Chapter Text
The tension had been building for days.
Ever since Blake joined the team for their latest mission—a specialist in covert logistics and digital warfare—Nicky had tried to ignore the discomfort blooming in his chest. At first, he’d told himself it was nothing. Blake was sharp, efficient, and professional. Joe, being mission lead, naturally spent time with her. There were long meetings, late-night strategy reviews, side conversations full of mission jargon Nicky didn’t quite follow. All normal.
But it wasn’t just the work. Blake laughed at all of Joe’s jokes, leaned in when she spoke to him, took the seat beside him at every opportunity. She was bold in her presence, and worse, she wasn’t shy about letting Nicky know she was there. Competing. Pushing. Testing limits.
She’d once brushed past him in the hallway and said quietly, “It must be hard, watching someone else match him.”
He hadn’t responded. What was there to say?
Joe, for his part, seemed oblivious. His smile still came easily when he looked at Nicky, but less often. He was tired, that was clear. The mission was complicated, full of moving parts. But Nicky could handle stress—what he couldn’t handle was doubt creeping into the silence.
He stopped asking Joe to come to bed. Stopped trying to catch his attention with shared touches or soft glances. He didn’t want to demand. Didn’t want to weigh Joe down more. And maybe—just maybe—Joe had already made his choice.
Blake made sure the silence stayed thick.
By the fourth day, Nicky’s meals had become black coffee and little else. His sleep was shallow at best, stolen in half-hour increments between files, screens, and maps. He buried himself in surveillance feeds, encryption codes, any excuse to not feel the gnawing ache in his chest.
Andy had noticed. She always did. She asked him once if he was okay, and he’d smiled and said he was fine. That was Nicky’s nature—steady, humble, composed. Even when his hands trembled while pouring coffee.
That was when she really saw it—on the sixth morning. The rest of the team was in the briefing room, but Nicky had stayed behind to calibrate a communications device, his focus too frayed for social performance. The kitchen was quiet except for the hiss of the espresso machine.
Andy walked in just in time to see him spill the coffee. His hand was shaking again.
“You alright?” she asked, concerned.
“I’m fine,” Nicky replied, reaching for the napkins. But as he turned to leave, the room spun sharply. The world tilted. His vision blurred. He staggered toward the counter, one hand reaching—then the glass fell from his grip, shattering just before he did.
The crash echoed through the safe house.
“Nicky!” Andy shouted, lunging forward.
In the briefing room, Joe froze mid-sentence. His name. That scream. Something in his chest cracked open. He ran.
When he burst into the kitchen, he saw Andy crouched beside Nicky, who was unconscious on the floor, blood from a deep cut on his hand pooling beside him.
Joe’s heart stopped.
“No, no—Nicky. Nicky, look at me—please—” He was kneeling beside him in seconds, his voice trembling. “Hey. Open your eyes, habibi. Please.”
Nicky’s eyelashes fluttered, and then—thank God—he stirred.
“Joe,” he whispered first, disoriented. But then his eyes moved past Joe and landed on Blake, standing in the doorway behind them. Something closed in his face. He tried to sit up, his arm brushing against Joe’s.
“I’m fine,” he said quietly, shifting away. “I’m okay.”
“The hell you are,” Joe snapped, wrapping an arm around him before he could escape again. “You fainted. You’re bleeding. And I’m taking you to bed. Don’t argue.”
He lifted him carefully, not giving Nicky a chance to protest. Everyone else watched in stunned silence as Joe carried him from the room, cradling him like something precious and fragile—like he should’ve been all along.
Joe sat on the edge of their bed, gently cleaning the blood from Nicky’s palm with a cloth soaked in warm water. The wound was already healing—immortal perks—but it didn’t ease the ache in Joe’s chest.
“You haven’t been eating,” Joe murmured.
Nicky turned away. “Didn’t notice.”
“You haven’t been sleeping either.”
“Again,” Nicky said, voice dull, “didn’t notice.”
Joe’s chest tightened. “Why didn’t you tell me you were struggling?”
“You should go back to Blake,” Nicky added after a second, obviously avoiding him. “I’m sure she’s waiting.”
Joe froze. The cloth slipped from his hand.
“What did you say?”
Nicky offered a faint smile, something distant in his eyes. “I saw how well you work with her. It’s fine, Joe. I understand. I wanted you to have the freedom to choose, that’s all.”
Joe stood up abruptly, pacing a few steps before turning back, rage and heartbreak colliding on his face.
“You think I’d ever choose anyone over you?” he demanded. “You think I’d leave you because of her?”
“She’s… capable. And beautiful. And not tired or full of old scars like me,” Nicky said, shrugging like it didn’t cut him to say it.
Joe dropped to his knees beside the bed, grabbing both of Nicky’s hands.
“I don’t care about any of that,” he said. “You—you are the reason I can breathe. You’re the reason I’ve survived centuries of war and silence and pain. Your eyes—your eyes, Nicky, those green eyes I dream about even when I’m awake—they’re the only thing I see when I think of home.”
Nicky blinked, stunned.
“You should’ve told me you were hurting,” Joe said, voice thick. “You should’ve told me I wasn’t seeing you. I’ve been an idiot. I let my stress blind me. But never—never—think I’d stop loving you. Not in a thousand lifetimes.”
Joe leaned in, pressing his forehead to Nicky’s.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered.
And finally, Nicky let himself fall into Joe’s arms, their bodies folding together in a silent embrace. His hand curled into Joe’s shirt, and Joe held him like he would never let go again
Nicky finally fell asleep.
Joe didn’t get much sleep, watching over Nicky and thinking back to the last few days, remembering everything that Blake had said and done.
The sun rose quietly over the safe house, soft golden rays slipping through slatted blinds. In the shared bedroom, it was calm. Joe lay awake, watching the light brush against Nicky’s skin like a reverent prayer. His arms hugging nicky’s frame close to his chest, feeling the steady thrum of his heartbeat — a rhythm that grounded him.
Nicky stirred, lashes fluttering. His green eyes opened slowly, sleepy and vivid, lined with fatigue but unmistakably warm.
“Morning,” he rasped, his voice still husky from sleep.
Joe leaned in, kissing his forehead softly. “You scared the hell out of me.”
Nicky exhaled. “I’m sorry.”
Joe pulled him closer. “Don’t be sorry. Just… don’t hide from me again.”
They lay in silence for a while, limbs tangled, hearts syncing back into their familiar tempo. Joe’s hand wandered up to cup Nicky’s jaw, his thumb tracing the curve of his cheek.
“I don’t want to talk about Blake today,” Nicky whispered. “Not yet.”
Joe nodded. “Okay. But I do.”
Nicky blinked up at him.
Joe sat up, gently pulling Nicky with him so they were both resting against the headboard. “I didn’t see what was happening. I got so focused on the mission, on the threat—we almost lost a piece of us. You were fading in front of me, and I was too damn blind to notice.”
Nicky reached out, hand resting over Joe’s heart. “I didn’t make it easy to notice.”
“But I should’ve known anyway.” Joe’s voice broke slightly. “You were always the one who saw me when I broke. You always pulled me back. You shouldn’t have to suffer in silence.”
A soft knock echoed through the room.
Joe didn’t move.
Another knock, then Blake’s voice: “We’ve got a security update from Geneva. They’re asking for your input. Ten minutes?”
Joe’s jaw clenched. Nicky’s hand tensed in his.
“I’ll be right there,” Joe called flatly.
But when he opened the door, instead of stepping out, he stepped into her path, closing the door behind him with a quiet click.
Blake stood with a tablet in hand, dressed in tactical black, her hair pulled into a sharp ponytail. She raised a brow. “He alright?”
Joe’s expression was unreadable.
“I know what you’ve been doing,” he said.
Her smirk didn’t falter. “I’ve been doing my job.”
“No,” Joe said coldly. “Your job was to assist this mission. Not to corner my partner and tell him to back off. Not to interfere in something sacred.”
Blake's smirk faded slightly, lips thinning.
“You think I didn’t notice,” Joe continued, stepping closer, voice low. “But I saw it. Every touch, every whisper meant to undermine him. Every time you tried to wedge yourself between us while he pulled away, bit by bit, thinking I wouldn’t care.”
Blake straightened. “He was the one fading. I didn’t make him disappear.”
Joe’s eyes burned. “You didn’t make him disappear. But you saw he was hurting, and instead of stepping back, you pushed him further. You used my distraction as an opening.”
Her mouth opened, but Joe cut her off.
“You will never come between us again. Do you hear me?”
There was no raised voice, no anger in his tone—only cold certainty, as sharp and final as a blade.
“He is my heart,” Joe continued, “the air I breathe. I have walked through centuries for him. I have watched the world burn and rebuild, and still the only constant I hold to is the sound of his voice and the green of his eyes when he looks at me like I matter.”
Joe stepped back.
“If you want a place on this team, earn it through honor. Not through deceit. And never—ever—lay a hand on him again.”
Blake was silent, the weight of his words sinking in.
Joe turned and disappeared back into the room, closing the door behind him.
Inside, Nicky sat up slowly, watching Joe cross the room and kneel in front of him. There was something raw in Joe’s eyes—furious, protective, tender.
“She won’t come near you again,” Joe said. “I promise.”
Nicky let out a breath. “You didn’t have to, Im not made of glass—”
“Yes, I did,” Joe interrupted. “Because I made a mistake letting you think I didn’t see you. I do, Nicky. I always do. You are my lighthouse. You are my grounding. And I can’t—I won’t—live in a world where you don’t know that.”
Tears prickled at the corners of Nicky’s eyes, but he smiled softly. “You always get dramatic when you’re scared.”
“I was terrified,” Joe said without shame. “You fell. You were pale, shaking, running on nothing but caffeine and silence. And you still smiled. Still said you were fine.”
Nicky reached for him, fingers brushing Joe’s cheek. “You’re here now. That’s what matters.”
Joe caught his hand and pressed a kiss to the knuckles, lingering there. “You saved me, Nicky. A thousand times over. Now it’s my turn.”
He pulled Nicky up into his arms again, holding him tightly, kissing him breathless.
Hours passed with no talk of the mission, no charts, no code names—only quiet conversation, stolen touches, and the warmth of reconnection. Joe cooked a late breakfast for Nicky, despite Nicky’s protests that immortals didn’t need that much nourishment.
“Don’t argue,” Joe said, setting a plate down in front of him. “You eat. I’ll stare.”
Nicky chuckled. “So bossy.”
“You like me bossy.”
“I do,” Nicky murmured, voice low.
Later that day, Nile peeked into the living room just in time to see Joe kissing Nicky’s temple while Nicky leaned against him on the old couch, TV showing god knows what. Their laughter was soft, unguarded. Their world had righted itself again.
Nile smiled. Andy rolled her eyes as she passed.
“You two are ridiculous,” she said.
Joe grinned. “Utterly.”
Nicky looked up, green eyes brighter than the sun. “But happy.”
And in Joe’s heart, something settled. The shadows between them had finally cleared — and in their place, only light remained.