Sophie Devereaux was far from a morning person, but rolling out of bed at nearly one o'clock in the afternoon was late even for her. Nate hadn't had the heart to wake her after she'd tossed and turned throughout the night. The restlessness along with the slightly congested sound of her breathing clued him in to the fact that she was coming down with something. In the span of two weeks they'd spent time in three different climates…the cons calling for Sophie to be scantily dressed at some point or another in all of them. The poor woman's immune system was probably in shambles.
When Nate finally heard the soft thud of her feet hitting the bedroom floor for the first time he couldn't help but smile a little. He could hear the shower running and knew that she was futilely trying to work the ache out of her body and rally. Knowing that her stomach probably couldn't handle much he quickly prepared a couple of pieces of dry toast and a glass of water and placed it on the coffee table for her—anticipating that she would curl up on the sofa beside him. He had just started to read the sports section of the day's paper when he heard her padding down the stairs.
He didn't turn to her right away, but watched carefully out of the corner of his eye as she plopped onto the far end of the sofa, sniffling softly and tucking her legs beneath her. He was hit with a heavenly scent—jasmine and verbena—the scent of the expensive French soap she couldn't live without. It was the same scent that seemed permanently embedded in his pillows and bed linens, the scent he'd missed so much when she'd run off to find herself.
"Good morning," she croaked.
"It's afternoon, sweetie," he replied, wincing at how raw and painful her throat sounded and nodding toward the clock.
She sighed heavily as she glanced at the time, threw her arm over the back of the sofa, and rested her forehead against the (newly purchased) cool leather. It felt good against her feverish skin. Nate folded his paper and tossed it onto the coffee table before turning to look her over. She was barefoot and cozy in black leggings and a very old black and grey flannel shirt of his that she liked to curl up in with a cup of tea. Sophie's movements, usually so graceful she seemed to float as if gravity was a mere suggestion to her, were now ungainly as if her limbs were too heavy. Her cheeks were flushed and her hair was slightly damp around the edges and pulled up into a messy bun. She looked miserable with her watery, red-rimmed eyes and the coughing fits that sounded wet and painful.
Nate wanted nothing more than to grab her and coddle her until she felt better, but he had to wait until she was ready to be taken care of. Sophie was the mother hen of their little group of misfit toys. She was always the one to take care of everyone else, but had difficulty with letting anyone take care of her when she needed it. The only thing she'd ever told him about her family was that her parents were distant and uncaring, and the only person who'd ever loved her was her grandmother who died when she was eight years old. It was heartbreaking. Anyone with a heart as big and beautiful as Sophie's deserved to be showered with love and affection constantly.
"Why don't you try a little of your toast? You barely ate any of your dinner last night," Nate encouraged.
She took two bites, but ultimately gave up. "My tummy's a bit dicky right now."
Nate just quirked and eyebrow and suppressed his urge to snort. She was adorable and sometimes insufferably British, but he wasn't going to tease her when she wasn't feeling well. He watched as she unfurled her legs and settled more comfortably into the soft cushions. He grabbed the glass of water he'd set out for her, dumped it in the kitchen sink, then returned and handed her a glass of ginger ale. "Sip it slowly. It'll help settle your stomach."
He grabbed the remote, flicked on the television, and settled in to wait for Sophie to give him an indication that she was ready to let him take care of her. She finished half the glass of ginger ale before putting it down and curling up on her side.
"Where is everyone?" she asked after an hour of pretending to watch a movie that neither of them were paying attention to. She rolled onto her back and stretched—extending her long legs until her feet rested against Nate's thigh.
"Oh, I told them you were under the weather and they should take the day off," he replied as he tugged her feet into his lap and began massaging her right foot. She let out a soft moan and he could see her whole body begin to relax. By the time he got to her left foot she was dozing off. He pulled the throw from the back of the sofa and covered her with it before flipping to a sports channel to entertain himself until she woke again.
Two hours later Sophie was being shaken awake by Nate. Her head was pounding, her throat hurt, and she was covered in sweat but freezing cold at the same time.
"Nate?" she called, disoriented. Her voice was nasally and broken. "I feel wretched."
"I know, Soph. I'm sorry. I need you to sit up for a minute though." Nate pressed a kiss to her sweaty forehead before hauling her up to a sitting position. He dumped two Tylenol into her hand and held a glass of water up to her lips. She was burning up and he knew he needed to get her fever down. He held a tissue to her nose and encouraged her to blow so she could breathe better.
"Ok, you can lie back down now. Try to go back to sleep."
Instead of sprawling back out on the opposite end of the sofa, she waited for him to sit and then stretched out on her stomach with her head in his lap. Nate gently removed the band from her hair and began to massage her scalp with one hand, while slipping the other under her shirt to stroke the soft skin of her back. She whimpered miserably at first, but started to relax when he focused on pressing the heel of his palm into her lower back—massaging away the tension. It wasn't long before Sophie dozed off again.
The next time she woke it was to the sound of the rest of the team bickering, the smell of something delicious cooking, and Nate's comforting hands gently roaming the soft skin of her back—fingers dancing along the length of her spine, occasionally venturing off to caress her ribs or hips or shoulder blades. She was so relaxed her whole body was tingling. She could lie there with him stroking her back like that forever, but her bladder had different plans. She slowly pulled herself up into a sitting position.
"Sorry we woke you from your nap," Nate said.
"It wasn't you. The loo is calling."
She slowly stood and worked her way through the gauntlet of hugs and well wishes from the rest of the team before disappearing into the half bath in the corner behind the stairs. When she returned, Nate caught her wrist before she could plop down beside him and pulled her into his lap. He pressed the back of his hand to her forehead before replacing it with his lips.
"You're still warm, but not burning up. How's your stomach feeling?" he asked as he slipped a hand under her shirt to caress her belly.
"Better."
Sophie snuggled closer to him—wrapped her arms around his torso and rested her forehead against his neck. She felt so safe and comfortable in his arms. They both chuckled when they heard the chorus of "awww"s behind them.
"You two are just adorable!" Hardison chimed in, pretending to be choked up.
"Dammit, Hardison! Don't interrupt their moment!" Eliot replied.
Parker just grinned and clapped happily.
"Ok guys, the food is ready. The chicken noodle soup is for Sophie, so nobody else touch it! There's chicken cacciatore for the rest of us," Eliot announced.
The lot of them made their way over to the table and sat down to eat. Eliot already had a big bowl of the soup, a cup of Sophie's favorite hot tea, and a glass of water waiting for her. Nate was so focused on watching Sophie that he could barely finish his food. Sophie was able to finish half the soup plus all of her tea and water, so Nate was satisfied that she was starting to recover.
After dinner, Nate gave Sophie some cold medicine, then the entire group settled down in the living room to watch a movie (of Sophie's choice—and old French movie, La Plaisir). Eliot and Hardison plopped down in the chairs while Nate and Parker took up opposite ends of the sofa with Sophie stretched out between them—her head in Parker's lap and her feet in Nate's. Between Parker absentmindedly running her fingers through her hair and Nate stroking her legs, Sophie didn't stand a chance. She was asleep 30 minutes in. It was getting late by the time the movie was over so Eliot, Parker, and Hardison said their goodbyes and Nate carried Sophie upstairs to bed.
He woke her so she could brush her teeth and change into a pair of his boxers and a tank to sleep in. He did the same, then they crawled under the warm, soft covers together.
"Why do you think they wasted their day off hanging around here? They could have been off doing anything they wanted," Sophie asked sleepily as Nate spooned around her.
"Soph, you are so loved…more than you'll ever know. The four of us would do anything to make you happy. You make sure we're all ok all the time; it was our turn to make sure you're ok," Nate replied simply, kissing the back of her neck. He placed a hand on her belly and snuggled closer to her before continuing, speaking softly against her ear.
"After Maggie and I lost Sam, I didn't think my heart could ever be whole again. Then you came along and put all the little pieces back together. I will always have love in my heart for Maggie—she's a great woman, a great friend, and I wouldn't have had Sam without her. She was the right woman at the right time…but you, my love, are the right woman for all time. It took me a long time to admit it to myself, but I've been falling in love with you since the first time I laid eyes on you. You are the great love of my life, Soph. Always remember that."
Sophie was too emotional and exhausted to respond, but she took the hand he had resting on her belly and brought it to her lips. Nate smiled and kissed the top of her head. He didn't need her words. Her love for him was obvious in her actions every day.
Fin.