[ Nate recognizes it immediately, like spotting an old friend in a crowd.
The first hollow, rusted-out and seawater-eaten passage emerges from the blue and he knows, remembers voraciously poring over the articles and interviews, wishing he were on a professional enough level to warrant that kind of involvement in discovery. As with most of the lost wrecks, lost cities, that he reads about, Nate felt - feels - that hideous impulse to chase them down, still wars with need versus want. It's made life difficult but rich in people, in associations. Hard to let it go when you've become accustomed to the comfort of the known.
This feels comforting. Not underwater, cushioned by crushing pressure, but the rippling light that feels so familiar, the surroundings unobscured by the bubbles of a diver's exhale or the shift of a remote-controlled submersible. His gaze trails over the empty hologram of an old balustrade on the port side, rich blue descending into inky black, and settles on Ian's face as he talks.
It's not an easy thing, to keep from smiling. It's just- his tone. The inflection. The excitement bleeding into his voice as he describes the mechanical systems of a ship that's probably nothing more than trace fragments of iron on the ocean floor of the Atlantic.
Affection of this caliber is an odd sensation to feel after everything that's happened, but it certainly isn't something he thinks himself capable of picking up and packing away. Not when Ian's eyes light up like that.
Nate's expression slants for the sly when he wryly adds: ]
no subject
The first hollow, rusted-out and seawater-eaten passage emerges from the blue and he knows, remembers voraciously poring over the articles and interviews, wishing he were on a professional enough level to warrant that kind of involvement in discovery. As with most of the lost wrecks, lost cities, that he reads about, Nate felt - feels - that hideous impulse to chase them down, still wars with need versus want. It's made life difficult but rich in people, in associations. Hard to let it go when you've become accustomed to the comfort of the known.
This feels comforting. Not underwater, cushioned by crushing pressure, but the rippling light that feels so familiar, the surroundings unobscured by the bubbles of a diver's exhale or the shift of a remote-controlled submersible. His gaze trails over the empty hologram of an old balustrade on the port side, rich blue descending into inky black, and settles on Ian's face as he talks.
It's not an easy thing, to keep from smiling. It's just- his tone. The inflection. The excitement bleeding into his voice as he describes the mechanical systems of a ship that's probably nothing more than trace fragments of iron on the ocean floor of the Atlantic.
Affection of this caliber is an odd sensation to feel after everything that's happened, but it certainly isn't something he thinks himself capable of picking up and packing away. Not when Ian's eyes light up like that.
Nate's expression slants for the sly when he wryly adds: ]
An act of God.