Hey, guys. So sorry this has taken me forever. I had so many ideas for this story, and then I just... ran out. Until tonight, anyway. It's so nice to be back in the writing Leverage mood. So without further ado, here's chapter three. Parker's ornery, Eliot's crabby, and Hardison found unclaimed underwear.


The team plowed unceremoniously into Nate's apartment, respect and personal boundaries be damned. Sophie was first, followed by Hardison. Eliot took up the rear, Parker in his arms. She was coherent now and muttering at them- something about being able to walk herself, or that she was going to taze them if given the chance. At least her sour attitude told them she was going to be fine.

"Hardison, open the door to the guest room," Eliot demanded.

Hardison complied silently, swinging the door open so that Eliot could get Parker inside. It had been cleaned since the last time he saw it- Sophie's doing, probably.

"What do you need, Eliot?" Sophie asked. She was bouncing on the balls of her feet, trying to calm her nerves. This wasn't going to go very well.

"Ice from the freezer; this one's already giving out." Eliot motioned to the instant ice pack that was still pressed to Parker's skin. "My first aid kit from under the bathroom sink."

"You have a first aid kit stashed at Nate's apartment?" Hardison asked.

"Three of them. I need some water, too."

Sophie left the room without a word to retrieve the items he requested.

"Hardison?" Eliot asked.

"Yeah?"

"Can you grab something for her to wear? Something dry."

"Sure, man." Hardison began opening the drawers of the dresser, searching for something suitable. He held up a pair of underwear that were obviously not Nate's. "Oh, that is way more than I ever needed to see."

Eliot, meanwhile, laid Parker gently on the bed. "Parker?" he asked. "What can I do?" Eliot felt overly aware of his limbs, of the timbre of his voice. Every movement accentuated the angles of his elbows, the roughness of his hands. It was an awareness that hurt, and it made him unsteady.

"Go away," she grumbled, clearly not in the mood.

"Parker."

"Go yell at Nate or something."

Eliot smiled to himself at this suggestion. "I will, don't worry."

"Not without my help," Hardison muttered.

"Good," Parker said.

"But first," Eliot said, reaching toward her, "let me help."

Parker grabbed his offered hand and pulled herself into a seated position.

Sophie came into the room, then, and wordlessly handed Eliot his first aid kit and a bag of frozen peas. At Eliot's raised eyebrows, she muttered, "That's all he had."

"Does this really require three people?" Parker asked, narrowing her eyes at Eliot.

"It doesn't, but we're going to stay here. More witnesses." Eliot took the bag of peas from Sophie, wrapped it in a spare pillowcase that was under the bed, and handed it to Parker. She pressed it against her forehead.

"Witnesses for what? You gonna murder me?"

"Never mind. Let's get you out of those clothes."

Parker did her best to peel the soggy shirt off her body one handed but gave up after a moment. She looked at Eliot.

Without a word, he grabbed the shirt and pulled it off. He tossed her a towel, let her dry herself, and then helped her into the t-shirt Hardison had found. Her pants were removed and replaced in a similar way, and Eliot spent a tiny moment thankful she had no modesty. Modesty always got in the way of patching friends up.

"What hurts?"

"This," Parker said, and held out her wrist, which had started to swell quite nicely. "And my head, but I don't have a concussion."

"Okay, let me see," Eliot said. He took her wrist carefully in his hand and examined it. Definitely broken. "We should probably bring you to a doctor."

"And tell them what?" Hardison asked. "That she broke her wrist climbing into a building illegally to steal documents that weren't hers?"

"You don't usually steal things that are yours."

"My point, Sophie," Hardison said, enunciating her name for more emphasis, "is that we can't do that."

"Why don't we ask the patient?" Parker said, pulling her lips into a pout and staring daggers at all of them.

"What would you like?" Sophie came around to sit next to her on the bed.

"I want Eliot to fix me up. He's good at it."

Eliot got up from his spot on the bed and began rummaging through the first aid kit Sophie had brought him and left on the dresser. He pulled out an Ace bandage, some gauze, and some medical tape. He hesitated a moment before grabbing a bottle of ibuprofen.

"Sophie, can you help me?"

"What do you need?"

"Hold her wrist still- like this," Eliot said, demonstrating what he wanted her to do. Parker bit her lip, trying not to whimper at the movement.

"Sorry, dear," Sophie said to her.

"Just- hurry up."

Eliot did just that. He made quick work of wrapping the bandages around and around her wrist, making sure to immobilize her thumb, and secured it with the pins from the Ace bandage and the medical tape. Couldn't be too careful with her.

"Parker, I'm looking up how to take care of a broken wrist. Without a cast, the internet doesn't have a lot of information, but I managed to get a little on what to do and what not to do. It says," Hardison paused and squinted at the screen. "Try not to use the injured wrist for at least a few weeks." He looked up at her. "Are you left or right-handed?"

"Both."

Eliot, Sophie, and Hardison looked at her.

"What? It makes being a thief a lot easier."

She had a point. Eliot lifted her chin so that she was looking straight into his eyes. It was unnerving. "Don't mess that up. Or you won't be able to use it anymore. Understand?"

Parker nodded, but her headache-not concussion- caught up with her, and she creased her forehead in pain.

"Take these," Eliot said, and handed her the bottle of ibuprofen.

She unscrewed the top, and found the seal still in place. She shot him a grateful look. "Thanks."

"You good now?" he asked.

"Yeah." She snuggled down under the blankets, closing her eyes. She snuggled the bag of peas against her chest: Eliot suspected she had sore ribs she'd neglected to mention.

Sophie stood from her spot on the bed, and quietly opened the guest room door. Eliot and Hardison left first, probably in search of dry clothes. She turned around, stealing one last look at the sleeping thief. She looked so different, asleep in one of Nate's old t-shirts. Peaceful, almost.