i-am-mildly-insane

[i-am-mildly-insane]

The Bushwhack Job: Updated Chapter Thirteen (New Ending)

Note: This is the newly revised ending, which I changed after deciding to add 2 more chapters like a maniac. The beginning of the chapter is the same—only about the last 1,000 words have changed.

Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four Chapter Five Chapter Six Chapter Seven Chapter Eight Chapter Nine Chapter Ten Chapter Eleven Chapter Twelve

(Disclaimer: This is a relatively rough draft and subject to change when I post to AO3. I'm just overly excited and want to share what I have.)

If this had been a normal job, Parker would have been insulted by how easy it was to evade security. After all, they were clearly looking for her—they mentioned finding “the thief” several times, loudly, over their radios while clomping down the hall in their clunky bad guy shoes. She could have avoided them blindfolded, if she’d had the time to play.

But this wasn’t a normal job, and she wasn’t in the mood for playing.

Actually, the guards had been more of a help than a hinderance. Their patrol patterns had showed her where the safe was, so she’d known exactly what to avoid, and they’d confirmed that Lancaster was in his top-floor office.

And they’d given her a gun.

Well, not given, exactly, but as good as. It wasn’t her fault that the guard on the top floor didn’t have the stamina to stay conscious after being tased. And if they didn’t want people to take their guns after knocking them out, then they should have more than one guard patrolling together.

Lancaster had practically invited her in.

She stole down the hallway on silent feet, the guard’s Glock in one hand. According to the men she’d overheard, the next security sweep of this floor wouldn’t be for another six minutes. Plenty of time to find and take care of Lancaster.

Follow the plan, said the voice in her head. We don’t hurt people.

“Maybe you don’t,” Parker said. “Didn’t. Whatever. But you’re not here, so I’m going to make sure Lancaster never hurts anyone else, ever again.”

Nate will keep that from happening.

“Obviously not.”

She was at the door now, and she reached out with her left hand to open it while the voice went on not being helpful. You should call him, he said. You should tell him what’s happening. Go back and find the safe. Stick with the plan.

She waved a dismissive hand and focused on the office. Lancaster had his back to the door, sitting in his chair against one wall, but he spun when he heard her enter. “Finally,” he snapped. “You’re late. Hurry up and get this—”

He frowned when he saw Parker, and scooted his chair back when he saw her gun. “How did you get in here?”

She gave him an annoyed look. “The door.”

“Listen,” he said. “This has all been just a big misunderstanding. You’re a thief, right? You want money? I can give you money.”

“I can take money,” Parker said.

“I can get you more.”

Parker stepped into the room, leaving the door open. She didn’t want it to slow her down later.

Don’t do this.

She ignored the voice and addressed Lancaster instead. “You tried to kill me. I could get over that—I know it was nothing personal. But what you did to Eliot...” She cocked the gun. “That, I can’t forgive.”

“It was a mistake,” Lancaster said. He pressed back into his chair, his eyes wide. “I didn’t mean for—”

She lifted the gun. “I don’t care what you meant. Right now, I just want you to beg.”

“Beg?” he squeaked.

Parker added her left hand to the gun, and Lancaster scrambled back until his chair hit the wall. “Okay,” he said. “Okay—Please. Please don’t kill me. I’ll do anything—pay anything. Please, anything. Anything you want.”

Don’t.

“That wasn’t as satisfying as I thought it would be,” Parker admitted. “Maybe you weren’t sincere enough. Maybe you should cry.”

“Please,” Lancaster whispered.

Parker.

“No,” she said. “I think he should cry. I think that would help.”

“Parker.”

“Stop!” she shouted. Across the room, Lancaster flinched, but even that didn’t make her feel better. “Stop telling me not to do this. He deserves it.”

“You don’t.”

“Yeah, well, neither did you,” Parker said. “It still happened.”

Lancaster’s eyes were fixed over her shoulder. The gun trembled in her hands. 

“Parker. Look at me.”

She squeezed her eyes shut. Because yes, okay, she knew the voice wasn’t inside her head, but if she was wrong—if she looked and he wasn’t there, it would mean she was crazy, for real, and it would mean he was gone gone, and she couldn’t handle that. She couldn’t. So she would just stand here and wait, and eventually the voice would go back into her brain where it belonged, and she could get on with killing Lancaster and everything would be fine. It would be fine.

A hand touched hers. Her eyes flew open against her will, and it was Eliot’s hand, and it was Eliot’s face moving in front of her, and Eliot’s voice telling her to give him the gun. She let it go, and he took it and disarmed it and tossed the magazine away while her heart made sick, limping stutters in her chest. She reached out to touch his shoulder, because maybe his hands had been imaginary, but his shoulder would have to be real. It made no sense. She didn’t question it.

Her fingers brushed his upper arm—his very solid, very real arm—and she took a breath.

“Okay?” he asked.

She nodded.

Eliot turned to Lancaster. “Where are the other bombs?”

“The other—” Parker stared at Eliot, then at Lancaster, wondering if she could get to the discarded magazine before Eliot stopped her.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Lancaster said.

“Really?” Eliot folded his arms, shifting his stance so his shoulder bumped against Parker’s. “Because if they go off while you’re still inside the building, that could go poorly for you.”

“I wouldn’t—”

The blare of a fire alarm cut him off, and Eliot raised his eyebrows. “That’s Hardison. Nate and Sophie are already outside, along with the evidence that you planned to destroy your own property again. The rest of the building’s being evacuated now. It’s over. Tell me where the other bombs are, and we’ll bring you out with us.”

“Do we have to?” Parker hissed.

Eliot didn’t look at her, but the ghost of a smile lifted one corner of his mouth.

Lancaster glanced between her and Eliot and licked his lips, his chest heaving. “Okay,” he said at last. “Let me go and I’ll tell you where they are.”

“Tell us where they are and we’ll let you go,” Eliot countered.

“Okay,” Lancaster said. “Okay. Untie me. I’ll show you.”

Eliot frowned, drawing out the decision, making Lancaster sweat—Parker would have made him wait longer, but apparently Eliot was more worried about the bombs. He nodded once and moved across the room, kneeling beside the chair to remove the phone cord from Lancaster’s ankles.

“All right,” he said. “Lead the way.”

Lancaster spun on the chair. “But you have to untie my hands!”

“You can walk without your hands,” Eliot said.

“But I—”

Eliot grabbed him by the elbow and hauled him to his feet. “Go.”

Lancaster stumbled, turning, and Parker watched the way his hands scrambled for something to hold onto. They were bound behind his back with a belt—his belt, by the looks of it—but he’d worked part of it loose. He twisted as Eliot let him go, bending his arms at an awkward angle, leaning forward at the waist—

“Eliot—” 

Parker saw it an instant after he did. The gun up Lancaster’s sleeve went off with a sharp crack, but Eliot was already moving forward, putting himself between it and Parker. He grunted, his body jerking as the bullet hit, and Parker threw herself forward to catch him as he fell to one knee.

She screamed. Lancaster fled, and she let him go, running her hand down Eliot’s chest, searching for the wound while trying to hold him up. This wasn’t happening. Eliot hadn’t come back from the dead just to be shot now—he couldn’t—he couldn’t—

“Parker,” Eliot said, loudly, like it wasn’t the first time he’d spoken. He took her hand, holding it still over his heart where she could feel it beating. “I’m okay. He got me in the leg.”

He was still upright, leaning against her with one hand over hers and the other pressed against his thigh. “See?” he said, easing his fingers back to expose the tiny hole above his knee. “Small caliber,” he said, his teeth gritting over the words. “In and out—nothing serious. What the hell kind of fake cowboy dork carries an actual freaking derringer in his sleeve?”

“You’re not—” Parker panted. “You’re not—?”

“I’m fine,” he said firmly. “Something that small is single-shot, low accuracy, low damage. Okay? Come on, we gotta…” He started to stand, biting down on a curse, and Parker eased under his arm to help him to his feet. With a groan, he reached for his belt and unclipped a walkie-talkie. “Nate?” he said. “J.B.? You there?”

“We’re here,” Nate answered. “Speak up—can’t hear you over the alarm.”

Eliot cleared his throat and raised his voice. “Is Hardison out?”

“Yeah, he’s right here.”

“I’ve got Parker,” Eliot said. “Or… she’s got me. Lancaster’s on his way downstairs.”

A new voice came over the radio—J.B., whoever that was. “What happened?”

“He had a derringer,” Eliot growled. “Got me in the leg. I’ll be slow getting out. The bombs in the basement had cellphone detonators; Lancaster will call to set them off as soon as he gets out of the building.”

“We’ll cover the exits,” Nate said. “You and Parker get out of there.”

“Roger.”

Eliot handed her the walkie-talkie and pushed her gently toward the door. “Go. I’ll catch up.”

Parker moved back against his side. “I’m not leaving without you.”

“I’m right behind you,” Eliot said. “But I’ll slow you down. You have to—”

Parker stopped, standing still when he tried to nudge her ahead again. “Either we both go, or we both stay.”

Eliot looked at her, his eyes serious and tired beneath the bruises on his face, and her heart broke all over again at the distress in them. It didn’t make any sense. He was here now, he was safe, and they were getting out together. Why did he want her to leave?

“Please,” he said. Begged. “Please, go. If Lancaster detonates the bombs…”

“I’m not leaving you,” Parker said.

His expression shattered. “I left you.”

“What are you talking about?” she asked, her brows furrowing. “You didn’t—”

“I left you,” he repeated, his voice harsh and raw. “Or I—I left the place I thought you were. I would have left you behind.”

“You mean the LanCast building?” Parker asked. Eliot closed his eyes, and she took advantage of his distraction and eased them forward a step.

He went with her, breathing heavily through his nose. “I thought you were inside,” he said. “And after the explosion, I ran off without you. Okay? I abandoned you, and you should—you should do the same to me. I’m slowing you down.”

“I wasn’t inside,” Parker said.

“But I thought—”

“I wasn’t inside.” Parker clipped the walkie-talkie to her waistband with one hand and glared at him from under her bangs. “I don’t care what you thought. I wasn’t inside. It would have been stupid to go back in, and you probably would have died for real if you had. So I’m glad you left.”

“Parker—”

“No,” she snapped. “You’re saying I should just leave you here because you’re feeling guilty about something that didn’t happen? That’s stupid.”

“I’m not—” he sputtered. “I’m saying you can’t trust me. I should have—”

“Stop it,” Parker said. They’d reached the elevator, but when she pressed the button, nothing happened. Eliot opened his mouth, and she turned them both toward the staircase to cut him off. “He must have disabled the elevator. Come on, we’ll take the stairs.”

“Parker, please—”

She kicked open the stairwell door. Eliot let out a pained grunt as he half-stepped, half-fell forward, but she was having a hard time feeling sorry for him. How could he think she would leave him behind? Especially now? She shifted to take more of his weight and spoke without looking at him. “I thought you were dead. Just—gone forever, no warning, no goodbye. And then you come back, and… Do you know what that feels like?”

“Yes,” he whispered. 

“Then why are you trying to get rid of me?”

She tried to say it casually, but it came out just as pathetic and broken as she feared it would—because this was Eliot, and he was supposed to understand her, and—

And she was supposed to understand him, too. She turned her head, listening to his sharp, quiet breaths under the sound of the echoing alarm, taking in his pale face and the whites of his knuckles as he clenched the railing. This wasn’t Eliot in pain.

It was Eliot afraid.

“Why are you trying to get rid of me?” she asked again. 

“I don’t want to get rid of you.” He said it softly, breathlessly, like he was trying to hold the words in even as he let them out. “But right now, I can’t—I can’t protect you, and if anything happens—” He inhaled when she moved down a step, his fingers tightening on her sleeve. “You have to get out,” he finished in a weak voice. “I can’t lose you again.”

Parker gripped his arm. Sophie had told her once that Eliot was so good at what he did because he knew how to stay in control when everything around him fell apart. It was the thing that kept him safe… kept all of them safe. It gave him the clarity to do what needed to be done—the hard things, he’d told her once, that the others couldn’t do. Those were the kinds of decisions they made.

The kind of decision he was asking her to make.

“Eliot,” she said. She waited until he looked at her, his jaw clenched in preparation for her refusal, his mouth pressed flat. She stopped and shifted under his arm so she could face him. “If it gets to the point that you need me to leave, I’ll go. But only if you promise that you’ll make it out after me.”

His expression softened, his hold on her shoulder relaxing into something less desperate, and he nodded.

She eased him down another step. “Do you know Lancaster is after actual buried treasure?”

He snorted. “He told me.”

“Hardison found a bunch of audition tapes he made a few years ago,” Parker said. “When he was trying to get into different Westerns. His accent was even worse than it is now.”

Eliot gave a short laugh, and the sound made Parker beam in response.

Everything would be fine now. The certainty sank through her like melted gold after a successful heist-turned-laundering operation—not that she did those anymore—and she let the warmth soothe away the last of her hurt. Lancaster, hidden treasure, bombs... none of it mattered.

Everything was going to be fine.

Eliot’s knee gave out on the last step, but Parker caught him and held him up while he straightened himself on the railing. “When this is over,” she said, readjusting her grip on his shirt. “We’ll watch all of Lancaster’s audition tapes. Hardison will put them up on the screens and you can make your fancy popcorn on the stove, and we’ll mute it so Sophie can do the voices.”

Eliot huffed out a laugh. “They were that bad, huh?”

“Sophie’s a better actor than he is.”

She opened the door to the lobby, measuring the distance between them and the door. They were so close, and Lancaster was nowhere in sight—not in the lobby, and not outside. Floor-to-ceiling windows gave her a clear view of the sidewalk and street, and the only person she could see was a tallish man in a hoodie, with a walkie-talkie clenched in one hand. Eliot’s friend, probably, watching the front exit, which meant Lancaster had to be inside yet.

Eliot hesitated, his body going still as the door closed behind them. “What?” she asked, her attention on the window. She couldn’t see any of the team, so they must be at the other exits around the building. They were so close now, and she wanted to be outside with them, celebrating with them, welcoming Eliot back…

“I don’t know,” he muttered, his eyes searching the room. “Just… something feels off.”

Parker glanced at the desks and cubicles lining the walls. She knew better than to ignore Eliot’s instincts, but they had to keep going. They didn’t have time to backtrack and find a different exit. If they could just get across the floor, get outside, they’d be safe.

She patted his arm. “Come on. We’re almost there.”

She took a step, and he went with her, gaining momentum as they went. They were three-quarters of the way across… halfway… just a little bit more…

A glint of light flashed in her eyes, but she dismissed it as a reflection off a car outside. Then there was a crack, and she was on the ground with Eliot’s arms around her before she registered what had happened.

“Are you hit?” he gasped.

Hit. Bullet. Someone was shooting at them.

“Are you hit?” Eliot repeated, and she could hear the barely-contained panic shredding his words.

She shook her head. Then, because she was lying on her back with Eliot on top of her, and because he was looking back and forth between her and wherever the shot had come from, she said, “No, I’m okay.”

“Behind the desk,” he said. “Go!”

He shot to his feet, stumbling, and she ran in a crouch a step ahead of him. They dove behind the shelter of a thick wooden desk as the next shot shattered a lamp over Eliot’s shoulder.

“Dammit,” he grunted, dropping to the floor with his back against the desk, breathing hard. “We lost the radio.”

Parker felt for her waistband—it must have come off when Eliot tackled her. “What now?” she asked.

Eliot made an effort to control his breathing, but there was a layer of sweat on his face, and his skin was pale. “Lancaster,” he called, lifting his voice so it echoed through the lobby. “The police are on their way by now. It’s over.”

“You think I don’t know that?” Lancaster answered. Parker peeked around the side of the desk to find him, but Eliot pulled her back.

“What do you think they’ll do when they find you shooting at people inside your own building?” he yelled.

“I’m going to jail anyway,” Lancaster said. “My life is over. So I figure I’ve got two choices—waste away in a cell, or go out in a blaze of glory. Butch Cassidy style, right? I couldn’t have planned a better ending.”

Another shot hit the desk, sending file paper confetti raining down around them. 

“What do we do?” Parker said. “Wait for the police? If the bombs—”

Eliot looked at her, and she broke off when she read his plan in his eyes.

She almost shook her head. It would be so easy to say no, to pretend not to understand, to insist he find a different way. But it would only be easier for her, and that wasn’t why she’d come.

She took a breath, waiting until she was sure she could speak in an even voice. “You promise?”

His eyes were clear, laying out more than the plan, more than the pain he had stopped trying to hide—and she knew he was reading the same things on her face: all the things they didn’t say, that they didn’t need to say, all right there in the open for anyone to see.

But it was only them, and it would always be them.

Lancaster couldn’t take that away.

“Okay,” Parker whispered.

Eliot shifted to get his feet beneath him, putting his weight on his left leg. “Single shot,” he said, all business again. “It’ll take him five to seven seconds to reload. You’ll have to be quick.”

She smirked. “I can do it in three.”

An answering grin touched his lips, and he angled himself toward the edge of the desk. “You shoulda spent more time at the range,” he said loudly. “And maybe think about using something with a longer barrel if you want to dry-gulch somebody.”

“Hit you once, didn’t I?” Lancaster answered.

“Yeah,” Eliot laughed. “In the leg. You were standing point blank and couldn’t land a shot center mass. Butch Cassidy would be so proud.”

“With my hands tied behind my back,” Lancaster said, an edge in his voice.

“Oh, that explains it,” Eliot said. “They must still be tied.”

He glanced at Parker—one more time, his eyes bright and sharp—before launching himself across the space between them and the next desk. The gun went off.

She ran for the door.

[i-am-mildly-insane]

These are so fun to make

[i-am-mildly-insane]

The Nigerian Job (1.01) The First Contact Job (5.03)

[i-am-mildly-insane]

The Bushwhack Job: Chapter Thirteen

Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four Chapter Five Chapter Six Chapter Seven Chapter Eight Chapter Nine Chapter Ten Chapter Eleven Chapter Twelve

(Disclaimer: This is a relatively rough draft and subject to change when I post to AO3. I'm just overly excited and want to share what I have.)

If this had been a normal job, Parker would have been insulted by how easy it was to evade security. After all, they were clearly looking for her—they mentioned finding “the thief” several times, loudly, over their radios while clomping down the hall in their clunky bad guy shoes. She could have avoided them blindfolded, if she’d had the time to play.

But this wasn’t a normal job, and she wasn’t in the mood for playing.

Actually, the guards had been more of a help than a hinderance. Their patrol patterns had showed her where the safe was, so she’d known exactly what to avoid, and they’d confirmed that Lancaster was in his top-floor office.

And they’d given her a gun.

Well, not given, exactly, but as good as. It wasn’t her fault that the guard on the top floor didn’t have the stamina to stay conscious after being tased. And if they didn’t want people to take their guns after knocking them out, then they should have more than one guard patrolling together.

Lancaster had practically invited her in.

She stole down the hallway on silent feet, the guard’s Glock in one hand. According to the men she’d overheard, the next security sweep of this floor wouldn’t be for another six minutes. Plenty of time to find and take care of Lancaster.

Follow the plan, said the voice in her head. We don’t hurt people.

“Maybe you don’t,” Parker said. “Didn’t. Whatever. But you’re not here, so I’m going to make sure Lancaster never hurts anyone else, ever again.”

Nate will keep that from happening.

“Obviously not.”

She was at the door now, and she reached out with her left hand to open it while the voice went on not being helpful. You should call him, he said. You should tell him what’s happening. Go back and find the safe. Stick with the plan.

She waved a dismissive hand and focused on the office. Lancaster had his back to the door, sitting in his chair against one wall, but he spun when he heard her enter. “Finally,” he snapped. “You’re late. Hurry up and get this—”

He frowned when he saw Parker, and scooted his chair back when he saw her gun. “How did you get in here?”

She gave him an annoyed look. “The door.”

“Listen,” he said. “This has all been just a big misunderstanding. You’re a thief, right? You want money? I can give you money.”

“I can take money,” Parker said.

“I can get you more.”

Parker stepped into the room, leaving the door open. She didn’t want it to slow her down later.

Don’t do this.

She ignored the voice and addressed Lancaster instead. “You tried to kill me. I could get over that—I know it was nothing personal. But what you did to Eliot...” She cocked the gun. “That, I can’t forgive.”

“It was a mistake,” Lancaster said. He pressed back into his chair, his eyes wide. “I didn’t mean for—”

She lifted the gun. “I don’t care what you meant. Right now, I just want you to beg.”

“Beg?” he squeaked.

Parker added her left hand to the gun, and Lancaster scrambled back until his chair hit the wall. “Okay,” he said. “Okay—Please. Please don’t kill me. I’ll do anything—pay anything. Please, anything. Anything you want.”

Don’t.

“That wasn’t as satisfying as I thought it would be,” Parker admitted. “Maybe you weren’t sincere enough. Maybe you should cry.”

“Please,” Lancaster whispered.

Parker.

“No,” she said. “I think he should cry. I think that would help.”

“Parker.”

“Stop!” she shouted. Across the room, Lancaster flinched, but even that didn’t make her feel better. “Stop telling me not to do this. He deserves it.”

“You don’t.”

“Yeah, well, neither did you,” Parker said. “It still happened.”

Lancaster’s eyes were fixed over her shoulder. The gun trembled in her hands. 

“Parker. Look at me.”

She squeezed her eyes shut. Because yes, okay, she knew the voice wasn’t inside her head, but if she was wrong—if she looked and he wasn’t there, it would mean she was crazy, for real, and it would mean he was gone gone, and she couldn’t handle that. She couldn’t. So she would just stand here and wait, and eventually the voice would go back into her brain where it belonged, and she could get on with killing Lancaster and everything would be fine. It would be fine.

A hand touched hers. Her eyes flew open against her will, and it was Eliot’s hand, and it wast Eliot’s face moving in front of her, and Eliot’s voice telling her to give him the gun. She let it go, and he took it and disarmed it and tossed the magazine away while her heart made sick, limping stutters in her chest. She reached out to touch his shoulder, because maybe his hands had been imaginary, but his shoulder would have to be real. It made no sense. She didn’t question it.

Her fingers brushed his upper arm—his very solid, very real arm—and she took a breath.

“Okay?” he asked.

She nodded.

Eliot turned to Lancaster. “Where are the other bombs?”

“The other—” Parker stared at Eliot, then at Lancaster, wondering if she could get to the discarded magazine before Eliot stopped her.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Lancaster said.

“Really?” Eliot folded his arms, shifting his stance so his shoulder bumped against Parker’s. “Because if they go off while you’re still inside the building, that could go poorly for you.”

“I wouldn’t—”

The blare of a fire alarm cut him off, and Eliot raised his eyebrows. “That’s Hardison. Nate and Sophie are already outside, along with the evidence that you planned to destroy your own property again. The rest of the building’s being evacuated now. It’s over. Tell me where the other bombs are, and we’ll bring you out with us.”

“Do we have to?” Parker hissed.

Eliot didn’t look at her, but the ghost of a smile lifted one corner of his mouth.

Perspiration shone on Lancaster’s forehead. He glanced between her and Eliot and licked his lips before swallowing loudly. “Okay,” he said at last. “Let me go and I’ll tell you where they are.”

“Tell us where they are and we’ll let you go,” Eliot countered.

“Okay,” Lancaster said. “Okay. Untie me. I’ll show you.”

Eliot frowned, drawing out the decision, making Lancaster sweat—Parker would have made him wait longer, but apparently Eliot was more worried about the bombs. He nodded once and moved across the room, kneeling beside the chair to remove the phone cord from Lancaster’s ankles.

“All right,” he said. “Lead the way.”

Lancaster sputtered. “But you have to untie my hands!”

“You can walk without your hands,” Eliot said.

“But I—”

Eliot grabbed him by the elbow and hauled him to his feet. “Go.”

Lancaster stumbled, turning, and Parker watched the way his hands scrambled for something to hold onto. They were bound behind his back with a belt—his belt, by the looks of it—but he’d worked part of it loose. He twisted as Eliot let him go, bending his arms at an awkward angle, leaning forward at the waist—

“Eliot—” 

Parker saw it an instant after he did. The gun up Lancaster’s sleeve went off with a sharp crack, but Eliot was already moving forward, putting himself between it and Parker. He grunted, his body jerking as the bullet hit, and Parker threw herself forward to catch him as he fell to one knee.

She screamed. Lancaster fled, and she let him go, running her hand down Eliot’s chest, searching for the wound while trying to hold him up. This wasn’t happening. Eliot hadn’t come back from the dead just to be shot now—he couldn’t—he couldn’t—

“Parker,” Eliot said, loudly, like it wasn’t the first time he’d spoken. He took her hand, holding it still over his heart where she could feel it beating. “I’m okay. He got me in the leg.”

He was still upright, leaning against her with one hand over hers and the other pressed against his thigh. “See?” he said, easing his fingers back to expose the tiny hole above his knee. “Small caliber,” he said, his teeth gritting over the words. “In and out—nothing serious. What the hell kind of fake cowboy loser carries an actual freaking derringer in his sleeve?”

“You’re not—” Parker panted. “You’re not—?”

“I’m fine,” he said firmly. “Something that small is single-shot, low accuracy, low damage. Okay? Come on, we gotta…” He started to stand, biting down on a curse, and Parker eased under his arm to help him to his feet. With a groan, he reached for his belt and unclipped a walkie-talkie. “Nate?” he said. “J.B.? You there?”

“We’re here,” Nate answered. “Speak up—can’t hear you over the alarm.”

Eliot cleared his throat and raised his voice. “Is Hardison out?”

“Yeah, he’s right here.”

“I’ve got Parker,” Eliot said. “Or… she’s got me. Lancaster’s on his way downstairs.”

A new voice came over the radio—J.B., whoever that was. “What happened?”

“He had a derringer,” Eliot growled. “Got me in the leg. I’ll be slow getting out. The bombs in the basement had cellphone detonators; Lancaster will call to set them off as soon as he gets out of the building.”

“We’ll cover the exits,” Nate said. “You and Parker get out of there.”

“Roger.”

Eliot handed her the walkie-talkie and pushed her gently toward the door. “Go. I’ll catch up.”

Parker moved back against his side. “I’m not leaving without you.”

“I’m right behind you,” Eliot said. “But I’ll slow you down. You have to—”

Parker stopped, standing still when he tried to nudge her ahead again. “Either we both go, or we both stay.”

Eliot looked at her, his eyes serious and tired beneath the bruises on his face, and her heart broke all over again at the distress in them. It didn’t make any sense. He was here now, he was safe, and they were getting out together. Why did he want her to leave?

“Please,” he said. Begged. “Please, go. If Lancaster detonates the bombs…”

“I’m not leaving you,” Parker said.

His expression shattered. “I left you.”

“What are you talking about?” she asked, her brows furrowing. “You didn’t—”

“I left you,” he repeated, his voice harsh and raw. “Or I—I left the place I thought you were. I would have left you behind.”

“You mean the LanCast building?” Parker asked. Eliot closed his eyes, and she took advantage of his distraction and eased them forward a step.

He went with her, breathing heavily through his nose. “I thought you were inside,” he said. “And after the explosion, I ran off without you. Okay? I abandoned you, and you should—you should do the same to me. I’m slowing you down.”

“I wasn’t inside,” Parker said.

“But I thought—”

“I wasn’t inside.” Parker clipped the walkie-talkie to her waistband with one hand and glared at him from under her bangs. “I don’t care what you thought. I wasn’t inside. It would have been stupid to go back in, and you probably would have died for real if you had. So I’m glad you left.”

“Parker—”

“No,” she snapped. “You’re saying I should just leave you here because you’re feeling guilty about something that didn’t happen? That’s stupid.”

“I’m not—” he sputtered. “I’m saying you can’t trust me. I should have—”

“Stop it,” Parker said. They’d reached the elevator, but when she pressed the button, nothing happened. Eliot opened his mouth, and she turned them both toward the staircase to cut him off. “He must have disabled the elevator. Come on, we’ll take the stairs.”

“Parker, please—”

She kicked open the stairwell door. Eliot let out a pained grunt as he half-stepped, half-fell forward, but she was having a hard time feeling sorry for him. How could he think she would leave him behind? Especially now? She shifted to take more of his weight and spoke without looking at him. “I thought you were dead. Just—gone forever, no warning, no goodbye. And then you come back, and… Do you know what that feels like?”

“Yes,” he whispered. 

“Then why are you trying to get rid of me?”

She tried to say it casually, but it came out just as pathetic and broken as she feared it would—because this was Eliot, and he was supposed to understand her, and—

And she was supposed to understand him, too. She turned her head, listening to his sharp, quiet breaths under the sound of the echoing alarm, taking in his pale face and the whites of his knuckles as he clenched the railing. This wasn’t Eliot in pain.

It was Eliot afraid.

“Why are you trying to get rid of me?” she asked again. 

“I don’t want to get rid of you.” He said it softly, breathlessly, like he was trying to hold the words in even as he let them out. “But right now, I can’t—I can’t protect you, and if anything happens…” He inhaled when she moved down a step, his fingers tightening on her sleeve. “You have to get out,” he finished in a weak voice. “I can’t lose you again.”

Parker gripped his arm. Sophie had told her once that Eliot was so good at what he did because he knew how to stay in control when everything around him fell apart. It was the thing that kept him safe… kept all of them safe. It gave him the clarity to do what needed to be done—the hard things, he’d told her once, that the others couldn’t do. Those were the kinds of decisions they made.

The kind of decision he was asking her to make.

“Eliot,” she said. She waited until he looked at her, his jaw clenched in preparation for her refusal, his mouth pressed flat. She stopped and shifted under his arm so she could face him. “If it gets to the point that you need me to leave, I’ll go. But only if you promise that you’ll make it out after me.”

His expression softened, his hold on her shoulder relaxing into something less desperate, and he nodded.

She eased him down another step. “Do you know Lancaster is after actual buried treasure?”

He snorted. “He told me.”

“Hardison found a bunch of audition tapes he made a few years ago,” Parker said. “When he was trying to get into different Westerns. His accent was even worse than it is now.”

Eliot gave a short laugh, and the sound made Parker beam in response.

Everything would be fine now. The certainty sank through her like melted gold after a successful heist-turned-laundering operation—not that she did those anymore—and she let the warmth soothe away the last of her hurt. Lancaster, hidden treasure, bombs... none of it mattered.

Everything was going to be fine.

Eliot’s knee gave out on the last step, but Parker caught him and held him up while he straightened himself on the railing. “When this is over,” Parker said, readjusting her grip on his shirt. “We’ll watch all of Lancaster’s audition tapes. Hardison will put them up on the screens and you can make your fancy popcorn on the stove, and we’ll mute it so Sophie can do the voices.”

Eliot huffed out a laugh. “They were that bad, huh?”

“Sophie is a better actor than he is.”

She opened the door to the lobby, trying not to feel dismayed at the distance between them and the door. They were so close, and Lancaster was nowhere in sight—maybe they’d beaten him down somehow, maybe with his hands tied—

Eliot’s arm tensed over her shoulders.

A man stepped out from behind the receptionist’s desk and planted himself in the middle of the room, blocking their exit. She recognized him as one of Lancaster’s men, but she didn’t know which one—but from the look on Eliot’s face, he did.

“Parker,” he said, his voice low and gentle. “It’s time.”

Her fingers clenched over his arm. She forced them to relax. “And you promise?”

He looked her in the eye and nodded. “I promise.”

She let him go and ran for the door.

[i-am-mildly-insane]

So I'm watching The Frame Up Job and while there are lots of moments I like, like Nate and Sophie driving Sterling insane, Nate and Sophie being all romantic and forcing Sterling to uncomfortably third wheel, and then this gem,

but my absolute favorite moments are when we see how the rest of the team has rubbed off on Nate

Nate identifies the type of safe the painting was in, which he could have learned as an insurance investigator, but I like to think Parker taught him that

Nate also uses a credit card to force the lock on the billard room door, which I doubt he learned as an insurance investigator. Clearly Parker taught him a thing or two

He identifies the type of shoes Sophie is wearing by the sound they make on the hard wood floor, which sounds a lot like Elliot's "It's a very distinctive___"

Also, his line about how Sophie's shoes are "high enough for fashion but low enough to run in" is complete bs. Sophie is wearing 6 inch platform heels. She would break an ankle if she tried anything faster than a brisk walk

[i-am-mildly-insane]

Guacamole: Absolutely superb as long as it's not spicy (don't come for me, I have the spice tolerance of a snowflake). If a taco doesn't have guacamole, it doesn't hit right

Olives: Eh. I like them on pizza but not really anywhere else

Mango: Never tried it but it smells good

Hummus: Amazing, best food invention in the history of mankind, it's a grocery staple for me. Wonderful snack food

Tomatoes: Love 'em. They make so many wonderful things and if you've never put halved cherry tomatoes on pizza, you're missing out

Cannolis: I think I've had one, but I know they're like pizza so I assume I like them. You can't go wrong with bread, tomato sauce and cheese.

FOOD DISCOURSE: reblog with ur opinions on guacamole, olives, mango, hummus, tomatoes, and cannolis

[i-am-mildly-insane]

Poor Parker. Eliot definitely got her another one later because he felt bad

Leverage gifs that no one asked for but I made them anyway (33/?)

[i-am-mildly-insane]

Elliot's eye roll is just hilarious

"Yeah, yeah, yeah, I get it. It’s like the game Operation, except I’m the tweezers."

Leverage S04E17 The Radio Job.

[i-am-mildly-insane]

Leverage S05E02 The Blue Line Job.

[i-am-mildly-insane]

It's the Thought that Counts (Leverage Fanfic) | Thanksgiving Story

Fandom: Leverage Author: cosette141 Words: 1631

Summary: When Eliot gets hurt and can't cook Thanksgiving dinner, the team gives cooking a try. It's the thought that counts, right? Happy Thanksgiving!

AO3

a/n: takes place during OG Leverage season 3

(story under the cut!)

Everyone stood in Nate's kitchen, looking toward a prone Eliot on Nate's couch.

It was Thanksgiving Day.

The plan had been simple: finish up the job they were working on in the morning, then reconvene at Nate's apartment where Eliot would cook them Thanksgiving dinner, as he'd been doing the past two years.

But… as usual, things didn't quite go as planned.

The con was completed successfully, but not without a hiccup; Eliot had gotten into a fight with a very well-trained security guard, who ended up pushing Eliot down a flight of stairs.

The stairs ended up causing Eliot a concussion and dislocated shoulder, which was set back into place that morning and now resided in a sling over his chest.

Just a handful of minutes ago they got home and Eliot had passed out on the couch.

Looking away from the hitter, the rest of the team looked back at each other.

It was Parker who broke the silence. "We should make dinner."

Three shocked eyes turn to her. "Uh," said Hardison. "What?"

"We should make dinner," repeated Parker simply. "Eliot can't cook with one arm." A blink. "We should make dinner."

"Parker," began Nate.

"One of us has to know how to cook," said Parker with a scrunched nose.

All heads turn toward Sophie.

Her brows shot up. "Me?" When they only kept staring, she leveled them with an annoyed glare. "What? Just because I'm a woman, you think I know how to cook a meal like that?"

From their stares, yes they did.

"Well, I don't," she said firmly, crossing her arms. "I grew up with people who cooked for us, and grifted everyone else in my life into either cooking or buying me a meal. I don't cook."

Parker deflated a little.

"What about you?" asked Hardison to Nate. "You weren't really a stay-at-home dad," at the worddadNate shifted a little, and the three of them tried not to notice. Gently, Hardison tried, "Did you pick anything up from Maggie?"

Nate laughed a little. "Maggie? No. She wasn't much of a cook herself. I mean, I can make grilled cheese and French toast like no tomorrow.. those were Sam's favorites." His eyes clouded a little and the others fidgeted where they stood. Nate shook it away. "But, ah… no. You put a turkey in front of me, I don't know what I'd do with it."

"We could order a thanksgiving meal from a restaurant," said Hardison, reaching for his phone.

"No!" said Parker firmly. Hardison stopped. "Eliot says that's not Thanksgiving. He told me Thanksgiving is about showing your appreciation for people through food." She leveled a strong gaze with the hacker. "Not restaurants."

The four of them stood for a moment, letting the fact that Eliot Spencer appreciates them sink in until Hardison pulled out his phone. He typed a little on it and said, "Ya know what? It's fine. None of us can cook. But here…" He flipped around his phone to show a screen of a YouTube video titled: Thanksgiving Dinner For Dummies. He grinned. "And this is why this is the age of the geek, baby."

Eliot's head pounded.

At first, he thought it was the remnants of his concussion headache. He knew it wasn't a bad concussion, only minor, but this didn't feel like that kind of a headache. This felt like—

"Aw, crap, what'd I just do—"

Yup, that was it.

A Hardison headache.

The hacker's voice floated in, along with the clatter of something to a counter. More sounds mixed in, actually—an electric mixer itself—crinkling bags and boxes, beeps and creaks of un-oiled hinges, and the cross of chatter—no, make that bickering—between Hardison and Sophie.

But as bad as the voices were for his headache, it was nothing compared to the smell.

Something was burning. Actually, several things, by how pungent it was. There was the distinct smell of burning plastic in there as well, among burning of meat, potatoes—a horrible burning smell—and cranberries.

Eliot finally wrenched open his eyes, finding himself staring at the back of Nate's couch.

His eyes stung a little and he coughed, both from the waft of smoke coming from the kitchen and the distinct cutting-onions thing going on in the air.

Not able to take any of it any longer, he levered himself up on the arm he could move and propped himself up on it, looking over the back of the couch.

Eliot Spencer has seen many terrifying, horrendous things in his life.

But nothing was quite as bad as the scene before him.

Nate's kitchen was a mess.

Pots and pans littered every counter, some overturned, and for whatever reason, one's contents were lightly on fire.

The stove was covered with pans and the oven was open, and both Sophie and Hardison were leaning over it. A thin trail of gray smoke trailed into their faces and they were arguing about something.

Parker was stirring something in a pot with the mixer, so close to the metal of it that it made a loud clanging sound that made Eliot wince for both his ears and for the safety of Nate's nonstick pan, especially when Parker looked toward Hardison and Sophie and said, "I think the mashed potatoes are done! They're finally blue."

And over at his dining room table, Nate was sitting in a chair, a drink in one hand and using the other to rub at his temples.

Eliot blinked.

"What the hell is goin' on?" demanded Eliot, loud enough to be heard over the mixer and Hardison and Sophie's bickering.

The noise silenced and each head looked over toward him.

Parker was the only one whose face lit up. "Eliot!" She put down the pan and skipped over to him. "We're making Thanksgiving dinner!"

Eliot blinked.

He slowly took in the mess of Nate's kitchen, and could pull out faint scents (minus the scorching) of traditional thanksgiving dishes. Even Nate's dining room table was all set up with five plates, napkins and silverware. The oven door closed and Eliot looked back over to see Hardison and Sophie handling a very-black turkey on a cookie sheet.

Two sheepish grins, one amused grin, and one bright and proud grin were shot his way.

Eliot worked to find his voice. "You guys…cooked?"

"Well," said Hardison, as he and Sophie put the "turkey" down on the counter. "With your arm all messed up it woulda been really hard for you to cook for us this year. And you were really tired and we didn't wanna wake you…"

Parker smiled wide. "And you deserve it!"

Not in any of the years since he's left home has someone cooked him a meal. Well, outside of the sludge they served in the prisons and dungeons from his darker days. Even on dates,hewas the one who cooked, and those relationships never lasted long to begin with. But Thanksgiving dinner? Meeting the team had been the first time he's ever cooked one, using the old recipes he learned from watching his mama as a kid.

After meeting the team, he'd cooked for them because they needed someone to feed them something better than the crap they ate. And he'd been heartbroken to hear that Parker had never celebrated Thanksgiving, Hardison and Sophie hadn't since they'd left home as kids, and that Nate hadn't since his son died.

So when he got hurt, he was more upset about not being able to cook than any of the physical pain. But this was something that happened once a year, and it was one of the only traditions he really cared about.

Seeing the four of them, surrounded by—what would probably be a very inedible—dinner, that they made forhim… was something that really warmed his heart.

It may have simply been the onions or the smoke still lingering in the air, but Eliot felt his eyes burn the smallest bit with tears.

"Dinner's almost ready!" said Parker brightly. "I made your favorite dessert too!" She picked up a dish that looked like a pile of tan goo. It took all of Eliot's self-control not to react badly.

"Uh," he swallowed. "What...what is it?"

Parker looked at him weird. "Duh! It's apple pie." As Eliot tried to hide the shock from his face, she looked back down at the… "pie."

"Oh!" she said, laughing. "It'll probably look more like a pie after it's done boiling."

He was thankful she turned her back then because he wasn't quite sure he could hide the utter horror from his face.

Though, Nate caught it, and Eliot watched his lips twitch into an amused grin.

"How the hell…"

Eliot looked over to see Hardison stabbing a knife into the center of the turkey, and it getting stuck. He tried yanking it out.

"Hardison!" yelled Eliot. "What the hell are you doing?"

Hardison looked up. "What? I'm carving the turkey."

"That's not—" Eliot shut his eyes. He got himself off the couch, making his way over to Hardison. "Who taught you how to hold a knife? What are you—give me that!"

"No, man—you only have one arm! I got it!"

"My one arm is more capable of doing this than both of yours now give me the knife!"

"No!"

Nate watched from his seat at the table. A normal man might worry at watching the two boys wrestle over a rather large knife, but he wasn't a normal man. And this wasn't a normal family.

But it was a family.

His family.

And for that, even as he later had to actually eat the questionable dinner his family made…

He couldn't have been more thankful to have them.

[i-am-mildly-insane]

Jfc Eliot is so gd SOFT in The Lonely Hearts Job.

"Do you need me to teach you about the wine again?" Teasing but not annoyed... and CORRECT, knowing Hardison so damn well.

"Alright I'll make you a steak when we're done!" He's already grinning. "Bone in, well done," so happy with Hardison's choice and getting to cook for his family.

(Then there's the epic Classic Eliot shot of him leaping up to knock out Sophie's date)

Him buying plants for Sophie and Parker, for Nate and Hardison. Not just any plants though! He gets roses, her FAVORITE kind (she literally says "Ugh, my favorite"), for Sophie. He gets a carnivorous plant for Parker, who doesn't understand the point of plants and is delighted to encounter a plant that "does something."

That sappy happy grin on his face as Nate and Hardison figure it out, and he gets up and leaves them to reap the benefits of his actions.

He knows his team SO gd well, not just their strengths and weaknesses as teammates, but THEM. How Hardison wants to be a cool sommelier... but sucks at it lol. How Nate wants to be able to woo... but sucks at it lol. What Sophie's favorite rose is. How Parker feels about plants in general.

He is a subtle Mastermind - we've established it elsewhere: "People underestimate you Eliot." "That's kind of the point."

But maybe the reason Parker ends up in charge is because Eliot - Eliot Fucking Spencer, whose name has criminals everywhere running for their literal LIVES - is too soft. He doesn't have the ruthlessness, it turns out. Or maybe doesn't want it. Either way. Eliot Spencer is too soft.

Soft Mastermind Eliot is definitely my favorite Eliot and I hope he gets a happy ending in Leverage Redemption because he DESERVES.

[i-am-mildly-insane]

Pardison forever!!

been rewatching s1 of leverage and it really hammers home how down bad hardison has been from the start. and it's not even the stupid flirting and telling parker she looks good in the bridesmaid dress.

when the team first gets together they don't really get parker. eliot calls her crazy about twice per episode, sophie clearly feels bad for her, and nate barely cares for anyone at this point. hardison, by contrast, always engages with her, answers her questions, listens to her concerns about the orphanages in the stork job, explains to her that they're a little more than a team, cheekily adresses her, while in character for the juror #6 job, just to make her smile. yes we all remember how parker stabbed the guy from the stork job with a fork, but also remember that, just moments before, while talking stone-faced to this guy she clearly loathes hardison managed to make her laugh with only a stupid vampire joke mocking the mark's accent. she thinks he's funny! they're in love your honour!!

[i-am-mildly-insane]

This was how the Ice Man Job went right

[i-am-mildly-insane]

What gets me is that it's a baby OTTER. They're supposed to love water and he's still crying about it.

[i-am-mildly-insane]

I will never NOT be into this man

I again watched a few episodes of Leverage yesterday, and I'm still into this man

[i-am-mildly-insane]

The Bushwhack Job: Chapter Twelve

Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four Chapter Five Chapter Six Chapter Seven Chapter Eight Chapter Nine Chapter Ten Chapter Eleven

(Disclaimer: This is a relatively rough draft and subject to change when I post to AO3. I'm just overly excited and want to share what I have.)

The server room was in the basement, and Spencer followed his own advice to take the stairs. He took a few moments to clear the floor he was on first, making sure there wouldn’t be any guards to tail Nate and Sophie, and then jogged down the steps to the basement with an excuse ready on his lips. He’d keep it simple and direct, clean and quick—as long as the hacker didn’t blow the story by reacting to his presence the way Sophie had.

Hardison. The name didn’t elicit any kind of emotional reaction, but then, neither had any of the others. It had taken seeing Nate’s face and hearing Sophie’s voice to bring back the vague memories of their presence in his life—feelings, mostly, and the desperate need to get them out of the building. Spencer would have to lure the guards away before Hardison saw him if he wanted to avoid a fight, and if he only had twenty minutes—fifteen, now—that would be the quickest way to do things.

The security guards had reported up to Lancaster the moment Hardison reached the basement. Per Spencer’s directions, they’d stayed out of sight until Hardison was inside the server room, and then they’d simply closed the doors behind the hacker and left him trapped in the glass-walled room. He’d be safe there—Spencer’s orders were not to engage Ford’s team beyond capturing them—but his anxiety rose with every step he descended. It was almost over. Once he got Hardison and Parker free of the building, they could regroup, figure out a new plan, and then... And then what? Would he go back with them, or to Sunny?

Could he go back with them? Would they want him? Nate and Sophie had seemed glad to see him, but that was only because they didn’t know what he’d done. What would Parker think when she found out he’d left the LanCast building while believing she was inside? The fact that she wasn’t was irrelevant; if it was his job to protect them, he’d failed.

What good was he to them if he couldn’t do his job?

The door to the basement loomed at the bottom of the stairs, and he shoved down his misgivings and focused on the task at hand. He hadn’t been in the basement himself, but he’d studied it on the security tapes; the layout was mostly open, giving anyone in the server room a visual of the hallway leading to the stairwell. If he wanted to avoid Hardison’s attention, he’d have to call the guards toward him and hope they didn’t think it was suspicious.

And if they did, he’d handle it. Either way, he was getting Hardison out of that basement.

Spencer blew out a breath at the bottom of the stairs and pulled open the door, standing out of sight of the server room. “Hey,” he called, drawing the attention of all three guards stationed in the hall. “Why aren’t you answering your radios?”

One of the men moved toward him. “What do you mean? We haven’t heard anything.”

Spencer opened his mouth to answer, but movement over the guard’s shoulder caught his attention. Two more men were crouched by the support beam outside the server room, their backs to the stairs.

Unease clawed at Spencer’s gut. “Who are they?”

“Contractors,” answered the first guard. “Something about checking the foundation. What about the radios?”

Spencer spoke without taking his eyes off the men. “Come here. Let me check your frequency.”

The nearest guard came over, but the others stayed where they were. Spencer reached out a hand to take the man’s walkie-talkie and switched the frequency. “Ground level,” he said. “This is basement level. Radio check, over.”

“Basement level, this is ground level,” came the reply. “Roger that. Over.”

“Standby,” Spencer said.

“Roger.”

Spencer lowered the walkie-talkie.“You were on the wrong channel,” he snapped. “You two, get over here so I can fix it before Lancaster comes down here himself.”

He backed up, inviting the first man to follow him through the door and letting it close behind him. He didn’t have the time to choke him out, so he resorted to a quick, sharp blow to the side of his head, catching him when he crumpled and easing him to the floor beside the stairs.

The other two were at the door before he could do much more than straighten up. One shouted before Spencer’s elbow silenced him; the other reached for his walkie-talkie, which only gave Spencer an easier opening.

He took their radios and clipped them to his own belt, then stepped through the door and made his way across the hall toward the men. There was a strangled sound from inside the server room, but Spencer kept his gaze on the threat.

And they were a threat. He could feel it in his gut, and he wasn’t about to second-guess that now. Not if they were doing what he thought they were doing.

One of them lifted his head, setting his hand on the other’s shoulder. “Problem?” he asked.

Spencer nodded at the support beam. “What are you doing?”

“Routine maintenance,” the man said.

“With C4?” Spencer asked.

The man stood, cracking his knuckles while the other rushed to finish attaching the explosives to the beam. Spencer came closer, close enough to draw a punch—and the man obliged, swinging wildly—Spencer caught his fist and countered with his own, and the man dropped. The other shot to his feet, but Spencer danced back a step, his hands raised.

“Who sent you here?”

The man threw a punch, but Spencer dodged and stepped around him. “Was it Lancaster?”

“Shut up,” the man growled. He swung again, missed again, and stumbled when Spencer drew back.

“How many of these did you plant?” Spencer asked. The man tried to hit him again, and Spencer pushed him away. “Come on, man, think about it—when I knock you out like I did your friend, you’ll be inside when the building blows.” He waited a moment, giving his words a chance to sink in, and pressed, “Are there any other charges?”

“You won’t find ‘em,” grunted the man, leaping forward with a sloppy jab.

Spencer hit him in the jaw, letting him land at his feet and jumping over him to crouch beside the beam. An empty duffel bag confirmed Spencer’s fears—there would be more explosives in the building, probably set at different levels to make sure the whole thing came down. It was the LanCast site all over again, only this time, Lancaster would make sure all of them were inside. Then he’d pin the attack on Ford, collect the insurance money, and move on to his next high rise.

The C4 on the beam was set with a cellphone detonator. He disconnected it and stuffed the charges back into the bag, but that only solved one problem. He didn’t know where the other charges were, and he didn’t know when they were supposed to go off. Searching the entire building would take too long—he had to find Parker and get her out, get everyone out, before Lancaster could give the order to bring the building down.

First things first.

He turned to face the server room.

The man inside was tall, and though his face seemed faintly familiar, Spencer was disappointed not to feel an instant rush of recognition. Hardison was watching him, one hand raised to cover his mouth, and when Spencer tossed the hair out of his face, he let out a deafening whoop and slammed his hand against the glass.

“I knew it!” he yelled, punctuating his words with another slap. “I knew it! I knew you weren’t dead—no weak ass explosion gonna take you down—I told them! Whoo! Man, you had me worried, you had me—nah, man, I ain’t gon’ cry again. Open the door, man. C’mon, open it up.”

He’d repeated himself another dozen times before Spencer got to the door to punch in the code, and he practically fell through it when it opened. This time, at least, Spencer expected the hug—everything in Hardison’s stance warned that it was coming—but he wasn’t ready for the intensity of it. Deceptively strong arms wrapped around his shoulders, crushing their chests together as Hardison launched himself through the doorway.

“Where the hell were you, man?” he said, his voice breaking. “Why didn’t you call?”

Eliot locked his arms over Hardison’s back, holding him so tight that he couldn’t take a full breath and feeling like there was still too much space between them—and Hardison was shaking, clutching at his shoulders like he was afraid to let go—and Eliot didn’t want to let go, not until he could make him understand how much he’d missed him. God, he’d missed him—all of them.

He wasn’t himself without them.

“What happened?” Hardison asked, without letting go, without even loosening his grip. His fingers dug into the scrapes and cuts on Eliot’s back, but he didn’t care—he pressed his forehead against Hardison’s shoulder and shook it, fighting for control over himself.

“I forgot you,” he managed, his voice muffled. “All of—all of you, I forgot you, and—”

Hardison pulled back, and Spencer turned his face, pretending to look at the stairwell, checking for more guards—and Hardison shifted to put himself in his line of sight. “You hurt?”

Spencer looked the other way. “I went into the LanCast building, but when it blew, I was thrown clear. Mostly. I hit my head.”

Hardison ducked his head, forcing Spencer’s eyes back to his. “What, you—you lost your memory?”

Spencer nodded.

“And you found us anyway?”

He nodded again.

“Dammit, Eliot,” Hardison said. He pulled Eliot into another hug, this one even fiercer than the last, and burst into tears.

They stood like that for a long minute—Hardison crying and Eliot trying not to—before a crackle from one of the walkie-talkies made Eliot pull away. “Basement level, this is ground level,” said the voice on the radio. “Come in, basement level.”

Hardison let go, and Eliot tried not to miss the contact. He pulled the walkie-talkie from his belt and cleared his throat. “Go ahead, J.B. Did you find them?”

“I got ‘em right here,” J.B. answered. “They came out the side door like you said. Did you find the hacker?”

“He’s here,” Eliot said.

“And the thief?”

Eliot looked at Hardison, who shook his head. “We split up when we got inside. I haven’t seen her.”

“Not yet,” Eliot said into the walkie-talkie. “But we’ve got a bigger problem. I just stopped a pair of Lancaster’s guys from planting C4 in the basement. Looks like they may have put some on the other levels, too.”

J.B. swore, and Hardison held out a hand for the walkie-talkie. “Hey man—uh, Hardison here, or whatever—can you put Nate on? Over?”

There was a pause, and then Nate’s voice came over the radio. “Go ahead, Hardison.”

“I found some stuff on the server,” Hardison said, his eyes finding Eliot’s. “Lancaster definitely means to blow this place up, along with a bunch of his other properties. I found some more threatening letters drafted up in his files, and guess who they’re from.”

“Okay, so he wants us to take the fall,” Nate said. “We’d already figured that much out.”

Hardison nodded. “Right, but what we didn’t know is that he’s also been talking to some pretty hinky people. And he’s given them a new target.”

“June?” Nate guessed.

“He must’ve accelerated his timetable,” Hardison said. “He’s done waiting for her to sell.”

Eliot took the walkie-talkie. “J.B., get back to Sunny’s. Tell her to find some place to lay low until we can get this taken care of.”

“She won’t do it,” J.B. answered. “But I’ll call to give Miguel a head’s up.”

Eliot nodded. “All right, fine. Then we just need to make sure we get everyone out of the building. Hardison, pull the fire alarm when you go out, and let the firefighters know there are guys down here and in the office on the fourth floor. J.B., I’m sending Hardison out to you now.”

“Roger that.”

Eliot pressed the walkie-talkie into Hardison’s hand and pulled another from his belt, switching the frequency before handing it over as well. “Take these—give one to Nate. I’ll get Parker.”

“Hang on—” Hardison grabbed his arm, holding him still when he tried to move toward the door. “She could be anywhere. We have no idea—”

“She’s going after Lancaster,” Eliot said.

Hardison frowned. “How do you know?”

“Because that’s what I did.”

“Eliot, wait.” Hardison kept his hold, his eyes still red and wide with worry. “You’re—you’re hurt, right? And if you don’t remember… It’s too dangerous. Let me go after Parker.”

“No.” Eliot’s voice was low, distracted as he tallied up the time he’d already lost. “Lancaster’s guards will find him any minute now. You have to be outside when that happens.”

“I can help, man, I can—”

“You have to be outside,” Eliot repeated desperately. “I have to know you’re outside. Please.”

Hardison hesitated, setting his jaw as he searched Eliot’s eyes, as the time ticked away.

“I won’t lose her again,” Eliot whispered.

Hardison swallowed. “All right,” he said, gripping Eliot’s hand and then releasing it. “I’ll head outside. You go find Parker.”

Eliot went.

[i-am-mildly-insane]

The Bushwhack Job: Chapter Eleven

Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four Chapter Five Chapter Six Chapter Seven Chapter Eight Chapter Nine Chapter Ten

(Disclaimer: This is a relatively rough draft and subject to change when I post to AO3. I'm just overly excited and want to share what I have.)

Spencer’s—Eliot’s—head ached. Actually, “ached” was an understatement—it felt like his skull was trying to crack itself in half, and Lancaster’s stupid fake cowboy elevator music wasn’t helping. Beside him, Ford cleared his throat.

“This isn’t the right time to ask,” he said. “But I need to know what you remember.”

He hesitated. His instincts were still to hide his weakness, but Ford was... well, he wasn’t sure what Ford was, except that he was someone Spencer trusted. He could feel that clearly enough, a certainty that settled into the pit of his stomach, whispering assurances that he was safe.

He didn’t really know what to do with that.

“Start with the LanCast explosion,” Ford suggested.

Spencer frowned at him, wondering how much of his mind Ford could read, and counted the floors as they descended. “As far as I can figure, I went inside the building looking for Parker, and met a handful of Lancaster’s men. The explosion blew through a window, and I woke up in the parking garage with Lancaster’s men trying to find me. And I ran.”

He tried to say the last part causally, but Ford shot him a curious look. “Of course you ran. What else were you supposed to do?”

Spencer shook his head. He couldn’t say the rest out loud—not to Ford. He couldn’t risk disappointing him before his memory came back. If Ford knew what he’d done… if he told him to leave…

“Eliot,” Ford said. “You did the right thing. You got away. You found us again.”

Spencer cleared his throat. “When we find Sophie,” he said, turning to face the elevator doors. “Leave Janish to me. He’s dangerous, but I’ve fought him before. I can handle him.”

“You know him?” Ford asked.

“He knows me,” Spencer admitted. “I don’t remember.”

Ford nodded. “At least we know how Lancaster found out about us. Hardison builds a good alias, but there’s nothing he can do if someone recognizes one of us.”

“Hardison is the hacker?” Spencer asked.

The doors slid open, finally, and Ford led the way into the hall. “Yes,” he said. “Hardison is the hacker. He took your loss hard… we all did.”

“Sorry.”

“Eliot.” Ford stopped, holding out a hand to catch Spencer when he tried to edge past. “You don’t have anything to apologize for. Lancaster did this to you—to us—and we’re going to make sure he pays for it. You are not to blame. Not for believing Lancaster, or for working with him, or for setting the bait to bring us here. If you hadn’t, we never would have known you were still alive.”

Spencer looked away, and Ford’s grip on his arm tightened. “Is there something else?”

He might have answered—the words were there on the tip of his tongue, ready to condemn himself at Ford’s order—but the crackle of a walkie-talkie sounded down the hall, and Spencer reached out to pull Ford back against the wall.

“Fourth floor clear,” said a security guard, standing out of sight around a corner. “Moving on to the fifth.”

Spencer tugged Ford’s sleeve, and he moved with him without question, easing into a conference room on silent feet as the guard headed for the elevator. Spencer watched through a window in the door until the hallway was clear again, aware of Ford at his back, of the opportunity he was presenting if Ford turned out to be an enemy.

“He’s gone,” Spencer said.

Ford nodded. “Lead the way.”

There was no more conversation then. Spencer moved down the hall on the balls of his feet, keeping his boots quiet on the carpeted floor. Janish would be in the office at the end of the hall, where he’d told the grifter to meet him to go over Lancaster’s afternoon schedule. 

A flutter of nerves twisted Spencer’s stomach at the thought of meeting someone else who knew him, someone who had apparently mourned him. He hadn’t recognized this Sophie on the security tapes, and a large part of him felt discouraged by that.

She won’t mind, said the voice in his head. She’ll just be happy to see you.

Happy to see him. Would she be? What about the other woman—Parker, not dead, not abandoned to burn in the building Spencer had escaped from—would she be happy to see him? He couldn’t imagine she would be. Regardless of what had happened at LanCast, he’d forgotten her. She would be hurt, disappointed, and he couldn’t blame her. He wouldn’t blame any of them.

A murmur of voices drifted out from under the office door, and Spencer glanced over his shoulder to make sure Ford was ready.

“I’ll go in first,” Ford offered. “Maybe we can bluff our way out. Stay here—there’s no need for you to get any more bruises if you don’t need to.”

Spencer drew back, deferring to Ford’s command without argument or hesitation. It felt good to be following an order, he realized—an order he trusted. He watched as Ford opened the door, pressing against the wall to stay out of Janish’s sight.

“Ah,” Ford said, overly loud in the small space. “Here you are, Mr. Janish! My name is Kevin Reilly, and I’ve just come from a meeting with Mr. Lancaster. He asked for Miss Cullane here to set up the details of our new arrangement. Miss Cullane, if you please...”

“Why, of course,” said the grifter—and her voice cut through the fog in Spencer’s brain, filling the gaps with the sound of her laughter, her advice, her friendship. Her accent was southern, but subtly so, and he could hear the lilt of a British accent in its echoes.

Sophie. God, how had he forgotten Sophie?

“Come along, Miss Cullane,” Ford said, but a heavier step sounded near the door, and Spencer shifted toward it reflexively.

“Nobody’s going anywhere,” Janish said. “My orders are to keep you here.”

Ford chuckled. “Orders? Lancaster asked for Miss Cullane personally. I think that trumps any of your orders.”

“He would have checked in with me,” Janish said.

“Oh, I’m sure he’s—”

“Back up,” Janish growled. “And sit down. You’re not going anywhere.”

The door started to close, and Spencer kicked it open before Janish could shut him out. Sophie let out a cry of surprise, but Spencer didn’t look at her—he kept his attention on Janish, who had caught himself on a table and was pushing himself upright.

“Spencer,” he snarled. He had a new black eye and bruised cheek, and Miguel’s words flitted back through his mind: You went into a trance or something, man. You wouldn’t stop hitting Janish, and when I got close, you hit me, too. He couldn’t let that happen again. He needed to stay in control.

Spencer spared a second to glance at Ford, who had his arms wrapped around Sophie. She stared at him with her hands over her mouth, her eyes full of tears.

Then Janish leaped at him, and he forced himself to focus on the fight. 

He came at Spencer hard, aiming for his face—Spencer blocked and ducked, stepping back, and Janish drove forward to separate him from Ford and Sophie. It put Janish’s back to them, and Ford was already casting about for something to use as a weapon. But that wasn’t his job, it was Spencer’s, and Spencer couldn’t risk Janish retaliating.

He pretended to stumble, fell back, caught Janish’s hook high on his arm, and swung—

Janish went down, and stayed there.

For a moment, Spencer stood where he was, afraid to look at the others, afraid to see their reaction to his violence. But then a shift of movement pulled his head up, and he had just enough time to lower his fists before Sophie was throwing herself into his arms.

“You’re okay?” she sobbed, burying her face in the side of his neck. One hand came up to cup the back of his head, gently, her fingers resting on his hair while her other hand grasped a fistful of his shirt. She leaned back long enough to examine his face, her eyes running over every scrape and bruise, before she hugged him again. Soft words tumbled out of her in a rhythmic blend of questions and reassurances— “You’re okay, you’re okay, you’re okay.”

He’d lifted one hand to catch her, and he rested it on the small of her back, holding her to him as the sound of her voice settled his heartbeat.

You’re okay. You’re okay.

“Sophie,” Nate said, reaching out and adding his hand to her back. She withdrew slightly, her palms still resting on Eliot’s neck and shoulder, and turned teary eyes to him. Nate glanced at Eliot, searching for something in his expression, and said, “He doesn’t remember.”

Sophie frowned. “What do you mean?”

Spencer cleared his throat and dropped his hands to his side. “Um... amnesia. Sorry.”

Her eyes filled again, and she blinked at Nate before pulling Spencer in for one more hug. “I don’t care what you remember,” she whispered. “I’ll fill you in on anything you’ve forgotten, and whatever I don’t know, we’ll make up. I’m just glad you’re back.”

She let him go then, and he stepped back to give her space as she wiped her eyes. “Do Parker and Hardison know?” she asked.

Nate shook his head. “We came to find you first. Parker’s still looking for the safe, and Hardison’s...”

He looked at Spencer, who forced himself not to look away. “He’s trapped in the server room.”

“Good,” Nate said. “Then we don’t have to waste time chasing him down. Eliot, lead the way.”

Spencer shot an uncertain glance at Sophie, looking for and failing to find any hints of unease in her expression. Apparently she and Nate both trusted him to take the lead on this, which meant it was time to make a tactical decision.

He cleared his throat. “I should go on my own. Lancaster has a guard scheduled to walk past his office in a little while, and as soon as they realize I’m working with you, they’ll lock the building down. You two should leave while you can.”

“We can’t,” Sophie said. “Parker’s still here somewhere, right? It’d be faster to split up to find her.”

Spencer shook his head. “It’s too risky. If any of Lancaster’s men find you in the halls, they’ll know something’s up. They don’t suspect me yet. The smarter move is to get the two of you out now, and I’ll go after the others.”

“How long until the guards find Lancaster?” Nate asked.

“Maybe ten minutes. Maybe less.”

Nate frowned, searching Spencer’s face, and he tried his best to keep his expression open and honest. He couldn’t afford to be distrusted now. If Nate didn’t believe him…

But whatever Nate was looking for, he’d apparently found it. He exhaled and gripped Spencer’s arm.

“You have twenty minutes, and then I’m coming back in.”

Spencer nodded.

Sophie gave him another hug, holding on a few moments longer than necessary. “Be careful,” she whispered.

He caught her hand and gave it a squeeze. “You too. Stick to the stairs—there’s a side exit on the first floor. I’ll meet you outside.”

She rewarded him with a teary smile, and then she and Nate were hurrying through the door.

Spencer swallowed, stepped over Janish’s body, and made his way down the hallway to find the hacker.