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Eliot is used to being the protector, throwing his body in front of his team’s every chance he gets. He knows it’s self-destructive, but he doesn’t care, he’ll go to any length to keep his family safe. As long as they’re okay, he’s content, and that’s all that matters.
So when he wakes up, his chest rattling and his throat dry, he ignores it. They have a job to do, and he won’t be what causes it to fail. They’ve been working on their own for the past two years, occasionally checking in with Sophie and Nate as they travel the world on an unofficial honeymoon. Eliot knew Parker was good at her job, but he also knew that she was worried that one of these days she’d screw up, and get them hurt, and he couldn’t be what makes her worry more.
He pulls himself out of bed and stumbles downstairs where Hardison and Parker were already sitting on the couch, looking at something on Hardison’s laptop. They both look up with matching grins as he moves into the kitchen.
“Hey, El!” Hardison calls.
Eliot opens his mouth to respond, but instead a cough tears through his throat, drying and scraping his throat. He bends over, holding the counter to maintain his balance as he hacks his lungs out.
Faintly, he hears frantic calling out his name and registers a hand rubbing his back in slow circles as his cough dies down. His head is pounding and he barely notices as Parker and Hardison lead him to the couch.
“You’re sick.” Parker says, never one to beat around the bush.
“I’m fine.” Eliot answers, his voice cracked and aching.
“And you’re lying.”
Eliot stubbornly refuses to look either of them in the eye. “Am not.”
“When did you start feeling sick?”
“I’m not sick.”
“yes, yes, you’re perfectly healthy.” Parker placates. “When did you start feeling perfectly normal?”
Eliot bites his lip, trying to hold back a cough and failing, bending over and hacking into his elbow as Parker rubs his shoulder and Hardison steadies his back.
“I’m gonna grab some water and a cough drop.” Hardison murmurs over Eliot’s head, and the soothing hand on his back disappears. Eliot tries not to notice the immediate cold that hits him as Hardison heads into the kitchen
“so, when did you start feeling like this?” Parker demands.
“Yesterday.” Eliot mumbles.
Parker inhales, like she has something she wants to say, but doesn’t know how it’ll be taken. Eliot’s not normally on the receiving end of that look, it’s typically directed at people she’s conning;.
“‘Kay, I’ve got water, some Ibuprofen, and some cough drops.” Hardison returns, situating himself at Eliot’s side like he belongs there, pressing the glass of water into Eliot’s hands and helping him drink it.
The cool liquid soothes Eliot’s throat for only a moment, before a cough seizes him again tearing at his throat as tears spring to his eyes.
“Okay, back to bed, c’mon.” Hardison says as the cough dies down.
“No, no, I’m fine, I just need some meds and I’ll be fine.” Eliot grumbles.
Parker stands up. “Absolutely not. If needed, Hardison and I can finish the con on our own, it’s the last day anyways, he can stay here and make sure you’re okay and I’ll finish it. If necessary!” Parker stresses. “Hardison’s right.”
“No-”
“No. We take care of each other. That doesn’t just mean you take care of us, it means we take care of you.”
Hardison nods in agreement, helping Eliot off the couch and back upstairs to his room, pausing every couple of feet to cough, each time the motion tearing at Eliot’s throat and causing his head to pound.
“I’ll go make tea.” Parker announces once they successfully wrangle Eliot back into comfortable clothes and under his bed.
“I’ll go find our medicine cabinet. It’s somewhere around here. Stay.” Hardison points at Eliot, who raises his hands, before stifling a cough until after Hardison and Parker leave the room.
He slouches back into his pillows, remembering a time when he would just push through a cold until he inevitably passed out, the memories never anything as good as Parker and Hardison bundling him and forcing him to take a moment, letting them take care of him, just this once.
“I made tea.” Parker announces as she walks back in. “It’s that kind you like, the one you always make after a con takes a long time.” She’s cradling a mug between two hands, moving carefully across the room to sit at Eliot’s bed. “Hardison’s still looking. I think he got distracted making sure the thermostat isn’t too high.”
Eliot snorts, which promptly turns into a dry cough. Parker steadies the mug, setting it on the bedside table as Eliot’s eyes water, his head pounding with each cough. As he sits up, Parker hands him the mug, staring him down until he takes a sip. The hot liquid soothes his throat, warming his insides and he manages a soft smile at Parker in thanks.
“OKay, I’m back. I found DayQuil, NyQuil, Ibuprofen, and Benadryl. We’re all out of cough drops, so I ordered some along with soup from that place you like, El, the soup will come around noon and the cough drops should be here in like thirty minutes.” Hardison rambles, walking into the room and taking a seat on Eliot’s other side, a bin stuffed full of everything from novelty bandaids (put there by Hardison) to stocks of Advil and Ibuprofen, kept full for Eliot by Parker. He rifles through before pulling out two bright orange pills.
“Here, take these now, then we’ll take Ibuprofen at lunch, and then you can take NyQuil before you sleep.” Hardison instructs. “I set timers on my phone to make sure you take your meds at the right time and-”
“No meds.” Eliot grumbles, not wanting to talk any louder and risk coughing. “I’ll take some Ibuprofen if it’ll make you happy, but I won't do anything more.”
Hardison frowns.
“Okay. Okay, Ibuprofen for now. We’ll re-evaluate in a couple hours. For now, sleep, I know you went to bed late last night.” Hardison fixes him with a look, handing over the Ibuprofen and a water bottle.
Eliot grumbles as he takes the pills, rolling his eyes at the proud grin that takes over Hardison’s face.
“It’s just a cold, you guys don’t have to hover.”
“We want to.” Parker answers, like it’s nothing, like Eliot means everything. “Now, sleep. We’ll be back with soup in a few hours.”
Eliot rolls his eyes again, trying and failing to hide the smile that’s spreading across his face. “Okay.”
“Sleep well, man.” Hardison says, adjusting the covers again before standing up.
Parker hesitates, before leaning over and pressing a kiss to his forehead. “Drink your tea.” She murmurs, patting his head and following Hardison out the door, flicking off the lights and keeping the door open a crack.
As Eliot feels his eyes start to slip closed, the pounding in his head slowing as the meds start to kick in, he feels that soft feeling pool in his stomach, warming his body and staving off the cold enough for him to fall into a peaceful sleep.
.
“El? Eliot, you awake?” Calloused hands gently pull through Eliot’s hair as he blinks awake, his throat dry but less aching. “There you are.” Hardison smiles softly, the corners of his eyes crinkling as he looks down.
“Hey.” Eliot rasps. Hardison’s eyes widen and he hands Eliot the water bottle, keeping a steady hand on Eliot’s shoulder.
“Drink. How’re you feeling?”
“Better.” Eliot internally groans before admitting. “The nap helped.”
Hardison’s grin returns at full brightness. “Told you so.”
“Yeah, yeah.”
“You wanna stay up here or hang out with us on the couch?”
“I’m not dying, Hardison.” Eliot retorts, fully sitting up, missing the warmth of Hardison's hand as he does.
“So that’s a yes then?”
Eliot sighs with no real heat behind it. “Yes.”
“Alright, c’mon down then when you’re ready! Parker’s getting soup heated up, we can marathon Lord of the Rings!” Hardison stands up, excitement evident in his bouncing feet. “Need a hand?”
“Not dying, Hardison.” Eliot mutters, but takes Hardison’s hand regardless, letting him wrap an arm around Eliot’s shoulder as they walk downstairs.
He leads him to the living room where blankets are piled high, the coffee table is stocked with cough drops, tissues, and a still steaming mug of tea. Hardison situates Eliot on the couch, wrapping blankets around his shoulders until he’s bundled up, before grabbing one for himself and sitting next to Eliot, pressing their shoulders together though the blankets.
“I know it’s not your soup, but it should still be good.” Parker announces, carrying a tray that she definitely nicked from downstairs with three bowls of soup on it. She sets it on the table with the grace of an acrobat, handing one to Eliot before taking her seat on his other side. Hardison grabs the remote, pressing play on the already queued up Lord of the Rings movie, before grabbing his soup and moving back to his spot at Eliot’s side. Parker presses into his shoulder on the other side, watching him as he slowly eats the soup.
“Good?” She asks, and Eliot knows she’s not just talking about the soup.
“Yeah, Park, I’m good.”