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When Hardison stepped into McRory’s pub, he expected to find Nate nursing a drink, or Sophie glaring at him with brown eyes full of distaste and irritation, or even Eliot brooding in the corner.
What he did not expect to find was Parker, her eyes screwed shut, curled into the corner of Nate’s couch with shaking shoulders. Her skin had a greyish tinge, cast over by the bright yellow lights of the living room. The soft hum of the refrigerator was the only sound in the room.
“I am all out of spoons,” she whispered forlornly, eyes tracking every movement as Hardison approached, in the kind of tone one uses when they open the cabinet and there is no cereal. “I have no spoons left.”
Hardison glanced around the kitchen, noting the empty take-away containers, scattered blueprints for the Louvre, and the complete lack of any kind of cutlery shortage. It was familiar—the scent of Sophie’s lemon cleaner hung in the air, muddled by the day-old food and a bottle of what appeared to be whiskey sticking out from beneath the table. “Spoons?” he repeated eventually, trying (and failing) to formulate an eloquent response.
Parker nodded seriously, nudging a blanket with her bare foot. “Spoons,” she agreed, twirling a strand of platinum blonde hair around her finger. “I used one spoon to wake up today,” her voice came out raspy, hiccuping slightly. “Two m-more because I had to shower--and I missed breakfast, which means I used up three spoons in the morning. Then it took three spoons for the–for the con, ‘cause I forgot my rig and had to--to change my plan. And then two spoons to drive here.” She sighed softly, and Hardison noted the way her fingers twisted tighter into her hair. “I only had seven spoons today--usually I have ten, so I thought if I could just get here I’d get more, but now I’m just tired. Like soggy cereal.”
Hardison blinked. “Like soggy cereal? Woman--I--no, listen--Parker, are you sick?” he asked. Oh, god, if she were sick—should he call Eliot? Would Parker even take meds?
But she shook her head slowly, blinking up at him.
“Are you hurt?”
Another negative. "Do you want me to call Eliot?" That offer was a risky gamble--they both knew Eliot still didn't believe he really belonged in their relationship.
Fortunately for Eliot, Parker hesitated, then shook her head again.
"No. Wanna be alone. Just you."
Hardison acknowledged her comment with a nod. “Okay. Okay, Parker. You’re sayin’ you don’t have energy, right? Like…your batteries ain’t charged?” He stared at her, trying desperately to get a read on what his partner was feeling.
That got a response. Parker shifted, angling her body toward him. “Yeah,” she rasped. “No batteries. No spoons. They’re all gone.” Tears brimmed on her lashes.
Hardison wrung his hands together, resisting the urge to open a Google tab and frantically search ‘Spoons energy’ so he could do something other than stand awkwardly. He offered, “Can I give you more spoons, then?”
Shaking her head, Parker untangled her hands from her hair and reached forward, eyes wide and tired. “No,” she whispered, “But you being here helps. Like a tiny spoon. The fancy kind Sophie uses in her tea.”
Hardison’s eyes flicked toward the door. When a few seconds passed and no one entered the apartment, he obliged her unspoken offer and collapsed on the couch.
Within seconds, the tiny blonde was halfway into his lap, her head resting on his shoulder. Her skin was cool where it touched him, goosebumps prickling up her forearms.
“Then I’ll stay.” He raised his arm so Parker could get even closer, curling against his chest. Her hands wrapped around his wrist, and she heard the soft, steady thump thump thump of his heart against her cheek, and the muscles in her neck relaxed slightly.
They sat like that, comfortable silence until Hardison gathered up the courage to prompt, “Hey, Parker?”
Her breathing stopped suddenly, and he could feel all her muscles tense beneath his touch.
“What?”
“Does—does this happen a lot?” Hardison tried to smile at her encouragingly, but his mind was racing, calculations flickering–had something on the con triggered this? Could he remove variables to help? Had he failed to protect her?
Parker flinched. “Do you--you think I’m crazy, don’t you?” she accused, voice coming out sharp. “I’m not. I’m not crazy.” She scrambled out of his lap in a flicker of movement, curling back into herself and glaring at him.
“No, no, Parker–-I don’t--I didn’t--” Hardison stammered, leaning away to give her space. He held up his hands in a gesture of peace. “I want to help you,” he admitted. “I just want to help.”
She eyed him suspiciously from her side of the couch. “People don’t ever just want to help,” she told him, matter-of-factly. “They always want something more. Don’t lie to me. I don’t like that.” She pushed his hands away, strangely frantic, and Hardison backtracked.
“Parker,” he repeated calmly, “I’m not lyin’. I wanna help you, but I can’t do that if you don’t tell me what in the world is goin’ on. Does this happen a lot, or is it because of the con?”
“No,” she answered, almost immediately. “It doesn’t–it doesn’t happen. Not a lot. Normally I’ve got big soup spoons, but today I didn’t, and then that guy was being creepy when I tried to–do the thing, and–-and–-and--”
Hardison's jaw went stiff, and Parker winced again, eyes fixed on his face. He forced his expression to relax. “Hey, Parker, hey, it’s okay.” He pulled her back in, tugging the blanket that had slid to the floor over her. “You’re okay, girl.” His hands were warm, gentle as he held them out to her, not forcing but offering.
She laid against his chest with a shaky breath, invading his space like a challenge. He let her.
“You promise?”
“Yeah, Parker, of course." Hardison didn’t hesitate.
Parker’s hands grabbed his face, tilting his chin down so she could stare into his eyes. The gesture was sharp, so sudden he didn’t even think to fight it. She caught what she was looking for, because she laid back down and tugged the blanket tighter over them. Her weight settled in his lap, her hair tickling his nose, but Hardison didn't say a word.
The silence settled around them, and eventually, Parker's breathing evened out, humming in tune with the refrigerator.
Hardison smiled, rubbing small circles on her back as she snored. “I love you,” he whispered, even though she wasn’t awake to hear it.