I don't own Leverage. The song used at the end of this one is What Might Have Been by Little Texas. Warning: Kleenex may be needed if you listen to that song. Seriously.
Sophie woke up when Nate started to stir beside her. A quick glance at the bedside alarm clock showed that it was close to five in the morning. She moaned slightly; she'd never been a fan of very early mornings. Nate had pulled himself up and was staring straight ahead at the wall across the room.
"Hungry?" she asked. So far as she knew he hadn't eaten anything since yesterday at the patent office. She was hoping that he'd actually say something but no such luck. He did nod once though.
"Why don't you try standing up and see how the dizziness is? I don't want you trying to walk downstairs and landing on your head." He nodded again and propelled himself around so that he was sitting on the side of the bed. She watched as he stood up, fighting the urge to grab the back of his t-shirt. It would make her feel better, but she knew that if (when, she reminded herself angrily, when) he got through this his male pride would be wounded at the idea of having needed her help. He swayed back and forth a bit but kept his feet. He disappeared into the bathroom and she got up herself, grabbing a bathrobe from his closet and making her way down the stairs.
She stood in the kitchen for a few seconds in deep thought. Now what? She wasn't very much of a cook, never had been really. She tended to get distracted and wander off at the wrong moment. Deciding it was best to just veto the stove altogether, she started digging through Nate's cupboards. Thank God Parker liked cereal. She opened the fridge to get the milk and just closed her eyes for a second. Eliot had been here at some point last night. There was a fruit salad, several sandwiches, and a container with a hand written note on top with instructions for cooking. She felt a wave of love for her friend. He'd done what she'd asked, not getting in the way of her taking care of Nate. But he saw it as his job to keep them all fed, and so despite being tired and most likely in a serious amount of pain, he'd waited until he knew they were both asleep and then stocked Nate's fridge.
Sophie dished out two bowls of the fruit salad and set them near the bowls of cereal on the table along with the milk pitcher, and then put on a pot of coffee. After nearly a minute of arguing furiously with herself, she finally grabbed Nate's bottle of whiskey from the cupboard and added a splash to the bottom of his coffee mug. For all that she wanted him to quit drinking (or at least slow it down some) she knew that adding the stress of alcohol withdrawal onto him right now could only make things worse.
Nate wandered down the stairs just as she was setting the coffee on the table. He didn't react at all to the taste of the whiskey in his coffee, which in a way told her exactly how far from his normal self he really was. Ordinarily he'd have done something to acknowledge the victory of having her provide him with alcohol, even if it was only a raised eyebrow or a small smile. But this time there was nothing there.
"Will you tell me who it was?" She met his eyes. He opened his mouth, and she was sure he was going to speak, but then he shook his head in frustration looked down again. Suddenly she was sure there was more going on here than just him choosing not to speak. "Nate, why can't you talk? It's not a choice, is it?"
He shook his head. He grabbed his I-Pad from across the table and typed a couple of things. Then he turned it around and showed it to her. He'd brought up a website, and a definition. Selective Mutism? Her brow furrowed as she read. Apparently it was a disorder that kept people that could normally speak from talking when in certain situations or with certain people. It was a social disorder. She looked up at Nate. He met her eyes and shrugged.
"How sure are you that you have this?" He didn't answer, just walked over to a book shelf and pulled down a book. When he handed it to her she was completely confused. It was a bible. He reached over and flipped it open. About a third of the way through a piece of paper was tucked inside. He pulled it out. It was a treatment record from a psychiatrist. It was dated a long time ago; he must have been quite young at the time. The notes were about various symptoms and the treatment plan for dealing with them. She read the entire thing, doing her best to memorise it. When she finished it she looked up. "You could have told me this you know. All those times when I thought you were just ignoring me, or when I thought you were giving me the silent treatment to piss me off. It was this, wasn't it?" She felt rage coiling inside her and tried to push it down. If what she'd just read was true, then he couldn't have helped himself. She wondered if Maggie had known.
He returned the paper to its spot in the bible and then idly flipped through. There were other papers in there too. Every so often he'd stop and pull one out, look at it, and then put it back. Suddenly he tensed. Then she could see him take a deep breath, as if trying to steel himself for something, and he pulled out a photograph. He stared at it for a second and then handed it to her.
The picture was of Jimmy Ford holding a baby. Sam. Obviously it had been before Nate's father had gone to prison. She placed it back in the bible, treating it like the finest china. He closed the bible and then put it back where he'd gotten it from. She thought he'd sit back at the table but instead he detoured around her and pulled out a marker and started writing on one of the glass boards they used. When she walked up behind him and read what he'd written, she felt a brief sense of panic, and then the rage that she'd pushed away a few moments earlier found a whole new target. He'd written out two names, connected by a horizontal line. Jack Latimer – Victor Dubenich. Below them he started scrawling sectors where he thought they might have intersected. She went back to the table and got the I-Pad and started doing research. Latimer and Dubenich would pay.
Sophie was back in the van, driving to the patent office. Hurry up! She tried to yell at herself, but found she couldn't speak. Still, she kept trying. Go faster! You need to get there! She wasn't sure exactly why she needed to get there in such a hurry, only that it was vitally important. Something bad was going to happen if she didn't get there in time. Suddenly everything changed and she was sitting in the back of the van. Nate jumped out and she tried to grab him, tried to keep him from running into the warehouse. She knew he shouldn't go in there but had no idea why. Terrified, she watched as he disappeared inside. A flash of orange, and…
Sophie sat bolt upright in bed, gasping. She fumbled for the switch for the lamp on the night table beside her, but in her haste she knocked it off. She swore violently, and suddenly Nate's arms were around her, holding her tight. She turned around and clung to him, still breathing rapidly from the nightmare. He didn't say anything, just rubbed her back and held her. After a few minutes she started to calm down.
"God that was awful. I haven't had a nightmare like that in forever. I don't think I'm going back to sleep tonight." She shook her head, trying to clear the last traces of the fear from her mind. Nate grabbed his remote and turned on the tv. Hardison had been shocked and dismayed at the idea that Nate didn't have at least a small tv in his room and the next day Nate had come home from the grocery store to find a brand new 32 inch LCD monitor affixed to his wall. About ten seconds of pulling on it had let him know that Hardison knew what he was doing when he installed electronics; the damn thing wouldn't budge. Finally Nate had just shrugged and left it there.
Nate flipped through the channels until he found an old movie and then settled back against his headboard and pulled Sophie down against him. When the movie ended almost two hours later Sophie had fallen back asleep, his hand firmly grasped in hers. He turned off the television and settled back down, bringing her with him.
Thanks for the food, Sophie texted.
A few seconds later her phone beeped. Anytime. He talking yet?
No. She hesitated and then sent: But he let me know who's behind this, and it isn't just Latimer. It's Dubenich.
The next text she received said That F—king Bastard! I'm gonna kill him.
NO! Eliot, don't do anything yet. We need to plan this out. Otherwise one or both of them might get free. Just keep Hardison and Parker safe for now, okay? She could almost hear his growl of impatience at her restraining him, but in her mind she knew it was the right thing to do. She waited nervously for his next text and then breathed a sigh of relief.
Copy that. But just so you know, if I have to spend too much more time with those two without you to mediate once in a while, bad things are likely to happen. I only have so much patience you know.
You know you love them.
I think you're a little confused with your words there darlin'.
Not at all. I'll keep you posted if I learn anything else.
"We're going out for dinner." Nate looked over at that comment. It was the third day since that warehouse had exploded. "You owe me a date, remember?" she teased gently.
"Yeah." Her head whipped around at his assent. "I do."
He avoided her gaze, so clearly he wasn't quite back to his normal self. But the fact that he'd talked at all was a relief.
"Go get dressed," she said, giving him a gentle shove. "Wear a suit."
They took a walk by the water after dinner, her muscles thankful at being stretched out. She wasn't used to so much inactivity. They'd both been spending so much time working at the Dubenich/Latimer problem that they'd barely come up for air. Nate's apartment was a disaster. It looked a bit like a cyclone had gone through and dropped papers and whiskey bottles everywhere. Actually, Sophie had been more than a little concerned at the amount of alcohol that Nate was consuming but it appeared to barely effect him.
"Will you have a funeral?" Her question was soft.
He sighed and then shook his head. "No. All that would do is give Dubenich another target. I… I'm going to talk to Bonanno tomorrow. Odds are that they've called in a medical examiner by now, and the least I can do is ID the remains so they don't spend a bunch of taxpayer's money to try and figure out who it was."
"I'm going with you." Her voice was firm.
He could tell she thought he would argue, but instead he just nodded and said "Okay." They climbed back into his car. He'd handed his keys off to her before they left his apartment. She was glad; that first year that they'd worked together he'd driven under the influence more than once, and it had pissed her off to no end. It was one thing to put yourself in danger, but another entirely to put others at risk as well. She'd finally laid into him about it and he'd actually listened for once.
When they got back to his apartment and he made to go back to staring at the screens with all his notes on them, she grabbed his hand. "Uh-uh. Nope. Date's not over." She pulled him after her up the stairs.
"Harder than you thought, huh?" She reached a hand over to him and he grasped it. She kept her eyes on the road.
"Yeah." His voice was tight. Once detective Bonanno had realised that it was Nate's father who'd been in that warehouse, he'd escorted them into the medical examiner's office himself. There hadn't really been anything left of Jimmy Ford, just a half melted metal crucifix that had been in his wallet and some fragments of bone. Obviously Nate hadn't been allowed to see those; he had however voluntarily given a DNA sample so that they could cross reference it. Once it was matched they could release the… body, for burial. Nate had advised them to send the remains for cremation, and left a contact number. It wasn't until he'd gotten back in the car that he'd buried his head in his hands, his whole body trembling. Sophie just rested a hand on his back to let him know she was there. Finally he sat up and wiped his face and buckled his seatbelt.
"I'm going to put him with mom," he said now. "It's… it's what she wanted. And I think he would have wanted that too." He was swiping at the tears but they just kept falling.
The lines on the road in front of Sophie blurred. She wasn't sure when it had happened, but at some point she'd realized that she'd rather suffer herself than see him in pain. "Nate, I'm sorry. Sorry that you're suffering, sorry I didn't drive faster getting back to you. Maybe if I had…"
His grip on her hand grew almost painful, and he said "Don't you ever blame yourself for this. Ever. It wasn't your fault, and you couldn't have stopped it. Don't play that stupid game in your head Soph, because you'll lose every time." He reached over and pushed some buttons on the stereo. After a few seconds a song started playing. It took her a bit to catch up to the lyrics. When she did, she realized again that Nate Ford never did anything without a purpose, even if it wasn't apparent at first.
So try not to think about what might have been,
'Cause that was then,
And we have taken different roads.
We can't go back again.
There's no use giving in.
And there's no way to know,
What might have been.