[ She has a point. Well, no. She has several points, of course she does, she's Elena Freakin' Fisher.
He exhales.
That day on the dock when Sam came to him with his ask, with his crappy little black and white print-out of a second St Dismas' cross, it hadn't been 'Nathan Drake — Salvager and Regular Guy' who had come to call when Sam asked for his help (I don't trust anybody else you got on that phone with my life, okay?), it'd been Nathan Drake, one half of a delinquent duo who couldn't believe his older brother, a guy he looked up to, a guy who raised him and taught him pretty much everything he knew now, had been alive and stuck in prison for the fifteen years it took for him to forget he existed.
With Lazarevic it'd been different. Even when things were out of control, Nate felt (mostly) in control of his own life. Chloe and Elena were as safe as they could be, making their way out of Shambhala, and it was his prerogative to stop Lazarevic at whatever cost; it hadn't been so ... personal. That final confrontation could have happened between Lazarevic and somebody else — any other treasure hunter. Hell, if Nate and Harry hadn't been at odds with each other, it could have been him.
Nate felt the personal responsibility for Sam's fate all those years ago, had desperately clung to his older brother's hand and let him slip at the last second. He had a literal hand in him being stuck in that place, all of his leads and inquiries shortly after he and Rafe escaped falling to deaf ears and dead ends. Every conclusion was finished with the final blow of 'Samuel Drake died of a gunshot wound in a Panamanian jail' — and that was on him. It was his fault.
So much of their youth was spent looking for Henry Avery's treasure, of bribing their way into the penitentiary and hunting for clues ... and maybe the call of getting that one thing back for them, for what he'd done to Sam, was too tempting. Maybe the treasure itself was like closure, and he needed it at all costs. Maybe he just wanted to make it up to his brother for letting him down — but in doing so, he'd let Elena down. And Christ, she didn't deserve that. Of course not. Not after everything they'd been through together.
He lifts a hand to absent-mindedly rub at his face, letting out another breath, and accidentally swipes a hand at the mask over his eyes. It slips off with ease, clattering to the ground to join Elena's gloves. He isn't sure at what point it had come loose. ]
no subject
[ She has a point. Well, no. She has several points, of course she does, she's Elena Freakin' Fisher.
He exhales.
That day on the dock when Sam came to him with his ask, with his crappy little black and white print-out of a second St Dismas' cross, it hadn't been 'Nathan Drake — Salvager and Regular Guy' who had come to call when Sam asked for his help (I don't trust anybody else you got on that phone with my life, okay?), it'd been Nathan Drake, one half of a delinquent duo who couldn't believe his older brother, a guy he looked up to, a guy who raised him and taught him pretty much everything he knew now, had been alive and stuck in prison for the fifteen years it took for him to forget he existed.
With Lazarevic it'd been different. Even when things were out of control, Nate felt (mostly) in control of his own life. Chloe and Elena were as safe as they could be, making their way out of Shambhala, and it was his prerogative to stop Lazarevic at whatever cost; it hadn't been so ... personal. That final confrontation could have happened between Lazarevic and somebody else — any other treasure hunter. Hell, if Nate and Harry hadn't been at odds with each other, it could have been him.
Nate felt the personal responsibility for Sam's fate all those years ago, had desperately clung to his older brother's hand and let him slip at the last second. He had a literal hand in him being stuck in that place, all of his leads and inquiries shortly after he and Rafe escaped falling to deaf ears and dead ends. Every conclusion was finished with the final blow of 'Samuel Drake died of a gunshot wound in a Panamanian jail' — and that was on him. It was his fault.
So much of their youth was spent looking for Henry Avery's treasure, of bribing their way into the penitentiary and hunting for clues ... and maybe the call of getting that one thing back for them, for what he'd done to Sam, was too tempting. Maybe the treasure itself was like closure, and he needed it at all costs. Maybe he just wanted to make it up to his brother for letting him down — but in doing so, he'd let Elena down. And Christ, she didn't deserve that. Of course not. Not after everything they'd been through together.
He lifts a hand to absent-mindedly rub at his face, letting out another breath, and accidentally swipes a hand at the mask over his eyes. It slips off with ease, clattering to the ground to join Elena's gloves. He isn't sure at what point it had come loose. ]