Disclaimer: I do not own Leverage nor am I associated with Dean Devlin, Timothy Hutton or Gina Bellman.
Dangerous, Forbidden
Not that many years ago they were young. They played at dangerous games only people like them touched; they spent evenings in casinos and dim restaurants; they spent mornings in empty beds. By most standards, the reality of today is so much better. She wakes up in his arms every morning, falls asleep, spent and exhausted, every night. They see each other daily, work together, eat together, make love together. It's wonderful, really, it is.
But back then… If she could, she would rewind time to those blissful years spent toying with him, falling into his arms only to be pushed out again by his principles. It was dizzying, nervewracking and there was nothing in the world like it. The first time he kissed her was a cover, but the way his tongue had raked over her bottom lip was far from pretend. Everything about them was hot, sizzling, but classily controlled. A sort of Rock and Doris meets Tracy and Hepburn, with the mysterious allure of a little Grace and Cary.
It's not the way she thought it would be. If anything, it's less satisfying than it was back when her imagination drummed up the sort of fantasies that make secretaries sweep their desks clean. He lost more than his mind with Sammy; he lost his passion, too.
There was nothing like dancing in his arms, especially when he had you cornered, knew where the painting was, could easily have slapped cuffs on you and done his job, but would rather stay barely faithful, his eyes soft and searing at the same time.
Sophie often finds herself daydreaming over the few pictures of them, the young, vivacious couple always accompanied by martini glasses, cigarettes, playing cards, telling looks or all of the above. She had always been able to tell exactly what he wanted to do to her, even though he never said anything, just by the way he looked at her and whether he couldn't take his eyes off her ankles or her neckline or her lips.
She runs her fingers over a particularly faded photograph, wrinkled from spilled vodka and ice at one point. They stood on a bridge in Venice, fireworks washed out behind them, Carnevale evident in her feathers and the lusty look in his eyes. He had wrapped his arms around her right there and would have kissed her senseless if Sterling hadn't shown up to crash the party.
That was what she misses: the mystery, the yearning, the pure want, the intrigue. She misses the complicated dance of forbidden love, or at least forbidden need.
She misses the man she fell in love with.