Work Text:
All things considered, Hardison thought he was handling this rather well, thank you very much.
Granted, yes, he did waste a few lives doing stupid tricks in the forest he first spawned in while still under the impression this was all some kind of weird dream, but somewhere around the third restart it all sunk in. In fact, Hardison’s pretty damn proud of himself for putting the pieces together so quickly. So, he’s been Jumanji’ed. That’s fine. He can deal with that. He can. He’s read and played through enough of these kinds of stories to know what to do:
Figure out the plot, win the game.
At least it isn't actually Jumanji. Hardison may be a man of many talents, but he knows full well he is not an outdoorsman. No, no the sparse forests here are bad enough. Camping on the road here is bad enough. Riding a damn horse here is bad enough. Fighting his ways through waves of spiders and wolves here is bad enough. Trying to manage all that through the heart of dense, humid, tropical brush… with snakes and tigers and bugs and malaria and pit traps and no lovely little villages dotting the mini map… hell no.
So he lets himself have a quick little breakdown in the middle of the starter level rat infestation quest, dusts off his boots, and gets to his feet. Ready to do what he does best.
Ready to kick ass in a high-fantasy action-adventure role-playing game.
It doesn’t take long for Hardison to get himself fully kitted out. He’s been around this particular block a time or two in virtual form, and there’s plenty of checkpoints dotted around the countryside - glowing runic circles sending a shot of [adrenaline Parker’s cold feet snuck up his back trust rush of magic stomach dropping as he falls caught you safe warm secure easy you can always come back Eliot’s food warming his belly kitchen hearth home you can always come back here] whenever he lays his palm against them.
Which means todays he gets to stride into the latest new city - one much larger than most of the villages he's passed through that surely must hold the key to the next phase in his main quest - fully decked out in the shiny white and gold platemail he'd been scrounging and saving all his gold for. The usual recycled NPC chatter fills the air as he walks by. Basic platitudes, a few gasps, and some occasional mentions of customizable titles he'd earned and quest decisions he'd made.
“My, such armor, you would think we had a visiting noble!”
“Surely, that can’t be… the [Survivor of Rivenhest]?”
“That looks just like the fellow who cleared the [Werewolves] out of Dewdrop Glade!”
A new dagger with poison damage sits on his hip courtesy of the lycans’ leader, and a new arcane focus hangs from his neck thanks to a particularly nasty bog witch. Hardison felt every inch like the dashing young hero gracing fantasy video game covers across the globe back home, and only wished Eliot were here to see just how damn cool he look-
“What the hell are you doing?”
The sudden low, angry growl in his ear startles Hardison out of his musings too late - the looming figure at his back is already taking one plated gauntlet in their firm grip and twisting, bending him forward and marching him briskly into a nearby dark alley.
“H-hang on man, what the hell are you-... this ain’t cool! Look I-... I’m just questing, man! Passing through! D… Do you need something done? Clear out some vermin? Rescue a niece? I gotchu man I can hook you up! You don’t gotta-”
“Shut up,” comes the voice of his attacker again, now ducking them both roughly just inside the entrance to the city sewers. Thing is, Alec’s never been very good at shutting up.
“No man, I’m serious! I got, uh… I got some fire magic, a little cold magic, some thunder, I ain’t too bad with this fancy dagger either you know what I’m sayin’? I can help you out, a little quid pro quo, we can-” the mysterious figure twists Hardison’s arm further, spinning him around until they’re face to face. “AH! Tch-tch-tch OW, man! No need to tear my damn arm-...”
He has to squint through the dark, but even unable to make out details a warm familiarity is already settling in his chest. Safety.
“Holy shit, man.”
“I said shut up,” his would-be attacker leans carefully out of their hidden alcove, checking the alley left and right.
“ Eliot -”
“Are you out of your mind !” Hopes at a warm and touching reunion quickly dissipate as Eliot rounds on him, all angry eyes and grumpy furrow in his brow.
“Now hang on , I’ve been traveling all alone thinking I was stuck here by myself, finally find you, and I don’t even get a ‘hi Hardision, how are you, I’ve missed you and your incredible usefulness and genre savvy knowledge so much, I’m so glad you’re safe-”
“I found you ,” Eliot growls, shoving roughly at Hardison’s very expensive new chestplate.
“Hey! You better watch those big, meaty paws of yours man. That cost a lot of gold!”
“Oh, oh I’m sorry, I didn’t stop to think that the big shiny beacon alerting everyone in the whole damn city that you’re a huge, rich, important, target might’ve been an expensive big shiny beacon.”
“I saved up for this set, man! And what have you got, some-” Hardison gives Eliot the best one over he can in the dim light. A dark brown tunic, some sort of workman’s apron, simple trousers, sensible boots… “-looking like you just stepped out of a Game Of Thrones background extra casting call.”
“Yeah, exactly ,” Eliot hisses, stepping in closer. “-and I managed not to catch three seperate pickpockets’ attention in the first five minutes I was in the city!”
“You-... hang on,” Hardison’s hand darts down to his coin purse. It was already a little lighter after his hefty armor purchase, but now… yep. There it is. A small incision towards the back, a quick and precise dagger cut, and half the coins apparently pilfered through it. “Oh, come on!”
“Take the armor off, Hardison.”
“I spent so long-”
“It’s only gonna be more trouble-”
“My other armor is like, five levels lower than-”
“So keep it in your inventory until we’re out of-”
“Fine!”
Eliot keeps watch while Hardison doffs the armor, returning to the tough, dirty leather jerkin he’d spent his past couple quests in.
“There, happy!”
Eliot looks over the dull russet brown with a satisfied nod.
“It’s safer this way, Hardison. It’s going to be hard enough to protect you without a bullseye on your back.”
“Hey, I’ve been doing pretty good myself so far. Made it to you, didn’t I?”
Eliot’s eyes soften, and a gentle smile tries to fight its way across his face.
“Yeah. Yeah you did.” There’s a quiet pause between them, until suddenly Eliot is reaching out and tugging Hardison into a full body hug. It doesn’t last long, only long enough for Hardision to tuck his head into it and let the ease settle into his bones that he’s not in this alone anymore, until Eliot is gruffly pushing him away. “Alright, enough, stop it.”
“Hey, uh-uh, don’t act like you weren’t the one who started that. Not letting you get away with it this time.”
“Shut up .”
“Have you found Parker yet?”
“Uh, no,” Eliot grumbles, eyes darting left and right across the market square as they walk. “I’ve… had some trouble getting information out of people.”
“What, that southern boy charm not working for you all of a sudden?” Hardison laughs, playfully nudging Eliot in the side. “All the ‘thee’s and ‘thou’s getting twisted up in your drawl?”
Eliot bats his jabbing fingers away.
“Hey, I ain’t ashamed I don’t speak… fantasy geek or whatever as good as you do, alright? I-… that’s-… I would never want to!”
“Uh-huh, sure, whatever man. Look,” Hardison spies a young woman with a yellow exclamation point image hovering in the air above her head. “There, see her? Good chance she’s got what we need. You don’t gotta get fancy with it or anything, just ask her what she’s got for us.”
Eliot rolls his eyes with a carefully affected casualness, but Hardison knows him well enough now to spot the nervous tension strung tight across his shoulders.
“A ‘good chance,’ huh? Exactly how likely do you think it is that some random woman passing by has seen the stealthiest thief we’ve ever met?”
“Random?!?!” Wide-eyed, Hardison casts his glance rapidly between Eliot and the quest giver. “What do you mean ‘random,’ do you not see-“
“I mean, that woman looks the exact same as three other women we’ve walked by! Right down to the outfit! What makes you think this one’s gonna have anything more useful to-“
“So sometimes the devs reuse models, it’s no big deal,” Hardison throws an arm around Eliot’s shoulders and starts steering him across the clearing. “-but that thing over her head is a quest marker-“
“Hang on, there isn’t any-“
“-so you just go on over there and strike up a nice little convo with the nice little lady-“
“-these games are your kind of nerdy thing anyway, so why don’t you -“
“-and find out if she’s heard any rumors of thieves’ guilds in town.”
“Damnit, Hardison!” Eliot stops humoring Hardison’s manhandling, spinning on his heel just a few feet away from the woman. Hardison takes a quick step back and lifts his hands up in what he hopes is a placating manner. “It doesn’t… I can’t get it to work like that here!”
“You can’t get…” He tilts his head and mouths a few words, trying to work that nonsensical sentence out in his mind. “…talking. You can’t get talking to work. You’re talking to me just fine!”
“Yeah…” Eliot ducks his head. One hand comes up to rub nervously at the back of his neck, and he won’t make eye contact. “Look, man, you… you’re the first person I’ve managed to talk to properly in the past two weeks.”
“…huh.” Hardison ponders the possibilities as he looks Eliot over. “That… sounds pretty awful, actually. What is it, like, restricted dialogue choices for you or something?”
“Not… not exactly. I mean, yeah, but it’s more like…”
“Show me.” When Eliot shoots him a scathing look, Hardison waves at the woman pacing the same seven feet back and forth across her door frame. “Hey, you know I’m the expert at these kinds of games. Go on, try and talk to her, and maybe I can figure out the problem.”
Eliot sighs deeply with a hard roll of his eyes, but he does at least turn and walk dutifully toward the quest giver. Hardison can’t help but shake his head. He knows it’s not that Eliot doesn’t trust his insight on stuff like this - he’s learned by now all the different variations of Eliot Bluster. This one’s nothing serious. Just a bit of embarrassment at not being as good at something as Eliot expects himself to be able to. Even when things are understandably outside of his wheelhouse, Eliot takes being anything less than perfect way too seriously.
Hardison watches him approach the woman, open his mouth, and-
A small white oval with three black dots appears over each of their heads. Hardison frowns, straining to hear. He even steps closer, but still nothing.
Then Eliot’s whole stance changes. Hardison’s first instinct is to expect trouble. By now, whenever Eliot tenses up? Both he and Parker get ready for Fight And Flight - where Eliot fights, and the two of them flight. This, though… this isn’t quite Eliot’s “…oh. That ‘uh-oh.’” body language.
This is something… new. Something very Not Eliot.
His back is ramrod straight - up and down, stiff. Locked in place and useless if a fight broke out. His head’s stuck straightforward, staring blankly somewhere past the quest giver’s head, and his mouth stretched into a sharp and uncanny smile. Their lips move in silence for a moment, then Eliot is reaching out a fistful of empty air. The woman accepts it, and the strange spell over the scene seems to break. The “speech” bubble disappears, and Eliot shakes his head as though coming out of a trance while the woman returns to her programmed pacing.
“…oh my god.” A slow grin spreads across Hardison’s face as Eliot trudges back to his side. “Oh my god.”
“What?” Eliot snaps, grumpy and frowning again.
“You’re an NPC.”
“A what?”
“You’re like-“ Hardison can feel his cheeks straining with the force of his delight, hands starting to wheel about in the air as he talks. “A merchant, or… or a blacksmith or something!”
“I figured that much out for myself , Hardison!”
“That explains why you can’t talk to other NPCs… it automatically activates your inventory menu!”
“Whatever,” Eliot grumbles, crossing his arms and continuing their walk through the city alone. Hardison takes a moment to himself to rub his hands together in glee, cackling a bit under his breath. He’s not a particularly envious man. That’s not it at all, really. It’s just… Eliot is always so competent. Their tough guy fighter, power grifter combo. Here, though… with Eliot’s new status as an NPC who can’t even hold a conversation… It’s nice to be The Hero for a change. Hardison had kinda gotten used to it these past few weeks, as used as anyone could get to being launched into… whatever this is.
“Hardison!”
Oh, right. He has to jog across the market to catch up, Eliot refusing to break his stride.
“Hey! Hey, so what is it then, huh?” He chatters, darting around to catch Eliot's gaze.
“There’s a tavern ahead. You’ll have to do the talking, obviously, but that seems our best bet.”
“No no, I mean… is it a blacksmith? Can you upgrade my armor?”
“…no. And don’t go overboard like you did with the Mexican cartel! I can’t back up your story if I can’t talk!”
“Butcher, maybe? Can you hook me up with some short ribs?”
“Tavern. Now.”
“Maybe some brisket- OW, OW HEY! I NEED THAT-… THAT’S MY SPELLCASTING ARM, MAN! LET-“
"I told you not to overdo it!" Eliot shouts, metal clanging as he parries an angry guild member's dagger with a pewter mug.
"I thought 'glass him' meant I'd just buy the guy a drink!" Hardison counters, peeking out from around an overturned table long enough to whip up some ice under one of their attackers' feet. "How was I supposed to know it'd kick off a fight sequence! You think I wanted to smash my beer over his head?!"
Eliot grunts, shoving his more agile target away with a kick to the midsection, and whirling out of the path of a lumbering mercenary. Luckily the more cumbersome man preferred to fight with his fists and hasn't drawn his sword - leaving it free for Eliot to snatch right out of its sheath. He blocks an overshot from an angry patron drawn into the bar fight, spinning beneath their raised arm to slice across the approaching guild leader's midsection. It leaves his path free for a moment, enough to take proper stock of the battlefield.
Crowded, full of civilians, some rotting ceiling supports, plenty of dry hay and crates and wood, and a LOT of alcohol.
One of the original guild members Hardison pissed off swings for him again. Elliot tucks and rolls under a table.
"Don't use any fire!" he calls out across the din.
"Use fire?!"
"No, I said don't -"
"Okay!"
"Damnit Hardison-!"
"Hey, I said I was sorry, man," Hardison chuckles, not looking at all sorry, as they trudge through an open field north of town. Eliot, a few steps ahead, stops and turns just long enough to level a steely glare at him.
The effect is somewhat lessened by his solitary eyebrow.
"I told you, no fire."
"In my defense, it was loud as he-"
"I also told you, don't wear that damn armor."
"We aren't in town anymore!" Hardison defends his choice of fantasy fashion, spreading his arms and spinning a bit in the open field. "Besides, my leathers got all charred up in that fight and lost a bunch of defense points. Unless your particular brand of merchantry is leatherwork-" Hardison's voice is almost hopeful as he trails off.
Eliot just grunts and keeps walking.
"Exactly. You can't fix my armor, and I'm not gonna be caught without any protection if that dragon shows up."
"Dragon?" Now that catches Eliot's attention. "You didn't say anything about a dragon!"
"Of course there's a dragon," Hardison almost laughs, but the angry storm brewing on Eliot's face since Hardison blew up the-... since the tavern blew up, has him walking on thin ice. "Towards those mountains in the distance. That prophecy nailed to every temple around here, you know? That's how main characters find their primary quest! What was it, uh… 'Beyond the dragon's hoard, there lies a magic door. The key of three shall show to thee, the treasure most worth fighting f-"
"Get down!” Eliot hisses, grabbing Hardison roughly and shoving him low in the tall grass.
"Again with the manhandling! We really gotta have a talk about this man, it's becoming a problem."
"The problem," Eliot's retort comes through clenched teeth. "Is that if there's a dragon, we're sitting ducks in this damn field! Especially with you in that armor!"
Hardison scoffs. He shakes off Eliot's grip and stands, wiping dirt and grass stains from the white plate.
"Relax, man. The big boss isn't gonna just roll up on us in the middle of some random field, that's not how these things wor-"
Time slows.
Even in the armor, the air is knocked right out of him as Eliot barrels into his chest. Hardison hits ground right as a guttural roar tears across the sky. He only sees Eliot's fear stricken face for a moment before the man is wrenched away - wicked talons locking around his midsection and hauling him up into the sky. Heavy wing beats pulse the grass around Hardison in concentric circles as he catches his breath, trying to make sense of the split-second snatching.
A great green dragon rises into the air, Eliot struggling uselessly in it's grip. It takes a lazy circle around the field, big sweeping strokes of it's powerful wings bending the vegetation blow. It's snarled, toothy mar points itself toward Hardison.
He tries to run. Tries to make Eliot's quick-thinking sacrifice worth something. It's too late.
The dragon's other claw curls around him, and his feet leave the ground.
"I got you two good , huh!" Parker crows, clapping her hands together gleefully.
"Yeah yeah, whatever," Eliot grumbles, leaning back on his elbows against one of the piles of gold coins and jewels littering the ground of the cave. He's trying to feign nonchalance, but Hardison knows him well enough to see he's rattled.
Rattled, but relieved. After all, they found Parker! Hardison gently takes her face in his hands, kidding her again, delighting in the sensation of the cool emerald scales decorating her cheeks and jaw in her human form. Or rather - he supposes, pulling away - she found them.
"You look like you've been having fun," he chuckles, enjoying the delight in her eyes just as much as though he was feeling it himself. Still giddy from her death defying flight through the mountain range, Parker flits out of his grasp to gesture all around her hoard.
"Are you kidding?!?! I haven't scored this big since Monaco, 2009!" She laughs as she picks up one of the gems, tossing it from hand to hand. It's an opal stone with a unique cut, catching the light as though fire burns from within it.
"Glad somebody's happy with all this-" Eliot snarks from where he sits amidst glittering rubies and diamonds and shiny gold trinkets, trying to catch his breath. He looks as dizzy as Hardison feels. After those lifts and dives and sharp banking turns in the clutches of dragon!Parker, Hardison knows the only thing keeping him up on his own feet is how good it feels to see his girl after weeks of worry, safe and healthy and having a ball.
...and also probably that improved balance feat he took back at level five, now that he thinks about it.
"-but aren't we forgetting kind of a key problem here?" Parker and Hardison both turn to look at Eliot, then back to each other.
"We found each other," Hardison shrugs. Now we can complete the quest."
"Yeah, exactly!" Eliot groans, getting to his feet. With all the coins sliding under him, it takes a couple tries. "How are we supposed to kill the dragon, when the dragon's Parker!"
"Ooh, I get a death scene?!" Parker's face lights up. "Normally Sophie always gets the death scenes!"
"You're not getting a death scene, babe," Hardison reaches out as her face falls, tapping her chin gently with his first. "Look, the prophecy didn't say anything about having to kill the dragon, just getting through it's door."
Parker's disappointment swiftly turns to anger and frustration.
"Yeah, good luck with that," she bites out, mood quickly souring.
"You've seen it?" Eliot slings his stolen shortshord back across his hip, gearing up for the next phase of their adventure.
"Seen it?" Parker scoffs, crossing her arms. The scales decorating her biceps lift and flare outward, matching the spiked shoulder pads of her verdant scaled armor until her whole silhouette is reminiscent of a particularly prickly cat. "I've seen it, listened to it, tasted it, climbed it, even tried to shatter it!"
Eliot ducks just in time to avoid getting a face full of new scars as she swings one clawed hand out towards the back of the cave. A burst of impulsive magic scatters the pile of gold in front of an ornate stained glass window… 'wait, not a window,' Hardison realizes.
"That's… that's the door! The one from the temple tapestries!"
"Yeah, it's locked up tighter than Eliot's emergency cash," Parker huffs, her frustration at a lock she can't pick evident in the slow curl of acrid smoke trickling from the corners of her snarl.
"You're not… you're not supposed to know about that-"
"Alrighty then," Hardison cuts Eliot off, grinning and rubbing his hands together so gleefully his fingers start sparking. "Un-unlockable doors means puzzles . Puzzles mean, it's my turn."
Tho' shined and polished thy armor be, thy true strength burns inside of thee.
Hardison runs his thumb over the round plaque on the front of the door. No moving plates, no divots or keyholes… just delicately scrolling text on polished dark steel.
"See?" Parker paces behind him, agitated. "No lock! No lock means nothing to pick! Nothing to pick means-"
"Easy girl, I gotchu," Hardison croons, stepping back from the door. "Look, the original prophecy said there's a 'key of three,' right? That probably means three riddles."
"So we solve this one..." Eliot steps up next to him, squinting at the disk himself.
"-and it should get us through to the next. Hey Park, let me see that rock you were fooling with. The, uh-"
"This?" Parker țosses Hardison the firelight opal.
"That's the one," he laughs, pressing it to the disk. The three of them wait a moment. Then another. Then another.
"I don't think that's it, man," Eliot remarks first, breaking the awkward silence.
"Aw, c'mon," Hardison whines, withdrawing the stone. "Look at the detail on it! It's clearly meant to stand out from everything else around here… I could've sworn it would get used in the plot somehow…" He hands it back to Parker with a sad sigh.
"Hmn… there's three riddles… and there's three of us," she muses, pickering the stone so quickly Hardion can't even tell where she put it. "Maybe we're the answers to them… something only each of us can do? One for each lock?"
"The 'key of three,'" Hardison's eyes light up in return. "...the three of us. Of course!" He picks Parker up to swing her around- ...or at least, he tries to. Dragon bones must be a lot denser than human bones, no matter which form they're in. Parker still laughs, though, so Hardison calls it a win.
Eliot, on the other hand, is still frowning at the plaque. "It talks about shining armor…"
"This one's probably meant for me then," Hardison struts forward, doing a little catwalk turn to show off his white-gold plate. Parker claps. Eliot rolls eyes, and goes back to the riddle.
"And 'burns inside,' that's… uh oh."
"Oh yes."
"No. Hardison, do not-"
"Here we go!"
"At least let me get out of the w- HEY!” Eliot scrambles across a mound of sliding jewels as Hardison's firebolt goes whizzing past, almost nicking his ear. He thinks he even smells a little hair burning.
"Damnit. Hardison."
"Sorry man," Hardison doesn't offer much more than a sheepish grin. "Hey, keeps you on your toes though, right?"
"I'll keep you on your t-"
"It didn't work," Parker frowns at the sizzling lock. The bolt hit dead center, but aside from a few scorch marks? It didn't leave a dent.
"Damn," Hardison whistles, stepping back up to the door. "Could have sworn that was it. What else… what else burns? And not just generic, like… it's gonna have something to do with me, specifically."
"Ooh ooh! I know!” Both Parker's right hand and right wing shoot straight up, smacking Hardison lightly in the back of the head. "Eliot's kitchen! When you cook in it!"
"...c'mon mama, that's low."
"No no, she's right," Eliot chortles, shooting Parker a quick drink. Soon though, the mood sobers again while they wrack their brains for the answer.
In the end, it's Eliot who speaks up.
"...love." His voice is quiet, his eyes shifty. Almost like he feels foolish for saying it. But as hesitant as he puts the thought out there, Parker picks it right up and gives it strength.
"He's right." Her voice is firmer, steely but warm. "You're so full of it, all the time. For me, for Eliot… for Nate and Sophie… even for our clients. You've got so much love in you it hurts to think about sometimes."
"... babe," Hardison can feel the tears welling up, and reaches for her hand. She lets him take it.
"The 'strength that burns inside,' or whatever," Eliot sighs, shifting his weight so their shoulders bump together. A nice, comforting 'thwap.' But he doesn't pull right away, like usual. Just leans on Hardison. Sharing that warmth. "That's you, alright. That's your strength."
Hardison takes a centering breath. They've really got something special, the three of them. One way or another, whatever others may think of it… they're his family. And he does love them. So, so much.
He steps forward, gathering those feelings around him, and presses his lips to the disk.
The door's stained glass begins to glow, the planes sliding against each other as the disk turns, opening up to reveal a small hall ending in a whole new door with a whole new plaque.
Tho' hands be bloodied for thy family's sake, thy truest gift is what they make.
There's a small alcove in the wooden door, just below Eliot's riddle.
Eliot knows it's his. Knows it couldn't be Parker's. Her hands might not be clean, exactly, but they've never been bloody.
Eliot's made sure of that.
But as for what they make… there's not a whole lot of options there.
"They make us safe?" Hardison offers, shrugging. "But how would you put 'safety' in the door?
"That's already in the first part of the riddle," Eliot mutters back. "For your sake, means for your safety. The second part must be referring to something else."
"If we had a kitchen, Eliot could make food for us," Parker plops her heart on Eliot's shoulder, staring at the words like they've personally stiffed her on a payment.
"Mmn, yeah," Hardison sighs, tilting his head back and leaning wistfully against the cave wall. "I'd give anything for an Eliot Dinner right now… man I swear you've ruined me for every restaurant in the states."
"It's cuz it tastes like love!" Parker laughs as Eliot play-shoves her off of him. "-and family and home!"
"Yeah," watching the two of them devolve into good-natured wrestling on the dusty cavern floor, Hardison can't help a stuffy little chuckle. "Love and family and home."
Emerging victorious, Eliot stands and brushes himself off with a slight flush to his cheeks.
"Fine, fine. I'll-... how do I do that… merchant inventory thing?"
"...what?" Hardison pushes himself off the wall, staring blankly at Eliot.
"Y'all aren't those… NCPs or whatever, and that's the only time it happened before. How do I open the screen I need?"
"Uh… try just… reach into the air next to you like you're teaching into a bag. Really visualize it."
Eliot hesitantly reaches to his side. Hardison watches his body go into that weird locked pose, and feels Parker tense up.
"He's fine, mama," Hardison reassures her. "He's just… it's weird video game stuff."
"It looks wrong."
"Yeah, yeah I know. It'll just be a minute."
The loose, coiled tension returns to the lines of Eliot's back and shoulders just a moment later. He extends a no longer empty hand towards the door and places a small loaf of bread on the alcove. The lock glows, and the wooden door creaks open.
Eliot turns back to the others, ready to welcome then through, but pauses at the sight of the broad, demented grin splitting Hardison's face.
"...what."
"Seriously?"
"What."
"It's just. You know. You're Eliot Spencer. This is high fantasy. You could've been anything . Even if you weren't the main character, I was thinking like… you know, a blacksmith, or like… a blackmarket merchant… some kind of notoriously badass type of NPC. But you're a baker."
"What of it," Eliot grumbles, huffing and turning back towards the slowly opening for.
"No no, I mean like-"
"It's your greatest gift," Parker jumps in. "It means caring for us is more important to you than being tough anymore. It's good."
"Exactly," Hardison laughs. "Couldn't have said it better myself."
"Just get through the damn door." Eliot snarls at them, pushing ahead. But he can't help the soft little smile fighting it's way to the corners of his lips.
Tho' hoarding coin and jewels of many hue, thy truest score is that which unlocked you.
Parker's door, a great steel vault with it's plaque where the dial should be, has two cylindrical holes bored to the left and right of the riddle.
She's quiet, as she reads through it again. The boys are already debating it behind her, tossing theories back and forth about the number of items. How Hardison's door had no holes, Eliot's one, Parker's two. They're dancing around the answer. Close, but no cigar.
Parker already knows.
"You."
Both Hardison and Eliot fall quiet, almost surprised. Like they were so into their argument they forgot she was there. It happens sometimes. Parker doesn't mind it. She likes that they can take up all of the other's attention so easily. That would be too much attention on her, if the situation was reversed. She can't handle it like Eliot and Hardison can… but she's getting better at it.
"Because of you two, both of you. I feel… good, about stuff now. Because you've got my back."
"Park…" She can tell Hardison's trying not to cry again, but Eliot's just smiling all gentle like at her. They share a commiserating eye roll over it as Hardison bundles her up into a big hug.
"Really," she continues as Hardison pulls away. "I spent so long avoiding so much just because I didn't have an escape route for it, but now I get a safety harness and an emergency chute. I don't have to worry about my way out anymore, I can just enjoy breaking in!"
Eliot chuckles, tugging her in close for a quick hug of his own. "Should I be worried that your weird crime metaphors for life are starting to make sense to me?"
She jabs him in the ribs with two claws and he darts away with a grin.
"Nah, man," Hardison joins in. "You two have always been the same flavor of crazy. What you should be worried about is that they're starting to make sense to me!"
Parker throws one arm around each of their necks, all three of them laughing, and they step up to the door. She let's go only long enough to take Hardison's hand in her left and Eliot's in her right. Hardison leans in to leave a gentle kiss against her lips, while Eliot lifts her hand to press a soft kiss to the back of it.
Then, as one, they place their joined hands in the receptacles. The door begins to glow.
Hardison wakes slowly, blinking against the sharp light of the television cutting through the dark room. A video game, long abandoned, cycles through its main menu sequence. Bowls of snacks and cans of soda are scattered across the coffee table. His right arm feels a comfortable sort of numb, trapped under Parker where she's curled into his side. Eliot's head lolls onto his shoulder where the man fell asleep on his left, hands still loosely gripping the player two controller.
A whisper of a dream lingers at the edge of Hardison's consciousness.
"...'treasure most worth fighting for,' huh?” he murmurs to himself, still half-asleep, as he takes in the comfortably chaotic mess around him. "They got that one right, for damn sure."
It's not long before the warm tug of sleep at the ends of his eyelashes pulls him back under, arms tightening around both of his companions.
He drifts off again too quickly to notice the stone falling from Parker's twitching, unconscious fingers.
An opal stone with a unique cut, catching the light as though fire burns from within it.