A/N IMPORTANT NOTE please read! Okay before we get started, this is now an M rated story. HOWEVER once I upped the rating the hit count dropped dramatically, my guess is that's because ffn's default for the category page doesn't include M rating so I'm assuming people missed the last chapter... SO! I am changing the rating back to T for a couple of days to give people a chance to hopefully see this note, and remind people to either change the search criteria or to just subscribe to this story so you get the email reminders that I've posted. And in a few day's I'll up it back up to M...

Okay that out of the way I also need to thank Alexandra926 who really co-wrote this chapter with me when I had hit the wall and just couldn't finish it... alright that's all I have to say so I hope you enjoy it!

Eliot knew that he was pushing himself too hard. His right arm screamed with every connected punch and his left shoulder was on fire. But he didn't lighten up his assault against the punching bag for a second. The pain he was feeling now was tangible, grounding, a distraction from the hollow ache in his chest that had been a constant presence for the last week. There was also the hope that if he managed to push his body past the point of exhaustion he might actually be able to sleep tonight. Something that had eluded him since Parker had left, as he found that he was no longer accustomed to sleeping alone.

He wasn't even sure how long he had been at it, when he was interrupted by the ringing of his cell phone. He swiped it up from where he'd left it on his weight bench, unable to stop the disappointed frown from crossing his face when he saw it wasn't the teammate he was hoping it would be.

"What, Hardison?" he answered gruffly.

"You okay, man?" the hacker asked from the other end of the line. "You sound outta breath. You didn't get jumped by a band of roving ninjas, did ya?"

"A band of roving what?" Eliot shook his head at the phone. "No, I'm working out."

"Oh, okay. That's good. Because I was thinking that we-"

"No," Eliot interrupted.

"You don't even know what I'm gonna say."

"Whatever you're gonna suggest, it's a no," he reiterated, picking up his water bottle and tipping it back.

Hardison was undeterred. "There's this new bar-"

"No."

"-that's supposed to be the new hot spot-"

"No."

"-and we haven't had bro night in months-"

"No."

"Come on, man," Hardison wheedled. "You been in a funk all week. You need to get out somewhere that isn't home or Nate's."

Eliot knew that Hardison was right, but he wasn't one to give in so easily. "I'm busy."

"Doin' what?" Hardison challenged. "Working out like you've been doing all week? Staring at the walls? Brooding?"

Eliot pinched the bridge of his nose. Yes, those were his plans, he didn't see how that was any of Hardison's business. "Dammit, Hardison," he muttered into the phone, his resolve clearly weakening.

"C'mon, it's ladies night at the bar and I need my wingman. First round's on me."

"Fine," he ground out, relenting. "What time do you wanna meet up? I still have to shower," Eliot reminded him.

"No rush, no rush. Just uh, maybe…" Hardison hesitated.

"What is it?"

"Maybe you could let me in, and I'll wait for you to get ready?" he asked hopefully.

"Dammit, Hardison!" Eliot exclaimed, before hanging up the phone.

Storming to the front door, he whipped it open to find the younger man casually leaning against the wall opposite, cell still in hand and an unrepentant grin on his face. Eliot just shook his head, and turned on his heel to head back towards his shower, leaving Hardison to let himself in, and shut the door behind him.

He took a perfunctory shower, not even giving the hot water time to soothe his aching muscles. Drying off efficiently, he ran a blow dryer through his hair just long enough that it wasn't dripping before pulling it back into a ponytail at the nape of his neck. Stepping into his closet, he pulled on the first clean pair of jeans he found and snatched a random shirt off the nearest hanger. He was halfway through buttoning the blue chambray shirt, when he flashed on how Parker had teased him about the color making his eyes pop. Pulling the shirt back over his head, he exchanged it for a red one.

Slipping on his boots and a jacket, he headed back out to the living room where Hardison was waiting for him.

"Are you read- Dammit, Hardison!" he exploded. The hacker looked up at him like a deer caught in headlights, Parker's sketchbook which she had left abandoned on the coffee table, in his hands. "That's not yours," he barked, snatching it out of his grasp. "Didn't your Nana teach you it's rude to snoop?"

"In case you hadn't noticed, snooping is kinda what I do for a living," Hardison pointed out.

"Yeah, with the marks, not with each other," Eliot retorted, replacing the sketchbook where Parker had left it the last time she used it. "If she wanted us to see them, she would show them to us."

"Whoa, hold up. You saying you've never taken a peek?" Hardison asked, disbelievingly. "Not once?"

"No," Eliot confirmed. "Because I have respect. If she wants to share something, she rips it out," he explained.

"And then you put it on the fridge," Hardison said, with a knowing smirk.

"Are we going or not?" Eliot asked gruffly, ignoring his comment completely.

"Yeah yeah, let's go, before you change your mind," Hardison said, leading the way out of the condo. "You should really take a look in that book though."

xXxXxXx

Eliot would never tell him so, but standing at the bar with a drink in his hand, he was thinking that Hardison hadn't done too bad this time. The atmosphere in the bar was trendier than he personally prefered, which was to be expected from a Hardison pick, but the beer was cold and the music wasn't terrible, so it had that much going for it, at least.

He was only half listening to Hardison talk about some new movie he was excited to see, when something distracted the hacker mid-sentence.

"Crazy hot redhead, on your six," Hardison said, conspiratorially. "She keeps looking over here. Definitely warm for your form."

"Warm for my form," Eliot repeated, looking pained. "Really? What's wrong with you man?"

"Yeah, really."

Eliot rolled his eyes, but a quick glance in the mirror behind the bar showed him exactly what the hacker was talking about. She was good looking, Hardison wasn't wrong about that. Short and stacked in all the right places, with dark red hair and light brown eyes that kept flicking in his direction every few minutes.

"I'm going to go… to the bathroom," Hardison announced, draining the last of his beer and leaving the empty bottle on the bartop.

Eliot shook his head at the obvious attempt to give him some space to do his thing, and was about to tell him it wasn't necessary, but Hardison was already gone. Turning around to face the rest of the room, leaning his elbows against the bar, he began a slow survey of the other patrons. And sure enough, when he got to the redhead, she was looking right back at him. Almost reflexively, he gave her that grin that was more smirk than smile and a quick wink before taking a long drag of his beer, holding eye contact.

Five... four… three… two… one…

And there she was, crossing the room to approach him.

Nice to know that he still had it.

"Hi, I'm Becca."

"Hey there, Becca," he said, letting his accent thicken. "I'm Eliot. Lemme buy you a drink."

It was so easy, to fall into the flirtatious give-and-take that went into picking up a stranger at a bar. He wouldn't lie and say that the attention wasn't a balm to his bruised male ego and he couldn't help but think this might be exactly what he needed right now. Something to take his mind off of what had happened the week before. Something easy. Uncomplicated. Meaningless.

It had been a long time since he had last looked for a night of company. Longer than he could remember, really. A part of him couldn't help but wonder if that was the reason why he seemed to be so hung up on what happened with Parker. Maybe the only reason why he was so fixated on it, was because she was the first woman he'd slept with in months. The thought didn't quite ring true, but he pushed it aside in favor for paying attention to the woman in front of him, who couldn't be any more different than the one who'd left him cold.

"Want to take this conversation somewhere… a little more private?" Becca asked, the smirk on her face and the gleam in her eyes spelling out her intentions.

He almost agreed on reflex, but the words died on his lips.

Despite the fact that he didn't owe Parker anything, and despite the fact that she was the one who'd left, even entertaining the thought of going home with someone else tasted like betrayal on the back of his tongue. And then he realized he didn't want something easy, uncomplicated and meaningless.

He wanted something that took the extra effort.

Something that was a little messy.

Something that was worth it.

He wanted Parker.

The realization of why he'd stopped trolling for one night stands all those months ago hit him like a freight train. Even before Parker had started spending the night regularly, he had wanted to be home in the evenings, on the off chance she chose to come over. He would rather spend a night on the couch with Parker, bickering over what to watch on TV, than in a bar looking for a sure thing to go home with at the end of the night.

"I'm sorry, Becca," Eliot apologized, realizing he had zero desire to go home with this woman he just met. "You're a beautiful woman, and any guy would be lucky to get your attention, but I just can't."

She gave him a long, evaluative look, before giving him a knowing smile. "I hope that, whoever she is, she knows how lucky she is," Becca said, taking the rejection in good humor. "It was nice talking to you, Eliot. Thanks for the drink."

Before he could even reply, she had drifted back towards her friends. He shook his head at himself and quickly scanned the bar for Hardison, spotting the hacker at a table in the back, having found a girl of his own to talk to. Easily weaving through the crowd, he made his way towards his friend.

"Hey, don't let me interrupt," Eliot said, having to tap Hardison's shoulder to get his attention. He really needed to work with him on his situational awareness. "I just wanted to let you know I'm taking off."

He was willing to leave it at that, but Hardison quickly excused himself, got up and stepped just out of hearing distance from the table.

"You leaving with the redhead?"

"Nah. She offered, but I sent her back to her friends," he replied, gesturing with his chin.

Hardison was visibly surprised. "Dude, what the hell? That girl was fine as hell. I ain't never seen you turn away action like that."

Eliot just shrugged. "I just wasn't feeling it." He couldn't help but think that he saw some measure of approval in the other man's eyes, despite the fact that Hardison had been the one who'd dragged him out to the bar, and pushed him in the redhead's direction. "Anyways, I just came over to tell you I'm gonna get going."

"I drove," Hardison reminded him.

"Yeah, I know. We're only a couple miles from my place, I'm gonna walk." He could use the time to clear his head, and if he was really lucky, maybe someone would try to mug him on his way home.

"Alright man, I'll see you tomorrow?"

"Yeah, I'll see you tomorrow." He held out his hand for their customary two slaps and a fist bump.

He'd only made it a few steps down the sidewalk before Hardison came bursting out the door behind him.

"She's gonna come back!"

"What are you talking about?" Eliot asked, turning back around to face the other man.

"Parker. She's still in New York, you know."

"What?" He didn't know what that had to do with anything.

"Her phone's GPS pings once a day," Hardison informed him with a shrug. "I figure it's her way of keeping in touch, without keeping in touch. She wouldn't bother if she wasn't planning on coming back. Last night it was at Central Park Zoo," he added. "A little weird since it was at two in the morning, but that's Parker for ya."

"They don't have wombats at that zoo, do they?" Eliot asked, remembering a long ago conversation, with no small amount of concern.

"Wombats?" Hardison repeated, sure he couldn't have heard that correctly. "What does that have to do…? Uh, no? I don't think so?"

"Then there's probably nothing to worry about," Eliot said, more to himself than anything. "You better get back inside before the girl you were talking to thinks you ditched her," he added. "I'll see you later, Hardison."

Hardison watched him walk away a way for a moment, before calling at his retreating back. "She's gonna come back! And I'm telling ya, you should really look at that sketchbook!"

Eliot kept walking.

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

Sitting back on his heels, Eliot shoved the last bit of dead plant material into a garbage bag as he finished cleaning out the last raised bed. He'd spent all morning and a great deal of the afternoon, readying the outdoor portion of his rooftop garden for winter, the latest item on his agenda in his quest to stay to busy and keep his mind off things these last few weeks.

Rising to his feet, he stretched out his back, sore from being hunched over so long, before making his way over to the greenhouse to clean up and put away his tools for the day. Clean up taken care of, he turned to leave when a something caught his eye. Hanging from the corner of the arugula planter, was Parker's sunhat, abandoned by its owner.

Picking up the straw monstrosity, he trailed his fingertips over the brim, his thoughts wandering back to the day he'd gotten the garden ready for spring, and all the unexpected ways his life had changed since then.

Of course keeping busy would work much better if everything he did, didn't remind him of what he was trying to forget.

He hadn't even realized Parker had become such a presence in every facet of his life until she was gone, leaving a gaping hole in the space she used to fill. He couldn't work out without glancing at the pull-up bar, expecting her to be hanging from it. He couldn't make a cup of coffee without reaching past her favorite box of cereal to grab the beans from the pantry. When he was cooking, he had to resist the urge to narrate what he was doing, not so much because he expected Parker to learn how to cook but because as she'd once told him, she liked the way he explained things. He couldn't look for something to watch on TV without his traitorous brain pointing out all the shows Parker would want to watch. He didn't even have going to bed as a refuge anymore, since the king sized bed that he used to view as an indulgent luxury now felt too big and empty for one person.

With a heavy sigh, he replaced the hat where he found it and left to go back downstairs, grabbing the trash bag on his way out.

He was pushing the black plastic bag down the garbage chute when he was hit by yet another reminder of Parker, since apparently, not even taking the trash out was safe. He wanted to ignore the thought that had just popped into his mind, but now that it was there, there was no going back.

"Dammit," he growled at himself, already heading to the stairs so he could head down to the fourth floor.

Having reached his destination, Eliot was seriously questioning his life choices even as he reached out and knocked on the door.

"Just a minute!" he heard a voice call out from the other side of the door. After a few moments the door opened revealing all five feet, two inches of his octogenarian neighbor, dressed head-to-toe in a tracksuit in the same shade of pink as the poodle yapping at her feet. "Pardon the wait dear, these old bones don't move as fast as they used to."

"It was no trouble," he quickly assured her. "Hi, you don't actually know me, but I'm Eliot. I live-"

"I know who you are," Miss Angelika interrupted before he could finish. "You're Parker's young man."

Eliot's eyes widened slightly. "I don't know if I would say that, ma'am."

"Which part do you disagree with?" she asked, her eyes swirling with amusement.

That he was still a young man. That he was Parker's. Either. Both. Neither. What did it matter now, anyway?

He chose an tight, enigmatic smile, and offered no answer at all.

Unperturbed, Angelika prattled on, leading him further into the apartment. Eliot took in his surroundings while the poodle sniffed at his feet suspiciously. At a first cursory glance, the apartment appeared cluttered, but looking a little deeper it was obvious that she had surrounded herself with mementos of a life well-lived. Photos, posters, and of course the infamous white ostrich feather fans, lined the walls. Keepsakes, tchotchkes, and souvenirs from all over the world were collected on every flat surface in the room. A set of ornate matryoshka dolls from Russia, a jar of sea shells nestled in pure white sand, a Japanese bonsai tree made of jade and copper, an antique music box with an intricate inlaid wood cover. Eliot had no doubts that each of these items came with a story.

"Dear Parker mentioned that you'd been in an accident," she noted, looking down at his arm, now minus its cast. "Are you feeling all better now?"

Eliot's full attention snapped back to the old lady who seemed to know way too much for his liking. From the glint in her eye, he imagined that she already knew everything there was to know. Something in his chest clenched as he wondered what exactly Parker had told her on their little visits.

"I'm much better," he said, unconsciously rubbing the healed-over bullet wound on his shoulder. "Thank you, ma'am."

"Ma'am? I don't think I've ever been considered proper enough to warrant anyone calling me ma'am," she laughed, sitting down in an overstuffed armchair and gesturing for Eliot to join her on the sofa directly across. "Call me Miss Angelika like everyone else does, my dear."

"Miss Angelika," he repeated agreeably, sitting where he was told before realizing he should get to the reason he'd knocked on her door in the first place. Saying her name still hurt, but he plowed ahead with it anyway. "Parker mentioned that your arthritis acts up, and that she takes your trash out for you?" He glanced around, but didn't see two weeks of garbage bags piled up anywhere.

For a moment the traitorous idea that Parker was actually in town and had taken care of it herself, but still avoided seeing him, crossed his mind. But then he remembered Hardison's assurance that her phone was still pinging from New York once a day.

"I'd be happy to help you with it," he continued, "while Parker is, um..." he cleared his throat and tried to decide what to say. "Out of town," he finished lamely.

"Out of town?" she repeated, looking at him. "Is that right?"

Eliot knew that Sophie would have been annoyed with the way that he glanced away to the left. An obvious tell, clearly showing that he wasn't telling the whole truth. Even the poodle who was staring up at him with judgemental eyes, could tell he was full of shit.

"She left," he blurted out. "She just... left."

Angelika just sat back further in her chair, waiting for him to continue.

"Two weeks ago today."

"Parker was here visiting two weeks ago today," Angelika said, thinking that the younger woman hadn't given any indications that she was planning on leaving when she'd seen her last.

"I know," Eliot sighed, running his hands through his hair, pushing it back away from his face. "People are like jigsaw puzzles, right?"

At that, her eyes widened, and the beginnings of a smile played around the corners of her mouth. "She told you about that?"

"Yeah, it was still very much on her mind when she came upstairs," he said distractedly, half-lost in the memories of that night. "She even asked me to give her one of my puzzle pieces-"

"Oh, she did, did she?" Miss Angelika seemed to read volumes into that, her eyebrows raised, eyes bright and alert.

Eliot couldn't seem to help himself from continuing.

"She did. And then…" he trailed off, not sure if he could even continue along with this train of thought. His chest felt tight, and he muttered, "and now she's gone."

"Pompadour!" Miss Angelika scolded.

Eliot glanced down to find that the pink poodle was chewing on his shoelaces. Before he could do anything about it, Miss Angelika had scooped her up and carried the little dog under her arm, into the kitchen, leaving him alone with his thoughts.

She returned, in due time, with two cups of tea. She set one of them down in front of Eliot with a clink, before retaking her own seat.

"You know what you are?" she asked him, as she settled in her chair.

He stopped, mid-sip. Was that a trick question?

He could identify several things that he used to be. But those weren't who he was anymore. It was easy for him to identify where his loyalties lay; harder to define what exactly he was.

His thoughts were still spinning, when Angelika spoke again.

"You, my dear, are a tree," she informed him, in her raspy voice .

"What? I'm a… huh?" He jerked his head up to look at her. "I'm a tree?" Was that supposed to be a compliment? An insult?

"A tree," she repeated, nodding. "No doubt about it."

"What does that even, I mean, I don't know, a tree?"

"You remind me of Jerry, you know. He was a tree, too."

She's crazy, Eliot thought. Completely off her rocker. No wonder she and Parker got on so well. "Who's Jerry?" he asked instead.

"He was my husband."

Was. "I'm… sorry," he managed. "For your loss."

"Thank you, dear," she smiled. "He was a military man, too."

"Is that what Parker told you? That I'm in the military?"

"Oh, she didn't need to," Angelika said breezily. "I can tell." She pointed to a framed black and white picture on the wall behind him, and Eliot twisted in his seat to look at it. It was an old picture of Angelika as a cabaret performer, with her two huge feathered fans. "I was a performer, you know. A dancer."

"Right, in New York," he nodded, turning back around. "Parker said you performed for the troops?"

"I knew a lot of military men," she chuckled. "And they were all different, bless them, but they were all the same, too."

She had produced a different picture now, a stern-looking uniformed man, from a marble-topped end table.

"Is that how you met?" he asked as he took the framed photo, curious in spite of himself. "He saw you performing?"

"Oh, no!" she laughed. "Jerry didn't much care for my dancing. He said that I should… what was it that he used to say? That I should leave more to the men's imaginations?" She laughed again. "He called it protective, I called it jealous."

From the picture, it was evident that Miss Angelika the Fan Dancer had not left much to the imagination at all, and Eliot chuckled, too.

"Can't say that I wouldn't have felt the same way," he ventured, as he handed her the photo back, imagining if the woman he loved had chosen such a visible occupation. He'd wanted to bash some heads in when the pizza delivery guy had seen Parker dripping wet, fresh out of the shower that one time and that was hardly the same thing.

"Oh, Jerry and I were just polar opposites!" Angelika continued, reminiscing. Her eyes were far away, as she looked at the picture of Jerry, handsome and unsmiling from the picture frame. "We didn't have a single thing in common! He was so quiet and reserved, and I was so… well..." She gestured back to the picture on the wall, her younger counterpart smiling seductively on stage.

"Not reserved?" he supplied with a smirk.

She smiled at the understatement.

"He was from a small town, I was from the big city. He liked to read and enjoyed his peace and quiet. I wanted to listen to music and dance all night."

Unbidden, thoughts of Parker sprang to mind again, as he tried to think what exactly the two of them had in common, other than Leverage and, apparently, a mutual attraction that they'd never acted on until that last night.

"Jerry came from a big family, surrounded with brothers and sisters and aunts and uncles and cousins. And me, I came from nobody and nothing. I would have been a foster child like Parker except for back then there were orphanages, instead."

Something else that they had in common, Eliot mused, taking another sip of his tea.

What the hell am I drinking? He glanced down at the slightly amber liquid that tasted nothing like any kind of tea he'd ever had, before realizing that it was the peppermint tea that Parker had talked so much about. Complete with mini candy cane. What Parker had neglected to mention though, was the schnapps.

"All Jerry's family warned him that it would never last!" She laughed at the thought, obviously still relishing how wrong they'd been. "Every last one of them thought that marrying me was the biggest mistake that Jerry had ever made. That I was some kind of wild backlash to his enlistment. Like I was just his last hurrah before marching off to war."

"Did he go overseas?" Eliot asked, curious.

"Oh, yes," she nodded. "And one war wasn't enough for my Jerry, either. After World War II ended, he enlisted again to fight in the Philippines, during their liberation. He was a protector. He loved freedom and wanted it for everyone in the world." She nodded again, emphatically. "After that, he was in Red China, helping to flush out the Soviets, and then the Japanese."

Eliot had heard about that particular operation, actually; it was legendary.

"Jerry served with the G-3?" he asked impressed, looking at the portrait again.

"Why, yes! That's right! He did, right up until the end."

"Must have been quite a guy," Eliot smiled.

"Oh, he was, my dear. He certainly was. Very brave. He must have been, if he married me," she laughed, self-deprecatingly. "After the first few years, everyone thought he would… how to put it? Bring me to heel," she smirked. "Tame me. Make a good little housewife out of the showgirl he'd married."

"I'm guessing that didn't happen?" Eliot smirked.

"They didn't know Jerry as well as they thought," she mused. "He loved freedom. Even mine. Especially mine. He wanted me to fly free." She patted the portrait, lovingly, smiling down at Jerry. "He always said that I was his beautiful songbird. And that my wings should never be clipped."

Eliot considered that for a minute.

"Most men," she continued, "would have wanted to do exactly that. They would have wanted to keep me home, keep me safe. Keep me." She frowned. "But to keep me… that would have been to kill me, kill my spirit," she confided. "I would have been a bird in a cage. A prisoner. Jerry understood that, though. He was different from the rest."

"Once in a lifetime?" He looked at his hands. This was hitting closer to home than he wanted to admit.

She nodded.

"I haven't been a nun since I lost him," she admitted. "I've taken other lovers over the years. I spent the late sixties out in California," she added, making Eliot chuckle, he could only imagine what this woman had gotten herself into during the summer of love.

"But my Jerry…" she continued, wistfully. "He was my mighty oak. My safe haven, my shelter from the storm. My tree. He was a once in a lifetime sort of partner," she paused, thinking for a moment. "His roots ran deep. He was the only man I've ever known that knew how to keep me safe and keep me free."

"You made each other happy?"

"So very much," she affirmed.

You're a tree, she'd said. Was he Parker's tree? It could it be that simple. Could it?

"Was he still with the G-3 when they fought in Korea?" he asked with a sense of foreboding, hoping for Jerry's sake and hers, that he hadn't been.

She sighed as she reverently replaced the photo back in its place of honor.

"He loved a challenge," she nodded at his portrait. "He saved a lot of lives."

Eliot was silent, as he sipped the last of his drink.

"Thank you," he said, as he set his teacup down. "If you ever need anything, anything at all, you'll call me, right?" he asked, borrowing a pencil from the crystal bowl on an end table and wrote his phone number on a scrap of paper for her. "Can I get your trash down to the chute for you?"

"Thank you, dear," she smiled at him.

Had he ruined things forever? Taken away Parker's safe place, by trying to make their friendship into something that it hadn't ever been meant to be? Was she alone now, flying free?

Miss Angelika patted him on the shoulder as they said their goodbyes.

"Come back and talk with me any time," she said. "Bring Parker, too."

"I don't know if she's coming back," he admitted. "I think I screwed things up pretty bad."

"It's not over til it's over," she said, enigmatically before closing the door behind him.

Eliot had a lot to think about as he headed down the hall with the garbage.

What if it was over?

A/N Emo Eliot is emo right? I'll love you forever if you let me know what you think!