Chapter Text
2020.
She was a child—well, no, she was a grown woman, but she was a tenth of his age, young even for a mortal, and he felt like a huge creep for even wondering if she was supposed to be his like Joe was Nicky's and Quynh had once been Andy's.
"She stabbed me, so I think she has potential," Andy said on the phone, and he liked that and he hated everything about it.
Why now? Why now, after he'd already set things in motion?
He hadn't seen half a nametag in his head. He'd seen her, head to toe, full nametag, cornrows, body armor. Had felt the knife rip through his own throat as it happened to her. Let himself cry for her pain, just for a minute, when he next found a bathroom and a place to hide from Joe and Nicky.
Jesus. It was too late to turn back, but at least the deal was just the samples. Or him, if needed. She was still a kid. As a mortal, if she hadn't been killed, she might have lived another seventy or eighty years. He didn't want her to be involved.
The attack on the church caught him by surprise. Yeah, he'd told Copley where they were, but he didn't know they were going to get ambushed. He really wasn't expecting to take a grenade to the gut. So the game had changed. Fuck. Okay.
Okay. That was fine. The scientists needed all of them. Okay. Okay. They were old, they were immortal, they could survive anything. They could help people. And maybe...maybe they could have the choice. He was just so tired of life.
Except she wasn't, she was new and confused and scared and brave and staring at him as he healed. "It's not always like this now," he said, looking down at his insides. "Big wounds take longer to heal."
"Sure," she said skeptically.
He didn't want her to hate him. It was stupid, maybe, because if this worked, he wouldn't have to worry about anything at all. He could just rest.
But he didn't want her to hate him and he didn't want her to suffer like he had, so he told her about his family. He couldn't turn back now, but he wished he could keep her out of it.
He got his wish when she cut and ran before they went to Copley's. Thank god. Run and hide and stay away from us, he thought. Just stay away.
The thought that he'd abandoned her to a worse, more lonely existence than his would haunt him forever, but it was too late.
"No man left behind," she said, and god, she was so naïve and good. He didn't deserve to even look at her.
But Andy wanted him up, Andy wanted him with her, and Andy was in real danger. Andromache the Scythian dying on Merrick's terms was a horrible, horrible thought, and worse, Booker had been the one to put a bullet through her. He still loved Andy, he loved his family, he had to get the women safe, he had to make up for the torture he'd put the boys through, he had to, so he stood up. He put himself between Andy and a lot of bullets. He dragged her out of the blown up room. He followed Nicky to the penthouse. He pulled Nile out of the smashed car, ducking down because she was a bit shorter, because she was hurt. He held her up as she healed and he loved her already.