It's All in a Name [1/2]
"Hey Parker, you alright?"
Parker pauses in her spinning by putting both feet down with enough force to make the metal ring. Her ponytail is a soft, warm slide against the back of her neck as she twists to see Hardison's face, the careful concern as he glances at her sidelong. Which isn't like him. Hardison doesn't hold back when it comes to caring about other people, open with affection and soft touches. He's holding back for her, she knows, slow and steady for fear she'll bolt.
She's gotten better, she thinks. She's far from the person she used to be, has learned a lot of her new makeshift family, but that doesn't mean she doesn't slide back on occasion. Parker huffs an irritated breath, lets it flip up her bangs before they drop back against her forehead. She squeezes the back of the chair between her fingers, the cheap leather squeaks in protest, and it's frustrating, trying to find the right words to explain this.
"Parker?" Hardison asks again, voice falling deeper, this time his body turning towards her as well.
She considers lying but while many things have changed, her skills at lying aren't really one of them. Just thinking about it makes the tip of her tongue burn, like when she steals a sip of Nate's coffee when its fresh, a spike of sensation that borders on pain. It's frustrating and she says, "Yes, of course, I'm fine," more out of rebellion than my attempt at explanation.
Parker pushes the chair into another spin as her tongue begins to burn, fingers drumming against her thighs, small twitches that she can't help.
"Right." Hardison stretches it out, as if trying to buy more time until he has to speak again. "I totally believe you." A beat of silence, or what would have been silence if every twist of her chair hadn't made something squeak in protest. "So you want to tell me what's going on?"
Parker spins again just as the van turns a corner. Her chair slides away and at the last moment she turns and braces her feet against the side of the van. Hardison nearly follows, ends up clamping one hand down on his laptop and gripping the small desk with the other. "Dammit Eliot! Take it easy on Lucille!"
There's no response from up front. Parker can easily imagine Eliot rolling his eyes and muttering under his breath. She grins as the faint sounds of car horns filter through the walls, feels a small pang of disappointment that they hadn't let her drive. They'd been wary of letting her behind the wheel ever since that thing with the carjackers. It was probably for the best though, considering the electric sizzle of awareness that was making the small hairs on her arm stand on end.
When Hardison gets his breath back after muttering his own curses, he levels her with a serious look. Kind of like that time she drank the last orange soda in the fridge without telling him. Explaining to him that it hadn't tasted that good with Cheerios hadn't actually helped and she's pretty sure even trying to explain what's going on in her head now will earn her the same frustrated dismay.
"You've been acting kind of twitchy today, and considering how we're about to break into a high security museum, you can see why this concerns me." She gives him an affronted look and its Hardison's turn to roll his eyes. "Parker, this kind of thing normally relaxes you. And generally the only thing that can make you this nervous is talking to someone, which as far as the plan goes, you won't be doing. So spill, girl."
This is turning into one of those moments when Hardison's concern is proving to be more frustrating, than endearing. Her fingers bite deep into the fake leather of her swivel chair as she imagines trying to explain how the moment the sun went down, her skin has felt too tight, as if stretched across her bones. That beyond the steel barriers of the van, she can feel the air singing, a silent howl of elation and triumph as power slowly swells and presses against the barrier between worlds.
Even attempting to describe it would mean explaining other things as well, and she's not ready for that, not now, but maybe one day.
"I don't like Halloween," she eventually says, legs pushing her chair into a slow spin.
Hardison looks at her in disbelief. "It's people dressing up in costumes and scaring each other, when they're not demanding candy from complete strangers. I thought this would be one of your favorite holidays."
Yes, that's true, she does like the candy, but on the night of Samhain she prefers to hole up with a few bags of candy to wait it out. It baffles her, how a night that used to send people in doors to hide behind the safety of their thresholds has turned to this, sporting masks of the very creatures they once feared, as if taunting them to crawl through the barrier between worlds. Which they do, and now they can hide amongst the humans with far greater success than they ever did before.
Aware that Hardison is still watching her, concern forming a slight furrow between his brows, Parker makes a face. "Plus, there's a lot of screaming." Not that she's really adverse to screaming, but there are different kinds, some better than others.
Hardison smiles, "Yeah, you gotta love the kids man. I remember when my Nana would let us go up and down the street, herding us the whole way."
Parker blinks at the image of Hardison and his foster siblings running and jumping in their costumes, screaming and laughing as they leave a trail of wrappers like bright, plastic breadcrumbs. Not the kind of screaming she had been thinking of. Not the screams she will hear later either, the wild howls of the creatures that slipped through the cracks, or worse, were called.
"I never went trick or treating," she admits. Here she smiles, shows him her teeth, can't keep it from turning that little bit sharp, not with the air snapping tight against her skin. "Much more fun to sneak in the back and take the pieces I want. Or money. Candy is good, but money is better." That had been back before she'd learned that going outside wasn't worth the risk.
Rather than surprise or dismay, Hardison just rolls his eyes and murmurs, "Of course you did, because God forbid you do anything the normal way."
Parker is tempted to ask him what exactly he considers normal, but decides they don't have time to listen to his response. Also she's never been normal and doesn't see that changing anytime soon.
The van shifts as Eliot takes another turn. This time Hardison isn't sent flailing after his things, arm muscles bunching as he grips the edge of the table. She watches the slide of his muscle beneath the skin and finds it rather hard to look away.
She's usually better at this, ignoring the slow stretch of desire that yearns to reach out and take what she wants. But tonight, with the world alive and crackling power in every breath, temptation is a sharper thing that doesn't take no for an answer. It's not about the sex, a physical urge that she's never made a point of denying herself. No, when she imagines sliding onto Hardison's lap, taking the solid warmth of his hips between her thighs, it's not sex she wants.
She wants to trace her thumbs against the corners of his mouth and whisper his name, curl her tongue around the fragile words that carry the entirety of his being. Wants to breathe in his broken moan as she cradles those precious syllables with her tongue, as he feels it like an echo of harp strings and cold wind through every cell. Overwhelm him enough that his hands will clutch at her thighs, fingers pressing hard but not nearly hard enough, and she will smile --
The van jolts to a stop and Parker grips the back of her chair to steady her balance, blinks as she realizes she has no memory of standing. Even worse, Hardison is looking at her, and the concern is back full force.
"You know you can talk to me right? Parker?"
There's a thump as Eliot slides out of the driver's seat and closes the door behind him. Parker tracks the sound of him walking towards the back, the brief pause as he scans the surrounding area for potential witnesses before pounding on the side of the van to give the all clear.
Her hand twitches forward, figuring she could give Hardison a friendly punch, when there's a shiver beneath her feet. Power surges beneath the earth, wild and dark, and she realizes she can't risk touching him. Not when she already wants to test the strength of his body with nails and teeth and power--
"There's nothing you can do," she murmurs, tongue flicking out to wet her dry lips. "I have to deal with this by myself." His face falls and she forces a smile, "But thank you."
She can feel it turning awkward, can almost sense the questions building up behind Hardison's teeth.
"Thank you and can we not talk about this thing that isn't happening? That would be good." Her smile is bright and a little manic around the edges.
Parker doesn't wait for a response, spins away and pushes at the door hard enough to have it swinging away. It almost hits Eliot who catches it with a scowl. "Watch it, Parker!"
"Yeah, whatever." Parker ignores his glare to look at the looming figure of the museum. They are parked across the street in the empty parking lot of a private business, a place that went under a couple weeks ago. They wouldn't need to worry about security finding the van.
"You guys remember the plan?" Hardison crouches in the back of the van, pulling his laptop case onto his lap. He isn't looking at Parker, which is good, exactly what she wants. Even if it makes her shoulders tight and uncomfortable.
"Yeah, Hardison, I think we got it." He holds out his hand for the ear piece, rolling his eyes when Hardison takes his time digging them out of the side pocket of his laptop case. "Can we do this tonight maybe?"
"Man, what crawled up your ass and died?" Hardison drops the ear piece in Eliot's palm and tosses the other to Parker. "Don't tell me, you don't like Halloween either."
Eliot shoots a look at Parker, but she pretends to be looking towards the museum, making sure her com is secure. "I don't like all the masks," Eliot bites out before shoving his ear piece in place. "Nate, we're here."
With a nod to Hardison, both Eliot and Parker start across the parking lot, running across the street. Parker can hear the faint sound of music, something with strings beneath Nate's voice. "Good. Sophie and I have located Graham." There's a short stretch of silence and Parker can hear Nate's smile. "She's reeling him in now."
Hardison's voice follows them on the ear piece. "You know, I almost want to feel bad for this guy."
"His partner burned down a house," Eliot growls. "For a sword."
"Hey, I said almost. Dude definitely deserves it. Kay, hold up." Parker can't actually pick up the sound of keys clicking, but she can easily imagine them. "I'm accessing the security system now." There's a low laugh. "Oh girl, Steranko you are not. Okay, I've got control of the cameras and perimeter alarms. Feel free to use the front door."
"Where's the fun in that?" It doesn't take her but a moment to pick the lock, and she's sliding her picks back into her belt as Eliot steps around her. The entry hall is cool, stretches of marble as shadows pool at the base of the walls.
It's a relatively easy job. With the cameras taken care of the only thing they need to worry about is the pressure gauge located beneath each piece, which Parker can stymie long enough to get them out of there. There are three guards assigned to this wing, two on constant patrol and the other in the control room. She doesn't really understand why Eliot had to come. Well, Nate probably thought the guns would be a problem. Which they are, since guns are cheating. Now tasers, those are fun, especially since Eliot's fists don't generally leave them twitching, which is really the best part.
The image sticks with her, a faceless guard sprawled out and twitching, shoes scraping against smooth floors as they try to gain purchase against the pain. It's appealing in a way that leaves her stomach clenched, and she rubs her hands against her pants. Maybe its best that Eliot is here for this. It wouldn't be good if she became carried away, not tonight.
Eliot bumps her with shoulder, gives her a hard look as he taps the com. No matter how many cons they run he never seems able to shake the impulse. "We're inside, Nate."
"Okay, stick to the plan. Grab only the pieces that Doherty loaned out to the museum. Got that Parker? No freelancing."
"Wouldn't dream of it," she grumbles, while Eliot snorts next to her.
"Stay alive, Parker. The sooner we get this done the faster we can hole up and wait for this night to be over." Eliot leads the way through the dark halls, their boots quiet against the shiny floor. In the right lighting she can almost see her reflection, her face distorted and stretching with odd angles. It's fitting in a way.
"Seriously, what did I do to get stuck with the only two people, in like the history of the world, who don't like Halloween?"
"When you've done all the things I've done, not being able to see someone's face makes you a little twitchy."
There's a pause. "Okay, that actually makes sense since everyone actually is out to get you." Eliot mutters a curse that makes Parker grin. "But you guys are missing out on the spirit of it all. Halloween gives people a chance to be something they're not."
"Not to mention its one of the days that makes my job easier." Sophie murmurs, sounding wistful. "The masks, the air of mystery and magic, everyone searching for a thrill that will take them out of their ordinary lives. It's a regular grifter's holiday."
"Okay...woman, you're kind of creepy."
"I thought Nate was the creepy one?" Parker asks.
"Try to focus, people." Nate doesn't sound frustrated so much as resigned. Probably upset that he wasn't the creepy one anymore. "Have you guys reached the Celtic displays yet?"
"We're nearly there. Hardison, where's the nearest guard?"
"It's the start of the second round, so closest guard just entered the right wing, with the Egyptian displays. Neither of them will be hitting the left wing of the museum for about fifteen minutes. If you're gonna get that sword back, you might want to pick up the pace a bit."
"Easy for you to say, sitting cozy in your van, while the rest of us are doing real work."
Hardison snipes something back but Parker is only listening with half an ear. Just on the edge of her hearing there's a low croon, a soft whisper of promise, of old magic. She doesn't realize she's stopped, so deep into listening she's staring off into space, until Eliot appears in front of her, scowling.
"Why did you stop?"
"I can hear something." Parker blinks before slowly turning on her heel, stops when she's facing the direction of the source. Her tongue flicks out to wet dry lips, fingers clenching and releasing.
It's a summons, a siren call of power and promise that makes her yearn, draws up the hungry ache in her gut she's been trying to ignore all evening, and beyond that, years. For sex, for blood, for the delicious blur of violence, the desperate whisper of prey brought to their knees. Around her she can feel the shadows pooling around long spills of moonlight, lurking between the small burn of the artificial lights. Empty and cold, waiting for her to call them up and give them shape, to use her power and carry them through the light.
When she starts running it's because she yearns, can't resist the call that is crisp bills sliding through her finger and the thick, sweet taste of chocolate on her tongue. It's because she is afraid of what she will call with Eliot standing so close, shadows peeling off the walls to curl around her like vines, freedom and release after so long fighting.
Because if she can hear the call, then something else can as well.
"Parker's on the move and she's heading the wrong way!" She ignores Eliot's snarl of frustration behind her, his bitten off exclamation before it can carry into something louder than an angry whisper.
"Parker!"
"Eliot, what's happening?"
"Guys, I'm seeing some hinky stuff on the cameras--"
The magic that calls is old, sliding beneath her skin, spilling promises through her blood. As she runs the shadows slide across the floor in her wake, cold and empty and sweet, desperately missed after fighting so hard to get where she is today. She wears her mask, plays the part and has allowed her nature to dull, blunted by human caring, the clawing suffocating breadth of it. Except now she can feel it cracking to pieces, shredded by a taunting call, and the bitter irony leaves a laugh caught in her throat. That on the night of masks her own is being stripped away.
Parker tracks the source of the call to the second floor, down a long [hallway] that connected the main hall to the building's right wing. She barely glances at the gold painted statues, with ornate headdresses painted lapis lazuli and turquoise, or displays of bronze weapons. She heads straight for a glass case tucked against the wall, where inside a single bowl is on display.
She recognizes it as a vessel of offering, crafted to draw the attention of the gods to do man's bidding. Milk, and then wine once resided in the shallow curve, chants and incense, all to draw a god's attention. More than that, she can feel the subtle taint of blood, lingering in dark curls of power that beckon her closer. Those ancient prayers were answered, Parker knows, can feel the power that has taken residence in burnished clay. If not by their gods, then by other things.
She presses her hands to the glass, rests her forehead against the cold chill, the fragile barrier between her and the bowl, a whisper without words beckoning, promising everything if she would just reach inside. She wants it, insides aching, the shadows tucked against the walls silently writhing, and it's right there --
Eliot is close, standing just out of arm's reach. Beneath the haze of the summons where it's made her thoughts cloudy, she wonders if its respect for her personal space that keeps him back, or the wary instinct of a man who suspects he's outmatched. And he would be, she knows. It would be child's play to sink her fingers into his hair, pull him close even as he fights with all his strength. To see how long it would take her to find all the cracks he's hinted at and pry him apart until he whispers his name against her mouth.
"Parker."
Eliot is looking at her with wide eyes, hands up and palms out, torn between the instinct for self-defense and concern on her behalf. Parker doesn't remember stepping towards him, only one hand anchored against the glass, and she sucks in a sharp breath as she steps away, back into the glass display.
He doesn't follow her, but whatever he sees on her face makes his eyes narrow. "Parker, talk to me."
It's hard to think with shadows crawling behind her eyes and along the walls where Eliot can't see them. The low croon of the bowl's power is drawing around her mind in dark coils of intent that want to be used, promises of power if only an offering is made. Fighting it is like fighting through hot mud, warm and clinging, nothing like actual mud, which had taken forever to get out of her clothes. But she fights, because whatever the bowl used to do, power has warped it, twisted the original intent into something that makes her skin crawl even as it tries to draw her through the glass.
"Say my name," she whispers, pleading, because her fear is shrinking and in its place something else is growing, something hungry.
"Parker. Whatever this is, you gotta snap out of it." She sucks in another breath, and it scares her how ragged it is. It must scare Eliot as well since he steps in close and lays his hands on her shoulders, warm and strong. "Parker!"
She clings to the sound of her name, sharp with Eliot's fear Not her Name, the core of her power and self, the greatest weakness and strength of her people. But still hers, something softer, a high clear note that soars above the rest, a things she crafted for herself to fit this world. Of her own making, it is hollow and empty, but still containing all of what she has striven to be. The humanity she has clawed and bled for, worked into the skin and bone of a body that has never been human.
It's climbing buildings with only her fingertips and cradling a diamond the size of her fist. Being cast adrift in a strange world with a stuffed bunny as her only companion, deciding that she will survive, regardless of what the Others had predicted, hoped for. Parker is chocolate and nothing ever being safe, not in a wallet, not in a vault, free fall with the wind in her hair and knowing she has a home.
Stepping away from the display is one of the most difficult things she's ever done. Pulling her hand away from the glass feels akin to pulling her skin off flesh and bone, without the pain. It's a tug of sensation that twists through her gut and she clenches her teeth rather than give in. There's a full body spasm and the discomfort of something stretched to the breaking point lodged in her ribs, before it snaps, and Parker's mind is clear, if still a little foggy around the edges.
The look in Eliot's eyes is the one he gets right before he start's putting people on the ground with extreme prejudice, but he's gentle where his hands are still on her shoulder, having stepped back when she did. "You with me, Parker?"
"Yeah, yeah I'm with you. Totally fine. Totally." She shakes her head, reaches up to grip Eliot's arms, presses her fingers hard against the firm swell of muscle.
"You wanna tell me what just happened?" His face is carefully blank, no sign of anger or fear, but she's not really surprised. It's how Eliot works. He doesn't panic when surprises come tearing around the corner, just figures out who he has to go through to get his people out of danger. Before she can answer he scowls, "Yeah Nate, I got her." A pause, then a frustrated exhale. "I heard you the first time Hardison."
Parker blinks and reaches up to her own ear bud. Her fingers touch warm plastic, but she can't hear the others. She knew not to reach for her power when wearing any of Hardison's equipment, but she hadn't exactly been in her right mind. Seeing Eliot watching she pulls out the ear bud. She tries to casually shove it into a pocket, but she's too stiff to really pull it off. "Guess it stopped working."
Eliot's eyes narrow. "Parker's com is down. Do we want to continue the job?" There's another pause as he listens to the others, still watching Parker, who can't help but fidget under the weight of his gaze.
She doesn't look at the bowl, can feel it trying to tug her back in, magic curling and beckoning as it continues to whisper sweet promises. Hollow promises, Parker knows, but that doesn't stop her from wanting. From thinking, what if?
"We can't leave it here."
Eliot scowls at her. "What?"
Parker swallows hard and darts a look at the bowl. Plain, the decorations worn away by time if it had ever had any to start with, it looks harmless. But its magic is loud, had nearly overpowered her with its call alone, and there's no telling what else might respond to its summons. She can't afford to leave it as it is.
"I need you to break the bowl." The glare Eliot turns on her warns he's at the end of his temper, but Parker forges on, the words spilling out of her in one breathless stream. "Please Eliot I can't really explain because it's kind of complicated and might make your brain explode, which gross, and also that sounds kind of painful but the point is I need you to break this bowl. Right now."
"Are you serious!" Eliot hisses. "Hardison says we have a guard headed straight for us, not to mention we're kind of on a goddamn time limit here. Now I don't know what happened to you earlier, and you bet your ass you will be explaining what the hell you were doing, but there is no way in hell I am breaking that bowl. Now let's go before anything else can go wrong."
He starts walking away and Parker panics. She leaps after him and grabs his wrist, pulling him to a stop. "Eliot wait! You have to do this."
She doesn't know how to explain, if she even can. It's too big for him to understand, especially when they're running out of time. Maybe if she had the white board and Hardison's monitors, not to mention alcohol, lots and lots of alcohol, then maybe she could try to explain this. Except she doesn't have those things, just Eliot and randomly losing her mind, although she's pretty sure the others would simply write this whole night off as another one of her little quirks if given half the chance.
Eliot pulls his arm free. "We are not doing this, Parker! This is crazy, even for you."
"You think I don't know that," Parker snaps. She feels sick, wants to run back to the loft and curl up on the couch with her bags of candy until this night is nothing but a stupid memory. "I know this is crazy but right now I need you to trust me." She points at the bowl, can't bring herself to look at it again, not with its siren song still hanging in the air, trying to coax her into falling beneath her spell once again. And she wants to, hasn't felt that free in ages, not since she joined Leverage, since she became a better person. "If you don't break that bowl, people are going to get hurt." She sucks in a breath, tries to stay calm but can feel her voice breaking around the words. "People are going to die. Maybe not tonight, maybe not next year. But it will happen. So right now I don't care if you believe me, I just need you to trust and me and please break that bowl."
Parker would break it herself, only she doesn't want to risk what might happen if she touches it.
She knows what she sounds like, saying all of this about a piece of ancient pottery. It would be easy to grab the Marcus' sword and leave, to put this night, and the bowl, behind her. But she can't, not when she's finally learned that she can stop terrible things from happening. So many times they've helped people after the fact, and now she has a chance to save someone before the bad stuff happens.
For a few moments that stretch into something truly unbearable, Parker thinks that Eliot is going to walk away. She's trying to decide how exactly she'll break the bowl without touching it, she figures she could break into a nearby display case and grab one of the spears, when Eliot brushes past her with a low curse.
He pauses in front of the display, hands clenched tight into fists, to glare at her through his hair. "There had better be a damn good reason for this, Parker." He snorts at something one of the others says over the com, or so Parker guesses. "I really don't need your guys' input right now."
They only had the one device that would be able to suppress the pressure gauge alarm. In order to retrieve the bowl, Eliot would have to resort to his - usual means of retrieval. Taking a step back he bounces on the balls of his feet, then swings his leg up. Glass gives way beneath his boot, pieces falling to the floor and the bottom of the display in a tinkling crash. "Get ready for some noise," he mutters, right before reaching in and snatching the bowl out of the pile of glass.
The high pitched beeping that follows is incredibly annoying. It's worth it to hear the dull crack as Eliot drops the bowl to the floor and brings the full weight of his boot down on it. For the first time since whatever magic contained within the bowl grabbed her, Parker can breathe. She exhales loudly, lets her head drop forward before forcing it back up, to see Eliot watching her.
"You had better have one hell of an explanation, Parker," Eliot says quietly.
Parker can only nod vigorously as they start running. Whatever explanation she comes up with it's going to have to be good. She doubts the others are going to let her slide with a shrug and vague comment about the bowl being ugly. Which it was. She had trouble seeing the point in conserving anything that didn't have shiny jewels to make it pretty. Unless it was money. But that didn't need jewels to make it pretty.
Part II