The Quill and the Sword

Even as he was yelling for the rest of the team to get off the burning structure, he was shucking off his shoes and jumping over the railings. He hoped they listened. The rickety structure was going to collapse, with or without another explosion. Getting to Eliot before he got bashed into the pylons was going to be enough of a challenge without having to worry about the rest of the team ending up in the water.

By the time Nate hit the water, his fingernails had hardened into claws, and he used them to tear the rest of his clothes off so he could finish the change. There was something euphoric about settling into his other form. He hadn’t changed since before Sam was born, and it was like finally allowing himself to scratch an itch that had been burning its way through his skin.

There wasn’t time to think about that though. Nate blinked his second eyelid closed, and the murky water sharpened into black and white, the fire above reflecting through the water in bright, washed-out streaks. He had to fight the chaotic currents rushing under the pier to stay still long enough to spot Eliot.

He had already been swept under the pier, probably already been driven into the pylons at least once, and was limp in the water. Nate flicked his tail and pushed into the current, using it to reach Eliot before he could be driven into the pylons again, but he wasn’t able to get them clear of the pier before the next surge. The best he could do was curl around Eliot and turn them so his back hit the pylon instead of Eliot. He was going to be bruised, but it was better than Eliot hitting again.

He pushed hard across the current and surfaced a good four meters from the pier. Eliot started coughing as soon as they broke the surface. The shear relief of it left Nate drifting for a moment, Eliot’s head tipped back against his shoulder and the rip tide pulling them out. There was blood fanning across Eliot’s face from a cut at his temple, and he wasn’t quite conscious, but he was breathing, and for now, that was enough.

Nate cut across the rip to escape it, then brought them into shore, doing his best to keep Eliot’s head above water, although there was no doubt he had breathed in more water by the time they reached the shore.

Changing back was not as easy or simple as the change to had been, but Nate had known it wouldn’t be, known he couldn’t deny his body something it had been craving for so long, then expect it to just let go of it so quickly again. It meant he had to drag Eliot up onto the beach with a tail, which was less than ideal and required more arm strength than he was used to using in either form, but he managed it.

He turned Eliot on his side in the sand as he continued to cough up water. Part of him wanted to leave him here for the team to find and make a break for it before they saw. Eliot was unlikely to remember anything, and Nate was sure he could make something up that would appease them. Then nothing would have to change.  

Eliot’s eyes fluttered open, and he shifted fitfully, his whole body shaking with cold and shock.

“Just lie still,” Nate brushed the wet hair from his face with a webbed hand, “you’re alright.”

Eliot blinked up at him, and Nate waited for the reaction, but Eliot just gave an unsurprised “oh” before another coughing fit had him curling back into himself.

Nate let out a sigh and rubbed his back. He couldn’t wait to hear what “distinctive” thing about him had tipped Eliot off to what he was.

Someone yelled his name, and he looked up to see three silhouettes, framed against the light of the burning pier and racing towards them. It was a relief to see them, but Nate couldn’t help the unease as they got closer.

Parker reached them first, too focused on Eliot to pay much attention to Nate. She dropped down in the sand next to them, grabbing Eliot’s shoulder and shaking him in the Parker version of gentleness. Eliot batted at her weakly, but curled closer to her none-the-less. It wasn’t until Nate brushed her hand away when she tried to poke Eliot that she finally looked up at him.

Nate braced himself for fear, or disgust, or any number of negative reactions, but her face lit up like she’d just received a bag of non-sequentially numbered bills.

“You have cool teeth!” she told him brightly.

Nate’s world snapped back into place and all the unease drained out of him.

“Thank you, Parker,” he said drolly, just managing to not run his tongue over the points of his teeth.

“Oh my,” Sophie stopped short as she reached them, and Hardison almost ran into her.

“What is it?” the hacker demanded anxiously, “is Eliot…”

Hardison trailed off, mouth open and eyes wide at the sight of Nate’s tail.

“Nate’s a mermaid,” Parker announced gleefully.

“Do I look like a maid to you?” Nate groused.

“Maybe if you had a feather duster,” Sophie was giving him a look that said they would be having a long, unpleasant conversation later, “and a frilly little French smock.”

“Mermaids are real?” Hardison sputtered.

“Merrow,” Eliot corrected hazily, then curled into another coughing fit.

Nate was never going to hear the end of this from any of them. The fast-approaching sirens were almost a relief.

“Get him out of here,” Nate helped Parker to sit Eliot up, “don’t let him tell you he doesn’t need a hospital. He’s got water in his lungs.”

Hardison ducked down and helped Parker get Eliot to his feet. He swayed unsteadily, and the two were quick to get his arms around their shoulders and take his weight.

“What about you?” Sophie gestured towards his tail.

“Changing back takes longer,” Nate made a shooing motion, “I’ll catch up with you later.”

“You promise?” Parker demanded, refusing to be dragged in the direction Hardison was trying to usher both her and Eliot, “not like the little mermaid; you won’t turn into sea foam for loving humans?”

“No, not like that,” Nate assured her with an eyeroll, “hurry up and get out of here so I can too.”

“But you promise,” Parker refused to budge, “you’ll catch up later. You won’t disappear.”

“I promise,” Nate snapped, “go already.”

Parker grinned and turned back to help Hardison with Eliot.

“Don’t think I won’t send a trawler after you if I have to,” Sophie threatened, then turned to follow the rest of the team in the direction of the waiting van.

Nate didn’t doubt she would, and that they would find him, but he didn’t have any intention of making them do that. For now though, he pushed back into the water and let the waves carry him back out towards the open sea.

**********

“I can’t believe you didn’t tell us you were a mermaid,” Hardison hissed, voice low in a futile attempt to not wake Eliot.

“Merrow,” Eliot mumbled groggily.

Futile because Eliot wasn’t sleeping. Exhausted, still feeling chilly if the truly ridiculous number of blankets piled on him were any indication, and a bit out of it from a not insignificant head injury, but not asleep, at least not at the moment.

“You know, I googled that,” Hardison groused, “just because Nate wears stupid hats all the time doesn’t mean he’s some kind of Irish shape-shifting sea creature.”

Sophie snorted indelicately.

“That’s not…” Eliot started to protest, only to be cut off by Parker, which was probably for the best given how soar his throat sounded.

“You can’t have your hat back,” Parker pulled Nate’s hat down farther on her head; she must have picked it up after he dropped it at the pier, “just in case.”

Eliot moved restlessly in his hospital bed, and Nate, sitting on the edge of it, dropped his hand down to pat the hitter’s wrist. He left his hand there, fingers resting lightly against Eliot’s pulse point.

“You can keep the hat, Parker,” Nate said easily, “it looks good on you.”

Parker beamed at him from the foot of Eliot’s bed.

“It’s a con anyway,” Nate continued dismissively, “someone made it up centuries ago to trick fishermen and it stuck.”

“You really are a merrow,” Hardison deflated, as if the reality of it had finally sunk in.

“Yes, Nate,” Sophie sat back in the uncomfortable hospital chair regally, looking for all the world like a queen reigning over her court, “do tell us about being a mythical sea creature.”

Parker leaned forward like a child eager for a bedtime story.

“Well…”

Nate was interrupted by Eliot reaching up with his free hand to try to pull his oxygen cannulas off. Again. Nate caught his hand and lowered it back down to rest on his chest.

“Leave that be for now,” Nate gave his hand a pat.

“I don’t want it,” Eliot shifted, movements agitated and unsure, as if he couldn’t decide what he wanted to do, “we should get out of here. It isn’t safe.”

“I’ve got it all taken care of, man,” Hardison reassured him patiently, “we’re safe.”

“Security’s not…” Eliot started to protest.

“We’re security,” Nate let his hand fall back to Eliot’s wrist and left it there, “we’ll check in with the doctor this afternoon and reassess, alright?”

Eliot grumbled, but settled down again.

There was very little chance of Eliot being released before tomorrow. He was responding well to oxygen, and the CT had looked good, but he had been unconscious underwater, and that wasn’t something any of them wanted to take lightly. He was having trouble focusing and keeping track of what was going on around him, and it wasn’t because of the relatively mild pain meds he had been given.

Better to keep him where he could get the care he needed, at least while they could. Nate wasn’t kidding about reassessing. If the situation changed, and they needed to go to ground, they had other resources they could tap into to make sure Eliot still got taken care of. For now, though, this was best.

“Nate,” Parker was looking at him intently, “Sophie said I should pick something besides money that I want for my birthday.”

Nate turned to face her, resigned to whatever was coming.

“I like gold and gems too,” Parker grinned, “shipwrecks have lots of gold and gems.”

Nate gave a long-suffering sigh, and pointedly ignored Sophie suppressing a snicker.

“It wouldn’t even be like stealing,” Parker pressed, “it’s not like anyone really owns it anymore.”

“There are plenty of countries that would disagree with you on that,” Nate said dryly.

“Only if they know we have it,” Parker shrugged, “so can we go diving for treasure for my birthday?”

“You have to commit to a date for your birthday first, sweetheart,” Sophie pointed out, “also, if we’re diving for treasure, there is the platinum reserves Spain dumped into the ocean in the 16th century. Probably not enough to make the expense of an actual expedition worth it, but if you could just swim to it…”

“No,” Nate said firmly, “absolutely not. We are not treasure hunters.”

“But we could be,” Hardison smiled impishly, “we do need alternative revenues streams after all.”

“Not Spain,” Eliot murmured sleepily, “’s guarded.”

“By what? A kraken?” Hardison scoffed, then paused, “wait, there isn’t a kraken, is there?”

“No,” Nate said firmly at the same time that Eliot said “yes.”

He glared at the hitter, who gave him a tired, shit-eating grin.

“It’s not a cephalopod,” Eliot looked far too pleased with the way Hardison started to sputter.

Nate pinched the bridge of his nose. At this rate, they were never going to get Hardison near the water again.

“You’re making that up,” Hardison balked, “there aren’t sea monsters.”

“How would you know?” Eliot countered, “you don’t even swim.”

Hardison opened his mouth to deny the accusation, but Nate interrupted him.

“What I want to know, is how you knew what I was,” he gave Eliot a curious look.

It would be good for him to know what had tipped Eliot off so he could fix it. The fewer people that could tell what he was, the better. Maggie had known, had seen him change once before they were married, but he hadn’t wanted to split his life between two worlds. He had chosen the land, still chose the land. That remained where the things that mattered to him were.

“You bled all over me when you were shot,” Eliot said, “your blood is different than human blood. It’s distinctive.”

Not something he could do anything about then, although it was interesting to him that Eliot hadn’t bothered to say anything about it sooner. As with all the random and far-reaching knowledge Eliot had, Nate was caught between wanting to know how he knew and feeling it was probably best not to ask.

“That’s just nasty,” Hardison grumbled.

“So we’ll go to South American, and Hardison and I will track down the shipwreck sites,” Parker continued as if she had never been interrupted, “you can search the shipwrecks, and Eliot can help me update my dive certification.”

“Whatever you want, darling,” Eliot yawned.

“Do I get a say in this?” Nate asked.

“Probably not,” Sophie looked thoroughly amused.

“It will be like a family vacation,” Parker grinned, clearly excited by the idea, “you and Sophie keep saying I’m supposed to try normal people things that I haven’t done before.”

Nate knew a lost cause when he heard one. He sat back and listened to Hardison and Parker plan, keeping half an eye on Eliot as he finally drifted off to sleep.  Sophie alternated between encouraging the pair with much too much enthusiasm and giving Nate thoughtful side glances. He was grateful she didn’t push for more information. Not yet anyway.

He had told Maggie before he had proposed to her. It had seemed unfair not to. And Sam… Sam had been so young. Nate was never sure he really believed it was more than a fairy story. Maybe if he had lived longer… gotten to be older… who knew what could have happened, what potential had never been unlocked. It hurt to think about, made him want to reach for a bottle and try to forget all the things his son should have been, should have had.

Eliot reached for the cannulas in his sleep, and Nate caught his hand, bringing it back down to his side and holding onto it.

Nate had a future here. Different from the one he had so badly wanted, shaped by different tides, full of unexplored depths and currents, but still good. He was learning to live with that, slow though the process was. It wasn’t the catastrophe he had always thought it would be, having them find out.

If the trade-off for this new future was the occasional treasure hunt, Nate could live with that.

*********

Eliot stirred on his shoulder, shifting around enough that it must have jarred something, because Hardison felt him suppress a flinch before lifting his head muzzily and rubbing a hand over his face.

Hardison had lost the argument with Nate over who was driving, leaving him to switch places with the mastermind as the designated Eliot pillow. As much as he had argued, once they got going he was glad not to be the one at the wheel. The roads had been terrible, and it had taken them three times as long as it should have to get to the cabin. They had almost gotten stuck on the long drive leading up to it.

Somehow, Eliot had managed to sleep through the majority of the trip. Hardison would have loved to have said that gave him the warm fuzzies, because Eliot was not a man who gave his trust easily, but mostly it just made him worry that the hitter’s injuries were significantly worse than he had let on.

“We here?” Eliot asked groggily.

“Yeah,” Nate turned in the driver’s seat to look back at them, “Sophie and I will help Parker do a security check. You stay in the car with Hardison.”

Eliot tensed up against Hardison’s shoulder, like he was going to protest, then huffed out an irritated breath and dropped his head back down.

Hardison gave Nate a pointed look, gesturing towards Eliot with the arm that wasn’t slung around the hitters shoulders.

“He’s fine,” Nate reassured him, “the meds just took enough of the edge off for him to sleep.”

Hardison opened his mouth to argue, but Parker chose that moment to climb over all the bags and groceries piled up in the back and haul open the side door of the van. The open door let in a burst of cold wind and snow, and Hardison curled away from it, ducking his face against Eliot’s beanie.

“I’m going to pick the lock,” Parker announced cheerfully and hopped out of the van, closing the door behind her.

“Parker, I have the key code,” Sophie pulled her hat hastily down over her ears and followed her out into the snow.

“I think supervision might be in order,” Nate pulled his own hat on, “sit tight. We’ll be back to unload after we check everything.”

Nate let in another burst of cold when he opened the door, and it didn’t escape Hardison’s notice that he locked the car behind him. Eliot’s paranoia was rubbing off on everyone, it seemed.

Hardison wanted to grumble and complain, or at the very least, narrate what was obviously the start of the worst kind of horror movie, namely the kind that they had to participate in, but Eliot’s breathing had evened back out into sleep, and he didn’t want to risk waking him.

The only light besides the eerie red snow reflection was the headlights of the van pointed at the front porch. The porch was high enough that the beams hit Parker and Sophie at the knees. It looked like there was some kind of problem with both the lock and the lock box, and they seemed to be struggling with getting either of them open.

Nate was standing to the side of them on the porch, just outside the narrow beam of light. He was hunched against the cold, shooting the occasional furtive glance at the dark trees ringing the cabin. This was the part of the movie where the monster sprang out of the forest and ate the idiots stupid enough to venture out into the open.

Although, they were still pretty early into the film. They had only just gotten to the cabin, and they had yet to run into any cooky locals who regaled them with stories of the monster or ancient tomes that conveniently fell into their laps warning them of the beast. This early in the film, they would get the door open just in the nick of time, slamming it in the monster’s face as they scrambled to safety.

Leaving he and Eliot in the car to be eaten.

Monsters lurking in the dark seemed a lot more possible with their resident monster slayer not at his best. Hardison didn’t care what Nate said, it wasn’t like Eliot to just fall asleep when they were somewhere weird and unsecured. Excessive sleepiness was a sign of head injury.

Or blood loss, or severe inflammation, or internal bleeding, or some other weird medical condition. Or, the rational part of his brain pointed out, barely sleeping at all the last week because the job had not got smoothly. Short of someone dying, everything that could have gone wrong had gone wrong. And yet, the bad guy had been beaten and the client was sufficiently safe and cared for. So they would count it as a win. Unless Eliot had a brain bleed or something. Then that definitely canceled out the win.

Parker got the door open finally, and Hardison watched through the front windshield, holding his breath as Parker stepped into the dark cabin, followed by Nate, then Sophie. It felt like it took hours, but suddenly the porch lights flipped on, and a warm glow lit up the front windows, reflecting golden sparks off the falling snow.

Hardison let out his breath, glad to find they had made the transition from b-level horror movie to hallmark Christmas special. Too bad Christmas had been like a month ago. Still, if they didn’t run into a Christmas tree farmer with an emo past who turned out to secretly be Santa’s long lost son, Hardison was going to be disappointed.

Eliot stirred again, turning his face into Hardison’s shoulder to escape the cold that was leaching into the van now that the engine was off. Hardison drew him in closer and rested his cheek on top of Eliot’s head.

“No brain bleeds,” he murmured into Eliot’s beanie, “we have rules about things like that.”

“Who’s bleeding?” Eliot mumbled into Hardison’s jacket.

“No one,” Hardison reassured him, “as long as you’re not.”

Eliot seemed to consider that for a moment before shaking his head and settling again, “not right now.”

“You know, El,” Hardison grumbled, “answers like that are why we worry about you all the time.”

He pressed a kiss to the top of Eliot’s head and went back to watching the porch through the front windshield. The longer the others took inside, the more things felt like they were sliding back into b-movie territory.

Hardison knew what they were doing. They ran perimeter and security checks on every place they stayed. Usually Eliot did them, but if he was already busy doing something else for the job, Parker would take care of it. She had the dubious distinction of being the second most paranoid member of the team. She also had a vast and impressive understanding of how building security worked, or how it didn’t work, since figuring out how to get in and out of places was both her job and her favorite pastime.

She had already been applying that to her own safety when the team had come together, and it had only taken a few conversations with Eliot for her to see how to apply it to assessing the security of wherever the team was staying. If she said the cabin was good, Eliot would be satisfied with it.

Hardison would sweep for bugs and any other tech weirdness once they got their gear inside. Hopefully, if everything came back clear from both he and Parker, Eliot would feel safe enough to get some rest and actually take care of his “not bleeding right now” self.

Right around the time Hardison started thinking they were going to freeze to death instead of get eaten by a monster, the rest of the team finally came out of the cabin. Parker hopped down the steps, landing two footed in snow that came up to her mid-calf, then turned to head to the corner of the building, taking exaggeratedly large steps through the snow drifts. Nate followed her, walking like a normal person and hunched against the snow and wind.

Sophie left them to it, coming back to the van. She pulled open the side door, letting in a gust of snow and wind. Eliot sat up with a start, blinking blurrily at Sophie and the open van door.

“Everything looks good inside,” Sophie smiled, “Nate and Parker are just going to do a quick walk around the outside, but we can start unloading.”

“Took you long enough,” Hardison grumbled, sliding out of the van. He pulled his scarf up over his mouth and nose and stepped aside to let Eliot out.

“The lock and lockbox were both frozen,” Sophie shrugged, “it took some fiddling from Parker to get it open, then she had to open every door in the place and climb the banister railing, for some reason”

“She’s Parker,” Eliot shrugged and started reaching for the nearest bag, “she hasn’t really seen something until she’s climbed it.”

“People who don’t tell us they’re hurt don’t get to carry in bags,” Sophie’s tone indicated that this was a punishment, somehow, “go inside and get warmed up. We've got this.”

“That doesn’t make any sense,” Eliot grumbled at her, but he left the bags and headed towards the cabin anyway.

Hardison watched Eliot go up the porch steps, then turned to Sophie, who was pulling bags out of the back row.

“He didn’t even argue,” Hardison hissed.

“Let him get some food and sleep,” Sophie shoved an armful of grocery bags at him, “then worry.”

“That is not how worry works,” Hardison complained as he trudged through the snow to the cabin.

******

Sophie grabbed Eliot’s bags from the back seat first, almost over balancing with the weight of the duffel before she managed to get it over her shoulder. What did that man pack and why couldn’t he put it in two or three bags that didn’t weigh as much as an elephant instead of cramming it all in one?

She passed Hardison as he was trudging back to the van. He started to reach for the bags she was carrying, but she waved him on. It was in Hardison’s nature to worry constantly, and there was something endearing about that, but worrying wasn’t going to get Eliot settled and resting. Maybe even sleeping if the ride here was any indication.

She dumped Eliot’s bags on the bed in the back bedroom, the one farthest from both doors. The blankets on the bed were a bit light for how cold it was, but they had cranked up the heat as soon as they had gotten inside, and everything was starting to warm up. She would get Parker to help her hunt down the extra blankets the owner had told her were here later.

First though, Sophie had a hitter to cajole into bed.

She dug through Eliot’s bag until she found his stash of ice packs, then headed to the kitchen. She was not at all surprised to find Eliot there, poking half-heartedly through cupboards and peering into the grocery bags piled precariously on the counter. He was holding his left arm stiff and close to his body and moving slow, but at least he was carrying around a water bottle, and looked to have drunk about half of it already.

“At least the stove is gas,” Eliot grumbled, even as he gave the knife block a disgusted look, “if we lose power we’ll still be able to have hot meals.”

“I hadn’t even thought of losing power,” Sophie admitted, “we might have to give the fireplace a once over to make sure it’s safe to use.”

Eliot glanced over the breakfast bar into the living room where a large stone fireplace had pride of place across from a comfortable, if dusty, looking couch,

“I’ll…”

“You’ll go take a shower,” Sophie nudged him away from the counter so she could start putting groceries away.

“Later,” Eliot shook his head stubbornly, “everyone’s got to be hungry, and I should get something started.”

He started to pull open grocery bags, and Sophie shooed him away again, “we’ll take care of dinner.”

Eliot gave her a dubious look.

“Nate will take care of dinner,” Sophie corrected, “he’ll enjoy it. It will remind him of his prison days.”

“What am I doing?” Nate asked, dumping a pile of luggage in the middle of the living room.

“Making dinner,” Sophie supplied.

“Yeah, sure,” Nate paused to give the kitchen a once over before trudging back out the front door for more bags.

“So go take a shower,” Sophie pushed him in the direction of the bedrooms and bathroom with a hand on the small of his back, “you’ll feel better, and I won’t feel guilty about using all the hot water when I take mine.”

“You never feel guilty about that,” Eliot groused, but he headed in the direction of the bedrooms.

“Your bags are in the second bedroom,” Sophie called after him.

She watched long enough to see him duck into the room, then turned back to the kitchen, trying to decide if actually getting Eliot to take a shower instead of haul luggage entitled her to not spend the next quarter hour trudging through the snow to unload the van.

Probably not. The sooner they could get everything inside and everyone out of the awful weather, the better.

Sophie pulled her scarf up around her nose and ears and headed back into the snow.

******

“I’m hungry,” Parker announced, “Sophie said you’d make us dinner.”

She was sitting cross-legged on the breakfast bar because Eliot was still in the shower and couldn’t tell her not to.

“Once we get the groceries put away, I’ll put something together,” Nate tossed her a box of cereal without bothering to look at what it was.

Parker pulled it open and was delighted to find it was the kind with the grainy rainbow marshmallows. She had no idea where the spoons were, so she started eating it by the handful.

“We should do something about the doors,” Parker said with her mouth full, which wasn’t as fun when Eliot wasn’t there to shoot her disgusted looks.

“What about the doors?” Nate asked absently as he started pulling everything out of the fridge that Sophie and Hardison had stuffed into it.

Sophie was giving him that funny look that she had said meant he was being a micromanaging jerk. Parker thought that was a useful thing to be able to do most times, but she didn’t like it when he tried to micromanage her, so Sophie maybe had a point when she complained about it.

It seemed mostly useful right now though and meant they would be able to fit more stuff in the fridge.

“They were too easy to open,” she told Nate.

“I’ll get everything alarmed once I finish setting my stuff up,” Hardison said from where he was unpacking his electronics and starting to set them up on the coffee table in front of the fireplace.

Sophie had told him he couldn’t use the big table near the kitchen because they needed somewhere to sit and eat, and he was still sulking about it. Parker hadn’t told him yet that there was a big desk up in the sleeping loft, because she hadn’t decided yet if she wanted to share the loft.

“I think the blizzard is going to be pretty good security for us,” Nate didn’t look up from his efforts to use the fridge space as efficiently as possible.

“We got here through it,” Parker shrugged.

“Well, we are rather exceptional,” Sophie offered, “and we barely made it here, but what do you have in mind?”

Parker considered the options. The front door and the back door both pushed inward, so the easiest way to secure them would be to put something heavy in front of them to block them from opening, but they would have to do it in a way that didn’t mess up Hardison’s alarm system. It would be good to do something about the downstairs windows too. They were easy to access and would be easy for someone to break into, but they were also easy exits for the team if they needed to leave in a hurry.

She would usually ask Eliot what he thought, but he was hurt and tired and would come up with better ideas after he got some sleep.

“I think after Hardison gets his system set up we should reinforce the doors,” Parker decided, “then maybe try to do something to secure the downstairs windows.”

“Why don’t we just stick a chair under the door knobs for tonight,” Nate finally turned away from the fridge, having managed to fit everything that needed to be refrigerated in it, “we can do a more thorough job of securing the place tomorrow. It looks like we’re going to be here a couple days, at least.”

Parker nodded her agreement and shoved another handful of cereal in her mouth.

“How do we feel about spaghetti for dinner?” Nate asked, “I think I saw green beans and cherry tomatoes around here somewhere that we can have as a side.”

“I got some of that garlic bread you just toss in the oven too,” Hardison had moved on from connecting cables to actually sitting and working on his laptop, an assortment of small sensors and cameras spread out on the table in front of him.

“Great,” Nate said briskly, then looked back to Parker, “what kind of sauce do you want?”

He gestured to the four jars of pasta sauce lined up on the counter with the other pantry goods that hadn’t been put away yet. There was extra cheesy alfredo, basil marinara, vodka, and four cheese marinara. Sophie and Hardison hadn’t been able to decide, so Parker had dumped them all in the cart. None of them were going to be as good as Eliot’s.

“That one,” Parker pointed to the alfredo; it was white like marshmallows even if it tasted nothing like them.

“Done,” Nate said, then guided Sophie out of the kitchen area with a hand on her back, “we can finish putting the rest of this away after we eat. Go somewhere else so I can cook.”

Sophie huffed, but went to sit on the couch next to Hardison. He handed her the remote to the flat screen tv hung over the fireplace, and she flipped on the weather channel, which seemed a little silly to Parker. It was snowing; they knew it was snowing.

Parker watched Nate in the kitchen for a while while she munched on her cereal. Watching Nate cook wasn’t at all like watching Eliot cook. When Eliot cooked he was focused on the food and he noticed everything about it. He was always tasting things and adjusting things as he went. Parker liked to watch him cook because he always seemed like he was happy, or at least that cooking made him feel better when he wasn’t.

It wasn’t like that with Nate. Nate just made food. He didn’t seem to dislike doing it, but it wasn’t anything special to him. His food wasn’t terrible, but it didn’t taste like Eliot’s. It didn’t taste like it mattered a lot to him, and he wanted it to matter a lot to them.  

Parker heard the water shut off in the bathroom and closed up her cereal, then hopped down from the breakfast bar. She left her cereal on the counter; she could always come back and hide all the boxes of cereal where she wanted them later.

**********

Eliot did feel better after taking a shower, and after giving the diclofenac time to kick in, and after dozing most of the way to the cabin, and he was kind of disgruntled about it. Had his flight not been rerouted twice and the safety of the team abruptly called into question, he would have done all those things much sooner and in the safety of one of his boltholes without anyone else to worry about.

As it was, he was still tired and achy, but at least he felt like he was tracking better. He was content to let the team struggle through figuring out dinner without him, but he did want a better look at the layout of the cabin before he tried to get a little more sleep. There were always things that needed to be taken care of when they first got into a space, especially with Eliot still feeling uneasy about how they had ended up there.

Parker was sitting at the foot of the bed his bags had been on, scribbling away in one of her notebooks. Eliot’s bags had been tossed haphazardly in a corner, but a clean hoodie and a pair of mis-matched wool socks were laying on the bed.

Eliot almost went to find the matching socks, but he was tired still and digging through his bag after Parker had rearranged it probably wasn’t the best use of his limited energy right now.

“Do you want to hear about the cabin?”  Parker asked, turning her notebook so he could see her detailed sketch of the cabin’s layout.

“Sure,” Eliot sat heavily on the edge of the bed and pulled his socks on; at least they were the same type of sock even if the colors were different.

The heat had gone a long way towards loosening up his shoulder, but he should probably get some ice on it soon. He would have to dig his ice packs out of his bag at some point so he could get them in the freezer.

“There are two doors, the front one we came through and one half way down the side of the house the fireplace is on. It goes out to the back porch. I don’t think the locks on them are very good, but Nate said we could stick a chair under the handles for tonight and fix them tomorrow. There are seven windows downstairs, double pane, latch locks that are really flimsy, but we don’t have anything to change them out with. Hardison is putting up cameras and sensors tonight though…”

Eliot shrugged into his hoodie and gave into the urge to lay back against the pillows while Parker talked. She was always thorough with building layouts and security weaknesses, and there was only so much they could do tonight anyway. Hardison’s security systems were always good, and he knew how to maximize the coverage of any space, although the snow and ice were probably going to cause problems for any cameras or sensors he wanted to set up outside.

“...from the outside it looks like there’s a crawl space under the cabin, but I couldn’t find any way into it from the inside, and Nate wouldn’t let me go into it from the outside. He said I’d get too wet or dirty or something, which is kind of stupid because I have clothes and a shower in here,” Parker kept going.

“It’s not good to get wet in this kind of weather, even if you think it will only be for a little bit,” Eliot murmured, “we can take a better look at it tomorrow when it’s light out.”

He really was tired, and there was something soothing about listening to Parker go through every detail of the building; it wouldn’t hurt if he closed his eyes for just a minute or two while he listened.

**********

Parker grinned when she saw Eliot’s eyes close, but she finished telling him about the sleeping loft before she stopped talking. His breathing was deep and even, and it looked like he really was asleep.

"Stop fussing," Eliot snapped and snatched the sleeve out of Nate's hand.

Now that Parker had pointed it out, Nate could clearly see Eliot was favoring his left arm. Or, possibly because Parker had pointed it out, Eliot was putting less effort into hiding it.

"They shouldn't be in there alone," Eliot pulled a few crackers out of the sleeve and shoved it back at Nate.

"They're not alone," Nate swapped the sleeve for a water bottle from the grocery bag at his feet, "they have each other. We might be living off of orange soda and Trix for the next two weeks, but I think they'll get each other out of the store in one piece."

Eliot gave him a dubious look but refrained from talking with his mouth full.

"Anyway, I'm listening," Nate tapped the comm he had slipped into his ear.

"Where's my…?" Eliot frowned and tried to reach behind the seat for his bag, wincing hard at the twisting motion.

"Stop it," Nate thumped his side lightly with the back of his hand, "I've got them. Parker hasn't managed to convince Sophie that Froot Loops are both a vegetable and a fruit. Sophie is giving her tips on being persuasive, and Hardison doesn't know the difference between a zucchini and a cucumber, but one of them has made it into the basket."

"How have they made it this far without dying of malnutrition?" Eliot let his head flop back against the headrest.

"Cereal is fortified," Nate said dryly and poked Eliot with the water bottle, "which bag are your meds in?"

"It can wait until we get to the cabin," Eliot grabbed the offending bottle away without opening his eyes.

Nate didn't have to wrangle an injured Eliot often. Most of the time, he was more than capable of managing his own injuries. When he wasn't, Nate usually let Parker take the lead in poking and prodding while he helped Hardison track down whatever medical help their hitter needed.

Parker needed to burn off some energy, though, and Nate would rather supervise a cranky Eliot than his team on a shopping spree. He had trailed Eliot through the first aid aisle, listened to him mutter over spices and knives on the baking aisle, and then dragged him back to the van with saltines and water bottles in hand.

"Just take the anti-inflammatory," Nate argued, "it won't make you drowsy, and the longer you wait, the less well they'll work."

"Stop. Fussing." Eliot growled, somehow managing to drink his water angrily. Nate was always impressed by how Eliot could make the most mundane tasks look threatening. Luckily for him and the rest of the team, Nate was not easily intimidated.

"Just for the sake of argument..." Nate started.

"No," Eliot said flatly.

"We're stuck in the car until Hardison picks a shampoo. Humor me," Nate ignored Hardison's protests over the comm about his sensitive scalp.

"They need to hurry," Eliot groused, 'the snow is getting worse."

"Right," Nate agreed and held the sleeve of saltines out to Eliot again. He was disproportionately pleased when the hitter grabbed a few more without protest, "so let's just say there really is some shadowy figure waiting behind the curtain to get us…"

Eliot raised an eyebrow at that, probably cross-checking his mental list of people who matched that description, but Nate ignored him.

"And they orchestrated stranding the five us in this specific tiny town, in the middle of nowhere, by waiting until we were both split up on five different planes, and there was a massive storm front to force our flights here…"

"Look, I know…" Eliot rubbed his eyes tiredly.

"Which is possible," Nate continued to ignore him, "highly unlikely, but possible. After all, shady figures are usually good at seizing opportunity when they see it. So let's say all of that is true. What's their next move? Where do they expect us to be?"

Eliot frowned before reluctantly admitting, "They expect us to be stranded, at the airport or one of the hotels."

"Right," Nate nodded, "and even if they somehow anticipated us renting a summer house, it would be almost impossible to control which summer house we rented. Hardison must have skimmed through a half dozen search pages worth before we went after this one."

Eliot's frown deepened as he worked the problem and thought how he would have managed something like this from the other side. Nate let him be for a minute because he was still eating crackers while he thought, seemingly without noticing.

"There are ways they could stack the deck in their favor," he finally said slowly. "Knowing what we would want in a place to lay low, making it available even though it looked unavailable, monitoring Hardison for the search criteria he was using, then populating it with multiple properties that they have control of."

"Possible," Nate conceded, "ridiculously elaborate and unnecessarily complicated, but possible."

"So, one of your plans, basically," Eliot snorted.

"I don't have the patience to wait on mother nature," Nate let the jab slide, "my point is, the best thing we can do in this situation is not be where we're most likely to be. The rest, we'll just have to deal with as it comes."

"I know that. It's just…" Eliot just looked worn out now, tired of having to run through every scenario and possibility for every given moment.

Nate had figured out fairly early on that Eliot's paranoia was rooted in both a lot of experience and a lot of trauma. It meant they would be idiots to ignore him when he said something was wrong (and Nate had, unfortunately, been that idiot on more than one occasion, although he tried not to be these days), but they also needed to be a second check on those things for him sometimes, because he could always work his way around to those perceived threats being possible, even if they weren't probable.

It had gotten a lot better over the years, and the team had gotten better at finding ways to help him deal with it when it did come up. There was never a perfect solution, but they were more than happy to settle for an imperfect one if it made things at least a little better.

"And we'll deal with everything a lot better if you just take your diclofenac," Nate cut him off again, "so what bag is it in?"

"Duffel," Eliot conceded defeat finally, "they really do need to hurry."

"I know," Nate turned around and started sifting through the bags they had tossed into the third row of seats, "they're almost done."

Parker had been sitting in the back row, and she had rearranged the luggage that hadn't fit in the trunk to make a nest of sorts for herself around the middle seat. Nate had to practically crawl over the back of the middle row to reach Eliot's duffel bag, and he only felt a little bad for messing up her carefully crafted arrangement.

Eliot carried prescription meds with him and had for as long as Nate had known him. He had worried at first about the bottle of oxi that was always packed in the hitter's personal medkit. In hindsight, he could see the hypocrisy of constantly watching Eliot for signs of opioid addiction while simultaneously getting blackout drunk on a regular basis.

It had only taken a couple months for that concern to shift from Eliot taking too many painkillers to getting Eliot to take them at all. Two years in, and Nate had been worrying about why Eliot felt like jobs would leave him in enough pain on a regular enough basis that he would need to always have that level of painkiller with him. These days, Eliot and meds were mostly a bargaining act, a give and take informed by context and where Eliot's head was at at the given moment.

Oxi made him disoriented and dizzy; he wouldn't take it if he didn't feel safe. Diclofenac made him nauseous if he didn't take it with food (sometimes even when he did). Of the two problems, that was the easier one to solve.

Nate finally managed to find Eliot's duffel bag and pulled the medkit out, tossing the bag back in the pile of luggage for Parker to rearrange and poke through to her heart's content once they got back to the van.

"You want one or two?" Nate opened the kit and sorted through the neatly labeled bottles.

"Just one," Eliot was slumped back against the headrest again, eyes closed.

"You're out of Zofran," Nate shook the empty bottle.

"I gave the last of it to Sophie when we hit that patch of turbulence on the way in for the job," Eliot said dismissively, "it's fine. I'll refill it later."

Nate handed the pill and another water bottle over to Eliot, then texted Parker and asked her to get a bottle of Zofran from the pharmacy. A little thievery would do her good after 8 hours on a plane.

Eliot took the pill, and the van went comfortably quiet aside from the rest of the team's chatter in Nate's ear. It was surprisingly relaxing to listen in on them doing something as mundane as arguing over pasta sauce and gummy frog brands. They were on the comms a lot, but during jobs, there was a certain amount of tension, the constant need to be assessing and reassessing everything that happened.

Nate didn't care what kind of pasta sauce they got, and he didn't like gummy frogs, but it was nice just to sit back and listen to them be together.

There was suddenly weight against his shoulder, and Nate held still as Eliot gradually slumped more heavily against him, eyes closed and breath even. Nate waited until he was sure he was settled before shifting to get an arm around him and stop him from sliding down too far. Eliot fidgeted in his sleep for a moment, then relaxed with a soft sigh.

Eliot hastily put his knife down on the pile of half chopped parsley and reached for his phone. It was Sophie, and she was considerably less prone to exaggeration than Parker or Hardison.

Need exit

If she was texting instead of calling, then she wasn’t in a position to talk, and he couldn’t call her to get her location. Eliot wiped his hands hastily on his apron and unlocked his phone to call Hardison to try to get a trace on her location, but the next text came through before he got that far.

Mandarin oriental ballroom

Eliot flipped off the burners without a second thought to his mushrooms, which were definitely going to be an oily ruin by the time he got back to them. He was almost to the door when one more text came.

Wear tux

Eliot groaned. Sophie had pulled him into her side cons once or twice before without warning, but he had made it clear after the second time that if she wanted help with that sort of thing, she needed to be straight with him, or they were both going to end up hurt. She had been good about not doing it since then.

That made him reasonably sure that the demand for dress attire was about getting into the place while drawing as little attention to himself as possible, but it was still a nuisance. He owned two tuxes, but both of them were badly in need of a trip to the dry cleaner, and his dress shoes were still muddy from the last con he had worn them on.

He hastily shrugged into the cleaner of his tuxes anyway and knocked as much mud off his shoes as he could running down the stairs to his car.

Twenty-five minutes later he was slipping through the service tunnels of the Oriental, tying his hair back in an effort to look more like he hadn’t just thrown on a somewhat rumpled tux and rushed across town. He managed to slip into the ballroom entirely unnoticed, and the relief was visceral when he spotted Sophie, back in a corner, surrounded by a semi-circle of enamored spectators. He hadn’t gotten anything from her since her clothing recommendation, and he hadn’t wanted to text her back in case it drew unwanted attention to her phone.

Now that he had eyes on her, he was confident he could get her out safely, and he took a moment to get a read on the room. The guy standing closest to her was definitely the problem. He was too focused on Sophie, too close, and she kept shifting away from him under the guise of listening or talking to other guests.

There were a number of bodyguards in the room, which was hardly a surprise given the type of party this seemed to be. Eliot recognized a gaggle of local politicians, a rather odd smattering of minor European nobility, and he thought he spotted at least one Fortune 500 CEO. This was the sort of crowd that Sophie loved to work.

Eliot was less enthusiastic about it. It wasn’t hard to pick out the bodyguards that belonged to Sophie’s stalker. There were three of them, one with eagle eyes on his boss and Sophie, and two watching the room. They looked like they knew their stuff, and one of them had the distinctive stance of former special ops.

Eliot wasn’t very eager to start a fight in the middle of a crowded ballroom, or anywhere else for that matter. He had no doubt he could do it, he just didn’t want to with fourteen stitches in his arm and a broken finger on his left hand. He definitely needed to have another conversation with the team about thinking through their back-up plans when they did side jobs, because ‘hope Eliot answers his phone and isn’t too injured to fight’ was not a great back-up.

All he really had to do was get Sophie away from the guy, then they could disappear into the crowd and slip out the back. There was a live quartet playing and a few dozen couples dancing in the center of the room. A pretty girl like Sophie had to have no shortage of people wanting to dance with her.

Eliot took his time working his way over to her, not wanting to draw the attention of the bodyguards until he had to. He could tell she had seen him because her posture had relaxed, and she had become more animate and fluid in her gestures and conversation.

By the time Eliot got to the group, Sophie’s stalker was holding her arm possessively, and Eliot considered punching him just for the hell of it. He looked like he would go down easy with just one punch.

He refrained though, slipping into the group surrounding them and stepping to the front.

“You look like a lady who could use a dance,” Eliot interrupted whatever inane story the man was telling.

“That would be lovely,” Sophie extracted herself gracefully and took Eliot’s offered arm.

“The lady is spoken for,” the guy reached for her, but she evaded him neatly, her grip tightening just slightly on Eliot.

“Don’t be such a prude, Atticus,” Sophie’s voice was light and teasing, and the gawkers around them laughed.

Atticus looked murderous, but he let them go, and Eliot pulled Sophie out onto the dance floor.

“Atticus? Really?” Eliot gripped as he guided Sophie smoothly into the first turn of the waltz that was playing.

“Thank you so much,” the smile on Sophie’s face didn’t reflect the anxiety in her voice, “I knew Atticus had a reputation for being a ladies’ man, but I didn’t know he was such a pervert or that his bodyguards were enablers.”

“Are you okay?” maybe Eliot would find the time to punch him after he got Sophie out.

“I’m fine,” Sophie assured him with a squeeze of his hand, “the wanker had his bodyguards ‘escort’ me everywhere, even the ladies’ room. I couldn’t find an opening to get away.”

“They’re definitely watching us now,” Eliot started leading Sophie in the direction of the service exit he had come in from, “we’re probably going to have to make a run for it at some point.”

“I can’t believe you made me teach Hardison to waltz,” Sophie huffed, clearly less worried about their escape plan than Eliot was, “we could have just swapped the two of you out.”

“Learning skills that don’t involve electronics is good for him,” Eliot snorted softly.

“Well, it’s your turn if we ever have to teach Parker,” Sophie was tracking movement over his shoulder, “my feet can’t take another round of being stomped on.”

Eliot turned them so he could see what Sophie had been looking at. Atticus was pushing his way through the crowd so he could keep an eye on them; the man was not subtle.

“I’ll just make them dance with each other,” Eliot was suspicious the former special ops guy had figured out which direction he was leading them.

The good news was that most special ops guys wouldn’t want to cause a scene, so they would likely be able to get out of the ballroom. The bad news was, the chances of them getting out of the building without Eliot having to fight someone were low.

“That’s brilliant,” the affectionate smile reserved specifically for the team’s two idiot lovebirds graced Sophie’s face, “I’ll have to talk to Nate about taking more jobs that involve dancing.”

“You should talk to Nate about your buddy Atticus,” Eliot suggested, “maybe you can make him jealous.”

“It’s just a con, Eliot,” Sophie rolled her eyes.

“You’ve never sat in the van with Nate when someone is getting handsy with you,” Eliot teased.

“Do you think Hardison has any recordings of that?” Sophie gave a devious grin.

“He does say he records everything,” Eliot shrugged, “when we get closer to the service hall, we’ll try to slip out, but we’ll probably have to deal with his bodyguards. Are you good to run?”

“Always,” Sophie smiled at him, completely confident in his ability to keep her safe.

It still made his chest go tight when he realized just how much the team trusted him, how sure they were that he would always save them. By this point, he had two lifetimes worth of people he hadn’t been able to save, and there were moments when the team’s unreserved trust made him feel sick to his stomach.

Not tonight though. Tonight, they would be walking out together.

******

“Walk me up?” Sophie asked, which was just another way of asking the same question she had already asked four times on their way to her place.

“I’m fine Sophie,” Eliot pulled into the underground parking garage of Sophie’s apartment building, “it’s just a few torn stitches.”

The bodyguards hadn’t really been a challenge, but his dress shoes had slipped on the linoleum floor, and he had ended up taking a hit from the special ops guy against his upper arm instead of blocking it against his forearm. The impact had popped a couple stitches and reopened the gash. It really wasn’t a big deal, but he was bleeding and that seemed to be bothering Sophie.

“I’ve had a very trying night,” Sophie said airily, “humor me. Anyway, I ended up with some of your clothes mixed in with mine last time we had to leave a hotel in a hurry. You should at least come up and change into something more comfortable, and I can get your jacket and shirt soaking before the blood stains sets in too badly.”

Eliot didn’t really care about the tux, but it would be nice to change into more comfortable clothes and re-wrap his arm before he got blood on anything else. Home wasn’t that far away though, and he had left a mess behind in his kitchen in his rush to get to Sophie. If he let Sophie drag him up to her place while she was feeling guilty about him getting hurt, it could be hours before he got home.

“I left dinner sitting out half cooked,” Eliot shook his head, “I should really get home and clean it up.”

He was going to have to toss the mushrooms for sure, but the stock would probably be okay as long as he gave it a good boil before he used it again. He still had a little bit of leftover chicken in the fridge. He could probably…

“Well, it’s not going to go anywhere,” Sophie pointed out, “stop being so stubborn and come up. I’ll order in for dinner. It’s the least I can do.”

Eliot knew a losing battle when he saw one.

“Fine,” Eliot gave up, “no dinner though. I’m just going to get changed, and then I really do need to head home.”

“Of course,” Sophie said without even attempting to sound sincere.

Eliot resigned himself to staying for dinner.

What he hadn’t expected was Sophie pulling out her med kit and demanding he show her how to take care of torn stitches. Eliot knew what she was doing. Parker was the only one on the team who had ever shown interest in expanding her first aid knowledge; the only reason Sophie even had a med kit was because Eliot had put it together for her.

It was hard for Eliot to pass up an opportunity to impart at least a little medical knowledge to a teammate, though, even if Sophie was only showing interest as a ploy to get him to take care of his arm sooner instead of later. He made her do the work just to poke at her a bit for trying to manipulate him.

Sophie wasn’t squeamish like Hardison or driven to drinking by all things medical like Nate, and she listened carefully as he talked her through removing the torn stitches, cleaning the wound, and putting in the new stitches. She balked a bit at doing the stitches, nervous that there was no lidocaine, but there were only three of them that needed to be redone, and Eliot hadn’t bothered to put any lidocaine in Sophie’s kit because she didn’t know how to use it.

Actually, that was kind of disappointing. He could have walked her through using it if she had had any. He had mostly let Parker stitch up the gash in the first place just to make her practice calculating lidocaine dosage and injection distribution. He’d have to grab some for Sophie’s kit next time he thought about it.

“All done,” Sophie said briskly, wiping her hands on a towel.

“Nice job,” Eliot gave the new stitches an appraising look.

“Thank you,” Sophie eyed the entire length of the gash with a displeased look, “I think I’ll leave it to you and Parker when there’s an option though.”

Eliot frowned at the crease that was forming between her eyebrows. Sophie had much stronger opinions about injuries than Eliot did, or at least stronger opinions about Eliot’s injuries than Eliot did.

“It’s good,” he assured her, “it just needs to be cleaned up and wrapped now, and it will be fine.”

“Go take a shower then,” Sophie shooed him away from the table, “I’ll find your clothes and order us some dinner.”

Eliot thought about protesting and trying to head home again, but a shower would be nice, and he really was hungry. He would have to cook himself if he went home, and as much as he liked cooking, it was late.

“Fine,” Eliot pushed himself out of his chair and headed to the bathroom.

Sophie ordered Thai from the really good place on 12th, and Eliot could tell just from the smell that she had ordered his preferred spice level and not hers, which she really didn’t have to do.

Eliot didn’t know how to make the team understand that it was okay when he got hurt; they didn’t need to feel bad about it unless they had done something really stupid to cause it. It wasn’t his job to get hurt (usually), but it just came with the territory. It had always come with the territory for him, and at least with this team, there was an effort made not to put him directly in the line of fire as plan A, or really even plan B or C.

The Thai was really good, though, and Eliot felt like he had talked himself hoarse more than once trying to get Sophie to understand and made almost no progress, so he let it be, kicking his bare feet up on Sophie’s coffee table and settling down to watch the French heist movie she put on without subtitles.

Sophie curled on the other end of the sofa, making a good go at pretending like the food wasn’t too spicy for her and drinking the absolute wrong type of tea to have with Thai food, although the amount of cream she had put in it was probably helping with the spiciness. It didn’t take her long to grab the blanket off the back of the sofa and pull it over both their laps, followed by shoving her cold feet under Eliot’s thigh, which earned her a half-hearted thump on her shine. At least her feet weren’t as cold and bony as Parker’s.

They settled down to watch the movie and pick at the remaining Thai. Sophie had gotten konom sai sai, koa tom mud, and black rice pudding for dessert, and Eliot could appreciate her absolute lack of shame when it came to her sweet tooth. She would probably like khanom tom or kanom baa bin, and Eliot had been looking for an excuse to try to…

“I’m sorry I didn’t do better recon on Atticus,” Sophie said abruptly.

Eliot was well into his mental ingredient list and which of his buddies’ grandmothers he’d have to suck up to to get authentic recipes, and it took him a moment to process what she had said, but when he did, he reached under the blanket and pinched her calf.

“Ow!” Sophie kicked him lightly in the thigh, then tucked her feet back under it, wiggling her toes in an obnoxious way that would have done Parker proud.

“Just let it go, Soph,” Eliot did the mature thing and didn’t tickle her under the knee the way he would have with Parker, “I’m glad you called.”

Sophie frowned at him, “it matters when you get hurt. You understand that, don’t you?”

Eliot was willing to admit, to himself at least, that he liked that it mattered to them if he got hurt. It felt a lot like being wanted as person instead of a skill set, and it had been a long time since that had happened. He liked it, but it was dangerous, for them and for him. He needed there to be no hesitation on their part to call him in when things got rough. He needed them to not stop to try to figure out if he would be hurt. He would tell them if he couldn’t do it; everything else in those kinds of situations needed to be irrelevant.

He was pretty sure it was a problem that he liked that it wasn’t.

It wasn’t a problem he was going to solve tonight, though, so he gave Sophie’s shin a pat and nodded, then pinched her again when she tried to say more.

“You’re insufferable,” Sophie huffed.

“Just doing my job, darling,” Eliot grinned at her.

“Well, thank you for doing it so well,” Sophie’s smile was genuine, less bright and flowery than the smile she used on marks.

“You’re welcome,” Eliot returned the smile, then settled back down to watch the rest of the movie.

*********

They hadn’t even sat down to brief for the job yet when Eliot found a shoe box sitting on top of his gear. There was only one person who would buy him shoes, and she was currently on the couch fawning over potential jewelry heists with Parker.

He opened the box and found a pair of new dress shoes in his size. They looked normal enough until he noticed the strange tread pattern on them and ran his hand over the soles. Sophie must have had them custom made to have slip-resistant bottoms.

There was a note tucked neatly into one of the shoes. When he unfolded it, it read, It matters.

Eliot pretended not to notice Sophie watching him out of the corner of her eye, a quietly pleased look on her face, as he carefully tucked the shoes back in their box and stored them with his equipment.

“I’m so sorry, sir,” the woman at the gate counter did her best to sound apologetic, but it was obvious she was just frazzled; two massive storm cells had re-routed seven flights to the little Podunk airport, and there were more people crowded into the terminals than the place probably saw in two or three months, “there’s just no way to tell when we’ll be able to start rebooking outgoing flights.”

“No worries, darling,” Eliot fell back into an easy drawl, too tired for much else, “can’t control the weather.”

It hurt slinging his bag over his shoulder and reaching down to grab his second bag was almost too much effort to be worth it, but he did anyway, with an easy smile at the gate worker and no sign of discomfort.

When he got to Hardison, he let his bags fall heavily to the ground, then dropped himself into the chair beside him, still not bothering to look at him.

“Who else is here?” he leaned forward, elbows on his knees and head bowed.

“Whole team,” Hardison continued tapping away on his phone.

“Fucking hell,” Eliot rubbed a hand over his face.

“You alright, man?” Hardison finally glanced over at him.

“What have you checked so far?” Eliot ignored the concern.

It went without saying that all five of them being re-routed to the same airport in the middle of nowhere couldn’t be a coincidence, especially given the fact that the last job had been rough enough for them to take the precaution of booking five different flights on their way out, with the plan to regroup back at HQ gradually over the next three or four days.

“Running checks on air control, pilots, and flight staff,” Hardison offered, “haven’t found anything yet.”

“Can you get into the air control logs?” Eliot forced down a shiver; the hoodie he was wearing was no match for how cold it was outside and how poorly the terminal was heated.

The way every movement sent sharp pain through his shoulder though made it very clear to him that it wasn’t worth it to dig his coat out of his bag. The over-the-counter pain killers he had taken right before his flight had long worn off, and what he really needed was a place to hole up so he could take a round of the prescription strength stuff and get some rest.

That ship, it seemed, had sailed, though. And then been sunk under a foot of snow.

“Here,” Hardison handed his phone over to him, all the officially logged information on the seven rerouted flights on display.

Eliot flipped through the information, checking and cross checking all of it. He forced himself to go more slowly than he usually would, aware of just how tired he was and how easy it would be to miss something or make a mistake, and mistakes just weren’t an option where the team’s safety was at stake.  

By the time he had listened to the exchanges between the tower and the pilots for all seven flights on Hardison’s earbuds, Nate had appeared, dropping down in the chair on Eliot’s other side, a paper cup of questionable coffee in one hand.

“Where are Parker and Sophie?” Eliot asked, his unease at their absence growing now that Nate had shown up and they still hadn’t; he knew they could take care of themselves, but that didn’t stop him from worrying.

“Trying to find a coffee stand that will make a decent cappuccino and let Parker put half a bottle of syrup in her hot chocolate,” Nate relaxed back in his chair, not looking particularly distressed by their current situation, “you want anything?”

“No,” even the idea of coffee made his stomach roll; he knew he needed to eat something to settle it, but eating sounded like a terrible idea at the moment.

“Find anything yet?” Nate looked at Hardison over Eliot’s hunched back.

“Nothing,” Hardison shook his head, “plus I still can’t find us anywhere to stay. Everything is full.”

“Eliot?” Nate asked, glancing down at his phone when Sophie texted him a warning that Parker had managed to put six extra pumps of mocha in her hot chocolate without the barista noticing.

Nate wasn’t sure if he should be impressed or terrified. He settled on asking Sophie to grab a bottle of Gatorade for Eliot, then slipped his phone back into his pocket.  

“Nothing,” Eliot handed Hardison’s phone back to him, then slumped forward again, “three of the re-routes were requested by the pilots, four of them were made by air control. They tried to re-route Sophie’s flight to a larger airport, but the storm shifted, and they had to send it here. The pilot on your flight was retired air force. He kept using air force codes and the tower was giving him shit about it. Hardison’s pilot kept flipping his call sign and his co-pilot kept cutting in to correct it. Re-routes all make sense for the way the two storm fronts are shaping up.”

“What does that mean?” Hardison glanced at Nate over Eliot’s back, a slight tip of his head in the hitter’s direction.

“It means that there’s nothing there,” Nate dropped his free hand to the back of Eliot’s neck and began kneading, “if they were trying to pull something, they would have made sure everything was perfect in the logs in case someone went back to review them. Which means everything is pointing to this just being a really weird coincidence.”

“There is no way this is a coincidence,” Eliot grumbled, grateful to have some of the tension finally ease out of his shoulders under Nate’s hand.

“The world is a strange place,” Sophie’s very expensive and highly inappropriate for snow storms shoes appeared in Eliot’s line of sight, “you look awful, sweetheart.”

She pressed a kiss to the top of his head before going to sit on Hardison’s other side, leaning over his shoulder and sipping her coffee as she watched him continued to try to find them a place to stay.

“Do you have any real shoes with you?” Eliot gripped at her.

“I’ll have you know, I could buy two sets of those fancy kitchen knives you love so much with what these shoes cost,” Sophie said in mock offense, “but I do have weather appropriate shoes if that’s what you’re asking. I’ll dig them out once we decide on our plan.”

Parker planted herself on the floor at Eliot’s feet and stared up at him, the line of chocolate on her top lip a clear indication that she had already managed to down her hot chocolate. Eliot just raised his eyebrows at her. He couldn’t deny, he felt better having all four of them close, knowing that at least they were in reach if something happened.

“Our plan is to find someplace to stay to wait out this storm,” Nate continued rubbing Eliot’s neck, “if the weather report is right, we could be stuck here for the next three or four days, and I don’t think any of us want to spend that long sleeping on airport benches.”

“Whatever we end up doing, we should stick together,” Eliot insisted.

Eliot knew he was paranoid, and he knew sometimes that paranoia was justified and sometimes it wasn’t. The problem was, it didn’t matter if there was actually someone out to get them, or he was just tired and his brain was defaulting to ‘danger,’ it all felt the same. It felt like his team was in trouble, and he needed to do something, needed to make sure they were safe.

“We are definitely sticking together,” Hardison grumbled, “I’ll be lucky if I can find even one room for us.”

“You hurt your shoulder again,” Parker frowned up at Eliot.

Nate’s hand went abruptly still on the back of his neck, and Eliot glared down at Parker. He had been careful about not showing the injury, but this was Parker, and her observation skills were frighteningly good. Her sense of tact, not so much.

“I just dislocated it,” Eliot did his best to sound dismissive, “it’s fine.”

“When did that happen?” Nate demanded.

“Does it matter?” Eliot was not interested in having this argument again.

“I need to know when you’re hurt on a job,” Nate squeezed his neck briefly, then went back to kneading at it.

“It’s fine. Popped it back in, no problem. It wasn’t worth throwing Sophie’s exit off for,” Eliot should really have straightened up and pulled away, but he couldn’t muster the energy to, “it happens… sometimes.”

He caught himself before he could say “all the time,” partly because that was definitely the wrong thing to say right now and partly because it wasn’t really true. There was permanent damage in his left shoulder that made it slightly more prone to dislocating, but it didn’t happen all the time.

“Tell me next time it happens,” Nate pulled his hand away, and it was everything Eliot could do not to follow it.

“You want me to tell you next time I skin my knee too?” the hitter asked peevishly.

“Yes!” the rest of his team chimed in.

“You’re all ridiculous,” Eliot grumbled at them, but he couldn’t help the quiet warmth that pooled in his chest.

“You should wear a sling after you dislocate it,” Parker leaned her head on his knee, still looking up at him, “it makes it feel better.”

“I don’t have a sling,” Eliot pointed out, “it’s fine.”

“You have pain meds,” Parker reached back to drag one of his bags closer.

“Need to eat something before I take any more,” Eliot used his foot to push the bag away from her; he would definitely end up retching if he tried to take even the over the counter stuff right now, and he’d rather not, “leave that alone. We need to figure out our next move.”

“You’re going to drink this,” Nate opened the Gatorade bottle Sophie had slipped him before handing it to Eliot, “and we’re going to have to think outside the box if we want to find a place to sleep tonight.”

Eliot glared at the radioactive yellow color, but took it anyway. Nate wasn’t wrong; he needed the fluids. He should have had Sophie grab him some tea though. Even crappy airport tea would have been better than Gatorade. He forced himself to finally sit up so he could drink, and Nate’s hand fell back to the nap of his neck and started kneading again. Eliot leaned back into it under the guise of settling into his chair more comfortably.

“We could buy a house,” Sophie suggested, only half joking.

“We could steal a house,” Parker grinned, head back to resting on Eliot’s knee, “that would be faster. Also more fun.”

“I could kick someone out of a room,” Hardison squinted at his phone, “but that seems like kind of a shitty thing to do.”

“Oh! Find someone who’s a jerk and kick them out,” Parker shifted so she could look at Hardison over Eliot’s knee, “then it would be okay, right Nate?”

“It would be… less not okay,” Nate offered, clearly amused, “but let’s call that plan D.”

“Can stealing a house be plan A?” Parker asked eagerly.

“No,” Nate snorted, “but it’s definitely ranking above sleeping in the airport for three days.”

“Sleeping in the airport better be plan Z.” Sophie huffed.

“No,” Hardison grinned, “plan Z has zombies.”

Eliot sipped at his Gatorade slowly, waiting to gauge how it would settle on an empty stomach, and tried to prioritize what they needed to do. Security and the team’s safety was always his first priority, but he needed to get his brain to let that go for a little bit so he could figure out what they would need to manage being snowed in in a tiny town for a week, because Nate’s estimate of three days was generous if the weather reports were even half right.

His brain was not cooperating. The airport was overcrowded with angry people who were looking at being stuck there for days with no other options, and every aggressive gesture and raised voice had his eyes jumping to the person, assessing the level of threat, then skittering away to the next one. There could be a threat there somewhere; the five of them ending up together some place they hadn’t intended to be felt like a trap.

He needed to get them out of here. That seemed like a good first step.

“Do we have a car?” he interrupted Hardison’s detailing of plan Z, which he had heard way too many times.

“Yeah, I reserved us a van as soon as I got in,” Hardison confirmed, “ain’t fancy, but they’re supposed to put the chains on for us.”

“Maybe we should just get out of here then,” Eliot gave the half full Gatorade bottle a disgusted look, “we should aim for getting enough supplies for all of us for at least a week, just in case, and it’s early enough that the grocery stores might still be open if the blizzard hasn’t shut them down.”

Somewhere behind them a disgruntled businessman got unnecessarily loud with airport personal and one of the meandering security guards started to make his way towards the disturbance. Nate felt Eliot tense under his hand and shift his weight to a position it would be easier for him to get up in a hurry from. Parker was starting to look a little twitchy too, although being pressed up against Eliot’s knee and at least partially sheltered from the chaos of the terminal was probably helping.

“I’m not keen on the idea of driving out into a blizzard with no final destination in mind,” Sophie frowned.

“Living out of a van with five other people and freezing my ass off for a week,” Hardison flipped through web pages faster than Sophie could follow, “that better be somewhere after plan Z.”

Eliot knew they weren’t wrong, but Parker was hugging the leg she was resting against like a teddy bear, and he would have to step on her if he had to get up quickly to deal with trouble. It felt like the better option was to go sort out their next move behind locked doors, even if they were just car doors.

Nate gave the back of Eliot’s neck a reassuring squeeze, and Eliot pulled his ankle back, partially trapping Parker between his leg and the chair. He gave her a tired smile when she looked up at him and pretended not to notice when she started untying his boot lace. She would retie it using whatever her favorite knot of the week was.

“We’ll call sleeping in the van plan E,” Nate offered.

“That seems awfully high on the list,” Sophie complained.

“Well, then we better come up with a plan A,” Nate scoffed, “and Eliot’s right, we’re going to have to make a supply run and try to stock up. It would be better not to have to make too many trips out if the roads are bad,” he pulled his notepad and pen out of his inner pocket and passed it to Eliot, “the grown-ups don’t want to live on orange soda and coco puffs for a week, so this one’s all you.”

“Put coco puffs on the list,” Parker stage whispered to Eliot.

He snorted softly, but put it down first. He was acutely aware that Nate was trying to give him some kind of distraction to focus on, and he wanted to be more irritated by it than he was, but focusing on something besides the crowd and being able to organize his thoughts on paper did actually help.

It took a surprising amount of food to feed five people for a week, plus the logistics of possibly losing power, and all the other things they would need, things to cook food in, plates and utensils of some kind if the place they were staying didn’t have any, restocking the med kit, taking into account that he really didn’t feel like cooking and the rest of team’s cooking skills ranged from “probably won’t kill anyone” to “definitely will make something explode.”

“Isn’t this hiking country?” Nate asked suddenly.

“Unfortunately,” Hardison grumbled, “I’m going to go sleep on the floor in the corner over there before I’m going to camp in this though.”

“Summer vacation rentals,” Eliot filled in before Nate could, “they’ll be closed up for winter, so they shouldn’t be booked. Just make sure they have their utilities turned on.”

Hardison perked up at the idea and started searching on his phone, Sophie leaning eagerly over his shoulder again.

“Finish this,” Nate picked up the bottle of Gatorade from where Eliot had set it on the arm rest and held it out to him, “or I’m hunting down a bottle of Pedialyte for you.”

“You know,” Eliot set the pad on his knee and took the bottle from him reluctantly, “Pedialyte actually tastes better.”

“Isn’t that like baby food?” Parker peered curiously at the list, noting with satisfaction that Eliot had put not only coco puffs but also fruity pebbles and frosted flakes on it for her.

“Yeah,” Nate confirmed, “so don’t be a baby and drink your Gatorade.”

“Got one,” Hardison announced, “a lovely summer chalet with two bedrooms and a sleeping loft, full kitchen, and real wood fireplace. Also, on the grid and utilities running. It’s closed for the winter, so no rental contacts listed.”

“Can we steal it?” Parker asked eagerly.

“Let’s try just renting it first,” Nate shook his head, “see if you can get a contact number for the owners.”

“If?” Hardison snorted, “like I couldn’t do this in my sleep.”

“Stop bragging and give me the phone,” Sophie tried to snatch the phone from him as soon as the number was up, “what are we doing?”

“Family vaca,” Nate ignored Eliot’s grumble from beside him.

They called the particular grouping of IDs “family vaca” because Eliot got angry when they called it “Eliot needs to go to the ER and Nate needs durable power of attorney for him,” although to be fair, there were other ways they used this particular arrangement.

“I’m so glad I reached you,” Sophie started talking before the person on the other end of the line could even ask who was there, giving Eliot a wink as she pulled out her friendliest southern drawl.

Eliot rolled his eyes and began adjusting the list now that he knew they would have an actual kitchen. Just how well outfitted a rental’s kitchen would be could vary widely, but at least they shouldn’t need dishes and utensils, and if they were lucky, it would have a gas stove and they’d still be able to cook if the power went out.

“Add marshmallows,” Parker demanded and let go of his leg to reach for his bag.

“Stay out of my stuff,” Eliot used his foot to push the bag away from her again.

“You need your jacket,” Parker swatted at his shin, “I know you had the one with the fuzz on the inside with you; you wore it when we were casing the warehouse.”

“Other bag,” Eliot gave in, then shoved Parker gently with his foot, “don’t rearrange anything in there. It’s all exactly where I want it.”

“You always pack your bags the same,” Parker complained as she unzipped the second bag, “it makes finding things so boring.”

“It’s…,” Eliot broke off, distracted by two security guards rushing past them, heading in the direction of the meager food court.

“Almost out of here,” Nate patted his knee, “once we’ve got the cabin worked out, we’ll hit up a grocery store, then get settled for the night.”

“I don’t like any of this, Nate,” Eliot frowned at him.

“I know,” Nate agreed easily, “it’s a lot of coincidence, but it’s also a lot of moving pieced that can’t be controlled or predicted, and we do need to get moving if we don’t actually want to spend the next week stuck in the airport.”

“Coat,” Parker held up Eliot’s jacket, one of his beanies firmly on her head.

He suspected he would not be getting that beanie back, but that was alright; he had another one somewhere and Parker would need a hat once they got out of the airport. He reached for his jacket, but Parker snatched it back.

“Let me help,” she insisted, “it’s not good to raise your arm over your shoulder right after you dislocate it.”

“You know, this is not the first time I’ve done this,” Eliot let her help despite his protest, “I know how to deal with it.”

“Yeah, but you don’t half the time,” Hardison grumbled.

“If I ain’t dead then I delt with it,” Eliot glared.

“Sophie says it’s not funny to joke about that when you’re hurt,” Parker zipped up the jacket for him despite him trying to brush her hands away.

Sophie glanced over at them at her name, but continued her cheerful conversation with the rental owner, giving them little more than a raised eyebrow.

“Well, then, when is it funny to joke about it?” Nate asked, clearly bemused.

Sophie reached across both Hardison and Eliot to swat him, never once breaking the steady chatter of her conversation.

“Hat too,” Parker pulled a beanie over Eliot’s head, then tucked his hair back so it wasn’t in his face, “it’s snowing really hard. Did you put ice packs on your list?”

Eliot let her snatch the pad from him, although the fancy pen she started adding to it with looked like it was Sophie’s. He had not put ice packs on the list, but he had planned to grab a couple if they had any, along with more Tylenol and ibuprofen. He had some in his med kit, but if all five of them were going to be dipping into the kit, it would be better to stock up.

“You are just the sweetest thing,” Sophie cooed at the phone, “don’t you bother with coming out in this dreadful weather. We can manage just fine.”

Sophie hung up and grinned at the team, “the house is ours for as long as we need it. There’s a lock box on the porch with the key.”

“I can just pick the lock,” Parker protested as she pushed herself to her feet.

“It’s okay to use a key sometimes Parker,” Nate stood and started gathering up their bags, “maybe change it up a little every now and then.”

“I don’t like keys in lock boxes,” Eliot shoved himself up, “too easy to get to and copy.”

He was dizzy for a second, just long enough for Hardison to put a hand on the small of his back. Eliot stepped away from him and no one said anything. He just needed to eat something, preferably something that wouldn’t make him sick, that was all.

The team had called him far more times than Eliot cared to keep track of for that exact thing, enough times that it no longer immediately incited panic in him, since it was, more often than not, not actually an emergency, particularly where Hardison and Parker were concerned. “We ran out of cookies” and “we need more blankets for movie night” were not conversations that should have started with “I need help.”

Parker’s voice wavered though, and there was just enough panic in it to have Eliot pushing himself out of bed and looking for the nearest pair of pants.

“Where are you?” Eliot asked.

“Nebraska,” Parker sounded nervous admitting it.

“Nebra…” Eliot dropped back to the edge of his bed heavily, “Parker, I’m in Boston!”

“I know,” something that sounded very much like desperation entered her voice, “I’m lost, and you know military stuff, so you can help.”

Eliot ran a rough hand over his face and tried calm both his frustration and his anxiety. Military stuff, Parker, and lost were not things that should go together, especially when Eliot was half way across the country from her. He could deal with that later though. For now, he needed to try to get her out of whatever mess she had gotten herself into. 

“What’s going on?” he did his best to keep his voice level; Parker could and would shut down on him if she thought he was angry with her.

“I got a tip that there was a stash of stolen World War II paintings hidden in an old cold war bunker in Nebraska,” Parker’s voice came across calmer now that she knew Eliot would help her.

As if that had ever been in questions.

“You’re lost in a cold war bunker?” Eliot couldn’t help the rise in his voice.

“I had the route all planned out, but then I got turned around, and all the halls look the same,” Parker snapped.

“They do that on purpose,” Eliot snapped back.

He could charter a private jet and be there in six hours, maybe five if he threw enough money at the charter company. He could call in a favor with one of his military buddies, and maybe, if he was really lucky, be there in four hours, but favors from military buddies could be complicated, and Parker would be fine for an extra hour or two… probably… maybe.

“See, you know military stuff,” Parker huffed, “tell me how to get out. There are markings on the walls, but I don’t know what any of them mean.”

There was a chance Eliot wasn’t going to know either. He had been in a handful of top secret military bunkers in his life, both with and without permission, but none of them had been cold war era, and while notation and signage was kind of standardized, it did change over time and a certain percentage of secret bases put up signage to intentionally confuse people.

He could at least try to talk Parker through, he guessed. She didn’t seem to be in immediate danger and if he could help her find her way out, that would be faster than her having to wait for him to get there.

“Okay, stay on the line and tell me what you see,” Eliot directed.

“I can’t,” the nervousness was back in Parker’s voice.

“Can’t what?” Eliot scowled, wishing Parker was there for him to scowl at.

“I can’t stay on the line,” Parker clarified, “I had to climb to the top of this big round room to get a signal, but I don’t think there’s any way out through here.”

“You climbed to the top of a missile silo,” Eliot said flatly.

“There’s no missile,” Parker countered, as if that was the problem.

This team was going to be the death of him, he just knew it.

“Okay, you are going to tell me exactly where this bunker is,” Eliot said firmly, “and I’m going to tell you what to look for so you can try and find your way out. You’re going to call me any time you can get a signal, and if I don’t hear from you with in an hour, I’m flying out there to get you.”

He kind of wanted to make the last part a threat, but neither of them would have believed that.

“Okay,” Parker agreed.

She listened carefully as Eliot explained how military notation usually worked, repeating the information back to him when he asked. Then, he had to let her hang up.

It was a very long four hours while Eliot was forced to wait for Parker’s irregular calls. He spent the time pacing restlessly, running through every possible scenario and outcome, all the things that could go wrong, from Parker getting hurt, to getting lost and not being able to reach him to tell him, to finding herself locked behind failsafe doors that didn’t unlock once they had been triggered, to the owners of the stash coming back and catching her or just killing her on the spot.

He almost chartered the flight out twice, but both times he was interrupted by Parker calling, and he hung up on the hold music to answer.

Finally, finally, though, Parker found her way out, and Eliot could hear crickets chirping and the wind rustling in the grass when she called, and he felt like he could breathe again without something trying to crush his chest.

“Thanks, Eliot,” Parker chirped, apparently none the worse for wear. Eliot was feeling much worse for wear and did not appreciate the cheerfulness.

“Now that I know how to get around, I should go back and get the paintings,” Parker continued happily, “there’s supposed to be…”

“No, you will not,” Eliot cut her off with a snarl, “you are going to get on the next flight home, and if I don’t see you in person in the next eight hours, I’m going to take all the diamonds you have stashed under the floor at that warehouse you own on 9th street, sell them for half of what they’re worth, and give all the money to a clown school.”

“I didn’t know you knew about that stash,” Parker said meekly, then added in a somewhat horrified whisper, “clowns have schools?”

That was definitely not the thing to be horrified about here.

“Eight hours, Parker,” Eliot said firmly, then hung up.

He slid to the floor and leaned back against his bed, muscles aching from the constant tension vibrating through him for the last four hours, and pressed his forehead to his knees. He didn’t think Parker really understood just how much trouble she had been in. Some of those underground facilities were huge, and with no easy way to stay in touch with her, it could have been days, if not weeks, until they found her, and that wasn’t even taking into account the possibility of her getting caught, and what the people who caught her would do to her.

He was glad she had called, glad she hadn’t waited until she was starting to suffer from dehydration and hunger, or the guys who the stuff belonged to came back and started shooting, but it was hard to quantify just how much stress his team created for him.

He glanced down at the floor where he had dropped his phone. He was tempted to call Hardison and ask him to track Parker and make sure she really didn’t go back down into the bunker, or Nate, so he would chew Parker out before he took on the job of recovering and returning the stolen art, or even Sophie, just to have someone to rant to. Anyone, just so he didn’t have to sit here alone with his frayed nerves.

Instead, he shoved himself to his feet and went to go spend some quality time with his punching bag. It wasn’t like he was going to get anymore sleep any time soon.

********

Seven hours and forty-three minutes later, Parker appeared next to him so abruptly he almost dropped his spoon into the stew he was stirring.

“Please don’t sell my diamonds,” Parker said quickly.

Eliot contemplated smacking her with the spoon. Not hard, just enough to sting. Maybe a little hard. He could say she had startled him and it was reflex.

Parker hugged him before he could decide, and he was forced to put the spoon down so he didn’t get stew on her shirt.

“Thank you for helping me,” she ducked her head against his shoulder.

Eliot sighed heavily and wrapped his arms around her, “anytime, darling.”

Because he always wanted her to call. No matter what, he wanted her to call him if she got into trouble. He didn’t want to find out about it after it was too late to do anything.

“Also, Sophie said you probably weren’t really going to sell my diamonds, and that you were just worried about me because you care, and I should apologize for scaring you,” Parker squeezed him a little tighter, “so, sorry for scaring you.”

Eliot wasn’t sure if Parker really understood what Sophie had been trying to tell her or was just doing what she thought would make him less upset with her. Either one seemed like progress in a certain way, and at least she was safe now.

He pressed his face into her hair and closed his eyes.

“I really would have sold your diamonds,” he assured her.

“Oh,” Parker frowned into his shoulder, “does that mean you care a lot or that I scared you a lot?”

“Yes,” he grumbled.

“Okay,” Parker was quiet for a moment, her grip still tight around his shoulders, “will you help me burn down all the clown schools?”

“No!” Eliot gave her a quick, hard squeeze, making her squeak, then let her go, “go set the table. Dinner’s almost ready.”

“Okay,” Parker grinned at him, then hesitated before kissing him on the cheek, “you scare me sometimes, too.”

It was understandable. This was the third lead on her mother in as many months that had come to nothing. Carmen had both patience and persistence in abundance, but the repeated disappointment of their leads yielding no fruit time and time again was beginning to wear on her.

Out in the water, Zack shrieked at a decibel that was normally reserved for emergency signals and toddlers, only to be cut off by his sister shoving his head under. Shadowsan was relatively sure that Zack could swim, or at least that his sister wouldn’t let him drown, but it might bear asking about eventually.

“Player said you were considering spending a few extra days…” Shadowsan turned to Carmen, only to trail off when she let her forehead fall to rest against his chest.

It wasn’t that Carmen had ever shown any particular aversion to physical affection, she just never seemed very interested in it, never sought it out or initiated it. She was, as Zack had so eloquently put it, ‘good at using her words’ instead.

So he moved with a certain caution when he brought one hand up to rest on the back of her head, as if she would spook, or perhaps that this wasn’t what she needed or was asking for.

“Carmen?” he asked softly when she didn’t move, not to explain herself or to wrap her arms around him in a proper hug.

“I think I should stop looking,” Carmen’s voice was soft, almost lost in the fabric of his shirt, “if she’s a civilian, I’m only putting her in danger. If she’s a thief, she may just not want to be found, and that’s why she never came looking for me.”

“I do not believe that,” Shadowsan took the chance of wrapping his other arm around her, drawing her closer, and she let him, “it is far more likely that she thinks you died when your father was killed. A civilian would not have the resources to look deeper into the matter, and if she was a thief of Wolf’s caliber, then she would know that Vile does not leave loose ends.”

Carmen shifted closer to him, hands coming up to grip at his shirt.

“I cannot imagine a world where your parents could possibly be any less proud of you than I am,” he told her carefully.

He had told her before how proud he was of her. He was certain he would tell her again. Saving her was, by far, the best thing he had ever done.

“Whatever you decide, I will support you,” Shadowsan pressed a kiss to the top of her head before he could think better of it, “always.”

Carmen breathed out slowly before shifting enough to look up at him, “I’m glad you left loose ends.”

“As am I,” Shadowsan smiled at her.

Behind them there was a shout of terror followed by Ivy’s ruckus laughter.

“That fish touched me!” Zack scrambled away from the waves as if they were trying to bite him.

“It’s the ocean, bro,” Ivy managed between snorts of laughter, “the fish was here first.”

“So, Zack and Ivy want to spend a few days at the beach,” Carmen shifted, tucking herself neatly under Shadowsan’s arm, ‘want to go case some museums and not steal anything?”

“You’re my boyfriend,” she said with an odd note of demand in her voice.

Eliot took in the wild look in her eyes, patted the hand digging into his bicep, then gave the girls on the bar stools beside him an easy smile, “excuse me ladies.”

He led Parker over to a quiet spot behind the billiard tables before prying her hands off his arm, then leaned against the wall casually, effectively blocking the view of her from the rest of the room.

“Why am I your boyfriend?” he asked, “I thought Hardison was your boyfriend, or whatever you’re calling it.”

“Hardison doesn’t look scary,” Parker folded her arms across her chest and hunched her shoulders, “I need a boyfriend who looks scary because Nate said I shouldn’t stab people just for talking to me…”

“I’m pretty sure that only applies to when we’re running cons,” Eliot tried to interject, but Parker kept going.

“And Sophie said I should use my words first, but I did and he still kept talking to me, and then his friend with the oily hair started talking to me too, and I want them to stop talking to me and looking at me and… and… being there,” Parker was breathing hard by the time she finished, practically trembling with the particular frustration of not knowing what to do with people when she had been told not to do what she really wanted to.

“Hey,” Eliot dropped his hands onto her shoulders, “who do you need me to scare?”

All of the tension dropped out of Parker’s shoulders, and she pointed to a pair of drunks who had sauntered over to the girls Eliot had been talking to. They kept casting fugitive glances in Parker and Eliot’s direction. The vet tech made a motion towards one of them as if she was cutting something open with a scalpel, probably him, and he looked a little green in response. Neither girl looked enamored with the attention.

“Come on,” Eliot dropped his arm around Parker’s shoulders, pulling her safely against his side, and she relaxed into him, “let’s go scare some drunks.”

Said drunks twitched nervously when Eliot walked up to them.

“There’s no rules against talking to pretty girls,” the one with slightly less oily hair said defensively before Eliot had even said anything.

“You should leave,” Eliot suggested with a menacing smile.

“We can be here if we want,” the oiler of the two tried to square up his shoulders and look bigger, “you don’t own the place.”

Out of the corner of his eye he could see Nate and Sophie had stopped their flirt-fighting to watch, ready to step in if they needed to. They wouldn’t need to though. Eliot probably wasn’t even going to need to punch anyone.

“You know, noses just break so easily,” Eliot cocked his head to the side just slightly, “there’s this little bone in there called the vomer. Usually it just breaks, but if you hit it just right, you can drive it right through the sinuses and into the brain cavity. It’s a pretty cool trick, actually. Takes a lot of practice.”

The drunks exchanged nervous glances.

“Wanna see?” Eliot asked cheerfully.

Parker hid her giggles against Eliot’s shoulder as the drunks decided discretion was the better part of valor and beat a trail to the door. Across the room, Nate smirked at him and Sophie smiled, then they went back to whatever it was that passed as quality time for them.

Eliot’s previous conversation partners seemed just about done with the attention of strangers, so he gave them a friendly wave and walked away, Parker gliding happily at his side.

“So what are we doing now?” Parker asked.

Going home seemed like a reasonable response, but Parker was still full of jittery energy, and it wasn’t that late yet.

“Come on,” Eliot started towards the door, “let’s stop by the store and grab what we need to make brownies, then we can see if Hardison wants to watch a movie or something.”

“The fudgy kind with chocolate chips?” Parker latched onto his hand eagerly.

“Sure,” Eliot shrugged.

‘And peanut butter frosting?” Parker all but vibrated with excitement.

“Have you eaten anything that wasn’t sugar today?”  Eliot asked as they stepped outside.

“Frosted flakes are made of corn,” Parker offered, “that makes them a vegetable.”

“We’ll pick up something to make for dinner, too.” Eliot gave a long suffering sigh.

“Waffles!” Parker cheered.

“I’m making you brownies. We’re having stir fry for dinner,” Eliot said firmly.  

“But peanut butter frosting!” Parker swung their hands together.

“Yes, Parker,” Eliot smiled despite himself.

“Will do,” Ryner nodded, “weshould spike his tea with chamomile or something and see if we can get him totake a nap.”

“Maybe as a parting gift onhis way out,” Shiro laughed softly, “what is he working on?”

“He’s studying for finals,but I’m not sure which ones,” Ryner squinted, trying to make out the titles onthe stacks of text books, “it probably wouldn’t hurt to get some food into him.I don’t think he’s eaten since he got here, and that was right after lunch.”

Lance reached up blindly forhis mug, balanced somewhat precariously on top of a stack of books. He tried totake a drink, but upon finding it was empty, let his head fall to the tablewith a thump. Ryner and Shiro winced.

“Definitely time for asnack,” Shiro straightened from the counter, “he’s been doing peppermint whitemochas lately, hasn’t he?”

“On the rare occasion that hegets something besides a drip, yes,” Ryner nodded, “peppermint white chocolatehot chocolate, then?”

“Yeah, thanks,” Shiro headedin the direction of the large soup pots behind the counter, “I’ll get him somesoup, and we’ll see if we can get him at least a little de-stressed.”

Shiro opened the lid of thewarmer pot, and took a deep breath of the warm, spicy smell. Hunk wanted to dosomething new every day for their soups, but they were always so popular thatcustomers wanted to have them again. Shiro had finally talked him into doing aweekly rotation based on the season.

Today was borscht or cinnamonspiced sweet potato. They were well into the evening and out of borscht, but therewas still enough sweet potato soup for another cup or two. Shiro ladled out acup and dropped in a double helping of maple croutons. Hunk had had to makeextra croutons because the staff kept snacking on them.

“Hey Lance,” Shiro came to standin front of the table, a wall of books between he and the young man.

Lance pushed himself up witheffort, blinking tiredly at Shiro, “hey Shiro. Are you guys trying to lock up?I can get this stuff out of here.”

“Nope, you’re good. We’reopen late during finals, so you’ve got a couple hours still,” Shiro reachedover the pile of books to set the cup of soup in front of Lance, “do me a favorand eat that though. We’re trying to finish off the last of it so we can cleanthe pot.”

Lance gave him a suspiciouslook, but the soup smelt good, and he hadn’t eaten since lunch. He picked upthe spoon and dug in.

“Hunk is a genius,” Lancesighed happily in-between spoonfuls.

“I know,” Shiro grinned andslid onto the bench next to Lance, stretching out his legs, “that’s why I hiredhim.”

While Lance ate, Shiro eyedthe piles of books. There were a handful of texts, Introduction to ChineseLiterature, Ecology of Coastal Wetlands, and Organic Chemistry. The rest werelibrary books, including a pile of Monkey King comic books.

“So how many finals do youhave left?” Shiro asked.

“Finished the paper for litand the research report for bio, but that,” he waved in the direction of thechemistry book, “is an abomination to mankind.”

Shiro snorted softly andreached for the chemistry book, flipping it open.

“I had to take a level twochemistry, but everyone said p-chem is awful,” Lance let his head fall backdown on the table, “I like biology though, so I thought organic chemistry mightbe okay, but it’s not. It’s awful! And if I don’t get at least a B on the final,I’ll fail the class, and it’s too late to withdraw and get a refund and I can’tafford to lose a whole class worth of tuition, but none of this makes any senseat all and…”

“Whoa, Lance, slow down,buddy,” Shiro set the book down and started rubbing circles on Lance’s back whenhis voice dissolved into sniffles, “it’s going to be okay.”

“No, it won’t,” Lance pushedhimself up and rubbed his eyes on his sleeve, “I can’t figure it out, and I’m goingto ruin everything.”

“No, you’re not,” Shirosqueezed his shoulder, “because I happened to have staffed my café withgeniuses.”

As if on que Ryner appearedat the table, setting a mug piled high with whipped cream and topped with blueglittering stars in front of Lance. Lance blinked at it dumbly, then lookedbetween Shiro and Ryner.

“On the house to make up forcutting you off from caffeine,” Shiro grinned at him.

“… I’m cut off?” Lance gavehim an utterly confused look.

“Definitely,” Shiro nodded,“but Ryner knows every science known to humanity, so I suspect she can help youmore then another round of caffeine.”

“Only a slight hyperbola,” Rynergave Shiro an amused look, motioning him up, “about the science, not thecoffee. You really don’t need any more.”

Shiro stood, giving Lance’shair a ruffle before letting Ryner slide into his spot.

Lance looked between the twoof them, eyes suspiciously bright before he dropped them to stare down at hisglittering drink. He sniffled, rubbed his eyes on his sleeve again, thenstraightened his shoulders.

“Thank you,” he smiled up atthem, still looking a little teary eyed.

“It is my absolute pleasure,’Ryner smiled back, “drink your hot chocolate while it’s still warm, and give mea few minutes to look over your study guide and text.”

Lance handed the papers andbooks over to her, then started making his way through the mount of starrywhipped cream with a spoon. Shiro left them to it, heading back to the counter.

As he cleaned and organizedbehind the counter, he kept glancing over at Lance and Ryner out of the cornerof his eye, their heads bowed over sheets of paper and books, Lance’s shoulderslowly unhunching. It was a little thing, but it felt good to be able to helpsomeone before they spiraled too far into despair and exhaustion. It reallyhadn’t taken much.

A laugh burst from Lance,light and easy, and Shiro felt light as well.