Fic: Dress Up, 'Fess Up (Leverage)
Nov. 1st, 2023 10:47 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
argentum_lsWritten for sapphicsunshower, as part of the Fic or Treat event.
Characters: Eliot, Parker, Hardison
Relationship: Eliot/Parker/Hardison
Rating: T (to be safe)
Word Count: 1264
Summary: Parker has some ideas about what she, Eliot, and Hardison should dress as for Halloween.
"Good morning!" Parker chirped. "I put together a few suggestions. What's for breakfast? Is Hardison up yet?" She bounded into the kitchen, a question for each step, and threw herself into the nearest chair at the kitchen table.
Eliot's head fell back and he placed a silent bid toward the ceiling for patience. No matter how often it happened, he still never felt prepared for Parker's morning enthusiasm. While he considered himself a morning person, he still firmly believed that day needed to be sneaked up on and grappled into compliance, not sky-dived into.
Grease from the bacon sizzling in the pan in front of him popped and splattered, small droplets singing the skin of his exposed arms and snapped his focus back.
"Bacon and eggs," he replied, a deft twist of his wrist flipping the eggs over. He confirmed that none of the yolks broke — though he had been fully confident that they wouldn't — then continued, "I ain't sure if he's up yet or up still. Suggestions about what?"
Parker made a sucking noise as she lined up the questions and answers. "We're going to a Halloween party next weekend, remember?"
Eliot squinted as the reminder jogged his memory. "Yeah?"
"Parker wants us to go in a group costume." Hardison pulled out the chair next to Parker and dropped into it with a groan. The noise, and extra weight in his step, indicated that he had probably been awake all night. Eliot made a note to himself to be sure that Hardison didn't hit the caffeine too hard today. "Got your heart set on it, don't you, baby?"
The door of the microwave over the stove reflected Parker's return grin, and Eliot couldn't help the warm rush of feeling that came from knowing that she was excited about something — even if the idea of Parker picking out team costumes raised the hairs on his neck in warning.
Eliot dished up the eggs and bacon, then added a scoop of breakfast potatoes for Hardison and bowls of fresh fruit parfait for himself and Parker and brought the completed dishes to the table. While he didn't want to spoil Parker's mood, he did have his boundaries. "I ain't a big fan of dressing up on Halloween. Don't see much point when we wear disguises for our jobs every other day of the year."
"That’s not the same thing. These are real costumes," Parker insisted. "The over priced, poorly made kind from places like Spirit Halloween that come in the big plastic bags and say 'one size fits all,' when we all know that they're not going to fit anyone right." Her grin spread. "That's half the fun! Everyone knows that we’re not what the costume says we are."
Hardison nodded furiously, his mouth already too full of potatoes and eggs to contribute anything else.
"I’ll give you that,” Eliot conceded. “Costumes that are meant to be outrageous can be fun. But, I ain't dressing as a sexy anything." The last thing he needed was anyone asking about his scars. They weren’t a conversation piece. "Not a Sexy Doctor. Not a Sexy Bottle of Ketchup. And definitely not a Sexy Zombie."
Parker pulled a bound sheaf of papers from somewhere, flipped it open, and ripped out a handful of pages. Over the last one, she hesitated. "Maybe we'll hang on to this one." Almost before Eliot could see, she'd folded the page and returned it to wherever she put things when they weren't in her hands. It wasn't her pockets. He'd had his hands in her pockets enough to know that she kept them empty. All Eliot caught before the page vanished was a glimpse of a drawing that might be a stethoscope. Straightening up, she announced, "There’s still plenty of options left in here."
"No animals," Hardison suddenly announced. "I don't remember if I said that before. Dressed as a horse once when I was in high school and got the tail. The tail!. That's the last time I make that mistake."
To hide his laugh — Hardison would only be insulted by it—, Eliot bit off a piece of bacon. He savored the roll of flavors over his tongue while Parker again flipped through her booklet and tore out pages.
She hesitated over the last one, her lips pulling into a frown. "Not any kind of animal?" She tilted the booklet so Hardison could see the page.
His eyebrows shot up, then slowly lowered again. "Bruh. Wouldn't have put that at the top of my list, but I'd be a fool to scratch it off entirely. And this boy ain't nobody's fool."
"Definitely not." Parker beamed, then leaned across the table to give Hardison a quick kiss. "I knew you'd be OK with it." She ate a bite of the parfait and pointed the spoon at Eliot. "That just leaves—" She paused to lick a smear of yogurt off the back of the spoon. "—well, me. I know exactly what you're dressing as."
"I ain’t agreed to anything," he reminded her. It was already too late. The fact that the conversation had gone on this long only guaranteed that.
“But you know you want to,” Parker argued. "And iff yuou're-a gunna keep feedeeng us leeke-a zees, zeere-a's ounly oune-a choice.”
Eliot blinked. He thought he'd understood her words, but since when had she become so bad at accents? "What? What accent is that? What are you doing?"
Hardison caught on before Eliot did. "Dun't yuou zeenk it's a fery deestinctife-a iccent?" He snagged the whisk off the counter and shoved it at Eliot. "Bork bork bork!"
"No," Eliot stated, horror growing. Because, as badly as Parker was mangling it, it was a very distinctive accent. It just wasn't one he'd heard since he was a child. He stared at the whisk, its metal gleaming in the sunlight that streamed through the loft window.
It was a tool, dammit, not a costume accessory!
But he did have a chef’s hat, and Parker had already made it clear the goal was to be outrageous.
Instead of paying him any mind, Parker and Hardison had pushed their plates away so they could lean over Hardison’s phone together. “—ain’t even gonna suggest Miss Piggy. That’s too basic for my Parker,” Hardison said. “How about Janice?”
Parker wrinkled her nose. “Why are you only picking the girls?”
Hardison slapped a hand over his heart. “Baby, you know I didn’t mean—“
“She’d trip over something and get caught in two seconds on a job.”
Hardison pulled her closer, an apology in action, if not in words. “I could change mine. What if—“
Eliot dropped the whisk onto his now-empty plate. The metal chimed against the ceramic. “Gonzo.” He had no idea where in the depths of his memory the name came from. Before he had a chance to decide if it was a good suggestion, it fell out of his mouth and into consideration.
The bickering stopped and both his partners brought their full attention onto Eliot.
A beat of silence followed while each of them tried to process what they’d heard.
“You think?” Hardison asked, at the same time as Parker announced, “Perfect.” She lunged from her seat to throw her arms around Eliot. He only kept his chair from toppling over backwards because he’d already adjusted his weight in anticipation of that lunge.
“This is going to be great!” Parker exclaimed. Her lips tasted like the parfait, and from somewhere under her, Eliot thought he heard the sound of paper crinkling. “We’re so going to win the costume contest.”
sapphicsunshower, as part of the Fic or Treat event.Characters: Eliot, Parker, Hardison
Relationship: Eliot/Parker/Hardison
Rating: T (to be safe)
Word Count: 1264
Summary: Parker has some ideas about what she, Eliot, and Hardison should dress as for Halloween.
"Good morning!" Parker chirped. "I put together a few suggestions. What's for breakfast? Is Hardison up yet?" She bounded into the kitchen, a question for each step, and threw herself into the nearest chair at the kitchen table.
Eliot's head fell back and he placed a silent bid toward the ceiling for patience. No matter how often it happened, he still never felt prepared for Parker's morning enthusiasm. While he considered himself a morning person, he still firmly believed that day needed to be sneaked up on and grappled into compliance, not sky-dived into.
Grease from the bacon sizzling in the pan in front of him popped and splattered, small droplets singing the skin of his exposed arms and snapped his focus back.
"Bacon and eggs," he replied, a deft twist of his wrist flipping the eggs over. He confirmed that none of the yolks broke — though he had been fully confident that they wouldn't — then continued, "I ain't sure if he's up yet or up still. Suggestions about what?"
Parker made a sucking noise as she lined up the questions and answers. "We're going to a Halloween party next weekend, remember?"
Eliot squinted as the reminder jogged his memory. "Yeah?"
"Parker wants us to go in a group costume." Hardison pulled out the chair next to Parker and dropped into it with a groan. The noise, and extra weight in his step, indicated that he had probably been awake all night. Eliot made a note to himself to be sure that Hardison didn't hit the caffeine too hard today. "Got your heart set on it, don't you, baby?"
The door of the microwave over the stove reflected Parker's return grin, and Eliot couldn't help the warm rush of feeling that came from knowing that she was excited about something — even if the idea of Parker picking out team costumes raised the hairs on his neck in warning.
Eliot dished up the eggs and bacon, then added a scoop of breakfast potatoes for Hardison and bowls of fresh fruit parfait for himself and Parker and brought the completed dishes to the table. While he didn't want to spoil Parker's mood, he did have his boundaries. "I ain't a big fan of dressing up on Halloween. Don't see much point when we wear disguises for our jobs every other day of the year."
"That’s not the same thing. These are real costumes," Parker insisted. "The over priced, poorly made kind from places like Spirit Halloween that come in the big plastic bags and say 'one size fits all,' when we all know that they're not going to fit anyone right." Her grin spread. "That's half the fun! Everyone knows that we’re not what the costume says we are."
Hardison nodded furiously, his mouth already too full of potatoes and eggs to contribute anything else.
"I’ll give you that,” Eliot conceded. “Costumes that are meant to be outrageous can be fun. But, I ain't dressing as a sexy anything." The last thing he needed was anyone asking about his scars. They weren’t a conversation piece. "Not a Sexy Doctor. Not a Sexy Bottle of Ketchup. And definitely not a Sexy Zombie."
Parker pulled a bound sheaf of papers from somewhere, flipped it open, and ripped out a handful of pages. Over the last one, she hesitated. "Maybe we'll hang on to this one." Almost before Eliot could see, she'd folded the page and returned it to wherever she put things when they weren't in her hands. It wasn't her pockets. He'd had his hands in her pockets enough to know that she kept them empty. All Eliot caught before the page vanished was a glimpse of a drawing that might be a stethoscope. Straightening up, she announced, "There’s still plenty of options left in here."
"No animals," Hardison suddenly announced. "I don't remember if I said that before. Dressed as a horse once when I was in high school and got the tail. The tail!. That's the last time I make that mistake."
To hide his laugh — Hardison would only be insulted by it—, Eliot bit off a piece of bacon. He savored the roll of flavors over his tongue while Parker again flipped through her booklet and tore out pages.
She hesitated over the last one, her lips pulling into a frown. "Not any kind of animal?" She tilted the booklet so Hardison could see the page.
His eyebrows shot up, then slowly lowered again. "Bruh. Wouldn't have put that at the top of my list, but I'd be a fool to scratch it off entirely. And this boy ain't nobody's fool."
"Definitely not." Parker beamed, then leaned across the table to give Hardison a quick kiss. "I knew you'd be OK with it." She ate a bite of the parfait and pointed the spoon at Eliot. "That just leaves—" She paused to lick a smear of yogurt off the back of the spoon. "—well, me. I know exactly what you're dressing as."
"I ain’t agreed to anything," he reminded her. It was already too late. The fact that the conversation had gone on this long only guaranteed that.
“But you know you want to,” Parker argued. "And iff yuou're-a gunna keep feedeeng us leeke-a zees, zeere-a's ounly oune-a choice.”
Eliot blinked. He thought he'd understood her words, but since when had she become so bad at accents? "What? What accent is that? What are you doing?"
Hardison caught on before Eliot did. "Dun't yuou zeenk it's a fery deestinctife-a iccent?" He snagged the whisk off the counter and shoved it at Eliot. "Bork bork bork!"
"No," Eliot stated, horror growing. Because, as badly as Parker was mangling it, it was a very distinctive accent. It just wasn't one he'd heard since he was a child. He stared at the whisk, its metal gleaming in the sunlight that streamed through the loft window.
It was a tool, dammit, not a costume accessory!
But he did have a chef’s hat, and Parker had already made it clear the goal was to be outrageous.
Instead of paying him any mind, Parker and Hardison had pushed their plates away so they could lean over Hardison’s phone together. “—ain’t even gonna suggest Miss Piggy. That’s too basic for my Parker,” Hardison said. “How about Janice?”
Parker wrinkled her nose. “Why are you only picking the girls?”
Hardison slapped a hand over his heart. “Baby, you know I didn’t mean—“
“She’d trip over something and get caught in two seconds on a job.”
Hardison pulled her closer, an apology in action, if not in words. “I could change mine. What if—“
Eliot dropped the whisk onto his now-empty plate. The metal chimed against the ceramic. “Gonzo.” He had no idea where in the depths of his memory the name came from. Before he had a chance to decide if it was a good suggestion, it fell out of his mouth and into consideration.
The bickering stopped and both his partners brought their full attention onto Eliot.
A beat of silence followed while each of them tried to process what they’d heard.
“You think?” Hardison asked, at the same time as Parker announced, “Perfect.” She lunged from her seat to throw her arms around Eliot. He only kept his chair from toppling over backwards because he’d already adjusted his weight in anticipation of that lunge.
“This is going to be great!” Parker exclaimed. Her lips tasted like the parfait, and from somewhere under her, Eliot thought he heard the sound of paper crinkling. “We’re so going to win the costume contest.”
