Archive of Our Own

Eliot sniffed the air before he carefully lifted the lid off the big pot on the back burner in the Brew Pub's kitchen. His stew – a new recipe that had been simmering all night – smelled heavenly. He grabbed a spoon and dipped it into the stew. Creamy and rich, but missing… a hint of cranberry sauce, maybe.

He stirred in the cranberry sauce – homemade, of course – with sure hands and then grabbed another spoon for a second taste. Perfect.

Grabbing another – bigger – spoon, Eliot stepped around the few employees who stayed after the lunch rush to clean up and tide everyone over until the early evening brought in the dinner crowd. They knew not to bother Eliot while he was cooking and gladly kept their distance, knowing there might be a bowl of something delicious in it for them at the end.

Outside in the dining areas of the Brew Pub, Eliot found Hardison and Parker at the end of the counter. Hardison was sitting at the very end, laptop in front of him and a tablet in his hand. Spread out next to him was Parker and what looked like every Portland daily newspaper and a few national ones, and even an international one.

Eliot ignored the newspaper invasion for now and held out the spoon, one hand cupped underneath it to catch any drips. "Taste."

Parker glanced up from the papers and opened her mouth. "Hmm," she said absently, turning straight back to the papers to keep reading.

Eliot raised an eyebrow. Ever since Parker had discovered food as something more than fuel for the body, she'd been excited to try everything and anything. For her to dismiss his – frankly delicious – stew like that, something had to be up. He turned to Hardison, holding out the spoon which still had some stew on it. "You want some too?"

Hardison looked up and nodded. He took the spoon from Eliot and tasted the stew. "Tastes amazing. Kind of sweet, but not sweet, you know? But also meaty and, hmm, dark? I like it. Are we having this for dinner? Because we should!"

Eliot smiled as he took back the spoon. Having his food appreciated warmed him more than anyone complimenting his fighting or his looks. "Yeah, we're having it for dinner." He glanced at Parker. She was looking through the papers and muttering to herself. "What's with her?"

Hardison shrugged. "Spy movie marathon yesterday."

Eliot nodded. "Ah." Looking closer, he saw Parker had not entire newspapers in front of her, but only the classified sections of each.

"Here, listen to this: 'Sunny. Can't make it, go with friends. Raindrop.'" She looked up at Eliot. "That's a spy message, right? I mean, obviously it is!"

Eliot and Hardison exchanged a look.

"I don't think so, babe," Hardison said. "Sunny is probably ninety-five and doesn't have a cell phone. And so, like an old person, she uses the newspaper to inform her equally geriatric friends of a change in plans." He shrugged. "Cute nicknames though."

"No!" Parker made a disgruntled sound. "It's a spy communiqué! The meet's a bust, and 'go with friends' obviously means we've been discovered and 'Sunny' needs to hide out at a safehouse!"

Eliot shook his head. Whatever it was, it was not a spy message. "It's probably some guy and his mistress, trying to make sure the wife doesn't catch them texting each other."

Hardison sighed. "Babe, this isn't the dark ages anymore. These days spies just leave messages on darknet forums or send a secure email on a dedicated server. If they don't use a burner phone like everyone else who doesn't want their messages attached to their name."

Parker let out a disappointed noise and put the paper down. "Aww, but I really thought this might be something: 3X3X 3H0L1L1z1D0v0j2b -- 551r1f -- 3T3b3f2H3H 3z2v 3X3X."

Something in the back of Eliot's mind perked up. "Say again."

Parker repeated the message.

"Actually, that sounds a lot like a code we used when I was in--Anyway, if it is that code, it says Thursday – so today – 5 pm, Wilmington Road."

"Awesome!" Parker's eyes lit up. "We have to go check it out!"

"No!"

"Yes!"

Hardison looked between the two, but stayed quiet.

"Parker. If this is legit spy stuff, then we really need to be nowhere near Wilmington Road today. Portland is already a little too hot for us these days; it's why we're looking to relocate. Besides, if we're not being actively investigated right now, getting involved in this stuff will put us back on the map. You think the CIA or whoever does not have files on us?"

Hardison scoffed. "Oh, they do. All the big agencies have files on us. Say a lot of not-so-nice things about us. None of them have looked at any of our files in at least three-ish months though, so we're not currently on any active radar."

"Busting a meet is going to put us on someone's radar, stat!" Eliot said, starting to take and fold the mountain of newspapers on the counter into one neat stack to dispose of.

"I don't want to interfere!" Parker argued. "I just want to watch."

Eliot gave her a look. "And you think trained spies won't notice you?"

"Half the time you don't notice me."

Eliot opened his mouth to argue, then closed it again. He took a breath. "That's different, Parker."

"It's not! You've done spy stuff, in the army and after. If I can fool you, I'm fine with some spies who aren't even expecting me."

"Parker," Eliot said quietly. "I don't notice you these days because I'm used to you. I expect you to be around and in my space. I don't expect an attack from you in any space we share." I trust you, he didn't add. I relax my guard around you in familiar surroundings.

Parker stubbornly crossed her arms.

Eliot sighed. "Have I ever failed to notice your approach on a job?"

Parker pouted, arms still crossed. "No," she said reluctantly.

Hardison, who had swiped his current project – he wanted to upgrade the program he'd written to search and scrub the internet of any mention of them, and especially any pictures, to inject a virus into any computer that put the same information on them out more than twice; it might fry some harmless nutjob conspiracy theorist's computer, but if they didn't get the hint after their data disappeared twice, that really wasn't Hardison's problem – aside to enter Parker's discovered code into his decryption program (it did indeed say "thrs, 5pm, wlmgt rd"), put his tablet down. "Babe. Please tell me you're not going to Wilmington Road today."

"I'm not going to Wilmington Road today," Parker parroted, obviously not meaning a word of it. She grabbed all the newspaper pages that Eliot had stacked up and stomped off to the back of the Brew Pub.

Hardison and Eliot watched her leave, then exchanged an exasperated but fond look.

"Leave here at four?" Hardison suggested, slipping his tablet into his satchel. "You know she's going."

Eliot nodded. "I know."

"I'm gonna head to my warehouse, grab some equipment, and get some stuff set up. Hopefully before any spy business happens. I'll be back by four to pick you up."

Eliot gave him a curt nod and headed back into the kitchen. He had dinner to finish and then probably freeze for a later date – who knew how long Parker's spy adventure would take.

In the private areas of the Brew Pub, Parker ran her hand along Hardison's DVD collection, picking one of the spy movies they'd seen the day before. She still had a couple of hours before she needed to be present for her real-life spy movie to start and it wouldn't hurt to refresh her spy lingo. Even if she didn't plan to get involved, it was good to be prepared.

Once the movie was over, Parker headed upstairs to change into something spy-tastic: black leggings, black boots, black tank under a black tee and a black sweater that was reversible into a red sweater (because disguise!). She grinned.

Her leather jacket would work, and a knit cap (also black). It was winter, so the hat wouldn't attract undue attention. Parker narrowed her eyes. Neither Hardison nor Eliot had come after her to talk her out of her idea, so they likely wouldn't at this point. But they knew her as well as she knew them, so they knew what she was planning (spy hunting!) and probably had a plan themselves.

Parker shrugged. Whatever plan the boys had wouldn't stop her. They wouldn't do anything to compromise her and she really did just want to see what was happening, not interfere. It would be like watching a movie, but in real life.

Humming the Mission: Impossible theme, Parker left the Brew Pub via the roof. She hopped across a few conveniently close rooftops – the wintery conditions made it more of a challenge which Parker enjoyed a lot – before sliding down the fire escape of a house at the end of the block. Wilmington Road was halfway across town in a slightly worse part of Portland. Parker didn't drive – she had enough time to make it a walk, and besides she was sure the boys would be taking the van out and she could hitch a ride back to the pub once the action was all over.

Parker smiled to herself. Finally something was happening! Their last con had been so long ago (an entire month! and it had ended with Nate and Sophie leaving the team which had been sad but not completely unexpected) that Parker felt rusty. She wasn't, of course. When she wasn't working, she was training, just like Eliot. Just like Hardison, too, even though his training was not as physical as theirs.

"Where do you think she set up?"

Eliot glanced at the wall of monitors above Hardison's station in the back of the van. They showed several different views of Wilmington Road, covering as much of it as possible. "Ordinarily, I'd say a rooftop somewhere, but…" He tilted his head a little and got up from the chair.

Hardison frowned. "What? What is it?"

Eliot opened the back door to find Parker standing there. She pouted. "You knew I was here even though I made sure not to be on camera."

Eliot shrugged. "Told you. You don't surprise me in the field."

Parker made a face but climbed in and closed the door behind her. "Did you come to join me or…?"

"Baby, you know as well as Eliot and I do that there is no stopping you. We're just here to do damage control."

Eliot cast a speculative eye to the cameras. "Maybe punch a spy, if it comes to that."

Parker grinned and slung her arm around Eliot, dragging him over to where Hardison was sitting so she could sling her other arm around him. "This is gonna be so much more fun with you guys here, too."

Eliot wound himself out of Parker's grasp and shook his head at her, but still allowed himself a small smile at her antics.

When Hardison's watch beeped to announce it was now five minutes to 5 pm, Parker pushed them away to get a clear view of all the monitors. Wilmington was a busy road, but didn't get a lot of foot traffic. There was a little hot dog stand at one corner and a handful of shops along the way. The rest of the buildings were purely residential. Wilmington Road was only half a mile long and mostly served as a connection between two other roads. It was shoehorned into the area in the early 90s to help ease traffic in other areas by directly connecting several industrial areas to more residential parts of Portland.

At 4.59 pm, there were a couple of construction workers in dirty clothes, standing at a corner and eating hot dogs from the cart, joking around with the vendor. A woman with earphones in walked past them at a brisk pace. A guy pushed a bike in the opposite direction, the front tire obviously flat.

At 5.00 pm, Hardison's watch beeped again. They all watched the monitors.

At 5.01 pm, Parker made a disgruntled noise. "Where are they?"

"There," Eliot said. Movement at the mouth of an alley off Wilmington, caught on the edge of one of Hardison's cameras.

Parker nodded and pointed it out on the camera for Hardison. Hardison quickly switched to a camera across the road that offered the best view of the alleyway. The sun had set half an hour ago and the alley was dark so visibility wasn't great, but what appeared to be a homeless guy stumbled towards Wilmington, tripping and falling next to an overflowing dumpster. When he got up again, his filthy clothes were wet and he was holding a brown paper bag.

"It's just a dead drop? Not gonna lie, that's kinda boring." Hardison tapped away at the keys and the camera zoomed in. "Too dark to make out any details. The bag has no markings that I can see."

Parker scoffed. "Of course not! No spy would ever let himself be traced that easily." She bounced a little. "Let's follow the guy. Hopefully something more exciting will happen."

Eliot sighed and held out his hand for the keys.

They were parked one street over from Wilmington, so Eliot steered them towards Wilmington while Parker and Hardison kept following the guy through Hardison's cameras, supplemented by the city's traffic cams.

"Whoa!"

When nothing else followed, Eliot growled. "What?!"

"Not Homeless Guy got run over!" Parker's excited face appeared in the little window that connected the driver's cabin with the rest of the van. "Take the next left and it'll be right ahead!"

Instead of getting them stuck in traffic, Eliot pulled into the parking lot of a furniture store and they walked the rest of the way, joining the rubbernecking crowd that was starting to gather. The driver that had hit the guy had apparently fled the scene, if the excited whispers of the gathered masses were to be believed.

Their spy was being given CPR by an off-duty nurse, still in her scrubs, who'd gotten off the bus that got stuck in traffic behind the accident.

Eliot scanned the crowd, spotting a few small time criminals taking advantage of the situation – one pickpocket working the crowd, a couple of dealers eyeing each other across the street – and… Eliot blinked. Male, mid-to-late forties, maybe 5'10'', dark hair, possible of Asian or mixed descent, just getting up from near the victim.

"He's got the bag!" Parker yell-whispered, nodding to the guy Eliot had just mentally stumbled over.

Their new mark was casually working his way through the bystanders, getting on a moped and weaving his way through the stalled traffic. Eliot had the license plate memorized before he consciously thought about it even though either it or the moped was likely going to be stolen.

"Whatever is in there, we need it."

"Parker--"

"No. They just possibly killed that guy for whatever is in that bag."

"That's kinda a reason not to get involved," Hardison pointed out. "Besides, it's none of our business."

"This is our town, right?"

"For now." Hardison was already looking for another place to settle, now that Sophie and Nate had left. He had vague ideas of expanding – Leverage International did have a nice ring to it even if it would take a lot of work. Still, he though, looking at Parker and Eliot who were glaring at each other even as Eliot used his bulk to keep the bystanders from crowding them too much, I'll have help with it.

"And we help people, right?"

"Yeah, but--"

"And this guy needs help. We're the good guys in this! We help other good guys!"

"We don't even know if he's a good guy!" Eliot crossed his arms. "Guy could be a Russian spy or whatever."

Parker rolled her eyes . "You couldn't tell from the dirt patterns on his coat?" she asked with a teasing grin. "So what, spoilsport! He could be the most wanted spy in the world and I'd still want to know what's in the bag!"

Eliot made a disgruntled sound. "That's not even how that works; just because some things are really distinctive--"

Hardison's tablet beeped and they crowded around him to see what was up. "I started running an automatic facial recognition program on everyone in the alley from half past four onward." He swiped across the screen and a file marked with an CIA logo was pulled up. "The guy who just got run over? CIA Agent Jasper Mellenby, thirty-four. This is just his basic profile with his heavily edited CV on it. His actual file would take some digging, but his CV lists his expertise as Far East, and Mellenby is apparently a handler for undercover assets."

Parker slapped Hardison's back a bit more forcefully than truly necessary. "Thank you!" She turned to Eliot. "See? Good guy!"

"He's CIA; since when are they the good guys?"

Hardison hummed in agreement. "Yeah, I'm not feeling the love, looking at the files they have on us. But they are, technically, the good guys. I guess."

"Fine!" Eliot shrugged. "Still, better help one of own spies than a foreign one."

An ambulance and a police cruiser turned up near simultaneously and Eliot herded Parker and Hardison back to the van.

"All right," Hardison said, pulling up traffic cams in the area. "Our paper bag thief ditched the moped and got into a dark blue Lincoln two streets over. I'm running the license plates now, but I'd be surprised if the car wasn't stolen."

Eliot started the van, hoping to pull into traffic that was flowing again now that the victim was out of sight in the ambulance and the cops were trying to get everything moving again.

"Head east," Hardison directed.

They followed the mark via traffic cams, supplemented by whatever other security cameras Hardison managed to hack along the way. The blue Lincoln turned out to be stolen ("What a surprise," Eliot muttered, not at all surprised) and a dead end. The only information Hardison discovered that was worth anything about the Lincoln was where it was stolen, but considering they were already following the thief, it wasn't an Earth shattering revelation to know it had been stolen from a grocery store parking lot earlier that afternoon.

Their mark parked the Lincoln in a parking garage and continued on foot, quickly stepping outside the radius of traffic cams. Hardison still managed to track him to a residential street with small houses that all needed a little attention and a new coat of paint. "Hang on," Hardison said. "I can probably tell you which house he's at in a minute, let me just hack everyone's WiFi to figure out--"

"It's that one," Parker said at the same time that Eliot said, "Number 24557." They were both pointing to the same house.

Hardison looked up at the row of houses on his monitors, half expecting a neon-colored arrow or mysterious glow to indicate the next step in their quest. "How did you…?"

Eliot raised an eyebrow. "No exterior lights," he said. "Only one on the block without any, but someone is clearly home." Parker nodded in agreement.

"Man, whatever," Hardison muttered. "Their WiFi password is a joke, by the way." He frowned. "There aren't even any cameras active? Do they not have security? What kind of spies are these?"

"We need to get the bag," Parker said, slipping her blonde hair up her knit hat to reduce the chances of being seen in the dark.

"I'll go around back," Eliot said. "Parker." He waited until she looked at him. "Do not engage the guy or whoever else is in the house. I'll draw them away so you can make the lift."

Parker nodded. "I'll get the bag and get out."

Hardison wished he had cameras in and around the house, but since he didn't, he kept the comms dialed up and busied himself with setting up a redirect if anyone of the neighbors decided to call 9-1-1 in the next few minutes, and to reroute any police patrols in the area to elsewhere in the city. He also started a search on the house and sorted through the first preliminary results of the facial recognition software program he ran on their paper bag thief.

"They do have a security system," Parker said over the comms, "but it's not turned on. I can see cameras outside the front door. I'm going in through the window."

"Well, whatever cameras they have are not running," Hardison said after quickly double-checking his earlier findings. "You're good to go."

"There's at least two people in the house," Eliot commented a moment later. "How close are you, Parker?"

Parker's voice was barely a whisper when she replied, "He's got it in the living room with himself and a woman; they're speaking a language I don't understand. I'm in the dining room next to them. Can't go in without being seen."

"I'll give you a distraction in one minute. Hardison, you need to drive; start the van and be ready to haul ass."

Hardison kept himself from muttering about this in order not to distract the other two even as he moved to the front of the van and started the motor. He hated being the getaway driver and he especially hated it in dark and wintery conditions. The snow outside was barely a dusting of white on the ground, but it was cold and–Hmm, that could work.

Hardison quickly got out of the van and grabbed Eliot's birthday gift to him. It was a concealed pocketknife that was, to be honest, unreasonably sharp for such a small tool. Hardison had barely used yet it because of that – the probability that he would end up cutting himself was just too high. But it was perfect for his plans right now.

Then Parker ran around the side of the building, arms crossed over a bulge in her jacket, closely followed by Eliot. He scowled when he saw Hardison standing in the driveway. "Damnit, Hardison. What about 'get the van ready to haul ass' did you not get?!" His hand landed on Hardison's back as he ran past, pushing Hardison to run. He practically shoved Hardison into the van before he climbed in after. The van was already moving at this point.

The good news about that was that Hardison did not have to be their getaway driver. The bad news was that since Parker had been the first to the van, she was their getaway driver.

"Babe," Hardison said. "Babe!"

Parker's last rapid turn left him pressed up against Eliot's side, with Eliot's hair in his face until Eliot shoved him back to the middle seat none too gently. Hardison scrambled for the seat belt even as he was speaking. "Parker, babe, you can slow down. They're not going to be following us unless they have another car stashed somewhere close-by."

"Huh?"

Hardison took out his pocketknife which looked like – and functioned as – a pocket stapler when folded up. "I slashed their tires."

Parker eased off the gas a little and it was enough to get both Eliot and Hardison to relax. She still drove like she was running from the cops, but not at quite the same breakneck speeds.

Eliot gave the pocketknife an appreciative look and shoved Hardison again, gently. The shove felt like an apology, and Hardison grinned back at him.

Back at the Brew Pub, Eliot heated up three portions of his stew while Hardison checked for results on his searches and Parker opened the mysterious paper bag.

The paper bag contained a homemade wrapped sandwich (egg salad), a wrapped cookie (chocolate chip) and a crumpled napkin. "I don't get it." Parker frowned down at the contents of the bag, then grabbed the bag and examined it closer. Turning it inside out didn't help. The bag was just a brown paper bag, no markings, no notes, no numbers.

"What's going on? Did they run over the not-homeless guy for someone's thrown-away lunch?!"

Eliot, having just set down two bowls of stew on the table, reached across Parker to grab the sandwich. He unwrapped it and then pulled it apart. In the middle of the egg salad, wrapped in saran wrap, sat a flash drive.

"Oh." Parker gave him a sheepish look. "I would have gotten there in a minute."

"Yeah, sure." Eliot snorted. "Because you woulda tried eating the sandwich."

Parker shrugged. Maybe she would have. Wasting food wasn't something Parker did if she could help it. And the sandwich looked nice. And fresh.

Eliot returned with the last bowl of stew and sat down across the table. "Eat your stew instead."

They ate in silence for a moment. Hardison stopped typing only long enough to shovel a spoonful of stew into his mouth.

"Oh," Parker said, producing another flash drive from out of nowhere. "That was on the living room table next to the bag. Figured it might have something interesting on it." She handed it to Hardison and then devoted all of her attention to the food. "This is really good. Like, when you're cold and lonely, this would make you feel like you're holding a dozen bundles of non-sequential hundreds."

For Parker, that was high praise. "Thank you, Parker."

After dinner, Parker helped Eliot clean up. Hardison was waiting in the briefing room when they got back. The screens behind him showed various scenes of their spy adventure so far.

"All right, kids," Hardison started. Behind him, Mr. Not-Homeless/Secret CIA-Agent popped up in the middle of the screens in a pair of images – one a screenshot of his homeless disguise and one the headshot from his official CIA file. The difference between both images was startling. "Jasper Mellenby, thirty-four, used to be an undercover asset for the CIA. He moved into a desk job five years ago after an injury and has since been handling the other end of undercover missions. His current mission is, of course, secret." With a click of the remote, Mellenby's file flashed over the screen, ending with the note that the full file was restricted to authorized personnel only. With a smirk and a flick of Hardison's hand, the image flashed twice and then dissolved into an electronic file that detailed the last five years of Mellenby's service.

"I think we can all agree that one of his current missions is the likely issue here. The coded message in the paper was for Mellenby and he acted on it when he picked up the dropped package. But the message must have been intercepted, or someone was following Mellenby or whoever left the package for him, since they took Mellenby out of commission to get their hands on the package."

"Didn't get to keep it though," Parker said smugly.

"Indeed they did not," Hardison agreed with a smile. "Now, I've skimmed through Mellenby's current missions – he's handling one undercover asset and consulting with other agents on two other cases. I think it's likely his UC asset that sent the message."

Eliot looked up at the data displayed on the screen. "Mellenby's UC is infiltrating a sleeper cell?"

"Kind of." Hardison nodded. "It's not really a high profile case or a high level threat, but it was upgraded four months ago and that got Mellenby and his UC asset involved."

A click of the remote brought an outdated map of Europe and Asia onto the screens. "Back in the day there were a bazillion little USSR countries in Central Asia. Some ceased to exist, some became independent with the fall of the Soviet Union, some… well, who knows what's really going on with them. Anyway, the CIA has had a suspicion for years now that one of those little countries that imploded installed a sleeper cell right here in Portland shortly before the fall of the iron curtain. A few odd terrorist attacks on the eastern seaboard that nobody claimed were ascribed to this mystery sleeper cell, but the incidents were always comparatively minor and once the initial investigation didn't bring any result, the cases went cold."

"But they're obviously active now, or they wouldn't have sent someone undercover," Parker said.

"Correct. According to some intel from the summer that I didn't bother to trace to a source, this little cell – and I do mean little – there's like three people involved here that the CIA knows of – is planning a major attack this Christmas season. No idea where or what the target is, so the CIA decided to get someone in there, find out, stop the plot and then arrest them. Luckily, their intel gave them a starting point: the name George Chen." Hardison clicked his remote again and a screenshot from a traffic cam showed their paper bag thief. "Incidentally, the house we traced our thief to? George Chen is paying the property taxes."

"Tell us more about this sleeper cell, and the undercover agent. Do you have a photo or a name of the guy? Don't want to beat up the good guy if I can help it."

Hardison shook his head. "He's referred to with his codename only, and all photos of active undercover assets are not attached to their UC files. There is a picture of this guy in his official CIA file, but since I don't have a name attached to him it would take me ages to sort through all CIA employees, eliminate the ones with confirmed job descriptions and then compare with all undercover and 'specialized' agents. I can't even be 100% sure that this agent is, in fact, a guy even though Mellenby's reports use 'he' in reference to the guy."

"What about the flash drives? And the sleeper cell."

"The drive from Mellenby's package is still decrypting – not bad work, I gotta say, but not impossible with the right code. The other one, the one you lifted from our thief's house? Was not even encrypted, but also had no useful information on it. Mostly just porn – image and video; but boring vanilla stuff… kind of not what you expect from possible terrorists, but to each their own, I guess – and pictures of random shit, from sunsets to cool cars to a fancy lunch. I've got a program on it to look for hidden data or data encrypted in any images or videos, but it's been running since before dinner that there's no hit yet. If this was a regular con, we could use the amateur photography to hook him, but I don't really think we have time for that, considering it's only a few days Christmas and that's when the big attack is said to be happening."

Parker sighed and looked up at the data thief on the screens, shaking her head. "He was so bad at it. I could spot the lift without even trying."

"I don't think he was trying to hide," Eliot said. "And the 'accident' likely distracted any civilians in the area."

"Speaking of the accident – I couldn't get a good image of the driver that caused the accident, it's way too dark for that. The car was stolen and abandoned two streets over. The police have no leads." Hardison smiled. "Mellenby, however, is going to be all right. He came out of surgery two hours after the accident and was then transferred to a different hospital – his new dedicated nurse is another agent."

"How bad is it – can he go back to work? Can we find his UC agent through him?"

Hardison shook his head. "Unlikely; he's not currently in danger of his life, but he has a severe head injury and several broken bones, so they're keeping him sedated. The CIA is scrambling to find someone to take over without compromising the asset or the mission, and it looks like it might be Mellenby's boss since he should at least be familiar with the asset. It could also be another senior agent who has more experience with undercover work. They'll have to make a decision soon, but whoever gets that job's gonna be in a difficult spot since we currently have whatever intel the agent wanted to pass to Mellenby."

Parker made a contrite face. "Oops. Should we send them a copy?"

Hardison glanced down at his laptop. "Decryption is at 88% - I say we check it out first and then pass it on."

"Might not even have to pass it on," Eliot said. "Whatever is on this drive, the CIA will consider it compromised since someone go out of their way to steal it from Mellenby. They went so far as to nearly kill the guy – they certainly didn't care if he died in this accident. So if it lands in the CIA's lap now, they'll be suspicious that the data was tampered with or is entirely fabricated or falsified."

"Okay, back to our terrorist friend, George Chen. It sounds like a fake name but is apparently real as far as the US government is concerned. But they also think he was born in Portland after his parents emigrated from Gansu province, China, in the late 60s. He's 46 years old and his parents were definitely not the two utterly generic people listed in his paperwork. Haven't found his parents' real identities yet, and I might not, considering electronic records in former USSR-states, especially ones that don't exist anymore , are hard to come by. But according to the state of Oregon George Chen was born in Portland and lived here until he graduated high school. He went to a technical college out of state and got a degree in electrical engineering before coming back to Portland when he was 24. He has lived and worked in or around Portland ever since. He's not married and he is the only person listed for his residence."

Parker sighed. "Does that mean we have to check out everyone he knows to know who the others in this cell are?"

Hardison shrugged. "I'm hoping either Mellenby's flash drive or hacking the full file on this case will give us the other members of the cell, but we will have to get our stakeout game on with Chen."

"Ugh." Parker dropped her head to the counter. "Spy stuff is more fun when it's not stakeouts. Stakeouts are so boring."

Hardison's laptop beeped and Hardison grinned. "Decryption is through. Give me a minute here."

While Hardison scanned the contents of the flash drive for anything useful, Parker turned to Eliot. "If we have to do a stakeout, can we get popcorn on the way?"

Eliot glared at her. "You're not eating popcorn in my car, Parker."

"Why would we take your car if we could take the van?"

"It's a residential neighborhood; the van sticks out on that kind of street."

"Can I steal a car for the stakeout?"

"No."

"I'll put it back in the morning!"

Eliot's glare intensified. "No."

"I'll," Parker swallowed and forced the words out, "I'll leave them gas money?"

"No!"

Parker huffed and lightly kicked at Eliot's leg. "You're no fun."

"Good news!" Hardison interrupted. "The flash drive contains pictures and notes on all suspects and potential terrorists, but some of it got lost in the decryption. I can't access some of the reports, and there are no summaries on any of these people. Our undercover agent is apparently sleeper cell adjacent like a handful of other people who he thinks could be involved but could also be innocent bystanders or unwitting accomplices? It's gonna be a lot of work to investigate all of these people. But the real kicker is this."

He flicked an image up on the screen. It was a memo that looked like any ordinary office memo, and the content was short but poignant.

"Jasper, be advised: I might be compromised. I think we have a rat in our midst. This is twice now that my intel did not lead to an arrest. Once is a coincidence, but a second time? I'm not that trusting. Make contact at your earliest opportunity. I'm not forwarding any more intel the traditional way until we can be sure it's not leaking where it shouldn't. C."

They exchanged a silent look. "That seems bad."

"It is bad," Eliot said. "Did he include evidence?"

"Enough to get started." Hardison nodded. "A picture he took of a message from a burner phone to Chen's own burner phone; it gives away the date and location of a previously planned arrest. Also a list of dates and times when Chen got a message on any of his phones, a list of when Chen changed his schedule unexpectedly and had meetings the undercover agent was invited to."

Eliot, who had reached for the laptop to look through the data, nodded. "Our guy works in Chen's company, doesn't say in what position. So he's not in on their extracurriculars yet, but he is close enough to keep an eye on Chen six days a week and get access to the man's computer and messages, and maybe his and his company's financials. Is this actually Chen's company or does he just work there?"

"It's partly his," Hardison said. "He started working with a local phone company after he moved pack into town after college. Three years later he went solo and started offering consults and services like installing phone systems, internet, cable – if it's electric, he'll install it. Kind of sloppy of him not to have his home security system on, all things considered. Isn't it disappointing when the bad guys are kind of incompetent? Anyway, he opened this business with a guy named Joseph Carter. He doesn't fit the profile, but background on him is still running. If Chen is using his business to get into places and to have enough free time to do practice terrorism during his lunch hour, it's likely the partner is involved somehow."

"I guess we are going on stakeout then." Parker bounced out of the room.

"I'm gonna sort through this and find out as much as I can. Keep in contact?"

Eliot nodded. A sound from the kitchen had him give Hardison an alarmed look. He stalked out of the room, already yelling about how there would be no snacks in his car, popcorn or otherwise.

Hardison chuckled. Parker was gonna sneak in a snack just to be contrary now.

"I'm so bored."

It was just after six in the morning and Eliot was as bored as Parker. Still, he didn't reply. Talking about how bored he was wasn't going to stop it from happening. They had already played a bunch of card games with the deck Hardison had handed them before they left. Parker had even talked him into a round of Truth or Consequences, with Hardison participating over the comms, like they were a bunch of teenagers at a sleepover, but their options for dares had been too limited to make it even halfway interesting. After Hardison had blatantly lied for the third time (no matter what the dozen or so high school diplomas in Hardison's desk drawer said, he hadn't attended high school long enough to graduate in any legal way, let alone become Homecoming King), Parker and Eliot had ended the game.

"Do you think we could just walk in there and make Chen confess?"

Eliot briefly considered it – he could get Chen to confess, easily. But they were still hoping to fly under the radar of the CIA, with Hardison scrubbing them from any cameras and preparing stashes of clean evidence to be found by the CIA once the whole issue was resolved. They might have to interact with the undercover agent if they couldn't avoid it, but walking into Chen's house (again) would be stupid.

"No."

Parker sighed. Then she straightened up. "Oh, hey."

"I've seen it." Chen's garage was opening and he was pulling out in his actual, legal car, the two slashed tires replaced. "A bit early to head into work."

Parker shrugged. "Not if you want to do some planning for a terrorist attack before regular business hours."

Eliot waited until Chen had taken his first turn before he started his car and followed. He kept Chen just within view – close enough to notice if Chen wasn't going to the office after all, but far enough that the man wouldn't realize he had a tail unless he was the cream of the crop. Which, judging by how easily they'd recovered the flash drive from him, he wasn't.

Eliot parked around the corner from Chen's office building and handed Parker the tablet Hardison had given him before taking the backpack for himself. Parker took it and slipped it under her jacket, zipping it up to her neck.

They took a walk around the block, checking on Chen's office – he was the only one in so far – and scoping out the best ways to get eyes on the inside of the building.

"We're not going to be able to get cameras inside without a lot more preparation," Eliot commented once they were past the building. "They are a tech company, and they're handling their phone and internet access themselves. Any surprise inspections and the like will put our faces out there, and might even be investigated and discovered as fake."

Parker nodded. "We need to set up across the street. Empty office on the sixth floor. The angle isn't ideal, but it's better than nothing." She grabbed Eliot's hand. "Come on, let's go!"

He let himself be towed across the street – a couple crossing the street together was definitely less suspicious than two people clad in all-black slinking across, trying not to be seen. One of the first lessons he'd learned in this business was that sometimes Sophie's approach of being as memorable as possible was the way to go about things. It wasn't his usual style at all, and it certainly wasn't Parker's, but sometimes being a little visible was needed. Even though there wasn't much foot traffic or people already in their offices before seven am.

Parker made short work of the main entrance, pushing the door open after only a few seconds. They took the stairs up to the sixth floor where Parker led them to a door halfway down the corridor.

The door opened to an empty room, with a thin layer of dust covering the floor and windowsills.

"How did you even know it was empty?" Hardison asked over the comms. "I hadn't checked for empty apartments or offices nearby yet – I figured Chen would start at nine or at least not before eight."

"Most of the offices have fairy lights or other decorations in the windows. The two on the second floor that don't have lights still have big flowers in the windows. This was the only other one without anything. I couldn't see in from the street, especially not in the dark, so... I guessed."

"Aww," Hardison said, "that's taking the mystery of it right out. Now whenever one of you makes an observation, I'll always have that bit of doubt that says maybe you just guessed!"

"Really?" Eliot rolled his eyes. "You're surprised that two professional criminals might have conned you about something minor?"

"Maybe a little – I thought our bond was deeper," Hardison said, clearly joking. "But I am a little bit impressed, too. I thought I could tell when you're lying."

Eliot and Parker exchanged a look that clearly said it was the other way around, but neither said anything.

"Your silence is suspicious!"

"We're just checking out the place," Parker said. "Do you have the parabolic mic?"

Eliot took it out of the backpack and assembled it within a few sure movements.

"I've hacked Chen's emails, by the way. Nothing but business stuff – guy doesn't even seem to have a girlfriend or office romance or anything remotely exciting."

"He's a terrorist spy; that's plenty exciting."

"Yeah, but nobody knows about it."

"The CIA knows," Parker said. "Hand me the camera?"

She set up the collapsible tripod and angled the camera down to capture the entrance to Chen's office building. It was streaming live to Hardison who could then start IDing everyone who entered the building.

Two hours later, Eliot wished he was back in his car. It was colder, but at least he could sit down in it. Parker had banned his pacing since it could attract attention from the street or the building across, now that it was daylight and the sky was a dreary gray instead of pitch black. It was a reasonable request, but it left him standing still on the spot, his patience wearing thin.

Eliot took a deep breath and closed his eyes. He had once spent thirty hours lying on the roof of a garden hut without moving; he could stand here for an hour without exploding. He took another breath and opened his eyes. Movement outside drew his eye and he moved towards Parker to get a better look at the screen of the camera. It was zoomed in to the point where everything was enlarged but not much that the image went fuzzy. He had to hand it to Hardison, his gadgets were sometimes fanciful, but generally top quality and very, very useful.

The image on the screen had him pause for a moment. "I know who the undercover agent is."

Parker looked up at him.

"The guy who just walked in?" Hardison hummed. "He's… a relatively new hire; he was high on my list. He's the office's new administrative assistant, hired four months ago. The only other candidate for the undercover assignment was a new supplier, and he actually looks like the more likely guy because he has more official access and some of the parts he sells could be used in building explosive devices."

Eliot shook his head. "So maybe he's part of the cell. But out undercover guy is this guy. His name is Culver, Jonas Culver. He used to be a SEAL but got injured pretty quickly after he was assigned a team. While he was recovering, he was approached by a bunch of agencies who wanted to poach him. I guess the CIA got lucky."

"He good?"

"Very." Eliot shrugged. "Used to be, anyway. But if they're using him for undercover assignments, he meets the requirements."

Parker studied the image of Culver. He was taller than Eliot but not as tall as Hardison, with light brown hair that was styled in a fake tousled look. "Do you think he'll work with us if we approach him? It might be an easy in. We could finally end this stupid stakeout."

Eliot thought back to the way Jonas' eyes had taken on that disappointed and slightly disgusted look when they'd inevitably ended up on opposing sides; Jonas gainfully employed by the government and Eliot taking jobs from the highest bidders. Jonas had had the opportunity to shoot him, but he hadn't. But Eliot was sure that if he'd been armed as well at the time, one of them would be dead now. Once he'd made his way home after the job, every last scrap of Jonas had been gone from his place apart from a note stuck to the kitchen counter with one of Eliot's good knifes. "No second chances. Come near me again and I won't hesitate."

Eliot at the time had been mostly mad about the ruined knife. He'd already tried to go back to some kind of normal with Aimee after all the death he'd seen in the military, and that had backfired on him spectacularly. So he'd leaned the other way, pushing whatever emotions he had down until he could feel next to nothing. It just highlighted all the things that were wrong with him.

"Hm." Eliot pursed his lips. "No, I don't think so. It was kind of a messy breakup."

Parker raised an eyebrow and opened her mouth just as Hardison said over the comms, "Like, Aimee Martin messy?"

Eliot pulled a face. "Worse, I guess. He could actually kill me if he really tried." He considered it for a moment, then amended, "Well, no, he probably couldn't, but he could do some real damage. And I'd really rather not have to kill him."

"How long ago was this? Is he likely to be angry still?"

"It was a while ago, long before we met. As for how angry he is…" Eliot shrugged. "One way to find out."

At around lunch time, a knock on the door had Eliot curl his hand into a fist before Hardison said, over the comms, "It's just me. I have lunch."

Eliot jerked the door open and glared at him. "Damnit, Hardison! I came this close to--"

"Yeah, yeah." He handed over a paper bag and checked on the camera equipment while Parker and Eliot each tore into a burger.

"After lunch, we can all head back to the Pub."

At Parker's raised eyebrow, he elaborated.

"Good news: I finally sorted all the info from the flash drive, and the supplementary information I gathered from everything else to do with this case. I have a strong suspicion about who the traitor is and what the cell's target is. Bad news: Chen is not the guy we should have been watching."

Parker groaned. "I spent hours being bored out of my mind for nothing?! This spy stuff sucks."

Eliot, his mouth full of food, made a noise that Hardison interpreted as "that's what I've been saying!" Since he had willingly participated, Hardison didn't pay it any mind.

"Anyway, since I'm not the government – not even a shady agency known for bending or breaking some laws when they have to – I didn't bother with warrants or any sort of legal bullshit. I pretty much hacked everyone's bank accounts, phone records, property records and everything else I could think of to see if anyone was getting pay-offs or got really lucky inheriting stuff from non-existent dead relatives."

He tapped his phone and then held it out for Eliot and Parker to see. "This is Section Chief Mortimer Winwinkle – yeah, I know, hilarious name, right? – and he's absolutely clean. No suspicious banking transactions, no recent acquisitions, no house renovations, did not buy a boat or a new car, did not take his family for an expensive vacation, has not moved his mom to a better retirement home."

"But?" Eliot prompted.

"But his wife Elinor? Well, turns out she got a bunch of money transfers from unknown sources and made several cash deposits that fell just under the reporting limit. Within 24 hours, the money was transferred to a Cayman Islands bank account under a name that is neither Elinor nor Mortimer Winwinkle, but when I hacked the bank's records, the ID that was filed for the account holder--" He flicked to the next image. "--bears a striking resemblance to Old Morty."

"Could be twins," Eliot commented.

"I know for a fact that Mortimer is an only child. So unless there are two people connected to this case who are taking payouts, chances are he's our mole." Hardison called up another photo on his phone. "This guy is Chen's business partner, Joe Carter, and he was my number 2 suspect for this whole thing. But he's clean as far as I can tell. However--" Hardison swiped to the side and an image of Carter – around 50, graying brown hair, a slight beer gut – and a woman in her forties came into focus. "This is Carter's wife, Joan Carter whose parents immigrated from the same little town from the same province of China as George Chen's. Coincidence?"

"I'm guessing no."

"You're guessing right. I checked immigration records and alongside George and Joan's respective parents, there was one more person who immigrated from the same town and coincidentally still lives right here in Portland: John Ling. He never had children and is about seventy these days. I think it's safe to say we know who is in our sleeper cell. I have no idea if Mrs. Carter actually likes her husband or if he is part of her cover, but as far as I can tell, he's not involved unless he's helping them without knowing what he's doing. And from the emails I saw, it seems that Ling is in charge, directing the younger two to do the dirty work while he masterminds things behind the scenes. It's all very vague, so I hacked Ling's home entertainment system and started recording. He's a lot more open about things in his phone calls than he is over text or email." Hardison grinned. "People really think that makes it safer."

"So, Chen is a foot soldier, Ling is the head honcho and Joan is middle management?"

Hardison hesitated for a moment, pondering if he should comment on the mix of comparisons, then shrugged it off. "Kind of, yeah. Anyway, I did some more digging and apparently there is something big planned for Monday morning."

"That's Christmas Eve. Any idea on what the target for their attack is supposed to be?"

Hardison shook his head. "None. It sounds like Culver might know, but it's not in the data. Obviously he didn't trust the info not to fall into the wrong hands. We need to be aware that he might do something unpredictable if Mellenby continues not to contact him."

"We need to get Culver on board then. Hopefully without anyone killing anyone."

"Right," Eliot said. "So, what's the plan?"

Parker thought for a moment, staring off to the distance, before her eyes focused and she grinned. "So we don't know much about this attack. We could find out until the big day, but why bother? Culver already knows all about it. I say we let it work for us."

Parker had performed a little dance to celebrate the end of their stakeout – Eliot didn't have the heart to interrupt and tell her they would likely just be switching to watching Ling or Joan Carter, now that Hardison had sussed out that Chen was just a regular henchman.

Parker took in a very deep breath once they were back in the van. "Ah, freedom! Doesn't it smell super sweet?"

"It smells temporary," Eliot muttered. He had agreed to leave his car for now so that they could use the drive to plan, since Hardison didn't think he could hack and survive Parker at the wheel at the same time. Eliot thought the same. Louder, he said, "Hardison, any chance other people are involved?"

Hardison shrugged. "It's hard to say, but from the info I got from Culver's intel and skimming through Ling's mails and phone records, it looks like only the three are directly involved. It was Joan Carter yesterday night at Chen's house, and I think it's likely she is the one who ran over Mellenby. They have connections to some of the local small-time criminals, but I'm assuming they're hired hands – some for muscle, some for support or logistics. If they're involved, they likely aren't involved in any planning."

"We'll keep an eye out," Parker decided. "No need to get sloppy and let anyone slip through the cracks, even if they'll likely do a runner when things heat up. We should--"

A loud and insistent beeping from Hardison's pocket interrupted her. He quickly reached over and switched on the small screen set into the dashboard. In a normal car, you'd expect a navigation system and a radio, and the van did have those – but it also had a bunch of other functions. The beeping stopped when Hardison tapped the screen. A screenshot of text message appeared.

Hardison cursed. "This is not good."

"What is it?"

"Department memo. Mellenby's undercover assignment – meaning Culver – has been reassigned temporarily to Mellenby's supervisor."

"Who's the traitor," Parker said. "Okay, backup plan. We need to make sure Culver is safe. And I think I know how…"

A few hours later it was just starting to get dark and Culver had an hour left on the clock. Hardison had set up the van around the corner from Chen's office, surrounded by equipment. He'd been keeping an eye on Culver to make sure nothing happened to him before quitting time while at the same time preparing everything for the rest of their operation.

A noise at the rear of the van made Hardison pause in his typing, but a quick scan of the cameras showed that it was just Parker. He let her in and gave her a quick hug. "See, this is why I love you!"

Parker gave him a puzzled look.

"You could have picked the lock and given me a heart attack in the process. But you didn't. You knocked!"

"Well, yeah. You say you hate it when I startle you."

"And I appreciate you going out of your way to stop it. Most days."

Parker grinned. "Eliot and I made a pact."

"A pact? Without me?"

She nodded. "Yep. We kind of want you around for a while, and since you were always whining about us being too quiet, we've been trying to make more noise. At least when you're alone."

"Really?" Hardison felt touched. "Eliot is in on this? Aww, you guys do love me!"

"Uh-huh."

"Okay, that's a weird look on your face. What's up?"

"Do you remember earlier when Eliot recognized Culver?"

Hardison frowned. He had a feeling he knew where this was going. "Yeah."

"I didn't like it."

"In what way?"

Parker shrugged. "It made me feel too much."

"Like… maybe Eliot shouldn't be dating SEALs or CIA agents or former Mossad agents?"

Parker kept her eyes focused on his laptop as she nodded.

"Hey, Parker." He tapped her chin until she looked up at him. "How do you feel about Eliot?"

Parker threw her hands up. "I don't know! I don't like it when he's flirting with people. Or when he's hurt – that's worse. Like our last terrorism job." Eliot had ended up needing stitches in several places. "It's like when you were in that coffin – that made my insides go funny and I felt like throwing up and punching something and also like running away? And whenever I see Eliot's hands all bloody and his body starting to bruise it makes me feel like that?"

"Oh. Okay. So you… like Eliot?"

Parker rolled her eyes at him. "Of course I like Eliot!"

"No, babe, I mean…" He bit his lip, trying to figure out a way to phrase it without making her close up. Parker was voluntarily talking about her feelings, so he didn't want to derail her. But she also had trouble connecting her emotions to words – she felt things, but she couldn't always explain what she was feeling and sometimes needed a little help to articulate things. "We are dating, right? So you like me as more than just a friend. Do you think you like Eliot like that?"

Parker shrugged. "I don't know. Maybe?"

"That's… okay. I can – do you still like me like that?"

"Of course, dummy!" She rolled her eyes before pulling him down into a kiss. "You're my guy!" She bit her lip. "But maybe sometimes I want Eliot to be our guy."

"Huh."

"Hardison?" When he still didn't say anything, she poked his chest. "Alec?"

He caught her finger, still poking at him, and kissed her hand. "Gimme a minute here, you just shoved me through a door I wasn't sure even existed. I'm--I'm processing."

"Okay, but don't--"

The door opened and Eliot stepped in, dropping a duffel bag on the floor of the van. He glared at Parker. "You could have helped with this stuff."

Parker shrugged. "I knew you had it."

An alert sounded. Parker checked her watch. "It's nearly 5 – Culver is about to leave work. Let's go."

Culver noticed something was up the moment he got out of his car and headed for his front door. Of course he did – the man was a former SEAL and a trained CIA agent. Eliot was banking on the fact that Culver would notice the only-obvious-if-you-knew-what-to-look-for signs of an ambush set by Parker and diverted directly into Eliot's path. If not, Parker had her tazer – hopefully that would stall Culver long enough for Eliot to get there.

Culver took his keys out, but instead of opening the front door, he walked down the side path down the side of the building towards the back. Eliot grinned. Just as they'd planned.

As Culver reached the back door, he spun around, gun pointed up. Unfortunately for Culver, he was pointing it away from Eliot, who quickly stepped up behind him and pinned his arm, trying to disarm him. Culver reacted by slamming his free elbow into Eliot's stomach. Eliot grunted in pain, twisting to the side, hand still tightly wrapped around Culver's arm.

Culver swiped at his legs and Eliot had to either let go or bring them both down to the ground. He let go of Culver with a sharp jerk of his arm that saw the gun fly off to the side. Eliot shoved at Culver's back to unbalance him. He followed it up with a punch to the stomach, or at least tried to. Culver blocked him, eyes widening in recognition as he finally got a good look at Eliot.

Eliot used the moment of distraction to slip a cuff around Culver's nearest wrist. Culver recovered before he could close the second cuff around his other wrist, though. He flipped his wrist around to use the open single strand of the other cuff as a makeshift stabbing implement that he immediately aimed at Eliot.

"Goddamnit, Jonas, I'm trying to help you!" Eliot growled.

Culver kicked at Eliot's leg, catching him painfully in the thigh. He followed it up with a punch to the chin. "Sure," Culver said, hands at the ready. "Pull the other one, Spencer."

Eliot wiped away the blood off his chin and grinned. "Look behind you."

"Right." Culver snorted. "That trick's older than--"

Culver went down with a strangled noise, jerking as several thousand volts coursed through his body. Behind him, Parker grinned and hit the button again.

Eliot grabbed it away from her. "Good guy, remember?"

Eliot stepped into the back room at the Brew Pub. "How do I look?"

Hardison took a moment to study Eliot's getup. "Shady," he said approvingly. "Definitely like a spy heading for a secret meet-up in an abandoned and deserted place."

Eliot snorted. "Thanks; that's what I was going for."

"Hang on." Hardison stepped up to him and grabbed the collar of his winter coat. The hood folded up and he ran his fingers along the edge of the zipper until he found the little groove he was looking for. At Eliot's raised eyebrow, he explained, "Tracker. Just in case. It's sown into the lining of the hood."

"Everything else is ready?"

Hardison nodded. "Tech is all switched on, Parker has Culver in hand--" They both glanced at the counter where Culver was sitting on one of the barstools. His arms were duct-taped to his sides and a rope had been tied around his legs and the chair, tethering him in place. Parker sat beside him and waved at them. "--and I'm ready to do my part, and to record the meeting."

"Spencer," Culver said, jerking away from Parker's poking fingers, "I don't know what you're playing at, but you can't--"

"Babe," Hardison interrupted. "Why don't you let our guest know what's going on and how exactly we're saving his ass while we're gone?"

Parker nodded. "Do we have stew left over from yesterday?"

"In the kitchen," Eliot said. "Don't leave the stove on when you leave the kitchen."

Parker rolled her eyes. "It's been ages since I accidentally burned down something."

Hardison gave a fake cough. "Um, my Black Hat t-shirt? That was like three months ago."

Parker raised an eyebrow. "I said what I said."

"Does that mean – hey, does that mean you did it on purpose? Babe? Parker!"

Parker kissed his cheek. "There is no need to advertise on your shirt if you want to fly under the radar."

"But—" The whole point of the shirt was that it was true but that everyone thought it was a joke.

"Forget it, she's not gonna get it." Eliot grabbed Hardison by the arm and towed him to the back exit.

Forty minutes later Eliot was slinking around the corner of an abandoned warehouse just outside the harbor district, hands buried deep in his pockets. He approached a car parked along the side of the warehouse, rapping his knuckles against the driver's side window.

The window rolled down. Eliot moved his lips a little, and the tiny speaker attached to his knit hat said, "You? Where's my handler?" It had Culver's voice, sampled from an afternoon of recordings and spliced together with one of Hardison's fancy programs.

Winwinkle smiled. "Mellenby was in a car accident; I've taken over his operation until he's back on his feet."

Eliot nodded in acknowledgement. He dropped an envelope with a flash drive – empty, not that Winwinkle knew it – into the car. "This has all the details on it; I know where it's going down and who is involved. I've put plans for a raid on this, but I'm gonna need backup to arrest everyone involved and make sure no civilians are harmed."

"Of course, leave it with me, I'll handle it." Winwinkle paused for a moment, finger hovering over the window button. "Are you sure you got all the info on this drive? Is there a copy?"

"No, I didn't have time to copy it or upload it; that's why I insisted on the meet, to make sure it was passed on. I'm gonna go to ground until things kick off; I'm not sure my cover is holding."

"Hmm." Winwinkled flashed his headlights twice. "Yeah, I'm gonna have to say it's not."

Out of the shadows ahead, a figure appeared.

"You've heard enough, Mr. Ling?" Winwinkle asked.

"Hey, wait a minute" Eliot cut in with Culver's voice. "What is this? Winwinkle, what's going on?!"

"I have indeed heard enough," the figure said in a hoarse whisper. A moment later, there was a shot just as Eliot jumped to the side, ducking into a roll as several more shots were fired. He ended up on the ground, moaning. "You should get out of here," the figure said. Winwinkle rolled up his window as the figure approached and shot Eliot two more times, making blood spurt from his torso. Winwinkle's car pulled out and disappeared around the corner

Everything went quiet. The shadowy figure tucked away the gun and clapped their hands. "And scene." The figure reached out a hand – and Eliot let himself be pulled to his feet by Hardison, wiping his dirty and 'bloody' hands on his already ruined shirt.

He shrugged off his jacket and gave it to Hardison to hold while he took off the torn shirt and the light plastic chest armor fixed to his undershirt that had packets of fake blood attached to it. The remote for detonating the blood packs was still in his hand, attached to the individual packs by a near invisible wire.

Hardison traded him the jacket for the movie set death kit. "Astounding what you can do with half an hour, some plastic bags, fake blood and a whole lot of hot glue."

"Yeah, yeah, you're amazing," Eliot grumbled.

Hardison grinned and led the way back to the van.

Culver leaned forward to catch the straw between his lips and take a sip of the – frankly delicious – hot chocolate the blonde – Parker – had brought him. He could tell that it was one of Eliot's – Spencer's, he reminded himself. The man had always had a divine gift in the kitchen – no matter what he concocted it turned out amazing. Too bad the guy was a criminal.

"So let me get this straight," he said when the mug was half empty. "You busted a potential spy meeting on a lark, messed around with my mission and are trying to take it over now?"

Parker sighed and shot him a disappointed look. "Yes to the spy meeting, no to the rest. We're helping." She gestured to the wall of monitors that was stuck on the last image that had been transmitted – Eliot and the other guy, Hardison, getting up and walking away. "You'd be dead without us!"

She did have a point there, Culver had to admit. "How did you even--"

"Hardison is a genius," Parker said almost dismissively, like it was general knowledge and didn't need saying. "There is now absolute proof that Winwinkle is a traitor and accessory to attempted murder, conspiracy to commit murder, bla bla bla. Congratulations on catching a traitor. First the message you sent to Mellenby, thinking he was still your handler--"

"Yeah, about that. Go back to the part where he's in a coma?"

Parker glared a little at the interruption. "He's fine; they're keeping him sedated until the worst has healed. Last reports say they'll wake him up some time tomorrow evening and so that he wakes up naturally in the morning."

"That's good."

"Yeah." Parker tapped her fingers on the counter. "Anyway, your message went to Winwinkle who showed up to the meet and accepted your intel on camera and then had you stabbed in the back. With a gun."

"Technically, he was shot in the chest."

Parker rolled her eyes. "Are you being difficult on purpose?"

"You kidnapped me!"

"To save your life!"

With a huff, Culver pushed the insanity of the whole situation aside and blocked out Parker's indignant face. What did he know? He knew that Winwinkle was a traitor who had arranged for his death and was apparently working with Ling, or just accepting his money. He knew that he could not trust that anything he put together officially wouldn't land on Winwinkle's desk, him being Section Chief and officially in charge of this case now. He knew that Eliot and his weird team of co-criminals had, in fact, saved his life. Sure, they'd tazered him and trussed him up like a turkey, but Parker had also presented him with buckets full of evidence and a pretty decent plan that would have him coming out of this mess smelling like roses. And she's served him some truly delicious hot chocolate since he couldn't eat the equally delicious smelling stew with his arms tied up.

"Fine. You win." Culver would have tossed up his arms, but he was a little hindered by nearly two entire rolls of duct tape. "You're all insane, but it's not like I have another choice here. And as insane as this is, it could actually work."

Parker flashed a smile at him and, a moment later, a knife. For one heartbeat Culver regretted everything, but a second later she had cut through the duct tape – and only the duct tape – and his arms were free. Still covered in tape that would be a bitch to remove, but he could use his hands. He immediately used one of them to scratch his nose.

Then he demanded a bowl of the stew.

When Hardison and Eliot got back to the Brew Pub, they let Culver go home on the proviso that he keep a low profile for the next ten hours and meet them for the next step of the plan in the morning. Not because they absolutely trusted him to follow the plan and do his part, but mostly because none of them wanted to stay up all night to keep an eye on the man just before the most important part of the whole operation.

Hardison and Parker both leaned against the nearest wall, watching as Eliot showed Culver to the back door and then closed it behind him. Hardison crossed his arms. "Think he's actually gonna show tomorrow morning?"

Parker scoffed. "Of course he's gonna show!"

"Yeah," Eliot agreed. "Only question is: is he gonna throw us under the bus once everything is over or not?"

"Weeeeeelll." Hardison drew the word out to the point where Parker poked him in the side to get him to move on. "I wanted to talk to you guys about something."

They collectively decided to move to the living room of Hardison's place upstairs, Parker sprawling on the sofa next to Eliot, digging her toes into the cushion under Eliot's thigh. Hardison sat on the coffee table facing them.

"I know we talked about Leverage International, but we haven't made any concrete plans yet. Portland is getting a little hot for us, especially with this latest thing thrown in. It could kick up a lot of problems for us. So I've been making actual plans out of all the ideas we've thrown in to the pot over the last month. I think we can pull it off. I'll mean a lot of travel – establish a base somewhere, pick a team, mentor them and then set them free to do their own thing. It helps that we already have a list of marks to go after, but we'd be masterminding the whole thing, keeping oversight, helping out whenever someone is in a tight spot."

"Sounds good." Eliot nodded. "We need a better cover than 'consultants' though. It's vague enough to cover all sorts of fields, but without someone like Nate at the helm to be the figurehead and the one meeting the clients, we'd stick out too much. Even if you start wearing cheap suits and a briefcase."

"I have an idea about that," Parker said. "Well, actually, Hardison had the idea." She caught Eliot's eye. "You know how he's always going on about food trucks?"

"Oh, I know," Eliot said. "I've even had to eat truly awful 'fusion' food from that truck near the library to 'check out the competition'. I tried to explain that a food truck is not exactly competition for a Brew Pub, but…"

Parker pulled a face. "Yeah, I've had those weird nachos, too. But we already know the restaurant business and that it makes a good cover, so we could expand to food trucks. And if some of those food trucks were really Lucille: Next Generations in disguise, well…"

Eliot nodded. "They could be tech support and mobile bases and getaway rides all in one."

Hardison held out his hand for a fist bump. "Also, nice Star Trek reference."

Parker grinned and bumped her fist against his. "I've been practicing."

They brainstormed a few more ideas before Eliot stood up and stretched. "It's getting late and we have an early start. I'm gonna crash."

Parker and Hardison watched him go, Hardison setting his systems to alert him when Eliot was safely at home.

"So," Hardison said once Eliot had pulled out onto the street. "I thought about your crush on Eliot and I've figured out that maybe you're not the only one with a crush on Eliot."

Parker tilted her head to the side. "It took you until now to figure that out?"

Hardison ignored her. "I don't like Eliot being hurt either. And he is kind of ruggedly handsome and he's pretty strong, that's nice, right? And this Culver dude – whatever was going on between them back in the day is clearly over, but I don't like it. I don't like the thought of Eliot being involved with that guy. Okay, so the guy thing is kinda new for me and might take some getting used to, but I—what I'm trying to say here is that maybe I also want Eliot to be our guy."

"Really?" Parker smiled. "Do you think it could be you and me …and Eliot?"

"Yeah." Hardison reached out and took her hand. "Yeah, we can try that. If Eliot is into it."

Parker pulled him towards the bedroom. "Of course Eliot is into it."

Hardison paused, shirt halfway over his head. "You gotta explain that, because up until earlier today, I wasn't even into it."

"Yes, you were, you just didn't know it yet." Parker jumped onto the bed in her panties and a tank top. "Eliot watches you, a lot. And he gets this little annoyed wrinkle between his eyes when he says--" She darkened her voice to imitate Eliot's. "--'damnit, Hardison', but he's not really angry because he is also smiling a little sometimes. And he lets you touch him. A lot more than other people. More than me." She thought for a moment. "But that might be on me because you're a much more touchy feely person."

"I think it might be because your pointy fingers to the ribs hurt," Hardison muttered. Louder, he said, "What, really? You think Eliot has a crush on me? Us?"

"Yeah." Parker nodded. "Once I started thinking about it was pretty obvious. I mean, I've liked Eliot for a long time, but I didn't realize I liked him like I like you. And I think maybe I wasn't ready before."

"But you're ready now?"

"Yeah. And I think Eliot might be ready, too."

"What makes you say that?"

"Nate and Sophie left." Parker wriggled underneath the sheets, her elbow hitting Hardison's side several times until she found a comfortable position. She still wasn't used to sleeping on a bed every night. "Nate and Sophie left and the team broke up. If Eliot really wanted to leave, it would have been the perfect opportunity. He could have stayed friends with us, checked in whenever we were in the same country or whatever. Skyped like Nate and Sophie. But he stayed. He promised to stay forever."

Hardison pondered this for a moment. Eliot had stayed – not that Hardison had truly expected him to leave, no matter what. They'd already made a pact to maybe not become upstanding citizens, but to become better people. Together. They were honest with each other. They knew each other's strong and weak points, and they had each other's backs. They basically lived in each other's pockets already – some days it seemed like Eliot only went home to sleep, and more than once Hardison had thought about having one of the storage rooms or his tech storage converted into a bedroom so that Eliot wouldn't have to make the trek to his apartment late at night.

"Wow," Hardison said. "I've been an idiot. I think I've been a little bit in love with Eliot for a while now. I kinda want him to move in."

"Really?" Parker poked his side. "I don't even live here but you're thinking about having Eliot move in?"

Hardison didn't comment on that. Parker might not technically live with him, but she hadn't been to her place in eleven days. And eleven days ago, she'd only gone to her warehouse because her favorite harness got tangled and she needed a replacement, not to spend any meaningful time there. But if he told Parker she had essentially moved in, she'd likely flee and he wouldn't see her for weeks. So he shrugged. "What can I say – I'd like to have a live-in chef."

Parker chuckled. "I dare you to say that to Eliot's face."

"Ha! No, thanks; I like all of my limbs attached." He adjusted the blanket a little. "I think we should talk to Eliot soon."

"Hmm."

"And you are kinda touchy-feely when it's me. Or Eliot, except you don't kiss him – you poke him."

Parker kissed his shoulder and snuggled into his side. "I like it when he pays attention to me."

"I gotta say, I like it too when he pays attention to me." His phone beeped. A quick glance showed him that Eliot had reached his apartment and was safely inside. "Eliot's home."

"Hmm."

"Good night."

6.02 am the next morning saw Hardison in his FBI windbreaker, a lanyard with an entirely fake (but entirely real looking) FBI badge around his neck, flagging down the first unmarked black van that screamed FBI if you knew what you were looking at. They were around the corner from Chen's office, in the parking lot of an abandoned-looking but still operating liquor store. One by one, four identical vans pulled up.

"Agent McSweeten!"

McSweeten's sweet face brightened. "Agent Thomas! Did you bring your partner?"

Hardison fought to keep his smile neutral. McSweeten's crush had been cute a few years ago, but it was really wearing thin. Still, it worked in their favor, so Hardison did his best to not destroy it utterly. "I did indeed; she's around here somewhere. We're just waiting for Agent Culver from the CIA to get this show on the road."

McSweeten nodded. "I know it's not exactly procedure, but…"

"No, man, I know, and you have no idea how much we appreciate it. Especially so close to the holidays – it's really decent of you and Taggert to push back your vacations to help us out here." Hardison offered McSweeten his fist, only to have his simple fist bump turned into an awkward handshake when McSweeten seemed confused by the gesture. "I know this is kinda small fish for you guys these days, but you've read my email. There was a good reason to do this unofficially."

McSweeten nodded and opened his mouth. Parker chose that moment to appear from behind the group of FBI agents, towing Agent Taggert with her. "Thomas! Look who I found!"

"Agent Hagen!"

Hardison ignored McSweeten's heart eyes and greeted Taggert – the man looked older, but still sharp. Well, as sharp as anyone so high on the incompetency scale could look.

"Right, we're just waiting for Agent Cul—ah, Agent Culver! Over here!"

Culver approached, dressed in all black, with a nondescript black winter jacket buttoned up to the top. If Hardison hadn't had surveillance on the man since Eliot recognized him, he wouldn't have guessed he was wearing a bulletproof vest underneath it.

"Agents Taggert and McSweeten, the wonderful people who are doing us this favor, of the FBI organized crime division," Hardison introduced. "This is Agent Culver, CIA. He's been undercover, working to catch a small terrorist cell and a traitor from his own department, hence the hush-hush nature of this little inter-agency assist."

Taggert nodded. "Of course, of course, we saw the email. Nice to meet you. Any friend of Agents Thomas and Hagen is a friend of ours."

McSweeten shook Culver's hand. "What Taggert said. On Agent Thomas' word we kept this op top secret. Just tell us who we need to hit and where we can find them, and we'll do our part."

"These two guys are the best FBI agents I know." Parker slapped McSweeten's back, hard enough that he had to take a small step to keep his balance. He still smiled at her.

"Thank you for your assistance," Culver said, before he briefed the FBI agents about the case. According to Culver, the terrorist group were planning to place a bomb at a new cultural center downtown in Portland. The attack was supposed to take place on Monday morning, when a few cultural attachés were invited to check out the new center and pose for a few press photos, hand out a few gifts to underprivileged children and then take a culturally diverse lunch with the newly appointed director of the center. The attack was supposed to destabilize diplomatic relationship between the US and several states, especially former USSR-states, and given the political climate with Russia at the moment, this was to be avoided at all costs. All the surrounding agents nodded.

"We're going to split into several groups that will all strike at 7 am on the dot," Culver said. "I've been coordinating with, uh, Agent Hagen."

"Our intel says that currently, all three targets are at home, but Chen is expected to travel to work shortly; he usually starts early. The 'device'," she said, adding exaggerated finger quotes, "is suspected to be in Ling's garage that has been converted into a supposed woodworking shop. The experts will wait for the all-clear of all other teams before approaching the workshop and securing – and possibly defusing – the 'device'."

"Team one will stay here and take on Chen in the office. You have profiles of all other employees – they are to be detained and questioned since we can't be sure if anyone else is involved. Team two takes on Joan Carter at her home. Her husband is not considered a suspect so far, but he is to be questioned as well. Team three heads to the Ling residence, alongside team four." Culver help up a slim black folder, the same kind that all the agents were carrying. "Warrants are in your folders alongside pictures of any person of interest."

"I thought maybe Taggert and I could supervise the Carter takedown, and Hagen and McSweeten could stay here and tackle Chen. That would leave Culver – as the main agent on the case – and our new transfer Agent Jorgensen in charge of the Ling scene."

Taggert and McSweeten agreed and Hardison watched Culver get into Eliot's car with a bad feeling in his stomach.

The drive to Ling's was tense and quiet, but Eliot preferred it to awkward small talk. What was he supposed to say, anyway? Sorry we ended up on opposite sides for a while, but these days I only break the law to do good?

"Chen can be unpredictable, but Ling is an unknown. I've only seen him twice since I started working at Carter-Chen Technologies," Culver said as they came closer to Ling's house. "He didn't strike me as someone who would come quietly."

"He's the guy in charge. If this fails, it's on him." Eliot pulled up to the side of the road three houses down from Ling's. "If he thinks he's got nothing to lose, he's going to do what he can to take down as many of us as he can."

Eliot unbuckled his seat belt and reached for the door handle, but Culver's hand on his arm stopped him.

"This is taking a lot of trust for me, I hope you realize this," Culver said as he held out a gun, handle first.

Eliot hesitated for a moment. He was wearing an FBI jacket and vest, just like everyone else except Culver whose clothes was unmarked. Wearing a gun, even if he didn't intend to use it, would help him blend. An FBI agent without a gun was an oddity. But the thought of touching the gun alone made him want to hurl. There were few – very few – occasions where he would voluntarily pick up a gun, and this wasn't one of them.

He shook his head. "I don't do guns anymore."

"That's unexpected." Culver let the HK45 disappear back into a holster at his back. "How do you do… whatever it is you do without one?"

"We help people," Eliot said. "And you don't need a gun for that." Although you do, occasionally, need a pair of well-trained fists, he thought to himself. Or a tazer.

Culver nodded.

They joined up with the FBI agents outside. Culver checked his watch. "Five more minutes. Let's get in position. I want the bomb team on standby here at the cars; try and keep any civilians out of the street."

An agent nodded. "Agent Taggert said that the Portland PD was on standby to evacuate and secure the area in case we find a live device."

"Good. Assault team, split up. Half of you go around back with me, the other half go in through the front with Agent Jorgensen."

Eliot watched as Culver led his group of agents around the back and took charge of his own band of agents. He placed them at the front door, with two on the corners to keep an eye on the sides of the house.

"We don't know where in the house Ling is. It's early, so hopefully he'll be in bed, getting ready for his day, or in the kitchen for breakfast. Once we're inside, two of you split off and secure the garage – you've seen the blueprints, right?"

The agents nodded.

"Good. You," he pointed at the tallest agent in the group, "what's your name?"

"Yates."

"Yates, pick a buddy. You're on garage duty."

Eliot kept a sharp eye on the clock. At a minute to seven, he had his agents in place, battering ram at the ready. One the clock ticked over to 7 am, he heard a crackle in his earbud. Taggert's voice came over the comms as he ordered them to go. Eliot had commandeered the battering ram for himself, seeing as he was unarmed. He got the door open quickly enough and stepped aside, letting the FBI earn their pay.

Battering ram tossed aside, he followed the agents, listening to shouts of "clear!" ring out through the house. The expected message that someone had found and arrested Ling didn't follow, however, so Eliot decided to check out the kitchen and thus the garage access.

Just as Eliot entered the kitchen, his ear bud crackled. "This is Yates – we need assistance in the garage."

"What is it?"

"Well," Yates said. "Better see for yourself." He opened the door to the garage. Eliot stepped forward.

The garage looked like a regular garage at first. Shelves with cardboard boxes and plastic tubs lined the back wall. A work bench was shoved into a corner, and a black ten year old sedan was parked in the middle of it. There was no bomb as far as Eliot could see, and nothing you could use to build one either. Then his gaze fell to the spot between the car and the far wall.

"A trap door? Have you opened it?"

Yates nodded. "Leads to a tunnel."

Eliot tapped his earpiece. "Jonas, get to the garage. Ling's got an escape tunnel. He might have the device with him."

Five minutes later, the leader of the FBI agents and Culver were arguing over how to proceed, quoting regulations and exceptions to each other. Eliot was about ready to strangle someone when Parker pushed through the assembled group.

"Things for team one and two went fine. Both suspects and several witnesses and persons of interest are in FBI custody. Since this is such a high profile case, Taggert and Thomas are escorting the detainees to the nearest police station."

By this point, McSweeten had fought his way to Parker's side. He promptly joined in on the debate, arguing that as Taggert was the senior agent in charge, they really ought to wait for him to arrive before making any decisions.

Parker caught Eliot's eye and then took off her bright blue FBI windbreaker. "This is getting us nowhere. Ling is probably halfway to the airport by now, or else setting his bomb somewhere, knowing his arrest is imminent." She handed the jacket to McSweeten. "Do not follow me; you're in charge of any FBI agent in my absence, so we can't both be gone."

With that, she jumped down into the tunnel and disappeared into the darkness.

"Right," Eliot said. "She needs backup. You heard Hagen; McSweeten is in charge." With that, Eliot jumped straight after Parker.

Parker was waiting for him at the first bend in the tunnel. She had a little penlight illuminating the rough earthen walls.

"Sounds like it goes on for a bit," she whispered. "Do you think Hardison will shut up if I threaten to take out the ear bud?"

Eliot snorted. "No chance."

Hardison was cursing over the comms – their private comms, not the FBI frequency he'd patched in for the morning. He seemed a little mad that they'd followed a potential bomber into a small tunnel, but what options did they have?

"Hardison!"

"What?!"

"Stop distracting us! Do you want to get us killed?"

"Low blow, Eliot. Low blow."

"You can keep the comms open, but stop your whining. This is difficult enough without you yammering on."

"All right, fine." There was a pause. "Would you like to know that there is an empty house at the end of Ling's street? In the direction you're going?"

"Good," Parker said. "Let us know when we get close."

"Sure. Hacking property records now to see if Ling is renting the place. Or if he owns it."

"You didn't already check?"

"I only checked for stuff in his legal name," Hardison said. "I was a little pressed for time, okay?"

Parker and Eliot moved cautiously but quickly until Hardison told them to stop.

"You're at the eastern edge of the property. Twenty yards and you're under an exterior wall."

They moved quieter this time, relying on nothing but Parker's little penlight. They each had a bigger flashlight, but the bigger the light, more likely they were to be seen.

"I'm going in first," Eliot said, his voice allowing no arguments.

Parker nodded.

The tunnel ended, just like it did at Ling's house, in a garage. This one was completely empty though. It was also empty of dust, so perhaps this was the group's secret meeting spot. With a little more time and more surveillance, they could have found this easily. Hell, with a little more time, Hardison could have found this without getting up from his desk.

Parker pointed at herself and then down the left side of the hallway, and then at Eliot and the right side of the hallway. Eliot shook his head and made a 'stay' gesture. Parker rolled her eyes, but leaned against the wall next to the door.

Eliot crept forward, checking room after room and finding nothing but emptiness until he came to a room on the back of the house. A neat work station, shelves of supplies and what looked like a functioning bomb. The bright light over the work station was on.

Pushing the door open cautiously, Eliot checked for geriatric bomb-builders when a sudden noise from the garage made him sprint back even before Parker's yell of "Eliot!"

Parker was dancing across the room, trying to evade Ling and his jian – a double-edged Chinese sword. Under other circumstances Eliot might have admired the blade and the skill with which Ling handled it. But the man was trying to kill Parker, so he didn't bother to be impressed; he entered straight into the fray.

Parker, having seen him coming, leapt forward and ducked into a roll past Ling. The old man was fast, but Parker was faster. She dashed past Eliot, leaving him to do his job while she was now free to do hers and steal herself a bomb.

Ling said something that Eliot didn't understand, even with his broad knowledge of languages, especially unusual ones. He wasn't interested in chit-chat anyway. Right now, he needed to get the blade away from Ling.

He feigned left and tired to pounce right, but Ling didn't let himself be fooled and slashed at him with the blade. Eliot hissed as cool steel cut into his side. The cut was superficial, but it stung and it made him angry. Eliot pushed it aside and feigned again, but this time Ling expected him to go the other way. Eliot wrapped a hand around Ling's wrist and tightened it.

The old man was wiry but surprisingly strong. Squeezing the man's wrist until he let go wasn't going to work, so Eliot brought his knee up and then pushed Ling towards the nearest wall, hitting him with all his weight. Ling grunted, but kept a hold of his sword. Eliot tried to hit him with an elbow to the face, but was forced to retreat when Ling brought his blade back up to parry his move.

"I've got the bomb," Parker said in his ear. "But what do I do with it?"

"Is it live?" Hardison asked.

"I don't think so? There's no countdown, and no blinking lights."

"Good; that's good. Guess we got lucky," Hardison said. "I'm letting McSweeten and his guys ride to the rescue."

Eliot did not feel very lucky. There were only so many moves an unarmed man could make against a man armed with a particularly sharp medium-range weapon that he knew how to handle well. By the time he could hear someone break down the front door, he was bleeding from several cuts and a stab wound that, while not immediately life-threatening, was slowly sapping his strength.

It would be another matter entirely if he had some kind of weapon to counter Ling's, preferably his own sword, but this wasn't Highlander and he wasn't in the habit of carrying swords under his coat.

A noise behind him distracted Eliot for a split second and he only just managed to duck the resulting attack, feeling the draft of air as the sword passed only inches from his head.

"Federal agent; drop the sword," Culver said, his head and shoulders sticking out of the trapdoor opening. He was aiming his weapon at Ling. "You're under arrest."

Ling considered this for a second, then yelled something and moved to bring his sword down on Eliot.

A shot rang out.

Ling fell to the ground, and the sword followed with a clatter.

Eliot took a breath, then a second.

Culver opened his mouth to say something, but Parker interrupted him by storming into the room and barreling straight into Eliot's arms. He caught her, despite the pain it caused him. He would always catch her. Her and Hardison.

"We should get out of here. Hardison said the CIA is almost here." She squeezed him once more and then let go. "Hardison is dropping Taggert off at the Ling house and then he's coming to pick us up."

Eliot nodded. "Let's go." He looked at Culver. "Winwinkle is on the way, likely to pretend to be happy about this op and to bemoan the fact that his new undercover asset has disappeared and is likely dead in a ditch somewhere. Taggert and McSweeten will back you up. You've got the evidence?"

"All here." Culver patted a pocket in his vest. "Winwinkle is going to be in for a rough time."

"Good," Parker said. "Nobody likes a traitor," she added with a meaningful look at Culver.

He rolled his eyes. "I promised I wouldn't say anything. My report is going to mention nobody besides Agents Taggert, McSweeten, Thomas, Hagen and Jorgensen. Now get out of here."

Parker led the way outside, giving exaggerated nods to the agents milling around, muttering something about medics whenever someone looked like they would stop them. Eliot followed her and climbed into the van beside her, leaning against the door as Hardison smoothly pulled away from the curb.

"Nice," Hardison commented. "We are officially out of this. Well, I still have to cobble together some fake FBI reports so it all looks legit and won't get thrown out in court. And then maybe finagle a long-term undercover assignment for Hagen and Thomas and their new sidekick Jorgensen to make sure nobody is called to testify. But yeah, we're done."

Back at the Brew Pub, Hardison jumped out first, coming around the van to give Eliot a hand. "You good?" he asked, reaching out to steady Eliot.

"Yeah," Eliot said, sliding out of the van. Immediately, his legs buckled.

"Whoa!" Hardison caught him, quickly supported by Parker. Together, they helped Eliot into the Brew Pub and onto a chair.

"I might have gotten stabbed a little," Eliot admitted, holding his side.

Hardison and Parker exchanged a look. "You get the first aid kit, I get new clothes?"

Parker nodded and headed to the bathroom where they kept a pretty well-stocked first aid kit since Eliot often needed patching up, but not always needed to go to a real doctor.

Parker had steadier hands, so she handled the stitching and cleaning while Hardison played nurse and fetched and carried as Parker ordered. Forty minutes later, Eliot was upstairs on the sofa, cleaned up and in fresh clothes.

When Parker came back in from washing her hands, she looked upset. Few things managed to visibly unsettle Parker, so Eliot reached out and touched her arm to get her attention. "Hey, it's fine. Not too deep, didn't hit anything major. If I feel worse tomorrow, I'll go to the doctor. Promise."

Parker shook her head. "No, I'm not upset about that. I mean, I am, but not--" She made a frustrated sound and bent down to kiss him.

Stunned, Eliot kissed her back automatically before he pulled back with a jerk and a hiss when it tore at his freshly stitched wounds. "Parker… you're dating Hardison. I'm not getting between that."

"Hmm, but what if I am totally on board with you getting in between us?" He stepped up to the sofa and took Parker's hand. "Parker and I talked about it. It turns out that – if you're into that sort of thing – we would both like to date you."

"All three of us," Parker said. "Together."

Almost at the same time, both Parker and Hardison held their free hands out to Eliot.

There was a tense silence as Eliot looked from Parker to Hardison and back again, an undecipherable look on his face. Then, almost in slow motion, Eliot reached out and grasped Hardison's hand. He looked at Parker. "I'd take your hand, too, but if I move my left arm too far up it's gonna sting. Ah, you know what? Screw it." With a pained hiss, he took Parker's hand.

"Good," Hardison said. "I was hoping for that. Much rather have some awkward and slightly painful hand-holding than the punch I'd kind of expected."

Eliot shook his head and slowly let go of their hands. He held his side. "When have I ever hit you?"

"Well, never," Hardison said, "but coming on to you might have done it."

"Nah, wouldn't have happened."

"Not even if you weren't into us?"

Eliot shook his head. "Not even."

Parker sat down next to him and tentatively reached for his hand again. "It doesn't matter anyway because Eliot likes us back. Right? You do like us back." It came out as more of a question.

One thing Eliot and Parker had in common was that they didn't like to talk about their emotions, didn't like to put the words out into the world, being so open to everyone around them. But sometimes you had to make yourself vulnerable for the people you lo—

Well, Eliot thought. He wrapped his fingers around Parker's and tugged Hardison down on his other side. "Yeah, Parker. I like you back. Both of you."

A few minutes later, Hardison turned in his seat. "Okay, all this handholding is getting seriously awkward. Imma kiss you now."

And he did.

"Here we go," Hardison said as the screen flickered to life. Nate's nose appeared larger than life. Parker flinched back.

"Uh, Nate? You have to back up a little. Nate!"

Nate pulled back from the screen and they could see a nicely manicured hand wrapped around his arm, dragging him back until Sophie appeared in the frame next to him.

"Hello, everyone."

"Hi, Sophie!"

"Are you on a yacht?" Parker leaned forward. "Did you steal it?"

Sophie sighed. "Rented it, unfortunately. Somebody--" She shot Nate a look. "--didn't want to steal one."

Sophie detailed the first leg of their round-the-world honeymoon, Nate only occasionally butting in. He was smiling, though, so Eliot figured he enjoyed sitting back and letting Sophie do the talking.

"And what's new with you?"

Hardison and Eliot exchanged a look, both daring the other to be the one to break the news.

"Leverage International is a go!" Hardison said, neatly escaping the silent staring match by giving away the other piece of news they had to share. "I had so many ideas, and now I have a bunch of concrete plans and between the three of us we have enough skills, contacts and favors to call in to build up a world-wide network."

Eliot nodded. "It's a solid plan. It'll be a lot of work, but once everything is up and running there should be a version of Leverage Inc. operating on every continent."

"Except Antarctica," Parker cut in. "Although…" She thought for a brief moment. "Maybe even Antarctica. Rich people are always looking to exploit stuff, and there's lots to exploit in Antarctica."

Eliot shot Hardison a look that said he was not, under any circumstances, going to Antarctica. Hardison shrugged. Parker wasn't wrong – there were natural resources to exploit and there was a lot of open space to conduct or hide criminal shenanigans. He mentally put Antarctica on his list of places to build a few contacts and get some more detailed information on.

"We're only a phone call away," Sophie said, "but I know you've got this."

Parker, who was sitting on the counter between Hardison and Eliot, had been fidgeting for a while. Neither Nate nor Sophie commented on it, used to Parker being unable to sit still for long periods of time. "Hardison and I are dating—" she blurted out, then closed her mouth with a snap.

Nate and Sophie exchanged a puzzled look. "We knew that, Parker," Sophie said. "You already told us ages ago."

"No, I wasn't done. I just got nervous." Parker flipped backwards off the counter and stepped between Eliot and Hardison, one arm slung around each of them. "What I was trying to say is that Hardison and I are dating… Eliot."

Nate and Sophie looked at each other again. Then Nate cleared his throat. "That's… good."

Sophie rolled her eyes. "What Nate means to say is that we're happy for you. Thank you for trusting us with this."

There was an awkward moment of silence until Hardison blurted: "Did Parker tell you about how she got us involved in a real life James Bond situation a couple of weeks ago?"