Work Text:
In the early days after a messy job they’d all split, go their different ways, cool off alone, only come back together when they’d burned through the adrenalin and the jitters and everything that came with the tricker jobs.
After Sophie and Nate left it’d felt wrong to spend time alone – so they’d tried to work through things together and that, well…that had not been good.
Parker would sit with them, the tightness around her eyes and mouth increasing by the minute, unable to keep still, getting more and more jittery until she felt the need to flee with a barely mumbled “see you.”
Or Hardison’s witty one liners would take on a vicious and cutting undertone that his words usually lacked, until Eliot, pushed too far, would either yell back or punch something inanimate as Parker fled the apartment.
Or Eliot would feel himself getting quieter and quieter, the more Parker twitched or as Hardison’s verbal sparring turned harsh until he couldn’t take it anymore and he’d stomp out slamming the door as he left.
It took them a few months but they finally figured out how to give each other room to breathe.
The last job they pulled went off the rails about half way through – the vents in the building had unexpected dead ends and there were lasers where there weren’t supposed to be any lasers – so Parker’s part of the job took longer than expected. Eliot had had to pull a couple of diversions at the last minute, with Hardison’s help and to top it all their exfil from the building had been unexpectedly messy with additional guards who weren’t supposed to be there appearing from nowhere.
They stumble into the apartment, all three of them tired and jittery, and Eliot’s at the refrigerator tossing beers to the other two without even asking.
Parker grabs her bottle, knocks the cap off, catches hold of the rope that’s anchored in the rafters and disappears upwards without a word.
Hardison raises an eyebrow, nods at Eliot, raises his beer in a toast and disappears into the den. Eliot cocks his head and listens for a moment, hears the squeak of wheels as Hardison settles into his chair and blare of noise, cutting off quickly and Eliot guesses Hardison has put on his headphones.
The bottle of beer is cool in Eliot’s hand, moisture running down the glass. He lifts it, touching it to his temple for a moment, letting the cool, wet glass soothe the throbbing headache and breathes deep forcing his muscles to relax. His belly rumbles and its hours past when they’d expected to be home and none of them have eaten anything since lunch.
So he does the one thing he can do – yanks the refrigerator door open and surveys the contents.
It really doesn’t take long to rustle up a giant salad, slide a few batons of garlic bread into the oven and make a giant Spanish omelette. But it’s enough for Eliot to lose himself a little and block everything else out, focusing only on slicing, dicing and chopping, whisking and seasoning, thinking of little else than how everything tastes and smells and the presentation of an appetising meal.
There’s a slight rustle from above and Parker slides down from her perch, drawn by the scent of a meal almost ready. She waits until Eliot places the giant bowl of salad in the middle of the counter and nods toward her before her fingers snake out snagging first a piece of cucumber and then a large slice of tomato, licking oil and balsamic vinegar off her fingers and humming in contentment.
There’s the slide of wheels and blast of white noise quickly cut off as Hardison pads slowly out of the den, blinking in the subdued light of the main part of the apartment.
“Smells good,” he mumbles and he looks exhausted but the tightness around his eyes has gone and his shoulders aren’t tensed up any more.
Eliot pulls the bread from the oven, tips it onto a wooden platter and neatly divides the omelette between three plates.
“Eat up,” he says.
They each pull out the stools under the counter, pile plates high with salad and garlic bread and eat in silence, cleaning their plates quickly. Eliot covers the left-over salad and wraps the bread before stashing them in the refrigerator, Parker’s already weaving towards the bedroom shedding clothes as she goes, as Hardison stacks the dishes and puts them to one side.
The bedroom has the biggest bed any of them have ever seen, and Eliot’s not quite sure how it happens, as he toes of his boots and strips, but on the days things go wrong he always ends up in the middle.
Parker curls into his side, her head pillowed on his shoulder, nose buried in his hair.
“Mmmm, garlic,” she whispers as she reaches across him, her fingers seeking out and linking with Hardison’s, their joined hands resting on Eliot’s belly.
Hardison’s like an octopus, long limbs and all, and it shouldn’t work, with so many limbs to accommodate but somehow it always does.
“Go to sleep babe,” Hardison says and Eliot’s not sure whether Hardison’s talking to him, or Parker or both of them and it doesn’t really matter because Parker’s breath has evened out and Hardison whuffling into a soft snore and Eliot can feel sleep pulling him down.
There’ll be plenty of time tomorrow to work out what went wrong and why and make sure it never happens again.