thisavrou_log | Of all the things you never explained

Entry tags:

Of all the things you never explained

Who: Nathan Drake (

sketchycharacter) and Elena Fisher (

tearsinajar)
When: July 6th
Where: Nomo #011
What: Things fall apart.
Warnings: Minor spoilers for Uncharted 4.

[Nearly a week out from the attack on the Moira and things could be worse, as far as Nate is concerned. Yes, people died, and their ship somehow got smooshed together with the Caducan ship, and the bar is gone, and people are partly glass, but...

All right, things could definitely be much better. But he's alive and Elena's alive and those are two pretty damn good things. They'll fix the ship and fix people, somehow—the specifics are a little beyond him, but whatever, there are tons of insanely smart people with more knowledge and skills than he could ever dream of on the Moira. They'll figure it out.

All in all, Nate is feeling relatively optimistic, considering the general circumstances. He's also feeling optimistic about his and Elena's individual circumstances, which is why he sits down to work on a requested drawing that isn't his usual style before heading to Nomo Deck and Elena's room. She should be back there by now; they'll have plenty of time to talk about things.]

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Jesus, of course not!

[It's not like she could. Last he checked, it was tucked away in the very secure storage locker where he kept all the precious things he had that needed to be safe but not in a place where he could trip over them on a daily basis. This just happened to be one of the few items with no monetary value.

He turns away slightly, a little hunched in on himself.]

I've had it for a long time. It helped me start to figure some things out—you read it all, right? You know what's in it.

[It's almost a challenge. No, it is a challenge. Nate doesn't know how long she's had it, but the fact that she won't tell him how long means it's probably a while. And not a word this whole time.]

I know a lot of it has to do with Drake.

[ Each time she says that name, it's like a fist squeezes around her stomach. Her fingers squeeze at the edge of the journal. She still isn't rising up to his challenge. Elena knows what he wants her to say, to admit to.

Instead, the journal is held out for him to take— because that's what he wants isn't it? He wants the journal. It's his, she had no right going through it. And now, she has no right holding on to it. She's had it already for too long. ]

Here, maybe it will help you figure something else out.

Edited 2016-07-07 05:04 (UTC)

I don't need to figure anything out. I found what I was looking for.

[And then some, in Iram. There are no more puzzles to solve; he'd cracked Drake's last mystery. And like he'd told Chloe, it hadn't been worth it.

He'll take the journal, though, a little too quickly. But he only has a loose grip on the spine, and when it passes from Elena to him, something small flutters out from between the pages and lands at her feet.]

[ She snorts, it's not a pleasant sound. Derisive. Harsh. She's not looking at him when the journal passes from her hands to his, saying nothing.

Oh. What was this? Oh— right. She'd forgotten about that, the small polaroid capturing two young boys in a happier time.

Elena slowly stoops to pick it up; how many times had she looked at it, flipping back to it while rereading the pages on Drake and Avery like it would hold the answer to an unknown question. ]

[Nate makes a small noise when he sees what she's picked up, a tiny, swift intake of breath like someone's just socked him hard in the gut. Or maybe shot him—that's what it feels like. So the Ingress brought this, too.

No no no. He's never been able to get rid of it, the only photo he has of Sam, but couldn't make himself look at it again after Panama and he can't now. He just...can't.

Before he can even think about it, he's reaching out to snatch the Polaroid from Elena's hand.]

Edited 2016-07-07 05:25 (UTC)

[ Elena's seen this picture so many times since she'd found the journal in her mailbox two and a half weeks back. She's studied it, looked it over from front to back, like that alone is the answer to her biggest clue yet. She doesn't protest at first when the Polaroid is snatched from her, blinking as she looks at her empty hand.

But then she frowns, looking at him, annoyed that he would be so quick to rip it away from her. ]

What—? What the hell is your deal, seriously.

First the journal and now this picture?

[ What do two young boys have to do with Drake? With Henry Avery?

Normally she's on the ball in being able to read him, figuring him out before he can process how he's going to explain something, but this is a completely brand new ball park for her. He's being tight-lipped for a reason. ]

[Nate's almost surprised himself when the Polaroid ends up in his hands easily, but he doesn't regret the spontaneous action. This is not a door he wants to open. When he speaks, his voice is low and rough.]

This picture doesn't matter. It's got nothing to do with Drake.

[He still doesn't even glance at the actual photo, not once, but he tucks it away into the pages of the journal with infinite care.]

Edited 2016-07-07 05:40 (UTC)

[ It's second nature to go and fold her arms, her right hand tucked under her left elbow to keep it close, even if it feels awkward. The picture obviously does matter, by the tone of his voice, how he's not looking at it, like he'll turn to stone because it's a Medusa. ]

Unless you went and fathered two kids and you've been hiding it from me this entire time...

[ A mutter, mostly. With a small hint of sarcasm. Already she's growing tired of this dance and jig. ]

There is something that matters about it, you're just not telling me.

Edited 2016-07-07 05:47 (UTC)

[That puts his attention squarely on her, and he gives her an incredulous look. Did he really hear that?]

You've got some goddamn nerve talking about hiding things when you've had this...how long was it, again?

[He grips the journal firmly, making sure nothing will fall out of it again, and faces her fully.]

Were you ever going to tell me you had it if I didn't stumble onto it myself?

[ Her jaw sets and she meets him full on, arms dropping to her sides. ]

Two and a half weeks. And no. No, I wasn't. Are you happy now?

{Two and a half weeks. Jesus. It's surprising and not, somehow, and it sets something heavy and sickening in the pit of his stomach.]

Do I look happy?

[God. He runs a hand down his jaw. All this time and they'd been happy, they've been themselves again, and she had it and hadn't said anything...]

What did you think was going to happen if I saw the name Drake, that I'd vanish into a puff of smoke? Start looking for a new quest, in space? There aren't any mysteries left!

[ He hits the nail on the head and Elena bites down so hard that she feels like her jaw is going to snap, nostrils flaring as she exhales heavily through them. ]

What else am I supposed to think when a journal containing information about Drake lands in my lap?

[ She fires back just as snappily, hands curling into fists at her sides, including her glass one, pain ignored in favor of the anger rushing up. ]

What, did you seriously expect me to rush over to your room with it, excited at the idea you'd take off again? It doesn't matter if it's stuff we already know, it doesn't matter if we're in goddamn space— you turn into a completely different person at the mere mention of him that it's never stopped you before.

Edited 2016-07-07 06:15 (UTC)

[Jesus, that stings. Any other time and he'd be falling all over himself to agree and apologize, because he knows how he was when he got obsessed before. But this isn't the same. It isn't.]

I expect you not to hide things from me. Even if you didn't know it belonged to me, you had to at least suspect.

[He bites back the question of "what are you even doing with me if you don't think I can change?" He's not sure he can handle the answer now.]

Where would I even go? It's space! I'm not going to go chasing after a mystery I already solved because of something I first read twenty years ago!

You have no right to say that, after all the shit you hid from me? The lies?

[ She's incredulous, hissing at him; for him to think it was okay for him to put her through all that shit, but then when some stupid journal about Drake shows up in her hands and she holds onto it, not telling him, it's the end of the world and feels like it's the worst thing she could ever do to him?

Elena really has no other words, but she's upset, she's in quite a bit of pain, she's tired of the same old argument. She just wants this to be over and done with.

She's tired of sharing her marriage with some dead man from four hundred years ago. ]

Why then? Why didn't you tell me about it? You want to stand there and accuse me of hiding things from you— who are the boys in the photograph? What does C.M. stand for?

If this really isn't about Drake, Nate, then what is it about?

Edited 2016-07-07 15:32 (UTC)

So we're keeping score now? Fucking up in the past means I don't get to be upset about anything in the future?

[He wishes she would stop going on about fucking Drake. He gets why she's not fond of the subject, he really does, but Drake's ring is at the bottom of a sinkhole and his corpse is rotting on zombie island and it makes no sense to keep arguing about the man when they clearly have so many other things to argue about.

He winces at the question of the boys and tries to hide it, pacing across the floor, agitated. When he speaks, his lips are tight.]

C.M. is Cassandra Morgan. A historian. No one you'd have heard of.

[Your mother-in-law, if she hadn't killed herself before I hit kindergarten.]

I never told you about her work because it was never relevant. I have a lot of research materials tucked away, you want to go through them too? Maybe they'll come through the Ingress next.

Edited 2016-07-07 16:02 (UTC)

Sure, get upset all you want. I just don't see how that helps your side of the bloody argument.

[ Elena watches him as he moves away to pace the room, his movements like that of a caged animal. She feels just as agitated, but she holds her ground and refuses to budge, only shifts her weight from one foot to the other.

The twist in his expression hadn't gone unnoticed. There was something more he wasn't telling her; his situation with Drake, in the beginning of them showing up, he had tried to explain it. And had failed. He was still working out the answer for himself. For that, Elena could give him time.

But this... ]

For something that's supposedly not all important and holds no relevance to us, you sure are throwing a fit over "nothing". So again I'll ask: if this is not about Francis Drake, then what is this about?

There's nothing else in that journal besides that that gives me some reason to worry.

I don't know who Cassandra Morgan is and I have no idea about Henry Avery other than what's put together in the book.

[ That drops it down to one of two remaining things: the photograph holds some importance to him, or he's still hung up on Drake and is lying to her face. Again. ]

[So he only gets to gain any ground in this if he's perfectly logical, if his emotions don't affect him at all? That's rich. Must be nice to get to set the rules as she apparently does.

This whole argument is sickeningly familiar. He's not as blind and obsessed as he was months ago, but they're falling into old rhythms, old ways of fighting, just like they had before he decided he had to leave. And that's not fair, he hasn't done anything—maybe his fuckups have been a lot worse than hers, turning his back on their marriage is far more catastrophic than hiding a journal should be, but she's not even admitting she's done anything wrong here.]

It has no relevance to you. I had a life before you, Elena, is it that shocking that I could have a sentimental attachment to something you didn't know about?

[The last thing he has of his mother's. The only photograph of his brother. Maybe he could have told her about them if this hadn't been thrown in his face suddenly, maybe he still should, but he can't. The words lock themselves away when he even thinks about speaking them.]

There's no information in this journal that I didn't already have. That's not the point. You should have said something—how am I supposed to know that you're not keeping things from me in the future, huh?

[What and why? She doesn't understand the point behind this so-called sentimental attachment. An attachment to a goddamn journal? One that's written by some historian she's never heard of?

Elena opens her mouth to argue, so ready to jump on him for how he's evading her questions— again. They're going in circles. It's always about going in circles, and Elena is so tired of it. So very tired. ]

What future? [ Resignation breaks in her words. She gives a half gesture to the book in his hand. ] You have your journal. You have what's so important to you in your hand. Keep your secrets.

Keep your secrets, Nate, and just...

[ The breath she tries to draw in feels heavy, clogs her throat. She can't do this. She's so fucking tired of the secrets. ]

Just go.

[Nate opens his mouth to further argue the point—it's not a secret, dammit, not everything he doesn't talk about is a secret—only for it to hang open, then slowly close, as what she said sinks in.]

What?

[He doesn't want the journal, he wants it to have stayed where it was—locked away out of sight and out of mind—and for them to stay on the track they'd been on. He wants them to not have fought. He wants Elena to have never gotten the journal in the first place.]

Come on, that's not fair. It's different this time. I'm not after Drake or anything he left behind!

Edited 2016-07-07 19:11 (UTC)

Because it's not like I haven't heard that one before.

[ Instinctively her left arm begins to lift so she can rub at her brow; it only gets half way before the pain flickers fresh across her features, body tensing visibly. She drops it on a heavy sigh, frustrated at this stupid handicap, at the fight they're having, frustrated with him. Frustrated with everything and wishing that she'd never gotten the journal in the first place, actually wishing they hadn't gotten close again.

It seemed like a pattern, a terrible one. They make up, they break up. They make up, he makes his promises, she believes him and loves him that much that she's willing to look past his faults. ]

It's always about the treasure with you. You say it's different but it's not. If it was so different, we wouldn't be here right now arguing— we're getting nowhere, and we're just going in circles. And I'm tired, okay. I'm so—

[ Elena cuts herself off before she can start swearing. I'm so fucking tired. And the weariness is beginning to really show, mixed with the discomfort she's in, as she finally looks over to him again. She's wordlessly pleading with him, the broken look in her face that she's managing to keep at bay. ]

Take the journal, take the ring, take it all. Because, if you can't talk to me then what is the point? I can't do this anymore.

[The fire of anger this whole thing has stoked in him dies down some at her obvious pain. He steps forward, instinctively attentive and wanting to ease it for her, but stops. He doesn't think he can handle it if she pushes him away, and she...she shouldn't have to.]

You don't mean that.

[She wore her ring after months of fighting and estrangement, after he left her. Now there's one fight and that's it?]

I can talk to you—I am talking to you, you just don't want to hear what I'm saying.

[He could say more. This was written by my dead mother. This is a picture of my dead brother.

No, he can't.]

There is no treasure. There's no Drake. You're seeing things that aren't there.

But you aren't. You aren't talking to me. You're doing what you're best at doing in these situations— you're dodging.

Why?

[ Her hands come up, right one gesturing between the two of them. One more time, one last try. ]

Don't turn this around, this isn't about me, it's about you. If you're done with Drake, done with all of it, then why hold on to this journal?

[ Why go to all the trouble of getting so upset if it means nothing? ]

Is this...about the photograph?

[ It's a one last shot in the dark; she's grasping at straws right now. And with the way he had been quick to grab that picture... Was that the sentimental attachment he was referring to? ]

[There are a lot of things Nate could do now. He could tell her to forget about the photograph, get back to Drake and how he's not still fixated on the man and his legacy. He could point out that he hadn't even had the opportunity to decide whether to keep or get rid of the journal, since it had been in storage in America and he hadn't even made it back from Yemen after getting his head on straight. He doesn't do any of them.

And he doesn't deny that this is very much about the photograph. Nate doesn't confirm it, either; he just looks at her and tries not to let everything he's feeling show, but a broken heart can't be completely masked.]

Elena, please...I can't—

[He sucks in a breath, squeezes his eyes shut for a moment. It's been twelve years. This shouldn't be so hard.]

Please let it go.

[ There's no more fight left in her. Whatever emotions had been running high earlier were now laid bare at his feet. The look on his face, the break in his voice— god, why was he wearing that broken look? And she'd been the one to put it there.

That in itself bothered her more than this whole stupid argument about some damn journal and a picture. Of which he has yet to confirm or deny.

Elena says nothing, she's fallen quiet, watching him from where she stands, never once moving. She wants answers— needs them. However the way he tightly squeezes his eyes shut, how he fights to not let everything show...

She knows him.

This is bigger than she knows or could possibly understand. It only now dawns that she'll only know when he's ready and not before, now that she's got a teeny bit of her emotions under control enough to think for a second. ]

Nate...

[ His name is sighed out, quiet and tired. She won't push it. She won't. Not when he's pleading. ]

Come here.

[Nate's more than half expecting a withering comment, or a quiet, repeated order to just go. And that's not how he wants to leave this, he doesn't want to walk away leaving such hurt and anger between them when he'd come here out of love, but he doesn't know how to stop it.

Maybe he should have more faith in her. Because when he opens his eyes and looks at her again, not sure he'd heard her correctly, she's really there and she's not pushing him away. She just looks tired and sad.

He doesn't want that. But it's at least a little better than rage and rejection.

Nate has no idea what to say, so he doesn't say anything, just takes a few steps closer, unsure where to go from here.]

[ She's too tired to keep this up. To shoot him that scathing comment and order him to get the hell out of her room and leave her the hell alone. Waiting until he's within reach, that's when she tips her face back to look at him, seeing him up close and seeing the emotions right there staring back at her. ]

I said it before, when we got here. [ Hesitating after she speaks, she reaches out to brush his forearm, a fleeting touch of skin on skin. ] Whenever you're ready.

I just...

[ Elena lets her head drop, looking down between them, word trailing. She's said all she needs to say. ]

[It's not the same. When they got here, even if he couldn't articulate his own logic about why he'd left (probably because logic hadn't been involved much), he'd been completely clear about knowing he'd fucked up badly and wanting to make it up to her.

But this isn't him trying to figure himself out. He knows why this has rocked him, why she still has fears, groundless or not. He should be able to ease them, or better yet, kept from giving them to her in the first place.]

I'm sorry.

[His hand follows hers as it withdraws, fingers skimming lightly to rest above her elbow. Not even that day on the beach had things felt so fragile between them, liable to break at the slightest wrong touch. And this time Nate isn't sure they could put the pieces back together.]

I...

I know...

[ Elena feels like they're back in Yemen again, unsteady around one another, so unsure, walking on eggshells. All she can think is 'I know'. It's all she can say. Only this time she doesn't know. She's not so sure anymore of what she knows and what she doesn't.

Again she sighs. One more step forward and she leans in, eye closing as she rests her forehead against his chest. It was either she went to lay in bed, curl up, bury her face into a pillow, or she just let herself lean on him. Even after everything.

How many steps back has this put them? Nothing worth while is ever easy, and it's something she's learned to live by— there's always going to be obstacles that come between them, that test them. ]

Edited 2016-07-08 05:32 (UTC)

[Automatically, his arms go around her, holding her carefully like she's the most delicate thing in the world. She isn't, but maybe their marriage is, if this is all it takes to put it in danger.

They must have been kidding themselves to think that they were well down the road to recovery. Right now it seems like they barely reached the on-ramp. It's been too easy, too simple to fall into the romance and ignore everything that went wrong. It's no surprise that he can't talk about what's in the journal, really—how could he, when they can't even talk about what happened between them?

Nate lets out his breath in a sigh that comes out almost like a sob and holds her tighter, tucking her head under his chin and pressing his face against her hair. He can't lose her. He lived thirty years of his life before he ever met Elena Fisher and now he can't imagine what he would be without her.

He just doesn't know where they go from here.]

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Of all the things you never explained

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