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Eliot startled awake, the last remnants of his nightmare fading as he took in his familiar surroundings. He was home, in his bedroom. He was safe.
Eliot reached one hand over to the other side of the bed, frowning when his fingers met only cool satin instead of her warm skin or sleep-tussed hair. Not even the velvety pages of her newest book, discarded upside down in favor of a restful sleep, were there to greet him.
Groaning, Eliot slipped out of bed, holding onto the back of the headboard for support. It had been a long time since he could chase down an attacker without collapsing in pain, a fact that haunted him on his worst days. He knew the price of being a hitter his whole life would catch up with him someday but if he was being honest, he never expected to have anyone to protect in the end. If it wasn't for her, he could've died in peace the second his body told him he couldn't take the hits anymore. But she stopped him, and she always would.
Pushing away the darker thoughts, Eliot tugged on his t-shirt from the floor where it had landed last night in their haste to touch and feel, with rough lips and familiar gravelly commands. The thought of their late-night activities brought a half-smirk to Eliot's lips. Even older, with creaky bones and none of the grace they used to possess when their bodies were lithe and in their prime, he and Sophie managed to fit together in perfect unison, connecting and exploring like younger lovers during their first time. He truly cherished how far they’d come and how long he’d managed to live, and wasn’t that an incredible, insane thought to have.
Eliot left the bedroom and wandered into the kitchen, mind filled with a thousand questions as his thoughts drifted away from last night and onto Sophie’s unusual behavior. Even back when they were in their 30s and raring to go, she was never awake before him, and if she was, she certainly wasn't out of bed or capable of conscious thought. Eliot loved his wife, but she was not a morning person. Most days, if Eliot tried to wake her up before noon, she would smack him with one of the many skincare bottles that ended up on the nightstand from her incessant Sephora addiction. Eliot had learned the hard way to let her have her beauty rest.
The sound of clattering pans startled Eliot from his thoughts, and his eyes met a curtain of dark hair, haphazardly flipped over one tanned shoulder and clearly unbrushed. Her favorite dressing gown was tied messily around her midsection, and Eliot’s concern grew. This was not like her at all.
“Sophie?”
His wife turned around, startled, almost dropping one of the pans she was holding. “Eliot!” she exclaimed, her eyes turning to liquid pools of panic when she saw him. “I was just…trying to make crepes.”
“Sweetheart, you know I woulda made crepes for you when I got up,” Eliot pointed out. “Why the rush?”
Sophie sighed, putting the pan down on the counter, and sank to her knees. As Eliot watched, she tucked her knees to her chest like a child, a rare display of vulnerability that Eliot knew he was privileged to see. “I don’t know. I just…wanted to do something for you for a change.”
“Where’s all this coming from?” Eliot asked gently, moving to take a seat by her side. “You do plenty for me, Soph. Every day.”
“No, I don’t!” Sophie exclaimed, lifting her head to face him. Her usually warm chocolate brown eyes were laced with anxiety and an inkling of anger, clearly self-directed. “You cook, you clean, you go shopping. You even massage my feet and take care of Parker’s houseplants when she leaves them here to go on one of her adventures. You do everything, Eliot, and it’s not fair.”
Eliot exhaled sharply, shocked by the force of her statement. It was rare for Sohpie to yell, and even rarer for him to be the one bearing the brunt of it. “Sophie, I don’t mind doing all of that stuff.”
“Just because you don’t mind it doesn’t mean I should just be sitting here doing nothing,” Sophie responded bitterly. “You’re practically a house husband, and I’m just…a deadbeat wife!”
So that’s what this is about.
“Soph, that is not true,” Eliot insisted, gentling his tone so she didn’t feel like he was trying to argue with her. “Your worth isn’t determined by how much you contribute to the household chores, or how often you take care of me in the same ways I take care of you. You’re here for me in a different way.” His thoughts returned to waking up out of a nightmare, searching for her, and his old bones that were protesting the cramped position in front of the counter. “Did you know, on my bad days, you’re the only one who can convince me I don’t have to be strong and fast to survive? Did you know that no one else can snap me out of my head when I’m remembering shit I shouldn’t as fast as you? Did you know that you are the entire reason I’m still here, Sophie?”
Sophie blinked, a little taken aback by his candor, and tears pooled in her dark brown eyes. “I…um…no.”
“That’s my point,” Eliot explained patiently. “You don’t realise what you do for me, or how much you mean to me but that doesn’t mean it’s not there. Remember what Parker told you the other day, last time you felt like this?”
Sophie nodded, a single tear slipping down her cheek as she recalled the younger thief’s words. “She said…just because you’re different, doesn’t mean you’re less.”
“She was right,” Eliot said, reaching to brush a stray piece of hair from Sophie’s forehead. “And Parker should know, she’s been different her whole life.” He cracked a brief smile, getting a watery laugh out of Sophie.
Eliot dreaded these days, when Sophie fell victim to the insecurities that told her she wasn’t a good wife, mentor, or person. Though they’d come a long way since her first identity crisis, when Chaos tried to kill her, sometimes she still suffered under the weight of societal expectations and not knowing who she was, underneath all of the masks. Years before, it would have come out in more violent ways, with her pushing away the people she loved and self-destructing into a tornado of confusion. Now, she attacked what she could see, trying to destroy the normalcy in her life to return to what she was used to: lies. It was almost like she’d spent so long being someone she wasn’t that she felt the need to destroy what she became the second she found herself being authentic. It would be irrational, if Eliot didn’t understand her so well.
“I see you,” Eliot whispered, kissing the corner of her mouth tenderly. “I know you.” It was the best way he knew to remind her that she wasn’t incapable of being truthful, or too convoluted to love. He knew what it felt like to think there was no one left underneath all of the deception, and he would never let her feel that way for long.
“Eliot…” Sophie breathed, barely above a whisper. “Thank you.”
“You don’t have to thank me, darlin’,” Eliot said, his voice gravelly as he pitched it lower to meet her octave. “You would do the same for me.”
“I would,” Sophie admitted, and reached over to interlace their fingers. Eliot smiled, squeezing her hand gently to remind her that she wasn’t alone. For better or worse, she had his back, and he had vowed to always have hers.
“I love you,” Eliot said, and kissed her. Her response was muffled against his lips, but Eliot didn’t have to hear it to know the words she said.
When they pulled apart, Eliot noted with relief that the anxiety had disappeared from her eyes, and they were back to their normal chocolate brown. He may be out of the force for good, but this was one situation he felt justified in saying Mission accomplished. He never thought he would find someone like her, but now that he had, he knew there was nothing he wouldn’t do for her, and nothing that could ever separate them from each other.
Not even Sophie’s own mind.