"You're not an addict," Eliot said again. He shifted closer to her on the couch, stretching his arm along the back of it again. "Darlin', I'm going to worry about you even if all you ever do is go out and . . . become an accountant or something." That was the most boring, plebian job he could think of, yes. "But I'm gonna be happier about you doin' things that make you happy." He tilted his head, giving her a knowing look. "You think if I was lookin' for a life full of peaceful people who never put themselves in danger, I'd be livin' with Hardison and Parker?"