Sunday was football day. Sunday was football day on the big screen at the office, and there was not a damn thing in the universe that was going to stop Eliot from watching the game. Just yesterday, his Saturday sports viewing had been ruined by Parker and Hardison and whatever it is they got up to when he left them at the office, sensing he would not want to be around for the rest of the day. Especially since he knew Parker would have taken his advice, and he was good. Damn good.
He discovered he was right about the previous day as he walked into the office. The kitchen, his kitchen, was a disaster! Something that looked suspiciously like a puddle of orange soda was spread across his floor. Hot pocket sleeves and fortune cookie wrappers littered the counter. And oh dear god, was that chocolate sauce smeared on the refrigerator? Eliot decided he didn't want to know how it had gotten there. They are cleaning this. Twice.
Realizing it was a bad idea but unable to stop himself, Eliot dared a walk into Hardison's office. The scene surprised him, but not in the way he had expected. Everything looked normal. Nothing looked broken, or even messy. It was then that he looked down and laughed at what he saw; whole clumps of the carpet were gone, just gone! Bare spots littered the entire floor. Wonder if that was Hardison or Parker? Probably Hardison, Parker've found a way to involve fire. And then he noticed the faint burning smell and the singe marks that accompanied some of the bare spots. Oh lord. He really, really didn't want to know. Still, he found himself grinning for his friends. They were just crazy enough to suit each other. Shaking his head, he headed back to the tv, opening the fridge with his foot and grabbing the beer the furthest away from the orange soda.
Eliot had just settled into the couch, beer in one hand, remote in other, when he heard the back door burst open then slam shut, accompanied by a guttural sound of frustration. He immediately jumped up, grabbing one of the many knives hidden in the office, and went to investigate. Clutching the knife, he ventured into the conference room, where the back door led into. Peering around the corner, he lowered the knife as he realized it was just Sophie. What's she doing here? Probably another fight with Nate . It's getting worse with those two. Sophie stood at the conference table, hands clutched to the back of a chair, eyes closed and head down, seemingly trying to compose herself. Aware that she hadn't heard him come in, Eliot cleared his throat and walked to the table, placing the knife on the opposite side of where they stood.
Sophie looked up, startled, and Eliot was filled with an intense urge to hurt something, or more likely, someone. That someone probably being Nate. Sophie's face would've been comical if he didn't know her. She was red and blotchy, mascara tracks running down both cheeks. But the look on her face made Eliot unable to find the humor. Sophie looked horrible. Still beautiful of course, always beautiful to him, but Eliot had never seen her look as sad and defeated as she did now. The urge to rain down pain was rising again, but he pushed it back down, knowing it wouldn't do any good.
He ran a hand through his hair, cursing when he realized it was still pulled back. "What happened?"
Sophie ran her hands across her face, trying but failing to remove the makeup. She gave up in frustration and dropped her hands to her sides. "It's nothing. I just got into an argument. It's been a rough day, already. And it's only just noon."
"Nate?" Eliot asked, probably too gruffly. Sophie just nodded and rolled her eyes, as if to say, who else?
It took all the strength he had, and he had a considerable amount, not to close the distance between them and pull Sophie into a hug. He wasn't sure which one of them that it would disturb more. Instead he settled on leaning his head towards the other side of the office,
"C'mon then, I'll make you some tea." Sophie looked surprised but followed him to the kitchen.
Eliot turned on the kettle and found her favorite mug, putting in a bag of her favorite tea. If Sophie noticed his selections, she kept it to herself. Keeping his back to her, Eliot ran a clean cloth under the warm water, staying a moment longer than needed, letting the water soothe him a bit. Turning back to Sophie, he made to bring the cloth to her face, but faltered midway and pressed it into her hands instead. She gave him a grateful look and raised it to her cheeks. Deciding there was something seriously wrong with him for finding the motion arousing, Eliot spun on his heels to face the kettle once again.
A long minute later, the kettle whistled and Eliot poured the water into Sophie's cup, passing it to her, along with a dishcloth. After all, it was very hot. She had tossed the warm cloth she had used into the sink, which made Eliot wonder how he had missed the sound. He was distracted, but then again, Sophie could do that to a man. Or woman. Or lizard. He'd like to see anybody try and not respond to her. He'd especially like to see Parker try. Oh lord. He shook his head to clear his thoughts.
In the moment of his distraction, Sophie had managed to place herself on one of the stools and was surveying the wrecked kitchen, just seeing the mess around them. She raised an eyebrow at Eliot in inquiry.
"Parker and Hardison had some fun yesterday." He grinned wickedly, "That's great and all for them, but they are cleaning this mess, even if I have to break every bone in their bodies."
Sophie laughed in delight, "You'll have to catch Parker first." Eliot growled, he hadn't thought of that.
Sophie continued laughing but stopped suddenly as she caught the glint in Eliot's eyes. He looked downright… hungry. Remembering their awkward encounter from two days ago, Sophie dropped her gaze from his. Eliot remembered at the same time, suddenly unsure of where to look, or how to hold his arms. When he saw her crying, he hadn't even thought. At all. He didn't consider what had happened the other day, he didn't consider how he had bared as much of his soul as he probably ever could, and he didn't consider how she might be feeling toward him. He just saw her in pain, and reacted. He wanted nothing more than to stop her from hurting.
It was a maddening feeling, to want somebody but to not trust them. She had broken that trust, and he was a hard man to apologize to, but as he thought about it, he realized the anger wasn't as strong as it had been weeks ago. He was getting there. Settling his eyes on her face, even as she looked away, Eliot wondered if he was seeing the real Sophie in this moment. Was this her, truly vulnerable? Or was it just another layer of her façade? He realized that no matter the answer, it didn't matter. He was too wrapped up to break away now. Eliot walked toward her, leaning against the counter next to Sophie's seat. The stool was low, putting them eye to eye, which Eliot used to his advantage, staring into her eyes, trying to figure out how to say what he needed to say, preferably without actually saying it.
"Eliot," Sophie started, with a comforting tone, but Eliot interrupted her. When did this become her making me feel better anyway?
"I swear to God, Sophie, sometimes I just want to hurt him! Just kick him around a little, make him feel the way he makes you feel. You shouldn't," he trailed off, knowing it was dangerous territory telling any woman but especially Sophie what they should or should not do.
Sophie sighed and brushed her hand down Eliot's face so quickly that he might have imagined it. The tingle down his spine told him otherwise.
"Nate's not the bad guy here, Eliot. It's just… complicated." To her surprise, Eliot laughed.
"We're all bad guys, Soph. It's kinda what we do." He rolled his eyes and gave her a crooked grin before continuing. "Still don't mean he can treat you like this. Complications are no excuse for being an asshole."
Sophie smiled sadly at him, before pulling him into a tight embrace. Mind still stunned, Eliot's arms worked on their own and returned the hug. Her heat was driving him crazy, and she managed to smell sweet and seductive all at once. He wanted to pull away, to stop the torture, but Sophie needed him, and he wasn't about to let her down. After a moment, he closed his eyes and let his body relax against hers, enjoying the moment. When the time came for her to pull away, Eliot found himself wishing she had held on just a minute longer. Sophie looked at him with an expression that could only be called unsure, and for an instant Eliot thought she would kiss him. He stopped himself from leaning forward, not sure he could handle it if she pulled away again. Instead, he took a step back and gave her a rueful smile, not knowing what to say. Sophie smiled back, and this time it reached her eyes.
Hopping from the stool, she collected her cup from the counter and placed it in the sink. When she turned, Eliot had gotten as far as the doorway before she called his name quietly. He turned to her slowly, and she could see he was trying to reign in his impatience and desire. The man tried so hard.
Before she could talk herself out of it, Sophie strode to Eliot and pressed her lips to his for a long moment. His arms wrapped around her waist in an instant, and he pulled their bodies close together as he deepened the kiss. Forgetting why it could never work, Sophie slid both hands into his hair, gripping tightly. He moaned against her, and pulled her even closer. She thought she might fall when his tongue touched hers for the first time. Apparently fighting and cooking weren't the only things Eliot was skilled in. Eventually they needed to breathe, and so they stood panting, arms still around each other, both not a little torn.
Sophie broke the moment first, as Eliot knew she would. She pulled away but continued to stare at him. He refused to apologize, refused to pretend it hadn't been amazing. Knowing he wouldn't be able to help but say sorry if he opened his mouth, he kept it shut. He didn't feel sorry, but he felt like he should, and the guilt gnawed at his insides. Sophie took another step back.
"Eliot, I, we, that, I'm sorry. That shouldn't have happened."
Even though he knew she would say it, the sentence left him with pain he could only associate to Croatia. He allowed himself a moment of pity before putting up his defenses once again. Still not trusting himself to speak, he just nodded. Sophie made a move to come closer, in an insane attempt to comfort him. This time Eliot stepped back.
"Please." His voice was soft but held the dangerous tone they hardly heard outside of a con. "Please, just go." He stared right at her, the blue never looking so much like steel as they did now.
And so she left.
Hours later, long after Eliot had gone to bed, the knocking on his door woke him with a start. Not bothering with a weapon, or a shirt, he yanked the door open with frustration. And there stood Sophie. It took his sleepy brain a minute to process the sight, but once it did, he motioned her in.
Sophie stood in his living room, the confidence that had brought her to him all but dissipated as he stared at her, trying to figure her out. She decided to speak at last but was cut off by Eliot's mouth. The kiss was angry and rough, but she pushed back with equal force. Happy that she had worn pants, she broke the kiss, jumped up and wrapped her legs around his waist, surprised when he didn't even stagger. Grinning like Sophie had never imagined possible, Eliot carried her to his bedroom, kicking the door shut behind them.