75 Godiva, Friday evening

[vdistinctive]

Eliot had been taking it easy since getting back from LA. For all his bluster and insistence on avoiding formalized medical care -- be it hospitals or magical healing -- he knew how to take time to give his body what it needed. And after the number that the mad doctor had managed to do, both with his fists and the whole "blowing up" thing, Eliot's body had needed a lot.

So he'd laid low, making good use of ice packs and analgesics, and lots and lots of cuddle time, either with his partners or with his dog. Not that he would ever, ever use that term out loud.

He was just pulling his "cook and convalesce" stool up to the counter to get started on dinner for the evening (and yeah, it was maybe a little sad that he had a stool specifically for that purpose, but it wasn't like he was going to not cook), when he heard a quiet but firm knock on the door.

. . . That was a very distinctive knock.

"I got it," he called. Val trotted up to the door with him, ears pricked at her person's sudden discomfiture. Eliot paused at the door to steel himself, only for the knock to come again, more insistently this time. He rolled back his shoulders, shook out his hair, and eased the door open.

"Heya Pop."

[for the family, please]

Comments

[vdistinctive]

"Fine." Eliot stepped aside, nudging Val along with his foot. "Come on in then, I guess. But you piss off any of my people here, Pop, and the stone ain't even gonna have to wait on you. I'll kick you back to the afterlife myself."

[vdisappointed]

Emerson snorted. "You'll try. You ain't too big to bend over my knee, boy, and don't you forget it." He smiled down at Val. "Hey there, Poochy. Ain't you a fine-lookin' hound. My son been treating you right?"

[vdistinctive]

"Her name's Val," Eliot said, half-grump and half-proud. She was a fine-looking hound! "And I do my best, for all Hardison and Parker spoil her."

[vdisappointed]

Emerson looked up at the name of his son's -- friends -- but bit his tongue. "She don't look a bit spoiled to me. House isn't half bad, either." He offered Eliot a small smile. "You've done well for yourself."

[vdistinctive]

Eliot actually blushed at that.

"I -- uh. Rebuilt the place myself, actually."

[vdisappointed]

"You don't say!" Emerson rapped on the nearby wall with his knuckles thoughtfully. "Guess all those hours I 'forced' you to work in the shop weren't a total waste after all, huh."

[vdistinctive]

The proud look faded right back off Eliot's face. His father had never known when to stop.

"Was just starting dinner. I'll grab you a beer."