Thank you, everyone, for still reading and for your wonderful comments! And as always, special thanks to quirkapotamus for her impeccable beta-ing and brainstorming discussions, and to Valawenel for her continued encouragement and support.

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Chapter 13

Eliot stormed out of Vittori campaign headquarters and into the lobby of the Parliament building. Why in the hell are campaign headquarters in Parliament anyway? His eyes stung, and he was shaking with rage. All he wanted was to be on the next flight out of San Lorenzo. God, he hated this country. Everything he saw or heard or smelled brought back memories he'd spent eight years burying. It was tearing him apart.

Suddenly he became aware of someone watching him. He spun around.

Up one floor, on the balcony overlooking the lobby, stood Moreau. The bastard wore his trademark smile, and he tipped his head to the side as if to say, Your move, Spencer.

A white hot rage coursed through Eliot as he realized he couldn't go anywhere. That was exactly what Moreau was waiting for. If he left San Lorenzo now, Juan would be killed after the election, and so would Maria, and Matty, and their family; and whether or not his team succeeded in stealing the election, Moreau would arrest and kill them, too. Once again, Eliot was at Moreau's mercy, only this time he had been trapped within the country, instead of being forced to leave it.

He met Moreau's gaze and held it. This time he wouldn't back down. When Election Day ended, only one of them would be left standing.

And I'll be damned if it's gonna be you, Moreau.

After what seemed like an eternity, Moreau's smile grew wide and he winked before turning and walking away. The man's smugness might have made Eliot completely lose control right there in the lobby, if it hadn't been for just a flicker of fear in Moreau's eyes — a fear that Eliot had seen only once before, eight years ago in Moreau's study.

That did it. He definitely couldn't leave now. Not when he was the only thing standing between his team and Moreau.

Not when he was the only thing in the world that Moreau feared.

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"Dammit!"

Yet another pillow exploded beneath Eliot's fists. He threw it across the room; it hit the wall and slid down to join the corpses of its companions. He grabbed the last remaining pillow and started to pummel it.

Pillows were terrible punching bags, but they were the best he could do at the moment. After his staring contest with Moreau, he'd needed more than ever to hit something — hard. He'd debated going to beat up some local thugs — one of these days he'd get around to that — but in San Lorenzo, all thugs belonged to Moreau, who would use any excuse to arrest Eliot and throw him in the Tombs with the General until after the election. And that wouldn't do Juan or the team any good.

He'd also considered going to a gym where he could hit a bag but decided it was too public a place. He'd already been stopped multiple times on the street because of that damned dog-fighting news story, and he didn't need to draw any more attention to himself.

So here he was, literally beating the stuffing out of pillows in his hotel room, and already on his last one. At the rate he was going, it would probably last only another ten seconds or so, and he was nowhere near done getting out all of his aggression.

The pillow was probably about three seconds away from bursting when he heard a deep, yet nearly silent sigh behind him.

He whirled around. "Dammit, Parker, just because you can get into someone's room doesn't mean you sh —"

He stopped, his rage evaporating as he saw her there, sitting on the second of the two beds. He barely recognized her; there was no sign of the perky blond thief they all knew and loved. She had made herself as small as possible, sitting on the corner of the bed farthest from him, knees pulled up against her chest, head resting on her knees. Her face was buried in a well-worn stuffed bunny, clutched in her arms between her legs and chest –– Eliot immediately recognized it from the time he was in her warehouse-home during the Wakefield job. He briefly wondered if she always brought it with her when they traveled, or if this job was an exception.

"Parker?" he said softly as he sat down on his bed, which was covered in pillow stuffing. He knew that when she was upset, she needed her space, just like he did. But he'd never seen her like this before.

At the sound of her name, she tightened her grip on the bunny and tried to make herself even smaller.

"Parker?" he repeated. "What's wrong?" He couldn't imagine what might have caused her to close up like this, but whatever it was, it made him clench his fists as his rage boiled up again.

She tilted her head toward him, peeping at him with one eye, and said, "Everyone was yelling."

Eliot frowned. Yelling? "Who was yelling, Parker?"

"Everyone," she said again, but to her stuffed bunny.

Okay, different approach. "Why were they yelling?"

"I don't know," she snapped, still not looking at him. "But everyone was yelling and we don't yell at each other, especially not Nate. Yelling means fighting and fighting means leaving and leaving means never coming back!"

Jesus … What in the hell had happened to her as a child? He didn't want to think about that, so he took a few deep breaths, clenched and unclenched his fists, and moved on. But something about who exactly had been yelling had caught his attention.

"Parker, why was Nate yelling?"

"I don't know! Everyone was yelling …"

Eliot took another deep breath. Right. It's Parker. Spell things out. "What happened, Parker?"

She lifted her head off of her knees, but still stared at her stuffed rabbit, holding it close with one hand and tugging at its ears with the other. Eliot could tell she did this fairly often, because the poor thing was in terrible shape.

"After you left, we all just kinda sat there for a little while. Then Nate said —" She cocked her eyebrows, and Eliot had to smile. Her droll, deadpan impression of Nate was dead-on. "'Well, you guys here in San Lorenzo sure know how to throw a welcome party. Gone for eight years, and he gets a few smacks and an accusation of not caring for his trouble.' Then Maria said —"

Parker made a face, and Eliot's smile widened. She may have only known Maria for about half an hour, but Parker had her down, too. "'Don't you dare judge me, Nathan Ford. You have no idea what I've been through the past eight years.' And Nate got scary quiet and said, 'And you have no idea what he's been through the past eight years' and Maria said, 'Oh, and you do?' Then Nate said, 'Yes, actually, I do. I chased him for five years, mostly for grand larceny of items my company insured — except for the few times when I hired him to retrieve things,' and I didn't know that."

Eliot started. "What?" He'd been captivated by the story, but she'd suddenly become Parker again.

"I didn't know that you worked with Nate before. Like, with Nate. On the same side."

Eliot was honestly surprised that Nate had mentioned that. "It was only twice. Nate knew he had limits, and there were a couple of really high-priced items …" He smirked. "Let's just say that IYS paid well so they didn't have to pay out."

"That's kinda cool. So, you knew Nate before? Like, when he was Insurance Investigator Nate, not our Nate?"

"We met three times, Parker. We weren't friends or anything."

"Eliot, you and I are not friends."

"Right. 'Cause you have so many of 'em …"

"Still, that's pretty cool," Parker continued. "What did you steal for him? Or, retrieve, I guess …" Her eyes filled with a familiar sparkle. "Was it an ancient artifact? Ooh, or diamonds?" She bobbed up and down on the last phrase.

"Parker, can you finish telling me what happened?" Eliot said, exasperated. At least she didn't look upset anymore, and exasperation with Parker was both a familiar and welcome feeling.

"Right," she whispered. She went back to hugging her bunny.

Dammit, you should have just told her about the diamond …

"Well, then Nate said —" Parker's Nate impression was back. "'And for the past three years, we've been working together, with our team, to help people. He's put himself in harm's way for us countless times. He's taken hits for us, thrown punches for us, and been hurt for us. So don't you dare accuse him of only caring about himself. He's one of the most selfless people I know. And don't pretend you know him, either. Because he's right: if you think that about him, then you don't know Eliot Spencer at all.'"

Eliot couldn't believe what he was hearing. Nate said that about me? To Maria?

But Parker wasn't finished. "And then Maria said, 'You don't know him like I do, Nate Ford. So don't act all high and mighty like you understand him, because you don't. You don't understand the sacrifices we ––' and then Nate said, 'The sacrifices you made? How difficult it must have been for you, being forced to stay around the people you care about. Did you ever think how much it hurt for him to be exiled? You have no idea the things he's sacrificed. He gave up his entire life here to keep you safe! And you think that means he doesn't care? Because I know the types of things that he's done in his life. Things he's done for this team!' He hit the table, and that's when he started yelling. 'Don't you dare talk to me about sacrifice, you crazy hormonal bitch!'"

"He said what?" Even after everything Maria had said, Eliot's rage boiled to the top at the thought of anyone speaking to her that way. He turned to the bed, but there was barely half a pillow left.

"Yeah," Parker said. "That made Sophie say, 'Nate!' in her mom voice, and then Matty started yelling, and Hardison, and Maria got this crazy look in her eyes … so I had to get out of there and be alone." She made herself small again.

Eliot couldn't completely process everything he'd heard. What did Nate know about the things he'd done …? His heart pounded and his breathing quickened as he realized what Nate must have been talking about. Had he told them, and Parker had just left too early? He'd promised he wouldn't tell them about the warehouse …

"Eliot, are you okay?"

He turned to Parker. Still clutching her bunny, she scooted to the edge of bed. She looked upset, but not like before; she wasn't making herself small, but she was wearing a frown.

"I'm fine," said Eliot automatically. She didn't need to know what was going on in his head.

Parker snorted. "You know we all have a joke about that? Like, we know that when you say, 'I'm fine,' it means the exact opposite? When you're really fine, you grumble and growl and say, 'Dammit, Hardison!' But when you're upset, you say you're fine. It's really confusing, actually."

Eliot's eyes narrowed. "Did Sophie tell you that?"

Parker smirked. "Actually, Hardison and I figured that one out together. But Sophie explained why you do it. Something about being afraid of showing weakness and being emotionally something-or-other." She shrugged. "I wasn't really listening."

No surprise there. Of course Parker hadn't been listening. She had the attention span of a goldfish. And the same attraction to shiny objects.

"But really," she said, throwing her legs over the edge of the bed and looking at him with growing concern. "You've been acting weird. Is it because of Moreau and San Lorenzo? And why you had to leave?"

He covered his face with his hand and lowered himself onto the bed across from Parker. He really didn't want to have this conversation with her.

"Nate was right, you know," Parker said. "She is a bitch. She made you cry."

Eliot's jaw, which had opened in surprise at hearing Parker say the word "bitch", dropped even farther as his eyes widened.

"Wha —? I wasn't crying, Parker," he stuttered, not meeting her eyes. "I was just —"

"Well, okay," Parker conceded. "You were boy-crying."

"What? I wasn't —"

"Sophie says that girls and boys cry differently." Parker spoke matter-of-factly; in fact, her tone was almost condescending. "Girls cry like normal, you know, like this."

She covered her face and gave the worst fake cry he'd ever seen. He was pretty sure she actually said the words boo hoo hoo.

"But not boys," she said, uncovering her face and continuing as if nothing had happened. "Boys don't cry right. Sophie said it's because they bottle up their emotions and don't really learn how."

"Sophie really needs to stop talking to you …"

"So when boys cry, their eyes tear up, and their voices get all raspy, and they start breathing faster, and they say the truth about how they feel. And then they usually leave as fast as they can so they don't start really crying in front of people."

Eliot cringed. Had he really been so obvious that Parker had noticed?

"Apparently not all boys boy-cry, though. Sophie said that boys who are emotionally healthy or whatever cry right. Like Hardison. He doesn't keep his feelings inside. But boys who are emotionally damaged like you and Nate —" Eliot's eyes widened in horror. "They're the ones that boy-cry," Parker finished.

She looked him and finished simply, "So I don't like Maria. She made you boy-cry."

She paused, then continued slowly, as if thinking it through. "And it's stupid, too. Because it's not true. Like Nate said, you protect us and take care of us and make us food. And you said on the plane that you get scared when we're in trouble, because you're worried you won't be able to help us."

Dammit, this was why he hated talking to women about feelings!

"And on the plane you said that you like us. Which for boys is code for 'love.' That's what —"

"Sophie says, yeah, I got it," Eliot grumbled.

"Yeah. And you were even gonna go after Moreau to protect us." She looked at the bunny again. "You love them, too, don't you? You left San Lorenzo eight years ago and never came back so they would be safe. She's really stupid if she thinks those things about you. And she's mean. I hate her."

She squeezed and twisted the bunny, not in comfort, but in apparent anger. He was afraid she'd rip its head off.

"Don't hate her, Parker. She was just angry."

"Yeah, I guess …" She tugged at her bunny's ears, but gently now. "I would be mad, too, if you just left without saying goodbye. And you didn't come back for eight years." She took a deep breath, and when she looked at him her eyes were filled with tears. "You're not going to leave us, are you?"

Eliot's stomach sank like a rock. He couldn't tell her; she'd ask why, and she could never know why. But he couldn't lie to her, either. He could never lie to Parker. She was too … he didn't know what, but he just never could lie. Something about her always pried the truth from him at some point.

"If I did," he rasped. Dammit. I'm not "boy-crying"! He cleared his throat and tried again. "If I did, it would only be for the same reason I left them. To protect you."

It wasn't a lie. It just wasn't the whole truth.

"But you'd say goodbye, right?" The expression of betrayal — the one on her face when she'd asked why he'd left San Lorenzo — had returned.

"Of course," he said automatically. He couldn't bear that look in her eyes. He'd figure out later how to keep it from being a lie.

She nodded, and her grip loosened on the bunny. "Okay."

They sat in silence for a few moments. Eliot was glad of it; he was tired of talking.

"Why does she call you her brother?" So much for silence. "She said you were like an uncle to her babies, and then Matty said, 'She lost another brother.'"

Eliot sighed. "You'd have to ask her that."

"I don't want to. She's creepy."

Whatever he'd expected her to say — "I hate her", maybe –– that wasn't it. "She's what?"

"She's creepy."

Eliot pinched the bridge of his nose. "How is she creepy, Parker?"

"Um, she has two babies growing inside her," Parker said, as if it were obvious. "And she talks to them. And they can hear her. And they can hear me. And they can see me. It's creepy."

Where should he even start with that? "Parker, they can't see you —"

"How do you know?"

"Because … there's … stuff in the way!" Eliot made a vague gesture toward his torso. "And they can't hear what you say …"

Wait, was that true? How did they even get on this topic?

"Well, then how come she talks to them?"

He just stared at her, mouth gaping. He had no words.

"Wha — I don't — Parker, she's pregnant! It's a normal thing! Lots of pregnant women talk to their babies!"

Why the hell couldn't she talk to Sophie about this crap?

"Well I think it's creepy." Parker said it like that was the end of the argument, and Eliot dearly hoped it was.

"Why are you even here, anyway?" he snapped. She frowned, though, so he softened his tone. "You said you wanted to be alone. This isn't alone, Parker."

"Oh. Well, I didn't want to be alone alone, just alone. You know?"

As ridiculous as it sounded, Eliot did know. There were times he wanted to be completely alone, away from the world. But there were other times he wanted to be left alone without actually being alone; then he could keep from getting too caught up in his head. He used to always crave the former, but since he'd joined the team, he found himself longing for the latter more and more frequently.

"So, why does she call you her brother?" Parker repeated, more quietly this time. She was playing with the bunny's ears again.

Eliot sighed. "Because her brother died a long time ago, and I kind of stepped in and acted like a big brother for her."

"Her brother died?" Almost a whisper.

Shit. Eliot had forgotten that Parker, too, had lost a brother a long time ago. But she had been too young to understand and hadn't received the right type of help at the time, and she'd obviously never been able to deal with her grief in a healthy way.

A familiar voice, one he hadn't heard in eight years, spoke in the back of his mind.

"So… what's your excuse, El?"

He shook his head, as if that would make the voice go away, and focused on Parker.

"Yeah, he did."

"How did he die?" Parker's voice was still small, and Eliot's heart squeezed.

"He was killed by one of Damien Moreau's men. He was very brave." Now his voice sounded as small as Parker's.

"Oh."

Suddenly Parker gave a small gasp, her eyes widening with realization … and fear.

"Did you …?"

The unfinished question literally knocked the breath out of him. He felt the bile rise in his throat, and he had to put his head between his knees to keep from emptying his stomach right in front of her. His eyes stung.

That question hurt even more than Maria's accusations.

Was that what they thought of him now? Would they always look at him like that, eyes filled with fear of the Rottweiler? Would they forever see him as a cold-blooded killer?

This is why I have to leave.

"Oh no! I'm sorry, Eliot, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry!"

Suddenly her arms were around him in a tight hug, and she buried her head in his neck. He looked up in surprise.

"You told me not to ask you! I'm sorry, I didn't think, I just … I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to make you boy-cry." She replaced her head on his shoulder and her arms squeezed tightly around his neck.

"Parker," he choked. She was actually choking him.

"Oh no!" she gasped again, removing her arms from his neck and bringing her hands to her mouth. "Does Maria know?"

"What? Parker, no! I didn't —"

This conversation was a fucking emotional roller coaster, and he was starting to get whiplash.

His voice had given out again, and he had to clear his throat before he could speak. When he did, it was barely a whisper.

"No, Parker. I didn't kill him." He took a breath, then he added, his voice strong and acidic, "I caught the bastard who did, though."

"Really?" Parker asked. He could see, hear, and feel her relief. "Okay. I won't ask you that again, I promise."

She hugged him, but more gently this time. His heartbeat started to return to normal, and the nausea receded.

"So did you kill him?" she asked as she pulled away.

What the fuck?!

"Parker, I just told you, I didn't —"

"I mean the man who killed Maria's brother. You said you caught him. Did you kill him?" Her eyes flashed darkly. "I hope you did."

He could not keep up with this girl's thoughts. Twenty pounds of crazy …

"No. I didn't kill him. But I did stab him in the hand to keep him from killing the General."

She smirked. "So that was the once? Or the half?"

Eliot chuckled. "The once."

She fell silent, and Eliot was glad. It gave him a few moments to do an inventory of his emotions and try to settle on something neutral that would slow down his heart rate and regulate his breathing.

"So that's why, then."

He sighed, feeling suddenly exhausted. "What's why what?" Just stop talking and go away. He wanted to be alone alone.

"That's why Maria calls you her brother. Because you caught the guy who killed her real brother. That's why she loves you and missed you when you were gone. Even if she did make you boy-cry," she added, clenching her fists.

The observation made Eliot pause. All these years he'd felt guilty at the thought of replacing Berto Flores, but maybe Maria didn't think of him as a replacement. She loved him because he caught her brother's killer.

Why had that taken him eight years to figure out?

"So, what kind of things did you do?" Parker asked, once again as if he understood the unspoken context.

He felt the wave of nausea again. Why did she keep asking these things? Why couldn't she just leave?

"What kind of things did I do … for Moreau ... ?"

"No!" she said. She actually sounded irritated. "I promised I wouldn't ask about that anymore!" She softened her voice. "I meant what kind of things did you do for Maria. Big brother-y things."

"Oh ..." Big brother-y things? "Well, uh ... I was there for her when she needed me. She knew that if she ever needed help, all she had to do was ask."

"Did you teach her how to fight?"

Eliot smiled as he remembered. "Yeah ... I did ..."

"I figured. She punches like you taught me how, by putting her hips into it. And since she's pregnant, she's got a lot of weight behind it." Parker smirked. "She caught you off-guard with that hit to the solar plexus, didn't she? You should have seen that coming."

His voice sounded more defensive than he'd intended. "Yeah, well, I wasn't expecting her to hit me that many times."

"She remembered what you taught her after eight years? You must have been a good teacher even back then." Eliot's heart lightened, but he couldn't tell if it was because of the compliment or her smile.

"So what else did you do?" she asked.

"I dunno. I just ... listened."

"Listened? How?"

"Well ... I was the first person she told that she was in love with Matty." He chuckled; he would never forget that dramatic confession.

"Oh."

Parker was suddenly quiet. When Eliot looked over at her, and she was tugging at the bunny's ears again.

"Parker, what's —"

"I have to tell you something."

Eliot blinked. "Um ... okay."

She took a deep breath and looked at him with eyes full of doubt. "Big brothers listen, right?"

What surprised Eliot the most was that he wasn't surprised at all. He'd never thought of himself as a brother to Maria; every time she'd called him that, he'd felt a pang of guilt. But Parker ... she'd always been like a little sister to him. From that very first job, when she ignored Nate's count and jumped off the building, when she stripped right in front of him in the elevator; from the first moment he'd said, "There's something wrong with you." There was something wrong with her, but that's why he loved her. And he'd kick the ass of anyone else who said so. Or anyone who ever hurt her.

For the first time in what felt like forever, his smile was large and genuine. "Yeah, Parker. Big brothers listen."

Parker beamed, the doubt in her eyes turning to complete and utter trust. "Well," she said, turning back to her bunny. "I've been starting to have feelings. Weird feelings. For ..."

Eliot cocked an eyebrow. Lemme guess … Pretzels? He knew exactly where this was going, and unlike with Maria, he knew it wasn't about him.

"For Hardison!" Parker blurted, eyes closed, as if she couldn't bear to see his reaction.

"I know." Eliot's smile grew.

She opened her eyes. "You do? How?"

"It's a very distinctive ... everything." He was grinning like a fool now.

"Oh." She smiled her beautiful smile. "So you're not mad?"

Eliot frowned. "Why would I be mad?"

"I dunno…" She shrugged. "Hardison's your best friend."

"If you had a little sister, and she started dating your best friend, how would you feel?"

He finally understood — in a way he would never have thought possible eight years ago — exactly how Berto Flores had felt.

"I'm definitely not mad, Parker. I'm happy that you feel that way." His heart overflowed with an odd sense of both deja vu and newness. "Hardison likes you too, by the way."

Parker crossed her arms. "You're supposed to listen, not talk."

"Um ... okay ..." Everything was always literal with Parker. "So ..."

She popped to her feet. "Here." She threw him a man's watch, which hit him hard in the chest. She really didn't understand how to toss things.

"What's this?" Had she stolen Hardison's watch or something?

"It's Ribera's. I lifted it while you were doing the puppy interview with Sparky. Nate says you need to put nicotine cream on it and then I have to give it back. It's for the debate. He's supposed to freak out and look drunk, remember?"

"Wait ... Are you done talking about Hardison?"

"Yeah. Why?"

Eliot's mouth stood agape for a few seconds. He could not keep up with this girl. Five pound bag ...

"No reason. Great. I'll take care of it and get it back to you."

"Hurry. The debate starts in ..." She grabbed the watch from him to check the time. "Ninety minutes. We should get back."

She went to "toss" the watch again, but he took it from her before she could. "Right," he said. "Go on ahead, give me a few minutes to ..." He looked around at the pillow corpses and their stuffing entrails.

"Sure." She turned to leave. "Oh, and if you need more pillows to punch, I have tons. I stole a bunch from the laundry room."

She left the way she had, presumably, come in — through the window.

Eliot stared after her in silence. Though emotionally and physically drained, he did feel better, but the room was too quiet now. He wished she would come back. He didn't want to be alone alone anymore. Just alone.

He looked longingly at the bed, all the same.

"After it's done," he murmured.

No rest for the wicked.