Ah, Nepal!

By: The General

Pairings: Nate/Elena; mentions of Nate/Chloe
Disclaimer: I do not own the Uncharted series. All of it, including these characters I love belong to Naughty Dog.
Description: This is how the world ends: not with a bang, but with Nate going insane as he wonders whether or not Jeff and Elena are really a couple
Rating: PG
TG/N: Here is another venture for me into Uncharted! Depending on your reaction, I'm glad we agree that this is a great idea. Nate and Elena have always held a special place in my shipper's heart simply because they're both great characters who are even more awesome as a couple. This takes place right after Nate and Chloe run into Elena and Jeff in Nepal. It's slightly AU-ish. Thanks in advance for reading!

So, Drake thought, equal parts frustrated and amused with himself, 'This is how the world ends: not with the bang of Lazaravec's gun to my head, but with a whimper, as I slowly go insane wondering if Elena and Jeff are a couple.'

Unsettled and agitated, Drake wiped a tired hand over his face as he trudged alongside Elena, leaving a safe distance of a few feet between them. Chloe and Jeff had fallen behind a short distance some time ago, having lost most of their enthusiasm for the scenic cityscape of Nepal once the adrenaline died down, and the chance of being blown up or shot at had skyrocketed. He could just make out their voices over the sound of gravel beneath their feet if he concentrated hard enough.

Impulsively, he glanced over at Elena for just a moment before noting that the last thing he wanted was for her to catch him staring. Considering how many times, he had caught himself doing just that, he decided it wasn't worth tempting fate. Instead, Drake redirected his gaze to the dilapidated apartment building coming up on his left and tried to focus his attention elsewhere.

". . . fascinating!" he could hear Chloe gush. "So how much does all of your equipment weigh? That camera looks like it's at least thirty pounds, and you're not even breaking a sweat! In fact, you seem to be quite fit. Out of curiosity, how much are you able to bench press?"

Frowning, Drake swore under his breath. For someone who didn't want either Jeff or Elena to tag along in the first place, she was certainly laying it on pretty thick. So the guy carried a lot of equipment around. All of them were carrying their own gear. It really wasn't all that impressive.

Unable to come up with a better way of settling his agitation, he began fiddling with Sir Francis' ring. His other hand clutched onto his Colt tightly, absentmindedly toying with the safety.

On. Off. On. Off. On. Off.

The worst part—the part that both infuriated and admittedly stung him—was that Elena didn't seem to be bothered in the least by their chance run-in. Or by Chloe, for that matter.

On.

There had been no name calling or cattiness or anything like that. Elena remained her charming, yet stubborn self, being exceptionally cordial toward her, given the circumstances, and funny. She had been funny, too. The only time she showed any less than friendly spunk was when Chloe had made the suggestion that she and Jeff stay behind. Drake had neglected to mention to Chloe that leaving Elena behind against her will usually got resolved with a mean right hook to the jaw. Fortunately, it hadn't come to that, but Drake felt that he would have taken ten right hooks to the face over not knowing quite where he and Elena stood, let alone where Jeff and Elena stood.

Off.

He snuck another look at Elena. She looked determined—her mouth set in a firm line, her eyes fixed straight ahead. Her sidearm was down at her side, but he could see her fingers wrapped tightly around it. Good girl, he couldn't help thinking. Without meaning to, he half smiled. Even though she had callously crushed him, he was pleased to see that she had at least picked up on proper firearm awareness from their brief time together. So there was that. If only he knew what you called someone you let tag along on a search for your possible ancestor, someone you almost kissed, and then hadn't spoken to since. Sully would have called it "not worth the trouble, Kid." Normally, he'd be inclined to agree, but that didn't fully explain why he was so annoyed by Jeff.

There's no way that guy can bench more than me.

On.

He couldn't handle the silence anymore (or Chloe's shameless flirting, for that matter), so he blurted the first thing that popped into his head out loud. "That was funny."

And that, he thought, was stupid.

A few beats passed before Elena responded hesitantly, "Excuse me?"

She looked at him, her eyebrows furrowed in confusion. His heart began thudding erratically.

"The, um—" Adorable, he thought absentmindedly, a stupid (he was sure of it) grin forming on his face. He shook it off quickly, hoping she hadn't noticed. "'Last year's model.' It was funny."

He chanced a sideways glance in her direction, but she was looking straight ahead, her mouth decidedly not smiling.

Great. He thought that would at least warrant a grin, or even a grimace. Why she would be so upset with him was beyond him, considering she was the one who never called. Unless . . . maybe she was bothered by their chance run-in and Chloe. At least a little bit. Maybe—

"I still can't believe you're in the middle of all this. I should have guessed."

Startled, Drake looked around before realizing Elena had finally spoken to him. This time she grinned. Sarcastically, sure, but he'd take what he could get.

"You know me," he replied, really for the sake of replying, "I can't resist a good ol' fashioned treasure hunt to the death."

He saw her shake her head. "I would have thought after everything that happened with El Dorado, you would have given up the whole treasure hunting gig for good."

Without much thought or self-censorship (So what else was new?), Drake blurted with a small laugh, "Well, sure, but not everything about that particular gig was bad. I mean, you and I—"

Off.

Upon seeing Elena's red faced response, his own face fell, and thankfully, his speech stopped. Immediately, she broke her gaze away from his and suddenly seemed fascinated by the decrepit brick and mortar work of the buildings surrounding them. Certainly one way of killing a conversation, you moron, he added, in case his brain got any other grand ideas of getting his mouth to say things that would convey his attachment to his and Elena's . . . whatever it was they had.

Or, you know, still have, his stupid brain inserted hopefully.

"—we-we actually got the good end of that deal," he recovered lamely from his previous slip up. "Considering how Roman and Navarro's gang ended up, I think you, Sully, and I were lucky enough to leave in one piece. God knows how many pieces Eddy finally ended up in after those . . . things were done with him. Not that the bastard didn't have it coming," he added, in case Elena got the impression that there was any love lost between the two of them.

To his amazement—and great relief—she responded with, "Y'know, it never really made sense to me why the guy hated you so much. It always seemed so much more deep-seated than the whole treasure ordeal."

"Oh, it was," Drake scoffed in amusement. If only you knew. "Eddy and I had what you could call a, uh . . . history."

"What happened?" she asked, still not looking at him. Her press badge kept hitting her leg, a muffled tap with every step they took.

He should have figured that as a journalist, Elena would have a follow up, but the question still took him by surprise. Which is why he responded with blunt honesty, or at least that was the most solid excuse he could come up with. "Oh, well we worked a job a few years back, and I, uh—heh—I may have slept with his sister."

Out of all the things Drake could say to make Elena laugh, he never figured that would be one of them. As a matter of fact, he would have guessed that this small revelation would have cut off all communication between them entirely, but he had been wrong where Elena was concerned before.

Like thinking she would call.

Elena snorted, and after a brief disgusted, yet amused look aimed in his direction, she finally decided on, "Ewww."

"I didn't know they were related at the time!" he assured her with a grin. It didn't become a full blown smile until he saw Elena laughing.

She shook her head. Rather than some kind of chastisement, all she offered him was a dry, "You would."

Long before he could stop himself, he heard the following words come out of his mouth, "This was awhile before we met, so let the timeline fuel your judgment appropriately."

It would figure that when he wanted a psychopathic war criminal to end his life with a merciful bullet smack dab in the middle of his forehead, Lazaravec was nowhere to be found. He could feel the mortification radiating from the back of his neck, and for the first time in his life, he uttered a quick prayer to the higher being he was just now acknowledging to "do him a solid" and let the ground below him open up and swallow him whole. To make matters worse, he had finally made direct eye contact with Elena, and judging by the look of terror intermingled with pity on her face, he could tell that she was just as uncomfortable (possibly more so) with this new development as he was. Although maybe now, since the chances of recovering from this little incident were not great, he could finally get some closure. But, what if—?

Aw, to hell with it.

"Are you and Jeff together?" Drake finally blurted at the same time Elena admitted quietly, "I meant to call you."

On.

Both of them came to a screeching halt, the impact of their joint revelations too shocking to ignore. This time, Drake had barely repeated, "You meant to call?" before Elena, a confused frown on her face, swiftly followed with, "Jeff? What does he have to do with anything?"

Rather than be embarrassed by his outburst, Drake crossed his arms over his chest defiantly. "Nuh-uh," he insisted really hoping she couldn't hear how his heart was slamming against his ribcage at an excruciating rate. "Your thing first."

"But I don't understand," she retorted, "what about, Jeff—?"

"Can we leave Jeff out of this for one freakin' moment?" Drake blurted, growing more and more anxious with every minute passed. He offered up a hasty apology. "C'mon," he coaxed, gesturing mindlessly, "ladies first and all that."

Elena snorted. "Oh, now the chivalry makes a guest appearance." She met his obstinate gaze with one of her own, but when Drake made it clear he wasn't yielding this time around, Elena's shoulders slumped with two years' worth of exhaustion. "C'mon, Nate." She combed a frustrated hand through her hair. "Put yourself in my shoes. You were just some guy who needed me to fund his expedition to find his long, lost ancestor, and in the process, you got me involved in some really…weird shit. Not to mention how dangerous everything was…. Tensions were high, nerves were rattled. It just—It just wasn't a good time for me, for…us, you know?"

It took Drake a moment to process what Elena had said (mostly because she had used "us" to describe the two of them, and—against his better judgment—Drake really liked the way it sounded coming from her), but even then he still had difficulties understanding her. Every time he tried to replay her explanation, his mind was enshrouded by a thick, red cloud. "I was 'just some guy?'" he repeated tonelessly.

Despite herself, Elena huffed a sigh of exasperation. "Really? Of all the things to take away…" She shook her head. "That's not what I meant. I was…I was scared."

That was…not the admission Drake was expecting. "Of me?" he blurted, unthinking. The idea was absolutely ridiculous. The scariest thing about Drake was that one time he let his dishes pile up in the sink long enough in between expeditions that a millipede had made a home in between two crusted piles of Easy-Mac. It was absolutely disgusting, sure, but scary? Not a chance.

He became increasingly aware that she wasn't answering him. At least not audibly, anyway.

"That's not exactly a 'no,' Elena!" he reminded her pointedly, his voice betraying him by allowing some of his wounded ego through. And, of course, by cracking slightly.

"I—" She began defensively, but almost as if too exhausted to continue, she stopped. Drake watched as, like a phoenix from the ashes, she squared her shoulders and stared him down, her eyes aflame. "Well, what was I supposed to do, huh? You had a reputation for being a 'woman-in-every-port' kind of guy."

"No! That doesn't sound like me at all," Drake insisted, trying to cover for how uncomfortable he felt. He laughed forcibly. "I don't even enjoy sailing all that much."

Elena snorted. "You are so the 'woman-in-every-port' kind of guy."

"…well, not every port," he mumbled pathetically.

Off.

Elena rolled her eyes with such ferocity, Drake honestly feared they might roll right out of their sockets. She crossed her arms over her chest. "See? That's what I mean!" She shook her head and sighed as if she realized that particular argument would take her nowhere. "I…liked you, Nate," she tried again instead. "I didn't want to be just another one of your many…flings."

Drake had to carefully measure his response as his heart had begun slamming into his ribcage again at Elena's revelation. But, hold on, did she just— "You liked me?" His voice betrayed him by allowing both his own hurt and desperation, and hope (possibly?) through.

Immediately, Elena's face flushed, and she toed at a loose piece of brick with her boot absently. Only for a moment did she divert her eyes from his. "Liked, like, whatever. Shut up," she clarified eloquently. And rather hotly, Drake noticed somewhat smugly. "You know what I mean."

Drake had the decency to can his sarcasm momentarily. "Yeah, I know," he responded quietly, his voice sounding foreign to even his ears.

Perhaps it was the urgency behind every mortar strike in the distance, or maybe it was that old cliche the-enemy-of-my-enemy-is-my-friend: whatever the reason, that small proclamation seemed to settle two years of uncertainty, bitterness, and all around discomfort regarding their time together in South America. The two continued forward in comfortable silence, the rhythm of their steps finally falling into sync.

"For the record," Drake heard himself say some time later over a passing helicopter, "I, um…I liked you, too."

Beside him, he felt Elena elbow him playfully. "Liked me?" she gasped, unable to hide the smirk that was breaking out across her face.

And even though she was teasing him, which, definitely progress, all Drake could think was, God, she's got a great smile. He rolled his eyes dramatically. "Liked. Like," he mocked playfully with a responding nudge in Elena's direction. She giggled in response. She actually giggled. "Whatever."

For a moment—one single, damn beautiful moment in the middle of a Nepal war zone—Drake forgot about that bastard Lararvec and his insane need to destroy everything in sight, and he forgot about that weird feeling in his gut that kept telling him there might be something between his former accomplice, Flynn, and Chloe. Instead, he focused on the fact that Elena no longer hated him. In fact, she may never have hated him. She may never have hated him so much that she actually used 'like' in the present tense. As in she likes him. Suddenly, Drake couldn't remember why he was in a piss poor mood in the first place. Hell, he forgot why he was so concerned about whether Elena and Jeff were together—

Wait. No, he didn't. He was going to lose his freaking mind.

"Elena, are you and Jeff togeth—?"

"There you two are!" Chloe exclaimed as she and Jeff finally made an appearance from behind. She was still sashaying her hips smugly, and he was still lugging around his super heavy camera equipment (which Drake could easily have carried without complaining about, thank-you-very-much). "We started to fear the worst after that second round of mortar attacks, and both of you were out of our line of sight. Lazaravec is still on the run, and searching for us, as you know."

Nate felt his jaw strain as he ground his teeth. Chloe was superb at the work she did, but she knew exactly which of his buttons to press. And which moments to interrupt. "Yeah, Chloe, it's not like we've forgotten that we're on the run from a psychopathic war criminal, but thanks for the heads up anyway."

Chloe had the audacity to wink at him. "Just looking out for you, my dear, old friend," she assured him. "I know how you are, and I wouldn't want you to get distracted by this pretty…structural design."

And really, that was the moment that Drake decided, when he and Chloe split up from Elena and Jeff, he was going to kill her. Then, they would have a good, long chat about the strictest sense of the definition of 'subtlety.'

Elena frowned. "I didn't know you were into architecture," she confessed, giving him a strange look.

"I-I'm not," he protested. "Chloe here"—He shot her a pointed look, but she ignored it. Figured.—"was just trying to be cute."

She looked more confused than ever, but she shrugged and continued forward. Drake redirected his attention long enough to become uncomfortably aware of how deafening the chopper's blades sounded above them, and more urgently, how close they sounded. Unfortunately, Jeff seemed to notice the same thing, or something similar, if his next statement was any indication.

"Uh, guys, we should really start thinkin' about picking up the pace and getting the hell out of here."

Which is what we've been doing this whole time, Jeff. Idiot.

But leave it to Chloe, who acted like Jeff suggested Cleopatra's death hadn't been a suicide or something equally as radical. "Right you are, dear!" she cooed, pouting in that way Drake knew she used when she was trying to lure you into bed with her. He knew this to be the case because she used to use it on him frequently. It instantly put him in a bad mood.

He trudged forward, though, because his situation put him between Lazaravec and a Jeff place, so there wasn't really much time to sulk. Plus, to be perfectly honest, a decent remedy might have ben pumping one of Lazaravic's cronies full of bullets. Just thinking about it had him less on edge. Before he could properly think about the implications of that particular train of thought, though, he was interrupted.

"Um, Nate."

He pivoted with so much force that he nearly lost his balance when he finally faced Elena, who had called him. She didn't even bother holding back a snort at his clumsiness.

"Oh, you like that?" he quipped, a grin half cocked.

She held an object out to him in response. When he took it, he watched as her cheeks colored before she brushed past him to catch up with the other two.

It was a piece of paper. He took care unfolding it, and upon inspection, it contained a series of numbers. He frowned. What was she trying to tell him? Was it some kind of code? Were these coordinates for some kind of location?

He glanced up to see that Elena had hesitated in her decision to join the rest of the group. She was looking back at him, a tentative smile playing at her lips. "I don't give my number out to just anyone, y'know."

On.

Once again, Drake's heart started slamming into his chest, and his palms started sweating grossly, but he didn't even care.

It's a phone number, you idiot.

"No. Yeah! I'll call." He jogged to where she was standing, so they could catch up to the rest of the group together. "I promise."

"You better," Elena volleyed. They fell into pace with the others.

"Cross my heart," he said, with a chuckle.

"Please don't die," Elena said in return, faking a sense of urgency in her voice.

"Nobody's dying; don't be ridiculous," Chloe chastised hastily. She certainly enjoyed taking charge. "Now come along, children!"

Ignoring her, Drake turned toward Elena. Despite Chloe's assurances, there was every possibility they could die. He couldn't risk not asking. "So, not that I care all that much, Elena, but are you and Jeff a couple?"

Her answer was interrupted by another damn mortar strike in their quadrant.