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Booker’s absence wasn’t immediately obvious. Nile, who didn’t know him enough to notice the difference, was eager to find her place in the group and learn tasks Booker had abandoned, providing a firm grasp on the present world while the rest of them were losing their place in it. Andy seemed barely affected by the very recent events, although Nicky noticed that regret sometimes flitted across her face before it was replaced by the weary wisdom that had guided Nicky and Joe almost a millennium ago. She was strong. She had lived through more things than Nicky, Joe, and Nile combined could imagine, and she would live through this betrayal as well (that she might not live through centuries with them anymore obviously didn’t bear thinking.) But, Andy’s subtle grief was a reminder that there are some things near-invincibility couldn’t protect them against, that centuries’ worth of life experience couldn’t completely shield their hearts and kept them from breaking. Nicky watched Andy and Nile for a moment, then turned away to look for the one most openly affected by Booker’s betrayal and punishment.
Nicky found Joe in front of the TV. A football match was on, the players running around the field as the spectators shouted support and jeers and the commentators excitedly described the game in rapid fire French. This was usually an opportunity for Joe to practice his skill, drawing quickly while his inspiration runs in and out of view, never still long enough to allow accuracy, always in motion as real life was. But, the notebook on Joe’s lap was filled with meaningless scratches and while there was a pen in his hand, it was held absently. Joe’s anger had been plain for everyone to see, but his pain was subtler, present in its absence. It was easy to think he only wanted retribution and was still upset because he didn’t think the one given to Booker was harsh enough. But, Nicky knew better. He saw the first hint of pain when the first suspicion dawned on Joe that they had been betrayed. It grew worse when the suspicion was confirmed and then nearly unbearable when banishment was decided. He saw the glassiness in Joe’s eyes when he shouted, when he scowled, when he demanded punishment, when he glanced back to see Booker for the last time.
Joe sighed deeply and turned his head to Nicky’s direction, finding Nicky even before Nicky made his presence known. When Nicky sat down beside him, Joe held his hand as he had held Nicky’s hands uncountable times before. Although, his grip had been tighter than usual since they escaped Merrick’s lab a few days ago. Terror hadn’t fully relinquished its hold on Joe, powerful remnant from not too long ago when he had been bound and forced to helplessly threaten, bargain, curse, and shout as tissue after tissue was excruciatingly collected from Nicky’s body. Nicky swallowed the bile that rose from the memory of that very long day. He hated to see Joe in pain, but he had been glad to see Joe losing his consciousness before him so that he could be spared the sight of Nicky enduring further pain. The maddening fear and phantom pain would pass, forgotten like Nicky and Joe had forgotten many other memories, good and bad. But, right now, they were still fresh, still sometimes made Joe touch Nicky’s body where vicious instruments had been burrowed into him, still prone to making Nicky wake up at night and pull Joe’s arms closer around him. Sensing his distress (because of course Joe did,) Joe squeezed Nicky’s hand and gave him a smile small yet powerful enough to alleviate some of the heavy fogs of dark memories from Nicky’s mind. Nicky returned it, trying to convey how relieved he was that they were still together, still beside each other, still had at least this one life to share.
“I never thought he’d do that to us,” Joe said quietly. He looked back to the TV screen, the artificial light highlighting the dark pain in his expressive eyes. “I know he hasn’t moved on, but I didn’t think he would ever hurt us like that.”
Booker never fully recovered from outliving his family one by one. His dying son’s angry rejection had broken what was left of his heart. Out of all of them, he was the most devoted to his family. His attachment to his wife and children had kept a barrier between him and Nicky, Joe, and Andy. He had viewed them as acquaintances at best, choosing to spend time with his family unless one battle or another pulled him away from them. The helplessness of not only being unable to help his remaining son but also not allowed to be near him had completely devastated him. Nicky, Joe, and Andy had all felt the grief of losing their loved ones. They had all lost someone dear to them, someone they mourned for, someone they shed tears for and vowed not to forget but memory stole from them still. They knew the pain of loss receded. They knew they would eventually move on. But, Booker hadn’t known it. It was a lesson they had learnt painfully through the centuries and Booker was too young to understand it, let alone accept it.
In the aftermath of that incurable loss, Andy had come to Booker with a sense of duty, hoping to distract him with the life of never ending fights of long-lived warriors. Nicky had tried to get close to him with compassion, feeling a compulsory need to help someone so obviously lost and lonely. Joe had been the only one who approached Booker with friendship, a simple gift of quiet understanding and companionship. Al-tayyib, Joe had once been nicknamed – the good one – and it had been apparent why when he smilingly withstood Booker’s occasionally prickly demeanors and continued to provide him company despite his barbs. This had been exactly what Booker needed – not a duty he didn’t understand or charity he didn’t want to admit he needed, but a friend to fill a part of the large gap left behind by his family. It was a role Joe took seriously, warning Andy and Nicky to avoid reminding Booker of the family he had lost. Andy complied with a quiet understanding, slinking away whenever her own memory of a lost love overcame her. But, Nicky struggled to follow the advice. Nicky, much to his surprise, found himself greedier for Joe’s love when Booker was around.
Joe never moderated the expression of his emotions. This included his love for Nicky. There were cheeky winks, private smiles, fleeting touches, whispered love professions, arms around Nicky in sleep. But, Joe had often held back, drawing back when Booker was watching or listening, toning down romance when Booker was around. He had been a very considerate friend – and Nicky should be as well. But, centuries of being spoiled with devotion and affection the like of which Nicky had thought no human could possibly be capable of, made even the slightest reservation of that love keenly felt. Nicky was rarely capable of answering Joe’s heartfelt declarations and gestures of love in kind. But, when they were withheld from him, when they were silent, he couldn’t help but notice the absence and he couldn’t always help himself from filling it on his own.
Nicky had pushed sometimes when Joe hesitated to say the beautiful words Nicky could tell were forming in his mind, when Joe’s touch lasted too briefly under envious eyes, when Joe stole a kiss instead of openly taking what had only ever been his, when Joe only smiled at Booker’s cynicism about what Joe and Nicky knew was true if rarely found. Nicky hadn’t missed Booker’s bitterness when Nicky clumsily proclaimed and showed his love for Joe to the world, but he couldn’t stop. Lifetimes spent with Joe effortlessly and boldly embracing his heart full of affection and passion had taught Nicky that there could be nothing wrong with loving and desiring someone as much as he and Joe loved and desired each other. Booker would get used to it, would eventually stop mourning the family he had lost, would accept that although he regarded their gift as a misfortune, Joe and Nicky were forever grateful that it had brought and kept them together. But, Nicky had been wrong, and now he couldn’t help but wonder if things could’ve been different had he been a better friend and practiced more consideration.
“I probably should have been kinder,” Nicky said quietly. “You told me not to remind Booker of his family, but I couldn’t help it sometimes.”
Joe turned to him, brows furrowed. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”
Nicky shook his head, guilt filling him the more he remembered about his offenses. “You held back in front of him to keep from hurting him, but sometimes I said or did things I shouldn’t. I knew it made him unhappy, but I did it anyway because I didn’t like that you held back from me. I should’ve been less selfish and kept my feelings to you and myself.”
If possible, Joe’s brows furrowed deeper. He sat up and put Nicky’s hand on his chest over his heart. It beat as steady as the love Nicky could feel even before Joe said a word. Nicky felt his chest grow warm. Even when their lives ended and restarted more times than they could count, when time changed into something where they didn’t belong, this love was a constant Nicky knew he could always count on. “There’s nothing wrong with love, beloved,” Joe said earnestly in a tongue half-forgotten by time. Nicky didn’t remember it enough to perfectly understand every word, but what he missed, he could see clearly in Joe’s earnest tone and expression. Nicky’s heart thudded like it was their first declaration of love all over again – the excitement was still present, the novelty somehow hadn’t waned. How could they keep this quiet, known only to themselves? “Love is a gift to cherish and there’s no celebration as great as sharing it with someone. There’s no place for guilt in it, only joy and contentment. Let the world disprove as they like, but don’t you disprove of this love. I won’t have you regret anything, not when you only speak and show what I feel and think about you.”
Nicky chuckled, bashful but pleased by this latest confirmation of the one thing he knew without a shred of doubt in this strange world. He leaned in to kiss Joe and not for the first time his heart soared when Joe kissed him back. It didn’t matter that Joe had never refused his kisses – not even in those early days when Nicky’s conscience had still been weighed down by ingrained guilt – it was still exciting. Nicky was still in awe of the proof that Joe loved and desired him, that Joe hadn’t gotten tired of him, that Joe still looked and touched and kissed him like it was their first time, like they hadn’t spent centuries learning every part each other’s body and mind. ‘His kiss still thrills me even after a millennium,’ Joe had said, unconcerned of the armed men around them as he gazed into Nicky’s eyes as if he was the only one on earth. Nicky wished he had the mastery of language that Joe did as he wished to return Joe’s countless love confessions with the same eloquence. But, Nicky was neither the poet nor the romantic Joe was and could only deepen the kiss, pouring into it the warm affection brimming in his soul.
“Don’t regret us,” Joe implored when they broke the kiss. “Whatever happens, don’t regret love.”
Calmed, Nicky nodded and press a small kiss to Joe’s lips. “I hope Booker understands.”
The name darkened Joe’s expression. “Yes,” he agreed in English. He turned his attention to the TV screen when the spectators cheered loudly as their team took control of the ball. It didn’t last long and Joe huffed in frustration when the ball was kicked back to the center of the field. Nicky checked the names of the teams and realized then that one of them was Booker’s favorite.
Nicky had never been as close to Booker as Joe. They had never managed to bond close, something which Nicky suspected was because Booker found him too mild-mannered for his taste. Joe was more gregarious, more suitable to match the powerful sorrow that always followed Booker. They had books and sports to discuss and share excitement over, while Nicky preferred showing his affection to his friends by watching over and caring for them. Nicky might consider Booker a good friend, but Joe had taken Booker as his brother, kindly overlooking how Booker’s pain kept a barrier between them. Joe had been so convinced that one day Booker would overcome his loss and move on as they all inevitably did. It had taken Booker longer than expected, but Joe still had faith and so had Nicky. Being betrayed, captured and tortured for specimens were not a way either Joe or Nicky expected to have their expectation proven wrong.
“Sometimes I thought he’d leave, but not harm us like this,” Joe admitted. He scowled, shaking his head. “He knows those people will find nothing – we’ve all tried to share what we have and nothing ever comes out of it!” he said angrily.
Indeed, they had all tried what they could to share if not their unnaturally long lives then at least their ability to heal themselves. They had even at various points in history turned to faith, magic, and science to at least find out what made them the way they were. However, they had found nothing but pain under various rituals and experiments to draw the secrets out of their bodies. The only thing they learnt was that the only thing that rivaled people’s fear for their unnatural abilities was their desire to have them. They hadn’t chosen to be warriors because they loved violence. They had chosen it because it was the only way they could use their gifts to help people while keeping themselves safe. They had told Booker this when they first found him and had told him again when he asked them how to help his sick son. While technology had advanced since the last time they made an attempt to explain their long lives, Nicky was reasonably sure that the result wouldn’t change. But, perhaps because he had never endured the pain of experiments as the rest of them, Booker had still hoped.
“He’s hurting and desperate,” Nicky said to calm Joe. Whatever had happened to him, he couldn’t begrudge Booker for acting thoughtlessly out of lasting grief, but Joe felt otherwise.
“All of that for the people he has lost and now he loses even more,” Joe spat out.
Nicky recalled the look Booker gave them when they left him for his century-long punishment. The consequences of his actions had just dawned on Booker then. Booker might keep some distance between himself and his friends, but Nicky knew that underneath it all, obscured by his enduring love for his family, he cared for them. Booker himself hadn’t realized it, but Nicky saw it and recognized it for what it was. So, unlike angry Joe and pragmatic Andy, Nicky had hesitated when deciding a punishment for Booker. Nicky had endured the pain of being experimented on and watching Joe being hurt to the point of unconsciousness. But, how did one fairly compare physical pain to non-physical one? Nicky, who knew too well the terror of losing Joe, understood the agony of every lonely second and the disorientation of being unmoored from the constant in his life. Booker might not feel for them what Joe and Nicky felt for each other, but friendship was no lesser than romance. The loss of friends could rival the loss of love and family.
“A century is a very long time,” Nicky remarked quietly.
“Hopefully long enough to teach him his lessons,” Joe retorted grimly. On the screen, Booker’s team tried and failed to score a goal. The disappointed players shook their heads as they walked away from the goal post, but in seconds they were ready to continue the game, determined to change the tide of the game. “Sometimes you have to lose something to realize how much it means to you.”
Nicky couldn’t dispute that, so he nodded. “Will you have forgiven him in a hundred years?”
Joe scoffed. “He’d better hope so.”
Nicky imagined what it would be like if Joe still hadn’t forgiven Booker by then. It would be difficult fighting and living side by side when trust hadn’t been restored and forgiveness hadn’t been gained. What if even more separation was required? Should Booker be subjected to a prolonged exile? But, then Nicky remembered Joe’s character. He was still angry now, but he wouldn’t be angry forever. The same nature that had forgiven Booker’s rejection and bitterness would eventually forgive this bigger, graver mistake. When the long century had passed, Joe would have missed Booker too much to remain angry with him. They would be tighter than ever, brought even closer by the time spent away from a friend and brother. But, for now, both Joe and Booker had to wait. Moving closer to Joe, Nicky hoped Booker find something to make the lonesome century easier.
Nicky nodded to the TV screen. “Ten minutes left. Do you think they still have a chance to score a goal?”
Joe raised an eyebrow. Nicky was generally disinterested in the sport, something that Booker and Joe found endlessly amusing considering his place of origin. He would usually be out of their way when they were watching a football match, only disturbing them to remind them to eat or drink in between shouting at the players on TV screen. The rarity of the question wasn’t lost on Joe, nor was the intention behind it. He shrugged, grinning in a familiar charming way that still had Nicky slightly flustered even after all these centuries. “Anything is possible until it’s really over.” Then, he was distracted when Booker’s team raced to the opponent’s goal post again, one of the players herding the ball with focused determination.
Nicky still didn’t quite understand the fascination with the sport, but he didn’t mind sitting beside Joe to the last minute of the match while Joe frowned and huffed at the match. It ended in a draw, which briefly upset Joe. However, he recovered quickly, turning to an empty page of his notebook with his pen poised in his hand. Nicky smiled and occupied himself with one of the books from Joe’s hoard of poetry books. The sound of the metal tip of the pen on paper, indistinct noises from the TV with the volume turned down low, and hushed but excited conversation in the background filled him with contentment, slowly pushing away and replacing far less pleasant memories of what desperation could do to a man. When he glanced to Joe’s notebook some time later, he found rough drafts of not the perfect physique of one of the football players, but Nicky and him sitting together, their hands tightly but gently clasped between them, every inky line that comprised their shapes shouted love in the visual language of arts. On the edges, there were familiar faces of friends they had made, lost, and retained along the way, including one small bearded face in the far corner – more roughly drawn than the others, but still undeniably present. Nicky smiled to himself and returned to his book. Perhaps Booker wouldn’t have to wait a hundred years to rejoin them, after all.