It began, as these things usually do, in the conference room.

No, wait. Let me back up.

It began, rightly so, with a run for groceries, flashy convenience displays at the register, and the Little Voice that drones on unbeknownst behind the PA system's radio cover-up and tells you to buy the things you don't need, like that can of ravioli that wasn't on your list and that french bread you just need because you have that can of ravioli, and makes you forget the things you came there for, like peanut butter.

Yeah...that Voice.

"It tells me I want that pack of gum."

"You don't need gum, Parker!"

"But the Voice tells me."

"Voi-? Never mind. You want it, you buy it." And then Eliot gave her the strict Scary-Eyes, and she rolled her own as she pulled the small pack out of her pocket and tossed it on the conveyor belt.

"Uh-uh, no. I said, you want it, you buy it."

"But I—"

"No buts."

She caught the gum he tossed; he ignored the tongue she stuck out.

All standard, right?

Well, then things got complicated.

"Your total is ninety-three cents."

"Here."

"A hundred dollars?"

"Yes!"

"But, ma'am, are you...don't you have anything smaller?"

"No."

"A hundred dollars for a single ninety-three cent pack of gum?"

"Parker!"

"What? I'm hurrying! Hurry up!"

"Okay."

"Wait! Fine. Here."

"A...a...are you sure?"

"Yes!"

"Parker!"

"What? He wouldn't take a hundred for one, so I bought a hundred!"

And that was how several register lines' gum displays were completely emptied in under a minute and the team ended up with an inordinate amount of chewing gum lying about in really bizarre places. Like the corner of the 'fridge, the back of the stove, in the drawers in the kitchens, or randomly plopping onto one's plate or (usually) one's head from above. Rafters were the most common area, you see.

That was the why and the how, the middle of this story. There is an end result, a point. It just requires—

POP!

"...but with a little digging what I discovered was that all these so-called charities—"

POP!

Hardison paused.

Clack. Puff. She was noisily chewing, blowing, popping about a whole pack at once, and even Nate was giving the thief a few looks.

"...were really just nefarious—"

Pop.

Hardison huffed. "Babe, now? Seriously?"

Uhh—a breath in, only to pause— "What?"

"We're trying to have a meeting, Parker." Eliot growled.

"What? I'm here. I'm listening." She leaned an arm on his shoulder, grinning.

"No, you're blowing your gum loudly."

"What? I like bubbles." She blew one, then sucked it back in.

Eliot instinctively jerked away. "Parker, don't do that so—"

POP!

"PARKER!"

"Oh no! I... I got this! I can fix this!" And the horrified thief scurried to the kitchen.

Eliot turned an angry look on Hardison. "I'm gonna kill her, man."

"Ain't nobody killin' nobody. Nana used to say, a little peanut butter'll get gum outta anything except yo spaghettis."

"What?"

"Oh, spaghettis was just Nana's way of referring to your—"

"Got it!"

"Oh! Parker, wai—" Sophie gasped.

Snip.

"PARKER!"

"What? We didn't have any peanut butter. You've got to cut it out."

I told you it began in the conference room, didn't I?