Chapter Text
Milton Friedlander is still choking on his whiskey when an ear-piercing screech comes from the other end of the theatre.
Sophie’s barely on her feet when Eliot’s shooting out from the kitchen with Harry on his heels; Eliot barrels towards the front door in the direction of Parker’s voice while Harry skids to a stop at Sophie’s side. “What the…?”
“I don’t know,” she puts a firm hand on Milton’s shoulder. “Stay here, Mr. Mastermind.”
Once the shock of the sudden commotion passes, Sophie can tell that those are Parker’s happy-screeches, hears Eliot’s rumbling voice join in. Then they round the corner, and her heart understands what she’s seeing before her brain does and she puts out a hand to stop Harry from intruding further on the scene in the vestibule.
“Let me look at you.” Eliot’s hands are on either side of Hardison’s face while next to him Parker bounces on the balls of her feet, hands pressed to her heart. “There he is,” Eliot, well, murmurs, there’s really no other word for it. “There’s my boy.”
Sophie’s hand tightens on Harry’s arm and she quickly makes herself let go of him. She can’t see Eliot’s face but she can hear the smile in his voice, see it reflected on Hardison’s face a moment later when the hitter draws him into a ferocious embrace.
“So…are they…” Harry asks in her ear, but before he can finish a coil of rope drops to the tile floor in front of their feet and Breanna comes sailing down, “Aleeeec!” echoing off the walls.
Hardison’s face is a mask of comic surprise as he looks pointedly between Breanna, Parker, and the ceiling, before holding his arms out. “Look at you, baby sis, part of the family now, huh?”
Breanna shimmies out of her rig and he grabs her in a bear hug while she laughs and asks a million questions.
Parker catches sight of them, still loitering at the edge of the group and starts beckoning wildly. “Sophie, Sophie, Sophie, look! Hardison’s back!”
“Yes, I can see that,” Sophie pulls on a warm smile, it’s genuine enough but when she glances towards Eliot it falters a little. He knows that she saw what she saw, and whatever jubilation he’d felt at Hardison’s return has been replaced by self-recrimination and fear. She can see the fight-or-flight instinct warring behind his eyes and feels her own heart rate start to pick up just looking at him.
Under cover of Hardison and Breanna still talking over one another she steps over to Eliot, links her arm through his and gives it a little squeeze. “This is a happy occasion, Eliot. Smile, yeah?”
She comes in for her share of Hardison’s attention then, hugs him tight and asks the question she still hasn’t heard an answer to: “What are you doing here?”
“Aw, well, I figured after that whole fake-Nate-stealing-our-lives thing, y’all might need some real-family time. I know I do.” He’s got Breanna under one arm, reaches out to pull Parker in too. Then he lifts his chin, grinning at Harry. “Sup, New Guy?”
“He’s not the new guy anymore, Hardison, he’s our Mr. Wilson.” She draws him forward into the group, catches the flush of surprise and pleasure in his face. “But now that you mention it, there is a new guy…Fake-Nate is still here, he’s back at the bar.”
“You — hold up now. You brought him back here?”
“We had to do something with him, he knows too much to just cut him loose. We’re still working out next steps and so, yes, for now, he’s here.”
Breanna, who seems to have regressed a few years in the presence of her big brother, is now tugging on his shirt, utterly uninterested in hashing out the whys and wherefores of the stranger in their house and saying he has got to come over with her to meet Alay-na in person and see what she’s been doing with Cheng’s system and also will he please please come up and see her room so she can show him the Queen Zeal card, and, and…
“You guys go,” Eliot says, nodding at Hardison and tipping his chin towards the stairs. “Hang out for awhile, I’ll make something to eat. Hey — apple cake, yeah?”
Sophie watches as Hardison, whose face has been lit up this whole time, grinning around at his family and trying to talk to and listen to everyone at once, suddenly goes still, looks right at Eliot like he’s really seeing him, only him, for a moment. His eyes turn soft, brimming with emotion, and he’s come such a long way from the cocky little boy she’d first met all those years ago, but in all those years she’s not sure she’s ever seen him look so young.
“Yeah,” he says simply, “sounds good, man. Thanks.”
Hardison turns with Breanna and Parker, making for the stairs, and she hears Harry fall into step behind her as she trails Eliot towards the kitchen.
“Apple cake?” She asks. “What’s that about?”
Eliot glances back without actually looking at her. Probably checking to see if Mr. Wilson is still in earshot. “Rosh Hashanah started yesterday. There’s a bunch of traditional dishes, Hardison likes apple cake the best, it’s a whole thing.”
“So when he talks about ‘in the Jewish faith,’” Harry pipes up, but Eliot doesn’t let him finish: “He ain’t just talking.”
“You didn’t know he was on his way home, did you?” Sophie asks.
Eliot shakes his head. “I thought maybe next week, maybe he’d make it back for Yom Kippur, but no, I didn’t know.”
“Is anyone out there? Hello? Can I come out now? Is everything okay?”
They all stop, look at each other as Mr. Friedlander calls out again from where she’d left him at the bar.
“What are we gonna do about him?” Eliot asks, low, and she sees the conflict in his eyes — the resolve that’s at the heart of him to do what needs to be done, warring with a very human desire to be selfish for once, to put what he wants at the top of the list and take it.
She opens her mouth to make a suggestion, but Harry is already offering. “Oh, I’ll take care of him. Yeah, he said he’s never been to New Orleans before, I’ll show him around, sound him out, make sure he’s not gonna run and find him a nice hotel for the night. We can regroup tomorrow, he’s probably exhausted anyway.”
“Oh, that sounds perfect, but are you sure? We could—”
“I’m sure, absolutely. You guys need some family time.”
She takes his hand in both of hers. “You’re a part of this family too now, our Mr. Wilson.”
He smiles at her, squeezes her hand. “That’s very kind of you, and I appreciate it, but—”
“Dinner’s at seven,” Eliot claps him on the shoulder. “Don’t be late.”
“See,” she says softly as Eliot walks away. “Part of the family.”
He ducks his head, humming tentative agreement, then looks up after they hear the kitchen door close. “So, the three of them, is that like…is that a thing?”
She presses her lips together, avoiding his eyes for the moment. “I’d be lying if I said I’d never suspected that there were…feelings. But whatever it may be in actuality… Seems I am not in their confidence.”
Harry tilts his head, a puzzled line between his eyes. “Well, I don’t know if I’d put it that way,” he starts to say, but then Milton Friedlander is there, poking his bald, nervous head out into the passageway and asking again if everything is all right.
Harry turns on the charm, sweeping him out the door with alacrity, promising Sophie in an aside that he’ll be back by seven.