At first he'd just assumed Sam was being as useless with his phone as Chloe always is with hers. He'd left it alone, trusting that Sam would call him back when he could. But after four attempts and almost a full day, it had become clear that something else was going on. If they were back home he might have given Sam a few more days before he really worried, but in this city it's easy enough to check in on him, and there are oddly more things that could go wrong. So he checks his apartment, and when he finds the place empty but for Sam's gun lying on the table, he feels something in his chest sink.
He's heard of this happening, but it's never happened to him. Nate's made a life of making sure he only lets a small handful of people close to him for this very reason. He'll always deny it if asked, but his mother had died and his father had left, and Nate had closed himself off in turn. Sully had been the first person to ever crack through, and Nate knows he'd helped, forced Nate to open up more little by little, but he's still always kept himself carefully guarded. It had been easier that way, particularly in his line of work.
Sitting in his own apartment, Sam's gun in his hand, Nate can remember what this felt like, why he'd tried so hard never to relive it. He'd lost Sam once before and he can't stop the way that day replays over and over in his mind now, Sam's hand slipping out of his as he fell. Ten years he'd thought his brother was dead until this city had given him back, and now he's gone again.
He doesn't hear the knock at the door at first. He can hear Rafe instead, the voice impossibly clear despite the years since Nate really heard it. We gotta move, he's gone. Nate shakes his head, his hands tighter on the gun. Nate, your brother is dead.
The knock comes louder and this time is breaks through. Nate startles, eyes flicking to the door. He takes a breath, reminds himself where he is. With a sudden start he remembers that Marcus had texted him, and maybe he could do with the company after all. He rubs one hand over his face and goes to the door, the gun still held loosely in his other hand. He's trying to decide if it's just coincidence that brought Marcus here or whether even ex-priests have some kind of internal crisis radar, but then he remembers what Marcus had told him about him and his brother. Sam. He's here because Sam isn't.
"Hey, uh," he starts, and he's stupidly proud of the way he keeps his voice level, steady. "Come in."
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He's heard of this happening, but it's never happened to him. Nate's made a life of making sure he only lets a small handful of people close to him for this very reason. He'll always deny it if asked, but his mother had died and his father had left, and Nate had closed himself off in turn. Sully had been the first person to ever crack through, and Nate knows he'd helped, forced Nate to open up more little by little, but he's still always kept himself carefully guarded. It had been easier that way, particularly in his line of work.
Sitting in his own apartment, Sam's gun in his hand, Nate can remember what this felt like, why he'd tried so hard never to relive it. He'd lost Sam once before and he can't stop the way that day replays over and over in his mind now, Sam's hand slipping out of his as he fell. Ten years he'd thought his brother was dead until this city had given him back, and now he's gone again.
He doesn't hear the knock at the door at first. He can hear Rafe instead, the voice impossibly clear despite the years since Nate really heard it. We gotta move, he's gone. Nate shakes his head, his hands tighter on the gun. Nate, your brother is dead.
The knock comes louder and this time is breaks through. Nate startles, eyes flicking to the door. He takes a breath, reminds himself where he is. With a sudden start he remembers that Marcus had texted him, and maybe he could do with the company after all. He rubs one hand over his face and goes to the door, the gun still held loosely in his other hand. He's trying to decide if it's just coincidence that brought Marcus here or whether even ex-priests have some kind of internal crisis radar, but then he remembers what Marcus had told him about him and his brother. Sam. He's here because Sam isn't.
"Hey, uh," he starts, and he's stupidly proud of the way he keeps his voice level, steady. "Come in."