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As always in this family, Eliot cooked. He was the only one with decent cooking abilities, well Harry wasn't bad and Breanna was learning. And he was actually quite a ways more than decent. Also, some of the others, Hardison and Parker, would probably get malnutrition issues from solely subsisting off cereal, orange soda and donuts if it weren't for him feeding them everyday. You'd think they were children rather than grown adults. How they survived before meeting him was not something Eliot could figure out.
As always, the meal was delicious. Everyone enjoyed it, even the pickiest of them. It wasn't easy cooking for 5 adults all with different tastes, but Eliot always managed to figure something out. Sophie and Parker were the hardest to please. Hardison would often do something disgusting to his food like adding an unnecessary sauce on it, like ketchup or god forbid barbecue sauce on something that shouldn't be covered in barbecue sauce. Breanna was always curious about the meal and the process, and Harry simply appreciated being served a prepared meal.
The next morning, Eliot found Hardison in the bathroom, sick. Hardison was never sick. Yet, there he was, locked in there, vomiting in the bath while he had diarrhea on the toilet. He did manage to stop vomiting long enough to explain his situation.
"It's your fault!" Hardison yelled through the door.
"Why would it be my fault?"
"I have food poisoning, you cooked. The math is mathing as Bre would say."
"Maybe it's the barbecue sauce you put on my salmon. Or anything else you ate the last 24 hours, food poisoning doesn't necessarily come on right away."
"You're just trying to get off the hook. You did this."
"If it was me, why did no one else get sick, uh? You think about that?"
"You targeted me. You tried to kill me."
"You're being overdramatic again. Also, I joke about it, but I love you, man, I'd never do anything to hurt you, not intentionally."
"Yeah, I'm sure... Wait, you love me?"
"I always have. You're my best friend. You annoy me but you're still the best man I've ever met."
"I love you too. I know I can always count on you."
"Talking of which..."
Eliot left for a few minutes and came back with gatorade.
"When you're decent, open the door, I have something to help you stay hydrated."
It took a moment, but eventually a sweaty Hardison opened the door. He looked sick. Weak. Eliot held the gatorade toward him while he threw up some more in the toilet.
"At least the diarrhea seems to be over," Hardison said, taking the beverage from Eliot and drinking tentatively.
Eliot cleaned up the bath then sat next to his friend.
"You don't have to stay."
"My brother is down, I'm not going anywhere."
They sat in the bathroom until Hardison felt like he was done throwing up. Eliot let him shower and made sure his room was quiet and dark for him to get some rest. Hardison slept a few hours while Eliot made sure the noise in the house was kept to a minimum. When Hardison woke up, Eliot was waiting for him with chicken noodle soup, nourishing and gentle on the stomach.
"Thanks, man."
"Anything for my brother."