peace_inthe_violence

"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."

"It's not too much," she said, shaking her head with a hidden smile, leaning into his arm and brushing her thumb over Booker's cheekbone. "I wanted to buy it for you. I wanted to see you happy," Andy explained with a little laugh.

"And you've already given me something as good in return. You're here with us and you're letting us help you." He was helping them too, bringing them all around the same orbits with each other. "I want to hear you read it. Does that count?"

It feels like too much but it always did when the others did something unexpectedly nice for him. Booker was never very good at accepting gifts. He had gotten so few in his life before taking up with them.

"I'll read to you each night then until you fall asleep." If the others wanted to hear they could come join them. Booker really couldn't wrap his mind around the idea the others might want to hear him read out loud something that wasn't one of the trashy historical romances he picked up at airports sometimes.

There would still be something as a gift in return. Booker wouldn't let it sit like this.

Andy let her grin break into an actual smile at that: she loved hearing Booker read. She was equally proficient at it herself: there wasn't a language yet invented she couldn't learn, couldn't puzzle out with a day in a local market, but she liked his voice, the way it soothed and rolled along, just rough enough around the edges.

"I'd like that. It's been too long since we read to each other." It used to be a far more common occurrence, before radio, when they'd had long, long hours to fill and nothing else to do.

"Until Nicky suggested this... we hadn't really taken a break." How could they when there were still so many fights out there that needed them? It wasn't quite constant but it had come close.

The exhaustion of it had really pulled at Booker. It got down to his soul and torn him up. This was better, honestly. The peace and rest and trust it helped soothe him. Kind of like the cool water he floated in.

"I hope you didn't buy me a book just to read to you. You could have asked without it." Booker had plenty of books lying around the various safe houses they had. He could have and would have read to her at any time.

"No, I bought you the book because I knew you wanted it," she reasoned. "We should do this more often. Take time for us."

She had yet to let the time off sink in for herself, really: Andy was always moving, always working on something, even if it was only walking around, checking the perimeter of the land that surrounded the house. The other three, Booker especially, had needed the respite. It was just that while Andy could relax, could unwind for a week or three, or a month, she didn't know what else to be without the fight. It was more than what she did, it was who she'd become.

Centuries, millennia, of doing this all the time had simply shaped her that way. So she smiled at Booker, relieved and glad that he was feeling more himself again and less utterly spent. "So you don't turn out like me."

"Turning out like you wouldn't be the worst thing," he said as he gently trailed a finger down her cheek. "You're an incredible woman, Andy."

Strong, fierce, and loyal. What more could anyone want to be? Booker was proud to know her and he loved her, fiercely.

"Nicky won't be content being still for long and where he goes Joe follows." While he might enjoy the life of leisure more than the others if they wanted work he would find it for them. "I've been thinking... I might go for a week. Maybe more. To Marseille. And alone."

Which he knew she wouldn't like but Booker wasn't sure he wanted the others along for the trip he was thinking of.

"Are you sure, alone?" she asked, lifting her head at last at that. She knew what lay in Marseille for him, and while she wouldn't intrude she would worry. It was what she did when any of them went off alone. Andy wouldn't question his desire to go, merely to do it by himself.

But as sudden as Booker saying he wanted to leave felt, they'd all known this sort of idyllic break wouldn't last forever. The world outside turned, wars were fought, politics changed, people died. She knew that better than anyone.

"I'm not sure yet but... when I do go it'll be alone." Booker hadn't gathered the courage to go back but he thought about his family more and more. He thought stopping at their graves might help. Might honestly hurt him too but if that was the case he could come back here. "But I'll have a phone and be careful."

Booker knew how to travel without being noticed. He could disappear in the modern world a little better than the rest of them with his familiarity with technology.

"Don't worry, I'll come back here." Booker might drink himself stupid once or twice while away from the others and dealing with this but he wouldn't leave her to worry for long. He couldn't do that to her or the others.

"You better," she said, to the objectives of phone, being careful, and most importantly coming back to them. He was family, she loved him. It was that simple. Andy didn't want to lose him or be halfway around them world when his immortality ran out.

"You know you can always have us if you need us," Andy murmured. "Wherever you need."

Even here in the Maltese sunlight, six inches away from each other, though closer to zero inches when Andy reached out a hand and brushed her fingertips over his cheekbone, tilting to draw him in close and kiss Booker. It wasn't needy, wasn't drowned in want for him to do anything right now, just...a soft, reassuring kiss that tasted like bourbon, peaches, and the pool.

Booker wouldn't forget the lessons he had learned over the years. There was still a heavy grief in his chest and an ache in his heart but it wasn't like the night she found him drinking. He hadn't gone stupid with it.

He cupped the back of her neck in a hand as they kissed and squeezed gently to convey some reassurance. He started to feel alone when they first came here but this time had closed that distance.

"If I can't handle it I'll make sure to call you for back up." If the grief got to be too much while he was away or his heart hurt too much they would be his first call. He might also drink but that was his usual solution.

The kiss was lovely, comforting as he squeezed at her neck, and she hummed against Booker's mouth gently, letting him take the lead as Andy only did with him. The relationships were subtly different with each member of their family, though Andy held all of them jealously close.

"Good," she murmured, intending to let him do what he needed, even if she'd worry over it all the while he was gone. "So am I getting in, or are you getting out?" she asked, setting aside her drink, nearly empty but for some of the peach bits in the ice.

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