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Eliot rounds the corner and his eyes immediately go up to his kitchen window. What he sees is nearly enough to cause a small heart attack. The window is wide open and plumes of smoke come billowing out of the apartment.
A second later and Eliot's breathing is almost back to normal. It's not as dramatic as it seems at first. It's not nearly enough smoke for the apartment to be on fire. Dramatic kitchen fire or not, it's enough for Eliot to take the stairs two at a time. And he knows Parker is in his kitchen right now, trying - and apparently failing - to make him a special Valentine's Day dinner. Eliot can't remember why he agreed to give her free reign over his kitchen - and while he was out of the house, no less. Like so many things these days, it probably involved Parker in some state of undress.
There is some smoke in the air when he opens the front door. It's not overpowering, but he's going to smell it for a few days at least. "Are you okay?" Eliot yells as he shrugs out of his jacket.
"I'm fine," Parker shouts back. "Don't come in here!"
Eliot ignores her - a kitchen fire clearly trumps any sort of promise he made while high on endorphins - and heads straight for the kitchen.
The air is almost clear again, but even without the taste of smoke at the back of his throat, there is enough evidence telling Eliot what happened. The sink is piled high with pots and a pan and there is a slab of black something on a plate on the table. Parker is standing at the stove, trying to clean a charred, encrusted mass off the black glass-ceramic cooktop panel. She whirls around when he comes in and puts her hands on her hips. "You weren't supposed to come in."
"What happened?"
"It wasn't my fault."
They aren't fighting, but Parker apparently thinks they are. Eliot reaches out slowly - the last time he'd tried to give Parker some tactile reassurance after a fight, she'd flinched away from him, startled - and puts a hand on her arm. When Parker doesn't jerk her arm away, Eliot tightens his grip and pulls her closer, brushing his lips over her forehead.
"What happened?" he asks again.
"I tried to cook. And it was going really well, too! It smelled delicious. Not as good as yours, but yummy."
Eliot nods. "I'm sure it did."
"I was going to make the shrimp thing you like. I'd just lit the shrimps on fire when the oven started beeping and I realized that the bread was turning black." She points at the sorry heap of bread on the table. "I was so busy getting the bread out of the oven that I didn't notice the towel catching on fire. I'm sorry."
Parker doesn't just look sorry, she looks absolutely distraught.
"It's fine, don't worry about it."
"But I wanted this to be special. You always take care of me - of all of us - and I wanted to show you that you don't always have to be the one who patches us up and feeds us and takes care of us." Parker looks at remains of their dinner and sighs. "I wanted to show you that I can take care of you, too."
Eliot draws Parker into a hug. Over her shoulder, he can see the congealing tomato sauce and a glop of white stuff that he's pretty sure is rice stuck to one of the pots. There's next to no damage from the actual fire. The towel is a complete loss and the stove needs a thorough cleaning, but nothing is irrevocably damaged or completely destroyed. It could have been a lot worse than this.
He pulls back from the hug. "Come on."
Parker points at the mess. "But--"
"Leave it," Eliot interrupts. "It can wait until tomorrow. Let's order in and watch a movie."
Parker hesitates. "You aren't mad?"
"I'm not mad. You wanted to do something nice for me, Parker. It didn't work out, but you didn't go in there intending to burn down my kitchen. The damage is small and mostly I'm just glad you're okay," Eliot says. Parker studies him for a moment - trying to determine whether or not he's lying - and then she relaxes.
"So, movie?" Eliot asks.
"The Sting?"
"Sure."
A few hours later, when the table is littered with fast food containers and the credits roll across the screen, Eliot turns to Parker and says: "Just for the record, Parker: You do take care of me. You just don't do it the same way I take care of you. I cook for you and make sure you're not hurt and give you a way to relax after a job. You leave me alone when I need it and you poke me when I really shouldn't be alone. You make me laugh. Sure, you annoy the hell out of me sometimes, but that doesn't mean I don't love you."
Parker blinks rapidly, the way she does every time he tells her he loves her. She hasn't said it back, and Eliot knows he's going to have to wait a long time before Parker's ready for that particular milestone. But if the way her eyes shine and her hand flutters against his arms like she's not sure how to touch him without breaking him is anything to go by, she definitely feels it even if she can't say it yet.
"Come on." Eliot stands up and holds out his hand. "Let's go to bed."
Parker takes his hand and lets herself be pulled to the bedroom. "Hey, Eliot?"
"Hmm?"
Parker smirks. "Happy Valentine's Day."
That startles a laugh out of him, and Parker's smirk turn into a soft smile as she watches him. Eliot leans in and kisses her nose.
"Happy Valentine's Day, Parker."