#leverage x reader

Not my best work but I hope you like it!

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General Taglist:  @criminaly-supernatural, @imaginesfire, @rexit-mo, @onuen, @witchygagirl, @alexxavicry,

The party downstairs has provided good cover so far, Sophie managing to keep the mark away from his office by chatting him up over a glass of champagne. You and Harry had to sneak away after the party commenced, both wearing your formal clothes, and get into the office unseen. Wasn’t too hard to dodge patrols, but now the two of you had an indeterminate amount of time before a security guard stuck his head into the office to check up on everything.

“I think I got something.” Harry says, managing to sort through some of the recently opened files. He plugs in the USB drive, quickly copying what he needs onto it.

“Me too.” You pull out a file, flipping through it and taking pictures.

Bingo.

“Uh, guys? I hate to break up the party, but you’re going to have company in about 30 seconds.” Breanna warns.

Harry straightens up quickly, slipping the USB into his pocket, and you return the file and shut the filing cabinet.

“We don’t have enough time to get out of here unseen.” You say, turning to Harry. “Do you trust me?”

“Of course.” He answers quickly.

“Then go along with me.” You knock a few things off the desk, hopping up on it and grabbing the front of his blazer to pull him in.

“Put your hands on me.” You command him, and his eyes widen.

“What?”

“Just-“ You yank him roughly, and he stumbles, nearly knocking you backwards as he braces his hands on either sides of your hips, standing between your thighs. Before he can back up, you crash your lips against his, a hand wrapping around his tie and the other hand running through his hair.

He’s surprised, at first, completely caught off guard by the suddenly passionate gesture, but he’s not an idiot. He figures out the game once he recovers from the shock, and wraps his arms around your waist, trying to be convincing but respectful as he kisses you back.

It’s easy to get lost like this, you realize. You thought this would be awkward, but your thoughts of possible discomfort are quickly dispelled as his body slots against yours, his hands splaying across your back as he continues to kiss you with a desperation that genuinely surprises you. It’s almost like he needs this. But even more surprising? You think you might need this too, as you catch yourself leaning deeper into the kiss and pulling on his tie, a gasp escaping his lips. Enough to make anyone flush.

“Excuse me?”

You pull away suddenly, as does Harry, breaking the spell. You’re both incredibly flushed, lips slightly red. Harry’s hair is a bit messy from where you ran your hand through it, sticking out at odd angles. You look over your shoulder as Harry looks past you, meeting the gaze of a very awkward guard.

“Oh! Sorry, we were just trying to…well.” You smile and clear your throat. “Trying to find somewhere quiet.”

“Well, you can’t be in here.” The guard says firmly, trying not to stare, but trying to be assertive. He doesn't seem like he's used to this. Must be a newer hire.

“We’ll get out, then,” Harry says breathlessly, nodding to you and swallowing thickly. He backs up, letting you get off the desk. Harry offers you his arm, and the two of you quickly walk past the guard and out the door, steering back towards the party.

As you both return, you glance over at Harry. Your eyes widen; his hair is still a mess. You gesture to him, glancing up at his hair and hoping he gets the message. He flushes slightly, running a quick hand through his hair to flatten it back down, and readjusts his tie to make it look a little less like you just had a make-out session. A fake make-out session. Right?

Sophie spots the two of you from across the room and smiles knowingly, raising her glass of champagne to you and winking.

“There’s no way she knows.” Harry says softly. “Right?”

“Comms. They all heard everything.” You respond, not trying to embarrass him more, but you knew that it would be an unintended side effect.

“That we did. Y’all nasty.” Breanna says, and you can practically hear the expression on her face.

“It worked, didn’t it?” You say, fixing your own hair. “We got out of there.”

“Yeah.” Harry agrees, clearing his throat. You can feel his eyes lingering on you, but you try to ignore him. Now is not the time, nor the place.

The rest of the party goes off without a hitch. Sophie gets the information she needed, and you and Harry manage to make off with the files safely. It's late when everyone gets back to HQ, and you find yourself just wanting to get out of these clothes and into the shower as you ascend the stairs.

Harry follows you up. "Hey, can we talk?" He requests quietly so the others can't hear. You pause on the stairs. "In private?" He specifies.

"Sure," You tell him, continuing up the stairs. He takes that as a signal to follow you, walking with you to your room. You let him in and then close the door behind you both, hopefully discouraging eavesdroppers. "What?"

"What do you mean, what?" Harry says, placing his hands on his hips. "Don't you feel like we need to talk about this?"

"No, I don't." You tell him, walking past him and over to your dresser to get out comfortable clothes.

"But that was... I mean, it was..." Harry struggled to find the words.

"It was what we had to do to get out of there. For the con." You say dismissively, pulling out a shirt and shorts. You don't look at him as you speak, because you know that if you do, he's going to make you confront this. You're going to have to confront this.

"So that's it?" Harry asks, and you can hear the slight hurt in his voice that pulls at your heart. "We pretend like that didn't happen?"

"It happened, Harry, but that's it. That's all." You tell him, shutting the drawer harder than you meant to. "We're friends. Just friends."

"Just friends. Right." Harry shakes his head, scoffing slightly. "I don't believe you."

"Believe what you want." You finally look up at him, trying to steel yourself.

"You're telling me you didn't feel anything at all?" Harry asks incredulously.

"I'm telling you it doesn't matter what we felt." You say firmly.

"So you felt something." Harry's eyes narrow slightly, and you feel as though he can see right through you.

"I don't know what I felt."

"Bullshit. You know exactly what that was and you don't want to admit it." He holds your gaze, and you can tell he's trying to read you. Trying to figure you out.

"Okay, fine. I enjoyed it. It felt good. Is that what you wanted to hear?" You ask him, crossing your arms.

"If it's the truth."

"It is the truth."

Tense silence settles over the two of you for a moment.

"I liked it too." Harry blurts out. He takes a deep breath. "I liked kissing you. A lot."

You kind of assumed that.

"I care about you, Harry." You tell him. "I care about our friendship. I don't want to ruin that."

"I care about our friendship, too." He responds. "But I can't just pretend I didn't feel what I felt. You might be able to forget and move on, but I can't."

"I can't forget." You say quietly, and it's true. These past few hours you've thought about that kiss more than is probably healthy. You've always been a bit distracted by him, but this is truly a new level of disturbance.

"Then why don't we try this?" Harry steps closer, gesturing between the two of you.

"What even is this?"

"I don't know!" Harry smiles, shaking his head. "That's what I want to find out. I haven't felt this way in a while, and I'd really like to explore that with you."

"Aren't you afraid?" You ask him, meeting his gaze. You want the truth from him.

"Of course I'm afraid." He says, reaching out and taking your hand. "I'm downright terrified. I don't want to lose you."

"I am too." You admit. "I don't want to lose you either. But...but I'm curious. I want to explore these feelings with you."

Harry's face breaks into a wide smile, and he gives your hand a gentle squeeze. "Good. Do you want to get dinner, then? Sometime?"

"How about when this job is over?"

"Okay." He nods, releasing your hand. "Probably for the best. We're practically on call every waking hour until this guy goes down."

You let your hand fall, and quickly find yourself missing the warmth from his hand on yours.

"Well...goodnight." Harry says, slightly awkward and unsure as he heads to the door.

"Harry, wait." You follow him, and he turns around just as he reaches the door.

You grab his face gently and press a kiss on his cheek, causing his face to heat up quickly. He looks at you with surprise at the sudden, gentle gesture, and you find yourself not wanting to let go of his face.

"Thank you," Harry says softly, hands coming up to rest over yours on his face. "That's probably not the appropriate response to a kiss." He says, a slight realization dawning in his gaze as he sighs. "I'm not very good at this, am I?'

"On the contrary, I think you were doing quite good earlier." You tease him gently, watching the tips of his ears go red. You watch his Adam's Apple bob as he swallows thickly, acutely aware of how close your body is to his. "Perhaps you'd consider an encore?"

Harry's eyes widened slightly and he nodded. "Yes, I would. I would."

"We'll have to see where dinner takes us." You give him a quick peck on the lips, unable to resist, before you release his face. "Goodnight, Harry."

"Goodnight." He takes that as his cue to leave and quickly opens the door. He gives you a sheepish smile and an awkward little wave before shutting the door behind himself.

1. your new neighbours have just moved in across the hall, but you haven’t met them yet. you’ve seen them, at a distance, but rarely. they moved in efficiently and effectively and it barely seems like you have neighbours. not that you're waiting at your door for them to come out, you have a life. work, chores, friends, things to do. but when you're wandering the halls, on your way out, coming back, you nod to the neighbours you see, give them a little wave, say hi in the mail room as you cross paths.

but your new neighbours, well, they seem interesting, and you offer them quick greetings as you pass by in hall, but you haven’t really met them yet. they don't seem the type to bring over a casserole to meet their new neighbours and you aren't either. but you suppose you'll keep passing them by in the halls and meet them eventually.

the first one you meet is Parker, when she drops down into your apartment from, where you later learn, the vents.

you’ve seen them around before so maybe you’re not as freaked out as you should be to have someone pop out of nowhere in your apartment.

you introduce yourself and ask if they’re from across the hall. her face scrunches, realizing this isn’t the intended apartment.

xe introduces xemself, and you get a name for the face. Parker.

“it’s nice to meet you,” you say, then offer aer food because you were just about to make some for yourself, why not make some for your unexpected guest too and get to know your new neighbour.

they’re a bit suspicious but accept. you ask xem to point out things they like from what you have, you whip something up, serve it on your breakfast counter and eat together in silence.

Parker had only eaten half their plate when she starts picking at it.

you knew not everyone had a good, or even neutral, relationship with food.

“did you want to take it home? have it for later? or if you’re done, we can throw it out, it’s ok. the majority of food waste doesn’t come from households,” you offer, concentrating on your own food so ae has time to process and think about it. “or, you can bring it home and decide later if you want to eat it or throw it out, or give it to a friend,” you add.

you wonder if xe likes chocolate. you offer xem some and she perks up, eyes brightening, so you grab it from the other counter.

“im not sure if it’s good or not … if you like it, you can have it.” you hold it out to aer.

they grab it and open it fast, precisely, aggressively, not giving the package an option of not opening. ae bites into it immediately. thinks about it.

“it’s good.”

you smile. you’d just bought that chocolate, but maybe you’d bought it to make new friends. “good. you can have it.”

she smiles and hums.

xe leaves a little later, deciding to take their leftovers home.

you pack it up in a container you’ll only be a little sad to lose if it doesn’t make its way back.

(and if pictures and other items start disappearing from your apartment, and then reappearing a few days later … well, maybe you have a ghost, and who were you to stop them?)

(and if you started leaving small chocolates in place of your missing items every once in a while? well, they sometimes got returned faster. maybe it wouldn’t be great for your wallet in the long run, but it seemed like a nice way to make friends, didn’t it?)

(and if your container showed up a week after Parker went home with it in the back of your cupboard … well, you’ll thank your ghost with an extra chocolate left by your missing lamp.)

2. the next neighbour that shows up to your apartment is Alec Hardison.

there’s a banging on your door. when you answer it, confused, your neighbour is immediately steamrolling into an explanation of how his wifi just went out and he’s in the middle of something urgent and doesn’t have time to fix his own and can he please come in and borrow your wifi for a bit?

you let him in but tell him that if he slows down your wifi afterwards because he’s still using it, you’ll call the super on him, so they’ll never have a moment of peace, that there’ll always be someone wandering in to check on the water pressure.

he agrees with an amused laugh, setting up on your couch. you tell him the wifi but get the sense that even if you didn’t, he’d be able to connect.

you have chores to do that afternoon and he’s still there, so you let him know that if he leaves before you get back to lock the door behind him.

he assures you he will, and you leave him to it, grabbing your phone, wallet and whatever else you need.

he’s gone when you get back, space cleaned it up bar a few missed crumbs and a note in the middle of the coffee table with his name, number and a thanks for the wifi!, no other evidence he was ever there.

(except that in the coming weeks you get the sense that your wifi is a bit faster than usual …)

(you feel like you should bake cookies.)

3. the next time it happens, it’s late and you’re just getting in bed when you hear someone at the door.

there’s scraping and muttering and you pre-dial emergency services, but don’t hit ‘call’ yet, as you creep forward, wondering if it’s just a drunk neighbour at the wrong door or a really bad (and loud) thief.

you realize who it is after they break in, thanks to his grumbling. Eliot, one of your other neighbours, the grumpy one, from what you’ve (over)heard and seen at a distance, but a good cook from the brief mentions from the other two.

he’s stumbling about in your apartment, mumbling about …

oh. he may not be drunk, but you think he’s at least in shock, drugged, intoxicated, injured something bad, maybe, because he’s fumbling around, complaining to his partners, not seeming to realize it’s not their place. you turn your phone off.

he’s grumbling to Parker about why’d xe have to hide the first aid kit, he can patch himself up himself thank you very much, he doesn’t need help and dammit Hardison why’d you have to change the lights again?, opening cupboards in your dim streetlight-lit kitchen.

you sneak to your bathroom, grab the first aid kit there and place it on the kitchen counter when his back is turned, sliding back into the shadows, though you don’t quite know why.

he turns and sees it. huffs and says, “i know you’re still upset but thanks,” to the empty air, expecting someone to be able to hear it, hiding in the shadows. not you, though. these words, softer than you’ve even heard him speak, aren’t intended for you. this version of him, more tired than you’ve seen him, soft, open, vulnerable, isn't meant for you.

and maybe that’s why. because he thinks he’s in his safe space, and able to be vulnerable with people important to him, but here you are. an intruder in your own apartment, on accident in this moment, and you don’t want him to feel like he has to pull his mask up again.

(you may know a thing or two about that.)

he takes the kit to the living room, sits on the couch with everything laid out on the coffee table and gets to work patching himself up.

you step quietly into the kitchen, hoping he doesn’t catch you and get startled, grab some painkillers and fill a glass of water. you carry it over to where he sits.

you think maybe he’s so tired, from the pain, from the loneliness, from the day, and he really thinks he’s in his own apartment that it’s normal, not out of place, to hear the almost silent sounds of people sneaking around, that he doesn’t look up.

you place the water and painkillers on the side table, and with one last look (wondering if he needs anything else), you go to your room, hoping you won’t have to wake him from his tired delusion if he tries to come to the bedroom.

he doesn’t and soon enough you fall asleep.

you find him still asleep on your couch in the morning and you think that adjusting the blanket over him would probably wake him up, so you leave him be and get to work in the kitchen, quiet as possible.

he wakes up when you’re on your second set of pancakes.

you watch him out of the corner of your eye as he sits up, clocks the first aid kit on the coffee table, then the familiar unfamiliar room. he looks your way and you give him a small smile.

“hope you don’t have any allergies, i made breakfast.” you nod at the plate laid out on the counter.

he silently walks over. suspiciously, carefully. but lowers himself into the seat and slowly brings a piece to his mouth.

this is the cook of the family, and you’re slightly terrified of not meeting his expectations. you try to focus on the batter on the pan in front of you but can’t help glancing at him to gauge his reaction.

he continues eating, a little faster, and you smile proudly to yourself, feeling like you’ve received approval from Gordon Ramsey, or a middle school date’s parents.

you don’t say much, just offer him more and make sure he knows what sort of toppings and beverages you have, eventually standing across him on the other side of the counter, eating your own breakfast, mirroring when Parker visited the first time.

when he’s done, he thanks you in a quiet, gruff, but sincere, voice.

you smile. “no problem.”

he nods and leaves.

(a few days later you find that your coffee table no longer has one shorter leg, and your bookshelves are all even.)

(you think again that you should bake cookies but worry they wouldn’t hold up to Eliot’s standards.)

4. the fourth time it happens you feel you should really reevaluate your safety procedures and reactions, because there’s someone trying to break in again, and you’re just standing there.

in your defense, it’s happened before. and like then, you can hear the person on the other side muttering to themself. you were going to open if for them and save them the trouble, but you’d heard them when you’ve gotten closer.

“-can’t do it, ha! i’ll show them, he’ll have to take me seriously when i steal all his stuff and make his computer sing every time he opens it! he can’t just cut me out, that jerk! c’mon, i’ve done this before, why won’t this door open!”

you can’t help but feel for the person (kid? they sound younger than your neighbours) and leave them be, leaning back against the wall, allowing them this one victory, and wondering if you need to reevaluate your life because your friends would be very concerned if you told them that you let someone pick your lock.

“ah ha!”

…

“oh.” they stare.

you stare back. they look young, a young adult, wide eyed to have been caught breaking into your apartment, and not their intended location.

“good job.” (your friends would be so concerned) “they’re not back yet, i’m presuming you meant to break in across the hall? 7E vs 7F, happens all the time, anyways, you can chill here for a bit in the meantime, if you want. you hungry? i was just about to make myself a snack.”

they blink. cough. “uh, yah, ok.” unsure, but willing to take a break and snoop.

you introduce yourself and head to the kitchen, gesturing that they can make themself at the counter.

she tells you her name, Breanna.

you smile at her. “nice to meet you, cheese and crackers ok?”

“yah, sure.”

you pull out crackers from the cupboards and some cheese from the fridge and set about slicing it.

“how are you so chill about all this?”

you chuckle and shrug. “you’re not the first one to break into my apartment.”

“but why’d you let me keep going if you heard me? why not call the cops or something? honestly Hardison would’ve chewed me out if he caught me.”

you shrug. “probably should’ve, but, wasn’t the first time it’s happened, and it seemed like you needed a win, didn’t want to keep you from your goal.”

you plate the cheese and crackers on your charcuterie board, a little fancier than you’d been planning, but you had a guest which was a great excuse to be posher than usual.

midway through your snacks you speak up, “if you want to get in a little faster, there’s a spare key hidden by the fire alarm at the end of the hall.” you shrug innocently, making another cheese and cracker sandwich. “just in case you wanted to … i dunno, impress them with your speed and have more time for shenanigans.”

you don’t know Breanna. haven’t seen her around here before, and didn’t know if she actually was here for your neighbours across the hall, didn’t know if she actually knew them at all. but the grin she gave you (bright and mischievous) made you think of a younger sibling’s smile when they were about to annoy their older sibling.

(it was a smile you knew well, you’d seen it plenty times before.)

“thank you!” she was out of her chair and out the door, words left behind fading and leaving you in silence once more.

you lock the door behind her and clean up the kitchen.

(really, if they didn’t want their place broken into, it’d either be secure enough already, or it’d be a good reminder for them to update their security. it’d be good for them.)

5.

the final time … a man is sent to your door.

there’s a knock one day and you’re wondering if it’s one of your Neighbours (across the hall) or one of your neighbours (anyone else in the building). you answer it and don’t recognize the person standing there. “hello?”

“hi, i’m Harry Wilson, i know-” he points to the door across the hall “-your neighbours, i was sent here to ask if i could use your balcony?”

you stare at him. you think he might usually be a confident man from the way he wears his suit, but he seems too business-like to know your neighbours (not that you actually know what they do) and he seems out of his depth. you wonder how he knows them (if he knows them.)

“who sent you?” you raise an eyebrow. you need to be sure before letting this 9-5 businessman into your apartment.

“Sophie and Hardison, and, um-” he frowns.

(he has an adorable frown.)

you don’t know a Sophie (other than Mrs. Tiller’s cat from 11C, but you doubt a cat sent him) but your phone buzzes in your pocket and you take it out.

it’s from Hardison.

he’s with us, u can trust him.

can we use ur balcony for a bit?

Harry’s harmless, dw about him, he was an evil lawyer but he’s doing better now :)

you’re not sure what ‘with them now’ means, and you’re not sure if you want to know, plausible deniability and all, but you're proud you were right about the business type.

you look back up at Harry, consideringly. you step back and open the door wider, gesturing him in. “c’mon in then.”

“thank you,” he smiles.

(he has a nice smile.)

you lead him across you apartment (feeling a little self-conscious at the homey mess that it is) and open the balcony door for him. “here you are.”

“thank you,” he repeats, and goes outside.

you watch him a moment, closing the door slowly, hearing talk to himself in a not-talking-to-himself sort of way (“yes, i have a view of the front of the restaurant and the alley…”) and wonder again just what sort of shenanigans your neighbours get into.

feeling a little confused, unsettled, off-balance, curious … you don’t quite know, you head to your kitchen and set about getting snacks ready.

you assemble a tray and with a deep breath, you take it out to the balcony.

“i brought snacks, may i join you?”

“oh, you didn’t have to, um-” he glances down at the street, whatever’s going on there “-sure, and, uh, if i start talking to myself …”

you wave him off, spreading the snacks out. “won’t hear a thing.”

he smiles, a bit embarrassed, self-conscious, awkward, you’re not sure, but he takes some of the snacks and you eat together, the wind and traffic carrying the conversation between you.

“so. i'm told you were a lawyer?”

he laughs. “an evil lawyer. i quit my practice, trying … i'm trying to do better now, help people instead.”

“a self-declared former evil lawyer. how very … good, of you. it’s good that you’re trying to help people.”

he smiles and you think he’s a bit self-conscious about it, not yet comfortable being a ‘good guy’, but you think he’ll be good at it, if it means this much to him to … redeem himself.

he shifts and you stay silent, sensing his attention has been called back to his work, and the reason you’re out on your balcony.

he responds to presumably the voices in his head, a hidden earpiece, ghosts, maybe…

you fall into companionable silence, but every once in a while, between his … work … talk, he turns and asks you questions about yourself. you return them and end up spending hours talking about all sorts of things under the sun. you find out you like similar things and he makes you laugh more than anyone not in your friend group has been able to in a while.

(and maybe when he’s distracted by relaying the comings and goings of the restaurant's back door you find yourself glancing to see if he wears a wedding ring. he doesn’t. you tell yourself not to think about it so much.)

you go inside in the middle of one of his one-sided conversations, as much as you wanted to stay (it’s amusing to watch after all), you were growing cold and hungry again, you hadn’t realized how long you’d stayed there. so you pack up the dishes and carry them inside and start on dinner, not being able to keep yourself from glancing out the window every once in a while.

it’s almost ready and you’re about to pull out dishes for two, when he comes back inside in a rush.

you raise your eyebrows, a small smile gracing your face.

“i have to go, thank you for everything,” he says on his way out.

“no problem,” you call after him. (at least you hadn’t got out dishes yet.)

you hear him pause at the door. he pops his head back around the corner. “it was really nice to meet you.”

you smile. “yah.”

then he leaves. you lock the door behind him and finish up, serving yourself and sitting at your counter to eat. alone.

(if you have to put on some music or move to the couch to watch a show so it’s not so quiet… well, there was no one to know anyway.)

+1 you don’t talk to you neighbours a lot, in fact you don’t see them all that often either. but their missing presence seems even more pronounced in the following weeks. (you feel like your plants are judging you, smitten after just one meeting??.) maybe they’re just busy, or travelling, or working, or you’re just missing each other every time, but it’s been a while since you’ve seen any of them. (and if you’re a little more eager to one of them in particular? well, that will stay between you and your plants.)

finally, on one of your days off, you take matters into your own hands and start baking.

you make two kinds of cookies, because you panicked and worried that not everyone would like one kind.

you assemble a plate to take over, hype yourself up, put your phone in your pocket, make sure your door’s unlocked so you won’t get locked out (but would it be the worst thing in the world if they had to help you break into your own apartment? … yes, if they weren’t at their apartment and you ended up locked out with only cookies for company), and knock on your neighbours’ door.

“hello?”

you don’t recognize the person who opens the door and immediately panic and wonder if they’ve moved out or if they never lived here in the first place, but then you hear Parker’s voice in the background asking who’s there.

“Sophie? who is it?” ae pops up behind Sophie and waves when she sees you. “hi!”

“hi, i brought, uh-”

“cookies!” the plate is out of your hands before you know it, brought up close to Parker’s face as xe inhales the scent of the freshly baked cookies.

you point out the two kinds. “i, uh, wasn’t sure what you liked so i made two different ones, i hope that’s ok.”

“ooooh yay!! more cookies!!” xe cheers and they’re off, disappearing with the cookies.

you hear more voices from the depth of the apartment, you think it’s Hardison who asks Parker who it was.

“um.” you’re about to return to your apartment, quest to deliver your cookies (and check that your neighbours still existed) accomplished, when you hear Hardison’s voice call out, inviting you in to share the cookies.

Sophie must take pity on your panicked expression at being put on the spot, because she offers again. “you should join us, the cookies will be gone before you know it.”

you glance back at your apartment. “i, uh, let me just go lock up.”

Sophie smiles at you.

you dash inside, make sure you have your phone and keys and panic about going into their apartment. they’ve all been inside of yours at this point (except for Sophie … that you know of), but this will be the first time you’ll be seeing theirs and it scares you more than you can explain.

but you decide, ‘gaslight, gatekeep, girlboss, baby!’, and leave your apartment, locking it behind you and seeing Sophie still standing there with the door open and a gentle smile on her face.

you go in, toeing your shoes off at the door. Sophie leads you to their living room where Parker, Hardison, Eliot, Breanna and Harry are sitting.

they greet you enthusiastically and warmly when they notice you’ve joined them, complimenting your baking skills.

you laugh. “i was worried i wouldn’t meet your standards but im glad you like them.”

Hardison and Eliot wrangle the plate from Parker to offer you one, you take a cookie, and Breanna quickly steals the plate next.

you end up sitting next to Harry, who sends you a soft smile.

(you don’t catch they teasing looks the others send Harry afterwards.)

you get to witness them acting like the family they are, banter, affection, food fights and all, laughing with them until your sides hurt.

(and if Harry’s eyes lingered a bit too long on your form when you weren’t looking, well… no one needed to know.)

(and if he was noticed by his family teammates, … well then they’d do the only thing to do, tease him about it and urge him to ask you out.)

(and if after you left, the teasing got worse, well, Harry’d leave the apartment to get out of range of their lighthearted barbs.)

(and if instead of going outside like he’d said he was going to, he ended up across the hall and got up the courage to knock, well then you’d open it and invite him in with a smile.)

(and if you two talked for hours before realizing how late it was, no one was there to call you out.)

(and if when he finally left, he asked you out on a date for later that week… well, you would’ve said yes.)

but even if that doesn't happen, you have fun.

~~~

There was always something. A mistimed guard. An escape. Eliot too far for immediate backup. You and Harry with the damning file. Harry and you rushed down the halls, his hand gripped tightly in yours. Breanna’s voice directed you.

Your heart dropped as the goon stepped into the hallway. Shit. You pushed Harry behind you on instinct. “Eliot, we’ve got trouble.” You said into your coms. You glanced over your shoulder at Harry and handed him the file. The file that would prove Reynolds’ embezzlement. “Take the files. Get out. Now.”

Harry stared at you for a beat. His face screwed like he wanted to argue with you.

“I’m on my way.” Eliot growled through coms. “Keep ‘em occupied. Harry, get to the truck.”

He nodded and grabbed the file. Then, he took off down the hallway behind you. He’d find another way out. The goon took a step forward. You rolled your shoulders and got into the stance Eliot had taught you a long time ago.

The goon was easily twice your size. Practically a mountain of a man. And the fight was brutal. You got in a few solid hits. But one solid hit to the face and it all went black.

The world came back in a violent haze. It spun and shifted with your blurry vision and ringing ears. Your head pounded – just behind your eyes – and your cheek radiated a throbbing pain. Blood on your lips. Some on your forehead too. Fuck, you felt like you got punched by Eliot.

You groaned. A voice – familiar and urgent – danced outside your understanding. You blinked a few times, and forced yourself to focus. You vision cleared with each blink. Basement. Stacked boxes and concrete walls were a dead giveaway. The familiar urgent voice said something you couldn’t quite make out again. You tried to lift your hand, but couldn’t. Ropes. Tied to a chair, then. Great. Just great.

“Y/N? Please wake up.” Harry’s voice finally came through. “Y/N? Come on, please? Please wake up.”

“Harry?” You groaned, your head still spinning slightly. “My head hurts.”

His voice came again over coms. You could practically see his face creased in worry. “I know. I know.” He soothed. “Just hang tight, okay? Eliot’s already on his way.”

“We blown?” You whispered, testing the ropes again.

“Just you and Harry.” Sophie replied.

Before you could reply, Reynolds – the evil CEO of a healthcare company – and the same goon from earlier walked in. “Shit.” You whispered. “This is gonna get bloody.”

“Ah! Look who’s awake!” Reynolds smiled sinisterly and walked toward you as he wagged his finger. “You, you tried to steal from me.” He glanced at the goon. “I want to know who they work for.”

The goon nodded and started to roll up his sleeves. “You got it, boss.” And with that, Reynolds walked back out. Fuck, this is gonna hurt.

The first hit knocked the wind out of you. A blow to the ribs. You groaned. Another to the cheek.

“Who do you work for?” The goon yelled in your face.

“Fuck you.”

The next hit never came. As the fist came, an arm caught it. Eliot’s snarled face came up over his shoulder. And as he pulled him away, you let yourself slump into the chair. Thank god for Eliot.  

You sucked in a breath through your teeth as Eliot finished wrapping your ribs. He’d gotten you out alive and only slightly banged up. A butterfly bandage on your forehead, a bruise on your cheek, a split lip, and a set of bruised ribs. Not the worse you’d had, not the worse than the others had. Still hurt though.

“Thanks, El.” You half-smiled and winced immediately, as Eliot stood. “I appreciate the patch up.”

“Always.” He nodded, cleaning up the mess of medical supplies on the table in front of you. “Just next time, run. Don’t try to fight like that.”

You made eye contact with him. “You know why I did it.”

“I do. That’s why I’m telling you not to do something stupid like that again.” He looked pained, worried. He was always concerned when it came to protecting you. You knew he knew what you were feeling back there.

“Harry –“ You started, but stopped short as the man in question walked in. You and Eliot shot each other a quick look.

“You called?” Harry asked. His forehead creased slightly with concern. Eliot walked out.

“Hey!” You gave him a small smile. “How are you doing?”

“Me?” Harry asked incredulously. “I’m fine. You’re the one who got beat up.” He held up a bag of frozen peas and sat next to you. “May I?” You gave a small nod and he gently placed the peas to your cheek. Cool relief came instantly. You let out a soft sigh as the cold hit your skin. “You know, I still don’t know why you did that back there.”

You chuckled despite the pain in your ribs. “You’re lucky you’re cute, you know. Everyone else figured it out, hell, I think Breanna just won the bet.”

“Wait, you think I’m cute?” Harry’s eyes widened and a blush crept up his cheeks.

“Obviously. Why do you think I always try to protect you?”

“Well, I assumed it was because I was on the team.” He chuckled. “But now I’m thinking there’s a lot more to it than that.”

You smiled at him fondly. Your Mr. Wilson, so bright yet so oblivious sometimes. “And what do you think that is?”

“You like me.” His eyes crinkled in the way it always did when he was really happy. And he was holding back a laugh.

“More than I’d like to admit.” Your voice turned soft with an unspoken love. That thing you’d buried deep. It had come out in smaller moments before, and had started to fester after only a few months into his redemption journey.

His eyes searched your face, as if looking for the lie. After a moment, he softly asked, “Can I take you to dinner? When you’re all healed up, I mean.”

“It’s a date.”

Do not copy to another site. Ask for permission before bookbinding. I EXPLICITLY FORBID ANYONE FROM FEEDING MY FICS TO AI. All rude comments will be blocked and deleted.

You shrug, dropping down on all fours.

“I have four hours to waste, which means I have four hours to relax. If you wanna fuck around some?”

“Oh,” he breathes. He knows exactly how you like to fuck around when you’re stressed.

Alec looks at you wide eyed for the entire time it takes you to cross the room to his desk. Snapping out of it only when you’re kneeling in front of him and running your hands up his thighs.

He makes a choked noise, hand snapping up to cover his mike and pull it away from his mouth even with it being off.

“Jesus, baby, are you sure?”

His voice is rushed but he’s looking at you with obvious interest. You smile up at him before leaning in and ghosting the tip of your nose over where you know his cock is hiding in his basketball shorts.

You make eye contact, “Please?”

Alec’s leg jumps.

That, the soft needy question you pose, is all he needs because in a second he’s reaching his hand back for one of his pillows and dropping it down for you to kneel on. You do so with a small chuckle and a “thank you.”

He’s trembling and giving you the most eager looks in between participating, voice mainly only keeping steady because you’re not trying to distract him. You just want him in your mouth, no mischief needed. Though he is fidgety partially because he knows if the inclination struck you you could easily embarrass the hell out of him.

You laugh and move to pull his pants down his thighs with his assistance. Once he’s free to your satisfaction you brush the lightest kiss to his happy trail. He sighs, meeting your gaze intermittently as he plays through his turn. In response you trail featherlight kisses down to his dick, which is steadily hardening for your consideration, kiss at his base and then travel down to lick over his balls.

His voice stutters harshly over his next sentence and you smile before pulling away. He gives you this panicked desperate look, making as if he’s about to start complaining you, but you wave him off.

“Easy baby,” you mouth right before making him gasp by kissing his tip and then wrapping your lips around his head.

You keep your pace easygoing as Alec stutters and stops over his words; as he trembles against you, dick twitching while you slowly engulf him.

You wring your first moan out of him when you’ve gotten him all the way down your throat, mind steadily blanking on anything other than the weight of him on your tongue and the slight twinge in your jaw, when the back of your throat swallows over his head.

His head drops down and his hand clumsily snaps out to mute his microphone.

“S-shit girl, oh my god. It’s like you’re trying to kill me -goddamn.” he groans at the hum you give him.

You barely fucking hear him, have no clue when he moaned that he nearly did it for everyone to hear. You're just losing yourself in the sensations. The way he pulses in your mouth, the occasional twitch as he struggles not to fuck into your throat, how your jaw feels, the stretch of your lips, and then the drool running clear like polished glass down your chin and dripping onto Alec’s balls.

You sigh and go limp against him when his hand moves to your head. He burrows his fingers into your thick curls to get a firm grip but doesn’t do anything else. You swallow around his cock again in thanks, only in tune with the way it makes him shift against you. In the strangled noise he makes. The fact he’s on call isn’t even a factor any more; just his pleasure and how he feels in your mouth.

Your eyes flutter shut happily as he scratches blunt nails against your scalp.

“God baby,” he gasps and you whine just the tiniest bit, pussy twinging between your legs. Your hands don’t move from their position in your lap though.

Alec’s got you. The thought echoes in your mind nicely as you hand over control. You don’t have to worry about anything else but him.

- - -

Alec curses above your head, completely unregistered by you, and then rushes to get himself excused. You’re making him feel so fucking good and for that you deserve all his attention -and boy does he want to give it. Plus, you dropped so fast that he’s a bit worried about you; it typically took way more coaxing from him to get you out of your head.

He’s extra careful with his movements as he logs off and shuts down his setup. His eyes draw fully to you once he’s done and don’t leave. You were too pretty like this, face relaxed like it only ever was in sleep with your lips stretched to accommodate his girth.

He brushes his free hand over your face when he shifts too much for your liking and you let out an utterly disparaging whine.

“Shh, baby, it’s alright. You’re doing so good for me, you know that? I got you I promise,” he grinds forward the smallest bit, moaning when you squeeze down. “So damn good.”

NOTES: Hi, hope you enjoyed! I don’t know shit about dnd so I kept this as vague as possible, and I didn’t use gaming because I know even less about that shit.

I’ll catch any typos later!

I just got back on my Leverage bullshit and so now I feel I must finally blow the thick layer of built up dust off of this draft and post it. Keep in mind though that I have since turned this fic into another - heavily edited - Peter Parker fic with a similar premise because of how scared I was to post a “Hardison x Reader” story, let alone a smutty one. (I know, self plagiarism; the horrors! The whole idea of “self plagiarism” is nonsense anyway, but I digress.)

btw: if you’d like to leave a comment I’d very much appreciate it! this is a sideblog tho so I won’t respond.

Naturally, you have an answer for everything: that you may not have known Eliot’s past when you took him home, but you sure as hell knew the man. That you don’t need to know the details of every job because you know he and his friends are best at what they do. That you know he’ll always come home to you because he’d promised you that he would.

When you get on that particular jag, Eliot knows there’s no arguing with you, so he gives in. (Or, at least, he does his version of giving in, which consists of a sour expression and a minute or two of the silent treatment even though he’s inevitably got an arm draped around your shoulder or a hand on your knee.) For your part, you’ve learned to give him a little grace with regard to that particular insecurity. You may not agree with his idea that he’s bad news, but you can’t expect him to rid himself of it overnight. But you’re always firm: you’re with him because you want to be. Because you’ve heard the bad parts and weathered the difficulties and decided you’re all in.

Today, though, it’s particularly hard.

The fourth day is the wiggle room day. Often, if you haven’t heard from Eliot in this long, you check your phone at the end of a shift and find an apologetic text or a hasty voicemail from him or, if he’s really stretched thin, from the team’s resident hacker.

But today, for whatever reason, things at the pub are painfully slow and you’ve got little else to do but idly clean behind the bar and check your cell phone near-constantly. You’d sent the other bartender on shift home early and since it was a weekday, no one would be in the kitchen until four to start prepping for dinner. There’d been no sign of anyone, not Parker or Sophie or Hardison or even Nate, and you’d only had two customers all day, both regulars.

By a conservative estimate, you were checking your phone about three times a minute and eventually you decided you’d be of no use to anyone if your hands were shaking so bad you couldn’t pour a beer. With a flip of the sign so it read that you’d be back in twenty, you were on your way up to Nate’s apartment.

You weren’t a part of the team by any stretch of the imagination, but as the longest standing member of McRory’s staff you weren’t not a part of the team. There were certain things you were made privy to, partly because it made sense and partly because it was, frankly, too difficult to hide everything from you. With the pub acting as the de facto front offices of Leverage Inc, (as the team was still affectionately called in some circles) it makes sense to have someone behind the bar that’s a little higher up in the ranks. Sophie had trained you to become an excellent liar, Parker’s shown you a few emergency escape routes in case a job follows them home, Hardison taught you the ins and outs of the pub’s beefed up security system, and even before you started dating, Eliot had insisted on showing you some self defense, in case any criminals (not the fun kind) decided to show up.

But all that doesn’t quite extend to apartment access. You know Nate lives upstairs, and the other tenants have all come down for a drink at least once, so you’d long since figured out that the elusive Tom Baker listed in the directory was none other than your boss. Taking the elevator to the corresponding floor, you try not to storm down the hallway in abject panic. Once at the door, though, you can’t help but knock a little frantically. After a few seconds of nothing, you lift your hand again, only to be met with a somewhat bewildered looking Nate.

“What?” he asks, just this side of irritable, plucking his earbud out, “what’s going on, why aren’t you downstairs?” Over his shoulder, you can see Hardison, slumped forward over a desk, fingers pinching the bridge of his nose. You ignore Nate, zeroing in on Hardison only to hear a murmured apology and something along the lines of I know this has gotta be hell for you, man, but you got this. You start forward, but Nate crowds you out of the doorway.

“Hardison,” he calls, glancing over his shoulder, and once he has the younger man’s attention, he mimes taking something out from his ear. Hardison blinks slowly at him, then straightens up, removing his earpiece once he sees you.

“Hardison, what the hell?” you cry, pushing past Nate, who lets out a blustery sigh. Hardison frowns at you, confused. “It’s been more than three days,” you continue, “and I haven’t heard a word from either of you!” The realization seems to come to him slowly, as if through a fog, and he sighs once it hits him. 

“Shit,” he hisses, eyes squeezing shut with frustration, “I knew I was forgetting something.” You look at him expectantly, leg jiggling anxiously in place. “Eliot’s fine,” he says, “job’s just running a little long. We got him undercover.”

“It’s gotta be hell for him?” you protest, throwing his own words back at him–– and feeling a little guilty for being demanding like this when Hardison is clearly exhausted. But you can’t help it; even in the worst of times, Eliot and Hardison are constantly trading jabs–– If the hacker is extending that much of an olive branch, it means they’re about to be on the ropes… if they aren’t already.

“He’s fine,” Nate says, a little more firmly than kindly, before Hardison has a chance to go on. “He’s just undercover doing a sleep study. You know how he is. Why don’t you go back downstairs, huh?” He fixes you with a look, and though it’s a little stern, you also get the sense that he’s pleading with you to get out of their hair.

“Just let me talk to him,” you try. Nate almost laughs.

“Listen,” he says, “that’s about the last thing Eliot needs right now.” As much as the sentiment irks you, you know Nate is right. If Eliot knows you’re worried about him, it’ll distract him from the con. “Let him focus on the job,” Nate appeals, as if he’s reading your mind. “The sooner we get done what we need to do, the sooner you get him back, all right?” After studying him for a few moments, you grit your jaw and give a curt nod. You start to leave, but you catch Hardison’s eye on your way out.

“I need another update tomorrow,” you say. “Please?” Hardison nods gravely.

“He’s all right,” he says, “you know I’d tell you if he wasn’t.” He holds your gaze for a moment, and for all the frustration you feel, you nod. Of all of them, you know Hardison will give you the truth.

Back downstairs, the kitchen crew has arrived and is getting set up for the dinner rush. It winds up being surprisingly busy, considering the slow morning, but you’re grateful for anything to keep your mind off of Eliot and whatever the hell it is that he’s dealing with.

The next day you’re on the closing shift. You receive a text from Hardison around noon telling you that Eliot is okay. You thank him profusely before getting started on the things you need to get done before work. Finally, around the time you have to leave for your shift, you’re starting to feel better. Maybe this job is a tougher one, but with communications smoothed out, you feel reassured. It won’t be the first time Eliot has come back to you a little worse for the wear. And if he’s actually doing a sleep study like Nate said, maybe he’ll find out a few useful tidbits of information. A happy accidental byproduct.

The day is actually going pretty well until you practically crash into Sophie on the sidewalk outside the pub.

“Oh, bloody Nora!” she cries, one hand pressed to her chest as you bend down to pick up your keys, similarly startled. When you straighten up, you can tell right away that something’s wrong. Sophie may be an expert grifter, but you’ve caught her unawares.

“Sophie?” you ask, “What’s going on?” She studies you for a moment, biting her lip, and eventually sighs.

“Now listen, I’ve got to go or the whole thing is blown, just–– they’re all safe now, Parker’s taking care of Hardison and Eliot’s out of the experiment, all we have to do is––”

“Experiment?”

“It’s… really, all things considered, it’s not that bad, it––”

“Sophie,” you cut her off again, “please just tell me.” She frowns.

“Eliot went undercover into a university experiment where they were…” she sighs, “they were running sleep deprivation torture on groups of homeless men.”

Your eyes widen and you swallow thickly. Eliot hasn’t told you everything about his time in the army–– in fact, you doubt he’s told you most of it–– but he’d told you about sleep deprivation torture. How he’d been on the giving and receiving end of it, how he wouldn’t wish it on anyone, how he only understood just how evil it was once he’d been through it himself. And now he’s going through it again.

You notice, distantly, that Sophie has taken hold of your arm.

“I need to go, or the whole job could fall apart.” She levels her gaze at you. “Listen to me,” she says seriously, “Eliot is okay. Hardison’s okay. We’ll all see you tonight.” And with that, she’s off, leaving you struck dumb in the street.

Everyone at McRory’s can tell you’re on edge. You deliver the wrong orders to the wrong guests, you pour pints that are all foam. The crowd tonight is mostly regulars, which you’d be grateful for if you weren’t so preoccupied. Your coworkers pick up some of the slack, knowing you must be worried about Eliot. They don’t know exactly what he does, and no one believes any of the lies he spouts–– you keep telling him to stick to one, but he only grins and shakes his head: now where’s the fun in that?–– but they’ve all been around long enough to have seen him coming in black and blue, cut up, or worse. There are all kinds of theories floating around about the team, though none come close to the reality–– or at the very least, those who have figured it out are smart enough to keep their mouths shut.

With your relationship with Eliot being pretty much an open secret among the staff, no one bats an eye when the team straggles in and you go flying into the hitter’s arms. “Eliot,” you say, breathless, “thank god.”

He receives you with a quiet grunt at the impact, and where he might normally be a little wary at such a public display of emotion, you feel him sigh, relaxing into your touch.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he murmurs against your hair.

“Hi baby,” you croak in reply, the sound muffled against his shoulder. Eliot presses a kiss to your temple and you force yourself to pull away and look at him. The others file past you, and you reach for Hardison with one hand, catching his arm. Eliot lets you out of his hold, and though you miss the contact, you’re stunned to see Hardison is more bruised and battered than Eliot. “Holy shit,” you mumble, “what happened to you?”

“Joined a frat,” he says with a tired smile. You frown, concern pulling at your features as you look him over. “Don’t worry,” he says, giving your hand a squeeze, “your boy and my girl got me all patched up. I’m good.” He winces. “Or I will be.” You nod, letting go of his hand.

“Thank you, Hardison,” you say, “Really.” He winks.

“Any time, chica. I’ll see you later, all right?”

“See you,” you reply, already seeking Eliot’s touch again before you’ve even turned back to look at him. He takes your hands and studies you.

“How’d you find out what was going on, hmm?” he asks gently, thumb running over your knuckles. “You never get this worried unless someone gets in touch.” You sigh and lean into him again.

“Well, when I didn’t hear from you or Hardison, I got worried. I stormed up to Nate’s apartment and then I ran into Sophie, and…” You shake your head. “I just had to know you were okay.” He nods, though the look in his eyes is a little far away.

“I’m okay,” he says, though his voice is a little rougher than usual. You frown.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” He hesitates, like he’s about to say more. He takes your hands in his, looks down at them like they’ll do the work for him. After a moment, it comes. 

“Hey,” he says, “think you could, uh… take me home?” 

The question practically strikes you down where you stand. Instead of doing what you want to–– instead of wrapping him in your arms and marching him out to your car, you throw a nervous glance over your shoulder.

“I–– I’m on shift,” you offer hoarsely, but before you can manage an apology, your coworker Natalie (who has been standing a little closer to the proceedings than you may have liked) interrupts.

“Are you kidding me?” she quips, “Jake’s already on his way to cover you. Get the hell out of here.” Gratitude and relief flood your features all at once.

“Really?”

“I already clocked you out, like a minute ago, so. Go. Seriously.” You look back to Eliot, who has the decency to look a little sheepish, and then skitter over to the bar to wrap your friend in an awkward hug across the lacquered wood.

“Thank you, Natty. I owe you one.” She waves you off.

“Oh, whatever. Cover my Saturday morning sometime next month so I can actually go out on a Friday.”

“Done.”

“Then we’re even,” she replies with a wink. You turn back to Eliot and he nods at the two of you.

“I’ll meet you outside,” he says, and you hurry to the back to get your things.

When you step out into the cool air, Eliot is leaned up against your car, waiting, brow furrowed in thought.

“Hey,” you say quietly, though you know the odds of startling him are slim to none. He looks up, and though he seems weary, he smiles at you. “I never got to give you a kiss,” you continue, “if you want one.” His smile widens a little at that.

“C’mere,” he says, the word caught halfway between an invitation and a plea. You lean in and take his face in your hands, pressing your mouth to his and he meets your tenderness with searing heat. You gasp softly against his lips, fingers of one hand sliding back into his hair, his hand fitting snugly against the small of your back. He kisses you like he’s afraid it will be the last time, leaving you breathless when he pulls away to rest his forehead against yours.

“Whoa,” you manage. Eliot lets out a clipped chuckle.

“Sorry,” he says, stealing another kiss, this one only a chaste peck, “sorry, I…” He shakes his head, the ends of his hair tickling your cheeks. “Felt like I was never gonna see you again.”

“Don’t be sorry,” you counter, “that was… I needed that. Trust me.” You offer a small smile as you skim your thumb across his cheek. “Now how about we get out of here, yeah?” Eliot gives the slightest of nods, a hum of agreement, but it’s a moment before he can make himself let go of you to head for the passenger seat.

The drive isn’t long, and Eliot tilts his head back against the seat and shuts his eyes. You don’t know it, but this is the first time since the university that he’s felt safe enough to do it for more than a few seconds. He doesn’t sleep, though, only listens to the quiet sounds of the road, the barely audible hush of your breathing.

With a little luck, you’re able to park close to your building, and Eliot hovers close as you make your way into the apartment. An almost tangible relief settles over the both of you once the lock slides home, and Eliot settles heavily onto the couch as you step out of your shoes. Wordlessly, you climb astride his lap and he pulls you close, face buried against your chest. His hair’s a little tangled as you start to comb your fingers through it, but you’re patient with the knots, coaxing them free so you don’t hurt him. He thumbs absent circles at the base of your spine in fits and starts, sometimes stopping and just letting you comfort him.

You can’t be sure how much time passes like that, Eliot’s breath warm against your skin, your hands in his hair, but eventually you’ve got all the knots out. You press a kiss to the crown of his head.

“Hey,” you whisper, “you hungry, sweetheart?” Slowly, he lifts his head, hair mussed adorably, thanks to your involvement.

“I could make something,” he says, expression a little foggy, though you don’t think he’d actually fallen asleep while you held him.

“Like hell you can,” you counter gently, “you’re not lifting a finger tonight. We can do takeout, hm?” 

“All right,” he concedes, looking up at you fondly.

“What sounds good?” Eliot unwraps his arms from around you and begins to trail his hands lightly up and down the length of your forearms as he weighs his options.

“Indian?” he says after a moment, “Maybe Thai?”

“Ooh, let’s do Indian; that sounds good.”

“You got it, sweetheart.” You can’t resist ducking down for a quick kiss before you disentangle yourself from Eliot’s lap, swiping your phone off the coffee table.

“You want your usual?” you ask, opening up the delivery app. Eliot is up right after you and he steps behind you and slings an arm around your waist, kissing the top of your shoulder. Warmth blooms in your chest.

“Please,” he says. “‘M gonna go take a shower. That all right?” You twist your head so you’re looking at him.

“Of course it is.” He kisses the crease that forms in your brow, then your nose, and with that, he strides off into the bathroom.

You wish he didn’t feel like he had to ask permission. Sure, this may be your apartment, but it’s as much his now as you are. He’s made a home here and in your heart, and you know he knows you’d give him anything he asked for–– and feel fuller because of it.

You also know that Eliot is a man who feels he needs permission to walk this earth. You know that every day he struggles to forgive himself for the things he’s done, asks penance for every good thing he accepts into his life now. As you change into your pajamas, you wish you could make him understand just how deserving he is. Of life, of happiness, of love. 

When the doorbell rings, the water has shut off, and you buzz in the delivery driver. You’re doling the food out onto plates when Eliot pads into the kitchen, having traded his everyday garb for sweatpants and a t-shirt.

“Feeling better?” you ask, turning from your work to take him in in all his cozy glory. He hums the affirmative and stands beside you to finish making his plate. Once you’re both settled at the table, you finally broach the subject.

“El, do you wanna talk about it?” He gives a noncommittal shrug, takes a forkful of food.

“What’d they tell you?” He doesn’t look at you.

“Not a whole lot,” you admit, “but I know you just went through at least a couple of days of sleep deprivation.” You don’t say the word torture, but then you don’t really need to. Eliot nods. He doesn’t say anything for a moment.

“Kept telling myself it’d be easy. That I’d done it before and there was a clear end in sight.” He looks up at you meaningfully, now. “Somebody to come home to.” You frown, bottom lip pinched between your teeth, and nod. “But that’s the thing about it; you lose time, start feeling delirious. Had the team in my ear the whole time, but…” He shakes his head. “It was a little too much like bein’ back there for my taste.”

You don’t know exactly where this particular ‘there’ is, but you know there are a few dark places Eliot goes when he’s sleeping, or even sometimes when he’s awake. His trauma isn’t easy for him to talk about, but you know he grapples with it often.

“Place was recruiting guys out of homeless shelters–– buncha rich kids offering three meals, a place to stay, and 50 bucks a day. Said they were studying PTSD, fuckin’ animals.” He’s getting more impassioned as he continues, but his voice is still quiet. “Pickin’ vets up off the street just to make ‘em relive the worst moments of their lives, trying to figure out how to break people––” Eliot cuts himself off, grits his teeth, and takes a slow breath. He looks at you, expression melting from angry to rueful. “Same kid behind it all had his frat beat the hell outta Hardison once they found out who I was. Got the location where they were keeping him outta the interrogator down there in less than two minutes.”

“Sounds like he got what was coming to him,” you say evenly. Eliot scoffs, and you can feel the way he deflects the vitriol away from you and onto himself.

“I’m no better’an them,” he says bitterly, not meeting your gaze, “not really. Gave me an excuse and I did the same thing they were doing.”

“El,” you say, “come on, that’s not true.” He makes himself look at you again. His eyes shine with guilt. 

“Isn’t it?”

You stand up and drag your chair closer to his and then sit back down, putting a hand on his knee. 

“Not for a second. Baby, you’re comparing yourself to men who used their power to abuse people already down on their luck. You did one bad thing to a very bad man, and you did it to save your friend.” He avoids your eyes again, jaw working silently. “And it’s eating you alive!” you cry. “Look at me,” you plead, “look at me.”

He does and your gaze is like sunlight. The warmth feels so good he can’t stand it.

“Bad people don’t worry about the things they’ve done,” you continue, “Bad people–– truly bad people–– don’t feel remorse the way you do. Bad people don’t break their backs to help people like you do. Bad people don’t love like you do… so fiercely. And so much.” Eliot is staring down at his plate, brow furrowed so deep it looks almost painful. But he nods. A little bit, he nods.

You don’t know if it’s because you’ve gotten through to him or because he wants you to feel like you have, but slow and steady has always won the race with Eliot. He reaches down to take your hand and continues eating dinner with his left. You drag your plate over, keeping your fingers laced with his, and finish your own food with your right.

Eliot insists, gently, on doing the dishes, and though you spend a few moments with your arms wrapped around him from behind, cheek pressed against his back, eventually you shuffle off to start getting ready for bed.

By the time he’s finished up, you’ve got the covers turned down on his side while you’re tucked under on yours, sitting up, waiting for him. He stands next to the bed a moment, looking apprehensive.

“What can I do?” you ask quietly. “To make it easier, I mean. Is there anything I can do?” His lips quirk into a small smile.

“You’re already doing it, sweetheart.” Eliot takes a breath and turns out the bedside lamp, crawling into bed beside you. As you lower yourself so you’re laying down, he holds out his arm, offering you your usual spot nestled against his chest. You lay your head down and he tucks his arm around you. Finally, you both feel like everything is right again.

“You sure you don’t wanna be the little spoon for a change?” you whisper, though you’re already making yourself comfortable–– an arm draped over his stomach, one ankle tucked between both of his.

“Nah,” he replies, leaning his cheek against your hair, “missed you. Missed this.” Carefully, you tilt your head back and place a soft kiss to his lips.

“You know you’re safe with me,” you say, though it sounds more like a question.

“I know.” He means it.

“I love you, Eliot.”

“I love you too, baby.”

“If you need me, wake me up, all right?” you say as you settle back into his chest.

“I’ll try––” he stops himself. “I will.”

“Good,” you whisper. It gets quiet, then, and you focus on the sound of Eliot’s heartbeat, the warmth of having him in your bed again, his arms around you. Eventually, you drift off to the sound of his slow, even breathing.