Eliot pulled a dry shirt over his head and yanked his soaking hair out from the collar.

"Are we gonna go talk to Nate now?" Hardison asked, peeling his shirt off his back.

Eliot caught Hardison's arms, halfway to removing his shirt, and held them still. "I am going to talk to him," he whispered. "By myself." Eliot caught Hardison's eye and held his gaze.

"Why can't Sophie and I-"

"Because I said so."

Hardison pulled his shirt over his head, the cold and wet fabric clinging to his face. He reached for the stack of clean shirts they'd pulled from the closet and selected a simple green tee. He tossed the wet one in the general direction of the open bathroom door.

"That's not an answer," Hardison said.

"Things are," Eliot paused, weighing the words carefully in his head. "It might get messy."

Hardison looked at him, eyes wide. He leaned down to whisper, "You're not gonna punch Nate, are you?"

Eliot scoffed. "'Course not."

"Then what's the problem?" Hardison asked, his voice squeaking in his attempt to stay quiet.

"Just 'cuz I ain't gonna punch him doesn't mean it's something I want an audience for."

Hardison just stared, mouth open.

"What do you want us to do?" Sophie asked quietly. She stepped out of the bathroom, over Hardison's and Eliot's soggy tops, no remains of the storm on her clothing or shoes. The only indication that anything at all had happened was a small pine twig, caught in her hair.

Eliot looked at her. He reached behind her ear to remove the twig. "Here," he said, handing it to her. "I want you to go shopping. There's a list on the island- I started it before we left."

Hardison went over to the island and picked up the notepad. He began reading it to himself, his voice more for himself than the team. "Mouthwash. Three medium sized zucchinis. Two pounds lean ground beef." He stole a look at Nate, who was still staring out the window at the storm, seemingly oblivious to the team and the room around him. "Anything else you need?"

Eliot snatched the list from Hardison and produced a pen from his pocket. He scribbled a few items in his big, blocky handwriting, and handed the list back to Hardison.

"Shall we?" Sophie asked, her voice big again. She too stole a glance at Nate. He hadn't seemed to hear her.

Hardison couldn't hide the annoyance in his voice when he muttered, "let's go."

Sophie and Hardison headed out the door, flipping the main lightswitch off on their way out.

"Hope the place's still standing when we get back," Hardison called behind him. His voice was light but the meaning was clear: control yourself.

Alone for the first time since that morning, Eliot paused. Until this moment he hadn't stopped to consider what he would actually say to Nate. Sure, he'd played the scene through his head over and over from the moment Parker had shrieked in pain, but that scene had involved a lot more violence than he hoped for, standing here in the dark of Nate's apartment, Hardison's voice echoing through his mind.

"You really had to send them away for this?" Nate asked, startling the silence out of the room. His voice was heavy and hard.

"I needed groceries," Eliot said casually. He reached for a hair tie Sophie had left on the kitchen counter and twisted his hair into a low ponytail. His fingers came away streaked with mud.

"Could tell them to pick me up another bottle," Nate said. He reached for the one he already had. Finding it nearly empty, he tipped it back into his mouth.

"Don't count on it." A flash of lightning illuminated the two of them, framed against the open window.

"You want to tell me what you're doing here, Eliot?"

"Right now? Tryin' to control my temper."

"Guessing it's not the first time," Nate said. He set the bottle down with a hard clunk and rubbed his hand over his face.

"No," Eliot said slowly. "It's not." Thunder rumbled, close.

"Is she okay?"

Eliot opened his mouth to speak but found no words to use. He sucked in a shallow breath through gritted teeth and ground out, "You don't get to ask that question."

Nate turned for the first time since they'd arrived and looked at him. "Why not? She's one of mine, isn't she?"

"One of yours? That's how you treat one of yours?"

Nate turned back around but didn't say anything, so Eliot continued. "I get it, I do. This job was big, and important. A little too close to home." Nate stayed silent but Eliot swore he heard him swallow his unsteadiness. "Warren's the kind of guy you take pleasure in ruining."

"We all do," Nate said, his voice small.

Eliot nodded, though it was too dark to see. "You ain't wrong there. I would've loved to see Warren's face when he figured out what we did. But that's not the point."

"It's not?" Nate continued to stare out the open window, his fingers tapping against the armrest of his chair.

Eliot backtracked. "Sort of. The point is that we get guys like Warren, and the rest of the world disappears."

"It does?"

"Your world," Eliot corrected. "It's the only thing you can see. And when that happens, people get hurt."

"They do?"

Eliot sucked in another breath, impatient with Nate's two-word responses. "You don't think Parker got there on her own," Eliot said, jerking his head toward the guest bedroom. Flashes in triplicate lit up the world outside so bright they could read the street signs below.

"I thought she could handle it." Thunder poured into the room even before the flashing stopped. Nate's fingers tightened around the armrest.

"You thought-"

"She told me she could handle it."

"You discussed this? Beforehand?"

Nate nodded in the dark, but Eliot didn't need the confirmation.

"Were you gonna tell us?"

"I knew you could keep her safe."

"How? How could you know that?" Eliot bit his tongue to keep from shouting; he didn't want to wake Parker. Though if the thunder hadn't done so by now she was probably out for awhile.

Nate turned to look at him again. "It's what you do, isn't it?"

"What is it? What do I do?"

"You-"

"I clean up the mess, don't I?" Eliot interrupted, answering his own question. "So that no matter what messes you make on your little self-pity crusade, you don't have to clean up. Isn't that right?"

Nate said nothing. The wind howled outside, a low moan.

Eliot kept his voice low, forcing each word into a growl. "I'm done. You think I can just fix things, like that's what I do, but you're wrong. I protect them. And this-" he motioned again toward the guest room. "I can't protect them from everything."

"So what are you going to do?"

Eliot knelt on the ground so he was eye level with Nate and leaned close. His voice was a whisper, but it was stronger than the storm outside. "You do this again, and I'm out. I'll take them with me, we'll start over somewhere new. That's it. One time."

Nate felt a laugh rising in his chest, or it could have been a cough- an idea, strangling him. "Sophie wouldn't leave."

Eliot's focus wavered, a second split with indecision, before he continued. "It's not Sophie I'm worried about."

"Parker," Nate said. Her name sat heavier on his breath than the booze.

Eliot nodded, standing up. "She'd move mountains for you, Nate."

When Nate said nothing and the seconds stretched into minutes between them, heavy and dark, Eliot turned toward the door. "I'm going to check on Parker."

"You think I don't know that?"

"Know what?" Eliot asked, his hand on the doorknob.

"What she'd do for me? For us?"

Eliot took his hand back from the metal knob, holding it to his chest like it'd been burnt.

"I saw her with Archie," Nate said, speaking to the open space around them. "With the girl from Lefty's chop shop. I saw her with that psychic, how much she must have loved her brother."

At the mention of the psychic, Eliot's body tensed. He still couldn't fathom why he hadn't gone back to kill that guy. But he said nothing, and Nate continued.

"She might not know how to show it, but the girl's got a heart as deep as the ocean. She'd find a way to set the earth upside down on its axis, if it meant helping one of us."

Eliot could only nod to the darkness.

"If there's anyone that reminds me of Sam-" his voice broke a little over the name, "it's her. Out of all of you, it's Parker that comes to me like," Nate trailed off, still lost in the name.

"Like a father," Eliot finished for him.

"Yes," Nate said. "Like a father."

Moments swirled between them. The storm was on its way out, leaving just the smell of the rain.

Finally, Eliot spoke. "What kind of father leaves his daughter behind?"

Nate stood for the first time that evening, facing Eliot in the damp darkness. "The kind," he said, "that knows his daughter isn't alone."