[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.]
[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.
[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.
[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.
[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.]
[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.]
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timeasmymeasure
no subject
Date: 2018-05-02 06:21 pm (UTC)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.
no subject
Date: 2018-05-04 04:54 am (UTC)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.]
no subject
Date: 2018-05-04 09:28 pm (UTC)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.
no subject
Date: 2018-05-08 02:31 am (UTC)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?
no subject
Date: 2018-05-08 06:52 pm (UTC)[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.
no subject
Date: 2018-05-15 10:18 pm (UTC)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?
no subject
Date: 2018-05-21 04:56 pm (UTC)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.
no subject
Date: 2018-05-22 08:26 pm (UTC)[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?
no subject
Date: 2018-05-22 08:51 pm (UTC)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.
no subject
Date: 2018-05-26 12:48 am (UTC)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.]
no subject
Date: 2018-05-30 03:38 pm (UTC)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.
no subject
Date: 2018-05-30 05:59 pm (UTC)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.
no subject
Date: 2018-06-05 06:24 pm (UTC)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.
no subject
Date: 2018-06-12 12:46 am (UTC)[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.]
no subject
Date: 2018-06-18 04:33 pm (UTC)[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.