#maggie x jim

[leveragecentral]

Leverage + Texposts

[argon-things]

Aziraphale: Hey Crowley, why are you laughing so much?

Crowley: What? Are you saying that I can't be happy for no reason?

Maggie: Jim fell down the stairs of the bookshop.

[wejustdecidedto]

Bigfoot’s real and I don't think anyone reported it.

THE NEWSROOM | 1x04

[fiercebb]

Good Omens season 2 but it's every time I exhale through my nose:

Wrong bench

Do they know?/The ducks?

Every scene involving Gabriel/Jim (Jon Hamm is a national treasure)

James. Long for Jim, short for Gabriel.

How's your naked man friend?

I...am...dusting!

You were right, you were right, I was wrong, you were right.

You do understand I'm threatening you?

Get humans wet and staring into each others eyes, vavoom, sorted.

Jane? Austen??

She had balls!!/Well...

Like killing innocent children to win a bet with Satan?

I think the point was, if you want answers, come back when you can make a whale.

Shoemaking and obstetrics. Those have always been the twin passions of Bildad the Shuhite.

I am a professional midwife/cobbler

Wow, it's like you've looked deep into my secret soul

What car?/Our car./We don't have a car./Of course we do. Isn't she a beauty?

Crowley slapping Aziraphale's hand away from the Bentley

I'm a human police officer

Cupperty

Inspector Constable

Every scene with Muriel (she is too precious for this world)

Don't you want to hear my plan? Or, you know, go by train.

I know for some members of the police force it's a bit of a hobby.

David Tennant's accents in episode 3

The lower you start, the more opportunities you have.

Was that a travel sweet??

Crowley throwing stacks of books around

Of course. Doctor.

You'll be one of those investigative reporters, no doubt.

The awning of a new age

Listen, when there's no hot water and two yellow lights on the boiler, what is that? (Miranda Richardson killed it as Shax)

You don't seem his type at all/Sassy eyebrow raise

Go on, mister British man, wow me with your miracles

They're the bee's knees

Azirapalala

Aziraphale speaking French

Is the book seller your bit on the side?

The seamstress scene

TOSTE

Staying behind to die bravely? Good on you.

I'm not actually, either. But thank you.

Crowley's heaven outfit

You're not helping, angel

[ineffablelvrs]

now we can .... officially say that ..... good omens 2 comes out next week .... oh my god

[everythingsallticketyboo]

Just saying now, if anyone has any Good Omens fanfic requests, you can send them to me and I'll write it (depending on what it is) I haven't actually written any Good Omens fics yet, but I would like to. So if you have any requests or suggestions for something you want written, just send them to me and I'll try to get it done among the many other things and RA fanfics I have to write.

[howdoyoudothedew]

Rated: G

Pairing: Maggie/Sophie/Nate/Sterling

Word Count: ~500

A/N: Day one for @polyshipweek using prompt 'thunderstorms' and 'caught in the rain' from the proposed prompts list

“I’ve always liked thunderstorms,” Sterling says, apropos to the rain they’ve all just come in from.

“Really?” Nate asks, looking at his old friend. His now lover. And isn’t that a strange thought to be had? All those years working together and they’d never been more than drinking buddies, rivals, and friends. But put them on different sides of the law and suddenly they’re swapping spit like teenagers. Sophie would probably say something about pigtails or repressed sexual tension. Honestly, Nate isn’t even sure he’d disagree. To himself, at least. Outloud he’d disagree plenty.

Outside, the rain is coming down in sheets. There’s a flash which lights up the sky and Nate counts in his head– one Mississippi, two Mississippi, three Mississippi, four Mississippi, five Mississippi, six Mississippi– then a clap of thunder, loud and rattling. Maggie jumps, just slightly, as she takes off her soaked jacket.

“I hate it,” Sophie says, bent over slightly as she wrings out her hair. “All those years in London, I can’t believe you still enjoy this.”

“What can I say? I like the simple pleasures in life,” Sterling says. Nate laughs.

“Sterling, you never agreed to go drinking with me unless we went somewhere with the ‘good scotch’,” Nate says.

“Our first date, you took us to the Louvre,” Maggie adds with her own amused smile.

“Yes, well,” Sterling straightens his suit jacket as if it’s not soaked. “I can enjoy simple things and have standards.”

“That, at least, I can agree on,” Sophie says, fluffing her hair now she’s done wringing it out. She walks over to Sterling, taking the jacket from his shoulders instead of letting him bother with it even more. “I say we start a cozy fire and watch the rain, if you like it so much.”

The suggestion surprises Nate, at least slightly, and it seems to surprise Sterling as well, given the wide-eyed look he gives Sophie. It quickly turns into a narrowed one. “Really? You’re suggesting we, what, cuddle to the flashes of lightning?”

“Sounds like it could be nice,” Maggie says, moving to drape herself over Sterling. Sometimes, Nate thinks the other man might be right and Sophie and he are a bad influence on his wife. But to be fair, Maggie has always been able to get her way. The two of them wouldn’t have lasted long, even before Sophie and Sterling, if Maggie couldn’t stir up at least a little of her own trouble. “All of us getting out of our wet clothes, curling together under a blanket with a fire to keep us toasty while the storm rages outside under our careful watch.”

Sterling rolls his eyes like he’s annoyed. Nate doesn’t miss the pink flush on his cheeks. Given the look Sophie gives him, neither does she. “If we must.”

“Oh, we must,” Sophie says and Nate laughs, following behind the three of them with his hands in the pockets of his partly-soaked pants, watching as Sterling bats away Sophie and Maggie’s hands. Outside, another bolt of lighting flashes.

The room lights up.

Nate counts five seconds.

A boom.

And four people crowd together under a blanket on a too-small couch to watch, skin pressing against skin.

[itsdefinitely]

Minecraft End Poem

[the-rainbow-suit-dude]

Version with Ineffable Husbands because they might* have a relationship** by the end of season three

*might being a keyword

**relationship as in not strictly platonic

[legendarydragonperson]

good omens S2 as those funny weird 2000s-style memes.

[sesamestreep]

Don/Sloan, 20

20. I’ve been looking sad in all the nicest places (from this prompt list) I don’t know what this is, honestly. I wrote a whole other fill for this prompt and decided I hated it and couldn’t finish it, then wrote this instead in like half a day. I don’t know. It’s a Good Place AU, I have next to nothing for it built out besides this snippet, that’s basically it. much love and bone apple teeth or whatever…

Sloan is on her fifth straight minute of willing her legs to work and take her back to the party—her own damn party, for Christ or whoever’s sake, she’s not really sure at this point—when someone nearly trips over her. In their defense, she is sort of hiding behind a topiary in a dark corner of the lawn, so there was no way they could have seen her, but she still finds it in herself to be annoyed.

“Could you please watch where you’re going?” she exclaims.

“Uh, sorry,” the man says, fumbling with something in his hands. “Though I don’t really see how it’s my fault that you’re sitting on the ground, in the dark. You’re basically asking to be tripped over.”

Sloan’s legs work just fine then. She stands up, straight as a pin, and throws her shoulders back, getting ready for some variation of the “I’d like to speak with your manager!” conversations she had almost daily back when she was alive.

“Here’s a tip for you,” she says, instead, with as much indignation as possible, “don’t go around accusing women of ‘asking for it’.”

The man winces. “Yeah, I heard it as soon as it was out of my mouth. That was, uh, poor form.”

The easy admission of wrongdoing shouldn’t surprise her here, where she’s allegedly surrounded by the best people ever, but it still somehow does. It helps that this guy doesn’t give the appearance of backing down from fights easily, which makes it all the more impressive that he’s doing so now.

“It’s fine,” Sloan says, backing down too. “No harm done.”

“I don’t think we’ve been introduced,” he says, holding out his hand. “I’m Don Keefer.”

“Sloan Sabbith,” she says, accepting the handshake.

“Oh, the Sloan Sabbith,” he replies, as he puts the item he’s been shuffling between his hands—a cigarette, it turns out—between his lips. He doesn’t sound impressed. She’s not sure how he sounds, but it’s probably not good.

“I suppose so.”

“This is your house,” he points out.

“Ah, yes. That Sloan Sabbith.”

“I mean, I knew you before,” Don says, and then corrects himself, “Sorry, I knew of you before. I lived in New York, when I was alive.”

“Oh, right.”

“Your name was always in the society pages.”

Sloan shrugs, not sure if humility is the right move here. She’s not certain Don would buy it. He pulls out a lighter and moves to light his cigarette.

“I guess you didn’t see the amount of fundraising I did for the American Cancer Society,” she says, frowning.

Don laughs, but he still brings the flame to the tip of the cigarette. “Sweetheart, it’s the afterlife. Lighten up.”

“I don’t like the smell.”

“Won’t be a problem,” he says, waving the hand with the cigarette between his index and middle fingers around a little bit wildly. “Neither do I. I got that robot assistant woman, uh—”

“Jenna,” Sloan interjects, over-enunciating the name for his benefit.

Jenna, of course, materializes with a soft tone at that moment, making her jump in surprise. How long does that take to get used to?

“Hi,” she says, brightly. “How can I help?”

Don looks at Sloan expectantly, and her face heats with embarrassment and irritation. She pointedly looks away, as if she hadn’t accidentally summoned the neighborhood’s virtual assistant and made a fool of herself.

“We’re good, Jenna. Thank you,” Don finally says, all charm, when it’s clear Sloan isn’t going to be helpful.

“You bet!” There’s another soft tone, slightly different, as she disappears.

“That is going to take some getting used to,” Don says, as if they’re buddies or something.

“You’ve never had an assistant before?” Sloan sniffs, aware that it’s a deeply snobby thing to say and not very concerned about it.

“Not like her.”

She whips her head around to glare at him. “Don’t be gross!”

“I meant because she’s literally omniscient,” he says, looking bored of her now. “Get your mind out of the gutter.”

“Good, because I’d hate to feel any worse for your soulmate than I already do.” Just as she’s winding up to really lay into him, she suddenly smells something strange. It smells like salt water and…something else. Something she can’t put her finger on. She steps closer to Don and inhales. “Do you—what is that?”

“I told you the smoke wouldn’t bother you,” he says, holding the cigarette aloft proudly. “When I asked Jenna for cigarettes earlier, I was worried the neighborhood would have, like, a ‘no smoking’ policy, kind of like the ‘no swearing’ thing? But she told me that, since we’re in The Good Place, the smoke wouldn’t irritate anyone, and when they smelled it, it would remind them of their most cherished childhood memory, if you can believe that.”

Sloan wouldn’t have two minutes ago but now, she’s certain she’s smelling the boardwalk in Santa Monica that she went to constantly with her family when she was young. She hasn’t been back in years, and she supposes now she never will. Suddenly, she feels tears welling in her eyes.

“Thank goodness the tobacco industry didn’t have Jenna on their side,” she says, stepping back and trying to pull herself together.

“True. Though I imagine those guys would have trouble getting into The Good Place anyway.”

“That’s a…good point.”

“So, what does the magic cigarette smoke smell like to you?” Don asks, and then shakes his head. “There’s a question I never anticipated asking anyone. Not sober, at least.”

Sloan laughs, despite herself. “It, uh, smells like the Santa Monica pier. I grew up in the Bay Area, but my cousins lived in SoCal, and we’d visit them on school breaks or vacations whenever we could. The pier was always my favorite place to go.”

When she looks up again, she finds Don smiling at her in an unguarded way she finds…unsettling. Not because it’s creepy, but because it’s familiar. She doesn’t know what that means, but she knows it’s probably a sign of trouble.

“What about you?”

“Well,” Don laughs, looking down at his shoes, “that’s sort of a funny story. You see, I gave up smoking when I was in college, after my grandad died of lung cancer. I’d like to tell you it was because I was being smart and healthy, but the truth is, the smell of the smoke reminded me too much of him. I spent a lot of my childhood with him, because both of my parents worked, so he watched me for them. He was my favorite person, and my reference point for everything, and my moral compass. After he died, it felt like I lost a piece of myself.”

Don pauses, and then shakes his head. “I don’t know why I told you all that. The important part of that story is that he, uh, smoked like a chimney and his whole house reeked of tobacco all the time. His clothes smelled like it, his car smelled like it, everything.”

“Oh, no,” Sloan says, when the penny drops for her.

“Yeah, see? You got there before me,” he says, smiling sadly. “These forking magical cigarettes, they smell like his house, his clothes, his car.”

“It just smells like tobacco to you,” she supplies, and Don nods. “And the smell reminds you of him. And it makes you sad, which is why you stopped smoking in the first place.”

“It’s like some kind of Sisyphean torture loophole,” Don says, still smoking. “You can’t make this shirt up.”

“I mean, they could,” she says, thinking of her first meeting with Will, where he had the file for her entire life, down to the most minor of details. “They’d know about you and your grandpa from your file, right? And you said that Jenna’s omniscient, so she’d know too. That’s…weird, right?”

Sloan glances over at him to find Don staring at her, not smiling this time, but with an expression of barely suppressed horror. She can tell just from the look on his face that he’s running through everything that’s happened since he got to the neighborhood in his mind and looking for more strange occurrences like that.

“Have we,” he asks, hesitantly, “met before?”

“I don’t think so,” Sloan says, but not with as much certainty as she would have a few moments ago. “You mean, when we were alive?”

“Yeah,” Don says. “I guess that’s what I mean. You just feel familiar, in some way.”

“You did say you knew my name from the press.”

“I know, but I don’t mean familiar like that. I mean, familiar like I’ve known you for a long time.”

“We just met,” she says, as firmly as she can manage, though it feels like she’s trying to convince herself it’s true too.

“So, it’s just me?” he asks, and it’s not accusatory so much as disappointed.

Sloan feels so utterly thrown by this, she can hardly cope. It doesn’t help that in backing away from him earlier, she didn’t get nearly far enough away. She can still smell the Santa Monica pier—the sunshine and the sea air and the food stalls—but she can also smell what she suspects is Don’s cologne or soap or maybe just him—this clean, warm boyish smell—and now those two things are going to swirl together in her memory forever, and she’s going to be confused why she thinks of summer vacations whenever she’s near him. Not that she will be again anytime soon, she hopes. This has been too much for her.

“I don’t know what you want from me,” she says, still too close to him and not backing away.

Don laughs, softly, and she thinks she can smell champagne on his breath. There was plenty at the party, she remembers, even though it feels like an age ago now. He doesn’t seem drunk, though.

“I don’t know what I want from you either,” he says, watching her closely. He’s not that much taller than her, so it’s pretty easy to gaze deeply into his eyes, unfortunately, and that’s what she ends up doing.

The cigarette falls from between his fingers, and lands harmlessly, already extinguished, on the grass beneath their feet. It vanishes a second later, and a daisy sprouts in its place, which figures. This place is too good to be true, she thinks, and then catches herself. Is it? Has she been thinking that all along?

She looks back up at Don to find his gaze still riveted on her face. “Something’s wrong,” she whispers.

He steps closer to her. “What is it?”

“I don’t know, but something is definitely wrong here,” she says, and it really sounds hysterical but it’s the truth. She can feel it. “Something is not right.”

“Maybe we’re just cynics,” Don offers, with a halfhearted smile.

“Maybe.” Why hasn’t she stepped away from him yet?

“We should…get back to the party.”

“My party,” Sloan says, nodding. “Yes. We should.”

“Our partners will both be looking for us, I’m sure.”

“Right. Yes.”

Neither of them moves, not even a fraction of an inch. Sloan’s hands, seemingly of their own accord, settle on the button placket of Don’s crisp white shirt. She runs a fingertip over a button. His hands come around to rest on her elbows, holding her in place.

“You do feel familiar to me,” she says, in the direction of the button, because she’s not brave enough to say it to his face. “I don’t know why. I don’t understand…how that’s possible.”

“Neither do I, but I’m not—it doesn’t feel like a bad thing, does it?”

Sloan shakes her head, and risks lifting her gaze to his again. He’s still watching her cautiously. She feels herself lean in, and then she feels him reciprocate. They’re only a breath away from kissing when they pause, and whether it’s hesitation or savoring the moment, she’s not sure. She’s watching his face for any sign of second thoughts and finds none, which gives her the courage to lean in that last bit, to close the distance between them.

“Don,” a voice calls in the distance. “Don, are you out here?”

They break apart instantly, putting a laughable amount of distance between them as quickly as possible, as Don curses under his breath. Or tries to, at least, despite the neighborhood’s swear filter.

“Don!” the voice shouts, closer now.

“Over here,” he calls back after a second.

“Where?”

“Here! Follow the….Marco!”

“Polo!”

This, thankfully, only continues for a few moments before a petite, adorable blonde woman rounds the corner. She’s wearing a sensible cocktail dress and has a drink in one hand.

“There you are!” she says. “I’ve been looking all over for you!”

“I was just getting to know our host better,” Don says, indicating Sloan with a wave of his arm in her direction.

The woman’s gaze swivels to Sloan and her expression opens up even more. “Oh my god, Sloan Sabbith, it’s so nice to meet you! You have such a nice place here!”

“Thank you,” Sloan demurs. She’s not sure how to behave around someone whose soulmate she almost just kissed. She’s not even sure there is protocol for that scenario. It’s probably just something you’re not supposed to do.

“I’m Maggie, by the way,” she says, eagerly. “I should have started with that.”

“Maggie was a professor of ethics and moral philosophy,” Don adds, draping an arm casually around her shoulders as she nestles into his side.

“Wow,” Sloan says. She wants to punch him so much.

“Oh, don’t be impressed,” Maggie says, humbly. “I’ve spent all night talking to people who are way more inspiring than me. And, obviously, my soulmate is this guy, so…”

Don makes a pained face at Maggie’s compliment, which Sloan finds both satisfying and odd. “What’s so impressive about Don?” she asks, coolly, and doesn’t miss the way his gaze flicks over to her sarcastically.

“Oh, he refuses to brag about it, but he was this super important human rights lawyer,” Maggie replies, putting a hand on his chest proudly. “I mean, if there was a cause you cared about, I’m sure he did some legal work to advance it when he was alive!”

“Sloan is a noted humanitarian and philanthropist, Maggie,” Don objects. “I doubt she’d be impressed by my work.”

“Right, sorry,” Maggie says, looking chagrined. “You’re, like, famous!”

“I guess so.”

“No wonder you ended up with Jim Harper as a soulmate! You must feel so lucky!”

“Yes, I certainly do,” Sloan says, with false cheer. She likes Jim. He’s cool. But she only just met him today. She doesn’t know where Don and Maggie get off being so coupled up and settled down already. It’s annoying.

“You guys didn’t know each other when you were alive, did you?”

“No, it’s weird. We somehow never crossed paths.”

“I loved his music when I was alive,” Maggie gushes. “I got a chance to talk to him at the party and he seems really nice!”

“He is,” Sloan insists for what feels like the tenth time. “Actually, speaking of Jim, I should probably get back to the party and, well, make sure he’s doing okay and the guests have everything they need.”

Maggie nods, enthusiastically. “Of course! It was so nice to meet you!”

“Yes,” Don says. “Very nice.”

Sloan has to concentrate very hard not to scowl at him, so she focuses most of her attention on Maggie, who she despises for totally different and completely undeserved reasons. “You too! Always a delight to meet one’s neighbors.”

“Oh, right! You should stop by our place sometime,” Maggie says. “It’s not as grand or as big as your place, obviously—”

“Nothing in the neighborhood is, as a matter of fact,” Don interjects, pointedly. Sloan’s eyes water from the effort of not glaring at him.

Maggie, meanwhile, thumps him lightly on the chest. “Don,” she says, playfully offended. Or maybe not playfully. It’s hard to tell with Maggie. Her smile is just a little too wide and bright to take at face value.

“Don’t listen to him,” she continues. “Our house is the one with the yellow door and the round window at the front, it’s just—”

“Two doors down, of course,” Sloan says graciously. “I did wonder who lived in such a cutesy little cottage and now I know!”

Maggie’s smile falters a bit, and she adopts a more serious expression. “Yes, well, I like it a lot, so…”

“I will be sure to stop by sometime,” Sloan says, trying to be more soothing. She’s a bitch, not a monster, after all.

“We’d love that,” Maggie replies. “Right, Don?”

“Absolutely,” he answers, with a thin smile in Maggie’s direction. To Sloan, he adds, with a significant look, “Don’t be a stranger!”

Sloan nods in acknowledgement and then gets out of there as quickly as possible. She has a feeling, though, that she won’t have much of a choice in terms of Don and Maggie’s invitation. For whatever reason, she suspects she might be stuck with them now.

[ijustreallylikecaptainamericaok]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Ant-Man (Movies) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Ava Starr/Hope Van Dyne Characters: Ava Starr, Hope Van Dyne, Bill Foster, Hank Pym, Janet Van Dyne Summary: If there was one bad thing about being cured from near constant pain, it was this - her body had apparently decided to start misbehaving in the most ridiculous of ways. It *wanted* things now, ached for them.

-

Today’s rec is a lovely post-AMATW Hope/Ava fic that focuses on Ava adjusting to life as she recovers and Hope tries to help her find activities she might enjoy now that she no longer phases. It also has great moments between Ava and Janet as well as a tiny sprinkling of Scott/Maggie/Jim.

[leverage-ot3]

my only criticism:

sophie and maggie totally hooked up during sophie's voyage of self-discovery or something. they definitely had one great night and called it friends

[ineffablelvrs]

let's start a fun game while we're waiting for go2 !!! rb and in the tags claim a random minute (0-54 ?? that's the average episode length in s1 im pretty sure) from a random s2 episode (1-6), for example: episode 3, 32:54. then when you watch the season come back and say what scene you got (make sure to tag spoilers though) !!

[howdoyoudothedew]

Rated: G

Pairing: Maggie/Sophie/Nate/Sterling

Word Count: ~1k

A/N: Rewatching Leverage with my mom and asked my friend which of the ideas I have spinning I should write, she said 'leverage parents' so ta-daaaa, my beloveds. This is based off the dialogue prompt "No, I'm paying" which I got from a @otp-imagines-cult post

The second the waitress puts the check down on the table and leaves, the date turns into a warzone. Honestly, Maggie’s not even surprised at this point. She is, however, rather amused. Starting Leverage, getting together with Sophie, has been good for Nate. He’s more like the man she fell in love with and married, even if he’s still broken. (He was always broken, to an extent.) It’s good for Jim, too. The change to their occasional competition keeps him more on his toes and has even loosened him, if only slightly. Which is why this is even happening.

“How can I trust that money isn’t ill-gotten gains, hm?” Jim says, raising an eyebrow. Jim, Nate, and even Sophie all have their wallets out. Maggie has her own wallet out as well, but she’s not joining in. She already knows how this one will end. While they’re distracted, she pulls out her card and places it inside the booklet for the waitress to grab when she comes back. Sophie catches her and smiles, but doesn’t put away her wallet. Maggie settles back to watch.

“Why I never!” Sophie gasps, affronted at her money even being suggested as ‘ill-gotten’. “I’ll have you know I got this money off a very rich man fair and square. I barely even had to do anything before he was handing it off to me.”

“How do we know your money wasn’t ill-gotten, hm?” Nate says, raising his own eyebrow and sitting back with his arms crossed over his chest. Jim scoffs.

“Maybe because I’m not a criminal, unlike some people,” Jim says.

“Hey!” Sophie protests again. “I am not the only criminal at this table anymore.”

“Right, because you seduced Nate to the darkside,” Jim says, voice dry.

“I’ll seduce you next,” Sophie says, despite having basically already done just that, narrowing her eyes at him.

“You know what, I’m just going to pay,” Nate says, cutting them off.

“What? No, I’m paying, you paid last time,” Sophie says and Maggie files the information away, because she had paid last time, just like she usually does. Which means Nate had gotten Hardison to sneak some of his money into her account, so he could retroactively pay for it. Which is so many more steps then needed. Also kind of annoying. She’s not exactly broke and they don’t exactly do this terribly often. She can– and will happily– pay for her datemates herself. The waitress passes by, grabbing the book absently when Maggie subtly holds it out for her. None of the others notice, thankfully, too wrapped up in their argument.

“Absolutely not,” Jim says.

“Well someone has to pay,” Sophie says.

“I’ll do it,” Nate says.

“I’m not using money when I don’t know from whence it came,” Jim says.

“From whence it came? Who even says stuff like that anymore?” Nate scoffs.

“I do,” Jim bristles.

“If he’s gonna talk like that, I’m definitely not letting him pay,” Sophie says.

“What does my speech have anything to do with paying?” Jim says, rounding on Sophie.

“It’s too posh for my taste.” Sophie sticks her nose in the air.

“Says our Lady Charlotte Prentiss,” Nate mutters into his coffee.

“Oh now you want to get in on it? And here I was defending you.”

Nate gives a half-laugh through his nose. “No you weren’t, you’re trying just as hard to get us to let you pay.”

“You’re right, I wasn’t. Now let me pay,” Sophie says.

“No, I’ll pay,” Nate says.

“I’m paying,” Jim says.

“Absolutely not,” Sophie and Nate say at the same time, which is apparently Jim’s breaking point.

“Fine! Maggie pays then.” Jim throws his arms up as well as he can get away with in a fancy restaurant and Maggie can barely keep in the amused noise.

“Fine,” Nate says.

“Fine,” Sophie agrees.

Apparently an expert at comedic timing, the waitress returns then with Maggie’s card. “Here you go. I hope you have a good night.”

“Thanks, you have a good night too,” Maggie tells her, ignoring the boys’ shocked looks for now as well as Sophie’s amused smile as she returns her card to her wallet. When she looks back at them, she pretends to be oblivious. She lets her eyes grow slightly wide and blinks a few times. “What?”

“You already paid,” Nate says.

“Someone had to and you three seemed busy, thanks to Sophie,” Maggie says.

“Wha-” Nate stares at her, eyes narrowed. Maggie can see the gears turn as he goes over her words, Sophie’s actions. Finally, he turns to Sophie. “You knew,” Nate accuses.

“Of course I knew, I’m not blind,” Sophie says and Maggie chuckles.

“Then why’d you even bother to argue about it?” Jim asks, clearly exasperated.

“Well I’m not just going to let you and Nate have all the fun, am I?” Sophie asks, a rhetorical question. “Now who’s leaving the tip?”

“Oh no, I am not doing this again,” Jim says. You absolutely will, Maggie thinks to herself. Likely not now, but definitely next time.

“All three of us will leave the tip, since Maggie was so kind to pay,” Nate says.

“That, I am surprisingly okay with,” Jim says.

“Why must you ruin all my fun?” Sophie pouts at Nate, digging out a few dollars from her wallet.

“I’m sure you’ll find some again soon, Soph,” Nate assures.

“And will give me a headache in the process,” Jim says, also pulling out a few dollars. Sophie smiles at him.

“You love it.” Jim declines to respond to her. But Maggie knows Sophie is right. Protest as he may, Jim loves all of them.

“Ready to head out?” Nate asks, standing from his chair. Maggie follows his lead.

“I think so,” she says. “It was lovely to see you all again.”

“It was lovely to see you, too, Maggie. I wish we could do this more often,” Sophie says, taking Maggie’s hands to squeeze. Sophie’s hands. They’re always cold, making her think of the old thing her grandmother used to tell her: cold hands, warm heart. With Sophie, Maggie finally has evidence towards it.

“There’s a Picasso showcase at the museum next week,” Maggie says.

“You’re just trying to give me an aneurysm at this point, aren’t you?” Jim grouses. Sophie pats his cheek.

“It’s our way of keeping you young.”

“It’s your way of giving me more gray hairs,” Sterling says.

“Does this mean you won’t go to the museum with us?”

“Someone has to keep you from stealing a very expensive painting,” Sterling says.

“So next week?”

“Next week,” the other three agree and they part ways in the parking lot, Sophie and Nate leaving together while Jim and Maggie leave separately.