Starting From Zero
Disclaimer: I own nothing here and am just doing this to pass the time until Season 3 starts.
Spoilers: Set between “The Fairy Godparents Job” (204) and “The Three Days of the Hunter Job” (205).
A/N: Written for lovesrogue36‘s prompt on leveragekink : “Nate/Sophie, paint in her hair” Coming up with the title was the hardest part and it’s based on a mistranslation loose interpretation of a line in Edith Piaf’s song “Non, je ne regrette rien,” Balayées pour toujours, je repars à zéro.
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Nate knocked on Sophie’s door again, annoyed that she wasn’t answering. Their weekly meetings to select the team’s next client were a standing engagement, and Sophie was never late. Well, until recently, at least. Nate hadn’t met ‘The Boyfriend’ yet and was having a hard time working up any friendly feelings toward the guy. Sophie had been different and the only new variable was a guy whose name he didn’t even know.
He knocked a third time, aggressively enough to nearly bruise his knuckles, then sighed and pulled out his keys. Juggling his armload of files, he fumbled through the keyring until he found the key that Sophie had given him. Nate unlocked the door and pushed it open, the heavy steel requiring a little extra heft.
Stepping into the apartment, Nate could hear the warbling voice of Edith Piaf as she crooned about having no regrets. The sound of Sophie singing along, at least half an octave out of tune, made him smile. He walked toward the music, calling her name.
Nate found Sophie in her bedroom, all the furniture pushed to the center of the room and covered with heavy plastic. She was painting the room a retina-searing shade of yellow and was dressed in an oversized plaid shirt and paint-splattered jeans, a bandana covering her head. Nate stayed in the hallway, leaning against the wall, waiting for her to notice him since there was no point in trying to shout over the music.
Besides, he could just about admit to himself that he liked watching her, especially as she stretched to reach the upper part of the wall, her body lithe and willowy. He’d always loved how she committed to things, the way she was able to make a decision and throw herself into it. It made watching her acting not only bearable but interesting. He knew the rest of the team dreaded her plays, but he enjoyed watching her make these bizarre choices, like playing Willie Loman as a man, and then somehow pulling them off. Or at least not fleeing the stage in the middle of it.
Sophie turned around to dip the roller in the paint tray and caught sight of him. She startled a little, then took a sheepish look at her watch, apologizing as she turned off the music so that Nate only caught the last part of her statement.
“...just completely lost track of time,” she said as she dropped the roller in the tray.
Nate could see the dark shadows under her eyes and he felt uneasy. He took a step into the room, looking around. Something wasn’t quite right and he didn’t know why he hadn’t noticed it sooner.
“Well, what do you think?” asked Sophie.
“It’s quite a color. Very bright.”
“Yes, I wanted a change. Something cheery. You don’t think it’s too bright though, do you?”
Privately, that’s exactly what Nate thought, but he didn’t want to tell her that. He paused instead, intently studying the wall before answering. “I’m sure that it’ll look more toned down when it’s dry.”
Sophie gave him a grateful smile. “Listen, if you want to go make some coffee, I just want to finish this wall and I’ll be right with you.”
“Take your time,” replied Nate as he carefully stepped out of the room, his mind spinning as he tried to figure out what was making him so uneasy. Something was wrong, of that he was certain.
In the kitchen, Nate quickly made the coffee, his eyes scanning the room for any hint of a problem. He looked for mail, a calendar, anything that might yield a clue but Sophie’s nearly religious stance against clutter made it a frustrating search. The only item that could yield any intelligence was her purse, which was sitting on the breakfast bar.
Part of him knew that rifling through a woman’s purse was akin to opening Pandora’s box or tearing off the seal on the final revelation. He also knew that it was the sort of privacy invasion that was punished with much shouting and gnashing of teeth. But he didn’t bother to dwell on the negatives for long. He had to look in that purse; for the good of the team, he needed to know what was going on with their grifter.
Nate eased open the purse, glancing back at the hallway. After satisfying himself that the coast was still clear, he turned his attention back to the bag, looking in earnest. His nosiness was immediately rewarded by a small, leather-bound date book.
He opened the book and scanned the last few days, spotting an appointment for “coffee with J” that coincided with the day she was late. Nate flipped a few pages forward and saw “Venetian Exhibit J” with a heart around it, then several angry Xs crossing it out. Nate put the book away, zipped up the purse and moved back over to the coffee machine.
He leaned against the counter and closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose. The picture was developing slightly: trouble with The Boyfriend. And from Sophie’s need to change and control her environment, Nate was guessing that it was Trouble with a capital-T.
Nate poured two cups of coffee and put them on the breakfast bar along with milk and sugar. He was just sitting down when Sophie sat down across from him, her eyes still looking tired and sad.
“So, I brought five files this week,” began Nate, keeping his head down. He was trying to be all business, hoping that Sophie didn’t catch on that he’d been spying. “I prioritized them according to need and timeliness, I really think that elderly couple in the dispute with the city could use some help.”
He slid the files across to her and looked up, noticing for the first time that Sophie had changed her clothes and taken the bandana off. A spot of yellow in her hair caught his eye. Actually, it was more than just a spot. It was many, many spots and splashes, much more than seemed possible. Nate pressed his fist into his mouth, trying not to laugh.
“What? What is it?” asked Sophie, self-consciously rubbing her face.
“Nothing, well, it’s just that... you have a bit of a paint in your hair.”
Confused, Sophie stood up and walked into the living room. She paused in front of the fireplace and stared hard at her reflection in the mirror. Nate watched as her expression changed from confused to horrified. She pressed her forehead into the mantle, her shoulders slumping.
“I have an audition tomorrow morning. I can’t go looking like a bloody bumblebee.”
“Sophie, it’s a bit of paint. Not the end of the world. You’ll probably be able to wash it out,” said Nate.
She picked up her head and looked at him, the hope in her eyes tempered by concern. “Are you sure it’ll wash out?”
“Well, I said ‘probably’. It depends on what kind of paint you used.”
Sophie left the room and returned seconds later, depositing a paint can on the table. He turned it around and read the label. Oil-based.
“Oh boy,” murmured Nate under his breath.
“It’ll wash out, right?” asked Sophie, her eyes taking on a slightly manic edge.
“Eventually,” said Nate, wishing as he watched her face fall that he’d sounded more reassuring and less ominous. “Sophie, trust me, all right?”
She nodded. Nate took her hand and pulled her into the kitchen. He took a stool from the breakfast bar and put it near the kitchen sink.
“Take a seat there.” He pulled off his sports coat and laid it on the counter, then rolled up his sleeves. “Now, where do you keep your olive oil?”
Sophie’s forehead wrinkled in confusion. “Over there, top shelf. But I don’t-”
“Trust me, remember?” replied Nate as he grabbed the olive oil. He looked over at Sophie, suddenly realizing that for the plan to work, he was going to have to touch her, quite a bit. He took a deep breath and reminded himself that he was just helping out a friend. It was no big deal. He unscrewed the top and walked over to Sophie.
“Okay, now, I’m going to need you to close your eyes,” he said.
She opened her mouth, looking like she was going to argue with him, but then closed it abruptly. She gave him a crooked half-smile and a little nod before closing her eyes and tipping her head back a little, toward the sink.
Nate smoothed back her hair, trying to ignore how soft and silky it felt. He reminded himself to concentrate on the paint, then he picked up the bottle and poured olive oil on her head, directing it toward the paint spots and streaks.
The spots were so well-distributed that he soon gave up on trying to contain the oil, opting to pour more on and massage it well into her scalp, making sure it reached every bit of paint. Sophie relaxed under his gentle touch and he could see the tension draining from her face.
“Now, just sit there for a few minutes while it soaks in. Here, I’ll put the files on the counter in case you want to look through them,” said Nate, moving the files as he spoke.
“So I can open my eyes?”
“You can. Just don’t shake your head around.”
Nate left the kitchen to gather the supplies he would need for the next phase of his plan. In the bathroom, he immediately noticed an electric razor and a toothbrush in the trash can. The picture with The Boyfriend was becoming a lot more clear.
Nate frowned and grabbed the shampoo from the shower. He rummaged through the drawers until he found a few fine-toothed combs, which he slipped into his pocket. On the way back to the kitchen, he paused at the linen closet and picked up a stack of towels.
He found Sophie sitting where he’d left her, the only clue that she’d moved at all was the open file in her lap. Nate dropped his supplies on the counter. He picked up a towel and wrapped it around her shoulders, then pulled a comb out of his pocket. Careful not to hurt her, he worked the comb through a section of hair, smiling as the paint spots came loose and began to flake off.
“You know the expression ‘like oil and water’? They repel each other and that’s why just washing oil-based paint out won’t work. But if you use oil, then you’re able to loosen the paint and comb it out.” Nate spoke softly as he worked, nearly absentmindedly, like he wasn’t really expecting her to listen to him.
“Like fighting fire with fire?” asked Sophie, her voice soft and relaxed.
“A little bit like that, I suppose.” Nate cleaned the comb on the towel, happy to see so many little paint chips had come off.
“How did you know this would work?”
He returned to combing Sophie’s hair, the question hanging in the air. A simple question, but one that brought back memories, bittersweet and tender, that he wasn’t sure he could talk about without his voice breaking. Nate took a deep breath to steady himself, letting it out slowly as his fingers sought out more yellow paint spots.
“Well, when Sam was about four, Maggie was shopping and I was supposed to be watching him, which I was, kind of, but I was also trying to finish staining the deck so we could catch the start of the Lakers game. Sam was playing basketball, with one of those little kid hoops. I still don’t know how he did it because I didn’t see it happen. Maybe he took a shot too close to where I had the paint tray balanced on the railing, but he managed to bring the whole thing right down on top of his head.”
“Oh no!”
“Oh yes, unfortunately,” said Nate. “The only lucky thing was that it hit the top of his head and then went down his back. I grabbed a rag but that only seemed to make things worse, like I was rubbing it in.”
“So, then you did this?”
“No, then I kind of panicked because I didn’t know what to do and Maggie was going to kill me because we were getting our picture taken for our family Christmas card the next day and her beautiful blonde boy looked like a cross-section from a redwood tree.”
Sophie laughed, trying unsuccessfully to cover it with a cough.
“Maggie came home right about then. She wasn’t happy with me. She definitely wasn’t happy with me, but she knew what to do.”
“So Maggie saved the day.”
“Yes. I was sure we’d have to cut his hair. She’d been an art history and fine arts double major, so she’d had her fair share of paint-related incidents, though, as she was fond of telling me, nothing on that scale.”
“No, I’d say not.”
Nate checked through Sophie’s hair carefully, looking for any remnants of yellow paint, but it looked like he’d removed them all.
“Okay, Soph, time to wash all this oil out,” said Nate as he pushed the stool closer to the sink. He put down a few towels on the edge of the sink, then helped her lean back so her neck was resting on them.
As he adjusted the water temperature, she closed her eyes. Nate was relieved to see that the sink had a sprayer hose, which would make his job easier and Sophie’s experience much more comfortable. He picked up the sprayer and carefully wetted down her hair, using one hand to stop the water from running into her face and eyes.
Nate put down the sprayer and picked up the shampoo, pouring a generous amount into his hand. It smelled of spring, like rain showers and flowers. He began to massage the shampoo into her hair, his blunt nails gently scratching at her scalp. She looked relaxed and peaceful, even though he could still see that she hadn’t been sleeping that well.
“Do you want to talk about it?” he asked finally, deciding to take a chance, that the worst she could do was tell him that it was none of his bloody business.
“Talk about what?” asked Sophie, opening one eye.
“Keep your eyes closed,” chided Nate, waiting until she’d closed them. He didn’t want to get soap in her eyes, but he also wanted to have this conversation without having her looking at him. He just thought it would be easier that way, for both of them.
“Okay. They’re closed. Do I want to talk about what, Nate?” she asked, her voice taking on a slight edge.
“Whatever’s bothering you,” he said, keeping his tone level and matter-of-fact.
“What makes you think there’s something bothering me?” she countered, a parry for every verbal thrust. It was the kind of thing that made talking to her exhausting sometimes.
“Sophie, I can tell. This big painting job, it’s not really you. Just making a decision like that on the spur of the moment. It seems like change for change’s sake.”
She sighed and her mouth pulled into a frown that made him feel bad for bringing it up at all. “Jack dumped me.”
Nate raised his eyebrows, finally getting a name for the guy. And Sophie had just told him, no beating around the bush or avoidance, had just laid the words right out there like she had nothing to hide or lose. Nate moved his fingers to scratch behind her ears, smiling as she seemed to melt underneath his hands.
“Well, he sounds like an idiot,” said Nate finally, since he really didn’t know what to say, but blaming the guy seemed like a good first step.
She laughed. “Of course you’d say that. You’re my friend - you have to.”
Nate felt a blush rising in his cheeks. The feelings he was suddenly having were definitely not ones that he’d file under friendship. He picked up the sprayer and began to rinse her hair.
“Well, did he at least give you some reason? Or that stupid ‘it’s not you, it’s me,’ speech?”
“Oh no, he definitely said it was me.”
“Jackass,” Nate mumbled under his breath.
“Pardon?”
“Nothing, just.... go on.”
“Not really much to say. He just said that he didn’t feel like he knew me at all.”
“Well, what does he expect? To be able to open up the book of your life in the middle and just know everything? You hadn’t even been dating that long.”
“Exactly. It was only a few months.”
“Honestly, Soph, if that was the guy’s attitude, you’re probably better off without him,” said Nate, turning off the sprayer. “Don’t move yet. I’m going to need to wash your hair again, just to make sure all the oil’s gone.”
Sophie gave a little nod, keeping her eyes closed, but Nate could see that something he’d said was troubling her. He massaged more shampoo into her hair, waiting for her to talk.
“But what if he’s right, Nate? I mean, don’t you think he has a point. With my... secret life and aliases and characters. Who knows the real me? Do I even know anymore who I really am?”
He could feel the conversation drifting into troubled waters and he knew he was seriously out of his depth.
“Do you know me, Nate?” asked Sophie, opening her eyes to gaze up at him.
“Yeah, Sophie, I know you,” said Nate softly, his voice rough at the edges. “And I’ll tell you, it didn’t take me just a few months. It took months, years, of chasing. It was a game and a struggle and hunt. But nothing worth having ever comes easy. Sounds to me like this guy... seems like he was kind of lazy.”
She looked up at him and he let his thumb brush against her cheek. She shifted on the stool, struggling to sit up but he stilled her with a hand on her shoulder.
“Don’t move. I still have to rinse the soap out. And close your eyes,” he instructed, relieved when she complied.
Nate took his time, slowly rinsing the soap out of her hair. When he was done, he picked up a towel from the counter, unfolded it and placed it over her head. Then he helped her stand up, all the while gently towel-drying her hair. He eased the towel back, letting it come to rest around her shoulders.
He paused for a minute, his hands on her shoulders and his entire body achingly aware of the limited space between them. She caught his wrists and gave them a small squeeze, looking up at him with a shy smile.
“Nate, thanks. For everything.”
“It was nothing, don’t worry about it,” he said, easing his wrists loose and stepping away. He suddenly couldn’t look her in the eye because he was sure something was changing but wasn’t sure what it meant or if it was even a good idea.
“It was more than nothing. I’d still be looking like a bloody bumblebee if it wasn’t for you.”
“You’re welcome. Will I leave the files with you? We can talk about them tomorrow?” he asked as he rolled down his sleeves and re-buttoned his cuffs. He picked up his sports coat, his intentions to leave quite clear. He thought he caught a hint of disappointment in Sophie’s eyes, but she covered it quickly with a warm smile.
“No, don’t bother. This is our next job,” she replied, tapping a folder.
He flipped it open. “Monica Hunter. You sure?”
Sophie nodded and he shrugged then collected the files. Nate said goodbye and walked out. He paused at the door, watching Sophie watch him, her expression unreadable. The impulse to stay, to be with her, was nearly overwhelming, but he pushed it down because she was going to need time to get over Jack, to get her head straight.
Then, maybe, just maybe, he and Sophie could have a talk about how well they knew each other. And how it was time for them to finally know each other in a whole new way.