fandomtownies | Luke's, Thursday Afternoon

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Luke's, Thursday Afternoon

Several hours after his broadcast ended, Hardison was once again awake. But not by choice. Apparently the dishwasher had decided that this morning was the perfect opportunity to show off the insane garbage disposal that Luke's had and was showing off how efficiently it was at destroying things. Like the bones that Cookie had set aside to use for stock. And one of the metal soup ladles. And the three pounds of potatoes Cookie had just finished peeling for the soup.

...It was entirely possible that the dishwasher just didn't want soup. Or was mad at the cook.

Anyway, it was damn impossible to sleep through the sound of an industrial-strength dishwasher grinding through bone or metal and even if Hardison could, the resultant screaming fit would have woken him up anyway. He dragged himself downstairs to tell them to shut up, only to realize that the door had shut and locked behind him. Leaving him stuck downstairs. Wearing his boxers and nothing more.

Whatever. He was too tired to even care. He was gonna claim a booth and try to nap again.

Today's Specials
~~Lady and Sons Beef Soup~~ NEVER MIND
Iced Coffee
Regular Coffee
Coffee Ice Cream

Yes, Hardison had been in charge of coming up with the new specials, how did you guess?

[No OCD, but bonus 'I Never' checklist. Now for some sleep for me!]

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Eliot glared vaguely at Hardison from where he'd been ~~sulking~~ sulking in the next booth. "Pretty sure you're supposed to be wearin' pants."

At the very least.

Hardison picked up his head and glared back. "Pretty sure you're s'posed to be countin' paperclips."

Eliot growled under his breath and took a large sip of his beer. "No," he said. "I ain't."

"Oh?" Hardison put his head back down on the table. It was too heavy to hold up. Oh god, it was like having a hangover but without any of the drinking! He'd gotten old! Noooo! "You move onto choosin' words that start with the letter F?"

Not too tired to be a smart-ass though.

"...Got locked out," he added in a mumble.

It was too bad Hardison didn't say that out loud. Eliot would have loved the distraction of making fun of Hardison for thinking he was old.

"I'm thinkin' of some choice F words right now," he grumbled instead. "Why don't you just break back in?" You know, like a thief.

That was how you knew he loved you, Eliot. He'd deliberately picked the letter F just to give you that opening. "Where exactly you think I'm hidin' lockpicks on me?" he asked, standing up and letting Eliot see him in all his overtired, boxer-clad, barefoot glory.

Eliot let his eyes drift around the diner. After letting them drift around that glory. "'Cause there's definitely nothin' else you could use as a lock pick around here."

"Orrrr I could stay here an' nap an' wait for Parker to come home an' magic the door open," Hardison pointed out, sitting back down. "Why? You wanna pick it?"

Eliot shook his head, taking another sip of his beer. "I kick doors open. Not pick 'em. You really think you're gonna be able to nap in here?"

"An' I hack 'em open for the most part." He'd learned how to pick from Parker because they'd all absorbed one another's skills to some small extent, but that didn't mean he was able to do it on no sleep with makeshift tools. "An'...maybe. If people would STOP ARGUING ABOUT THINGS!" he yelled into the kitchen.

Neither the cook nor the dishwasher seemed inclined to listen.

"If those two stop arguin'," Eliot said, "something's gone horribly wrong."

It was only a little bit of an exaggeration. At least he was in a better mood, now they weren't talking about him being Big Bird any more.

"Maybe I can pull on a parka and nap in the freezer," Hardison said. "Bet it's quieter in there."

Even so, the sleepless night had been worth it. He hadn't pulled a gaming all-nighter in years.

"And catch pneumonia. And then yell at me for 'letting' you nap in the freezer."

Hardison grinned. Yeah, that's exactly how it would go. Well, okay, the pneumonia wasn't anything to smile about, but the rest of it...

"You're s'posed to take care of me," he said. "Lettin' me nap in the freezer is hardly responsible."

"And here I thought you were a grown up."

"Well, we can't all be six an' not allowed to cross the street without supervision."

Eliot was gonna sock him one.

Eliot would never deliberately hit Hardison. Not when he wasn't under the influence of something evil.

This was probably easier to know when he wasn't glaring bloody murder at you.

But Eliot knew it, too, and he knew Hardison knew it, so he dropped his head into his arms instead and grumbled a miserable "shut up."

And for once, Hardison actually did, but only because he was heading over to join Eliot at his booth and use him for as a short, compactly-muscular pillow.

...Yes, he'd long-since realized he could just nap at Eliot's house, but Eliot was here. As (over) tired as he was, he still preferred to be near Eliot than tucked away somewhere restful but alone.

"Maybe you need a nap," he suggested, trying to sound teasing, not hopeful.Even as he rested his head on Eliot's shoulder. "All tuckered out from your long day."

"I don't nap," Eliot grumbled, not picking his head up -- or making any effort to dislodge Hardison. "And I definitely don't get 'tuckered out'."

"Tell that to your nest with your blankie and stuffed teddy bear," Hardison mumbled, not at all bothered by the fact that he was two inches away from taking a nap. He was tuckered out! He could admit it!

"I hate you." The fact that he was careful not to move too much when he lifted his head to take another sip of his beer was totally evidence of that hatred. "Bring it up again and I'll break all your toes."

Oh yeah. That was some quality super-hatred right there. Hardison was shaking in his boxers.

"Then you'll have to carry me around an' listen to me complain about havin' broken toes," he pointed out. "An' you'd never be able to convince me to do anythin' athletic again cause I'd have a built in excuse."

Beat.

"...This ain't soundin' half-bad."

"Nope," Eliot said, head once again firmly buried in his arms. "I'd make you walk around on 'em. Because I'm a mean, nasty, old man."

Not a six year old bird. Dammit.

"I got a video recording that suggests otherwise. You're all sunshine an' smiles, kiddo."

Eliot attempted to burrow further into the table. "Dammit, Hardison."

"Such language ain't appropriate for little birds. Keep it up an' I'mma have to wash your beak out with soap."

You could have avoided all this harassment, Eliot! You should have gone for the nap!

All that would have done would be delaying the inevitable.

"Try that and I'll break your fingers along with your toes."

Truth.

"Then your entire life will be made up of me whinin' at you after I have Parker strap me to your back so I could get around," Hardison pointed out. "It'd be like an earbud you couldn't never take out. Which, by the way, I improved. Again. Cause I'm brilliant."

Eliot picked his head up just enough to be able to glare in Hardison's general direction. "You made an earbud you can't remove?"

"Naw, man, if you broke my toes an' had to carry me about, I'd be like an earbud you couldn't remove." Speak better sleepy!Hardison, Eliot! "Which is separate from the earbuds that I made better. I just did that cause I was bored."

And a bored Hardison led to either new inventions or every member of Congress finding their peccadilloes on the front page of every major news website.

Wasn't Hardison going to take a nap, not babble at Eliot about earbuds?

At least they weren't talking about Big Bird anymore.

"Did you waterproof 'em, yet?"

"I already explained to you how waterproofin' interferes with the signal." Aww, now Hardison was all disgruntled. "Until they come up with a better polymer that's capable of--"

The busboy showed up with another cup of soda for Hardison and the slightly panicked expression of someone who had been on the wrong side of one of Hardison's techno-rants.

"Hardison," Eliot said, with the resigned tone of one well used to the techno-rants. "You're geek-spiralling again."

"Naw--it ain't--I ain't--I'm tryna explain to you the delicate process of how the earbuds work so you'll stop demandin' more'n I can deliver! It ain't a geek-spiral! It's a--a--a conversation about the technological benefits of the--dammit, Eliot! It ain't a geek-spiral!"

Except for how it entirely was.

Eliot waited, eyebrow raised.

"You just geek-spiralled about geek-spiralling."

"I hate everythin' about you," Hardison growled.

"Yeah," Eliot said, finishing his beer and shifting enough to drape his arm across Hardison's shoulders. "I know."

And Hardison curled up against him, getting comfortable, and letting his eyes droop shut.

"Good. So long's you know how I feel, 'm happy."

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Luke's, Thursday Afternoon

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