Eliot's mom used to say, "bet you dollars to donuts, and I talk and talk till she was blue in the face," because, like most people, she used lots of idioms. Eliot never did use them much, but right now, at this very moment, there was another of his mom's favorites floating around in his head: "be careful who you let dill your pickle."

She'd always said it. And while Evelyn Spencer wouldn't let just anyone add dill to her homemade pickles, she meant be careful who you let irritate you.

Right now, as he pulled out of the parking lot of Methodist, he wasn't exactly sure who had dilled his pickle the most. Nate, Sophie, and the others because they were here when he didn't ask them to be or the person who hit the girl sitting in the cab beside him. Her record producer, or himself, for not taking a big enough interest in her career to know her producer was crooked. Or even her, on some levels, but all of the above seemed to fit.

"I could really go for some derby pie," Cat said, drawing Eliot from his ruminations. His attention shifted from the road to his companion.

"Derby Pie, huh?" A slight smile tilted up the edge of his lips despite his mood.

Cat had always liked chocolate, walnut pie. Liked might not be the right word. Loved was much better, though he wasn't sure the connotation of that word was even enough. He knew for sure and certain, though; she had always devoured the gooey sweet pie like a man at his last meal.

"Yes," she said. She turned her head, so her big blue eyes met his. "The Elwood Dinner off main has best in town," she added less than a second later.

Eliot knew where this was heading.

"They also have real good hush puppies and burgers."

"I'd rather get you to the hotel now. They have room service."

The scowl she gave him next was one he knew all too well. She accompanied it with a slight pout of her bottom lip. An "awe, but Eliot," generally accompanied that look when she was little. Today it was paired with a rapid batting of sandy-colored lashes from her and a flat look from him.

"So why don't you tell me more about this record producer of yours?" He asked, turning his attention back to the road.

Catherine sighed, "what do you want to know?" She shifted on the truck seat. "And which one do you mean Derek who runs the place or sleazy Frank who runs the production."

Eliot's gaze shot back to his companion, and he studied her for a moment. He knew well enough when she was evasive. As if on cue, she shifted on the seat again, but she didn't meet his gaze.

Eliot's attention returned to the road. "How about we go with both?"

She sighed, "Derek runs the company, he's the CEO. He brings in new artists, runs the money, writes the contracts." She snorted. She looked over at Eliot, knowing the next thing she would tell him would make him angry. "He has all the artists sign a binding contract when he signs you up to the roster. He owns my publishing, my music… and he has said how long the tour is. If you can, take a break."

Eliot's grip on the steering wheel tightened. He opened his mouth. "How," he sputtered. "What," he tried next, "what." He looked at Cat again, and some of the anger left him.

She had that crease in her brow, the one she had always gotten when she was upset.

"Maybe if you'd been around, I'd asked your opinion," she quipped.

The words smarted and served to deflate him more. "Cat?" He questioned softly when she kept her attention trained on the road. "You know I would have…" his words trailed off. What could he say to her? He might have stayed away for so long to protect her, but it didn't change the facts as they were at their most fundamental level. He hadn't been here.

The sting he'd felt when Amy informed him, she wasn't the only one he'd abandoned came back.

"So, how about that pie?" She asked, pulling Eliot from his thoughts.

Sighing, Eliot let go. He filed the rest of his questions and concerns away for a later time. "I'll make you a deal."

There was a pause as Cat narrowed her eyes skeptically; still, a slight smile tugged at her lips. "Really?" She drew out the last syllable.

"Yup. Scouts honor," he said like she had used to like to say when she was little. He and Tommy had spent hours telling her little girls were Girl Scouts, not Boy Scouts. Not that Eliot really thought that, she was just hilarious to wind up.

"Scouts honor?" She started, then went on. "My, my, this must be serious."

"It is, I'll get you your damn pie," he ended in a far grouchier tone than he actually felt.

"But?"

"But I want to drop you off at the hotel first. You can stay with Sophie and the others."

Cat nodded, not entirely thrilled with the idea of him leaving her alone with strangers, but she let it go.

"What's up with…" her words trailed off. "Parker? Parker. Was that her name?"

"Yeah," Eliot said, unable to keep from cringing slightly. "What'd she do?"

"She was codling me when they were helping me dress. She was talking to me in this weird baby voice and tried to pinch my cheek."

Eliot cleared his throat. "Well… Parker is…"

"Special?" Cat asked, shifting in the seat. Her body was already starting to throb again.

"That is one way to put it."

"How else would you put it?" She asked in a leading voice. She loved playing devil's advocate with him. He was so much funnier when he was irritated with someone else. And she already knew what he was going to say.

"Five pounds of crazy in a ten-pound bag," she said at the exact same moment as him.

"Lame," she added with a roll of her eyes. "You really need some new material," she teased.

"Hey!" He began sharply. "You want that pie?" He fought the smile, playing about his lips.

"Is a frog's ass watertight?" She deadpanned. She had gotten into so much trouble for parroting Shelly when she was little. He had said this all the time, along with "does a bear shit in the forest." She'd parroted that one as well, and that would be why Shelly called her Sam. For Toucan Sam.

"Did you call Shelly?" She asked as they pulled into the parking lot of Hiatt.

"Nope, I haven't yet."

By the time they got her out of the truck into the suite, the one named Hardison had booked for them, Cat was shot. Her body ached despite the pain pills, and all she wanted to do was sleep. Eliot helped her get into bed and suggested she sleep. He promised her her own clothes and her pie when she woke up. Part of her wanted to snap that she wasn't a child anymore, but she was pretty sure she was asleep almost before she was done talking