Title: "Stealing at Christmas Time"
Author: Pirate Turner
Dedicated To: This is the third Christmas story of my 12 Days of Christmas 2012 series for my beloved and wonderful husband, Jack aka Drew, who's always such an inspiration, and also our sweet children! Thank you, my darling soul mate! I love you!
Rating: PG
Summary: Eliot's men are being downed.
Disclaimer: All recognizable characters, names, codenames, places, items, fandoms, titles, and etc. are always © & TM their respective owners, not the author, and are used without permission. Any and all original characters and everything else is © & TM the author and may not be reproduced in any way without the author's express, written permission. The author makes absolutely no profit off of this work of fan fiction, and no copyright infringement is intended.
Author's Note: 244. That's the number of stories that were sitting on my hard drive collecting dust because I lack the energy and time to take care of them as I once did. My betaing pattern has always been to write, then type up if written on paper, the story, read it aloud to my beloved Jack and our children, editing as I go, and then finally format and post. Sadly, this part is simply taking too much of my time and energy, and my beloved Jack and I have too little time together in person these days to be able to keep up with my stories. So what to do? Give up writing? I actually considered it for a while, tried to make excuses to myself other than the large number of stories collecting cyber dust on my computer, as to why I lacked the energy and Muse to write new tales. And then, with the turn of the new year, I decided to stop running and face the problem. The problem is, quite frankly, that once one gets so bogged down in formatting and editing that writing is no longer a pleasure but the actual posting of those writings becomes a hassle and - egad! - work, it's time to cut something out, and that will never be the writing process. So, in short, yes, there will be mistakes in this tale. Yes, it's missing about half of the header information I usually include. But I wrote it for pleasure and am posting it in hopes of sharing that pleasure with others. Do with it as you will.
Eliot had always taken guard duty seriously. He would lay down his life for any of his charges, but none so more quickly than for those he considered his. He'd always been a primal man, and when it came to those he considered his, Eliot was very predatorial. He wanted to break the neck of every goon who touched Sophie and Parker uninvited and had done so more than once to those who'd condemned Alec as a weak and geeky nerd.
Now, yet again, those who were his were being messed with, and Eliot was ready to snap. He'd had three dozen freshly under his care when they'd started to disappear. Already, a dozen had been taken, and Eliot knew that if he turned his back, another one or two would be swiped out of commission.
He looked at their little faces and felt the rage building within him. They should be safe here in Nate's penthouse which his team was using for headquarters. They were, too, safe from every one - every one but his own team mates. There could be no other explanation for it: Eliot had been betrayed. One of his own was stealing his little people right out from under him!
Eliot tried to remain calm and think things through. This wasn't Sophie's style. She'd be all over him like a second skin, doing her best to distract him with her hot and willing body, if she wanted to take something from him. It wasn't Nate, either; he was buried too deeply in his whisky bottles to give a damn about anything right now. In fact, he was part of the reason why Eliot had chosen to take on this particular mission.
They could deny it all they wanted, but Eliot knew that all those for whom he cared the most were still children at heart. No adult he'd ever known was more a kid than the very person he was beginning to suspect was stealing from him now. "Parker," he growled under his breath and turned his back to lay a trap.
It worked perfectly, too, because this time, he was expecting to be attacked. He felt the air move as his enemy dropped in. His hand closed around a spoon. He forced himself to remain calm and patient. If he moved too soon, he'd lose her. He had to wait for just the right moment.
The thief's small frame dropped toward the table. Eliot waited until she skimmed the top of the table. Only then did he turn around to catch her red handed.
It wasn't Parker. "HARDISON!" Eliot thundered. He'd known the geek wouldn't have the agility or guts to come through the ceiling. He'd locked the doors to the room to try to avoid him and Parker in the first place when he'd started his mission - not that a locked door had ever been known to keep the blonde thief out.
He'd taken every precaution he could, but he hadn't planned for the hacker's gadgets. Now Eliot jumped, wrapped his fingers around the wire dangling from the ceiling in a tight fist, and yanked with all his might. He grinned in satisfaction, a wicked gleam lighting his dangerous eyes, as he heard Alec yell in the next room. "OW!"
That was the opportunity for whence the best thief amongst them had been waiting patiently. While Eliot still had both his hands full with the wire Alec had been using to pick up men one at a time by a little claw on the end of the wire, Parker made her move. She dashed through the door she'd long ago unlocked, zipped to the table, and grabbed handfuls of her target. She was gone in a flash every bit as swift as the one in which she'd appeared, leaving Eliot yelling after her, "PARKER!"
His fists slammed down onto the counter. He surveyed what was left of his men - a mere dozen. He growled. "Don't reckon ya'd act any different if ya'd known they were fer y'all," he drawled, telling himself they wouldn't and he should've known a locked door would never delay Parker.
Parker stuck her head back into the kitchen. Eliot knew her mouth was full with the head of one of his men before she ever spoke. "They were?" she questioned, spitting gingerbread everywhere.
"Aw, man!" Eliot heard Alec's voice crackle over the wire he still held. The hitter yanked the wire. "OW! OW! NOW THAT WAS JUST MEAN, MAN!"
"It wasn't that mean, " Eliot countered. "What's mean is when a guy can't even cook Christmas treats for his friends without those so-called friends stealing his food!"
Parker's face fell. She looked both certifiably guilty and honestly upset. "I'm sorry," she apologized, edging back into the room. She gently laid the remains of the last gingerbread man she'd been eating onto the table.
Eliot gawked at it. How in the Hell did a girl eat so many sweets so quickly and yet retain the figure of a beanpole like Parker?! He guessed jumping off of so many buildings during a night had to have something to do with it. Maybe the calories flew off when she fell through the air.
It hardly matters now, he thought, unaware that he was actually pouting. What mattered was he was down two dozen gingerbread men!
"Aw, man," Alec spoke suddenly next to his ear. He swung a friendly arm around Eliot's muscular shoulders. "I'm sorry, dude. Really, I am. We didn't know they were for us!"
"That's the only reason you're sorry," Eliot growled.
"No, no, really!" Alec rubbed his shoulders; Eliot snatched away from him and glowered at the friendly hacker. "We get it. It sucks for a master of the culinary arts, such as yourself, to not be able to have the privacy to create your culinary masterpieces without them being tampered with."
"You mean stolen," Eliot growled, his eyes flashing fiercely, "eaten, devoured - "
"Yeah, yeah, yeah. But I'll tell ya what. You go back to cooking, and we'll leave you alone to create your masterpieces. Even Rembrandt would be jealous, you know."
Parker sniggered but quieted when both Alec and Eliot shifted their glares to her. "He would be jealous," Hardison insisted. "He may have been a master with brushes and paints, but I bet he was lost in the kitchen."
"And I bet," Parker piped up, trying to hide her grin, "he never had anybody cook for him!" She certainly hadn't - until Eliot. And she'd repaid his kindness by stealing from him. She reached out and gingerly touched the crumpling head of the gingerbread man she'd taken out of her mouth. She snatched her hand away when more crumbs fell off of it.
Eliot began to cave as he witnessed Parker's childlike concern. "Ain't gonna do me any good," he drawled as much to himself as to them. "Y'all'll just steal 'em again."
"No, no, we won't!" Alec offered him a salute that was intended to indicate that he was speaking the truth.
Eliot glowered at his spread, dark fingers. "I don't take Vulcan oaths."
"Well, then, take my oath, man, as your friend! Come on, dude, it's Christmas!"
"I heard it's supposed to be the season of forgiving or some such," offered Parker. "Santa Claus would forgive us."
"Ya didn't steal from Santa."
"Girl," Alec started in, "how many times do I gotta tell? Santa Claus is not - "
"Okay, I'll do it," Eliot cut in before the hacker could dash more of Parker's innocent dreams. "Now, both of you, out!"
"Okay, okay, we're going!" But as they walked out, Parker turned to Alec, and Eliot heard her ask, "What wouldn't Santa Claus do?"
Eliot growled, snatching up his beater, and turned it on to get Alec's attention. Hardison's skin turned a lighter shade as he looked back and saw Eliot standing with the beater spinning in his hands and his eyes appearing almost to glow. Alec gulped and said quickly, "He's not going to forgive our thievin' asses."
"I don't know about that," Parker mused thoughtfully as she shut the door behind them. "Eliot did."
At last alone in the kitchen, Eliot looked down at his plate of Christmas cookies and yelled his indignation. His last dozen had been stolen, and so had been the one whose head Parker had left!
Rooms away, Nate smiled down at the gingerbread man held in his hand. Eliot would never expect the thief was him. He grinned as he heard him cussing, yelling, and yet resuming cooking and ate his stolen cookies. The Christmas season was well in swing.
It was that very thought, however, that kept Eliot from running down Hardison and Parker. It was Christmas, and he'd enjoy his holiday, no matter who did what. He'd bake his cookies tonight, - and tomorrow, he'd beat the ginger out of Alec and Parker.
He started singing Christmas carols as he resumed his cooking in full swing. He grinned as his conversation with his friends floated back to him. Hardison was right on one thing: Rembrandt had never had an Eliot cook for him!
The End