(More) 2 AM Conversations

After 03x09 (The Three-Card Monte Job)

Sophie and Nate

Nate's POV

"Hello, Nate," Sophie said, sliding onto the bar-stool beside him.

"Soph," Nate answered tiredly.

"I'm proud of you, you know," she said, signaling for a drink. "I know this job can't have been easy for you."

He knew she knew, because she had made a point of bringing it up at every possible point along the way throughout the job. It had been incredibly irritating, because it hadn't been difficult until they had been standing on the pier. Nate might not have been able to bring himself to kill the old man, but there was certainly no love lost between them.

So why did he still care about the fact that he had finally earned the tough old bastard's seal of approval?

The bartender placed a Gin Rickey in front of Sophie, and topped off Nate's whisky before she could dismiss him with a smile.

"Do you know, that was the only time he ever admitted he was proud of me? All I had to do was beat him at his own game and run him out of town." He laughed humorlessly. "Growing up it was always, 'you're weak.' 'Pansy.' 'Altar boy.' 'You're your mother's son, alright, boy!' And 'you'll never be good enough or smart enough or strong enough to follow in my footsteps.' And I was fine with that, you know, because I never wanted to be like him. And now… what did he say? I'm better than him? More ruthless? Crueler? I never wanted to be that man, Sophie."

"Oh, Nate," she frowned at him, pity warring with some other emotion he couldn't quite pin down in her eyes. She laced her fingers through his own and squeezed. "You're not like him. He was – he was a bookie, and a loan shark. You help people. You don't take advantage of them when they're down. That makes a difference. All the difference in the world, really."

He snorted. That was what he kept telling himself, but… "Does it, though? All my life, I fought against becoming him, and from where I'm sitting, I've taken over the 'corner office.'"

She rolled her eyes at him. "Do stop being dramatic, Nathan. You know it does. Just because he's finally accepted you doesn't mean you're not still your mother's son as well, you know."

He spun his glass on the counter. "If my mother were still alive, she would... well, she wouldn't approve of the team. She'd say it's a matter of principle: the Devil doesn't do the Lord's work; a man can't do good by doing evil or right by doing wrong."

At that, the grifter smiled. "Don't tell me a one-time near-Jesuit doesn't have an answer for that. Besides, that's not the point, and you know it. Just because… just because you're using Jimmy's methods and you've earned the respect of the community like he did doesn't mean that you're not still a just man, a good person, at heart. If there's anything I've learned in my life, it's that people are never all one thing or another." She dipped her head and caught his eyes, peering up at him through impossibly long lashes. He was suddenly very aware that her fingers were still entwined with his, almost protectively, as she held his gaze with an entirely earnest expression. Everything about her screamed 'I'm telling the truth,' and though he knew she was a liar, he couldn't help but believe it. She nodded slightly as she said, "We're not bound to become our parents, you know."

He sighed. "I know that. I mean, look at you," he added with a sly smile. "Your parents aren't con artists, are they?"

She laughed, obviously recognizing his attempt to change the subject for what it was, but she allowed it to stand. He wasn't entirely sure she told the truth when she answered, though.

"No. My parents are perfectly average in every possible way. Dead boring, really."

"Are they still alive?" he asked. "Still living somewhere in England, believing you're an actress trying to make it big in the States, or something like that?"

"You're awfully curious tonight," she answered teasingly.

"Well, I don't know anything about your family, and now you know nearly everything there is to know about mine…" he allowed his observation to trail off expectantly.

It was with a slightly reproving air that she said, "I'm certain there's far more to know about your family, Nate, but," she sighed, "I suppose fair is fair. My mother was a beautician before she married my father. He worked in an art gallery. I expect he still does, unless he's retired by now. I haven't spoken to either of them in… oh, twenty-five years, now. I ran away when I was sixteen and never looked back." He examined her face closely, looking for any hint of dishonesty. He couldn't see any. In fact, she looked slightly irritated. "What?" she said sharply. "Have I got lipstick on my teeth or something?"

"No, no… I just… didn't think you'd tell me. Who are you, and what have you done with Sophie Devereaux?" he joked.

She shrugged, suddenly seeming unaccountably uncomfortable. "I don't know," she said, after a moment, in a poor imitation of her usual carefree tone. She seemed to realize that it hadn't worked, because she added in a much quieter and more serious voice, "I'm still trying to figure that bit out, you know."

If he was a better person, he supposed he might feel worse about having pulled her back from her soul-searching to clean up his mess all those months ago. As it was, he simply felt slightly awkward, as the conversation stalled between them – not that it had been particularly easy or lively to begin with.

Before he could think of something to say which wouldn't make the situation even more tense, she changed the subject again with a false-self-depreciating smile. "Look at us, a couple of sad sacks, just wasting away at the bar, moping all introspectively."

"Speak for yourself. I'm just getting drunk like any other Tuesday night." She laughed, so he considered the poor joke a success. "Why are you here, anyway?"

She flushed prettily, and finished her drink before she explained: "It was something Parker said, actually, about how she was glad you let him go, your father."

"Oh?" he raised an eyebrow. It had not escaped his notice over the past few months that the thief was becoming far more astute when it came to interacting with and interpreting the actions of the team and their marks. Hardison, too, had changed, making an effort to become more physically fit and capable in the wake of his adventure in the woods with Eliot, which had greatly improved his confidence – though that might also have had something to do with a little story Sophie had told him about 'pretzels.' (Eliot only became increasingly edgy as the threat of the Italian and the prospect of taking on Moreau loomed over the team.)

Sophie nodded. "She said she was glad you let him go, because she could never turn in Archie, and she didn't think you were the kind of person who could do that, either. Of course, she could have meant that she was pleased to have judged you accurately, but I prefer to think that she considers you someone to look up to, and is happy that your standards and hers aren't so different after all."

"Or she thinks that I'm finally thinking like a real thief," he suggested, rolling his eyes. "You know: it's one thing to ruin him and run him out of town, but completely different to hand him over to the police."

She huffed a laugh and rolled her eyes. "Possibly."

They fell into an amiable silence for several minutes as Nate contemplated the comparison and its source. "Do you know," he noted at last, "I think Leach might actually have been a better father figure than my dad? How sad is that? I mean, at least Leach was supportive of Parker. He… kind of cared about her, I think. My dad was just a bastard through and through."

"Well, good riddance, then," Sophie declared.

Nate nodded and finished his own drink before making a suggestion. "What do you think about using Parker on the grift more?"

"Ooh, I don't know, Nate…" the con-woman hesitated.

He shrugged. "I'm asking because I know it'd be a lot of work for you, helping her, teaching her, but I think she could do it. Well," he amended, "if we started her off easy, with non-threatening marks."

"I'll think about it," she promised, as the bartender announced last call. "I'd better go, if I'm to get a cab."

"You could stay," he offered.

"Oh, Nate… I don't think that's a good idea," she replied smoothly, but she gave him a slow, lingering smile as she headed for the door. "I'll call you tomorrow and we can discuss that idea of yours and see if it still sounds as good when you're sober, how's that?"

She left before he could respond, and he couldn't quite determine whether she meant Parker grifting, or her staying the night. Tease.

He grinned. His father might have been right about Nate's having grown up to be more ruthless and crueler and better than his old man at his own game, but he was wrong about one thing: A woman who loved him but didn't understand him could never compare to one who understood him better than he knew himself, even if she hadn't quite admitted to loving him back (yet).