"Wow, this place is awesome!" Nate exclaims, bouncing lightly on the balls of his feet. "Look at-"

"Don't touch," I warn, softly swatting his arm away from a rather expensive looking old shield. "We are going to be respectful and courteous. It's not everyday you get invited to a formal dinner by the rich guy who pays a lot of money for illegal things."

"Yes, Sully." He rolls his eyes and shoves his hands back into his suit pocket. "When's it time to eat? I'm hungry."

"How can you be hungry? We ate less than two hours ago."

"I dunno."

I sigh and run a hand over my mustache. "We'll eat when we're fed, and that's the last I want to hear about it."

Nate pouts, but before he can say anything, the man of the house greets us. "Ah, Mr. Sullivan! I was under the impression you were still in China." Mr. Calister shakes my hand firmly.

"We caught an earlier flight. Who would want to miss all this?" I gesture around the grand hallway filled with well dressed people. Conversations range from polite small talk between couples to weapons deals between big time black market dealers. My kind of crowd.

"You sure know how to make a man blush," Mr. Calister chuckles. "I don't think I've had the pleasure of meeting your young companion. Alfred Calister." He holds out his hand for Nate to take.

"Nathan Drake." I smirk at Nate's poor attempt to cover up how unprepared he was for Mr. Calister's strong grip.

"Well, Mr. Drake, what brings you around these parts?"

"I'm Sul - er, Mr. Sullivan's protege." I'm sure he was about to say Sully, but quickly changed it to Mr. Sullivan to sound more sophisticated.

"You must be good at what you do. Your mentor chooses his partners very meticulously."

Nate blushes at the flattery. I put a hand on his shoulder and lift my chest proudly. "He's incredibly smart and very talented. He's already better than most of the men I've worked with over the years."

Mr. Calister raises an eyebrow. "That's quite the compliment. I'll have to keep you on my shortlist, Mr. Drake."

He winks then vanishes back into the crowd. Nate turns to me excitedly whispering, "Did you hear what he said? His shortlist!"

"Of course I heard him. I was standing right next to you."

"I'm making connections! Soon I'll have as many contacts as you."

"In your dreams, kiddo."

Nate laughs and nudges me with his shoulder. We stand in comfortable silence at the edge of the crowd before he speaks up again a few minutes later. "Can we at least get something to drink. My mouth is like sandpaper."

"Alright, alright. Let's go."

I get a tall glass of cold beer and Nate ends up with a Coke. I had to steal two cups of beer from his quick hands before he finally gave up and settled with soda. The kid's just gonna have to wait like the rest of us had to. Nate drains his glass before I do and asks for a refill. I make sure I'm standing right behind him so he can't pull anything while I'm not watching.

"Could I have another Coke please?" he asks politely like I taught him in the car on the way here.

A young boy who couldn't be over the age of ten turns around behind the table. He smiles and nods, then ducks behind the counter to reach for the pitcher. Nate looks at confused I am. The difference is he acts on it.

"How old are you?" he asks as the boy fills his glass.

He hands Nate's drink back then holds up seven fingers.

"Seven? Then why are you behind the bar?"

The boy continues to smile politely, but something's off about it. It looks brittle, like it'll break at the slightest disturbance. Nate's questions don't seem to be upsetting him too much, however. It looks like he's used to this. The boy simply points to his name tag in answer to Nate's question. It reads: Anthony Calister.

"You're a Calister?" Nate says, obviously impressed.

The boy nods, still smiling.

"Cool. I'll bet you have the best birthday parties."

And suddenly, the smile's gone. The boy takes a step back and drops his gaze.

"...Or not. I didn't mean to pry. It's a problem for me. Everyone says I ask too many questions."

The boy shrugs and gives Nate another smile. But this time it's real.

"You don't talk much, do you?"

"Nate, leave him be," I say, gently pulling on his arm.

"But we were just talking!" Nate protests. "Well, I was anyway."

A glint of disappointment shows in the boy's eyes. Maybe he doesn't talk much because he has no one to talk to. "Sully, please?" Nate asks.

"Alright, just don't annoy the poor boy. I'll meet you before dinner. Nice meeting you, Anthony."

I excuse myself and find a group of scoundrels to talk with. I get a couple of offers for contracts, but I turn them all down. They're a bit too dangerous for Nate at his current skill level. Maybe next year. When we get to the point in the conversation that consists of trading greatly-exaggerated stories, I distract myself with watching Nate converse with the Calister boy. They both sport huge smiles similar to that of two best friends. The conversation still looks like it's Nate heavy, however. In fact, I have yet to see/hear the other boy say anything. Maybe he's mute. His involvement in the conversation consists of smilies and nodding, but he looks genuinely happy to have someone talking to him. It's kind of sweet, actually.

Eventually, the guests are rounded up for dinner. Nate is quiet as we search for our assigned seats. "You alright, kid?"

He blinks away the foggy look in his eyes and says, "Yeah, I'm good. I'm just lost in thought."

"What are thinking about?"

He shrugs. "Things."

"It's that boy, isn't it?" I sigh, finally finding our name cards.

"Yeah, how'd you know?"

"Call it a good guess." We take our seats at the table and Nate zones out again. "Hello, earth to Nate."

"Something's wrong," he mutters.

"He probably has some kind of birth defect. It's not uncommon."

"No, not with his voice. He reminds me of... someone I knew a long time ago."

"Kid, I'm sure he's fine."

"...Yeah, I guess you're right."

I nudge his shoulder with my elbow, trying to get him to smile. "Duh. I'm always right."

He snickers. "Sure... Whatever you say, old man."

"I thought I told you not to call me that?"

"When have I ever listened to what you said?"

"Good point. We need to work on that."

Nate seems to settle back into his usual happy self once he gets some food into him. I should have known that food was the antidote to teenage moodiness. As the staff clears the table, Mr. Calister stands to propose a toast. He wavers on his feet slightly, imperceptible to the average person. It's my job to read people, however, so I recognize the imbalance characteristic of alcohol intoxication.

Mr. Calister lifts his glass, and suddenly Nate sits up straighter in his seat. "Oh no."

"What's 'oh no'?" I ask quietly.

"Anthony..." Nate's leg jitters, then pushes himself up to his feet as Mr. Calister drains his shot glass and wanders off. "I... I gotta use the bathroom!" Nate exclaims before sprinting off after him.

I drop my head in my hands. That boy... I slowly push myself up and follow the hallway he took. "Kid? Where are you going?" I really hope he doesn't do anything to ruin our relationship with Mr. Calister. He's a steady source of contracts and I can't afford to lose that now. Kids are expensive.

"Nate!" I pause in the hallway, listening for a response. I don't get anything but the chilling sound of shattering glass. "Oh shit..."

I take off towards the noise, flinching as screaming and heavy thuds mix into the cacophony. I bust through the door leading to the violent sounds. "What the hell is going on in here?"

The scene before me says everything. Well, almost everything. Nate stands in front of the young, mute boy from before with his arms outstretched protectively. The boy (Anthony, I think) is on the floor cowering with an arm held over his face. He has a busted lip and blood dripping from the palms of his hands. The kids seem to have squared off against Mr. Calister. The man has his hands balled up into fists, nose leaking blood. Neither of the three spare me a glance. Nate and Mr. Calister continue to glare at each other, and Anthony continues to clench his eyes shut, wishing this all to be over.

I almost repeat my original question when no one says anything, but Nate speaks up. "Call the police, Sully."

"What are you-?"

"Your employer is cruel man who beats his own son! Call the police!"

"Your little rat has a big mouth, Sullivan," Mr. Calister snarls. "You need to control that before he gets himself into more trouble than he can get himself out of." He steps toward Nate menacingly.

That's the last straw.

"Hey, why don't you pick on someone your own size?" I place myself in front of the kids, arms folded and frowning.

"Back off, Sullivan. You don't want to mess with me."

"Is that so? I get paid to take out men like you monthly. Do you really want to test me?"

Mr. Calister growls and steps into a punch that I could see coming from a mile away. I step out of the way and push him off his balance. "Nate, take your friend to the car. I'll deal with this scumbag."

"Okay," the kid breathes. He takes Anthony by the elbow and helps him to his feet. I wait until they've cleared the room to knock out Mr. Calister. A single swing to the temple does the trick. I leave him sprawled on the floor. Some else can deal with him.

I catch up with the boys quickly and lead them out the back door. Anthony seems to be in a state of shock. Nate sits with him in the back seat and picks shards of glass out of his hands, but the boy doesn't react. Nate mutters assurances to him the entire trip home, but he keeps that glazed over look in his eyes. Even sitting on the couch wrapped in a blanket, Anthony refuses water and food. While his silence is not surprising, his unwillingness to cooperate is frustrating to a degree. I try to get him to even make eye contact with me, but his chin stays glued to his chest.

After about an hour of failure, Nate asks to talk to him alone. "Sure, kid. I'll be in the next room if you need me."

I exit the room then station myself in a position where I can hear their conversation but not reveal myself. Well, it's more like Nate talking and Anthony listening.

"So... how are you feeling?"

"Do your hands still hurt?"

"How about your lip?"

"Is shrugging all you can do?"

"Oh, so you do understand me. Do you ever talk?"

"Why not?"

"Oh, sure. Write it in my journal."

Nate waits for the scribbling to finish before speaking again. "Really? Isn't that painful?"

More scribbling. "He did that to you? That's messed up."

Anthony writes a little more. "Why'd I stop him? Well... Um, my dad hit me, too. I saw something in your face that reminded me of myself when I was younger. Although, he never did anything like that to me. He used his belt mostly. I've got some pretty gnarly scars. I intervened in your predicament because I know what it's like. I couldn't let it happen knowing I could have done something about it."

"My name? Nathan Drake."

I flinch at the unexpected sound of a new voice. "Th... Thaaaank g-you, Mither Drake."

I can hear the smile in his voice when Nate says, "You're very welcome, Anthony. But you don't have to be that formal with me. Nate's fine."

"Nuh-ate?" Anthony tries. It sounds like there's something wrong with his tongue. My stomach clenches at what Mr. Calister could have possibly done to this poor boy to make him sound like that.

"Yeah. I used to go by Nathan, but I changed it after I was taken from my dad. I didn't want to be reminded of him every time someone called me that, so I go by Nate now."

There's the sound of more writing. I guess Anthony's sticking to speaking in short sentences only for now.

"Yeah, it helped a lot. I still have bad dreams or flashbacks from time to time, but it's gotten a lot better. Maybe it'll help you too. You could go by... Tony."

"To-nuh-y?" He laughs softly to himself, then gleefully pronounces, "I llllike it!"

"It suits you."

Tony laughs again, then Nate grunts with the impact of something against his chest. "Whoa there, little guy! You're stronger than you look," he says, sounding like the life's being squeezed out of him.

"Thaaank you swoooo muck."

"It's no problem, Tony. I'm happy to help."

It's pretty quiet after that. I wait to hear a pair of gentle snores before peeking into the living room. I tear the comforter off Nate's bed and fold it around the boys. Tony is still tightly wrapped around Nate, but Nate doesn't seem to mind at all. He actually looks rather peaceful with Tony's head tucked under his chin. I dread the argument we're going to have tomorrow about where to take Tony, but for now, I'll let them sleep. They both deserve it after a long, emotionally-charged, action-packed day.