Work Text:
The Second Needlepoint Job
"Quinn, I said distract them, " Nate hisses, one hand pressed against his ear to block the screaming fire alarm as he digs through the full filing cabinet drawer with the other.
Quinn shrugs. "What do you think this is?" he asks, indignant, and gestures vaguely at the fire smouldering away in the middle of the office. "It's contained. And they're all outside."
"Barely!" Sophie yells. Both her hands are pressed against her ears against the blaring alarm.
Quinn isn't wrong, exactly, but the small metal bucket doesn't seem the best choice. Smoke drifts lazily up, and Sophie takes a step back. The carpet has already started to melt from the heat, and the combined smells are delightful.
"Nate, I think we should go!" Sophie says, and he glances over.
"Just a second!" The file number he needs appears under his hands. "Now we can go!" He yanks it out and holds it up, just as the overhead sprinklers spring into life and send down a deluge of chilly water. " For fuck's sake, Quinn! " he snaps, exasperated beyond belief.
The office door opens again, and Eliot sticks his head in. "What's takin' so long?" he calls over the noise. "And why the fuck are the sprinklers going off?"
Eliot swipes his soaking hair back from his face and glances at Nate, biting his lip at the look on the other man's face. Huh, been a while since I saw that expression, Eliot thinks, looks like he wants to murder someone.
"Ask Quinn," Sophie says, dryly, and ducks out of the door, stopping to slip her heels off, because it's a long ten floors to the ground.
Eliot turns his gaze to the other hitter. "Wanna explain?"
Quinn shrugs, again. "Nate said to make a distraction. I made a distraction."
"Next time, I'll be more specific," Nate snaps and follows Sophie.
"You do that!" Quinn calls, and Nate's shoulders tense up even more.
"It's really not funny!" Eliot says as they both head towards the stairs.
"It's a little funny," Quinn argues and despite himself, Eliot has to agree.
He laughs, spitting water, and shoved the staircase door open. "Yeah, maybe," he allows, and they start down together.
----
It appears on the fridge five days later. Each stitch is beautifully worked, in colours ranging from palest yellow to deep burnt umber. A tidy border rings the words, and flames burn under them.
Parker spots it first, while getting a midnight cereal snack, and cackles in delight, leaving it be, because she knows Nate will spot it when he gets the creamer for his morning coffee. She takes a picture and retreats to the room they've claimed, poking Hardison until he wakes and she can dangle the phone in front of his face to show him.
He stares at the pic for a few long seconds, lip twitching as he tries not to laugh. "That man is not right," he mumbles, and goes back to sleep.
The yell, several hours later, wakes all of them, minus Eliot who is already up and in the kitchen.
"What's this?" Nate asks, accusingly, and holds the offending item up.
Eliot shrugs and pops a bit of cooked bacon into his mouth. "Quinn dropped it off, last night. Said it would go with the other one."
More colour rises in Nate's already pink cheeks. "That man is a menace," he mutters and hangs the dammed thing back on the fridge.
"Handy with a needle, though," Eliot says, mildly, "and his colour composition is comin on nicely." He flips the pancake in the frying pan, a thoughtful look crossing his face. "I did wonder why he was so interested in desserts, though."
Nate sighs, and knows the damn Needlepoint will be turning up in the pub for months to come.
Really Quinn? He thinks, and reads the words again.
Arson? Oh, you mean crime brulee.