Parker's pretty glad she doesn't have wings. They'd definitely get in the way; her harnesses wouldn't fit as well and she couldn't crawl through air ducts or move the way she wanted, all snap-snap-snap tumbling through a room of lasers. Yeah, wings would be a pain in the ass, and besides, she'd probably drop feathers in dumb places. Also, they'd tell her secret.
See, Parker doesn't have wings, but Parker can fly. Like Peter Pan and the Lost Boys, like Wonder Woman, like the angels she was told to believe in a million years ago when they hadn't given up on her going to Sunday School.
It's so easy, flying; what's hard is hiding it. Parker doesn't mind hiding, not really, but she forgets all the time, climbs too fast, leaps off buildings without her safety line attached--no one ever notices, though.
So she maybe gets a little reckless sometimes (okay, a lot). Once, she falls asleep on the couch in the office and wakes up to find herself floating about twelve inches above the cushions. Sometimes she breaks in through Hardison's window instead of the door and doesn't actually touch the wall when she climbs up, feet finding purchase on nothing but air.
Be that as it may, she doesn't get caught until the day when they've finished a soccer-related job and the team all leave. Parker looks at the enormous field and takes two steps fast and pushes off from the ground. She goes higher and higher, and then she hears him.
"Parker!" Hardison is on the ground looking terrified. Big baby.
She rolls her eyes and goes down, quirking her eyebrow at him. "Well?"
"Parker."
"Right," she says, fiddling with her shirt.
"You can fly," he breathes, and she looks up. There's nothing but awe in his eyes; she doesn't understand, shouldn't he be scared?
"Always could," she says, and he grins.
"Magic, aren't you," he says softly. She still doesn't understand what it is that tone of voice does to her, and she's not sure she wants to.
"No such thing," she says.
He shakes his head at her. "The little you know."
"I know lots of things," she says automatically, and he nods.
"I know you do," he says.
She shrugs at him, and he doesn't say anything either. He hands her a lock he wants to know if she can pick in under a minute (it's a copy of the one on the storage unit of the man they're after).
"Please," she says and picks it in twenty seconds flat.
He grins. "Ought to give you an actual challenge next time, huh." She shrugs. He touches her hand and she thinks about it for a second before wrapping her fingers around his. She can hear his breathing go sharp and doesn't know why, but she holds on.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
Date: 2010-07-16 11:52 am (UTC)See, Parker doesn't have wings, but Parker can fly. Like Peter Pan and the Lost Boys, like Wonder Woman, like the angels she was told to believe in a million years ago when they hadn't given up on her going to Sunday School.
It's so easy, flying; what's hard is hiding it. Parker doesn't mind hiding, not really, but she forgets all the time, climbs too fast, leaps off buildings without her safety line attached--no one ever notices, though.
So she maybe gets a little reckless sometimes (okay, a lot). Once, she falls asleep on the couch in the office and wakes up to find herself floating about twelve inches above the cushions. Sometimes she breaks in through Hardison's window instead of the door and doesn't actually touch the wall when she climbs up, feet finding purchase on nothing but air.
Be that as it may, she doesn't get caught until the day when they've finished a soccer-related job and the team all leave. Parker looks at the enormous field and takes two steps fast and pushes off from the ground. She goes higher and higher, and then she hears him.
"Parker!" Hardison is on the ground looking terrified. Big baby.
She rolls her eyes and goes down, quirking her eyebrow at him. "Well?"
"Parker."
"Right," she says, fiddling with her shirt.
"You can fly," he breathes, and she looks up. There's nothing but awe in his eyes; she doesn't understand, shouldn't he be scared?
"Always could," she says, and he grins.
"Magic, aren't you," he says softly. She still doesn't understand what it is that tone of voice does to her, and she's not sure she wants to.
"No such thing," she says.
He shakes his head at her. "The little you know."
"I know lots of things," she says automatically, and he nods.
"I know you do," he says.
She shrugs at him, and he doesn't say anything either. He hands her a lock he wants to know if she can pick in under a minute (it's a copy of the one on the storage unit of the man they're after).
"Please," she says and picks it in twenty seconds flat.
He grins. "Ought to give you an actual challenge next time, huh."
She shrugs. He touches her hand and she thinks about it for a second before wrapping her fingers around his. She can hear his breathing go sharp and doesn't know why, but she holds on.