Archive of Our Own

"If I keep staring at this computer screen, James, my eyes will give up on me." Booker saves everything to the corner of the dark web they call home and stretches. "I think I need to call it a day for now."

"I agree. All work, no play, etc." Copley yawns.

"How late were you up?" Booker shuts down the computer and pulls on his jacket.

"I've been awake since they put wheels down in Jakarta."

"You've been awake for..." Booker does some quick math. "Almost forty-eight hours, Copley. Get some fucking rest, man. They'll call if they need you."

"You're right. I'm no use to them like this." Copley stretches, his back popping. "I should sleep."

"In pajamas. With the blinds drawn. Sleep until you wake up of natural impulses."

"I make zero promises." Copley walks him to the door. "Good night, Booker."

"Good night."

The drive back to the Sierra house slips by. Booker is too worn-out to pay any more attention than he absolutely has to.

For dinner, he eats the last leftovers from before Nile left.

Once the dishes from dinner are done, Booker is officially out of things to clean.

Maybe he should just fucking go to bed. Try again in the morning.

The bed is too big without Nile in it. Booker falls asleep holding a pillow to try and fill the gap.

He wakes to the obnoxious jangle of his latest phone on the bedside table. The ID shows the sat-link number.

"H'lo?"

"Hey, baby, did I wake you?" Nile's voice is honey despite the static. "I've lost sense of time already."

"I went to bed early," Booker says, rolling over to stare at the ceiling. "How's the job?"

"Going well, but it might be one more day than we thought to wrap up loose ends. Nicky's contact can't fly us out until the day after next."

Booker tries to smother his sigh. It probably does not work.

"I know, Bas, I want to be home too."

"I am apparently useless without you, ma sirène."

"I'll be home as soon as I can." The static gets worse, and Nile curses under her breath. "I've got to get some sleep. I just wanted to touch base before things got crazy."

"Thank you." Booker yawns. "I love you."

"I love you too, Bas. Get some rest, yeah? I'll call you when I can."

"Good night, Nile."

"Good night, baby."

Booker puts his phone back on the bedside table and stares at the ceiling. The call was both a balm to his soul and a reminder of how much he misses her.

Fuck, he's pathetic.

...

September:

"I hate these events," Nile says, plastic smile never wavering.

"I know, dear one, but we do what we must." Joe steers her through the crowd with one hand on her low back, possessive.

"Easy for you to say. Your undergarments aren't attempting to cut off circulation." Whoever invented Spanx should be drawn and quartered.

"Focus," Nicky says in their ears. "We are here for a reason."

'Here' is a large society affair in Philadelphia, filled to the brim with Daughters of the American Revolution and their various hangers-on.

Nile is currently posing as a descendant of Mary Hemmings Bell. For all she knows, she might be.

"These bougie parties make my blood boil," Nile says, nodding politely as they pass a knot of grouchy dowagers.

"It is rare to be in the presence of such privilege in such concentrated amounts." Joe snags a glass of champagne from a passing waiter. "At least they do some good. We could be at a Goldman-Sachs event."

"Small mercies, Yusuf." Nile scans the room, eyes landing on Nicky in his sharp hired-security ensemble. "Where the hell is St. Claire?"

"Bottom of the stairs, to the left. By the potted palm."

Sure enough, a shock of stark red hair is visible where Nicky said, surrounded by a cluster of men.

"Here we go." Nile wishes more than ever that Booker was here. She'd feel more stable, even with the ruse they're about to pull off.

"On your cue," Joe murmurs in her ear. "Don't pull any punches, Nile."

Nile leans away sharply.

"Don't even try, Joe," Nile says, just short of yelling. "How dare you?"

From her throng of admirers, Helena St. Claire turns her attention their way.

"I should never have agreed to bring you," she says, company-manners still on even as she projects her voice.

Joe frowns, placing a hand on her arm.

"Mack, baby-" It comes out convincingly Brooklyn, and Nile has to focus not to giggle.

"Don't you 'Mack, baby' me, Joseph." Nile yanks her arm away. "Don't fucking touch me."

Helena steps forward, and the cluster parts.

"I should never have listened to my mother." Nile squares her shoulders, straightening her wrap. "This was a mistake."

"Mackenzie, you don't want to do this." Joe grabs her arm, managing to make it look rougher than it is. "Now is not the time or place."

"I believe she told you not to touch her." Helena St. Claire steps between them, gently guiding Nile behind her. "I suggest you leave. If you are her plus-one, it appears you are no longer welcome."

"You were right, Joe. Hero complex," Nicky says quietly.

Nile winks at Joe over Helena's shoulder, and Joe nods slightly.

"I'll go. Don't think this is the end of this conversation, Mackenzie." Joe glares at Helena. "This isn't over."

"I think it is. Security!"

Nicky appears out of thin air to escort Joe outside.

"Come with me, sir."

Once they're out of earshot, Joe opens his comm line.

"Nicky is coming back to keep an eye on you. I'm getting the car to tail her. Stay alert, Nile."

Helena turns to look at Nile.

"Are you okay, honey?"

Nile thought she was beautiful in pictures, but it's even more striking in person. Nile can easily believe that this woman is good at defrauding people, just with her looks and demeanor.

"Yeah. Yeah, I'm okay." Nile wraps her arms around herself. "I'm regretting a few life choices, but I'm okay."

She looks up at the woman through her fluttery fake lashes.

"Luckily you were there. He was going to start a scene."

"Come sit, have a drink, rest a moment. Security will make sure he doesn't get back in."

Over the course of the next half hour, Nile weaves her tale of bisexuality and a stubborn mother refusing to believe it was valid.

(It isn't as fun without Booker's snarky commentary in her ear. She misses him like a limb.)

"She says because I'm bi, I can just be sure to pick a man." Nile frowns. "It's not that simple."

"We should probably take this somewhere more private, don't you think? To avoid potential drama, should your mother find out."

Hook, line, and sinker.

Ten minutes later, they're in the back of Helena's car on the way to her hotel, Joe and Nicky on their heels.

Ten more minutes later, and Helena is sleeping peacefully in her bed as Nile clones her devices. The new tranquilizers that Copley found them from who-the-fuck-knows-where are impressively fast acting.

She leaves a note on the bedside table in bubbly, sorority girl handwriting.

Thank you for giving me a shoulder to cry on. I hope your migraine clears up. Xoxo Mack

Nile tucks her tech back into her bra and slips out into the hall. Joe is waiting for her with sneakers and a coat to cover her ostentatious gown.

They get to the safehouse, and all Nile wants to do is shower with her husband to wash the woman's touch away. She settles for calling him from the bathtub.

"H'lo?"

Tension melts out of Nile's shoulders.

"Hey, baby. Sorry to wake you. I finished the job, and I just... I miss you."

"I miss you too, ma sirène. The house is too quiet without you."

...

October:

"Absolutely not."

Nile laughs until she coughs the moment Booker steps out of the bathroom, falling onto her side on the bed and curling in on herself.

Booker loves her very much. That is the only reason he even tried on the polyester monstrosity.

"Oh my God, the wig!"

Booker has never hated the inventor of synthetic polymers more in his entire life.

"You look like a goddamn mess, Jesus fuck, I love you so much."

"I look like a reenactor they wouldn't let into the reenactment," Booker complains. "I look like a reject from Colonial Williamsburg."

"You look like you'd go up in flames if you even looked at a fucking candle." Nile cackles. "This was totally worth the eighty bucks."

"I look like a rough draft of the costumes for 1776."

The 'colonial gentleman' costume is made up of itchy breeches, plasticky boot covers, a stiff polyester jacket with attached vest front and cuffs, and the world's ugliest cravat.

"Nile, love of my life, can I please change out of this atrocity? Surely we can manage a better Halloween costume."

"Fine, fine. One picture and then you're done. You've been such a good sport."

To be honest, Booker would do anything to get rid of the somber mood Nile was in when they woke up.

"Halloween was my dad's favorite holiday, and he passed before he could even see our costumes that year. It always makes this time of year hard."

It's their first Halloween without a job to distract them, hence the knock-off colonial garb.

Booker poses in the atrocious wig and insultingly-flammable outfit. His smile is probably sickening, but he doesn't bother changing it.

Nile helps him un-velcro the monstrosity, piling it all back into the bag it came from. She runs her hands over his arms, soothing itchy skin even as any irritation heals.

"I know why you agreed to this," she says quietly. "Thank you."

Booker hugs her tight.

"Nile, you know I would do anything for you. If all you want from me today is a horrendous costume fashion show, then who am I to begrudge you that?"

Nile hides her face in his neck.

"My dad always picked the worst costumes," she says, muffled. "It was purposeful, the shittiest ones he could find for the cheapest. He said 'even shitty costumes deserve a Halloween.'"

"It's a good life motto, if a little odd." Booker kisses the bits of her he can reach. "Your dad loved the underdogs, even the polyester disasters at Halloween."

"He was always fighting for something. For someone."

Booker doesn't say anything when he feels tears on his neck. He just sways her to the music in his head, giving her however long she needs to process.

Nile takes a deep breath and steps back.

"Fair is fair. I should show you my costume." Nile gently shoves him to the bed. "Sit, it won't take too long."

Booker does as instructed, idly flipping through messages from Copley on their encrypted server.

"Okay, you can look now."

Nile is grinning when he looks up. He scans her from top to toe, eyes landing on body glitter, a seashell bra, and finally a thin skirt decorated to look vaguely like some approximation of a tail.

"My love, are you a fucking mermaid?"

Nile somehow grins wider.

"Nope. I'm a siren."

...

November:

Nile is starting to think Andy is punishing her as well as Booker. Why else would she be in a rickety safehouse in Montana of all fucking places, when she could be in bed with her husband back home?

"Come over here," Nicky says when he sees how hard she's shivering. "You'll fit. Joe is like a blast furnace."

Nile doesn't bother arguing, sliding into place in front of Nicky. The multiple duvet situation they have going has turned their bed into an oasis of warmth, and Nile finally settles enough to sleep.

Until...

Nile is back in Afghanistan, back in the dust and the dirt and the uniform. They're sweeping an abandoned base.

"Freeman!"

"Sir!" Nile says, joined by a male voice.

"Sergeant Freeman, take point on this next sector."

It hits Nile like a truck.

No.

Her father steps forward, following orders.

He's just following orders.

"No!"

Nile races forward, but she's too late.

The explosion still rings in her ears as she sits bolt upright in bed, screaming.

Nicky is awake in an instant.

"Nile, what is it?"

They've been here a dozen times before or more, but it never gets any easier.

"My dad. It was my dad." Her tears are hot on her cheeks. "Fuck, I couldn't stop him. I couldn't save him."

Nicky stows his gun and gently touches her arm.

"I am sorry, Nile. I'm sorry your nightmare is causing you so much pain."

Their bed is too hot. Nile retreats to the living room, curling up on the couch.

She should call Booker.

No, she's strong enough to do this alone.

She doesn't have to do this alone.

Nile would be mad at Booker if he didn't call her over something like this.

She grabs the sat phone from the coffee table and curls back up.

Booker answers on the third ring.

"Nile, what's wrong? Isn't it the middle of the night, there?"

"Nightmares," Nile says. "Needed to hear the sound of your voice."

"Do you want to talk about the nightmare?"

"No."

"Do you want me to tell you what I did yesterday?"

"Yes please."

Nile falls asleep with the phone tucked against the throw pillow, listening to the love of her life discussing the inanities of old Italian property law.

The only way she could be happier is if she was home with her husband in person.

...

December:

Nile's job is running long.

(Jean-Pierre died on December 15th. Booker has the date inscribed on his soul.)

Nile's job is running long, and Booker's grief hits him like a train.

"Just give it to me!" Jean-Pierre coughs hard enough to spit up blood, sobbing and retching. "If you love me, you'll heal me!"

Booker forces himself to shower.

"I love you, but I don't know how." Booker holds out a cup of water, and Jean-Pierre knocks it out of his hand.

"Liar!"

The water runs cold. Booker dries off on autopilot and goes back to bed.

"If you love me, you'll heal me!"

Booker pulls the covers over his head and buries his face in Nile's pillow.

"Liar!"

Nothing can drown out his ghosts.

"You never loved any of us, you selfish fucking bastard." He coughs, harder this time.

"Jean-Pierre, please, relax. You can't-"

"You are weak. Why would you tell us of a gift you could not give? You're selfish, and weak, and I want you out of my sight."

The hours slip by, and Booker's mind won't settle.

"Get out! Get out, you fucking coward. Don't show your face again, lying bastard, get out!"

There is still alcohol in the house.

"If you loved me-"

It would be easy as anything.

"You never loved any of us, you selfish fucking bastard."

The ghosts would go quiet.

"If you loved me-"

Booker nearly drops the bottle in his haste to open it. The whisky burns as he downs it without a glass, one long pull like he can drown his demons.

"Liar!"

He's been sober for almost two years.

"If you loved me-"

His clock starts at zero again.

"Liar!"

Booker finds a bottle of vodka, somehow manages to open it.

"Get out! Get out, you fucking coward. Don't show your face again, lying bastard, get out!"

Booker's last cogent thought is "Nile will be so disappointed."

"Oh, Book..."

When did Andy get here?

She hauls him up, and the room spins.

Why aren't his feet cooperating?

"C'mon, Book. You need a shower, and you need to go to bed." Andy somehow gets him into the bathroom, stripping him efficiently. "You don't want to smell like a distillery when Nile comes home."

Nile. Booker smiles slightly, falling the moment he realizes.

Fuck, Nile.

...

Nile gets in late, but she rushes home as soon as she can. Andy said she was holding down the fort, but Nile has to see Booker.

How the hell did she lose track of the date?

Booker is asleep when Nile walks into their room, but he wakes when she sits on the edge of the bed.

"Nile?"

"Yeah, Bas, I rushed home as soon as I could."

Booker's face crumples, tears overflowing.

"Hey, no, shh. I'm so sorry, baby, I lost track."

"I fucked up," Booker rasps. "I'm still drunk, Nile, I fucked up."

"One day at a time, Bas. It's okay, I promise." Nile holds him tightly as he cries. "Feel your feelings. We'll start again tomorrow, yeah?"

"I'm sorry."

"I know."

"I love you."

"I know." Nile pushes his hair out of his eyes. "I love you too."