Leverage SESA: Five Holidays the Leverage Crew Celebrated Together
Title: Five Holidays the Leverage Crew Celebrated Together
Written for: Unavoidedcrisis in the Leverage_sesa challenge
Rating: PG
Warnings: None
Summary: In which Parker likes parties, Eliot is confused, and Hardison, Sophie and Nate just go with it.
Word Count: ~3,000
Author's Note I picked this up as a pinch hit but I want to apologize for how long it took me to finish it - RL and computer issues combined to make my life hell!
1. Happy Birthday to You!
Eliot’s face when he walked into Nate’s apartment was perfect. Parker was glad she had spent so much time making sure the “Happy Birthday!” banner was straight, and that the streamers were hung just so.
“Surprise!” she yelled, and motioned behind her when hers was the only voice to ring out.
“Surprise,” Sophie and Hardison said, half-heartedly at best, she thought. She turned around to frown at them. Nate just glared.
Eliot looked completely taken aback, and Parker mentally congratulated herself on planning the perfect surprise party.
“Parker,” Eliot said, after running a hand through his hair, “It’s not my birthday.”
She handed him the pointy hat that said “Happy Birthday!” on it in big letters, but he waved her away. So she placed it on his head instead, wincing when the elastic smacked Eliot under his chin.
“I know, but it’s George Shepherd’s birthday, and he’s you, so happy birthday!” This time Eliot fended her off a little more successfully, but at least he kept the hat on. She beamed.
“George Shepherd?” Eliot asked, looking from Parker to Nate and then back to Parker.
“One of your cover identities,” Hardison explained. “I was working on this year’s income tax returns and Parker got interested in the process, or at least I thought she was till she went off to bake you - I mean fake you - a cake.”
Hardison, Parker noticed, had taken off the party hat she gave him, and she shot him a small frown.
Parker looked between the two men as she straightened her own party hat. Why was this complicated? George was Eliot, it was George’s birthday, and birthdays weren’t any fun without parties. “Duh,” she added to her mental logic.
Parker grabbed the noisemakers she had purchased and handed them out. In the corner, Nate was pouring himself a drink.
Eliot shook his head. “Income taxes? It’s March.”
“Hey, multiple identities, five of us, it’s complicated! Not like any of y’all will take care of it, so I like to be prepared.” Hardison crossed his arms over his chest.
“You are such a dweeb,” Eliot said, smirking.
Hardison shook his head. “Yo, man, you want to go to jail for tax evasion? Didn’t think so.”
Nate and Sophie were talking quietly near the desk, and Sophie was making lots of gestures emphatically at Nate. Parker was bored now. She turned back to Eliot and Hardison.
“I’m bored now. Let’s cut George’s cake!” Eliot scrubbed both hands through his hair.
“But first we have to sing - Nate, you start us off.” Parker looked at Nate, who just stared back at her.
“Okay, I’ll start.” Parker sang, “Happy Birthday to you, happy birthday to you, happy birthday George Shepherd, happy birthday to you!”
Eliot still looked confused, but at least now there was cake.
Parker fetched the knife and paper plates with balloons on them and set to work cutting the cake - she had spent all morning baking it, and it looked perfect. Brown and not too pointy, and the frosting was only a little lumpy.
She passed it out among them, or tried to, as Sophie insisted that she was cutting back on sugar and Nate just waved his glass in front of him like a shield.
“Now it’s time for games,” Parker announced, after Eliot and Hardison had both eaten all - or at least a little - of their slices of cake.
Nate clapped his hands, cutting her off. “Okay, let’s get back to work!” The others trailed after him into the living room, shedding party hats and noisemakers.
“Next week is Sasha Jones’ birthday!” Parker called after them, happily.
2. Up From the Grave He Arose (Low in the Grave He Lay)
Nate paused in front of his apartment, key in the lock waiting for him to turn it. When he had left earlier that morning for Easter Mass, it had been empty. Now he could hear giggling, talking, and the clank of pots and pans that meant Eliot was probably in the kitchen.
He sighed. Hope must really spring eternal, if he’d thought that he might have one weekend to himself. Nate paused at the door a moment, steeling himself to face his team. He’d planned to go to Mass like the good Catholic son he once had been, then come home and get blind drunk. So much for that plan.
Nate had been thinking about his mom a lot recently, thus the attendance at Mass, and he was self-aware enough to realize that it was probably something to do with his father’s recent release from prison. But identifying the source of the problem wasn’t exactly solving the problem.
The scene he found when he finally forced himself to open his door was one of significantly more chaos than just Eliot cooking.
Parker was nowhere to be seen, but Hardison and Sophie were moving quickly around his apartment - were they hiding Easter eggs? They each had a bucket and were tucking the plastic eggs behind picture frames and pillows and inside light fixtures.
The rest of the apartment looked like a pastel factory had exploded - empty eggs, plastic grass and chocolate wrappers littered the floor and tables.
They looked up when he entered, smiling, and then Hardison called out.
“Parker, you can come back in now.”
Parker bounded into the room, almost tipping the bunny ears she wore off of her head. Sophie handed her her empty basket and Parker took off, whirling around the room like a 6-year old on a sugar high.
“Sophie, I need you,” Eliot called from the kitchen without turning around. Sophie, with a fond look at Parker, joined Eliot at the stove and began stirring something in a pan under his patient direction.
Nate headed for his chair, by way of the bar. He flicked a half-eaten yellow Peep off the seat with a sigh.
“Hey man,” Eliot said, coming up behind Nate. Nate grunted.
“It was a little quieter here when I left,” Nate commented.
“Sophie asked if I could teach her to cook a few things,” Eliot said with a half-shrug. “Seemed like she needed something to do with her hands that gave her time to think, and cooking is probably safer than knitting.”
“Even with the fire? And the knives?” Nate asked blandly. Sophie in the kitchen was slightly terrifying, not even taking into account last month’s noodle fiasco.
“Hey, man, knitting needles are sharp,” was Eliot’s easy reply. He and his raised eyebrows rejoined Sophie in the kitchen.
“Look, Nate!” Parker held out a hand filled with coins, most of them tarnished with age. “My Easter eggs are full of late 4th century Roman coins!”
Nate turned to look at Hardison, who was edging behind the projector. He turned his glare up a notch.
“I may have hacked a shipping manifest and changed a few delivery schedules. To the Met,” Hardison admitted sheepishly.
“Hardison,” Nate began, but Hardison cut him off.
“Parker, by my list you still have three eggs left to find.”
“Okay,” she said, clearly distracted by the shiny pile of coins in her hands.
“Ooh, this one’s Syrian!” She started for the staircase, clinking as she went.
After she was out of sight Hardison sat down beside Nate.
“She hasn’t ever had an Easter egg hunt, man.”
Nate thought about how much Sam had loved hunting for Easter eggs; how even when he was so sick, his last Easter, how he and Maggie had hidden the plastic eggs around his bed, under his pillow or the curve of a blanket and watched his delight when he opened each to find the small toys they had placed there - a whistle, a bouncy ball, short chubby markers.
He sighed. “All right, just, no more stealing priceless artifacts for anything other than Christmas, okay?”
Hardison smiled triumphantly.
Nate sipped his drink, and wondered who they all thought they were fooling.
Later, sitting around the kitchen table listening to Sophie’s tale of her epic battle against the lamb and watching Parker surreptitiously count her coins again, Nate decided that maybe it wasn’t the worst way to spend a Sunday.
3. The Monster Mash
Hardison was putting the finishing touches on his costume and trying to ignore Nate and Sophie’s stare down in the other room. It wasn’t his best effort ever - really, what was going to beat last year’s Iron Man costume - but he was happy with it. And this whole song and dance was solely for the mark’s benefit, to establish Sophie’s cover or something, he’d kind of tuned Nate’s monologue out, to be honest.
He walked into the kitchen to get another orange soda.
“Twizzlers,” Nate said, voice flat, eyes never leaving Sophie’s.
Sophie flinched. “Butterfingers,” she began, but their argument was cut off when Parker and Eliot came through the front door, shaking rain off their coats.
Hardison took the grocery bags from them and began unpacking them in the kitchen. He was partway through the third bag, surrounded by apples, caramel, pumpkins of all sizes and what look like bags of fake cobwebs, when he realized that they might have a problem.
“Guys,” he said, trying to keep his voice even. “Where is the candy you were sent to the store to buy?”
The pair exchanged a guilty look. Hardison face-palmed.
“And why is there stuff in here to make caramel apples? That was definitely not on your list. I know, because I wrote the list!”
“Well Parker was all looking at me from across the store!” Eliot tossed his hair and scowled.
“Technically passing the broccoli test, but still, fail,” Hardison muttered.
“Hardison, there are some snack-sized butterfingers in the third drawer down, behind the coffee filters,” Sophie said, reaching up to straighten her wig.
“Y’all,” Hardison said, pointing at Eliot and Parker, “Y’all are lucky.” He rummaged around in the drawer and raised the candy above his head triumphantly.
Parker took off with the grocery bag full of makeup she’d purchased at the grocery store, and Hardison set to work decorating the kitchen with cobwebs and plastic spiders.
**
Hardison kept an eye on Sophie as she lounged against the table, eyes flicking between the two men.
“We are all supposed to be wearing costumes, I thought?”
“I, I am one of the twelve humanoid Cylons, okay? Simon, to be precise.” Hardison folded his arms over his chest. No way was this a lame costume.
“Well, I’m Frank Sinatra,” Nate said, resettling his hat on his head.
“Lumberjack,” Eliot tossed out, passing through with his beer. He was wearing one of his flannel shirts and beanies. Hardison rolled his eyes.
“You all could have tried a bit harder,” Sophie acknowledged. She absent-mindedly twirled her vast array of bracelets.
“Yeah, Nate, you could have been Mark Anthony,” Parker said, glancing at Sophie.
“But no one’s going to see any of the rest of us. And Parker, your zombie makeup is smudging,” Eliot said pointedly, and Parker ran for the bathroom, hair streaming behind her in gore-matted clumps.
Hardison checked his torrent of the Evil Dead trilogy and grinned. 58% done and he knew what he was doing once Sophie was done handing out candy and charming the mark and his young son.
The doorbell rang and the team swung into motion.
4. Auld Lang Syne
New Year’s Eve passed mostly unheralded, lost in their preparation for Moreau’s visit and then their trip to San Lorenzo. Eliot was just about to doze off on the flight home when Parker’s face popped up next to his, jerking him awake.
“Eliot,” she whispered. “I want to celebrate New Year’s Eve.”
He rubbed his eyes. “Parker, New Year’s Eve was almost two weeks ago.”
“I know, but we were busy almost being killed and taking down bad guys and stuff like that. I want to have a party!”
Eliot thought about it for a second. He wouldn’t mind the chance to celebrate New Year’s Day properly, with roast pork and collard greens like his mama always cooked.
“All right,” he said, then pointed a finger at her. “But you’re the one who has to tell Nate.”
After a job he usually wanted to hole up by himself for a while, recuperating mentally and physically, but he surprised himself by agreeing to Parker’s idea. It must have been finally being rid of Moreau’s constant, malignant shadow.
**
Eliot and his grocery bags walked into an argument between Parker and Nate.
“New Year’s things are half off right now, it’s barely stealing!”
“And the champagne?” Nate asked, with a pointed glance toward the bottles in the ice bucket. “Was that half off?”
“That was Sophie!”
“Parker! Anyway, it was years ago, thank you, and I didn’t steal them so much as,” a pause, “ask for them.” She waved a hand dismissively, and took one of the grocery bags from Eliot.
“Check this out,” Hardison said, lifting a cylindrical object from a flat box.
“A bottle rocket?” Sophie asked.
“Not just any bottle rocket - this here is specially modified.” He patted it, smiling proudly, and Eliot shuddered.
He settled himself into the kitchen, ignoring the continued discussion from the living room about the decorations and the music.
**
After a few hours the greens were coming along nicely, and the pork roast and black beans were moments away from being finished. Parker and Hardison were settled at the table in the kitchen, picking locks and playing on the computer respectively, the only hint this was a New Year’s Eve party the champagne flutes next to them, Hardison’s a murky orange tint.
Eliot went out to set the dining room table, rolling his eyes at Nate, who was paging through client files. Honestly, these people needed to learn how to relax. He passed out plates, flatware and napkins, then poured the wine, letting his mind wander.
“Eliot,” came Sophie’s slightly strained voice from the kitchen. “The beans are - ” she stopped talking to yelp, and Eliot went quickly toward the sound and smell of things burning, making a mental note that Sophie wasn’t quite ready to be left to manage the cooking on her own.
**
Eliot smiled at the table laden with food. He had included all of the traditional New Year’s Day foods, all the things meant to bring luck and good fortune for the coming year, as well as a few of the team’s favorites.
After dinner they all cleaned up together, watching the New Year’s Eve coverage that Hardison had somehow accessed. It felt a little weird, given that January was halfway over, but Eliot decided that it was no weirder than anything else that surrounded his team.
They pulled him away from packing leftovers a few minutes before the countdown began. Eliot blushed slightly when he felt Parker and Hardison’s arms wrap around him. He could see Nate and Sophie’s hands tangled together from where he stood, and he was so not touching that thought with a 30-foot pole.
“5…4…3…2…1,” Eliot joined the rest of the team as they shouted, “Happy New Year!”
5. My Funny Valentine
Sophie Devereaux always got what she wanted.
“It’s a gift,” she would tell you with a shrug and a slight lift of her lips, shifting imperceptibly nearer to you.
(“A curse,” many people, her mother first and Nate Ford not last but somewhere in the middle would argue instead.)
The just narrow-enough wide-eyed look of hurt, enough to be real, the one that made you want to hurt anyone in the world who ever hurt her - first boy she liked in primary school who ignored her (probably the last male who ever did) on through old friends and allies - anyone, as long as she doesn’t look so vulnerable. You’ll never see that other tilt of her lips, the satisfaction that isn’t so much smug as it is pleased. And, okay, a little smug.
Sophie Devereaux always got what she wanted, and right now, what she wanted was to celebrate Valentine’s Day with Nate. They hadn’t exactly sat down after San Lorenzo and discussed whatever it was they were doing now, but this was Nate, and so Sophie could be patient. As long as her patience continued to be rewarded with multiple orgasms and breakfast in bed. But she did want to celebrate Valentine’s Day, conversation or no conversation.
It looked, however, as was often the case with Nate, that she wasn’t going to get precisely what she wanted.
Rather than the romantic dinner she’d imagined, Nate’s apartment was chaotic. Hardison and Parker were running circles around the living room, waving movies as they alternately chased or were chased.
Eliot was shouting something about waiting for him from the kitchen, and the smell of popcorn wafted in.
“I know you wanted to go out, but they were here when I got home, and it feels like kicking a puppy,” Nate apologized. He glanced around at the chaos, a fond expression on his face.
Sophie looked at the trio on the couch and smiled back at him, shifting a little closer, so she could feel the warmth of him through her clothes. This casual closeness, more than anything, was what brought home the shift in their relationship to her. That she could reach out at any moment and touch Nate was heady, and often left her slightly off-kilter.
“I’ll make it up to you,” Nate told her, and Sophie thought that that was a promise she would make sure he kept.
“Be my Valentine, Charlie Brown,” Parker said loudly, waving the DVD overhead.
“Bloody Valentine?” Hardison suggested, before pounding Eliot’s offered fist.
Sophie looked at Nate.
“An Affair to Remember,” he said, looking at her, small smile on his face.
Hardison groaned, Eliot rolled his eyes and Parker snorted, but Sophie ignored them as she sat down next to Nate and slipped her arm through his. It wasn’t what she wanted, but it was definitely enough.
Written for: Unavoidedcrisis in the Leverage_sesa challenge
Rating: PG
Warnings: None
Summary: In which Parker likes parties, Eliot is confused, and Hardison, Sophie and Nate just go with it.
Word Count: ~3,000
Author's Note I picked this up as a pinch hit but I want to apologize for how long it took me to finish it - RL and computer issues combined to make my life hell!
1. Happy Birthday to You!
Eliot’s face when he walked into Nate’s apartment was perfect. Parker was glad she had spent so much time making sure the “Happy Birthday!” banner was straight, and that the streamers were hung just so.
“Surprise!” she yelled, and motioned behind her when hers was the only voice to ring out.
“Surprise,” Sophie and Hardison said, half-heartedly at best, she thought. She turned around to frown at them. Nate just glared.
Eliot looked completely taken aback, and Parker mentally congratulated herself on planning the perfect surprise party.
“Parker,” Eliot said, after running a hand through his hair, “It’s not my birthday.”
She handed him the pointy hat that said “Happy Birthday!” on it in big letters, but he waved her away. So she placed it on his head instead, wincing when the elastic smacked Eliot under his chin.
“I know, but it’s George Shepherd’s birthday, and he’s you, so happy birthday!” This time Eliot fended her off a little more successfully, but at least he kept the hat on. She beamed.
“George Shepherd?” Eliot asked, looking from Parker to Nate and then back to Parker.
“One of your cover identities,” Hardison explained. “I was working on this year’s income tax returns and Parker got interested in the process, or at least I thought she was till she went off to bake you - I mean fake you - a cake.”
Hardison, Parker noticed, had taken off the party hat she gave him, and she shot him a small frown.
Parker looked between the two men as she straightened her own party hat. Why was this complicated? George was Eliot, it was George’s birthday, and birthdays weren’t any fun without parties. “Duh,” she added to her mental logic.
Parker grabbed the noisemakers she had purchased and handed them out. In the corner, Nate was pouring himself a drink.
Eliot shook his head. “Income taxes? It’s March.”
“Hey, multiple identities, five of us, it’s complicated! Not like any of y’all will take care of it, so I like to be prepared.” Hardison crossed his arms over his chest.
“You are such a dweeb,” Eliot said, smirking.
Hardison shook his head. “Yo, man, you want to go to jail for tax evasion? Didn’t think so.”
Nate and Sophie were talking quietly near the desk, and Sophie was making lots of gestures emphatically at Nate. Parker was bored now. She turned back to Eliot and Hardison.
“I’m bored now. Let’s cut George’s cake!” Eliot scrubbed both hands through his hair.
“But first we have to sing - Nate, you start us off.” Parker looked at Nate, who just stared back at her.
“Okay, I’ll start.” Parker sang, “Happy Birthday to you, happy birthday to you, happy birthday George Shepherd, happy birthday to you!”
Eliot still looked confused, but at least now there was cake.
Parker fetched the knife and paper plates with balloons on them and set to work cutting the cake - she had spent all morning baking it, and it looked perfect. Brown and not too pointy, and the frosting was only a little lumpy.
She passed it out among them, or tried to, as Sophie insisted that she was cutting back on sugar and Nate just waved his glass in front of him like a shield.
“Now it’s time for games,” Parker announced, after Eliot and Hardison had both eaten all - or at least a little - of their slices of cake.
Nate clapped his hands, cutting her off. “Okay, let’s get back to work!” The others trailed after him into the living room, shedding party hats and noisemakers.
“Next week is Sasha Jones’ birthday!” Parker called after them, happily.
2. Up From the Grave He Arose (Low in the Grave He Lay)
Nate paused in front of his apartment, key in the lock waiting for him to turn it. When he had left earlier that morning for Easter Mass, it had been empty. Now he could hear giggling, talking, and the clank of pots and pans that meant Eliot was probably in the kitchen.
He sighed. Hope must really spring eternal, if he’d thought that he might have one weekend to himself. Nate paused at the door a moment, steeling himself to face his team. He’d planned to go to Mass like the good Catholic son he once had been, then come home and get blind drunk. So much for that plan.
Nate had been thinking about his mom a lot recently, thus the attendance at Mass, and he was self-aware enough to realize that it was probably something to do with his father’s recent release from prison. But identifying the source of the problem wasn’t exactly solving the problem.
The scene he found when he finally forced himself to open his door was one of significantly more chaos than just Eliot cooking.
Parker was nowhere to be seen, but Hardison and Sophie were moving quickly around his apartment - were they hiding Easter eggs? They each had a bucket and were tucking the plastic eggs behind picture frames and pillows and inside light fixtures.
The rest of the apartment looked like a pastel factory had exploded - empty eggs, plastic grass and chocolate wrappers littered the floor and tables.
They looked up when he entered, smiling, and then Hardison called out.
“Parker, you can come back in now.”
Parker bounded into the room, almost tipping the bunny ears she wore off of her head. Sophie handed her her empty basket and Parker took off, whirling around the room like a 6-year old on a sugar high.
“Sophie, I need you,” Eliot called from the kitchen without turning around. Sophie, with a fond look at Parker, joined Eliot at the stove and began stirring something in a pan under his patient direction.
Nate headed for his chair, by way of the bar. He flicked a half-eaten yellow Peep off the seat with a sigh.
“Hey man,” Eliot said, coming up behind Nate. Nate grunted.
“It was a little quieter here when I left,” Nate commented.
“Sophie asked if I could teach her to cook a few things,” Eliot said with a half-shrug. “Seemed like she needed something to do with her hands that gave her time to think, and cooking is probably safer than knitting.”
“Even with the fire? And the knives?” Nate asked blandly. Sophie in the kitchen was slightly terrifying, not even taking into account last month’s noodle fiasco.
“Hey, man, knitting needles are sharp,” was Eliot’s easy reply. He and his raised eyebrows rejoined Sophie in the kitchen.
“Look, Nate!” Parker held out a hand filled with coins, most of them tarnished with age. “My Easter eggs are full of late 4th century Roman coins!”
Nate turned to look at Hardison, who was edging behind the projector. He turned his glare up a notch.
“I may have hacked a shipping manifest and changed a few delivery schedules. To the Met,” Hardison admitted sheepishly.
“Hardison,” Nate began, but Hardison cut him off.
“Parker, by my list you still have three eggs left to find.”
“Okay,” she said, clearly distracted by the shiny pile of coins in her hands.
“Ooh, this one’s Syrian!” She started for the staircase, clinking as she went.
After she was out of sight Hardison sat down beside Nate.
“She hasn’t ever had an Easter egg hunt, man.”
Nate thought about how much Sam had loved hunting for Easter eggs; how even when he was so sick, his last Easter, how he and Maggie had hidden the plastic eggs around his bed, under his pillow or the curve of a blanket and watched his delight when he opened each to find the small toys they had placed there - a whistle, a bouncy ball, short chubby markers.
He sighed. “All right, just, no more stealing priceless artifacts for anything other than Christmas, okay?”
Hardison smiled triumphantly.
Nate sipped his drink, and wondered who they all thought they were fooling.
Later, sitting around the kitchen table listening to Sophie’s tale of her epic battle against the lamb and watching Parker surreptitiously count her coins again, Nate decided that maybe it wasn’t the worst way to spend a Sunday.
3. The Monster Mash
Hardison was putting the finishing touches on his costume and trying to ignore Nate and Sophie’s stare down in the other room. It wasn’t his best effort ever - really, what was going to beat last year’s Iron Man costume - but he was happy with it. And this whole song and dance was solely for the mark’s benefit, to establish Sophie’s cover or something, he’d kind of tuned Nate’s monologue out, to be honest.
He walked into the kitchen to get another orange soda.
“Twizzlers,” Nate said, voice flat, eyes never leaving Sophie’s.
Sophie flinched. “Butterfingers,” she began, but their argument was cut off when Parker and Eliot came through the front door, shaking rain off their coats.
Hardison took the grocery bags from them and began unpacking them in the kitchen. He was partway through the third bag, surrounded by apples, caramel, pumpkins of all sizes and what look like bags of fake cobwebs, when he realized that they might have a problem.
“Guys,” he said, trying to keep his voice even. “Where is the candy you were sent to the store to buy?”
The pair exchanged a guilty look. Hardison face-palmed.
“And why is there stuff in here to make caramel apples? That was definitely not on your list. I know, because I wrote the list!”
“Well Parker was all looking at me from across the store!” Eliot tossed his hair and scowled.
“Technically passing the broccoli test, but still, fail,” Hardison muttered.
“Hardison, there are some snack-sized butterfingers in the third drawer down, behind the coffee filters,” Sophie said, reaching up to straighten her wig.
“Y’all,” Hardison said, pointing at Eliot and Parker, “Y’all are lucky.” He rummaged around in the drawer and raised the candy above his head triumphantly.
Parker took off with the grocery bag full of makeup she’d purchased at the grocery store, and Hardison set to work decorating the kitchen with cobwebs and plastic spiders.
**
Hardison kept an eye on Sophie as she lounged against the table, eyes flicking between the two men.
“We are all supposed to be wearing costumes, I thought?”
“I, I am one of the twelve humanoid Cylons, okay? Simon, to be precise.” Hardison folded his arms over his chest. No way was this a lame costume.
“Well, I’m Frank Sinatra,” Nate said, resettling his hat on his head.
“Lumberjack,” Eliot tossed out, passing through with his beer. He was wearing one of his flannel shirts and beanies. Hardison rolled his eyes.
“You all could have tried a bit harder,” Sophie acknowledged. She absent-mindedly twirled her vast array of bracelets.
“Yeah, Nate, you could have been Mark Anthony,” Parker said, glancing at Sophie.
“But no one’s going to see any of the rest of us. And Parker, your zombie makeup is smudging,” Eliot said pointedly, and Parker ran for the bathroom, hair streaming behind her in gore-matted clumps.
Hardison checked his torrent of the Evil Dead trilogy and grinned. 58% done and he knew what he was doing once Sophie was done handing out candy and charming the mark and his young son.
The doorbell rang and the team swung into motion.
4. Auld Lang Syne
New Year’s Eve passed mostly unheralded, lost in their preparation for Moreau’s visit and then their trip to San Lorenzo. Eliot was just about to doze off on the flight home when Parker’s face popped up next to his, jerking him awake.
“Eliot,” she whispered. “I want to celebrate New Year’s Eve.”
He rubbed his eyes. “Parker, New Year’s Eve was almost two weeks ago.”
“I know, but we were busy almost being killed and taking down bad guys and stuff like that. I want to have a party!”
Eliot thought about it for a second. He wouldn’t mind the chance to celebrate New Year’s Day properly, with roast pork and collard greens like his mama always cooked.
“All right,” he said, then pointed a finger at her. “But you’re the one who has to tell Nate.”
After a job he usually wanted to hole up by himself for a while, recuperating mentally and physically, but he surprised himself by agreeing to Parker’s idea. It must have been finally being rid of Moreau’s constant, malignant shadow.
**
Eliot and his grocery bags walked into an argument between Parker and Nate.
“New Year’s things are half off right now, it’s barely stealing!”
“And the champagne?” Nate asked, with a pointed glance toward the bottles in the ice bucket. “Was that half off?”
“That was Sophie!”
“Parker! Anyway, it was years ago, thank you, and I didn’t steal them so much as,” a pause, “ask for them.” She waved a hand dismissively, and took one of the grocery bags from Eliot.
“Check this out,” Hardison said, lifting a cylindrical object from a flat box.
“A bottle rocket?” Sophie asked.
“Not just any bottle rocket - this here is specially modified.” He patted it, smiling proudly, and Eliot shuddered.
He settled himself into the kitchen, ignoring the continued discussion from the living room about the decorations and the music.
**
After a few hours the greens were coming along nicely, and the pork roast and black beans were moments away from being finished. Parker and Hardison were settled at the table in the kitchen, picking locks and playing on the computer respectively, the only hint this was a New Year’s Eve party the champagne flutes next to them, Hardison’s a murky orange tint.
Eliot went out to set the dining room table, rolling his eyes at Nate, who was paging through client files. Honestly, these people needed to learn how to relax. He passed out plates, flatware and napkins, then poured the wine, letting his mind wander.
“Eliot,” came Sophie’s slightly strained voice from the kitchen. “The beans are - ” she stopped talking to yelp, and Eliot went quickly toward the sound and smell of things burning, making a mental note that Sophie wasn’t quite ready to be left to manage the cooking on her own.
**
Eliot smiled at the table laden with food. He had included all of the traditional New Year’s Day foods, all the things meant to bring luck and good fortune for the coming year, as well as a few of the team’s favorites.
After dinner they all cleaned up together, watching the New Year’s Eve coverage that Hardison had somehow accessed. It felt a little weird, given that January was halfway over, but Eliot decided that it was no weirder than anything else that surrounded his team.
They pulled him away from packing leftovers a few minutes before the countdown began. Eliot blushed slightly when he felt Parker and Hardison’s arms wrap around him. He could see Nate and Sophie’s hands tangled together from where he stood, and he was so not touching that thought with a 30-foot pole.
“5…4…3…2…1,” Eliot joined the rest of the team as they shouted, “Happy New Year!”
5. My Funny Valentine
Sophie Devereaux always got what she wanted.
“It’s a gift,” she would tell you with a shrug and a slight lift of her lips, shifting imperceptibly nearer to you.
(“A curse,” many people, her mother first and Nate Ford not last but somewhere in the middle would argue instead.)
The just narrow-enough wide-eyed look of hurt, enough to be real, the one that made you want to hurt anyone in the world who ever hurt her - first boy she liked in primary school who ignored her (probably the last male who ever did) on through old friends and allies - anyone, as long as she doesn’t look so vulnerable. You’ll never see that other tilt of her lips, the satisfaction that isn’t so much smug as it is pleased. And, okay, a little smug.
Sophie Devereaux always got what she wanted, and right now, what she wanted was to celebrate Valentine’s Day with Nate. They hadn’t exactly sat down after San Lorenzo and discussed whatever it was they were doing now, but this was Nate, and so Sophie could be patient. As long as her patience continued to be rewarded with multiple orgasms and breakfast in bed. But she did want to celebrate Valentine’s Day, conversation or no conversation.
It looked, however, as was often the case with Nate, that she wasn’t going to get precisely what she wanted.
Rather than the romantic dinner she’d imagined, Nate’s apartment was chaotic. Hardison and Parker were running circles around the living room, waving movies as they alternately chased or were chased.
Eliot was shouting something about waiting for him from the kitchen, and the smell of popcorn wafted in.
“I know you wanted to go out, but they were here when I got home, and it feels like kicking a puppy,” Nate apologized. He glanced around at the chaos, a fond expression on his face.
Sophie looked at the trio on the couch and smiled back at him, shifting a little closer, so she could feel the warmth of him through her clothes. This casual closeness, more than anything, was what brought home the shift in their relationship to her. That she could reach out at any moment and touch Nate was heady, and often left her slightly off-kilter.
“I’ll make it up to you,” Nate told her, and Sophie thought that that was a promise she would make sure he kept.
“Be my Valentine, Charlie Brown,” Parker said loudly, waving the DVD overhead.
“Bloody Valentine?” Hardison suggested, before pounding Eliot’s offered fist.
Sophie looked at Nate.
“An Affair to Remember,” he said, looking at her, small smile on his face.
Hardison groaned, Eliot rolled his eyes and Parker snorted, but Sophie ignored them as she sat down next to Nate and slipped her arm through his. It wasn’t what she wanted, but it was definitely enough.