A/N: Originally written for SymbioticDeath for the 2021 Wingfic Exchange on AO3


Anything But an Angel

"There's somethin' deeply ironic about all this," Quinn commented. They were crushed into the back of a tiny sedan, making the best of the only car that had been in the lot that Quinn had been able to hotwire. Parker would have had the pick of the litter, but one didn't get to be picky about one's backup. It had been functional and that was all that mattered at the end of the day.

They had diverted into a nearby parking garage for what looked to be a local theater. At this time of the night there weren't many spaces left but not a lot of foot traffic. The show wouldn't let out for another twenty minutes or so.

Parker sighed, leaning forward to hug the back of the seat in front of her. She needed to give Quinn as much working space as possible. The minuscule backseat of the sedan was far from the ideal place. "I know, I know. White angel wings on a thief. So messed up," Parker grumbled.

She had heard it all across her career, even from Archie and at one point or another from everyone else on the Leverage team. How it was a liability, how it was a sign that she should consider what the straight and narrow could offer her, how ironic it all was you see?

Parker had turned that little slice of irony that everyone loved into an advantage. While she sometimes had to improvise to be able to fit into the tiny vents and cubbyholes that had been so easy to maneuver when she was a teenager, her wings gave her an undeniably perfect escape route from any building with roof access. She was a flight risk of the most literal kind, and that suited Parker just fine.

That had been the plan this time right up until the sprinklers had gone off. Then, Parker needed to make a different call. Hence the backup escape and the backup hitter who bailed her out.

She shuffled her wings to ease the sensation of the dampness seeping into her down feathers. Water on its own was annoying. Water dumped on top of the oily black greasepaint that Parker needed to conceal the tell-tale white? That was beyond a nuisance.

"I didn't mean the colors. I think that's just a tad funny that you're relying on me of all people to bail you out," Quinn explained. He had a rag in hand, blotting at the greasy wetness from Parker's wings. Drying off the water meant taking off the greasepaint in equal measure; neither wanted to be removed from her feathers. They were making a wreck out of this sedan. Parker thought it might be an improvement over the scent of wet dog that had already been present.

"Why do you say 'of all people?'" Parker wondered. The stiffness in her shoulders relaxed by inches. It was too much to hope that he was completely indifferent to the one remark that everyone and their mother had to make about the thief.

There was a shuffle behind her and the blotting paused on her wings. Parker twisted her head but was unable to see any further. After a moment she felt his hand again guiding her to stretch out one wing as a new rag returned to work on the thickest clusters of feathers and damp.

"Since I helped put all this on you," he replied.

"Oh." Parker nestled her chin into the divot between the headrest and the seat, frowning once more. For a minute there was quiet between the pair marked only by the soft sound of Quinn blotting at the greasy mixture. Then - "That's not ironic."

Parker might not be an expert at complex emotions or difficult interpersonal elements, but she had been made painfully aware how irony worked.

The hitter behind her hummed. "Alright, maybe not. But I'm still amused as all get out that of everyone you've got on your little team, it was the guy who wasn't even supposed to be in the city who was able to come pluck you from a bad situation."

He had a point. Quinn was originally intended to be out of town by the time night fell. But his flight had been cancelled and the payoff was not really worth rushing to reschedule, so here he was backing Parker up.

Parker rolled one eye to peer again to the opposite side of the backseat, curling one wing out of the way to watch as Quinn dutifully swapped rags again. His go-bag was going to fare worse than the sedan, Parker figured. But he didn't seem to mind. He never did.

"I'm glad you were there," Parker said, her throat catching. She cleared it and looked back to the front of the car. She wondered if eventually Quinn would think the thing, even if he didn't say it outright.

"Anytime, Sweetheart."


A/N: Blanket statement for my oneshots - Please do not ask if I am continuing these. They are single "chapter" fics which I am considering complete. Thank you. - DragonMaster65