peace_inthe_violence

Booker caught Andy as soon as she was in reach. He wrapped her in his arms and then dragged them both under the water for a moment. Then he let go and swam away from her.

He broke the surface a few feet away and pushed his hair back out of his eyes. "You are trouble. Anywhere you go even here."

A few seconds later Booker dove for her. He was a good swimmer with his strong shoulders. He could close in on her with a few solid strokes of his arms. She had to move fast, which he knew she could do easily.

Andy shrieked out a laugh when Booker caught her, bubbling up through the water: neither of them would drown so easily, and she twisted away from his grasping hands under the water, darting through the water like a fish. She could move faster than him, it was true, but he was a stronger swimmer than she.

They thrashed for a moment until she kicked free and swam to the edge, hand grasping the tiled edge though her ankles were still in easy grasp.

Booker made a playful grab for her ankles but didn't actually grab her. Instead he pushed away from the edge of the pool and floated on his back again. The whole point was to stay in the water to beat the afternoon heat.

"If you're getting out bring from drinks back with you." Booker would take water or juice or alcohol of some sort. He wanted the alcohol but he would leave it up to her.

If she actually got out of the water. Booker thought it might be bait. She could bluff pretty well when she wanted.

She chuckled as she hauled herself up to sit on the edge, legs still dangling in the water and sunlight glittering off the drops stuck to her skin. "I'll get you a drink if you come here," Andy replied, curling her finger in a gesture to draw him over.

"Nicky found peaches in the market yesterday," she said, leaning forward enough to put her elbows on her knees; he'd diced them and left them in alcohol and sugar in the fridge for some occasion, though Andy doubted he'd miss enough to make two drinks. "Might make you something with it."

For the promise of a nice cool drink Booker could be tempted. He lazily made his way over with a few gentle kicks of his legs.

He folded his arms over her lap and rested his chin on top of them. "Sounds like you're going to make me something very sweet."

She probably meant he should come sit with her but this was more entertaining to him. Considering how much they had draped themselves all over him recently he figured a little turn about was fair play.

Booker wasn't picky about alcohol but he did prefer things that burned instead of sweet things that hid how much alcohol was actually in the drink.

Andy smiled down at him when he came close and put his head on her lap, only leaning down and tilting him up to meet her for a kiss that felt like nuzzling in, enveloping themselves in each other. It didn't progress very far, though he'd feel the sharp nip of her teeth sinking into his lip, and when they broke off it was to a still-lazy curl of her mouth.

"Not too sweet. I know you like the bitter."

Booker smiled softly at the kiss.

"I like strong flavors. Sweet just hurts my teeth." He never grew up with a lot of sweet things and even once they became mass produced and cheap he never really learned to love sugar.

"But make yourself whatever you'd like. I know there's plenty of vodka around." Booker had made a dent in their whiskey because it was his favorite but he hadn't touched many of the other bottles in the house. "I'll be here working on my tan."

He pushed off from her lap and went back to floating in the water with a pleased smile.

"I know," she replied with a hum, disappearing inside again and coming back with two glasses: not vodka, surprisingly enough. Andy would drink pretty much anything, but vodka had a clean finish, it didn't leave a taste on her tongue to be washed away later.

Bourbon and the peaches Nicky had left in the fridge would do well enough on a hot day, and Andy only twisted her hand holding Booker's glass to make the ice cubes clink. "Here. Your promised drink," she teased, though she'd make him come get it from her. She laid down on the towel she'd brought out beside the pool, closing her eyes to the bright sunlight.

And maybe sneaking glances at Booker once in a while. "You're going to be uneven if you stay in the water like that, though."

The dark amber liquid and a few floating bits of peach were a siren's call. Booker swam over to the edge of the pool and propped himself on his arms. He took the glass immediately and drank.

It was just the right mix of burn and sweet. Andy was too good to him.

"I'll have to come out tomorrow and do the other side then." He stayed by the edge of the pool this time. There was a drink to enjoy and good company. Booker soaked up the peaceful moment. Who knew when their life would turn to war again?

"I can lie around like a bum while I tan my bum."

"I know what you like," Andy teased when he took the glass, setting her own, once sipped, on her bare stomach just below the swell of her ribs, despite the hiss from the ice and condensation on her skin, the contrast of warmth and cold something lovely. She didn't mind at all laying out in the sun and basking in the warmth. It was a lot more tolerable than being in the middle of the desert: here at least they had drinks, and nice air conditioning to escape into.

"Eh, you're not a bum yet. Not while Nicky's going to make you cook with him. You know he doesn't trust the rest of us in the kitchen."

Booker raised an eyebrow. "Nicky's going to make me cook with him?"

This was the first he heard of it but it wasn't that much of a surprise. Booker was a very good assistant chef because unlike the others he knew how to take orders. In trying to help the others often got in Nicky's way.

Booker just did what he was told like a good little Napoleonic soldier.

"Do you know what we're cooking?"

"You think he tells me?" she chuckled, twisting until she could roll over, cheek pillowed on her arm and watching Booker. "He barely lets me mix pancake batter."

Andromache accepted their roles for what they were: she was a warrior, and a damn good one, and not much else but long-lived. The others managed to make their existence a life, and she just followed them along. Sure, in a fight she took the lead, she was the best at it.

"You do find cooking very boring." Booker reached out and gently brushed his fingers through her hair. Her impatience for cooking amused him. "He's just trying to keep you from doing things you don't enjoy."

While he wasn't inclined to cook by himself Booker enjoyed cooking with Nicky. It was like watching football with Joe, something they could do together and enjoy. Not everyone wanted to debate him about literature all the time or play cards with him because he cheated.

They knew most of his tells but he liked the challenge of it.

Andy just shrugged a shoulder, tilting her head into Booker's hand. "It's just something you do to eat," she murmured. "Don't have a talent for it like you two do." Though, as Nicky could attest, she could definitely pick out flavors in things: he'd lost more than one bet over whether she could identify where something had come from. She fished an ice cube out of her drink, licking the bourbon and peach syrup off it, expression thoughtful even though the change was subtle: she didn't frown, her brows didn't crease. Andy's eyelashes just dipped a little.

"I found something for you a few days ago. A book you'll like."

"My talent is listening to Nicky," he said with a little chuckle. Booker didn't think he had a talent for cooking. He could read a recipe but good improvisation made a chef. That was what Nicky could do.

He raised an eyebrow at the mention of a book. Yes, it was a little cliche given his name but he really enjoyed books.

"Oh? What did you find?" he asked. "Or are you going to make me wait and wonder?"

It wouldn't be the first time she teased him with promises of books and refused to tell him what she got. Booker might try to guess if she would give him a few hints.

"Don't want to guess?" Andy asked, watching his face. She liked how he lit up when he got a new book, even if he'd read the same text from a cheap airport paperback a dozen times before. "I'll tell you...it's old," she said. Old had a peculiar meaning between them all, especially for her, so it was the perfect clue to make Booker wonder.

She sipped her drink, alternating between that and the ice cube as he pondered, and she unwound in the baking afternoon heat. Maybe they all did need a long break together. She couldn't say the vacation had had her itching to get back out into the world yet.

"I can't guess without clues." He flicked a bit of water at her back. "And old is not much of a clue. That can mean anything from 220 BCE or later."

The Chinese were printing books long before Gutenberg had invented his movable type. Booker didn't know many ancient Chinese texts but she might get him something that old just to see what he did with it.

"At least tell me the genre." He batted his eyelashes at her. He could be very charming when he wanted.

She snorted at the water he flicked at her, sticking her tongue out. "Written between Nicky's birthday and yours," she said lightly, dragging her fingertips through the water and over his shoulder.

"As for genre...mmm, adventure?" Andy murmured, voice lazy. "I know you'll like it, does tha give you any hints?"

It likely wouldn't; despite being the youngest Booker was very likely the most well-read of them all, too. "Flattery won't get you very far with this one." Depending, of course, on the flattery used.

None of those really narrowed it down. There was so much time between him and Nicky. Adventure covered plenty of stories as well. One could argue the King Arthur stories were adventures stories as well as romantic tales. She wouldn't make those arguments though.

Andy was very straight forward in her literary analysis. Mostly because she didn't care like he did.

"Why would I use flattery? Am I not allowed to ask questions?" He reached into his bourbon, pulled out a slice of peach and pressed it gently against her lips to eat. "What language was it first written in?"

She hummed against the peach slice before opening her mouth to take it, teeth grazing gently against his fingertips. "You're allowed to ask whatever you want, Book," she murmured, lazy and indolent by the cooling water.

"First written in Spanish, does that help?"

"No," he said with a chuckle as he leaned in and kissed the corner of her mouth to taste away a bit of sugary syrup and bourbon. "There are a lot of books published in Spanish between Nicky and my birthday."

He folded his arms on the edge of the pool and rested his chin on them again. It kept most of him in the nice cool water while his shoulders baked under the sun. No need to worry about sunburn as his skin healed too quickly.

"I have been looking for one particular book." With the idea to steal it since it last sold for millions of dollars. Surely, she couldn't have gotten that for him. That was way too much money to spend on him.

Andy smiled against the edge of his mouth, tilting to capture a little flighty kiss that tasted like alcohol and fruit and Booker's mouth. She'd take it: the last few weeks, months, had been a time for recuperation, resting and following whatever whim came out. "Yeah, but I can't make it too easy on you," she teased, tracing her fingertips over his shoulders, dripping water on them.

"I know it's one you've been wanting," Andy murmured, ruffling his hair with a soft, lazy tilt of a grin. "That narrow it down any?"

She knew he liked Cervantes, and they all liked seeing him happy when he found or got a new book, and when he sat down to read it.

These weeks and months of vacation had pulled Booker slowly out of his shell. He was more physical with everyone and more willing to show affection. He smiled a little more and laughed a little louder. This time together had started to pull together the broken pieces in his soul.

"Andy," he scolded lightly. "That's not cheap. You didn't have to do that for me."

It makes his heart ache a little to think she spent so much money on him. Especially on a book he'd been hunting for a few decades. Cervantes was a great author and Don Quixote was a favorite.

He would have never asked any of them to buy him something like that.

"I know I didn't," she replied lightly. "But I like seeing you happy, Booker." She bumped her head against his, rolling dangerously close to the edge of the pool.

"Just promise me you'll enjoy it, hm? Maybe read it to us sometime." He had a lovely reading voice, the cadence and rhythm and his accents soothing.

He stretched out his arm to make sure Andy didn't go tumbling into the water. She'd be fine if she did but they were having a conversation right now. There would be plenty of time to dump her in later.

"How could I not enjoy such a gift? It's too much." But he was happy. There was a certain look in his eyes when he got a new book. "I'll never be able to give you something as good in return."

But he would try. Booker would do his best to find something that could equal a first edition of Don Quixote.

"If the others want to hear me read it."

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