As luck (or destiny, a voice in Booker’s mind suggested, which he blamed on being trapped in Nicky’s brain) would have it, Andy, Joe, Nile, and Nicky had been only a few hours away from Booker when the switch had occurred. They'd been investigating a blackmail ring; he'd been helping construct a new school.
Their safe house was bigger, nicer, and almost certainly more secure than the shabby one-bedroom cottage Copley had leased for him, but Booker gathered that Joe had put his foot all the way down at the idea of Nicky traveling alone. It was silly, but Andy and Nile had looked at Joe, the way his gaze kept returning to Booker and then skittering away whenever Booker moved or met his eyes, and told Nicky to sit tight.
Now, apparently having marshaled his internal resources, Joe looked squarely at Booker from across the back seat of the rental car, which Andy was hurtling through the countryside at speeds neither safe, legal, nor moral, and said, challengingly, “I’m going to kiss you.”
Booker stared back at him.
"Your body, I mean," Joe said. "The one with Nicky in it." Then, with gritted teeth but what Booker recognized as utter sincerity, “With your permission."
"Oh," Booker said. “Yeah. Yeah, that's fine."
"Thank you," Joe said tightly, and resumed his intense stare at the back of Nile’s headrest.
For her part, Nile had recovered quickly from the shock and, based on the amused gleam in her eye when she met Booker’s gaze in the rearview mirror, had already started to identify humorous possibilities in their situation.
"You don't want to kiss him now, Joe?" she asked brightly, twinkling in response to Booker’s glare. "I would think the muscle memory alone—“
"Ew," Joe said, with a glance of unfeigned disgust at the body about which Booker personally had heard Joe declaim his passion for what must amount to years of Booker's immortal life.
“Right back at you,” Booker said, and Nile laughed.
*
They rolled up the long driveway toward the cottage just after noon. It was a nice location, actually. The building itself was gently dilapidated but it sat on three acres of grass and wildflowers and shaggy hedges, all warming and fragrant now under the midday sun, and there was a small pond tucked at the back of the property. A porch sagged all the way around the cottage, adorned with creaky wicker furniture that Booker knew to be more comfortable than it looked.
“You should go first,” Nile said over her shoulder to Booker, and Joe’s hand stilled on the door handle.
“Why?” Booker and Joe asked simultaneously.
“I don’t know, in case you explode when you get close. Like matter and antimatter.” She interlocked her fingers together then pulled them apart, wriggling, and made a whoosh sound with her mouth.
“That’s stupid,” Booker said, at the same time Joe said, “If Nicky explodes I should be there.”
“Go ahead, Book,” Andy said, holding up a hand to forestall Joe’s argument. “Just give them a minute.”
She didn’t elaborate, but Joe released the door handle, and Booker realized that body-swapping aside he had no clue how Nicky was going to react to seeing him again so very many years early.
*
Nicky wasn’t on the porch, and he wasn’t in the cottage. Booker walked all the way through the open first floor, and called up the stairs. Then he exited through the back kitchen door, and saw Nicky walking up from the pond.
Probably feeding the ducks, Booker thought inanely. He didn’t even know if there were ducks, though he was confident that if there were, Nicky would have found them, and fed them.
He waited on the porch and watched Nicky approach. He knew in a heartbeat that he wouldn’t have been able to tell. He supposed you didn’t know the sight of your own body as well as your nearest and dearest did, but he’d seen plenty of surveillance footage of himself over the years and the body walking toward him didn’t look any different. It certainly didn’t look like Nicky. It looked like Booker; it moved like Booker. It was like there was a screen draped in front of him and someone was projecting footage of himself walking across a lawn.
Nicky stopped just short of the stairs leading up to the porch and looked up at Booker with his own eyes.
“Booker,” he said, in Booker’s own voice. His accent was still there, though softened.
“Nicky,” Booker said. He thought of all the things he should say, and instead said, “Nile thought we should meet first, in case we explode when we get close.”
Nicky's mouth quirked. “Okay.” He squinted up at him. “How close?”
Booker shrugged, and stepped down onto the grass, and held out a hand. Nicky shook it.
“Well, that’s a relief,” Booker said.
“Hmm,” Nicky said.
“I hope you know—” Booker started, his voice strained.
“I don’t think you did this,” Nicky said dismissively. “I don't see how you could have.”
Then his gaze flicked over Booker’s shoulder, and—oh.
It was stunning to see that love blazing up in his own eyes. It was like he'd never seen it before, and it felt like an gift, now, to get to see it again.
“Booker says it’s okay if I kiss you,” Joe said, stepping past him, and sweeping Nicky tightly into his arms.
“Thank you, Booker,” Nicky said rapturously, and Booker nodded, and left them to it.
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timeasmymeasure
Fill: Nicky/Joe + Booker and Nicky Bodyswap 3/?
Date: 2020-10-14 09:39 pm (UTC)Their safe house was bigger, nicer, and almost certainly more secure than the shabby one-bedroom cottage Copley had leased for him, but Booker gathered that Joe had put his foot all the way down at the idea of Nicky traveling alone. It was silly, but Andy and Nile had looked at Joe, the way his gaze kept returning to Booker and then skittering away whenever Booker moved or met his eyes, and told Nicky to sit tight.
Now, apparently having marshaled his internal resources, Joe looked squarely at Booker from across the back seat of the rental car, which Andy was hurtling through the countryside at speeds neither safe, legal, nor moral, and said, challengingly, “I’m going to kiss you.”
Booker stared back at him.
"Your body, I mean," Joe said. "The one with Nicky in it." Then, with gritted teeth but what Booker recognized as utter sincerity, “With your permission."
"Oh," Booker said. “Yeah. Yeah, that's fine."
"Thank you," Joe said tightly, and resumed his intense stare at the back of Nile’s headrest.
For her part, Nile had recovered quickly from the shock and, based on the amused gleam in her eye when she met Booker’s gaze in the rearview mirror, had already started to identify humorous possibilities in their situation.
"You don't want to kiss him now, Joe?" she asked brightly, twinkling in response to Booker’s glare. "I would think the muscle memory alone—“
"Ew," Joe said, with a glance of unfeigned disgust at the body about which Booker personally had heard Joe declaim his passion for what must amount to years of Booker's immortal life.
“Right back at you,” Booker said, and Nile laughed.
*
They rolled up the long driveway toward the cottage just after noon. It was a nice location, actually. The building itself was gently dilapidated but it sat on three acres of grass and wildflowers and shaggy hedges, all warming and fragrant now under the midday sun, and there was a small pond tucked at the back of the property. A porch sagged all the way around the cottage, adorned with creaky wicker furniture that Booker knew to be more comfortable than it looked.
“You should go first,” Nile said over her shoulder to Booker, and Joe’s hand stilled on the door handle.
“Why?” Booker and Joe asked simultaneously.
“I don’t know, in case you explode when you get close. Like matter and antimatter.” She interlocked her fingers together then pulled them apart, wriggling, and made a whoosh sound with her mouth.
“That’s stupid,” Booker said, at the same time Joe said, “If Nicky explodes I should be there.”
“Go ahead, Book,” Andy said, holding up a hand to forestall Joe’s argument. “Just give them a minute.”
She didn’t elaborate, but Joe released the door handle, and Booker realized that body-swapping aside he had no clue how Nicky was going to react to seeing him again so very many years early.
*
Nicky wasn’t on the porch, and he wasn’t in the cottage. Booker walked all the way through the open first floor, and called up the stairs. Then he exited through the back kitchen door, and saw Nicky walking up from the pond.
Probably feeding the ducks, Booker thought inanely. He didn’t even know if there were ducks, though he was confident that if there were, Nicky would have found them, and fed them.
He waited on the porch and watched Nicky approach. He knew in a heartbeat that he wouldn’t have been able to tell. He supposed you didn’t know the sight of your own body as well as your nearest and dearest did, but he’d seen plenty of surveillance footage of himself over the years and the body walking toward him didn’t look any different. It certainly didn’t look like Nicky. It looked like Booker; it moved like Booker. It was like there was a screen draped in front of him and someone was projecting footage of himself walking across a lawn.
Nicky stopped just short of the stairs leading up to the porch and looked up at Booker with his own eyes.
“Booker,” he said, in Booker’s own voice. His accent was still there, though softened.
“Nicky,” Booker said. He thought of all the things he should say, and instead said, “Nile thought we should meet first, in case we explode when we get close.”
Nicky's mouth quirked. “Okay.” He squinted up at him. “How close?”
Booker shrugged, and stepped down onto the grass, and held out a hand. Nicky shook it.
“Well, that’s a relief,” Booker said.
“Hmm,” Nicky said.
“I hope you know—” Booker started, his voice strained.
“I don’t think you did this,” Nicky said dismissively. “I don't see how you could have.”
Then his gaze flicked over Booker’s shoulder, and—oh.
It was stunning to see that love blazing up in his own eyes. It was like he'd never seen it before, and it felt like an gift, now, to get to see it again.
“Booker says it’s okay if I kiss you,” Joe said, stepping past him, and sweeping Nicky tightly into his arms.
“Thank you, Booker,” Nicky said rapturously, and Booker nodded, and left them to it.