What, was "Rudy" on cable last night?

The house was dark when they got back, and eerily silent. Val was still off being dog-sat by Kanan, and the place hadn't been empty this long since before Hardison and Parker moved in.

Which was fine, and normally not even something Eliot would notice. But all his nerves felt scraped raw just now, and the house didn't feel right dark and quiet anymore.

Funny. There was a time when dark and quiet was all he'd ever wanted out of the world.

"Parker and Sparkle are supposed to be gettin' in soon too, right?" Eliot asked Hardison. "Maybe I should make something for everyone for lunch."

( You can't always get what you want )

[ooc: NFI, OOC welcome. Preplayed with the inimitable age_of_the_geek, whoisalicewhite, and myownface. Our baby little family plot is done.]

Eliot had dallied as long as he possibly could at Trudy's house, getting her family set up for lunch (most of them had already eaten breakfast) and chatting with his nieces and nephew, telling them increasingly outlandish, invented stories about his 20 years away. He even made it so far as offering to help Jake clean out the garage before Trudy managed to glare him down and remind him why he'd come all this way in the first place.

So it was mid-afternoon by the time he made it to the hospice. He half-expected -- or maybe it was half-hoped -- that when he asked for Emerson Spencer, the man behind the desk would just stare at him blankly. Instead he smiled and pointed out the way without having to look anything up. He hurried down the hall before she could start telling him what a lovely, amazing person his father was. Emerson Spencer had always been a pillar of the local community; the whole town probably still saw Eliot as the ungrateful kid who'd ditched his family first chance he got.

He knocked a couple times on the door and tried not to think too hard about how this was where he'd stalled out the last time he'd tried to reconnect. He wondered what was happening with his father's house, if Trudy was going to have to sell it. For the first time in a long time he thought about just how much work went into picking up after someone when they died; his job usually ended when the brain activity did.

Bad timing. Don't think about being an assassin. Or a disappointment. Just open the door, go in, and say --

"Hi, Dad."

( This was sure to go well )

It was hot and muggy and extremely crowded. The final act of the night -- Carrie Underwood -- was taking the stage and the crowd, exhausted but buzzing from a full day in the sun, still managed to let out one hell of a roar.

Eliot, Hardison, and Parker were up high in the back of the stadium, kicking back, in part to get away from the crowds, and in part to give Hardison room to get his eye rolling and and terrible country accents out of his system before he managed to get someone to throw a swing at him.

Again. Throw a swing at him again. Eliot had already finished two fights for Hardison since they got to town, and as much as he enjoyed it, they were trying to keep at least a little bit of a low profile. Country music could have a long memory, and there were still a few hardcore "Craniacs" out there who might recognize his one-hit-wonder persona.

[ooc: for the blonde one, the other one being permissibly modded.]