FIC: archival footage (pg; leverage)
I don't know what this is. But, you know, new fandoms, yay?
Title: archival footage
Author: hyacinthian
Rating: PG
Author's Note: My first Leverage fic, yay. Unbetaed, and 600 words-ish, so. Ficlet. Also, Notorious references all over the place (the 1946 Hitchcock film) because spies who fall in love and angst about it because there's a greater mission? That's like these kids all over the place. Also, random aside, but, "Dry your eyes, baby. It's out of character," is just like one of my favourite lines in the history of the world. This is really set after 2x15, but there's time references all over the place.
Summary: He always reaches out for her once he's already pushed her out the door. NateSophie.
She's halfway through a bottle of wine when Notorious flicks on, Ingrid Bergman's drawn expression drowning the room in blue light. The cabernet tart on her tongue and Nate heavy on her mind, and she just watches Cary Grant kiss Ingrid Bergman like there's nothing to being spies in love other than being able to trick Claude Raines that someone's not working for the Nazis - too long since she's seen it and too much wine, and she's not even sure if her thoughts are even remotely coherent.
This is a very strange love affair, Ingrid Bergman says, and Sophie wraps her fingertips around the stem of the wine glass in toast.
Why?
Maybe the fact that you don't love me.
And she's never been gladder than right now that she decided to take the first step out the door.
-
He still calls her, of course, because Nate is tremendously terrible at anything having to do with moderation or consistency, and sometimes she thinks about Tuscany -- she thinks about Tuscany too much -- but that doesn't stop her from pressing 'ignore' on all his calls, no matter how much she can feel the slightest bit of need pushing through the wires towards her.
He always reaches out for her once he's already pushed her out the door.
If there's one thing she's learned as a grifter, it's that people never really change.
There are lies and liars and the people who believe them and the people who don't, and she knows where she falls 80% of the time, but then sometimes, his voice will drop an octave lower and he'll just whisper her name, and that'll be that, bags packed, heading back where she claimed she'd never go.
She supposes she's always been a masochist.
-
She can't help replaying his words over and over in her head, the way his tongue trips over the word that matters, the one she's not sure she even wants him to say.
It doesn't matter anyway.
He never says it.
She goes back anyway.
-
He tells her that he needs her right before he turns himself in. She doesn't know why she didn't see it coming.
They keep treading the same paths, over and over again, and she's tired, she's tired and she can't keep doing this, not when he tells her one thing right before he does another. And it doesn't matter, it doesn't matter that he is here, lips warm and insistent against hers, it doesn't matter that they haven't done this in years, that every time she admits to needing him, he looks at her like she's making some huge mistake.
She can't do it.
She was never as good at being stoic as he was.
He doesn't apologize.
-
She doesn't visit him in prison for a month.
They cut the same paths they always have. She tries to cut him out, to prove that she doesn't need him, not in this way, not after everything he's done, not after everything he hasn't said.
The first time she sees him, he looks leaner, his jaw set in determination.
"It was for the - the team," he says.
She nods, pursing her lips. "We're going to get you out of here."
He licks his lips. "Sophie, I, uh - "
"We'll get you out," she says, and he doesn't meet her gaze. She hangs up the phone, slides the sunglasses up onto the bridge of her nose and struts out towards the door.
She doesn't look back. She considers that an achievement.
-
His first real case out of prison and halfway to the car, he reaches for her hand.
-
When I don't love you, I'll let you know.
Title: archival footage
Author: hyacinthian
Rating: PG
Author's Note: My first Leverage fic, yay. Unbetaed, and 600 words-ish, so. Ficlet. Also, Notorious references all over the place (the 1946 Hitchcock film) because spies who fall in love and angst about it because there's a greater mission? That's like these kids all over the place. Also, random aside, but, "Dry your eyes, baby. It's out of character," is just like one of my favourite lines in the history of the world. This is really set after 2x15, but there's time references all over the place.
Summary: He always reaches out for her once he's already pushed her out the door. NateSophie.
She's halfway through a bottle of wine when Notorious flicks on, Ingrid Bergman's drawn expression drowning the room in blue light. The cabernet tart on her tongue and Nate heavy on her mind, and she just watches Cary Grant kiss Ingrid Bergman like there's nothing to being spies in love other than being able to trick Claude Raines that someone's not working for the Nazis - too long since she's seen it and too much wine, and she's not even sure if her thoughts are even remotely coherent.
This is a very strange love affair, Ingrid Bergman says, and Sophie wraps her fingertips around the stem of the wine glass in toast.
Why?
Maybe the fact that you don't love me.
And she's never been gladder than right now that she decided to take the first step out the door.
-
He still calls her, of course, because Nate is tremendously terrible at anything having to do with moderation or consistency, and sometimes she thinks about Tuscany -- she thinks about Tuscany too much -- but that doesn't stop her from pressing 'ignore' on all his calls, no matter how much she can feel the slightest bit of need pushing through the wires towards her.
He always reaches out for her once he's already pushed her out the door.
If there's one thing she's learned as a grifter, it's that people never really change.
There are lies and liars and the people who believe them and the people who don't, and she knows where she falls 80% of the time, but then sometimes, his voice will drop an octave lower and he'll just whisper her name, and that'll be that, bags packed, heading back where she claimed she'd never go.
She supposes she's always been a masochist.
-
She can't help replaying his words over and over in her head, the way his tongue trips over the word that matters, the one she's not sure she even wants him to say.
It doesn't matter anyway.
He never says it.
She goes back anyway.
-
He tells her that he needs her right before he turns himself in. She doesn't know why she didn't see it coming.
They keep treading the same paths, over and over again, and she's tired, she's tired and she can't keep doing this, not when he tells her one thing right before he does another. And it doesn't matter, it doesn't matter that he is here, lips warm and insistent against hers, it doesn't matter that they haven't done this in years, that every time she admits to needing him, he looks at her like she's making some huge mistake.
She can't do it.
She was never as good at being stoic as he was.
He doesn't apologize.
-
She doesn't visit him in prison for a month.
They cut the same paths they always have. She tries to cut him out, to prove that she doesn't need him, not in this way, not after everything he's done, not after everything he hasn't said.
The first time she sees him, he looks leaner, his jaw set in determination.
"It was for the - the team," he says.
She nods, pursing her lips. "We're going to get you out of here."
He licks his lips. "Sophie, I, uh - "
"We'll get you out," she says, and he doesn't meet her gaze. She hangs up the phone, slides the sunglasses up onto the bridge of her nose and struts out towards the door.
She doesn't look back. She considers that an achievement.
-
His first real case out of prison and halfway to the car, he reaches for her hand.
-
When I don't love you, I'll let you know.