FIC: The Jersey Job (Leverage/House, Parker/Thirteen, PG-13)
Title: The Jersey Job
Author: aphrodite_mine
Info: for texaswatermelon, who wanted naked Olivia Wilde.
Rating: PG-13
Words: about 2000
Summary: Leverage/House crossover. A job goes south, and ah, so does Parker. Parker/Thirteen.
So, Nate doesn’t do hospitals. Thanks a lot. Normally, I wouldn’t complain about something like a broken leg: set it and forget it, but this one’s definitely not my fault. Namely, the fault is Hardison’s, but is he here? Of course not. Hardy Boy and Nate get to chill out in the van doing recon while Spencer finishes the job that I totally had under my thumb and Sophie plays Concerned Neighbor and I play Drunk Party Girl, because, thanks again Nate, it was decided that seemed like the most likely scenario.
Of course, Drunk Party Girl does explain why I’m not exactly dressed like a nun, and possibly also explains the broken leg. I’ve know my share of drunken party girls in my day, and I suppose they’ve had their share of injuries. Sophie keeps giving me those eyes, and I figure its something to do with the role she’s playing, but it doesn’t do much to stop the ambulance from jarring my leg, so I let the paramedics know. Frequently.
I should have just checked the damn harness like I always do, instead of taking Hardison’s word for it that he hadn’t touched the thing. Those straps of reinforced polyurethane are my babies, and hearing the slow rip was almost worse than the sound of cracking bone. But both are mendable, I suppose.
I’m acting like the fall took something out of me, cause Hard Ass is doing swift work on the Princeton-Plainsboro computer system to include my insurance and name, whatever that’s going to be this time. Sophie’s tapping all of this to me in Morse code on my shoulder. If I wasn’t strapped down I would punch her. I’m pretty sure she’s flirting with the lead EMT.
+
If House knew that the clinic was this dead, he probably would have sent himself down here instead of Thirteen. She doesn’t think about it for too long, she tries not to waste too many brain cells thinking about Gregory House. Besides, this is the perfect time to sneak down to the cafeteria and snag a snack. Or, it would be if Dr. Cameron didn’t look beside herself desperate and overloaded with patients. Thirteen supposes that a round of ambulances just came through - looks like a pretty severe pile up, maybe a heart attack, and a pretty girl with a broken leg. And those are just the fresh ones.
“What can I do?” Thirteen asks, hoping the woman she had basically replaced wouldn’t take offence at the assumption that she needed help. She falls into step beside Dr. Cameron, taking a quick glance at her clipboard.
“Oh, I’m glad you’re here!” Cameron breathes. “I’ve got most of this under control, but if you could take - oh, her, maybe?” she gestures to the blonde groaning on a stretcher, “it would be a huge help.”
A nurse is trying to edge a pretty brunette out of the way to get the girl’s vitals. Thirteen smiles. “That’s what I’m here for.”
+
“Oh! Are you the doctah?” And suddenly, Sophie is pulling Southern Belle out of her ass. The nurse who was counting my pulse looks at her strangely, notes something on the chart - probably “check for crazy” - and runs for the hills.
For her credit, the young doctor keeps her cool around Sophie’s over-the-top fanning herself and swooning. “Dr. Hadley,” she says, by way of introduction. “Why don’t we start with how this happened.” She picks up the clipboard that nursey abandoned and reads intently as I open my mouth to speak, only to be interrupted, quite rudely by Miss Sophie of whatever plantation she just walked off.
“She must have been drinkin’, Doctah Hadley! Normally mah neighbors don’t cause me any trouble at all, but tonight,” she pauses, thinking, or, as I know, listening to her ear piece, “Jessica was just out of control! She was practically swinging from the chandeliers and then - it was awful - she crashed down the stairs and this happened.” It was a marvelous performance, really. I’m a little bit impressed.
Dr. Hadley makes a few notes and looks up. “Drunken revelry, broken leg. It happens more often than you’d think. We can get you started with some painkillers, and then down to x-ray, alright… Jessica?”
I nod, but not too enthusiastically. I don’t want to move my leg.
+
She finds that she actually likes the simplicity of working the ER, so she volunteers to take House’s clinic hours again the next night. Of course, the clinic is bustling and there are no devastating girls in red dresses with broken legs and weirdly Southern neighbors needing assistance, staring into her eyes like the darkness will swallow her up.
Thirteen flips through folders, depresses tongues, takes temperatures and diagnoses a case of genital herpes before calling it a night.
+
And a week later, we’re still in Jersey. I look totally hot in my cast and I’m making speed records on crutches. Apparently, Nick has Hardison and Elliot convinced that there’s more to this job than first met the eye, so they’re doing recon while Sophie keeps an eye on me while I “just focus on recovering fast” in a cheap motel room. I’m not convinced that Sophie needs to be involved at all, since I can handle myself just fine and haven’t gone morphine crazy at any point in this whole… thing.
“Time for another pill, Parker,” Sophie chirps, turning away from her laptop, uncrossing her legs and rising to fetch her purse where she hides the ‘stash.’
I shrug. It’s not like it even hurts anymore, really. I’m a tough girl. I could probably even put weight on it. But I also like free HBO, so I put out my hand, take my medicine and down a glass of water like the bottle tells me to. I lie back on my double bed and try not to think about Sexy Doctor Hadley for the seventh night in a row as I drift off.
Sexy Doctor tells me to hold still for the x-ray machine, her cool hands brushing against my hip, then my shoulder. I might make a quiet noise, but I cover it by shifting in bed. Touch me again, Dr. Hadley, just not when Sophie’s babysitting, I plead.
Sexy Doctor just laughs.
+
As it turns out, Thirteen isn’t doing much laughing. The treatment she suggested for House’s new patient isn’t working, and her treatment isn’t working (Foreman caught her shaking in the janitors closet yesterday and they still haven’t talked about it). She’s pretty sure that Foreman let something slip to House, though, because the bastard’s being extra hard on her.
For once, it would be nice to just get out of here and let her thoughts take over. There: she must be good and scared, to be making the healthy choice. And that scares her more, acknowledging how scared she is. It scares her so much that she stands up - four pairs of eyes on her (House pausing at the white board, “Excuse me?”) - and leaves the office without another word.
She’ll be back, of course, but she’s not doing anyone any favors by being here now.
+
At first, I don’t think it’s her, because honestly, it’s never her. It’s my first afternoon out on my own off the medication but still on the crutches because “slow steps, Parkah, slow steps.” I lived on my own for years, but suddenly I can hardly be trusted to get myself a cup of coffee. I’m half tempted to give the whole team the slip, but then again, I’m pretty sure that Hardison has a bug someone on or perhaps in my body and that plan would just be a big fat waste of time. Yeah, welcome to my life.
But back to the point. Because this time, it’s her. Granted, Dr. Hadley looks a little worse for wear; head in her hands, pulling her long hair through her fingers. Probably a bad time for an interruption.
Too bad no one taught me manners.
“Doctor!” My voice comes out way too loud and chipper. I sound like I’ve already downed half of the coffee I’m awkwardly holding while trying to maneuver the shop.
She looks up, probably more gut instinct than anything. I hobble a bit closer. “Dr. Hadley, right? You fixed up my leg.” She smiles, looking a little relieved. I’m sure she’s glad I wasn’t some old lady having an emergency liver explosion or something. I hope she’s a little glad that I’m me, but I’m trying to keep myself in check.
“I remember,” she says quietly. “Keeping away from the booze?” She winks and quickly smiles while I try to think of the appropriate response. “Would you like to sit, you seem to be having a little trouble there.”
Damn, she’s good. I didn’t even have to invite myself. “Yes - that is, to both. No more wild parties for this girl.” I suck in a deep breath and manage to sit down without totally embarrassing myself. Of course, I’m wearing sweatpants - Nate’s old sweatpants - so I’m not sure how successful that venture’s going.
“Good to hear.” She’s still quiet. I’m beginning to think that I must have interrupted some serious think time. I take a long sip of coffee, watching her over the rim. Her eyes are far away.
“Can I get you a muffin - to thank you?” I blurt. Brilliant.
She half-smiles. “Uh, your leg…” Her eyes are back. I smile, salute.
“Of course, Dr. Hadley.” I take another sip of coffee and pause to tuck my hair back. Okay. “What about non-leg-jarring thank you sex?” There. My cards are on the table.
She thinks I’m joking, I’m pretty sure. First she checks to make sure no one heard. Great, that’s a real self-esteem booster.
“Unless there’s some kind of hospital law against that kind of thing.” Stop it, Parker. No backpedaling.
She’s careful with her words, picking them out in her head before she lets them cross her tongue and then her lips. Also, no thinking about tongues or lips during this process. Head on straight. Hah. Pun. “No, there’s no rule,” she says.
“Okay then,” I insist. “The offer stands.” I wonder if she’s ever had sex with A) a patient, B) a girl or, C) someone with a broken leg before. I’m pretty sure the answer is yes on the first two. The radar involved is more accurate than anything Hardison could build.
She looks down at the table for a moment, still thinking. Damn it. She’s figuring a way to let me down easy. I reach for my crutches.
“The thing is,” she stops me in my tracks. “I don’t know you, really. And I’m trying to make a change in my life, where I don’t make crazy decisions like drugs from street corners or picking up girls, spending the night, and leaving the next morning without even knowing their name.” (Ha! Knew it.) “And don’t get me wrong, I’m… definitely willing to be thanked, Jessica, but I don’t know if I’m okay with just that.”
I must be picking up something positive from Sophie, because I manage to keep my jaw from hitting the floor and from jumping her right in the coffee shop. I do reach across the table and touch her hand, just a little brush of my fingers against hers. Fuck it feels good.
“Why don’t we just start with the muffin, for now?”
She smiles, hesitant, and then for real, and I’m pretty sure I’ll get my thanks in.
Author: aphrodite_mine
Info: for texaswatermelon, who wanted naked Olivia Wilde.
Rating: PG-13
Words: about 2000
Summary: Leverage/House crossover. A job goes south, and ah, so does Parker. Parker/Thirteen.
So, Nate doesn’t do hospitals. Thanks a lot. Normally, I wouldn’t complain about something like a broken leg: set it and forget it, but this one’s definitely not my fault. Namely, the fault is Hardison’s, but is he here? Of course not. Hardy Boy and Nate get to chill out in the van doing recon while Spencer finishes the job that I totally had under my thumb and Sophie plays Concerned Neighbor and I play Drunk Party Girl, because, thanks again Nate, it was decided that seemed like the most likely scenario.
Of course, Drunk Party Girl does explain why I’m not exactly dressed like a nun, and possibly also explains the broken leg. I’ve know my share of drunken party girls in my day, and I suppose they’ve had their share of injuries. Sophie keeps giving me those eyes, and I figure its something to do with the role she’s playing, but it doesn’t do much to stop the ambulance from jarring my leg, so I let the paramedics know. Frequently.
I should have just checked the damn harness like I always do, instead of taking Hardison’s word for it that he hadn’t touched the thing. Those straps of reinforced polyurethane are my babies, and hearing the slow rip was almost worse than the sound of cracking bone. But both are mendable, I suppose.
I’m acting like the fall took something out of me, cause Hard Ass is doing swift work on the Princeton-Plainsboro computer system to include my insurance and name, whatever that’s going to be this time. Sophie’s tapping all of this to me in Morse code on my shoulder. If I wasn’t strapped down I would punch her. I’m pretty sure she’s flirting with the lead EMT.
+
If House knew that the clinic was this dead, he probably would have sent himself down here instead of Thirteen. She doesn’t think about it for too long, she tries not to waste too many brain cells thinking about Gregory House. Besides, this is the perfect time to sneak down to the cafeteria and snag a snack. Or, it would be if Dr. Cameron didn’t look beside herself desperate and overloaded with patients. Thirteen supposes that a round of ambulances just came through - looks like a pretty severe pile up, maybe a heart attack, and a pretty girl with a broken leg. And those are just the fresh ones.
“What can I do?” Thirteen asks, hoping the woman she had basically replaced wouldn’t take offence at the assumption that she needed help. She falls into step beside Dr. Cameron, taking a quick glance at her clipboard.
“Oh, I’m glad you’re here!” Cameron breathes. “I’ve got most of this under control, but if you could take - oh, her, maybe?” she gestures to the blonde groaning on a stretcher, “it would be a huge help.”
A nurse is trying to edge a pretty brunette out of the way to get the girl’s vitals. Thirteen smiles. “That’s what I’m here for.”
+
“Oh! Are you the doctah?” And suddenly, Sophie is pulling Southern Belle out of her ass. The nurse who was counting my pulse looks at her strangely, notes something on the chart - probably “check for crazy” - and runs for the hills.
For her credit, the young doctor keeps her cool around Sophie’s over-the-top fanning herself and swooning. “Dr. Hadley,” she says, by way of introduction. “Why don’t we start with how this happened.” She picks up the clipboard that nursey abandoned and reads intently as I open my mouth to speak, only to be interrupted, quite rudely by Miss Sophie of whatever plantation she just walked off.
“She must have been drinkin’, Doctah Hadley! Normally mah neighbors don’t cause me any trouble at all, but tonight,” she pauses, thinking, or, as I know, listening to her ear piece, “Jessica was just out of control! She was practically swinging from the chandeliers and then - it was awful - she crashed down the stairs and this happened.” It was a marvelous performance, really. I’m a little bit impressed.
Dr. Hadley makes a few notes and looks up. “Drunken revelry, broken leg. It happens more often than you’d think. We can get you started with some painkillers, and then down to x-ray, alright… Jessica?”
I nod, but not too enthusiastically. I don’t want to move my leg.
+
She finds that she actually likes the simplicity of working the ER, so she volunteers to take House’s clinic hours again the next night. Of course, the clinic is bustling and there are no devastating girls in red dresses with broken legs and weirdly Southern neighbors needing assistance, staring into her eyes like the darkness will swallow her up.
Thirteen flips through folders, depresses tongues, takes temperatures and diagnoses a case of genital herpes before calling it a night.
+
And a week later, we’re still in Jersey. I look totally hot in my cast and I’m making speed records on crutches. Apparently, Nick has Hardison and Elliot convinced that there’s more to this job than first met the eye, so they’re doing recon while Sophie keeps an eye on me while I “just focus on recovering fast” in a cheap motel room. I’m not convinced that Sophie needs to be involved at all, since I can handle myself just fine and haven’t gone morphine crazy at any point in this whole… thing.
“Time for another pill, Parker,” Sophie chirps, turning away from her laptop, uncrossing her legs and rising to fetch her purse where she hides the ‘stash.’
I shrug. It’s not like it even hurts anymore, really. I’m a tough girl. I could probably even put weight on it. But I also like free HBO, so I put out my hand, take my medicine and down a glass of water like the bottle tells me to. I lie back on my double bed and try not to think about Sexy Doctor Hadley for the seventh night in a row as I drift off.
Sexy Doctor tells me to hold still for the x-ray machine, her cool hands brushing against my hip, then my shoulder. I might make a quiet noise, but I cover it by shifting in bed. Touch me again, Dr. Hadley, just not when Sophie’s babysitting, I plead.
Sexy Doctor just laughs.
+
As it turns out, Thirteen isn’t doing much laughing. The treatment she suggested for House’s new patient isn’t working, and her treatment isn’t working (Foreman caught her shaking in the janitors closet yesterday and they still haven’t talked about it). She’s pretty sure that Foreman let something slip to House, though, because the bastard’s being extra hard on her.
For once, it would be nice to just get out of here and let her thoughts take over. There: she must be good and scared, to be making the healthy choice. And that scares her more, acknowledging how scared she is. It scares her so much that she stands up - four pairs of eyes on her (House pausing at the white board, “Excuse me?”) - and leaves the office without another word.
She’ll be back, of course, but she’s not doing anyone any favors by being here now.
+
At first, I don’t think it’s her, because honestly, it’s never her. It’s my first afternoon out on my own off the medication but still on the crutches because “slow steps, Parkah, slow steps.” I lived on my own for years, but suddenly I can hardly be trusted to get myself a cup of coffee. I’m half tempted to give the whole team the slip, but then again, I’m pretty sure that Hardison has a bug someone on or perhaps in my body and that plan would just be a big fat waste of time. Yeah, welcome to my life.
But back to the point. Because this time, it’s her. Granted, Dr. Hadley looks a little worse for wear; head in her hands, pulling her long hair through her fingers. Probably a bad time for an interruption.
Too bad no one taught me manners.
“Doctor!” My voice comes out way too loud and chipper. I sound like I’ve already downed half of the coffee I’m awkwardly holding while trying to maneuver the shop.
She looks up, probably more gut instinct than anything. I hobble a bit closer. “Dr. Hadley, right? You fixed up my leg.” She smiles, looking a little relieved. I’m sure she’s glad I wasn’t some old lady having an emergency liver explosion or something. I hope she’s a little glad that I’m me, but I’m trying to keep myself in check.
“I remember,” she says quietly. “Keeping away from the booze?” She winks and quickly smiles while I try to think of the appropriate response. “Would you like to sit, you seem to be having a little trouble there.”
Damn, she’s good. I didn’t even have to invite myself. “Yes - that is, to both. No more wild parties for this girl.” I suck in a deep breath and manage to sit down without totally embarrassing myself. Of course, I’m wearing sweatpants - Nate’s old sweatpants - so I’m not sure how successful that venture’s going.
“Good to hear.” She’s still quiet. I’m beginning to think that I must have interrupted some serious think time. I take a long sip of coffee, watching her over the rim. Her eyes are far away.
“Can I get you a muffin - to thank you?” I blurt. Brilliant.
She half-smiles. “Uh, your leg…” Her eyes are back. I smile, salute.
“Of course, Dr. Hadley.” I take another sip of coffee and pause to tuck my hair back. Okay. “What about non-leg-jarring thank you sex?” There. My cards are on the table.
She thinks I’m joking, I’m pretty sure. First she checks to make sure no one heard. Great, that’s a real self-esteem booster.
“Unless there’s some kind of hospital law against that kind of thing.” Stop it, Parker. No backpedaling.
She’s careful with her words, picking them out in her head before she lets them cross her tongue and then her lips. Also, no thinking about tongues or lips during this process. Head on straight. Hah. Pun. “No, there’s no rule,” she says.
“Okay then,” I insist. “The offer stands.” I wonder if she’s ever had sex with A) a patient, B) a girl or, C) someone with a broken leg before. I’m pretty sure the answer is yes on the first two. The radar involved is more accurate than anything Hardison could build.
She looks down at the table for a moment, still thinking. Damn it. She’s figuring a way to let me down easy. I reach for my crutches.
“The thing is,” she stops me in my tracks. “I don’t know you, really. And I’m trying to make a change in my life, where I don’t make crazy decisions like drugs from street corners or picking up girls, spending the night, and leaving the next morning without even knowing their name.” (Ha! Knew it.) “And don’t get me wrong, I’m… definitely willing to be thanked, Jessica, but I don’t know if I’m okay with just that.”
I must be picking up something positive from Sophie, because I manage to keep my jaw from hitting the floor and from jumping her right in the coffee shop. I do reach across the table and touch her hand, just a little brush of my fingers against hers. Fuck it feels good.
“Why don’t we just start with the muffin, for now?”
She smiles, hesitant, and then for real, and I’m pretty sure I’ll get my thanks in.