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nathandrakeisabottom · 9 months

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Headcannons about them with an anxious SO? Love your stuff x

Thank you, friend! Now, in full canonical honesty, I don’t believe that either Nathan or Sam would be particularly good at dealing with their deeper anxiety, let alone someone else’s, let alone someone else’s who they loved dearly and would only be afraid to make it worse (that many crumbling bridges and a guy’s gotta if consider his only superpower is the ability to destroy everything he touches) for most of their young lives.

However, I do believe that post-UC4 (perhaps a little earlier for Nathan), and a good dose of necessary therapy (paid for in pirate coins, of course)--- they’d be more than willing to finally take on the challenge.

For themselves, and for the person they love more than anything.

Drakes with an Anxious S/O Headcanons

Nathan:

In his younger days, the prince of the awkward smile and half-hearted clap on the back. A pulley doll whose only catchphrases were “Man, that’s hard”, “Yeah. Yeesh.”, and “Soooo, I guess this would be a bad time for a joke, huh?”. Scurries to the bathroom as soon as they’re not in tears anymore, and stays there for as long as it takes to stop hearing the residual sobs.

However, his late 30s and 40s bring him a much healthier perspective (and therapy— Jesus, finally) and being the smarty pants he is, he passes on no opportunity to put his new skills and knowledge to use.

That playfulness and desire to find the lightness in even the hardest situations never leaves him at any age, though.

A panic attack? “‘Is something… wrong with you’? You realize you’re talking to the guy who accidentally destroys ancient temples for a living, as an archaeologist? And I still consider myself a not so bad guy. So in my eyes, you’re basically a lesser known Mesopotamian god.”

Got a bad grade? “A D in Psychometrics? I don’t know, sounds like they don’t know anything about math if they’re using a letter to grade you. Maybe they should go get their teaching certificates checked. Hey, how ‘bout I just draw you a PhD myself? You know I have an eye for art.”

Dealing with shitty parents? Landlord? Roommates? Exes who won’t leave you the fuck alone? “What? That buffoon? Guy who can’t even spell their own name right? That asshole isn’t worth a thought of a thought of a thought in your head. Pretty sure they haven’t had a thought in their own head since 1996.”

As soon as the first wide-toothed smile is won, he’s leaning into his partner with a secretive smirk: “Ya wanna get the hell out of here?”

Because distractions always helped him before.

Will act especially gentlemanly, and theatrically play it up, while taking their partner for a frozen yogurt, antique shop, Target trip, public park, laser tag (yes, really) decompress. Bows when he opens the car door for them. Pays for everything. Calls them ‘your majesty’ for the entirety of the excursion.

All he wants is to get them to smile. And he’s not stopping until he sees it.

When the night creeps in and his S/O starts to lose steam, Nathan’s own worry grows more obvious, though he tries his best to keep it to himself.

Watches them with wide eyes. Gives them space, but still asks every few minutes if they need a cup of water. No? Tea? Arnold Palmer? Popsicle? Massage? Hot Pocket? Sexy pillow fight? However many it takes to make his partner laugh again. But he fully means every offer he gives.

Says nothing as he helps them undress and into their PJs. Touches are tender and intimate, gently rubs their shoulders and neck. Never too hard, never too direct. Plays the friendly ghost and lets their partner take the lead, but never, ever just sits around to watch.

Makes them a beverage of some sort, even if they say no. Hot lemonade with honey is his personal homecure. Says yellow is a happy color, so it must be good for you.

And right before they turn the lights out, Nate timidly offers— with a shy, trying chuckle— if they want him to read them a bedtime story.

Somehow shocked every time they say yes. Mumbles something self-derogatory about himself (“Ya know, not the best actor, but—” “Personally I think I have the voice of a dying goose, but—”) before sitting on the nearest surface and cracking open a book.

If he’s still feeling a little awkward, will uneasily ask if they wanna hear what he’s been reading lately, and will do so if asked— but really wants to read the pirate storybooks his mother read to him and Sam when they were kids.

It always made him feel better when the world felt too big, too scary, too cruel.

So he wants to share it with the person he loves.

He wants to share everything with the person he loves.

And without even asking, goes to the medicine cabinet and brings them a tablet of whatever they need when the anxiety gets especially bad, and says “I know, it’s scary. But we’ve been through scary before, right?” with a kiss on the cheek as they swallow it down with a sip of lemonade.

Lingers, eyes down, and vaguely nods to nobody as he stands and walks to the door.

“Want me… uh, want me to keep reading to you?” But he offers before he can even get past the door frame.

“Do you want me to want you to keep reading to me?”

And the last thing he wants to see is his love, alone. The idea of them crying beneath the covers because they were too afraid to burden him with it, too afraid to be seen. Everything he felt he had to do when he was 6 and his mother “passed”, age 9, 10, 11, 12 after a black eye, the words that his brain told him wrong: spoken aloud by the playground bullies he feared he’d never be stronger than.

But he knew they were wrong. The bullies were wrong. The ones in his brain. The ones in theirs.

“Yes.” He replies without missing a beat.

And he makes sure to hold their hand in his free one until the second they fall asleep… and a few hours after, just to be safe.

The next morning they fucking better expect breakfast in bed— and he maybe, just maybe, might even be willing to spring for McDonald’s, if that’s what they want. As long as they promise to eat actual fruit after. And hell, maybe even a vegetable or two when he makes dinner that night. Did you know that eating right and exercise are actually primary solutions to poor mental health—? That’s what Dr. Dorian said— No, potatoes don’t count as a vegetable— no, especially not if it’s fried— NO, FRENCH FRIES DON’T COUNT, BABY—

Sam:

Sam takes a bit longer to warm up to discussing anxiety than Nathan does, mostly due to struggling so deeply with it on his own. It’s not like prisoners (or Shoreline guards) made the most comforting companions.

The better he could keep secrets, the less he could reveal, the safer he’d be.

So it makes sense that it’s both his greatest strength and weakness when it comes to emotionally turbulent times.

In his younger, more avoidant years, he’d be the first to leave the room, leave the building, hell, sometimes even leave the city after a particularly heavy cry or confrontation with his then-partner. Only to come back the next morning and act like nothing ever happened.

But now, he doesn’t run. After prison, after Rafe, after Madagascar, all he wants is to be allowed to stay. To be wanted to stay by someone who loves him.

Is happiest to just sit with you in the silence. His biggest skill is his ability to weather the storm. And whether you need to scream bloody murder, or need to sit and decompress and just fucking feel, but can’t do it alone, Sam’s there. Listening.

Once you’re done talking, he takes one last, long drag of his cigarette, stubs it out onto the pavement, and asks simply: “So do you want solutions… or something else, sweet’art?”

You can see in his eyes— darting less than solid, certain against your own— that he really means it, in every way that he was too afraid to when he was younger.

The wonderful and terrifying thing about having anxiety while Sam is there is that it’s a vulnerable experience for the both of you. He’s learning, discovering, trying right along with you. And he may not be able to lift you up so easily, but he’ll be able to sink into the dark places with you, and not be afraid to see what’s down there.

And maybe seeing someone he loves so deeply, sees as so beautiful, so smart, so kind, so wonderful, so absolutely perfect to him feel the same ways he does about himself… maybe it makes him think that he’s not as terrible as his brain tells him, either.

Helps you take action by letting himself (finally) not be the smart one: “When ya… get like this, what do you usually do first, sweet’art? Paint me a pit’chure.” Gives you complete control, and smiles softly when you wipe your tears and the logical, the archaeological mind awakens. Mimics unraveling an ancient map when you begin to explain, and you inadvertently hiccup out a laugh.

At times, it’ll feel like he’s trying to run again, but when he stands up and walks across the room— he always returns. This time with your favorite of his jackets, the denim one that smells like him even though he just cleaned it, and drapes it protectively over your shoulders. Clasps his palm at the back of your neck and rubs out the knot he always finds there. Smiles toothy and wide when your words are broken up by sighs of relief. Only to be filled once again with silence, gazes meeting sweet and safe.

“Remember Indonesia?” He offers with a smirk, despite your furrowed brow.

“I guess? What about—?”

“I read the runes’ instructions and ran us in circles all around Bali, only to reread the transcript and realized I got three letters completely wrong. J—V—A. Java. It was goddamn Java the entire time.”

“Your point being?”

He smiles and shrugs. Trying. Maybe he’s wrong, a foreigner in some ancient, uncertain land, but he tries.

“Sometimes our brains are just wrong.” He tries for you. “That’s all.”

You sniffle, and he leans in to press a prickly kiss to your cheek. His jacket is still warm from the dryer, wafting with the residual sting of cigarette, Old Spice Captain, cheap mouthwash, even cheaper aftershave, and something else completely unnameable.

And maybe some others would think the scent appalling, but it’s the strangeness, the specificity, and yes, the stank— everything that makes Sam him— that makes you love it. Love him. The depth. The difference.

The pain, and what he chose to do with it.

Another kiss, this time down your neck. This time, the sigh of relief is his own.

What he chose to change it into.

“So… any chance sex therapy might be a thing?” He asks grinningly.

“Why don’t we find out, ‘sweet’art’?”

#uncharted #uncharted 4: a thief's end #nathan drake #sam drake #nathan drake x reader #sam drake x reader #happy christmas yall!!!#and for those are yall who struggle today. you arent alone #feel free to jump into my inbox and geek out with me #sometimes family is just someone you share blood with #and that's allowed to be it #shea out

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justsomerandomfanfic · 4 months

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Out Of The Darkness, And Into Your Arms - Sam Drake X Female Reader

Title: Out Of The Darkness, And Into Your Arms

Sam Drake X Female Reader

Additional Characters: Reader's friend one, Reader's friend two, Nathan, Elena (Mentioned), Sully (Mentioned), Rafe (Mentioned), Alcazar (Mentioned), and Bar jerk

Loosely inspired by: 'I'm So Tired' by Lauv and Troye Sivan

WC: 6,390

Warnings: Uncharted 4 canon violence mentioned, Uncharted 4 canon events/storyline, Sam's death, italics used, cursing, crying, nightmares mentioned, bars, alcohol, drugs mentioned, guy at bar harrasses/annoys Reader briefly, blood briefly mentioned, brief mention of mental health/depression, nicknames, slightly suggestive, angst, and fluff

"Come on, Y/N, just try." Your friend placed a hand on your shoulder, stopping your pacing.

You threw your hands up in the air, "I have been trying." You huffed, glancing at your friend as you tugged at your hair in frustration. "I have been trying - for fifteen years. But you don't understand how damn hard it is." You gently pushed past your friend and moved over to the couch, sitting down.

As you covered your face with your hands, your friend let out their sign. "I know that it's hard. I truly do. I may not know the full extent of everything, but I'm so sorry for what happened."

"It's not your fault," You whispered, taking a deep breath, dragging your hands down your face, making your cheeks burn slightly; "It's mine."

"No, it’s not, Y/N." They quickly sat next to you, putting an arm around your shoulders, "You didn't know what was going to happen."

You shook your head, looking up at your friend, "I watched him fall." You felt tears sting at the corners of your eyes, "I tried to help Nate but we couldn't hold on..." You stared down at your shaking hands. You could still see the look on Sam’s face when he got shot - the blood - and you could still remember the feeling of his hand slipping from yours before he fell down the side of the building. You remember the shock, the horror; the complete and total shuttering dread that filled and chilled your bones. You couldn’t hear the bullets piercing through the air near you, Rafe, and Nate’s bodies on the rooftop. You couldn’t even feel the bullet as it grazed your arm… You couldn’t even hear Nate as he yelled out to you, nor did you feel his hand as it grabbed you. The dread… The feeling of the adrenaline, and your heart breaking into millions of pieces, were overwhelming as you followed Nate. You wished you stayed… Maybe Sam was alright. Maybe you could’ve saved him… But the blood - his blood - you couldn’t think about it anymore. You couldn’t think about Sam anymore, but it was hard not to think about him constantly. He was always on your mind. You stared at your hands, your mind imagining Sam’s blood on them before you clenched them, your nails digging uncomfortably into your palms; creating crescent-shaped divots. "I should've done something." You took a shaky, deep breath, "I should have stopped him from falling."

Your friend gave you a sympathetic smile, pulling you closer to their side. "But you couldn't, Y/N. You are only human. The only thing we could do was move forward."

"Yeah, I know… That’s what everyone tells me." You sighed deeply, leaning your head onto your friend's shoulder, "...It just hurts." You admitted after a moment, "Every day I think about him... How scared he must have been..." You trailed off, letting your words drift away into nothingness; your hand mindlessly drifted up to the scar on your upper arm, your fingers brushing over the sleeve of your shirt, the scar was slightly raised beneath it.

They didn't say anything for a few moments until your friend spoke again, "I know, but that's why moving on is going to be good for you. Going out and about in the world, meeting new people... Get your mental health back on track."

"I've been trying, you know I've been trying. But it's been fifteen years and I still love him." You looked up to meet their gaze, tears slowly spilling from your eyes. “And I never got the chance to tell him.”

"I know." They nodded, their voice soft. "I know. That hasn't changed. But you can't live like this. Please, Friday, just go out with us... Just try and have some fun."

"I'll try..." You sniffled, wiping away the stray tears, "But if things start going south, then I'm coming straight home."

They laughed softly, squeezing your shoulder, "Fair enough." They reached forward and pulled you into a hug, "So... Friday?"

You smiled sadly, hugging back, "Yeah, Friday."

Giving your friend one last smile, you said your 'goodnights' before shutting your door. The moment the door clicked shut, you sighed. Leaning forward, you shut your eyes as you pressed your forehead against the cool wooden surface of the door. Your chest began to tighten as the dam eventually broke, and your tears quickly fell down your cheeks.

Sobs racked through your body as your arms wrapped around yourself, holding tightly to your ribs. A small whimper escaped your lips as you sank down against your door, clutching your knees to your chest as you dug your chin into yourself, muffling your sobs.

After what felt like hours, your cries eventually quieted. Exhaustion seeped into your limbs as you slipped against the door, finding purchase on the ground; burying your face in your arms as you just curled up on the cold floor. You tried to shut up your brain, trying to force yourself not to think about Sam, or the night you lost him... But you couldn't stop yourself from remembering every detail.

Every time that you thought about Sam, it hurt more and more each time. The pain never dulled, never numbed... You remembered how his eyes sparkled whenever he talked about his adventures in Italy and Brazil. You loved how they sparkled that same sparkle - that same passion - when he showed off the treasures he had found during those adventures; the same went for when he told you about Sir Francis Drake. It made you miss him even more. You'd never hear his stories again. You'd never hear his voice again; that deep, thick Boston accent. You'd never get lost in his chocolate-brown eyes again, or try and count the small freckles on his cheeks before losing track. You'd never get to hold him again… Listen to his steady heartbeat... Or tell him that you loved him...

Sam… You'd never get to tell him. You never got to say it back to him.

~~~

The blankets shifted as you shuffled closer to Sam, your arm falling over his chest as you cuddled into his side. Sam laid there with you, his hand caressing the soft, warm skin of your back. You, Sam, and Nate had traveled to Spain to find some old pirate treasure of a notorious female pirate of the eighteen hundreds. You and Sam were in your motel room, relaxing after a long day roaming through forests and hiking up mountains. It was nice to finally be able to relax, and have some downtime. You loved adventures - treasure hunting - but it was nice to take a break. No hot weather, no dirt under your fingernails, or running away from treasure-hunting competitors. Just you and Sam, enjoying a peaceful night together.

Sam chuckled suddenly, causing your eyelids to flutter open. "What's so funny, Sammy?" You asked, glancing up at him.

He smiled, "I'm just thinking about that movie," He glanced at the TV, a soft glow emanating from it; showing the credits rolling. "I liked it."

You matched his smile, "Well, I am happy you liked it. It is one of my favorites." Your fingers played with the edge of the blanket that laid upon Sam's stomach, "I told you bringing a movie with us would be helpful."

Sam hesitated, his mouth opening and closing before opening again, "About this morning... I- uh, it probably wasn't the best time to tell you... Ya'know, when we were getting shot at." Sam tried to joke, but his words sounded awkward even to his own ears.

You hummed, biting your lip briefly, "Sam, I-"

"You don't have to say it back," Sam spoke, interrupting you, "I don't want you to say it when you're not ready."

You felt your face flush, Sam had told you he loved you that morning. Multiple bullets were being shot at you, and both you and Sam were barricaded behind a crumbling wall of an old castle. Sam was right, the situation you two were in wasn’t exactly ideal. But after Sam watched you single-handedly take down three of your competitor's goons; he had to tell you. The sight of you taking those goons down, it was amazing - he couldn’t take his eyes off you, couldn’t keep his focus off the way the sunlight hit you, making the light dance across your features. Your hair was messy, sweaty strands sticking to your forehead, you were breathing heavily, yet you still managed to pull your gun out from its holster and shoot another two goons dead. You did it so flawlessly, it was breathtaking. And by the time you were beside him again, racing to find Nate, Sam just blurted it out. You were shocked, yes, but before either of you could say anything, you had found Nate and the three of you were off to Spain; a piece of an artifact in hand.

"Thank you," You whispered quietly, pressing a kiss to Sam's cheek, smiling at him.

He smiled at you gently, wrapping his arms around you. "Of course," He mumbled, before placing a lingering kiss to the top of your head.

~~~

Your eyes widened as you jolted upright, and your heart raced, before swiftly looking around your living room, breathing heavily as you realized you must have fallen asleep. The depression seeped in again, and you let out a small sniffle. You wondered if you'd ever feel better, but it had been fifteen years. Fifteen years of just... Drifting? Living? No, you weren't living, and you knew that Sam would've wanted you to live. You didn't know what you were doing. And you were scared that these feelings weren't ever going away. Looking up at your window, the sun was already low in the sky; it seemed you had slept for a good couple of hours - yet, you were still tired.

~~~

The bar was loud, and the moment you entered it, you regretted ever leaving your house. Yes, you had gone out, but to stores or to the mall when you felt like it. You felt incredibly out of place, even though, years ago, you used to frequent bars with... Sam. You used to be the life of the party, but things changed; you changed.

You couldn't even remember the last time you went into a bar after what happened. After what happened, you and Nate - along with Elena and Sully - stuck together; for the most part. Soon, Elena and Nate got married, it was a beautiful wedding, and the both of them quit their adventuring. You lost contact with Victor not long after. You spoke to Nate on the phone often, and both he and Elena visited when they could; and vice versa.

Your two friends practically dragged you by the arms further into the bar, snapping you out of your thoughts as you felt the tingling feeling of anxiety coursing through you. You were not ready for this at all. Your friends then found a booth near the small dancefloor, and before you knew it, you were stuck sitting in between your two friends.

"I might get a martini," Your friend, the one that comforted you in your home, spoke.

"You always get a martini. I'm going to try something new, maybe a bloody mary." Your second friend spoke, before turning to you, "What are you getting?"

You shrugged, shifting uncomfortably in your seat on the dark red, leather booth. "I don't know."

Your second friend gently nudged your shoulder, gaining your attention away from the wooden, circular table. They gave you an encouraging smile, "You got this. Just for tonight."

You tried to smile back at them before you watched the both of them head off to the bar on the other side of the large, dim-lighted room. You let out a sigh, before letting your gaze shift around the room, you were already growing tired of the music the bar was playing. You fiddled with your fingers in your lap, somewhat people-watching. It was a pretty crowded bar, with a good amount of people either at the bar, on the dancefloor, or at the booths eating. The bar was located more by your work, close to downtown. You had passed by it many times in your time living in the area, but you never went in.

Your eyes snapped away from the people of the bar, your ears perked up to where you presumed a speaker was, hanging on the corner of the ceiling. The music, that had been playing throughout the short time that you were there, was ranging between pop, rock, and indie - had changed, changed into one song that you hadn't heard for a long time, and for a reason.

The song was a rock song, though it had some romantic elements mixed into it. It was made by a band from the eighties. A band you used to love - that Sam even liked. The song was your song. It was yours and Sam's song.

You had first heard the song in your car. It was way before... Before what happened, but you and Sam had been driving away from somewhere, and the song just popped onto the radio. The song was something new, something neither you nor Sam had ever heard before. But as you sat there, listening to the lyrics, you couldn't help but think about Sam. The song spoke about two lovers, who had the power to speak without words. They could go through everything and anything. Their love could transcend all. There was more but the song resonated within your bones.

Sam thought it was a bit cliche, but the more you insisted that it was your song for each other, the more Sam grew to love it. He never told you, but you knew.

You bit your lip, your eyes dropping back down at the table, memories flooding your mind. Sam had given you a mixtape for your birthday, composed of your favorite songs. You remembered, a long time ago, listening to the song in the car; from your mixtape. You were singing along, somewhat obnoxiously, but you didn't care, you were having fun. You remembered when you pulled up to the red light, somewhere in the middle of nowhere - miles from home - when you turned to Sam. Your bright smile slowly faded upon seeing Sam's face. His expression was intense, but soft, as he looked directly into your eyes. The side of his face was illuminated by the streetlamp on the side of the road, highlighting his features beautifully. You could hardly take your eyes off him.

It was like time stood still, and the world stopped spinning. The world only existed for that one moment, and for one single moment, nothing else mattered. No treasure hunting, no running from men with guns, no responsibilities. Nothing. It felt only natural when you both began to lean in, your heart beginning to race in your chest as Sam reached out with a hand, cupping your warm cheek. He closed the distance between you two as your eyes fluttered shut and you felt his lips press against yours. He tasted like cinnamon and smoke, and you loved it. You loved how his rough hands cupped your face, how the calluses of his thumbs felt as they brushed against the apples of your cheeks. You loved him... You loved him.

You blinked away the memories, a heavy feeling resting in your chest. That moment would forever stay with you. But, you were tired. You were tired of love songs, and you just wanted to go home. You wanted to go home and watch some comfort movie while eating takeout. You wanted to be alone. But, you knew that being out and about was probably good for you, as your friends had said many times before.

So, you slid yourself out of the booth, making your way to the bar; passing the dancefloor where you found your two friends dancing and having fun. Upon reaching the bar, you waved the bartender down, but before you could even reply with your drink, a deep voice answered for you.

"She'll have a vodka lime and soda."

You briskly turned your head, coming face to face with a man in what seemed to be his late thirties. He was tall, had short, curly blonde hair, and piercing blue eyes that you could surprisingly make out within the dim light of the bar. He was attractive, yes, but with the way he was staring at you - ogling you - looking you up and down; there was just something about him that gave you an uneasy feeling in your gut. And you often trusted your gut; something that you learned to use when you used to treasure hunt. On top of that, he ordered a drink for you, choosing a drink for you, instead of politely asking to pay for your drink.

You weren't at all in the mood for whatever bullshit he was going to pull, "I don't drink those." You replied simply, thankfully the bartender was still there, and you corrected the drink to one you preferred, before turning back to see that the man was still there, so you raised an eyebrow. "Can I help you?" You weren't trying to be polite, and you were hoping the man would just see that you were not interested and just leave you alone.

"Just admiring you," He finally spoke, his comment making you scoff, and roll your eyes. What? Were you some sort of museum piece? What did he want? He continued speaking, "The outfit you're wearing is gorgeous."

You stared at him with annoyance, not sure how to respond. Did he expect you to thank him? Because you wouldn't do that. Maybe you'd have to simplify your question. "What do you want?"

The man - that you still didn't have a name for, mind you - as if you wanted one - just gave you, what he probably believed was a charming smile. With a swish of a hand, he pushed the curly blonde hair from the side of his temple, "Can I not just admire someone as beautiful as you?" Honestly, this guy was reminding you of Prince Charming from 'Shrek'. And obviously not in a good way, you hated that guy.

"Go find someone else to admire - actually, no, how about you go home and not bother anyone else? Forever." The man, still with no name other than the idiot from 'Shrek,' just continued to smile, unbothered by your attitude. You briefly looked around the dancefloor, unable to spot your friends.

"I quite like where I am right here." He continued, soon the bartender arrived with your drink, and you were quick to grab your drink; not wanting this guy to possibly drug you. "Unless you want to join me. My apartment is just down the street."

But at this point, this man was becoming insufferable. "Hell no," You took a quick sip of your drink. "Not interested. I have a boyfriend." You pursed your lips, the words had just slipped out, easily, subconsciously. You clenched your jaw, taking another sip; you wished the drink was stronger, but you didn't think they made anything strong enough to numb the pain you were feeling. And besides, that was unhealthy anyway. One drink for the night - maybe even two - was enough. You had a long day of work tomorrow and you didn't want to wake up with a massive headache. Though, you were beginning to get one the longer the man stood beside you. And the jerk was still staring at you. Weirdo.

You could vaguely hear the man beside you talking, but you weren't paying attention. Your eyes wandered the bar, trying to spot your friends, checking the booth that you had been sitting at before your eyes landed on the dark corner of the bar; near the back door; a green neon sign locating the exit above it. Your eyes widening as you felt your hands shaking; you had to tighten your grip on your drink to stop yourself from possibly dropping it. There stood a figure. One that you could barely make out, but you knew that figure. You knew that stance.

Feeling a hand on your arm, you snapped your gaze away from the corner, your eyes meeting the blue ones of the man, who was still beside you. Your expression completely soured, your eyes narrowing and your frown deepening. You stared daggers at him before grabbing his hand and taking it off of your arm. "Do not touch me." You practically growled, only for the man to smirk down at you.

"Awe, you're so cute when you're ang-" Before he could even finish his sentence, you left the bar. You were this close to punching him, and you would’ve loved to if you didn’t have the threat of the police being called on you if you did.

Spotting your friends next to a small group of people, you walked over, your friend turned to greet you; but upon seeing your expression, their smiles fell. "Gone south?" One asked, and you nodded, handing your other friend your drink.

"Gone south." You confirmed, before saying your 'goodbyes and thanks' before leaving the bar entirely.

~~~

"Death cannot stop true love. All it can do is delay it for a while." That sentence seemed to echo through the TV screen, making you pause your chewing as you shuffled further back into the cushion of your couch. You watched as Westley and Buttercup lay in the green grass, in each other's arms; you placed your popcorn to the side.

"I'll never doubt again," Buttercup spoke, as Weastly just gazed down at her, with such admiration and true love.

You sighed as he spoke his line, "There will never be a need." Before he brought her in a long-awaited kiss.

You sighed once more, grabbing your large bowl of popcorn - mixed with M&Ms - resuming your eating. You loved 'The Princess Bride' but you hadn't watched it in a very long time. And, like most things in your life, it reminded you of Sam. You somewhat scolded yourself. It had been fifteen years, and you still felt the same as you did since the moment you watched Sam fall to his death. You wished that you could just un-miss him... But, you needed him. You needed him more than ever.

Somedays were harder than others, and today was one of those days. The night before, you had gone to the bar with friends, and had to deal with that Prince Charming wannabe jerk - and then with that overwhelming thought that maybe Sam was there at the bar... No, you didn't see him. Your mind was just playing tricks on you. It was like that scene in another movie you liked, where the mother spoke that she saw her missing husband ten times a week, in a hundred different faces. You shook your head to clear it, letting a sigh escape your lips.

But that feeling, you couldn't shake it. You needed to tell someone about it. And there was only one person you could possibly talk about it with, that would totally understand.

Leaning over the side of the couch, you grabbed the TV remote; careful not to spill your popcorn and M&Ms. Pausing the movie, you grabbed your phone off the coffee table, replacing it with the bowl. Flipping open your flip phone - you never really got around to getting a new phone - you opened your contacts and called Nathan.

The phone rang a few times, before he answered, "Hello? Y/N?" He asked, and faintly you could hear the theme of 'Crash Bandicoot' before you assumed he paused it.

"Hey, Nathan," You felt yourself smile, "I'm sorry to call so late."

You heard him let out a sputtering chuckle, "Nah," He was probably shaking his head, "Not too late. I was just playing 'Crash Bandicoot.' What's up?"

"Just checking up on you and E," You spoke, shifting on the couch, "Anything new going on?"

"Mmm, nope, not at the moment." Nate spoke with a short hum, "Still a salvager." He paused shortly, "What about you? What did you really call me about?"

You let out a somewhat awkward laugh, "Nothing! I just wanted to check up on you and Elena. It's been a while since I saw you both." You sighed, glancing over to the shelf beside your TV, spotting the picture frame featuring you, Nate, and Elena; you were all standing by the Colosseum in Rome - your birthday vacation. "I guess I just miss you guys."

"I miss you too, kid," Nate spoke, his voice soft, "I know Elena does too. She talks about you a lot. We've been planning to see if you are available to hang out sometime soon. Have dinner with us. Haven't seen you in like, what? A month?"

"Two, actually." You corrected with a small laugh, "And you know I am free whenever. I am my own boss, so..." You trailed off, and Nate laughed in return.

There was a short pause before he spoke again, "How are you?" He asked, and with that tone of his voice, you knew what he meant, but you played oblivious.

"I'm doing great-"

"Y/N," He interrupted, and you huffed, "You know what I mean. You don't have to talk about it if you don't want to. But, you know, talking about... Well, everything… It might help."

You glanced at the paused movie, "I know," You bit your lip, your eyes dropping on to your lap before you huffed again, but it turned out into more of a sigh, "Honestly, I am the same as I was since the beginning." You rolled your eyes at yourself, fiddling with the soft fabric of your throw blanket with your free hand, "I went out to the bar with some friends, and I thought-" You swallowed before continuing, "Can I just- Are you free tomorrow? Uh, before work? Can I just come see you? What I have to say might be easier face to face."

"Yeah," Nate answered, "Yeah, yeah, for sure."

"Thank you, Nate. I really hope I’m not bothering you or anything with this." You replied, your eyes closing momentarily, a slight frown on your face, before opening them as Nate spoke once more.

"No, it's totally fine, Y/N." His voice reassured you a bit, "I'll talk to you more tomorrow, okay?"

You felt yourself smile - an appreciative one - "Yeah, yeah… Thank you again, Nate. See you tomorrow."

Hanging up the phone, you tossed it to the side cushion, and grabbed the TV remote, unpausing your movie.

~~~

Your fingers tapped against your car's steering wheel, not to any particular rhythm, nor to the song that was playing on the radio; just your nervous energy that wouldn't leave you alone. Stopping at a light, you blindly grab ahold of your water bottle, taking a quick sip before the light turns green. The drive to Nate's place of work was a good forty-five minutes from your house, so the drive wasn't terrible, and you considered yourself lucky that you didn't get stuck in traffic or something along those lines.

Pulling up into the driveway of the parking lot, you parked beside a red pickup truck, before letting out a sigh. Taking a few seconds, you flipped open the vanity mirror in your sun visor. Pausing, you glanced at the polaroid of Sam that you pinned to the inside of the sun visor. You and Sam had been in Egypt - looking for treasure as always - and you just decided to take a picture of him. The sun was setting, and you could just barely see one of the pyramids behind Sam's head. He looked so… Ethereal.

Fixing your hair somewhat, to at least look presentable, you hopped out of your car. The sun was already raising, and you had to take a minute just to admire the sunrise as you climbed up the stairs towards Nate's office. However, when you reached the top of the stairs, you froze.

If your heart was beating, you couldn't feel it. All you could feel was the soft breeze that passed by you as you stared wide-eyed at the sight before you. You originally thought that you were seeing things again. But, as he turned to face you, a sort of apprehensive look on his face... You let out a breath - a sigh - that you didn't know you were even holding.

His name was on the tip of your tongue, just at your lips, and yet, you couldn't force the words to pass through your mouth. Instead, you felt tears burn the backs of your eyes before they spilled over onto your cheeks as you quickly ran towards him. Sam staggered back as you crashed into him - wrapping your arms tightly around him; your hands gripping the denim martial of his jacket.

His arms wrapped tightly around you, squeezing you tighter as he buried his nose into the hair on the top of your head. You shut your eyes, your breathing coming out heavy as he kissed the top of your head softly, whispering your name; almost like a prayer.

You clung to him tighter, an overwhelming wave of relief and happiness flooding over you as you pulled away slightly; your fingers still clinging to the front of his jacket, the other resting on his chest. His heartbeat was the proof that he was real, that he wasn't just some grief-created hallucination; he was alive.

Meeting his chocolate-brown eyes, seeing that smile on his face... You finally found yourself able to speak, "You're alive," You reluctantly let go of him to wipe the tears from your eyes and cheeks, "But you fell…” You buried your face back into his chest, “It’s my fault, I should’ve- I should’ve held on tighter." Sam’s arms tightened around you, shaking his head.

“No, sweetheart, darling, none of this was ever your fault.” Sam let go of you to gesture to himself, “I’m fine, see?” He gave you a reassuring grin.

You nodded, brushing the tears from your cheeks, “I thought you were dead.” You gave him a smile, “But, I am so glad you’re home.”

Sam couldn't look away from you - after fifteen years, you continued to look as beautiful as ever; like a goddess. Sam missed you, so many nights in that prison, Sam had dreamed about you - some nights he even thought he heard your voice... And now that he was standing there, with you standing right in front of him, and all he wanted to do was pull you close to him again.

"So did I." A small grin stretched across his face as he took your hands in his, his thumbs gently rubbing against the tops of your palms as his gaze moved over your face. Honestly, he was still taking you in; it had been so long.

"What happened?" You asked, your worried and confused eyes searching his as Sam let out a small chuckle, glancing at the sunrise before looking back over at you, he was about to speak, but you continued, "I mean, how did you get out? How did you get here? Nate called basically everyone, and everything led to you being dead, and now you're here, and you're alive. I grieved for you, and I even thought I saw you at the bar, but I think I was just going crazy, or maybe the stress of going out- nevermind that. Are you alright? I mean, you got shot and then you fell-"

"Hey, hey," Sam cut off your rambling, laughing lightly as he raised one of his hands to cup your cheek, "I'm okay, sweetheart, I promise." He smiled reassuringly at you, but seeing the worry that was so clearly written upon your face - the desperation for answers - Sam let out a sigh, nodding his head. "Let's sit down, alright?" Sam led you to the wooden bench, sitting down beside you, and Sam was quiet for a moment before he opened his mouth to explain. And explain he did. He told you about being caught, stitched up, and tossed right back into a cell. He told you about Alcazar and the treasure of Henry Avery. He was in some crazy trouble, and you knew Nate, you knew that Nate was going to help his big brother. You wondered how he was going to tell Elena. "That's the story," Sam let out a sigh, looking over at you with a grin.

You let out a breath, "Wow," You muttered, looking up at him in shock, well, many emotions. "Well, I am just going to say this, I am helping you with his whole Alcazar business. And don't think you can try and convince me not to go. I am going." You hadn't gone on an adventure in a very long time, but you would be crazy to not go with him and Nathan to find that treasure of Henry Avery's. Deep down, you were hoping it would be like the good old days.

Sam raised his hands up in defense, letting out a chuckle, "I'm not going to stop you, the more the merrier."

You felt your shoulders fall as you let out another sigh. Looking up at Sam, relief washed over you in waves once more. You couldn't even express to anyone, nor yourself, how incredibly happy you were that Sam was alive. You missed him, that was obvious, but you missed being next to him, talking to him, hearing his voice; his laugh and touch. And the way he looked at you... You couldn't believe that this was really happening. "I missed you," Came out before you could even have time to think about it.

Sam's expression softened, his grin morphing into more of a smile - a real one - his hand reached out to grab one of yours; the callouses rough against the soft skin on the back of your hand. "I missed you too, Y/N," Sam admitted quietly, watching you, "You have no idea how damn much."

"I think I've missed you more," You muttered, shifting impossibly closer to him on the bench, your eyes roaming his face before they caught sight of the tattoo on the side of his neck. "I haven't stopped thinking about you, you know? I've had dreams, nightmares. Pictures hanging up on my walls... Even a couple of your shirts." That statement made him chuckle but you continued, your fingers still going along on their journey across Sam's skin; trailing from the apples of his cheeks to his jaw, and so on. "It hurts, sometimes. I miss our talks and our late-night drives. It hurt when I woke up from nightmares and realized that you weren't there..." Your words drew out, your tone wistful and yearning, almost pained.

"Hey," Sam spoke up, pulling your attention away from your exploration, "All that matters is that I am here now," His hand came up cupping your cheek once more, his thumb brushing along the skin of your cheek like he used to do all those years ago; a smile slowly slipped upon your lips, your hand coming up to press against his. You watched as his dark eyes flickered from around your face to your lips, before looking back up to your eyes. He didn't move, no matter how much he just wanted to swoop in to steal a kiss, he spoke, "Can I... Can I kiss you?" He asked, his voice deep, soft, but husky as if there were a slight nervousness hidden underneath it, in addition to longing. "It's been... A long time and I don't know if you-"

"Only you," You answered quickly, "There's only been you." Sam let out a shaky breath before he leaned forward. Your noses brushed together slightly as he brought his free arm around your waist, pulling you closer to him; his lips pressing against yours. The kiss was sweet - gentle yet passionate - as you melted into each other. You hummed, your fingers coming up to brush against the hair on the nape of his neck. Sam eventually pulled away first - reluctantly - resting his forehead against yours, catching his breath, before bringing his hand up and threading it through your hair.

Your hand cupped his warm cheek before you nuzzled your cheek against the other, digging your face into the crook of his neck. Sam chuckled, tightening his grip on your waist, "I love you," He whispered against the shell of your ear. Just for you, and only you to hear.

"I love you, too," You finally got to answer, your own heart beating faster than it ever had before. You didn't want to pull away - not just yet. You couldn't. Not when you finally had him back. You squeezed your eyes shut as you relaxed, leaning into the warmth of Sam's body beside you, relishing every second of being near him. After what seemed like forever, you sighed contently, tilting your head up to press a light kiss to the underside of his jaw before cuddling into his side; admiring the beautiful morning with him. "I hope you know that you're forever stuck with me." You added teasingly as you laid your head back on his shoulder.

"I wouldn't have it any other way," Sam responded without hesitation, smiling as you let out a giggle. Shaking your head as you wrapped your arms around his torso, listening to the sound of his heart beating as you laid your head against his chest.

Finally, after so many years, after so much heartbreak and grieving... After so many sleepless nights, watching soap dramas and binging pints of ice cream and cold pizza... Finally, Sam was home. With you. You closed your eyes, feeling his hand brush up and down your arm soothingly as he buried his face in the top of your head; you still used the same shampoo.

Sam shut his own eyes, ignoring Rafe's voice in the back of his mind, allowing himself, for a moment, to pretend that everything was alright. He let out a sigh from his nose, relaxing at the sound of your breathing as he pressed his lips to your temple. Everything was going to be fine.

---

Main Masterlist | Uncharted Masterlist

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