sicparvasmagna | (no subject)

He doesn't know why he's surprised. All things considered, it was a miracle that they got as long as they did, being where they were, who they are. He's standing outside Dimera, and it doesn't feel like all that long ago that he might have been able to see Chloe at her window from here, probably flipping him the finger from seven floors up.

He knows she's not there, and god help him he doesn't know why he is. It's nothing new, he and Chloe have missed each other and left each other and lost each other time and time again and it shouldn't be different this time around, except he's back here in this godforsaken city - alone this time - and it's nearly enough to make a guy lose his fucking mind.

Nearly.

"Pull it together, Drake," he mutters to himself, but he still can't bring himself to walk away just yet. Instead he lowers himself onto a bench across the street that has a good view of the building and pulls his journal out of his pocket. It's the kind of thing she'd make fun of him for if she were here, but she's not, so Nate can do whatever the hell he likes.

His pencil moves quickly across the page, roughly sketching the building, the trees bracketing it, the window on the seventh floor that could belong to anyone now, he supposes. There's an old but familiar rolling guilt deep in his stomach as he draws. Two days he's been back in this place and it's like the memories have come flooding back, like he's suddenly woken back up from the dream he'd been living in with Elena back home. And he had been back home, he knows that - must have been, by the way he'd turned up here again with new memories, different memories - but it's like he doesn't remember leaving. He remembers rolling around in bed with Chloe like it was yesterday, and he doesn't know how he's supposed to reconcile that with the knowledge that he also knows in his heart he was with Elena two days ago, talking about starting a new life.

The pencil strokes have gotten more aggressive without him realising it, darkening the lines of the windowsill until one particularly vicious mark tears a hole in the paper. "Ah, crap."

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Therese is out without her camera, and it's a strange feeling. Usually, even when she's not working, she has it with her just in case inspiration strikes. The phone in her pocket ought to be sufficient enough for such times, but even with as long as she's been in Darrow, she still hasn't quite gotten used to using her cell phone the way everyone else here seems to. She's better with it when she was, but she doubts it's ever going to be second-nature to her. Today, though, she has off, and she left her apartment only to pick up something for lunch, intending to head right back after. Instead, she starts going towards the park, thinking it's a nice enough day to eat outside, and a shame she won't be able to take some good pictures after doing so.

On her way past Dimera, though, she winds up stopping in her tracks, her train of thought temporarily abandoned. She's never actually met the man sitting on the bench working on a sketch, but she recognizes him all the same. Here, of course, that could easily be a coincidence. She still remembers when David first arrived and was convinced she was someone named Rooney. Chloe used to live in Dimera, though, and the fact that he's drawing it makes it seem more likely that he is who he seems to be.

"Nate?" she asks, brow furrowing, then realizes that's probably far too familiar, especially when she might still be wrong. "Sorry. Just... You're Nate, right?"

He doesn't really expect to hear his own name. It was a weird feeling, waking up back in this place and immediately knowing that there were people here he knew and loved, people here he had started to trust like he never really trusted anyone but Sully back home. He knew that, even as it seemed entirely at odds with the life he also knows he's been living with Elena, but worse than that confusion had been spending his first day back here looking for them and finding all of them gone.

Chloe is gone, Coop is gone, Lila, Beth, Poison.

Somehow, it feels like being even more alone than he was when he first came here not knowing a damn soul.

So he doesn't expect to hear his name. There's no one left who would remember it, he thinks, but when he looks up he connects the dots quickly enough. Maybe they've never met, but he's heard stories enough, been in close enough proximity that he can put the pieces together without too much effort. God knows, he solves puzzles for a living.

"Yeah," he confirms, closing the journal and looking up. "Yeah, that's me. Therese, right? I remember you." He gives her a wry smile, tucking the journal back into his pocket. "To be honest I was starting to think this place'd upped and started its population from scratch."

As odd as this whole encounter might already be, Therese is a little relieved that she hasn't just walked up to a stranger like she knows him. Even now, she can't claim that, but being right about who he is seems close enough. That he recognizes her helps, too, and is a little unexpected, though there's no real reason for that to be the case. She knows who he is, after all; they had a significant mutual connection when he was here before. Although she's lost a lot of people in the time she's been in Darrow, and usually tries not to dwell on it, she still misses Chloe. It makes this feel a little bittersweet, all the more so for the last thing he says. She knows that feeling well.

"It really seems like it sometimes," she agrees, smiling in turn, a touch awkward but friendly all the same. "But no, I'm still here." She glances up towards the apartment building across the street. "I guess you've... heard she's not."

It had been just about the first thing he'd gone to check after finding himself back here. There's a guilt that eats at him for that. For falling asleep with his hand in Elena's, on their way back to a promise of building a life together again, no secrets and lies this time, only to wake up in this city and find himself searching for Chloe. He doesn't know how long he's going to have to live like this - like he has two sets of memories, two Nathans in his head that he doesn't know how to reconcile - but the point is he's heard.

He's heard, and equal to the guilt is this feeling like there's a piece of him missing, and he knows it's the sound of her laugh and the taunting quirk of her eyebrow.

"Yeah," he says, and for a beat that's all he knows how to say. He knows Therese probably understands this better than anyone else in this city will, but it still feels strange to admit, to talk about. If she were here, Chloe'd punch him for daring to get this maudlin about her disappearance. Besides, he thinks, and it's in her voice, you disappeared first.

"Should've known she wouldn't stick around," he says, like she had a choice in the matter. "That was always our way."

Therese smiles, the expression bittersweet. She might not really know Nate, but she did know Chloe, and hearing that coupled with things Chloe said before makes a certain kind of sense. "She told me almost the same thing, after you disappeared," she says, unsure as she does if she should or not. There's probably no sense in pretending otherwise, though. They both know what happened, and if it's a little awkward for her to be in this position now, that's certainly nothing she isn't used to. Even with as long as she's been in Darrow and as many people as she's known who've disappeared, there's no guidebook for something like this, anyway. All anyone can do is try to put together whatever pieces are left behind.

"I guess it's this place's way, too," she adds, though she doubts it will be anything Nate hasn't thought of himself, or any sort of comfort. "It's... not easy, knowing so many people who've gone, is it?"