Happy birthday, Eliot
Eliot hadn't celebrated his birthday since he left the military - what was the point, as a retrieval specialist and wanted man in multiple countries? He and Sophie had more in common than they'd initially thought. Both of them, when asked when they were born, could think of three other birth dates that they'd used, none of them their own. It was something they'd discovered about each other when Sophie had divulged her real name.
For the first three years the team had been together, they had skimmed over birthdays. They didn't celebrate, really. Maybe dinners were a little bit special, and maybe, during the week, small gifts were passed between them, but they never did anything stupid like surprise parties or anything.
Which was why Eliot entered the room with a vicious frown when he overheard Parker talking about a party. It wasn't for him or anything. They didn't know when his birthday was anyway. Even Hardison couldn't dig that shit up on his little geek machine.
“We could bake a cake and have streamers!”
Hardison elbowed her and she stopped talking, turning her head to look at Eliot. She gave him a bright, welcoming smile, and scooted closer to Hardison on the couch. “Hey! Come sit! We were just talking about the teams four year anniversary!”
He let out a deep breath and sat next to them on the couch, letting Parker's excited chatter wash over him.
---
The last time he'd celebrated his birthday, he'd been wearing ACU's, up to his chin in desert dirt. Or, rather, he was crawling through it on his stomach, the dirt dry and hot as it crept toward his mouth. He could hear gunfire above his head, see the flashes when he dared to lift his head. To his left, someone shouted, “Stay the fuck down!” and he did, dragging his gun through the dirt.
That night, he learned what it felt like to be held down and beaten, and what it felt like to be locked somewhere dark and airtight. He hated it, hated everything about it and he swore to himself that it would never, ever happen again.
---
Eliot could remember one happy birthday, just before high school. His father was sober and his mother was happy and all in all, it had been a good day. He didn't remember the presents and all he remembered about the cake was that it had been awful. His mother was a terrible baker, and it was a trait that Eliot didn't tell anyone he'd inherited.
It was the last birthday he celebrated with his family. After that, they'd just ignored them, and Eliot became used to it.
---
Needless to say, he was surprised and unhappy when he walked in two days later (actually a day after his birthday), and there were streamers around the offices and a cake and a large handmade banner that read, “Happy birthday, Eliot!” Before he could tell them all how pissed off this made him, he was surrounded in hugs and there was noise around him and he felt the first touch of claustrophobia that he'd felt in years.
Fresh air touched his face and he took a deep, relieved breath. Parker offered him a pinata, and smiled widely at him. “Happy birthday, Eliot.”
For the first three years the team had been together, they had skimmed over birthdays. They didn't celebrate, really. Maybe dinners were a little bit special, and maybe, during the week, small gifts were passed between them, but they never did anything stupid like surprise parties or anything.
Which was why Eliot entered the room with a vicious frown when he overheard Parker talking about a party. It wasn't for him or anything. They didn't know when his birthday was anyway. Even Hardison couldn't dig that shit up on his little geek machine.
“We could bake a cake and have streamers!”
Hardison elbowed her and she stopped talking, turning her head to look at Eliot. She gave him a bright, welcoming smile, and scooted closer to Hardison on the couch. “Hey! Come sit! We were just talking about the teams four year anniversary!”
He let out a deep breath and sat next to them on the couch, letting Parker's excited chatter wash over him.
---
The last time he'd celebrated his birthday, he'd been wearing ACU's, up to his chin in desert dirt. Or, rather, he was crawling through it on his stomach, the dirt dry and hot as it crept toward his mouth. He could hear gunfire above his head, see the flashes when he dared to lift his head. To his left, someone shouted, “Stay the fuck down!” and he did, dragging his gun through the dirt.
That night, he learned what it felt like to be held down and beaten, and what it felt like to be locked somewhere dark and airtight. He hated it, hated everything about it and he swore to himself that it would never, ever happen again.
---
Eliot could remember one happy birthday, just before high school. His father was sober and his mother was happy and all in all, it had been a good day. He didn't remember the presents and all he remembered about the cake was that it had been awful. His mother was a terrible baker, and it was a trait that Eliot didn't tell anyone he'd inherited.
It was the last birthday he celebrated with his family. After that, they'd just ignored them, and Eliot became used to it.
---
Needless to say, he was surprised and unhappy when he walked in two days later (actually a day after his birthday), and there were streamers around the offices and a cake and a large handmade banner that read, “Happy birthday, Eliot!” Before he could tell them all how pissed off this made him, he was surrounded in hugs and there was noise around him and he felt the first touch of claustrophobia that he'd felt in years.
Fresh air touched his face and he took a deep, relieved breath. Parker offered him a pinata, and smiled widely at him. “Happy birthday, Eliot.”