mgowriter's note: The news of Amy Hennig leaving Naughty Dog spiked my worries concerning Uncharted 4, so instead of sitting on my hands and worrying more, I started writing this story. It is amazing to write Nate and Sully again; it has been too long.

Chapter 1

Palm Bay, Florida, 1998

Droplets of sweat sprung from the palms of Nate's hands as he climbed the last flight of stairs. Each ascending level of the house added to the already intolerable humidity as the temperature outside hovered just above 100 degrees.

The sound of several voices floated down from above. Nate's heartbeat quickened. He forced himself to stand straighter. Here goes nothing.

Ahead of him, Cuervo cleared his throat as they entered the room. Four pairs of eyes looked up from a table covered with maps. Nate recognized the other three men instantly. He had studied their pictures hundreds of times. Morales, a short man with a thick beard and an unnatural love for explosives, stood closest to the door. Rivera was next, a specialist in long distance targets and a former sniper in the Venezuelan military. Batista, Cuervo's right hand man, stood the furthest away.

When his eyes arrived at his mentor, Nate couldn't help his blink of surprise. Sully commanded the center of the room. His usually relaxed outfit of Cuban shirt and khaki pants had been replaced with a tight-fitting black t-shirt and grey and black camouflaged pants that ended in heavy combat boots. The outfit matched the slicked back hair and day-old scruff on his cheeks. It was completed by the lit cigar in his mouth and the Smith and Wesson .44 Magnum at his side, gleaming from the light that filtered in through the window.

Sully's features darkened as he looked up from the map. He ripped the cigar out of his mouth and pointed at Nate.

"Goddammit, Cuervo, I thought you said you were bringing in someone with experience. What is this?" He didn't wait for an answer. "How old are you kid, fourteen, fifteen?"

Nate felt his throat tighten under the stare of the other men. He briefly wondered if acting was one of the many professions Sully used to dabble in before he turned professional treasure hunter, because he was doing a damn good job of it.

"Eighteen," he said, consciously deepening his voice. It was a small lie. He turned sixteen last month.

Sully gave him a skeptical look, continuing the act.

"It was all I could do on short notice," said Cuervo, placing his arm around Nate's shoulder. "Besides, we've got ourselves a genuine escape artist here. Isn't that right, buddy?"

Sully raised his eyebrows. "What do you mean, escape artist?"

"This morning, I don't get twenty feet from my hotel when I notice my wallet is missing. Next thing I see, the kid is standing across the street, waving it at me like I'm some kind of idiot." He motioned toward Nate. "I start running after him and it takes half a fucking hour to chase him down. This kid—you should see him climb the walls; faster than a damn monkey. Anyways, I catch him, tie him up, and I'm thinking okay, I'll take him to an associate to be taken care of. On the way there, he escapes two more times. I figure he's more than qualified for the job."

Sully flashed Nate the faintest indication of a smirk as he considered Cuervo's words. It said without so many words, well done, kid. Cuervo, as predicted, had conveniently left out the part where they would have to pay Nate a lot less than they had previously planned. That meant more money for everyone else.

"A street thief, huh?" Sully asked. "What are you doing here?"

Nate shrugged. "The pay's a lot better."

His comment elicited some laughs around the room, and the mood changed dramatically. Sully smiled, as he turned again to the map on the table.

"Now, as I was saying, the Voynich manuscript is currently in the hands of Luis Fernandez."

"Wait," Nate interrupted, "did you say the Voynich manuscript? The book that's written in an undecipherable language and supposed to hold the answers to a bunch of medical and cosmological mysteries?"

Everyone in the room turned to look at Nate. Sully gave him a look that said, watch it.

"You got something to say?" Sully asked.

Nate looked around the room and shook his head. "I've heard of it, that's all."

"Well I'm glad we've got an expert on hand."

The other men laughed again. Sully joined in, but his eyes were still on Nate.

"Like I was saying, Mr. Luis Fernandez, an avid art collector, has the manuscript in his private mansion, outside the city of Caracas in Venezuela. And we," he emphasized the word as he looked around the room, "are going to take it from him."

. . .

At the end of the briefing, Cuervo and his men agreed to meet at the air field later that night, where a cargo plane would take them to Caracas. Sully pulled Nate aside as the room emptied.

"You okay, kid?"

"Yeah," Nate replied, exhaling with relief. "Nice people you hang out with."

"I trust Cuervo and his men about as far as I can throw'em," Sully said, lowering his voice. "We don't have much of a choice on this one. They have a way into the country, undetected, and they're familiar with people on the ground." He sighed. "You did good. I was worried at first, but all in all, not a bad performance." He placed his hand on Nate's shoulder. "Next time—"

Nate winced involuntarily at the touch.

Sully withdrew his hand. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," Nate replied. "A small bruise." He adjusted the collar of his shirt to cover up the dark blemish.

Sully frowned. "Cuervo do that?"

"It was my fault," Nate said quickly. "I let him get too close, and he grabbed me from behind."

The mission was his first real chance to prove himself as a treasure hunter and he wasn't going to let a bruise give Sully second thoughts about letting him partake in it. To change the subject, Nate gave his mentor the once-over.

"So do you always dress like Steven Seagal on these jobs?"

Sully looked down at his outfit. "You don't like it?"

Nate raised his eyebrows. "It's…not you."

"The women are all over it."

"Uh huh," Nate replied.

Sully grinned. "I knew a hooker that always said, 'If you've got the goods, flaunt it like it's going out of style.'"

Nate rolled his eyes. "I'm not surprised."

Sully's smile retracted a little. "You sure you're up for this job, kid?"

"Of course I am," Nate replied. "We've been doing this for what, a year now? I've picked just about every pocket in Florida and learned how to get into any lock in the city. There's only so much you can practice. I want to do the real thing. I'm ready."

Sully studied him for a second. "It's not all glory and gold, you know. Sometimes, hell, half the time, the job goes wrong and you find yourself limping home with nothing to show but your own blood-soaked shirt. Trust me, kid. This business…it's not for everyone."