His phone rang just as he opened the door to the office/Nate's apartment. He was late, but still, he didn't think he was so late that Hardison should call and he was ready to snarl at him. "What?"
"Eliot?"
"Oh, hi," he paused listening as he opened Nate's door. "Are you okay?"
"I, I'm sorry, I shouldn't have called."
He was in the foyer, but he turned his back on the crew, shutting the door. Was she crying? "Are you okay? What's wrong?"
"Thirteen years ago. I was in labor, right now."
Crap! Crap, crap and double crap. Don't cry! But he only thought it and didn't say it. "I, uh, I." Crap!
"It's stupid, I'm sorry."
Eliot fished in his pocket and pulled out his keys. He threw them hard enough that they sailed across the open space to hit Nate in the shoulder blades. Nate turned to give a what-the-hell glare and Eliot made a gesture to the spot right in front of him. "Get your ass over here" he glared at Nate.
Nate came over, hands wide, puzzled look on his face.
Eliot was torn. He hated when women cried. He wanted to go to her, hold her, but this wasn't something he could fix.
"It was an easy labor. Nothing about that kid was hard, you know. Five hours. Everyone told me, first babies, they take forever, but he didn't. Just…"
Crap! Eliot grabbed Nate's arm as soon as he got close and pulled him to his side so Nate could hear the phone. "Maggie, darlin'," God Eliot felt like there was a lead weight in his stomach. "Honey, I don't think this call is for me." He shoved the phone into Nate's hand and pushed him toward the stairs to Nate's upstairs apartment. He clenched his hands to cover his frustration. The rest of the team was looking at him.
"Briefing over. Go on, get out of here." He waved them toward the door.
"Eliot?" Sophie asked her glance going up the stairs.
"Go shopping. Buy shoes. Go on. Everybody out."
"But dude, I had a video and stuff."
"Right, good, out." They were moving, but not fast enough. He kept waving them on like he was herding cattle.
"Eliot?" Sophie touched his arm gently, and he jerked it back.
"It's just not a good time. Nate's gonna need some time." He slid his gaze to Hardison and Parker then back to her. "Just not now, Sophie, okay?"
"Sure, sure. Call me later."
He gave her a rueful smile. "Can't. Nate has my phone."
She gave him her soft understanding smile and patted his arm. Even though he felt like a traitor, to her, to Nate, to Maggie, this time he let her hand linger.
When the apartment was quiet, he sat on Nate's couch and flipped on the TV. It always took him three tries, or more, to get it off the computer function and onto the sports channel. He sat, quiet, his stomach queasy, his hands sweaty. Should he have handed Nate the phone? Did he just bring back way too many memories for the man? How was Maggie? Was this the right thing? Letting them talk to each other? Maybe he should have stayed on the phone. Listened. That's what he was supposed to be good at. Crap. Sophie was going to be furious with him. It wasn't like he was setting Maggie and Nate up to be together again. He flipped the channels. Maybe the next channel would have something. Something so he didn't have to think. Maybe the next one. 700 sports channels and he couldn't find a single thing to watch.
"Are you here to keep me from going on a bender?" Nate's voice was artic. "Did you hide the bottle?"
Eliot jumped to his feet, shutting off the TV at the same time. "No, uh, I, I." He stammered as he came around the couch. He didn't know what to say, he hadn't thought this through. They met in the open area near the kitchen. "I, uh, just wanted my phone back." He said the first thing he could think of. "I'm sorry, man." He meant it to be a brief guy hug. Two seconds, then get his phone and get the hell out of there. Nate went stiff. Hell, Eliot didn't blame him, he would have done the same. But then Nate had grabbed the back of Eliot's shirt in a death grip and hung on. One hand clutching, the other curled to fist, hitting Eliot in the back. There were curses and swear words and words that Eliot didn't understand mumbled into the side of his neck and he just hung on back. He wanted to say something, anything, to help ease the pain, but there was nothing, so he just stood still and let Nate come unglued. Finally, seconds, hours, years later, Nate pulled back. He looked away and Eliot did too. Give each other space.
Eliot moved to the kitchen, pulled down two glasses and pulled open the cupboard with the single malt in it. "You want food or just this?"
"Just."
"K." Eliot poured them both a drink. Nate stood on the other side of the breakfast bar. He held the glass in his hand, examining the amber liquid. Eliot tossed the shot back in one gulp. "I'll go."
"I wish you wouldn't." Nate sipped at his drink. "Maybe I shouldn't drink alone tonight."
Eliot wanted to say something, but he just wasn't good with words. "Okay." He refilled his glass. His stomach still hurt, and it wasn't all from the Scotch, but he'd stay. He leaned against the counter near the stove. He could do this. He could listen.