#eliot spencer needs a hug

[kookicat]

Hair Braids and Bloody Bandages

Hair Braids and Bloody Bandages

They're worried, and it's making him uneasy under their gaze. Nate is the best at hiding it; head buried deep in Rucker's file, legs crossed, with one foot resting casually on his other knee. It'd fool the best, if that foot didn't keep twitching in a way that screams nervous energy. Eliot counts five twitches, feels his heart rate ramp up with each one and has to look away before number six, because there's already a coating of cool sweat starting to form on the curve of his spine. He downs the last of his beer, thinks about grabbing another and decides against it. He's already on his third, and the next day is going to suck enough without a hangover too. 

Parker is busy picking the locks on a pair of battered wooden chests; Eliot isn't sure how or if they're relevant to the case, and he's not about to ask, because while she's busy with them, she's leaving him alone. She probably understands the best, because out of all of them, she's the only other one who regularly puts herself in physical danger to get the job done. The only one who relies on her body just as much as her mind. Her hands are steady, but there's a nasty little crease between her eyebrows that he doesn't like one bit. One chest clicks open, and she glances at him. 

Eliot nods, tips his empty bottle at her, and forces a reassuring smile that he doesn't really feel. But even then, it's not like this. Not going in knowing she'll be bruised and bloody when she gets out, he thinks. Not knowing there's a damn fine line she has to walk, between selling the con and getting beaten to shit. 

Sophie passes, neatly taking the empty beer bottle out of his hands and replacing it with a bottle of water that he doesn't really want, heading back to the couch she's claimed. She gets the same smile as Parker, the one that's carefully cultivated to hide the buzz of adrenaline dancing through him. 

Sophie's the most anxious; her dislike of the sport clear and well stated, along with her opinion on Rucker. He opens the water, and she nods, once, before returning to the trashy romance novel she's pretending to read, though she hasn't turned a page in minutes. He's pretty sure she picked the book up at the airport on one of their jobs, and this is the first time she's even cracked the cover. The pages dance under her hands, and he realises that she's shaking. It makes him swallow hard, a sudden flare of nerves stealing his breath for a second before he gets his body back firmly under control. 

Hardison is packing the ring bag with the same meticulous care he does everything, and something about the sight sends a quiver of nervous resignation through Eliot's gut. It’s the same feeling he used to get before deploying somewhere without a name, just a problem his squad needed to eliminate, on some foreign soil that's already soaked and stinking with blood. 

Damn it, he thinks, and swipes his hands on his jeans. Not the first time I've taken a beating. Hell, it's not even the first time I've taken a dive, he thinks, but the nervous energy is only building. He glances at the clock, and knows the gym will be empty, because it's getting late. 

"I'm going to the gym," he says and eases to his feet, almost flinching when they turn to look at him as one. 

They're all talking at once, words mingling, but he catches their meaning easily. It’s touching, makes something deep in his chest go dangerously soft and tender and that’s the last thing he can afford to be, because the battle that’s coming can’t be won with kindness or compassion, just the penance of blood and bone-deep bruises. They know it as well as him, will be paying, even if the cost isn’t coming directly from their flesh. 

"No, I'm fine," he says and makes himself smile. "I'll be back in a bit, don't worry." He wants to growl the words, but he can't do it, not while they're all looking at him like he's going to his execution in the morning. Like this might be the last time they see him. 

Their eyes bore into his back all the way out of the door. He closes it quietly behind himself and tries not to sigh too loudly in relief. Love can be a burden as well as a blessing, and right now he’s feeling the weight heavy on his shoulders. Thank you, he thinks, sending it out to a God he’s not sure he still believes in, not after all the bad shit he’s seen and done. Still, he’s paying for that, a debt he’ll never repay in full, not that it’ll stop him from trying. Blood and sweat and pain are fine currencies, and ones he’s well versed in paying. Time to pay some more, he thinks, and heads towards the dark, rainy parking lot, and the gym beyond.

---

He doesn't bother flipping the main lights on in the gym; the moon is full and low, throwing enough light to illuminate the space as he moves through the jumble of equipment towards the changing room. The gym smells like sweat and effort, cut with the tang of leather and rosin. It's a familiar, comforting scent, loosens the tension in his shoulders, and by the time he reaches the changing room, he's feeling much steadier, the armour he spent years building firmly back in place. Like it or not, him and violence have an unbreakable and undeniable link, and he's been spending and receiving that particular coin for more of his life than not. 

Putting himself on the line isn't anything new; he's been doing that since he was nine years old and big enough to get between his Pop's fist and his Mother's face. And yet, it is different, because he knows they're all blaming themselves for not finding a different way and that's the bit he's not used to, not used to people caring for him, past the skills he brings to the job and how capable of applying them he is at the right time. It’s disconcerting to realise they care for him as a person, that his wellbeing matters. He shakes his head, dismisses the thoughts, because they're the opposite of helpful and to pull this off, to keep the balance right and not walk away too broken, he needs all the focus he can get. 

He strips off his hoodie and hangs it neatly, bending to take off his shoes. He's only sparring, so he doesn't feel the need to tape his feet, and he wants to feel the mat under them, get his bearings on any soft or slippery spots. Hair tangles around his fingers as he scrapes it back and he pauses, letting it fall as he digs in his bag for the tiny elastics that he keeps there. 

He can't remember, exactly, when the braids started, just knows it was post Moreau, back when he didn't like himself very much and when connecting with something clean from his family history felt just like another way of hiding how far he'd fallen. There's still a bit of the shake in his fingers when he parts the hair, smoothing it under his fingers before he starts to braid. It's a soothing, methodical process and he makes quick work of the first, securing it with an elastic from between his teeth before he moves to the other side and starts again. Once it’s done, he pulls the rest of his hair back from his face in a messy half ponytail, and stands, rolling his shoulders to loosen them as he heads towards the ring. 

The floor shifts and settles under his weight as he makes a quick lap around the enclosed space, and he bounces a little, listening to the ring creak. It doesn’t seem like it’s going to collapse, so he shrugs and stoops to pick up his gloves, slipping them on and flexing his hands against the mild constriction. It’s been a while since he wore gloves and they feel strange against his skin until he starts moving, gets his blood pumping. He starts off slow, gives his muscles the chance to warm up, which is a luxury he doesn’t often get, not when he’s punching bad guys to keep his people safe.  

The moves are familiar, soothing and he gives himself over to the routine of them, letting them build the walls he uses to protect the soft parts of himself high and wide and thick, knowing he's going consenting to the sacrifice. A better man, or a worse one, would see the nobility in that, but he's right in the sweet spot where the blood on his hands weighs heavily enough that there's no grace in this act. It's simple, and terribly complicated all at once, brings to mind a Spanish proverb he'd read once, in a book with pages so brittle they crumbled under his fingertips; take what you want, God says, as long as you pay for it. He's not sure exactly how much want played into what he'd taken, but need certainly had, and he's paying the cost still. Isn't sure if he'll ever clear his slate, isn't sure if he even wants to, because the things he'd done feel like they should never be repaid. 

The door creaks, and he tips his head, wondering which one of them it'll be. He's a betting man, and his money is on Sophie, so when her perfume wafts through the gym, he can't help but crack a smile. He expects her to speak, but she doesn't, not right away, just finds a comfortable spot next to the ring and watches him. He's vain enough to want to show off a little, display the skills he'd spent a lifetime building in a way he usually doesn't get to, because he's too busy using them to keep everyone safe. 

He starts slow, running through a simple routine of punches and feints and dodges, can feel her eyes on him as he moves around the ring, one bit of his mind tracking changes in the floor even as he trades punches with his imaginary opponent, finishing with a one-two combination that would put even the toughest fighter down. He lets his hands drop, rolling his shoulders to ease the mild lactic burn in his muscles, and walks over to the edge of the ring. 

She offers him a water bottle. "Don't worry, I brought it from the hotel," she says dryly. 

"Thanks," he says and swallows a few mouthfuls. It's cold and sweet, and goes down easy. 

"Eliot-" Sophie starts, and he's been around her long enough to know that they're about to have a Conversation, so he leans against the ropes and waits for her opening gambit. 

---

The fight is awful; brutal in a way she doesn't expect. There's blood on Eliot's face, and bruises already blooming on his shoulders and arms. He takes a punch he would have usually blocked, the sickening crack-crunch of knuckles hitting unprotected flesh making her stomach turn. Another punch smacks into his cheek, snapping his head back hard enough to splatter blood on the ropes and send him reeling backwards until he catches his balance, shaking his head like he’s trying to clear the stars from his eyes. 

Parker, beside her, is pale, sleeves pulled down over her hands as they watch Eliot get pummelled. It doesn't hide how tightly her fists are clenched or the way she keeps swallowing, like there’s something foul lodged in her mouth that she can’t force down. 

The fight flips in an instant, the man they're more used to seeing breaking free and taking Tank down, hard, in a flurry of moves that have some of the hardcore wrestling fans cheering in awe. Tank goes limp under Eliot’s hands and the dark haired man looks up, eyes distant and dazed until he blinks, shaking his head as Hardison and Nate gather him up like a load of dirty laundry. 

None of them relax until Hardison gets his hands on Eliot, nodding once as he cups the back of Eliot's neck, because it's the only place without blooming bruises. 

"You good?" the hacker asks, and Eliot nods once, wearily, swiping a gloved hand over his bleeding lip. There's a shake in his fingers he can't quite control, and he shivers, heated muscles quickly going cold and stiff in the chilly gym air. 

Hardison hands over a tshirt and hoodie- zip through, because he thinks of everything, and Eliot pulls them on, carefully, because he's battered enough that he's already hurting. Knows that once the endorphins and adrenaline wears off, he’s in for a bad time, but the thought of swallowing any meds makes his already dicey stomach churn even more. 

"You good?" Hardison asks again, shoulders tight with concern. His fingers play over the strap of his bag, eyes running over Eliot. 

Eliot isn’t sure what he’s looking for, but the other man seems to find it, because his chin dips in a tiny nod, but he doesn’t move away. 

"Go," Eliot says, voice hoarse, and offers a hand for their usual handshake. The contact hurts, because even with the gloves, Eliot’s hands feel bruised and battered. 

It's enough. It has to be, because Hardison is needed elsewhere, if they're going to pull any sort of success out of this mess. He claps Eliot once, on his shoulder and steps away, making room for the doc. 

Eliot submits to the exam quietly and that's enough to set alarm bells ringing in Sophie's head. She threads through the crowd, one of her biggest, softest scarves in her hand. He's still sitting, elbows on his knees, hands clasped around the back of his neck like he has a monster headache. There’s blood on his knees, and she can’t tell where it’s from, hopes it isn’t his, until he shifts, looking up and she spots the cut through his eyebrow that’s steadily dripping. Even with the hoodie draped over his legs, he looks chilled and all Sophie wants, suddenly, is to go back in time a few hours and find a way to stop this fight from happening.

Parker is digging through their bags by the side of the ring. It’s not her usual, methodical search, but a semi-frantic hunt as she drops things on the floor next to her. She looks up, eyes flicking to Eliot, and Sophie nods, but keeps going, knowing Parker will catch up. 

"Here," Parker says, and presses a bottle of ibuprofen into Sophie's free hand as they cross the ring. "We left the prescription stuff in the hotel room," she adds softly. 

"He looks like he needs it," Sophie says, quietly, and Parker nods. 

The doctor steps away, touching Sophie's arm as he passes. She glances at Eliot, wordlessly handing over the scarf with a quick nod, then turns her attention to the doctor. "What's the verdict, doc?" she asks. 

"Concussion, for sure. Some cracked ribs, maybe a busted cheekbone, though it's impossible to tell without an x-ray and he's refusing that…" the Doc pauses, lips pressing together before he shakes his head and moves on. "He's going to be sore as hell in the morning, but I'm guessing he's been through that once or twice before. Damn fool thing he did, but damn brave, too." He shakes his head again, pats her arm and slips away to check on Tank. 

Parker has claimed the closest seat, so Sophie sits down on the other side of Eliot, nails digging into her palms as she surveys the damage. He's halfway into the hoodie, face carefully blank as he tries to get his left arm in the sleeve. Parker reaches around, tugging the sleeve into place, neatly evading his hands as she fastens the zip, and sits back. 

"What do you need?" Sophie asks, simply and he blinks at her like he was expecting a different question. She holds up the bottle of ibuprofen, and he shakes his head, mouth twisting, because he’s pretty sure the pills wouldn’t stay down.

There's blood in his mouth, tasting like old copper pennies and he swallows hard, touching the cut in his lip with the tip of his tongue. The fierce pounding in his head makes it hard to think, and his stomach is churning in a way that screams concussion. He's cold, despite the hoodie and the silk scarf that's magically spread itself over his legs. 

"Can we get the hell out of here?" he asks at last, and the team - minus Nate, who is still tying up loose ends - gather around him like swirling leaves, gathering him up so that he's on his feet and heading towards the cool, dark parking lot before he has chance to think. 

The gym door slams closed behind them and he closes his eyes, lets out a breath that he didn't know he was holding. 

It's done, he thinks and pushes the gnawing ache in his bones to the back of his mind as he starts walking. Each step jars through him, like he has ground glass filling his joints, and the gatorade he’d swallowed churns uneasily in his stomach like it’s not quite sure if it wants to stay put. Just thinking about it makes the nausea worse, and he has to stop, pulling in slow breaths through his nose until the sensation passes. 

A warm hand lands on his back, rubbing circles that are more soothing than he thinks he deserves. “Okay?” Sophie says, and he’s not quite sure if it’s an order or a question. Decides it’s an order, because he’s never been able to disobey one, and right now, he needs all the help he can get.

The hotel lights shine through the night like a sanctuary, and he fixes his blurring vision on them, nods once and starts walking.

---

The hotel is only a short walk away, but he's sweating and seriously uncomfortable by the time he gets there. Parker walks one one side, Sophie on the other, and it should bug him, but he's stiff and sore enough to almost welcome the mothering. The phantom warmth of Sophie’s hand on his back is a comfort he’d never admit to needing, but it helps, because it means she cares, and he’s battered enough for the affection to slink through the chinks in his armour. Knows how dangerous that is, to allow the softness in, but after what he just did, the small bit of grace feels hard earned.

Parker unlocks the suite door and he shuffles in, feeling three times his age. Hardison squeezes past them, heading for the bathroom to get the tub running while Sophie pulls out meds and ice packs. Parker digs in his duffle for the soft, worn sweats he only wears on really bad days and something about the entire, rehearsed routine makes him want to run back out into the damp night. Sends something like panic clawing at the back of his throat, because in his line of work, getting too close is dangerous, and he’s fallen for that trap once already, can’t forget the dark path it sent him down, or the things he’d done because of the attachment. They’re not like… him, he thinks, knows it for a fact, just like he knows his eyes are blue or water is wet or that the glinting silver edge of a knife can cut you deep without you feeling it. Still, he can’t help glancing back at the door, wonders if he could find another room and hunker down until the worst of the pain eases, slink back to the team like a stray when he’s feeling more himself. Not let them get so close, even though in the deepest part of himself they've already wormed so far into his heart he'd have to cut it out to be rid of them. 

He blows out a harsh breath instead of retreating, limping over to the recliner so he can toe his sneakers off. Halfway down, he realises that sitting isn't his best idea; it's been a while since he wrestled and his muscles are protesting the abuse in a way that tells him standing back up is going to be about as much fun as a root canal, sans lidocaine. His ribs hurt, a bright flare of pain, and he presses his elbow to them as he sits down. The overhead light stabs into his brain like an ice pick, and he closes his eyes, waits for the throbbing to ease. 

“Sorry, man,” Hardison says, and clicks the main light off, leaving the bathroom light on so the room is filled with a soft glow that's much easier to handle. “Better?” he asks, and Eliot peels his eyes open, blinking in relief. 

“Yeah,” he says, hoarsely, and takes the wrapped ice pack Sophie offers him, pressing it against the gnawing ache in his cheek. 

Hardison sets a bottle of lemon-lime gatorade down next to him. It's not his favourite, exactly, but it's the flavour he finds the least objectionable and that bit of thoughtfulness makes his chest ache for a whole new reason. 

Parker is pawing through his duffle for the pouch of meds he keeps in there, stocked with painkillers, anti sickness drugs, and the allergy pills he uses to help him sleep on the really bad days. He fishes through his options, weighing up, because he knows a couple of the options will knock him out and he's hurting enough for that to sound appealing. 

He settles for a well used combination of muscle relaxant and painkiller, swallowing the pills with a gulp of yellow flavoured gatorade. Lemon-lime, my ass, he thinks, because it's easier than looking up and facing his team. He shifts, biting the inside of his lip, holding his breath until the flare of pain passes. 

"Do you want the bath?" Hardison asks. 

Eliot knows the hot water will help, but the thought of moving makes his stomach roll. He's not exactly comfortable as he is, but everything has faded to a background ache and he knows that'll change as soon as he stands. He's itchy, through, sweat and blood dried in his skin in an irritating film. "Yeah," he says and eases his feet down, breath hissing in between his teeth. 

Fuck, he thinks as he stands, joints popping as he gets upright. It's ten steps to the bathroom and every one of them jars him. 

The tub is full and steaming softly, scenting the air with the herbal Epsom salts mix he uses. Three faces stare at him from the doorway, and while he’s never been shy, the thought of stripping down to his birthday suit in front of them isn’t exactly appealing. 

“I don’t need an audience,” he rasps, trying for his usual gruffness, but he knows he’s not quite getting there. Not with the touch memory of them taking care of him still lingering on his skin. 

They glance at each other. Sophie breaks first, wagging a finger at him. “Fine,” she says, and turns, towing Parker with her. “But I’m sending Hardison in to check on you in half an hour.”

She closes the door softly behind her, leaving him alone in the steam filled room. The bath is big and deep, the water steaming gently, and he suddenly can’t wait to sink into it. There’s a big mirror on the wall above the sink, and he rests his aching hands on the cold porcelain as he leans close, taking a look at the damage. 

One eye is already starting to swell closed, bruising spreading from his cheekbone right up to his hairline. He presses his fingers to his cheek, a vague memory of a heel contacting with his face rising up. The inside of his cheek is raw and bloody, bitten even with the mouthguard. He grabs one of the paper cups and fills it, sloshing cold water around his mouth with a wince. It’s pink when he spits it back into the sink.

Let’s see the rest of the damage, he thinks, and unzips the hoodie, sliding his good arm out first before working it down his left. He’s sweating, breath straining through his teeth by the time it’s off, and he leans against the cool tiles, letting his pounding heart settle. The drops to the floor and he glances down, thinks about picking it up, but the long muscles down his spine are already starting to stiffen and he’s not sure he can bend that much. 

He lifts the hem of the t-shirt and stops as the motion pulls on every abused bit of his torso. Thinks about the small silver nail scissors Sophie keeps in her washbag, but he’s pretty sure it’s in the other bathroom. Any of them would be glad to help - except maybe Nate, who tends to leave the Eliot wrangling to the others- but the idea of asking and letting them undress him like a toddler… I’d rather gnaw my way out of the fucking thing, he thinks and sits down on the closed toilet seat. By the time he has the t-shirt off, he’s sweating bullets. Black spots swarm the edge of his sight, and he bends carefully, leaning his forehead on the cool edge of the sink until they stop. 

Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea, he thinks, and closes his eyes, just breathing until everything feels a little less awful. The soft joggers come off easy  and he stands, glancing down at his body in appraisal. He’s had worse, he’s sure, but that doesn’t make the blooming bruises any less ugly. Or painful, he thinks, pressing the flat of his hand to a livid purple welt across his ribs. 

Despite the steam, he’s chilly, goosebumps rising on his bare skin until he sits on the side of the bath to carefully lower himself in. The hot water envelops him in a soothing cocoon, and he sighs in relief, tipping his head back and letting his eyes close. 

He's not sure how long he stays like that, in a doze too light to be considered real sleep. Knows at some point that one of them has been in to top up the hot water, because when he rouses himself, the water is still warm rather than cold like he'd expected. Parker, probably, he thinks, damn women is like a cat. It should unnerve him that she came and went without disturbing him, but it doesn't, and he's too tired and sick and sore to figure out why. 

There's a neat stack of fluffy blue towels and his softest joggers in the vanity, a small, thoughtful touch that makes something dangerously fond bloom in his chest. Getting attached is asking for trouble in their line of work. Too late for that, he thinks, because he might lie to other people, but he never does to himself. 

Standing hurts enough that he almost gives in. Not the first time I've slept in the tub, he thinks, and probably not the last. He's hungry, in a vaguely sick sort of way, so he keeps going until he's up, clinging white-knuckled to the handy grab rail until he's sure his knees aren't going to give out on him. 

The water is vaguely pink around his feet, darker drops hitting the surface. He lifts a shaky hand, feeling the cut through his eyebrow. Needs a stitch, he thinks, and sighs, because being poked and prodded is the last thing he wants. 

"Eliot?" Sophie calls through the door, and he startles hard enough to make his breath catch. 

"Yeah?" he croaks, then swallows hard and tries again. "Yeah?"

"We're ordering food - do you want anything?" There's a thread of concern in her voice and it makes him feel warm and trapped at the same time. 

"Baked potato?" he asks, because the thought of chewing anything isn't appealing. 

"Got it," she says, and he can practically feel her worry through the door. 

"I'll be out in a minute," he says, trying for gruff, and failing, because he just doesn't have the energy. Instead, his voice comes out flat and a little hoarse, a clear sign of exactly how exhausted he is. 

He holds his breath until she moves away from the door, setting the shower running before he lets out the heartfelt groan. Hair clings to his face and he tips his head back, carefully, letting the warm water sluice over him. It feels damn good, soothing out of all proportion, and he’d stay under it longer if his legs weren’t already shaking with the strain. Even with the painkillers, he aches, ribs and face and knees and wrists all throbbing like a bad tooth. 

If this wash wasn’t as symbolic as it was practical, he’d step out of the shower, come back later, when everything didn’t feel so raw, so terrible, but there’s a need in him, deep inside, to wash off this latest bit of violence and so he clings stubbornly to the grab rail. He’s not naive or stupid enough to think washing away the physical signs can remove the cost of what he’s done, knows there’s not enough soap and water in the world to do that, but just like the hair braids, somewhere along the line bathing became just another way to lock away the bad shit in the vault in his head, separate himself as a man from the acts he commits. Somehow, somewhere, it became a ritual, and it’s one he can’t think about too hard or the whole thing will unravel. 

There's shampoo in easy reach, and he picks it up, fumbling one handed, because his left shoulder doesn't want to bend. He lifts it, gets his elbow to shoulder height and stops with a pained hiss, closing his eyes until the streaks of red fade from his sight. Fuck, he thinks, and blinks, trying to remember if he packed a sling for this little jaunt. Rubs the faint scar that runs from his collarbone to his armpit, breathing through the rush of phantom pain until the clock in his head nags him into moving. Because if they come in here and see you like this, the little cautious voice in his head thinks, and he lets his hand drop, grabbing the shampoo and getting to work.

It stings in a dozen little scrapes and cuts he didn’t know he had until they start screaming at him, and he grits his teeth, doing the best he can one-handed. Any of them - minus Nate, because he tends to dodge anything too personal - would have helped him, but the thought of asking - no. It skates too close to too many things he can't let himself think about. 

He rinses, giving himself thirty seconds to just stand under the hot spray, letting it soothe what it can, before he shuts the water off and steps carefully out of the tub, grabbing a towel because the steam-filled bathroom is chilly after the hot water. The clothes- soft as they are- feel like armour as he slips them on, draping a towel around his neck to catch the water running from his hair. The braids are still there, and he touches one, grounding himself before he swings the door open and shuffles out into the hotel room, shoulders a little hunched, like he’s expecting an ambush.

It doesn’t come- Parker, Hardison and Nate are all missing, leaving Sophie alone, in the same spot as earlier, the same book in her hands. If he had a gun to his head, he’d say she hasn’t read a single page.

“Where’s-” he starts, limping over to the recliner and easing down. Sitting feels good, takes some of the strain off his bruised and battered legs. 

“Small town.” Sophie shrugs, keeping her voice carefully bland. “Only one delivery driver, and he’s off sick, so they’ve gone to collect.” 

It’s a neat bit of thoughtfulness, slickly arranged, and he can’t help but smile because of it. “Thanks, Soph,” he says, and picks up the new bottle of Gatorade sitting on the table by the recliner. 

The movement pulls at everything that hurts, and he feels his face go blank as he breathes through the pain. Knows he’s not fooling Sophie, but it’s an old trick and one he can’t quite shed, back from the bad old days. 

She activates an instant ice pack and wraps it in a hand towel before passing it over, picking up his med bag on the way. 

“Here,” she says, and he takes the pack, blinking down at it for a long second while he tries to figure out which throbbing bit needs it the most. Settles on pressing it to his cheek, breathing out a shaky sigh as the pain radiating through his head eases. 

“Eliot-” she starts, and he shifts, tipping his head back against the slowly warming leather. Taps the button to lift the foot rest, because his lower back is killing him in his current position. 

“Yeah?” he rasps, because this feels like another Conversation and he’s not sure he’s up to it. 

“How do you do it?” There’s genuine concern in her voice that stops his impulsive sarcastic remark in its tracks. 

Do what? he almost asks instead, but he knows what she’s asking. Just doesn’t have a good answer for her. Shifts the ice pack while he thinks, breath catching when the movement jostles his ribs. 

“Because it’s the right thing to do,” he says at last, biting his lip when a shiver runs through him. The hotel room is chilly and the ice pack isn’t helping. Exhaustion drags at him like a sail that wants to haul him away. He yawns, tasting blood as the cut in his lip opens again. Can’t keep his eyes open, so gives in, letting them close, letting the darkness soothe the ache in his head.

“As simple as that?” she asks, and draws the blanket over his legs. 

“Has to be,” he murmurs. “I take the punishment. It’s what I do.” There’s none of his earlier bravado in his voice, none of the cocky, well earned confidence, which somehow makes his words hit her all the harder. It’s soft with exhaustion, burred with sleep. 

Eyes closed, bruised and bloody, curled carefully around his broken ribs, he looks a totally different man. The duality strikes her, brings tears to her eyes for reasons she can’t quite name. He shivers again, and she takes the ice pack, carefully, setting it down on the table and pulling the blanket up over his shoulders. 

“You take the punishment,” she says, softly, “and we’ll be here to pick up the pieces. Always.” 

[ambroserookwood]

It's the week before Halloween in New Orleans and Sophie Devereaux has a meeting with a potential new client, Lyra Delauney, a mysterious woman on the hunt for a missing collection of work by pioneering baroque artist, Artemisia Gentileschi. Sophie thinks there's something familiar about Lyra, something dangerous too, but the only person who knows the truth isn't saying much. Eliot Spencer knew Lyra Delauney fifteen years ago, but revealing her true identity would mean telling his darkest secret; the worst job he ever did for Damien Moreau.

Read the first fifteen chapters on AO3.

Updates every weekend.

[ghostlyarchaeologist]

"But until you have a family, I would never expect you to understand."

Leverage S05E02 The Blue Line Job.

[irritablegallowglass]

Gifs of Eliot that no one asked for but I made them anyway (6a/?)

[spencereliotwinchester]

The little lip/chin tremble just kills me. Dead. Heart shattered in a million pieces. Ffs, someone hug him.

“This is an important episode because when you see where he is in the season finale, you understand how these people have filled that void in his life. He’s come to realize he screwed up his family and now he’s not gonna screw up his new family.” - John Rogers, The Low Low Price Job DVD Commentary

[geeky-nightphilosopher]

Okay, somebody can correct me if I'm wrong- but at the end of The Nigerian Job, when the team was convincing Nate that they should keep doing what they did- Eliot's whole argument was Nate. Nate falling apart. Nate needing the chance. Nate not being able to walk away. Nate.

Then, suddenly Eliot became the whole team's body guard. (Something he's grunt and gruffed about.) Yet. Yet. Somewhere (I say it was The Iceman Job and The Inside Job,) Eliot's brain switched from protecting the team to protecting Hardison and Parker. (Again correct me if I'm wrong.) Suddenly his job became more about having Hardison and Parker's back than having Nate's back. Maybe I'm the only one whose noticed- but Eliot become more softer with both Hardison and Parker after those particular jobs. Sure he keeps that gruff, sarcastic wit about him but there's often tones of... protectivness(?) when he interacts with them. Almost like he's telling other people around them- whose in ear shot- that Hardison and Parker are his. Like he's possessive.

Now, I'm not saying Eliot just stops caring about the rest of the team. I mean- he beats up Sterling for Nate and in Redemption Eliot is following Sophie around a handful of times. Their are even times where he has Breanna's back and Harry's. But he seems to treat those situations like a case. He compartmentalizes those situations. With Hardison and Parker- he doesn't. It's like his brain won't let him. He sees Hardison and Parker and it's like- all bets are off.

And on the flip side- has anyone noticed that Parker and Hardison seem to be the only ones that know how to... defuse (is that the right word?) Eliot? Like even Maria couldn't get Eliot to relax in The Hurrican Job. (Of course that's probably because Eliot was hiding who he was to her.) But Eliot always seems to be more relaxed when he's around those two.

In The Iceman Job after when Hardison tries to hug him? Eliot wasn't really fighting it. (I would know- I do that to my brother ALL the time when he tries to hug me.) In The Inside Job- when Eliot went to attack that employee- Parker stopped him. In The Double-Edge Sword Job, when Eliot is furious because an abusive ex comes after a women that they tried to hide- it's Parker that calms him down. It's Hardison who pays off the bartender when Eliot attacks Sterling. It's Parker who is always by his side or close to it. It's Parker who trusts Eliot when their in the back of the van with Vance. (Yes, Parker trusts Hardison too, but Hardison is a hacker- not a protector.) It's Eliot who Hardison listens to when he's not confident. It's Eliot who grabs Hardison from the coffin. It's Eliot who crouchs behind Hardison as Parker flips around him. It's Eliot whose hands are shaking when he they have half a second on a bomb.

Eliot Spencer is Hardison's and Parkers. They own him. In the same way Hardison and Parker are his. He owns them. (Does that make sense?)

For the record- I don't know why I'm pointing all of this out. It's just interesting to me... I guess.

[werewolfsmile]

re: "All I’m saying is the fact that someone isn’t talking to me about Eliot Spencer every second of every day is very unfair and borderline illegal." & tags - if you want to, can you elaborate on your werewolf!eliot ideas?? i’d like to hear about it!! if not all good tho :)

Oh boy oh boy oh boy! Yes I would love to elaborate! (buckle up because i have Thoughts)

(wow this really got away from me so uhhh .... warning for 2k of ranting about Eliot as a werewolf?? list of headcanons under the cut)

From the moment I first met Eliot Spencer, I knew he was werewolf-coded. Aside from his insanely fantastic fighting abilities and the absurd amount of punishment he can take, there are many other factors that contribute to his werewolf status.

Eliot needs a pack Our boy is out here working on his own for years and look at all the good it did him! None! He carries severe trauma from his family life because he blames himself for how it all went down and doesn't think he'll be welcomed back. Plus something probably happened during his military days or early PMC days to put him off working with others. Could have been the pain of losing people all the time, could have been something more. Either way, Eliot working on his own is a defence mechanism - but a self-destructive one.

Wolves thrive in packs - like duh, they're pack animals. As my username suggests, I'm into werewolves and, by extension, wolves. I've done research for my own werewolf novels in the past, so I know that in an average wolf pack, each pack member will have physical contact with the other pack members on the regular. Like, several times an hour! (gosh if I can find the research paper this info came from I'll link it but honestly it's been years) That's a serious level of physical contact required to keep the emotional bonds of the pack healthy!

Flick back to Eliot. He loves to fight, he loves the violence and the pain, yes. He hates the killing and the blood on his hands. He actually tries to leave the assassin world behind after he meets Toby (which is before he meets Moreau, as per early dialogue in The French Connection Job). He bonds quickly with Toby. Show Eliot a little love and care and he's yours for life! He moves onto retrieval work, then somehow ends up working for Moreau.

Now, when we see Eliot and Moreau in The Big Bang Job, Moreau says, "You work alone." Which means that Eliot had that reputation when he came to Moreau. He probably only took contracts to start off with. But he accepted job after job from Moreau and was so good that he was highly respect and it's inferred he ended up as Moreau's top bodyguard/assassin. Why the hell would Eliot end up that close to a man who brings out all the worst in him? Because Eliot's a werewolf and no matter how toxic, Moreau fulfills the need for a pack bond that he's been missing all this time.

Fast forward to Eliot meeting the rest of the Leverage team. One job only - my ass. He saves Hardison's life after Hardison brought a gun to their little meeting - and we all know how Eliot feels about guns.

Wolves are designed to live and operate in packs. Eliot says it's one job only but is bonding with them all from the get-go. Werewolf trait confirmed.

Eliot needs physical touch Now, I know what you're thinking. Eliot canonically avoids physical contact with the team. He refuses hugs, especially from Hardison, growls at Parker poking his bruises (don't get me started on the growls), and shoves people (ahem Parker) out of his personal space. So why would he do all this if he needs physical touch??

Because he's one gigantic ball of angst and self-loathing and guilt.

Eliot doesn't think he deserves forgiveness or love or family, etc. That is a whole other rant, but he denies himself the physical contact he needs with others as a way of punishing himself.

However, as the series progresses, we see him become more comfortable with physical contact! He hugs Hardison several times, he doesn't move away from Parker, etc. Why? Because he's bonded with this team (ahem pack) and there's only so much he can suppress his instincts. The more time he spends with them, the more naturally the contact flows.

Eliot needs to protect others Whenever we get a scene of the team walking as a group, where is Eliot positioned 90% of the time?? That's right, at the back of the group. He lets the others walk in pairs and falls back to bring up the rear. He's keeping them all in his line of sight and constantly scanning for threats ahead, along with protecting the team from any rear attacks. It makes sense for him to do this given his military background, but it also makes sense for a werewolf to do this.

He's the only werewolf in the team. His instincts revolve around keeping the pack safe and protected, so he does that in the best way he knows how.

Not to mention how feral gets over kids!!

Wolf life is all about the pack and the family structure. Pups are integral to the pack's survival and future. Eliot doesn't have kids of his own. But that doesn't stop his instincts from blaring every time he interacts with a kid, be it on the con or off. He takes time out every time to help that kid in an attempt to calm the raging storm of instincts inside his body.

Eliot needs to feed others It's another werewolf instinct that rears its head when they're in the safety of their headquarters (ahem den). Protecting the team/pack from physical threats is just one aspect of taking care of them. Feeding them is the other major one.

None of these idiots can cook to save their lives - except Nate, but he's also drowning his liver 90% of the time, so Eliot has to compensate for that, too. The team can't operate at full capacity if they're not consuming good nutrition. So Eliot makes sure to feed them.

His humanity recognises that these are independent people - coworkers - and he can't control every meal of every day. But he can cook for them, once a week or once a job, which is just enough to satisfy his instincts that he's doing his part to care for them. Plus they love his cooking, and the praise he gets from it is an unexpected but pleasant bonus.

Eliot and team sports/kitchens This ties in with my first point about Eliot needing a pack, but all the times we see Eliot go super hard and get absorbed in the role he's playing are when he's on a team sport or he's in the kitchen. Both of these fulfill super important instincts for him - being in a team/pack and providing food for others.

Think about The Tap-Out Job. Eliot's playing a fighter but he's not pretending to be on a team. He doesn't get over-invested in the role. But what about when he's a baseball player? A hockey player? He falls into those roles hard because he's working with another team again, and this little werewolf is built for that environment. Same in The French Connection: the kitchen becomes his den, the students are his pack mates, and he goes hard at investing in them and protecting them. Never mind the personal aspect of Toby.

Same for episodes like The Fairy Godparents Job when we get a scene of Eliot teaching a bunch of girls self-defence. Team setting + protecting kids = happy werewolf instincts.

So, werewolf headcanons? I have a lot of different origin theories but the main one I like for Eliot is:

he became a werewolf either for a covert military op, or was bitten by Moreau (choose your own angst flavour)

if it was for the military, they were trying to engineer supersoldiers and he was deemed a failure; he has werewolf instincts all the time but only has enhanced strength, healing, etc on full moons

if it was bitten by Moreau, there's a psychic-style bond linking them, which is why he was so loyal to Moreau for so long, and also why he is so reluctant to go after Moreau

(wow this is too different theories already and i said this was my 'main one' whoops)

Eliot can only shift easily on the full moon; shifting outside of a full moon can only be caused by extreme stress and is ridiculously painful

he suffers an insanely high prey drive all the time and is so strict about his control because he doesn't actually wanna rip out the throat of Random Guard #3

he used to chain himself up for full moons so he didn't hurt anyone, but since the team found out about him, Hardison and Parker have taken it upon themselves to 'puppy-sit' him every full moon

this involves no chains but an obscene amount of dog chew toys. Eliot is never impressed. He also never chases or chews the toys. The video evidence Hardison has was obviously doctored.

Hardison and Parker found out the truth when a con went sideways and Eliot was trapped in a room with them during the full moon

he was terrified he was going to kill them - or worse, bite them - but his instincts recognised them as pack so instead he just tried to wrestle with them all night

Hardison had a major freak out when he discovered Eliot was a werewolf - it's one thing to be obsessed with sci-fi/fantasy, it's another thing entirely to see your best friend transform before your eyes

Parker was not even remotely phased, being all like, "pfft of course werewolves are real, I thought you knew that Hardison, you talk about your elves and orcs all the time!"

"Woman that is completely different and you know it!"

"What else do you think is fake? The tooth fairy?? Ha!"

Eliot is Done With Their Shenanigans

Parker only ever refers to Eliot as Sparky when he's in his wolf form

Sophie didn't actually know about werewolves before the reveal but she pretends that she did

Nate knew about werewolves before Eliot, he just chooses to pretend that they're Not A Thing

werewolves generally don't make good hitters, because the constant exposure to violence ramps up their hunting instincts aka they find it hard not to kill

of course, this doesn't matter if you're someone like Moreau who specifically wants killing machines and thus turns his top hitters into werewolves, to ensure loyalty and enhance his strength

the only other werewolf hitter not under Moreau's control that Eliot knows is Quinn, who most certainly did not pull his werewolf strength punches when they tousled in The First David Job

Quinn doesn't have a pack (werewolf or otherwise) and genuinely doesn't seem phased by this, which pisses off Eliot to no end

however, after they work together in The Last Dam Job, Quinn deems himself Eliot's Best Werewolf Bud and keeps popping up randomly to hang out on full moons, etc

Parker and Hardison are a bit weirded out (and a little jealous) of Quinn's attention initially, but soon get over that when they discover that two werewolves on a full moon absolutely play for hours like 6 month old puppies - especially with the tug rope

Eliot is Extremely Susceptible to belly rubs even in his human form, which is half the reason he pushes people out of his personal space a lot - his reputation would never survive anyone finding out

of course the entire team figures it out and take to ambushing him with belly rubs whenever he's being stubborn or annoying

belly rubs are also the only way he will relax enough when he's injured so they can treat his wounds

despite the incessant dog jokes, the ever-growing pile of dog toys, and the bowls labelled with "Sparky" and cartoon bone symbols ... Eliot absolutely adores the pack he's found himself in and wouldn't change them for the world

One of these days I will sit down and write a thousand fics for werewolf!Eliot! Till then, I'll just keep churning out the headcanons ;)

[phantompoguefangirl]

GREEN LIGHT-SPENCER REID

'Love compels cruelty To those who do not understand love.'

'I learn a great deal by merely observing you, and letting you talk as long as you please, and taking note of what you do not say.'

'In my end is my beginning.'

T.S. Eliot

A/N: Based on the episodes Green Light and Red light and basically that whole section of Season 12. Fluff and ANGST. This is also on my wattpad SerpentBeauty1710 and will be on my AO3, MayaGillespieReid

**********************************

Y/N POV:

Nothing could have prepared me for any of this.

Not for the way my soul left my body when the words "Spencer is in jail in Mexico" came out of Emily's horrified mouth.

Not for the anxiety being stuck home waiting for answers when half the team went down to get him.

Not for the relief and yet underlying tornado of emotions when the beautiful, kind and innocent boy wonder, the love of my life, my sweet Spencer...walked into the BAU in handcuffs.

The frustration when my short legs and rapidly expanding belly wouldn't let me get to him faster. The pain when he couldn't hug me back, then the love and desperation I felt him return by nuzzling his face into my neck as best he could while his bound hands caressed my bump. The soft but urgent warmth of his lips as I reached up to kiss him. The brief touch of his forehead to mine and the whispered reassurances right before Emily led him back to the elevator.

The way I broke down sobbing when the judge denied bail.

And the agony of waiting, of knowing he was so close to home and not being able to hold him or keep him safe. And on top of that, the stress of not knowing if he would get out in time, if at all...

The team did their best to support me through it and took turns helping with Diana when they could, along with the caregiver Spencer and I had hired for her. We had decided to move into a house with a mother in law suite for Diana when Spencer brought her to live with us in DC. We'd agreed Diana would do better with her own space and it ended up being a really good thing we moved. The team helped me finish settling in. Garcia was all over decorating, Emily JJ  and Tara helped me organize everything, Derek and our new agent Luke handled any repairs and/or replacements that needed done and Rossi brought his delicious food regularly. Hotch had very recently gone into in witsec with Jack, but I knew he'd be here helping too if he could.

I smiled appreciatively at the thought of our friends as I struggled to roll out of bed and padded to the kitchen for breakfast. I was grabbing a croissant from the container when I felt a small pinch in my neck and everything went dark.

The next thing I knew, I was waking up in what seemed to be a trunk. I was going to kick a tail light out or or scream or something but my hands and feet were tied up and there was duct tape over my mouth. It was cold, much more so probably due to the fact that I was only in a tank top and pajama shorts.

I didn't recognize my captors' voices but I tried to listen to the youngish girl and older man when they spoke. They mostly talked in low tones so it was difficult, but I heard them whisper Diana's name and something about the caregiver which caused my heart and stomach to constrict in terror. I wanted to scream at them to tell me where my mother in law was, but I knew it would probably do no good and I still had the tape on my mouth anyway.

What felt like days(but was probably only hours) passed and the only respite I had was when the man moved me to a different trunk and removed the tape before holding the phone to my ear. I recognized the phone number on the screen.

"Spencer?" I whimpered, shifting umcomfortably as the man held on to the ropes around me.

"Y/N, are you okay?!" He cried out desperately.

"Yeah we're okay, I think," I answered softly. "But Spencer, they have Mom. I don't know where, she's not with me but-"

The man shoved the tape back over my mouth and closed the trunk. I thought I heard Diana's scared voice right before he took the phone away, which was odd. I did hear a gunshot right outside a second later though, followed by a loud explosion, before the vehicle I was in roared to life and was suddenly in motion.

I tried to mentally document all of my surroundings, while simultaneously looking around for something to cut my bindings with, in order to keep myself from panicking. However, every so often the tightening feeling would return and I felt like I couldn't breathe.

Spencer's soft voice in my mind reassured me and reminded me how amazing our team is, which helped to soothe me a little. That led me to distract myself with thoughts of my wonderful husband. Of every little thing about him that I was so in love with. Things like his ridiculously cute laugh, our shared fascination with books and learning, the way he loved so deeply with his entire heart, his gentle kindness, his relentless determination, etc. One of my favorite things was the expression on his face whenever he concentrated hard on anything or whenever he was deep in thought. The way his brow furrowed while he rested his chin on his folded hand, every so often running his thumb or knuckle across his bottom lip or sometimes against his chin. I'd never seen him do this so intensely until the day he figured out this special puzzle box I'd had made for him.

*FLASHBACK*

It took me a bit to think of a good way to tell him the news. I didn't want to just say the words or show him the test or something simple. I wanted it to be as special as he was to me. It was a conversation we'd had about Sherlock Holmes that finally gave me the idea. I created a little scavenger hunt for him, the last clue of which was a puzzle box for him to solve. He loved puzzles and riddles. The answer to open the box was a phrase that he would have to guess.

He figured out the clues to the hunt much faster than expected, but the puzzle box actually took him quite a while to figure out. He got so determined to crack it that he brought it to work, unbeknownst to me. I was shocked when I walked into the round table room(I'd stopped in the break room for some tea which we were sadly out of) and found him studying it, eyebrows furrowed very deeply, head on hand and thumb brushing against his lip while Garcia and Hotch were briefing us on a case. I tried not to stare at him, because let's be honest it was unbelievably hot when he looked like that, and silently hoped he would not crack the code till later. Of course I had no such luck. He was a genius after all.

"I'm pregnant? What? I'm not-" Spencer suddenly said out loud, causing us all to stop and look at him. He was silenced by the box unlocking as he finished turning the small knobs to the correct letters. He saw what was inside and his eyes grew to the size of bowling balls as he picked it up. His face snapped up to look at me and he jumped out of his seat at the same time. "YOU'RE PREGNANT?!"

Everyone gaped at us. I froze, having not even made it into a chair yet.

"I...um...yeah," I managed to get out after a moment.

Spencer's mouth dropped open and his eyes somehow softened while staying wide. His floppy brown curls made him look even more like a puppy as he reached for me and squeaked out the word "Really?"

My heart melted, every emotion flooding to the surface, as I stepped closer to him.

"Yeah really. We're gonna have a baby, Spence," I said softly, smiling tentatively.

A gasp escaped Spencer's lips as he pulled me into his arms and spun me around while everyone cheered. He set me down and kissed me passionately through happy tears before the team engulfed us in hugs.

"Congratulations, you two," Hotch said, revealing a rare, genuine smile.

"Tanta Felicità!" Rossi exclaimed in Italian as he kissed our cheeks.

"You guys! This is amazing!" JJ said, "You're gonna be great parents!"

Tara echoed this enthusiastically, affectionately wrapping her arms around us for a brief moment before backing up.

"Wow, I was totally kidding when I asked if you wanted little baby geniuses some day. I'm so glad I was right though. This is wonderful news!" Emily quipped, grinning.

"BABY GENIUS THERE IS GOING TO BE A BABY GENIUS OH MY GOD I'M SO HAPPY FOR YOU RIGHT NOW OH MY GOD!" Penelope all but screeched as she embraced us tightly, continuing to ramble. "Auntie Penelope is gonna spoil the heck out of this little one just like I do with Henry and Michael! I hope it's a girl but as long as he or she is healthy that's all that really matters."

"Way to go, Pretty Boy. I didn't know you had it in you!" Morgan joked once Garcia was done, clapping Spencer on the shoulder as we all giggled. "But I couldn't be happier for you both."

"Thanks man," Spencer chuckled, as he looked down at the object in his hands and teared up some more.

"What is it?" Morgan asked. Nobody had seemed to notice the object before but now they all zeroed in on it.

"A onesie?" JJ asked.

"It says 'Daddy's little Genius'...Daddy... I'm gonna be a dad...," Spencer murmured, smiling in that adorable way he does when he's emotional.

A chorus of awwwws filled the room followed by them scruffing Spencer's hair or clapping him on the shoulders again. I also received more hugs and a couple kisses on the head from Morgan and Rossi.

Hotch let us celebrate for a second, and celebrated with us, before drawing our attention back to the case at hand. Of course, Penelope told us we were having a real celebration when we got back and would not take no for an answer. And that's exactly what we did.

I hadn't meant for everyone to find out like that, but it ended up being the happiest moment in my life so far.

The memory faded as the tightening intensified. It felt like a weight pressing on me, like I wasn't going to be able to relax until I knew that Diana was safe. If anything happened to her, I wasn't sure what the hell I would do. She'd been doing so much better and she'd been absolutely over the moon upon learning she was going to be a grandmother. She'd nearly screamed out joyfully when we told her the news. She'd insisted that Spencer and I take turns reading to the baby every day and when Spencer was away, she took his place, picking up wherever he left off while I rested. Diana was genuinely wonderful and I was not violent by nature but I would go absolutely feral on anyone who hurt her, even in my current condition.

I tried to keep distracting myself with thoughts of Spencer and eventually began to doze off.

SPENCER POV:

I realized who the girl was as soon as she left the visiting room with my mother. I contacted the team as soon as possible to let them know, unable to keep from panicking.

Convincing them to believe me and the wait for news was excruciating but that was nothing compared to what I felt when Emily visited to update me on everything.

As soon as she walked in the room, I could see that something was very wrong, aside from Lindsey taking my mom. I think subconsciously I already knew what it was when I first saw Lindsey, but I couldn't bear to let myself even consider it.

"We found your caregiver dead in a house just a few houses down from yours. Ballistics came back and turns out Lindsey used her father's gun. We don't know whether it was to prove a point or something else, but the reasons are unimportant." Emily began, urging me to sit. I politely refused and she continued, "The point is that you were right, Reid. You were right and I didn't believe you. I'm so sorry."

"She's a daddy's girl. She can't help but use his gun," I mused out loud, going over the memories of her case in my mind.

"Good. That's good. That helps," Emily said, but there was something about her voice that alerted me.

I sat there across the table, shaking at this point, but I made myself look at her. "There's something else you're not telling me, isn't there?"

Emily looked down, hesitating for a second before answering.

"It's Y/N," she finally said, holding back tears,"Lindsey took her too."

My heart stopped. I heard Emily shout my name but couldn't focus on her at all. I couldn't think. I couldn't even pull oxygen into my lungs.

This was not happening.

This could not be happening.

Not my wife... not our baby...

I felt a hand on my arm. I shoved it off of me.

"You have to find them, Emily. Promise me you'll find my mom and Y/N." I begged, desperately.

"I promise you, Reid. We will find them," Emily assured me. "Right now you just have to find a way to isolate yourself."

I stormed toward the door and had the guard take me back to my cell.

I ended up having to make it look like Shaw stabbed me with a shiv to get put in solitary confinement. I couldn't handle anything else happening and I had to least try and stay safe on the off chance I got to get out and search for my wife and mom. Not that I had any hope that I would get out at this point in time, but I trusted my team with everything and I knew they would not rest till they found my family.

Sometime later, I found myself being brought out of isolation without any warning and I was terrified that Shaw had conjured up his own way to get to me. The guard left me in a room alone and I tried to remain calm, bracing myself for what was to come.

I was not prepared for my best friend to walk through the door.

"We're taking you home," JJ choked out as her eyes watered.

I let out a breath I didn't know I had been holding as I pulled her into a tight hug. After a minute, she led me out the door and took me back to the BAU.

The sense of ease at seeing my work family again, especially the radiant embodiment of sunshine that was Penelope Garcia, was brief. It was soon overshadowed by unbridled rage when we discovered that Cat Adams was the true mastermind behind all of this.

She had Lindsey frame me for murder.

She had me put in prison.

She risked my sobriety by drugging me.

She had Lindsey kidnap my family.

Now, she was demanding to speak to me by using them as leverage.

Of course she wanted to play a game just like we did before when I arrested her, using my watch as the timer. She was angry that I'd outsmarted her so she wanted to break me. I was not about to let her have even a sliver of satisfaction.

She almost succeeded, however, when she revealed she was pregnant with my child.

Almost.

Apparently she'd told Lindsey to pretend to be Y/N after she dosed me with drugs so she could collect a sample from me down in Mexico. I knew it should not be possible, but I had been drugged and my memories of that day were still very hazy so I couldn't be sure.

"That's right, Y/N's not the only one carrying a baby protegé," Cat said in almost a sing song voice as I rushed out of the room. "I was thinking, if it's a boy, Spencie Junior. Or if it's a girl, Y/N. You know, since she played a part in her own conception."

JJ was waiting outside with Cat's file, hesitantly holding it up. I barely heard the words she said as I read it, then threw it against the wall once I saw the confirmation of pregnancy.

"Sorry," I said gently, upon noticing I had scared JJ. I ran my fingers through my hair. "I just...just need a minute."

JJ just nodded in understanding.

Some time later, the team discovered that Cat was lying about the child being mine and we eventually got her to call her cohort for proof of life.

My heart swelled when I heard the love of my life's voice on the other end of the phone.

"Yeah we're okay, I think," she answered softly. Dread filled me at her next words. "But Spencer they have Mom. I don't know where, she's not with me but-

She'd conferenced in the call for my mom too and their voices made me hopeful for a second before both calls were cut off with explosions.

I forced the metal table out of my way before shoving Cat against the wall by her throat.

"I'm gonna kill you," I hissed, enraged once more. "I'm gonna kill you."

I kept repeating that until JJ pried me off of Cat, reminding me over and over that she was pregnant.

I stormed out again with JJ hot on my heels. I didn't have time to break down before the team told us that there was a call in about an amber alert Emily put out for Lindsey. Two vehicles at the scene were blown up but the only victim inside was male.

I felt bad for the man who was killed, but this meant there was hope again.

JJ and I talked some things through and pieced together what Cat really wanted me to say. While I told Cat what she wanted to hear, the team discovered the prison guard who had actually been the one to impregnate Cat and found two properties he owned.

I won the game by telling Cat that I could have done several different things to get out of the situation with Shaw and his men but I chose the one that would cause the most pain. In the process, Lindsey overheard us on Emily's tablet which had been connected to the visiting room cameras, realizing Cat betrayed her and therefore giving up.

As I was heading out, Cat piped up again. "How are you going to be a father now that you've proven you enjoyed hurting those men in prison? I mean, because once you've crossed that line, you can never go back."

In a split second I was on my knees in front of her, yanking my watch off of her wrist.

"Watch me," I retorted before walking out.

The team found my mom first and they let me see her briefly, then they took her to the hospital to make sure she was okay. We went to a secondary location we'd discovered which was where they were holding Y/N. I wasn't technically supposed to go because I was not reinstated yet but I couldn't think clearly enough to obey that rule when my girl and my unborn child were in danger.

Luckily, JJ was a parent and knew me too well so she had my back. Rossi also understood and had a helicopter standing by. We managed to make it there in time for the team to breech the house and I rushed in along side them without thinking.

That's when my whole life changed.

Y/N P.O.V.

My captors brought me to a house and left me in a room on the floor. I was alone for awhile and attempted to move to relieve the tight cramping sensation, which had gotten so much worse. I tried to conceal my pain from the man who was walking around the house setting stuff up and attaching rectangle shaped objects to the walls.

I was horrified when I saw that they were C4 charges. The resulting panic ran concurrent with another very intense tightening sensation, followed by what felt like a toilet flushing inside me and then a few minutes later, warm liquid spilled out between my legs.

All at once, the realization hit. The pains I'd been feeling all day were contractions and the liquid was my water breaking.

I was in labor. I had been kidnapped, was about to be blown up and I was in fucking labor.

I wasn't even due for another few weeks so this shouldn't be happening yet. I mean, I knew from the books Spencer and I read that babies rarely came on their actual due dates, but I was still incredibly frightened.

I wept quietly. Three or four more excruciating contractions ripped through me much more quickly before I was distracted by the doors being busted open.

I almost didn't even notice Tara knocking out the unsub or the others disarming the bombs because all I could focus on was the beautiful face of my sweet Spencer as he rushed over to me.

He hijacked Luke's pocket knife from his belt, swiftly slicing through the ropes before wrapping his arms around me.

"Spence," I sobbed hysterically into his shoulder.

"I'm here, love. It's okay," he murmured into my hair, kissing the side of my head.

"How are you here?" I asked, almost unable to conceive that he was really in front of me.

"I'll explain later. Right now we have to get you out of here," He answered, reaching to help me up.

"Wait, is Mom-" I started to say, but he was way ahead of me.

"Mom is fine, Emily and Luke got her back." he responded, relief in his voice.

"Oh, thank God. I-oh!" I grimaced, grabbing my belly.

"What's wrong?" Spencer asked, his face instantly distressed.

"The baby is coming," I managed to say through gritted teeth. "Like, right now."

"What?!"He nearly shouted. He located and motioned to the paramedics that had followed him in. "She's in labor. We need to get her to the hospital immediately!"

The EMTs rushed over to us.

"Ma'am how far apart are your contractions?" one of the paramedics asked as he opened his bag, applied a blood pressure cuff to my arm and took my vitals. Another EMT started setting up a stretcher for me.

I gripped my husband's bicep for dear life as I felt another contraction after a little bit. He winced in pain but he supported me through it.

"I don't know, but close enough to know we ain't making it to the hospital," I groaned, leaning against him once it passed.

"Damn it, you're right. That last one was 2 minutes and 48 seconds from the one you had when I got here. How are you in active labor so quickly? The books said the first child usually takes the longest and it could be hours if not days before the baby is born," Spencer rambled anxiously.

"Um, pretty sure I've been having contractions since they took us," I told him,"How long has it been since then?"

He gaped at me,"It's about 1:30am. It's been approximately 17 hours. God, I'm so sorry, Y/N. This is not how this was supposed to happen. It's 3 weeks early and you're under too much stress-"

"It's okay, Spence. We're okay," I reassured him, grabbing my belly as another pain shot through me. "Oohh nope we're not!"

Spencer looked so freaked out which was sort of scaring me.

The EMT seemed to notice and stopped what he was doing,"Hey, it's going to be okay, guys. Her vitals and everything look good and babies are delivered a few weeks premature all the time and are in perfect health. We'll take good care of you all, I promise."

It seemed to work. Spencer relaxed a little bit and switched into doctor mode, holding my hands.

"You're alright, just remember the birthing classes. Breathe with me like this, okay?" He instructed in a gentle voice, demonstrating what the lamaze teacher taught us. I did what he said as best as I could.

The team, who was still standing there awkwardly, left when Spencer and the paramedic started to remove my short bottoms and slid a large pad thing underneath me. JJ said they would meet us at the hospital since they needed to check on Diana anyway. At some point in the process Spencer slipped behind me, sitting with his legs on either side of me and his arms under mine, probably without thinking about it. We sat like this a lot in the classes and also at home because he'd read that sitting like this while carefully lifting my belly provided some much needed relief from it weighing down on me.

"Looks like you're fully dialated. It's time for you to push," the paramedic said, after he checked me. "Uh, what are you doing?"

"I need," I grunted, shifting back against Spencer, who as quick to assist,"I need to be up..."

"What?" the medic asked, confused.

"Statistically, it's much more beneficial and effective to give birth in an upright position such as squatting or kneeling on all fours," Spencer prattled off facts as he lifted me so I was sitting up against his chest. He kept his arms underneath mine and entwined our fingers so I could squeeze his hands whenever I needed to."In fact, up until the 1700's, women were even known to give birth standing up. It allows the pelvic bones to open up for the child to pass through more easily and gravity helps the process move faster."

The medic gave him the look everyone gives him when he spouts facts and I supressed a giggle.

"Are you a doctor?" he asked my husband, incredulously.

"I have 3 phD's so technically yes-oh owww,"Spencer's sentence was interrupted by me squeezing the life out of his hands as another one hit.

The medic gave him a 'wow' look and then focused on me again,"Okay, anyway I'm gonna have you push through this contraction. Are you ready?"

I nodded and inhaled deeply, pushing on his cue. He counted down and told me to stop. I exhaled harshly and rested for a second before I was told to do it again. We repeated this a few times, Spencer lovingly encouraging me through it. The medic also reassured me that I was doing great, even though I was exhausted and didn't feel like I was doing well.

Sooner than expected, a tiny wail filled the room, changing everything and stirring an indescribable feeling inside me.

"It's a girl!" The paramedic announced, cleaning her, wrapping her in the blue towel things they use and placing her in my arms.

"Oh my gosh" I gasped as I stroked her small head, in hysterical tears at this point. "Hello my little love...oh Spence, look at her..."

Spencer, gaping at her in awe, managed to speak, "H-hi princess, I'm your dad...wow you're so beautiful...you look just like your mommy."

He wasn't wrong. She had his round, hazel eyes, but most of her facial features and her hair color were the same as mine. I smiled warmly down at her through my tears.

I was going to throw back a smart remark but it was forgotten as more tightening and the need to push again overtook me. "Something else is coming out what the-?"

"It's probably the placenta needing to be delivered," Spencer said, without taking his eyes off of our daughter.

"I don't think so," The medic said, reaching his hands out as I instinctively pushed some more.

Just when I thought I could not exert myself anymore, whatever it was came out and the medic grinned, holding it up. "Does that look like a placenta to you, Doctor?"

Our eyes just about popped out of our heads at the sight of the tiny wriggling form.

Another baby??!!

"I-No but- that's impossible," Spencer stuttered, in shock. I mirrored his expression completely.

"You didn't know?" The medic looked confused as he grabbed another towel thing.

"No, the ultrasounds only showed one baby," I said, in disbelief.

"This is a surprise then!" the medic chuckled. "Well congratulations Mom and Dad, it's a boy!"

He placed the baby in my other arm and reminded Spencer, who was still completely astounded, to cut the umbilical cords.

"We have twins?" Spencer whispered increduously, staring at the two small bundles wiggling against my chest.

"We have twins," I repeated, gazing back and forth between my babies and my husband, dumbfounded, "I can't believe it."

The second baby looked exactly like his father. The same brown curls, the same nose, lips, eyes, everything. He was perfect. Both our children were. I'd never felt so much love and joy in my life and I could tell Spencer hadn't either.

"Hi, sweet boy, we were not expecting you, but we are so happy that you're here," I cooed at my son.

"Yes we are. We love you so much, little buddy," Spencer agreed, resting his head on my shoulder as he brushed the boy's cheek lightly with his thumb.

I turned my head to face him and he pressed his lips to mine, murmuring. "I love you and I'm so proud of you."

"I love you too," I murmured back, feeling the warm wetness on my cheeks return as I pressed my forehead to his.

"Congratulations, again. They're adorable," The medic said, warmly as he cleaned everything up.

"Thank you," We answered simultaneously, smiling widely.

When the EMT was done, Spencer moved out from behind me and took the babies so the medics could lift me onto the stretcher. They put a warm blanket over me and then Spencer handed me one of the babies, still wanting to hold one.

Once we got to the hospital, Spencer went with the nurses who took the babies to get checked out. I was taken by other nurses who set me up in a room and made sure I was okay. While he was gone I asked one of my nurses to bring Diana and our friends up to my room.

Diana was a little confused for a minute when she saw me, but luckily her son walked in with a rolling bassinet at just the right moment, parking it next to my bed.

"Spencer's here," I told her softly.

She looked up at him and after a second she rushed into his arms and he embraced her happily, crying.

"Hi, Mom," he murmured.

She pulled back and took his face into her hands. "Don't you ever leave me again."

"I won't," He told her, pulling her back in for a hug. "I love you."

She said it back and after a bit, he was the one to pull back.

"Mom, I have a surprise for you. For all of you, actually," He said, looking at our friends. He smiled as he handed me one baby and then picked up the other and turned to face the group.

Everyone gasped or looked at us wide eyed.

There was a chorus of attempted quiet reactions from the team while Diana moed closer to us, some recognition beginning to spark in her eyes. I could see Garcia using every ounce of her strength not to freak out and accidentally scare her.

"Am I a grandma?" She asked, tentativel.

"Yeah, you are," Spencer answered, warmly.

Diana looked back and forth between us, confused. "But I thought there was only one?"

Spencer chuckled, gesturing to the blue bundle in his arms. "Yeah, we thought so too, until this little guy showed up unannounced."

"He's shocking people just like his father already," She grinned, earning a light laugh from all of us. "Well, do they have names yet?"

"Well, we have a girl name since we knew we were having a daughter, but we are still trying to figure out a boy name since he was a surprise," I answered.

"What's the girl's name?" she asked, sitting on the bed next to me. Spencer sat on my other side.

"Say hello to Amelia Diana Reid," We told her happily as I shifted the pink blanket away from our daughter's face so she could see better.

She gasped again and looked back and forth between Spencer and I in shock once more before smiling and gently hugging us. Awwww's filled the room at the scene.

"The middle name obviously needs no explanation, but the meaning behind the first name is something we want to share. Neither of us had good fathers and I don't have a good mother. So Amelia is the closest thing we could think of as a kind of combination of Aaron and Emily, our work mom and dad,"I explained, smiling adoringly at Emily.

She came over and embraced us carefully. "Thank you. I wish Hotch were here. I think you two are the only ones beside Jack that can get him to smile, and this would definitely turn that stoic frown upside down."

We giggled and so did several of our team members.

I helped Diana hold Amelia for a little bit, and then our son in turn until she started to be less lucid and wanted to rest. Emily had arranged for her to sleep and be cared for in a room close by ours so she could be near us. JJ took her to that room with a nurse and the others left our room for a little while so I could feed the twins. We were burping and changing them when everyone came back.

As soon as she was able to, Penelope pretty much exploded, accidentally interrupting Spencer as he was trying to tell me something. "Oh my gosh TWINS? Two baby geniuses for the price of one! This is the best news ever and I am going to buy tons of stuff for baby boy since you're gonna need double the baby supplies and you only have girl stuff right now and I am going to love them and hug them and be there for them and teach them lots of cool things and-"

"Garcia, breathe," Rossi said, patting her on the back as we all giggled. He turned to us, "Congratulations, both of you."

"Oh they're so precious, guys!"JJ cooed, coming over for a closer look. She was very careful as she hugged us,"You know, anything you need, I'm here for you. Okay?"

"Yeah same, we got you," Luke agreed.

"Well done, Dr. and Mrs, Reid," Tara said in admiration.

"Thanks everyone," we responded happily.

"You did good, mama. The babies are beautiful," Morgan said, leaning down and kissing me on the head as he touched Amelia's hand with his pinky finger. He smiled over at Spencer, "You too, kid. Gideon would be proud of you, you know."

The look on Spencer's face brought me to tears. I'd only been on the team a short time before Gideon left, but I did get to briefly experience the kind, caring, brilliant man he was, who loved Spencer like his own son and knew him better than he knew himself. He even knew the second Spencer and I met that we were falling for each other because he would pair us up a lot and whenever we were together or he caught us looking at one another, he got a look on his face like he was seeing something we were not. He later told Spencer this in his letter and told him to hold on to me and to not let the job get in the way of us. He said to find solace in each other and remind each other of the good things in the world when we were bogged down by all the bad things we saw at work.

This was what finally gave Spencer the courage to ask me out and thank God for that because I was going out of my mind over him by that point and I was so close to just giving up entirely.

Suffice it to say, that man meant the whole world to Spencer and by extention, to me as well. His loss had been beyond devastating for us and I had since been looking for a way to honor his memory....

I looked at my husband, "Hey love, what were you saying before Garcia's outburst?"

"Hmm?" He mumbled, having been pulled out of whatever thought process he was in, "Oh, I was saying I have an idea for our son's name..."

"Oh? What is it?" I asked, curiously.

"I noticed that the medic who delivered the twins had a nametag that said Elliot and I really liked it because it makes me think of the author T.S. Eliot, but also because it reminds me of my friend Elle who used to work with us and who I miss very much. So I was thinking we could name him Elliot, if you're okay with it, of course," He whispered, rambling a bit excitedly.

I knew who Elle was. He and some of the others had talked about her a lot and she seemed like a good person who had just been through a lot. She was like an older sister to Spencer and the name was really cute and meaningful so I was sold.

"I love it...and I have a suggestion for his middle name," I told him, eagerly.

"What?" he asked.

"Gideon," I whispered back, tentatively.

He stared at me for a second with his huge puppy eyes, looking like he was about to cry. He nodded fervently, his eyes moving to his tiny carbon copy sleeping in his arms. He'd barely taken his eyes off the twins since they'd been born and watching him become so  enamored by them made me fall even more in love with him.

"Hey guys, we came up with a name for our son," He said out loud, grabbing everyone's attention as he lifted one of the baby's hands, waving it. "I'd like you all to meet Elliot Gideon Reid."

Tara and Luke only partially connected the dots, since they only knew stories of Gideon and Morgan had just mentioned him.

The rest of the team, however, got both names immediately and there was not a dry eye amongst them. More hugs happened and then everyone took their turns holding the twins and talking with us for awhile until they saw us having trouble staying awake. They handed the babies back and quietly made their way out, one by one.

We put the twins in their bassinet and Spencer curled up next to me while we stared at them.

"Welcome to the world, Amelia and Elliot," we whispered. "We love you."

***********************************

EPILOGUE(Spencer POV):

I was reinstated to the FBI, after some substantial time off to be with my wife and new babies, with mandatory sabbaticals every so often. I did my best to balance work and home, actually electing to stay behind with Garcia sometimes so I could be close to home. A few years later, we had another set of twins, this time both showing up on the sonograms. They were a boy and girl again, and we named them Lilliana Jennifer Reid and Theodore Morgan Reid(Lilly and Theo for short).

Then, another year and a half later, we got pregnant with our last child, a complete surprise since we were told we could not have any more. We named her Davina Penelope Reid, Davina being the closest female name to David(for Rossi).

After that, we were done and our family was complete. Of course, the team adored them and spoiled them rotten. We also realized not long after Amelia and Elliot were born that my mom would be much better cared for in a facility, which was very difficult for me to come to terms with. Fortunately, we found an amazing facility nearby. She's actually thriving there and she loves her grandbabies so much. We bring them to visit her or bring her home sometimes. She often reads to them or teaches them about literature and history the way she taught me.

Life is good. And I am thankful for every day with my gorgeous wife, my five wonderful children, my awesome friends and of course, my mother.

***********************************************

[silversky9]

Binge watched Leverage and Leverage Redemption in like 2 weeks. I am so glad I found I decided to and I adore Eliot Spencer. He's so multi faceted. Even with his back story I still want to give him the biggest hug and shake him till he believes he is redeemed.

Can't wait until season 3 and hopefully Damien Moreau returns so that we can see more of their interaction. There is a vibe there that needs to be explored more. I think there's way more to their story and a deeper relationship. Just the way they interact shows something more complex and that Damien didn't fire at Elliot directly leads to believe there's more.

[kookicat]

The Scars That You Can't See

"Why don't you sit down?" Sophie asks, after Eliot makes a third or fourth slow lap of the hotel suite they've rented and retreated to for the night. They'll go their own ways in the morning but there's stuff to sort out first. She dismisses the morning plans and returns her attention to their hitter, who quite frankly looks like hell. 

He's wavering on his feet, exhaustion plain on his face which is drawn and pale. He hesitates for a second, then shoots her what he hopes is a disarming grin, though it feels more like a grimace. "Can't." He gives up the pretense, because he's pretty sure she's seeing right through it, which is unnerving. "Tweaked my back. Sitting ain't really an option." 

Or a good idea, he thinks, because once he's down, he's going to be staying that way for a while, until the spasms pass. Being stuck in a chair sounds like hell. Better to be on his feet, keep moving, just in case. Better to stay on his feet, because then he's mobile and ready. Better to stay on his feet, no matter the cost, because then he doesn't have to rely on the team and the still-fragile trust between them. 

"Has it happened before?" she asks, and there's a tone in her voice he's never heard before. "What do you usually do?"

He glances at her again, lounging on the couch in fancy silk PJs, feet clad in soft slippers, every single thing about her totally at odds with his life. He's not sure if it's the concussion or the exhaustion or just that she looks horrified on his behalf, but the words slip out easy. "Yes," he says and makes another slow lap of the room, flicking the big light off as he passes because his head is pounding and the throbbing is making his stomach churn. The lamps cast a muted light that's much easier to bear. "This, usually. Hot bath if I can." He waves a dismissive hand, nearly bites through his lip when the muscles across the bottom of his back cramp from the movement. Realises too late that he hasn't managed to keep the pain off his face, because her hand lands on his shoulder and he finds himself leaning into the touch, eyes drifting closed before he snaps them open again. 

"Come on," Sophie says, and he can't find the energy to argue, not when she's rubbing comforting circles on his shoulder with the flat of her hand. It's nowhere near the pain and yet it helps, somehow. 

The hotel suite has four bedrooms. He'd planned on sacking out on the plush leather couch, but the sight of the king size bed nearly sends him to his knees. He aches all over, broken ribs throbbing even after a double dose of ibuprofen. His bag and kit is somewhere, but he's just too damn tired to hunt for it. He's past the point of the prescription muscle relaxants doing much good anyway, and the heavy duty painkillers he packed are always dicey on an empty stomach. And puking while I feel like this.. He winces at the thought. 

"What do you need?" she asks, and tugs the coverlet off the bed, leaving just the duvet and pillows, soft and white and so fluffy the urge to lay down is almost overwhelming. 

He glances down at his feet, feeling weirdly shy all of a sudden, but her hand lands on his shoulder again and the moment passes. "Heat packs will help." He rubs the back of his neck and her fingers probe the spot where the long muscles run down into his shoulder. "I have drugs, but they don't do much. Just rest, really. Gotta wait for it to pass." 

He knows he should shut whatever this is down, should step away, retreat to the couch, but it feels too good to be touched with gentleness and he can't make his feet move. Can't remember the last time he let someone close enough to touch him, not unless there was sex involved, and that's a whole other thing to whatever this new intimacy between them is. 

She finds the knot and starts a careful massage that sends warmth through him for more than one reason. It's not often he lets himself be touched like this, for comfort, with no expectation of more. The realisation makes him tense, and she tsks, fingers still working on the knot. 

It relaxes, after a few minutes of careful manipulation and he can't stop the shaky breath of relief that eases out of him. 

"You're good at that," he says and rolls his neck, carefully, because the muscles across the bottom of his back are still cramping badly enough that the pain is running down his legs. 

"I spent three months training at a Swiss spa to catch a mob boss who had the best collection of pink diamonds a girl has ever seen." She pats his arm, gently, and grins. "Man had a back like a bear. All thick black hair. It was like massaging a pig." She shudders, dramatically, nose wrinkling. "But it paid off. Twenty minutes of massaging the lout, and I got an invite to his villa. Three days after that, the diamonds and I were back in London." 

He has plenty of war stories of his own, but he can't think of anything that won't horrify her even more. "Sounds like quite the sacrifice," he murmurs, lip quirking when she snorts in a very unladylike way. 

She's studying him, in a quiet way that makes his hackles rise, because usually no good comes from that sort of look. "Why don't you lie down?" 

He thinks about it, runs up against a huge wall of nope inside his head, and can't figure out a way of saying that without it sounding like he doesn't trust her which will take them into an area he has no desire to go. He just doesn't have the energy for it, for a start. 

"Eliot," she says and the exasperation is plain in her voice. "You're no use to anyone like this. You need rest."

He sighs, shrugging before he thinks about it, and his entire back seizes up in a wave that steals his breath and paints his vision with vivid red spots. He knows she's talking to him, but he can't think past the agony, can't focus on anything else but the awful cramping. When it eases, he's sitting on the bed, with Sophie eyeing him with clear alarm. One hand is rubbing slightly frantic circles on his arm, the other resting on his shoulder. "Eliot, tell me what you need!" she says. 

"Heat packs," he croaks and eases himself down, pulling his knees up to take some of the pressure off his back. It helps, even if the movement sends shooting pains through his body.

It’s not the first time he’s thrown his back out, but it’s damn inconvenient when they’re in a hotel, because if he was at home, he’d hole up in the tub and let the hot water work its magic. The damned hotel only has a shower, and he’s feeling sore and shaky enough not to want to risk it, because falling on his ass twice in one day would really push him over the edge.

It takes him a second to realise that she's vanished and he closes his eyes, blowing out a careful breath, trying to get his muscles to relax through sheer force of will. It's about as effective as he expects it to be and he gives up, listening to the sounds in the suite instead. 

There's a couple arguing outside, voices rising and falling in a pattern he knows all too well, but they're too far away for him to understand the words. The coffee pot in the kitchenette hisses. Nate, he thinks, making coffee like it'll actually hide how much he's drinking. Faint typing comes through the wall, oddly comforting, because if he's learned one thing while working with the team, it's that Hardison is meticulous about covering their tracks after a job. He can't hear Parker, but the hotel minibar had been stocked with good chocolate and mini boxes of Lucky Charms, and he figures she's perched somewhere high eating enough sugar to fuel a small country. Girl has the metabolism of a hummingbird, he thinks, and blinks in mild surprise when he realises he's smiling. 

Shuffling footsteps coming back towards his room make him roll his head towards the door, body tensing without his conscious thought until Sophie steps into his view. 

"I couldn't get heat packs," she says, and his heart sinks, "but the hotel sent up a plug in heating pad and I guess it'll work the same." 

His bag lands on the bed next to his head, along with a bottle of apple juice. "Thanks, Sophie," he says, and braces himself to move, holding his breath because he knows it's going to to suck. "I got it." 

"You got it?!" she echoes, voice rising enough to make him wince. "You can hardly stand, Eliot!" 

"I'm layin' down…" he mutters, and realises a second too late that it's exactly the wrong thing to say. 

Oh, shit, he thinks as she glares down at him. "You are now. But left to your own devices, you'd still be doing fucking laps of the hotel room because-" 

Oh shit, he thinks again, because the outburst is suddenly making a whole lot of sense. "Sophie," he says, quietly, and she snaps her mouth closed hard enough that her teeth click together. 

"Let me plug this in," she says, keeping her eyes fixed on the fluffy pad. 

"This ain't your fault," he says and shifts slightly, teeth sinking into the inside of his lip as his back spasms again. "That fight would have happened no matter what you did." 

"How do you do it?" she asks, fingers toying with the controls so she doesn't have to look at him. "Head into jobs knowing that you're going to come out hurt?" 

"I don't think about it, much," he says, honestly. "Just do what I gotta do and let the chips fall how they will." 

There's a nasty little dark corner of his brain where he locks all the bad shit away. Locks the fear of a devastating injury in there too, because to do what he does, he can't think about it. Can't go into every fight with a swarm of what ifs buzzing around his head like angry wasps. 

"Now, you wanna pass that heating pack somewhere useful?" 

"Only if you take your drugs first," she says, and some of the tension has left her face. 

Taking the pills means moving and he's tolerably comfortable as long as he stays still, at least for the moment. But the pain will be worth it, if taking them eases the misplaced guilt Sophie is carrying. And admit it, you've never been able to say no to any of them…it's just like Damien Moreau all over again. 

It could be, because Nate is the flip side of the coin to his old boss, but it isn't, and the way Sophie is looking at him right now is the difference. "Fine," he says and eases over onto his side, holding back the grunt of pain by sheer bloody minded stubbornness. The change in position reignites every irritated nerve and damaged muscle, and he feels the blood drain out of his face. His stomach rolls and he grits his teeth, breathing slowly. Because I'm pretty sure if I puke I'm going to pass out and she's freaked out enough, he thinks. 

Warmth settles over his lower back in a soothing blanket and he manages to unclench his fingers from the sheets. 

"Better?" Sophie asks, and cranks the heat to max. 

"Oh yeah," he breathes, then hesitates, the wall of nope in his brain showing up again. "Can you-" he starts, then stops, because he's still not used to being able to ask for help. "Can you stick a pillow between my knees?" he gets out in a rush, and instantly wishes that he could take the words back. 

She grabs one, push and fat and fluffy, from the bed and wedges it between his knees. It helps, takes some of the strain off his lower back and the spasm eases a little. 

He pulls the pill case from his bag, fumbling because between the heat and the relief if just lying down, the exhaustion is hitting hard, suddenly. 

"Which ones?" She takes the case, looking at him expectly. 

"Two pink, one yellow." Two Diclofenac, which he knows he's going to regret taking on an empty stomach and a muscle relaxant. He swallows the pills with a gulp of apple juice, knows they're going to hit quick because the last thing he ate was a questionably fresh bagel at the breakfast buffet. 

"I really am sorry for what I did," Sophie says. "If you need anything else, I'll be on the sofa," she adds, softly, and heads towards the door. 

"Soph," he calls and she stops, turning to look at him. 

He gestures behind him, carefully, to the wide expanse of unused bed. "There's plenty of space, and I don't snore." 

It's an olive branch and a new step on their path and he offers it carefully, because he's not sure how much trust they've rebuilt and how much they still have to go. But they have to start somewhere, if the team is going to keep functioning, and this is all he can offer right now. 

She closes the door and walks back, clicking the big lamp off as she passes so the room falls into twilight. 

"I do," she mummers, and eases down on the bed so she doesn't jostle him. 

"You do?" he asks, slowly, voice heavy with sleep. 

"Snore," she says, and clicks the light out. 

[ambroserookwood]

Chapters 18, 19 and 20 of The Witchcraft Job are now up on AO3.

These chapters cover the most traumatic part of the story for Eliot, detailing the events that lead up to the worst job he ever did for Damien Moreau.

Warnings are included in the chapter notes.

[spencereliotwinchester]

Again with the hurtful posts. STAHP.

The more I think about Eliot Spencer, the sadder I get.

[ghostlyarchaeologist]

How to break your Hitter’s heart in one easy step.

Leverage S01E01 The Nigerian Job.

[sheepinawolfsfur]

Food Safety

Hey @peachibee come look at your blorbo-in-law

Summary: During the final phase of a heist, some goons get away. After receiving word of some disturbances in the area of the brew pub, the team rushes there...only to find that the chef - Eliot's girlfriend - has already dealt with the problem.

Rating: Teen and up

Fandom: Leverage (Eliot Spencer x Reader)

Content notes: fem!reader, injured reader, petnames (sweetheart, love)

They come rushing into the pub so fast the last patrons all stop putting on their jackets. It's late on a Tuesday, you've already sent the rest of the staff home and are finishing up the bar.

"So they're not here", Parker observes. She could only mean the three men that had stormed in about an hour ago.

You wave them over. "They're in the back, had to use some zip ties." Of course the trio had taken every last bit of rope on the trip with them.

"Aww thanks, you're the best." Hardison grins.

"Told ya she could do it", Eliot says with a soft slap on Hardison's arm.

"Hey, hey, that's why I hired her."

While the two continue bickering, Parker gives you an appreciative nod and starts leaving to take care of the intruders.

"You okay?" Eliot asks, as he and Hardison finally make their way past you as well.

"Yeah, nothing to worry about, I'm good", you reassure him.

"Alright, we'll be quick." And with a quick peck on the lips Eliot follows Hardison out of the door.

You take your sweet time collecting the remaining glasses off the tables and ushering out the last stubborn patron.

Eliot comes back just as you're done closing up and doing the very last thing, which is wiping down the counter.

"You sure did a number on those guys, sweetheart. Were still unconscious when we dropped them off."

You smile at the compliment. "Guess I've still got it."

Eliot casually leans his hip against the side of the counter. "Parker and Hardison went upstairs. Anythin' I can help ya with?"

"Nope, all done." You give him a mock salute.

That, finally, gets a smile out of him, before he points out the gloves you're wearing. "What's with the extra coverage today?"

"Oh, that." You remove the vinyl gloves, revealing the soaked bandages covering your battered and bruised hands. "Didn't wanna contaminate the food. Gotta admit, one of the pricks had a very solid skull."

Eliot snorts, but he can't seem to tear his gaze from your injuries. He's getting into his head again.

"Hey. Love." You put a finger under his chin, tilting his head up to look at you. "It's okay. They were just some second-rate thugs looking for some trouble."

Of course he knows that. And of course he knows that this was no serious challenge for you. He nods. There's still some tension in the way he holds himself, his strikingly blue eyes are trained on your face. Making sure you really are fine.

"Come here." You pull him into a hug, which he reluctantly accepts, before finally giving in and resting his head on your chest. His arms wrap tightly around your middle.

"Wish you didn't have to go through the extra trouble", he murmurs. "Or get hurt 'cause of what we do."

"I knew what I signed up for." As you start gently stroking his hair with one hand, the bandage comes loose.

Eliot pulls back a little to look at it and then up at you. "At least let me fix this for you." He needs this, probably more than you do.

"Sure thing, love." You toss the gloves and take his hand so he can pull you through the door to the back of the pub.

"And sweetheart?"

"Yeah?"

"Great job."

fin

[security-chief-odo]

The Gala Job

Eliot Spencer x Reader

*NSFW in chapter 3

Description: You are sent to charm the team's target on the final leg of the current job. You get in a sticky situation that Eliot has to get you out of. After the job your feelings for Eliot become undeniable, but surely he doesn't feel the same, right?

Smut in the 3rd chapter, a fade to black ending at the end of the 2nd if that's not your thing.

• • •

Your job this time wasn’t to fit in though, you were here to stand out, and that you did. You wore a velvet dress that hugged your figure tightly before flowing out at your legs. Adorned with matching jewelry, you certainly weren’t comfortable, but you definitely stood out among the crowd.

Usually it fell to Sophie to charm her way through a case, but she had already had a run in with Mr. Whitehall and you couldn’t risk him catching on this late in the game. All you had to do was get his flash drive, have Parker make a copy, and escape. It had all of the evidence you would need to bring both Edgar Whitehall and Apex Systems Limited to justice.

The room is buzzing with idle gossip and far too much champagne. You try to subtly keep an eye on the whole room spotting Parker in the server’s uniform to your left, Nate in the opposite corner of the room from you, nursing a drink he probably wishes was whiskey, and Eliot in a simple, flattering suit by the door, acting as a security guard, surrounded by several older women who were almost as enamored by his southern charm as you were.

Spotting your target at the bar, you gracefully head that way. You hear Sophie in your earpiece “Now slowly approach and place your hand between his shoulder blades. Pretend not to notice until after you order your drink.”

You did as she said and gently placed your hand on his upper back as you flagged down the bartender. “I’ll have a vodka soda, please.”

You remove your hand from Whitehall and turn towards him, now having sufficiently caught his attention, “I am so sorry about that, Mr.” you trailed off waiting for him to supply you with his last name.

“Whitehall, Edgar Whitehall. Please just call me Edgar.” He pauses for a second placing a hand on your arm. “Now, what may I call you my dear?”

The touch sent a shiver down your spine and not in a butterflies kind of way, but still, you kept up the act. “Y/N.” The bartender places your drink in front of you, you pick it up with a nod and place a tip down on the bar.

“Well, Y/N, would you join me at my table? I am starved of pleasant conversation at these events and starved even further of pleasant company.” He holds out his arm for you to loop yours around, and reluctantly you do. You let him lead the way, using the distraction to reach into his pocket and grab the USB.

As you sit down next to him, you sneak the flash drive into your purse and hear Hardison chime in through your earpiece, “Great job. Now hang on tight and keep him talking.” That one may be easier said than done.

You tried to make pleasant conversation with him, asking about his work, telling him lies about yours, waiting for an opportunity to present itself. Soon Parker approached, offering complimentary wine to the people around you.

As she approached you and Edgar, she pretended to trip, spilling pinot noir all over his suit. You felt bad for Parker as he started to berate her, but were able to cut him off while keeping up the act. “Edgar, I believe there is a bathroom just down the hall, why don’t we go get you cleaned up?”

He looked frustrated but turned it off in a way that seemed disturbingly calculated. “I certainly can’t turn down the opportunity to have you alone Y/N”

You could hear the others discussing the drive in your earpiece as you slid his jacket off and started to try to get the stains out of his shirt first. If you could drag this out long enough, you should be in the clear. Until then, you dabbed the wine out of the shirt with a wet washcloth. There was no shot in hell of this stain coming out, but there was nothing else to do until the team was ready for you.

Once you got the green light from the team, you started wrapping things up with Whitehall. “I’m sorry Edgar, but I think we may have to just get you a new shirt altogether. I really should get back out there” You slid his jacket over your arm to carry back to your seat, hoping to slide the flash drive sneakily back into his pocket once you got back to your chairs.

Much to your chagrin, he took the jacket and slid it back on. As you head back to your chairs, he starts to panic “Where is it? I know I had it with me tonight.”

“What’s wrong Edgar?”

“I had a thumb drive in this pocket and now it's gone. I lost it.”

You calm your breathing. You can handle this. “I’m sure it’s around here somewhere. Let’s just notify security and get back to our seats. I’m sure someone will find it”

“No, that’s not good enough.” He started to spiral. “ Maybe it’s in the bathroom or on the floor. Maybe someone stole it.” He froze, and turned on his heel to face you. Getting in your face and backing you into the wall he accused “You took it didn’t you? My father always said you couldn’t trust the pretty ones”

You tried to plead with him, “I didn’t take anything. It probably got lost in the commotion. I’m sure everything is fine.”

He spoke over you “Don’t try to tell me everything is fine.” You saw him raise his hand to hit you, but before you had a chance to process it, he was laying on the floor, out cold. You glance up to see Eliot smiling at you, only his hair out of place.

“Ma’am” he offers his hand to you in an obnoxiously chivalrous move to guide you over Whitehall’s sleeping body.

“I could have handled him myself” you huff as you head back to grab your purse. You sneak the flash drive back into his jacket pocket and hope he doesn’t remember a damn thing about this night.

Eliot and you both exit the gala. "I didn’t need you to save me, Spencer. I can handle myself.” You storm off ahead of him.

“He was going to hit you Y/N. I’m sure you can handle yourself, but you were cornered”

“I was handling things Eliot” you spat with a venom you didn’t really mean, but it was frustrating to not be trusted to take care of things. “Why were you even following so closely after us anyways?”

“I was just looking after you darling, besides –”

“I am not your darling”

You don’t quite hear Eliot whisper “Not yet”

Suddenly you hear Nate’s voice in your ear “Guys!”

“Sorry” you and Eliot say in unison as you walk up to Lucille. Getting in, you see everyone already seated and ready to head out.

You were grabbing drinks to celebrate another job well done, but you were far over dressed. As Hardison parked out front, the others piled out of the van, leaving you and Eliot to change into outfits more fitting of an Irish pub.

You both turned your backs as you grabbed your spare clothes to change “Sorry for snapping at you El. I know you were just trying to help.”

“Nah. I’m sorry Y/N. I should have trusted you to handle things. I know you are more than capable of handling a single man in a fight.”

“Thanks,” you said softly as you struggled with the zipper on your dress. “Um, Eliot, would you mind?” you asked, glancing behind you to see him shirtless and in jeans. That is a sight you could get used to.

“Of course darlin’” he said, stepping behind you softly. You don’t object to the term of endearment this time, smiling softly to yourself at hearing it.

Eliot undoes the zipper, certainly slower than was necessary, doing everything in his power to avoid staring at you. God did he just want to stare at you for hours, but he peeled his eyes away. Tur ning back to his own clothes.

“That dress looked great on you by the way” he said as he buttoned up his shirt.

You can almost feel your walls go back up as you say “I’m not quite that easy Spencer.” You wished you believed he meant it, but he often just flirted for flirting's sake, though you could hardly judge in that regard.

“I mean it. No one in that room could take their eyes off of you.”

You brush it off with a scoff as you both exit Lucille and head into the pub.

• • •

Let me know if you want to be on the taglist for this pairing, or my general taglist! Thanks for reading!

Chapter 2

[somesortofitalianroast]

somewhere in the sands of time

Title: somewhere in the sands of time Link: AO3 Series: Kryptonite Week 2024 Fandom: Leverage (US TV 2008), Superman - All Media Types, Justice League - All Media Types Participant: SomeSortofItalianRoast Square filled: Kryptonite Week: Day Four: June 27: Platinum & Gold: Gold Kryptonite Archive warning: No Archive Warnings Apply Rating: Teen and Up Pairing: Past Clark Kent/Bruce Wayne Tags: Eliot Spencer is Clark Kent, Kryptonite (DCU), Gold Kryptonite (DCU), Angst, Eliot Spencer Needs a Hug (Leverage), Leverage: Redemption (2021) Word Count: 1,210 Summary: A permanently depowered Kal-El of Krypton had crash-landed into Broken Bow, Oklahoma, and Eliot Spenser had risen from the ashes.

@kryptonite-week