What If...Evan Garin didn't die?
Naga blinked, wondering if that extra line of coke he snorted really did fuck him up (although he was sure doing Nova 6 would've killed him but here he is still).
"Naga..." Evan whispers, and the former Perseus agent knew his mind wasn't playing tricks. Evan Garin stood before him, those beautiful ocean blues staring at him with a mix of emotions. A whirlpool about to swallow him up the longer he stares into them.
"The fuck? You died–" Evan quickly shoved his back, away from the other soldiers helping civilians.
"I got help from someone. Patched me up, housed me, and gave me a new identity. I'm not Evan Garin, I'm Tyler Davis." Evan spoke in a hushed tone, and Naga felt like this was all surreal. "I missed you...I've tried reaching out, but I couldn't ever get a hold or had to keep my profile down. The Government is convinced I'm decomposed, likely blew up in small bits and buries myself. But the KGB is still searching, no body means a chance or survival."
"Who helped you?" Naga whispers, a wanting to thank this person for saving the love of his life. Evan looks into his eyes, even with his shades on, and knows he can trust Naga with his life once more.
"Tommy Wilson."