Huge thanks for the super nice reviews on Chapter 13, guys. Thanks so much for being awesome. And humungo shout-outs to Ginipig and valawenel for, as usual, making this a better story after their eyes have touched it. Magic eyes. (Don't look too deeply into them, or risk being mesmerized.) Yeah, sorry, weird moment. #puttingthequirkinquirkapotamus

Chapter 14

Eliot was tuning out Hardison's over-excited chatter when they entered the lobby of the opulent hotel the hacker had chosen. Eliot hadn't bothered to learn the place's name. He did have one of their business cards tucked inside a waterproof sleeve in his back pocket, though, just in case. You couldn't ever be sure when you might escape from the hold of a commandeered river-cruise boat, swim bound and gagged to shore, and need to tell a deaf cab driver where to drop you off.

Again.

His eyes slipped over the lobby's minimalist, geometric furniture and the circular sculpture suspended from the ceiling as they headed for the elevator bank. But he stopped mid-step when he saw the check-in desk.

"I mean, I have never typed that fast in my life," Hardison was saying. "Do you see my hands right now? They're like still shaking from the adren - Eliot? You okay?"

Part of Eliot's brain vaguely wondered how long this success high of Hardison's was going to last before he got back to looking at Eliot like he'd blown up Lucille (again). But Eliot wasn't paying attention to that part of his brain; his focus was on the man and woman casually leaning on one another and chatting up the hospitality clerk.

No. No damn way.

"Aren't they just the cutest?" he heard the woman say, her English lilt wafting across the lobby like a taunting aroma. "We met them in Barcelona. They were honeymooning, we'd just gotten back together…"

The man undid the front button of his blazer. "We do these couples weekends a couple of times a year," he said. "But we haven't heard from them since we arrived - just wondering if they've checked in."

No. No, no, no.

He squeezed his eyes shut. Calm down, Spencer. It's not them. You're tired, and you're pissed.

"Eliot?" came Hardison's voice, as if from far away.

Eliot sucked in a slow, deliberate breath through pursed lips and counted down from five before opening his eyes again.

But it wasn't any use. Nothing had changed. Nate and Sophie were standing at that desk.

Nate and Sophie. Here. In Paris.

Shock, relief, and the ever-present rage descended on Eliot like a pack of ravenous wolves.

"Eliot? Are you okay?"

His fists clenched until he could feel his fingernails cutting into his palms. Blood rushed to his face, spreading its insidious heat beneath his skin. The edges of his vision seemed to darken until he was looking at the specters of Nate and Sophie through a long tunnel.

How could they possibly be here? Hardison had just talked to Sophie a few hours ago. Why were they here?

"Eliot? Yoo-hoo. Are you - oh my god. What the - "

"Darlings!" called Sophie. "There you are!"

The lobby and its contents seemed to move in slow motion. Eliot's tunnel vision took in Sophie threading her arm through Nate's, tugging him across the high-gloss marble floor. Their strides stretched into infinity. A wide, lipstick-framed smile spread Sophie's cheeks.

He reached for the nearest chair to steady himself. Was he having a freaking stroke?

"S-Sophie?" managed Hardison. "Nate! W-what are you guys doing here?"

"Trying to find you, of course, darling! Don't look so shocked. We're meeting up this weekend, remember?" Sophie flashed her smile back toward the desk and waved to the clerk with her fingertips. Her voice dropped. "Play along, Hardison."

"Uh… oh, yeah! Been… been waiting for you!"

"Really? Because you didn't call," said Nate, and looked right at Eliot. His arched eyebrows and those laser-beam eyes silently added, 'For three months.' Nate wasn't playing along with anything.

Eliot's stomach turned over with another emotion. Guilt? It joined the others fighting for supremacy within him.

No, he snarled at himself. I gave them what they wanted and what we needed. A clean break.

When he'd poured himself that final beer in the brew pub after the failed job, he'd thought about doing anything to get Nate and Sophie back… to keep the team together. But that had been selfish, a moment of weakness.

"Call if you need anything. But you never, never need anything." You said it, Nate, not me.

The rage rose up in his throat, growing big enough to devour every other feeling in its path.

He finally managed to form words aloud. They came out like the low rumble of a landslide. "Don't you dare put this on me."

"What was that, Eliot?" said Sophie. She looked between the two of them with half of that smile still plastered on her face.

Nate hadn't broken eye contact with Eliot since he'd spoken. Eliot found that as he refused to drop it, as well, the shadows in his peripheral vision began to melt away. He found equilibrium in his balance and planted his feet firmly beneath him, drawing his chest up and crossing his arms. The sheer force of his anger was creating order from the chaos. The pack of wolves inside him equaled paralysis… but the victory of an alpha wolf - the rage - held him fast and moved him forward.

Three months of this… he was dancing on the edge of a volcano. If he wasn't careful, the rage was going to completely consume him.

Worry about that later.

Later. Always later. Later, if you want to survive right now.

"Nothing," he said to Sophie. He knew Nate had heard what he'd said.

Hardison's mouth was hanging open slightly. "How the… how did you know we were here? Wait, why are you here?" His voice dropped. "And I mean, for real. That guy at the desk isn't even paying attention to us anymore."

Sophie raised an eyebrow. When she spoke again, her voice was softer, too. "We're here because I know something is wrong. You lied to me on the phone, Hardison. I don't like being lied to."

"That's a little pot and kettle business, isn't it?" muttered Hardison, but he dropped his eyes.

"Where's Parker?" asked Nate.

Hardison actually looked relieved at the question. What a difference half an hour could make. "She's on her way over here right now, actually."

"Oh really?" said Nate, clearly not even remotely convinced.

"I know that she wasn't - " Sophie began, but she cut off when a high-pitched squeal cut through the lobby. She and Nate both turned around to see its source.

Even if Eliot had been the one with his back to the sound, he wouldn't have needed to turn around to know it had been made by Parker. She had a very distinctive squeal.

Despite his rage, Eliot almost cracked a smile when the thief bounded toward them, nearly knocking over Nate and Sophie with a bear hug. God, it was good to see her safe. He might still have some choice words for her about disappearing to foreign cities without warning, but at least she was okay.

But when he saw who Parker had brought along, any urge to smile completely evaporated.

Morgan Gray was standing just inside the hotel's front door, dressed like the world's most clueless American tourist, complete with bright white tennis shoes and shapeless jeans. She had her weight on one leg and hands in the pockets of her jacket - the very picture of casual - but she didn't make any move to follow Parker's lead. After watching Nate, Sophie, and Parker for a moment, she shifted her weight to the other leg and glanced at Hardison. But she never once looked at Eliot.

Maybe she was afraid looks could kill.

If only.

"Wow! You're here! I can't believe it!" exclaimed Parker, vibrating with excitement. She couldn't keep her eyes on just Nate or Sophie's face for more than a quarter second, flickering back and forth between them. "Did Hardison and Eliot call you? I actually sort of hoped they would. Is that terrible?"

What? That had been part of her half-baked plan?

"No, they didn't," said Nate. "Should they have?"

Hardison opened his mouth, probably to attempt to salvage what was obviously about to come apart in front of Nate and Sophie, but Parker beat him to the punch to shoot it all to hell.

"Well, maybe! I did just leave them alone." She grinned. "But for a good reason, trust me. Oh!" She held up a finger and pivoted, pointing at Gray, who still hadn't moved from in front of the door. "Hey! Morgan! Come over here!"

Gray slowly blinked, and Eliot saw her shoulders rise and fall with a deep breath. She held up a hand. "That's all right," she said. "Take your time."

Parker waved dismissively. "Oh, stop. Come on. I want you to meet Na - "

Nate smoothly interjected. "Parker, why don't we keep the name-shouting to a minimum."

"Who is that?" asked Sophie, but she didn't look to Parker for the answer; she was asking Eliot and Hardison.

"It's… a long story…" Hardison caged.

"Which, as I believe I made clear during our conversation earlier, I do actually expect you to tell me."

"That's Morgan Gray," said Eliot. Somebody had to put an end to this as soon as possible. "She's CIA."

Sophie's eyes doubled in size. She, and everyone else, even Eliot, looked to Nate. Three months later, and it was still painfully obvious who they all trusted to be in charge.

The erstwhile mastermind just raised both eyebrows. "Yes," he said. "She is."

The superiority in that man's tone was enough to make Eliot cast a look around for another floor lamp to smash. Had he actually missed this know-it-all dynamic?

"Wait, what?" said Hardison. "How could you possibly know that?"

Nate smirked. "You mean it isn't obvious?"

"Wha - of course it's not obvious!"

Parker suddenly mirrored Nate's smug expression, like a mini mastermind. "Ohhh, I get it. That's why it's obvious, right?"

Hardison stared at them like they'd slapped him. "That doesn't make even the slightest bit of sense."

"Wait, wait, yes it does," said Sophie. "Ah, I see it now. Yes. She's too at ease. Far too at ease to be wearing those clothes, for one thing."

"She's a professional," supplied Nate. "The impassivity of her face when we made eye contact made that quite apparent. And look at her now. Obviously we're talking about her, but she doesn't appear even remotely worried. Overcompensating or detached. Either way? Grifter."

"Okay, fine," said Hardison. "But how did you get from grifter to CIA?"

Eliot closed his eyes and mashed his lips together. How had he missed all the signs in Portland and Seattle? If there was anyone to blame for them being here right now, it was him. The moment Gray had put her back to that door and avoided the peephole, he should have taken her out.

"Her eyes," he said. He didn't open his own to see if the others were looking at him; he could feel the weight of their attention. "She ticks off all the exits at non-random intervals. She makes it look like she's doing something else… when we talked to her in Portland, she used nervous pauses and pretending to think. Now that she doesn't have anything else to disguise it with, she shifts her weight to change her angles. It's standard protocol. A very - "

"Distinctive pattern," finished Nate.

Eliot allowed his eyelids to part, but he kept his gaze on the ground, because seeing Nate's smirk grow at that moment would have been trigger enough to put the man in a choke hold.

"Wanna meet her?" asked Parker cheerfully.

When finally Eliot did look up, it was to Nate turning around to fix him and Hardison with the world's most patronizing expression. "So," said the mastermind. "These are the kinds of clients Leverage International is taking on these days?"

"She's not a client," said Eliot and Hardison at the same time.

"Don't listen to them," said Parker. "She's definitely a client. They're just mad because she didn't tell us who she worked for to begin with. But you guys never would have listened to her if she'd told us!"

"You never would have listened to her either, Parker," spat Eliot. "When'd she tell you, huh? Once she already had you across the Atlantic?"

Parker's face darkened, and her jaw set in a way that Eliot hadn't ever seen before. It made her look older. Angrier. Parker was angry. With him. "I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself," she murmured, and her voice was steel, all of its normal sunshine gone. "And I trust her. She is our client."

"Parker, grow up!" He knew she hadn't forgotten, any more than he had.

"Parker… " began Hardison, but she cut him off.

"Fine. My client. Help if you want, or don't." She shook her head, and the look she gave Hardison was full of hurt instead of anger. "I thought… never mind."

Hardison's face fell. He raised a hand like he might reach out to her, but Sophie stepped in between them.

"Why don't we all go get something to eat," she suggested. The lightness of her voice emphasized the dark turn taken by the conversation. "Continue this somewhere… private?"

She glanced at Nate, who said, "Yes. That's a great idea."

"… I don't want to," muttered Parker.

Nate made a small gesture toward Gray, who still hadn't moved, though she was actively watching them now. "Eh… Parker, you can bring your friend, if you want."

Friend? Really, Nate? "I don't - "

"Let's meet Ms. Gray," said Nate right over Eliot's objection. "Now that everyone knows who everyone else is… perhaps she can fully share her… situation."

"And we can decide together what to do," said Sophie.

Three months of exercising self-control; of convincing Parker and Hardison to let Nate and Sophie breathe; of watching everything fall apart to just let them have their new life; and in a matter of minutes, none of mattered. These two stepped back into a potential job like they'd been hovering in the wings the whole time, just waiting for their cue.

The rage inside of Eliot briefly faltered for a second, overpowered by another sensation like a knife in his ribs. Betrayal.

You never really trusted me with them, did you, Nate?