It was warm inside Lucille. Rain slid down the wind-shield, blurring the passing city, and the steady whoosh-whoosh-whoosh of the wipers mixed with the faint Beatles song that played on the radio to create an unusual but soothing lullaby.
Eliot lay on the floor in the back of the van, his head in Sophie's soft lap. He'd tried to stay upright, tried to stay alert, but he could barely keep his eyes open. Sophie had one hand on his chest and the other at the top of his head, stroking his hair away from the bloody mess that was his face. He'd told her not to let him go to sleep, so she was humming, off-key, along with the radio. She smelled like jasmine.
His eyelids drooped.
"All your life…"
Her gentle fingers rubbed little circles on his chest, and vaguely he heard Parker's quiet voice. "Is he asleep?"
"You were only waiting…"
He blinked. He felt so childlike; warm and sleepy and…loved. Was this what dying felt like? It wasn't what he'd expected. He always thought he'd die somewhere cold, somewhere damp...alone and scared. To die here, in the arms of one of the women he loved more than anything…that was so much more than he deserved.
"For this moment to arrive…"
He closed his eyes, a small sigh escaping. Maybe now was a good time to decide if he believed in God.
"Eliot?" Sophie touched his face and he blinked, confused. He took a breath and mumbled, "I'm still here?"
Yeah, he was definitely still there. The bones in his fingers were still broken, his shoulder was still dislocated and his face was still hamburger meat. And Sophie was still there, and she still smelled like jasmine, and Parker was still bitching about the toy Hardison built for her, and this was his family and he couldn't go yet. He still needed them. Without them, he was just a bad guy with a lot of blood on his hands. With them…he was a brother, a best friend, a mentor, a protector...
With them, he was a good guy.
He was a hero.