Notes: Part Two of Shelter and the Storm. I also should clarify. Yes, Black King White Knight is offically closed. If I end up writting anything that takes place in verse between the end of Two Knight Opener (which will be posted eventually and be basically from the start of the series to when they get in a somewhat serious relationship) to Fathers I'll post it as part of Black King White Knight.

Concerning Bar Chats, Not-Quite-Drunken Confessions, and Apartment Keys
After the Order 23 Job Eliot imitates Nate and Hardison imitates Eliot in a non-touchy sense.

It wasn't that Eliot didn't drink, it was that he knew to make sure he didn't get drunk. When you lived your life in a state of somewhat constant vigilance, not quite ever entirely sure an old enemy wouldn't come to call and try to drag you off to some dark hole (or just kill you on the spot) getting drunk was just a stupid idea.

Being drunk had nearly gotten him killed when he was twenty one. It had almost gotten that entire village in Croatia killed when he was twenty six.

They say third times a charm and he had no intention of him drinking himself into oblivion being the reason the entire leverage team got killed.

Which was probably the only reason right then that he was nursing a glass of the house's best whiskey but not actually drinking it. He was just a little buzzed, which was actually more than he'd normally let himself, and he knew a little more would start to actually impair him. It wouldn't be much, but it was more than acceptable.

He should really head upstairs. Nate was probably wondering where he was and if that was Hardison he'd caught sight of heading upstairs than Nate was probably worried. There would be words and Nate would ask why Eliot had gone off the rails for the first time since the Two Horse Job.

Of course Nate would know already. He'd just ask to see if Eliot would give a straight answer in the no win way parents get going sometimes which was just wrong since he was sleeping with Nate. Fucking control freak.

Eliot put down the glass and pushed it away. His head was a little more foggy than he liked. He'd blame it on the alcohol. He'd blame it on a lot of things.

Honestly, he knew he was just still a little off his game after everything that had happened. The hospital situation seems like it should have been nice closure. He came back to the job and saved some kid and he wasn't just some defenseless runt step-grandson of the most powerful man in town. He didn't have to be afraid anymore. His step father was dead and gone. He'd rescued Randy. He'd had the self control not to kill the father. Hell, Eliot had even taken out a hit man he hadn't even known about until thirty seconds before shots were fired. He kicked ass all around today.

By all accounts today had been a good day. He'd kicked ass, stayed in control, and the team treated him normal despite what had gone down. It should have felt like closure, or at least left him with the slight buzz that might be interpreted as feeling good he got after they finished a job.

Instead he was doing a pretty good imitation of "old Nate", drinking and trying not to suffocate under memories.

To say thinking about the situation caused him frustration that normally only came from dealing with Hardison for long periods of time was a bit of an understatement.

He had to admit whatever the hell was out there had a sense of humor cause it was not more than a few minutes after that analysis had crossed his mind that Hardison slid into the seat next to him.

Eliot found a new focus for his frustration about the time Hardison opened the conversation with. "What's a guy like you doing in a classy place like this?" Hardison blinked and the look on his face was what Parker had once called the "Oh crap, Eliot's more not amused than normal" look. It was a fairly good description, even if Hardison had been exhibiting less fear for his life at Eliot's hands of late.

Familiarity breeds contempt, the aesops said, so go figure. Of course it also got a fox eaten by a lion.

"What do you want Hardison?" Eliot asked sharply, thinking to hell with it and taking another taste of whiskey. He'd need it to get through the next ten minutes without punching someone.

Hardison was watching him, concerned but aware, probably reading him way better than Hardison could have ever hoped to before the team came together. One bad thing about working with a grifter and an investigator with profiling skills was that soon Everyone was getting better and better at reading people.

Eliot resisted the urge to fidget or resort to violence. He hated people studying him like that. "Not a sideshow here Hardison, say somthin' or go away."

"You're drinking whiskey." Eliot gave him a look that was a somewhat more threatening version of 'your point?' "I've known you for two years. You only drink beer, maybe wine or somthin' but nothing harder and never enough to get drunk."

"I aint drunk." Eliot said, putting the glass down harder than he meant.

"I know. Looks like you're goin' full speed ahead for it though." Hardison held up his hands innocently. "I don't have a problem with it. I know sometimes you have to let off a little pressure and so long as no one gets hurt and you don't turn into Nate it's between you, Jim Bean, and your morning hangover."

Eliot turned away, picking up the glass but not drinking any more. "…but?"

Hardison rolled his eyes, though it didn't take a genius to predict there was a but in there. "But I just want to know what it's about. Is it the kid back at the hospital? I've been keeping an eye on things, he's being put into the system as we speak."

Eliot didn't respond more than to push the glass away.

"Eliot look. I know you're not big on the heart to hearts and pep talks and I get that talking's not going to fix whats happened lately just… We're all worried about you." Eliot started to reply with a growl but Hardison talked over him.

"Yeah, you're always okay, you don't go down. You're fine, I get it, it's cool. But you're not working alone anymore. We're family, all the family most of us have. Part of that's letting' us know when you're hurting and letting us help." Hardison hesitated a second before venturing. "You should know that."

Eliot knew he meant Joey, Eliot's little sister. He knew Hardison was talking about the years growing up when Joey would patch him up after a beating. It gave her some way to feel a tiny bit less helpless, maybe the only reason he let her see him hurt so much. Even at all of ten he realized half the terror they lived with was spawned by the fact there was nothing more they could do than try to survive. Survive and live with the fear and anger and helplessness.

Hardison shifted, ordering a drink from the bartender who seemed to take the pause in conversation as a good time to make a sale. After getting it Hardison sighed. "Look, we just don't want to sit by and watch you self destruct. We already made that mistake before." Hardison shrugged. "I'd rather not blow this place up."

Eliot sighed one more time. "I'm just a little off my game." He said finally. "Nothing a few jobs and a little time won't fix."

"No offense Eliot, but after a job and a fight you're more of a wreck than you were before."

Eliot deflated just a little. One bad thing about working as a member of a team: you got called out on your shit a lot more. He sighed. "I just need a little time." He gave one small sigh and conceded. "I'm just… I'm a hitter. You learn early that the minute you lose control is the minute life goes all to hell." He finished his drink, letting it burn down his throat before say words that burned coming out. "The kid, Randy, his dad knew the cops. There was no way out for him." He was helpless. "Even after all that happened before… wasn't until right before you showed up I remembered what that felt like." He finished off his drink and pulled out his wallet, pulling out the bills to pay his tab.

Hardison didn't say anything. If Eliot was in a better mood he might have made some internal commentary that it probably said something about their team that Hardison knew more than a few methods of trying to get someone to open up about issues but had no idea how to respond when they actually did so.

Eliot was on his way out the door when Hardison moved and caught up to him. "Leaving before you see Nate? The man'd never say so but he's worried about you."

Eliot shrugged, not really wanting to explain that he didn't feel like Nate seeing him as close to drunk as he'd been in a decade.

"At least take a cab." Hardison insisted, causing Eliot to glare and momentarily re-entertain the thought of causing him bodily harm. "Hey, buzzed driving is still drunk driving." Eliot turned away. "Don't make me hack your car."

"This is an example of why my control aint an issue. If it was…" He let the threat hang open. To be honest Eliot had driven under the influence of something much worse than a bit of alcohol before and not hurt anyone, but it was a rather extreme circumstance. He doubted East Asian gun runners would be chasing him through the streets of Boston tonight.

And he did try to avoid taking stupid risks when it wasn't necessary.

"Either take a cab, go see Nate, or crash in the empty apartment on the top floor." Eliot let a raised eyebrow do the questioning. "Seriously. There's a leather couch in there that's really nice." He waited a moment then added. "Seven hundred sports channels Mr. I don't own a TV." He held out a set of keys.

Eliot took them and headed for the stairs.

Hardison followed him out. When they reached the stairwell Hardison headed off to go to his den of hacking to do Eliot didn't even want to know what.

Eliot mounted the stairs, twirling the key ring around his finger and catching it before he spoke. "Hey Hardison?" He called over his shoulder. "Thanks."

He climbed the stairs, step by step getting higher and farther away from the bar. Eliot remembered once he'd told Sophie it was all to try to keep it from suffocating him.

He'd tried Nate's method to shake off old memories and nearly drowned in it for awhile. Now he was climbing stairs up and away. He knew the reprive was only temporary and he'd have to deal with everything in due time.

But right then, while he was moving, (maybe doing a little running) he felt like he was breaking the surface for the first time in hours, maybe longer. It wasn't much, but he was used to taking a little bit of shelter and taking a breath before facing the storm again.

It was what he did.