)()()()(
Parker settled Eliot in the backseat of her stolen Impala – he was too long to fit properly, so she left his feet hanging out of the open door. Then she left the car idling on the ground floor of a garage on the corner of Washington and Eleventh.
She took a deep breath. Now the team would come get Eliot and he would be okay.
She had enough money for a plane ticket and the stolen ID that would get her a seat. This was probably the perfect time to hit the road.
But - what if something happened and they didn't come? Eliot would be left unconscious in the back seat of a running car . . . she couldn't leave until she knew for sure.
She closed her eyes. One last thing, and then she could disappear for good. Once she was certain, she could go.
Having made up her mind, it was easy to climb up a level and huddle behind a cement pillar to watch - a guard rail blocked her from being seen from below, but she had a good view of the parking lot. For a long time nobody came, and her stomach twisted in anxiety. Were they so mad at her that they wouldn't show? But surely they wouldn't punish Eliot for her betrayal . . . they were supposed to be the good guys, after all!
Finally, finally she watched a familiar black sedan drive slowly across the lot towards the Impala. That was the team. Now she could take off.
"You are a lot of trouble, you know that," asked Hardison, his arm closing tight around her shoulders. "It's like a full-time job, just keeping track of you."
Parker bit and kicked, scratching with her fingernails, but he just tucked her under one arm and pinned her against his chest. "Hey now, settle, girl, settle," he warned, but Parker fought like a wildcat, trying to twist free. She couldn't let him take her back. She was considering a swift kick to the `nads (ironically Eliot had taught her that trick) when Hardison managed to catch her wrists in one hand and turn her around. "Girl, you better calm down," he muttered in her ear.
She didn't want to go with him – she couldn't go – but Hardison was determined, towing her firmly in the direction of the cars, shushing her as she struggled in his grasp. Nate would kill her – in some really clever way – they would never find her body – he would kill her, But Hardison kept them moving, still talking softly; "S'alright, Baby, don't you worry now."
Nate and Sophie were already out of the car and inspecting the damage. "You get Parker?" called Nate.
Hardison tightened his arms around her. "Yup."
"Good. Help get Eliot into the car." After a moment's pause, Hardison gave her a reassuring squeeze and let her go, heading off towards Sophie - from across the room Parker could hear her soft cries of dismay and his sharp inhalation of breath. Left alone with Nate she stood in silence and waited for him to speak. Why beg for forgiveness she knew she didn't deserve? She was a thief and now a killer and now she was going to, what, ask for their help?
Nate pulled her into a gruff hug, his cheek brushing quickly over her hair before he gripped her shoulders and pushed her away again. Parker couldn't remember him ever hugging her before. His hands were clamped like vices on her arms. "Don't do anything ever do that again," he warned. "You have a problem with the way I'm running a con, you come to me."
Parker felt her eyes filling up with tears, and she angrily blinked them away.
"You hear me?"
"Yes."
"Good girl. Let's go, we've got to take Eliot back. We'll take him to Sophie's place – it's closer."
She watched as Sophie and Hardison, between them, hoisted Eliot out of her car and into theirs. Lift with your backs, she thought.
"Let's go," said Nate.
Parker sat stoic and expressionless between Hardison and Sophie, crammed in uncomfortably to leave room for Eliot in the front seat. ("Of course, we're furious," Sophie had warned, squeezing her into a tight, fierce hug. Now she alternated between patting her - her arm, her shoulder, her hair - and swearing she would kick her ass. Parker was beginning to think she didn't mean it, though).
"Are you alright?" asked Nate, from the driver's seat.
Parker nodded yes. "All the bullets missed us," she explained helpfully. In the rear-view mirror, she saw Nate slap his forehead with one hand.
...
Parker couldn't remember being part of a family so she didn't understand forgiveness. If you did something bad, you had to go, that was all - out into the street, you became someone else's problem. If you couldn't play nice, if you couldn't behave, then you didn't deserve a nice warm home and lots of food. And if you betrayed somebody they would hate you, not hug you and ask if you were okay. It didn't make any sense.
"OK, gently, guys, let's get him inside," said Nate, opening the passenger-side door. "Parker – help."
Numbly she slipped Eliot's arm over her shoulder and, in a practiced move, began maneuvering him to the door. But this time Hardison took the other side and hoisted his weight off of her, and Sophie hurried to open the door and hold it for them, pressing the button for the elevator. Nate made a quick call from his cellphone. "A buddy of mine is an internist," he explained as he hung up, catching Parker's questioning eye. She nodded and said nothing, huddling under Eliot's arm. "Hey," said Nate, "he's going to be fine, okay? He'll be fine."
Parker sniffed and ducked her head. "He kept getting worse," she explained in a small voice.
Nate was saved from having to reply when the elevator dinged, letting them off at Sophie's apartment. Unlike Nate's place, it was warm and homey, with yellow curtains fluttering over the sink.
"Over here," said Sophie, "bring him into the guest room." Parker (who slept in a sleeping bag on a mattress on the floor) was impressed by the beautiful wood furniture, all ornately carved and delicate. She wondered what museum Sophie had stolen it from. "Put him down on the bed." The four-poster creaked dismally under his weight.
When Nate's Doctor friend showed up, he looked more like a gangly teenager than a medical expert. And he didn't seem overly concerned about Eliot, either. "Sounds like a laceration to the spleen," he speculated. "He's been bleeding from some blunt-force trauma - but it can't have been too bad, or he wouldn't have lasted two days." Like Nate, Doctor Friend seemed a little light on the emotions. "I've started him on an IV for fluids and antibiotics, and we'll see how he does."
Parker poked him. "He doesn't look any better yet."
Nate caught her hand. "Yeah, um, that's going to take a little more time, Parker."
Hardison finally lured her away by making omelets (with ketchup!) in Sophie's tiny, underutilized kitchen ("Where did you find eggs?" asked Sophie. "Or a pan?").
Parker dug in and realized she was starving, barely managing to ask questions between forkfuls of food. "What about the men from the warehouse?" she wanted to know. "Have you heard anything more from them?"
"It's weird," said Sophie. "Nate set up a meeting after you left, but they didn't show. And now we can't even get in touch with Davids, the CEO."
"Oh yeah?"
"He's gone off the map," said Nate, frowning. "I'm getting the runaround from his second in command. To be honest it seems like the whole organization is in shambles, some kind of leadership crisis. You wouldn't happen to know anything about that, would you Parker?"
Parker took a thoughtful bite of eggs. A man falling backwards, his chest a blossoming red stain. "I don't know what you're talking about," she said.