen’s Crown
A/N: I know this one is a bit short. One more epilogue to go, and if you missed my update, it will be posted THIS WEDNESDAY at 7:30pm. We’re ending the disaster that was 2020 with Aberdeen and Willy!
January 2023
Aberdeen Bloom was freaking the fuck out.
Anna Wintour just walked into the room.
“Miss Bloom! Hello,” she greeted, her signature accent filling the room as her dress swayed back and forth. Every stylish, her boots clacked against the floor as she approached the photographer and set where Aberdeen was about to pose on a beautifully crafted, eccentrically pink upholstered couch in front of styled bookcases holding hundred-year-old editions of books.
“Hello Ms. Wintour,” Aberdeen said as confidently as she could, shaking Anna’s hand. Her own dress – a black, high-neck midi-length dress with sheer long sleeves and hand applied golden crystals she was styled in that morning – sparkled in the light of the room. “It’s an honour to meet you. Thank you for the profile.”
“It’s not every day a woman sets a record in the writing world,” Anna said. “I would be a fool not to profile the youngest person to ever receive a Booker Prize for fiction.”
Aberdeen smiled. Every time she heard that – the youngest person to ever receive a Booker Prize for fiction – she had to pinch herself. She truly believed her life wasn’t real over these past few years. Most authors dreamt of being nominated for awards. Her first book was longlisted for the two biggest literary awards in Canada. Her second book, published by Coach House again but then picked up by Knopf and published internationally, had won the two biggest literary awards in Canada and had just won the Booker Prize for Fiction, the most prestigious literary award in the world. She was living in a dream world.
“And you must be the new fiancé,” Anna said, motioning over to where William was standing just out of shot, watching the photoshoot about to begin. “Pleasure to meet you. You must be in town to face the Rangers.”
“You as well,” William approached her to shake her hand. “You made my fiancée’s dream come true with this profile.”
“Well considering how fashionable she’d been on the book tour,” Anna shrugged her shoulders, as if to say it was so obvious to have her in the pages of Vogue. “I know some of the editors here kept tabs on it. Did you employ a stylist?”
“No ma’am,” Aberdeen giggled slightly. If Anna Wintour was about to compliment her on her style, she was going to drop dead.
“Impressive,” Anna nodded. “Now let’s see the ring.”
Aberdeen held out her left hand. Anna inspected the ring like a gemologist. When William proposed with it, Aberdeen was blown away. He’d designed it himself. A 4 carat round diamond in a twisted halo design and pavé band. It quite literally looked like a flower in bloom. And for Aberdeen’s eyes only, an inscription on the inside of the band in the most delicate handwriting. “Stunning,” she said, turning to the photographer. “Make sure you get it.”
“Of course, Ms. Wintour.”
Anna side-stepped to inspect the set. She took one last look at Aberdeen in her dress and high heels and perfectly waved hair and perfectly applied makeup. Anna gave her an up-down and suddenly Aberdeen became nervous. Anna looked towards the stylist. “We need a crown. Crowns.”
“Crown? Crowns? Multiple?”
“Her novel is titled A Queen’s Crown. She’s the youngest woman – person – to win the Booker Prize for fiction. Surely she should wear a crown in her photoshoot.”
“I—I’ll go into the closet,” the stylist nodded, hurrying out of the room.
Anna turned once more to Aberdeen. “Enjoy.”
***
March 2023
“I’m not about to be murdered by Orla Bloom for not having our wedding in a Catholic Church,” William said as he stuffed pasta into his mouth at the dinner table.
“But you’re not Catholic,” Aberdeen tried to explain to him, again. “You don’t understand what we’ll have to go through to get married in a Catholic Church. There are classes – like legit marriage classes we have to take. And we have to get, like, permission from the diocese to enter into the marriage and follow a Catholic wedding forma—”
“Listen to me,” William said, interrupting her. He grabbed her hand from across the table to calm her down. He knew how stressed she was getting about getting married, if only because there was Toronto and Sweden and Northern Ireland and Scotland to deal with. That didn’t even factor in hockey, making them only really able to have the wedding within a twelve-week span of the year. That also didn’t factor in her job, which, between book tours and interviews and appearances and writing her next, also created limited time and availability for their wedding date. But when she felt his hand wrap around hers, he saw her visibly relax. “I love you. We could go down to the courthouse right now to get married. But this means a lot to Orla. And I know you won’t say it, but I know how much this means to you, to be married in the same church you went to as a kid in Etobicoke,” he said softly. “So we’re doing it there. No ifs, and, or buts. I’ll take any class I have to in order to marry you. I’ll donate. Give my blood. Whatever. We’re getting married there.”
Aberdeen couldn’t take it. She got up from her seat and moved to sit in William’s lap. She didn’t care that they were at the dinner table, and she didn’t care that William had to push back his chair really quickly to accommodate her. All she wanted to do was melt into him completely. “Thank you so much,” she whispered against his lips as she kissed him. “I love you. You know that, right?”
William smiled. “I do. And I love you too. That’s why I gave you that ring.”
***
TALK OF THE TOWN: Booker Prize-winning and Toronto-based author Aberdeen Bloom and William Nylander (you know, of the Toronto Maple Leafs) just bought “the last lot on the Kingsway” – an old 1970s style bungalow empty for some time now. Sources say the couple plan to tear it down (of course) and build their dream home, a Scandinavian-inspired house where Bloom will no doubt produce her next great novels. Bloom and Nylander will be two blocks away from her former and his current boss, Brendan Shanahan, President of the Toronto Maple Leafs. Bloom has always said in interviews that she will never leave Toronto, so it’s fitting that the girl who was born and raised in Etobicoke would buy on one of the city’s most exclusive and coveted streets.
***
May 2023
“Vogue is coming to the wedding? Vogue?! Like…Vogue magazine?!” Aleida asked as she fed a now two-year-old Helena sitting in a high chair. Aberdeen smiled wryly before nodding her head. Aleida was still dumbfounded. “Like…Anna Wintour Vogue magazine. That Vogue magazine.”
“That Vogue magazine,” Aberdeen nodded. “They’re profiling it for an issue, along with my dress fitting. And then when the house is done, they’re going to do a feature on that too.”
Aleida looked towards Bee, who was just as shocked as Aleida was. “We need to go shopping for new dresses.”
“We definitely need to go shopping for new dresses,” Bee agreed. “I better let Aryne know too.”
“Guys, it’s still like, two years away. We set the date for August 23rd, 2025,” Aberdeen smiled as she reminded them. “You will have plenty of time. Plenty.”
“I don’t know about that. Weddings creep up on you quick,” Bee joked. Aberdeen completely understood where she was coming from. Bee and Morgan were getting married in July. William and Aberdeen were invited, of course, and would be going. Bee spoke a lot about the planning the past few months and always gave updates whenever the girls were all together. “I mean, I thought a year would be plenty of time for the wedding. And it is, don’t get me wrong…but it definitely came sooner than I thought!”
“You need to get the venue sorted now before anything else,” Aleida offered. “You’re two years out so you should honestly have your choice in place. But I don’t think there’s any venue in this city that would turn you down.”
“We’ve already booked,” Aberdeen smiled wryly. She was just full of surprises for the girls today. They looked at her, waiting for a response. “The Aria ballroom at the Four Seasons,” she revealed.
“Ooooooooooh,” both women cooed simultaneously at the revelation. Even Helena join in on the sound. “That will look stunning,” Aleida commented. “I can see it now – those floor-to-ceiling windows with flowers hanging and—”
“—don’t forget the drapery over the dancefloor—” Bee offered.
“—the drapery over the dancefloor—”
“—and the centrepieces…big, tall arrangements that stretch up—”
“Ladies, ladies, ladies,” Aberdeen held her hands up gently, causing Bee and Aleida to stop momentarily. Aberdeen paused for dramatic effect. “We’ve gotta write all this stuff down.”
The girls smiled and wiggled in their seats excitedly. “I’m giving you Rachel’s number,” Bee said, immediately mentioning her florist. “Your last name’s Bloom. There’s gotta be a shit ton of flowers at this wedding.”
***
July 2023
Aberdeen had tears in her eyes as she watched Morgan and Bee say “I do”. William had been holding her hand throughout the entire ceremony, rubbing the back of it gently with his own thumb. When they finally had their first kiss, it was the only point he let go so he could whistle loudly and clap and cheer. Bee looked extraordinary in her lace dress. Aberdeen could only imagine what would be in store for her when she went wedding dress shopping.
When the reception began, Aberdeen couldn’t help but get even more emotional. Knowing what Bee had gone through in her life, and seeing her dance with Morgan for their first dance made some tears fall down her cheeks. William noticed almost immediately, even though he was behind her; he wrapped his arms around her waist tightly and nestled his head onto her shoulder. “That’ll be us soon,” he whispered.
Aberdeen nodded her head. “I know. I’m so excited.”
“I love you so much. I can’t wait for you to be my wife.”
“And I can’t wait for you to be my husband.”
“And baby daddy. Don’t forget baby daddy,” he joked.
Aberdeen giggled. She knew he said that to make her laugh, because even though these were tears of joy, he didn’t like to see her cry. “Baby daddy too,” she nodded. “I can’t wait to have a thousand more little Nylanders running around Etobicoke.”
“We’re going to take over the world.”
***
August 23rd, 2025
Aberdeen looked at her dad as he held his arm out for her to grab. He looked so spiffy in his suit, and every time she saw him today, he had a giant smile on his face. It hadn’t left since their early morning wake up call to get hair and makeup done. He’d cried when he saw her in her dress for the first time. Now, if it was even possible, his smile was even wider. “Ready, sweetheart?” he asked.
Aberdeen nodded, linking her arm with her father’s. “I love you so much, dad.”
“I love you too, Aberdeen. Every day I thank my lucky stars for you and Siena and Camden. You’ve brought so much light to my life.”
Aberdeen’s bridesmaids had already walked out – Jacquie, Stephanie, Daniella, Kasha, and Siena as her maid of honour. She knew Alex would be standing beside William at the front of the aisle, with Camden (now a smart-as-a-whip-16 year old) and some of his cousins there too. The music began playing. She took a deep breath. The doors opened.
As she walked down the aisle with her father, she saw a lot of familiar faces. Morgan and Bee, of course, cradling a six-month-old Andy. Fred and Aleida, with a four-year-old Helena in the cutest little tutu-style dress. Auston, John and Aryne, Zach and Alannah, Joe with his wife and kids, Pierre, Rasmus, Mitch and Steph, Jake, Courtney, and Luna, Justin and Audrey – so many of the Leafs. Beth Zadakis. Her editor from Coach House Books. Her editor from Knopf. Jason, Jennifer, and their four girls. Brendan and his wife. Her grandparents, who came in all the way from Northern Ireland. Michael and Camilla. Her mom.
And of course, William. William, who was wiping tears away from his eyes. William, who looked so dapper in his tux. William.
Her William.
#william nylander#william nylander imagine#william nylander fic#william nylander fan fic#toronto maple leafs#toronto maple leafs imagine#toronto maple leafs fic#toronto maple leafs fan fic#william nylander blurb#toronto maple leafs blurb#nhl#nhl imagine#nhl fic#nhl fan fic#nhl blurb#hockey#hockey imagine#hockey fic#hockey fan fic#hockey blurb#the president wears prada series
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we run with the wolves in the shadows
“So how many times did you actually kill each other before you realized you couldn’t die?”
Joe looks up at the sound of Nile asking both he and Nicky a question.
Nicky shrugs like he doesn’t remember but Joe knows he does, because how could he forget such a thing, but before he can answer, Nicky does.
“Enough.”
Joe nods his agreement and Nile looks like she’s about to argue with them but decides not to when Andy pokes her head into the living room.
“They were alive when I found them, so killing each other was a moot point.”
“Okay, but you dreamed of each other right?” Nile asks this question to Andy, who answers with more patience than Joe’s ever seen her have.
Nicky nods towards their room and Joe follows, glad to be escaping the questions for now.
“We can’t avoid him forever.” Nicky says before the door is fully shut, picking up their earlier discussion of finding Booker.
Joe has been steadily avoiding the conversation for the last five months, but with Nile’s questions and Andy’s mortality, they can’t avoid it forever, or even the hundred years they told him.
“We can.”
“You are being petulant.”
Joe pouts and Nicky crosses the room and pulls Joe to his chest. Joe goes willingly as he kisses Nicky.
“Fine, I assume you found him?”
“He’s in France.”
Joe snorts, because Booker is nothing but not predictable.
“Of course he is.”
“We’ll leave in the morning.”
~~~
Telling Andy and Nile that they were leaving the safe house for a couple of days was easier than Joe thought.
Although, if he’s being honest, he’s pretty sure Andy knows where they’re headed.
“All the beautiful places in Paris and he picks this place?” Joe snarks as he pulls his sunglasses down to look at the building they tracked Booker to.
“His son lived here.” Nicky says quietly. Joe looks at him sharply.
“You remember where his son lived over three hundred years ago but now how many times we killed each other?”
Nicky looks back at him sharply. “It was four times, Yusuf, and it’s not that I don’t remember. It’s that I don’t want to.”
Joe grabs Nicky’s hand, suddenly choked up, and squeezes.
“Amore.” Joe whispers as he puts his forehead against Nicky’s and Nicky squeezes his hand back.
“C’mon. We have to go to the market, you know he hasn’t eaten a proper meal in months.”
Joe chuckles, loving Nicky even more.
“Lead the way.”
~~~
“This place is really a shit hole.” Joe says as they walk up the stairs to Booker’s apartment. Nicky scowls at him and knocks on the door.
They hear shuffling coming from inside the apartment , what sounds like bottles falling to the floor, and Joe winces at a loud crash while Nicky sighs.
“What?” Booker says gruffly as he pulls open the door and then stares at them incredulously.
“Sebastien.” Nicky says as he shoulders his way into the apartment. “This place is filthy. Where is the kitchen?”
Booker points towards a doorway and Nicky nods his head and disappears.
“Booker.” Joe claps him on the shoulder and walks past him to sit on the couch.
“What are you doing here?”
“I’m gonna watch the game.” Joe puts his feet up and lifts up the remote. “You pay the bill?”
Booker nods wordlessly and Joe finds the right channel and settles in.
“Is Andy?” Booker looks away and then looks back at Joe.
“Everyone’s fine.”
“And you two?” Booker looks towards the sounds coming from the kitchen.
“We are here.”
“Yeah. But why?”
“We will explain after you eat.” Nicky says as he appears with a plate of antipasto. “And after you drink this. And this.” Nicky places two water glasses in front of Booker and Booker nods his thanks.
“Is this?”
“Don’t be silly. This is a snack. I’ll be back.” Nicky leaves as quickly as he came and Joe chuckles as he steals some meat and cheese.
“You really thought this was all he was going to feed you?”
“No.” Booker smiles as he drinks his water.
“So you’re not going to tell me why you’re here?”
“Not yet. C’mon, I wanna watch France lose.”
Booker throws a pillow at him and Joe smirks.
~~~
In what feels like no time at all Nicky is balancing three bowls of some kind of pasta salad in his arms as he comes back into the living room.
“I couldn’t make a sauce like I wanted and I know you’re hungry.” Nicky says as he hands Booker his bowl and sits down next to Joe.
“It’s okay. Thanks.”
“You need better pots and pans.” Nicky waves his hands towards the kitchen as Joe laughs.
“He doesn’t really cook, Nicolò.”
“Still.” Nicky looks pointedly at Booker. “We taught you better.”
“Yeah, yeah.” Booker says around a mouthful of pasta as he shovels more food into his mouth. Nicky looks on disapprovingly but starts eating himself.
“I didn’t expect to see either of you.” Booker says quietly, much closer to sober than when they arrived.
Joe sighs, and figures they should just have the conversation now instead of putting it off for even longer. Nicky nods his head at Joe and Joe leans forward so his hands are on his knees.
“We’re…” Joe starts and Nicky coughs so Joe starts again. “I’m still mad, but we want you to come back.”
“Why?”
“Because you’re family.” Nicky answers.
“You still said a hundred years.”
“We were angry.”
Booker scoffs and looks away.
“Sebastien.” Joe says and Booker looks at him with surprise on his face. Joe hasn’t called Booker by his birth name in over a century.
“When we were taken, Nicky wasn’t waking up in the van.” Joe clears his throat as Nicky squeezes his hand. Booker looks stricken but Joe continues. “Terror, like I haven’t known in hundreds of years, gripped me. And then, when we were fighting in the lab, Keane shot Nicky in the head.”
Joe looks over at Nicky and leans his forehead against Nicky’s briefly before turning back to Booker who has tears in his eyes.
“He didn’t wake up right away and I thought…”
“Joe.”
“No.” Joe wipes at his own eyes. “I need to say this.”
Booker nods at him and Joe continues.
“I don’t even know what I thought to be honest. It was just terror and anguish. He’s been hurt before, even by my own hand, but never like that.”
“Not by you.” Nicky murmurs and Joe smiles slightly.
“I don’t ever want to feel like that again. And then I realized, through my anger, that you do feel like that. About your family, your wife, and your sons.”
Booker let’s out an exhale and slumps forward in his chair.
“We still don’t trust you. And I don’t know how long that will take, but we need our family together, while Andy is still with us.”
“Has she?”
“She doesn’t have to.” Nicky says and Booker nods. “But we can’t let our feelings keep you from her, when we don’t know what will happen.”
“Thank you.”
Joe nods. “You’re also the only one who can help Nile.”
Booker looks questioningly at Joe and Joe smiles sadly.
“We don’t.” Joe clears his throat. “We don’t remember what it’s like to have family still living and not be able to see them.” Joe scoots closer to Nicky and Nicky leans into him. “We don’t know how to help her.”
“And you think I can?”
“We were the ones who pushed for your exile. Andy said she’d already forgiven you and Nile said that the two of you had connected but left it up to us. So, if you want, I think you can help her.”
“Okay.” Booker smiles and Joe feels lighter than he has in months. “But first I need a shower.”
Nicky laughs, bright and happy.
“You really do.”
~~~
Joe unlocks the door to the safe house and smiles when he hears Andy and Nile bickering.
“Honey! We’re home!” Joe shouts through the house smiling at Nicky’s laughter and Booker’s snort.
“You gonna tell us where you two went?” Andy says as she rounds the corner into the entryway and pauses mid stride when she sees Booker.
“Book.” Andy breathes out as Booker hugs her. Andy mouths ’thank you’ at them and Joe and Nicky nod in return.
“Hey, kid.” Joe hugs Nile and she scoffs at the nickname before she goes to hug Nicky and then Booker.
Joe’s about to ask Andy if they missed anything when the computer Copley gave Nile let’s out a shrill sounding alarm.
“Shit.” Nile runs over and furiously starts typing.
“What happened?” Nicky says as they all crowd closer to her.
Nile turns the computer around to face them and it feels like Joe’s been sucker punched. He looks quickly to Nicky and Andy, and they look the same as he feels, while Booker’s mouth is hanging open.
“I set up alarms for the computer to notify me if it ever found anything. Keywords and such.”
Joe reads the article Nile has displayed on the screen and right there in bold letters it says:
“Fishing Boat Captain finds an Iron Maiden on one of their voyages.”
But that’s not what has them all staring. No. It’s the photo of the Captain with the Iron Maiden and off to the side there’s a woman looking at the camera.
“Quynh.”
#joe x nicky#the old guard#i really just wanted nicky to italian mother hen booker#and to see booker and joe watch sports and bond#my favorite found family
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30 Days to 70k - Camp Nano July 2022
Post Seventeen for the 31st of July...
And that's the end of the line, at least for Camp! ^_^
I just made the 70k I started the month aiming for (71,821 total). I didn't quite beat my record for a nano month, but I was only about 400 words short of that.
And while I didn't reach the 75k I'd hoped for, or complete the manuscript, I'm not counting either of those as a bad thing. Through the month my story expanded slightly, as it's wont to do, and the third act outline had to be entirely rewritten, leaving me with a total manuscript word count of 90,585. So far.
So what's next?
I'm giving myself the first week of August to finish Changeling's first draft. I still have seven chapters to write, based on my current outline, and as an estimate that's about 20k words. It should be about a chapter a day.
If I go over a little, I do, but I'm certainly going to try not to as the moment Changeling's first draft is finished, I need to move immediately into the first draft of it's sequel, Darkling.
I'm hoping to start working on Darkling by August 8th, and my deadline for that manuscript is Halloween because I'd rather love the parallels of beginning the third book in the trilogy for Nanowrimo in November.
It's going to be a busy couple of months for me, so while Camp Nano might be over, the writing is not.
How did everyone else do during July? Did you meet your goals? Work on your projects? Or take the month to refuel?
Lemme know!
And now for a final sneak peek... <3
Changeling - Sneak Peek!
"Look," Lizzy sighed, "I don't know what you're trying to—"
"I'm not trying to do anything," he reassured gently, but his eyes were sharp as he watched her, "If you have no interest in my friend, then you do not. It is that simple." Nameer paused, before he grinned at her again, "But having said that, you made no attempt at denying an interest," he teased, "in fact your only reaction was to mention your other plans... I can't say this doesn't give me hope."
Lizzy stared at him in silence. She could feel her eyes widen, her lips still parted on words that his observations had silenced, and her heart was hammering in her chest hard enough to be almost painful.
"I— I don't—"
She tore her gaze away from Nameer, and let her eyes skitter across the grounds, releasing a shaky breath. Booker had let the matter drop, even Cara had backed down, but this hunter who she'd never spoken to before had cut her excuse off at the knees, and she didn't know what to say.
Lizzy shook her head sharply, brushing aside swirling thoughts of Andric Roche. "I don't have time for this," she breathed, bracing herself and turning back to the hunter.
#am writing#Nanowrimo#Camp Nanowrimo#Camp Nano 2022#July Camp Nano#July Camp Nano 2022#July Camp Nanowrimo 2022#July Camp Nanowrimo#Camp Nanowrimo 2022#Writeblr#Writeblr Community#Writing#Writing Community#Fey Touched Trilogy#Ari Speaks#Arista Speaks#25k in 4 days#35k in 10 days#50k in 18 days#55k in 20 days#60k in 25 days#70k in 30 days#Camp Nanowrimo Winner#Nanowrimo Winner
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Propmt: Century has passed and the team reunites with Booker... I need some angst and more fics about Booker.
Booker knows there’s someone in his apartment the second he opens the door. There are no obvious signs, no evidence to point to someone having broken in despite the fact that Booker had the only key, but Booker knew. He knew it in his gut, in the way his skin hummed at the other man’s presence. You couldn’t spend hundreds of years in someone’s pocket without gaining some intrinsic awareness of them. So Booker knew there was someone there and he knew who it was before he even got the door closed.
He dropped his keys on the table and put his bags down, kicked off his shoes and hung up his coat and scarf. When he got to the kitchen the other man was exactly where he expected him to be, in the most comfortable chair, drinking Booker’s very expensive coffee.
“Joe,” Booker greeted.
“Booker.”
It had been ten years since they last saw each other, ten years since the situation with Quynh was resolved, ten years since Joe looked him in the eye and said, “Ninety-nine more.”
“You’re early.” Booker fussed with the coffee maker as he made himself a cup. If he was staring at the coffee maker he didn’t have to look at Joe.
“So I am,” Joe remarked idly. He sounded like a stranger. Booker had had decades to familiarize himself with Joe’s behavior and he thought he’d known him as well as anyone other than Nicky could know the man but the person sitting at his table was an unknown.
Joe was silent until Booker sat down. “I have questions.”
Booker exhaled roughly and nodded. “Ask them.” He braced himself for an outburst.
It didn’t come. Joe sipped his coffee calmly and stared him down across the table. “Why did you not say anything?” Booker cocked his head in confusion, caught off guard by the question. “You made a deal with Copley, with Merrick, to turn us over to science. Why didn’t you tell us? Why the scheming and theatrics?”
Booker rubbed at his forehead, his eyes searching the counter tops for the alcohol he’d left there this morning. But the counter was bare and Joe was waiting for an answer. He sipped his coffee. “I didn’t know what the three of you would say,” he confessed. It was a terrible answer, he knew, but it was the truth.
“Something you could have found out by talking to us,” Joe pointed out. “Instead you sold us out, set up and ambush, arranged for Nicky and I to be kidnapped, and for Andy and yourself to be locked up with us.” He tilted his head slightly, like he was trying to view Booker in a different light to see if it revealed any more answers. “Why go to all that trouble if you were planning to reveal yourself as the traitor anyway?”
Booker laughed harshly. “I’m a coward, Joe. I was a coward in my first life and I’ve been a coward in every life since. I wanted to die, I want to die, and that was the first real shot I thought I could have and I didn’t want to bring it to you and have you shut me down.”
Joe shrugged. “You could have gone yourself, handed yourself over to Merrick and his scientists. You didn’t need us. If you wanted to be a lab rat so bad, they would have taken you.”
Booker stared at the table. “They wanted all of us.”
“Only because you told them about us.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Copley already knew?” Booker shrugged. “He got Merrick on board by mentioning a team of unkillable soldiers so Merrick wanted all of us.”
“So it was Copley, not you.” It wasn’t a question and Booker hated Joe for it. He wanted Booker to cast the blame on someone else, to prove that he was still a coward.
“I told Copley,” Booker admitted quietly. “He found me and I told him it was all of us.”
Joe hummed and took a long sip of his coffee. It was apparently the last of it because he stood up and started making another. “Why did you work with Copley in the first place?”
“I told you. I wanted to die.”
“But how could help you? Merrick’s involvement, I understand. He had the resources to perform the science necessary to maybe find answers. But Copley doesn’t. So why Copley?” He leaned against the counter, arms crossed, as his coffee brewed. Booker ached to fidget under his careful but held himself still.
“He came to me,” Booker told him. “Said he wanted to help people and he thought I could help him do it.” He paused to take a sip of his coffee. It had cooled a little, no longer hot enough to burn his mouth, and he briefly considered heating it up again. “That’s what we do right? Try to help people?”
Joe made a considering noise as he sat back down with his full cup. “So Copley reaches out to you, tells you he wants your help helping people, and you sign on without a word to any of us. Then he teams up with a man with too much money and too many scientists and tells you that he could try to find the secret to our immortality and therefore a way to rid us of it and you don’t say a word to any of us. You take this information and you agree to do it but they won’t take you alone so you arrange for us to walk into a trap that Copley records for proof of our gifts, you sell out the location of our safe house and permit them to attack us and kidnap me and Nicky, and you walk Andy straight into the hands of Merrick. All without talking to us.” Joe pauses, giving Booker a chance to contradict him but there was nothing to argue so Booker stayed quiet. “All because you wanted to die.”
“Yes.” Joe shook his head, a breath of a scoff on his lips, and Booker started to get angry. “I made a mistake!” He yelled. “I screwed up. I know this, Joe, I know I did, alright? And I can’t fix it, it’s done and in the past. Now, you had questions so I answered them. I’m sorry they weren’t the answers you were looking for but they’re the only ones I have.”
Joe watched him evenly as he spoke, not reacting in any way. Booker wanted to rage against it, wanted to scream and lash out until Joe responded in kind, but the longer they sat there the more he felt himself calming. When his breaths were even again, when his heart rate had settled, Joe stood up, drained his coffee and placed the cup in the sink. He rinsed it out and set it aside to dry, failing to actually clean it like he always did. Booker almost smiled at the familiarity. But when Nicky failed to appear beside him to wash the cup for him with a huff of annoyed fondness, his heart fell.
Lost in his thoughts, he missed Joe crossing the room. Two hands grabbed the sides of his face and tilted him up to meet Joe’s eyes. “We are not made to be alone,” he said softly but firmly. “You especially.” Booker’s eyes burned. Joe pressed his forehead to Booker’s for a brief moment before pulling back to press a quick kiss to his hairline and stepping back. “We are at the monastery.”
The monastery was Nicky’s favorite safe house, half an hour outside of Genoa. Booker had never asked if it had once been Nicky’s home, before he went to war, but he thought it might be. Even if it wasn’t, it was the closest thing any of them had left of their homes before.
“It hasn’t been 100 years.”
“No,” Joe laughed. “It hasn’t.” He slipped on his jacket and wrapped a handmade scarf around his neck. Booker had never seen the scarf before but he recognized the craftsmanship easily; Andy had never really gotten the hang of knitting not matter how hard she tried. “But you are missed. So it’s time to come home.”
Booker lost the battle against his tears and felt them spill over onto his cheeks. Joe waited a moment to let him wipe them away then came back over. He said nothing until Booker looked up and met his eyes.
“If you ever betray us again, if Nicky ever spends a single second under someone’s knife or in chains because of you, I will make you wish for Quynh’s fate.” Joe spoke slowly and calmly, but there was a fire and a steel in his eyes that told Booker he was serious. More than that, if it ever came to it, Joe wouldn’t hesitate, not for a second.
“Understood.”
“Good.” Joe nodded once. “Take your time. We are not planning to leave any time soon.”
Booker didn’t manage to say anything else before Joe was gone.
---
Booker took three days to gather his things and shutter his life in Paris before heading to Genoa.
He hadn’t had a home in a long time but the familiar steps from the airport to the gates of the rundown monastery settled an inch inside him that he’d grown accustomed to over the last decade. If he had a place to call home in this day and age, it was here, with the people that were inside.
Booker hesitated outside the door. He knew Joe had been the primary factor in his hundred year sentence, knew that Nile had forgiven him that day, knew that Nicky couldn’t stay mad for long, knew that Andy was more forgiving in her mortality, knew that Quynh probably didn’t care one way or another, and yet he hesitated.
He sucked in a shuddering breath and let out a steady exhale, letting his anxiety leave him, his shoulders and back releasing their tension, and opened the door. The steps from the entrance to the rooms they’d converted for their own use was familiar, the walkway worn under his feet.
Halfway there he started to hear voices. First, it was Nile’s laugh, crisp and ringing through the air. It was followed by shouts in three different languages and then more laughter. Booker followed the sound like he was being summoned, his feet no longer fully under his control.
The door was open but he stopped just outside and looked in. Nicky was the only one facing him and he caught sight of him immediately. There was a brief look of surprise before a genuine smile pulled at his lips. He nodded to Booker in greeting. Joe was sitting next to him, arguing something with Nile, and Nicky took his hand and pressed a kiss to his knuckles without interrupting the conversation. A moment later, Andy stopped talking to Quynh mid-word and stood, spinning to face the door, her hand on her gun. She froze and lowered the gun. “Book?”
The other conversations ceased immediately, the sudden silence ringing in the air.
“Joe said you were here,” Booker explained. Andy and Nile turned on Joe, disbelief on their faces. Joe shrugged but didn’t offer any explanation. Nicky hadn’t yet let of his hand and squeezed it gently. “I can g-”
“No,” Andy cut him off. “You’re here. Stay.” She started towards him and Booker met her in the middle, their arms going around each other for a hug. “Welcome home, Booker.”
#so this is...not what you asked for...sorry#the old guard#tog fic#booker#sebastien le livre#joe#yusuf al kaysani#idk how to tag them lol#my fic#Anonymous
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“Now all I can think of is Booker helping Nile dress...”
Thanks and huge shoutout to @wolfshavenokings for this brilliant Book of Nile idea of Booker lacing Nile into a corset for a mission. Of how he probably loved doing it for his wife back before his first death. Because he’s an Acts of Service, Sad Frenchman of a dude who loves the beauty of women’s fashion and helping his beloved get ready for her day. The sheer intimacy of it, y’all…I CAN’T.
Nile doesn’t mind dresses in the slightest. In her old life before the immortality hit, she’d wear a lot of them whenever she was on leave from the Marines. It was a great way to psychologically differentiate her time off during enlistment. So it’s not the fancy dress she has to wear for the Victorian-era themed costume party she needs to infiltrate for a mission that’s the problem.
It’s the corset.
In all of her nearly 200 years of existence, Nile has never had to wear one. Actually, scratch that; technically, she’s worn lingerie bustiers when she wants to get fancy during her and Booker’s sexy fun times. But to be honest, he usually strips her of out of it pretty damn quick in the midst of them getting down and dirty. The prospect of wearing a corset for hours on end underneath a late Victorian era dress that weighs a hell of a lot? That’s where the problem lies.
She vaguely remembers how Elizabeth Swann from those pirate movies of her childhood constantly complained about them. She’s watched how the actresses in those historical costume dramas stand ramrod straight in every scene they’re in. How they always complain about the restrictive movement during their 12+ hours of shooting days in the behind-the-scenes extras.
“That’s because no one knows how to properly lace someone into one anymore,” Booker mutters when Nile complains about the prospect of wearing one. She’s flopped down on the couch next to him in their safehouse in Turin. It’s been only a few minutes since she’s gotten off the holo-call briefing on the mission with Copley the Seventh. “I’ll let you know when I need you on that one,” Nile lets out a huffed chuckle. She presses a quick kiss to him where he’s sitting slouched and thumbing through his holo-tablet “That’s not exactly a skill set anyone’s used for the last three centuries or so, you know.”
“You’re right,” he shrugs. “It takes a mindful hand a lot of men don’t bother to hone anymore. The lack of patience is a pity all around.”
Nile nods in agreement, though she doesn’t quite know why. Booker’s always been a deliberate sort. She assumed it was just a facet of his personality versus based on any historical undertaking. She distantly files away his words before she turns on the holo-TV and focuses on the latest comedy sketch show that happens to be on.
A few weeks later, Nile’s standing in front of the mirror of their shared bedroom getting ready for this costume party of a mission.
It turns out that Booker is very good with his hands in this specific scenario. More than she thought possible. While his tugs at the lacings of her custom made, boned corset are firm and assured, he’s gentle with her. Every so often, he lightly places a big, warm hand in between her shoulders to readjust her in order to stand up little straighter. The way he then presses his mouth to the back of her neck, the top of shoulder or along her outer arm comes off as a reward for her patience.
Nile’s eyes flutter closed at his touch. Her gasping inhale at the feel of his scruff against her skin causes him to smile against her every time.
“This isn’t as bad as I thought it would be,” she sighs with quiet surprise.
Booker lightly trails the pads his thumbs along her back before he pulls in the lacings a bit more. “It’s muscle memory for the most part,” he softly replies.
Nile doesn’t say anything, recognizing that far off tone of voice he gets whenever an old memory is stirred up. Nowadays, it doesn’t sound nearly as despondent as it used to be when she first met him. Certainly nothing like his haunted confession of how he lost his family to time during their first heart-to-heart in the cave after Joe and Nicky were kidnapped by Merrick’s men.
He instead sounds factual and focused as he hums, “I would do this for Eugénie every morning whenever I was home.”
It’s like he knows Nile is going to let out a worried gasp at the mention of his wife as he pauses to slide a hand up and down her arm. At the same time, she reaches back to take it, running her thumb along his knuckles.
This is why he loves her, why he’s so devoted. For she’s never treated any mention of his wife and children as something to be kept to himself. Quite the opposite, for she refuses to allow him to suppress his memories. It turns out that having that outlet grants him the ability to also relish the good recollections he has of them. As the decades march on, he’s remembering more and more of them rather than refusing to have his mind to pull them up. It goes a long way towards how he copes with it all.
Even though he’s paused in lacing her in, Nile never lets go of his hand. “I thought servants would dress the lady of the house back then?” she casually asks.
That he’s able to chuckle at her reply is a good sign. “Oh, chérie,” he drops his nose into her shoulder for a moment. It allows his gaze to capture hers in the mirror in front her. Nile’s lips are slightly parted, her chest slowly rising and falling where it’s so beautifully framed within the elaborate bodice. “You think we were anywhere near rich enough to have a lady’s maid, hmm?”
Nile grins, “I guess not.”
“Nevertheless, even if we were afforded such a luxury,” Booker’s eyes return their rapt attention to her back as he sets his hands on the lacings again. He threads them through another couple of rows of the reinforced holes before he flattens them with a brush of his fingers down her spine. Nile’s breathy exhalation at the contact causes a flush to creep up his cheeks. “I would have insisted on helping her prepare for the day. If only to see a woman in such a lovely state.”
The low rumble of his voice sends a warm shiver through Nile. It’s helped along by how he dips his head and grants her a lingering kiss between her shoulder blades.
Huh. Well all of this certainly explains how he’s able to unlace her out of those lingerie bustiers so damn fast…
@wolfshavenokings @love-dont-roam
#book of nile#booker x nile#nile freeman#booker#booker le livre#sebastien le livre#the old guard#tog#drabble#fanfic#fanfiction#the intimacy#of dressing one's beloved#Booker LOVES women's fashion#I mean he's the one who packed clothes for Nile#Including picking out that snazzy green bomber jacket#I might turn this into a longer thing#we'll see
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blame @nicolodigenovas for inspiring me to write this (based on this amazing post)
It was a nice afternoon, clear and sunny, and absolutely perfect for lounging under a tree in the park with his latest read, an intense old italian romance that made him miss his home country. Instead, Nile was leading him across town with a jump in her step, to a tattoo shop of all places. He’d never shown any interest in the idea of them, he barely thought of them as art but the excitement on Nile’s face when she told him she got an apprenticeship with an amazing local tattoo artist he couldn’t say no to her - not after all the medieval literature readings he’d dragged her along to.
The shop itself was nice, large arching windows framing an intricately carved black door with the name painted on the front in a shimmering gold, and even Nicky had to admit he chuckled at it; “A Piece of Immortality,” it was rather poetic he thought.
Nile was practically bouncing through the door, eyes as wide as her smile as the bell chimed, dragging Nicky by the hand inside. Her excitement only seemed to rival his when he found himself pouring over old scriptures late at night in the library, maybe even surpassed it as she immediately dropped Nicky’s hand and ran over to the man at the counter; Nicky couldn’t understand what she said from here, but she was animatedly nodding along to what he was saying, his gaze a bit unsteady as he pulled some pages from behind the counter, much to her delight, as she began to pour over them.
The shop was very open, and Nicky found himself strangely welcomed by the warm colors that contrasted nicely with the cool metal accents adorning the walls and chairs, but more than that he could see Nile working here; he could easily picture her at her own station, completely engrossed in a new project, spending hour after hour learning new tricks and new styles, excitedly helping clients find the perfect thing to put on their bodies forever - though, Nicky could never understand why someone would do such a thing, Nile loved it and he wanted to support her as best he could.
A tall, dark-haired woman emerged from the back room and Nile wasted no time in introducing her to Nicky as Andy, one of the owners of the shop, as she was embraced in a crushing hug. Nicky glanced over at her arm, an amalgamation of black lines and words etched onto her skin; he could see a dragon looping around her arm, it’s body slinking up nearly its entire length, its face painted with a menacing scowl.
“Come on, you have to see the new stuff we’ve been working on and you’re going to love Yusuf’s!” Andy said, giving him a small nod before leading Nile to the back room. She shot him a giddy smile before following after Andy as fast as was professionally appropriate, leaving Nicky alone in the front room, save for the man behind the counter who looked like he’d sooner fall over drunk than actually be able to answer any questions as he paged through a book with glassy eyes, a not so subtly placed flask next to him, and the man sitting in a nearby chair, who nearly took Nicky’s breath away.
He was reclined in the chair, hands behind his head as his eyes trailed over the photos on the wall where there were countless tattoos pictured in so many styles and colors, Nicky almost wasn’t sure where to look but he felt his gaze travel back to the man before him. He was wearing a faded yellow shirt, thick curls tucked under a backwards baseball cap and the deepest brown eyes Nicky had ever seen. However, none of those things compared to the smile he gave Nicky when he turned around, a brilliant and encompassing smile that Nicky was sure put the sun itself to shame. Suddenly he was no longer missing the day he had planned.
Nicky somehow managed a smile back, awkwardly crossing his arms across his chest while he watched the stranger stare up at him, utterly lost in his eyes until he realized the man was actually speaking to him.
“Huh?” Was the only word he could manage, giving his head a small shake.
“You look a little bit lost,” he said, eyes crinkling as he managed another heart-stopping smile.
“Yes, well I’ve never been in a tattoo shop before.” Nicky tried to laugh, but his nerves twisted it into a rather unsettling chuckle. It didn’t help that the man was still smiling up at him, and if he was aware of the way Nicky’s eyes watched him adjust his hat, he didn’t indicate it.
“Ahh, well you certainly look cute when you’re confused.” He winked and Nicky’s breath caught in his throat, which he only just managed to play off as a cough. The man grinned, clearly happy with Nicky’s reaction.
Seconds passed, and then some more and Nicky still couldn’t manage to get words out, his mind circling over the word ‘cute’ like a vulture, except a vulture probably doesn’t have to deal with getting compliments from cute guys and probably sweats less than he was right now. A million things were running through his head, but none of them seemed like good responses, especially to a man as gorgeous as him.
And it was again that Nicky realized too late that the man had said something again. “I am so sorry! What was that?” he asked, kicking himself while he plastered on a smile he knew wouldn’t hide his growing blush.
The man chuckled. “I asked if you were here to get a tattoo,” he said, turning in his chair to face Nicky directly, clearly enjoying how flustered he was getting, wringing his hands together in front of him and eyes flicking back and forth towards him.
NIcky’s eyes widened, his response coming quickly from his mouth. “Oh, definitely not! I don’t really get the whole tattoo thing, I mean I guess you’re here to get one but honestly why even do this?” His hands moved in the air in front of him, voice tinged with a slight annoyance while he eyed the images on the wall, the ghost of a grimace crossing his face.
“And what do you mean by that?” The man’s tone was low, eyes narrowed, but Nicky didn’t seem to notice as he took a step closer to the wall, pointing lazily at the photos.
“It’s like this,” Nicky slipped into a neighboring chair, “most people regret their tattoos later in life, and it’s like the shop says, they’re immortal, they stay on your body forever. And besides that, why would people even choose to put this on their bodies? It’s not even art!”
The man eyed him with growing resentment, lips turned down; Nicky clearly didn’t realize who he was but his words stung nonetheless. His thoughts went to the tattoos that were sprawled across his arms, covered by the sleeves of his shirt, and the tattoos, his tattoos that were displayed on the wall, among those of Andy’s and Booker’s.
“Hm, that sure is something to say to a man in his own tattoo shop,” he spoke carefully, his back rigid and shoulders stiff.
Nicky paused, unsure of what he meant by that when Nile suddenly came running up to him, gripping his arm and giving it a friendly tug. “Yusuf, your new stuff is amazing! The color scheme is perfect, I mean the client is going to love it!”
Nicky gulped.
Oh.
Oh fuck.
He could feel his palms start to sweat and no amount of wiping them against his pants was doing any good. Of course Nicky would meet a cute guy and manage to insult not only him, but his entire livelihood and there was no way he could pretend he didn’t mean every word he had said, not with the way he had said them.
Nile turned to him, oblivious and Nicky rubbed at the stubble on his cheek.
“I see you met Yusuf, isn’t his stuff amazing?” She gestured to the photos on the wall and even though there was no way Nicky could know which were his, his eyes leaned towards the ones with sweeping, careful and thin lines - he could almost picture Yusuf sketching them out on paper with a careful precision.
“Was Yusuf showing it to you?” she asked, moving to stand next to Nicky, her eyes lit up with a familiar passion.
“Not exactly,” Yusuf said flatly.
“Oh, what were you talking about then?”
At Nile’s question, Nicky could feel the shame curl in his stomach and he didn’t even know how to begin to explain to her exactly how badly he fucked up. But apparently he didn’t need to because Yusuf rose from his chair, casually rolling up his sleeves to display arms that were nearly completely covered in tattoos. And Nicky had been right, he could see the similarity between them and the ones of his clients in the photos, though some were no doubt work from his colleagues.
“Nicky here was just telling me how much he doesn’t like tattoos, what was it you said?” Yusuf was nearly glaring at him, arms crossed across his chest and Nicky knew there were no words to make up for what he did. “Oh yes, it was ‘it’s not even art.’”
Nile’s mouth dropped open, eyebrows raised and eyes flicking between the two before Yusuf spoke up again, “I think you should go.”
And Yusuf was right.
Nile placed a hand over Yusuf’s arm, whispering a quick apology to him before pulling Nicky from the shop, her steps hard and purposeful, body tense. Nicky just followed quietly, not even glancing back at Yusuf, whose eyes he could feel watching him as he left the shop just as Andy emerged from the back room with a question on her lips that he was too far to hear, but he didn’t need to hear it to know what it was about.
The afternoon air was cooler than earlier, a little biting against his skin but he barely had time to enjoy it because as soon as they passed the windows, Nile turned to him with an exasperated look. She glanced back towards the shop longingly, taking a moment to collect her thoughts before speaking.
“Nicky why would you say that? I know you’re not like that, you can’t tell me that you really think that,” she said, sounding almost disappointed with hands dropped at her side.
“Nile, I’m so sorry!” He pressed his hands to his chest, eyes pleading as he watched her run a hand over her jacket to smooth the collar, a nervous tick of hers.
“Nicky, this is my job. I just got this apprenticeship!” She gestured to the shop next to them. “You can’t just say stuff like that, I thought you were working past some of that conservative stuff!”
And he had, mostly. There were just some things that were hard to shake off after growing up in a strict catholic household, but that was something he loved about his studies. He loved to be able to study the literature and learn about the religions from around the world, it allowed him to see so much more than he was exposed to when he was younger and he could grow into a more accepting person than he was raised to be.
“I will fix it, okay? I will fix it, Nile, I promise!” He grabbed her hand and she gave him a polite smile and a small nod, letting him leave while she headed back to the shop, hands tucked into her pockets.
And Nicky would figure something out, if not to fix it but at least to give a worthy apology - both to Yusuf and Nile. She didn’t deserve this, and she was right, he was trying to get past some of his conservative ideals and if he was being honest with himself, he wasn’t even completely sure he truly believed in what he said. It had all come out without a second thought and he could still see the pain etched onto Nile’s face and how utterly upset Yusuf was at his words.
He would figure something out, he had to.
#the old guard#the old guard fic#tog fic#tog tattoo au#userlyde#mywriting#its been a hot minute since ive written anything but lyde you inspired me#also ive read through this like 3 times and i guarantee theres still mistakes so oh well
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Prompt for JoexNickyxBooker.
For some reason the group thinks Booker died died in exile. Joe and Nicky are completely broken because of it. They blame themselves for not being there to protect him. But Booker's not dead. (obviously 🙃) He's just been taken and his death faked. Maybe they accidentally find him during a different job and feel even worse because they never looked for him. Lots and lots of comfort 💖
This is definitely not exactly what you asked for, but I hope it is close enough! Enjoy!
~
“Andy, I have some news,” Copley said over the phone. “It’s about Booker.”
“What about him? I only asked for important updates, Copley,” Andy replied, eyeing the safehouse from a distance, noticing the silhouettes of the team peeking through the curtains. There was a pregnant pause before the man finally spoke again.
“I would argue that this is a very important update. He’s dead.”
~
“I think we should check on him,” Nile said as she finished the final braid in her hair. “It’s been eight years, I think it would be beneficial for everyone.”
“No,” Nicky replied, sipping on his tea as he flicked the page of the current novel he was reading. He glanced at Joe, who was already looking at him, and they shared a wry smile.
“Oh come on, are you not curious as to what he’s been up to?” Nile persisted.
“You say that like you haven’t been having secret conversations with him for the last few years.” Andy stared at her, which made the youngest immortal roll her eyes.
“It fell off around two years ago, I haven’t had a wink of communication with him since then,” Nile sighed. “But it’s fine, I guess.”
Andy watched her for a moment more before her phone beeped with an update on their target’s location. “Hustle up, we got him.”
~
“What do you mean, he’s dead?”
“I mean, he’s dead, Andy. I got a video of his body sent to me anonymously,” Copley said dejectedly. “I’ve already had it verified. It’s real.”
“Verified by who? Find out who killed him. Better yet, find out where his body is. The least we can do is give him a proper burial.”
~
By pure chance, they found him.
~
Booker awoke with a pounding in his head and a growl in his stomach, chains rattled around him as he moved his limbs. He felt the dampness of his environment seep through his clothes before he opened his eyes and he sighed.
‘Ah fuck,’ he thought as he tried to piece together how he got here. ‘Here we go again.’
Hearing footsteps approaching he remained as still as possible, wanting to catch his captors by surprise. The heaviness of the footsteps informed him that it was guards approaching, no doubt for another round of experiments and torture. In a twisted way, he knew this was simply karma catching up to him.
Booker wanted nothing more than for his team to show up and whisk him away back home to safety, but he knew they weren’t coming.
The video of his death was of high quality.
High enough to fool the most tech-savvy person Booker knew in Copley.
So it would have definitely fooled Andy.
~
“Sit down, I have news,” Andy walked inside the safehouse and stood in front of the fireplace, arms crossed and face set in stone. The other three scrambled to their preferred seats on the sofa, their furrowed brows awaiting the news. Andy sucked in a breath before opening her mouth, forcing her lips not to quiver. “Booker’s dead.”
The air stilled and grew cold, and not just because it was winter. All the life was sucked out of the room as the three immortals on the sofa processed the news, glancing between each other to see if this was a gag anyone was in on.
Nothing gave.
“Andy, don’t play us.” Nile was the first to speak, the two men beside her silent as statues. “There’s no way.”
“There’s a video. Copley verified it. He’s gone,” Andy whispered and turned to the side, hiding her tears. She had always expected to be the first one to die, never having to suffer in this long life without Booker by her side after spending the previous two hundred years together. But now he was gone, and she had to deal with the rest of her life without him by her side.
Joe and Nicky stood up from the couch and excused themselves, leaving the room with haste. Andy paid them no mind. She knew they were wracked with guilt as she shared the news, especially after pushing the exile to a hundred years and hell, she was too. For this to happen to their most reckless member whilst being away from them made them all feel like utter shit.
Andy was going to find Booker’s body and lay it to rest. Preferably in Marseille, next to his long gone wife and children.
It was the least she could do for her fallen friend.
~
“I told you there was a better way into the compound, Andy!” Joe whispered as he led the team through the dark, moist underground tunnels. “Much more effective than blowing up the front door. You know, considering you don’t know anything about explosives.”
He heard Andy scoff from behind him, amongst the soft thuds of their boots on the concreted ground. “Right. Because the one person who does know something about explosives is fucking dead.”
Silence.
Joe bit his lip and trudged onward. He could not afford to get caught up thinking about Booker when there was a mission to be done. Though, it was his fault for bringing up the man’s area of expertise.
“Light up ahead,” Nicky’s voice pierced his thoughts as they came to a halt. Being this deep underground, Joe could only think they had entered the dungeons, or whatever they called the place they keep prisoners. Dungeon sounded like the right word to describe this archaic setting.
“There’s a body over there,” Joe whispered, his perfect vision noticing the lump of a human form in the darkness, using what light was provided to confirm his suspicions. “I’m going to see if they’re alive.”
~
“Do you believe her?”
“Nico, Andy said-”
“I know what Andy said. Do you believe her?”
Joe sighed and paced the length of their bedroom, running a hand through his curls. There was no reason not to trust Andy, but they did still have their doubts over Copley’s trustworthiness.
“I do. Why wouldn’t I?” Joe stopped pacing and turned to his love. “He shouldn’t have been all alone.”
Nicky looked back at him and frowned. “One hundred years was too much?”
“Booker is dead, Nicky! Dead-dead! Never coming back, perma-dead! Of course it was too much!” Joe shouted before reeling himself back in. It was their decision to push for the exile, so he had no reason to be this upset. But old memories of their time with Booker haunt them, starting as bedsharing in the middle of a Russian winter and ending as him being a loving part of the relationship. “I’m sorry for yelling at you.”
“It’s alright,” Nicky said, waving off the little outburst before letting his hand fall to his lap. “I think- I need some time to process.. that he’s actually gone.”
Joe walked over to Nicky and wrapped him up in a hug, pulling the man close and hooking his chin over his lover’s shoulder.
It didn’t take long for both men to break down with tears.
~
As he got closer Joe became suspicious of the body before him; he knew the way it was leaning against the wall, the way the hair fell in front of the face, the way he knew this body like the back of his hand.
Booker.
Booker was in front of him.
With trembling hands, Joe grabbed Booker’s face and tilted it up, the other man groaning and opening his eyes slowly, blinking away the blurriness.
“Joe?” Booker mumbled, his voice gravelly from the lack of use, and Joe crumbled. He fell to his knees and wrapped his arms around the man and pulled him close, squeezing him tight to his chest. He heard the others approach them, but all he cared about was Booker’s warm body against his and the soft sobs coming from the broken man.
“Hey, Book. Yeah, it’s us. Everyone’s here,” Joe whispered, eyes gazing towards the chains attached to the rock walls. “I- We thought you were dead. For real.”
Booker pulled away from the embrace and looked past Joe, eyes falling on Nicky, then Nile, then Andy, their eyes welling up with tears of their own but their faces remained focused. They were on a mission after all. “Yeah, I know. They showed me the video.”
“We’re going to get you out of here, okay? We need to grab some intel, and hopefully find the keys to your chains, and then we’ll take you home.” Joe grabbed Booker’s face lightly and tilted it to face him, smiling softly as some life returned to the man’s eyes. “We’ll be right back. Don’t go anywhere.”
Booker wouldn’t dream of it.
~
“Okay so Copley says this should be an easy intel grab, in and out in less than an hour. We go in at three am and come out just before four. Shouldn’t be too many guards, and if there are then we’ll just take them out. Our entry points are the front door which would need explosives as its reinforced steel, or the back door which has some guard dogs that could alert everyone on site of our presence before we even step a foot onto the grounds,” Andy spoke, leaning over a map of the compound their next mission led them to. The four of them nodded their heads, taking in the information given.
“So no back entrance due to the dogs, but blowing up the front door wouldn’t cause a disturbance?” Nicky asked, leaning down to get a closer look at the map. “I’m sure there has to be another way inside.”
“By all means, Nicky, have a look. Those are the two main ways inside, but you might find a sewer or something we can crawl through, though I really don’t wanna do that,” Andy stated, crossing her arms. “Copley also said there might be prisoners. We should check before we leave.”
“If there are prisoners, maybe there’s a secret entrance to get them in and out?” Joe asked. “We’ll need to scout it before we act, how much time do we have to complete this?”
“We should be in and out within an hour,” Andy said. “Prisoners or not, we gather the intel first, got it?”
“Yes, boss.”
~
It felt like an eternity, but the group made their way back to Booker, albeit under gunfire. The man flinched as Andy and Nicky hoisted him to his feet and quickly released the shackles from his wrists and ankles before pulling him towards the exit, Nile and Joe quick to follow as they covered the trio from behind.
The road home was hard.
So very hard.
For the captee and his rescuers.
They managed to get back to their safehouse without any further harm, and Booker felt himself being pulled inside and to the bathroom. He doesn’t remember how, but he found himself in the tub surrounded by bubbles and pressed against a hard, warm body. Hands were gently rubbing his arms and torso as he stared into the abyss, thinking of everything yet nothing.
He did not remember the past two years. He did not know that he spent that long in captivity. He did not know that that was how long his family didn’t look for him.
He did not know how that made him feel.
“Booker?” The body behind him whispered, careful not to spook the man. Booker bristled slightly but did not respond. “Booker, are you with us?”
“Leave him be, Nic. Let’s get him clean and warm,” Joe said softly from outside the tub, a hand on Booker’s shoulder. “We can deal with everything later.”
Booker soon found himself in a bed wrapped like a cocoon in blankets, the bed dipping on either side of him. He didn’t have to open his eyes to know who the two bodies that joined him were, he knew.
He knew they would have to talk. About his betrayal. About his capture. About them not looking for him. About them.
But that can all wait.
Right now he’s warm, he’s secure, and he’s surrounded by the two people that matter the most to him. All he wanted to do was sleep. Sleep away all the exhaustion, all the torture, all the mental anguish of the last two years.
And shit, he was tired.
~
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I saw a headcanon (I can’t find it, please link me to if you know it so I can give credit!) that Nicky always hands Joe guns because he’s a terrible shot goes through bullets faster than anyone. I thought that was one of the funniest reasons for all the shots of Nicky handing Joe guns, I had to write this. Please excuse my obsession <3
The van rolls over some rocks, Nile almost falling over. It’s small moments like these when she realizes that she really is only twenty-four and is surrounded by people who’ve lived hundreds of years. Nicky and Joe barely move from where they’re next to each other, Andy doesn’t say in her stance, and Booker merely grunts with annoyance in his sleep. Joe catches her slip up and a broad smile stretches across his face, crinkling his nose with amusement. Nile shoots him a look back, daring him to say anything.
“If you sit cross-legged, it lowers your center of gravity.”
It’s Nicky of all people who speaks and Joe lets out a loud laugh, the corner of Nicky’s mouth turning up. “Nicky, are you making fun of me?” Nile asks, too shocked to be embarrassed.
Joe beams at his love. “I think he might just be.”
“What would the Church say?”
“I was never a good Catholic priest anyway.” Nicky says, unable to stop the smile from stretching across his face.
“No,” Joe says endearingly. “You never were.”
“Ugh, someone put me in exile again.” Booker groans from the corner, his arm thrown over his face.
The two share a private laugh with each other, even Andy cracking a smile.
They were traveling across the desert, where Copley said a village had been taken over under the guise of religious freedom, but was swarmed with mercenaries doing all sorts of horrible things. Nile noticed how Nicky’s jaw clenched when he hear that particular detail, the shame of the Crusades apparent on his face. Nile noticed how Joe stayed close, every once and a while whispering something in his ear.
Once the van rolls to a stop, Nicky gets up sharply. Nile startles. “What—”
Swinging open the van, Nicky kneels, bends to look through his scope, and fires off a few shots. He catches the casings in his hand and stands, nodding to Andy.
Andy hops out of the van.
“What just happened?” Nile asks, blinking. She feels like she just missed an entire fight and she was sitting right there.
“Nicky makes sure we don’t get rained down on before we even get in.” Booker groans, hoisting himself up to his feet. “It happens more than you think. It’s just easier this way.”
It’s a bit hard to understand that the same man who was teaching her how to bake bread and would wax poetic over a Degas with her had such a cold side, but then again, he’s almost nine hundred years old. Nicky reaches in his pocket and pulls out a small pistol, handing it to Joe. Joe takes it without commenting, Booker snorting. Nile isn’t sure why exactly that’s funny, especially since Joe has a rifle of his own, as well as his scimitar. But the man takes it and pockets it, Nicky eyeing his rifle one last time.
The five of the move across the plain quietly, marching along as the village slowly comes closer. The scene is more grim than Nile is prepared for, the villagers being shoved as those with assault weapon shout. She can’t quite understand what they’re saying, but the fear in the children’s eyes is prevalent even from her vantage point. “You stay with me,” Andy whispers, shifting uncomfortably in her vest.
“Shouldn’t you be sticking with me?” Nile asks.
“You’re still new. You stick with me.” Andy turns. “Joe, Nicky, you take the south. Booker, you’re with me and Nile.”
“What are you thinking, boss?” Joe asks, frowning at the scene. “Budapest, ’23?”
Nile doesn’t ask when. She’s always wrong.
“Yeah, that’s the one.”
Joe beams at Nicky who nods back in his hoodie, a warm smile on his face as he looks at his love. The two quietly flank to the left. Booker snorts. “So, what do you think? Four?”
“Too many soldiers with guns. I’m thinking seven.”
“What do you guys mean?” Nile asks. “There’s way more than seven soldiers here.”
“Not talking about soldiers.” Andy says, checking her own weapon.
“Then what are you talking about?”
Andy doesn’t respond, standing up to show that her part of this conversation is over. She turns to Booker, who just chuckles. “You’ll see.”
The world gets quiet, then loud and violent.
Nile was never used to war, and hoped to never be. As she watches Andy with her cold movements, she’s afraid she would be at one point. She and Booker run ahead, taking out a few soldiers, but she notices it’s a bit light here. “You’re okay,” Nile says gently to one of the villagers, frowning. “Where is everyone?”
There’s a shout and then a flurry of gunshots. Nile flinches, whipping in the direction of the noise. “That was fast.” Booker muses.
“They’re getting faster.” Andy offers, standing and marching toward the noise.
“It helps that they’ve stopped making out in the middle of battles.” Booker groans.
Andy smirks.
By the time the three get to the scrum of fighting, it’s in full bloom. Watching Joe and Nicky fight side by side is a thing of beauty, the two of them moving around one another, as if they were an extension. When Joe swings, Nicky ducks. Nicky gathers guns and hands them to Joe without looking, as if he knows he’s out of bullets before even he does. Perhaps he does. Nile notices Joe uses the gun a little less than Nicky, often choosing to switch to his scimitar when the figure is close enough.
“Let’s get in.” Andy states, unsheathing her labrys and marching down.
“Can’t let those two have all the fun.” Booker says, clapping Nile on the shoulder. “They’ll be insufferable.”
“They’re already insufferable.” Nile mutters.
Booker lets out a genuine, sharp laugh. “God, I’m glad you’re here. Let’s do this.”
The two run into the fray themselves, Nile doing her best to keep the civilians away. It’s then when she noticed Joe and Nicky had drawn the soldiers away from the village the best they could, the fighting far away from the houses built there.
Nicky grabs a rifle from one of the men he just took out, offering it behind him to Joe. “No out yet,” Joe grunts.
“Yes, you are. I’ve been counting.” Nicky offers.
Joe turns to shoot, and then the gun clicks. Sighing, he tosses it aside and takes the one Nicky’s offering. Booker runs past Andy. “That’s already past four, you win.”
“When will you learn, Book, I always win.”
That’s when Nile sees it.
In the midst of the fighting, Nicky never leaves Joe for too long, quietly offering one weapon after another, while keeping his eyes focused on the fight ahead. Every time Joe pauses, frowning at his gun, Nicky is there with another one, offering it to him.
When it is over, Nile feels the exhaustion in her bones and the blood of others on her. She hates it, it feels sticky, and she feels a desperate need for a shower. “Peace be with you.” Nicky utters to the growing group of villagers that are around him. There are children hiding behind the legs of their parents and Nile feels bad. She can only imagine what sort of sight this was, the five of them attacking. Then, an elderly woman steps forward, her eyes old and wise. She marches up to Andy, who is pretending she doesn’t have a bruised ribcage for everyone, but even Nile can see through it. The woman grabs Andy’s arm and clutches, saying more than words could ever.
Andy nods in response, her usually hard eyes softening.
Like that, the group moves out.
Once they’re settled, everyone grabbing rags from their packs to wipe the blood from their faces, Nile finally asks, “What’s with the guns?”
It had been quiet in the van, exhaustion hitting everyone. Then Booker bursts out laughing. “One job,” he says, turning to Joe. “All it took.”
Joe says something back at him in Arabic, but his tone is light despite being mildly annoyed with Booker. Even Nicky quirks a smile, looking down at his rifle as he is wiping it down. “Ah,” Joe groans, waving his hand at Booker after his rant. “It’s an over exaggeration.”
“You see, Joe is a terrible shot.” Booker offers to Joe’s arguments.
“I am not a terrible shot, I just may not be as consistent as Nicky and he feels the need—”
“—because of this, Nicky over the years has come up with a plan to keep him safe.” Booker laughs. “He discovered quantity of guns were better than quality of shot.”
“What?” Nile asks, finding herself laughing. “Why wouldn’t you just teach him.”
“It would not matter.” Nicky says with a shrug. “And he is not terrible, he is just better with his hands.”
“You know I am.” Joe says with a wink. The two dip in, Joe catching his lips and bringing his hand to the back of his neck, as if they aren’t close enough.
Booker rolls his eyes and shares a look with her and Andy. When the two finally break apart, Nicky smiles. “My dear Yusuf is too alive for it. I would never want him to learn how to be still. He is always moving and always light. I would not change any of it.”
It’s Nicky who initiates the kiss this time and Nile sighs. It seems a lot of her immortal life will be listening to Joe and Nicky wax poetic to each other and then kiss.
“You owe me 300 euros, Book.” Andy says offhandedly.
Booker grumbles when he pulls out his wallet, tossing the bills at her. “Next time, I want in on the action.” Nile says with a grin.
Booker snorts, crossing his arms and leaning back against the seat. Joe brushes a streak of blood from Nicky’s face when they pull apart, and Nile can’t help it. She smiles, closing her eyes as the van filled with the most important people in her life lived on.
#the old guard#the old guard fanfiction#tumblr drabble#joe#yusuf#yusuf al-kaysani#nicky#nicolo#nicolo di genova#nile#nile freeman#booker#sebastien le livre#andy#andromache the scythian#just for fun
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Season 1, Episode 1: PILOT
A/N: A lot of quotes and character dialogue is taken from the show! I am not trying to take credit for the amazing work the writers and actors and everyone involved in this show did! I also left out writing scenes that don’t involve the main group (IE: Ward and Sarah talking with Lana Grubbs) and a few other scenes simply because I wasn’t quite sure how to write them.
Warnings (for the whole series): violence (as it is in the show), swearing, mentions of abuse, underage drinking and smoking, drug use
Word Count: 3579
“The Outer Banks, paradise on earth.” I tune out John B’s voice, ignoring his ‘welcome to the OBX’ speech for the camera. He was determined to make a documentary about our lives this summer, though I really didn’t know why.
Welcome to the OBX, an island divided in two. You either have two houses or two jobs, that’s what John B always says. That blond boy sitting next to me, that’s JJ. My boyfriend. He’s as local as they come. Latest in a very long line of fishing, smuggling, vendetta-holding salt-lifers who make their living off the water. Don’t tell him I said this but he’s the best surfer I know. Mild kleptomaniac and probably a future tax cheat.
The girl across from me is Kiara or Kie. When she’s not saving turtles or listening to Marley, or getting a dolphin tattoo, she hangs with us. None of us really know why she’s a rich kid after all. Next to her is the brains of our little operation. Pope. Finalist for the Lucas T. Vanderhorst Merit Scholarship and the smartest kid I know.
The kid in the driver’s seat, the one who is paying more attention to his camera than the road, that’s John Booker Routledge, but everyone calls him John B. He’s kinda like my brother. He and his dad took me in when my family dumped me on their front porch when JB and I were about four. He drives me crazy and he knows it.
And then there’s me. Y/N Y/L/N. Little Routledge as JB likes to call me even though I’m four months older than him. Big John disappeared nine months ago at sea, which means JB and I have been on our own since Uncle T split for Mississippi. Everyone insists that Big John is dead but John B refuses to sign the papers until he sees a body.
Social workers have been on our asses nearly every day, trying to force us into foster care. John B and I have managed to avoid them so far.
So this is how our story starts. Me losing nearly all of my second family and a social worker breathing down my neck.
JB and I are probably the only two people in history to say this but thank god for hurricane Agatha.
“Hurricane Agatha continues its steady march towards Kildare Island on the Outer Banks of North Carolina…” JB set the radio on the counter, turning up the volume as we listened for a miracle to keep DCS away.
“Holy shit.” I look outside, taking in the dark sky and swirling wind. “JB, I think we found our miracle!” I shout over the storm siren, fishing my phone out of the couch cushions and dialing the number for DCS. “Yeah, I think we’re gonna have to reschedule.” I blurt into the phone, barely giving the woman time to answer.
John B rips the phone out of my hand, hanging up and dragging me outside. “We gotta surf the storm surge!”
“Are you insane?” I stumble after him, dodging tree branches. “Those aren’t surfable waves!”
“Says who?” He laughs. “Come on!” He drags me along, pausing to grab our boards.
I run after him, splashing into the water as the storm rages around us. I paddle after John B, surfing a few waves before the storm starts to pick up its pace. “JB! We gotta get inside!” I shout. John B stares out towards the open water, ignoring me.
“JB!” I shout. “We have to go!” I turn to look at him, my gaze following his extended arm and index finger. My eyes land on a boat, getting tossed around in the storm. “John B, we don’t have time to worry about what those idiots are doing, let’s go!”
🏄 🌊 🚌 🏄 🌊 🚌 🏄 🌊 🚌 🏄 🌊 🚌 🏄 🌊 🚌 🏄 🌊 🚌 🏄 🌊 🚌
The morning after a hurricane always feels like something out of a movie. The silence fills the gaps of life, save for the sound of chickens and the occasional shouts from neighbors.
I peel my eyes open, hearing John B moving around in the kitchen. I swing my legs over the side of my bed (which is really just two mattresses stacked on top of each other) and slowly stand up. I shield my eyes from the sunlight pouring in from my windows, moving the towels that double as my curtains out of the way.
I grab my phone from the stack of books next to my bed, checking the time. “No service,” I mutter, opening my door and stepping onto the cold wood floor of the Chateau.
“JJ, you been outside?” John B asks the blond boy, shaking his shoulder.
“I have polio, bro. I can’t walk.” JJ mumbles, burying his face deeper into the pillow.
I make my way to the front door, lightly swatting at JJ to get him up. “Oh man…” I whisper, looking outside. “That’s no good.” I survey the yard, taking in the damage. “What’re you thinking, JB?”
“I’m thinkin’ that storm surge pushed all the crabs out on the marsh maze. It’s God tellin’ us to fish since DCS isn’t getting on a ferry anytime soon.” John B grins.
🏄 🌊 🚌 🏄 🌊 🚌 🏄 🌊 🚌 🏄 🌊 🚌 🏄 🌊 🚌 🏄 🌊 🚌 🏄 🌊 🚌
I stand on the bow of the HMS Pogue with JJ, looking at all the damage. “We’ll be cleaning this all summer.” I murmur, shaking my head.
“That is my nightmare.” John B pipes up from behind the wheel, pulling up parallel to the dock just outside Heyward’s. “Well, look who we have here.”
“I can’t.” Pope mimics static, pretending to talk into a radio on his shoulder. “My pop’s got me on lockdown.”
“Your dad’s a pussy. Over.” JJ does the same, looking directly at Heyward.
“Oh, I heard that, you little bastard.” Heyward glares at JJ.
“We need your son.” JJ flashes one of his signature smiles.
“Yeah, and island rules.” I bite my lip to stifle a laugh. “Day after hurricane’s a free day.”
“Who made that up?” Heyward looks between me and Pope.
“Pentagon, I believe.” I laugh. “We have security clearance. I have a card.”
“You think I’m stupid?” Heyward frowns as Pope moves towards the edge of the dock.
“I’ll do it tomorrow. I promise. Tomorrow.” Pope moves to jump into the boat as Heyward moves forward.
“You think - no, no. Hell no. You doin’ it right now.”
“Get in the boat, Pope,” I whisper. “Make a run for it.”
Pope leaps into the boat, holding his hat on his head. “I promise I’ll do it tomorrow, dad!”
“We’ll bring him back in one piece!” I call to Heyward, waving.
The boys whoop and cheer, driving up to Kie’s dock. I smile wide, grabbing onto the dock as we wait for her.
“Good morning!” Kie hurries down the dock, carrying her usual backpack and cooler, her hair neatly tied up on the top of her head.
“Welcome aboard, fellow Pogue princess.” I laugh, saluting her. “Whatcha got? Juice boxes?”
“You know, just some yogurts and carrot sticks. I made sandwiches too, cut the crusts off how you like ‘em.” She teases, poking my nose.
I help her onto the boat, grabbing a beer from the cooler as John B drives out into the marsh. He weaves through the channels, leaning back in the captain’s seat, looking as if he’s asleep at the wheel. I wouldn’t be concerned if he was though, he knows these waters better than he knows himself.
“Can you go a little faster?” JJ asks, stepping up to the bow. “I got a party trick to show you.” He balances on the edge of the boat, tilting the beer bottle, letting the liquid flow freely from the bottle.
“You’re getting beer in my hair!” Kie and I shout in unison, screaming and falling out of our seats as the boat hits something, stopping immediately. “Jesus, JB!”
JJ groans, popping up from the water in front of the boat. “I think my heels touched the back of my head.” He chokes out.
“What did you do?” I push myself off the deck of the boat, resting a hand on John B’s shoulder.
“Sandbar.” John B mumbles. “The channel changed.”
“No shit, genius.” I shake my head.
“Hey, I saved the beer, though!” JJ cheers.
“Congrats, J.” I lean over the side, sticking my hand out to him. “Come on.”
“Guys… I think there’s a boat down there.” Pope calls, looking over the other side of the boat.
“Shut up, no way.” Kie scoffs.
“I’m serious. There’s a boat down there.” Pope points.
I join him on the side, looking down at the shape in the water. “Only one way to find out.” I shrug, quickly discarding my shirt and shorts before diving in. I swim down, peering around in the murky water. My eyes go wide and I swim up, grabbing onto the edge of the boat. “That’s a fucking Grady-White. A new one is like an easy 500 G’s.”
“That’s the boat we saw when we surfed the surge.” John B looks at me. “Maybe it hit the jetty or something.”
“Do we know whose boat that is?” Kie frowns.
“No, but we’re about to find out.” I smile.
“It’s way too deep.” JJ shakes his head. “You’re not going down there.”
“Oh, for the weak and feeble, JJ.” John B chuckles. “Little Routledge can handle it.” He turns his attention to me, saluting me. “Diver down.”
“Diver down.” I flip him off before diving back down, searching around the boat. I pop up after a moment, pushing my hair out of my face.
“Any dead bodies?” Pope asks nervously.
“Looting potential?” JJ asks at the same time.
I shake my head, holding up a bright yellow tag with a key attached. “I found this motel key.”
🏄 🌊 🚌 🏄 🌊 🚌 🏄 🌊 🚌 🏄 🌊 🚌 🏄 🌊 🚌 🏄 🌊 🚌 🏄 🌊 🚌
I jump out of the boat as we reach the motel, tying the rope around a stump. “So, what’s the plan?”
“You’ll see, bubba.” John B grabs my wrist and JJ’s arm, pulling us along.
“Yeah, that doesn’t inspire confidence, dumbass.” I roll my eyes. “This place is a shitshow, doesn’t look like anywhere someone with a Grady-White stays.”
“Motel or meth lab?” Kie mutters under her breath.
“You be the judge,” Pope mutters back before giving me a pointed look. “Don’t let your boyfriend do anything stupid.”
“I can’t make any promises.” I raise my hands in surrender as we walk off, going up the steps of the motel.
John B leads us to the door, checking the number on the key as JJ knocks on the door.
“Housekeeping!” JJ calls in a high pitched voice, waiting for an answer.
“Should we try it?” John B asks, prompting nods from JJ and me.
We enter the room, closing the door behind us. I look around the room, handing John B a map from the bed. I move towards the bathroom, seeing John B messing with the safe out of the corner of my eye. I scan the walls of the dark and dirty room, shining my flashlight around
“You guys are gonna wanna see this.” He murmurs.
JJ and I hurry over, looking in the safe. “Damn…” I whisper, looking at the stack of money, a gun laying on top of it.
JJ grins like a maniac, grabbing the gun from the safe.
“JJ, put that down now!” I whisper-shout.
“Just take a picture of me! Right here and then I’ll put it back!”
“You want me to take a picture of you?” I raise an eyebrow, crossing my arms over my chest. “Make our own incriminating evidence?” I look up, hearing a tapping on the window. I hurry over, looking out to see Pope and Kie jumping up and down.
“Cops!” Kie shouts quietly.
“Shit, boys, time to go,” I whisper. “Cops.”
🏄 🌊 🚌 🏄 🌊 🚌 🏄 🌊 🚌 🏄 🌊 🚌 🏄 🌊 🚌 🏄 🌊 🚌 🏄 🌊 🚌
“Thanks for warning us so quickly.” I laugh, playfully shoving at Kie’s shoulder as we push off from the motel.
“We would have warned you sooner except Pope was on the math team.” She rolls her eyes.
“Did you guys find anything?” Pope asks.
“No, I don’t think so.” JJ sighs before pulling out the gun and a stack of cash. “ Oh, yeah, we did.”
“Are you serious?” Pope shouts in a high pitched voice. “I’m gonna lose my merit scholarship.”
“At least you have us, right?” JJ grins.
“I’m living the nightmare,” Pope whispers to himself.
🏄 🌊 🚌 🏄 🌊 🚌 🏄 🌊 🚌 🏄 🌊 🚌 🏄 🌊 🚌 🏄 🌊 🚌 🏄 🌊 🚌
“It’s Scooter Grubbs. He was out during the storm. Check out this pic I got.”
“Dead body.”
“Insane.”
“Holy shit.”
“What kind of boat did he have?”
“Somehow, that dirtbag copped a brand-new Grady-White. Everyone’s out looking for it.”
The words seemed to hover around us as we drove back to the Chateau, following us as we collapsed into chairs on the porch.
“Okay… so, um… we didn’t see anything.” John B takes off his hat, running a hand through his hair. “We don’t know anything.”
“We need to have total and complete amnesia.” Pope nods.
“Actually, Pope is right for once.” JJ nods, slinging an arm around me as he slides into the seat next to me. “See, I agree with you sometimes. Deny, deny, deny.”
“We can’t keep that money.” Kie paces up and down the porch.
“Not all of us can afford unlimited data plans, Kiara.” JJ sighs.
I lightly push at his chest, giving him a look. “We have to pass it off to Lana Grubbs.”
“Otherwise, it's bad karma.” Kie nods in agreement.
“I don’t agree.” John B murmurs from the corner. “This is Scooter Grubbs we’re talking about. Same dude that’s buying individual cigarettes at the Porthole. Shit, one time I saw this dude begging for change in the Save-A-Lot parking lot because he needed gas. We’re talking about a dirtbag marina rat who’s never had more than 40 bucks in his pocket, and all of a sudden, he’s got a Grady-White? Just sayin’,”
“We have to see what’s in the cargo hold of that wreck,” I speak up. “For now, we lay low and act normal.”
“Kegger?” JJ grins.
🏄 🌊 🚌 🏄 🌊 🚌 🏄 🌊 🚌 🏄 🌊 🚌 🏄 🌊 🚌 🏄 🌊 🚌 🏄 🌊 🚌
As JB always says; you can’t understand the Outer Banks without understanding the boneyard. It's kinda like a three-layer burrito. There’s us and our friends, the working class derelicts. Then, there are the Kooks, the rich second-homers. They’re mostly from poncey-ass boarding schools, just rich trustafarian posers. Our natural enemies. And then, there are the Tourons. Totally clueless. Here for a week on vacation with their families. Chum for the sharks.
I smile, making my way across the sand with drinks for me and JJ, passing Pope along the way.
“It's kinda weird when on TV, we see people die, and they kinda just sit there, but in actuality, they would be shitting and farting up a storm.”
I laugh, shaking my head as I walk past Pope and the fire. I make my way over to JJ’s usual spot; a fallen tree half-buried in the sand. I hand JJ his drink, sipping mine. “Poor Pope.” I snicker, glancing at the other boy over my cup. “He just can’t figure out how to talk to girls.”
“Sarah! Sarah, be careful, okay?”
I turn my attention towards the metal buoy stuck in the sand, recognizing Topper’s voice as he tries to coax Sarah down from the buoy.
That’s Sarah Cameron. Kook princess. Kiara’s best friend in the ninth grade, worst enemy in the tenth grade. JB works on her dad’s boats and I was supposed to be helping her stepmom with gardening but have basically become a glorified babysitter for the princess. And that’s Topper. Her not so pleasant boyfriend. Just saying his name makes me want to vomit. He actually thinks Pogues were bred to mow lawns.
I watch as Topper lifts Sarah down, starting to walk her up the beach and back towards his car. I barely see JJ move forward, extending a cup in her face.
“Sarah, can I interest you in a tasty Milwaukee beverage?” JJ smirks, frowning when she declines. “Is it not fancy enough for you?”
“I’ll take it.” Topper reaches for the cup, glaring as JJ pulls it away.
“If you said pretty please, maybe.” JJ teases.
Topper moves to grab the cup, knocking into JJ’s hand and spilling the drink all over Sarah. “Dirty Pogues!” Topper growls as Sarah pushes him back.
John B moves in front of JJ as I pull him away. Topper lunges at John B, knocking him into the water. “ Don’t make me drown you like your old man, all right?” Topper shouts, holding John B down in the water.
JJ rushes forward, pressing the gun to Topper’s head and clicking the safety off.
“JJ!” I gasp.
“Yeah, you know what that is. Your move, broski.” JJ huffs as Topper raises his hands in surrender, standing up.
“Check your psycho boyfriend, Y/N!” Sarah whines.
“Okay, everyone, listen up! Get the hell off our side of the island!” JJ fires the gun twice into the air, watching as the crowd scatters.
“So much for laying low!” Pope hisses at JJ, helping Kie pick John B from the water.
🏄 🌊 🚌 🏄 🌊 🚌 🏄 🌊 🚌 🏄 🌊 🚌 🏄 🌊 🚌 🏄 🌊 🚌 🏄 🌊 🚌
The next morning, JB was up before the roosters started crowing. The rest of the Pogues had returned to their respective homes. Kie had taken Pope home before returning to her house in Figure 8. JJ had left a small kiss on the crown of my head before disappearing into the trees.
I wander out of my room, wiping sleep from my eyes. “You look like you just swallowed a jellyfish.” I bump shoulders with John B.
“Sheriff Peterkin just left…” He mumbles. “She’s asking questions. She said she can help us with DCS if we help her.”
“Well… we’ll just give her the most information we can without us getting in trouble.” I sigh.
🏄 🌊 🚌 🏄 🌊 🚌 🏄 🌊 🚌 🏄 🌊 🚌 🏄 🌊 🚌 🏄 🌊 🚌 🏄 🌊 🚌
“The three of us! We’ve got nothing to lose!” JJ huffs, gesturing between me, John B, and himself. “You’re not calling this off, John B. I have a plan. We borrow some scuba gear from Cameron’s big boat and then we go down to the wreck.”
We probably should’ve learned a long long time ago to never listen to JJ. He’s filled to the brim of bad ideas, like stealing from JB’s rich boss.
Big John said the island was America on steroids. The haves and have-nots like anyplace, but magnified and multiplied. The way JB and I see it, the game’s rigged. Maybe it always has been. No parents, money, and no one looking out for us. We got no chance unless we make it on our own.
🏄 🌊 🚌 🏄 🌊 🚌 🏄 🌊 🚌 🏄 🌊 🚌 🏄 🌊 🚌 🏄 🌊 🚌 🏄 🌊 🚌
“You took empty tanks, JB.” I sigh.
“This one’s a quarter full.” John B mumbles.
“So enough for one of us… I just love it when a plan comes together.” I rub my head in annoyance.
“Does anyone even know how to dive?” John B asks.
“I read about it,” Pope speaks up.
“Great, Pope read about it. So someone’s gonna die.” I roll my eyes.
“Look, you put the thing in your mouth and breathe. How hard could it be?” JJ asks.
“If you come up too fast, nitrogen gets into your blood, and you get the bends.” Pope leans back in the captain’s seat.
“Bends like, bend over and…” JJ giggles, bending over the wheel.
“The bends kill you.” Pope sighs, making JJ’s eyes go wide.
🏄 🌊 🚌 🏄 🌊 🚌 🏄 🌊 🚌 🏄 🌊 🚌 🏄 🌊 🚌 🏄 🌊 🚌 🏄 🌊 🚌
We all circle around John B as he kneels on the dock, holding the bag from the wreck.
“Can we please just open the bag?” Pope huffs.
“Damn, Pope. That’s a rare outburst of emotion.” I snicker.
“You guys are literally killing me with anticipation. Open the bag.”
John B opens the bag, pulling out a canister. He twists open the canister, letting a small circular compass fall out.
“Oh, wow. Yup. That’s about right.” Pope sighs. “Good job, everybody. We found a compass. It's not worth anything.”
“This was my father’s.” John B mumbles.
#outer banks series rewrite#jj maybank x reader#outer banks#outer banks netflix#obx#obx netflix#jj outer banks#kiara outer banks#pope outer banks#john b routledge
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The Old Guard Fanfic - Good Books, Good Friends, and A Sleepy Vacation
Author(s): Fangirlshrewt97
Fandom: The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Pairing: Booker & Nile
Characters: Nile Freeman, Booker | Sebastien Le Livre
Rating: General
Warnings: None
Additional Tags: Family Bonding, Brother-Sister Relationships, Fluff, Family Feels, Vacation, Soft, Library, Books, Booksworms bonding over books basically, Mild Language, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Booker deserves a break, Nile deserves a chance to spend time with him
Summary:
“There are so many places I’ve never been, I don’t know where to start. Or even what I’d do.” she confesses. Booker hums, and Nile can feel him staring holes into her. She is still spinning the globe, gently tracing the borders on it when she hears the chair scrape behind her, and Booker’s footsteps approaching her. She turns when she feels the heat of a body at her back. Booker looks at her face before looking at the globe in her hands, gently taking it from her hands. He spins it once before stopping it mid-rotation. His fingers are on Canada. “Have you ever been to Quebec?”
Basically, Booker and Nile have a small vacation away from the others, and bond. Also they explore Booker's library.
Link to A03: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25571494
///
They take a break. Four months. Quynh’s return, Andy regaining her immortality, the fight that nearly costs them everything, Booker coming back too soon, Joe and Nicky nearly losing each other again. By the time the dust settles, even Nile is ready to sleep for a hundred years.
They decide to reconvene in London, at Copley’s house, specifically instructing him to leave them alone for the entirety of the break for anything short of an apocalypse occurring. Andy and Quynh are out the second Copley agrees, they don’t tell anyone where they are going, and everyone finds it best to leave the two oldest warriors alone. They have already died too many times that year. Joe and Nicky are next, saying they are going to Malta and leaving without a second look.
That leaves Booker and Nile staring at each other across from Copley’s dining table while the host himself looks torn between resignation and questioning his life choices. When Booker still looks like he is spooked to speak, Nile takes the initiative. “What are you going to do Booker?”
The Frenchman chews on his lip, a nervous habit Nile would not guess he had, before looking at her. He is sitting hunched in the chair, still trying to make himself look as small as possible, but only looking uncomfortable. “I’m not sure. You?”
Nile looks away from him, eyes moving across the room before finally settling on a small globe sitting atop a short cabinet. Crossing the room, she grabs the globe and gently spins it. “There are so many places I’ve never been, I don’t know where to start. Or even what I’d do.” she confesses.
Booker hums, and Nile can feel him staring holes into her. She is still spinning the globe, gently tracing the borders on it when she hears the chair scrape behind her, and Booker’s footsteps approaching her. She turns when she feels the heat of a body at her back.
Booker looks at her face before looking at the globe in her hands, gently taking it from her hands. He spins it once before stopping it mid-rotation. His fingers are on Canada. “Have you ever been to Quebec?”
Quebec is not quiet how she pictured it, although based on her limited American education, she may as well have been expecting a rural French city in the middle of modern Canada. Autumn has settled over the place, painting the leaves a familiar golden yellow and red, the scent of maple nearly overwhelming. Booker drives confidently, and in this city that still feels like France, but not haunted by the ghosts of his family, Nile seems his lose a few lines of tension she had not noticed he carried. It is not the first revelation she has during her trip there.
He takes her to a beautiful and quaint two story house, parking the car in the driveway. He goes to the trunk and takes out their bags before giving Nile her’s, and goes to open the door. The neighborhood is quiet, even at 2 in the afternoon, and it is so idyllic, Nile has to pinch herself to make sure this isn’t a dream. The home, and it is a home, full of touches of Booker in the way that house in Turkey had belonged to Joe and Nicky. A home where he lived, not a safe house he used to recuperate. Wooden floors, a living room with stairs leading upstairs and a kitchen behind the stairwell. Nile paused at the doorway, admiring how with every step, Booker seemed to shed a little more of the burden and grief he perpetually carried. She was taking off her shoes when Booker found her, a tray with two glasses and a jug of water. “Make yourself comfortable Nile.”
She followed him to the couches, two white sofas which could have been made from clouds with how much she sank into them. She must have made a noise before Booker snorted a laugh and handed her a glass. “The house is yours. Give me a few minutes, I will dig up an extra set of bed sheets and blankets for the guest room, you can use that for as long as you want. My bedroom will be at the end of the hallway, and the bathroom is between the two rooms, if you want to freshen up.”
A shower after the 15 hour flight seemed divine. “I’ll shower Booker.”
Booker nodded once. “Come, I’ll show you where you can keep your stuff.”
///
For the first two weeks Booker leaves her to her own devices, giving her a couple thousand Canadian dollars and telling her to have fun but stay safe. Nile develops a routine, waking up around 8, lazing about in bed and having a late breakfast around 10 before she was out of the house. Booker did not leave as much, but he always had something prepared for dinner, or take out ordered by the time Nile returned at night, and indulged her in her telling of the sights of the city.
As far as she could tell, Booker did not leave the house, he was always awake before she was, and went to bed after her. She also noticed that he did not seem to touch alcohol in the house. Or at least not when she could see. As the days passed, and more and more leaves fell, so did Booker’s grief. When Nile returned home, and hadn’t that made her pause, when had she started seeing this as home? When she returned one night, maybe a month into their vacation, she heard a record player singing an old track she had heard before but could not place.
As she neared the kitchen from where the sound was coming, she even heard singing, and when she peered into the open kitchen, found the man crooning softly to the song, hips barely swaying.
And his face, Booker almost looked happy. She must have gasped, because he turned to her. “You are getting more silent everyday Nile. Good. It is an important skill.” Booker said as he smiled at her. And damn, what a smile. It made her grin in response. She went and sat at the bar stool he had pointed to, placing her own offering on the table.
He laughed when he saw the box.
“Tim Horton’s?”
“I had a friend in college from Toronto. She used to drag us into every donut shop and then complain none of them were as good as these. Figured I should verify her claim.” she explained.
Booker had a happy glint in his eyes.
“You have a pretty smile.” And there she went putting her foot in her mouth. She could see the glint fading the smile shrinking. “No, I just meant I don’t think I have ever seen you smile.”
God, strike her down already, what was wrong with her. “Shit.”
Booker to his credit looked sad but recovered quickly, clapping a hand on her shoulder. “No, don’t be angry Nile. You are right. I am a miserable fucker to be around.”
“Book…”
“I just, I guess being here makes things a little easier. You’re the first I’ve brought here.” he admitted, looking straight at her.
Nile felt speechless at the admission. The implications, the trust of his actions, they were almost too large to comprehend. What did you say to a man who had put up walls all around his heart to protect himself from even more pain than the pain he carried already telling you he was opening a door into his heart for her?
“Tha-”
Booker shook his head, stopping her. “I don’t need you to thank me Nile. I told you on that balcony, and I stand by my words. You are exactly what we all needed. Without Quynh, Andy was functioning just enough to keep going, not living. Nicky and Joe were wrapped up in their own grief, their fear of suffering the same fate and it maifested by holding each other even tighter. When I joined…” he sighed as he rounded the table, sitting in the stool next to her. Nile was scared to breath too hard, afraid of ruining the moment. “When I joined, I had deserted my army, I ran back to my family even though they told me it wouldn’t be a good idea, I threw myself at everything that caused me pain, and my greatest mistake was failing to realize how much they cared for me Nile. I was so busy mourning the family I had lost, I couldn’t see how much the family I gained could give me. And that is something I will regret for the rest of my days, even after these 100 years pass.”
“To be fair, I don’t think they are going to actually keep you away for the remaining 97 years anyways.” Nile said, finally finding her words.
“They should, the betrayal, some days, I can barely look at myself in the mirror. Regardless. You are smart, and brave, and kind, and you taught them the joy of living again, showed them the purpose we have. You’ve shown it to me too.”
“I didn’t even see you for most of these three years.”
“Even those two days were enough to show me why it was you. Andy was ready to quit, ready to give up on the world, and then you showed up and reminded her again.”
“I just did what needed to be done.”
Booker laughed, but it was harsh and sharp. “Oh soeur, no, you could have walked away. You did not need to go back to Copley, you did not have to come to London. You could have just left us all to Merrick. That’s what I would have done.”
And Nile couldn’t exactly say anything contrary could she.
“Look, just take my word, for what it worth, that you are special, and I am grateful to have you in our lives.” Booker said, conviction so strong in his voice Nile nodded automatically.
“I am glad I met you all too.”
Booker shot her a wry grin and patted the hand she had on the countertop once before going to the record player which had stopped. He removed the record and placed it inside it’s pouch.
“Okay, enough of this feelings talk. I have prepared Canadian Poutine and must know what you think of it.”
Nile laughed.
“Hey, do you have plans for tomorrow?” he asked as he went to the stove. Nile shook her head.
“Not really. Why?”
Booker smiled. “Let me show you my library.”
“Your library?”
“My library.” Booker said, wicked smile in place.
The next day, Nile got ready as she usually did, but after breakfast, Booker guided her back upstairs and into a room opposite his bedroom she hadn’t really thought about.
She nearly swallowed her tongue when she saw the room, made fully of wood panelling, with bookshelves that ran the height and width of the wall, filled to the brim with books. Half the shelves were covered with glass panels, and the volumes behind it looked old. Booker leaned against the doorway as she explored the room.
She ducked to inspect a particular shelf filled with old looking tomes, checking with Booker before she opened the panel and slid the panel to remove one of the books. She nearly dropped it when she opened the front cover. “This- Book-”
In her hands, a faded but still legible note on the first page read
Dearest Sebastien,
I hope to see you again soon, and hear more of your adventures.
Yours sincerely,
Tolkien
“You knew Tolkien?” Nile exclaimed.
Booker chuckled. “He was a smart guy.”
He just laughed harder at Nile’s impression of a goldfish, with her wide eyes and open mouth.
“I like collecting first editions Nile.” he said in lieu of an explanation, gesturing to the shelves next to her. All of these are first editions, or as close as I could find. Several are gifts from the others too.”
“I- who, which other famous authors did you know?”
Booker grinned at her. “A few. But that is for another day. There are more books. Look around.” he said as he removed the tome from Nile’s hands, replacing it back in his collection.
Dumbfounded, Nile went back to looking at the collection. She noticed the books getting newer as she went around the room, until a familiar paperback caught her eye. Pulling it from the shelf, she couldn’t suppress her laugh.
“What?” Book asked, coming to see what she had chosen.
“Harry Potter?” Nile asked, mirth clear in her eyes.
Booker frowned before shrugging. “It was a good series. I got that book on it’s first day of sales”
For some reason, this just made her laugh harder, covering her face with the book. “Oh my god.”
“What is wrong with Harry Potter?” Booker asked, now looking slightly annoyed, arms crossed across her chest.
“Nothing is wrong with Harry Potter. I just. I remember going to our neighborhood bookstore and waiting in line when the last book went on sale, wanting to get it as soon as possible. And just. The idea that a 200-plus year old soldier from Napoleon’s army doing that same is just insane.”
Booker shot her a wide grin that just made her giggle.
“Yeah alright, that is funny.”
“Yeah it is. Let me guess, Ravenclaw?” Nile teased.
Booker raised an eyebrow at her. “Let me guess, Hufflepuff?”
Nile made a noise of protest. “Hufflepuff is a good house! It is not my fault no one ever talks about it!”
“Figures you would be a badger.”
“Hey, so long as we agree that the others are all Gryffindor and overrated, I have nothing to say against Ravenclaw.”
“Fair.” Booker said. They stared at each other for a beat. Then bent over laughing, Nile going so far as to sit on the carpet at the stupidity of the conversation. Booker was leaning against the shelves, and his own face was cracked wide open in a smile, making him look so much younger than Nile had ever seen him.
“One last question. What do you think of Snape?”
“Fuck that asshole.”
Nile laughed bright and loud as she allowed Booker to pull her up and take the book from her hand. “Good boy Book.”
Booker tutted and pulled one of her braids for it.
“Impertinent child. You need to learn to respect your elders.”
“Ow, not allowed Book.” Nile complained at the faint tug she honestly hadn’t felt at all.
“Choose a book to read Nile.”
Nile spun around the room slowly, chewing her cheek. “There are so many. I don’t know where to start.”
Booker hummed. “Do you want old or new?”
“New. I am scared if I touch those old books I’ll end up tearing them.”
“Good point.”
She ran her hand along the spines of the books in front of her before letting it drop. “You choose.”
Booker raised an eyebrow but nodded. He stepped closer to the shelves while Nile took a step back.
“Hmm.” He said as he pulled a thin book out. “Have you read this one?”
Nile took it. “Oedipus Rex?” She opened the book, and realized it wasn’t a story. “It’s a play.”
“Yes. By Sophocles himself. Are you familiar with Oedipus?”
“I’ve heard the name but don’t know the story.”
“It is a good start then.”
“What’s it about?”
At that, Booker paused in his browsing, making Nile look up. Softly, so softly she had to strain to hear he said “A story of a man who tried so hard to outrun destiny and ended up fulfilling it anyways.”
Nile stayed quiet, unsure what to reply to that.
Booker pulled out another book. “What about this one?”
“The Lion, The Witch, and The Wardrobe. I saw the movie. It was good.” Nile said.
Booker glared at her. Nile smiled cheekily back at him. “The movie was good.”
“Book is even better.”
Nile conceded. “Probably. Why this one?”
Booker’s smile dimmed. “It is a story of a boy who traded his family for something he thought he wanted, and only ended up putting them all in danger because of his actions.”
Nile’s gaze softened as she laid a hand on Booker’s arm. “If I remember correctly, the boy realizes his mistake and returns to his family. And never strays from them again.”
Booker gave her an old and tired look for that. He turned back to the shelves, pulling out one more book.
And then Booker smirked. “And of course, you have to read this one.” he said as he placed a third paperback in her hand.
The title was enough to make her hit him with it, making his shake with amusement.
“Death on the Nile, hahahaha, world class comedian Booker.”
“It is a good story.” Booker said as he pulled the book away from her, grinning joyfully.
“Another time. I’ll read these first.”
Nile went and curled up on one end of the love seat Booker had at the end of the room, right below the windows. Booker moved around the room for a bit, making sure everything was in its place before coming to join her on the couch.
He pulled a book from the table beside him that Nile hadn’t noticed.
“What are you reading?”
He tilted the book so she could catch the title. “Far from the Madding Crowd?”
“I’m… fond of it.” Booker said.
“I’ll add it to my list then.” Nile said.
The pair of immortals shared another smile before settling in to read, a new found peace and understanding enveloping them.
#the old guard#the old guard fanfic#tog fanfic#tog#my fic#my writing#sebastien le livre#booker#nile freeman#nile freeman fanfic#sebastien le livre fanfic#let me know!
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homeward bound
a The Old Guard fic Relationship: Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova Rating: T (referenced canon-typical violence) Summary: Nicolò di Genova came from Genova before Italy even existed, but it's been a long time since Nicky went home. (AKA: the immortals have a complicated relationship with memory and nostalgia, but sometimes home is intangible.)
also on [AO3]
***
Places, they hold memories in them. Make them tangible again, like a smell that transports you back to your childhood classroom, or a song that sends shivers up your spine and makes you feel just as you did when you first heard it in a café twenty years ago. Places are vessels for the past, even as physical landscapes shape the future. They hold the imprints of the things that happened there, for better or worse; places have power.
*
"Joe, Nicky, I need you to meet this contact." Andy's voice is crisp and collected as she details the next mission, passing Joe a scrap of paper with an address. "They have a dossier we need, and we can't leave an electronic trail. In person only, this time."
Even with Copley covering their asses, erasing any digital footprint he finds, Andy's been extra careful of late, making sure there's no chance that anyone learns who they are again, and honestly, Nicky appreciates it. He doesn't need anyone else experimenting on Joe. It's not the first time they've been captured and it probably won't be the last, but being used as lab rats has left a certain bitter pang of fear in the back of Nicky's brain.
"Nile will go with me," Andy continues, unaware of the little detour his brain took him on. "We'll rendezvous in three days, at the safe house outside of Marseille." She pauses. "You get out clean, you hear me? I'd better see both your ugly mugs in front of me on Thursday."
"Yes, boss," says Joe, and Nicky manages a small smile, because this is one of the little ways Andy says I love you.
"Right, let's move out."
It's only a matter of grabbing their go-bags, really, but Nicky takes a moment to pull Nile aside and give her a quick hug.
"You take care of yourself, cucciola," he whispers. "Look out for Andy, but look out for yourself too, capisci?"
Nile hugs him fiercely, tightly, and then lets go quickly, straightening back into the stiff military stance that seems to be her fallback in situations like these when she's tamping down her emotions. "See you in three days, and not a second later."
He nods, and then they're going their separate ways, Andy and Nile screeching away in Andy's beat up Citroën.
"You want to do the honors, Habibi?" Joe asks, sliding into the driver's seat and passing the little scrap of neatly folded paper that contains their mission to Nicky.
Of course, Joe immediately complicates Nicky's efforts by reaching out to lace their fingers together over the gear shift, distracting him so that he fumbles with the paper. Nicky laughs, his task all the more difficult now with just one hand, and Joe lifts their twined hands to give Nicky's a kiss. Nicky shakes his head fondly at Joe's antics—he starts every road trip this way—and finally looks down to read who they're headed to meet.
The corners of Nicky's vision blur a little, and he feels himself go lightheaded. He squeezes Joe's hand tightly—too tightly—as he stares uncomprehendingly at what's inked there. Even though there is a name and the street number of a residence off of a piazza, all he can see is the last line, written in Copley's tight script: Genoa, Italy.
"Yusuf," he breathes. "Yusuf, look."
*
Genova, once upon a time, was home. Long before "Italy" existed, long before he became an immortal, the bustling streets of the merchant city were as familiar to Nicky as the freckle on his wrist or the soft way his mother smiled at her children when they did something clever. There was the market, where people shouted over each other about wares and prices, and the fountain where, at age nine, he'd tested his balance walking the lip of it and failed miserably, falling and scraping his knee, and the little twisting alley behind his home where, at thirteen on a dare, he'd chastely kissed Francesca, the baker's daughter, and hated it. He knew to always walk on the left side of the street that passed along his house, because the right side had loose cobblestones that were liable to trip you, and he knew that on Fridays, the shipbuilders took to the taverns, filling them with spirited—if drunken—singing. He fit there, and life was uncomplicated, or at least as uncomplicated as life ever gets.
*
Nicky hasn't been to Genova in more than nine hundred years.
They're immortals with adequate resources and his name is literally di Genova, so it might seem strange. Such a tangible connection to a location, one that was so close to his heart, and he hasn't gone in centuries, not even when he and Joe lived in Venitzia during the Renaissance, and not when they went to Firenze for the weekend a few years ago.
Because sometimes you can't go back.
He tried, once, in the early years after he first became immortal. He thought it might be a balm, a comfort. Something familiar to ease the profound sense of loss that had opened a cavern in his chest. A touchstone to who he'd been before the world turned upside down.
Instead, it felt like walking through a ghost town. It felt like existing within a refracted re-creation of his memories. Everything so hauntingly familiar, and yet slightly out of place. The city had grown, re-bricked, a new plaza where there should have been a house, and rows of shops and residences that hadn't existed before. The market went on cheerfully in the same spot, but the vendors were new, the wares organized differently. He'd walked past his childhood home to find the street busier, the stucco faded and cracked.
On his walk through the city, he'd sworn he saw his sister at the market, her face staring back at him, and then the woman had cursed him out for looking at her too long, and he'd realized the pitch of her voice was wrong, the curve of her eyebrow not quite right. Maybe, possibly, the old woman she was with when she left the market—hair greying and hunched figure and deep wrinkles around her dark eyes—had been his sister, or maybe it was just wishful thinking. Maybe she'd already been dead a generation. Maybe Nicky didn't actually remember her face, already so faded in his memory, and was so desperate to remember that he'd opened himself up to the power of suggestion.
It was only after the incident in the market that he realized: time had been grinding away at this once-familiar place, leaving no comfort to be had.
Nicky left the next morning, and never tried to return to Genova again.
*
It wasn't that he'd avoided it specifically; there'd just never been a reason to go before, and even though they'd visited Joe's hometown once, he'd never pushed to see Nicky's, sensing his reluctance.
After all, Genova isn't the only place Nicky or Joe have a difficult relationship with; perhaps it's the most salient, but they're immortal, and places tend to carry tangible reminders of the lives they've led, and the people they'll never get back.
Memories weigh down other cities too. Constantinople—er, Istanbul now, Nicky supposes—is another one, the streets somehow both foreign and nostalgic after the ten years they lived there. Echoes of friends' laughs ring out in quiet corners of the city, and the fragrant odor of spices—the bite of cumin and the wafting caress of mint—in the grand bazaar smells like hot nights drinking coffee with excitable scholars, passionately discussing philosophy until all hours, when their eyelids got leaden but their hearts were full. And strolling along the picturesque canals in Bruges never fails to turn up pangs of the indescribable loss of Quỳnh, and the memory of a broken Andy, sobbing that she'd lost her. (It's the only time Nicky can remember seeing Andy cry in the thousand years since they'd met.)
It happens with every place they've ever lived to some degree, wholly unavoidable, but Genova holds a strange and intimate attachment—something intrinsic—that these other places do not have.
It's true that sometimes you can never go back, but it's also true that you cannot escape your past entirely, either.
And now they have a mission there.
*
They pull into Genova in the late afternoon, as the golden hour rays are illuminating the city. (There's really nothing quite like the Italian sun, especially as it sets the port and the seaside on fire.) It's more colorful than he remembers, except for the water: that's as vibrant as it's always been.
They're making contact with their source in the morning, which means that tonight is mostly about laying low and not getting killed, two things that they should frankly be better at than they are.
Joe finds them an unremarkable pensione on a quiet side street, and books them a room for the night, paid in cash and using aliases. Untraceable.
Their route to finding a place to eat takes them past a view of the ocean and Nicky has to pause. Everything else has changed, but the ocean hasn't, not really. It's from a slightly different angle, but the same view he grew up with, familiar in a reflexive way, like muscle memory, something he'd forgotten he knew.
Over dinner, they talk about the mission, and speculate about how Nile and Andy are doing ("I bet you Andy's already done something stupid and Nile's had to take a bullet for her," Joe says, and Nicky replies, "Do you think I'm stupid? I know Andy too well; there's no way I'm taking that bet.") and revisit their long-standing debate about whether exiling Booker when his betrayal was borne of loneliness and isolation is really the right move.
The beautiful thing about being with someone so very long is that they know you, inside and out. Joe doesn't need to ask about how Nicky's dealing with being back in Genova, because he can see it written out across his face, detailed in the tension in his shoulders. (They'd talked a little bit about it in the car, and will probably talk about it some more later, but for now Joe won't press, and Nicky loves him all the more for it.)
On the way back to the pensione they take a different route, and stumble across a little plaza that Nicky recognizes. He squeezes Joe's hand and they continue, but if he looks hard enough, he fancies he can see the shade of his younger self scampering across the cobblestones.
How foolish, really.
*
In the deepest depths of the night, Nicky, restless, slips out of bed, sneaks out of the pensione.
The city has been painted over, rebuilt a dozen different times and pieced together like a patchwork quilt, but underneath it all are the bones of the city Nicky once knew. His feet carry him through the warren of streets, and he finds himself, suddenly, standing in front of his childhood home.
He stares at the building where he was born. Where he begrudgingly learned his first shaky letters. Where he sliced open his palm, trying to whittle a bit of wood like his older brother. Where he and his sister Catalina, closest in age of all of them, swapped whispered secrets and fantastical stories of their own creation. Where he dreamed of changing the world with the misguided vision of an insulated youth. Where he ate, slept, and laughed for the first fourteen years of his very long life.
It's a drop in the bucket, now, and looking at it this time doesn't produce the same emotions as it did so long ago. Instead, he just feels an emptiness, a sense of detachment. It is someone else's home now. It has not been his in any meaningful way for a long time, a transfer of ownership occurring with every brick that was replaced, every layer of paint splattered on. A blessing and a curse in equal measure, he supposes, to feel this way.
He's been there a few minutes—reality almost lost to him as he tries to remember exactly how his mother used to quirk her eyebrows at them and finds he can't—when he suddenly realizes that he's not alone, a thousand years of dangerous situations training him to notice and believe the prickling feeling on the back of his neck.
But when he turns, he just sees Joe, hands in his pockets, watching him intently. His face is thrown half in relief by a nearby streetlamp, and he blinks for a moment, marveling at how beautiful his Yusuf is, how entirely dear.
Joe doesn't ask what Nicky is doing here, or why he's not getting the sleep they need before the drop tomorrow. He simply joins him, and they stand there in quiet contemplation for a few moments, just being together in front of this unspectacular building.
Finally, "Is this where Nicolotto grew up?"
Nicky finds himself nodding. "It was not much back then, either. Less, even."
Joe studies the place again in the flickering light of the streetlamps.
"It should be a museum," he declares, and Nicky scoffs.
"Every house in Italy could be in a museum if you think having old bones warrants a spot there."
"Ah, but not every house was your house," says Joe.
"The person who came from here was no good," mutters Nicky. For all the shiny, fleeting memories of childhood, he wasn't: he was prejudiced, closed minded, convinced of his own superiority, taught to hate instead of love. It took dying several times—several dozen—to figure that out.
"None of that, ya Habib albi. That person needed to live," says Joe, fiercely, "needed to die, needed to be, so that I could meet you." Nicky ducks his head, but Joe's only just beginning, and he continues emphatically, "His existence is a miracle I praise every day, because every moment in time had to happen exactly as it did so that I would meet you, so that we might exist together. If this is the house where you grew up, I praise the blocks that made it stand, so that you might sleep each night within it; I praise the stones on the ground that absorbed your footfalls; I praise the herbs that grew on the windowsill and sweetened the air of each breath you drew in. This place, flawed though it may be, brought me you."
Yusuf's poeticism is nothing new, but it still sneaks up on him every time. "Elegant bastard," Nicky curses, several tears tracking down his cheeks, and reaches out, cups Joe's face tenderly and pulls him in for a desperate kiss.
A millennia and his lips are still tingling, a millennia and Joe's kiss is still tender, life-affirming, a question and an answer and a beautiful, delicate promise all at once.
Even when they break apart, they remain in each other's space, foreheads pressed together, breath mingling, hands resting on cheeks.
It's not as though they've been apart for any vast stretch of time recently, but Nicky still takes a moment to relish in Joe's presence, ground himself in the warmth of Joe's skin under his fingertips. It's on a deep inhale as he clears his mind that the idea comes to him, and he flicks his eyes open to meet Joe's.
"Yallah ya hayati."
"Ila al-funduq?"
"Not yet," Nicky says. He links his arm through Joe's. "I want to show you something else, first."
Nicky lets his feet guide them, and together they walk the remnants of the neighborhood of Nicky's youth, as he tells Joe about the merchant who lived in that house, and the shop on this street that sometimes gave the neighborhood children sweets when the owner was in a good mood. He allows himself to reminisce, finally stops holding back the wave of wistfulness and sadness and displacement and fondness—complicated and messy—as he narrates these long gone trivial bits of his childhood to Joe. The eastern sky is smudged with a little pink by the time the arrive back at the pensione for a few quick hours of sleep.
*
It is easier the next morning, a weight off his chest, the itchy eyes that come with a lack of sleep a small price to pay. When they go to collect the dossier, they trod part of a route he thinks that he used to take to go to the butcher's shop for his mother.
"I got into a fight in that alley," he says aloud, as the memory springs to life for the first time in centuries, triggered by the curve of the stone at the corner of the building.
"My Nicolò?" asks Joe dramatically, pretending to be shocked. "In a fight?"
"It wasn't much of one," says Nicky, the ghost of a smile on his face. He can't remember what the fight was about, anymore, or the name of the boy he got in a scuffle with. Dario? Dante? It doesn't come to him. Just the kiss of pain that came with his split lip and bruised cheekbone.
"Of course it wasn't," says Joe. "You had not yet met me."
Nicky snorts, but Joe isn't wrong. To this day, and even counting the many missions Andy has sent them on, some of his most intense fights were against Joe, before they realized they were far better suited as lovers than enemies.
"I have a secret," he says in a low voice, and when Joe turns to look at him, he continues, "I do not even think I won."
Joe's laugh rings out along the cobblestone street.
*
Genova, once upon a time, was home, but that was a long time ago. Places are vessels for memory and nostalgia, reminders of the people we have known and the people we have been. Places have power, but something you learn with time is that, powerful as they may be, home is not always a place.
As they pull out of the city with the dossier tucked in his bag, Joe at the wheel and hands laced together over the gear shift, Nicky feels something within himself quiet. Genova still means something to him and probably always will, but it is softer now, more approachable, a collection of memories he is reconciling with and not a cavernous hole to be avoided. He is content with filing it away as home, once instead of the dour no longer home he's thought of it as for so long.
After all, it is Yusuf, dear Yusuf, who is home, who has been for nearly a millennia now. His eyes are vessels for memory—their brightest, happiest moments, and also the tragedy and hardships they have faced together—and his soft smile carries its own nostalgia, even as it is his beacon of hope. Home is a patchwork of days and nights and soft whispers traded between them, a constellation of moments traced across his skin, the invisible story of their love etched within their souls.
Nicky lifts up their intertwined fingers and kisses Joe's hand, and when Joe glances over at him, he smiles softly, a thousand beautiful memories refracted in Joe's eyes. Home, indeed.
***
#the old guard#nicolò di genova#yusuf al kaysani#the old guard fanfiction#nicolo di genova#yusuf al-kaysani#lenci writes
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Happy (1 day) early birthday @themoonwhenimlost! I promised a Coffee Shop AU with a happy ending, so the happy ending will be posted on your actual birthday. Sorry not sorry? I love you!
Chapter 1/2
“Will you stop?”
Joe pauses his attempt at pacing a hole in the floor to glare at Booker.
“You’re just going to keep working yourself into a frenzy.” Booker tsks at him.
“I’m nervous.”
“You’ve done this before.” Booker points out unhelpfully.
And the thing is, is that Joe knows he has. He’s nine hundred and fifty four years old, and he died his first death nine hundred and twenty one years ago, leaving him forever thirty three.
His first death. Stabbed by a long sword at the hands of one Nicolò di Genova, but not before Joe was able to stab him first. Only, Joe gasped awake and Nicolò stayed dead.
Or so he thought. Thirty years practically to the day he sees Nicolò looking every bit the same, minus the ridiculous chain mail, working in Cairo.
At first he thought that Nicolò had survived that fateful day, like Joe had, but over time he came to realize that wasn’t the case. This Nicolò was not from Genova, even though his family hailed from there. He was born thirty years earlier.
Over the years they traveled together, became lovers, and when Nicolò had started to age, Joe told him his secret.
After his Nicolò passed, it became clear that history was repeating itself.
Ever since that second meeting, Joe will meet Nicolò one way or another, spend however long they have together in that lifetime, and then thirty years after he inevitably loses Nicolò, he’ll find him again.
Nicolò isn’t always the same. He’ll have different hair, different styles, even different names. But he always looks at Joe like he’s the sun.
Joe gets to fall in love with every version of Nicolò he meets.
Nicolò never remembers Joe or the lifetimes they’ve lived. Something Joe has spent his long life cursing the universe for.
Now, he’s pacing his apartment floor, thirty years after he last lost Nicolò to old age. He never knows why he gets an inkling to do something or go somewhere a year or two before the thirty years is up, but he always follows his gut and does what his heart tells him.
This time he knew he needed to be a university professor. Booker ever so kindly forging documents for him and now that he’s been at the university for two years he’s getting anxious.
With technology how it is he knows he could’ve looked up Nicolò. He knows he’ll have some variation of the name he had all those years ago when Joe was still Yusuf and Nicolò was still Nicolò.
But, he doesn’t want to. Well, that’s not true. But he feels like that’s cheating destiny.
So far they’ve always met organically. Joe never seeks him out and once he gets comfortable enough to let his guard down and share their past with Nicolò it always goes over as smoothly as it can.
“Too many times.” Joe answers Booker solemnly.
“Joe.”
“No. No, I’m being melancholic.”
Booker snorts but then softens. “Hey.” Booker stands and grabs Joe’s shoulders. “This is always the worst part but once you meet it’s like he never left.”
“I know. I know.” The thing is Joe does know. Even though Joe always goes through thirty year periods without Nicolò he always gets him back.
Reincarnation.
Or, that’s what Copley, Booker’s husband, had called it when he first became immortal and joined their family.
“Alright enough of this.” Booker walks over to the front door to put on his shoes. “I want coffee, we’re getting coffee.”
“I have coffee here.” Joe mutters weakly as he puts on his own shoes.
“I want to try that new place on Charlie.”
“Cup of Joe?” Joe groans even as he says it. He hates coffee shops close to the university because he always seems to run into students.
“Yes that one! I like the name.”
“I hate you.”
“Love you too, mon chéri.”
Joe laughs as Booker blows him a kiss as they make their way to the coffee shop.
“I’m telling James you said that.”
“You wound me, Yusuf.”
“You’ll get over it.” Joe mumbles as he pushes open the door to the coffee shop with an entirely un-unique name.
He’s about to let Booker walk in first when he turns and runs into someone. The moment they touch Joe knows it’s Nicolò.
Joe’s breath catches and they lock eyes, only Nicolò doesn’t have the usual look of wonder when they meet, no. This time he’s scowling.
“Scusi.” Nicolò looks at him and scurries away but not before shooting a glare back at Joe.
Booker shrugs and a woman wearing an apron behind the counter quickly apologizes for Nicolò’s behavior.
“Sorry. Nicky’s not normally so rude to customers.” The woman glares at Nicky and Joe smiles at the name.
Nicky.
He’s never gone by Nicky before but Joe immediately loves it.
“It’s alright. Maybe he didn’t see me.”
Booker snorts and Joe elbows him in the side.
“Maybe.” The woman looks at Nicky and turns back to them. “I’m Nile, what can I get for you?”
“I’ll have a large soy chai with extra whip cream.” Booker cuts in and Joe rolls his eyes at his drink choice.
“I’ll take a coffee please, two sugars.” Joe says and Booker elbows him now and points to a sign.
First coffee is free for customers named Joe.
“Oh! Free coffee?”
“Is your name Joe?” Nile asks as she pulls out two punch cards for them.
“Yes.” Joe answers at the same time Nicky says, “That’s not his name.”
“Nicky.” Nile hisses and turns around. “Frankie! Come get your boy.”
Another woman comes out from the back of the counter and takes one look at everyone and then grabs Nicky who starts muttering something that suspiciously sounds like his name is Yusuf in Italian.
Joe's staring stock still and Booker’s looking at him like he’s worried Joe’s going to start freaking out.
“I am so sorry. Coffee’s on the house. I promise he is not like this.”
Nile’s worried voice breaks him out of his spiraling thoughts.
“It’s okay. I’m a professor at the university so my real name is in my bio. It’s Joseph.”
“Presumably most people named Joe have a full name.” Nile mumbles and looks back to where Frankie is forcing Nicky to sit down.
“Anything else?” Nile asks as Joe stares at the bakery case.
“No thanks.” Joe answers and they take their coffees to go.
“That was weird.” Booker mutters when they get outside.
“You think?” Joe scrubs a hand over his face. “He’s never been hostile towards me.”
“Except the first time.” Booker points out unhelpfully.
Joe glares at him.
“C’mon, we’ll come back tomorrow after your class. Maybe he’ll be in a better mood.”
~~~
Turns out, Nicky is not in a better mood when they head back to Cup of Joe.
Nile shoves him into the back as they order and Joe’s heart sinks.
Booker looks like he’s about to say something when Joe spots baklava in the bakery case.
“Baklava?”
“Oh yes. Nicky loves it, loves to travel, so he bakes different versions from around the world. If you put in some money and guess the ingredients we’ll give you one on the house.”
Joe looks up at a sign that says:
Place your bets!
Booker snorts and Joe is transported to the last time Booker and Nicolò bet five hundred dollars on Andy guessing the flavors of an Eastern Turkey baklava.
Joe can hear Nicolò’s voice in his head.
“Five hundred, Booker?”
Joe turns to look at Booker and can tell he’s reliving the same memory.
“Alright, five dollars Joe can guess that one.” Booker points to one on the top shelf and places a five dollar bill in the bowl.
“Okay!” Nile scoops up the baklava and hands it to Joe on some parchment. Before he takes a bite, Nile's yelling for Nicky and Frankie.
“Nicky! Frankie! We’ve got a guesser!”
A crash sounds and then giggling and Joe’s breath catches at the sound of Nicky’s laughter.
“Honestly, introduce my wife to my best friend once.” Nile mumbles and Joe chuckles.
He understands that sentiment, the first time he introduced Nicolò to Andy, Quynh, and Booker, and every time thereafter, they’ve all become fast friends.
“Who’s guessing?” Nicky asks and then pauses when his eyes lock with Joe’s.
Nicky turns away too quickly for Joe to notice anything so he decides to take a bite of the baklava and moans at the flavor.
“Mmm. Hazelnut, not walnut.” Joe takes a bite as Booker starts counting the ingredients off on his fingers. Nile smiles at him.
“Black Sea.” Joe smiles and takes another bite. “Rose water, pomegranate.”
Joe can see Nicky tensing and Joe takes another bite.
“Mmm. Eastern Turkey.”
Joe opens his eyes in time to see Nile clapping and Booker smirking.
But Joe only has eyes for Nicky, who’s covering his face in his hands as he turns and heads back behind the counter. Frankie pats Nicky on the back and looks at Joe and Booker.
“You’re the first one to guess that flavor profile.” Then she turns on her heels to find Nicky.
“That was amazing!” Nile’s still smiling and Joe shrugs.
The flavors are familiar because it’s the last piece of baklava they bought Andy together, on their last trip to Turkey, the one Nicky bet Booker on.
Booker shrugs at him and orders another coffee.
“Do you want your free pastry now or rain check?”
Joe thinks about it for a moment. “Rain check.”
Nile nods and pulls off a coupon from a little booklet and hands Joe a coffee. He thanks her for both as he wanders over to the wall of books and smiles at the little stand to drop off used books.
“This was Nicky’s idea.” Nile says as she comes up beside him.
“The books?” Nicolò always did love books. Joe smiles at the warm memories.
“Mm. My wife and I wanted to open a coffee shop, and Nicky agreed to partner with us if he could bake and bring his books.”
Joe feels warm all over at the very Nicolò like thing that was to do. Nicolò was always reading and feeding people.
“These are his?” Joe looks over at the books.
“Some of them, yes. He thinks they should be shared with the world, which is why if you leave a book.” Nile points to the stand. “You can take a book.”
“I love that.” Joe says honestly.
“So did we.” The bell at the front door jingles to indicate a new customer and Nile smiles as she goes to help them.
“How very Nicolò.” Booker mutters as he walks up to the books.
“I know.” Joe stops suddenly when he sees them.
His books. His poetry. Nine of them, the very first volume One Thousand Sixty Nine is the only one missing.
“Joe.”
“He has my poetry books.” Joe whispers, looking at the volumes, all written under various cover names. Except the first one. Which hasn’t been in print for a long time, the remaining copies sitting in a trunk at his house.
“He has good taste.” Booker tries to joke but Joe isn’t convinced.
“He’s never.” Joe shakes his head. “He’s never had any of my things before.”
Booker turns back to look at where Nile and Nicky are whispering with a look of great concentration on his face.
“What?” Joe snaps and then immediately apologizes. “Sorry.”
“It’s okay. C’mon, you can come back tomorrow.”
“I don’t…”
“Joe.” Booker grabs his shoulders after they get outside. “I know this is different but when has any of this ever made sense?”
“No, you’re right.”
“I usually am.” Booker says smugly as Joe rolls his eyes.
“Don’t push it.”
~~~
Joe changes up his tactics the next day, heading to Cup of Joe without Booker.
He’s waited thirty years to see his Nicolò, hopefully he can manage a single conversation with Nicky that doesn’t involve glaring.
No such luck.
“Morning Nicky.” Joe says brightly and Nicky, ever the professional, sighs with his whole body and gets Joe’s coffee.
That he doesn’t even have to ask Joe what he likes to drink makes Joe smile.
“Did you want your free pastry?” Nicky asks him and Joe smiles at the first real words Nicky has spoken to him.
“Surprise me?” Joe smirks and some of the tension Nicky’s carrying eases.
Nicky picks a pastry that Joe finds vaguely familiar and when Joe takes a bite he actually can’t help the moan that escapes.
“Oh my god, this is my favorite.” Joe says around a mouthful of a desert he hasn’t had in years. His mother used to make a variation of this and Nicolò always replicated it when he would learn that fact.
“I know...I’m glad you like it.” Nicky curses in Italian and Joe can only look at him inquisitively.
Before Joe can say anything else another customer walks in taking Nicky’s attention.
Joe walks over to the bookcases and discretely pulls his own book out of his bag, the first volume that Nicky’s collection is missing. He places it on the Borrow a Book shelf and turns back to speak to Nicky.
“Ci vediamo domani.” Joe waves, pleased at the look of shock on Nicky’s face.
Joe’s about to go to class when he sees a text from Booker.
[Book: you gave him the book didn’t you?]
[Joe: how did you know that?]
[Joe: did you break into my place again?]
[Book: I have a key]
[Joe: I’m taking it back]
[Book: no you aren’t]
Joe sighs, Booker’s right. He isn’t taking his key back. They all have keys to each other’s place, privacy long since passed between all of them. It’s more enter at your own risk now. But still.
Joe wanted a little more time with his decision to essentially out himself as himself with this prickly version of Nicolò before everyone else knew about it.
And everyone else would know about it because Booker likes to gossip.
He pockets his phone, resigned to spending hours with ungrateful students before he can see Nicky again.
~~~
Joe thought when he walked into Cup of Joe the next morning he would be met with a shy smile and a ‘how did you find that edition?’ of his book that he dropped off.
What he did not expect was for Nicky to grab him by the arm and bring him right back outside in such a flurry that Joe nearly falls down.
Joe takes a moment to steady himself as he takes in the anger and fear on Nicky’s face.
It’s something Joe hasn’t seen in centuries, although this Nicky is already so different than the Nicolò’s of the past, from his longer hair curling around his ears, the beard around his face, and two gold earrings, but also the fact that he seems to remember is enough for Joe to know this time is different.
“Where did you find this?” Nicky scowls and shakes the book Joe dropped off the day before in front of his face.
“I…”
“Yusuf.” The sound of Joe’s real name jolts him back into awareness. “Don’t lie to me.”
“I had it in my collection. Thought I could complete yours.”
“Yusuf ibn Ibrahim ibn Muhammad ibn al-Kaysani.”
Joe sucks in a shaky breath.
“Tell me how I know that’s your name.” Nicky snarls. “Tell me.”
“How? I don’t - ”
“He’s the moon when I’m lost in darkness and warmth when I shiver in cold.”
“Nicky.”
“Tell me, Yusuf, how I didn’t have to read a single line in this damn book to know what it said.” Nicky shoves the book into Joe’s chest and he clutches it to him.
“I - ”
“Better yet. Tell me how I remember you writing this. In Malta, in our cottage by the sea with the windows open while I laid in bed. ‘Nicolò, habibi, stay just like that.’ ‘Are you sketching again, amore mio?’ ‘No, writing about our love.’ Because it is a memory, isn’t it?”
Joe feels like he’s been sucker punched.
“You...you remember?”
Nicky groans and grabs at his hair. Joe doesn’t know how this is possible. So many things in his life haven’t made since but Nicolò, even though they go years without each other, has always been his constant.
“Tell me how this is possible?”
“I can’t, I…” Joe feels like he can’t breathe and the incoming panic isn’t helping. “I have to go.”
Joe turns quickly and walks away from Nicky as fast as he can even though Nicky’s shouting after him.
“Yusuf!”
Joe feels like running but he’s already struggling to breathe so he doesn’t, thankful that Booker and Copley live close to the coffee shop.
He gets to their door and knocks, barely able to stand. He could use his key but that would require effort. He hears someone’s footsteps, Copley’s probably, and braces against the door as it opens.
“Joe? Why didn’t you use your key?” Copley asks him and then frowns at him.
“James.” Joe croaks out and Copley immediately knows that something is wrong because Joe has called him James exactly one time, and it was when Copley and Booker got married.
“Okay. C’mon. Can you walk?”
Joe nods and he can tell Copley is checking him over to see if he’s injured.
“‘M fine.”
Joe sinks down onto their plush couch as Copley calls for Booker.
“James? Was someone at the door?” Booker takes one look at what Joe is sure is the most pathetic he’s ever looked before Booker’s running over to him.
“Joe? What’s wrong? Are you hurt?” Booker’s frantically checking him over and Joe just shakes his head.
Joe looks up at the sound of more footsteps and cringes when he sees Andy and Quynh.
“What? You didn’t think we remembered what year it is?” Andy asks as she sits on the coffee table.
Joe gives her a weak smile as Booker grabs his hands to stop them from shaking.
Copley hands him a glass of water and Joe’s grateful for the cold, as he takes a couple of minutes to get his breathing under control.
When he’s finally able to take a true breath he looks up at the people he’s called family for longer than anyone should ever live and cries.
“He remembers.” Joe says brokenly.
“Who?”
“What does he remember?”
“What happened?”
“Nicky?”
Joe ignores the rapid fire questions from everyone and just looks at Booker.
“Shit.”
“Yeah.”
“Someone tell me what’s going on.” Andy uses her no nonsense voice and Joe cringes.
“He met Nicolò the other day.” Booker sighs after a moment when Joe stays silent.
Andy and Quynh gasp, which Joe supposes is nice, that Booker didn’t let the cat out of the bag until Joe could tell them himself.
“He goes by Nicky this time.” Joe smiles at the memory of finding out that Nicolò uses a nickname in this lifetime.
“He owns a coffee shop with two of his friends, it’s called Cup of Joe.”
Andy snorts and Quynh swats at her arm.
“He, well there were signs the last couple of days that he knew things about me, about us, that he shouldn't have. But I just assumed it was me overreacting.”
“I take it the book didn’t help?” Booker holds up the book to show everyone and Joe nods.
“I dropped it off yesterday and today before I even made it inside Nicky was grabbing me and bringing me outside to tell me he remembered every line of poetry.”
“Well, that would make sense if he read it yesterday.” Copley sits down next to Booker, who immediately grabs his hand.
“He didn’t just remember the poetry. He remembered what we were doing when I wrote it.”
“Gross.” Booker gags and Joe shoves him while everyone laughs.
“No. We were in Malta. He told me word for word the conversation we had.”
“And you remember it?” Andy asks and Joe glares at her.
“Of course I do.” Joe snaps and then reaches out to squeeze Andy’s hand in apology.
“What do you want to do?” Andy asks him and Joe shakes his head.
“No, it’s not just about me or - ”
“Joe. If he’s remembering you need to tell him. You always do anyway.” Booker says quietly.
“He was just so confused.” Joe puts his head in his hands, ashamed at himself for leaving Nicky there when he was clearly freaking out.
“Hey.” Booker grabs his shoulder and Joe looks at him.
“I just left him. He’s all alone and I left him, probably wondering what’s going on.”
“It’s too late now to do anything. You can go to the coffee shop tomorrow and see him.” Booker suggests as Copley stands to make dinner.
“Tomorrow.”
Joe wants to go now. Wants to comfort Nicky or at least be an outlet for his frustration. Joe’s never had to explain their history to Nicky with Nicky already having a head start.
“Fine. Copley better be making croque monsieurs.”
“I am!”
Booker laughs and claps him on the back and Joe nods, resolute to fix this, so he doesn’t lose Nicky this lifetime.
~~~
Joe shows up at Cup of Joe right as it’s opening, a small bushel of lavender, Nicolò’s favorite, in his right hand, and his poetry book in his left.
Nile takes one look at him when he gets to the counter and scowls.
Joe takes a step back and holds his hands up. Nile notices the lavender and softens immediately.
“Is that for Nicky?”
“Yeah.” Joe swallows. “How is he?”
“He’s...been better.”
Joe nods and looks to the side, wondering just how much Nicky disclosed to his friends. They’ve had mortal friends throughout the years, if only because Nicky was mortal as well. A few they’d let in on their secrets but not in a long time.
Nile sighs loudly and he turns his attention back to her.
“Look. I don’t know what happened between you two, but he was pretty shaken up yesterday.”
“I didn’t…” At Nile’s scowl, Joe amends his statement. “It was a misunderstanding. I have no intention of hurting him again.”
Nile takes a moment, sizes him up, and must come to some conclusion that he’s telling the truth because she nods and hands him a brown paper bag and a to go cup.
“What’s this?”
“His favorites.”
Joe smells the bag and smiles. “Vanilla latte and blueberry scone.”
Nile smiles at him and Joe’s thankful she doesn’t ask how he knows that.
“He lives upstairs. That.” She nods to the bag. “Will let him know I sent you.”
“Thank you, Nile.”
“Don’t make me regret this!” Nile shouts after him as he goes to leave.
“I won’t!”
Joe finds the stairs leading to the second floor and smiles at the hanging plants and welcome mat that says ciao at the front door.
Nicky opens the door before Joe even knocks, almost like he was expecting Joe to stop by.
Joe smiles and holds up his offerings. “Hi. I think we should talk?”
Nicky holds the door open further so Joe can walk inside and as he takes a look around he smiles warmly at the apartment that is so very Nicky.
“Nile gave me these.” Joe hands over the coffee and scone. “And I brought you these.”
Nicky takes the lavender and brings it to his nose to smell. He smiles a little, even though it’s sad.
“I guess I don’t have to tell you they’re my favorite, do I?”
“I’d love to learn everything about you.” Joe blurts out instead of the answer Nicky really wants.
Nicky takes that for what it is as he puts the lavender in a vase and then opens the brown paper bag and moans when he sees the scone.
Joe chuckles. “You like your own baking that much?”
Nicky looks at him oddly and then shakes his head as he takes a bite. “I don’t make these, Frankie does.”
Joe pauses and then smiles as he remembers that he always made Nicolò scones, an old family recipe that puts…
“Brown sugar in the batter.” Nicky finishes and Joe realizes that he said the last part out loud.
Joe smiles, sheepish, and holds up the book instead.
“I wanted you to have this.”
“Why?”
“Well, frankly, it’s yours.”
Nicky nods and hands Joe a glass of water and Joe is grateful for something to do with his hands as he waits for Nicky to answer.
Joe hands it to Nicky who runs his hands over the cover like it’s something special and precious.
“This was the only one I couldn’t find. The others, they’re not a true collection, different authors.” Nicky grins. “But I knew they were all by the same person.”
“Did you?”
“Know it was you before the other day?”
Joe nods, wondering if Nicky’s been remembering his past lives his entire life.
“No. And before you ask I didn’t start...uhh, the, uhh, un riccardo, how do you say in English?”
“Memory.”
“Right, the memories didn’t start until we met the other day.”
“When we touched?” Joe remembers the jolt he felt, unfamiliar and familiar at the same time.
“Sì.”
“I’ve had these feelings my whole life, inklings, I think. Like with the books, the scones, things like that, but never actual memories before.”
Joe looks around the apartment and notices the tapestries and rugs that match the ones they have in their home in Malta. The artwork on the walls, reproductions of both Booker’s and Joe’s art. The same nine books of Joe’s that he has in the coffee shop. Little pieces of their lives together and Nicky had no idea.
“It’s all familiar to you?” Nicky asks him quietly and Joe nods.
“Will you tell me about it?”
“About what?”
“Our life...lives.”
Joe looks shocked for a moment. “I thought you?”
“I want to hear it from you, if you’re willing?”
“Yes. Yes of course.” Joe smiles, pleased that Nicky’s willing to hear him out. “Where do you want me to start?”
“The beginning.”
“It’s quite a long story. I’ve been alive a long time.”
“I’d like to hear it. I need to...make sense of everything.” Nicky points to his head and Joe smiles.
“Alright. I’m pretty sure you killed me during the Crusades.”
Nicky laughs and Joe can’t help it, he laughs too. A thought occurs to Joe and he gasps.
“Is that why you were so cold to me when we first met?”
Nicky’s cheeks turn a bright pink as he ducks his head and Joe warms at the sight.
“I didn’t know what was happening. I was confused. Seeing things that couldn’t have been real, in languages I didn’t know I knew.” Nicky shrugs.
“You know I don’t blame you, right? We’ve long since worked it out.”
Nicky gasps and Joe’s glad that he can read this version of Nicky.
“The love of my life was of the people I’ve been taught to hate.” Nicky recites and then shakes his head and Joe steps closer, raises his hand to telegraph his movements.
Nicky nods and Joe squeezes his hand, gasps as the buzzing returns but then settles.
“I love you.”
“You don’t know me.”
“You’re right, I don’t know this version of you, but I know your heart. I know the pain you still feel about what happened, but I’m telling you, the Nicolò I love has grown to realize the mistakes he made when he marched on Jerusalem.”
Nicky squeezes his hand before he steps back and Joe lets him go, stepping back a little himself.
“I’ll make you a deal. I’ll tell you about our lives together, and you tell me about you.”
“You want to know about me?”
“I want to know everything.”
Nicky smiles and turns to put on a kettle. Joe warms at the thought that Nicky still loves tea even though he owns a coffee shop.
“Chamomile? I think we’ll be up a while.”
Joe nods and takes a sip of the tea when it’s done, smiling when he realizes it’s just the way he likes it.
Joe walks over the couch and settles with a blanket as he gestures for Nicky to join him. Nicky chuckles softly and goes to sit down.
Joe immediately shares the blanket as they settle in.
“I think I’d rather hear about you first, especially if you remember a lot of our lives.”
“I’m not that interesting.”
“Nicolò.” Joe waits until Nicky looks at him. “You are the most interesting person to me, always.”
Nicky blushes again and Joe’s enamored. It doesn’t matter how long it takes, he can’t wait to learn everything about this Nicky.
~~~
When he leaves Nicky’s apartment the next morning, he’s smiling from ear to ear, with a spring in his step, even though he didn’t sleep.
They spent the rest of the day and all night talking, trading story after story. He knows they didn’t learn everything but he feels closer to Nicky than he ever has before, not realizing he was missing a partner that just knew things about him.
He also managed to get Nicky’s number and plans for an actual date tomorrow night, since all they ended up eating was leftovers.
He’s giddy with the thought of dating Nicky. Of learning about all of the little things that make this Nicky decidedly his own.
Joe doesn’t know how he does it but he makes it through all of his lectures and office hours. He even makes it through dinner with the family, overjoyed to tell them about his night and plans for the next day.
He wakes up happier than ever, eager for the day to end so he can take Nicky out on their date.
“I’ve never seen you like this.” Booker comments as they make their way to Cup of Joe the next morning.
“It’s all so new, we’ve never dated like this before.”
“You’ve dated.”
“But not like this. Not where he knows.” Joe knows he’s practically bouncing as they walk down the street, smiling from ear to ear.
Booker chuckles and he shoves his brother lightly when he sees Nicky, Nile, and Frankie setting up their patio outside the coffee shop.
Joe also knows he has a besotted look on his face because Booker gags and then groans.
“Oh god, it’s like that already?”
“I don’t know what you mean.” Joe says innocently and Booker smiles.
“It’s good to see you like this, brother.”
Joe smiles warmly at Booker before he looks back at the trio outside the coffee shop. They’re just crossing the street and he calls out for Nicky.
“Nicolò!”
But just as Nicky turns to smile at him, a car comes barreling down the road, completely out of control, and Joe can only watch in horror as the car hits the curb right in front of the coffee shop, flipping and careening right into the patio in a sickening crunch.
“Nicolò!” Joe screams as others nearby scream and he and Booker run towards the wreckage.
“Nicolò!” Joe slides to where Nicky was standing and sees him lying lifeless on the patio. He briefly touches Nicky’s forehead and looks around and sees Nile and Frankie lying at unnatural angles.
Nicky’s body is shielding them like he tried to push them out of the way.
“Nicolò.” Joe croaks as Booker tries to pull him away.
“No. No!”
“Joe. We have to call for help.”
“I can’t leave him!”
“Joe. He’s gone.”
“No! No!” Joe sobs as he cradles Nicky’s head. “No.”
“Yusuf.”
“No.” Joe knows he’s not breathing right, the hiccuping sobs making it harder to think.
“Nicolò, destati.” Joe sobs as he brushes Nicky’s shoulder softly.
“Destati.”
#the old guard#joe x nicky#reincarnation au#mentions of car accident#canon temporary character death
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