Fic: Losing Ground [5]

Apr 08, 2010 13:58

Fic: Losing Ground [5]

Author: LMX
Fandom: Leverage
Rating: PG-13
Pairings: Nate/Sophie



AN: See parts [2] and [3]. This piece is Comment fic for trulybloom for the prompt: Leverage, Sophie/author's choice, she couldn't ever smell whiskey without thinking of Nate, apples without thinking of Eliot, and parafin without thinking of death. It is the last piece (in terms of the timeline of the verse, not that I intend to post).

This piece has lots of run-on sentences which I can't help but associate with the way Sophie thinks. It is done on purpose, but if people have a real issue with it I'll go back and change it.

[1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6] [7] [8] [9] [10] [11] [12] [13] [14] [15] [16] [17] [18] [19]

[5]

Sophie was of the opinion that scent ruled her life since her sight had faded to nothing but vague impressions of movement and colour, only ever briefly in focus.

After… well, after *that day*, the day that wasn't ever talked about, Nate had spent every day so seeped in drink that she hadn't trusted his guiding arm outside the house. He'd never recovered from that moment, in her mind, losing all the 'functioning' and just sinking into the bottle. The house smelt of nothing but whiskey these days, and however much she associated it with those early days, trying to tempt a man away from his wife with liqueur, she hated what it meant now.

Now it meant a man who barely moved to get to the bathroom, who slept on the sofa because she couldn't stand his inebriated snoring, who sounded tired all of the time and looked pale in those moments she could see him clearly. Nothing of that bright eyed man who'd seemed so enticing.

Eliot turned up every morning to take her out if she wanted, or sit in with her if she didn't. He helped her shop and clean and cook and every day he dragged Nate up to the shower to get him clean and sat him at the table and made him eat something.

Eliot was entirely silent now, not even growls or grunts to express any kind of opinion. He let Sophie talk, and shout and scream and he just took it all. He didn't let her touch him any more than was necessary for a guiding arm, but she was sure he was thinner, arm less defined under her hand, the occasional brush of his chest more ribs than muscle.

She remembered Hardison force-feeding him when they first got him back home. They'd tried everything they could think of until Parker brought home a jar of stewed apple, presenting it to him with the serious reminder: "Apple is your favourite fruit." like he'd forgotten since he'd told her that. She'd gotten an angry rise out of him, but just grinned at the reaction, skittering away as he lashed out. He'd eaten it though, with Hardison standing over him. Hardison wasn't here any more, though. Not here to buy him stewed apple, or to remind him to eat and check that he wasn't just feeding them all and ignoring himself.

There was just Nate, who didn't care about anything any more, and Sophie who felt incapable of doing anything.

-

Sophie woke alone again, and followed the sounds of Nate snoring to the sofa where the stench of whiskey was strongest. Feeling desperately alone, Sophie thought about curling up on the sofa with Nate, pulling his arms around her and using that whiskey scent to imagine Scotland mid-winter, snowstorm outside the door but the fire blazing in the grate. She leant into Nate's side and flinched as she found a half-empty bottle between them, glass cold against her skin.

Feeling suddenly viciously calm, she picked up the bottle and crossed to the sink, upending the remainder and putting the empty bottle beside the others by the bin. The cupboard yielded another bottle of whiskey and the fridge two bottles of wine and a six-pack of beer. She stacked them up alongside the first bottle and carefully checked the rest of the cupboards, shocked at how little food there actually was in the house. She wouldn't throw them away just yet. Nate was drinking too heavily for that, but this couldn't go on.

It took her a good twenty minutes to find the short cane that she'd had lessons with. She still had enough information about her surroundings to make her way, but the cane stopped her running into people and helped other people know to move around her. She hadn't made her own way outside since… well since Eliot had started walking with her every day, and at first stepping outside her door seemed a ridiculous thought. She considered going back to her room, finding some daytime play on the radio, or looking up 'treating alcoholism' on her computer like she had last time she'd reached breaking point and listening to pages and pages of first hand accounts read out, the illegible spelling making the software garble in funny ways.

She stepped outside and nothing happened. Tentatively, she crossed the hall to the lift, waiting for the ping of the car arriving and the doors opening, running her fingers over Braille-marked buttons that she'd never learned to use.

The street was busy outside, and the sharp-cold of a New York winter. She took a deep breath before stepping into the flow. There was a tiny supermarket on the corner of the road, not the same one Eliot brought her to, but she was already feeling queezy after walking that one block so she stepped inside, the over-door heater's wall of warmth washing over her. She took a few tentative steps inside, already feeling like the brightly coloured display in front of her was jumping out at her, pushing her back into the street. A faceless green apron appeared at her side and she squinted at the shop-worker helplessly.

"What can we get you today, ma'am?" he asked, and it seemed like so long since someone had talked to her, she wanted to laugh.

She left the shop with coffee, paracetamol and three jars of applesauce. She'd thought about picking up things for dinner, but that was Eliot's job and she had an inkling he liked it. She walked back towards her flat more slowly than she'd headed out, feeling triumphant and hopeful.

She was more than halfway back to the door, pulling her coat closer around her against the chill when the smell of the paraffin heater the kids were huddled around on their front step wafted past her, sickly sweet and making her flinch and stagger at the associations.

She pushed her way through the crowds, stumbling and tripping and finally throwing herself through the doors. Gasping for air and trying to forget that smell again she huddled in the corner of the lift, willing her mind to stop. To forget.

When Eliot came by later he found her with a glass of whiskey, a jar of applesauce empty on the carpet at her feet, still crying slow tears. He hugged her, gently, and took the whiskey from her. She didn't mind, she hadn't been drinking it anyway, just hiding in the scent, and it was better that it went down the drain with the rest.

She stood slowly and followed him into the kitchen as he took out the empty jar and rinsed it to put with the rest of the recycling. She pulled another jar from the fridge and pressed it into his hands before heading out into the lounge to rouse Nate. She could get him up today, get him washed, bring him downstairs for food.

It was time to start taking care of her boys again.

-
Masterpost

character: nathan ford, fandom: leverage, character: sophie devereaux, character: eliot spencer, fanfiction, rating: pg-13, type: commentfic, verse: losing ground, pairing: nate/sophie

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