A/N: So this was inspired by, surprise surprise, by a song. This one was 'If It's Love' by Train. There's a detailed account of how each line of the song inspired each section of this fic on my livejournal, but I only included the words to the chorus on this one because it speaks to the Eliot/Parker relationship so well. Neither of their names are mentioned in this but it's not cuz I'm trying to keep it a secret, it just fits better with the stylized form of the story. Um, there is one line that I'm sure is OOC and sounds weird and if I were a better author I would change it, but I freakin love that line and it's from the song so I'm leavin' it. If you notice it and it bothers you, I'm sorry, if you don't then…awesome. And HUGE and SPECIAL thanks to my beta fluerlb. Enjoy! -pj
Disclaimer: I don't know Leverage or Train, but they're both made of awesome.
If it's love
And we decide that it's forever
No one else could do it better
If it's love
And we're two birds of a feather
Then the rest is just whatever
And if I'm addicted to loving you
And you're addicted to my love too
We can be them two birds of a feather
That flock together
Love
Got to have something to keep us together
Love
That's enough for me
-If It's Love by Train
---
When everybody else is getting out of bed, he's usually getting in it. She doesn't comment on it, she's been known to have some pretty crazy sleeping habits herself. But when he comes home, because he always does, she is there waiting for him. No matter what time it is.
He kicks off his boots at the door and runs a hand through his hair, dropping clothes as he walks through the darkened apartment. His jacket makes it as far as the dining room, dropped haphazardly on a chair. His shirt is lost somewhere in the living room and his socks lay abandoned in the hallway. His jeans make it all the way to the bedroom and he strips them off, eyes half closed.
The body in his bed shifts and rolls to face him. She is hogging the covers, all wrapped up in the crisp blue sheets that make her pale skin seem white in comparison. She pushes blonde hair out of her eyes and glances, bleary-eyed, at the clock on the bedside table.
6am. She blows out a breath and rubs her face, feeling the bed dip as he drops down onto the mattress beside her. She smiles sleepily when he lets out a long sigh that is half groan.
"You're loud," she says with a smile. He grunts in response. His face is pressed into his pillow, his body sprawled out across his side of the bed where there are no blankets, thanks to her 'hogging ways'.
"Tired?" she asks, sitting up and stretching. He 'hmm's in response and she smiles.
"Sore?"
A definitely affirmative grunt is the response and she moves up onto her knees, swinging one leg over his waist to straddle him. She reaches forward, her purple cami riding up from her waist as she carefully massages his back. She doesn't need him to tell her to steer clear of the places he doesn't like touched, and she rubs deep in the places where she can feel knots under his skin.
He groans in pleasure and relaxes beneath her with another deep breath. She doesn't realize how much trust it requires of him to relax the way he does with her, but she smiles anyway and massages until he's ready to sleep.
---
Sometimes dark clouds move across her eyes and he doesn't know why. She looks at him like she doesn't believe there's any possible way he could care for her her as much as he seems to, like she's not completely sure she deserves it. He tries to convince her otherwise.
He pushes the door open with his back and walks outside, wind whipping his hair around but his hands are full with two plates of fresh pasta so he ignores it.
He sits down comfortably next to her on the roof of the 20 story hi-rise, trading her a plate of food for a cold beer without comment.
She shifts the food on her plate but doesn't eat.
"Somethin' wrong?" he asks because it's not like her not to eat. Especially if he's the one doing the cooking.
She shrugs and looks at him, something dark and sad swimming in her eyes. He doesn't ask, doesn't judge. Doesn't wonder why half an hour ago she was bouncing around his apartment all grins and too-high laughter and now she is on the verge of tears.
He just puts down his plate and beer and reaches for her hand. She moves slowly but doesn't hesitate, sliding into his lap and curling up inside his arms without a word.
He doesn't ask what brought on the dark mood and the sudden insecurity.
It doesn't matter. What matters is that she know. And he will tell her as many times as it takes for her to believe.
"You are the greatest thing about me, y'know that?"
She ducks her head and sighs, feeling safe in his arms.
---
Sometimes he looks at her like a lion eyeing its prey and it makes her shiver in fear and anticipation. She will shift on the barstool so that her skirt rides up a quarter of an inch and the growl that sounds over the coms makes her smirk just a little bit.
She doesn't grift often, but damn if he doesn't love it when she does. She's uncomfortable and a bit awkward in those skin tight dresses and high heels, but she looks so sophisticated and dangerous that he can't quite bring himself not to love it.
And there's a masochistic joy he gets out of watching men watch her as she walks by, when he's tucked away in the shadows not being noticed. A feral grin that crosses his face because he knows that everyone wants her but that he's the only one that gets to take her home.
---
They don't talk about the past. Sometimes if it's dark enough or one of them have had a few drinks, they will volunteer bits of information, short stories explaining scars and nightmares, but they both know better than to ask. Here and now is all they can handle. And the rest is just…whatever.
He's the lone wolf on the team. The one that had the hardest time breaking the habit of never putting down roots. But she's the one that disappears for days at a time when they're done with a job. Not every time, and not always for very long, but it's not uncommon.
He worries, of course, always worries. But then she slinks into the bedroom, sneaking up on him like no one else has ever been able to, and slides into bed with him, curling into his side before he's even fully awake.
He never asks where she's been. He wonders and he thinks and he worries, but he never asks. Because she wouldn't ask it of him. And as long as she comes back in one piece and mostly unscathed, and is that same warmth beside him that he's been missing, then it doesn't matter.
He lifts up his arm and wraps it around her waist. tucks her head under his chin and, because it's dark and she's half asleep, allows himself a smile.
---
Something's changed. He should be irritated, but he's not. She should be confused, but she gets it. They're not quite sure what to think about that.
He doesn't know when he stopped fighting to survive and started fighting to make sure he made it back to her because he promised never to make her cry, but he does.
She doesn't know when the rush of flying changed to fear of falling because it would destroy him if something went wrong, but she's careful anyway.
They aren't quite sure when this thing between them crossed the line from 'friends with benefits' to the 'something more' area and then marched right on into 'all that and then some' territory without a backward glance. And they don't know why it doesn't scare them nearly as much as it ought to.
In the end they decide, if it's this 'love' thing they've always heard about, then it probably doesn't matter.
They don't put a name on it. They don't try to label it. They don't even talk about it. It just happens. They come together like puddles after a rainstorm. They draw strength from one another. They know each other like no one else.
Whatever it is, this thing between them, no one else could do it better.
---
END- Would love to hear what you think!