Eliot's not one to eat until he's stuffed. Food should be savored and enjoyed, not crammed down your gullet. Of course, it takes a lot of food to stuff Eliot, because he's got the metabolism of a racehorse (which really backfires when your captors have you on a starvation diet.) But now there's the team, and once a year he kicks everyone out of the kitchen in Nate's apartment (not that they're really allowed in there for more than coffee and leftovers anyways) and just cooks for a day and a half. Then on Thursday he pulls the succulent, golden turkey from the oven, adds a garnish to the vat of fluffy white mashed potatoes, puts the finishing touches on a green bean casserole, and sets out no less than six pies to cool. All of this winds up on the conference table—laid out with a tablecloth and proper dishware—with the rest of the courses he's so painstakingly cooked. The pans get stuffed into the sink to be taken care of later, and he spends the next four hours at the table, slowly filling every square inch of internal space with perfect, just-like-mamma-made-it food. It's not as fancy as some of the stuff he makes, but it's better, in a way, because of what it's made for.

There aren't words for how thankful Eliot is for his family, which is okay, since he'll never try and say it. He doesn't need to. They can taste it just fine.

Sometimes our light goes out but is blown into flame by another human being. Each of us owes deepest thanks to those who have rekindled this light.
Albert Schweitzer

A/N: Happy thanksgiving, everyone! (Non-Americans included. We're thankful for you!)