Chapter two up and running! (^ ^) This took a bit of time, but once I got started it just spilled out of my fingertips.

Disclaimer: I own ze plot.

2

Water Curing

The bar clamored loudly as Germany scored a goal against England on one of the televisions mounted to the wall. A table situated in the middle of the bar echoed stridently in drunken stupor as one of them made a sly comment about the opposing team, which received slaps on the back along with the clanking and emptying of beer mugs. A female server was standing at a booth off to the side, smiling as the young couple she was taking care of told her about their overseas vacation.

Towards the back of the bar, sitting in a booth nearly hidden behind a wall, Victor Sullivan leaned back in the seat after tapping the ashes off his cigar and taking a drink from his bottled beer. Across him, a man, not much younger than his prodigy, leaned forward with his forearms on the table, one hand tracing the rim of a dirty martini. Sully brought his gaze from the football game on the screen on the wall to the man he had been summoned to meet with.

"There has to be a reason he wants it," Sully said in reference to their conversation, his eyes darting around, ensuring their conversation was staying private.

The man followed his gaze back before leaning in, his brows raised. "That's the thing," his response came, attempting to mask a French accent with an English one and failing miserably. "I know there's a reason, but he wouldn't even so much as hint as to why."

Sully fell quiet, facing down as his brain searched for an answer. "You think he's working for somebody." The sentence ended in a statement and the young man nodded. Sully sighed and leaned forward to tap his cigar. "Any idea who?"

The silence he received in response answered his question.

The expression on the man's face was intense, his eyes seeming to stare passed him.

That look never bode well.

After Sully and Nathan had returned from the Karakum Desert from what turned out to be a fool's errand, Sully found a letter from an old colleague, asking him to come to England for a possible mission. There was not much information given in the letter. It was a few sentences requesting his help in locating some form of rare stone, which was said to feed and fuel a person's rage. Normally, he would have dismissed the claims and ignored it altogether, but paper clipped to the letter was a snapshot of an old diagram with phrases in Spanish scrawled throughout. Judging from what he could see, the paper appeared barely a century old – much too recent to be easily discounted.

Initially, he was going to have Nathan join him, but after the two of them nearly lost their lives on their last endeavor, and for what ultimately turned out to be nothing, he decided to let the kid have a much needed break. That and if he had chosen to tell him about another type of mystical artifact, he knew Nathan would be more than willing to gear up and head out; and the last thing he needed was his prodigy jumping headfirst into another scavenger hunt, only to come out empty-handed.

"If it's who I think it is"—the man's voice cut through his train of thought—"and this thing turns out to actually exist, anyone that's ever gone against her will be—"

"Whoa, wait," Sully cut him off, waving his hand. "'Her'?" His brow line was furrowed, the pronoun clearly unexpected.

"Alessa Laveaux," the response came with such a low tone and dark flection, it was as though mentioning the name would summon her presence.

The two of them locked eyes, Sully's searching his memory banks on the familiarity of the name. When he finally remembered, his expression changed. "Not the same woman who had her crew massacred?" The look he was given confirmed. He quickly glanced around him before leaning in, voice as low as it could go to still be heard over the loud bustle of the crowded bar. "I thought she was put away for life? Rotting in some prison in East Kandahar?"

"Last I heard, she was bailed out. Money talks, Sully. You know this."

Sully released a string of smoke in a long breath as he sat back in the booth's seat, crossing his arms over his chest. "I don't know, Jón." His mind raced, contemplating the risks involved. "If that woman is involved in any way, shape or form, you can count me out." He held up his hand, cutting the young man off as he tried to refute. "I saw the news, I read those reports. Massacring her team was the best thing she did for them. What she did to those kids – forced them into? Is that really the type of person whose bad side you want to be on?" Jón's shoulders fell as his eyes traced the table, recalling the reports. What the news media covered failed to even scratch the surface of what she had done to those she had once called ally – the torture, the mutilations, the overall brutality. "If my memory serves correctly, all the ones she did that to were around your age."

"Yeah, I know," Jón said sharply, his false English accent giving way to his French as his aggravation grew. "She had the older members do it, then killed them all. I read the reports, too." He avoided looking at Sully, who was giving him the disapproving gaze. Sully's apprehension was most likely due to one reason, and Jón was wondering if he could quell that unease. He sighed and set his forearms back on the table, hanging his head and shaking it before looking back up to the older man. "Look, Sully, if it's your partner you're worried about—"

"Nate's not gonna hear a damn thing about this, you got that?" Sully's voice was strict, threatening, as he set an elbow on the table and pointed at him, his facial features growing stern.

"We don't even know if Laveaux's involved." Jón sat back, crossing his arms as he turned sideways in the booth, his upper body still partially turned towards the table. "It's just a rumor."

It did little to suppress Sully's trepidation at the thought of Nathan being involved.

His mind was going over all of the methods of torture he had read in the reports. And in each scenario, his brain was forcing Nathan's image into all of them.

Nathan with his throat slit and hung upside down as the blood slowly drained out of his body.

His arms broken, tongue ripped out and stomach sliced open.

His eyes gouged out as a stake pierced the back of his skull.

His body stripped, broken and beaten, weighted to a wooden wedge.

"—be simple," Jón's voice cut into his thoughts.

Sully shook his head and looked at him, not realizing he had zoned out, and tried to shake the thoughts that now invaded him. "What?" he asked, the bar coming back into focus.

Jón sighed at not being paid attention to and leaned back on the table. "I said having both you and your partner on this would make this fast and simple."

The images flashed across his mind.

"No." His response was flat, getting an annoyed look from the younger man. "Rumor or not, I'm not gonna risk my ass for some rock that probably doesn't even exist."

"Sully…."

"And the last thing I'm gonna do is get Nate involved and serve him up on a goddamn silver platter."

"Look, at least come check it out with me. That's all I'm asking." Sully frowned. "If it exists, it exists, if it doesn't, it doesn't. At least help me find that out."

They locked eyes, drowning out the people around them who began cheering loudly as England scored. Every ill thought was running through Sully's head. He knew better than this – knew better than to get involved in something that was clearly over his head. Even if Laveaux being involved was merely a rumor, it was one he would rather not chance being true; but Jón's eyes were speaking volumes and Sully had a feeling the young man would not be so willing to accept "no" as his final answer. If Jón could not enlist Sully's help, he would attempt to go to Nathan, especially knowing Sully would not allow his partner to go alone.

In the end, he would get what he wanted.

Sully grunted and grabbed his beer.

"Fine." A half smile crossed the younger man's features at the answer and he sat back, taking a sip of his martini. "But that's all we're doing. I help you find out if the damn thing's real and leave it at that." Sully's voice was final.

Jón nodded, setting his drink down. "That's all I ask."

His brain scolding him for agreeing, Sully shook his head as he puffed on his cigar, not bothering with the beer that he held in his other hand. He never did like hiding things from Nathan, but he knew better than to tell him. As far as the younger man knew, Sully would be in England, catching up with an old friend. And that was how it would stay.

Harry Flynn panted, his hand grasping at his right shoulder as he collapsed against an out-of-commission bulldozer. Blood ran down the side of his head, matting his hair and dripping down his face and neck, disappearing into the dark fabric of his shirt. His chest throbbed as he inhaled and exhaled, forcing his lungs to press up against bruised, possibly broken, ribs. The gunfire and shouting had disappeared behind him as he managed to lose the men chasing after him after ducking into an old construction site. He had barely escaped from the mines, having been caught and dragged by one of Laveaux's men, which lead to a brawl between him and three others. His head had been slammed to the ground multiple times, leading him to the conclusion that he was given a concussion.

Initially, he attempted to find a way back into the main dig site, but as he was walking down an old tunnel, he was ambushed and forced to retreat.

Laveaux had Nathan, he already knew – it was whether or not he was still alive that could not discern. Given what he had already witness the woman do, having him killed immediately would be the merciful thing, but he knew better. He also knew that there would be no way for him to get back to Nathan in one piece, if at all, without help.

His group of allies was slowly diminishing.

Yet, while his circle was small, almost nonexistent, Nathan certainly had people who cared about him and his safety. It was finding those people that would present a problem.

He cringed as his shoulder throbbed with heated pain.

First thing first: he needed to get the bullet out of his shoulder and patch it up, otherwise, he would be useless.

Catching his breath, he pushed off of the bulldozer and began making his way back towards the jeep he and Nathan had arrived in before walking the rest of the way. The only issue was that, due to running and taking paths he was not familiar with, he was not quite sure where that was. If he was able to find his way back to the road, he could walk the road back to town. It was not nearly as far out as was anticipated. The mines had been shut down in the early nineteen-hundreds as the need for the minerals became less and less, and the population that once surrounded it slowly began to dissipate, expanding to towns and cities outwards. The closest town was a little over a mile from the shaft's entrance, he just had to be certain he was walking in the correct direction.

Although the mines had once been used for the collection coal, the reason for it being abandoned altogether made sense given what laid beneath them. Most likely, the mine was shut down due to the high risk the stone exuded; someone had undoubtedly discovered it and the results were documented, albeit horribly, on the only piece of evidence he still held.

He cursed as he lost his footing on the dirt before catching his balance.

The old markers around the site were still present, though rotting, and he made his way towards them, the road lying beyond. His sight came in and out of focus and he had to force himself to stay coherent, his mind begging to go offline. He stumbled a few more times before making it to the markers and climbing over. A short laugh escaped him as his eyes landed on pavement.

In both directions, the road curved into nothingness, surrounded by thick woods.

Which direction was it?

Not taking much time to dwell on it, mostly due to the pain radiating down his skull, he started walking, the road at a slight downward slope.

The night air echoed around him as a breeze picked up, keeping him coherent enough to keep moving. Darkness tugged at the edges of his vision, the road swirling and becoming hazy, each step more difficult than the last. As his adrenaline died down, the severity of the situation was making itself apparent.

He had a concussion, he already knew. The blood loss from the bullet hole in shoulder was not aiding in his fatigue, nor did the pain radiating through his abdomen with each breath. His body was begging to fall into that sweet abyss that only the state of unconsciousness could bring, but he had to keep moving.

Just make it to town.

He never was one to play hero, but he had to patch himself up and find someone willing to go back into the mines with him to get Nathan. The longer Laveaux had him, the worse off he would be. As strong as the younger man was, just like everyone else, he had a breaking point; and if anyone could find it, it would be that witch of a woman. Even Harry had to admit to himself that he would not be able to withstand a fraction of what he knew Nathan could. It physically pained him to reach that conclusion, but given the scenario, he was glad for it.

It would give him more time.

It was after she forced the others to completely break before Laveaux had her victims killed.

He had seen the man she had her men flay. Watched as she had it performed slowly, peeling the skin off of their hands, arms and legs first before moving slowly up, making sure they stayed alive long enough to feel the pain – for the infections to set in. For their brain to try and ultimately fail at allowing them to pass out. The man had lived for nearly twenty-four hours before finally going into shock and dying. The reason she had him killed so slowly and violently? He had asked her if she was certain the stone was in England and not in another country of the United Kingdom. She took it as him challenging her authority.

It was seeing her cruelty and malevolency that day that had Harry begin thinking about how to back out. He could not up and leave. She had contracted him, offered him some of the power the stone held if he helped her find its location. He was the reason she had gotten as far as she had. If he left with any suspicion, she would have him hunted and killed; he had to go about slipping away without her noticing and without one of her men reporting back to her. The only men kept in her inner circle were those who would jump at her every command and they were few. It was the fear of retaliation that had the others stay and aid her. She made sure to make examples of anyone who even so much as hinted at disobeying her to keep them in check – ruling by terror worked.

It was horrifying.

After he managed to slip out undetected shortly after she had another follower chained to a post before being eaten alive by rabid dogs, he had no intention of going back; but the thought of the stone she hunted being real had him second guessing. If it was real, she would be a threat to anyone who would cross her or her followers that merely looked in her direction wrong. The first thing she would do is hunt down those who went against her, him included. It was selfish for him to go to Nathan for help, but he found his options limited, especially for those willing to aid him. He knew his old ally would help him – it was in his nature. Something that people had attempted to exploit in the past, but it was usually Sully who would talk him out of it.

Shit, he cursed at himself.

It was his fault his partner was caught and it would be his fault if he were to die.

He had to go back.

He just had to make it to town, patch up and find someone to help him.

He just had to make it that far.

Lights started to dot his vision and he released an odd laugh in a breath, his steps slow. He was almost there. As the lights grew closer, his sight grew darker and his head pounded harder.

He started to hear voices, his vision blurring as he tried to discern their direction. He tried calling out, but his voice sounded so small in his ears, he wondered if he said anything at all. The ringing in his ears grew louder and he tried calling out again, his eyesight finally failing him. The last thing he remembered was the sound of ringing and darkness.

Nathan lurched forward, his stomach contracting violently as one of the guards' boots made contact, forcing the water in his stomach to be expelled. He coughed before more water came up, making its way out of both his mouth and nose. More coughing came from him before his head was grabbed again, forcing him in place as the two men that held his arms tightened their grips to where he was, once again, immobile. The funnel that had left his view came back and he tried to jerk away, his arms twisting in odd directions as he did. His nose was pinched shut, making him open his mouth when he had to take a breath, only for his jaw to be locked before the funnel was forced into his mouth and partially down his throat, causing him to begin gagging. Once they were satisfied with the positioning of the funnel in his throat, one of the men started pouring a bucket filled with water into it.

The fortune hunter began gasping and choking as water was forced into his mouth and down his throat, filling his stomach once more. His insides churned as more water entered, no end in sight.

It was the fifth time he had been forced to consume water until expulsion and his insides made sure he knew it. He began spitting it up before they were even finished, his eyes tearing up as his stomach contracted, forcing all of the contents back up both his throat and the funnel. It was taken out of his mouth as the grip on his head was released and water came up. His arms were finally released and he collapsed on his forearms, coughing and puking up as much of the water as his body would allow. He released an estranged cry as he spit, the nausea crashing over his body like waves as he trembled.

A foot in his back pushed him down onto the dirt, making him dry heave from the pressure on his abdomen.

"That's enough," Laveaux's calm and collected voice came out. The foot on his back relented. Nathan pushed himself back to his forearms, panting and dry heaving once more. The tip of a shoe underneath his chin made him to look up, his eyes landing on the calm demeanor of his abductor. She smiled at him. "See, Mr. Drake? That wasn't so bad, now was it?" Another wave washed over him and he had to fight himself to keep it down. "Shame you soiled your shirt, though."

Despite the situation, Nathan sneered. "No one told me to bring a change of clothes."

She kicked his chin with the point of her shoe, making him grunt as his head fell back to the ground. The woman pressed her foot on the side of his head, pushing his ear and cheek into the dirt and rocks. "You'd be so much more attractive if it wasn't for that mouth of yours. Perhaps I could stitch it shut for you. Or better yet." His eyes shot open, his heart skipping as the head of a shovel stuck in the dirt merely centimeters from his face. "I could always just remove your jaw entirely." His heart pounded as Laveaux removed both her foot from his head and the shovel from the ground. He chose not to press his luck and stayed in his current position as he heard the woman move around him and say something to one of her men.

Once again, his arms were grabbed and he was hoisted back to his knees, though his left leg only moved with the motions, having lost feeling before he was even brought down. He tried to move his head away when Laveaux lifted the shovel's tip towards his face, his attempts failing as he felt the cold of the steel on his jaw. In a rough motion, Laveaux forced his jaw open with the blade, the corners of his mouth slicing open, causing blood to drip down his chin and neck.

He clamped his eyes shut, heart pounding viciously in his chest as his jaw was stretched to nearly cracking. He felt his chest quiver, his breath coming out of his nose in a shaking inhale and exhale, entire body tensing.

"I believe I have your attention, now," Laveaux said. "This can go one of two ways, Mr. Drake. You continue to disrespect me"—she pushed the shovel forward, getting a small fearful shout in response—"or you drop the attitude. Have I made myself understood?" He tried to nod as best he could. "Good." The shovel was removed. Nathan's eyes shot opened as he stared at her, his eyebrows forming creases on his forehead as his breath continued to shake, his chest feeling as though it would explode.

The fear he had tried to ignore finally reared its ugly head as they made eye contact; her eyes were cold, callous. The shear disregard for any other lifeform was a mask she wore well and the realization of his situation set in. Blood dripped from his mouth and the sight of it seemed to gain an odd reaction out of his abductor. She grabbed his chin and dug her nails into his cheeks as she made him look up; he closed his eyes to avoid staring into her eyes any longer. She crouched down. He felt her face near his, her breath on his cheek before her tongue licked the side of his jaw, tasting his blood.

Vomit rose in the back of his throat, but he swallowed it down.

Laveaux released the grip on his chin and wiped her hand across the lower part of his face, smearing the red liquid on his skin and neck.

"Beautiful," she said as she stood up and crossed her arms, as though inspecting a piece of art. She rolled her neck, causing it to crack before straightening herself up and pulling the front of her suit jacket down. She dropped the shovel directly in front of him; it clanged on the ground, his blood still on the blade. "Now, Mr. Drake, I hope you'll forgive me, but I have things I must attend to."

"Take your time." He immediately regretting his comment when the man holding his right arm pulled it, causing it to strain as he felt it shift uncomfortably in its socket.

Despite the comment, Laveaux kept her calm demeanor, partnered with the unnatural smile. "If it's my men you want to spend time with, you could have asked." Nathan's expression fell into a state of confusion, as though judging if her words meant what he believed them to. Seeing his expression, the woman's smile grew. "You are a very attractive man, Mr. Nathan Drake. We all know it. It'd be selfish to keep you for myself." He felt his heartrate increase once more.

"He – hey, come on, now," he started, voice stuttering slightly as a nervous expression made itself to his features. "They're – they're really not my type, you know?"

"You and I both know that's a lie, don't we?" His chest tightened as she laughed again. Without even looking behind her, she spoke to her men in her native French, "Lamont, Georges, viens avec moi. Tous les autres," she looked at Nathan, a devious look covering her face, "s'il vous plaît. Gardez-vous amuser."

With that said, she turned on her heel, the two men she called out by name following behind her towards the elevator. He could only watch after her as both of his arms were forced straight out behind him before his upper body was pushed to the ground.

~TBC

So...how'd I do?! I'm actually really proud about how this chapter turned out. I've got three people to follow in it, so it's kinda jumpy, but I feel like it works. (ponders)

Please let me know what you think!