A/N: Mission to finish this fic before the new season starts and I get totally jossed: Success! With less then 48 hours to go, but whatever. :D Okay, here we go... I'm not going to lie to you people, it's about to get sappy up in here.

"Would you stop looking like that? Hey, you offered to help, practically insisted, and I toldyou -"

"Essentials! You said essentials."

"Well some things are easy to replace. Others..." Sophie looked around the room where, for the last two years, she had kept some of her most prized possessions. Most of them, thankfully, had survived the little incident with the bomb exploding in her apartment a few years back. Pity she couldn't say the same about the Munch hanging in her front hallway.

The point was, they were definitely essentials, and if she was going to up and move to Portland, there was no question of them coming with her.

"And this is why we're packing up fifteen crates of shoes?" Nate said.

"Irreplaceable! Look, see, those stilettos? Great sentimental value."

His response was a rude noise.

She shook her head and went back to packing, wrapping a pair of adorable yellow slingbacks in tissue paper and stowing them carefully in the nearest crate. She looked up to find him doing the same with the stilettos, only with a great deal less care.

"And it's not fifteen," she said, continuing the conversation as if it had never paused. "You always exaggerate. It's, what, two boxes. Or six. Look, whatever, you know what your problem is?"

"What, what's my problem?"

She opened her mouth but hesitated.

"Hm? Can't think of it, huh? Guess all these shoes must be distracting for you."

She narrowed her eyes at him. "I'm trying to think of just one."

He huffed in amusement and tossed another shoebox carelessly on top of all the others, just to be extra annoying. "Have you even worn half of these?"

"That's not the point. You're such a hypocrite, you know."

"Ah, so that's my problem."

"You love my shoes, Nate."

"No, I love the way you wear your shoes."

"That's the same thing!"

"No, there's a subtle but distinct difference."

"You're just arguing for the sake of getting on my nerves."

"You say that like it's not working. Anyway, what are you going to do about it?"

He was in such a mood, with that quintessential Nathan Ford smirk on his face. And what was she going to do about it?

Idly she picked up a shoe from the nearby shelf; gleaming black patent leather smooth in her hand. She got to her feet. "You say that like a man who doesn't have a vested interest in making me happy."

He didn't have a snappy comeback as she made her way around the packing boxes over to where he was sprawled on the floor.

"Now, see, these. Surely you remember these ones." She gracefully lowered herself to her knees beside him in amongst the sea of footwear, and showed him the one item in particular in her hand. "I'm quite sure you remember them digging into your back that night... last month... that little place in Chinatown..."

He swallowed heavily before speaking. "Maybe you should put them back on and we can refresh my memory."

"Maybe," she smiled.

She definitely had his attention now, and he certainly wasn't arguing. In fact he didn't say another word before he was moving, his lips meeting hers heatedly. He leaned forward, lowering her to the floor, clearing a space with a sweep of his arm.

"I knew you liked my shoes," she murmured as his mouth travelled down her neck.

"Shoes? What shoes?" he returned, which made her laugh since they were only rolling around on the floor surrounded by the things, until he caught her up in another kiss, silencing her.

She was toying with his shirt buttons a few minutes later when she said, "Mm, you know we're never going to get to Portland at this rate."

He grabbed for a stray sandal lying forgotten beside them, and lobbed it into the nearest open box. "Progress. We'll get there soon enough."

She ducked his next kiss, shifting in his arms. "Yeah? Soon enough for what, though? You are going to have to tell us about these plans of yours eventually."

"You, I will tell anything you want to know."

She didn't reply, just wriggled some more. At some point a shoe box had wedged under her knee and it was getting uncomfortable.

He sat up then, pulling her up with him so she could arrange herself less awkwardly. They shared a smile, laughing a little - neither of them willing to admit that perhaps they were too old to be fooling around on the floor, but both of them thinking it.

A moment later, Nate's expression changed from amused to serious. He took her hand. "Speaking of plans, Sophie, I..."

"What?"

"You know I - I really - I just... want to make you happy."

"Oh, well that's nice."

"No, I'm serious, I -"

"Nate," she squeezed his hand. Where was he going with this? "I am happy. Are you?"

"Getting there. I just - I want to know, I want you to tell me... Wait, what's that look? What's wrong?"

She blinked, freezing up, afraid suddenly of what he might have caught in her features. "Nothing. I'm fine, I -"

"I'm freaking you out, aren't I?" he said, and now his expression had switched from sweet and sincere to shrewd and slightly chagrined.

"No! What? No, no... A little bit, yeah. Look, you keep expressing your feelings and being all... direct and honest about what you want and what you need - you have to admit, it's weird."

"You don't trust me," he concluded, hitting the nail right on the head while at the same time missing it completely.

Sometimes she could just kill him, to be honest. They should never have stopped the kissing just now.

"Well you know that isn't true," she said. "I know you have good intentions, Nate..."

"I just want to make this work, I want to give you everything you need to -"

She threw up her hands, making a frustrated noise. "All these years we've known each other and you're still completely missing the point. It doesn't matter that there aren't any guarantees - of course there aren't. I mean, you, Mr Control Freak, of course you want to say the magic words and conjure up this perfect ideal of a relationship but you just can't - look, I'll put it in words you'll understand: you can't take out an insurance policy on love. It's a game of chance. No one knows how it will turn out." She took his face in her hands suddenly as she continued. "And if you think I won't take that risk for you, then you are very, very stupid, Nate. And we both know you're not stupid."

He covered her hands with his, drawing them down from his face to clasp warmly between them. "Sometimes, around you, I really don't feel smart."

A smile stole over her face. "Of course not. That's probably why you like me so much."

"One of many reasons." He sighed. "'Words I'll understand'? Really?"

"Really."

"Okay, well I guess I can try not to be so... pushy. Uh, controlling."

She really couldn't help the laugh that escaped.

"Yeah, that's not going to happen," he agreed. "But still, you know I want to - I mean we should be able to talk about, you know, about... us."

"Nate, are you saying you want to have a conversation about our relationship?"

"It's a big step for me, huh? Sorry, I don't want to 'freak you out' more."

"I'm only surprised you didn't hear the word 'relationship' and run for the hills. Talk about a new Nate."

"Come on, we both know that's what this is. And hey, I used to be married, you know, I do know how to do this. We just - you know, you tell me what you want, and I tell you what I want, and then we, you know, we work on it."

She pursed her lips, considering that. "So you want to have a sensible, logical discussion? About our feelings."

"What?" He spread his hands defensively.

She shook her head. "Poor Maggie."

"What? Don't -"

She waved a hand. "No it's fine, it's fine. I mean, this is what I was just talking about, with the trying to manage everything, but whatever. Baby steps. You have to start somewhere."

"And what about you?"

Her eyes widened in surprise. "Me?"

"Yes you." He pointed an accusing finger, but his features were energised, apparently happy to turn the tables on her. "Stop worrying about me, and handling me with kid gloves. I'm figuring things out, and I'm going to be okay. You can trust me." He picked up her hand again. "You can trust this."

She didn't have a reply to that.

Worrying about Nate had been her default state for the past few weeks. The past few years to be honest. And with that had come an ingrained habit of protecting herself where he was concerned.

And she knew she was right; that he couldn't approach their relationship the way he ran a con, with contingency on top of contingency, genius mastermind or no. But maybe he was right, too, and if he was willing and ready to make a leap, there was no reason not to join him. No reason but fear.

Maybe baby steps weren't the answer.

He let her think for a long moment. Finally when she looked up at him, smiling slowly, he smiled back and said, "Tell me what you want."

A flood of answers suddenly presented themselves to her. Oh, the many ways she could respond to that question. But then she knew.

"There's something I've been waiting to hear you say."

"Oh?"

"Mm, and I don't want to rush you, don't feel pressured or anything, but I really am just dying to hear it."

"Sophie -"

"Come on, just lay it out there."

"I..."

"Tell me - that you don't remember my name from that night in San Lorenzo."

His jaw dropped and he just stared at her for a few seconds. "I knew you knew!"

"Yet you never brought it up. We could have just talked about it. Sensibly, logically..."

"Well we've spent a lot of time since then, you know, not talking."

"Haven't we just."

He sighed, rubbing his forehead. "I'm sorry. I blacked it out."

"I'm sorry I had to be drunk off my ass before I could tell you."

"Well you can tell me now, though," he pointed out eagerly.

"Oh, nuh-uh, no, it's still my turn. We're still doing what I want, here. I have a list."

"When did you make a list?"

"Just now. Don't interrupt."

It was not a short list. But then, she'd never claimed to be low-maintenance.

While they went back to packing up the room's contents, they talked - or Sophie talked, Nate listened with regular intervals for arguing.

Respect the shoe collection was on the list. As was bring me breakfast in bed whenever I want.

There was an official agreement made that, should she ever encounter a spider, it was his job to deal with it.

She wanted him to be patient with her, about her past - the parts of it he didn't know, Sophie Devereaux before the name had even existed - because she wanted to tell him. She did. But she wasn't sure when or how or even if she would ever get the words out.

Also on the list: You should feel free to get a bit jealous when I'm flirting with a mark, because it keeps things interesting, and a girl doesn't like to feel taken for granted. Just not too jealous, because then you're just being ridiculous, no matter how much younger or more attractive the man is than you.

At one point she found herself staring intently down at one of her favourite pairs of knee-high boots and saying, "I don't think I'll ever want to be a mother. Maybe if it happened by accident... I suppose I might keep it, but I don't... I just don't think I..."

"Okay," he said. "Okay."

And hearing the simple acceptance in his voice, she started to breathe again.

Continuing honesty was on the list. Continuing openness. She didn't want to be shut out ever again.

She seriously wanted them - or more specifically, him - to work on the bad habit of letting personal issues between them affect the job. He was fine with that, as long as she admitted she was as equally to blame for that as he was. She was pretty sure it was mostly him, and she wanted him to stop living in denial because it was hardly attractive. He wanted to strangle her, and said so. She wanted to throw a brown suede ankle boot at his head. And did so. Then they both wanted to settle things by rolling around on the floor kissing like teenagers again.

It was a long afternoon.

Eventually, though, they were finished - with both the packing and the talking - and they stood together surveying the products of their labour: empty shelves, several sealed boxes, and a greater sense of intimacy between them than months of sleeping together had managed to create.

There in the doorway Sophie turned to him and stepped close, slinging her arms around his neck. "Listen, you're not drunk right now, are you?"

He looked confused. "What? No... and you've been with me all day so you know that."

"Good," she said, "because I don't want you forgetting this."

And then she told him her name.

fin.

And that's the end, thank you for reading!