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Control is a weird thing, if you think about it. And Parker's thought about it.
She has always been in control; from the time she was a child to now, her goal has always been to be in control of something or another.
Maybe that's why she needs to steal, she thinks. Maybe she has to be in control of the rich, has to be the rich, because if she is not in control she is at the mercy of those more powerful. Therefore, the most logical explanation is to become powerful.
Logic. She works off logic. Maybe that's where she fails— she works off logic and ignores emotions, so when those emotions happen, they overtake.
But she's learned how to deal with it. There are ways to cope. She keeps control over how much she eats and what she wears, she creates symmetrical lines scratched onto her skin because pain means she's here, it means she's present and alive and in control of herself. She jumps off buildings to remind herself that she can still feel, she crawls through vents to feel the comfort of being held even though asking for love from anyone is so unnavigable it hurts.
Parker finds ways to deal with herself. By herself, all alone; because adding more people to the mix just makes things more complicated.
But would you look at that. She’s added people to the mix.
Nate looks at her in that way that makes her feel like she’s twelve and not twenty eight, but in a way she doesn’t remember; in a way she thinks would have been nice when she really was twelve. Sophie teaches her, comforts her, helps her understand what she’s feeling and what others feel and how to interact like no one else has. Eliot has this fierce protectiveness she thinks is that of an older brother. It’s a love that works for her.
And Hardison. Alec. He just… Accepts her. For everything she is, everything she does or doesn’t do, Hardison just knows that that’s her and is okay with it. No, he loves her for it.
Isn’t that a beautiful thing, to be loved for, and not despite?
This means Parker takes a little more care to try and notice him. To try and understand who he is, like he does her. And that means she also realizes when he starts to take more notice of her .
Hardison walks behind her or beside her; that would have scared her, a year prior; she would assume he’d be about to stab her in the back, whether literally or metaphorically. But not now. At first, maybe, but not now. Now she feels protected in a way she doesn’t need, but soaks up anyway. His gaze lingers on her a little longer than on the rest of the team. It doesn’t make her squirm, not like it used to. She just smiles at his expression and he smiles back.
But then it begins to soak in, that she’s giving away more of herself than she should.
Hardison holds everything she gives him carefully; she knows this. But suddenly, she has parts of herself that aren’t in her control, and her life, her creed, is to be in control.
Her nails dig a little deeper into her skin. She eats a little less, just slightly more carefully. Not that it really does anything to her physical state right away, but there’s a comfort in the vague sting of pain and ache of hunger that keeps her breath calm.
As if a self fulfilling prophecy, Parker tells Hardison some… version, of this, once, on a quiet night.
“Why don’t I get to pick the movie?”
Is it that simple? Does it only take that much for her body to freeze and her hand to clench around the television remote? Is this how she finally breaks?
“Parker?”
Her breath hitches. She’s losing herself, things are falling, she won’t be able to get up again— “I’ve always been in control.”
“Of the remote?” Hardison tries to joke, despite knowing something’s far more wrong than just picking between Star Wars and Star Trek. It’s part of him, Parker’s come to see. He needs levity in a way she doesn’t; she gives it to him anyway.
“When I wasn’t in control,” Parker continues, making an attempt at steadying herself enough to get this conversation over with. Sophie always tells her that conversations about emotions need to happen, but it doesn’t always make sense until she’s in the moment. This moment. “Everything went wrong when I wasn’t in control. It’s just that when I can’t be in control of the big things I have to be in control of the little things.”
She doesn’t look Alec in the eye, but she can hear the kindness in his words anyway. “Like the movie?”
“Yeah.”
“Okay.” Hardison takes her hand. “Star Wars Prequels it is.”
Parker curls up against the side of the couch, and a hint of a smile slips out. “You sure you can handle CGI Yoda?”
Hardison scoffs, sliding closer. “I’m more worried about Episode II Anakin.”
She nearly forgets about the conversation, originally. She falls asleep on his sofa halfway through the third movie, he throws a blanket over her and pulls out what she finds as acceptably edible cereal the next morning. They get called in for a client meeting, so instantly moving into work mode, it’s easy to forget the vulnerability.
But he doesn’t. Because the next time Parker finds herself trailing her fingernails down her arms during a debrief, a gentle hand grabs her.
It startles her into a soft gasp, but Hardison’s grip is gentle. Firm, but gentle in it’s kindness. His thumb sweeps up and down the scratches, catching on one of the few old scars that didn’t come from jobs.
He doesn’t speak. But he holds her hand and tells her it’s okay through just the air between them.
Parker grips his hand tighter.
It takes her time to warm up to the way he cares, more so than usual, because he cares more… suddenly. Like he’s realizing that there’s more to be done to help her, and it’s up to him to do so.
He feeds her when he finds her skimping on food. He has movie nights when she can’t sleep, letting her fall asleep against his shoulder. He draws on her arm with a ballpoint pen when she has too many scratches littering her skin.
He shows up at her apartment with a plant.
“A plant?”
It’s lush and green and it has a clay pot. It’s a plant. But she’s never thought about it. Because her apartment is tiny and all her windows have blackout curtains. So a plant, of all things, is not the prime roommate.
“I thought you might like it,” Hardison tells her in what she thinks is some sort of embarrassment. No, not that. Fondness? She doesn’t know. But it’s soft and kind and it’s the reason she takes it in her hand.
“Does it do anything?”
Alec holds back a chuckle, but lets himself smile. “Not really, no. But you said a while ago that you like control. And I’m not exactly an expert on what goes on inside your head, but I do know what my Nana taught us."
As if waiting for an answer, Hardison pauses. She prods, "What did she teach you?"
"Find what you can control. Everything else will fall into place, for better or worse. It's no use worrying about the things you can't influence." Hardison hands her the plant. "You can control the plant. Water it, put it in sunlight, keep it alive."
"What if it dies?" Parker asks instinctively, inspecting it, prodding at the leaves. She tries to take the worry out of her voice.
"No biggie," Alec replies. "We'll get you a new one. It's okay if you're not great with plants, it's just something you can control. Something small."
Something harmless, is whispered silently between them. Something that doesn't leave red marks on your skin, or bags under your eyes.
Parker isn't quite sure what'll happen to it. But she names it Sebastian, and while it's not a fix to all the pain, it takes the edge off when she gives it a drink in the kitchen sink and throws open a curtain for it to have light, and dusts off the windowsill where it'll sit.
Sebastian becomes a coping mechanism. She thinks she likes this one best.