For the Thrill of It | Nathan Drake

[ 003 ] partners in crime

Tate reaches up and flicks him on the center of his forehead. "We share a common goal. We are... comrades."

"I think a normal person would just call him a friend."

"We're not friends. We hardly know each other." Tate goes to put her phone back down and face the bag again, but Ronan shakes his head and points to his athletic watch, which displays that their time is up. "You're seriously gonna make me end on that?"

"You're the one who got hit by the bag, not me." Ronan is not sorry for her whatsoever, which he makes clear by unwrapping the protective tape around his own hands with an infuriating smirk.

Tate glances at her knuckles and then back at his face, wondering if she could manage to punch it without him catching her hand first.

"Don't even think about it," he says, because he can read her mind, because they're best friends.

Best friends and she's been lying to him the entire time.

Tate will tell him everything after this mission is over. She will. For now, she needs to focus on her plan for the auction. A plan that will fall to shit if Nathan doesn't figure out how to cut the power by tomorrow.

After painfully unwrapping the tape from her hands, showering, and applying healing salve to her raw skin, she starts the walk home without Ronan— he has another client after squeezing in her impromptu session. Instead of filling her trip with chatter like she normally would if he were here, she pops in one earbud and puts on one of her favorite educational podcasts to make the walk less boring.

She sighs. She should probably text Nathan back.

TATE: Sully was right, being inconspicuous really isn't one of your strengths

NATHAN: ????

TATE: Imagine if this was a wrong number and you just admitted to being part of a heist

NATHAN: If this was a wrong number, you wouldn't know about the heist.

TATE: Touché. But maybe you should try a little harder to figure out the power thing. That's kinda important

INCOMING CALL: NATHAN

The sound of her podcast being cut off makes Tate jump mid-step before she answers the call. "Hello?"

"You know, I really expected some support, here." Nathan's tone is dry.

"I really don't know what to tell you," she says. "You literally have one job."

"Oh, and you've already got your plan all figured out, huh? How are you gonna keep everyone else distracted?"

He's condescending, but also — and Tate really hates to admit this — correct. She had been planning on just winging it. There isn't a great method to plan a distraction beforehand since it relies entirely on how other people are acting. If they aren't suspicious, she'll have less work to do. And if Nathan manages to cut the power at the right time, her job will be even easier.

"I was planning on winging it," she admits.

"Great plan."

"At least I have one."

"Look, it's just — I have a map here, okay? And I figured you might want to check it out, memorize some exits. After all, you're staff, and staff's gotta know where things are."

Damn. He's right again. Looking up a map of the place would've been a smart idea instead of letting her anxiety eat her alive and taking it out by over-exerting herself at the gym. She'd been so focused on readying her mind and body that she hadn't thought ahead.