Disclaimer: I own nothing here and am just doing this to pass the time until Season 3 starts.

Spoilers: None. Set pre-series, about two and a half years. Nate is married to Maggie.

Painting: Vincent Van Gogh, Wheatfield with Crows, 1890, Oil on canvas, 19.9 in × 40.6 in

./2008/12/800px-vincent_van_gogh_1853-1890_-_wheat_field_with_crows_

A/N: Part four in a five-part series of one-shots focused on three of my favorite things: Nate, Sophie, and art. Although my brother has helped select the other paintings, this one was all my idea. Fifteen years ago, I had the opportunity to see this haunting painting at the Van Gogh Museum in Amsterdam, and I've carried it in my head ever since. That's art.

Nate watched as the coffin was lowered into the ground. He could feel Maggie holding onto his arm, feel her tears falling on his hand. But he was numb. Beyond numb, actually, and well into shell-shocked territory.

He felt like he was watching the funeral from inside an aquarium, thick glass reducing the priest's words to muffled sounds, gallons of water turning the world fuzzy at the edges. It was unbearable and he just longed for it to be over. All he wanted to see right now was the bottom of a whiskey bottle.

Nate turned his head and looked out over the crowd. Sam's classmates and their parents. Maggie's co-workers from the museum and her friends. His colleagues, Ian Blackpoole sitting grim-faced next to Jim Sterling. Nate's hand clenched into a fist and he forced himself to look away before he caused a scene by knocking the grim yet smug line from Ian's mouth.

Then he saw her, standing by a tree a respectful distance away from the white folding chairs that had been assembled for Sam's mourners. She was wearing a simple black dress and a hat with a wide brim that had the faintest hint of a black lace veil. On anyone else, it would have looked theatrically over-the-top; only Sophie Devereaux could make it work.

The creaking gears lowering the coffin stopped, and Nate understood that the funeral was over. His son was now in the ground. Maggie sighed quietly next to him, a long exhalation that felt like she was letting go. She looked up at him, but he couldn't manage to meet her eyes.

The priest saved him, stepping over to express condolences before the other mourners started to file past. Nate hadn't particularly enjoyed the receiving line at his wedding and he sure as hell hated this, the awkward hugs and bumbling attempts at sympathy from people he barely knew.

He excused himself and walked into the distance, his body language practically screaming for everyone to stay away. He walked over to the tree where he thought that he'd caught a glimpse of Sophie, its ancient trunk plenty wide enough to conceal her. He propped his forearm on the tree, shielding his eyes with his fist.

"What are you doing here, Soph? How'd you know?" he asked, not even certain that she was still standing behind the tree.

"Where else would I be?" she asked. His eyes were still closed, but he could smell her delicate perfume and knew that she was close, a fact that comforted him more than all the awkward words in the receiving line.

"Half of the people here are insurance investigators, most of whom would like to lock you up and throw away the key. It's a big risk, you being here."

She didn't answer, just put her hand on his cheek, her fingers soft and warm. It felt like the first real comfort that he'd experienced in days. A lifeline in a roiling sea. He leaned his cheek against her palm, relaxing by degrees.

After a few seconds, he opened his eyes and managed a rueful smile. She looked at him, brown eyes sharp and assessing. He liked that she didn't ask stupid questions, didn't make painful small talk. She just looked at him and he knew that she was truly seeing him and taking it all in without judgement or comment.

"Oh Nate," she whispered, her voice managing to convey a level of devastation that he hadn't been able to allow himself to feel. He gave a half-shrug in return, suddenly too exhausted for any other response.

"Nate, what the hell are you doing out here?" called Sterling, causing Sophie to slip behind the tree. Nate turned and took a few steps, trying to keep him from advancing any further.

"Just needed a few minutes... to pull myself together," said Nate, his eyes flashing a warning to Sterling to back the fuck off.

"All right then, don't take too long. Maggie needs you, you know," replied Sterling, squaring his shoulders and straightening his tie.

"Yeah, I got it. I'll be there in a few more minutes."

Sterling shook his head slightly, disapproval coming off him in waves, but Nate knew he'd be smart enough to keep his damn mouth shut. He waited until Sterling was back among the mourners before returning to the tree. He leaned against the side, watching Sophie look up at him.

"Whatever you're thinking, Nate, you're wrong," she said, her voice quiet and level.

His chuckle was bitter and broken. "You don't know what I'm thinking, but you know I'm wrong?"

"I don't know everything that you're thinking, but I've seen enough."

"Yeah, so have I," he muttered, trying to turn away but Sophie caught his arm and held him in place.

"Nate this is going to sound harsh, but you need to hear it. You need to let go. Everything that's eating you up inside, that's all you have control over. Let it go and maybe you have a chance to get through this. Maybe you and Maggie both do, together."

Nate stood quietly for several seconds, his eyes staring into the distance over her head, his lips moving as he rolled various responses through his head.

"You're right, Sophie. That did sound harsh," he said, then shrugged off her hand and walked away without looking back.

---//---

A week later, Nate found himself walking through the Van Gogh Museum in Amsterdam, a clipboard in his hands. Everyone said that he'd gone back to work too soon, but he didn't understand what else he was supposed to do. Stay in a too-empty house? Sit in Sam's perfectly preserved room? See the grief in his wife's eyes and know how deeply and utterly he'd failed her?

No, working was the only thing that could save him now. It was the only thing that offered a focal point. Even though he clearly wasn't ready or able for it. That his breakfast had consisted of half a bottle of Jameson certainly wasn't helping matters.

He was supposed to be conducting a security audit, but he could barely focus on the words on the spreadsheet. At least the museum was closed to the public and the staff were content to leave him to his work.

Nate paused momentarily, trying to look like he was doing a competent job. His eyes were drawn to Wheatfield with Crows. Bleak and portentous, it spoke to him in a way that nothing else could at that moment.

The dead-end path. The gathering darkness. The circling crows. He felt like he was falling into someone else's nightmare, a forbidding landscape familiar in its isolation yet wholly foreign.

"You know how people say that was the last painting Van Gogh ever painted? They're wrong. It's just because they know how the story ends, and then they read into the dark clouds and the crows."

Nate was just drunk enough to think for a second that he was hallucinating, imagining Sophie's voice in his head. Then he turned and saw her, looking quite professional and smart in a pantsuit, her hair pulled back in a jaunty ponytail. Still, he had to touch her to be sure.

He closed the distance between them in three steps and laid a shaky hand on her shoulder, surprised when it didn't just drop through the air. She was real, standing in front of him with a expectation in her eyes, but he was too tired to understand what she wanted from him.

"What... are you stalking me, Sophie? Because honestly, I gotta tell you, it's more than a little creepy if you are."

She let out a frustrated, impatient sigh. "I'm not stalking you, Nate."

"Then what are you doing here, in a museum that's closed to the public? And, might I remind you, is still an IYS client," he said, but it was hard to maintain moral authority when he could barely stand up straight.

"Yeah, well, they won't be if you blow the security audit, now will they?" She deftly plucked the clipboard from his hand and reviewed his work, shaking her head in disappointment.

He tried to pull the clipboard away from her, but she easily sidestepped him. He leaned against the wall and folded his arms. "What are you doing?"

"I'm trying to be your friend, Nate. Will you just let me help you?"

He opened his mouth to explain that he didn't need any help, that he was just fine, thank you very much, but his vocal cords wouldn't co-operate. His lips moved, but no sound came out. He closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Do you have a plan?" he finally asked, his willingness to even consider ceding control surprising him.

"Yes. You've quite unexpectedly taken ill. I'm you're underpaid and under-appreciated assistant, who will complete the security audit for you," said Sophie, pulling out an ID that Nate had created for her during one of their previous cons.

Nate opened his eyes and Sophie took the opportunity to grab his elbow. Pulling gently, she led him through the blessedly empty gallery to the exit and walked him outside. She hailed a cab and one arrived before he could argue.

Sophie opened the door and tried to gently shove Nate inside, but he braced a hand on the roof.

"Look, I'm not so sure this is such a good idea," he said.

"Nate, just trust me," she replied, her brown eyes all sincerity and kindness.

He nodded reluctantly and fell into the cab, listening as Sophie spoke Dutch to the cab driver. The only words that Nate recognized were the name of his hotel. He leaned back against the seat and turned his head. As the cab pulled away, he watched Sophie fade into the distance.

The funny thing, he realized, was that he did trust her. Absolutely and completely.

---//---

Nate slouched in the uncomfortable desk chair, his legs propped on the bed. His plan was to finish the bottle of Jameson and try to forget that he'd just left a grifter in charge of a goddamn security audit.

He smiled to himself and took another sip of whiskey. He'd lost so much already, would it really matter if he lost his job as well? It was a dangerous frame of mind, he knew, but he didn't care.

A sharp knock interrupted his thoughts and he hollered for the person to come in. Sophie walked in slowly, looking around the room with her nose wrinkled. Then she stalked over to the far wall, pulled open the curtains and pushed up the windows.

Nate blinked against the sudden intrusion of sunlight, and the street noises filtering in distracted him. Sophie dropped the clipboard on the desk and retreated to the other side of the room, leaning against a low-slung chest of drawers.

He picked up the clipboard and slowly flipped through the pages, squinting at the text. From what he could tell, Sophie had done an admirable job, perhaps equal if not better to what he would've been able to do had his brain not been addled by alcohol and grief.

"Drowning your sorrows?" she asked, eyeing the whiskey bottle suspiciously, her arms folded across her chest.

"Trying to, trying.. but they're tricky bastards. I think they've learned how to swim," replied Nate, lifting his glass for another sip.

He could feel it in the room with them, the thing that had been living and growing between them for the last five or six years. Maggie and Sam, his family, they'd kept it at bay, but now he was splitting open with need and it would be so easy to just finally give in.

He couldn't look Maggie in the eye these days, hadn't been able to for the last few months now, knowing how desperately he had failed. But Sophie, he could look Sophie in the eye. And he didn't see pity. Or self-loathing. Or the depths of the heart-breaking sorrow of burying a child. All he saw was Sophie.

Nate stood up and crossed the room. Coming up close to her, he let his mouth trail near her neck, like a reluctant swimmer hovering a toe above the water. He could smell her perfume, delicate and floral, and hear her breathing quicken.

She put her hands on his chest, offering a slim bit of resistance, nearly holding him up as much as holding him back. He pulled back to find her mouth, but she moved her head sharply and stepped away, nearly causing him to topple over.

He caught her wrist and pulled her close, ready to explain why this was finally the right decision. His lips tried to find hers but he was met with a slap.

Nate stood in the center of the room, head bowed, feeling broken and adrift. He heard Sophie sigh then felt her hand in his. She lead him over to the bed and pushed him down, his eyes automatically closing when his head hit the pillow.

He wanted her close, but could feel her at the foot of the bed, removing his shoes. She came back around to the head of the bed and he felt a few angry jerks as she removed his tie and unbuttoned his top few buttons.

"Look at me, Nate."

He didn't want to, but he knew that he owed her that much. His eyelids fluttered and then opened. He could see her standing over him, her eyes too big and bright, her chin held high to hide the tremble.

"I'm not going to be the excuse you use to destroy the last thing you have left in your life. If that's what you want to do, Nate, then you're going to have to do it yourself."

He heard the door slam and he closed his eyes, the room spinning around him. His thoughts were circling, threatening to spiral out of control. He tried to ground himself, tried to picture Maggie, but all he could see was a lonely wheatfield with crows.