A/N: Sooo… I've gotten like three comments on '2 AM Conversations' saying that people like it and would like me to continue it (though I think all of them were anons, so I'm not sure how they're planning on catching it if I do…) Anyway, I was thinking that one extra conversation between two of the characters taking place after each episode might be fun to write. I have topics in mind already, but I'd be happy to take requests. One-shot series.

(More) 2 AM Conversations

After 01x02 (The Homecoming Job)

Nate and Sophie Angst/Dramatic Irony/Foreshadowing

Nate's POV

No sooner did Nate reach his apartment after dropping off the cash at the Veterans' Hospital than his phone rang. It was an unfamiliar number, but he answered it anyway. It could be a client.

The very familiar, sultry voice of Sophie Devereaux addressed him before he had a chance to say hello. "Any particular reason you felt the need to run off in such a hurry?" she asked, all false innocent curiosity.

"No, nothing particular." He answered in a tone he hoped didn't sound as guarded as he always felt, interacting with the grifter one-on-one.

"Well, then, perhaps you'd like to join me for dinner? I know just the spot," she added with a teasing lilt.

He hesitated.

He and Sophie had been dancing around each other, enjoying the thrill of the chase and playing their little game of cat and mouse for almost ten years (with the exception of that time, which didn't bear thinking about). Not once, in all that time, had they sat down, together, alone, to eat a civilized meal. He could safely say that she knew him better than anyone else in the world, including, to his shame, his (ex) wife, and though he certainly didn't know everything about her, he was fairly sure that he knew her better than most. He had chased her across three continents, with a passion he had never felt outside of his work. She had tempted him into this new life of… could he really call it crime? He had had her arrested (twice), she had embarrassed him in front of more foreign law officers than he could count, and on one extremely memorable occasion, they had shot each other. Their entire relationship, if you wanted to call it that (and he wasn't sure he did) was a long flirtation with no intent ever to consummate it.

Sitting down to have a meal together, outside of work, was… would be… could only be seen as… different. More? Serious. Perhaps… like a date? Why? What did she mean by this? It was silly, of course, to be wary of a date with Sophie – hadn't they already visited Paris together? Milan? Moscow? He might have been in love with her a little bit (maybe), but then, wasn't everyone? They both knew there was too much history between them now for it to go anywhere. They had shot each other, for God's sake. They were going to be working together, now, on a regular basis.

"Nate?"

"Umm, huh? Sorry. Yeah, sure." He could do this. He could. It probably wasn't a date, anyway. After all, they were colleagues, now, and whatever else she may be, Sophie Devereaux was always a professional.

…

It was a very nice dinner, which led into a very nice dessert at a different restaurant, and then very nice drinks at three different bars. They talked about art, mostly (not the safest topic between them, but their greatest mutual interest) but also travelling and mutual acquaintances and all the troublesome details of moving to a new city. Sophie, Nate thought on more than one occasion, could have made a killing as an escort. She somehow managed to make even complaining about the doorman at her new apartment seem charming.

It was nearing last call and their latest hotel bar was nearly empty when a certain seriousness fell over her features, for the first time all evening. "Nate," she said, laying her fingers gently on his wrist, "Are you sure about all this?"

"About all what?" The effects of all the alcohol he had consumed over the evening seemed to hit him at once.

"Leverage," she said after a moment. "This full-time business. It was one thing when you just called us up as you found a job, but… Nate, this is going to be like looking for trouble, you know."

"Isn't that what you do, Sophie?" he asked earnestly.

She smiled impenetrably. "Yes, sometimes. But it's not what you do."

"I chased you, didn't I?"

Another slow, dangerous, meaningless smile. "Yes. You chased all of us. But, well, I suppose the difference is… this time you'd be running with us. And as you so love to remind us, Nathan Ford is not a thief." Her voice grew low at the end, no chance of being overheard, but he looked around anyway, just in case.

"I'm not," he defended himself.

"But you will be." All the smiles were gone now. "You can't do this, can't live this life full-time, and keep telling yourself it's not you."

"We're helping people, Sophie." To him, that made all the difference. That was why, on principle, he liked Eliot just a little more than Parker or Hardison – regardless of what else he might once have been, the retrieval specialist was just that – a man who specialized in returning things that had been taken (by any means necessary), rather than taking them for himself. It was what Nate had always done: in the seminary, even with that company, he tried to help people, tried to keep the world as fair and honest as he could. Helping people was, if he was perfectly honest, the thing that separated him from his father, his justification for using his talent for manipulation to its fullest extent, the only thing that helped him face himself in the mirror every morning. He might have failed at the most important thing (Sam) but he could still make things right, for others if not for himself.

"Oh, Nate." There was… was that pity in her eyes?

"What?" he snapped.

"What good is it to save the world, if you lose yourself along the way?"

Nate almost laughed. "Don't misquote Luke at me," he warned her. "I was almost a Jesuit, once."

"Well, well… another side of Nathan Ford falls into place," she said archly. "But the sentiment still stands. There's no such thing as an honest thief. Mark my words, you're going to tear yourself apart over this."

"What do you want me to do, Sophie? Break up the team? Turn away clients? Turn a blind eye to their suffering, when I know we could make it better?" He knew he was getting loud and angry, but he didn't care. What did it matter if he suffered, if he did bad things, and helped others do bad things, as long as it was for a good reason? He knew, of course, that utilitarian arguments were a slippery slope, but he knew where the line was, and he wouldn't cross it. Besides, he rationalized, wasn't it better that he turn people like Sophie and Parker toward targets who deserved their attention, rather than innocent museum curators and bank managers?

"Just… Just be careful," she answered softly. "None of us would… blame you, if, you know, you decided you really weren't a thief."

"I know what I'm doing!" he hissed, trying to keep his voice down. "Thanks for your concern, but I don't need you of all people telling me how to live with myself."

"Well, so long as you're sure." Her eyes sparkled oddly as she slipped off her stool and out the door.

Nate threw back the rest of his drink, and finished her wine for good measure before he followed, somewhat unsteadily. He was sure. He was. He definitely wasn't trying to convince himself that Sophie didn't know him as well as she thought.

Even if she did, and he was doomed from the start, he couldn't bring himself to turn back now.

What does it profit a man, should he gain the whole world and in the process, lose or forfeit himself?

Nothing.

But then, Nate wasn't trying to gain the world or profit.

If he had to trade his damaged soul to help those he could, he would.