Eliot Spencer had never had much to do with babies. Oh, he'd murmured a complimentary word or two over a couple of them in his time, ensconced as they were in their mother's arms, but that was about it.

Now children in general were a different kettle of fish. Eliot actually liked kids, although he'd never admit it. He was really quite good with them. Once they were able to talk and move around and do things, he got on fine with them. He spoke to them like they were adults … he listened, he told 'em stuff and was honest with them, and most of all he enjoyed teachin' them things. Skills like throwing darts, or martial arts or how to peel a potato without losing a finger, all wrapped up in Oklahoma home-town wisdom, patience and common sense. When children hung out with the fearsome Eliot Spencer, they learned a thing or two about life and how to believe in themselves while they were at it.

But babies? Small, pink slug-like critters that pooped, farted, cried and slept when they weren't eating. He had nothing against them, per se, but they just weren't that interesting.

So when Nate and Sophie had announced one day that they were pregnant, Nate all 'startled-rabbit-in-headlights' and Sophie pleased but confused as though she'd been conned, Eliot didn't quite know what to think.

Hardison, bless his geeky heart, was delighted, his love of family shining in his toothy grin, and he wrapped his arms around Sophie, hugging her so tight, and babbling on about how his Nana would be thrilled about her baby boy becomin' an uncle an' how he was goin' to jazz up the baby alarm when it was installed.

Parker, smiling weirdly and staring at Sophie's still-flat stomach, was a little more hesitant, but she kinda got it. If Nate and Sophie were happy, then she was happy. Although she did confuse everyone when she asked loudly of no-one in particular, "Who's in there?"

Eliot was now sure there really was somethin' wrong with her.

He was happy for Sophie and Nate. He really, really was, and he slapped Nate good-naturedly on the back and folded Sophie into one of his gentle, all-consuming hugs which Sophie knew in her heart was to tell her that she was safe and looked after. Always.

But later that evening, after Eliot had cooked them all a celebratory dinner and there had been much laughing and teasing and banter, the hitter had grabbed his jacket and keys and headed out with a quick "Jus' going for a ride. See y'all tomorrow," and then skilfully rode out onto the highway on his motorcycle.

The roads were dry and there wasn't much traffic once he left the confines of the city, so once he hit the road to the pacific coast Eliot could relax, and let the thrum of the engine of his old Triumph Bonneville* sooth his mind.

By the time he reached Warrenton and pulled into a parking spot on the harbour, it was past midnight. He eased off the Triumph and stretched stiff muscles, and then put the big bike up on its kickstand.

There was a bench seat in front of him, right on the harbour wall, so he sat down, put his helmet beside him, and looked out to the twinkling lights of moored boats and the dark ocean beyond. The only sounds now were the soft lap of the sea and the occasional faint ding of a bell on the masts of the local fishing boats and leisure craft. He liked the peacefulness here, and the harbour had become one of his favourite places for trying to figure out what was happening – or not – in his life.

But this new dynamic was quite a poser.

A baby. A real, live frikkin' baby. Before the year was out, a new person was coming into all of their lives, and he, for one, had no idea how to even begin dealing with it.

Although Nate and Sophie were technically retired, it didn't seem that way. The two of them – when they weren't off gallivanting around the world – somehow found time to 'help' what was now Leverage International, and were still part of any job they happened to be interested in.

"Well, that's gotta stop," Eliot said aloud. "Got a young 'un to take care of." He snorted in amusement.

He had to say that the idea of watching Nate and Sophie deal with a newborn tickled the hell out of him. Nate, of course, had experience, but he was older, and not as energetic as he used to be. And Sophie … no more shoe-shopping, designer clothes, no nothin'.

Eliot pondered the situation.

Well, he guessed, he could probably help out a little. He was handy with a screwdriver an' could make stuff. And, he realised, he could make sure Sophie ate properly. Hmmm. Didn't pregnant mommas have cravings? He had no idea if that was true or not. He'd have to do some research.

Hell, he was a big, tough sonofabitch and could beat the crap out of the world and its brother, so an itty-bitty infant would be a piece of cake. Cake. Sophie shouldn't eat cake. All that sugar. He made a mental note to look at everyone's cupboards and refrigerators, and make sure they were stocked appropriately. He would also make sure he grew the right vegetables and herbs in his little roof garden. He had a vague memory that ginger tea helped with morning sickness, and mint was a great help with biliousness. He liked herbal teas, and used them himself when he was sick or hurt, so that was a no-brainer.

Eliot suddenly realised that he had about seven months of planning ahead of him. He obviously had to make sure Nate and Sophie didn't have any problems and everything went smoothly, and also prepare for the birth itself. That would mean checking routes to the hospital, timings, planning ahead for emergencies.

Eliot scratched his head, a little bit overwhelmed.

Jeez. It was like a friggin' military operation. Well, that was something Eliot knew about in spades. Plan? He was a goddamn genius at strategies. He could do this.

He had a couple of moments of serious doubt when he thought about the birth itself. He really didn't want to think about that, because the one and only time he had been involved in a birth it had been … disastrous. But that had been a long time and half a world away, back when he was younger and deep in a nasty place in the African bush.

He shook that thought out of his mind, and told himself that this would be so, so different. Sophie would be fine. Just fine.

Lifting his helmet, he made his decision. He was going to make sure that this pregnancy went off without a hitch, and that everybody pulled their weight. Parker liked to call their crazy little group a family, so that's what family did – pulled together and made it work.

He stood up and put on his helmet, turned to the Triumph and eased it down off its kickstand. Just before firing the old motorcycle up, he reminded himself to call in at a 24-hour supermarket that sold organic foods on the way home. His new plan was gonna go like friggin' clockwork, and if it didn't, it would probably be Hardison's fault and he would whup his geeky ass to hell and back, so help him.

Eliot grinned. Military precision, that's what was needed. He had this whole situation absolutely under control. Yes indeed.

Sophie awoke to smells of cooking wafting up from their kitchen. She looked over Nate's snoring body to glare at the alarm clock. Bloody hell – seven in the morning! Practically the middle of the night! Why the hell Eliot had let himself into their home at this time of the morning, she had no idea, but the smell of the cooking food made her stomach lurch.

Uh-oh.

The retching coming from their bathroom finally woke Nate, who sat up bleary-eyed. Whatever Eliot was cooking smelled great.

"You okay, Sophie?" He asked sleepily. The retching sounded horrendous.

"What the hell do you think?" came Sophie's irate voice. "Oh god …" The retching continued.

Nate levered himself out of bed, and once Sophie had finished – more or less – with her vomiting, they both wrapped themselves in their dressing gowns and headed down to their kitchen, now under the control of an Eliot-on-a-mission.

He had a towel over one shoulder and was busy making a revolting-looking smoothie with some spinach and a couple of kiwi fruit. He was wearing his spectacles, and he fixed Sophie with a firm look over the top of the rims and handed her a cup of steaming tea.

"Ginger," he said solemnly. "Helps with the barfing."

Sophie looked at Nate, who shrugged. They parked themselves on stools and Sophie sipped the tea tentatively. It was surprisingly good, so she settled down to finish it.

The smoothie came next. That wasn't such a hit, but Nate did enjoy the scrambled eggs on sesame seed bagels, while Sophie nibbled on wholemeal toast.

Eliot munched on a bagel as he cleaned up the kitchen surface, and glanced at Sophie.

"Gotta eat right, Soph. Ain't good for ya if you eat wrong. Nate, you gotta make sure Sophie eats properly."

Nate raised an eyebrow at their hitter, who was now frowning. It was obvious he was taking this all very seriously.

"Oookayyy …" he said benignly. "I'll make sure of that, Eliot."

"I've put some stuff in the refrigerator for you, Soph – lots of snacks you c'n eat. Little meals but often." He waggled his finger at the kitchen. "I won't be here every day to cook for ya, y'know, I gotta work." He finished his bagel and picked up his leather jacket. "Right. Gotta head off, make sure Hardison isn't screwin' up the job. If you need anythin', just give me a yell – I'll have my earbud in all day today."

And with that, he was out of the door and gone, the sound of his motorcycle growling into the distance.

"What the hell was all that about?" Nate said, mystified.

Sophie shook her head.

"I have no idea." She smiled. "But I think we're going to have another seven months of it, whatever it is. God help us." She added.

Nate dropped his head in his hands and groaned.

To be continued ...

Author's note:

*I've given Eliot a Triumph Bonneville 750cc. Although he would probably prefer an American bike, the Triumph is a tough, hard-working beast of a bike and like a Colt revolver, you can break bits and it still works. I though Eliot would appreciate its no-nonsense persona, and he would enjoy having it as part of his collection.

This story is a little bit of a prequel to 'A Walk on the Wild Side,' but not all of it.