A/N: That break in chapters was a lot longer than I meant it to be, and I'd be lying if I said it wasn't at least a little because I was distracted by the release of Uncharted: The Lost Legacy. It's a great game, and definitely worth a play-through. It did create a bit of a conflict with the premise of this story and I may go back and tweak the first few chapters to adapt to the new story line, but this was already an AU to start with, so maybe not.

Anyway, even though it's a bit late, Happily Holidays to everyone! Enjoy the chapter~

Sam sipped his beer. It had been about ten minutes since Rafe threw the apology letter at him, but neither he nor Victor felt ready to leave the table yet. He nodded towards the kitchen door. "At some point, I'm going to have to clean that up, aren't I?"

On both the way out and the way back from his walk, he had stepped around the ruined pan without giving it so much as a glance. It was better for it to sit out there until his temper cooled completely or else he would just get mad all over again. The walk, the cigar, the beers, the cigarettes, the knowledge that Rafe had received his due, the letter, and Victor's irritating penchant for lightening the mood all helped his head clear, and now he was feeling much more up to the task.

"Give me five minutes and I'll go out and take a look at the porch. I don't think too many boards were scratched, so it shouldn't be hard to fix up. I'll just get the dimensions and you can order some new boards along with his jeans. I got everything else I need already."

"Don't bother," Sully shook his head, "Not unless you think there's structural damage, but I doubt he's good enough to do that with one pitch. Chances are there'll be more scratches all over this place before the year is over anyway."

"I gotta admit, Victor, I'm a little glad you didn't tell me to show Rafe how to do it," Sam smirked, "My sanity is still recovering from that hole in the bathroom wall. But, if you keep leaving them like that, this house is going to be full of scars by the time we're out of here. You really want that?"

Sully chuckled. At least Sam seemed to be in a better mood. Thankfully, the older Drake had the same happy-go-lucky attitude as Nate, he just did a better job of hiding it. Neither of the boys would have made it this far if they hadn't learned to roll with the punches. It took a little more than hot cocoa to put him back on track, admittedly, but after a little bit of brooding Sam would always bounce right back. Now, if only he was as forgiving as his little brother...

"Rafe and I have already had a talk," Sully explained wryly, "I won't punish him again by making him spend time with you. Besides, it doesn't really matter what happens to this house so long as it's safe to live in. After this year we won't be seeing it again, and it's not like we'll have to worry about resale value. The only reason I made him take care of the bathroom was because I didn't want mold growing in the wall, what with all the moisture in there. If something has to be repaired then it goes to say that the person who broke it should be the one to fix it, which is why it was him and not just you."

"Yeah, we'll see what you say when you're the one who puts a hole in the wall. Besides, I'm not worried about resale value, I just don't want to have to stare at the damage all day while I'm living here." Sam placed his hand over his heart in mock vanity. "It's a matter of pride."

"Is it? I didn't realize you had any of that left."

"Oh, real funny," Sam lifted his beer and took a sip, then mumbled around the rim of the can, "Smartass."

Sully smirked and took a sip from his own beer. There was a moment of comfortable silence between them, then worry began to gnaw at the back of his mind. He set the can down and rubbed his mustache in thought, then leaned forward across the table and spoke with a low voice. "Say, when he walked out here before- did it look like he was favoring a leg to you?"

"Rafe?" Sam cocked his head to the side, trying to remember. "No, it looked like he was doing his best to avoid walking on both feet equally."

"So you think he was just sore?"

"Of course he's sore," Sam scoffed. Why would he even ask that? "Victor, I think you've had too much to drink."

"I wish." Sully shook his head and sat up straight again. "I guess I forgot to tell you- the reason your pan caved like that? He tried to put his foot through it."

Sam eyed Victor to see if he was joking. He wasn't. "Okay," he nodded slowly. "So, when are we getting the doctor here?" With the size of the dent in that pan, along with the fact that he was pretty sure Rafe wasn't wearing any foot protection, there was a very high probability for injury.

"There is no doctor, not yet," Sully answered, "Rafe insisted on it. He says he's fine."

"Victor, even when I had no money and there was a chance that Nate or I broke something, we always went to get it checked. He has all the money and he's going to risk it? And you're letting him? Did you even take a look at it?"

"You know that he isn't exactly keen on being touched, or manhandled," Sully answered, "And forcing it isn't going to make him trust us any more, is it? He's a grown man, he can decide if he wants a doctor or not, so long as he isn't killing himself."

"We both know that's a load of bullshit," Sam said pointedly. "It's a good thing he already hates me, I don't have to worry about playing nice. Why don't you figure out what kind of pants he wants and then disappear on the radio for fifteen minutes?"

Sully looked at him uncertainly. That screamed 'bad idea' at him, but he couldn't deny that he was concerned. If something did happen to Rafe's leg and they didn't get it fixed, the kid's pride could cost him an infection, and, worst-case-scenario, permanent deformation. Still, it was crossing a lot of lines that he wasn't comfortable with, and the very first line was sending Sam to do it. "I don't think that's a good-"

"I'm not going to hurt him," Sam interrupted, his hands held up in a gesture of peace. He knew exactly why Victor was hesitating, but he also knew it was unnecessary. He didn't feel an ounce of anger over the pan anymore. "I'm just gonna make sure his leg is alright, and I'm doing all this behind your back, right? That way he can't be mad at you."

"That won't stop him from coming to me and expecting me to do something about it," Sully warned, "And he'd be right to do that. If you really want to play this like I have no knowledge of your plans, then if something goes wrong, I'll have to respond fittingly to keep it fair."

Sam leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms, raising a brow. "And just what do you mean by 'fittingly'?"

"Not what you're thinking," Sully said dismissively. "Once that cat's outta the bag, he'd be expecting it every time you piss him off, and I just don't have the energy to deal with two of you anymore. It'd be more along the lines of losing a privilege, or something missing from our next supply shipment." He gestured towards Sam's pack of cigarettes.

"No way," Sam shook his head, "It's not like I'll be torturing him. It's for his own good."

"Compromise, Sam."

Sam looked away, then sighed heavily. "Fine. We can talk about it if it comes to that. Are you going to let me do this, or not?"

Sully was quiet, turning the idea over in his head again. Something still didn't sit right with it. "You're sure you've calmed down? You're not going to take anything out on him?"

"I am perfectly capable of controlling myself, Victor," Sam said.

"Half an hour ago you were ready to kill him over a pan."

"I was not going to kill him," Sam said defensively, "And it wasn't just because of the pan, alright? He was being a brat. He's been here, what, three weeks now? That's more than enough time to settle in and get over himself. You're telling me that it doesn't bother you he's still pulling that crap?"

"It bothers me a bit more that you're still antagonizing him," Sully responded evenly.

"I am not-" Sam sighed. "I'm only reacting to the things he'sdoing already, not trying to make things worse. I haven't done anything to him that I wouldn't do to Nathan if he was behaving the same way."

"Yeah, but he's not Nate, and he didn't grow up with you. You can't treat him the same way and expect the same results."

"You're telling me that you aren't doing the same thing?" Sam asked. "You're just pulling this all out of thin air, and not from experience with my little brother?"

"No," Sully shook his head. "Most of it's not coming from Nate. Nate was relatively easy to handle. Rafe actually acts closer to a completely different brat I had to learn to deal with."

"Who?" Sam asked, then it registered. He rolled his eyes. "Well, now I'm insulted."

"Just promise you won't do anything to him other than look at his leg, and if it starts escalating then promise me you'll back down. I don't want anything hinky going on."

"Hinky," Sam repeated.

"Yeah, hinky."

"Alright, then. Scout's honor," Sam held two fingers up.

"You were never a boy scout, Sam." Sully sighed and reluctantly nodded. "I'm trusting you to make this work, and not make it worse."

"Fine, then," Sam said drily. "Thieves' honor, then. Nothing's going to happen, Victor."

"Cute." Sully took a deep breath and huffed as he pushed himself out of his chair. "Okay, you'll have to tell me what kind of pan you want. We'll need a new spoon, too. You want the exact same kind?"

Sam raised a brow. "Why? Did you break the one we have already?"

"No," Sully answered defensively. "I'm not that mean. The kid said he wouldn't eat anything that it touched now. Something about germs."

"Ah," Sam nodded. "Yeah, he mentioned that earlier. Can't we just wash it and say it's new?"

Sully gave Sam a look.

"Fine," Sam relented. "Sure, get the same kind. As a matter of fact, get a variety pack. You never know, that might come in handy."

"Sure," Sully agreed, then drily added, "He'll be thrilled when he sees it."

"Good, he needs more joy in his life. I'll write down the pan I want for you while you get his jean type."

Sully shook his head and walked down the hallway to Rafe's room. "Hey, kid," he knocked on the door. "I'm going to put in an order for those jeans now. You have a list of what you want?"

Five minutes later, Sully was in his room fiddling with the radio. The set up was a little different than they had led Rafe to believe when he first moved in; the radio was a ham radio instead of short wave, and it wasn't the old model that Sully had learned on, either. The new ones came with Wi-Fi capability and a touch screen for browsing the internet if he ever felt the inclination to, along with a lot more doo-dads and features that he never really bothered exploring. All he wanted was the goddamned radio part, but Nadine had insisted, saying it'd make things easier for both of them.

Obviously, telling Rafe that it was short wave was a necessary lie and he didn't feel too guilty about it. If the kid knew it was there, he'd go looking for it every chance he got, and eventually he would find it. Despite his jokes, Sully liked his life, and had grown very attached to it, and as much as he liked to think that Rafe had warmed up to him he wasn't going to be naïve. The ham radio would likely stay a secret for the entire year.

He got the right frequency and signaled Shoreline, and soon enough one of the goons came through on the other end. Then he had to wait while they fetched Nadine. That was good, he needed some time to think up a good pitch, and to let Sam do what he needed to do.

Rafe was stretched out on his stomach, trying to force the throbbing pain out of his mind so he could focus on his next step. For now, he was at a loss, and he hoped it was only a momentary setback. He wanted to get out of there. He wanted to get away from that old man and that traitor. If he couldn't do that, then he wanted to make them as miserable as he was. So far, though, all of his efforts only made his situation worse, and he had compromised a lot more than he should have. The sweatpants he was wearing were proof of that- and so were the jeans that the old man was ordering for him.

With everything else going on, though, he couldn't be too mad at himself for wanting a few basic comforts. He knew from the beginning that his body had weakened and that he had to retrain it. Maybe it was time to focus on that- build up his health, exercise, get it all back under his control. Take care of his body first, and then work on his peace of mind- a peace that would only come when he was dashing Sam's head out on the porch instead of that fucking pan. Unfortunately, it would be a while until he was strong enough to do that without consequence, which meant he might have to do a lot more cooperating in the meantime.

Well, at least that was something to work on. As long as he had a semblance of a plan in place to focus on, he could begin to relax.

Then someone knocked on his door, and shoved it open before he had a chance to respond or make himself presentable.

"Get out!" Rafe sprung up into a sitting position and repressed a yelp at the pain shooting up his backside from the sudden weight. He couldn't keep himself from wincing, though, so ran his hand through his hair to hide it. At this point, he really didn't care who came through his doorway, he didn't want anyone to see him. He just wanted to be left alone to recuperate; it was pure luck that they hadn't walked in on him rubbing the pain away.

When he saw Sam standing in his doorway, he straightened his back and crossed his arms, scowling to show exactly how unhappy he was to see the man. "Especially you."

Sam rolled his eyes at the display. "Knock off the tough guy act," he said as he walked in, despite the warm welcome he'd received. "I'm not here to bother you. Sully just told me about how you performed your little stunt, and I want to get a look at your leg to make sure it's alright. Two seconds and then I'm gone, promise."

Rafe narrowed his eyes and slid back on the bed until he felt solid wall behind him, then tucked his feet up underneath himself. That position only made it more uncomfortable to sit, and he was fully aware of how ridiculous he must look, but those were both preferable alternatives to Sam touching him. "The old man must have forgotten to tell you that I already said 'no'. I'm fine."

"No, Victor told me that part too, which is why I'm here while he's preoccupied." Sam gestured towards the wall that separated Rafe's room from Sully's, then he approached the bed and pointed at Rafe's right knee. "Was it this one?"

"Get the fuck out of my room, Samuel, or I'm going to do some things of my own while he's busy."

Oh, sure, that was real scary. Sam wasn't even going to acknowledge that threat. "Not gonna tell me? Alright, I'll just check both." He leaned over the bed and threw an arm against Rafe's chest to shove him to one side, then grabbed his now exposed leg at the ankle. He tugged it out from under the brat and began to roll his sweatpants up while Rafe was still struggling to right himself.

By the time Rafe recovered from his surprise, his leg was already bared to the knee.

This was almost worse than when Sam had pulled his pants down during their discussion; but at least then Sam couldn't see his face while he did it. He didn't even like to wear shorts in the summer, and he did not appreciate Drake getting his grubby hands all over his skin right now.

Rafe growled and shifted to bring his other leg out from under him. Then he braced his hands against his mattress and lined up a kick for Sam's face.

Sam glanced up, flinched, and somehow managed to get his arm between them before the kick had a chance to connect with his nose. Pain spiked up his ulna and settled somewhere deep in the bone. Great. That was probably going to leave a bruise, and he'd had plans with that arm for later. At least now he knew which leg to look at, because he doubted the brat would want to kick him with a leg that was bothering him.

Sam held his breath until the pain subsided, then grabbed Rafe's free leg before he could completely retract it out of reach. He held both ankles down in front of him. "Can you please-"

Rafe kicked out as hard as he could with both legs, trying to break free. "Last warning, Samuel, get the fuck off me."

Sam held his ankles tightly and took a deep breath. Technically, this was exact point when Victor would tell him to back down. Rafe clearly was against it, and he could feel his own temper starting to bubble from the brat's attempts to hurt him. This was bordering on 'hinky'.

He leveled Rafe with a look. "Just sit still and this'll be a lot easier on both of us. Trust me."

"You can't even give me a reason to like you, let alone trust you," Rafe said vehemently.

"I can give you plenty of reasons. It's not my fault you're a psychopath that-"

Rafe lunged forward and swung his fist towards Sam's temple, but his aim was thrown because of how off-balance he was with his legs in Sam's grip. His knuckles grazed Sam's skin, though, and he got a small sense of satisfaction from that.

Sam paused a second as the burn of scraped skin seared across his upper cheek. "Alright, fine," he said, "If that's the way you want to be." He gripped Rafe's ankles and tugged hard.

Rafe slid off the bed and landed directly on his ass.

A yelp pierced the house, something very close to how a puppy might sound if it was kicked across the room.

Sully winced. Goddamn it. So much for not torturing the poor kid. What the hell could Sam be doing?

"What was that?" Nadine's voice buzzed through the speaker. "Is everything alright?"

"Yeah, must have been wind interference," Sully sighed. Unfortunately, until this call was over, he was trapped in the room and couldn't go check on it. "As I was saying, I know five hundred sounds like a lot…"

Rafe got his hands underneath him and got some of the weight off of his bottom, then looked at Sam accusingly. The older man was still holding onto his legs, so he was getting absolutely no relief from the pain in that position.

Sam looked at him evenly. "I don't have any patience for you right now. One way or the other, I'm making sure your leg isn't fractured. Are you going to work with me or not?"

Rafe tried one last time to get his legs free, but each movement only forced more weight on his backside, so the most he could manage was to squirm. He looked away and forced his body to relax, swallowing his pride. "Let me back up and I will." More fucking surrendering. Perfect.

Sam saw Rafe's face change, and it almost looked like he was fighting back tears. Ok, he felt a little bad now, but that didn't change the fact that the brat had done this to himself. He'd been acting completely unreasonable to that point and apparently just needed something to knock him to his senses.

Sam carefully dropped Rafe's legs and stepped back to give him some space to claw his way back up on his bed.

Once Rafe was re-situated, Sam stepped forward again. This time Rafe didn't move, and he was able to roll his sweatpants up to look at his leg without any resistance.

Rafe endured the indignity and kept his eyes on the wall, determined not to flinch or make a sound.

"You're a little swollen," Sam confirmed, "And your ankle's starting to bruise, but it doesn't look very dark." He put some pressure against it. "Does that hurt?"

"Are you done?" Rafe asked in response.

"No," Sam stated. "And I won't be any time soon unless you answer me."

Rafe closed his eyes and grit his teeth. "No, not any sharp pain. I already told the old man, I'm fine."

Sam nodded to himself and felt the leg for any unusual bumps under the skin, then turned his ankle to see if he could feel anything grinding together. "Alright," he finally decided. "I think you're ok."

"I just said-"

"Yeah, well, a second opinion never hurts," Sam interrupted and dropped his leg. "Victor was worried, you know? Now I can tell him he doesn't have to be."

Rafe scowled and opened his eyes to gauge Sam's expression. "Did he send you?"

"Please. If he was going to look at it anyway, he would have done it himself. I'm the last person he'd ask to do it." Sam saw Rafe eying him, clearly having difficulty believing that. "You can think what you want. By all means, be mad at him instead of me for once."

After another few seconds of silence, Sam shook his head and made a decision. The brat had just been forced through a lot of things he didn't like, and if he didn't get a pick-me-up then he was going to sulk all day. "Right. I have something else for you. Stay there a second." He turned and left the room.

Rafe stared at his doorway where Sam disappeared, then he rolled his pants leg back down and arranged himself into a more dignified sitting position. He didn't want anything that Sam had for him, but if bringing in tea would make Drake leave faster then he could put up with it.

Sam returned a few moments later and tossed something towards the bed. "Here."

Rafe caught it, then turned it over in his hand. Not tea, then. It was a jar of something.

"That's cream," Sam told him. "It's good for swelling and broken skin. Put that on your 'leg' and it'll help it heal faster. You can leave it next to the bathroom sink when you're done."

Rafe processed that information, trying to decide if it was something he should be angry over or not. "Why do we even have this?"

"Victor's old," Sam answered. "He's got dry skin."

No, not angry. Disgusted. Rafe grimaced and shot Sam a look.

"Just try it," Sam told him, then he gestured towards the room's entrance. "By the way, you have to stop getting mad over me barging in. If you don't want that to happen then lock your damn door."

Rafe blinked and glanced at the door from the corner of his eye. "What?"

"This little tab on the side of the knob," Sam pointed, "Just press it in and it'll lock your door. Turn the knob to unlock it."

Rafe stared at it. That bit of information was enough to shove the cream, his leg, and all other grievances of the day to the back of his mind. Of course the door locked and he didn't even know about it. The tab was small enough that he hadn't given it a second thought until now. "I press that tab and you can't come in?"

Sam shrugged. "In an emergency? Yes, we have a key- we're not quite the idiots you think we are. We'd have to go and get it, though, which would give you plenty of time to hide whatever it was you were doing to yourself that you didn't want us walking in on."

And just like that, his grievances were back. Rafe scowled at the implication. "Get out."

Sam held his hands up defensively. "Just saying. You really didn't know that was there?"

"Why would I? Why the hell didn't you just get a normal doorknob?"

"Because what would be the point of locking you in if you could just unlock it from this side?" Sam scoffed. That should have been obvious. "With this one you only have half the control."

"Where do you even find one like that?" No one in Shoreline was smart enough to design it, and he didn't think they'd spring for a custom job, not when a door latch would suffice.

"They have these for residents in homes for people who are insane, but not criminally so."

Rafe felt his anger spike and he reached for his tennis ball. "I will throw this at you again…"

"I'm not…" Sam sighed. "Don't read into it, ok? We just wanted something that would allow you privacy, but would still keep you from killing us. This was the best option we could find."

Rafe hefted the ball, adjusting his aim.

"Alright, I'm leaving- But you do know that doesn't actually hurt, right?" Sam backed up. At this point, there was no reason to stay any longer. Until Rafe cooled off, he'd only be making things worse. "I should get started on lunch anyway."

Rafe silently watched him leave, and as soon as the door was shut, he threw the ball at it as hard as he could.

"It was a pleasure as always, Nadine." Sully clicked off the radio and returned it to the top shelf of his closet. Then he took a deep breath and massaged his temples, knowing that now he had to deal with whatever had happened. It felt like he was just going from one damage control session to the next these days.

First things first, talk to Sam. It was better to know the full scale of what happened than to appear surprised at part of Rafe's story and raise suspicions about why he wasn't surprised at the rest.

He pushed his door open and walked down the hallway. The kitchen was empty, but the door to the porch was open, and the pan was gone. He stepped outside and saw Sam leaning against the railing, cigarette in hand.

Sam nodded over to him in acknowledgement. "Done so soon?"

"You know it never takes me too long to get what I want," Sully answered with a smirk.

Sam raised a brow at that and shook his head. "Nathan's right, you do manage to make everything sound dirty."

"What?" Sully scrunched his nose. He'd suspected Sam was the one who planted that idea in Nate's head to begin with, not the other way around. "How- No, never mind." He waved the question away, then went to lean against the railing next to Sam. "How'd everything go?"

"Oh, it wasn't too bad," Sam answered. "I just put it down by the docks, Shoreline can figure out what to do with it. The porch'll need a sealant to keep water out of those scratches, but-"

"Not that, Sam," Sully rolled his eyes. "What happened in there?"

"Ah," Sam took a long drag of his cigarette. "Well, you'll be happy to know that nothing's broken. His ego's a little bruised, but his leg is fine. I'm sure that once you go give him a chance to whine, or whatever it is you do with him, he'll be right back to his arrogant self."

"Right. And that screech I heard?"

Sam shrugged. "So I might have had to force the issue a little. He brought it on himself."

"Sam…"

"I didn't hurt him, Victor."

"Sam, how bad was it?"

Sam looked out at the horizon and took a deep breath. Victor wasn't going to like it, but he also was fairly sure that he didn't do anything wrong. "He fell off the bed and didn't exactly land on a comfortable spot. I may have assisted the fall- but, again, he brought it on himself."

Sully sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. This was exactly what he had been worried about. "Goddamn it, I told you to back off, didn't I? Alright, I'll go and have a talk with him. But remember what I said earlier- I might have to make some promises you won't like."

"Yeah, yeah, I know," Sam said, "Just give me a slap on my wrist and get it over with."

Sully shook his head. "That's not going to be enough. I had one condition and you didn't follow it. You knew what you were signing up for if that happened. Right now the only hard lines I'm setting are that you don't get sent away, and that you don't get your own 'discussion'."

"Great." Sam put out his cigarette against the wood. Funnily enough, there wasn't anything else that Victor could do that would bother him, aside from taking away his smokes. He knew he wouldn't go that far, though. Whatever promise Victor made Rafe, he could put up with it. "Well, I gave him some lotion. You might want to wait a few minutes before checking on him."

"Hey, kid," Sully called through to Rafe's room, tapping his knuckles against the door twice. "It's me. Can I come in?"

"Give me a minute," came the hurried reply. Sully put his hands on his hips and waited patiently.

"Alright, go ahead."

Sully grabbed the handle, but it refused to turn.

"Huh. So that does work," Rafe's voice came from directly behind the door.

So he finally figured that out, did he? It took him long enough. Sully put his hands back on his hips. "Are you going to let me in?"

"That really depends on what you want. Are you going to harass me some more?"

"No," Sully shook his head. "I'm just trying to figure out what the hell happened while I was on the radio."

The handle twisted and Rafe pulled his door open an inch, peering at him through the crack. "You really don't know?"

"I know what Sam told me," Sully answered.

Rafe stayed quiet, thinking.

Sully sighed. "I'm sorry that I didn't come running when I heard… Well, the indication that something was happening. I was in the middle of a conversation with Nadine, and if I stopped talking suddenly- even if I told her I'd be right back, there's a good chance she would have sent some of her soldiers here to make sure everything was alright. Would that have been any better?"

Rafe digested this, then Sully saw his expression shift as he accepted it. He stepped away from the door and walked back to his bed.

Sully took that as permission to come in, and he stepped inside the room and closed the door behind him. "What happened?"

"Nothing that I really want to talk about," Rafe answered.

"Alright," Sully nodded. "Then don't go into specifics. Sam told me he wanted to get a look at your leg, and he knew that I wouldn't like it so he waited for me to be occupied. He came in here, grabbed your leg, and felt for broken bones. Is that all that happened, or is there something he left out?" He decided to leave the last part open, so Rafe could tell him about the incident in his own words. He had a feeling Sam had downplayed the severity of it.

Rafe scoffed and gingerly sat down on his bed, trying very hard not to wince. Sully tactfully ignored it. "Why would you believe me if I told you otherwise? You really think that one as trustworthy as Samuel Drake would lie to you?"

"Because I can believe that Sam is still worked up and may have acted a little hot-headed, and because you didn't come to me right away to tell me about it," Sully answered. "Honestly, that has me more worried than anything else." It was a fair enough point. So far, the kid had snapped up every opportunity that came by to put Sam in bad light.

Rafe reached for his tennis ball and looked at the wall to think. Sully saw his mind working, and he wouldn't be surprised if he was trying to figure out just how much he could stretch the truth while keeping it within the realm of 'believable'.

Then, suddenly, Rafe came to a decision. He took a deep breath, straightened his back, and looked Sully in the eye. "That's all that happened, nothing else," he answered with a casual smirk. "You worry too much, Victor."