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It's a nice day in New Orleans.
The sun is out. The humidity is manageable. (Sophie’s hair is very grateful for this.) Eliot has a plethora of delicious dishes laid out across the courtyard tables where Sophie sits with the rest of the crew. Hardison is absent once again, but Parker regales the team with stories of their latest trip to Brazil.
It’s a nice day until Harry goes to retrieve something from his car.
"Look who I found," Harry says upon his return.
And there is James Sterling, looking smug as ever.
Eliot is out of his seat in the blink of an eye. Only the appearance of Astrid stops him in his tracks. He glances at Sophie, waiting for a cue. Beside him, Parker does the same. Harry and Breanna, on the other hand, exchange confused glances.
"Sterling," Sophie greets warily and then more warmly, "Astrid."
Breanna’s eyes widen at the first name. Oh, she mouths to herself, then to Harry, I'll explain later.
"What brings you by?" Sophie continues. Asking how Sterling found them is useless. There's no question that he's kept tabs on them, and Sophie doesn’t need to hear his undoubtedly smug explanation.
"Perhaps we should talk inside," Sterling says, seeming perfectly at home. Eliot watches Sophie, waiting—no, practically asking—for permission to strike.
Taking orders, and even suggestions, from Sterling feels wrong, but with Astrid here, Sophie feels compelled to be, not on her best behavior necessarily, but at least civil. She leads everyone in, trusting Eliot to watch her back. Sterling follows without hesitation.
Astrid falls a step behind, caught up in taking in her surroundings. Sterling reaches back, landing a hand on her shoulder and steering her forward.
"Inspector Pickford," Sterling begins, and Sophie feels oddly like the parent of a child whose teacher is describing what mischief her daughter has gotten up to at school, "has been a little too dogged in her pursuit of The Abramowicz Group."
Sophie isn't familiar with The Abramowicz Group beyond a surface level recognition of the name—a mercenary group from Belarus—but Eliot's low growl tells her exactly how dangerous the group is. It is a very distinctive growl.
"Now, I could put her in protective custody, but that would be too predictable,” Sterling continues. “The Abramowicz Group are the persistent type, who would sniff out all our Interpol safehouses. Then it occurred to me, why be predictable when I have a group of extremely motivated people who could do the job for me."
It’s a very Sterling thought process with self-serving elements (preserving Interpol resources) and maybe a back-handed compliment (trusting Astrid with them). Sophie’s mind spins, trying to find the grift in the situation, the hidden variables Sterling has in play, but at the end of the day, she trusts Astrid not to take part in a ploy against her and by extension the Leverage team. And really, it’s Astrid’s safety that matters.
“Astrid?” Sophie turns to her step-daughter. “Are you all right with this?”
Astrid gives a stiff nod. Sophie hopes it’s because of her determination to follow the orders of her commanding officer and not because she’s less than thrilled to be here.
Satisfied, Sterling moves towards the doors. When he reaches them, he pauses then turns back, meeting Sophie's gaze. "My condolences."
He doesn’t say Nate’s name, but he doesn’t need to. He appears more sincere than she’s ever seen him. He and Nate had been friends once upon a time, or maybe they’d always been frenemies. Either way they had respected each other. Either way it's enough.
She nods her thanks. And then he's gone.
Eliot follows after him, probably to make sure that he doesn’t plant any bugs or worse sabotage them somehow.
Sophie mentally shakes off the Nathan Ford shaped cobwebs and turns to Astrid. "Are you sure you’re alright?"
But Astrid’s focus isn’t on Sophie. "This is a bad idea," she murmurs, almost as much to herself as to Sophie as her wandering gaze takes in their homebase. Sophie’s heart sinks. Then Astrid adds, "I will be privy to so many crimes."
Parker pops up behind her shoulder, startling Astrid when she speaks. "Crime is fun, nemeSis. See? You are my nemesis, but you are also family. A neme-Sis."
“Isn’t that still just nemesis?” Breanna asks, amused.
Parker silences her with a bzzt of disapproval.
"Speaking as a lawyer," Harry says, getting them back on point, “sometimes you realize following the law just doesn’t cut it.”
Astrid grimaces. "While I appreciate that the law may have its shortcomings, I do find that with proper investigative care and evidence, cases can be resolved without resorting to—" She gestures around.
“You’re adorable,” Parker says as the rest of the team swallows their scoffs of laughter.
"That evidence you get comes from more places than you’d think,” Eliot says, returning with what are presumably Astrid’s bags. There’s a tension in his shoulders—Sterling probably gave him one last obnoxious parting shot—but he sets down the luggage cases gently. “Especially if you've ever acted on intel from FBI Counterintelligence, there's a good chance that it came from us."
Still positioned behind Astrid, Parker leans in yet closer. "But they don't know we're not real FBI, so shhhh."
Astrid closes her eyes and brings up a hand to pinch at the bridge of her nose.
Sophie runs a comforting hand along her back. “We can talk about this later. Let’s get you situated. I’m sure you’ve had a long day.”
To her relief, Astrid relaxes under her touch and follows her dutifully up the stairs.
As a child, Astrid's default had been happiness, but in this bar, Sophie's home, her default seems to be exasperation.
Of course it doesn't help that Parker has decided to fully embrace the nemeSis nature of their relationship. She is playful in her uniquely Parker way, parading out various loot to give Astrid intermittent heart attacks.
One day, sitting on one of the bar stools below, Sophie hears Astrid and Parker on the upstairs balcony.
"Is that the Lost Piccolo?” Astrid’s aghast voice floats downstairs.
Sophie looks up to see that Parker is indeed holding the Lost Piccolo.
“Yup,” Parker confirms cheerfully.
“Where did you get that?" Astrid asks, incredulous. “When did you get that?”
It’s a good question. Sophie thinks back, recalling the details of the heist. It was decades ago, one of the oldest made piccolos stolen from the Musikverein before a performance well before Astrid joined Interpol. Parker would have been young too, probably a teenager.
"Maybe I stole it from the Musikverein, or maybe I stole it from the person who stole it. A community service." Parker continues on her way, hopping down the stairs.
Astrid wastes no time in following. "Parker!"
Sophie would put a stop to everything if she felt it was too one-sided, too much like a cat toying with a mouse, but she gets the sense that Astrid appreciates the challenge, stuck in New Orleans as she is, unable to work much beyond reviewing files remotely on the secure network managed by Hardison and Breanna.
There's something fitting about it really: Astrid, her step-daughter, and Parker, who though not her daughter, is Sophie's charge in her own right.
Besides, Parker’s not wrong. What are siblings if not nature's predestined nemeses?
That doesn't mean Sophie says nothing at all. After all, she does enjoy peace and quiet every once in a while.
"Parker, stop antagonizing her,” Sophie gets very used to saying. “Astrid, pace yourself. You haven't even seen her Christmas baubles yet."
Of course they wouldn’t be nemeses if Astrid didn’t have her own deck of cards to play with. Her tenacious hunt for Parker and Hardison across Europe clearly still gets under Parker’s skin.
“But how did you know that we would be in Ljubljana?” Parker asks one day when they’re all downstairs in the bar area.
Astrid leans in, opens her mouth…
…and slaps a pair of handcuffs on Parker’s wrists.
“Finally,” Astrid sighs with a self-satisfied smile at the symbolic win. Then she says, “Not telling,” and heads for the bar.
Parker is, of course, out of the cuffs in seconds. She gives Astrid a moment before bursting her bubble and popping up beside her once again.
"That was fun. What else you got?"
It's so easy having Astrid around.
"I'm teaching you how to cook," Eliot tells her one day. “I don’t trust whatever British nonsense you grew up with.”
“I do know how to cook,” Astrid protests.
Sophie wonders when and how Astrid learned to cook. They’ve reminisced about the good old days and caught up on the now, but that period right after everything fell apart, that’s still too tender to touch.
Eliot eyes Astrid skeptically. “Beans on toast doesn’t count as cooking.”
“Oi,” Sophie cuts in. “I told you: lay off the British food.”
Eliot ignores her and stations Astrid in front of a cutting board topped with carrots, cucumbers, and some sort of radish. “Julienne these,” he says, grabbing a carrot to demonstrate. “Two inches.”
Astrid takes up the knife and starts slicing with practiced motions. She’s not as fast and smooth as Eliot, but he nods in approval.
“How come you’ve never forced me to cook?” Breanna wonders from the side where she sits with her laptop.
“I don’t trust you with a knife,” Eliot quips as moves to the fridge, retrieving a cut of pork belly and some tofu.
“Smart man,” Breanna jokes and goes back to her computer.
Parker rappels down with a bottle and thrusts it in Astrid’s face. "Taste this. It's ‘Thief Juice, the Sequel.’ Tell me what you’d pair it with. Besides crime and bad guys of course."
"Gimme that," Eliot growls, swiping the bottle from Parker's hand. "We're not poisoning Sophie's kid."
And they're off, bickering yet again as Parker protests the poison designation, while Eliot reminds her about proper beer brewing techniques.
But Sophie hears little of it. Astrid has the shadow of a smile forming on her lips, and Sophie finds herself drawn to it.
It’s not long before Eliot invites Astrid into the fray. “Smell this,” he says, holding the bottle out but not too close, allowing Astrid to tentatively move her nose closer.
Her face scrunches almost immediately. “What is that?”
Parker harrumphs. “You’re just doing that because I’m your nemeSis,” she insists. “Breanna, come taste this.”
“Uhh, I’m good,” Breanna says, slowly backing away.
Sophie watches the scene unfold, her step-daughter and her family, and feels her heart get a little lighter.
It feels good. It feels right.
It's so hard having Astrid around.
Though Sophie had used the more neutral phrase "formative experience" with her Leverage team, the buried guilty part of her can acknowledge that watching her father be destroyed and sink into the bottom of a bottle was a traumatic experience.
Astrid very pointedly avoids the common area whenever the team are planning their upcoming cons. On a surface level, it would be easy to ascribe her behavior to her choice of career. But more likely, maybe that's what she imagines Ramsey's crew had been like when they were plotting to take down her father. The anticipation. The excitement. A group of sharks circling, just waiting to tear apart an unsuspecting fool.
Beyond that, something in Astrid hardens when she catches Sophie putting on an act. She hides it well, but Sophie knows her better than well.
And then what? I'm supposed to just let you walk free?
Those hadn't been the words of someone seeking retribution. They had been the words of an abandoned 10-year-old girl asking if she was supposed to let Sophie leave her behind again. The words of a girl who had chased after Charlotte Prentice and found the shed skins of Katherine Clive, Christie Conley, and Annie Croy but her step-mother nowhere in sight.
So Sophie does the opposite. She takes Astrid home to Boston for a little mother-daughter time.
"Nathan Ford," Astrid begins one day as Sophie prepares tea. Sophie supposes it was inevitable, surrounded as they are by the life she had built with him.
The tea is steeping. The sugar and milk are laid out and ready. Sophie leans back against the counter and gives Astrid her full attention. "I will tell you whatever you want to know," she responds easily.
“He was an insurance investigator with IYS?” Astrid asks.
Sophie smiles, remembering their encounters back when they were on opposite sides. “Yes, a very good one.”
"And it was…” Astrid trails off, considering her words. Her hands absentmindedly spin the lid of the sugar bowl to alleviate some of her nervous energy. Finally, she finishes with, “...real with him?"
Sophie suspects that Astrid is really asking if a grifter such as herself, someone who lives in a revolving door of ephemeral identities, could have a real, meaningful, solid relationship on a long-term basis. And maybe if they could, if they could only do so with a family of fellow grifters and thieves.
"I told you I didn't marry your father because Ramsey told me to. William was a good man, and I did love him, truly. That was not part of the grift.” Sophie leans forward and places a steadying hand on one of Astrid’s. “You were never part of the grift. If you're wondering how my relationship with Nate compared to your father, different people match at different times in their lives. Just like how my relationship with you can't be compared to my relationship with my team. It doesn’t make any of them any less real."
To give Astrid some space to process, Sophie turns back toward the teapot and fills two tea cups.
“No one else suspected anything,” Astrid says when Sophie places a cup in front of her. “I think Father was too heart-broken to think anything through.”
"I know," Sophie says quietly. "Auntie Violet was very clear on that point."
She realizes her uncharacteristically careless oversight when Astrid’s face pinches. “When did you see Aunt Violet?” Then the realization. "You used Charlotte Prentice for another con."
"Astrid," Sophie says, trying to intervene before Astrid can spiral.
"It's all right," Astrid says, posture stiffening and voice growing distant as if Inspector Pickford has pushed herself to the foreground, and is furiously trying to shove Sophie’s step-daughter into a bag. "It was just another identity to you. I'm sure you've revisited other identities as you’ve seen fit. I understand. There's no reason Charlotte Prentice should be any different."
"Of course it was different," Sophie says immediately and realizes horribly that she’s using her soothing ‘everything will be all right, just close your eyes and follow my voice’ grifter tone. She sighs and forcibly allows her voice to fall into a more natural, rawer cadence. “We were trying to stop a man from forcing children into smuggling stolen goods. I needed a solid alias, and it was the best one for the job. I only revealed what I had to. To be honest, I left my team with more questions than answers.”
Astrid is silent then as if she can’t decide whether she wants to keep wallowing in self-righteous anger or feels guilty for accusing Sophie of diminishing their time together when Sophie was just trying to help innocent children. Maybe both. She sits there, walls half-raised around her. Finally, as a peace offering, Astrid pulls the teacup closer to her, drops in a sugar cube and pours a splash of milk.
To give Astrid an opening to move on, Sophie says gently, "I'm surprised Aunt Violet didn't tell you."
"I've avoided family gatherings since Father died," Astrid says. "At first to avoid the looks of pity and judgment—” Sophie watches Astrid visibly attempt to let everything go and return to levity. “—and then later, to avoid the eternal questions of when I will marry, especially Aunt Mildred with her insistence that—" Astrid pitches her voice upward, making it more nasal and haughty to mimic Aunt Mildred. "—Cousin Gilbert and I are not that closely related."
"Oh, Cousin Mildred." Sophie shudders. "I did not miss her." The unspoken “ But I did miss you ” hangs in the air between them. It’s what Sophie’s supposed to say, but she can’t bring herself to lie. She hadn’t missed Astrid for so long, how could she when she hadn’t even permitted herself to think about her.
“But I’m so glad you’re back in my life,” Sophie says instead because it’s the truth.
Astrid’s walls haven’t come back down completely, but she manages a tentative smile and says, “Me too.”
"How goes the nemeSis-ing?" Sophie asks.
They’ve been back in New Orleans for a week, and Astrid has been with them for about a month and a half in total. The problem with trying to take down a mercenary group like The Abramowicz Group is that they tend to kill anyone who gets too close. Astrid has reassured Sophie that Interpol is making progress, but honestly, Sophie wouldn’t mind them taking a little longer.
"Parker threatened to throw me off a building," Astrid responds dourly.
"Oh, that's wonderful," Sophie says, truly delighted. "You're bonding."
"No," Astrid protests as if Sophie is the one who does not understand Parker. "You did not hear the glee in her voice as she described the screams I would be making as she pushed me off a fifty-story building."
"For Parker, that is bonding,” Sophie explains. “She'll make sure you're properly kitted. You can ask Breanna for confirmation if you wish."
Astrid does not ask Breanna, but the next time Parker mentions jumping off a skyscraper, Astrid responds, “Maybe later.”
Sophie doesn’t know if Astrid had believed her or if she’s merely decided not to lie down in what she believes to be a game of chicken.
Parker tilts her head in a moment of confusion—even with the lukewarm response, Sophie doesn’t think anyone has agreed so readily—but then excitement hits. Sophie practically has to have Eliot stop Parker from kidnapping Astrid to the nearest tall structure.
As Astrid acclimates to Parker and the rest of the team, she starts to accept the redeeming qualities of their work. She even lets herself get roped into one of their cons when they need another body.
“Astrid’s Australian accent is impeccable,” Sophie boasts in the face of everyone else’s doubt.
“Have you done any undercover work?” Eliot asks skeptically.
“I used to play tourist with Sophie when I was ten,” Astrid responds.
As far as Sophie’s concerned, that counts for more than undercover work. As a grifter, playing pretend with Astrid, passing along tips and tricks under the guise of being silly, had been her favorite bonding activity. And really, who could ask for more than a former student of the Sophie Devereaux Grifting Academy?
“This is so much more than child’s play,” Parker says. “Grifting is an art,” she adds sagely as if she didn’t stab a mark with a fork during one of their first cons.
In the end, it’s Sophie’s word that makes the difference. The mark is invited to Leverage Headquarters, fronting as an exclusive bar, where Sophie and Astrid pose as rich Australians looking to cut under-the-table deals to get supplies from the United States’ military bases in their homeland. After a couple decades, Astrid’s Australian accent is still impeccable, and she handles herself perfectly. Eliot, Breanna, and Harry all send looks Sophie’s way, clearly impressed. Parker is more reluctant with her praise, stating that Astrid’s performance was “acceptable”.
Astrid doesn’t get any more chances to join the crew. Interpol pulls out their finishing moves against The Abramowicz Group not long after. The goodbye hugs are bittersweet. This time they know they’ll keep in touch, but they’ll have to get used to being apart again.
During their first phone call, Sophie sits outside in the courtyard listening to Astrid describe her return to normal life.
Parker plops down beside her. “Is that Astrid?” she asks. When Sophie nods, she says, “Tell her that I know she took the Lost Piccolo because I let her take it.”
After Sophie relays the message, Astrid asks, “And the Mestre Ataíde?”
“And the Mestre Ataíde?” Sophie asks Parker.
Parker frowns. “I took that back.”
“She took it back,” Sophie says into the phone.
“And then I took it back,” Astrid says.
“She says she took it back,” Sophie relays.
Instead of speaking to Sophie, Parker leans in, so she can speak into the phone, their faces barely an inch apart. “No, you didn’t,” she says, voice slightly raised.
“Yes, I did,” Astrid says.
“Oh, for goodness sake,” Sophie says, slapping her phone into Parker’s hand. “Talk to each other.”
Parker leaves Sophie behind, disappearing inside with her phone, presumably to check whatever hiding spot the Mestre Ataíde had been in.
Sophie chuckles. With her relationship with Astrid on solid footing, she can’t wait to see how Parker and Astrid’s develops.