Around eight in the morning the team sat idly around the apartment, each looking rather pensive. Hardison had gleaned as much information from the cell phone that he could. Parker had exhausted Sophie's list of treasures and had more than enough details on each piece. Eliot looked as if he wanted to kill someone just to pass the time. Nate was about to climb out of his skin…or possibly a window. At this point there was nothing they could do without Sophie.
Nate grimaced as he heard water begin running through the pipes from upstairs. He didn't want to go up there. He didn't want to face her angry looks and bitter accusations but he knew the entire team expected him to.
"Are you gonna go up there?" Eliot's tone seemed to imply that he would use force if necessary.
Nate took a deep breath and wearily climbed the spiral staircase leading to his bedroom.
Sophie had just stepped into the bathroom and he could hear the shower running. He was content to wait. He could wait for this conversation for as long as necessary. He sat on his bed beside where he had laid her after half leading, half carrying her up the stairs early that morning. "Rest, Sophie, he had whispered. "You can kill me later." Nate smiled sadly. "I hate you." had been her reply. Those three words had hurt him more deeply than he thought he would ever hurt again. He told himself she was angry, she was exhausted, and she was terrified of…something. But no excuse could lighten his mind or his heart.
With a loud squeak the flow of water stopped and he heard her climb out of the shower. A moment later she was standing in front of him, a large brown towel wrapped her body and her wet hair laying limply about her shoulders. She was calm now but she wouldn't look him in the eye.
"The team's downstairs," he began weakly.
"You were right." She interrupted him bluntly, her voice quiet and tense. "You were right to end the call."
Nate sighed and rubbed his neck with his right hand. "Yeah." He didn't know what else to say. He had been in the right. He risked a look at her face, with only four hours of sleep she still looked tired and drawn but more than that, he could still see a hint of fear in her eyes and in the stiffness of her stance.
"Sophie," his voice came out a little huskier than he intended. "Look at me. Please."
For just a moment her brown eyes flicked upward at the forlorn man in front of her and then she squeezed her eyes tightly shut before returning her gaze to the floor.
Nate stood and walked towards the staircase, pausing beside her. "We're going to help you." He promised, not daring to touch her bare shoulder though he desperately wanted some contact with her. "Come downstairs when you're ready."
A short fifteen minutes later Sophie descended the stairs looking a little anxious and very defiant. Nate was encouraged by the fact that she had taken the time to apply a little make-up, pull her hair into a bun, and select a simple, but flattering cotton dress.
The silence was uncomfortable. Eliot's frown deepened, Hardison shifted from one foot to the other and Parker stared at Sophie, carefully examining her. Nate tried to break the ice and moved towards Sophie, attempting to guide her to a chair. The brunette ignored his attempt and sat tensely beside Parker on the arm of the couch.
"I don't see why you're all here."
"Seriously?" Hardison stopped shifting and crossed his arms, matching Eliot's stance. "You want to play that game?"
"Don't even try it, Sweetheart." The endearing term Eliot used sounded oddly out of place with his rough tone.
"That's easy." Parker quipped, giving the older woman a strange look. "We're here to find out why you almost killed Nate."
Nate smiled at that and Sophie snuck a look at him. His jaw line was black and blue at this point and he was positioned in such a way that showed he was probably in a substantial amount of pain from other unseen injuries.
Sophie bit her lip nervously, an unusual action for her. "He was interfering where he shouldn't have, " she snapped, completely uncomfortable with her situation. "I didn't mean—none of this was supposed to—it was a mistake." She finished lamely.
"Well perhaps you're ready to tell us why you mistakenly went off the deep end." Nate joined the stance of the other two men and Sophie was now feeling like she was being interrogated.
"I just want you all to stay out of it!" her voice was bordering on shouting.
"But we're a team." Parker's quiet, confused statement softened Sophie's attitude and she looked at the girl.
"Parker, I need to do this one on my own."
"That's not how it works," Hardison interjected. "We've got your back. You can trust us with this."
Sophie took a moment looking from person to person, her gaze finally resting on Nate. If only she could tell them. "I wish I could," she finally replied with a sad expression, her eyes finally making contact with Nate's. There was a moment or two of silence as Sophie stared into the weary, blue eyes of her friend, partner, and occasional lover. "He looks as haunted as I feel." she thought to herself. A sudden wave of guilt washed over her. She knew he thought she was punishing him, she wasn't. She just couldn't see how any of this could work out. What a nightmare. "But I can't do this alone now," she realized. "I proved that this morning with that damn call."
She smiled sadly at Nate and nodded. He realized her decision before anyone else and he gave a small smile in relief. "Alright," she said aloud. "I can't tell you everything but I need your help."
This announcement was met with general mumbles of approval and Hardison picked up the remote and turned on the display screens, revealing several windows already opened.
"We tracked the number that called your phone," Nate explained. "It gave us some interesting information. Unless Hardison is wrong…"
"And I'm never wrong."
"The call was placed from a ritzy neighborhood near London and the phone belongs to one Philip Devereaux, 8th Marquess of Northampton." Nate nodded to Hardison and the younger man pushed a button on the remote and a picture of a distinguished looking man appeared on the screen.
"Prominent politician, so it seems… a member of the House of Lords." Nate said nonchalantly.
Sophie stared at the picture for a moment, her mind drifting. The man on display was in his late forties, a thick head of dark brown hair, grey creeping in at his temples. It was a candid shot, taken at some gala or another, while he was shaking hands with former Prime Minister, Sir John Major. Sophie smiled slightly at the scene before she could catch herself.
"Friend of yours?" Eliot interrupted her thoughts with the loaded question.
"I know him, naturally." She succeeded in keeping her voice steady and her manner uninterested.
"Get to the good part!" Parker's eyes were wide and she was gripping the pillow on her lap tightly, clearly enjoying the presentation.
"We did a little research…"
"'We' meaning me," Hardison clarified.
"Hardison did a little research and as it turns out your 'friend' isn't doing so well financially."
Sophie held up her hand to interrupt. "This is silly, Nate. Yes, it was his phone. I assumed it was. That's not who was talking to me."
"He's not finished!" Parker hissed excitedly, as if Sophie was spoiling the ending to a great movie. "C'mon, Hardison! Next picture! Next picture!"
"There's somethin' the matter with you," Eliot grumbled.
"I like a good story." She defended.
Hardison displayed the picture of a woman, probably mid-thirties, on the screen. The entire team turned to see Sophie's reaction and they weren't disappointed. She bit her lip again, and diverted her gaze to the floor before she realized she was the sole subject of their attention.
"Notice something?" Nate challenged.
"Pretty girl." She replied, trying to regain her disinterest.
"Beautiful girl, actually." Eliot couldn't help but smile.
"Now I've some pretty sweet software—I mean FBI sweet—that can compare facial characteristics and determine an identity. Now normally they just take a still-shot from security footage, compare it to a mug shot and BAM! you've got your bad guy. Now normally you have to have a minimum number of matching characteristics to make a positive match but I've loosened up the search parameters."
"Hardison, you're making my head hurt. Get to the point." Sophie was staring at the monitors now as Hardison ran the photograph of the woman through his tweaked program.
"I don't need a positive match because I'm not trying to find out who this is. I know who it is. Lady Elizabeth Devereaux, married to this handsome gentleman for sixteen years with one daughter, Rebecca Charlotte Devereaux…and according to this software…" Hardison pulled up a picture of Sophie beside Lady Elizabeth's and the program highlighted three areas on the women's faces that were a positive match. "She's your mother, your daughter, or your sister."