Warnings: None, but for a brief dropping of the "D-" word. Canon-typical slash
Disclaimer: I own nothing. All credit goes to Rucka for creating the characters and Netflix, Gina, and the crew for bringing them to life.
Notes: Not sure how this scene was actually shot in the OG production [where are my deleted scenes, Netflix?!], but this was a fun little one-shot to write. I love tapping in to Nile's perspective because she's, honestly, one of the most relatable protagonist I've ever seen. Hope you all enjoy!
"I thought you said we were going to Paris?"
"We're just outside Paris," Andy explains, her pace not even slowing despite the distinct lack of a path in front of them. "This is Goussainville. This place has been abandoned for fifty years."
"Why?"
The roar of a jet engine answers the question for her. Nile's gaze follows Andy's by half a second as a passenger jet clears the sky above them. The ground shakes violently beneath their feet, but Andy's off and moving again and it's all Nile can do to keep up with her. She pauses only long enough to give some side-eye to a particularly creepy looking statue.
The church looms tall and gothic ahead of them. Architecture has never exactly fallen into Nile's realm of interests, but she can appreciate what craftsmanship time, looters, and constant sound waves emanating from the runways have yet to demolish. Andy makes a sharp turn to the left as they pass out of the graveyard, heading for the street that runs parallel to the church.
"So, is there anything I need to know about these guys before I meet them?" Nile can't quite hide the nervousness that's restarted clenching and un-clenching its way through her guts as she follows her...Kidnapper? Commander? Immortality guru through the grafitied streets of Goussainville. Andy glances back at her with a sardonic smirk on her face.
"Well, they can't die." The sardonicism transfers from her smile into her voice. "There's three of them, and - I don't know - they're all tall. Anything else you need to know they'll be more than happy to tell you themselves, kid."
"Thanks." Nile mutters sarcastically. "That's super helpful."
"Come on, this way." Andy leads her through the main entrance into the narthex and on down the church's central aisle, heading towards the sacristy. The inside of the building is as run-down as its exterior. Pews scattered at odd angles beneath shattered glass windows that must have looked beautiful, once, in their hay-day. Nile peaks over her shoulder as they walk past, her nervousness shifting into an unsettled feeling that they should not be here. Were immortals even allowed to be on holy ground? Did abandon churches technically qualify? Before she can even begin thinking about how to unpack that theological line of inquiry, she's stopped by Andy at a plain wood door.
"Just, be yourself, kid." The other woman offers in a moment of serious advice. "Scared, nervous, whatever it is you're feeling. I promise, we've all been in your place once or twice before."
She doesn't even give Nile a chance to respond as she opens the door and gestures her inside.
Whatever Nile had envisioned the room she walks into to look like, reality is very different. The area around her appears to have been jury-rigged into an apartment-sized studio space large enough for two, maybe three adults to live comfortably. On later consideration, she'll realize the space was less haphazardly assembled than she gave the team credit for, and more likely just the co-opted living space for the priests who had once been on duty. In the moment, however, all she see is a dusty brown room divided up into three apparent sections by a windowed wall and some steps. A pair of old, brown recliners face a fairly new yet in-expensive flatscreen in the living room in front of her. One of the seats is occupied by a Middle Eastern man focused entirely on the sketch notebook in his hand.
He looks up at her entrance, momentarily surprised, before sitting up to call out behind him, "Nicky, they're here."
A second man appears from behind the wall at the top of the stairs. Nile stops short, startled as she realizes she's seen his face before. His is the first face she can clearly recall from her dreams. She barely notices Andy coming to a stop next to her. The older woman side-eyes her for a moment, then shoots the man sitting a confused look (he returns a puzzled shrug), and finally glances up at the dream-man with a studious expression. He stands still at the top of the steps, waiting for Andy's lead. Nudging Nile with an elbow, she points toward the team's resident artist.
"This is Joe. That's Nicky." Andy pauses her introductions long enough to scan the room, frowning. "Where's Book?"
"He went to check to the modem, Boss." The lanky -and apparently Italian- guy, now making his way towards them from the kitchen, responds. "Should be back in a moment."
He gets as far as the Middle Eastern man's seat, leaning his hip casually against the back of the chair. Nile wonders if the furniture is even strong enough to hold the both of them when she notices his hand slip down to settle unconsciously against the crook of the sitting man's neck. She clocks the way the other man seemingly relaxes into the intimate gesture. Neither of them have taken their eyes off her.
"Right." Andy is pulling the strap of her backpack off of one shoulder. She motions to Nile. "Guys, this is our newest. Afraid you'll have to introduce yourself, kid. Nicky's got this thing about hearing people say their own names-"
"It was one time, Andy!" The Italian interrupts her, raising a finger with the hand not on his...friend's (Boyfriend's, her mind summarily supplies) shoulder. "And you and Booker will still never let me forget it."
"Because what's the fun in doing that?" Nile's only known the other woman for all of twelve hours, a quarter of which she'd mostly treated her as a hostile, but even she can sense the way Andy deflates in the presence of these others. And, with that relaxation, she feels the slightest ease give on her own personal tension. She doesn't even jump when Andy lightly pats her shoulder, reassuringly adding, "I need drop my stuff off and take a leak. These guys will make sure you're taken care of and introduce you to Booker."
She waits until Nile nods in the affirmative before making her way across the room. The only stop she takes is to wrap a quick, one-armed hug around the Nile's dream-man-person, who returns it with one of his own. The guy sitting stares up at the pair affectionately before turning to look back at Nile. She can almost feel the air get kicked out of her lungs as the full force of his warm, brown eyes strikes her. Man's got freaking Disney-prince eyes, she thinks, barely reigning in the laughter sparked deep inside by the absurd thought.
"You'll have to forgive Andy," he says, ignorant of the sheer insanity playing itself off in her mind. "She's crap at introductions. I'm Joe, by the way, in case you missed it. And your name is?"
"N-" She coughs, taking the moment to get some damn control over herself and force the strength back into her voice before she speaks again. "Nile. I'm Nile."
"Nile." The Italian, Nicky, repeats the name back to her. Slowly. Testing each syllable as if committing it to memory. Which, if Andy was to be believed, he likely was. He smiles warmly at Nile, moving his hand off his apparent partner's shoulder, but not before absently brushing a curl at the nape of his neck. "It's nice to finally meet you, Nile."
"Agreed. That's a nice name, too." Joe remarks, setting aside the small notebook he's been holding on top of the table behind him. He stands up, crossing his arms loosely in front of his chest. Neither of them has come near her, Nile notices, giving her plenty of space to adapt to them without making an apparent show of it. "You hungry, Nile? Thirsty? The bathroom's back there-" He unwraps his arms long enough to point a thumb behind himself. "-If you need it. Once Andy's done, of course."
"Thanks, I'm good," Nile takes the moment to properly catalog the state of the room around them. It's a hovel, seriously; but, with the furniture and lights, it's definitely not the worst hovel she's ever seen. There's something almost downright homey to the clearly scavenged bits of furniture scattered about the place. Her gaze returns to the two men standing patiently in front of her. "Andy said there were three more of you?"
Right on cue, the fourth Musketeer walks through the door behind her. "Hey, you guys hear from Andy ye- oh."
He freezes just past the doorway, gaze darting from Nile to the others and then back to Nile. This one. This one was the first she saw in her dreams. He's European, too. French, based on the briefest bit of accent she can pick up. There was a medical convoy her unit had escorted two, maybe three months back, a civilian group from Doctors Without Borders. Their leader, a pediatrician she miraculously recalls, was French and sounded almost exactly like the man now staring at her.
"Uh, hi."
The awkward greeting seems to snap him out of his daze. Stepping forward, he offers her a hand as if it's the most natural response in the world. It is, Nile remembers, Or it probably would be if we weren't meeting in some abandoned church in the middle of France because I've been shanghaied into an "army" of apparently immortal warriors. It's going to take her another week, tops, to unpack that thought, she realizes. "Sebastian, but you can call me Booker. Most people do."
"Nile." She takes the hand offered. The handshake is brisk and comfortable. Booker's hand is warm beneath hers and, surprisingly, calloused at the edges of the palm. She isn't quite sure why that detail surprises her.
"Can I take that for you?" He offers as he lets her hand go. She squints up at him in confusion. "The clothes."
"Oh, right." Before taking his hand, she had awkwardly shuffled her uniform so it was now tucked tightly under her left arm. She hands the bundle over to him without thinking. He takes it, flashing her the briefest of smiles before making his way towards the back of the room. She follows his movements until the other two men come back into view.
"Dinner will be ready in about half an hour," says Nicky, now standing fully. He and Joe seem to have settled, somehow, between Booker's entrance and his greeting. Nile isn't quite sure what to make of their stance and is too tired to even attempt trying. This whole day has been like going down a rabbit hole and there are more than enough mysteries for her to solve. "Why don't you sit at the table till then. You've been on...quite the journey."
I'll say, Nile thinks, belatedly realizing she's also spoken it aloud. It doesn't seem to offend either of the men, who share a bemused look between them before Nicky turns to return to the kitchen. Joe opens his arms, waving a path for Nile to follow towards the table at the top of the steps.
"Well, if there's anything you want to know," he says as she files dumbly past him. "Don't be afraid to ask. Alternatively, we're happy to sit in silence and let you just process."
"The first thing we should probably do is get something in her system, Joe" Another male voice grumbles. Nile isn't sure where Booker appeared from exactly, but he's suddenly in front of her again, handing her a plastic bottle she sits down. "It looks as if Andy forgot to give her anything to eat or drink in the last few hours." He nods at the bottle in her hands. "It's un-opened."
She looks down at it, seeing he's telling the truth. She mutters a brief thanks as he takes the seat next to her. Joe sits on her other side. She unscrews the cap with a slight tug and swallows the cool, clear liquid, feeling it ease the dryness she wasn't aware of at the back of her throat. The two men flanking her are still keeping their distance, but both are watching her with an equal mix of puzzlement and possibly compassion or care. The faint smell of something delicious wafts through the air as Andy re-enters the room and Nile feels, surrounded by these four strangers, for the first time in this whole bonkers situation, just the tiniest bit safe and home again.