{ inbox } hadriel

[nonscriptum]

This is Nate, you know what to do. I'll get back to you.

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@five

[fogey]

Your brother's here.

[ five hasn't met him yet, but he's seen him -- remembers sam's face from a memory that doesn't belong to him. ]

[nonscriptum]

yeah

[ He appreciates the gesture for what it is: Five reaching out, giving him a heads-up just in case. Nate has seen him already, wrestled with the nauseating emotions, put distance between himself and his brother. ]

when it rains it pours, right?

[fogey]

Mine is too, so I'd say so

[nonscriptum]

which number?

[fogey]

[ sharp, ]

His name is Ben

[nonscriptum]

sorry.

wasn't trying to be insensitive.

[ He's not hitting on all sixes right now. ]

[fogey]

[ he believes it, honestly. ]

I got a bottle of whiskey from the post office

[ it's not a non-sequitur ]

[nonscriptum]

beach is nice this time of day

[ Ha ha, get it, because it's the same time of day all the time? ]

[fogey]

If you say so.

[ which means, yeah, he'll see you at the beach in a few. ]

[nonscriptum]

[ It's the only place in Beacon that feels remotely like home, in that it evokes a kind of sense memory Nate misses, wishes he could experience more often here. He's sitting not too far from the surf when Five finds him, propped up on his hands.

Next to him the lantern is set gently in the sand, the singular warm light on the beach. ]

[fogey]

[ five appears before too long, walks till he's near enough to set down his lantern and pack, pulling the strap over his head. he sits, then opens the bag and digs through it till he pulls out the bottle. it's clearly of the general store variety, but it's definitely whiskey. ]

Huh. It's actually quiet out here.

[nonscriptum]

Yep.

[ He watches him in the periphery, the stark light from their lanterns between them and the unmistakably brown liquid in the bottle that Five withdraws from his bag. Commiseration booze. ]

Rooftops are starting to get a little crowded, and not a lot of people come out here near the water. Can't imagine why.

[ He adds with obvious sarcasm, as if the ink-black, roiling water doesn't look terrifying in its own right. Somewhat softer, more honest as he reaches for the whiskey: ]

If I shut my eyes, it's the only place here that sounds even remotely like somewhere from home.

[fogey]

[ five hands over the bottle readily when nate reaches for it. the bottle's unopened, actually, here to christen the maiden voyage of the ss commiseration drinking.

after a beat, he asks, ]

Where's home?

[nonscriptum]

[ He didn't bring cups, so Nate is assuming this is more of a "drink from the bottle" scene, and promptly does so. The liquor burns and he sucks a breath through his teeth before passing it back.

The question stymies him and his chin dips, gaze dropping to his laced hands, elbows on his knees. Nate twists the ring around his finger and wants to say her name but thinks it might break him to do so. Knows he'll shatter, and it can't be put upon Five to sweep up those pieces out here on a night this nice. ]

I was in Boston until I was twelve. Then it was Florida to Cuba, Cuba to Colombia. Argentina. Panama. Venezuela. Pretty much the northern half of South America, the southern half of Central America.

[ He doesn't know when home stopped being a place where he'd hang his metaphorical hat, and started being wherever he was with the people he loved. Nate isn't trying to hedge. The time just isn't ripe. ]

La vida del aventurero, right?

[fogey]

[ five swallows down a mouthful himself, as nate speaks.

he's seen this before. nate is capable of bringing up the things that bother him, but will talk circles around explaining himself. for such a friendly guy, he keeps a lot of things close to the vest. it's sort of the inverse of what five does, closer to what he's seen in allison or klaus.

(maybe less an inverse than a distorted mirror. they both find ways to keep people from wanting to look deeper; they both try to seem like first impressions are all there is. they both, maybe, believe their own con, on this point.)

he's noticed nate's wedding ring before, sees nate fidgeting now. he's never quite had a spouse to go home to, but he gets the sentiment. delores; his siblings. every exotic location in the world is cold and empty without loved ones. ]

I wouldn't know. Lived in one place for most of my life.

[ even in the apocalypse, he never strayed from the ruins of his hometown for long. didn't have the heart, stupid as it was. ]

[nonscriptum]

[ The sound of the surf is calming, in its own way, despite the thin tension strung between them, things unspoken and things unsaid. In his limited experience knowing Five, Nate has come into a familiarity with his habits, his tendency to say what he wants to say whenever he wants to say it. Five isn't the sort of person to curtail his speech unless it expressly behooves him to do so, and harsh truths are his bread and butter.

Nate is aware that his ability to articulate himself is lacking. Maybe not lacking, but rusty. Disused. He gives people enough that they feel as though they know them, and when they don't ask for more he doesn't offer it.

What's the point, when it usually drives them away? ]

...really?

[ The pitch upward at the end of the question reflects his immense surprise. Under the impression that Five was the well-traveled sort, it seems strange that someone as knowledgeable as he is wouldn't have gone places sooner. ]

Why?

[fogey]

[ he's quiet for a long moment before answering, exhales visibly as he looks out on the water. it's pitch black, of course, ripples only visible from the moon- and starlight. he's seen water like this in the apocalypse, seen countless moonless nights with a darkness almost as profound as the one here in beacon. even batteries burned out, decayed, as the years passed, and it was fire or nothing after a while.

the sun still rose, every morning, which made the apocalypse very different from beacon. but this isn't unfamiliar. ]

Because, [ he says, turns and glances at nate briefly, eyes dropping to the ring, ] home isn't a place.

[ his scrutiny is short-lived; he'll take another long swig of the whiskey before putting it down between them. he's shown his own hand just as much as he's cut through nate's prevarication.

home isn't even a person, or a group of people; home is a time, just like everything else. the time you share with the people you love: that's home. and its echoes can ripple powerfully through the rest of your existence. ]

[nonscriptum]

[ Five cuts to the quick with all the deft precision expected of an assassin. He doesn't dance around subjects, has neither the time nor the patience for it, and Nate knew that going into this conversation, so he isn't particularly surprised to find that method turned on him with such direct impunity. Nate's head drops with his gaze, glancing down at his hand again, turning the ring with his other fingers. ]

I learned that pretty late.

[ It's not a lie. He lost Sam so early, lost his family even earlier, and the brothers Drake never committed to one place long enough to have a home. Never committed to emotional openness long enough to admit what that might feel like. What was it like, he wonders, growing up with that much family? Regardless of how well they knew each other, or how they were treated by their father, they were together. Five speaks through experience and Nate has to wonder what happened to him, to have gained it. Did he get lost, along the way?

He reaches for the bottle again, fiddling with the top before taking another heavy swig. ]

Y'know, the- the more I did what I did, finding these amazing places, seeing amazing things...I was always left feeling empty. I just kept chasing it, thinking it was gonna fill whatever hole was inside of me. Couldn't stop.

[ Nate settles the booze between them. ]

It's hard to get out. Harder to stay out.