[Fic] Downtime [PG; Parker/Eliot/Hardison]
Series: Leverage
Disclaimer: No loitering, no line dancing. Also, this show and its characters do not belong to me.
Word Count: 1,199
Rating/Warnings: PG
Character/Pairings: Parker/Eliot/Hardison
Notes: For cottoncandy_bingo, “the little things.” Set vaguely in season 3.
Summary: Eliot recovers from their recent job. Parker and Hardison try to make things easier for him.
READ ON AO3?
“Downtime”
By Mina Lightstar
“Does that hurt?” Parker asks, and Eliot finds himself bracing for a for a poke in the arm.
When it doesn’t come, he gives her a sideways glance, instantly suspicious. “Why?”
“Just wondering. Looks like it does.” She cocks her head, eyeing the white bandage that covers Eliot’s arm from shoulder to elbow. It’s curled up against this stomach, throbbing despite the painkillers. The rest of him didn’t fare much better; he’s battered and bruised, and everything hurts. The only reason he hasn’t slunk off home yet is because he barely managed to make it upstairs to Nate’s without his arm falling out of its socket. It’s probably a good idea not to jostle it too much just yet.
And, well, the painkillers are making it hard to stay alert. So here he is, slumped lengthwise across Nate’s couch with a busted arm, wishing he was either drunk or dead. Maybe both.
“I told you the air duct was a safer bet,” Parker reminds him.
“Naw,” Hardison laughs from over by the fridge, “it was the duct tape. I warned you about the duct tape.”
Eliot closes his eyes, willing Nate or Sophie to come back upstairs and shoo these two out.
But Parker is insistent. “Eliot. You didn’t answer me.”
He ignores her, resolute, but this just encourages a stream of Eliot, Eliot, Eliot, Eliot, Eliot.
“Yes, Parker,” he hisses, trying to keep his temper in check. “Yes, it hurts!”
She’s suddenly silent, so quiet that Eliot cracks an eye open to see what she’s up to. She stares at him, expression neutral, and nods once. “I thought so.”
Hardison wanders over, a half-empty bottle of orange soda in one hand. He gives Eliot a measuring look. “Damn, man, you made of iron or something.”
Eliot can feel the insistent pull of sleep, a blissful side-effect of those wonderful pills. He struggles to stay awake, watching Parker and Hardison watch him.
“Quit starin’ at me,” he orders with as much bluster as possible.
Hardison’s gaze flickers away briefly, but Parker just says, “No.”
“Ugh,” he groans, and lets himself drift off.
***
The first time he wakes up, the world is dark, fuzzy, and unfamiliar. His shoulder burns, agony flaring up and down his arm, but he shoves it aside. He’s not alone, can feel someone else in the room. He tenses up, prepared to jump through the fog and fight.
Then Hardison appears, and he relaxes.
“Am I still at Nate’s?” he wonders, voice hoarse. He’s tucked into the couch with a soft blanket, propped up with an extra pillow.
“Yeah,” Hardison says slowly, shaking two pills from a nondescript orange bottle. “You gonna be at Nate’s for a while.” He crouches and holds them out to Eliot.
Eliot holds out his good hand and Hardison drops the brown capsules into his palm. He waits until Eliot pops them before handing him water bottle from beside the couch. He’s propped up enough that he doesn’t need help to drink. Hardison puts the bottle aside when he’s done. Eliot starts to mutter his thanks when the other man’s hand is heavy on his forehead.
He tries to pull away, but there’s nowhere to go. “Damn it, Hardison-”
“I’m making sure you don’t got an infection,” Hardison explains, sounding exasperated. “Damn, man,” he goes on muttering. “A little gratitude would be nice. Just once, is all I’m saying.”
Eliot can’t bring himself to completely relax while Hardison’s prodding at him, but once the hacker leaves, quipping a stern “go to sleep, dude,” it’s not long before Eliot obeys.
***
The second time he wakes up, early morning light is peeking through the apartment and Parker is sleeping sitting up on the floor by Eliot’s feet, her back against the couch. Her arms are folded, her chin tucked against her chest. There serenity of it all is broken when Eliot realizes he has to piss. Like, immediately.
As slow and gingerly as he can, he tries to sneak off the couch. Unfortunately, everything still hurts like a bitch and he accidentally jostles Parker’s shoulder with his toe.
She rolls to her feet in an instant, beaming down at him. “You’re awake! Where’re you going?”
He rolls his eyes and replies pointedly, “Bathroom.”
She gets it, head bobbing up and down. “Gotcha. Well, let’s go.” And she bends over to help him.
“I’m fine,” he hears himself say, even though every limb is screaming.
“Maybe,” Parker sighs. “But if you weren’t, even for just a second, you’d fall. And I bet that would hurt way more than this.”
She’s right, too. Goddamn it. Eliot grits his teeth and lets her help ease him off the couch. Parker braces against his side, deceptively tiny arm strong around his waist. He drapes his good arm around her shoulders and tries not to put too much weight on her. It takes an eternity to get to the bathroom and she grins as she holds the door open for him.
“Need help?”
“No.”
She’s still laughing about it when she guides him back down to the couch.
“What is wrong with you?” he demands, but there’s no real heat in it. She has painkillers for him, so she’s definitely not all that bad.
He sleeps through almost the whole day.
***
The pain (and the pills for this pain) knocks him on his ass, but deep down he knows that he is capable of sucking it up long enough to get himself home. Go home, hole up, and convalesce. He could do it.
He just kind of doesn’t want to.
The second day, he can sit up without hurting and his arm doesn’t feel like it’s on fire. He thinks of thanking Nate for his couch and making his way home. He’s been in worse situations than this.
But then he’s sandwiched between Parker and Hardison on the couch. There’s a football game on TV and a carton of kung pao in his lap. He’s blissed out on meds, boneless and painless and he will hide behind that, if it ever comes up.
When he wakes up, slumped against Hardison’s shoulder with Parker’s hand warm against his thigh, he pretends he’s still asleep. Because why the hell not?
***
On day three, his arm’s on the mend and he’s run out of excuses to be crashing on Nate’s couch.
“Thanks again,” he says, rotating his bad shoulder with a wince.
“I mean it,” Nate says. “Start slow. Keep in touch; call us if you need anything. No jobs for a while, as long as we can help it.”
Eliot quirks a wry grin. “Or at least no job that requires me busting any heads.” He reaches for the doorknob, but then glances back at Nate. “Where were you the last couple of days? Had something?”
Nate frowns. “No, I was here.”
Eliot blinks. “I didn’t see you. Only Parker and Hardison.”
“Oh, yeah.” Nate waves a hand. “I was still around. They wanted to keep an eye on you, though.”
Eliot freezes up, trying to feign nonchalance under Nate’s scrutiny. “Oh,” he says, noncommittal. “Cool. Thanks again.”
He ducks out before Nate spots the smile on his face.
~End.
Disclaimer: No loitering, no line dancing. Also, this show and its characters do not belong to me.
Word Count: 1,199
Rating/Warnings: PG
Character/Pairings: Parker/Eliot/Hardison
Notes: For cottoncandy_bingo, “the little things.” Set vaguely in season 3.
Summary: Eliot recovers from their recent job. Parker and Hardison try to make things easier for him.
READ ON AO3?
“Downtime”
By Mina Lightstar
“Does that hurt?” Parker asks, and Eliot finds himself bracing for a for a poke in the arm.
When it doesn’t come, he gives her a sideways glance, instantly suspicious. “Why?”
“Just wondering. Looks like it does.” She cocks her head, eyeing the white bandage that covers Eliot’s arm from shoulder to elbow. It’s curled up against this stomach, throbbing despite the painkillers. The rest of him didn’t fare much better; he’s battered and bruised, and everything hurts. The only reason he hasn’t slunk off home yet is because he barely managed to make it upstairs to Nate’s without his arm falling out of its socket. It’s probably a good idea not to jostle it too much just yet.
And, well, the painkillers are making it hard to stay alert. So here he is, slumped lengthwise across Nate’s couch with a busted arm, wishing he was either drunk or dead. Maybe both.
“I told you the air duct was a safer bet,” Parker reminds him.
“Naw,” Hardison laughs from over by the fridge, “it was the duct tape. I warned you about the duct tape.”
Eliot closes his eyes, willing Nate or Sophie to come back upstairs and shoo these two out.
But Parker is insistent. “Eliot. You didn’t answer me.”
He ignores her, resolute, but this just encourages a stream of Eliot, Eliot, Eliot, Eliot, Eliot.
“Yes, Parker,” he hisses, trying to keep his temper in check. “Yes, it hurts!”
She’s suddenly silent, so quiet that Eliot cracks an eye open to see what she’s up to. She stares at him, expression neutral, and nods once. “I thought so.”
Hardison wanders over, a half-empty bottle of orange soda in one hand. He gives Eliot a measuring look. “Damn, man, you made of iron or something.”
Eliot can feel the insistent pull of sleep, a blissful side-effect of those wonderful pills. He struggles to stay awake, watching Parker and Hardison watch him.
“Quit starin’ at me,” he orders with as much bluster as possible.
Hardison’s gaze flickers away briefly, but Parker just says, “No.”
“Ugh,” he groans, and lets himself drift off.
***
The first time he wakes up, the world is dark, fuzzy, and unfamiliar. His shoulder burns, agony flaring up and down his arm, but he shoves it aside. He’s not alone, can feel someone else in the room. He tenses up, prepared to jump through the fog and fight.
Then Hardison appears, and he relaxes.
“Am I still at Nate’s?” he wonders, voice hoarse. He’s tucked into the couch with a soft blanket, propped up with an extra pillow.
“Yeah,” Hardison says slowly, shaking two pills from a nondescript orange bottle. “You gonna be at Nate’s for a while.” He crouches and holds them out to Eliot.
Eliot holds out his good hand and Hardison drops the brown capsules into his palm. He waits until Eliot pops them before handing him water bottle from beside the couch. He’s propped up enough that he doesn’t need help to drink. Hardison puts the bottle aside when he’s done. Eliot starts to mutter his thanks when the other man’s hand is heavy on his forehead.
He tries to pull away, but there’s nowhere to go. “Damn it, Hardison-”
“I’m making sure you don’t got an infection,” Hardison explains, sounding exasperated. “Damn, man,” he goes on muttering. “A little gratitude would be nice. Just once, is all I’m saying.”
Eliot can’t bring himself to completely relax while Hardison’s prodding at him, but once the hacker leaves, quipping a stern “go to sleep, dude,” it’s not long before Eliot obeys.
***
The second time he wakes up, early morning light is peeking through the apartment and Parker is sleeping sitting up on the floor by Eliot’s feet, her back against the couch. Her arms are folded, her chin tucked against her chest. There serenity of it all is broken when Eliot realizes he has to piss. Like, immediately.
As slow and gingerly as he can, he tries to sneak off the couch. Unfortunately, everything still hurts like a bitch and he accidentally jostles Parker’s shoulder with his toe.
She rolls to her feet in an instant, beaming down at him. “You’re awake! Where’re you going?”
He rolls his eyes and replies pointedly, “Bathroom.”
She gets it, head bobbing up and down. “Gotcha. Well, let’s go.” And she bends over to help him.
“I’m fine,” he hears himself say, even though every limb is screaming.
“Maybe,” Parker sighs. “But if you weren’t, even for just a second, you’d fall. And I bet that would hurt way more than this.”
She’s right, too. Goddamn it. Eliot grits his teeth and lets her help ease him off the couch. Parker braces against his side, deceptively tiny arm strong around his waist. He drapes his good arm around her shoulders and tries not to put too much weight on her. It takes an eternity to get to the bathroom and she grins as she holds the door open for him.
“Need help?”
“No.”
She’s still laughing about it when she guides him back down to the couch.
“What is wrong with you?” he demands, but there’s no real heat in it. She has painkillers for him, so she’s definitely not all that bad.
He sleeps through almost the whole day.
***
The pain (and the pills for this pain) knocks him on his ass, but deep down he knows that he is capable of sucking it up long enough to get himself home. Go home, hole up, and convalesce. He could do it.
He just kind of doesn’t want to.
The second day, he can sit up without hurting and his arm doesn’t feel like it’s on fire. He thinks of thanking Nate for his couch and making his way home. He’s been in worse situations than this.
But then he’s sandwiched between Parker and Hardison on the couch. There’s a football game on TV and a carton of kung pao in his lap. He’s blissed out on meds, boneless and painless and he will hide behind that, if it ever comes up.
When he wakes up, slumped against Hardison’s shoulder with Parker’s hand warm against his thigh, he pretends he’s still asleep. Because why the hell not?
***
On day three, his arm’s on the mend and he’s run out of excuses to be crashing on Nate’s couch.
“Thanks again,” he says, rotating his bad shoulder with a wince.
“I mean it,” Nate says. “Start slow. Keep in touch; call us if you need anything. No jobs for a while, as long as we can help it.”
Eliot quirks a wry grin. “Or at least no job that requires me busting any heads.” He reaches for the doorknob, but then glances back at Nate. “Where were you the last couple of days? Had something?”
Nate frowns. “No, I was here.”
Eliot blinks. “I didn’t see you. Only Parker and Hardison.”
“Oh, yeah.” Nate waves a hand. “I was still around. They wanted to keep an eye on you, though.”
Eliot freezes up, trying to feign nonchalance under Nate’s scrutiny. “Oh,” he says, noncommittal. “Cool. Thanks again.”
He ducks out before Nate spots the smile on his face.
~End.