What, was "Rudy" on cable last night?

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]

Eliot had spent the week in Oklahoma, visiting with Tru and hiking around some the state's larger parks, just generally reminding himself who the hell he was without his crew along for the ride.

And it was good. Cold, a little bit lonely, but just what he needed. Hell, he'd even thrown in a visit to the local VA center to check in with the counselors there -- people who actually knew a thing or two about PTSD, thank you very much Hardison -- and got himself a prescription for anti-anxiety meds, in case Fandom decided to throw something extra nasty at them again. All told, it'd been a very successful week.

But this? Hanging out with his crew in what was basically the romance capital of the world, on a holiday when tradition called for lots of kissing?

He absolutely needed this, too.

[ooc: for the crew, up early for sloooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooowplay.]

Eliot was perfectly happy to do his own demolition and carpentry, but he knew just enough about electric and plumbing to get himself in trouble and he knew it. So this was contractor week. Which left Eliot at something of loose ends. What the hell did he do with himself all week when he wasn't trying to rebuild a diner or a house, anyway?

He'd considered working on putting in his new garden, but it was pretty much exactly the wrong season for planting, and frankly, basic landscaping didn't interest him in the least. So today he was out front, running through forms from at least four different martial arts styles, in between answering questions like "Yes, I know the shower in the master bath is going to be the size of a small bedroom" and "Yeah, sure, you can pretend the second floor's going to be one giant server farm if that makes you feel better about the number of outlets you're putting in."

Really, it was like these people had never worked on a dream home for an obscenely rich criminal throuple before.

[ooc: open! Eliot is once again perfectly accessible from the street.]

The diner was all fixed up again, which meant it was time for Eliot to finally turn his attention back to his house. The house. Their house, this time from scratch. They had plans, a new way to divide up the space the building gave them, even expand on it (no one would mind an extra floor, right?). But before they could start on that, the old and busted stuff had to go.

So here Eliot was, with a sledge hammer and crowbar, dressed head to toe in safety gear, including a heavy duty air filter because five sharks meant a whole lot of exposed insulation that had quite possibly gone to mold by now.

Really, he definitely should have started on this shit much earlier.

Anyway, too late for regrets now. It was time to gut this bastard of a house, top to bottom.

Eliot shook himself out, bouncing on his toes, and cracked his neck. He took a deep breath, made sure the air filter was fitted snugly over his mouth and nose, and then let out a muffled "HOOAH!" and ran in.

This was going to be fun.

[Open!]

"I loaned Kanan one of your scarves, by the way," Eliot said as led the way into the apartment. "The sweater the island landed him in is even stupider than mine." He switched the lights on and gave the kitchen and living room a cursory scan. "You sure you two even want to crash here, tonight? Y'all been extra -- tense about this place lately."

You know, since Hardison got trapped in here by a giant evil cat-Kenzi. Not that Eliot could blame them. His talk with Sophie had helped with the 'useless in my own skin' feeling, but he wasn't exactly cured of all fear or anxiety from the events of last weekend.

[ooc: for the bf and gf!]

Eliot had always been a fast healer -- a definite advantage in his line of work, no one was going to respect a hitter who was covered in bruises all the time -- so while he still had a black eye and a fairly impressive mass of scab on his temple, the swelling had gone and the side of his face was more yellow than purple. It'd taken a few hours to convince Hardison that he really wasn't letting the man out of his sight for longer than it took to use the bathroom, but once they'd managed to move from escape attempts to resigned depression, Eliot had even managed to get some actual rest in, so his headache was down from sometimes-literally-blinding to dull-throb-with-painkillers-if-I-don't-move-too-quickly. With his hood pulled up to both cut down on excess sunlight and hide the mess that was his temple, he felt almost normal.

Physically, anyway. Hardison wasn't the only one dealing with masses of guilt over what happened over the weekend. Eliot was just more used to carrying stuff like that around.

Parker wasn't going to let Eliot stand up in the kitchen long enough to even make some decent omelettes, so he called and had the busboy at the diner bring them enough food to cover all three of them for a day. This of course led to an argument with the busboy about whether him not coming in at all meant the kitchen staff had a day off, which set off exciting new throbs in Eliot's head, which in turn made Parker go all growly mama bear at the busboy, who eventually ended up running away shrieking. Then Eliot had to hurry back to the living room to make sure that Hardison hadn't tried to escape through the back door.

"You know," Eliot said as he grabbed yet another ice pack from his freezer. "We're not s'posed to have to tie you to a chair after you're done being evil."

[ooc: for the crew. Wheee aftermath!]

Eliot didn't sleep nearly as much as Parker and Hardison did, so he was pretty used to being up before they were, getting coffee ready and sorting through his fridge for what to make for breakfast. He'd've been perfectly happy to stay in bed and just stare at his partners and make sure they were still there, but whatever the aliens had been using to sustain them all over the week hadn't really been much more than minimal, and Eliot was pretty sure he wasn't the only one who'd be waking up today starving.

He may have stuck comms on everyone so he could still hear them the whole time, though.

It was weird being in his kitchen without Val sitting at his feet in her eternally frustrated hope for scraps (eternally frustrated from him, anyway, he was pretty sure she still did it because Hardison and Parker were sneaking her things), but Kathy had texted the night before to let him know that her little sister had been taking care of the puppy, and that Kathy was going to keep her in the dorms for one more night. Considering how much time he and the others had spent yesterday in constant physical contact, Eliot could guess why Kathy wanted to keep a nice, warm, happy puppy around for the night, so he didn't insist. He was used to getting shot at and nearly killed, after all, and what had happened in that sim --

Eliot's hand spasmed around his knife and he dropped in to the cutting board and stepped back, leaning his weight into his hands on the counter and just breathing through it as the image of Kathy silhouetted in the doorway ran through his head. He kept his head down a moment longer once the scene finished playing out in his memory, then straightened up, stretched his fingers, and got back to chopping.

He'd have to watch out for that for a little while.

[ooc: for those in the house and the one stopping by -- and anyone else who might decide to drop in and visit. Note: linked thread contains violence and simulated death.]

Eliot was very, very slowly cleaning up his house. Staying with Parker and Hardison was fine -- better than fine, so much better than fine -- but that apartment wasn't exactly large, and there was a reason he'd moved to the island in the first place. He was a country guy, deep down, and he needed his space.

And if part of him was thinking about how to convince Parker and Hardison to move into his house with him so he could have that space and cuddle hang out on the couch with them, too, well. Everyone had their idle fantasies.

So the bear traps had all been locked up in a closet in the basement. The steel bars were taken down from the doors. He hadn't gotten to the nets in the vents yet, or the snare on the stairs, other than deactivating it, since he was pretty sure ladders weren't a great idea right now. The cameras up by the ceiling he'd taken out by throwing boots at them. He'd get around to sweeping up the busted up bits of them later. Right now, he was taking a break. Definitely not sitting on the floor because he'd over done it and wiped himself out.

Though he had to wonder if he had when the giant yellow teddy bear walked in his front door, and before Eliot could do more than attempt a swing at its fuzzy black nose, wrapped him up in a giant yellow teddy bear-hug.

"If you don't let me go, I will stab you in the face."

The bear just hugged him harder, lifting Eliot up off the floor.

He never should have put those bear traps away.