Feb. 3rd, 2021. War’s safehouse. @nicochambers
Samir has no idea what fucking time it is anymore. He can’t tell if the smudges of light bleeding up from the horizon are portents of dawn or the restless illumination of a city now pitched back into the grip of a too-hastily rekindled civil war. Exhaustion and adrenaline are fighting a different war entirely deep within the marrow of Samir’s bones, and though he thought the former might be winning by the time his car is back on London roads, the latter pulls ahead again as his phone pings. Finally, a response from Nico.
He hadn’t intended on going home, but now he definitely won’t. Despite yet running on fumes, Samir sets his path towards War’s safehouse for the second time tonight. This morning. Whatever.
No one pays much attention to the Power as he threads his way through the halls, just as he doesn’t pay much attention to the odd splatter of blood on the floor nor the scents of death and fury in the air. Samir knows he needs to find Saint, but he needs to find Nico first. He snags the arm of a medic skittering nervously by, a man who looks and feels entirely too young to be caught up in this, and is pointed a few doors down on the left. Closing what distance remains between him and a little godforsaken peace of mind in the chaos, Samir barely knocks before letting himself inside.
The room is sparse and cold, but maybe it just feels like that to Samir by proxy of the way Nico’s still trembling. A very genuine concern knits Samir’s eyebrows together as he takes in the way his friend is wrapped in an obvious mish-mash of blankets, coats, and whatever else could be found in an apparent rush. At the same time, relief unspools through Samir’s chest the depths of which he’s simultaneously surprised by and endeavors not to examine too closely. He crosses the room in a few broad, purposeful strides to confront Domenico instead.
“Nico. What the fuck.” Samir winds up with the obvious intention of slugging Nico’s shoulder, but his hand quickly loses velocity to settle feather-light instead, not knowing what injuries could be hiding under the mismatched layers. “Never leave me hanging like that again.” There’s too much honesty in the demand, enough that Samir immediately attempts to backpedal with a weakly-landed joke. “You know I can’t pay rent on that stupid place by myself.”