AN: Missing scene set at the end of 4.10 – The Queen's Gambit Job.
Shout out to anyone who's given me feedback after the last chapter: Thank you so much! You are amazing!
.oOo.
"Eliot, what happened to your hands?" Parker asks, her head pushed in between the front seats. She's close enough for her hair to tickle against Hardison's neck and cheek. For a second his heart stutters and he wants to turn away from the road even if he's driving, gravitate to her, and… But her head is turned the other way, toward the passenger seat.
In the corner of his eye Hardison sees Eliot turn his palms up. Red, angry, lines are traversing them in several places. With Parker's head in the way Hardison couldn't see Eliot's face even if he tried so he doesn't. He listens instead. "Must've cut them breaking out of the server room." Eliot says, like he hasn't noticed it.
"I taught you how to pick locks." Parker sounds almost disappointed, as if Eliot not using the knowledge she's shared is a deliberate criticism. They tangent off in a conversation about digital locks and ways to breach doors that Hardison should find interest in but doesn't.
This job has been good. Great. Amazing. Neither Sterling nor the failed attempt to steal the weight make a noticeable dent in the pile of awesome this job has been. Because Parker. Simple as that. Only now Hardison is starting to notice there's a part in the back of his mind that doesn't quite fit in. Something back there rubs against everything else a little bit awkwardly and it's starting to chafe.
The feeling was brought to his attention by Parker's question. She's broken the rule about Eliot's injuries, and maybe that is it? But no. Rather the fact that she only mentioned this injury in particular, the one that stood out for the single reason it was not from fighting.
From the conversation going on around him Hardison has picked out that Eliot broke something metal from a server rack and used it to bust the hinges of the door. That seems like part of what's chafing. In the time it takes the traffic light in front of him to cycle from red through yellow to green Hardison's mind has smoothly run diagnostics with the new variable as a base. As he hits the gas the shape of the area bothering him is well defined.
When Hardison met Eliot in the entrance of the Skyspire the man had hugged him. Hugged. Eliot had hugged him.
Before Hardison had time to respond with more than the lightest hand on Eliot's back the other man had pulled away, telling Hardison to stop. As if he'd been the one to instigate the contact from the start.
At the time Hardison had been too caught up in everything else. He hadn't been thinking about their interaction; about if there had been anything more than anger in Eliot's anger. It's impossible to know for sure in retrospect.
Combine it with this new knowledge, the broken skin in Eliot's palms from forcing his way out of a locked server room. Yes, Hardison can see why it chafes.
It isn't until the airport that Hardison finds the opportunity to follow up on his train of thought. They've been in a mad scramble of picking up their things, erasing evidence of them ever being in the country, and coordinating with Nate who's still in a cab stuck in traffic somewhere. That's what he gets from chasing Sterling across town in a stolen car, trekking a couple of blocks away from the dumpsite, and fighting to find a cab; late. It's his own damn fault if he misses the flight, Hardison is not coming to save him.
They haven't taken more than three steps on the stone floor of the terminal before Parker is beelining for chocolates. She walks like gravity is lower than its regular g, practically bouncing of the floor. Sophie speaks of tea and follows her. If the timing is a little suspicious Hardison won't call her out on it.
"Tell me you didn't book me a seat right next to her?" Eliot says. Even if there's technically two women who just left them it's clear who he means. Parker is still high from her base jump, and with added sugar she's going to be a nightmare.
"Eh…" Hardison tries to evade. All their seats are booked in different reservations, but together.
"Dammit Hardison!" Eliot says.
"Fixing it as we speak." Hardison gestures to the phone in his hand as he easily rearranges some people to strategically put Parker and him in a corner away from the others. He can live with that.
Once Hardison's finished he plays with the phone a few more moments, buying himself time. He knows he needs to bring this up now, before the others come back and it will be too late. Hardison looks up at Eliot, over to where the girls disappeared, back at Eliot. "What?" The hitter questions.
"I was just thinking…" Hardison says. He takes a breath and then dives straight in. "Just, Sterling drugged you, and locked you up, and I knew he was a bastard but not how big of a bastard, and he should have told us instead of playing us, that was not any kind of kosher, and I…" Rambling, Hardison knows, comes naturally to him. It's not something he's proud of, but he can't help himself. "Are you okay?" He finally asks.
The pause before Eliot answers is a fraction of a second too long.
"I'm fine," Eliot says and Hardison realizes that not long ago he'd have believed it to be true. Since then he has learnt stuff about how to read Eliot. If the statement is not an outright lie it's at least an exaggeration.
"Okay," Hardison answers. "So, not really fine but doesn't want to talk about it. I can work with that." He gives Eliot a short opening to refute the statement but when it's not immediately used he keeps going like it was never there. "You think Nate's gonna make the flight?"
It doesn't matter what Eliot answers, Hardison knows he'll take the other side for the sake of the argument.