"Easy," Parker exclaimed, pointing at the blueprints in front of her. "Cut the power to the east side of the building, bypass the back-up generator then the only thing you have left to deal with is the vault door. In and out," she paused to calculate, "five minutes 32 seconds."

Nate nodded as Eliot's phone rang. The hitter answered it as Nate and the rest of the team continued with the planning. "Should be enough time," the mastermind agreed.

"I'm sorry?" Eliot asked; there was tension in his voice. "Yeah, I'll be right down," he declared and then hung up the phone.

"What'd she do this time?" Sophie asked.

"Punched Kyle in the face," he informed them as he walked over to the kitchen and picked up his keys. Parker let out an obscure, untimely laugh to which Nate offered a disapproving stare.

"Is that not funny?" she questioned, twisting around to look at her team mates.

"Not exactly funny, no," Hardison agreed. "Not entirely unwarranted either," he stated to Eliot.

"You need a few days?" Nate asked. Eliot nodded in thanks and made his way out the door.

"Why does she keep doing bad things?" Parker asked innocently, looking up from her blueprints and up at Sophie.

Sophie smiled at the fact that the minor indiscretions by Parker were seen as 'bad things'.

"Because teenagers do funny things some time Parker," she offered.

"I never did strange things," she noted innocently. In the corner, Nate chuckled slightly but the reason behind it was lost on the thief.

"You were a getaway driver at, what, ten? And one of the world's best thieves by 17," Sophie replied jokingly. "In the normal world that's considered strange, whereas Abby's little indiscretions are more normal," she explained. "But that doesn't mean what she did was right," she added as an afterthought.

"Okay," Parker nodded and went about her business planning their heist.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"Thankyou for coming," the principal greeted, standing up and leaning over his desk to shake Eliot's hand.

"Didn't have a lot of choice," the hitter replied, glancing at Abigail as he sat in a chair next to her. She didn't make eye contact and her hands were buried timidly between her thighs.

"Now, you're aware that your niece punched one of our students in the face this afternoon?" The headmaster asked, though it was mostly a rhetorical question.

"Yes," Eliot replied.

"Now, I don't know what's going at home or what your situation is but," he opened up a file on his desk and flicked through to one of the last pages, "she skipped out on class a few weeks ago," Abby's fingers clenched and her nails dug into her palms; she hated being spoken about as though she wasn't there or was a child. Talk to me, she thought.

"And then she violently attacks a member of her class, without provocation," the headmaster continued.

"One punch isn't violent," Abby exclaimed in Hebrew.

"Punching someone without provocation is," Eliot retorted, not convinced or happy. "I'd appreciate it if you'd let me handle this," he said to the principal.

The headmaster held his hand up. "Ultimately, how you deal with this is up to you, and I know you're a friend of the Bonnano's and there's probably a lot of complications at home," Eliot ignored the dig at his parenting and let the man continue, "but this can't go unnoticed," he explained apologetically. "We're going to suspend Abigail for two weeks."

"What?" Abby asked in upset, more than in disbelief.

"You need to think about what you've done," the man continued; it was the first time he had addressed Abigail directly.

"I'll deal with it," Eliot promised, standing up and shaking the headmaster's hand.

"Good," he nodded. "And you should know that, any more slip up's like this, we'll have to take further action."

"It won't be a problem," Eliot assured, looking at Abby from the corner of his eye.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"Abby, Abigail," Eliot exclaimed as they left the school. The teenager was storming in front of him walking to her car. "Stop," he yelled.

"What?" she yelled back.

"Where are you going?"

"To my car," she exclaimed.

"No," he said simply and directed her to his dodge. "Hop in the car."

"And what about my car?" she asked in response.

"Ya mean Nate's car?" he corrected. After her fender bender, Abby had not been given another one to drive. "Hardison'll come and get it," Eliot replied.

"He doesn't have keys."

"Then Parker'll come and get it!"

She huffed and reluctantly hoped into Eliot's car. He exited the school gate and drove onto the highway. Neither of them said a word until Abby noticed that Eliot did not take their usual exit. "Where are we going?" the teenager asked.

"We're going away for a few days," he said simply.

"Why?"

"Because you need to sort yourself out."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

They had been driving for a few hours, in silence, when they finally arrived at their destination. They had driven west, somewhere out near Ohio Abby guessed and had pulled up at a small, dishevelled, stone cottage, with an equally as unloved wooden barn sitting not far away from it.

It sat nestled in a thick, solemn looking wood and its worn and beaten decking, overgrown plants and dust covered porch were evidence that the house, if you could call it that, had been much neglected.

Eliot turned off the car engine, stepped silently out of the car and around to the trunk, where he pulled out a duffle bag, tool box and saw.

"This couldn't get any creepier," Abby muttered under her breath. Eliot ignored the comment and passed her the tool box. "Wanna tell me what we're doing here?"

"We're fixin' up the house," he replied as he slammed the trunk shut.

"I'm sorry? I get suspended and, rather than grounding me, we go on a little daddy-daughter weekend to build a house?" She could hardly believe her ears; this had been the opposite of what she'd expected.

"Yup," was his blunt reply as he looked her quickly in the eye.

"Sure." The teenager was still slightly confused as her uncle walked off into the house. "Why?" she asked, following her uncle after a few moments of staying still.

"I think you're a little lost darlin'," he began, pushing the front door open with a fair bit of force; it's ancient rusted hinges needing some coaxing to let it swing. "I think you're tryna fit into a world that you don't quite understand, and who doesn't quite understand you. And until you figure that out, you need something to work on."

Abby still looked puzzled.

"Just think you maybe need something productive to put your energy into," he explained further as they both stepped inside the building.

The interior of the building was even more unloved than the outside. The steps which led to the second story were badly worn, but a beautifully kept carved banister guided it into the darkness. It was void of any flooring and several walls. Those walls which were still remaining had sad, faded wallpaper drooping off them. But, as old, unkempt and creepy as it seemed, Abby couldn't help but feel comforted by its dusty embrace.

"Not much here," she declared simply as Eliot set down one of the bags on one of the only remaining patches of floor.

"Not yet," Eliot replied.

"Where do we sleep?"

"There's camping gear in the barn," he explained as he carried the tool box across the cross beams on the floor and into what had once been, and would be again, the living room.

"How long exactly have you been planning this?" Abby questioned, carefully following him across the floor, holding her hands out wide to balance.

"Since you skipped out on school." He bent down and placed the box on the ground with a hefty grunt.

"That long huh?" she muttered under her breath. "Nice to see you had a little faith in me."

"We'll start here," he pointed at the far west wall, ignoring the teenager's griping. "We gotta make sure everything's water tight before we can work on anythin' else."

"Start how?" she questioned; renovating was hardly something she was used to.

"Grab a hammer and some gloves," he stated, opening up the large metal tool box, "and tear down anything rotten."

"Got it," Abby declared and did as she was told.