Hardison is Jewish. This makes Eliot’s life harder than it should be.
Hardison looked up from his computers when a plate landed on the table next to him. Eliot was standing over him and his arms were already crossed.
“It’s been two days. I don’t know how much you’ve slept, but I know you haven’t eaten.”
Hardison glanced at the plate and had to control his initial reaction, because it was one of Eliot’s special sandwiches - the kind he normally only made for himself - and it was nice to know how much he cared.
“Can’t, man. It’s Passover.”
Eliot blinked a few times. "You’re not Jewish.“
"I am,” Hardison confirmed with a nod.
“No, you’re not.”
Hardison threw himself back in his chair. "Man, I am so Jewish. I read the Torah, dance the hora, and I don’t eat bread during Passover. Thanks for the thought.“ Eliot was still glaring as if he thought Hardison was pulling a con. "Look, do you want to hear my haftorah? I spent so much time learning the damn thing I think I’ll know it forever.” But Nana had been so proud of him being bar mitzvahed he didn’t think he really minded.
Eliot grabbed the sandwich and stormed out of the base, muttering something under his breath that Hardison couldn’t quite make out. Having been distracted reminded him that Eliot was right and he’d been working two days straight after taking two off to go home to Nana for the Seders. He stretched, used the bathroom, and grabbed an orange soda. When he got back to his station, he saw that there was a lot of activity on the Internet of Eliot’s phone. He filed that in the back of his mind as unusual, then dove back into his research.
It seemed like moments later, although his computer’s clock told him it was nearly an hour and a half, when another plate crashed down next to him.
There was turkey on it, thin sliced and folded just so. Mashed potatoes steamed gently, the hole in the center spilling clear gravy (no flour) onto the turkey. The stuffing was filled with vegetables and had enough identifiable pieces of matzah to be sure of. The plate even had a steaming roll - the same kind Nana always made out of matzah meal - cut open and buttered on one side.
Hardison gaped up at Eliot, who had his arms crossed and was studiously avoiding looking at him. "It’s all new dishes, too, so you have no excuse. Eat!“
It was lucky that there was a table in between them, because thought he might have hugged Eliot to death otherwise. No one had ever put up with his occasional quirks of Jewishness before. But Eliot - he must have been looking up what it was all about and making a whole new meal just for him! He shifted his chair to the side so he wouldn’t get anything on the computers and made every appreciative noise he knew as he ate the food.
Eliot’s face flushed more and more as Hardison ate and he grabbed the plate and left before he could verbally thank him. Hardison watched him go, then turned back to his computers. Before returning to work, he searched for the best living weapon smith to make a custom order.