#and barely any nathan/patience

[catkin-morgs-kookaburralover]

@monthly-challenge 2024 | 12. Compliments

I used this prompt for my original characters, Nathan and Patience: the story is under the cut.

Word count: 1,085

Patience tied up her hair, squinted at it in the mirror and tried it again. It was still crooked, and didn’t sit nicely, like she’d hoped.

“Do you need a hand?” asked Rhona, as she entered the room. She seemed on the tail end of a laugh, as if there had been something very funny just said.

“I would love one,” said Patience. “I really need about three, one to wield a hairbrush, and one to tie it up, and the third to hold it to be tied in the first place.”

“Let me try it.” Rhona wielded the hairbrush and elastic with expert hands, and presently produced an extremely passable-looking ponytail. “Why do you want to be particularly pretty today?—Don’t tell me, it’s Nathan.”

“Yeah.” She grinned. “We’re getting not-engagement photos done.”

“I cannot believe you didn’t tell me this until just now. You did say not engagement, right? He still hasn’t engaged himself to you?”

“He has not.” Patience laughed and pushed a satin-sleek lock of hair back. “Nor do I anticipate it any minute now.”

“You sure this isn’t actually an engagement photoshoot that he just forgot to mention? Sure he isn’t whipping out the ring during it?”

“Well, if he does, then it’s not something I anticipate at all.”

“Why aren’t you wearing your hair down? It looks so pretty when you do.”

“Don’t flatter me! It’s simply not voluminous enough; not like yours.” “Yours is gorgeous! I’m sure—” She cut herself off. “Never mind, that joke didn’t need saying.”

“Okay, then…?” Patience replied, a little confused. “Anyway, I figured I’d tie it back because then it won’t get in my face.”

“It’s going to be so beautiful.” Rhona removed the elastic despite Patience’s protests, and began to brush her hair. “Should I come with you so you can have it properly brushed just before you enter the studio?”

“‘Enter the studio’… that sounds so frightfully posh.”

“Frightfully,” agreed Rhona lightheartedly. “Terribly. Amazingly.”

“In answer to your question….” She ignored the ribbing and subsequent laughter. “If you put the brush in my bag probably Nathan will brush it again.”

“That sounds awfully romantic.” Rhona sighed softly. “What do I have to do to land a boyfriend as nice as yours, Patience?”

She shrugged broadly, nearly knocking the brush from Rhona’s hands. “Blowed if I know. He just showed up one day and wanted to marry me.”

“Wanted to marry you—!”

“Okay, I may be summarising. He wanted to go out with me, so I said yes, just to see how it worked. Turns out it works real well.”

“You’ve been dating for over a year now, because it was around Christmas last year, wasn’t it?”

“Yes, so that makes it—what, coming up on fourteen months now?” “That’s a long time to be dating, you know.”

“Eh, not so long as you might think?” Patience put on a necklace—a delicate silver thing which had her name on a small silver bar—and smiled perfunctorily into the mirror. “Yes, we know each other a lot better than we used to, but that still doesn’t mean that we’re ready to get married. Far from it, in fact. I don’t think we’d be ready to be married in a year’s time. Though if he asked me, I’d probably say yes, even if it came with conditions.”

“All your best years!” bemoaned eighteen.

“I have plenty of better years to come,” said wiser nineteen.

“Isn’t nineteen the best age to have children, though?”

“Biologically, maybe: socially and all the rest of it, including maturity level, probably not. There’s always an age at which you can be more something, or something else. Ultimately, I’d be not looking to have children immediately if I was to marry now, which I’m not.” She emphasised the last word, smiling at Rhona.

Rhona sighed. “At my age, you were only three months away from finding a steady boyfriend. I don’t see any of that happening anytime soon.”

“And that’s okay,” said Patience firmly, then hugged her younger sister. “Everyone’s timeline is different. I will say that at your age I didn’t expect to find a boyfriend anytime soon either, and it was out of the blue: but also, consider Paul.”

“I knew you were going to say that,” she said, sadly.

“Of course I was! The thing is, dear heart, easy as it may be for me to say (and I know it’s not easy to do), you need to try and be content in whatever stage of life you’re in right now. Having a boyfriend isn’t all kisses and sweet things. There are hard conversations, and you carry the other person’s burdens as well as your own, sometimes. I can’t tell you what, of course, but that’s very much true. Please don’t feel like you’re unwanted, Rhona. You’re very much wanted, despite the fact that no boy has yet noticed this of you.”

Rhona sighed and hugged her. Patience returned the hug. “It’s just hard,” she said.

“I know. And I’ll pray for you.”

“Thanks.”

“The time is such that I should scram,” said Patience, suddenly noticing the aforementioned time. “Cram that brush in my bag, and I’ll skedaddle.”

Nathan was picking her up in his new—secondhand—car, and Patience came in a whirl of blue satin skirts and satin-smooth hair, sliding hurriedly into his car. “I’m sorry I’m late,” she apologised.

“Hence why I left fifteen minutes extra in the planning phase, in case you were,” he said, sparkling-eyed. “You’re looking beautiful today, Patience.”

“Thanks.” She had had a year of acclimatising herself to his compliments, and while they still made her want to retreat inside her shell and freeze him out over it, she was more and more used to just accepting them at face value. For whatever reason, Nathan actually cared about her.

Which was just as well, because she cared about him, too.

“You’re looking very dapper also,” she added, taking in for the first time the sight of her boyfriend in a spotted blue bowtie. “I love your bowtie.”

“Thanks, I love it too. I colour-matched it, even.”

“Impressive. How’d you know I’d wear this?”

“It’s the thing that looks prettiest on you. I thought it was likely enough. Also I bought six others just in case.”

She stared at him. “You’re crazy.”

“I know.” He smiled, charmingly. “And you love me for it.”

“Well, yes,” she admitted, and just before he started up the car again she kissed him quickly.

Tagging @stealingmyplaceinthesun @graycedelfin @pilgrimsofworship@noisette-tornade and @choasuqeen

[nathanrelnor]

Trying the Wise King's patience

Continued from this @sagekinq ---

He nearly jumped out of his own skin when he heard the tapping of Gilgamesh's axe against the ground. His stance quickly became rigid as he rushed to obey the command, meeting the Wise King's stare with his own. "Y-Yes! Yes your majesty! I'll do my best!" Fresh determination flowed through him. Gilgamesh was a harsh task master that didn't accept failure but that was exactly why he'd gone to the wayward caster for help. He wasn't going to get anywhere if his Servants were just going to keep treating him like a toddler after all. He readied the magecraft again, attempting to reinforce the wooden sword that had been supplied to him. It was the simplest of simplest spells that any mage worth their salt could cast without a second thought but Nathan was very far from a proper mage and throttling his od was something he had simply never had to do until very recently. During the Singularities he had mystic codes to do the heavy lifting of casting spells for him but as things were he needed a backup plan just in case he didn't have access to them. Honestly though. How foolish could he be? He'd promised to be less of a burden on his Servants despite barely being of age and he'd decided the best way to fulfil that promise was to go to Wise King Gilgamesh for help. Well. He was going to become a better Master or die trying at this rate.

[spine-buster]

feelings/update under the cut

i've been writing and releasing my two newest stories 'that which we are, we are' ft. nathan mackinnon and 'to sail beyond the sunset' ft. sidney crosby since september after taking a posting break and focusing on my writing. i'm going to be real with y'all: i've written up to chapter 7 for ttwawa, and chapter 6 for tsbts. though i know where the stories are going, i have nothing else written as of now. work has been more excruciating that normal this year (h*gh sch**l english means way more marking) and i basically haven't written anything since october.

i've never been a writer that hung on every note or reblog i got on this site -- i write because i love it, because i have ideas, because things won't get out of my head until they're written in a doc. it's how my brain has functioned for a long time. however, all writers do require some sort of feedback and/or engagement with their writing, especially when it's posted on a site like this (with a long history of that feedback and engagement fuelling entire fandoms), and especially when it's being written for free. to say i haven't gotten the same level of engagement on these stories is an understatement. they're barely cracking 100 notes, when sometimes, like let's say a chapter of 'patience is a virtue', would crack 100 notes by the time i went to bed monday night. that is NOT to say that i am not grateful for every like, reblog, and dm i get in my inbox. it's just that i find that ever since coming back from my posting break this summer when i was travelling, engagement has been super low. way lower than normal. i don't know if it's the hockey players i'm writing for. i don't know if it's the content of the stories.

i don't know if it's my writing.

i don't know if it's me.

in any case, with the christmas break coming up, i am going to try to get more chapters written so i can still post. but this is sort of an announcement to say that during those two weeks, i'm taking another posting break, because, well...i literally have nothing to post. it's nobody's fault but mine, truly -- but...yeah.

i'm very, very sorry.

[kinetic-elaboration]

June 9: Transitive Property Additional Scene

Transitive-Property 'verse, probably taking place between Chapters 6 and 7, with reference to events of Orders Relations Chapter 3 by @riotsquirrrl. But also like.. not really canonical.

Daria & Jane, background Tom/Daria, ~940 words, 36 minutes

More edits than usual on this one including several different versions of the last line (which is still meh but it's better, I think). I... feel uncertain. This was roughly what I had in my head but I feel like the style isn't working. Also I think at some point I had the idea that Jane would talk about Daria being in the middle of her ex-thing with Tom but maybe it's better that that's not in there and remains more unspoken.

[Eta alt ending, but I kept the original for ~transparency and ~historical record. Still not like great but like closer ig.]

*

"That chapter not doing it for you?" Jane asks, and deepens the shadows on the figure she's painting. Daria hasn't turned a page in at least ten minutes. Her eyes aren't moving, which means she's thinking about something, and her mouth is thin, which means it's something that's bothering her. Maybe she's still turning over what happened after the Spiral gig; maybe the one conversation they’ve had about it just sent her deeper into her thoughts. Jane braces herself for hearing anything.

"Why did you tell Tom about that thing I had for Trent?"

Not that.

She sets her paintbrush down, and her palette. This is five-alarm fire stuff, a moment that needs her full attention. When she turns, she sees Daria still lying on the bed with her legs out in front of her, staring up at Jane with that same steady gaze she'd previously turned on her book.

"What are you talking about? I never told anyone about that." She tries to make her voice sound steely, insistent, but it wavers. "Why do you think I did?"

"Tom said so. We were talking about Trent, he mentioned it, and I asked him how he knew. He said you told him."

If it were any other two people—three people—involved in this conversation, they'd be making fun of them brutally. He said, I said, you said, she said.

"Well, I didn't."

"Why would he say you did?"

"I don't know, Daria." She watches as Daria swings her legs over the side of the bed and sits up, then comes to sit on the spot of mattress next to her. "Sometimes people lie." And now it's obvious that either he is or I am, and she's caught in the middle. Where she shouldn’t be.

Daria stares at her a long moment, narrow and appraising. "Then how did he know?" she asks.

Jane shrugs. Better not to say the obvious. "Lucky guess?"

Wrong answer. Daria turns that answer around, mouth open like she might reply, the exhales hard and curls in on herself, her elbows on her knees and her hands briefly passing down over her face. "He barely knew me then. Was I that obvious?"

Yes. But all Jane can really think is that she's right; Tom did barely know her then; and people do lie; and maybe he always had more of an interest in Daria than he let on, maybe he was always attuned to her, watching her, reading her.

She shrugs again. "What if you were? There are worse people out there to be interested in than Trent. Like Nathan. Ethan. Bobby Bighead. The Ruttheimer twins..." Tom, the guy who left her for her best friend.

Daria's still silent, that sort of silence that means she's deep inside herself now, turning something over in her brain. She'll speak it when she's ready, so Jane has patience.

"Did Trent know?"

Jane pulls her shoulders all the way up to her ears, hesitates around an assent, because the question was rhetorical anyway. "He might have guessed. He's pretty good at figuring out stuff like that."

"Because he's a musician?" Trying to make it into a joke, and Jane half-smiles.

"Yeah. Because he's a musician. He's attuned to subtle changes in the atmosphere. Or whatever." She waits another moment, then goes on, "But he never would have judged you for it or anything. And look, I promise, I did not spend all my dates with Tom just spilling all your secrets to him. I would never, ever do that."

Daria mumbles something inaudible and low, and Jane asks:

"Did you really think I did?"

"You used to joke about it in front of Trent all the time."

"Yeah, but those were just jokes. And I'm sorry about them. Actually sorry, that's not just something I'm saying in a deathbed-confessional way."

Daria nods. "Okay. Apology accepted." She's staring down at the toes of her boots, and the air isn't clear, and Jane presses her hands between her knees because she doesn't know what else to do with them, without her paints.

Into the long silence, she asks, "Something still eating you?"

A listless shrug, her eyes darting briefly across the far end of the room. "Just that... I don't think I could stand it, if the two of you were making fun of me behind my back."

"And we didn't. We wouldn't." She has to be insistent about it, because she's thinking very far back in her brain about one time when they sat on this same bed, in the other order, and she'd said I know you would never do anything to hurt me, but hadn't been quite able to mean it, and afterward the whole house of cards had just fallen down. "Maybe he... I don't know, thought it was better if you thought I told than if you thought he guessed." Better for him. Maybe even better for Daria. Not better for Jane, that slight detail.

"Maybe," Daria agrees.

"You know how when I was first dating him, I had all those Tom stories?"

"Hard to forget."

"Yeah, well. I had a ton of Daria stories, too. You were probably half of what we talked about." And the worst part is she doesn't even regret it. How was she supposed to tell him about her life without telling him about Daria? What else could there possibly be to say?

"You don't need to flatter me. I'm not that fragile."

"I know and I'm not." She stands up again. Daria follows the movement, finally looks at her with an open, honest expression about her. "I know you too well to think that.”

ALT:

“Maybe,” Daria agrees.

“You know how when I was first dating him, I had all those Tom stories?”

“I vaguely recall.”

“Yeah, well. I had a ton of Daria stories, too. You were probably half of what we talked about.” And the worst part is she doesn’t even regret it. How was she supposed to tell him about her life without telling him about Daria? What else could there possibly be to say?

“Those Tom stories were really annoying,” Daria says, after a long enough pause that Jane knows she was thinking about that time, that she was finding it imperfect, but something she can live with.

Jane hums. “The Daria ones were even worse.”

[atakeflight]

It had been difficult. Just acting as if nothing was different. Even in rehearsals he had worn that cardigan. He barely took it off. He knew that none of his group were handling it well. He had already fought Christian and that -- that was his friend. He was at breaking point, if even one more thing happened, he would flip and not like the others with tears, but with fists. He knew this next rehearsal was going to test his patience. Nathan Prescott? What kind of twisted joke was that? He had originally planned this with Sammy in mind. They would have to come up with a new plan entirely. Ollie knew he would likely drop Nathan head first on any lift.

" What exactly can you do? Jumps, Leaps, Turns --- I need to choreography this dance again, and I'm not letting you and your ... general self ruin my opportunity. "

@hellaed for nathan. sean is getting one from tara too.

[juicegremlin]

WIP Wednesday (Malevolent AU)

Andrew Minyard does not like big houses. There’s no point to them, not if you don’t have a million children, and Andrew finds himself fundamentally opposed to the idea of parenting most days, anyway.

Wesninski Manor is a big house.

Andrew, predictably, does not like it.

“Jesus,” Nicky whistles, popping the trunk. “How did nobody peg this guy for a serial killer?”

And Andrew, who seldom ever agrees with his cousin, has to make an exception here. The house is as tall as any of the surrounding trees, with a brick exterior and dark gray trim. The railing on the wraparound porch has been thoroughly compromised by creeping vines, long dead.

How, indeed.

Aaron removes himself from the passenger seat and comes around to help Nicky with the equipment. He’s a funhouse version of Andrew: blond and serious, noticeably lean in comparison to Andrew’s bulk. They were more alike when they were younger—more different.

Andrew didn’t used to see dead people.

“They probably had a groundskeeper, dumbass,” Aaron says. He drops a canvas bag into Nicky’s unsuspecting arms. “It wouldn’t be so bad without the weeds.”

Andrew thinks that yes, it would be so bad without the weeds, but doesn’t feel like saying it. He’s watching the charcoal-colored set of double doors and wondering how many bodies have come in and out, if Wesninski used a different door for the dead ones. Andrew has seen pictures of the house—the famous basement. He wonders just how much he hasn’t seen.

“Andrew, a little help here?”

He doesn’t turn at the sound of Aaron’s voice. Instead, he starts towards the porch, thick-soled boots making faint clunks on the paved drive. He ascends the steps to Nicky’s cry of outrage and doesn’t hesitate before knocking four times on the door. There is no doorbell.

It takes a little over thirty seconds for anyone to answer, and it’s a testament to Andrew’s patience that he hasn’t turned and headed back down the drive by the time the door swings inward.

Nathaniel Wesninski. Realistically, Andrew knows that’s who he’s looking at, but his perception is colored by one of two realities. One: Nathaniel was younger, in the pictures Andrew has seen; ten or twelve. His face was not riddled with scars like it is now. Two: Andrew has also seen pictures of Nathan Wesninski—the infamous Butcher of Baltimore—and for a moment, Andrew believes that Nathaniel is the ghost of him. Dark brown hair, corded through with red. Blue eyes that see too much.

“You’re Andrew,” Nathaniel says, and his voice is cool.

Andrew blinks at him. He takes in the loose gray shirt, the blue jeans. Nathaniel could not look any more or less like the house itself.

“Nathaniel,” Andrew replies.

Nathaniel’s expression contorts at the word. He frowns down at Andrew, dark eyebrows pulling together over a freckled nose.

“Neil,” he corrects. “It’s Neil, now.” A pause. “Aren’t you going to help them?”

Without a glance, Andrew knows he’s referring to the two bumbling idiots at the car. He dismisses the question with a light shrug and pushes past Neil, who pivots to let him into the house.

The living room is practically bare. A shallow coffee table sits in the middle, with a plush, elegant couch against one wall. No pictures, no books. The only indication that someone lives here at all is the half-eaten box of takeout on the table.

“I burned most of it,” Neil offers, still standing by the door. “His stuff. I thought it would help.”

Andrew turns back to him. “You don’t get rid of them by getting rid of things. It isn’t like the movies.”

He means the ghosts, but also the memories. The process for purging both is similarly complex.

Aaron and Nicky choose this moment to barge in. Aaron sets his bags down as soon as he’s past the threshold, while Nicky extends a hand in greeting to Neil.

“I’m Nicky,” he says. “We spoke on the phone.”

Neil shakes his hand once before crossing his arms again. “Neil. Thanks for coming out.”

“Like we’d miss this. Mind if we set up in here?”

Neil gives an assenting nod, and Nicky wastes no time in letting his bags drop onto the smooth hardwood. Aaron is already kneeling on the rug, rummaging through various pieces of equipment. He doesn’t bother to introduce himself.

-

-

I watched Malevolent for the first time a little while ago and this was born. Don’t know for sure if I’ll go any further with this, but it was fun to write!!

[happy-whumper]

Food Poisoning

Is this..actual content? Damn who would have thought that would happen again 💀🤣

For a bit of context, this is set before Olivia came to Nicolas, actually her last 'owner' before him.

psh psh @darklyria, come simp for the Evil bastard Man~

CW: Poisoning/Drugging, Starvation, Vomiting, begging, creepy/intimate whumper, noncon touching (non sexual), pet whump (if I forgot anything, please let me know and I will add it!)

5 days. It had been 5 days since Olivia had last eaten.

She was laying on her back on the wooden floor, staring at the ceiling, trying to ignore the aching emptiness in her stomach, another wave of nausea washing over her, causing her to tightly close her eyes.

Deep breaths.

Easier said than done, considering the just slightly too tight collar around her neck. Not quite tight enough to fully cut off her airflow but enough to cause her breathing to be labored and shaking lightly. She tried to swallow but her mouth was completely dried out, leaving an almost stale taste behind.

At the door stood two people, a man and a woman.Olivia didn’t need to turn her head to know that they were there. She didn’t know their names or maybe she had known them at some point and just forgotten.

Either way it didn’t matter, they never did anything to help her anyways. Just stood there, watching. Making sure she didn’t try anything stupid.

These times were still the closest she came to having some peace, the closest she came to being alone. But they never lasted long.

As if on command she heard awfully familiar footsteps approaching. Confident, determined and almost..relaxed in a way.

Olivia shivered, both from the dreadful anticipation as well as the almost numbing cold she had been feeling for the past days.

She tried to somehow prepare herself for what was about to come, knowing full well it wouldn’t have any use anyways.

As the door opened and a tall, blond man in a casually expensive looking white shirt walked in, Olivia had just managed to at least half sit up, still mainly leaning on her hand and elbow. Something about the man caused all the attention to immediately shift towards him, something he was clearly very aware of.

He was grinning, there was something smug about it, that made Olivia want to punch him, but since that wasn’t exactly possible she instead resorted to glaring dagger at him, only causing his smile to only get even more amused.

“Aw, well someone doesn’t look happy to see me…”

Clenching her jaw Olivia tried to push herself up a bit more, but failed because of the weakness in her muscles. “Yeah I wonder why.”

Nathan just laughed at that, putting his hands in the pockets of his jeans. “What’s wrong Princess, not in a good mood today?” The ‘nickname’ made her skin crawl and she wasn’t sure if the next wave of nausea came from hunger or pure disgust by the man looking down on her.

She didn’t bother responding, which he didn’t seem to care about too much. He stepped a bit closer, crouching down in front of her and firmly grabbing her chin, causing her to instinctively pull away. “Ah, ah, ah, what did I say about pulling away from me, hm?” His voice was still calm but she didn’t miss the warning undertone in it causing her to immediately freeze.

He chuckled lightly to himself, lightly brushing his thumb over her chin, causing a feeling of discomfort and disgust to send a shiver down her spine. “That’s what I thought,” he made a gesture to the man standing at the door, causing him to move out of Olivia’s view, leaving her a bit uneasy as Nathan started talking again, “Well, I actually have something that might cheer you up a bit Princess~”.

She felt her heart drop, her eyes immediately going wider. That never meant anything good…

A few seconds later the broader man appeared again, handing Nathan something she instantly recognised, only increasing the feeling of unease in her chest and causing the hairs on her arms to stand up.

“No! Get that..fucking thing away from me!” Rapidly shaking her head and almost crawling backwards, she stared at the short, black leash in his hand. The man in front of her just smirked at her reaction, a hint of impatience.

“Hm, I see someone’s decided to be… difficult today, hm pet?”, he leaned back a bit, lightly tapping has chin as if he was considering something, looking towards the man next to him, “I am not sure if such an ungrateful pet deserves to eat after all…”

At his last words Olivia's head immediately snapped up, a sudden feeling of desperation taking over her, still awfully aware of her empty stomach. “No, please I’m sorry I-”, his head turned towards her, lightly raising an eyebrow with an expectant grin on his face. For a moment she stayed silent, her mouth feeling even more dried out than before, swallowing hard and as a result feeling the tight collar press into her throat. She knew exactly what he wanted to hear and even though a part of her wanted anything but to give in to him, the bigger, more present and louder part was desperate, willing to do anything to just get something to eat.

“P-please Sir...I’m sorry I…”, she closed her eyes for a moment, almost forcing the words out, “I’ll be good Sir, I promise, please!” Her cheeks burned from embarrassment and humiliation but as she opened her eyes again and saw the satisfied smile on his face, she knew that it had been convincing enough.

“Hm, I love hearing you beg like this… So desperate, aren’t you princess?” Olivia bit the inside of her lip so hard that the faint taste of blood filled her mouth but she nodded, her eyes glued to the ground. “Y-yes Sir…”

“Good pet.”

About 45 minutes later, Olivia could finally remember what it was like to not feel hungry again, almost allowing her to relax a bit.

She lightly glanced up to Nathan who was sitting in a chair at the head of a conference room-like table, calmly listening to the other Man around the table talking and discussing. Despite the fact that she was kneeling next to him, the humiliation burning through her, she almost felt...grateful.

As if it hadn’t been Nathan who had starved her in the first place.

Suddenly a wave of dizziness came over her, prompting her to close her eyes for a moment, trying to fight the dazed feeling, not thinking too much of it.

The sudden feeling of a hand in her hair made her flinch, her eyes instinctively flying open, from the corner of her eye noticing the light smirk on the Man’s face.

She let out a breath, trying her best to just ignore it and focus on something else.

Only a few minutes later she once again started feeling light-headed, more severe than the first time, causing her to suck in a sharp breath, catching Nathan’s attention again.

“Everything alright dear?” His voice sounded almost concerned, if Olivia’s mind hadn’t been so woozy she would have picked up on the fake sincerity behind it. As it was though, she just nodded slowly, suddenly feeling nauseous, her eyes going wide, shifting on her knees.

Nathan chuckled lightly to himself, tightening the grip in her hair lightly, but she barely even registered it over the sudden stabbing pain in her stomach, letting out a pained gasp.

She quickly shut her eyes again, the nausea and dizziness getting worse by the second. It felt like the whole room was spinning, the floor underneath her shifting and turning, leaving her dazed and disoriented.

What the hell…

What she couldn’t see was the cruel smile spreading across Nathan's face as he leaned back in his chair, watching Olivia. More to himself, not loud enough for Olivia to hear, he chuckled lightly “Well that worked faster than I expected… “. He gestured to one of his ‘assistants’, signaling him to walk over to him.

"Yeah, Boss?" Nathan didn't even so much as turn his head, his eyes fixated on his pet, who's gaze was getting more glossy and distant. "Take my pet back to my room, I'll be there as soon as this here is done. Until then you stay with her and watch her. Wouldn't want to risk any...more permanent damage."

The man Paused for a Moment, getting a mildly confused look on his face, frowning lightly. "Uh… With all due respect Sir, you want me to play Babysitter?".

At that Nathan turned to him, raising an eyebrow "Is there a Problem? James, isn't it?", as the other nodded he continued talking, "Now I understand it that you're new here, so let me explain something to you. If I say something, you do it, you don't question me, you don't give any comments on it, you simply Follow the Order. I pay you enough for you to simply do that, don't you Think?" His voice had gotten colder now, a clear warning to not test his patience any further.

James nodded quickly, clearly a bit more intimidated now. "Oh yes of course Boss. Sorry." He lightly cleared bis throat and Nathan just nodded swiftly, turning his attention back to the men at the Table whose conversation had fallen quiet, the attention turned towards the Man sitting at the head of the Table. "Excuse me Gentlemen, just something small I had to take care of, please continue".

As the conversation slowly started again, the taller Man, James, Walked around the Chair, harshly grabbing Olivia's arm and pulling her up. The sudden motion combined with the nearly overwhelming dizziness caused her to stumble and almost fall, reflexively reaching out to the nearest surface, in that case the armrest of Nathan's chair, grabbing onto it as though her life was dependent on it.

Without turning around, Nathan put a Hand on Olivia's back, something that would have normally made her skin crawl but she was almost grateful for now.

"Careful. I would hate for you to damage my property."

By the time they were back in the bedroom, Olivia was sure that she was dying.

Every part of her body was taken over by an aching, hot pain, making her feel like she was burning from the inside out.

Her stomach felt like it was being cut open from the inside by a thousand tiny knives, leaving her almost breathless. In Addition to that she felt a burning fire build up behind her eyes, Lifting her arms up with a groan and pressing her Hands against her temples, granting a short Relief of the burning heat.

That Relief only lasted until the overwhelming nausea caused her to empty the insides of her stomach into the Toilet in front of her.

She couldn't remember how she even got to the bathroom floor but at that Moment she also didn't have the energy to Think about it, as the bitter taste of bile made her gag again, despite her stomach being completely emptied out.

Hot tears were running down her face, a ragged sob shaking up her whole body. She let herself drop to the cold floor, savouring the short alleviation of the cold, pulling her knees up to her chest, hoping for any sort of relief to the pain. But it never came. If anything, it just got worse the more time passed, making her feel like her insides were twisting and turning in cruel agony.

As a sudden, almost stabbing feeling went through her she wanted to scream, but her body was too worn out to bring up the energy, only managing a broken whimper. Olivia once again screwed her eyes shut, hoping that she might at least pass out so the pain would stop.

While she collapsed on the floor, James was standing in the doorway, his back turned away from her, frowning in annoyance. He hadn’t been paying too much attention to what exactly she was doing, still irritated about the fact that he had to ‘babysit’ now.

He scoffed, shaking his head lightly and crossed his arms in front of his chest, half glaring at the door across the room.

If I had known that this was part of the job I would have thought twice before taking it…

At the sound of a broken sob he turned around, narrowing his eyes but instantly freezing at the sight before him.

The girl, or 'pet' as his Boss referred to her, was lying on the stone tiles curled up in a fetal position, her breathing unsteady and interrupted by muffled sobs, her whole body trembling and shaking.

He felt his stomach drop, a sickening feeling spreading throughout his body. From the others he had heard about how his new Boss treated his ‘pets’, that it was just to be ignored, but this was the first time he had witnessed it first hand.

James didn’t even know her name and yet he felt awful seeing her lying there, her pale face almost matching the colour of the tiles her head was resting on and the pained whimpers escaping her throat.

But he knew that there wasn’t anything he could do to help her, no matter how much he wanted to. The others had warned him about that too, it would easily cost him his job if not worse and at the end of the day, it would only make things worse for her as well.

So all he did was stand there, watching her with an almost overwhelming feeling of helplessness.

About 10 minutes later, the bedroom door opened and the tall blond Man stepped through, a relaxed smile on his face. James had turned around again, not bearing the sight of the girl suffering any longer.

As Nathan walked towards him, his smile only seemed to widen, causing James to feel sick. How could he seem so...happy while another person was clearly in misery? He shivered lightly, keeping his gaze on the wall across from him.

Nathan glanced at him lightly from the side, smirking. “Now, was ‘babysitting’ really so bad?” James didn’t respond but the other Man clearly didn’t really look for an answer anyways, walking past him and crouching down in front of the girl who was still trembling violently.

If he hadn't known better, James would have thought that the way Nathan looked down on her was almost… caring. But that was only until he saw the sadistic amusement in his eyes, as he brushed a strand of hair that was sticking to the sweat drenching her forehead, to the side.

"You can leave now." He didn't turn around as he gave the command and James didn't hesitate to leave the room, not turning back once.

Olivia could feel the light touch, too exhausted even so much as flinch. She heard him chuckle lightly but it felt as though the Sound was muffled through a thick veil.

"Please…", her voice was barely above a whisper, shaking and unsteady, "Please, Sir I-i'm sorry, I-i-i..i'll be good, I promise!".

Another Wave of pain shot through her, forcing out a broken sob. "Please...please just m-make it s-stop...It hurts…"

Nathan just watched her with increasing satisfaction, fully enjoying seeing her broken down like that. "Oh you're so pretty begging and crying for me like this princess…"

Chuckling lightly to himself, he tilted his head to the side a bit. "Let's get you somewhere a bit more comfortable, hm?"

The last thing Olivia became aware of, was the feeling of someone picking her up, instinctively grabbing onto Nathan's shoulder for support to fight the new wave of lightheadedness before closing her eyes again, the darkness finally taking over and letting her escape into the temporary safety of unconsciousness.

Taglist: @starnight-whump, @jordanstrophe, @froggywhumpy, @whumpasaurus101, @as-a-matter-of-whump, @jojothepanwithoutaplan, @myst-in-the-mirror, @whumpsweetwhump, @darklyria

[softboywriting]

Surprise | Nathan Bateman | Ex Machina

Summary: You’ve got some news for Nathan and now is as good a time as any. [F!ReaderxNathan] [Pregnancy] [Established Relationship] [No Use of Y/N] 

Word Count: 1k

|Masterlist In Bio|

Nathan is the epitome of a man baby. A week after you arrived at the complex following your trip home for the holidays with your family, he came down with a cold. Statistically it should be impossible for him to get ill. There are no outside sources to contaminate his immune system. Except you. You and your vacation germs, and he is a major cry baby about the whole situation.

"This is your fault."

"No it's not." You lean back on the chair in the lounge while he lays under three blankets across the couch with a cold compress on his head. He barely had the sniffles and he's laid up like a man on his deathbed. "It's your fault."

"How? Do tell me how I contracted a cold from not leaving this place?"

"It's your fault because you kissed me."

Nathan scoffs.

You get up and cross the room to kneel beside him. It's time to take his temperature again. "Am I wrong?"

"No."

"You broke your own rules about staying apart for a week to prevent this because you couldn't keep your dick in your pants." You shake the thermometer and look at the little red bar inside. "Open up."

Nathan glares as he allows you to pop the cold little stick under his tongue.

"While I've got you quiet for a few minutes, I want to say that I've got some news."

He furrows his brow in confusion.

"There's no easy way to say this."

Nathan spits the thermometer out. "What's wrong?"

"You're supposed to keep that in for two minutes."

"I don't fucking care. What is wrong?"

You lay a hand on his blanket covered chest and you can see true fear in his eyes. He is expecting the absolute worst at this point. You've never come to him with such a serious approach.

"I'm pregnant."

He is silent.

"Nathan, I know we didn't discuss that possibility. I am on birth control but I think I missed a few weeks. We got so busy with building Ava and I didn't even think-"

"I fucked you so good I put a baby in you?"

"I- um, yes?"

He lets out a little smug chuckle. "I'm damn good."

"Yeah, this isn't about your bedroom skills okay?"

"You wanna keep it?"

You take a deep breath and sit back on your heels. "I don't...I don't know."

Nathan sits up and runs a hand over your hair. Fingers toying with the ends a bit. "What's your hesitation?"

"Everything." You look around the room, gesturing to the house in general. "I can't raise a child in a research facility."

"You think you'll raise it alone?"

"N-no? I mean I guess I assumed that because you're so busy and everything you wouldn't be interested in chasing a toddler around or changing diapers at all hours of the day." You laugh softly, threading a hand through your hair and tugging. "I'm not going to keep it."

"Put all of that aside. Do you want it?"

"I guess?"

"No you're not listening. Do you want the baby, yes or no?" Nathan says slowly like he does when he's trying to explain something to you for the dozenth time. "It's a simple answer."

"It is not!"

"Yes it is! Do you want the fucking baby or not!"

You tremble, hands balled into fists on your lap. "Yes! Okay! Yes I want it! But I'm scared!"

"What are you scared of?"

"You! Nathan, I'm scared of you!"

He leans back and he looks like you've just knocked the wind out of him. As if you've stolen every word from his mouth and he can no longer speak. He opens his mouth several times but nothing comes out, like a fish out of water. It's as if he never considered that he would be the reason for your hesitation.

You push up from the floor and he grabs your hand, stopping you from getting too far. "Let go Nathan."

"No." He curls his fingers around yours. "No, I won't let you go. Not ever."

"It's fine. I don't expect you to want this child. I just thought it would be fair to tell you since it's yours."

He sits up and tugs your hand. "Come here. Sit on my lap."

"I don't want to."

"Please?" He gives you the softest look you've ever seen. "Let's talk."

You step back and sit on his legs, staring down at him even as he sits up, you're higher. You don't know where to start so you just remain quiet.

"What about me makes you afraid?"

"Everything." You laugh sadly. "I have no idea how you would be with a child. You drink too much. You're lost to your work most days. You've got no patience for things that slightly inconvenience or annoy you. Not to mention how remote we are and how would the child learn, and grow and socialize?"

Nathan runs his hand over your stomach. "Give me a chance. I'll get sober and I'll work on everything else for the next nine months."

"Why? Why do you care?"

"Why do I care?" He scoffs. "It's my child. I can make a hundred robots but none of them are alive. None of them are a human being who is my flesh and blood. My legacy." He smiles and grabs your hand, bringing it to his lips. "A child of my own would be my greatest creation and something I would love unconditionally."

"You're serious?"

"Do I sound like I'm joking?"

"No. You want to do this?" You touch your stomach. "You wanna have a baby?"

"Fuck yeah." He grins and wraps his arm around you, pressing his face into your chest. "Can't wait to meet this little monster."

"Hey!"

"Lovingly of course." He stares up at you over his glasses. "But you know he's going to be a menace."

"You're so confident it's going to be a boy?"

"Absolutely. Guys with big dicks always have sons."

"What the fuck are you talking about?"

"Science." He laughs, kissing your stomach. "Trust me. It's a boy."

You rub your hand over his head and he makes a little growly sound against your shirt. "We're doing this then?"

"One hundred percent."

End

----------

thank you so much for reading! please reblog and support content creators such as myself :) -A

Header pic by delicate-venus

*****Note: none of my works should be posted anywhere outside of my linked accounts. I do not give permission to repost with or without credit to my accounts. Please notify me of any reposted works.*****

[catkin-morgs-kookaburralover]

@monthly-challenge 2024 | 2. Long Walks

I used this prompt for my original characters, Nathan and Patience: the story is under the cut.

Word count: 1,083

Patience was playing a nocturne when Nathan stuck his head in the door. “Patience, you busy?” he asked as she paused.

“What does it look like?” she chided him lightheartedly, and he had the grace to look somewhat shamefaced.

“Would you come for a walk with me afterwards?” he asked. “While I’m at it—what nocturne is that? It’s a nocturne, right?”

“Yes.” She turned back to the piano. “Chopin. Thirteenth.”

“Ah,” he breathed softly. “It’s beautiful.”

“It is.” After a moment’s pause, she began to play it again. Her touch was light and delicate, her eyes brimful and the occasional hints of power precisely what the piece needed. He stood and listened, watching her strong slender hands leap from key to key, a smile occasionally gracing her mouth. Once she paused to wipe tears from her eyes. The playing was imperfect, but to the eyes of love that watched her all imperfections were smoothed out and it was better than any master. At the end she held still for a moment while the vibrations gently ceased, then got up. “Did you want to go for that walk?” she asked, in a voice as gentle as the music she had been playing.

Nathan smiled at her. “I’d love to,” he agreed, and held out his arm.

She accepted it, holding herself very primly until he laughed, at which point her own facade crumbled. “Oh, you’d make no good fine lady,” he told her. “You’d be laughing at every little thing.”

“Is there a problem with that?” she asked, with a luminous glance at him. “Surely laughter is good.”

“Laughter is a balm to the soul,” Nathan agreed, and picked up her hand to kiss it. As he did so he made eye contact with her. Letting go of her hand, he continued, “I could wax poetic about it, but instead, we can go for a walk.”

“Poetic enough,” she agreed. “Walking brings out all the poetry in you.”

He smiled exuberantly and skipped like a lamb to the door, trying and failing to click his heels for added effect.

Her laugh was like falling water in the background. “I love you.” Then Patience stopped, paused and took a breath. “I—” She wasn’t about to say she didn’t mean it, because she meant it more than she had meant anything for a very long time.

“You what?” he asked, very softly, and watched her.

Patience squirmed under his gaze. “I don’t know what to say,” she admitted. “But I’m never, never, never going to say I don’t love you.”

“Ah!” he breathed triumphantly. “I had hoped so.” They passed through the door, and his fingers brushed hers. She let him take her hand.

Walking hand in hand was a little awkward, but worth the awkwardness. Her cheeks were flushed and Patience told herself it was because of the exercise they had just begun. After a few minutes of sunlit walking Patience let go of his hand, and Nathan glanced at her and picked up the pace. Today she hadn’t brought her camera, so she was glad to stretch her legs more swiftly than usual. Presently she was breathless.

“Are you all right?” asked Nathan calmly, seeming unaffected.

“Yeah—I’m fine, I’m just a dying asthmatic,” she said, laughing breathlessly.

“Good. Tell me if you need us to slow down.”

“Oh, no—no! I love this kind of speed!” They were quickly leaving the beaten track and heading into an area that was wetter, greener and less populated. There were hardly any people around now, and they walked across grass rather than pavement.

“Shall we disappear into the woods?” he asked whimsically.

“‘Woods’ seems the wrong word,” said Patience. “Woods seems a very—well, a very English sort of word, don’t you think? This isn’t all oaky and bluebells and stuff, this is real Australian bush.”

“‘Real’? This is barely the start of it. Have you been into a real wild area, like the Grampians where there aren’t tracks and you aren’t supposed to go but you go anyway?”

“Nope,” she said regretfully. “We’ve barely ever been to the Grampians.”

“Someday I’ll take you there,” he promised. “We’ll walk up Stapylton and scramble Hollow Mountain and look down all the crevices I was too scared to on my own when I was last there, only I’ll feel safe with you. And we can walk and talk and take all the time in the world, and then we can be up top with the wind in our faces and joy in our hearts. How does that sound?”

Patience was enchanted by his glowing-eyed explanation. “That sounds beautiful. I’ve never been up Stapylton; it was too far away from where we were staying.”

“Halls Gap?”

A nod.

“Yeah, no wonder. There are closer mountains in the Wonderland area. Though Stapylton isn’t that far.”

“True, but as you said, there are closer ones. I wanted to go, but Dad said we’d run out of time, and besides, it was too windy.”

“Got to be careful with the wind; I wouldn’t want you to be blown off or something. You’d love the sandstone caves, though.”

“Would I just! I believe you; I’ve heard good things about them. O-oh, Nathan! When can we go?”

It was his turn to be captivated by her. “Anytime you like. I’d take you there tomorrow if I could.”

“I know you would,” she replied charmingly. “For now we should keep walking.” They had paused, staring at one another. “Wouldn’t want to clog up the grass.”

“You make it sound like we’re something from inside a drain or something,” he retorted, grinning. “Dribbling out onto the grass like forgotten socks the washing machine ate.”

Patience stared at him for a moment, then burst out laughing, exclaiming his name as soon as she could speak again. “That’s not what washing machines do!”

“Why do you say that? They might be secretly conspiring to eat your socks. Goodness knows socks go astray.”

“I know they do,” said she, sobering a little, “but they don’t dribble out onto the grass!” Patience covered her mouth, slightly embarrassed by her outburst, but Nathan was grinning.

“Why on earth not? Entertain the idea a moment.”

“I’ve entertained it a moment. Horrifying.”

“You could say that,” he agreed, and grinned again. “Gotcha. One of these days, I’ll make you laugh and you’ll never stop.”

“Listen, I know you meant that to be romantic, but that’s a slightly horrifying idea too.”

“Fair point.”

tagging @stealingmyplaceinthesun @graycedelfin @pilgrimsofworship and @choasuqeen

[foxpaws10]

Don’t Forget Me When I Let The Water Take Me

It was the red hair which had done him in. His eye had latched on and for the first time in a very long time he felt his chest lift with hope. But the man had turned, eyes deadened and brown, not blue, and hope had been squashed under disappointment.

He should know by now that he wouldn’t ever see him again. Kept pushing it down down down. There were more important things to focus on than the ghost of a boy.

But as Andrew sat in the trenches, clothes soaked with mud, rain and the blood of his men, his mind conjured up old memories. Perhaps the memories were the only thing keeping him sane. Giving him a reprieve from the constant onslaught of bombs and gunfire, of men screaming and crying, of rats and lice and flies.

He held tightly to the image of the boy - because that’s what they had been, boys - and he closed his eyes against the fireworks of shrapnel in the otherwise dark sky.

He thought of nights spent on rooftops, smoking stolen cigarettes and making up stories about the bright stars above.

He thought of Nathaniel, and Nate, and Abram and Junior - of Neil.

Neil, always Neil to Andrew.

How his mother cursed them and threatened them and warned them. That boy was the son of the devil, the women of the village swore. They weren’t wrong. Neils father was the devil, with his burning temper and iron fists raining blows down on his son, painting him crimson and lilac.

But Neil, he was mischief. He wasn’t the fire and brimstone his parents raised him to be. He was sneaky and sly and a liar right down to his toes. He was a thief and he burned, oh how he burned, but it was life which coursed through him. Life which lit him up brighter than any star in the sky and drew Andrew into orbit.

He remembered the first time he saw him; galloping a chestnut mare across the fields which separated Andrew’s house from the Laird’s. They were both shiny as copper, Neils hair a fiery crown of curls, the horse dipped in blood - all but her muzzle which was a bright white.

Devils son? Well he looked the part. He took joy in the twin curls which curved like horns by his temples when his hair was wet; a consequence of either being caught in a downpour or Andrew dunking him in the river.

The river. They spent most of their days by it. Stealing the Laird Hingston’s fish, swimming in the clear depths, skimming rocks across the surface of the smoother, deeper pools.

The first time they swam, Neil had stripped naked as the day he was born. No shame in his nudity, though cautious about the scars and bruises littering his freckled skin. By the second week, Andrew was down to his underwear and then nothing at all.

They spent hours floating down the flow. Settling in shallow areas where the riverbed pushed up to the surface, keeping them locked in place despite the rushing water. Jumping off the high banks into pools, or swinging off overhanging tree branches.

They’d begun to ride Fox, Neils glorious chestnut mare, down to the river together. She would graze the lush grass along the banks, and Andrew swore she flicked them dissapointed looks every now and again when they were being particularly rowdy. Occasionally she would travel into the water with them, cooling down in the shimmering summer sun. Once, Neil had backflipped off her rear end and nearly had his skull caved in by her hoof.

She was a birthday present from Neils uncle, a Londoner by the name of Stuart Hartford. A strong Irish breed, she was to be used for hunting; covering vast stretches of land and jumping wooden gates and stone walls and deep gulleys. She had a temper worse than Neils some days; her ears would lie flat back against her skull, her nostrils would flare and she’d bare her teeth like a savage while stomping her hooves. Neil had worked through the anger with patience and persistence, and Andrew with a pocket full of sugar cubes.

Despite her bloodline boasting impressive abilities, she was just as happy pottering down country lanes and cobbled streets, loose and relaxed with the two boys riding atop her bareback.

Neil had taught Andrew how to trot, canter and pop a small jump on her. Just in case, he’d said, with a shifty look in his eye.

Andrew liked the speed of her, feeling the unbridled power in her muscles as he pushed her on until her strides swallowed the ground beneath them. Some days it felt like flying, most days it felt like freedom.

Andrew had been tucked into the corner of her stall late one evening, sharing an apple with both Fox and Neil, when he met Stuart Hatford. A man of high class and strange fashion, he was abrupt and rude but entirely harmless. Harmless to the two boys, that is.

Andrew grew to like him, enjoyed listening to him tear apart Nathan Wesninski with whip quick words. Enjoyed even better the day he’d threatened Nathan with his cane, a deadly look in his eye that Andrew had caught Neil mimicking once before.

After that incident they hadn’t seen much of Hatford, but when they did, he was sure to sneak money into pockets and biting remarks into ears.

The last time Andrew had seen Stuart, he’d been sat upon an impressive dark horse. A coat like midnight, shining like stars under a low autumn sun. He had passed Andrew, taking a shortcut through the fields, on the way to peruse the sweets of the bakery. Pulling up beside him, Stuart had made Andrew promise that he would take care of Neil, keep him out of trouble. And had warned that they needed to leave, the sooner the better.

If Andrew knew then what he did now, he would have left that very same day. But he had a brother to look after, one who confessed not long after that he’d knocked up the baker's daughter.

Their mother had been livid, and Andrew had taken the abuse in place for his brother. God only knew what the woman would have done had she found out about Andrew’s own inclinations.

He’d never understood the fascination with girls. Their curves and their high pitched giggles, their swishy skirts and small frames and sweet perfumes. He’d always been drawn to men, their deep voices and strong hands, the lingering musk of sweat and what lay between their legs.

He’d seen two men kiss behind the pub one late evening, when it was safer out in the cold night than their house. Had been fascinated with the hard press of lips and teeth and tongue, how their hands had gripped and tugged and pulled. It was a memory that wreaked havoc in his sleep, leaving him with damp undergarments in the morning and which haunted him on the days he did slide his hand between his legs.

Neil was the first male he ever kissed. Sitting in the corner of Fox’s stall, a puddle of kittens between them. Neils father had ordered him to drown them, but Neil had stowed them away in one of the outbuildings instead. They mewled and tottered between them on stumpy legs, claws digging through their trousers as they climbed into their laps.

Andrew had been sat on his window ledge smoking and watching the last dim light of the sun dipping below the horizon when Neil had stopped below him, wheels of his bike skidding in the loose gravel and dirt. His eyes had been alight with defiance and mischief as he coaxed Andrew to join him. Andrew had learnt early on he wasn’t capable of saying no to that look. It promised mischief and adventure and danger.

Andrew had mounted the bike with Neil balanced on the handlebars, telling him all about his precious find. One of his mothers exotic felines had been caught by a barn cat and given birth to five small kittens. She had hidden them away in a closet to protect them from Nathan and his hounds, but they soon found their voices and she’d been exposed.

They were a grey-blue colour with dark stripes and squashed faces. Andrew marvelled at how small they were, so soft and warm in his hands, with needle sharp claws and teeth. Despite only being a few weeks old they were strong and bold.

He dared a glance at Neil and felt his chest tighten. A bruise was splattered across his jaw, and a half circle of black skin hugged his left eye, but neither could take away from the soft smile curving his lips.

In the flickering lamp light, with the soothing sound of Fox’s heavy breathing and the grinding of her teeth as she grazed from her hay, he looked soft and melting like butter. Andrew wanted to dip his hands into him, to sip from his mouth and feel the steady pulse of his heart.

Neil came from old money produced through blood. He was the heir to the Wesninski estate, but also the Hatford’s. He had wardrobes packed with silks and chiffon, fancy coats and stiff trousers and hard boots. He had a mansion hung with exquisite portraits and oil paintings, curtains which cost more than Andrew’s house, furniture which dated back centuries yet was polished so bright it could have been made yesterday. He had a bed larger than Andrew’s and Aaron’s shared room. He had prospects and future betrothals and a list of universities just waiting to snap him up.

Yet he sat in the dirt of a horse stall, with mud splattered overalls coated in horse hair, a shirt which once might have been white but was perpetually stained yellow from hard work and sweat, boots gone soft and falling apart at the seams. His hair was an unruly uncombed mess atop his head, bright like the sunrise, and his eyes were blue as a summer sky. He smelt like sweat and horse and the Earth. His fingernails were perpetually dirty, no matter what time of day it was. He spent nights walking dark streets or sitting atop rooftops with Andrew, a bastard boy coated in poverty.

Their lives were miles apart, and yet they fit together perfectly. They had the same blase attitude about most of life, a dark humour others shyed away from, and a belief that there had always been something… missing. They had dark days and sharp days and quiet days. But together, they were learning ways to chase away the dark clouds and foreboding shadows.

Neil had been the one bright spark lighting up Andrew’s life from the first day. Everything was on fire, every atom of his being burned and yearned to be swallowed within Neils own blaze.

Andrew could remember, as clear as if it were yesterday, how his stomach had tied itself in knots. How his palms had dampened with sweat, catching the fine hairs of the soft kittens. How dry his mouth had gotten, all the moisture whisked away by nerves.

He could remember the wrinkle of Neils brow as he glanced at him, concern tightening his eyes as he realised something was wrong. The soft murmur of his name, slipping between smooth lips.

Andrew had asked, because he couldn’t bare to be pushed away once he leant in. He didn’t know what he would do if he lost Neil, if Neil looked at him with disgust and swore to never see him again.

But Neil had merely smiled, eyes gone soft and dewy as he set aside a kitten and leant in. His lips were even softer than Andrew had imagined. They were both inexperienced, and yet somehow it was perfect. The fumbling movement of their mouths as they tried to slit together in an even rhythm; the heavy gusts of breath as they tried to breathe and then forgot how to and almost choked on lack of oxygen; the first quick swipe of tongue to dampen the dry stickiness which suddenly turned the quiet kisses loud and sucking; the gut tightening sound Neil made when Andrew lifted a hand to his jaw, careful of the bruising, and tilted him down into the kiss; how they kept trying to get closer, ignoring the mewling and sharp claws of the kittens between them; Fox’s snort as hay dust swirled in her nostrils and she splattered them with wet droplets; how Andrew opened his mouth to breathe and suddenly Neils tongue was on his and it was like the beginning of a universe.

He could remember it all like it was yesterday. As another whizz-bang exploded overhead, he struggled to decide if it was a blessing or a curse. The memories were a warm blanket, a honey soaked film trying to cover the worst memories he’d occurred over the last few years. Where once everything had been bright and golden and beautiful, everything was dark and cold and horrid, leaking blood and guts everywhere. He could slip away for a second, a minute, an hour, and remember the boy he had cherished above all else. But it never lasted.

He didn’t know what happened to Neil. One day he was there, the next he was gone. Slipped out from under his fingertips, stolen on the wind as more bad news about the war blew in.

Andrew had tried to write to him once, but he’d never gotten a reply. He’d tried to find him, but so far there had been no news of a Wesninski or a Hatford in their ranks. Every glance of red hair was a beacon of hope, yet they left nothing but dark disappointment behind.

When the horses passed them, mud splattered and skeletal, he looked for red with a white muzzle. He dreaded the day he’d find it, abandoned on no-mans-land.

A whistle blew further down the line and he heaved a heavy breath before standing, so used to the feel of his clothes stiff and ridged and mud soaked he knew it shouldn’t bother him anymore, yet somehow it still did. He had a team of men to lead, he couldn’t dwell on the past. His brother, a medic now, among them.

Perhaps one day, the war would be over. Today wasn’t yet that day.

They had an advancement planned, a move to gain back what had been taken. A move closer to the enemy. It would be another week before he heard more than whispers travelling down the lines. They had a new battalion joining them in the meantime, due some time tomorrow evening.

Among them, a new translator. Andrew hoped Private Josten would be more help than their last one had been.

{READ ON AO3}

[whencallstheheart]

One thing I really don't comprehend is why Liz picking Lucas was really that much of a shock for Nathan stans. I mean, she had expressed just as much interest in him than she did Nathan, if not more at certain times so why is team Nathan acting like Lucas never existed in Elizabeth's affections and that he was never even a choice?!

I get that they interpreted things in a different way, but I know Team Lucas (TL) wouldn't have been SHOOK the way Team Nathan (TN) was if it was the other way around. I know this because we all resigned ourselves to the fact that they were going to go that predictable route in the penultimate episode and while we had HUGE reservations, we didn't act blind to the fact that it was always kind of a possibility.

Now this merely stems from what I've read and seen on social media, but we didn't ignore the reality of what was happening in comparison to TN. We didn't ignore Elizabeth's chemistry and interactions with Nathan, or the small symbolic gestures they shared or the very intent way Nathan pursued her. However it truly baffles the mind that the other team really went out of their way to ignore every time she ever looked, smiled widely, laughed, yearned and had fun & some real passionate chemistry with Lucas. I mean talk about selective watching. 😂

All Lucas stans hear is how Lucas is shady, but Nathan's enormous lie about Jack is brushed over and twisted into a noble sacrifice, whereas I guarantee had it been Lucas, he would have been painted as an opportunistic conman who took advantage of a widow's pain and loneliness, a man who wormed his way into her life in a completely questionable and frankly dishonest way. The truth is that his one lie is bigger than any lie Lucas or really any other character has ever told Liz and that already set off alarm bells for me personally and is just one of the many problems I have with Nathan's character, however we don't have time to go through all my issues with him.

As for the way the story was told, I'm not sure why certain fans think that TN was inevitable and that his reward for apparently just existing and taking care of Allie would be Elizabeth, who has been having intimate after intimate moment with Lucas. Seriously, she went on more dates with Lucas, she would even make the first move with him like taking his hand or being open to maybe kissing him and it was LUCAS that stopped it. I mean maybe in the penultimate episode when Lucas literally put Liz's happiness above his own, I can understand why TN held out hope but to act like EVERYTHING that happened between her & Lucas before that wasn't an honest appraisal of her feelings is just so odd and it kind of came across as denial.

It is also bizarre how TN could ignore and excuse SO MUCH of what she did or said, how she conducted herself and how she would retreat from Nathan more often than not, how he would keep pursuing her and how she would barely give anything back. I mean, how much can you really just blame her fear of getting hurt on her rejection of him? That's a bit too simplistic, because that fear existed equally in her opening her heart to Lucas, plus it seems that TN care more about Nathan's happiness than whether him and Liz really belonged together and if she truly wanted to be with him. 🤷‍♀️

I mean even reading your analysis, I noticed it was based on how Nathan deserved her after everything, but she's not a prize and while I know you did not mean it that way, it just doesn't seem like a good enough reason for them to be together & nor is Ally. I've noticed that TN just adored the neat perfect family 'appeal' they had because Liz has LJ and Nathan has Allie who ironically Lucas helped him adopt with the money he offered.

However, that is not a sustainable enough reason for two people to build their lives together. They have to have that kind of love, spark and connection that is incomparable and cannot be broken.

I think all three characters deserve partners who truly loved each other for who they are intrinsically and not anything else, not Lucas's money which apparently is the only reason she could ever love him, because she's apparently a spineless gold digger, who couldn't possibly love him for his compassion, his unwavering friendship, sense of humour, loyalty and patience 😂 or rather Nathan's automatic dad appeal and the land he purchased and the complete nuclear family they could have created, which I again could understand because that is a tempting offer also and she already loved Allie so it could have fit her too, had she wanted Nathan in that way.

Don't get me wrong, I don't love how long it took to get us here & I do agree that it should have been concluded earlier in the season & Elizabeth doesn't come off looking great. Although in a way, with everything that she has been doing with Lucas, it could have looked a lot worse for her character to have discarded him too, but I suppose that is all a matter of perspective. I don't however believe that Elizabeth is some kind of monster which is apparently what some of TN have landed on because she rejected Nathan. It's like we've forgotten that a woman doesn't owe love or a relationship to someone just because they've put the time in, not Nathan and not Lucas. It would have also been okay if she had just decided to keep them both as friends, that is her right as a woman. Just because she didn't pick what certain fans wanted, they have dragged her unfairly when she was also really struggling with not only mourning her husband and the life they had, but having to pick up the pieces and carve a new life out for herself, whilst struggling with the immense confusion surrounding her feelings for both men. I don't think the cobwebs really cleared for her until Lucas removed himself from the equation, I think that is when she really opened her eyes to whom she could not, rather did not want to live without.

Anyway sorry for the long rant, you just seem like you love to analyse shows and characters the way I do. 😆

It all boils down to perception.  That’s it.  It also doesn’t help that people were essentially forced to pick sides.  Everything became black and white for people.  If one man was a certain way, the other was the opposite... even if that wasn’t true.  But that’s what we’re conditioned to think.  It’s like politics.  The lines may be more gray but people are going to only believe what they want to believe or are told to believe by others within their party.  Nobody’s gonna listen to the other side because they’re the “enemy”.  That’s not really a great strategy for a tv show largely about community.  The show is so proud of the fandom that was built but yet they actively worked to divide it for the past 3 years.

I think a lot of the frustration comes from the fact that Lucas did get all those interactions with Elizabeth.  He got the dates.  He got the almost kiss.  He got the hand-holding.  Nathan got NOTHING romantic with her even though we were led to believe he would at some point since it was supposed to be a triangle.  If she had picked Nathan, at least Team Lucas would’ve had all those moments to hold onto.  At least they got something along the way.  Team Nathan didn’t.  And because he wasn’t getting much along the way, it made people think that it had to be coming.  That they’re putting him through all of this because it’s going to end in his favor.  It felt like the natural course of the storytelling (but now we know there wasn’t even any planned storytelling... they just made it up along the way???).

The two teams are never going to get along now.  People have made up their minds and they will continue to believe what they want to believe.  No side is better than the other.  You have issues with Nathan so why can’t people have issues with Lucas?  That’s hypocritical.  You have your reasons and others have theirs for believing certain things about the characters.  At some point you just have to agree to disagree because this is how things are now thanks to how it was all written and how it was handled on and off screen.  We don’t need to be pointing fingers at the fans.

[vostara]

love me like you hurt me - p.2

we make mistakes, we leave them by the door

pairing: Rafe Adler x Original Female Character x Samuel Drake

blurb: “But once, I think I loved you.”

word count: 14.9k+

title inspiration: I Run to You - MISSIO

The second (and final) part of the series. I’ve very much loved the process of writing this story and I adore Sabina and her interactions with Rafe and Sam. You can expect to see more of her in the future, since I have spin-off/sequel one-shots planned. I don’t know when they’ll be released, but they’re coming.

This work is cross-posted on Ao3.

01 | 02 ... series masterlist

February 2001

A month ago, Sabina packed her duffle bag and left Scotland on the first flight that she could book. She flew to England, then took a train to France. Swung her way through Switzerland, Italy, and Austria, before finding herself here.

Germany.

Sitting on a bench inside of a tiny museum, Sabina stares at the painting displayed on the wall. Before her is a sea of lavender. Plants are angled towards the right, leaning with an invisible breeze. In the center is a young woman, dressed in a high-collared white dress. And in her lap is a toddler, waving around a bundle of flowers.

From her peripheral vision, she watches as a man joins her on the bench. His hand twitches, and he reaches out for her, tempted to brush his fingers against her own. Instead, he drops his hands into his lap and turns to look at the painting.

“You found me,” Sabina says.

The man remains silent.

“How?”

“It’s not important,” he says.

Finally, she turns her head to look at him, turns to look at Rafe. “You paid someone.”

“Actually,” he shakes his head. “I asked Nate.”

“I didn’t tell him where I was going.”

“No, but he made a startlingly educated guess.”

Sabina hums. “I don’t suppose he came here with you, did he?”

“Nate left,” he sighs.

“Can’t say I’m surprised. I’m pretty sure he hates you.” She reaches for the ring on her finger, fiddling with the sapphire gemstone. “When did he leave?”

“About a week after you did.”

“So,” Sabina says, “there really is nothing at the cathedral, then?”

“We don’t know that for sure,” Rafe responds.

“We’ve spent weeks looking. Weeks digging holes, turning over every single pebble. There’s nothing there,” she says. “No clue. No treasure. No sign that anything associated with Avery has ever existed there.”

“There has to be something there.”

“But there isn’t,” Sabina directs her attention back to the painting. “Maybe it’s time to let it go. Let the treasure disappear into obscurity.”

“Why are you giving up?”

“Why would you care?” Sabina counters. “You’ve got the cathedral, all of the clues. If you find the treasure on your own, you get all of the profit. A hefty sum to add on top of your hefty inheritance.”

Rafe clenches a fist.

“Sam was the Avery expert,” she continues. “Without him and without Nate… I just don’t see the point in continuing. Their knowledge about this is leagues above my own. The truth is that I was probably just tagging along for the ride.”

“I am sorry, you know,” Rafe says, “about Sam. His… it wasn’t part of the plan.”

“It all feels surreal,” Sabina admits. “Like I’m wandering through a terrible dream. I feel like I’m going to wake up, any minute now, and he’ll be there to greet me with a horrible cup of coffee and stale croissants.”

“Were you two…”

“Together?”

Rafe averts his gaze to the tile floor.

“No,” she says. “Not quite. We were… complicated. He was never really good at commitment—neither of us were, really.” Sabina sighs, “Maybe it’s due to our similar upbringings. We both grew up without our parents. Stability is a luxury that we haven’t quite experienced yet.”

“What happened to them? Your parents?”

With a slight tilt of her head, Sabina mulls over her response. “When you spoke to Nate,” she says, “did he specify exactly where I would be in the museum?”

Rafe takes a moment to think. “He did, yeah.”

“The first time I came here, I was with Sam,” she says. “It was raining outside, so we popped in to escape from the cold. And when I saw it,” she nods her head towards the painting, “I couldn’t pull my eyes away. Sam joked that he would steal it for me one day. Though, knowing Sam, he was probably being serious.”

She stands and takes a few steps closer to the painting, her face glowing from the faintest hint of a smile. “Mother and Daughter Pick Flowers, such an original title. Artist: Jean-Jacques Pierre de la Sablonnière, a French painter. It was quite well-known that he hated men. In fact, he refused to paint them. Claimed that they were vile creatures. It is believed that when the Duke, Prince Louis Amilcar François d’Orléans, attempted to commission him for a painting, he laughed his face and danced on his way out of the villa. Of course, the Duke was upset, embarrassed. He stormed into his garden and shouted for his guards. And poor Monsieur de la Sablonnière was found dead, stabbed through the heart, just three days later.”

She turns around to look at Rafe, whom is still sitting on the bench. “I don’t remember my parents,” she says, walking back towards him. “I was a child when they died. Old enough to remember them, sure, but I can’t remember people if they barely had a presence in my life. What I do remember is this painting. A replica was hung in the living room, above a neglected fireplace full of dust. I wanted to be the little girl in the painting, to also have the joy of sitting in a sunny field, picking flowers with my mother. It’s a bit said, you know, that I don’t remember my mother’s face, but I remember my nanny.”

Sabina sits down on the bench, inches away from Rafe. “My parents were murdered,” she says. “After months of being away, they had finally come home. I was so happy. Even though I had grown out of bedtime stories, my father read one to me. And when he was finished, I begged him to read another and another. I think I was afraid that he would never read me one again. We stayed awake, long after my bedtime, but neither of us cared.

“My mother died first. We heard her screams, her pleas for help. Heard her begging the the intruders to stop. My father picked me up, carried me into his study, and hid me in a secret space beneath the floorboards.” Sabina unclasps the gold chain around her neck and places the medallion in Rafe’s hands. “He gave that to me. Told me to keep it safe, hidden. I don’t really remember what happened after that. Sometimes, in my nightmares, I recall the sound of a gunshot. Of papers being pushed, scattered. Cabinets crashing against the floor. I see blood seeping through the cracks in the floor. I feel it dripping down onto my face, onto my hands.”

Sabina exhales, releasing a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. “I don’t know who, specifically, killed them; they were never caught. But since then, I’ve spent an alarming amount of time running away from people who wish to murder me. Whatever my parents found, whatever that medallion is, it’s worth something. The boys and I speculate that it’s related to Avery’s treasure, but we’ve been unsuccessful with our attempts to solve the puzzle.”

“Sabina,” Rafe says, “let’s work together.”

“I don’t know,” she says, shrugging. “I don’t know if I can keep doing this.”

“Tell me,” Rafe looks down at the medallion, brushing his thumb over the etched symbols. “Do you still want to find Avery’s treasure?”

“Yes, but—”

“Then come with me.”

“I can’t—not without Sam—”

He reaches out towards Sabina and wraps his fingers around her hand. “You don’t need the Drakes, Sabina. You’re more intelligent than you think you are.”

“Why are you looking for this?” She asks. “What could you possibly gain? It can’t be the money, you already have that.”

“Curiosity,” he says. “Boredom, maybe.”

“Treasure hunting: an unusual cure for boredom.”

Rafe chuckles.

“I want to be equals,” Sabina says. “We split the treasure, fifty-fifty.”

“Hey, I’m the one footing the bill for—”

“Fifty-fifty. Take it, or I walk.”

“Deal,” Rafe says.

December 2015

A few years ago, Sabina figured out that life with Rafe is easier if she avoids the topic of Nathan Drake. Though her husband would never admit it, it was clear that feelings of rage, frustration, and jealousy were building up inside of him. He hated what Nate had accomplished on his own, hated what he had accomplished without him. And Nate’s current involvement with Avery’s treasure hasn’t helped. In fact, spending the past few weeks chasing after him had skyrocketed Rafe’s anger, making her husband almost unbearable to be around.

After Scotland, they followed Nate here, to Madagascar.

Drowning beneath the burning sunlight and stifling humidity, Sabina does her best to keep herself calm, composed. So far she has been successful in convincing Rafe and Nadine not to murder Nate at first sight, but as the promise of finding treasure draws closer, their patience is beginning to wan. Currently, the trio are driving in a jeep through one of the cities, providing a much appreciated gust of wind to cool down their sweaty bodies.

Rafe pulls his phone out of his pocket and dials a number. A few moments later, he laughs. “Here I am, I’m calling what I thought was Sullivan’s phone… and look who picks up,” he says. “How you been, Nate?”

Her ears perk up at the name.

“I wish,” Rafe chuckles. “That only would’ve cost me a few shots of rum, right? No, no, I had to pay top dollar to find you guys.”

Sabina frowns. Just how much money has Rafe invested into this not-so-friendly competition? He must be more on edge than she had assumed.

“…you pulled off some clever moves there,” he says. “But in the end, all that matters is who gets to Avery’s treasure first.”

A brief pause.

“Hey, Nate, you know I’m always game,” Rafe responds. “But my partner,” he turns his head slightly, to glance over at Nadine, “well, she prefers to… mitigate unnecessary risks.”

Sabina tenses and her eyes flicker over to Nadine, but she ignores her gaze.

“Look, Nate. I’m gonna make you a one-time offer here,” he continues. “You drop everything. Go home, live your life… and I’m willing to forgive and forget. For old time’s sake.”

Nadine looks over at the man, as he listens to Nate’s response.

“Okay,” Rafe shrugs. “‘Pro Deus quod licentia.’ For God and liberty.” He smiles, “These are nice pictures, Nate. Good composition.”

A feeling of dread punches Sabina in the stomach. She leans forward in her seat and grabs onto her husband’s shoulder.

“You stole my cross!” Rafe says. “Listen, Nate, if you’re half as smart as you think you are, you’ll accept my offer. What’s it going to be?”

“Rafe,” Sabina says, jostling his arm.

He ignores her.

“Well, Nate, one more thing—Nate!”

A pause.

“You… you do realize that your phones are equipped with GPS, right?” He asks. “I’ll see you soon, buddy.” He ends the call, finally turning to look at her. “What?”

“What did you do?” She asks.

“Honey, don’t worry about it.”

“Rafe—”

“This doesn’t concern you.”

“What is wrong with you?” Sabina yells. “This is—this is absolutely crazy!”

“Sabina,” Rafe says. “I need you to calm down.”

“Me?” She laughs. “You need me to calm down? Have you listened to yourself once in the past few weeks? Hell, the past few years? Everything is Drake this! Drake that! God, maybe you should’ve married him, huh? He’s all you ever talk about. Too bad you’re sending people to go fucking murder him!”

“I am not going to do this with you right now.”

“Is this why you hired Shoreline?” Sabina says. “So you could get rid of anyone that stands between you and that treasure?”

Rafe doesn’t respond.

“When this is over, I’m done.”

“Sabina—”

“No, I am sick of this. You aren’t the person I married. You aren’t even the person from five years ago.”

“Sabina—”

“Shut up,” she says. “Just… shut up.”

September 2001

Sabina fiddles with her emerald green satin dress. It was something that would have cost her a small fortune, more than triple the rent of her tiny overpriced apartment, but Rafe had insisted on getting it for her.

This is ridiculous, she had said. It’s just a dress.

Really, it’s nothing. Rafe said, waving away her protests. If you want to blend in, you’re going to need to dress the part.

I can’t ask you to pay for this.

You don’t need to ask, he chuckles. I’m telling you that I’ll pay.

But I’ll only ever wear this dress like once, maybe twice.

That would be a real shame. You look really beautiful in it.

The comment had shut Sabina up, bringing forth a light blush to stain her cheeks.

I know that this doesn’t seem like pocket change to you, Rafe said, but it is. And even if it wasn’t, this dress would be worth the price.

“Sabina,” a voice calls. A hand reaches out for her own, intertwining their fingers between hers. “Relax,” they say, “the more you twitch, the more attention you’ll bring to us.”

She sighs, looking at Rafe. She squeezes Rafe’s hand, as she glances around the room.

The pair were at an exclusive, membership-only bar. A hotspot for filthy rich assholes, those that are usually linked to shady business deals and other questionable methods of income. Sabina felt out of place, standing amongst the elite of wealthy society. While these people sweetened a cup of tea with liquid gold, she was one to ration a bottle of honey.

“Maybe I should go,” she says. “I feel like everyone can tell that I don’t belong here.”

“Nonsense,” Rafe says. “Everyone knows that you’re here with me; they all watched us walk in together.”

“Every time I exhale, someone looks at me like I’m tainting the air.”

“Ignore them.”

“That’s easy for you to say,” she huffs. “Nobody is looking at you like you’re trash that someone dragged in from the street.”

Rafe chuckles. “They’re curious about you.”

“I’m pretty sure everyone believes I’m a gold digger that’s playing you.”

“Come on,” he says, tugging at her hand. He begins to lead her out of the bar.

“Where are we going?”

“You’ll see.”

“But the seller—Rafe—he could be here any moment.”

“He can wait five minutes,” he says. “You look like you’re about to suffocate.”

“But—”

“Trust me, Sabina.”

She sighs, but stops her struggle.

Rafe leads her up a short flight of stairs and then outside, onto a balcony. The late night air of Germany chills her arms, triggering a layer of fresh goosebumps. But she ignores the cold when her mind becomes focused on the view in front of her. The balcony overlooks a vast forest of pine trees, illuminated by the silver-blue haze of moonlight.

Sabina takes in a deep inhale of the crisp air.

“What’s bothering you?” Rafe asks.

“What?” She turns to look at him. “Nothing. Nothing, really.”

“Wow,” he takes a step closer to her, placing his hands on the iron railing. “You didn’t even try to sound convincing with that response.”

“I’m fine.”

“The key to a good partnership is communication,” Rafe says. “So, communicate. Talk to me, huh?”

“I feel like I’m wasting your time,” Sabina admits.

“What? Why would you think that?”

“And your money,” she continues.

“What are you talking about?”

“What if I can’t solve the medallion?” Sabina grips onto the railing in front of her. “Can’t solve the puzzle or figure out whatever piece I need in order to even attempt solving it. Or what if it’s broken? What if it was part of something else and that something is long gone? Rafe, I’ve barely contributed anything in the past year.”

He opens his mouth to respond, but Sabina interrupts him.

“We’ve hardly made any progress,” she says. “Maybe I’m holding us back, leading us in the wrong directions. God, I keep turning those fucking rings. As if it’s going to make a difference and one day I’ll magically line it up correctly and everything with click into place. But it hasn’t happened… and I’m not sure if it will.”

“You’re not wrong,” Rafe says. “We’ve been circling the same set of clues for longer than either of us would like to. But that doesn’t mean we should give up altogether.”

“I think we should part ways,” Sabina says.

His eyes widen.

“We started off as business partners, but let’s be honest. We’re hardly fifty-fifty. You’re footing the bill for everything,” she says. “Our trips. Our purchases. Our bribes. You’ve even started paying my bills, covering my living expenses. We can’t be equals if the contributions aren’t equal. You give everything, but I have nothing to give in return.”

“If you think I’m mad about the money, you’re mistaken. I’ve told you before, money isn’t a problem.”

“You keep saying that!” Sabina runs a hand through her hair, ruining the perfect curls. “I appreciate the help, I really do, but I feel like I’ve become far too indebted to you. If we don’t find Avery’s treasure, I’ll never be able to pay you back for everything.”

“You don’t need to pay me back,” he says.

“Rafe—”

“I don’t financially support you because I want you to feel like you’re in my debt,” he says. He reaches out for her hand, but freezes, unsure. “I do it because I believe in you.”

“You’re sucking up to me,” she smiles.

“I do it because I need you,” Rafe gently wraps his fingers around her arm, turning her to face him. “I want you to be in this with me.”

Sabina blinks, confused by the hint of longing in his voice.

“I care for you, Sabina. I’m in love with you,” he says.

She freezes, processing his words.

“You’re not a burden to me. You’re brilliant, one of the most intelligent women I’ve ever met. And despite every terrible that that has happened to you, you still manage to show kindness. You are caring, protective of those close to you.” Rafe pauses, taking a breath. “When we were in Columbia, when you almost—”

Died. 

The pair had gone to the country just a couple of months prior to investigate a cave with a potential lead. While examining the markings carved into the stone, Sabina had set off a trap, triggering an explosion. Rubble had fallen down near the exit, blocking her inside and separating her from Rafe. Moments later the cave was flooding. Desperate, Rafe and Sabina pushed and pulled at the debris, trying to make a big enough hole for her to slip through. As her lungs began to fill up with the water, she started to lose consciousness. Rafe had managed to pull her through a gap, just before she had blacked out completely.

“I realized how much you mean to me,” Rafe continues. “I want a life with you.”

Without a moment to waste, Sabina grips onto Rafe’s tie and pulls him closer. She presses her lips against his, overwhelmed, but attempting to convey all of her emotions in the act. Sabina moves her hands to rest one against his neck. The other travels to the back of his head, allowing her fingers to clutch onto the short strands of his hair.

He wanted her.

He loved her.

And in this moment, he needed her, with or without the treasure.

Rafe pulls her into his arms, flush against his body. His nails dig into the satin, longing to instead feel the bare flesh beneath the fabric. His kiss is eager, desperate, intense, yet too gentle at the same time. Sabina can sense that he wants to feel more of her and it’s something that she’ll happily give.

December 2015

The sound of splitting wood and crashing debris echoes in the rainforest, originating from Nadine’s last known location. Rafe and a couple of the Shoreline mercenaries were hot on her heels, rushing to get to the Nate before he could slip away again. Trailing behind, Sabina struggles to keep up with the men, but her short legs can only do so much.

“…forget about her! We gotta get out of here before they—”

The man’s voice comes to abrupt stop when Rafe runs out of the ruined buildings of Libertalia and into the open. Rafe raises a gun, pointing it at the men in front of him. The two mercenaries follow suite, also aiming their weapons at the targets.

“Shit. Whoa, whoa, whoa,” the man says, alarmed. “Everybody just… just calm down, okay?”

Nearly gasping for air, Sabina approaches the exit.

“Well, this is interesting,” Rafe says. “Nate. Samuel.”

Sabina halts, frozen by the name. Samuel? Who the hell is—

“Put your guns down!” A new voice yells. “All of you.”

Samuel?

The old sapphire ring on her right hand feels heavy on her finger. For years she hadn’t noticed the jewelry, burying away its significance in her life. Now it was the only thing her buzzing brain could focus on.

“No,” her husband responds.

“Rafe, this guy’s on edge,” Nadine says.

“Oh, don’t worry about him, Nadine.” Rafe takes a small step forward. “These guys don’t kill anyone in cold blood. It’s just not their style.”

“You willing to bet her life on that?” One of the men says.

With shaky steps, Sabina steps into the clearing. Her eyes focused on Shoreline’s targets. There, she sees Nate, looking exhausted and worried. He’s covered in dirt, dust, and droplets of sweat. To his left is Nadine: held hostage, gun to her head. And there, holding the gun, is a familiar, but aged, face. The face of a dead man, of a man that she hasn’t seen in fifteen years. A man that she had shed countless tears for, before she had forced herself to lock away her memories of him, to bury him deep, deep in the back of her mind.

“Sam?” The name is whispered through her lips, ignored by everyone.

“Go ahead then,” Rafe says. “Shoot her.”

“Sam,” Nate warns.

“I die, you both die,” Nadine says.

“So be it,” Sam hisses into her ear. “Not another step!”

“You mean… like this?” Rafe takes another step forward.

“Sam, put the gun down!” Nate says.

“I warned you.”

“Do it!” Rafe taunts.

Nadine shouts, “Rafe!”

Just as Sam’s finger begins to press down on the trigger, Nate rushes towards him. He shoves the gun upwards, away from Nadine. 

The sound of a gunshot rings in the air. 

And Nadine uses the opportunity to slam her elbow back into Sam’s stomach, allowing her to slip away from his hold.

“Wait!” Sabina screams, running towards the Drakes.

Nate holds the gun up in the air. “It’s done!”

“Hold your fire!” Rafe turns to yell at the mercenaries, holding up his arms. “Don’t shoot!”

Sabina rushes to Sam’s side. He’s hunched over, stunned from Nadine’s blow. “Oh, my god,” she says. “Sam?”

The man lifts his head to look at her. “Bina? What are you doing here?”

“What am I doing here?” She asks. “What are you doing here?”

“Nate, put the gun down,” Rafe says. “Sabina, what are you doing?”

She ignores him.

Nadine picks up the gun. “Don’t worry, Nadine. It’s not their style,” she quotes, walking passed Rafe.

“What can I say?” Rafe replies. “I didn’t think he had it in him.”

“I don’t understand—I thought—Sam—”

“It’s complicated, but I’m here,” he responds. He lifts his right hand to brush the back of his fingertips against her cheek. “I missed you.”

“Sam—”

“Jesus, will somebody go get her?” Rafe addresses the mercenaries.

The man to Rafe’s right approaches Sabina, gun still trained on Sam. He grabs onto her arm, attempting to pull her away from the older Drake.

“Don’t touch her!” Sam yells. But when the mercenary points the barrel of the gun directly into his face, Sam stops protesting.

Rafe steps forward, approaching the Drakes. “Samuel. You okay?” He reaches forward to brush off some of the dust on the man’s shoulders. “I guess you knew this moment was coming, huh?” Rafe slams his handgun across Sam’s face, knocking him down onto the ground.

“Hey!” Nate says. “C’mon, man. You got us. Take it easy.”

Rafe reaches for Sabina, pulling her away from the mercenary. With a firm grip on her arm, he positions her to stand slightly behind himself.

“C’mon now,” Nate says. “You’re a businessman. Let’s just… work out a deal.”

“Oh, a deal,” Rafe says. “Oh, yeah, I’d love to hear what you have in mind.” He takes a step forward, pulling Sabina with him, and then kicks Sam in the face.

“Rafe!” Sabina snaps.

“Oh, you can go ahead,” Rafe says to Nate. “I’m listening.”

“Alright, just… alright,” Nate leans down to help Sam stand back up. “Look, you wanna find Avery’s treasure? We’ll help you find it.”

“And in exchange, I let you live?”

“Yeah,” Nate hesitates. “That and a small cut.”

Rafe laughs. “The gauchos on this guy.”

“Just enough to get him freedom, okay?”

“His freedom?”

“Nathan—” Sam says.

“Yeah,” Nate interrupts. “He did hard time. Our time. And the guy who broke him out, Hector Alcazar, he owes him a lot of money.”

“Whoa, what the hell are you talking about, Nate?” Rafe says. “Hector Alcazar died in a shootout in Argentina like six months ago. I’m the one that got Samuel out.”

Sabina frowns, confused, and turns her head to look at her husband.

Nate looks over at Sam, before turning his attention back to Rafe. “What?”

“Oh,” a look of realization shines on Rafe’s features. “Wow. What did he tell you? Sam, what kind of story did you cook up? Alcazar? Really? You lied? You lied to your baby brother?”

“We’re wasting time,” Nadine says.

“Just a second,” Rafe responds. “Thing is, Nate, I never stopped looking for Avery’s treasure. I just kept running into these dead ends,” he chuckles, “you know? And then I heard that our dear ol’ Samuel Drake, an authority on Avery—is alive and somewhat well. There was no breakout. I bribed the prison warden and your brother waltzed right out the front gate. He spent the last two years tracking down the second Saint Dismas cross. And you know what? He did it all with me.”

Sabina opens her mouth to speak, “Two years—”

“No,” Nate says.

“Oh, yeah.”

“No, that’s bullshit!”

“Oh, Sam?” Rafe turns his direction towards the man. “Care to refute?”

He sighs. “Nate…”

“Aw, Sam… Ah, Jesus, no, no…”

Sam takes a step closer to his brother. “Listen, Avery’s treasure was ours,” he says. “It was always ours.”

“No!” Nate yells. “I left my life for you!”

“Hey, look, look, Nate,” Rafe says, laughing. “If it’s any consolation, he duped me, too. He pulled a Houdini on me. He brought you and that old man back into the mix. And I cannot lie, Sam, that really pissed me off. But you know… all behind us now.”

“You don’t deserve it,” Sam says.

“You do? Last I checked we’re all a bunch of thieves, digging around where we shouldn’t.”

Nadine approaches the bickering men, “Rafe.”

“What?”

“One way or another, end it,” she says. “Or I will.”

Rafe nods. “Well, you heard the lady,” he says, aiming his gun at Sam.

“Wait,” Sabina says. “Don’t—”

“Hey,” Nate says. “You miss one clue and you can kiss that treasure goodbye. You said it yourself: you keep running into dead ends. Why don’t you face it, Rafe. You need us.”

“Rafe, put the gun down,” Sabina says.

He ignores her, eyes focused on the Drake brothers. “Yeah, you’re right,” Rafe says, lowering the gun. He pauses for a moment, before continuing, “You’re half right. I just need Sam.” Rafe raises the gun again, pointing it at Nate.

Sabina pulls her arm out of Rafe’s grip and rushes forward to stand in front of the Drakes. “Don’t,” she yells.

“Honey,” Rafe sighs. “I need you to step out of the way.”

Sabina shakes her head. She holds her arms out to her sides, as if her small frame could shield the two men. “I can’t do that,” she says.

“Bina,” Sam reaches for her shoulder.

“Don’t even think about touching my wife,” Rafe says, aiming the gun at him.

“Put the gun down!” Sabina says.

“You’re really going to defend them,” her husband scoffs. “You’re picking these two assholes over me, your husband?”

“It’s not about picking sides,” Sabina says. “And why should I side with you anyway? You’ve known Sam has been alive, all of this time? And you didn’t think to tell me? Why? Why would you do that?”

“It’s complicated,” he says.

“Then explain it to me.”

“You talk in your sleep,” Rafe sighs and lowers the gun.

“Okay? So?”

“You say all sorts of things, you know,” Rafe takes a cautious step forward. “You reenact your memories, your nightmares. You relive all of those traumatic moments that you keep buried. You’ve screamed about your parents, screamed about the night of their murder. And you cry about… him,” he says, glancing at Sam. “You regret Panama, regret not pushing harder at looking for an alternative plan. You regret not telling me what he meant to you.”

“I—”

“But one day you stopped,” Rafe says. “I didn’t tell you about Sam because I thought that you had finally finished grieving his death. I didn’t want you to go through that all over again.”

Sabina relaxes her arms. “How dare you make that choice for me,” she says.

“It’s not like he ever bothered to search for you. He didn’t even tell his own brother he was alive,” Rafe says. “What makes you think that he would’ve bothered to see you, Sabina? If he had never betrayed me, we wouldn’t all be here right now. Not like this. You might have gone the rest of your life believing that Sam had died in that prison.”

Sabina swallows a lump in her throat. Her heartbeat is racing, pounding against her chest. She angles her body to look at Sam.

He avoids her gaze, turning his eyes down towards the ground.

An admission of guilt?

Rafe takes another step forward. “I lied to you, I’ll admit that.” He extends a hand in her direction. “But I didn’t do it out of malice. Step away from them, honey. We can find the treasure. We will find the treasure.”

“I don’t care about that,” she says. “You lied to me.”

“I never did it with the intention of hurting you,” Rafe says. “But I promise you that I won’t make that mistake again.”

“How can I trust you?”

"We’re partners, remember? Not just for this treasure, but in life.”

“Please,” Sabina says. “Don’t hurt them.”

“Everything is going to be okay, honey.”

Hesitant, Sabina reaches forward, placing her hand on top of Rafe’s open palm. 

“Bina, don’t,” Sam says.

Rafe steps closer to his wife, pulling her into a tight hug. “That’s my girl,” he says, eyes focused on Sam.

Sabina digs her nails into the back of his shirt and buries her face into his chest.

With one arm wrapped around his wife, Rafe aims his gun at Nate. “Back to business then.”

“Wait,” Sabina tries to pull herself out of his hold, but Rafe’s grip is firm. “You promised—”

“Wait now,” Nate says. “You’re making a mistake, you got—”

“Rafe, don’t!” Sam steps forward, partially blocking Nate. “Rafe, don’t, don’t, listen I—”

Ignoring their pleas, Rafe fires the gun. The shot misses Nate, but hits Sam in his left arm. The impact of the bullet sends him stumbling backwards, causing him to bump into Nate. Less than a moment later, Nate disappears, falling off the edge of the cliff.

“Nathan!” Sam yells.

Rafe turns to look at Nadine and the mercenaries. “Take him,” he orders.

February 2002

A morning glow peaks in through the curtains, illuminating the couple tangled beneath the bedsheets. Sabina whines at the touch of light and hides her face beneath the covers. Beside her, Rafe shifts, awoken by the movement. His hand brushes against Sabina’s naked back, fingers trailing along the curve of her spine.

“Good morning,” he says.

“No,” Sabina mumbles, “go back to sleep.” She buries her face into his chest.

Rafe chuckles. “You know that I’d love to do that.”

“Don’t argue. Just sleep.”

He places a hand on top of the one Sabina is laying on his chest. Rubs his thumb across the tops of her fingers. “But I have business meetings I can’t postpone any further,” he says.

“Give me the handcuffs,” she says. “I’ll chain you to the bed.”

“Are you sure?” Rafe pushes the cover away from her face. “You seem to enjoy wearing them more than I do.”

  “I’m not the one who plans on leaving.”

He cups her cheek and pulls her into a kiss. “If I keep postponing, they’ll walk away completely.”

“Fine,” Sabina pouts.

Rafe recaptures her lips. He grabs onto her hips and coerces her to lay down on her back. When he moves to hover above her, Sabina wraps her legs around his waist and pulls him against her body.

“You know that I love you, right?” Rafe says.

Sabina nods, pulling him in for another kiss.

But he pulls away, choosing instead to look at her flushed cheeks. Rafe smiles and brushes the loose strands of hair away from her face. He rolls off of her and opens the drawer in the beside table.

Sabina sits up in the bed, alarmed. “What’s wrong?”

Rafe turns back towards her. “Marry me,” he says, holding up a small black velvet box.

She blinks up at him, processing the words that are swimming around in her discombobulated head. “What did you say?”

As he takes a nervous breath, he pulls back the lid of the box. “Will you marry me?”

Sabina’s eyes focus on the object inside, a ring. 

A pear-shaped diamond, set on a sleek white gold band. 

“You want… to marry me?”

“I do,” Rafe frowns. He’s hurt, confused by her response. “I love you. There’s no one in the world I would rather be with.”

Sabina reaches for the box, pulling it out of Rafe’s hand. “But the treasure,” she says, “we haven’t found Avery’s treasure yet. What if we never find it? Would you still want to be with me?”

“Yes,” he responds. “I don’t want to marry the treasure. I want to marry you.”

“Okay,” she whispers. Sabina sniffles, overwhelmed by emotion. But there’s a twinkle in her watering eyes and a small smile on her swollen lips. “Yes,” she says. “Yes!” She throws herself onto Rafe, knocking him down onto the bed, and peppers him with feverish, giddy kisses.

December 2015

The moment Sam had revealed where the treasure was, still on Avery’s ship, Rafe gathered together some of the Shoreline men. Using the distraction, Sabina approaches the mercenary that has been assigned to keep an eye on the Drake brother.

“Jonas, right?”

“Yes, ma’am,” he says.

She tilts her head in Sam’s direction. “If you let me speak with him alone, I’ll wire five thousand dollars into your bank account.”

He pauses, mulling over the offer. “Gotta be honest with ya, I’m not sure if dealing with your husband’s temper is worth that price.”

“Ten thousand.”

“Fifteen.”

“Sure,” Sabina shrugs. “It’s his money anyway.”

“Try to be quick about it, yeah?” Jonas steps out of the way, allowing her to slip inside of the small alcove.

Hearing the approaching footsteps, Sam looks up at his guest. His hands are bound, tied tightly with rope. The gunshot wound in his arm is bandaged, but splotches of blood have seeped through the gauze. He sighs, leaning back against the stone wall. “Bina,” he greets.

“Hey, Sam,” she says. She sits down on the floor, away from his reach. “So… I’m not sure on how to go about this discussion. My kind-of-ex-boyfriend coming back from the dead isn’t a scenario that I was ever prepared for.”

“Listen, I—”

“Were you going to tell me?” She interrupts. “Were you ever going to let me know that you were still alive?”

He sighs. “I thought about you, all the time. But I didn’t think that I was ever gonna get out of there. And then, when I did, well, Rafe was the one pulling those strings. Thirteen years had gone by. I figured that you had already moved on.”

“Well, you weren’t wrong,” Sabina admits. “I did get married—”

Sam laughs, a cynical chuckle. “You sure did, huh? Married Rafe. Could’ve picked anyone in the whole world, but you picked him.”

“I don’t have to justify my actions to you,” she says. “What was I supposed to do? Dwell on you for the rest of my life? Stay single, alone forever? I thought you were dead. How could you have expected me to wait for someone who wasn’t coming back?”

“You didn’t have to pick him,” Sam mutters.

“I didn’t have to, but I did! I wanted him. And I knew that he wanted me.” Sabina pauses, using the moment to calm herself down. “‘After we find the treasure, run away with me.’ That was your pseudo-proposal, word for word.”

“I remember,” he says.

“When Rafe asked me to marry him, there was no caveat,” she says. “He simply wanted me. It wasn’t all or nothing. I wasn’t part of a package deal.”

Sam frowns. “I wasn’t trying to imply that you were.”

“Sam,” Sabina shakes her head. “If you had never gotten trapped in that prison, if you had made it out of Panama with Rafe and Nate, do you really think that we would still be together?”

“I—I don’t know,” he says. “I’d like to think that we would be.”

“I think you would’ve left me,” Sabina says.

“What? Why would you think that?”

“For two decades, all you’ve thought about is that treasure. You didn’t even tell Nate that you were alive. You kept him in the dark, then you lied to him. If tracking down your brother isn’t one of the first things you do once you’ve gained your freedom, then where am I on that list?”

“Things were complicated.”

“Not nearly as complicated as you pretend them to be,” she says. “You’re just a selfish asshole. You don’t care that you’ve hurt people, betrayed them, let them down.” Sabina sits up on her knees and reaches for the back pocket of her pants. She pulls out a pocket knife and flips it open.

“Hey,” Sam says, doing his best to inch away from her. “Bina, I know you’re upset. But you don’t need to do this.”

She wraps her fingers around his bound hands and pulls him towards her. “I’m such an idiot,” she mutters. Sabina saws her knife through the rope, breaking the binds.

“What—”

“I love Rafe, I do,” she says. “But once, I think I loved you. I cared about you, at least. I might be a bit pissed off at you right now, but I won’t stand by while Rafe holds you captive. Just get out of here.”

Sam holds onto her hands and leans towards her. “Come with me,” he says.

“I can’t,” she whispers.

“You know what kind of man he is,” he says. “You deserve better.”

Sabina shakes her head, frowning. “I’m not sure if you’re much better.” She pulls herself away from him. “None of us are who we used to be. Rafe and I have our problems, but when we work, we work. I won’t deny that things have been a bit strained, lately. But that doesn’t mean that we can’t fix our marriage. I won’t throw all of this away for you. Not anymore.”

Sam nods his head, a grimace on his lips.

“Just so you, I’m glad you’re alive,” Sabina says.

“I’m sorry. For everything.”

“I know,” she says. “Okay,” Sabina stands up. “Right. I need you to punch me or something.”

“What?” Sam says, also moving to stand up.

“Well, we need to stage your escape,” she says.

“Can’t I just walk out of here?”

“I paid off the guard. It’ll look suspicious if you disappear after I leave.”

“I’m not going to punch you,” Sam says.

“Just punch me! Then take out the guard.”

“Bina—”

“Sam,” she hisses. “For once in your life, just listen to me. We don’t need to argue about everything.”

“Oh, my god,” he groans. “Why does your plan involve me punching you in the face?”

“What—I never told you to punch my face.”

“Jesus Christ—”

“Is that where you wanted to punch me?”

“That’s not what I meant—”

“Maybe I should punch you in the fucking face,” Sabina says, taking a step towards him.

“Whoa, whoa, hold on,” Sam says, holding his hands up in front of him. “I’m just saying that—”

“Oi,” a voice interrupts.

Sam and Sabina turn to look at the entrance.

Jonas the Mercenary stands there, gun pointed in Sam’s direction. “What’s going on here? You untie him?”

“Jonas,” Sabina says. Her eyes flicker over to Sam, before focusing again on the mercenary. “Thank god you’re here! Samuel was… threatening me. Said that he would kill me if I didn’t cut the rope.”

“That so?” He takes a few steps forward. “Guess we should tie him back up.”

“Right,” she agrees.

“Go stand by the door,” he says. “I’ll bind him.”

Sabina throws one last glance at Sam, before heading towards the exit. Just as she walks passed the mercenary, she slams her foot into the back of his knee, knocking him off-balance. Sam rushes forward and pulls the assault rifle out of Jonas’ hands. Using the grip of the gun, he slams it across the man’s face, leaving him dazed and gasping on the ground. For good measure, Sam hits the mercenary again, breaking his nose.

“Go,” Sabina says.

Sam looks at her, opens his mouth to tell her something.

“Go! Get out of here.”

“Thank you,” he says. Without another moment to spare, Sam sprints out of the alcove.

Sabina gives him a head start. She waits for thirty seconds, before making her move. Clutching a fake bruise on her side, she stumbles out of the alcove, yelling at the top of her lungs. “Help! I need help! Rafe!”

A couple of mercenaries run towards her. “What’s going on?”

“I—I don’t know,” she says, gasping for air. “It all happened so fast—oh, my god, Jonas—Jonas is in there.”

“Sabina?” Rafe says, running towards her. “Honey, what happened?”

“Sam! He—he escaped!”

He directs his gaze to the mercenaries. “Find him,” he says.

“I’m sorry,” Sabina says. “I tried to stop him, but I couldn’t and he—he had a gun. I didn’t know what to do.”

Holding the sides of her face in his hands, Rafe leans down to press a kiss on her forehead. “It’s okay, honey. Are you okay? Did he hit you?”

“I got tangled up in the fight,” she says. “But I’ll be fine.”

“Okay, good,” he says, nodding. “He’s probably heading for the treasure. We need to go catch up.”

“Are you serious right now?”

“We are so close. We’re practically right there. Just need to beat him to it.” Rafe grabs onto her hand, pulling her along with him.

They rush down the tunnel, heading for where the boats are docked. As they enter the area, Sam is driving away with one of the boats. Rafe drags Sabina towards Nadine, whom is loading up a boat with treasure.

“Sam just stole our goddamn boat,” Rafe says. “He’s headed for Avery’s ship. Come on.”

“Let him,” she says. “We’re done.”

Rafe looks at her, confused. “We’re done?”

“Most of my men are dead, Rafe. And those who aren’t have already left.”

“Can you see that?” Rafe asks, pointing in the direction of Avery’s ship. “The end is literally in sight.”

“That maniac pirate of yours has rigged this entire cave. I’m not setting foot on his ship.”

“Nadine, if you cut and run right now, the loss of all your men—everything that we’ve done—is for nothing.”

Nadine points to the raft on her left. “We have millions in gold, right here. I’d say that, plus our lives, is something.” She steps around Rafe, moving to finish getting the raft ready for departure.

“No wonder so many of your men abandoned you,” Rafe says.

Nadine turns to look at him. “Excuse me?”

Sabina glances at the mercenary standing behind her, alerted by the sound of him adjusting his grip on his gun.

Rafe steps away from her, approaching Nadine. “We’re on the verge of making history here, and you’re willing to just walk off with a pittance, a fraction what Sam’s gonna get from that boat.”

“If he can walk away from that ship alive, he can have it,” Nadine says. “Hell, I’d say he’s earned it. God knows you didn’t.”

A moment of stillness, and then—

Rafe slaps Nadine across her face. “Now look,” he says, following another brief pause. “We can stand here and insult each other all day, or we can finish what it is that we—”

Nadine interrupts him, slamming her fist into his stomach. She shoves Rafe onto the ground and then aims her pistol at him.

“Rafe!” Sabina rushes to his side.

“Oh,” Nadine yells, “we’re finishing it all right—” The sound of a gun being cocked pulls her attention away from the man.

“Sorry, ma’am,” the mercenary says, with his gun aimed at her.

Sabina helps Rafe onto his feet, double checking him for any other injuries.

“Yeah… the thing about mercenaries, Nadine,” he says. “Their loyalty, it’s bought. It’s not earned. Now, come on. Either we finish this thing together, or we can just end it right here.”

Sabina lifts her eyes, meeting her gaze with the other woman. “Just get in the boat, Ms. Ross,” she says. “Please, nobody else needs to die right now.”

Nadine glances down at her weapon, before slowly lowering it. “Let’s go make history,” she says, tucking the gun away.

“Atta girl,” Rafe says, gesturing towards the boat.

When Sabina and Nadine make eye contact once again, Sabina mouths, “I’m so sorry.”

Nadine holds her gaze for a moment, before climbing into the boat.

September 2002

Growing up, she had never imagined what her wedding might look like. She had never pictured her dress, the venue. She had never thought about who would be waiting for her at the end of the aisle. Getting married had always seemed like an event that would be too extravagant and… depressing. She had no one to walk her down the aisle. No family to invite. Her friendships had always been rather brief, dependent on where she was traveling and if they could help her get what she was looking for.

People kept telling her that her wedding would be one of the happiest days of her life.

Yet, she had never felt so isolated from everyone.

Standing on a raised platform, Sabina stares at her reflection in the large trifold mirror. Her head feels heavy, stuffed full with curled extensions that are pulled up into an intricate bun. Her lace cathedral veil is pinned into place, once again. In her nerves, Sabina has already tugged it out of position five times. The strings of her corset are pulled tight, constricting her ability to breathe. She wants to tear them out, wants a breath of fresh unrestrained air, but it’s too late for that now. Fiddling with her diamond ring, Sabina resists the urge to smooth down the organza fabric of her dress.

When she had first put on the ivory off-the-shoulder ball gown, she had felt like a fool, like she was undeserving of the dress. The fabric was covered in thousands of crystals, each of which were carefully positioned by hand. The crystals were arranged in complex floral designs and placed beneath a layer of organza. This dulled their shine, creating the softer, ethereal sparkling effect that Sabina had wanted. But still, she had felt that this dress was too glamorous.

Upon seeing her, Rafe’s mother had surprised her with tears. Telling her that the dress was perfect, made for her. And in that moment, Sabina had also cried. Was this how her own mother would have reacted? Would she be in agreement with Mrs. Adler? Or would she have longed to see Sabina in a different silhouette? Marrying a different man?

“Miss Hewitt,” the wedding planner’s voice captures her attention. “I don’t want to rush you, but we are behind schedule. Your groom is starting to get a bit nervous.”

“Ten more minutes,” Sabina says.

“Miss Hewitt,” she sighs. “Your guests have already been waiting for an hour.”

Sabina shakes her head. Subconsciously, her fingers grasp onto the edge of her veil. “Just give him ten more minutes,” she says. “He’ll be here.” And once again, the material is pulled out of place.

The woman frowns, giving Sabina a pitying look. “I understand that you want him to walk you down the aisle, Miss Hewitt.” She snaps her fingers at the hair stylist, prompting them to get up and work on resecuring the veil. “However, Mr. Drake didn’t show up for the rehearsal yesterday.”

“Maybe he mixed up the times,” Sabina says. “Or… Or he’s stuck in traffic.” She winces when the stylist stabs her scalp with one of the pins.

“I’m sorry, but I don’t think he’s coming.”

The door to the dressing room opens and an older woman steps into the room. With her red lips pulled into the slightest hint of a frown, she asks, “Is something wrong?”

“Mrs. Adler,” the wedding planner greets. “Miss Hewitt has been insisting that we wait for Nathan Drake’s arrival, even though I have told her several times that it is extremely unlikely that he will be in attendance.”

Sabina sighs, closing her eyes. “Just ten more minutes,” she says, before taking a deep breath. “I just want ten more minutes.”

“Miss Hewitt—”

“Give her the ten minutes,” Mrs. Adler says. When her eyes settle on Sabina’s reflection, the sharp contours of her face soften. “I would like a moment of privacy with Sabina.”

Without further instruction, the wedding planner, the hair stylist, and the makeup artist all hurry out of the room. The bridesmaids, dressed in mauve colored chiffon gowns, are quick to follow.

“Are you okay?” Mrs. Adler approaches the bride, taking great care to avoid stepping on the much-too-long train of her dress.

Sabina opens her mouth to speak, but the words are caught in her throat. Instead, she rests her hands against her stomach, hoping to appease the stabbing sensations coming from inside.

“A wedding can feel overwhelming,” the woman says. “I was a mess for my own day. In my heart, I knew that I was marrying the right person, but I still had my doubts. I had a bit of a freakout, myself. Locked myself in a bathroom, for half an hour, and debated about the pros and cons of marriage. It’s okay to be nervous, Sabina. Most brides are. But I wonder if there is something else bothering you, something beyond nerves.”

Sabina swallows a lump in her throat.

“Your life has been deprived of a mother figure,” Mrs. Adler continues. “If it’s alright with you, I can be that figure for you. You are family now, my dear. You can talk to me. I will listen.”

“God, there’s just so many people here,” Sabina gasps.

“Rafe was a bit generous with the guest list,” Mrs. Adler agrees. “Is that why you’re upset?”

“To be honest,” Sabina says. “I’ve never put much thought into a wedding. I never imagined that I would be walking into a room full of hundreds of strangers. Everyone is here for Rafe, aren’t they? They’re not here for me. I’m just a show.”

“Tell me why you are here.”

The bride frowns, confused. “To get married.”

“Then you are here for Rafe,” Mrs. Adler says. “Not for your guests. And Rafe, Rafe is here for you. He is waiting at the end of the aisle,” she smiles, “for you. Forget about the people who have come to watch. The truth is that most of them are not really here for Rafe. They are here to keep up appearances, to maintain a good impression. When you reach the end of the aisle, you will forget all about those strangers.”

Sabina turns to look at the woman and gives her a small smile. “Thank you,” she says.

“I have a gift for you,” Mrs. Adler says. She reaches for wrist, unclasping a gold bracelet lined with rubies. “I was planning to give it to you after the ceremony, as a little ‘welcome to the family’ gift, but I think that it would be better for you to have it now.” The woman reaches out for Sabina’s left hand, pulling it towards her, and then secures the jewelry around the wrist.

“It was my mother’s,” Mrs. Adler continues. “She gave it to me on my wedding day. And now I continue that tradition and give it to you.”

“Mrs. Adler—”

“Gemma. Call me Gemma.”

“Thank you, Gemma.”

“I will give you a few minutes to compose yourself,” Gemma says. “Wipe away those tears, yes?”

Sabina nods.

Just moments after Rafe’s mother exits the dressing room, the door reopens.

“Holy shit,” a man says. “Look at you.”

Through the reflection in the mirror, Sabina sees him. She gasps and turns to look at the man, “Sully?”

“Hey, there, kiddo,” he says, approaching her. “You know, I had a feeling you would be a stunning bride, but you’ve exceeded my expectations.”

“It’s the dress,” she replies. “A forty-seven thousand dollar custom made gown.”

“That’s some serious cash,” Sully whistles. 

“This is just the ceremony gown. The reception dress is even more.” Sabina shakes her head. “I can’t even believe I’m wearing something so expensive.”

“You are marrying Rafe. Did you expect anything less?”

“I’m glad you’re here, Sully,” Sabina smiles. “I wasn’t sure if you were going to make it. I know that you and Rafe are… far from friends.”

“I wouldn’t miss your wedding, kid,” he says. “But what are you still doing back here? Not that I don’t enjoy the sight, but you’re starting to make Rafe sweat out there.”

“I invited Nate,” she says. “God, I even asked him to walk me down the aisle.”

Sully nods, beginning to figure out the problem. “Nate’s not here, is he?”

“I think I always knew that he wouldn’t show,” the bride sighs. “I just wanted to be wrong. I know that he hates Rafe, but I thought that maybe—just maybe—he would show up for me.”

“He’s still coping,” Sully says. “Won’t even mention… Sam… nowadays.”

Sabina hums. “Me, too,” she admits. “Sully, am I crazy? Just two years ago, I was willing to drop everything and run off with Sam. And now I’m here, getting married to somebody else. What if I’m making a mistake? Maybe that’s why Nate’s not here? Maybe he thinks that I’ve forgotten about Sam or that I’m closing off that part of my life.”

“Hey,” Sully steps forward and holds onto Sabina’s hands. “No one blames you for moving on with your life. There’s nothing we can do to change what happened.”

“I know, but—”

“Do you love Rafe?”

“Yes.”

“And does he make you happy?”

Sabina nods.

Sully gives her a reassuring smile. “It’s okay to let go of Sam,” he says. “You deserve a life of happiness, especially after everything that you’ve been through.”

Before she can stop herself, the question spills through her lips. “Will you walk me down the aisle?”

“Of course,” Sully says.

“Thank you,” Sabina wraps her arms around the man’s neck, pulling him in for a tight hug.

December 2015

Heat tingles against her skin. 

Prickling. 

Stinging. 

As she breathes, she coughs. Her lungs are stuffed, filled with ashes. When Sabina is finally able to open her eyes, she sees a world of red. She blinks, trying to clear the blurriness of her vision. Sabina groans, rolling onto her back.

She hears a voice yelling for someone… yelling for… Sam?

“Hey, Nate,” a different voice says.

She turns her head to look for the source of the sound. Through the haze, she can see the outline of a man, her husband. In Rafe’s hand is a gun, raised and pointed in front of him.

The first voice replies, “Where is Sam?”

Sabina tilts her head, releases a gasp in pain, and looks at the other man. Nate has his own gunned pointed back at Rafe.

“Oh, he’s right there.” Her husband looks over to his left, where Sam is trapped and unconscious beneath a wooden beam.

“Sam!” Nate calls.

“Relax, he’s alive,” Rafe says. “You know, this idiot nearly got us all killed.”

Oh.

That’s right.

The explosion.

Sam… Sam had caused it, had—

“I’m getting him outta here,” Nate says.

“No, you’re not.”

“Rafe, you can have the treasure, alright? Just let me save my brother.”

Her husband laughs, shaking his head in disbelief. “After everything he’s done? How noble of you, but no.”

“We stay here any longer and we’re all dead,” Nate says. “Is that what you want?”

“That’s not what I said. What do you think, Nadine?”

The Shoreline leader steps in through the doorway and descends the short staircase. Her gun is pointed in Nate’s direction.

Sabina pushes her back off of the uneven wooden floor, moving into a sitting position. The back of her head is burning, throbbing. Pressing her fingertips into her hair, she winces when they make contact with an open wound that’s soaked in some sort of liquid. “Fuck,” she whispers. Sabina brings her hand in front of her face, stares at the warm blood coating her finger tips.

“Good to see you up and about,” Rafe says. “Be a dear and relieve Nate there of his gun.”

“Hand it over,” Nadine says, approaching Nate.

“You really think you can trust him? Huh?” Nate says.

“Not your concern.”

Ignoring the trio, Sabina crawls towards the unconscious Drake brother. “Sam,” she calls, shaking his shoulder. She tries to lift up the wooden beam that has him pinned down, but it doesn’t move. “Sam, wake up. Sam?”

“Now, why are you trying to instigate? Nate—” Rafe says, stepping closer to the mercenary. “Nadine and I are partners, I don’t screw over my partners.”

Nadine takes the gun out of Nate’s hand. Slowly, she starts to back away.

“Get over there,” Rafe orders, pointing his gun towards the other end of the room. “You and your brother though… Right from the start, you took advantage of my generosity. You tried to cut me out and it’s high time you learned—”

Nadine presses the barrel of her gun against the back of Rafe’s head.

“What are you doing?” He asks.

“Now you give me your gun,” she says.

“Sam,” Sabina whispers again. “C’mon, wake up.” She shakes him once more, more aggressive, more insistent. “I need your help.”

Sam’s eyelids twitch, but nothing else moves.

Rafe scoffs, “Nadine.”

She interrupts him with the cock of her gun. “I won’t ask you again.”

The man sighs, then surrenders the gun. “You are being profoundly stupid right now,” Rafe says. He steps away from Nadine and rubs the back of his neck.

“Look over there,” she says, indicating to her right.

“Nadine,” Rafe says, stepping closer to her. “Stop screwing around—”

The mercenary angles her gun down towards the floor, shooting a bullet between his feet.

Sabina screams at the noise, startled.

“Jesus!” Rafe yells.

“I said look!”

“Okay,” he says. Rafe glances over. “It’s a couple of skeletons. So what?”

“I don’t know as much about history as you boys,” Nadine says, “but I’ve got a pretty good idea who those two are.”

“Well,” Rafe says, “enlighten us.”

“It’s Avery and Tew,” Nate explains. “They killed each other.”

Rafe glances over at Nate. “Good for them. What’s the point?”

“Everyone obsessed with this treasure gets what they deserve,” Nadine says. She takes a step back, working her way back up the stairs.

“So what,” Nate calls. “You’re just leaving us here to die?”

“Oh, I’m just leaving,” she responds. “Whether you die or not, I don’t really care.”

“Nadine,” Rafe says. “Don’t.”

The mercenary ignores him, turning her gaze to focus on the other woman. “Sabina,” she says. “If you want to get out of here, come with me.”

“What?” Sabina lifts her head to look at Nadine.

“You don’t need to burn alive with all of these dickheads,” she explains.

“Are you kidding me right now?” Rafe chuckles. “You two have been fighting for weeks—”

“Shut up, Rafe,” Nadine says.

“—and now you wanna be best friends?”

Sabina shakes her head, unsure of what to do. “Nadine, I—”

“Make your choice. Now. I’m going to leave, with or without you.”

“I can’t—I can’t just leave them here,” Sabina says.

“You deserve better than this,” Nadine sighs. “Goodbye, Sabina.”

“Nadine,” Rafe says, moving towards her. “Wait—”

“So long, Rafe,” she says, before pulling the door shut and locking it.

“Nadine! Nadine!” He yells. Rafe slams his fists against the wood. “You open this goddamn door right now!”

“Rafe,” Nate shouts. “She’s gone!” He crouches down next to Sabina, eyes focused on the same wooden beam that she has been struggling to lift. “C’mon, give me a hand. We’ll all get out of here.”

“Oh, no,” Rafe says, pacing around in the corner of the room. “No, that won’t work.”

“I’ve been trying to wake him up,” Sabina looks over at Nate. “But he just hasn’t been responsive.”

“It’s okay,” Nate says, placing a comforting hand on Sabina’s forearm. “C’mon,” he calls to Rafe. “Help me with Sam and I’ll help you open the door.”

Together, Sabina and Nate attempt to life the beam, but struggle with the weight.

“No,” Rafe says.

“Rafe,” Sabina lifts her head to look at her husband. “For god’s sake, just help us.”

He reaches for a sword lodged into one of the skeletons and pulls it out. “I’m not going to be able to enjoy one of these coins, knowing that you and your worthless brother are still sucking air.”

Seeing the sword in Rafe’s hand, Nate stands up and starts to back away. “Alright,” he says. “Just… Just calm down. You can practice your fencing when we get outside.”

“Nate, just shut up,” Rafe says.

“What the hell are you doing?” Sabina says, standing up.

“Seriously, Rafe,” Nate says. “This is insane, even for you.”

“You want to hear insane? Nathan Drake raced a madman and his entire army to the steps of Shambhala.” Rafe takes a step forward and swings his sword at Nate.

“Jesus!” Nate curses, dodging the weapon.

“Nathan Drake found a lost city in the middle of the Rub’ al Khali desert.” Rafe swings the sword again. This time the blade slices through Nate’s shirt, breaking the skin of his chest.

Sabina takes a cautious step forward. “Rafe, please. Put the sword down.”

But the man ignores her, opting to attack Nate once again.

Nate leaps back, barely avoiding the blade. “God damn it—come on, we can get out of here together.”

“Nathan Drake discovered the fabled El Dorado.” Rafe lunges at Nate, swiping the blade twice at the man. With the second swing, the edge of the sword slices across Nate’s chest, leaving behind a new, shallow wound. Again, Rafe attempts to cut into the other man’s skin.

“C’mon Rafe, stop,” Nate says.

“Nathan Drake is a legend,” Rafe laughs. “You know, I shot the man who told me that.”

“Look, I get it. You don’t like me very much.”

“You know, for all your ‘greatness,’ Nate, you have nothing. You are nothing. And I warned you to get out of my way.”

“Stop it!” Sabina screams. She charges into Rafe, shoving him away from Nate. “Rafe, babe, I need you to calm down.”

Rafe hardly spares her a glance, instead moving to step around her.

“Please,” Sabina clutches onto his arm, a poor attempt to hold him back. “Don’t do this.”

He pulls his arm out of her grasp and pushes his wife away from him.

Losing her balance, Sabina stumbles and crashes into a pile of debris near Sam’s body. A jagged piece of metal pierces into the skin of her left arm, leaving her with long gashes. Blood spews out of the wounds, sliding down her flesh and onto the floor. She whimpers, pain pulsating throughout her body.

Eyes focused solely on Nate, Rafe is unaware of what he has caused. He swings the blade at Nate, leaving several more cuts on his chest and arms.

Dodging the sword, Nate grabs onto Rafe’s arm and punches him in the face with his free hand. With both hands firmly gripped onto the arm, Nate struggles to maintain control in the fight. He forces Rafe up against a wall, but Rafe slams his forehead into Nate’s, sending him stumbling backwards.

Rafe seizes the opportunity, pushing his opponent down onto the ground. Fighting against Nate’s resistance, Rafe attempts to shove the blade down into the man’s neck. “I have sacrificed everything to find Avery,” Rafe says. “And I’m not gonna let a couple of two-bit thieves, a senile con man, and a washed-up journalist take that away from me!”

“Enough!” Nate pushes back against Rafe, shoving the man off of him. He reaches to the right and wraps his fingers around the handle of another sword.

“You care about that parade of losers so much,” Rafe says, circling Nate. “I’m going to make sure they join you.”

Sabina presses her hand against the fresh wound, unsure of how to slow the bleeding. “Oh, fuck,” she mutters, “shit.” The liquid seeps through her fingers, mingling with the once drying blood of her head injury.

“En garde, dickhead,” Nate says.

“That’s the spirit,” Rafe smiles.

Nate lunges at him, slamming his sword at the man. The two blades clash against each other and Rafe jumps out of Nate’s reach. When Rafe swings his sword at Nate, the Drake brother rams his elbow into Rafe’s nose and then kicks him in the chest. Rafe stumbles back, hitting the wall behind him. Nate swings again, but this time Rafe kicks the man away from him. He takes a step forward, aiming to slice through Nate’s throat, but Nate blocks him just in time.

Starting to get dizzy, Sabina lays down on the floor. She lifts her wounded arm, forcing herself to take a better look at the cuts. Droplets of blood splatter against her cheeks.

Sabina closes her eyes.

Daddy!

She’s a little girl again, running into the outstretched arms of her father.

Daddy, you’re home!

She wraps her arms around his neck, nearly tackling him down into the ground.

Hey, sweetheart, he says. You should be asleep. He secures his arms around Sabina and lifts her up into the air.

No, she shakes her head. No, I missed you.

I missed you, too. He presses a kiss against her cheek. But you know that Daddy has a lot of work to do.

No, no more work.

Sweetheart—

Why do you always leave? I don’t want you to leave anymore.

Her father sighs. My work is important. I’m going to find something amazing, sweetheart. And when I do, I promise that I won’t ever have to leave you again.

Daddy, please—

Richard Hewitt collapses.

Becomes a bleeding corpse, staining the hardwood floors.

And young Sabina hides beneath the planks, her tiny hands covering her mouth. Eyes are wide, staring at the blood leaking through the cracks, the crevices. 

It splatters against her cheeks.

Why couldn’t you pick me?

“—Bina!”

Somebody is shaking her.

“Bina, open your eyes.”

When they press a hand against her cheek, Sabina leans into the warmth.

“C’mon, baby, wake up.”

She opens her eyes and smiles at the sight of a familiar face. “Sam?”

“Yeah,” he says. “I’m right here, but I need you to get up, okay? Nathan and Rafe are about to kill each other and there’s nothing I can do to stop it.”

“Nate… Rafe?” Sabina blinks at him, unable to fully comprehend the words. “What?”

“Bina—”

She tunes out his voice, focusing her attention to the burning warmth surrounding her. When she turns her head to the left, her eyes grow wide. The muddied thoughts in her head dissipate, cleared by the view in front of her.

Rafe swipes his sword against Nate’s stomach and cuts through the fabric of his shirt. He strikes him in the chest with his foot, knocking him down onto his back. Sword pointed at Nate’s throat, Rafe takes a step forward.

“You know what, Nate? Underneath all the bravado, you’re just a sad little boy with delusions—of grandeur… who, by the way, can’t fence for shit,” he says.

Sabina rolls onto her knees, then stumbles up onto her feet. “Wait—”

Rafe raises his sword, ready to end the fight. “So long, Nathan Drake.”

“Nathan!” Sam yells, attracting the attention of both men. He grabs the handle of the sword laying near him and tosses it in Nate’s direction.

Nate grabs it and strikes the blade across Rafe’s own.

“You don’t know when to give up, do you? That’s good,” Rafe says, between each swing of his sword. “Don’t hand it to me. I’ve had everything handed to me on a goddamn silver platter. Everything except this!”

Nate whips his sword in front of him to block another powerful strike, but Rafe’s blade breaks the metal.

“I earned this,” Rafe says. “All of it.”

September 2012

If you ask Sabina to picture her idea of romantic vacation, this is what she would tell you. A candlelit dinner at a truly exquisite, but probably overpriced, restaurant. Walking through the Paris streets, long after dusk. Sharing bottles of wine between giggling, messy kisses. Falling into a comfortable, happy slumber with the love of her life.

But getting everything that you want is impossible.

And for her tenth wedding anniversary, Sabina spends it without her partner. Drunk in her Parisian hotel room, staring at the blurry lights outside of her windows. Her cheeks are swollen. Eyes are puffy and dirty from smeared mascara and navy blue eyeliner. Brunette hair tangled and pulled up into a lopsided bun.

Rafe was supposed to be here. Was supposed to meet her in Paris over a day ago. But her husband had canceled, saying that an issue at work would require his immediate attention. Saying that he would make it up to her, whisk her away to a private island where no one could bother them.

She almost believes him.

When somebody knocks on the door to the suite, Sabina jumps off of the armchair and stumbles across the room. She throws open the door, and without a moment to pause, wraps her arms around the woman standing there.

Chloe Frazer. A fellow treasure hunter that she had met a couple of years ago. The two had become fast friends, bonding over a discussion about whether the treasure described in The Copper Scroll even existed. And if so, where it could possibly be.

“Oh,” the Australian woman says. “I’m happy to see you, too, love.”

Sabina’s words are slurred. “Chloe, I’m so… so happy you’re here.”

“C’mon, let’s get out of the hallway.” Careful, Chloe urges Sabina back through the door. Glancing around the hotel room, she sees shards of broken glass and puddles of red wine. Several partially consumed bottles lay flat on their sides, a source for many of the wine stains.

Sabina grabs onto one of Chloe’s hands and drags her to the dining table. “You must try this Caber… net Sau… Sauvig… non—Cabernet Sauvignon!” She picks up a bottle of wine and hands the whole thing to Chloe. “I must warn you, it’s very… very heavy on the cherry, but it is so good and… six hundred dollars?” Sabina laughs, “Wine is so expensive.”

Chloe grabs the bottle, notices that it is almost empty, and takes a sip. “Not bad,” she hums. “And how many bottles did you buy?”

“I don’t know,” she says. “A few. Maybe… ten.”

Mid-sip, Chloe chokes.

“It doesn’t matter,” Sabina continues. “It’s all Rafe’s fucking money anyway. He won’t even notice.”

“Can’t say I wouldn’t do the same, if I were you.”

Sabina picks up another bottle of wine and collapses onto the sofa. “I think he’s going to leave me,” she says.

Chloe frowns. “Why would you think that?”

“I think I’ve done something terrible.”

“Alright,” Chloe joins the woman on the couch. “Tell me what’s going on in that brain of yours.”

Sabina unclasps the chain around her neck and hands her medallion over to Chloe. “I solved it,” she says.

Chloe raises an eyebrow. “You… solved this?”

“Yes.”

“The mystery puzzle that you’ve been trying to solve for decades?”

“Yes.”

“Well,” Chloe takes another sip of wine. “I’m not sure how this is bad news, but we can come back to that. First, I wanna know how you solved it.”

“Right,” Sabina nods. She takes back the medallion and stands up.

The two women enter the bathroom, where Sabina tosses the medallion into the sink and then closes the drain. She downs a large gulp of wine, before pouring the rest of the contents into the sink.

After a couple of minutes, a dim light appears, glowing from the object. The wine in the sink moves in gentle waves, the liquid disturbed by something beneath the surface. Once the wine settles, Sabina reaches into the sink, retrieves the medallion, and sets it on the counter.

The object looks distorted, with portions of the gold metal jutting out of place. Many, but not all, of the symbols glow in a faint yellow color. The marking in the center, Avery’s sigil, is popped up and pushed away, revealing an inscription.

The treasure you seek will only bring death.

“How the hell did you figure that out?”

“I don’t… I don’t think it’s a clue,” Sabina says.

Chloe picks up on the woman’s train of thought. “You think it’s a warning.”

“Yeah.”

“Have you told Rafe?”

Sabina leans against the bathroom wall and slides down to sit on the ground. “No,” she says, with a sigh.

“Okay, I’ll bite,” Chloe says. She grabs the medallion, before joining Sabina. “Why not?”

“I think he’ll leave me.”

“What makes you say that?”

“Because I want him to stop looking for it. I want him to let go of Avery’s treasure,” Sabina says. “If the warning is true, then I don’t want him to find it.”

“Have you tried telling him that?”

Sabina chuckles. “How do you tell someone to give up on the one goal that drives them to keep going every day? How do you tell them that you’re selfish and you need them to sacrifice their dream?”

Chloe sighs. “I don’t know,” she says.

“You know, I think I was in love with someone,” Sabina admits. “Before Rafe.”

“Oh?” Chloe turns to look at her.

“It was complicated,” Sabina pauses. She pushes strands of hair away from her face and blinks away the forming tears. “And I never really figured out my feelings.”

“Do you miss them?”

Sabina leans over to rest her head on Chloe’s shoulder. “He was also looking for Avery’s treasure,” she says. She takes the bottle of wine away from Chloe and drinks the remaining liquid. “It killed him. All he wanted wanted to do was find that treasure. Would’ve done anything for it. It’s strange, isn’t it? How all of the men in my life are obsessed with this stupid thing. I don’t think the question is if Rafe will die for this treasure. I think the question is when. When will Rafe join Sam and my father?”

“Tell him how you feel,” Chloe reaches forward, laying a comforting hand on Sabina’s knee. “He can’t read your mind.”

“What if he doesn’t want to listen?”

“Trying to force a man like Rafe to listen is probably impossible,” Chloe admits. “But if he really does love you, he will do so.”

“And if he doesn’t?” Sabina lifts her head to meet Chloe’s gaze. “If doesn’t love me?”

“Then maybe it’s time for you to move on, love.”

December 2015

Sabina slams her body into Rafe’s back. She wraps her arms around him, digging her nails into his chest. “No more,” she says, “let it go.” Rafe tries to pry one of her arms off of him, but Sabina tightens her grip. “I said stop!”

“No,” Rafe says. “I’m ending this. I’m taking what’s mine.”

“If you kill him,” Sabina takes a shallow breath. She still feels the wounds throbbing on her arm. Can still feel the blood oozing from the split skin, staining Rafe’s already dirtied shirt. “I will never forgive you.”

It’s subtle, but Rafe tenses at her words.

“If you kill him for this treasure,” Sabina continues, “then I will leave and you will never see me again.”

“Sabina—”

She buries her face into his back. “All of my life, I have never been enough. My father… Sam… they both picked the treasure. They both chose to leave me, no matter how much I begged them not to. And now you’re doing the same thing. But this time you found the treasure. It’s here—it’s in your grasp—and it’s still not enough for you. No, you can’t just have the treasure, can you? You want it all to yourself. All of the credit, the glory.”

“What are you talking about?” Rafe says. “This is ours. We worked for this."

“No,” Sabina shakes her head. “This is your moment, not ours. It stopped being ours years ago. You can’t have it all, Rafe. You can’t have me and the treasure, not like this. I love you, I do, but I can’t do this. I can’t stand by and watch you be consumed by your hatred and jealousy.”

Slowly, he lowers the blade.

“I want you to pick me,” she says. “For once in my life, I want somebody to choose me. Only me. Please, I don’t want to lose you. Don’t make me lose you. Don’t let me lose somebody else I love.”

Rafe releases his grip on the sword, dropping the blade. He reaches for her injured arm and, gently, pulls it away from his chest. A frown on his face, he examines the wound before turning around to look at her.

Sabina blinks up at him, relieved.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers. “I’m so sorry.”

Slightly dizzy, Sabina leans into his body, pressing her forehead into the croak of his neck. “I know,” she says. “I know.” Too weak to stand any longer, she fully collapses into Rafe.

“Hey,” Rafe says, grabbing onto her. “Hey, honey? Honey, you okay?”

“I—”

Her words are interrupted by an explosion.

And within moments, the burning room is flooded with water.

…

The world is warm, comfortable. A light breeze tickles her nose and cheeks. In the distance, a woman laughs and children giggle. Sabina opens her eyes to the view of sunlight beaming at her through an open window. Her eyes shift, just a sliver, over to the left.

Sam is sitting there, slightly hunched over in his chair. His eyes are focused down towards his hands, down at a ring held between his fingers.

The ring he had given her.

“Hey,” Sabina says. It barely comes out as a whisper.

Sam jerks his head up. “Bina?”

She blinks, beginning the process of waking up. And that’s when she realizes that this environment is unfamiliar to her. She’s surrounded by plain, white walls. And the smell of sanitizer fills her nostrils. “Where… where am I? Where’s Rafe?”

When she tries to sit up in the bed, Sam jumps out of his chair and places his hands on her stomach and shoulder. “You’re in the hospital,” he says. “Rafe had to step out, handle some of your paperwork, but he’ll be back soon.”

“Is he okay?”

“Yeah, he’s fine. Don’t worry.”

“Wait,” Sabina says. “Are you okay? Is Nate okay? The—the explosion—oh, my god—”

“Everyone is fine, Bina. Just lay down.”

“But—”

“Lay down,” Sam says.

Sabina nods and relaxes back into the bed.

After taking a few deep breathes to calm her racing heart, she turns to look at Sam. “My ring,” she points at the object that’s still in his hands. “What…”

Sam sighs and rubs the back of his neck. “I didn’t think you would still have it,” he says. He leans forward, placing the ring on the bedside table. “Not after all of these years.”

“It was all I had left of you,” Sabina confesses. “I couldn’t bring myself to get rid of it.”

Sam gives her a small smile.

“Besides,” she says, “it looks like you stole my birds."

He squints his eyes, confused. “What?”

The woman lifts her hand off the bed, pointing a finger at the birds tattooed on the left side of Sam’s neck.

“Oh, yeah,” he chuckles. A faint blush sprouts across his cheeks. “Yeah… Got it in prison. I didn’t know if I was ever going to see you again—I just—I thought it would be nice to have.”

“Nice to have, huh?”

“Your husband wasn’t too thrilled when he put the dots together.” Sam leans back in his chair, arms folded across his chest. “You know, matching tats and all. Wouldn’t shut up about how he’s married to you.”

“That sounds like Rafe,” Sabina laughs.

“Still can’t believe you’re an Adler now,” Sam says.

“Hewitt-Adler, actually. I hyphenated. Couldn’t quite let go of the family name, I suppose.”

Sam hums. “A lot changed when I was away.”

“Yeah,” Sabina agrees. “Things are different now.”

“Did you mean what you said at Libertalia?” Sam asks. “About us only being together because of Avery’s treasure?”

“Sam,” she whispers.

“Do you really believe that I would’ve just left you if we never found that treasure? Did you think that I didn’t love you?”

“Our relationship was… Everything happened so fast. It really was a bit of whirl-wind romance, wasn’t it?” Sabina says. “One day, I’m following a strange man into the dirtiest hotel room that I have ever seen. And then, with the blink of an eye, I’m having secret rendezvous with him whenever we can find an excuse to ditch his brother. Between chasing clues and traveling the world, where was the time for me to realize your feelings? How could I have known that you loved me? When you never told me those words? When it was clear that your priority would always be the treasure? I couldn’t compete with that, Sam.”

“Bina—”

“The answer,” she interrupts, “it was going to be yes. Yes, I would run away with you.”

Sam reaches out to hold Sabina’s hand. “I’ve never stopped thinking about you, Bina.”

“Answer me honestly, Sam,” she says. “Back on Avery’s ship, if you had been in Rafe’s place, would you have picked me?”

“Of course,” he responds, without hesitation. “Of course I would choose you.”

Sabina smiles at him, but her eyes are sad.

Longing to know what life would have looked like, had she been able to spend the past fifteen years with Sam.

“You have to let go,” she says. “The girl you love, it’s not the same person that I am now. You care about Sabina from fifteen years ago. The Sabina that… loved a life of adventure, with you. I think, if you had asked, she would have done anything for you. But the person you’re looking at now, she’s already let you go. I don’t know if I could love you again, not the way I used to, not the way you want me to.”

Sam sighs, “I know.”

“Hey,” she squeezes his hand. “We found the treasure, though. At least we accomplished something, even if it took a decade and a half.” Sabina turns her head to look at the beside table, focusing her gaze on the medallion. “I solved it, you know.”

“Really?” Sam raises an eyebrow and picks up the necklace. “When?”

“A few years ago.”

“What did it tell you?”

“Why don’t you keep it,” Sabina says. “Keep it and figure it out for yourself.”

“Are you sure? You parents—”

“Probably never even found it, if we’re being honest. I bet they stole it from someone. We’re all thieves, aren’t we?” She chuckles. “I’ve carried it around for so long, clutching onto terrible memories. I need to move on with my life. I don’t care what you end up doing with it, but please, just take it. I don’t want it, not anymore.”

Sam nods and slips the object into his pocket. “You gonna give me a hint on how to solve it?”

“You’re going to want a lot of red wine."

The door to the room slides open, startling them.

“Get away from her,” a voice growls.

Sam jumps away from Sabina, hands held up in the air. “Okay, okay,” he says. “Jesus, we were just having a conversation.”

“Rafe,” Sabina smiles and attempts to sit up.

“Hey there, honey,” he walks up to the side of her bed and reaches for her hand. Rafe turns his head to look at Sam. “You can go now.”

“Are you kidding me? She just woke up.”

“Yeah,” Rafe says, “and now that she’s awake, we don’t need you here.”

“Oh, come on—”

“Get out,” Rafe snaps.

“Alright,” Sam responds. “I’ll just… go outside for a smoke.”

When Sam exits the room, Rafe directs his attention back to Sabina. “You feeling okay? Does anything hurt?”

“You picked me,” she says, ignoring his questions. “I wasn’t sure if you would.”

“I told you that I wanted to be with you, didn’t I?” Rafe says. “That hasn’t changed. I realize now that I’ve neglected you, but I never meant to make you feel like you weren’t enough for me.”

“You’re not entirely to blame. I should’ve just told you how I felt.” Her breath hitches, and she whispers, “Maybe all of this could have been avoided.”

Rafe shakes his head. “I’m not sure if I would have listened to you at any other moment.”

“But in the end, you listened. And right now, that’s all that matters,” Sabina smiles.

Her husband sits down on the edge of the hospital bed. “Where do we go from here?” Rafe asks, pushing strands of hair away from Sabina’s face.

She hums, enjoying his touch. “Do you remember our wedding day? How we hid in the dressing room’s bathroom during the reception?”

“Yeah,” he chuckles. “You said you were so tired of talking to an endless parade of strangers.”

“They were all so boring,” she says. “And all they did was congratulate us, before trying to impress you with some bullshit story about their life. I remember being so desperate to get out of that dress.”

“God, I remember all the damn buttons on the back.”

“It took you forever to undo them! I thought I was going to be stuck in that thing for the rest of my life,” Sabina laughs. “It was a very pretty dress, though. A mermaid style. Lots of lace. Oh! And the detachable train. I think I liked it more than the dress I wore for the actual ceremony.”

“I was too busy looking at you,” Rafe admits. “I can’t really remember what the dresses look like anymore.”

“Oh, my god. And your mother!” Sabina exclaims, remembering the night. “Do you remember how we were in the bathroom for so long that she ran around trying to track us down?”

Rafe laughs, “And she almost walked in, right as I got the dress off.”

“I had to throw my body against the door to keep it shut. Told her that I just needed a few minutes to myself. And then she asked if I had seen you—”

“—And you told her that I was probably out in the gardens.”

“We escaped through a window, didn’t we?”

“Did we?”

“I think so,” she says. “When your mother left, we walked out of the bathroom. I told you that I wanted to leave, start the honeymoon a little early, so you pulled a robe off of one of the chairs.”

“And then we climbed through the window,” Rafe says, nodding his head. “And we sprinted to the car.”

“I don’t think your mother ever really forgave me for that.”

“I think she was more upset with me, to be honest.”

“We need to work on our marriage,” Sabina says. “No more lying. No more secrets. We need to be open, to communicate, like we used it. We used to have so much fun, didn’t we, babe? I think we can be those people again.”

“I think so, too,” he agrees.

“But first,” Sabina grabs the front of his shirt, pulling him towards her. Brushing her lips against his, she says, “Let’s go back to Copenhagen. Relive those honeymoon memories.”

“Sounds like a good idea,” Rafe whispers.

a/n: thank you so much for reading this! if you enjoyed this work, please consider reblogging this story. i am a very small fanfic author and every reblog really does help in giving me exposure to potential new readers. however, i do also appreciate any likes or comments you’re willing to give.

again, this is not the end of the road for sabina, rafe, or sam! i have one-shots planned in the future, but currently there is no timeframe for when any of them will be posted. you may want to consider bookmarking the masterlist (linked near the beginning of this post), so you can check back in the future.

Twitter: VostaraFics

Ao3: Vostara

[nekojitachan]

Okay, so I think I’m going with ‘the real thing’ for a title. Subject to change of course. But as I sorta promised, more andreil soulmate not fic. Same warnings as before (mention of past abuse, referenced but not described/detailed sexual abuse, Andrew on meds so...).

Part four (previous part w/ links to the OTHER parts can be found here)

*******

Andrew was about to murder his new bestie; it had been three days since Moreau had all but promised to spill secrets, and if Andrew had to wait much longer? The backliner would be spilling blood instead.

Yes, among his various character foibles (he refused to see them as flaws, not matter what the shrinks rudely insisted) was his very low tolerance for patience when he felt that he was owed something. And he most definitely felt he was owed the truth about what was going on with Nathaniel.

Perhaps Moreau sensed his imminent bloodletting because he muttered ‘tomorrow’ to Andrew as they passed each other in the hall on Tuesday, which granted him a temporary stay of execution. Andrew grunted softly in acknowledgement, then knocked his shoulder into Bautista, who’d been staring a bit too long at Nathaniel.

The backliner glared at Andrew once he regained his footing, but all it took was Andrew ‘smiling’ at him and the older Raven averted his eyes and scurried away.

People were slowly getting the message that Nathaniel was off-limits.

Wednesday came and at first started off as a normal day; early as hell practice, Aaron being smug about getting a good grade on their biology test (Andrew kept his better grade to himself), barely staying awake in his classes, then back to the Nest for more stupid Exy practice. Except Riko and Kevin were gone, off to Detroit to play the next two nights for their professional team (who could keep them), which meant that Andrew just had to wait for Nathaniel to be pulled away, too. He gave Moreau a pointed look when they (and Nathaniel) went out onto court to play in a scrimmage, but the French bastard merely returned it with a blank expression.

Andrew may have aimed a ball or two at the bastard during the scrimmage.

He’d just settled on his bed with a new book to read (sent by Nicky) when his phone vibrated with a message from Moreau for him to come right then to the break room in the Black Hall. Part of Andrew wanted to ignore the summons, but his desire to find out the truth won out over his ornery nature so he got up and left his room without saying a word to his partner (not that Ben acted surprised at all to see him leave). There were a few Ravens out in the hallways, but none brave enough to question him, especially when he headed in the direction of the Black Hall.

Very few went there unless invited to by one of the ‘perfect court’; people would assume it was just him getting away from Ben and raiding the ‘good’ break room again while Riko was gone.

Like he wouldn’t raid the break room while Riko was standing in the middle of it.

Moreau was waiting for him with a mug of coffee in hand. “Nat should be busy for a couple hours at least,” he said by way of greeting.

Andrew went to fix coffee for himself. “Translating stuff.” That’s what Moreau had told him the other day. “He do that a lot?”

“Somewhat. He’ll be called up to the East Tower during games to translate for some of the guests up there, or to work on documents for Tetsuji or Kengo.”

“Kengo, Tetsuji’s brother and Riko’s father.” Andrew knew a few things.

“Yes, Tetsuji’s brother.” Moreau gave him a considering look then focused his attention on the door of the break room as if to ensure that no one was out in the hall. “Are you sure you want to-“

“Tetsuji’s brother,” Andrew said to urge Frenchie on. “Tell me about the man, everything.”

Moreau gave him an intent look as if judging how serious he was about things (about Nathaniel) before he sighed and closed his eyes for a moment. When he opened them, he resumed speaking. “The truth of the matter is, the Moriyamas came into their wealth by being crime lords – yakuza. Kengo is the current head of the organization and his oldest son, Ichirou, will take over when he dies.”

Well, that somewhat explained how Tetsuji could be such an abusive bastard and Riko treat people like belongings; they clearly believed themselves to be above the law. “So Tetsuji and Riko do whatever they like because they’re mobsters?”

Moreau wrinkled his nose, which had been broken at one point and not properly set, as he sipped his drink. “Not… exactly. Kengo and Ichirou are part of the main branch, the line that inherits the wealth and responsibility of the Moriyamas. Kengo, as the Moriyama lord, was to only have one son, one heir, but his wife bore two.” His expression grew guarded as he glanced at Andrew for a moment. “She died for that mistake, and Riko was disinherited, was given to Tetsuji to be raised as part of the side branch.”

“Funny, but I always believed it takes two to tango.” When Moreau merely shrugged at the comment, Andrew clicked his tongue. “So Riko has no real power?”

“Not… exactly,” Moreau repeated, and glared when Andrew threw a crumpled napkin at him. “Asshole.”

“Tell me something new,” Andrew said with a wide grin. “Oh, wait, that’s what you’re supposed to be doing right now.”

Moreau muttered in French something while he tugged on his long bangs then sighed. “Riko is still a Moriyama, which means he has money and connections, but has nowhere near the power he’d have if he was part of the main branch.”

It sounded as if someone, a certain spoiled, psychotic brat, might have to answer to his ‘betters’. “And where does Nathaniel fit into all of this?”

It was quiet for about a minute as Moreau stared into his mug then huffed. “The same as I do, more or less. We were sold to the Moriyamas by our fathers.” He looked up at Andrew, who stood there… mentally prodding at that bit of information. “No comment?”

“How the hell do you ‘sell’ someone?” He knew the logistics, but somehow it didn’t seem to fit when one applied it to Exy players.

“Well, in my case, my parents owed a debt to the Moriyamas and decided that it was best paid off by offering me to Tetsuji since I knew how to play Exy.” Oh no, Frenchie didn’t sound bitter about that at all. “In Nat’s case… his father is in charge of a large amount of territory on the northeastern coast and reports to Kengo. For some reason, Nat can’t take over from the man, so he was given to Tetsuji.”

“Nathan Wesninski,” Andrew said as he remembered the redhead with the soulless eyes, the businessman with all the ‘interesting’ rumors.

Moreau nodded in a grave manner. “Yes, Nathan Wesninski, the Butcher of Baltimore. He comes here now and then to deal with people who’ve run afoul of Kengo, and often he reminds Nat to ‘behave’.” He shuddered as he rubbed his right hand along his upper left back. “If you think Riko or Tetsuji is abusive, they have nothing on Nathan. He’s responsible for most of Nat’s scars.”

Most, but not all.

Andrew thought about what he’d been told, about someone thinking they owned his soulmate, that they could abuse him with impunity, and ‘smiled’. “No one owns Nathaniel.”

“Including you?” Moreau dared to ask as he set the mug aside, his expression blank as his obnoxiously tall body coiled with tension, coiled as if ready to launch itself at Andrew.

Andrew clicked his tongue at that bit of nonsense. “Did I stutter?” he asked, each word enunciated slowly. “No. One. Owns. Nathaniel. Do I need to learn sign language or that mumbled slurring you call French so you’ll understand better?”

“I don’t want to hear that from someone who grunts out German,” Moreau snapped, as if he couldn’t think of anything more offensive, but he’d relaxed against the counter.

Whatever. If Andrew was a lesser person, he’d be rolling his eyes right then instead of shoving the good granola bars, packets of honey (it was some type of sugar), and energy drinks into the pockets of his hoodie and track pants. “Anything else I need to know? Moriyamas are mobsters and bad, Nathaniel’s father is a serial killer and really bad, and Riko is under the mistaken belief he owns the two of you.”

There was a brief muttering of French again before Moreau shook his head. “That’s it. But be aware that since Riko feels he owns Nat, he probably believes that extends to you.” He rubbed the soul mark hidden beneath the sleeve of his black hoodie, his expression neutral but grey eyes bleak.

Oh, just let Riko try to put a leash on him and lead him around, Andrew would wrap it around the prick’s neck and strangle him with it. He was about to leave the room when something occurred to him. “Does Riko only give Nathaniel out for ‘rewards’?”

He knew the answer as soon as Moreau’s expression shut down, as the backliner wrapped his arms around himself as if to shield himself from someone. “Why do you care?”

Andrew could say because Moreau was Nathaniel’s partner and as much as it galled him, Nathaniel cared about the French bastard. He could say that he knew what it felt like to have unwanted hands and mouths and worse on him, to be used without a care (except he wouldn’t, not to someone he barely trusted). He could say because he needed to know exactly how bad it was with Riko’s power games.

Yet all he did was give the backliner a two-fingered salute before he walked away, well aware that he wouldn’t answer if asked a similar question.

Ben gave him an expectant look when he returned to their room, so Andrew threw him an energy drink and granola bar which his partner caught with a wide grin.

Nathaniel appeared tired during practice on Thursday, but didn’t move as if he’d been injured in any manner. He smiled at Moreau as usual and talked to a few of the Ravens (the ones who didn’t look at him as if he was a piece of meat), and gave Andrew a puzzled look now and then as if he was trying to figure him out.

Good luck with that.

Friday, Aaron bumped into Andrew as they left Biology class and muttered ‘don’t lose, I’ve bet a bundle on you’ on his way out the door, which made Andrew want to lose the game on purpose until he remembered Nathaniel. Nathaniel, who sat in the seat in front of him on the bus as they traveled to WVU for their latest game. Nathaniel, who peaked over the seat to frown at him. “That… doesn’t look like an English assignment book to me.” He motioned to the current wolf shifter ‘romance’ novel Andrew was reading as a diversion.

“It’s not.”

“Okay.” Nathaniel went a whole fifteen seconds (nibbling on his full bottom lip the entire time, which did nothing to Andrew to watch, nothing). “What does ‘omega’ mean?”

Oh no, Andrew wasn’t having an A/B/O discussion with his soul mate on a crowded bus. No. “Going to cheer us on as we defeat the Mountaineers?”

Nathaniel frowned as he ran his long, slender fingers (which Andrew didn’t think about at all, about them on his- he didn’t think of them AT ALL) along the top of the seat. “I wish the Master would have let me play this year, I’m more than ready. And you shouldn’t have a problem tonight, they’re weak on their offense, they act tough but they crumble if you don’t back down in four seconds.”

Andrew listened as his soulmate went over a concise review of the Mountaineers that was better than what he’d suffered through in the past week, mindful to pay attention to the few players Nathaniel singled out. When his soulmate finished up his summary of the other team, Andrew gave him a solemn nod and a quiet ‘thank you’, which made Nathaniel blink at him and a slight blush spread across his sharp cheekbones before he muttered something and ducked back down in his seat.

That allowed Andrew to finish his wolf shifter book (light on the plot, which was why he liked the books – he could finish them in a few hours without much brain cells involved and have a bit of twisted amusement over its ridiculousness).

At least it wasn’t a long drive to WVU, a campus known for its partying which somehow, Andrew doubted the Ravens would be allowed to join in; Tetsuji made sure to segregate the team from the rest of the university as soon as they arrived and set them up to practice on the court once they were in uniform.

Someone had no sense of adventure.

At least he got to watch Nathaniel stretch with the rest of the team (he was still trying to figure out if it was a good or bad thing that his soulmate was so damn flexible) and do drills before he retreated to the sidelines. That was around when Riko and Kevin came back from dealing with the press, and Riko made sure to hold up two fingers to Andrew as he walked past.

Such a shame Andrew didn’t have anything sharp in hand at the moment to shove into the bastard’s throat.

What he did have was a growing clarity as the drug-fueled mania slowly faded away (yet how odd, the urge to kill Riko still remained); he watched the first half of the game against the Mountaineers all too aware of Nathaniel sitting next to him on the bench, lean body twitching each time the Ravens scored a goal or lost possession of the ball. Nathaniel smiled, slight but pleased, whenever Moreau successfully blocked a Mountaineer, and glared when his partner took a rough hit.

He nearly jumped in his seat when Andrew cleared his throat. “Yeah, weak in offense.”

Nathaniel turned toward him, a slight frown on his face, and for a moment Andrew thought he wouldn’t speak. “Most of them. Peters’ being rougher than usual tonight.”

He was the one trying to take down Moreau. “Cheng’s trying to fake out Ivanova into thinking he’s shooting for the top of the goal then going lower.” The striker had done that twice so far, and gotten past the goalie once.

That slight smile appeared once more on Nathaniel’s lovely face (not that Andrew had any real opinion on how the redhead looked or anything). “You noticed that?”

Andrew clicked his tongue and forced his attention back onto the game. “I just spend my time in a painted box waiting for people to throw balls in my direction. Not like I do any real work out there.”

“Of course,” Nathaniel murmured, but he sounded amused for some reason.

The first quarter ended, which meant that Moreau was swapped out for Federov, which also meant that Nathaniel took to speaking quietly with his partner in Japanese until halftime.

Perhaps it was the lack of drugs in his system, perhaps it was knowing that Moreau was concerned about his own soulmate (the fear of Riko finding out who he was), but as he glanced at the two backliners out of the corner of his eye… there was evident affection between them and long familiarity, but nothing to suggest they were in a relationship themselves. There weren’t any lingering touches or glances, nothing intimate or possessive between them.

Yet Andrew still felt a ridiculous urge (which he ignored) to shove Moreau off the bench.

It was almost welcome to be out on the court for the second half of the game, to be away from Nathaniel and the traitorous emotions the bond between them awoke in Andrew. In the goal, his world focused down to the idiots trying to get past him to score a point, which he refused to allow.

(He knew he couldn’t keep shutting down the goal for the rest of the season, but WVU wasn’t much of a challenge.)

Moreau gave him a nod in acknowledgement when the teams lined up at the end of the game, while there was a look of relief on Nathaniel’s face before he schooled it into a blank expression when the Ravens gathered in the locker room for Tetsuji to give them a gruff ‘you did a decent job today’.

Riko caught Andrew on the way to the bus, a thoughtful gleam in his eyes as he blocked Andrew from exiting the stadium. “Impressive job out there tonight. Perhaps there’s something to letting you play… natural.”

“Only so much at a time,” Andrew said as he smiled, his expression exaggerated once again since he’d taken a pill after the game; it wasn’t that long of a drive back to Edgar Allan, but long enough that he’d be experiencing withdrawals by the time they reached campus so he’d went ahead and taken it.

He’d have to wait until next week to have time with Nathaniel as ‘himself’.

Yet the urge to protect Nathaniel as they went to his soul mate’s room, to make Federov and Bautista and the other Ravens who stared at the redhead in a hungry manner glance away in fear was still there, as well as some tremulous emotion when Nathaniel didn’t insult him or run away but walked beside him.

There were a fresh set of sheets on Moreau’s bed when he entered the room.

“Try not to snore so much this time,” Nathaniel said, a half-hearted sneer on his face as he dropped onto his bed.

Andrew gasped as he clutched his hands to his chest. “I have never been so slandered in my life. Never.”

Nathaniel scoffed as he rubbed at his eyes as if he was tired. “Right, that’s the worst you’ve ever heard. Such a sheltered life you’ve led.” Then he dropped his hands and had the grace to look guilty. “Uhm, I mean… that didn’t come out right.”

The press had delighted in going on about his stint in juvie, him being in the foster system and of course him being arrested for beating up the assholes who’d hurt Nicky, not that he’d cared at all. “I know not what you mean, I’m just an innocent babe alone in this wicked, cruel world.” He tried to bat his eyes but wasn’t sure it worked well with the manic grin.

Nathaniel gazed at him for several seconds before he sighed and stood up. “I didn’t see you take a hit to the head earlier so I think it’s okay for you to go sleep,” he mumbled as he went into the bathroom to get ready for bed.

Andrew gasped again. “You care for me! You truly do care!” His lips twitched when his ‘dear’ soulmate gave him the finger before the bathroom door slammed shut.

At the very least, someone didn’t quite hate him as much anymore. Who knew, maybe by the time he graduated, Nathaniel might even trust him.

He blamed the drugs for the feeling of warmth in his chest at that thought.

*******

IDK, still working through some things, but lately it’s been... if I post is that a sad cry for attention? Am I being annoying? Maybe I shouldn’t post stuff... but I said I’d post this.

*sighs*

Anyway, back to writing the other fic. Hope everyone is staying safe.

[the-drakeboys]

Come Back to Me - Pt. 1

Summary: For the first time in years, Sam and Nate Drake will be going on a perilous, high-risk adventure without you by their side - a three-day stint in a Panamanian prison. They’re not just the guys you’ve partnered with and been a medic for on dozens of insane jobs over the last few years - Nate has become one of your closest friends, and Sam… well, Samuel Drake is the love of your life. 

Sam just wants to reassure you - everything is going to be perfectly fine. 

It’s a simple job, after all. 

Pairing: Sam Drake x Reader

Word Count: 3,475

Warnings: Just… all of the fluff. So much fluff.

A/N: My first fic in a long time! I sincerely hope you enjoy. This’ll be a 3- or 4-part series… Just can’t get enough of Sam. He’s such a complex character, and I absolutely love him. Thanks so much for reading!

---

"I just don't see why we can't come up with something." Pacing the floor with your hands on your hips, you had both Drake brothers watching you with uncertain eyes. The crimson shag carpeting beneath your feet squished between your toes, and your eyes caught the cryptic motel art hanging on the far wall. "There must be... I don't know. Something." 

"We've been over this three hundred times, y/n. It's not gonna work," Nate sighed, rubbing his hands down over his face. You slowed to a stop behind Sam's chair and set your hand on the back of it. You idly thought about how badly you needed to do a load of laundry - his t-shirt felt utterly grimy against the side of your thumb. "But the boat is an important piece of the puzzle. Immensely important. In fact, I would say it's the most important-" 

"Okay, alright, she gets it," Sam waved off his brother's muttering, glancing up at you over his shoulder. "Darlin', we'll be fine. I promise you. It's a simple plan, in and out. That's it." You stared down at him, taken by the earnest look in his eyes. He meant it; he was confident everything would be completely fine. 

And that's what scared you. 

"Sam..." you started, your mouth opening and closing uselessly. He never left your gaze, managing a small, reassuring smile in the corner of his lips. You sighed, setting your hand softly onto his cheek. He turned his head and kissed your palm, hoping that your jittery nerves would be soothed by it. You felt yourself sink, knowing they were right. "Just... just go over the plan for me one more time. Okay?" 

"Jesus, y/n..." Nate's patience was wearing thin. You sat yourself down in the chair between them, trying to settle yourself. 

"Please. Just humor me,” you pressed. The younger Drake softened at the sound of your voice and gave, clearing his throat and starting up on the plan for the millionth time. 

"Uh... Yeah. Yeah, alright." You sunk back into the chair, feeling the weight of all your worry and stress press down into your shoulders. "So, obviously, we know that Avery and Burnes had a run-in at some point in the late 1690's, and Burnes eventually wound up on his crew, and was definitely present for the Gunsway heist. Then in 1696, he was captured and imprisoned for his crimes as a pirate..." Your eyes carefully followed as he gestured across maps, notes, and letters, recounting all the details for you from start to finish, feeling your heart crumple up as he returned to the part of the plan that had remained a sticking point for you for four solid months.

The jail. 

"...so once we get whatever Burnes left behind, and assuming there aren't any hiccups or anything, we just follow Rafe's lead and head to the boat." 

"And that's where you come in," Sam murmured. "Rafe's guy will drive the boat, and you'll be there to patch us up. Y'know, if... we need it." 

Dazed and quiet, you just nodded, staring at the blueprints of the jail in front of you. Eyeing the lines - all the cells, the maze-like array of boxes and hallways and tunnels. It'd be hell to get out of there on short notice. Sam raised a brow at you, taking in your slumped form and feeling the defeat that came off of you in waves. He reached over and rested a firm hand on your knee, forcing you to lock onto his eyes. "Baby," he started. "It's nothing. We do a job like this in our sleep. You know that. I promise this time next week, it'll be like it never happened. Just me and you, on the beach somewhere, drinkin' mojitos and dancin' in the sunset." 

You cleared your throat and sat up, sighing out a slow breath of air. "That's sweet," you spoke, leaning over and pressing a gentle kiss to his lips. "But that's not what's bothering me." 

"...oh?" he mumbled as you leaned back from the kiss, sitting back in his chair and getting ready to listen. 

Nate took a swig of the luke warm beer that'd been sitting in front of him for over an hour; you hid a smile, pretending you didn't notice the grimace that crossed his face as he sat it back down. "Well... I mean, truthfully, besides the impossible exit strategy - or lack thereof, or the fact that I can’t be there - and yes, I get it, all male prison, yadda, yadda; or even the fact that the person your entire plan is dependent on is Rafe, with whom I wouldn't trust a pet rock, much less my life..." you trailed off, not noticing the look Nathan shot to his brother across the table and the narrowed eyes the elder sent right back, "it's mostly... Burnes. I mean, I hear you, Nate, I really do, a lead is a lead. But just… why Burnes?”

Nate cocked his head at you. “Whatta you mean?” 

You cleared your throat and carefully lifted the 300 year old letter from the table. “I mean… why Burnes? Theoretically, the Gunsway heist took place in ‘95, right? Avery dies four years later - and based on this one letter, we’re supposed to believe that Avery left his monumental treasure of gold and jewels, the culmination of his entire fantastic career as a pirate… to some inconsequential member of his crew who’d barely come aboard just before the heist?” 

A wave of depressed concern flooded both young men. "Well..." Sam started, sitting forward. "Look, it's..." 

You cut him off, “-and not to mention, why would he have wanted his son to ‘find his way in’ to a Panamanian jail? Is there no chance that it was forged by someone trying to lure the son in, maybe one of the captains in charge of capturing and hanging as many of the pirates from Avery’s crew as possible?” 

Nate grumbled under his breath and stood, going over to the mini fridge in the corner. He pulled a few cold beers from the tiny shelf and cracked them open.

You glanced over at Sam, immediately feeling guilt flood your veins at the disheartened expression on his face. “I’m… I’m sorry. I just… I don’t want you two risking so much on such a thin lead.” The brothers shared a look. 

Nate carefully sat down, sliding the two beers to both you and Sam across the cheap wooden table. He gently took the letter back from you and ran his eyes over it. 

“The thing is… you’re not wrong. Okay? It’s thin. It’s definitely thin. But… listen to this. ‘Though my regrets are many, know that I am at peace with my fate.’ He’s… He’s a father, giving peace of mind to his wife and son. Letting them know he’s ready for death. If it was one of the Viceroys, they wouldn’t want to imagine him having any sort of peace, and they certainly wouldn’t want the son to feel peaceful about it, either. They’d want him to feel urgency. To hurry to the jail. They’d give him some sort of date or timeline.” Nate’s passion was evident as he let the words roll off his tongue, and you couldn’t help how it made you smile, how much he reminded you of his brother. 

They both got that look in their eye when they talked about history; when they told the stories of people who’d lived and died so long ago. 

“And,” Sam chimed in, a glint in his eye as he spoke, “he doesn’t just say ‘treasure’. He describes it as ‘the riches of paradise’... That’s a pretty specific line, and given how religious Avery seems to have been... I mean, there are references to paradise all over Avery’s history, and the Spaniards wouldn’t have known that.” 

Okay. you thought. There’s no talking them out of this.

“C’mon… You know it’ll be fine… over before you know it. What’s the worst that could happen?” Sam nudged at your foot with his own, trying his hardest to make you smile.

Your eyes found their way to your overstuffed med pack, sitting fully stocked at the edge of your bed. You’d been there for them through more close calls and near-death experiences than you’d care to admit over the last three years, playing medic to their wild, reckless adventurers since the beginning. And now, without you being able to get into the prison with them, the mere thought of them having to make it in and out of that place without you by their side turned your stomach inside out. 

But they were right. This was the only lead you’d had for months… It was this, or back to square one. And with everything they’d been through, with how long they’d been after this treasure… That just wasn’t an option. 

Biting the inside of your cheek, you mumbled, “Can I at least stock you guys up with some gear, just in case?” 

A wide grin broke out over Sam’s face. “That’s my girl,” he laughed, reaching over and cupping your cheeks in his hands. “We’re gonna be fine,” he pressed a kiss to your lips, “More than fine, actually. We’ll be great.” He turned to his brother then, holding his beer out for a cheers. “We’re gettin’ close to this treasure, I can feel it.” 

You let out a soft giggle, rolling your eyes and lifting your own beer to theirs. Just before your bottle touched Sam’s, you pulled it back. “...Although…”

“...oh my god. What?” Nate huffed with a frustrated laugh.

“...What do I get out of bein’ so cool about this?” you grinned, lifting your feet up to rest on Sam’s lap. 

“What you get? You mean other than your share of a 400 million dollar treasure?” Nathan was beside himself at this point, finally relaxed but still in disbelief at your stubbornness. 

Sam was lost to the conversation, in an awe-filled haze as he watched you start haggling with his younger brother. He softly rested his free hand on your ankle, rubbing the skin there and listening to you throw out ideas - everything from them doing your laundry for a month to a three-day excursion to the Bahamas - and all he could think was just how goddamn lucky he’d gotten; he still couldn’t believe you were his.

“...okay, okay, no, I’ve got it,” you spoke, sure of yourself as a sly grin crossed your face. Nate raised a brow at you, playfully terrified of whatever was to come next.

“Oh god, what is it?” 

You sat forward, smirking at them both. “When you get back, you two finally tell me your last name.” 

“...y/n, the hell’re you talkin’ about?” the younger Drake seemed confused, but you saw right through both of them. 

“Yeah, c’mon. You know, your real last name.” They both immediately began stuttering their way through objections, but you weren’t having any of it. “C’mon, boys, how long did you think I was gonna buy that you just happened to be descendants of Sir Francis Drake? Really? You’re treasure hunters, for Christ’s sakes.” 

Your laughter carried through the thin motel walls, but Sam stayed on target, pressing his fingers lovingly into your ankle as he did, “No, no, Drake is a very proud, very meaningful family name. You’ll see, we’ll uhh… shit, I’ll show you my birth certificate if that makes you feel better.” 

Nate shot him a look that screamed ‘are you fuckin’ kidding?’, but it went unnoticed. There was a darkness in Sam’s eyes and a pang in your gut that told you to let this one go; there was much more to this story than he was ready to tell.

“...mhmm,” you grinned, playing it off and raising your beer once more. “So, uhh… my laundry for a month, then?” 

Nate let out a relieved laugh, glad the discussion was finally over. “Guess I can live with that. I figure it’s worth it for 400 million.”

 Over the clinking of bottles and excited murmurs of cheers, an atmosphere of adventure loomed. 

Sam was right. Everything would be… great. 

“Y’know, I was thinking about the guard that Rafe is paying to get us in, I mean, maybe we can buy him a fruit basket or somethin’ once it’s all done…” Nate began, “Could be a nice way to keep him from asking about what we’re doin’, I mean it could be pretty funny, here’s thirty grand and, y’know, some bananas and pomegranates…” You and Sam listened in amusement, nodding your heads as if any of what he was saying made sense. 

As the youngest Drake rambled on and on about fruit baskets and prison guards and how much of an asshole he knows Rafe to be, Sam found your eyes with his and held them there. A weight lived there between you both, a magnet pulling you to him. He took a swig of his beer, occasionally ‘mhm’ing for his little brother’s benefit; but you were all he was thinking about. A soft smile tugged at your lips, the coy look in your eye driving him crazy, making him struggle not to reach out and touch you. 

“Ahem,” Nate coughed, a brow raised at both of you. You mumbled a ‘hmm?’ at him, turning to face him. Sam didn’t move, gaze still set on you as if he was etching every curve of your face into his memory. 

“I’m uh… I’m gonna go see what’s goin’ on down at Tankhouse. I think it’s ladies night, or… somethin’.” You felt a warm blush come over your cheeks as he stood from the table.

“...you have fun with that, little brother.” Sam’s soft voice and sly, cheeky smile caused a flutter in your stomach, your foot gently kicking his side as you willed him to behave long enough for Nate to get out the door. 

“Sounds good, Nate,” you muttered through your smile, “We’ll see you tomorrow.” 

“Night, guys,” he said with a playful roll of his eyes, shutting the door behind him. 

Sam set his beer down and reached over, turning the knobs on the old motel radio that sat against the wall. Old 60’s tunes began to play through the speakers, and he set it to a low volume before turning back to you. “C’mere,” he mumbled, his tone both husky and sweet as you obliged him. You moved to sit yourself across his lap, sighing happily as he brought you into his arms and tugged you close. He captured your lips with his in a slow, heated kiss, one that set you on fire and made your fingers curl around the fabric of his t-shirt. You sunk into him, wrapping your arms around his neck and smiling against his lips. “...what?” he chuckled, his eyes slowly peeling open. 

“Nothin’. Just… you taste… you taste like beer and..tacos.”

“M’not hearin’ a complaint…” 

“Shuddup,” you giggled, still tasting him on your tongue as you leaned back in his hold. There was a long quiet as he stared up at you, eyes lidded and hazy. You dragged your lips in a whisper against his, humming your words into them. “Mmmm, you are gonna miss meeeee…” 

He let out a pained laugh and buried his face in the crook of your neck, peppering soft kisses there. “Ooh, babygirl, you have no idea.” 

“Can you imagine me in prison, though?” you wondered aloud, lovingly threading your fingers through his long, auburn hair and smiling at the happy, peaceful hum it brought out of him.

“...ooooh, I sure can,” he teased, his fingers coming up to give your side a playful squeeze. 

“Oh, stop it,” you laughed, smacking his arm. 

“What? I’m serious. You all dressed up in the orange jumpsuit? Runnin’ the joint, callin’ the shots.” 

He leaned his head back, glancing up at you as you thought aloud, trying to hide your grin, “Y’know, you’re not wrong, I’d probably be some big shot… Get a bunch of tattoos, maybe start collecting teardrops…”

“Now that, that I would love to see,” he laughed, his hand sweetly resting on your thigh and his thumb swiping back and forth. “What about your right-hand man? Do I get a few teardrops, too?”

You cocked your head to the side in thought, twirling some of his hair around your fingers, “Hmm… No, I don’t think you’d be the teardrops type… Too obvious. You’d uhh… I could see you with some birds. Maybe down the side here…” You traced a finger down the side of his neck, feeling goosebumps rise in the wake of your touch. He closed his eyes then, drinking in the moment, loving every second of how it felt to have you in his arms. 

“Mmm… Mhm, I’ll have to do that… Maybe I’ll just get them on this trip. I’ll come back to you all tatted up, lookin’ large and in charge,” he chuckled, still distracted by your fingers running through his hair. 

A heavy quiet fell over both of you, the only sound in the room coming from the radio as oldies classics continued to play. You slowly pulled your fingers from his hair, cupping his face in your palms and meeting his eyes as he peeled them open. “You do that, Samuel Drake,” you whispered. “You come back to me.” 

The fear and stress that played over your face rocked something in him, and every bone in his body ached, knowing just how worried you’d be until he came back to you. 

And in that moment, something in him clicked; staring up at you, his heart racing, his entire body overflowing, he mumbled a single word. 

“Morgan.” 

Your brows furrowed with questions, your mouth opening to ask them, but stopping as realization overtook your face. He repeated it quietly, a shy, scared smile tugging at his lips. “Our name… it’s Morgan.” 

You couldn’t help the joy that poured onto your face, love stretching through you to your fingertips as you closed the small distance between you and met his lips with a full, passionate kiss. He wrapped himself around you, moving his lips with yours, falling harder with each passing moment and knowing in his gut that of all the people in the world to tell about who he really was, the only one that mattered was you. 

As you pulled back from the kiss, you could feel his heart thumping heavily away in his chest. He cleared his throat. This was hard for him; but for you, he would do anything. “When we were kids, I uhm…. There was this one night...” He looked shaken, and your chest ached at the sight. You could see him reliving whatever hell he and Nathan had gone through - you saw it right there in his eyes. “See, Nathan was just a little guy, and I... I almost-”

“-I love you,” you whispered, resting your forehead against his. An emotional smile came over him, grateful for the rescue. 

“Maybe I’ll uhh… maybe I’ll save that one for another time,” he mumbled, relief washing over him. 

“Sounds like a plan, handsome,” you promised. “Your secret’s safe with me.” 

There wasn’t an ounce of uncertainty in his eyes, his hand coming up to gently tuck some of your hair behind your ear. “Never doubted it, sweetheart,” he spoke. “In fact-” He cut himself off then, brows raising happily as the radio began to play his favorite - Sinatra. “Ooh… Oh, this is a good one.” He reached over, fingers nimbly turning the radio up as I’ve Got You Under My Skin floated out through the room. “...I have got you,” he started to sing, your heart instantly fluttering at the sound, “Under my skin… I’ve got you, deep in the heart of me…” 

Sam’s smile was infectious as he sang, shifting you in his lap so he carried you bridal style against his chest. “...I would sacrifice anything, come what might, for the sake, of holdin’ you near…” He stood then, eyes glued to yours, loving how you listened to him with that adoring gaze, your arms around his neck, swaying from side to side as he held you.

His face was so close to you, his lips hovering above yours, warm breath unfolding over your skin with every word of the song. “But each time I do, just the thought of you, makes me stop, before I begin…. ‘Cuz I’ve got you…” Before he could finish, you took those beautiful few words from his lips with a kiss; one that made you both forget the impending trip to Panama, the jail he’d be stuck in for three days without you, and his partnership with the ever questionable Rafe Adler. It was a kiss full of all the weight of knowing deep down in your gut that you were utterly, hopelessly.. helplessly in love. 

---

Next Chapter

Tags: [tagging the lovely folks who responded to my post re: who’d be interested in a Sam fic. :)]

@lucacangettathisass @ammaliatrici @cassieseraphim @slooshen @wings-0806 @talktothemoon2 @nachochitz @supernaturally-avenging-hannibal @aritipoupi @landoverthemountains @qwertybubbler @raeswrittenrecords @coolnerdreader @s4mdrake @go-youngtrash-things

GIF credit to @bizexualvampire, couldn’t get tumblr to link the gif from the post. thank you!

[pongnosis]

I’m sorry to bother you again but are there any little scenes/headcanons that you never got to add into Devil? What are your favs?

It’s absolutely not a bother! The answer will probably be a little disappointing, though. There were a ton of ideas that never made it in, but the vast majority of them remained a line or two in my notes. Of the stuff that actually got written ... most of what I never got to add in was stuff where the plot took a different turn - things like the bare bones/main scenes of the alternate ending where Alex chose the CIA options, or snippets of an AU where Yassen chose to break Alex and turn him entirely into Orion after Santa Catarina. Bits of some of it got reused elsewhere if possible, and the rest of the discarded scenes are generally stuff that just ... didn’t fit in. It was too slow, too detail-heavy, or just didn’t quite fit the flow of the chapter. Most of the important scenes and headcanons made it in (with the exception, I believe, of the undercover agent on Santa Catarina - that was Nathan, Johann’s bodyguard, who was with the CIA, but it never fit into the fic to mention it.)

If you do feel in the mood for Yassen deciding to break Alex ‘for his own good’, I’m happy to share! It’s less of a rough first draft and more a collection of main scenes that I had to get down in writing before it would leave me alone. It’s somewhere on the discord server, too, but ... way, way back. God knows where. Warnings for Yassen deciding to break Alex through isolation:

Alex wakes up in an unfamiliar room wearing nothing but loose trousers and a t-shirt. His last recollection is leaving Malagosto with Yassen; refusing to stab someone to death, accepting however many weeks in Dr Three's care, and Yassen telling him he won't have to -

- And nothing. Drugs do weird things to memories sometimes; resistance to interrogation taught him that. It could have been days ago. It could have been hours. He has no way of knowing.

There is no daylight in the room, no windows, just the constant, low, artificial light of the lamps. There is no running water anywhere. There's a toothbrush and toothpaste and a sink, but no tap. There's a chemical toilet and disinfectant gel with a horrible, hospital-like smell to it, but nowhere to actually wash his hands. No shower. Nothing but a plastic jug of water and a cup that goes with it. To Alex's best estimate, it's enough to last a day and not much more.

The door is locked. Alex tries it twice, just to be sure. He can probably fit a single sheet of paper between the door and the frame but that's it. The walls are solid and probably soundproof.

It doesn't feel like Dr Three's style, though Alex could be wrong.

He has no idea of the time but he stays stubbornly silent. He won't beg to be let out, he won't talk, and whoever is behind this – Yassen, it has to be – can just go screw themselves.

With no shoes on, he's smart enough not to kick the door.

Eventually he settles down, resting against the wall. There's nothing else to do. The floor isn't comfortable but then, neither is the wall. His mind, already bored, is happy to supply any number of horrific possibilities as to why he's there. Alex is sure that's Yassen's plan in the first place and makes a pointed effort to ignore them.

He starts by mentally reciting every country and capital he can remember. Then he tries in alphabetical order, followed by doing the same in French, Spanish, Russian, German.

He can remember a surprising amount of song lyrics when he thinks about it, which just makes it all the more annoying when there's part of a single verse that he can't recall.

Alex spends a long time trying to remember the first lines to Total Eclipse of the Heart, and considering how many times Jack's played the damn thing -

Alex has just started on his third attempt at trying to remember all of Bohemian Rhapsody when the door opens and Yassen steps inside. Alex is on his feet seconds later, stiff and sore and furious.

Then he takes a closer look. There's something about Yassen's body language that has Alex instantly on edge. Something that reminds him of … he's not sure, but he knows it's nothing good. Gentle, almost.

“Orion,” Yassen greets, breaking the silence.

“Alex.” Probably not the best time to be stubborn, but Alex doesn't care.

There is something in Yassen's eyes – pride, pity, resigned determination – and he touches Alex's chin lightly. “Not anymore.”

Alex sneers. “What, you didn't have the heart to just shoot me, so you'll lock me up?”

“Something like that,” Yassen agrees.

----

Alex gets the point when he lets his anger get the better of him and hurls the jug at the door and calls Yassen every name in the book.

There is no food or water that evening, night, whatever time it is. The floor is still damp but dries fast in the dry, air-conditioned atmosphere. Alex goes to sleep thirsty and wakes up with a mouth that feels like sandpaper and saliva that acts like glue.

He doesn't work out that day, just does slow, careful stretches that won't make him sweat.

He's hungry, too, but the thirst is overwhelming. When the door finally opens sometimes in the 'evening' and Yassen appears with a new jug of water and a plate of nutrition bars, Alex doesn't move.

Yassen doesn't put it down but arches an eyebrow in a silent question, and Alex knows without being told that if he gets it wrong, Yassen will leave again.

A healthy adult can go for a week or more without water. Alex isn't an adult but he knows Yassen will have a good idea of what he can handle, and two days without water probably won't kill him.

Yassen's words to him before his first meeting with the executive board comes back to him, unwanted.

Be respectful, obey, never argue.

Yassen doesn't care that he's the one that locked up Alex. He doesn't care that Alex has every right to be angry and throw a fit. He doesn't care that Alex is a teenager and not exactly known for forethought and rational actions.

Thirst battles with pride. Yassen never moves. Finally the man seems to lose his patience. It's more a minute shift of muscles than anything else, but Alex can read it just fine.

Alex swallows. “- I'm sorry,” he says before he can stop himself, before Yassen can leave, and his words sound hoarse to himself. They make his throat hurt, too.

Yassen nods and holds out the water, and Alex accepts it very, very carefully. He forces himself to drink slowly – there's plenty, but he doesn't want to waste it – and when he puts it down, the plate is on the floor, and Yassen is gone again.

--------

The nutrition bars are vanilla flavoured; the cheap sort that's made of chemicals in a lab somewhere and added to everything from discount candy to the sort of milkshakes that come in plastic jugs.

By day five. Alex is ready to throw up from just the smell of chemical vanilla. It takes longer to eat those bars every day. The only reason he manages is because of hunger and the fact that if he doesn't, the smell will stick.

He dumps them in the chemical toilet in a fit of anger on day six. He gets no food on day seven. None on day eight. By the time day nine rolls around and he finally gets food again, that vanilla smell is the best thing ever.

Alex gets the lesson loud and clear.

Be respectful.

------

Yassen greets him with 'Orion' every time but says little else. He answers if Alex asks, but only sometimes. If Alex gets angry, Yassen will leave. If he stays respectful, he will have company for at least a little while.

Yassen calls him Orion. Alex corrects him. It becomes a habit, though Alex's heart isn't really in it. He's tired and bored and lonely, and it's not like Yassen doesn't know about his objections.

On day eleven, Yassen appears with the usual food and drink, for a given definition of the term.

“Orion.”

Alex wonders why he bothers. For the first time, Alex can't be bothered to correct him, too tired to care.

“... Whatever.”

-------

The reading material that appears is Dr Three's most recent work, a two-thousand page monstrosity on torture.

Alex doesn't want to read it but the boredom has become a creature of its own, gnawing slowly at his sanity.

He opens the book.

It takes him three days to finish it. When he does, Yassen spends a long time testing him, question after question on what he's read, and Alex answers to the best of his ability. It's better than the silence.

There is fresh fruit with his dinner that night; apples, grapes, sweet oranges. Alex forces himself to eat slowly and savour it. He eats everything but the stems and peel – and honest, he even tried a bite of that. At least it's not vanilla.

He loses track of the days eventually. He's not sure how. He got to twenty-something and then … forgot. Lost count. Was it twenty-two or three? His mental calendar break down after that. It's not like that matters, either. He's not getting out any time soon. Maybe never, some deep, dark part of his mind acknowledges.

[dubersbutt]

He Doesn’t Have to Know - Nathan Mackinnon

Summary: Nate is a bartender working a slow shift when you walk in.

Word Count: 2.8K

Warnings: cheating, smut, the works

Tuesday nights. Nate had a love-hate relationship with the shift. On one hand, he mostly got paid to sit around and do nothing because hardly anyone showed up. On the other hand, few people meant few tips, and he got bored really easily.

He and Ej are messing around in the back when you walk in. He “accidentally” poured a glass of water on Ej’s chest which created a dilemma when your uniform consisted of a thin white dress shirt.

“Are you kidding me, man,” he says as he rolls his eyes, “you gotta take her, man. I can’t go out like this.”

“Are you sure?” Nate teases, “you might get a bigger tip looking like that, Magic Mike.”

“Shut up and go, dumbass.”

Nate laughs as he walks out the door. The first thing he notices about you is how well you’re dressed - which isn’t surprising considering everyone who comes here is rich and he assumes you’re no different. The second thing the notices is the gigantic ring on your finger, a ring that screamed “TAKEN” from a mile away.

“Evening ma’am,” he greets, “what can I get you?”

He watches your eyes travel up and down his body. Nate’s a good looking guy - played hockey when he was younger, goes to the gym every day - and his uniform hugs him in all the right places. Sure he could go up a size in shirts, but if he’s totally honest, he doesn’t mind the stares.

“Cosmo,” you say after a slight pause.

“Yes ma’am,” he starts on your drink and your smile. That’s when he notices, your nails, lipstick and dress are all the same shade of deep red that compliments your skin tone.

“Pretty lonely down here,” you say as he hands you his drink.

He shrugs, “I don’t mind. It means that I can talk with a pretty girl like you.”

So Nate flirted with married women every once in a while. He needed the tips!

“Oh, I bet you say that to all the ladies,” you reply as you bring your drink to your lips.

“Only the breathtakingly beautiful ones,” and he’s not lying. He doesn’t really flirt with anyone he doesn’t find attractive. And you were striking.

Just then, an immaculately dressed man walks in. His suit is some high-end brand Nate doesn’t know the name of but can recognize that it probably costs the same amount he paid for his car. His shoes are some soft leather without any creases and the face of his watch takes up his entire wrist. Dude was bougie.

He walks over to you and gives you a kiss on the cheek. So this must be the owner of the ring, Nate thinks.

“What can I get for you, sir?”

“Didn’t my wife already order for me,” he asks as he pulls out his phone and starts scrolling.

“No, sir.”

“Maybe you weren’t listening,” he replies as he taps his ear.

Nate takes a deep breath but you cut in before he can say anything.

“No, dear, your drink order changes every night, how would I know what you wanted,”  if Nate’s not mistaken there’s a slight bite to your voice.

The other man rolls his eyes, “scotch, neat.”

Nate takes a deep breath as he gets out the glass and realizes he never specified which scotch he wanted. He chooses the most expensive one and pours it into the glass. He slides it across the bar, which is the best part of his job even when the customers are dicks.

“I asked for this on the rocks,” he says he shakes the drink in Nate’s face.

Nate knows he didn’t but he’s also been doing this long enough to realize there’s no point in arguing and takes the glass to put one of the large round ice cubes from the freezer.

“Anything else I can get you?” Nate asks and prays that’s all you need.

“That’s all for now,” you say, cutting off your husband and Nate rushes to the back before he can say anything.

“Douchebag?” EJ asks while rubbing a towel on his still damp chest.

“Obviously.”

“You should have punched him.”

“I wanted to,” Nate replies as he runs his hand through his hair.

He and Ej chat for 20 minutes before Nate knows he should go out to check on you two. He tries to get Ej to do it but-

“I would rather stick my foot in the fryer than talk that man.”

And Nate would feel bad if Ej stuck his foot in the dryer because of him so he goes out instead.

When he gets outside his drink is relatively untouched and he has a stack of money in his hand.

“The cheque,” he demands and Nate walks over to the till to print it.

Thankfully he doesn’t have an argument about the prices - Nate really doesn’t think he can handle the “I just work here I don’t run the place” conversation right now.

“Are you coming with me?” he asks you after placing money in the cheque book. Surprise, surprise, he’s a lousy tipper.

“I’ve barely touched my drink.”

“Well I have to go, I’ll see you at home?”

You just nod your head and extend your neck for him to kiss your cheek. You watch as he leaves and as soon as he’s out the door you turn to Nate.

“I’m sorry about my husband,” you say holding a small piece of paper in between your fingers, “he’s a...difficult man. This should make up for his behaviour.”

He takes it and when he unfolds it he sees a 50 dollar bill.

“Are you su-“ he starts to ask but you hold up a hand, stopping him.

“Take it,” and so he does.

He starts to clean up your husband’s dishes, picking up the glass and dropping the contents in the sink. Such a waste of good scotch he thinks sadly.

“Now I hope you know that a 50 dollar tip means that you have to stay out here and talk to me.”

“I would’ve done it for free,” and he would’ve.

“It’s a small price to pay to watch your ass in that suit,” you say bringing your cup to your lips and smirking at him over the rim.

He almost drops the glass.

“Aren’t you married?”

You shrug, “he’s out right now parading himself with other women. He thinks he’s discreet but he’s not. If he can do it, why can’t I?”

Nate walks over to the bar to stand in front of you. He tries to think of anything witty to say at all but is at a loss for words.

“I’m sorry if that made you uncomfortable,” you say, “I never was good at holding my tongue.”

“Maybe if you weren’t so absolutely stunning,” he says with a slight shrug.

You laugh, “careful there, Nathaniel,” he assumes you read his name card on his chest, his boss doesn’t allow them to put nicknames on the card, “you’re flirting with a married woman.”

“You said yourself that he’s with other women, so what’s the harm in a little flirting.”

“What time do you end here, Nathaniel?”

“Not until 1 but I can probably get out of here sooner for you…”

“(Y/N).”

“(Y/N),” he finishes, “give me a few minutes.”

He sprints to the back room and pushes open the door, startling EJ.

“Was she a dick too?” he asks.

“No, actually, she gave me a 50 dollar tip and invited me to her apartment so, uh, I’m gonna head out. You’ll be fine here right?” he says so quickly he barely understands himself.

Ej just blinks, “I’m sorry she what? Invited you to her apartment?”

“Yeah, or house, or whatever. She didn’t exactly explain what she wanted to do I just assumed she meant hooking up,” he says and realizes he might be an idiot.

Ej gives him a look, “what if she’s an axe murderer.”

“Well then I read the situation very wrong, but I don’t think I did,” he grabs his coat from the coat hook, “do me a favour though if I don’t respond to you by noon tomorrow then call the cops.”

Ej sighs, “fine but I get half your tips next time we work together cause you're leaving me alone.”

“Not half.”

“Fine a quarter.”

He really doesn’t want to do that but he really, really does not want to keep you waiting so he agrees and pulls on his coat as he leaves.

“I’m good to go,” he says as he hears Ej follow him out.

“Perfect,” you say as you down the rest of your drink and hop down from the barstool.

He follows you out of the restaurant, appreciating the way your dress hugs your body. If you turned out to be an axe murderer he was going to be so mad.

“So, uh where’s your apartment?” He asks once the chilly Denver air hits him.

“Patience, Nathaniel,” you say as you start walking, “can I call you that?”

He doesn’t usually like people calling him by his full name, but it sounds so good from you so he doesn’t mind it.

“I only ask because it’s a bit of a mouthful to scream, isn’t it?”

Nate has to take a deep breath to stop himself from pressing you up against the wall right there and then, “Nate, is good too.”

You grab his hand and lead him into your apartment building moments later. Your hand stays loosely attached to his wrist as you greet the security guard and walk into the elevator.

He’s taken by surprise when the doors close and you pull him close to press your lips to his gently. You’ve undone his jacket before he realizes it.

You take a perfectly manicured finger down his thin dress shirt. His breath catches in his throat when you pull him closer by his belt loops.

“This shirt is too tight on you, you know.”

“Are you complaining?”

“Not at all,” you reply as to bring him in for another kiss.

He holds you against the wall, kissing you slowly until the elevator doors open.

When the doors open you’re greeted by a small fluffy black cat that runs into the elevator, purring as it rubs itself against your ankles.

“Hi, baby,” you coo as you pick it up and walk out, “the bedroom is the last door on the left. I need to check on her food, be naked by the time I get there.”

Nate follows your instructions and sure enough, the last door on the left is the master bedroom. He wasn’t exactly sure what he was expected but you have the biggest bed he’d ever seen. He strips out of his shirt and pants, leaving them in a pile on the floor. He lounges on the bed and, honestly, it’s so comfortable he almost falls asleep.

He hears the door open and then you’re stepping into the room and throwing yourself on his lap.

“Fuck you’re hot,” you say as you straddle his waist and lean down to kiss him, “but this is not naked.”

You snap his briefs against his skin lightly.

“Sorry,” he mumbles.

You hum against his skin as you trail kisses his down his neck. He lets out a small moan your teeth scrape against his neck. You slide down his body, kissing as you go. His dick is just trying to chub in his briefs when you settle yourself between his legs. He lifts his hips to help him shimmy out of them.

He’s not expecting it when you jerk him slowly, teasing him. You wrap your lips around the tip, looking at him as you suck hard. His hand comes to grip the back of your head. His hips come up to thrust down your throat but you push his hips down with your hands.

“Nuh-uh,” you say as you pull off his dick, “Be good.”

“What if I’m not?”

“Then I’ll spank you,” you wink at him before you take him back into your throat.

He can’t tell if you’re joking but the thought shouldn’t turn him on as much as it does.

He tries to even out his breathing when you push your head past the sphincter of your throat and his fingers are scratching at the back of your head. Your hands are still holding his hips, nails digging into them. He moans as your mouth gets more and more wet. He wants to buck hips but you keep him from doing so. Spit and pre-cum dribble out the side of your mouth. Your eyes water as you fuck yourself on his cock. He has to pull on your head to get you to stop before he blows his load.

“You could have cum on my face,” and Nate almost cums right then and there.

“As good as that sounds, I really want to fuck you.”

You let out a short laugh as you crawl up his body to kiss him. His hands come up to caress your body when he realizes that you’re still wearing your dress. He wants to rip it off you but it probably costs more than his rent so he asks you to take it off.

The second the straps fall from your shoulder, he’s reaching up to bite at the exposed skin of your shoulder.

“No marks,” you say while pulling on the short hair at the back of his neck.

“It looks like your cat clawed my hips,” he says as he helps pull the dress off your body.

You let out an annoyed huff, “That’s different.”

When the dress is off he flips you over, kissing the valley between your breasts. He reaches around you to unclasp your bra, unhooking it with practised ease.

“Got a lot of experience there, Nathaniel?” you tease.

He just smirks and slips his hand in between your legs, under the waistband of your thong. He finger dips between your folds and he lets out a groan when he feels how wet you are.

“All this just from blowing me?” he groans huskily in your ear, “I wonder what would happen if you sat on my face.”

You whine, “Fuck, next time, I just want you to fuck me.”

He pumps his finger in and out a few times before he lines himself with your entrance and pushes in slowly. You tap on his ass to tell him to move and he wastes no time, fucking you hard and heavy. Each thrust pushes a moan out of you.

“Nate,” you moan as he reaches up and grips the headboard for leverage. He can feel you clenching around him. He reaches down to rub circles into your clit which makes you wrap your legs around his body.

Another moan leaves your body, “Nate, Nate, Nate don’t stop.”

“Cum for me baby,” he groans in your ear. He can’t wrap his hand around your throat like he wants so he’ll settle for gripping your chin to kiss you furiously. He’s conflicted between wanting to hear your moans and wanting to keep kissing you.

Your hands claw at his neck and shoulders as you near your orgasm, dropping your head back to savour the pleasure.

“Come all over me, baby,” he grunts and that’s all you need before you come hard, jerking in his arms as your orgasm hits you. Nate can feel your juices coating his thighs and that’s what makes him lose it, fucking into as he cums. A shiver runs down your spins as you feel him spill himself into you.

It takes him a minute to catch his breath before he slips out of you and lays down beside you. You catch his chin in your hand and turn his head to so you can kiss him. He grips your hip and pulls you in by hiking your thigh over his body. The two of you make out lazily for a while before you untangle yourself from the tangle of limbs.

“Get comfy, I’ll be back in a while.”

He hears the tap running in the bathroom, but he’s asleep before you return.

~~~

He’s awoken by you ripping the covers off him.

“Get up,” you demand.

He’s still half asleep, “What? What’s going on?”

“You need to leave,” you insist as you throw his briefs and slacks at him, “my husband is early. He’s going to be in the lobby and then up the elevator and if you’re not gone in less than  2 minutes, it’s not going to end well.”

Nate scrambles to pull his pants over his thighs and doesn’t bother to do up his belt. He’s reaching for his shirt when you take his hand and lead him through the apartment - er, penthouse, whatever. You’re going so fast Nate nearly trips over the cat.

“Here,” she says opening a door at the end of the hall, “follow this hall and there’s a stairwell. When you go down two floors you can take the elevator down - or keep walking, I don't care.”

You throw the remaining clothes at him.

“Wait-” the door slams shut.