Disclaimer: I own nothing here and am just doing this to pass the time until Season 3 starts.
A/N: Shares a title with one of my latest favorite songs by Matthew Perryman Jones.
Gone with the Wind flickers on the television in Sophie's darkened flat, her hopes of relaxing with her favorite film crumbling and burning like Atlanta in Sherman's wake. Something Jack Hurley said worries at the edges of her mind, making it impossible for her to relax. You two don't even like each other.
Granted, Hurley's a pathological liar with an entire library of issues and dysfunctions, but still... Even he could see that something isn't right between Nate and her.
She's analyzed the situation for months, but feels no closer to a true understanding. On paper, it looks so simple. They have a history of flirtation and attraction. They've been friends for years. He's not married and hasn't been for a while. She's not seeing anyone. By rights, they should have at least fallen into bed together months ago.
Yes, they work together, but all Nate's ever done is work, so she doesn't see how that could be a disqualification. And it's not like she didn't lay her cards on the table when she told him that he needed to figure things out and not take too long. But he's still remained apart, surrounded by an invisible forcefield.
Maybe it's time for her to admit to herself that she and Nate are just never going to happen. That it's time to let go. Sophie pulls her robe tighter around her and reaches for a tissue, telling herself that the gathering tears are nothing more than a reaction to the movie. Because she is not going to cry over Nathan Ford like some besotted teenager.
She's pouring herself a glass of wine when the doorbell rings, the unexpected intrusion nearly causing her to spill wine on her coffee table. Sophie's not expecting anyone and the surprise makes her edgy. She approaches the door slowly and looks through the peephole, blinking at the unexpected sight of Nate.
Sophie opens the door and he nearly falls into her flat. He looks disheveled and uncomfortable, and reeks of whiskey. She shuts and locks the door, then turns without a word and walks back to the kitchen, Nate trailing in her wake.
She takes a few minutes to ignore him, busying herself by finding a pint glass and then rinsing it until the water runs cool. She hands him the glass and then folds her arms, leaning against the counter.
"It's okay, I brought my own. Prepared, like a Boy Scout, see?" says Nate, holding up a flask. Sophie frowns at him, eyes narrowed, and he takes the water, drains half of it and then wipes his mouth on the back of his hand.
Nate looks around her kitchen uneasily, his hands jammed in his pockets while he rocks a little on his heels. Her expectant look prompts him to start talking.
"Sophie, I'm ah, um... I'm here to apologize."
"This probably would've gone a whole lot better if you'd stayed sober."
Nate looks down and mumbles something.
"Pardon?" Sophie says, wishing her tone didn't sound quite so icy.
"I couldn't... stay sober."
"I'm disappointed in you, Nate. After you worked so hard to struggle through those first few days of detox, to just throw it away like that."
Nate presses his hands against the counter and bows his head. When he finally speaks, his voice is soft and unsteady. "Please. Don't look at me like that. You've never looked at me like that before."
Sophie feels conflicted. She doesn't know how to be his friend right now. Does he need a hug or a kick up the arse? Is it possible to do both?
She sighs and goes to the phone. "I'm calling you a cab."
"Soph, please don't," says Nate, stumbling over toward her. He reaches past her and disconnects the call.
Sophie stands still, unsure of what is happening as Nate gently pries the receiver from her hand and hangs it up, his lips brushing her neck. He puts his hands on her hips, rubs the silky material of her robe and she leans back against him before she can stop herself.
She turns and puts her hands on his chest, fully intending to push him away, but then his hands are in her hair, pulling out the clips holding it up. She feels her hair fall around her face and feels better somehow, less vulnerable, even as his hands are working at the knot in her belt.
"Nate, this is a bad idea," she breathes and tries to push him back, but he steps forward, smoother and quicker than she expected, and presses her against the wall. His fingertips brush the hair away from her face, and her next words are smothered by his lips.
The kiss starts gentle and warm but quickly takes on a life of its own, growing heated and spiraling out of control, years of need and longing finally unleashed. His hands seem to be everywhere and nowhere, and she can barely focus.
The warning voice in her head is growing soft and tentative, down to merely suggesting that she might regret this in the morning. Her belt is undone and Nate's managed to push the robe halfway down her arms, his mouth finding spots on her collarbone and neck that he shouldn't know anything about, tracing paths like he's made the journey before, even though he hasn't.
She moves her hands and manages to pull off his sports coat, then starts to unbutton his shirt. She feels him smile against her skin, then his voice is husky in her ear. "Lead the way."
It's a command, not a request, and, as usual, it's open to interpretation. Sophie turns away, takes his hand, and pulls him down the hallway to her bedroom. Nate pauses in the doorway and Sophie looks back, expecting to see hesitation or some sort of problem. Instead, she just sees him kicking off his shoes, his body leaning against the doorframe for support.
He pulls her back to him, holding her close but not doing anything else, his mouth teasingly close to hers. She understands him well enough to know that he always has a reason for his actions and she thinks he's looking for buy-in from her. He's made the first move, now the second move is up to her.
She swallows her sigh and presses her mouth to his neck, her tongue tingling against his stubble. He pushes her robe all the way off, the silk sliding smoothly to the floor. She finishes unbuttoning his shirt and he takes it off, then kisses her, his hands traveling down to the hem of her nightgown. They stall there, teasing, and then he starts walking her backwards toward the bed.
It's not a big room, but the walk seems to take forever since she's anticipating having him on top of her, the image of it making her shiver. Nate stops about a foot from the bed. She nearly keeps going, but rough hands on her hips pull her back. He grabs the bottom of her nightgown and pulls it up over her head.
Her major complaint about this flat has always been the neighborhood's overly bright streetlamps. Even with the blinds closed, enough light would filters through that it was like living with a perpetual nightlight. Now, though, with Nate looking at her dark-eyed and slightly unsteady on his feet, she can see the benefit. He bends down to kiss her shoulder, putting his enough teeth into it to make her shudder.
Sophie reaches out with shaking hands, working nearly desperately on his belt buckle. It's not going well and she remembers a joke heard long-ago in the pub. Why were button-flies invented? To give the lady seven seconds to change her mind. She's always been one to pay attention to circumstances and can't help but wonder if the stubborn buckle is meant to provide her with the crucial time to change her mind.
But his mouth is on her breast now, teasing again in the deliberate pace, and rational thought is suddenly hard to come by. Her fingers co-operate and she gets past the belt buckle, her movements much more assured and practiced. Soon, his pants are on the floor and he's stumbling out of them, the momentum carrying them forward and onto the bed in a crashing tangle of limbs that's rather less graceful than Sophie would've hoped.
Nate presses hot open-mouthed kisses down her stomach and along her hips. Her hands twist in the sheets and she can't help reacting to him, even as her mind is spinning. She struggles to prop herself up on her elbows.
"Wait...what happens next," she asks, the words coming out in little pants.
Nate smiles up at her. "I would think that would be obvious."
"No, I mean tomorrow, the next day. Is this just a ..." She can't bring herself to finish the question.
"I don't know. I haven't thought that far ahead."
She suspects it's a lie but doesn't have the heart or energy to call him on it. "Just answer one question then. Why'd you come here?"
Nate sighs and presses his forehead against her knee. When he finally meets her eyes, he looks sad and tired. "Because I wanted to apologize. Partly. But mostly because I didn't want to be alone."
"Alone tonight or alone anymore?" asks Sophie.
Nate bites his lip and looks down, a faint blush rising in his cheeks. He tilts his head to the side. "Does it matter?"
She sighs and looks up at the ceiling, pressing her fingertips into her temples like she's trying to ward off a migraine. Should it matter? Does it matter? Should she care? Does she care? And when did this become a game of twenty bloody questions?
Nate clears his throat and she looks at him. "Sophie, I don't want this to be something else that I need to apologize for later."
The statement says everything and nothing, but she thinks she understands. She sits up and runs her fingers through his hair, pulling a little when she gets to the unruly curls at the back.
She kisses him until she's nearly dizzy, practically climbing into his lap. She gets a firm grip of his biceps and falls back onto the bed, pulling him with her. They collapse on the bed heavily, the weight of him knocking her breathless.
She's not sure when he lost his boxer shorts and socks, but she's relieved that there's nothing between them. It's all just skin, hot and soft. Nate pulls back, bracing himself on an elbow as he brushes the hair off her face. His look is a question that she can't answer in words. Instead, she wraps her legs around him.
He closes his eyes and then kisses her before pushing inside her. It's different than she'd imagined their first time together, a little frantic and fumbling, but there's something else there too, running through it like an underground river.
It's a gentleness, a tenderness that could be intoxicating, could spin her thoughts in dangerous directions if she's not careful. Sophie lets go, forgetting the past and the future, choosing to live in the moment, a moment that's becoming a blur of quickened breaths and heightened sensations.
When it's over, Nate rolls to the side and pulls her up onto his chest. She scratches her nails lightly along his collarbone and is about to speak when she realizes he's already drifted off to sleep.
It doesn't matter. The time for talking has long since passed and she's accepted that this might just be for tonight. She can even see that it might be simpler that way, since she knows that Nate is broken in ways that she can never fix, not with all the rehab and patience in the world.
They're not so different, each grifters in their own way. It's a lonely life, she knows. So maybe even if they don't make sense together, even if she can't fix him, even if it never happens again, maybe not being alone for one night was enough.