A/N – Happy Birthday, Kat! – She wanted Parker/Hardison from the Rundown Job. So, this happened.
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When they finally get back to Portland, all Hardison wants to do is sleep for a week straight. Stopping a terrorist attack and nearly getting killed by Spanish Flu and the mad-man controlling it will do that to a body.
Eliot is calm, as usual, maybe even a little smug, which would concern Hardison more if he didn't know him so well by now.
He'd torn off the awful bandaging job the EMT had done to his wounds and re-dressed them in the taxi to the airport, with "acquired" supplies. If the driver thought anything of it, he wisely chose to keep his eyes on the road and his mouth shut.
The radio was on some oldies station and Hardison let it fill the silence with vague familiarity. Parker had fallen asleep against his shoulder almost as soon as the car started moving, and stayed that way until they pulled up to the airport. Hardison had leaned his head against hers and closed his eyes, enjoying the peaceful ride.
Eliot goes home to sleep, or hit things, or whatever he does to unwind after a job, and they wave him off with tired nods. Parker insists on stopping for donuts, accepting Hardison's plea for Krispy Kreme so that they don't have to wait in the monstrosity of a line at Voodoo.
It's only around three in the afternoon when they finally get to Hardison's bedroom, but it's been a long couple of days and Hardison can practically hear his bed calling him. Parker shoos him to the bed, and he dutifully pulls everything but his boxer-briefs off and pours himself under the covers. Parker strips her own clothes off before going over to the window to shut the blinds. Hardison takes a moment to appreciate the way she shines even in the weak sunlight, without a hint of self-consciousness for her naked body.
He closes his eyes as she pulls the blackout curtains, letting the darkness lull him. Parker slips into bed beside him a moment later, surprising him by curling right up and resting her head next to his on the pillow and draping an arm across his chest. Usually she needs her own space to sleep in his bed, even if it's just an inch of neutral space between them.
"I'm not going anywhere," she whispers, and Hardison almost laughs at his own stupidity. How hadn't he already realized that she was comforting him?
"You better not," he says, but it comes out shakier than he intended.
Five years ago, they had met, and he was gone. He would have followed her anywhere, just to catch another glimpse of her hair as she disappeared again. And he did.
With every job, every month, every year, he thought that he'd reach the day when she'd stop surprising him, when he would love her as much as he could.
He realizes now that no such day will ever come. Parker will never stop surprising him, and he knows that his love for her will never reach its limit, because it doesn't exist.
It scares him, but it elates him even more, and the strength of it grounds him in moments like this, when he feels like he might explode from the trembling in his bones.
"I can't lose you, either," Parker says, and Hardison doesn't need to open his eyes to know she's looking at him, even if she can't really see him.
"Never," he says, barely catching himself before he makes it a promise. Parker doesn't care for promises spoken aloud.
"I was scared," Parker says, and he smiles at her obvious distaste for the admission.
"You'd be insane not to be scared, babe," Hardison replies, chuckling.
He reaches up and threads his fingers through the ends of her hair, brushing his thumb against the smooth skin of her back.
"Eliot wasn't scared," Parker points out.
Hardison considers that for a moment, because for all the things that Eliot is, the man isn't insane.
"Eliot's had a lot more experience with stuff like that, is all," he says, "he had bad guys way before we had bad guys. Or even were bad guys."
"And now we're all good guys," Parker says, "kind of."
"It's a loose definition," Hardison agrees, "plus, good doesn't have to be normal."
"I don't know what you're talking about," Parker says in a deadpan voice, "We're completely normal. Normal people totally jump off buildings and hack into the Pentagon for fun."
"It wasn't even difficult," Hardison says, laughing. "I mean, really. I had more trouble beating Final Fantasy IV than I did getting into their servers. Ridiculous."
"That the one with the swords and the hair?" Parker asks, and Hardison rolls his eyes.
"That's the one," he says, even though he's not sure, because he's too tired to explain the game tonight.
They're silent for a moment, caught in that half-conscious state of awareness that could slip into sleep or startle into awake in equal measure.
"Feel better?" Parker asks, snapping Hardison out of the haze.
"Always better with you," Hardison says, because it's true.
Only Parker gets to see him like this; sarcasm and rebellion stripped away and nerves exposed. And only she can make him settle back into his own skin again.
"Sap," Parker accuses him, even though she's smiling against his cheek.
He turns his head suddenly, finding her lips in the dark and kissing her in a quick but strong motion.
"I love you," he says as he turns away again, bringing his hand up to cover hers where it lies on his chest.
Parker doesn't say it back, but she holds on to him tighter and kisses his cheek, dragging her lips along his jaw slowly on the way back to the pillow.
She doesn't need to say it, because he knows. Hardison knows that she loves him, probably more than she's loved anyone in her life, and she doesn't have to say the words to get her point across. He knows this, without a doubt. She doesn't need to say it.
But he also knows that one day, probably when he's least expecting it, she will.
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THE END