Eliot chuckled as Sophie fretted with the buttons of his plaid shirt. They were in the middle of Home Depot, on a Saturday afternoon, and apparently, she'd been hit by what he'd taken to calling her 'hornymones'.

They were in their fifth month of pregnancy, and for the past three or four weeks, he'd been at her beck and call sexually. Not that he – they – hadn't been very sexual prior to the 'hornymones' - they had been. But the hormones, in the last few weeks? Yeah, he honestly hadn't needed to put in any time at the gym; Sophie was keeping him more than active.

What he found to be particularly interesting about the hormones, was that they made her the initiator of their intimacy. Throughout their brief wooing period, their attempts to conceive, and throughout most of their pregnancy: kisses, touches, makin' love, all of it had been initiated by him. She was always a willing recipient and an avid participant, but she'd never approached him for the kissin', or the huggin', or well for anything that resembled an admittance of her free-willed desire for him.

Had he ever doubted her attraction to him?

Not really.

Even before they agreed to their 'let's have a baby' plan, he'd known she was gorgeous, and he'd been aware that she found him - at least physically - appealing.

O' course, prior to the baby plan, there'd always been the fence/wall/barrier of Nate that kept anything more than recognition of one anothers physical attractiveness at just that: Recognition.

With the introduction of the baby plan and the intimacy that that offered, Eliot had finally been able to act on his imagination – his desire – for more.

But as he'd said, prior to the hornymones, it had always been 'him' doing the actin', making the moves, tellin' her – at least physically – that he wanted her, needed her... thought she was damn amazing.

He'd be a liar if he didn't admit that he was finding 'Sophie the uninhibited'/'Sophie the huntress' pleasing. It was nice to have her coming to him with her needs/her wants.

And yeah, she'd been a needy little thing through the past month; the 'when's and where's and how often's' of her desire peaking and cresting without rhyme or reason. Her body and mind picking the oddest darn times to express her need for him.

Like right now, on an early Saturday afternoon, at Home Depot, in the paint department.

They were waiting for one of the store's associates to check on the availability of a specific shade of paint in a low VOC version. The slender, bespectacled kid had been in the back of the store with his supervisor, checking stock, for less than an a minute before Sophie's hands were on Eliot.

She was leaning against one of those paint display walls – with every shade of every color of the rainbow on it – and he was standing a couple of feet in front of her, facing the display, idly reviewing the colors, when suddenly, he felt her hands at the center of his shirt. She tugged at him, and he of course, went forward willingly. When he had moved closer to her, her hands began to toy with the buttons of his shirt, unbuttoning then rebuttoning them with a practiced, if agitated hand.

The agitation was based upon her consternation at wanting him; wanting him now – when they were in the middle of a hardware store, buying paint. Her agitation was also based upon her inability – these days – to control 'when/where/how often' she wanted him.

Again, she'd always been a willing participant in their... intimacy, but she'd also always been able to point – if she needed to – to the fact that it was Eliot who 'instigated' (and therefore was the one who needed) what they had.

Now, the scales were definitely tilting in the other direction.

She needed and wanted him just as obviously as he did her. And at times like this, when she was making a fool of herself [her silent self-evaluation] over him, she was pretty damn certain that she needed him a bit more than he needed her.

()

Hearing him chuckle lightly as her fingers acted on her mind and body's desire to unclothe him, she made her hands still – or at least, she made them stop trying to strip him. Instead, she smoothed her fingers along his pecs and then along his ribs. She quietly chided, "Stop laughing at me."

He gave in to his desire to laugh a little harder, but at the same time, he placed his hands on her hips, "Sorry darlin', can't help it. It's damn cute."

She gave a hiss of frustration, "It's not cute. It's irritating." She buried her head against his chest, "I hate not being in control. And at the moment, I have no bloody control over my own damn hormones."

"Do you see me having an issue with you bein' outta control?"

She smiled against his chest, "You do seem rather okay with me using you for my own nefarious needs."

Freeing one of his hands from her hips, he tilted her chin up and offered: "Use me and abuse me Soph; I'm all yours."

As his lips touched hers, Sophie wondered if he realized just how easy it could be for her to truly believe he meant those words. To believe he was hers.

((()))

Hardison grabbed the paint brush and looked at it. "Remind me again why I'm helping ya'll paint in your new house?"

Eliot pried open the can of Desert Desire paint, carefully placing the lid on the plastic that covered the expanse of the living room. He picked up the stir stick and gently began to mix the paint. "1) Even though this is low VOC, I want to keep Sophie's exposure to the fumes as minimal as possible. 2) Soph is out shopping for maternity and baby clothes with Parker 3) if you don't help me, there's going to be some painful ass-kickin' going on." He lifted his head and grinned in Hardison's direction, "and I want to remind you that it was Parker who said she'd do the ass kickin' if you didn't help out."

"All of ya'll just need to stop thinking about my ass," Hardison arched his back and looked down over his shoulder "I mean, I know it's a great, great ass... but these threats, these jealous threats, to kick it? Misplaced jealousy man... misplaced jealousy."

"Okay, see, no... I ain't jealous of your ass. Your ass ain't all that. My ass on the other hand," Eliot paused stirring and speaking at the same time. "And we're done with this conversation as of right now."

Hardison leaned over the can of paint and dipped his brush in. "All I'm saying is that I've got a great ass, and you're the one who started the conversation."

"That better be the last time the word 'ass' comes out of your mouth today."

"Jealousy does not look good on you man. It does not look good on you at all."

Eliot merely grunted as he poured the paint into the pan. "Stop admiring yourself and get some paint up on the walls. The sooner we get this done, the sooner I can send you home and spend some quality time with Soph."

Hardison re-dipped his brush into the can Eliot had placed back on the floor. "So this whole 'Sophie and you' thing, how'd you managed to pull that off?" He ran the brush along the edge of the window frame, "I mean, I get why you're drawn to her, but… honestly man… how'd you manage to get her to want to be with you? I mean, you're not her normal type."

"Her normal type?" Eliot ran the roller through the pan.

"Oh you know, handsome, debonair, creative, intelligent..."

Eliot growled and glared at Hardison over his shoulder.

"Oh come on now, you know what I mean. I mean, you're alright and everything, but Sophie's the type who normally dates Counts and Dukes and billionaires. None of which you are."

Before Eliot could respond, Hardison continued. "She's normally drawn to men with art collections, or men who've written books on art, that kind of shit. The closest you come to an art collection is your Harley memorabilia." Hardison dipped his brush into the paint can again. "Seriously man, what does she see in you?"

Eliot wasn't actually positive about the answer to that question. He'd wondered what he could do to gain her interest when they'd started this whole adventure, and now, ten months into their agreement and he still wasn't positive he was bringing what she needed to the table. He snarled in Hardison's direction, "How the hell did you manage to lasso Parker?"

Alec paused his brush in mid-air, "Man, I'd be lying if I said I knew."

Eliot's snarl turned into a laugh as he continued to roll paint on the wall, "Maybe it was your ass."

(())

They'd nearly finished painting the living room when Parker and Sophie pushed through the front door of the house.

"Parker, honey, they're about the size of grapefruits right now."

"Why do people always compare babies to food? Size of a peanut, size of an orange, size of a grapefruit, size of watermelon. Isn't there something a little macabre about those comparisons?"

Sophie dropped the bags she was carrying on to the floor and gave a snort of laughter in response to Parker's thought patterns. Stepping further into the foyer, she took in the sight before her: Hardison and Eliot, speckled with paint in a lovely shade of purple. She quickly perused their progress in the room then she turned her focus on Eliot. He was using a paint roller to reach the top left wall next to the built in bookshelves. And he was – adorable.

She stepped onto the plastic covered hardwood floors and moved in his direction, smiling when he turned around and grinned in her direction. "You two back alr -"

She cut him off with a kiss. A hello kiss. A 'thanks for painting' kiss. An 'I'm hungry for you' kiss.

With his hands covered with paint and holding the paint roller, Eliot couldn't do much more than respond to the pressure she placed on his lips. But when she pulled away, flushed with the sudden realization that she'd accosted him, in front of their friends, he cursed lightly and did the 'unthinkable'. Releasing one paint spattered hand from the roller he wrapped it around her Dior swathed waist and he tugged her back in to him, dropping a soft, chaste kiss onto her lips.

"Welcome home."

Licking her lips, she blinked, "We bought tons of goodies."

"Maternity clothes?" He released her waist and grasped the roller again.

She scrunched up her nose with distaste. "Yes, dammit, I bought maternity clothes."

She'd spent the last month squeezing her way into clothes that were sinfully too tight and in the last week she had finally gotten to the point where the only things that fit her were her PJs and her elastic waisted Pilates pants. He'd been pushing her for weeks to invest in maternity clothes, but pride and denial had kept her from going shopping for what she really needed. In the end he'd had to bribe her by agreeing to paint the living room of their new home 'Desert Desire' only if she finally went shopping for some clothes that fit.

"I also bought some cute baby outfits, oh, and there's a small dresser in the back of your truck, if you and Alec could bring it in?"

"How'd you two get it into the truck in the first place?" He asked the question accusingly; Sophie was doing way too much physically, to keep him happy.

She stuck her tongue out him and pointed at Parker. "She's freakishly strong."

Parker grinned, "I am!"

Walking out of the living room in the heels that she still insisted on wearing when she went out, Sophie pulled the, now, paint stained top that Eliot had touched, away from her back. "I'm going to go and change and then Parker and I can show you the adorable things we purchased."

()

Fifteen minutes later and Eliot and Hardison were done with the living room and gathering up their supplies.

"I'm starving," Sophie padded to the entry way of the living room, Parker bouncing along behind her, "Any more of that lovely stew left?"

Eliot looked up from the can he was tapping the lid back on to, and nearly choked on his own breath.

Sophie had said she was going to change, and he'd assumed she'd put on something more comfortable, maybe one of her gowns and robes. Or that maybe, she'd pull out one of the new outfits that she'd purchased. But she hand't changed into either option, instead, she was wearing his clothes; a pair of his sweatpants and one of his flannel button downs. The clothes were simple... and relaxed, and so not what she normally wore... and she was damn beautiful in them.

"Eliot?"

"Yeah. Uh, yeah, the stew's in the fridge." He turned back to the paint can, "Hardison and I will be right in there."

He could hear Parker chattering at Sophie as they both headed towards the kitchen. Picking up the resealed can he muttered to himself, Get a hold of yourself man. They're fucking sweatpants and a flannel shirt. The imp on his left shouldered jeered and reminded him, they're your fucking sweatpants and flannel shirt. She's wearing your clothes. The woman who didn't own a pair of sweats, who barely considered flannel as a part of the fashion world, was wearing his sweats and his flannel.

In their home.

While pregnant with his children.

Yeah, she was killing him.

And she was killing him by doing the little things. The kisses out of no where. The looks that she sent his way when she thought he wasn't aware. And now, the clothes. He knew that most of her behavior could probably be blamed on her hormones. But there were times... minutes, when he almost thought there was more to it... that she was trying to say more to him.

(())

Sophie found it morbidly funny that while Eliot had spent their whole relationship trying to make her stop putting herself and the baby in harms way, he was the one who ended up being hurt on the job.

She pushed into the main entrance of the hospital, and zeroed in on Hardison and Parker who were milling around at the end of the hall.

"Where is he?!"

"Sophie, you need to calm down."

"No... no Alec, I don't need to bloody well calm down. I need to know where he is."

Nate appeared from around the corner and stepped up behind her, placing his hand on her arm in an attempt to turn her focus to him.

She jerked her arm away from Nate but turned to face him. "How could you let him go in there with no back up?!"

"We were just going to do some reconnoitering... get some background information on -"

"Background information on a mark with ties to the yakuza?" She hiss loudly, "There should have been at least two of us involved in this, or, or -"

"Sophie, he agreed to go. It was just a 'get in, get the information we need, get out' situation." Nate reached for her again but she pushed his hand away.

"Only he didn't get away, at least, not without being hurt!" She turned back to Hardison. "Where is he?"

Alec nodded his head back towards the ER. "They took him back fifteen minutes ago."

She started to move past him when he grabbed on to her arms. "They won't let anyone back there, they're working on him."

His words hit her hard. 'Working on him'. She knew he'd been shot - that much information had been garbled into the voice mail she'd received from Parker. She'd hoped, somewhere in the back of her head that it was something small. Something insignificant. But they were in the bloody hospital, and the hospital staff were 'working on him'.

Her gut clinched, and her heart stopped. She could feel the energy that had been steering her for the past twenty minutes – the adrenaline – just fade away.

With one hand she gripped on to Hardison's forearm. The other settled on her belly in an attempt to soothe herself and the babies. "How – how bad was it?"

"I don't know. All I saw was that he'd been hit in the back, by the shoulders." He didn't say how much blood he'd seen, or the fact that Eliot had been unconscious when he and Nate found him. He didn't say it, but she could see it in his eyes.

Her knees weakened on her and she faintly felt both Hardison's and Nate's hands on her, guiding her to the chairs that lined the waiting room. Several seconds later and the guys stood off a few feet away from her, and Parker sat beside her.

"He'll be fine." Parker's voice held a certainty that was borne purely out of determination. Determination that the world would turn in the direction she wanted it to turn.

Sophie wished she had Parker's faith. She wished she had the young woman's fearlessness. If she had those two things, she'd be less stressed at this moment. And she'd have the peace of mind of knowing that Eliot was aware that she truly cared for him.

As things stood now, she'd sent out little hints... little looks, anything that might give him an inkling, without her actually having to say the words, that she enjoyed being with him.

As with most of the big things in her life, she'd nearly run away from him – again – when she realized just how important he'd become to her. But somehow, she'd managed to rally her courage and she'd stayed with him.

She'd shared her revelation of wanting Eliot – truly wanting him – indirectly. She'd let him talk her into their buying a house together. They'd painted and were decorating the bloody place – all because he wanted the babies to have a safe/happy place to grow up in, and all because she was hanging, faintly, onto the hope and desire that what they had would last beyond their babies being born.

For the past couple of months she'd been doing what she did best; spinning a web. Trying to manipulate the situation to meet her needs. She wanted Eliot, but of course, she hadn't been able to actually tell him that, so, instead, she was touching him more – his hands, his back, his lips. She was looking at him more, in the eyes, with desire...

She wanted him in the way that she had thought she'd wanted Nate. In the way that meant happily ever after.

The problem was she, and Eliot, and Nate and their whole team... none of them truly believed in fairy-tales, they didn't believe in happily ever after.

So every move she made, every look, every touch, was offered with the realization that he'd never really want her; every word, every action, was offered with the realization that even if he did, somehow, really want her in his life, Happily Ever After didn't exist. Not for the likes of her.

So she'd only let herself give him bits and pieces, signs and suggestions. Hoping he'd understand what she was saying... hoping he wouldn't. Knowing she was screwed either way.

And now, now it was too late. She'd have to bring up their children by herself. She'd have to tell them about what a caring, strong man their father had been. She'd have to live with the knowledge that she'd never told him. Told him she wanted him. Told him she was the happiest she'd ever been. Told him she was crazy about him.

Told him she loved him.