X-X-X-X-X

He'd agonized over what to get her.

Nike was, by nature, a practical person. The only jewelry she ever wore was her brother's pendant, she always kept her hair braided, and the first thing she'd grabbed the morning after their dinner with Garp had been her boots.

Despite this, Drake smiled to himself as he tucked the small package into his coat pocket, confidant in his choice. It felt good to be back in his usual clothes, a sentiment that Nike mirrored in her looser stance and more open stride. Though, that might have been the absence of the 3 inch stilettos. She'd glared at them with distaste as she shoved them into her bag that morning.

He joined his sniper outside the little shop where he'd picked up his order, watching as her gaze flicked across the crowd, lingering here and there. His light touch on her elbow made her turn and, if he hadn't been looking for it, he would have missed the way her eyes softened when she saw him. He smiled at her, offering his arm. She rolled her eyes but took it nonetheless, letting him lead her through the city of West Port without complaint.

They were so close to the wharf that they could see the mast of their ship, but they were taking their time. Their crew weren't expecting them back until the afternoon and were likely to not be aboard if they arrived early. As such, they wandered through the city's park, grabbing lunch from a vendor before sitting on an unoccupied bench and sharing from the paper box of grilled meat and vegetables.

They'd started jousting with their forks for the last piece of chicken when something occurred to Drake.

"How long?" He asked. Nike didn't need to ask what he was talking about as she shoved his fork away, grabbing the piece of chicken with her free hand. He scowled at her as she munched happily on the crunchy bits.

"I don't know for sure. I guess I always liked you, but I didn't figure out how deep it was until the East Bay incident."

Drake felt his jaw go a little slack.

"That was three years ago!" He said, completely ignoring the fact that she was now hogging the beef strips.

"Yeah, so?" She asked. He frowned at her.

"You were so sure I was going to come around?" He felt the beginnings of anger uncurl in his chest, but her blank stare squashed the feeling as soon as it appeared.

"I never had any such illusions. I didn't know if you'd ever develop feelings for me," she said lightly, stabbing a piece of grilled pepper with her fork and shoving it into her mouth.

"So, what, you just ignored your own feelings and carried on?" He asked. She shrugged.

"Pretty much."

"Why?" She leveled a calculating stare at him, lips pursing.

"Because I don't care how you see me, so long as I can stay by your side." She said simply. Drake stared at her, feeling warmth pool in his stomach, before he sighed. Despite all his strength, he was always being defeated by this woman. As soon as he felt he'd gained a steady place to stand she'd yank the rug out from under his feet.

She was looking out over the park when he lifted his eyes to her, a contented expression on her face. He couldn't help his smile as he reached into his pocket and drew out the package he'd picked up earlier.

"Here." He tapped it against her shoulder and she turned to look at it curiously. With a slow blink she put down her fork and took it from him, turning it over before tugging on a corner of the wrapping paper, removing it carefully and setting it aside before turning her attention to the plain white box.

He watched as she lifted the lid to reveal his gift. He wasn't disappointed, either. Her face lit up when she understood what they were and why he'd gotten them for her.

The gloves were navy blue lambskin, missing the finger past the first knuckle, with his emblem embroidered on the back in gold thread. He watched her pull them on and smile broadly as she clenched and unclenched her hands. Yes, Nike had built up calluses from using her guns over the years, but even now there were times when her hands would hurt her.

"They're perfect." She said, glancing around before pulling one of her pistols. She leveled it, index finger in the trigger guard, and her grin grew impossibly wider.

He watched her, a stupid smile of his own spreading across his face, admiring the way his mark looked on her.

Oh.

Oops.

But Nike seemed unperturbed by the fact that he'd inadvertently marked her, turning to beam at him with unadulterated happiness. She leaned over and kissed his cheek in thanks and his smile widened.

Yeah, who cared, anyway?

X-X-X-X-X

/AN/

Yes, Nike can be well mannered. Then she turns around and talks with food in her mouth about the fact that she didn't care if Drake loved her or not, for three goddamn years. I imagine he finds it incredibly endearing as well as frustrating as hell.

She's insanely patient and obstinate like nobody's business.

To Rejar: Your comment about how long she'd known inspired me for this chapter, because it seemed like a good time for them to talk about it. Next chapter they reunite with their crew, which means this is sort of the last time they can be alone together. I don't imagine that their crewmates would badger them much about it, but both are relatively private people, so they'd prefer to not announce it so soon.