Title: Scrambled With Toast
Summary: Nathan Ford was the most infuriating man this side of the galaxy, but somehow he always managed to make things better. "Nice shirt." Tag to The Wedding Job.
It was official.
Nathan Ford was the most infuriating man this side of the galaxy!
The events during the past day—no, no! The past week had Sophie wanting to run head-long into a brick wall. Actually, it had her wanting to push Nate head-long into a brick wall. Unfortunately, somewhere along the way, someone had managed to engrain something akin to civility into her mind. So instead she resorted to using petty insults that she didn't mean, but was sure that Nate deserved on some level.
He had to be the most oblivious man she'd ever met. They'd known each other for years, and in all that time she'd practically been flashing neon signs at him. What in the seven hells did she have to do? Paint it on the underside of her heel and kick him in the face?
Throughout the remainder of the job, the reason for her frustration seemed determined to make things worse. By the time they'd come up on the wedding day, Sophie was at her wits end. Not only had she not managed to get through to Nate, but she'd also made a fool of herself in front of the others multiple times (though, when she really thought about it, Nate had managed to make quite an ass of himself as well, so there), upset an already upset bride, and at some point even she had realized that she was acting like a bit of a drama queen.
Admittedly, her impatience with Nate hadn't begun with this job. Her feelings for him, in general, had surfaced not long after their first meeting, but this damned impatience had only started to eat away at her when he'd appeared at the theatre to offer her a place on his little team.
At first, she figured it would pass over time, but then he'd gone and gotten himself shot. It wasn't the first time, certainly, but Sophie had never…well, she'd never had to sit with him with her hand pressed over the wound as he grew paler and weaker with every second. It was like proof of Nate's mortality, and afterwards, watching him sleep through the haze of the pain medication on the couch in the office, she'd come to the realization that she wanted more than a friendship (if you could call it that) or the type of relationship shared by co-workers (if you could call it that). Preferably before one of them was shot—again—and had to face the possibility that perhaps it would be the last time.
So, yeah, she'd gone a little over board with the Wedding Job and, yeah, Nate succeeded in acting like the oblivious ass that he is. When it came down to it, though—when they finally got to the end of the day, the hero-turned-mastermind somehow managed to make everything better. It was something that she'd come to realize that Nate was very good at.
The next day, Sophie allowed herself a few extra hours of sleep before she slipped out of bed and pulled on the first thing she could find (what's the point of pajamas, really?). She headed straight for the kitchen, and wasn't too disappointed by what she found there.
Nate didn't even have to turn to know she was there.
"Morning," he acknowledged, glancing at her from over his shoulder. He snorted at her chosen attire. "Nice shirt," he mentioned, recognizing it as his own. Sophie merely grinned, not exactly minding his choice in clothing, either. The matching bottoms to her top whispered against the wood floors as he moved in front of the stove.
Don't get her wrong, Sophie still considered Nathan Ford to be the most infuriating man this side of the galaxy, but there were certain things that made him just a little more bearable.
"Mmm…Are those eggs?"