lifetothefullest | [IC Inbox]

[It doesn't escape him that Lance is living on borrowed time.

Good people get caught up in tragedies every day. Nate remembers carrying Jeff - some guy he just met, a camera man to Elena's journalist - through a war zone in Nepal, while shells rattled all around them, gunfire peppering the plaster of the buildings. A madman and his mercenaries bore down on them until they were trapped, until they had to watch Lazarević execute a the guy in front of them. Collateral damage in a ball cap, bleeding out in the shattered skeleton of someone's home.

Lance is collateral damage, a pawn in someone else's game, removed from the board not for being a threat so much as threatening to be a threat. Nate can't imagine that his death would do anything but spur on his associates rather than deter them from pursuing the evidence.

It's good, to know they caught the culprit. A Pyrrhic victory for Lance, however, given where he is and why. The last part has him glancing up in surprise.]

Jesus. [He says before he can stop himself, straightening.] Lance, I- I didn't know.

[A girlfriend, a kid, and all of it buried so deeply it hasn't been unearthed for Nate until now. There is being mysterious for the sake of being mysterious, and there is trauma held so tightly in the dark that you fear letting it out.]

But they're good, they're- they're safe?

I didn't tell you; you couldn't have known.

[He says it quietly, finally glancing over at Nate briefly before looking back down at his cup and taking another drink; he doesn't want Nate to feel bad for not knowing, or something like that. It's been a carefully held secret, and only a few people here know because Nate's right in that telling people meant facing what happened, and it's been so hard to do that.

But holding everything in had only made things worse for him in the long run, and he'd recently decided that he couldn't hide from this any longer. That means dealing with and trying to accepting it, which includes letting himself be more open with the friends that he trusts.]

They're safe, yeah, and Daisy is apparently a great mom; I mean, I knew she would be, but it's still good to know for sure. It must be really hard on her.

[Being a single mother. Lance takes another drink again.]

But Dr. Brennan and her husband Booth are both um... Booth is my son's godfather, and he takes that sort of thing really seriously; Dr. Brennan says both of them are helping out with everything they can, so even without me there, he's going to... He's going to grow up surrounded by people that care about him, and that's what's most important.

[More important than Lance being there, specifically. What matters is that his son has a better childhood than he had, which is a sentiment he thinks Nate will understand even if he doesn't know exactly what Lance's situation was.]

[Talking about something this difficult always seems to solidify it. Preserve it. Make it evident that it's real. Confronting mortality is never easy - perhaps for Nate,
it is, in that his death-defying stunts are largely ignored - but neither is denial an effective coping method.

He knows that from experience.

It's what Nate would want, for any kid: a happy, warm home life, a roof over their head, a stability that he's always wondered if he could provide without the know-how to back it up. Devastating, then, that someone like Lance, who oddly seems suited for suburban house straight out of Leave It To Beaver, cannot give that to his own child. A blessing that there are people who will, in his stead.

Nate can hear the strain in Lance's voice and senses that he needs that surety for more than practical reasons. He must know what it's like to want the security that most people take for granted, and while it never occurred to him before that Lance might be a kid from the system, it settles a lot of floating pieces into place a hair too neatly.

He takes another long, thoughtful sip of his drink, looking out at the orange and red streaming across the sky, tapping his thumb on the glass.]

Which was it for you? [Nate asks, watching the horizon.] Orphanage or foster care?

[He's silent several seconds at the questions, having to process them a moment; the alcohol is starting to kick in, and he honestly hadn't expected Nate to put the pieces together like that despite that he'd know what to look for. Lance is pretty used to people not paying that much attention, even more so here than at home, so it's a surprise.

But it's not necessarily a bad one, especially since Lance knows for certain Nate understands how this all works, and he won't judge or be pitying about it. He'll just understand, and being able to talk to someone else who is on the same sort of footing, despite their circumstances being different, is beneficial to them both.

So, once he has a chance to gather his thoughts, he answers honestly even if he's also looking out at the sky instead of at Nate. His voice is a little distant, as this is also a difficult thing to talk about, just for other reasons.]

Primarily foster care, though whenever one of those didn't work out I spent some time in a group home. But I was adopted when I was six.

[And it was the best thing that had ever happened to him, and the start of having anything close to an actual life, let alone close to a normal one.]

[Bingo.

In retrospect he probably could have seen it coming a mile away. There is a certain abject desperation written into the bones of kids who have gone through the system and come out the other side, a need for stability and comfort even if it manifests itself in varying ways. Lance's disquiet echoes more strongly in Nate's chest than anything else he has said up to this point.

Whenever one of those didn't work out.

No singular foster home, but foster homes. He moved around. A kid barely older than Nate was when he entered St. Francis, shuttled from family to family. Despite his even temper now Nate can't imagine he could have been nearly as rowdy as himself - Lance never struck him as the type to come back from the playground with a fat lip or a black eye that he'd truly earned.

Nate heard stories, though. Of other boys who went to people's houses and didn't "settle in" properly. The hollow looks on their faces when they got filed into the data base once more. Bruises that weren't explained. It could have been his fate, if Sam didn't fucking lose it every time the idea of separating the brothers Drake came up. Lance seems unsteady and Nate hopes it's the drink, but he braces a hand at the back of the guy's neck anyway, squeezing. A knowing look passes across the way and when Nate speaks again it is tight with restraint.]

Good family?

[He should probably get off the ledge; the alcohol is kicking in, and that combined with the seriousness of the discussion makes Nate's concern about his unsteadiness entirely unwarranted.

Lance can read the tone to the question easily enough, and is quiet a moment before responding; it isn't due to any uncertainty, but because talking about his parents can still be difficult sometimes. It's been years, and time has helped, but he still misses them a great deal.]

Yeah.

[It's soft and quiet, but unhesitating; his adoptive parents had been really wonderful people, and the luck he'd had in ending up with them was such a stark contrast to his experiences beforehand.

He's silent a few moments before deciding to continue, aware that the implications will probably be clear if he says anything more, but decides that's okay; the alcohol helps with that, but it's also that he doesn't think he has any reason to be cautious about telling Nate. Besides, he thinks Nate might have a guess already anyway.]

I was... Not an easy kid to deal with, but they were always patient and they... They did everything that could to give me a good life. I mean, they even put up with me going to college at fourteen.

[And all the stress and trouble that was, and everything leading up to it; the expensive schools, the tests that let him skip grades and enter college with credits, and dealing with a high-strung and overly intelligent perfectionist preteen. But of course that hadn't been the only thing about him they'd had to deal with, and Lance is very aware of just how much he owes his parents for giving him the chance at a life that he had despite getting a really horrible start.]

[Nate knows the feeling, but only just. What he remembers of his parents are fleeting impressions, fragments of memories. Cassandra Morgan died when he was four. The asshole dumped his kids off at the orphanage when he was five. Authority figures never really sat well with Nate after the last one that was supposed to care up and abandoned them.

But he listens, catching the fondness in Lance's tone. As he continues the information only solidifies what had been a vague theory, and it takes a significant amount of self control to not ask for confirmation out loud. Abuse is rampant in the foster care system, they both know it. It doesn't need to be said.]

At least they could skip the expensive high school part, right?

[He quips, because it is easier to tell now that Lance pressed himself into a new mold to start over, after all day. Channeling his work ethic toward academics probably did the same thing that treasure hunting did for Nate. It gave him a direction, after being directionless. Better to follow through obsessively than to drift, without a rudder, in a sea of troubles.

Nate tugs lightly as he scoots back from the edge, urging Lance to do the same and bringing the bottle with him.]

They get to see you graduate?

[Nate's entirely right on one of the reasons for Lance's focus on school; it had been a way to put his perfectionism and determination to a good use, and it had served a few other purposes as well. It was a way to prove--both to himself and others--that his parents hadn't made a mistake in adopting him, and leaving for college early had also taken some of the stress off of them by not having to look after him every day.

He follows Nate away from the edge, making sure he's on solid ground and with a wall behind him, and takes another drink before responding.]

Yeah. High school and all four college degrees.

[He thinks they probably started to get bored with attending graduations, but then again maybe not; they always made a big deal of it, either way, and Lance knows they were genuine proud of his accomplishments and that's what matters.

He's quiet another few moments, before deciding to fill in a gap in information just so it's clear.]

They were in their sixties when they adopted me, so it was just... Old age and illness.

[How they died, he means; it was nothing traumatic or unnatural, just how life goes. He misses them a lot, but they'd gone peacefully and that made it easier to handle.

And all of that said, he takes a deep breath and tries to pull himself together a bit more; he's not terribly upset or anything, but needs to refocus on something else. Thinking of something else is a little difficult, though, partially because it's awkward and partially because the alcohol is taking more and more effect.

Though, actually, that's a good excuse itself, and he glances down at his drink and then back at Nate.]

This stuff is a lot stronger than I expected.

[Lance answers a few other questions without Nate prompting him, which permits Nate to kick back and absorb a bit better. The fragments that Lance gives him are enough for now and he doesn't think he can bring himself to ask for more. It took a year to get to this point and Nate knows what that kind of hesitation looks like, he's lived it. Don't give anyone fodder to mock you, or make things more difficult than they already are. Don't let them know what you've lost to avoid the inevitable pity.

Write your own narrative, present it, leave it at that.

At Lance's age Nate would hope his parents might still be alive, but given how old they were when they adopted him it's probably for the best. No doubt they went peacefully - or more peacefully than their son. Nate tips his head in silent condolence, swallowing the dregs of bitterness he used to nurse for his own father. He let it go a long time ago, an appropriate recompense for a man who never wanted his own children in the first place.]

Yeah, you might wanna slow down a little, Hoss.

[He quirks a brief smile at the near-empty glass in Lance's hand. Figures that with the dearth of alcohol here and the strength of this particular brand, it would make the guy out to be a lightweight. The slight pull at the edges of Lance's mouth suggests that he's shared enough, maybe, and needs something in return, or something new upon which to concentrate. Better to fill the space.]

...I was five, when Sam and I went to the boys' home. Mom passed away a year before that. Dad was just kind of...offloading us, I guess.

[He shrugs, noncommittal. These days he knows most of his prepubescent ire stemmed from Sam's much more substantial anger at the betrayal. Nate doesn't remember a lot from the early years.]

Didn't really get fostered, I think they were worried about separating us. But I stayed at the home until I was twelve.

[It takes a lot of willpower for Lance to not just down the rest of his drink at the suggestion, because Nate is right; he should slow down. Drinking is not a good solution to his problems in general, and the combination of the strength of the alcohol, drinking less often than usual, lack of good nutrition, and stress are definitely making it all hit harder. Fortunately Lance tends toward his mood lifting when he drinks, so the more it kicks in the more cheerful he'll be, but that has the bad side effect of making overdoing it more appealing than it would be otherwise.

But for now he resists, setting his drink down beside him temporarily, and focusing on listening to Nate provides a good distraction. More than that, though, Lance recognizes the show of mutual trust, and the information itself fills in more gaps about Nate's background that explains a lot.]

I'm sorry about your parents.

[In very different ways; he's sorry their mother died, and that their father was apparently incredibly selfish. But the condolences aren't pitying, just understanding.]

But I'm glad you and Sam were able to stay together. What happened when you were twelve? Did Sam reach eighteen?

[He's not sure of the age difference, but it's just a guess based on what seems most likely; it's relatively common in that situation for one sibling to hit age of majority and then take guardianship of their younger brother or sister.]

[From anyone else sympathies might come across as hollow - words that you say and don't really mean because you don't know what else to contribute. "My parents are dead" is pretty rough territory to trod no matter what, but Nate knows it's a subject that Lance has probably addressed before, with plenty of his patients.

It doesn't make the sentiment weigh any less, and his mouth tightens briefly in silent thanks.]

Uh.

[For the second time in this twilit conversation Nate falters, a nervous laugh rounding the edges of an otherwise sharp halt. He takes the moment to fill up his cup again, glass tinking quietly on the stone beneath them. He rests the bottle between him and Lance.]

Not exactly. [Nate is quiet for a long moment.] Sam kind of got kicked out when he was sixteen or seventeen, for smoking and...other things. He came to pick me up one night - just to hang out, catch up - when I was alone. The rest of the kids were on a field trip, I got held back because I got caught in a fight with another boy.

[The part of him that never grew up can still hear Sister Catherine's admonishments. No matter what I try, you are determined to go down the same sad road as your brother, and other like reproach. It never made any difference if Nate wasn't the one who started it: as the quiet one with the books he was fair game until he started fighting back.

Perhaps suddenly, from the perspective of an outsider, Nate dips into what might sound like some sort of side-story, something adjacent to the reason behind his leaving. Bear with him.]

Our mom was a, uh...a really great, really talented historian. When she died, our dad gave all her research to some person that Sam tracked down, this old lady who lived in a fancy house east of downtown Boston. We were going to sneak in and get it back.

[The first part of the story doesn't sound too out there; it's also relatively common, especially in a place where they might be able to get away with it, for an older sibling to either keep track of or take guardianship of their younger sibling unofficially. Lance is really glad that Nate had a brother who was looking out for him, because that makes a huge difference.

But the story takes a turn and Lance listens carefully, wondering where this might be going, aside from the obvious next step.]

How did that go?

Pretty much by the book, at first.

[Nate says with a vague shrug, chewing his lip. He doesn't need to go into the intimate details of breaking and entering with Lance, because plenty of movies have probably given him a good idea of how it goes.]

The house was full of all these artifacts, like the owner ran a museum, but it was a personal collection. We thought it was empty. Lights were off, mail piled up by the door. That kind of thing. We wandered around until we found what we were looking for.

[Wearing a (probably priceless) samurai helm he had pulled off a display stand Nate had gone through multiple notebooks, correspondences from the woman's husband - a portrait painted of a warm relationship that devolved into deep, abiding loneliness. She traveled often and left her son behind. She missed his graduations, she didn't make it to her own spouse's funeral, institutions begged her to share the treasures she had found. She lived alone, estranged, surrounded by medications and regret. It does not escape Nate now how that might have been him.]

She caught us before we left, had a gun on us for trespassing until she realized who we were. Our mom had worked for her, their last big project was searching for Sir Francis Drake's remains before she- [Killed herself. Nate sucks in a sharp breath.] ...she let us keep the research, told us she'd call off the cops. Right when the squad cars pulled up she had a heart attack. So we ran.

[He had never been quite so frightened, wanting to help and incapable of it, Sam shaking the panic into him that they needed to go, now. But the words seem to flow a lot easier - maybe it's the alcohol, the company, or both - and he worries his glass with his thumbs.]

Police got visuals on us. Sam would go to juvie if we stayed, I couldn't go back to the orphanage or we'd really be separated.

[For good. They'd adopt him out as quickly as possible, if Nate didn't sneak away on his own first.]

Sam said we should try to finish what our mom started, I think it was his way of giving me something to concentrate on so I wouldn't freak out. We changed our names. It was suddenly an adventure, instead of two kids on the lam. Been 'Nathan Drake' ever since.

Edited 2018-05-08 18:58 (UTC)

[If it weren't real life and didn't obviously have drastic consequences, this would be a fascinating story. And it is definitely interesting, but Lance can't help but imagine what it would've been like to experience it and what a difficult situation it put the brothers in, even if they seemed to make the most of it. It also suddenly fits in with what Lance knew about Nate's history already, and puts together some pieces.

However, while Lance is still thinking pretty clearly, the alcohol makes words a little more difficult to string together correctly.]

That's... That's a lot.

[Eloquent, definitely, but it's hard to find appropriate words.]

What did you do after? Did the police ever catch up to you?

[It is a lot. Maybe Nate wouldn't be as comfortable talking about it if he hadn't swallowed several fingers of alcohol, maybe if Lance wasn't mildly loopy from the same stuff. It doesn't matter. It's been said already.]

No.

[His drink abandoned, Nate scrubs at his hair with both hands, lacing his fingers behind his neck. He doesn't make eye contact.]

We left the country. I think I, uh, told you once that I grew up in South America? [A beat.] It's a good place to disappear.

Yes, you did.

[And that confirms what he'd just been thinking, about how that ended up happening. It all makes sense, even through the alcohol.]

How long did you both stay there?

[Nate laughs like it is some great, inside joke, half-bitter, part fondness, and all nostalgia. A cocktail of old regrets and familiarity alike. He shakes his head with a rueful, tight smile.]

Well, we didn't go back to Boston.

[No doubt stretching Father Duffy to his limits, the priest who only wanted the best for him, gave him third, and fourth, and fifth chances. Child Disappears From Orphanage is a pretty grim headline.]

Traveled for years. New stops every month or so, sometimes less. Chasing treasures, lining our pockets with- whatever we could get. I used to- [He huffs again, but the sound is warmer this time.] I used to do magic tricks on the sidewalk while Sam lifted people's wallets. We took turns with prison time, usually if one of us wasn't in the local joint, it was because both of us were.

[A listless shrug.]

Didn't really have a home. It was wherever we made it.

[Theoretically, Lance gets it, but he can't really imagine a life like that. It's just an experience that was so different from what he'd dealt with, even with his own varied and unusual childhood. He's studied the psychological effects of situations like this, of course, but an intellectual understanding is definitely not the same as an empathetic one.

The alcohol also doesn't help in trying to figure out what to say or how to respond, so he's quiet several seconds after Nate finishes. He decides to take the moment to drink a bit more, before finally replying.]

The must've been difficult, but I'm glad you and Sam were together. It must also have given you a very unique set of experiences.

[Which might be serving him well in this place.]

[Some people prefer stability. Maybe Nate might have, once, but his own family spent so much time moving around when they were together that it didn't make sense to stop when they were apart. Being grounded made him claustrophobic, invisible walls hemming in on him from every side as a child and even now he can feel the edges of this place doing the same.

For all that Lance is talented at maintaining a decent poker face, the liquor makes it slip. He's probably filing away the information in his mental psychologist cabinet, whether he means to or not - Nate can't begrudge him for doing what comes naturally. "That must have been difficult" is a polite way of saying "holy shit," because he knows that the guy is probably thinking it.

Leaning back against the short wall behind them Nate finally looks at Lance, head rolling toward his shoulder.]

Turn off the etiquette, Doctor Sweets. Penny for your thoughts. Or- [He reaches for the bottle again, examining the label.] -booze for your thoughts.

[He sighs at that, finishing his glass before considering it a few moments, then holding it out toward Nate. Fine, he'll take the deal, even though the fact that he's already drank enough to agree means he probably shouldn't be having more. But whatever, it's Hadriel and he deserves the break.]

I just don't know what exactly to say. What you're describing is so outside of any experiences I've ever had that I can't relate at all.

[Nate tops him off obligingly, filling his own glass again and setting the bottle aside. He realizes his life is so far out of the norm as to be laughable, but coming from a friend who also happens to be a shrink, he half-expected a "well, that explains a lot." He shouldn't be reductive, though - Lance deserves better than an assumption like that and Nate pushes the blame onto the alcohol.]

Yeah, I know. It's a lot.

[Elena had a similar reaction. The transience built the foundations upon which Nate constructed everything that makes him who he is. It's the kind of thing that might challenge even the most patient of therapists, let alone someone he sees as having a much more important opinion.

He doesn't know why it matters to him. He isn't that kid anymore, and he has nothing to prove.

Nate takes another long sip of his drinking, chewing the silence.]

...didn't mean to put you on the spot. Sorry.

It's okay. We're both um, kind of... Drunk.

[He opts for that instead of 'inebriated' mostly because the more the alcohol hits him the less he thinks he can manage such a word. But it doesn't slow him down in regards to taking another drink from his newly refilled glass.

He's quiet a few more moments, before giving Nate a small smile.]

Though I think we earned it.

[Both of them, not just for everything in Hadriel but everything before. Sometimes it's good to remember how far you've come, even if it's just drinking on the balcony of some alien building in another dimension.]

You're drunk. I'm just buzzed. I grew up on this shit.

[Nate says as though that should explain his remarkable tolerance, in spite of the very slight slur to his words. He falls quiet at the second statement, not necessarily out of agreement but in contemplation.

What has he earned? More productive to concur than to belabor it. Lance is probably the better judge, anyway.]

...Yeah, I guess so.

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