Spoilers: The Horse Job, the Bank Job, the Wedding Job, the 12-Step Job.
Character(s): Parker, Hardison
Word count: 307
Rating: PG-13 warning: language
Disclaimer: None of them are mine.
Summary: There should be a limit to madness, yes? A place where it is clearly delineated from perceptiveness?
“I don’t believe you,” Hardison says when he can hold it in no longer.
“What don’t you believe?” Parker asks, sipping on the juice box she’d just pulled from the dispenser in the lobby.
“You.” And yeah, I know that’s a long list in and of yourself. But still. “You can pose as a wedding planner, a director’s assistant, a crippled woman hobbling away…” and he shook his head, “but you can’t fake taking your pills?”
“He was a doctor,” Parker hissed.
“So? You and I, we told the police we were FBI agents.”
“If you lie to doctors, they steal your soul.”
that is a new one. “Say what?” unconsciously sliding a hint toward an assumed accent, the pitch and drawl his unconscious felt was best for the situation of that reply. “You’re – you’re kidding, right?” First she sees a horse kill a clown, and now this? Fucked-up is an inadequate word to describe your childhood, Parker.
She lunged forward, tossing the juice box behind her into the trash can, her arms enveloping Hardison. “Kidding,” she giggled. Parker giggled. Not one of those giggles Parker made when she was posing as someone else – a genuine Parker giggle.
“Okay.” That’s cool. Everything’s fine, though he hoped her arms didn’t tighten their grip – he rather enjoyed breathing.
“That’s why you love me,” she whispered by his ear.
Hardison froze. “Who told?” mentally reviewing all the times he’d spoken affectionately of Parker; trying to see if Eliot had squealed, or if Parker had overheard something.
He redoubled his brain-searching scan. “Oh. Yeah, I did,” and wasn’t sure if she was talking about the ‘that’s too bad, I kinda like this Parker’ less than a week ago, or the ‘you can have the whole box’ on their first mission together.
Parker smiled. Thought so.