A/N: Thanks for the great response! I'm enjoying this story, too. Hopefully I do the characters justice, especially since I'm less familiar with their later story arcs (haven't seen seasons four/five of Leverage). Consider this set mid season one of Leverage.

Disclaimer: Don't own, don't profit.

Nate stared across the kitchen table at the toddler. The toddler stared back as it chewed on a padlock Parker had cheerfully provided. It mumbled something around the metal, and a string of drool began making its way toward Eliot's supporting arm. Nate felt the band around his heart squeeze tighter. What had his team been thinking? What did they expect him to do with a baby?

"You stole a baby," said Nate, as calmly as he could manage. He sipped his doctored coffee, resisting the urge to down it in one go.

"Yup!" said Parker, entirely too happy about the whole thing. She pulled her head out of the refrigerator and held up a carrot. "How 'bout this?"

"No," said Eliot for the umpteenth time. "He needs something soft, Parker. Carrots aren't soft."

"True," she said, "but they're good for eyes." She made a few jabbing motions, sending the baby into a fit of giggles. Nate gritted his teeth, then took a longer swig of "coffee."

"Try the cupboards," said Sophie, voice neutral. "He'll be able to eat dry cereal." She was watching him, Nate could tell. It was the only reason she wasn't demanding to cuddle with the admittedly adorable toddler. He grimaced at her over his cup, but she only raised an eyebrow.

"Ah hah!" Parker grabbed a handful of cereal and offered her fist to the baby. He eyed it, dropped the padlock, and started trying to figure out how to get at the cereal inside the fist.

Nate was surprised at how happy Parker seemed. He'd never thought of Parker as the sort of person who liked babies. He'd gotten the impression that Parker didn't much care for anyone unless they were useful, and babies weren't very useful. The baby was tugging on her fingers without much success. Parker was laughing, but Nate could tell the kid was on the verge of tears.

"Put the cereal on the table," he snapped. "You're going to cause a temper tantrum."

Parker huffed, but did as she was told. The kid immediately grabbed cheerios and began eating, looking relieved. He was watching Parker warily, as though he expected her to pull another stunt. Nate couldn't blame him. Parker was resting her chin on the table and watching the baby eat with a look of fascination that was bordering on creepy.

"You're being creepy," complained Eliot. "Leave the kid alone."

"His hands are so little," she said, "and his cheeks are so big. He's like a squirrel." She put her hands by her face and did her best squirrel impression. The kid laughed, spraying the table with cheerio goop. Nate had to hide his reflexive smile behind his mug. He glanced over at Sophie, who was smirking as she pretended not to notice his reaction.

"So what are we going to do about this?" asked Sophie, steering the conversation back toward business. "I'm not interested in getting into the kidnapping business."

"We didn't kidnap him," protested Parker, "We stole him."

Nate figured he shouldn't be surprised that she considered them two different things.

"You stole him," Eliot corrected, shooting her a dirty look. "And it was more like a rescue," he added, turning back toward Nate. "He was left on the porch for chrissake. It started raining a few minutes after we got in the van. He would still be out there, in the rain, if Parker hadn't picked him up."

"Not to mention he was left on the Dursleys' porch," Parker added, making a face. "I wouldn't wish them on anybody, especially not a baby."

"He might have toddled off," Sophie added, unable to stay out of the persuasion attempt. "Those people left him in a basket. He's at least a year and a half; not exactly an infant, you know. Talk about reckless and dangerous. Nate, we can't return him to those people."

Nate sighed, looking between them. They all looked singularly resolved. He looked down at the baby, who looked up from his cheerios as though he knew he was being watched. They stared at each other for a long minute, and Nate was the first to look away.

"Hardison!" He hollered, eyes focused on his cup as the resident hacker popped into the room. "What've you found?"

"Well, the kid didn't come with a nametag or anything, so it's been a challenge. The biggest clue was the blanket he was wrapped in," Hardison continued as he sat down at the table next to Parker. "It had little hearts that said J.P plus L.E. If I had to guess-"

"Those are probably his parents' initials," interrupted Sophie, leaning forward.

Hardison nodded and unfolded his laptop. "Exactly. So I looked into deaths of J.P.s and L.E.s, J. and L.E.s and J. and L.P.s."

"And?" prompted Eliot when Hardison paused.

"Nothing," he said. "I couldn't find anyone who died in Britain in the last week who had those initials. So I tried looking for reasons why someone would leave the kid with the Dursleys of all people."

"Relatives!" guessed Sophie.

"Bingo. Vernon's only relative is his sister Marge who," Hardison made a disgusted face, then flashed his laptop around the table to show the picture of the woman surrounded by her purebred dogs. "Has thankfully never had kids."

"Which leaves Mrs. Dursley," said Nate, getting into the investigation in spite of himself.

"Which leaves Petunia Dursley, formerly Evans. Had one sister, Lily Evans—"

"L.E." supplied Eliot, ignoring Hardison's glare at the interruption.

"Who appears to have disappeared at age eleven. No death certificate, no police reports… It's like, at age 11 she decided she didn't want to be part of the world anymore and stopped leaving any kind of digital trail. She dropped out of school and everything. Her parents died a few years later."

"That's odd," mused Sophie. "Could it have been witness protection?"

"Unlikely," Hardison shook his head. "At eleven, the whole family would've been put in protection together."

"How old would she be now?" asked Nate, looking at the baby.

"Early twenties," said Hardison. "Plenty old enough to have a boyfriend and a baby."

"Or a husband," murmured Sophie. "So J.P. must be the father. Could you find anything on him?"

"Not a thing," he said with a scowl. "I've got nothing to go on except the initials; he was probably around Lily's age, but who knows? I could research every J.P. in England and still not find him because he might not even be English!"

"What about the baby?" asked Eliot.

"No birth certificate that I could connect back to him, no announcement for a J.P./L.E. baby, nothing. We don't even know the kid's name."

Nate watched as the toddler decided he was finished with the cereal. He squirmed until Eliot put him on the floor. He bounced a few times, fist clutching Eliot's pants as he found his footing, then lowered himself to grab the dropped padlock. He toddled around the table to present the still slobbery lock to Nate, grinning.

"Up, unca!" he said, arms stretched out.

And Nate found he couldn't object.