Four months later...

"So how is it in Houston?" asks Nate from the other end of the line. He sounds like he's crunching on something. Chips, probably.

"Houston is hotter than hell," I answer, leaning back in the hotel's desk chair. "I don't know why I picked this job over the gig in Paris."

"Well, there's only two things that drive Victor Sullivan: money and women. Which is it?"

I chuckle and return the front legs of the chair to the ground. "Both, actually. Houston offered a pretty, young lady with a pair of deep pockets." He laughs, making me smile. That seems to be happening more and more often around the kid. "So how's Grandma?"

Before I left, I dropped Nate off at my parent's place. I didn't want some former client with an admittedly justified grudge coming to exact their revenge without me being home. Plus, it'll get my mom off my back about never getting to see Nate. She'll have him all to herself for a few days, minus the time I take up with my daily check up phone calls.

"Grandma's doing well. She made me cookies this afternoon. And in case you were wondering, they were way better than yours," Nate says with his signature cocky undertone.

"I'll bet," I smile. "I'm sure you're tired from all the insane partying you've been doing, so I'm gonna let you get some sleep."

"Riiight. Bye, Sully."

"Bye, kid."

I run a quick shower once I get off the phone with Nate. I had a long day doing recon and gathering information. I hit the bed for a much needed rest.

I nearly jump out of my skin at the sound of my phone ringing on my bedside table. The digital clock reads 2:34. I place one hand over my racing heart and the other one answers the phone. "Yes?" I croak, cringing at the smell of my breath.

"Vic, i-it's Mom. There's something wrong w-with Nate," she says with a shaking voice. "He's having s-some sort of panic attack, but I don't know why or-or how t-to help."

I'm wide awake now, propped up against the headboard. "Panic attack?"

"Yes, he's curled up in-in the coat closet, m-muttering to himself. I'm not sure if he-he's crying or hyperventilating or both."

"Um, okay..." I swallow hard and force myself to think. What could have caused this? "Is it storming over there?"

"Y-Yes, how'd you know?"

"He's afraid of storms," I sigh, relieved that Nate's simply scared, not poisoned or something. That's not out of the realm of possibility in our line of work .

"If that's the case, I think 'terrified of storms' is a more accurate diagnosis," she says. "What do I need to do?"

"Does he have a blanket with him?"

"...No, but he's covered himself with coats."

"That's fine, we can work with that. Put me on speakerphone." I wait to hear a beep then I ask her to lay the phone somewhere near Nate, but not close enough so he can touch it. I don't want to startle him.

The first thing I hear after the phone is set down is Nate whispering, punctuated with whimpers and groans. "No... No, he's coming... He's gonna... I'm dead this time for sure..."

"Nate?" I say, holding the mouthpiece away from my mouth to keep the volume low.

He seems to react to my voice, pausing momentary to listen then goes on with his nonsensical ramblings.

"Nate, it's me."

There's a longer pause, then comes a sound that eerily resembles that of a puppy crying.

"It's okay, kid. The storm can't hurt you, remember? It's harmless."

"But... the noises..."

"Are just noises," I finish for him. "They're just loud. They don't mean anything."

"Yes, they do."

"They... They do?"

"Mm hm. They-" Nate abruptly stops to let out a little scream as thunder cracks in the background.

"What do they mean?" I ask once I hear his breathing slow back to a semi-normal pace.

"They mean he's angry."

"Who's angry?"

It takes him a few seconds to compose himself after another roll of thunder. I can barely make out the tiny voice that simply responds with, "...Dad."

Dad? I close my eyes and rest my head against the headboard. So his father's to blame for all this. The thunder must trigger some sort of PTSD. Poor kid.

I guess I waited too long to respond because Nate goes back to talking to himself. "Maybe he won't find me this time... I... I didn't... He's gonna... He's gonna kill me..."

I intervene before he can say anymore. It'll break my heart if I have to hear him continue. "Nate, it's okay. He can't hurt you anymore."

He makes a sound of disagreement. "No... The-the noises mean he's angry. I have to hide."

"He's not gonna hurt you. You're not with him anymore. You're with me. You're safe."

Nate takes some time to mull this over. "...But the noises... I hear him."

"That's just thunder. Can't you tell the difference?"

"...No. Not anymore," he whispers, voice wavering slightly. "Sully... I'm so fucking scared." I then hear a strangled sound. I've never heard Nate cry before, but if I had to guess, I would say that I just heard a sob coming from the brightest and liveliest person I've ever had the pleasure of knowing.

And I can't stand the thought.

"It's okay, kid. It's gonna be okay. I promise. I won't let anyone hurt you. It's gonna be okay..." I softly talk into the receiver and I keep talking until that horrible sound stops. I keep talking until he stops hiccupping. I keep talking until I hear only Nate's even breathing. I keep talking until I hear a beep and my mother's voice telling me he fell asleep. I keep talking until she hangs up. I keep talking until I fall asleep.

"I'll always be there, kid. Always."