Disclaimer: I own nothing here and am just doing this to pass the time until Season 3 starts.
Spoilers: None. Set pre-series, about three years. Nate is married to Maggie, Sam is unwell.
Painting: Richard Diebenkorn, Cityscape 1 (Landscape No. 1), 1963, Oil on canvas, 60 1/4 x 50 1/2 in
A/N: Part three in a five-part series of one-shots focused on three of my favorite things: Nate, Sophie, and art. Special thanks to my brother, an art school graduate, for helping me pick this painting and for supplying the excellent description of Diebenkorn's style. Any mistakes are my own, because as the older sister, it's my birth-right to ignore him sometimes. :)
Sophie's entire dating career had been something of a nightmare, which she attributed wholly to her pitiful selection of choices. As she saw it, she could either date a fellow grifter or date an honest citizen. The pitfalls of dating a fellow grifter were obvious: trust issues, paranoia, possible law enforcement investigations, double-crosses, and difficult schedules.
The pitfalls of dating an honest citizen were less complicated, but more annoying. In the recent past, it timing had been Sophie's enemy. It seemed like lately, she only met datable men when she was wrapping up a con and skipping town.
On the plus side, she now had a string of interested and interesting men willing to do her a favor or share a bed with her, a veritable network of quasi-safe houses spread across two continents. On the minus side, she was lonely and frustrated, which was why she'd decided to try her hand at being an honest citizen for a while.
The money she'd earned as a special consultant to IYS was enough of a nest egg to get her started in San Francisco, where the theatre scene was vibrant and the city had liveliness and soul to it that she though was desperately lacking in LA. The weather could be better, granted, but a bit of fog now and again reminded her of London, which was no bad thing.
But it seemed that timing issues plagued her. Or maybe it was still poor choices. Alistair had a lot going for him: brilliant, beautiful, and British. Plus, he was a trauma surgeon, which meant he was calm and able to make difficult decisions under pressure. It also meant he was on call all the bloody time, or so it seemed, and that their dates could often end much differently than Sophie had expected, with her staring after the back of his taxi as he raced to the hospital.
Or, as it had today, with her wandering the galleries of the San Francisco Museum of Modern Art, alone. She looked good, in her black and white retro dress with the $1500 leather boots that Nate had been forced to buy her as a bonus when their last job went south and the mark landed a nasty right hook, giving her a black eye.
She consoled herself that there were worse places to be stranded. She loved a good museum, loved the noise her heels made on the hardwood floors, loved the way the paintings were lovingly lit, loved the steady temperature within each gallery. A good museum gallery was life the way it should be: perfectly curated and managed beauty.
In fact, if she was honest with herself, she'd admit that the museum was even better without Alistair, who tended to be a shade impatient and judgmental. Alone, Sophie was able to linger over her favorites, like visiting with an old friend, reminiscing and sharing secrets while cups of tea cooled on the table in front of them. She had just spent a good stretch of time scrutinizing Pollack's Guardians of the Secret and was about to seek out the Diebenkorn when she saw Nate Ford in the distance.
He was scanning the gallery but Sophie knew that his eyes were barely taking in the art. He was checking the security, looking for weaknesses, mentally measuring the distances between exits. Nate reached into his pocket and pulled out a small leather-bound notebook, his head bent as he made notes in his precise script.
"Of all the museums in all the world..." she said as she approached him, smiling when his head snapped up. His look was equal parts surprise and warm, affectionate greeting, his lazy smile somehow making it seem like someone had turned up the heat in the room.
"Sophie, you know that SFMOMA is an IYS client," said Nate, his voice all mock-scolding.
Now that she was closer, Sophie could see strain on his face that she suspected had nothing to do with his work. Dark shadows, nearly bruises, marred the skin beneath his bloodshot eyes. His face was gaunt and he seemed to have adopted the every-four-days approach to shaving, which left a scruffy salt-and-pepper stubble on his cheeks.
"You look horrible," she said, reaching out to run a light finger over his cheek.
He caught her wrist and gave it a firm squeeze, part greeting, part warning. "How sweet of you to say. I'd say that you look as lovely as ever, but it would probably lack sincerity after the way you just insulted me."
"Nate," she sighed.
"Seriously, Sophie, what are you doing here?" he asked as he tucked the notebook back in the inner pocket of his sports coat.
"I was on a date, but then he got called back to the hospital, so, here I am," she said, holding out her arms and making a small half-turn, as if confirming her presence.
"In that case, let's go upstairs. Let me buy you a cup of tea so the afternoon's not a total waste," he said, extending his arm.
Sophie smiled and easily slipped her hand around his forearm. They walked to the elevator, making innocuous small talk, and made their way up to the rooftop cafe. It was just warm enough to sit outside, the sun making a valiant effort to break through the low clouds.
"Tea, milk, one sugar, right?" asked Nate before he sent her off to find a place to sit. Sophie selected a table near the sculpture garden, right along the edge of the roof. The view out over the city was breathtaking and she relaxed into the silver metal chair to wait.
Nate arrived a few minutes later, placing a steaming cup of tea on a saucer in front of her. She wrapped her hands around the cup, grateful for the warmth, and watched as he sat down across from her with a mug of coffee.
"So, it's been, what six, eight months?" asked Nate as he blew on his coffee in a futile attempt to cool it off more quickly.
Sophie nodded. "Something like that. It's gone fast."
"Can I ask what you've been up to, or do I not want to know?" asked Nate with a knowing smile.
Sophie sat up a little straighter. "Actually, I've been living here, in a little one-bedroom in The Mission, not too far away from a small theatre. I have a play that opens on Saturday."
"Really? Sophie, that's great. I'm really happy for you," said Nate, his face momentarily transformed by pure joy before it slipped back to its former strained look.
Sophie smiled, feeling a blush in her cheeks, and took a sip of tea, a little unsettled and nearly uncomfortable. This was ridiculous, she shouldn't feel guilty that part of her life was working out while Nate looked like his was going to hell in a bloody handbasket.
But still, she didn't know how to respond, didn't know how to ask about what was going on in his life without seeming like a nosy, unwanted spectator. The silence grew between them, comfortable at first and then stretching into something with sharp edges.
Nate rubbed his hand over his mouth, then reached into his inner jacket pocket. Sophie wondered what he could possibly be taking notes about, but then saw a small silver flask. He held her gaze as he unscrewed the cap, nearly daring her to say something as he poured whiskey into his coffee.
"Really, Nate?" she asked, leaving unsaid the accusations or reminders that he was working.
He shrugged. "It's always 5 o'clock somewhere. That's what my dad always said."
Sophie set her tea cup on the table and leaned forward. "You want to talk about whatever's going on with you?"
"No, not really," said Nate as he shook his head and looked away. "Well, okay, maybe."
"Only if you want to," said Sophie, meeting his eyes when he looked back at her. They'd been friends long enough that she could have an entire conversation with him without saying a single word, so she let her eyes do the reassuring and cajoling that she knew he needed before he'd talk.
He took several long sips of coffee then cleared his throat. "It's Sam. It's just... well... you know... you find out your kid has cancer and you think 'okay, we have health insurance, we can fight this thing' and you go to specialists who speak some kind of weird medical language and sign him up for treatment after treatment...
"And you think it's going to be okay, you know, because you're doing the right things, and yes, the treatments are brutal, but you just hold on to the hope that it's going to be all right. That everything is going to be just fine," his voice trailed away as he ran his fingers over the edge of the table, his eyes staring out over the railing at the skyline.
Sophie sat still and waited, a bad feeling rising in her about where Nate's story was going.
"And for a little while, things are okay. Your kid's in remission and everything's back to the way it was before. Well, not exactly back to the way it was before because now you know that the rug can be pulled out from underneath you at any time. So you're much more vigilant. Any little cough. Any little problem and you're right back in the doctor's office..."
Nate's hand had advanced to the middle of the table and Sophie put her hand on top of his, stilling it.
"The cancer's back," said Nate, his voice catching in his throat. He paused, trying to regain his equilibrium as Sophie felt her heart breaking for a little boy she'd never even met.
"It's worse this time, aggressive like you wouldn't believe. The doctors have put him through three rounds of chemo and all it's done is make him sick. They've given up on him and I don't know what to do.
"Maggie...Sam... I'm losing them, Sophie, I'm losing both of them."
Nate pulled his hand back and then drained his coffee cup. He reached back inside his jacket and took out the flask, emptying the rest of it into his mug. He fidgeted in his seat, the chair scraping on the concrete as he moved back from the table and angled it so he could stretch out his legs. He leaned his head against the railing and closed his eyes.
Sophie thought of the Diebenkorn on the second floor, Cityscape 1 (Landscape No. 1), which looks perfect from far away, but when you get close you can the clumsy lines and crooked houses that could never stand up to a stiff wind.
She had once seen a Christmas card hanging in a museum director's office, Nate and Maggie with a beaming 5-year old and a puppy. It was perfect domestic scene, a side of Nate's life that was completely hidden from her.
But that life had become a shambles of sloppy lines and skewed perspectives, his happy family not quite what it seemed. She looked at the man in front of her. Losing his family would break him, and she was worried that he looked like a man who had already given up.
"Nate," she said, her voice commanding him to open his eyes. He startled at the sharpness of it, suddenly sitting up straight like he'd just been caught sleeping on the job.
"Yes?"
"This isn't you, Nate. The drinking, the giving up."
Nate's chuckle had a wry, bitter edge to it. "What do you really know about me, Soph?"
"I know enough, Nate. Get ahold of yourself. You're Nate Ford, after all. Relentless. Determined. Smart. Able to hunt down ghosts and retrieve art that had been written off as lost forever."
Nate pressed his lips together, a corner of his mouth quirking up in acknowledgement of her words.
"You're not bloody helpless, Nate. You have skills and resources that most parents in your situation don't have."
He turned his chair back so he was facing her and pressed his palms flat onto the table. "Where do I start?"
Sophie opened her purse and pulled out her wallet, rifling through an impressive collection of business cards until she came up with the one she was looking for.
"Here, call him. He's the editor of a European oncology journal, so he's current on all the research. If someone can help you figure out where to find someone who can help Sam, it'll be him," said Sophie, sliding the card across the table.
Nate's hand brushed hers as he picked up the card. "Dieter Auchenbach... and he knows you as?"
"Sophie Devereaux," she replied, trying not to bristle at the perfectly legitimate question. "I was finishing up a job in Brussels when we met. Went out a few times. He's a great guy, a little nerdy. I promise if you tell him I sent you, he'll help you."
Nate nodded slowly and took out his wallet, carefully tucking the card behind a school picture of Sam.
Sophie looked at her watch and realized rehearsals would be starting soon and she'd be late if she didn't get moving. She stood up and smoothed her skirt. "Sorry, I've got to go. Rehearsals, you know."
Nate stood up quickly, nearly knocking into the table. "Right, so you say your play opens on Saturday? I could probably-"
"No," said Sophie, cutting him off with a firm shake of her head. "You have other... priorities right now."
He looked down, the expression on his face a mixture of regret and guilt. "Right, yes, you're right. Of course."
Sophie took half a step forward and put a light hand on his chest. Nate looked up and met her eyes.
"Good luck," she said, taking a deep breath and then stepping back, her hand falling away.
"Thank you, Sophie. I mean it. Thank you for everything."
Sophie shrugged one shoulder. "It's nothing, Nate. Take care of yourself."
She turned and walked away, not wanting to ruin her big exit by overstaying it. She had no idea if Dieter would be able to help Nate, but she hoped with all her heart and soul that he would. She had no doubt that whatever happened next would be difficult and Nate would definitely need a friend.