Booker/Joe/Nicky, watching out for the husbands. Booker has had a secret crush on Joe and Nicky for decades... During his exile, he keeps his distance but he also still keeps his eye on the boys—when one or both of them gets in trouble, he steps in to save them, even though he’s afraid that they’ll extend his punishment when it comes out that he’s been keeping tabs on them. Instead, they finally realise how much Booker cares about them and take proper care of him Copley knows, which probably means that Andy knows. But it's technically not breaking the rules if Booker doesn't make contact. He doesn't plan on making contact.
He is cleaning up his own mess. Copley will text him if there is any intel on Merrick scientists or any other pharma assholes trying to hunt down his (estranged) team.
Joe and Nicky are good at hiding their tracks, but they get soft. Distracted. So utterly wrapped up in each other that they tend to forget to keep their heads down and avoid making routines and patterns. Not content to bask in their love for each other, they fall in love with the food of a particular restaurant at least once a month and can't prevent themselves from becoming regulars until they have to relocate. Joe has a current and inexplicable addiction to Allbirds right now, and will probably order a damn replacement pair of shoes with the same alias to be delivered to their current location for fuck's sake, so yeah, they kind of need a babysitter until Book knows they have their heads back in the game.
Book's just going to watch from afar. No contact. No infiltration or planting bugs in their sub-let flat. The Ethiopian restaurant they are currently infatuated with is infuriatingly within eyesight of the front door to their building. Booker has bugged the hostess' stand in case anyone comes to inquire about their customers. (If Book can hear snatches of Nicky and Joe's conversations it is only because the men tend to prefer the table by the front window which just happens to be right next to the stand. Joe's obsession with kitfo is kind of nauseating, and his attempts to convert Nicky to accepting the merits of eating raw meat when one is not starving in the wilderness are also failing to convince Booker.)
Fort Lauderdale is a hellhole in Booker's opinion, but one interracial gay couple doesn't stand out among all the other vacationing and local white and sun-bronzed young men. Joe looks younger with his beard shaved and his hair growing out into curls, and Nicky has never been able to look very old so they are blending in well. Their neighbors think they are a newlywed couple that have come to enjoy their freedom in Florida after escaping homophobic families, and easily accept their pleas to help them lie low and requests to let them know if anyone comes asking around for them. Booker is torn about whether hiding in such a well-known LGBTQ community is smart because of the inhabitants' natural wariness of strangers, or stupid because Joe and Nicky have flaunted their relationship so blatantly in front of the Merrick people that anyone searching for them will target these communities first.
Trouble doesn't reach them for eight months. They have moved on to an American style diner where Nicky likes to get bastardized versions of crepes for brunch when Booker sees an out of place tourist bus pull into a too-small parking lot three blocks away and discharges a bunch of fit men and women wearing sturdy shoes that clash with their shorts and casual shirts. Book texts Copley to pass on an immediate bug out order, but Copley doesn't respond. As the minutes tick down, Books grinds his teeth as the suspects approach their home. Three of the guys have sweated through their shirts enough to reveal their holsters to Booker's eyes through the binoculars (amateurs, definitely a corporate security force used to working inside).
Damn the rules! Booker would pray as he dials Joe's phone, but he only has time to swear. "Fourteen-man security team approaching from north, both sides of street. Corporate, dressed to blend in, watch for their shoes." He hangs up and glances at his sniper rifle but resists uncasing it and picks up the binocs again. The security force arrays itself strategically around the building. Book can't see what's going on in the back, but the camera on the rear exit doesn't show Nicky or Joe leaving or any of the take-down team going inside of the building, so he has to assume it's a more subtle kidnapping from the street than a dramatic indoor assault.
If he knew that Nick and Joe had gotten away safely, Book might have enjoyed watching the undercover goons stay at their posts while trying to nonchalantly maintain their tourist disguises, but the locals start getting curious after thirty minutes. An expensive car parks illegally by the front door after 45 minutes, and two men in suits flash badges at one of the building's residents who allows them inside the building. Booker knows these fakers wouldn't stand a chance against either one of his brothers-in-arms, and there aren't any muzzle flashes lighting up the curtains and none of the security schmucks scramble to action, and the suit clowns come back out after fifteen minutes and drive away. The fake tourists hardly bother keeping up their act as they pull back to their bus.
Booker finally puts the binocs down and massages the rings pressed into his skin as he picks up his phone and sends a "WTF???" message to Copley. "Dois-je tout faire moi-même?" He mutters.
"I didn't see you do anything."
Booker tips his head back, closes his eyes, and sighs. "If you tell me you were ahead of me and knew they were coming before I called, I'll fuck off to another continent because then I won't have to worry so much."
Nicky is the one who admits, "We've known that you've been around for months. We didn't know about the ambush. Thanks for your call."
Booker doesn't turn around. Didn't expect a thank you. Is still anticipating an ultimatum about stalking them and a bullet to the head. "Copley's emergency line is apparently bullshit, but your emergency exit was undetectable. I have no idea how you got out of your building."
"Please tell me you didn't put transmitters in our bedroom again, like you did in Rome?" Joe says.
"Never even went inside your building," Booker says honestly. "Believe me, I learned my lesson after that once." He did. Fifty years later and he still had no desire to surveil them in their bedroom ever again, prank or not.
"Convince me you weren't selling us out again." All the levity had left Joe's voice. Book wondered briefly if his own HK45 was pointed at his head or if Joe had brought his own weapon. He didn't care enough to turn and find out.
"Joe?"
"Not now. I want an answer."
"Joe," Nicky says again.
"I didn't. I swear. I just wanted to clean up my mess," Booker says.
"Can't leave us loose ends hanging in the wind?" Joe sneered.
"I'm sorry. You don't believe me, but I am. I was just trying to keep you safe."
"Yeah? What miracle made you change your mind, traitor?"
"Joe. You should see this."
"For God's sake, Nicky! What?"
Booker's body went cold. He didn't have much in this vacant office. Laptop, sleeping bag, duffle. A few precious personal items he tried to hang on to. There wasn't much that could have gotten Nicky's interest.
Joe stomps over and throws Booker's journal on the floor at his knees, letting a handful of photos slide out into an array of memorialized moments. They weren't sorted by date. All the ones on top were of Joe and Nicky. From the 1930s and onward. The ones Booker loved looking at the most.
"Your deal with Copley went wrong in France?!" Joe hissed, his eyes narrowed in pure rage. "Wanted me out of the way? So you could comfort Nicky while you pretended to search for me?!"
Sebastien knew he wouldn't be able to convince Joe of anything. Not after spectacularly blowing up bridges and threatening their relationship. He wasn't going to cry like a child. "Cover your tracks. You belong together. I'm sorry I almost fucked it all up with my... useless attempt at suicide. My jealousy. I've dragged us all into a game with powerful players, and I just needed to make sure you two kept your heads down and maintained situational precautions." Hopefully Nicky at least was listening. "Maybe Copley can figure out how you were made and by whom, and you can pay better attention."
Joe shoved the gun's mouth against Booker's temple. "Always better than us, huh? You're the weak one, le Livre. Always have been."
The bullet didn't hurt nearly as much as Joe's words. When Book opened his eyes again Joe and Nicky were gone. So was his journal and their pictures. It took over five years for Joe's anger at Booker to cool. Nicky knew he needed time and kept what he had learned to himself. It had hurt, but Nicky understood it was just a fraction of the emotional pain and stress Sebatian had endured for two hundred years.
Joe still wasn't as forgiving toward Booker as Nicky would have wanted, but he had to shove the book into Joe's hands anyway. "Read it. Booker's implant hasn't moved for three weeks and Copley needs us to check it out. We're leaving in the morning." Sebastien likes the Northern Lights. This far north the night takes up most of the day this time of year. Makes it easy to just lie back and watch the aurora until he slept until he opened his eyes to watch it again. The cold was good, too. Clean. Keeps everything quiet. He likes to hear the snowflakes hit the snow in soft pats. Sometimes he could hear wolves. There were no planes cutting up the sky and the silence in winter.
He doesn't dream because he doesn't sleep. Hardly even moves except to clear his view of the heavens. It's enormous and feels so, so close even though eternal rest is still unreachable.
This isn't too bad, though. As close to requiescat-ing in pace as a damned immortal can get. Much more serene than Quynh's unfortunate resting place. If it weren't for all the drowning it would probably be peaceful at the bottom of the sea, too.
"The Jealous Moon" Nicky/Joe/Booker, protective Booker
Copley knows, which probably means that Andy knows. But it's technically not breaking the rules if Booker doesn't make contact. He doesn't plan on making contact.
He is cleaning up his own mess. Copley will text him if there is any intel on Merrick scientists or any other pharma assholes trying to hunt down his (estranged) team.
Joe and Nicky are good at hiding their tracks, but they get soft. Distracted. So utterly wrapped up in each other that they tend to forget to keep their heads down and avoid making routines and patterns. Not content to bask in their love for each other, they fall in love with the food of a particular restaurant at least once a month and can't prevent themselves from becoming regulars until they have to relocate. Joe has a current and inexplicable addiction to Allbirds right now, and will probably order a damn replacement pair of shoes with the same alias to be delivered to their current location for fuck's sake, so yeah, they kind of need a babysitter until Book knows they have their heads back in the game.
Book's just going to watch from afar. No contact. No infiltration or planting bugs in their sub-let flat. The Ethiopian restaurant they are currently infatuated with is infuriatingly within eyesight of the front door to their building. Booker has bugged the hostess' stand in case anyone comes to inquire about their customers. (If Book can hear snatches of Nicky and Joe's conversations it is only because the men tend to prefer the table by the front window which just happens to be right next to the stand. Joe's obsession with kitfo is kind of nauseating, and his attempts to convert Nicky to accepting the merits of eating raw meat when one is not starving in the wilderness are also failing to convince Booker.)
Fort Lauderdale is a hellhole in Booker's opinion, but one interracial gay couple doesn't stand out among all the other vacationing and local white and sun-bronzed young men. Joe looks younger with his beard shaved and his hair growing out into curls, and Nicky has never been able to look very old so they are blending in well. Their neighbors think they are a newlywed couple that have come to enjoy their freedom in Florida after escaping homophobic families, and easily accept their pleas to help them lie low and requests to let them know if anyone comes asking around for them. Booker is torn about whether hiding in such a well-known LGBTQ community is smart because of the inhabitants' natural wariness of strangers, or stupid because Joe and Nicky have flaunted their relationship so blatantly in front of the Merrick people that anyone searching for them will target these communities first.
Trouble doesn't reach them for eight months. They have moved on to an American style diner where Nicky likes to get bastardized versions of crepes for brunch when Booker sees an out of place tourist bus pull into a too-small parking lot three blocks away and discharges a bunch of fit men and women wearing sturdy shoes that clash with their shorts and casual shirts. Book texts Copley to pass on an immediate bug out order, but Copley doesn't respond. As the minutes tick down, Books grinds his teeth as the suspects approach their home. Three of the guys have sweated through their shirts enough to reveal their holsters to Booker's eyes through the binoculars (amateurs, definitely a corporate security force used to working inside).
Damn the rules! Booker would pray as he dials Joe's phone, but he only has time to swear. "Fourteen-man security team approaching from north, both sides of street. Corporate, dressed to blend in, watch for their shoes." He hangs up and glances at his sniper rifle but resists uncasing it and picks up the binocs again. The security force arrays itself strategically around the building. Book can't see what's going on in the back, but the camera on the rear exit doesn't show Nicky or Joe leaving or any of the take-down team going inside of the building, so he has to assume it's a more subtle kidnapping from the street than a dramatic indoor assault.
If he knew that Nick and Joe had gotten away safely, Book might have enjoyed watching the undercover goons stay at their posts while trying to nonchalantly maintain their tourist disguises, but the locals start getting curious after thirty minutes. An expensive car parks illegally by the front door after 45 minutes, and two men in suits flash badges at one of the building's residents who allows them inside the building. Booker knows these fakers wouldn't stand a chance against either one of his brothers-in-arms, and there aren't any muzzle flashes lighting up the curtains and none of the security schmucks scramble to action, and the suit clowns come back out after fifteen minutes and drive away. The fake tourists hardly bother keeping up their act as they pull back to their bus.
Booker finally puts the binocs down and massages the rings pressed into his skin as he picks up his phone and sends a "WTF???" message to Copley. "Dois-je tout faire moi-même?" He mutters.
"I didn't see you do anything."
Booker tips his head back, closes his eyes, and sighs. "If you tell me you were ahead of me and knew they were coming before I called, I'll fuck off to another continent because then I won't have to worry so much."
Nicky is the one who admits, "We've known that you've been around for months. We didn't know about the ambush. Thanks for your call."
Booker doesn't turn around. Didn't expect a thank you. Is still anticipating an ultimatum about stalking them and a bullet to the head. "Copley's emergency line is apparently bullshit, but your emergency exit was undetectable. I have no idea how you got out of your building."
"Please tell me you didn't put transmitters in our bedroom again, like you did in Rome?" Joe says.
"Never even went inside your building," Booker says honestly. "Believe me, I learned my lesson after that once." He did. Fifty years later and he still had no desire to surveil them in their bedroom ever again, prank or not.
"Convince me you weren't selling us out again." All the levity had left Joe's voice. Book wondered briefly if his own HK45 was pointed at his head or if Joe had brought his own weapon. He didn't care enough to turn and find out.
"Joe?"
"Not now. I want an answer."
"Joe," Nicky says again.
"I didn't. I swear. I just wanted to clean up my mess," Booker says.
"Can't leave us loose ends hanging in the wind?" Joe sneered.
"I'm sorry. You don't believe me, but I am. I was just trying to keep you safe."
"Yeah? What miracle made you change your mind, traitor?"
"Joe. You should see this."
"For God's sake, Nicky! What?"
Booker's body went cold. He didn't have much in this vacant office. Laptop, sleeping bag, duffle. A few precious personal items he tried to hang on to. There wasn't much that could have gotten Nicky's interest.
Joe stomps over and throws Booker's journal on the floor at his knees, letting a handful of photos slide out into an array of memorialized moments. They weren't sorted by date. All the ones on top were of Joe and Nicky. From the 1930s and onward. The ones Booker loved looking at the most.
"Your deal with Copley went wrong in France?!" Joe hissed, his eyes narrowed in pure rage. "Wanted me out of the way? So you could comfort Nicky while you pretended to search for me?!"
Sebastien knew he wouldn't be able to convince Joe of anything. Not after spectacularly blowing up bridges and threatening their relationship. He wasn't going to cry like a child. "Cover your tracks. You belong together. I'm sorry I almost fucked it all up with my... useless attempt at suicide. My jealousy. I've dragged us all into a game with powerful players, and I just needed to make sure you two kept your heads down and maintained situational precautions." Hopefully Nicky at least was listening. "Maybe Copley can figure out how you were made and by whom, and you can pay better attention."
Joe shoved the gun's mouth against Booker's temple. "Always better than us, huh? You're the weak one, le Livre. Always have been."
The bullet didn't hurt nearly as much as Joe's words.
When Book opened his eyes again Joe and Nicky were gone. So was his journal and their pictures.
It took over five years for Joe's anger at Booker to cool. Nicky knew he needed time and kept what he had learned to himself. It had hurt, but Nicky understood it was just a fraction of the emotional pain and stress Sebatian had endured for two hundred years.
Joe still wasn't as forgiving toward Booker as Nicky would have wanted, but he had to shove the book into Joe's hands anyway. "Read it. Booker's implant hasn't moved for three weeks and Copley needs us to check it out. We're leaving in the morning."
Sebastien likes the Northern Lights. This far north the night takes up most of the day this time of year. Makes it easy to just lie back and watch the aurora until he slept until he opened his eyes to watch it again. The cold was good, too. Clean. Keeps everything quiet. He likes to hear the snowflakes hit the snow in soft pats. Sometimes he could hear wolves. There were no planes cutting up the sky and the silence in winter.
He doesn't dream because he doesn't sleep. Hardly even moves except to clear his view of the heavens. It's enormous and feels so, so close even though eternal rest is still unreachable.
This isn't too bad, though. As close to requiescat-ing in pace as a damned immortal can get. Much more serene than Quynh's unfortunate resting place. If it weren't for all the drowning it would probably be peaceful at the bottom of the sea, too.