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Title: The Dove Escapade
Rating: G
Word Count: (all lengths welcome)
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction created for fun and no profit has been made. Rights belong to the respective creators.
Notes: Written for prompt #50 "Give Yourself The Day Off" for the [ profile] dove_drabbles comm, which gives monthly prompts based on the phrases inside the wrappers of Dove chocolates.

“Da-da-da-da. Da-da-da-di, only the good die young….” Hardison sang tunefully as he moseyed into the main room. Pulling the Beats off his head,  he shook himself slightly, eyed the computer set up, and prepared to settle down at the table, feeling just a bit put upon. “At work at 8 am on a Sunday, man, either I got weak or Nate’s a total jerk,” he muttered. “‘Get the sweep done before Monday,’” he mimicked to himself. “Well okay, bossman, here I am.” He gave a look around the empty room, and his eyes lit on a glass bowl on the table. “Yeah, yeah, now that’s just what I need.” He reached over and plucked a foil wrapped candy, and held it up to his gaze. “Lil bit o’ chocolate to speed me on my way.” He peeled off the foil and was about to pop the candy into his mouth, when the inside of the foil caught his eye. He peered closer. “What’s this? A message in a wrapper? "Give yourself the day off”?” He looked from side to side, then at the computer, then at the chocolate. “Y’know what, my friend…” he flipped the foil over, “my friend Dove? I believe I will do just that.” Popping the chocolate into his mouth, he shouldered his backpack, flipped on his headphones, and sauntered out the door.

Parker pulled the hood of her sweatshirt off her head as she strode into the room, glaring at the digital clock on the wall, blinking 9:00. She parked herself on the edge of the table, swung her bag onto her lap, and began scrabbling around inside, lips moving in not-totally-silent cursing. Finally her hand grasped the desired object, which she pulled out with a glare and proceeded to turn the dials on what looked to be a very complicated combination lock of some kind. As if realizing this would take some time, she dropped resentfully into a chair, put her legs up just barely not on Hardison's keyboard, and prepared to apply herself to the lock. She'd show him, demanding this on a Sunday, stupid idiot, and here she'd planned to test out some new climbing equipment, and she'd never been any good at multi-combos, and ARGH! She slammed the lock down on the table. At the sound of a rattle, she quirked her head at the glass bowl and bent forward to grab a foil-wrapped object. Moments later she was up and out of the room with nary a look back at the lock sitting solidly on Hardison's mousepad, thinking about her climbing gear and a real nice rock wall at the gym on 12th Street.

Round about noon, Eliot could be seen hustling out of the building, security maps forgotten, romance on his mind and a small ball of foil rolling between his fingers.

Running her fingers through her hair, Sophie lounged into the empty room and looked around with an air of slight surprise. Thought Nate had laid down strict instructions that they were all to meet, Sunday notwithstanding, due to the rather massive failure of their recent caper. Sure, he'd said in the morning, but really, Sunday mornings were for beauty sleep, and after all, not like what she did needed practice, or homework, or anything tedious, not like the others, who, true, could stand to brush up on their skils, if the latest debacle was any indication. Even Nate wasn't here, and if the Taskmaster couldn't be bothered, then why should she? Still, a twinge of guilt, or maybe call it accountability, made her resigned to sit and listen to some dialect podcasts. Good to be sitting here working when Nate came back from wherever in a foul mood. As she bent to turn on the desktop computer, her eyes lit on the glass bowl. "Oooh, Dove candies, how do you do," she purred under her breath. Plucking one of the golden bits, she slowly unwrapped it and, as was her wont, checked the inside wrapper with her usual superstitious thought to take the self-esteem message to heart. "Give yourself the day off." Her lips curved in a smile. "Ah, well, when fate sends a message, who am I to resist shoe shopping?" With that, she slung her purse back on her shoulder and headed out.

Upstairs, Nate dozed in between reading the latest Jack Reacher, glancing at the security cams that intermittently framed his team moving in and out of the place, and occasionally nibbling on one of a pile of Dove chocolates that did not have "give yourself the day off" written on the inside of the wrapper.

March 2017

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