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Chapter Text

Chloe Frazer had never been so utterly bored in her entire goddamned life.

When her good friend and occasional co-worker-slash-partner-in-crime Nathan Drake had called her up some time ago and asked if she wanted in on a heist—in Italy, no less, bloody fancy, that—Chloe had been all for it. Who wouldn’t? Italy, mate. Been a while since her last gig, besides, and Nate had offered a decent rate for what sounded like not much work. Stupid to say no, really. 

‘Course, how’d that American saying go again; too much of a good thing, or something like that?

Yeah.

Fast-forward a couple weeks, and now, here Chloe was, in honest-to-goddamned Italy, at a lavish, stupidly-expensive auction house filled to the rafters with hundreds of priceless artifacts, ancient relics, and untold treasures, and what, exactly, was she doing?

Oh, yes. She was on watch. 

Ha! Talk about a waste of talent.

Dimly, she could hear the others blathering on about something or another in her four-way earpiece but ignored it as best she could, a bit resentfully on her part. Little details like quickly scrapped plans, electronic locks, necessary keycards, and a brotherly-competitive round of pickpocketing skills didn’t really concern her, not when she’d been demoted to bloody backup—according to Nate, Chloe wasn’t supposed to move from her spot unless, quote, something bad happened. 

(As this was a Drake-planned heist, Chloe was giving it another half-hour, tops.)

(Also, Chloe hands-down would’ve won a pickpocketing competition any day of the week and twice on Sunday. But that was just her opinion. And, as noted before, her opinion didn’t currently matter in the least.)

So, tuning out the chatter in her ear, waiting for disaster to inevitably strike while sitting high and pretty on the second floor mezzanine positioned just above and in good view of the milling auction floor, Chloe concentrated not so much on scoping the crowd for visible guns or suspicious behavior but on sipping her bubbly drink and watching people just for the hell of it. 

A bit off to one side, she could see, in the massive room’s far corner, the distant shapes of Nate and Sully, heads huddled close, arguing about something, Nate’s brother lingering beside them. Chloe narrowed her eyes at him, still a little skeptical. Sam was… interesting. Chloe hadn't the faintest Nate had himself a long lost, believed-dead older brother, though, apparently, neither did Nate ‘til recently, so go figure. 

Still, Nate could’ve at least mentioned his existence just once in their entire several-year-long business-slash-personal-on-and-off-again-relationship. Left a rotten taste in Chloe’s mouth, just thinking about it. Like she was dumb, for not knowing. Not to mention that the second after introducing them, only a few days ago, Nate had seen fit to warn Chloe not to tell Elena about anything they were doing, including mentioning Sam’s very existence. Really, that should have been Chloe’s first warning sign to steer clear of this shady operation entirely. 

But, no. She needed the money, and felt a bit like she had to watch Nate’s back, too, so she’d come on—but rest assured she’d be keeping a close eye not only on Nate, but also his so-called big brother for as long as this partnership between the three—or was it four, with Sully?—of them lasted.

He was okay, so far, this Sam fellow. A little chatty, a lot cocky, but everyone had their flaws. Chloe didn’t trust him. Or, not yet at least. Only reason she was really here was for Nate (and again, the money, but who was counting?), who she owed for several past jobs, and by extension, Elena. Couldn’t let sunshine’s idiot husband get himself killed, especially when he was bloody lying to her about it. That—the lying, the deception and cover up—was what burned Chloe the most, but it wasn't like she could exactly argue with the “boss.” She sure didn’t agree with it, though, not at all. A white lie here and there was fine by her, but this was Nate’s wife they were talking about, and Chloe’s good friend. This could end their marriage if it went bad, and—

Chloe made herself stop. Took another sip of her drink. She wasn’t being paid for relationship advice. She’d kept her mouth shut so far, though who knew how much longer she could go without tearing Nate a new one about all this. Maybe after the auction she’d give him a piece of her mind. You know, if the night didn’t go to shit. 

Still feeling leery about, well, everything, Chloe went back to people-watching, and immediately honed in on a new figure in the crowd, entering from a side doorway. A woman. Early-to-mid thirties, maybe. Not terribly tall, or made up, yet something about her was eye-catching, compared to those around her. 

Could be her face—closed off and stern, but undeniably beautiful, a rigid jaw framed by thick dark whorls of hair, soft lips just barely curled at the bottom in a subtle scowl, a clear disdain for the frippery around them—or her body—trim but solid, and Jesus, look at those arms, they were literally to die for; Chloe felt faint just from her seat—or perhaps it was the general aura she pervaded, even from all the way up here—not menacing or hostile, but something powerful and unbroken. Like forged iron. Not one to be messed with, her, Chloe could tell at once. A real powerhouse if she ever saw one.

Chloe quirked an eyebrow, intrigued. She sat forward, and propped her elbows on the mezzanine railing. The woman had been joined by a greasy-looking fellow in a white suit, hair slicked back and a fake-as-hell smile plastered on his smarmy face. Clearly, they were working together, pointing out things or people in the crowd, heads lowered in private conversation. Chloe watched, feeling a bit like a bold (or maybe foolhardy) fly on the wall, spying on a hungry spider.

The man said something, then joined the milling crowd, shaking hands with other men in equally extravagant suits, making jokes, laughing, clapping shoulders and the like. The woman stayed behind, hands on her hips, shoulders stiff. Chloe sipped her drink, eyed the woman’s arse appreciatively—and then stiffened as the woman turned slightly to the side, glanced directly up at the mezzanine, and spotted her.

Their eyes met with unerring precision. Chloe felt a thrill, like someone playing with fire, about to drop a lit match into a tinderbox. Or a bloody jug of petrol. Brazen, she grinned down at the woman, raising her half-finished drink slightly in greeting, and, feeling a little cheeky, winked. 

The woman didn’t react other than to blink slowly. Chloe abruptly felt as though she was being weighed, cut and measured, though she wasn’t quite sure what for. Disposal, or dinner? Her smile was decidedly not returned, and after only a few more seconds, the woman, expressionless as before, turned and disappeared into the crowd.

Chloe chuckled, watching the hypnotic sway of her hips as she went. Maybe—if everything else went well with her night—she would find her again after the auction and buy her a drink.

Five minutes later, as she was finishing her glass and glancing about for another, her earpiece crackled to life; Sully and the boys were arguing, again. Chloe upped the volume—she’d lowered it, earlier, annoyed by their boy’s-club banter—and cocked her head to listen.

“—dine Ross?” Nate was saying. “Wait, doesn’t she own that army-for-hire? What’s it called? Coastline?”

"Shoreline,” replied Sully.

"Yeah. Right.”

They went on, but Chloe was sort of bored with it already, and lowered the volume back down. Not her department, she’d drawl to Nate if he complained about her lack of interest or personal input later—she was on watch, remember? 

And watch she would. She flagged down another waiter, took a drink with a smile. Other than the possibility of everything going topside up and maybe (worst-case) getting shot, this was shaping up to be a rather pleasant evening, and Chloe was in no hurry to rush through it. She was in bloody Italy, after all. Why not take the time to enjoy herself?

—

So, change of plans. Again.

Something bad had, in fact, happened, as Chloe had so rightly predicted. It hadn’t even take the full half-hour she’d given for it to arrive. 

The lot number had been moved up for the cross or crucifix or whatever Nate and his brother wanted so badly, and as a result, the plan had been revised not once, not twice, but three times in as many minutes, and if it happened one more time, Chloe was going to bail, seriously. 

They had the cross now, sure, but just barely. Nate had improvised and cut the power to the building so Sam could snatch it and run soon as the lights went out, interrupting a bluster of a bidding war between Sully and that white-suited sleazeball from earlier. Now the main hall was locked down as well-armed and itchy-fingered security guards searched for the missing artifact. Sam was waiting somewhere outside, out of sight, while Sully was temporarily stuck inside the auction room with the rest of the crowd, though they were confident he wouldn’t be implicated in the theft.

Luckily for herself, Chloe had been in the loo at the time of the power outage and immediate lockdown thereafter—a chance occurrence she couldn’t so much credit to her wits than her alcohol-filled bladder—so, in the meantime, she had relatively free reign of the quiet back hallways, which was good, because another “something bad” had indeed happened, and it was up to her to fix it; a promotion from watch duty, it seemed.

Only a few minutes after cutting the power, Nate had gone radio silent. With her other two compatriots stuck where they were for the time being, it was now up to Chloe to hunt Nate down and make sure everything was okay. 

(Again, as this was a plan written up by not just one but two Drakes, Chloe was quite sure everything was, in fact, not okay, not in the slightest, because that was just how things went when a bloody Drake was involved.)

Moving quickly and effectively—which, yes, she was perfectly capable of when she wanted—Chloe began a sweep of the relatively unmanned premises, ducking her head into unlocked rooms and closets along the way. So far, she’d seen no sign of her friend.

“Any—hing?” said a worried Sully in her ear. His voice was crackly. Reception here was bloody awful. 

“Not yet. I—” More static erupted in her ear. Annoyed, Chloe turned the volume down not for the first time that evening, sighed, and kept searching.

"Nate?” she called out in a low hiss, opening another door. Empty. She sighed, moved further down the dimly lit hallway. She was fairly sure no one was supposed to be back here, and she didn’t like the idea of getting caught snooping by an overzealous security guard. Still, she’d managed to talk herself out of worse. Bring it on, at this point, hey? Add some excitement to her night. She’d refreshed her drink on the way to the bathroom, too, and so had a half-full fizzing champagne flute in hand, and if she needed to throw it at someone or drop it in a bout of fake drunkenness and claim she was hopelessly lost if confronted for her trespassing then, well, she was quite prepared.

She entered another empty, low-lit hallway and heard a suspicious thud. She perked and followed the muffled sounds to a closed door, tried the knob. Locked. She listened again—and heard a sudden shattering of wood and a familiar groan of pain.

Bingo.

Glancing up and down the hallway—clear—she slipped a bobby pin from her hair, put her drink down temporarily on a cigar table nearby, and picked the lock in record time. In quick succession, she slipped the bobby pin back into her hair, reclaimed her drink, and stepped casually into the room, shutting the door firmly behind her.

“Nate, what—” she began, and then nearly dropped her drink on the rug. Her mouth fell open. She goggled.

Nate was on the floor on the other side of the room, sprawled in the middle of a broken pile of what used to be a side-table of some sort. Standing threateningly above him was the gorgeous woman from earlier, only now she’d lost her shoes and her beautiful face was drawn up in a fierce, angry scowl. Those arms of hers were even more impressive up close. Chloe didn’t even try not to stare.

“Chloe!” Nate gasped from the floor. Chloe gulped at the panic in his voice, barely smothered by a fake current of his usual roguish wit. Trying for tough, Nate? Really? Nate groaned, rolled over onto his front. “You’re just in time for the party,” he laughed weakly. Which, basically, was Nate-speak for Help!

“Uh,” said Chloe, just as the other woman noticed the interruption and rounded on her. Chloe froze, a little lost and a lot turned on. “Hi?”

The woman gave her a slow, searing up and down, frowning thunderously, then seemed to recognize her from the mezzanine. “You,” she said blankly. Chloe tried for a charming smile. The woman didn’t even blink. “Leave. Now,” she snarled. Chloe’s knees went weak at her accent. “Unless you want a turn.”

And… was it wrong that Chloe sort of did?

"Chloe, would you do something already?” said Nate from the floor. He’d barely gotten his legs under him in an awkward crawl, let alone try to stand.

"Right,” Chloe scoffed, and took a considering sip of her drink for her rapidly drying throat. This woman was far too attractive for her own good. Or, for Chloe’s own good, maybe. That glare was doing things to her. She motioned down at herself and the red sheath she’d picked out for tonight, not to mention the three-inch heels. “Not in this dress, mate.” 

Nate yelped in protest, though really, so far as Chloe could tell, he didn’t look terribly hurt—banged up, sure, but getting tossed around a bit might do him some good. Hell, he might even deserve it a little, what with lying to his wife and all about this whole operation. Chloe took another sip of her drink, and decided she’d only step in if he got into real trouble—she wasn’t an arsehole. For now, though, she’d settle with just watching. That was why she was here, wasn’t it? 

“Don’t mind me, love,” she drawled to the woman, and winked like she had on the mezzanine.

No response. Not even a blink. The other woman continued to glower for a long moment; then, as though finally deciding Chloe wasn’t an immediate threat, she flexed those glorious arms of hers and warned lowly, “Move, and you’ll be next.” 

Chloe shivered at that and replied, “Promise?” just slightly louder than under her breath. 

Ignoring her, the woman returned to Nate, who’d just managed to shakily stand. The second he straightened up, she kicked him so hard in the chest Chloe could hear from across the room the harsh burst of air shooting out of his lungs, and winced sympathetically. Nate flailed backwards into a bookcase, slamming a few books loose and barely keeping his balance before tottering back to his feet like one of those punching dolls you could wallop on again and again and never fell over.

Nate gathered himself admirably, fists rising in a loose boxer’s stance, trying for a cheeky one-liner about being jet-lagged, and was cut off by a high-kick to the face. He recoiled, swung, missed. Chloe could barely watch what happened next, and yet she couldn’t look away, like a trainwreck. She was hypnotized, her mouth still hanging slightly open, eyes wide. Nate could fight, sure, but this woman—this woman made it a bloody artform.

She moved like… like something liquid yet metal at the same time. As if she was perfectly aware of each of her limbs, every subtle shift of her body, and under her control, they became a weapon capable of inflicting extreme violence. When Nate threw a punch or a kick, she was already dodging, as though she could read his mind. She was so fast even Chloe could barely keep up, just watching. And she made it look as if doing it—thrashing a grown man who Chloe’d seen take on three guys at once and walk away the winner—was the easiest thing in the world.

It was, in a word, glorious.

(The fact that it was her dear friend Nate who was currently on the business end of those fists was besides the point. For now.)

Something tickled in Chloe’s ear, and she jerked, then realized it was her earpiece and turned up the volume just in time for Sully to shout, “Chloe!”

“Ow!” she replied. “Christ, Sully. Relax.”

“Chloe,” Sully repeated, at a lower volume. His voice was scratchy with poor reception. “Outside—I—ere are you? You—ind Nate?”

"Did I find Nate? Er,” said Chloe, just as a bookcase toppled over with a resounding crash. Jesus. Sure, she’d found Nate. Found him getting his arse absolutely destroyed, while the mystery woman doing the aforementioned destroying had barely raised a sweat. “Yep. Sure did.” She sipped her drink again. 

“—the hell—that racket?” Sully asked.

"Oh, that’s Nate,” Chloe said succinctly. “Getting his arse kicked.”

"What?—ow—?”

"How?” Chloe laughed. “Someone’s beating him up, that’s how,” she said conversationally.

Sully swore. “By—god—mn who?”

“Beats me. Bloody gorgeous woman.” Chloe bit her lip, dragging her eyes up and down the stranger as she wrestled Nate against yet another bookcase. “South African. Arms for days. Red top—”

“Nad—e Ross—beating up Nate? Christ—”

Chloe almost spat her drink out. “Sorry—that’s Nadine Ross? The one you were talking about in the—”

At the sound of her name, Nadine stopped and looked over. Nate seemed to think that was his chance for a bit of a retaliatory ambush, and dove at her in a wild tackle. Nadine sidestepped him, kicked him in the head, and slammed him into yet another bookcase. Throttling him by the throat with her wrist, she snarled, “Where is the artifact?”

Oh, so that’s what she was after. Well. Too bad Sam had it. Nate grit his teeth valiantly enough and didn’t give his brother up. Watching, Chloe couldn't help but imagine herself and Nate with their places swapped—this Nadine woman pinning and snarling at her instead—and drained the rest of her glass in a thick gulp, throat burning from the bubbles.

"Okay, okay. It’s in my back pocket,” lied Nate, and when Nadine tried for it—Chloe was a bit surprised she believed him, just like that, but perhaps this was her first encounter with a silver-tongued Drake—he headbutted her. Chloe winced, but not for Nadine. Wrong move, Nate. 

Of a similar opinion, Nadine growled, punched him, wrenched his arm behind his back with an audible crackle of shoulder joints, and then—oh Jesus goddamn Christ—threw him out the nearest window in an explosion of broken wood and glass.

Chloe stood there in complete shock for a moment, thinking maybe her bloody libido had just gotten her best friend killed. Then, faintly, she heard over the earpiece the warble of Nate’s shaky voice, panting and trying to joke about his death-defying encounter with Sully and his brother.

"Get—ut of—re, Chloe!” said Sully.

"Yup,” said Chloe, just as Nadine turned to her.

Chloe froze, feeling a bit like a kangaroo in headlights. There was no way she could physically fight this woman. Well, she could, but probably she’d end up out that window as well in less than a minute, and she had a feeling sweet talk wouldn’t work. Instead, she just stood there, uncharacteristically paralyzed, as Nadine stepped so close Chloe could smell her perfume; subtle yet unique. Not so much flowery as musky. Chloe roused her bravado and quirked an eyebrow at her, giving Nadine her best innocent look, which, she’d heard, was still pretty goddamn sultry.

The other woman didn’t grab her, punch her, or toss her into a bookcase like she had Nate (shame, that—Chloe didn’t mind a little rough and tumble now and then, but hey, there was always next time). Nadine leaned in close, the muscles in her arms standing out in the room’s dim light, eyes dark and hooded with a threatening leer.

"Get out,” Nadine said.

Chloe didn’t move, sure she’d misheard. “Er. Excuse me?”

"Get. Out,” Nadine grit.

"What,” Chloe pressed, incredulous, “you’re just going to let me go, then?”

"If I see you again,” warned Nadine, glancing meaningfully at the shattered window, “I’ll treat you the same. Ja?”

Not one to look a gift horse in the mouth, Chloe grinned at her before turning away, hand on the doorknob, but not before saying over her shoulder in a husky purr, “I certainly hope so. In fact, I’m going to count on it.”

And then she was gone and out the door, running down the empty hallways of the auction house as fast as she could in these bloody heels. She could hear the distant sound of gunfire already—those damn Drakes—and ran faster, not daring to glance behind her. She had a nagging feeling this wouldn’t be the last time they dealt with one Nadine Ross. 

While she was sure Nate felt differently about that, Chloe, personally, couldn’t wait.

—

Chloe found she didn’t really care for Scotland (not that, so far, she’d been able to do much in the way of touristy things, such as sight-seeing or relaxing). Her general impression was it was cold, drab, and dreary. Not that London was any better, now that Chloe thought about it. Still, she just wanted to complain, and after what she’d had to deal with lately, she figured she’d earned it.

After the mess in the Italian auction house, Nate and his brother had deduced from their stolen cross that their next destination on the way to claiming Captain Avery’s lost treasure was a Cathedral dedicated to Saint Dismas, located in—bingo—Scotland. They’d come straight here, courtesy of Air-Sully. Chloe could’ve done with a bit of a break, herself. Had even been perfectly happy to sign off right there in Italy, have herself a quick solo vacation, maybe, but Nate had insisted she tag along a bit longer, for “support”, which was only slightly less demeaning than being regulated to watch duty.

So far, Chloe wasn’t impressed with the plan in general. The Cathedral they needed to get into was currently being bombarded with charged explosions—Shoreline being the most obvious culprit. Even when they’d figured out that the actual church wasn’t their goal but the cemetery behind it, as that would be where Avery’s grave was located, Chloe was less than thrilled with the prospect of tramping about some cold, dirty tombs chasing one riddle after another. Still, she could be a trooper when she had to be, and followed the Drakes into the dank crypt and the winding tunnels below gamely enough.

Now? Now they were in a bloody dingy cave (a catacomb, really, but Chloe was telling herself it was a cave to try and make herself feel better about all the filth and bones scattered around her) inching along jagged crevices and broken ledges and random juts of old wooden structures, following one after the other, Nate and Sam throwing quips at each other like old friends while Chloe found herself falling more and more silent, reticent in their brotherly camaraderie. 

She wasn’t exactly jealous or anything, just feeling out of place more than usual. Since Nate, she’d grown used to working alone, to having her own say in things. Here, she felt as if she was just sort of along for the ride. Not a good feeling, that. Maybe, after they were done with Scotland, she’d tell Nate good luck for the rest of the job, and mean it this time, no matter how much he tried to protest. Why was she here, anyways, other than as backup they didn’t really need? They seemed perfectly capable of handling this themselves. Besides, she didn’t know the first thing about pirates. Sam was the expert here, while she—

Suddenly they heard voices. Nate shushed them all, and the three of them flattened themselves to the rock wall they were squeezing past and listened hard, fearing the worst; that the gig was up, and Shoreline had found them. After a moment, Chloe realized the voices were coming from a crack in the wall beside them, and motioned to the brothers. Together, they crowded close to try and see, squinting through the gloom into a room lit by flickering electric lanterns. A table in the center was strewn with maps and papers. Behind the table was a woman in a dark green coat, talking into a radio—

It was her, Chloe realized suddenly, the woman from before, at the auction—Nadine Ross. Chloe’d recognize that South African accent anywhere, even in a Scottish catacomb with spiderwebs growing in her ears. Already, she felt her pulse give a pleasant little kick at the now-familiar sound, and found herself grinning unconsciously. Maybe Scotland wasn’t so horrible after all.

Movement, to the side. Nadine wasn’t alone. With her was that sleazeball from the auction, who Chloe had been told was Rafe Adler, and used to be friends with both the Drakes. He was technically the one in charge of their competition, having hired Nadine for her muscle—and what nice muscle it was—and the one who most wanted the Drake brothers dead and gone. So, of course they would find themselves nearly face to face, separated only by a cracked rock wall. Christ. 

(The way Chloe figured it, Rafe seemed much more intent on killing the Drakes than her, personally. He had a vendetta against the brothers; Chloe, he wouldn’t know from any other bird on the street. She was hoping she’d be able to talk her way out of an execution, if it came to that. Fingers crossed.)

Silent, they watched and listened as Rafe ranted and complained about Nadine’s brutal if efficient methods in uncovering the Saint Dismas Cathedral’s tunnel system in their search for clues. Rather than give in to him, Nadine effortlessly calmed him down with a few choice words and pats to his shoulder and face, manipulating him skillfully into getting her way. Chloe was somewhat impressed—she knew what handling looked like, and this was handling. Rafe Adler might think he was the one in charge here, but there was no doubt in Chloe’s mind that when it came down to it, Nadine Ross was the one calling the shots. At least, for now.

"Okay,” said Nate, once they were clear and Nadine and Rafe had left the room. He began to shimmy again along the cold, jagged rock, which was only wide enough for one of them at a time. “Let’s get moving before they blow that treasure to bits.”

"Or they start making out,” Sam joked.

Nate laughed, of course. Chloe just rolled her eyes and sighed under her breath. 

“Men,” she grumbled. Always so quick to think women wanted to throw themselves at them. Nadine wasn’t as good an actress as Chloe was, but the woman could hold her own, and if Nadine Ross really was about to ‘make out’ with that slimy trust-fund brat, Chloe would eat her boots. Like she said before, it was handling, plain and simple. 

And if she, Nate and Sam didn’t find their own goddamn treasure soon, Chloe was ready to do some handling of her own, only of the less gentle sort.

—

An hour later, things had decidedly not improved. In fact, they had deteriorated almost entirely, and Chloe was fairly sure that no amount of handling would save them now.

They’d emerged from the tunnels into an ancient sub-chamber with an altared cross and a massive map of Madagascar inlaid into the rock floor. Impressive, sure. Sam and Nate had studied it for several minutes, talking through the clues until they figured out their next goal, located in King’s Bay, a hotspot of pirate activity back in the 1800s (or 1700s, or what-bloody-ever). A step forward, for them, in their ultimate search for the Avery treasure.

Big step back, though, was that they were now being held at gunpoint, a position in which Chloe had never liked to be, although it was a common enough one in her line of work. Still, she wasn’t exactly surprised by this development. Only a matter of time with these two foolhardy idiots, standing in front of her, similarly positioned with hands in the air.

Across from them, Nadine Ross’ beautiful face was drawn up into her usual surly scowl. She’d crashed their party with little fanfare—a timely explosion that rattled Chloe’s eardrums and wrecked her hair more than anything else—and immediately forced them to disarm, then radioed her partner Rafe, who sounded more than ready to put a couple bullets in either of the Drake brothers. 

“I’m on my way,” came Rafe’s staticky voice from the radio. “And for God’s sake, don’t shoot them yet.”

Chloe felt a thrill at that one telling word—yet. Time to start banking on that freebie she’d been hoping for earlier. 

“Might want to hurry then,” Nadine quipped, then put away her radio and motioned with her gun at the massive map of Madagascar on the floor beneath their feet. “King’s Bay.”

Despite herself, Chloe grinned, impressed. Smart woman, recognizing that right away. Someone had been paying attention in Geography class. 

Sam tried to weedle. “Yeah, but, uh… where in King’s Bay?” He pointed to the cross on the nearby altar. “You’ll need that cross over there to figure it out. But there’re only two people that can tell you how to use it.”

Nadine rolled her eyes, less than amused. “Let me guess… you two?” Her half-lidded eyes swept over the three of them, then suddenly jerked and landed back on Chloe. She seemed not to recognize her for a moment—Chloe couldn’t blame her, covered in dirt and dust as she was, nevermind her frumpy jacket built for the cold. Nadine’s face was blank as Nate tried, “Well, you wanna leave it to Rafe, you’re gonna be waiting a long time—”

"You again,” Nadine interrupted, speaking to Chloe, only now, her wonderfully accented voice wasn’t so steeped in disgust as when she was speaking to the Drake brothers. She sounded… curious, almost. Chloe wanted to call it interested, or piqued, but she wasn’t that stupid.

She let the smile she’d been attempted to stifle for politeness’ sake free—one probably shouldn’t be grinning when they and their friends were being held at gunpoint. Still, couldn’t help it, not when a pretty woman was looking at her like that. 

“Hey there, gorgeous,” Chloe husked.

Nadine brushed the compliment aside with a slight frown, keeping the gun in her hand pointed somewhere between Sam and Nate’s feet. She seemed to hesitate for a moment, eyes flicking back to the brothers, then asked Chloe, “What are you doing here?”

Delighted to be holding her attention, Chloe kept her hands in the air but cocked her hips to the side, trying to appear casual. “Me? Well, you made quite an impression during the auction, and honestly? Couldn’t keep me away if you tried, love,” she said with a wink. Nadine’s gun lowered a fraction.

"Chloe,” Nate growled under his breath, “are you seriously flirting with Nadine Ross right now?”

"Oh, I most definitely am,” Chloe replied at normal volume, and smiled again. Slowly, so she wouldn’t be shot by some newbie mercenary’s itchy trigger finger, she lowered and then extended her right hand to shake. “Don’t believe I’ve introduced myself. Chloe Frazer. Pleasure.”

Nadine’s face hardened. “No,” she said bluntly. The gun swung again, and this time, stopped on Chloe. “When I asked what are you doing here, I meant, what are you doing here, with them?”

Shit. Chloe spared a glance for each of the Drake brothers, both of whom looked more confused than scared now. To Nadine, she scoffed, “Forget about them. Just you and me here, far as I’m concerned.”

Nadine narrowed her eyes. “You’re working with them. Aren’t you?”

Rather than fess up, Chloe shrugged. Went on, “Doesn’t mean we can’t get to know each other. Work something out between all of us.”

But Nadine was already shaking her head. Shit. Chloe had lost her chance to win her over. “Sorry to disappoint,” she quipped stoically, “but I’m not here to negotiate.” To one of her men, she barked, “Bring me the crucifix.”

"It’s not a crucifix,” Nate cut in, quite unnecessarily. Chloe glared at him. Couldn’t he read the room?

"What?” Nadine snapped.

"Well, technically, a crucifix refers to a cross that… You know what, never mind.” He exchanged a wary look with his brother, then nudged Chloe’s boot with his heel. She flicked her attention his way for a moment, read the look in his eye, and knew at once that as soon as that cross was touched, all hell was going to break loose. Probably, the entire chamber would collapse, as was the usual with this sort of thing going by Chloe’s experience with treasure hunting, which meant they’d have to be quick—

But wait, Chloe realized, and felt herself unconsciously pause. Nadine was still right there, relatively oblivious to what was about to happen, and sure, she was doing business with that Rafe fellow, and probably she’d shoot any of the three of them dead in a heartbeat, but Chloe didn’t want the other woman bloody tumbling into an abyss now, did she—

Nate and Sam had eased themselves several feet behind Chloe. She glanced over her shoulder, caught a panicked look from Nate. Hurry up, what are you doing? his eyes seemed to say. Again, Chloe hesitated, feeling caught. Across from them, the mercenary had nearly reached the cross. 

The second before he touched it, Chloe gasped out, “Wait—” before she could stop herself. Nate made a choked sound. Nadine’s head whipped around. She met Chloe’s gaze, and her eyes went wide. In an instant she understood.

To the Shoreline man, she shouted, “Don’t touch it!”

But, of course, the bloke already had, and suddenly, the whole room jumped and then began to shake and fall apart, the floor collapsing under them, great stone bricks raining from above. Chloe had a single moment of worry that Nadine wouldn’t get clear, and then turned and leapt after the brothers. They crash-landed on a shuddering ledge that seemed only a tiny bit safer than the rest of the chamber.

"What the hell, Chloe—!” Nate began, and then Chloe heard Nadine, alive and well, snarl from the other side of the collapsed room, “Shoot them!”

Chloe felt a burst of relief that the other woman was unharmed—and then a bullet pinged off a rock by her head, and another whined just past her leg. She yelped, shot to her feet, and ran.

Maybe Scotland was a bit more entertaining than she’d first thought—though certainly not enough to warrant a return visit, hey?

—

So. This was, quite literally, the worst “vacation” Chloe had ever been on.

Or, correction. Forced to be on, as Nate wouldn’t take no for a bloody answer. I’m done and Seriously, mate, this is just stupid hadn’t worked either. Chloe wanted off this goddamn ride. Now. Instead, she’d been yanked along to their next destination like a petulant child herded by her overbearing parents. Come on, Chloe, Nate had whined. We need you. Plus, it’s right up your alley. Action and treasure and adventure! You can’t back out now. Think of it like a vacation. Try to have some fun.  

And so, this, apparently, was her life now.

Where to begin… 

King’s Bay? 

Overrated. Touristy.

The explosions hadn’t helped any, that was for sure. Christ. Hurt Chloe’s head, thinking about the mess they’d made in town, not to mention those stupid watch towers. Seemed simple at first, driving through the jungle in their rented 4x4 to find them—Chloe at the wheel, of course—avoiding Shoreline when necessary and revving up sloppy-mudded slopes and streams. Solving riddles and ciphers and whatever else pirates loved. Since there had been too many towers to tackle one by one, they’d decided to split them up. Chloe dropped herself off early near a few, while Sam and Nate took the others with Sully.

Nothing’d happened at Chloe’s towers, thank God. Like, literally nothing. Dead ends on both—no clues, no Shoreline. Small favors.

Then, of course, as she was trekking back, trying to find a good spot for a pick up, came the rushed phone call from Sully, who, turned out, was not on his way to fetch her. Shoreline had crashed their party, quite rudely by the sounds of it. Both Drake brothers’ phones were compromised, so they’d ditched them. Chloe refused to ditch hers (not only was she confident it hadn’t been bugged, as she’d yet to be similarly ambushed by Shoreline mercenaries, but she had so many photos saved on it. Way too many to give up, just like that). 

Sully told her Sam’s tower had been attacked, and Sam’d been forced to flee with a bloody stolen dirtbike or something, picking up Nate along the way while a bloody APC chased them around town. And that was after the clock tower there in the market got blasted to smithereens and fell apart, right in front of everybody. 

But, whatever. They’d survived, like they always did; by the skin of their teeth. Or their arse.

And then, afterwards—Elena. 

Oh, sunshine. Chloe still felt awful about it. Bursting into that room and finding her there, seeing the utter heartbreak in her eyes. Nate had tried to make excuses. Sam and Sully just sort of… stood there. Chloe did the same, knowing her place in that fight. Nate had done this to himself; she’d warned him, more than once.

Chloe’d chased after her when Nate didn’t, after everything was said and done and Elena walked out. At the sound of the door slamming behind her, Elena had turned and looked at her—unsurprised, as if she’d already known it’d be Chloe, and not her husband. She hadn’t seemed terribly angry with Chloe. Just disappointed, which in some ways was worse.

"Elena,” she’d said, horrified to find she was close to tears. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry that he—that I didn’t tell you.”

Elena, of course, had just smiled sadly. “It’s not your fault, Chloe. You were just trying to be a good friend.”

"I’m an awful friend,” Chloe’d said, and sniffled. Elena’d sniffled, too, and then they’d hugged each other tightly. Chloe felt rotten. Behind them, the door slammed again—Sully, this time. He’d nodded stiffly at the two of them and hung back, lighting a cigar and walking off a ways to smoke. Chloe guessed he’d been delegated by Nate to watch over his wife, since Nate wouldn’t. Arse. Didn’t he know when to give it a rest?

She’d walked Elena to her rented car. “Room for two in there?” she’d asked, after Elena got in. Really, she had never been more ready to leave. To just say, screw this, and go. Let Nate pick up his own goddamned mess. 

But Elena had shook her head and given her that sad smile once again.

"Stay with him,” she’d said. “Please. Just… Just make sure nothing happens, okay? I’ll feel better, knowing you’re there.”

And, well, shit. Chloe couldn’t just say no to that. “I’ll do my best, sunshine. Promise.”

Looking only somewhat satisfied, Elena had nodded, and with Sully in tow, they’d left.

Chloe had felt worse than ever, after that. Still, she’d gone back into that bloody hotel room, told Nate she was coming along, and snapped at Sam to stuff it when he tried to protest. She wasn’t doing this for herself anymore, not for the money or even for Nate. The only reason she was here now was for Elena, and that one last request of hers.

And, so, what were they doing? Certainly not abandoning this fool’s errand that just might get one of them killed. Certainly not going home, so Nate could apologize and make up with his wife who loved him and save his goddamn marriage. Certainly not using an ounce of brains in any single decision going forward. Not at all.

Instead, they’d gotten on a bloody boat and gone gallivanting about. Chloe wasn’t sure, exactly, where they were anymore; far from civilization and the threat of Shoreline, she’d stopped paying attention to the details again, more content with sitting back and playing on her phone, taking pictures and the like while the brothers worked things out between themselves. Let them handle it, she figured, though for so-called experts when it came to pirates, the two certainly seemed to be reaching about in the dark an awful lot. 

Eventually, they found what they were looking for, or what would lead them to it; clues and puzzles and statues on a remote chain of islands, which led them to putter over to several others, following a larger version of a treasure map built into the sand bars beneath them. Routine stuff. After a bit, they figured out the island they needed to get to next, where they’d presumably find the legendary Libertalia, and the treasure hidden there.

Then, of course, and in rapid procession, a furious storm had rolled in and Shoreline appeared. They'd then been chased at sea, shot at, crashed, marooned on aforementioned island, nearly killed, miraculously found each other again, and then, just when Nate, the little bugger, seemed ready to finally give up and go home like a smart person, his brother talked him right back into their silly treasure chase for fame and fortune. At that point, Chloe was ready to strangle the both of them with her bare hands.

And, oh, yes. They had indeed found the remnants of Libertalia, some hours later, which was just about the only good thing that’d happened in the last week or so.

Treasure wasn’t there, of course. Just more clues. More mystery. More Shoreline, who they hadn’t been able to shake completely, like a dog that kept catching fleas. Inevitably, they’d been ambushed, and forced to run. You know, the usual. Chloe was getting used to it. 

Now? Now Chloe and Sam were separated, once again, from Nate, creeping through the rotten remains of ramshackle wooden buildings and lush green vines of a steaming island jungle, wary of danger and yet walking right into it at the same time.

"Shit,” whispered Sam suddenly, and stopped. Chloe heard muffled conversation and looked down. Through a hole in the soft, dry-rotted boards of the cliffside structure they’d wandered into, she saw Nate on the floor, Nadine Ross standing above him with a gun pointed at his head and a boot on his chest. Christ, what she’d give to swap places. That camo-green Shoreline uniform looked smart on her.

Not the time, Frazer! she scolded herself.

Nate looked to be attempting his funny-slash-charming approach, but Nadine appeared unmoved. Before Chloe could speak—make up a battle plan, strategize, anything—Sam was already moving. He jumped through a hole in the floor to the room below, falling on Nadine and knocking all three of them down another level. The entire structure shuddered ominously. Chloe scrambled to follow, climbing down just in time to hear Nadine, who’d presumably lost her gun, snarl to Nate, “After everything, you think I’m just going to let you walk away?”

A loud thump resounded as Sam fell again to their level. “That’d be the wise thing to do,” he said threateningly. Nadine, of course, didn’t back down. Rather, from what Chloe could see from her position, the other woman squared up. Impressive, as always, if not a little fool-hardy.

“Oh, come on Nadine, really?” Nate complained. “We know you’re a bad-ass and all, but there’s three of us.”

Nadine narrowed her eyes, darted them from one brother to the next. “Three?”

That was Chloe’s cue. She leapt down. Wobbled a bit on the landing, the boards beneath her feet groaning perilously. She straightened and saluted Nadine breathlessly with two fingers. “Miss me, gorgeous?”

Nadine’s face was cold, closed off. Clearly, she wasn’t having it this time around. She was pissed, frustrated by the trouble they’d given her and her men over the past few weeks. Outsmarted, outmaneuvered, by who? Two upstart brothers and their cheeky, ridiculously good-looking companion. Yet Nadine’d kept on, refused to give up, hounded them all the way to this deserted island.

Even now, faced with the three of them, she didn’t back down. “You don’t think my men are on their way here right now?” she sneered. “All I have to do is buy some time. That’s if I don’t finish you myself.”

“Goddamn it,” Nate hissed. But he put up his fists, and so did Sam. Reluctantly, Chloe did the same.

And then it was on.

Sam went first. He lunged, tried for a dirty jailhouse punch to the gut. Nate swooped in for a follow up. Neither hit—Nadine blocked Sam with a forearm and kicked Nate in the stomach so hard he bent double. The anger from before was gone from her eyes, and in its place was a calm, deadly focus that made Chloe shiver in a way that was at once unpleasant and yet… titillating? Christ, this woman—

—right, this woman, who was also completely destroying both Drake brothers at once. Whoops. Chloe had felt bad, before, about ganging up on her, three on one. Now she realized it was completely necessary. Chloe cracked her knuckles, sighed loudly. She’d always preferred one on one in all fields of battle (field, armed, bare-handed, and bedroom very much included).

Just as Chloe prepared to throw her own lot in, metaphorically speaking, Nadine punched Nate so hard he went flying out the nearest window. The sight was no less spectacular than the first time it’d happened, back at the auction house, if somewhat more terrifying to comprehend. Chloe hoped the bugger would find something to grab onto as he fell and went to help Sam, who’d been knocked clear across the room by Nadine’s flashing uppercut. 

Chloe slid forward, low, and swung tightly—Nadine blocked her wrist and ducked back, then suddenly lunged. Not expecting such speed, Chloe stutter-stepped and tried to prepare herself for what was going to surely be a knee-watering punch to her stomach, which she’d stupidly left open. She could take a hit, sure, but that didn’t mean she liked it, and oh god, this was going to bloody hurt, wasn't it—

A shrill yelp exited her throat when all she got was a rough shove to the chest that sent her staggering backwards, arms pin-wheeling for balance. She caught herself on a half-broken doorway, found her feet. Sam was back, trying for a jab at Nadine’s chin. Nadine shook him off, threw him into a wall so hard the wood crunched and nearly gave way. Sam slumped to the floor, groaning.

Chloe tried again. What she lacked in brute strength she usually made up for in speed, but for a second time, Nadine easily blocked her right hook with a practiced motion and then, instead of hitting her, pushed her away again, slightly harder than before. Resolute, Chloe caught herself and tried a third time with identical results, only this go ‘round, Nadine snagged Chloe’s heel on the toe of her boot and tripped her hard to the floor, and then gave her a glare that seemed to say, Stay there. 

And Chloe did, at least for a moment, blinking through the pain in her bum from the short fall. Was Nadine Ross… pulling her punches with her? 

She tested that theory the next time she stood; Nadine sent Sam sprawling with a cross-kick to the face and a solid jab to the chin, but soon as Chloe got within throwing distance and tried for a hit, the other woman deftly blocked and deflected her without retaliation. Where she delivered bone-snapping damage to Sam—and to Nate, before—Chloe, she merely rebuffed with force, though never to the point of outright injury.

Soon enough even Sam seemed confused by it, spitting out a loud, “What the hell—?” when he and Chloe charged together at Nadine and he got a fist to the face while Chloe merely got her ankles tripped up again; Chloe fell, her outflung wrist wrenching sharply under her own weight against the wooden floorboards, gasping in pain—Nadine’s head snapped around at the sound, and suddenly their eyes met—

And then with a bellowing “Nay-DEEEEEN” Nathan Drake himself leapt down from the broken ceiling, and all four of them went crashing through the rotted wooden floor and fell end over end down the rocky cliffside.

They landed hard on an outcrop with four identical thuds. Chloe smacked her head on a rock. Everything went black for a moment. Next thing she knew, two Sams were each holding a gun and pointing them at two Nadines. Chloe groaned, shook her head. Her vision tightened. The extra Sam and Nadine faded, but there was still very much a gun in Sam’s hand pointed right at Nadine’s face. 

“You’re fast,” Sam panted to Nadine with a cocky smirk on his face, “but you’re not that fast.”

Chloe was still a bit rattled by the fall, but not enough to go along with this. “Sam, are you bloody insane?” she snarled from the ground. “Put that away!”

“Yeah,” said Nate, “Forget about her. We gotta get out of here before they—”

That, of course, was when Rafe appeared, trailed by a couple Shoreline goons. Everyone froze for a split second, and then Sam grabbed Nadine and put the gun to her temple.

“Shit,” said Nate. “Whoa, whoa, whoa. Everybody just… just calm down, okay?”

Rafe didn’t seem alarmed to find them the way he had. In fact, he smirked. “Well, this is interesting. Nate. Samuel.” To Chloe, he leered, “Not sure who you are, sweetheart, so excuse my manners.”

“Fuck off,” Chloe replied. Rafe laughed.

“Feisty. I like that.”

“Put your guns down!” Sam demanded. “All of you.”

The Shoreline men seemed about to, then Rafe replied smugly, “No.” The tension racketed higher.

“Rafe, this guy’s on edge,” Nadine warned. She didn’t sound frightened, exactly, just worried, and irritated that Rafe didn’t seem to care. Chloe didn’t blame her. She wouldn’t trust Sam as far as she could throw him, especially after this.

“Sam, put the bloody gun down,” she hissed at him, rising slowly to her feet and dusting off her favorite red shirt, ripped and dirty as it was now.

“Oh, don’t worry about him, Nadine,” Rafe said flippantly. “These guys don’t kill anyone in cold blood. It’s just not their style.”

“You willing to bet her life on that?” Sam challenged.

Rather than back down, Rafe seemed to swell with derision. “Go ahead then. Shoot her.”

A bolt of dread raced down Chloe’s spine. “Don’t you bloody dare,” she told Sam. To Nate, she urged, “Stop him, already!”

“Sam,” Nate tried, weakly.

“I die, you all die,” Nadine ground out.

“So be it,” said Sam. “Not another step!” he barked at Rafe and the Shoreline men.

A cruel smile twisted across Rafe’s face. “You mean… like this?” He took a daring step forward.

“Sam, put the gun down,” Nate said, a little louder than before.

But Sam wasn’t listening. His face went cold. “I warned you,” he said to Rafe.

“Do it,” Rafe fired back.

That was when Chloe knew Sam would do it, he would shoot Nadine, just to stick it to Rafe, and where would they be after that but in a whole heap of trouble, and nobody had to bloody die for this, not if she had any say here at all—

She hurled herself forward, snatching Sam by the wrist and yanking his hand wide. The gun went off a split second later, momentarily deafening her. Nadine wrenched herself away from them and then Nate smashed into them both, a bit late on the draw but at least he’d tried, and in the background Rafe laughed cruelly, and then, well…

Then everything went to shit.

Chapter Text

So.

Being a captive wasn’t exactly the worst thing Chloe’d ever experienced, so far. Not the best, either, but still. 

At least she’d managed one good, solid, Hail-Mary punch on Sam’s stupid grizzled face before they cuffed her. He’d deserved a helluva lot more than that, or the fiery bullet graze he’d gotten from that slimeball Rafe, after his dramatic little speech about not needing both brothers to find the treasure, and then trying to shoot Nate. Chloe was relatively sure the bullet hadn’t actually hit him, but Nate'd still been knocked back and plummeted off the cliff toward the jungle canopy below with a spine-chilling howl. If he died from that, oh, Elena would never forgive Chloe, and Chloe would never forgive herself, not ever. 

And that wasn’t even the worst of it, either—Sam, that bloody liar. Everything he’d told Nate to get him here, everything that’d cost them all those days and nights of toil and danger and treachery—Hector Alcazar and the breakout and the blackmail—not one bit of it was true. Sam had just wanted all the bloody glory and a pirate’s lost treasure, obsessed with it even after all these years, so desperate for it he’d made up a spectacular farce and dragged his little brother in, too, who’d then dragged Chloe, and Christ, he deserved that punch and so much more—

—and not to mention he’d nearly shot Nadine in cold blood, earlier, and that’d pissed Chloe off almost as much as losing Nate, scared her, too, because it was just so... so goddamned pointless, really, for a woman like Nadine to die like that, for nothing, because even if Sam had shot her, Rafe would’ve just shot all three of them and that could’ve been the end of Chloe Frazer, right there, and—

Well, needless to say, Shoreline was keeping her and Sam separated for now, but when Chloe saw him again… They wouldn’t pull them apart so easily, that was for sure.

After Nate had fallen—oh, Nate, of all the times stupid Drake luck had saved the man while plummeting from on high, they needed it here and now more than ever—and Chloe had finished screaming for her friend and socking Sam square in the jaw for his stupidity, they were wrestled down by a pair of Shoreline mercs, frisked (Chloe’s rope and lock pick kit were confiscated by a guard, and her precious phone was handed summarily to Nadine, who tucked it into one of her shirt pockets) and handcuffed. 

They hadn’t gagged them, though, so Chloe let Sam have it the only way she could—verbally—then moved on to Rafe, the slimy bastard, then everyone else in her general vicinity. A few of the mercs seemed impressed by her range of vocabulary, which included a variety of British and Australian insults that would’ve made Chloe’s mum faint. 

One even laughed, until Nadine glared at him; the other woman, freed from her unwilling position of hostage in a terrible attempt at negotiation, avoided the worst of her censure, though Chloe still managed to hurl several would-be insults at her nonetheless (What, she snarled, jerking her chin over at Rafe with a sneer, you let pipsqueaks like that boss you around, use you as a goddamn bargaining chip? Are you bloody joking? You’re not the woman I thought you were, that's for goddamn sure!) and left Nadine looking slightly shocked and chagrined before moving on to another hapless bloke.

They were then marched through thick jungle terrain—Chloe’s ranting and raving petering off due to the rough path, forced to save her breath for the hike—to the rocky, surf-crashing island coast, where a decent-sized gunmetal-grey patrol ship was anchored, Shoreline’s tri-colored symbol emblazoned on the side. They took a small motor boat to the ship and boarded. 

Under Rafe’s orders, Chloe was taken by a Shoreline guard and shoved below deck, into an empty room in the hold, the metal door clanging shut behind her, lock engaging with a loud snap. Sam, shouting and cursing, was taken elsewhere. Chloe couldn’t really bring herself to care, too busy taking stock of her own surroundings and current predicament; that is, being handcuffed and weaponless smack-dab in the middle of enemy territory. 

Never say Chloe Frazer can't adapt to the situation, though. Five minutes later, she’d picked her cuffs and her door with the bobby pins in her hair. Two minutes after that, she’d managed to sneak her way back on deck, crouching behind some crates of gear, and was contemplating her options—just jumping off the side of the boat and into the ocean below seemed safe enough, and the ship wasn’t moving, anyways, anchored fast to the rocks, though how far could she get, swimming through those waves, and to where? Back to the island, to run about in the jungle without a heading or a clue of—

That was when, unfortunately, a guard caught her. There was a moment where the two of them simply stared at each other, simultaneously frozen in disbelief.

“Now, let’s not—” Chloe got out before the guard scrabbled at his belt, jerked up his weapon and hit her with a taser. She swore and crumpled to the deck with a jolting bang, teeth gritted, muscles locked painfully tight, and came to woozily just as Nadine appeared and grabbed the guy by the lapel, knocking the taser's business end from Chloe and tossing him back so hard he fell over on his arse.

“The hell do you think you’re doing?” she roared at him, and then said something cutting in what Chloe guessed was Afrikaans. Whatever it was made the man go deathly pale and scramble off, but not before Nadine took the taser away and then practically booted him aside in disgust. Chloe, she took by the elbow and, while not exactly kindly, at least somewhat gently picked her up. Dizzy, Chloe wavered at first, then stood, feeling like the breath had been knocked out of her.

“Thanks, love,” she said weakly, still a bit winded by the taser. She’d never liked those things. Guns either, come to think.

Nadine just grunted. “Eish. How did you get up here?” She spotted Chloe’s bare wrists and sighed. “Do I want to know how you got out of your handcuffs as well?” 

“Magic,” Chloe teased. 

Nadine didn’t laugh, but she did huff loudly, which sort of counted. She put the guard’s taser in her back pocket, glanced around as if to see if anyone was watching, and then, keeping that strong hand of hers right where it was on Chloe’s elbow, walked Chloe slowly and carefully back toward the hold, ordering a nearby merc along the way to find some rope. 

Chloe badly wanted to muster the energy for a dirty joke or two about said rope, but to be honest, that taser had taken a lot out of her, not to mention any of the countless harrowing events of the past 24 hours or so. She even had to lean heavily against Nadine once or twice on the way down the stairs. Nadine didn’t seem to mind—or, she put up with it without protest, which was something—and just kept Chloe relatively upright and walked only when Chloe could walk with her. A small but noticeably thoughtful effort, on her part.

It hit Chloe, when Nadine put her into another, slightly smaller storage room, frisking her a bit more thoroughly than the merc before, though still perfectly perfunctory, fingers combing through her hair, deftly locating the rest of her hidden bobby pins; just how tired she really was. She hadn’t slept properly in almost two days. She was beat up, sore, most likely concussed from the fall earlier, recently tased and half-starved. Adrenaline had kept her fatigue at bay so far but now it was crowding forward, turning her muscles to soup. She stood there quietly with eyes half-lidded as Nadine finished her brisk but polite body-search for any further contraband, and obeyed when Nadine directed her to sit on a nearby empty crate.

“Don’t move,” she said sternly.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Chloe replied. The way her legs were feeling just then, she didn’t think she could, even if she wanted to.

Nadine gave her a skeptical look, then disappeared. She reentered the room only a minute later with a length of rope in one hand and a cheap military bedroll in the other. The bedroll, she tossed to the ground—not exactly a profession of undying love, but it was still another kind gesture, giving Chloe a place to lay down and maybe get some rest—and the rope, she threaded skillfully around Chloe’s wrists, crossed comfortably in front of her, tying them up tightly though not to the point of constriction or pain. Really, she could still move them about for simple things, but there certainly wouldn't be anymore lock picking, which probably was the point.

“You going to stay out of trouble?” Nadine muttered to her afterwards, helping Chloe lower herself down onto the rolled-out bedroll.

Chloe slipped to one knee, bumping against Nadine with a soft grunt, then sat the rest of the way on her bum and grinned wickedly up at the other woman. “Only if you say please.”

Nadine rolled her eyes and almost smiled. Chloe counted that as a victory. Nadine seemed to hesitate then, mouth opening as if about to speak, then she shook her head, gave Chloe one last, loaded look, and walked out. A few minutes later, a rough-looking man with a terrible haircut and a Shoreline jacket entered the room. The door was kept noticeably open behind him. He regarded Chloe with some nervousness and sat himself on a crate in the corner.

“Can I help you?” Chloe asked him through a sudden, jaw-creaking yawn.

The man stiffened. “I’m—I’m your personal guard, ma’am. Here to make sure you stay out of danger.”

A babysitter? Really? How cute. Chloe quirked an eyebrow. “Are you, now. Says who?”

“The—the Boss, ma’am.”

Interesting, and a little sweet, if you squinted. So, Nadine wanted to keep an extra close eye on her, then? Fine. Not like Chloe was going to be slipping her ropes anytime soon, not with these well-done knots. But that was okay—Chloe could be patient. Maybe she could even use this guard to her advantage, though neither of them seemed terribly excited about having to deal with the other. Still, Chloe could improvise.

As for her inevitable plans of escape, however, well... those would have to wait, as Chloe chose, firstly, to take a quick but necessary catnap. She was, plainly put, exhausted.

"Tell the boys to keep it down out there, won't you?" she said to her guard, who simply blinked back at her, bewildered. Curling up on her side on the bedroll, she was asleep in less than twenty seconds. A new record.

She woke feeling somewhat refreshed and only a little groggy, and guessed she’d probably slept for an hour—two, at the most. When she sat up, the guard in the corner flinched. Chloe grinned at him disarmingly. She could guess he’d been given very explicit (if not downright threatening) instructions by Nadine to watch her every move. In an effort to test boundaries—she was a captive, after all—she asked first for a bathroom, then water, then food, and was relatively surprised when she was given all three.

Knot—what a stupid name for a mercenary, really—refused to untie her, but left Chloe alone in the ship’s head for five whole minutes before pounding on the door and commanding her to leave. She did, glad she’d been able to wash her face, re-do her loose ponytail and get her head somewhat together. She’d also checked for a vent, a window, or literally anything else she could squeeze out of, and found nothing. Ah, well.

Having some food and water helped enliven her, too, even though it was only a warm canteen and couple squashed ration bars, Knot pulling them from the pockets of his tactical vest, opening and handing them over to Chloe like they were on some kind of demented date.

Feeling better than she had in a while, Chloe put the first few wheels of her newly-hatched escape plan into motion, and laid on the charm. In less than twenty minutes, she’d gotten chummy enough with Knot to chat about random things—the man, she guessed, didn’t have many friends, or someone to talk to, and opened up remarkably quickly. Then, with the excuse of staving off boredom, she talked him into a few rounds of poker with a pack of cards she’d spotted in his vest. She then proceeded to win all his pocket change, his Shoreline-issued hat, and his watch.

On their next round, she won herself a trip up on deck, for “fresh air.” Knot grumbled about that one for a while, but ultimately gave in, so, at least the bloke was honorable. Well… honorable enough, she supposed. Probably, he figured there wasn’t much trouble she could get in to up there with her hands tied. He walked her up the stairs to the deck but didn’t let her wander far (shame), so Chloe decided to behave a bit longer, and propped her hip on the gunwale and gazed out at the white, choppy waves and the vibrant island jungle beyond while Knot smoked nearby. So much for fresh air.

Not like that was what she came up for, anyways. She’d wanted intel; their position, patrol, situation. From the looks of it, things were tense. There were far less Shoreline personnel than Chloe expected. A dozen, if that. She, Nate and Sam had taken care of a bulk of them earlier, and who knew how many had decided this whole island venture just wasn’t worth it anymore, and cut themselves loose. Good to know, that.

One of the remaining men walked briskly over to Knot and proceeded to fill him in with the latest, while Chloe eavesdropped with an innocent though bored expression pasted on her face. Turned out, during Chloe’s spot of rest, Rafe, Nadine and whatever was left of the Shoreline men had gone back to the island in their continued search for Avery’s treasure. They’d decided to take Sam with them rather than Chloe, which was only slightly insulting, as he was the pirate expert, not her. She’d been delegated to hostage; another demotion. 

Things, however, hadn’t quite gone to plan. Sam had indeed navigated Rafe and the crew to Avery’s lost mansion, then somehow gave them the slip and fled. Rafe now knew where Avery’s treasure was located, but so did Sam. It would come down to whoever could get there first, and Chloe was sure the wily Drake knew himself a shortcut or two on the way there. 

Fierce radio chatter rasped suddenly from every handheld, Knot’s included, and the Shoreline men scrambled into action. Through the static, Chloe could hear random bursts of gunfire. Distant explosions. Someone was sure having a good time.

Give ‘em hell, Sam, she thought, and struggled not to smile. Then she heard something that made her heart leap.

Nate was alive. He was alive, and he was with Elena, and they were fighting Shoreline, too. Thank god. Chloe didn’t know the how or the why, but goddamn if she wasn’t overjoyed all the same. She scanned the skies for Sully’s sea-plane—really, how else could Elena have gotten here so promptly?—but saw and heard nothing. Ah, well. There was always time to—

The ship abruptly roared to life, the anchor pulling up with a long, jolting clang. On the gunwale, Chloe startled. They were changing positions, she realized, though she wasn’t quite sure why, yet. Knot, looking unsure, hung beside Chloe, as though reluctant to put her back in the hold at the moment and miss all the fun, what with the panic and tension teeming just beneath the surface. Chloe was grateful. She didn’t want to miss this.

Following radio-relayed coordinates from the team on land, the ship slowly circled the island for several miles, and eventually maneuvered itself toward the back portion of a hidden cove. Within was a dark, rock-shorn cave. The ship nudged itself as close as it could to the opening before dropping anchor just outside. Chloe frowned, trying to figure out why they’d switched positions at all, and why at this cave and—

Knot’s radio crackled. “Knot.” Nadine’s voice. Hard. Stern. Knot fumbled for his handheld. “Yes, ma’am?”

Nadine rattled some orders out in Afrikaans. Knot nodded and said “Ja,” every few seconds until she was done. “Goeie,” said Nadine. “We’ll radio back when we’re finished. Over and—”

Rafe loudly interrupted from somewhere in the background. “Tell them to bring the prisoner. Now.” He sounded, in Chloe’s professional opinion, pretty damn pissed. Which made sense, as Sam had just made them all look like a bunch of idiots, giving them the run around like he had, so probably, Rafe was a little miffed about that, and looking for someone to take it out on. Namely, a known acquaintance and perhaps good friend of both Drakes.

“No,” Nadine snapped back. “I told you, we don’t—” The radio cut out. Chloe and Knot were left to stare awkwardly at each other for a long beat. Then Knot’s radio burst back into life. Nadine, in a cold, bitter voice, said “Bring the prisoner,” and that was that.

Chloe gulped, but didn’t have the time to be worried or scared as she was quickly loaded onto a motor boat with three Shoreline mercs, Knot included, and hung on as they revved toward the dark mouth of the leering cave ahead. Inside, she could see what looked like an ancient wooden dock where Rafe was waiting, arms rigid at his sides, fists clenched. Christ, even from here he looked furious. Nadine was further back, relaying orders to what was left of her men as they set up a ragged little base camp of sorts. Ancient detritus littered the rocks surrounding them, and—and holy goddamn shit was that an honest to-goddamn-goodness pirate ship over there?

It was. It was. Chloe’s jaw dropped. Holy shit. It was Avery’s, she knew then, and felt a doomed sort of shiver race down her back at the sight of its broken majesty. Christ, but it looked cursed, sails gone to shreds, rigging a-tangle, barely keeping afloat—and, if legends were true, weighed down with an untold amount of gold and treasure.

They’d done it. They’d bloody… Oh, if Nate could see it—

Nate, she thought, and felt her stomach drop with worry. She could only hope he and Elena were both alright, maybe even making their way here right then. Sam, too. All they needed was for Chloe to get herself out of the mess she’d fallen into, then she could meet up with them, nab the treasure—or not, really, she’d stopped caring about the money at this point—and get the hell out of there. 

At the dock, Knot got out first and gave her a hand up. Before Chloe could even stand fully upright, Rafe was stalking toward her. His face was red, hair in disarray. A silver gun was in his hand.

“Your friends,” he spat, “may have just gotten you killed. Nate is a cockroach. And Sam thinks he’s smart, cutting us loose like he did. But we still have you. Our last bargaining chip. You gamble much, Miss Frazer?”

“Can’t say I do,” Chloe replied breezily, though she’d begun to worry about Rafe’s clearly fragile mental state. The bloke looked two seconds from losing his mind. Guess he didn’t take too lightly to losing. “But luck’s always been pretty kind to me, I’d say.” Dozens of close calls over the years could attest to that being true.

Rafe grinned darkly. “Oh, we’ll see about that.”

He looked about to say more, but Nadine intervened. “I’ve got her,” she said firmly, stepping in front of Rafe to take Chloe by the elbow. Her voice was calm, low. “Best get started on finding our treasure, eh, Rafe?” Ah, there was that handling again.

At the word, treasure, Rafe seemed to come back to himself. He shook his head, tried to fix his hair, nodded. Looked around aimlessly for a moment, then pointed at the Shoreline men who’d just arrived. “You, you. With me.” They left, and Chloe felt like she could breathe again. And at least take the time to appreciate Nadine’s arms in that tanktop. 

“Thanks,” she said.

Nadine just grunted, frowning at Rafe’s retreating back.

“He’s going to kill me, isn’t he?” Chloe asked her. She’d meant to keep her tone light, joking. Instead it came out quiet. Subdued.

“No,” said Nadine, walking Chloe over to a nearby rock and helping her sit, “he won’t.”

“He will. Just to stick it to Nate and Sam—”

“He won’t,” Nadine repeated. Their eyes met, briefly. An unseen message passed between them. An, I won’t let him. 

Chloe relaxed slightly, then looked away, feeling at once grateful yet unsure toward this woman who was supposed to be her enemy. And still terribly attracted. Ugh. To cover it up, she muttered, “Bloody bully, him. Throws a tantrum when he doesn’t get his way. Like a spoiled brat.”

Nadine made a face. “You’re not wrong.”

“So why work for him, then?” Chloe hissed at her, suddenly angry. She just couldn’t understand it. How a woman so resolute, so strong, with such grit and integrity, could—

Nadine’s expression hardened. “I don’t need to explain myself to you.” She touched the gun at her hip as if to make sure it was there and thrust a finger toward the ground. “Now, stay here. Don’t move. Understand, ja?”

Chloe rolled her eyes, propped her elbows on her knees and put her chin on her tied up fists. “Sure thing, love," she sighed. Nadine motioned Knot back to his spot by Chloe and left in the direction Rafe had gone. Chloe watched her go, feeling strangely forlorn.

This time around, Knot was too nervous to chat. He held his rifle clutched in both hands and jumped at every sound. Probably, the big bloody half-sunken pirate ship on the other side of the cave had freaked him out. Chloe didn’t blame him. Spooky, the goddamned thing was. Even she didn’t like looking at it. 

But, treasure was treasure, and this was Pirate Captain Henry Avery they were talking about, as Chloe soon discovered. Not even twenty minutes after they’d left, Nadine and her men were back, toting heavy-looking chests between them. Chloe, at first, watched them struggle under the weight in confusion—and then realized what, exactly, they were carrying.

Gold—bloody gold. Trinkets. Jewelry. Coins. She’d never seen so much at once. Did Avery really have so much treasure that he couldn’t fit it all on his boat, and left some scattered about the cave to be snatched up by vultures like them? Christ. 

Nadine began to send men back to the ship parked in the cove outside, each with a chest of treasure. Chloe felt, in a way, defeated. It looked like Rafe and his men really had won, after all. Once they picked the cave clean, they would move on to Avery’s ship and strip it, stem to stern. Seemed like losing Sam really had only been a minor speedbump. Chloe could only hope the older Drake had given up and gotten away safely—

Well, wait, no, there he was, right bloody there, sneaking onto one of the boats down by the dock.

Sam glanced up, just then, and saw her from maybe thirty feet away. Chloe went still. So did Sam. For a second, Chloe could see it in his face—that was he thinking about trying to help her, maybe—but then Knot coughed beside her and began to turn ‘round, pulling a cigarette from his vest and lighting it with a zippo, forcing Sam to duck away and crouch quickly behind the boat’s steering wheel. Chloe shot to her feet.

“Say, think I could bum one of those?” she asked loudly. Knot turned back to her, peered into his battered pack of smokes. 

“Sorry,” he said with what sounded like real regret. “Last one.” 

Chloe nodded. Over his shoulder, she watched Sam find the boat keys, start the engine and go revving off. She felt a little disappointed, and bitter, seeing him go, but she got it, sort of, that he’d chosen to cut and run rather than stay and try to help her. Probably, he would’ve been shot before he got any closer to her. Plus, she was Chloe goddamn Frazer. She didn’t need his help.

She’d thought maybe Sam got away clean, but then Rafe appeared, furious as ever, and stormed up to Nadine, still loading up the last of the boats. A blind person could tell Nadine was done here, with this job and this island, while Rafe was dumb enough to want to stay. Tempting fate, that.

Unfortunately, they were out of earshot, but Chloe could read body language well enough for a rough estimation of what was being said. Nadine wanted to leave. Rafe didn’t. Rafe stabbed a finger toward Avery’s ship, snarled something about the end being in sight. Nadine just sneered at him, motioned at the chest filled with gold already in the boat. A smart woman, who knew when to call it quits—and in that regard, also a woman after Chloe Frazer’s own heart.

She couldn’t hear what Rafe said next, but whatever it was, it wasn’t anything good. Nadine’s back stiffened. Her shoulders drew up and her fists clenched, triceps popping as her arms flexed. Rafe got that weasely look on his face that Chloe had seen before, at the auction in Italy, when Sully was outbidding him. He eased back, smiling thinly, no doubt trying to weedle Nadine into staying, since bullying her hadn’t worked. Nadine replied with such a look of disgust that Chloe felt it, even from where she was sitting.

That was when Rafe did something incredibly stupid—probably the stupidest thing Chloe had seen anyone do, and she’d once watched Nate try to outrun a tank. 

Rafe slapped Nadine. The sound of it—the sharp, echoing crack—bounced across the cave around them. Cheek turned aside, Nadine looked in shock. Chloe felt her own body stiffen in outrage. She half-wanted to burst to her feet and give Rafe a smack of his own, see how he liked it. Beside Chloe, Knot had gone utterly still. His jaw hung open, half-burned cigarette fizzling on the ground. Stuck between the need to defend his boss and stand by his current employer.

Slowly, Nadine brought a hand to her face in disbelief. Rafe tried for placating again, palms spread, and then Nadine lashed out, tiger-quick, and punched Rafe in the gut so hard he bent double and fell to his knees. Nadine drew her gun and pointed it at him.

Good on ya, Chloe thought fiercely. Finally, they—

But—wait. Shit. Shit!

Nadine’s own man had just turned his gun on her. Rafe was standing again. His expression was smug. Like a kid who was always used to winning, even if he had to cheat. Chloe felt sick. She could certainly guess what was happening—Rafe paid better than the boss, and he’d bought Nadine’s own men out from under her. The gall of such an outright betrayal was staggering. She could only imagine how Nadine felt.

A small part of her expected Nadine to go for Rafe anyways. Kill him, and then die in a hail of gunfire from her traitorous, turncoat men. But the larger part of Chloe knew Nadine was smarter than that. She was far more patient, more disciplined. Chloe was the type who lashed out soon as she was hit. Nadine? Oh, she’d have her revenge, alright. In time.

As predicted, Nadine put her gun away. Said something that looked like Let’s go make history.

Rafe smiled, and watched Nadine step into the boat. Then he turned and called loudly over to Knot, “Bring her,” and Chloe’s stomach plummeted into her feet. 

As Knot walked her over, she drew up the scenario in her head. Once they were on Avery’s ship, Rafe would use her as his bargaining chip. He’d force Sam to disarm, then kill him. Then he’d kill Nate and Elena, too, if they showed up. And then he’d kill Chloe, take the treasure, and get away with it all.

Unless—

“Wait,” Nadine said. Her tone was low, stern with finality. Knot stopped in his tracks. Rafe, annoyed, turned to Nadine. “She stays here.”

“What?” Rafe laughed. “Are you joking?”

“She stays here,” Nadine insisted, tone blank, without inflection. A tone that said, I don’t care what happens to her. This is just the smarter thing to do, for us. “Think, Rafe. Bargaining won’t work, not with Sam. He’s too desperate. But it will work with his brother. We need to secure the ship. Deal with Sam, first. Get you your treasure. Then we can come back, and wait for Nathan. That’s when we’ll need her. Not before.” Sitting there in the boat, elbows on her knees, fingers threaded together, she was the picture of a calm, collected PMC leader and strategist.

Only, if you looked closely like Chloe was, you could see the sweat beading on Nadine’s temples. The clench of those fingers against one another. The tight set of her shoulders, hard with tension. You could see the holes in her plan, too. The plan she’d only just thought up.

Because she was trying to save Chloe.

Chloe saw it, though. Always had been a keen girl. That was why she stood quiet, and waited. Waited to see if Rafe would take the bait—Rafe, who was frazzled, tired, angry, and hungry for victory. So much so he might just take some bad advice without realizing it. Which Nadine would very much be banking on, right about now. Hello, handling.

A clever one, Nadine Ross. Chloe couldn’t remember the last time she’d been so impressed.

“Fine,” Rafe said at last, practically trembling with impatience to get this over with. Perhaps if he had been more rested, or a man of a far better temperment, this wouldn’t have worked. But he wasn't, and it did, so go bloody figure. To Knot, Rafe said, “Stay here. Don’t let her out of your sight. We’ll be back.”

Chloe watched him go, and felt her chest constrict. Two Shoreline mercs joined them in the boat, Rafe and Nadine glowering at each other as the engine revved. Nadine had such a grave expression even Chloe felt a little afraid of her. Their eyes met, just for a moment, as the boat was pulling away. Chloe didn’t flinch—or, didn’t flinch too badly—at the crackling energy that flashed between them.  

Nadine Ross, perhaps, had just saved her life.

Now it was up to Chloe to return the favor.

—

'Course, the way Chloe figured it, in a way this was just another plan thought up by some Drakes, so she didn’t have to wait terribly long to make her move; ten minutes, or thereabouts. That was when she heard it—the dull, muted sound of something bad happening. Namely an explosion, an ancient pirate trap being triggered on Avery’s ship. That was when she made her move.

Knot’s head turned at the noise. “Wha—” he said.

The rest came out as a gargle as Chloe jabbed her taser—stolen back on the Shoreline ship, easily pickpocketed when she fell against Nadine on the way down to her bedroll—into his side and held it there till the charge was empty. It was already at half-voltage after being used on her earlier, but he slumped immediately. Chloe dropped the taser, fumbled at his hip but couldn’t find a knife, shit—

She heard another muffled blast and looked up to see—

The bloody ship was on fire. Oh, Jesus Christ.

She abandoned her search and ran to the docks. Rafe and Nadine had taken the last of the boats, but Avery’s ship was, well, sort of close. If she could swim to it, maybe she could find and steal the boat they’d used. But she’d have to swim with her hands tied, and—

"Hey!” said a gruff voice. A Shoreline goon and a dazed looking Knot were stumbling her way. The goon aimed a pistol and shot at her wildly.

"Shit!" Chloe ran, leapt, and plunged into the cold cave seawater, kicking as hard as she could. It was difficult, swimming without the use of her hands, but her legs were strong, and she could hold her breath pretty well. She stayed beneath the water’s surface as long as she could, heard the murky pops of gunfire following her. Soon enough, though, her strength started to flag, and she was forced to surface, gasping for air, floundering with her tied wrists. The gunfire continued—luckily, neither of the men were sharpshooters and most shots went wide. If she got shot, it’d be from a stray bullet. Served her right for trying something so dumb. 

She sucked in a double-lungful of air and dove again. Swam like her life depended on it, since, well, it sort of did. Water was warmer here, she noticed, probably from the growing flames of the ship. She kicked and kicked until her entire body was burning from the strain, eyes stinging from the seawater, lungs cramping, how much bloody farther was it, what if she didn’t make it, shit, shit—

Something bashed her on the head so hard she swallowed a mouthful of seawater. The boat—it was the bloody boat—

She burst from the water, coughing and choking thickly. The men back at the dock weren’t shooting anymore, but maybe that was because they’d run off to find a goddamned sniper rifle. No time. Hurry—climb. She slung her tied wrists over the side of the boat and heaved. She was waterlogged and limp with exhaustion, arms trembling with the effort of pulling herself up and over the edge, but eventually she managed (barely), and rolled in and collapsed facedown in the bottom of the boat, wheezing for breath, water streaming from her hair and body. Oh, Jesus. She was never, ever going to do that again. It—

There was a loud thump, and the boat under her swayed. Chloe’s head jerked up to see a dark figure standing above her, backlit by the growing flames of the burning ship beside them.

A Shoreline man. Shit—she’d forgotten—

He lunged, socked Chloe right in the face. She gasped, saw stars. Swung both her tied fists up at his head, gave him a good haymaker back, but shit, he was bigger, stronger, faster, and he hadn’t just swum half a bloody mile with his hands tied—

He jumped on her, pinned her knees under his leg and punching her soundly with his other hand. Chloe snarled and fought him, flailing and kicking and elbowing with a fury. Christ but he was strong, and—

—and suddenly he wasn’t there anymore, and she blinked up in shock to see Nadine Ross holding the man by his hair with a formidable grip, hammering him in the face over and over with her fist, finishing with an uppercut that sent him flying off the side of the boat and into the water with a mighty splash. He surfaced facedown, either unconscious or dead.

Breathing hard, Nadine turned to Chloe. She was bleeding from the head and covered in sweat and flecks of seawater. Her pants were wet to her knees. She had a gun at her hip and another jutting from the small of her back, shoved under her belt. It looked suspiciously like Rafe’s gun.

“Well,” coughed Chloe, still rattled from all the punches she’d just taken to the head. “Fancy meeting you here.”

“I—” said Nadine, and then they both heard a chilling click, and froze.

Behind Nadine was the second Shoreline man. His gun was aimed right at Nadine’s back.

Nadine put her hands up. She turned, slowly, and took a few steps back, so Chloe was directly behind her, blocking her from the man's view.

“Now, Orca,” Nadine said lowly. “Be careful what you do next, unless you want to be very sorry later.”

“Ma’am,” grunted ‘Orca.’ “Don’t make me—”

That's when Chloe shot him, with the silver gun she’d snatched from Nadine’s belt, less than a second ago.

Bang!

Orca shouted, dropped his gun and spun sideways, shoulder blooming red, plunging into the water with a loud splash. Chloe shot again where he'd fallen, missed. By the time the man surfaced, nearly thirty feet away and paddling quickly in the other direction, Chloe had already dropped the gun, sure he’d be no more trouble.

It was just her and Nadine now, in the boat next to a burning pirate ship. Not quite the atmosphere Chloe'd been hoping for during a moment alone with the other woman. Chloe caught her breath, managed to sit up on her elbows. The gun, she kicked away to the bottom of the boat. She didn’t need it anymore. 

“Alright, love?” she asked.

Nadine didn’t speak, just turned, a stray flame lighting up her face a brilliant red. They regarded each other warily for a long moment, like two street cats who’d just wandered across each other for the first time and weren’t quite sure what to do, yet. Were they enemies, still, or friends?

Chloe waited. Nadine clearly had the advantage here; she still had a gun. For her part, Chloe didn’t waste time begging or bargaining. She simply smiled, finding she wasn’t particularly afraid of what was to come, even now.

Then she blinked, noticing Nadine’s complete lack of burden. “What, no treasure for you, then?”

“Rafe can have it, for all I care,” Nadine replied. “Everyone obsessed with that treasure gets what they deserve.”

“Agreed.” Chloe coughed the last of the remaining seawater from her throat, cleared it, and sat up a bit straighter against the side of the boat. She jerked her chin at the flaming ship nearby, which had gotten so hot it stung her face just to look at. “Don’t suppose you’d tell me if you saw a wayward Drake ‘round here.”

“I did,” Nadine said flatly. “Nathan too.”

Oh, Christ. Wonderful news, that. Now she could thrash the both of them herself, for getting her into this. She looked dubiously at the flame-covered hull, felt a pulse of concern. “What—they’re, they’re not still in there, are they?”

“Find out for yourself.” Nadine knelt. She took the gun Chloe’d dropped—Rafe’s—and tossed it over the side of the boat and into the water. From her belt she retrieved a six-inch bowie knife. Chloe went still at the sight of its keen edge. There was a pregnant pause, and then Nadine took Chloe by the wrists, stood and pulled her completely upright with almost no effort, and cut through the rope with a swift, upward slice. Then she put her knife away and stepped back, nodding toward the growing blaze. “Go and save them if you like, unless Rafe’s killed them already, though I doubt he’s capable. I’m leaving.”

Chloe freed her wrists from the rest of the rope and glanced around. “Really? Just like that?” She managed a wry laugh. “Thought maybe you’d want to shoot him yourself, or maybe Sam since he’s been so annoying—”

"Like I told Rafe,” Nadine said gruffly. “I’m leaving. Whether any of them die or not, I don’t really care, ja?”

"Right,” said Chloe. She got it. Sort of.

Suddenly the pirate ship gave a shuddering groan, and cracked thunderously in half. Wooden splinters went flying. Chloe cried out, covered her face with her arm. Nadine did the same. Scorching char and ash fell over them in an eye-watering cloud. A ferocious rumbling filled the cavern. Chloe watched in awe as the ship began to sink beneath the water, the flames hissing black as it went under—and then yelped when an enormous rock broke from the cavern wall and smashed into the water not ten feet away, rocking the boat violently.

The cavern was collapsing, with them still in it. Of course. Henry Avery, apparently, was getting the last laugh after all.

“Shit!” Chloe squinted through the remaining flames, thinking maybe if she hurried she could leap onto the ship and search for Sam or Nate before the sea claimed it, then stopped when Nadine grabbed her by the back of the shirt and yanked her still.

“Look!”

She did. Wasn’t sure at what, first, with all the groaning and shuddering of the cave around them, and then spotted it—the distant yet distinct figures of two familiar-looking brothers making a swim for it. Those crazy Drakes!

Time for her to do the same. “We need to get out of here!” Chloe dashed to the boat’s controls, started the engine and revved it noisily. Nadine crowded next to her.

“Let me!” she insisted.

“Sit down!” Chloe ordered. “Best driver in the business, right here. Now, hold on!” She gunned it. The boat leapt forward. Nadine nearly lost her balance and clung to the side. All around them, massive boulders were plunging from above. Avery’s ship had rolled and flaming pieces of ancient timber rained down over them. Really, nobody but Chloe was going to get them out of this one alive.

Chloe grinned, and drove.

—

“So, you’re welcome,” Chloe said, afterwards.

Nadine, still clinging to the side of the boat, just grunted. Her face was hidden, pressed against the inside of her elbow. Probably, she was trying very hard not to pass out. Or throw up. 

Chloe couldn’t exactly blame her. It’d been close. She’d gotten them out of there, alright, but only barely. Had to take some tight, pinwheel turns to avoid the falling rocks, breezing through the shrinking cave entrance with mere inches to spare, all while the island shook and thundered and came down on their heads. 

Seemed a far cry from now, what with the sunlight on her face, calm breeze, steady waves, and distant cry of gulls circling the wreckage of what was left. They’d done a number to the island. A massive cloud of dirt, dust and black smoke had bloomed high above to resemble a simmering volcano. Give anybody second thoughts about approaching, or so Chloe hoped.

Well, almost anybody, Chloe thought, as she heard the faint but steadily growing drone of Sully’s seaplane. Their ticket out of here.

Nadine glanced upwards when she heard it, too. She swallowed hard and stood to join Chloe at the bow of the boat. Sully circled a few times, as though unsure if he should land or not. Chloe waved to encourage him, and was pleased when she heard his engines shift into a lower gear as he slowed.

"Think there’s room for an extra passenger in there,” she said, tipping her head at the droning seaplane, which was now setting itself up to land on a somewhat calmer patch of sea, further out. “I can probably talk Sully into taking you along, y’know.”

Nadine blinked, clearly surprised by the offer. She hesitated. Then, shook her head. “Don’t think the Drakes would agree to that, eh?”

Chloe scoffed. “I can—”

"No,” Nadine interrupted, with a little more force than before. “It’s fine. I think I’ve had enough of their company for a good while.”

"You sure?”

Again, Nadine shook her head. After a moment, she crossed her arms and looked at Chloe. “Thank you,” she said quietly.

"You too,” said Chloe, and meant it. If Nadine had wanted to, she could have forced Chloe out of the boat at gunpoint at any time. She could have let Rafe take her to Avery’s ship and use her as bait. She could have done a great many things. But she hadn’t, and that told Chloe all she needed to know about the other woman; mostly, that she was good and honest and all around a much better person than her.

"Guess this is it, then,” she said. They faced one another. It felt, for a moment, like it had back in that room at the auction hall. When they stood there and measured each other at a glance, and then Nadine had let her go. God, even then she’d had a soft spot for Chloe, hadn’t she?

Chloe smiled, held out her hand. “Been a pleasure. Well. Not really. But it’s been fun.”

Nadine looked at that hand for a moment, then allowed a small smile of her own before schooling her face back to its usual blankness. She shook Chloe’s hand with a firm grip. “Ja.” They released. “Oh,” she said suddenly. “Here.” From her back pocket she retrieved something and held it out to Chloe.

It was her phone, looking no worse for wear, if maybe a little damp from all the commotion (but that's what waterproof models were for). Seeing it, Chloe felt a sudden lump in her throat, overcome with emotion, because it was, in a way, so much more than a phone to her. It was her journey, and all her past ones too, filled with countless pictures of adventures, lost artifacts, distant memories, and the faces of her loved ones.

She smiled, took it, and stepped back. “Thanks, love." She cleared her throat roughly. "Well. Be seeing you, then.” Wishing it didn’t feel so awkward, or like she’d left something unfinished, she propped a foot on the side of the boat, then stopped. Put it back down. Nadine looked at her quizzically.

"Say,” said Chloe. “Can’t help but get the feeling you might be in the market for a new line of work in the future.” From one of the small compartments built into her belt, she retrieved a soggy but legible business card with her name and contact information on it. Nadine took it with a dubious expression. “Give me a call sometime, won’t you, love? Or maybe... I’ll just find you?”

Nadine didn’t reply. But she did, at least, put the card in her pocket, and then nod at Chloe stiffly. 

There. Now she was done. Pleased, Chloe gave the other woman a salute, winked, and then turned and dove—with some grace, hopefully—from the bow of the boat into the ocean.

Swimming with both hands was glorious. A breeze. Chloe didn’t look back, but felt the prickle between her shoulderblades of Nadine watching her leave. It occurred to her, just for a second, that she was at her most vulnerable in this moment. Back turned, unfocused, caught in mid-swim. If the other woman wanted to, she could shoot and kill her right now. The idea wasn’t completely out of the question. Chloe and her friends had given Nadine quite a lot of trouble over the past few weeks. They'd killed her employer, wrecked her company.

Yet Chloe knew Nadine Ross wasn’t that sort of woman.

Hopefully, Chloe had left a good impression behind with her. The chest half-filled with treasure in the back of the boat certainly wouldn’t hurt. Nadine, at least, would be able to get by with it, for a time, if she managed to lug it all somewhere safe. You didn’t really realize how heavy gold was 'til you held it—

—or shoved it into your pockets and then tried to make a bloody swim for it. Chloe hadn’t been able to fit much in hers, but what she had would certainly help with her own future ventures. Really though, it’d be a shame to sink and drown so close to the end.

"Chloe, is that you?” bellowed Sully when she got close enough to his bobbing plane. “Jesus! Come on!”

She was laughing by the time she reached him, sagging with relief, doggy-paddling the last few yards. Sully took her outflung hand and hauled her onto one of the plane’s fat pontoons. Through the open hatch behind him Chloe could see Sam, sopping wet and looking terrible but alive, clutching at his middle with a pain-filled grimace, and beside him, a similarly soaked Nate, hugging Elena. 

Jesus. They’d done it, hadn't they? They’d all made it out alive. How bloody lucky could they get?

Talk about a helluva vacation—some real summer fun, hey?

She laughed again, and then, as Sully returned to his place behind the controls and Chloe stepped up into the plane’s open hatch, looked back, one last time. 

In the distance, she could see Nadine, still watching her, her form upright and solid, impassive as the boat bobbed against the waves. As if satisfied that Chloe was now out of danger, she turned and settled behind the controls. The engine revved and the boat turned nimbly around and went racing off in the other direction at full speed.

Chloe watched her go, and smiled. She had a feeling this wouldn’t be the last they saw of each other, she and Nadine Ross, and for her, well...

That was just fine.