AN: I own nothing.

Everyone thinks Hardison's orange soda addiction is just a little idiosyncrasy. They are wrong. All of those little habits have meaning that map out his life.

Beer reminds him of his father's anger and his mother's tear filled drug fueled rage.

Little paper cone cups and distilled water reminds him of the corner he'd tucked himself into in the Queens police station the night he was finally taken away.

Milk reminds him of the Mennonites he lived with until he was three. He loved that farm and the cow he named.

Lemonade reminds him of his Mama and going to her for a while and the happiness he lived in for what seemed like a split second before the drugs seeped back in and he was living off peanut butter sandwiches and crystal light.

Orange Soda reminds him of Nana and that old 1950's coke machine she had with its glass bottles. That cool orangey drink brings back contentment and safety that's why he loves it.

And now, well now anytime he eats bar room pretzels he thinks of Parker and feels a warm fuzzy feeling he's yet to find anywhere else. So, he'll live on pretzels and orange soda any day.