Eye Contact (1/2)
by Kshar
Spoilers for 1x05, "The Bank Shot Job".
Thanks to Fleur27 for beta reading, lo these many moons ago now.
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Disclaimer: Characters are the property of TNT, and are used without permission.
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Sophie freezes at first when she hears the knock at the door. It's been a long time since anyone knocked at her door, even longer since it was someone she wanted to see.
The most important people in her life - Nate, Eliot, Parker, Hardison - don't come by to visit much. It's not something they have time for, it's not something they do. They're all cats who walk by themselves, and even though Sophie likes them-trusts, them, even, more than she's trusted anyone - she's the coldest, quietest, most secretive one of all.
So she ignores the knock for a long minute. She's tired, too, she's had a long day. Until she hears the faintest scratching of metal on metal, and that's enough to decide her. She marches over to the door, clicking back both locks sharply, and pulls it open to find Parker.
Parker doesn't look startled, but she straightens up and takes a step backward anyway, her blonde hair swinging in its ponytail.
"I heard you," Sophie says, nonplussed.
"Oh," says Parker. "Yeah. I knocked."
"No, I mean I heard you. Picking the lock. I never hear you."
"I was being noisy on purpose. I didn't want to scare you."
"Okay," says Sophie, stepping out of the doorway belatedly. "That's odd. Come in. You shouldn't pick people's locks unless you're stealing from them. Wait, are you okay? Is everyone okay?"
Parker watches her while she talks, wide-eyed, then shakes her head as if to clear it. "Sophie, too fast."
"Sorry," Sophie says. "But you're all right?"
Parker narrows her eyes; looks at her like she's crazy. "Yeah, of course."
"What-" Sophie stops herself before she asks What are you doing here, then, and stretches out an arm to gesture Parker into the apartment. Parker walks in, and Sophie shuts the door behind her with a soft click.
It's simple, Sophie's place; she lives pretty well below her means. It avoids suspicion (there's nothing quite like having to put a neighbor off the trail once they've spotted the Landschaft mit Obelisk hanging above your mantel), but also it makes life cleaner, and less complicated. Her couch is soft and comfortable but unremarkable; her walls are plain, neutral colors.
She can see Parker taking it in, looking curiously in corners and making note of windows and exits. Parker's brow furrows when she's thinking hard; Sophie thinks it makes her look like some cute little forest animal confused by the world.
It's a deceptive look. Parker's sharp as a tack and twice as dangerous: her brain doesn't work quite like other people's, but she makes up in other areas for the skills she lacks.
Skills, Sophie thinks with a trace of bitterness. As though her own ability to read people is such a benefit.
It hasn't done all that much for her lately.
She shakes herself mentally; moves on. "I was opening a bottle of wine. Could I interest you in some?" She leads Parker through to the kitchen, gestures to the red wine on the counter.
Parker claims one of the chairs pushed up against the counter instantly, and hooks her feet around the base, leaning forward and balancing her elbows on the counter. She looks at the wine bottle curiously and then wrinkles her nose.
"Ew, no."
"Something else?" Sophie asks hospitably, trying to remember what Parker actually likes to drink. She knows Parker will drink anything when it fits into a con-any of them will, and the remembered image of Eliot drinking pink champagne still entertains her-but outside of work? "Coffee?" All of them like coffee, Sophie reasons. It could be Leverage Consulting's official beverage.
"Could I have a glass of water?"
"Of course," Sophie says automatically, moving to the cabinet for a glass; stops. "Parker, what's wrong? Seriously."
"Nothing," Parker says inflectionlessly, not looking up. "I just-" her voice trails off, and when Sophie gently places the glass of water in front of her, she starts a little.
Parker looks small and vulnerable, all curled in on herself, blonde hair untidily wisping out of its ponytail. Sophie's tempted to touch her arm, but she knows how Parker feels about touching. She turns back to her wine bottle instead, and twists the corkscrew and pours dark red liquid into a glass.
She's taking a sip before she feels Parker's eyes on her again. "Aren't you supposed to let it sit for a while?"
"Can't be bothered," Sophie says. "Drink while you can, is my motto."
"Nate's, too."
Sophie's shocked by the response and for a minute can't think of anything to say. It's true, of course. They all know it. They just don't say it much, out loud.
And Sophie's the one who counts his drinks silently; watches his hands shake in the mornings. Compares the Nate she knows now to the man she used to know.
Parker cocks her head to the side, an expression of clinical curiosity on her face. "You're upset," she says. "I upset you."
"No," Sophie says immediately, and then: "Well, yes," and then "No,", again, after she's thought about it. She takes a deep draught of her wine, ignoring the aftertaste.
Parker's eyes still follow Sophie. Sophie's never been that comfortable with constant eye contact, anyone watching you very closely for any length of time is a problem. She's good at drawing people's gaze away, keeping everything in motion. When things slow down, when her marks pay too much attention to detail, she's in trouble.
"You're very... forthright, Parker," she says eventually.
"And that's bad," Parker says, a little uncertainly.
"Not at all," Sophie says. "Sometimes honesty is good."
Parker watches her for a long minute before they both break, Parker giggling, Sophie letting herself smile.
"Yeah, right," says Parker.
"I'm not upset," she says again, because she tries to be clear with Parker, and there's a calm moment where Parker smiles at her, and it's nice, having company. "Why are you here, though? Did you want to talk, or something?"
This time, it's Parker who seems taken aback. "Uh, no. No, I didn't want to talk."
"Are you concerned about the job? I know Hardison's complaining about doing another rip deal so soon. Are you worried about the bank security?"
Parker barks out an incredulous laugh. "No," she says, drawing out the word. "Please."
"Another bank, I know," Sophie says, sympathetically. "It's weird, isn't it? Nate has this thing about getting straight back on the horse. Personally I think it's best to let the horse find his own way home and call for a taxi, instead-"
"Sophie!" Parker interrupts.
Sophie waits for her to say more, but nothing. "What?" she asks finally.
"You ask a lot of questions," Parker says. "And, you know, I just wanted to check up on some stuff." All of a sudden Parker's expression changes, turns blank and unreadable, and Sophie reflexively checks the necklace at her own throat.
"What stuff?" Sophie asks suspiciously.
"Just-stuff-I-just-Ihavetogoanywayokay?"
She's up and out of the chair before Sophie even processes what she's said, and is halfway out the door before Sophie catches up.
"Parker," she says. "Parker!"
Parker's down the hallway already, though, and slips into the stairwell, quick and graceful, with a hand raised in acknowledgment, but not another word.
Sophie watches for a moment, as though she expects some kind of smoke trail, then turns back to her apartment and reclaims her glass of wine, taking a much slower sip this time.
"Well, that was strange," she says to herself.
xx
Parker doesn't bring up the subject when Sophie sees her next. Of course, Parker's dressed as a firefighter, complete with day-glo yellow suspenders and ash in her braided hair courtesy of Hardison's box of special effects, and Sophie's never sure whether it's a good idea to encourage Parker to break character. Some things, once broken, can't be repaired.
But a week later, it happens again. They're still working on the new bank job (Sophie, as always, gets to do the nine-to-five while the others flit about punching people and eating cereal and sending radiowaves through doors, or whatever it is Hardison does). Sophie's not used to being on her feet all day, especially not used to having to listen to irate customers and pretend like she cares, and she'd even had to skip lunch to liberate some floor plans from the manager's office. She's thinking vaguely of Chinese food and a bubble bath and some sleep before her insanely early meeting with the rest of the team to go over some final details.
So she's startled, but too weary to raise an objection, when she opens her front door and finds Parker sitting cross-legged on her couch, watching her TV. Sophie hangs up her jacket in the hallway, and drops her bag on the table.
"I hope you at least brought food," she says in way of greeting.
Parker doesn't look around from the television. "I thought we could order pizza," she says.
Sophie picks up her phone and throws it to Parker, assuming-correctly, as it turns out-that Parker can see her in her peripheral vision.
"I'm going to shower," she mutters, then thinks better of leaving it at that, and leans back into the room from the doorway. "No anchovies!"
Parker's reply is just short of distinguishable as Sophie walks through the hallway back to her bathroom, shrugging out of her blouse and slipping off her shoes as she goes. The tiles are cool under her feet as she finishes undressing.
She twists the faucet up as hot as it will go, and directs needles of water down her back, on her thighs and legs. Steam twists around her; she feels her hair escaping from its barrette, turning itself into ringlets against her neck as she leans her head to the side, hearing her neck crack.
Sophie's most comfortable when she's acting; being someone else comes more naturally to her than being herself. So the cons-the being the character part-don't usually feel like work to her. But there's more to it than just staying in character. She has to do research, take notes, and know what questions she'll be asked, know the right words to drop to make it seem like she knows much more than she really does.
She's still thinking about how the rest of this job is going to play out when she hears a knock at her bathroom door, and she turns the water off, with a sigh.
"Parker, remember we talked about privacy," she says, raising her voice enough to be heard through the door.
Parker's voice comes back, loud and right outside the shower, and Sophie just about jumps out of her skin. "I knocked!"
Sophie manages to suppress most of her shriek, but it clearly unnerves Parker just the same.
"I'm sorry!" she hears, through the steam, from outside the shower curtain. "Sorry!"
"Oh, for the love of-" Sophie feels a rivulet of water run down her back, turning cold, and slips a hand through the curtain. "Hand me a towel, will you?"
xx
"I know we talked about not scaring you, as well," Parker's saying contritely, sitting on Sophie's bed while Sophie rubs a towel through her damp hair.
"Yes," says Sophie firmly. "We did."
"I'm just saying, you're very easily scared. So this time I couldn't help it."
Sophie closes her eyes for a minute; takes a deep breath. Several different responses war on her tongue, but she chooses the nicest one. "It's okay," she says. "Just - maybe you could wait until I say 'Come in'."
Parker smiles and nods, as though taking it under advisement. There's a long pause, and then: "Did you know your neighbor's got five thousand dollars hidden under his mattress?"
She's used to Parker's non sequiturs, but this gives her pause. "How could you - never mind. Did you call for pizza?" she asks, tying her robe more firmly around her waist and walking out to the kitchen.
"I thought it'd be handy to know," Parker says, following her, and her voice is so serious Sophie turns around to see her face. "In case you ever need five thousand dollars quickly. And, yes. Thirty minutes or it's free."
xx
It's covered in anchovies, of course. Sophie picks them off and drops them on a napkin, wiping her fingers delicately. Parker munches happily, gaze on the TV.
"I'm kind of thirsty," she mentions during a commercial.
Sophie's comfortably warm again, now, her tired feet on the couch beside her, and feeling lazy. "Fridge," she says, pointing vaguely in the direction of the kitchen. "Serve yourself."
"Can I - can I make myself at home?"
There's something sad about the way Parker says it, and Sophie twists herself around on the couch to look her in the eye. Parker's watching her intently, something in her eyes that Sophie can't quite define.
"Of course, Parker," she says, softly.
Parker's eyes light up, and the expression on her face is like the sun breaking through the clouds. She unfolds herself from the couch, and walks out to the kitchen, back straight and smiling all the way.
That was a nice moment, Sophie thinks, wondering exactly what just went on, and then leans forward off the couch to call into the kitchen after her. "Bring me back something fizzy, will you?"
xx
Pizza combines with the fizzy ginger ale to upset Sophie's digestion, something Parker seems to find funny, if the soft giggles coming from her every time Sophie hiccups are any indication. She ends up getting up to go to the kitchen and pours herself a glass of water.
"D'you want water, Parker?" she calls into the next room as an afterthought, and hears a grunt that sounds positive in reply.
Sophie takes the opportunity to gather her thoughts. She's not used to constantly having people around, outside of a con. She's not used to having people know things about her, and Parker and Nate and the others know more about her than is quite comfortable.
It's not quite comfortable, but in another way it's a good feeling. She's been alone for so long, and now she has the kind of people who won't leave her behind in a held-up bank; who come by and order pizza on Tuesdays nights.
She hears Parker flipping channels between commercials in the other room, and it brings her back to the present, so she fills another glass and collects ice from the fridge. Her living room's darker than her brightly-lit kitchen, and when she walks back in, the blue light of the television reflects off Parker's face.
Inasmuch as Sophie's ever paid attention to Parker's television preferences, they seem to align pretty closely with Hardison's - Spongebob, Battlestar Galactica. Here, though, she's picked a documentary about sharks, and has been watching it avidly, her gaze rarely moving from the screen. Sophie can't help but be impressed by her focus.
There's a huge shark on the screen; Sophie watches its teeth gnash with some unease, and then looks over to see Parker watching her. She moves closer and places Parker's water on the table, feeling strangely shy under the other woman's scrutiny.
"That one," Parker says, gesturing dismissively toward the on-screen shark. "I think a giant squid could beat him."
"Squid don't have teeth, Parker," Sophie says.
"No, of course not," says Parker agreeably. "They grab you in their tentacles-" she mimes a hug in the space in front of her, "And they squish you to death."
"That doesn't sound right," Sophie says dubiously, but admittedly this is not her area of expertise. Until the next job requiring her to be a marine biologist, of course, when she'll have to learn all about squid-hugs. "If they stop moving they die," she adds as an afterthought, the one and only interesting fact she can dredge from her subconscious about marine animals.
"Squids?"
"Sharks," says Sophie.
"Oh," says Parker, clearly weighing this in her mind. "They're kind of like us, huh?"
Sophie doesn't answer for a long moment, and Parker's face grows worried.
"Someone's always chasing us," she says.
"I knew what you meant," Sophie says, too abruptly, and suddenly doesn't feel like sitting down any more. Maybe it's the aftermath of the hiccups, but she takes a few steps to look out at the night through her window, then paces for a minute, not quite sure where her feet want her to go.
"This one won't be like the last one, you know," Parker says.
Sophie's back at the window, and she has to turn right around to look at Parker. The other woman has her knees drawn up to her chest, arms wrapped around herself as though she's cold. Sophie hooks an afghan off a chair with one hand and tosses it to Parker.
Parker ignores her, and the blanket lands in front of her on the couch, covering her feet. "I'm just saying," she goes on. "We won't let Nate get shot this time."
"Parker," Sophie says.
"Yeah?"
"Watch the sharks, would you?"
xx
Parker's attention span lasts for the whole TV show, but goes missing when it's replaced by a documentary on Stonehenge, and she flips channels for a while, face dissatisfied, before turning the TV off.
"We have to get up really early."
"I know, right," says Sophie with feeling. She was still thinking about Stonehenge, about close gray skies and rain and how London seeped into your pores, and a life that feels like a million years ago. "Who knew there was a five o'clock in the morning, as well?"
She's about to say good night, when something occurs to her. "Parker?"
Parker turns back to her. "Sophie," she says seriously.
"Why do you like sharks?"
Parker smiles, as though it's the most obvious thing in the world. "I don't. You do."
Sophie thinks about it for a minute, then shakes her head. "No, I'm sorry, you've completely lost me."
Parker sighs, with a long-suffering air that Sophie thinks she might find vaguely insulting. "Here," says Parker, and walks through the hallway to Sophie's bedroom. Sophie follows, carrying her glass of water and feeling like she's being led along.
"Here," Parker says again when they step through the doorway, and spreads one hand out to indicate the room at large.
Sophie blinks, puts her glass to the side, and tries to look at her bedroom with new eyes. White walls, darker curtains to block the morning sun from waking her before she cares to be up. Closed closet, wooden drawers, plain quilt and a million pillows because they make her feel secure when she's falling asleep.
And her painting, of course, on the opposite wall from the bed, where it can be the last thing she sees before she goes to sleep, and first thing when she wakes up.
It makes sense - well, sort of, as much as any of Parker's logic can be said to make sense. It isn't a painting of sharks, but the main subject is water; a hundred shades of blue.
It's small and unassuming, and she'd had it framed simply, and everywhere she's lived, she's arranged her lighting around it. Just a little painting of light shining through water, silver-scaled fish almost too small to see angling through a ripple so real it looked like movement, like action, like a wave.
"I thought you must like fish. Because of the painting. It's the only decoration in here," Parker says, wrinkling her nose as she looks around at Sophie's apartment. "I mean, your apartment is really boring. But you've got that painting. And it's not famous. I don't see a signature. It's not old-"
"No," Sophie agrees. "It's not old. And it's not by anyone who's anyone."
"So, I figured maybe you had it because you liked it."
Sophie took a breath. "I did," she says. "I do. That painting...it wasn't really about the fish. I mean, it's not the subject that's important. That's not why I bought it. That's not why I keep it here. The day I bought it, in Tuscany, it was the most beautiful day. This guy had it displayed on a table at the local markets, and when I got there-the sunrise that morning, you wouldn't believe. It's like - there's nothing like it anywhere else. It's like gold."
Sophie looks sideways; sees that Parker appreciates the comparison, whether or not she understands the sentiment. "And that painting, the colors, and the silver shining in the light. It made me think that things could always be just like they were in that moment."
Sophie stops, takes a sip of her water. Parker's watching her avidly, almost as interested as she was in the TV.
"It was a long time ago," Sophie says. "And it wasn't about the fish. But I guess in a way, they're interesting. They know how to be happy. They don't spend their whole lives wishing for things they can't have."
Parker seems to think about this for a long few minutes. "They could be," she says slowly, finally. "You don't understand them. They could be really unhappy all the time. How would you ever know?"
Sophie is still for a moment, then raises her hands to press tiredly against her eyelids. "You know," she says, hearing her own voice, muffled through her hands. "You make an excellent point." She allows herself a moment of feeling sorry for herself, then takes her hands down from her face and pushes back her hair.
Parker, meanwhile, maneuvers herself around the room, and ends up sitting on Sophie's bed cross-legged, not-very-surreptitiously running a hand under the pillowcases.
"Nothing there," Sophie tells her, to save her some time. Her shoe closet probably contains items more valuable than anything else Parker will find in here, but she isn't about to tell Parker that. Instead, she takes the glass from the nightstand, takes another drink of water before replacing it.
Parker takes her hand back. "Sophie, do you want to have sex with me?"
Sophie just manages to avoid spraying her mouthful of water across the room, but she's still choking for several moments. Parker, oblivious, folds her hands in front of her like a Bond villain.
"I mean, I like you," Parker says. "And you're really pretty."
Sophie tries to compose herself.
"I'm really good at sex," Parker says blandly. "People say so."
"Oh, God," Sophie says under her breath. "Parker, sweetheart-"
Parker shuffles around on her butt so she's directly facing Sophie from her place on the bed, and looks up at her, smiling cheerfully, happily, and not even slightly sexily.
Sophie, uncomfortable, waves a hand from Parker to herself. "Parker," she starts, and then stops again. She turns around and paces a few steps; recognizes the gesture as one she's unconsciously imprinted from Nate, and shakes her head. "Parker."
"You said that," Parker adds helpfully.
"I just wanted-" Sophie starts, "I mean, I want to say I think you're gorgeous and I love you to pieces, but I don't want you like that."
"Oh," says Parker. "Yeah, I don't want you like that either."
"Excuse me?"
"I figured I'd offer. You seemed sad. And people like sex."
"Huh," says Sophie, not completely certain she shouldn't feel insulted. "Next time, maybe an Amazon gift card?"
Parker gives her a small smile, but then it drops from her face. "But I was right," she says. "You are sad."
Sophie lets out a deep breath, and just for a minute considers saying something. But then she thinks, there's the con ahead, and things to do and prepare, and the fact that last time, she was the one to blow their cover. She steels her face. "No, I'm fine, Parker."
Parker watches her for a long time, then stands up to go back to the others. "Okay," she says simply. She turns her back to Sophie, then at the last minute spins again. "You know what we should do instead?"
Sophie cannot even fathom a suggestion, so she shrugs.
"Free-climbing!"
"Oh, sure," says Sophie, faintly. "That sounds perfectly sane."
xx
Their meeting is at the office building opposite the bank; Parker and Eliot need to scope the area, find unexpected exits and learn doorways and alleyways. Sophie doesn't particularly appreciate the five-story stair climb (Hardison had been there to open the service door for them, grin wide), especially in three-inch heels, but it's part of the work. She only participates in this side of the job as much as is necessary for her own safety, but it's interesting nonetheless, watching the others estimate distances and plan escape routes.
There are always errors, but they're getting better at reacting as a team, at knowing how the others will react. In fanciful (or tipsy) moments, Sophie imagines them as asteroids, ricocheting gently off one another in a diamond-sparkly background of space.
Okay, so she really doesn't know anything about astronomy, but it makes for a pleasant, diverting mental image when she's waiting for the others.
Or, she can look at the view, and clear mornings in Los Angeles are pretty enough too, she supposes. She's forgotten to bring sunglasses, and even this early the light is too bright and flat. She has to shield her eyes with one hand as she leans on the surrounding wall of the rooftop, looking down at the still-quiet street below. The windows of the buildings surrounding them reflect the light like mirrors, and she can hear traffic on the freeway.
As it's always been, she hears Nate long before he approaches. His footsteps sound different to her ears than anyone else's; she once surprised Hardison by being able to pick him out on a sound-only recording of Nate and the marks in a hallway.
He's slower than usual today, hesitant. Still favoring his side, she imagines. Sophie knows from personal experience how long a gunshot wound takes to heal, and what it feels like while it does. She remembers the tightness of skin around her scar for months afterward,remembers the pulling feeling that used to scare her so much when she was healing. Like something inside her was coming unraveled. Like something might tear loose.
It had severely limited her ability to be - well, Sophie. The Sophie she'd built herself was many things, but never fragile. Never afraid.
Nate doesn't show fear very much, but she sees it in his movement. She watches him favor his side, or take a step away from one of the others when they went to stand beside him. Sees him avoid leaning down. She reaches her hands out further, elbows braced on concrete, feeling the cool morning air on her fingertips. Construction cranes sit idle along the street below, like sleeping birds.
"They're always building around here," Sophie says.
"The whole city's a work in progress," Nate says, walking up beside her. Out of the corner of her eye, she sees him lean against the wall too. "Parker tells me you're going extreme rock-climbing."
"Oh God Nate, don't you dare encourage her." Sophie stretches, arching her back like a cat with her arms still on the wall. She looks over, and Nate moves to stand beside her. "What else did she tell you?"
"You know something," says Nate. "I don't think I always understand the things Parker tells me, so I couldn't say."
Sophie feels the need to defend Parker, although she isn't quite sure why. "We all have our own areas of interest," she says.
The clear-blue-light sky is changing, the sun rising. Red is starting to show on the horizon, and gold and orange. It's beautiful, Sophie thinks, even through her early-morning mood. There's a clarity here.
Nate's been looking at her too long, and she shifts under his scrutiny. "It's pretty," she says, pointing in the direction of the sun. "Amazing sunsets here, too."
"Pollution," Nate says. "The sunlight refracts off particulate matter. Smog. Makes it look redder."
"You're not much of a romantic, really, are you?"
He pauses for a long moment before he replies, as though he was going to say something else and thought better of it. "I've seen better sunrises, that's all."
"Me, too," Sophie says with feeling. And then wonders if he's thinking what she's thinking.
Maybe.
Probably not.
It was a long time ago.
"How are you going with our con man?" she says, for something to say.
"Sophie, you say 'con man' almost like it's a bad thing, these days," Nate says lazily.
"I'm not the one who found the adorable little white-haired old ladies he'd stolen fifty thousand dollars from."
"They found me, strictly speaking," Nate says. "Everything's going pretty smoothly, except I think I'm going to swap out the dummy apartments."
"What's wrong with the old ones?" Sophie asks indignantly. She and Hardison had found the old ones online, even spent a day driving out past the valley to check them out so they'd know what they were "selling".
"Too low-rent. We need something that's going to catch his eye."
"You and your ambition," she says. "They were very pleasant. Plenty of single people living there. Great place to live after a divorce; there's a communal hot tub in every complex. I still have the agent's number if you're interested, Nate."
He smiles to show he got the joke, but it's more like a pained grimace. She smiles innocently, in response.
"How is your side going?" he asks.
"Oh, fine," Sophie says, and, remembering, pats her pockets until she finds the floor plans and hands them to him. "I think I might be up for a promotion."
"You've only been there a week," Nate says.
"I guess some people know talent when they see it," she says, and they're silent for a few moments. "Speaking of which, I'm up for Hamlet, you know."
"Oh, really?" Nate says, nodding in that overly enthusiastic way he has when he's being supportive. "Local?"
She's not sure if there's a tone in his voice when he asks that question. It sounds like there's a tone. Sophie chooses to ignore it. "Santa Barbara Community Theater," she says proudly. "Shakespeare, Nate, just picture it. Of course, there may be some problems with the funding."
"Of course," says Nate. "I'm sure you'll come up with something."
"I'm sure I will," Sophie says. "I'm fairly certain I was born to play Ophelia."
"That's a - really terrifying thought, Soph," he says.
"I will remember your lack of encouragement. Aren't the others finished with their infra-red things yet?"
xx
Continued in Part 2.