A/N It has come to my attention that my story has been plagiarised an posted on another site by an…I hesitate to call her an author because I don't know if any of her so-called work is her own, I know she's been stealing from more than just me. I am taking steps to remedy this situation, but I wanted to warn the rest of you to watch out for her. Shezzi

A/N: Hey all, something new. Hope you like. In the vein of my most recent obsession, we have another Parker/Eliot hurt comfort (Parker Whump) fic. I don't own leverage, btw, just in case any of you are nuts enough to think I might. In answer to several requests, this will be a longer (multi-chapter) fic. Hope you like, please review! Love xx Shezzi

No one seemed to notice when she was a few minutes late, and Parker breathed a soft sigh of relief as she lowered herself carefully into her seat at the conference table. She knew that no one could see her injuries, and that as long as she didn't do anything stupid, no one should be able to notice them.

Eliot watched Parker come in, surprised that she had been late. She was always on time, if not early, for everything. As she had pointed out when Hardison called her on it once, a late thief tended to become a dead thief fairly fast. He watched now as she moved across the room, forcing himself not to frown as he noticed how stiffly she was moving, the slow way she lowered herself into the chair. They were the careful movements of someone trying to reduce core strain, but he didn't call her on it immediately because obviously she didn't want them to notice.

He was surprised that no one else commented on the blonde's decidedly out of character clothing. She had on a loose-fitting sweatshirt and cotton stretch sweatpants, her hair down and slightly lank looking. He's not deluded enough not to realize that he probably notices her more than anyone else on the team, his attraction and his nervousness about her unpredictable actions pretty much make that impossible, but he's still surprised that Sophie, in particular, hasn't commented on the little thief's wardrobe.

He realized that he had zoned on most of the briefing trying to figure out how badly she was hurt, and he tuned back in just in time to hear that he and Parker were actually staying in this time, this job calling for Hardison to go with Sophie and play/be the tech guy while Nate ran his own part, whatever that was. Neither the hitter nor the thief would be needed before nightfall unless things went seriously sideways.

They watched as the others left, Eliot promising to have something ready for dinner when they got back in, Parker making a garbled comment about luck and broken legs that he didn't even try to decipher. Once the others were out the door, he swiveled to look at her, frowning slightly at what he saw. She looked…blank. There was no emotion currently on her face, she was just staring at the wall, but in her eyes he could see pain.

Parker started to push herself up from the table, glad that no one had noticed, had called her on being hurt. She didn't want them to know, didn't want to give them the advantage over her. So when Eliot blocked her from getting out of her chair, she was startled. Startled, but not really surprised, because out of all the team, he's the one she'd expect to notice.

He's the one who watches all of them, who considers all of them under his protection, and she knows he probably watches her the most, she just isn't entirely sure why. She knows that she makes him nervous, and that he watches her because of that, but sometimes he gets this look in his eye, a look that she is both familiar and unfamiliar with, and she wishes she knew what it meant, wishes she could understand him the way Sophie or any other girl would be able to. She knows she likes him, but she doesn't think, or at least she's very unsure if, he likes her, even if his declarations of 'something is wrong with you' had taken on more of a playful tone lately.

Now, he's right in her face, his nose almost touching hers, and she freezes, waiting to see what he's going to do.

He's tossing up what he should do; give her the chance to tell him what's wrong, or just prove that something is and get on with dealing with it. He's a bit hurt that she didn't tell him and let him take care of her, but he understands the impulse not to, that instinct to crawl away and lick your wounds in private, to not expose your weakness. It's one that every one of them has.

"What's wrong, Parker?" he asked instead, watching her closely and seeing her consider what she's going to say.

He'll be mad. That's the first thing that pops into her head. He's going to yell at her for being stupid. And it was stupid, she knew better and could take better care of herself than this, or at least she used to be able to. She's starting to wonder if having other people to rely on is making her soft. She considers lying to him because she doesn't want him to get mad, but can tell just by looking at him that he's ready for that and he'll just be more upset by it.

"I'm fine," was the first thing that popped out of her mouth, not what she had been intending to say but there it was, her automatic response. Eliot just looked at her, raising one eyebrow. "It's not too bad, just a couple of ribs and some bruises," she insisted, wishing he would back off, his proximity making her decidedly uncomfortable now.

"Let me see," he ordered, moving back slightly to give her room to move.

"It's nothing, Eliot," she tried, looking at him in what she hoped was a pathetic way, anything to get him to leave her alone, to keep him from getting angry with her.

"I'll be the judge of that," he told her firmly, grabbing the zip on her loose fitting hoodie. He wasn't particularly surprised as he opened it to uncover her collarbones to find that she wasn't wearing anything under it; if she wasn't wearing her usual tight fitting tops there was a reason. He tugged it down the rest of the way and sucked in a deep breath, staring at the mottled bruises that were splashed vividly across the petite blonde's torso, his mind quickly reconstructing the basics of what must have happened for her to be bruised the way she was.

"Fuck, Parker, who did this to you?" He can't help the exclamation, but as soon as it's past his lips he knows it was the wrong thing to say. She shrinks in front of his eyes, pulling away from him, and tries to cover herself back up with her hoodie.

She'd known he'd get mad at her; how could he do anything else? She'd been stupid and gotten hurt. She shrank away from him, away from his anger. "I'm sorry," she mumbled, trying to close the hoodie, trying to get out from under his angry gaze.

"Darlin', darlin', no, I'm not angry at you," Eliot tried to reassure her, catching her hands gently in one of his and lifting her chin with the other to look her in the eye. "I am not angry with you," he repeated slowly.

Parker was confused. She'd known he was going to be angry, angry that she went out so late, angry that she let the guy get the drop on her, angry that she didn't get away in time, angry that she let him hurt her. His initial response, for all it scared her, had been what she was expecting, and now she was totally lost.

Eliot read the confusion on Parker's face, eight months of reading her emotions and thoughts making it easier than it had been in the beginning. "Darlin', I'm sorry I scared you. I'm not angry at you, I'm just worried. Can you tell me what happened?"

She swallowed hard, trying to moisten her throat before she began. "I…I was out of milk," she said softly, staring at the corner of the table blindly. "I was out of milk, so I went to the bodega. It was late, but…I wanted cereal. I was coming out and almost tripped over the newspapers that had been delivered while I was inside," she stopped for a moment, shaking her head.

"He came up behind me, I didn't hear him. I didn't hear him…" she swallowed again, forcing down the tears. "He grabbed me while I was off balance, shoved me into the alley. I was too slow and he was on me, hitting me. I finally managed to hit him and I got out of there. He was going to" she couldn't say the word, couldn't name what he was going to do to her. "Just because I wanted cereal."

Eliot breathed deeply, forcing his emotions down. It wasn't going to help her to see how upset what had happened made him. "Parker, darlin', will you let me take care of you? Please?"

Parker nodded slowly, and Eliot smiled. "Come on, let's get you onto my couch, I've got the kit in my office." Parker nodded and allowed him to help her up but shrugged his hands off and walked into his office under her own steam. She had made it all the way to work; she could make it into his office.

Eliot stopped in the kitchen to grab icepacks, towels and a bowl of warm water, because having looked more closely at her face he was fairly sure she was covering bruises there too. It was an expert job, but there was a slight puffiness to her left eye and cheek that bespoke an injury. He entered his office to find Parker curled in the corner of his couch, her face pressed against her legs as she hugged them tightly, her knuckles completely white beneath her skin.

He set the bowl, towels and icepacks down on his desk and crossed to the couch. He sat down just far enough away that he wasn't touching her, then reached out with one hand and stroked her hair. She flinched at his touch, then relaxed slightly into it, leaning her head against his palm but otherwise not moving.

Parker slipped into the office, struggling not to show how weak she was feeling. All he'd had to do was talk softly to her and she'd given in, given him the advantage over her. And it shouldn't matter because this was Eliot and he took care of all of them, but it did matter because she had given a man advantage over her, something she hadn't done in years. So she had curled up in the corner of his couch, making herself as small as possible, and waited to see what he was going to do about it.

She heard him come in and put something down on the desk before the couch sank slightly as he sat down, then a hand was touching her hair. One of his big hands, that she had seen cause so much damage, do so much violence, was gently stroking her hair. She froze, then forced herself to relax, reminding herself that this was Eliot, and that he took care of her, however much he might complain about having to do it. She leant into his touch, and when he tilted her head up, asking her to look at him, she didn't fight him.

"Parker, darlin', look at me," he ordered gently, resting his hand lightly on the side of her head. He tilted her face up carefully, seeing the puffiness surrounding her eye more clearly now as some of her makeup had worn off, the vivid colours of the bruises starting to show through. He had to admit that she was an expert at covering them up, and found himself wondering angrily just how much practice she had at it, and for how many years.

"I'm not going to hurt you," Eliot told her, then quickly qualified the statement. "Well, not on purpose, anyway." He paused and looked her in the eye. "Parker, you know I would never hurt you on purpose, right? Do you trust me?"

Did she trust him? It took all of Parker's self control, not that she really had all that much when it came to emotional responses, not to burst out laughing. She hadn't trusted a male in years. She didn't even really trust any members of her own sex, either, except maybe Sophie. But still, she found she wanted to say yes. "I…I trust you as much as I've ever trusted anyone," she settled on finally, looking at him from under lowered lids.

"Okay, darlin," he said gently. It was the most he had been hoping for; he knew none of them trusted easily and Parker…there was no doubt in his mind that Parker was the most damaged of all of them. "Let me look you over?"

Parker nodded slowly, unfolding out of the corner of the couch and letting Eliot help her move so that she sat with her legs stretched out in front of her, leaning against the armrest. Eliot knelt on the floor next to the couch and carefully slipped the hoodie completely off her, studying the bruising where it wrapped around to her back. Glancing up at her face to judge her reaction, he carefully placed one hand on her ribs and began carefully probing the bruised area. Parker winced, but there was no panic in the expression, so he kept going.

"I think you've cracked a couple, but they aren't broken," he reported a minute or so later. "Now, lets clean that cr…make up off your face and see how bad the damage is there, huh?"

"'s just a black eye," she told him, ducking her head slightly.

"Mmhmm…" Eliot said softly as he soaked a clothe in the bowl of warm water, then lifting her chin with one finger he began to clean away the makeup with gentle, smooth strokes.

She closed her eyes, allowing him to clean the makeup off completely, and sighed. "That feels good," she admitted softly, and he smiled at her.

"I'm glad, cos that shiner's a doozy," he told her, eyeing the bruising closely. He brought his hand up to her nose and squeezed it, nodding slightly when she flinched. "Not broken, though from the look of it it really should be. What did he do, slam you against a wall?"

"Yeah," she admitted softly. "I was already starting to twist around, copped it all on the left side. Dazed me a bit, let him get some hits in before I could pull myself together."

Eliot gritted his teeth at the description of the targeted blitz attack she had been subjected to. When he found this guy, he was going to regret being born, let alone taking so much as a finger to Eliot's gi…to Parker.

"Are you hurt anywhere else?" he asked her gently, and she shook her head. She was starting to shiver, though, so Eliot tugged the sage green mohair throw off the back of his couch and wrapped it around her shoulders. "Let me wrap your ribs and you can put your top back on," he told her.

"Thanks," Parker replied, smiling slightly, actually managing to keep her chin up and meet his eyes, which he took as a good sign. Eliot smiled tightly back at her, his mind already buzzing with ideas on how he might be able to track the guy down as he grabbed an elastic bandage and strapped her ribs firmly, taping it in place, then helped her back into her hoodie before grabbing the icepacks and arranging one on her ribs and the other on her face.

"I'll be right back," he told her softly, and she nodded, stretching out on the couch with the icepack covering one eye.

He made his way to the kitchen and paused. He clenched and unclenched his fist, putting all of his frustration and anger into the motion as he had learnt to, to center himself and keep himself on task. He grabbed a glass from the cupboard and quickly filled it with cold water before making his way back into his office. He set the glass on his desk and dug quickly through the drug section of his kit, pulling out the pills he needed.

"Take these," he ordered her, holding out the pills.

"What are they?" she asked, uncertain, eyeing the pills as though they were going to bite her.

"Ibuprofen and codeine," he replied, rattling the pills in his hand. "Take them. They'll help. There isn't enough painkiller to make you muzzy, but it'll take the edge off. It's what I use when I need something but need to stay alert."

"But if the dosage is enough for you…"

"That's why you're only takin' two, Parker. Believe me, I have to take at least four of these for it to do anything, and I double you in body mass, easily. Two is the correct dosage."

Parker frowned and, taking the pills in her hand, sniffed them suspiciously before tossing them back and taking a mouthful of water. "Good girl. Now, have you had anything to eat today?"

She shook her head, and he sighed. "Come on, then. Lets get you settled in the lounge where I can keep an eye on you and I'll make you some breakfast." He helped her off the couch, but when she moved deliberately away, allowed her to walk in the lounge under her own steam.

She sat down on the couch, hugging a pillow, and watched Eliot as he moved into the kitchen.

Eliot moved into the kitchen, glad to have something to do to vent some of his anger. He decided on making her an omelet, one with plenty of vegetables that would need to be chopped. He knew it wasn't really Parker's idea of breakfast, but the girl needed a better diet…who ever head of eating a fortune cookie for breakfast?

He washed the vegetables, even knowing they were organic he wasn't taking any chances, and besides, they'd been in the fridge with Hardison's soda. Who knew what that did to 'em.

He glanced over at Parker, who was watching his movements through half lidded eyes.

"Don't you go fallin' asleep now, darlin," he ordered, pointing the tip of the knife he was holding at her. "I'm not goin' to all this work if you're just gonna fall asleep and not appreciate it." He realized that he hadn't checked her for a concussion, but if she was attacked around the time the papers were delivered, that made it three am or thereabouts, which put them past the six-hour mark anyway.

He finished chopping the vegetables, concentrating closely on each slice of the blade, putting as much of what he was feeling into it as possible. His anger, his rage at what had been done to her, his helplessness at not having been there to stop it, everything he couldn't let her guess he was feeling right now for her sake.

He set a pan on the stove to heat as he broke the eggs into a bowl, putting the onion into the pan as he whisked the eggs together, adding salt and pepper and a dash of milk before pouring them into the pan, grinning at the angry hiss it made.

He finished plating up the omelet, splitting it between two large plates, grating fresh cheese over the top, and poured two glasses of orange juice. He handed one glass to Parker, setting the plates down on the table, before heading back into the kitchen for cutlery.

He turned back to the lounge to find Parker already holding her plate, attempting to tear a piece of omelet off with her fingers, and flinching each time the hot egg burned them.

"Parker, stop," he ordered, shaking his head slightly. "I've got cutlery."

"But I was hungry," she whined at him. He rolled his eyes, but refrained from bringing out his overused catchphrase.

"And have you actually managed to do anything about that in the ten seconds it took me to get cutlery? Or did you just burn your fingers?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.

Parker just rolled her eyes at him and stretched a hand out to take a fork, wincing when she over extended, eyes fluttering closed momentarily as she forcibly slowed her breathing, getting herself back under control.

Eliot dropped down beside her, one hand going to her shoulder and rubbing gently, the other taking her plate to keep her from losing her breakfast as he watched her bring herself back under control. He sighed as he watched her clamp down on her expression once more; as much as he had been watching her, he didn't realize how much of what they saw of Parker was an act. Not the crazy; that was just her. But her lack of emotional affect, that was the act. She felt, she just didn't want people to have power over her by them knowing what she felt, and she didn't know how to deal with it herself.

Once she was back in control, he handed her her plate and fork before taking his own seat. "Eat," he ordered, pointing at her with his fork before digging into his own food.

For her part, Parker didn't require much encouragement. The food smelt amazing, the same as anything Eliot cooked, and she was suddenly starving. She hadn't eaten once she'd gotten back to her apartment, she'd showered, over and over until she ran out of hot water and beyond, scrubbing her skin until it was pink. She knew she'd rubbed a few spots on her legs raw, her skin crawling with past touches recalled to the present by her knowledge of her attacker's intentions. So now she plowed into the omelet with gusto, devouring half of it before pausing and taking a sip from her glass before she recommenced eating at a more sedate pace.

Eliot watched her eat, glad to see that however shaken up she was, some things didn't change. She was like a hoover on legs, and he honestly had no idea where she put everything she ate, but he'd learned to cook to compensate for it.

She was starting to fade now, he could see it. With the drugs, however mild they were, in her system and a warm meal in her stomach she was starting to relax. He saw the plate starting to slip from her grip, and reached over carefully and took it gently from her. He took the plates into the kitchen, putting them and his dishes in the sink, then returned to the lounge and tucked an afghan over the somnolent form of the little thief. He brushed a hand over her hair, fingers gently skirting the edge of the bruise, before he returned his attention to the washing up.

He still needed to talk to her, both about what they were going to tell the others, and the man who had attacked her. He needed to know who he was going to kill, after all.