Author's note: all the usual disclaimers about not owning the Leverage characters/concept and not making any money from this apply.
The airport the next morning was busier than usual, still trying to catch up with the backlog of travellers whose flights had been cancelled due to the previous day's storm. They got held up in security when the scanner picked up the unusual bulges of Eliot's bandages and he had to wait for a TSA official to poke, prod, and generally inspect them to confirm he wasn't concealing any weapons or explosive materials. Eliot bit back his comments about the absurdity of the screening process and all the ways one could still sneak dangerous materials on board if one really wanted to until they were out of earshot, but muttered mutinously about it the rest of the way to their departure gate. Their flight was, of course, leaving from the gate seemingly farthest from the security checkpoint and he was limping heavily by the time they reached it, so Hardison and Parker bit their own tongues and restricted themselves to sympathetic noises of agreement, whatever eye-rolling might be occurring behind his back.
By the time they reached the gate, there were only a few minutes left until boarding, so Hardison waited with their luggage while Parker went in search of snacks and Eliot of the restroom. He used the time to let Nate know the time they expected to reach Portland, to check the weather along their route, and to scroll one more time through the local news to make sure their names and faces weren't appearing distinctly anywhere. He thought briefly again of the phone call Eliot received that had started the whole cascade of events, and wondered if there was anything he could do to quiet the networks' chatter any time Eliot blew into town.
He hadn't come up with any concrete ideas when Eliot dropped into the seat next to him and reached into his duffle bag for the bottle of prescription painkillers. Hardison raised an eyebrow at him.
"Precaution," Eliot grunted. "Five hours of sitting isn't going to be fun."
Hardison nodded, but he couldn't help noticing that Eliot had his right arm cradled protectively against his body, nor the difficulty the older man seemed to have coordinating the motions of standing and lifting his carry-on bag when their boarding group was called. He resisted rounding out the argument they had had earlier about whether Eliot should hitch a ride on one of the airport disability golf carts to their departure gate with a final 'I told you so', and slid an unobtrusive hand around Eliot's left bicep to give the little extra leverage (if you'll pardon the pun) that the man obviously needed.
Parker slid into place beside them just as they reached the front of the line, taking her bag from Hardison. They followed the families with small children and frequent fliers down the walkway and found their seats in first class. There was a large businessman already settled in the window seat beside Eliot's, lap top out and files and papers already surrounding him. The first class seats were spacious, but even so, he was obviously going to be moving stuff around and nudging up against his seatmate for most of the flight. From the way Eliot was moving, Parker could tell that the trek across the airport had left him hurting – and hurting meant a shorter rein on his temper than usual, and she really didn't want to spend five hours sitting across the aisle from a fuming Eliot. She glanced down at her boarding pass. If he traded with her, his injured shoulder would be on the aisle side, potentially in the way of the drinks trolley and any passengers heading to the bathroom.
Parker poked Hardison in the back.
"Trade with Eliot," she whispered to him.
Hardison looked round at her in confusion as they waited for a passenger in front of them to wrestle her carry-on bag in the overhead compartment.
"Sitting next to me will give him more space to spread out," Parker nodded towards Eliot, who was now trying to help with the luggage stowing. His right arm wouldn't lift that high, however, and Hardison stepped in hurriedly to shove the bag further into the compartment as it showed an alarming tendency to slide back down towards Eliot's nose.
Eliot treated him to a lower-level death glare and proceeded on to his assigned seat. Hardison stopped him as he started to slide into the seat.
"Damn," Hardison said dramatically, staring at his boarding pass. He turned pleading eyes on Eliot. "Will you trade with me?"
Eliot sat down.
"You're sitting next to Parker," he said.
"But I want an aisle seat," Hardison protested.
"So trade with Parker," Eliot said, pulling a book out of his bag and then starting to insert the latter under the seat in front of him. "You're holding up the line."
"Then I'd be sitting in an even-lettered seat," Hardison said. "I don't sit in even-lettered seats in odd-numbered months."
Eliot needed a moment to parse that. Then he smiled a little evilly.
"Trading with me won't help you there, bubba," he pointed out. He gestured to the empty window and aisle seats across the way. "A, B," he said, then pointed in turn to the man beside him and himself, "C, D."
Hardison cursed inwardly, and tried to think of something else.
"It would at least put me on the starboard side of the aircraft," Hardison said. "I also don't sit on the port side on Tuesdays."
"Should have thought of that when you made the reservation," Eliot told him, opening his book.
Hardison felt Parker tap his elbow gently, and he looked down again at the boarding pass he held.
Hah!
"I did," he told Eliot smugly. "Check your boarding pass."
Eliot dug it out of his jeans as a flight attendant approached. How Parker had managed to switch the passes when one was in his hands and Eliot was apparently sitting on the other was one of those questions Hardison had finally learnt to stop asking.
"Is there a problem here?" the flight attendant asked. "We really need to keep the line moving."
Eliot was staring at his boarding pass in disbelief. His eyes went briefly to Parker, smirking over Hardison's shoulder, and Hardison's slightly triumphant expression, before he arranged his face into that of a polite and slightly apologetic customer who definitely didn't need to be removed from the aircraft.
"No, ma'am," he told the flight attendant. "Just a little mix up over seat numbers."
Eliot stood and started moving across the aisle to 'his' new seat. Hardison snagged the duffle bag from the floor before Eliot could protest.
"Let me help you with that," he said, sliding it into the overhead compartment, before slipping into the seat Eliot had vacated.
Parker sat down beside Eliot, and all three of them maintained their good customer faces until the flight attendant gave them a professional smile and moved on to avert the next embarkation crisis.
"What the hell was that about?" Eliot growled under his breath to Parker after the flight attendant left.
Parker levelled a steady gaze on him.
"Getting you a little more space," she told him.
"I don't – " Eliot started to protest, but Parker very deliberately slid her elbow into Eliot's where it rested on their shared armrest. He hissed, pulling his arm in closer to his body. "What the hell are you doing, Parker?!"
"Making a point. I know to make sure that doesn't happen again. Do you think that guy over there would do the same?"
Eliot spared a glance past Hardison, where the businessman was shuffling through papers, trying to fit them and his laptop on the tray table that folded out from the chair's armrest. Parker might have had a point.
"Why couldn't you just tell me that?" he asked her, exasperated.
Parker snorted.
"Like you'd listen," she said. "You would have just said you were fine and didn't need to swop."
"I didn't –" Eliot started.
"I know," Parker interrupted again. "The odd elbow knock or accidental kick isn't going to kill you. But why sit through unnecessary pain?"
Eliot opened his mouth to reply, but no words came out. The Percocet was kicking in, and had apparently stolen his ability to marshal coherent thoughts.
Parker sighed.
"Never mind," she said, patting his knee awkwardly.
Eliot didn't know how to respond to that either. He watched her in silence for a few minutes, but she was absorbed in the safety instruction pamphlet provided by the airline, leaning across the aisle to point out all the absurdities to Hardison. As the plane started to pull slowly away from the departure gate, Eliot leant back in his seat. Parker seemed content to let the subject drop, and he wasn't about to argue with that. By the time the plane was in the air and starting to level off near cruising altitude his drug-weighted eyelids were dragging closed. He fought it for a while, but finally let his head drop back and his eyes close. Parker and Hardison would wake him if anything happened, and, in the meantime, his book wasn't that interesting.