Summary: This is an extension of the last scene of 5.11 "The Low Low Price Job" because it didn't end where I wanted it to end and that frustrated me. Frustrated Poesie means fic. Basically, I wrote this because I needed this. If you haven't seen that episode, please don't read, unless you don't mind spoilers.
AN: I gave Eliot's dad a name. I started writing this without naming him, but it got too complicated once there was more than one "he." I'll probably be Jossed before long, just like most of my 'verses have. *sigh* This is what I get for falling in love with a "living" fandom instead of a "dead" one.
Also, other ep tags that I've read have Eliot's mom in them, too, but the way I figure, there are a couple of reasons not to include her in this story. The episode with Aimee, his high school sweetheart, took place in Kentucky, not Oklahoma. To explain this: It's possible that his parents got divorced and his mom moved to Kentucky, leaving his dad in Oklahoma, OR the move from Kentucky to Oklahoma could have happened after Eliot left home. However, I doubt this, since Eliot looked all "remembrance-y" in the "Low Low Price" ep. Another reason not to include Mom: Eliot specifically said, "Dad?" in the episode. He wasn't expecting his mother to answer the door, just possibly his father. That's my take on it.
The Long Way Home
There's a truck sitting in his driveway when George gets home. That's a mite aggravating; coming home late to find someone's come calling – someone who's a stranger, from the looks of that truck – and somehow knowing in the pit of your stomach that it's not gonna be for a quick chat.
He parks his own truck next to the white one and gets out. As he passes by the stranger's truck, he brushes his hand against it. Damn. Ice cold. Must have been here a while.
George wonders as he walks around it who in the hell would come and wait for so long when he obviously wasn't home.
He turns the corner and sees.
It's a man. He's sitting on the steps leading up to the door, arms resting on his knees. His head's hanging down, the long hair obscuring his features in the dim light of the full moon. Judging by the way the clenched fists are twisting the black material in their grip, and the tension running through the man's entire body, he knows that he's not alone.
"Hey!" George says loudly.
The stranger takes a deep breath and looks up. That's when George sees that it's no stranger sitting on his front steps, but his own son.
"Eliot?"
"Hey, Dad," Eliot says quietly, getting to his feet. As he does so, he tucks whatever was in his hand – a hat? – into his back pocket.
George stares. Eliot holds himself taut, as if keeping himself from fidgeting under his gaze. He looks ready to bolt.
George doesn't remember taking the five or so steps to close the distance between him and his son, but suddenly, he's there, and he's got his arms wrapped around his boy, tight.
"Eliot."
Eliot hugs him back, just as hard, and they stand there for a while, a long while, breathing, holding together just like that. Finally, Eliot pulls back.
"I'm sorry, Dad," he says, eyes downcast, "I should've come home sooner."
George grips his son's broad shoulders – how big the kid's gotten, how strong – and shakes his head, "I'm just so damn glad you came home at all." He puts his arm around Eliot's shoulders and pulls him towards the door. "Come on, son."
Eliot stops and bends down to pick up a case of beer on the doormat. "These were cold when I got here, but I guess they ain't now."
George takes the case anyway. "I got cold beers inside. Come on in. You tell me everything about what you've been up to. Your sister's told me some stuff, but most of it is her complainin' that you never tell her anything."
Eliot chuckles, and George sees that there are lines around the corners of his eyes that didn't used to be there. Well, it's been nearly twenty years, after all. Twenty years.
"Even if I did tell her everything," Eliot grins, "she'd still be sayin' that."
"Oh, I'm sure," George agrees with a long-suffering look, "Takes after your mother, that one."
As George ushers his son in and closes the front door after them, the thought crosses his mind that he was right; this visit isn't going to be just a quick chat. No, he's not letting his boy out of his sight for a good long while, a damn good while.
His prodigal son has finally come home.
AN: For some reason, I got a bunch of anonymous reviews to my last Leverage fic ("DNA Doesn't Lie"), so I'd like to use this space to say thank you to them (I make a point to try to reply to all reviews, just because I'm that thankful for them):
Kyla: I'm glad you're liking my fics. Hope this one makes the cut!
Sphinx: Glad you got a kick out of that fic!
Dr. Jones: Replying to the "Coffee Break" reviews as well - Alright, alright, I'm writing more Lobo boys as soon as I'm done with school stuff, maybe by Christmas OR your birthday. Chapter fics always take more attention than I can give them during school. But yes, you're welcome for the fic and I'm glad you finally found it. :D
Kristin: Happy you liked it, and more? *ded* Maybe, if the bunny bites.
Guest: Yes, the story was meant to be ambiguous as to POV in the very beginning, as a way of making the reader feel confused and slightly out of it, just as Nate is feeling there. If you had to go check, that means it worked!
UikA: I love the Leverage family, too! And I love putting them through weird situations, poor guys, lol!
JustLurking (for "Catch a Cloud and Pin it Down"): You had that song wafting through your head after you read the story, didn't you? ;D
Thanks, everyone!