Very, very short, and lacking any and all plot, but I just wanted to finally write something after a good two-month hiatus. This wasn't intended to be a Valentine's Day themed fic, but if you want to take it that way, go for it.

More than likely, I won't have much more to submit for Leverage, or any of the other fandoms I write for (y'know, for the two of you that know me) but for now, here's just something little for you guys to read. :)

$4$

"You are the only exception
And I'm on my way to believing"

- The Only Exception, by Paramore

"Parker… baby, what are you doing?"

He knew better than to ask questions like that to one of the most unpredictable women he had ever met, but all things considered, he thought his reaction was impressively chill.

Because when he left his bedroom to get another 2-liter bottle of orange soda, she was lying face-down on the hardwood floor, several sets of blueprints for their next job laid out in front of her. Now, she was standing precariously on one foot on the back of a chair, which was resting on his bureau as she attempted to get at something inside one of the ceiling tiles.

"You told me to make myself at home," she said, twisting around to glance at him and somehow simultaneously sliding the ceiling tile shut. "I'm making myself at home."

Hardison watched, mouth agape as she soundlessly dropped down without so much as making the bureau or the chair shake. "So you opened up my ceiling tile to make yourself at home?" he asked slowly, trying to understand.

"Yeah, how else would you do it?" she asked, eyes wide as she and her pale blonde ponytail bounced past him.

Let's see… Buy a toothbrush? Put some of your clothes in a drawer? Not hide things like a squirrel?

"But…" He couldn't stop himself. He just had to understand her. That was how they worked. "Why the ceiling?"

Parker dropped down on her stomach once more. She didn't bother to fix her cami, which had ridden up and exposed a sliver of pale, unmarred skin that created a few seconds of distraction for him. She was always distracting him.

"I didn't put my stuff in only the ceiling," she said, like it was so obvious. "That wouldn't make any sense."

"Wait," Hardison said, half to himself. He set his soda on the bureau and putting the chair back on the ground. "I told you to make yourself at home a week ago. Have you been hiding your stuff all around my apartment for a week?"

She cocked her head, scribbling something on a blueprint. "No," she said, and his shoulders immediately relaxed. "About six days."

Hardison stared at her in awe, wondering briefly where else she put things in his apartment without his knowledge. "You're amazing," he breathed.

Parker looked up at him, smiling impishly. "I know."