Summary: Nadine and Naz squeeze in some conditioning as Shoreline packs up camp. Both are growing more and more frustrated with Rafe’s impatience, temper, and obsession with Avery’s treasure. Naz speaks up after a less-than-ideal, stress-driven boxing sesh.
This fic takes place shortly before Nadine confronts Sam and Nate on an island (presumably) northeast of King’s Bay. (The bros get lost at sea, so who knows?)
Word Count: 900
Warnings: Language.
Sweat formed, gathered, and trickled down Naz’s face, the product of heat, exhaustion, and exasperation. Dragging the back of a tightly wrapped hand across her lips, she took in the disorganized bustle of the morning: mercenaries pushing through foliage, breaking apart elaborate dome tents, and reloading excavation supplies, with the exception of Lieutenant Orca, who stood fumbling with a percolator. Rafe supervised the scene in his usual fault-finding manner, pausing only to tug a white cotton tee over his chest. He caught her gaze from twenty feet off.
Her eyes pulled away from his almost of their own accord, and she ran her hand over a frizzy, single-braided head of hair, breathing deeply and blinking to adjust to the harsh Madagascar sun.
The team had been moving fast, the intensity of Rafe’s orders and outbursts crawling towards a peak as the Drakes stayed in the lead. With the uptick in fieldwork and late-night studies, training time and space had fallen short, and sleep felt untrustworthy, bringing a new day under the same man’s heel.
“Are you ready to go again?” came her colleague’s voice, strict and a bit restless. Naz turned to see Nadine lift two punch mitts to either side of her head.
She had learned Nadine — or rather, learned what Nadine had chosen to show — and was familiar with the gnawing perfectionism that consumed her, driven in part by her responsibilities as her late father’s daughter, as the leader of the army he founded. There was an imbalance to her now, not in strength or manner but in purpose; the push-and-pull of recent weeks had hit her where it hurt.
Naz answered with a quick nod and a swallow. “Yeah.” She retrieved and readjusted the glove she had stuck under her arm.
Nadine stepped forward, left leg in front for ease despite being a natural southpaw. Her training partner followed suit, then raised her covered fists to her cheekbones, assuming a boxing stance — chin low, elbows tucked, and finally, a steady bounce.
“One.”
Naz obeyed. A thrust of her left arm, palm downward, a crack against the mitt.
“One-two.”
Another swift jab, then out with the right arm, a pivot of the right foot.
“One-one-two.”
Three hits, knees slightly bent, her weary posture in a vigorous dance with an associate-hopefully-turned-friend. Nadine had seen her at her best and at her worst — in joy, rage, fear, and trauma. Yet it no longer felt sincere, their pleasant hellos and daily chats having mutated into dour expressions and chilly remarks amidst Rafe’s shouts of disapproval.
“One-two-one-two,” Nadine continued. “Arm straighter on that jab.”
Naz regained focus and shook out her shoulders, attempting to unload the tension in her muscles and the humiliation of her rookie mistake. She observed Nadine closely as the latter’s commands trailed off, their movements growing in speed and complexity.
“Do that hook again. Clear shot to the body.”
“Yeah.”
“Better. And remember to exhale.”
“Right. Yeah.”
Bobs, weaves, and slick quarter-turns were now in play. They drilled without speaking, apart from Nadine’s occasional notes on form, and it was unclear whether the power of each strike or swing between them came from sheer concentration or resentment.
“Go back. Too close. The enemy could come in right” — Nadine slowly mimicked a blow to her partner’s stomach, landing on the last word — “there. Knock the wind out of you.”
“Got it.” It was the final straw. Naz arched over, elbows out as her gloves pressed into her thighs. Her chest rose and fell heavily. “Fuck.”
“It’s distance control. One wrong move and you’re dead. You know this.”
“I know. I just—fuck.”
“We’ll run it again. I know you hate ending on a bad note.” Nadine leaned to one side, wiping her brow. “Are you okay?”
“Are you?” was the sudden response.
“... What are you talking about?”
Naz dropped her head, eyes pinching shut. “I know it’s getting to you. It’s getting to me too. And it’s getting to your guys.” After a brief silence, she looked back at Nadine, teeth clenched under a tight pair of lips. “That asshole ditched, and now the rest of us are putting up with Rafe’s bullshit.”
At this, her colleague crossed her arms, mouth quirking upwards in a mirthless smile. “Of course it’s bullshit. My men are dying. And the ones who aren’t dead want out.”
“I know. I hear you talk to Orca about it.” Naz straightened herself, then exhaled again as she watched Rafe berate a Shoreliner for misplacing ammunition. “It’s not right.”
“What?”
“That we came into this to work together,” she went on gravely, nodding as Rafe motioned for the two of them to come over, “and ended up working for him. Killing for him. Maybe dying for him.”
“It’s true.” Nadine followed her line of sight and caught on quickly. “But I’ve worked with men like this before. Brutal, devoted to whatever cause they think is right.”
“Yeah, well. This level of obsession’s new to me.”
“It’s a business. Best to think of it as a means to an end.” A trace of cynicism had crept into her tone. She sighed, unfolding her arms. “So for now, we deal with it.”
“We deal with it,” Naz repeated stiffly, yanking off the strap of her glove as they walked back towards camp. “Like he’ll give us any other choice.”
sam to himself as the apartment rattles due to naz blasting the offspring while cleaning: it’s a feature, not a bug. it’s a feature, not a bug. it’s a f
A/N: This is a snippet (brief fic)! Banner by Victor Mui on Unsplash.
Summary: Sam and Naz slowly making their way from friends to something more. Reckless decisions and take-out, a classic duo. Bonus drawing of this fic by the awesome @drppeppr.
Word Count: 480
Warnings: Language, references to sex.
“The take-out.”
It was a low mumble, an attempt at human communication with the least amount of effort. Naz ignored the voice and pressed her cheek deeper into her pillowcase. Lying on her stomach, she slid her forearms under the pillow and let out a weary sigh.
“Naz.”
Still giving no answer, Naz stretched out her legs under the weighted blanket, reveling in its warmth as New York City’s famed January snow fell outside.
“The take-out.” The voice rose to a guttural whine.
She gave in with a muffled groan, eyes still closed. “... What?”
Beside her, Sam stirred, removing the arm that had been clumsily resting across his eyes. He stared at the ceiling of her apartment. “The dumplings.”
“What about dumplings?”
“We never ate them.”
Naz opened her eyes, her gaze falling on the assortment of succulents on her windowsill. “What do you mean?”
“We ordered soup dumplings last night and never ate them.”
She slowly propped herself up and looked over her shoulder at him, her frizzy curls falling every which way. “We ordered soup dumplings?” she asked, brows drawing closer together.
Sam half-smiled at her morning disorientation. He briefly studied the maroon, ribbed bralette and black briefs on the figure in front of him, recalling the colors, curves, and crescendos of the night before. He lifted a particularly unruly strand of hair away from her face. “Yeah. On that one, er... app. Grubhut?”
“Grubhub.” Naz climbed over and settled down next to him, resting her head on his chest. “I don’t remember a thing. What did we do with them?”
“I think they’re just sitting there.”
Her fingers traced circles on his bare skin. “Outside?”
“Decomposing at your front door.”
“Well, great.”
“Hey, maybe it brings out the flavor.” He wrapped his arm around her. “So what’s all this?”
“What?”
“This snuggling.” His smile was full now, nearly a grin. “This isn’t you.”
“Oh, it isn’t me?” she replied, matching his frisky tone. She began to pull away from his grip. “Well, I’ll excuse myself to go fetch those soggy dumplings, then.”
“Ah-ah.” Sam quickly rolled on top of her, his elbows on either side of her smaller frame. For all her energy, resilience, and wit — which gave her a bigger and louder presence than her height would otherwise allow — she was always so little, so vulnerable like this. But it wasn’t a sign of weakness. With time, and on her own time, she’d allowed these unguarded moments, these cracks in her mental and physical forts. “I’m afraid there’s a toll.”
“A toll!” Naz said incredulously. “To get the food that I paid for?”
“Who says you paid?”
“I’m sorry? I’ll pull out my phone right now and—ah!” She yelped with a giggle as his lips dove into her neck. “Oh, you are a dick.”
A/N: This is a snippet (brief fic)! Banner by thatnordicguy on Tumblr.
Summary: Was struck with the idea for a funny exchange between Nate and Sam in my AU’s epilogue. So here’s a piece about steamy Saz shenanigans (nothing NSFW, only implied).
Word Count: 850
Warnings: Language.
The sky was getting dark, and the warm wind around them — flowing from the ocean and imbued with its recklessness and excitement — tried to beckon Nate and his guests away from his beach house and back towards the waves. It was to no avail. The group had spent the past several hours on Nate’s boat, drinking beers personally approved by his older brother and exchanging thoughts on everything from the struggles of raising noisy puppies to the interview skills of certain late-night hosts. They were equal parts happy, tired, and hungry.
“Burgers still sound good to everyone?” Elena asked, readjusting her damp ponytail.
Nate placed a hand on his wife’s shoulder, his own hair frizzy due to the day’s humidity. “This girl is obsessed with using that new grill.”
“Well, someone’s got to use it.”
“Hey, I use it. I just... haven’t craved anything meaty lately.”
“Right.” Elena gave her husband a light, questioning grin, the kind that showed him she wasn’t buying it but loved him too much to vocalize that.
Sam, who had been walking ahead with Naz, turned to face the couple. “You guys cool if we, uh... take some time to get showered, changed?”
“Yeah, go for it.” Nate patted the pockets of his breeze shorts for the house keys.
“I got it.” Elena hurried ahead and unlocked the door, holding it open for the rest of them. “And Naz,” she added in jest, “could you please make sure your boyfriend doesn’t leave his clothes on the bathroom counter this time?”
“What, Captain Hibiscus here?” Naz remarked, tugging on Sam’s red, floral-patterned shirt. “Yeah. We’re working on that.”
Sam removed her hand from its grip and held it above her head as they walked inside. “Look, we’re not all citizens of the Banana Republic, okay?”
“I just go where the neutrals are.” She playfully snatched her hand away, then made her way through the kitchen towards the guest room, calling out, “I’ll be in the shower!”
Sam leaned against a dining room chair, his eyes following Naz’s body and gait intently. Nate observed his brother as Elena closed the door and slipped off her deck shoes.
“Okay,” she said, exhaling briskly. “I’m washing up and then getting the food started.”
“Right behind you,” Nate replied as his wife walked past them; but when Sam moved to follow her, Nate casually grabbed his brother’s arm, making the elder Drake stop abruptly.
Sam looked back at him. “You good?”
Nate waited until his wife was out of sight, then walked in front to face Sam, a smile wide across his face. “I’m great, man.”
“Then what’s all this?”
“It’s just, uh...” Nate tilted his head from side to side in thought. “Elena and I, we love you guys. You know that.”
“Jesus Christ, Nathan, is this an intervention? For what? I didn’t bring a single cigarette on that boat.”
“C’mon. You know what I’m getting at.”
“I really don’t. Is this about the half-eaten samosa I left in the fridge?”
“Look, Sam, I’m telling you this as someone who’s been there.” He lowered his voice. “I totally get the appeal, but... Elena hates when people are late to dinner. She acts super cool about it, but speaking from experience, if you’re the reason the food is cold, you can see sheer hatred in her eyes. So...”
“So what?”
“So don’t...” Nate made a circular gesture with his hand, as though egging on Sam’s understanding. “You know. Like last time.”
Sam’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t what?”
“Don’t... get distracted.”
“With what?”
“Sam.”
“No, I’m serious.”
“I saw how you were looking at her,” Nate added, chuckling.
“Nathan.” Sam clapped both hands on his younger brother’s shoulders. “I appreciate the concern. Truly, I do. But I’ve come a long way since puberty. You have nothing to worry about.”
“You think I’m an idiot.”
“No, no—”
“Seriously, I’m gonna get a permanent marker and have you write ‘SUCKER’ right across my forehead.”
