Uncharted (duck verse): Drake's Flock

[camalyng]

Title: Drake's Flock
What: Uncharted fanfiction - short story
Rating: PG (language)
Words: ~1800
Summary: Harry and Chloe and duckling makes a duck rearing catastrophe.
Notes: AU where Harry lives or comes back or something and nobody really knows whether Chloe's in a relationship with him and/or Charlie or neither. Based on a Plurk conversation with flyingmechanical so most of the plot and some of the dialogue is on her. Duck named by my dad.
Related works: rhiannon42 suggested Chloe call Elena for her pet-sitting needs and I responded. flyingmechanical wrote a continuation.


"What the hell is that?"

"It's a Molotov cocktail, Harry," says Chloe, setting the box down on the couch (your! nice! couch!) with an eyeroll. "What do you think it is?"

It is actually the softest, fluffiest baby duck you've ever seen (not that you make a habit of looking at ducklings), but more importantly: "What is it doing in my flat?"

"I can't find a hotel that allows pets, and you live near a pond," she says, and you pause because pet means some measure of commitment and she's apparently making that here, not at Charlie's place or at some new place of her own.

Commitment isn't like her, really.

"Quack," says the duck.

"How did you even end up with a pet in the first place?"

Chloe takes the duckling out of the box and releases it onto the floor. "Charlie's niece, Bryony, has a pet duck. It laid eggs, they hatched, and she wanted me to have one."

You're not jealous that Chloe sometimes goes with Charlie to Cutter family events, often enough that some of Charlie's younger relatives call her 'Aunt Chloe'. You're not, and unwanted pets like this are exactly why.

"Anyway," she adds, picking up the duck and placing him away from your floor lamp cord before you can tell her to; it scrambles towards you instead. "I need to go buy Juan some supplies."

"Juan?" you repeat, because this is the least Mexican looking duckling you've ever seen.

"Duck mum's name was Jemima and Bryony wanted all the kids' names to start with J too," she sighs. "Can you look after him while I go shopping? I'll get the groceries too."

You stare balefully at Juan, who only quacks in reply.

"Thanks," says Chloe, patting you on the cheek, and it leaves you so stunned that by the time you think to protest, she's gone.


It's not so bad at first. Juan cheerfully explores your flat and mostly manages to keep out from underfoot and also keep from getting hopelessly tangled up in cables. He quacks happily at your fish, but it's not like he can reach them so you don't shoo him off. When you turn on the TV, he stares up at the screen in fascination.

But then he starts trying to interact with the characters. You scoop him up and plop him onto the couch to keep him in one place but he just starts quacking and trying to climb you, which, bloody hell.

You dump Juan back into his box and throw in a whole loaf of bread to try and shut him up. It actually works.


"What did you do?"

You glance up at Chloe, who's glaring at you with her hands full of -

Juan wasn't that fat when she brought him in, was he?

"He wouldn't shut up," you reply. "I think he was hungry, so I gave him some bread."

Chloe grits her teeth. "How much bread?"

"Quack," says Juan.

"A few slices?" you lie.

"Are you trying to kill him?" she demands. "Bread is one of the worst things you can feed ducks! It can swell up inside them and then they choke!"

"I've learned not to try and kill your things!" you protest, your hands up before you really process it happening. "Ex-boyfriends, ducks..." Charlie's still alive and you're not even sure what's happening there! "And how did you even know that, anyway?"

"I had pet ducks when I was eight," she replies, possibly starting to calm down a bit. "Jesus, you should have texted me if he was hungry!"

"I'm out of credit."

"Of course you are." With one hand she starts lining the box with towels. "Look, I bought some starter feed, but basically just don't feed him bread, processed foods, or dairy."

You groan, and flop back onto the couch. "What else do I need to know?"


The one thing she doesn't tell you is how to make him leave you alone. He keeps waddling up to you, fluffing himself (he's so fat now that it's harder than it sounds and actually just looks kind of pathetic), quacking, and then staring at you expectantly. If Chloe's his mum, you're clearly his fridge.

"Quack."

You ignore him for a good five minutes before he quacks again.

"Look, I'll give you some -"

"You've fed him enough," Chloe says sharply, without looking up.

Rolling your eyes, you turn Juan around and try to make him go to her instead.

"I think I found us a job," she adds.

She shoves you her tablet, and you skim the e-mail. "This is a three person job."

"Charlie said he's not doing anything next week."

"Okay," you say grudgingly, because sure, the three of you work pretty well together without any awkward murder attempts. "And Juan?"

Not that you care about the bird or anything, but the last time Chloe thought something of hers was dead at your hands she didn't speak to you for a week, and this job's going to take you out of town for a couple of days.

She purses her lips as she contemplates the duckling, who's turned back around to try and jump up onto the couch and join you again.

"I think I know someone," she says carefully. "But he'd have to come here."


"Don't you dare eat my ice cream," you say, blocking your doorway. "Or any of my food, for that matter. In fact, if I find anything missing when we get back -"

"I don't want your crap, Flynn," Nate says, rolling his eyes. "I'm just here for the duck. Juan, really?"

Chloe shoves you aside and lets him in. "I didn't name him."

Nate grins. "I'm gonna teach him Spanish."

You fold your arms as Chloe introduces Nate to Juan and lectures him on duck care. Things are still... uneasy between you and Nate, and you generally try to avoid being on the same continent as him (apparently he's in London for a job). Chloe doesn't like leaving you two alone in a room together, probably thinks you'll murder each other, but you don't want to any more, not really. You just want your friend back. Nate is pretty fun when he's not being hypocritically holier than thou, he makes the last mental leaps you sometimes can't manage, and it'd be really nice to have someone to bitch to about your current love triangle bullshit with the same bloody girl.

"We'll be back in three days tops," she finishes off. "I'll pay the rest if he's still alive."

"Wait," you say. "You're paying him?"

"He's also housesitting for you," she says patiently. "You've got fish to feed too."

"I overfed them this morning," you reply, because you do not trust Nathan Drake to look after your fish. (If Chloe trusts him to look after a much needier animal, that's her loss.) "They'll be fine."

She rolls her eyes. "Let's just go. Bye, Nate, Juan."

Chloe kisses Juan on the head. Being jealous of a duck is a new low for you.


The job goes off without a hitch. Maybe one day Chloe will stop being surprised that Charlie's not in jail by the end of a job, but until then, you're going to let him come around the corner to the getaway vehicle first. It's a small price to pay for trust and the guiltily grateful smile she flashes you, and Charlie has the grace to never ask about it.

When you get home, Nate immediately thrusts Juan into Chloe's hands.

"I am never ducksitting again."

As Chloe checks the stupid bird over for injuries and you check that your fish are still alive (they are), Charlie grins. "What, did he annoy you while you were reading?"

"He started chewing on my three hundred-year-old papers!" Nate says indignantly.

Both you and Charlie start laughing. At the sound of your voice, the duckling looks up at you, tries very hard to fluff up, fails because Chloe's got a good grip on him, and then just quacks at you and stares.

"At least it didn't kill him," Chloe says, setting Juan into his box and getting out her wallet. "But alright, I suppose Charlie can have a go ducksitting if we just need two people."

Charlie raises an eyebrow. "And what am I supposed to do with a duck, bright eyes?"

"Well," you say. (Ugh, 'bright eyes' is so smooth; you really need to come up with a decent pet name yourself.) "Don't feed it an entire loaf of bread, for starters."

"I wasn't planning to, Flynn," he says, while Chloe rounds on you, eyes wide and angry.

"You said it was a few slices! Oh my word, between you and Nate it's a miracle he's still alive."

"Obesity kind of suits the little guy," Charlie offers.

"It's not about obesity," Chloe groans.

"Whatever it's about, I'm out of here," says Nate, finally. "That bird is a terror."

As the door slams, you realize that's the first thing you and Nate have agreed on since you decided that you could no longer live with Lazarevic's douchebaggery.

Chloe divvies up the pay because she has a good head for numbers, and soon enough it's just you, her, the duck, and the fish. After refilling Juan's water dish, she leans on the couch next to you and sighs.

"Pets," she says.

"You're the one who brought him home," you point out. Technically she brought him to someone else's home, but you're starting to wonder if she thinks of your place as home when she's in London. She also has clothes, weapons, and papers at Charlie's, though, so it's a little unclear.

"She wouldn't take no for an answer, and it turns out I'm rubbish at saying no to eight-year-olds with animals."

"You could let him go," you suggest. "Just release him by that pond down the road. I've seen ducks there."

"He thinks we're his flock now," she replies. "And he's too young to go swimming, especially with other ducks around."

"They won't give him swimming lessons?"

"They might drown him."

You fall silent, only for Juan to interrupt it with a quack.

"It's nice," Chloe finally says, "knowing that something is alive because of me, and it will never hurt me or anyone else I care about. Barring biting incidents."

"Chloe," you blurt out, but she just shakes her head. You use the moment to regroup.

"Nate's right: He is a little shit."

"Harry -"

"But he's your little shit," you go on. "And he's a tenant of this flat now. So."

She nods, starting to understand.

"So he'd better contribute," you add, and she cracks a smile. "I expect that heat lamp is going to make my power bill skyrocket this month."

"Thanks, Harry," she says, lying down so that her head's in your lap, and you let a tentative stroke of her hair serve as you're welcome.

Juan quacks.