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"Have you ever had feelings for a member of the team?"
Eliot suddenly feels like he could pass out. He's glad the briefing table can hold his weight.
The rest of the crew had gone to grab lunch following the update on next week's job, leaving him and Sophie alone in the music hall. Maybe he should've let them drag him to the mediocre fried chicken joint.
"What? Why the hell would you ask me that?"
Sophie hesitates for a moment and it sets Eliot on edge. He's tuned into every inch of her now. She huffs out a breath and smooths her hands over her skirt.
"I was just curious," she says as she stands, "because I've found myself in a rather unexpected predicament and I thought you..." she just now meets his gaze, "...might have some advice?"
Eliot's mind is spinning so hard and fast it's adding nausea to the lightheadedness. How the hell does she know? Why the fuck does she look so gorgeous in green? This is gonna suck when she -
Oh. Eliot stops. Harry.
"It's not worth messin' up the dynamic of the team," he says quickly, knowing the practiced ease from all the times he's said that to himself about her will make the line convincing.
"Um... right, yes," she pauses.
"Yeah, ya know, so..." Eliot mumbles, hoping to distract her from the look he knows is on his face.
"Of course," Sophie says eventually, "I was thinking the same thing." Her voice is high and tight in her throat. "Thank you, Eliot," she retreats toward the staircase and Eliot realizes that's not even her grifting voice, that's...
Before he can stop himself, Eliot is sprinting after her and jumping in front of her. He lands just a few stairs up from where she's gotten to.
"What was that?" Eliot's not sure his brow can furrow any further.
"What's what? I got your advice and I'm going to -"
"I know an escape when I see one."
She scoffs in defense, but Eliot doesn't budge.
"I'm not escaping."
"You really like him that much?"
"Excuse me?"
"Harry, obviously. Look, I didn't mean - " despite himself, Eliot wants to rectify the disillusioned look on her face, " - if you really like him that much then... you should go for it."
"You..." Sophie matches his gaze and slowly backs him up a stair. "That look on your face just now, that flash of disappointment, that was because you thought I was talking about Harry?"
"The - what? I was just bein' practical," he lies.
"You're lying."
"Cut it out."
"No." She stares at him openly now, analyzing every inch of his face. Eliot feels like he's being X-rayed.
"I'm not a goddamn mark, Sophie!"
"I wasn't talking about Harry."
"Okay, then who?!"
Sophie moves further into his space now. Her voice and body language soften in the span of a breath. "You really can't guess?"
Eliot keeps his face intentionally blank as panic takes over. There's no way this is actually happening. The mask works too well, apparently, because she backs off. Eliot already misses the heat of having her so close, and his breath catches at the way she's staring up at him. Like she's hoping for something...
Just as he thinks the tension might actually suffocate them both, Sophie finally shifts. It's just removing her hand from the bannister to fix her hair, but Eliot focuses on it like a lifeline. She takes another step backward toward the landing and her heel snags on the vintage wood.
It only takes a fraction of a second for Eliot to realize that she's about to fall down the goddamned stairs.
Everything else forgotten, Eliot lunges forward and wraps an arm around Sophie's waist. He pulls her safely into him. Pressed into him, in fact.
He starts to ask if she's alright, but halts. Sophie's beaming at him impishly, her cheeks distractingly scarlet.
And then she's kissing him.
The next moment is a blur of lips and tongues and hands.
"What the fuck just happened?" Eliot pants as he pulls away, vaguely noting how his fingers are gripping her hips like a Renaissance statue.
"I knew you would catch me," Sophie grins, her hands on his chest.
"You don't con your own team," he says. But it comes out as a plea not a bite; a plea filled with all the longing he's ever felt for her and the rush of possibility she might feel the same way.
"Exactly," she hums in return, processing. The discovery sets her eyes alight; "You were never gonna tell me."
Once again Eliot's finding it impossible to breathe.
"It's not that simple, Soph, I can't just -"
"It can be."
"I would never wanna make you feel -"
"You don't."
"But I -"
"Do you want me?"
"Of course I want you, that's not - "
"Well then."
The confident simplicity with which she says those two words sparks something warm in Eliot's chest. For the first time today he feels truly present, grounded in her.
The thrilling smile on Sophie's lips looks like it could be the death of him. He waits to see what she'll say next, but it turns out she's done talking.
She kisses him again. Deeper, more sure; more honestly.
Eliot grabs both sides of her face and finally kisses her the hell back.