75 Godiva, stupid-o'clock Monday

[vdistinctive]

To say that Eliot was dragging would be an understatement. He'd just woken up from the absolute weirdest, most depressing week ever (which was saying something), during which he'd basically been a mindless killer drone with a drill for a hand, and literally all he wanted to do was be home with his partners and do comforting, human things like cook and eat food and then sleep.

The only saving grace was that Parker and Hardison were right there the moment he woke up, both also now normal and healthy, and that they probably wouldn't mind too much if he took a little while to go from "spoke in weird wordless groans for a week" back to "speaking actual sentences and interacting with people". Frankly, the "Big Daddy" had been a little too close to what he might have been if he'd spent enough time working for Moreau than he really wanted to deal with.

[for them's in the narrative and . . . whatever the hell speed play it ends up being]

Comments

[geniuswithasmartphone]

"I dunno, Mama," he said. "I think you could rock the hell outta a tailored white pantsuit though." He pressed a kiss to her cheek, gentle, not trying to press too close. "Maybe you dive outta a plane or something an' zipline down to the deck where we're waitin' for you."

[whoisalicewhite]

Parker gave a gasp of glee, nodding enthusiastically, some of her usual verve making a come-back. "Yes! No walking up an aisle for me, I have to come in from another direction! And I should be in black, 'cause that's my work-clothes, and I'm marrying you for every day forever, and if you guys want to wear dresses, they should have sparkles. Or you can be shirtless."

You know, either-or.

[geniuswithasmartphone]

"I ain't walkin' down the aisle shirtless with my Nana in the audience," Hardison said firmly. "I'mma wear a tux cause I wanna look damn good for my future wife. An' husband. And...damn."

First time he'd said the words aloud.