O-Day + 569
Battles And Wars

"Okay, little lady." Eliot did his best to look stern, but he was fooling absolutely no one, and certainly not his mark. She only smiled, serene in her total mastery of the situation. Eliot didn't want to resort to brute force, but she'd left him no choice.

Unfortunately, picking her up bodily only made her give him such a gurgly, delighted laugh that only a fool would think he hadn't lost the fight completely.

"You are going to be worse than your mother and father combined," he grumbled by way of clutching his last shreds of manly dignity to himself, before giving in to the inevitable. He gobbled noisily on the fist she was waving in front of his face, then belatedly checked to make sure there was no one around to see. Doing daily battle with an eight-month-old might be causing a total paradigm shift in his understanding of winning and losing, but there was no reason for anyone else to know that.

Seeing that they were still alone, it couldn't do any harm to cuddle her just a little. He got momentarily lost in her clean baby smell, her downy hair, and found himself pressing a soft kiss to her forehead. It wasn't until she pulled away that he remembered his stubble and worried that it had scratched her, but she was only yawning, a big, arching yawn that took up her whole body.

"Ha! Told you you were tired," he muttered in triumph, laying her in the crib Parker had scrounged, pulling up the blanket Hardison had crocheted for her (who knew?). But she had other ideas. Her little face crumpled, not in temper but in a breathy whimper of sad, quiet anxiety. Eliot didn't even bother trying to offer resistance.

"Shh-sh, I'm here, I'm here." He rested a gentle hand on her. "Hush, baby girl. I'm here."

Something like a sob escaped her and she reached for him, and there was no conscious decision involved in Eliot pulling her back up into his arms. "I know, I know." He held her close and rocked. "They'll be home soon. Only a few more days. Mom and Dad will be home soon. I gotcha. Shh, shh."

Well, it wasn't like he had anywhere to be. He could let her take her time. He began humming, crooning snatches of half-remembered songs while aimlessly wandering the room. Slowly she settled, nestling her head at the crook of his neck, against the vibration of his voice. Her warm, quieting mewls sank through his defenses like fishing weights through water, adding more hooks to those already embedded deep under his ribs.

He smiled helplessly. "Okay, okay, I give up," he whispered, whether to himself or to her, he didn't know. "The field is yours. There's such a thing as overkill, though, missy. It's not good manners to keep proving you won... Or maybe that's me. Not knowing how to stop fighting." He stilled for a moment, before pulling his thoughts back from dark places.

"But I'm gonna warn you, this ain't over. You ain't twisting me around your finger forever. I am tough. There are plenty of men who tried to break me ... and plenty of women who tried to keep me. And you are never, ever gonna hear those stories, not a single one ... but all I'm saying is enjoy this victory while it lasts. Battle. Not the war. You think you can just waltz through here and take Uncle Eliot's heart and soul for yourself, you can just think again. You hear me?"

She hadn't. She was asleep. His sigh was not unhappy, and he didn't even notice the smile lingering on his face as he laid her down and carefully tucked the blanket around her. "Fine. You can have'm for now. Just a loan, got it? Temporary. Because of extenuating circumstances. And it's conditional. You tell anyone, I'll take it all back, don't think I won't."

"Take what back?"

"Sh!" Eliot backed up to the door quietly, watching for any disturbance, but deep slumber appeared to have set in. He ushered Hardison into the hallway. "The offer to babysit. Ever again," he said smoothly. "This is not my job, man."

Hardison's face became serious. "Well, get ready to do your job. We just lost contact with Nate and Sophie."