Chapter Text
"...find the front desk and turn it 390 degrees with the tension nose, and that makes a shelf for the tension tip..."
Parker's phone buzzes. She ignores it.
"...so then it rests flat on the lock, and you build the pick around it like so..."
It buzzes again. Parker sighs, pauses the video, sets her laptop, lock, and pick aside, and digs her phone out from where it's slipped into the bedsheets. There are two messages waiting when she unlocks it, both from Eliot in his peculiar shorthand.
<come to kitchen>
<need taste test>
So that's where he's been all afternoon. Parker shoots back a quick <omw> before climbing out of bed and heading for the door.
xxx
Upon reaching the kitchen, Parker notices two things. One: whatever Eliot's making, it smells sugary (potentially a bad sign, he only makes sweet things when something's bothering him), and two: Hardison is already there, leaning on the counter next to him. She decides to table the first thought in favor of throwing an arm over both their shoulders and planting a kiss on each for good measure. Hardison steals the kiss back; Eliot gives her a sidelong look and a half-smile.
"Both my boys in one place," says Parker, "and both within smooching distance. This is a rare treat. Whatcha makin'?" she leans over the pot; whatever's inside is bright, sunny yellow, and bubbling like a witch's potion.
"Jam," says Eliot. "not quite ready. Either of you hungry?"
"Always," Parker says quickly.
"Sure," Hardison shrugs.
Eliot gestures to the barstools at the counter, and Hardison and Parker dutifully sit down to wait. Eliot says nothing as he bustles around; takes two slices of bread from the breadbox, sticks them in the toaster and turns it on, then goes back to his jam. Hardison can't read his body language. He and Parker exchange a glance.
A few minutes go by; the toast pops up. Eliot plates it, spoons some of the jam into a ramekin, and sets both in front of his partners. "Dandelion and elderflower," he says, returning to the stove. "Lemme know what you think."
"...Dandelion?" Hardison echoes, spoon poised over his plate.
"Mm-hmm. Try it, it's good."
Never one to hesitate, Parker dips her finger in the ramekin and pops it in her mouth. "Tastes like honey," she says contemplatively.
"Too sweet?" Eliot looks over his shoulder.
"A tiny bit."
Eliot nods and reaches for the bottle of lemon juice by the stove, while Hardison spoons some jam onto his toast and Parker dips hers in the ramekin like a chip into salsa. It is good: sweet and floral, with a hint of apple. They both nibble on their toast, and talk a little, watch Eliot work...and wait. There's a tension in the room. One by one Eliot takes jars out of the oven, pours the sunshine-colored jam into them, slaps a lid on, and places them on a nearby towel, until there's a whole squadron of them lined up on the counter. Then he covers the squadron with another towel, moves to the sink and starts washing various odds and ends, and it's about then that Hardison's patience starts to wear thin.
"So," he says, just loudly enough to be heard over the faucet, "when are you gonna tell us what's actually going on?" Eliot hesitates, briefly enough to be imperceptible to anyone but him and Parker. He presses on. "What did the doctor say?"
Moving slowly and deliberately and without looking at either of them, Eliot dries his hands, takes his phone out of his pocket and places it on the counter within Hardison's reach. "Go to the photo gallery," he says as he plunges his hands back into the soapy water, "under the camera roll folder. You'll know it when you see it."
Hardison and Parker exchange another glance. He unlocks the phone -- they all know each other's passcodes at this point -- and goes where he's told. There's a blurry photo of a dog, a less blurry one of a car, several action shots of Eliot's shoes and the pavement. Then one catches his eye. It's a monitor on what looks to be a medical device, showing a sharply contrasted grayscale image of...something. He zooms in. Parker leans in to look over his shoulder.
"It's exactly what you think it is," says Eliot from the sink. His voice is tense.
A long pause. Parker looks up. "You're pregnant?" Hardison looks up too; Eliot is scrubbing an already clean measuring cup.
"Ten weeks, give or take. Doc says everything looks fine...didn't tell her I climbed up the side of a building last week."
"Guess that explains why none of the rest of us got sick," says Parker.
"What are you gonna do?" asks Hardison. He's still holding the phone, open to the ultrasound photo. Eliot sets the measuring cup aside, dries his hands, and turns around to face his partners.
"That's why I wanted to talk to you guys," he says slowly.
"It's your body, man, you don't need our permission for nothing."
"For this, I think I do." Eliot leans back on the counter, folds his arms. "I've been thinking...we've been with the team a few years now; we're pretty much settled. We got a good thing goin' and I dunno about you, but it'd be nice to have a normal life for once --"
Parker snorts. "Nothing about our lives is normal, babe, we're professional con artists."
"Normal as in not sleeping in your car every night, not constantly looking over your shoulder. What I'm saying is, I wouldn't mind putting down some roots here." Eliot looks back and forth between Parker and Hardison. He looks unsure, almost tentative; that's a rarity, for him. Hardison and Parker look down at the phone for a long moment.
"Are you saying what I think you're saying?" asks Parker.
"Yeah, I am."
"No offense," says Hardison, "but you're not the first person I would think of as a...as the parental type. You sure about this? I mean, you decided this from one afternoon of thinking?"
Eliot looks at his shoes. "Been thinking about it longer than that. I didn't know for sure I was knocked up till today, but...I've suspected for about a week. Didn't wanna tell you till I knew one way or the other. But --" he gestures to his partners, "I'm only gonna do this if you're both onboard with it, too. We're a team."
"Our work isn't exactly safe," Parker points out. "What would happen if one of us gets arrested, or worse?"
"Harry's a dad. Bree's good with kids, I'm sure Sophie would be too, given the chance." Hardison folds his arms on the counter in front of him. "I trust them. We all got each other's backs, 's the only reason we survive half the shit we do." he hesitates, then adds, "my job's a 'drop everything and disappear for a week' situation, though. What if I miss important stuff? That's not fair to you and Parker."
"We have phones," says Parker gently, "facetime exists. We already do the long-distance thing when we have to, we can make it work."
"What about you, though?" Hardison nods to Eliot. "I know you, you sit still about as well as a caffeinated grasshopper. How you gonna deal with being out of commission for half a year?"
"I have skills that aren't fighting. I can do other stuff, have Sophie put me on van duty. Change of pace might do me good, I could use the computer practice. But that's beside the point, you didn't answer my question --" Eliot steps forward to lean on the counter across from them, almost in their faces, "do you want this? Both of you."
The phone screen has gone dark; Hardison fidgets with it on the countertop. "I'm not really a 'putting down roots' kind of guy...but I didn't think I was a polycule kind of guy either. I wouldn't mind having a normal life, for once. Normal-ish." he shrugs.
"Actually, before the team got back together," Parker adds, "Hardison and I were making plans to start a family. Shit happened and it kinda fell by the wayside, but --"
"An' then you got a boyfriend, and he got knocked up instead," Elliot cracks a rather wry half-smile.
"The end result's the same, as far as I'm concerned. It's still our kid. It's not like you're gonna steal it away somewhere, you know we'd track you down if you did." Parker punctuates the thought with a very transparent innocent smile. Eliot decides not to acknowledge it. The three of them lapse into awkward silence for a few beats.
"That...sounds pretty unanimous to me," Hardison offers. Eliot looks back and forth between them again.
"Are we doing this?"
"I think we're doin' this." Hardison smiles his blinding smile. Lightning-fast, Parker stands up in her chair, leans across the counter, grabs Eliot's face with both hands and kisses him, hard. When she finally lets him go, his ears are red. "My turn," Hardison holds out his hands toward Eliot, "c'mere."
"No."
"Please? C'mere."
"No. I have stuff to do, fuck off." the resistance is just for show, they both know it. Hardison waits until he's almost at the sink again, then gets up -- "fine, I'll come to you, then" -- and easily intercepts him to steal a kiss or three of his own. Then he steps back a little and looks at Eliot. He's still smiling, but it's a gentler, warmer smile.
"You look surprised," he says gently.
"I am surprised, I didn't think you guys would say yes that easily." Eliot is leaning back on the counter, forcing Hardison to move into his space. The taller man shrugs one shoulder.
"What can I say, we're full of surprises. That's why you love us, right?"
"Among other things." Eliot steals a kiss back, then looks to Parker, who's seated again and watching them both fondly. "You sure you wanna do this?"
"If we didn't, would we have said yes?" Eliot hums acknowledgement and goes quiet. Parker, sensing an opportunity, gets up and slips around the counter to drape her arms around them both. This time, Eliot doesn't put up even a token fight; that's his and Hardison's game, not theirs. "I'm serious," she says gently, "you know none of us commit to something unless we're sure about it." she gives him a lopsided smile. "and you know we love you."
"Love you too. And I'll remind you of that in a few months when we're up at 3:00 am changing diapers."
Parker snorts and moves away toward the breadbox. "I'm having another piece of toast, anybody else?" Eliot and Hardison watch in bemusement, both feeling a little whiplashed at the change of subject. Parker's trains of thought are all express lines. Eliot frees himself from Hardison and goes back to the sink, Hardison sits back down to answer a text, and Parker begins to ramble about her current project, and the tension dissipates. It's a normal afternoon again. Maybe putting down roots here isn't such a bad idea.
xxxOOOxxx