So I'm Your Tech Support? (Sam Drake x Reader)

Puzzles and Priorities

"You alright kid?"

You tapped your pen against the desk, barely reading the document in front of you, more concerned with trying to ignore how Abbie appeared to be wearing Sam's shirt as she sprawled out on his bed.

You curtly nodded as you tried to decipher exactly what Victoire had meant by, "I wither at the prospect of the throng and am quite envious of your crew. How it must feel to have the sea air in your lungs, with a prospect of reward for your hard, honest work rather than merely lying on ottomans and lounges praying for a shift."

Abbie had thought it meant what it said, merely a noble woman complaining of her position and envious to the nth degree. Sam, however, was convinced she had hidden some clue within the phrases.

As much as you hated to admit it, you had to agree with Sam. The phrasing was just a tad too odd compared to her other letters to Olaf, most of them filled with praises of him and desires for his companionship.

"You understand me in a manner no one else has, and I treasure the moments we may be in each other's company," one letter had stated, and part of you wondered if you would ever find someone like that.

Abbie went to retrieve something from her room, Sam watching her appreciatively and you bristled.

"Can you focus on the letter please?" You muttered as you went back to trying to decipher it.

"How far did her trading empire go again?" Sam asked, running his thumb over his lighter.

"It was all over, she was the patron to a lot of sailors and adventurers," you retorted quietly, tucking your hair behind your ear as you continued to scan the letter. "Seems like as soon as one died, she replaced them. Kinda awful if you think about it."

"She was a woman in the seventeenth century, if she didn't keep complete control she was going to lose it. Couldn't waste time," Sam replied, and you sighed a little.

"Must have been stressful, keeping track of all this," you murmured as you looked at the complied list of all the men she acted as patron for.

"She likely had a bookkeeper to do it for her, can't imagine she would do all this herself," Sam replied as he ran a hand through his hair. "Though she doesn't appear to have employed any bookies in London...."

"What about her husbands? Maybe they did it for her?" You offered, and Sam shook his head as the door opened. "Forget something?"

"Should hope not, considering how much it cost to get here," an unfamiliar voice joked, causing Sam to look towards the doorway.

"Sorry. Clarke Baker, Abbie's supervisor," a man murmured as he stepped into view, and your breath caught in your throat.

"Oh," you breathed as you took in the familiar silver-tinged black locks styled just so, the mismatched eyes of blue and green behind a pair of black frames, wearing a charming grin.

"Who's this?" Clarke asked as he looked at you, making you aware of the fact you were in an old t-shirt with a stain or two, your hair dishevelled and your glasses on the tip of your nose. Felt invasive almost to have him see you like this...and you suspected you knew why.

"Y/N," you retorted with a small smile and a wave as you absolutely drank him in, noticing out of the corner Sam smirking.

"Ah, Abbie's assistant, nice to put a face to a name," he retorted with a grin as Abbie returned, shifting from foot to foot.

"I, uh, need to talk to you about the flight details," she declared, causing Clarke to give you an apologetic shrug before he followed her.

Your heart was thudding in your chest as you felt your cheeks flush, Sam continuing to smirk.