[ When Andy snaps awake, she isn't sure why at first. She can't even remember passing out for the evening but her neck aches, clearly protesting the cramped position she'd nodded off in. Losing her immortality hasn't dulled her edge any, but orienting herself after a nightmare takes a few precious seconds and the shadows of their safehouse swim with flashes of the dark ocean as she tries to blink the last of it away — but what was it? Nothing new at first. They've all dreamt of the water for centuries, haunted by the one immortal they couldn't save. But as she gropes through her memory, searching for the familiar fury and grief that does and doesn't belong to her, she realises this time there was nothing but ocean. Dark, silent, pressing in like the cool night around her. Empty.
Her eyes close. Oh. There's the grief. Andy's hands ball into fists, bringing one up to press hard against her forehead. There's the pain. Only — no, she checks in on herself; that's inside and out. Her palms burn and she uncurls her hands again with a sharp inhale, shaking them out like that will help alleviate the eye-watering sting. (They're to blame, not the dream. Or lack of a dream, for the first time in centuries.) She'd skinned her palms raw grabbing onto a runaway rope during a rescue op a few days ago; and while Joe would have survived the fall, the child he was carrying would not have been as lucky.
Then again, she isn't sure she'd call what they have — what she (and Quynh, fuck) had — luck.
Nothing for it. She's awake now. It's early still, barely even dawn judging by the twilight hue of the sky outside the window. Andy slips out of her single bed, creeping out of the bedroom she shares with Nile and into the kitchen for a drink. It's a toss-up between water or liquor for a moment too long but she chooses the latter in the end (along with a couple pills for the pain). She drains her glass in seconds, throat dry and nerves still a little rattled from whatever it was she saw (or didn't see). As far as she knows, their dreams only work one way: A connection when they're apart and alive that severs when they're reunited — or dead. So was it a shared vision at all or just a normal dream?
She drops herself into a seat at the cramped kitchen table, helping herself to the apples Nicky had brought back from the open-air market just yesterday as she turns it over in her mind. If it really was their kind of dream, the others would be awake by now, all convened around this table comparing notes just as they did when Nile came into their lives. But the apartment is silent, save for the shck of her knife as she whips it open to cut into her apple. It's clumsy and painful with her bandaged hands, and she should just give up and bite into the fruit, but then the hairs on the back of her neck tingle and she pauses.
Sighs. ]
Well, don't just stand there. [ Andy doesn't bother to look over her shoulder; she knows when she's being watched. ] Unless you're waiting for an invitation?
[ it's always easier to sleep long into the morning when he's suffering jetlag, easier still with nicky's back pressed to his chest, each breath and pulse a rhythmic lullaby under joe's hand, but they all have their own internal clock. whether you wake and stay awake is always the question, and more often than not they have cause to rise with the sun, time not to be wasted despite the great, winding spools of it they have at their disposal. this morning, blissfully, there's nothing to force themselves out of bed for, but joe lies awake anyway, still tucked into the crook of nicky's neck.
waking before the sunrise is ingrained in him after decades of it, but the impulse for prayer has dwindled, faded to an occasional urge. "when it's convenient," which isn't without its own feeling of guilt, but— the complexities of that he's still contemplating, turning over his head when he has space and energy enough to bother with them. harder to think of life as a test worth passing when he's been asked so many times to repeat it, his answers always the same. so he has no intention of pulling himself away, not until he hears andy's footfalls beyond the bedroom door, making their careful way into the kitchen.
of course, there's nothing inherently suspicious in this, but his reasons to worry have been refreshed recently, suddenly stark and present when before the risk of losing any of them was more of an abstract concept. it's a terrible, senseless thought, but there is a sticky fear in the back of his mind, one in which andy disappears from their company to find a quiet, solitary place to die with some kind of dignity.
he's up before the thought can persist, leaving a kiss on nicky's bare shoulder as is tradition before untangling himself from the bundle of blankets and limbs, stepping out into the hallway and closing the door gently behind him again. standing in the middling dark, he can see her sitting at the kitchen table, her back to him. a few strides down the hall and he stops, hand settled against the kitchen doorway, and then she speaks.
he expected it, really. they are attuned to each other in a way he could never begin to explain. he offers his own sigh, light and amused. ]
You know me. I'm always polite. [ is his answer as he steps onto the cool kitchen tile, reaching to flick on the light that will illuminate the table in a warm glow while they wait for pink light to crest the window. he moves to sit in the seat to her left, offering a quick squeeze to her shoulder before dropping heavily into the chair, sleep still clinging to him.
when it comes, his smile is lopsided and sympathetic, head tipped back as he looks at her appraisingly. after a moment of this, he leans forward to take the apple and the knife from her hands, a careful gesture but insistent. ]
Let me, Boss. [ leaning back now, sluicing through the bright red skin and offering her a slice where it rests on the blade. ] Before you need more bandages, hm?
[ not that she needs the reminder, not that he would mind patching her up, but he's far beyond holding his tongue when she's pushing herself too far. unfortunately, that's becoming an even easier thing for her to do.
his eyes flicker to the counter as he chews on his own piece of apple, eyes scanning the bottle left out and the empty glass. a pause before he waves his hand in that direction. ]
[ She has fought hundreds of thousands of battles in her hundreds of thousands of lifetimes. Arguing with Joe over who gets to slice up an apple is one she doesn't need to pick. She relinquishes both fruit and blade to him with no complaint, although there's no hiding the flicker of wry amusement in her gaze just before it flits away to the window again. Idly, she wonders how many sunrises she's taken for granted if only because she would always live to see the next. As a woman remembering to relish the simple pleasures this world has to offer, it seems there's no better time than the present to try a little harder. What happened to her in France was the first reminder. Last night's unsettling lack of a nightmare is the second.
No, she doesn't need Joe's reminder on top of those two, touching as it is. The team would never try to hold her back, would never do her that particular disservice or disrespect. And she'd never think it of them, either, for the same reasons. There's no room for posturing among them, no misunderstanding concern for coddling. But it is a shift for them all, having known her limits for years and being forced to reframe them in the span of weeks if only to keep doing their job as best they can. This changes nothing, she'd said. They've held to that, all of them. But they'd be fools to completely buy it. The dynamic hasn't changed, but strategy, inevitably, has. She has.
It doesn't trouble her. Not really. If anything, it's unfair that her transition had been less painless than Quynh's. Now that troubles her, and that's where the cracks are beginning to show in the pre-dawn light — that's what Joe picks up on when his eyes catch the scant evidence on the counter. Andy breathes, crunches down on her apple slice. Her hands throb. She wonders if Quynh could even feel the pain of her fists against the iron, the burn of saltwater in her wounds. ]
Well, [ she begins after a stretch, voice as mild as her expression, ] none of you were up and I didn't feel like cooking. [ Andy slants her gaze back to meet Joe's as if to say, See? I know my limits. When she sees the look on his face at her answer, her eyes crinkle with a smile that colours her voice rather than curves her lips. ] What? [ In a tone that sounds like a shrug. ] Vodka looks like water. By the time I realised it wasn't, I was already committed.
[ they both know he's not questioning her ability to handle any kind of blade, as small and nonthreatening as this one feels compared with the ones more commonly found in her hands, so he's grateful for the dim flash of good-natured humour before she turns her head away.
doubly grateful when he considers the time, the circumstance. as much as she might find this new reality an inconvenience at best and a scourge on her way of life at worst, she knows she needs proper rest, knows that most wounds take time and care to fully heal. she's stubborn, of course, but she's not senseless. so this— this dragging herself from the warmth of her bed to throw back a dose of alcohol? it's a sure sign something troubles her, as clear to him as the way her expression tenses with her sigh, her eyes seeking something beyond the landscape on the other side of the glass as she stares out the window.
her voice alludes to absolutely nothing to the untrained ear. ]
Oh, [ he starts, the chuckle light and immediate when she looks at him. still, he keeps his voice low for nicky and nile's sakes. ] now she decides to take care of herself. [ gentle and teasing as he shakes his head, cutting another wedge into the apple.
his smile doesn't falter as she explains herself. in fact, he goes so far as to offer her an accommodating half-shrug. ]
Easy mistake to make. [ yes, he'll let her have this. he could recount stories of similar miscalculations if pressed, though he's sure she was present for at least half of them and heard tell of the remaining percentage. ] We know what you're like when you're committed.
[ a softer edge to the words, a tiny testament to her adamancy. he admires her, admired her even when she'd had to take a step back, a year away from a thousand lifetimes of demand. it's a feeling he doubts could ever be shaken. ]
But I have to question the commitment to 6am. Today of all days.
[ a day off, a chance to recover. what woke her, is the real question. ]
[ They've known each other for so long, throughout so many different times and lives, that there's no use keeping secrets from one another. Sure, they can read between the lines easily enough, can gauge when to press and when to step back, when a point is worth pursuing and when it can wait until later. Their gazes are sharpened by centuries of familiarity, an intimacy born and bred in combat and the silences in between. Andy knows when she's on the receiving end of such scrutiny; rather than shying away from it, it almost makes her smile — one thing has changed, but not this. Never this.
She eats that next slice of apple slowly, almost thoughtful as Joe's remarks land with his usual gentle, pointed humour. We know what you're like, he says, and she raises her brows a him as if to say, You're the only ones who do. She's missed this. Her year away from the team had felt so necessary at the time, as though a part of her was trying to brace for more time apart in the future as she lost faith in their self-appointed cause. Would Joe, Nicky, and Booker have soldiered on without her if she decided enough was enough? Would they have done it together? Was Sudan meant to be their last job? Would they have gone their separate ways?
Looking at Joe now, thinking of Nile and Nicky just down the hall, she's glad that never came to be. Being alone is a fate as dreadful as capture. (She thinks of Booker, exiled from them for a century. Quynh, doomed for many more.) ]
Old habits die hard, [ comes her easy reply, slouching back in her seat with a creak of old wood. She gestures at him with her half-eaten apple slice. ] You know that just as well as I do. [ But she knows he could have stayed in bed with Nicky. He chose to look in on her, which means he's harbouring a question he doesn't need to ask. Andy holds his gaze for a moment longer, considering, then sighs around a quiet, tired smile. ] I'm fine. It was nothing.
[ That's the truth. And that's what bothers her. ]
[ he smirks when her brow quirks up, pleased to be one of the few she's chosen to share her life with. and it is a choice, despite all there is to be said about destiny and fate. she's chosen to stay with them, to soldier on by their sides in the direct aftermath of near disaster. even if she'd decided to walk away from the job, she couldn't have walked away from them, not by his own estimation. as if he and nicky would ever allow that. they'd have to visit her in whatever quiet coastal town she decided to settle in, bring her sweets and stories every month.
distantly, he wonders if that reality lies somewhere in the future. mortal life seems to pass in milliseconds spliced in half.
for now, andy is here, looking at him with the kind of ease he hadn't expected when he'd stood in the hall, watching her hands shake a little as she'd cut into the apple. he's glad for it, for the openness she's offering when she could attempt to wall him off, but he's not yet sure if it should reassure or worry him. he tries to lean into reassurance, watching her tilt back against her chair, a mirror to him. he clicks his tongue. ]
If they die at all, they come back right back. [ amused at his own joke, chin cocked to one side.
it was nothing, but it's a nothing with weight, a burden that pulls even at the corners of her smile. ]
Nothing. [ he echoes, contemplating. ] When you expected something?
[ when they dream of one another, there's no question, the revelation so crisp and intense that they could never mistake it for something meaningless. but it's taught them to look for signs in even the more mundane kind of dreams, drawn somehow to their simpler prophetization. he can't remember anything of note from this night, though; all nicky, skyscrapers, the flight from last evening. nothing to make him look forward. ]
[ Since their latest mission in the DRC, Andy's been quiet. She always has been, especially next to the effervescent charisma of Joe or even Booker when he gets going — but even with another job well executed, the accomplishment feels hollow and weighs heavy on her shoulders. It had been a simple enough extraction; or, rather, simple for their level of expertise when the circumstances were impossible for anyone else. The team had been tasked with rescuing aid workers held captive by an armed militia, taken either because they were suspected of spying in a conflict-ridden territory or simply for the ransom money. No international groups were willing or able to get openly involved but with the threat of execution likely, efficiency was key. And they were efficient, as always.
But Andy's still quiet. On the truck ride back to safety, all subjects safe and accounted for; on the roundabout flight to Cairo, where they get set up in a hotel once their equipment is stashed and their work paid for in full. She's mostly quiet through dinner, although she does flash a smile or toss in a quip when the conversation warrants it. But despite a hot shower and a good night's sleep, it seems she can't wash off this mission — this feeling — as easily as the blood, sweat, and grime. She knows the others notice. After centuries of being a family, there are no secrets among them. Which is why she's unsurprised when Booker insists on taking an early lunch at one of the many little cafés dotting the city while Joe and Nicky are nowhere to be found. It's the rhythm they've fallen into as a team, as easy as breathing.
They're sitting at a cramped table under the awning, comfortable in their vantage point by the corner of the terrace. Just because they aren't working doesn't mean they aren't always on alert in some way (it's how they've survived this long in such a rapidly advancing, modern world), but with her sunglasses on and the easy way she sips her dark and sweet coffee, Andy can disappear as one of a thousand tourists on holiday. And maybe that's what's on her mind as they sit and survey the bustling street. She wouldn't call it a holiday, maybe. But goddamn does she feel like she needs a break. ]
When was the last time we did this? [ she asks in French, breathing in the aroma wafting from her cup. Hundreds of years and the rise of commercial and thirdwave coffee shops, and she still prefers the oldest recipes best. ] Just sat back, and watched the world go by?
[ She means it quite literally, in this moment. But she means it literally in the other, broader sense too. ]
[ Booker has not made any fuss about it, but he's been keeping a vague eye on Andy since they'd taken on this last mission, and he knows he isn't the only one. Hell, he knows she's aware of it. She wouldn't be Andy if she didn't pick up on the occasional shift of a glance or a brief look exchanged between the brothers.
It isn't that the dynamic in the group had really changed at all or made it so they couldn't get the job done — because as far as missions go, it went as they generally do: without a hitch.
But like speaks to like, so they say, and Booker knows the posture and the sound of a particular silence, knows it in the cues of laughter and the non-committal conversation. He'd been there himself plenty enough, struggled with it for so many years. (Is still struggling with it, even now.) So it is unsurprising when Andy says what she does, almost a mirror image of his own thoughts — something he is admittedly not proud of.
He leans back in his seat, one hand resting at the edge of the table, finger tapping the surface absent-mindedly. He tilts his head towards her direction but it seems they're both safe from exposing the windows to their souls by way of their shades. Small mercies, perhaps.
Lightly, and answered likewise in French: ] I did not take you for sentimentality.
[ Like he doesn't know what she really means, or why she's said it. The life of an immortal is long in a way that isn't quite comprehensible, not unless you're actually living it. 'Long' is subjective. And sure, Booker might be the youngest of the group by centuries, but he knows enough of what it's like, knows how much more difficult it can be for someone like Andy who has lived longer than all of them combined and is, unfortunately, a lot like him. Lost. ]
We were successful today. [ This in English. ] We were paid — rather handsomely, too, might I add. [ It's empty chatter. Trite reassurances. He says it because he feels he has to, like he's following a script. ] I believe we are what most people call 'workaholics'. But we are not exactly in a traditional line of business either.
[ He runs through the checklist of a job well done and she tips her head to acknowledge it. There's no dismissing what they did; there's a part of Andy that still believes, even if that belief has been worn down and rusted over the long years. The world used to be an ugly place. There were beautiful moments — there still are — and she tries to hold on to those as her memory allows. But there's no denying the problems multiplying, the causes dwindling and contradicting. The world is broken. They try to do what's right, they try to make the best calls. But she isn't sure if she believes like Nicky believes, like Joe, like she used to once upon a time. Like their purpose is a drop in the ocean.
Yes, they saved lives this time. But for what? Certainly not a paycheck. Andy glances sideways at him when he poses the question to her. It seems so simple but the answer is as heavy as the silence between them. She and Booker are alike in many ways, the vast chasm of centuries between them bridged by a bone-deep weariness that goes beyond battle fatigue.
What is she thinking? She chuckles, soft and brief. ]
The same thing. [ She glances down at her cup, thumb smoothing over the faded pattern in the ceramic. Another sip, and then she sets it aside on the saucer, shifting in her seat to look at Booker directly. Just because she can't see his eyes doesn't mean she can't read him; they've known each other a long time. ] Maybe that's the problem.
[ Booker shakes his head, eventually averting his eyes to the coffee cups on their table, on just about anything to avoid Andy's gaze.
This is probably a conversation better suited to the likes of Nicky and Joe, optimists in the face of an ever-changing, bleak future. The two of them have always been able to keep their hearts in their work when Booker has given up on that some (many) years ago. Not because he's incapable of it, but because it hurts too goddamned much to become emotionally invested in what they do. Every time he thinks of the people, he thinks of Jean-Pierre and that hospital bed, his son lashing out at him — and maybe with good reason. After all, why should he get to live forever when Jean-Pierre can't even live a proper life?
But Nicky and Joe have had each other for centuries. Booker ... well, Book has an alcohol problem and dreams of drowning to keep him company.
Still, Andy has come to him with this confession and that's not insignificant. Whatever he might think, whatever he might push away to protect himself, he can do his best to support her. Because that's what family does. ]
We helped those people today. When no one else wanted to, we did. That's not nothing.
[ Is she looking for a bigger reason? She isn't sure. Nicky has always asserted that they're fighting for something and Andy did — does — believe that, in her own way. They were never given a reason for their long lives and had to find it themselves, assign purpose where there was none. She wonders if there were others out there, once upon a time, who were like them but never met their first death and simply... lived. Strange to think they were the only ones. They were born of violence so they spend eternity trying to correct it? It's dizzying. How long can she spend groping in the dark, the light at the end of the tunnel farther and farther away until she has to wonder if it was ever there at all.
The world is getting worse. She sees it on the news every day. What are they doing, really? Does it matter? ]
No, it isn't, [ she agrees lightly. The people they saved were innocent. Doing good in their own way, making a visible impact in the sick people they help. ] But even 'workaholics' can have a day off.
[ They have been working tirelessly, like the four of them alone carried the weight of the world on their small group's shoulders. Perhaps they thought they could scourge the entire world of its sins, or something like that. Nicky and Joe certainly believe that.
Booker isn't too sure what he thinks, only that he would follow Andy into the thirteenth circle of Hell if she asked him to. He didn't need much more purpose than that these days, and he doesn't like thinking about it either. That way leads to more drinking.
Half-jokingly: ]
Well, I have always wanted to experience a real road trip, tour sites and all.
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timeasmymeasure
no subject
Date: 2020-09-08 05:26 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2020-09-13 05:57 pm (UTC)Her eyes close. Oh. There's the grief. Andy's hands ball into fists, bringing one up to press hard against her forehead. There's the pain. Only — no, she checks in on herself; that's inside and out. Her palms burn and she uncurls her hands again with a sharp inhale, shaking them out like that will help alleviate the eye-watering sting. (They're to blame, not the dream. Or lack of a dream, for the first time in centuries.) She'd skinned her palms raw grabbing onto a runaway rope during a rescue op a few days ago; and while Joe would have survived the fall, the child he was carrying would not have been as lucky.
Then again, she isn't sure she'd call what they have — what she (and Quynh, fuck) had — luck.
Nothing for it. She's awake now. It's early still, barely even dawn judging by the twilight hue of the sky outside the window. Andy slips out of her single bed, creeping out of the bedroom she shares with Nile and into the kitchen for a drink. It's a toss-up between water or liquor for a moment too long but she chooses the latter in the end (along with a couple pills for the pain). She drains her glass in seconds, throat dry and nerves still a little rattled from whatever it was she saw (or didn't see). As far as she knows, their dreams only work one way: A connection when they're apart and alive that severs when they're reunited — or dead. So was it a shared vision at all or just a normal dream?
She drops herself into a seat at the cramped kitchen table, helping herself to the apples Nicky had brought back from the open-air market just yesterday as she turns it over in her mind. If it really was their kind of dream, the others would be awake by now, all convened around this table comparing notes just as they did when Nile came into their lives. But the apartment is silent, save for the shck of her knife as she whips it open to cut into her apple. It's clumsy and painful with her bandaged hands, and she should just give up and bite into the fruit, but then the hairs on the back of her neck tingle and she pauses.
Sighs. ]
Well, don't just stand there. [ Andy doesn't bother to look over her shoulder; she knows when she's being watched. ] Unless you're waiting for an invitation?
no subject
Date: 2020-09-14 06:30 pm (UTC)waking before the sunrise is ingrained in him after decades of it, but the impulse for prayer has dwindled, faded to an occasional urge. "when it's convenient," which isn't without its own feeling of guilt, but— the complexities of that he's still contemplating, turning over his head when he has space and energy enough to bother with them. harder to think of life as a test worth passing when he's been asked so many times to repeat it, his answers always the same. so he has no intention of pulling himself away, not until he hears andy's footfalls beyond the bedroom door, making their careful way into the kitchen.
of course, there's nothing inherently suspicious in this, but his reasons to worry have been refreshed recently, suddenly stark and present when before the risk of losing any of them was more of an abstract concept. it's a terrible, senseless thought, but there is a sticky fear in the back of his mind, one in which andy disappears from their company to find a quiet, solitary place to die with some kind of dignity.
he's up before the thought can persist, leaving a kiss on nicky's bare shoulder as is tradition before untangling himself from the bundle of blankets and limbs, stepping out into the hallway and closing the door gently behind him again. standing in the middling dark, he can see her sitting at the kitchen table, her back to him. a few strides down the hall and he stops, hand settled against the kitchen doorway, and then she speaks.
he expected it, really. they are attuned to each other in a way he could never begin to explain. he offers his own sigh, light and amused. ]
You know me. I'm always polite. [ is his answer as he steps onto the cool kitchen tile, reaching to flick on the light that will illuminate the table in a warm glow while they wait for pink light to crest the window. he moves to sit in the seat to her left, offering a quick squeeze to her shoulder before dropping heavily into the chair, sleep still clinging to him.
when it comes, his smile is lopsided and sympathetic, head tipped back as he looks at her appraisingly. after a moment of this, he leans forward to take the apple and the knife from her hands, a careful gesture but insistent. ]
Let me, Boss. [ leaning back now, sluicing through the bright red skin and offering her a slice where it rests on the blade. ] Before you need more bandages, hm?
[ not that she needs the reminder, not that he would mind patching her up, but he's far beyond holding his tongue when she's pushing herself too far. unfortunately, that's becoming an even easier thing for her to do.
his eyes flicker to the counter as he chews on his own piece of apple, eyes scanning the bottle left out and the empty glass. a pause before he waves his hand in that direction. ]
Is that part of a balanced breakfast these days?
no subject
Date: 2020-09-14 08:32 pm (UTC)[ She has fought hundreds of thousands of battles in her hundreds of thousands of lifetimes. Arguing with Joe over who gets to slice up an apple is one she doesn't need to pick. She relinquishes both fruit and blade to him with no complaint, although there's no hiding the flicker of wry amusement in her gaze just before it flits away to the window again. Idly, she wonders how many sunrises she's taken for granted if only because she would always live to see the next. As a woman remembering to relish the simple pleasures this world has to offer, it seems there's no better time than the present to try a little harder. What happened to her in France was the first reminder. Last night's unsettling lack of a nightmare is the second.
No, she doesn't need Joe's reminder on top of those two, touching as it is. The team would never try to hold her back, would never do her that particular disservice or disrespect. And she'd never think it of them, either, for the same reasons. There's no room for posturing among them, no misunderstanding concern for coddling. But it is a shift for them all, having known her limits for years and being forced to reframe them in the span of weeks if only to keep doing their job as best they can. This changes nothing, she'd said. They've held to that, all of them. But they'd be fools to completely buy it. The dynamic hasn't changed, but strategy, inevitably, has. She has.
It doesn't trouble her. Not really. If anything, it's unfair that her transition had been less painless than Quynh's. Now that troubles her, and that's where the cracks are beginning to show in the pre-dawn light — that's what Joe picks up on when his eyes catch the scant evidence on the counter. Andy breathes, crunches down on her apple slice. Her hands throb. She wonders if Quynh could even feel the pain of her fists against the iron, the burn of saltwater in her wounds. ]
Well, [ she begins after a stretch, voice as mild as her expression, ] none of you were up and I didn't feel like cooking. [ Andy slants her gaze back to meet Joe's as if to say, See? I know my limits. When she sees the look on his face at her answer, her eyes crinkle with a smile that colours her voice rather than curves her lips. ] What? [ In a tone that sounds like a shrug. ] Vodka looks like water. By the time I realised it wasn't, I was already committed.
no subject
Date: 2020-09-21 01:53 am (UTC)doubly grateful when he considers the time, the circumstance. as much as she might find this new reality an inconvenience at best and a scourge on her way of life at worst, she knows she needs proper rest, knows that most wounds take time and care to fully heal. she's stubborn, of course, but she's not senseless. so this— this dragging herself from the warmth of her bed to throw back a dose of alcohol? it's a sure sign something troubles her, as clear to him as the way her expression tenses with her sigh, her eyes seeking something beyond the landscape on the other side of the glass as she stares out the window.
her voice alludes to absolutely nothing to the untrained ear. ]
Oh, [ he starts, the chuckle light and immediate when she looks at him. still, he keeps his voice low for nicky and nile's sakes. ] now she decides to take care of herself. [ gentle and teasing as he shakes his head, cutting another wedge into the apple.
his smile doesn't falter as she explains herself. in fact, he goes so far as to offer her an accommodating half-shrug. ]
Easy mistake to make. [ yes, he'll let her have this. he could recount stories of similar miscalculations if pressed, though he's sure she was present for at least half of them and heard tell of the remaining percentage. ] We know what you're like when you're committed.
[ a softer edge to the words, a tiny testament to her adamancy. he admires her, admired her even when she'd had to take a step back, a year away from a thousand lifetimes of demand. it's a feeling he doubts could ever be shaken. ]
But I have to question the commitment to 6am. Today of all days.
[ a day off, a chance to recover. what woke her, is the real question. ]
no subject
Date: 2020-09-21 12:20 pm (UTC)She eats that next slice of apple slowly, almost thoughtful as Joe's remarks land with his usual gentle, pointed humour. We know what you're like, he says, and she raises her brows a him as if to say, You're the only ones who do. She's missed this. Her year away from the team had felt so necessary at the time, as though a part of her was trying to brace for more time apart in the future as she lost faith in their self-appointed cause. Would Joe, Nicky, and Booker have soldiered on without her if she decided enough was enough? Would they have done it together? Was Sudan meant to be their last job? Would they have gone their separate ways?
Looking at Joe now, thinking of Nile and Nicky just down the hall, she's glad that never came to be. Being alone is a fate as dreadful as capture. (She thinks of Booker, exiled from them for a century. Quynh, doomed for many more.) ]
Old habits die hard, [ comes her easy reply, slouching back in her seat with a creak of old wood. She gestures at him with her half-eaten apple slice. ] You know that just as well as I do. [ But she knows he could have stayed in bed with Nicky. He chose to look in on her, which means he's harbouring a question he doesn't need to ask. Andy holds his gaze for a moment longer, considering, then sighs around a quiet, tired smile. ] I'm fine. It was nothing.
[ That's the truth. And that's what bothers her. ]
no subject
Date: 2020-09-24 05:19 pm (UTC)distantly, he wonders if that reality lies somewhere in the future. mortal life seems to pass in milliseconds spliced in half.
for now, andy is here, looking at him with the kind of ease he hadn't expected when he'd stood in the hall, watching her hands shake a little as she'd cut into the apple. he's glad for it, for the openness she's offering when she could attempt to wall him off, but he's not yet sure if it should reassure or worry him. he tries to lean into reassurance, watching her tilt back against her chair, a mirror to him. he clicks his tongue. ]
If they die at all, they come back right back. [ amused at his own joke, chin cocked to one side.
it was nothing, but it's a nothing with weight, a burden that pulls even at the corners of her smile. ]
Nothing. [ he echoes, contemplating. ] When you expected something?
[ when they dream of one another, there's no question, the revelation so crisp and intense that they could never mistake it for something meaningless. but it's taught them to look for signs in even the more mundane kind of dreams, drawn somehow to their simpler prophetization. he can't remember anything of note from this night, though; all nicky, skyscrapers, the flight from last evening. nothing to make him look forward. ]
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Date: 2020-09-12 03:34 am (UTC)slams some pre-film stuff ur way
Date: 2020-09-14 06:39 pm (UTC)But Andy's still quiet. On the truck ride back to safety, all subjects safe and accounted for; on the roundabout flight to Cairo, where they get set up in a hotel once their equipment is stashed and their work paid for in full. She's mostly quiet through dinner, although she does flash a smile or toss in a quip when the conversation warrants it. But despite a hot shower and a good night's sleep, it seems she can't wash off this mission — this feeling — as easily as the blood, sweat, and grime. She knows the others notice. After centuries of being a family, there are no secrets among them. Which is why she's unsurprised when Booker insists on taking an early lunch at one of the many little cafés dotting the city while Joe and Nicky are nowhere to be found. It's the rhythm they've fallen into as a team, as easy as breathing.
They're sitting at a cramped table under the awning, comfortable in their vantage point by the corner of the terrace. Just because they aren't working doesn't mean they aren't always on alert in some way (it's how they've survived this long in such a rapidly advancing, modern world), but with her sunglasses on and the easy way she sips her dark and sweet coffee, Andy can disappear as one of a thousand tourists on holiday. And maybe that's what's on her mind as they sit and survey the bustling street. She wouldn't call it a holiday, maybe. But goddamn does she feel like she needs a break. ]
When was the last time we did this? [ she asks in French, breathing in the aroma wafting from her cup. Hundreds of years and the rise of commercial and thirdwave coffee shops, and she still prefers the oldest recipes best. ] Just sat back, and watched the world go by?
[ She means it quite literally, in this moment. But she means it literally in the other, broader sense too. ]
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Date: 2020-09-15 07:23 pm (UTC)It isn't that the dynamic in the group had really changed at all or made it so they couldn't get the job done — because as far as missions go, it went as they generally do: without a hitch.
But like speaks to like, so they say, and Booker knows the posture and the sound of a particular silence, knows it in the cues of laughter and the non-committal conversation. He'd been there himself plenty enough, struggled with it for so many years. (Is still struggling with it, even now.) So it is unsurprising when Andy says what she does, almost a mirror image of his own thoughts — something he is admittedly not proud of.
He leans back in his seat, one hand resting at the edge of the table, finger tapping the surface absent-mindedly. He tilts his head towards her direction but it seems they're both safe from exposing the windows to their souls by way of their shades. Small mercies, perhaps.
Lightly, and answered likewise in French: ] I did not take you for sentimentality.
[ Like he doesn't know what she really means, or why she's said it. The life of an immortal is long in a way that isn't quite comprehensible, not unless you're actually living it. 'Long' is subjective. And sure, Booker might be the youngest of the group by centuries, but he knows enough of what it's like, knows how much more difficult it can be for someone like Andy who has lived longer than all of them combined and is, unfortunately, a lot like him. Lost. ]
We were successful today. [ This in English. ] We were paid — rather handsomely, too, might I add. [ It's empty chatter. Trite reassurances. He says it because he feels he has to, like he's following a script. ] I believe we are what most people call 'workaholics'. But we are not exactly in a traditional line of business either.
[ Booker pauses. ]
What are you thinking, Andy?
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Date: 2020-09-16 04:38 pm (UTC)Yes, they saved lives this time. But for what? Certainly not a paycheck. Andy glances sideways at him when he poses the question to her. It seems so simple but the answer is as heavy as the silence between them. She and Booker are alike in many ways, the vast chasm of centuries between them bridged by a bone-deep weariness that goes beyond battle fatigue.
What is she thinking? She chuckles, soft and brief. ]
The same thing. [ She glances down at her cup, thumb smoothing over the faded pattern in the ceramic. Another sip, and then she sets it aside on the saucer, shifting in her seat to look at Booker directly. Just because she can't see his eyes doesn't mean she can't read him; they've known each other a long time. ] Maybe that's the problem.
[ The script. The routine. The business. ]
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Date: 2020-09-17 08:07 pm (UTC)[ Booker shakes his head, eventually averting his eyes to the coffee cups on their table, on just about anything to avoid Andy's gaze.
This is probably a conversation better suited to the likes of Nicky and Joe, optimists in the face of an ever-changing, bleak future. The two of them have always been able to keep their hearts in their work when Booker has given up on that some (many) years ago. Not because he's incapable of it, but because it hurts too goddamned much to become emotionally invested in what they do. Every time he thinks of the people, he thinks of Jean-Pierre and that hospital bed, his son lashing out at him — and maybe with good reason. After all, why should he get to live forever when Jean-Pierre can't even live a proper life?
But Nicky and Joe have had each other for centuries. Booker ... well, Book has an alcohol problem and dreams of drowning to keep him company.
Still, Andy has come to him with this confession and that's not insignificant. Whatever he might think, whatever he might push away to protect himself, he can do his best to support her. Because that's what family does. ]
We helped those people today. When no one else wanted to, we did. That's not nothing.
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Date: 2020-09-21 02:32 pm (UTC)The world is getting worse. She sees it on the news every day. What are they doing, really? Does it matter? ]
No, it isn't, [ she agrees lightly. The people they saved were innocent. Doing good in their own way, making a visible impact in the sick people they help. ] But even 'workaholics' can have a day off.
[ Or five. Or 365. ]
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Date: 2020-09-29 12:36 am (UTC)[ They have been working tirelessly, like the four of them alone carried the weight of the world on their small group's shoulders. Perhaps they thought they could scourge the entire world of its sins, or something like that. Nicky and Joe certainly believe that.
Booker isn't too sure what he thinks, only that he would follow Andy into the thirteenth circle of Hell if she asked him to. He didn't need much more purpose than that these days, and he doesn't like thinking about it either. That way leads to more drinking.
Half-jokingly: ]
Well, I have always wanted to experience a real road trip, tour sites and all.