Afterword

It’s not the right time but he can’t help but admire the way the bombs were set up, to carefully bring down an entire building apart from the single room they were in. Unless people looked upon the wreckage through an aerial view, they’d see nothing but debris.

He thanks God silently for allowing him a chance to assure Joe and Nile that he and Andy had survived the explosion before the earpieces were ripped away from him. Nicky’s been here before. Many times. The handcuffs around his wrists and ankles, and the drug induced haze he finds himself in is not surprising.

He catalogs Andy beside him for any injuries but he’d bodily shielded her from the brunt of the impact. A few scratches but she’s seen far far worse. Her mouth’s set in a grim line as she tests her restraints before sinking against the wall behind her. Not in defeat. She was just conserving her strength for the right moment.

And watching her then, eyes closed, breath even, Nicky remembers another time. It nags at the far edge of his memory considering it’s close to 900 years old. It had been the first time they’d been captured together, he, Andy and Joe.

And it had been Quynh to rescue them then and the bitter irony of his current predicament doesn’t escape him.

The door to the room swings open and despite how much he’d expected it, he’s still surprised when Booker’s being dragged in by four armed guards, in similar restraints. Booker’s eyes go to Andy first, scanning her for injuries as the guards plant him down against the far wall. He’s lost weight, Nicky notices and the dark circles under his eyes are more pronounced.

But there was that same brittle edge that Booker wrapped himself in, the battle armor of a heartbroken man that Nicky had spent the last 200 years trying to chip away unsuccessfully.

“Your exile hardly lasted a week before you landed in trouble,” Andy says.

She hadn’t even opened her eyes.

“I had a visitor,” he replies grimly.

Booker turns to him, flinching a little as he watches Nicky’s mutilated leg slowly heal itself.

“Nicky,” he says, like they’d never been apart.

Booker hadn’t apologized for what he’d done, not once, not after all Joe had yelled at him. Nicky could understand his grief, understand that it had misguided him. Understand that in some ways it was their fault, for failing Booker, for not addressing his sorrow more, for letting him drink his problems away.

For letting him believe he was truly alone.

The night after the exile had been declared, Nicky had tried saying as much to Joe.

***Flashback***

“He was in pain Joe. He doesn’t hate us for what we have. He felt alone,” Nicky said.

Joe yanked on a black t-shirt somewhat aggressively, still breathing flames.

“Well now he actually is alone. Perhaps he’ll be be able to tell the difference in 100 years,” Joe snapped.

“Joe,” Nicky exhaled. Not in impatience. Joe had all the right in the world to be angry and he felt a kernel of that anger still wedged into his own heart as well.

But this was Booker.

“You think a century is too much,” Joe said.

Nicky didn’t even have to nod to convey as much but he’d hoped to have this conversation when the betrayal felt a little less fresh for both of them.

“He had us captured and if he’d had his way, we’d have spent the rest of our immortals lives being prodded at,” Joe started ranting.

Joe had said as much, in more and less descriptive ways, at least 20 times in the last day alone. Like Nicky didn’t know how badly things could have gone, like his nights wouldn’t be haunted by it.

“You weigh his actions by the consequences, by what actually happened. But all I can think of is what could have happened Nicky, what he intended to have happen. Shouldn’t that be what he’s judged by,” Joe asked angrily.

He crouched before Nicky, head of curls dropping onto his knees. Nicky let his fingers run through them as Joe continued to mumble.

“He is a grown man Nicky, 200 years grown to be precise. He can be held accountable for his actions,” he murmured.

“Immortality makes us all children Joe,” Nicky replied softly.

Joe huffed out a breath.

“He won’t do it again Joe. You know,” Nicky started.

Joe’s head snapped up, those brown eyes clashing with his, betraying anguish and hurt so openly that it felt like a noose had suddenly settled around his neck.

“How do I know that Nicky? Did he express his regret to you,” Joe pressed.

And Nicky had been left dumbfounded at that.

***End of Flashback***

To here no hint of remorse, not even for the fact that he’d shot Andy, was unacceptable. Nicky had been unable to argue with Joe past that.

Because it meant Booker might do it again given time, and Nicky couldn’t allow that to happen to the rest of his family. He couldn’t really allow Booker to do it to himself either.

His thoughts on Booker come to a screeching halt as the door opens again. Time seems to slow down as a woman steps through, pulling the red hood off her head with a smile that holds no trace of the woman he’d once considered a part of his family as well.

Andy’s pained gasp comes out as a whimper and Nicky shifts as close to her as he can.

“Andromache,” Quynh says.

And Nicky’s again amazed by how life continues to show him new experiences, unveil new fears, as he watches Andy faint for the very first time in his very long life.