)()()()(
Eliot and Nate circled for a long time.
They couldn't get close enough, and they couldn't reach Parker on the comms.
Hardison had the security feed up on the plasma, but the guards just kept sending men out in to the field and shouting at each other. Obviously they were aware of a security breach, but there was no sign of her on the footage.
What could they do? Eventually, they drove home. Parker had always been good at being invisible and now, it seemed, she had disappeared like smoke.
Nate wondered – feared – she might have made it to the road and was still waiting out there for them to pick her up.
Sophie believed Parker was hiding somewhere (or maybe leaping from tree to tree, like a monkey) and they would find her when they went back tomorrow.
Eliot thought privately that one of the men might have just shot her, out there in the woods, but he kept this opinion to himself.
Hardison didn't try to imagine where she was. He just kept scanning his equipment, all the trackers and transponders and receivers, to get a signal from her location.
But there was nothing.
Nate woke up first the next morning and wandered out into the kitchen in his boxers and robe (it was, after all, his apartment). He marveled at the heavy feeling in his chest, the hushed, expectant ache. Someone was missing. Someone was gone. It had never been this way before.
He spied what he thought must be mud in the front hall, tracked in on somebody's boots the night before. Grumbling, he fetched a broom to sweep it up before realizing it was blood, clearly printed with the marks of small bare feet.
"Oh, Christ. Eliot, Sophie, Hardison – Get in here!"
Parker was curled up asleep on his couch.
...
It's hard to keep swimming, but Parker is good at hard things.
The current is too fast for her to do a lot of steering, so at first she just hangs on, happy to let it carry her far away from the fury behind her.
She discovers that the best position is on her back, feet in front of her, like an otter. If she tips her head back, she can see the stars. She thinks she has gone several miles. There is no sound.
Every once in a while a rock or a log – or a pile of trash, or a shallow place – will come up and crash into her, but none of them hit her hard enough to let her get out of the water. Parker is in the frustrating position of wishing to be hit a little harder.
Time to get out? thinks Parker hopefully. And the log slams into her and past her and says, nope.
It's weird to think that just a few hours ago, she was eating corn flakes and sitting on Nate's giant couch, watching Hardison play around on the flat-screen. She'd been nice and warm and wearing pants.
Life is funny like that. One moment you're trying to decide if you want a second bowl of cereal, and the next you're wondering if you've dislocated your shoulder.
Just when Parker is beginning to think maybe she will need to grow a fin and become a mermaid (because at this rate she is going to end up in the ocean) the river heaves itself around a corner and there it is –
A bridge.
Bridges mean roads. Roads, in Parker's experience, usually go somewhere. This is good. All she has to do is get to the bridge. She can do this (it would seem to involve swimming).
Maybe she picks the wrong eddy to scramble into, because she ends up getting herself slammed into the cement abutment. But maybe it is the right eddy, because at least she can grab hold of the brambles on the river bank and haul herself to the edge.
Parker takes a moment. Currently she is cold and – let's face it – a little frightened, but nothing really hurts. She knows that the frigid water is keeping down any swelling. Or bleeding. Or general unpleasantness. She has a strong suspicion that the pain will start when she's out of the water. So this is, like, a reprieve.
Now she kind of has an inclination to stay in the water (except that she might drown, of course).
So, no good options, really.
But then the bank starts to shift under her weight and the scale tips towards drowning over bleeding to death, and Parker reflects that she'd really better get a move on. She pulls herself up with her hands and tries not to think about how unhelpful her left leg is feeling. Once she gets herself upright she pulls the recalcitrant limb underneath her properly and tells it on no uncertain terms that, by God, she will leave it behind if it doesn't get its act together.
She begins to climb. Yup, it hurts. But this is the plan: get to the road, walk somewhere, and then get somewhere. Well, she's not the big planner okay? That's Nate's job.
This is just like that time with the vault in Frankfurt, when the door slammed shut with her inside, and she thought I hope someone gets that just before remembering she always worked alone. It had taken twenty minutes to break out through an air shaft and the cops were right outside. Actually, she was pretty sure Nate had investigated that one. Had he ever realized that was her?
The point is, nobody's coming. She's on her own.
There are sharp things under her bare feet, but Parker isn't thinking about that. And her leg definitely feels weird, but she's not thinking about that either. Or about her state of undress, or the fact that her wet hair is dripping cold water down her neck. Sometimes it's good to be smart – like when Nate has to come up with a great con, or Hardison has to hack a computer code – but sometimes it's better to just do. Eliot would understand, or Sophie. Like when you are trying to break out of a vault and the guards are coming. Don't over-think it, just climb.
Okay, she's made it to the road. Time for Phase II of the plan – walk somewhere.
She starts off counting to pass the time, and when that stops working, she hums tunelessly to herself (Parker isn't much for music). She lists the foster homes she stayed at. That takes a while. Then she starts diagramming security at various museums she's broken into, which takes a long time.
Eventually, she just concentrates on walking.
Although she doesn't seem to be getting anywhere fast, Parker can't help noticing that it is a beautiful night.