Disclaimer – Leverage is owned by Electric Entertainment and TNT. If I owned it, we'd have more episodes, and Eliot would have a lot more screen time!

Comments and feedback to Ralkana47@yahoo.com would be greatly appreciated. Thanks!

Author's Note – Takes place early season four, and in my world, the 2011 MLB All-Star game took place at Fenway Park instead of Chase Field.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

"Why are we going to this again?" Parker asked, reluctantly following Hardison through the crowd. She tried to keep her hands to herself, but the flood of oblivious fans and tourists was so tempting.

"I've never been to an All-Star game before," he said, snagging her hand before it could reach into a nearby pocket. She tugged it away from him with a scowl, and he smiled and continued, "I wanna make the most of the experience."

"Yeah, but this isn't the game. This is just... stuff."

"Stuff, and games to play, and a whole lotta history. Come on, FanFest is fun. Maybe you can steal a base."

Her scowl deepened. "You're a geek. You're not supposed to like sports."

Hardison laughed. "Baseball is math and stats and physics. Geek heaven, baby."

Her lips twitched into the barest hint of a smile. "Don't tell Eliot that."

He rolled his eyes as he nudged her toward the Hometown Heroes exhibit. "He just likes to hit things with a bat. Balls, people, whatever."

"So can you play?" she asked, curious.

He shrugged, feeling the heat rise in his cheeks. "High school P.E.," he told her. "I was all arms and legs, and... let's just say it wasn't pretty."

"So how'd you get into it?" Hobbies fascinated her. She couldn't quite get how they worked, and why, say, watching baseball was a hobby but sleeping wasn't. She liked to sleep.

Hardison stared unseeing at an enlarged picture of the Huntington Avenue Grounds, 1903. "Nana had this neighbor... Mr. Minks. Man, he was ancient, or at least I thought so when I was eleven."

His lips curved in a faraway smile, and Parker watched, biting her lip at the weird flutterings in her gut. They were still kinda new, and she didn't really know what to do with them, but they weren't going away.

"We used to sit on the porch in the summer -- if I'd done my chores and my homework, sometimes Nana'd give me a popsicle, and Mr. Minks and I'd listen to the game on the radio. Old radio, staticky as hell! Tried to talk him into watching it on TV, but he'd just laugh and say, 'Nothin' like a ballgame on the radio, boy!'"

He shook his head, coming back to the present. "Anyway, he used to tell me stories about going to games at Wrigley Field when he was just a kid. He said he was at Wrigley the first time Jackie Robinson played there, too, but he was probably lying."

Parker frowned. "Who?"

Hardison stared at her in horrified disbelief. "Aw, hell, no. Seriously? That's it, we're going to the Hall of Fame exhibit, right now."

Parker was peering distractedly over his shoulder. "Why is there a Tiffany exhibit?"

He craned his neck around. "'MLB Trophies,'" he read. "'Sponsored by Tiffany & Co.'"

Parker grinned. "Trophies? Trophies are shiny. Tiffany trophies must be even shinier."

She grabbed his hand and pulled him along in her wake, missing as he blinked in surprise at the gesture -- and then smiled.

There was a line to take a picture with the as-yet-unawarded World Series trophy, but Parker bypassed it, ignoring the loud complaints of the people whose picture she ruined by leaning in and sniffing the trophy just as the flash went off.

Then she was off to the next trophy, leaving Hardison to stammer apologies at the group of annoyed Orioles fans.

He caught up with her peering into a case that looked empty. Rather than a trophy, this case held a wooden plaque, lying flat.

"This has the name you just said over there," she told him.

He glanced at it. "Jackie Robinson Award," he said with a smile. "It's for the Rookie of the Year. Jackie Robinson was the first black player in the modern era of the majors," he told her. "He won the first Rookie of the Year award and later, they renamed it after him."

"But it's wood. It's not worth anything."

Hardison chuckled, thinking of what various winners might say about that. "It's not the plaque itself that's valuable, Parker. It's having your name on it, bein' in the record books, maybe eventually being as good as Jackie Robinson, or Willie Mays, or... whoever."

She was still leaning over the case, but she was looking at him intently out of the corner of her eye, and he could tell she was trying, but she just didn't quite get it. After a moment, she looked back at the plaque.

"Rookie means first year, right?"

Hardison studied her. "Yeah... Why?"

She practically had her nose to the glass, but her eyes shifted to the right, toward the security guard that was curiously watching them.

She backed up, shrugging. "Just wondering. Ooh, look, that one over there has bats! And it's shiny!"

Shaking his head, Hardison followed as she bounced from trophy to trophy. It was keeping her entertained, and that was the important part.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Hardison yawned as he grabbed a soda out of Nate's fridge. Sunday morning wasn't generally when they held pre-job meetings, but apparently Nate had a good client on the line. They'd all gotten the bat signal to meet at his apartment, and he and Sophie would be back soon with the initial intel.

He tiredly rubbed his eyes and then jumped as the TV clicked on. Parker had somehow slipped in while his back was to the room and she was now sitting at the counter, her legs kicking while she flipped through the channels.

"I swear, girl, I'm gonna put a bell on you," he told as her as he leaned on the counter next to her.

Her gaze slid sideways to his. "That'd make it harder to steal things."

"You'd find a way."

They both glanced at the TV as the "Breaking News!" banner appeared on the screen and urgent music blared.

"Good morning," a solemn-faced anchor intoned. "We have breaking news to report. We take you live to the Boston Convention Center, where -- "

The screen was suddenly filled with cartoon violence and tinkly music.

"Parker!" Hardison yelped. "Change it back."

"Wasn't important," she said, hugging the remote to her chest as he grabbed for it.

"Parker -- "

He stopped struggling with her and reached into his pocket where he kept his clicker.

"Hey!" she cried as he changed it back to the local channel.

There was a bewildered looking spokeswoman on the screen. "I just don't understand how this could happen," she was saying, "Or why anyone would want to steal them. All of the trophies on display -- "

The TV snapped off. Wide-eyed, Hardison turned to Parker, who set the remote on the counter.

"Parker, you -- you can't -- you gotta -- "

Wide-eyed and innocent -- too innocent -- she stared back at him. "What! Coulda been anyone."

"But it wasn't, and you know it!"

She shrugged. "They're all insured."

"Parker!"

She sighed. "Fine. I'll take some of them back."

"All of them!"

"No! I have plans for one of them -- "

"Parker, you can't just take -- "

"Hello, thief!" She pointed at herself.

"You gotta take them back."

"Take what back?"

They both jumped as Eliot's voice came from right behind them.

"Parker -- " Hardison started, but he broke off on a grunt as she kicked him.

"Shh!" she said sharply. "You'll ruin the surprise."

Now Eliot looked alarmed. A surprise from Parker could be literally anything. "What surprise?"

"If I told you, it wouldn't be a surprise!"

"Don't really like surprises, Parker. Tell me."

"No, I can't! You'll find out!"

"Parker," both men started, but she jerked her gaze away from them both, looking stubbornly at the dark TV. Her head turned as the apartment door opened.

"Look, a case!" she said happily.

"This isn't over," Hardison whispered to her as Nate began to fill them in on the client's history.

"Fine. I said I'd take them back," she whispered, and he sighed in relief.

It was dashed when she added, "Most of them."

"Parker!"

Nate shot them both a look as he talked, and Hardison subsided, listening to the client's story and trying to absorb it, determined to get more info from Parker as soon as he could.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Eliot made himself a cup of tea, squinting in the dim light of his kitchen as he tried to read the newspaper article that had caught his eye.

There was a tiny sound from his living room, and he smiled, half in affection, half in exasperation, as he dropped the newspaper on the counter. She'd made the noise, he knew, on purpose, to make him aware of her presence. They'd all learned that startling him -- especially in his own home -- was a bad idea.

"Parker, it's after midnight," he said as he stepped back into the living room with his tea.

"I know!" she said brightly. "Happy birthday!"

Eliot tried not to sigh as he saw the hastily wrapped package she'd brought. He'd been apprehensive about Parker's surprise all week, knowing his birthday was coming up.

Several times over the week, he'd come across Parker and Hardison squabbling in whispers in various corners of Nate's apartment, only to have them shut up at his arrival. One distressingly vague exchange had been particularly memorable, as it had been hissed over the comms during their most recent job. That one had drawn Nate's notice -- and his annoyance.

All of which made this reveal even more terrifying.

At least it didn't look like there was anything breathing in the package.

"Thanks, Parker, but you really didn't have to get me anything."

"Everyone likes presents."

Resigned, he sat next to her on the couch. She passed him the flat, rectangular package, and he took it, surprised by the weight of it.

Unnerved by the bright expectant smile she was sending his way, he focused his attention on the package. He unwrapped it deliberately slowly, ready for anything, and stared in confusion at the wooden plaque beneath the colorful paper. "'Jackie Robinson Award,'" he read. "'2010 National League. Presented to Eliot Spencer.' Parker... what the hell?"

"You don't like it."

"I... don't... get it."

"It's for Rookie of the Year. I know it's not shiny, but Hardison said it's more about your name on it than what it's made of."

And suddenly, it clicked for Eliot.

"It was you!" he exclaimed, thinking of the article he'd just been reading about the trophy heist. "You were the only one I could think of who could pull it off, but I couldn't figure out a motive."

"I took most of them back," Parker said. "Hardison made me. This is the only one I kept, and I kept it for you."

Touched, and uneasy with the sensation, Eliot shifted on the couch. "Why?"

"At first, I was gonna give you the one with the shiny bats, since you like bats, but then I remembered what Hardison said about how this one was for players who'd just started, and could get really good. Which you could've, but then Nate went and got himself arrested."

"I wasn't really playing, Parker. It was just a job. Just part of my cover."

"But you liked it!" Parker argued.

Eliot shrugged, a small smile on his lips. "Maybe. A little."

"And you were good at it!"

The smile turned wolfish. "I'm good at a lot of things, Parker."

"Well, then, you should get an award. So I got you one."

Bemused, Eliot just shook his head. There was a knock on the door, and Eliot flipped on his security monitor to see Hardison outside his door, looking annoyed and sleepy.

"Apparently, it's a party," Eliot growled as he crossed to the door.

"Well, it is your birthday," Parker pointed out.

"Followin' her?" Eliot asked with smirk as he opened the door.

Hardison scowled at him. "It's ten minutes after midnight on your birthday. I knew she'd be here."

Eliot stepped back with a mocking bow, gesturing him inside.

"It's not funny, man... I spent all of my first All-Star game worried about whether or not they'd 'found' the MVP trophy yet!"

Hardison stopped short at the sight of the plaque on the couch beside Parker.

"Of all the ones you could've kept, you gave him that one?"

"Well, you said it wasn't about what the trophy was made of! This one was for new players, right? Like Eliot was?"

"Eliot wasn't playing, Parker! It was a job!"

"Imagine it was a long con. And he'd kept playing. Then he could've won this, right? If he'd kept playing?"

Hardison laughed. "No. First of all, he was in the minors, not the majors, and his cover wasn't a rookie, he was pretty much a washed-up veteran. That means he wasn't good enough to make it," he clarified.

"But he was good, right? Eliot, I mean -- not his cover."

Hardison reluctantly nodded. "Yeah. I guess."

Eliot glared at him. "4 for 5, man. 4 RBIs, a home run, and a walk-off single. One game, and I broke club records. They named a sandwich after me."

"Beginner's luck," Hardison snapped back.

"And his cover had never moved up, right?" Parker butted in, determined to make her point. "So even if his cover wasn't very good, Eliot was, and he could've moved up, and then he would've been a rookie, and he could've won this."

Hardison sighed, slouching against the wall. He thought of how many minor league players there were every season who never moved up, how many rookies came up each year and got sent back down, or had short or even long major league careers that were respectable but not amazing. He stared at Parker's defiant face and knew that none of it would make any difference to her.

Eliot was her superhero. Invincible. And if she thought he could win Rookie of the Year, MVP, Silver Slugger and Gold Glove all at once, then nothing Hardison could say would change her mind.

It might have bothered him, but the fact was, even he wasn't so sure Eliot couldn't do it. Hardison was pretty much convinced that the man was a cyborg.

"Yeah, Parker," he said eventually. "I guess he could've. Theoretically."

The 'theoretically' made him feel better.

Eliot smirked, and Hardison rolled his eyes.

"Can't believe you're encouraging her," he snarked.

Eliot laughed. "She doesn't need any encouragement to steal things, Hardison. She's gonna do it anyway."

"If people didn't want me to steal things, they wouldn't make it so easy."

"You did a good job on this, Parker," Eliot said as he picked up the plaque, running a finger along the engraving of his name. "The little bit of aging -- and the font match -- it's perfect."

"I worked hard on it. I wanted it to be nice for you. You're not gonna give it back, are you?"

"Yes, he is," Hardison said firmly.

Eliot glared at him. "No, I'm not."

"Eliot -- "

"Can't give it back now -- it's got my name on it."

"We could take the nameplate off," Hardison said evenly.

"She was right when she said they're insured, and they've probably got stacks of them in some warehouse somewhere."

"So you like it?" Parker asked. "It was a good idea?"

Eliot studied the plaque. "Weirdly, yeah. I do."

"See? Told you he'd like it! I told you he'd want to keep it." Parker stared smugly at Hardison, who just rolled his eyes and shook his head.

"Thanks, Parker," Eliot said with a grin. He glanced around the room, found a good spot, and leaned the plaque against the wall. "Think I'll put it right there. Hey, you know what would look really good underneath that?" he mused, a wicked grin on his face.

"Don't!" Hardison protested, sensing danger.

"The Stanley Cup."

"Eliot!" Hardison yelped, but Parker was looking at the hitter speculatively.

"What's that?"

"Nothing, Parker." Hardison was waving his hands in dismissal, but she wasn't paying attention.

"It's probably the most coveted trophy in sports," Eliot told her with a grin. "It's big. And really shiny."

Her eyes lit up, and Hardison sighed. "Not cool, man."

"Where is it?"

"Parker, no. That one is irreplaceable!"

"I'd put it back!"

"No!"

"Just for a day!"

"Parker!"