Nobody really noticed much at first.
For a couple of months after Eliot's initial foray into Nate and Sophie's life – and their kitchen – they would sometimes wake up to a spontaneous breakfast and a series of Eliot-type twenty questions. Sophie, somewhat charmed, thought of it more as the hitter's version of The Actor's Studio, with Eliot's brusque queries just as piercing as James Lipton's, but with a hint of a growl.
"Mornin', Soph. How are ya?"
"Much the same, Eliot, thanks." Sophie would sit down and put her head on a hand with a sigh.
"Still pukin'?" Eliot was whisking his own pancake recipe, rich with cinnamon and much deliciousness.
"'Fraid so. Now I'm getting it through the day. It's so annoying."
"Ginger tea." A mug of tea would appear as if by magic.
"Ohhh, thanks, Eliot. This stuff is a life-saver," and she would warm her hands and sip gratefully. "Nate never makes it for me – I have to make my own," Sophie added a little testily.
This resulted in Eliot brooding and scowling and Nate feeling a bit like an insect on a pin, even though Sophie's declaration was just a little … exaggerated. He just stayed silent, took one for the team and hoped Eliot had blueberries to go with those pancakes. He even tolerated the organic decaf coffee Eliot had bought, replacing Nate's own treasured stash of good coffee which he loved in the mornings.
Eliot turned his scowly eyes back to Sophie, where they softened instantly.
"How's Bump doin'?"
Sophie would smile graciously at this grouchy soft touch of a man, and pat her stomach and the barely perceptible bump now showing if you looked hard enough. Which Eliot never, ever did, because, man, you just didn't do things like that.
"Bump, as far as I can tell, is doing very well, thanks."
Eliot would then give that new, soft little smile he had suddenly created just for Bump, a tiny, half-hitch of one side of his mouth that made laughter lines suddenly appear at the corner of his eyes, something Sophie had never noticed before.
And then as suddenly as he had arrived, he would head once more out into the hard, dangerous world in which he alone of all of them existed, a long, twisted road of shadows and unrelenting vigilance, and upon which he walked, silent and as deadly as an outcast wolf.
It was Eliot who had begun the 'Bump' thing. It had started with Sophie and Nate showing everyone their first baby scan, which Hardison adored, Parker didn't understand no matter how hard Nate tried to explain it to her, and at which Eliot had just stared, eyes a little leery. He felt as though he was intruding in something very, very private and loving and not for him.
"Looks like a peanut," he had said, and then, surprisingly, had blushed in a very Spencer-ish way, with just the tip of his ears – which the team could see for a change, with his hair tied back – turning a soft, shell-pink. Sophie was enchanted.
"Well, it won't in a few weeks," she said, smiling. "Arms … legs … head … it'll look more like a baby and I'll have a bit of a bump."
Eliot, desperately uncomfortable and feeling 'waaaay out of his depth, seized on the word like a lifeline. 'Bump' could be used instead of all of those words that were involved with having offspring … words like 'pregnant' and 'gestation' and 'fetus' and, for goodness sake, 'baby'. Words that weren't for Eliot to use out loud as it wasn't his place to do so.
So, 'bump' became 'Bump', and suddenly became real for everyone. They had a name, albeit a generic one, for the newest member of the team.
Eliot breathed a sigh of relief that he had a verbal get-out for all of the 'havin' a baby' stuff, and was secretly just a little bit smug that the team had adopted the name as their own.
So Bump became real and part of their lives, slowly but surely, and Eliot's Plan gradually came into being.
He already had Sophie's diet sorted out up to a point. She did have a craving for avocados, but that he could deal with. The whole team now drank decaf, whether they liked it or not, and Hardison had been informed that at some point he would have to take Lucille to get fitted for a baby seat. But first the hacker had to do a considerable amount of research to find the best available, and oh, while he was at it, Hardison had better clear that crappy sugary orange crappy soda out of Lucille and every refrigerator they used in every house they worked in, as Sophie found the smell nauseating. Eliot clearly didn't have a problem with delegating.
But other than the occasional quiet unease, Eliot felt he was coping admirably. Nobody mentioned that the hitter was being a little OCD, but then it was normal for him, and he managed to work The Plan alongside any job they did.
Parker, on the other hand, was utterly mystified by the whole business of Bump. She had taken to talking to Bump slowly, loudly and with great gusto, which was okay for a minute or two, but given the chance, Parker could go on for hours.
Eliot, finalising the brewpub menu for the following week, began to simmer at the nonsense even as Sophie tried to ignore the prattle. Parker wouldn't let her get a word in edgeways.
"Dammit, Parker!" Eliot finally grouched, brows drawn down, "Bump can't hear ya just yet! Can't hear anythin' for maybe another couple of months – " Eliot froze. He glanced at the faces of his team, all now looking at him with curiosity. " … which … I probably read someplace …"
He blinked rapidly for a moment or two, and then promptly about-turned and disappeared into the brewpub kitchen.
Hardison, sitting with Nate at a bar table researching a prospective client, thought for a moment as he gazed at the empty space that had, until seconds ago, contained an Eliot.
"Nate?"
"Yeah?" Nate looked a little bemused.
"Did … did Eliot just say somethin' about baby development? Like … he knew something about it?"
Nate shrugged.
"Maybe he grew up in a big family … maybe he's an older brother? Who knows? Maybe he did read it someplace."
Hardison's eyes widened.
"Jeez … you mean there might be more Eliots out there?" he shuddered. It didn't bear thinking about.
Sophie, reading a magazine and sipping on the now-essential ginger tea, just smiled, quietly and knowingly.
"Leave him alone, boys. He's only dealing with something he's not sure how to handle just yet. Give him time." And disappearing behind her magazine, Sophie made it known she was not going to say any more on the matter.
"Huh," Parker sulked. "I only wanted to tell Bump about Bunny."
Sophie's hand reached over and patted Parker's arm.
"Later, dear" the grifter murmured. "Much, much later."
And with Eliot's mysterious pronouncement niggling at three out of the four remaining members of the team, everyone went back to being their usual dysfunctional selves.
It was a couple of months later that the team discovered Bump liked music.
It was after a job well done, with much mayhem avoided, no-one got hurt – always a plus from Eliot's point of view - and the client went home happy, relieved and with a nice cheque tucked into her purse.
A good meal followed, as always, and it was especially memorable because Eliot, in a fit of generosity, brought out his guitar and sang a song or two. Parker loved the fact that Eliot could sing, and it always made her sit curled up on the sofa, almost purring with pleasure.
Nate and Sophie were on the other end of the sofa, Sophie leaning back on Nate's chest and the man holding her loosely in his arms as though she was the most precious thing in his world … which Sophie was.
Hardison slumped sideways in a huge leather armchair, half asleep, the good food and company making him dozy and comfy, as always when he was with the family he loved.
Eliot sat on the floor, back against the sofa between Parker and Sophie, and he was in a world of his own. This was a rare moment of seeing the predator at rest, and he quietly picked out a tune and sang, soft and haunting and with such longing, Nate thought, that he wondered, not for the first time, what life had done to Eliot Spencer.
He said other than a dreamer … I ain't nothin' but a drifter, You could do a lot better …
"Oh!" Sophie said with surprise. She rested her hand on her now swollen stomach.
Eliot stopped singing and sat up, slightly alarmed.
"Soph? You okay?"
She had recently been diagnosed with slightly raised blood pressure, which was being monitored, but it had triggered Eliot's alarm bells, and he had added the extra concern to The Plan.
"Bump likes music," she said, smiling.
Parker leaned down and poked Eliot in the shoulder.
"Sing more!"
"How'd you know Bump likes music?" Eliot muttered, still a little worried. "Maybe not. Maybe hates it," he said as he laid his old, precious guitar down beside him and twisted around to look at Sophie.
Nate grinned.
"Because Bump's dancing," he said. "If Bump doesn't like something –"
"Dear god, don't I know about it," Sophie interjected. "Bouncing around like Parker on a sugar high –"
"I don't bounce!" Parker said, a little insulted. "I dance too."
"Well," Sophie continued, ignoring their pouty thief, "that's what Bump does. Dance. Here … " she reached out and caught Eliot's hand and lifting it, gently laid it against the side of her belly, the scarred knuckles pressed against … something soft and moving and gentle …
Eliot's eyes opened wide.
His first instinct was to pull away, knowing Bump wasn't his to touch or … or …
But the Bump danced. A soft pushing, and as his nervous gaze fell to where his hand lay, tight in Sophie's grasp, he watched as a line of … something … slowly revolved in front of him, clear as day, visible even through Sophie's silk top.
At that moment music was added to The Plan. He had read, in the little stash of books he had acquired secretly over the past few months, that children could hear music in the womb, and Mozart was popular. Well, to hell with that, he thought. If Bump liked Americana and country rock, and it made Bump and Sophie happy, then that's what Bump and Sophie would get.
"Would you look at that," he breathed. "Sonofa … gun," he added, self-consciously. If Bump could hear music, then Bump could hear cussin', and if his Momma had heard him cuss in front of a child he would have had his butt whupped for forgettin' his manners. So Eliot adjusted.
And from then on, if a team meal was on the cards or Sophie was tired or fractious during a job and Bump was being a pain, if he could, Eliot sang.
And then the world went to hell in a handbasket.
A trip into the mountains* with Hardison and Parker almost cost Eliot – and Hardison – their lives, and Eliot's recovery from his severe injuries was slow. Sophie, seven months pregnant, did what she could to help him come to terms with a newly-discovered danger to their hitter's existence – an old wound, a grenade fragment lodged in his back, was threatening Eliot's job - as he saw it - of protecting his team, and if the thing moved, it could threaten his life.
And, as Eliot rested and healed and reluctantly let his family take care of him, for a change, he pondered The Plan.
The dynamic had changed. This damn' fragment might slow him down, or worse still, end up making him a useless cripple.
But, he decided, he had to be practical. He could still make sure everything went smoothly, at least until Bump arrived, and he could focus on that. It would give him something to do as he healed and take his mind off the grueling physiotherapy Parker was helping him with, and she was a goldarn monster when it came to doing his exercises, goshdarn it, no matter how much he growled and threatened.
So he hauled Hardison off his computers and set to sorting out logistics for routes from wherever they happened to be to the hospital.
Lucille, now fitted with a baby seat ('It grows with your child!' was a major selling point), and Sophie's hospital necessities suitcase, now snugly locked in an overhead bin, was duly put through her paces. Hardison logged routes, and they argued about times of day. Rush hour had to be taken into account. Hardison got really, really tired of sitting in traffic with Eliot beside him, timing everything and being the worst backseat driver in history. And then they would do the same thing at three in the morning.
Once Lucille passed muster, Eliot went through every vehicle the team had, and did exactly the same thing. He even considered his motorcycles, but he realized that he couldn't ride one in his present condition, and, to be fair, he didn't think Sophie in labour would be keen on sitting astride a bike.
That done, he went over the rest of The Plan.
The nursery was finished (Week 20 of Bump), painted, set up and alarmed in every way possible. Hardison had tagged the monitor onto their earbuds, and had also set up a really neat CCTV system he could access at HQ and in Lucille.
Parker had surprised everyone with her artistic endeavors, and the nursery had some rather weird bunnies dancing around the walls in a sprawling mural. Odd, Nate had thought, but done with love. Sophie adored them.
Sophie, attempting knitting, was failing miserably, and the task intended to help her relax was doing the opposite. Eliot showed her how plain and perl was quite simple, and then taught her how to turn a heel in a sock. Sophie had been happy with the result and sat back, satisfied, and Eliot ticked that one off his list.
And so life went on, and Bump grew, and Eliot fretted, and the rest of the team got on with life.
Until life, in its own, nasty, contrary way, decided to throw the proverbial wrench in the works, and screwed up Eliot's Plan big-time.
And all it took was an ordinary drive in Lucille as she was the most comfortable vehicle for Sophie to sit in, a torrential rainstorm, a major accident and a ten-mile traffic jam. Life really could be a shi … pain … Eliot decided. And then all hell broke loose.
To be continued …
Author's Note:
*See the first story in the series, 'A Walk on the Wild Side'.
Eliot's song is 'Let me Go', from Christian Kane's terrific album 'Welcome to the House'.
