AMA (3/3)
He'd tried this before, and he knew it didn't work. Wasn't the definition of insanity trying the same thing over and over expecting a different result? Nate smiled grimly and tried to lose himself in the burn of whiskey down the back of his throat.
“Nate.”
Eliot's voice was tinny and thin from the ear piece, far away from his ear in his coat pocket. Nate wasn't sure if he was actually hearing it or imagining it, and frankly, he didn't much care.
“Nate!”
He signaled the bartender for another shot, and on second thought, told him to just leave the bottle on the bar.
“Nate, goddammit.”
“Shut up,” he told his pocket, pouring another liberal glass. He didn't want to talk to Eliot, he didn't want to hear the confirmation of bad news that he'd seen in the doctors body language. He didn't even want to think about body language, because body language made him think of Sophie. It always had.
It was her body language that had drawn him to her in the first place, not that she was a thief. She just knew how to draw a man across the room with that little tilt of her head and a smile that flirted with the corners of her lips. Nate tried not to think about never seeing that again.
His phone was ringing, vibrating angrily against his side. It broke through the cloud of abject despair that had settled over him, and he nearly knocked the bottle over pulling his phone out of his pocket.
“H'llo.”
“Get your drunk ass back to the hospital. Now.” Eliot's voice growled through the speaker, and Nate scowled, toying with the desire to be petulant. “I know you hate hospitals,” even drunk, he could detect the softening in Eliot's voice, as subtle as it was, “but you need to be here when Sophie wakes up.”
His brow furrowed, and Nate would be damned if he let that little sliver of hope kick him in the gut. Sophie was gone. He'd seen it, in the slump of the doctors shoulders, in the way he walked. He'd seen it before, when they tried to explain to him why they couldn't save his son. He knew that look, he knew what it meant. Eliot was not going to convince him otherwise.
“You're a damn fool, Nate. Get here before I come get you.”
Convinced or not, that was a threat Nate took seriously.
He left his earbud out on the way back to the hospital. He told himself it was because he was drunk enough that he didn't need to be talking to himself on the walk back. Passerby were giving him a wide enough berth as it was, and he knew it was because of his body language, telling them he was dangerous and broken.
Back to body language again. Back to Sophie.
He squashed the hopeful little voice that said, maybe she's okay, Eliot said 'when she wakes up,' maybe, maybe, maybe..., except that he'd seen it. Maybe he'd never be as good at reading body language as Sophie was, but he knew the signs. He knew what to look for here, where none of the rest of them did.
He was unprepared for the full body assault of Parker when he entered the room. He stiffened instinctively, until he realized that her arms were around him in a hug, not in attempted violence. Nate raised his eyebrows at Eliot over her shoulder, and got a shrug in return. Awkwardly patting Parker's back, he pretended like he couldn't feel the two damp patches on his neck. “She's gonna be okay,” Parker whispered, and Nate felt his heart stop, and slam back into action in earnest.
Nate felt his eyes well up and blinked it away, looking past Parker, and Eliot and Hardison to the hospital bed. Sophie was asleep, probably drug induced, judging by the IV bags hanging around the bed, but she was alive. She was gray under her natural tan, and there were dark circles under her eyes, but she was breathing on her own and the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen.
“When -” he cleared his throat, trying to regain control over his voice, “When is she supposed to wake up?”
“A few hours,” Hardison spoke up, pulling his eyes away from Sophie's hand, which he held in his own. “They came in a bit ago to pull out the tube...” he paled even thinking about it, and Nate sympathized. He knew he wouldn't be the only one with a hospital complex at the end of this.
They filtered out, eventually. Nate let a nurse give him an IV and hook him up to fluids. He took Hardison's chair by Sophie's bed, and stared at her, counting her breaths. He had been so sure he'd never see her again, but he should have known she would hold on. Sophie Devereaux never made her exit until she was damn well ready to.
He knew that better than most.
He must have fallen asleep in the stiff backed chair, because the next thing he knew, fingers were squeezing his and Sophie's voice said, “Nate,” soft and hoarse but it was Sophie.
His cheeks were wet and his voice cracked when he said, “Sophie,” but his smile was wide enough it hurt his face. Words closed up in his throat. We were so worried, please don't do this to me again, I love you... What he said instead was, “Let me go get the doctor.” Her fingers tightened on his as he stood, and he leaned over her, pressing a kiss to her forehead and trying futilely to control his breathing. “I'm glad you're okay, Soph.”
The flurry of doctors took longer than the phone calls Nate had to make. He used the time to try to compose himself. Nate wasn't exactly sure if he'd succeeded or not, but when the last doctor left the room, he found himself going back in. Sophie blinked owlishly at him, and he knew without asking that they'd pushed more drugs into her system. In the next few days, when they started tapering off, they'd smuggle her out of the hospital, against medical advice. As good as Hardison was, Nate knew it was only a matter of time before law enforcement sent someone around to investigate the hospitals report, and he didn't intend to stick around much longer than that.
Sophie opened her mouth to speak, and he silenced her, taking her hand. “Go to sleep, Sophie. I'll be here when you wake up.”Always.
“Nate.”
Eliot's voice was tinny and thin from the ear piece, far away from his ear in his coat pocket. Nate wasn't sure if he was actually hearing it or imagining it, and frankly, he didn't much care.
“Nate!”
He signaled the bartender for another shot, and on second thought, told him to just leave the bottle on the bar.
“Nate, goddammit.”
“Shut up,” he told his pocket, pouring another liberal glass. He didn't want to talk to Eliot, he didn't want to hear the confirmation of bad news that he'd seen in the doctors body language. He didn't even want to think about body language, because body language made him think of Sophie. It always had.
It was her body language that had drawn him to her in the first place, not that she was a thief. She just knew how to draw a man across the room with that little tilt of her head and a smile that flirted with the corners of her lips. Nate tried not to think about never seeing that again.
His phone was ringing, vibrating angrily against his side. It broke through the cloud of abject despair that had settled over him, and he nearly knocked the bottle over pulling his phone out of his pocket.
“H'llo.”
“Get your drunk ass back to the hospital. Now.” Eliot's voice growled through the speaker, and Nate scowled, toying with the desire to be petulant. “I know you hate hospitals,” even drunk, he could detect the softening in Eliot's voice, as subtle as it was, “but you need to be here when Sophie wakes up.”
His brow furrowed, and Nate would be damned if he let that little sliver of hope kick him in the gut. Sophie was gone. He'd seen it, in the slump of the doctors shoulders, in the way he walked. He'd seen it before, when they tried to explain to him why they couldn't save his son. He knew that look, he knew what it meant. Eliot was not going to convince him otherwise.
“You're a damn fool, Nate. Get here before I come get you.”
Convinced or not, that was a threat Nate took seriously.
He left his earbud out on the way back to the hospital. He told himself it was because he was drunk enough that he didn't need to be talking to himself on the walk back. Passerby were giving him a wide enough berth as it was, and he knew it was because of his body language, telling them he was dangerous and broken.
Back to body language again. Back to Sophie.
He squashed the hopeful little voice that said, maybe she's okay, Eliot said 'when she wakes up,' maybe, maybe, maybe..., except that he'd seen it. Maybe he'd never be as good at reading body language as Sophie was, but he knew the signs. He knew what to look for here, where none of the rest of them did.
He was unprepared for the full body assault of Parker when he entered the room. He stiffened instinctively, until he realized that her arms were around him in a hug, not in attempted violence. Nate raised his eyebrows at Eliot over her shoulder, and got a shrug in return. Awkwardly patting Parker's back, he pretended like he couldn't feel the two damp patches on his neck. “She's gonna be okay,” Parker whispered, and Nate felt his heart stop, and slam back into action in earnest.
Nate felt his eyes well up and blinked it away, looking past Parker, and Eliot and Hardison to the hospital bed. Sophie was asleep, probably drug induced, judging by the IV bags hanging around the bed, but she was alive. She was gray under her natural tan, and there were dark circles under her eyes, but she was breathing on her own and the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen.
“When -” he cleared his throat, trying to regain control over his voice, “When is she supposed to wake up?”
“A few hours,” Hardison spoke up, pulling his eyes away from Sophie's hand, which he held in his own. “They came in a bit ago to pull out the tube...” he paled even thinking about it, and Nate sympathized. He knew he wouldn't be the only one with a hospital complex at the end of this.
They filtered out, eventually. Nate let a nurse give him an IV and hook him up to fluids. He took Hardison's chair by Sophie's bed, and stared at her, counting her breaths. He had been so sure he'd never see her again, but he should have known she would hold on. Sophie Devereaux never made her exit until she was damn well ready to.
He knew that better than most.
He must have fallen asleep in the stiff backed chair, because the next thing he knew, fingers were squeezing his and Sophie's voice said, “Nate,” soft and hoarse but it was Sophie.
His cheeks were wet and his voice cracked when he said, “Sophie,” but his smile was wide enough it hurt his face. Words closed up in his throat. We were so worried, please don't do this to me again, I love you... What he said instead was, “Let me go get the doctor.” Her fingers tightened on his as he stood, and he leaned over her, pressing a kiss to her forehead and trying futilely to control his breathing. “I'm glad you're okay, Soph.”
The flurry of doctors took longer than the phone calls Nate had to make. He used the time to try to compose himself. Nate wasn't exactly sure if he'd succeeded or not, but when the last doctor left the room, he found himself going back in. Sophie blinked owlishly at him, and he knew without asking that they'd pushed more drugs into her system. In the next few days, when they started tapering off, they'd smuggle her out of the hospital, against medical advice. As good as Hardison was, Nate knew it was only a matter of time before law enforcement sent someone around to investigate the hospitals report, and he didn't intend to stick around much longer than that.
Sophie opened her mouth to speak, and he silenced her, taking her hand. “Go to sleep, Sophie. I'll be here when you wake up.”Always.