Disclaimer: I don't own Leverage.
Nate Ford had to know that Pat knew where Ford lived. Ford was a smart guy and Pat was pretty sure Ford realized that Pat was a smart guy, too. Maybe not at Ford's level, but then, who was?
So it had to be self-confidence, and maybe faith in Pat's ability and desire to protect him, that drove Ford to move back into the apartment he'd lived in before his arrest. Above the same bar where Ford's father had conducted his criminal operations way back when, no less.
Pat stepped inside McRory's and nodded a hello to the bartender. His eyes swept over the clientele. No luck. Just as well—he'd rather have this little tête-à-tête in private, anyway. He went outside and found the stairs. He winced as he climbed, each step jarring old bullet wounds that his doctor had told him might never fully heal.
Ford's door was shut but Pat could hear a muffled female voice behind it. So, Ford wasn't alone. The thought was almost enough to make Pat reconsider this whole ill-conceived outing. Almost, but not quite. He knocked.
Abrupt silence. Then a flurry of frantic voices. Then more silence. Then a woman's voice asking a question, to which at least one other person responded with a loud "shhh!" And, finally, footsteps toward the door.
Ford opened the door. "Lieutenant Bonanno," he said, somehow managing to sound surprised, pleased, and calculating all at once. He was wearing pajamas, his hair tousled as if he'd just gotten out of bed. He smiled at Pat, and despite everything Pat knew about this man—and everything he didn't know but suspected—he trusted the sincerity in his eyes. "I'm so glad to see you up and about. Please, come in."
Pat came inside. "You haven't changed at all," he observed. "I'm glad to see your time in prison didn't affect you much."
"Oh, I wouldn't say that," Ford replied, looking sidelong at the couch.
Pat followed his gaze and raised his eyebrows at the sight of a beautiful dark-haired woman lying there in a bathrobe and smiling warmly at him.
"My time in prison taught me to focus on the important things in life." Ford wandered over to put his hand on the woman's shoulder. She twitched. "Lieutenant, this is—"
"Sophie Devereaux." At Ford's surprised look, Pat said, "I had a talk with Agent Sterling about your case. He was happy to fill in the details for me. I have to say, I'm a bit surprised not to see Eliot Spencer, Alec Hardison, and Parker here too. I was given the impression that the five of you came as a package."
Ford coughed. "I have no idea what you're talking ab—"
"Are you here to arrest Nate? Because we're not going to let you arrest Nate."
"Parker!" Devereaux hissed, glaring up at the blonde woman perched halfway up the spiral staircase. Devereaux made a shooing motion with her hands and her robe fell open just enough for Pat to see the blouse she was wearing underneath.
"What?" Parker said. "Come on, it's obvious he knew we were here."
"Oh God," Ford muttered, rubbing his forehead.
"I'm not here to arrest Mr. Ford," Pat said. "I'm here to shake his hand."
Ford stared at him. Parker and Devereaux stared at him. Two men—one black, one white—poked their heads down through the hole above the staircase and stared at him.
"You must be joking," Ford said flatly. "I'm a thief! A wanted fugitive!"
"You're the man who took a bullet and went to jail to convict the guys who had me shot," Pat countered. "You may not be an honest man, but you're honest enough for me." He held out his hand.
Ford approached him slowly, as if expecting Pat to produce a pair of handcuffs. He looked Pat in the eye, testing. Pat nodded. Ford shook Pat's hand.
"Thank you, Mr. Ford," Pat said, squeezing tightly to convey the depth of his gratitude.
"No, Lieutenant Bonanno. Thank you."
"Does this mean he's going to help us con Victoria Novick out of those diamonds?" Parker said.
Ford groaned.
Hardison, Devereaux, and Spencer said, "Shhh!"
Pat laughed.