Disclaimer: I do not own Leverage nor am I associated with Timothy Hutton, Gina Bellman or Dean Devlin.
Nate tossed his umbrella in the stand, threw down his hat, and stripped off his rain-soaked coat. He ran a hand over his face as he poured a glass of fine sauvignon blanc and headed for the bedroom. Kicking off his shoes, he pushed open the door with his elbow and stopped stock still. His guard flew up for a moment before heaving a sigh.
"Sophie, get the hell out," he grumbled, grabbing a three-day-old newspaper from the dresser. Sophie Devereaux lay snugly tucked into his bed, one arm above her head, the other stretched out beside her.
"What? You're not going to arrest me?" she asked sweetly, eyes twinkling.
Nate glared, pulling back the covers. "It's my day off."
"Oh… I'll have to remember that. Note to self: Nate doesn't arrest pretty girls when they're in his bed on Sundays."
He settled in beside her, spreading the newspaper out on his propped up knees. "Note to self: Never tell a known thief you're staying at one of the most expensive hotels in town."
Sophie laughed lightly, rolling onto her side. "How's Maggie?"
Nate raised an eyebrow. "How do you know my wife's name?" After a quick pause and a rethink, he added, "Never mind. Don't want to know. And she's just fine, thank you."
Sophie made an acknowledging 'hmm' but merely nestled more comfortably against him. He rolled his eyes, opening the paper to the crossword. She watched him silently as he filled in 7, 10, 12, and 35 across and 36, 2, and 14 down. Nate chewed the end of his pencil as he mulled over 5 across.
"Three words… organ thief…" he mumbled, thinking aloud. Beneath his arm, Sophie shifted. He glanced down at her, his gaze part curiosity, part contempt. "What?"
"That one's easy. 'Stole your heart'," she pointed out, dragging a fingernail down the spot on the puzzle.
Nate's brow knit but he filled in the suggestion. It became something of a tradition, or maybe more like a habit, after that. Sunday afternoon somehow she always managed to turn up wherever he was and they would share a glass of wine or a cup of coffee and fill in the week's crossword puzzle. It made it harder to shoot her, to stop her that dreadful Wednesday morning when it wasn't his day off. She couldn't fake the pain that shot across her face nor could he stop the grimace when his phone rang and it was Maggie.