The Season Six Job, Ch.13
Title: The Season Six Job
Characters: Nate Ford, Eliot Spencer, Alec Hardison, Parker, Sophie Deveraux, Patrick Bonnano, OC
Fandom: Leverage
Spoilers: None - takes place before Season 4 finale, they're still in Boston
Warnings: None for now. No network presidents were harmed during the writing of this fic.
Disclaimer: I do not own blah blah blah
Author's note: A sequel to 'The Occam's Razor Job', following cca one week after. (Parttwo in The Texas Mountain Laurel Series). After all this shit TNT put us
through, there was only one way to deal with it - see what The Team
would do when faced with TV Network. No need to read TORJ first, all you
need to know will be explained.
Special, special, special, special thanks to trappercreekd for Betaing :D
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Chapter 13
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***
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Nate was driving, and he and Sophie had put Florence between two of them. She caught a glimpse of the strange things in the back of the van, but she was too nervous to go there and explore ideas for her vehicles. She wasn’t sure if Nate was joking when he said they would go to dinner after the meeting, and walk in the sun. Afternoon was slowly crawling by, evening would be there before they turned back, and the dark clouds that were gathering above them were promising rain. Not exactly a good time for walking anywhere.
“This is ridiculous,” she finally said, when the silence became unbearable. “I simply can’t go tiptoeing around things. Okay, you were in serious trouble. Okay, you have unsolved issues that are complicating everything. But tell me, how am I supposed to tiptoe around something that I can’t see, and don’t know what it is?” She stared at Nate’s profile for a second. “Tell me what to avoid, and I’ll stop poking at it, and stop causing trouble. Is that too much to ask?”
“It isn’t,” he said with a grim smile, shifting gears. “I’m afraid, if all the rest of your episodes have this kind of tension, we’re in trouble.”
“Do you want me to put the motives and subplots on paper, so you can scratch out the disturbing ones, and add a Parental Guidance rating to it?” She knew she sounded bitter and too sarcastic, but she didn’t like the feeling that it was all her fau-
“It’s not your fault, Florence,” Sophie said from her right side and she almost cursed.
“Stop doing that!” She exhaled one long, nervous breath, running both her hands through her hair, remembering too late that it obviously looked awful already, and she moaned in utter frustration. These people were driving her nuts. She looked in the rear mirror - her hair looked perfect. Great, so Eliot was intentionally ruining her mood by simply lying, insulting her hair- she tried to concentrate back on the issue; these grifters didn’t need to distract her from the main theme, she was doing that all by herself. She tucked the hair behind her ears and that reminded her of something. “You’re not wearing your earbuds, are you?” That meant Nate knew this conversation would be inevitable. She calmed down in a second, put her hands in her lap, peacefully, smiled, and waited.
His irate glance showed her that he could trace her last thoughts almost perfectly. Sitting between the two of them was worse than having a screwdriver stuck in each side of her brain.
“We are, at the moment, very unstrung, all of us,” Nate said slowly. “While Eliot was at the hospital we barely slept at all, only the four of us covering the entire Massachusetts General, twenty-four hours a day. That Night was a mess of horrors, full of fear and stress. Driving, shootings, panicking, all over town. The days that followed, when we brought him home, were just different, not any easier. That stress and fear accumulated and is still very present; our nerves are thin, and only a little reason is enough to stir up all the anxiety and bring all that shit to the surface. To bring all the pain to the surface.”
She was definitely fooled - everything he recounted she saw only as tension from time to time. One more reminder not to underestimate them.
Nate sighed, keeping his eyes on the road, but when she didn’t say anything, he continued. “Eliot decided he had to solve the problem without us because that cartel shit was way out of our league,” he said. “We didn’t know that he figured out we didn’t leave town like he had told us, that we were guarding the hospital he was in. He knew he had only a few ways to make us leave, this time for real, so he…” he trailed off struggling to find the right word. “His talk to Hardison was a painful, angry, acrid speech full of insults for all of us - much worse than that one you wrote. He ditched us and quit. We knew why he did that, and Hardison got it too, but the only way to make a lie hurt someone is to make it as close to the truth as possible. That talk still stings - it was just a week ago, and none of us have recovered yet. We are… let’s say, extremely vulnerable at the moment. Pain and emotions are still simmering right under the surface, and only a small spark is enough to start a fire. As you witnessed. ”
“But that was it, right? He didn’t shoot him? Hardison ran when Vin pointed a gun-”
“No, he didn’t. I don’t think Eliot would be able to do that.” Nate darted her a calming smile. “He shot Parker.”
Jesus. Maybe they weren’t watching over him because they were worried, maybe they simply were trying to predict any sudden moves in their direction. She sighed. It wasn’t fair to think like that, and she knew it wasn’t true either.
“Why?” she whispered before Sophie could jump in with, no, we weren’t trying to predict any sudden moves in our direction, dear.
“She tried to stop him. He knew we would all die if she succeeded; he had to finish the job. So he removed the obstacle and cleared his way.”
“Ah,” she said with a small voice. “Anything else I should know when we watch the episodes?”
He thought for a few moments and she noticed his hands clutched the wheel harder. “If any of your heroes are severely shot, with a lot of blood, I want to see that first, before any of them take a look.”
“He would be upset? I find it a little hard to belie-”
“No, he wouldn’t.”
The answer was short and she said nothing further.
It wasn’t the time to ask what Eliot had done to the two of them - he might tell her.
Half an hour later, when Nate stopped the van disturbingly close to the spot where they’d parked while breaking in, the first strike of thunder cracked the sky above them. She hoped that wasn’t an ominous sign of some sort, took a deep breath, and got out, into the gust of cold wind that lifted every single hair on her head in all directions.
So much for the hair conditioner.
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***
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Eliot was extremely satisfied with Hardison’s recent practice of sulking in silence when in a bad mood, because it gave him more than one hour of calming himself down. And he fucking needed it, his blood was boiling. It would be nice if he knew why the hell he was so pissed off at them, their stupid reactions, their beating around the bush instead of attacking the problem right at the head and solving it… okay, he just answered it, right? He knew Hardison would just bury all of it again, calm down and start to behave normally again, and all this shit would explode at the next first chance.
He couldn’t see Parker at all, she was below the sofa’s back, but right after the three of them left, she went to the kitchen and brought popcorn and stuff, probably more cereal. Her moving under their line of sight was a good clue as well, and he could expect more trouble from her than from Hardison - her anger was not as easy to calm and the passage of time usually only strengthened it.
Whatever he thought he would, could and ought to do, he had to calm himself down first. There was no point in adding fuel to an already burning fire, so this sulking time was good, after all. It gave him enough time to concentrate on his own reactions and control his short temper.
He removed two pillows from under his back, laid down and closed his eyes.
Fuck. He could meditate and drift away in spite of the loud music and cold in Ziegler’s cell, but he couldn’t concentrate in this silence. Even Orion was peacefully sleeping on the shelf. Calming his mind only brought all sorts of shit into his thoughts, so he quickly gave up on meditation, deciding to just lie down and rest. And wait.
Yet, waiting was torturous as well, because it only reminded him that all he had been doing these past few days was fucking waiting. He was forced to wait those damn walls down, and every day only seemed to add another layer of brick to them. The wall in front of him, behind his back, in every damn direction he turned and tried to go, a wall after the fucking wall. Whatever he tried he couldn’t get past them - it simply didn’t work. This was much worse than that awful feeling of being trapped in his own body back in the hospital; he broke out of that prison in three days. Now he simply couldn’t.
He didn’t have enough strength to force his body to do things it ought to do; he couldn’t walk more than three damn minutes without his knees buckling out of weakness; he couldn’t control his hands, his mind, his growing rage at everything, his breathi- yep, definitely… he couldn’t even calm his breathing when he wanted to, when he laid down to calm. the. fuck. down.
He slowly reached for the oxygen mask, hating himself because he still needed it.
Okay. The first attempt to relax ended in hyperventilation. Good job.
Time for another hour of this shit.
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***
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The meeting with the writers, producers and network staff was a damn disaster. They didn’t know about Wright’s announced cancellation, and Florence tried as much as she could to keep it that way. She had only told Jensen Daniels, her co-producer, because he and his production company owned the rights for the show.
It wasn’t a pleasant surprise when he announced he had a new show with C4, some bounty hunter crap doomed to die before the third episode. She kept the smile on her face, listening to all the congratulations, wondering if that was the reason for his careful warning for her not to go into open war with Wright and C4 before they knew exactly what was going on. He had promised he would do anything to help her keep the show alive, but now his attention would be split - and his hands might be tied because of his new deal.
He also carefully avoided mentioning that the actors' contracts, signed for five years, were going to end this week, and that nobody had told them yet what would happen to their jobs. She also, and that hurt the most, noticed that none of them were asked to audition for that new pilot.
The rats were leaving the sinking ship before the fight even started. But could she blame him? Business was business, and moving on to other projects was a regular thing - yet it left a bitter taste in her mouth. Maybe it would be easier if he wasn’t so nice to everybody, so open to the fans, so reassuring that he was doing everything he could - and the fans weren’t stupid, they had been suspecting things since all the other shows on C4 got new seasons, and only the decision about M7 was postponed. With his right hand he was sleazily patting the fans’ heads, and signing the new contract with his left.
He had no idea what would happen when the news broke out and the fans figured out his role in everything… and he would face a boycott of all his future shows. Karma was a bitch, and she was more than willing to scratch his name from her future contacts, and let her deal with him.
Her lips were set into a permanent thin line when she said her excuses and went directly to the office of the President, Jules Brewer. She knew he would be there today, though the Board of Directors weren’t meeting this week - he usually spent a few hours a day in the office when he wasn’t in LA. She wondered what he was thinking about the arrest of his Vice President and Head of Programming.
His secretary, Sandy, politely asked her to wait a few minutes when she arrived at his quarters, explaining that he had arranged a meeting with police due this unfortunate situation with Mr. Wright, and Florence sat in the lobby to wait, preparing all her questions.
“Good day,” a well known voice greeted her and she lifted her head, staring directly at Nate Ford, in his cheap suit, with a derisive smile that changed his face. He scratched his ear and nodded to the secretary. “Tell Mr. Brewer I’m ready.”
“Of course, Lieutenant Webster, you can come in.”
Nate repeated his move with his ear and she finally got it, sneaking her hand into her pocket to grab the earbud, staring at his back when he went into the office.
Jesus Christ, what were they up to? The unease that had followed her since they’d left the apartment now abruptly transformed into anticipation of disaster. So that was what he meant when he had said that the police would take over. Misrepresenting, right.
Breaking news: TV author involved in police scam, caught red handed while her gang was working on her president. The rest of the gang found dead in gang HQ, authorities believe they shot each other. A cat survived.
She buried her face in her hands, and waited.
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***
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It seemed that the silence did nothing good for any of them, it only emphasized the turmoil felt in the room, and Eliot gave up on relaxing, keeping himself concentrated on trying not to get more nervous.
He could clearly hear the distant thunders, coming closer after every fifteen minutes, and the electricity in the air, the sign of an incoming storm, matched the indoor drama perfectly.
Hardison gave up after endlessly clicking on his laptop - his eyes were closed but he could clearly hear him getting up from the table, and taking his jacket. He left everything else, so this wasn’t going home, this was just running away from the tension. The hacker would probably end up in McRory’s with a glass of something heavy.
Eliot really envied him on that part.
With one third of the source of the tension gone, he expected the atmosphere to clear slightly, but that didn’t happen. Parker was still invisible, except for one small whip of hair sticking out of her ponytail; Hardison’s absence only added to the pressure he felt everywhere.
But, the hacker’s absence moved her - and he couldn’t say if it was a good or bad sign.
Parker’s footsteps were lighter than a falling feather, as always, but he could guess where she was without opening his eyes. She went to the table that Hardison left and stayed there for a few minutes. Just when he thought she wouldn’t return to the sofa, she moved again.
She wasn’t going to the sofa.
He didn’t feel any threat in her approaching, but just the thought of endless bitching and arguing tensed him immediately, just after he finally managed to relax a little, which completely pissed him off, ruining it even more thoroughly. With only three of Parker’s steps, the whole hour of careful relaxation went straight to the hell.
He opened one eye, checking on her with a quick glance. No forks, no tazers, no bombs. Good. She only had Hardison’s laptop with her.
Then he got a better look, and stopped breathing.
Parker was fucking drunk.
It took seven seconds before he remembered to breathe again, drawing in one sharp, shallow breath. She wasn’t going into the kitchen for cereal, she had taken Nate’s bottle; he tried to remember if it was full, and how much whiskey was left in it, but his brain was stuck in something close to panic. In five years he hadn't seen her drinking anything except a light beer or some wine, very rarely.
Jesus, Parker drunk, it was worse than Superman on an LSD trip - two chocolates made her high - she didn’t need a fork to be deadly. He barely breathed, carefully examining her bloodshot, sullen eyes, her slight swaying - and it was painful to see her so off balance, it was… so damn wrong.
Slowly, very slowly, not breaking the eye contact, he raised himself into a semi-sitting position; he was too vulnerable on his back. In case he had to move very fast, he had just bought one more second. Not making any sudden moves, he lowered the blanket a little to free his hands as much as he could.
He didn’t have an earbud and he was sure Hardison didn’t have his either, and he regretted it deeply. If ever in his life, a panicked call for help would be justified now. He didn’t dare to glance at his phone that was on the table - never let the opponent guess your next move - and he just remained completely still, waiting.
Her eyes were unreadable. He couldn’t read her silence.
He quickly calculated a few possible moves - if she tried to smash the laptop on his head, he had three ways of avoiding that without hurting her, and five with a hit and twist combination.
She came one more step closer and carefully lowered herself on the bed, pushing the laptop in front of him. He didn’t flinch, he was just rearranging his position.
One of the surveillance cameras on the laptop showed Hardison sitting on the floor in the corridor, just a few meters from their door. Idiot.
His first impulse was to curse and jump up, but then he remembered the threat from the mobster killers had been removed with Wright’s fall, so Hardison’s move wasn’t that stupid and reckless.
He looked at the image for a few more seconds, to show her he obediently followed her moves and that there wasn’t any need to get violent, and tried to think about how to deal with this threat.
Well, that threat put away the laptop, curled herself on his left side, and hugged him.
He couldn’t help it, for a moment he had a disturbingly vivid image of Parker with a crazy grin, his jugular hanging from her mouth, but he quickly shook that off. He expected a quick, clumsy hug; she was capable of giving those sometimes, rarely, but she stayed immobile, burying her face in his neck. So he sighed and hugged her back. With his left arm around her back he did have better control of her eventual change of mind.
“It doesn’t work,” she said, slightly slurring. “It helps Nate, right? I have to ask him how and what this does exactly to help. I’m dizzy and my knees are weird. And words are coming out different.”
He wanted to solve the shit he caused, and it looked like he would have a chance. Be careful what you wish for, he reminded himself morosely.
“How much whiskey was in that bottle, Parker?”
She concentrated. “Don’t know. Full?”
He almost asked her how much was in it now, but what was the point? He just sighed and held her close, hoping she would fall asleep and spare them all the trouble for the next few hours.
She was silent for two minutes, but he knew there would be no sleeping, she was tense and stiff as a spring. When she finally lifted her head a little, so she could see him, her eyes were narrowed, concentrated.
“I still don’t get why shooting you to stop you would be wrong,” she finally whispered.
And for an explanation she came to the one who actually did that? Well, it even made sense, in some awkward way.
“I can only tell you why it was the right thing to do in those circumstances,” he sighed. “To find out what’s wrong with that, you better go to Hardison.”
“I did, we talked. He explained everything, and it sounded logical and true - but I still don’t understand it. Why it’s wrong. I’m not-” she stopped and shook her head, covering her face with her hair. Hiding. “I’m not normal,” she finished shortly. “Right?”
He knew what Hardison would say, and how, and he wished he was here instead of him. Sophie would deal with this in a matter of minutes - even Nate would be a better choice than he was. But she came to him.
“No, you’re not,” he softly said.
She didn’t lift her head and he couldn’t see her face, but she moved away a little.
“You would be extremely boring if you were normal,” he continued calmly. “Can you imagine yourself without all the things that make you - you? You would be just an empty shell. Lifeless.”
She peeked at him under the veil of hair, and he almost sighed in relief - she seemed only interested, not upset. “She isn’t boring,” she stated cautiously. “And she is normal. Awfully normal, like The Normal. And she definitely isn’t lifeless.”
Oh fuck. Florence had been too close the past two days, not like the usual clients, and Parker had enough time to observe her and draw conclusions on that comparison… and when he tried to see Florence through Parker’s eyes for just a moment, all the differences she could find, his throat tightened. It took an immense effort of will not to let anything show on his face.
“I could be…” she continued, strangely hesitating. “... if my life wasn’t one giant mess from the beginning, I might-”
He quickly grabbed her hand and pulled her closer. “Stop it.” He couldn’t let her say that - if she managed to say it out loud, all the failures, all the missed opportunities, all the lost chances for a normal life would become real. “Parker, you would die in that sort of life, trust me. You would whither, not knowing why and how, and you would never be happy.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I do. Trust me.” Jesus, Sophie, where are you? He kept his stare on her, not letting her eyes drift away, when a new terrifying thought got stuck in his brain. “Parker, you do like Florence, right? Do you have something against-”
“I like her,” she huffed with indignation. “You know, I am capable of liking people other than you morons. She is nice. Or she is very good at pretending I’m not a freak.”
“Freak, my ass - there’s no such thing as a completely normal human being, Parker. The only difference is that many of them are more skilled at hiding it.”
“Do you want me to count all differences between her and me, between her and my life, between-”
Hell no, that would be disaster; he had to distract her as soon as possible - damn whiskey only sharpened her brain, for God’s sake… “Wait, stop it!” He grabbed her by her shoulders and shook her lightly, knowing it would spin everything around her. He was right, she kept her mouth shut for a few seconds, eyes glazed.
“You’re not different, darlin’,” he went on when she started to breathe again. “You two are the same quality diamonds, but you were shaped to fit into different necklaces.” Her eyes widened a little, interested again, and he quickly continued. “She is a brilliant cut, that reflects the most light, the most popular of all the cuts and shapes… but you’re the Navette cut. Much more difficult to make. For me, and not just for me, it’s not the material that matters…it’s the time and effort someone puts into creating it.”
“The Navette cut has fragile ends, and it’s extremely hard to cut,” she objected, frowning at him.
“Exactly,” he smiled.
“And the brilliant cut is round, not elongated like the Navette; it can be put into many neckl…” she trailed off, thinking, then nodded. “Okay, I got it.” When she looked at him again, she had a smile in her eyes. “You know, the Navette's ends might be fragile while being cut, but when finished, they are sharp points. Put in the right necklace, that protects its shape; it can be a very dangerous weapon, if necessary. It can cut through any-”
“No, Parker. Just precious, and unique. Let’s skip the ‘dangerous’ part for now, okay?”
“Okay,” she smiled then snuggled again. She giggled once, and he knew she was thinking about the diamonds, so he hid his own smile and just lay motionless, letting her be there as much as she wanted, keeping her close.
It didn’t last long, she rose again after a few minutes of quiet humming - this time didn’t improve her balance at all, for she swayed again when she tried to get up. She just gave up, leaned over and grabbed the laptop, pushing it in his face again. Hardison was still sitting with his head resting on his raised knees.
“You have to do something,” Parker said seriously. “Make him feel better.”
“We should wait for Sophie, darling. I’m not in the mood - hell, I’m definitely not the right person to talk to someone who needs calming, trust me on that. We can’t-”
She moved the laptop away and nudged him. “Go. Bring him back.”
He looked at her unhappy face - and Parker’s unhappy face was something utterly disturbing, always - and tried to remember if he was able to say no to her when her eyes looked twice as big. Yes, maybe twice, he said no when he sensed she was faking it, but there was nothing fake in her sorrow right now. She needed her world in order, and she wasn’t good at dealing with changes. So he decided he would listen to her last demand, to bring Hardison back - that he could do. Making him feel better could wait for Sophie.
“Why don’t you go?” he asked her.
“Not normal, remember?” she smiled wryly. “The last time I tried motivational speech, he got more scared. I don’t do people.”
“You just did people,” he raised his little finger. She almost smiled.
“Well, I wish I tried that the last time, instead of taking the gun first,” she said. Damn, what did he have to do to stop that shit about shooting each other… it would continue to trouble her until she figured out what was wrong and what was right in that - maybe never.
“You’ll figure it out,” he said gently. “Two times I saw you with a gun, Parker - once in the warehouse at the very beginning, and second time a few days ago. Can you tell me a difference between those two times?”
She tilted her head, suddenly alert. “Why? I don’t know… it was the same, I was pissed off and scared, I was ready to shoot… what’s the difference?”
He leaned a little closer, and she followed, still confused, with upset eyes.
“The first time, darlin’, it was because of money,” he whispered. “The second time, it was because of people.”
The lights in the room blinked for a moment, accompanied by a loud clap of thunder somewhere close, but he could still see her smile, which flashed brighter than any lightning.
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Characters: Nate Ford, Eliot Spencer, Alec Hardison, Parker, Sophie Deveraux, Patrick Bonnano, OC
Fandom: Leverage
Spoilers: None - takes place before Season 4 finale, they're still in Boston
Warnings: None for now. No network presidents were harmed during the writing of this fic.
Disclaimer: I do not own blah blah blah
Author's note: A sequel to 'The Occam's Razor Job', following cca one week after. (Parttwo in The Texas Mountain Laurel Series). After all this shit TNT put us
through, there was only one way to deal with it - see what The Team
would do when faced with TV Network. No need to read TORJ first, all you
need to know will be explained.
Special, special, special, special thanks to trappercreekd for Betaing :D
.
Chapter 13
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***
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Nate was driving, and he and Sophie had put Florence between two of them. She caught a glimpse of the strange things in the back of the van, but she was too nervous to go there and explore ideas for her vehicles. She wasn’t sure if Nate was joking when he said they would go to dinner after the meeting, and walk in the sun. Afternoon was slowly crawling by, evening would be there before they turned back, and the dark clouds that were gathering above them were promising rain. Not exactly a good time for walking anywhere.
“This is ridiculous,” she finally said, when the silence became unbearable. “I simply can’t go tiptoeing around things. Okay, you were in serious trouble. Okay, you have unsolved issues that are complicating everything. But tell me, how am I supposed to tiptoe around something that I can’t see, and don’t know what it is?” She stared at Nate’s profile for a second. “Tell me what to avoid, and I’ll stop poking at it, and stop causing trouble. Is that too much to ask?”
“It isn’t,” he said with a grim smile, shifting gears. “I’m afraid, if all the rest of your episodes have this kind of tension, we’re in trouble.”
“Do you want me to put the motives and subplots on paper, so you can scratch out the disturbing ones, and add a Parental Guidance rating to it?” She knew she sounded bitter and too sarcastic, but she didn’t like the feeling that it was all her fau-
“It’s not your fault, Florence,” Sophie said from her right side and she almost cursed.
“Stop doing that!” She exhaled one long, nervous breath, running both her hands through her hair, remembering too late that it obviously looked awful already, and she moaned in utter frustration. These people were driving her nuts. She looked in the rear mirror - her hair looked perfect. Great, so Eliot was intentionally ruining her mood by simply lying, insulting her hair- she tried to concentrate back on the issue; these grifters didn’t need to distract her from the main theme, she was doing that all by herself. She tucked the hair behind her ears and that reminded her of something. “You’re not wearing your earbuds, are you?” That meant Nate knew this conversation would be inevitable. She calmed down in a second, put her hands in her lap, peacefully, smiled, and waited.
His irate glance showed her that he could trace her last thoughts almost perfectly. Sitting between the two of them was worse than having a screwdriver stuck in each side of her brain.
“We are, at the moment, very unstrung, all of us,” Nate said slowly. “While Eliot was at the hospital we barely slept at all, only the four of us covering the entire Massachusetts General, twenty-four hours a day. That Night was a mess of horrors, full of fear and stress. Driving, shootings, panicking, all over town. The days that followed, when we brought him home, were just different, not any easier. That stress and fear accumulated and is still very present; our nerves are thin, and only a little reason is enough to stir up all the anxiety and bring all that shit to the surface. To bring all the pain to the surface.”
She was definitely fooled - everything he recounted she saw only as tension from time to time. One more reminder not to underestimate them.
Nate sighed, keeping his eyes on the road, but when she didn’t say anything, he continued. “Eliot decided he had to solve the problem without us because that cartel shit was way out of our league,” he said. “We didn’t know that he figured out we didn’t leave town like he had told us, that we were guarding the hospital he was in. He knew he had only a few ways to make us leave, this time for real, so he…” he trailed off struggling to find the right word. “His talk to Hardison was a painful, angry, acrid speech full of insults for all of us - much worse than that one you wrote. He ditched us and quit. We knew why he did that, and Hardison got it too, but the only way to make a lie hurt someone is to make it as close to the truth as possible. That talk still stings - it was just a week ago, and none of us have recovered yet. We are… let’s say, extremely vulnerable at the moment. Pain and emotions are still simmering right under the surface, and only a small spark is enough to start a fire. As you witnessed. ”
“But that was it, right? He didn’t shoot him? Hardison ran when Vin pointed a gun-”
“No, he didn’t. I don’t think Eliot would be able to do that.” Nate darted her a calming smile. “He shot Parker.”
Jesus. Maybe they weren’t watching over him because they were worried, maybe they simply were trying to predict any sudden moves in their direction. She sighed. It wasn’t fair to think like that, and she knew it wasn’t true either.
“Why?” she whispered before Sophie could jump in with, no, we weren’t trying to predict any sudden moves in our direction, dear.
“She tried to stop him. He knew we would all die if she succeeded; he had to finish the job. So he removed the obstacle and cleared his way.”
“Ah,” she said with a small voice. “Anything else I should know when we watch the episodes?”
He thought for a few moments and she noticed his hands clutched the wheel harder. “If any of your heroes are severely shot, with a lot of blood, I want to see that first, before any of them take a look.”
“He would be upset? I find it a little hard to belie-”
“No, he wouldn’t.”
The answer was short and she said nothing further.
It wasn’t the time to ask what Eliot had done to the two of them - he might tell her.
Half an hour later, when Nate stopped the van disturbingly close to the spot where they’d parked while breaking in, the first strike of thunder cracked the sky above them. She hoped that wasn’t an ominous sign of some sort, took a deep breath, and got out, into the gust of cold wind that lifted every single hair on her head in all directions.
So much for the hair conditioner.
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***
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Eliot was extremely satisfied with Hardison’s recent practice of sulking in silence when in a bad mood, because it gave him more than one hour of calming himself down. And he fucking needed it, his blood was boiling. It would be nice if he knew why the hell he was so pissed off at them, their stupid reactions, their beating around the bush instead of attacking the problem right at the head and solving it… okay, he just answered it, right? He knew Hardison would just bury all of it again, calm down and start to behave normally again, and all this shit would explode at the next first chance.
He couldn’t see Parker at all, she was below the sofa’s back, but right after the three of them left, she went to the kitchen and brought popcorn and stuff, probably more cereal. Her moving under their line of sight was a good clue as well, and he could expect more trouble from her than from Hardison - her anger was not as easy to calm and the passage of time usually only strengthened it.
Whatever he thought he would, could and ought to do, he had to calm himself down first. There was no point in adding fuel to an already burning fire, so this sulking time was good, after all. It gave him enough time to concentrate on his own reactions and control his short temper.
He removed two pillows from under his back, laid down and closed his eyes.
Fuck. He could meditate and drift away in spite of the loud music and cold in Ziegler’s cell, but he couldn’t concentrate in this silence. Even Orion was peacefully sleeping on the shelf. Calming his mind only brought all sorts of shit into his thoughts, so he quickly gave up on meditation, deciding to just lie down and rest. And wait.
Yet, waiting was torturous as well, because it only reminded him that all he had been doing these past few days was fucking waiting. He was forced to wait those damn walls down, and every day only seemed to add another layer of brick to them. The wall in front of him, behind his back, in every damn direction he turned and tried to go, a wall after the fucking wall. Whatever he tried he couldn’t get past them - it simply didn’t work. This was much worse than that awful feeling of being trapped in his own body back in the hospital; he broke out of that prison in three days. Now he simply couldn’t.
He didn’t have enough strength to force his body to do things it ought to do; he couldn’t walk more than three damn minutes without his knees buckling out of weakness; he couldn’t control his hands, his mind, his growing rage at everything, his breathi- yep, definitely… he couldn’t even calm his breathing when he wanted to, when he laid down to calm. the. fuck. down.
He slowly reached for the oxygen mask, hating himself because he still needed it.
Okay. The first attempt to relax ended in hyperventilation. Good job.
Time for another hour of this shit.
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***
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The meeting with the writers, producers and network staff was a damn disaster. They didn’t know about Wright’s announced cancellation, and Florence tried as much as she could to keep it that way. She had only told Jensen Daniels, her co-producer, because he and his production company owned the rights for the show.
It wasn’t a pleasant surprise when he announced he had a new show with C4, some bounty hunter crap doomed to die before the third episode. She kept the smile on her face, listening to all the congratulations, wondering if that was the reason for his careful warning for her not to go into open war with Wright and C4 before they knew exactly what was going on. He had promised he would do anything to help her keep the show alive, but now his attention would be split - and his hands might be tied because of his new deal.
He also carefully avoided mentioning that the actors' contracts, signed for five years, were going to end this week, and that nobody had told them yet what would happen to their jobs. She also, and that hurt the most, noticed that none of them were asked to audition for that new pilot.
The rats were leaving the sinking ship before the fight even started. But could she blame him? Business was business, and moving on to other projects was a regular thing - yet it left a bitter taste in her mouth. Maybe it would be easier if he wasn’t so nice to everybody, so open to the fans, so reassuring that he was doing everything he could - and the fans weren’t stupid, they had been suspecting things since all the other shows on C4 got new seasons, and only the decision about M7 was postponed. With his right hand he was sleazily patting the fans’ heads, and signing the new contract with his left.
He had no idea what would happen when the news broke out and the fans figured out his role in everything… and he would face a boycott of all his future shows. Karma was a bitch, and she was more than willing to scratch his name from her future contacts, and let her deal with him.
Her lips were set into a permanent thin line when she said her excuses and went directly to the office of the President, Jules Brewer. She knew he would be there today, though the Board of Directors weren’t meeting this week - he usually spent a few hours a day in the office when he wasn’t in LA. She wondered what he was thinking about the arrest of his Vice President and Head of Programming.
His secretary, Sandy, politely asked her to wait a few minutes when she arrived at his quarters, explaining that he had arranged a meeting with police due this unfortunate situation with Mr. Wright, and Florence sat in the lobby to wait, preparing all her questions.
“Good day,” a well known voice greeted her and she lifted her head, staring directly at Nate Ford, in his cheap suit, with a derisive smile that changed his face. He scratched his ear and nodded to the secretary. “Tell Mr. Brewer I’m ready.”
“Of course, Lieutenant Webster, you can come in.”
Nate repeated his move with his ear and she finally got it, sneaking her hand into her pocket to grab the earbud, staring at his back when he went into the office.
Jesus Christ, what were they up to? The unease that had followed her since they’d left the apartment now abruptly transformed into anticipation of disaster. So that was what he meant when he had said that the police would take over. Misrepresenting, right.
Breaking news: TV author involved in police scam, caught red handed while her gang was working on her president. The rest of the gang found dead in gang HQ, authorities believe they shot each other. A cat survived.
She buried her face in her hands, and waited.
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***
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It seemed that the silence did nothing good for any of them, it only emphasized the turmoil felt in the room, and Eliot gave up on relaxing, keeping himself concentrated on trying not to get more nervous.
He could clearly hear the distant thunders, coming closer after every fifteen minutes, and the electricity in the air, the sign of an incoming storm, matched the indoor drama perfectly.
Hardison gave up after endlessly clicking on his laptop - his eyes were closed but he could clearly hear him getting up from the table, and taking his jacket. He left everything else, so this wasn’t going home, this was just running away from the tension. The hacker would probably end up in McRory’s with a glass of something heavy.
Eliot really envied him on that part.
With one third of the source of the tension gone, he expected the atmosphere to clear slightly, but that didn’t happen. Parker was still invisible, except for one small whip of hair sticking out of her ponytail; Hardison’s absence only added to the pressure he felt everywhere.
But, the hacker’s absence moved her - and he couldn’t say if it was a good or bad sign.
Parker’s footsteps were lighter than a falling feather, as always, but he could guess where she was without opening his eyes. She went to the table that Hardison left and stayed there for a few minutes. Just when he thought she wouldn’t return to the sofa, she moved again.
She wasn’t going to the sofa.
He didn’t feel any threat in her approaching, but just the thought of endless bitching and arguing tensed him immediately, just after he finally managed to relax a little, which completely pissed him off, ruining it even more thoroughly. With only three of Parker’s steps, the whole hour of careful relaxation went straight to the hell.
He opened one eye, checking on her with a quick glance. No forks, no tazers, no bombs. Good. She only had Hardison’s laptop with her.
Then he got a better look, and stopped breathing.
Parker was fucking drunk.
It took seven seconds before he remembered to breathe again, drawing in one sharp, shallow breath. She wasn’t going into the kitchen for cereal, she had taken Nate’s bottle; he tried to remember if it was full, and how much whiskey was left in it, but his brain was stuck in something close to panic. In five years he hadn't seen her drinking anything except a light beer or some wine, very rarely.
Jesus, Parker drunk, it was worse than Superman on an LSD trip - two chocolates made her high - she didn’t need a fork to be deadly. He barely breathed, carefully examining her bloodshot, sullen eyes, her slight swaying - and it was painful to see her so off balance, it was… so damn wrong.
Slowly, very slowly, not breaking the eye contact, he raised himself into a semi-sitting position; he was too vulnerable on his back. In case he had to move very fast, he had just bought one more second. Not making any sudden moves, he lowered the blanket a little to free his hands as much as he could.
He didn’t have an earbud and he was sure Hardison didn’t have his either, and he regretted it deeply. If ever in his life, a panicked call for help would be justified now. He didn’t dare to glance at his phone that was on the table - never let the opponent guess your next move - and he just remained completely still, waiting.
Her eyes were unreadable. He couldn’t read her silence.
He quickly calculated a few possible moves - if she tried to smash the laptop on his head, he had three ways of avoiding that without hurting her, and five with a hit and twist combination.
She came one more step closer and carefully lowered herself on the bed, pushing the laptop in front of him. He didn’t flinch, he was just rearranging his position.
One of the surveillance cameras on the laptop showed Hardison sitting on the floor in the corridor, just a few meters from their door. Idiot.
His first impulse was to curse and jump up, but then he remembered the threat from the mobster killers had been removed with Wright’s fall, so Hardison’s move wasn’t that stupid and reckless.
He looked at the image for a few more seconds, to show her he obediently followed her moves and that there wasn’t any need to get violent, and tried to think about how to deal with this threat.
Well, that threat put away the laptop, curled herself on his left side, and hugged him.
He couldn’t help it, for a moment he had a disturbingly vivid image of Parker with a crazy grin, his jugular hanging from her mouth, but he quickly shook that off. He expected a quick, clumsy hug; she was capable of giving those sometimes, rarely, but she stayed immobile, burying her face in his neck. So he sighed and hugged her back. With his left arm around her back he did have better control of her eventual change of mind.
“It doesn’t work,” she said, slightly slurring. “It helps Nate, right? I have to ask him how and what this does exactly to help. I’m dizzy and my knees are weird. And words are coming out different.”
He wanted to solve the shit he caused, and it looked like he would have a chance. Be careful what you wish for, he reminded himself morosely.
“How much whiskey was in that bottle, Parker?”
She concentrated. “Don’t know. Full?”
He almost asked her how much was in it now, but what was the point? He just sighed and held her close, hoping she would fall asleep and spare them all the trouble for the next few hours.
She was silent for two minutes, but he knew there would be no sleeping, she was tense and stiff as a spring. When she finally lifted her head a little, so she could see him, her eyes were narrowed, concentrated.
“I still don’t get why shooting you to stop you would be wrong,” she finally whispered.
And for an explanation she came to the one who actually did that? Well, it even made sense, in some awkward way.
“I can only tell you why it was the right thing to do in those circumstances,” he sighed. “To find out what’s wrong with that, you better go to Hardison.”
“I did, we talked. He explained everything, and it sounded logical and true - but I still don’t understand it. Why it’s wrong. I’m not-” she stopped and shook her head, covering her face with her hair. Hiding. “I’m not normal,” she finished shortly. “Right?”
He knew what Hardison would say, and how, and he wished he was here instead of him. Sophie would deal with this in a matter of minutes - even Nate would be a better choice than he was. But she came to him.
“No, you’re not,” he softly said.
She didn’t lift her head and he couldn’t see her face, but she moved away a little.
“You would be extremely boring if you were normal,” he continued calmly. “Can you imagine yourself without all the things that make you - you? You would be just an empty shell. Lifeless.”
She peeked at him under the veil of hair, and he almost sighed in relief - she seemed only interested, not upset. “She isn’t boring,” she stated cautiously. “And she is normal. Awfully normal, like The Normal. And she definitely isn’t lifeless.”
Oh fuck. Florence had been too close the past two days, not like the usual clients, and Parker had enough time to observe her and draw conclusions on that comparison… and when he tried to see Florence through Parker’s eyes for just a moment, all the differences she could find, his throat tightened. It took an immense effort of will not to let anything show on his face.
“I could be…” she continued, strangely hesitating. “... if my life wasn’t one giant mess from the beginning, I might-”
He quickly grabbed her hand and pulled her closer. “Stop it.” He couldn’t let her say that - if she managed to say it out loud, all the failures, all the missed opportunities, all the lost chances for a normal life would become real. “Parker, you would die in that sort of life, trust me. You would whither, not knowing why and how, and you would never be happy.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I do. Trust me.” Jesus, Sophie, where are you? He kept his stare on her, not letting her eyes drift away, when a new terrifying thought got stuck in his brain. “Parker, you do like Florence, right? Do you have something against-”
“I like her,” she huffed with indignation. “You know, I am capable of liking people other than you morons. She is nice. Or she is very good at pretending I’m not a freak.”
“Freak, my ass - there’s no such thing as a completely normal human being, Parker. The only difference is that many of them are more skilled at hiding it.”
“Do you want me to count all differences between her and me, between her and my life, between-”
Hell no, that would be disaster; he had to distract her as soon as possible - damn whiskey only sharpened her brain, for God’s sake… “Wait, stop it!” He grabbed her by her shoulders and shook her lightly, knowing it would spin everything around her. He was right, she kept her mouth shut for a few seconds, eyes glazed.
“You’re not different, darlin’,” he went on when she started to breathe again. “You two are the same quality diamonds, but you were shaped to fit into different necklaces.” Her eyes widened a little, interested again, and he quickly continued. “She is a brilliant cut, that reflects the most light, the most popular of all the cuts and shapes… but you’re the Navette cut. Much more difficult to make. For me, and not just for me, it’s not the material that matters…it’s the time and effort someone puts into creating it.”
“The Navette cut has fragile ends, and it’s extremely hard to cut,” she objected, frowning at him.
“Exactly,” he smiled.
“And the brilliant cut is round, not elongated like the Navette; it can be put into many neckl…” she trailed off, thinking, then nodded. “Okay, I got it.” When she looked at him again, she had a smile in her eyes. “You know, the Navette's ends might be fragile while being cut, but when finished, they are sharp points. Put in the right necklace, that protects its shape; it can be a very dangerous weapon, if necessary. It can cut through any-”
“No, Parker. Just precious, and unique. Let’s skip the ‘dangerous’ part for now, okay?”
“Okay,” she smiled then snuggled again. She giggled once, and he knew she was thinking about the diamonds, so he hid his own smile and just lay motionless, letting her be there as much as she wanted, keeping her close.
It didn’t last long, she rose again after a few minutes of quiet humming - this time didn’t improve her balance at all, for she swayed again when she tried to get up. She just gave up, leaned over and grabbed the laptop, pushing it in his face again. Hardison was still sitting with his head resting on his raised knees.
“You have to do something,” Parker said seriously. “Make him feel better.”
“We should wait for Sophie, darling. I’m not in the mood - hell, I’m definitely not the right person to talk to someone who needs calming, trust me on that. We can’t-”
She moved the laptop away and nudged him. “Go. Bring him back.”
He looked at her unhappy face - and Parker’s unhappy face was something utterly disturbing, always - and tried to remember if he was able to say no to her when her eyes looked twice as big. Yes, maybe twice, he said no when he sensed she was faking it, but there was nothing fake in her sorrow right now. She needed her world in order, and she wasn’t good at dealing with changes. So he decided he would listen to her last demand, to bring Hardison back - that he could do. Making him feel better could wait for Sophie.
“Why don’t you go?” he asked her.
“Not normal, remember?” she smiled wryly. “The last time I tried motivational speech, he got more scared. I don’t do people.”
“You just did people,” he raised his little finger. She almost smiled.
“Well, I wish I tried that the last time, instead of taking the gun first,” she said. Damn, what did he have to do to stop that shit about shooting each other… it would continue to trouble her until she figured out what was wrong and what was right in that - maybe never.
“You’ll figure it out,” he said gently. “Two times I saw you with a gun, Parker - once in the warehouse at the very beginning, and second time a few days ago. Can you tell me a difference between those two times?”
She tilted her head, suddenly alert. “Why? I don’t know… it was the same, I was pissed off and scared, I was ready to shoot… what’s the difference?”
He leaned a little closer, and she followed, still confused, with upset eyes.
“The first time, darlin’, it was because of money,” he whispered. “The second time, it was because of people.”
The lights in the room blinked for a moment, accompanied by a loud clap of thunder somewhere close, but he could still see her smile, which flashed brighter than any lightning.
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