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greenstickered2014-06-12 08:10 pm
camalyng) wrote in greenstickered2014-06-12 08:10 pm
Entry tags:
Uncharted: By any other name
Title: By any other name
What: Uncharted fanfiction - short story
Rating: G
Words: ~1130
Summary: Some time after UC3, Nate and Elena discuss surnames. Call me but love, and I'll be new baptized.
Notes: I've had this idea for the last couple of years, but finally managed to put words to it after I made a throwaway joke about "Drake" being dropped from the title of Uncharted 4 meaning Nate's taken Elena's surname. I know that's jossed by Naughty Dog's description of the game but I don't caaaaare. Maybe they had this conversation and Nate was like, you know what, there are plenty of people named Drake who aren't related to Sir Francis, I can totes build this into something real.
As you approach your front door, Nate's phone starts ringing inside, and it doesn't stop by the time you enter and lock the door behind you. You can't help but chuckle to yourself: Either he's left his phone at home (again), or he's caught up in something else and doesn't even hear it. In case it's the latter, you pick up the phone, tap the display, and call out, "It's Vivian. Do you want me to answer it?"
"No," Nate yells back from the bedroom, judging by the direction. "She's probably just lecturing me about using my real passport again."
You grin, and reject the call before going to your room. The floor's a mess of his fake passports and IDs, and in the middle of it is Nate, staring down at it all. Between that and the phone call from his travel agent, you have to ask: "Going somewhere?"
He shakes his head, but doesn't look up from the paper work. When you pick your way through and clear a space opposite him to sit down, you finally see his face - he's frowning slightly, and looks more serious than he has in a while.
"You okay?" you add, more gently this time.
Nate nods. Calling him out on this blatant lie probably wouldn't help, so instead you wait for him to say something. After a moment, he picks up the passport right in front of him - American - and flips it to the photo page.
"This is the most real passport I have," he says, then pauses. "Well, it's based off the first fake birth certificate Sully got me, which says I was born in St. Petersberg."
"You're a fake Russian?" you ask, trying to keep your tone light for now.
"The one in Florida, but that's not the point," he says, offering you the passport. "Look at the name."
You take it and skim - ah. "Nathan Drake," you murmur.
Nate nods, thankful that you finally get it. "I built my whole life on this name that isn't mine because I thought I needed it to be someone - I don't need that lie any more, I don't want to use it any more."
Setting the passport down on your lap, you run your fingers in thought over his signature. You hadn't dared ask him back when he first confessed, but it seems to fit now. "What was your real surname?"
Anger and hurt flash together in his eyes, and he shakes his head. "I don't want to use the name of someone who abandoned me, either."
"Okay," you say quickly, reaching out to touch his shoulder. "Okay."
He deflates, leaning into your touch, and closes his eyes. "But I don't know what else I can use."
You've got your own share of fake identities for undercover investigations (if not as extensive a collection as Nate's), but you always chose those names on whether they made sense for your supposed background. You have more distance between you and the names than Nate does, and the name you think of as you is one you've always felt connected to, one you couldn't think of deliberately rejecting. You wouldn't know where to start picking another name.
"Well, do you like any of these names?" you ask, gesturing around you. There's another American passport near your knee, and you pick it up. "I've always thought Merrill was nice."
He looks around, then opens a Colombian passport for Nathan Antonio García Hernandez. "When I first got to Mexico, I met this woman who had a son my age. She said I looked just like him - she'd sent him to cross the border three years before I showed up. Sully thought I was just pulling Hernandez out of my ass, but it was her surname."
"There's one idea." You lean back, the mention of Sully reminding you of what Nate had said about someone abandoning him. "Speaking of Sully."
Nate stares at you for a moment, confused, and then laughs. "Nathan Sullivan? Sully would laugh me out of the country."
You swat him in the arm. "No, I'm serious! He's never abandoned you. You're basically family."
"It rhymes," he says scornfully, though his expression, despite himself, is more thoughtful than his tone. "And don't say Hzujak, I think Jada would punch me."
"She'll punch you anyway," you point out. "You're very punchable."
Nate rubs his face. "Don't remind me."
You smile, and start arranging his documents into piles to clear up some space. It's still a difficult situation that you still don't have an answer to, but Nate's at least looking happier now than when you first came in, and now that you know what's on his mind, you can help him work on it. Since he came back from Iram, the two of you have been trying to be more open about your problems so you can tackle them together. He's going to have to find his own truth to go by, but you can help him look.
Together. Why didn't you think of this sooner?
"What about Fisher?" you suggest, hoping it's coming out light and carefree when you feel the exact opposite.
Nate's mouth falls open just a little. "Your...?"
The words spill out of your mouth as they come to you because you're scared you might lose your nerve if you stop to think. "You built Drake on a lie. But the two of us - that's true, that's real, and it's something we're building together. The name Fisher is a truth we can build together too."
"Nate Fisher," he tests, watching you for a reaction. "Nathan Fisher."
"It doesn't rhyme," you say, and he laughs, but the small smile that lingers on his face is contemplative rather than just amused. "And Dad will love you: He's been kind of worried the name wouldn't make it to the next generation since my sister didn't give it to her son."
"I'll think about it," he says, his voice somewhat strained. You must look more disappointed than you mean to, because he takes your hand and adds, "I like it. It's the best idea so far."
"I mean it," you stress. "We're a family; I signed onto that when I married you. I'd be happy for your name to reflect that."
He nods. "Thank you."
Soft and sweet, he leans forward and kisses you, and you follow it up with a kiss on his forehead as you get up.
"Well, I'll go figure out dinner," you say. "You gonna put these away?"
Nate looks around, and judging from the way he blanches, it's probably the first time he's seeing it for the mess that it is. "It looks like less when it's in the box!"
What: Uncharted fanfiction - short story
Rating: G
Words: ~1130
Summary: Some time after UC3, Nate and Elena discuss surnames. Call me but love, and I'll be new baptized.
Notes: I've had this idea for the last couple of years, but finally managed to put words to it after I made a throwaway joke about "Drake" being dropped from the title of Uncharted 4 meaning Nate's taken Elena's surname. I know that's jossed by Naughty Dog's description of the game but I don't caaaaare. Maybe they had this conversation and Nate was like, you know what, there are plenty of people named Drake who aren't related to Sir Francis, I can totes build this into something real.
As you approach your front door, Nate's phone starts ringing inside, and it doesn't stop by the time you enter and lock the door behind you. You can't help but chuckle to yourself: Either he's left his phone at home (again), or he's caught up in something else and doesn't even hear it. In case it's the latter, you pick up the phone, tap the display, and call out, "It's Vivian. Do you want me to answer it?"
"No," Nate yells back from the bedroom, judging by the direction. "She's probably just lecturing me about using my real passport again."
You grin, and reject the call before going to your room. The floor's a mess of his fake passports and IDs, and in the middle of it is Nate, staring down at it all. Between that and the phone call from his travel agent, you have to ask: "Going somewhere?"
He shakes his head, but doesn't look up from the paper work. When you pick your way through and clear a space opposite him to sit down, you finally see his face - he's frowning slightly, and looks more serious than he has in a while.
"You okay?" you add, more gently this time.
Nate nods. Calling him out on this blatant lie probably wouldn't help, so instead you wait for him to say something. After a moment, he picks up the passport right in front of him - American - and flips it to the photo page.
"This is the most real passport I have," he says, then pauses. "Well, it's based off the first fake birth certificate Sully got me, which says I was born in St. Petersberg."
"You're a fake Russian?" you ask, trying to keep your tone light for now.
"The one in Florida, but that's not the point," he says, offering you the passport. "Look at the name."
You take it and skim - ah. "Nathan Drake," you murmur.
Nate nods, thankful that you finally get it. "I built my whole life on this name that isn't mine because I thought I needed it to be someone - I don't need that lie any more, I don't want to use it any more."
Setting the passport down on your lap, you run your fingers in thought over his signature. You hadn't dared ask him back when he first confessed, but it seems to fit now. "What was your real surname?"
Anger and hurt flash together in his eyes, and he shakes his head. "I don't want to use the name of someone who abandoned me, either."
"Okay," you say quickly, reaching out to touch his shoulder. "Okay."
He deflates, leaning into your touch, and closes his eyes. "But I don't know what else I can use."
You've got your own share of fake identities for undercover investigations (if not as extensive a collection as Nate's), but you always chose those names on whether they made sense for your supposed background. You have more distance between you and the names than Nate does, and the name you think of as you is one you've always felt connected to, one you couldn't think of deliberately rejecting. You wouldn't know where to start picking another name.
"Well, do you like any of these names?" you ask, gesturing around you. There's another American passport near your knee, and you pick it up. "I've always thought Merrill was nice."
He looks around, then opens a Colombian passport for Nathan Antonio García Hernandez. "When I first got to Mexico, I met this woman who had a son my age. She said I looked just like him - she'd sent him to cross the border three years before I showed up. Sully thought I was just pulling Hernandez out of my ass, but it was her surname."
"There's one idea." You lean back, the mention of Sully reminding you of what Nate had said about someone abandoning him. "Speaking of Sully."
Nate stares at you for a moment, confused, and then laughs. "Nathan Sullivan? Sully would laugh me out of the country."
You swat him in the arm. "No, I'm serious! He's never abandoned you. You're basically family."
"It rhymes," he says scornfully, though his expression, despite himself, is more thoughtful than his tone. "And don't say Hzujak, I think Jada would punch me."
"She'll punch you anyway," you point out. "You're very punchable."
Nate rubs his face. "Don't remind me."
You smile, and start arranging his documents into piles to clear up some space. It's still a difficult situation that you still don't have an answer to, but Nate's at least looking happier now than when you first came in, and now that you know what's on his mind, you can help him work on it. Since he came back from Iram, the two of you have been trying to be more open about your problems so you can tackle them together. He's going to have to find his own truth to go by, but you can help him look.
Together. Why didn't you think of this sooner?
"What about Fisher?" you suggest, hoping it's coming out light and carefree when you feel the exact opposite.
Nate's mouth falls open just a little. "Your...?"
The words spill out of your mouth as they come to you because you're scared you might lose your nerve if you stop to think. "You built Drake on a lie. But the two of us - that's true, that's real, and it's something we're building together. The name Fisher is a truth we can build together too."
"Nate Fisher," he tests, watching you for a reaction. "Nathan Fisher."
"It doesn't rhyme," you say, and he laughs, but the small smile that lingers on his face is contemplative rather than just amused. "And Dad will love you: He's been kind of worried the name wouldn't make it to the next generation since my sister didn't give it to her son."
"I'll think about it," he says, his voice somewhat strained. You must look more disappointed than you mean to, because he takes your hand and adds, "I like it. It's the best idea so far."
"I mean it," you stress. "We're a family; I signed onto that when I married you. I'd be happy for your name to reflect that."
He nods. "Thank you."
Soft and sweet, he leans forward and kisses you, and you follow it up with a kiss on his forehead as you get up.
"Well, I'll go figure out dinner," you say. "You gonna put these away?"
Nate looks around, and judging from the way he blanches, it's probably the first time he's seeing it for the mess that it is. "It looks like less when it's in the box!"