thebigbangjob: The Tower of Babble 4/4
Part 1, 2, 3, and Masterpost.
It's cold as Eliot and Hardison weave between the bicycle bars and huddle next to the corner of the car park, squinting at Weymouth house a hundred paces away. There are two security guards ahead with baseball caps and torches. Eliot shivers while Hardison complains bitterly under his breath.
Nate and Parker went on ahead, deploying Sophie in the Open Access Centre as backup. Parker refused to tell anyone but Nate her plan, so Eliot's quite curious. He crouches down besides a bush, and gestures for Hardison to join him.
"Man, really?" Hardison hovers on the dark path, indecisive, then plunges into the undergrowth with his eyes closed. He only opens them when he's next to Eliot.
"It's 1am exactly," Eliot says. "Time for Nate and Parker to do their thing."
Even though they're a distance away, Eliot can hear Nate and Parker clearly. They're screaming and running as if for their lives.
"Oh, it's right behind us! It's right behind us!" Nate yells.
"Ahh! It's furry! It's big! It's chasing us! Get down. Aaah!" Parker yells beside him, windmilling her thin arms and shrieking like a spider is down her trousers.
The two security guards look at each other, and then immediately start running after Nate and Parker, their torchlight bobbing as they disappear into the main courtyard of the university.
"That's our cue," Eliot says. Hardison matches his pace as they run up to the building. When they reach the door, Hardison punches in a code to the number pad. Eliot stares as the door clicks open.
"I show people round the uni," Hardison says, "it's my job. How else do I afford all the computer bits I need? It's a generic code for the building, any one of sixty people have access to it."
Eliot shrugs. They take the stairs, not wanting to risk getting caught in the lifts, and Eliot heads for the third floor, where all the lecturers work. The sensors aren't on, because it's only students who aren't allowed in the building 24/7. Lecturers are allowed in whenever. Thankfully none of the lecturers are in.
Eliot swings around to the left of the horseshoe-shape of the building. He knows where Dubenich's office is because it's two doors down from the Head of Department's office, and Eliot has spent more time than he would care admit in Ian Blackpoole's office. Or waiting just outside it. Eliot goes straight for Dubenich's door and punches the code in.
"Okay, I'll bite, how did you know that code?" Hardison says.
"I never do the reading, all my work is always late, that's the naughty wall-" Eliot points behind him as he pushes open Dubenich's door, "-and so I spend a lot of time learning on that wall. Some things just stick in your memory."
Hardison follows him in and they let the door almost shut, keeping it slightly open with a spiky pot plant. Hardison uses his cell phone as a torch; putting the light on might ring some alarm bells from the courtyard below. "And you just happened to see the codes."
"Okay," Eliot admits, "I was collecting them for a prank. I was planning on swapping the furniture around in the Easter break and confusing the lecturers." He goes to the edge of the bookcase and pushes at it experimentally.
Hardison pauses to stare at Eliot. Eliot preens. It's not often Hardison appreciates his genius as he should. "You do know you could have caused a similar level of mayhem with less work by just shifting the names on the doors? They slide right out."
"Oh," Eliot says, after a long moment. "Yeah, okay. Come help me move this thing."
The bookcase is easy to move, and Eliot realises why when they do shift it away to find it-the very thin, very complicated looking safe that Hardison had showed them on the TV screen.
"Ha-ha! Just a four number combination; Dubenich is a cheapskate. I'm good, yeah, I'm good," Hardison singsongs, and dances a little on the spot, until Eliot glares at him and he stops. "Can't a brother celebrate?"
"Later when we don't have the chance of being caught over our heads," Eliot hisses.
Hardison takes a breath, probably to protest how unlikely such an event is, and they both hear it: Footsteps. At the end of the corridor.
"Shit," Hardison says, elucidating how Eliot is feeling neatly.
"Start trying the numbers," Eliot says, starting to inch forward, "I'm going to-"
He doesn't finish the sentence. He doesn't have a plan. Well, he has a vague plan of signing up to Ai-Kido and Tae-Kwon Do next year when his fitness level is a bit higher, but that's a long term plan, and does nothing for the short term. They're going to be caught and this really doesn't look good.
The pot plant at the door trembles a little, and Eliot grabs for the nearest thing he can find and holds it up high, and Nate pokes his head through the door.
"Change of plan, children."
"Oh, Nate. Hey." Hardison waves, continuing to punch numbers in.
"What's the change of plan?" Eliot asks.
"Dubenich. He's downstairs."
"What?" Hardison starts typing faster, a small beep of denial sounding again from the machine. "Stupid thing. I've got 10000 possible combinations to work through here."
"Sophie's waylaying him," Nate says.
"Can she waylay him for the four hours I need?" Hardison demands.
"No," Nate says, moving over to Dubenich's desk. Eliot can't see him very well in the combination of the dim moonlight and the dimmer light of Hardison's mobile phone, but he can hear a click-Nate's done something in Dubenich's office, but Eliot can't figure out what. "Hardison, head back. Go down the front stairs; Sophie's directing him to the ones you came up. Eliot, let's put this office back as if we've never been here."
Hardison takes off, and Eliot joins Nate at the bookcase, pushing it back into position. He can hear footsteps again in the distance.
"Hurry," Eliot says, and Nate pushes the pot plant back into position, and the two of them flee across the hall. Eliot punches in the right set of numbers, and the two of them push through into the office and hide against the wall just in time.
They stay like that for a while, frozen, melded against the wall. Eliot looks down. Nate's hand is so close to his. He could stretch out his fingers, touch him, but the idea of what Nate would do keeps his hand frozen. Nate's dad is a homophobe; Nate said it himself. Nate might be more accepting, but it doesn't mean he would squeeze Eliot's hand in return.
After a while, when Dubenich doesn't come out of his office, Nate relaxes a little and crosses over to the main desk. His fingers trail something, and Nate freezes for a moment before releasing it and moving across the room again. Eliot looks across. CORA MCRORY is printed on a neat metal sign.
"We're going to save her," Eliot whispers, as loudly as he dares.
Nate looks across at him, his face splintered by shadows-the moonlight is on the other side of the building, Dubenich's side, but there's a streetlamp around the corner from Cora's window, and its diffracted light makes her room seem odd and disjointed. "We shouldn't have to. I should have been... Better, stronger... If I hadn't been thinking about myself so much-"
That's about all the self-hate from Nate that Eliot can bear, it's his absolute limit; he's crossing the floor before he can think about it, wrapping his arms around Nate and gripping him into a hug. Nate fights it for the longest second Eliot's ever lived through, but then he relaxes against Eliot, pushing his nose into his shoulder and shuddering a little, as if he's crying. When Nate lifts his head again, his eyes are dry.
"You're a good friend, Eliot," Nate says, in a strange detached tone. Eliot doesn't know what to make of it, so he just smiles at Nate, his hands still resting on Nate's hips, and it's terrible how easily Eliot could get addicted to that feeling.
Eliot should say something about what he's feeling, but paranoia tickles him stomach, and the moment is gone. "The plan?"
"The plan!" Nate pulls away. Eliot feels the loss immediately and he has to rest against the desk because his heart is pounding way too fast, even for what they're doing, sneaking around the building after hours. Eliot watches as Nate dips down behind Cora's desk, and he brings out something-her briefcase, the one that looks so much like Eliot's messenger bag, although Cora's briefcase is sans The Ultimate Showdown, of course.
Nate holds it up as he moves back towards Eliot. "I disconnected Dubenich's shredder and stole the plug. He's not going to risk keeping the notes on campus, because I'm known to be religious; a crisis of conscience is inevitable. I'd break and tell the university president where Cora's notes are. I could do it any time. If it happened tomorrow, and the notes were still there in her hand writing..."
"So he has to move them off campus, undetected... and he's got the same bag as all the other lecturers." Eliot looks at the bag in Nate's hands. "So how are we going to switch them?"
"Easy," Nate says. "We're going to let Dubenich catch us and we're going to start a fight."
Eliot squints at him. "I don't think the word easy means what you think it does."
"We're going to have to wait a while, though," Nate says. "Sophie found out from Tara that Dubenich only provided about 10% of the notes typewritten to the president. So he'll be scanning the other 90% tonight. I know that model of scanner, it takes a while to load and scan the pages and transfer them into text."
"So what are we talking about?" Eliot says, envisioning weeks of being in Cora's office, trapped with Nate, and the vision isn't too bad, except for the part about, well, eating.
"About the four hours we were envisioning," Nate says.
"Great," Eliot says, trying not to let the surly note hit his voice, although his growling stomach provides the protest for him.
"Our original plan had a four hour wait," Nate says. "I had a contingency plan for it not happening, but I also had a plan for it happening."
Nate reaches into the pockets of his coat, and they must be seriously deep pockets because he throws something that looks quite large at Eliot's head.
Eliot catches it, and stares at the contents of his hands.
"Poptarts," Eliot breathes, and because he can't stop himself he adds, too loudly, "Oh my god, I love you." Eliot freezes in the middle of ripping open the lovely, lovely blue box and its amazing contents, wondering if he did actually just say... that... out loud.
Nate's shaking his head in amusement, obviously not aware of the momentous crap that's just gone down, and he's opening a bag of crisps. "If I need to get you and the Poptarts a room, let me know," Nate says, and Eliot breathes more easily, because Nate can't know what Eliot just discovered, no way.
As much as he's been denying it, it's the truth, and he can't keep shooting it down. Because it's not just a crush. Eliot's in love with Nate.
Well, bloody hell bugger shit wank.
- - - - -
Thankfully Eliot can use the excuse of having to stay quiet otherwise they'll be caught, because he's finally found the one thing that can actually shut him up-his brain. Which is going faster than his mouth can work.
The signs have all been there, the clues have been painted larger than billboards, and Eliot's said it enough of himself that he's an idiot, and he really, really is. He's in love with Nate. The forever kind. The listening to stupid crappy love songs in the dark kind. The this is going to break my heart kind.
He chews the Poptarts thoughtfully, trying to make them last the four hours; they last ten minutes. Nate consoles him and tells him in a whisper it's still a record for Eliot, which is true.
The rest of the time is painful. And Nate wants him to pitch a fight with him? What could he even be pissed off about with him?
His weirdness, Eliot thinks, as his brain slows down, adjusting to the weird realisation of being in love with Nathan Ford. How weird he's been, and why he wouldn't tell me. Nate's probably expecting a fake fight, but if Eliot can actually gain something from it, then it'll be a double-win.
Plus, the anger makes the love-thingy pale a little.
Only a very little.
Eliot edges a small look to the side to see what Nate's doing to pass the time. He seems to be doing a scribble of The Ultimate Showdown of Ultimate Destiny on a scrap piece of paper. Eliot's heart does this little flippy thing in his chest, so he tries to get angry again.
There's a sound of shuffling from Dubenich's office, and Nate shoves the picture he's doodling into his pocket. He doesn't look at Eliot as he says, "Make the fight about what I've done. It'll work better."
Eliot stares as Nate takes the lead at sneaking back out of Cora's office, but he follows when Nate indicates they shuffle a few meters back, giving them a 'run up' for their fight. Eliot's stomach is really boiling at Nate telling him what to be angry about. Well, he's got Nate's secrets to fight about later. This has to look good, for Cora.
Nate nods at him, and Eliot gets it-it's more believable for Dubenich to come out of his office to see what the fuss is about.
"I can't believe you got us locked in, you're a total moron." Eliot shoves Nate a little. "How many things are you going to keep screwing up today? Or am I next in line after Cora?"
"There's got to be a lecturer still up on this floor," Nate says, raising his voice.
"There's got to be a lecturer still up on this floor," Eliot mimics in a whinier version, mentally thanking Parker for the idea. "Nathan Ford, the brains of the outfit, who has the stupidest ideas in the history of mankind."
"Is this about that other thing? Are you going to make it about that other thing? I can't believe you, I feel bad enough about it. I told you why I can't come clean to the president. My dad is the biggest jerk on the planet and I would never work again!" Nate's howling now, and Eliot goes blank for a second he's so impressed. "And I might be screwing up, but-"
Eliot breaks in, because that turn of phrase usually means the person is going to start turning on their opponent, and Eliot's not in any kind of a mood to hear even his fictional faults from the man he, oh crap, is still in love with. Apparently that doesn't go away. "Wah-wah-wah, it's all about me, Nathaniel Ford." Nate shoots him the dirtiest look and Eliot dances inside his head a little because score he's hit a true note in all the crazy. "Ooh, my grades are so low I have to study all night, it's freaking First Year, Nate. 10% of our marks go towards the next year. You can sleep through most of these exams and still do okay."
"Well at least I-" Nate starts, looking genuinely angry for a moment there, oops; thankfully Dubenich takes this moment to burst through the door, and Eliot's relieved that this fight is going to end, but no-Nate launches himself at Eliot, slamming him into the nearest wall, and Eliot is going to have to really work his best to keep this as a fight, because he's actually a little turned on, and so the mock fight they have now, arms and elbows and wow, Nate really seems to be going at it, is more for Eliot a fight to keep Nate's body anywhere from his crotch, because, yeah. Awkward.
Nate flips them and shoves Eliot towards Dubenich, and Eliot and Dubenich actually totter into the nearest wall.
"THIS IS ENOUGH!" Dubenich roars. Eliot and Nate fall silent. And while Dubenich is eyeballing Nate, Eliot switches the briefcases. "WHAT IS THIS ABOUT?"
"He got us locked in-" Eliot yells, pointing.
"He's a complete douchebag-" Nate yells at the same time.
Dubenich looks like he's swallowed a lemon whole. "I do not have time for this. Boys, follow me." He grabs what he thinks is his briefcase closer, and Eliot and Nate nod, looking appropriately apologetic, and do so.
Eliot leans against the wall of the lift as Dubenich presses the Ground floor button. Nate has a pencil out now and is surreptitiously drawing on the briefcase in his hands, the one which must have Cora's notes in, the one Eliot slid him as they got into the lift. Eliot recognises the head of King Kong, and Indiana Jones using his whip, and he frowns. Nate sees it and makes a shushing gesture with his finger; this must be part of the new plan.
Eliot doesn't get it until the lift opens and they see the police at the end of the corridor.
And the president of the university, Patrick Bonnano.
And Sophie, Parker and Hardison lounging somewhere behind.
Dubenich freezes. Nate blithely ushers him out of the lift, flicks the emergency lever so the lift won't be going anywhere for a while, and he and Eliot stand at the doors just in case Dubenich tries. Nate yanks out the shoulder strap of the briefcase and pushes it around Eliot's neck, and Eliot smiles, because now it makes sense. There is nowhere for Dubenich to go but towards the police, or to try and run out of the Emergency Exit, which will just look incredibly suspicious.
"You," Dubenich hisses, "you have something to do with this." He turns, pokes Nate in the chest with his finger, looking murderous.
"Hey!" Eliot protests. Dubenich glances edgewise at Eliot.
"You're too stupid to have anything to do with this," Dubenich mutters.
"Hey," Eliot says again, but without heat.
Dubenich eyes the entrance, and then turns back to the police who are moving forwards, and he shudders. Then he glances again at Eliot, thoughtfully. "Boy, Spencer. I'll swap my bag for your briefcase in return for you never having to sit an exam this year at all. There'll be make-up essays, but you'll get a great score. 10% of your degree secure could be all you need to ensure you pass."
Eliot stares, because is Dubenich blackmailing him? He thought Dubenich would just forcibly swap the bags. But then, Dubenich would want to ensure Eliot wouldn't tell the cops about it. "Okay," Eliot says. "Deal."
He holds out the bag and Dubenich switches them just in time for the police to come through the last set of double doors.
"Victor Dubenich," one of the cops say. "If you would come with us for a little chat."
"I suppose Cora McRory has accused me of something else," Dubenich says dramatically. "Is this chat... mandatory?"
"Let's just say we can do it in my office," President Bonnano says, "or down at these lads' station."
Dubenich smiles weakly.
- - - - -
Bonnano lets Nate and Eliot stay a while, even though he sent Parker, Hardison and Sophie away. He mutters something about wanting to give them detention and then buy them a drink, and lets them hang around his small kitchen so the police can come get their statement once they're done with Dubenich.
The kitchen is awesome, because they can hear some of the conversation through a small grate. Sophie must have done her job well tipping off the police and Bonnano; the moment Dubenich opens his briefcase to see Cora's notes and his stuff is hilarious. He yells about being set up, but Dubenich's name is stitched inside the bag, and his mobile phone is in there, and a bunch of other stuff.
Then the police start listing his rights, and Eliot sinks against the counter, trying not to laugh too loudly, because the grate probably works both ways. He looks across at Nate, who isn't suppressing laughter; he has an odd expression again, and just like that, Eliot's the one who's pissed off this time.
"What's wrong with you today?" Eliot asks, shuffling closer and bumping Nate with his shoulder. Normally Nate bumps him back, but this time he looks stiff, and his arms are wrapped around himself like there is something really wrong. "Dubenich is going to jail with this, you should be psyched. But instead... I mean, even before Dubenich used you, you were pissed off with me."
Nate shrugs, and let's his arms fall uselessly to his side. "It doesn't matter."
"Saying it doesn't matter implies there is something that could be mattered about," Eliot says, turning to him. Nate stays leaning against the edge of the sink, staring forwards. "I don't understand. You've been pissed off at me, it feels like, mostly all day and it's mushing my poor brain. If you're not okay with me being gay-"
"It's not that," Nate says, terse and gruff. "Can't you just leave it alone?"
"If that's what you want," Eliot says, unevenly. The idea of Nate having a secret too horrible to tell him is churning his stomach. He wants to grab Nate's shoulders and shake the truth out, but Eliot can't have too much stock in this impulse; he wants to touch Nate all the time anyway, he doesn't need any extra impetus. "But I just want to say I'm your friend, I was hoping I was your best friend, and that means if you have something you want to say, you can say it. Anytime. And if you want me to leave it alone, you can just say that too. It just... kills me that I don't understand why you're pissed off at me."
"I'm not pissed off at you," Nate mutters, but it comes out flat, like a lie. "I'm-"
"I told you my biggest secret," Eliot says, which is true, because at the time I'm gay had been his biggest secret. The other secret, that he loves Nate, is one of those secrets that could do more damage than good. It would be selfish to tell Nate, so he holds it in. He can't think of any secret Nate has which could be this bad, unless Nate really does hate gay people. Or he knows how Eliot feels about him and can't figure out how to gently let him down. "Okay, my secret wasn't so huge, although it was to me, but-"
"You really want to know?" Nate turns to face him then, and he looks so scared, Eliot hates himself suddenly for being so pushy. Nate's eyes are scanning Eliot's face like he's a page in a textbook, like he can read Eliot, and Eliot feels warm all over, because if Nate can, if Nate can read him like that, he'll be able to read everything about him, and that's so much less scary a thought than it should be. "You're a blockhead."
"That's your secret?" Eliot stares. "It's not really a secret, Nate. I'm on YouTube demonstrating it quite a lot." He thinks guiltily of that first video on YouTube, of the giant bunny and the empty beer keg, and he winces internally; the shame of that incident will never go away.
Nate makes this frustrated sound through clenched lips, and he steps closer, until all Eliot can see is Nate's very blue eyes. "You're a complete moron. The reason I've been so pissed off at you today is-"
Nate swallows, hard, and Eliot's eyes track the movement automatically, and then he can't make much more sense of what he is seeing, because Nate says, "This is why I've been so pissed off at you today," and kisses him.
Eliot's brain automatically shuts down. This is his life's purpose, completely fulfilled in Bonnano's tiny staff kitchen. He stands there, frozen in wonder, as Nate's mouth moves over his, slanting up to meet him. Nate's hands flutter uncertainly at Eliot's hip, and then Eliot can feel them tense, and the truth of it washes over Eliot in a joyful surge; Nate's just freaking out at Eliot not responding, and how could Nate not know how much Eliot wants to respond?
Because he isn't responding yet, duh. Nate makes his ragged sound against Eliot's mouth, and Eliot moves in quickly, kissing back desperately, his hands coming up to clench into Nate's shirt. He shouldn't be doing this, because Nate's probably just kissing him out of desperation, out of some idea that Dubenich is going to turn him in and his life is going to be ruined; or maybe it's out of pity, like he thinks he might lose Eliot. Either way, this might be the only time in his life he gets to kiss Nathan Ford, so Eliot's not going to waste a second of it.
Eliot tugs Nate closer, moving his legs apart, letting Nate push in between them. Nate's hands are in his hair, and Nate kisses the same way he studies-with full concentration and intent. Eliot's never laughed into a kiss before but he does now; he can't believe how happy he is in this moment. Nate takes advantage of the laugh to sweep his tongue into Eliot's mouth, and Eliot tries not to think, just to feel, and it feels amazing. Even when Nate eventually clams up and realises what he's actually doing, and runs away from Eliot and back into himself, there'll be no kiss in Eliot's life that will ever measure up to this one, even though Eliot's faintly sure he'll have a fairly substantial bruise from the edge of the counter digging into his back.
There's only one thing Eliot's sure of: that if possible, he wants to do this until the end of time.
Of course, that's when Bonnano coughs from the doorway, not even bothering to be delicate about it. Nate jumps away from Eliot immediately, his face a flushed crimson; Eliot grins at Bonnano, putting as much of his aw, shucks country charm into the grin as possible. Bonnano shakes his head ruefully.
"The police want your statements now," Bonnano says. "Not that they really need them, FYI. Dubenich has pretty much hung, drawn and quartered himself. Delivering the evidence by hand to the police. It's all very odd of him to do entirely by himself." Bonnano finishes his sentence by glaring at them pointedly. Eliot swallows and nods; Bonnano knows they had something to do with it. "See me later for that drink."
"Um," Eliot says quickly, "I'm not allowed to drink alcohol again."
Bonnano shrugs, and leaves the room. One of the cops comes in for them then, asking for Nate first, and Nate sweeps out of the room without even looking at Eliot. Eliot's legs finally give out and he sinks to the floor, shaking. He touches one finger to his lips, not knowing whether he should be feeling wonder or dread.
- - - - -
The police give them a ride back to the Tower. Eliot drums his fingers on his knees, and Nate stares stonily ahead the whole way. Eliot opens his mouth a dozen times to say something, to break this tension, and he can't.
They turn onto the main road that leads to their street and Eliot thinks, desperately, fuck it. If Nate's going to be this robot forever, then nothing Eliot does is going to make it any worse.
"We need to talk," Eliot says, all in a rush.
Nate makes this choked sound in the back of his throat. "Yeah," he says, in this odd, hateful voice.
Eliot tenses at the sound of it, but he's in this far, there's no turning back now. "About how I feel about you. About how..." his voice cracks "...how you feel about me. Because this is important to me. I can't screw this up, and I can't..." He swallows, his throat a pile of sand. "I can't lose you."
Nate looks at him then, a tiny bit of hope creeping into his expression, but the car stills, and that hope flitters away like it never existed. Eliot frowns, and realises Nate is looking beyond him; he turns to see what Nate is looking at, and Damien Moreau is sat on the wall in front of the Tower.
"Okay," Nate says, his voice even and tight. "Okay, I'll talk to you later in the morning."
Eliot can feel Nate pulling away from him even though neither of them has moved, and he hates it-his hand snaps forwards and he's encircling Nate's wrist before he's even thought about doing so. "Hey," Eliot says, gently, "give me ten minutes and we're having that talk."
Nate doesn't say anything more, he just nods and sweeps out of the car, stalking quickly up the main path to the door. Eliot clambers out of the car, thanks the cops for the ride, and they drive off. Eliot watches them go, and turns to Moreau.
Moreau's quirking one eyebrow at him. "Looks like you had quite a night without me."
Eliot can't believe his aborted attempt at sex in the toilets with Moreau was only twelve hours ago. "These things just happen to me, I swear," Eliot says, holding his hands up.
Moreau jumps down from the wall. "I heard all about it already. Your friend Hardison emailed pretty much everyone in the world. I came to apologise."
"Huh?" Eliot blinks. "I should be... the one apologising to you."
"Nothing to apologise for." Moreau steps forwards and takes Eliot's hands in his. It should be a nice feeling, but Eliot feels nothing. When Nate touches him, even a little, Eliot feels the friction of it, the electricity. It's a shame, because in another life, Moreau would be his perfect guy, Eliot's pretty sure. "I'm the one who asked you on a date when clearly your mind was working out this heist of yours. It's really kind of sexy." Moreau leans his face in closer. "I... may have been too presumptuous last night. I normally only do one-night stands, but you... I'm intrigued, Spencer. I think you and I could make some magic." Moreau's fingertips trace over Eliot's wrist.
Eliot pulls his hands out and steps back. "I'm..." He thinks of the right lie to tell, to try and pacify Moreau, because that seems like a good idea. Moreau really could be dangerous given the right trigger, and Eliot doesn't want someone like Moreau pissed off at him, but he also needs to tell the truth. "I'm sort of in love with someone else; it wouldn't be fair."
It feels good to say the words out loud; moreover, Moreau-over, it cements them in Eliot's brain. He can't even think of anyone else any more. Nathan Ford has damaged him for life.
"Ford. I knew he liked you," Moreau says, automatically. "Well, it was worth a try. Let me know if Ford is an idiot. You have my card."
Moreau turns to go to his car. The words ring something in Eliot's brain. He digs in his pocket and comes out with the fistful of numbers he got at The Warehouse. "Here," Eliot says, jogging the few steps to him and tapping him on the shoulder. Moreau takes the papers before even knowing what they are. "Numbers from some of the guys who approached me at The Warehouse. They should be good for more of the one-night stand thing," he adds, his ears going red at the memory of some of the things some of the guys said to him.
"Oh, wow," Moreau says, looking a little off-put. "Now I don't want to date you. This is more of a... father-figure gesture."
"Go and get laid, my son," Eliot jokes.
"No, I want to date you again," Moreau says. "I'll call you daddy in bed?"
Eliot squints. "Isn't that a bit awkward? What about your real daddy? What if you accidentally thought of him while in the middle of an orgasm?"
Moreau grins. "I really did miss a catch with you. It wouldn't be a problem. I never knew my parents, I was adopted by the state, had a handful of foster parents up until I was sixteen."
"Huh," Eliot says, not at the idea of Moreau not knowing who his parents are, more because he's remembering something Sophie said. Oh, you're going on a date with him... Go slow with him. His dad's a homophobe so he has some real issues about being gay. She meant Nate, not Moreau.
"I still can't believe you'd rather date Ford than me," Moreau says, somewhat loudly, and Eliot doesn't get why Moreau would say that, actually, because it doesn't flow well in the conversation. Moreau winks at him, climbs into his car and speeds off. Eliot stares, trying to think it through, because that was weird of Moreau, why would he say that loud unless-
When Eliot whirls on his feet, Nate's standing there in the doorway to the Tower. His expression is unreadable, but his voice is warm, a little ragged, when he says, "Eliot. Come inside. We've had a long night and it's time to rest."
Except resting is obviously not on Nate's mind. Their shared living space is empty. Eliot wonders if Nate's arranged it that way, or if everyone else is unconscious in their rooms-it really has been a long night.
Nate stands in the middle of the room, and Eliot stands a pace or so opposite from him.
"You overheard." Eliot doesn't even try and make it into a question.
"A little," Nate says uncomfortable. "Enough to know you... Moreau said..." Nate's skin is flushed. "I really hope I didn't hear it wrong. You like me?
Eliot wants to hide his head in the sand, or make a strangled sound of despair, but the whiskey hangover is starting to descend and the dull pain of it beginning makes him feel dangerous, on the edge. Like he can do anything. "He seems to think you like me too."
The too makes Nate's breath hitch, and Eliot's heart does this weird jig against his rib cage and please, please let this be real, Eliot thinks. Please let me not have to pretend this away later and blame the alcohol.
Nate turns away, staring at the tangled mess of dishes that haven't been washed in possibly forever. "Moreau's right," Nate says, so very quietly, but Eliot hears it regardless. Nate's fingers are fisted in his coat.
"You're gay," Eliot breathes.
Nate's whole posture is stiff and tense. Eliot watches the line of his shoulders shudder. "Yes," Nate admits.
"Why didn't you say anything?" Eliot says, thumping his shoulder. "I could have- we could have-"
Nate turns back at that, his eyes dull, his expression blank. "Yes," Nate says, "you coming out was totally you saying that you were into me."
"How have you missed the hours I've logged staring at your arse? Seriously?"
Nate makes a sound halfway between a laugh and an exhale. It's a sound of full relief, and he turns, fully. The dull expression is brighter now, his eyes sharp blue, a small smirk on his face that still has too much a sour note for Eliot's liking. "Your little tiny coming out speech, by the way? That was like closing the door after the horse has bolted."
"A country metaphor." Eliot grabs at one of Nate's hands, holds it between his own. "You love me."
And Eliot's sort of joking, until Nate says, really fast, in this raw, open voice, "I really kind of do; that's the problem."
There's a million ways this can go down, and Eliot's heart is thumping so loud he can't hear his own brain, so it's not his fault the vague brain-to-mouth filter he's been working on doesn't even engage, and he says, before he can stop himself, "How can that be a problem?" And of course, this being a day ending in y, Eliot's babbling. "I know I'm a dork and I have a babbling problem and I inhale Poptarts like they're oxygen and seriously if oxygen tasted that good I would never stop breathing ever, not even stopping to die, I would be a zombie just to keep breathing-do zombies breathe? Oh, fuck, maybe if brains tasted like Poptarts, I would definitely sign up to be a zombie, fuck the idea of saving you guys to the moon and back I'd be first in line, and-"
Nate employs what Eliot is going to forever affectionately refer to as the best shutting up technique ever. He kisses him.
It's brief, just lips to lips, and Eliot's babble curls to a halt in his mouth, because their awkward first kiss aside, Nathan Ford is a hell of a kisser.
"-that might be even better than Poptarts," Eliot breathes, his fingers curling into Nate's t-shirt of their own accord.
"Fiction," Nate says solemnly, "fiction and lies." But he pulls Eliot in for another kiss anyway, and Eliot can feel his smile.
Eliot is about to suggest they take it upstairs (only so that they don't blind Parker; he's content with just kissing Nate forever for the moment) so of course now is the time the doorbell goes.
Except Nate's obviously just as frustrated, as he yells, "Well, bloody hell bugger shit wank."
Eliot stares at him.
"What," Nate snaps, and then grins. "You're rubbing off on me."
- - - - -
It's Cora and Mikel at the door, and they're both gratefully effusive. Eliot stares for the most of their thank you babbling, astounded, because if adults babble then he's a total lost cause.
He really hopes Cora's going to wind it all up soon, because he's got better plans. Like sleeping. And kissing. Kissing really needs to fit into his top five somewhere. Or maybe that should be just kissing Nate.
Finally, after thanking Hardison, Parker, Sophie and Nate individually, she turns to Eliot.
"And you, you crazy person, you did it for me." Cora kisses him on the cheek and then looks bashful. "Thank you, Eliot."
"It was for you I did it, all the important lessons you taught me," Eliot says dramatically, because Sophie told him he should and he can fit a whole Poptart in his mouth in one go, so who out of him and Sophie must be the smartest, huh?
"Name one," Cora says, squinting.
The clever one must be Eliot, then. "POSTMODERNISM," Eliot says, "it's uh, very, enlightening, and ironic, and-"
"That's what I thought," Cora says, rolling her eyes. "Next seminar, you're leading the reading. Consider it my gift to you, Spencer."
Eliot smiles until Mikel bundles Cora off. His smile fades and he closes the door. "Dude," he says to Nate, "We are so fucked. If this reading is on the exam we're all going to have big fat zeroes."
"Come on," Nate says, and his voice and eyes are soft, and Eliot's body turns to liquid. "Let's go upstairs and have that talk."
"Ew," Hardison says as Eliot beams widely.
"It's not a metaphor for sex," Eliot protests automatically.
"Really?" Nate whispers into his ear, and Eliot's knees go wobbly beneath him.
Eliot follows Nate up the stairs, and they head into Nate's room automatically, which is probably a good idea.
He's nervous all of a sudden, so he resorts to his usual thing when he's nervous: talking.
"Alcohol would be awesome right now," Eliot says, holding his liver hopefully, like it might hold up for another binge session if he's been a good boy.
Nate leans against his desk. "Don't you remember the rule?"
"Oh. Yeah. Eliot Spencer will never drink again in his life." Eliot pulls a face, because the rule sucks. Then again, he remembers YouTube, and the 4521 hits he clocked on the site on one particular video that he might have checked on Nate's smartphone during the wait for Dubenich, and maybe, just maybe the rule has merit.
"I'd kill for sugar," Nate says idly. "Except someone ate all the Poptarts in existence."
"I did not," Eliot says.
"I'm not sure you're speaking English right now."
Eliot squints at him, and tries to clarify himself. "I didn't eat all the Poptarts."
"...excuse me?"
"I didn't eat all the Poptarts," Eliot says, much slower.
"That's what I thought you said," Nate says. "I... don't quite get it? Did you bathe in some of them? Oh, god, you did; you bathed in them, you're a total freak-"
"No, no, no." Eliot shakes his head. "No, I saved some. In case of emergency. I'll get the packet, it's in the drawer with my textbooks. You can have one."
Nate's eyes move slowly to meet Eliot's. "... Emergency Poptarts."
"...yes?"
Nate rolls his eyes. "My boyfriend is an idiot."
Eliot grins to agree, and then his brain, as usual, kicks in way too late. "Hang on... boyfriend?"
Nate looks at him steadily, and Eliot looks back, at the relaxed line of Nate's shoulders, and the sun rifling through his curly hair from the window, and the warmth in the blue eyes he's always lo-, fuck it, he loves Nate's eyes just like he fucking loves the rest of him, and Nate's smile wavers a little, curls at the edge, even as his gaze doesn't waver and Eliot realises then just what a fucking asshole he's being. Because Nate said boyfriend, and that means it wasn't just panic making them be all sentimental and crazy. It means they've been on the same page for way longer than Eliot has ever dared dream. "Boyfriend," Nate repeats, and there it is, a small waver, of definite paranoia, and Eliot's heart leaps joyfully.
"Just checking," Eliot says, and slides in, pushing his arms around Nate's body and smiling at him until the waver in Nate's smile disappears, until it's a full-on grin. "I... hoped that was what you said, but I got paranoid."
"Yeah, I-" Nate twinges, like he's fighting the urge to duck his head. "I empathise."
"I know," Eliot says. "And I- What I was meaning. About the Poptarts. I..." I love you, is what he wants to say, but he's totally paranoid, choked by it. He loves Nathan Ford, and it's got to be too soon to say the words. "I... want you to have my Emergency Poptarts. If... you'll have them."
"Eliot, I-"
"I want you to be able to have them forever," Eliot says, and shuts up, because that definitely is too much, and he wants to blame the Poptarts, but it's definitely his runaway brain that apparently thinks letting his mouth say and sing whatever the hell it likes is an awesome plan, urgh.
Nate smiles like Eliot's said what he's actually thinking, though, and he kisses Eliot, his mouth warm and possessive, hungry.
"Offering me one of your Poptarts," Nate murmurs. "It must be love."
So apparently Eliot doesn't need to say the actual words. Nate already knows. Eliot fists one hand in the curling hair at the base of Nate's skull, the other in the material of Nate's t-shirt, and he pulls Nate in closer, licking into Nate's mouth until Nate lets him in, and Nate fights back, making quiet noises contentedly into Eliot's mouth because apparently kissing is one of Nate's babble triggers, except his mouth is occupied, who knew? Me, Eliot thinks. I know this now.
Eliot pulls away, resting his forehead against Nate's, finding it hard to keep his breathing measured. Nate's hands curl around Eliot's forearms.
"I'll give up the Emergency Poptarts in favour of keeping you," Nate says, his breathing just as disordered, and kisses Eliot again in punctuation. Eliot just smiles into the kiss, because, well... even if the alcohol rule gets broken again, or his mouth runs away with him, or the world is a million times odder than usual, it's still something that Eliot think he can manage. And with Nate by his side? He's sure of it.
( Masterpost)
It's cold as Eliot and Hardison weave between the bicycle bars and huddle next to the corner of the car park, squinting at Weymouth house a hundred paces away. There are two security guards ahead with baseball caps and torches. Eliot shivers while Hardison complains bitterly under his breath.
Nate and Parker went on ahead, deploying Sophie in the Open Access Centre as backup. Parker refused to tell anyone but Nate her plan, so Eliot's quite curious. He crouches down besides a bush, and gestures for Hardison to join him.
"Man, really?" Hardison hovers on the dark path, indecisive, then plunges into the undergrowth with his eyes closed. He only opens them when he's next to Eliot.
"It's 1am exactly," Eliot says. "Time for Nate and Parker to do their thing."
Even though they're a distance away, Eliot can hear Nate and Parker clearly. They're screaming and running as if for their lives.
"Oh, it's right behind us! It's right behind us!" Nate yells.
"Ahh! It's furry! It's big! It's chasing us! Get down. Aaah!" Parker yells beside him, windmilling her thin arms and shrieking like a spider is down her trousers.
The two security guards look at each other, and then immediately start running after Nate and Parker, their torchlight bobbing as they disappear into the main courtyard of the university.
"That's our cue," Eliot says. Hardison matches his pace as they run up to the building. When they reach the door, Hardison punches in a code to the number pad. Eliot stares as the door clicks open.
"I show people round the uni," Hardison says, "it's my job. How else do I afford all the computer bits I need? It's a generic code for the building, any one of sixty people have access to it."
Eliot shrugs. They take the stairs, not wanting to risk getting caught in the lifts, and Eliot heads for the third floor, where all the lecturers work. The sensors aren't on, because it's only students who aren't allowed in the building 24/7. Lecturers are allowed in whenever. Thankfully none of the lecturers are in.
Eliot swings around to the left of the horseshoe-shape of the building. He knows where Dubenich's office is because it's two doors down from the Head of Department's office, and Eliot has spent more time than he would care admit in Ian Blackpoole's office. Or waiting just outside it. Eliot goes straight for Dubenich's door and punches the code in.
"Okay, I'll bite, how did you know that code?" Hardison says.
"I never do the reading, all my work is always late, that's the naughty wall-" Eliot points behind him as he pushes open Dubenich's door, "-and so I spend a lot of time learning on that wall. Some things just stick in your memory."
Hardison follows him in and they let the door almost shut, keeping it slightly open with a spiky pot plant. Hardison uses his cell phone as a torch; putting the light on might ring some alarm bells from the courtyard below. "And you just happened to see the codes."
"Okay," Eliot admits, "I was collecting them for a prank. I was planning on swapping the furniture around in the Easter break and confusing the lecturers." He goes to the edge of the bookcase and pushes at it experimentally.
Hardison pauses to stare at Eliot. Eliot preens. It's not often Hardison appreciates his genius as he should. "You do know you could have caused a similar level of mayhem with less work by just shifting the names on the doors? They slide right out."
"Oh," Eliot says, after a long moment. "Yeah, okay. Come help me move this thing."
The bookcase is easy to move, and Eliot realises why when they do shift it away to find it-the very thin, very complicated looking safe that Hardison had showed them on the TV screen.
"Ha-ha! Just a four number combination; Dubenich is a cheapskate. I'm good, yeah, I'm good," Hardison singsongs, and dances a little on the spot, until Eliot glares at him and he stops. "Can't a brother celebrate?"
"Later when we don't have the chance of being caught over our heads," Eliot hisses.
Hardison takes a breath, probably to protest how unlikely such an event is, and they both hear it: Footsteps. At the end of the corridor.
"Shit," Hardison says, elucidating how Eliot is feeling neatly.
"Start trying the numbers," Eliot says, starting to inch forward, "I'm going to-"
He doesn't finish the sentence. He doesn't have a plan. Well, he has a vague plan of signing up to Ai-Kido and Tae-Kwon Do next year when his fitness level is a bit higher, but that's a long term plan, and does nothing for the short term. They're going to be caught and this really doesn't look good.
The pot plant at the door trembles a little, and Eliot grabs for the nearest thing he can find and holds it up high, and Nate pokes his head through the door.
"Change of plan, children."
"Oh, Nate. Hey." Hardison waves, continuing to punch numbers in.
"What's the change of plan?" Eliot asks.
"Dubenich. He's downstairs."
"What?" Hardison starts typing faster, a small beep of denial sounding again from the machine. "Stupid thing. I've got 10000 possible combinations to work through here."
"Sophie's waylaying him," Nate says.
"Can she waylay him for the four hours I need?" Hardison demands.
"No," Nate says, moving over to Dubenich's desk. Eliot can't see him very well in the combination of the dim moonlight and the dimmer light of Hardison's mobile phone, but he can hear a click-Nate's done something in Dubenich's office, but Eliot can't figure out what. "Hardison, head back. Go down the front stairs; Sophie's directing him to the ones you came up. Eliot, let's put this office back as if we've never been here."
Hardison takes off, and Eliot joins Nate at the bookcase, pushing it back into position. He can hear footsteps again in the distance.
"Hurry," Eliot says, and Nate pushes the pot plant back into position, and the two of them flee across the hall. Eliot punches in the right set of numbers, and the two of them push through into the office and hide against the wall just in time.
They stay like that for a while, frozen, melded against the wall. Eliot looks down. Nate's hand is so close to his. He could stretch out his fingers, touch him, but the idea of what Nate would do keeps his hand frozen. Nate's dad is a homophobe; Nate said it himself. Nate might be more accepting, but it doesn't mean he would squeeze Eliot's hand in return.
After a while, when Dubenich doesn't come out of his office, Nate relaxes a little and crosses over to the main desk. His fingers trail something, and Nate freezes for a moment before releasing it and moving across the room again. Eliot looks across. CORA MCRORY is printed on a neat metal sign.
"We're going to save her," Eliot whispers, as loudly as he dares.
Nate looks across at him, his face splintered by shadows-the moonlight is on the other side of the building, Dubenich's side, but there's a streetlamp around the corner from Cora's window, and its diffracted light makes her room seem odd and disjointed. "We shouldn't have to. I should have been... Better, stronger... If I hadn't been thinking about myself so much-"
That's about all the self-hate from Nate that Eliot can bear, it's his absolute limit; he's crossing the floor before he can think about it, wrapping his arms around Nate and gripping him into a hug. Nate fights it for the longest second Eliot's ever lived through, but then he relaxes against Eliot, pushing his nose into his shoulder and shuddering a little, as if he's crying. When Nate lifts his head again, his eyes are dry.
"You're a good friend, Eliot," Nate says, in a strange detached tone. Eliot doesn't know what to make of it, so he just smiles at Nate, his hands still resting on Nate's hips, and it's terrible how easily Eliot could get addicted to that feeling.
Eliot should say something about what he's feeling, but paranoia tickles him stomach, and the moment is gone. "The plan?"
"The plan!" Nate pulls away. Eliot feels the loss immediately and he has to rest against the desk because his heart is pounding way too fast, even for what they're doing, sneaking around the building after hours. Eliot watches as Nate dips down behind Cora's desk, and he brings out something-her briefcase, the one that looks so much like Eliot's messenger bag, although Cora's briefcase is sans The Ultimate Showdown, of course.
Nate holds it up as he moves back towards Eliot. "I disconnected Dubenich's shredder and stole the plug. He's not going to risk keeping the notes on campus, because I'm known to be religious; a crisis of conscience is inevitable. I'd break and tell the university president where Cora's notes are. I could do it any time. If it happened tomorrow, and the notes were still there in her hand writing..."
"So he has to move them off campus, undetected... and he's got the same bag as all the other lecturers." Eliot looks at the bag in Nate's hands. "So how are we going to switch them?"
"Easy," Nate says. "We're going to let Dubenich catch us and we're going to start a fight."
Eliot squints at him. "I don't think the word easy means what you think it does."
"We're going to have to wait a while, though," Nate says. "Sophie found out from Tara that Dubenich only provided about 10% of the notes typewritten to the president. So he'll be scanning the other 90% tonight. I know that model of scanner, it takes a while to load and scan the pages and transfer them into text."
"So what are we talking about?" Eliot says, envisioning weeks of being in Cora's office, trapped with Nate, and the vision isn't too bad, except for the part about, well, eating.
"About the four hours we were envisioning," Nate says.
"Great," Eliot says, trying not to let the surly note hit his voice, although his growling stomach provides the protest for him.
"Our original plan had a four hour wait," Nate says. "I had a contingency plan for it not happening, but I also had a plan for it happening."
Nate reaches into the pockets of his coat, and they must be seriously deep pockets because he throws something that looks quite large at Eliot's head.
Eliot catches it, and stares at the contents of his hands.
"Poptarts," Eliot breathes, and because he can't stop himself he adds, too loudly, "Oh my god, I love you." Eliot freezes in the middle of ripping open the lovely, lovely blue box and its amazing contents, wondering if he did actually just say... that... out loud.
Nate's shaking his head in amusement, obviously not aware of the momentous crap that's just gone down, and he's opening a bag of crisps. "If I need to get you and the Poptarts a room, let me know," Nate says, and Eliot breathes more easily, because Nate can't know what Eliot just discovered, no way.
As much as he's been denying it, it's the truth, and he can't keep shooting it down. Because it's not just a crush. Eliot's in love with Nate.
Well, bloody hell bugger shit wank.
- - - - -
Thankfully Eliot can use the excuse of having to stay quiet otherwise they'll be caught, because he's finally found the one thing that can actually shut him up-his brain. Which is going faster than his mouth can work.
The signs have all been there, the clues have been painted larger than billboards, and Eliot's said it enough of himself that he's an idiot, and he really, really is. He's in love with Nate. The forever kind. The listening to stupid crappy love songs in the dark kind. The this is going to break my heart kind.
He chews the Poptarts thoughtfully, trying to make them last the four hours; they last ten minutes. Nate consoles him and tells him in a whisper it's still a record for Eliot, which is true.
The rest of the time is painful. And Nate wants him to pitch a fight with him? What could he even be pissed off about with him?
His weirdness, Eliot thinks, as his brain slows down, adjusting to the weird realisation of being in love with Nathan Ford. How weird he's been, and why he wouldn't tell me. Nate's probably expecting a fake fight, but if Eliot can actually gain something from it, then it'll be a double-win.
Plus, the anger makes the love-thingy pale a little.
Only a very little.
Eliot edges a small look to the side to see what Nate's doing to pass the time. He seems to be doing a scribble of The Ultimate Showdown of Ultimate Destiny on a scrap piece of paper. Eliot's heart does this little flippy thing in his chest, so he tries to get angry again.
There's a sound of shuffling from Dubenich's office, and Nate shoves the picture he's doodling into his pocket. He doesn't look at Eliot as he says, "Make the fight about what I've done. It'll work better."
Eliot stares as Nate takes the lead at sneaking back out of Cora's office, but he follows when Nate indicates they shuffle a few meters back, giving them a 'run up' for their fight. Eliot's stomach is really boiling at Nate telling him what to be angry about. Well, he's got Nate's secrets to fight about later. This has to look good, for Cora.
Nate nods at him, and Eliot gets it-it's more believable for Dubenich to come out of his office to see what the fuss is about.
"I can't believe you got us locked in, you're a total moron." Eliot shoves Nate a little. "How many things are you going to keep screwing up today? Or am I next in line after Cora?"
"There's got to be a lecturer still up on this floor," Nate says, raising his voice.
"There's got to be a lecturer still up on this floor," Eliot mimics in a whinier version, mentally thanking Parker for the idea. "Nathan Ford, the brains of the outfit, who has the stupidest ideas in the history of mankind."
"Is this about that other thing? Are you going to make it about that other thing? I can't believe you, I feel bad enough about it. I told you why I can't come clean to the president. My dad is the biggest jerk on the planet and I would never work again!" Nate's howling now, and Eliot goes blank for a second he's so impressed. "And I might be screwing up, but-"
Eliot breaks in, because that turn of phrase usually means the person is going to start turning on their opponent, and Eliot's not in any kind of a mood to hear even his fictional faults from the man he, oh crap, is still in love with. Apparently that doesn't go away. "Wah-wah-wah, it's all about me, Nathaniel Ford." Nate shoots him the dirtiest look and Eliot dances inside his head a little because score he's hit a true note in all the crazy. "Ooh, my grades are so low I have to study all night, it's freaking First Year, Nate. 10% of our marks go towards the next year. You can sleep through most of these exams and still do okay."
"Well at least I-" Nate starts, looking genuinely angry for a moment there, oops; thankfully Dubenich takes this moment to burst through the door, and Eliot's relieved that this fight is going to end, but no-Nate launches himself at Eliot, slamming him into the nearest wall, and Eliot is going to have to really work his best to keep this as a fight, because he's actually a little turned on, and so the mock fight they have now, arms and elbows and wow, Nate really seems to be going at it, is more for Eliot a fight to keep Nate's body anywhere from his crotch, because, yeah. Awkward.
Nate flips them and shoves Eliot towards Dubenich, and Eliot and Dubenich actually totter into the nearest wall.
"THIS IS ENOUGH!" Dubenich roars. Eliot and Nate fall silent. And while Dubenich is eyeballing Nate, Eliot switches the briefcases. "WHAT IS THIS ABOUT?"
"He got us locked in-" Eliot yells, pointing.
"He's a complete douchebag-" Nate yells at the same time.
Dubenich looks like he's swallowed a lemon whole. "I do not have time for this. Boys, follow me." He grabs what he thinks is his briefcase closer, and Eliot and Nate nod, looking appropriately apologetic, and do so.
Eliot leans against the wall of the lift as Dubenich presses the Ground floor button. Nate has a pencil out now and is surreptitiously drawing on the briefcase in his hands, the one which must have Cora's notes in, the one Eliot slid him as they got into the lift. Eliot recognises the head of King Kong, and Indiana Jones using his whip, and he frowns. Nate sees it and makes a shushing gesture with his finger; this must be part of the new plan.
Eliot doesn't get it until the lift opens and they see the police at the end of the corridor.
And the president of the university, Patrick Bonnano.
And Sophie, Parker and Hardison lounging somewhere behind.
Dubenich freezes. Nate blithely ushers him out of the lift, flicks the emergency lever so the lift won't be going anywhere for a while, and he and Eliot stand at the doors just in case Dubenich tries. Nate yanks out the shoulder strap of the briefcase and pushes it around Eliot's neck, and Eliot smiles, because now it makes sense. There is nowhere for Dubenich to go but towards the police, or to try and run out of the Emergency Exit, which will just look incredibly suspicious.
"You," Dubenich hisses, "you have something to do with this." He turns, pokes Nate in the chest with his finger, looking murderous.
"Hey!" Eliot protests. Dubenich glances edgewise at Eliot.
"You're too stupid to have anything to do with this," Dubenich mutters.
"Hey," Eliot says again, but without heat.
Dubenich eyes the entrance, and then turns back to the police who are moving forwards, and he shudders. Then he glances again at Eliot, thoughtfully. "Boy, Spencer. I'll swap my bag for your briefcase in return for you never having to sit an exam this year at all. There'll be make-up essays, but you'll get a great score. 10% of your degree secure could be all you need to ensure you pass."
Eliot stares, because is Dubenich blackmailing him? He thought Dubenich would just forcibly swap the bags. But then, Dubenich would want to ensure Eliot wouldn't tell the cops about it. "Okay," Eliot says. "Deal."
He holds out the bag and Dubenich switches them just in time for the police to come through the last set of double doors.
"Victor Dubenich," one of the cops say. "If you would come with us for a little chat."
"I suppose Cora McRory has accused me of something else," Dubenich says dramatically. "Is this chat... mandatory?"
"Let's just say we can do it in my office," President Bonnano says, "or down at these lads' station."
Dubenich smiles weakly.
- - - - -
Bonnano lets Nate and Eliot stay a while, even though he sent Parker, Hardison and Sophie away. He mutters something about wanting to give them detention and then buy them a drink, and lets them hang around his small kitchen so the police can come get their statement once they're done with Dubenich.
The kitchen is awesome, because they can hear some of the conversation through a small grate. Sophie must have done her job well tipping off the police and Bonnano; the moment Dubenich opens his briefcase to see Cora's notes and his stuff is hilarious. He yells about being set up, but Dubenich's name is stitched inside the bag, and his mobile phone is in there, and a bunch of other stuff.
Then the police start listing his rights, and Eliot sinks against the counter, trying not to laugh too loudly, because the grate probably works both ways. He looks across at Nate, who isn't suppressing laughter; he has an odd expression again, and just like that, Eliot's the one who's pissed off this time.
"What's wrong with you today?" Eliot asks, shuffling closer and bumping Nate with his shoulder. Normally Nate bumps him back, but this time he looks stiff, and his arms are wrapped around himself like there is something really wrong. "Dubenich is going to jail with this, you should be psyched. But instead... I mean, even before Dubenich used you, you were pissed off with me."
Nate shrugs, and let's his arms fall uselessly to his side. "It doesn't matter."
"Saying it doesn't matter implies there is something that could be mattered about," Eliot says, turning to him. Nate stays leaning against the edge of the sink, staring forwards. "I don't understand. You've been pissed off at me, it feels like, mostly all day and it's mushing my poor brain. If you're not okay with me being gay-"
"It's not that," Nate says, terse and gruff. "Can't you just leave it alone?"
"If that's what you want," Eliot says, unevenly. The idea of Nate having a secret too horrible to tell him is churning his stomach. He wants to grab Nate's shoulders and shake the truth out, but Eliot can't have too much stock in this impulse; he wants to touch Nate all the time anyway, he doesn't need any extra impetus. "But I just want to say I'm your friend, I was hoping I was your best friend, and that means if you have something you want to say, you can say it. Anytime. And if you want me to leave it alone, you can just say that too. It just... kills me that I don't understand why you're pissed off at me."
"I'm not pissed off at you," Nate mutters, but it comes out flat, like a lie. "I'm-"
"I told you my biggest secret," Eliot says, which is true, because at the time I'm gay had been his biggest secret. The other secret, that he loves Nate, is one of those secrets that could do more damage than good. It would be selfish to tell Nate, so he holds it in. He can't think of any secret Nate has which could be this bad, unless Nate really does hate gay people. Or he knows how Eliot feels about him and can't figure out how to gently let him down. "Okay, my secret wasn't so huge, although it was to me, but-"
"You really want to know?" Nate turns to face him then, and he looks so scared, Eliot hates himself suddenly for being so pushy. Nate's eyes are scanning Eliot's face like he's a page in a textbook, like he can read Eliot, and Eliot feels warm all over, because if Nate can, if Nate can read him like that, he'll be able to read everything about him, and that's so much less scary a thought than it should be. "You're a blockhead."
"That's your secret?" Eliot stares. "It's not really a secret, Nate. I'm on YouTube demonstrating it quite a lot." He thinks guiltily of that first video on YouTube, of the giant bunny and the empty beer keg, and he winces internally; the shame of that incident will never go away.
Nate makes this frustrated sound through clenched lips, and he steps closer, until all Eliot can see is Nate's very blue eyes. "You're a complete moron. The reason I've been so pissed off at you today is-"
Nate swallows, hard, and Eliot's eyes track the movement automatically, and then he can't make much more sense of what he is seeing, because Nate says, "This is why I've been so pissed off at you today," and kisses him.
Eliot's brain automatically shuts down. This is his life's purpose, completely fulfilled in Bonnano's tiny staff kitchen. He stands there, frozen in wonder, as Nate's mouth moves over his, slanting up to meet him. Nate's hands flutter uncertainly at Eliot's hip, and then Eliot can feel them tense, and the truth of it washes over Eliot in a joyful surge; Nate's just freaking out at Eliot not responding, and how could Nate not know how much Eliot wants to respond?
Because he isn't responding yet, duh. Nate makes his ragged sound against Eliot's mouth, and Eliot moves in quickly, kissing back desperately, his hands coming up to clench into Nate's shirt. He shouldn't be doing this, because Nate's probably just kissing him out of desperation, out of some idea that Dubenich is going to turn him in and his life is going to be ruined; or maybe it's out of pity, like he thinks he might lose Eliot. Either way, this might be the only time in his life he gets to kiss Nathan Ford, so Eliot's not going to waste a second of it.
Eliot tugs Nate closer, moving his legs apart, letting Nate push in between them. Nate's hands are in his hair, and Nate kisses the same way he studies-with full concentration and intent. Eliot's never laughed into a kiss before but he does now; he can't believe how happy he is in this moment. Nate takes advantage of the laugh to sweep his tongue into Eliot's mouth, and Eliot tries not to think, just to feel, and it feels amazing. Even when Nate eventually clams up and realises what he's actually doing, and runs away from Eliot and back into himself, there'll be no kiss in Eliot's life that will ever measure up to this one, even though Eliot's faintly sure he'll have a fairly substantial bruise from the edge of the counter digging into his back.
There's only one thing Eliot's sure of: that if possible, he wants to do this until the end of time.
Of course, that's when Bonnano coughs from the doorway, not even bothering to be delicate about it. Nate jumps away from Eliot immediately, his face a flushed crimson; Eliot grins at Bonnano, putting as much of his aw, shucks country charm into the grin as possible. Bonnano shakes his head ruefully.
"The police want your statements now," Bonnano says. "Not that they really need them, FYI. Dubenich has pretty much hung, drawn and quartered himself. Delivering the evidence by hand to the police. It's all very odd of him to do entirely by himself." Bonnano finishes his sentence by glaring at them pointedly. Eliot swallows and nods; Bonnano knows they had something to do with it. "See me later for that drink."
"Um," Eliot says quickly, "I'm not allowed to drink alcohol again."
Bonnano shrugs, and leaves the room. One of the cops comes in for them then, asking for Nate first, and Nate sweeps out of the room without even looking at Eliot. Eliot's legs finally give out and he sinks to the floor, shaking. He touches one finger to his lips, not knowing whether he should be feeling wonder or dread.
- - - - -
The police give them a ride back to the Tower. Eliot drums his fingers on his knees, and Nate stares stonily ahead the whole way. Eliot opens his mouth a dozen times to say something, to break this tension, and he can't.
They turn onto the main road that leads to their street and Eliot thinks, desperately, fuck it. If Nate's going to be this robot forever, then nothing Eliot does is going to make it any worse.
"We need to talk," Eliot says, all in a rush.
Nate makes this choked sound in the back of his throat. "Yeah," he says, in this odd, hateful voice.
Eliot tenses at the sound of it, but he's in this far, there's no turning back now. "About how I feel about you. About how..." his voice cracks "...how you feel about me. Because this is important to me. I can't screw this up, and I can't..." He swallows, his throat a pile of sand. "I can't lose you."
Nate looks at him then, a tiny bit of hope creeping into his expression, but the car stills, and that hope flitters away like it never existed. Eliot frowns, and realises Nate is looking beyond him; he turns to see what Nate is looking at, and Damien Moreau is sat on the wall in front of the Tower.
"Okay," Nate says, his voice even and tight. "Okay, I'll talk to you later in the morning."
Eliot can feel Nate pulling away from him even though neither of them has moved, and he hates it-his hand snaps forwards and he's encircling Nate's wrist before he's even thought about doing so. "Hey," Eliot says, gently, "give me ten minutes and we're having that talk."
Nate doesn't say anything more, he just nods and sweeps out of the car, stalking quickly up the main path to the door. Eliot clambers out of the car, thanks the cops for the ride, and they drive off. Eliot watches them go, and turns to Moreau.
Moreau's quirking one eyebrow at him. "Looks like you had quite a night without me."
Eliot can't believe his aborted attempt at sex in the toilets with Moreau was only twelve hours ago. "These things just happen to me, I swear," Eliot says, holding his hands up.
Moreau jumps down from the wall. "I heard all about it already. Your friend Hardison emailed pretty much everyone in the world. I came to apologise."
"Huh?" Eliot blinks. "I should be... the one apologising to you."
"Nothing to apologise for." Moreau steps forwards and takes Eliot's hands in his. It should be a nice feeling, but Eliot feels nothing. When Nate touches him, even a little, Eliot feels the friction of it, the electricity. It's a shame, because in another life, Moreau would be his perfect guy, Eliot's pretty sure. "I'm the one who asked you on a date when clearly your mind was working out this heist of yours. It's really kind of sexy." Moreau leans his face in closer. "I... may have been too presumptuous last night. I normally only do one-night stands, but you... I'm intrigued, Spencer. I think you and I could make some magic." Moreau's fingertips trace over Eliot's wrist.
Eliot pulls his hands out and steps back. "I'm..." He thinks of the right lie to tell, to try and pacify Moreau, because that seems like a good idea. Moreau really could be dangerous given the right trigger, and Eliot doesn't want someone like Moreau pissed off at him, but he also needs to tell the truth. "I'm sort of in love with someone else; it wouldn't be fair."
It feels good to say the words out loud; moreover, Moreau-over, it cements them in Eliot's brain. He can't even think of anyone else any more. Nathan Ford has damaged him for life.
"Ford. I knew he liked you," Moreau says, automatically. "Well, it was worth a try. Let me know if Ford is an idiot. You have my card."
Moreau turns to go to his car. The words ring something in Eliot's brain. He digs in his pocket and comes out with the fistful of numbers he got at The Warehouse. "Here," Eliot says, jogging the few steps to him and tapping him on the shoulder. Moreau takes the papers before even knowing what they are. "Numbers from some of the guys who approached me at The Warehouse. They should be good for more of the one-night stand thing," he adds, his ears going red at the memory of some of the things some of the guys said to him.
"Oh, wow," Moreau says, looking a little off-put. "Now I don't want to date you. This is more of a... father-figure gesture."
"Go and get laid, my son," Eliot jokes.
"No, I want to date you again," Moreau says. "I'll call you daddy in bed?"
Eliot squints. "Isn't that a bit awkward? What about your real daddy? What if you accidentally thought of him while in the middle of an orgasm?"
Moreau grins. "I really did miss a catch with you. It wouldn't be a problem. I never knew my parents, I was adopted by the state, had a handful of foster parents up until I was sixteen."
"Huh," Eliot says, not at the idea of Moreau not knowing who his parents are, more because he's remembering something Sophie said. Oh, you're going on a date with him... Go slow with him. His dad's a homophobe so he has some real issues about being gay. She meant Nate, not Moreau.
"I still can't believe you'd rather date Ford than me," Moreau says, somewhat loudly, and Eliot doesn't get why Moreau would say that, actually, because it doesn't flow well in the conversation. Moreau winks at him, climbs into his car and speeds off. Eliot stares, trying to think it through, because that was weird of Moreau, why would he say that loud unless-
When Eliot whirls on his feet, Nate's standing there in the doorway to the Tower. His expression is unreadable, but his voice is warm, a little ragged, when he says, "Eliot. Come inside. We've had a long night and it's time to rest."
Except resting is obviously not on Nate's mind. Their shared living space is empty. Eliot wonders if Nate's arranged it that way, or if everyone else is unconscious in their rooms-it really has been a long night.
Nate stands in the middle of the room, and Eliot stands a pace or so opposite from him.
"You overheard." Eliot doesn't even try and make it into a question.
"A little," Nate says uncomfortable. "Enough to know you... Moreau said..." Nate's skin is flushed. "I really hope I didn't hear it wrong. You like me?
Eliot wants to hide his head in the sand, or make a strangled sound of despair, but the whiskey hangover is starting to descend and the dull pain of it beginning makes him feel dangerous, on the edge. Like he can do anything. "He seems to think you like me too."
The too makes Nate's breath hitch, and Eliot's heart does this weird jig against his rib cage and please, please let this be real, Eliot thinks. Please let me not have to pretend this away later and blame the alcohol.
Nate turns away, staring at the tangled mess of dishes that haven't been washed in possibly forever. "Moreau's right," Nate says, so very quietly, but Eliot hears it regardless. Nate's fingers are fisted in his coat.
"You're gay," Eliot breathes.
Nate's whole posture is stiff and tense. Eliot watches the line of his shoulders shudder. "Yes," Nate admits.
"Why didn't you say anything?" Eliot says, thumping his shoulder. "I could have- we could have-"
Nate turns back at that, his eyes dull, his expression blank. "Yes," Nate says, "you coming out was totally you saying that you were into me."
"How have you missed the hours I've logged staring at your arse? Seriously?"
Nate makes a sound halfway between a laugh and an exhale. It's a sound of full relief, and he turns, fully. The dull expression is brighter now, his eyes sharp blue, a small smirk on his face that still has too much a sour note for Eliot's liking. "Your little tiny coming out speech, by the way? That was like closing the door after the horse has bolted."
"A country metaphor." Eliot grabs at one of Nate's hands, holds it between his own. "You love me."
And Eliot's sort of joking, until Nate says, really fast, in this raw, open voice, "I really kind of do; that's the problem."
There's a million ways this can go down, and Eliot's heart is thumping so loud he can't hear his own brain, so it's not his fault the vague brain-to-mouth filter he's been working on doesn't even engage, and he says, before he can stop himself, "How can that be a problem?" And of course, this being a day ending in y, Eliot's babbling. "I know I'm a dork and I have a babbling problem and I inhale Poptarts like they're oxygen and seriously if oxygen tasted that good I would never stop breathing ever, not even stopping to die, I would be a zombie just to keep breathing-do zombies breathe? Oh, fuck, maybe if brains tasted like Poptarts, I would definitely sign up to be a zombie, fuck the idea of saving you guys to the moon and back I'd be first in line, and-"
Nate employs what Eliot is going to forever affectionately refer to as the best shutting up technique ever. He kisses him.
It's brief, just lips to lips, and Eliot's babble curls to a halt in his mouth, because their awkward first kiss aside, Nathan Ford is a hell of a kisser.
"-that might be even better than Poptarts," Eliot breathes, his fingers curling into Nate's t-shirt of their own accord.
"Fiction," Nate says solemnly, "fiction and lies." But he pulls Eliot in for another kiss anyway, and Eliot can feel his smile.
Eliot is about to suggest they take it upstairs (only so that they don't blind Parker; he's content with just kissing Nate forever for the moment) so of course now is the time the doorbell goes.
Except Nate's obviously just as frustrated, as he yells, "Well, bloody hell bugger shit wank."
Eliot stares at him.
"What," Nate snaps, and then grins. "You're rubbing off on me."
- - - - -
It's Cora and Mikel at the door, and they're both gratefully effusive. Eliot stares for the most of their thank you babbling, astounded, because if adults babble then he's a total lost cause.
He really hopes Cora's going to wind it all up soon, because he's got better plans. Like sleeping. And kissing. Kissing really needs to fit into his top five somewhere. Or maybe that should be just kissing Nate.
Finally, after thanking Hardison, Parker, Sophie and Nate individually, she turns to Eliot.
"And you, you crazy person, you did it for me." Cora kisses him on the cheek and then looks bashful. "Thank you, Eliot."
"It was for you I did it, all the important lessons you taught me," Eliot says dramatically, because Sophie told him he should and he can fit a whole Poptart in his mouth in one go, so who out of him and Sophie must be the smartest, huh?
"Name one," Cora says, squinting.
The clever one must be Eliot, then. "POSTMODERNISM," Eliot says, "it's uh, very, enlightening, and ironic, and-"
"That's what I thought," Cora says, rolling her eyes. "Next seminar, you're leading the reading. Consider it my gift to you, Spencer."
Eliot smiles until Mikel bundles Cora off. His smile fades and he closes the door. "Dude," he says to Nate, "We are so fucked. If this reading is on the exam we're all going to have big fat zeroes."
"Come on," Nate says, and his voice and eyes are soft, and Eliot's body turns to liquid. "Let's go upstairs and have that talk."
"Ew," Hardison says as Eliot beams widely.
"It's not a metaphor for sex," Eliot protests automatically.
"Really?" Nate whispers into his ear, and Eliot's knees go wobbly beneath him.
Eliot follows Nate up the stairs, and they head into Nate's room automatically, which is probably a good idea.
He's nervous all of a sudden, so he resorts to his usual thing when he's nervous: talking.
"Alcohol would be awesome right now," Eliot says, holding his liver hopefully, like it might hold up for another binge session if he's been a good boy.
Nate leans against his desk. "Don't you remember the rule?"
"Oh. Yeah. Eliot Spencer will never drink again in his life." Eliot pulls a face, because the rule sucks. Then again, he remembers YouTube, and the 4521 hits he clocked on the site on one particular video that he might have checked on Nate's smartphone during the wait for Dubenich, and maybe, just maybe the rule has merit.
"I'd kill for sugar," Nate says idly. "Except someone ate all the Poptarts in existence."
"I did not," Eliot says.
"I'm not sure you're speaking English right now."
Eliot squints at him, and tries to clarify himself. "I didn't eat all the Poptarts."
"...excuse me?"
"I didn't eat all the Poptarts," Eliot says, much slower.
"That's what I thought you said," Nate says. "I... don't quite get it? Did you bathe in some of them? Oh, god, you did; you bathed in them, you're a total freak-"
"No, no, no." Eliot shakes his head. "No, I saved some. In case of emergency. I'll get the packet, it's in the drawer with my textbooks. You can have one."
Nate's eyes move slowly to meet Eliot's. "... Emergency Poptarts."
"...yes?"
Nate rolls his eyes. "My boyfriend is an idiot."
Eliot grins to agree, and then his brain, as usual, kicks in way too late. "Hang on... boyfriend?"
Nate looks at him steadily, and Eliot looks back, at the relaxed line of Nate's shoulders, and the sun rifling through his curly hair from the window, and the warmth in the blue eyes he's always lo-, fuck it, he loves Nate's eyes just like he fucking loves the rest of him, and Nate's smile wavers a little, curls at the edge, even as his gaze doesn't waver and Eliot realises then just what a fucking asshole he's being. Because Nate said boyfriend, and that means it wasn't just panic making them be all sentimental and crazy. It means they've been on the same page for way longer than Eliot has ever dared dream. "Boyfriend," Nate repeats, and there it is, a small waver, of definite paranoia, and Eliot's heart leaps joyfully.
"Just checking," Eliot says, and slides in, pushing his arms around Nate's body and smiling at him until the waver in Nate's smile disappears, until it's a full-on grin. "I... hoped that was what you said, but I got paranoid."
"Yeah, I-" Nate twinges, like he's fighting the urge to duck his head. "I empathise."
"I know," Eliot says. "And I- What I was meaning. About the Poptarts. I..." I love you, is what he wants to say, but he's totally paranoid, choked by it. He loves Nathan Ford, and it's got to be too soon to say the words. "I... want you to have my Emergency Poptarts. If... you'll have them."
"Eliot, I-"
"I want you to be able to have them forever," Eliot says, and shuts up, because that definitely is too much, and he wants to blame the Poptarts, but it's definitely his runaway brain that apparently thinks letting his mouth say and sing whatever the hell it likes is an awesome plan, urgh.
Nate smiles like Eliot's said what he's actually thinking, though, and he kisses Eliot, his mouth warm and possessive, hungry.
"Offering me one of your Poptarts," Nate murmurs. "It must be love."
So apparently Eliot doesn't need to say the actual words. Nate already knows. Eliot fists one hand in the curling hair at the base of Nate's skull, the other in the material of Nate's t-shirt, and he pulls Nate in closer, licking into Nate's mouth until Nate lets him in, and Nate fights back, making quiet noises contentedly into Eliot's mouth because apparently kissing is one of Nate's babble triggers, except his mouth is occupied, who knew? Me, Eliot thinks. I know this now.
Eliot pulls away, resting his forehead against Nate's, finding it hard to keep his breathing measured. Nate's hands curl around Eliot's forearms.
"I'll give up the Emergency Poptarts in favour of keeping you," Nate says, his breathing just as disordered, and kisses Eliot again in punctuation. Eliot just smiles into the kiss, because, well... even if the alcohol rule gets broken again, or his mouth runs away with him, or the world is a million times odder than usual, it's still something that Eliot think he can manage. And with Nate by his side? He's sure of it.
( Masterpost)