Chapter Text
***
It’s the middle of the day and he has been steadily drinking since morning. It is summer and the heat in Morocco is sucking the air out of his lungs. Like drowning on air. It makes him swallow the rest of his whiskey and signal for more. Not a good day. He is most definitely not having a good day.
The new glass full of whiskey and ice arrives quietly in front of him. Booker assumes that he might look slightly intimidating alone in the back corner of the bar. He doesn’t know why they are open so early. Maybe the place isn’t open at all and he’s terrorising the staff with his presence. He doesn’t care enough to leave.
The drink swims in and out of focus on the table. His hand shakes when he lifts it to the glass. Suddenly he is unsure. Unsure about the drink and the reasons he is here in Morocco in the first place and why he has invited the whole family together for a “job”.
His hand lands on his mobile instead. Before he can really think it through he dials. It rings once, then twice. Stupid , he thinks and removes it from his ear to cancel the call, but just then Joe picks up.
“Hey!” Joe sounds so… happy, Booker can’t help but think. When has he himself been happy? Ever? Really?
“Ah. Hey. Joe,” he coughs as he answers, not really ready to make sound with his throat, rough from drinking too much, too fast.
“Booker, you good?” Joe doesn’t sound too concerned to Booker’s relief. He can still get out of this conversation he foolishly started, maybe.
“Yeah, yeah. You guys arrived?” Have a reason for calling, establish an alibi, Booker thinks.
“Just checked in at the hotel. You?” Booker can hear Joe moving around in a quiet room, probably the hotel room he and Nicky share.
“Got here days ago. I’m in a bar,” he smacks himself with a palm to his face the moment he says it. Joe and Nicky despise his drinking alone. They frequently try to get him to stop or dial it down.
“Hmm. Where?” Joe doesn’t sound disappointed at least, more distracted by something else. Probably Nicky walked into the room. For a moment Booker tries to imagine Nicky and Joe in the hotel room, standing around. He hasn’t seen them in a while. How long has it been this time? A year? A little less? Something like that. He knows that they look the same. They all do and always will. But maybe hair is longer, beards have grown or been shaved. He is stuck with how alone he feels like a punch to the stomach. Involuntarily he sucks in air like he’s in pain. It’s also audible.
“Booker, where are you?!” Joe suddenly sounds… not alarmed, but demanding. Joe will not be put off now with a simple: I’m fine .
“Uh,” he casts his eyes around the unlit room for inspiration. What is the name of this place? “Dunno. Few blocks away? Near the covered market and the pottery shops?”
But also, this is in no way decent directions. The city is big. The streets in this old part are all narrow and twisty, just the way he likes them. Partly Booker is relieved that he honestly doesn’t know the name of the place. It’s not a lie. He can’t lie to Joe, not even on the phone. The only lies he has hope of succeeding in are those of omission.
“Anyways, I’ll see you two in a few hours. When Andy gets in as well,” he aims for a calm and in control voice. He is neither of those things at the moment but what is Sebastien le Livre if not a fake and a fraud?
“Booker...” He doesn’t hear what Joe was about to say because he hangs up. Rude. But better than digging himself further into a hole. With luck the reunion with Andy will overshadow this odd phone call and no one will bring it up again.
He suddenly notices that his drink is empty again. Oh, well. More it is. He will sober up within a few hours, just in time for Andy, but not sooner.
***
He has been losing time. Not a lot, to his own relief, but hours, here and there. Sometimes he wakes up walking down a street and doesn’t really know where he is or where he is going. It is worrying but he doesn’t know what to do about it and so he ignores it, mostly.
He feels that this is what happened now, he has lost hours of time to drinking, as Joe and Nicky slide into the seats next to him.
He is so surprised that he nearly jumps. He doesn’t, only because about two bottles worth of low-quality whiskey have made him slow to react.
“Hey?” he can’t help but sound surprised by their presence. They look good. Rested. Happy. He is about to fuck this all up. For all of them. It had all started so innocent. Just a few conversations with Copley. And now he was here, ready to expose them all. The weight of it is overwhelming.
“You are a hard man to find, Booker,” Joe smiles easily. He seems so happy to see Booker. He leans forward, elbows on the table and a grin on his face. “We must have walked past this place… what? Four times?” Nicky nods in agreement, smiling in his odd little way with barely twisting his lips.
Booker feels suddenly like a ton of bricks is falling down on him and he is buried alive. He feels short of breath. What the fuck is he doing? Why the fuck did he invite them all to Morocco? He is such an idiot.
He feels Joe lean into him on his left. Knee, hip, and shoulder - a warm and steady presence. Without a word Joe helps him steady his breathing. Together they draw in slowly through the nose and woosh it out from the mouth. It takes a few minutes for him to fight down the sudden panic.
This has happened before. His sudden panic attacks are not new. Joe has breathed with him in the jungles of Vietnam and Laos, in the bombed out ruined cities of Europe, in trenches in Belgium and France, in Crimea, and everywhere in between. They don’t usually happen in quiet bars in Morocco though. But they have been happening long before there were words for it.
When he can open his eyes again he notices that his view of the room is mostly blocked. Or, perhaps more accurately, the room’s view of him is blocked. Somehow, for not a very large man, Nicky has managed to place most of himself in between anyone’s view of Booker and thus has physically assured his privacy. In doing so, Nicky’s back is completely exposed to the room. A position that Booker knows Nicky hates. It’s far too vulnerable.
Nicky doesn’t look bothered though. He looks worried.
Worried for him.
This brings tears to Booker’s eyes. They don’t fall but it is a very close call.
Joe’s arm settles carefully around his ribs and pulls him closer. Further into the privacy of the corner table he is sitting at. Nicky, somehow, manages to shift so that even more of him seems to be between Booker and the world.
“Easy, now. Breathe with me,” Joe keeps his voice calm and low. Both his and Nicky’s focus is all on Booker.
There, together in the shadows of the unnamed bar, three immortal men. Booker thinks it ridiculous. Such a thing should not be. Should not be possible. There should be no immortality. Least of all for him. His mind spirals again with anger, loneliness, grief, guilt, and smothering sadness. He is so tired.
“What do you need?” Joe’s voice is quiet but like a hot knife it slices through the butter of his thoughts.
He leans forward, elbows to the table, and almost rams both his fists into his eyes to stop from sobbing. Or laughing. Or both. Fuck Joe, and his big heart. Damn Nicky, and his unwavering love.
“Fuck. Fuck. Fuck,” he rants under his breath.
With sudden clarity he knows. He can’t do it.
He can’t expose them to Copley. Not more than they already have been through his research. He can’t go through with the fake South Sudan job. He can’t.
He will just have to hand himself over. Just one immortal. They can get the proof in other ways. They don’t all need to die to prove it.
All the while, slumped over the table, his mouth has been running away from him in a string of barely understandable French, “I’m sorry. I’m an idiot. Please. Please. Please. I’m an idiot. I’m sorry.”
Through it all Joe’s hand has rested on his back. Smoothing very slowly up and down his side. Hoping to ground him with touch. Joe is still flush against Booker’s side. Nicky is still bodily blocking what is a view of a very intimate moment.
Joe uses his left hand to gently pull Booker’s hands down and stop him from gouging out his own eyes. He clasps them together with his and Booker can’t help but clench down. It must be painful. It hurts his own hands, two around Joe’s one. Joe doesn’t even blink.
“What’s wrong?” Joe sounds so calm and in control to Booker. All the things that he, in this moment, isn’t. He is a mess. Didn’t know himself how much of one, until now.
Before he knows it, the story comes tumbling out in a series of, “I can’t do it. I’m sorry. It’s a set up. The whole job. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”
He sees from the corner of his eye how Nicky tenses. How he shifts and quickly double checks the room behind himself for threats here and now. Booker doesn’t even know where the gun in Nicky’s lap has appeared from but there is the metal glint of a pistol.
Joe doesn’t move. Doesn’t waiver from Booker’s side. Still wrapped around him in, for a lack of a better word, a hug. Booker feels like he should, after his admission, just spontaneously combust and fall to ash. He is overwhelmingly ashamed of himself. For what he has done, for what he was about to do with Copley, and most of all for his present conduct. He has always tried to hold himself together, especially with his immortal family. They are his only constant now, he can’t afford to alienate them with his weaknesses. But, at the same time, he was willing to betray them.
“It’s okay,” Joe says.
It floors Booker. Everything is far from okay. But Joe, his brother-in-arms, his best friend, and true brother in all but blood, doesn’t turn away. Speechless he stares at him. All of the fight goes out of him.
“Can you walk?” Nicky too sounds calm. Booker looks at him and can see a plan clicking into place beyond the pale eyes. Extraction. Nicky is frightfully good at those.
With a nod he forces his legs under himself. Together with Joe they stand and he staggers. Joe lifts his arm over his shoulder. Suddenly it looks like a friend supporting a drunk foreigner. Booker’s bag is on Nicky’s shoulder as he heads towards the bar. He pays Booker’s bill with a smile and the server, who has been looking worried the whole day to Booker, lights up with a smile too. That is the effect Nicky has so easily. The effect that Booker can never quite achieve.
They are out of the door and down the street in seconds. Joe, unhesitating between the streets that all seem the same in Booker’s current state, leads them to the back entrance of their hotel. Nicky has disappeared, along with his bag and phone. Booker isn’t sure where or when between the bar and hotel it happened. Joe pulls him in, past the kitchen, and up the service stairs to their rooms.
They hadn't even unbacked Booker notices absently, slumped exhausted on the bed. Joe brings around two backpacks. Then he pulls a suitcase from under the bed. It looks so ordinary, a little worn and with a few bar-code stickers from old flights here and there, but Booker knows what’s in it: two swords, a sniper rifle, shotgun, a lot of ammunition, handguns, and knives. At least. Basic toolkit for Nicky and Joe. How they move it from one country to another is a minor miracle every time. Also, the thing weighs a ton. Joe has Booker take Nicky’s bag as he shoulders his own. Then he pulls the suitcase out of the room and Booker automatically follows.
It is as if he has given up his agency at the bar. With his admission he has as if given up a right of decision now. He could say something. He thinks he should tell Joe that he can go on alone. Go to meet Copley and give himself up. But he is too tired. So, silent, he follows in Joe’s wake.
Joe doesn’t bother with check out. He heads straight for the exit. Concierge is busy with a group of beautiful young British tourists. They remind Booker of butterflies, beautiful and with lives too short. Pained, he looks away.
Nicky pulls up in a dusty jeep just as Booker steps out of the front door behind Joe. He helps the heavy suitcase to the back as Nicky keeps the engine running. Just then, with perfect timing, Andy steps up to the driver’s side of the car.
“What’s going on?” Booker hears her ask from Nicky. He doesn’t hear the answer but she steps around the car and slides smoothly into the passenger seat. The trunk snaps closed. Booker stands abandoned.
Now what?
Suddenly Joe is back. Calm as ever. Again Booker feels a hand on his shoulder as it firmly leads him to turn around and approach the car. Joe opens the door and folds Booker to the seat behind Andy.
Wherever they are going, they seem to be going together.