fandomtownies | Luke's Diner, Thursday

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Luke's Diner, Thursday

Hardison cautiously poked his head inside the diner, ready to run at a moment's notice if anything looked even the slightest bit off. The Special's Board looked normal--a lot of baked goods, yeah, but nothing to suggest they were doing a number about eating people. The diner looked the way it normally did, nothing moved or rearranged to make room for dance numbers. And the staff was all moving around their jobs quietly and efficiently, no stage makeup, spangly versions of their uniforms, or random bits of choreography to be seen. Maybe the weekend had gotten it all out of their system. Or maybe the talking-to he'd given everyone about referencing cannibalism when they had tenants who'd gone through a zombie apocalypse had made an impact.

He eased the door open and took a step inside. The busboy looked at him, nodded, and went back to wiping down tables. Nobody else seemed to notice.

Ahh. Finally. Things seemed to be going back to normal. He let out a breath and sat down at a booth, pulling up badge numbers and records of the local Baltimore PD as a favor to Eliot.

And then, from the kitchen, a lone voice rose up in song.
"Make it work
Make it easy
Make it clever, craft it into pieces
Make it sweet
Crimp the edges
Or make it sour and serve with lemon wedges
Even doubt
Can be delicious
And it washes off of all the dirty dishes
When it's done
I can smile
It's on someone else's plate for a while..."

The dishwasher had a lovely voice but Hardison was going bang his head on the table anyway.

Today's Specials
Individual Pot Pies
Creamy Corn Casserole
Lemon Buttermilk Pound Cake

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It's not a BIG musical number this time?

Let him tell you how much he hates musical theater now. Didn't before. Now kinda does.

And this was a guy who'd seen Sophie Devereaux in Sound of Music!

By the time they'd gotten back to the island this morning, Eliot had been too wrung out to do much more than pass the police information on to Hardison and then go ~~nap~~ meditate a bit in his slowly-becoming-a-dojo space in the attic. Then he'd called Trudy to make sure she was absolutely sure she wasn't mad at him for ditching the funeral. By the time he'd finished that, Hardison was long gone for the day, so he headed out to track him down.

Telling your partners that you'd just basically adopted your teenage protege was just polite, okay?

"I don't see what you've been fussing about," he said as he came in. "This looks like a normal day in here to me."

Hardison pointed at Eliot. "Don't you even start with me," he said. "They're doin' this on purpose an' it ain't even funny."

It was a little funny.

"Sure thing, man," Eliot said, grabbing a seat across from him. "My diner staff is deliberately trying to drive you crazy. With musical theater."

"Right, like that's a damn stretch," Hardison snorted, though he did have to smile at Eliot coming to sit with him. Look, he liked his boyfriend, okay? "Your staff tries to drive Kanan crazy with pancakes. Same shit, different day."

"You just gotta know how to talk to them." It mostly involved growling and yelling and threatening to fire people. And being resigned when none of that worked. "They're like . . . exceptionally stupid teenagers."

Hardison raised an eyebrow at that. "So, about your trip last night..."

Look, his patience for people getting arrested was getting kind of low.

Eliot sighed. "Yeah. That's actually what I came to talk about." He held up a hand. "Not the getting arrested part. Kathy and I are both agreed that we're gonna avoid that better in the future."

"I'm so glad," said Hardison in the deadpanniest deadpan that ever deadpanned, "that y'all had a meeting of minds about that."

Because really.

"What happened anyway? Didn't think Kathy was the type." Kind of the complete opposite type, in fact.

"Kathy's not the same girl she was," Eliot pointed out. "She got mixed up in an underground fight club. She played it cool, though. Let the cops think she was underaged so they wouldn't press charges on her."

On the guy running the ring, on the other hand. . . . Eliot was okay with him getting an extra charge for letting a minor in, if it came to that.

"Like the kind we took down in the Tap-Out Job?" Hardison asked, frowning. "That can't have been safe, yo."

Which meant she probably hadn't wanted it to be safe.

Eliot shook his head. "That was a gym. It was shady as hell, but it wasn't that underground. She went for late night, trespassing in a warehouse, ring is a line drawn on the floor crap." He sighed. "Which she ain't gonna do again."

Hardison had to give Kathy this much; she never half-assed something. She always went all in.

"God I hope not," he said with a shake of his head. "Those are the kinds of places that if you get hurt, they'll leave you in an alley rather'n bring you to get help." He scrubbed his hand over his face, feeling bad for the whole situation. "So what's next?"

"We're working on that," Eliot said. "Actually was hopin' you might have some ideas. I can't blame her for wanting to wail on somethin'. Or wanting to hurt. We just gotta make sure it's controlled, you know? Safe." And honestly, that was something Eliot could use, too. Beating up a punching bag and doing tai chi only got you so far.

"Some kinda...automated sparrin' dummy or somethin'?" Hardison asked, intrigued. Grabbing a napkin, he pulled out a pen and immediately started sketching as ideas tumbled through his head. "Wantin' to hurt...that healthy?"

"Nope." Eliot shrugged. "You can only really feel one hurt at a time, though. Getting hurt on the outside . . . keeps you from feeling it on the inside so much. And you can put ice on a bruise."

"It's a good thing she's got you," Hardison admitted. "Me 'n Parker are out of our depth, I think."

"Been where she is, that's all," Eliot said. "Ain't actually been dead, but the rest of it's familiar enough. 'Sides." He gave Hardison a significant look. "She's family."

"Family, eh?" Hardison asked, somehow managing not to look INCREDIBLY SURPRISED.

Almost like it had been obvious to everyone how he felt about her?

"Almost officially, even," Eliot said, quirking a faint smile. "We talked about that, too."

"Really?" Hardison asked, because let's face it, he was a giant softy, especially about found family feels. "What'd you say? What'd she say."

Dammit, Hardison, try to sound less like you wanted to be braiding his hair while you talked about this.

Eliot had great hair for braiding though.

"Well, the first thing that happened was she panicked and threw up."

Maybe if he hadn't thrown it at her defensively.

"...That probably put a dent in your whole proud papa aura," Hardison snickered. "Get any on you?"

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OOC