Author's Note: Set between Uncharted 2 and Uncharted 3 and is a logical prequel to the previous chapter.

CHAPTER 9

RUDE AWAKENING

The cab pulled into a tight parking lot of a massive old building that proudly showed off a flashy brand new coat of red paint as two tunnels of headlights dispersed the darkness in front of them. Old, because it was indeed an old distillery, new because it was no longer abandoned or decaying, and was proudly wearing a respectable title of apartment complex to boot.

"Home sweet home" Nate muttered and, as the cab brakes screeched and it stopped in front of the poorly lit entrance, he fished a bill out of his wallet and slipped it into the driver's waiting hand. He got out of the cab and threw his travel duffle over the shoulder that still ached after he unfortunately landed on it several days ago when a bursting blast of RPG threw him flying off a thin metal ledge, which happened to be the only source of balance his body relied on at the time.

The cab backed up awkwardly, almost hitting a shadow of an SUV and crept on in the direction of an exit, clearly shy of another undesirable possibility of dealing with angry car owners and slick insurance agents.

Elena's little hybrid was protectively wedged between the curb and Nate's own truck, the latter screaming to be washed as pollen and dust built a thick layer over the grey paint. Maybe tomorrow.

Nate clutched a brown paper bag that crackled in his hand and lifted his head up in greeting at the group of men standing a small distance away from the entrance.

"What's up?"

He walked to the door wrinkling his nose, as the warm spring air whiffed faintly of weed and piss in the best traditions of Bourbon Street that was good five miles away and – you would think – would not be an annoying nuisance for the tenants of an "up-and-coming adaptively reused residential development" – the very words an overly excited real estate agent used when trying to sell them this place.

"Joke's on you, cause it clearly worked" Nate voiced his thoughts.

He pulled the door open and walked across the minimalistic lobby towards the elevator that obligingly slid open as soon as he summoned it. Pushing the button of the fifth - and top – floor he tried to prepared himself to face his wife. The word wife still felt new, even though it's been months since they took their relationship to the next level. He wasn't too concerned, but couldn't shake the suspicious feeling that he should be. He was not in the mood for confrontation anyway; he just longed to feel her in his arms after weeks apart.

Elevator beeped its arrival and same simplistically styled landing opened up in front of him. Ignoring kids' wailings coming from one door and exhilarated voices cheering on a sports team from another, Nate made his way towards the quiet entrance into his own abode. He wiped his boots on the welcome mat - a black dragon on beige background, that Elena excitedly announced was so fitting, when she proudly plopped it down by their door on the day they officially moved into their first place. After all, he was a Drake, and she was now half-Drake.

He pulled the keys out of the back pocket of his jeans and they jiggled when he located the right one and pushed it into the hole. Cheery tulip wreath on the door rustled as the door opened into their little studio apartment.

"Honey, I'm home!" Nate shouted out the classic, but as he locked the door and shook the duffle off of his sore shoulder, no reply followed.

Disappointed and puzzled, he looked around.

Light reached his way from the floor lamp at the other end of the room, where the short corridor widened into the studio space that combined kitchen, living room and bedroom. Colorful glass of a Turkish lamp on an entry table near him adorned the bleak white walls with playful shadows and he momentarily glanced in the mirror, combing the loose strands of his bangs back up into standing position. The teasing smell of roasted chicken made his mouth salivate and he impatiently swallowed, slipping out of his boots and walking down the floorboards that quietly creaked in protest to his steps.

"Elena? Are you hiding from me? Well, ready or not here I come!" Nate called out.

He slowed down his steps by the bathroom, but it was dark and clearly empty - echoes of steam and pleasant flowery scent still wafting out of the half closed door.

"Okay, not in the bathroom!"

Nate walked out into the open space. Tall wide windows dressed in checkered black rim with curtains pushed to their sides bolstered the selling ticket of the place – the flashing lights of New Orleans danced in the distance, while the silhouettes of a small forest fathomed in the near darkness under the windows. Elena's pampered house plants that – for the lack of enough flat surfaces – were suspended in the air, resting in the nests of carefully twisted ropes of their macramé hangers, seemed to stretch their leaves longingly towards their hardy brethren on the other side of the glass.

Across from the little kitchen, past the small living room section in the center where Nate stood, Elena half sat on the bed, dressed in nothing but panties and t-shirt and warm fuzzy socks, her hair fresh and clean - and not entirely dry - ran past her shoulders covering the top of her chest. She did not grace his sudden appearance with a single glance - she kept reading a book and flickers of a small fireplace to the left of the bed cracked with fake sparks of fake fire lighting up her face momentarily, but long enough for Nate to note the tight line of her delicate mouth and quick flare of her nostrils.

"Why there you are!" The faint feeling of trouble intensified when Elena finally raised her eyes from the pages at the sound of his voice, "Found ya," Nate smiled easily.

She did not.

Her gaze was prickly and accusing, giving Nate the feeling he was supposed to be groveling, but he couldn't quiet pinpoint exactly which one of his faults it was supposed to be for this particular time around. It sure seemed that there were a lot of them lately.

Abandoning the urge to tend to the tray of roasted chicken on the stovetop first, he stepped towards the bed. He could almost hear imaginary layer of ice ready to crack any moment under his feet as he lay down on the bed next to Elena. Not reckless enough to poke the bear with an outright attempt to snuggle, he first offered her the bag he was still holding in his hand. Elena's eyes lingered on the bag, tip of her nose somewhat twitched catching the piquant aroma of its contents and she carefully put her open book upside-down on her lap, before taking the bag out of his fingers. Paper crinkled in her hands as she peeped inside and, rolling the top of the bag up, without a trace of emotion on her face, she dropped the offering on her bedside table.

"New book?" he tried to peer over the wall of indifference.

"Yup"

"Is it interesting?"

"Ah-ha," came another laconic answer.

At least she wasn't glaring anymore. Yet… surrounded by the cozy comfort of their home and all the cherished memorable things it was made out of, Elena's coldness seemed particularly out of place – as if a plant, previously lush with vibrant flowers, was suddenly found covered in icy frost in the middle of a hot tropical jungle. Nate found her hand and gently pressed his lips against the heartbeat on her wrist, and looked at her intently until she finally turned her head to meet his eyes.

"I missed you" Nate muttered, moving up and down the length of her hand and covering it with soft kisses, his stubble scratching the tender skin with every small move. Elena remained motionless, her eyes stayed uncharacteristically cool and distant as if he was looking into the eyes of a stranger. He sensed there was scorching lava beneath the carefully constructed layer of ice and moved ever so closer in a hopeful attempt to melt it without causing an eruption. He slowly made his way up, relishing in her closeness, he moved her hair out of the way, but as soon as his lips touched her neck…she pulled away.

"Okay…just stop," she half whispered and he already learned when she said it like that she really meant no.

"C'mon, 'Lena, don't be like that" Nate pleaded stretching his hand to wrap around her waist, but Elena abruptly stood up from the bed, causing her book to tumble to the floor.

"No Nate, you're not going to wiggle out of this one with puppy eyes and cuddles, not this time!"

Nate grunted in frustration and slinked down onto Elena's pillow.

"Ok, I really don't want to do this tonight, but…" he sighed, "…was it something I did?"

"Brilliant work of deduction!" Elena exclaimed darkly, "What lead you to that conclusion?"

"Well, for starters," he ignored the sarcasm and flipped to his stomach looking back up at her again, "Here I am, trying to love on my wife, whom-by the way- I love very dearly and missed her like crazy these two weeks we've been apart, and she- you-" he motioned his hand her way and she squinted her eyes at the translucent smartassery in his voice, "-acts like she is repulsed by my touch. Haven't you missed me?!" he spread his hands out in righteous indignation.

Elena measured him with a long intense look.

"Forgive me for not exactly jumping with joy," she finally spat out and her voice shook with emotion of an overstretched wire, "It must be the casualty of having to blow your number nonstop for three days in a row that took the joy out of me!" Her eyes sparkled heatedly, "And then, imagine my surprise, when I call Sully, to try and make sure that you're okay or, at least, alive, and he tells me that he is not even with you," she finished sharply.

Nate nodded - now at least sure of the exact reason why his guts were telling him to grovel.

"Yeah, Sully had to sit this one out, he got a cold," he said sheepishly after a pause.

"Oh, I know it…now," Elena tilted her head incredulously, "Would be pretty damn nice to have known it in advance! And then, I had to call Chloe- of all people- asking why my husband is not picking up his damn phone for days and whether he is still breathing. And then, finally, I find out that you are with Charlie, and then he doesn't pick up his damn phone either and I am just sitting here, like an idiot, scrolling through Argentina police reports, searching for any mention of your name or any kind of clue, that would explain why you are not picking up your damn phone! And then," she chuckled darkly, "You show up – oblivious or pretending to be anyway – trying to bribe me with a bag of boudin."

By the time Elena finished, her face – that was slowly changing shades as the intensity of her anger gained momentum- was flushed red and she had to catch her breath.

Nate waited for her to calm down before he finally responded, "I was not trying to bribe you - you love boudin from the airport café, I was thinking about you!"

"It's not even warm!"

"Well, let me go warm it up for you," Nate attempted a smile, but it was clearly a wrong strategy.

"It's not about the damn boudin, Nate!"

"Okay, I know, of course it's not," he said apologetically.

Being careful to not put too much pressure on the recovering shoulder, he got up from the bed, and, before Elena could react, locked his arms around her. Her breath was hot and heavy and Nate could feel the echoes of her heartbeat resounding through her small body as he tried to catch her gaze, but she stubbornly fixed it on her book that lay forgotten on the floor.

"Hey" Nate tried to get her attention and she threw a prickly look at him, "You know how this business is. I always keep you in touch when I can, but sometimes I just can't predict what happens and- like it was in this case- the reception is just not always there. And then we had to rush to Bolivia and there was just no time in between. As soon as I got signal, I booked a ticket back home and jumped on the first possible flight. I forwarded you the flight details, didn't I?" he said in a reconciliatory tone, looking intently at Elena, trying to catch her gaze again.

She bit her lower lip looking in the distance, slowly nodding along to her thoughts. Her anger seemed to have run itself out and her shoulders lowered.

"Why didn't you call me back?"

"Cause I was dropping with exhaustion and needed to get some sleep."

"What about later?"

"I was running late to catch the plane!"

Elena shook her head and rolled her eyes.

"My husband – master of excuses."

"It's true! C'mon, 'Lena, we've been through this. Can't you see, I'm doing this for you- for us-," he tightened his grasp around her and she finally looked him in the eyes, "do you want to be stuck in here forever?" he threw a meaningful look around their tiny apartment, "I'm just trying to get us there– the beach house, the boat, the starlit nights on the water- remember? Make our dreams come true. You need to give me a break, please. All I want after another job, is to come home to you and just…feel that you missed me and just be happy again like we used to- I don't want to fight with you anymore."

For a moment they stared each other in the eyes and Nate hoped he was sincere enough to make her understand.

"What I need Nate," Elena slowly broke the silence and, this time, her voice was calm, "Is a husband who is around."

Nate furrowed his brows, "I'm around."

"Not for the past two weeks you're not Nate. And then the previous job…all in all, I think we've been apart just as long as we've been together ever since we got married."

"Well, I just explained, I…"

"Nate" Elena said as if she was trying to wake him up, "I don't care about money. Anybody can have money. I am not married to anybody. I am married to you. Because I love you. Can't you just work on jobs that are like…lower to mid level risky? And maybe local? Even if they are not all that profitable, we will get there in time. I could get a better paying job. We could just…tell Dad that we changed our mind and let him help us with securing a mortgage, and then we'll pay him back like I did with my college tuition before," her fingers traced along his shoulder in gentle, healing strokes and her eyes implored him to listen.

Nate closed his eyes for a moment, torn between annoyance at the mention of her father and relief to feel her willing touch again.

"Elena," he tried to fine tune his emotions, "I don't need your father's money. We don't need it. He already paid for our wedding even though I told you I was against it. Can you just… give me some time? It's all I ask. Can you do that for me?"

"It was all I've been doing so far."

Disappointment filled her eyes and flash of steel sparked again, when her hands slid down his chest and she pulled away from him. His hands were still laced behind her, but with a slight pressure, she slipped through his fingers like water and he stared with frustration at her stubbornness.

"Oh c'mon, since when are you against a little adventure? I thought you loved them as much as I do!"

"Since a grenade exploded in my face and Jeff was shot right in front of us," she said heatedly, "Or did you forget?"

Silence fell as Elena's voice broke and words got stuck in Nate's throat.

He did not. In fact, it was the whole reason why he didn't want her tagging along on any of his jobs anymore, even the ones that appeared safe at first glance. He shuddered at the thought of experiencing that again.

"Look, I understand that, and I'm sorry for bringing it up, but" he tried to strike a different cord, "It's not like I suddenly changed or something - I've always been this way. You knew what I am and what I do when you agreed to marry me, didn't you?"

"Yeah… I did."

"Well why are you giving me this attitude then as if it's something new? You seemed to be fine with me going on these jobs at first. I just don't understand what changed since then?"

Question mark froze in the air. Elena looked away, her hands folded on her chest, tiny wrinkle scrunched up in between her brows.

"I was never fine with you going on those jobs," she finally said and looked up at him, "I guess I thought- I was hoping that…I'd be more important to you and you'll just…change…I don't know."

"Honey," Nate threw his arms in the air, trying to keep his voice as gentle as he could, "Why didn't you tell me this from the start?"

She looked trapped, almost crying, but steadying herself, holding onto the pillars of stubbornness that kept her balanced so far.

"Do you really need to hear it?" she said and a glistening line tracked down her cheek.

Nate didn't press on.

He knew it was the same reason why he never asked her if she'd really be okay with his lifestyle before – or even after - she said yes and engagement ring shone triumphantly on her finger.

Facing a dead end, Nate stared at his wife – his own small cuddly stubborn piece of heaven dressed in {Dare to Explore} forest green shirt with faded mountain silhouettes all around, with tear streaks on her face and goose bumps covering her legs and arms – and in her hazel eyes, he saw reflection of his own thoughts. Neither of them needed to voice the evident root of the problem they simultaneously grasped at the bottom of a giant pit they willingly dug out for themselves. The pit that was now too deep for them both to get out of, even if they tried.

Suddenly, the fights of the last couple of months made perfect sense. Soaring in the exhilarating cloud of euphoria of their rekindled flame, the marriage proposal and the eminent wedding with honeymoon tugging along – they never truly sat down to seriously discuss what each of them expected from their marriage. They talked about dreams. They talked about plans. But what they never talked about was the realistic dynamics of their future life together. Elena never said that she was not particularly okay with the present line of his work. And he never asked. They were so madly in love, that they both instinctively chose denial.

And, as euphoria started to dissipate, Nate kept floating happily along, while his wife met a heavy crash against the surface of reality. The growing resentment and disappointment, inevitably surfaced from beneath the stoic mask of convenient denial, when she noticed that the outcome did not exactly align with her anticipated hopes and plans.

He read her like a book now, and he wished he had been perceptive enough to make sense of her growing frustration before it blew in his face. Nate felt a ping in his heart realizing how much heartache he must have been pulling her through. Unknowingly, yes, yet it didn't make him feel any better. It was never his intention to hurt her and he felt like the last piece of shit that he did.

He didn't know how to fix it.

He doubted she knew it either.

Tiredly he ran his hand over his eyes and sighed - it was way too much to process right away.

"I'm just…Let's just go to bed, okay? We can talk about it tomorrow."

Elena wiped tears off her cheeks, "Yeah."

Slowly, she went to the kitchen where she splashed running water over her face, "Have some dinner," she sniffled as she dried her face with a towel and motioned at the baking tray on the stove, "You must be starving."

Feeling numb and empty, Nate filled a plate up, warmed it up in the microwave and, sitting down by the table, watched in silence as Elena piled the rest of the food off the tray and into a container that she put in the fridge along with the brown bag with boudin she grabbed off her bedside table. Water ran in the sink and as she started doing dishes, Nate got up and, adding his plate to the pile, gently hovered behind her, taking the sponge out of her hand.

"I got this," He said softly and placed a whisper of a kiss on the top of her head. She didn't fight it and, as Elena switched her attention to the bedtime ritual of pulling the curtains closed and turning lights off, Nate worked the sponge with double the effort as if he could erase the conversation of this night off his memory along with the stuck-on pieces of vegetables that came off the tray as he cleaned.

Feeling days of travel sticking to his shirt, he tiredly wiped his hands off the kitchen towel that hung on the handle of the oven, and headed to the bathroom for a quick rinse.

As he finally lay in bed sometime later, with Elena curled in a ball on her side of the bed, he didn't need to make a move to draw her close. She came to him herself.

Nestled in the crook of his shoulder, with her head resting on his chest and fingers playing with the short thicket of hair on it, she casually threw her leg over his like she did countless times before and tucked her cold foot under his ankle.

"I'm sorry," Elena whispered and her breath tickled his skin, "I missed you too."

Reassuringly he squeezed her shoulder under his hand, but stayed silent.

"I just…," she continued, failing to get any words out of him, "…I just think that we need to build life out of what we have, and not out of what is missing," she finished as if trying to plant the words into the fertile soil of his uncertainty before anything else had time to spread its roots in it.

Nate was sure he didn't have enough emotional capacity to pick up from where they left off just yet.

"Honey, can we not talk about it tonight?"

"Okay, I just wanted to make sure…"

"'Lena…please," he put more pressure in his tone.

"Okay, okay."

Silence fell over the calming darkness above and around – only the alarm clock and the microwave's display pierced it with never-sleeping electronic light. Someone shut a door with a loud bang in the shared corridor outside of their apartment and then a distant baby cry did not hesitate to follow. Soon it was quiet again.

"Nate?"

He looked down to meet Elena's eyes even though he could barely see her expression.

"Hmm?"

"I love you."

"I love you too."

He knew that fact for sure. As well as something else:

He didn't want to keep hurting her anymore.

Through the complete and utter bliss of drowsy awakening, out of the corner of her ear and with a lazy whiff of her rousing sense of smell, Elena's brain grudgingly noted it must be morning already. Actually, there could be no doubt about that: she heard clanking of kitchenware and she smelled delectable flavor of breakfast in the air. With pleasure and quiet anticipation, she stretched herself feeling folds of soft sheets brush against the length of her bare skin.

"Nate?" Elena murmured against her pillow with her eyes still closed.

The clatter momentarily stopped.

"Morning, beautiful," Nate's voice reached her ears. There was an unusually elevated note to his casual tone and a tiny shadow of suspicion managed to squeeze its way into her heart, making her first hesitantly open one eye and then another. She asked herself if she really wanted to know and came to a conclusion she didn't.

The curtains were flung open and the room was filled with light basking the suspended plants in the warm morning rays. It reflected itself off the white walls of the apartment, making it so unbearably bright that she had to shut her eyes again, before she made another careful attempt to peek through her eyelashes. Apparently, he wanted her to wake up.

Clutching at the sheets for warmth, Elena slowly raised herself on the bed and looked around. Just at that moment, her husband sat down on the chair by the "dining room" table and gave her a warm, but somewhat sour-ish smile. She wondered what that was all about. Quizzically, she scrunched up her brows, but smiled back.

He was fully dressed in jeans and a plain grey t-shirt with a small pocket around his chest. A single plate of breakfast sat on the table in front of him.

The shadow of suspicion started to rapidly gain in its material manifestation.

Not because he made breakfast – no. That he did rather often whenever he was actually home, knowing she liked to sleep in when she could afford it. What was unusual was the fact that it wasn't plain scrambled eggs or French toast. No…

…it was frittata.

Even from the distance Elena could see the colorful bursts of bell peppers and cherry tomatoes baked into layers of eggs. She could smell shredded cheese and diced scallions within. She could remember Nate making her frittata for breakfast only on two distinct occasions – on the morning after their first official date night and on the morning of her birthday. It was not her birthday, and their relationship since morphed into marriage for her to be honored with frittata for breakfast on a simple old Thursday.

Besides – there were two duffles lying on the floor several feet away. Yesterday he came home with one.

All the while the gears in her head were starting to come into motion with less squeaking and with more of increasing speed, Nate followed the direction of her gaze and his eyes took a hunted expression. Wait a second - she saw it before.

"Nate!" Elena's voice rose to the ceiling, disturbing the seemingly idyllic peace that reigned in the apartment.

"Hey, don't you wanna have some breakfast?" Nate chuckled nervously and she decisively got up from the bed.

With her toes curling at the unpleasant feeling of cold floorboards under her feet, Elena put on the first article of clothing she could find around her, which happened to be one of Nate's shirts. Drowning in the material, she threw her tangled hair off her face and marched through the living room to sit down on the chair in front of her husband.

"What is that supposed to mean?" she shot a tense glance at the bags and then back at Nate.

"So," Nate started, looking as if he didn't quite know how to most safely approach the topic, "After what happened yesterday…I thought a great deal about it and…you know, the fights we've had lately and now it all makes sense and we are both just confused and all and I just thought that…," he paused and rubbed the back of his neck, then sighed and shook his head, "What the heck, 'Lena, just hear this as it is- I don't think I'm capable of making it sound any better," he took a deep breath and on the top of it blurted out, "I think we should put our marriage on pause until we figure out a way to keep us both happy and stay together at the same time."

The words froze in the air above the table. Nate stared at her with trepidation - with his mouth still partially open he gritted his teeth before he closed it and a lump he swallowed moved the adam's apple up and down his throat. His whole body seemed to inch away from her and towards the back of his chair.

It took a moment for Elena to finally perceive the words coherently and for the meaning to reach the center of her brain.

She frowned and blinked in a series of confused bursts until she came to a conclusion she heard everything correctly, yet she still had doubts. She stared intently at his face, trying to catch at least a slight hint of joke in his blue eyes, but they stayed serious. Maybe it was her ears playing a game on her after all?

"You – what?" she slowly managed to say.

"Just until we figure things out," Nate hurriedly added.

"You are…dumping me?" she felt a rogue wave of encapsulating fury rising from her chest and engulfing over her body.

"What?" Nate frowned momentarily, "Oh no- no, no, no, no – absolutely not, honey" Nate waved his hands in front of him, "I just…I can see how much I'm hurting you with all the time away and putting myself in danger while you're here, at home, hanging on every text and call, not knowing if I'm going to come back each time. I just…I don't know how to fix it, but I know that we will figure it out eventually, we just need time to do it, you know, and I don't want you to keep stressing yourself out during that time. Does that make sense?"

"No! You're telling me you're hurting me by being away from home and then you want to make me feel better by being away from home? How is that supposed to make it any better?! That doesn't make any sense! We should try and fix it together – at home!"

"'Lena," he said patiently and his lips twitched in several unsuccessful attempts to smile until he gave up, "You know we just gonna keep fighting if things keep going in the same direction. It's not working. You know it's not working," he stood up from his chair and went around the table, "Look, I love you. But we both clearly need a break to think things through," he leaned down and cupped her head in his hand. His lips pressed against hers, which were cold and unreceptive, and she tightened them even more so when she felt him trying to deepen the kiss.

Nate moved back, clearly sensing this was as much cooperation as he was going to get out of her and the lines on his forehead appeared more visible.

"Call me if you need me, I'll stay at Sully's for some time. The gun is in the safe, it's loaded, put it in your bedside table and keep it there- just in case." He added and gave her a long uncertain look, taking in the last sight of her – sitting utterly dumbfounded with only his shirt on, smooth bare legs stretched to the floor, blond hair still disheveled after sleep and hazel eyes, almost green in the morning sunlight, staring back at him - uncomprehending and confused.

"I love you," he repeated and grabbed the bags off the floor.

Elena watched incredulously as Nate turned around and walked down the length of the small corridor, his broad shoulders moving further and further away, his whole bearing telling her he was afraid that if he turned back and looked at her again, his determination would break and he would change his mind. He laced his feet into his boots. He grabbed his keys off the hook on the wall.

"Nate!" Elena called out again, her voice trembling under the weight of panic.

He froze in front of the door for a moment and his head turned to the right ever so slightly. But, as she waited for him to turn back around, the knob twisted under his fingers - the door opened and closed behind him with a quiet tap and… he never did.

Stunned, Elena sat right where he left her, unable to move a muscle.

Volcanoes ceased to erupt and falling meteorites stopped exploding against the surface of her mind. All the cataclysms of anger died down and her inner world turned into bare and still desert.

"Well, that was unexpected," she finally muttered.

What was baffling her even more, was the fact that she could still discern the echoes of last night all over her skin. She could still feel his touch all over her body and the sensation of his lips caressing her, worshipping her, craving her, devouring her. Tempting and teasing until she breathlessly begged, and he would graciously help her climb over the edge and catch her melting body as she plunged into the depth of pure unfiltered ecstasy again and again, before he would finally allow himself to follow and fully dissolve himself within her.

Making her feel loved. Making her feel exceptional, irreplaceable and one of a kind - the way only he could.

A shiver went down her spine and hot blood rushed to her face. She wrapped the shirt tighter around her body.

She stared at the frittata on her plate and, for a moment, she felt like sending it flying against the wall. But then, pragmatically decided it would be an unnecessary waste of good ingredients and a perfectly innocent plate.

Elena kept sitting there motionless. She didn't scream. She didn't cry. She didn't even sniffle.

She moved on her chair, turning to face the window, just in time, to see Nate's dusty truck driving down the road, above the small evergreen island beneath, that lead to the highway. Her eyes followed it until it got lost in the distance.

She didn't quite know what to do with herself. In the end, she grabbed a fork from the table and dug it into the soft frittata on the plate in front of her. It was delicious – spiced with just the right amount of paprika, black pepper and guilt. Her husband's farewell bribe. Who was she to turn it down?

Slowly, Elena stood up. The silence he left behind was too much to bear. She turned the TV on - indifferent of its informative content - she simply needed to hear a background noise that somehow made her feel less alone. She flipped the switch on the glass kettle and watched the bubbles rise from the bottom. Her mother always said that there was nothing in this world a cup of a strong black tea couldn't make better. She added four heaping tablespoons of tea leaves into the little ceramic teapot, threw in a couple of sprigs of mint she snipped from one of the plant pots, poured scolding water over the mix and patiently waited for the tea to steep; she filled a mug with the fragrant brew, adding an extra spoon of sugar and splashing a generous amount of cognac in – how could it possibly hurt? - after which she went back to her chair.

Her phone vibrated and with desperate hope Elena jerked her hand for it. It was a text.

"I don't know whatever the hell happened between you two, but he is with me."

Her shoulders dropped.

"Thanks for letting me know, Sully." she typed and tapped Send.

Elena sat back and absent-mindedly watched cars creep by outside the window, cautiously sipping the strong sweet tea, faintly enjoying the feeling of hot cup under her fingers and pondered…pondered the complicated polyhedron that was her husband. Whenever she thought she finally had him figured out, he somehow managed to present a new, never previously explored, surprising side of him. And this one…Well - out of all the stunts that Nate ever pulled on her, this one was, by far, the most masterful and daring somersault to date.

It was beyond any of her most sophisticated expectations.

Falling asleep last night, with Nate's arm wrapped protectively around her, Elena felt determined that when she awoke the next morning, she would find him telling her he was ready to settle down and find a safe regular job. She was so sure of her power over him, that she didn't even leave space for doubt; did not even consider an outcome such as this.

Suddenly, her brother's words floated from the archives of her memory into the labyrinth of her thoughts. He told her she was going to end up knocked up and dumped, just like her sister. Well, at least she wasn't pregnant. Or at least she hoped she wasn't.

When the contents of the teapot were empty, and she couldn't even tell how long she had been sitting there, drinking cup after cup, Elena added another observation to her list: heartbreak of being dumped by your spouse was not the kind of thing that a cup of a strong black tea could mend.

And, despite Nate saying it wasn't true, it sure felt as if she was indeed dumped.

Author's Note: I think I wrote from Nate's point of view for too long, because when I switched to Elena it felt like a breath of fresh air and writing suddenly became so natural and easy. She probably deserves a couple more chapters aired from her perspective.