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Parker and Eliot were… unused… to soft touches.
Parker’s entire world was one of vents and empty rooftops and scaling walls. Alone. Brushing shoulders as she steals their wallets, harmless hip checks as she takes their phones, skimming fingers as she swipes their jewelry.
Eliot’s world was one of violence and rage and pain. Dislocating shoulders with a tug, bruised hips from hitting the pavement, bloodied knuckles after fistfights.
They worked alone.
Hardison worked alone, too, but he was soft. Yes, he dealt with the computers and wires, the keyboards and circuits and coding. But he used it to be soft. He paid for his Nana’s medical bills. He bought a home (multiple homes) for the Leverage crew. He painted. He played his games online and actually talked to people. He had friends. He had a family in Nana and the rest of the rag-tag army of foster kids that he grew up with.
Then, he had them. Nate. Sophie. Parker. Eliot.
Nate and Sophie and Hardison were normal, as much as any of them could be normal in this sort of life. Normal about touches, anyway. They could touch each other, touch the team. Hug. Brace a hand on a shoulder. Press a kiss to a cheek. Wrap an arm around each other. Hold hands. They didn’t flinch or whip around with raised fists at a tap on the shoulder. They didn’t feel suffocated when someone put their arms around them.
Touch was normal. Touch was not a weapon.
Eliot knew better, though, and he was careful who he let into his space. Maybe he could stand Sophie leaning on the desk next to him or Parker poking his nose when he spaced out (well, he might swing an arm at her, but she was always quick to duck and beam at him with gleeful mischief). Hardison wasn’t awful either, for all his softness. He announced his presence in every situation—far too loud for a thief—but Eliot couldn’t say he hated how he never had to guess if Hardison was sneaking up on him (something about pigs flying before that would happen). Physical contact was pain to Eliot, but he settled into Sophie touching his arm for his attention or Hardison shaking his hand to seal a bet or Nate putting a card into his back pocket with sleight of hand.
Parker didn’t know what to do with the touches at first. She tensed under Sophie’s hands, under Nate’s arm, under Hardison’s fingers, but she knew better than to show her discomfort. She never fidgeted, never moved away. She was Parker, the best thief in the world. But after a while, the team noticed her thawing. She was less tense. She leaned into the touches. These people were safe, they were good, they wouldn’t use their touch to hurt or harm or steal—not from her, anyway.
Nana was a different story. Nana was an unknown. Worse than that, Nana was important to Hardison. Which meant they had to impress her and show her that they were good enough for Hardison.
Hardison had let things slip about Nana over the years. The way she would cuss, the way she would get mad at him when the FBI showed up at her doorstep, the way she defended him and all her other kids when they ran into any trouble. She was a strong woman. A good woman.
And Parker and Eliot were strong, but “good” wasn’t ever a word that was used to describe them, unless it was the context of cracking safes or breaking bones.
Parker and Eliot had talked about it beforehand (in hushed whispers, in an alley three blocks away where Hardison wouldn’t be able to hear them), about how they needed to be on their best behavior. No stealing things, no breaking things, don't talk about stealing things or breaking things, be polite to Nana and the other kids, smile and laugh where appropriate. Pretend to be as normal as possible. They had done it for cons before, so they could do it now. Of course, this wasn’t a con, and Hardison would notice if they acted too strangely. It had to be a balancing act, but they could do this. They could be prepared for Nana.
Then Nana opened up the door of the house to find the trio standing on her doorstep and exclaimed, “So you're the fuckers who dragged Alec back into being a decent sonovabitch!”
They were not prepared for Nana.
Nana was a lot like what Hardison had said. There was steel to her. She and Eliot recognized each other immediately as fellow soldiers (very distinctive way of standing) and she dragged him into the kitchen to help cook dinner (“Alec says you’re handy with a knife”). Parker and Hardison were put in charge of putting the Christmas lights on the outside of the house (“My knees are shot to shit so I ain’t getting back on a ladder unless you pay me. Alec said you liked to climb. Well, up you get”).
They ate dinner in a dining room full to the brim with people, the walls crowded with homemade art. Hardison pointed out one that he had made years before—a star made out of electrical wires that lit up and sounded like a Dalek when you hit a button.
Eliot and Parker got crowded into the living room next, where the younger foster kids made a giant nest of pillows and blankets and demanded they get in to watch a movie. (“You don’t have to,” Hardison says. “We get a little crazy when we’re all here for the holidays.” Eliot and Parker are not quitters, so they get into the cuddle pile anyway. The fact that Hardison is nestled between them is a bonus).
Afterwards Nana the matriarch sends them off to bed, reminding everyone to keep it down and that little ones would be trying to sleep (Parker manages to fight her blush at the knowing look Nana sends the three of them. Hardison and Eliot are less successful).
The life they lived didn’t really hold to things like “bedtimes” or “healthy sleep schedules” but the trio did their best. When midnight struck and Parker was getting properly antsy and Eliot and Hardison weren’t much better, they all snuck down in the hopes of a nightcap from one of the bottles of whiskey Hardison had assured them Nana wouldn’t mind them drinking.
They curled up together on the sofa, laughing and talking in soft tones, shushing each other because Nana was asleep. At some point they drifted together, Hardison’s long gangly form all spread out with Parker curled up in a ball next to him and Eliot wrapped around them both.
They blinked blearily when Nana entered the room, but all she did was grab the whiskey bottle and return it to its place.
“Go the fuck to sleep, you idiots,” she said with a smile.
It had been a long time since Eliot had had a mother, even longer for Parker. But the feeling of soft hands tucking in blankets around them, well… that was a touch they might be able to get used to.