#eliot 'i hate guns' spencer would NEVER

[jellicle-chants]

totally forgot there's a moment in the lost heir job where eliot refuses to fight cops. your honor i don't know who that man is

[hedgiwithapen]

okay I'm going to remind you that you ASKED for this . . . the OT3 Death Scene in the finale with Daemons

uh, YOU asked for this. Marron hates everything about the plan. Eliot may trust Nate with his life, but she knows better. It’s easy enough, for Chip and Rhodonite  to fake out, being so small. They can flick out, visible, deliberately on camera long enough to be noted in interpol records and then hide for the swap, if rafters and pockets. Remy can be anything, easily hidden in plain sight. Vianney has that same sharp trust as Nate, all promises and no assurance. But Marron’s too big for pockets. She’s smaller now, the Black Bear form that had been her core for so many years lost the day Eliot ran from Moreau, the day he went back to being Eliot instead of Spencer. A dog is still too visible. Her fallen flag of a tail’s too feathery, the reddish gold of her fur too bright. She’s too recognizable for a Steranko job. She knows how it’s supposed to go down. That Eliot will run through the doors, that Nate will pull out a gun with blanks. She has to be seen in the van, one heartbeat as the doors close, before everyone escapes in a blindspot and leaves the fake bodies for Nate to drive into the river, so that the presumed Dust will be lost and not questioned. But anything can happen inside a building her paws can’t enter. Anything can go wrong, and then it won’t be a fake body with her other half’s lovers’ face. It’ll be Hardison, it’ll be Chip. It’ll be Parker and a scattering of diamond on the wind. “I don’t want to do this,” she tells Eliot, leaning against his leg. Nothing hurts as much as Separation, but staying back, powerless to help? That’s close. “Last time,” Eliot says. “This will be the last time.” He’s never lied to her before. Somehow that doesn’t help, when the doors swing open and she sees him lurch down the ramp and fall, Nathan holding the gun.  There was a time when anyone who pointed a weapon at Eliot would have had his throat torn out before his finger could twitch. And it is only the trust in Eliot’s eyes, the trust she can still feel despite the distance between them, that stops her paws and pulls her hackles down. She does not lunge. She licks his face, and tastes sugar instead of salt.

[leveragedlibrarians]

OOPS I did it.

Disclaimer: I have never personally played paintball so this is all based on the general context i could find on google in under ten minutes. anyhoo blurb under the cut for anyone interested.

***

“Team bonding” is a subject of much contention among the Leverage Corporation’s Boston branch. There had been many attempts to find something to bond over, and many -very many- banned activities. 

Monopoly, of course, is first on the unofficial list of activities banned from ‘team bonding’ night, for perhaps obvious reasons. It’s seconded closely by escape rooms, only partially because they were legally banned from most in the area after a particularly eventful Thursday afternoon. Unfortunately, besides various crimes, there just wasn’t much the group seemed to enjoy doing together. They’d tried painting classes, visiting the local zoo and science museum, even a book club; but no matter what there was always one person just too into the activity at hand and at least one who’d ruin it for everyone else. So, most weeks ‘bonding’ was as simple as flooding into Nate’s living room and eating Eliot’s fabulous cooking; a plan which, as delicious as the food always is, can get a little boring after a while. So, on occasion, they decide to shake it up and try something new. 

Why the hell Hardison would ever think it was a good idea to go paintballing with infamous hitter Eliot Spencer, the world may never know. In fact, the barely constrained grin that had spread across Eliot’s face when Hardison had suggested it should have been enough of a tip off to abandon the idea then and there. Unfortunately, Hardison was too busy selling his idea to the rest of the team to notice, and Eliot fell into a quiet stoicism as he talked, waiting… planning. Eventually everyone more or less comes around to the idea, and Hardison books a local field for later that week. 

“He hates guns!” Hardison would later shout in his own defense, a sorry explanation for what would eventually befall them, “He has made it very clear that he hates guns!” But that hatred didn’t dampen Eliot’s quiet precision as he examined the weapon provided by the Boston Paintball League, or ‘BPL’ for short. Hardison was the only member of the team to bring all his own equipment, boasting that it would give him some sort of advantage. The others rent their safety gear, guns, and ammunition from a very excited (and legally clean) group of college students near them. 

Nate and Hardison talk strategy as they head out into the park, leaves and twigs crunching underfoot. Sophie fiddles and fidgets with her goggles, looking nearly as uncomfortable as Parker, who frequently adjusts the heavy safety vest until it fits juuuust right. Eliot takes up the rear as he watches, thinking, calculating. 

He’s gone the second they hear the whistle announcing the beginning of the match. It’s almost creepy, the way he simply disappeared without so much as a sound. Parker vanishes close behind, leaving the others to disengage amongst themselves. 

He picks Sophie off first, perhaps as a mercy to his teammate who was clearly not enjoying herself. He hits her cleanly in the center of her chest, and she never even sees him until she’s splattered with dripping red paint. 

“Ow!” she shouts, vaguely muffled by the clunky helmet. “That hurt,” she crosses her arms, staring at the vaguely Eliot-shaped shadow behind a nearby tree. 

He just smiles behind the visor, and motions in the direction of the base camp before vanishing again. She groans as she makes her way off the field. 

Nate is next. Eliot finds him crouching behind a broken wall, aiming somewhere off to the east. Quick, clean, a spattering of blue paint marks Nate’s back. He just sighs, not even bothering to look back as he stands. “Good shot, Eliot.” 

Yes. It was a very good shot. 

Parker is by far the hardest of the team for him to track. Not impossible, of course, but so agile and silent that it takes him a good few minutes to spot her up in the branches, watching. The paintball that catches her shoulder is yellow, and she jumps at the loud “Squelch” it makes on impact. “Hey!” He can hear her shout down at him in the bushes. “No fair! I didn’t even get to shoot anyone yet!” 

Her protests fade into the background as he leaves in pursuit of the real target, Alec Hardison. 

He stands alone behind a fallen log, frantically scanning the foliage around him for any signs of movement. He’d already seen Sophie and Nate trudge past, arms raised in the signal of their defeat, already come to the conclusion that this may- in fact- have been a very bad idea. A branch breaks somewhere off to his right, and he whips around, pointing his gun in that direction. Nothing. 

He could practically feel Eliot’s eyes on him, sense the impending doom, as if he was covered in paint already. So why didn’t Eliot take the shot? Why wait so long, letting Hardison’s mind race and worry spike? The answer comes to him, as obvious as the sky is blue. Eliot is toying with him.

He checks his watch. They’d agreed to one hour of active combat, last player standing would be declared winner and allowed to choose dinner after. He’d heard Sophie’s shout around 5 minutes in, and seen Nate’s retreat at 10. Parker… well he couldn’t be sure where or if Parker was still hiding, but the numbers on his watch blink up at him that nearly half an hour had already passed. Only half an hour to go. 

Sweat drips down the back of his neck, shoulders rising and falling with every breath as he waits. And watches. He’s surrounded with only the sounds of birds chirping and the rustling of leaves, everything magnified by ten. As if he could hear his own heartbeat, feel each insect crawling around him. He’s so dialed into his surroundings, so focused on watching for any and every sign of Eliot Spencer that nothing else matters. He keeps his gun raised, finger on the trigger as he moves to the other side of the log, staying low to the ground to make him harder to hit. He scans for movement. He waits. A bird whistles on his left. A squirrel hops from one branch to another. A breeze kicks up the leaves on the trees around him, and-

“Hey Hardison,” a voice from directly behind him causes him to jump up from where he crouched, shouting loudly as his gun clatters to the ground. 

By the time his panic fades there’s already green paint dripping down his chest, and he can practically see Eliot’s smug grin through the dumb little helmet where he stands not 6 feet away from him. 

“I’m thinkin’ we should have italian.”

“Not funny, man,” Hardison attempts not to sound too much like he’s whining. “That’s not funny, you could’a given me a heart attack, I-”

Eliot just laughs, slinging the gun over his shoulder and heading back to base leisurely. “What’s that new place that just opened up called? Angelo’s?” 

The grin does not leave his face as they all remove their gear, nor as they turn in the supplies to the base camp, or even when they all silently pile into Lucille to drive back home. 

Not even when they unanimously vote to add paintball to the list of banned activities. Afterall, it was a spectacularly bad idea to challenge Eliot Spencer to a round of paintball.

We all know Eliot doesn't like guns, but he actually gets pretty excited when Hardison shows off his stigmata paintball gun.

He hates deadly force, but I firmly believe that's a man who won't hesitate to absolutely destroy you in a paintball or laser tag arena.

[fiction-boys-rule]

Your Love-Fueled Soldier

Pairing: Eliot Spencer x non-gender specific reader (established relationship)

Warnings: extreme violence, mentions of death, torture, slight gore

Word Count: 2,865

Summary: When a job backfires on the team, Eliot and you find yourselves in a dangerous situation. But who will pay the ultimate price?

I felt like tormenting y'all, so here you go. Beware of the warnings for this one please. This is non-gender specific for the reader and I made it as general and inclusive as I could. Thank you for reading. Hope you enjoy :)

Eliot's laugh is something you would give almost anything just to hear more often. Especially when it is a reaction to something you had said. You don't remember what you had said to make him laugh, as you sit on the floor against a wall. All you know is that sound in itself brought such warmth and joy to you. More than you could ever imagine. You reach over and grip Eliot's hand, wishing for him to squeeze it back. All you know is you would give anything to hear it now. They weren't supposed to be able to find you. Hardison said he had the building under surveillance. Nate said you were safe. They lied.

Eliot's laugh had erupted from him like lava from a volcano, his arm had gripped you tighter as his body folded. You had laughed along with him, enjoying that you were able to put him at ease with the current situation. As you rounded the corner of the hallway, your body had let out a rough gasp as Eliot's arm forcibly crushed you to his body even more.

You had let out a short protest before your eyes met the sight in front of you.

More than two dozen men, armed and clothed for combat. The man in front looked both of you over, his gaze like steel. His hand held his gun steadily. The tattoos on his neck and his demeanor made you shiver. The way Eliot was holding you confirmed your suspicions.

They were not here to rough you up a little bit. They were here to kill you.

Somehow, the team had not found out about the criminal ties of your mark. Somehow, this one had slipped. Your mark had disappeared, the combined skills of the team ending in no newfound information on his whereabouts whatsoever. This mark was good, and it scared you. Nate's constant assurances hadn't calmed any of you, so Hardison agreed to find makeshift safehouses for the time being. Nate and Sophie had one, Parker and Hardison had one, and Eliot and you had agreed to pair up as well. Nate said splitting up would be for the best. Until things were figured out.

One week, Nate had said. One week for the mark to show any trace, and if not, Nate would be pulling all of you from the job.

You had all thought he was just a coward who got spooked and scurried off to who knows where, but now you know you were all terribly wrong. He had gone for reinforcements.

You have no idea how the hell they had bypassed Hardison's security. But you knew that if they were good enough to kill, they were going to make sure to finish the job without any interruptions or possible suspicion on them or their investments.

The man talked in a foreign language you didn't understand, commanding other men forward. The way Eliot didn't move forward did not do anything to give you more hope.

Before you knew it, shots rang out. You screamed, holding Eliot's body as he stumbled. He hit the floor, and your hands and eyes moved over his body. He was bleeding quickly. One in his shoulder, another in his leg, and the other grazed his head.

They weren't missing by accident. They were elongating this enough to give you a merciless and painful death.

You cried, your hands cradled Eliot's head. His eyes looked up at you, a painful expression in them. He almost looked scared, doubtful almost. As if he couldn't believe that this was happening. They had caught you off guard, and you were both going to pay for it.

Eliot never goes down.

A pair of arms wrapped around you and violently heaved you from Eliot's body. His jaw and hands clenched as you were pulled from him, kicking and screaming. He had tried to sit up and grab you, but instead earned another bullet into his body. Your hands reached behind you to grab at your assailant's face. Your attack was cut short by another man punching your stomach, hard. The wind was knocked out of you, making you lower your hands.

You heard Eliot's screams, your heart broke at the sound of them. Even through his pain, he was pleading for you. For your life.

Eliot had always prioritized teaching the team basic self defense skills, you knew that much. But after you had begun your relationship, he continuously encouraged you to participate in his self defense lessons and always made you practice sparring with him. You knew he was afraid of something happening to one of you if he wasn't there. But for you, this fear seemed to grow tenfold. You had been annoyed at his protectiveness and determination at first, but had slowly grown to be grateful for it, knowing it was his way of keeping you safe and showing his love for you. If you hadn't been so in shock and sure that you were both going to die, you might have actually tried to put those skills he taught you to use.

Shock is a funny thing. It paralyzes you, muting your mind's screams to your body to just do something, anything.

Love is a funny thing. It can completely shock you to life, or shatter you to your core. Seeing Eliot there on the floor had both shocked and shattered you, leaving your mind and body in a numb and stagnant state. Hope had abandoned you as soon as you were ripped from Eliot's body. This was surely your end, though you wished it wasn't.

You were hurled to the floor, landing with a hard thud. Your head throbbed at the impact. You looked up to meet eyes with their leader, his body bending over you. His eyes stared at you as though you were an interesting object he was observing. Curious, but nonchalant. Almost as if he was entertained.

He spoke softly, and ran a finger up from your stomach to your chest. He poked your collarbone, making you flinch. Out of the corner of your eyes, you had seen men crowding over Eliot, kicking him. The man's hand closed over your throat, making your body lurch from the force. He immediately put immense pressure on it, ripping your oxygen flow from you immediately. You had croaked out, your hands feebly wrapped around his wrists in a despondent effort to release yourself from his grip. Your legs had flailed about, your body jerking with your movements. His grip never loosened once, nor did his stare waver. He was watching you, and he was enjoying it.

Your vision had started to go black at the edges and you could hear your rapid heartbeat in your ears. You hadn't wanted to die like this. But you had known the risk of joining the team. You just hoped the team would be able to go on without Eliot and you.

He was going to kill you. And there was nothing you could do.

Suddenly, through your blurry vision and hindered hearing, you had heard gunshots and had seen Eliot rising from the floor.

You knew Eliot wouldn't have gone down without a fight. But still, your heart went out to him. There were too many of them. It was impossible. The man's hold nor stare never faltered. You were seconds away from losing consciousness, and your life.

He was not trained to survive. He was trained to kill. He was trained to finish the job. He was trained to kill you, at all costs.

The gunshots had stopped, the only sound you had heard was your whimpers and deep gasps in despair.

Eliot was surely dead. Now you were next.

A gunshot rang out right above you, and the hands around your neck suddenly slackened. You could faintly feel liquid dripping onto your face. Everything had felt so vivid but so distant at the same time, the sudden return of your oxygen flow making you dizzy and disoriented. The man's body slumped on top of you, making you groan from the weight. Your throat stung, and your eyes felt like they were going to pop out of their sockets. Your had tried to blink away the tears, and your eyes welcomed Eliot into your line of sight.

He looked half dead.

His clothes were bloody, so were his hands. His face had a hard expression on it, matching what he had just done. But his eyes had been the worst. They had a distant look in them, a steely gaze. He had looked at you as though you were a stranger, or an object. As though you meant nothing to him. You had never seen him like that before. His gaze moved down to the gun in his hands. He had disarmed it and thrown it across the floor. It looked as though the action was more robotic than a conscious effort. You knew he hated guns, you had never seen him use one before. He had then unceremoniously keeled over, falling to the floor again. Though he managed to catch himself with his hands.

You started to cry, looking over at him and willing the relief of him being alive to calm you.

He then leaned over, pushing weakly at the man still on top of you. Your hands responded at last, helping him to push. His body landed beside you, his blood on your shirt. Eliot's arms give out, his head falling back to land on the floor. You pushed yourself up from the floor despite your body's every protest and weakly moved over to Eliot. Your hands shakily caressed his cheek, your fingers running over his blood slicked skin and hair. His eyes stared at the ceiling, looking as though he was in another dimension.

That was when it hit you.

Eliot loved you. You had never fully understood what that entailed, despite what the team had repeatedly tried to hint at with their short suggestions.

Eliot loved you, just like the others. But his love for you was different. You had almost died, and Eliot too. But his body, mind, and soul went through a complete reset once he saw you on the brink of death. You realized then, as your hands caressed your detached lover, that every fiber of his being had made it his mission to save you.

To protect you. To keep you alive. Even if it cost his life.

Eliot was trained to survive, you knew that. But he was also trained to keep people safe. That was his job. And Eliot always did his job. No matter what. You were reminded of his secret past with Moreau, and how much he kept it from everyone because of what he did. What he had become.

Eliot had become what he hated most to save you.

He had turned off all of his emotions except for his anger, all of his morality, just to do what needed to be done. What he knew he could not do if he was not disconnected from reality.

You wondered if this was worse than what he did for Moreau.

You hated that your love, which you had thought to be such a beautiful and wonderful blessing, turned out to be the cause of such violence and torment by the hands of one man. One man that you loved so much, despite his constant thoughts about being not enough for you. Not good enough.

But some selfish part of you deep inside was secretly grateful that he was alive, even if it meant that this could produce unpredictable results. You hated that selfish part of you. The one that was too selfish to let him go, let him be at peace instead of having to live a life of mental affliction.

You couldn't imagine your life without him. And you didn't want to.

He had groaned, the first sound out of his mouth.

It wasn't a laugh, but it was enough.

You had moved his hair back from his face and ignored the blood. His eyes had closed, making a surge of newfound anxiety go through you. Your hands were still shaking, your breaths still uneven. But Eliot was alive. And that was enough for you.

Your eyes had caught sight of the blood seeping through the bullet wound in his leg. Your hands left his face, and instead they gripped your shirt and pulled it from your body. You tied it around his leg tightly to stop the blood flow, making him groan again. You had then apologized to him softly, your voice sounding out of place. Hoarse and weak.

You willed all of your remaining strength into surrounding his upper body with your arms to pull him into your lap. His hands laid limp at his sides. You felt his chest taking heavy breaths, the sweat drenching his shirt. The dark bruises present on his visible skin had made you afraid to see what other injuries were covered under his clothes. Some possible scars to remind him of this horrible day. Battle scars. But what had scared you the most was the thought of the mental trauma and non visible scars he will surely carry with him for the rest of his life. Knowing him, most of it will present itself in debilitating nightmares that come during the few hours he does manage to sleep. Ones where he allows himself to be a prisoner inside his mind and body. Hours spent without distracting himself with training or other activities and missions that allow the dark thoughts and memories to be kept at bay for the time being. Only you had known just how fearful he is of them. How crippling they were.

Your eyes looked up, as if your mind was suddenly made aware of where you were. Your eyes raked over all of the bodies, splayed out at irregular angles and bloody. There were so many. You had no idea how Eliot had done it. It honestly scared you. His determination when it came to you. What he was capable of.

Your love-fueled soldier.

As you had sat there, with your slowly diminishing adrenaline and your detached lover in your arms, you vowed to thank him for the rest of your life. Eliot always risked his life every day, without hesitation, for the team. But with you, it was different. Even at the end of the road, where hope was lost and death was certain, he didn't give up. Instead, it had seemed as though his body was shocked to life, energized from the injuries instead of shutting down. He had not risked his life for you today, he had shown that he was ready to give it, as long as it meant that you would live. Your hands tightened around him, vowing again and again in your mind that you would thank him every day. You knew the guilt would come eventually for you, especially on nights when the nightmares would come for him, crippling your soldier. But you also knew that if you were to ever let the guilt consume you, it would mean that Eliot's efforts would have failed. Because if there's one thing that you knew, it was that Eliot would need you more than ever after today. And you were more than happy to be with him for the rest of your life, no questions asked. On the good days, and the bad days too. You would show him just how thankful you were for him saving you, and in turn you would save him from himself. You would not let his own mental warfare take him from you, not as long as you would be there to love and support him.

A blinking red light on a camera caught your attention. You frowned up at it. It started to move up and down, as if saying yes. Comprehension washed over you, and had made more tears spring to your eyes.

Hardison.

Hardison was going to get help.

Everything was going to be okay.

Eliot was going to be okay.

You had looked back down to Eliot, a few of your tears fell on his face.

You leaned your forehead against his with a whimper, as if to say I'm sorry.

Your lips kissed his forehead, as if to say it's going to be okay.

Your hands moved to softly grasp his face, as if to say I'm right here.

Your lips kissed his softly, as if to say I love you.

You leaned your head on his chest and tightened your hold around his, as if to say I'm not leaving you.

You heard sirens wailing nearby, and you could not stifle the sudden sob that pushed its way out of you.

You sat up and leant your head back against the wall as your hands gripped the fabric of Eliot's shirt.

You looked over to the camera again and smiled through the tears. You did not have much more strength to do anything else but nod your head.

You reach over and grip Eliot's hand, wishing for him to squeeze it back.

He does.

[polymarinelove]

okay y’all listen up:

if you came to freeform’s siren for the ot3 or if you just loved the ot3 and are Not Okay™ about the current turn of events with the show, I have a show that will be a balm for your battered soul:

leverage

here are some of the perks:

ragtag team of “ex” thieves using their skills to take down the rich and powerful (white men)

epitome of the found family trope (this show basically CREATED the trope, I’m legitimately serious, deadass I believe they were the ones that truly created it) (edit: obviously I’m exaggerating but you catch my drift)

C A N O N polyamorous relationship made concretely canon by the last episode (although there are themes of it throughout the entire series)

also lowkey highkey the writer has been writing fanfiction for the ot3 on ao3 for the past decade but won’t say what his handle is. and no, I’m not even joking:

“villian” of the week storyline that never gets stale

after every con they make sure to dramatically gloat in the background, just in sight of their corrupt mark(s)

there is never a boring episode. no dips in content quality.

the writers didn’t believe in cliffhangers for season finales. they believed if you had to rely on shock factor or cliffhangers to keep the audience you weren’t doing it right

the Smart™ character is Alec Hardison, a black foster kid turned greatest hacker in the world. he loves and respect his nana above all else. (his first major crime was making the bank of iceland pay for his nana’s medical bills). he is PROUD geek (“age of the geek, baby”) and is can be emotional and there is nothing wrong with that (no toxic themes of black man hyper masculinity here, people). he is allowed and is unapologetically himself and on MANY occasions described (by his ot3 partners as well as the rest of the team) as the smartest man they’ve ever known. he is canonically romantically involved with parker for the last two seasons but he is also coded to be in a budding relationship with eliot (no toxic heteronormativity here either)

parker, canonically the greatest thief in the world, has many characteristics of being neurodivergent (possibly autistic) but is N E V E R made fun of or treated differently by her team because of this. she has trouble with emotions and connecting with others and was originally set up as the crazy, quirky girl character but the show was quick to set her up as SO MUCH MORE than that. her team helps her feel again after a rough, childhood and she learns to grift like a pro. shes baby and I’d die for her. she’s extremely smart and is built up to be the next mastermind of the team. her two love interests accept her for who she is and love everything about her. she is also bisexual (DONT @ ME I WILL TAKE THIS TO THE GRAVE THERE WERE TOO MANY HINTS AT IT)

eliot spencer, the hitter. basically is the brawn of the group that takes the hits for his team and fights if there is trouble or if they can’t just get in and out stealthily. started off as an 18 year old soldier with an idealized view of the world, slowly got involved with dubious military involvement and eventually turned into a hit man for hire. made many questionable choices but he eventually got out of that life. he HATES guns and when in fights, always takes his opponent’s gun away, dismantles the clip and throws it off to the side. despite all of this, he is N E V E R ONCE the toxic white manly man with a tragic past trope. never. yeah, he’s made major mistakes. yes, he has a tragic past. but that doesn’t define him. he attones for his past and tries to be better but it’s not a major plot point to overwhelm the viewer with manpain. he sometimes sleeps with other people but always cares about his lovers and pays attention to them (also lowkey sometimes the gender isn’t mentioned about past lovers so 👀👀👀 it’s Noted™). he is sure of himself and has the emotional stability that we wish bucky barnes would have. he teaches the women in his life how to fight and protect themselves. he loves cooking and uses his passion for it to teach parker how to feel (because cooking made him feel again after his terrible past). he’s so IN LOVE with parker and hardison- those heart eyes can be seen from the fucking MOON

sophie deveraux. grifter. english accent. EX art thief (“why does no one take that seriously!!!). wants to be an actress but cannot act for her LIFE unless she’s breaking the law. the mom/aunt of the group. she’s sexy, not just for her age- she’s sexy, period. she talks parker through grifting situations and teaches her how to interact with other people. I’d trust her with my secrets, but not with any valuables.

nate ford. the mastermind. an ex insurance agent. his son died after his company wouldn’t pay for his treatments. became a drunk, but the team gave him a reason to live again. his alcoholism could create problems for him, but it’s not glossed over at all in the show and is constantly addressed. he could be a dick and they didn’t excuse that. he and sophie have a relationship that takes three seasons to finally become something, and in the end after a lot of dancing around it becomes a healthy, loving relationship. he teaches parker to be the next mastermind, but doesn’t DREAM of leaving until he’s sure his kids parker, hardison and eliot will be good on their own. he could have easily been the broken white man trope but wasn’t. also, his “let’s go steal a _____” sctick never gets old- the bigger the thing they steal the better it gets, I promise.

literally, this is the best show of all time. it has it all: taking down rich white men, the found family of your DREAMS, a canon ot3

message my sideblog @leverage-ot3 for any questions or comments. you won’t regret watching this show, I promise.

(I’m tagging some other fandoms as well that I think might enjoy this show)

IMPORTANT EDIT:

the show aired from 2008-2012 (five seasons), but the show runners have reached a critical rage point about corporations today and have RENEWED IT for a sixth season (and possibly more)!!!

[schrijverr]

Standing Up Again

Their meeting with Moreau at the pool goes slightly different. He makes Eliot kneel for him and the whole thing makes Hardison want to break out in hives and punch Moreau. When he asks Eliot about it later, things come to light and he tries to convince Eliot that he doesn’t deserve what happened to him.

On AO3.

Ships: none

Warnings: mentions of past rape, abuse of power and self blame. Please be cautious.

~~~~~~~~~~~

Hardison knew something was wrong the moment the words: “My name is Eliot Spencer,” left the lips of the person in question.

Eliot was private, if he gave his real name it was always only ever Eliot, never the Spencer, and he never told any of their marks so that there would be no way to trace him back to the team. His job was to protect them and Hardison knew how serious Eliot took that. There was no way he would jeopardize a mission like this. So, there must be something wrong.

Still, he followed the hitter into the elevator, hissing the question as of why Eliot had done so. The pit in his stomach only growingas Eliot didn’t answer him, only saying: “Just stick close to me, okay? This might get messy.”

He knew better than to argue, so he followed Eliot’s lead, mentally writing out a rant to demand explanations later, because this was not cool, not cool at all.

At the pool everyone was immediately on guard with guns being drawn all around them. Hardison knew that even Eliot couldn't fight his way out of this one. He had to stay in character, no matter what Eliot or Moreau threw at him.

The guy that met them was not Moreau, but he looked both scared and gleeful at the appearance of the hitter, Hardison hardly registered as he focused all his attention on Eliot, who got right up in his personal space while guns were being pointed at his head from all around them.

“Chapman,” Eliot greeted. He knew this guy? By name?

“Eliot,” the man, Chapman, returned. Okay so they were both familiar with one another, not surprising with how they got in, cool, cool.

“They gave you the job?” Eliot asked and he sounded as if he found that comical while Hardison just tried to puzzle the pieces together, not happy with what he was finding here.

“There was an opening,” was that scorn in Chapman’s voice? That might be useful if they wanted to get out here alive. That was if Eliot still was here for the plan with the way he was going off on his own right now.

Their staring match got interrupted by a man stepping out of the sauna. It was a face Hardison knew well after all the research he had done on the man: Moreau.

“It’s no way to treat an old friend,” Moreau started and it all clicked.

Hardison had already suspected something was going on when Eliot’s name – his realname – got them in and then with the recognition of what was obviously the head of security, it added up, making Hardison believe that Eliot at least must have worked with some of these guys, maybe did an odd job for Moreau before they started Leverage.

But this? This was not just an odd job that was heightened by Eliot’s name in the business. This was personal contact that hinted at a closer relation. Moreau knew Eliot personally and considered him a friend. Why the hell had he not told them?

“Damien,” Eliot greeted and it just kept on getting worse, didn’t it? They were on a first name basis and it looked like Eliot had been his former head of security.

Was this a trap? Was Eliot ratting them out? He had never suspected Eliot, despite all that he had found on the man. Eliot seemed like he enjoyed working for Leverage, like he wanted to help, like he had changed. But it seemed not.

Still, Hardison knew that not everything was always what it seemed. His whole job was based on it, in fact. So, he decided to keep on playing his part, hoping Eliot was still on his side.

“Let’s catch up!” Moreau clapped in his hands as he smiled and Hardison saw a flash of something he couldn't place in Eliot’s eyes.

Quickly the men moved around them and Hardison got handcuffed to a chair. “You call this a plan?” he couldn't help but subtly ask, praying that Eliot would give him at least something to work with.

“I’m not handcuffed to anything,” was Eliot’s answer and there went his hopes as the meeting began with Moreau grabbing a drink, before pointing at Eliot and saying: “You work alone.”

“Things change,” Eliot pointed out as Moreau sat down.

“Don’t take it personally, it takes me a while to warm up to people.” Hardison was surprised for a moment when Moreau addressed him, but he managed to play it off as pretty woman in a bikini came to offer them two flutes of wine or champagne or something of the sort. Moreau waved her away with a, “He prefers beer,” about Eliot, making Hardison once again question how well the two knew each other and why the hell he hadn’t been informed.

“This one of your retrieval jobs, Eliot? Tell me, whose Snoopy lunchbox do I have?” Moreau went on as if nothing was wrong, questioning Eliot as if they were truly just friends catching up, even with the undercurrent.

“It’s not a retrieval,” Eliot answered, he was apparently still on Hardison’s side, luckily, going with their cover story, “I’m escorting the middleman. I’m here to ensure he gets in and out with the offer.”

This Hardison had prepared for, so he jumped in playing his role, glad that Eliot was still running their con. “Pardon, monsieur, my client has heard what you’re selling and would like to acquire the Rams Horn.”

“And you client is?” Moreau smiled both pleasantly and condescendingly and Hardison had to give him credit for that.

He quickly came up with a stalling deflection as answer. “If you indulge us with the details of the auction, we can make a bid. All will be revealed then. I assure you, we are working in good faith.”

“I’m sure you are, I’m sure you are,” Moreau said pleasantly, while managing to look anything but pleasant, “but I don’t know you.” He turned to Eliot and smiled like a shark, “I do know you. We could talk.”

“Look, I’m just here to vouch for him, he’s the one who can do the talking. I’m not the one with the client’s wishes,” Eliot tried to explain, but it sounded as if he was already giving in to something Moreau hadn’t even said and Hardison wasn’t sure if it was played or not.

“Yes, yes, of course,” Moreau leaned back in his chair, looking to Eliot as if he was a fun little trinket for him to play with. Hardison was really starting to hate this guy. “Still, I need to know if you’re still someone, who can vouch to me. Loyalty is hard to come by these days, I hope you understand.”

“Ah perfect,” Moreau clapped in his hands again, obviously pleased with himself as Eliot nodded tightly. “I think showing that you still know your place would be a good start. How about that little thing you first did for that Russian, it always was my favourite. You remember?”

“I do,” Eliot replied and it suddenly hit him what the flash he had seen earlier in Eliot’s eyes had been. It was fear. An emotion so unfamiliar on the hitter’s face that he hadn’t recognized it. Eliot was scared of Moreau. This could not be good.

“Well, then, go on. No time like the present,” Moreau waited expectantly as the men around him started to grin, making Hardison fear for whatever was about to come.

Then, slowly, Eliot took one step forwards, fishing a knife out of a holster he had stashed somewhere and handing it to Moreau, before sinking down on his knees. It was not just a normal kneel, no he spread his legs completely and sat on his feet, making ithard to get up easily. His back was arched, because he held his arms behind his back, grabbing his elbows. Yet the icing on the cake was how he opened his mouth, letting his tongue rest on his chin.

He was practically presenting himself, waiting for something as the rest of the guys there laughed at him, though he didn’t react. It was making Hardison uncomfortable to think about what Eliot’s employment had been like that this was normal and what they were waiting on since Moreau still had the knife.

Leaning forwards, Moreau lightly dragged the knife under Eliot’s eye, not enough to break skin, but close enough to be threatening. Eliot didn’t flinch, just kept looking straight ahead as if he was a soldier on attention.

The knife went across his nose, nicking a bit of his other cheek, before Moreau pressed the upper, non-sharp ridge against Eliot’s tongue. All through this Eliot didn’t react.

Moreau putthe knife point between Eliot’s eyes, before pressing two fingers far enough into Eliot’s throat that most other’s would have gagged and impaled themselves on the knife. Luckily Eliot wasn’t most others and he just let Moreau do that to him. He didn’t even make a peep when Moreau caressed his cheek gently and said: “I missed you, Eliot. You just left one day, no note, no goodbye. What’s a man got to think?”

He let his hand trail through Eliot’s hair and Hardison saw him tense slightly when Moreau raised the knife towards it. He studied Eliot carefully, then said: “I like the hair,” before cutting off a small strand that was out of sight. “Sad that it would have to go when you come back.”

Then whatever the weird hazing ritual was, was over and Moreau focused back on Hardison, explaining: “Some guys aren’t impressed by money, but by power, influence. I’ve come to enjoy the practice.”

Hardison attempted a sort of smile-nod, but his insides twisted at the view. He thought back on Eliot warning Nate on multiple occasions, the fear in his eyes before and the stupid control show off. He did not want to think about what Eliot had gone through for that man and he felt guilty for doubting Eliot earlier, when he obviously didn’t want to be there, but was there anyway. For them.

“You sit,” he told Eliot as if he was a dog and Eliot stayed seated. “I know you can vouch for someone now. You have some loyalty still left. I’ll talk with you, you can tell you middleman after and he can tell you client what you said.”

“I ain’t much on talking, Moreau,” Eliot finally spoke again, his voice rough after his tongue had dried up, hanging outside his mouth.

“It’s not really your choice, now is it, Eliot? I’m not the one kneeling on the floor,” he said patronizingly, before gesturing to one of the guards, “Let’s keep it short.” And before Hardison knew it, he was splashing into the pool.

He trashed and clawed for the surface, hoping Eliot would jump in after him. Cause screw the con at this point. He was dying.

Oh my god, he was dying.

He was cuffed to a chair at the bottom of a pool and the one person who could help him was surrounded by men with guns, kneeling on the floor in front of one of the most powerful people in the world.

They would never make it.

He would never make it.

This was the end of Alec Hardison: Greatest hacker to ever live, drowned in a pool.

His blood rushed loudly past his ears as he scrambled to the surface to no avail. Eliot would never come. If he were to do so, he would have done it already. He was most likely already shot and bleeding out while Moreau sipped his little drink.

Still, he was desperate to survive. He knew his body couldn't handle much more without oxygen, so he sucked at the chair in desperation.

There was still air in the chair.

He could live a few moments longer.

He could do this.

Fuck, he just hoped Eliot was still alive. He hoped they would get out of there.

A key dropped next to him.

A key.

He was saved.

Wasting no time, he undid the handcuffs before swimming to the surface, breathing in the moist swim pool air as if it was the best he’d ever had. He quickly went to the edge of the pool, only bothering with his surroundings once he was back on steady land.

Eliot hadn’t moved an inch. He was still sitting there in that same position with his knees spread wide and his arms behind his back, only his tongue was inside his mouth this time, eyes hard and face grim.

Hardison wanted to snap his neck. He wanted to rage at Eliot, scream, demand why he hadn’t jumped in after him. He wanted answers about why his best friend would have left him to drown in a swimming pool.

But he didn’t, because there was still a con to run and while Eliot hadn’t saved him, the fact that they were both alive meant that it was working. He couldn't ruin that and risk both their lives- again. He would be mad when they got out of there.

So, he walked up and dabbed his face with a wet handkerchief, still in character. “And what message should I convey to my employer?”

Moreau laughed and pointed at Hardison while looking down on Eliot. “I like this one,” then he said to Hardison, “That we can strike a deal.” He turned back to Eliot, “Up.” Eliot did as he was told while Moreau said: “Reminds me of Belgrade.”

Eliot didn’t reply to that remark, just turned and started to walk away as he told Hardison: “Come on.”

Hardison let himself be lead away, still conflicted about how he felt.

On the one hand, Eliot had lied to him – to everyone – about his connection to Moreau. He had led him here only to go off script without an explanation or plan and put Hardison’s life at risk. He had let him get pushed into the water and didn’t come to get him, he hadn’t even moved.

However, on the other hand, it was obvious that Moreau scared him, that there was a reason he didn’t want to talk and the little hazing ritual thing Moreau had forced him to do and itmade Hardison’s stomach twist, especially with how there seemed to be more of them and how Eliot had allowed that. Not just now, but in the past as well.

Still, trying to work it out, he said: “I know the chair, it sucked the air like a numatic, it gave me another 30 seconds. That better be why you didn’t come get me, ‘cause you knew I’d do that, right?”

He just wanted confirmation from Eliot that he had been safe the whole time, that Eliot wouldn't leave him to drown like that. It would be okay, he just needed a bit of reassurance that Eliot wouldn't have let him die like that.

“Yeah, Hardison,” Eliot grumbled sounding nothing like his usual grumpy self, while still managing a close imitation, “because I knew you were going to suck air out of a chair.”

“That better be why you didn’t come and get me,” Hardison tried again when the answer wasn’t what he wanted to hear in that moment, giving Eliot another chance to explain.

Eliot didn’t, he just kept walking through the stream of models and then out of the building without a word.

All the while Hardison was fuming. He had gone in there with trust, he had followed Eliot’s lead and he hadn’t given them away. He had done everything that had been asked of them and all he wanted in return was some sort of proof that Eliot still had his back, but Eliot was completely blocking him out, giving him the cold shoulder.

This was so not cool. Hardison deserved an explanation, deserved to know that he still had the other in his corner and that Eliot hadn’t done something stupid. He could demand a bit of security after what he’d been through, especially with all the people staring at him in his wet suit.

But at the same time… Well, Eliot looked a bit like a lost boy, which was totally weird on his face, especially if you knew him. Yet there it was, that bit of fear from before, resignation as well, along with a little bit of guilt and anger, though Hardison didn’t know who that was directed at.

Someof the anger he felt for Eliot was directed at Nate, who hadn’t listened when Eliot had warned him about Moreau, who had send Eliot in there when Eliot was obviously scared- well, not obviously, but the fact that he protested should have been enough. Most of the anger, however, was for Moreau, for what he had done to hurt his favourite hitter. Because Eliot was hurt that much was obvious from that encounter.

“Really, man? Nothing? I get nothing,” there was still a bit anger for Eliot left, enough for Hardison to out it. “I just got pushed into a pool. I nearly drowned, okay. And that’s- that’s not cool, not cool at all. You have anything to say for yourself?”

“No.”

Okay, so it was going to be like that. The anger from before came back, this was the third time he had let Eliot explain himself, but it seemed Eliot wasn’t about to. No, no, Eliot was quite happy to say nothing to Hardison at all, despite the fact that he hadn’t moved an inch to save Hardison’s life even while that was his job.

“Oh, no? He says no,” Hardison said. “No, because why would you tell me why you didn’t come save me while I was drowning, while you old boss watched. Which is another thing, huh, your old boss. Good old Moreau. Or should I say Damien?”

Eliot tensed, so he’d hit a nerve then. The hitter turned to him and hissed: “I will say no and you will shut the fuck up if you know what’s good for you.”

“Is that a threat?” Hardison could hardly believe his ears. Eliot threatened him all the time, but it was usually playful and about something stupid, not this serious threat that he would back up, if he went off Eliot’s tone.

“It might be. Maybe next time you won’t have a chair,” Eliot snarled back and okay, low blow, too low of a blow for Hardison to let go.

All the anger he had send to Nate or Moreau came back to point at Eliot. He didn’t care for his reasons, not right now, not after that. So he let it build up inside his chest as they walked to the meeting point, deciding to turn on Eliot as soon as he could, make him explain when he couldn't run or threaten.

So the moment they arrived with the others, who looked to be successful at least, he said: “Tell em what you did, Eliot. You risked my life.”

“We’re in,” Eliot ignored him as he talked over him like it was nothing, like Hardison hadn’t had to suckair out of a chair. “Moreau is going to give me the details about the auction tomorrow.”

“You? Why is he giving you the details?” Sophie focused on the right thing and Hardison promised himself to do something nice at her next show.

“I said we’re in. Just make the plan.” Eliot was angry and trying to deflect like he’d done before, but Hardison wasn’t having it. Not again. “Eliot worked with Moreau back in the day.” Everyone turned to look at the hitter, who had the decency to look uncomfortable. “A lot.” Then he demanded, “Tell,” before he sat down.

Nate got up from his place and started to walk towards Eliot. “We’ve been chasing Moreau for six months and you didn’t tell us.”

Eliot tried to explain while Nate kept on talking. He said something about finding a way around it and taking a shot, before snapping: “I’m protecting you!” They all fell quiet. “Last time I checked that’s my job.” So he did remember.

“Look, we can handle Moreau,” Nate sighed in the voice he used for some clients and marks, never on them.

“We’re out of our league, Nate,” Eliot had a sadness in his voice, but also a desperation for Nate to understand and Hardison couldn't help but think back on that flash at the pool. “Every one of Moreau’s men has innocent blood on their hands, every one of them. Every one of them-” he took a sharp breath- “are worse than me. You think you know what I’ve done? The worst thing I ever did in my entire life, I did for Damien Moreau and I- I’ll never be clean of that.”

Hardison had hacked as many files as he could find on Eliot, but Eliot was hardly ever caught and none of it was bad enough (comparatively) to get that reaction. He shuddered to think what a man, who paraded his men around like dogs, would make them do.

“What did you do?” Parker asked and he watched as pain filled Eliot’s eyes.

“Don’t ask me that, Parker,” answering seemed to take a lot out of him. “Because if you ask me, I’m gonna tell you, so please don’t ask me.” Hardison had never heard that desperation, nor seenthe relief when Parker nodded.

“Look,” Sophie got the attention on her, “we all have past. You don’t have to tell us anything, Eliot. But we’ve learned the hard way we gotta be straight with each other.”

It was quiet as they all remembered Sophie’s double cross. That had been painful as well and Eliot had been the most upset out of all of them, which seemed hypocritical in hindsight. Still… Hardison couldn't blame the paranoia with a ex-boss like Moreau.

The little power display was unsettling, yet Eliot here waseven more upsetting, just the tears threatening to spill were enough to convince Hardison that there was a good reason for Eliot’s silence and the anger he’d felt was fading.

Eliot had wanted to protect them all and even facing the worst person he knew and giving himself up like that was something he was willing to do for them, knowing all the risk. Hardison in that pool might have been mild compared to what could have happened and Hardison was glad not to have had that knowledge beforehand.

Damn Eliot for making it hard to be mad at him, it was so much easier to feel rage and betrayal than a sadness and frustration for something you couldn't change. Moreau had been the breaking point for Eliot and Hardison wanted to take the man down. Brutally.

Then always observant Nate noted: “So, uhm, you said that Moreau is going to give you the details of the auction tomorrow. Why tomorrow?”

Hardison dreaded the answer the moment the question had left Nate’s lips and Eliot delivered on all his fears. “Because he wants me to do something for him first.”

“I bet he does. What?”

“Kill Atherton.”

“Kill Atherton?” Sophie repeated. “You can’t. You’re not that man anymore,” and despite all that happened today, Hardison had to agree. He was still a bit angry, but now again more at Moreau rather than Eliot. His heart just ached for Eliot.

“You might have to be.” Nate surprised them all. “To get us in.”

“No, what?” Hardison cut in, he was looking at the specs and it was not looking good, but what Nate was saying was even worse. “We’re not letting Eliot kill for Creeper Moreau with his sick little games so that we can buy a bomb!”

“What?”

“The Rams Horn, it’s a bomb. A very big bomb,” he explained. “But first, what the hell, Nate. You’re not serious are you? I’m not letting you send in Eliot to kill someone for that asshole that almost killed me today and was very weird. It was like super uncomfortable and there was a knife for Eliot and he had to-”

“That’s enough, Hardison,” Eliot cut in before he could tell them about the kneeling. “Tell us about the bomb.”

“You’re not being serious right now, are you, man?” he asked. “I saw your face in there, okay. You were scared of Moreau. He scared you. You’re not going to work for that sick fuck again.”

“I’m not-” Nate was cut off by Sophie, who asked: “What on earth happened in there? You were really upset at Eliot a moment ago and you’re defending him and calling Moreau sick. What did he do to you two?”

“Hardison. Don’t,” Eliot warned.

A warning Hardison did not heed. He had seen enough today to know that no matter how angry he was at Eliot for leaving him, he would never – never– let Eliot anywhere near Moreau again. The hitter had been scared and anyone who could scare Eliot was bad news and not someone Hardison let people he cared about close to. The emotional jojo-ing was a bit dizzying.

“Well, first off, he pushed me into a pool and nearly let me drown. I had to suck air out of chair, okay,” he began with himself, lulling Eliot into a false sense of security, which was kind of mean, but deserved, in his opinion,seeing the circumstances. “And he made Eliot do this weird submitting, parade, show dog thing. It gave me the creeps and was just plain sick- sick, I tell you.”

“Hardison, fucking stop. They don’t need to know all that,” Eliot hissed. “It was absolutely nothing, he was practically mild. We’re lucky he didn’t need a toe as proof.”

“What?!” Hardison squeaked, remembering the medical report he’d found on Eliot that showed he missed a left toe.

Eliot ignored him and told the others: “The pool was pretty bad, but he had enough air. He was under for one minute and twenty second, a human can go without air for three minutes. We were lucky and we’re in. He believes us, let’s use that. Nate, the con.”

“Alright-” Nate started, but was cut off again, this time by Hardison, “You have to explain how you nearly chocking on his fingers while he held a knife to your forehead is not bad. Please, try, I invite you. But you’re not just letting it slide. That was creepy as fuck.”

“I get it,” Eliot growled, “Moreau sucksand likes being in control and having power over others. He liked having power over me. It was creepy and uncomfortable, I know, I was there. Now drop it, Hardison. It wasn’t the first time, won’t be the last, certain things just happen and it could have been way worse, so. Let. It. Go.”

“What do you mean ‘won’t be the last’?” Hardison shot back, ignoring how the others followed their conversation like it was some sort of violent tennis match.

“I have to go kill a man and report back to him,” Eliot growled. “Reporting back to Moreau- well, he has his own ways, if you’re under his control. Nothing makes the most powerful man in the world look more powerful than showing that full grown men will kneel for him. Shit’s in the past. Now. Move. On.”

He was really hammering in those last words again, but before Hardison could reply, Nate cut them both off: “I will hear more of this in a minute, but Eliot isn’t killing anyone. We’re pretending he’s murdering someone.”

“You can’t fool Moreau like that, Nate,” Eliot protested, but it wastiredly and in a defeated tone that Hardison hated immediately.

“No, we can. I get that you’ve been wrapped up in his world for longer than we have and that you know him, but you can’t let the fear and image of him you have in your head blind you to what we can do to him,” Nate said gently. “You fooled him today, you can do it again. He’s not invincible.”

It was interesting to watch Eliot’s face as it went through multiple emotions. From despondent hopelessness, to a sadness, to guilt, to a bit of pride and ending on a slight bit of hope that disappeared the moment Nate asked what Hardison and he had been talking about.

“‘S nothing, Nate,” he tried to wave it away once more, but with all their eyes on him, he couldn't do anything, but give in: “Moreau does this – I guess you can call it a trick – with his men, where he has them kneel, usually with a knife or other weapon that they give to him. It’s something for show, because while not everyone is intimidated by money, everyone knows power when they see it. All of us know them, it’s just a show. Came with the job.”

“So why were you talking about it as if he did it in private too?” Hardison was so glad Nate knew which questions to ask and how to get answers, because while he didn’t want to hear it, he also desperately wanted to know and Eliot would never tell him.

After a moment of hesitation, Eliot gritted: “It started as a show, but he liked it, I could provide it. It was part of his need for power. He’s always been power hungry and this was just another thing he could get, so why not, you know? So, when you give a rapport, you kneel. There are different ways and levels- not important, but you kneel. It’s usually one on one, but it was also a punishment to have to kneel in front of everyone.”

So what Eliot had to do today. It was a punishment as well as a parading tool. It was meant to humiliate and drive home who was in charge. And it had been effective. It had been effective and that sucked the most, because Eliot had been rattled and Moreau was inside his head.

Sophie looked disturbed to say the least, she had never heard or seen anything like that in all her grifts among the most powerful. “Elliot that’s terrible. You had to go through that again, I can’t ima-”

“No, stop. All of you stop,” Eliot cut her off. “It wasn’t terrible, just something that happened. It wasn’t the worst he could have done, not the worst I’ve done. It’s over now and you all need to shut up. We don’t have time for this. Hardison just told us the Rams Horn is a bomb, we have other things to focus on that poor little me having to sit on my knees, okay.”

And while Hardison didn’t agree with the ‘having to sit on my knees’ description of the events, he did have to agree that they had other things to worry about right now, so he explained the bomb and the relation to the battery as Nate set out the con.

Hardison hated having to let Eliot go with Chapman to fake Atherton’s death. His mind was kept off it by having to find a white male John Doe (which was harder than it looked, okay, Nate. Can’t have demands about a corpse, alright).

He hated it even more when Eliot returned and demanded to know if everything had gone okay, slight panic in his eyes. He also hated it when Moreau called him, telling him he hadn’t lost his touch and that they were in. Eliot’s eyes hardened at the voice and Hardison noticed how Sophie and Nate marked the slightly tremor in his hands as he grunted back. But he was glad Eliot hadn’t had to report in person.

Still, there was a con to run and both had parts to play, so Hardison couldn't stay to ask Eliot about it again.

A con that quickly went to shit.

The battery was not where it was supposed to be, they had to hijack a fucking train and diffuse a bomb – well more set it off, but differently while running for his life through said train, but that was his life – while Nate and Eliot were unreachable and things were probably going to shit on their end as well.

Next time he saw Eliot, the man had lost a shirt and looked more haunted than before, though neither he nor Nate said anything specific as to how they got there, making Hardison dread. He knew better than to ask now, however, there were still other things he wantedto talk about with Eliot.

Nate had given all of them a chance to walk away. He always did. No one was at Leverage without wanting to be there and Hardison was glad when Eliot stayed, when he didn’t walk even when they went after his worst nightmare. Eliot would have his back, Hardison knew that, but the reminder was nice after today.

While Nate was off planning and the other’s were asleep, Hardison sat down next to Eliot at the closed bar. None had been willing to go to their own apartments after the day they’d had.

Eliot acknowledged him with a nod, but didn’t make eyecontact, just stared at the bar. After a moment, Hardison opened: “I’m not mad at you anymore for the pool, man. We cool.”

At that Eliot looked up, his surprise quickly hidden.

“Like, I’m not happy about almost drowning,” he said, “but I get why you did it. And you were counting, even if you blew me off, you knew exactly how long I’d been under and how much time I still had. Can’t be mad when you just did your job.”

“Hardison, I almost got you killed, didn’t even flinch when they threw you in,” Eliot replied. “You are allowed to be mad at me. I won’t bite. Not now at least.”

He huffed at Eliot’s reply, then sighed, of course Eliot thought he was just pretending not to be mad anymore. No, cause why would anyone genuinely not think Eliot wasn’t a bad person for a change? Okay, after today, kind of fair, but still.

“I said I wasn’t mad, dude, just take it,” Hardison told him. “I know you won’t bite me. I was just mad, because I didn’t understand and you just brushed me off.”

“And you understand now?” Eliot raised a disbelieving eyebrow and Hardison could almost believe Eliot was challenging him, hoping for a fight. But Hardison wasn’t in the mood to fight, he just wanted his hitter having his back and all being good again. He was tired of all of this martyr bullshit.

“Yeah, I understand,” he gave Eliot an unimpressed look. “You think you’re the bad guy and just like Moreau. You want to blame yourself for what he did, because you worked for him once and that makes you just as bad, but it doesn’t. You gotta stop, man. I said I wasn’t mad over the pool, believe me when I say that.”

“You don’t know me,” Eliot growled, downing his beer.

“No, I don’t,” Hardison agreed. “I don’t know all you did before we met, I don’t know why you find certain things distinctive, when your eyes go blank from time to time I don’t know what you’re remembering and I don’t know why Moreau scares you so much. I don’t.”

“Is there a point, Hardison?” Eliot gritted out.

“The point is that I don’t care that I don’t know that stuff, because I at least know the you now, I know the Leverage you and I like that you, okay,” Hardison explained. “You are my friend and I just want to hurt Moreau for what he did to you, because he did something to you, I could see it, so don’t even try to deny it.”

“Look, I get that you believe that,” Eliot said, “but I’m not who you think I am. I’m- I’m not anyone’s friend, alright. I don’t do that sort of stuff and I’m never going to be just the me from now, that’s just unrealistic. So thank you, but you’re not going to fix me or something like that through talking to me.”

“You’re deflecting about Moreau,” he pointed out.

“And you’re deflecting about what I told you, Hardison.”

“If you don’t wanna talk, man, that’s cool. I don’t agree, but cool. Your tale with Moreau is none of my business,” he said. “However, you can at least do me the courtesy by being honest.”

“Alright,” Eliot nodded, “Leave me the fuck alone, Hardison.” Somehow he hadn’t seen that bluntness coming. “I don’t wanna talk with you about ‘my tale with Moreau,’ he’s a dick that I made the mistake of working for and you don’t need to go poking in that mess. You don’t need to hear my shit.”

“Okay, cool, but I don’t mind listening to your shit,” Hardison said, “Just FYI. Your business is your business, but don’t hold back on my account.”

“You almost drowned today, you can do with a bit of break,” Eliot said, but he didn’t argue about wanting to talk about his shit (he always did that thing where he didn’t say what he wanted, but let other decide to urge him on, so he could blame it on them)and Hardison felt this was his window if he wanted Eliot to open up.

“Probably, but leaving me alone with those thoughts is also not all that great, so please, burden me with your shit,” he said. “It’s always easier to think of someone else’s problems and it might be useful for when we go after him. And I’m curious about how the kneeling thing started. Indulge me.”

At that Eliot chuckled and the angry tension that had been between them dissipated slightly, as he nodded. “I actually started it. The kneeling.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, I was in charge of this mission with some terrorists, but they had money – recent dealings, not important – and Moreau wanted to intimidate them. A few of his things had been targeted and he wanted them to stop,” Eliot explained. “I had to come up with something that showed that Moreau was powerful when he couldn't just pay them off.”

“And your answer was kneeling?”

“Yeah.”

“Why?”

“The leader we were meeting was of an old Sultan line, used to have a lot of power and prestige, so he would appreciate the value of that gesture,” Eliot shrugged as if it was normal. “And I had been involved in a bit of his business, so he knew I wasn’t the type to be messed with.”

“So, how did that convo go?” Hardison couldn't help but imagine a grumpy Eliot just telling Moreau straight up that he would kneel and that would be a hilarious image, if it wasn’t Moreau, who was terrifying and didn’t care if he hurt people. “Did you kneel like today?”

“Nah, not like today, just kneeling while I was the only one fully armed,” Eliot answered. “It was a simple power show. And I introduced the why first, Hardison. I’m not stupid.”

“Didn’t say that. Did not say that,” Hardison said, then added, “And after? Did it just evolve naturally from there? How does that even happen?”

“Why are you so interested in this anyway?” Eliot asked instead of answering. “It can’t be the strangest thing you’ve seen and I know you know it’s not the worst that happened to me. Why are you getting hung up on that detail.”

“Because it’s incredibly fucked up, Eliot. And you can’t even seem to see that,” Hardison blurted out, finally putting into words what had been bothering him about the whole thing.

“What?” Eliot choked out a bit surprised.

“Come on, man, you out here talking about it as if it is no big deal that a man, who held a lot of power over you forced you to do all sorts of things, like today he practically made you present yourself and finger-fucked your mouth. You really see no problem with that?” Hardison ranted now that he got the floor to do so, the thoughts that had been piling in his head all day, spilling out.

“At least he didn’t torture me?” Eliot shot back, but it was weak and fell flat.

“You realize that making that comparison only makes it worse, right? Like you get that?” Hardison wasn’t even sure that Eliot was aware of that. Eliot just shrugged, not saying anything for a moment, which only cemented the idea that he hadn’t even realized how fucked up it was.

“I came up with the kneeling thing, so it’s kinda my own fault,” he finally offered, as if blaming himself would make Hardison feel better.

“Stop, you aren’t making it better. It doesn’t matter who came up with it, he used it against you as some sort of ego trip, just because he could and that’s not okay. What he did to you was not okay, Eliot. It just wasn’t.”

Eliot blinked dumbly at him and Hardison couldn't take this.

“It wasn’t okay. Yeah, I don’t know what you did, nor what he did. And no, this probably wasn’t the worst of it all, but it still wasn’t okay and I know of this now and seeing you blame yourself for it, fucking sucks, man. You didn’t deserve that. You didn’t.”

“Well, I- It- I wasn’t presentingmyself,” Eliot protested a part form a while back instead of engaging with what Hardison had told him.

“Eliot, man, I mean this in the nicest way possible, but we both know that’s bullshit and you’re trying to hide,” Hardison replied, hoping Eliot would see he disagreed for Eliot’s sake and not just to be a dick.

The hitter’s shoulder’s sagged slightly and he nodded. He softly explained: “It was for the Russian mafia, you know how they can be about power. The- the guy, he was gay. One of our sources had seen him go into a certain type of brothel, if you know what I mean, and- well, Moreau decided to use that. He told me to make it more explicit and-”

Hardison waited as Eliot cut himself off with a blush of deep shame, swallowing hard as he regathered his thoughts again.

“He told me to make it more explicit and- and he implied some stuff about getting private security from Moreau if the deal went through,” Eliot’s voice was barely a whisper at the end and Hardison’s heart had dropped to his stomach at the end of the sentence.

“Moreau- he- he whored you out?” he choked, immediately wanting to slap himself for his word choice when Eliot curled in on himself. “Hey, man, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said it like that, sorry. But that’s abuse, like sexual abuse. Rape even. Are you okay?”

“I could have said no,” Eliot whispered, instead of denying it.

“Could you?” Hardison asked gently. “Because from where I’m standing, he could threaten you with both unemployment, torture and death, so that kinda sounds like forced consent. That’s not a real yes, not under those circumstances.”

“Still could have said no, I could have taken him,” Eliot pointed out, refusing to believe that what had been done to him was bad.

“Maybe you could have taken him, but you were scared of him,” Hardison kindlyexplained. “I saw your face. Do you really think you could have said no to him? Back then? Or were you too scared to do so?”

“But-”

“No buts, Eliot,” Hardison cut in. “I know you like to think only the violence was bad, but deserved, but it’s not. Both of the violence and this was far from okay. Way too far from okay. He can’t- no one can give consent for you for those kind of things. No one. It’s invasive and seriously fucked up and nobody – nobody – should have to go through that, no matter what they did. Including you, alright.”

Eliot wasn’t meeting his gaze, even if his eyes flicked quickly to his once, only to flit away just as fast. He was obviously processing and Hardison let him, waiting patiently until Eliot reacting, deciding to base his next move on Eliot’s reply.

“It wasn’t that bad, not like he made me do it often,” Eliot finally said after a long silence and Hardison’s heart broke when Eliot still didnot get it and he vowed to punch Moreau in the face at least once, maybe more.

“Once is already too terrible for words, Eliot,” Hardison told him, wondering how his day went from trying to run a con to being incredibly upset with Eliot to trying to explain to the hitter that getting raped was bad.

The hitter didn’t verbally react to that, but Hardison watched as pain and guilt warred on his face, until there was a bit of relief mixed in. He was doing good in telling Eliot he hadn’t deserved it, even if it took a while for him to believe it.

“Moreau was a sick bastard,” he said, then he suddenly remembered Eliot telling them that Moreau liked it and that he could provide it and felt a bit of sick in his throat. Carefully he asked: “You- you don’t have to answer, but did- did Moreau- did he ever…?”

“He was never truly into that sort of thing, liked the power trip of holding it over your head as a maybe more than going through with it,” Eliot tried to assure him, but it fell flat. “He only did it once, to create a threat of what he could do. I think he only did it to me, I was his favourite.”

God, what Hardison didn’t want to break Moreau’s body. How dare he torture Eliot like that. How dare he make Eliot think that only doing it once would be reassuring when the reason was so that he could torment Eliot with the thought of doing it again. A hot pang of guilt and anger shot through him as he recalled the flash of fear came back in full force after Moreau had asked him to kneel for him again, like he had done for the Russian, which he let Eliot get raped by and how he had said it had always been his favourite.

“Can I touch you?” he asked, unable to verbalize all of that just yet.

Eliot looked confused at the question, which hurt as well, but he nodded and Hardison didn’t hesitate sweeping Eliot up into a hug, feeling how he tensed before melting into it.

“I’m going to murder him,” he whispered. “I’m going to murder him and enjoy every second of it. Not a little bit of guilt.”

“Don’t,” Eliot warned and it spoke testaments to how he was feeling that he hadn’t pushed Hardison off yet.

“Why not?” Hardison challenged.

“Because he doesn’t deserve to have control of your life as well.” It was a simple answer that hit him right in the chest, because yeah, Moreau controlled Eliot’s life, had controlled Eliot’s life for a long time and it had sucked. And even now the hitter was protecting him from that, from the worst person he ever met. Hardison hated himself for doubting Eliot earlier that day.

“Okay, no murder, but a lot of hate. I’m going to make his life hell while we take him out,” he conceded. “And I’m gonna keep telling you that you didn’t deserve that and that it was fucked up, alright?”

And in the end that was all he could do. No matter how much he wanted to jump in and fix it all, he couldn't. This was not something he could fix in a day, no bug he could work out or code he could rewrite. He could only keep on telling Eliot that it hadn’t been his fault and that it was fucked up and undeserved, while he hoped it would have impact.

“Yeah- yeah, okay,” Eliot answered, voice a bit broken.

Hardison squeezed Eliot tighter, then waited until Eliot was ready to let go. When he was, he let go as well, but stopped to lay his hands on Eliot’s shoulder and look him in the eye intently. “I am glad that it’s you, who has my back. I’m glad you survived, even if I wish you hadn’t needed to go through that.”

There were again unshed tears in Eliot’s eyes and Hardison wondered if Eliot could cry, or if that too had been taken away from him through all the hardships he was forced to go through.

Eliot lay a hand on his and nodded, before making some excuse to leave and Hardison watched him go, knowing to give him some space, while also vowing to himself to keep a close eye on him.

Still, his shoulder’s were lighter than they had been earlier that day and Hardison decided to count that as a win. While he couldn't take all of the pain away, he could make sure that Moreau was a demon that Eliot never had to meet again and he would do that, no questions. Because despite all the bickering and the threats, Eliot was his best friend and he would do anything to make him happy and give him a respite from all that haunted him.

~~

A/N:

I did all the dialogue from hearing alone, so at some points I guessed what was the best, so apologies for anything wrong in the lines from the show itself.

The kneeling part is inspired by bemusedlybespectacled's fic: The Retrieval Job, which I highly recommend

Starring: the feeling you get when your friend tells you something that makes you want to punch a person and then goes ‘haha, it was nothing, lmao’

Also this is my first time writing anything like this, so please do point out if I was insensitive anywhere. If you’ve ever gone through something like this, that was fucked up and you didn’t deserve that. I hope you found people who can make you believe that, because it’s true.

[lets-go-steal-a-hitter]

oooo, great q, OP ! you revived my eliot spencer brainworms so buckle in cause i have an english degree and i Will analyze the crap out of this.

but this is a tumblr post, not an essay, so don't expect structure! my thoughts under the cut.

so i agree with this reply by @epicwalrus, it's a great answer and i think it's going in the right direction. but i have to elaborate. image description in alt text.

it definitely has to do with eliot's internal battle of "i'm not a killer anymore BUT i can be if it's to protect my friends". i don't doubt that eliot would've killed dubenich in a heartbeat if he posed any kind of a real threat of physical harm to the team.

eliot's arm shaking isn't about killing, and not wanting to become the man he used to be. it's about him becoming the man he used to be with a gun, because of what guns represent to him.

he HATES guns. we know this from minute one. he only crosses the line and uses a gun one time in the whole series, and we see the toll it takes on him. it's tangible. but he's not afraid of them. we know that, because he can confidently use and disarm one. he will use one presented to him if it gives him the advantage. we see dozens of examples of this, even if he almost never fires.

but here's the thing. to use a gun reminds him of when he didn't have a choice, i think. we know he's a military man. we know he's used guns and spent a lot of time around them. and then moreau boxes him in in the big bang job and gives him no choice yet again, so soon after he refuses to use a gun to kill general atherton.

so. ultimately i think it's a control thing. it's a tangible choice. it's eliot saying "i am dangerous with this weapon, but i am choosing not to be. i am choosing mercy over violence." because we know that if eliot thought dubenich posed half an inch of threat on his friends' physical lives, eliot wouldn't have hesitated. that hand would've been perfectly steady. he didn't hesitate in the big bang job. but dubenich doesn't. they've beaten him before and he doesn't scare eliot now.

so he's not afraid to kill, and he's not afraid of dubenich. no, the thing that scares eliot is loss of control. he hates guns because they represent that loss of control.

so eliot's arm shakes, because he knows that pulling this trigger is him giving up that control he keeps SUCH a tight grip on. and we know that of him because of his chat with sophie way back in the tap-out job. he can't ever let go of his control, or else he's afraid he'll never ever get a grip on himself again and he'll fall right back down, and right back into the hands of someone just like moreau. he nearly did, in the big bang job. because he had no choice. i mean, you saw how many times he shot chapman. and you know he'd do the same to dubenich, if he discharged that gun.

so his hand shakes, and he doesn't fire. he knows dubenich dying would be convenient, would solve some problems in the short-term, but he weighs that against the cost of his control, and decides that it's not worth it.

instead, he lets nate decide whether or not to make the sacrifice.

he chooses mercy. he chooses control. he chooses not to give in and let himself go back down the slippery slope. he chooses his friends, chooses not to sacrifice the life he's built for himself.

and nate doesn't, either. sort of. but i've got a whole other post on that.

Eliot in the The Last Dam Job. During the scene he aims his gun at Dubenich, his arm and the gun shake like hell. I never noticed that.

Think of all the things he has done in his life, and you will know its not the killing part that makes his arm shake so much. Is it anger? I have no idea and I would love to hear your takes on it.

[ot3-watch]

Episode 2: The Homecoming Job

How does he make seven dollars a day that doesn’t seem remotely accurate

WHAT DO THEY GOTTA DO MAN? WhAT DO THEY HAVE TO DO?

This was so skeevy. DId he get shot up by accident? Did the Castleman guys just start shooting? Like what?

This poor Doctor. She’s so great, but she really should not have said “that’s not the way the world works.” That seems like such a challenge.

This is what I mean about the continuity confusion! Why would Hardison have to call them if Leverage was set up at the end of the last episode????

Sophie’s acting in the commercial audition wasn’t terrible. Weird for an audition, but not terrible.

Eliot’s so unfazed by having a gun pointed at him, I love it.

You don’t even SEE Parker I can’t

I don’t like stuff. I like MONEY

“I’m not gonna tell a couple of known thieves what i did with a multi million dollar payout” you so smart eliot

ARE WE NOT GONNA MENTION THAT HARDISON IS UBER ARTISTICALLY TALENTED

Parker’s so excited by mundane office stuff it’s adorable

DO YOU SEE WHAT I MEAN ABOUT IT NOT SEEMING LIKE ENOUGH MONEY FOR THIS WHOLE SETUP? 

Eliot’s face at the sports. Hardison building stuff for him from day 1 it’s adorable

IT’S A VERY DISTINCTIVE SOUND!!! I LOVE IT!! SO IT BEGINS

I love how it all starts out so simple, just get the money it’s fine, and then they always end up like… toppling the entire corrupt system.  

Where did Parker’s shower cap go in later episodes? Like… she’s a thief. The need for a leather shower cap likely would not disappear…

SOPHIE’S DRESS I LOVE IT

...It disgusts me that they can buy congressmen AND IT”S NOT EVEN ILLEGAL!!! 

LIKE I WILL NEVER UNDERSTAND WHY LOBBYING AND LARGE SUM CAMPAIGN DONATIONS ARE LEGAL

How does Eliot just… know what words have the necessary sounds?? How is he so smart? HOW IS THIS MAN A THING I’M IN LOVE

“Oh, there they are. Really loud too” I love her in this episode

I think Castleman is one of the WORST groups they’ve gone up against. Not in terms of like, bad for TV, but just in terms of them being super evil. The stolen money, the attempted murder, and things always feel even more disgusting when you include army contracters. 

OH WAIT I UNDERSTAND WHY HE WAS SHOT I REMEMBER OKAY IT MAKES SENSE IT’S FINE

Did… Did Perry just grope Sophie? Are we going to just ignore that? 

So, do docs and nurses really wear crocs that much? I thought good supportive sneakers would be more common

AVENGING ELIOT TO THE RESCUE!!

… where did nate just randomly find a defibrillator. 

IT’S A VERY DISTINCTIVE STYLE

“...I actually hurt people… so…”

I FUCKING LOVE ELIOT SPENCER

I’m sorry, I doubt you’re reading these posts for endless heart eyes for eliot, but THAT’S JUST HOW I FEEL

SPEAKING OF HOW DOES HE LOOK SO HOT IN A DISHEVELED WHITE BUTTON DOWN

Sophie already trying to stop Nate’s drinking. Why did they just… forget to address it later? Like when he falls off the wagon in S2, no one cares anymore. 

HOW IS SOPHIE SO PRETTY

Nate’s accent is terrible. Why is all their accent work terrible? WHAT DIALECT IS THAT EVEN SUPPOSED TO BE

“Those are the same signs your wife is cheating on you” Or… just the signs that someone is trying to hide something from you? Like in general??

I always feel bad about the congressman’s cancelled wood panels until i remember how he got them and the lives at stake so he can have a nice house. It’s so icky

This whole law thing is so clever but is that really how it works?

I love that Hardison is already in love with Parker. I love it. 

...The only difference between Sophie and a politician is Sophie doesn’t have the authority but makes up for it with having a moral code.

“I’m sorry it’s too far away for you to punch I’m sure that really frustrates you” I fucking LOVE HIM

What’s a better ship? The OT3 or Parker/Money?

...And another IYS reference. Should I start a tally? How many episodes they mention Nate’s past with IYS or Nate’s past with Sam? How many times they show that fucking Sam clip? I’m gonna start doing that at the end I think.

“WHat is it like a creepy contest?” CUE PARKER HEART EYES I CAN’T I LOVE THEM

Is the money story real? Like did the money transfer really happen? Because it sounds like it could be real, like i wouldn’t put it past them, but i really hope its not

... So I looked it up and there’s much more money in cash per person. Nate’s full of shit. (Or the writers just got bad info but I like blaming Nate more)

Why does this security guy look like a john cena wannabe i hate it

NATE AND SOPHIE’S DiSTRACTION IS INCREDIBLE. Can you imagine if they were a real couple though, and the guard was that fucking rude to them?

ELIOT’S HAPLESS SECURITY GUARD IS SO FUKING CUTE IM DEAD

What’s a better ship, Parker/Money or Parker/Explosions

WHY IS THE CONGRESSMAN WEARING A WHOLE ASS TUXEDO???

… Knowing what I know about black men and cops… why the fuck would they have Hardison driving the truck? I’m just saying that seems like a real easy and VERY AVOIDABLE way of getting him killed. 

ALTHOUGH THIS IS THE FUNNIEST HARDISON SCENE

“This is about my eth-ni-ti-city? It’s because I’m Jewish?” AS A JEW THIS MADE ME DIE LAUGHING. I COMPLETELY LOST IT THE FIRST TIME I HEARD AND IT STILL MAKES ME CRACK UP!!!!

HE’S JUST SO FUCKING FUNNY

“JUSt cause a brother likes matzah ball soup? What’s wrong with that? Sammy Davis?” I CANNOT

ELIOT IN THICK RIMMED NERD GLASSES I LOVE IT

… why did they.. Not check the container number??? I’m so confused?? WHY ARE THEY SO STUPID???

The PR stunt they’re trying to pull right now… sleazy slimy

They switched the order of the accusations… like… 

“We’re gonna lead with Crap.” politicians always do

...Technically, the money is stolen? Like… I’m not gonna say they don’t deserve it? But… it’s technically stolen

ELIOT HAS SO MUCH RESPECT FOR PERRY BECAUSE HE WAS ALMOST HIM

I’M CRYING DON’T LOOK AT ME

“One more” ELIOT YOU SOFTIE

“I bought a plant” PARKER YOU SOFTIE

“What does it do?” YOU’LL FIND OUT

The cherry red tesla is so over the top i hate it. I hate sports cars though so like

OKAY SO FINAL EPISODE THOUGHTS: 7/10. Characterization was much better. They seemed like more human people. Points off for Castleman becausE as gross as it is to kill people through negligence for money, it’s so much grosser to ACTIVELY murder them for money WHILE PRETENDING TO BE A LEGITIMATE BUSINESS AND HAVE GOVERNEMNT ASSHOLES IN ON IT LIKE I’M SO FUCKING DISGUSTED. Added points for the HUMAN HEART EYES EMOJI THAT IS ELIOT SPENCER. Points off for Perry kind of assaulting sophie AND FUCKING GETTING AWAY WITH IT. Added points for Parker being adorable. THis was one of the episodes that put me on the fence about her when i wa not in love with her. 

IYS count: 2/2 Sam reference count: 2/2 (for the children’s hospital donation in the beginning) 

[leverage-ot3]

notable moments from The Reunion Job

leverage 3.02

Madavhi: All my work, erased, and I was only days away from cracking Manticore.

Nate: What's "Manticore"?

Madavhi: It's an electronic surveillance system. The Iranian government uses it to track protesters over cell phones, social networks, even e-mail.

Hardison: Yeah, hacker underground's flipping out about it. They use GPS to pinpoint a dissident, and then they swoop in and make the arrest.

Madavhi: The Internet made this protest possible, but now it's just a –

Nate: A liability? The government uses the people's weapon against them

- - - - -

Nate: "Cyrus"? It's "Mr. Madavhi." You can't get that attached.

Hardison: Fine. "Mr. Madavhi." He could go make a fortune working for Google or Microsoft. No, instead he risks his life fighting the bad guys. This is so our game.

Eliot (at the table behind them): He wasn't hit by the Vezarat. (comes around to sit with Hardison and Nate)

Nate: What, are you lurking?

Eliot: Yeah. I'm a lurker. It's my thing

- - - - -

eliot’s smile and raised eyebrows (x2) at hardison tho

+ he’s also wearing a red flannel with his leather jacket

- - - - -

Hardison: What's the Vezarat?

Eliot: That's the Iranian secret police. And trust me, if they wanted Cyrus, he wouldn't be sitting here talking to us.

Nate: But the Vezarat is still our logical target. So we should check our sources and see if there's a safe house in the area.

Hardison: So we're on this?

Nate: Yeah, well, we were always on this. I just wanted you to explain to me why. (gets up and heads for the Poker Room)

Hardison: You know how I feel about Mind games, Nate. Negatively. What are you looking at, lurker?

ELIOTS SMILE

- - - - -

Sophie: Eliot. Eliot, get rid of it. Ugh!

Eliot: (chuckling) I think he likes you.

Sophie (stands): You're gonna pay for this

eliot: mocks her

sophie: imma get back at you SO HARD and you’re never gonna see it coming

- - - - -

“That’s gonna cost ya” “I gotta dock ya”- hardison and eliot like a million times in this episode

- - - - -

Parker: At the East corner. (pushes vent out and enters the room) For a den of evil spies, this place smells delicious. Hardison, confiscate some pastries. (sits down at computer) Okay, no sign of Cyrus' hardware.

we love seeing parker in vents in her element + CONFISCATE PASTRIES FOR HER

- - - - -

Nate: Any of you ever trimmed a bonsai?

Eliot: Well, you know, I did. I was in Osaka, and I met this Japanese policewoman at a geisha bar....

- - - - -

Parker (to Sophie): Why is Eliot pouring your tea? Hmm? Did you brainwash him again?

Sophie: Mm, neurolinguistic programming. It's amazing what you can do with the power of suggestion. "Sugar." "Squeezed." a few strategic pats on the arm.

(Sophie pats Eliot on the arm and he pours her more tea, then realizes what Sophie has done)

Eliot: Damn it!

Sophie: You owe me for that roach business!

Eliot: Sophie, not again. (walks away)

okay but SHES DONE THIS TO HIM BEFORE LMFAO + a bonus parker and hardison laughing

also parker was eating a plate of pastries so that means thE BOYS GOT SOME FOR HER I LOVE IT

- - - - -

parker and hardison go into the office and be like 👀👀👀 wow he’s lonely

- - - - -

Eliot: Nobody else thinks it's weird that you can just buy anybody's yearbook online?

Hardison: You know, it's real cute, man, how you still believe in privacy

- - - - -

Nate: Here we go. Uh, Mrs. Zavransky, math teacher. Now, I bet if we turn to the cheerleaders... (turns page) Yes. Oh, Mandy. Mandy Babson.

Parker: What does the "DD" Mean?

Eliot: Yeah, right...

Nate: Seriously?

Hardison: Yeah, right. Two scoops of ice cream, just perfect.

she’s baby leave her alone

also bless hardison for not wanting to tarnish her

- - - - -

Parker: Aw, I feel bad for the nerd.

Eliot: Don't feel bad for this guy. Getting bullied in high school Is still no excuse for propping up dictators. He got bulled his whole high-school career. He's not criminal.

Sophie: Um...

Parker: Yeah, he is.

Sophie: Don't think about that.

Eliot: Not a bad criminal.

Hardison: Hey, what makes you think I got bullied in high school?

Eliot: Well, "A," You got a green hornet doll.

Hardison: Well, first of all, it's a limited-edition action figure. Second, it is green lantern. Educate yourself.

Eliot: Wow.

Hardison: Now pay attention. Get it right.

eliot “not a bad criminal” spencer knows that hardison is a good person with solid morals

also, eliot to some extent knows about hardison’s action figues which means that he has either seen them or hardison has told him specifically that he had them. this means that they have had, even if eliot seemed annoyed, some sort of conversations/hardison-talking-at-him-conversations and eliot LISTENED to a certain extend that he was able to recall this

- - - - -

Nate: Guys, wait, wait. Listen, listen. We got a locker combination, we have a teacher's name, and we have a crush. So, Duberman, he has made his old high school his Roman room.

Parker: Of course.

Nate: "Of course"? What's a Roman room? You have no idea, right? You know—

Parker: Nn.

Nate: You don't have any idea? It's a, it's a memory technique. Each of his passwords corresponds to an object in a space that he's intimately familiar with. In his case, the hallway of his old high school where he kept his locker. Now, if I were to make this bar my Roman room, everything I need to remember is right here. For instance, This, uh... My bank password would be "Balmoor." And my e- mail password would be Fitzy, here.

- - - - -

Parker: Hey. Nate just gave us his passwords.

Hardison: No, but I got all his passwords. You want to see his Netflix queue? He's got, like, every season of "Rockford files" every season of "Sex and the city," That show "Psych”.

chaotic children

- - - - -

Parker: You want to break into the high school? I could do that blindfolded. Yeah let's do it blindfolded.

HER HER HAVE FUN

- - - - -

Hardison: What do you know? Class of '85 has a reunion coming up in 8 months.

Nate: Hmm.

they all smile conspiratorially and eliot’s smile in specific gave me serotonin

- - - - -

(Parker sets up a video camera and walks past a board of photos)

Parker: So many awkward people in so many ugly outfits.

[Interior Van]

Hardison: Yeah, you're lucky you never went to high school. Nothing but heartbreak and homework.

[High School Gym]

Parker: Didn't you go to your prom?

[Interior Van]

Hardison: Uh...I was kind of busy.

[Flashback]

(a teenaged Hardison is sitting at a computer making a transfer from the Bank of Iceland)

Hardison: Looks like the Bank of Iceland's paying off Nana's medical bills. That's dope!

[Interior Van]

Hardison: Good times

- - - - -

Hardison: Besides, I'm sure you already had your high- school fun. Big man on campus. What, quarterback?

[Flashback]

Kid: Come on, Eliot. This is so lame. Quarterbacks do not take Home Ec.

Eliot: I got my reasons.

Kid: Phew! Let's get out of here.

Girl: Eliot, like this. (leans over Eliot, showing her cleavage) Knives are like people. It's all about the context.

[Exterior Dubertech]

Eliot: I had many interests

- - - - -

hardison getting too into the high school drama lmao

- - - - -

Hardison: Not exactly. (looking at information on monitors) She's a hired gun.

[Hallway]

Sophie: An assassin? Nikki’s an assassin?

[Interior Van]

Hardison: Yeah, I guess we weren't the only ones with the bright idea to pose as alumni. This chick's connected to wet work jobs All up and down the East coast. Russian mob, Italian mob. There's a New Zealand mob?

her name is miranda miles *squints at the file on hardison’s computer* bruh no way she’s only 25 ??? they even give her height and weight but I guess that’s how all wanted files go

also in one of the commentaries didn’t they say that she was married to that other assassin ???

- - - - -

(a piece of door falls in and the Vezarat leader looks in)

Vezarat Leader: The health inspector?

Eliot: I'm gonna have to dock you again

LMFAO

also he’s wearing a grey flannel under his jacket

- - - - -

(Eliot knees the leader in the face, then pulls him up and punches him in the head. He turns to duck a blow from the other man and hits him in the head with one of Duberman’s chess trophies)

Eliot: Checkmate.

(Eliot throws the trophy down on the man. Behind him the leader stands up and cracks his neck)

Eliot: Or not.

he did the lil flip thing with the trophy

- - - - -

(Sophie hits Nikki in the head with the extinguisher and takes off her shoes)

Sophie: I always hated cheerleaders.

(Nikki swings several times and Sophie blocks each blow with the extinguisher, hurting Nikki’s wrist)

Sophie: It's mean girls like you that always ruined high school for the rest of us!

Nikki: What the hell are you talking about?

(Nikki kicks but Sophie moves to one side. Nikki tries to punch but Sophie blocks with the extinguisher. Sophie dodges a kick and hits Nikki in the head, then pushes her down and runs away. Nikki grabs her gun and fires after Sophie, missing her)

Nikki: Damn it

- - - - -

Nikki: Now, why would I do that?

(Parker walks forward and tasers Nikki in the neck)

Nikki: Ohh!

Nate: That's why.

(Nikki falls to the ground, convulsing. Parker grabs her legs and starts to pull her away)

Parker: Catering, what a business

we love to see parker tasering people

- - - - -

on today’s edition of things that aren’t weapons that eliot uses as weapons, our guy literally used one of the goons’ bodies to hit another goon and send them both down

what a king

- - - - -

Mandy: Your votes are in for the king and queen of the reunion! And the lucky winner is, Grace Peltz and Drake McIntyre!

Schmitty: Mac attack! Yeah!

(the crowd escorts Nate and Sophie forward)

Nate: Uh, very funny, Hardison.

Hardison: Oh, you think I did this? Naw, man, I don't rig elections. I mean, I could, but...

Sophie: Parker, Was this you?

Parker: (hanging upside down) I didn't even know they had kings and queens in high school

- - - - -

Hardison (looks up): May I have this dance, miss?

(Parker lowers herself on her line and they begin dancing)

Parker: So this is what high school was like, huh?

Hardison: Ah...Pretty much.

Eliot: Hello?

[Exterior Dubertech]

(Eliot walks out of the building as Sloane gets to his feet)

Eliot: Everybody having a good time at the dance? Anybody wonder if Eliot made it out?

(Eliot punches Sloan, who falls back into the bushes)

Eliot: Does anybody wonder if Eliot's alive? Hello?!

[High School Gym]

(the two couples continue to dance as the music plays)

🥰 parker’s feet not touching the floor 🥰

also aww poor eliot someone care about him pls

[ladybirdcarina]

Eliot/Quinn, stitches and kisses.

fuck okay...here we go~~

It had been a very long day when Quinn finally opened the door to his hotel room.  He let out a deep exhale as he removed his jacket and shoes, not even caring where they landed.  The rest of his clothes followed as he walked into the bathroom for the longest shower that he could take.

Once the water was at the right temperature, just this side of scalding, Quinn stepped in and groaned happily as the stream of water beat against his sore muscles.

The job he had taken had gone sideways almost as soon as it began.  First, the client gave him faulty information on who was protecting it.  Second, the idiot neglected to inform him that he was not the only retrieval specialist that was hired for the job.   The blond was actually unable to secure the statue, but luckily still made out like a bandit as the client had paid him generously thanks to Quinn's 'persuasion'.

Thinking back on the fight, he found himself sulking at the fact that he never got a look at the other hitter that was hired.  As Quinn was arriving, the stranger had been leaving, merchandise in hand.  All he'd managed to do was get a shot off, not even sure that he had actually hit the man before the group of hired thugs showed up.

"The least he could've done was stay and help knock some heads..." he grumbled as he began scrubbing the dirt from his skin. 

It was another forty minutes before he finally shut the shower off, skin pink from the heat but as clean as he was going to get.  Wrapping a towel around his waist and grabbing another for his hair('How does Spencer deal with that much hair?'), Quinn padded back into the bedroom and dug a set of flannel pants out of his duffel bag and quickly dried off before changing.

He was in the middle of toweling off his hair when there was a knock an the door.  Quinn's eyes narrowed as he tossed the towel to the floor and reached for the gun that he had left on the bed.  Getting to his feet, he slowly went to the door and took a look through the peephole, only to pull back a moment later in surprise.

Eliot Spencer at his door was definitely the last thing he was expecting.

Another knock, louder this time, pulled him from his musing as he put the safety back on and tucked the gun into the waistband of his pants.  Opening the door, Quinn leaned against the frame and grinned at the other hitter.

"Eliot Spencer.  To what do I owe the pleasure?"

The glare that Eliot pinned him with sent quite the shudder down Quinn's spine yet his expression remained unchanged.  Pushing the younger hitter into the hotel room, Eliot closed the door behind him.  "You fucking shot me, you asshole."

Blinking in surprise, something that he seemed to do a lot when Eliot was involved, Quinn found himself running eyes over the other man before spotting the rapidly reddening spot on the man's right bicep.  At that, Quinn let out a groan of annoyance.

"You were the other guy that jackass hired?  That is so not fair," he whined before dropping down onto the bed, lifting his hips enough to remove the gun from his waistband and setting it on the nightstand after ejecting the clip.  "I thought you didn't do retrievals anymore."

Eliot shrugged at that.  "I was bored and we're between jobs," he explained, sitting on the bed next to where Quinn was splayed out.  

"But you got the damn thing so why are you here now instead of with your team?" He asked, one eye open and focused on Eliot.

The glare returned.  "Because you shot me, idiot.  I can't go to the ER with a gunshot wound and it's too awkward an angle for me to properly stitch up." "And your merry band of thieves?"

"Not with me, so I need for you to stitch me up, man."  Eliot paused as though debating with himself before letting out a quiet huff.  "No one else here that I trust to do it right, so take fucking responsibility for your actions."

It took a second, but Quinn found himself grinning at Eliot's words.  "Well who'd'a thunk it?  Is Spencer going soft on li'l ol' me?"

Another growl left Eliot's throat, though it did absolutely nothing to stop Quinn's almost manic grin.  "Quinn, I am actively bleeding right now.  Will you do it or not?"

"Say please."

Eliot blinked, surprise clear on his face.  "Say-fucking hell, man!  If you can't do it, just say so."  He went to get up when a hand took firm hold of his wrist. Looking back at the other man, Eliot listed a brow in question.

Quinn chuckled.  "How about you take a shower and clean up while I dig my kit and another pair of sleep pants out of my bag?  Maybe getting clean will make you less grumpy," he teased.

"Fuckin' hate you," Eliot grumbled as he got to his feet and headed into the bathroom.

Laughing quietly, Quinn rolled over and grabbed his bag.  He dug around a bit before pulling out a pair of shorts and the first aid kit that he had buried at the bottom.  Once he heard the shower start up, the blond hitter rifled through the kit to make sure he had everything he needed as it had been a while since the last time he had restocked.   He nodded to himself as he got to his feet and headed into the bathroom with the shorts.

"Shorts are on the sink," he called over the water, earning a thumbs up from the top of the curtain.  

Quinn returned to the bedroom and sat cross legged in the center of the bed as he waited.  It wasn't long before the water shut off and only a couple minutes more before Eliot exited the bathroom, dressed with his towel dried hair pulled back and a towel pressed against his arm.  Seeing the set-up, Eliot walked over to the bed and took a seat, mirroring Quinn's position with his bad arm facing the other man.

It was quiet while Quinn worked, focused completely on disinfecting the area and carefully sewing up both entry wound and exit.  "Good thing it was a through-and-through," he murmured as he tied off the end and wiped away any excess blood.  As he put everything away, he watched as Eliot bandaged the wound and rotated his arm, barely even wincing at the slight pull of the stitches.

"Thanks, man.  'preciate it," Eliot murmured, fighting off a yawn as the adrenaline began to wear off.  "I'll just get out of your hair."

"You got a place to crash?" Quinn asked before he realized what he was doing. He looked at Quinn for a few moments before his mouth turned up slightly.  "You offerin'?" he asked, drawl thickening from fatigue.

"As long as you don't mind sharing a bed with someone who shot you," Quinn shot back with a teasing grin.

Eliot let out a quiet snort.  "Wouldn't be the first time; prob'ly won't be the last." Rolling his eyes, Quinn stood up and hit the lights as Eliot pulled out his hair tie and ran his hands through the damp curls before shimmying his way toward the headboard and under the covers.

"Door or window?" Eliot asked, ready to move if need be, but Quinn just dropped down on the door side of the bed and crawled under the thick comforter, clicking off the bedside lamp and laying down.

Quinn was surprised at how quickly they were both able to relax as neither was used to sharing a bed beyond 'sharing a bed'.  "Hey Eliot," he murmured into the quiet, sure the man wasn't asleep quiet yet.

"Hm?"

"Sorry I shot you."

After a moment, Eliot rolled over and met Quinn's eye, tired but playful gleam shining in his own.  "Lucky for me your aim sucks," he snickered.

There was something in that look that Quinn, tired as he was, wasn't sure he should be considering.  Taking a minute to decide whether or not it would be worth either the maiming or painful death that would follow such an action, he figured 'what the fuck, why not?'.

Making sure to telegraph his moves, he slowly brought a hand up and ran his fingers through Eliot's hair before resting it against his cheek.  "Promise not to disembowel me?" he asked quietly as he shifted that much closer and ran his thumb lightly over the other's lower lip.

"Depends," answered the smoky voice, lips barely moving.

"On?"

"On whether you hurry the fuck up and kiss me already."

Well; who was Quinn to argue with that?

[fromthemouthofkings]

10 Favorite Characters

Thank you @wisteria-lodge​ for tagging me!!

1. Grand Admiral Thrawn (the Thrawn trilogy by Timothy Zahn)

I stan 1 (one) blue alien Sherlock Holmes

[image description: the cover of The Last Command by Timothy Zahn, showing Thrawn as a blue-skinned humanoid with blue-black hair and glowing red eyes, wearing a white Imperial uniform. end id]

So I’m specifically talking about the book character here; I have no idea what’s going on in the Star Wars TV shows. But Thrawn of the Star Wars Legends universe (and the newer canon book, Thrawn) is hands-down one of the best and most interesting characters I’ve ever seen. He’s brilliant, creating battle strategies by studying his opponents’ cultural art to understand their cultural psychology and look for weaknesses in their thinking. And despite being a morally grey character, he’s not unduly arrogant and is actually extremely likeable--he has to work hard to get into the Imperial command structure that heavily discriminates against non-humans, his motivation is the best interest of his people, the Chiss, and he is always willing to explain his thinking to his close allies and friends. And who else would respond to being stabbed by smiling and saying, “But it was so artistically done?”

2. Beren (specifically, from Philosopher-At-Large’s script/screenplay adaptation of Tolkien’s story of Beren and Luthien, A Boy, A Girl, & A Dog: The Lay of Leithian Dramatic Script Project, which can be read in full here: https://rustbucket.net/leithian/index.html)

Do we not all want to yell at the gods about theodicy until they answer our questions to our satisfaction? I specifically pick Beren not from the original Silmarillion, as much as I love Tolkien’s work, but from Philosopher-At-Large’s script retelling, because A Boy, A Girl, & A Dog might just be my favorite work of literature of all time--fanwork, original fiction, or otherwise. I stumbled across it via a fanart of Beren on DeviantArt, like, six or seven years ago that referenced it, and my life has never been the same. It was hard to pick a favorite character, since literally all of the Script’s characters hold a special place in my heart, but I love Beren’s gentle, dry humor and his grim, determined, reckless stubbornness. His relationship with Luthien is of course the driving point of the story, but I thought that his relationships with Finrod and the other members of their company, and his backstory in Dorthonian and his interactions with the Valar were spectacularly done as well. This story is full of the grim determination to at least try and keep loving people, to keep throwing yourself at a problem and refuse to back down until you find a satisfactory solution, and Beren is right there at the heart of that, and I think that makes him pretty hopepunk.

3. Hamlet (Hamlet by William Shakespeare)

What is there to say about Hamlet that hasn’t already been said a thousand times by people significantly more learned and eloquent than me? I love him. He’s a genre-savvy protagonist trapped in a world where nothing! Fucking! Makes! Sense! My poor emo boy. I feel so much for him, being trapped in a situation where he needs to learn the truth in order to move forward and finally act, but there’s no way for him to get at the truth, so instead he just spirals further and further into fey, frustrated, erratic “madness.” Such a disaster bi. Definitely in love with his tired functional gay bf Horatio. Drama queen and Pretentious Asshole TM. In any decent modern au, he loves Hot Topic and gets all his clothes from there. I don’t even really do theater, but I’d love to have a chance to play him onstage.

4. James Dunworthy (the Oxford Time Travel series by Connie Willis)

The Oxford Time Travel series by Connie Willis ranges from hilarious (To Say Nothing of the Dog) to heartbreaking (Doomsday Book) and Mr. Dunworthy is right in the middle of all of it. For those who haven’t read it, the premise of the series is that time travel has been discovered, but we can’t use it to change the past, so instead it’s mainly just used by historians going back in time to study history, and Mr. Dunworthy is the head of the history department at Oxford University in the year 2060. He might be strict, but he has strong dad vibes, and, just, cares so much for all of his historians. He basically adopts Colin when Colin is stranded in Oxford over Christmas during an epidemic, he regularly puts himself in danger to look for lost historians, he helped invent time travel, and he knows that the point of studying the past is caring about the people who lived there. I want him to be my dad.

5. The 9th Doctor (Doctor Who)

Okay, I love 10 and 12 and 13 almost as much as I love 9, but 9 has to be my favorite Doctor. He was my first doctor, and what really got me hooked on the series was his kindness--hard-won and hard-clung to after the trauma of the time war. It isn’t always easy for him--the time war took everything away from him, and you can see how he’s tempted to be angry and bitter and harsh--but even so, he insists on helping people, on atoning for his mistakes, on nonviolence and using kindness and cleverness to fix things instead of violence and hate. He says, guns are bad and bananas are good, and every person is important, and when asked if he’s a coward or a killer, he says, “Coward. Any day.” And that philosophy, that choice, has left a deep impact on me.

[image description: gif of the 9th doctor saying “Who said you’re not important?” from New Who Season 1 episode 8, “Father’s Day.” end id]

6. Eliot Spencer (Leverage)

The whole premise of a group of thieves, criminals and con artists getting together to take down corrupt people in power is great, and Eliot is my favorite. He may have done some seriously bad shit in the past, but now he’s just devoted to taking care of the team, and particularly his hacker and his thief. I don’t know that he believes he’s worthy of their love, but he’s still somehow the most mature and emotionally stable member of the team; he knows how to control his anger and live alongside his regrets, and despite his grumbling, he dives headfirst into protecting the rest of the team and keeping them safe. Bonus points for being in an almost-canon ot3, and for the passion that he brings to his cooking. Also, I headcanon him as gray aro and transmasc, because I can.

[image description: gif of Eliot standing back-to-back with Parker and Hardison. end id]

7. Jon Sims (The Magnus Archives)

I’m only on season 3 of TMA so far, but I love Jon with all my heart. Working at a supernatural research institute, after having had a supernatural encounter of your own, and still choosing not to really believe in the supernatural until it knocks down the door to your office and riddles you with worms? Big mood. He’s a stubborn workaholic disaster ace, and I relate because I too struggle to interact with people and tend to get lost in obscure research projects for hours at a time. Somebody give this boy a hug and then a nap.

8. River Taam (Firefly)

Once again, there are a lot of good characters in Firefly, and I was hard-pressed to pick just one of them to put on this list. But River is a sweet summer child slowly overcoming trauma to find the joy and delight in the world around her that she had before the Academy, and I want all the best things for her. Bonus points go to Simon, who gave up everything he knew to save his sister, and Mal, who stubbornly sticks to his own code of honor even after loosing the war and much of his faith.

9. Lancelot (The Once and Future King by T. H. White)

A splendidly complex and morally grey take on our favorite legendary hero. T. H. White writes a Lancelot who struggles deeply with guilt and pride and imposter syndrome--who struggles desperately to do what is right and to channel the traits he finds in himself--both strengths and flaws--into doing the right thing. His scrupulosity is sadly relatable, and the lines “It is so fatally easy to make young children believe that they are horrible” and “ You could not give up a human heart as you could give up drinking. The drink was yours, and you could give it up: but your lover’s soul was not your own: it was not at your disposal; you had a duty towards it” are both absolutely haunting. It’s only implied in the book, but T. H. White admitted in letters that Lancelot enjoys pain, and is probably bi as well, and a bit in love with Arthur, and that he feels very guilty about it, and I just want a fluffy modern adaptation where Arthur and Guenevere and Lancelot can be in the kinky ployamarous triad that they deserve and just be happy together.

10. Luna Lovegood (Harry Potter series by J.K. Rowling)

While I have some problems these days with the Harry Potter series and the transphobia of its author, it’s possible to like something without minimizing its flaws, and this list would not be complete without Luna Lovegood. I spent significant portions of middle school pretending to be her. She taught me how to embrace my own unabashed weirdness, and I wouldn't be the same without her.

@a-nerdy-shade-of-purple @conan-concocting-chaos @one-supportive-august​ @the-lyra-cal-trans​ @the-eleftheria​ @dumpstertrash​

[obaewankenope]

Modern day Mummy AU with Eliot Spencer as Rick and Evie’s grandson. The team are in Egypt for an unrelated op, when a Medjai takes one look at Eliot and just goes, “Oh, shit. An O’Connell in Egypt is a recipe for disaster.”

I love this prompt so much, you have no idea!

.

"I hate sand, guys," Hardison said for the fourth damned time in as many minutes. Eliot had been counting. "It's hell on my equipment."

"We know," Eliot drawled, rolling his eyes even as he continued unpacking Hardison's precious equipment.

"I like sand."

Eliot and Hardison both looked at Parker. She frowned. "What?"

Eliot shook his head. "Nothin." Twenty-pounds of crazy.

"Listen up guys!" Nate's voice echoed in the tent they were setting up shop in. In the middle of the desert. "We haven't got much time to get this off the ground!"

They weren't really in the middle of the desert, but anything more than a klik from civilisation might as well have been the middle of nowhere for Hardison. The guy had already complained about how much work he was going to have to do to rearrange satellites for a good connection out here.

Three. Times.

"Nate! We're in Egypt!" Sophie — voice of reason that she was — exclaimed, following behind Nate as their mastermind wandered into the tent already planning the rest of the con. "Gibson isn't going to disappear tonight! We have time. Breathe. Live a little."

Ford wasn't impressed with her plea. Eliot sighed.

"We have less than twenty-four hours before Gibson is selling that diamond he killed innocent people for." Nate bit out, staring at Sophie with that look he got whenever he was trying to emphasise the whole 'do-gooder' thing they had going on. "If we're not ready than Shanier's widow gets nothing and the man who killed her husband walks away with ten-million-dollars."

Eliot placed the case containing some of Hardison's more sensitive equipment down with a silent sigh. Ford was right, obviously, but still.

The guy needed to lighten up a little.

"Why are we camped outside of the city anyway?" Parker asked, missing the tension in the tent entirely and causing everyone to instinctively relax in her unique way of failing to read the room.

It was pleasantly surprising every time she derailed the tension with an honest question like that.

"Because someone—" Nate shot a look at Sophie "—is known in every high end hotel in Cairo and renting rooms in one of the less high end ones isn't possible thanks to him."

Okay, so Eliot might have a bit of history with Cairo.

And the rest of Egypt too.

"Yeah man, why are you known by so many rug sellers in this place?" Hardison asked, looking up from his precious laptop he'd been all but clinging to the entire time. "Like, how many of them have you beaten up for them to know your face and name no matter what?"

Eliot shrugged. "Not that many," he answered vaguely, busying himself with unpacking the equipment from Hardison's cases of tech.

"Maybe they hold a grudge here for like, a really long time?" Parker jumped up on one of the fold-out tables they had set up, her legs swinging over the side in such a childish gesture that Eliot paused to watch her. "Cairo museum still remembers me."

"That's because you stole a priceless artefact without tripping their alarms four times." Hardison pointed out.

"Oh yeah." Parker beamed.

"Listen, it's late, it's going to be dark soon. And I don't know about any of you, but I'm still feeling tired from our flight from Athens." Sophie sidled up to stand beside Nate, closer than normal. It got the guy to look at her and focus on her so Eliot figured, whatever, let her try and butter him up with her charms.

Ford was more than a match for Sophie Devereaux.

"Okay fine." Nate finally sighed in defeat. "We get some rest tonight, but tomorrow we hit the ground running," he said, looking around the tent at them all and everyone nodded in agreement. "Right."

Of course, to get some rest meant setting everything up before they crawled into their sleeping bags. A job that was, unsurprisingly, Eliot's. He was quicker at it than the rest of them anyway. For several reasons.

None of which he'd ever tell his team.

Ever.

* * *

"Eliot! My friend!"

Eliot sighed. He really needed to stop doing that; saying he'd never do something because he always, always ended up doing it. It was like he was asking the universe to contradict him every time.

"Friends of yours?" Ford gave Eliot his best I'm-not-impressed-with-this look.

Eliot smiled. Sort of. It was more of a grimace. An awkward one.

"Of a sort," he muttered, glancing at the Leverage team and then at the group of six black-robed figures sat on horses that had appeared at their tent in the dawn light.

"Long time no see, Penre." Eliot gave the group of riders an awkward wave, shaking his head a little to move his hair out of his face.

Penre Bay gave Eliot a knowing grin.

"Last I heard of an O'Connell in Egypt, my grandfather asked why Allah hadn't let him die before another disaster plagued us!" Penre laughed at the murderous look Eliot threw him. "Come friend! Have you not missed me?"

"O'Connell?" Hardison cut in, before Eliot could tell Penre how much he hadn't missed him. "I thought your real name was Spencer?"

Eliot looked at the hacker. "Spencer is my mothers maiden name." He shrugged. "Less problems that way."

"Less prob— dude! You're an O'Connell!" Hardison did a double-take, waving a hand at Eliot. "You're treasure hunter royalty my man!"

Penre laughed.

Damn but Hardison didn't even know the half of it. Royalty. Literally.

Even through reincarnation it counted.

"I suppose they did not know of your family, my friend?" Penre asked innocently and Eliot glared at the Medjai.

"Ya think."

"Ah, my apologies," he said, not looking at all apologetic. If anything, Penre's smile grew. "But I believe your people may need our assistance."

Eliot groaned. "Now what?"

Penre's smile dropped and he became serious. "The creature," he said gravely, "the man you are after is attempting to wake it."

"Fuck."

Penre nodded. "My sentiments also, my friend."

Eliot shook his head. "I'm gonna need some guns."

"Guns? You?" Ford looked at Eliot, frowning in confusion and annoyance at everything. The mastermind always did hate not being in control. "You hate guns and what— what is this about some— some creature? Eliot explain."

"Aw man," Eliot shook his head again, "you're not gonna believe a word of what I say until you see it for yourselves."

And maybe not even then, he thought.

Every time he came to Egypt, every damned time, something always happened. His grandfather and grandmother had definitely left a long shadow of chaos in this country. It was like the sands remembered Carnahan and O'Connell blood and pitched a damned fit any time one of them dared step foot in Egypt.

Eliot sighed again. Maybe it did.

"I really wish we hadn't taken this job," he muttered to himself as the Medjai climbed out of their saddles and joined the Leverage team in the tent to talk strategy.

Ford definitely wasn't pleased about the added variables — heck, neither was Eliot! — but the ex-insurance investigator took it with more grace than he would have a year ago. Thankfully.

Still, that didn't mean their case would end well. Idiots were a never-ending supply and all it took was one fool with just enough knowledge to bring hell on earth; again.

Just once Eliot would like to visit Egypt without his family history causing problems.

Keep dreaming Eliot, he thought, keep on dreaming.

[lynne-monstr]

Writer’s Month Day 16: Soulmates (Leverage, Eliot/Aimee/Quinn)

prompt requested by @tidalrace (thanks!)

.

“Soulmates are a load of shit,” Aimee proclaims, holding her shot glass high.

The crowd gathered round her at the bar cheers. Laughing, she throws her drink back, relishing the burn in her throat. With a gesture at the bartender, she orders another. She’s more than a little drunk but it’s been too long since she got a chance to cut loose, and she needs it.

“You tell ‘em girl!” A dark haired brunette dressed head to toe in black yells back at her.

Aimee salutes her with her next drink and makes her way to the dance floor. She has her pick of partners and dances with them all, but in the back her mind she can’t help but think of someone else.

Someone who’s not here, despite all his promises. Someone who has a matching mark to the one on her shoulder. Tonight marks six months without so much as a letter. The writing’s been on the wall for a while, she just hasn’t wanted to see it.

He’s never coming back.

“Damn you, Eliot Spencer,” she mumbles to herself later that night, as she picks her clothes up off the floor and heads back to her own home. There’s no one to hear her, but she can practically feel the judgement emanating from both her marks. Or maybe that’s the last of the booze burning its way out of her system.

She used to think she was special because she had two, but life has shown her than you couldn’t even count on the one. Nowadays, she prefers to think she has zero. You can’t be disappointed if you don’t expect anything.

She has her horses and that’s all she really needs.

.

The first time Quinn ever beat a guy up he was eight years old.

Who needs career fairs— that was the moment he knew he wanted to hit people for a living. And screw Jimmy Malone, who thought Quinn’s soulmark of a horse wearing a chef’s hat was lame. Jimmy had a pine tree for his, what did he know.

“That’s an odd mark.” The man currently rearranging Quinn’s face says, stopping for a moment to lean closer.

Quinn is glad for the reprieve. He hates getting double crossed on a job and he hates being tied to chairs even more. He’s not really in a position to make things worse for himself, so instead of headbutting the guy, he smiles and tilts his head. All the better to show off the mark peeking out from the collar of his previously pristine dress shirt.

He shrugs the best he can with his hands tied. “You should see the rest of it.”

The guy leers and pops the button on Quinn’s collar, working his way down until most of Quinn’s chest is bared. Which is hardly Quinn’s idea of a good time, but hey, a distraction’s a distraction. He’ll take what he can get.

As the guy looks his fill, Quinn dislocates his thumb, careful not to let the stab of pain show on his face. Once the black spots have cleared from his vision, he silently slips his cuffs. Shortly after, fire rages around him as he walks out of the warehouse with the goods and his payout.

In the middle of hotwiring a car, he blows a mental kiss to his soulmate for the assist.

Really though, what kind of mark is horse with a chef’s hat? Sometimes, when he’s drunk or on the edge of sleep, he thinks it looks more like two marks, just really close together.

He laughs at himself as he tosses his gun onto the passenger seat. That would be ridiculous.

.

“Hey man, put it back on, we don’t wanna see all that…” Hardison trails off and Eliot doesn’t need to follow his line of sight to know why.

The burn scar on Eliot’s thigh speaks for itself. A mass of ruined skin easily the size of his fist, just below the hem of his boxer briefs.

Eliot rolls his eyes and kicks his jeans into the corner of the room before grabbing a pair of sweats and pulling them on. It’s Hardison’s own fault for breaking into his home.

Maybe one day Eliot will tell that story, but not today. He needs more than a few drinks before he’s wiling to delve into the mess of his love life. Or the matching scar that forms an ugly blotch around half his ankle.

“What, you never see a guy in his underwear before?” Is what Eliot finally says before striding out of the bedroom, nodding to Parker who’s already on the couch. “I ain’t doing movie night in jeans,” he says over his shoulder, settling down and grabbing the remote.

“My poor eyes may never recover,” Hardison says, flopping down on the couch so his feet are in Parker’s lap.

“Then maybe you shouldn’t break in to people’s houses.”

“It’s Wednesday,” Parker pipes up, as if the two of them appearing in his living room on a weekly basis negate the fact that they picked the lock to get in.

Maybe it kinda does.

Eliot tosses the remote to her. It’s her turn to choose the movie, anyway. She picks some action flick that Eliot has to bite his lip to keep from pointing out all the inaccuracies. The most glaring one being that the black ops guy who’s supposed to be some kind of hero still has his soulmark.

Eliot burned his off over a decade ago. Standard procedure in case of capture.

Sometimes he thinks his chance with Aimee ended the night he took her mark from his skin. It just so happened that reality took a few years to catch up.

He never mentions the second mark, not to anyone, but he wonders about him all the time. At least, Eliot thinks it’s a him. What he remembers of the mark was that it was some kind of abstract crap, but when he squinted it kind of looked like bruised knuckles. And wouldn’t that be a joke if Eliot’s other soulmate was another hitter.

He laughs out loud, gaining him a few strange looks from Hardison and Parker but they know better than to press. The movie drones on but Eliot’s long since lost interest.

He nods off and thinks vaguely of dirty blond hair and a sharp wit.

[ruxwrites]

i love an eliot who isn’t fully a human being.

an eliot who can’t really die. he’ll get shot, bleed out, and then be walking around in just a few hours, even if it hurts like hell, because his people need him. an eliot who’s actually hundreds of years old and made the stupid mistake of latching onto these idiots even when he knows that they’ll age and die forever and he’ll be heartbroken, but he loves them and he’ll die as many times as it takes to keep them safe while they’re here.

an eliot who is a living piece of mythology. an eliot who doesn’t really look like what he looks like, who has magic woven into his bones and he’s chosen to use it to keep these fragile little humans alive and safe and happy. an eliot who sometimes mutters bitterly in a language that doesn’t sound like it’s made for a human tongue, who sometimes moves too fast, too strong to be real, whose reflexes are just too good, even for a skilled fighter. whose form sometimes seems to shudder and quake in a fight, but is solid to the touch. who moves with such grace and brutality he seems otherworldly.

an eliot who is maybe a little too close to one charles xavier. an eliot who gets a little too upset whenever the news covers mutant rights, gets a little too defensive when asked about why. an eliot who almost never uses his powers because he doesn’t want anyone to know, not even his beloved team because what if? but he will, he’ll use them to keep them safe without hesitation. he’ll use them and be terrified that they’ll hate him and throw him away or turn him in for days after, but damnit that gun was aimed at hardison and he couldn’t let anything happen to him, would do anything in the world to keep him from getting a single scratch. so when that trigger was pulled and bullet flew eliot didn’t hesitate, throwing up a shield in front of his best-friend, a shield that reflected light in a haloscope at the edges and stopped that damn bullet in its tracks. and later, an eliot who feels comfortable using his powers, making things move around the kitchen when his hands were full, putting up tiny shields when parker launches popcorn at his head during movie nights.

just... an eliot spencer who is something more.

[hittcr-a]

“it takes a long time for me to warm up to people.” it looked like damien moreau was staring into his soul like he used to when eliot was young and stupid. it took everything in him not to flinch. “but i do know you.” and eliot’s mouth was dry because he knew. moreau knew him better than anyone had in a long, long time. or he knew a version of him that had grown and changed since the last time they’d seen each other, but that was almost worse. 

the first time eliot spencer found himself being coaxed into damein moreau’s bed, he was young and high on a well-paying, smooth as silk job that left him rolling in money with his blood pumping adrenaline faster than it had since he’d left the army.  “ah! eliot!” moreau’s voice floated in through his hotel room door and eliot turned as he shed his blazer to be hung up in his closet. moreau spared no expense. this place was nicer than any he’d been in in a long time. golden and modern and clean and the bed looked very inviting even though he knew he wouldn’t be sleeping tonight. the blood on his shirt wasn’t going to out with a regular washing, but moreau was looking at it with his head cocked to the side, not with anger, but with something else in his eyes.  he gestured for eliot to follow him. the blazer was tossed onto the end of the bed and wouldn’t be touched until the next afternoon.  damien poured him a drink, a bright glint in his eyes as eliot moved around his suite. nicer than his own room, if that was possible, just a couple rooms away in case there was trouble. there wouldn’t be. eliot’s cool blue eyes fixed upon him, watching him move about the room. something was different in the way that moreau approached him. eliot couldn’t place it but...  it wasn’t like he hadn’t fooled around in the past. he had. you get close to people. it happened. eliot wasn’t going to deny it, but this... was different. the way moreau refilled his glass before he’d even finished, the look in his eyes, the praise that he filled eliot’s head with that fueled the fire in his veins. damien’s fingers moved over the buttons of his shirt, traced over the scarred skin of his shoulder when his crisp, blood stained shirt hit the floor, ran a hand down his spine like he was sizing him up.  their breath grew ragged and hot and-- - that was the first night eliot had been taken. three months in and he was waking up next to moreau in the middle of the night, a hand on the gun under the pillow because he heard a noise outside. moreau blinked at him with dark eyes from where he rested on the pillow and motioned for him to go back to his room. “if i need you eliot, i will come to you.” and it seemed... normal. he packed up his clothes and stuck his gun back into his pants before he shuffled back off to his room to watch the hallway from the door. it was like moreau knew that getting eliot into bed would make him work even harder to make sure that no one touched moreau unless he wanted to be touched. that was damien moreau’s doorway into eliot. 

it became a regular thing. after a particularly well-done job, moreau would come to him, or call eliot to him, and they would drink and moreau would tell him he’d done well and that he’d expect greater things out of him in the future. moreau would fuck him, let him stay, dismiss him, call him in the morning to tell him that he had a new job for him.  eliot didn’t even feel the expectations growing until he was eight months into his employ with moreau and his loyalty was stronger than the need to survive. it changed. damien stopped praising. it wasn’t praising it was him telling eliot he’d done well enough to earn a fuck but he could do better. he could always do better. moreau brought out the toys and the cuffs and took things from eliot that he didn’t know he even had.  he fucked up. of course he did. a year in and eliot spencer made a mistake. it wasn’t a huge one and the situation was completely controlled, but he’d made a mistake and moreau dragged him for it. he sat in his room, he watched moreau take another man into his bed and fuck him raw, just like he did eliot, making comments at him until he sent the man not worthy to share moreau’s bed out. and then damien took him and he punished him. for fucking up. and eliot knew he deserved it. he’s the right hand. he’s not allowed to fuck up. fucking up gets damien killed, or hurt or exposed. he knew that.  after that, nothing was the same. it was harder and harder to please moreau. it wasn’t hard to find himself in his bed, but it was hard to please him. he dug at eliot, found something to hate, to dislike. eliot found himself cutting those things away. he had to make moreau happy, he had to make him proud, he had to make him trust him and...  two years in, moreau didn’t even have to ask eliot to completely destroy anyone who even gave moreau a dirty look. he would take anyone out for even looking like they wanted to give a look. moreau didn’t even have to ask. he never said thank you, but eliot didn’t need him to say thank you.  by the end, damien moreau knew eliot spencer better than he knew himself. three years in and eliot was what damien moreau wanted him to be. a weapon, a tool, a right hand with only the thoughts of what moreau wanted, what moreau needed, at heart. 

his jaw clenched. it smelled like chlorine and damien moreau sat there, looking up at him with a smug little look on his face. eliot’s fingers twitched. this was going to be a test for him. and for moreau. he knew just where to poke to hurt him. “if i am going to do this for you, you need to do something for me.” and eliot knew what it was going to be. and he knew he had to agree. he knew he did. because this was for his new family. and this was going to be better. this would get moreau fucked. if anyone could bring down damien moreau, it was nathan ford. and this? this was for nathan ford.

[jesterlady]

It wouldn't be right to do a redux on SG1 without doing the same for SGA so here is the Atlantis version of the post about the things I like and things I don't like.  Probably not as long seeing as how I have literally half the material, but we'll see. I like: -Literally every word that comes out of Rodney's mouth.  I don't know if they have a dedicated writer who does nothing but comes up with things for him to say suitable to every occasion, but it is a sheer delight to listen to David Hewlett.  Practically every scene in Grace Under Pressure where he's basically talking to himself or hallucination Sam is pure pure gold.  His new whale friend! -Carson's accent, oh, I could just listen to it all day long.  It's such joy to listen to Carson talk as well.  He's not that old, but he calls everyone son and it's so adorable. -Tao of Rodney.  I probably would have made a separate post about it if Sunday hadn't made me so upset.  This episode made me cry and just...when Rodney starts trying to do nice things for people and actually apologizes to Zelenka and the Ronon hug!  Ugh, it's amazing -The way Radek talks to himself in Czech, especially when annoyed with Rodney -How we learn little things about Lorne, like him being a painter or that he sleepwalks -John and Elizabeth being possessed and fighting each other.  Who doesn't like a good possession episode?  Cadman/Rodney ftw, as well. -Woolsey taking over for Sam.  I was always going to be predisposed to liking him since I love Robert Picardo so much.  I liked that even though he was an antagonist when he first originated on SG1, he was a straight shooter and since I knew he was going to be on SGA, I figured he would straighten out even more, and they did a really good job of balancing the by the book guy with the living in the last frontier guy. -The city itself, it's really pretty and very cool, and has endless possibilities.  It flies! -David Hewlett's acting in the Shrine.  That opening video with him, I was absolutely blown away.  So good. -Ronon and John fighting with Bantos rods and hopping on one foot.  Bantos rod fighting scenes in general. -That real life siblings portrayed Rodney and Jeannie Miller.  It brought a huge element of awesome.  Jeannie is amazing! -The love triangle, for lack of a better term, was actually handled extremely well.  Granted, it's annoying in any shape or form, but Ronon and Rodney didn't get into some big pissing match over Jennifer and she made her feelings about what she wanted extremely clear instead of dithering around about it. -That Teyla realized it wouldn't be safe for her to be on the team while pregnant and that it was extremely hard to go back. Side note: I hate pregnancy storylines where the woman gets all shirty when people tell her to take it easy (particularly when her normal job is extremely dangerous) like they think she's less capable.   Uh, no, that's not being independent and strong, that's being stupid and selfish.  It is not weak to protect your child, it's common sense, and it reflects well on you, not poorly. -The song Beyond the Night and how they put it in the show.  It was so vastly different than anything either show had done before, but it was beautiful and well done. -Rodney, Jennifer, and Sam trying to get out of a hole in the ground together -Ronon and Teal'c fighting badass style together.  It took them a while, but they are the most metal crime fighting duo in the entire world -Rodney and Daniel interaction.  More and more and more please.  They bicker and snipe and work so well together, it's like a sarcasm orgy. -Ronon Dex fighting Wraith in a ware house.  Side by side cutting with Eliot Spencer fighting in a warehouse, please. -Todd the Wraith (and that they name the Wraith such ridiculous names). It's always better when your villains are ambiguously evil and you kind of like them.  Is Todd dead?  WE DON'T KNOW! -Ronon and Teyla holding hands while he takes her to the infirmary.  They are so adorable together and sweet. -While we're on the subject, I like Rodney and Jennifer together.  The only romance the show ever took the time to develop and too little too late some say.  But it makes sense to me and he learns a lot. -While we're further on the subject, I love the whole leaders in love thing that I could see going on with John and Elizabeth.  It also would have been nice to see develop. -Amelia kickboxing her way to victory -Chuck the Technician will never be as cool as Walter, but he's still pretty awesome -The episode where John time travels into the future and hologram Rodney shares with him everything that happened.  Really really cool. -Nanite hallucination for Elizabeth, really great job by Torri. -The Michael arc was very good, I think they could have done a lot more with it and planned it better, but the idea and him were really cool. -That Carson came back.  Oh, thank God that Carson came back.  A part of me is really sad that actual Carson is dead and some other man is living his life, but I figure he's the kind of man who wouldn't mind.  Rodney going and visiting his stasis pod gives me all kinds of feels.  Carson is literally the whole cinnamon roll too good and pure for this world meme. -Rodney delivers Torren! -Rodney being jealous of himself -Alternate dimension jumping Daedalus. -The way Rodney always says ZedPMs.  So Canadian! -Wraith Queen Teyla -Them trying to adjust to Earth again in the Return.  I love that Atlantis became their home and each other their family.  They don't belong on Earth anymore.   -John's speech to Teyla about how everyone is his family and there's nothing he wouldn't do for any of them -Woolsey kicking ass in their trial -Zelenka covered in body paint after spending time on the kid planet. -John's leadership style.  So casual, so intense.  "I'm sorry for shooting everybody!" -Ronon's smile.  Ronon's three freckles on his face.  His triangle eyebrows.   His hair.  His gun, ooh, I love his gun.  The way he lifts John in play that one time. -Twilight Bark/LOTR Beacon scene -The way everyone was obsessed with Lucius.  That was so funny. I don't like: -It felt like nothing was planned.  They just sort of...did whatever seemed cool to them and it resulted in poor resolution at times and extremely poor character/relationship development -That for an ensemble cast, so much emphasis was put on John and Rodney.  Maybe Buffy spoiled this as well for me, but in my opinion, if you're in the credits, you should be in every episode.  Even just a bit at the end or a bit at the beginning, but you should be involved.  (SG1 did this as well, but not as badly as SGA).  I could be wrong but they clearly made the effort to do this with John and Rodney so they were in every episode.  Even if the episode wasn't about them, there was some kind of scene with them in it.  So clearly, they were capable of that.  Things like Ronon and Teyla not being in the Vegas episode, annoy the heck out of me. -The kids leaving Rodney, Sam, and Jennifer to die in the hole.  Maybe I'm unrealistic, but I just feel like nobody would actually do that in such a dire situation. -They switched planets!  What about the Athosians new home?  It felt like we didn't even see what happened to them and then all of a sudden they were in a new place and missing from it. I always thought...maybe Atlantis was more about where it was then just the city itself.  Apparently not. -Sunday, Sunday, Sunday!  I mean, it'd probably be one of my favorite episodes if not for the end.  It's really cool that way, but I cannot forgive them for doing that to me.   Especially now that I know it was done on purpose to "shake things up" and for ratings since SG1 was ending. -Ford never had a chance.  He was never going to be my favorite, but they could have done so much more with him.  It's really sad how badly they botched that up.  Also, there's no reason they couldn't have actually developed him once they turned him into a psycho Wraith wanna be.  That would have been an amazing S2 character arc for him, but instead, it became 'guest star' and Ronon was clearly chosen to replace him. -Teyla's baby arc.  I get that Rachel was actually pregnant and I'm super glad they wrote it in rather than killing her off or making her stand behind furniture like a sitcom (totally not compatible with her active fighting or love of midriff-less clothing.)  But the whole thing was really rushed.  Like, how am I supposed to care about some random dude I've never met named Kanaan, who's the father of her baby?  Romance should evoke feelings, not blankness.  I just never got the chance to really care about them as a couple, which could be why I really have always seen Ronon and Teyla together, honestly. -They way they wrote Elizabeth out of the show.   It's horrendous and unacceptable.  They didn't know what to do with her?  Uh, so you actually take the time and figure it out.  Making her leave just because they wanted someone from SG1 to come on to the show is the stupidest thing.  She was amazing and a great leader and had a lot more to give.  So what if she was intended to be more of a General Hammond. Part of being a show runner is playing to your strengths and what people love.  Both of those things were Weir.  I love Sam, always have, always will, she did great, but, that was just another example of the horrible, horrible way Atlantis handled character development and why they were never quite as good as SG1.  Even the whole Elizabeth arc being resolved with her in a different Replicator body just felt wrong and disrespectful.  (All the Replicator stuff seemed a little bit off to me (especially as regards her) and maybe they just went a little bit crazy without taking the time to think things through). -The Genii as villains.  Ugh, they just rubbed me the wrong way.  Colm Meany is awesome as is Robert Davi, but they just didn't do it for me -Harmony.  Annoying children who deliberately manipulate adults and lie about what they've done to discredit another adult, are so awful.  Granted, Rodney is a petty, selfish, arrogant child himself, but John has no reason to suppose he's not telling the truth.  Not really.  Children shouldn't be allowed to get away with that.  It reminds me of my younger brother and he and I used to fight all the time when he would be a brat and annoy me on purpose.  My mom always said since I was older, I had to be more mature and not rise to it.  Perhaps true, but the most unfair thing ever and it still bothers me when I see it in others today. -Destruction of the Midway.  So sad, it was such a cool idea.  It's just annoying them always trying to figure out how to limit travel between Earth and Pegasus.  Just give them both ZPMs then! -Sam not being present at Brain Storm.  All the most brilliant scientists on Earth, my auntie.   (Bill Nye was cool!)  But just a simple exchange like Jennifer asking if Sam would be there and Rodney replying that no, she was off world, would have sufficed. -Remember when Jennifer, in her first scene, was all afraid of being CMO and didn't want the job?  Yeah, literally never mentioned again. Much more thematic problems with SGA, I'm afraid, but still plenty, plenty to love.