Nate heard gunfire ringing through the air.
Standing amongst the tents that littered the dig site, Nate could hear the ringing of shots. He spun on his heels, kicking up dust as he tried to figure out what was going on. His heart pounded as he felt a rush of adrenaline. The noise of an explosion echoed in the distance
"Nate!" he heard a distant voice cry out, calling out for help, "NATE!"
Nate shook his head, trying to regain his bearings. He could feel his right hand unconsciously gripping the small pistol tucked into the back of his waistband. His breathing became shallow as he heard the voice cry out, closer this time.
"Nate! Help!"
His heart sank when he recognized the voice. It was Elena's. His grip tightened on his concealed pistol as he started to head towards Elena's voice. Rounding the corner of one of the tents, he nearly collided with Marisa Chase. His grip released from his gun, concealing it underneath his shirt.
"Whoa cowboy," Chase chuckled, her hands held up to keep him from running into her. Her expression became more serious as she looked at him. "Are you okay?"
Nate's face was slightly pale, with a tinge of sweat beaded across his forehead. He blinked several times, almost oblivious to her question. All of the noise was gone. There was no gunfire, and he couldn't hear Elena's voice. The air was still, peaceful. It took him a moment to realize that Chase had repeated her question.
"Nate?" she asked, concerned, "Are you okay?"
Nate took a deep breath, regaining his senses. "Yeah," he mumbled, trying to reapply his confident visage, with only partial success. "Just… old ghosts."
Chase placed a hand on his shoulder. The color had returned to his face, but she was still worried. "You, uh, want to talk about it?" she asked uncertainly, not wanting to pry. She had seen a lot of terrible things during her short time with Nate, so she could only imagine the weight of all the experiences that he carried with him, from all the years both before, and since, they met.
"No," he said wearily, sitting down in a folding canvas chair. "Where's Elena?"
Chase handed him a bottle of water, "She's interviewing one of the lead archaeologists. Do you want me to go get her?" Chase knew that Nate could be a bit of a closed book, but she hoped he could at least talk to Elena.
"No, it's fine," Nate replied with a small wave of his hand. He tried to regain his composure, putting a small smile on his face. "I just need something, anything to do. What's going on with the dig right now?"
"Well," Chase replied, "You wandered off right as Gabriel finished his opening little presentation, and then they called a lunch break, so there's not much going on right now."
Nate sighed, closing his eyes. He couldn't believe that he had slipped like that. Wandering off during his friend's speech, putting his hand on his gun? He was really wishing Elena wasn't busy.
"So, you're really retired from treasure hunting?" Chase asked, sensing the awkward silence between them.
Nate looked at her, a trace of a smile glancing across his face as she sat next to him. "Yeah," he nodded, "About eight years now."
"Never thought I'd see the day when the infamous Nathan Drake would hang up his guns." Chase joked, hoping the conversation would help him feel better.
"Well I never thought I'd live to see it," Nate cracked quietly, his small smile conveying how glad he was to be proven wrong. He took a drink from his water bottle. "Never thought I'd find someone who'd pull me out of it all."
Chase smiled as they sat quietly, "Tell me about her."
Nate paused at this request. Sensing his hesitation, Chase continued. "Relax Nate; we broke up what, fifteen years ago? And as I recall, it was completely mutual. So there's no need to feel awkward about talking to your ex about your family."
"I guess not," Nate chuckled, his left thumb unconsciously fiddling with his wedding ring, "Just, wondering where to begin is all."
So Nate ultimately began at the beginning, telling the story of how he and Elena found Sir Francis Drake's empty coffin, though he chose to omit how his had originally intended to use her and her show as simply a means to an end. He told her about El Dorado, the rough patches in his and Elena's relationship, her near death in Shambala, their wedding, estrangement, and ultimate reunion after Iram of the Pillars. He had slightly edited some parts, for privacy as well as general believability. She had been on a few adventures as well, but Chase had never seen anything truly unbelievable like he and Elena had witnessed.
So as Chase heard it, there were only crazed natives on the El Dorado island, not creatures, there were no crazy yeti like monsters guarding Shambala, merely what an insane man believed to be a method of gaining immortality, though that had remained unconfirmed.
"So, I guess it took me a few times," Nate finished, "But I finally learned what was really important in my life."
Chase wasn't sure what to say, so she simply stated, "You two are lucky to have found each other."
"Yeah," Nate smiled, "She saved my life."
"Sounds like you both saved each other about a dozen times."
Nate took a drink from his water bottle, and then stood up to rejoin the other students. "That's not what I meant."
And with that he walked away, leaving Chase to realize the meaning of his solemn statement.
Meanwhile, David Reese downed a rather large mug of coffee, staring intently at a thick book on the table in front of him, with large, almost comical glasses perched on the bridge of his nose. He turned away from the book, returning his gaze to the large M40 sniper rifle on the table in front of him. Picking up one of many tools he had acquired during a stint working in a military armory, he continued his minor adjustments to the weapon. Spread out on the table was a vast assortment of armorer's tools, weapons cleaning gear, and small bits of cut foam from a carrying case.
"Piece of shit," he mumbled, bringing his gaze in close to look at some rust on one of the smaller components of the weapon. "God damn it."
He grabbed the small dropper bottle which held his cleaning solution, and was about to apply a few drops when he paused, a suspicious look darting across his face. He wasn't sure why, but something didn't feel right. He glanced to each side cautiously.
"Who's there?" he called out, his left hand slowly unholstering the 1911 Colt from his hip. No reply. The room was quiet except for an old Garth Brooks CD he had playing quietly. He peered slowly over his rifle, and for one of the only times in his life found himself feeling like a paranoid fool as he noticed Juliet watching him intently.
His shoulders slumped, and he let out a sigh as he relaxed back in his chair, feeling equally relieved, disappointed, and completely foolish as the one year old watched him from across the room. Juliet stood against the wall of her crib, staring at him quietly, a slightly curious look on her face. Reese began to feel slightly awkward, completely uncertain of what to do. He tried to get back to work on his rifle, but he could practically feel Juliet staring at him.
"God," he grumbled, looking back up. Juliet's inquisitive stare remained unchanged. For the better part of two minutes, the pair remained locked in what must have been, in Reese's opinion, the strangest, most awkward staring contest ever.
"Of all time," he thought, raising one eyebrow. He remained motionless for a while longer before finally breaking the uncertain silence.
"What?!" he blurted out, lacking any grace whatsoever. The outburst must have amused Juliet, because she instantly started to giggle, "God, what're you staring at?" Reese groaned, seemingly oblivious to the fact that he was talking to a baby. Juliet still giggled. Maybe, like her mother, she thought it was funny how his southern accent would get worse when he was upset.
Reese ran his fingers through his hair in frustration. After a moment he rose from his chair, and then sat in the couch next to Juliet's crib.
"What could you possibly need?" he moaned, his frustration toned down, though still entirely out of place for his audience, "You have all your toys, your little baby monitor," he pointed at several of the items that littered, or more appropriately, filled, Juliet's crib. She was, in fact, surrounded by everything that could be considered her things, "I even took you for a little, uh, field trip earlier," he finished awkwardly, a sideways glance given to the rifle on the table as he remembered their earlier excursion.
"Better not tell Nate or Elena about that."
A look of dismay stretched across his face as he envisioned what Elena would do to him if she knew where they had gone.
"Yeah… scratch that last one," he said seriously, "That…uh, didn't happen, you understand?"
Reese began to feel like his was the most hilarious entertainment ever, because all he got in reply was more laughter. He threw his hands up in defeat, and then pulled his cell phone out of his pocket.
Nate was glad to be back to work helping out at the dig. He hated it when things got too quiet, too still. But as long as his mind was occupied, he was okay. He was definitely feeling better than he was a short time before. He knelt down next to one of the dig's many archaeologists, taking meticulous notes about the excavation process, how nothing was ignored, every detail no matter how small needed to be documented. It was night and day compared to his old exploits.
"Go in, take all the shiny stuff, and get out before something weird kills you."
He had been to plenty of digs, both legally and illegally, and was well aware of all that was involved, but he had never been an actual participant of the process before. Then, as his tutor was explaining how even a broken tiny piece of pottery had to be measured, documented, and noted where it was found exactly in a gridded dig area, Nate's phone buzzed. He excused himself as he withdrew the phone from his pocket, and frowned as he gazed at what he hoped was a sarcastic text.
I hate you. So much.
Nate chuckled slightly as he sat back down next to the small patch of dug up earth.
"Anything important?" his tutor asked inquisitively.
"No," Nate smiled, "Just a message from a friend who's watching my daughter. He's a great guy, but he is just utterly hopeless with kids.
The archaeologist chuckled, "I know the type."
Just then, Nate's phone buzzed again. He looked down at it, excepting another hilariously frustrated text from Reese. But what he saw was a short message from Sully.
Call me when you can. I've got news.
Meanwhile, on the other side of the dig, Elena was catching up with Gabe. Though it was largely more a journalist conducting an interview than two friends catching up with each other. They sat in one of the many beige canvas tents that littered the expansive area, discussing Gabe's connection to the dig, and the opportunity it presented for all of the students that got to come.
"Well, I'm involved with several archaeological organizations," Finch told Elena as she took notes, her Dictaphone recording his words, "Not just the Vincent Perez Foundation, but many other historical societies and groups dedicated to archaeological preservation. I like to keep involved with the historical community, staying abreast of the goings on around the world." He took a sip of his coffee, and then took a moment to wipe the fog off of his glasses. This action served dual purpose, also removing a film of dirt that still resided there. Elena repressed a chuckle as he removed them, noticing that a dirt outline of his glasses remained in their place
"There's just, so much more going on in the world of historical discovery than people realize," Finch continued enthusiastically, replacing the circular wireframes on his face. "And when I heard that the Foundation was overseeing this dig, I spoke to a few colleagues, and they welcomed the opportunity to influence a group of aspiring archaeologists and historians."
Elena barely had to say anything since the interview started. Though he wasn't incredibly animated, and had a tendency to speak softly, he had a captivating speaking voice. Like the kind you could you to make a career out of recording audio versions of other people's books. She was about to ask another question when Chase walked in.
"Can I talk to you?" she asked, her gaze fixed on Elena. Elena was perplexed by the uncomfortable look in her eyes; as if she wasn't sure she should say what she wanted to.
"Sure," she replied, returning Chase's gaze with a mixed look of confusion and curiosity, "I'm sorry Gabe, could you give us a minute?"
"Sure," Gabe said politely, and stepped out without another word. Elena waited to speak again until Gabe was gone and the tent flap had closed.
"What is it?"
"Uh," Chase started, "Is Nate okay?"
The question stunned Elena. She stared at Chase for a moment, assessing how much of her husband's personal problems she should confide in a woman she had just met that morning.
On another continent, the blonde man in the suit sat quietly on the couch in a dimly lit apartment, thinking. He looked around at the furnishings. It was a nice, if somewhat minimalistic apartment. He considered the ramifications of his plan, the potential risk, and deemed it acceptable. His cold, icy eyes narrowed to slits when he thought about what he could gain. It could actually be a "two birds with one stone" scenario. Taking a deep breath, he retrieved his phone from the end table, and dialed a number .
"Yes sir?" Benjamin answered. There was a decent amount of background noise, but his voice came in clear. It sounded like he was walking down a busy street.
"I got a call from a contact of mine," the blonde man replied, "He says that Sullivan is no longer the only one looking for you. Apparently, there's some noise coming from some marshal named Gutterson, which I'm assuming is at the behest of Drake's friend the sniper."
"And that changes things how?"
"We need to cut this off at the knees. One person employing amateurs is one thing, but when a deputy marshal starts doing favors for old army buddies, there's too much risk of this making its way back to me."
"So what's the plan?"
The man in the suit could practically feel Ben's desire for the plan to involve violence.
"We apply more pressure," he replied, "I'm working on something on my end, but I need you to find Sullivan, force him to tell you anything he might know."
"Way ahead of you sir."
And with that, Ben hung up the phone, placing it back in his pocket as he stepped into a sports bar, taking a seat at the bar next to Victor Sullivan.
"Hello Victor," Ben said with malicious glee, his grin growing. Sully turned, and by the time he realized who he was talking to, a hand was around his neck, and his feet were dangling off the ground. Several patrons fled the bar.
"Tell me where Nathan is," Ben growled.
"I ain't telling you a goddamn thing," Sully choked.
Ben was about to reply, when he heard a shotgun pump. His grin disappeared, and his head slowly turned, a stone cold look on his face as he saw the bartender aim a gun at him. He looked around, and saw that several of the remaining patrons had risen to their feet, some drawing weapons, some just improvising with beer bottles and stools. A glint of excitement danced across his face as he was surrounded by the bar patrons.
"Now it's a party."
The man in the suit had gone back to waiting. Waiting didn't bother him. It gave him time to think, to plan. He sat quietly, practically meditating in the dark room. He closed his eyes, all of his senses alert as he sat. He didn't have to wait long. The silence was broken by the sound of the door unlocking. As it creaked open, his hand glided onto the grip of the sig sauer in his lap. He took a deep, silent breath, opening his eyes as he heard two voices enter the apartment.
"C'mon, why don't you want to go? It'll be fun," a woman's voice echoed, her accent distinct.
"There's one." The blonde man confirmed to himself.
"Well if you remember, the last time we were there, I got shot in the ass. So I'd prefer somewhere else," a man replied.
"And two."
He raised his gun, but only as much as necessary, and cocked back the hammer as Chloe Frazer and Charlie Cutter walked into the room, hand in hand. They jumped at the sound, turning to face him. The barrel of his gun was aimed directly at them.
"You," Charlie whispered, stunned.
"Hey, Cutter," The man in the suit replied plainly, "Been a long time."
Back at the dig, Chase sat silently, listening intently to what Elena was saying.
"I keep trying," Elena continued, "But he refuses to get any help. He refuses to talk to anybody about it but me. He says Juliet and I the only help he needs."
"And he's been like this since you met?" Chase finally responded.
"No, he started having, uh, issues about seven years ago," Elena replied quietly. She still felt hesitant about sharing aspects of Nate's life that he hadn't divulged himself.
"So around the time he, well, retired then?" Chase asked, "At least not long after."
Elena nodded.
"So what happened? Because that's not exactly the kind of life you walk away from scot free."
"He didn't," Elena retorted, "He was in prison for almost two years."
Chase's eyebrows rose, she wasn't sure what to say.
"Not long after Nate and I returned home from Yemen, he was arrested by the FBI," She recounted, "Some old warrants for museum robbery and other thefts caught up to him. We had just bought our house. We were only living there for a few months before they took him away."
Chase listened silently as Elena continued, "I didn't get to see him for months, and when I was finally able to he looked terrible. Nate was no stranger to the dangers of prison, so I knew something else was bothering him. It took hours to get him to even open up to me."
She paused for a moment, pushed a loose strand of hair behind her ear, took a deep breath, and continued. "So I tried to visit him as often as possible, give him someone to talk to. He said it was better when I was around, when he wasn't just alone with his thoughts."
"So how did he get out of jail?"
"He had been in about eighteen months," Elena replied solemnly, "When he was approached by an FBI agent. Due to his long history as an accomplished thief, he was asked several questions about a series of complicated antiquities thefts. At first, Nate thought they were trying to pin old, unsolved cases on him. But they explained that the cases were recent, and they wanted to use his expertise to help catch the thief. Nate ultimately led to them to the culprit, and a deal was made for his early release."
"How did he find the thief?" Chase asked.
"The thefts covered a wide area of the country, but a specific type of antiquity. Based on the pattern of the thefts, along with what was stolen, Nate was able to determine the most likely places that the thief could sell what he stole. He narrowed his list down to three places, and the feds watched all three, and Nate was ultimately proven correct. Not long after he was released, several of the museums that had been robbed contacted us, offering Nate jobs as a security consultant."
"So ever since he stopped robbing museums," Chase commented, "He's been using his expertise to help museums prevent being robbed?"
"And occasionally help federal law enforcement catch particularly talented thieves," Elena confirmed, "I'm actually kind of surprised you hadn't heard about his new job. He's also worked as a security consultant for several archaeological digs in dangerous areas."
"So, what, He's like the Frank Abagnale Jr. of treasure hunters?" Chase quipped.
"He doesn't really like to make that comparison," Elena chuckled, "But basically, yes."
Benjamin Edwards' day had gone better than he thought. Going to a bar to interrogate an old man was likely to be boring. But when it instigated a fight with almost everyone in the bar? Now that, that was a fun time in his book. He took a deep breath, stretching out his arms wide. The bar smelled great, that smell of fresh blood. His white dress shirt was untucked and splashed with wet crimson. His slick hair had become a wild curly mane, and a wild look glimmered in his black eyes. Surrounding him, adorning the floor, the bar, and tables were at least half a dozen bodies. How many of them were dead, Ben couldn't say. He wasn't really paying attention. Though he had to admit, it wasn't difficult for him to guess that the man lying on the table with the leg of a stool through his chest was not waking up in the hospital. Similar sights decorated the rest of the bar. Ben took a moment to appreciate each one, like pieces of art in a gallery. Then he heard a groan, and remembered why he was there. He turned slowly, deliberately, and saw Sully pulling himself up on the bar.
Ben strode across the room, grabbing Sully by the hair, and slamming the side of his head into the bar. Holding Sully's head in place with his left hand, and grabbed the neck of a broken bottle, with his right.
"Now," Ben growled, the bottle jagged edge closing in on Sully's eye, "Tell me where Drake is."
"I can't tell you what I don't know," Sully groaned weakly, his adrenaline pounding as the glass came closer.
"Then start with what you do know," Ben replied in a condescending sing-song, "Who did he meet, where would he go?"
Sully grumbled imperceptibly. Ben leaned in closer.
"Go... to… hell."
Ben sighed, "Well, hopefully you can pull off an eye patch."
He started to draw back the bottle neck, when he was interrupted by his phone buzzing. He let out a groan of childish frustration before retrieving the phone from his bloody suit jacket. He looked at the screen, which said he had received a picture message. He opened it, and when he looked at the contents, he started to laugh.
"Last chance Victor," he continued after a moment, "You might not care what I do to you, but you will tell me what I want to know."
"The hell I will," Sully spat.
Ben said nothing, just held the phone for Sully to see, and smiled as all the indignation and resistance left his face.
"You will tell me," Ben smiled, "Or my boss will kill Miss Frazer," He looked at the phone again, and chuckled at the picture of the gun pressed to Chloe's temple, with Charlie cuffed to a radiator in the background.
"You can imagine what will happen to Mr. Cutter if you still don't comply," Ben continued venomously, " I know I can."
He held the photo an inch away from Sully's face. "So, how do I find Nathan Drake?"
Sully remained quiet for a moment, before finally giving up. "He said he ran into an old friend, Marisa Chase."
Ben chuckled, "Thank you for your service Mr. Sullivan."
And without another word, he slammed Sully's head against the bar. As Sully slumped to the ground, Ben strolled out of the bar, whistling Elena's favorite lullaby.
Two years later
Nate's head pounded. He could feel the blood dried in his hair. He slowly came back to consciousness, but only his right eye would open. He tried to blink a few times, but his left eye was swollen shut. He could still smell blood as he tried to breathe. The blood that had soaked his shirt was partially dried, but still fairly fresh. He had been leaned up against the wall, and the room he now occupied was new. Very similar, in that it smelled of mold and death, but still different in several ways. There were no restraints keeping him in place this time. He strained to examine his surroundings, but every part of his body screamed in protest. It even hurt to keep his right eye held open. He tried to stand, but only made it about a quarter of the way before slumping back down. Then, a familiar voice again broke the silence, and Nate felt his pulse go through the roof.
"What's the matter Nathan?" the voice called out with a hint of condescension, "Having a little trouble?"
His adrenaline surging, Nate bolted to his feet, a look on his face as if he'd seen a ghost. His whole body screamed out, but he didn't notice. The only thing he could notice was the man sitting across from him. Several conflicting emotions overtook him as he locked his gaze on David Reese.
"You should've known you hadn't seen the last of me."
Well, first off, I apologize for breaking my promise about not making you wait another year for another chapter. But in my defense, it had been quite an eventful year. I was given a new assignment, which resulted in me being sent to an intense seven week school, followed by my being relocated to South America (If I'd know I'd end up in Bolivia, I would've set this story there as opposed to Brazil). A few months later, I received word that my stepfather had passed, so I returned to the states for that. Not long after I returned, we became very short handed at work, resulting in the workload doubling. Then, on New Year's day, I was told my mom needed open heart surgery, and I was called back to the states again. My mom's fine, and I'm not saying this to make anyone feel bad for me, but it has been difficult to find time to write. I have to admit, it does feel good to return to this story, and as always, please tell me how I'm doing. And yes, I did make another Justified reference. I don't want this to become a true crossover, but I like the idea of David's history being tied to that world.