Title: Candles Matter

Fandom: Leverage

Pairing: Eliot/Hardison

Summary: Written for a prompt over on livejournal – An old friend of Eliot's turns up. Hardison is not amused.

Disclaimer: I don't own anything.

Data ran across the screen in front of him; small numbers and letters that he had to squint at to read. He scanned the information; searching for what he needed, for the thing that would stop the violence that he could hear through the com.

This hadn't been supposed to happen; Eliot hadn't gone in expecting a fight, he'd gone in to play a part. Their last job had left the hitter with a dislocated shoulder; he was supposed to be easing back into it. Hardison winced as he heard someone crash into a wall and scowled at the computer in front of him when Eliot swore.

"Almost there, man. I swear I've almost got it, Eliot."

"Well, hurry up!"

"I'm going as fast as I can, this system is-"

"I don't give a damn about the system, just hurry-"

It was Hardison's turn to swear when he heard Eliot cut off mid-sentence in a grunt of pain.

A word flashed up on the screen and he grinned, spurring into action now that he knew what he was dealing with.

"I've got it, Eliot. You've got a way out."

There was no answer apart from the sound of his best friend fighting for his life.

Eliot grimaced when the guy in front of him pulled out a knife and he forced himself to stand up straight, ignoring the pain that flared in his stomach. The man smirked and flipped open the knife in his hand, taking a step closer as he did so. Eliot didn't wait for the man to get any nearer.

He surged forward and grabbed at the knife, ignoring the way it sliced into his palm and left it slick with blood as they fought for possession. His eyes widened slightly as he felt himself being pushed up against the wall and he grunted as the man pressed his hand hard into his shoulder; it had come out of place again sometime during the fight. The knife was cutting deeper and deeper into his palm and he couldn't get a decent purchase, couldn't find any weakness in the man's stance. So Eliot did the only thing he could do; he lashed out.

He drove his fist into the man's solar plexus and took advantage of the way his opponent's grip on his shoulder loosened slightly. Twisting away, he let go of the knife and moved backwards, eyes searching the room for a weapon. Somewhere in the back of his mind he registered Hardison's voice, realised that he had a way out but he knew that he wasn't going anywhere until this fight was over. The man wasn't going to let him. Besides, it was personal now.

"Come on then, show me what you've got, son." Eliot fixed his gaze on the man in front of him, grinning in triumph when he charged. As the man got closer he jumped to the side and thrust his arm out, catching the guy in the stomach. Without giving him a chance to recover, he hit him over the back of his neck and watched as he fell, unconscious, to the floor.

"Eliot? El? Look, I'm coming in if you don't-"

"I'm fine, Hardison. On my way out now."

"You couldn't have answered sooner?"

"I was busy."

"You're an idiot." Hardison finished wrapping the bandage around Eliot's hand and stood back, watching as the hitter flexed his fingers.

"I was doing my job."

"You sliced your own hand open on a knife, man. That's not in your job description!" He slammed the first aid kit down on the bench and looked over to Sophie, expecting her to back him up. Instead, she was talking quietly with Nate, and Hardison sighed as he realised that he was on his own in trying to make Eliot see sense.

"I didn't have a choice," Eliot murmured, "If I hadn't grabbed the blade he would've killed me."

"You shouldn't have – oh." He leant back against the wall and once again took in the bruises that covered Eliot's face and torso.

"Yeah. Oh. Can you – I need my shoulder put back again."

"Alright, that's it. No more jobs for you until you're totally healed up." He moved forwards and took hold of Eliot's shoulder, "Man, I hate doing this."

"Hardison, until you're on my end of this job don't complain about it. Now, come on." The hitter grunted as his shoulder was manipulated back into place. "Thanks." He stood up and grabbed a fresh top from the laundry basket, trying to ignore the way that Parker was looking over every inch of his apartment. "I still don't know why we couldn't all go to Nate's."

"Your place was closer. And, dude, where's your computer?"

"I don't have one anymore." Wincing, Eliot pulled the top over his head.

"You don't have a computer. Wh-how? Why?"

"It broke." Eliot grabbed a photo frame out of Parker's hands and scowled at her, "Don't touch that."

"Okay, and why didn't you come to me? I mean, I could have fixed it. How have you been checking your emails?"

He put the photo frame back in its spot before turning back around to face Hardison, "I haven't. No-one ever emailed me anyway. Except from you and your emails were stupid."

Hardison was about to answer when there was a knock at the door. "Oh, great. Who's this going to be? The Russians?"

Eliot frowned, "Maybe."He crossed over to the door and pulled it open slightly. Before he could do anything else the door was flung back against the wall and he was wrapped in a warm embrace.

Hardison tilted his head to the side, wondering why Eliot was letting himself be hugged.

Parker picked up the photo frame again, looked at it and looked back at the new arrival who was now grinning at Eliot.

Eliot stepped back, coughing awkwardly. "Hi, Jackson."

"Hey, Eliot. It's been awhile, huh?"

"Yeah."

"Who's your friend, Eliot?" Parker looked pointedly at the photo.

"Alright, everyone out." Eliot moved back into the room and nodded towards the door.

Hardison blinked, "What?"

"Out, all of you. I'm okay now, my shoulder is back in place and I'm not bleeding so I'll see you all at Nate's tomorrow."

"But-"

"Out, go, now." Eliot held the door open as the team trailed out of the apartment and shook his head at Hardison as he went to protest once again, "I'll see you tomorrow."

Hardison glared at the closed door and wondered whether he'd get in trouble if he looked through the keyhole.

Eliot sat down carefully on the edge of his bed and looked up at Jackson, who was smiling fondly at him.

"What are you doing here?"

"I just felt like seeing you, El." Jackson sat down on the bed next to him.

"Don't call me that."

"Sorry."

"We're over, though. Have been for a long time." He edged away slightly, frowned when Jackson followed him.

"You're still my best friend, El."

"It's Eliot."

"Right, yeah. Been working any interesting jobs recently, El?"

Hardison paced up and down the room as they waited for Eliot to arrive for the briefing; yesterday, Eliot had been so quick to make them leave after the stranger had arrived and he'd been wondering about it ever since. Eliot had never exactly been one for sharing his secrets but his reaction yesterday had been strange even for him.

"Worrying isn't going to make him get here any sooner." Nate threw a packet of gummy frogs at Hardison.

"Hmm." He sat down and began to work his way through the packet, his eyes on the door.

When Eliot finally arrived he was fifteen minutes late and Hardison had given up on waiting for him in favour of trying to track him using the internet. He'd just hacked into the city's surveillance system when the hitter walked through the door, the stranger following behind him.

"Sorry I'm late. We got held up." Eliot sat down in his usual seat and moved along slightly to make room for his companion. "This is Jackson, old friend of mine. Jackson, this is Nate, Hardison, Sophie and Parker."

"Why is he here?" Hardison fought back the pout that threatened to surface.

"I've just told you."

"Did you?" He put another gummy frog into his mouth and chewed, contemplating the newest turn of events.

"Yeah. Alright, Nate. What's the story?"

"There is no story, Eliot."

Eliot shifted slightly as Jackson rested his arm on the seat behind him, "The job, Nate?"

"There isn't a job, not until you're healed."

"Huh. Okay. Why are we here, then?"

Hardison threw a frog at Eliot, "Because we're always here." His smirk turned into a frown when Jackson picked up the gummy frog and placed it in his mouth.

"Right, well, in that case I'm going to show Jackson around the city." Eliot patted Jackson's knee then stood up.

"You're taking him sight-seeing?" Hardison stood up, too.

"Yeah." The hitter headed for the door, waited for Jackson to catch up with him and left.

Hardison slumped back down into his seat, "He never goes sight-seeing with me."

"Are you dating him?" Hardison pushed himself up on the kitchen counter and watched as Eliot chopped vegetables.

"What?"

"Are you dating Jackson?"

Eliot turned to look at him and shook his head. "No. Why would you think that?"

"Eliot, you took him sight-seeing."

"And?"

"And? And, you let him hug you. And you're cooking for him."

Eliot's hand faltered slightly and then resumed chopping, "So? I cook for you."

"I-that's not the point. We're not talking about me and you, we're talking about Jackson and you."

"We're not dating, okay. We're just friends."

"Right. Hang on, who are we talking about now?"

"Me and Jackson," Eliot dropped the knife, "No, both. I'm not dating either of you."

"Huh. Are you sure?"

"Yes I'm sure."

"Really, Eliot? Because-"

"Hardison."

"Yeah?"

"Go away."

Eliot placed his fork down on his plate and looked up at Jackson, a frown on his face. "I think Hardison's jealous."

"Of what, El?"

"You. I don't know why though." He frowned.

"Me?" Jackson looked up in surprise and set his own fork down, "Why would he-? Oh."

"Oh? Oh what? Jackson?"

"You know that he likes you, right?"

Eliot picked up the plates and headed over to the sink, "Yeah, of course. I mean, we're friends. Which is strange because I'm- and he's – well, you've met him."

Jackson took the plates off the hitter and put them in the sink before placing a hand on Eliot's shoulder, "No, he likes you, El. Like, in the same way that we used to like each other."

"What?" He leant back against the counter, "You mean-?"

"Yeah."

"Huh. What do I do now?"

Jackson shook his head, "I don't know. But I know what I need to do. I'm going to head off tomorrow, give you some space."

Eliot nodded and turned back to the dishes.

Hardison knocked twice on the door to Eliot's apartment and then stepped back to wait, slightly puzzled. Eliot had called him earlier and asked him to come over. Eliot had never, ever invited him to his apartment before. The door opened and he walked inside, glancing around the room.

"Where's Jackson?"

"He's gone home." Eliot brushed past Hardison and headed into the kitchen, talking as he went, "He couldn't stay any longer and we'd pretty much caught up with each other."

Hardison took a deep breath, inhaling the rich aromas that filled the kitchen. "So, what did you want?"

"I've cooked for you." Eliot turned away to take his apron off.

"That's cool. Hey, have you got a new computer yet? Because, you know, you can't really not have one." He sat down at the table and shoved a forkful of pasta into his mouth.

"Hardison."

"What? Look, I know you don't like them, but I do and-"

"Hardison, will you just- look, I've cooked for you."

"Yeah, you said. I- hang on. You've cooked." He swallowed the pasta, "I mean, you've cooked for me?"

"Yes."

"Right, well, um. Does that mean we're dating?"

"I – if you, maybe."

"Right, okay." He ate another mouthful of pasta and then looked up at Eliot, "Hang on, you cooked for Jackson, too."

"Dammit, Hardison. I cooked you pasta. And," He gestured with his hands, "There's candles."

"Candles?"

"Yes, candles."

"Hmm, I guess that's okay, then."