The Second Chance Job

After ten years of friendship, Eliot Spencer, Parker, and Alec Hardison have finally acknowledged the deeper feelings binding them together. Their newly established relationship blooms in intimate moments and shared vulnerability until duty calls Hardison away to a crisis in Azerbaijan. Left alone with Parker, Eliot must navigate the complex terrain of love, insecurity, and communication in a relationship where emotional connection matters more than physical intimacy. Can they strengthen their bond while separated from Hardison, or will old fears drive them apart?

The Second Chance Job

After ten years of friendship, Eliot Spencer, Parker, and Alec Hardison have finally acknowledged the deeper feelings binding them together. Their newly established relationship blooms in intimate moments and shared vulnerability until duty calls Hardison away to a crisis in Azerbaijan. Left alone with Parker, Eliot must navigate the complex terrain of love, insecurity, and communication in a relationship where emotional connection matters more than physical intimacy. Can they strengthen their bond while separated from Hardison, or will old fears drive them apart?

The sheets still hold Hardison's warmth when I wake up alone beside Parker. The empty space where he should be feels like a physical absence, a reminder of the mission that took him halfway across the world. Parker's breathing is steady against my back, her arm slung over my waist in the loose grip of sleep.

I carefully disentangle myself, trying not to wake her, and pad to the kitchen. The morning light filters through the windows, casting long shadows across the counters where Hardison normally brews coffee this time of day. Instead, I start the machine myself, the familiar ritual feeling foreign without his constant commentary.

The sound of soft footsteps announces Parker's arrival before I see her. She leans against the doorframe, watching me with those perceptive blue eyes that always see more than I want them to. There's something different in her posture today—tension I haven't noticed before, a slight tightness around her mouth that she isn't quite hiding.

"Morning," I say, too gruff even to my own ears. I turn back to the coffee, avoiding her gaze. "Sleep okay?"

She nods, pushing away from the doorframe and moving to the counter where she starts rearranging mugs—her nervous habit, though she'd never admit it. "You were quiet," she says finally. "When you left the bed."

"Didn't want to wake you." The coffee finishes brewing with a gurgle, and I pour two cups, adding sugar to hers without asking. Some things don't need words.

She takes the mug with a small, tight smile that doesn't reach her eyes. "Do you miss him too?"

The question hangs in the air between us. There's no need to clarify who she means. Hardison's absence has settled over the apartment like a weight since he left for Azerbaijan a week ago.

I meet her eyes then, really see the vulnerability there, and my chest tightens. This is the moment—the test of whether we can navigate this new relationship without Hardison to buffer between us. The question isn't just about missing him. It's about whether we're enough for each other, right here, right now.