The thing about Eliot, the thing about all of them except Sophie, was that they tended to forget that they were rich. Money, legitimate, bank account, spendable money in very large quantities could have offered them options, easy ways out of doing things. It occurred to Alec later that Eliot could have hired a nurse or a temp or somebody. Hell, the health insurance which they had probably would have covered a home health aide.
But he didn't think of that, and neither did Eliot, when they were looking at Eliot's hands in their plain black casts. All ten fingers broken had been the signal to pull out of the job, give the client some song and dance and cash from the company reserves. He just said, "I'll take you home."
Eliot looked up at him, smile easy and eyes half-lidded, and drawled out, "But, baby, what'll we eat? I can't cook."
Sophie and Nate managed not to change expression at that, but Parker turned and stared at him, opened her mouth.
Alec put up a hand to cut her off. "I'll make you my macaroni and cheese."
Eliot snorted and shook his head.
Alec rolled his eyes and sing-songed, "I'll make you Alton Brown's macaroni and cheese. Fried."
"Okay," said Eliot. "With Nana's collards." His eyes closed and he leaned back on the bed. "Can we go now?" His voice had a plaintive quality that couldn't exactly be called a whine, but certainly let you know he was irritated.
"Soon," said Alec, and since the jig was up, he leaned over and kissed his temple. "Soon."