Chapter Text
After a week, when Eliot had not heard from Dalis, he called her, wanting to see her. He suggested going out, but was surprised to learn that she seemed to prefer having dinner at her place for a change. He agreed. She set a date, and ended the call.
Something didn’t feel right.
He rubbed his forehead with his thumb, feeling some sort of Disturbance in the Force, as Hardison no doubt would have characterized it. His own instincts were trying to tell him something but the message wasn’t quite getting through. He couldn’t read her voice.
He discovered that she lived in a small but elegant apartment building on the second floor, with tall windows and simple furniture. Everything was neat as a pin; a bit minimalist but with decorative touches and live plants that gave the place a warmth and charm that appealed to him.
'Smells good,' he said, as he stepped inside.
'It’s just chili dogs,' she replied, a bit too quickly, rubbing her palms against her hips. 'Nothing fancy. I didn’t want to cook anything a chef might critique.'
He smiled warmly. 'I never critique someone who cares enough to feed me - especially comfort foods.'
He moved as if to take her in his arms but she retreated and led him into the small kitchen and dining area.
‘Come on in.'
She seemed on edge. Reaching to lower the temperature on the burner where a pot of chili bubbled, she bumped the pot’s handle with her elbow, nearly knocking it off the stove. She cursed softly, grabbed the handle to steady it, and dropped the spoon in her hand. It clattered to the floor.
Eliot frowned. 'Hey. You okay?'
'Fine,' she said after a moment. Her smile seemed forced. Her hands trembled.
Dalis bent to pick the spoon off the floor. She dropped it again. On the way back up, she hissed, trying to laugh it off. 'Long day, y’know? A tough one.'
A moment passed while he studied her - not wary, just worried. ‘Dalis,’ he said quietly, ‘Would you rather I hadn’t come?’
She lifted her eyes to his, and for a second he saw too much at once: she was irritated. Conflicted. A bundle of nerves - and something else: while he instinctively knew she was drawn to him, she was bracing against it in the same breath. The meal wasn’t the issue. It was something deeper, tangled up in a place he didn’t have a map for.
She cared for him. That was all too obvious. Only - there was a shadow behind it; wrapped around her somehow; a shadow that he felt without knowing its shape.
With the ease of an Aikido master, he redirected the flow of energy.
'Come sit down.'
He smoothly and gently took charge, pulling out a chair, placing a clean spoon in the pan, turning the heat down and checking on the hot dogs in the oven. From her fridge he withdrew a block of cheese, and from a basket a small onion. ‘Knives?’ he asked.
Surrendering, she directed him to their location and set a grater and cutting board out while he washed his hands. In no time at all he had small bowls of chopped onion and shredded cheese ready, frankfurters lined up on a platter like little brown soldiers and the buns warming in the oven.
She covered her face with her hands. 'Sorry, sorry. I don’t usually cook for people. Or… well, ever, for that matter.'
'You’re doin’ fine.'
She wasn’t, and they both knew it, but somehow the atmosphere grew a little less tense.
‘You want mustard? Ketchup? Both?’
She raised her voice in mock anger. ‘God, no, where were you raised? You don’t put ketchup on a chili cheese dog!!’
Eliot laughed loudly, throwing his head back, and for an instant the magic they had felt on that mountain trail was back.
He served up artfully arranged chili cheese dogs that looked as if they had been photographed for a magazine. She set a six-pack of beer between the two plates; he couldn’t help but notice it was his favorite brand. When they were seated they tapped forks.
They talked about small things over dinner - memories of the hike - Parker’s unique personality - light, comfortable conversation that didn’t breach any barriers or probe any depths. Her laughter came easier and the tension in his shoulders lessened.
‘It’s been a week, how’s your ankle? You don’t seem to be limping.’
‘Doc said to wrap it for the gym, but it’s fine. That scalp lac of yours, you really needed stitches, you know. You didn’t get any, did you?’
'I don’t do hospitals. It’s still healing, a little tender but ok. Had to take the braid out after a few days. Parker wouldn’t let it alone.'
'She’s quite a character. So, you don’t do hospitals. Tough guy, huh?’
‘Depends on the situation. Like right now, I don’t need to be tough.’ He laid his hand on hers.
He didn’t linger after dinner. There had been a gentle kiss or two, accompanied by a quick, tight, guilty squeeze she hoped he’d interpret as affection.
As he walked down her steps, he paused once, looking back at her door, frowning faintly at nothing he could name.
Inside, Dalis pressed her forehead to the door, breathing like she’d run a mile.