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When Blackpoole picked up the gun, Sterling's fear ran like a bucket of ice water down his spine. The stupid bastard couldn't have incorporated his own death into his "master plan," could he?
Even as he asked himself the question, Sterling knew that Nate was exactly that kind of idiotic, selfish hero with a martyr complex—
"Clear the room. Clear the room!" he shouted, and people moved. He was glad to see that Maggie was one of them. The mortal didn't need to be dragged into this.
As the three of them were left alone in the empty gallery, Nate turned to watch his old boss with a condescending look. "Are you here to kill me, Ian?"
Blackpoole clicked the safety off, hands shaking. Nate had pushed him to the edge and past it. He was good at that.
Sterling set his jaw. He would have to clean up Nate's mess for him yet again.
Three Days Earlier
Parker didn't like leaving a job undone. It was like an itch in the back of her head. She could understand how everyone else had felt the same, even if they said the words like "I put a lot of work into this," and "I quit when I decide to quit."
"I just really wanted to hurt Sterling," Sophie said.
Nate made a face a little like he'd just bit into a lemon when she said that. Parker had tried that, once. It wasn't fun.
"Well," he managed, "he's in charge of security for the gallery. If we work together, we'll be able to break Blackpoole, and humiliate Sterling. If we work together," he stressed, looking at each of them in turn.
Nate was one to talk. He's the one that had warned Sterling that they were coming. Of course they were going to work together, they were a team.
Well—maybe not. Mostly? For one job. Just for this one job. They had to finish it, didn't they?
It would've been easier not to see them all again. Not in the least because Hardison was looking at her for answers. Her heart was all fluttery and strange, scared of a trap. She had already felt the teeth of it, almost moments too late—Hardison was mortal. As much as he felt like the rest of them did, as smoothly as he'd joined the team, he was still a mayfly. She couldn't risk that trap again.
The trouble with the plan they were building, on the other hand, was getting someone on the inside. They needed someone to rearrange the museum for them, but none of them could do it. No one brought up the idea of bringing someone else into the team, and Parker agreed. It was theirs.
...Didn't they already have someone on the inside? Kind of? Parker didn't pretend to understand marriage, but she knew it meant a lot to people, the red thread tying both of them together. "What about Maggie?" Parker asked through the argument.
Her magician—Hardison, he was just Hardison—Hardison understood first, and Nate did soon after, though he didn't like her idea. Unfortunately for him, they didn't have another idea.
Maggie it was.
Parker was curious about her for...reasons. A mortal who had loved an immortal was weird, right? Just like an immortal that loved a mortal.
When they split apart, Parker made sure Hardison didn't see her leave the room.
As he set aside the burner phone he'd used as a museum guard, Eliot could see the jealousy in Nate's every jerky movement and sour glare, could hear it in his excuses and protectiveness.
"It's not a date," Eliot said, starting to pull his hair back.
"Are you kidding me? You're fixing your hair?"
Eliot dropped his hands, watching Nate pace with narrowed eyes. "Because I'm playing Professor Sinclair."
Nate scoffed.
"You need to move on," he warned.
That little push wound Nate up enough that he finally snapped. "My relationship with Maggie doesn't concern you, okay? I didn't ask for your opinion, and quite honestly, you are not somebody who has room to talk, here. So excuse me if I'm a little uncomfortable using my wife for a con."
"Didn't bother you last time."
Nate paused and tipped his head, a coldness in his eyes, his anger turning quiet and dangerous. "What—uh, what do you mean by that, Eliot?"
Eliot stood, turning to lean against the desk. "You brought her in as a mark—a complication, at least," he added when Nate would've interrupted. "She helped you by verifying the David, although I'm pretty sure she knew something was up."
Nate’s eyes narrowed slightly. "Yeah, she did."
"The plan was to discredit Blackpoole by proving that they were fakes—"
"I was there too. Could you get to the point, already?"
"What do you think might happen to the reputation of the art expert that verified the Davids?"
Nate hesitated, and Eliot smiled bitterly. "Yeah, figured you didn't think about that. You were so focused on getting your revenge on Blackpoole—"
"That's not—Maggie wouldn't have been—I mean, there's a chance—"
Eliot raised an eyebrow.
"Well, I didn't see you bringing it up. If you care so much—"
"I don't care, Nate," he interrupted, starting to feel his age. "And it's not like you would've listened to me even if I had brought it up."
Nate started pacing again. His laugh was condescending. "You know, I think I've figured out what the problem with you is. You were born into a world of war and you've stayed right in the middle of your comfort zone. You don't know what it's like to build a family." He inhaled sharply, rubbing one eye to try to hide his tears. "You don't know what it's like to hold your son in your arms for the last time. You run away before you can even get close. You've never cared about anyone like that, and you want to lecture me about letting go when the man responsible is standing in front of me? Yeah, try living first."
He consciously relaxed his hands, but it was too late to stop the surge of rage. The only thing he could do was control it, but control he had in spades. "You think you're the only person to experience that pain?" He snorted. "Get over yourself, Ford. You're not special."
Nate bit out a laugh. "Yeah, yeah you handled Aimee so well—"
"I'm not talking about Aimee," he snapped. "I'm talking about my wife. My daughter. My two little boys." He took a shaky breath. "They died early, during the plague. The poor usually do."
The blood drained from Nate's face.
"This is what I've been trying to explain to you," he said tiredly. "No matter what you do, the people you love are going to die in one of a million awful ways. If you stick around long enough, you get to see it happen. You just...have to come to terms with that, Nate. If you don't, it's going to destroy you—and you'll hurt others on the way down."
Nate's mouth worked for a moment before he shook his head. "Eliot, why the hell are you a soldier?"
He rubbed his shoulder and shrugged. "Because soldiers understand that."
"Look, I'm...I didn't mean to...."
"Don't bother," he said dryly. "It was before you were born, Nate. I'm fine."
Nate made a face at the reminder of his age.
He folded his arms. "Are we doing this or not?"
Nate glanced away from him and nodded. Jealousy still stiffened his shoulders.
He took a breath. Nate had heard, finally, but he wasn't going to listen. Past time for him to resume his own role.
Eliot sighed and finished fixing his hair. He'd washed his hands of it early on.
If you'd washed your hands of it, the coldest part of himself thought, you wouldn't be here.
While that might be true, it would all be over soon enough. Just one more job.
After their planning session, Maggie joined the rest of the team sans Nate to watch "Adam" cook lunch with the skills of a professional chef. The by-play of the crew had an edge to it that Maggie didn't want to address, and she certainly didn't want to dwell on what Nate had told her about their son. That left her with very little to occupy herself, except for one thing.
She knew very well that Nate was immortal. When right after your honeymoon your husband tried to hide that he'd cut his hand badly on broken glass, had no injuries from it, but you were the one who did the laundry—when you started paying close attention to the words he muttered under his breath only to hear archaic Italian—when you joked about "living forever" and watched him freeze in panic for a moment before laughing it off—
Maggie had figured it out relatively quickly, all things considered. Hearing him and James argue about it in whispers she was sure were meant to be quiet mainly helped her get over her very logical disbelief.
Now, looking around a room of thieves, she found herself curious.
Sophie Devereaux was absolutely immortal. She'd known that already, given the way Nate talked about her, but the other three? That was a little harder to tell.
She thought Parker might be immortal, given the "adorable" comment, or that might just be who she was. Maggie knew they thought she was naive. On balance, with Parker being the best thief in the world, Maggie was inclined to think she was.
Eliot was a bit of an enigma. For the most part, he acted fairly modern. She'd seen that in how he'd flirted with her, in how he acted now. On the other hand, the way he was working with his kitchen knife held an economy of movement that was impressive. He could just be very well trained. No doubt he was. But it felt like it might be more than that.
The deciding factor there was the way he and Sophie were carefully not interacting. Maggie didn't know what had caused the awkwardness between them, but it reminded her of the way Nate and James had studiously ignored each other at work when they had begun to fall out with each other.
Hardison didn't seem immortal, but he shared a connection with the others that could belie that. There was no reason an immortal couldn't become good with computers. But the way he brought up his Nana? No, his family was still alive.
That didn't discount him, Maggie thought. After all, what did she know about immortality? He might just be...new to it.
"Hold up, stop what you're doing, I've got today's history fact," Hardison announced.
Eliot pulled a face. "Can you stop with that, already? They're so bad."
"It's tradition," Hardison argued. "You respect tradition, don't you?"
"Not this one."
"But it's funny how wrong they are," Parker said. She snorted. "It's like they don't even speak Egyptian."
"Some people don't speak Egyptian, Parker," Sophie said carefully, with a glance at her.
Maggie sipped her glass of water and pretended not to notice. Parker was definitely immortal then.
"Eliot, you speak Egyptian, right?" Parker asked.
Eliot opened his mouth, but hesitated.
"Right?"
"No, Parker, I don't speak Egyptian," he said.
She looked disappointed.
"This one is about the Middle Ages," Hardison announced.
"Damn it, Hardison—"
"The Black Death was spread because people killed cats out of superstition."
Sophie's expression shifted to concern as she looked at Eliot. Eliot, meanwhile, was rolling his eyes. "No one was killing cats. Besides, that's not how diseases work."
"Why would people kill cats?" Parker said, bemused.
"They didn't. Hardison, where the hell do you keep finding these things?"
He pointed at his laptop, playing at innocence.
"It's just dumb, man."
"Look, I'm trying to educate myself—"
"Educate, huh? Have you tried books?"
"Books? Are you kidding me—?"
"I mean, it's actually pretty hard to kill a cat," Parker mused.
Hardison glanced at her sidelong. "Okay. I am not going to think about how you know that."
"You'll eat cat, but you won't eat my chili?" Eliot asked, offended.
Parker shrugged, eating a handful of cereal from the box she now had.
"Eat?" Hardison asked.
"To be fair, no one eats cat because they enjoy it," Sophie said.
Eliot pointed at her without looking away from Parker. "Not helping."
"Eat?" Hardison repeated.
Maggie set down her glass. "So, are all of you immortal? Or is Hardison really the odd man out?"
You could have heard a pin drop in the silence that followed. Glancing around, Maggie saw a wide range of reactions. Sophie was watching her with a clinical coldness. Eliot had turned pale, taking a step back. Parker ate more cereal with another shrug, and Hardison—
Hardison was beaming at her. "Maggie Collins, you are my hero. Yes, I'm the odd man out. Tell me the inside jokes annoy you as much as they do me."
"I thought you might know," Sophie said lightly. "The way you acted around Nate at the party was...unique."
"I really wasn't expecting to see him again. Not as Nate, at least."
"When did he tell you?"
Maggie laughed. "Tell me? No, he definitely didn't tell me."
"I'm gonna kill him," Eliot announced. "This is the second time. I am going to kill him."
"Please don't kill my ex-husband," she requested, "even temporarily. I'm sorry to startle you like that. I promise, that information will not go beyond me."
Eliot pushed his hair back from his face, still looking uneasy. "What choice do I have? I won't—" He motioned to her.
"We cool?" Hardison interrupted, exuberant. "Because I have to know how you figured it out."
Maggie smiled.
Nate chose that moment to join them. He had always had a singular sense of timing. "Did uh...something happen?" he asked.
Eliot twirled a knife through his fingers, glaring at him.
Parker ate some more cereal. "Maggie was going to tell us how she figured out you're immortal."
Nate froze up, then tried to laugh it off. "Maggie, you—what? There's no such thing as immortality—"
Eliot gave a despairing little laugh. "Why am I even surprised?"
Sophie had been putting off talking to Eliot. She knew she had. He had stated where he stood—where they stood with each other—all too clearly. The trouble was, she felt like she didn't know what had caused it.
Still, she had to do something to address the tension between them. She spotted him from the other end of the empty house, walking towards him.
Eliot was working on the gas dispersion system, Hardison standing behind him, watching over his shoulder.
"No you gotta—you gotta tighten that bolt more—"
"I know what I'm doing, man," Eliot grumbled at him. "Pressurized gases ain't that hard to work with."
"Neither are computers, but I don't see you managing them."
Eliot sighed and kept working. Hardison blinked down at the equipment. "Oh, you—that makes sense. Huh, I never thought about it that way before."
"Old steam engine trick. Something you wanted, Sophie?" Eliot asked without looking at her, without missing a beat.
"I—" Hardison was watching them. She didn't want to ask him to leave the room; she switched to Japanese. "Okami and I know each other?" she asked, keeping her word choice as neutral and intentional as possible.
Eliot glanced up at her. His gaze was cold. "Yeah, we're okay," he said in English. "I'd say we're better than okay. We both know where we stand with each other now."
"She trying to apologize for getting us all caught?" Hardison asked.
Sophie bit her lip, ignoring the interjection. "Okami by this means what?"
"We already had this conversation." he said, turning back to the gas device dismissively. He briefly switched to Japanese. "It is a liability to care, for a grifter. Now we both know that."
That...that hurt. They were friends. Casually, but still friends. "Okami does not understand," Sophie tried, a little desperate.
Eliot stared at her.
"You sound strange," Parker said in Japanese behind her.
Sophie jumped. She pressed a hand to her chest, trying to calm her racing heart.
"She's trying to be formal without actually using the right words," Eliot explained, back to English again.
"Oh, she's trying to apologize?" Parker asked, walking over to the other two. "She tried that with me. She's kind of bad at it, isn't she?"
"I don't think this one's going any better," Hardison said to her.
Sophie abandoned all hope of a private conversation. "Eliot, we've known each other for years—"
"No, we haven't," Eliot interrupted. "But that's fine. Don't need to know each other to work together."
Sophie felt a chill. "I don't—"
"One job, then it's on to the next thing. That's what we all agreed."
Parker and Hardison quieted then, hacker glancing at thief only to see her duck away from him.
Sophie closed her eyes, a little despairing. She had so few anchors to moor her. Even buildings crumbled over time. "Eliot, please," she said. "I'm sorry."
He slowed in his work, studying her. His shoulders slumped, his expression softened. "Okay," he said. "Just—you're gonna have to give me time. We're gonna have to talk about this. And I'm not the one you should be apologizing to for that last stunt."
She looked between Parker and Hardison. They glanced at each other, barely; Hardison shrugged and Parker nodded. Sophie sighed softly. It was a relief, of course, but it had felt so draining. Even now, things weren't really resolved with Eliot, but the promise that in time they could be was enough.
"Your name was Wolf in Japan?" Parker asked Eliot.
He blinked at her. "I-I mean, that wasn't my name—"
"No, just the title on your bounty," Sophie filled in, amused.
Hardison lit up. "Bounty? Oh, I gotta hear this."
"Damn it, Hardison—"
"What? This sounds cool as hell, man!"
Behind her, Sophie could hear Nate wandering closer. She started to smile, pulling together the words—but stopped. She glanced at Eliot for permission, tilting her head.
He looked surprised at that. Sophie had a sinking feeling about what she had just apologized for. But for the moment, Eliot shrugged and nodded once, letting her tell the story of how she'd kept him from being beheaded.
"In the days of Feudal Japan," she opened with, "there were two warring shoguns—"
At the gallery, still holding his ticket, Nate stepped past Blackpoole, smiled at Sterling, and walked over to the two Davids. The maquettes held pride of place in their case, while the rest of the equally important, expensive paintings and statuary were dotted about as ornamentation.
It was hilarious to watch Sterling run past on yet another one of his wild goose chases, shooting him a furious glare as he went by. He liked to brag about how well he knew them? That could just as easily be turned into a weakness.
Soon enough, it was time for Nate to go. He nodded to the maquettes and made his way to the roof.
The whole idea was to perform a magician's vanishing trick. To lock a box and make everything inside it disappear. It was a classic for good reason. It was a delight watching his team strip the walls of art. In this moment, everything else aside, they were competent and united in purpose. Each piece removed sounded the knell of Blackpoole's destruction just a little louder. It felt so good to have his anger be satiated like that.
Then it was time for the grand reveal. The audience response didn't disappoint. He looked at the gun and nearly laughed.
"Clear the room. Clear the room!" Sterling ordered, sounding worried and furious about it.
"Are you here to kill me, Ian?" Nate mocked.
Blackpoole cocked the gun, his true colours showing through in his grotesque expression. He had played the affable rich man quite well up until this point. It was a pleasure to see him flayed open, his greed feeding his rage and leading to his downfall.
Nate turned his attention to Sterling, dismissing Blackpoole like the scum he was. "Here's how it's going to go, Sterling," he said.
"I'm all ears," he said, looking between them warily.
"No, you talk to me, not to him. You talk to me!" Blackpoole ordered. Begged.
Nate had begged for him to help Sam. He would have prostrated himself if he'd thought it might work. "Every single painting will be returned to IYS the moment Ian Blackpoole is stripped of his position and all his assets in the company. Also, his policy of denying every claim? That ends."
Sterling tipped his head, disapproving but thoughtful. "Extortion."
"I prefer to call it 'oversight.'" He picked up the recorder before Sterling could start an argument, playing their own damning words back to them. He caught Sterling's eye and lobbed it to him, ignoring the childish urge to hurl it at his face. "When the owners of these paintings realize that Ian knew there was going to be a theft, but didn't call the police, well, they're gonna sue the hell out of him, aren't they?" he asked him, playing at reasonable.
Sterling looked at the recorder. Slowly, he looked up. Nate stared back, unflinching. Sterling raised an eyebrow. "But if the company, in good faith, returns their paintings?"
"They might not fire you if you give them Blackpoole," Nate said, a little reluctant. They may not be friends, but Sterling's current life may just have another few years. That, Nate could easily let him keep.
Sterling laughed, shaking his head.
Ian turned to point the gun at Sterling, then; Nate straightened. But when Sterling glanced up, he didn't seem fazed.
"Sterling, you work for me," Blackpoole said.
He gave him that contemptuous look Nate knew so well. It was a pleasure to see when it was pointed at someone that actually deserved it.
Blackpoole turned back to him, and Nate could see the desperation and growing despair clawing through him. "IYS is my company," he said, finger shaking on the trigger.
Nate stepped forward, and the rest of the man shook with fear, too. "‘Can't let personal feelings affect policy,’" he quoted back at him with a sneer. "‘You have a responsibility to shareholders. No exceptions.’"
Blackpoole paled, his arm wavering. Nate grabbed the gun from his limp hand, stepping forward again when he stumbled back a step. "I have lost my only son. Do you really think you scare me?!" he shouted at him.
The worm tried to flee, but there was nowhere for him to go. Nate felt angry, still, but so very satisfied. It was everything he'd hoped for, watching the man who let his son die grovel for mercy and be denied.
As he passed Sterling the gun, the other caught his wrist. "Nate," he said quietly, looking away from him. "About Sam."
The rage started boiling up again. "Yeah," he growled between gritted teeth, "I heard all of your advice to 'get over myself' and 'let go of’—"
"I'm sorry."
Nate felt a sharp ache in his chest.
Sterling glanced at him and snorted, tucking the gun away. "I thought that might surprise you."
"Fuck off, Sterling."
"With pleasure."
At which point Maggie punched Blackpoole in the face.
Nate gaped at his wife, watching her as she flexed her hand. "Screw therapy," she said to herself. "That felt really good."
He loved her. If he could have, he'd marry her again.
"I'll call you when it's done," Sterling said, excusing himself from further conversation.
"You do that," Nate said, flashing him a smug smile.
Sterling's expression turned sour before he turned his back on him and walked away.
The museum cleared, eventually. Blackpoole was gone, Sterling was gone, but Maggie...Maggie was sitting in the empty gallery, studying the two Davids in the half-light.
He sat down next to her with a sigh. "Maggie," he said.
"Nate," she replied, holding back a smile.
"What do you think?" he said, nodding towards the Davids. "Not many people have seen them both that know what it means."
She looked from them to the empty walls. "Well, you know me. I care about art for its own sake."
Nate smiled.
"Do you think you're ready to move on now?" she asked him.
Move on? It had barely been—he'd gotten his revenge, yes, but the loss of Sam was still an open wound, his life was still just—
"Nate?"
He looked down at the wedding ring he still wore, then over at Maggie. "I, uh...I don't know," he said.
Maggie frowned.
He hadn't meant to worry her. "Look, Maggie, it's just—just what those therapists are telling you, right? You need time to—to grieve, and it's not exactly something you can schedule, right? So I just, I...I need time."
What he really needed was more time with Sam. He ran both hands over his face.
Maggie took his hands in hers. "Nate," she said, keeping her voice low. "You're forty-six. Aren't things going to start getting...dangerous?"
"Forty-six?"
"Your birthday was three weeks ago."
He closed his eyes for a moment. He'd...apparently he'd lost a lot of time while drunk. "It's just—look, you don't have to worry about me. I'm fine—"
"Are you?"
"I can just—"
"Nate."
"I'm not ready," he pleaded, "I'm not ready, Maggie. Please—"
"Okay," she soothed. "That's okay. You're right, you do need time to grieve. Just...at least move away from LA. It's too risky for you to stay here."
He shook his head, and she looked him in the eye. "Nate," she said, serious. "You have to."
“Maggie—”
She raised a stern eyebrow. “Don’t go pulling an Orpheus on me.”
He laughed even though it hurt. Him being Orpheus assumed that Death would have ever let her or Sam go.
The phone rang. Nate groaned. "That'll be Sterling—"
"Better answer it, then."
He caught her hand. "Maggie—"
She took his hand in both of hers and—pulled off his wedding ring. "Nate," she said, setting the ring in his hand with a wry smile. "Let's finish this."
Walking away was the hardest thing Hardison had ever done in his life.
It was also the smart thing. Crews had a natural lifespan. The more jobs they pulled, the more the evidence piled up. No matter how careful you were, there were some traces that not even he could erase. They'd brought themselves back together past the point when it should have been impossible, full on resurrecting the team. Hardison couldn't be surprised, considering the team he was running with, but it was only a temporary measure. The time had come to move on to new opportunities.
It was a good thing for other reasons, too. Nate was a walking time bomb of issues, built up over five hundred years. Sophie had lied to them to get them to do what she wanted, that wasn't great. Hardison didn't really know much about Parker, all things considered, and he didn't think he wanted to know more about Eliot’s past.
Even then. Even then, he didn't want to walk away. He was sure the rest of them had plenty of practice, but he didn't, okay? He was excruciatingly aware now that he only had a very short time to live his life and he wanted to spend it like this. The one that hurt the most, though...he wanted to see Parker again. He wanted to talk about that kiss. But it might take a hundred years for her to reach that point, maybe a thousand. How was he supposed to know? Either way, barring technological intervention, he wouldn't be around to see it.
"We made a difference," Nate was saying. Sophie's expression shifted towards sorrow. Eliot's expression went blank. Parker looked down.
Hardison turned to her, feeling a pulse of desperation that he tried to keep out of his voice. "Where you going?" he asked.
Parker smiled, and it was twenty things at once. Mostly, it was sad. "Let's see how hard you look," she said.
He had a sliver of a chance. Maybe he would never find her, not if she didn't want to be found, but at least he had a chance.
Remember me, he thought at them as he walked away. At least remember me.
End of Season 1