Drake stood in front of his former friend with his gun raised, astonished at the sight of him. Harry Flynn-the one and only- was very much alive. How he survived was still a grand mystery. Drake was almost positive that the brit had managed to kill himself with a grenade. He had almost succeeded in killing Elena, as well. But somehow the story took a completely different turn.

"How the hell…?"

"Surprised to see me, mate?"

Nathan held his pistol in a firm grip, glaring straight into Harry's cold, blue eyes. They held no sense of fear, as usual. As far as Nathan could remember, Harry never did seem to be riddled with fear or anything like such. Sure, he probably felt it all of the time, but Harry Flynn sure did have one hell of a poker face. Nathan was always disturbed by the fact that he couldn't tell what the man was feeling.

"You aren't dead?"

"Of course not. Do you think I'd be standing here if I was?"

Nathan let out an exaggerated sigh, rolling his eyes. The explosion evidently hadn't affected the man's personality at all. What a shame.

"How the hell did you survive that damn explosion?"

Harry laughed, and then answered simply:

"I didn't blow up."

"No shit, Sherlock!"

"If you took that blimey gun outta my face, maybe I'd tell you."

Nathan lowered his gun, but with much caution. He looked over Harry, and carefully put the pistol into his holster after confirming that harry wasn't carrying a weapon. Otherwise, Nathan was pretty confident that he could take him on hand-to-hand if it was necessary. But first he wanted to hear Flynn's amazing story.

"Now, now…where were we?"

"Come on, Harry, I've not got all day."

Harry crossed his arms, giving his old friend a sarcastic grin. He raised an eyebrow as if silently asking Nathan if that was any way to speak to an old friend. Nathan got the hint, but refused to say anything in return. He decided instead to act like he wasn't even interested, turning around and beginning to walk away.

"Never mind."

"Wait!"

Nathan stopped walking and turned halfway around, curious as to what it was that Harry wanted.

"Could you give an old friend a lift?"

"An old friend? You aren't my friend, Harry! For fuck's sake, you almost killed my girlfriend!"

Harry took a step back and uncrossed his arm, grabbing his chin with a hand in a thoughtful manner. He seemed to be studying Nathan oddly. Then he began peering at his fellow treasure hunter through squinted eyes, looking a bit out of ease.

"Did I hurt Chloe?"

"No."

"The blonde, then?"

"If I recall correctly, she was the plucky girl who tried to reform the villain," Nathan replied in an overly-mocking tone.

Harry thought for a few moments before simply giving him a lopsided smile and shrugging. Nathan, however, didn't take the situation so lightly. He quickly leapt towards Harry and grabbed the collar of his shirt, shoving him back into a brick wall. Harry grunted as the back of his head slammed into a large brick. He could feel the warmth of the blood beginning to run down the back of his head as Nathan leaned in until their noses were nearly touching.

"Are you going to kiss me, love?"

"It's always fun and games with you, isn't it…Flynn?"

Nathan spat the words out at Harry through gritted teeth. The breath against Harry's face was extremely warm, and he suddenly realized how cold it was outside. It was already eight o' clock, and starting to get dark. Not to mention that it was nearing the end of Fall, and Harry had forgotten to wear a coat. Nathan was a little smarter than that; he had on two shirts and a leather jacket.

Harry grabbed Nathan's arm gently, urging him to let go. He refused on the account that Harry deserved to get his ass beat. Harry gave him another smile, but it was more timid than the last. Shaking, he offered Nathan a hand to shake.

"Come on. No hard feelings?"

Nathan jerked him forward and slammed him into the wall again, this time harder. Harry's head slammed into the wall with a loud crack,and he collapsed onto the ground grasping at the bloody fibers of hair on the back of his head. He let out a loud scream in pain, and then released the grip on the back of his head, looking at his blood-covered hand incredulously.

"Bloody hell, that hurt!"

Harry looked up at his assailant angrily, but didn't dare stand up and return the hit. He knew very well that Nathan would beat the hell out of him in this condition. He'd already gotten the upper hand, and Harry was becoming increasingly dizzy from it. So instead of any physical contact, he spat towards Nathan, who retaliated by giving him the middle finger and turning around to leave.

"Fuck you, Flynn!"

Instead of responding, Harry struggled to stand up again, grasping once more at the back of his head. He knew for sure that it was at least a concussion; and it hurt like hell. He thought once more about chasing after Nathan to fight back, but the dizziness just kept worsening. Not only that, but his left arm wasn't nearly as useful as it used to be since he tried to blow himself up with a grenade. So, instead of retaliation, Harry stumbled off in the same direction that Nathan had, but only because that was the direction that the nearest hospital was in. He knew that he needed medical assistance pretty quickly, or else he'd end up bleeding out and dying.

But even walking started to get a little difficult as he turned onto an alley that would provide for an easy short cut. He was getting increasingly drowsy, and soon the blood drenched the entire back of his neck, and transformed the collar of his white V-neck into a crimson color.

"Oh no…"

Harry finally lost his strength to walk any further and collapsed onto the ground. He couldn't help but find himself laughing sarcastically at his own demise. For all of the dreadful things he had managed to live through, he was going to end up dying from a small hit on the head. His body would later be found in the back of a filthy alley with no more dignity to spare. Drenched with mud and caked with blood, the authorities would investigate it for a while, but most likely give up after about a week without any clues. Harry didn't have any close relatives that didn't hate him, and he didn't have any friends. The police would have nobody to identify the body, and he'd most likely be put into an unmarked grave to rest for the rest of his damnation…What a pitiful way to go.