Betrayal and a Bottle of Jack

a/n This is just something that came to me when I was considering Nate's drinking. This one isn't funny, it's angst and hurt/comfort. And it's set during Season One and gave one more reason for Nate to get his drinking under control.

They all knew it was the anniversary of his son's death. And they were just trying to help. Parker, in particular, wanted to make Nate feel better. But she didn't know how. So she asked him questions about his son, what he was like, what games he played, what his talents were. And at first, that was okay. And Nate answered, sadly smiling.

But he kept drinking. And the more he drank, the more he wanted to forget, the more Parker's questions were forcing him to remember.

Eliot was just outside the briefing room with Parker and Nate, and Hardison and Sophie were sitting at the meeting table when it happened.

Parker had asked what color his son's eyes were. And Nate remembered pounding on the hospital door, begging his son to open his big brown eyes and smile. And he never did. And all the rage and grief built up inside Nate, at everything. At how he lost his son, and his own company who he had given his life to had refused to help, and that now he was stuck working with a bunch of thieves, trying to make his life worth something, and he'd lost Maggie, and his little boy-

Parker repeated the question and Nate's hand flew.

The loud slap seemed to echo through the building. Everyone was shocked, including Nate.

Parker stood there, frozen, cheek red, her eyes filling with fear and hurt and tears. Then she bolted.

Nate could only stare after her. He had no idea what to do, and his alcohol soaked brain couldn't understand what he had just done to the most naive, trusting member of the team.

A hard grip spun him around, and Nate found himself nose-to-nose with Eliot, who had the look on his face that only appeared when he was about to beat the crap out of someone that thoroughly deserved it. His voice was a harsh growl. "You get this goddamn drinking under control, and you never raise a hand to any of this team again, or we are gone. Got that?"

Nate could only nod.

Eliot continued to glower for a moment, then grabbed his jacket and the one Parker had left behind and hurried out the door.

The hitter knew the thief better then he realized, when he immediately figured out where to look for her. His walk was angry and threatened violence, and everyone moved out of his way, watching him carefully.

But he didn't notice. He was too focused on what had just happened.

Eliot was the fighter in the group. He had beat people to death with his own two fists before. But he would never raise a hand to the people he cared about. It was wrong. It was taking your own weakness to strike out at someone who trusted you, smaller, weaker or less able to protect themselves. It was the most basic betrayal. If you had a problem, you dealt with it yourself, you didn't take it out on the people around you, who care about you and want to help you.

He was still lost in his thoughts when he reached the park. Eyes scanning the landscape, they finally landed on the tallest tree in the area. Walking over, he looked up and saw the familiar flash of blonde hair, and the quiet sniffling.

"Parker," he called gently.

There was no response, just sudden silence.

"Parker, darlin', please come down."

It was another minute before she did, climbing and swinging gracefully from one branch to another until she jumped and fell. She landed on the ground in a crouch, then sat down, back to the tree and wrapped her arms around her knees.

Without a second thought, Eliot dropped down beside her, draping her coat over her shoulders.

She pulled it on quickly, then returned to her protective position.

"It's bad to hit people you love," she finally said, voice stern through the tears. Then her eyes went wide and she stared up at Eliot with fear. "Does Nate not really love me? Is that why he hit me?"

Eliot shook his head. "No, sweetheart. He does love you. We all do. He's just drunk." The last word twisted with disgust.

"But Nate's always drunk!" she protested. "And he never hit me before. And hitting people you love is a really bad thing."

"Yes, it most definitely is." Eliot knew she didn't like to be touched in normal circumstances, so he didn't hug her. But he reached out and lightly brushed her hand, and she was the one who grabbed his tightly, glad for the comfort.

"Parker, Nate's got a drinkin' problem. We all know that. It sure as hell doesn't excuse what he did today, but it's a contributin' factor. He needs to get sober. Just watch, we'll get back and he'll start apologizin' like crazy."

She ducked her head and spoke into her pants. "I don't wanna go back right now, Eliot."

He squeezed her hand. "Than we won't, Parker. We can stay here, or go to my place and I'll make you some food and we can watch some movies. Does that sound good?"

The quick nod answered his suggestion.

Within twenty minutes after they arrived, they were joined by Sophie and Hardison, who had guessed where the thief and the hitter would end up. They all ate and talked and laughed and watched movies into the night, trying not to let what happened earlier destroy them.

And Nate sat alone, back at the office. The bottle was in front of him on the table, mocking him.

He looked around, noted all the ways that the place felt wrong when the team wasn't all there. And he had never felt so lonely, with just him and the bottle of Jack.