Yes yes... i decided to make this a multiparter... so, here's part 2!

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It had been two days since she'd asked Eliot for his help.

After trying to convince her that her plan was 'dumb', he'd bent, just a bit, and asked for a couple of days to think about her request.

And so she'd given him time... And she'd twiddled her thumbs for two days.

Two bloody, long, days.

But now, her waiting was over; Eliot had finally contacted he,r and he wanted to talk.

Knocking on his apartment door, she frowned as the door cracked open beneath her hand. Eliot didn't strike her as the type to leave his door unlocked, but, then again, she'd received his text 'request' to come over to his place not more than twenty minutes ago so perhaps he'd left it open because he was expecting her.

"Eliot?" She pushed the door open a little further, tucking her head into the apartment. "Eliot? Are you here?" Steeling her backbone, she stepped over the threshold.

She'd only been to Eliot's apartment once before, and even then, she hadn't really entered his home; she'd simply hovered in the doorway with the rest of the team.

Now that she was actually in the apartment, she was surprised by how cozy and inviting it was. She wasn't quite certain exactly what she'd been expecting, but this wasn't it. Dark oak floors, warm beige and tan rugs, exposed brick walls, and floor to ceiling book shelves framed the living space. The rustic, yet refined picture these items painted was completed by a couch that looked like heaven, flanked by two equally inviting oversized chairs. And there, was, of course, the obligatory flat panel big screen TV hanging on the wall across from the sofa... Eliot was, after all, a male.

Taking three or four steps into the apartment she paused and lifted her hands to her hips. "Eliot Spencer, where are you? You called me h-"

She spun around as she heard the door shut behind her.

Eliot stood leaning against the heavy wooden door, his body resting on his hands; his hands pressed against the door. He was wearing a pair of sweatpants and a sleeveless t-shirt with a pair of those cut-off gloves he sometimes wore when he was sparring. A sheen of perspiration covered his arms and his chest.

"Jesus, Eliot!" She raised her hand to her chest. "Assassination by scaring a girl to death?"

He smiled an as he pushed away from the door he pulled the ear pods attached to his iPod out of his ears. "Sorry, I didn't hear you knock." He switched the iPod off, "I was working out when I remembered I hadn't opened the door or turned the alarm off." He nodded his head back over his shoulder to indicate the sophisticated alarm system mounted next to the door. Lifting his hand he gracefully pointed to the sofa and chairs. "Why don't we sit down and get this over with."

She felt a kernel of disappoint roll around in the pit of her stomach. He was going to turn her down. He was going to say no to the In Vitro Fertilization.

She edged her way to one of the chairs, but instead of sitting down, she squared her shoulders and locked eyes with him. "I'd rather not sit down, if you don't mind."

He shrugged a shoulder and then the southern gentleman in him kicked in again, "Would you like a drink? I have a new Chablis I've been wantin' to -"

"Honestly, I don't want anything. As you said," She wrapped her arms around her waist, "let's get this over with." She prepared herself for his 'no'; for the failure of her latest, greatest, plan for a future. She watched him pull off his gloves, muscles in his forearms and biceps flexing and unfurling.

"Okay then," He ducked his head, his long hair falling over his shoulder as he scuffed the floor with his foot once, then twice, before he realized that he was acting like a child. Lifting his head he spoke. "Okay. I'll agree to do this thing, but only under three conditions."

He agreed.

He agreed!

"Yes? You're saying yes?"

He nodded his head affirmatively and opened his mouth to remind her that it was a yes – with three conditions. But before he could say anything, Sophie was all over him. Squeezing him into a hug that he wasn't certain he could have broken out of..., even if he'd wanted to.

Sophie was probably the most openly tactile of the team. The one most likely to touch and be touched, but she was also British. Which meant she, stereotypically, hid behind some degree of reserve. That reserve was gone at the moment. And Eliot was benefiting from it. He put one hand around her waist to steady them both from her surprisingly enthusiastic hug.

Arm around Sophie, her frame pressed against his, he inhaled the subtle scent of her shampoo and her perfume. He let his arm tighten around her for half a second before he made himself lean away from her. "I'm sayin' yes... under three conditions."

Sophie finally heard more than 'yes' coming from his lips and squinting her eyes at him she asked, "Three conditions? What type of," she made herself stop speaking and pulling herself fully out of his grip she walked over to the couch and settled onto a cushion. "Give them to me – biggest to smallest."

Eliot tilted his head, first to his left shoulder and then to his right shoulder – ready to go to war.

"First – if we make a... if we're successful havin' a 'baby'," he said the word gingerly. "I'm gonna be in the child's life. My part won't just 'be done' when you find out you're pregnant."

"Oh." Sophie turned her head to the side. "You want to be involved." She couldn't honestly say that she was surprised by this caveat. Nathan, Hardison..., Eliot, not a one of them would willingly have a child and not want to be a father to that child. But Eliot, perhaps more so than the other two, would fight tooth and nail to remain in that child's life. She'd been aware that this might be a possibility before she asked him and... frankly, although she wanted to have a child... the responsibility? The thought of 3am feedings, croup, poopy nappies?... Yes, it would all be easier – and she imagined a little less scary - if there was someone else who she could at least share the difficulties with.

"Done."

Eliot opened his mouth to argue and then he realized she'd given in without a fight. "Done?" His voice reflected his surprise and Sophie smirked at him.

"Done."

He shook his head in disbelief. "Really?"

"Really... you can change the baby's nappies."

He grinned. "Oh gee... thanks."

She smiled, "If that's the worst condition you have for me –?"

"Uh," He scratched the back of his neck with a half smile, "I may have accidentally," or purposefully, "misordered my demands a bit." Moving to the edge of the couch he sat on the cushioned arm. "Condition number two." He paused and approached the topic from a different direction. "I'm not a stud horse."

"What?"

"I'm not gonna be paraded out to the team when you find out you're pregnant and just labeled 'the sperm donater'."

"So you want to be involved in the up-bringing of the child, but you don't want people to know you fathered it?"

"No. No. Just the opposite. I want people to think - to know - that I am responsible for the child, for the making of the child... I..." He stood up again. "Look if everyone thinks we're foolin' around with one another and you get pregnant, it'll seem more... more natural than if people think we just did things to get a baby." He stopped pacing and faced her. "Get it?"

She quirked an eyebrow questioningly.

"Damnit." He mumbled under his breath and paced a few more steps before trying again. "Okay my second condition is that while we're workin' on gettin' you pregnant, you and I make the rest of the team think we're datin'."

She noticed in passing that Eliot's southern accent was increasing – he was getting frustrated. "No."

It was his turn to raise his brows.

Sophie crossed her legs determinedly. "We're not going to pretend to play footsie just so Parker and Hardison and, and Nathan think you're...," she flushed as she tried to find the right words, "just so they don't think you...," her back ramrod straight, she finally spit it out, "we're not going to fake a relationship just so that your pride isn't bruised."

"What about your pride?"

"My pride?"

"If people are going to think I'm being used as a stud in this little plan, what do you think they're going to think you're being used as?" He settled onto the coffee table across from Sophie and pressed his point. "They may think you're a bit of a Bitch darlin'."

"A... a... Bitch!"

"The Stud is used for breeding, the Bitch is the one who's bred."

Sophie pursed her lips.

Eliot continued, "Now it's true that I don't particularly want our team to think I'm the guy who was used for his, uh – goods – but I'm also thinking that you don't really want to be known as the girl who bought herself, uh...," he glanced down at Sophie's hips then pushed forward, "the girl who bought herself a baby."

"I'm not paying you for your... your sample!"

"True, but you're payin' the doctors, and the clinic for their services."

"Women are using IVF all the time these days. There's nothing wrong with a single woman starting a family on her own. Not now. Not in this day and age!" Sophie lifted her chin defiantly. "There's nothing wrong with it at all!"

"Nah, of course there's not." Eliot leaned back, his hands resting on the table, "Not a thing in the world wrong with it. I'm just sayin' that if we pretend to be a couple while we're workin' on this gettin' you pregnant thing, there would be no questions whatsoever – from anyone – 'bout how you got pregnant, or..." he stressed the next word, "why you got pregnant."

Sophie narrowed her eyes. Damn him. Eliot was not a dumb man; and anyone who thought that he was – just because he was so physical and had a southern accent – was in for a rude awakening. Sophie had just been gently reminded of how smart he was. He'd pushed just the right buttons to get her to question her resolution to announce, loudly and proudly, that she was trying to conceive through IVF.

It was one thing for her to be okay with the process, it was quite another for everyone around her to think that she was using IVF - using a baby – to get over Nate. She knew she was trying to get pregnant because she was well and truly done with Nate; done with waiting for life to bring her that damn knight in shining armor. She knew she wanted a child because she wanted a child. But no one else would know that. Even if she told them, Eliot was right to suggest they wouldn't believe her.

With a frustrated sigh she realized it would be easier for her, and perhaps kinder to Eliot, if she let everyone think she and Eliot were an item. Then when she became pregnant, no one would think it was because of Nathan... Nathan and Maggie.

Shit! "Damn you, Eliot."

He smiled that smile of his that said he'd just won something. Something big. "I take it that's a yes?"

She tightened her lips. "Fine. We'll pretend to date for a little while." She gave a false little smile, "anything not to bruise your pride."

He gave a dark chuckle and responded sarcastically, "Thanks Soph." He knew saving his pride had nothing to do with her acquiescence. Sophie was a self-preservationist; especially when it came to avoiding being embarrassed. And Nate and the team thinking she'd rebounded from Nate to IVF would be embarrassing to her.

Great, he had two conditions down, only one to go. One big one.

"Final condition?" She settled back against the couch.

He decided he needed a drink in order to broach this final demand; excusing himself, he stood up and headed into the kitchen.

Reaching into the refrigerator for a beer, he hesitated for half a second as he thought about grabbing one for Sophie. She wasn't a big beer girl, but more importantly, anything he gave to her might be used as a projectile against him. Shrugging his shoulders, he picked up a second beer and grabbed a bottle opener as he headed back into the living room.

Popping open both of the bottles he silently handed one to Sophie.

She accepted it and peered up at him questioningly as she took a sip. "Well this doesn't bode well, the last condition requires that you liquor me up?"

He chugged down a gulp of his own beer before giving a small smile. "Actually, the last condition requires that I liquor myself up," he nodded his head at the beer that she held in her hand, "I'm just a gentleman."

"Alright Mr. Spencer, what the hell is the last condition? Your gentlemanliness is scaring me." Seriously, what the hell was his final demand? He'd asked her to fake-date him for god-sake, what could be worse than that?

He took another long drag of his beer then sat down on the coffee table again. Locking eyes with her he made his final demand. "Okay Soph, my final condition is that we work on getting you pregnant the old-fashioned way."

"The old fash -" Sophie suddenly realized what Eliot was suggesting and she went from questioning to speechless within two seconds. "Are you kidding me?" She stood up and then sat back down immediately. "You're joking right?" She ducked her head to catch his eyes which were once again hidden behind his damn hair. "Eliot, you're simply messing with me right?"

No, but I will be messing with you if everything goes according to plan. "Uh, no, I'm being as honest as Lincoln."

"What the hell ever made you think I would agree to," she glanced at his compact, powerful frame, not that she hadn't ever imagined what it – he – would be like, but... that's not what this was about. It was one thing to pretend they were dating to, well save face, it was quite another to become bed buddies. "You've taken one too many hits to the head haven't you?"

"Soph, calm down. Have some more beer and hear me out."

She ignored him and put her bottle down next to his. "What possible argument could you present to make me agree to sleep with you?"

He lifted his shoulders and drew his head back. "What? Am I an ogre?"

"Oh please Eliot. You know this has nothing to do with you being..." she glanced at his muscled form again, "with you being unattractive." She made eye contact then quickly looked away, "you're damn beautiful and you know it!" Standing up she began to pace; puting some distance between them. "What the hell makes you think I would agree to... to something like this?" She spun around, "Or are all of these little demands of yours your way of trying to wiggle out of helping me?"

"Soph -"

"That's it, isn't it? You don't approve of my plan and so you're throwing up these damn roadblocks to try and deter me!"

He stood up, "Soph -"

She hugged her frame, anger and frustration dancing through her frame. "You can go and get your jollies somewhere else because you're bloodywell not -"

Eliot took two strides around the coffee table and grabbed Sophie's upper arms. He fought the desire to shake some sense into her. "Listen woman; I'm not tryin' to talk you outta this anymore. And you're right, I could go and get my rocks off with someone else, lots of someone elses, so that's not what this is about either."

"Then what is it about?"

Eliot had his reasons; but he couldn't share them with Sophie. Not all of them. Not yet. Rubbing his thumbs along her biceps he took a shallow breath.

"I'm not a stud horse."

She rolled her eyes. "Yes, yes, I think we've established that. What -"

"While there's nothing wrong with people using invitro, or whatever, to have a child, You have to admit, my going to the sperm bank, and dropping off a supply, and then you going to the sperm bank and having them shoot you up with that... supply, makes it all seem more... more... clinical."

She pulled herself out of his grip. "Yes, well, it is clinical. Clean and precise." She let her eyes drop down along Eliot's frame. "More precise than... other methods."

"And not nearly as much fun."

Sophie fought the blush that threatened to creep up her neck and face. She wasn't the blushing type. Normally. "So this is about having fun?"

"Against having a little fun?"

"No, I'm not against having fun, but that's not the purpose of our doing this. The goal is to make a baby."

"Six months."

"What?"

"We try to get you pregnant, the old fashioned way, for six months... And if it doesn't work, I'll," Eliot grimaced, "I'll deliver as many samples as you want into the hands of the sperm bank of your choice."

"Why can't you just deliver the samples now. Why this, this," she lifted her hands and shoulders in a shrug, "caveat?"

"I have my reasons... Look, honestly, I'd rather not tell a child of mine that she was conceived one night when dad jerked off to a porn video at Dr. Johnson's office. I'd rather be able to tell her that mom and dad dated for a while, liked each other, and got lucky and created a beautiful dark haired little angel." He crossed his arms over his chest, "And you can't tell me that my version of conception isn't more appealing."

"Appealing to whom?" Sophie muttered under her breath.

"I've been told I'm not hard on the eyes. You're gorgeous. We're both single. We're wantin' to create a baby. Why NOT do it the right way?"

Sophie raised a brow and opened her mouth to protest his choice of words.

"Alright, okay, not the 'right' way, the 'natural' way."

"So basically, you want me to sleep with you so we have a better story to tell our child regarding his conception?"

"And so that I don't feel like a slab of horse meat being led into the lab, milked for all he's worth, then sent back out to pasture."

Sophie bit the inside of her cheek to keep from smiling at the picture Eliot painted but he saw the tale-tell quiver of her lips and pressed his vantage.

"Look, we both work long, unpredictable hours, we travel a lot, we have jobs we can't really talk to a lot of people about... I don't know about you, but while the one-night stands are easy to add up, the people I feel comfortable around... who I don't mind spending time with, are far and few between." He shrugged his shoulders, "It would be kinda nice to have someone around, for a few months, who I didn't have to watch my step, or my words around. Someone I didn't have to explain my hours, or where I'd been, to. Us doing this thing together...? would maybe make life a little easier for both of us for a while."

He could see Sophie trying to decipher the meaning behind his words and he backed away from the truth... leading her down another path. "It could be an easy, no strings attached relationship, with the end goal of baby production." He turned on a little bit of charm. "A pleasurable, no strings attached, easy relationship."

Sophie fought the little frisson of energy that curled in her stomach. This is Eliot. Eliot. He's not for you. The imp on her other shoulder responded, But you could have him for a little while. Just say yes.

It wasn't as if she really wanted him. He was a sweet boy... or... man, but he was clearly drawn to petite, southern bred blondes, of which she definitely was not. That being said, she'd be a liar, as well as a thief, if she denied ever having thought about what kind of lover he'd be. He was lovely, in face and body, and well, of heart. His good heart, body and face were all reasons she'd chosen to ask him to help her with this plan in the first place.

And they were all legitimate reasons for her to have wondered, every once and a while what he'd be like in bed.

But wondering didn't equate to wanting.

And neither wanting nor wondering equated to 'having'.

She looked in his eyes, ready to say 'no' to his final demand. And then she weighed the argument one more time. They were weak arguments for jumping into someone's bed: His pride. His – their – loneliness... The pleasure of having someone near who they could be themselves around... But that last reason... Eliot read her probably better than anyone else on the team. Even better than Nathan did. Eliot could read her stances, and her hands, and her face. He read them, and he didn't judge them (normally). How lovely would it be to spend her free time with someone who she could maybe let her guard down around. Not all the way, of course, but even just a little bit; knowing he wouldn't lambast her for who she was.

It was, oddly enough, this final argument that won her over. That made her say yes. Eliot's final condition - the sex clause -was agreed to by her because of his offer to allow her to be herself – no judgments made.

"Fine. Six months. And after the six months you'll go to the clinic with me and we'll let technology and science do their part."

"If you're not already pregnant."

She rolled her eyes. She doubted that pregnancy would happen for her through normal routes.

She was 42, she'd been on the pill longer than she cared to admit, and sex was, at best, hit or miss when it came to impregnation. IVF had much higher success rates. "Yes, right, of course, as long as I'm not already pregnant."

Pulling away from Eliot's grip, she headed to the door; her emotional shields firmly back in place, her mind whirling with the new twists and turns to her plan. She could do this. She could still have what she wanted. She would just need to... bend a little bit more to get what she wanted. But anything worth having... "I'll let you finish your work out; why don't we plan on starting things after next week's job is finished?"

Eliot nodded his head in silent agreement and let Sophie talk her way out of the apartment. Picking up the gloves he'd discarded a few minutes ago, he headed into the spare bedroom, his workout room. He held his hand out to measure the distance to the punching bag, before starting back in on a regiment of quick, forceful left jabs. A small, hopeful, smile graced his face as he punched; Sophie Devereaux was going to be his.