Chapter Text
2046
…
Booker has been on the case for almost six months, and he's slowly losing his mind. They've made leaps and bounds on the case, but a solution feels miles away.
"Sebastien!" Lila bounces on her toes at her place behind the reception desk. "Dr. Hughes will be excited to see you. It's been a rough morning."
"I heard." Booker sets a parcel of bagels and spreads on the desk. "This is for the graduate assistants. Not a single professor is to eat these. They get enough treats."
Lila grins. "You spoil us, Mr. Durand."
"You keep Dr. Hughes from drowning under grading, so I think it's fair." Booker winks, smirking just a little bit when she pinks up. "Speaking of, I need to bring her lunch. Tell the others I brought food."
"It's in the group chat already, thank you!"
Nile doesn't look up when Booker knocks on her open door.
"It's me," he says softly. "I come bearing food. I fed the assistants."
"That's nice."
Booker steps in and locks the door.
"Nile," he finally says. Her head snaps up, useless glasses dropping on her nose.
"Sorry, sorry. I just… It's these fucking emails. I hate the bullshit of academia. Can't I just research and teach?"
"We'll fight the establishment later, cherie. For now, eat a bagel."
In the meantime, Booker's simple appreciation and infatuation with Nile is growing steadily into something that feels like love.
…
"They're in the president's house." Nile shoots to her feet. "Booker, the originals stopped moving. They're at the fucking University President's house."
She bounces excitedly and shoves Booker away from the counter and toward her computer. Sure enough, the trackers Nile placed on the most recent "repatriated" art pieces have settled at the one place on campus they haven't looked.
"Pretentious asshole," Nile says bitterly. "So fucking selfish."
"This hubris will be his downfall," Booker says, refreshing just to make sure the trackers are still transmitting. "They aren't getting away from us this time."
"Now the real question is how we get into the most secure building on campus."
Nile hip-checks Booker away from the computer, and she's off to the races. She pulls up maps and schematics and schedules and guard rotations before Booker fully processes that he's been moved.
"Weren't you making dinner?" Nile says when she realizes he's still stuck in place. "Don't want anything to burn, do we?"
"Right. Yes, don't want anything to burn."
Booker goes back to the stove with a fond smile. She's never been more beautiful to him.
You can't blame Booker for falling in love. Immortal or not, he is still just a man.
…
The opportunity presents itself sooner than they expect.
Booker walks into Nile's office, lunch in hand, and the assistants wave him through with a flurry of giggles. Nile perks up when he walks in, and he marks it down to hunger. Nothing more. She waits for him to close and lock the door before she speaks.
"President Ethridge is inviting the faculty to a cocktail party next month, and I'm on the list." She tosses a heavy envelope at him. "More importantly, I get a plus one."
"I haven't seen engraving this deep since the nineteenth century," Booker says with a low whistle, skimming his fingertips over the back of the ornate invitation.
Nile laughs, eyes crinkling at the corners.
"Printed invitations in twenty forty-six is pretentious enough," Booker continues, hoping to earn another laugh, "but engraved? Really?"
She laughs, and Booker's heart flutters.
"That's what happens when you're part of an art smuggling scheme," Nile says, taking the invitation back. She runs her fingers over the back like he did. "You have expensive invitation money."
"Who will you take as your plus one?" Booker asks, deliberately obtuse.
Nile rolls her eyes, but she's smiling.
"You, dumbass. This is our chance to see the stolen art in person." She smirks, and for a moment Booker starts to empathize with prey animals. "It's also an excuse to see you in that gorgeous maroon suit I saw hanging in your closet."
"I see. I am just to be candy on Dr. Hughes' arm."
"If the shoe fits." Nile's smile softens. "We'll make a stunning pair."
Booker finally hands over her lunch, half to change the subject and half to keep Nile from looking at him so intently.
…
"Go get ready." Nile shoos him toward the door of her apartment. "I want it to be a surprise."
"I know what you look like in a dress," Booker points out, backing into the doorway.
"Sure, but this is a new dress, and I want to do a grand reveal. Don't forget to put on cufflinks, and be sure to grab the -"
"Tranquilizers, I know," Booker finishes in a whisper, looking out into the hallway to be sure they're alone. "I'll be fine. I'll pick you up at eight."
"Don't be late!" Nile pushes him the last step out the door and closes it behind him.
It feels like a date.
This is a mission, Booker reminds himself as he crosses the hall to his apartment. Just a mission. Quynh's coat on his armchair and her boots next to the door remind him solidly of that.
"She kicked me out an hour ago," Quynh says from her spot at his computer. "Something about a grand reveal."
Her unruffled presence helps Booker put his head on straight. He's gearing up for a mission, not getting ready for a date.
"I brought you a better shirt." Quynh gestures to a department store bag on the coffee table. "I've seen her dress, and I want you to coordinate properly."
"Because coordinating is the main goal of the evening," Booker drawls in French. He grabs the bag on his way to the bedroom though.
"Do not dismiss the importance of appearances," Quynh responds in French, laughing when he flips her off from the partially closed door.
Booker takes his time getting ready, checking and double-checking the weapons between his shower and getting dressed.
The shirt Quynh brought is a dark charcoal gray with a slight sheen. Booker has no clue what Nile's dress looks like if this was a better choice than his plain black dress shirt.
Quynh wolf-whistles when Booker emerges - a terrible habit she picked up from Nile.
"You look very handsome, Booker." Quynh stands to help smooth his shoulder holster and straighten his cufflinks. "You are over two hundred years old. Why do you need such help getting dressed?"
"I don't need the help," Booker admits softly. "It is nice to be cared for."
Quynh pats his cheek, riding the line between fond and condescending.
"Therapy is going well, I take it?" She checks her watch. "Nile says we can come back. She's ready for her grand reveal."
They head back over to Nile's apartment, and Nile walks out of the bedroom in all her splendor.
Grand it is. Nile's new dress is a shiny gunmetal gray, somehow hugging her curves without showing the thigh holsters and knives Booker knows she's wearing.
He'll never say so to her face, but Quynh was right about the shirt.
"What do you think?" Nile does a distracting twirl, taking the skirt from appropriately cocktail length to nearly scandalous.
"You look beautiful," Booker finally says. "You always look beautiful."
Nile's grin gives him heart palpitations.
"You look beautiful too, Book."
"Disgusting.” Quynh ruins the moment before Booker manages to ruin anything else. “Fawn over each other later. We need to talk logistics."
Booker sends a silent thanks to whatever god might be listening for Quynh and her no-nonsense attitude.
…
The President's House is an obnoxiously large estate on the corner of campus. Historically home to the President of the university and their spouse, it's also the place where ostentatious cocktail parties are held to remind faculty where all the money is actually going.
(Certainly not to payroll or maintenance or student affairs or-)
Booker follows Nile inside and through the clusters of academics and their significant others. He keeps one hand possessively on her back and tells himself it’s to keep up their cover.
(It's definitely not to scare off the attentions of everyone around them.)
"Dr. Hughes!" A man in a sharp green suit comes over and shakes her hand. "You look lovely, this evening."
"Thank you, Dr. Carmichael." Nile gestures to Booker. "My partner, Sébastien Durand."
So this is the slimy bastard who hits on Nile at ever possible opportunity. Booker doesn't let his neutral gaze slip, but he can feel Nile's hand tighten on his arm.
"It's wonderful to meet you, Mr. Durand." Carmichael extends a hand, and Booker shakes it. "And really, Dr. Hughes, you must call me Jacob."
"Of course, Jacob, my apologies." Nile steps back, and Booker counters to place himself ever so slightly between her and Carmichael. "We'll catch up later, if we can. I'd like to introduce Sébastien to the department officially."
"I'll hold you to that," Carmichael simpers.
Quynh makes a fake gagging noise over their comms, and Booker only barely manages not to react.
"As soon as we're done here, I'm going to key his car," Quynh says with a grumble.
"Welcome to the last year of my life," Nile says, ostensibly to Booker but mostly to Quynh. "I need a drink, mon cher."
They find the bar, and Booker meets a half dozen people from Nile's reports and rantings. Drinks in hand, they find an alcove to retreat from the chaos and discuss next steps.
"I'd say half an hour before we venture upstairs," Nile says, playing with Booker's cufflink as she scans the room. "I have a feeling what we're looking for will be in a blocked off area."
"Distracted lovers?" Booker offers, one of Nicky and Joe's favorite tactics.
"Probably. It will be our best cover if I want to keep my job. I need to make sure the department chair sees me here," Nile says, sipping her drink to cover her mouth. "Even if I end up having to leave, I'd like as much social capital stocked as possible."
"Of course, ma cherie. We'll do a lap of the party, maybe grab some food, before we head upstairs." Booker looks out over the room from their alcove. "I believe I see expensive cheese."
"I guess the blood money isn't just going to drug cartels," Quynh says, earning a chuckle from both of them. "See if you can find the security system so I can connect."
"Will do." Nile holds her hand out to Booker. "Shall we?"
"We shall," Booker says, entirely to earn a smile. He takes her hand. "After you, Dr. Hughes."
Luckily, Dr. Patil is easy enough to find in the crowd, surrounded by other art department faculty and various dates. She looks stunning, having traded her usual simple salwar kameez suit for a more ornately embroidered one.
"Dr. Hughes! Welcome, please, join us." Dr. Patil gestures to an opening in the cluster. "It's lovely to see you again, Mr. Durand."
"The pleasure is mine, Doctor." Booker nods politely. "It is not every night I get to see the university's finest in their finest."
If Dr. Patil's complexion were fairer, she would be visibly blushing. As it is, the very tips of her ears are pink.
"You do know she's in on it, right?" Quynh asks in their ears. "Stop flirting and focus."
"Now, darling, you'll make me jealous," she says, joking. Nile moves her hand to Booker's arm possessively.
It gets a laugh out of the group, who mercifully turn their attention back to whatever Dr. Fitzwilliam was talking about.
Twenty minutes of socializing and entirely too many canapés later, Nile and Booker slip through the crowd and toward the back of the house.
The security panel is by the back door, behind the kitchen full of catering staff.
"Sorry, we got turned around," Nile tells a waiter they bump into. "This place is so huge, and there are so many odd hallways."
While Nile charms the waitstaff, Booker pops a bug into the security panel so Quynh can get into the system.
"The restrooms near the conservatory haven't been used as much," the young man is saying when Booker tunes back in. "There shouldn't be a line."
"Okay. I'm in. Grab the bug."
Booker does so and squeezes Nile's hand.
"You're so sweet," Nile says, brushing imaginary lint from the man's shoulder. "Thank you, honey."
"Of course, ma'am. Happy to help."
Nile and Booker head toward the conservatory, then double back for the servant's stairs.
"I have access to the system. The indoor sensors are mostly off due to the party, but the third floor is still locked down."
Booker and Nile exchange a look.
"Guess we're going to the third floor," Booker says. "Have the trackers moved?"
"No, they're stationary. He has them hanging, I believe."
They head up one steep flight of stairs and then another, hesitating at the top.
"We just need visual proof that the originals are still here, then we can tap in the authorities," Nile says softly, fiddling with Booker's cufflinks again.
He'll wear them more often, if she likes stimming with them this much.
"Your glasses, my lapel pin, Quynh will have plenty of footage," Booker squeezes her hand. "If things get weird?"
"Tranq 'em, get the hell out of Dodge," Nile says firmly. "No shots fired unless completely necessary."
"I have enough lag to pause the cameras," Quynh says. "Quickly, you only have five minutes before the next security round."
Booker pulls his tranquilizer gun and checks the one loaded with ballistics in his shoulder holster.
"Let's do this." Nile opens the door, and Booker follows.
The upper floor is practically coated in stolen, supposedly repatriated art. The long gallery hallway has paintings every six inches, display cases full of artifacts dotting the area between doors.
"Not only is he evil, he's tacky."
Booker can't tell which one Nile dislikes more based on the tone in her voice.
"Get a good look at everything you can," Quynh reminds them. "If you can see it, I can see it."
Booker covers Nile's six as she slowly circles the long hallway.
"There's part of every shipment," Nile says quietly, awed. "He kept them as trophies."
"Not for long," Booker reassures her, scanning the exits. "We need to hurry, we have four minutes until the next round from security."
"I'm amazed someone this paranoid didn't have metal detectors," Quynh quips. "Three minutes thirty."
"He'd never insult his guests," Nile says with a mocking lilt. "He'd never go so far as to distrust his faculty."
Which is why Nile has been here for a year.
"Okay, that's everything out here. It should be plenty for now." Nile guides Booker to the servants stairs once more.
They only barely make it to the second floor.
"Incoming," Quynh barks.
Before Booker knows what's happening, Nile has pulled him into a deep kiss. He follows her lead, crowding her against the wall of the landing and blanketing her body with his own. She runs her fingers through his hair, mussing his careful pomade job.
She's warm and soft and Nile, smelling of rich perfume and body lotion and home. Booker almost (almost) forgets himself.
"Excuse me, no one is allowed to the third floor," someone says behind them.
Nile breaks the kiss with a delicious little gasp.
"I'm so sorry," she says around Booker's arm. "We got distracted."
When Booker pulls himself together enough to look at their distraction, he finds a very flustered rent-a-cop from campus security with bright pink cheeks.
"Sorry, Dr. Hughes. I didn't realize it was you." He clears his throat. "You really can't go upstairs though."
"My mistake, dear." Nile straightens Booker's jacket. "We'll just rejoin the party, then. Thank you for being so diligent, keeping us safe."
Booker follows Nile back through the crowd like a lost puppy.
(It was just for the cover, it was just for the cover, it was just…)
"We should probably wait at least a while longer before we head home," Nile says, snagging a drink from a passing waiter. "Any arguments?"
"Whatever you think is best," Booker says. "It's your work party, ma cherie."
"You're too sweet." Nile tugs him down and mutes their comms for the briefest moment to whisper "maybe we can revisit that kiss later" right against Booker's ear.
Booker shivers, but Quynh is back in their bubble before he can say anything.
What feels like hours later, after the debrief, after Quynh jumps on a call with Copley to start moving data and making charges stick, Nile pulls Booker into her apartment.
"Tell me if I'm wrong, but I think you liked that kiss as much as I did," Nile says, locking the deadbolt as she pins him to the door by sheer magnitude. "And I think you'd like to kiss me again."
Booker loosens his tie, and Nile takes it the rest of the way off.
"You're right," he says quietly, eyes locked on hers. "I'd like to do more than kiss you, if you'll have me."
"Good." Nile leans up to kiss him, her heels putting her almost level with his height.
(His weak knees do part of the job for them.)
Booker's hands span her waist. He does his best not to clutch too tightly, not to ruin the best encounter he's had in centuries.
Nile guides him to her bedroom, leaving clothes on the way there. By the time he's sitting on the edge of the bed, he's down to his briefs and she's down to a mind-melting skin-tone lace set.
"Okay?" Nile asks, swinging a leg over his lap.
"More than."
She's going to drive him mad, but he'll go willingly.
…
Later, when the sweat has cooled and their breathing has calmed, Nile rests her head on Booker's chest.
"I don't want this to end when the mission ends," Nile says quietly.
"If you'll have it, I'll give you my forever," Booker says, safe in the semi-dark and tangled sheets.
"Only if you take mine in return."