Chapter Text
Coverart by gingerlily1441
They’ve all seen… odd things, in their line of work. They don’t talk about it, and mostly they try not to even think about it. Nate and Hardison both hang on to the beliefs they had before all this- Nate refusing to even try to integrate what he’s seen to what he wants to have faith in, and Hardison putting them both together without much of a fuss. Sophie accepts a general spirituality that encompasses some of the things she’s seen, especially that thing in Cairo. Eliot doesn’t think about it, not ever. Parker accepts it as fact- she’s seen the undeniable, so denying it is pretty pointless, and she doesn’t understand why anyone would. She’s mentioned a couple of impossible stories, to stony faces and stilted expressions by the others, and stopped without really understanding why.
They don’t talk about it.
Still, nobody’s particularly shocked when the job goes spectacularly sideways because their loot turns out to be magic.
One of the crates opens up and the artifacts, two twin ancient cups, come bouncing out and roll in opposite directions. Without even hesitating, Eliot scoops one up mid-sprint, and Parker dives after the other one.
They all see it when a flash of… something (not light, precisely, though it’s the closest comparison anyone can come up with) bonds the two cups, and the two people holding them.
It’s over in a moment, leaving Parker and Eliot slightly stunned but standing. They visibly shake it off and keep running. If they’re overly careful when depositing the goblets back into the case, in Lucille while Hardison shakes off the tail, they tell themselves it’s only because it’s their payday.
None of them say anything about it until a couple hours later, in the homebase that Nate still mistakenly thinks of as his living room.
It’s Sophie who brings it up. She always likes secrets better when she’s in the light of them. “So, the cups earlier. That was unusual.” If she hadn’t brought it up, one of the others would, eventually. They all know better than to ignore the supernatural when it creeps up. It festers.
Parker nods. “Yeah. I felt really bad for a second, but then it stopped.”
“And you feel normal now?” Nate asks, carefully.
She shrugs, which is fair. ‘Normal’ is not a thing Parker ever really experiences.
“Yeah, it stopped,” Eliot says without looking up from the zucchini he’s slicing. “Seems fine now.” And for another four hours, they try to pretend it didn’t happen.
Hardison is assigned to translate the markings on the cups, because all Miscellaneous Intellectual Tasks always go to Hardison, regardless of whether or not they actually fall into his skill set. He bitches about it for half an hour, then figures out the patterns and gets to work. He’s always been fascinated by a good puzzle. Sophie, who speaks a modern dialect distantly based on the ancient language, helps with the grammar, but the process is mostly Hardison squinting at his computer screen and scribbling on a notepad. They are both wearing very thick gloves, which may or may not be any help at all, but there’ve been no more odd flashes.
“They’re ceremonial,” Hardison announces. This, when paired with ancient artifacts that have already demonstrated a supernatural ability, is rarely good. “For use in weddings- the bride and groom drink out of ‘em, for… bonding.”
Eliot looks up sharply, confused. “You sure?”
Hardison makes an affronted noise. “Am I-? You wanna come over here and double check my work?”
“Why do you ask, Eliot?” Sophie asks gently.
Eliot squints for a moment, shakes his head. “F’get it.”
“Eliot…” Sophie pushes.
He shrugs. “The… thing. Made me feel lonely, isolated. Weird, for a wedding thing.”
“Well, you’re not married to Parker,” Hardison points out. “Prob’ly messed it up.”
Eliot accepts this explanation immediately, which is odd for him, and Hardison kind of misses the bickering that would usually follow. “Yeah, good point.”
“Parker, did you have a similar experience?” Sophie asks.
Parker looks up from the couch and just sort of squints. “Not really? I don’t know.”
Sophie sighs, and drops it. Hardison understands, wishes it were different, promises himself that he’ll redouble his efforts and knows it’ll still be slow going, after everything. Even after all these years, Parker still feels isolated, most all the time. Maybe she always will. Maybe there’s no coming back from something like that. But it’s better, he reminds himself, it’s so much better than it was.
He sighs, puts the translation aside from now and walks over to her, reaching a hand out slowly and then trailing it along her shoulder when she moves to invite the contact.
“Anyway, it looks like effects are supposed to be short-lived,” Hardison says. “Either of you noticed anything since then?”
“No,” Eliot replies immediately, in a tone that very much indicates he’d like to be done talking about it. Parker’s frowning slightly, but she shakes her head slightly.
Hardison nods. “A’ight, good.” He pats Parker’s shoulder gently and goes back to the translation.
Nate deals with their brush with the supernatural the way he deals with everything: drinks a great deal and goes to bed early. Parker’s not super comfortable with drunk people- they’re loud and belligerent and she always thinks of her uncle and the yelling and the bruises- but Nate’s quiet when he drinks, quiet and sad and sometimes overly dedicated. Sometimes it scares her anyway, but that’s because he’s hurting himself, not because there’s any chance of him hurting her.
Sophie slips off, eventually. Parker’s a little sad to see her go. Sophie’s seen and survived more weird supernatural things than any of the rest of them, Parker suspects, and she’d kind of prefer to keep Sophie around until she’s convinced that it’s over.
Parker’s not sure if it’s over. She maybe feels a little different, vaguely unsettled and discontent in an unusual sort of way. It could just be her brain messing with her. She saw a smuggler get totally messed up by a haunted sundial a few years ago, so maybe she’s just worried. She doesn’t feel worried, exactly, but she’s not good at feeling things, so it’s hard to be sure.
Even though Eliot insisted that it’s over, and it’s fine, he’s here too. He almost always leaves before Sophie. Parker’s not good at grifting, but it’s weird, and she thinks maybe he still doesn’t feel quite right either.
“Hardison, are we ready to offload the cups at the auction like we planned?” Parker asks.
Hardison nods. “Yeah, aliases are in place. Auction’s on Sunday. If we go forward with the plan, Sophie and Nate’ll sell it to King.”
“If we go forward with the plan?” Eliot repeats.
“They’re magic cups, man. If you start speaking in tongues or some shit, we’re gonna have to readjust,” Hardison replies cheerfully. “Still feel normal?”
“Shut up, man. It’s over,” Eliot growls.
Parker’s not convinced, but she can feel his irritation from the other side of the room. It’s not comfortable, sort of prickly under her skin. She shifts in her seat.
“But if nothing else happens, you think we’ll still use them for the con?” Parker asks.
“I wouldn’t, but you know Nate,” Hardison says, making a face. “Haunted whammy cups are nothin’ to him if they’ll help him bring down a couple of corrupt white-collars.”
“I don’t like that,” Parker tells them. “That’s not good. I know King’s bad, and- and maybe she should feel bad, but…”
Hardison nods, watching her carefully. “Yeah, we should be careful with anything wonky like this. We’ll talk to Nate.” Which will be pointless, and they all know it- Eliot’s immediately derisive about the comment, even if he doesn’t say anything- but Parker just nods and looks away.
“Have you ever seen anything like this? Since you’re usually just with the computer, and stuff?” Parker asks.
Hardison nods. “Yeah. Never breaking into the server room of a university archeology lab again. Nuh-uh. Crazy shit. That one was a weapon, though, you should be a’ight with a wedding ritual thing.”
Parker’s pretty sure that Eliot rolls his eyes, but doesn’t glance over to check. “Did it hit you? The thing in the lab? Or did you just see it?”
Hardison turns around, faces her. “Nah, I was just takin’ care of security. Guy who hired me did the stealing. It hit him. Looked creepy, though.”
Parker nods. “I’ve only ever seen it, either. Eliot?” She knows before he speaks that he’s only ever witnessed the supernatural, too. She has a brief mental image of Eliot running for his life through dirty, winding streets in some rural area of India or something.
“Yeah, same,” Eliot grunts after a moment, finally relenting to the reality that Parker is going to make him talk about this. “Not usually up close. Odisha was the worst. Guy I was working with accidentally cast a curse on himself, nearly killed the rest of us.”
The mental image gets stronger. Parker squints at him.
“Cursed himself,” she repeats. Damn fool, getting into shit he shouldn’t.
“Damn fool, gettin’ into shit he shouldn’t,” Eliot grumbles. “We were on a job.”
Parker hesitates. “Eliot.”
A spike of concern. “What?”
“Are you reading my mind? Because I think I’m maybe reading yours,” Parker tells him. She thinks maybe he’s alarmed by that, but he just scowls and shakes his head.
“That’s impossible, Parker,” he tells her.
“Pick a number between one and a hundred and think it as loud as you can,” Parker instructs, and then, “Forty-three.” Eliot grimaces. “Okay, now see if you can read me!”
Eliot hesitates. “A hundred and five. Parker, that’s cheating.”
Parker shrugs. “I’m a criminal. So you can totally read my mind.”
“A’ight, a’ight,” Hardison says, remarkably calmly. “Just each other or are you psychic? C’mon, I’m thinkin’ of a number.”
“Probably pi, knowin’ you,” Eliot grumbles. “But no, I’m not gettin’ anything. Parker?” She shakes her head.
“First of all, pi is cliché. I was thinkin’ twelve, but in binary. Second, you two are definitely mind-melding. Very sci-fi, really.”
“Stop making jokes, Hardison, this is a problem!” Eliot snarls. “You know what kinda stuff is in my head?”
Hardison stares at him, very seriously. “Got an idea. And I got an idea what kinda stuff’s in hers, too. So I’m gonna work on this translation, and figure out how to get this thing fixed. But I also know you both’ve survived worse than a little supernatural privacy invasion, and you’re gonna be okay. I’m gonna joke because it’s what I do, and because panicking is gonna make things worse for you both, but I’m takin’ this serious. I’ve got your back, okay?”
Parker nods. “Okay,” she whispers, because she’s still pretty new to trusting people, but she trusts him, trusts him like she trusts her own body. She feels Eliot relent a second later.
Eliot’s scared, she realizes suddenly. He doesn’t look scared, but she can feel it coming off him. She stares at him for a second, confused. They’re team. She doesn’t like this either, but they’re team, and she’s not scared.
“We could call Sophie,” Hardison offers. “Wake up Nate, though that could take some doing, amount of whiskey he’s had.”
“There’s nothing they can do right now,” Parker points out quietly. “We need you to figure out the translation. And we need us to stay calm. Other than that, there’s nothing we can do until tomorrow.”
“Nate’s too drunk to be of any help. Soph’s probably too tired,” Eliot says quietly. Parker thinks that maybe he’s just not ready for them to know, yet. She’s not either.
“Yeah, speaking of too tired,” Hardison says gently. “You two’ve both gone hard this job, and this whole psychic thing is probably gonna be exhausting. You want to go home and get some sleep? I’ll keep working here.”
Parker shakes her head. “I claim this armchair,” she says, waving a dramatic arm at the armchair she’s sitting in. “I’ll nap. Wake me up if you find anything.”
Eliot grunts and spreads out a little on the couch. Parker smiles at him. A minute later, she’s out like a light.