Leverage Fic: Even in Chaos, There is Peace
Title: Even in Chaos, There is Peace
Genre: Family, hurt/comfort
Word Count: ~7,300 words
Rating: PG-13 (language)
Pairings: Eliot/Sophie
Warnings: None
Summary: It's Christmas time once again. The Leverage team has their own special ways of commemorating the holiday. This fic was written for spiritcrow for the 2010 Leverage Secret Santa gift exchange at leverage_sesa. She prompted: "A believable and in-character Eliot/Sophie fic would make my day! There just aren't enough of those out there!" This is my spin on it, with a little reminder of what the holidays are all about.
Author's Note: A huge shout out goes to rusting_roses, once again, for her invaluable betaing.
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Even in Chaos, There is Peace
"Well, this is it," Sophie murmured, looking up at the ceiling.
Eliot nodded, grabbing the cord and pulling down. There was a creaking noise as long-rusted hinges groaned in protest at being dragged into action. A set of stairs folded down from the ceiling. "When was the last time you were up here?" Eliot asked, eyeing the fine layer of dust coating each step.
A smile played across Sophie's face. She shrugged, and then replied, "I have enough closet space for most of my wardrobe. Not to mention the dirt up there," she added, shuddering at the thought. "You have any idea what dust does to fine silk?"
Eliot chuckled, running a finger through the dust and then raising it for examination before blowing it off his fingers. "A little dust never hurt anyone."
Sophie shook her head. "Tell that to the dress I almost ruined last time I went up there. I tripped on these stairs. They're a death trap, I swear. Only my miracle-worker of a dry cleaner managed to get the streak out of the outfit."
"So you send me up there in your stead?"
"Of course!" she exclaimed as if it were the most logical idea in the world. She patted Eliot on the back supportively before lightly pressing her fingertips against his back to prod him forward toward the stairs. She couldn't help but rest her fingertips there for a moment, her soft, manicured fingers contrasting against his firm, muscular back. "Well, come on, if you would be so kind. My ski clothes aren't going to retrieve themselves from the attic."
He rolled his eyes as he began mounting the stairs. He paused midstride. "Remind me again how I got roped into this?"
"That, dear, was completely your fault. What's a boyfriend for if not to be a little chivalrous once in awhile? You were the one to ask me out, remember? Don't tell me you didn't anticipate exactly what you were getting into."
He shook his head but began the climb up to the attic, uncaring of the grime. Sophie flicked a switch on the wall as he went, illuminating the dark eaves. Eliot sighed, but knew that he couldn't really complain. Hell, he had been the one to ask her out. After months of wrestling over the issue, there came the weekly team dinner when he sat across from her, admiring that demure smile, the one that hinted at the layers upon layers stacked beneath the cool, confident aura that the grifter radiated. That had been the tipping point, the moment when he had run out of ideas as to why he shouldn't jump in. He'd wondered if Nate would be a problem, but during the time that Nate had served his stint in prison, Sophie had barely spoken of the man other than her annoyance at how he'd played them and had kept all of them, his team and surrogate family, in the dark. No, Nate had burned that bridge and there hadn't been any sign that he was going to make an effort to rebuild it.
So yes, he'd been out of excuses and stalling techniques. There had come the moment where he just had to take a chance, and maybe a leap of faith, and jump in blind and see how things with Sophie went.
Two trips worth of grunting and dragging the heavy wooden boxes to the stair top later, he emerged from his thoughts. Sophie was leaning up against the wall below, watching him curiously as he worked. "You're getting dust all over your shirt," she observed.
He paused in his ministrations and shot her a glance accompanied by a raised eyebrow. "I thought that was the point. It's my clothes getting dirty instead of yours."
"That's your favorite shirt, though, isn't it?"
"It's a shirt. I got other ones," Eliot remarked flatly. Clothes were just objects in the world. He wore a hoodie when running on a crisp fall morning. He wore a leather jacket when working most of his cons if he could work it into the character he was playing. And then there the rare occasions where he took Sophie out to the sorts of restaurants where he swore they paid a fortune for food that he knew he could cook better. But it made Sophie's face sparkle in a way that complimented the jewels that she'd tie around her throat. He might not appreciate the experience in the same way that Sophie did, but he could most definitely appreciate the way she stroked the fine white linens draped over the table and the way she soaked up the ambience of the environment. So on those nights he was perfectly fine with trading in his rugged work attire for a fine suit and silk tie, taking her hand in his own, and escorting her out for the evening.
"But you like to wear that one quite a bit, don't you?" she suggested.
"Uh, sure, I suppose," he replied looking down to examine the plaid shirt. It was a remnant of the horse job they had pulled. He rubbed at a dust spot that had formed on the sleeve.
"Well, leave it down here with me then. No need to get it all dirty," she suggested.
"Sure," he agreed. A mischievous glint in his eyes, he finished his statement. "You admit that what you're really looking to get here is me doing your housework and doing it without a shirt and I'd be glad to oblige."
"Oh, Eliot! I would never be so crude,." Sophie admonished, but she glanced up at him from beneath her lashes in a way that left no doubt as to what she was thinking.
He just shrugged though, and went back to pushing one of the heavy wooden chests toward the stairs. If she wasn't going to admit it, then he wasn't going to press- Sophie always did respond better when he pretended to ignore her.
"Oh, fine! Can you blame a woman for wanting to admire a man's chiseled physique like the one you carry around?"
His neutral expression broke and he grinned. "Nope, not at all. But it doesn't hurt to hear it verbalized once in awhile."
"Ok. I've stroked your ego. Now ditch the shirt, come on," she demanded.
He chuckled, shaking his head as he began undoing the buttons. A minute later the shirt dropped from the attic and into Sophie's waiting arms. Stripped down to a worn undershirt, Eliot continued his ministrations while Sophie watched on.
Five minutes later found two boxes at the bottom of the stairs with just the last to be moved down from the upper floor. Eliot clomped up the stairs one more time and grabbed the handle on the last wooden chest, the heaviest one, which he had left for last. He strained backwards against the weight, dragging it toward the stairs. Gaining a grip on the handle on either side of the trunk, he began awkwardly moving down the stairs with it. By about half way his back was protesting the effort. He felt one of his back muscles quivering with each advance he made. He worked out, sure as hell he did, but dead weight lifts weren't something he'd practiced enough to be doing this. His combat strategies were much more reliant on quick, punchy movements. Get in, get a hit, and get out, all the while watching for the next opening.
A painful sensation pulled him from his thoughts. It made him drop the chest. "Sophie, move!" he managed to shout at her as it tumbled end over end toward where she was perched on one of the lower stairs.
He wasn't aware of whether she moved. All of his attention was focused on the spot in his back where it felt like someone had pressed a lit match against his flesh. Or under his flesh, maybe. It was a stabbing pain radiating out from along his spine and amplifying as it shuddered outward. His hands were closed into fists. He was crumpled into a sprawling mess on the stairs, biting his lip and willing his body to remain still as to avoid aggravating the pain any more than it already was.
"Sophie, you ok?" he croaked.
He forced his clenched eyes open. She was backed up against the walls, eyes open wide as she examined the trunk that had splayed open, spilling its contents across the floor.
"I'm fine. Are you?"
He shrugged and went to climb to his feet, thinking that he must have just strained his muscles a little with the weight. Pain lanced along his spine, sparks flew behind his eyes. With a grimace he dropped back into a sitting position on the stairs. "Damn it. Apparently not."
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"Watch your footing walking up to the door there, Eliot! Nate mentioned it was a bit icy and he hadn't gotten around to salting yet," Sophie shouted after the hitter as he shuffled toward the entrance to Parker's warehouse home.
He shook his head, mumbling under his breath. He didn't approve of Sophie's mollycoddling, but common sense made him put a hand against the side of the building as he navigated his way up toward the door.
Sophie had apparently finished parking the car, a few seconds later he heard the clicking of her high-heels against the pavement. She fell into step beside him, protectively hovering just a few inches away. "You ok so far? You should've just waited for me at the car and we'd have walked up together."
He growled low. "I ain't an invalid."
Sophie rolled her eyes. "I never suggested anything of the sort. But the doctor said that you pulled that muscle in your back pretty thoroughly. If you remember correctly, he said a few days of bed rest were in order." Her voice was pointed- she clearly thought he was an idiot for refusing to rely on her.
"It was a recommendation, Sophie." The words escaped through gritted teeth. His back was making it clear that it was in no condition to do anything of use.
She rolled her eyes but sped up a bit to rush ahead and grab the door for the injured hitter. "And you would know that how? You weren't even paying attention at the appointment to what he was saying. That task was left to me. So yes, forgive me if I'm going to make sure you follow his 'recommendations' to the letter."
He smirked at that as he slowly maneuvered past her and continued his old-man shuffle into the building. "You don't seem too intent to enforce the bed rest thing."
She rolled her eyes and pulled the door tight snugly behind them, cutting off the bitter wind. In truth, she had debated this back and forth. But it was Christmas. Eliot had been looking forward to this for months. He'd started putting up the Christmas lights the day after Thanksgiving. So she'd ultimately ceded to her compassion instead of her common sense that told her that Eliot should be at her apartment, in bed, relaxing. They had reached a compromise. Parker and Hardison and Nate had gone out earlier to get the tree without Eliot. If he had gone, no doubt the hitter would have insisted on helping to chop down the tree and drag it out of the woods and up it into the back of his truck and drive it home, which would have gone against just about everything the doctor had recommended for a quick recovery. So she'd borrowed Eliot's keys and passed them along to Hardison so they could bring the tree back and get it set up. Eliot would be permitted to help decorate the tree assuming the man made no attempt to lift anything heavy.
"Consider it an early Christmas present," she replied, patting him on the shoulder.
"Hey guys!" Parker's voice rang out across the warehouse.
The couple looked in the direction the voice had come from. And then they looked up. Parker was suspended from a rope tethered to the ceiling rafters, dangling about eight feet off the ground with a shiny ornament held in each hand.
"That's a big tree," Eliot commented.
Sophie couldn't argue with that. She was perhaps beginning to understand why Parker had insisted that the tree decorating take place at her place. Hers was the only one with high enough ceilings to allow for the ten-foot tree they'd selected for the evening's festivities.
Sophie shortened her stride to match Eliot's. The two of them advanced at his slow pace into the center of the warehouse where several space heaters had been set up to keep them at least marginally warmer than the crisp Christmas evening might otherwise allow for; warehouses weren't exactly known for their heating. Nate was standing at the base of the tree with a box of open ornaments; apparently having been conscripted into handing them up to the dangling Parker one at a time.
Hardison was crouched on the ground next to a tangled mess of Christmas lights, tugging vigorously on two different strands. "Man, who organized these last year? You never just throw wires into a pile and call it a day. It's called coiling!"
Eliot shook his head but moved over in that direction. Sophie pulled up a stray office chair that had been rolled into this part of the warehouse from the corner where Parker usually slept. Eliot dropped into it with a thankful nod and gently pried the strung lights from Hardison's hands. "You're just making the mess worse. A little patience can go a long way," he muttered softly as he began slowly picking at a knot in one of the lines, easing it looser before pulling the strand loose and beginning the arduous process of untangling the lights.
Hardison watched his deft hand movements before joining in at a different portion of the lights, duplicating Eliot's approach.
In the background, Parker flipped mid-air and dropped several feet lower with a cackle of glee. She snatched two more glass bulbs from Nate's outstretched hands before shimmying back up toward the top of the tree in search of a place to hang her newfound baubles.
Hardison and Eliot shook their heads, meeting one another in an amused stare. The hitter spoke. "She's crazy, you know that, right?"
Hardison shrugged, his lip curling up in a small smile. Like there was a secret hiding behind that gaze that the others weren't clued in on yet. "Would you have her any other way?"
A series of scenes flashed through Eliot's mind. Parker disappearing over the edge of a building with a Cheshire Cat Grin gracing her delicate features. The first time the thief had stripped down to almost-naked in an elevator with the hitter. Not many people made him blush, and perhaps no one more than Parker. "No, she's perfect just the way she is."
"Preaching to the choir, man," Hardison finished, sighing, as he laid down his untangled line of Christmas lights. He paused, transfixed for a few moments in observing the thief weave together a complicated series of maneuvers in her fluid, mid-air dance above.
Eliot's own gaze traced a path over to where Sophie was adorning the lower branches of the tree with Red Poinsettia arrangements. As her fingers flitted between branches, her face was fixed in a quiet determination. She wove the red clusters in amongst the tree's own foliage, accentuating the green pine with bursts of color. Trust Sophie to bring a touch of elegance to their communal celebration. It might be as simple as accessorizing an otherwise drab pants suit with a scarf to add a spark of color to an outfit during one of their cons or like now, shifting an ornament here or there to give the enormous tree the proper balance to make it really shine. Sophie instinctually could look at a scene and instantly call to mind the exact element that, when added, could make you wonder whether the moment would've ever been complete without it. "Perfect indeed," he whispered under his breath, quietly appreciating and admiring his own woman.
Parker emitted a pleased squeak as she finally succeeded in settling the snowflake-shaped ornament onto the branch she'd selected. She dove downward to snatch up another before arcing upward toward her treasured domain, the space she occupied most at ease with the world when, put in her circumstances, all the rest of them would be inwardly trembling.
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"Ok Parker, come on down," Nate called up to the thief.
There was a moment of pouting, but the thief did one more set of aerial acrobats on the way down before landing so gracefully that the others sometimes had to pause and remember that the girl did not, in fact, have magical powers. As much as it seemed like she could fly as gracefully as any bird, when they were ready to ground themselves in reality once more they need only turn an eye to the rope that gave her wings and shatter the illusion.
She unclipped herself from the rope and strode forward with a liquid motion. Sophie watched the maneuver in awe. There were times when you just knew you were watching a virtuoso in their element. Sure, take away a musician's viola and put a hammer in their hand and they may be clumsy. Take Parker off her rope and tether her to the ground to roam amongst the everyday population and the woman would be at a loss. Everyone had the things they'd never master; God knew that Sophie would never fly like Parker did. But just when you thought that the virtuoso was maybe just another human, place the instrument back in the hand of the musician, put Parker in front of a supposedly uncrackable safe or leave her standing on the precipice of forty story building. That song would pick up right where it left off; the virtuoso would abandon the corporeal plane to ascend to new heights and achieve something so much more.
"Ok, if you insist," Parker snorted, falling in line next to Nate and just a few steps from where Sophie knelt next to a still-seated Eliot. The hitter had wanted to stand for the unveiling, but Sophie's soft hand settled in on his shoulder and reminded him of the agreement he'd made to rest if Sophie had let him come tonight.
There'd been no verbal complaint or snappy comeback, simply a shadow of resignation in his eye at his sudden inability to contribute as he wanted to or experience this night the way he'd imagined.
"Ok, we set then?" Hardison asked from where he stood, holding an extension cord in each hand. There was series of murmured agreements and then Hardison connected the two ends. All attention was directed to the Christmas tree, then, as the lights flickered to life.
The hacker grinned as he quickly crossed over to his computer and entered a quick series of commands on his keyboard. An orchestral arrangement chased away the previous silence in the large space.
Eliot was shaking his head. "You didn't, Hardison," he accused the man over the music just in time to see the lights begin pulsing in and out to the beat of the music.
The hacker beamed his widest smile as he turned the volume up on his computer speakers. "Of course I did. Would it be a proper Christmas without lights tuned to the Star Wars theme song?"
Eliot snorted. "It would be a fine Christmas indeed," he muttered under his breath.
A light swat on the shoulder from Sophie suggested that the man need keep his opinion to himself.
"My turn!" Parker proclaimed as she skipped across the room to one of the walls and pressed a button on a panel there.
Sophie squinted her eyes and raised a hand to shield them against the mirrors that were now radiating light in a speckled pattern across the ground. A disco ball had descended from the ceiling and begun to slowly rotate on its axis. The grifter allowed her eyes to trail the motion of a speck of light on the floor around the room and eventually to where Parker stood. The patterns played off her face, illuminating the scene just enough to make out the unrestrained glee that resided there.
And Sophie couldn't help but let the infectious emotion wash over her. In her lifestyle, there wasn't much of a chance of having kids. For all of the times she'd seen the pure joy on a child's face that came at the holidays, a small part of her was always tinged with sadness that she would never celebrate a moment such as this with children of her own. But, then, families came in many forms.
Parker's patience had been worn out. The thief wasn't a sedentary person. She liked to move. Failing that, she needed to fiddle with something to keep her busy. And even as the rest of them stood watching the spectacle, she had begun trotting in a loop around the tree, pacing herself with the speed of the disco ball's projected patterns on the floor.
Sophie didn't have kids, and in the dangerous line of work they did, likely there never would be. But in this singular moment, with Parker prancing about without concern for social grace or expectations, she reflected on the unexpected blessing that she had received in this adopted family of hers. Hardison was drumming his fingers against his leg to the beat of the Star Wars theme song, eyes closed in reflection as he perhaps played scenes from the movie through his head. Nate stood to the side, arms crossed in quiet reflection as he watched over his flock. Eliot had ceased his quiet grumbling and now reached his hand back; groping until his grip closed around Sophie's fingers and gifted her with a quiet, reassuring squeeze.
Long ago, Sophie had resigned herself to the fact that there would never be a family unit in her life beyond the fictional ones that fleshed out her back story when grifting on a job. Yet somewhere along the way there were these individuals: Parker with her childlike wonder at the simplest things, Hardison with the geeky side he not only failed to conceal, but rather boldly flaunted to the world, Eliot with his quiet gestures that none-the-less let any opponent know he would tear them limb from limb for hurting any of the ones he cared for, and Nate, the rock that kept all of them grounded through the thickest of storms. There were these individuals that had someone snuck up behind her and enveloped her in the middle of something she didn't quite have words to describe. In that moment, though, words weren't necessary. All that mattered was the emotion that flooded through every fiber of her being, eroding any glimmer of doubt that might reside there. It whispered that blood relations weren't the only thing that made a family. She tightened grip around Eliot's own. In that moment, what they had here and now was enough.
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"You got the oven pre-heating, right?" Eliot asked from Nate's sofa. He was pushing himself up from a half-reclined position against some pillows that Sophie had arranged for him, preparing himself to come help when she leveled him a stern stare that screamed don't you dare get off that couch. His motions stopped.
"Yes, Eliot. Three seventy-five, just like you reminded me ten minutes ago. Relax, my dear, I got this," she reassured him before ducking down to go rummaging through Nate's cabinets. "Any idea where Nate keeps his cutting board?"
Eliot chuckled and leaned back. "Cabinet above the dishwasher. Not like Nate would even know that. I spend more time cooking in this kitchen than he does," he finished with a smirk.
She stood up, moved to the appropriate cabinet and a few seconds later emerged with the heavy wooden cutting board that Eliot had bought for the kitchen to replace Nate's plastic one. There were just some habits that died hard. Kitchen implements changed with the years, smaller pots more appropriately sized for apartment living replaced old iron kettles and dish washers like the industrial one Nate had installed at his place made doing an initial rinse of the cutlery obsolete.
Eliot still stood over the sink and washed each dish by hand before carefully arranging them in the dishwasher even as Nate stood at the counter shaking his head at the seemingly waste of effort and time. And the hitter still preferred the smooth wood grain under his fingers as he diced vegetables for their weekly dinners. It was the way he was raised, standing perched on a chair next to his mother she patiently showed him just the right way to peel a potato to keep from chopping off any of the edible parts. There were rules in the kitchen, protocols to abide by. It had an almost ritualistic feel to it sometimes. It was as good a form of meditation as Eliot had ever found and some patterns didn't ever need to be changed.
"You know when the others are getting back?" Sophie inquired as she began setting out the food items on the counter.
"Hardison said dinner with his old foster family should be done in a few hours. Nate went to church and Parker tagged along because apparently 'cooking is boring if she can't eat and she likes fieldtrips,'" he chuckled. "I'd assume we have a little over two hours until they all get back."
Sophie looked up from her ministrations, beginning to look a little panicked. "That's enough time to get this recipe done, right? I mean, I know it's ample time for you, you can work at a frenzied pace and still somehow keep the chaos manageable, but then you got hurt and I got thrust into this role. I'm no cook-"
"You're fine," Eliot soothed, "And maybe you're not a gourmet cook yet, but everyone gets a start somewhere. The times you've helped me cook breakfast you've done just fine," he added, hoping to bolster her confidence.
She nodded appreciatively before turning to the fridge to retrieve the chicken they'd left to marinate since early that afternoon. She laid the glassware on the counter and peeled back and saran wrap and put out a finger to poke the meat.
Eliot laughed and shook his head. "Relax, it's good and dead and ready to be cooked. Let's get it in the oven and start in on the vegetable plate."
And so the evening progressed. Eliot's posture had started rigid early on in the night. This was one of his mother's recipes and he'd never had to walk someone else through how to make this meal. All the times he'd made this meal had given him fine muscle memory for every action that needed to be performed, nowadays he need not pay the process a second thought. Teaching someone else as his mother had once taught him, and doing it from the couch no less, well, that was a nerve-wracking experience to say the least. This was their Christmas feast, and there were times like these where he couldn't help but pray that the meal would go off without a hitch.
Eliot had allowed those fears to ebb into a comfortable silence in the back of his mind. Sure, there were times when Sophie had to ask for him to explain something again or remind her in what order ingredients got added to a particular dish. But her initial nervousness faded into a relaxed mood between the two. He coached and she executed each action just as he would have done himself. A meal that under normal circumstances would've been his creation was suddenly a fusion of both of their collective efforts.
It was strange. He didn't watch people cook very often. When Eliot was in the kitchen, sweat usually beaded on his brow. His hands flitted between two sizzling pans on the stovetop while he occasionally paused to fend off Parker's attempts to prematurely sample his wares. He'd never seen Sophie cook on her own before. It was usually her watching his technique before attempting to duplicate it, or it was her sitting at the counter occupying him with tales of old missions-gone-awry as he made their meal. She wasn't able to drop into the role of a cook as easily as she could adopt the skin of a new persona on a con. From time to time she looked over to him with a furtive expression. Am I doing this right? that gaze would ask. And with a firm nod, he'd respond, It's perfect.
She chopped her vegetables into larger chunks than he would, perhaps, and she kept peeking in on the chicken in the oven more often than he would've liked. He mused silently that she was letting the heat out every time she opened the oven door, adding a little bit of extra time that would be necessary for the oven to rebuild the temperature and finish darkening the seasoned chicken to a deep, rich brown. But it would be perfect enough, in the end.
For the life of him, he still didn't understand exactly how he had ended up confined to a couch. He longed to be standing behind Sophie as he instructed her in proper dicing technique, their two bodies pressed up one against the other. Her smooth curves contrasting against his sharply angled frame and yet somehow they fit together like two parts of a single whole. He survived thugs and bullets whizzing by his head day in and day out, only to have been brought to a state of infirmity by a strained back and a tumble down a few stairs. And as he had fallen prey to the demands of his body to rest and heal. As of taunting him, in shifting his weight, the muscles in his back pinched for a moment, pain flaring at the injury site.
Sophie had stepped in and offered to cook the moment Nate had proposed take-out for their Christmas dinner. Sophie had met Eliot's eyes for just a moment, and whatever she'd seen there had prompted her to step up and volunteer her own efforts.
And that effort spoke volumes.
Where Sophie's hair usually cascaded down her back in undulating waves, it was tied in a loose bun to keep it off her neck and out of the food. A few hairs had wriggled free and hung out at odd angles. It was one of those rare times where she forewent make-up (god knows she was beautiful enough to not need it) and let her natural complexion shine through. She wiped her brow with the back of one hand as she rolled potatoes in a skillet with a spatula in the other. She was out of her element and submerged in his, and she had stepped into that role without hesitation.
"I think they're done," she suggested.
"They're softened up some?" he asked.
"Yeah, a few are getting mushy," she said as she pressed the spatula down on one of the potato wedges.
"Turn off the stove, then, and leave them to cool."
She complied, laying the spatula in the sink before pressing her palms flat on the countertop and stretching to crack her back, stiff from so much sedentary standing. "What's left to do?"
"Just the salad, the stuff for that should be in the bottom drawer in the fridge," Eliot replied.
Sophie nodded, pushing off the counter and heading over to the fridge. The open door obscured her figure for the few moments she spent rummaging around for the food, but a moment later she emerged with a bag of greens in one hand, and one filled with baby carrots in the other. She kicked the door shut with her heel and then moved back over to the counter where she deposited her load. "I think I might actually be able to do this one well enough. We just mix everything together in a bowl?" she inquired.
"Yep, nothing too complex. Bring the greens over here, though. I bought them earlier this week, before this whole thing happened," he said, motioning to where he was restricted to the couch. "This particular type has a tendency of spoiling pretty easily and as much as I love giving gifts, giving food poisoning to all you guys wasn't at the top of my to-do list for the day," he finished with a light chuckle.
She raised an eyebrow but crossed the kitchen and into Nate's living room light on her feet. Eliot nodded approvingly at that. She had abandoned her heels for the time-being. He appreciated all the work she was doing here, but expecting her to do all of this while on heels might be a bit too much for even Sophie's feet.
She held the bag out for him. He lightly pulled it from her grasp and broke the bag open, removing a few leaves. He scooted a bit to the side on the couch to leave a few inches open on the very edge, ignoring the slight spike of pain in his back. He patted the vacated spot with one hand, "This will take a minute. Come sit for a second. You have to be getting tired."
"I'm fine-"
"Oh, humor the injured man. Come sit with me for a minute. Making me feel guilty, you flitting about in the kitchen and me sitting here like a bum." That was apparently enough to let Sophie set aside her stubborn streak. She daintily lowered herself to the couch, careful not to jostle Eliot. But the limited space didn't allow for her to remain independent of him completely, her body just barely pressed up against his.
Eliot returned to looking over the greens. He rolled the leaves in his hand, inspecting them carefully and then sniffing them. "These should be fine."
He set the bag aside and then pressed against the back of the couch as he struggled to sit up a bit straighter.
"Eliot, stop stressing your back!" Sophie chastised as she put a hand under his arm to help him with the effort.
"I'm fine, Sophie," he grumbled, but not harshly. He was more annoyed with the current circumstances than anything else.
"Okay, okay," she said, pulling her hands off him. She went to stand up and give him space but the hitter stopped the motion by grabbing her hand and pulling her in toward him. "What, Eliot?"
He smirked and held one of the leaves above their heads, pointedly fixing his stare on it.
"I may not know my way around the kitchen, but I do know the difference between mistletoe and spinach leaves," she weakly admonished. It wasn't a very convincing effort either. If she had wanted to finish that statement with a little bit of sting, she should've restrained the chuckle that bubbled up.
"Can you blame a man for trying?" he asked, stroking the underside of her wrist with his calloused finger. He felt Sophie's skin ripple under the touch. He responded in turn, pulling her across his lap in one practiced motion.
Having not expected the move, Sophie tumbled into his arms a bit. The world around them stilled. Their faces hovered just inches apart, close enough for them to breathe in one another's exhalations. He absorbed her scent, a pleasant mixture of the light fruity perfume she must've put on earlier and the more natural scents picked up after a day in the kitchen.
"I suppose it's the thought that counts," she whispered.
She leaned forward slowly. Too slow, Eliot thought. He'd had to watch her all day, without the opportunity to smell her or hold her or touch her. No more. He locked his hands together in the small of her back and pulled her down on top of him. He banished the complaint his back levied. Some things were more important.
Their lips pressed together.
Eliot groaned inwardly, but restrained himself. There was an insatiable greed that churned inside him, a desire to abandon all sense of moderation and pull Sophie's hair loose of its binding and run a hand through the long locks, smoothly untangling a few of the knots that would've formed there. But they would wait for that night, they both had agreed to that. There were some gifts meant to be shared in the night, behind closed doors without threat of interruption or intrusion. Somewhere they could press skin against warm skin with no boundaries to keep them apart.
Eliot restrained himself. He lightly bit her lip and then leaned back, gazing into her eyes. There was a longing there too, but for the moment both of them would have to be satisfied with what snatches of shared euphoria they could steal.
The moment was interrupted by the sound of someone fiddling with the door. A moment later their teammates filed in through the opening. The quiet atmosphere was exchanged for one of chaos as jackets and scarves and hats were shed, bulkily dressed forms eventually transforming into the familiar figures of Hardison, Parker, and Nate.
"Well there are our two lovebirds," Hardison jived. "Dinner ready? My foster family tried to feed me but I saved some room in anticipation of our feast here," he added, rubbing his hands together.
Eliot nodded, "Just have to mix the salad and we'll be done. You can go ahead and pull the chicken out of the oven to cool."
Sophie cut in next. "How was church, Nate?"
He shrugged. His expression was mixed. Eliot knew the man still struggled with his belief in a God that would be so cruel as to take his only child. But some vestiges of his broken faith were hard shed, and every year he went through the now-empty motions of attending the Christmas service. "Service was about what you'd expect. The son of God born again to forgive man for his sin and all of mankind rejoices as the gift." There was bitterness in the statement. Would Nate be wrapping presents for his own son and setting them under the tree if the child were still alive?
Parker slunk forward. "It was boring. They made us sit there the whole time. And the only food we got was a few drops of wine and some really dry bread. I'm taking my own snacks next time," she complained.
Eliot chuckled at that, meeting Nate's gaze just as the man finished rolling his eyes. "I take it Parker didn't enjoy her fieldtrip so much?"
He shrugged. The motion made the silent statement- the only response one could make to the thief sometimes- It's Parker. Nate held up a box in one hand. "She made us stop for Dunkin' Donuts on the way home. She was threatening to go steal something if we didn't feed her. I figured we could bring back the rest for dessert."
Parker wheeled around from where she'd been watching Hardison in the kitchen as the man donned oven mitts. Her head snapped toward Nate at that and she scampered over to the man, snatching the box of donuts from his hand before retreating several steps and holding them protectively to her chest. "I never said anything about sharing!" With that said she trotted toward the kitchen, hopping onto a stool and returning to observing Hardison's ministrations. She didn't relinquish her grip on the donuts, instead setting them protectively in her lap.
Nate shook his head. Eliot had to agree with that.
Nate started toward the kitchen. "I'll see if I can't coax them away from her. There somewhere I can put them if I succeed?"
Eliot nodded. "We have the pies in the dining room already. You can set them there."
Nate moved off in pursuit of the blond thief and the sugary treats she had commandeered.
Eliot squeezed Sophie's hand. They had been afforded one more private moment before they would need to go help set the table and sit down to the Christmas dinner feast that they had so painstakingly worked to prepare.
There was a quiet smile on her face. Her breaths were soft and level and she didn't move to get off his lap for the moment.
He had to pause and just revel in the knowledge that this beautiful woman was his just as much as he belonged to her and this moment belonged to them both. Sophie was his. She went by many other names. There were the ones she made up for each fabricated personality for each con. There was the one she had offered to him in a whisper in his ear. Her true name. And as beautiful as her real name was, he continued to call her Sophie. That other woman, who went by another name, she lived in a different world and in another life that Eliot wasn't a part of.
Eliot was part of this shared life with her. Not the one she kept under lock and key, where she had real parents and even a sister that Eliot had yet to meet. That was the young woman who had grown up on the East Coast to a lawyer father and a mother who'd worked at a fashion magazine. The others piqued an eyebrow to how well she had known the city when they'd first moved to Boston. He knew that she used to take the train in with her sister for the occasional day in the Big City as a youth.
Eliot knew her as an expert grifter. The woman who could charm her way past the defenses of even the most paranoid men. In this life, she was Sophie, the woman who risked her life alongside his every time they stepped into another con to bring down another evil person in the world. This was the woman he had fallen in love with, under this name and in this life. And even though she wondered about his reluctance to call her by her real name, his resolve in this never wavered.
He leaned forward, close to her ear and let the quiet words roll off his tongue. "Merry Christmas, Sophie."
There was a crash from the dining room that caused both of them to jump. The sound of a plate breaking and then a gruff shout, "Parker! Come down from there and give me those donuts! You eat more of those and you aren't going to be hungry for the actual meal we're about to sit down to."
Sophie stood up and smoothed her hair with a practiced hand. She crouched down to straighten Eliot's tie, then. "I love you, you know that? And if I teach you anything in all the time we have together, I'll teach you to tie a tie properly someday."
She helped him to stand up. Between the two of them floated the knowledge that they best be getting in there before Parker managed to break anything else.
They heard Parker's cackle from the other room. "You bought these for me, Nate! I never said anything about sharing."
"Parker, the chandelier was not intended to hold up the weight of a whole person. No, not even one as small as you. Now get down here!"
Together, Eliot and Sophie abandoned their peaceful refuge and descended into the chaos of another team Christmas, hand in hand. And in truth, in that moment, the two of them wouldn't have preferred to be anywhere else.
--THE END--
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Genre: Family, hurt/comfort
Word Count: ~7,300 words
Rating: PG-13 (language)
Pairings: Eliot/Sophie
Warnings: None
Summary: It's Christmas time once again. The Leverage team has their own special ways of commemorating the holiday. This fic was written for spiritcrow for the 2010 Leverage Secret Santa gift exchange at leverage_sesa. She prompted: "A believable and in-character Eliot/Sophie fic would make my day! There just aren't enough of those out there!" This is my spin on it, with a little reminder of what the holidays are all about.
Author's Note: A huge shout out goes to rusting_roses, once again, for her invaluable betaing.
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Even in Chaos, There is Peace
"Well, this is it," Sophie murmured, looking up at the ceiling.
Eliot nodded, grabbing the cord and pulling down. There was a creaking noise as long-rusted hinges groaned in protest at being dragged into action. A set of stairs folded down from the ceiling. "When was the last time you were up here?" Eliot asked, eyeing the fine layer of dust coating each step.
A smile played across Sophie's face. She shrugged, and then replied, "I have enough closet space for most of my wardrobe. Not to mention the dirt up there," she added, shuddering at the thought. "You have any idea what dust does to fine silk?"
Eliot chuckled, running a finger through the dust and then raising it for examination before blowing it off his fingers. "A little dust never hurt anyone."
Sophie shook her head. "Tell that to the dress I almost ruined last time I went up there. I tripped on these stairs. They're a death trap, I swear. Only my miracle-worker of a dry cleaner managed to get the streak out of the outfit."
"So you send me up there in your stead?"
"Of course!" she exclaimed as if it were the most logical idea in the world. She patted Eliot on the back supportively before lightly pressing her fingertips against his back to prod him forward toward the stairs. She couldn't help but rest her fingertips there for a moment, her soft, manicured fingers contrasting against his firm, muscular back. "Well, come on, if you would be so kind. My ski clothes aren't going to retrieve themselves from the attic."
He rolled his eyes as he began mounting the stairs. He paused midstride. "Remind me again how I got roped into this?"
"That, dear, was completely your fault. What's a boyfriend for if not to be a little chivalrous once in awhile? You were the one to ask me out, remember? Don't tell me you didn't anticipate exactly what you were getting into."
He shook his head but began the climb up to the attic, uncaring of the grime. Sophie flicked a switch on the wall as he went, illuminating the dark eaves. Eliot sighed, but knew that he couldn't really complain. Hell, he had been the one to ask her out. After months of wrestling over the issue, there came the weekly team dinner when he sat across from her, admiring that demure smile, the one that hinted at the layers upon layers stacked beneath the cool, confident aura that the grifter radiated. That had been the tipping point, the moment when he had run out of ideas as to why he shouldn't jump in. He'd wondered if Nate would be a problem, but during the time that Nate had served his stint in prison, Sophie had barely spoken of the man other than her annoyance at how he'd played them and had kept all of them, his team and surrogate family, in the dark. No, Nate had burned that bridge and there hadn't been any sign that he was going to make an effort to rebuild it.
So yes, he'd been out of excuses and stalling techniques. There had come the moment where he just had to take a chance, and maybe a leap of faith, and jump in blind and see how things with Sophie went.
Two trips worth of grunting and dragging the heavy wooden boxes to the stair top later, he emerged from his thoughts. Sophie was leaning up against the wall below, watching him curiously as he worked. "You're getting dust all over your shirt," she observed.
He paused in his ministrations and shot her a glance accompanied by a raised eyebrow. "I thought that was the point. It's my clothes getting dirty instead of yours."
"That's your favorite shirt, though, isn't it?"
"It's a shirt. I got other ones," Eliot remarked flatly. Clothes were just objects in the world. He wore a hoodie when running on a crisp fall morning. He wore a leather jacket when working most of his cons if he could work it into the character he was playing. And then there the rare occasions where he took Sophie out to the sorts of restaurants where he swore they paid a fortune for food that he knew he could cook better. But it made Sophie's face sparkle in a way that complimented the jewels that she'd tie around her throat. He might not appreciate the experience in the same way that Sophie did, but he could most definitely appreciate the way she stroked the fine white linens draped over the table and the way she soaked up the ambience of the environment. So on those nights he was perfectly fine with trading in his rugged work attire for a fine suit and silk tie, taking her hand in his own, and escorting her out for the evening.
"But you like to wear that one quite a bit, don't you?" she suggested.
"Uh, sure, I suppose," he replied looking down to examine the plaid shirt. It was a remnant of the horse job they had pulled. He rubbed at a dust spot that had formed on the sleeve.
"Well, leave it down here with me then. No need to get it all dirty," she suggested.
"Sure," he agreed. A mischievous glint in his eyes, he finished his statement. "You admit that what you're really looking to get here is me doing your housework and doing it without a shirt and I'd be glad to oblige."
"Oh, Eliot! I would never be so crude,." Sophie admonished, but she glanced up at him from beneath her lashes in a way that left no doubt as to what she was thinking.
He just shrugged though, and went back to pushing one of the heavy wooden chests toward the stairs. If she wasn't going to admit it, then he wasn't going to press- Sophie always did respond better when he pretended to ignore her.
"Oh, fine! Can you blame a woman for wanting to admire a man's chiseled physique like the one you carry around?"
His neutral expression broke and he grinned. "Nope, not at all. But it doesn't hurt to hear it verbalized once in awhile."
"Ok. I've stroked your ego. Now ditch the shirt, come on," she demanded.
He chuckled, shaking his head as he began undoing the buttons. A minute later the shirt dropped from the attic and into Sophie's waiting arms. Stripped down to a worn undershirt, Eliot continued his ministrations while Sophie watched on.
Five minutes later found two boxes at the bottom of the stairs with just the last to be moved down from the upper floor. Eliot clomped up the stairs one more time and grabbed the handle on the last wooden chest, the heaviest one, which he had left for last. He strained backwards against the weight, dragging it toward the stairs. Gaining a grip on the handle on either side of the trunk, he began awkwardly moving down the stairs with it. By about half way his back was protesting the effort. He felt one of his back muscles quivering with each advance he made. He worked out, sure as hell he did, but dead weight lifts weren't something he'd practiced enough to be doing this. His combat strategies were much more reliant on quick, punchy movements. Get in, get a hit, and get out, all the while watching for the next opening.
A painful sensation pulled him from his thoughts. It made him drop the chest. "Sophie, move!" he managed to shout at her as it tumbled end over end toward where she was perched on one of the lower stairs.
He wasn't aware of whether she moved. All of his attention was focused on the spot in his back where it felt like someone had pressed a lit match against his flesh. Or under his flesh, maybe. It was a stabbing pain radiating out from along his spine and amplifying as it shuddered outward. His hands were closed into fists. He was crumpled into a sprawling mess on the stairs, biting his lip and willing his body to remain still as to avoid aggravating the pain any more than it already was.
"Sophie, you ok?" he croaked.
He forced his clenched eyes open. She was backed up against the walls, eyes open wide as she examined the trunk that had splayed open, spilling its contents across the floor.
"I'm fine. Are you?"
He shrugged and went to climb to his feet, thinking that he must have just strained his muscles a little with the weight. Pain lanced along his spine, sparks flew behind his eyes. With a grimace he dropped back into a sitting position on the stairs. "Damn it. Apparently not."
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"Watch your footing walking up to the door there, Eliot! Nate mentioned it was a bit icy and he hadn't gotten around to salting yet," Sophie shouted after the hitter as he shuffled toward the entrance to Parker's warehouse home.
He shook his head, mumbling under his breath. He didn't approve of Sophie's mollycoddling, but common sense made him put a hand against the side of the building as he navigated his way up toward the door.
Sophie had apparently finished parking the car, a few seconds later he heard the clicking of her high-heels against the pavement. She fell into step beside him, protectively hovering just a few inches away. "You ok so far? You should've just waited for me at the car and we'd have walked up together."
He growled low. "I ain't an invalid."
Sophie rolled her eyes. "I never suggested anything of the sort. But the doctor said that you pulled that muscle in your back pretty thoroughly. If you remember correctly, he said a few days of bed rest were in order." Her voice was pointed- she clearly thought he was an idiot for refusing to rely on her.
"It was a recommendation, Sophie." The words escaped through gritted teeth. His back was making it clear that it was in no condition to do anything of use.
She rolled her eyes but sped up a bit to rush ahead and grab the door for the injured hitter. "And you would know that how? You weren't even paying attention at the appointment to what he was saying. That task was left to me. So yes, forgive me if I'm going to make sure you follow his 'recommendations' to the letter."
He smirked at that as he slowly maneuvered past her and continued his old-man shuffle into the building. "You don't seem too intent to enforce the bed rest thing."
She rolled her eyes and pulled the door tight snugly behind them, cutting off the bitter wind. In truth, she had debated this back and forth. But it was Christmas. Eliot had been looking forward to this for months. He'd started putting up the Christmas lights the day after Thanksgiving. So she'd ultimately ceded to her compassion instead of her common sense that told her that Eliot should be at her apartment, in bed, relaxing. They had reached a compromise. Parker and Hardison and Nate had gone out earlier to get the tree without Eliot. If he had gone, no doubt the hitter would have insisted on helping to chop down the tree and drag it out of the woods and up it into the back of his truck and drive it home, which would have gone against just about everything the doctor had recommended for a quick recovery. So she'd borrowed Eliot's keys and passed them along to Hardison so they could bring the tree back and get it set up. Eliot would be permitted to help decorate the tree assuming the man made no attempt to lift anything heavy.
"Consider it an early Christmas present," she replied, patting him on the shoulder.
"Hey guys!" Parker's voice rang out across the warehouse.
The couple looked in the direction the voice had come from. And then they looked up. Parker was suspended from a rope tethered to the ceiling rafters, dangling about eight feet off the ground with a shiny ornament held in each hand.
"That's a big tree," Eliot commented.
Sophie couldn't argue with that. She was perhaps beginning to understand why Parker had insisted that the tree decorating take place at her place. Hers was the only one with high enough ceilings to allow for the ten-foot tree they'd selected for the evening's festivities.
Sophie shortened her stride to match Eliot's. The two of them advanced at his slow pace into the center of the warehouse where several space heaters had been set up to keep them at least marginally warmer than the crisp Christmas evening might otherwise allow for; warehouses weren't exactly known for their heating. Nate was standing at the base of the tree with a box of open ornaments; apparently having been conscripted into handing them up to the dangling Parker one at a time.
Hardison was crouched on the ground next to a tangled mess of Christmas lights, tugging vigorously on two different strands. "Man, who organized these last year? You never just throw wires into a pile and call it a day. It's called coiling!"
Eliot shook his head but moved over in that direction. Sophie pulled up a stray office chair that had been rolled into this part of the warehouse from the corner where Parker usually slept. Eliot dropped into it with a thankful nod and gently pried the strung lights from Hardison's hands. "You're just making the mess worse. A little patience can go a long way," he muttered softly as he began slowly picking at a knot in one of the lines, easing it looser before pulling the strand loose and beginning the arduous process of untangling the lights.
Hardison watched his deft hand movements before joining in at a different portion of the lights, duplicating Eliot's approach.
In the background, Parker flipped mid-air and dropped several feet lower with a cackle of glee. She snatched two more glass bulbs from Nate's outstretched hands before shimmying back up toward the top of the tree in search of a place to hang her newfound baubles.
Hardison and Eliot shook their heads, meeting one another in an amused stare. The hitter spoke. "She's crazy, you know that, right?"
Hardison shrugged, his lip curling up in a small smile. Like there was a secret hiding behind that gaze that the others weren't clued in on yet. "Would you have her any other way?"
A series of scenes flashed through Eliot's mind. Parker disappearing over the edge of a building with a Cheshire Cat Grin gracing her delicate features. The first time the thief had stripped down to almost-naked in an elevator with the hitter. Not many people made him blush, and perhaps no one more than Parker. "No, she's perfect just the way she is."
"Preaching to the choir, man," Hardison finished, sighing, as he laid down his untangled line of Christmas lights. He paused, transfixed for a few moments in observing the thief weave together a complicated series of maneuvers in her fluid, mid-air dance above.
Eliot's own gaze traced a path over to where Sophie was adorning the lower branches of the tree with Red Poinsettia arrangements. As her fingers flitted between branches, her face was fixed in a quiet determination. She wove the red clusters in amongst the tree's own foliage, accentuating the green pine with bursts of color. Trust Sophie to bring a touch of elegance to their communal celebration. It might be as simple as accessorizing an otherwise drab pants suit with a scarf to add a spark of color to an outfit during one of their cons or like now, shifting an ornament here or there to give the enormous tree the proper balance to make it really shine. Sophie instinctually could look at a scene and instantly call to mind the exact element that, when added, could make you wonder whether the moment would've ever been complete without it. "Perfect indeed," he whispered under his breath, quietly appreciating and admiring his own woman.
Parker emitted a pleased squeak as she finally succeeded in settling the snowflake-shaped ornament onto the branch she'd selected. She dove downward to snatch up another before arcing upward toward her treasured domain, the space she occupied most at ease with the world when, put in her circumstances, all the rest of them would be inwardly trembling.
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"Ok Parker, come on down," Nate called up to the thief.
There was a moment of pouting, but the thief did one more set of aerial acrobats on the way down before landing so gracefully that the others sometimes had to pause and remember that the girl did not, in fact, have magical powers. As much as it seemed like she could fly as gracefully as any bird, when they were ready to ground themselves in reality once more they need only turn an eye to the rope that gave her wings and shatter the illusion.
She unclipped herself from the rope and strode forward with a liquid motion. Sophie watched the maneuver in awe. There were times when you just knew you were watching a virtuoso in their element. Sure, take away a musician's viola and put a hammer in their hand and they may be clumsy. Take Parker off her rope and tether her to the ground to roam amongst the everyday population and the woman would be at a loss. Everyone had the things they'd never master; God knew that Sophie would never fly like Parker did. But just when you thought that the virtuoso was maybe just another human, place the instrument back in the hand of the musician, put Parker in front of a supposedly uncrackable safe or leave her standing on the precipice of forty story building. That song would pick up right where it left off; the virtuoso would abandon the corporeal plane to ascend to new heights and achieve something so much more.
"Ok, if you insist," Parker snorted, falling in line next to Nate and just a few steps from where Sophie knelt next to a still-seated Eliot. The hitter had wanted to stand for the unveiling, but Sophie's soft hand settled in on his shoulder and reminded him of the agreement he'd made to rest if Sophie had let him come tonight.
There'd been no verbal complaint or snappy comeback, simply a shadow of resignation in his eye at his sudden inability to contribute as he wanted to or experience this night the way he'd imagined.
"Ok, we set then?" Hardison asked from where he stood, holding an extension cord in each hand. There was series of murmured agreements and then Hardison connected the two ends. All attention was directed to the Christmas tree, then, as the lights flickered to life.
The hacker grinned as he quickly crossed over to his computer and entered a quick series of commands on his keyboard. An orchestral arrangement chased away the previous silence in the large space.
Eliot was shaking his head. "You didn't, Hardison," he accused the man over the music just in time to see the lights begin pulsing in and out to the beat of the music.
The hacker beamed his widest smile as he turned the volume up on his computer speakers. "Of course I did. Would it be a proper Christmas without lights tuned to the Star Wars theme song?"
Eliot snorted. "It would be a fine Christmas indeed," he muttered under his breath.
A light swat on the shoulder from Sophie suggested that the man need keep his opinion to himself.
"My turn!" Parker proclaimed as she skipped across the room to one of the walls and pressed a button on a panel there.
Sophie squinted her eyes and raised a hand to shield them against the mirrors that were now radiating light in a speckled pattern across the ground. A disco ball had descended from the ceiling and begun to slowly rotate on its axis. The grifter allowed her eyes to trail the motion of a speck of light on the floor around the room and eventually to where Parker stood. The patterns played off her face, illuminating the scene just enough to make out the unrestrained glee that resided there.
And Sophie couldn't help but let the infectious emotion wash over her. In her lifestyle, there wasn't much of a chance of having kids. For all of the times she'd seen the pure joy on a child's face that came at the holidays, a small part of her was always tinged with sadness that she would never celebrate a moment such as this with children of her own. But, then, families came in many forms.
Parker's patience had been worn out. The thief wasn't a sedentary person. She liked to move. Failing that, she needed to fiddle with something to keep her busy. And even as the rest of them stood watching the spectacle, she had begun trotting in a loop around the tree, pacing herself with the speed of the disco ball's projected patterns on the floor.
Sophie didn't have kids, and in the dangerous line of work they did, likely there never would be. But in this singular moment, with Parker prancing about without concern for social grace or expectations, she reflected on the unexpected blessing that she had received in this adopted family of hers. Hardison was drumming his fingers against his leg to the beat of the Star Wars theme song, eyes closed in reflection as he perhaps played scenes from the movie through his head. Nate stood to the side, arms crossed in quiet reflection as he watched over his flock. Eliot had ceased his quiet grumbling and now reached his hand back; groping until his grip closed around Sophie's fingers and gifted her with a quiet, reassuring squeeze.
Long ago, Sophie had resigned herself to the fact that there would never be a family unit in her life beyond the fictional ones that fleshed out her back story when grifting on a job. Yet somewhere along the way there were these individuals: Parker with her childlike wonder at the simplest things, Hardison with the geeky side he not only failed to conceal, but rather boldly flaunted to the world, Eliot with his quiet gestures that none-the-less let any opponent know he would tear them limb from limb for hurting any of the ones he cared for, and Nate, the rock that kept all of them grounded through the thickest of storms. There were these individuals that had someone snuck up behind her and enveloped her in the middle of something she didn't quite have words to describe. In that moment, though, words weren't necessary. All that mattered was the emotion that flooded through every fiber of her being, eroding any glimmer of doubt that might reside there. It whispered that blood relations weren't the only thing that made a family. She tightened grip around Eliot's own. In that moment, what they had here and now was enough.
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"You got the oven pre-heating, right?" Eliot asked from Nate's sofa. He was pushing himself up from a half-reclined position against some pillows that Sophie had arranged for him, preparing himself to come help when she leveled him a stern stare that screamed don't you dare get off that couch. His motions stopped.
"Yes, Eliot. Three seventy-five, just like you reminded me ten minutes ago. Relax, my dear, I got this," she reassured him before ducking down to go rummaging through Nate's cabinets. "Any idea where Nate keeps his cutting board?"
Eliot chuckled and leaned back. "Cabinet above the dishwasher. Not like Nate would even know that. I spend more time cooking in this kitchen than he does," he finished with a smirk.
She stood up, moved to the appropriate cabinet and a few seconds later emerged with the heavy wooden cutting board that Eliot had bought for the kitchen to replace Nate's plastic one. There were just some habits that died hard. Kitchen implements changed with the years, smaller pots more appropriately sized for apartment living replaced old iron kettles and dish washers like the industrial one Nate had installed at his place made doing an initial rinse of the cutlery obsolete.
Eliot still stood over the sink and washed each dish by hand before carefully arranging them in the dishwasher even as Nate stood at the counter shaking his head at the seemingly waste of effort and time. And the hitter still preferred the smooth wood grain under his fingers as he diced vegetables for their weekly dinners. It was the way he was raised, standing perched on a chair next to his mother she patiently showed him just the right way to peel a potato to keep from chopping off any of the edible parts. There were rules in the kitchen, protocols to abide by. It had an almost ritualistic feel to it sometimes. It was as good a form of meditation as Eliot had ever found and some patterns didn't ever need to be changed.
"You know when the others are getting back?" Sophie inquired as she began setting out the food items on the counter.
"Hardison said dinner with his old foster family should be done in a few hours. Nate went to church and Parker tagged along because apparently 'cooking is boring if she can't eat and she likes fieldtrips,'" he chuckled. "I'd assume we have a little over two hours until they all get back."
Sophie looked up from her ministrations, beginning to look a little panicked. "That's enough time to get this recipe done, right? I mean, I know it's ample time for you, you can work at a frenzied pace and still somehow keep the chaos manageable, but then you got hurt and I got thrust into this role. I'm no cook-"
"You're fine," Eliot soothed, "And maybe you're not a gourmet cook yet, but everyone gets a start somewhere. The times you've helped me cook breakfast you've done just fine," he added, hoping to bolster her confidence.
She nodded appreciatively before turning to the fridge to retrieve the chicken they'd left to marinate since early that afternoon. She laid the glassware on the counter and peeled back and saran wrap and put out a finger to poke the meat.
Eliot laughed and shook his head. "Relax, it's good and dead and ready to be cooked. Let's get it in the oven and start in on the vegetable plate."
And so the evening progressed. Eliot's posture had started rigid early on in the night. This was one of his mother's recipes and he'd never had to walk someone else through how to make this meal. All the times he'd made this meal had given him fine muscle memory for every action that needed to be performed, nowadays he need not pay the process a second thought. Teaching someone else as his mother had once taught him, and doing it from the couch no less, well, that was a nerve-wracking experience to say the least. This was their Christmas feast, and there were times like these where he couldn't help but pray that the meal would go off without a hitch.
Eliot had allowed those fears to ebb into a comfortable silence in the back of his mind. Sure, there were times when Sophie had to ask for him to explain something again or remind her in what order ingredients got added to a particular dish. But her initial nervousness faded into a relaxed mood between the two. He coached and she executed each action just as he would have done himself. A meal that under normal circumstances would've been his creation was suddenly a fusion of both of their collective efforts.
It was strange. He didn't watch people cook very often. When Eliot was in the kitchen, sweat usually beaded on his brow. His hands flitted between two sizzling pans on the stovetop while he occasionally paused to fend off Parker's attempts to prematurely sample his wares. He'd never seen Sophie cook on her own before. It was usually her watching his technique before attempting to duplicate it, or it was her sitting at the counter occupying him with tales of old missions-gone-awry as he made their meal. She wasn't able to drop into the role of a cook as easily as she could adopt the skin of a new persona on a con. From time to time she looked over to him with a furtive expression. Am I doing this right? that gaze would ask. And with a firm nod, he'd respond, It's perfect.
She chopped her vegetables into larger chunks than he would, perhaps, and she kept peeking in on the chicken in the oven more often than he would've liked. He mused silently that she was letting the heat out every time she opened the oven door, adding a little bit of extra time that would be necessary for the oven to rebuild the temperature and finish darkening the seasoned chicken to a deep, rich brown. But it would be perfect enough, in the end.
For the life of him, he still didn't understand exactly how he had ended up confined to a couch. He longed to be standing behind Sophie as he instructed her in proper dicing technique, their two bodies pressed up one against the other. Her smooth curves contrasting against his sharply angled frame and yet somehow they fit together like two parts of a single whole. He survived thugs and bullets whizzing by his head day in and day out, only to have been brought to a state of infirmity by a strained back and a tumble down a few stairs. And as he had fallen prey to the demands of his body to rest and heal. As of taunting him, in shifting his weight, the muscles in his back pinched for a moment, pain flaring at the injury site.
Sophie had stepped in and offered to cook the moment Nate had proposed take-out for their Christmas dinner. Sophie had met Eliot's eyes for just a moment, and whatever she'd seen there had prompted her to step up and volunteer her own efforts.
And that effort spoke volumes.
Where Sophie's hair usually cascaded down her back in undulating waves, it was tied in a loose bun to keep it off her neck and out of the food. A few hairs had wriggled free and hung out at odd angles. It was one of those rare times where she forewent make-up (god knows she was beautiful enough to not need it) and let her natural complexion shine through. She wiped her brow with the back of one hand as she rolled potatoes in a skillet with a spatula in the other. She was out of her element and submerged in his, and she had stepped into that role without hesitation.
"I think they're done," she suggested.
"They're softened up some?" he asked.
"Yeah, a few are getting mushy," she said as she pressed the spatula down on one of the potato wedges.
"Turn off the stove, then, and leave them to cool."
She complied, laying the spatula in the sink before pressing her palms flat on the countertop and stretching to crack her back, stiff from so much sedentary standing. "What's left to do?"
"Just the salad, the stuff for that should be in the bottom drawer in the fridge," Eliot replied.
Sophie nodded, pushing off the counter and heading over to the fridge. The open door obscured her figure for the few moments she spent rummaging around for the food, but a moment later she emerged with a bag of greens in one hand, and one filled with baby carrots in the other. She kicked the door shut with her heel and then moved back over to the counter where she deposited her load. "I think I might actually be able to do this one well enough. We just mix everything together in a bowl?" she inquired.
"Yep, nothing too complex. Bring the greens over here, though. I bought them earlier this week, before this whole thing happened," he said, motioning to where he was restricted to the couch. "This particular type has a tendency of spoiling pretty easily and as much as I love giving gifts, giving food poisoning to all you guys wasn't at the top of my to-do list for the day," he finished with a light chuckle.
She raised an eyebrow but crossed the kitchen and into Nate's living room light on her feet. Eliot nodded approvingly at that. She had abandoned her heels for the time-being. He appreciated all the work she was doing here, but expecting her to do all of this while on heels might be a bit too much for even Sophie's feet.
She held the bag out for him. He lightly pulled it from her grasp and broke the bag open, removing a few leaves. He scooted a bit to the side on the couch to leave a few inches open on the very edge, ignoring the slight spike of pain in his back. He patted the vacated spot with one hand, "This will take a minute. Come sit for a second. You have to be getting tired."
"I'm fine-"
"Oh, humor the injured man. Come sit with me for a minute. Making me feel guilty, you flitting about in the kitchen and me sitting here like a bum." That was apparently enough to let Sophie set aside her stubborn streak. She daintily lowered herself to the couch, careful not to jostle Eliot. But the limited space didn't allow for her to remain independent of him completely, her body just barely pressed up against his.
Eliot returned to looking over the greens. He rolled the leaves in his hand, inspecting them carefully and then sniffing them. "These should be fine."
He set the bag aside and then pressed against the back of the couch as he struggled to sit up a bit straighter.
"Eliot, stop stressing your back!" Sophie chastised as she put a hand under his arm to help him with the effort.
"I'm fine, Sophie," he grumbled, but not harshly. He was more annoyed with the current circumstances than anything else.
"Okay, okay," she said, pulling her hands off him. She went to stand up and give him space but the hitter stopped the motion by grabbing her hand and pulling her in toward him. "What, Eliot?"
He smirked and held one of the leaves above their heads, pointedly fixing his stare on it.
"I may not know my way around the kitchen, but I do know the difference between mistletoe and spinach leaves," she weakly admonished. It wasn't a very convincing effort either. If she had wanted to finish that statement with a little bit of sting, she should've restrained the chuckle that bubbled up.
"Can you blame a man for trying?" he asked, stroking the underside of her wrist with his calloused finger. He felt Sophie's skin ripple under the touch. He responded in turn, pulling her across his lap in one practiced motion.
Having not expected the move, Sophie tumbled into his arms a bit. The world around them stilled. Their faces hovered just inches apart, close enough for them to breathe in one another's exhalations. He absorbed her scent, a pleasant mixture of the light fruity perfume she must've put on earlier and the more natural scents picked up after a day in the kitchen.
"I suppose it's the thought that counts," she whispered.
She leaned forward slowly. Too slow, Eliot thought. He'd had to watch her all day, without the opportunity to smell her or hold her or touch her. No more. He locked his hands together in the small of her back and pulled her down on top of him. He banished the complaint his back levied. Some things were more important.
Their lips pressed together.
Eliot groaned inwardly, but restrained himself. There was an insatiable greed that churned inside him, a desire to abandon all sense of moderation and pull Sophie's hair loose of its binding and run a hand through the long locks, smoothly untangling a few of the knots that would've formed there. But they would wait for that night, they both had agreed to that. There were some gifts meant to be shared in the night, behind closed doors without threat of interruption or intrusion. Somewhere they could press skin against warm skin with no boundaries to keep them apart.
Eliot restrained himself. He lightly bit her lip and then leaned back, gazing into her eyes. There was a longing there too, but for the moment both of them would have to be satisfied with what snatches of shared euphoria they could steal.
The moment was interrupted by the sound of someone fiddling with the door. A moment later their teammates filed in through the opening. The quiet atmosphere was exchanged for one of chaos as jackets and scarves and hats were shed, bulkily dressed forms eventually transforming into the familiar figures of Hardison, Parker, and Nate.
"Well there are our two lovebirds," Hardison jived. "Dinner ready? My foster family tried to feed me but I saved some room in anticipation of our feast here," he added, rubbing his hands together.
Eliot nodded, "Just have to mix the salad and we'll be done. You can go ahead and pull the chicken out of the oven to cool."
Sophie cut in next. "How was church, Nate?"
He shrugged. His expression was mixed. Eliot knew the man still struggled with his belief in a God that would be so cruel as to take his only child. But some vestiges of his broken faith were hard shed, and every year he went through the now-empty motions of attending the Christmas service. "Service was about what you'd expect. The son of God born again to forgive man for his sin and all of mankind rejoices as the gift." There was bitterness in the statement. Would Nate be wrapping presents for his own son and setting them under the tree if the child were still alive?
Parker slunk forward. "It was boring. They made us sit there the whole time. And the only food we got was a few drops of wine and some really dry bread. I'm taking my own snacks next time," she complained.
Eliot chuckled at that, meeting Nate's gaze just as the man finished rolling his eyes. "I take it Parker didn't enjoy her fieldtrip so much?"
He shrugged. The motion made the silent statement- the only response one could make to the thief sometimes- It's Parker. Nate held up a box in one hand. "She made us stop for Dunkin' Donuts on the way home. She was threatening to go steal something if we didn't feed her. I figured we could bring back the rest for dessert."
Parker wheeled around from where she'd been watching Hardison in the kitchen as the man donned oven mitts. Her head snapped toward Nate at that and she scampered over to the man, snatching the box of donuts from his hand before retreating several steps and holding them protectively to her chest. "I never said anything about sharing!" With that said she trotted toward the kitchen, hopping onto a stool and returning to observing Hardison's ministrations. She didn't relinquish her grip on the donuts, instead setting them protectively in her lap.
Nate shook his head. Eliot had to agree with that.
Nate started toward the kitchen. "I'll see if I can't coax them away from her. There somewhere I can put them if I succeed?"
Eliot nodded. "We have the pies in the dining room already. You can set them there."
Nate moved off in pursuit of the blond thief and the sugary treats she had commandeered.
Eliot squeezed Sophie's hand. They had been afforded one more private moment before they would need to go help set the table and sit down to the Christmas dinner feast that they had so painstakingly worked to prepare.
There was a quiet smile on her face. Her breaths were soft and level and she didn't move to get off his lap for the moment.
He had to pause and just revel in the knowledge that this beautiful woman was his just as much as he belonged to her and this moment belonged to them both. Sophie was his. She went by many other names. There were the ones she made up for each fabricated personality for each con. There was the one she had offered to him in a whisper in his ear. Her true name. And as beautiful as her real name was, he continued to call her Sophie. That other woman, who went by another name, she lived in a different world and in another life that Eliot wasn't a part of.
Eliot was part of this shared life with her. Not the one she kept under lock and key, where she had real parents and even a sister that Eliot had yet to meet. That was the young woman who had grown up on the East Coast to a lawyer father and a mother who'd worked at a fashion magazine. The others piqued an eyebrow to how well she had known the city when they'd first moved to Boston. He knew that she used to take the train in with her sister for the occasional day in the Big City as a youth.
Eliot knew her as an expert grifter. The woman who could charm her way past the defenses of even the most paranoid men. In this life, she was Sophie, the woman who risked her life alongside his every time they stepped into another con to bring down another evil person in the world. This was the woman he had fallen in love with, under this name and in this life. And even though she wondered about his reluctance to call her by her real name, his resolve in this never wavered.
He leaned forward, close to her ear and let the quiet words roll off his tongue. "Merry Christmas, Sophie."
There was a crash from the dining room that caused both of them to jump. The sound of a plate breaking and then a gruff shout, "Parker! Come down from there and give me those donuts! You eat more of those and you aren't going to be hungry for the actual meal we're about to sit down to."
Sophie stood up and smoothed her hair with a practiced hand. She crouched down to straighten Eliot's tie, then. "I love you, you know that? And if I teach you anything in all the time we have together, I'll teach you to tie a tie properly someday."
She helped him to stand up. Between the two of them floated the knowledge that they best be getting in there before Parker managed to break anything else.
They heard Parker's cackle from the other room. "You bought these for me, Nate! I never said anything about sharing."
"Parker, the chandelier was not intended to hold up the weight of a whole person. No, not even one as small as you. Now get down here!"
Together, Eliot and Sophie abandoned their peaceful refuge and descended into the chaos of another team Christmas, hand in hand. And in truth, in that moment, the two of them wouldn't have preferred to be anywhere else.
--THE END--
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