The house seemed too quiet. It was eerie. Sam laid on his back on the futon he had started calling home, still unfolded into a bed in the Drake's spare room. He rubbed his face rather violently, trying to halt the tears he could feel burning behind his eyes. The silence was driving him crazy and it had only been a couple hours. His brother talked constantly, always cracking a joke. This home had never been devoid of laughter until recently, and Sam hadn't truly appreciated it until it was too late. Never again would he hear Nathan's resounding laughter or another wise-crack pass his lips.
None of those thoughts resonated with Sam the way that he felt they should. If he was grieving, he didn't know it. All he felt was anger and betrayal, and his brother's death was the fuel to the fire. It frustrated him to no end that Elena and Cassie had none of the drive he had. As far as he could tell, they had both shut down mentally.
On the contrary, Sam had a job to do; justice to serve. As far as he could tell, they were useless to him. He itched to get planning. There was no time to waste. Because this wasn't the end; it wasn't a failed mission with no way forward. There were still people out there who needed to pay the price. He couldn't let Nathan's sacrifice be in vain.
At the moment, taking down Charles Marlowe seemed about as daunting as stepping out into the kitchen, which is to say, very. Several continents away, Marlowe was probably still plotting Sam's death. Only a couple walls over, Elena was also almost certainly formulating his untimely demise. The latter seemed like a much more real threat. Sam rubbed his face harder.
And then there was the matter of Elijah. The names for him that ran through Sam's mind; traitor, weasel, snake, a modern-day Judas Iscariot...and those were the tame ones.
With a sigh, he rolled onto his side and looked at the clock. It was nearly dinnertime and he didn't know if Elena planned to cook, but he did know that all three of them needed to eat. He felt like, out of the three of them, only he was fully functional, and he wondered briefly how long it would take for the initial shock to wear off. Currently, his numbness to the situation kept him going. The thought of reality striking terrified Sam.
He dragged himself off the futon and shuffled down the hallway to the kitchen. The room was dark and empty, so he flipped on the lights and started opening cupboards and the fridge, searching for anything he could cook with. In just a little while he had boxed mac n' cheese and frozen hot dogs boiling on the stove, and a sheet pan of vegetables in the oven. He mindlessly stirred the pasta and relaxed slightly, feeling just a bit of pride at managing to get a hot meal on the table for his family.
Sam almost jumped out of his skin when Elena appeared beside him, pulling some dishes out to set the table. She didn't even look at him, let alone speak to him. He watched her set out three plates and bowls, and then headed for the water glasses. In the midst of pulling a third one out, her hand slipped and the glass crashed to the ground, shattering instantly. She gave a small cry of alarm and frantically crouched down, trying to pick up the larger pieces with her bare hands. Sam moved quickly, grabbing the garbage can and hurrying to her side.
"Careful, you'll cut yourself," he heard his voice say. He crouched beside her and put a hand on her shoulder, hoping to guide her away so he could clean it up in a safer manner. He felt her shoulder quiver and Elena sniffed.
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Uncharted: A Thief's Legacy
FanfictionTwenty years after the events of Uncharted: A Thief's End, the Drake family and Victor Sullivan are doing their best to live the normal life. However, after the Drake's suffer a terrible loss, Nathan and Sam find themselves the target of a rival co...