Amihan (ə-'mi-hən) (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
camalyng) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
greenstickered2012-07-03 10:04 pm
camalyng) wrote in greenstickered2012-07-03 10:04 pm
Uncharted: Chocolate and Flowers
Title: Chocolate and Flowers
What: Uncharted fanfiction - oneshot
Rating: PG (driveby mention of sex)
Words: ~1300
Summary: Notes on the pillow do not always mean Chloe's walking out, but just once, Nate wants to be the one to leave a note. Some time between the comic and Among Thieves.
Alternate links: Archive of Our Own; Tumblr rebloggable link to this (with the photo that inspired it)
Notes: Inspired by![[tumblr.com profile]](https://www.tumblr.com/favicon.ico)
desiderates's tags for this photo. Also, hush, I know Chloe's flower in the journal isn't anything like this one.
Related works:desiderates wrote Little Things based off of some of my Tumblr tags for this, namely #the first thing chloe unpacks when she checks into hotel rooms is her tea #she puts them in with whatever tea coffee and hot chocolate the hotel’s supplying #nate thinks it’s a little crazy but adorable. If this makes you sad, Little Things has a happier ending.
Sample: Chloe Frazer is an early riser.
Chloe Frazer is an early riser. You'd guessed this when you woke up the morning after Agartha with only a note on your pillow, but she confirmed it when she waltzed back into your life and even as she's started to sleep over more (or vice versa, or you just book hotels together), you still wake up alone every morning unless she's really exhausted and sleeps in.
(Those are always your favorite mornings, because when she's asleep she doesn't shift away or stare at you warily when you reach out to touch her, and when she's just waking up she's a lot more affectionate than she lets herself get when she's fully awake. Not just more affectionate, but gentler about it, too. It's different. It's nice.)
At least she's stopped full on walking out on you now. Okay, sometimes the keys are in a different position to where they were last night and there's a new bottle of soda in the fridge or a new loaf of bread in the pantry or a bag of candy "I thought you'd like" on the coffee table -
(Elena was on the news the other day, reporting from somewhere in Asia, you weren't really paying attention. Good for her. Go chase that journalism dream, Elena.
Chloe didn't understand why you changed the channel so quickly.)
Still, it makes you want to turn the tables on her. You don't consider it fair that Chloe always gets to be the one awake, dressed, sipping on a cup of tea (always Twinings, always English breakfast, and she always brings a few bags with her if she suspects it won't be available locally), doing the sudoku in the newspaper, and you definitely don't like always being the one to wake up to a note on the pillow.
(Well, at least Breakfast on the table is better than See you around, cowboy. No regrets.)
There's this job that could have very easily ended badly. Sometimes when this happens, you're both so high off the adrenaline and survival that the second you're away from wherever it was, you laugh hysterically all the way back to the hotel room, can't sleep, and just have fantastic sex until the adrenaline wears off. Sometimes, like last night, neither of you can speak except for the odd "that was too close" and you both collapse into bed in your clothes at some ungodly hour and you completely forget to close the curtains and you sleep until noon, when the sun streaming in through the window becomes too bright to ignore.
Chloe's still out like a light, and you're tempted to wake her, but the way the sun glints off her hair where it's spread out over the pillow completely sidetracks you for several minutes, and you take a moment to sketch her. When she's still not awake by the time you finish, you realize this could be your chance.
Breakfast. You'll leave her a Breakfast on the table note.
Room service is onto lunch by now, so you put on a fresh shirt, slip the key card and your debit card into your pocket, and head out. There was a cafe a couple of blocks from here; you saw it on your way here from the airport when Chloe was driving a bit more sanely. You'll pick something up there.
On the way back, you get distracted by a display of flowers outside a convenience store. The bouquets seem a bit flashy for someone like Chloe, but maybe she'd like just one flower.
You buy her a pink thing like a huge daisy on a whim.
With a flower, you might as well keep going on this extra mile. She's somehow still asleep when you get back to the hotel, so you make a cup of English breakfast the way you've seen her do it, and then with a flash of inspiration, put one of the chocolates off the pillows onto the saucer. The flower, you cut so the stem's a lot shorter, and you put it in a glass with a little water. You place both the improvised vase and the teacup on her bedside table, then tear a page out of your journal.
Good morning, Chloe, you write, before wondering if "good afternoon" would be more appropriate. Oh well. There is tea and chocolate next to the bed.
You leave the note on your pillow and then slip into the shower. By the time you're out of the bathroom, the bed and the bedside table are empty; Chloe's curled up in a chair, wearing a fresh set of clothes and sipping on the tea you made.
"Not bad, cowboy," she says, toasting you, before sliding the chocolate across the table. "You can have it; I don't have much of a sweet tooth."
You barely stop the chocolate before it falls onto the floor.
"Alright," you reply, half-looking for the flower as you dig in your suitcase for fresh underwear. She's drinking the tea, she's giving back the chocolate, what happened to the flower?
You don't want to ask and she doesn't mention it, but when Chloe does the dishes from brunch ("no kitchen jokes, darling; you went out and bought the food, so it's only fair"), you spot the glass you'd used in the dishwasher already. Later that evening, something pink in the trash can catches your eye when you go to throw out an apple core, and - yeah, it's the flower in there, under the brochures and tickets Chloe tossed out after you went to the museum this afternoon. You're not sure why you're surprised.
You're a little annoyed that it stings.
Carefully, you fish it out and wipe it off with a damp paper towel. It's still mostly intact, so you place it between the pages of a spare notebook. You'll press it properly when you get back home and have a heavy book to put it in, but for now you can hide this at the bottom of your suitcase with your clothes weighing down on it.
For a few months you actually forget about the flower, but eventually you need that particular Ancient Greek dictionary and it's on the same page as the word you're looking up. It takes you a second to remember where this one was from, and then you wince: You walked out on her a couple of weeks ago, packed up your suitcase and left her sleeping in the hotel in Budapest before check out time, too much of a coward to even leave a note. Nothing really seemed appropriate, and there is no nice way to put I have commitment issues and this is too much. After that, you don't think a girl like Chloe (or - anyone, really) would ever come crawling back, and she hasn't called you or anything (though given the way she burns through phones, this might not mean much).
But you did have good times together.
You glue the flower next to her name and the first phone number she gave you in your journal.
What: Uncharted fanfiction - oneshot
Rating: PG (driveby mention of sex)
Words: ~1300
Summary: Notes on the pillow do not always mean Chloe's walking out, but just once, Nate wants to be the one to leave a note. Some time between the comic and Among Thieves.
Alternate links: Archive of Our Own; Tumblr rebloggable link to this (with the photo that inspired it)
Notes: Inspired by
Related works:
Sample: Chloe Frazer is an early riser.
Chloe Frazer is an early riser. You'd guessed this when you woke up the morning after Agartha with only a note on your pillow, but she confirmed it when she waltzed back into your life and even as she's started to sleep over more (or vice versa, or you just book hotels together), you still wake up alone every morning unless she's really exhausted and sleeps in.
(Those are always your favorite mornings, because when she's asleep she doesn't shift away or stare at you warily when you reach out to touch her, and when she's just waking up she's a lot more affectionate than she lets herself get when she's fully awake. Not just more affectionate, but gentler about it, too. It's different. It's nice.)
At least she's stopped full on walking out on you now. Okay, sometimes the keys are in a different position to where they were last night and there's a new bottle of soda in the fridge or a new loaf of bread in the pantry or a bag of candy "I thought you'd like" on the coffee table -
"I just popped out to the milk bar."- but the important part is that she comes back, right? And you can understand needing space. Like, say, an ocean's worth of space.
"The what?"
"The milk - Walgreens. I went to Walgreens."
"What did you call it?"
"... the milk bar."
"You are so Australian, Chloe; how did you ever expect me to believe you were a housewife in the Midwest?"
"Australia has a Midwest too."
(Elena was on the news the other day, reporting from somewhere in Asia, you weren't really paying attention. Good for her. Go chase that journalism dream, Elena.
Chloe didn't understand why you changed the channel so quickly.)
Still, it makes you want to turn the tables on her. You don't consider it fair that Chloe always gets to be the one awake, dressed, sipping on a cup of tea (always Twinings, always English breakfast, and she always brings a few bags with her if she suspects it won't be available locally), doing the sudoku in the newspaper, and you definitely don't like always being the one to wake up to a note on the pillow.
(Well, at least Breakfast on the table is better than See you around, cowboy. No regrets.)
There's this job that could have very easily ended badly. Sometimes when this happens, you're both so high off the adrenaline and survival that the second you're away from wherever it was, you laugh hysterically all the way back to the hotel room, can't sleep, and just have fantastic sex until the adrenaline wears off. Sometimes, like last night, neither of you can speak except for the odd "that was too close" and you both collapse into bed in your clothes at some ungodly hour and you completely forget to close the curtains and you sleep until noon, when the sun streaming in through the window becomes too bright to ignore.
Chloe's still out like a light, and you're tempted to wake her, but the way the sun glints off her hair where it's spread out over the pillow completely sidetracks you for several minutes, and you take a moment to sketch her. When she's still not awake by the time you finish, you realize this could be your chance.
Breakfast. You'll leave her a Breakfast on the table note.
Room service is onto lunch by now, so you put on a fresh shirt, slip the key card and your debit card into your pocket, and head out. There was a cafe a couple of blocks from here; you saw it on your way here from the airport when Chloe was driving a bit more sanely. You'll pick something up there.
On the way back, you get distracted by a display of flowers outside a convenience store. The bouquets seem a bit flashy for someone like Chloe, but maybe she'd like just one flower.
You buy her a pink thing like a huge daisy on a whim.
With a flower, you might as well keep going on this extra mile. She's somehow still asleep when you get back to the hotel, so you make a cup of English breakfast the way you've seen her do it, and then with a flash of inspiration, put one of the chocolates off the pillows onto the saucer. The flower, you cut so the stem's a lot shorter, and you put it in a glass with a little water. You place both the improvised vase and the teacup on her bedside table, then tear a page out of your journal.
Good morning, Chloe, you write, before wondering if "good afternoon" would be more appropriate. Oh well. There is tea and chocolate next to the bed.
You leave the note on your pillow and then slip into the shower. By the time you're out of the bathroom, the bed and the bedside table are empty; Chloe's curled up in a chair, wearing a fresh set of clothes and sipping on the tea you made.
"Not bad, cowboy," she says, toasting you, before sliding the chocolate across the table. "You can have it; I don't have much of a sweet tooth."
You barely stop the chocolate before it falls onto the floor.
"Alright," you reply, half-looking for the flower as you dig in your suitcase for fresh underwear. She's drinking the tea, she's giving back the chocolate, what happened to the flower?
You don't want to ask and she doesn't mention it, but when Chloe does the dishes from brunch ("no kitchen jokes, darling; you went out and bought the food, so it's only fair"), you spot the glass you'd used in the dishwasher already. Later that evening, something pink in the trash can catches your eye when you go to throw out an apple core, and - yeah, it's the flower in there, under the brochures and tickets Chloe tossed out after you went to the museum this afternoon. You're not sure why you're surprised.
You're a little annoyed that it stings.
Carefully, you fish it out and wipe it off with a damp paper towel. It's still mostly intact, so you place it between the pages of a spare notebook. You'll press it properly when you get back home and have a heavy book to put it in, but for now you can hide this at the bottom of your suitcase with your clothes weighing down on it.
For a few months you actually forget about the flower, but eventually you need that particular Ancient Greek dictionary and it's on the same page as the word you're looking up. It takes you a second to remember where this one was from, and then you wince: You walked out on her a couple of weeks ago, packed up your suitcase and left her sleeping in the hotel in Budapest before check out time, too much of a coward to even leave a note. Nothing really seemed appropriate, and there is no nice way to put I have commitment issues and this is too much. After that, you don't think a girl like Chloe (or - anyone, really) would ever come crawling back, and she hasn't called you or anything (though given the way she burns through phones, this might not mean much).
But you did have good times together.
You glue the flower next to her name and the first phone number she gave you in your journal.
"You know, it's actually kinda romantic down here."
"Alright... Where's the chocolate and flowers?"
"You never were a chocolate and flower kinda girl."
"Oh, you know me so well."
"Alright... Where's the chocolate and flowers?"
"You never were a chocolate and flower kinda girl."
"Oh, you know me so well."
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