Chapter Text
If the circumstances had been any different, you could almost say Samuel Drake was charming.
Except the present situation had him currently in possession of a rather specific artifact. One that you knew was necessary for one Abigail Victor to complete her doctoral dissertation in archaeology.
One that the damn bastard didn't seem to want to let go of despite her protests, something to do with a long lost treasure.
Likely story to cover his own ass. The worst part was that he genuinely believed it, eyes bright and grin eager as he spoke of it. The worst part was that he almost made you believe it was true, and that bothered you more than you wanted to let on.
You'd been working for Abbie for a few months now, a six-month contract as her assistant. What you thought would just be a simple job of organizing papers or possibly taking notes for her during her experiments in the bone lab of the university had become you accompanying her to an island off the coast of Sweden, still taking notes but also accompanying her to the dig sites.
Which would have been typical if one treasure hunter had not taken it upon himself to scavenge through each one, overturning equipment and ruining months of data in the process in search of a golden necklace from the 16th century, apparently left behind by some explorer who's name you'd never even heard of up to this point.
What could you say? Your speciality was the World Wars, and you'd barely ventured out of that time frame unless it was necessary for some reason. Hell, you'd written a dissertation on the First World War, it wasn't like you'd exactly hidden from Abbie where your specialties lay.
She would have done better to hire someone with knowledge of the time period of her research. But then again, you worked harder than everyone else, made no complaints about the weather or the workload.
Maybe those were the only reasons she kept you on.
You were barely paying attention to the conversation as you watched the older man run a hand through a receding hairline in apparent frustration, a gesture that Abbie appeared to be mirroring.
You were beginning to think that Sam was.....well sort of handsome in that weathered sort of way when something whizzed sharply into the crate under your feet.
You sprung up, already glancing around when a searing pain went through your shoulder causing you to give out a sharp cry as you clutched it.
You withdrew your hand to see it coated in thick blood, your eyes widening before Sam shouted something you couldn't hear. You opened your mouth to ask when another bullet whizzed over your head and you scrambled to get behind the crate.
"What....no...you....INSANE?" You barely heard Sam shout over the deafening sounds of gunfire, glancing over to see him hiding behind a nearby crate.
"Sorry....archaeologists don't....guns....DIG SITES!" Abbie all but screamed at him in frustration, and you risked peeking out your head to see who was shooting at you when a strange ticking filled your ears.
You spotted the bomb resting on the other side of the crate and did your best to scramble away when you were shot back a few metres, your body slamming into the ground.
"Y/N!" You dimly heard Abbie yell as your ears kept ringing, gritting your teeth as you forced yourself to raise your hand and apply pressure to your shoulder.
"I...I'll be fine," you retorted hoarsely, the words lodging in your throat before you coughed violently. "Shit...."
"Y/N, just stay there!" She called out and you resisted the urge to roll your eyes.
"Oh no, I definitely felt like moving," you muttered as you listened to the gunshots, turning your head to see Sam shooting back at them as a hired goon lay nearby.
Abbie seemed to have acquired a gun as well, doing her best to shoot back as you struggled to remain conscious.
"We'll be there soon Y/N, just hold on," Abbie called out.
"To what?" You risked joking, earning you a warm chuckle from Sam.
Your vision was starting to fade and your heart rate spiked in panic, flipping yourself onto your stomach in order to try and crawl towards the pair. Seemed safer than remaining in the open.
You somehow managed, your teeth gritted as you flopped down beside them causing Sam to glance down at you.
You swore for a moment he looked impressed before he went back to firing at whoever had attacked us.
Abbie tore off part of her shirt before she stuffed it into the wound, your breaths turning to gasps as the pain threatened to consume you entirely.
You could only stave it off for so long before you gave in, your eyes slipping closed as the sounds of gunfire faded away.
++++++++++++++++++++++++
You dimly remembered the next week in a codeine haze, someone coming in every so often and cleaning your wound before they re-applied the bandages as you lay in some bed.
You guessed they'd brought in someone to extract the bullet, though you wished you knew more about the person who shot you in the first place.
Just what the hell was so important about a golden necklace anyways? Sure, the pendant had been gorgeously inlaid with swirling patterns and marks, but other than that it seemed almost...ordinary.
You winced as you slipped out of bed, moving your shoulder a little as you glanced around the room.
You appeared to be in a motel of some sort, Abbie's clothes strewn on the other bed as the TV played lowly.
The door to the adjoining room was ajar, two voices speaking quietly as you approached.
"...she's just a kid, and we can't risk it," you heard Sam murmur, and your stomach twisted sharply. "We should send her home."
"I'm not a kid," you muttered as you crossed your arms, leaning against the nearby wall and continuing to listen.
"Maybe you're right," Abbie murmured and you could picture her rubbing her eyes tiredly. "I...If you're serious about all this, then I might know someone...though no promises Clarke will agree to anything."
"Clarke?" Sam asked with sudden interest.
"Professor Clarke Baker. My supervisor. Used to do expeditions until he unofficially retired from it. Apparently got sick of scaling rocks for dig sites."
An unfamiliar voice chuckled at that.
"I know the feeling. And Y/N?" An unfamiliar voice asked.
"Leave that to me, I can handle it," Abbie retorted. "She's my assistant after all."
You heard someone's chair scrape against the wooden floor before their footfalls echoed around the room, the telltale click of the front door opening before it slipped shut.
"Your contact, this Clarke, he have any experience in the Canadian Rockies?" The unfamiliar voice asked as you stepped back, Abbie's words about 'handling it' like you were some child running through your mind.
Did they all think you were so incapable of making your own decisions? That if they told you not to do something you'd do the utter opposite? Forget the other two, had you not proven yourself to Abbie?
You knew their concerns were reasonable based on what you could assume, that they were likely to come into contact with those...men, again. Abbie didn't want you to get hurt, and Sam...well it was apparent he thought you were useless.
You couldn't figure out why that bothered you so much.
You rolled your shoulders as you stepped back, gently rubbing your injured shoulder as you scanned the room for a shirt.
You gritted your teeth as you slipped one on, the pain shooting through you as you shifted the bandages.
You sat on the foot of the bed, trying to catch your breath from the sheer intensity of the pain when the door opened.
A cigarette was poised between a pair of thin lips, the smoke forming a halo of sorts around Sam's tall frame.
"Guess Sullivan owes me twenty bucks," Sam murmured as he regarded you with a smirk.
"For what?" You asked as your eyebrows rose.
Sam withdrew the cigarette, blowing out the smoke before he responded.
"He put it at two weeks. I bet one," Sam replied. "Thought you were tougher than you looked."
"You did?" You asked skeptically, causing Sam to grin as Abbie stepped through the other door.
"Oh. You're awake," Abbie declared as Sam opened his mouth, appearing to ignore him as she pulled you into a quick hug. "How are you feeling?"
The pain shot through you as she touched the bandages and you withdrew quickly, gritting your teeth.
"Shit," you hissed, Abbie's relieved smile transforming into a worried frown as you clutched your shoulder. "I...I'll be fine."
"You're allowed to be in pain, Y/N," Abbie murmured and you must have rolled your eyes a little because Sam appeared to grin.
You withheld a sharp retort as you sat at the foot of the bed once more.
"I mean, you were shot for crap's sake. If you need more time to recover no one is going to...." Abbie continued.
"You don't need to convince me," you replied. "I'm perfectly happy to go home. Better than being shot at, right?"
Abbie grinned in relief.
"We can book you a flight for tomorrow morning," Abbie declared as she stood up. "In the meantime, get yourself some rest."
"No, really?" You couldn't help but murmur sarcastically, causing Sam to smile a little.
Sam took another drag of his cigarette as he stood there, blowing out the smoke as you looked up at him.
"Why were we being shot at, anyways?"
You almost wished you hadn't asked as he launched into some epic tale of European explorers and shipping routes of the early 17th century, of the treasures they carried for one patron by the name of Victoria Cassandra de Victorie, Duchess of some municipality you had never heard of. How her hoarde was thought to contain treasures well into the Celtic and Viking period, an archaeological gold mine in every sense of the phrase.
The others wanted it for the same reasons Sam did, treasure and glory. Anyone who found it was likely to be set for life.
"So I got shot for a treasure that might not even exist?"
"C'mon kid, have a little faith," Sam retorted with a wide grin as he sat down in a chair beside the bed. "Your friend seems convinced it exists..."
You thought of the long hours Abbie had spent pouring over documents and journals, filling out forms and requesting permits just to get to Sweden in the first place.
"She needs it to, considering how much money she's put into all this," you retorted. "Well, until your friends blew it to pieces trying to get a damn necklace...."
"Not one for jewellery then?" Sam teased a little, and you found yourself smiling.
"I just....I'm trying to be realistic," you replied with a shrug.
Your heartbeat quickened as Sam leaned in a little closer, the scent of nicotine and dirt filling your lungs for a moment.
"But what's the fun in that, huh?" Sam asked, the smoke from the cigarette billowing up as he looked at you with a grin that could almost seemed playful.
"Sam?" Abbie asked, causing the man to lean back a little as he turned his head to look at her. His response was a quick nod, though the smile that was once on his features transformed into concern at her panicked expression. "We've got a problem. They're shutting down the island. No boats getting in or out for the next few days."
An unfamiliar man stepped into the room, wearing a blue cotton shirt, his hair and moustache more salt than pepper at this point.
"Good thing we have a plane then...." Sam declared as he looked at the man. "Right Sullivan?"
"As long as we make a quick stop for fuel we should be able to make the trip over," the man declared. "We can drop off Y/N as well, I have some contacts that can get her home."
As you watched the trio pack, you wondered why you had a knot in your stomach. It wasn't like you could go with them, you were wounded and you needed to rest. Besides, you had already proven you were useless with a gun, no use to them in their likely dangerous antics.
You were better off at home, safe in your bed. Going back to the same old life as before. You liked normalcy and routine, and all this would likely be chaotic and anything but normal.
So why did you begin to wonder if you should come with them?
The decision was made for you, your clothes packed and yourself shipped off back to Canada on Sully’s friend’s rickety plane that left your heart in your throat almost the entire ride back home. Alternating between wondering if you would die or if Abbie would in whatever goose chase this Sam was leading her on. And that seemed like the end of it, to be honest.
You settled back into your life near Toronto, spending your days writing or playing video games or doing anything to stave off the growing boredom as you healed.
Until one day a message popped up in Skype from one Samuel Drake.