Chapter Text
There were certain perks to his brother's reputation, though Nathan Drake has been given fifteen extra years to build it.
And here was Samuel Drake, trying to build one just as notable in three.
To be fair, he was putting in a solid effort. And unlike his brother, he did have more than a few coins to remember his adventures by.
If Nathan Drake had been the one to discover ancient cities and subsequently lose their treasures, Samuel Drake was building the reputation of having more than stories to his name.
It was certainly better for Sullivan's business, anyways. Though Sam wished they could do without the sleazy clients who wanted all of the rewards and none of the effort to find them.
They paid well though, and some were actually decent enough to let him keep one or two souvenirs.
If he took a little more than he was supposed to, then hey, that was his own business. What the clients didn't know, couldn't hurt them.
It was while he had been searching for the clue for his latest venture in Egypt that he found a worn journal poking out of the sand.
The latest sandstorm had dislodged it apparently, and at first glance its contents did not appear that intriguing.
It was one of many journals soldiers had made during the First World War, filled to the brim with hopes and dreams as well as army babble.
What caught his attention and held onto it, was one particular entry concerning the war in France.
The soldier spoke of a brother, who had recounted with some amusement that the battlefield was scattered with pigeons and dogs who transported cheap as well as expensive goods that the soldiers could not easily acquire.
Goods that appeared to include expensive jewelry and golden pieces, sold and transported to the highest bidders.
And that was all he could find on the matter. No other journals, no letters, even the historical record did not think it existed.
The client had received the treasure they wanted, Sam paid in full, and Sam knew he should leave the journal alone.
He'd already been lucky twice, finding treasure of a eighteenth century trading network in Newfoundland and the wealth of an explorer from the 1600s in the depths of the Ottoman Empire.
There had been leads in those cases, not to mention a certain woman on his side that knew the time periods like the back of her hand.
He had no leads, and definitely no one who knew the time period. Not many explorers were interested in the First World War unless it linked to something ancient, his brother included.
So he reached out to the historians. To Abigail Victor in particular.
To the shock of everyone including Abbie, she had settled for a life of monotony. Once she had gotten her head on straight, she'd gone back and earned her PhD, getting a professorship within a year.
She had a husband and twins now, he believed. Funny what could happen in the span of two years.
Funny how he had remained just the same in that time frame.
She had sounded more amused that he had contacted her than anything else, gently reminding him that she worked with historians that knew the seventeenth to eighteenth centuries, not the twentieth.
"You know, you could reach out to your competition. Though that will mean they'll get a cut of whatever you find," Abbie reminded him. "Have you spoken to Adam Charles and his team?"
"You mean the guys that screwed me out of the Edinburgh job? Yeah, that's not happening," Sam retorted as he glanced at a golden necklace hanging in the display case in his office.
"They didn't screw you out of the job, they just outbid you," Abbie reminded him.
He slid out from his chair, approaching the necklace and looking at it closely.
"Connor Williams?" Abbie offered as he opened the case, gingerly pulling down the necklace and inspecting it.
Sam made a sound at the base of his throat in disagreement.
Eighteenth century, clearly a duchess' jewelry. Belonged to Victoria Cassandra de Victoire, given by Olaf Wallenberg.
Soft lips against his chapped ones, her mouth surprisingly sweet as she rested her hand on the nape of his neck. Pulling away just as he began to absorb what was happening, beginning to lean into it.
He'd stumbled through that expedition in more ways than one.
"What about Anton Antiquities?" Abbie offered, jolting Sam out of his thoughts.
"Hmm?" He asked, placing the necklace back in its case.
"Anton Antiquities. Small firm, supposed to have some of the best explorers and historical consultants. They might even rival the great Nathan and Samuel Drake's skills."
"Abbie?" Sam asked, closing the door of the case. "Whatever happened to that grad student, shit what was her name..."
"Oh, don't act like you don't remember," Abbie retorted teasingly. "Kind of hard to forget the woman who was able to steal something from you and get away with it."
Sam chuckled at that, leaning against his desk.
"Couldn't tell you where she is," Abbie continued. "We haven't been in touch for the past two years. Why?"
"Didn't she specialize in the First World War?"
"You could always Google her, see what she's been up to," Abbie retorted, Sam nodding before he began to search.
There wasn't much other than brief mentions of her donations to various museums across Canada as well as across the globe, and Sam frowned.
No way to contact her. Even her Facebook was blocked off from him. He laughed at the fact her display picture was of her dog.
"Find anything?" Abbie asked, and Sam made a sound of disagreement. "Well, from what I've heard Marie Anton's people are quite good. I'm sure they'll have someone willing to help you if you need it."
"Sure, I'll look into it," Sam replied, realizing in that moment he'd almost been...hoping, that he could speak to [Y/N] again. Convince her to help him.
They actually had worked well together, despite the whole awkward "love" thing that happened at the end.
And a lot could change in two years.
But he supposed that reunion could be put off for a little longer. At least until he finished this expedition.
"What's the contact info for Anton Antiquities?" Sam asked, writing down the address when Abbie gave it to him.
Well. Looked like he was going to Canada again.
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It seemed like the only people Marie Anton employed were thirty and under, two people rushing past Sam as he opened the door.
The main office was a lot nicer than what Sam and Sully had, though it was hard to upkeep considering how often they weren't in it.
There was a reception area and everything, Sam standing out in his simple shirt and jeans as he sank slightly into the expensive sofa.
"Ms. Anton will only be a few minutes, she's with another client," the receptionist told him with a polite smile.
"What do you MEAN you're not interested?" Sam heard a man yell before he busted through the door, a woman that displayed elegance with every movement on his heels. "I'M the one paying YOU to do this for me."
"Mr. Harris, there are limits to what we can do," the woman replied calmly, a French Canadian accent tinting every word. "I am sure there are other...."
"You're damn right there are OTHER places I could go to!" The man barked before he snatched a folder from her hands, storming off.
The woman muttered something in French before she looked at Sam and smiled politely.
"You must be my 11 o'clock. Follow me," she declared, opening the door for him. "Sorry, we're in the middle of a few cases at the moment so it's a bit...hectic."
Hectic was a kind term for it, people appearing to run around from every direction carrying papers and maps.
Marie directed him towards an office in the back, the blinds already drawn. She motioned for him to take a seat before she slipped behind her desk, sitting down across from him.
"So, how may I help the infamous Samuel Drake?" She asked with a smile.
"I was hoping I could borrow one of your historical consultants," he retorted, her eyebrows raising.
"Borrow? Does that mean you intend to give them back? And not try to steal them from my company?" She asked lightly, Sam putting his hands up defensively.
"To be fair we didn't know he was yours," Sam retorted, causing her to grin.
"I hope you're aware if you use my services, there will be the expectation we get a portion of whatever you find," she declared, and he nodded. "Perfect. So, which era are you going to traipse through now?"
"World War One," he retorted, her eyebrows arching in surprise.
"Oh?" She asked in interest.
"There was supposed to be a transport network that used animals for trading goods in the trenches," Sam declared.
"And you think that there was more being passed around than cigarettes?" She replied, causing him to nod in agreement. "And there's no way you can find this on your own?"
"There's no trail," Sam replied as he scratched his chin.
"I can see why you came to me then," Marie retorted proudly, standing up. "You're in luck, our consultant on the World Wars just came back from Stockholm a few days ago. You can discuss the details with her, and then we can consider if your case is worth our time."
She slipped out of the room, and Sam was surprised about how nervous he felt.
He shifted awkwardly from foot to foot as he sat in the neat office, his eyes glancing over the photos on her desk.
He frowned as he recognized a familiar mass of black hair and a wide grin, the man wrapping his arm around the woman.
So she knew Clarke Baker. Couldn't say he was surprised. He seemed like the type to associate with expensive treasure hunters.
Sam wondered if this was the company he used back in Newfoundland when he heard the door close behind him.
"Sorry to keep you waiting sir, I was helping another researcher with a map. So, how can I help..." a feminine voice began before they stopped. "Sam?"
He frowned at the familiarity of the voice, turning around automatically.
It was the second time Sam found himself rendered speechless, and the fact it was by the same woman made him all the more stunned.
It was [Y/N] alright, except it....wasn't. Her hair had been cropped short and awkward lumps had given way to smooth, glorious curves. She was sporting a wide grin that was familiar and yet at the same time...there was a confidence to it that hadn't been there before.
He stood up automatically, his eyes widening as he took her in fully.
"Holy shit," he breathed, heart thudding in his ears. Christ.
She took that to be his shock at them seeing each other again, chuckling.
She pulled him into a hug, her arms wrapped around his neck causing him to breathe the scent of flowers and something he couldn't identify.
"Well it's nice to know you haven't gotten yourself killed yet," she murmured as she released him, grinning.
"L-likewise," he retorted, drinking her in again and she cocked an eyebrow.
"You okay Sam? You look like you're in shock," she murmured with a frown.
"That's one word for it," he replied. "You've....changed."
"That a compliment or an insult?" She retorted with a grin, and Christ she hadn't always been this attractive had she?
"Compliment. Very, very much a compliment," he replied softly, and she laughed.
"Well some of us can change in the span of two years," she retorted as she sat down in Marie's chair. "Though it's nice to see some things remain the same."
She didn't elaborate, though he swore she saw her smile dim a little and a look come across her features that looked almost...pained. Before he could ask she had pasted on the grin again.
"So Marie says you want my help with your case?" She declared before she shook her head. "Sorry. Expedition. Used to talking with clients, not fellow treasure hunters."
"Fellow treasure hunters?" Sam asked with a smirk, sitting down across from her. "Thought you were done with this sort of thing."
"So did I," she retorted with a laugh. "Turns out I like it. Not every aspect of it, but overall? Could do worse for my job."
Sam pulled out the journal, the page of interest marked off.
"Found this in Egypt, it mentions some trading network in France that used animals," Sam explained as she looked at the words. "You wouldn't..."
"Les Chats du Guerre," she breathed before she looked up from the journal, her eyes shining. "I can't believe you actually found this..."
"So you know about it?" He teased, and her cheeks flooded with colour. For a moment he was reminded of the girl from two years ago and a smile blossomed on his lips.
"Sorry. It's just....I mean I was never able to include them in my dissertation because there wasn't much historical evidence of their existence," she rambled eagerly. "But they were FASCINATING, Sam. Three girls, two sisters and a cousin, managing a trading network using hijacked messenger pigeons and dogs....all from a bordello close to the front lines."
"So you're in, then?" Sam asked as he leaned forward, meeting her eyes.
She grinned, leaning back slightly and crossing her arms.
"For the right price," she declared as she cocked an eyebrow.
His eyebrows furrowed as he searched her features for any sincerity, his stomach sinking until she winked.
"Kidding, Sam," she murmured. "Course I'm in. Been interested in all this before I'd even heard the name Samuel Drake."
Sam had to admit....he was liking this new version of her.
"So where's Sully?" She asked as she looked through the pages of the journal.
"He's not coming," Sam retorted, causing her to look up at him in surprise. "He's taking a break from all this, says he deserves it after all these years."
"Based on what I've heard from Marie? Wouldn't blame him," [Y/N] retorted with a giggle. "So...it would be just you and me then?"
"Would that be a problem?" Sam asked with a grin, and hers faltered for a moment.
"Only if it's an issue for you," she retorted with a smile. "So where are we headed first?"
Sam scratched the nape of his neck before he gave her an awkward chuckle.
"Well....," he began, meeting her eyes and grinning sheepishly. "I was kinda hoping you could help me figure that out."