And if he looked over at Eliot while he sang it, he might notice that his partner didn't give a good goddamn about the key-wandering. Eliot held his guitar in his lap, not playing, entire attention focused on Hardison, a small smile on his face.

He could have played along easy -- he'd been raised going to church, too, and while the music of Hardison's and his own didn't quite match up, they were similar enough that he could follow along with any variations -- but this was Hardison's moment. He wasn't about to interrupt.