Weightless
Author's Notes: yetanothermask won me in the help_japan and requested a Parker/Hardison sweet and fluffy fic. The fluff didn't happen, but I tried to keep it on the sweeter side of things. Spoiler warning for the Scheherazade Job and oblique references to the Stork Job & the Juror #6 Job. Many thanks to renisanz for beta-ing. fujiidom made a fantastic cover for this fic and I used it to make a little .pdf file of this fic. If anyone is willing to match yetanothermask's $17 donation with another donation to an appropriate charity, I will email you the file. Send me a message via LJ & I'll tell you where to email a screencap of the donation. Happy reading!
When he hits the door with a flat palm, it swings open and he is up the stairs and at the street before it shuts. The weather is chilly and damp, the only light the dull glow of the street lamps. A car is driving past and he looks after it without really seeing. He didn't have a particular destination in mind when he left; he just wanted to get away from Nate and his mind-trickery. He takes half a step to the east when Parker appears, falling in step beside him. He keeps walking with a vague idea of heading back to his place where he could load up the Playstation and kill zombies while pretending the undead were all Nate. Show him what button pushing looks like. She keeps up with his pace easily, her sneakers ghosting along the slick sidewalk while he clomps along, hands buried in his pockets.
They're almost at his place, passing the bakery where he likes to buy chocolate doughnuts with blue sprinkles when she catches hold of his sleeve, tugging him to a stop. They are standing in front of an elementary school, one whose playground is just visible from the street. Before he can blink twice, she is straddling the chainlink fence and then dropping down lithely on the other side. He hesitates for a moment, watching her as she stares back at him, her fingers curling around the loops of wire. He has no idea what Parker is thinking at the moment, but experience tells him that if he hops the fence, he will eventually find out. This is enough to make up his mind as he'd rather think about Parker than Nate's half smile when the other man was saying he wasn't good enough, that he could never lead his own crew.
It takes him three times as long as it took her, but soon enough, he is standing on the slick grass. As he untwists his jacket and shirt, he catches a quick glimpse of Parker's hair as she bounces around the corner. He trails after her and finds himself standing at the edge of sandy red dirt, a small urban playground before him. There is a slide off in the corner, a climbing set towards the back, and, square in the center, is a swing set with two seats and Parker. She's sitting on one of the swings, leaning her head against the right chain as she watches him. The swing set looks fairly new, its shine not yet worn away by the elements. He crosses over to her, little puffs of dirt echoing his footsteps. Wiping his hand haphazardly across the seat, he tugs on the chains experimentally. Parker makes a little scoffing sound and begins to rock forward. Gingerly, cautiously, he lowers his weight onto the seat. It holds and he sighs a bit in relief before turning his head to Parker.
Her hair is streaming out behind her as she swings, the wind pushing open her jacket. He doesn't have to see her face to know she is wearing that blissful expression she always gets when she is soaring. He shifts uncomfortably before looking at the buildings across the street. He thinks the worst part of all of this is that he'd begun to feel like there were endless possibilities before him. Like he could do anything if he worked at it. Like he had a real future.
He doesn't realize Parker has stopped swinging until she nudges him with her foot. After a moment, he meets her gaze. She gives him a small smile before dropping her gaze to her feet.
"When I was on the streets, during the summer nights, one of my favorite things to do was to find a swing set and swing for as long as I wanted to. During the day, there were always kids around and you could never just swing. Someone was always waiting for their turn."
They rarely have conversations like this. They've only discussed their shared history in the foster system once, on a lonely bridge in Belgrade. When they hang out, they focus on the here and now. He educates her about pop culture she'd missed growing up and she lets him. His voice is a little rough when he answers.
"It was like that for me with the pool. I always had to watch the little kids or the big kids were all over the deep end. I got myself on a local gym's membership roster so I could swim there."
Their gazes meet for a moment before she looks away, digging the toe of her sneaker into the dirt. Something stretches between them and hope clashes with despair inside him. He wants to say the perfect thing, something to keep this moment going, but she speaks first.
"What Nate said, about you running your own crew, he said it wrong."
He feels deflated. He's perhaps a tad more bitter than he meant to be when he replies.
"I don't know, Parker, it seemed pretty clear to me."
Her forehead furrows and she wrinkles her nose before sighing.
"No, I mean...it's like this. I could never run my own crew because I don't care enough. I just want to do what I'm good at and have fun while I'm doing it."
He knows this for the half-truth it is, but stays silent, rocking his weight side to side while he waits for her to continue.
"Nate cares about us, he doesn't want us to die or go to jail, but he cares about them more."
She waves a hand to encompass the sleeping city around them, twisting the chains as she does a complete circle. Then she lifts her feet and the swing sends her spinning. She giggles softly, tendrils of hair falling to frame her face. The sparkle in her eyes dims, though, when she looks back at him. She shuffles around so she can face him, their knees brushing together.
"Nate wants to help them so he keeps us in his toolbox and pulls us out when he needs us. You care too much. We're not tools to you, we're people. People are always people to you. That's what Nate meant."
He tilts his head back, looking up at the cloudy night sky. He wishes he could see the stars, as if maybe they would give him direction. Parker's swing creaks noisily and he doesn't even have to look to know she's swinging again, her long legs kicking out into the open air. Her astuteness with people doesn't surprise him as much anymore. When he was busy taking apart an old IBM or fixing ripped jeans for the little kids, she was learning the difference between a tolerable threat and a dangerous predator.
"Is it so wrong to see people as people?"
He doesn't mean to whisper it aloud, but she hears him anyway. Rather than simply stop swinging, she lets go of the chains and, at the apex of her arc, she pops out of the swing, landing deftly on her feet. Her jeans are smudged with dirt and her hair is now a wild cloud of frizz. Planting her hands on her hip, she looks down at him.
"No. If you didn't, you wouldn't be Hardison. And I like Hardison."
He can't help himself. He grins slightly and says,
"Really? You like me?"
She immediately looks away and his grin spreads. A playground feels appropriate for this as she has him feeling like he's freaking ten years old again, waiting for her to check the yes or no box. She sidles off to inspect the slide and he lets her have the space.
He's feeling pretty glad now, to be perched on an uncomfortable rubber swing instead of blasting zombies while sitting on his ergonomically correct gaming chair. His goal of running his own crew no longer seems quite so tarnished. Maybe he could work something up like that Starke dude, use rotating team members. He has bone up on the planning aspect, though. He should have Eliot teach him chess. He chuckles. That might expand Eliot's repertoire beyond "Dammit, Hardison."
"Do you want to swing now? I can give you a push."
Apparently Parker can still surprise him with her stealth. Startled, his fingers involuntarily tighten on the swing's chains. Not trusting his voice, he nods, and lifts his feet up a little. He's about to tell her he's ready when she gives him such a shove, he nearly falls out of the swing. He automatically leans back to counter and before his mind catches up with his body, his legs are pumping through the empty air. Parker's already back in her swing, determined to catch up with him. He feels sorry for Nate, probably sitting alone at the bar, drinking away his sorrows. That's not the future he wants.
As the earth rises and falls beneath them, the swings slip into sync. It is still chilly and damp, but, as Parker grins at him, the night seems brighter and the future only a push away.
When he hits the door with a flat palm, it swings open and he is up the stairs and at the street before it shuts. The weather is chilly and damp, the only light the dull glow of the street lamps. A car is driving past and he looks after it without really seeing. He didn't have a particular destination in mind when he left; he just wanted to get away from Nate and his mind-trickery. He takes half a step to the east when Parker appears, falling in step beside him. He keeps walking with a vague idea of heading back to his place where he could load up the Playstation and kill zombies while pretending the undead were all Nate. Show him what button pushing looks like. She keeps up with his pace easily, her sneakers ghosting along the slick sidewalk while he clomps along, hands buried in his pockets.
They're almost at his place, passing the bakery where he likes to buy chocolate doughnuts with blue sprinkles when she catches hold of his sleeve, tugging him to a stop. They are standing in front of an elementary school, one whose playground is just visible from the street. Before he can blink twice, she is straddling the chainlink fence and then dropping down lithely on the other side. He hesitates for a moment, watching her as she stares back at him, her fingers curling around the loops of wire. He has no idea what Parker is thinking at the moment, but experience tells him that if he hops the fence, he will eventually find out. This is enough to make up his mind as he'd rather think about Parker than Nate's half smile when the other man was saying he wasn't good enough, that he could never lead his own crew.
It takes him three times as long as it took her, but soon enough, he is standing on the slick grass. As he untwists his jacket and shirt, he catches a quick glimpse of Parker's hair as she bounces around the corner. He trails after her and finds himself standing at the edge of sandy red dirt, a small urban playground before him. There is a slide off in the corner, a climbing set towards the back, and, square in the center, is a swing set with two seats and Parker. She's sitting on one of the swings, leaning her head against the right chain as she watches him. The swing set looks fairly new, its shine not yet worn away by the elements. He crosses over to her, little puffs of dirt echoing his footsteps. Wiping his hand haphazardly across the seat, he tugs on the chains experimentally. Parker makes a little scoffing sound and begins to rock forward. Gingerly, cautiously, he lowers his weight onto the seat. It holds and he sighs a bit in relief before turning his head to Parker.
Her hair is streaming out behind her as she swings, the wind pushing open her jacket. He doesn't have to see her face to know she is wearing that blissful expression she always gets when she is soaring. He shifts uncomfortably before looking at the buildings across the street. He thinks the worst part of all of this is that he'd begun to feel like there were endless possibilities before him. Like he could do anything if he worked at it. Like he had a real future.
He doesn't realize Parker has stopped swinging until she nudges him with her foot. After a moment, he meets her gaze. She gives him a small smile before dropping her gaze to her feet.
"When I was on the streets, during the summer nights, one of my favorite things to do was to find a swing set and swing for as long as I wanted to. During the day, there were always kids around and you could never just swing. Someone was always waiting for their turn."
They rarely have conversations like this. They've only discussed their shared history in the foster system once, on a lonely bridge in Belgrade. When they hang out, they focus on the here and now. He educates her about pop culture she'd missed growing up and she lets him. His voice is a little rough when he answers.
"It was like that for me with the pool. I always had to watch the little kids or the big kids were all over the deep end. I got myself on a local gym's membership roster so I could swim there."
Their gazes meet for a moment before she looks away, digging the toe of her sneaker into the dirt. Something stretches between them and hope clashes with despair inside him. He wants to say the perfect thing, something to keep this moment going, but she speaks first.
"What Nate said, about you running your own crew, he said it wrong."
He feels deflated. He's perhaps a tad more bitter than he meant to be when he replies.
"I don't know, Parker, it seemed pretty clear to me."
Her forehead furrows and she wrinkles her nose before sighing.
"No, I mean...it's like this. I could never run my own crew because I don't care enough. I just want to do what I'm good at and have fun while I'm doing it."
He knows this for the half-truth it is, but stays silent, rocking his weight side to side while he waits for her to continue.
"Nate cares about us, he doesn't want us to die or go to jail, but he cares about them more."
She waves a hand to encompass the sleeping city around them, twisting the chains as she does a complete circle. Then she lifts her feet and the swing sends her spinning. She giggles softly, tendrils of hair falling to frame her face. The sparkle in her eyes dims, though, when she looks back at him. She shuffles around so she can face him, their knees brushing together.
"Nate wants to help them so he keeps us in his toolbox and pulls us out when he needs us. You care too much. We're not tools to you, we're people. People are always people to you. That's what Nate meant."
He tilts his head back, looking up at the cloudy night sky. He wishes he could see the stars, as if maybe they would give him direction. Parker's swing creaks noisily and he doesn't even have to look to know she's swinging again, her long legs kicking out into the open air. Her astuteness with people doesn't surprise him as much anymore. When he was busy taking apart an old IBM or fixing ripped jeans for the little kids, she was learning the difference between a tolerable threat and a dangerous predator.
"Is it so wrong to see people as people?"
He doesn't mean to whisper it aloud, but she hears him anyway. Rather than simply stop swinging, she lets go of the chains and, at the apex of her arc, she pops out of the swing, landing deftly on her feet. Her jeans are smudged with dirt and her hair is now a wild cloud of frizz. Planting her hands on her hip, she looks down at him.
"No. If you didn't, you wouldn't be Hardison. And I like Hardison."
He can't help himself. He grins slightly and says,
"Really? You like me?"
She immediately looks away and his grin spreads. A playground feels appropriate for this as she has him feeling like he's freaking ten years old again, waiting for her to check the yes or no box. She sidles off to inspect the slide and he lets her have the space.
He's feeling pretty glad now, to be perched on an uncomfortable rubber swing instead of blasting zombies while sitting on his ergonomically correct gaming chair. His goal of running his own crew no longer seems quite so tarnished. Maybe he could work something up like that Starke dude, use rotating team members. He has bone up on the planning aspect, though. He should have Eliot teach him chess. He chuckles. That might expand Eliot's repertoire beyond "Dammit, Hardison."
"Do you want to swing now? I can give you a push."
Apparently Parker can still surprise him with her stealth. Startled, his fingers involuntarily tighten on the swing's chains. Not trusting his voice, he nods, and lifts his feet up a little. He's about to tell her he's ready when she gives him such a shove, he nearly falls out of the swing. He automatically leans back to counter and before his mind catches up with his body, his legs are pumping through the empty air. Parker's already back in her swing, determined to catch up with him. He feels sorry for Nate, probably sitting alone at the bar, drinking away his sorrows. That's not the future he wants.
As the earth rises and falls beneath them, the swings slip into sync. It is still chilly and damp, but, as Parker grins at him, the night seems brighter and the future only a push away.