NOTE: hhhhhh i tried really hard to keep this in-character for this situation and also the whole character development thing with the both of them so i'm really sorry if they're 'ooc'
So, all the times Flynn tried to kill him was 'a fake,' that he was only pretending. It did make sense for the most part. He could've killed them then and there in the museum, could've shot him dead during the chases and could've done this and that...
With the train, however, Nate was confused. That came pretty damn close to death; a gunshot wound in the abdomen, almost killing him but Chloe moving his hand to make him misfire, and the propane tanks. Well, he did the propane tank explosions himself, but the men were going to kill him.
That was apparently a set-up, too. Flynn was hoping the treasure hunter went farther than what he did so it would give time for the Brit to shoot the goons dead while no one was looking. Whoops.
Honestly, Nathan couldn't believe that he was falling for all this shit. It must be fake. Must be. Harry was going to kill him... but logic said otherwise. He would've done it by now. 'Kid, if I was gonna take it from you, I would've done it by now.'
"I have to admit," the brunet said with a smirk, "you're a fantastic actor."
Flynn smirked back. "Thanks, love. Unlike you. You've got a lousy poker face."
At that, Drake gave a sarcastic laugh. "I've been told," he sighed. "Sully never taught me his ways with poker."
"Oh yeah. Sullivan," the other said slowly in thought. "How's that old bastard doing? Can't say I've missed him, but..."
"He's fine," Nate said simply. "He's freaking out about you right now, like everyone else. Except Charlie."
"Who's Charlie?"
"You'll make good friends with him," he assured. "Anyways, Sully's probably headed over here right now, trying to call me every few minutes. I had to mute my phone," he gestured to the small device on the coffee table, "because everyone's losing their shit. I'll smooth things out."
"Mate," Flynn laughed, "whenever you try to smooth things out, it never goes well. Never."
"With friends it does, alright?" Nathan snapped. "I'll- I'll figure things out. Just- I'm still not completely buying all of this-"
"Drake, stop," the Brit ordered. "Take a damn breather." A pause. "Look. Let bygones be bygones. We'll both smooth things out. Pretend like nothing happened and get drunk off our asses and insult each other and talk about everything and nothing like we always did."
"Yeah, because that solves everything," Nate growled. "If you haven't noticed, we've both came so close to death- more than once- and God knows how much mental trauma that causes." A breath.
"Dr-"
"I'm sick of pretending like everything's alright!" he yelled. "So sick of that shit. You know how many times I've almost lost the ones I loved?" He didn't give the Brit time to respond. "No. Of course you don't! Because everything's fine and dandy and nothing ever happened and everything's alright with the world."
"Drake-"
"No. Don't 'Drake' me, you son of a bitch. I've even come so close that I actually thought they were dead. Sully- twice- Elena, Charlie, and damn me if I didn't feel like something was missing when I thought you were gone-"
"Nate." Flynn had placed his hands on the other's shoulders and squeezed ever so lightly in a reassuring gesture. The touch should've made Nathan grimace and jump away, but it didn't.
"I get it. We went over this years ago- things are going to come back to bite you in the ass no matter how much you avoid it," he stated. "But, lets just catch up for a bit, yeah? I haven't seen you in two years. And, uh," he started lamely, "I didn't really leave off on a good note."
"No kidding," the brunet said rudely.
A pause filled with silence passed before Flynn took his hands off the man's shoulders and headed to the kitchen. As expected, he found the alcohol within four seconds.
"Nothing stronger than a small bottle of Whiskey?" he tsked. "You're losing your game."
"No," Drake said, "I just don't see the point in getting drunk all the time nowadays. I thought you would've figured the same after so long."
"Mate," the other said as he found the glasses, "I'm a bartender. Even if I thought that way, you can't turn down free alcohol thats right in your damn face literally all day."
Good point.
They both relocated to the living room and relaxed back into the couch with the alcohol in Flynn's hands. Their glasses were poured, and they drank. Then told stories of how their lives have been going. Then drank some more. And more.
And more.
Only an hour had passed until they were both shit-faced. If they had only been drinking beer, things wouldn't have gotten out of hand so quickly.
Besides having a short fuse, neither of them were that aggressive as a drunk, unless provoked. So, instead of fighting, they just rambled to each other and laughed at the stupid things they said or did. However, all good things must come to an end.
"He was like," Flynn slurred loudly, "a royal bitch. Obviously, that's why he's called Lazarebitch. I r' fuse to call' em anything else."
"I already knew that, dumbass," Nate laughed.
"No, like, a huge..." he trailed off. His expression slipped from humorous and happy to... an expression the burnet hoped he never saw on his face again.
"Flynn?"
"Sorry, mate," Harry blurted, "got a lil' tongue-tied. Need t' lay off the Whiskey for the night."
"What were y' gonna say?" Nate asked. He tilted his head slightly as he watched his companion's face twitch slightly from contemplative to blank.
"Eh, it doesn't matter now," the other murmured before standing- and stumbling, having to lean against the couch to keep his balance. Go slow. Without saying a word, he dragged himself to the kitchen and put his glass in the sink, along with putting the Whiskey back in the fridge.
"Need some shut-eye," Flynn mumbled as he crawled back onto the couch. "Wake me up when it's time for dinner."
Nate smiled to himself, but he was still curious about what he was going to say. Oh well. Carefully, he stood and shuffled over to the corner of the room where he threw any extra pillows and blankets, picking up one of each and handing him the pillow.
"Thanks, darling," Flynn muffled into the pillow when he got comfortable. They brunet draped the blanket over him without a word and headed to bed.
Why was he getting terrible deja vu? It's like he was coddling the guy or something. Not that he minded. He should, based on past events, but he didn't.
"It's like the good ol' days, in'nit?"
"Yeah... When were those again?"
A gunshot.
"Right, that's my cue."
Son of a bitch.
"No hard feelings, yeah?"
Another gunshot.
No... "You just don't know when to quit, do you?"
Going cold. It's so cold.
"What? No witty remark?"
Can't feel anything.
"Nothing clever to say?"
...Stop! Just let him go!
"Put him out of his misery!"
Flash. A long, loud ring. Then, blackness.
Backstabbing son-of-a-bitch.
"Yeah, well I learned from the best, didn't I?"
Silence.
"Bravo, Sherlock. Well done."
Flynn. Jesus...
"What s'matter, mate? Disappointed Lazarebitch beat you to it? I'm afraid you just missed him. Figured I'd stay behind and wait for you to come join my little party."
What is he talking about?
"Maybe that's what old Zoran wanted all along, eh?"
God, he sounded so broken. He never heard his voice crack like that. Never. God.
"He's cleverer than he looks."
The ringing was back. No.
"Parting gift from Lazarevic."
No, no.
"Pity he took the pin."
No no no!-
The distressed man grabbed at the sheets for dear life, heaving for oxygen as every part of him throbbed in an intense heat.
"Uh, Sunshine," a voice said. Oh. Flynn. "You're back on earth, now. You can calm down." Without a word, Nate eventually evened his breath out enough, slowly sitting up in his bed and throwing off the sheets so his skin could cool down.
"I told you to wake me up in time for dinner, but two things: I didn't mean screaming your damn head off, and it's not even mid-afternoon yet."
"S- scream... Screaming?" he murmured, looking up at the other.
"Yes. Well," the Brit mused, "mumbling and panicking, then just making really really loud panic-y sounds." Oh. Drake smoothed back his hair and climbed off the bed, stretching his arms and back. Besides the slight headache, he felt comfortable.
"What were you dreaming about?" he asked, but the brunet only sighed in reply, then grabbed a fresh pair of clothes.
"Come on," Flynn said with a charming smile after the long pause of silence. The other man was currently slipping on a new shirt. "Lets go pay a few people a visit. I'm sure they're dying to see me."
"Uh-huh."
