[ The metal door creaks open and footsteps follow. The only person Nate knows comes up here besides the occasional janitor for a smoke is Wade, and the telltale padding of his boots as he approaches and settles at Nate's side, case in hand. He turns to look at him, the close-cropped hair and the occasional facial scars, the obvious tension they're all trying to release one way or another. ]
You won't see me complaining.
[ He admits, turning and setting the bottle he brought near the beer before focusing on Wade. Nate tries a small smile on for size, shoulders sagging. ]
[Nate's trying his damndest to put on a happy face right now, but Wade can spot a bullshitter a mile away. Not that it'd be hard to spot in this instance-- whatever talents Nate might have hidden behind that pleasant demeanor and easygoing attitude, a good poker face is definitely not one of them.
Wade merely focuses on digging out a cold one from the six pack, unscrewing the cap with a hiss and taking a swig.]
Almost started to forget what this place looked like at night. You want one of these?
[ He observes wryly, nodding in acquiescence and looking down at the bottles between them, selecting one by its neck. It's still weird to him, seeing most things wrapped in aluminum. Nate never thought he'd miss glass beer bottles.
He twists the top off and pauses before taking a sip. ]
Sure was. Probably gonna be passing those gross cubes through my colon for months. Any more of that crap and I'd probably be able to poop out those big cardboard sheets you get at Staples.
[Great mental image there, Wade. He turns to look at Nate out of the corner of his eye.]
How 'bout you? You're lookin' pretty healthy for a guy who apparently starred in a live-action version of Operation.
[The comment is blase enough, but the concern in Wade's eyes is palpable.]
[ The face Nate makes is something he doesn't even bother to hide. He remembers the cubes, sure, but thinking about his simulated intestines is just as gross as if it really applied to the real world. Nate is suddenly grateful he spent most of his time conveniently dying to find out more about their captors. ]
...eh.
[ He gestures loosely toward his own abdomen, free hand falling into his lap. ]
It's... [ Not fine. He can't say that. ] I don't like doctors, but these guys would put Hippocrates to shame. They were more like butchers.
[Nate's unwillingness to answer Wade's question has been noticed, but he decides not to press the issue. Seems to be the wrong place for it. Instead he offers another one of those wry, humorless laughs.]
Heh. Yeah, I know the feeling. Kinda become the expert on those types of doctors over the years. At least these were more clinical than most. I mean, still wasn't fun, but there's nothin' more creepy than the medical types who get off on watching their guinea pigs squirm. That's just the cherry on the nightmare fuel cake, right there.
[Okay, so that might have been a bit too candid. Wade stops his tongue from wagging any further by taking another swig, already feeling the alcohol pool warmly inside his stomach. One good thing about not having a healing factor anymore-- he's got a much lower tolerance this time around. He shifts awkwardly.]
[ An expert on those types of doctors speaks to an uncomfortable kind of personal experience, one that Nate absorbs slowly while watching him, eyes slightly narrowed, trying to puzzle something out. Having a general dislike of doctors is normal - hospitals are hotbeds for disease and infections, healthcare in the United States is a fucking sham, people being charged with the care of your body is terrifying - but this speaks to something more accurately aligned with what the Null did to the original denizens of Hadriel.
He remembers their strange, nautilus-like bodies floating in massive tubes of saline, alcohol, and other mysterious liquids. Remembers the footage he saw once he'd translated their system's main key codes, the files labeled as numbered experiments and tests. The alien screams. ]
I lost track after thirty.
[ His shoulders rise and fall listlessly and he thumbs the printed label on his bottle. ]
[There he goes, trying to make things about Wade again. If he was even the least bit distracted this sudden deflection would've been lost on him, but Wade's been around Nate enough times to pick on some of his habits. Not that he doesn't think Nate is sincere in inquiring about his own health-- far from it. But Wade couldn't call himself an expert on reading people if he didn't notice the subtle cues in body language. The awkward, uncomfortable shifting. The sudden blank gaze, as if he's lost in a memory he's struggling hard to lose.
When you know how to look for it, this guy's just as bad at hiding his inner thoughts as Wade himself is. Maybe it's the reason why Wade picks up on it so easily. He answers Nate's question with a shrug. Might be hypocritical of him, all things considered, but Wade's been so used to playing off his own feelings that it comes to him as natural as breathing, these days.]
Eh. You been on one laboratory slab, you been on 'em all. At least all these times gettin' caught was kinda sorta my aim. Still wasn't fun, but hey-- gotta take your small victories where you can find 'em, right?
[Too casual. Again. Wade closes his eyes for a few second, his mouth tightening into a line as if he's disgusted with himself. When he opens them again, all bluster and bravado is gone from his face.]
Hey. It's... it's okay, y'know? We can talk about something else if you don't wanna get into it. Just thought you might wanna get some of it off your chest. Sorry.
[ What the fuck is it about Wade that every time he tries to do something nice Nate instinctively wants to recoil? The man makes breakfast, invites him out for some post-simulation beers, tries to ask if he's okay, and all Nate wants to do is crawl under a rock for being the asshole who can't accept an outstretched hand. He can bandage people up with skin to skin contact, he's done so multiple times now, but those were situations he could largely control.
When he's this tired, he doesn't know what might push through. ]
Look, I know what you're trying to do, and I appreciate the gesture.
[ He doesn't mean to loosely dodge attempts at being known, but at this point in his life old habits die hard. Nate owes Wade more than excuses about how bad he is at talking about anything that isn't first filtered through a set of jokes. Even then, he can't speak directly to the issue at hand, maneuvering through experience as a proxy. ]
...When I was in Hadriel I led this expedition out across the tundra to find these old outpost bunkers. We were trying to get information on the hive mind that built them and thought they'd be research facilities. [ He sucks his lip between his teeth and worries it for a moment. ] Turns out they were labs. Container after container after container of bodies of the city's previous residents, stockpiles of chemical supplies and surgical implements, video files of "tests." There were dozens of them. I watched them so nobody else in the group had to, in case something we needed was buried in the data.
[ His jaw tightens and he finally turns to look at Wade, fixing him with a hallowed, firm stare. ]
I had sympathy for them. The test subjects. But I didn't know what it was like.
[The look Nate gives him. It pierces through Wade's chest; leaves him feeling like he's unable to breathe for a split second. He's seen that look before in the past-- the haunted, deadened look of someone who's experienced horrors beyond human imagining. A look he's most likely worn before, underneath his carefully-woven defenses of irreverent humor and devil-may-care posturing.
After a few agonizing seconds of being held in place by Nate's gaze, Wade manages to turn back to the view of the city's skyline. His chest rises and falls in a sigh.]
Yeah. I know. You feel bad for people in situations like that, but it's hard to understand unless you've lived through it. It's... not something most people should live through, honestly.
[ He's grateful he doesn't have to explain further, not because he's incapable of it, but because it's a hair too far down the emotional intimacy scale and he isn't entirely sure he's ready to have that with anyone in this place. Not when he's going to lose them all the same way he lost everyone in Hadriel.
It's not a matter of if, but when. ]
...yeah.
[ His gaze drops back to his thumbs, still scratching the label off of the bottle. ]
[That... came out more bitter than he was expecting, and in chagrin he stoppers his disloyal mouth with another slow swig of beer. He doesn't know why he should feel so hurt that Nate isn't sharing more with him-- shallow, superficial friendships are what he's used to; what he's most comfortable with. Anything deeper than that is too dangerous; too uncontrollable.
And yet. And yet.
Wade's chest rises and falls in a sigh.]
Look, I meant what I said. You don't wanna talk about it, an' that's fine. I ain't gonna pry. Not like I've never kept things close to the vest.
[He suddenly turns to catch Nate's eye again, his expression decidedly forthright and candid despite his obvious apprehension.]
But... uh. In the future, if you ever decide you, y'know... can't take it? Don't forget that I'm only a room away, okay?
[The words feel odd in his mouth-- he's not used to offering to be the guy who listens to people's problems. But it's the least he can do for someone who's put up with him for this long, right?]
[ There's a harshness to that statement and Nate feels guilty again for functioning the way that he always does: pretending things are fine for his own safety, and the sanity of others. No one needs to know. He can't even say it, and what is he supposed to put to words, anyway? Yeah, I was tortured multiple times and it was fucking terrifying and it hurt and I don't want to do it again, but I'd do it again in a heartbeat if it meant someone else didn't have to.
That'll go over really well, Nathan Drake is so adjusted.
Wade is only a room away and Nate wishes it were so easy to walk over, knock on the jamb, and ask to sit for a little while as though things were perfectly normal and not one crisis after the other. It would be nice, to be in company. It would be nicer still if he wasn't convinced that doing so would taint this otherwise pleasant thing they have going. ]
I'm not good at this. [ He admits, expression open and candid. ] Sharing, I mean. It's not you. I promise it's not you.
[There's that urge again-- the urge to just shut down; to emotionally distance himself from the conversation with a poorly-timed joke or sarcastic remark. Shallow humor has been his shield for so long that he has no idea how to deal with someone being real with him, and that in itself has something strangely funny about it. Hypocrite, a cynical, familiar voice tells him from the dark recesses of his mind, offering support when you're standing in quicksand yourself.
Wade huffs out another laugh, tearing his eyes away from Nate's. It's suddenly become too much too look at his face.]
Well, I mean... I'm not really good at this whole empathy thing either, y'know? A-And I ain't just talking about the weird bond thing we've all got now, apparently. So I guess in a way we're... y'know. Even.
[He almost ends it there, but something in him compels him to share more; to give Nate something in exchange for his own candor.]
I meant what I said before, you know. About this not being my first time. Those guys who get off on suffering that I was talking about earlier? I, uh... kinda have firsthand experience. Though you probably already figured that out by now.
[He takes another gulp of beer, feeling the familiar warm dullness spreading over his brain, more quickly than it would have if his healing factor was still in working order. Good. He's gonna need to be a little dull for this conversation.]
[ Even. He hates how that sounds, like it's supposed to be some kind of shitty exchange where they trade information because it's proper, not because it's warranted or earned. Nate doesn't need even. He doesn't know what he needs, but it's not that. He doesn't need Wade to share his own trauma if it comes at the cost of reliving it.
He's not a sociopath, for Chrissakes. ]
You don't have to tell me.
[ Nate assures him, expression openly, unabashedly vulnerable. It isn't a simple matter to divulge anything of this nature and to that end he sure as Hell doesn't want somebody else to go through the mental wringer in an attempt to make him feel better. That serves no one. ]
Seriously. You don't have to dredge stuff up just 'cause I'm a piece of shit.
[He's being so careful about it, engaging in self-deprecation to spare Wade's feelings, but Wade knows a dismissal when he hears one. He's heard this same song and dance before, in the rare moments when he mistakenly let the mask slip just a little bit; when he read too much into things and got just a little too real.
You don't have to tell me.
Let's not make this into something more than it is.
We're fine where we're at.
Wade laughs again, more as a way to fill the silence than any feeling of mirth, feeling his neck muscles ache with the strain of not looking at Nate; of showing him the emotion that he knows is plastered quite starkly on his face.]
I mean... pretty sure Mr. Roboto's Surgical Funhouse got there first, but whatever.
[He puts the half-full bottle to his lips again. It comes away completely drained, and he sets it down beside him with a clink and a gusty, breathless sigh.]
It's a nice night though, huh?
[Someone please just close the curtain. He's forgotten his lines.]
[ It's the sudden bitterness that really feels like a slap in the face. Like he's made a mistake in offering clemency, in suggesting that Wade shouldn't feel obligated to talk about anything that makes him uncomfortable just because he thinks it might help Nate in some way. A sharp, ragged laugh and Wade turns away, back to the precipice that Nate suddenly feels is more inviting than the company that was trying so hard to be a balm on his evening.
He fucked up. ]
Yeah. [ Nate's voice is scratchy, and he watches the neon signs across the way flicker to life. ] It is.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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You won't see me complaining.
[ He admits, turning and setting the bottle he brought near the beer before focusing on Wade. Nate tries a small smile on for size, shoulders sagging. ]
Hey.
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[Nate's trying his damndest to put on a happy face right now, but Wade can spot a bullshitter a mile away. Not that it'd be hard to spot in this instance-- whatever talents Nate might have hidden behind that pleasant demeanor and easygoing attitude, a good poker face is definitely not one of them.
Wade merely focuses on digging out a cold one from the six pack, unscrewing the cap with a hiss and taking a swig.]
Almost started to forget what this place looked like at night. You want one of these?
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[ He observes wryly, nodding in acquiescence and looking down at the bottles between them, selecting one by its neck. It's still weird to him, seeing most things wrapped in aluminum. Nate never thought he'd miss glass beer bottles.
He twists the top off and pauses before taking a sip. ]
You were in the sim, right?
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Sure was. Probably gonna be passing those gross cubes through my colon for months. Any more of that crap and I'd probably be able to poop out those big cardboard sheets you get at Staples.
[Great mental image there, Wade. He turns to look at Nate out of the corner of his eye.]
How 'bout you? You're lookin' pretty healthy for a guy who apparently starred in a live-action version of Operation.
[The comment is blase enough, but the concern in Wade's eyes is palpable.]
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...eh.
[ He gestures loosely toward his own abdomen, free hand falling into his lap. ]
It's... [ Not fine. He can't say that. ] I don't like doctors, but these guys would put Hippocrates to shame. They were more like butchers.
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Heh. Yeah, I know the feeling. Kinda become the expert on those types of doctors over the years. At least these were more clinical than most. I mean, still wasn't fun, but there's nothin' more creepy than the medical types who get off on watching their guinea pigs squirm. That's just the cherry on the nightmare fuel cake, right there.
[Okay, so that might have been a bit too candid. Wade stops his tongue from wagging any further by taking another swig, already feeling the alcohol pool warmly inside his stomach. One good thing about not having a healing factor anymore-- he's got a much lower tolerance this time around. He shifts awkwardly.]
How many times they get you?
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He remembers their strange, nautilus-like bodies floating in massive tubes of saline, alcohol, and other mysterious liquids. Remembers the footage he saw once he'd translated their system's main key codes, the files labeled as numbered experiments and tests. The alien screams. ]
I lost track after thirty.
[ His shoulders rise and fall listlessly and he thumbs the printed label on his bottle. ]
Did something happen to you?
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When you know how to look for it, this guy's just as bad at hiding his inner thoughts as Wade himself is. Maybe it's the reason why Wade picks up on it so easily. He answers Nate's question with a shrug. Might be hypocritical of him, all things considered, but Wade's been so used to playing off his own feelings that it comes to him as natural as breathing, these days.]
Eh. You been on one laboratory slab, you been on 'em all. At least all these times gettin' caught was kinda sorta my aim. Still wasn't fun, but hey-- gotta take your small victories where you can find 'em, right?
[Too casual. Again. Wade closes his eyes for a few second, his mouth tightening into a line as if he's disgusted with himself. When he opens them again, all bluster and bravado is gone from his face.]
Hey. It's... it's okay, y'know? We can talk about something else if you don't wanna get into it. Just thought you might wanna get some of it off your chest. Sorry.
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When he's this tired, he doesn't know what might push through. ]
Look, I know what you're trying to do, and I appreciate the gesture.
[ He doesn't mean to loosely dodge attempts at being known, but at this point in his life old habits die hard. Nate owes Wade more than excuses about how bad he is at talking about anything that isn't first filtered through a set of jokes. Even then, he can't speak directly to the issue at hand, maneuvering through experience as a proxy. ]
...When I was in Hadriel I led this expedition out across the tundra to find these old outpost bunkers. We were trying to get information on the hive mind that built them and thought they'd be research facilities. [ He sucks his lip between his teeth and worries it for a moment. ] Turns out they were labs. Container after container after container of bodies of the city's previous residents, stockpiles of chemical supplies and surgical implements, video files of "tests." There were dozens of them. I watched them so nobody else in the group had to, in case something we needed was buried in the data.
[ His jaw tightens and he finally turns to look at Wade, fixing him with a hallowed, firm stare. ]
I had sympathy for them. The test subjects. But I didn't know what it was like.
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After a few agonizing seconds of being held in place by Nate's gaze, Wade manages to turn back to the view of the city's skyline. His chest rises and falls in a sigh.]
Yeah. I know. You feel bad for people in situations like that, but it's hard to understand unless you've lived through it. It's... not something most people should live through, honestly.
[Least of all someone like you.]
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It's not a matter of if, but when. ]
...yeah.
[ His gaze drops back to his thumbs, still scratching the label off of the bottle. ]
Yeah. But I can take it.
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[That... came out more bitter than he was expecting, and in chagrin he stoppers his disloyal mouth with another slow swig of beer. He doesn't know why he should feel so hurt that Nate isn't sharing more with him-- shallow, superficial friendships are what he's used to; what he's most comfortable with. Anything deeper than that is too dangerous; too uncontrollable.
And yet. And yet.
Wade's chest rises and falls in a sigh.]
Look, I meant what I said. You don't wanna talk about it, an' that's fine. I ain't gonna pry. Not like I've never kept things close to the vest.
[He suddenly turns to catch Nate's eye again, his expression decidedly forthright and candid despite his obvious apprehension.]
But... uh. In the future, if you ever decide you, y'know... can't take it? Don't forget that I'm only a room away, okay?
[The words feel odd in his mouth-- he's not used to offering to be the guy who listens to people's problems. But it's the least he can do for someone who's put up with him for this long, right?]
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That'll go over really well, Nathan Drake is so adjusted.
Wade is only a room away and Nate wishes it were so easy to walk over, knock on the jamb, and ask to sit for a little while as though things were perfectly normal and not one crisis after the other. It would be nice, to be in company. It would be nicer still if he wasn't convinced that doing so would taint this otherwise pleasant thing they have going. ]
I'm not good at this. [ He admits, expression open and candid. ] Sharing, I mean. It's not you. I promise it's not you.
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Wade huffs out another laugh, tearing his eyes away from Nate's. It's suddenly become too much too look at his face.]
Well, I mean... I'm not really good at this whole empathy thing either, y'know? A-And I ain't just talking about the weird bond thing we've all got now, apparently. So I guess in a way we're... y'know. Even.
[He almost ends it there, but something in him compels him to share more; to give Nate something in exchange for his own candor.]
I meant what I said before, you know. About this not being my first time. Those guys who get off on suffering that I was talking about earlier? I, uh... kinda have firsthand experience. Though you probably already figured that out by now.
[He takes another gulp of beer, feeling the familiar warm dullness spreading over his brain, more quickly than it would have if his healing factor was still in working order. Good. He's gonna need to be a little dull for this conversation.]
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He's not a sociopath, for Chrissakes. ]
You don't have to tell me.
[ Nate assures him, expression openly, unabashedly vulnerable. It isn't a simple matter to divulge anything of this nature and to that end he sure as Hell doesn't want somebody else to go through the mental wringer in an attempt to make him feel better. That serves no one. ]
Seriously. You don't have to dredge stuff up just 'cause I'm a piece of shit.
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You don't have to tell me.
Let's not make this into something more than it is.
We're fine where we're at.
Wade laughs again, more as a way to fill the silence than any feeling of mirth, feeling his neck muscles ache with the strain of not looking at Nate; of showing him the emotion that he knows is plastered quite starkly on his face.]
I mean... pretty sure Mr. Roboto's Surgical Funhouse got there first, but whatever.
[He puts the half-full bottle to his lips again. It comes away completely drained, and he sets it down beside him with a clink and a gusty, breathless sigh.]
It's a nice night though, huh?
[Someone please just close the curtain. He's forgotten his lines.]
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He fucked up. ]
Yeah. [ Nate's voice is scratchy, and he watches the neon signs across the way flicker to life. ] It is.