Fic: Call It a Tribe
Title: Call It a Tribe
Rating: PG-13
Universe: St Nicholas' Home for Troubled Youth, follows several months after Mr Banana
Pairings: Nate/Sophie, Eliot/Parker
Summary: Parker doesn't want to go to prom. No, Parker really doesn't want to go to prom.
Parker didn’t like to think about time Before Eliot. BE. Like BC except way more important.
There were other people before Eliot. There was Archie. Archie was the one who sent her to Santa’s House and that’s what got her Eliot, so she counted Archie as good. If Archie hadn’t taken her to Santa’s House, there would be no Parker-and-Eliot and that would be worse than bad.
And after Eliot, there were people, too. Eliot was the one who took her to Father Nate’s Sunday classes. And she met Sister Sophie when she was curled up in the safety of Eliot’s blankets. She found Hardison on her own, hiding in her old hiding spaces, bruised where she had been bruised, scared like she had been scared. So she took him to Eliot because Eliot was magic: he could make sure hiding spaces weren’t needed and bruises never came back and love fixed fear forever.
But before Eliot, there were bad times. There were bad times in Santa’s House, hiding from the bigger boys, getting all her answers wrong, Monsignor Blackpoole and then Monsignor Sterling. But it got better. Before Santa’s House and before Archie, there were really bad people; the people who gave her nightmares she couldn’t get rid of, no matter how tightly she held onto Hardison, no matter how big and strong Eliot was, no matter how safe Father Nate made their house, no matter how many stories Sister Sophie told. The nightmares snuck in like mice and bats and rats, slipped into her pillow at night, and had her wake up with tears on her face and no memories except fear.
That was how she found Eliot and then found everyone else. Monsignor had put her away from everyone else in Santa’s House, way up high with the pretty black-and-white sisters who had nothing to steal and nothing to hold onto. She found all the hideaways in Santa’s House because she was a hideaway. And at night, when she was bruised and scared and the nightmares chased her, she ran her way through the old hideaways and ran all the way to the place where the Real Boys slept.
And in the bedroom for the Real Boys, they all slept, except for Eliot who didn’t really sleep, even when he held Parker and Alec safe. Parker thought it might be because Eliot had nightmares who chased him, too, and they were bigger and scarer just like Eliot was bigger and scarier than Parker. She never asked because the night she was so scared she ran, Eliot pulled her into his arms and scared the nightmares away.
She knew his name was Eliot before then because that’s what Sister Maggie called him. And she knew he was bigger than the boys who bruised her and scared her and reminded her of the bad people. And he smelled good and when he got down on the floor and wrapped his arms around her, he didn’t try to do anything else. When she ran through the hideaways after that and slipped into his bed, as quiet and sneaky as cat, he didn’t do anything either, except wipe away her tears and tell her he would keep her safe.
She hadn’t believed him because no one kept her safe, not even the pretty smiling black-and-white nuns and priests. Archie said they would keep her safer than he could and the bruises on her arms and the crying in her head made him wrong. But Eliot didn’t lie to her and that was part of what made him magic. Father Nate and Sister Sophie and even little Hardison lied to her if they thought it was smart or she wouldn’t like the truth, but Eliot didn’t. She thought maybe Eliot had been lied to, too, even though they never talked about that, either.
There was a lot of truth they didn’t tell because the truth was sharp and painful. But silence was better than lies, especially if it was inside Eliot’s arms or curled up on the couch around Alec while Eliot showed them a shiny thing. And even Eliot’s silences could be as sharp and cutting as the truth when Hardison was angry or discovered Sophie’s nighttime stories weren’t full truths, none of them hurt as badly as lies would have. Eliot was safety and trust and if she lost that, Parker knew she would have to leave forever and she didn’t want to have to do that.
She was scared, though, that today was a day for Father Nathan to lie and Sister Sophie to cushion everything with fake stories and maybe, finally, the day for her Eliot to lie to her. She didn’t say anything to them when they walked home from Hardison’s school. She imagined the boy held her hand longer and Eliot tucked her more tightly under his arm, but she knew it wasn’t true. She wanted to somersault and jump away, but she wanted answers even more.
“What’s wrong?” Sister Sophie asked when they sat around the kitchen table and ate Chinese food. Sister Sophie wasn’t black-and-white and distant anymore, but Parker didn’t find the painted smiles and shiny jewelry any less confusing.
Parker stabbed her chicken. Eliot said it wasn’t authentic and was just mashing his rice and Szechuan hotpot in a bowl. She didn’t know what that meant. She didn’t know what anything meant anymore. Just when she was understanding Santa’s House, they left and she was lost again.
“I want to go back and steal American Gothic.”
“Stealing’s a sin. Especially if you don’t have a reason,” Father Nate told her around a mouthful of chicken.
“I like stealing,” Hardison protested. “Especially ice cream.”
Eliot shook his chopsticks at him. “You only get to steal ice cream after stealing my food. And Parker’s.”
Hardison pouted and made the big sad eyes that always forced Sister Sophie to cave. “But your food makes my mouth tingle!”
“He didn’t say you have to eat it,” Father Nate pointed out. “Just steal it and give it to someone who deserves it.”
Hardison pondered that. “Like Jesus?”
“Jesus didn’t steal, but if He did, He would give it to the needy,” Sister Sophie told him. “So you can steal like Jesus. But Parker, why do you want to steal a painting? Did something happen at school?”
“It wouldn’t have to be American Gothic,” Parker allowed. “I like Impressionists. We can go to Paris.”
She watched when Sister Sophie made eyes at Eliot and felt it when the sister kicked Father Nate under the table. She knew she’d said something wrong, but her fingers itched to take something, to prove that she knew how to do something right. If they couldn’t find her a museum, she would hide in bed, curling up under the blankets that still smelled like Eliot and Alec and the people who loved her best of all.
“What’s going on?” Eliot asked, in his best low-growly who-do-I-punch voice. Parker never told him it put shivers down her spine or that Peggy and Patricia at school tried to make him do that voice for them.
She put her chopsticks down and curled her arm around herself, making herself small the way she used to, in the time Before Eliot. “I won’t go to prom.”
Eliot blinked in surprise, like he was disappointed he couldn’t break the prom’s nose, and the thought made her giggle. Eliot didn’t notice when Hardison pulled two chili peppers and a slice of beef from his hotpot and snuck them onto Father Nate’s plate. Parker didn’t tell, even though she saw, because Sister Sophie was floundering for words and she didn’t get to see that very often.
“We can get you a dress,” Sister Sophie said finally, her eyes blinking too fast for that to be what she was really thinking. “Something long and black, like your favorite clothes. And maybe even a diamond necklace. I think I have something from the Lisbon job.”
“I don’t want to go. I won’t go.”
Hardison took advantage of the distraction and pulled a piece of chicken from Parker’s plate and studded it with peppercorns and ginger from Sister Sophie’s bowl. Parker thought she’d be proud of him if it didn’t feel like she had an angry bird trapped inside her chest. If someone didn’t do something, her chest would burst open and she would never, ever get to have the safety of holding on ever again.
“You don’t have to,” Father Nate declared in the voice that even Monsignor Sterling listened to and Parker felt like maybe she could breathe again. If Father Nate said so, then it was so and no one would have to do anything bad. “But-” Parker caught her breath and held it- “most people like their prom. Or think they will.”
Sophie gave him an appraising look, like Father Nathan said something surprising. She didn’t respond though. Hardison did his best to be big and tall and finish his dinner and pretend he didn’t hear them talking. He sat through enough job prelims and reviews and had enough trouble in school to know better than to ask questions before knowing all the answers.
Parker took a deep breath and tried to calm the angry bird inside her. If it didn’t stop trying to get out, she wouldn’t be able to answer the question Eliot was asking with his eyes. She wouldn’t be able to give Hardison the information he needed to grow up to be a Real Boy like Eliot and not like her. She needed to do it; she needed to see if they’d give her the truth.
“Peggy and Patti and Gwynne say I have to go to prom with Bobby,” she said, trying to get the words to them before they just fell out of her mouth. “And Peggy says I have to go on a diet and Patti says we’re going to a party at her brother’s first and -”
“Whoa,” Eliot interrupted, thank Father Nate’s Jesus and Sister Sophie’s Mary and Father Paul’s Joseph. Eliot looked pleased, like he figured out that if he couldn’t break the prom’s nose, he could break someone else’s. “Bobby Sweeney?”
Parker nodded. “He said I’m going to prom with me because I’m the perfect date. But I said we were going to Chicago and I was going to steal paintings instead.”
Eliot sighed. “And that’s why Bobby Sweeney had a pencil jammed into his arm in algebra.”
“You stabbed him?” Sister Sophie sounded really upset. “I thought you were working on that.”
“It was just a pencil. And he said I had to go with him and I had to go to Keller’s party afterward, but Gwynne says I have to go to hers and I won’t go to prom!”
“You aren’t going anywhere near the Keller’s house,” Father Nate said immediately. “They’re on the list.” Father Nate kept a list. It was really long and Parker thought he copied it from Santa’s naughty list because it was a list of every bad guy they would ever take down. Father Nate had started storing it on the computer because it was too long to write.
“And I’m gonna punch Sweeney so hard his ancestors feel it,” Eliot growled.
“Violence isn’t the answer to everything,” Sister Sophie told him. “I think it’s nice a local boy took an interest in Parker.”
“He just wants in my pants,” Parker told her. “I heard him telling Alex Moto he was going to put something in the punch to make it easy. He didn’t know I was in the ceiling vent.”
“I’m gonna- fucking ass-” Eliot growled under his breath, his fists clenching and unclenching.
“But I won’t go. So he won’t,” Parker told them earnestly. She was suddenly happy, even if Bobby Sweeney deserved to be stabbed and maybe Alex Moto, too, for what he said about her. But her family - her Eliot and her Father Nate and her Sister Sophie - they didn’t lie. They didn’t even tell her unhappy truths. She could stay here and figure it out and be with them. “That’s because we’re going to Chicago. Or Paris.”
“I’m gonna beat someone. And then I’ll take you to prom,” Eliot growled.
Father Nate winced at that. “Actually, you can’t. Principal Higgins sent me a very long letter saying why and how we’re making the other parents nervous. But you can’t bring Parker to prom.”
“It’s not like she’s my real sister!”
“I’m real!”
“But you’re not my sister,” Eliot told her. “You’re… my Parker.”
Parker could live with that. She knew she was Hardison’s sister because he told her so and he even wrote a story about his big brother and his big sister getting married and it caused a big problem at his school and they had to have another family meeting with Mr Bananno. And she knew Father Nate thought she was his daughter because he got drunk in Belize and had the bartender call his daughter, even if she was Rose Baker that time.
“I won’t go to prom,” she repeated. The more she talked about it, the more she hated it. She didn’t want to wear a shiny-pretty Sophie dress and she didn’t want to dance with someone who wasn’t Eliot or Father Nate or maybe Hardison when he was sleepy and she didn’t want to go to some party with Gwynne or Patti or Alex when it was Parker Ford they liked and not her.
Sister Sophie thought about that for a moment. “Well, then I think we should go to Rome. The Vatican has some very interesting archives and we can even call it educational.”
And that was when Father Nate bit into one of the chili peppers Hardison hid on his plate at the same time Hardison asked, “What’s in Parker’s pants that Bobby wants?”
Hours later, Parker grinned into the darkness of Eliot’s room. Eliot had forced four glasses of milk on Father Nate, who turned a funny shade of red. And Sister Sophie tried to explain things to Hardison the same way Sister Maggie explained it to Parker, but he kept asking questions she didn’t want to answer. And Parker had grinned and grinned because this was even better than stealing; this was family.
Eliot leaned over Hardison, who was fast asleep and curled up in a tight little ball, and kissed Parker’s forehead. “Go to sleep,” he told her, in the low growl that said it was after midnight. “You’ve got to research the Vatican in the morning.”
And she did sleep, with her arms around Hardison and Eliot’s arms around her, with Eliot’s blue eyes wide open and watching for any nightmares sneaking in. And instead of dreaming of the bad people who came Before Eliot or dreaming of Bobby and Alex laughing about her body, she dreamt of sneaking through the Vatican, stealing relics and holy crosses.
Rating: PG-13
Universe: St Nicholas' Home for Troubled Youth, follows several months after Mr Banana
Pairings: Nate/Sophie, Eliot/Parker
Summary: Parker doesn't want to go to prom. No, Parker really doesn't want to go to prom.
Parker didn’t like to think about time Before Eliot. BE. Like BC except way more important.
There were other people before Eliot. There was Archie. Archie was the one who sent her to Santa’s House and that’s what got her Eliot, so she counted Archie as good. If Archie hadn’t taken her to Santa’s House, there would be no Parker-and-Eliot and that would be worse than bad.
And after Eliot, there were people, too. Eliot was the one who took her to Father Nate’s Sunday classes. And she met Sister Sophie when she was curled up in the safety of Eliot’s blankets. She found Hardison on her own, hiding in her old hiding spaces, bruised where she had been bruised, scared like she had been scared. So she took him to Eliot because Eliot was magic: he could make sure hiding spaces weren’t needed and bruises never came back and love fixed fear forever.
But before Eliot, there were bad times. There were bad times in Santa’s House, hiding from the bigger boys, getting all her answers wrong, Monsignor Blackpoole and then Monsignor Sterling. But it got better. Before Santa’s House and before Archie, there were really bad people; the people who gave her nightmares she couldn’t get rid of, no matter how tightly she held onto Hardison, no matter how big and strong Eliot was, no matter how safe Father Nate made their house, no matter how many stories Sister Sophie told. The nightmares snuck in like mice and bats and rats, slipped into her pillow at night, and had her wake up with tears on her face and no memories except fear.
That was how she found Eliot and then found everyone else. Monsignor had put her away from everyone else in Santa’s House, way up high with the pretty black-and-white sisters who had nothing to steal and nothing to hold onto. She found all the hideaways in Santa’s House because she was a hideaway. And at night, when she was bruised and scared and the nightmares chased her, she ran her way through the old hideaways and ran all the way to the place where the Real Boys slept.
And in the bedroom for the Real Boys, they all slept, except for Eliot who didn’t really sleep, even when he held Parker and Alec safe. Parker thought it might be because Eliot had nightmares who chased him, too, and they were bigger and scarer just like Eliot was bigger and scarier than Parker. She never asked because the night she was so scared she ran, Eliot pulled her into his arms and scared the nightmares away.
She knew his name was Eliot before then because that’s what Sister Maggie called him. And she knew he was bigger than the boys who bruised her and scared her and reminded her of the bad people. And he smelled good and when he got down on the floor and wrapped his arms around her, he didn’t try to do anything else. When she ran through the hideaways after that and slipped into his bed, as quiet and sneaky as cat, he didn’t do anything either, except wipe away her tears and tell her he would keep her safe.
She hadn’t believed him because no one kept her safe, not even the pretty smiling black-and-white nuns and priests. Archie said they would keep her safer than he could and the bruises on her arms and the crying in her head made him wrong. But Eliot didn’t lie to her and that was part of what made him magic. Father Nate and Sister Sophie and even little Hardison lied to her if they thought it was smart or she wouldn’t like the truth, but Eliot didn’t. She thought maybe Eliot had been lied to, too, even though they never talked about that, either.
There was a lot of truth they didn’t tell because the truth was sharp and painful. But silence was better than lies, especially if it was inside Eliot’s arms or curled up on the couch around Alec while Eliot showed them a shiny thing. And even Eliot’s silences could be as sharp and cutting as the truth when Hardison was angry or discovered Sophie’s nighttime stories weren’t full truths, none of them hurt as badly as lies would have. Eliot was safety and trust and if she lost that, Parker knew she would have to leave forever and she didn’t want to have to do that.
She was scared, though, that today was a day for Father Nathan to lie and Sister Sophie to cushion everything with fake stories and maybe, finally, the day for her Eliot to lie to her. She didn’t say anything to them when they walked home from Hardison’s school. She imagined the boy held her hand longer and Eliot tucked her more tightly under his arm, but she knew it wasn’t true. She wanted to somersault and jump away, but she wanted answers even more.
“What’s wrong?” Sister Sophie asked when they sat around the kitchen table and ate Chinese food. Sister Sophie wasn’t black-and-white and distant anymore, but Parker didn’t find the painted smiles and shiny jewelry any less confusing.
Parker stabbed her chicken. Eliot said it wasn’t authentic and was just mashing his rice and Szechuan hotpot in a bowl. She didn’t know what that meant. She didn’t know what anything meant anymore. Just when she was understanding Santa’s House, they left and she was lost again.
“I want to go back and steal American Gothic.”
“Stealing’s a sin. Especially if you don’t have a reason,” Father Nate told her around a mouthful of chicken.
“I like stealing,” Hardison protested. “Especially ice cream.”
Eliot shook his chopsticks at him. “You only get to steal ice cream after stealing my food. And Parker’s.”
Hardison pouted and made the big sad eyes that always forced Sister Sophie to cave. “But your food makes my mouth tingle!”
“He didn’t say you have to eat it,” Father Nate pointed out. “Just steal it and give it to someone who deserves it.”
Hardison pondered that. “Like Jesus?”
“Jesus didn’t steal, but if He did, He would give it to the needy,” Sister Sophie told him. “So you can steal like Jesus. But Parker, why do you want to steal a painting? Did something happen at school?”
“It wouldn’t have to be American Gothic,” Parker allowed. “I like Impressionists. We can go to Paris.”
She watched when Sister Sophie made eyes at Eliot and felt it when the sister kicked Father Nate under the table. She knew she’d said something wrong, but her fingers itched to take something, to prove that she knew how to do something right. If they couldn’t find her a museum, she would hide in bed, curling up under the blankets that still smelled like Eliot and Alec and the people who loved her best of all.
“What’s going on?” Eliot asked, in his best low-growly who-do-I-punch voice. Parker never told him it put shivers down her spine or that Peggy and Patricia at school tried to make him do that voice for them.
She put her chopsticks down and curled her arm around herself, making herself small the way she used to, in the time Before Eliot. “I won’t go to prom.”
Eliot blinked in surprise, like he was disappointed he couldn’t break the prom’s nose, and the thought made her giggle. Eliot didn’t notice when Hardison pulled two chili peppers and a slice of beef from his hotpot and snuck them onto Father Nate’s plate. Parker didn’t tell, even though she saw, because Sister Sophie was floundering for words and she didn’t get to see that very often.
“We can get you a dress,” Sister Sophie said finally, her eyes blinking too fast for that to be what she was really thinking. “Something long and black, like your favorite clothes. And maybe even a diamond necklace. I think I have something from the Lisbon job.”
“I don’t want to go. I won’t go.”
Hardison took advantage of the distraction and pulled a piece of chicken from Parker’s plate and studded it with peppercorns and ginger from Sister Sophie’s bowl. Parker thought she’d be proud of him if it didn’t feel like she had an angry bird trapped inside her chest. If someone didn’t do something, her chest would burst open and she would never, ever get to have the safety of holding on ever again.
“You don’t have to,” Father Nate declared in the voice that even Monsignor Sterling listened to and Parker felt like maybe she could breathe again. If Father Nate said so, then it was so and no one would have to do anything bad. “But-” Parker caught her breath and held it- “most people like their prom. Or think they will.”
Sophie gave him an appraising look, like Father Nathan said something surprising. She didn’t respond though. Hardison did his best to be big and tall and finish his dinner and pretend he didn’t hear them talking. He sat through enough job prelims and reviews and had enough trouble in school to know better than to ask questions before knowing all the answers.
Parker took a deep breath and tried to calm the angry bird inside her. If it didn’t stop trying to get out, she wouldn’t be able to answer the question Eliot was asking with his eyes. She wouldn’t be able to give Hardison the information he needed to grow up to be a Real Boy like Eliot and not like her. She needed to do it; she needed to see if they’d give her the truth.
“Peggy and Patti and Gwynne say I have to go to prom with Bobby,” she said, trying to get the words to them before they just fell out of her mouth. “And Peggy says I have to go on a diet and Patti says we’re going to a party at her brother’s first and -”
“Whoa,” Eliot interrupted, thank Father Nate’s Jesus and Sister Sophie’s Mary and Father Paul’s Joseph. Eliot looked pleased, like he figured out that if he couldn’t break the prom’s nose, he could break someone else’s. “Bobby Sweeney?”
Parker nodded. “He said I’m going to prom with me because I’m the perfect date. But I said we were going to Chicago and I was going to steal paintings instead.”
Eliot sighed. “And that’s why Bobby Sweeney had a pencil jammed into his arm in algebra.”
“You stabbed him?” Sister Sophie sounded really upset. “I thought you were working on that.”
“It was just a pencil. And he said I had to go with him and I had to go to Keller’s party afterward, but Gwynne says I have to go to hers and I won’t go to prom!”
“You aren’t going anywhere near the Keller’s house,” Father Nate said immediately. “They’re on the list.” Father Nate kept a list. It was really long and Parker thought he copied it from Santa’s naughty list because it was a list of every bad guy they would ever take down. Father Nate had started storing it on the computer because it was too long to write.
“And I’m gonna punch Sweeney so hard his ancestors feel it,” Eliot growled.
“Violence isn’t the answer to everything,” Sister Sophie told him. “I think it’s nice a local boy took an interest in Parker.”
“He just wants in my pants,” Parker told her. “I heard him telling Alex Moto he was going to put something in the punch to make it easy. He didn’t know I was in the ceiling vent.”
“I’m gonna- fucking ass-” Eliot growled under his breath, his fists clenching and unclenching.
“But I won’t go. So he won’t,” Parker told them earnestly. She was suddenly happy, even if Bobby Sweeney deserved to be stabbed and maybe Alex Moto, too, for what he said about her. But her family - her Eliot and her Father Nate and her Sister Sophie - they didn’t lie. They didn’t even tell her unhappy truths. She could stay here and figure it out and be with them. “That’s because we’re going to Chicago. Or Paris.”
“I’m gonna beat someone. And then I’ll take you to prom,” Eliot growled.
Father Nate winced at that. “Actually, you can’t. Principal Higgins sent me a very long letter saying why and how we’re making the other parents nervous. But you can’t bring Parker to prom.”
“It’s not like she’s my real sister!”
“I’m real!”
“But you’re not my sister,” Eliot told her. “You’re… my Parker.”
Parker could live with that. She knew she was Hardison’s sister because he told her so and he even wrote a story about his big brother and his big sister getting married and it caused a big problem at his school and they had to have another family meeting with Mr Bananno. And she knew Father Nate thought she was his daughter because he got drunk in Belize and had the bartender call his daughter, even if she was Rose Baker that time.
“I won’t go to prom,” she repeated. The more she talked about it, the more she hated it. She didn’t want to wear a shiny-pretty Sophie dress and she didn’t want to dance with someone who wasn’t Eliot or Father Nate or maybe Hardison when he was sleepy and she didn’t want to go to some party with Gwynne or Patti or Alex when it was Parker Ford they liked and not her.
Sister Sophie thought about that for a moment. “Well, then I think we should go to Rome. The Vatican has some very interesting archives and we can even call it educational.”
And that was when Father Nate bit into one of the chili peppers Hardison hid on his plate at the same time Hardison asked, “What’s in Parker’s pants that Bobby wants?”
Hours later, Parker grinned into the darkness of Eliot’s room. Eliot had forced four glasses of milk on Father Nate, who turned a funny shade of red. And Sister Sophie tried to explain things to Hardison the same way Sister Maggie explained it to Parker, but he kept asking questions she didn’t want to answer. And Parker had grinned and grinned because this was even better than stealing; this was family.
Eliot leaned over Hardison, who was fast asleep and curled up in a tight little ball, and kissed Parker’s forehead. “Go to sleep,” he told her, in the low growl that said it was after midnight. “You’ve got to research the Vatican in the morning.”
And she did sleep, with her arms around Hardison and Eliot’s arms around her, with Eliot’s blue eyes wide open and watching for any nightmares sneaking in. And instead of dreaming of the bad people who came Before Eliot or dreaming of Bobby and Alex laughing about her body, she dreamt of sneaking through the Vatican, stealing relics and holy crosses.