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They don’t realize anything is amiss until weeks after the escape from Merrick.
They put something inside Joe, in his head, and it sits there benign and innocent until the next time he dies.
It’s a good death, as Nicky would say. He does not care to see his love’s body broken by the car that hit him, or his eyes dark and blank, but he knows Joe will be pleased to hear that the girl he pushed out of the way is alive and well. Shaken up, of course, but no more than a few scratches. A good death, if it meant her life.
Nicky only stays long enough to make sure the girl is okay before he throws Joe over his shoulders, heavy in death, and disappears into an alley. There’s no safe house within the city limits and their hotel is several miles away, but it shouldn’t take long. He just wants to be away from prying eyes when it happens, wants to get away while everyone is still fussing over the girl and the driver.
It’s slower than usual, but Nicky thinks maybe he counted wrong. He’s not always good at measuring the time between last and first breaths, not when it’s Joe, so he forces the worry away. He kneels by Joe’s side, gently holding his cheek, while he sends a message to Copley on his phone. Just a text in warning—he’s already learned to be proactive—in case someone caught anything on video.
He’s smiling at Nile’s string of emojis in the group text when he hears Joe take a deep, ragged breath.
Good. Once he’s sure Joe’s okay, then can get him changed at the hotel and go out for dinner and—
The knife slides into Nicky’s chest. Through a rib if he’s not mistaken. The blow is well aimed, the small blade doing optimal damage, and Nicky stares down at it in confusion as blood spreads across his shirt.
“Why…?” He licks his lips, too in shock to feel the pain of it just yet, and stares at Joe. “Why would you do such a thing, my star?”
As startling as the wound is, it’s nothing to the look he sees in Joe’s eyes.
He expects them to be wild with surprise. It happens sometimes, when they come back. The shock of it, it can be a bit much even after all these centuries. You forget, you’re ready for a fight, and you lash out without waiting to see who or what you’re up against. He’s done it himself, and he would forgive it in any of their family.
It is not wildness he sees, nor confusion.
It is anger. A deep and unspeakable rage that Nicky has rarely seen in Joe’s eyes. There’s a hint of it, sometimes, when someone is particularly cruel, but even in righteous anger Joe is judicious. His anger befits the crime, as does his response to it.
This, though? Nicky hasn’t seen this since…
The man kicks dust into his face and then attacks. It is only instinct that has Nicolo pulling up his sword to deflect the blow he knows is coming. It does, and it lands hard enough to rattle his teeth in his skull. He swings blindly and feels metal connect with something soft. Not a killing blow, but he has hurt his attacker.
How many times must they fight like this? When will God give him the strength to best his foe? Will he forever be doomed to wage war against this man, this creature that refuses to die?
He spits on the ground and braces himself for the next attack. He’s exhausted and aching from wounds not yet healed, but he refuses to back down. He will not give this man another death to notch on his belt in victory.
“Yusuf,” he says, voice ragged. His left lung is pierced, he can feel it now. “Amati, perche?” He pulls the knife out almost mechanically. “What have I done?”
There is no answer, only Joe’s hands on him as he shoves him away. Nicky goes easily, clutching the knife and waiting expectantly. There is a reason for this, he knows it, and it is unlike Joe to deny him an explanation when he asks for one.
The coldness, the hate in Joe’s eyes don’t go away. When he dives at Nicky, it’s the soldier in him that reacts and has him raising the knife in self-defense. It slides into Joe’s throat, and instantly Nicky regrets not having more control of himself.
“Oh, amati,” he coos and tries to lay him down gently.
Joe does not let him; pushes Nicky away. He rasps for air but scratches like a rabid animal to get away from Nicky, to put space between them.
“I am sorry,” Nicky says, arms raised in surrender. “Let us talk, I—”
The gun fires before Nicky can even register its presence. The bullet rips through his heart, and he knows it is moments before he dies.
He cannot help it, he reaches for Joe. He pleads at him with wide eyes, wants his arms around him as the life drains out of him. Instead, as darkness overcomes his vision, he sees Joe running down the alley and around the corner…
The gasp of air burns. It hurts in the way only rebirth can. He shakes a little, the aftershocks of a hard death not quite done with him, but he forces himself to ignore them. He’s on his feet, running wildly in the direction he saw Joe take off.
It is the worst sort of deja vu, bringing him back to the walls outside of Jerusalem where they first played this awful game of cat and mouse. He didn’t much care for it then, but he hates it now.
“Joe!” he screams as he sprints blindly down the street. He doesn’t know how long he was out, but he knows how quickly Joe can move; fuck, if he’s lost him…
There are a few things in his favor. There is a trail of blood, there are many gawkers left in his wake, and a few stunned but well-meaning people who point him in the right direction. He has yet to see Joe himself, but he must be close, he can taste it.
He doesn’t know what he’ll do if he’s lost him…
In desperation, he pulls out his phone. He dials blind and hopes that he did it right. Please please please—
“Nicky?” Andy asks around a laugh and hushes Nile. “Thought we weren’t on for dinner until later—”
“Something happened to Joe. He’s running away, I need help. I don’t know what’s wrong, but it’s bad. He’s not himself—”
“Easy there,” Andy says. Her voice is tight but he can tell she is doing her best to exude calm. “You know I don’t understand Genoese when you talk that fast. Take a deep breath. Tell me what’s wrong. In English.”
A deep breath is impossible, not with the speed he’s running, but he does his best to slow his words down.
“Merrick. He did something to Joe. He does not know me. He attacked me.”
There’s a pause over the line, some distant cursing and Nile’s worried but wordless voice. “Attacked you how?”
“Stabbed me. Tackled me. Shot me.” His shoulder hits a brick wall hard as he tries to round a corner too sharply. He grunts through the pain but keeps going. “Killed me. Ran. It was Merrick, I know it, it has to be—”
“Probably,” Andy agrees. “Where are you?”
“Downtown.” He tries to read a street sign but he’s running too fast. “South of the market I think but I don’t know. Andy, if I lose him—”
“Keep on him. Nile and I are on the way. I know this is hard, but you have to be willing to take him down to take him in. Can you do that for me, Nicky?”
His whole being rebels against the idea. The fight in the alley, that was some primitive memory. A survival instinct that hasn’t been fully whittled away over the years. He’s had too much time to think, to understand, and he’s not sure he can will himself to hurt Joe in any meaningful way. Yes, it’s for his own good, but he’s not himself, he did not mean to. Cruelty does not warrant cruelty—
“Nicky,” Andy says sharply. “Can you do it or not?”
What alternative is there? His love is confused and alone, and if Nicky can’t bring him down so they can figure out how to help him, then they might lose him.
The thought is agony, and he knows it is an agony Joe would share with him if he were in his right mind.
“Si. Yes.”
“Good,” Andy praises. Her tone is calm, soothing, proud. “Hold tight.”
The line goes dead and he wants to throw the phone away. He wants to smash it because then maybe it would feel like he’d accomplished something. He doesn’t, though. He might not understand the intricacies of technology, but he thinks maybe it will be easier for Nile to find him if he has the phone intact and in hand.
He clutches it like a lifeline. For the first time in a long time, he prays.
His prayers are only partially answered. He catches sight of Joe, but he’s on the dock. There’s a boat, he’s untying it, and no matter how fast Nicky swims he knows he’d never be able to catch up.
“Yusuf!” he screams. His voice booms in the open air. He doesn’t know where the strength comes from.
Joe, mercifully, stops. He locks eyes with Nicky, and for a blessed moment, Nicky thinks it’s over, he’s gotten through. And then Joe picks up a machete from among the fishing wares. He steps off the boat, walking towards Nicky with an intent that’s unmistakable.
Right. They’re doing this then. Fuck.
He doesn’t have a gun on him, because like a fool he’d thought that weeks after leaving London, they were safe. Merrick’s corporation is a mess and no one is coming after them, so one gun between the two of them should have been enough.
At least Joe doesn’t have his anymore, he thinks to himself as he abandons his phone in favor of a crowbar left abandoned on a shipping crate. At least he doesn’t have his scimitar. I don’t want to get disemboweled today.
He has a machete. Still might get disemboweled.
“Fuck,” he hisses under his breath. He’s exhausted, he has a shit excuse for a weapon, and is going up against one of the best fighters in the world.
On top of all that, failure is not an option. He cannot rely on coming back to life after an ill-timed death. Dying right now means losing Joe, and that is completely unacceptable.
If he has to tear out Joe’s heart to keep him, well, he’ll just have to do it.
“Why are you doing this?” Nicky asks. He experimentally swings the crowbar, testing its weight, as he circles closer to Joe. “What did Merrick do to you?”
Nicky was so sure that he remembered all of their time in Dr. Kozak’s lab. It was a horror show of needles and pieces being taken out of them; he cannot for the life of him remember anything going in. But that’s the only explanation he can think of. Merrick thought so highly of his “products” and after Joe embarrassed him in front of his guards… They must have done something to Joe in retribution, something that lurked unseen until his death earlier today.
Whatever this is, whatever is going through Joe’s head right now, Merrick is behind it.
I owe Nile for killing him. Perhaps she would like flowers or a nice gun.
“I do not know a Merrick,” Joe says. The lilt to his speech, it vividly takes Nicky back nine centuries. He understands the words now, well acquainted with Joe’s mother tongue, but the cadence of them crawl into his skin and leave him reeling. Joe points the machete at him and smiles cruelly. “But I know you.”
“You do,” Nicky agrees. He is careful to use Arabic, and he can see that it surprises Joe. “Better than anyone.”
“You speak now,” Joe says warily. “First you cannot die, and now you speak like a man and not a dog. What’s next?”
“Please,” he begs. “Please, let me explain. I know you have many questions, but I have many answers. Please…”
Nicky inches closer. It’s a mistake, because Joe immediately lunges at him.
It is a strangely familiar rhythm, fighting Joe. They do not often train together much these days, in no small part because Joe will spend most of his efforts reciting poetry to make Nicky laugh so hard he can no longer fight. It is also of little use to fight each other; they have been together too long, fought and killed each other too many ways. He knows Joe’s body and mind intimately, and there is little either can do to surprise each other, even in a fight.
They did spar together a few weeks ago, if only for Nile’s entertainment. She said it was like watching a dance.
They dance now. Block, jab, swing, dodge, always circling each other, always trying to drift closer while the other puts the space back in. Whatever is wrong with Joe’s head, the muscle memory is still there, the ghost of who he is leading his movements and cutting off every attempt Nicky makes to disarm him.
“You were not this good before,” Joe pants in a rare moment when they are too far to strike at each other. “I was not this good before.”
“You are the best, habibi,” Nicky says and watches Joe’s eyes bulge at the endearment.
He uses the shock to take control. It would not work on a Joe used to Nicky’s flattery, but this older version of him, long since buried and left behind in the deserts of Judaea, is easily set off balance. All he knows of Nicky is violence and harsh, indecipherable words. He does not know love or devotion or even kindness.
So while Joe is off balance, wondering at the strangeness of this fight, Nicky tackles him. The blade of the machete lodges itself in his thigh, but with his weight pinning Joe, it is otherwise useless.
Joe’s rage is back, a mad fury that makes it nearly impossible for Nicky to hold him down. It’s all Nicky can do to push the crowbar down against Joe’s chest, the full weight of his body behind it as Joe thrashes wildly.
“Let me go!” Joe screams. He struggles to get the machete loose, but it’s buried too deeply in Nicky’s flesh; it hurts and he fights back a grimace.
“I cannot, my star.” Nicky grits his teeth and braces himself against Joe’s seemingly unending strength. “Please let me help you—”
“Help!?” He tries to headbutt Nicky; Nicky expects it, dodges it. It only makes Joe more frustrated. “Let me go, you demon! You basta—”
Nicky can’t help it, he leans down and kisses him.
It’s an old impulse, one he used quite a bit in their early years together. It’s always been effective at shutting him up.
Apparently it still works, because Joe’s words die and he briefly stops struggling. He lays there, stunned and unresponsive as Nicky kisses him urgently. Again, muscle memory must still be there, because when he licks across the seam of his lips, Joe immediately opens up for him. He even moans as Nicky deepens the kiss, his body suddenly pliant beneath him.
Best of all, when Nicky pulls away, Joe tries to follow his lips.
Keeping his knee on the crowbar, Nicky spares a hand to brush through Joe’s curls. He drops his forehead to Joe’s, seeing nothing but the confusion in Joe’s eyes. He hopes Joe can see the love and worry in his.
“Yusuf, my love, my star, my life,” Nicky begs. “I know you are confused, but please do not make me fight you anymore.”
Joe blinks up at him. He frowns.
“Who are you?” Joe asks. His voice trembles, as does his body.
“Nicolo. You know me. You have forgotten, but I will help you remember. Please do not run.”
“You are my enemy—”
“Not any more.”
“You attacked me—”
“You stabbed me first,” Nicky points out. “You shot me. I do not wish to hurt you.”
Joe does not argue. “I do not trust you.”
“You do.”
“I do not.”
“You did. You will.”
They stare at each other some more.
Joe digs his feet into the ground and tosses Nicky off of him. He runs for the boat, the machete and Nicky both abandoned.
“Fuck,” Nicky hisses as he scrambles to his feet. He pulls the machete from his leg; he feels the skin and muscle stitching itself back together, but he cannot run, not yet.
“Joe—”
A shot rings out through the air, and Joe goes down in a heap. Nicky’s heart lurches as he hobbles over, each step stronger than the last. Even so, he collapses on the ground next to his beloved and cradles him. A bullet through the head, long range. Too accurate to be Nile; she is learning, but she is no sniper. Not yet.
“We will help you,” Nicky promises. Andy is there in moments, the bullet starting to push its way back out. “We will help you.”
“Roll him over so I can cuff him,” Andy says. She hands Nicky rope. “Tie him up.”
“We don’t have a safe house—”
“Nile’s on it. She’s scoping abandoned buildings in the shipping district. She’ll send us a location. You’ll have to carry him.”
Nicky ties Joe and is about to pull him over his shoulder, but Andy puts a hand on him.
“These are too loose.”
“They aren’t—” He sees her withering look. Nicky swallows. “I don’t want to hurt him.”
“Then don’t let him get away, or I’ll have to shoot him again. Make them tighter.”
Joe is awake by the time they’re done, glaring at them both.
“I should have known this is the type of help you would offer,” Joe hisses.
Nicky cannot meet his eyes. He does not like to think what he will see there.
“With all due respect, Joe, shut the fuck up,” Andy snaps. “You’re going to feel like shit when this is over as it is, don’t make it worse by making him cry.”
And then, because Andy has always been better at emotionally distancing herself from the shit they go through, she knocks Joe out with the butt of her rifle.
“Andy—”
“You know he’ll heal,” Andy says, not unkindly. “We have to work on the real problem first. We should call Copley, see if he has any of Kozak’s notes or any dirt from Merrick’s other labs that might explain what the fuck is happening.”
Numbly, Nicky picks Joe up. He’s heavy, but Nicky suspects he’s weighed down by more than just the act of carrying his beloved. He goes through the motions as he follows Andy through the docks and into a dilapidated, abandoned building. It smells of mildew and the walls are too thin, but it is remote enough that it might buy them time.
“Easy,” he says as he sets Joe down in the middle of the room, well away from anything he could use as a weapon. “Rest. We will fix this, I swear it.”
Nile and Andy watch as he lingers there. He notes that both of them have their hands on their weapons; it is hard, but he ignores the impulse to ask for his own. He will not shoot them, no matter what they have to do. They are in this together, though he suspects they do not feel the situation as acutely as he does.
He takes a seat a few paces away from Joe, cradles his knees, and watches.
“What do we do?” Nicky asks.
“Copley’s digging through what he can,” Nile says. She hesitates before she adds, “I sent out word to Booker, too. In case he has anything useful. He’d want to help.”
Nicky nods, distracted. He is too busy watching the steady rise and fall of Joe’s chest.
Andy and Nile say more, perhaps to him, but he doesn’t hear. He is too lost in thought. The worst case scenario, he supposes, is that he will have to chase Joe down for the rest of his life, convincing the man he loves not to hate him again. If there were never to be love between them again, he could maybe bare it if he could at least stay by Joe’s side as a friend. A companion, even. That would be enough.
Some time later, when the sun has set and there are now dim candles lighting the room, Andy comes to sit next to him. She wraps an arm around his shoulder and pulls Nicky in for a hug.
“We’ll get him back.”
“We have him. He’s right there.”
Andy rests her head against his. “You know what I mean.”
Nicky does not answer. He does know.
“You should sleep. You can’t watch him all night and you’re no good to him tired.”
“I could not sleep right now if I wanted to,” Nicky says dismissively. “I won’t leave him.”
Andy sighs. She knows better than to argue.
“Booker’s on his way.” He tenses in her arms. “Copley thinks he has something, but you and I aren’t good enough at tech to fix it. Nile’s willing to try, but I know you’d want the best.”
“This is his fault,” Nicky whispers. “I know he did not mean for this, but if he hadn’t betrayed us in the first place, none of this would have happened.”
“I know,” Andy agrees. “And I know you probably want to rip him apart. Try not to, okay? I’m not happy about it either, but it’s done. Let him help. It doesn’t have to make things right, but let him fix this. Don’t hurt yourself and Joe because you’re angry.”
“This is why I don’t like arguing with you,” he says. “You fight dirty.”
“I fight to win.”
Nicky begins to laugh, but it’s cut off when he sees Joe stir. In an instant, he’s at his side, removing the gag he doesn’t remember Andy putting on him.
“Are you hurt?” Nicky asks. He holds Joe’s bound hand. Joe clenches his fist to pull his fingers away; Nicky still holds it.
“Release me.”
“I cannot.” Nicky flashes him an apologetic smile. “Are you thirsty? Hungry?”
“You can,” Joe says. “You say such pretty words about love, but you do not let me go.”
Nicky turns away. Joe is not wrong. There is something inherently selfish in keeping Joe here, in forcing him to stay when he wishes to leave. He is not in his right mind, but that is truly only an excuse. A convenient one, a justifiable one, but an excuse nonetheless.
When he can bear it, he turns back to Joe. “My star, I cannot—”
Joe screams. It is blood curdling in its desperation, loud enough that it feels like the walls shake with it. It is Nicky who puts the gag back in, though it is Andy who is standing over him with her gun in hand.
“You can’t let him do that again,” she hisses. “We can’t be found.”
“I know. I’m sorry.” He is sorry to both of them, though he thinks neither is too eager to accept the apology. “I will not let it happen again.”
Andy stalks off to check the area, nearly running into Nile as she bolts inside.
“What happened?” she asks, but Andy pulls her right back out the door.
“Give ‘em some space. Watch the door, though.”
And then they are alone again. Nicky wishes they would come back, because like this, it almost feels like it isn’t Joe here with him. This is a stranger, a stranger with his lover’s face, and he craves any distraction from the murderous intent behind his eyes.
“Booker is coming to help us fix this. Then maybe you can be angry at him instead of at me,” Nicky jokes. He settles cross-legged beside Joe. Stranger or not, he doesn’t think he could pull himself away now that he’s come so close. “I know it isn’t the same, but I could tell you all that you’ve forgotten. It might help. Might put you at ease to know who we all are, how we came to be family.”
Barely able to move, Joe manages to roll over and turn his back to Nicky.
“You are always so stubborn,” Nicky scolds. “How was it ever you who made the first move? But I don’t think you want to hear about romance, so maybe I start with Andy? She’s the more interesting of the five of us, anyway.”
And so he talks. He fills the unbridgeable gap between them with stories of their shared past. Their adventures and their jobs and their family, of how the world has changed them and how they in turn have tried to change the world for the better. It would be easy to focus on just him and Joe and their life together; he does not see the use in it. It hurts too much to speak of it when Joe does not share the memories, so he leaves it be.
By the end, his throat hurts and his mouth is dry. Joe feigns sleep. It might fool someone else who does not know him so well, but he is simply too tense.
The silence drags out and Nicky is startled to find that he's crying. He sniffles and tries to wipe away the tears. They keep coming.
When he's managed to clear his vision enough to see in the early dawn light, he finds Joe watching him, expressionless.
This time it is Nicky who turns away.
His back to Joe, he hiccups as he starts crying again. He tries to stop and only manages to choke on his tears.
There’s a gentle pressure to his back, Joe’s leg or maybe his torso, and it’s all the invitation Nicky needs. He turns and flings himself over Joe, clutching at his clothes and sobbing uncontrollably. How pathetic he must seem at this moment, crying over a man who cannot see him as anything but a threat.
It is only then, overcome with exhaustion and reaching the closest thing to comfort he’s felt since this ordeal began, that he falls asleep.
~ ~ ~
A hand on his shoulder makes Nicky lash out with a punch. His fist connects with someone’s jaw, and he blindly moves to attack again when he hears a familiar voice cursing in French.
“Sorry,” Nicky mutters. He rubs the sleep from his eyes.
“I probably deserve worse,” Booker says as he holds his jaw. He nods his chin towards Joe. “It as bad as Nile says?”
Nicky follows his gaze; Joe is asleep, thankfully.
“I don’t know how much she told you, but it is bad.”
“He really kill you?”
“Yes.”
"On purpose?"
"Yes."
Booker heaves a sigh. “Yeah, that’s pretty bad then.”
Nicky’s temper flares a little. He rounds on Booker, fists clenched and itching to punch him again. It’s not fair of him, he knows this, but it’s hard to care.
“Did you come here to talk or can you help?”
“I think I can help. Look, Nicky—”
“Forgive me, I don’t have the patience for this right now. I don’t want to negotiate for your help. Tell me what’s wrong and how to fix it, or leave.”
“Yeah.” Booker laughs humorlessly. “Yeah, okay.”
Andy takes over guard duty so Booker can talk to Nicky. Nile’s there too, and he’s not sure if she’s there to help explain things or to keep the peace. Both, most likely.
Booker explains it to them. Talks about a chip one of Merrick’s companies developed that was meant to help with memory loss for amnesia and dimentia patients. Some of their trials suggested it could actually make the problems worse and the human trials were abandoned before a full treatment was developed.
They put the chip in Joe some time while he and Nicky were passed out.
“It’s not clear why. Maybe they were trying to refine it—”
“He upset Merrick,” Nicky interrupts. “Joe, he embarrassed him, and Merrick was not a man to let such indignities go. Whatever else they might have gained from doing this, the goal was to hurt Joe. There was no other purpose than that.”
“That tracks,” Nile says under her breath. “Seemed like a major dick.”
“Well,” Book continues as he reaches inside his jacket for a flask. He doesn’t find one, making Nicky and Nile share a questioning look. “The chip, it’s in there. I can deactivate it, probably, but I don’t know what’ll make it turn back on. Not sure if it’ll be a every time he dies it’ll reset type of thing or what.”
Nicky buries a face in his hands. He does not like this at all. “Can we cut it out? We can do that, right?”
“Brain surgery?” Nile asks. “Are any of us qualified for that?”
“On a regular person? Fuck no,” Booker says. “On a guy that’ll heal afterwards no matter how bad we fuck it up?”
“I’ll do it,” Nicky says. “Tell me how and I’ll do it.”
“Nicky…” Booker starts.
“No, I’ll do it. I don’t want any of you to bear the guilt if something goes wrong. I don’t want to needlessly blame someone for a mistake that is not theirs. I will do it. Besides, I have more medical training than you do.”
“You do?” Nile asks in surprise.
“I have been a field medic before. Not for us, but I’ve been in too many war zones. I don’t like feeling helpless when people are hurt.”
Nile looks impressed. It speaks to his fondness for her that Nicky’s able to conjure a half-smile for her.
He turns back to Booker. “You have any x-rays? Any details that will help me? I want to do this quickly.”
Booker runs a hand through his hair. “I got some stuff, yeah. Let’s get to work then.”
The work is a team effort. Joe wakes up as angry as ever, and Andy has her hands full keeping him quiet and subdued. His words are muffled, but Nicky is sure he is cursing at each of them in every language he can muster.
Nicky does his best to concentrate on the tablet Booker hands him. He studies as best he can, prepares for a task he would give anything not to do. But he wants Joe back, so he focuses on the medical reports. They are detailed but technical, and he struggles to muddle through them.
It is left to Booker and Nile to deactivate the chip. Booker could do it himself, but Nile is curious. She wants to learn, wants to help, and Booker surely enjoys the company. She is the only one who does not eye him suspiciously, after all.
Nicky knows the moment they complete their work. There is a pained yelp from Joe and then he goes still.
“What happened—?” He’s on his feet, hovering over Joe’s lifeless form again. The past twenty-four hours have been truly awful, and he wonders if he might experience his first stress-induced heart attack.
“Electrical discharge?” Booker says. “Knocked him out, probably.”
“Or killed him,” Nile says under her breath.
“Let’s get this done. I don’t like being a man down.” Andy grabs a bag of medical supplies Booker stole from a local hospital, shoves it in Nicky’s arms. “You can do this, Nicky.”
It is not easy to do surgery on their kind. Their bodies fight each incision, and it is a constant battle to make any ground at all. It’s so much more invasive than the few times he’s dug bullets out of fallen soldiers or unlucky civilians, and Nicky hates it.
It’s a bloody mess. His stomach curdles in a mix of disgust and anger. He is doing this, Merrick forced him to do this, but he’s doing it. He’s the one with the scalpel, he’s the one breaking through Joe’s skull and poking at his brain and hoping for the best when this is one of the low points in his life.
The tweezers are sticky with blood, they slip as he tries to pull the little chip free. He feels a jolt of electricity through the metal, sees Joe twitch.
“Almost done,” Nicky soothes. “Almost have it, my love.”
It’s so small. His palm dwarfs it, it breaks with a satisfying crunch with barely any effort, and yet look at all the havoc it wreaked. What has the world become, that they have invisible enemies to fight along with everything else?
“Nicolo?”
Instantly, his focus is back on Joe. All day, he has felt untethered and finally he’s back on solid ground; with only his name, Joe has righted all the wrongs that have been done.
“I’m here.” He presses their foreheads together and closes his eyes in relief. “You’re here. It’s fine.”
“I hurt you—”
“It’s fine,” he says with finality. He will not hear Joe’s guilt when he can barely handle his own right now. “You are forgiven. You are always forgiven, amati.”
“I do not deserve you.” Joe’s voice is wet; without looking, he knows Joe is crying.
“You deserve far better than me.” He lingers a moment, then draws away. He spares Joe a kiss before he works to free him. “If you wish to make it up to me, let us go back to the hotel. I want to hear nothing but your voice for the next week at least, and you may apologize or say whatever you like.”
“Whatever you wish, habibi. So long as I can beg for forgiveness and grovel at your feet.”
Nicky is so tired he does not know if he can make the walk. He debates the merits of sleeping here, in the squalor that is no worse than a hundred other places they’ve slept over the centuries. But no, they need comfort. They need food. They need a bed.
“At the hotel,” he promises.
He casts aside the last of the ropes, unlocks the handcuffs, rubs feeling back into Joe’s wrists.
Joe catches his hands to still the movement, tilts Nicky’s chin up. “I love you with my whole heart. Even when I could not remember it, my heart, my soul, they yearned for you.”
“Is that why you stabbed me?” Nicky means for it to be teasing, but his tone is a little too flat. He does not like that Joe remembers. He should not have the burden of actions he had no say in.
Joe engulfs him in a hug. Their chests pressed together like this, it’s easy to feel Joe’s heart. A breath in and out, another and it almost feels like they’re in sync again. It calms Nicky more than he would have expected, but of course Joe would know what he needed.
“I was in pain the moment I woke up after the car,” Joe whispers in his ear. He gets distracted kissing the line of his jaw, nibbling at his earlobe. “My heart ached, and I did not know why. In my anger and confusion, I was sure you had bewitched me. I was not wrong in that, though I confess, I did not understand how sweet your spell over me could be.”
“You’re not allowed to be so romantic after killing me.” The easiness to his teasing is back, and he knows things are fine when Joe pinches his side and whines. “I am serious. You have no right to be sappy when you made me chase you through half the city.”
“You say I am forgiven, but you throw my transgressions in my face.” His annoyance would be more effective if Joe weren’t currently licking a line up Nicky’s neck. “I’ve killed you before. Surely one more time is not enough to tip the scales and make you unlove me.”
Nicky wraps his arms around Joe and buries his face in his hair. This is home, and he for one thinks himself a fool for ever having thought it was Genoa or anywhere else but in this man’s arms.
“Don’t worry, amati, you’re safe. It’ll take at least one more murder for me to unlove you.”
That earns him a full belly laugh, and they collapse together on the ground.
Honestly, fuck the hotel. He’ll take Joe here. Again and again, just to be enjoy that he's back.