Work Text:
The Brighter Side of Sunset
It's snowing hard enough that Eliot knows they're not anywhere for a while. They're in a house, rather than a hotel, for a change, and the few quick glimpses of the kitchen he'd seen have left his fingers itching to pick up a knife and set the huge range cooker to work. He sets his book down on the mahogany side table and ambles through the house to the kitchen, passing the den where Breanna, Parker and Hardison are watching a movie he vaguely recognises. He pauses, leaning in the doorway, lifting an eyebrow at Parker when she turns, smiling.
"Join us?" Breanna asks, "Got fancy popcorn!" She lifts the bowl, waving it in front of Hardison's face until he grabs it from her, frowning.
"Thanks, but naw," Eliot says, pushing off the doorframe. "Gonna go put some of the supplies we got to good use."
"If you change your mind…" Hardison offers, and Eliot can't help but smile at him.
"I know, man," Eliot says and leaves them to the movie.
Sophie smiles at him as he walks past the living room. "Don't fancy Galaxy Quest?" she asks, and lays a card down, smirking a bit at Harry. Her side of the table had a neat pile of chips, while his is more bare.
"Is that what it is?" he asks, softly, lifting one hand to rub the back of his neck. "You're supposed to be teaching him how to win, Soph," he adds.
"I will," she says, airily, and clicks her tongue at Harry as he hesitantly lays a card down. "Ooh, not the choice I'd have made, our Mr. Wilson."
"Save me," Harry mouths and takes a cautious sip of his drink. It's luridly pink and thick in a way that's not exactly appetising, but Eliot can smell the strawberry from across the room and there's fruit on the rim of the glass, so he figures it's a win.
What are you up to, Soph? Eliot thinks and wanders over to peer at Harry's cards, shaking his head. "Think we're past that point, bud," he mutters with a laugh, and claps the other man on the shoulder. "I'll be in the kitchen, if you want me," he adds, and heads back to the hallway.
The house is gorgeous and massive, with enough holes in the security systems to keep half the team busy for a full morning. He'd left Parker to run it, and taken the big old truck into the small town for supplies when it became clear that the snow drifting lazily down wasn't stopping anytime soon. The garden is already knee deep with the stuff, and the road out is impassable.
There's plenty of things he can make, but the cold and the snow is making him crave a nice thick beef stew. Hmm, with that nice fresh bread, he thinks. And maybe dumplings.
He washes his hands at the big stone sink, staring out at the still falling snow. It makes the world seem soft and small, in a way he appreciates. The cupboards are fully stocked and he pulls out a big Dutch oven, along with an oiled wood chopping board that's bigger than any he's seen before.
Big cast iron pans hang over the range, in any size he could ever want, and he hooks the biggest down, setting it over a low flame while he grabs the ingredients out of the fridge.
The chuck roast is wrapped in brown paper and tied with twine, a neat touch that he finds charming. It parts easily under his knife and he slides the meat onto the chopping board, slicing it into neat cubes and seasoning it with salt and pepper. Half goes in the pan to brown, sizzling quietly. He leaves it to cook while he picks up the carrots, taking the skin off in neat strips before slicing those into thick slices. He chops an onion next, eyes watering and remembers to wash his hands before he rubs his eyes. Cause you only make that mistake once, he thinks with a laugh. Least it wasn't chillies…
The meat in the pan has browned nicely and he transfers it to the Dutch oven, adding the rest of it in, mincing garlic while he waits for it to brown. A flurry of white outside of the window catches his attention and he turns, sucking in a breath at how heavy the snowfall is. Well, I guess we're not going anywhere for a bit, he thinks, and casts his mind over what's in the fridge. There's enough fresh stuff and cupboard staples to keep them fed for a week. Though I might have to get creative if we're stuck for longer than that.
He adds the last batch of browned beef to the Dutch oven and adds the garlic and onion to the cast iron pan, drizzling in balsamic vinegar, scraping gently to loosen the fond from the bottom of the pan.
"Smells good," Sophie says and he turns, wiping his hands on the dish towel.
"It will be, in a couple of hours," he says, scraping in tomato paste, letting it cook out for a minute before he pours it over the beef. A big spoon of flour and herbs goes in the Dutch oven next.
"Can I do anything?" Sophie asks. "I need a break from fleecing Harry at cards."
"Stir this? Just until the flour dissolves." He nods at the Dutch oven and gladly hands over the wooden spoon, turning his attention to the cartons of broth. Wish I had homemade, he thinks, but it's a decent brand and will taste almost as good. "How's that going?"
"He's getting there. Though I'm not sure he'll ever make a card shark."
Eliot laughs. "You never know, he might surprise us." He passes over the broth "Pour this in now," he says. She empties both cartons, giving the pot a final stir before handing the wooden spoon back.
He dumps in the herbs and carrots, mouth watering already. The kitchen smells warm and rich, tinged with garlic, onion and the good smell of browned meat. His stomach rumbles and he glances at the pan longingly, making do with a carrot coin. They're sweet and crisp, cool on his tongue.
"Give it two hours and it'll be perfect," he says. "You up for a movie?" He lifts an eyebrow, smiling. "Just none of that French arthouse stuff."
"Why?" she asks, and lifts an eyebrow in return. "I thought you got enough punching and kicking in real life."
He makes a soft sound of amused agreement and follows her back into the den, dropping down onto the big leather couch with a sigh of relief. Parker's elbow digs into his ribs and he shifts, tugging on her arm until she grins and slings it over his shoulders instead.
Sophie sits down on his other side, holding up a DVD that makes them all groan. The title - The Discreet Charm of the Bourgeoisie- makes Eliot snort. "I'd rather be waterboarded again than watch that, Soph," he says, grunting when Parker leans across him to snatch the case from Sophie's hands.
She dumps it on Harry's lap, who picks it up gingerly and hands it over to Hardison. Breanna smothers a laugh at the look on their faces, and holds up a DVD of her own. "Die Hard, anyone?"
It's become a bit of a tradition for them, if they're stuck somewhere, and the damn thing is so familiar that Eliot could probably act out the full plot, if he felt inclined. But it's cozy in the den, and he's comfortable enough to prop his socked feet on the ottoman, leaning back and letting the world fade out a bit as he dozes. Even Parker's elbow returning to jab his ribs is only a mild irritation, and he shifts, opening one eye to smile fondly at her before dropping back into a light sleep.
The smell of good food rouses him, exactly ninety minutes later. Breanna offers him a bowl, filled with the beef stew. There's a thick slice of buttered bread on the top. His stomach growls, loud enough that she grins and Harry stifles a laugh.
"Thanks, kiddo," he says and takes the bowl, fishing out a carrot coin and chewing it slowly before going in for a full spoon. The stew is rich and thick and savory, with just a hint of sweetness from the vegetables. The beef is so tender, it falls apart under his spoon and melts like butter in his mouth.
"This is great," Harry says, dunking his bread and taking a hefty bite.
Eliot nods, smiling, because his mouth is full and his Momma taught him better than to speak with a full mouth.
"I think I'll cook tomorrow," Parker announces, and they all groan.
Eliot swallows hard, getting the bread down so he can speak. "I'm not eating cereal for dinner, Parker," he says. "And it doesn't count as cooking, you know?"
"What if I heat up the milk?" she asks, deadpan, and it sets Harry and Breanna off laughing. Sophie and Hardison break next, and Eliot can't help but join in.
"Still not cooking," he splutters, and they all collapse into roaring laughter again.
Days like this make all the crap worth it, he thinks and grabs his stew before Parker can steal all of his carrots.
Hardison offers up one of his own and Parker takes it with a neat snap of her teeth.
"How do you make it taste so good?" Breanna asks.
"Practice," Eliot says.
And love, he thinks.