Serenelystrange - FIC - The SNAFU JOB, Part 2/3
Title: The SNAFU Job
Author: Valawenel
Giftee: serenelystrange
Rating: ? nothing disturbing in it
Characters/Pairing: The team, gen, canon (N/S, H/P)
Word Count: 8.400 words
Spoilers: Major spoilers for Season 5, the fic is a Tag for The Rundown Job
Warnings: no warnings
Disclaimer: /
Summary: Just a couple of hours after the events in Washington, the Team, though on opposite sides of the country, has to deal with one more problem.
Notes: This was a tough one. I really have no idea is this what you wanted (mainly because I still don't know exactly what fluff means) I tried to keep it full of good vibes, positive thinking, warm feelings, etc. and there's a happy end. When the list of your prompts grew ( and thank you for that, I was despairing, FleurB is my witness :D ), I took all of that and mixed together glimpses of hurt/comfort, H/P+E fluff, general fluff and N/S temporarily breaking up. I couldn't do AU - I don't do that, I can't. I hope you'll like it :/
The first part was 4.500 words, and it went without problem, this one is 4.050, and suddenly it's too large.
I have to cut it in two posts :/
***
“He is definitely hiding something,” Parker said quietly after Eliot put down the phone. Hardison had to agree with her. Eliot stared somewhere between two of them, tapping his other hand on the armrest.
Hardison pulled up the Dulles airport in one window, and Baltimore in the other.
“If they needed us, they would say that,” he warned them both.
“They are… sometimes… reckless when it comes to danger,” Eliot stated cautiously. “Do you want me to count all ridiculous things the two of them did in the past few years?”
“Yeah, you’re the right person to call anybody on their shit, right?”
“We’re not talking about me, but two members of the team who are, maybe, in some sort of trouble. And we are on the other side of the country. Search the flights, Hardison.”
“Nope,” he lowered both windows with the airport searches and put the Portland weather report on screen. “There’s no way you can fly in this condition, look at yourself - you’ll be half dead when we land.”
“Bullshit. We have to be near if we want to do something, not here.”
“We need more info before we make any decision. Be patient.”
“Who is gonna call whom?” Parker asked. She played with one still wet whip of her hair, and she was close to starting to chew on it, the dangerous sign of anxiety levels going up. This was still yellow alert, Hardison decided looking at them both. He needed to calm the situation down.
“I’m hungry,” he said cheerfully, hoping they were so used to his constant typing that they wouldn’t ask what the hell he was typing now.
“We can buy something on our way to the airport,” Eliot responded to his words, not to his irritating cheerfulness. Not good. The hitter rubbed his eyes, slow and almost clumsy - his usual intensity was fading fast, judging by his voice, softer and weaker version of his raspy growl.
He continued to type, not sure what to do; Eliot needed that bed as soon as possible, but there wasn’t any way now to make him rest or sleep, not until they decide what to do.
What they surely needed was a lightening of the atmosphere.
“I don’t think we should let you go anywhere.” Hardison said casually.
“Wha-You know, you should know better than to use let and me, in the same sentence. Nobody lets me go anywhere. I’ve told you already that flight won’t be a problem-“
“Nah, I wasn’t talking about the flight, I’m worried about the Felicity effect.”
This time, both of them stared at him.
“You cut your hair,” he explained.
Silence. The level of annoyance went into orange alert.
“You really don’t know- geez, people, everybody knows - when Felicity cut her hair, the series lost viewership: it’s known as Felicity effect in movie and TV business - you should’ve known that, being lately so close to TV writ-“
“Hardison…”
“Anyway, think Samson. You cut your hair, and what was the next thing that happened? You got shot. Twice. You used to fight many goons with guns, at the same time, and nothing, ziltch, nada, not a scratch. Today, one old man, a scientist, almost killed you. I wasn’t talking about letting you go to Portland… I was talking about not letting you go anywhere, not until your hair grows back.”
“Ouch,” Parker murmured.
Eliot stared at him. Hardison could clearly hear a very distinctive sound of his fingers snapping in Eliot’s head. Slowly. One by one.
Hardison crossed his arms and held his ground, fixing a grin on his face.
The phone rang right at the moment that he seriously contemplated locking himself in the bathroom, no matter how undignified - and useless - that was.
Eliot pointed one warning finger at him, snatching his phone at the same time. His glare faded into simple frowning when he saw a caller ID.
“Yes, Sophie?”
***
Worry was a gnawing little bitch. One couldn’t be a grifter if she didn’t have a vivid imagination, and Sophie’s slow walk, that should’ve calmed down her fears, became a torturous path full of what ifs, and all the possible scenarios that could go wrong in Washington.
She concentrated on the simple fact that they were all alive - for now - yet even that she couldn’t know for sure. She spoke only with Parker. The thief could lie to her - the thief did lie to her - and whatever was happening might’ve been more serious than she thought.
She gave up when she thought that Parker’s call was some sort of goodbye, that the rest of them were dead, and the thief was set on a suicide, revenge mission… damn drama. She made a mental note to switch to comedies with her class and dialed Eliot’s number.
She did manage not to blurt Oh, you’re alive! when he answered the phone. Barely.
“You know, if you’re going to spend those two days in Washington fighting over whatever you’re fighting about, you might as well come home, because you won’t see much of the town in between all the hissing and growling,” she said with a smile in her voice, listening to the every sound from the other side.
“Nothing unusual, Soph,” he said softly. Then paused. “What are you doing, by the way?” That question sounded even softer, and her alarms started ringing.
“Walking. Just finished with my class - Parker didn’t tell you? Is she there at all?”
“Yes, she mentioned it, she is here. Where’s Nate?” Another soft question. Silence around him, somehow, sounded… breathless.
“Around. Look, Eliot, Parker sounded strange on the phone… is she okay?” she bit her lip not to finish with What the hell are you doing, morons?
“She’s fine. Just stubborn. Y’ know what she eats, and how unhealthy it is. Y’all eat crap, but she passed that level like years ago, she’ll soon start to eat paper - not that artificial crap that goes in cereals has any more nutritive value-“
There was a strange tone in his voice, as if he was trying to make it normal. She listened better, searching for the thing he tried to hide. He spoke a little slower and his accent was escaping. Tired or beaten? They didn’t report any trouble with the Castelman goons, and it was this morning - he had enough time to recover. Whatever happened, it was near, and maybe it was happening as they spoke.
“How are you feeling?” she asked suddenly, jumping into his explanation.
“Annoyed?” came the quick response. “Are you listening to me at all?”
“Of course, continue,” she smiled. Before his reply, he drew in one sharp breath, surprised. She hit close to home. Something was happening with him, and it wasn’t good. Her worry was heading for real fear. “But before that,” she went on, “tell me how Castelman case went. Hardison only said it was done, nothing more. Any trouble with that?”
“Easier than we thought, though Parker had to deal with lasers,” he said without thinking. So, something happened later. How did they manage to get into the trouble in just a couple of hours?
“I guess you two are now resting, having nothing to do,” Eliot continued. “Any plans for the evening? Are you taking Nate to some obscure play, or will he be spared?”
She fell silent for the moment; yes, they had plans for evening, but it was before that dreadful talk. “Not sure yet… maybe. We’ll see. Eliot…” she struggled for words, not wanting to express her fear clearly. “I hope you all will have a good rest before your… sightseeing tomorrow. You will take care of them… make sure they have fun?”
“Of course,” his voice for the moment sounded no stronger than a whisper.
Dear Lord. She had to talk to Nate.
***
Parker eeped. Hardison chew on his lip, not wanting to admit he was now disturbed too - very disturbed. Sophie sounded as if she was never expecting to see them again, for god’s sake. Her last words sounded shaken.
“Was she…” Parker started, swallowed, then went on. “She told you to take care of us, like, like…”
“Parker, stop.” Eliot growled, but his glance to him was uncertain. “Don’t put much into those words, and please, don’t start with your theories.” He slowly got up from the chair, with stiff, careful moves.
“Her voice trembled,” Parker squeaked. “They are not together, and they are in danger, I don’t - maybe someone is chasing them - Hardison, get us on a plane.”
Hardison looked at Eliot, who was just standing, doing nothing, trying to control the urge to start, and at the same time trying to look calm and controlled so the two of them won’t worry.
“Try to find a direct flight,” Eliot said quietly. “It would be nice if we could be in Portland early in the morning, and not lose half a day with waiting on airports. And don’t start with what I can and what I can’t do - I’ll rest on the plane.”
“Right, planes are known as a perfect place to be comfortable after two bullets…” he sighed and shook his head. “Taxi is already on its way, it’ll be here in ten minutes, and private jet is waiting for us in Dulles - we’ll be in the air in a less than one hour,” he returned their frowning. “Yes, I did it immediately, just in case, to be ready if we had to go - but I’m against it. I want you to promise you’ll spend those hours laying down, not sitting. If there is something nasty going on in Portland, being there won’t make any difference if you won’t be able to stand up, much less to do something, okay?”
Eliot hesitated. “Okay,” he finally said, the words gritted with effort. Hardison knew Eliot was just trying to get him off his back and made a mental note to press him again as soon they arrived on airport.
Parker hurried in their room to get dressed. Hardison spent that minute watching Eliot, who was deciding if he should try to walk and show him he was barely able to do one step, or just stay there where he was, not moving, as if he wanted just that. That silent struggle would be fascinating to watch if it didn’t remind him of one more shock of that day - the realization that Eliot didn’t follow him and Parker when they ran out of the train with the briefcase.
He lived through fucking fifteen seconds of fear, when the silence warned them both and they split up from the hug, turning to look at the train, expecting him at the door. And seeing no one.
They didn’t say a word, didn’t have to - two more bullets were fired while they were on the tracks, and that silence was dreadful. He clearly remembered his hesitation - and he wasn’t proud of that - he didn’t want to go back to the train, terrified of what they might find. But Parker flew. And he followed.
They found him in almost the same position as he was in now; standing stiff, one hand clutching the chair - the seat - keeping him upright, unable to make a step, sit, anything except stare blindly into nothing, simply staying conscious.
“Knock it off, Hardison,” his words stirred him, Eliot was looking at him. “I’ll be able to run tomorrow, if needed.”
“Yeah, I know,” he said lightly and grinned. “Let’s just hope you won’t have to.”
Parker entered with their bag, ready to go.
She picked up the Garnier hair conditioner and put it in Eliot’s bag, carefully.
Eliot rolled his eyes, but said nothing.
Her phone rang and she eeped again.
***
“Oh. Nate!”
“Where are you?”
“In a taxi.”
“Doing what?”
“Driving.”
“I meant, where, Parker?”
“In Washington… And where are you?”
“In the office.”
“Doing what?”
“Things.”
“Where’s Sophie? Why isn’t she with you? What’s going on?”
“It’s midnight, Parker. She’s probably sleeping.”
“Why are you in the office at midnight?”
“Why do you sound so hysterical?”
“I’m not. We were sightseeing, we saw a lot of Washington, and we are now driving back.”
“And everything is perfectly fine, right?”
“We are perfect, we are fine, we are driving, and we’re having a great time.”
“Nice try, Parker.”
“Why are you in the office at midnight?”
“I’ll call you in the morning to see if you're still perfect and fine.”
“From the office? Why are you in the office at midnig-”
“Good night, Parker.”
***
Nate confirmed reservations for Washington, first flight in the morning, three of them. Two together in the first class, and one in Business, in case sitting together was impossible for them.
He filled one bag with all electronic equipment he could find and recognize on Hardison’s work desk. They all had spare clothes in the office so he didn’t have to go home to pack. He put all the IDs he could find into the bag and closed it.
The night in the office won’t be comfortable, but Parker’s chair was the size of a sofa; that’d do.
He poured one more Jack and tried not to think about tomorrow.
Author: Valawenel
Giftee: serenelystrange
Rating: ? nothing disturbing in it
Characters/Pairing: The team, gen, canon (N/S, H/P)
Word Count: 8.400 words
Spoilers: Major spoilers for Season 5, the fic is a Tag for The Rundown Job
Warnings: no warnings
Disclaimer: /
Summary: Just a couple of hours after the events in Washington, the Team, though on opposite sides of the country, has to deal with one more problem.
Notes: This was a tough one. I really have no idea is this what you wanted (mainly because I still don't know exactly what fluff means) I tried to keep it full of good vibes, positive thinking, warm feelings, etc. and there's a happy end. When the list of your prompts grew ( and thank you for that, I was despairing, FleurB is my witness :D ), I took all of that and mixed together glimpses of hurt/comfort, H/P+E fluff, general fluff and N/S temporarily breaking up. I couldn't do AU - I don't do that, I can't. I hope you'll like it :/
The first part was 4.500 words, and it went without problem, this one is 4.050, and suddenly it's too large.
I have to cut it in two posts :/
***
“He is definitely hiding something,” Parker said quietly after Eliot put down the phone. Hardison had to agree with her. Eliot stared somewhere between two of them, tapping his other hand on the armrest.
Hardison pulled up the Dulles airport in one window, and Baltimore in the other.
“If they needed us, they would say that,” he warned them both.
“They are… sometimes… reckless when it comes to danger,” Eliot stated cautiously. “Do you want me to count all ridiculous things the two of them did in the past few years?”
“Yeah, you’re the right person to call anybody on their shit, right?”
“We’re not talking about me, but two members of the team who are, maybe, in some sort of trouble. And we are on the other side of the country. Search the flights, Hardison.”
“Nope,” he lowered both windows with the airport searches and put the Portland weather report on screen. “There’s no way you can fly in this condition, look at yourself - you’ll be half dead when we land.”
“Bullshit. We have to be near if we want to do something, not here.”
“We need more info before we make any decision. Be patient.”
“Who is gonna call whom?” Parker asked. She played with one still wet whip of her hair, and she was close to starting to chew on it, the dangerous sign of anxiety levels going up. This was still yellow alert, Hardison decided looking at them both. He needed to calm the situation down.
“I’m hungry,” he said cheerfully, hoping they were so used to his constant typing that they wouldn’t ask what the hell he was typing now.
“We can buy something on our way to the airport,” Eliot responded to his words, not to his irritating cheerfulness. Not good. The hitter rubbed his eyes, slow and almost clumsy - his usual intensity was fading fast, judging by his voice, softer and weaker version of his raspy growl.
He continued to type, not sure what to do; Eliot needed that bed as soon as possible, but there wasn’t any way now to make him rest or sleep, not until they decide what to do.
What they surely needed was a lightening of the atmosphere.
“I don’t think we should let you go anywhere.” Hardison said casually.
“Wha-You know, you should know better than to use let and me, in the same sentence. Nobody lets me go anywhere. I’ve told you already that flight won’t be a problem-“
“Nah, I wasn’t talking about the flight, I’m worried about the Felicity effect.”
This time, both of them stared at him.
“You cut your hair,” he explained.
Silence. The level of annoyance went into orange alert.
“You really don’t know- geez, people, everybody knows - when Felicity cut her hair, the series lost viewership: it’s known as Felicity effect in movie and TV business - you should’ve known that, being lately so close to TV writ-“
“Hardison…”
“Anyway, think Samson. You cut your hair, and what was the next thing that happened? You got shot. Twice. You used to fight many goons with guns, at the same time, and nothing, ziltch, nada, not a scratch. Today, one old man, a scientist, almost killed you. I wasn’t talking about letting you go to Portland… I was talking about not letting you go anywhere, not until your hair grows back.”
“Ouch,” Parker murmured.
Eliot stared at him. Hardison could clearly hear a very distinctive sound of his fingers snapping in Eliot’s head. Slowly. One by one.
Hardison crossed his arms and held his ground, fixing a grin on his face.
The phone rang right at the moment that he seriously contemplated locking himself in the bathroom, no matter how undignified - and useless - that was.
Eliot pointed one warning finger at him, snatching his phone at the same time. His glare faded into simple frowning when he saw a caller ID.
“Yes, Sophie?”
***
Worry was a gnawing little bitch. One couldn’t be a grifter if she didn’t have a vivid imagination, and Sophie’s slow walk, that should’ve calmed down her fears, became a torturous path full of what ifs, and all the possible scenarios that could go wrong in Washington.
She concentrated on the simple fact that they were all alive - for now - yet even that she couldn’t know for sure. She spoke only with Parker. The thief could lie to her - the thief did lie to her - and whatever was happening might’ve been more serious than she thought.
She gave up when she thought that Parker’s call was some sort of goodbye, that the rest of them were dead, and the thief was set on a suicide, revenge mission… damn drama. She made a mental note to switch to comedies with her class and dialed Eliot’s number.
She did manage not to blurt Oh, you’re alive! when he answered the phone. Barely.
“You know, if you’re going to spend those two days in Washington fighting over whatever you’re fighting about, you might as well come home, because you won’t see much of the town in between all the hissing and growling,” she said with a smile in her voice, listening to the every sound from the other side.
“Nothing unusual, Soph,” he said softly. Then paused. “What are you doing, by the way?” That question sounded even softer, and her alarms started ringing.
“Walking. Just finished with my class - Parker didn’t tell you? Is she there at all?”
“Yes, she mentioned it, she is here. Where’s Nate?” Another soft question. Silence around him, somehow, sounded… breathless.
“Around. Look, Eliot, Parker sounded strange on the phone… is she okay?” she bit her lip not to finish with What the hell are you doing, morons?
“She’s fine. Just stubborn. Y’ know what she eats, and how unhealthy it is. Y’all eat crap, but she passed that level like years ago, she’ll soon start to eat paper - not that artificial crap that goes in cereals has any more nutritive value-“
There was a strange tone in his voice, as if he was trying to make it normal. She listened better, searching for the thing he tried to hide. He spoke a little slower and his accent was escaping. Tired or beaten? They didn’t report any trouble with the Castelman goons, and it was this morning - he had enough time to recover. Whatever happened, it was near, and maybe it was happening as they spoke.
“How are you feeling?” she asked suddenly, jumping into his explanation.
“Annoyed?” came the quick response. “Are you listening to me at all?”
“Of course, continue,” she smiled. Before his reply, he drew in one sharp breath, surprised. She hit close to home. Something was happening with him, and it wasn’t good. Her worry was heading for real fear. “But before that,” she went on, “tell me how Castelman case went. Hardison only said it was done, nothing more. Any trouble with that?”
“Easier than we thought, though Parker had to deal with lasers,” he said without thinking. So, something happened later. How did they manage to get into the trouble in just a couple of hours?
“I guess you two are now resting, having nothing to do,” Eliot continued. “Any plans for the evening? Are you taking Nate to some obscure play, or will he be spared?”
She fell silent for the moment; yes, they had plans for evening, but it was before that dreadful talk. “Not sure yet… maybe. We’ll see. Eliot…” she struggled for words, not wanting to express her fear clearly. “I hope you all will have a good rest before your… sightseeing tomorrow. You will take care of them… make sure they have fun?”
“Of course,” his voice for the moment sounded no stronger than a whisper.
Dear Lord. She had to talk to Nate.
***
Parker eeped. Hardison chew on his lip, not wanting to admit he was now disturbed too - very disturbed. Sophie sounded as if she was never expecting to see them again, for god’s sake. Her last words sounded shaken.
“Was she…” Parker started, swallowed, then went on. “She told you to take care of us, like, like…”
“Parker, stop.” Eliot growled, but his glance to him was uncertain. “Don’t put much into those words, and please, don’t start with your theories.” He slowly got up from the chair, with stiff, careful moves.
“Her voice trembled,” Parker squeaked. “They are not together, and they are in danger, I don’t - maybe someone is chasing them - Hardison, get us on a plane.”
Hardison looked at Eliot, who was just standing, doing nothing, trying to control the urge to start, and at the same time trying to look calm and controlled so the two of them won’t worry.
“Try to find a direct flight,” Eliot said quietly. “It would be nice if we could be in Portland early in the morning, and not lose half a day with waiting on airports. And don’t start with what I can and what I can’t do - I’ll rest on the plane.”
“Right, planes are known as a perfect place to be comfortable after two bullets…” he sighed and shook his head. “Taxi is already on its way, it’ll be here in ten minutes, and private jet is waiting for us in Dulles - we’ll be in the air in a less than one hour,” he returned their frowning. “Yes, I did it immediately, just in case, to be ready if we had to go - but I’m against it. I want you to promise you’ll spend those hours laying down, not sitting. If there is something nasty going on in Portland, being there won’t make any difference if you won’t be able to stand up, much less to do something, okay?”
Eliot hesitated. “Okay,” he finally said, the words gritted with effort. Hardison knew Eliot was just trying to get him off his back and made a mental note to press him again as soon they arrived on airport.
Parker hurried in their room to get dressed. Hardison spent that minute watching Eliot, who was deciding if he should try to walk and show him he was barely able to do one step, or just stay there where he was, not moving, as if he wanted just that. That silent struggle would be fascinating to watch if it didn’t remind him of one more shock of that day - the realization that Eliot didn’t follow him and Parker when they ran out of the train with the briefcase.
He lived through fucking fifteen seconds of fear, when the silence warned them both and they split up from the hug, turning to look at the train, expecting him at the door. And seeing no one.
They didn’t say a word, didn’t have to - two more bullets were fired while they were on the tracks, and that silence was dreadful. He clearly remembered his hesitation - and he wasn’t proud of that - he didn’t want to go back to the train, terrified of what they might find. But Parker flew. And he followed.
They found him in almost the same position as he was in now; standing stiff, one hand clutching the chair - the seat - keeping him upright, unable to make a step, sit, anything except stare blindly into nothing, simply staying conscious.
“Knock it off, Hardison,” his words stirred him, Eliot was looking at him. “I’ll be able to run tomorrow, if needed.”
“Yeah, I know,” he said lightly and grinned. “Let’s just hope you won’t have to.”
Parker entered with their bag, ready to go.
She picked up the Garnier hair conditioner and put it in Eliot’s bag, carefully.
Eliot rolled his eyes, but said nothing.
Her phone rang and she eeped again.
***
“Oh. Nate!”
“Where are you?”
“In a taxi.”
“Doing what?”
“Driving.”
“I meant, where, Parker?”
“In Washington… And where are you?”
“In the office.”
“Doing what?”
“Things.”
“Where’s Sophie? Why isn’t she with you? What’s going on?”
“It’s midnight, Parker. She’s probably sleeping.”
“Why are you in the office at midnight?”
“Why do you sound so hysterical?”
“I’m not. We were sightseeing, we saw a lot of Washington, and we are now driving back.”
“And everything is perfectly fine, right?”
“We are perfect, we are fine, we are driving, and we’re having a great time.”
“Nice try, Parker.”
“Why are you in the office at midnight?”
“I’ll call you in the morning to see if you're still perfect and fine.”
“From the office? Why are you in the office at midnig-”
“Good night, Parker.”
***
Nate confirmed reservations for Washington, first flight in the morning, three of them. Two together in the first class, and one in Business, in case sitting together was impossible for them.
He filled one bag with all electronic equipment he could find and recognize on Hardison’s work desk. They all had spare clothes in the office so he didn’t have to go home to pack. He put all the IDs he could find into the bag and closed it.
The night in the office won’t be comfortable, but Parker’s chair was the size of a sofa; that’d do.
He poured one more Jack and tried not to think about tomorrow.