sunspot | Fic: Five Times Sophie and Eliot Didn't Really Kiss

Title: Five Times Sophie and Eliot Didn't Really Kiss
Fandom: Leverage
Pairing: Eliot/Sophie
Rating: all
Word Count: ~1700
Summary: Five times Sophie and Eliot didn't kiss, not really.
Author's Notes: For

spiritcrow at

leverage_sesa. Beta'd by the amazing

cherie_morte. My first '5 Times' story and I like it a lot. Expect to see more of them from me.

Alternately, read on AO3.

[1]

"Patricia, please don't leave me. I'm sorry... so sorry, for everything. I promise I won't hurt you... again."

Sophie followed with her line, mentally making a note to give Eliot a stern lecture when they were out of range from all the microphones placed around the hotel room. Three days of early morning rehearsals, and he was still reading off the bloody cue cards.

"Oh Richard, I'm so mad I could just slap you! But I won't!" she added hastily when she saw Eliot's 'back off' look. "Come here, you wonderful man!"

Eliot had always rolled his eyes at this part in 'rehearsal', but had not actually outwardly said that he thought that the little performance for the audio recorders was a waste of time. He let Sophie have her weird fun, which everyone else thought was a combination of nice and a disaster waiting to happen.

She approached him and he gave her a funny look.

"Now kiss me!" she cried, still using her ridiculously over-the-top Patricia voice. "Kiss me," she hissed under her breath, in her less creepy Sophie voice. Eliot shook his head. "It's called method acting!"

Her whisper was turning into a stage whisper, and her mask of 'oh Richard, I love you' was quickly slipping to reveal 'Eliot, I might actually smack you'. He kissed her, because it seemed better than the alternative.

Sophie sighed and threw herself onto Nate's couch a few hours later. "The things I do for my craft," she moaned, taking another breath mint from her pocket.

Hardison and Parker traded identical smirks, and Eliot just pretended he couldn't hear anything.

[2]

"Who ever heard of a grift on ice skates?" Sophie muttered. Three rooms away, lacing his own skates, Eliot laughed when he heard her on the ear bud.

"Come on Soph, you're plenty graceful. You've got to know how to skate."

"Ffah!" she scoffed. "This is not going to end well. Do you hear me, Nate? Bad. Plan."

Nate chuckled too. "You're going to be fine. Parker and Eliot will be there if you need to make a quick exit, and Hardison and I have control of the security feed. So all you have to do is convince Roberts to give you the name of the corrupt customs officer, and we can get out of here."

Eliot had circled around the ice rink four times in the time it took Sophie to finish tying her skates and make it out to the ice.

"You'll do fine, Sophie," Eliot assured her. She took a few tentative steps onto the ice and fell flat on her back.

"Nate, I'm going to kill you," she muttered. The mark, Roberts, helped her up, and they laughed it off, but Sophie's threat still lingered.

In record time, Sophie got the information they needed and only a few moments later, Roberts excused himself to use the bathroom.

"I'll keep eyes on him," Hardison assured them. "Sophie, you just have a little fun."

She muttered something negative about his fashion sense and made it halfway around the rink again without taking her hand off the boards. Sophie glanced over at centre ice where Parker was doing figure-eights and double crossovers and cheering on some kids who were trying to copy her. Despite herself, Sophie smiled.

"I bet you could do that," Eliot said, skating up beside her and turning around to skate backwards. "You know, you'd have to let go of the boards first."

Sophie gave him the dirtiest look she could muster without falling over. Unfortunately, it didn't work, and her right leg slipped out from underneath her, and she went tumbling forward. She braced herself for impact with the ice that never came.

When she opened her eyes, there was a quarter inch of space between her and Eliot, and she was suddenly painfully aware of how chilly the ice rink was, because of the warmth of Eliot's hands, even through her sweater.

"Thanks," she muttered. She looked away, embarrassed.

"You're very welcome."

[3]

"Oh my God," Sophie said, pulling open the door for the men. "Oh my God, Eliot."

"I'm okay," he sighed as Hardison helped him limp into the living room. Eliot shoved Hardison's hands away when Hardison started to fuss.

"Fine, man, I gotta get back to the bar anyway," Hardison said. "Sophie, make sure his dumb ass don't move again until tomorrow morning."

"What happened?" Sophie asked, bringing Eliot a glass of water and some painkillers, because it was the only thing she could think of doing.

"Just... stupid," he muttered. "Idiot with a tire iron. It's fine, I pushed him out a window."

Sophie sighed. "It wasn't him I was worried about."

"I don't even have a concussion Soph, I'm fine."

She brought him a blanket and resisted the urge to reach out and help him when he struggled to get comfortable.

"G'night, Sophie."

"Good night, Eliot, just shout if you need anything."

Eliot grumbled something, but it sounded like 'thanks'. Sophie turned away and smiled to herself.

When she woke up a few hours later, it took her a full thirty seconds to realize the unfamiliar noise in her apartment was the sound of someone else breathing. Sophie got up to get herself a glass of milk, and, on her way back to bed, she checked on Eliot.

The blanket had fallen on the floor, and Sophie picked it up and draped it back over him. She thought Eliot might be having a bad dream because his forehead was creased and his nose was all scrunched up. Something about his discontent awoke a deep feeling of empathy in Sophie. She leaned over and brushed her lips over his forehead before retreating back to her bedroom.

She didn't see the lines in his face smooth out or the tension in his body drain away.

[4]

Sophie took the wine from the cupboard and pulled out the cork with expert form. She poured it into the open mouthed container and set all of it on the side board.

"The merlot is decanting," she called to Eliot in the kitchen.

"Chicken's almost done," he called back. "Come in here, I could use your help with the salad."

Sophie sauntered into the kitchen and leaned against the counter. "I agreed to help with the wine, not with dinner."

Eliot rolled his eyes and gestured to the vegetables on the cutting board. "Come on, get to work so we can eat."

She sighed dramatically and looked him right in the eye. Then, she poked him with the end of a cucumber. "If I cut myself making this, I don't know what will happen to you, but I'm certain it will be unpleasant."

"That's okay," Eliot said, mildly. "I don't think that cucumber is all that sharp."

Sophie didn't bother making a snarky comment in reply; she just made a mental note to remember the sarcasm later. She broke the lettuce, diced the cucumber, sliced the tomato into half moon wedges, and crumbled the cheese. Then she set the knife on the edge of the cutting board and turned to ask Eliot a question at the same moment he turned with a spoon to have her taste the sauce. They ended up chest to chest.

There was a complicated little dance, but in the end, Sophie tried the sauce. It was amazing, and she said as much.

"Good," Eliot said, turning the spoon and tasting it himself. "Oh, it is good."

Sophie rolled her eyes indulgently. "Yes, you're fantastic, can we eat now?"

Eliot laughed and brushed a stray strand of hair away from Sophie's eyes. "Grab the plates."

[5]

Sophie tried on four outfits before she settled on the black dress. She realized as she tried each of them on that she was probably crazy. She was just meeting Eliot at the bar to go over the last minute details for their job in Caracas, so why was she agonizing about what she was wearing?

With one last glance in the mirror over the sink, Sophie couldn't help but think maybe it paid off after all. She did look pretty fantastic.

"You look nice tonight." Sophie couldn't see the smile on his face, but she heard it in his voice. She hid her own smile.

They got a table in the back, and Eliot picked up the drinks.

Eliot was pretty adamant that they were going about the Caracas job all wrong, but the changes he was proposing were weirdly convoluted. Eliot's plans usually only involved 2 steps -- identify who was on the other team and punch them until they conceded. This had more layers. Subterfuge, multiple fake personas and misdirects, and even a few costume changes. Sophie was half-expecting him to hand her the score for a show-stopping opera number.

"Eliot, I think maybe you've lost your mind."

He sighed and took a long draught of his beer. "Maybe you're right."

Sophie fiddled with the straw in her own drink. "You think we'll be able to pull this job together without your grand idea?"

Eliot made a non-committal noise. "We'll be fine. Nate's plans are almost always usually sound."

She laughed drily. "Fair."

They talked a little more about the job, but then they were saying very little and people watching instead. People in the bar were interesting. Sophie recognized some of the regulars, and they spent a few minutes making up some unlikely back stories. Eliot picked an ex-Marine from the crowd and Sophie was almost worried there was going to be a fight, but the woman left, and Eliot relaxed a little.

Sophie lost track of time as she lost track of number of drinks. Laughter came easier, conversation came easier, and before they even realized it was happening, they were both leaning across the table, closing the space between them.

He could feel warm breath on his lips and she felt the heat of his hand on her knee through her dress. Just before their lips met, a big gust of wind came through the door as it opened, carrying with it Hardison's loud voice.

Sophie jumped back into her seat and took a hurried sip from her glass. Eliot ran his hands through his hair and looked away.

"Hey guys," Hardison grinned to them, sliding into the booth next to Eliot as Parker sat down next to Sophie. "What are we talking about?"

"Nothing much."