Archive of Our Own

It’s so good to be home.

As much as Alec liked the work he was doing, as much as every day felt like an opportunity to do some good in a different sort of way than he’d been doing for so long, and as much as he had faith that everything and everyone he left behind would get by without him, there was this feeling that lingered in his chest that he couldn’t quite put a name to. A feeling that made sleep harder to fall into at night and each step he took a little heavier. That faith propelled him forward regardless, and now he’s got some nice leg muscles to show for it, figuratively speaking. At the very least, he built up a nice resolve and strengthened his skills a bit.

Although…muscles do just sort of happen to him; maybe he is a little meatier now? Who knows? He’ll ask Parker here in a bit.

Whenever she runs out breath, that is.

“And then we realized there was something worse than bachelorettes on the train,” Parker says, skipping ahead of him and turning around to walk backwards. “Guess what it was?”

“Tell me,” he replies, grinning even wider than he has been for the half hour. His cheeks hurt, but he couldn’t stop if he tried.

“Mounties,” she says seriously.

Alec gasps. “No!”

“Yes! Like at least half a dozen of them. But they got the Nazi, not us, so I think they got the real bad guys in the end.”

“Sounds like it, babe.”

“Between being stuck in a hotel with cops in a hurricane and being stuck on a train with Mounties, I don’t know which is worse.” She stops in her tracks. “Eliot?”

Hovering close beside him, so close their shoulders have brushed with every step they’ve taken walking from the kitchen, up the stairs, and down the hall, Eliot stops short when Alec does. “What?”

“Which was worse: hotel full of cops in a hurricane or train with Mounties?”

“I don’t know, Parker,” he scoffs. “Neither one was a great time.”

“But if you had to choose…” she prompts, looking at him expectantly.

Eliot lolls his head up to look at him with a roll of his eyes, which does nothing to conceal the fondness held there. “I don’t know,” he replies, turning back to her, “the hotel, I guess.”

“That’s mine too!” She bounds back over, bouncing in place a little when she reaches them. “I didn’t get to steal anything cool there.”

Alec picks up on the emphasis of “cool” just as Eliot asks “But you did get…?”

“One of those cops is missing a watch now, naturally.”

“Naturally,” he agrees, mouth twitching up into a patented Eliot grin that she returns.

That feeling that Alec held in his chest for all those months he was away? It’s gone now, was the moment he came to their rescue at the oil rig and suddenly felt…right. Like a final puzzle piece had slid back into place after being knocked askew.

He’s not a huge puzzler by any means, but he at least knows how it feels to finish one and be missing a final piece. You can get by without it, but you know it isn’t complete.

Parker and Eliot are the best part of his puzzle, and watching their all too familiar back and forth has him feeling whole once again. He’s got so much love for these people, his people, and he missed the hell out of them. Eliot’s closest, so he bumps his shoulder with his own, and Eliot turns to look up at him.

Alec makes no attempt to mask his feelings in his expression. “Glad nothing’s changed around here.”

“Never,” Eliot replies, like a promise, fierce affection in his gaze that Alec holds, just long enough to see something there that looks a little…sad.

You should apologize to Eliot. He’s been very upset.

He expressed as much, when the three of them were on the con. In the moment, Alec was so focused on the job that he didn’t have time to…that he neglected to really hear him, to dig into the problem that Eliot seemed to be going through. Then Parker started in on talking robot bodies and Alec had a whole geek spiral because, well, what’s not cool about injecting your consciousness into a robot body? That’s the dream.

They didn’t talk then, but they need to. He needs to figure out the reason for the sadness lurking in his eyes and fix it. Best case scenario, he just needs a listening ear, someone to commiserate with him about his marshal lady friend. Worst case scenario…worst case scenario is that change is what Eliot actually needs. If that’s it, then it might hurt, but how could they begrudge him anything?

Parker darts behind them, squeezes in between them and throws her arms around both their necks. “Even when it does, we change together,” she cheerfully reminds them as she maneuvers both of them into a three-way hug.

Right. If Eliot changes, then he and Parker will, too. All together. Always.

Till their dying days.

Eliot shuffles back a little. “Feelin’ boxed in here, Park,” he grumbles, though there’s a smile in his voice.

She lets go of him and he steps back to look at them. There’s a familiar, tender affection in his gaze that makes it feel as though he didn’t move at all for how it warms Alec from the inside out, and he knows that he’s about to excuse himself and part ways for the night. But Alec can’t let that happen. If Eliot, their Eliot, is upset and has been for as long as Parker suggested, then Alec won’t let him continue on that way for another minute.

“Hey mama,” he says before Eliot can say anything, “you head in without me. I’ll be there soon.”

Parker picks up on his intentions immediately. “Okay,” she replies and then gives him a peck on the cheek before letting him go and moving towards their bedroom door. She gets as far as putting her hand on the doorknob and then turns around. “Speaking of boxes, would you put me in one?”

He's about to ask what that even means before Eliot makes a strangled noise.

“Dammit, Parker, I said I didn’t want to hear it!”

At that, she giggles as she opens the door, turning around to wink at one or both of them as she shuts it behind her. Alec cocks his head as he looks at Eliot.

“Should I ask?”

“Wouldn’t know what to tell you,” Eliot says to the closed door before turning to look at him. “Ain’t my business.”

“Fair,” he replies with a chuckle, curiosity piqued. He files it away for later and focuses on the task at hand. “Hey, man, can we talk?”

“‘Course,” Eliot says, suddenly looking concerned. “Everything alright?”

“Was gonna ask you that,” he replies with a nod to follow. He moves to lean against the railing and waits for Eliot to settle in beside him. “Won’t force you to spill your guts if you don’t wanna, but it kinda seemed like you wanted to talk back at the oil rig when it was just us three. And I did a really crappy job of listening.”

Eliot shrugs. “It’s fine.”

“It’s not, E,” he replies, angling himself toward him. “You had a—you went through a breakup,” he says, which somehow feels easier to say than acknowledging the girlfriend part. He hasn’t had time to process that bit. “And I brushed you off when you wanted to talk about it. So, come on, man, if you still wanna, I’m all ears. Promise.”

There’s a moment in which Eliot says nothing, just looks away to stare at the wall opposite them. Alec waits until he finally speaks. “I don’t think I actually care.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean,” Eliot says agitatedly as he runs a hand through his hair, “I don’t know what I’ve been doing. We met the marshal—Maria—we met her in the middle of a job and I wasn’t even tryin’…she was interested and I thought that I—” He cuts himself off with a growl of frustration.

Alec puts a hand on his shoulder. “You don’t have to explain—"

“Yeah, I do,” he protests, “because when I was with her, I was always…” He pauses then, seemingly gathering his thoughts. “Maria kept saying this crap about how I deserved to be happy and shit, but Hardison…all I could think every time was ‘wait…when did I become unhappy?’”

He looks at Alec like he expects him to know the answer. His being unhappy was news to Alec, which was ultimately the crux of the matter and the one that makes him feel awful for not being remotely aware of. “I don’t know, man,” he says, squeezing his shoulder lightly.

Eliot looks at his hand on his shoulder contemplatively, eyebrows furrowed, mouth in a tight line. “I don’t think I want another Maria,” he says eventually.

Alec may have been a bad friend for not listening before, but it’s nothing compared to how bad a friend he is now with the relief that floods through him at his words. For all that “we change together” is true, has always been true, he’s never wanted anything to stay the same more than he does this: for Eliot to always belong to them and only them.

Up until now, he has. When was the last time Eliot showed any real interest in anybody? Alec can distinctly remember. The last time was nearly a decade ago. The last time was in DC. The last time…the last time that interest was aimed squarely in his and Parker’s direction.

Back up a second.

It was three weeks into the official start of his and Parker’s relationship and two weeks into their trek around the world in an apparent quest to jump off of every tall structure they could possibly find and seven mentions of Eliot in a single morning when Parker had suddenly asked:

“We love Eliot, right?”

“Huh? ‘Course we do,” Alec had replied before shoving half a donut into his mouth.

“And Eliot loves us.”

Despite the mouthful of donut, he couldn’t help but chuckle. “Depends on the day,” he’d said, hand in front of his mouth.

She’d looked at him seriously across the little café table. “I’m not talking about in a friend way.”

His stomach had dropped. He hadn’t thought about his feelings for Eliot in a while, had squashed them all down when it seemed like Parker was finally starting to get a craving for pretzels, but they were there, still. For a few moments, she just stared at him as he nervously chewed and swallowed, took a sip of orange soda, and cleared his throat.

“You love Eliot?” he asked, and then “I mean…” when he realized he shouldn’t have. Her feelings about love and romance were hard for her to decipher, even when it came to him. “Is he pretzels, too?” he asked instead.

She thought for a moment. “Not pretzels exactly,” she answered. “It’s more like donuts with cereal on top. Or candied bacon. Or…”

“Or toasted marshmallows,” he finishes for her, recalling that crazy box of donuts they’d all had once that she must be referencing.

“Right,” she said. “It’s kind of the same, but it’s different, too.”

“Still something you want,” he clarified, and she nodded.

“I’m not the only one.”

“No,” he’d told her truthfully, “you’re not.” That admission hung between them for a few silent moments before he spoke again. “And you think Eliot would go for a box of crazy ass donuts?”

In response, she only gave him a wide, scheming sort of grin.

Parker was absolutely positive Eliot was pretzels/a box of donuts/in love with them. When he thought it over, Alec was 60/40 in their favor. Sixty percent was enough to convince him to at least try to steal themselves a boyfriend, so plans were made. A brewpub was bought. An apartment big enough for three and a bed with even more room than that was acquired. Hints were dropped.

Eliot took the brewpub bait. Didn’t seem to notice the apartment or the hints, but still he was around more in Portland than he really ever had been anywhere else. In so much time spent together, there were occasions when Alec would catch his eye and see something there, something Eliot couldn’t hide behind a scowl or in grumbled words. In those moments, he thought he could see what Parker was so sure of, and little by little, the percentage ticked up higher.

“Your beer is terrible, shut up and lemme fix it.”

Sixty-five percent.

“You talk to Parker about that?”

Seventy percent.

“Dammit, Hardison,” said with no small amount of fondness.

Eighty.

Then there was DC, where a perfectly planned diamond heist went off without a hitch and a terrorist attack was stumbled into and ultimately thwarted. There was something in the air that day, and it wasn’t the looming threat of biowarfare. It was more than the adrenaline that kept them going despite the horror show, and more than the sense of responsibility and the knowledge that they were possibly the only thing standing in the way of millions of people dying. It was:

“I never get tired of that,” followed by a fists connecting. Eighty-two percent.

“Started running with some different people. Like a hacker. And a thief.” Eighty-five.

Sturdy hands anchoring him down enough to hold on to Parker leaning far, far back in his arms. Eighty-seven.

A promise uttered in the back of a high-tech government van, one they never have forgotten. Ninety percent.

It was them and everything that was between them, electric in the air.

After, when they’d managed the impossible and made it through the day in one piece (not counting the two bullet holes in Eliot, which he didn’t seem to), Alec and Parker dragged him back to the hotel to fix him up when he’d insisted he didn’t need a hospital. He also insisted he didn’t need anything for pain, but Parker convinced him to accept the morphine she’d snagged from the ambulance, and Eliot, reluctant but hurting, eventually agreed.

She stitched him up and Alec sponged him down. Eliot bore it all with the usual stoicism, relaxing once they were through, and then it was more than a little obvious how that morphine was hitting him once he started talking.

“Hey…you were…awessome today,” he told him from his spot on the bathroom counter, speech slowed and kind of slurred.

With a chuckle, Alec tossed away his plastic gloves. Eliot on morphine gave compliments freely and without an ounce of sarcasm.  He lacked the hard edge he normally carried, and Alec found it cute.

“Think we all were, man,” he said as he washed his hands beside him.

Eliot shook his head. “Nuh uh, ‘m trained,” he replied. “But you an’ Parker…’m proud of you.”

He grinned, shut off the faucet and flicked water off his hands in his direction. Eliot didn’t really register it, which made him grin wider as he dried off with a towel. “Careful,” he told him as he grabbed the shirt Parker had left on the counter for him, “you’ll give me a big head.”

“Mmm…can make it…bigger.”

“Well, I won’t say no to that,” he said, and then “put your arms like this.” He held his own out in front of him.

Eliot did as told. “Hardison’s,” he started, like he forgot it was Hardison he was talking to, “real smart…the smartest.”

“So you said,” he replied, sticking Eliot’s arms through the shirt.

“Shh, ‘m not done. Brave ‘n….kind.”

Alec realized he’d stopped his task to listen, and continued to maneuver the shirt carefully over his head, ignoring how the words warmed his chest. “Aw, geez, Eliot…”

“Hot,” he continued, muffled inside the cotton.

For a few moments, Alec could only blink at his friend half-concealed in a t-shirt before he rebooted and yanked it the rest of the way down, a little rougher than he meant to, but Eliot made no indication that was he in pain. He only returned Alec’s stunned gaze, looking more alert than he was moments ago.

“You think I’m hot?” Alec asked him.

Like he had earlier that afternoon, Eliot put his hand on the back of Alec’s neck, but he didn’t pull him in. Alec only realized then that he didn’t have to; they were already so close.

“Alec,” Eliot said softly, but still with that familiar growl in his voice.

Though it’s been nearly a decade, he remembers how hearing his name said that way made him shiver. “Yeah?”

“Can we…you an’ me an’ Parker…I want…”

He could hardly breath for fear of ruining whatever was happening, but still couldn’t help but ask “Want what?”

The answer only came after what felt like an eternity: “Everything,” he’d said, and it wasn’t so much that Eliot pulled but that Alec came willingly.

One hundred percent.

It was with heat in his veins that Alec kissed him how he’d always wanted to, tangled his hands in his hair like he’d dreamed about so often.

One hundred five…

Eliot hummed softly and pulled back, hand sliding around to his cheek. “Warm,” he murmured.

Was that another trait he was listing? Didn’t matter; Eliot kissed him again, and Alec melted.

…one hundred ten.

His hand slid down, clutching his shirt and pulling Alec closer as he deepened the kiss (one hundred…something), then slid further still to skirt fingers along the bottom hem of his shirt.

“Off,” he said urgently, “more, just…off"

Oh. Alec heard the want in that request, and while he would have been all too happy to comply and give him more, give him the everything he seemed to be asking for right there and then, there was no way they could; least of all because Parker wasn’t around, having gone out to grab takeout.

“Woah, E, slow your roll,” he replied, slightly winded, “half an hour ago you were bleeding out.”

“‘m better now,” he insisted, and then stifled a pained cry immediately after when he moved wrong too fast.

“Doesn’t look like it, man,” Alec replied with a caress of his hair as a comforting gesture. “Think we’re gonna have to take a raincheck.”

Eliot’s mouth turned down to what he assumed was meant to be a scowl but looked more like a pout instead. “S’no fun.”

“Hey now,” he replied as he moved to Eliot’s bad side and helped him off the sink, supporting his weight. “I’m like—I’m so fun. Me and Parker both are.” He adjusted his grip before taking a cautious step forward. “And when you’re better, the three of us can have fun together. All the fun you want.”

He grumbled under his breath, but let himself be maneuvered out of the bathroom and to the hotel couch where Alec carefully deposited him, giving him plenty of pillows to prop his leg on. He stared up at him when he was finished, eyes heavy with exhaustion.

“Eliot, when you’re ready,” Alec told him, “just say the word, and it’ll be on like Donkey Kong.”

Eliot snorted. “Stupid,” he mumbled, and then promptly fell asleep.

In the weeks that followed, Eliot healed. They didn’t see much of him, and then when they finally did, it was when they were prepping for the last job that Nate and Sophie would ever do with them. There was no time for talking then about the future of their relationship, so Alec and Parker waited. And waited.

And finally…

“I don’t have to search anymore.”

As Eliot looked over at them, Parker squeezed Alec’s hand, and he just knew this was it. Though Nate and Sophie were bowing out, the three of them would take up the mantle together, in all the ways that meant.

In the silence that followed when Nate and Sophie did make their exit, Alec couldn’t concentrate on the moment for the word that pin ponged around in his head: everything, everything, everything. It was Eliot who spoke first.

“Y’all okay?”

Beside him, Parker sniffled a little. “Think so. Or, I guess I will be.” Alec nodded, and Eliot smiled.

“You will. We can do this.”

“In it together for the long haul, baby,” Alec said, trying hard not to visibly vibrate with excitement.

“That’s right,” he replied, and stuck a hand out in his direction. Alec did the same…

…and was met with two smacks of his palm and a fist pound.

“Should be gettin’ home,” Eliot said, dropping his hand to his side and his eyes to the ground as he moved to bump Parker’s shoulder gently with his own as he passed her. “It’s been a long one. But I’ll see you guys tomorrow.”

Confused, they didn’t say anything and simply watched him go.

Later, it occurred to Alec that the things that Eliot did and said that night in DC must have been the morphine talking. In any case, Eliot did, at least, show up the next day, and every day after.

He moved in with them, and the three of them had everything. Do have everything. Together, they have a home and a life and a slew of international teams that have done more good for the world than just what the three of them could have done on their own. They’re friends and they’re partners and they’re family and they’re something undefined that only Parker and himself acknowledge. It’s Eliot who buys them matching jewelry, who encourages romantic trips for two and fixes candlelit dinners and joins them in both when harassed, and who makes good on that pledge to Nate and Sophie every single day and doesn’t ask for more than what has ever been between them so surely, he’s content. Surely, he’s—

He's been very unhappy.

“Is there something you do want?” Alec asks him now.

Eliot’s gaze slides up to meet his. “I don’t need more than I got,” he replies, steel in his voice.

If Alec could change one thing about the puzzle of his life, it would be that Eliot’s piece didn’t feel like it had been shoved in upside down. But it never budges.

“Well, what you do got is me and Parker,” he says reassuringly, giving his shoulder another comforting squeeze, “so say the word, E, and whatever we can do for you, you know we will.”

Ignoring any protest he might put up, Alec pulls him closer, wraps an arm around his neck. No protest comes. With no one around to see or comment, Eliot wraps both arms around him instead, tucks his face into his chest, and sighs.

“I missed you, man,” Eliot tells him, muffled against his shirt.

In response, Alec squeezes tighter, face pressing in to his hair as he breathes in deep and closes his eyes. “Missed you too, E,” he says softly as his heart longs for a reason to never let go.

As it is, they don’t let go for quite a long moment. When they do, it’s Eliot who steps back first, looking up at him with a tiny scowl as he clears his throat.

“When you get in there, tell your girlfriend I don’t wanna hear nothin’ else about her box fantasies.”

Alec laughs, even though he doesn’t really feel like it. “I’ll let her know that any mention of boxes is strictly off limits in mixed company,” he promises, heading for the bedroom door.

“Girl ain’t right.”

“We love her for it,” Alec tells him, turning around with a grin.

He shrugs. “Yeah, well.”

Yeah, well. He hesitates another moment, then turns the handle. “Night, Eliot.”

He doesn’t hear him respond as the door shuts behind him.

~

Shutting the door behind her, Parker shucks off her shirt as she heads over to her dresser and pulls out a faded old t-shirt that has always been way too big. She’s pretty sure it’s Eliot’s. He never asked for it back, though. The shorts she picks up are not his. As she steps out of her pants and slips them on, she has the sudden mental image of Eliot attempting to wear them. She giggles; that’d never work. If they managed to even go past his calves, his thighs would definitely rip them open. Or they’d just be plastered to him, the material stretching out from how he filled them. She probably couldn’t wear them again after that.

Yes, that’s…that’s very funny.

“See, this is why you’re not allowed to steal my stuff,” she says to the dresser as she shuts the drawer.

Who says I want to, weirdo?

That’s probably what he’d say. She fidgets a little and turns look over at the closed door.

It’s probably good that she let Hardison talk to Eliot. He needed a feelings kind of talk, and Hardison’s good at those. She’s gotten better over the years, but definitely not up to his level. Besides, what would she say to make Eliot feel better?

Isn’t this kind of her fault, anyway?

Her gaze slides over to the open vent in the corner of the room. If she wanted to, she could climb in and crawl her way to the hallway, listen in on what they’re saying. She does want to. Just to make sure everything’s fine.

Instead, she hops on over to the bed and plops herself down, sitting crossed legged in the middle. As hard as she stares at the door, it stays shut.

Hardison was gone, but Parker was here. Parker was here, but Eliot got a girlfriend. Eliot hadn’t had a girlfriend or anything close to a relationship for a long, long time, but he dated Maria Shipp and took her fishing. He took Maria Shipp fishing while Parker was here and she didn’t like it.

She might have gone fishing, if Eliot had asked her.

It isn’t that she thinks that Eliot doesn’t care for her in the same way he cares for Hardison. She’d never believe the little voice that has kept telling her so for the past few months; insecurity wasn’t there in the ice cave with them all those years ago, wasn’t there when he offered to kill a man for hurting her feelings, wasn’t there when he taught her how food could express emotions. It certainly hasn’t been around in the past eight years they’ve shared a life together. Insecurity doesn’t know what it’s talking about.

No, it’s just that she knows that by herself she couldn’t see a way around the problem, around Eliot’s unhappiness.

At least she knows how it started. She wonders if Eliot does, too.

Doubtful. Eliot’s blind to glaringly obvious, flashing neon signs. Like brewpubs. Or promises that sound like marriage vows. Or kissing your friend on the counter of a hotel bathroom.

Lucky Hardison. She would love to kiss Eliot in a hotel bathroom.

Maria kissed Eliot in a hotel kitchen. She might have kissed Eliot on a fishing boat. There are so many places she could have kissed him. And then she went and broke up with him. Who does that, breaking up with Eliot Spencer? That was her mistake; not that Parker was rooting for that relationship, but she didn’t want Eliot to hurt over it.

With a sigh, she falls backwards onto the bed. If she was any good at feelings, she might have been able to talk to him before he got his heart broken, before he ever started going out with the marshal, before he ever started to think that he should. I know you’re sad, she could have told him, and I know why.

“Because it’s why I’m sad, too,” she says out loud to the ceiling, just for practice. For next time. 

They won’t have to be sad now that Hardison’s back, though. Everything will be just fine.

It’ll be even more fine when Hardison gets in here. She grins and sits up to stare over at the door once again, waiting. Somewhat antsy, but waiting nonetheless. Eventually, the doorhandle jiggles, the door opens, and Hardison is barely in the room before his back is pressed against the wall with her hands against his chest

“What happened?” Parker peers up to search his face, spies something wistful there that gets quickly overshadowed by bewildered amusement.

“Ow,” Hardison replies, mildly so she knows he’s just being dramatic as his lips turn into a lopsided grin as he focused on her face. “Good thing my back missed the doorknob.”

“Sorry,” she says placatingly, because it feels like the thing to say when you almost impale someone on a doorknob (even if you do make sure to purposefully push them away from it) instead of jumping straight to business. “I was just eager.”

The way his face goes all tender at that makes her feel kind of bad for not clarifying that she meant that she was eager to know what he and Eliot talked about. “So you really aren’t upset at me, then.”

But then again, it’s hard to feel bad when tender Hardison makes her heart feel all fluttery. “Nope,” she replies, pressing in a little closer, relishing in that flutter, the one that used to scare her but now feels weird to have gone so many months without. “Can’t be upset when you’re here.”

“Right, right,” he says, his hands sliding around to the small of her back, holding her only as close as she wants to be, “but before that?”

“Past Parker’s problem,” she tells him, leaning in to kiss him, short and sweet, before pulling back again. “Current Parker has different feelings.”

“Mmm, like the sound of that. Are they wall feelings specifically?” he asks, pressing back a little to indicate his meaning.

“Not specifically,” she says, her hands sliding back down to her sides as he releases her with a grin.

“I’mma change real quick,” he says stepping around her. “Need me some sweatpants.”

“Okay,” she replies, watching him go.

“Never been so happy about the concept of sweatpants in my whole life.”

She’s happy for him and his sweatpants. With one last look toward the door, she makes her way back to the bed, throwing herself down and scooching back into the pillows. After a moment of staring at the ceiling, she turns to watch Hardison as he digs around in his drawer for a suitable pair of sweatpants before undoing his belt and sliding his pants off. His legs are thinner than Eliot’s, but probably more muscular (somehow), and definitely would not fit in her sleep shorts.

He tried once. That was definitely funny.

After electing not to wear a shirt, he closed the drawer and turns to find her watching him. He grins, and she wonders when the best time would be to bring up his and Eliot’s conversation as he moves to get onto the bed, sliding over to her. He looks down at her with that same tender expression that turns a little hungry as he leans down to kiss her, but there’s no demand in it, and she kisses him back, that same flutter returning just as he pulls away a little.

“Eliot,” she says.

To her surprise, he laughs. “Babe, I know it’s been a while, but it’s Har-di-son.”

Okay, so that wasn’t the moment, clearly, but she’s already here, so. “I mean,” she starts, not even bothering to apologize this time, “what did he say? What did you say? Is everything okay?”

Hardison flops on to his back, jostling the bed a little as he arranges the pillow under his head. “Don’t really know, mama,” he tells her when he settles. “He says he’s fine. Said he wasn’t really that bothered about that Maria lady, which is good I guess? But he just seems confused. Like, he wants something, but hell if he knows what it is. Sucks.”

“Did he say anything else?” she presses.

He shrugs. “Just that he missed me.”

Parker lets that sit between them for a few silent moments. “I think,” she says eventually, “that he missed you like how I missed you.”

“What do you mean?”

She concentrates for a minute, thinking about how best to explain. “It’s like…I felt different when you left than I did when Nate and Sophie left Leverage to us. Both made me sad, but different kinds of sad. Friend sad and boyfriend sad.”

“Okay,” Hardison says slowly, “and you think that maybe Eliot didn’t feel friend sad about me?”

“He got a girlfriend when you left,” she replies.

“Not sure the two are related.”

“Maybe not,” she concedes. “She didn’t make him any happier than he was, so she wasn’t what he was after.”

From her perspective, he didn’t seem to be after anything. Maria just sort of happened and, again, that’s partially her fault.

“I didn’t mean to let him get hurt.”

“Parker, no,” Hardison soothes, moving to hold her gaze, “this isn’t on you.”

 She didn’t say it was. “I’m not saying I made him get hurt,” she replies. “I’m saying that if it had been you here instead of me, you would have known what to do or say to stop him from getting hurt.”

He frowns. “Not sure if that’s true.”

“What do you mean?”

“Just now in the hallway, it seemed like…” He trails off for a moment, looking hesitant. “For a second, I thought I knew what the problem was, and I chickened out and didn’t say what I wanted to say. Because if I was wrong…”

“That’s not chickening out,” she assures him. “It’s just playing it safe.”

Isn’t that what they’ve been doing for the past ten years? Sure, they bought Eliot a brewpub, and a place big enough for three, and made it clear in their own way he was always, always welcome with them in whatever way he wanted to be, but they never just said in what way they wanted him to be with them. They told themselves they were giving him an out, putting the ball in his court, but what if they should have grabbed it and chucked it at him instead?

That makes her giggle a little, picturing a ball flying at his face and him going red as he fussed at them to be more careful, dammit! Hardison gives her a questioning look.

“What if we just asked?” she suggests as she sobers.

He goes a little wide-eyed at that, so he clearly doesn’t need to ask what she means. “You wanna just tell Eliot, our best friend who we have a whole life with that we’ve been super careful not to screw up, that we have a whole mess of feelings we wanna dump all over him?”

She considers it a moment. It does sound a little scary, but at the same time… “I don’t think we have to dump them all at once,” she says eventually, “but you just said it, Hardison. We have this whole life together, and I don’t think honesty is going to tear it all down. Eliot loves us too much for that, right?”

Despite looking a little unsure, he nods all the same. No matter what has ever held them back, that one thing they’ve always banked on. “So you think we should steal us an Eliot?”

Oh, it’s past time for that. Well past time. Stealing requires a certain level of forethought and planning, a string of contingencies all laid out and perfectly aligned. They’ve tried that, a long time ago, and have tiptoed around it all since. No, that’s not the plan this time. Actually, there is no plan.

This time, Parker’s gonna wing it.

With a grin, she moves to quickly peck him on the lips before hopping out of bed.

Hardison scrambles to a sitting position. “Wait, now?”

“Good a time as any,” she replies cheerfully, backing up toward the door. If she slept on it, she could come up with an excuse to put if off for another day. Or another decade. She reaches behind her for the doorknob, takes a beat to feel the sudden rush of adrenaline (the same one she gets before swan diving off a building) before turning it. Hardison seems poised to follow if she goes, so satisfied, she turns away and says, as she opens the door, “Let’s go steal…no, let’s go ask for an—Eliot?”

Standing there, looking just as surprised as she is and hand raised like he was about to knock, is Eliot, who drops his hand quickly back to his side.

The bed creaks behind her. “E?”

Eliot looks like he wasn’t expecting to see them despite this being their room. “Uh,” he says simply, and then “box?”

“What?” Parker asks, confused.

He scowls. “Got a box in my room, you want it?”

~

Too late, Eliot wishes he hadn’t let go of Hardison at all as he watches him go into his room.

“Night, Eliot.”

Pathetically, wait and please stay are on the tip of his tongue, so he doesn’t say anything at all until Hardison disappears. “Night,” he mumbles to nothing but wood.

Heading back down the hall, Eliot decides he won’t lie to himself that these words are anything less than what they are. That hug with Hardison, hell, just being in the same room as Hardison and Parker together again has left him feeling more than he ever did with anything that went on between him and Maria. All of that was a big empty nothing, as hollow as it was then as it is now.

She didn’t deserve that, Maria. She was a bad ass with a killer right hook but she was sweet and compassionate and cared enough to let him know any of that about her when he gave her nothing in return. He should feel like shit for it, for losing something that on paper was what anyone could ask for, and he does, but not as much as he should. On the list of sins on his ledger, that one, at least, is written in ink instead of blood. Maria will heal from whatever damage he did eventually, if she hasn’t forgotten about him already. He ain’t special.

Sure spoke to him like he was, or something like it. At least like someone she thought she could believe in, and wasn’t that something? Told him he was a good man, even, and that should have done him in. Good. It’s a magic word, in large part because he feels so far away from that most of the time. There’s something else to it, though, something much headier in the way that it makes him…

But no, from her he felt that hollow nothingness that only got deeper the longer things went on between them. Not that he didn’t like her. He did, which was why he hung out with her, continued to try to find that happiness she kept saying he deserved. The happiness he wanted.

He told Hardison he didn’t know when he stopped being happy, what started it.

But he does.

Out of habit, he stops just as he passes Breanna’s room. The sound of voices and background music filter muffled through the doorway as he listens close, so she must be watching something. He moves on, satisfied that she’s at least tucked away for the night as she should be. How late she stays up doing whatever she does is none of his concern.

Almost eerie how like her brother she is. Eliot didn’t know what to do with a mini Hardison he was duty bound to keep safe. Hardison didn’t ask that of him specifically before he left, but he didn’t have to. Bre’s a smart kid, only lacked experience to prove just how smart she was, and though Eliot wasn’t capable of helping her flex that skill, he could at the very least offer her a place safe enough to do it. Missing Hardison made it tough and knowing that the problems they ran into on jobs could have been fixed quicker or avoided altogether if they’d just had him around made it tougher, but it was worth it when she got it right.

Was even more worth it when earlier tonight as they all caught up and relaxed with a few drinks, Breanna finished telling Hardison a story about one of her gadgets she’d used on a job that worked exactly how she’d wanted it to. When conversation flowed into other subjects, Hardison had caught his eye and said, loud enough for only him to hear:

“Thanks for looking out, E. You did good.”

He’d only grunted in response and Hardison turned away, leaving Eliot to catch his breath as the word worked him over.

He decides he will lie to himself and pretend that the unsteady step he takes into his room is just his old knee giving a little, blaming the heat on his face on the sweatshirt he’s wearing. That hits the floor first as he heads over to his bed and grabs the fleece pants he wore the night before from the foot of it.

Eliot hasn’t thought about the concept of happiness in a long time. Didn’t have to with how spoiled he’d been with it for the past decade of his life. No one thinks about why they’re happy when they are, only why they’re not when they aren’t. He didn’t realize he was unhappy until Maria pointed it out, honestly, and only tonight realized the why of it as he sat there and soaked in all of the Hardison and Parker he could and felt the exact opposite.

It's them, he knows. It’s everything they are individually and together and it always has been for as long as he can remember because he loves them.

It wasn’t always love. For a while there, it was a weirdly concerning obsession, a need to keep them safe from outside harm and from their own lack of self-preservation skills. Slowly, though, so slowly he didn’t see it happen until he was in the thick of it, it turned to love. His love for them is fierce in the way he throws his body at whatever guns for them, ‘cause ain’t no way it’s getting anywhere close. It’s soft in the way he’s content to watch them eat the meals he plates for them. It’s heavy and it’s constant and it’s one of the only things he holds precious. Jesus, does he love them.

What a lucky, undeserving bastard he is that they love him, too.

Bending down, he pulls a yoga mat out from under the bed, rolling it out across the floor. He scoots down to one end of it and then lowers his back to the ground, brings one knee up to his chest, breathes through the uncomfortable stiff feeling that abates after a moment, then brings the other up and does the same. With a grunt, he rocks left, holds it, then rolls over to the right and holds that, too. After repeating that process a few times, he sits up again and slowly raises his right elbow above his shoulder, grimacing as he does, but holding it nonetheless.

It’s always gonna hurt, no getting around that, but sometimes the stretches help. Manages some of the aches and pains that really don’t quite ever go away at his age. Them’s the breaks.

He turns his head to the left and looks down to the floor. Then, he brings his free hand to his head and presses down slightly, deepening both stretches. After a moment, he slides his hand back down slowly, fingers combing through his hair as he goes. The left arm doesn’t really need the stretch, but he does it anyway, more of an excuse than for any medicinal purposes. He sighs quietly when fingers reach the end of his locks and touch only air.

Eliot isn’t certain about much in life, but he is certain Hardison and Parker love him. Theirs is a different kind, but they do. Back at the start of the Portland days, just when he realized how deep in it he was, he was a little worried they’d notice and pull back, but they bought a brewpub and let him run it. They invited him over, took him out, included him in damn near everything and it never felt like an intrusion or that he was third wheeling it. They loved him. It was more than he could ever think to ask for and it was enough.

It was enough, and still he was greedy for more. Couldn’t help it, especially during times when there were distinct “this is great, but I’m down if you are” vibes, but what he had going was too good to take any sort of chance that he could ruin it all in a moment of weakness. There had to be a line, so he drew it. This far, no further, no matter how tempting it was. There was a “we” that included him and an “us” that was meant for the two of them. That was the line. This far. No further.

When Nate and Sophie made their exit, they left Leverage to them to run. Suddenly, the three of them had this thing between them, something that stood for so much already and was bound to get bigger, and it was all theirs.

Something about that made him slip up a little.

One night, he was over at their place, stuck between them on the couch watching some movie he doesn’t remember the name of now. What he does remember is that Parker was using his thigh as a pillow and Hardison was half on his own cushion and half on his as he pressed against him and Eliot, with his arms draped across the back cushion, itched. Itched to drop the one hand down to Parker’s arm and trace the freckles on her skin, or to use the other to turn Hardison’s face in his direction, or both, just to see what either of them would do. What else would Parker let his finger trace? How long would it take Hardison to lean in? The more he thought about it, the more he itched and itched and itched.

This far.

No further.

Eliot took a deep breath in, held it, and let it out. He closed his eyes and did it again. And again, and again.

The next thing he knew, soft morning light was streaming in through the windows, and he blearily blinked his eyes a few times before he could concentrate on any sort of coherent thought or the fact that he felt so heavy…

…wait, why was he heavy?

A light snore that wasn’t his came from Hardison on his right, head resting on his shoulder, and Parker squirmed in his lap, face tucked in against his stomach. He’d fallen asleep, he realized, and so had they.

It was the most peaceful sleep he’d gotten in quite a while. Eliot leaned his head back again, a little uncomfortable now but unwilling to move and disturb them. He was warm and in love and this was everything he could ask for and…it was enough.

Much like the pain he manages, he learned to live with the itch. It’s still there now, dulled by time and the “we” and the “us” and the line that distinguishes between the two. If you can call it a line, at this point. Turns out, years of sharing whatever it is the three of them have together means that the line can get bent over and around and squished and reformed into something completely unrecognizable. Maybe now, it’s more of a circle the three of them all stand in, love and intimacy flowing freely but in a way that still requires a “we” and “us”, even though there isn’t much of a difference. Eliot has never wanted to be anything less than the happy that he was on the couch that morning so long ago, and that meant not risking more than the “we” he had. It was enough, it was enough, it was enough.

Until suddenly it wasn’t. When Hardison left, the “we” was only Parker and himself. “We” hurt. “We” missed him. “We” had to carry on without him, but no one acknowledged the “we”.

“It must be tough,” he heard Breanna say one day, “having Alec so far.”

She was talking to Parker.

“You’ll get through this, Parker,” Sophie promised, “just take it one day at a time.”

Even Harry brought his Hardison-related questions and comments to her, as if he would have nothing to say about the man he’d spent so much of his life with.

With a grunt, he crawls off the mat and shoves it back under the bed, pulling himself up to slide onto the mattress.

Where for so long it hadn’t mattered, now he suddenly realized there was a difference between the two. He was on the outside of whatever he thought he had and that was….and then he met the marshal and Sophie said…

It doesn’t matter. What’s done is done and he can’t go back and change it, and even though he knows now just how big the circle is and how far apart he stands from them in it, he meant what he told Hardison. He doesn’t want another Maria. What he has is everything he needs. It’s enough.

It always has been.

He settles with a sigh, wondering what Parker and Hardison are doing now. There’s an ache that has nothing to do with the one’s he was trying to stretch out a moment ago and everything to do with how far away their room is from his. Who let that happen?

“Get over it,” he grumbles, closing his eyes. He can see them in the morning.

Or he could do a round and just check in. That seems like a normal thing he would do.

If by normal he means insane.

No. What would be insane is asking to sleep in their room. Like on the floor or something. That’s insane.

One eye peaks open. “Left the damn light on.”

He swings his legs and his feet hit the floor. Maybe not insane, he reasons as he crosses the room, but still completely unnecessary. So he’s not doing that. Or turning off the light. Instead, he opens the door.

It would also be unnecessary to do a round. They’re fine. Everyone is fine. He’s thirsty. He’s going to the kitchen.

The kitchen is down the stairs directly in front of him. That is, in fact, where the kitchen is. He turns left.

Doing a round it is.

They don’t have to know he’s there. He’ll listen and make sure all is well, and be on his way. Like he did with Bre. Didn’t bother her any.

Light filters out from the bottom of the doorway, so they’re awake. And talking. He can hear their muffled voices, and something in him unwinds a little. That’s all he needed, he can go now.

He doesn’t have anything to say to them, so there’s no reason to announce himself. Sure, his hand is raised like he’s gonna knock but why would he do that when there’s nothing to say? Also, why’s the knob jiggling? He didn’t knock so why the hell is it opening—

“—ask for an…Eliot?”

Parker is standing there, obviously surprised to see him. Her hair is tousled a little, which he resolutely does not read into at all, and—is that his shirt she stole from him? She’s so small she practically swims in it, and he’s considered asking for it back on more than one occasion because he hates how much he loves it on her. Why the hell is his hand still up?

“E?”

Looking past her, he sees Hardison in bed, wearing far less than she is. Shirtless Hardison isn’t anything he hasn’t seen before, but absence makes the heart grow fonder and more susceptible to being rendered empty-headed by muscle Hardison has never had any right to.

His gaze snaps back to Parker, which doesn’t help anything. She’s looking at him all confused and he knows he has to say something instead of just standing here, probably looking just as stupid as he feels, but he didn’t have a plan, they weren’t supposed to open the door.

“Uh.”

Holy shit, say something!

“Box.”

Wait...

“What?”

…what?!

He didn’t—that slipped out, he didn’t mean—it’s just that she….no, too late, the shovel’s broken dirt. Keep digging.

“Got a box in my room, you want it?” he grumbles, internally pushing down the panic as he remembers he did get a package a few days ago. Ordered new boxing gloves. Nice ones that’ll—who cares, he has a box. That he’s offering to Parker. For some reason.

It’s a good thing that reason is not a thing that Parker worries about.

“Hardison,” she says excitedly as she looks back at the bed, “Eliot has a box.”

It’s also a good thing that Hardison is easy to rope into shenanigans.

“Cool,” he replies with enthusiasm as he slides off the bed.

Parker turns back around. “What kind of box?”

He rolls his eyes. “Parker, I’m not discussin’ the qualities of this box and how it could work for you.”

“Just wondering,” she says, singsong, and follows after him as he turns to leave.

The stupidity of the situation is not lost on him, but it could be worse. He’ll give them their damn box, send them packing, and sleep off the embarrassment. In the light of day, he’ll feel less like an idiot and more settled than he has in months. Simple enough.

He quickly finds it shoved between the wall and his dresser. It ain’t much to look at, if that matters, and isn’t big enough to fit much of anything inside, but he spins it between his pointer fingers as he crosses over to where Parker sits on the edge of his bed. She looks up at him expectantly, and after a moment of consideration about just how stupid he wants to be, he sets the thing over her head.

“That good for you?”

She giggles. “How do I look?”

Ridiculous, he thinks as his heart skips a beat or two.

Hardison, leaning against the wall, lets out a low whistle. “Boxy.”

Eliot gives him a look. “Is that a pun?”

He grins. “Depends. Was it good?”

“Terrible.”

“Then yes.”

Parker lifts the edge of the box up to see. “Thank you, Eliot,” she says sweetly.

“Don’t mention it.” He nudges her foot with his own and chuckles. “Ever.”

Silence falls between the three of them then, and though this would be the time to say goodnight, he doesn’t. Just…one more minute.

Parker holds his gaze as she sets the box down next to her. Her expression suddenly gets serious. “So—”

“Do you want to watch a movie?”

They both look over at Hardison. Eliot sees his gaze shift to Parker, and then he rubs the back of his neck awkwardly as he continues. “In our room?”

“Right now?” Eliot asks.

“I mean, yeah.” He throws another look over to Parker, one he can’t decipher. “Before, we were talking and…we miss you, so.”

“Right,” Parker says in a sort of pointed way as she peers at him before turning to smile at Eliot. “We were. We can have a sleepover.”

“What, you wanna have a pillow fight? Paint our nails and braid each other’s hair?” he asks wryly.

“You act like we haven’t had any before.”

They have. That one time on the couch has not been the only time, there have been so many others. Like the one time in Paris; that’s his favorite. Still, though, those are happy accidents. “Not planned.”

She shrugs. “Who cares? We’re planning this one. Or,” she adds, giving him a knowing look as she puts out a hand toward him, “you can just stay here, if you don’t wanna come.”

Because he can see she already knows he does, or at least knows the outcome of how a discussion about it would go, he doesn’t bother to respond. Instead, he grabs her hand and pulls her up, and she doesn’t let go as she pulls him toward the door, grabbing Hardison with the other. The three of them make their way quietly down the hall like that.

Half an hour later, Eliot can’t tell you what they’re watching. Hardison put whatever was on the flat screen on their wall on mute only a few minutes in, which was just as well. It’s not nail painting and pillow fights, but it is this: Eliot on the bed with Parker behind him, fingers combing through his hair to brush out the last braid she’d finished. Hardison stretched out beside him, his hand close enough to touch and so they had, closer and closer until fingers loosely laced together in between them. There’s nothing but them and their quiet conversations and easy silences.

It's all he needs, and it’s enough.

“Man,” Hardison says, “I know I got no reason to be complaining about anything in my line of work, but—”

“But you’re gonna anyway,” Eliot interrupts, eyes fluttering closed when Parker cards her fingers all the way down through his hair to take another strand in her hand, starting over.

“I am, actually, because like, I know it’s all hush hush and hard to get even the most basic human things sent my way for people who need ‘em, but also, if a guy could just get his PopTarts smuggled in without half the box missing, I’d be better fueled on a daily basis and more prepared to be the superhero I gotta be.”

“You’d be better fueled if you ate a vegetable once in a while, Batman.”

“Oh trust me,” he replies, “the one thing they do have is veggies. All the veggies I could never want. I’m swimming in veggies. I want my PopTarts.”

He feels Parker deftly twisting strands around. “I’ll snag you a really big box before you leave again,” she promises.

“Mmmm,” Eliot hums accidentally. He meant to make a disagreeing noise, but she pulled just right and it came out wrong. “N-no, he doesn’t need—”

“Hell yeah, bulk box. Want me some cinnamon.”

“I can do cinnamon.”

“And chocolate.”

“Oh,” she gasps, “chocolate! I want chocolate.”

“You can have all the chocolate you want, mama,” Hardison replies suggestively.

“Stop it,” Eliot says, too soft. “I’m right here.”

“I see you, I see you,” he teases, thumb stroking his knuckles, and Eliot looks down to glare at him but knows it doesn’t look right. He still doesn’t have a shirt on.

He makes a concentrated effort on keeping quiet for the next few minutes as Parker works, and too soon (or not soon enough) he feels her tie this one off.

“Ta daaaa,” she says musically, “beautiful.”

“Wonderful,” Eliot replies, forcing mild irritation into his voice.

She crawls over to sit cross legged in front of him, making a show of admiring her handiwork.

“Satisfied?” he asks.

“I guess,” she says, and then moves forward. He stays still as she reaches over his shoulder and carefully slides the band out of his hair, undoing all the work she’d just done. With both hands, she brushes it all out over his shoulders. “I like you better like this, though.”

“Okay,” Eliot murmurs, very aware of how in his space she is.

She doesn’t move out it, just searches his face for a moment. “Eliot, can I ask you a question?”

“Shoot.”

“Why’d you come to our room tonight?”

“Was invited.”

“No, before that. What did you want?”

“I…I don’t know,” he tells her truthfully.

She brushes a strand of his hair out of his face. “You don’t?”

His heart beats faster now. She must have mistaken his intentions somewhere. “No,” he says hurriedly, and then “Parker, this is good. We’re good. I have what I need.”

“Okay,” she says soothingly, gently pressing her forehead to his. She doesn’t move, just breathes in deep, and Eliot follows suit, eyes shut. In and out, in and out, until his heart beat slows. “It’s okay to want more than you need,” she continues eventually. “Like I don’t need to jump off of buildings, but I want to, so I do. I don’t need to eat my weight in chocolate, but sometimes I want to, so I do.”

“Sure,” he whispers with a little chuckle.

“And I don’t technically need to kiss you right now, but I really want to, so…”

Hardison squeezes his hand, and Eliot opens his eyes. “So do it.”

She does. What starts as a gentle brush of her lips to his turns to a soft pressure, and too soon, sooner than he can let himself reciprocate, she pulls away, but only just. Eliot can only blink stupidly as he stares at her for a moment, unmoving, and then inhales shakily as he feels something click. And all at once he realizes that, while he was fine with enough before, he much rather have everything. And then some.

“C’mere,” he breathes, and closes that little distance between them.

Parker slides into his lap as their lips meet again. It’s just as gentle as before but this time, Eliot kisses her back, and whatever little noise she makes sounds encouraging as she cups his face in her hands and moves to angle herself a little higher, making him have to reach up to meet her. As gentle as it is, there’s an intent there, like she’s trying to figure him out, unlock any secrets she doesn’t already know about him. Whatever it is she wants, he’ll gladly let her have. He holds her close as he wraps his arms around her lower back and lets her take it all.

It's Parker who breaks the kiss, her hands gently moving the two of them apart, and whispers, “I was coming to your room, earlier.”

Eliot feels lightheaded. “Were you?”

“Was going to tell you that I love you. That we love you.” Her forehead touches his again. “You know, right?

“I love you, too,” he murmurs. “And yeah, I do now.”

“Good,” she says, and kisses him again, short and sweet, before turning to smile down beside the two of them.

Eliot looks down to see Hardison watching them, tenderness and something that looks a little like want in his gaze. Parker backs up off of him and he lets her go. “Hey,” he says softly.

“Hey,” Hardison replies, sounding a little hoarse as he sits up, his face inches away.

Too many inches, Eliot decides as he leans in—

“Um, Eliot…”

—and stops immediately. Oh, Hardison doesn’t—

“Oh wow, sorry, shouldn’t have assumed we—”

“Man, no. No, no, no, it is not that. Trust. I just feel like I gotta be, you know, completely forthcoming about something.”

“Okay?” Eliot says slowly.

“Ain’t no thang, really, but also, technically, this kinda won’t be the uh, the first time. For you and me.”

What.

“What.”

“It’s actually—ha, it’s actually kinda funny. You remember that one time in DC?”

He doesn’t need clarification; there’s only been one significant time in DC, and he very well remembers every bit of it.

Except no, no he doesn’t, does he? And back then was around the time when that itch, that want, was the strongest, and he was doing his best to ignore it, but he was nearly always on the verge of giving in and if he had a moment where he wasn’t thinking clearly then—

“Shit!”

“No, no,” Hardison says, clapping a hand to his shoulder, “it’s fine, man, really—”

“What the hell did I do?”

“E, it’s really not as bad as you think. I mean, you did call me hot, which, thanks, and also, back atcha for real.”

“Oh my god,” he groans, head in his hands.

“Said a couple other nice things and then you kissed me.”

Well. All things considered, it doesn’t sound that bad. “Sorry,” he mumbles.

“Hey, I wasn’t complaining. Did have to stop you from trying to take my shirt off, but—”

Eliot bats his hand away. “Shut the hell up, I did not. Wait, why didn’t you tell me any of this later?” He turns to Parker. “Did he tell you?”

She nods. “He told me lots of times.”

Jesus. “Great,” he grumbles, falling back against the covers, throwing an arm over his face. “So glad everyone got to know I acted like an idiot except me.”

There’s movement then, and he can tell from the way the mattress gives that it’s Hardison above him before he even speaks.

“That wasn’t how I saw it.”

“Sure.”

“I didn’t tell you because I thought you knew. And then when I figured out you didn’t, I still didn’t tell you because…because if it wasn’t real….”

He huffs as he uncovers his face. “It was.”

‘Well, I didn’t know that, baby.”

Baby. Eliot stares up at him, almost distracted by how not universal the endearment sounds falling from his lips. Almost. He’s a little more distracted by the fact that Hardison is above him to look at, shirtless and beautiful and so vulnerable about something he never had any reason to be insecure about and above him and above him and above him.

“We good?” Hardison asks when Eliot doesn’t answer.

They are. But they could be even better.

“Hardison.”

“Yeah?”

He pushes himself to a half sitting position. “Think maybe you should just kiss me. And I better remember this one.”

It’s like clouds parting, the way his face breaks out into a grin, so blindingly bright, before he moves and swiftly pecks his lips to his cheek and pulls back, still grinning.

“That it? I ain’t your Nana.”                                                

“Good,” Hardison laughs, “this’d be real weird.”

Eliot’s back hits the mattress again as Hardison pushes him over, and it’s fairly obvious in the way that Hardison’s lips greedily meet his own exactly what it is he wants to take. With nothing else to hold on to, Eliot grabs him by the back of the neck and gives it to him, all the rest of the love that neither one of them ever believed belonged to them. There’s a lot of it, and Hardison takes it all but gives back just as much and its warm, warm, warm.

When they have to part, Eliot’s breathing is heavy and Hardison’s voice is rough when he asks, “Gonna remember that one?”

“Maybe,” he replies. “I can be real slow sometimes, though.”

He chuckles and ducks down again, but this time he kisses the corner of his mouth, then trails his lips along his jaw.

“M-might be sinkin’ in now.”

“Mmm, finally,” Hardison says before continuing to trail his lips further along his jaw and then down. “You buy a man a brewpub and what’s he do?”

“Wait, that was—”

“Plants one on you in a bathroom and then leaves you wanting.” He finds a spot that makes Eliot have to stifle a groan. “Just rude is what that is.”

“Hardison, the brewpub—”

“Was for you, yeah, keep up, E,” he says, lifting his head up to grin at him. “Guess you just thought I was that big a fan of beer?”

“Well, what else was I supposed to think?” he grumbles, glowering.

“Maybe that I loved you and wanted you in our bed, which, by the way, I didn’t keep telling you was the size of a small country just to brag.”

“Jesus, Hardison.” Eliot, face heating up, pushes up against his chest, more of an excuse to do so than it is to get Hardison off him, but he does roll over anyway.

“Like me and Parker need all that,” he says as he settles. “I mean, we use it just fine, but still.”

“We do,” Parker chimes in, crawling over to sidle up beside them. “I think it’s a lot more than fine, actually.” She says it in such a matter-of-fact way and looks so casual that he almost assumes it to be an innocent statement until Hardison has the audacity to wink.

“Stop it,” Eliot says out of habit, and then, catching himself, overcorrects. “Actually, keep going. Er, I mean…”

No, that is what he means.

At his look of embarrassment, Hardison laughs. “Hey, there’s time. We can bang out all the details later.”

Parker giggles, and Eliot gives her a questioning look. “He said bang."

"Can do that, too," Hardison says with a wag of his eyebrows, and she snickers.

“How old are you?” he fusses.

“I’m not the one blushing,” she replies, poking him in the side.

He grunts and catches her by the hand before she goes in for another. “Sue me, it’s a lot to think about.”

That’s an understatement. Do they not know how often he’s repressed thoughts of them? Used to be that was all he did. And now…

She cocks her head at him. “In a bad way?”

“No,” he replies, willing the burn in his cheeks to cool down. Overwhelming, maybe. But bad? “Definitely ain't that.”

“Hmm.” Parker considers that a moment before moving towards Hardison and kissing him without letting go of his hand. Hardison responds immediately and, like all the times Eliot’s ever seen (but not watched), completely melts. Unlike all the other times, Eliot is watching, and it's so, so far from bad when he gets to see all the ways they fit together as perfectly as he’s always known they did.

And as if she doesn’t want him to forget that he does too, Parker tugs him closer and they show him exactly how.