Author's Notes: Another leverageland fic that never made the cut. Alas, I have a whole folder of "forgotten fics" and maybe one day it'll be empty instead of filled to bursting. Still, this fic is set in the first season after The Wedding Job when Nate's drinking was really bad. So, it's not exactly a warm fuzzy fic but I figured I might as well post it.

Disclaimer: I don't own Leverage.

Nate couldn't keep his eyes off of the team. Parker- still on her happy pills- had gleefully suggested that they all have dinner together back at the office. Sophie of course had encouraged her, Hardison agreed because it was what Parker wanted and Eliot had grunted something that they took as an affirmative. Nate's protests had fallen on deaf ears which only made him want a drink. So, here they were at the office after going to a grocery store which had been one part shopping and two parts chasing after a bouncy Parker.

The blonde thief had carried around a watermelon the entire time, clutched protectively to her chest as she chattered loudly to Nate who had been regulated as the cart pusher. Eliot had garnered Hardison's reluctant help and they ran around grabbing ingredients with Parker adding her own every once in a while. Nate had refused to pay for the three pounds of potatoes, chilli flakes and eight tubs of pistachio ice cream that Parker had commandeered. Sophie had stepped in with her credit card shocking Nate who had never seen Sophie buy anything for anyone but herself.

Now he was staring at his conference table which was piled high with white plastic bags. Eliot was grumbling about having an inadequate kitchen to work with and Nate had refrained from pointing out that when he was planning the office he never thought that they would cook there.

"Are you making mashed potatoes?" Parker asked Eliot excitedly, sitting on the counter, her legs swinging back and forth.

"Wasn't planning on it," Eliot replied, dropping some chicken breast in the frying pan and shaking out seasonings that quickly enveloped the room with a hearty aroma.

"Fried potatoes? French fries? The potatoes that you bake in a pan with milk and stuff?" Parker continued, brightly.

"No, Parker. I'm not making the potatoes. I don't know why you bought them anyway," Eliot grumbled.

"'Cause they're funny-looking. You could dress them up later with carrots or buttons, or pins and then make them dance. Rawr!" Parker rambled, using her left hand that was in the shape of a snake to eat her right hand.

"No, Parker." Eliot said, as he chopped vegetables. "We're not making Mr. Potato Heads."

"Who?" Parker said, tilting her head in confusion.

"It's a toy, Parker. It's plastic and you put other plastic pieces and give it a face." Eliot explained, stirring the pasta on the second burner.

"How do you know? I can't exactly see you playing with a Mr. Potato Head," Hardison piped up from his perch near the door.

"My nephew got one when he was a baby," Eliot mumbled, growing increasingly annoyed at the conversation. Hardison's hand reached over to grab a piece of cheese from the cutting board causing Eliot to slap his hand away with a growl.

"It smells delicious," Sophie complimented Eliot as she came into the tiny kitchenette.

"Chilli peppers and chicken with a little bit of paprika," Eliot said with a hint of pride.

"It's going to stink up the office for weeks," Nate said as soon as he came into the room. He immediately went over to the liquor cabinet, grabbing one of the half-full bottles of scotch from his stash.

"I like it," Parker chirped. "It smells like a home."

"This isn't a home, Parker. This is an office." Nate all-but-snapped, pouring a liberal amount of the liquid into his glass.

"But we sleep here, we've got our own rooms, we watch movies together on the couch and we eat here." Parker said confused.

"She's got a point, brah." Hardison pointed out, immediately coming to Parker's defense causing to beam at him.

"You and Sophie could even have sex in here. Like on the conference table, or in the shower," Parker said.

"Parker," Sophie protested.

Parker just blinked, "what?"

"Alright, everyone get out of my kitchen." Eliot said, putting down his knife and glaring at the rest of the team. Parker leaped off the counter and bounced out of the room, Hardison following like a puppy at her heels and Sophie promising to keep an eye on them.

"You're a mean drunk, Nate." Eliot said, keeping his eyes on the frying pan, stirring in more vegetables.

"I'm not a drunk," Nate said automatically. "I'm a functioning alcoholic. And I didn't say anything that wasn't true."

"Parker wants this to be a family. She needs this to be a family. They all do." Eliot informed him, voice gruff with an unknown emotion.

"And what about you, Eliot?" Nate couldn't help but ask.

"Me? I ain't delusional, Nate. This is a temporary gig, nothing to get comfortable with. Besides we can't be a family if we ain't even friends first." Eliot growled out, sounding weary as he pointed his knife at Nate. Nate frowned, forehead wrinkling, he might've opened his mouth to say something- probably something cutting that Sophie would no doubt blame on the drink- but he didn't. Nate glanced down at the amber liquid in his glass, as if he were contemplating life and his decisions, before taking another drink.