Number 06 │ A Leverage Fanfiction

The Ho-Ho-Ho-Ho Job | Part 1

Sighing, I shrugged off my coat, hanging it onto the rack as I stepped into Nate's apartment. Parker and Hardison were already there, stationed in front of the screens.

On the monitor, a weatherwoman droned on. "Standard forecast for the next five days..."

Click.

Parker flipped the channel.

"Unusually high temperatures here in Boston—"

Click.

Hardison groaned. "Parker—give it!" He snatched the remote from her hands. "Thank you."

Parker huffed, crossing her arms. "It's not Christmas without snow."

Hardison arched a brow, shaking the remote at her. "Here, the weather forecast is the same on every single channel. You think changing stations is gonna make it snow?"

From the stairs, Nate appeared, buttoning up his coat. "Parker, you're not getting a white Christmas this year."

She barely acknowledged him, eyes still locked on the screen. "All we need is for this low-pressure system from Canada to come down and bring us a blast of cold air and precipitation."

Hardison stared at her. "Yeah, lemme get right on that.".

Nate ignored the banter, heading straight for the door.

I raised an eyebrow. "Where are you going?"

He didn't even slow down, reaching for the handle. "Caroling."

Parker perked up. "Ooh."

I blinked. "...Caroling? You do realize there's a Christmas party downstairs at the bar?" I said, recalling the gathering that I had to pass.

Nate stopped just long enough to mutter, "Oh, son of a—", before disappearing out the door.

Parker watched him go, then turned her attention back to Hardison, eyes gleaming with expectation. "Well?"

Hardison sighed. "Well, what?"

She pointed to the screen. "I want flurries. Make it happen." And with that, she walked away.

"Girl—" Hardison turned to me, an expression of pure disbelief plastered on his face. "Is she for real?"

I shrugged, "It's Parker, so... probably, yeah."

<>

McRory's Bar

Laughter and holiday cheer filled the air, the warm glow of twinkling lights reflecting off the rows of liquor bottles behind the counter.

At the bar, Nate poured himself a drink, the amber liquid swirling in his glass as he muttered to himself. "Bah, humbug."

Before he could take a sip, Parker suddenly popped up beside him, practically bouncing on her heels. "Nate! There's a client here to see you."

He barely glanced up, huffing. "We're closed. It's the holidays."

Parker, undeterred, simply gestured toward a corner table. "No, I really think we should talk to this one."

Nate sighed, clearly ready to argue—until he followed her gaze.

An old man sat at the table. Long gray hair, a thick white beard, glasses perched on the bridge of his nose. He was dressed in a deep red flannel, looking like the human embodiment of Santa Clause.

"It's Santa!" Parker squealed.

Nate slowly turned back to Parker, one brow raised. "Really?"

She enthusiastically nodded her head—and in doing so, smacked Nate in the face with her ridiculous reindeer antlers.