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Nicholas hovered outside the sitting room, gripped with more uncertainty than he’d felt in several decades. Joseph and Sebastien had been in there for hours, and Nicholas had been pacing, listening, trying to decide if he would be more of a help or a hurt.
He’d been there, at the end, just hours before, performing last rites, holding Jean Pierre’s hand, and playing the part of a priest. Trying to help Booker perhaps the only way he could.
Sometimes it was very quiet, Nicholas certain that neither was talking, and then, without warning, Sebastien would heave out a loud, gasping sob that would ring down the hallway of their home, and Nicholas’s heart would ache in his chest. Two hours ago, the soft, murmuring conversation had been broken with a chant, gaining in volume and strength until Nicholas could make out the words:
“Kill me, kill me, please just kill me, kill me Joe, please kill me, please…” Nicholas almost put a stop to it then, almost dragged Joseph out of that evil room, fearful of the damage he knew was being done to his husband’s heart with those words, but he restrained himself. Joseph would not appreciate it, would have just tried to soothe Nicholas and hurry back to his friend. And who would be there for Sebastien, if not for them? They were, truly now, all he had.
The last time he’d peeked in, Sebastien had been sitting on the sofa, bent double with grief, with Joe on the rug between his knees, one hand wrapped around the back of his neck, their free hands squeezing tight enough to turn their skin white, clasped and trembling on Booker’s knee.
From the start, Sebastien had always gotten along a bit better with Joseph, of the two of them, occasionally even joking with him, trading easy-going jibes. Nicholas suspected the intensity of the moment passing between them now would cement that bond even further.
It was quiet, for now. The last burst of sobbing had been over half an hour ago. Nicholas thought maybe now would be a good time for a visit. He rapped his knuckles lightly on the door frame and leaned in.
“Is there anything I can get for you?” he asked softly. They were both curled up on the couch now, Sebastien’s head on Joseph’s shoulder, Joseph’s arm slung around him.
“Water?” Joe mouthed. He also mimed patting his breast pocket, and Nicholas nodded. He went upstairs to their bedroom and fetched a stack of clean handkerchiefs from their wardrobe, then made his way to the kitchen, where Andrea was slumped against the counter, several empty bottles scattered around her. She was still fully dressed in her waistcoat, trousers, and workman's boots. He stroked down her back soothingly as he passed, fetching a large cup and heading out into the dark to draw water from the pump.
He crept back to the sitting room and set the handkerchiefs and water down on the side table within reach of Joseph’s arm span. He didn’t linger. Andrea needed company.
Back in the kitchen, he eyed the bottle of rotgut she was working through. It was extremely tempting, but he wanted to make sure his family was okay, first.
Well. As okay as they could be.
He rested his elbows on the counter and leaned in across the corner to tip his head against Andrea’s. “This is the worst it will be, right now,” he told her, softly. “There is no place worse to go.”
“You sure about that?” she asked, voice cracking.
“Fairly sure, yes.” He hesitated before continuing. He couldn’t see her face from this angle. “Quynh is gone from us. Sebastien has lost his wife. His last child has died. There is no more for any of us to lose.”
“That’s not true,” she whispered. “I could still lose you. Or Yusuf.”
“That will never happen, Andrea,” he said, injecting his voice with confidence. “We are more careful now. We are not going anywhere.”
Nicholas studied the woodgrain of the countertop. Beneath Andrea’s face, a single teardrop landed on it but did not soak in, a single round magnifying glass of water, exposing the dead tree’s growth patterns. He slid down the countertop so that he could thread his arm through hers and pressed a kiss to her cheek.
“We are not going anywhere,” he repeated again, next to her ear. “You will always have us. He and I will always have each other. I know this.” She nodded, tightly.
They stayed like that for a while. The house was very quiet, now that Sebastien was not screaming or sobbing. Occasionally, they heard the clip clop of a horse’s hooves on the street outside as a carriage rumbled along, but it was very late, and traffic light. Distantly, in another house, a baby wailed and was silent.
Andrea straightened up and finished off her bottle of moonshine, then uncorked the bottle of wine at her feet. She offered it to Nicholas, first, quirking a brow at him. He shrugged and accepted, and they passed the bottle back and forth between them, deep in thought.
He hoped Joseph was okay.
Shortly after this thought, as if summoned, the man himself entered the kitchen, alone, his shoulders tense and face unhappy. Nicholas set the wine bottle aside.
“How is he?” Andrea asked, somewhat inanely.
“Bad,” Joseph answered, terse. “You never should have let him return to his family.”
Andrea stiffened. “Don’t try to pin this on me,” she hissed.
“Joseph, you know that’s unfair,” Nicholas objected.
“He’s a full-grown man!” Andrea continued, her gall rising. “What the fuck was I supposed to do? Tie him down for twenty years straight until it was too late for him to see any of them again? Huh?”
Nicholas fisted his hands on the counter, tension rippling through him, hoping against hope that Joseph would apologize.
“You’re our leader, Andrea. Take some responsibility.”
Fuck.
“You know what, Yusuf?” Andrea spat, rounding the counter and pointing a finger at him. “Fuck you.” Then she whirled around and slammed out the back door and into the night.
Nicholas sighed. He knew he shouldn’t have started drinking, yet. He glanced away from the back door and met Joseph’s eyes. His face crumpled at Nicholas’s impassive expression.
“I suppose you think that was too harsh of me,” Joseph said, wincing.
Nicholas nodded, slowly.
Joseph scrubbed a hand over his face. “I--shit.” He crossed to the countertop and took the last swig remaining from the wine bottle, then braced himself against the counter. Nicholas reached up to brush a curl behind his ear and rested his hand at the top of his spine, anchoring him.
“Did you hear what he was saying?” Joseph asked, a catch in his voice.
“Some.”
“He begged me to kill him. To devise some way to kill him endlessly, a perpetual death machine, so he would never fully regain consciousness. Just...die.” Joseph’s voice broke. “Forever.”
Nicholas’s blood ran cold. He turned Joseph’s body to face him and wrapped his arms around his lover as tightly as he could. Joseph shuddered and then began to weep, and Nicholas rocked him, slowly.
When Joseph’s tears dried up, he pulled back to peer into Nicholas’s face. “You know you don’t have to fix this? Andrea and me?”
Nicholas nodded. “I know. But I want to.”
Joseph frowned.
“There is very little I can do for Sebastien, my heart. But this, I can do.” Nicholas reached up to cradle Joseph’s face. “Let me?”
Joseph blinked, slowly, and when he looked up at Nicholas again, he could see the depth of love Joseph had for him, shining out, nearly overwhelming. “We shall see. Maybe,” he allowed. Then, he swallowed. “I should go back to Sebastien. I just--I just needed a break.”
“Should I join you?” Nicholas asked.
Joseph chewed on his lip, thoughtfully. “Yes, please.”
Nicholas took a deep breath, bracing himself, and watched Joseph do the same.
“Together, then,” he said, and took Joseph’s hand.