Summary: Quynh has returned. Yet, what should have been a happy reunion began with a kidnapping and ended in bloodshed, accusation, and retreat. Now there is an immortal loose in the world, bent on revenge, with Andy & Co. unsure when or where she'll strike next. Or, what to do if they can even stop her. Follows the events of Chapter 2 of We Would Do the Same for You
Warnings: Canon-typical violence, lots of character death, canon-typical slash.
Disclaimer: I own nothing, just enjoying the characters. Elements of this story are based on The Old Guard: Force Multiplied modified for the movie-verse.
I see a ghost out on the water. I swear it has my face.
I bend and drink the lonely down. The lonely down
There's trouble on the river & whispers in the trees.
I can feel it all around, all around
-Until the Levee, Joy Williams
They make land in less than an hour. A low traffic marina with negligible security, ensuring undetected access in and out from the dock. The get-away vehicle, pre-arranged by Copley, is parked a mile away. They drive off in utter silence. When the caller ID registers the spy's number, it's Andy who jabs the call answer button with more force than necessary.
"Did you make it? Were you able to recover Booker?" Copley's tone has an air of agitation to it. As though he'd forgotten, for a minute, who it was he was speaking to. Booker's eyes crack open for a moment, glaring bemusedly at the dashboard in front of him.
"Nice to know he cares," he mutters darkly, low, under his breath, before settling his head back against the seat to rest. Andy glances up at him through the rear-view mirror.
"We have Booker" she affirms, returning her eyes to the road. "But we also have bigger problems."
"Quynh, I know." The sound of rustling papers is followed by a door slamming loudly shut. "After we ascertained her location, I asked my contacts to conduct a more thorough search into her movements the past three months. There's something you need to see."
God damn it. The world as Andy knew it is tearing apart by slow, splitting seams. Quynh. Quynh was alive. Quynh was free. Quynh had kissed her. Kissed her for the first time in over five centuries. Quynh could -should- be here now, with her, with them, spending the time she had left together. Quynh. Quynh had taken Booker. Quynh had tortured Booker. Had, willing, almost consigned him to the exact fate she herself had suffered. Had waited until this precise moment to reveal herself, just to ensure maximal damage on her family. Their family. Two untenable realities fight for dominance in the world and it's all Andy can do not to curl tightly under cover from both of them. Well, that or embrace the desire to kill something.
She takes a deep breath and holds tight to the rage like an old friend. "Where do you want to meet?"
"I've sent Joe the address-" Joe fumbles in the seat next to her, finally pulling out a simple, black phone and nodding to Andy. " -You'll need to check yourselves in, but I will meet you there in two hours. Room 132."
The call cuts off and Nile leans past Booker to peak over Joe's shoulder. "Where's he sending us?"
"I don't know," Joe replies, studying the text he receives a second later. "Some motel on the outskirts- Turn right here, Boss." Andy swerves the car sharply into the turn lane, jostling all four of her passengers. "Easy, Andy! Easy."
The tension in the car is thick enough to cut with a knife. Through the rear-view, Joe sees his own anxiety mirrored in Nicky's reflection. Nicky's eyes meet his and both glance, first, to Andy and then over at Booker and Nile. Booker, in spite of himself, has begun visibly shivering again. Joe reaches over to set the heater onto max. He feels a grateful squeeze on his opposite shoulder. Reaching up, he envelopes Nicky's hand firmly in his own and doesn't let go.
The motel room is far too small for six adult bodies at one time. Andy sends Nicky and Joe out together, tasking them first with retrieving fresh clothes for Booker and second food for all of them. Then, she and Copley talk.
Nile listens, periodically checking in on Booker, who's asleep by the time his head hits the pillow. The news is not good. From what Copley could assemble in a short period, Quynh had surfaced not long after Nile's first resurrection, just outside the city of Port Nolloth in South Africa. Where she went immediately after was still a mystery; but she eventually resurfaced in Italy a month or so later in the presence of one of the world's foremost weapons dealers. Since then, her profile among the criminal element appeared to have accelerated into a meteoric rise, though no crime could be directly tied to her.
"She's too good for that," remarks Andy, knitting a hand through her hair. Her voice carries with it an element of pride beneath all the pain. Nile and Copley exchange a pensive look.
"Well this answers the when, how, and part of the where at least." Copley continues, moving to reorganize the files he'd lain out on the free bed between them. "But not the why."
"Because she's crazy." Nile surprises herself with the speed of her answer. Copley stills, having moved to reorganize the files laid out on the free bed. Then, he remembers. Nile's claims regarding special dreams that allowed her to view Quyhn's lived experience. He mentally catalogs the information once again, deciding to circle back to that topic at a more prudent date. Andy's mouth is half-open in protest. "Don't start with me, Andy. You haven't seen it. Felt it like I have. She's...insane with a rage. I- I can't even put into words."
"Feral."
Three heads snap in Booker's direction as he pulls himself up to sit against the headboard. Nile's eyes narrow in concern but he waves her off with a head shake. He runs a hand absently through his hair.
"The word you're looking for, Nile, is feral." He regards Andy solemnly. "And she's only getting started."
In the dead of night, watching often feels too much like waiting. Andy paces to fill the silence. Paces, and thinks, and, occasionally, she pauses to peak past the curtains at the lot outside. Sometimes, the light from the motel sign hits the single pane glass in such a way she can almost make out the phantom outline of her reflection in it. Her own ghostly image glaring accusatorially back at her.
She glances over her shoulder at the others. Joe and Nicky sleep curled together in the bed closest to her, faces pinched in subconscious effort not to wake the other with their bad dreams. They haven't been sleeping well since London. She knows it. Nile knows it. Knows better than Nile it will pass soon enough. Hopes for that now, at least. The youngest immortal is sleeping peacefully in the bed across from them. Her dreams, for once, untroubled by vision of endless drowning and women in iron coffins. She had inadvertently warned them that first night in Paris. A warning they had all failed to heed. Andy's gaze turns, at last, to Booker.
He had hurt her. He had hurt them. It was as simple and complex a thing as that. Yet, watching him sleep in the corner chair ("You take the bed, Nile. No. I've slept on it long enough already."), she also feels something familiar and primal stir inside her. Idiot and backstabber, though he may be, Booker was still one of them. One of her's. And someone had had the audacity to touch him. Quynh had touched him.
She's never felt older in her life.
Quynh's face plays on constant loop in Andy's mind. The cold disregard with which she stepped back away from her handiwork, away from Andy, and away from their family. It infects her. Retroactively taints every memory Andy has of her; and Andy hates herself for it. Anger twists her guts and turns in time with despair. She can't fault Quynh the desire for vengeance. Would never dream of robbing her of it. Not when there was a time, before, several maybe even, when Andy would have summoned such wrath gladly on herself. Because, at least then, Quynh would be free in exchange. The moral high-ground was lost, however, when she had taken Booker. For all his faults, Quynh's fate was not one of them. He wasn't responsible to her.
Andy winces, glancing down as she finally registers the joints of her fist beginning to protest. She opens her hand, marveling at the crescent-shaped indents embedded in the palm of her hand. Skin no longer healing the way it should. For a moment, she welcomes the pain. To ground or punish herself, she's not sure. Booker had been right when he said this was just beginning. She hadn't wanted to hear it in the moment, but he and Nile had both been right. Leaning against the window frame, she looks out over the lot again. Quynh's left only one option open to them and it's one, Andy knows, the others aren't going to like.
Because she doesn't like it either.