Fic: Sleepless Nights (Leverage, Nate/Eliot, PG-13)
Title: Sleepless Nights
Author: sheryden
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 1686
Pairing: Nate/Eliot (pre-slash, I guess)
Spoilers: Episode 3.02 ("The Reunion Job") and Episode 3.07 ("The Gone Fishin' Job")
Warnings: None
Disclaimer: Not mine. If it was, Eliot would be shirtless in half the episodes.
Summary: When Eliot can't sleep, he often winds up over at Nate's place.
Notes: Written for hc_bingo for the WILD CARD prompt (insomnia).
It was well after 2 am when Eliot Spencer stumbled out of the movie theater and onto the still-too-crowded sidewalk. He glanced over his shoulder at the matinee, which was advertising yet another showing of both Frankenstein and Bride of Frankenstein. He debated ducking back into the theater for a while, but a guy could only watch so many black and white horror films in one night. Eliot knew practically every establishment in Boston that was open 24 hours a day. As a chronic insomniac, he often took to the streets in the dead of night trying to find something to do with himself. As he walked away from the theater, he shoved his hands into his pockets and let his mind wander to Nate.
Usually, when he suffered these little bouts of sleeplessness, he wound up at Nate’s. His late night visits to Nate’s place had become something of a ritual between them. Before Nate had gone to prison, Eliot had often found himself drifting over there when he couldn’t sleep, sometimes even crashing on Nate’s couch for a couple of hours when his mind and body finally started to settle down enough to let him pass out. Since Nate had gotten home, Eliot had fallen back into the pattern of winding up there in the wee hours of morning. More often than not, Nate just happened to get up shortly after Eliot arrived, and he never seemed the least bit surprised by Eliot’s presence.
Nate’s friendship had become important to Eliot since he’d joined the team. In many ways, Nate represented a sort of stability to Eliot, and though he didn’t want to admit it out loud, he had a crush on Nate. No, not a crush. Eliot was a grown man. He didn’t have crushes. He had a thing for Nate. This thing, it was a mix between friendship and admiration and lust. And maybe a little-just a little-infatuation.
There were days-a lot of them lately-when Eliot indulged his carnal fantasies about Nate, letting his mind imagine the feel of Nate’s hands on his body while his own hand granted him release. And there were days when he let his mind wander to other fantasies… silly domestic daydreams about him and Nate cooking together or lazing around the Nate’s apartment together or sitting on the beach together, fantasies that gave him a warm and fuzzy feeling. He would sooner admit to the former than the latter. At least the lust made sense in his brain.
When he got to Nate’s place, Eliot let himself in and strolled over to the kitchen, where he wrenched open the freezer. Nate had gotten into the habit of keeping a bag of ice for Eliot’s use. Tonight was no exception. Eliot pulled out the icepack and laid it on the counter behind him. Then he opened the fridge and started hunting around for a midnight snack. Nate was out of apples again, and he didn’t feel like standing behind a stove and trying to cook. So he grabbed a can of Coke, scooped the icepack off the counter, and plunked down at the table.
Eventually, Eliot heard movement upstairs. He leaned back in his chair and listened to Nate’s footsteps pad along the floor upstairs and to the sound of the water running in the bathroom. After a few minutes, Nate’s disheveled form came dragging down the stairs. He stopped at the bottom of the stairs and stretched, then shook his head like he was trying to knock something back into place.
Eliot let his eyes travel along Nate’s body. He was wearing ridiculous plaid boxer shorts and a black t-shirt. Eliot impulsively licked his lips-there was something about Nate in a black t-shirt that did it for him.
After stretching out the kinks in his back, Nate staggered across the room into the kitchen and opened the fridge. Glancing over his shoulder at Eliot, he yawned and said, “So it’s a Coke kind of night, huh?”
“I guess,” Eliot said, taking a sip of the cool liquid.
Nate pulled out a Coke and sat down at the table next to Eliot. “Not the best thing for insomnia.”
“Well,” Eliot said. “I figure if I’m gonna be stuck awake all night, I might as well be hopped up on sugar and caffeine.”
Grinning slightly, Nate said, “And so you’ll be bouncing off my walls. Thanks.” Rubbing his hands over his eyes, Nate gestured toward the icepack that was now pressed down on Eliot’s shoulder. “You want some ibuprofen? Or some Vicodin maybe?”
Eliot shook his head. “Already took some.”
Nate gazed at him for a moment. Finally, he asked, “So is it nightmares again? Or you just can’t relax enough to sleep?”
Taking a long sip of Coke, Eliot rang his fingers through his hair. The rest of the team would probably never directly asked Eliot something like that. They might offer up a few words of concern, but they didn’t pry or try to get into his head. But Nate was Nate, and he knew Eliot better than any of them. He knew how far he could push, and he knew that if he really wanted any information out of Eliot, sometimes he had to push.
After a few moments, Eliot said, “A little of both, I guess. It’s getting harder for me to unwind. And when I do… well.”
“Have you gotten any sleep at all?”
“Not really,” Eliot said. “I’m still wired from the job.” Not to mention the fact that almost every inch of his body throbbed. His lingering injuries from recent jobs coupled with the fact that he’d been tossed on his ass by Hardison’s cigarette bomb pretty much guaranteed several nights of aching muscles and bruised flesh and sleep deprivation.
Nate cleared his throat and started running a finger along a spot of condensation from his Coke can. “Yeah,” he said. “I sort of wanted to talk to you about this last job.”
Eliot let out breath. He didn’t have to ask what part of the job Nate wanted to talk about. He’d been expecting a chewing out since they’d wrapped up with their client. And he understood where Nate was coming from. After all, he’d gone to incredible lengths to rescue Eliot and Hardison from the militia, but they had thrown their chance of escape out the window because Hardison had wanted to play hero. But it had been the right thing to do, and Eliot suspected that if their positions had been reversed, Nate would have done the same thing.
Nate sat up a little straighter, apparently trying to conjure up as much authority as a guy could manage at 2 something in the morning while he was wearing plaid boxers. “So,” he said. “I’m pretty pissed off that you and Hardison ditched that train. But I understand why you did it.” He took a sip of Coke, then slumped back in his chair.
“Well, at least we had a plan,” Eliot said.
“A can of whoop ass is not a plan. Even if it worked.”
Eliot hunched forward, resting his elbows on the table. “I know how to handle a situation like that, Nate. I’ve been in way worse trouble than being chased by a bunch of wannabe soldiers. And I had Hardison’s back.”
“I get that,” Nate said. “And I know what you can do. I chased you for years. But you’re part of my team now, and my concern was to get my team to safety. I’m just telling you to get on the damn train next time.”
“Would you have been as worried if he had just been me in the woods?”
Nate sat up, looking a little blindsided by the question. Eliot wasn’t even sure why he had asked it, but the words sort of tumbled from his mouth before he’d had a chance to stop them. In truth, the question had been nipping at the back of his mind for weeks. Rationally, he knew Nate cared what happened to him-and so did the others. But there was a part of Eliot that needed reassurance, that needed someone to fuss over him.
“I don’t even know why you’d ask that.” Nate said. “But yeah, I’d have been as worried, if not more.”
Biting his lip, Eliot said, “Well, nobody seems worried about me half the time.”
“What are you talking about?” Nate asked. “I stole you a train.”
Crushing his now-empty can between his thumb and forefinger, Eliot said, “You stole us a train.”
Nate sat back in his chair and let out a breath. “What is this, Eliot? Are you still pissed that we didn’t answer you on the comms that time?”
Eliot scowled at the memory. “I don’t know, Nate. I just feel like you guys take for granted that I’ll be fine. And I’m not always fine.” His voice cracked a little during his last few words, causing him to wince internally. He sounded so needy tonight.
Nate laid a hand on Eliot’s shoulder. “Look, Eliot. If we seem to take you for granted, it’s because we all know how good you are at what you do. But don’t mistake that for us not caring about you. Because believe me, if anything happened to you, we’d all be gutted. Especially me.”
Biting his lip, Eliot said, “I just need to hear that sometimes.”
Giving Eliot’s shoulder a squeeze, Nate stood up and motioned for Eliot to follow him upstairs. “C’mon,” he said. “I want to have a better look at your injuries.”
Shaking his head, Eliot said, “You don’t need to.”
“Stop griping and come on,” Nate said. “And once I’m done, you’re gonna crash in my bedroom for a while, even if I have to knock you out.” He placed a hand between Eliot’s shoulder blades and steered him toward the stairs.
Eliot thought about arguing, but instead, he let Nate lead him upstairs, content to be fussed over if only for a little while.
Author: sheryden
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 1686
Pairing: Nate/Eliot (pre-slash, I guess)
Spoilers: Episode 3.02 ("The Reunion Job") and Episode 3.07 ("The Gone Fishin' Job")
Warnings: None
Disclaimer: Not mine. If it was, Eliot would be shirtless in half the episodes.
Summary: When Eliot can't sleep, he often winds up over at Nate's place.
Notes: Written for hc_bingo for the WILD CARD prompt (insomnia).
It was well after 2 am when Eliot Spencer stumbled out of the movie theater and onto the still-too-crowded sidewalk. He glanced over his shoulder at the matinee, which was advertising yet another showing of both Frankenstein and Bride of Frankenstein. He debated ducking back into the theater for a while, but a guy could only watch so many black and white horror films in one night. Eliot knew practically every establishment in Boston that was open 24 hours a day. As a chronic insomniac, he often took to the streets in the dead of night trying to find something to do with himself. As he walked away from the theater, he shoved his hands into his pockets and let his mind wander to Nate.
Usually, when he suffered these little bouts of sleeplessness, he wound up at Nate’s. His late night visits to Nate’s place had become something of a ritual between them. Before Nate had gone to prison, Eliot had often found himself drifting over there when he couldn’t sleep, sometimes even crashing on Nate’s couch for a couple of hours when his mind and body finally started to settle down enough to let him pass out. Since Nate had gotten home, Eliot had fallen back into the pattern of winding up there in the wee hours of morning. More often than not, Nate just happened to get up shortly after Eliot arrived, and he never seemed the least bit surprised by Eliot’s presence.
Nate’s friendship had become important to Eliot since he’d joined the team. In many ways, Nate represented a sort of stability to Eliot, and though he didn’t want to admit it out loud, he had a crush on Nate. No, not a crush. Eliot was a grown man. He didn’t have crushes. He had a thing for Nate. This thing, it was a mix between friendship and admiration and lust. And maybe a little-just a little-infatuation.
There were days-a lot of them lately-when Eliot indulged his carnal fantasies about Nate, letting his mind imagine the feel of Nate’s hands on his body while his own hand granted him release. And there were days when he let his mind wander to other fantasies… silly domestic daydreams about him and Nate cooking together or lazing around the Nate’s apartment together or sitting on the beach together, fantasies that gave him a warm and fuzzy feeling. He would sooner admit to the former than the latter. At least the lust made sense in his brain.
When he got to Nate’s place, Eliot let himself in and strolled over to the kitchen, where he wrenched open the freezer. Nate had gotten into the habit of keeping a bag of ice for Eliot’s use. Tonight was no exception. Eliot pulled out the icepack and laid it on the counter behind him. Then he opened the fridge and started hunting around for a midnight snack. Nate was out of apples again, and he didn’t feel like standing behind a stove and trying to cook. So he grabbed a can of Coke, scooped the icepack off the counter, and plunked down at the table.
Eventually, Eliot heard movement upstairs. He leaned back in his chair and listened to Nate’s footsteps pad along the floor upstairs and to the sound of the water running in the bathroom. After a few minutes, Nate’s disheveled form came dragging down the stairs. He stopped at the bottom of the stairs and stretched, then shook his head like he was trying to knock something back into place.
Eliot let his eyes travel along Nate’s body. He was wearing ridiculous plaid boxer shorts and a black t-shirt. Eliot impulsively licked his lips-there was something about Nate in a black t-shirt that did it for him.
After stretching out the kinks in his back, Nate staggered across the room into the kitchen and opened the fridge. Glancing over his shoulder at Eliot, he yawned and said, “So it’s a Coke kind of night, huh?”
“I guess,” Eliot said, taking a sip of the cool liquid.
Nate pulled out a Coke and sat down at the table next to Eliot. “Not the best thing for insomnia.”
“Well,” Eliot said. “I figure if I’m gonna be stuck awake all night, I might as well be hopped up on sugar and caffeine.”
Grinning slightly, Nate said, “And so you’ll be bouncing off my walls. Thanks.” Rubbing his hands over his eyes, Nate gestured toward the icepack that was now pressed down on Eliot’s shoulder. “You want some ibuprofen? Or some Vicodin maybe?”
Eliot shook his head. “Already took some.”
Nate gazed at him for a moment. Finally, he asked, “So is it nightmares again? Or you just can’t relax enough to sleep?”
Taking a long sip of Coke, Eliot rang his fingers through his hair. The rest of the team would probably never directly asked Eliot something like that. They might offer up a few words of concern, but they didn’t pry or try to get into his head. But Nate was Nate, and he knew Eliot better than any of them. He knew how far he could push, and he knew that if he really wanted any information out of Eliot, sometimes he had to push.
After a few moments, Eliot said, “A little of both, I guess. It’s getting harder for me to unwind. And when I do… well.”
“Have you gotten any sleep at all?”
“Not really,” Eliot said. “I’m still wired from the job.” Not to mention the fact that almost every inch of his body throbbed. His lingering injuries from recent jobs coupled with the fact that he’d been tossed on his ass by Hardison’s cigarette bomb pretty much guaranteed several nights of aching muscles and bruised flesh and sleep deprivation.
Nate cleared his throat and started running a finger along a spot of condensation from his Coke can. “Yeah,” he said. “I sort of wanted to talk to you about this last job.”
Eliot let out breath. He didn’t have to ask what part of the job Nate wanted to talk about. He’d been expecting a chewing out since they’d wrapped up with their client. And he understood where Nate was coming from. After all, he’d gone to incredible lengths to rescue Eliot and Hardison from the militia, but they had thrown their chance of escape out the window because Hardison had wanted to play hero. But it had been the right thing to do, and Eliot suspected that if their positions had been reversed, Nate would have done the same thing.
Nate sat up a little straighter, apparently trying to conjure up as much authority as a guy could manage at 2 something in the morning while he was wearing plaid boxers. “So,” he said. “I’m pretty pissed off that you and Hardison ditched that train. But I understand why you did it.” He took a sip of Coke, then slumped back in his chair.
“Well, at least we had a plan,” Eliot said.
“A can of whoop ass is not a plan. Even if it worked.”
Eliot hunched forward, resting his elbows on the table. “I know how to handle a situation like that, Nate. I’ve been in way worse trouble than being chased by a bunch of wannabe soldiers. And I had Hardison’s back.”
“I get that,” Nate said. “And I know what you can do. I chased you for years. But you’re part of my team now, and my concern was to get my team to safety. I’m just telling you to get on the damn train next time.”
“Would you have been as worried if he had just been me in the woods?”
Nate sat up, looking a little blindsided by the question. Eliot wasn’t even sure why he had asked it, but the words sort of tumbled from his mouth before he’d had a chance to stop them. In truth, the question had been nipping at the back of his mind for weeks. Rationally, he knew Nate cared what happened to him-and so did the others. But there was a part of Eliot that needed reassurance, that needed someone to fuss over him.
“I don’t even know why you’d ask that.” Nate said. “But yeah, I’d have been as worried, if not more.”
Biting his lip, Eliot said, “Well, nobody seems worried about me half the time.”
“What are you talking about?” Nate asked. “I stole you a train.”
Crushing his now-empty can between his thumb and forefinger, Eliot said, “You stole us a train.”
Nate sat back in his chair and let out a breath. “What is this, Eliot? Are you still pissed that we didn’t answer you on the comms that time?”
Eliot scowled at the memory. “I don’t know, Nate. I just feel like you guys take for granted that I’ll be fine. And I’m not always fine.” His voice cracked a little during his last few words, causing him to wince internally. He sounded so needy tonight.
Nate laid a hand on Eliot’s shoulder. “Look, Eliot. If we seem to take you for granted, it’s because we all know how good you are at what you do. But don’t mistake that for us not caring about you. Because believe me, if anything happened to you, we’d all be gutted. Especially me.”
Biting his lip, Eliot said, “I just need to hear that sometimes.”
Giving Eliot’s shoulder a squeeze, Nate stood up and motioned for Eliot to follow him upstairs. “C’mon,” he said. “I want to have a better look at your injuries.”
Shaking his head, Eliot said, “You don’t need to.”
“Stop griping and come on,” Nate said. “And once I’m done, you’re gonna crash in my bedroom for a while, even if I have to knock you out.” He placed a hand between Eliot’s shoulder blades and steered him toward the stairs.
Eliot thought about arguing, but instead, he let Nate lead him upstairs, content to be fussed over if only for a little while.