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Fugitives

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It's not all bad being fugitives from justice. The abandoned offices they were currently living in - staying in - didn't have rats, or cockroaches, or mould. Though Hardison was still afraid to lay his equipment down, on any surface, in case dust destroyed it forever.

No one else seems to be seeing any of the bright sides though. It's hard being the voice of optimism all the time. Nate is a silent, brooding tower of wounded pride, stomping around on the floor above them, Sophie looks bored, Eliot is glaring at everything, and Parker's grumbling about something under her breath, swivelling round and round on an office chair, and why is there always at least one chair and desk, left in abandoned offices? Like a sacrifice to the gods.

"We could be The A-Team," Hardison suggests.

"I don't think Sophie would like driving around in the back of a van," Eliot says, from where he's sitting on a stack of pallets, arms hung between his knees.

Judging by Sophie's expression she agrees that van living probably wouldn't suit her.

"They don't live in a van all the time," Hardison says, because he can't believe he's the only one who sees the similarities here. It doesn't seem to help. Judging by the expressions. "There would be issues to work around," he agrees at last, deflated.

"Also, the A-Team were framed, we're actually criminals. We break the law." Sophie's claimed the abandoned desk, swinging her legs in time with whatever music is playing in her head. There's a long line of dust on her skirt, which Hardison's fairly sure she'll be annoyed about, when she notices.

"For a good cause."

Sophie holds up a hand as if to demolish his argument.

"Still technically criminals."

"Ok, so it's not a perfect comparison. Maybe we're more like MacGyver, if MacGyver was a criminal."

"You're not MacGyver," Eliot says gruffly, and Hardison knows he should be insulted by the hint of amusement there.

"He made things, and could think on his feet. He was a genius." Sophie shakes her head. As if the very idea is crazy, and that genuinely hurts.

"I could make things," Hardison protests. "Have you not seen me make things? You've all seen me make things."

"In twenty minutes?" Sophie says. "In a shed, with armed men shooting at you?"

"Hey, I can work under pressure."

"But would you be able to escape a falling lift with some paperclips, duct tape and a tennis racket," she adds.

"Why would I have a tennis racket and duct tape? In what possible situation would I find myself with a tennis racket?"

Sophie shrugs. "Perhaps you're trapped in a lift with a professional tennis player, that's not the point."

"What is the point?" Hardison wonders, because he suspects they've strayed pretty far from it.

"You guys do know MacGyver isn't real, right?" Parker says, from where she's now balanced in what looks like a horrendously uncomfortable position on one of the ceiling beams.

Eliot shakes his head. "You realise Parker just became the voice of reason in this conversation, right?"

"People are cooler on TV," Parker offers, like it's a thread of wisdom she shouldn't have to be sharing, they should all know already.

"That's because they don't have to live in a van," Sophie says.