)()()()(

Parker is a terrible patient.

First, she doesn't want to wake up when Nate leans over her, preferring to bury her face in the pillow instead. "Go away," she mutters when he shakes her shoulder, "I'm tired."

"Parker, honey, get up. Parker." Honey – that sounds funny. Ha ha, honey and funny, that rhymes. How come it isn't spelled hunny or foney? Wait, no, she's sleeping.

Nate is trying to pull back the afghan she is wrapped in, and she wiggles to stay underneath it, grumbling. "Leave me alone, I was up all night. Sleepy now."

The sound of feet. "Oh my God, Parker – " she is swimming in flowery perfume. Sophie. At least Sophie is warm and snuggly; Sophie is okay. No more of Nate with the shaking.

Unfortunately, it appears she is not going to get her wish; here's Eliot and Hardison, squinting in the morning light, and if she sees them that means her eyes are open, and it's hard to sleep like that (not impossible, though). And Nate has managed to untuck her now, and her shirt and her hair are still damp, so she's cold. She makes a little complaining noise, wishing they could reshoot this scene in a couple of hours. Like maybe six hours. Or eight.

"Your feet look like hamburger," Eliot observes, studying them where they are propped up on the armrest.

"Your feet look like hamburger," she snipes back, pulling them up under her. Oh, that hurts; from now on, she's going to keep her legs straight.

"What happened?" asks Nate, covering her up again; "Where did you go?"

"I swam," she explains, sitting up slowly. "But the water was cold, so that sucked. But then I made it to a bridge, so that was good. But there was something wrong with my leg, so that sucked. So I had to walk a long time. And I didn't have any shoes. So that sucked. But then I got a ride, so that was good." She nods wisely.

"Your leg? What's wrong with your leg?" Sophie reaches for her, but Parker squirms away.

"Nothing's wrong with it. It's better. I just told you, I didn't walk the whole way. This old couple drove me home and they were really nice. But I didn't have any money to pay them, so I felt bad. But then I realized I was wearing diamond earrings, so I gave them those." Parker frowns. "I hope they get them appraised, they're worth a fortune. I stole them in Berlin."

"I see," says Nate, but he says it in that tone of voice that means he doesn't really see.

"Did we get the file?" Parker aks. "Did we set up the meet?"

"Don't worry about that now," Nate instructs. But behind his head, Sophie nods vigorously and mouths Yes. That makes Parker happy. Now they would get those bad, dog-owning men back for chasing her.

"I'm going to get cleaned up," she says, getting up carefully.

"Whoa-oh, there," says Hardison nervously, "Maybe you need to go to the hospital, get checked out." He is watching her stiff-legged gait while trying not to stare at her bare legs. Silly Hardison.

"No hospital, shower," Parker insists. "My hair smells like snails." It is hard to walk, but she's had a lot of practice at it. Her hamburger feet try to cringe away from the hard wood floor. She keeps moving.

"Sophie, go with her," Nate orders. "And when you get out, Eliot's going to take a look at you." Parker makes a face and imagines that, behind her back, Eliot is making one, too.

Parker uses up all of Nate's hot water. She also uses the last of his man-soap, scrubbing her hair. A leaf falls out of it.

When she is done Sophie comes in with a pair of Nate's boxers and one of his button-down shirts in her hand. "Did you walk all the way home with no pants? And no bra, either." Parker nods and drops her towel, not at all embarrassed to be naked in front of Sophie. She's pretty sure Sophie is more into Nate.

A gasp. "Oh, sweetie!" Parker looks down. Her whole hip has blossomed into a vivid purple bruise. The skin looks tight and stretched from the swelling.

"I hit a log," she says. "And a bridge."

Sophie helps her get dressed in Nate's clothes (Parker is happy to be wearing his clothes intead of Sophie's, since they are usually more comfortable), talking the whole time in a gentle voice, as if Parker is a small woodland creature.

"It's alright, sweetheart, we're going to get you back to the couch, okay? Come on, here we go, you're going to be just fine." Parker blinks. She knows this. Why is Sophie always so weird?

She is ushered her back to the living room where Sophie helps her sit down, as if Parker is not perfectly capable of seating herself. Eliot comes to sit in front of her on the couch, and Sophie takes a seat behind her to brush her tangled hair with a wide-tooth comb. Parker has been flanked.

When Eliot lifts her nasty feet one at a time, she wiggles them out of his big hands, scowling. She does not want to be checked out; she wants to get up and go home.

A terrible patient.

So Hardison crouches on the floor next to her and, without making a big deal of it, takes her hand in his. "Easy, girl."

"I'm fine," she insists. Nate is watching from the corner, his face tight, and Parker sticks her tongue out at him. This is his fault.

Eliot has caught her feet again. "Does this hurt?" he asks, bending her ankle slowly back and forth. Parker shakes her head no. He moves on to her knee, watching her face as he manipulates the joint. Parker grits her teeth and looks away. Hardison squeezes her hand, very gently.

"This side?" Eliot asks. He lifts her left leg and presses down on her hip, feeling the bone. "Am I hurting you?"

Yes. "No."

"I don't think there's a fracture," he mutters. "Feels like a hip pointer - you get them from a football tackle."

"That's what it felt like," Parker agrees.

"Ice it to keep down the swellling, and keep off it for a few days. You'll be fine." He moves on to her wrists, her elbow, her shoulder. "Anything else?"

Wordlessly Parker holds up her right hand, where the little finger sticks out at a weird angle. Eliot stares at her. "That's dislocated," he says. "What is wrong with you?"

"It must have happened when I got out of the river," says Parker. "I didn't notice it until I was in the shower. But it's not like it's an important finger, right? It's not like an index finger."

Eliot rolls his eyes. "I can put it back, but it's going to hurt," he warns.

"It already hurts," says Parker blankly.

Sophie runs to get her some pills, and Parker reclaims her other hand from Hardison so she can take them. When Eliot wraps his catchers' mitt palms around her innocent little pinky, she threads her fingers back into Hardison's. Then she watches intently as Eliot pops the joint back with an audible snap. Her expression never changes.

"Okay?"

The finger seems to be working again. "You know," says Parker, "I feel just like that scene in The Wizard of Oz, when Dorothy's getting made over. And you're the lion," she points at Eliot, "and Nate's the wizard. And you're the scarecrow" - Hardison. "And Sophie's the Good Witch. But it was a munchkin doing Dorothy's hair." She drops her head back to look at Sophie. "You're not even short," she points out.

Eliot shakes his head, but Hardison plays along. "Well, what about the Tin Man?"

"I dunno, maybe he fell down the rabbit hole. Or was that me?"

"You're mixing your metaphors, girl, that's Alice in Wonderland."

"Alice White in Wonderland," Parker snickers. "Alice White and the Seven Dwarfs."

"Oh man," says Eliot to Sophie, "how many of those pills did you give her?"

"It was Tylenol," says Sophie, mystified.

"I don't do drugs," Parker affirms. "I'm high on life."