The hell are you doing here, Parker? I dig my fingers into my temples, the ache pounding behind my eyes a clear sign I've pushed my body past its limits. Concussion symptoms I can't do much about besides sleep off.

On a good day, thinking about Parker in my bed is a landmine of want I carefully avoid. Figures it would找上门 when my defenses are stretched thin enough to break.

"You're supposed to be resting," she accuses, as if she has any room to talk about following orders.

"That was the plan," I grumble, shucking my jeans and switching out my bloodied t-shirt for a fresh one. I'm not sure what she's getting at, but there isn't much Parker could ask for that I wouldn't give.

She tugs a stuffed rabbit from the pocket of her hoodie, "I thought Bunny might help, but I didn't want to leave him behind, so we have to share." She slides over to make room, fingers twisting nervously in the comforter.

I wince, suddenly hyper-aware of my scratchy sheets and flat pillows. I usually end up on the floor anyway, so my standards are barely above functional. This isn't exactly the romantic setting Parker deserves.

It's not like I bring people back here. The window boxes of herbs don't exactly match my reputation, and I don't need one-night stands seeing beyond that carefully constructed image. I don't particularly want Parker seeing this version of me either - the vulnerable, ordinary version beneath the protector.

But Parker isn't just anyone. She deserves better than this.

"Eliot," her face screws up with impatience the longer I hover, "get in."

Turns out that's all the permission I need.

"Alright," I ease beneath the sheets, body tense with uncertainty. I can't remember the last time I shared a bed with someone just to sleep. My body has forgotten how to lie down next to another person - how much space to leave, which way to face, what's polite.

Parker eliminates all my questions by flipping over and wrapping around me like an octopus. That ratty Bunny squashed between us, her hair tickling my nose. Somehow she manages to avoid every sore spot from the mission, her touch light where I'm injured.

My chest still aches with the unexpected contact, a different kind of pain than the physical injuries I'm used to.

I let my arm fall around her, rubbing slow and easy between her shoulder blades. She muffles a wounded sound against my throat and I freeze, terrified I've misread this moment entirely. I start to roll away, but Parker won't let me get far. Her grip tightens, dragging me closer until there's no space between us.

"You came for me," she whispers against my skin, voice raw with something I can't identify.

"'Course I did." It's my job, keeping the team safe. Being needed, being useful - it's always had a strong hold on me. That sort of purpose takes root easy. But being seen as more than just the muscle, more than disposable - that was new. It had crept up on me, how intertwined we'd become in each other's lives.

Parker coils around me tighter, like vines constricting around a tree. She has something to lose too.

"I'm alright, Parker," I say, feeling the truth of it scrape up against my bones despite the lingering pain.

"Shh," she admonishes, sounding far more awake than the steady beat of her heart suggests, "sleep now."

My eyes drift closed as her breathing evens out against my chest, wondering how I'll ever find the strength to let her go in the morning.