Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Most of the time, Eliot was fine with Parker’s random tangents. He found them endearing, even. But while Hardison was trying to show them a YouTube video of a gender reveal party gone horribly wrong, Parker just had to ask:

“What even is gender, really? I mean, it’s so stupid that from the moment you’re born, the doctors are like: Aha! A penis! He will surely enjoy toy trucks for the next ten years.” She snorted. “I mean, how ridiculous is that?”

Hardison cringed. “P-Parker, you really had to say the word ‘penis?’”

“What?” She made a face at him. “It’s just a body part. You’re the one who made it weird. I’m being serious. People take gender so seriously, boys vs. girls, blah blah blah. They’re so committed to the bit that they do stuff like accidentally spray cake on all of their guests like in this video. Plus, men have had... y’know... a history of treating women badly. Why can’t we just get rid of gender?”

Eliot pulled hard at the hairband around his wrist, staring at the video still blown up on the big screen, cake mid-spray.

“Well, things aren’t that easy, Parker,” Sophie said gently. “Some people, like you, aren’t so attached to gender, but others are. We have been for many, many years. It’s a social construct, yes, but it’s like… it’s like money, Parker. You like money. What if I told you those fresh green paper bills were just that, paper? No value whatsoever?”

Parker scowled. “That’s stupid. Money is money. You can buy anything you want with it.”

“Because we as a society agreed that it had value. Just like we as a society agreed that gender had value. Money is just something we made up, but it’s obviously important.”

“Plus men want to keep treating women badly,” Parker mused. “They probably wouldn’t like it very much if we said they couldn’t be men anymore. Then they wouldn't have any power."

“Okay, okay guys. We’ve gotten a little off track,” Nate started. Eliot’s face was hot, but he didn’t know why. He just kept staring at the video. “Why don’t we get back to wherever we were before Hardison tried to show us this video?”

“Of course the man wants to shut down the conversation,” Parker griped. Alec put on a solemn face and shook his head slowly as if in disapproval at Nate, but anyone could tell he was close to bursting into laughter. He was down to follow along with anybody that pissed Nate off. Nate looked helplessly at Sophie, palms outstretched.

She let him flounder for a few seconds before sighing. “It’s a good conversation to be had, Parker, but I’m afraid none of us in this room currently have the power to dismantle the gender binary. Perhaps we should focus on things we can change, like defunding rich assholes.”

Parker’s face drew into a pout but she swung her legs over the couch and settled in next to Eliot. He drew his arms closer into himself. He could feel her gaze on him through his peripheral vision, but he said nothing to her. She poked his arm, their customary tradition, but his swat at her touch was more dismissive than affectionate. Her lips were pursed together tightly, but she turned forward and didn’t mess with him again.

After Hardison got through the debriefing, Eliot stood up and shrugged his jean jacket back on. While he was straightening out the collar, Parker didn’t move from the couch. Hardison said his goodbyes, as well as Sophie and Nate. Eliot moved toward the door, but Parker got up after him.

“Are you mad at me?” Parker asked. Eliot’s eyes narrowed.

“Am I-? What, no. I’m not mad at you, Parker.”

Parker folded her arms across her chest. “You show all of the signs of anger toward someone. Frowny features, being quiet, and general avoidance.”

“You always think I'm ‘frowny,’” Eliot pointed out. “It’s not personal, Parker, okay?” He raised his eyebrows and put his hand on the doorknob. “I’m just tired.”

Parker watched him leave, her brow still furrowed.

Chapter Text

The next day, Parker declared that they wanted to try using “they/them” pronouns.

“I must confess I don’t understand, Parker,” Sophie said, clasping her hands under her chin. “Is this about the conversation we had yesterday? You don’t want to feel oppressed by men anymore?”

Parker’s head tilted, causing their ponytail to swing. “No, not really. Well, yes, it was due to the conversation. But the reason I want to use ‘they/them’ is not about men at all! I was confused, so I did some researching online, and it turns out some people like being women! Do you like being a woman, Sophie?”

Sophie blinked as she considered this. Her voice was slow and uncertain. “Well, sure.” It lent well to her style of grifting, at the very least.

“Well, I thought I had to be a woman because that’s what I got stuck with, but it turns out this is not the case!” Parker slapped Hardison hard on the shoulder, causing him to yelp and almost spit out his bite of cereal. “Alec here told me all about transgender and nonbinary people. I think the reason I don’t understand gender is because I don’t have one! I’m just me. And I don’t have to be called she if I don’t want to.”

“Well, I’m happy for you discovering yourself, Parker,” Sophie said with a smile. “I’ll try my best with the new pronouns.”

Hardison and Parker shifted their attention to the next person sitting around the table, assuring acceptance of the new change. Nate nodded slowly and swirled the whiskey around in his glass. “Alright," he said finally, with a short nod. "I mean, it makes sense. You’ve never been very… ladylike.” Hardison rolled his eyes at this a little, but it seemed he decided against giving a talk on gender expression versus gender identity to the not-so-sober man.

Now it was on Eliot. He was staring at the silver band around his right ring finger, twisting it around and around and around. He gave a tight smile. “That’s great, Parker. I’m happy for you.” He didn’t know why he felt so bitter inside. He wasn’t transphobic, was he? Something about the careless ease of Parker just deciding to go by a new set of pronouns made him feel annoyed, as did the mildly confused but supportive response by Nate and Sophie. And then there was Hardison. Sitting so close to her that they might as well have been a single unit coming in today, a dominating force against any dissent towards Parker’s news. If Parker had come out to anyone but this group right here, most people would’ve been confused as to why she- they- had to make everything about themselves- themself? Why did they have to make it everyone else’s problem? They were acting like it was just a fun little game, and not anything serious, like gender was something you could change on a whim.

Parker seemed mostly pleased with Eliot's verbal response, but Hardison had a slight scowl on his face directed at Eliot while the rest of them moved onto a different topic of conversation. When they got up to leave, Eliot made sure to be out the door before Hardison could stop him, knowing he wanted to give the other man a “stern talking-to” to make sure that he wasn’t going to be a jerk to Parker. Jesus. He would use Parker’s new pronouns. He just didn’t get it, that was all. He wouldn’t make it anyone else’s problem.

Chapter Text

He couldn’t avoid Hardison forever. In fact, “forever” happened to be until 8 pm, when Hardison found Eliot at his favorite dive bar, nursing a Jack and Diet.

“You better not have tracked my location,” Eliot said, not bothering with the pleasantries since they both knew why he was there.

“It wasn’t hard to hazard a guess.” Hardison pulled out the chair next to Eliot’s at the counter and carefully sat down, folding his jacket across his arm. “You’re not Nate, but I know you enjoy the occasional drink, especially when times are stressful.”

Eliot couldn’t stop himself from rolling his eyes at that. “What are you even talking about, man?” Their recent cases had been relatively easy. Eliot didn't even get hit that much.

“Listen, I don’t know what’s wrong with you, but you’ve been off these past couple of days, and I know it has to do with the gender reveal stuff and Parker and… Look, I know you went to the army and everything, and you grew up in Oklahoma, but-” Eliot interrupted Hardison’s nervous ramble.

“I’m not transphobic, Hardison.” Alec looked unconvinced. “Seriously. I don’t have a problem with Parker doing whatever sh- they want to do with their life.”

“But?” Alec prompted. Eliot shifted in his chair and shrugged, smiling stiffly.

“But what? That’s all there is to it. You didn’t have to come all of this way to try and get me to-” Eliot spread his hands out dramatically and widened his eyes- “‘change my ways,’ or whatever. I’m fine with it.” He picked up his drink again and took another sip.

Hardison frowned and leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest. “Bullshit. There's something going on with you."

Eliot could feel his face getting hot. “Do you really think that I'm some kind of bigot?” he sputtered. “Come on. You know me. I love Parker. I want them to be happy, of course I do. Do you really think I would ever do anything to hurt her- them?” He shook his head and scoffed. Got out of his chair. “Fuck you, man. Fuck you.” He didn’t have to stay here and listen to this bullshit.

Chapter Text

So it was Eliot against the rest of the group- his family- then. What for? He never said anything or did anything wrong, but Hardison probably had them all convinced by now that he was somehow against Parker being nonbinary. Fine. Whatever. They could think whatever they wanted to. Days like this he missed working alone, or at least with people he didn’t give two shits about. Personal drama like this just gave him a migraine. Stopped him from being productive.

He had half a mind to forgo their meeting today, knowing the way they’d all be looking at him, but not showing up would be a coward’s move. He thought about bringing Parker something to congratulate them on their coming out- a box of chocolates?- but then decided that would be like an admission of guilt, like he had something to make up for. He didn’t! God, this was all so stupid. He really (selfishly) wished Parker hadn’t said anything. Now Hardison was convinced he was an ignorant bigot just because he was from the South and served in the army. Who was being close-minded then?

But everything was mostly normal. Nate and Sophie acted as if absolutely nothing happened, and they did call Parker by the correct pronouns whenever necessary in conversation. Eliot did too, and he tried not to sound like was he overemphasizing or underemphasizing when he said "they and "them" in place of "she" or "her." He was normal. He could be normal about this. If Hardison’s animosity toward Eliot had been shared with Parker, they didn’t show it. They were currently sitting on top of the couch cushion directly above Eliot’s head, playing with his hair absentmindedly.

They were meeting someone new today. A new client. Sophie was the one who knew her, so she didn’t feel the need to share the nitty-gritty that Nate usually would after setting up an appointment.

“Oh, she’s an old soul,” she said simply when asked for more information.

That really didn’t do Marcine justice. When Eliot saw her walk into the room, he felt a sharp tightness in his chest and an internal Oh fuck. He didn’t see many very masculine women out and about in his daily life. If he had seen Marcine before, he was sure he would’ve noticed her. It wasn’t that he was attracted to her- she was handsome, but not his type- but… well, he was attracted to her, but not in a romantic or sexual way. He couldn’t explain it, but he also couldn’t stop staring at her. He hoped she wouldn’t notice him staring- him, with his grizzled southern charm, probably assuming he was a bigot like Hardison.

Marcine explained her conundrum to the team and thankfully didn’t seem to notice Eliot at all. He tried his best to make himself small. By the time the meeting was over, Eliot felt like there wasn’t enough air left in the room for him, and staggered a bit after getting out of his chair before regaining his posture. Even after she left, he couldn’t stop thinking about her. He’d met plenty of women who had dressed in more of a "tomboy" fashion, but none like her. She was all of the way over on that end of the spectrum. Hell, she was dressed almost exactly like Eliot was on most days. Her hair was long but she kept it untamed and parted down the middle, just as he did.

“That woman was like an alternate universe version of you, Eliot,” Parker joked. Eliot laughed nervously and ran a hand through his hair. There wasn’t anything he could say to rebuke that.

“It was uncanny,” Hardison agreed, tipping back his glass to catch the remaining drops of orange liquid. He seemed to have simmered down some since his confrontation with Eliot yesterday. Maybe everything could really go back to normal.

Except now he couldn’t stop thinking about Marcine. Well, not her exactly. But the idea of her. “You guys think I pull off the butch look like that?” he joked. He said with a soft voice, not catching at the word 'butch,' desperately hoping they would know he meant no harm. He hated stepping on eggshells. Sophie eyed him inquisitively and waved her hand about in his general direction.

“There is a certain way you carry yourself, Eliot.”

His heart beat faster, and he felt his mouth go dry. He looked at Eliot and Hardison and Nate, but they didn’t seem to know what she was talking about.

“What does that mean?” he asked with a nervous little laugh.

She shrugged and stirred her straw around in the dregs of ice of her Pepsi. “I don’t know. You do really remind me of Marcine, though.” Her many rings glinted under the lights.

Nate snorted a little. “Alright, let’s not keep demeaning the guy.” He slugged Eliot in the shoulder slightly. Eliot felt something cold form in the pit of his stomach. Sophie scowled at Nate, but he raised his eyebrows in a gesture of innocence.

“I’m gonna go,” Eliot said in a faint tone.

When Eliot was home alone in his bedroom that night, he found himself staring at his reflection in the floor-length mirror, trying to find the similarities between him and Marcine that Sophie could see. He gave up in frustration.

Chapter Text

Eliot didn’t know what was wrong with him, but ever since Parker came out, and seeing Marcine, his first reaction to every minor inconvenience was to explode. He had a whole lot of pent-up… something. Maybe he was working too hard. He decided to take some time for himself one night and hit the gym.

But no matter how many hits he made on the punching bag, he couldn't seem to shake the tight feeling in his chest. He kept going until he couldn't raise his fists anymore, until he couldn't even think. He was scattering the bare cement floor with the sweat that dripped down the ends of his hair and his nose, and one of his gym buddies, Diego, gave him a once-over as he switched dumbbells. He whistled low.

"Damn, man. You made mincemeat of that bag."

Eliot gave a curt nod of acknowledgment as he sucked down most of his water bottle. He didn't feel much like being congratulated for anything right now, but he wasn't going to be rude.

“Did you hear about Abdul?” Diego’s voice lowered to a conspirational whisper. He hadn’t yet resumed his reps, instead keeping his attention on Eliot, his eyes eager.

“No, what about him?” Eliot’s voice was cautious. He didn’t know Abdul very well, but they were on friendly enough terms with each other. The guy had a nice wife, cute kids. They came inside sometimes when they picked him up. Diego, fulfilling his role as gym gossip, had once told Eliot that Abdul lost his driver’s license after too many DUIs. It wasn’t Eliot’s place to judge. He knew a bit too much about the look in the other man’s eyes when he started in on that punching bag. He hadn’t seen Abdul in a while now.

“He’s saying he’s a woman! He’s becoming transgender. Isn’t that just the damndest thing? Of all the people… I never would have pegged Abdul as the type.”

Eliot found it hard to swallow all of a sudden. Was everyone transgender now? He couldn’t escape it. (Why did he want to escape it? Why did it bother him so much? He wasn’t transphobic!)

“Oh, is that so?” Eliot kept his tone neutral. Disinterested. Diego didn’t seem to recognize the dismissal.

“I can’t imagine Abdul in a dress. Y’know, he’s spent all this time getting buff. Oh geez, I feel bad for his wife… and the kids! What a mess. I just don’t get it at all. I mean, live your life and all that, but I don’t know if anyone will ever see him as a woman. It’s just kind of sad.”

Eliot felt dizzy. He started unwrapping his fists, his breathing just as heavy as when he was in the midst of boxing.

“No comment? Come on, man, isn’t that just nuts? Like seriously, I would have never expected. That would be like you coming out as a woman!”

Eliot didn’t want to talk about this stuff anymore. He didn’t want to think about it. It made his head- and his heart- hurt in a way that confused him greatly.

“Honestly? I don’t care, Diego,” Eliot said flatly as he grabbed his duffel bag. “Good for her. Why does it have to be such a big deal? What happened to letting people live their lives?”

Diego blinked and stammered. “Hey, hey, man! I’m not like a bigot or anything, okay? I don’t have a problem with it. With… her. It’s just… surprising, is all.”

“I don’t think you’re a bigot, Diego. I’m just… I’m just tired. Goodnight.” He hoisted the strap of the bag over his shoulder and headed toward the exit.

Chapter Text

Of all of the people on the team, it was always Sophie who could see right through him. This made sense since she had made a living out of learning how to read people in order to use their desires and fears against them. Eliot wasn’t a mark, but he sure felt like a target under her pointed gaze.

“Eliot,” she said, rolling his name around in her mouth like it was something soft. It was just them. Sophie had asked Eliot out for a drink, which was a red flag enough. Sophie wasn’t much of a drinker. Being around Nate for long enough would make anyone want to stay sober. “How are you, dear?”

Only she could call Eliot “dear,” and only she could bring a prick of tears to his eyes at the term of endearment.

Eliot studied the glass of Skrewball he ordered. A double. The way she was looking at him, he was wishing he ordered a single. “I’m good. How are you?”

Sophie just looked at him through narrowed eyes and tapped her fingers on the beer-stained counter.

“Really, Sophie. I’m fine.”

“You can be honest with me, Eliot. You know I’m not going to get all mushy with you, unless that’s what you want me to do. I’ve noticed you’ve been different lately. You’re stuck in your head. Is it-?”

“It’s not the PTSD,” Eliot assured her before she could dance around the matter, his cheeks flushing slightly at the admittance of vulnerability. He only sort of regretted telling her that one day. Coincidentally, Skrewball had also been involved in the situation. Maybe drinking around Sophie was a dangerous thing. Hell, maybe it was a tactic she used, whether consciously or not. “The new meds are really working for me.”

“Good, Eliot. I’m glad, really.” She put her hand over his own and gave such a genuine smile that he felt like crying again. Before he met the team, it had been a long time since someone really cared about him beyond his value as a combatant. “But if it’s not the PTSD, what else is bothering you? And don’t try to tell me I’m just seeing things. I know something’s going on.”

Eliot swallowed hard. “You don’t have to do this.”

Sophie frowned, and her hand left his. “Whatever do you mean?”

“You don’t have to try and fix everyone. You don’t have to try to fix me.”

Sophie fiddled with the stem of her wine glass, avoiding his gaze. Eliot could tell by his silence that he had hurt her.

“I’m sorry,” he said softly. “I don’t mean that. I appreciate your concern; I’m just… I don’t want to talk about it.”

Sophie sighed and pulled her hands into her lap, straightening her posture. “You’re pushing me away so you don’t have to tell me what’s wrong.”

“Okay,” Eliot relented. He looked up at the ceiling and exhaled slowly. “But I’m not even sure that I know what the problem is, Sophie. And I’m not good with uncertainty, as you can imagine.” He ran his hands through his hair. “There’s something… big in the back of my brain, but I can’t take it in all at once. I only get glimpses, and I don’t like what I can see. I wish I could just pretend that I never saw it all.”

Sophie’s eyes tracked across his face as she tried to follow his metaphor. “You can only ignore something for so long, Eliot. It will come out, one way or another. Believe me.”

Eliot did, though he didn’t want to. “Sometimes I’m jealous of you, Sophie,” he admitted.

“Of me?” She chuckled and fluttered a hand to her chest. “Whatever for?”

Eliot spun his glass around on the counter, causing the glass to scrape dully against the wood. “You’ve always defined yourself, you know? You’ve been so many different people. You’ve never been set in stone.”

“Is that how you feel?” Sophie asked quietly. “Like you’re set in stone?”

Eliot shrugged. “I’m just tired of all of the assumptions people will make.” He was talking about how people assumed he was a conservative hick based on his past, but he realized he was also still mad about what Diego had said about Abdul- or whatever her name was now. That would be like you coming out as a woman!

“I’m not following, Eliot, but just because I don’t have the answers for you doesn’t mean I’m not here to support you in other ways. Whatever you find out about yourself, I’m here for you. I won’t make any assumptions.”

She said that, but could she really make that promise? Could anyone? Eliot wasn’t sure he could even trust himself.

Chapter Text

Eliot knew this was a bad idea. He didn’t know Abdul- no, Cyra now- that well. Well, he’d stalked her Twitter, and he found out a lot more about her than what he knew in the months that they’d been attending the gym together. It turned out she was funny. In fact, she performed stand-up comedy at the downtown club sometimes. She ran an all-inclusive prayer group at the local mosque. She also had two rescue pit bulls, and she spent a lot of time volunteering at the community garden in the warmer months. It turned out she was a whole-ass person beyond the trans stuff. But she hadn’t posted past her brief coming-out tweet. There were some congratulatory comments, but also many that had been deleted. Eliot didn’t think he wanted to know what they said.

Eliot had Cyra’s number, as he did of most of the guys- the people- at the gym. They had a dead group chat in text messages, set up for asking for a gym partner. Turned out that most of them preferred to work out alone.

He texted her after Sophie left the bar, when the Skrewball was almost gone in his glass. He phrased it innocently enough, asking her if she wanted to work out together some night. He didn’t receive a response for a couple of days, and he couldn’t blame her if she never responded at all. But after the last meeting with Marcine at the bar post-gloat, with that familiar satisfaction at having beat the bad guy buzzing warmly in his chest, he got a new text notification.

Tonight, 6 pm? Do you mind if I bring a friend?

The warm buzz quickly dissipated, leaving him feeling cold and still. She wanted backup. She was scared of him, wasn’t she? It was a horrible feeling. He wasn’t offended but despaired on her behalf- that she had to doubt all social invitations as potentially dangerous situations. But at least she agreed to meet him at all. He would take it.

No problem! The more the merrier.

It was 5:50 and he was standing in the gym, pretending to pay attention to the weight machine he idled next to. His palms were sweaty, and there was a fluttery feeling in his stomach. He was… nervous? But why? He wasn’t usually prone to social anxiety.

When Cyra finally walked in, he didn’t recognize her at first. His first (guilty) thought was that she didn’t look quite like most of the women he knew, but she also didn’t look like who she used to be. There was something more organic about her now, her movements more fluid, even though her eyes were flitting about nervously and she kept shuffling her feet. When her eyes caught Eliot’s, she gave a tight smile and blinked. Her friend was a buff guy with well-sculpted facial hair, hovering right behind her like her own personal bodyguard. (Though there was no doubt Cyra could handle herself if anyone gave her shit, though; she was still jacked.)

“Hey, Cyra!” Eliot gave an awkward little half-wave. “Nice to see you. It’s been a while.”

Cyra smiled back, but it didn't reach her eyes. She wore a black muscle tank, the neckline barely hiding a thin golden chain trailing across her collarbones. Her hair was covered by a black hijab made of an athletic fabric, branded with a Nike swoosh. Eliot realized with a start (though he didn’t know why he was surprised) that she also had on a thin layer of makeup. She looked… softer, even though she was about as muscular as he was.

“Hey, Eliot. This is Tahir, a friend from my prayer group.” She gestured to the somber-faced man beside her. “He usually doesn’t work out at the gym, but I managed to convince him to come along.”

Eliot stuck out his hand. “Nice to meet you, Tahir! I think you’ll like it here. Cyra and I certainly do.” He bit his tongue then, worried about speaking for Cyra. What if he was wrong? What if she actually didn’t like it here? Was he being an ass? Oh God, what was he doing?

But Cyra just smiled, and it seemed genuine this time. She started to set up on the weight bench next to Eliot. “I have to say, I was surprised to get your invitation.”

Eliot swallowed thickly. “Yeah, I know we don’t know each other that well, but…” He rubbed at the back of his neck.

She gave him a curious look, one that was almost… knowing. But what she thought she knew, he didn't want to know. “It’s okay, Eliot. I was… pleasantly surprised. I could use all the friends I can get right now.”

Eliot felt that warmth in his chest again at the insinuation that Cyra considered him a friend. So he wasn’t fucking this up too badly… yet. Good. He wanted to keep getting to know her. He felt this desperate desire to know everything about her, to know that she was happier now that she had transitioned, and that she was doing okay. That there was hope for people like her. (He was an ally, after all, despite what the others thought.)

Chapter Text

There were a few things that Eliot was sure of about himself: he found love in food. He would always keep fighting. He would die for his team, in a heartbeat. For a long time, Eliot wasn't certain that he was himself, that there was anything to him beyond the value placed in his fists. He would look inside and see nothing but that hollow rage reflected back to him, those simmering coals that had propelled him through life beyond his high school years.

Even after Tony, even after Nate found him and he began to feel like a real person… He thought Parker understood that. Shared that with him. It was after the job with the Serbian orphanage that he knew. He had been in their shoes- been so lost in what others wanted him to do and be that he stopped feeling anything else. While his newfound autonomy with the team was thrilling, it was also so terrifying. When nobody was telling you what to do, when there was nothing else filling that space, you became aware of how quiet it was. You became aware of an emptiness that normal people didn't have. Parker had that emptiness too. Slowly, together, they began to fill that quiet space. But Parker was different because they found fulfillment in words and labels. Nonbinary. Autistic. Bisexual. Thief.

People had placed many labels on Eliot throughout his life, none of which he had a say in. Jock. Screw-up. Soldier. Veteran. Retrieval specialist. PTSD. Hitter. Some different ones now: Chef. "Softie" (Parker), "Closet nerd" (Hardison). Those he didn't mind so much, but he still felt uncomfortable by the reminder of how he was perceived. Trapped.

He thought Parker would still understand, but then they said one morning: "Am I the only queer one on the team?"

Hardison choked a little on his sip of orange pop and began a coughing fit. Sophie looked up from her newspaper. Nate blinked multiple times. Eliot lowered his fists from the punching bag. They took turns exchanging glances from across their respective corners of the room.

Parker took note of the ensuing silence. "I'm only asking because June is coming up, and I want to go a Pride parade, but I don't want to go alone."

"Well, of course we can go with you, Parker," Sophie told them with a smile.

They shrugged. "Okay. Cool. I'm going to order a pride flag, and if anyone wants one too, just let me know."

A few moments passed. Hardison’s voice was quiet, uncertain. “Put me down for a bisexual one.”

Parker nodded solemnly and made a note on their phone. Hardison’s shoulders relaxed just so slightly, and he grinned as his fingers kept up a flurry over his laptop keyboard.

“Oh, hell.” Sophie rolled her eyes. “Me too.”

Hardison couldn’t help but laugh. Nate’s eyes were wide as he looked at Sophie. She frowned at him.

“What?”

“You… you like women?”

“Well, what did you think that thing with Maggie was?”

Nate sputtered, his face taking on a reddish hue, and Hardison was howling with laughter now. Parker seemed confused but was also smiling, clearly pleased with this turn of events.

“Eliot, we’re outnumbered,” Nate joked to Eliot after giving another uncomfortable chuckle. Eliot suddenly felt very still inside.

“Hey now, there’s nothing wrong with being a heterosexual man!” Hardison said, his eyes glittering with mirth. “We still love and support you two for your lifestyle."

Sophie's laugh was delighted. "Oh, now now. Leave the boys alone, Hardison. They can't help being straight."

Eliot felt something hard in his throat, trapping any words inside even if he knew what he wanted to say. That was how they all saw him, wasn’t it? And that was all they would ever see. He began quickly unwinding the wrapping from his knuckles, staring at the floor. He didn’t want to be here anymore.

“Are you leaving so soon, Eliot?” Parker's voice was soft, and slightly hurt in a way he’d never heard directed at him before. He knew what it looked like. He knew what they would assume. But he couldn’t stay. There was a pressure closing in on him like a large dark fist.

“I’m sorry.” He left the wraps on the floor in a limp tangle. His hands shook slightly. “Congratulations on coming out, you guys. I’m happy for you.” He didn’t mean to sound so bitter, but he couldn’t miss the crestfallen look on Parker’s face. He wanted to make them understand, but he didn’t know how (when he didn’t even understand himself.)

As he left, memories of elementary school inexplicably ran through his mind. The boys called him things because his best friends were named Penny and Ella and he played with them at recess instead of joining the daily soccer game. Penny and Ella’s parents didn’t let him come over to their house to play because he was a boy. It didn’t matter to them- he was one of them, for a few blissful years. But when he admitted his crush on Ella, it was all over. He was made to feel like a predator before he could even spell the word itself. High school was different because he was the quarterback and the same boys who taunted him in elementary school now slapped him on the back and called him “bro.” But he would be lying if he ever felt like a part of the team– one of the boys.

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Since his morning workout had been interrupted, Eliot decided to hit the gym. He’d spent most of the day stewing in his apartment- literally. He made a roasted white bean and tomato stew, as well as dukkah-crusted pork loin. He wasn't even hungry. He just needed something to do with his hands. Usually, he shared such meals with the team, but that didn’t seem like an option at the moment.

He was looking forward to finishing a workout in peace, but the universe seemed just as determined to thwart him. Only half an hour had passed when a man strode through the door of the gym, his dark gaze settling immediately on Eliot. Eliot recognized his distinctive facial hair.

“Tahir.” He stilled the bag and stepped forward. He could immediately feel all of his muscles tensing, reflecting the man’s posture. “What’s wrong?”

“I’m glad I found you. Look, it’s Cyra,” Tahir said. “She wouldn’t like me coming to you, but…”

“What’s wrong?” Eliot repeated, more firmly this time.

The other man looked around. There were only a few people working out, including Diego on one of the weight machines, who was giving the two a curious look. “Can we talk somewhere more private?”

Eliot led him out the back, to a sagging picnic table on a cement pad. Cigarette butts littered the ground beneath their feet. They took seats across from each other, and Tahir folded his hands together. His right leg jogged beneath the table.

“I’ve heard that you have a team that… helps people. Gets them justice.”

Eliot folded his arms across his chest and leaned back, wondering where this was going. “Yes, we try our best. Is Cyra in some kind of trouble?”

Tahir’s tone was bleak. “Nothing we didn’t anticipate, unfortunately. It’s at her job- she’s a research assistant at Breakpoint Labs. You’ve heard of them?”

Eliot nodded. Their massive facility was stationed in the center of the industrial park just outside of city limits.

“She’s worked for them since she graduated college. Six years of her life.” His jaw worked back and forth. “She gave them everything. They treated her well enough as a place with predominantly white Christian workers- they let her have the spare room for salat, time off for Eid al-Fitr and Eid al-Adha. But as soon as she came out…” He gave a little shrug and his jaw worked back and forth. "I guess there are only so many accommodations they can oblige."

Eliot felt himself stiffen. “What happened?”

“Her PI recently let her start an independent project involving CDT-8 T cells or something–” he waved his hand. “I’m not sure of the details, though she tries to explain to me all of the time. It’s over my head. The point is: that project was her baby. She designed all of the protocols and had been gathering painstaking data for months. The results were promising. What she’d found out could have been life-saving. It was going to be a big breakthrough there.”

Eliot had a sinking feeling that he knew where this was going. He’d heard it so many times before in his time working with Nate.

“I could tell that her labmates didn’t taking her coming-out well. Cyra, she tries to put on a happy face, but whenever she came to prayer group I could tell. She no longer had that spark in her eyes. She used to love working there.” He shook his head. “Then, a couple of days ago, she tells me that all of her data is gone. Her PI blames it on a computer glitch, but then she comes into his office and sees him working on a spreadsheet that looks just like one of hers. She tried to confront him about it, and the next morning she’s fired.” He swallowed hard, his eyes starting to shine. “She hasn’t stopped crying since.”

“It’s not fair,” Eliot murmured, feeling his heart twisting in his chest.

“No, it’s not. We at the prayer group have tried to console her, but we all feel helpless. Then I remembered meeting you, and… well. I was wondering if there was anything you could do for her. Get her research back?”

“I'm glad you reached out. I want to help her as much as I am able to. I’ll talk to my team. Give me your number, and I’ll keep you updated. We may need to meet with Cyra- and she can bring you along- so she can explain to them her situation in person.”

Tahir nodded. His expression was grave. “Thank you, Eliot.” It seemed there was more he wanted to say, but he settled with silence.

Eliot realized now that he had to confront the team sooner than he wanted after he stormed off that morning. He hoped they could all forget about it. Most of all, he was nervous about them meeting Cyra. He knew now that most of them were part of the “community,” but had never seen them interact with a transgender person. He hoped they weren’t weird to her. If they were... the thought was strangely gut-wrenching.

Chapter Text

To the team's credit, they didn't focus much on Eliot or his earlier weirdness. After he said that someone needed their help, everything else fell to the wayside. Tahir managed to convince Cyra to meet them the next night at the bar downstairs.

When he saw her walk in with Tahir, his heart broke immediately at the devastated look on her face. Her eyes were red-rimmed and her posture slumped. He stood up without even realizing it, and stood before her, frozen.

She dipped her head. “Thank you for trying to help me. It means more than you know,” she murmured.

Eliot swallowed thickly. “Cyra. I’m so sorry that this is happening to you.”

Her expression morphed into a firm, joyless smile. “Yeah, well. I knew shit was gonna hit the fan after I came out.”

“I’m sorry,” was all that he could say, because he was. He stepped back to his team. “Cyra, Tahir, meet my team.”

“Salam alaikum. Hello.” Tahir greeted them.

They each introduced themselves. Eliot carefully gauged their expressions, but they greeted Cyra like they did any client. The two slid into the booth alongside Eliot.

“I like your skirt,” Parker piped up and told Cyra. “It looks very swishy.”

She laughed softly. “Why, thank you. And yes, it is.”

“Would you two like anything to drink? It’s on the house,” Nate offered. “Here’s the beer list.”

Tahir and Cyra exchanged glances. Sophie rolled her eyes and lightly hit Nate’s shoulder, a gesture that seemed to confuse him. She took the laminated sheet from him and flipped it to the back. “We also have soda and mocktails,” she said, pointing to the non-alcoholic section. “Please, get whatever you want.”

Once their drinks arrived, Cyra shifted in her seat and the polite cheerfulness fell from her features.

“Tell me, please, is there any hope of getting my research back?”

Eliot let Nate and Sophie take the reins once it was clear that there was going to be no weirdness. The conversation followed the same formula as always: a long round of fact-gathering, and finally the assertion that the team would do what they could, but that they weren’t miracle workers.

"I understand,” Cyra told them. “But if there is any chance that I could have my work returned to me, I need to take it. I appreciate your willingness to help me so much. Jazakallah.”

“Barakallahu fik,” Sophie responded with a warm smile, which caused Cyra to blink in surprise.

By the time Cyra left, night had fallen. As always, the team headed upstairs for a round of brainstorming. Eliot couldn’t help but feel that the team’s eyes were on him more than usual. After they settled into their particular corners, Sophie spoke up.

“Where did you meet Cyra, Eliot?”

“At the gym,” he said, picking at a loose thread around a button on his flannel. “So, what’s the play? Brazilian Monkey?”

His attempt to change the subject was met with silence. Nate wasn’t really paying attention to anything other than the notes he’d scribbled on a legal pad and his glass of bourbon, but the others’ stares unnerved him. He felt his face heating up.

“What?” he asked tersely. “We’re going to help Cyra, aren’t we?”

“Of course, Eliot.” Sophie’s tone was soothing.

“We’re just surprised that you have a trans friend,” Parker piped up, like he didn’t guess that already. “We thought you were being weird yesterday about us being bisexual. But now it seems weird that you’d be cool with trans people and not bisexual people.” She said this like she was discussing the weather.

Nate’s face had completely disappeared behind his legal pad now. Hardison cringed, and Sophie rubbed her right hand on her temple, blowing out a long breath.

Eliot tried to keep his voice steady. “I realize how my sudden leaving looked. But I’m completely fine with you guys being bi. That’s not why I left. I wasn’t–” He rolled his lower lip between his teeth. “I wasn’t feeling well.”

The longer he looked at Hardison’s narrowed eyebrows, the more irritation bit away at him.

“Look, I know you all think I’m some close-minded hick, but-”

“Hey now, Eliot. Nobody thinks that!” Sophie interrupted him, expression aghast.

“Really?" He wheeled around to face her, arms tight across his chest. "Because you all assume the worst of me. First, you think I’m weird about Parker’s coming out-" he shot Hardison a glare "-and now you think I’m bigoted against bisexual people. That feels kind of shitty, guys.”

“Okay, but we wouldn’t think that if you didn’t act so strange, dude,” Hardison shot back. “What else are we supposed to conclude? Straight man acts cagey after someone comes out… it’s not that hard of an equation.”

There was that assumption again. He clenched his hands into fists at his side. Sophie was looking at him all worried. Did she think he was going to be violent? “You guys don’t know jack shit about me, so keep your conclusions to yourself.”

Hardison crossed his arms and leaned back in his chair, a challenge in his eyes. “What exactly are we getting wrong, Eliot?”

Eliot felt the blood rushing in his ears, and the inside of his mouth had dried out. When he spoke, his voice shook slightly. “Maybe you’re the one who’s being close-minded.”

Hardison gave a little laugh like he couldn’t believe his ears. Parker had shrunk down in their chair, looking worriedly between Hardison and Eliot. “Oh, that’s rich. Let me guess, I’m being heterophobic? Cisphobic?”

Eliot’s heart pounded. He wasn’t exactly sure what those words meant, but he could hazard a guess based on the prefixes and suffixes. “What if you’re wrong about me.”

“Again, Eliot, what am I so wrong about?”

“You keep calling me a man.”

Silence for a second, but then Hardison recovered with another laugh. Eliot could feel his head spinning. How he was still standing, he did not know. What the fuck did he just say? Why did it feel like he just slung a sledgehammer into his own chest? His ribs were all caving in.

“Oh, do you identify as an apache attack helicopter?” The words felt like salt in Eliot’s open wound. Couldn’t they see?

Sophie sensed the stiffness in Eliot’s posture. She was looking at Eliot with wide, soft eyes. Suddenly, it all made sense to her. The conversation they had in the bar. He could see the terrible understanding in her eyes. It felt like a knife wrenching into his gut. He was bleeding all over the fucking floor. “Hardison, stop.”

Hardison turned around in his chair to glare at Sophie. “You’re just going to let him get away with this stuff?” Eliot wanted to vanish into thin air, to stop dropping parts of himself on the ground.

She frowned at Hardison. Her voice was quiet but steady. “I think we’ve all been misunderstanding Eliot.”

Hardison let out a little scoff, but when he turned to look at Parker now, their eyes were narrowed thoughtfully at Eliot. He was like a raccoon stunned in xenon headlights.

“Eliot, are you okay?” they asked.

Eliot wasn’t quite sure. He realized he was trembling. For the second time in as many days, he was seized by the feeling that he needed to leave at once. Sophie saw this shift in his posture.

“Eliot, let’s talk about this,” she said slowly, stepping forward with his palms outstretched. “You’re safe here.”

What the fuck did she mean by that? What the fuck did she know? Nothing. None of them knew anything about him, and they never would. He left before another word could be said.

Chapter Text

Eliot didn’t want to cook. He didn’t want to go to the gym and see Diego’s stupid, smarmy face, because if he did, he wouldn’t be able to stop himself. His whole body was shaking, and his vision blurry. He hit the couch cushions over and over and when that didn’t work he hit the wall and in the bathroom he hit the mirror too, square in his reflection. Glass immediately scattered into the porcelain bowl of the sink upon the impact and spilled over onto his shoes. His fist was bloody, but he couldn’t feel it. Didn’t feel much, actually, except for the scalding anger- at Hardison, at Diego, but mostly at himself, because why couldn’t he just be fucking normal. His life was finally going right but he was going to fuck it up all over again. Right now, he just wanted to be back in dark halls with the strong stench of sweat, his brothers at his side, their fingers going numb over the triggers as they waited to strike. At least there, he didn’t have to deal with all of this shit.

After enough whiskey, the rage fell away into a haze of smoke, and he began to see the humor in it all. Once he started laughing, he couldn’t stop. It was all too fucking funny. That would be like you coming out as a woman! Well, here he fucking was.

He had the sudden brilliant idea to tell Cyra. Wouldn’t she think it was funny too? He was like her, but probably worse. He called her number, but when she picked up, his words came out in a slurred jumble. He was lying on the kitchen floor on his back, with his legs propped up against the lower cupboards. He could feel all of the blood in his face. Oh, his hand. Was he still bleeding? He tucked his chin closer to his chest to check his hand. Yeah. That wasn’t pretty. It looked like raw meat. He laughed.

“Eliot, is that you? Are you drunk?”

“Maybe there’s something in the gym’s water,” Eliot was trying to tell her, to make a joke of it, although it came out more like a bunch of unintelligible mumbling.

“Are you alone, Eliot? Where are you?” There was soft music playing in the background on her end. He liked the sound of it. It sounded like something he could fall asleep to.

“Did you see it in me too?”

“You’re not making any sense, Eliot.” There was a rustling as she stood up.

“I’m like you.”

And she must have understood this at least, because she stopped moving before she muttered, “Nauzubillah.” May God protect us.

That was the last thing he remembered from that night, her prayer resounding in his head. Maybe her god was still looking after her, but he had given up on his a long time ago.

He woke up in Sophie’s apartment, a place that he had only ever been to one time before. It was shortly after they met. He brought her some soup when she came down with the flu, and she had never let him hear the end of it. He didn’t think it was possible to blush that much.

Now, he felt like shit, which was to be expected. A heavy metal band had taken up residence in his skull, and the brightness of the natural light streaming in through the window had increased by at least 2000 lumens more than he remembered. His right hand was throbbing dully, and when he looked down he saw that it had been carefully bandaged. Sophie’s apartment was simple and light, featuring various shades of light green and lots of houseplants. A low wicker basket sat on the glass coffee table in front of his field of vision and inside were many large, beautiful seashells. The room smelled faintly like sandalwood. He felt like he had been transported to a different world. He wished that meant he would be different, too.

Soft footsteps came from Eliot’s right and he turned to see Sophie, dressed in a matching set of floral blue pajamas. Her hair was pulled up in a loose bun.

“Good morning, Eliot. How are we feeling this morning?”

Eliot didn’t answer. She already knew.

Sophie first opened a cabinet and he heard the rattling of a pill bottle. Then, the soft suction of the fridge door opening, and a plastic object was retrieved, which she handed to Eliot before taking a seat at the green velvet armchair situated diagonally from him. It was a grape Gatorade. She deposited three pink tablets of ibuprofen onto the coffee table.

“I keep a stash of the sports drinks for Nate,” she explained. “As you can probably imagine, this isn’t my first rodeo.” She sounded disappointed now. He tried not to let it sting.

Eliot cracked the orange lid open. Once the liquid touched his lips, he realized just how thirsty he was and nearly drained the entire thing. He chased the painkillers down with another swallow.

“Careful. I don’t want you throwing up... again.” Sophie sighed a little and straightened in her chair. “Your friend, Cyra, is so lovely. Thank goodness she called me.”

“I was fine,” Eliot muttered.

“No, you weren’t.” She clasped her hands in her lap and stared at his bandaged hand, wincing, probably remembering what it looked like before she attended to it. “Oh, Eliot…”

He closed his eyes and turned his face into the pillow that had been propped underneath his head.

“I do wish you would feel safe enough to open up with us so that you wouldn’t have to bottle up all of your feelings and do things like this. You know that we love you, right?”

Eliot’s voice was muffled by the fabric. “Hardison…”

“Hardison loves you too,” Sophie insisted firmly. “That’s why he was so hurt at the thought that you didn’t accept him… us. And I’m sorry that he said those things to you. He didn’t understand. None of us did, Eliot.”

Eliot sighed and turned again so that he was facing Sophie. He pulled himself up into a seated position and ground the heels of his palms into his eyes. “Yeah, well. That makes five of us.”

“We love you for whoever you are. Nothing will change that.”

“Please, stop,” he murmured, pressing his fingers against his temples. It hurt so bad.

She crossed her legs and tilted her head slightly. Even though she had just woken up, she looked like she was ready for a photoshoot. Eliot would never look like that. “Stop what?”

“Stop acting like I… like I came out.” He wasn’t familiar with much, but he knew that term at least.

She gave a short exhale, something like frustration. “Well, whatever you want to call it, you said something yesterday that merits further expansion.”

“It doesn’t matter. I take it back.” He knew he sounded like a petulant child, but he didn’t really care. Wasn’t that what she wanted to hear? How he really felt? Well: he felt like shit.

She frowned. “How can you say that?”

“Because it’s true.” He drained the rest of the Gatorade and set the bottle on the coffee table with a hollow sound. “It doesn’t change anything.”

“It doesn’t change who you are to us,” she agreed, slowly. “But it would be helpful for us to refer to you with the proper language so that you feel comfortable.”

He snorted. “Huh. Comfortable. That’s a funny notion.”

Sophie’s lips twitched downward. “Okay. I can see that you are uncomfortable talking about this. I’ll leave the topic be for now, if that’s what you want. We can wait until you’re feeling better.” She gave a small sigh. “Excuse me while I make myself some tea. Would you like any?”

“No.” Then he added a begrudging, “thank you.”

“Of course,” she said crisply. After a few minutes, with Eliot left stewing in his own misery on the sofa, she returned. They sat in silence, watching a robin flit around on a branch outside of the window. Slowly, the angry tension inside Eliot ebbed away.

“I’m sorry you had to come get me,” he said with a small voice. “I know I must have been a mess. I didn’t- I don’t want to be like Nate.”

She squinted slightly and hummed in thought. “I don’t mind the chores that come with loving a damaged person, because god knows I’m damaged too. But it hurts me to see the people I care for hurt themselves.” He knew that she was talking about more than his bandaged fist.

“I’m scared,” he admitted, toying with the end of the bandage that had been pinned down. “And ashamed. And a whole lot of other bullshit.”

Her gaze softened. “I can’t imagine. But that’s what we’re here for. Family, if you’ll have us.”

He rubbed at the back of his neck with his good hand. “Yeah. I know.”

“All of the power is yours. If you want us to pretend that you never said anything at all, then I suppose that is what we will do. But you also have an opportunity.”

“I know.”

She balanced her teacup between her legs as she stared out the window. Mint, by the smell of it. He let himself take in a deep breath and felt a lightness in his chest for the first time in many days. The silence was unexpectedly comfortable, even though his head still hurt like hell.

“It’s easier to be someone else,” Eliot finally spoke, because he knew that she would understand that at least. Hell, none of them knew yet if Sophie was even her real name. “It was easier back then, at least.”

“You mean, as a soldier?” She took a little sip of her tea, her gaze still fixed on the window and not on Eliot, for which he was grateful.

“I wasn’t a real person to them. Just a body. I knew what I was good at, so that’s what I did.” He rubbed his finger across his bandaged fist. He hoped he hadn’t broken anything, but then again- it wasn’t anything that hadn’t been broken before.

“You’re worth more than your value as a fighter.”

He nodded. “I know that now. Or at least, I’m trying to know it. But knowing that… means I have to acknowledge what else there is to me.”

“Does it have to be something bad?” Sophie studied her nails. She had gotten a French manicure a few days ago, and they were still glossy and unchipped. Eliot wondered what it felt like to have nails that long. He wondered a lot of things.

“You know how I grew up,” he said, his tone guarded. "And even now... What Cyra is going through..."

“I’m not saying your concerns aren’t valid. But you’re here now, with people who love and support you.” She flitted her hand. “Okay. I said I wasn’t going to keep expounding on the subject, so I won’t. Forgive me. I can’t know what you’re going through, so don’t let me– er, what’s the equivalent of ‘mansplain?’”

Eliot couldn’t help his wry smile. “Hardison would probably be able to help you out there. I’m at a loss.” He lifted his hands in surrender. “I don’t know any of the correct lingo, Sophie. Hell. Do the kids still say ‘lingo?’ Another reason I’m not cut out for this bullshit.”

Sophie was unfazed. She cupped her tea between her hands, warming them. “So use the words that you already have. You don’t need anything fancy. Just say it how it is.”

Eliot considered this. They sat for another few minutes. It was when Sophie set her empty teacup on the coffee table that he felt the words tearing from his chest.

“I’m… not a man. But I’m not like Parker either. I mean, there’s no grey area for me.”

Sophie just nodded.

“I’m– Oh, fuck me.” He laughed harshly. “What the fuck am I even saying?” He gestured brusquely at himself. “How can I even say that-”

“You’re a woman?” Sophie finished for him, her voice innocent and light. He felt something clench in his chest, and panic set in. But there was no judgment in her eyes, nor humor either. It was like she had offered a restaurant suggestion for lunch.

“Sophie-” He couldn’t really breathe, suddenly.

“It’s going to be okay, Eliot. Err– whatever name honors you.”

He offered a laugh, but it was more of a sob or a gasp. “Eliot is just fine.” He felt like he was going to jump out of his skin. His gaze skittered around.

“Okay. Listen to me, Eliot.” She leaned forward and took his uninjured hand. Her grasp was gentle but steady. She waited until he met her eyes. “It’s all going to be fine, okay?”

“Okay,” he said, but he didn’t really believe her. Nothing felt fine. It felt like everything had ended, and he could no longer see any kind of future before him, not even a glimpse. That was terrifying. “Fuck me,” he said under his breath.

“I’m so proud of you, Eliot. I know it’s a cliche, but it’s true.”

“Don’t say that.” His breathing was ragged, and his heart still pounding. “I’m a fucking mess.”

“Aren’t we all?” She went and sat on the couch beside him and drew him closer to her. He relented to her embrace. Eventually, she asked, “Do you want me to call you ‘she?’”

He winced. “Fuck. I don’t know, Sophie. Maybe someday, but not now. I don’t know what I want. As long as you know I’m not… well, that’s good enough for me.”

“Alright, Eliot. Don’t worry- I know now. I know.”

And for once, that didn’t feel like such a bad thing.

Chapter Text

If telling Sophie was hard, he didn’t know what the hell he was going to say to the rest of the team. They met the morning after he woke up on Sophie’s couch for their debriefing, but it was clear once Eliot walked into the room that the mission was far from anyone's mind. Even Nate was watching him. All of Eliot’s strange feelings ever since Parker’s coming out were finally starting to make sense to himself at least, but his team was still left in the dark about the nature of his uncharacteristic behavior. He wished he could say he didn't owe them an explanation, but the truth was he owed them everything. If he wanted to stick with them, and if he ever going to do this, there was no point in prolonging his suffering… or theirs.

Sophie was standing next to him, which was another reason why he didn’t turn back right then and there. Eliot would rather enter a room full of armed terrorists. At least he knew how to deal with that.

“Well, I’m just gonna say it so we can get this over with and focus on Cyra’s case,” Eliot announced, not even needing to call their attention because it was already on him. “I know I’ve been a bit all over the place for a while now, and that it’s been easy to… make some assumptions about my behavior.” He made eye contact with Hardison, who looked a bit stricken. “I don’t think I can blame you for that. I know what it looked like. But I wasn’t uncomfortable with you guys coming out-” he looked at Parker now, who was frowning in confusion- “I was uncomfortable with what that meant for me. I didn’t want to accept what was different about myself.” His heart thudded painfully in his chest.

Hardison looked down into his lap, inspecting his thumbnails.

“I guess I just implied it the other day, but here it is again." He took a deep, shuddering breath. "I’m not a man. And I’m not a- a- helicopter or whatever. I forget exactly what Hardison said. I’m sure it’s some internet joke. Whatever. That’s not the point.” He stuffed his hands into the pockets of his jeans.

“You’re nonbinary?” Parker asked, looking pleasantly surprised.

“No, that doesn’t feel accurate either. I’m, uhh…” He looked at Sophie, who was offering him an encouraging smile. She reached over and squeezed his shoulder. “I’m like Marcine,” is all how he could think to explain it to them. “Like, uh. Masculine. Butch, even. But not in a man way.” Why couldn’t he just say it?

Hardison’s voice was timid. “Are you trying to say you’re… a masculine transgender woman?”

Eliot swallowed hard. He needed to sit down. “Yeah. I guess I am.”

“Yayyy, Eliot!” Parker cheered, breaking the silence. “Oh, wait-”

“It’s still Eliot,” he assured them, smiling nervously. “Thanks, Parker.” He knew that coming out to Parker wouldn't be an issue. He looked between Hardison and Nate, who were still silent. Nate looked puzzled, while Hardison had an expression he couldn’t read.

“I said some really stupid shit,” Hardison finally groaned, hitting his forehead with the base of his palm. “I’m so sorry, Eliot.”

Eliot felt a confused rush of relief. “Umm. That’s okay. You didn’t know.”

“Still. That had to feel shitty.” Eliot didn’t deny that. “Well, damn. Good for you, dude. Er, dudette.” He stood up and offered Eliot a fist bump. “I’ve got to say, I really didn’t see that coming. But it’s nice to finally meet you.”

And it was nice to finally be met. But now he looked at Nate. As much as the man frustrated him to no end, he still found himself thinking of him as a paternal figure. He hated to admit it, but he cared about what he thought.

“I guess I really am outnumbered,” is what Nate settled on. This made Eliot smirk, but Sophie bristle at his side.

“Nate, don’t be a-”

“No, no!” Nate stopped her. “God. Tough crowd.” He leveled his gaze at Eliot. “Look, I’m not gonna lie. It’s a lot to wrap my head around. Parker… that was easier. They’ve always been in their own category.” He ran his thumb over a chip in the handle of his coffee mug. “But I’m not a prick or a git, or whatever it was that Sophie was going to call me. If this is what you want, then that’s that.”

Want was a strong word, but Eliot knew what he meant.

“Okay. Well. Uh, thanks everyone,” was all Eliot could think to say. His head was spinning a little bit. He had never imagined being in this position. So he… did it? He came out? What now? That seemed to be the question on the others’ minds as well.

“What pronouns do you want us to use?” Hardison asked Eliot. “She/her?”

“Umm.” He looked at Sophie. He knew he had told her differently, but that night he’d done a lot of thinking. Now, finally confronted with the reality of being open, the prospect was dizzyingly tantalizing. He sure didn’t feel like a ‘she’ right now, but maybe she would grow into it. “Sure. But I really don’t mind being called ‘he’ either. Just know that I’m not a dude.”

“Does this mean that I can finally paint your nails?” Parker asked, bouncing on the balls of their feet. “Ooh, and we can go dress shopping? I don’t wear dresses, but they always looked fun. I liked the swishy one that Cyra had on.”

“I’m down to join in dress shopping,” Sophie chimed in.

Eliot felt a bit weak in the knees. She took a deep breath. “I don’t really know what I want yet. Dresses and makeup… that’s not me. I mean, I’ll probably try it just because I can, but…”

“But you’re like Marcine,” Hardison supplied for Eliot, giving a small nod.

“Yeah.” She rubbed at the back of her neck. “I know it probably won’t make much sense, but I don’t think I’m going to go changing anything big about my appearance. I like the way I dress and stuff right now. That’s what feels right to me. I mean, I know that’ll make it harder to see me as a- a woman and stuff, but-”

“Eliot,” Sophie admonished her instantly. “Don’t say that. You’re a woman no matter how you express yourself.”

She gave a tight smile. She felt a bit like throwing up. Her whole body was shaking still. But she felt so light, too. “Thanks, Soph.”

“Do you know if you want to start estrogen or anything? If doctors are assholes, I have some connections…” Hardison wiggled his wingers and quirked an eyebrow.

Eliot felt a warmth surge through her alongside the anxiety at the thought of actually doing something about this. Telling people was one thing. Changing her body was another, even if it sounded like everything she didn’t know she wanted until now. “I- I really don’t know. I’ve got a lot to think about. But I’ll let you know. Thank you. Really.”

“Of course.” Hardison shrugged. “And again, I’m sorry for acting like an ass. Clearly, I really misjudged everything. I didn’t mean to misgender you.”

“Hardison. Even if you were a mind-reader, you still wouldn’t have known. But I appreciate you saying that.” She took in a long breath. “Alright. Well. We got that over with. Can we please focus on Cyra’s case now?"

---------------

The retrieval of Cyra's research was, surprisingly, without many obstacles. Perhaps it was some kind of karmic retribution from the universe for letting this bullshit happen to Cyra in the first place. Eliot didn't really believe in karma. She found it much simpler to even the scales manually.

When they met for the last time with Cyra post-gloat in the bar, she seemed both anxious and relieved.

“Do you think he’s going to come back and try to retaliate in some way?” she wanted to know.

“Don’t worry,” Hardison said, gesturing to Eliot. “She took care of him.”

Eliot felt a thrill run through her. It came off his tongue so easily.

Cyra hadn’t spoken with Eliot about what was said on their half-remembered phone call that night, but she had a thoughtful look on her face now. She turned to face the group.

“I really can’t thank you all enough for what you have done for me. Jazaka Allahu khairan. May God bless you.” Tears prickled in her eyes, not for the first time since they presented her with the hard drive that had all of her data on it.

“Laa shokr ‘aala waajib,” Sophie responded reflexively. “This is what we do, Cyra. I think I can speak for all of us when I saw we are so happy that we could help you get your research back.”

They toasted to this, Cyra with her strawberry lemonade. The others had crammed themselves into their booth, while Eliot and Cyra stood to the side.

Cyra turned back to Eliot now. “So. You’re a woman, right?”

She blinked. “I- I am.” She didn’t know if she would ever get used to saying that.

“Good! Would you be comfortable with a hug?”

When Eliot gave a small nod, Cyra drew her into a strong embrace. “I’m truly happy for you, ukhty.”

Eliot looked up at Sophie over Cyra’s shoulder, knowing the woman was watching.

Sister, Sophie mouthed in translation. Eliot’s legs felt weak.

She drew back after a few seconds.“Don’t be a stranger, alright?”

“Don’t worry. I think we have a lot to talk about. Plus, I want to meet your dogs.” Immediately, she blushed, realizing what she had revealed.

A wide, mischievous grin spread across Cyra’s face. “Eliot Spencer, did you stalk my Facebook?”

“Maybe,” she said in a small voice.

Cyra placed a warm hand on one of Eliot’s cheeks. Her dark eyes glittered under the soft glow of the overhead bar lighting. She was beautiful, Eliot suddenly realized. “We’re going to be okay, you know? Your family showed me that. There is love out there, and just maybe it is enough to balance out the bad.”

Eliot's family. She nodded and looked over her shoulder at them now, who were currently pretending not to pay attention to her exchange with Cyra. “I don’t know how I could do it without them.”

Cyra gave her a smile that was sort of sad. “Hopefully, you won’t ever have to know.” She took a deep breath and stepped back, gripping the strap of her purse. “Have a good night, El.”

“Good night.” Eliot watched her slip out into the evening and turned back to her team, who had finally abandoned their pretenses of interest in their individual drinks. “Thank you, guys. For helping Cyra.” She suddenly felt her heart squeeze. “For everything.”

Sophie gave her a smile and reached out to grasp her hand, drawing her closer to the booth they were all seated in. It was a tight fit, but she didn’t feel uncomfortable. In fact, it was the most comfortable she'd felt in days.

Chapter Text

Eliot spit blood onto the floor and tried to blink past the black haze encroaching on her vision. She was staying still, trying to buy time for Hardison in the control room, but she didn’t have much of it left if these assholes kept going for her head. Sophie and Hardison were always getting on her case about all of the concussions she’d sustained, but it wasn’t like it was easy to avoid in this line of work. She couldn’t just ask pretty please if the goon of the day would aim for her stomach instead. She could (and would) take the hit anyway, especially if it meant sparing a blow on one of her own. She was just waiting for Hardison over the comms to tell her that he’d finished downloading the files he needed from the mainframe and was safely out of the building, and then she could lose her shit on these guys.

“He thinks he’s such a tough guy, huh?” The man with the terrible mustache leered into her narrowing field of vision.

More of a tough woman, but whatever. She didn’t feel like explaining her pronouns to the torturer du jour. “You know, psychologically speaking, torture is a pretty ineffective way at extracting information from somebody. You’re more likely to get the subject to conjure up false memories to try and meet your demands.” She had read this somewhere, or maybe Hardison had told her, but it was something she already knew. Sometime, a long time ago now but still so vivid in her memory, she had been the person knocking out the teeth and making the threats. Hardly ever had this method of intelligence-gathering amounted to any useful information. All of that blood and screaming, and they always had to put a bullet in the guy's head anyway. Eliot could never forget the relief in their eyes when they realized their suffering was finally coming to an end. She’d seen the same look in her eyes in a streaked motel room mirror, but then she’d survived. Sometimes she wished she didn’t. But mostly, especially these days, she was glad she stuck around.

Her helpfulness earned her another blow to the cheek, and her head snapped so fast to the side that she swore that he’d broken her neck. But there she was, breathing (raggedly) and sputtering blood all the way down the front of her shirt. It was a women’s button-down, a small victory, with the buttons going down the other way. She’d been so paranoid the first time wearing one out, but nobody seemed to notice. Well, except Sophie.

“Eliot!” Nate’s gruff voice in her ear shook her a little. “You still with us?”

“I’ve got the files. Get out of there, dudette,” Hardison urged her.

Eliot didn’t need to be told twice. She finally dropped the handcuffs she’d broken out of a half hour ago and surged out of her chair, grabbing that mustached creep by his throat. His buddies jumped to pull her off, but nobody’s grip on her withstood.

“It’s over for you, Vasker,” she said, baring her bloodied teeth. “You won’t get away with what you’ve done.” She thought of the parents that had approached the team, only a few of the many undocumented immigrants who he’d blackmailed into what was essentially slave labor. Their fifteen-year-old son had been beaten to death in an alley after trying to reach out to a local immigration advocacy group. Eliot didn’t kill anymore, but there were some monsters in this world that she wouldn’t mind seeing six feet under, and Vasker was one of them.

“Eliot, go! We’ve got what we need.” Nate’s voice crackled in Eliot’s ear. “He’ll get what’s coming to him,” he added darkly. “Don’t worry.”

So Eliot let Vasker go, but not without giving him a shiner to match her own. It was only fair.

“We’re coming for you, Elly. South entrance.” Hardison. He was safe, in the van with the others.

It hurt to breathe, hurt to think, but they were there for her like they said they’d be, and they pulled her into the back of the van.

Parker frowned as she scanned her up and down. “You good, Elly?” This was Parker and Hardison’s new nickname for Eliot, which came out only when they were concerned for her (which happened to be most of the time.)

“I’ll be fine,” Eliot huffed. “Especially once that fucker is behind bars. Though it did feel pretty good to hit him right in his smarmy face.” She rubbed her knuckles, relishing the raw skin there.

Hardison clapped Eliot on the back and hooted. “That’s our girl!”

Eliot grinned and held still, letting Parker pat her face with a baby wipe. Hardison cracked open the first-aid kit and prepped a butterfly bandage for deep slash above her eyebrow. Sophie held out the bottle of ibuprofen from the console from her position in the passenger seat. Eliot's heart ached. Yes, more than time separated her from that night in the motel room.

Once Hardison was sure that Eliot's cuts were attended to, he resumed his hunch over his laptop, sifting through the files on the hard drive they'd lifted. The ding of a notification provoked a sharp inhale, and Eliot looked at him with concern.

"What? What is it?"

He beamed. "Guess what just got delivered to the office?"

Eliot's eyes widened. Suddenly, her head didn't hurt so badly anymore. "It's here already?"

"Yeah! Chrissy- that's the online friend- shipped the goods out on Monday. I've been tracking the package since."

Parker leaned gently on Eliot's shoulder, butting her head between them. "What are we talking about?"

Hardison arched his eyebrows at Eliot.

"Uhh. You know, me and doctors don't really mix. So Hardison got in contact with some people who distribute hormones under-the-radar."

"Hormones? Her head tilted slightly. "You mean like estrogen?"

Eliot felt dizzy, but this time in a good way. "Yeah. I'm gonna start taking it. It'll take a while for any changes to happen, but uh-"

Parker fully hugged Eliot now, cutting her off. "Yay! I'm so excited for you!"

Eliot blushed and grinned. "Thank you, Parker." A thick lump formed in her throat. It was a feeling she'd had a lot since telling the team the truth, and it was kind of annoying. But feeling things, she reckoned, was a good thing. The world had a bit more color to it than it had a month ago, and she could get used to it. It was hard to believe she wouldn't wake up one day, alone and back to cold reality. However, she kept finding herself at home with her family. Did she deserve this? It was debatable. But one thing was certain: she would never take it for granted.