#leverage fanfics

She tried to move carefully across the apartment to the living room but her muscles immediately rebelled. Tender spots flared with every tentative step, sending sharp, stabbing pains through her limbs. She questioned herself if she broke a bone somewhere? Her body was protesting her overexertion; an unmistakable reminder that she’d gone too far, again. Maybe she should have stopped earlier, slowed down, listened to her body. But she just wanted to drown out the relentless, swirling thoughts filling her mind; thoughts that she thought she had locked up, the memories she desperately wanted to forget.  

As she slowly crossed the room, her hand automatically went to her side, where a sudden, sharp stabbing pain made her wince. The ache was intense enough to make her stumble slightly, but she kept going, too exhausted to stop. She didn’t notice the faint glow of the kitchen light or the figure standing silently in the shadows, eyes fixed on her. She was only a few feet from the couch where she could rest and sleep for a few hours when she heard a quiet cough, followed by a familiar, incredulous voice: “Parker, what the hell did you do?”

Eliot was in the kitchen, a bandana wrapped around his head and a dish in his hand, carefully washing it in the sink. His sharp eyes caught sight of her the moment she entered the room. His expression tightened as he took in her battered condition; bruises, torn clothes, and the weariness etched into every line of her face. A flicker of concern flashed behind his eyes. Without hesitation, he set the dish down and moved swiftly across the room, closing the distance in just a few quick strides.

“Parker.” He says again, grabbing her attention off the floor and for her to look at him.

She paused briefly, trying to dismiss it with a nonchalant shrug. She’d endured worse injuries both on the job and during training; but there was something in Eliot’s gaze that made her feel uncomfortably exposed. “Just some training,” she mumbled, her voice strained and weary, her body slipping against the wall for support. The attempt to appear unaffected only highlighted how much she was hurting, both physically and emotionally. “I was just going to get some sleep, then head to my place to clean up. I didn’t think anyone would be here with Nate and Sophie gone.”

Eliot’s eyes narrowed. “Training,” he repeated, his tone unimpressed, half suspecting she might not be telling the whole truth. What the hell kind of training was she doing? He stepped closer, scrutinizing her with a practiced look, bruises spreading across her arms, scratches marrying her face, a faintly bleeding cut near her temple. His jaw clenched. “You look like you’ve been through a war. Sit down.”

Parker hesitated, her stubborn streak kicking in despite her body’s protests. She was used to handling things herself, and she wasn’t about to admit weakness. “I’m fine, Eliot,” she insisted.

He, however, wasn’t convinced and wasn’t about to let her dismiss him. “You’re not fine,” he said with conviction. “Come on. You’re too exhausted to argue.” Without hesitation, he reached out and carefully but insistently guided her toward the couch, easing her down gently. She sank onto the cushions, wincing. 

Eliot looked at her carefully for a moment before sighing softly. “You’ve got a lot of small cuts and bruises. Let me help you clean them up.” His tone was gentle, a warmth in his voice that Parker liked to tell herself was meant just for her. She has never heard him use that tone with anyone else but her.

Too drained to argue further, Parker simply nodded, trusting Eliot to take care of her; he always did. There was a reason she turned to him whenever nightmares haunted her, when she didn’t want to be alone or had an injury. She briefly wondered if tonight he would ask why she hadn’t come to him, if he’d notice her reluctance or the shadows behind her eyes.

Her eyelids fluttered closed for a moment as she leaned back, the sting of her injuries sharp in her senses. Eliot moved with practiced precision, retrieving antiseptic wipes, bandages, and ointments from a nearby kit he kept in the kitchen; he was the unnamed team’s medic after all. Carefully, he began cleaning her scrapes and small cuts, his touch gentle as he dabbed away dirt and blood from her face.

“Just stay still,” he murmured gently, his voice almost a whisper. “You’ve been pushing yourself too hard again, haven’t you? We’ve gone over this before. Instead of overexerting yourself during training, you’re supposed to come talk to me.”

She grimaced as he dabbed at a particularly tender bruise on her shoulder. He was right; they'd discussed this before when she fainted in his arms in the middle of a training session after not eating for twenty-four hours. If she was struggling with her feelings, she was supposed to come to Eliot, and he would help her work through it. The two had an understanding with each other unlike the rest of the team members. “It’s just… training… part of the job,” she muttered, her voice lacking conviction. Her muscles were tight and sore, every part of her aching and she regrets not going to Eliot like she promised him weeks ago..

Eliot looked at her seriously, then shifted his hand to gently hold her wrist, pressing slightly. A flicker of frustration crossed his face when she moaned in pain. “You’re not invincible, Parker. If you keep pushing like this, you’re going to get into real trouble. You’re not a machine, you’re human.” His tone softened, but his eyes burned with concern. “That should mean a lot coming from me.” 

And the words do mean a lot coming from Eliot’s mouth to Parker’s ears.

He finished cleaning the minor wounds and carefully began to bandage her left wrist. “Not broken Parker, just sprained,” he said softly, his tone reassuring. Parker gives her a nod. Parker’s skin was slick with sweat, and her breathing was uneven. She was doing her best to maintain her composure, but her eyelids fluttered open as Eliot’s hands tightened the bandage around her wrist.

Once all her injuries were taken care of, Eliot paused for a moment, then gently placed his hands on her shoulders. “Can I?” he asked softly, his voice cautious and caring.

She looked at him, a flicker of hesitation crossing her face before she nodded slightly. “Yeah,” she whispered.

Eliot’s fingers moved to her tense muscles, and he began to knead and massage them slowly, his touch deliberate and gentle. A soft moan escaped her lips, and Eliot couldn’t help but briefly grin at the sound. His hands were firm but careful, working out knots and releasing tension in an effort to bring her some relief. Parker winced at the pressure, a sharp intake of breath slipping past her lips. 

“Sorry,” Eliot muttered, pulling back slightly. “Didn’t mean to hurt you.”

She shook her head weakly, her eyes closed. “No, it’s… okay. It’s just… sore. Don’t stop, please.”

Eliot nods gently, even though he knows she can’t see him. He’s a little surprised that she’s allowing him to touch her like this. But he understands, trust isn’t given lightly from Parker and her allowing him to touch her like this, it means she trusts him a lot. It warms his heart, knowing she’s letting her guard down with him.

He continues to work on her muscles, his movements deliberate and soothing, each press and knead aimed at easing her tension. “You shouldn’t push yourself like this,” he said softly. “I’m not going to yell at you for what you did tonight.” He understands. “I do wish you’d come to me though. You’ve punished yourself enough for whatever’s going on in your head.  Just let me do this, and wait until you’re ready to talk.”

He pauses for a moment, fighting the urge to say more. Instead, he restrains himself from mentioning that next time she trains, he should go with her; so he can make sure that she doesn’t push herself to injury or exhaustion. But he keeps those thoughts to himself, knowing she is not ready for that conversation yet.

She opened her eyes, turning her head slightly to meet his gaze. In that brief moment, an unspoken understanding passed between them, a silent acknowledgment of how close they were to crossing a line past friendship. Neither of them were particularly skilled with emotions; they balanced on the edge of what they felt for each other, and unsure how to explain it to each other. Yet, in that shared look, it was impossible to ignore the tension and the underlying feelings simmering beneath the surface.

“Just a little more,” she murmured, her voice strained. 

Eliot’s hands paused for a moment, then resumed, massaging her shoulders and upper back with slow, deliberate strokes. His touch was gentle but firm, working out the tension in her body. His mind was racing; partly out of concern on what was going on in Parker’s mind and partly out of something else he couldn’t quite name. He was used to being the protector for the team, but with Parker, it felt different. More personal. He wasn’t used to this feeling. 

“Parker,” he starts to speak quietly. “I know something is on your mind. Do you want to talk about it?”

Her cheeks were flushed, a mixture of exhaustion, tangled thoughts, and the warmth of his hands. She wanted to say something, but the words got stuck in her throat, so instead she said, "I'm trying to figure it out. It's jumbled, my head."

Eliot understood her without needing further explanation. "You're too stubborn," he whispered with a half-smile, knowing she'd heard him. He eased his hands away from her skin, leaving her feeling a slight sense of loss. "But I get it. Just promise me you'll come to me. I'll even let you win."

She hummed softly, a small, tired smile curling on her lips. “Yeah? I’ll remember that. Make you keep your word.”

Eliot sat back on the couch, his eyes fixed on her as he waited for her to make a move. Beneath his tough exterior, he cared deeply for the team, but more than that, he cared for her. Seeing her so exhausted, so vulnerable, sparked a strange sadness in him that he couldn't quite explain. “Parker...” he said softly, his voice trailing off as he searched for the right words to say.

She was leaning back into the couch cushions, now just inches away from where Eliot was sitting. Her breathing was evening out, and her muscles were loosening under his gentle touch. “I like when it’s just us, you know?” the words slipped out of her mouth, soft and unguarded. Eliot froze for a moment, surprised, silent but fully present, eager to hear what she had to say. He always listened when she spoke. “You feel like home,” she added quietly, her voice carrying a vulnerability that hung in the air between them.

She doesn’t look at him, staring at the wall of monitors that are off in the dark apartment. Eliot feels a few minutes pass, as he aborses Parker’s words of ‘You feel like home.’ repeating in his head. He thinks for a moment how those four words were the nicest four words someone ever told him.

He feels Parker’s hand hover over his for a moment before hers gently falls onto his. She whispers softly to him, “You don’t have to say anything to that.” Then, she shifts slightly, letting her head fall to rest on his shoulder. “Do you think I can sleep right here for a bit? You make a comfortable pillow.”

He’d barely managed to fumble with the keys before exhaustion finally caught up with him. Maybe he’d skip the beer, food and bath and just lay down. He could deal with everything else tomorrow. The door swung open wider to Eliot’s apartment and without warning, there she was. Parker. 

Eliot used to wonder, for a moment, how she’d managed to slip into his apartment without knocking or him noticing, but with Parker, it had become almost instinctive. He was used to her showing up unexpectedly, sometimes more times than he could count since the team had come together. She had a knack for appearing like a burst of sunlight on the days he needed her or like a gentle cloud on the days that she needed someone to lean on, someone who understood her quiet, unspoken pain. 

She told him once, they were each other’s people. He was unsure what that meant, but he understood it now.

Her bright eyes sparkled with that familiar mischievous glint, a small, knowing smile tugging at her lips. She was moving a large pot from the sink or the stove, before adding a marinara sauce that she found in his cupboard. Eliot watched her for a moment, a faint flicker of warmth blooming in his chest then a little worry despite his exhaustion. 

He shut the door softly behind him and locked it, then looked at her with a questioning gaze. “Parker, what are you doing?” he asked, voice rough but curious. There was something about her presence; so casual, so natural; that made his heart feel lighter, even in the midst of his pain. She looked so normal, so comfortable in his kitchen, like she belonged there, like she was part of this quiet space as much as he was. It was a strange, comforting feeling, and he found himself hesitant to really understand what that means, at least tonight.

“Hello, Eliot,” she chirped, giving a small, playful wave from the kitchen. Her voice carried a warmth that somehow contrasted with his mood. She carefully set the pot on the stove, the clink of metal echoing softly in the quiet apartment. She liked his apartment, it was a place she knew she could relax outside of their office and her warehouse.

He could smell that the oven was on, the faint aroma of the burner on rafting through the air. Eliot simply shot her a tired, half-lidded look, leaning slightly against the kitchen breakfast bar as he tried to process her unexpected appearance. He truly wasn’t expecting her here tonight. His eyes blinked slowly, surprise flickering across his face, but it was quickly replaced by a familiar scowl.

“Parker,” he said, voice rough from fatigue but edged with exasperation, “What are you doing here? In my kitchen. You don’t know how to cook.” His brow furrowed, memories of her last culinary attempt flashing through his mind; a chaotic scene where she’d nearly burned his kitchen down. His lips twitched into a faint, amused grimace. “Last time you tried to make me dinner, you almost turned my apartment into a fire bomb.”

He pushed off the counter, shifting his weight to stand more upright, though the ache in his muscles made him wince slightly. His gaze lingered on her, a mixture of concern and bemusement.

Parker didn’t seem to care about the last time she tried to cook for him. “Let me do this for you.” Her voice is small but she is serious. She wanted to do this for him. “Well, I am making you dinner. You make me dinner when I am not feeling food or injured. I am making you pasta with tomato sauce. It’s only pasta and tomato sauce. I know it’s simple, but you always make me food when I am healing from something, so I wanted to make you something. You say it’s important to eat when you are healing. I have been learning. I can’t make meat yet but I can make noodles…” Parker thinks for a moment. “Maybe you could tell me what seasoning to put in it…”

Eliot shot her a look, the kind that didn’t quite say “no” but carried enough weight to make her pause. He wasn’t sure what the look was supposed to tell her; maybe a mix of skepticism, affection, and a quiet acknowledgment of her effort. It was just a look, but it held a lot behind it. 

She’d been learning to cook, and Eliot felt a strange, flickering sense of pride and a tiny, selfish part of him wondered if it was because of him. Eliot has noticed how close she has been watching him the last few times that he had cooked for only her and not the whole tema.

For a brief moment, Eliot wondered if her actions stemmed from genuine concern or affection. Then he shook his head, dismissing the thought. He knew Parker cared about him, she does, but she also wanted to take care of him in her own unique way. Noone usually takes care of Eliot, not until Parker came along. The realization made him feel a little uncomfortable, unsure of how he truly felt about it. Yet, beneath that, there was a warmth that he couldn’t quite deny.

He finally broke the silence between them, his voice low, gravelly from exhaustion but tinged with curiosity of what the woman was doing. “Okay?” he echoed out loud, a bit hesitant but willing to see what she’d come up with. “Can I taste it?”

When Eliot asked if he could taste, she couldn’t help but respond with genuine surprise and joy. “Really?” Her smile widened. The words slipped out before she even had a chance to think, her voice bubbling with enthusiasm. 

She quickly grabbed a spoon off the counter where she’d set it after starting the noodles, dipped it into the sauce, and handed it to Eliot with a proud smile. Her eyes sparkled with eagerness, and her cheeks flushed a little with excitement. She really hoped that Eliot liked it, he wanted to impress him. “The website said to add garlic, basil, salt, and pepper. I put two little shakes of each in it,” she explained, her voice bubbling with pride. “I think I got it right! I know it’s simple, but good right?”

Eliot responded with a gentle, encouraging smile, taking the spoon from her and bringing it to his mouth. The sauce was a little under-seasoned, but it was good; better than he’d expected from her first real attempt. He chewed thoughtfully, appreciating the effort and the flavors, even if they were a bit shy on seasoning. “Not bad,” he muttered, giving her a soft, reassuring look. “You did good, Parker.” 

He made a mental note to offer to teach her more when he was feeling better, if she wanted that.

She stepped closer, her expression softening at Eliot’s gentle praise. She liked hearing him say she did good; those words meant more to her than she often let on. She would tell Eliot one day how much those words meant to her. A small, pleased smile crept across her face. “Hey,” she began softly, pausing until Eliot looked at her, making sure he was paying attention to her. “Thank you.” He looked at her, and she saw that quiet warmth in his eyes, the kind that made her feel like she’d done something right. She hesitated for a moment, then pressed on. “You need to rest. Come on, sit on the couch, and I’ll bring you a bowl of this. And something to drink. What do you want? Can you have a beer with your dinner? Or… I dunno, juice? Whatever you want.”

Eliot always kept juice in his fridge for Parker, she loved cranberry juice. 

She smiled shyly, her voice gentle. “And I’ll take care of the dishes before I join you.” Her gaze flickered with affection and care, eager to see him relax and let her look after him just a little.

He hesitated, glancing at the small, cluttered apartment. The idea of sitting down, of actually taking a break, was tempting. Still, Parker’s tone was gentle, her eyes sincere. He knew she wasn’t pushing hard and he could see she genuinely wanted to help him, to take care of him.

“Listen,” she continued, her voice soothing. “I know you’re tough, but even tough guys need to be taken care of. When I am hurt, you always take care of me. That’s what friends do, remember that’s what you told me? So, let me take care of you.”

Eliot looked at her, feeling a rare warmth spread through his chest. He was not used to others wanting to take care of him. But here Parker’s persistence and kindness made it hard to refuse. Finally, he sighed, the tension in his shoulders easing just a little. “All right,” he muttered, giving in. “I’ll rest. I’ll find us a movie to watch. Will you grab me a beer? Just throw the dishes in the dishwasher.”

Parker nodded softly, carefully grabbing a bowl and scooping the steaming pasta onto it. She set it down gently on the coffee table, then settled onto the couch beside him, both of their thighs touching. The glow of the TV flickered over their quiet, comfortable silence, a movie about a Librarian playing softly in the background. Eliot knew that she liked Noah Wyle since Parker confessed to him once when she had a head injury that she would go to the hospital if all the doctors looked like Noah Wyle. The empty bowls from the two of them sat on the table, a small reminder of the easy dinner she cooked.

After a few moments, she glanced at him, her voice gentle. “Can I get you anything else?” she asked softly, sitting cross-legged just inches away, careful not to lean too much toward him, afraid she might hurt him worse somehow. She didn’t want to hurt him. She knew the small touch of her thigh wouldn’t hurt him. She felt like Eliot would tell her if she was hurting him. 

“No, Parker,” Eliot replied, his tone low and steady. His eyes on the screen.

She hesitated, then asked quietly, “I don’t have to leave, right?”

He looked at her, his expression softening. “No, Parker,” he answered, a little more firmly this time.

A small, grateful smile touched her lips. “Okay. Thank you for letting me take care of you, Eliot,” she said softly, her hands twisting nervously in her lap. For a moment, they sat there in silence, the warmth of shared understanding lingering between them.

He looked at her, moving one of his hands to grab one of Parker’s, the faintest of smiles tugging at his lips. “Thanks, Parker. For coming over.”

She grinned wider. “Anytime, Eliot. That’s what friends are for.”

Tonight, the peaceful tranquility Eliot had envisioned for the evening was abruptly broken by hurried footsteps approaching the porch, followed by a sharp knock. He barely had time to leave the kitchen before the door swung open, (Eliot was sure he had it locked, which meant Parker picked the lock.) revealing Parker standing before him, her face battered and trembling.

Parker’s face was battered, bruised and swollen from the ordeal. Cuts streaked across her cheeks and forehead, and her expression carried a weariness that was hard to miss. Her left arm hung awkwardly at her side, wrist bent at an unnatural angle, revealing just how much she had been through without a word leaving her lips. Her clothes were torn and dirt-stained. She looked exhausted, her eyes darting anxiously as she pushed open the door and staggered into the house and Eliot wondered for a moment how she reached his house.

Eliot, who had been in the kitchen preparing a bowl of soup he had promised to bring her since she had the flu the last few days that kept her to her new apartment and away from the office, instantly leapt to his feet. His heart clenched painfully at the sight of her, his Parker , battered and vulnerable, standing before him. Without a second thought, he crossed the room and gently, yet firmly, grasped her by the shoulders.

"Hey," Eliot said softly, his voice thick with concern as Parker flinched beneath his touch. For a moment, he felt a pang of guilt for not asking if it was okay to touch her, but his instinct was to comfort her. "It's okay. You are okay. You are safe now." His words were promises; silent assurances that she was protected, that she was cared for and a bit of happiness that she was here for help and not trying to figure this out on her own.

Parker hesitated, blinking back tears as her voice trembled just above a whisper. "El… help me, please."

Those words hit Eliot like a punch to the gut. He’d never heard her say please before, beg like that before; never seen her so broken, not in the year and a half they’d known each other, not during the time they’d been dating, or even in the six months they’d worked together as a team. Her vulnerability stirred a fierce protective instinct within him, fueling a desire to help her and to make whoever had hurt her pay.

Gently, Eliot guided her toward the couch in the living room, knowing it was the most comfortable place in the house outside the bedroom. He helped her sit down, never taking his eyes off her, his concern evident. "Shh, shh," he whispered softly as she settled fully onto the cushions, a small kiss to her forehead then knelt beside her. "I'm going to patch you up. Just stay with me, okay? I’ve got a bandage for you. I think your wrist is broken. Definitely broken," he added, glancing at her injured wrist with a grim look. "I’ll be right back," he promised, his tone steady but gentle, knowing that is the tone that Parker needed right now. 

She looked away, trying to hide her trembling chin. She hated crying. "I'm sorry I just showed up…"

Eliot hesitated for a moment, watching her struggle to compose herself; a rare vulnerability that he saw in her. Without a word, he gently placed a reassuring hand on her good shoulder, giving a small squeeze. "Hey," he said softly, his voice steady yet full of quiet strength, wanting her to feel comforted by his words. "You're not alone anymore. I’m here, and no matter what our relationship is or isn’t, I’ll always be here for you. You’ll never have to face the world alone, Parker. My place is always open to you." He had to stop himself from saying more, from revealing just how much she meant to him. "I’ve got you. I will always get you. Let me take care of your injuries first, and then we can talk, alright?"

He rose carefully, keeping his eyes on her as he moved toward the small bathroom adjacent to the living room. There, he retrieved the first aid kit from the cabinet, along with a clean cloth and some cold packs from the freezer. His mind raced, trying to consider what else she might need, but he was prepared to grab anything necessary to help her.

Returning quickly, Eliot sat beside her on the couch, opening the kit and preparing to assess her injuries. "Can you tell me what happened?" he asked gently, careful not to push but needing to understand what she’d been through. His gaze searched her face for any signs of additional injuries she might not have mentioned, knowing that Parker could be good at hiding her pain or damage. That the woman felt like she could handle it all by herself, Eliot was trying to help her learn that he was someone that he could trust and lean on. 

Parker looked down, her voice trembling. "That new apartment; the one Sophie said I should get, the one I shouldn’t be living in a warehouse, that it’s not normal..." Her hands clenched into fists, trembling despite her effort to stay composed. The sight of Parker made Eliot heartbeat faster in his chest. "I don’t know how they got in, I missed something Eliot, I never miss anything.” She sounded exhausted. “They were mad. I had nothing to steal, Eliot. I managed to get away. I don’t remember how I hurt my wrist, but I can’t stay there anymore. An apartment, I should have just told Sophie I got one, and stayed in my warehouse when we don’t spend our nights together. I don’t want to."

Eliot inclined his head in understanding, recognizing that he wouldn’t want to remain in that situation either if he were in her place. Honestly, if Parker attempted to go back, he would stop her. Silently, he moved carefully, cleaning the cuts on her face and applying antiseptic with steady, practiced movements. “You’re safe here. No one’s going to hurt you,” he assured her gently, his voice firm with conviction. It was a promise he intended to uphold for as long as he drew breath. He was certain Parker felt secure in this place; if she didn’t, she wouldn’t be here now. Softly, he continued, softly taking hold of her wrist to evaluate if it was broken or sprained. “You don’t have to talk about everything right now. Just rest. I’ll stay with you. You’re safe here.”

They would figure out Parker’s apartment together. Eliot found himself wondering silently if maybe it was time for her to just move in with him. The two have been together for over two years, hiding their relationship from the team for the six months the five have been together. Parker could still have her warehouse, both places that Eliot had in his name had tall ceilings, vents, space for her. 

Eliot's grip on her injured left hand was surprisingly gentle, a stark contrast to the tense line of his jaw. As he examined her wrist, his eyes narrowed at the awkward angle and the early signs of swelling, which made her wince even under his delicate touch. It was likely a fracture.

"Yeah, darlin’," he murmured, his voice a low rumble, confirming his earlier suspicion. "That's definitely not sprained, probably broken." He didn't waste time on elaborate explanations. He knew the woman was smart, Parker knew her body, and she did not need medical lectures about why the bone was broken and not sprained. He carefully palpated the area, eliciting a small gasp from her. "Sorry, hon. Just gotta make sure.”

Efficiently, Eliot retrieved the necessary supplies from the first-aid kit, pulling out a roll of medical tape and a pair of tongue depressors that served as makeshift splints. He would get her proper cast materials tomorrow, after he attempted to persuade her to get an X-ray that he knows she will fight and say no too. "This will be a bit uncomfortable, but we need to stabilize it for tonight," he explained, his tone gentle. He positioned the tongue depressors along the underside of her forearm and wrist, using them to create a makeshift support as Parker nodded in understanding. With practiced hands, Eliot began wrapping the medical tape firmly, yet carefully, around the improvised splint, securing her wrist in a natural position to minimize discomfort.

Parker clenched her teeth, a tear slipping from the corner of her eye. Eliot chose to ignore it, though he silently acknowledged her vulnerability; she didn’t pull away, and that spoke volumes about the trust between them, it made Eliot proud that Parker trusted him. As he worked, he kept his tone calm and reassuring, offering a steady stream of comfort. "Almost there. Just a few more wraps. You're doing really well, Parker." Once he finished securing the splint, he carefully set her arm across her lap, handling her with gentle care.

“Alright,” Eliot said softly, meeting her weary gaze. “That’s as much as we can do here. Next, we need to head to the emergency room to get it properly set and likely get an X-ray.”

Parker opened her mouth to protest. “I don…”

Eliot paused, hesitating before stepping away from the couch. “We won’t go tonight. But you need to go, Parker,” he said softly. She shot him a look, and he added reassuringly, “We can discuss it in the morning. The soup should be ready; bow tie noodles, just like you asked. Would you like a bowl?”

Her body felt heavy, and a dull, persistent ache radiated through her chest, refusing to fade. She pressed her hand to her forehead, which was hot to the touch, causing her entire body to tremble slightly. Every movement was sluggish, limbs weighed down by exhaustion, making it difficult to sit up. She hated feeling like this and again it made the woman wonder how she got here?

She normally locked herself away wherever she was living if she got sick, but she hasn’t gotten sick since the team started working again, here in Boston. 

The room was dim, the only light coming from the hallway. She could see that her cell phone was on the charger on the nightstand, a bottle of water next to it. In her hazy state, she caught a faint but tantalizing scent, it was something savory and comforting. Chicken, maybe? She wasn’t sure, but the aroma was enough to make her stomach rumble, a small reminder that she couldn’t recall the last time she fell asleep.

With a quiet effort, she shifted her weight and swung her legs over the side of the bed, attempting to move as silently as possible. But as she stood, a faint creak echoed beneath her, betraying her presence on the wooden floor. She froze for a moment, her heart pounding, knowing Eliot would undoubtedly hear it. She wondered, for a fleeting second, just how far he would let her go before intervening. She moved quietly out of Eliot’s bedroom, each step slow and cautious as she made her way toward the open area of the living room and kitchen. But then, from the kitchen, she heard his voice.

“Parker! What are you doing up?” Eliot’s tone was warm, but there was no surprise in it; more like gentle concern. The voice carried easily across the space, and as she approached, she saw him under the kitchen lights. He was wearing a dark denim apron, a dark blue bandana tied around his head, his hair slightly damp from the steam of whatever he was cooking. 

His eyes met hers, and she could see the worry there; soft, true and genuine. And suddenly, it was her own concern she felt stirring deep inside. Was it her? Was she the reason for that worry? She felt guilt in her stomach if she was the reason he was worried.

Eliot hurriedly left the kitchen, closing the distance between them in a few quick steps. His hand reached out gently, instinctively checking her forehead with the back of his fingers. The touch was tender, warm, and concerned. Parker didn’t want his hand to go away. Their eyes met, a silent exchange passing between them. A soft sound escaped her lips when he pulled his hand away from her forehead, almost a whine, as Eliot’s gaze lingered on her.

“You still have a fever,” he muttered softly, his voice filled with quiet urgency. Without another word, he gently guided her toward the couch. “Go sit down. You need to rest,” he added, his tone tender but firm. 

Parker’s mouth opened instinctively to protest, to ask what had happened or to insist she could take care of herself, but her throat was dry and sore, and the tone Eliot used with her made her hesitate. She knew she was here in his apartment for a reason. For a moment, she considered arguing, but then she slowly relented, allowing herself to be led, shuffling toward the sofa with legs that felt weak and unsteady.

Eliot gently helped her settle onto the cushions, propping her up with an extra pillow. He reached for the blanket on the couch, carefully wrapping it around her shoulders to provide some warmth, then handed her the remote. 

His hand brushed her hair back from her face. “You’re burnin’ up, darlin’,” he said softly, his voice tender but serious. “You shoulda stayed in bed. I’m gonna grab you some medication and a cup of orange juice.” His gaze lingered on her, almost surprised when the woman didn't protest about medication, it is how Eliot knew she was really sick. “How about you find us something to watch?”

Eliot turned away, heading toward the kitchen with a promise that he would be right back. Parker wanted to ask how she had gotten here, why her memory felt so hazy, so fragmented, but the fog in her mind made it difficult to form the words. Instead, her eyes fluttered shut for a moment, exhaustion pressing heavily on her eyelids. They could find something to watch when he got back in the living room.

In the quiet, she could still smell the faint aroma of chicken from the kitchen, mingled with something else, perhaps herbs or spices Eliot had added, subtle but comforting. She was learning about herbs and spices, so when Eliot asked her what she thought of something he made, she could answer him truthfully. She remembers a few weeks ago when Sophie caught her in the kitchen tasting some spice, when Parker told her, Sophie asked if she was trying to impress Eliot. Parker remembered not knowing how to answer Sophie’s question.

A little more than five minutes passed before Eliot returned, carefully balancing a steaming bowl of soup. He placed it gently on the coffee table, the aroma of chicken and broth immediately filling the space. Inside the bowl, a couple of small ice cubes floated, intended to cool the soup just enough to make it easier for her to swallow.

He reached for two pills, placing them gently in her hand, then set a glass of orange juice in her other palm. Parker took the pills and drank the juice without resistance, the cool liquid soothing her sore throat. Eliot nodded approvingly, then disappeared into the kitchen for a moment. When he returned, another bowl of soup appeared beside the first.

“Eat whatever you can okay?” Eliot tells her. 

Parker felt a wave of gratitude that there was a second. He wasn't just taking care of her but he was joining her, making her feel less like a burden and more like a companion even if she was sick. This spoke volumes to Parker.

As he settled beside her on the couch, the warmth of his presence was as comforting as the blanket wrapped around her. The ice cubes in the soup had done their job, making it easy to spoon the savory liquid into her mouth. Each swallow soothed her dry throat, and the nourishing broth filled her with a gentle strength.

She watched him as he ate, the light of the television and wand whatever sports game was catching the faint sheen on his bandana, the focused way he held his spoon. “Thank you.” She mumbles, speaking for the first time since waking up.

Eliot glanced over at her, his eyes softening at her words, it’s only two words but they know what they mean coming from Parker’s lips.  He gave her a small, reassuring smile, the smile he saves just for her. His hand reached out, briefly squeezing hers in a silent gesture of comfort and care. 

“Anytime, darlin’. Though, you don’t have to thank me. I’m just glad you asked me to help you.” he said gently, honestly. 

They sat together in the dim glow of the television, the soft hum of the room a peaceful backdrop. And while Parker slowly relaxed, she felt herself get tired, her head falling on Eliot’s shoulder. Maybe tomorrow, if she felt better, she would confess what is going on in her head about him. 

A few miles outside of town, away from the chaos of the job, Eliot and Parker stood side by side on a weathered dock. It was Eliot who picked this spot, away from prying eyes. Parker didn’t totally understand what that meant. The planks beneath their feet creaked softly with each step, whispering stories of old times and quiet nights. The water lapped gently against the posts, and the fading sunlight reflected off its surface, shimmering like liquid gold. Eliot’s stance was relaxed, but his eyes were watchful, taking in every detail. Parker shifted slightly, feeling the weight of the day and the tension of the situation pressing down on her, even here in this peaceful moment.

Eliot had a sly grin on his face as he watched Parker fumbled with his phone for the music app. He grabs it out of her hand, so he can pick out the song, but she doesn’t say anything when he does it. Suddenly, a song started playing off his phone. “Alright, darlin’, you ready for this?” he teased, his voice low but playful, a hint of mischief dancing in his eyes. 

Parker rolled her eyes at him, a flicker of suspicion crossing her mind; was this Eliot’s idea of flirting? Is he flirting with me?

She couldn’t quite tell. “You said you’d teach me to dance, and not make me look like a fool,” she shot back, though her smile trembled just a little, betraying her nerves. Eliot always made her feel relaxed, it was like a special power of his. The last time she had to dance with someone for a job, she’d panicked and bolted when the man’s hand reached too far, touching her where he shouldn’t. That memory still made her stomach tighten, and she wasn’t eager to relive that moment. She was scared it would happen again, but she remembered Eliot telling her on the drive here that he would be in the room with her when the dance is supposed to happen, that he would break the man’s hand before anything like that happened. She trusted Eliot would protect her like he always did.

She took a deep breath, trying to steady herself. “If I step all over your toes, it’s your fault,” she added, forcing a confident tone to come out of her mouth, though her voice cracked just slightly, betraying her doubt. She hated feeling so unsure, especially in a moment she wanted to seem in control, and wanted to do good for the job.

Eliot chuckled softly, a warm, reassuring sound. “You won’t look like a fool tomorrow,” he promised gently, his eyes locking onto hers. “That’s a guarantee. You have picked up on everything I’ve taught you, you will pick up on this too. Trust me, darlin’.” He gives her a smile, a bright one. “You’re going to do good. I believe you.” He sees the redness in her cheeks, and he wonders if it is because of his words. “You just need to believe it too, okay, Parker?” His voice was steady, encouraging, and in that moment, she felt a flicker of confidence stir within her because he believed in her.

She stepped closer, her hand tentative in his. “Okay, so… what do I do, Eliot?”

He reached out, gently placing her hand on his shoulder while guiding her other hand into his. His hand settled on her waist, her hand giving a small squeeze. His hand was warm and steady on Parker’s waist. “Just follow my lead,” he said softly. “And don’t worry about what you look like. Just feel the music, and let yourself go.”

The song from his phone drifted softly across the water; a slow, easy tune that seemed to match the sunset’s quiet glow. Eliot began to sway, pulling Parker into a gentle rhythm. There are no words said between us. At first, she hesitated, unsure of her steps, but then she started to laugh, it’s a bright, genuine sound that made Eliot’s chest tighten just a little. He loved hearing the sound come out of her mouth.

“You’re terrible at this,” she teased, stumbling slightly as she tried to follow his lead.

Eliot grinned, leaning in just a bit closer, his mouth close to her ear as a soft whisper escaped his lips. “That’s because you’re trying too hard. Relax, darlin’. You’re overthinking it. Just feel the music and trust me.”

She exhaled slowly, trying to loosen her shoulders. She moved them in a small circle, back and forth, as if shaking off the tension. The closeness between them felt natural, comfortable; like an unspoken understanding passing between two people who didn’t need words to communicate. Parker found herself already wanting more of this, knowing deep down she’d be craving the feeling again. She bites her lip softly, hearing the song change on his phone.

Their bodies moved in imperfect harmony, but it didn’t matter. It was enough to be in this moment, two souls searching for their rhythm.

“You’re doing good,” Eliot murmured near her ear, his voice steady and reassuring. She could feel the faint brush of his breath and the small prickles of goosebumps rising on her arm.

Time slipped by without them noticing, the sky deepening into shades of pink and purple. Eliot’s hand found her waist again. “Okay,” Parker said breathlessly, her cheeks flushed. “I think I got it. Or at least I’m having fun pretending I do. But this won’t be the same tomorrow when the mark asks me to dance.”

Eliot chuckled softly, his eyes crinkling with amusement at the thought she had spoken aloud. She was right; tomorrow would be different and he knew that it made Parker nervous. “You’re right,” he said softly, his voice carrying a gentle warmth. “You can pretend you’re a little tipsy, or better yet, pretend you are in this moment; the sunset, me, us and the dance we’re sharing, right here and now.”

She looked up at him, her gaze steady and a small, hopeful smile curling her lips. “I can do that,” she whispered. “I can pretend it’s just me and you dancing tomorrow. Thank you, Eliot.”

A few moments pass in comfortable silence as they continue to sway gently, the soft rhythm of their movement matching the quiet hum of the evening. Parker didn’t want this to stop, she wasn’t ready for this moment to go away. Parker hesitated, then looked up at him, her voice barely more than a whisper. “Eliot… can I ask you something?”

He tilted his head, curious, a small smile playing on his lips. He wondered what was on the blonde's mind. “Shoot,” he replied, keeping his eyes on hers, still moving in sync as the last light of the sunset flickered across the water.

She hesitated for a moment, then blurted out, “Would you buy me a cowboy hat like yours?”

Eliot blinked in surprise, then burst into laughter. “A cowboy hat, huh? You want me to buy you a cowboy hat?”

“Yeah. Like the one you wear,” she repeated, her eyes shining with mischief.

He paused, a slow smile creeping across his face. “Like the same exact one?”

She nodded eagerly, a mischievous grin spreading across her lips. “Yeah. It’d look good on me, I think.”

He paused for a moment, considering her request. He feels warmed that Parker asked him to do something instead of her just stealing it like she would normally do, he wasn’t sure how he felt about it. The two had stopped dancing, standing close in the quiet of the evening, the water gently lapping at the dock and the sun almost done. He knew the two should head back soon to the rental house the team had before it got to dark. With a slow, deliberate motion, Eliot reached up and took off his black Stetson cowboy hat, holding it between his hands for a moment. Then, with a soft smile, he set it gently on her head.

“All yours, Parker,” he said softly. He steps back, taking the sight of her in the hat all in before telling her,  “I think it looks way better on you than it does on me.”

Her eyes sparkled with delight as she looked up at him. Those words Parker would keep close to her heart. “Really?” she whispered, a grin spreading across her face.

“Really,” he assured her with a warm smile. Parker notices it’s the smile that she has only seen him give her. “Maybe we should get you a pair of cowboy boots, too. Complete the look.”

The playful tone in his voice made her laugh, a bright, genuine sound that echoed softly over the water. She shook her head, still smiling. “As long as you help me pick them out,” she said, teasing. “Wouldn’t want to end up with something that doesn’t look right.”

Without thinking, Parker instinctively wraps her arms around Eliot, feeling the warmth of his body and the steady beat of his heart beneath her fingertips. She really loved touching him. For a moment, they stand close, quiet and connected, the world around them fading into the background. 

Slowly, she releases him, her grip gentle but lingering. Then, leaning in just a little, she presses a soft kiss against his cheek, her lips brushing lightly against his skin; so close to his lips but not quite there. “Thank you, Eliot. Tonight’s been a really good night.”