Archive of Our Own

The Stork Job Aftermath

They take two public planes home from Serbia, packed away in Economy with identities that Hardison cooked up a few weeks ago and backdated to all hell. 

Parker climbs into the place the bags are kept and curls up into the tightest ball she can. She does not sleep. She barely closes her eyes the entire plane ride, even to blink. (She misses Bunny.) When the plane lands, she slips out with the airport crew none the wiser. She’s very good at making herself disappear.

They’re not close enough to take one car back to headquarters. Eliot gets punchy when he’s stuck in close quarters with Hardison for too long, Sophie gets snippy if Nate even thinks about driving while drunk, Nate always drinks, and Hardison’s games are loud in the awkward silence of the packed car.

And Parker? Parker needs to move . She can’t put up with the smell of alcohol for too long, can’t put up with all the touching that her new crew does almost thoughtlessly, can’t take all the squirmy feelings she gets when Hardison cracks a joke and smiles with bright eyes and teeth showing.

She hitches a ride on top of a bus, appreciating the wind in her hair as she flattens against the thin metal roof. The others will find their own way back.

She does not sleep that night.

Midnight falls, and Parker climbs to the tallest roof she can get access to without risking an automated security system. She’s not far from headquarters. Eliot’s nearest safehouse is only a mile away. If she wanted to, she could call Hardison and ask him about that Space Wars movie he’s always going on about.

She does not move. Instead, she lays on the roof and waits for the next guard change. As sunlight peeks over the horizon, Parker is back in her warehouse. She is still wide awake. When she closes her eyes, she smells urine-stained clothes and alcohol on a man’s breath.

Two days pass. They haven’t had a job since Serbia. Parker likes to pass the time between jobs by hanging out in the Leverage Headquarters rafters.

She’s tired.

Parker’s feet take her to Sophie’s office without her say-so. Sophie, unlike Eliot or Parker (except for the plant sitting at the window), has decorated her office like they’re an actual company that takes clients and not a bunch of criminals trying to make up for their pasts. There’s a desk, a comfy couch, some chairs, and an array of photographs on a nearby shelf. Parker wonders if any of the pictures are genuine.

Sophie is sitting at her desk, poking around on the computer Hardison set up for her. She’s probably shopping for shoes. Sophie likes shoes.

“Sophie,” Parker says. Then she stops. The words stick in her throat. She doesn’t want to say anything else.

“Parker,” Sophie says back. Her eyes, always so round, look up at Parker with emotion she has never been able to identify. The reflection of her screen bounces off the windows behind her office chair. “Did you need something?”

Does she need something?

She nods.

“You know how people work,” she says without thinking. “I don’t.”

A beat of silence, then Sophie speaks, slowly, like she’s trying to figure Parker out. Parker understands. She rarely knows what’s going on in her own head. Well, that’s not true. She knows exactly what happens inside her head. It’s others’ heads she has a problem with.

“That’s right,” Sophie says. She leans back in her seat, and the metal joints creak. She doesn’t go on. Is she waiting for Parker to say something?

Parker bites her lip subconsciously. She wants to run, to climb into the vents that Hardison so generously widened throughout the headquarters and forget about why she’s here. She stays exactly where she is.

“I need help,” is what her mouth decides to say. She frowns. She doesn’t like admitting that, especially to another thief. Why is she giving in so easily? Being on a team must be making her weak. She’s not sure she dislikes it.

Sophie leans forward and rests her elbows on her desk. She tilts her head up to keep eye contact. She still doesn’t say anything else. Parker squirms. Are all grifters like this?

“I’ve been feeling… feelings ,” Parker says begrudgingly. “Since Serbia. And I don’t know how to fix them. Normally, I would just go steal something and watch the security scramble like ants, but Nate wouldn’t like that, right? He’s the boss, I can’t steal anything he doesn’t want me to or I’ll have to go back to the solo game. I like it here. I don’t want to leave yet.”

It rushes disjointedly out of her like a wave, all without her consent. She feels all of five years old, facing her foster mom and rambling about the rock she found in the playground (it shined like a gem when she held it up to the light.)

She should leave. She memorized the blueprints when Hardison introduced them to the building. There’s a vent two feet to her right near the ceiling. It’s attached only by latches. She could tear it off and disappear into the skeleton of the building in point nine seconds.

“Parker,” Sophie says. Parker likes it when Sophie says her name. Her accent curves around the consonants like a tarp over a diamond. “Would you like to sit down?”

She gestures to the comfy couch. It has a checkered pattern and looks soft. The cushions look bouncy. Parker blinks down at it. Does she want to sit? Sophie bought it, which means it’s probably expensive. Her skin usually doesn’t like the feeling of expensive furniture. The fabric is too stiff and itchy.

“Hardison recommended it to me,” Sophie says, like that at all makes sense. Can she see into Parker’s head? She sounds amused, “No, Parker. I can’t read your mind. It’s like you said earlier, I know how people work.”

If Hardison recommended the couch, it should be safe. Right? Right.

Parker slowly steps towards the couch, eyes warily flicking back and forth between it and Sophie. Sophie just watches her. The sunlight filtering in through the window casts Sophie’s face in high contrast, sharpening her cheekbones. Parker likes Sophie’s bone structure.

She sits on the couch.

“May I sit next to you, Parker?”

Parker blinks. Nobody else asks before acting. How much can Sophie tell from those grifter skills of hers? Even Nate doesn’t bother asking before sitting next to her, and Nate is the mastermind. Is Sophie playing her? Trying to get her vulnerable so she can profit off it? Does it matter?

Parker nods. “Sure.”

Unlike Parker who moves like a thief, all lithe and calculated movements, Sophie rises from her chair like an actress in a really old movie. She’s elegant and poised. Is that an act too? Parker can’t tell. Sophie’s always been so elegant. When she’s not on the stage, at least. The grifter settles softly onto the couch about a foot from where Parker’s sitting. She’s not too close; it’s a perfect distance. Maybe Sophie calculates her movements too, just in a different way.

“What kind of feelings are you feeling, Parker?” Sophie asks. Her voice sounds like a song. Does she do that on purpose? It’s nice. Relaxing.

“Bad things.”

“Would you like to talk about these bad things?”

A pregnant pause. (She’s never understood that phrase. There are a lot of phrases she doesn’t understand, but that one? How can a pause be pregnant? If you want to say a pause is full of something unspoken, why wouldn’t it be a ‘full’ pause?)

“I don’t know,” Parker says instead of the automatic denial and deflection that she wants desperately to go with. “I want…”

She trails off. What does she want?

With great trepidation, like she’s talking to a startled animal, Sophie asks very quietly, “Would you like a hug, Parker?”

Oh. Is that what she wants? Her brow furrows.

“It’s just,” Sophie continues, “if you wanted passive comfort, you would have gone to Hardison or Eliot. If you wanted a job, you would have gone to Nate. But you came to me. That leaves two options. Either you want to talk things through with someone who can help you look at things from another angle, or you want active comfort. Like a hug.”

Huh. Her thought process makes logical sense. Is that how Sophie sees all social contact? Parker’s never had to think of things that way. Then again, Parker’s not the grifter.

“And you don’t look like you want to talk,” Sophie adds softly.

Parker fights the urge to run. Sophie isn’t forcing eye contact, she hadn’t done that to Parker even when they had just met, but she’s looking at her with all of her attention. It’s unnerving.

“So, would you like a hug, Parker?” she asks again.

Parker nods. She expects the world to glitch around her like in one of Hardison’s video games, but reality stays the same. Sophie doesn’t move abruptly or laugh cruelly like experience has taught Parker she will. Instead, she reaches out with both hands and grabs Parker’s wrists.

Sophie’s hands are cold. That’s the first thing she registers, oddly enough, and not the rough itch she usually feels when people try to touch her. Cold, but impossibly soft. Parker’s hands have calluses and scars from past jobs gone wrong, but Sophie? She’s smooth. Parker bets she smells like moisturizer. Sophie’s fingers sweep smoothly over Parker’s wrists until she’s gripping them firmly, like handcuffs. The pressure makes Parker let out a breath she hadn’t known she was holding.

“Oh,” she says. How does that work?

Sophie smiles, and her eyes crinkle in the corners. That means it’s a real smile, Parker’s learned. The hands around her wrists squeeze. Parker’s pulse pounds under the thin skin there. She should be panicking. She’s not panicking.

“Breathe, Parker,” Sophie says, reading her mind again.

Parker exhales shakily. She blinks, and her eyelashes feel wet against her cheeks. She can still smell the damp closet that Home Seven locked her in after she climbed up to the school’s roof and refused to come down. She blinks again to clear her head of the memories. She should be at a museum right now, stealing an expensive painting right under security’s nose. Why is she here in Sophie’s office?

“I keep… remembering it.” She’s the one who speaks, she realizes when her throat vibrates. “All the bad things from Before. I haven’t slept since Belgrade.”

Her face is wet. She hates crying in front of people.

“Oh, sweetie,” Sophie whispers. Her breath hits Parker’s cheek. She’s closer than she was when she sat down. “I’m going to hug you now, okay? If you need to escape, I’d rather you keep your elbows and nails away from my fragile bits. Alright, darling?”

Parker finds herself nodding. She closes her eyes. She doesn’t want to hurt Sophie. It’s nice that Sophie understands that.

Elegant arms move to wrap around Parker’s torso, one hand landing between her shoulders and the other clutching her hip. Sophie pulls her sideways until Parker’s practically being cradled in the older woman’s arms. Parker’s legs rest sideways across Sophie’s lap. She takes a deep breath in.

This hug doesn’t feel like other hugs. Maybe it’s because it’s Sophie that’s doing the hugging. Sophie probably has lots of experience with hugs. She’s like a professional hugger.

Parker, against all past experiences, burrows deeper into the hug and hides her face away in the crook of Sophie’s neck. Sophie’s arms tighten around her in response, tight enough to hurt. Parker sighs in relief as tension she didn’t know she was holding escapes her suddenly tired muscles.

“That’s it, darling,” Sophie soothes. Her hands press into Parker’s shirt and leave warm imprints. “Just relax. I’ve got you.”

Parker nods into her shoulder. Sophie’s got her. She can freak out later when she’s alone and tucked into the rafters of her warehouse. She learned long ago that sobbing drew unwanted attention. She mastered the art of crying silently at a very young age. She’s getting Sophie’s expensive blouse wet with tears. She doesn’t know how to process that information, so she ignores it. If she ignores it, it might go away.

Sophie holds her like she’s little again. It’s… nice. Parker was never held like this as a child, not for long enough that she remembers. It takes her a minute to process how she’s feeling.

“Breathe,” Sophie commands her. Parker follows the command without thought. It’s easy to follow Sophie’s orders like this. “Very good, Parker. Just like that.”

Idly, she thinks that something’s wrong with her. Reality didn’t glitch earlier, but she thinks her brain might have. She’s never felt good about touch like this. But this is Sophie. And Sophie’s holding her tight enough to cut off circulation. Sophie doesn’t get mad at her for avoiding eye contact or messing up a con (like she did in Belgrade, with the fork).

She takes a moment to breathe, long and deep until she can feel the edges of her lungs in her chest. The smell of alcohol on someone’s breath is gone. She can’t feel the closet or the hand on her neck anymore. The memories of past foster homes have retreated to their corner where they safely wait for the next time she shows weakness. She was right, Sophie smells like lavender or lilac, one of those floral scents that high society women wear at fancy parties.

The buttons of Sophie’s very expensive blouse are pressing into Parker’s forearm. Her arm is draped over Sophie’s shoulder, holding onto her like an anchor. Sophie’s arms tighten around her in response.

Has Sophie ever been a mother? The thought comes to Parker like she’s been hit by a car. Her face scrunches up as her thought process catches up to her. That’s stupid.

She’s been vulnerable long enough.

Parker pulls away and dives for the vent without even glancing in Sophie’s direction. Her cheeks are wet, but that doesn’t matter when the narrow vent swallows her up and hides her away from the rest of the world. No one can see her cry in the darkness.

They don’t talk about it again. Sophie takes one look at Parker (when she emerges from the vents two days later because Nate has a case for them, sleep pulling at Parker’s eyes and a few new diamonds tucked away in her hoodie pocket) and does that mind reading thing that she does. The job goes on, and neither of them brings up that moment in Sophie’s office.

Sophie’s Return

Tara has left. Parker isn’t sure how she feels about that.

Sophie is back. Parker is happy about that.

Parker hugs Sophie, and Sophie makes some comment about how Parker is touching others now. Parker shrugs it off with a smile and a joke, like she’s learned from watching Hardison. She doesn’t tell them that while Sophie was gone she’d constantly thought about the way Sophie had hugged her back when they first met, after Serbia. 

Sophie had hugged her like she cared, and then Sophie had left.

She knows how she feels about that. But those bad feelings don’t matter now! Because Sophie is back! But Nate was shot and is probably in prison by now. None of them are happy about that.

They trust each other now enough to share a car ride, which is nice. Eliot doesn’t hit Hardison for anything except extreme stupidity, Hardison wears headphones when he knows he’s gonna room with other people, and Sophie can put up with the boys’ bickering after so long learning to tune them out. Parker doesn’t need to move as much now that she’s learned how to settle down and breathe around other people.

Nate’s apartment, above the bar that Nate frequents, is their new headquarters. They’ve long since moved in and made it theirs, against Nate’s wishes.

Eliot and Hardison get right to planning Nate’s escape. Sophie joins them, but she has connections to reconnect with after her time away. Parker learns the prison’s blueprints. Together, they try to fill in the space Nate leaves. Like they tried to fill in the space Sophie left when Tara joined the team.

“Tara told me you dangled her off a building by her neck,” Sophie says. It’s night, about an hour after the boys have called it quits for the day, and she and Parker are sitting at the kitchen table eating popcorn.

“I thought she betrayed us,” Parker offers easily. She kicks her feet idly, making contact with the wall under the table she’s perched on. The sound drives Nate crazy, but Nate’s not here. “So I acted. Simple as that.”

“Hm,” Sophie vocalizes. Parker doesn’t know what she means by it, but she’s learned by now that Sophie will talk when she’s ready. Sophie’s good at explaining things so Parker can understand them. “You’ve never tried to kill any of us before. I thought you liked Tara.”

Sophie talks in riddles, it feels like. She never just states anything. There are questions hidden in every sentence. Parker considers it.

“I do like Tara,” she says. It’s a sudden conclusion, but it feels right. “But I don’t like traitors. Besides, I missed you. And she was there. She had a neck I could strangle. Her neck was very strangle-able.”

Sophie looks at her weirdly. Parker crunches a popcorn kernel between her molars and hums at the satisfying crack.

“Parker,” Sophie starts. Oh no. That tone, she’s learned, usually means Sophie’s about to say something she thinks Parker wouldn’t want to hear. Parker ducks her head. “How are you, really? I know we don’t talk about that day, but I want you to know that I’m here for you. Even when I’m not physically here.”

Parker shrugs. She pushes the bowl of popcorn away and swings her legs hard enough to thud loudly against the wall.

“I’m fine,” she says. Looking at the general direction of Sophie’s face, she continues, “I’m Parker. I’m always fine.”

“Parker.” 

That’s all Sophie says. Her voice is smooth, like Parker remembers her skin is. Parker inhales deeply, searching for the smell of lavender or lilac. She only gets popcorn. She frowns. She wants to know what scent Sophie smells like today. She doesn’t ask. Eliot growled at her the last time she asked him something similar.

Parker shifts so she’s turned towards Sophie. Sophie, who is sitting normally in a chair at the kitchen counter and is looking up at Parker with what she thinks is understanding in the lines of her face.

“Do you want a hug, Parker?”

The question almost knocks the breath out of her lungs. Figuratively, of course. But maybe also literally. She feels a little dizzy. Has she been poisoned? No, Sophie wouldn’t let her be poisoned like this. She’d be more direct after all the time they’ve known each other.

Does she want a hug from Sophie? Maybe. She’s not tired, not like she was the first time they did this. She isn’t having flashbacks of her childhood or any urges to steal things and climb skyscrapers to feel the wind in her hair. She feels as well as she can be with Nate in prison. Her boys are sleeping somewhere. Sophie is here next to her, eating popcorn and talking into the early morning with her. Nate is safe, even in prison (Eliot has connections too).

“I’m not sad,” she says. Her voice tilts up in the end, a question that she didn’t mean to ask. Why would she want a hug if she isn’t sad?

Sophie’s face does something that Parker can’t identify. It kind of softens? And then Sophie is smiling at her, her real smile, the one that wrinkles her face and stirs something warm in Parker’s belly.

“That’s alright,” Sophie assures her softly. “You don’t have to be sad to want a hug. You hugged me earlier, remember? You were happy then, I think.”

Parker considers this and nods. She was happy when she saw Sophie again after so long apart.

“So,” Sophie begins again, “would you like a hug, Parker? Because I would like to hug you, and I decided to ask you outright because I know that you prefer straightforwardness over subtlety.”

“I appreciate that,” Parker says, because she doesn’t know what else to say.

Sophie’s face softens again, her smile dimming to a warm shine. Like a ruby instead of a diamond. Still ethereal, but different.

“How about this,” Sophie says. She stands and leisurely makes her way to the long couch that Hardison got for Nate’s apartment. “I am going to sit on the couch here, and if you want a hug, you can come and sit next to me. Alright? If not, then we should call it a night before the sun rises.”

Parker counts her heartbeats. “You’ll do everything?”

She’s not exactly ashamed to admit that she isn’t a professional hugger like Sophie is. Still, something inside her curls up and shrivels when she asks that. Giving control to someone who wields it like a heat-targeting laser grid is daunting. 

But it’s Sophie. 

Parker trusts Sophie.

“I will,” Sophie agrees.

She pads over to the couch on steady feet. Her body has made a decision even if her mind is still struggling with it.

“How did you know to squeeze?” Parker asks. “Last time, I mean. The time we don’t talk about. How did you know that I wouldn’t run if you squeezed like that when you hugged me?”

It’s a question she’s been wondering since she jumped into that vent and disappeared with tears on her cheeks. When her boys hug her, they’re gentle. Even Eliot holds her like she’s about to disappear. But Sophie didn’t do that.

“You like being confined,” Sophie says as if it’s obvious. Parker sits next to her, hesitantly. Her thoughts are slow tonight. “You hate being trapped, yes, but you like it when your clothes are tight, and you relax when you put one of your rappelling harnesses on. Your favorite place to be is in a vent tight enough to give the best contortionist a panic attack. It wasn’t quite a leap to guess that you would like to be squeezed. Plus, I thought it would distract you from the feeling of being touched.”

“Like a human vent,” Parker mutters, eyes narrowed. “Huh. I never thought about it like that.”

Sophie doesn’t look the most pleased with her wording, but she smiles at Parker anyways. Parker watches with wide, unblinking eyes as Sophie reaches out and pulls her towards her with gentle but firm hands. Parker folds her body like she’s ducking into a low vent and ends up in the same position she fell into last time they did this, her head on Sophie’s shoulder, her nose at her neck, and her legs draped across her lap.

She swallows roughly. Oh. It feels exactly like she remembered it, being held so tightly by Sophie. She feels safe . She takes a deep breath and relaxes into Sophie’s iron grip. Sophie smells like flowers.

“I like this,” Parker murmurs into her neck.

“I know,” Sophie whispers back.

Parker frowns. “Are you sure you’re not reading my mind?”

“No,” Sophie laughs, a puff of air against her temple. “I’m not reading your mind, darling. I’m reading your body language.”

“Hm?” she hums questioningly. She wants her to explain. She likes it when Sophie explains things to her. She doesn’t feel stupid when she explains things to her, not like she does when others do. Plus, she likes listening to Sophie’s voice. Her accent is pretty.

“All your muscles relax when I tighten my arms,” she starts slowly. She squeezes her arms, and just like she said, Parker’s entire body relaxes. “The tension that you hold in your shoulders goes away, and you allow yourself to press closer to me. I can feel your breath on my neck. Normally, when we’re on a con or even relaxing, your breathing is controlled, like you’re counting your breaths. But when I hold you, you exhale deeply, like all the air is leaving your lungs. That could mean a few things, but coupled with the dilation I suspect your pupils are experiencing, it means you’re enjoying yourself.”

Parker draws back a smidge and blinks up at Sophie. “My pupils?”

“Yes.” Sophie moves one of her hands up to cup Parker’s face. Her thumb traces the space underneath her eye, ever so gently. Parker bites her lip to keep from whining at the care packed into the simple touch. “Your brain is releasing happy chemicals, and your pupils get bigger as a result. I suspect you’d be purring if you could, darling.”

Parker frowns.

“Honey,” Sophie chuckles. “I know you. I don’t need the typical body signs to predict how you’re feeling. I could tell you liked it the first time, probably because you’ve been touch starved for most of your life, and I…”

She trails off. Parker tilts her head against Sophie’s shoulder, a hum low in her throat.

“Well,” Sophie murmurs softly, looking her straight in the eye. “I missed you, Parker.”

Overwhelmed, Parker tucks herself back into the older woman’s neck and clings even tighter. She wasn’t expecting to hear that, even if she knows it’s true. Well. Hopes it’s true. She couldn’t be sure before right now.

“I had to go,” Sophie admits. “I had to figure some things out for myself, and I couldn’t be here to do that. But… I can’t deny that I missed you and the others. I sent you Tara so I could keep an eye on you all, but it wasn’t the same.”

Parker grips Sophie’s shirt tight in one hand and wraps her other around Sophie’s back. It’s like she’s a kid again, but this time instead of holding Bunny in the dark and keeping him safe, Sophie’s holding her and keeping her safe. That part of her that longed for someone to save her now keens in relief at finally having it. All the times she had to bite her lip to keep from rocking back and forth or flapping her hands, all the times she dug her nails into her palms to keep an odd sound in her throat, those memories fall away now as Sophie gently rocks her from side to side.

She really wants to make a noise. But she shouldn’t. It’s not normal to hum and whine when she’s happy. She was taught that the hard way. She can get away with some things just by being ‘Parker, the world’s best thief,’ but people don’t like it when she vocalizes her happiness. She clenches her jaw tight and leans as close to Sophie as she can.

“You’re tense again, Parker,” her breath hits Parker’s ear. It’s warm. As warm as Sophie’s skin against her cheek. “What are you thinking?”

Parker bites the inside of her cheek. She doesn’t want to answer. She shakes her head.

“If you don’t tell me,” Sophie draws out slowly, “do I have permission to find out myself?”

“You said you weren’t reading my mind,” Parker mumbles with a frown. She doesn’t remove her face from Sophie’s throat. She can’t risk Sophie’s mind reading powers working by eye contact, like in those books.

Sophie hums noncommittally. “Parker. Can I look at you, darling?”

Parker huffs. Reluctantly, she removes her face from the warmth of Sophie’s skin and looks vaguely in Sophie’s direction, not meeting her eyes. As much as she might protest, she doesn’t think she minds Sophie using her grifter powers on her. It’s comforting, not having to say anything when she can’t find the words.

She fidgets as keen eyes take note of every inch of her face. Those eyes see too much. On any other day, Parker might squirm away from them, but she tries to relax into Sophie’s gaze this time.

Sophie hums consideringly, “You’re not uncomfortable, I would be able to see that in your eyes. It’s not anything physical either, like a cramp or a headache. The way your muscles tensed so suddenly tells me it’s because of something you thought, not something I did. What were you thinking about, Parker?”

Parker says nothing, but she doesn’t withdraw either. That’s permission enough to continue.

“Something about your childhood, that much is obvious,” Sophie mutters, almost to herself. Parker’s face creases up as the grifter gets closer to the truth, her teeth finding her bottom lip. “Is it something you’re keeping yourself from doing, sweetie? Some kind of motion or sound?”

Parker hides her face as quick as the words are out of Sophie’s mouth.

“Do you know what stimming is, Parker?” Sophie asks.

Parker nods. Hardison taught her a lot of things over the years. One of those was what one of the many diagnoses on her foster record meant. She’s not embarrassed about it. She’s not the type to be embarrassed about something like this, not when she can’t help the way her brain works, but that doesn’t mean she wants to talk about it right now.

“Good, that’s good.” Sophie takes an audible breath in.

Parker smiles. So there is a conversation that would make Sophie uncomfortable.

“Oh, hush, you,” Sophie warmly chides. 

One hand comes up to tug on Parker’s hair, and this time she can’t stop the happy whine that leaves her throat. She freezes. The nearest vent is one meter away horizontally, but two vertically. She could climb the wall and be gone in two point three seconds. 

But Sophie doesn’t react badly. She just hums and pulls a few more locks of Parker’s hair, this time applying steady pressure. “That’s it, darling. It’s okay. I’ve got you. You’re safe. You can run if you need to, but I’m not mad. I promise.”

Parker does not run. She closes her eyes and ignores every instinct telling her to escape and erase herself from this city. She takes a deep breath and tries to relax into Sophie’s hold.

“Can I help you relax, Parker?” She sounds serious, like she’d listen if Parker said no. “Nothing serious, just a few techniques.”

Parker doesn’t want to say no. 

She nods.

So quickly that Parker only counts one heartbeat, Sophie’s hands move. The one in her hair shifts a bit until it wraps around the base of her skull, Parker’s hair threaded between her fingers. There’s more surface area this way, a more even spread. This way, when Sophie pulls , she gets a much louder reaction. A happy groan bubbles up from Parker’s best, accompanied by a little wiggle that flows through her like a wave. Sophie’s other arm, the hand that’s been at her back until now, moves to pull Parker fully into her lap so they’re pressed together from hip to shoulder. Parker shuffles a bit in place to straddle Sophie instead of lean sideways across her lap. They’re fully pressed together now, and Parker’s never felt anything like it.

Her mind is blank. Where usually there are blueprints and security systems floating around at rocket speed, now there’s just a slow trickle of happiness. It’s not even a manic happiness like stealing something gives her. It’s a warm happiness that drips down her spine like molasses. Her eyelids flutter against the soft skin of Sophie’s neck.

“That’s it, darling,” Sophie coos. “Just like that. I’m so proud of you, Parker. Let yourself have this, just for tonight.”

And Parker practically melts. That little thief that Archie trained into a master could never even contemplate the possibility of this. This, being, feeling completely at ease with another person. (When this is over, she knows this feeling will fade, because she knows better than to trust someone completely, but she’ll enjoy it while it lasts.)

They get Nate out of prison. 

Things go back to normal.

But this time, even while she and Sophie don’t bring it up, Parker knows she has someone to go to when her thoughts get too fast or when every touch feels like sandpaper on her skin and she needs something to ground her. It’s not sexual. Or, at least, Parker doesn’t think it’s sexual. Sophie would probably know. It’s just… comfort, and safety.

She’s never had a Sophie before. It’s nice.

Redemption

Breanna finds them a job. There’s an orphanage. The job almost falls apart, and it’s not Parker’s fault this time. It’s not any of their faults. The mark deviates from his recorded schedule and wanders into the rescue attempt. He’s armed.

As soon as the kids are safe with one of Sophie’s contacts, Parker slips away. Even with how well her crew knows her by now, it’s easy to just disappear. She’s a cat burglar. She’s been a cat burglar since she was as young as the kids that were being trafficked. 

Eliot was shot in the scuffle. The others are busy patching him up, and Parker just… fades into the shadows of their headquarters, lithely shimmying up some scaffolding and slipping into the rafters without a sound. The dark welcomes her. She knows the vents here like the back of her hand. One left turn, two rights, and she’s tucked away in an alcove that only Hardison would think to check. Hardison’s not here. Eliot’s not light enough to get up here, especially not with a bullet in his shoulder.

She waits.

Thirty heartbeats. Sixty. One hundred. Two hundred. She loses count somewhere near three hundred and has to start again. Ten. Thirty. Fifty. One hundred. Two hundred. The metal against her back is warm, heated by Hardison’s fancy wiring. She’s curled up in a ball, knees to her chest and arms around her legs, her face between her knees.

Her mission clothing scratches at her skin. She didn’t have time to change before the static came in and overtook her brain. She wasn’t the rope for this job. She’s improved over the years, she’s a good grifter on her own right now, but she and Eliot had looked at each other when Breanna gave them the rundown on their mark, and then Sophie had seamlessly inserted herself into the roles that Parker might usually play. It’s weird. She hadn’t felt caged when her team moved things around to keep her from facing the mark. Hardison would tell her that this means she’s grateful that she has people to care enough about her to tell her what to do. Maybe she is grateful.

She needs to talk to her therapist. But, before that. She needs something else.

It’s easy to pull her phone from the hidden pocket sewn into her trousers. She taps the screen and stares at the unread messages from the rest of her team. There’s one from Alec too. Something warm rises in her chest. Even after a decade of working together, being family, she still gets irrationally surprised when they prove their love for her.

She sends a text to the group chat after reassuring herself that Eliot is okay.

Sophie day? She types and sends. She taps the screen with her nail, echoing each heartbeat in her chest. Tap, tap, tap.

She hasn’t had to ask for a Sophie day since before Nate died. Will Sophie even remember? It's been years. Will Eliot hate her for taking Sophie away while he’s hurt? She knows Alec’s okay with it, they talked this out years ago, but what if he’s changed his mind? And Breanna. Parker’s pretty much given up pretending to be someone she’s not, but Breanna looks up to her. She can’t just disappear for a day to curl up in Sophie’s lap and ignore the way her mind is spinning.

Maybe she should have called her therapist instead. Yeah. That might be better. She could text the group chat and take it back, and then she could jack a car and wait in the doctor’s office for her work hours to begin.

Yeah, she’ll do that.

Her phone chimes.

Understood , comes from Eliot. 

You got it, girl, comes from Alec.

I have no idea what that means, comes from Harry, who’s a more recent addition to the team group chat.

Me neither, man, comes from Breanna.

Parker holds her breath and stares at the three dots at the bottom of the chat. Sophie hasn’t said anything yet. Does that mean something? Is that important? No, Parker knows Sophie. The older woman takes her time when important things come up. And Parker is important to her. Right? Right.

Sophie’s name pops us next to the text, My apartment?

Parker exhales heavily. Relief. That’s what she’s feeling. The puppets have been very helpful in identifying her feelings. It’s just an extra benefit that they creep the others out. She likes it when Eliot squirms.

Yes, she types quickly. 

She scurries out of the hidey hole and takes the fastest path through the vents to Sophie’s apartment above headquarters. She climbs out of the vent outside the apartment and lands on nimble feet. She bounces a bit on the balls of her feet as she scans the closed door with her eyes. She could get in easily. Sophie only uses two locks on her door. It would be child’s play.

She knocks.

“Come in,” Sophie hollers through the door. “I’m just cleaning up, darling.”

Oh. Parker looks down at her own clothes. There’s dust on her jacket. Should she have cleaned herself up?

The door opens. Parker blinks. There’s Sophie, fresh faced and wearing fancy pajamas that cost as much as the third diamond Parker lifted. Ah, the Cairo museum. Those were the good days.

“Do you want me to take over?” is what Sophie says when Parker just stands there.

She blinks again. Sophie’s only ever truly asked that once before. It was after Parker broke her leg and had to stay behind at the brew pub while the team did a few jobs without her. She hated being left out like that. It made her angry. She doesn’t like being angry. Somehow, Sophie took one look at her and knew exactly what she needed: to be directed.

Parker loves making her own choices. Really, she does. She’s the definition of a free spirit. But… Sometimes, when the static gets too loud and her hands itch for the hard edges of a freshly stolen diamond, it gets hard to make any decisions. Eliot asks her what cereal she wants for breakfast? Her words dry up. Hardison lifts his arm in invitation for her to join him on the couch to watch a movie? She freezes where she stands. A mark says something she can’t stand? She stabs him with a fork so she doesn’t have to be there anymore.

So when Sophie asked her for permission to make the important decisions, giving Parker permission to sit in the backseat for a few hours, Parker took that offer. But it only happened once.

(She told Alec about it. She was confused. He just took her hand, squeezed it, and nodded reassuringly.

“If it makes sense for you, that’s all I need to know,” Alec said.

“But I don’t get it,” Parker had protested, her voice coming out louder than she wanted it to. “She’s not my girlfriend! And she’s not my mother. You’re my boyfriend, Hardison. But I like it when she takes care of me and tells me what to do. It’s like testing out a new grappling hook. I get all fuzzy with adrenaline, but in a softer way.”

Alec smiled at her softly. His eyes crinkled in the corners, a real smile. Her stomach stirred with butterflies. What a ridiculous phrase. Why not bats or mosquitoes? She likes Alec's smile.

“She’s your Sophie,” Alec had said like it meant something. “You deserve a Sophie, Parker.”

Parker paused. “Like you have an Eliot?”)

Now, staring at a bare-faced Sophie Devereaux, Parker’s head gets quiet like it does when Sophie holds her, or when Alec kisses her, or Eliot patches her wounds.

“Yes, please,” Parker finally answers.

Sophie grabs her by the hand, fingers encircling her wrist, and pulls her into the room, shutting the door behind them both. She flips the two locks that Parker knows how to dismantle by heart.

“Here, change into these,” Sophie says, handing her a bundle of fabric that had been waiting on her bed.

Oh. Parker’s heart melts. It’s her favorite outfit to sleep in, just tight enough to keep her calm but loose enough not to take her out in her sleep. She and Sophie had shopped for hours to find clothes expensive enough to satisfy Sophie’s taste and still be Parker-friendly.

“When’d you get these?” She smoothes her fingers over the soft fabric, smiling against her will. She bounces on her toes. It’s like she’s swallowed bubbles and they’re rising up from her stomach through her throat.

“After you lot convinced me to stick around for another grand tour,” Sophie starts, her voice soft as silk, “I brought the essentials from the house.”

The house. Sophie and Nate’s house. Sophie kept extra clothes for Parker at her house. Huh. How ‘bout that? She feels all warm and fuzzy inside.

She shucks her jacket and shirt off and shimmies out of her fancy trousers. She’s about to pull the tank top on when Sophie clucks her tongue and takes the clothing out of her hands. Parker blinks.

“Come with me,” Sophie instructs, turning her back and leading Parker to her bathroom. She turns the faucet on and wets a washcloth. Ignoring the way Parker’s face scrunches up as she gets in her space, Sophie gently swipes the wet washcloth at the patches of dirt and dust that mar Parker’s pale skin. “How did you get this dirty, darling? You weren’t anywhere near the fighting.”

Parker swallows down a lump of emotion. The wet fabric feels like sandpaper on her skin, but she puts up with it so that Sophie will keep fretting over her like this.

“There, all clean.” Sophie sets the washcloth down and wipes the wetness off of Parker’s face with her thumbs. “Let’s try this again.”

Parker puts on her fancy pajamas and settles at the foot of Sophie’s bed. She folds her legs underneath herself. Sophie always keeps her air conditioning on high, especially here in New Orleans. She shivers. She’s got goosebumps.

Puttering around for a moment longer, Sophie sighs and turns down the comforter on her bed. She shuffles noisily into bed and under the covers. Parker stares at her.

“Well? Come on then,” Sophie beckons expectantly with one hand. “Get in.”

Parker blinks. “Okay.”

She crawls under the covers with little grace, though she’s much more quiet than Sophie was. Sophie’s good at making a show of simple actions. Parker, on the other hand, prefers efficiency over theatrics. Which is why she throws all social graces out the window (metaphorically, though Parker really likes that idiom) and slides right into Sophie’s arms instead of waiting for Sophie to inevitably invite her closer. A hum escapes her as she rubs her cheek against Sophie’s collarbone. She smells like shampoo this time, not flowers. She still smells nice, though. Parker gets as close as she can, soaking up all Sophie’s warmth like a multi-faceted diamond refracting laser beams.

Sophie exhales fondly. Parker can tell she’s fond because of the way the older woman’s arms wrap tight around her and squeeze. She glances up to see a smile on Sophie’s face.

“I missed this,” Sophie admits. Her eyes are closed, but her smile is real. Parker knows that smile. Sophie blinks open her eyes and peers down at Parker tucked into her chest. “It’s been… It’s been a long time since I let myself relax like this. Thank you, Parker, for letting me have this.”

Parker moves in her arms, pressing impossibly closer. “You’re my Sophie.”

The rise and fall of Sophie’s chest as she breathes shifts Parker up and down. It’s like a rollercoaster ride. Up and down. Up and down. Like surfing. Or walking along a high rafter in the middle of a guard-filled warehouse.

The memories quiet after a while in Sophie’s hold. She can’t smell the Serbian orphanage or the trafficking ring they just busted, not over the soothing smell of Sophie’s shampoo. 

Sophie’s voice is a whisper when she breaks the silence. “I’m so proud of you, Parker.”

“Why?” She glances up to scan Sophie’s face.

“You asked for help this time.” Sophie’s smiling now, a gentle smile, her real smile. “You didn’t suffer and wait for things to get better or throw yourself at a new security system to distract yourself. You asked for help. More than that, when we were on the job, you let us take care of you. That means the world to me, Parker. You’ve really grown.”

Parker curses her pale skin. She can’t hide the red flush that rises up her neck. It… that means more to her than she thought it would.

“Is Eliot okay?” she deflects.

Sophie sighs. Her hand comes up to gently stroke Parker’s forehead, brushing hair out of her face.

“Eliot is fine,” she confirms. “He’ll be back in fighting condition before the next job.”

Parker nods and tucks herself back into Sophie’s neck. Good. That’s good. She doesn’t like it when Eliot gets hurt. He’s always getting hurt, whether it’s by protecting them or protecting their client. But he never goes down, no matter how many hits he takes. 

“Before I left, he mentioned making pancakes for breakfast tomorrow,” Sophie says in a sing-song voice. Parker smiles. Sophie must feel it against her skin. “Ah, that’s more like it. Don’t pout, darling. Everyone got out alive, and the kids are safe.”

Parker’s voice shakes when she says, “That’s all we can ask for.”

Sophie tightens her grip. She’s stronger than she looks, and when she squeezes her arms around Parker’s waist, the breath whooshes out of her in a rush. Parker relaxes into the sensation like a freefall, giggling and squirming closer with a toothy smile.

“That’s my girl,” Sophie murmurs. She presses a kiss to the top of Parker’s head and chuckles when Parker gives a happy whine. “That’s my Parker.”