People can't see in colour, only black and white and endless shades of grey, until they find their soulmate, that one individual they are meant to have. Nobody knows why or how it is; they'd given up on finding the cause of it a long time ago. Some things are best left a mystery. And doesn't it sound so much…more to say that one's life is devoid of colour because they lack the other half of themselves rather than because of some biological function involving chemicals and reactions and neurotransmitters in the brain?
Eliot had very quietly given up on finding on his a long time ago, though he wouldn't admit it aloud. He's a romantic at heart and knows it, but reality has a very unfortunate habit of kicking romance right out the highest window it can find. Not to mention the sheer size of the world. Trying to find one needle in a haystack of seven-odd billion? A part of him is almost grateful he hasn't, anyways, because who would even want him at this point? Not to mention, he would be in a constant state of worry for their lives because nobody lives the way he does for as long as he has without gaining a list of enemies a mile long.
No, instead, he settles himself with his team.
Parker and Hardison are soulmates, which surprises him and also really doesn't. Parker being, well...Parker, she hadn't even tried to hide it. When she met Hardison, she had laughed aloud and said gleefully, "Hey, you're wearing different coloured socks! Hey, so am I!" Hardison had made a noise like a chicken that had its neck improperly wrung before escaping the hands of the executioner and nearly fainted.
He's not really sure about Nate and Sophie. According to Hardison, Sophie's clothes always match, and so do Nate's, but then there's also Maggie, and very rarely do people marry someone that's not their soulmate, so...
They're his crew, and he loves them (yes, even Nate, the ass) and that's good enough. Parker, in her tactless but heartfelt way, informs him that if he never finds his soulmate, then he can be hers and Hardison's instead. There's no rules in the soulmate handbook that says they can't, and she doesn't care about rules anyway, they're stupid. He wants to explain to her that it doesn't really work that way, and he'll still be seeing black and white, but he doesn't have the heart to do it. Even though he still sometimes aches when he sees Parker curled around Hardison so peacefully, he doesn't hold it against them.
So he doesn't have a soulmate, but that's alright. He's got his crew, and that's good enough.
But that's all before they make the move to Portland, and he realises that even if the world is a big fucking place, fate and coincidence still join forces to give people a good kick in the ass in the right direction.
Eliot's favourite colour is red. Which, considering what he does, is more than a little ironic. But his favourite colour is red nonetheless and always will be, because that is the first colour he ever sees.
His first colour is red, the vivid shade of the curling tumble of hair spilling down her back, so bright it burns, and then other colours start leaching in, too: the pale green of her top, the yellow of the roses on her skirt, the magenta of her tights. Only once she's entirely in colour does the rest of the world begin to fill in, too. She's sitting at the bar, her back to him, tracing her fingers smoothly through the air in front of her. Eliot walks up behind her, barely aware of his feet moving at all, and touches her shoulder. She startles halfway off her seat, spinning around to face him and then freezing all at once when she looks at him, like a deer in the high beams.
"I—You're—It's you," he blurts out. Real smooth, Spencer.
She stares at him, eyes wide and mouth open, then...she laughs at him, laughs like he's the funniest thing she's ever seen in her life. He's a little hurt and almost angry for a moment, but then she kisses him sweetly and asks if has a twin brother named Jacob.
Eliot laughs, too, then.
Cassandra's not given up all hope of finding her soulmate just yet, though at one point, she had. But that was before her surgery, and her life is no longer confined to the short leash the brain grape had it on. Her new gift is a little bit terrifying, but she'll take terrifying over terminal any day. Which is why she's strolling through Portland right now. All the months she's been living in the city, and she's never actually gone to see the sights.
She's staying close to the river for now, simply because it would be horrifically embarrassing for her to get lost in the city she's been living in for nearly three years now. It's how she finds her way to the Bridgeport Brew Pub. It's a newer place, but she's heard it's pretty good.
She sits at the bar and idly plays with her visualisations; as long as she keeps it small, it's not that hard to keep a handle on, and she thinks that if she keeps this up, she'll be in control of it sooner rather than later. She's so busy toying around with a new equation that she doesn't hear someone come up behind her. When a warm, callused hand brushes her shoulder, it startles her so much she nearly falls off her chair, clumsily turning around to see whoever it is that's—oh.
Cassandra's favourite colour is blue.
It's the first colour that floods her vision, filling in the shades of grey she's been seeing her entire life so far. Cassandra's favourite colour is blue, but she thinks that the shade of his eyes is the best blue of all, because that's what she sees first, his eyes, and then he's all at once in colour. He must've gotten lucky when he got dressed this morning, because he's wearing all blue: his trainers, his jeans, his button-up and the Henley under it, they're all in varying hues of blue. The only things that don't match are his socks, which are green, and the bandana tied around one wrist, which is red.
"I—You're—It's you," the man in front of her says, and oh, he is blue all over, but his voice is purple, a deep, rich shade of violet that shivers across her skin like velvet rubbed the wrong way, or silk drawn across wet marble.
For a moment, she can only stare at him as her brain reels from all the colours that are exploding in her head, connecting to numbers and textures and sounds inside this new gift of hers, smoothing away tangles that haven't always been there. And then she laughs.
She has to, because it's Jacob. It's not actually him, she knows that. For all she likes him, Jacob has never made her see colour, but this man is identical to him, with the exception of his hair, which is long and practically begging to have her hands run through it. Other than that, he could've been Jacob's reflection. So, she laughs at the sheer absurdity and the impossibility of the odds, until she notices that he isn't at all amused. He must think she's laughing at him.
Biting back her giggles, she leans forward on impulse and kisses him. His stubble is rough, but his lips are pleasantly soft, and he tastes like candied pecans. "Do you, by any chance, have a brother named Jacob Stone?" she asks. She knows that Jacob has siblings, he's mentioned them before, and at least one brother.
His frown immediately dissolves into a broad grin, confirming her suspicion, and then he's laughing, too, just as hard as she is.
When they finally get their hysterics under control, she's unconsciously moved in so she's standing directly in his personal space, her arms coming up to settle around his neck. His hands rest on her waist, warm and firm. "I have something to tell you," she murmurs. She has to tell him about the Library. Soulmates do come with a few downsides and one of them is that they are incapable of lying to each other. The studies that have been done show a wide variety of physiological responses when they try to, but it all boils down to the same thing—they can't lie to each other.
"So do I," he replies, his smile smoothing away into another little frown. His voice carries an undercurrent of worry to it, but she knows that if they're going to start comparing crazy stories, she's so going to win.
She tightens her arms around him, and he comes without resistance, hugging him close. Resting her cheek against his shoulder, she quietly wonders if anyone's actually chosen not to be with their soulmates once they've found each other.
It's at least another month before she actually gets around to taking Eliot to the Library. Partly because she's afraid of how he's going to react. Of the few people that have actually caught on, they've all reacted with varying degrees of awe and wonder, but she knows that the law of averages demands that eventually someone is going to react a little less enthusiastically. And partly because she almost doesn't want anyone else to know about him yet. Eliot is hers now, and she kind of likes having him all to herself. It's not like her, but one night, Eliot admits he has that same feeling, like she's some treasured little secret just for him.
He hasn't told her about his secret yet, either, and she knows that it's for the same reasons. She's not sure what could be as much of a deal-breaker as magic, short of criminal activity, but she doesn't press, even though she could make him tell her if she wanted. He's already promised to tell her, and she'll wait if she needs to. She's waited this long for him, a little while more won't hurt.
But she finally gets up the nerve to tell the others to meet her in the Annex, she has something to show them, and tells Eliot to drive to the St. Johns Bridge.
It doesn't go as well as Cassandra hoped it would have.
Ezekiel and Jenkins take it best. Eve and Jacob...a little less so.
Jenkins shakes his head and grumbles something about being expected to put up with two of them now, then succinctly informs Eliot that if he tells anyone about the Library, he'll be fed to Little Ness. Not that Little Ness is even big enough to hurt anything larger than a cat, or that Cassandra would ever let him go through with it...but the threat of the Loch Ness Monster alone kind of does it.
Ezekiel just laughs and asks if cowboys are on a two for one sale somewhere, and where can he get one?
Eve nearly shoots Eliot, and if it weren't for Cassandra standing between them, she thinks the Guardian might have done it, at least non-fatally. They obviously know each other, and it's obviously not a pleasant acquaintance. But finally, Eve winds down and says they'll be having a long talk soon, which Eliot agrees to. Cassandra's not sure what that means, but Eliot only shakes his head and promises to explain later.
Jacob, as it turns out, is not 100% happy to see Eliot again. Matter of fact, once the others have cleared out to give the brothers some space, the historian walks up and without a word, punches Eliot in the face as hard as he can. He apologises for it after, and Eliot agrees that he did deserve it.
Cassandra isn't apologising for kicking Jacob in the shins, though. She has dibs on Eliot now, and nobody gets to break her things.
It takes at least another month to get around to introducing her to his crew. Eliot knows he has no reasonable excuse for avoiding it. She works in a magic Library (which is the coolest fucking thing, ever) and if she can handle that, knowing that he's technically part of a criminal enterprise should be nothing. But that's a part of the problem. He's not supposed to tell anyone about the Library, and he can absolutely see the need for secrecy there. And he also works with four of the most inherently nosy people on the damn planet. He's honestly a little surprised Nate hasn't asked him about Cassandra already. Telling them not to press would only make them more curious, of course, and there was a very real chance that Parker might just decide to follow Cassandra and break into the Library herself.
"They're gonna find out, Cass. I promise, they will. They can't help themselves. Someone says the word 'secret,' and it's like damn catnip. They're gonna find out, one way or another. 'Cause they have to look into it, and the less they find, the more suspicious they get, and the more they dig into it. See what I'm getting at?" he explains, frustrated and torn. He wants Cassandra to meet his crew, and he also really, really doesn't.
She leans over the back of his chair to wrap her arms around his neck; her hair spills over his shoulder, red curls striking against the dark blue of his jumper. Eliot sighs happily as the contact soothes his frayed nerves, turning his head slightly to inhale the peaches-and-cream scent of her hair. "We'll figure it out when we get to it. They're not going to be as bad as my team," she reasons, which is true; none of his crew has reason to punch, maim, and/or shoot her.
"Fine," he relents. Putty in her damn hands, that's what he is.
The reactions of his crew are almost as varied as her team's. Sophie smiles and says that it was about bloody time. Hardison only has to hear the words 'mathematical prodigy' for him to immediately vote her an honorary member of the crew. Nate looks vaguely concerned, and Eliot knows it's because he thinks that this might impede Eliot's ability to work. Which it won't. Having a soulmate doesn't automatically means he's a marshmallow, and he'll still kick in teeth as required.
Parker isn't too thrilled, either, but for a different reason. She's more worried that Eliot is going to leave them now, like that's actually an option at this point. "You were our Eliot first," she protests, pouting from where she's wrapped herself around Hardison like an affectionate octopus. "She doesn't get to take you away."
"I'm not going anywhere," Eliot insists, amused despite himself. Cassandra wouldn't ask it of him anyways, just as he wouldn't think to ask her to leave the Library. There are some things that a person is simply born to do, and they wouldn't be proper soulmates if they didn't allow each other to follow those paths. Besides, he had told Cassandra before they arrived about how Parker had made the offer to 'adopt' him as another soulmate, and she absolutely adores the thief.
Parker doesn't quite believe him, though, until Cassandra asks her, "Would you stop stealing if Hardison asked you to? Would you ask him to stop doing what he does?"
The blonde actually stops to think about it for a moment, looking down at Hardison from where she's moved to perch on a ceiling rafter like a very strange gargoyle. "No," she replies at last, then blinks and turns her gaze back down to Cassandra. "And you wouldn't ask Eliot, either, would you?"
"No. Because I already know the answer."
Parker takes a shine to Cassandra after that, and Eliot will never forget the day he walked in to find Cassandra sitting on the sofa behind Parker, braiding the blonde's hair with green ribbons as Parker industriously polishes her climbing rigs, the two deep in conversation about the different tensile and compressive strengths of metals as it pertains to cracking a safe (which of course Cassandra knows about, because come right down to it, everything is math) and which ones are better than others.
"We've created a monster," Hardison observes, and Eliot has to agree.
Eliot's right.
It only takes his crew six weeks to figure out that Cassandra is not quite so pedestrian as she looks. Apparently, the Library gives its Librarians some kind of charm so they show up a whole lot less than on cameras and security footage, which immediately makes Hardison suspicious, which in turn makes Parker curious. And once Parker gets hold of an idea, she doesn't just drop it, and of course she bounces ideas off Sophie, who tells Nate.
So, one night, Hardison closes the brewpub early, and the Librarians come to visit, including the old man, Jenkins, who never leaves the Annex according to Cassandra, and a sixth man that Eliot hasn't met yet, tall and gangly. They explain the basics, strictly need-to-know. Magic is real, it is not nearly as fun as it sounds, and it can actually be more dangerous than a loose nuke if used the wrong way. The Library keeps it safe, the Librarians collect the magic and keep it secret.
Nate, being the complete ass that he is, nearly gets into a physical fight with Baird before the night is over, but Mr. Tall and Gangly, who Cassandra identifies as Flynn, the senior Librarian, takes out a flying sword. An honest to God flying sword that he introduces as Excalibur. The Excalibur, the sword in the damn stone itself. Nate shuts up real fast when Excalibur spins through the air and cuts the legs out from under the chair he's sitting in.
It takes nearly the whole night, but they finally come to a decent truce. Jenkins has a bottle with him that contains water from the Cup of Lethe. A shot of it would erase their memories of the night; a full glass would give them retrograde amnesia. If anyone thinks they can't keep the secret, they can have a sip of it now and go about business like normal tomorrow. If they spill the beans, well, it's not the first time the Library's had to do a bit of damage control. Eliot knows that 'damage control' is never pretty, but he thinks that the Library's version of it might be worse. Maybe they won't end up in an unmarked grave, but they could wake up with no memory of anything after 1997. And since what Cassandra's told him about Jenkins is true, he knows the old man will do it, too.
Nate doesn't do well with threats, and Eliot worries for a moment that he'll actually be stupid enough to lock horns with a man who sat at the original Round Table. Jenkins isn't intimidated, though, and calmly goes on to explain option number two. It's not the first time in history that a few outsiders have found out about the Library, and it certainly won't be the last, either. As long as they keep the secret, they can be a part of it. They won't be allowed to just up and walk into the Annex whenever they want, and they certainly won't be allowed to play with the magic stuff, but if they ever need help (and God knows they will, sooner than later) the resources of the Library are open to them. More and more magic is seeping into the world, and more often than not, it ends up in the hands of the people the crew likes to take down, those who are willing to do anything to get and keep power. They're bound to intersect, and it would be better they not go in blind.
Parker agrees first, which Eliot had kind of seen coming. She's been playing tag with Excalibur for the past twenty minutes now, and she's already best friends with Cassandra somehow. Even if the blonde has virtually no brain-to-mouth filter, she can keep a secret better than nearly anyone Eliot knows. Hardison is right behind her, especially once he hears that magic is being successfully integrated into new technology, which sounds mildly terrifying. Sophie takes a moment, but she finally agrees, too. She doesn't want to know about the magic beyond what she needs to; Eliot thinks that it scares her, and he doesn't blame her one bit for that. He's a little scared of it. Nate protests the most and longest, of course, but even he can't hold up for too long against the combined forces of Sophie and Parker's pleading puppy-eyes. Although he is stubborn and has the littlest bit of a superiority complex, even he knows that there is no arguing with an institution that's been standing since the Second Punic War.
And that's that.
And since nobody was maimed in any way, Eliot counts it as a win.
"I'm not a good person, Cassie," Eliot points out one night, when they're sitting in front of the fireplace in her room of the Annex; he's allowed in here whenever he wants, only because Jenkins knows he's not going to walk off with anything; he'll leave the magic to the pros. She's curled up in his lap, wrapped around him the way Parker wraps herself around Hardison, and now he understands why the hacker never shrugs her off. He winds and unwinds a curl of her hair around his forefinger, admiring the way the firelight richens the colour, picking out the odd strand of gold and bronze in the midst of the burnished copper.
His knuckles are scraped raw and bloody, and the corner of his mouth is still throbbing where some punk got in a lucky shot. One of them had probably only been twenty-five, no older, and if they're lucky, they'll be able to walk on that leg again in a few months. It's only Monday, too. He tilts his hand a little, staring at the raw red wounds on his skin. He hates the blood, hates what it means, and yet, it's his favourite colour. How delightfully ironic.
She lifts her head from his shoulder to stare at him, and the warm firelight makes her eyes appear purple, Liz Taylor violet, and he wonders if it does the same to him, red mixing with blue. "That doesn't matter, Eliot," she replies.
"It should."
"No. It doesn't matter if you're a good person or not, Eliot. You're my person, and that's what's important. I know what you've done, and I'm still here. I'm your person, too. Besides, everyone's a bit of both. Now hush and stop trying to scare me off." She lowers her head to his shoulder, effectively ending the conversation, and snuggles into him.
Eliot's not sure if he was trying to scare her away, but...maybe he was. He has a habit of doing that from time to time. Like a woman who's gone toe-to-toe with a dragon is going to be frightened by him. Smiling, he rests his chin atop her head and hums softly in his throat because according to her, when he hums, he sounds like purple and tastes like sugar cane. He didn't know that a colour could sound like anything, but he's not arguing.
Eliot thinks he's the red one, and she is the blue, but he's not quite sure that's true. Not many people have seen Cassandra's red side, but she has one. There are times when she's so full of anger that he can feel it coming off her like heat, and then he is the cool blue that calms her down, the steady control that he's had years to hone down to an art.
Red and blue. He sees the colours everywhere, in everything and everyone. They're both made up of a mix of the two, and he thinks that everyone is in shades of purple. A bit of both, good and bad. Eliot thinks he would be aubergine; that's the colour Cassandra says the low, rough timbre of his voice sounds like when he speaks. A little on the darker side of purple, but not a bad colour at all. And if he's aubergine, then he imagines Cassandra would be plum, a deep, rich colour very like aubergine, but a great deal sweeter.
Jacob would be burgundy, then, and Baird a shade of orchid. Jenkins is byzantine. Sophie is a sunrise, and Nate is a sunset. Parker is lavender, and Hardison is lilac. He's not sure yet what kind of purple that little punk-ass Jones is, but if he's as much like Parker as he seems, maybe periwinkle.
Similar colours but endlessly different. Red and blue. Opposites and intrinsically alike.
He smiles into Cassandra's soft red hair, his favourite colour, and muses on the peculiar miracle of soulmates.