Author's Notes: I just recently came across Leverage and now I'm hooked. There's something about Parker and Eliot that sticks with me. I haven't seen all of the episodes yet, nor have the ones I have been entirely in sequence, so please forgive any inconsistencies.
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He wakes, as usual, about an hour after crawling into bed. Pale limbs are strewn across his body, a cheek nuzzles into his chest and a hand makes fists in the undershirt he'd chosen to wear to sleep.
He never hears her coming, she simply arrives. Her movements are nimble and silent as she enters his territory and crawls onto the bed beside him. But it never fails that as the mattress sinks beneath her, he stirs and awakens enough to wrap his arms around her, cup his hand around her elbow and let his fingers thread through her hair. She sighs, deep and content, burrowing closer. Whatever nightmares that plagued her before, whatever monsters from the past stole her sleep were held at bay now. She was safe in his arms.
It's been their nightly ritual for some time now. She would steal into his room and into his bed, knowing that despite his growling; he won't send her packing. She knows he'll protect her, as he's promised, and she finds an easy comfort in his presence.
Some mornings, she's gone before he wakes, some he slips out from beneath her. Other days though, find them waking together, lying still and quiet, their voices hushed to whispers. He would sift his fingers through her hair, letting the strands fall from his hand to shower down on her luminescent skin. She would walk her fingers across his chest, tracing complicated escape routes or the simple stitching of his shirt. He likes those mornings best.
Their days haven't changed. They have their plans, their jobs, their roles. Nate will brood, drink, fight with Sophie and drink again. Sophie, in her turn, will pout, shop, fight with Nate and shop again. Hardison's attention is usually focused on his computers, emerging from his lair for a refill of his orange soda or to throw out a sarcastic jab before ducking back in.
It's his job to patch up their wounds, keep them safe and fed. She is their innocence, their light. She is the one able to roust Nate from his dark moods and coax Sophie from the mall and Hardison from his virtual world. She doesn't try to bring him from his kitchen though, preferring to scoot up onto the nearby counter and sit cross-legged, observing and cataloguing his every move.
He still tells her she's crazy, still blusters when they goad him, his reactions less aggravation and more amused now that he understands the game. She still conspires with Hardison, still asks blunt, sometimes inappropriate questions and pokes sharp sticks into old wounds, albeit unintentionally.
But their nights have changed to follow their new patterns. Where darkness falls, and their light wants someone to help her fight the shadows. She doesn't need him—he knows that—but he's proud she's reached out. He's grateful to be the one she has decided to place her trust in and is up to the challenge of keeping the night clear for her.
She lit up their days—his days. He would guard her nights.