Disclaimer: I own nothing.

A note: I believe that this is the hardest chapter I have written, and hope its not exploitative. In my opinion, it's in character for my thief. (Eliot can fight me for her!LOL).

Reviews are appreciated, I love that you guys read and give me feedback, it makes my day.

Parker sang as she washed her hair in the shower. She was happy. Yeah she had told Eliot, but she hadn't really told him anything much. Not any names, or the big secret. And he hadn't bullied her into telling either, which she liked. The Gardner Heist was a legend, not a myth, and she was careful when visiting to be discreet, just in case. The insurance guy had always suspected Mr X, and though he too had passed, his suspicions lived on in the form of journalists, investigators, private collectors...A lot of folks wanted to know who pulled off the biggest job in art theft history and would do anything to know. Parker was confidant that she was not linked to Mr X in anyway, but it paid to be circumspect.

She had been here once with Mrs X, before the end, and the place held memories that were rare for her. Happy ones. Mrs X used to tell Mr X off for having her work, then despair when Parker insisted she loved it. A born thief, Mrs X said, but had liked her anyway. At least Parker hoped it was like not pity. Her song faltered. Whatever.

Mrs X had read her the stories of Eloise, a special girl who lived at the Plaza, having adventures. In the will, she had said she left the home to Parker so she could be Eloise forever if she wanted. Parker turned her face to the spray, letting hot tears run away in the flow. Crying was pointless. So she stopped after allowing a little sorrow out. Crying didn't fix a problem. It caused one. If you were emotionally weak, you were vulnerable to making mistakes. And that would not do. Today though, she was feeling a little unsteady in that regard. The radio throwing incident for one. The inappropriate teasing when Eliot was half naked. Her skin flushed raw under the shower and she rinsed out her hair and stepped from the cubicle. Wrapping herself in a fluffy towel, she realised she had no clean clothes to change into, and grabbed a dressing gown from the door, loving the feel of soft white cotton at her skin. Pampering was not all bad she decided. She could sleep in the hotel 'jama's she requested and save her clothes for when they left. Grabbing a fine brush from the bathroom dresser, she bundled her clothes in her arms and made her way downstairs, wanting to hang them in the airer to keep dry after thoughtlessly dumping them on the floor to jump in the shower. Getting them just a bit damp in the process.

Eliot had taken use of the downstairs bathroom, and his hair gleamed as he rubbed it with a towel on the sofa. He was wearing sweat pants and a vest and it took her a second to realise she was staring. He had the courtesy not to call her on it, and she was grateful. It was a sensation she was not used to, this hot thing writhing inside when she thought of him at the truck, bare chested, looking up at her with eyes that-she stopped. It was wrong to think about him like that. Totally wrong. Bad thief.

"Enjoy your shower?" He glanced up, and she thought he looked at her legs, which was stupid because he had seen them a thousand times. His eyes met hers and she nodded. They both looked away after a moment, and Parker's skin felt hot and clammy all over. The shower had been too hot. Yeah.

"How's your arm?" The stitched up wound looked angry but clean, and he shrugged.

"It's fine. I'll ice it." The image of Eliot holding an ice pack to some part of his anatomy was familiar enough to snap her from her varying concerns. So far she was getting away with it she realised, scanning the room. Nothing untoward on display, Mr Frank had done a great job. She'd leave him a thank you note.

"Do you wanna order in?"

"Hell yeah I am famished. I don't know how you survive on that crap Parker, you need to get some meat in-" He stopped point blank and blanched. She watched, fascinated. What was his deal?

"I'll get the phone. You can order anything, though I recommend the pancakes." She looked up and wished she hadn't said that. "They aren't as good as yours of-course."

He nodded his head with a pained expression. "Mighty nice of you to say so ma'am." He didn't believe a word. She sighed. Hell.

"Give me a minute I'll put these to dry and grab it."

"Sure," he nodded. "So we eat, get some shut eye and leave about 5? That sound cool?"

"Yep." She called back as she hung her clothes up in the airer, hearing him move around the living room. The safe living room. She smiled. He wasn't getting all her secrets. Nobody was allowed everything. That would be dumb as chips. She wondered how soon after he went to bed she could leave and scope out Tiffany's. Not to rob of-course. Just to, you know, check it out. Take a look see. Thoroughly satisfied, she found the envelope in her jacket from Mr Frank, and began to open it as she grabbed the phone off the hallway dresser.

"Mind if I watch the box while we wait for food Parker? I didn't catch the game on the radio."

"Sure." She replied easily, not caring, and opened the letter, pulling it stretched as she returned to the living area. The words did not compute the first time. Then they blurred and made her dizzy. Oh God. Oh no. No. Three words that made her feel faint were printed on the page.

Press Play Pitstop.

"Eliot stop! Don't press anything!" She looked up as she entered at a run, wild eyed, and Eliot stood in the centre of the room holding the remote with his eyes fixed on the screen. Oh God no. Parker wanted to bury herself away and hide. Maybe she could throw herself off the terrace upstairs? She had her harness after all. She didn't want to look at the screen. Never had wanted to, and Mr Frank the old fox knew it. So he had forced it on her anyway. Mean man. He wasn't that good at all, she decided, amending her assessment of him darkly.

"What the hell is this Parker?" Eliot's query was cautious, and he sat back on the seat, head still raised and aimed at the screen. She cringed.

"It's nothing. Not a thing. Just a snafu. I'll fix it."

"Don't you dare touch anything. Holding out on me Parker?" He looked back over his shoulder, and seemed to assess her state. "C'mere."

She shook her head. She really did not want to watch it.

Eliot growled and stood, pacing toward her with a curious look on his face. He switched off the lights and pulled her gently by the arm to sit beside him on the sofa, plenty of space between them.

Taking the phone from her hands, he dialled the front desk.

"Hey Jenny. Yeah it's Mutley. Can I get a plate of pancakes sent up?" He glanced at Parker, and she couldn't think as he paused,thoughtfully, before going back to the call. "Make that two plates and a couple of sodas. Yeah. Oh and steak and fries. Yeah. Rare. Thanks."

Parker watched as he placed the phone on the occasional table beside the sofa and turned his eyes back on her with a hunters precision.

"We're watching this Parker."

"I really don't want to. Not my thing. Thanks anyway." Her carefree smile wasn't working on him.

"I won't watch if you want. Just you. But you have to Parker. C'mon darlin' look at it." It scalded her eyes to look and she didn't want that. "It's a gift darlin'. It's rude not to accept it."

"But I-" His eyes were so warm and understanding she thought she may be hallucinating. Had they poisoned her cereal? Damn and double doughnuts this was humiliating.

"I'll go upstairs." He placed the remote in her hand, and went to stand but she gripped his hand tight as he stood, and tugged him back down. In all honesty, if she had to watch, she couldn't watch alone. She had no idea how to handle it. The emotion that the title screen evoked was like a wave poised above her head threatening to crash over her, drowning her in it. She needed someone to pull her from under that.

"Stay. If I have to suffer so do you." She tried to sark it out, but his eyes were soft as he shrugged, and she had a prickling sensation in her stomach and chest. He was too observant. And she bought this on herself for asking him here and being so sure she could get away with it. Screw the rules she was going to rob Tiffany's after this she decided. She had earned it.

The title screen was a mosaic of children's faces, hundreds, all in tiny stamp like squares. By magic, somehow the faces and colours and shapes in the tiny tiles created a word.

Thank You.

Oh God, Parker could feel a lump swell in her throat. She could die if it got any bigger. She clung to Eliot's hand, hoping he would crack her airways if necessary.

She huddled in her seat, her legs beneath her, towels wrapped about her and the dressing gown draped round like a protective cocoon and pressed play.

Eliot watched Parker watch the screen. The images reflected on her skin, lighting her with the faces of all the kids she had helped somehow. Why had she hidden it? But he knew already. Her eyes were shining with un-shed tears and he wanted to hold her and rub her back till she was all cried out. Sometimes showing emotion was not a weakness, but denying it certainly could be. He circled his thumb against her hand, in an effort to soothe. He was allowed this one intimacy surely? A friendly touch of support. Screw it, he wasn't letting go.

He turned his attention to the screen. The titles gave way to a child's face up close at the camera lens, kissing it cheekily, then scampering back to a sofa, this sofa Eliot realised, the one he and Parker currently sat on. On the screen, the child, a boy of about five was climbing onto presumably his dad's knee. A woman, man, girl of about twelve and the toddler all stared at them, as if looking right at them.

"Ms Pitstop, we wanted to write you, but Mr Frank told us you ain't a fan of letters." The man cleared his throat, his southern drawl cracking just a bit. The boy smiled and waved, and the mother smiled at him.

"So we thought we'd say it direct instead." The mother looked up and aimed a watery smile at the camera. Eliot felt his chest squeeze. Oh lord he had not even noticed.

"I always wanted to visit the city, and maybe be on Broadway when I got older." The girl with the scarf on her head spoke up, her voice quiet, but so very powerful. "I guess that might not happen now, or maybe it will." She turned to her folks and her dad rubbed her back, pride written large on every pore of his face. Nodding, she turned back to continue.

"I don't know who you are, or why you do this. But thank you. I got to see Wicked! and we rode around Central Park in a carriage and did so much good stuff. It's the best trip we ever had."

The mum and dad nodded, and the little boy glanced at his dad who was struggling to keep his emotions in check He nodded at the boy, who jumped off his knee and ran back to the camera, his face filling the screen.

"Thanks for makin' my sister's dreams come true Mrs Pinkstop." He kissed the screen, and then there was fuzz, before a new image appeared, of a different family, on the same sofa.

Eliot tried to breathe a minute, as the impact hit him. He looked at Parker and his heart near burst when he saw tears streaming silently down her cheeks as she drank it in. Damn. No words were sufficient in the moment, so he hauled her across the space and rearranged her so her head lay on his chest. She didn't protest. He knew she would hate him acknowledging her tears, So he kissed her crown fiercely, letting his arm sit loose at her waist, and felt her hiccup into his vest.

They watched on, as family after family expressed their thanks, and some told their stories, and some shared good news and others bad. He realised the wide doors were to allow wheelchairs access, and that the stairs were fitted with a discreet stair lift. He realised Parker's capacity to give exceeded beyond a free room and board, but to flights and tickets to shows. He realised why she hated the thanks as terminal illness filled their vision, knowing that she would feel a fraud as she could not buy them health. The service lift dinged, and he didn't want to move but she slid off, rubbing her eyes with the cuffs of her dressing gown and smiled at him.

"That's enough now." He nodded, and switched the TV to pick up a cable channel. Unsure what to say, he just fetched the food, and leant on the counter in the kitchenette for a minute to try and calm his own emotional response to the video. The words did not et him most. But the eyes of the parents who fought so hard for their kids, only to have them fall sick and get ill from so many diseases...The look they had, of hope and gratitude and grief all in one just about undid him.

He coughed, and tied his hair in a band, sleeking it down and with it, his control. Grabbing the cloches, and placing them on trays with the cutlery and condiments provided, he took them into the living room, where Parker was waiting. She took a tray, and left the room, heading upstairs.

He tried to ignore the stab of hurt her retreat caused, but knew it was right. Knew it.

"Aren't you coming?" She paused on the stairs and caught his eyes, hers open and direct. Crystal clear since the tears had fallen. "We can eat on the terrace and watch cops bust people."

"Gotcha. Our own Cops Special."

"Exactly," She grinned, and turned away, disappearing up to the next floor. He felt odd going up there, which was stupid considering the events of a few minutes before. Having her cry on his shoulder was one thing. Being alone with her in a dressing gown so close to a bed was a whole 'nother thing. But his steak and fries had looked good. Feeling like an ass for the umpteenth time he followed. It was just food, he told himself.

Rule Three was bust wide open he mused, and as he climbed the stairs he had a sinking feeling that she had managed to obliterate Rule Four too. Without even knowing it. Man he was in trouble here.

He wondered if he should just call it a night and try and grab the remaining few hours of sleep before they left. Truth was he wouldn't sleep though. He barely did any more. The power nap in the truck had been an aberration for him. Sleep and him just weren't that close. He could rest, but he knew his mind would be torturing him, with a whole bunch of stuff he had no right thinking.

He got to the terrace and understood at once why Parker had wanted to eat here. It must be like a balm to her raw self all this open night sky, and the drop off the building was spectacular. Nice running up room too, since the terrace was a large paved area adorned with potted plants, a table and chairs with a parasol, and a planter that ran the length of the balcony, filled with flowers. Plant of space to haul and ass and leap. He wondered if she had. The faces of the families kept drifting across his thoughts, like background noise he couldn't tune out. He took a seat and found Parker sitting there with her glass raised ready for a toast.

"What are we toasting?"

"Who Eliot, who. To Mrs X." She raised her glass and he copied.

"To Mrs X." He thought Ms Pitstop deserved a little appreciation in all honesty but knew not to push. This had been an unexpected trip in so many ways, he was still filtering them all. He remained alert to the balcony and an ear out to the stairs, paranoia at full scale out here. They were sitting ducks if an enemy chose to attack from-

"They aren't here for me Eliot." How could she know that? In fact how did she know he was even considering-"You have that look on your face when you are waiting to get pounced, you just don't know when yet." He had a look for that? He schooled his features, then scowled. Too much effort. The frowning in concentration was in built.

"You do good things here Parker." Somehow it came out without his permission, and he followed it by eating his steak. Loudly. She looked at him, and smiled till her eyes crinkled then put a finger to her lips and wiggled her little finger at him. He groaned as he swallowed a piece of steak, apparently only this would suffice. He nodded, and hooked fingers to complete the oath.

Satisfied she let go, and he tore through his meal like a tornado, not giving a crap about manners He was on edge man. Even now, he could see Parker's throat and the column of her neck leading downwards to her cleavage, bundled up as she was in that dressing gown. His emotional state was ruined thanks to Mr Franks welcome video, and he could not stop wondering if she was naked under the robe. Like, naked. Which felt wrong but he couldn't help it. Her head had imprinted itself to his shoulder and chest, and his arm had curled about her just right. Ever since he let her go and she had padded away, his body was humming her frequency and hers was vibrating back even if she wasn't aware of it, though he thought she might be. OK knew she was. Her eyes and hands gave her away, and the pulse at her throat, and the heat that arced across the table as they ate and glanced up at each other then away was electric.

He had to go. Wiping his mouth with a napkin and taking one last slug of soda he stood, and said goodnight.

"Wait." Parker stood, and he forced his body still. She was vulnerable and tired and he had to go.

"We should get some sleep Parker, we still have a ways to go and a wedding to get to." He almost said through but saved it.

"Will we have to dance at the wedding?"Of all the things he might have expected...He shook his head.

"Nah it's not mandatory. Most folks do I guess."

"Will you practise with me? I have nada dance skills, and if I'm getting a dress I should dance in it. Don't you think?"

"Parker. I reckon we should-" He trailed off as the moon broke cover and her face lit up like an opal. Dammit, he didn't want to hold her because she was vulnerable and tired and sad, and yet those were all the reasons she was looking for a way to get some contact. It wasn't sex. It was touch. Just because his thoughts ran that hot didn't mean hers did in the same manner. She could just crave affection, which was understandable after her evening. How could he abandon her on the freakin' terrace like that?

"Eliot. I'm sad." She frowned, a joke frown but he knew beneath the clowning and silliness, she was fragile. She really was an excellent thief he acknowledged. His sanity was in her back pack somewhere he was sure of it.

He caught her by the waist and swung her to him, careful not to crush them together. They fit like jigsaw puzzle pieces, her head resting on his shoulder just right. She fell in easily, her dressing gown fluffy at his skin. Her hair tickled his chin, and he tucked her head under his, and swayed. When her hands crept up to wrap about his neck, he gave up all semblance of dancing and just held her. It was what she needed.

"It's weird to be us and be helpless." Her voice reached him from afar, and he strained to hear, still half listening to any sign of imminent attack.

"Whadya mean?" Though he think he already knew.

"Well I can't steal time and you can't beat up cancer. Makes me feel useless." She burrowed in tighter. Eliot wanted to kiss the sad out of her so bad he grazed her forehead with his chin, rubbing at her like a cat, and she responded without compunction, raising her head to look him right in the eye. Too close. She was too close and too soft and entirely too Parker. His stomach dropped as their eyes held, and the embrace was just what it was, not a dance at all, just a man holding a woman who needed to be held. Because life was hard sometimes, but doing all you could to help folks and still feeling that you came up short? He couldn't have her think that. Not ever. Would not let her see her acts her as futile. They really weren't, which was the point of that damn video. To show just how much the trips helped, for a multitude of reasons, each family with their own battle and needs, expressing their own unique thanks.

Her face was still lifting and adrenalin roared through him, skin alight, as he realised she was closing her eyes and leaning in. Jesus. He wanted to forget everything except her mouth which was more than tempting right now, but honour dictated otherwise. And she would regret letting herself got lost so deep. Parker was not quite in charge of herself yet, so he had to be the good guy on her behalf. Freakin' moonlit terraces on the Plaza were a dangerous thing he sighed.

He kissed her forehead, letting his lips linger at her hairline, since not kissing her at all simply wasn't an option, then pulled back, watching asher eyes opened and she became far too aware of what her body had been doing. The horrified shame was too much to take.

"Hey Parker?" She couldn't lift her head, and he wanted to yell off the terrace in fury that this thief, this blonde magic special creature could not be his. He lifted her chin with a finger, gently. He didn't want her to be ashamed. Not ever. Screw it. he knew how to make her smile again.

"Parker, you wanna go rob Tiffany's?"

She looked up at him finally, a naughty gleam of a different nature lighting her eyes, and a slow smile formed on her face.

"I think the answer to that is d'uh, in the affirmative."

He grinned at her sass. Ask a stupid question Eliot he thought, and you get a stupid answer.

"So let's go."