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wafflesinthe504 · 2 years ago

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Bringing in the New Year

@flufftober

Fluff Monthly prompt: January

Rating: T

Warnings: there is a bar fight between two random npc

Fandom: Leverage

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“3…2…1! Happy New Year!” Harry yells along with the rest of the crew and French Quarter. Fireworks ring out and light up the night sky in an array of colors. A bittersweet smile blooms over Harry’s face as catches he Hardison and Parker along with many other couples kiss to bring in the New Year. He can’t help but think about how just a year ago he would have spent this moment with his wife, cherishing a kiss.

Harry is knocked out of his reverie as he stares at the firework show when Sophie nudges his side offering him a beer, one of many from tonight.

“Thanks,” Harry says as he accepts the beer. “ I thought I list you there for a moment.”

Even though the team had all gone out together for New Year’s Eve to help support one of Eliot’s friends arcade bar they ended up breaking into groups as the night went on with a plan to meet up at the car around two am. Eliot had gone to help his friend deal with customers while Parker and Hardison had gone to the back of the bar to play the arcade games that were lined up. For a while Breanna had gone over to the arcade as well but the last time Harry saw her, she was sitting at the bar watching the numerous New Year’s Eve celebrations happening around the world.

Harry was almost roped into helping out behind the bar as well but Sophie had stolen him away to join her in listening to the jazz band playing outside the bar.

“I ran into Breanna, who by the way is pretty hammered. She started talking about all the things she already wants to do this year and then she went on some side tangent about CES and Comic-Con and whatever else she could think of.”

“Sounds like it was quite the conversation.” Harry says amused.

“Oh, trust me it was. The only reason why I’m here now is because Breanna got distracted by a pretty woman who overheard her talking about some Disney cartoon and they ended up chatting away like I wasn’t even there.”

“I think the show must have been Owl House. She’s talked to me about it quite a bit recently. My daughter has talked to me about in- depth. Something tells me they might get along very well if they ever got the chance to meet.”

“How is your daughter by the way? Have you wished her a Happy New Year yet?”

“She’s doing good. Doing the best she can school wise and even managed to score an internship. Her and her mom decided to go visit New York for New Years so I called them both about an hour ago. They’re both doing well and seemed to be having fun so I tried not to keep them too long.”

“And how are you doing Harry? Are you having fun?”

“Y’know what I actually am having fun. Certainly, more than I thought I was going to have tonight. I won’t lie though it’s a little bit weird spending tonight with my family. But what about you Sophie are you having a good time?”

“As you know this isn’t usually my type of scene, but I am having an excellent time. Breanna was right great food and music along with a firework show does make for a great party.” Sophie pauses, taking a swig of her drink before continuing on. “If I’m being honest after Nate died I didn’t think the holidays would hold the same magic but, I’m glad that I’m wrong. I miss and I always will but being surrounded by family helps.”

A loud crash followed by yelling comes from inside the bar.

“Well, most of the time that is. Come on.” Sophie sighs.

Harry lets himself be pulled along by Sophie until they are inside the bar. Once they get inside the bar the yelling begins to intensify. A quick survey of the room brings in to focus the large crowd gathered in the center of the room. Harry catches a few glimpses of people in the center of drunkenly fighting. He winces and steps back when a chair is thrown across the room.

“Well, I guess that’s one wat to start the New Year.” Harry chuckles.

Harry and Sophie make their way towards the crowd, shoving their way into the inner circle. Inside the circle Harry is able to clearly see Eliot in-between the two drunken patrons who are still brawling. Eliot is trying to pull the guys off of each other, butt Harry can see that he’s struggling. Harry figures its because he doesn’t want to risk hurting either of the guys or the other nearby patrons. He’s about to go help Eliot when he sees Hardison manage his way to the center and help him by grabbing the other brawler and hauling him into a nearby seat. Even though Hardison’s guy goes pretty easily Eliot’s guy tries to wriggle his way out of Eliot’s grasp. Eliot ends up wrapping his arms around the drunken fighter’s arms and waist to keep him from flailing around.

“Alright, that’s it party’s over everyone. You ain’t got to go home but you can’t stay here.” Eliot yells as he continues to struggle with his guy.

Harry flinches when Parker pops up between him and Sophie.

“You guys might want to get out of here asap. Hardison set the sprinkler system to go off in a few minutes as a contingency if the fight continued or another fight broke out. Which means everything’s about to get wet and not the fun kind.” Parker says.

“But they were able to get it under control. It’s done.” Harry says.

“Yeah, and so is Hardison’s phone. It got knocked of his pocket and stepped on when he went to help Eliot.” Parker holds up Hardison’s phone showcasing a completely cracked screen. “As you can se its not really taking input right now. So we should really get going unless you two want to get drenched by the very expensive fire system Eliot had installed in this place.”

Harry follows Sophie and Parker out of the building when Sophies stops abruptly in front of him.

“Wait where’s Breanna?” Sophie asks.

“Oh, I made sure she got out once the fire started. She’s in the truck. I’ll be surprised if she isn’t passed out already. She cannot hold her alcohol, but she didn’t look pukey so I’ll take that as a win.”

When Harry, Sophie and Parker make it back to the truck Parker gets in the driver seat with Sophie climbing into the passenger seat and Harry going to the back. As soon as he opens the entrance to the back he’s greeted by Breanna passed out in her seat. Harry chuckles and shakes his head. He grabs a blanket and drapes it over her before slipping into a seat of his own.

For a few moments the truck is quiet save the ambient noises that leak in from outside.

Harry is beginning to drift asleep when Sophie pokes her head into the back.

“Hey, we’re going to head back to HQ without Eliot and Hardison. They said they were going to help Eliot’s friend clean up and close up for the night. We’ll probably see them in the morning.”

“Alright, thanks for letting me know.”

“You’re welcome. Get some rest. Looks like the traffic is pretty bad might take us a while to get back.”

As it turns out Sophie isn’t wrong about the traffic. By the time they get back to HQ its nearly three am.

Harry drags himself out of the truck still bleary eyed from the nap he took. He can tell the others are just as exhausted as him as they stumble over their feet and barely miss hitting the door as they walk in.

Harry says good night to Parker and Breanna as they make their way to the respective bedrooms. For a spilt second Harry considers calling a lyft to take him home, but decides against it when all of the words on his phone looks like a blurry mess and the amount of traffic still on the road. Instead he grabs a spare blanket from the closet before heading to the couch when he sees Sophie has already beat him to it. Harry laughs to himself as he plops down on the armchair kicking his legs up on an ottoman.

As Harry fell asleep he felt an appreciation for the past year and excited anticipation for the year ahead.

#fluffmonthly #leverage redemption #leverage #harry wilson #breanna casey #eliot spencer #sophie devereaux #alec hardison #parker

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skylarsin7 · 1 month ago

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The Gipson Girls Job: Ch. 9

Chapter Nine

They didn’t bother covering her bruises with makeup, and had dressed her in some ragged leggings and an oversized shirt. They had decided to go that evening, so there would be little time to think, to question, to get cold feet. This was their only shot.

Embyr sat at the table in the media room, printer paper laid out before her as she twiddled a number two pencil between her fingers. She had requested the items when they had returned to the media room after her and Sophie’s trip to the restroom. She thought maybe if she could doodle, she could calm herself, mentally prepare for what was to come. Eliot had returned upstairs shortly after she had settled at the table, but one glance in her direction told her quite plainly that he was still upset with her. She had refused to look away from him, refusing to back down. He finally huffed loudly and disappeared into one of the offices. He hadn’t come back.

She absently let the pencil move over the paper, no clear image in mind as the strokes came together. Before she knew it, an angel came to life on the page. Serene smile pulling at rounded lips, deep set dark eyes sparkling with pride and gratitude. A crown of neat braids crested her head, each loop decorated with star or moon charms. She shaded in her creamy mocha skin with strategically placed shadows. Tears welled in her eyes as she set the pencil down. “Lyssbie…” She murmured, trying in vain to mask her sniffle. Parker poked her head around the corner, before her body followed. “Hey, you okay?” She asked, stepping closer. Her expression clearly stated that this was an awkward position for her to be in. Embyr nodded, swiping impatiently at her tears. “Fine. Maybe a little nervous about tonight.” She admitted. Parker was quiet a moment. “Whose that?” She asked, gesturing to the portrait. Embyr managed a small smile. “My sister. Her name was Lyssbeth.” She had to force the name out as emotion threatened to choke her again. Parker reached tentatively for her shoulder. “It’ll be alright. We are a team. A family…kind of. We may be dysfunctional, and maybe don’t always see eye to eye, but we protect each other. We will protect you too.” The words were comforting, even though she looked like it was strange for her to say them. Embyr smiled. “Thank you Parker, I’ll try to make that task as easy as I can.”

***

Embyr led them to the club she had worked in, and, as luck would have it, Hardison had confirmed from the security feed that Victor Gipson would be in attendance tonight. Embyr was outfitted with a comm, a built-in tracker should they discover her earbud, and a tiny, emergency transmitter sewn into the secret compartment of her scrunchie. She was to press that button if her ass was in deep shit and Eliot would come to her rescue.

He dropped her off a block away from the club, and had to force himself not to follow after her as she vanished into the late night crowd. Hardison had his van parked around the corner in an alleyway as backup, with Nate and Sophie watching the remote traffic cams. The plan was simple. Embyr was to get into the club through the back door and get herself caught by Victor and his team. Offer him the hard drive, which had been copied and wiped, and plead for their mercy. Then Hardison was to play the role of a potential client, requesting some feminine company. With any luck, they could trace the money back to the main account, which then could be traced to the accounts of their clients all over the world. Nate had an agent with the FBI on standby for when they had the information on the accounts. She wasn’t sure how he had the ear of a Federal Agent, but she wasn't about to question it.

Eliot didn’t like it one bit. But, he couldn’t pose as the buyer because Victor had seen his face that day in the alley. He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel of the truck impatiently. “You doing alright, Em?” He asked, not caring that the others were listening. “I’m fine.” She replied, but he could hear the tremor in her voice. He sure as hell didn’t like this. At all.

“Going silent, I’m at the backstage door.” She warned before yanking it open. Music blasted through the opening, sending her heart hammering wildly in her chest, threatening to climb into her throat and choke her. She took a deep breath to steady herself before slipping inside. She ducked into the dressing room quickly and quietly, fear causing cold sweat to bead on her skin. “You can do this….you can do this…” She chanted silently, over and over like a mantra. As planned, she drew the drive out of its secret compartment in her scrunchie, and stepped back out into the hall. She turned, heading for the backstage area when she was met with a mountain of foul smelling muscle, cheap booze, old gym socks, and too much aftershave assaulting her senses. She only had time to let out the barest squeak before the mountain had her in his arms, his forearm clamped over her windpipe.

Eliot heard the squeak, the silence that followed falling with the weight of a sledgehammer. “I’m going after her.” He said fiercely, snapping the truck off, and moved to exit the cab. “Eliot, stay put! You want to blow this whole thing and possibly get her killed? Unless she hits that Oh, Shit button, we stay the course.” Nate’s voice was cold and commanding, and it grated on Eliot’s every nerve. Of course he didn’t want to get her killed, and Nate knew it. He shook his head, let out an exasperated growl as he slammed the door to his truck closed, and fumed.

***

“Well, well, well, what have we here?” She recognized the accent at Dario’s, the brute that had initially caught her that day in the alley. She didn’t struggle, though her every nerve begged her to fight and flee. Her hands had instinctively gripped the large man’s forearm, dropping the drive to the floor. The movement caught Dario’s attention and he stooped to retrieve it with his free hand. She was forced to bend with him to her revulsion, her back pressed against his chest. He shuddered as he straightened and she had to fight back bile. Judging by the bulge in his pocket, he was all too happy to have her there, and it made her skin crawl. He tugged his walkie talkie out of its hip holster, a crackle sounding from the receiver. “Hey boss, you should come down here. Backstage. A little bird had returned to the nest. And she brings a gift.” His voice was little more than a growl. “I’ll be right there.” Victor replied. Even his voice gave her violent chills down her spine.

Dario held her close, almost to the point of choking her, and she had to fight to keep from passing out. He had her in a vice grip, the length of his front pressed tightly to her back. She forced herself to remain still, tamping down the instinct to kick back savagely, aiming for his groin. Would serve him right anyway. But that was not what she was here for. Victor took his time coming downstairs from the offices that made up the second floor of the club, but she had to repress a wave of nausea when he did so. Dressed all in black and with his signature slicked back hairdo, he looked even more like a skull than he did in broad daylight. In fact, he looked like the grim reaper, the only things missing were a scythe and cloak. His eyes bore into hers, shadow meeting whiskey as the green bled away from her gaze.

“Well, Little Girl, what foolishness has prompted this most pleasant surprise?” He sneered. She lifted her chin with as much defiance as she could muster, saying nothing. “Boss, she brought the drive.” Dario answered for her, holding it out for Victor. The boss grabbed the drive, holding it between two bony fingers. Embyr managed to suck in a lungful of air. “It was…empty…anyway…so you killed…Roach…for nothing…” She all but snarled. Dario tightened his grip, cutting off anything else she might say. Victor shrugged dismissively. “Daniel was executed for daring to bite the hand that fed him. Whether or not he was successful in that betrayal is neither here nor there.” Victor replied. Hatred burned hot in Embyr’s chest, scalding her throat. He spoke of Roach as if he were merely that, a bug to be ground beneath his expensive, super polished Italian boot heel. “Bastard…” She hissed, her eyes flashing with fury. Victor smiled, that single gold tooth winking at her as he reached for her face. He slid his long fingers on either side of her throat, just under the line of her jaw. This way he could force her to look him in the eyes, and hold her face without fearing a savage bite.

”Oh, I will enjoy making you crawl, Little Girl.” The hunger in his voice turned her stomach sour, and if she’d had anything in it, she would have made it a point to projectile it into his face. But all she could do was stare at him with hate. Another crackle sounded from the walkie. “Victor, there is a guy here wanting to see you.” Came a voice Embyr didn’t recognize. Victor growled low in his throat. “Not now Ian, I am busy.” Another answering crackle. “He says he wants to see the merchandise.” Ian’s voice sounded impatient, almost whiney. Victor sighed heavily, annoyance clear in every line of his features. His eyes flicked to the mountain that held her. “Dario, put her in the back room, I’ll deal with her later.” He told the larger man. Dario nodded. “On it, Boss.” He replied, dragging Embyr away.

***

Hardison stood by the door that was barred by a very large bouncer, tapping his foot with impatience. He could hear the conversation through Embyr’s com and it was all he could do to keep his face bored and impassive. He could only imagine what this must be like for Eliot. He would never admit this aloud, but the instant their eyes met, he felt an intense need to keep this girl who had been through so much, safe. He had seen the determination in her face as she had stared Eliot down, but also the fear and uncertainty that flickered there the moment the other man had looked away. He had seen the pain in her eyes when she recounted her story, the way those shifting hazel orbs strayed to him when she spoke of Roach. That small gesture had made his heart ache for her. He understood immediately why Eliot had wanted to help her.

Victor Gipson was considered to be an imposing man, someone to be feared, but Hardison nearly laughed at how he towered over the mobster. Looking down the curve of his hawk-like nose into those beady black eyes seemed to take some of the menacing effect out of him. He reminded Hardison more of an oil-slicked rat than a hardened criminal capable of killing people. “I hear you are in the market for some new merchandise?” He said without preamble, annoyance clear in every line of his face, his body language not even giving the pretense of being polite. Hardison shrugged, not even the least bit sorry he had interrupted Victor’s fun. “I hear you are the man to see about some feminine delicacies.” He replied simply. Victor’s eyes narrowed. “And who exactly did you hear that from?” He all but hissed. Hardison shrugged again. “You hear things in our line of work. Through the grapevine, as it were.” Victor straightened, his lips curling back in a soundless snarl. A man Hardison recognized from his facial recognition software as Dario Goldstein came to stand behind Victor, his expression dangerous. This man, Hardison was afraid of. He was the same height as Hardison, but twice as wide, and not an ounce of it was fat. He looked like he could crush a VW in his bicep.

“I will not ask you again. Before we do any kind of business, you will tell me who is spreading these rumors about me.” Victor’s voice was cold and cutting, and it didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out why he was so desperate to know. He wanted to know how much of the information that Roach pilfered had been distributed. How much of it had been leaked. That did not bode well for Embyr. That meant he hadn’t believed that the drive was empty, and would likely have a fate far worse than death planned out for her. Hardison suppressed a shudder. He sighed, lifting one eyebrow in annoyance. “Talk about burning your bridges. Alright, it was Anderson. Clive Anderson.” He spliced the name from the list of clients on the drive, and by the look of rage on Victor’s face, it seemed that the real Mr. Anderson was in deep with the Mob. He was sure that once they pulled up their list of clients, they would be scratching their heads when there was not a ‘Clive’ among them. This would buy them a little time, hopefully enough to make the deal. Or for them to plug in the drive. To run the programs Haridson had installed on the now ‘empty’ drive. A spike to disable their communications, and a virus to copy and destroy their secrets in one fell swoop. Once they plugged that drive in, it would be over for them. They wouldn’t even know what hit them.

Victor turned to the mountain of muscle beside him, hissing something under his breath. Dario did a small half-bow, which was oddly graceful for a man of that size, and disappeared down the hall from whence he had come. Hardison had to fight to hide his smile. Let the games begin. He forced a scowl, shifting with annoyance. “Listen, if you are not up for making a little money, I can come back hmm…. never. I don’t have all day to play spy games with you.” He said with dismissal. Victor returned his scowl.

“Fine, I will show you what I have. We will deal with Mr. Anderson later.” Victor growled, clearly not ready to lose a sale. “If you will please follow me.” Victor’s voice softened into a more businessman-like tone. Hardison nodded, knowing it was only a front, but gestured for the mobster to lead the way.

Embyr was thrown into a dimly lit room that smelled of body odor and mold. As soon as Dario disappeared and the door clicked shut, she turned to her surroundings, searching for anything that she could use. She could hear the lock click home as Dario threw the outer deadbolt, and she knew that even if she had found anything in the room, it wouldn’t have helped her. She took several deep breaths as her heartbeat skyrocketed. Though she wasn’t claustrophobic, the lack of escape route had panic skittering down her spine.

Victor led Hardison through the club, down a small flight of stairs, and passed what looked like dressing rooms. There was a soft rumble of conversations around them, but the duo ignored them. They passed under an archway and into what looked like a set shop, wooden scenery stacked neatly against the far wall. “This way, Mr…..” Victor let the sentence hang, clearly waiting for Hardison to fill in the blanks. “Mr. White. Charles White.” Hardison answered. Victor nodded, eyeing Hardison as if memorizing his face. Hardison kept his face as impassive as he could. Pleasantries exchanged now, Victor stepped around the corner of the stacked sets and Hardison could hear the click of a lock. “This way, Mr. White.” The mobster repeated. Hardison turned the corner and was led into a small, dimly lit room. His eyes widened. There had to be close to three dozen women in this room, some standing, others huddled together on the floor. Each one was sporting bruises and cuts, smeared with dirt and darker things Hardison didn’t even want to begin to identify. He decided then and there that if they managed to take these assholes down, he would make sure they never recovered, that they could never strike their foul dealings again.

***

“You okay, Em?” Eliot’s voice asked. She smiled, reminded that this time, she was not alone. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just not a huge fan of being locked in a closet.” She replied. “Is there anyone in there with you?” She knew what he was really asking. If she was with the other girls or not. “No. I’m alone in here. Kinda reeks of mold and…the great unwashed.” Her voice was thin as she tried not to breathe too deeply. “Well, hang in there darlin’, Hardison is making the deal now.” Eliot assured her, even though she could hear it in her com. She wasn’t sure what it was, but the drawl in his voice soothed her. “Okay.” She replied.

The slide of the lock had her tensing again, shrinking herself towards the back of the closet, taking one more frantic sweep for a weapon. There was nothing. The door swung open and Dario eclipsed the light that streamed in through the archway. His eyes glittered in the shadows, and she didn’t need to be told why he was there. A waft of fresh air came in and she drew a greedy lungful of it. Dario’s lips cracked into a wicked smile. “Surprised to see me, Little Bird?” He asked, his eyes raking up and down her form. She set her lips in a hard line and refused to reply. The smile faded a little from his lips. “Afraid of me, Little Bird?” Came his next question, prodding her for a response. She rolled her eyes. “Hardly. But you stink and it's very hard to breathe with you this close to me.” She growled. Dario moved in one fluid motion, wrapping his beefy fingers around her throat, lifting her and all but slamming her against the back wall. She wheezed, her toes barely touching the floor now as he held her aloft. “You dare…” He growled, his foul breath choking her more than his grip. She spat in his face. Enraged, his grip tightened. “Victor has a special plan for you, foolish Bird. But he never shares the honeys with us, his loyal soldiers. Well, this time he will just have to have my sloppy seconds.” He sneered, leaning in for a kiss.

Embyr wished for unconsciousness, a meteor, death of every kind, anything but having this man’s greasy lips in hers. She could faintly hear Hardison and Victor striking their deal, exchanging account information. She had to hold on. They were in the home stretch. She just had to hold on.

Dario kissed her sloppily, saliva smearing her face as she struggled to breathe. Revulsion turned the bile in her stomach into a roiling volcano, ready to erupt even though there was nothing in it. Dario’s free hand slid down her oversized shirt, cupping the mound of one breast. She couldn’t help the disgusted gasp he no doubt would mistake for fear or even pleasure. The bile threatened to escape with that thought. In one fluid motion, he gripped the neckline of her shirt, yanking it down and tearing it as he did so. She gripped his forearm, the one that held her throat and tried in vain to twist him off her. Her vision was starting to go grey, black spots blooming in places. She shook her head, trying to get away, but all that accomplished was knocking her earbud from her ear. Dario didn’t seem to notice. His eyes were glued to her cleavage, now bared and pushed up in offering by her bra. He slid one grimy finger under the fabric, brushing her nipple and tugging the fabric down to bare it as well. Embyr closed her eyes, unable to escape, willing her mind to carry her far away from there.

Eliot’s face came to her mind’s eye. From the fierceness she had seen in the alley the day they had met, to the look he had given her when she’d worn her pale purple top, to his laugh, to the way he held her respectfully as they'd danced. Eliot…her mind chimed distantly. Her hero…Eliot. Her eyes snapped open, and while Dario was busying himself with other things, she pressed the Oh, Shit button.

#leverage tv #leverage #christian kane #eliot spencer

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lemissingmask · 2 years ago

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[ID: Sketch of Parker and Eliot. Parker is in the foreground leaning on a door frame, her arms wrapped around herself and her head tilted down and slightly towards the opening of the door, beyond which Eliot stands beside his punching bag, looking back at her. End ID]

Whumptober 2022 Day 9: Tossing and Turning

After the events oft the experimental job, Parker can't sleep because she keeps thinking about her fight with Hardison, and how well Hardison fit in with the students in the con, and how unlike her they all were. So, as she does when she can't sleep or has nightmares now, she goes to Eliot.

See below for a quick stream-of-consciousness drabble related to this

“Parker,” Eliot’s voice sounded through the echo of the most recent punch, although it had been obvious from the past three blows that he knew she was there. It was no surprise. Their resident hitter was the one person Parker could rarely sneak up on. Even so, as she rounded the edge of the wall to walk into the room, she asked, "How did you know it was me?" just because she wanted to hear the reassuringly predictable answer. Eliot brushed a few strands of sweat soaked hair from his face, and with a softening of his eyes, obliged, “You have a very distinctive footfall, Parker.” Immediately, she felt more at ease, the echoes of her fight with Hardison fading at the calm and gentle voice of one of the most dangerous people she knew. "Couldn't sleep?" Eliot asked after a brief pause, stepping closer, the sweat on his face and arms catching in the dim light as he moved. She didn't reply because the question wasn't really a question. She wasn't always good at knowing when that was the case, but with Eliot and with Hardison, she tended to notice. "This about Hardison?" the hitter continued, no judgement in his voice, "Your fight?" Parker frowned deeply until Eliot tapped his ear. Of course. Comms. How could she forget that when the rest of the team were almost perpetually in her head talking away? Of course Eliot and the others had heard her and Hardison fight, just as they had all heard Hardison talking wine and games and whatever else with all his Dustmen friends and their female followers... Parker's jealousy broke suddenly. Just as they had heard Eliot's interrogations.

"There's nothing you can do, no punishment you can hand out that's worse than what I live with every day."

She looked over at him, standing and watching her with an unassuming, undemanding affection. And, what's more, with understanding. Even bathed in shadow, she couldn't make out that dark, ruthless, haunted killer in the figure before her. This was Eliot. Their Eliot. A man who would take every form of violence and injury and punishment if it's what he needed to do to keep his friends and any innocent people safe. A man she knew would not hesitate to lay down his life for her, for any of them. A man who she trusted after decades of never trusting anyone but herself. "I heard too," Parker said at last, "You. The interrogations." "We ain't talkin' 'bout me here, Parker," Eliot replied with a not unkind resolution as he immediately shut that matter down, "There was more behind that fight than the homework, right?” Eliot offered her an opening to talk if she wanted to, but left the question hanging so she could decline if not. He was good like that. So was Hardison, usually, but... “I…” Parker swallowed and walked over to the punchbag, touching the surface lightly over dried blood stains from Eliot’s knuckles, “I like Hardison.” Eliot leaned against the nearest wall, silently and patiently listening. “I know he likes me.” “A lot.” “But I…I don’t know if he likes me because I’m there. He…when he was in that college with all those people like him. Normal people... I’m not like that. I’m me. I’m…you and me, we’re not like him. We’re not like them. What if, now he's seen what it's like to be normal and with normal people, he'll want to...he won't like me anymore?” “Parker,” Eliot straightened but didn’t step closer, “You’re right. Hardison ain’t like us. But that don’t mean he’s normal, an’ it don’t mean he doesn’t feel the same way for you as you do him. We may be stuck together for jobs, but if he didn’t wanna spend time with you, he wouldn’t be inviting’ you over for games or to go out for drinks or anythin' like that. You think he’d wanna spend his spare time with you if he didn't like you a hell of a lot?” “Us," Parker corrected automatically. “We ain’t talkin’ ‘bout me Parker," Eliot automatically repeated. "Wouldn't want to spend his spare time with us if he didn't like us a lot." "You know, Parker," Eliot replied, brushing over her correction with as much subtlety as he would interrogate a suspect, "It's alright to be afraid. Bein’ close to someone’s scary.” Parker tilted her head, letting it touch the punch bag lightly and turning her view of Eliot at an angle, “Even for you?” “Even for me. The thought you might lose ‘em. Drive ‘em away or…” he paused, faltering, “Or get ‘em hurt. An’ the fact you gotta be open, let ‘em into the places in your mind you don’ like to show. All of it. It’s scary. Specially for people like us. But, it’s worth it, for all that." He stepped a little closer and rested a gloved hand on the punching bag. "Remember that con in the mine. You had to grift. How d’ya feel goin’ in?” “Icky. Confused. Lost.” “An’ when it was over?” She smiled, "Happy." His smile echoed hers, "Like it had been worth it? Worth the ickiness an' confusion an' sense of bein' lost?" She grinned at the memory and nodded, "So you're saying being close to people is like stealing someone's soul?" For the first time, Eliot's expression faltered into an adorable expression of confusion before he smirked lightly at her and shook his head, "Sure. Just maybe don' tell Hardison that."

#leverage #parker #eliot spencer #The Experimental Job #sketches based on episodes #whumptober2022 #day 9 tossing and turning

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faorism · 2 years ago

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so what i have to say about sophie and eliot's gorgeous conversation about control, violence, and heart i've already said in my fic an archive built on the strands of your hair turned loose, so imma just combine two little sections and offer that here:

"I know I've been busy with the theater, but I do care," Sophie says, swishing around wine Eliot keeps special in the brewpub, just for her. "So I ask: how are you, Eliot?"

Eliot's eyes trace the softness of Sophie's smile and the way she's glowing. The way he can read her and trust his analysis is as close to the truth as one can gauge without being Nate. He knew she was a powerful woman when they met (er, met for the second time). Now, she's truly divine. Grounded, in some ways, but a goddess among them. He cares for her too, in a way he could never have expected. He maybe could find a knockoff for the kind of love he's got for Hardison and Parker (a feeble thing in comparison, but something of a kind), but the familial connection he's got with Sophie and Nate… He's never had that before. He will always, always love them.

It is out of respect Eliot takes her question seriously, but he ain't armed yet with the words for the art and the scent and touch and taste of his love.

But he is learning those words, now, but maybe he's also been learning that language for years now. He learned a little bit of it up on a mountain and on a Memphis stage. In an Irish bar and on planes and boats and a carnival screaming colors at him. In Lucille. In every kitchen he's cooked in and in MC Hammer's old living room. And...

In a ring in a gym in Omaha. When "Kid Jones" had stopped training two hours before the gym closed for the night, but Eliot went back to the ring to box shadows even past his muscles first seizing. He hadn't stopped in all that time. Sweat fell from him in rivers, drenching his clothes and slowly but surely undoing all his work on his blow out from that morning. It was only when Sophie came by to remind him he has options that it hit Eliot: there ain't no way to hide his curls at the match, not with how the heat and the activity drenched him wet. He turned away from her to keep punching air to hide how the realization stole all of his out his lungs.

Now nearing two and a half years later, Eliot remembers that man fighting shadows, his air struck from him with realization that he will be known in a way he can't control. And Sophie said something about options, then. Later, he thought he was making a functional choice when he walked into that dim hotel room accepting the futility of a straightening. Now, he thinks he was choosing something else. Vulnerability.

Eliot pulls a thread of a conversation he can't recall other than as a tremble in his heart. "Listen. I got options in a way I never had, never thought I could have. Should have. And out of all I could be doing right now, I am exactly where I need and want to be. I'm happy, Sophie. Real happy."

There are still tears in Sophie's eyes even after he nudges her elsewhere with questions about how her theater kids are doing. He is sure to finish his beer and stay with her until Nate drops by to sweep her off her feet, as always.

#faorism meta #sophie devereaux #eliot spencer #leverage #the tap out job liveblog #faorism writes #its the tap out job day babyyy #long post

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gatefleet · 3 years ago

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Hallowe'en and Death Glares

Leverage: Eliot Spencer, Parker, Alec Hardison Word Count: 571 (T)W: Threat of violence, knives, profanity? Request: Yes, "Eliot Spencer x Reader (Halloween)" - @that-marvel-simp A/N: There wasn't a lot to go on with this, I hope this is something along the lines of what you were looking for

You always enjoyed Halloween, the smell of spices in the air, the different decorations, costumes, customs, traditions and stories that went along with it. Each culture you had known and visited had different incarnations of Halloween and its origins. The Celtic culture believed the costumes were a way to confuse evil spirits to not exact revenge for blood feuds. Mexican and Latin cultures refer to Día de los Muertos (Day of the Dead) as their variation of Halloween, although they celebrate their ancestors and lost loved ones. You loved the variety and the togetherness of Halloween, whether that was the group activity of pumpkin carving, decorating or helping one another with costumes. You loved it all.

Eliot on the other hand, well he was just his usual grumpy self. Parker adored Halloween, and Hardison, well he was Hardison, the kid that never grew up. He’d never know this, but you had him saved in your phone as Peter Pan, Parker was Goldilocks and Eliot was Lumberjack. You don’t know why you nicknamed them as you had in your phone, but it felt weird putting their actual names down. You almost felt like having nicknames meant if your phone was seized it couldn’t trace back to them. It was like your own personal layer of security for them.

You were reading “Sweeney Todd” (as you did every Halloween), when you heard Parker gleefully skipping down the hall and then Eliot shout some profanities at having been given a fright. You looked up from your book and shook your head, putting your bookmark in place before going to investigate what the noise was. You were most definitely not expecting to be met with the sight before you. Parker had managed to cover every square inch of the kitchen with pumpkins, skeletons, gravestones and skulls. When the hell did she manage to pull this off? Eliot was looking around his kitchen in shock, trying to figure out how to get rid of everything. You and Hardison had to stifle your laughter, knowing that if you got caught Eliot would have a hissy fit.

After you had both calmed down, you walked into the kitchen properly and Hardison took his orange soda out of the fridge (the only clear space in the kitchen besides the spot on the kitchen island that Parker had placed herself. You grabbed one of the red twizzlers Parker was offering, you and Hardison both stood on either side of Parker and watched Eliot. He ran his hand through his hair more times than you could count, and Parker offered you a knife, you looked to her, took it and then began working on one of the many pumpkins laying around. Eliot stared at you in disbelief, this then set Hardison off again, orange soda spraying everywhere… including over Eliot. It was all over. Eliot gave Hardison a death glare, and within 2 seconds Hardison made his break for the kitchen door, Eliot hot on his heels. You and Parker stared after them both, you listened for a couple of seconds then both returned your attentions to the pumpkins and began carving your way through them.

You knew that Eliot would never let you live this down, would probably give you the silent treatment for a while, but you knew that he couldn’t really keep it up for long. You guys shared an apartment after all.

(GIF Credit: @hackerhitterthief [I'm so jealous of this username])

#leverage #eliot spencer x reader #requests open #tag list open

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fiction-boys-rule · 4 years ago

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Imagine...being single on Valentines Day and the Leverage team set you up on a date with Eliot.

Pairing: Eliot/(Y/N)

Warnings: alcohol consumption, fluff

Word Count: 4,615

Second post this week, I’m on a roll! Been feeling Eliot very much, and once this idea came into my head, I had to write it. Happy Valentines Day, and remember you can celebrate any and all forms of love. Hope you enjoy :)

As you open the door, you are blinded with red. Literally. Bright red decorations hanging across the ceiling, roses on every blank surface, balloons taking up the space the furniture doesn’t, and varied pastries and snacks themed with pink or red.

“What the hell?” You mumble, walking slowly into the apartment.

You close the door softly and run your fingertips over the rose petals of a bouquet. Then it hits you.

Today’s the 14th. February. Valentine's Day. Oh no.

You should have stayed home instead of offering to work the pub today.

’Why did you have to be so nice? Did Nate even say thank you?’ You reprimand yourself.

“Ah, finally, you’re here.” Sophie says.

You turn and see her standing by the couch, wearing a stunning red dress and gazing at you with an eager look. You’re getting a bad feeling about whatever is going on.

“Hi?”

“I apologize for Parker’s antics. She seems to have taken advantage of Nate’s approval. This is all a bit over the top, isn’t it?”

You stare at her with what must be a confused and lost look because she just smiles and motions for you to sit on the couch. You walk over reluctantly and sit, fidgeting uncomfortably. She sits and smiles, taking your hand in hers.

“I am very proud of who you have become while being with us. We don’t say if often, but we do appreciate you. Nate also appreciates you. Though he can’t seem to get it through his thick skull how much he needs you. I trust you very much and I know you won’t let me down. You look lovely today, by the way.”

You look down after trying to process her vague statements and suddenly curse yourself for listening to stupid Nate’s ‘recommendation/mandatory orders’.

‘Wear red. Go with the theme of today.’, his text had read.

You hadn’t really known what he had meant and since you weren’t exactly one to look forward to this holiday, the ‘theme’ he had mentioned had gone completely over your head. You had picked a simple dark red dress that had your specific likings, down to the length and skin it showed that made you infinitely comfortable and confident in it. It even has pockets!

“Uh, thanks? You look good too. But I’m kind of confused with-”

“Don’t you worry, darling. You will do great. I know you will. Now all you have to do is trust the process and be true to yourself. Be confident in the way I know you are. Don’t hold back and be honest about your feelings. Fear holds us back. Don’t let it control you.”

“Okay? But Sophie-”

“Ah ah, it will be fine. All will be explained soon enough. Don’t let me down, darling.”

She kisses your cheek and suddenly stands. You try to walk but she holds a finger up as she walks to the door. She opens it and the rest of the team are standing on the other side. They walk in, staring at you.

‘What the hell is going on?’ you think.

Parker and Hardison have curious looks on their faces and Nate looks smug as ever.

“We’re all going out tonight on our own little adventures as pairs but don’t worry, you’re not missing out on anything. We’re all counting on you.”

“Sophie, what the hell-”

“Hardison, when I told you to grab a box, it wasn’t a suggestion!”

You hear Eliot yelling before he comes into view. He stops walking and glances around the room.

“You weren’t kidding about the party. Where are you going?”

He looks over at the four of them and they just smirk at him. It all happens so quick. Parker and Hardison grab him, pulling him into the apartment. He struggles to resist with the boxes in his hand. All of a sudden, the door is closed and a lock clicks.

“First drawer on the left below the TV!” Parker yells.

You hear them burst into laughter and their footsteps fade.

Eliot stares at the door a moment before turning back to you. His face matches your thoughts: ‘What the hell just happened?’

“Did you have anythin’ to do with this?” he grumbles, setting the box down.

“No! I was just supposed to come for my shift today but then Nate told me to come upstairs first. What did they tell you?”

“They just said there was a mandatory team meeting today and to bring boxes in from the van. What the hell is goin’ on?”

You walk over to the TV and open the drawer Parker had mentioned. Eliot walks over and you see an envelope with hearts all over it addressed to Eliot and you. Well, at least that’s what you think it means. It only says: To the Two Lovebirds, Love Sophie & Parker.

You frown over at Eliot and find him giving you the same look.

“I don��t have the patience for their little jokes today, man.” he grumbles, going and sitting on the couch.

You open the envelope and start reading the letter inside.

“You both must be very confused about what’s going on, but trust all will be explained soon. We have big plans for you both today and wish you well on your journey of love. Don’t let us down.”

“Are they playin’ cupid or somethin’?”

“Um, I think so. It says we have to stay the whole day in here and if we try to escape we’ll face the consequences.”

“What the hell is this? I ain’t a hostage!”

“Don’t try to break the door down. If you do, you’ll owe Hardison a new van because that’s how much that high security door cost. We are watching your every move, so don’t do anything you don’t want us to see. We can hear and see everything. Have fun and if you succeed, feelings will be revealed and a happy ending will be your reward.”

“Happy ending?”

You suddenly realize what Sophie means and your stomach drops. Why did you ever tell her about your stupid crush on Eliot? Why is she so confident he’ll like you back? She is literally going to make you be so embarrassed and get rejected in the worst way possible: being stuck in an apartment with him and working with him. You could strangle her right now.

“Um, Eliot?”

“Man, I just wanted a cold beer today and to maybe cook a nice meal.”

“Eliot?”

“I’m goin’ to kill Hardison when I see him. I’m goin’ to hit him so hard his ancestors hurt!”

“Um, Eliot?”

“What?”

“I think we just got set up on a date by the team.”

Two Weeks Earlier…

“Really?” Parker exclaims.

“I’m telling you, it’s a great idea. They both like each other, we will just push the natural cycle of love a little faster. Who are we to get in the way of love?”

“What are you two up to now?” Nate grumbles, walking into the apartment.

“Do you think Eliot likes Y/N?” Parker asks.

Nate stops walking and almost chokes on his drink.

“What?”

“Oh come on, Nate. Haven’t you seen the way he looks at her? How he treats her? She’s the only woman in his world. But they’re both stubborn and afraid to make a move. I just want to move it along.”

“Well, what if they don’t? You can’t be sure-”

“Well I know she does. But you know her. She’s never going to tell him. We have to do something, Nate.”

“Sophie, can you just take a back seat for once? Let the man build up the courage. I mean come on, we never wanted dating to be a thing in the team.”

“Yeah and look what happened.” Hardison mumbles, tinkering with his new system.

Nate rubs his face, sitting down.

“Unplanned things happen. Look, maybe they like being single, or they aren’t ready-”

“Well, why don’t we find out?” Sophie interrupts.

“What? How? Eliot is never going to tell you.”

“Well, I know Y/N has feelings for him. I also know he would never lie to her.”

“Here we go.” Nate mumbles, leaning back on the couch with an annoyed look on his face.

“We cannot let both of them be single and unacquainted with their love for each other! That is a tragedy! We have to do something! Aren’t we their friends?”

“And how would we do that?” Hardison mumbles.

“What do we get out of it, Sophie? Another couple in the team and more risk. Maybe Eliot and her losing their focus. I can’t have that. We can’t have that.”

“A bet, perhaps?” Sophie smiles.

“A bet?” Hardison asks.

“That way we all have something to gain from this.”

Nate grumbles, shaking his head.

“Parker and me will bet on their love succeeding.” Sophie says.

“I am very confident in this little scheme of yours failing.” Nate says.

“Hardison?”

“I'm going to go with Nate for this one. Eliot doesn’t seem like the type to hold back his stupid charm.”Hardison says.

“Alright. What are each of you willing to lose as punishment for losing the bet?”

“I’ve always wanted to see what you store in that little storage unit of yours.” Nate says.

“My prized possessions?”

“Yeah, and if you lose, Hardison and me get to each take five things from it.”

“Five?” Sophie exclaims.

“If you’re that confident in the power of love.” Nate says.

“Fine. Alright, I can do that. What about you, Parker?”

“I think she shouldn’t be allowed to sleep with her bunny for a month.” Hardison smirks.

“A month? Without my bunny?” Parker whines.

“Or any other stuffed animal you have.”

“Trust the process, Parker.” Sophie mumbles to her.

She looks over to her and sighs, nodding reluctantly.

Hardison smirks, continuing his tinkering.

Parker looks at his system and smirks evilly, “I want to be able to play games on your new system for a month.”

He whips around and glares at her.

“What? On the new system? This took me six months to make!”

“Well, you’re so confident, right?” Sophie says.

He looks between them, panicking.

“But, but I just-”

“Are you going to do it or not?”

He sighs, looking back at his system.

“Fine. But can there be a time limit per day? It overheats, and-”

“Fine, two hours.” Sophie says, smiling at a frustrated Hardison.

“Fine! Fine. But if you break it-”

“What about you, Nate?” Sophie and the rest of them look over at him.

“He has to stop drinking for a month!” Parker yells.

“A month?! That’s ridiculous-” Nate protests.

“Oh come on, you’re the one who doesn’t think it will work.” Hardison says.

Nate looks between them before sighing and standing.

“This is ridiculous. A month. A whole month. Alright, okay. You’ve got your deal.”

They all laugh.

“Well, I see many benefits to this little bet.” Sophie says.

“I get to see what you hide away. I need more decoration, anyway. And I think you have great taste, Sophie.” Hardison says.

“I get to play video games and annoy Hardison!” Parker yells cheerily.

“I get to see the beginnings of love.” Sophie says.

“And sober Nate.” Hardison says.

“Is that a good thing or a bad thing?” Parker asks.

Nate grumbles incoherently, opening another bottle and serving himself.

“Oh darling, I forgot to mention that to set the mood, I’m going to have to get decorations, and their favorite meals and pastries.”

“Cake!” Parker yells.

“Yes, and lots of roses, and-”

“Just use my card.” Nate grumbles before slamming his office door shut.

They all burst into laughter, their new plan ready to be set into motion.

Present Time

“I can’t believe this.” you mumble, sitting on the couch next to Eliot.

Part of you feels betrayed by Sophie, but the other part of you feels strangely anxious and excited. She has to have some sort of confidence in him having some sort of interest in you. Right?

“Alright, so now what? We just stay in here all day?” Eliot protests.

“First activity of the day, preparing a meal. Who can nurture love when they are on an empty stomach? Using the ingredients in the fridge provided, prepare a meal to enjoy together and get to know each other more.”

“They better have gotten good stuff and not left a bunch of crap to cook with.”

“Well, at least you get to cook your nice meal?” you ask nervously.

Eliot looks over at you, smiling slightly.

“I guess. And I’ll be honest, you’re the person I’d rather be locked in an apartment with instead of any of the others.”

“They can hear you, you know.”

“I know.” he grumbles.

You laugh, smiling.

“Well, we might as well make the best of our time here. Not like we’re going anywhere. I hope you didn’t have a date planned for later today.” you joke.

“I did, actually.” Eliot says, standing.

Your heart skips a beat and your smile falters. Of course he did. Why were you stupid enough to think he would confess his feelings right away?

“With my couch and a nice cold beer. Can’t get much better than that. Come on. Let’s see what crap they left us.”

He walks to the kitchen and your smile returns. You walk over and sit on a stool, reading again.

“Before starting, look in a box located to the right of the fridge. In there, you will find two necessary things needed for your cooking.”

You look up from the paper, seeing Eliot looking with disgust at two pink aprons, filled with bright red hearts. One says ‘Hers’, and the other says ‘His’, with arrows pointing at each other. You can’t help but burst out laughing, seeing Sophie’s ridiculous ideas.

“Do we really have to wear these?” he grumbles.

“Yes, unless you want to see what kind of ‘consequences’ they have in mind.”

You take one, putting it on and smiling at Eliot’s obvious level of discomfort.

“Next, begin your cooking and remember, food is best when made and served with love.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Eliot opens the fridge and soon forms an idea for a meal.

You are chopping up vegetables for a salad and your eyes wander over to him as he delicately cuts and cooks the rest of the food. His eyes are meticulous and hands precise. He obviously loves cooking and is great at it.

“Do you cook much?” he suddenly asks.

You continue cutting.

“No, not much. No one ever taught me. You’d be the first. What-”

His arms surround you and his hands go over yours.

“Hold it like this. Less chance of cuttin’ yourself and it’ll be done faster.”

“Oh, okay.” you whisper, following his directions.

His body warmth comforts your back and you hear low sounds of approval as he watches you do what he told you.

“Good girl.” he praises before going back to the other side of the counter.

Butterflies form in your stomach and you almost cut yourself.

‘Get a hold of yourself, Y/N.’ you think.

Afterwards, he leads you to the very decorated dining table and makes you sit. He sets a bottle of wine down and serves you. He goes back over and serves two plates and brings them over. You almost laugh at the sight of him wearing the apron. He sits down and you mumble a ‘thanks’ before taking a sip of water. He smiles at you and motions for you to take a bite. You do, and you can’t help but nod your head vigorously and have another bite.

“This is so good, Eliot. Oh my gosh.”

“It’s because you helped.”

“Oh, please.”

You both clink your glasses and have a sip of wine, eating in comfortable silence.

“I didn’t get to uh, tell you before. You know, with all this stuff. You look good today, Y/N.”

You blush, looking down and hiding your face with your glass but not drinking anything. After a moment, you reluctantly meet his eyes again.

“Uh, thank you. You do too, by the way.”

He smiles and your heart beats faster. After you have eaten and cleaned the kitchen, you grab the paper again. Eliot rips rather hastily at his apron and throws it on a chair. You giggle and watch as he rolls his eyes. You take your apron off too and run a hand through your hair. You sit on the couch and start reading.

“Hopefully your meal has satisfied part of your inner hunger. Now, it is time to play a game. If you tell the truth, there will be no punishment. But if you do not, a punishment awaits. Grab the box below the bar and look in the box for further instruction.”

Eliot grabs it and walks over, sitting beside you. You open it and grab the paper on the top.

“Time for a drinking game. There will be a series of questions you will be asked from a stack of cards labeled with each of your names. Ask the person the question and if they don’t wish to answer, then they have to take a shot.”

You look away from the paper and see the cards set out on the table with a bottle of tequila and two shot glasses.

“Not my drink of choice, but I’m guessin’ that’s the point.”

“Before you start, there are two accessories needed to play this game. Look in the bottom of the box and once you have put them on, you can start.”

Eliot pulls out two red headbands with bright pink hearts at the top. You laugh loudly, seeing as Eliot’s face scrunches up as he stares at them in his hands.

“I ain’t puttin’ this damn thing on.”

“Oh come on, Eliot! The faster we do this, the faster we can leave! What’s the point of just sitting around and doing nothing? Let’s have some fun. Liven up your wardrobe a little bit.”

“No way in hell.”

“Eliot, do it for me? Please?”

His eyes stare at you with a curious look in them. He is reluctant, but eventually he gives in and puts it on. You try not to laugh at him again as you put yours on.

“There. Matching!” you say happily.

“You look cute, I just look stupid.” he groans.

You blush at his compliment and giggle. He rolls his eyes and hands you your stack of cards.

“Let’s just start.” he mumbles.

The questions start off pretty innocently and at one point, you’re wondering what the whole point was of this game. But suddenly, you’re reminded of Sophie’s wit.

“Have you ever had a crush on a colleague?” Eliot asks.

You blush and quickly look over at your shot glass.

“You’re gonna chicken out now?” he teases.

“No! Okay um, yes.”

“When?”

“It doesn't ask anything besides yes or no! You’re cheating!”

Eliot laughs, making you glare playfully at him.

“Okay, you go next.” he says, taking a drink of his beer.

“Okay, um. What kind of underwear do you wear?”

You burst out laughing as Eliot coughs.

“Are you gonna take a drink?” you ask shyly.

“What, you really want me to give you and the cameras a show? I ain’t lettin’ Hardison see anythin’. He’s already seein’ me wear this stupid thing on my head.”

“Yeah, I think Parker wrote that one.”

Eliot serves his shot and drinks it, grimacing slightly.

“Okay, you next.”

He takes a card and looks between it and you a few times. He clears his throat.

“Uh, what does your dream first date look like?”

You are taken aback by the question and you actually start thinking about it for the first time in a while. Dating hasn’t been a priority for you, especially lately.

“Well, I like quality time. So going out to eat, or taking a walk somewhere. Showing them something I really like, like my favorite film or talking to them about my favorite book. I think a night in would also be really nice.”

You look up and his eyes have a soft look in them. He smiles slightly and clears his throat as he looks away and sets the card down.

‘Damn it Sophie, your plan is working.’

“Okay, next. What’s the dirtiest text you’ve ever sent?”

You both burst out laughing at the change of mood. He shakes his head and genuinely looks embarrassed.

“No, absolutely not. Not goin’ there. Give me the damn bottle.”

You are still laughing as he takes the shot.

“Wow, not even a hint. Was it really that dirty?”

“Next question. What don’t you like about me?”

“Nothing.” you answer quickly, watching as his eyes snap up to yours. You curse yourself as you realize you let your thoughts get the best of you.

“Well, um. I mean, I can’t think of anything. Right now. Um, I don’t know you that well, I don’t think.”

He nods and sets the card down. Shit. You didn’t mean to offend him.

“Sorry. I think that’s the shot talking.”

“Yeah, you’ve only had one.”

You both laugh and you appreciate how it lifts the mood of the room.

“Alright. Um, would you ever kiss me?”

Eliot looks at you, a small look of discomfort on his face. His eyes soften, gazing at you.

“Are you going to drink? You can, you know.”

You laugh lightly to fill the uncomfortable silence in the room.

“Yeah, I would.”

“You would?” your heart starts beating faster.

“Yeah, sweetheart. I would.”

You stare at him, starting to smile.

“I think that’s the tequila talking for you.” you smirk.

“I don’t know, maybe.”

You both smile and you look down only to find that your cards are finished.

“Is that it?”

“Guess so. About time. Don’t know how many more shots or damn questions I could handle.”

“Yeah, I know. You’re getting pretty red, Spencer.”

He glares over at you as you bite your lip and hold back a smile. You grab the paper again.

“Congratulations on getting to know each other better. Now there is one last stage of today’s date. In a box in the bathroom, you’ll find accessories to use for your move night. You can eat the snacks throughout the apartment. Enjoy.”

Eliot stands and comes back with a box. You open it and the laughter makes its way out of you before you can stop it. Eliot frowns at you before he looks inside and he suddenly sighs and puts his face in his hands.

“Now you have found your matching onesies for tonight’s movie night. Enjoy your snacks and we hope you are comfortable. Again, we can watch you with the cameras so keep it PG-13.”

You laugh again as you pull them out. Sophie has picked one of your favorite animals and Eliot got a dinosaur onesie.

“Well, let’s go put these on, I guess.”

“They’re lucky I’ve been drinkin’ enough for this.” he grumbles before getting up and taking his onesie with him.

A few minutes later and you have both changed and picked a movie to watch together. All the snacks are on the coffee table and more pillows have been added to the couch. You don’t remember doing that.

“Do you think we’re livin’ up to their expectations?”

He looks funny holding his beer bottle with the top of the onesie over his head. He looks cute. How does he look cute? Oh gosh. You just shrug.

“Maybe. But we’re still here, so I guess.”

He nods slowly and takes another drink of his beer.

You shiver as the room gets colder and cuddle closer into the pillows. Eliot notices and watches as you struggle to find warmth.

“Damn Hardison must have turned the air conditionin’ on.” he grumbles.

You glare at the cameras, knowing what they’re up to.

“Here.” Eliot hands you a shot and you frown over at him.

“It’ll warm you up. Plus, it’s no fair I’m more buzzed than you are.”

You roll your eyes but take the shot anyway. You clear your throat and he takes it from you.

“Come ‘ere.” he grumbles, patting the spot next to him on the couch.

“You do know what they’re doing, right?”

“Are you cold or not?” he asks, looking lazily over at you.

Sighing, you make your way over and you tense as his hand surrounds your shoulders. He finishes his beer and lays back again. You start the movie and find comfort in his warmth. He pulls a blanket over you and hands you a bag of your favorite snack.

“How-”

“Movie’s startin’ sweetheart.”

You smile and appreciate his thoughtfulness. After the movie is done, several empty bags and containers take up the coffee table. You both have a short discussion about the movie before you fall into silence again.

You glance at your phone, “Damn, it’s almost midnight.”

As if on cue, you yawn and look back at Eliot.

“You know, I never thought I would actually enjoy today. But it wasn’t as bad as I thought it would be. Even if I had to wear these stupid things.”

You laugh and nod.

“Yeah, I had a great time. I hadn’t really talked one on one with you before. It was nice. Thank you for cooking. Thanks for not running out of here, too.”

You both laugh and his gaze turns serious.

“You know, I was bein’ serious about what I told you. I know Sophie isn’t one to do these things without a good reason to.”

He doesn’t have to tell you what he’s talking about for you to know.

“I know.”

His hand is on your thigh and you bite your lip.

“The question is would you?” he mumbles slowly.

You only take a second to think before you gather all the courage inside of you and respond. All the months of you keeping your secrets and feelings inside suddenly come spilling out in one word.

“Yes.”

Eliot slowly leans forward. His eyes glance down to your lips and you both close your eyes as he gently kisses you. Your hand goes to his neck as his other hand pulls you closer. You’re so close to each other, and it’s better than you could have imagined. He pulls away and smiles down at you.

“Never thought I would do it like this, but I’m still glad I did. I might not kill Hardison, after all.”

You both laugh softly before he kisses you again, even more gently. Eventually, you both pull away and end up falling asleep together in each other’s arms. In his embrace, it feels as though nothing can beat the feeling. You wonder why the hell you waited so long to make a move. You thought you would strangle Sophie after this little stunt of hers. But now all you want to do is hug her.

Unbeknownst to you, the rest of the team has been in the van for the past hour watching the developments.

“My system. My poor system! I’m sorry, baby!” Hardison cries out, leaning his head on the desk.

They all roll their eyes. Parker cheers and claps her hands, laughing.

“I promise I’ll take good care of it. What kind of games can I play?” she asks eagerly.

Sophie smirks over at Nate. He slowly looks over at her, a look of disappointment on his face.

“I hope you liked your gift.” she says.

“You bought me a bottle of whiskey.”

“I know, darling. And I hope you absolutely love it.”

Nate groans, leaning back and cursing why he ever thought this was a good idea.

Sophie had stolen love all right, and Nate had secretly never been prouder.

#eliot spencer #eliot spencer x reader #eliot spencer imagine #leverage #eliot leverage

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schrijverr · 3 years ago

Text

Hold Me Together

Chapter 2 out of 4

Eliot gets hurt on a job and then sick. Hardison and Parker waste no time to jump in to care for him and it becomes harder and harder to say no to their care when it’s just so nice. After he has a nightmare, they’re there for him and feelings come to light.

AKA Eliot has a terrible time physically (and partly emotionally), but gets lots of cuddles and two partners in the end.

On AO3.

Ships: Thiefsome OT3

Warnings: Eliot's low self-esteem and the flu

~~~~~~~~~~

Pull Me Close

When he awoke the next morning, he was pinned down by two warm weights at his sides. He kept his breathing steady, as if he were still asleep while he assessed the situation, before last night came back to him.

He felt a heat rising to his cheeks as he cracked open one eye to look, the other having swollen shut throughout the night. It was indeed Parker and Hardison who were pinning him down and he knew he couldn't sneak out without them noticing right now. He was trapped and sooner or later he would have to face them again.

Quietly he sorted through everything, hoping to come up with a plan to make this less awkward for everyone involved.

If he moved now, they would wake up and know he was awake and he would have to talk to them, but if he pretended to still be asleep maybe they’d leave him alone, however that would be unrealistic, because he would never sleep through them waking up and it was creepy to pretend to sleep just so that you could enjoy laying in the warmth of your two coworkers that you were in love with without having to deal with the mess that made.

But, fuck, he was comfortable. More comfortable that he’d been in years. The pain had dulled a lot and he was warm and cozy under the sheets with Parker and Hardison there. Hardison snored softly and Parker’s fingers skittered over him in her sleep, almost miming a pickpocket.

It was something nice that he would never have, never deserve. And while it was selfish, he didn’t want it to end just yet.

Still, he had no say in that and all his thinking was for naught when his door slammed open and the familiar silhouette of Nate appeared, saying: “Ah, there you all are. It’s eight, we want to leave as soon as we can.”

“We’ll be there,” Parker chirped, having gone from fast asleep to awake in a moment. Nate nodded at her, before leaving.

On Eliot’s other side, Hardison was taking his time, burrowing his face into Eliot’s uninjured shoulder as he whined softly. Eliot couldn't blame him, they’d gotten to the hotel around three in the morning, so they’d had less than five hours if it was eight now. Still, the hot breaths on his neck were not good if he wanted to keep this platonic, so he poked Hardison and grouched: “Get off me, man.”

“Wha?” Hardison looked up, smiling in a way that made Eliot’s heart twist when he saw it, before he said: “Hey, it’s you. How you doin’?”

“I’m fine, slight headache and sore muscles,,” Eliot told him honestly. “I’ll be up and running in no time, now just get off me so that I can get up.”

“Your eye is bruised,” Hardison frowned, noticing the black eye that had been a light bruise a few hours ago.

“Yeah,” Parker agreed poking it and making him wince.

“Don’t touch it, Parker,” he said, leading her hand away from his face. “It’s fine, just a bruise that I forgot to cool, it’s nothing. Now stop pinning me to the mattress.”

“Oh, yeah, sorry, man,” Hardison got off and Eliot could see the other man was just wearing sweatpants nothing else and his face got a bit hot again, so he looked to the other side, only to discover that Parker was in nothing but a shirt and underwear. God either loved or hated him very much.

So, instead of focusing on them, he focused on getting to a sitting position, pleased to find he could do that on his own.

He was still in Hardison’s hoodie and his own sweatpants and he really didn’t want to change. This was comfortable and warm and it would be easy to take off at home when he was by himself again, which twisted something cold in his chest. Besides he could always wash it and give it back later, an excuse to keep it for a little while. He asked: “Hey, man, can I keep this for today?” as he rubbed the sleeves between his fingers, trying not to think how sad it was that he wanted to keep it, just craving a bit of comfort for today. He still felt groggy and generally uncomfortable.

Hardison looked over, a strange look coming over his face when he saw how the sleeves fell over Eliot’s hands, before he nodded: “Yeah, course.”

“Cool, thanks.” Now this was just getting awkward, so Eliot swung his legs over the side of the bed where Parker had been, since she had disappeared a few seconds ago.

Before he could stand up, however, Hardison was crawling after him, nearly toppling off the bed, before he said: “Wait! Stop. You can’t just do that, Eliot. Your ankle is hurt.”

“Me and my ankle will live,” Eliot informed him. It would be slightly painful to walk, but not impossible.

“Just let me help for a moment,” Hardison asked, quickly pulling on a shirt he found on the floor, before offering a hand.

Eliot rolled his eyes at the fussing, but he was also selfish enough to allow it. It was going to be over soon anyway, why not enjoy a bit of contact? Hardison wanted to help, so it wasn’t taking advantage of it, and not putting any weight on his ankle would be a smart move.

So, they made their way downstairs, with Hardison carrying Eliot’s bag and laying his hand on Eliot’s waist again, while Parker met them at the elevator, her and Hardison’s stuff in hand almost as if they’d planned this.

He tried not to think about it as Hardison led him to the table where Sophie was sitting, before telling him he was to stay there and that Hardison would get him a plate from the buffet. Once he was gone, Sophie leaned over and asked: “So, good night?”

“Was fine,” he replied, eyeing her suspiciously after she’d grinned at him and flicked her eyes towards Hardison and Parker. Had she figured out his feelings? Was he being obvious? Did she think something happened between them? Trying to play it cool, he added: “Got more than 90 minutes of sleep for a change.”

“Oh, your productivity out the door like that,” she teased, luckily dropping any suggestiveness and prying.

“I was productive in healing my body,” he shot back, hiding his relief.

Sophie frowned at his face, cocking her head. “I can see that,” she said sarcastically.

“Come on, Soph, this is not my first black eye,” Eliot said. “My stitches are clean, my ankle is wrapped, my shoulder is back. I’m as good as I can be, little swollen eye is nothing. Could be much worse. Has been in the past.”

At that point Hardison came back with a plate of stuff Eliot actually liked, which touched him more than he’d liked to admit. He put the plate down in front of Eliot, inserting himself into the conversation: “Is he trying to tell you he’s fine by telling you everything that’s wrong with him and reminding you that he’s had a shit life?”

“Yes, it’s not really working,” Sophie said, before Eliot could protest that it was useful, because he was reminding them this was his job and it was okay, that he was okay and taken care off, because all his wounds were clean and it wasn’t that bad.

Instead of saying all that, however, he shoved a fork of food into his mouth and glowered: “See if I ever tell you about my injuries again.”

“He’s grouching, that means he’s okay, right?” Parker asked, poking his cheek again.

“Stop that, Parker,” he snapped, not really mad at her, because he was weak and would do anything to make her happy.

“Jup, he’s okay,” Hardison said, smiling and Eliot wanted to smack him, but he was right and cute, so he couldn’t. “And he’s telling us about his injuries next time.”

“Or we’ll force him!” Parker added enthusiastically.

“Was it that bad?” Sophie was immediately worried again and Eliot wanted them to stop fussing, because it felt weird and twisty in his chest when they did and he hated that he didn’t know what to do with the feeling.

“No, it wasn’t, I’m-” he got cut off by Hardison, who said: “He was kinda out of it for a bit, but nothing we couldn't handle. He was a bit grumpy about the whole thing, but he’s always like that. We just need to keep his leg up and as cool as we can during the drive and he should be set. Probably sleep a bit on the way too.”

“And how am going to sleep in that crappy van?” Eliot grouched. He wanted to protest it all, but no one was listening to him, so protesting seemed a bit redundant. Besides it was hard to be mad at them about it when it seemed like they all cared about his well being and the twisty feeling in his chest was only getting twistier.

“Excuse you, Lucille is a beautiful lady and you will treat her as such,” Hardison began. “And second off, you can sleep in the backseat. There’s a storage area between the front seats that you can rest you foot on. Promise me and Parker won’t bother your little nap.”

“I’m not sleeping in the van,” not between the two of you, he added mentally. “And why don’t I get to sit up front? Don’t I have injured rights?”

“No, there’s more space on the backseat and Nate’s driving and you’re horrible when Nate drives,” Hardison explained.

“I’m not horrible when Nate drives, he just sucks at driving,” Eliot frowned.

“He turned on his blinker once and you got annoyed, because it was too early, Eliot,” Sophie pointed out.

“Yeah and what about that time you said he switched lanes wrong,” Parker said. “You were very scary. You’re not even that scary when I drive and everyone hates my driving.”

“I can’t help that Nate can’t drive,” Eliot crossed his arms.

From behind him Nate’s voice said: “I’m glad you think so highly off my driving skills. You’re in the back seat, I don’t need you to grouch at me for hours about holding the steering wheel wrong or whatever you come up with.”

Eliot had registered him coming up behind him, but he didn’t care that Nate heard. He wanted to be mad about being injured and unable to fight, but he wasn’t able to, so he was going to be mad about something else and right now that was Nate’s driving and being in the back seat. He frowned (frowned, not pouted, Hardison): “I’m still gonna yell at you from the back.”

“Sure you are,” Nate said as he started to walk off with a cup of coffee. “Our mark has officially been taken into custody and the victims have been repaid. I want to be home before dinner, so buckle up everyone.”

They grumbled and groaned about it being too earlier to pack up, but no one stayed seated. This time it was Parker steadying him while Hardison carried all their stuff to Lucille.

Getting back into Lucille was another problem and Eliot was glad Nate and Sophie had already gotten into the van, because this was embarrassing enough as it was without onlookers.

Hardison had to support him fully on the left side, where his injured ankle was, but not his ex-dislocated shoulder, while Parker physically put his uninjured foot into Lucille. Then Hardison hoisted them into the van with Parker making sure they wouldn't fall back, until they were in and they could shuffle forwards and get seated.

Eliot was determined not to be visibly injured, so he crossed his arms and planted his feet on the ground, before staring ahead, vowing to keep his one, not swollen eye firmly open for the entire ride.

His plan was ruined by Parker the moment she settled on his other side, because she leaned forwards and put his leg on the little platform and right as he was about to protest, she put a bag of ice cubes on his foot and that actually felt really nice, so he cut himself off with a soft, grumpy thanks. She smiled: “Of course,” before handing him another ice cube bag for his eye.

Still, he could be awake and grumpy about everything, even when they were treating him like he was terribly injured, which he could understand after the fucking spectacle he made of himself last night. So he just told Nate that he shouldn’t pull up so fast, which earned him a glare from the man through the rear view mirror that he ignored.

Parker was on his right fiddling with one of her locks while she gazed out the window. Hardison was on his left and tapping away on a screen that was moving too fast for Eliot to follow. It was peaceful and they talked with each other softly, though Eliot didn’t have the energy to add his own commentary.

He felt bad about being in the middle of them again when they had already missed each other last night because of him. They hadn’t even seen each other during the job either with Hardison on tech support and Parker running between stealing and grifting.

He didn’t know how to bring it up that he wouldn’t mind switching with Hardison so that they could be next to each other and he could lean against the window. It wasn’t that he was tired and wanted to lean against something, he just wanted to have a clear line of sight, that was all.

The ice was slowly melting, until he had two bags of water and they were nearing their first stop, where Nate pulled over. Sophie would be driving the next stretch, because car-safety and all that jazz.

“Want me to get you anything?” Hardison asked when it became clear that Eliot wasn’t leaving the van.

“Nah, I’m good,” he said. “Maybe switch places with me? I can’t lean against anything in the middle.” He didn’t add: ‘and I’m sure you missed Parker,’ partially because he knew it would have come out sounding bitter and that was something he did not need to deal with, both mentally and in real life.

Hardison raised a brow. “And where are you going to rest you foot if you’re on the left? And I know you ain’t going to be on the right, I heard your shoulder that shit was just wrong.”

“I’ll be fine without resting my foot anywhere. Dammit, Hardison,” Eliot frowned, not sure why the hacker was even fighting him on this.

“You can lean against me, promise I won’t draw on your face,” Hardison said, before walking away so that Eliot couldn't reply. Parker skipped up next to him and asked about the drawing on the face with a bit too much glee.

The words caught up with Eliot and he could feel his cheeks getting warmer, which he pushed down immediately. Hardison had offered it so casually, like it wasn’t weird at all that he was turning down the offer of sitting next to his girlfriend so that Eliot could lean against his shoulder. But maybe Eliot was seeing things where there was nothing, he was injured (minor injuries but that didn’t seem to stop Hardison from worrying), so it could just be a normal offer. It wasn’t as if Hardison hadn’t fallen asleep on his shoulder from time to time.

It wouldn't be weird, he didn’t need to make it weird. Besides, he didn’t needto take him up on the offer and lean on Hardison. He could just not sleep and keep on looking forwards. Yeah, that was a plan.

Soon the others came back, piling into the van once more, with Parker shoving two cold things in his hands as she proudly proclaimed: “They sold ice packs!”

“Oh, thank you, Parker,” he smiled at her, starting to lean forward with a grunt only to find one of the ice packs stolen and being placed on his foot again. He nodded his thanks to Parker, before settling down against the backseat and putting the other ice pack against his eye.

The swelling had gone down already with the ice cubes from the hotel, but the fresh coolness of the ice pack was still welcome.

On his other side, Hardison said: “I managed to convince her not to take the markers, so you’re welcome.”

“And who gave her the idea in the first place,” Eliot shot back, getting an idea. “I’m not risking it by sleeping. You never know if she doesn’t have them anyway.”

“Come on, man, you need the rest,” Hardison tried to argue.

“I already had more sleep than normal, Hardison. I’m fine,” Eliot replied. He did feel tired, but he wasn’t admitting that.

“But I promise I don’t have the markers,” Parker inserted herself into the conversation as well, showing that she only had some hundred dollar bills in her pockets along with some earrings that weren’t hers and a small stuffed mushroom.

“You literally just asked me if we could switch places so that you could lean against something,” it was clear that Hardison wasn’t believing him.

“I thought that you would want to sit next to Parker, sorry for trying to be nice,” he huffed out the truth, hoping it would get them off his back. They stayed silent, so he called out to the front: “Soph, can we please listen to something else, I am so not in the mood for opera.”

Sophie did change the station to something more generic with less high notes that made his head hurt, even if she grumbled: “Someone’s in a mood today.”

He snapped back: “You try getting beat up on a regular basis, see if you’re still sunshine and rainbows after.”

“No, for real, man, you’re never this grouchy,” Hardison frowned, trying to subtly check him over and failing on the subtle part. “Is something wrong? What’s going on?”

“Is there an alien in your stomach controlling you?” Parker asked with wide eyes.

“Dammit, Hardison, I told you not to watch those stupid alien movies with her,” Eliot focused on something other than the uncomfortable questions Hardison had asked.

Because yeah, he was more grouchy than normal and something was wrong, but the something that was wrong was the fact that he had discovered that he was in love with his two best friends and now he was stuck on an eight hour car ride between them after they had seen him vulnerable and he feared that they would catch on or that he was coming between them and it was all the confusing twisty things he had tried to avoid and didn’t want to talk about.

Grouchy didn’t entirely cover that.

“Uhm, excuse you, alien movies are a staple of American culture that everyone should get to experience, so don’t even start there, also you didn’t answer my question,” Hardison told him, leveling him with a stare.

Eliot now had a choice. And it was easily made. “I have a huge headache, Hardison,” he sighed a partially lie, before going on with a whole lie, “I have a headache, I barely slept on the last con and you’re all very loud. I don’t need anyone’s fussing, I just wanted to sit quietly and everyone is making it really hard.”

“Thank you for being honest with us,” Parker said and it was obviously something she’d learned from Sophie and Eliot felt guilty about pretending to be open about his injuries a bit, just so they would get off his back.

“Yeah, man, we’ll be quiet,” Hardison added.

Hardison turned back to his screen and Parker to her locks and Eliot tried not to miss their soft chatter as he closed his eyes and tried to find his zen place.

After how much he’d insisted he wasn’t going to sleep, he was slightly embarrassed that the next moment he was waking up, having been asleep for some time. He could tell Sophie was behind the wheel, which meant he either hadn’t been asleep for long or they were on the last two hour stretch home.

He now registered that the ice pack on his foot had was cool again and the one on his cheek was held in place by someone – Parker his mind supplied – but he was leaning against something, someone, else with his other cheek. He was kind of groggy and he struggled to wake up, blinking bleary until he heard Hardison’s voice near his left ear: “Hey there, finally joining us in the land of the living again, huh?”

“Wha?” he was still feeling disorientated, the headache was much worse than when he’d drifted off and his muscles were sore, he was also cold and his throat ached slightly in the background. He levered himself into a sitting position and tried to take a deep breath to wake up, only to find his nose stuffy.

No.

Fuck no.

It all clicked into place after a second. The confusion, the chills, the headache, sore muscles and throat and then also a stuffy nose. He was sick. He had managed to get himself sick.

“You okay?” Hardison asked, obviously concerned and Eliot felt guilty about having been asleep on his shoulder after everything, as well as guilt because that couldn't have been comfortable and Eliot just cozied up to him again, even when he knew Hardison had a girlfriend. A girlfriend who had been holding his ice pack for him.

He owed those two so much in just the last 24 hours alone, not to mention the past few years. That was something he couldn't pay back and he had treated them like shit and had caught weird feelings for them and gotten in between them.

Tears came to his eyes and he blinked them away as a hole started to eat away at his heart and he couldn't fully push that down, even if he tried.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, he knew that his too emotional state of being was due to his lower defenses since he was sick. He felt too exhausted to fight it, but did it after a moment anyway, replacing it with enough grumpiness to be believable.

“‘m fine,” he mumbled, trying not to make his sore throat obvious as he rubbed his eyes in an attempt to wake up. They didn’t need to know he was sick, they would only worry. He would disappear when they got home and come back when he felt better again. “Are we near the brewpub yet?”

“Yes, you slept for so long, it was a bit boring, but your nose whistled and that was funny,” Parker informed him. “Hardison was trapped under you the entire ride.”

Now at that he did blush and avoided Hardison’s eyes as he softly apologized.

“No worries, man, you obviously needed the sleep,” Hardison assured him. “And I wasn’t trapped under you the entire ride, we managed to lever you over to Parker’s shoulder when Nate took Sophie’s place again. We only switched you back last stop.”

“I didn’t wake up?” Eliot asked, frowning, he must be sicker than he thought.

“Slept like a baby,” Hardison said. “Are you sure you’re okay, man?”

“‘m fine, I already said that,” Eliot grouched, trying not to let show how much he wanted to not be okay and wrapped up in a hug or a blanket or something. He was the tough one, he couldn't be weak, because his job was being strong. Just hold on, Eliot, he thought, then you can crash on your bed.

“Your voice sounds off,” Parker observed, “more gravelly than normal. And you didn’t wake up in a second and your eyes are still drooping.” She cocked her head, before her eyes got a knowing gleam in them. He was made. “Do you feel hungry? Or are you nauseous? Are you in any discomfort? Cold, perhaps? How’s your headache?”

“Hey, mama, why don’t you give the man a rest,” Hardison came to his defense. “You’re kinda overwhelming him with questions right now.”

“When has Eliot ever been overwhelmed?” Parker shot back and Eliot cursed her observation skills, there went his plan to hide until he was better.

“What are you getting at, baby?” Hardison frowned.

“She figured out I’m sick,” Eliot snapped, before Parker could tell him. “And I’m right here. No need to talk about me like I’m not.”

“You’re sick?” Nate asked. “How long has that been going on?”

“I only noticed it when I woke up,” Eliot replied, remembering one of Nate’s rules. “I would have told you if I was sick on the con. I wouldn’t have put you all in danger over me being sick, you know that.”

“Is his wound infected?” Sophie asked and before Eliot could tell them that no it was not, because he would have noticed that, two small calloused thief hands crawled under his shirt, feeling at the bandage, before lifting his shirt to inspect it. Parker reported: “The wound is fine.”

“Do we have supplies for soup at home?” Hardison asked.

“I think we have a blanket for him somewhere under the chairs,” Nate said.

“Oehh, we can build a pillow fort!” Parker exclaimed.

“I’m right here,” Eliot grouched, he didn’t need their care. Craved it? Yes. But he didn’t need it and he wasn’t going to let them. He was supposed to be invincible and while they were long past believing that, he couldn't let them see how pathetic he was. “And I don’t need a damn blanket or soup, or a pillow fort. I’m just a bit under the weather and I am fine on my own. I’ll take a few days and then I’m good to go, don’t be so dramatic.”

Hardison looked him over, then looked at Parker and raised his brow in an ‘are you hearing this guy’ manner, before he said: “I can be as dramatic as I want to be.”

“What? No,” Eliot said. “I’m the sick one and if I say I’m fine and you gotta stop being dramatic about it, then you stop being dramatic about it. Simple.”

“Sure, simple,” Hardison said, pulling out the blanket and teamworking with Parker to get it around his shoulders. “Except I worried my ass off last night because you could hardly walk, or even stand on your own and you dazed out constantly while trying to tell us you were fine. So when it comes to you telling me you’re fine, I’m not really trusting you, alright.”

The blanket around his shoulders was warm and he wanted to burrow into it, but he wasn’t giving in so easily.

“Dammit, Hardison, I said I was fine. I don’t need any of your fussing near me, alright. I’m not incompetent. It’s not even that bad,” he yelled, snapping because he had no energy to do anything but snapping or giving in at this point. And giving in wasn’t an option.

“I know you’re not incompetent, Eliot, we all do,” Hardison said, Parker agreeing: “Of course we don’t think that, you’re skilled.”

He crossed his arms and looked away. He knew they didn’t think he was incompetent, they wouldn't trust him with their lives otherwise, but that could change at any moment. He’d seen it happen before, so he wasn’t risking it.

“And I’m also hearing a lot about you don’t needing anything, which I also believe,” Hardison went on in a tone that had Eliot’s guard up. “But I ain’t hearing nothing about wanting. And we care about you, man, how many times have I got to tell you that? We want to take care of you, even if we know you don’t need it.”

“I don’t need anyone playing nurse,” he protested again. It was weak and he knew it, but he had to protest, he had to warn them without explicitly warning them, because that would also be a weakness and- His head hurt and the thoughts in it were swirling and confusing him.

“That kinda looks like a lie to me,” Hardison said, looking him over with concern in his eyes. “And you’re again talking about needing not wanting.”

“Are you okay, Eliot?” Parker was also not happy with his face it seemed, but he knew he must look like a confused, sweating, hurt mess, with a swollen eye and a shivering frame. He had even pitifully burrowed into the blanket without even realizing.

“I’m- I’m- I don’t know,” he finally admitted. He was just tired and upset about feelings he couldn't place. He wanted to crash someplace warm and not have to think for a moment. “I don’t know,” he said again, voice unsteady. “It’s- I- I can never want something. ‘s a weakness.”

If he was paying attention, he could have pinpointed when Hardison’s heart broke by the look in his eye, but instead he was distracted by Parker pulling him into a hug as she said: “I get it, but Hardison taught me how to feel stuff and you taught me how to like stuff, we can teach you how to be taken care of.”

“I think that’s a great idea,” Sophie’s voice was slightly fake in her enthusiasm as it came from the front seat, cutting off any half-formed protests from Eliot.

“Me too,” Hardison quickly agreed, throwing an arm over Eliot’s shoulder and pulling him close, until he was leaning against his chest, Parker on his lap like a pretzel. “We’ll teach you how to be taken care off and then you can work on your verbal explanations by teaching me how to make soup for you from the comforts of a bed.”

“Wha- I don’t-” Eliot’s mind was too confused to properly fight the argument, he somewhere knew needed to be fought, while also not wanting to fight it.

“It’s been a lot of don’ts from you, just accept it, alright?” Hardison said, pulling him closer and he wanted to protest again. Really, he did. But he was also very comfortable and warm and he was tired and they’d be home soon. He could fight them again when they were home.

In the end, it turned out that fighting them when they got home was a terrible plan. The sleeping had left him groggy and Nate and Sophie had already disappeared, leaving him with just Hardison’s comforting chattering and Parker’s puppy eyes. He couldn't drive home in this state and both had refused to drive him and he already had a room above the brewpub, so he could go home tomorrow if he felt like it and-

And he gave in, the great Eliot Spencer, defeated by cute little eyes and too many arguments about a comfortable bed nearby. What had his life come to?

His life had come to waking up in a soft bed, that Hardison had managed to get exactly right before he’d even arrived in Portland all those months ago, with a sore throat and muscles, while being nicely warm on his right side where a bony elbow was wedged into his side, while on the other side there was a consistent, comfortingly familiar tapping noise.

He blinked blearily and groaned when a wave of nausea rolled over him, before a coughing fit overtook him. Parker’s warmth disappeared, but Hardison’s voice came: “Hey, hey, you’re alright, you’re alright.”

A glass of water appeared and he took it gratefully, sipping it slowly and letting it sooth his throat and wash away the itch at the back of it.

“You’ve been clonked out for the past few hours, about sixteen. How you feeling?” And Eliot was grateful that Hardison knew him well enough to first tell him how much time he’d lost before asking him about his state.

“I’m fine,” he replied, but his voice was barely a whisper.

“That response is really ingrained, isn’t it, huh?” Hardison said, but there was no judgment in his voice.

“Oehh, is that one of the things we’re teaching him to stop with? Like how I had to look further than the alarms in a museum?” Parker piped up.

“Yeah, exactly, mama,” Hardison’s smile was obvious when he talked. “He can start by telling us how he really feels.”

And Eliot was honestly too tired to follow the conversation, so he gave up on trying and just answered honestly: “Like I’ve been hit by a motorcycle.”

“Not a truck?” Hardison asked.

“No, motorcycle hit is very distinctive.”

“You and your distinctive,” the mutter was more for Hardison himself than him, so he ignored it. “Parker, baby, if I go get the soup, can you make sure he doesn’t drop off again. He needs to eat if he wants to recover.”

“Of course, I’ll keep watch!” Parker saluted and Hardison left the room.

Eliot let his eyes close, content to just lie there, but Parker obviously thought he was falling asleep again, because she poked his right cheek where the bruise was. It was less tender than last time, but still sore, so he hissed: “The fuck, Parker.”

“I need to keep you awake,” she said with wide eyes and he wanted to roll his, but that would make her sad, so he just sighed and leaned back into his pillow, this time with his eyes open.

“What happened?” he asked, trying to put together the little bit of information his brain was willing to give him.

“Well, you were out beating people up in the rain,” she launched into an explanation, “and Hardison says you don’t actually get sick from the rain, but you did get sick and me and Hardison are taking care of you, but you were really grumpy on the drive back, but then you fell asleep. And your nose whistled.”

He let her voice wash over him as she went on.

“But then you woke up and you were really sad about something, but also grouchy and then Hardison did his thing, where he gets people and has like the voice that tells him what you need to hear. He and Sophie both do it, it’s fascinating, he’s teaching me how to do it too. And you gave in, because you wanted to, but you didn’t want to tell us, so we had to crack your emotion safe with our words and now we’re going to teach you how to be taken care of,” she finished.

Wait what? He had put most of the pieces together and part of him had only partially questioned why they were in his bed, but he hadn’t remembered this. He thought they were just here to see if he woke up again and now that he had, he could throw them out of his room (going to his apartment seemed too hard at this point), but not this.

Before the freak out could fully set in, Hardison entered with a bowl of steaming soup. “Here you go, chicken noodle soup, the best for when you’re sick and homemade,” Hardison grinned. “I really want to say by us, but we set a pan on fire and then asked the kitchen staff to make it.”

He wordlessly accepted the soup, still trying to figure out what was going on exactly, how he felt about it and how he would get out of it.

Yeah, okay, what the fuck had his life come to?

A/N:

I really like the idea of Eliot being fine with the insane driving off Sophie and Parker, because it’s at least functional in a getaway situation, but he can’t stand Nate’s just below average driving (personal headcanon) in an everyday situation. It tickles me.

Also I know that Lucille doesn’t have a backseat bench, but the vibes were too good so just go with it

#RR writing #tw: self esteem issues #tw: flu #tw: sickfic #leverage #leverage tv #leverage ot3 #hitter hacker thief #thiefsome #eliot x hardison x parker #eliot spencer #eliot spencer angst #alec hardison #parker #leverage parker #nate ford #sophie devereaux #Hold Me Together #Hold Me Together Part 2

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reflectingiridescent · 3 years ago

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On Sophie and Harry

Ok I'm halfway through the finale of S1, and I have omg so many thoughts. I am eating this character development UP and licking my plate.

I'm loving Sophie being in charge. Because of Harry and Breanna, I find myself taking the perspective of seeing her as only a boss, never as an older sister or surrogate mother figure. And the difference is slight but very significant.

First, there's Breanna. Sophie's not going to adopt her the way she did Parker and Hardison. She's going to be empathetic, a good boss, firm and fair. But her parenting days are over. She's in a different role now, and I am loving her in it. We see a lot less of the dramatics from the old days (because she's grown and she's grieving), but the spark is still there. She's finding her joy again, and I love that.

I'm also loving seeing her settle into her role as being in charge. She can talk to Harry as an equal on a different path. He is an expert, just not in her world. When she pulls him away for the "what the hell. explain." conversation in the finale...ooh, chills. She's SO ATTRACTIVE but also very much has the team's safety in mind. In a lot of ways, she's taken responsibility for Harry. She does still have that desire to save people, but also she wants to help them get to their full potential. Combination of team influences on her here + how she's always been the director of her own play, in the warmest and most well-meaning way.

Really the whole genteel way she handles Harry. It's very professional, a spark of the dramatic. I'm LOVING it. I'm loving how their paths parallel each other. Laying some lovely groundwork here for whatever this is going to be.

After Ethan, Harry's now referring to his ex-wife as his wife. He has some stuff to work out, and in typical Sophie fashion, she lets things work out where necessary, just knows when people need the space and when she needs to step in and offer a listening ear (or a gentle jerk back toward reality).

I'm thinking about how Sophie does find the situation with Harry a little comfortable. He's her people project. He wants to learn how to be a part of the crew, and he's looking to right his wrongs and figure out where he is. He's lost. A lot of the way they interact with each other has a rhythm that is comforting to her. And it is very comfortable to her, for now. He does seem to have won her benefit of the doubt.

I'm also thinking about how Harry perceives Sophie - first as a very smart and capable grifter who's gone through this loss, his grifting mentor but also someone who understands the dimensions of his life experience. She must be fascinating the way most people find Sophie. But he also sees that she's been able to find a family that works on terms that work for everyone, without lying, without messing everything up. I think he wants a part of that but also wants to know his place. I think he thinks he'll learn something. And I think he's a little captivated by Sophie, not because of a romanticized version of her life but just because of how damn capable she is. And how she sees something in him that he wishes he saw and is not even sure is there at all.

He finds her a comfortable presence too. He tells her his thought process (quite easily), and she just gets it. He has a kid. She has adopted kids. He's taking on this role with Breanna (and sometimes Parker) that reminds Sophie of her early days with the team. There's this texture to that relationship that I really want to see more. They're unfamiliar enough to where they can give each other space, but there are echoes of experience there that just make them a good fit.

(Ok here's where the analysis ends and my very excited projecting happens)

And I'm not saying that it's going to end up being they both find themselves again and then support each other through Big Life Things and then kind of become longer term partners over a slow and BEAUTIFUL story full of late night conversations over drinks and linked-arm walks talking in broad terms about the future, but like...I wouldn't be mad if that happened at all.

#sophie devereaux #harry wilson #still I'm like should I get them a tag #leverage #leverage redemption

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vickyvicarious · 3 years ago

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Charlie tells Parker, "Don't waste time."

And then she looks over at Hardison and they share these smiles. It - it really gets to me, because one thing that Parker/Hardison is consistently praised for is their slow, steady romance. Her taking her time and him knowing she needs that and waiting patiently.

In S1, Hardison expresses interest in Parker several times. Then, while the crew is separated between S1-S2, he looks for her. She never lets him find her, but he tells her he was looking. And she tells him that people are like locks; you have to be careful and fiddly, and eventually they might open up for you. After that, he stops being so openly flirty but still clearly has feelings for her.

In S3, Parker gets jealous and realizes that she has feelings for him too. She tries to tell him, but she isn't ready and he sees that and tells her it's okay to wait until she is. So they go the rest of the season with him knowing she has feelings for him, but not acting on it. At the end of the season, she tells him she is in the mood for pretzels, in other words openly confessing what they both know.

S4 starts less that two weeks after the end of S3 - and this is early into that season. In the very first episode Parker struggled with who she is and whether she is a bad person because of what she can do that Hardison couldn't, finally deciding that she can take herself how she wants - and choosing to do good (which resulted in helping someone in the very way she'd hoped to originally, albeit different methods). After that moment, she hugged Hardison, and later they had a conversation about how this wasn't going to be normal, but normal is what works for you (as Nana says). In the couple of episodes since then, Parker and Hardison have been close to one another more than usual.

In this episode, they speak softly to one another. She expresses sympathy for him, they hold hands. They both know how they feel, they both have admitted to their feelings. They are beginning a relationship, slowly, circling ever closer to one another. They haven't made any official changes yet but they know. They're taking it in increments.

And then Parker hears this story, of a man and a woman who loved one another deeply, and yet at the last moment the woman was unable to take that final plunge. Not out of a lack of love, but because she was too afraid (for his safety, certainly, but also for herself. that she wouldn't be able to measure up to someone so smart and well-traveled, that she was too small and not able to take care of herself, that she wouldn't be able to walk with him but would always be a weight he had to carry). Parker listens to this story and she cries. Parker saw a man die alone on a mountain, his wife grieving, him knowing someone loved him but unable to reach them in his final moments. That hit her deeply too.

Charlie tells her, "Don't waste time."

And Parker smiles at Hardison, because she isn't going to. She has decided to be with him, to risk herself down to the core and open up to the love he is offering her. He told her to take her time and she has been - but now, she's not going to waste it anymore. Throughout the rest of this season, Parker and Hardison still don't officially get together. But they continue taking steady steps closer and closer. Even after 'The Grave Danger Job', a terrifying taste of losing him that might have sent the Parker of old running out of self-preservation, she continues to build towards dating him. They're still taking their time - this statement doesn't prompt her to run headlong into something she's not yet ready for. They aren't rushing by any means. All that praise holds true.

But Parker takes Charlie's advice. All that time is well spent, is actively used to let her do the growing she needs and find the comfort enough to take that final step in acting on the love they both know they have for one another. It's deliberate and so mature. There isn't a moment spent on denial when Charlie says this to her; she isn't going to waste her time like that anymore. She isn't going to falter like Dorothy did. And even if it ends in tragedy somewhere down the line, even if something like the mountain ever happened to her - she's seen how it's worth it anyway, and she has made the choice to be with him. She knows (they both know) it will happen, has already begun to happen and isn't going to stop. That's why they smile here.

#leverage #leverage rewatch #parker #parker/hardison #thiefsome #my meta #leverage meta #i just. love them both so much.#and charlie too. i love him.

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cricketchaology · 3 years ago

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the bile of the beast

this fic includes discussion of the symptoms of PTSD, especially as it relates to eliot's past with violence (including allusions to sexual violence). if these topics are triggering for you, please proceed with caution.

READ ON AO3

it's san lorenzo (again, but different than it used to be) , and it's sweeter this time. it's fake blood on sophie's dress and damien's smirk melting off his face, a president's hands on nate's lapel. it's righting a wrong, but it's also a burning warehouse a country or so away, cops called and infiltrating, and they won't find who did it because eliot is a professional, always has been. they'll find a room full of messy corpses, turning in the evening sun, each as nameless as the last. moreau likes his men to be nothing (outside of him).

it's something eliot knows intimately: the way moreau can sink his teeth in so slowly you don't release you are nothing but a chew toy. and it's an odd thought when you are the dog, that your hide is flea-ridden and blank. that you are the soft toy he humps in the yard, not the doberman across the street that bears its teeth behind the screen door of close-cropped control. that, sometimes, you aren't even the weapon. sometimes you are the display: the show dog, heeling at the hand that no longer bears a treat. that your ribs are the home of boot-toes, breaking you down to the red dust you thought you escaped when you took up the mantle of a flag all those years ago.

so he holds the bottleneck. he clinks the right glasses, smiles appropriately in a way he prays reaches his eyes because sophie will notice if it doesn't and he can't. he's not feeling the happiness he knows is supposed to rise in his stomach at revenge because this isn't, the shapes are all pulled too long, too neat. it's moreau, it's messy by nature, it’s bloodied hands and broken chairs and little bits being removed from base-spine with even tweezers, folding on the floor like christ in the tomb, listening the tut-tut-tut of a man who doesn't love, but he loves you , or you think he does. eliot's grip tightens at the notion.

cause he knows moreau. he knows moreau like the back of his hand. knows how many times each knuckle's been busted and finger broken, constellation tracing each freckle. he knows moreau like a typewriter knows the author's touch, pounding away till the letters are worn. he knows moreau, which he means he knows it's not over, which means he can't stop running because he never, ever could, and it's why he's here now, with a team that knows him too much for him to stay. who will act like tomorrow is a new day, a free one. like with the italian off their backs, nothing is hanging over their heads.

tomorrow is day one of post-post moreau. it's not the first time he's escaped, and it won't be the last. it is a fact he knows the team won't understand- not when they got off easy, this time. last time it was by the skin of eliot's teeth, shoulder bullet-lodged and airplanes unnamed as he crossed ocean after ocean just to put enough distance between him and the hammer so that he could avoid being the next nail. he wasn't free then. wasn't free a day after moreau, wasn't even free before, because when moreau wants something, he gets it. and he wanted eliot spencer less then than he wants him now. the thought makes his skin crawl, remembering the heat of the brand as it grew closer to his inner thigh, kissing the hairs near his groin before drawing away. because moreau doesn't even need to lay claim to own you, just has to say he did. just has to release that wolf-grin and hold your collar like its always been his.

eliot's spent years clawing at that loop, the necklace that bites too tight around his skin even when no one else knows. he cooks, and he smiles, but it's always there, always weighing on the nape like a hand, skin pinching. he's spent years scratching and howling, enough that the red ring is more evident than the too-tight collar itself. enough that he knows it doesn't come off. to know even a moreau locked in a hole in san lorenzo is still the one he remembers, even if the shape is different.

so when nate offers up a glass of whiskey, raised high by an unshaking hand, it takes everything in eliot to smile, lift his beer bottle, and cheer.

///

he does not remember much of the first day post-post moreau, which is something that scares him. he's not sure how it passed him by; he remembers waking up in the hotel, turning in sunbeams as they scrape past the window screen. he remembers the panic of nate not answering the door when he knocked, and he remembers slamming his body into it until he saw nate alive and well, but he doesn't remember the conversation that followed. he doesn't remember what comes between the elevator and the airport, or what movie hardison played on the flight, or how many seats were unfilled. they're the kind of lapses that could get him- get all of them, he amends, wondering how he could forget- killed. because what eliot lacks in computer skills or acting ability he makes up for in counting hats, mapping exits. he pays his stay in blood.

except he doesn't now, or he's not supposed to. the thought haunts him the rest of the flight. he's barely conscious when they arrive back in boston, his head swimming between the then and the now, post and post-post. he doesn't even realize they've landed till the seatbelt light flickers off, and his hands go to help sophie carry all the luggage she packed in place of the carryon he didn't need.

because eliot never travels with a suitcase. when he arrives, the clothes will be laid out on the bed that’s been paid off for the next few nights. the most that ever belongs to him are the shoes, but even that is a danger- particulates are easily traced, so the red dirt is disposed of every other week, burying the people he isn't supposed to say he's been. disoriented as he is, he winds up picking up a stranger's briefcase before he realizes it's the weight of paperwork-filled folders and not a sniper rifle nestled intimately inside.

he drops it like the handle burns. the movement is abrupt enough that his elbow nudges nate's side. his furrowed brows say we need to talk.

eliot wants to meet his eyes but can't. instead, he grounds himself, taking enough of the team's bags that the straps start to wear into his skin, pulling him from the nothing that's begun to spread from post to post-post. he's silent on the drive home, oddly unperturbed by the fact that parker insists on driving (something about how airplanes don't feel fast, and she wants to feel fast, and everyone being too tired to argue) . he doesn't so much as grumble as he makes a roundabout the vehicle, jabbing each tire with the tip of his toe. he stares at the license plate for a moment too long, trying to remember why he's in boston before nate shouts something along the lines of "come on, let's get home."

it's raining; something eliot doesn't register till they've arrived at the office and are piling out of the car. his arms are loaded with bags by the time he hears someone say, "we'll worry about the luggage later," which they surely said before he loaded up. by the time he makes it inside, his hair is curling at the ends in a way it never did in the before- cropped too short then for even damien to find much comfort in running fingers through, though he'd do it anyway. petting more than soothing, and the difference was something eliot learned to sense before the hand was even laid down, the way a knee aches before a storm.

the thought must show on his face, or maybe his disheveled appearance is enough to earn the concern coloring his team as they stare at him, dripping in the doorway with their luggage draped across his body all pack-mule-like. he's shivering, though he isn't exactly sure why, by the time they pull the bags from him, ushering him upstairs as the bar staff eyes them no more curiously but perhaps more timidly than usual. the soles of his shoes squeak against the vinyl, and he flinches, thinking about all the ways a wrong sound could get him killed. moreau is tut-tut-tutting in his ear again, like before, in the during .

the whole team is talking, mumbling mercies and platitudes, and his heart is racing in his chest, pounding like heels on rooftops and down staircases in foreign countries. the rain beats down on the window like fists, like prisoners you knew before they were prisoners and allies you used to trust, and he's not really breathing; the air in the crawlspace is too thin. his hands are shaking, and his CO is saying “steady, steady,” whispering it like a mother to her babe, and the shot rings out with that familiar flashbang of lighting.

"stop," he mutters, and it feels like too much noise, too much noise (surely, they're going to catch him this time). "please, stop. stop."

the air falls quiet, like new york news as the death of osama bin laden is broadcast, like hushed last phone calls on the plane going down, army basecamps right before the armada. it's quiet like death is- like two lovers who don't know each other yet. like hair coiling, blackening, burning in the heat. his breath hitches like he can remember it.

"...eliot?" parker asks, because she's parker, crazy by design, but even now, she isn't touching him, though her hands are outstretched like she wants to. hardison looks at her like she has horns, like she's breaking a vault while the sirens scream, and she is, in every conceivable way. it makes eliot ache in a way he didn't know he could still feel. it makes him want to be the person she thinks him to be.

he meets parker's gaze like he's staring down the business end of a gun. like being the fish in the barrel. he averts her gaze, transfixed on the city skyline behind her, peering through beating rain. he's scanning for men laying belly-down on balconies, sniper's trained and at the ready. he struggles to make out the horizon through obscuring strands of hair he doesn't remember growing out. he swallows, fingers flexing with a familiar hunger for hurt.

before he's aware of it, he's being lead to the couch, his soaking jacket somehow shed without his knowledge (he was too busy counting hats, mapping exits. moreau wants to know how many hats). the sofa is soft beneath him, swallowing him in warmth better than his standard-issue sleeping bag, and he's helpless against the hands on his shoulders pushing him purposefully deeper. the nails are enough for him to know it's sophie, even though he can't fully see her in front of him. the hair is tucked behind his ear with a tenderness he didn't know still existed. that he doesn't think he can deserve.

he isn't sure how long he sits there, his hands shaking in his lap. he isn't sure how long the silence permeates till it's replaced with the sound of knife striking board, and he comes to understand that Chopped reruns have been playing on the screens ahead, and it's sweet because they think he'd like it, not because he does. his boots have been unlaced, pulled from his feet (now bare, like christ folding on the floor in front of the disciples, moreau saying "wash my feet, eliot") and set gently near the end of the sofa. the thermostat has been turned to a temperature he lovingly calls "oklahoma august," which the rest of the team always whines is too hot, and the smell of thai food from his favorite food truck seeps into the air. he hangs on the scent like a cartoon character to fresh pie on the window.

it's too much like post , rather than post-post, the way they smile at him shambling to the island. the ache of the fights from the past weeks are starting to catch up to him; without a fresh neck in his hands, it's easier to remember the skin peeled from his knees. seeing him, nate holds out a steaming plate of his favorite and eliot takes it slowly. he stares down at it, enchanted by the authenticity of it even after it's pulled from a takeout box.

but you don't eat things you didn't see prepared; it's a lesson he learned after being poisoned in some hole in south america, and that he risked with every hors d'oeuvre moreau would hold to his lips, saying taste this, meaning die for me, like the sound of vultures overhead. something must change in his eyes because nate isn't smiling anymore. because nate is reaching out, taking the plate back, and it's clear that he doesn't understand what he's done wrong, no one does, not even sophie, if the way her gaze fluctuating between eliot and nate is to say anything.

"i'm not supposed to eat anything i didn't cook," he instinctively explains (this must be a test), wanting the sad look to leave hardison's eyes. "you either. i'm not supposed to let you eat anything i didn't prepare- that i didn't taste."

a beat of silence follows, heavy like the snow piling on slates, like soot on a seven-year-old brow. nate breaks it hesitantly.

"eliot-"

"let me taste your food," eliot says, all too much like the during and unlike post or post-post; it's too soft and ungrowled, too eliot and not enough spencer .

the look sophie shares with nate is deadly- like hiroshima at ground zero or kitum cave circa 1980. there's a silent battle wagging there, one eliot can't find the energy to care about because, without even a second of hesitation, parker hands him her plate of too-sweet noodles. she smiles at him, strange in that way parker always is, like a rat taking trap-bound cheese.

eliot takes care, inspecting the color, the smell, and though all of it is wrong, it's parker's, and it smells like how parker likes pad woon sen, which a post , but not post-post, eliot would have the energy to despise tenderly. but that's not who he is now, twirling noodles up on the fork, chewing garishly until he can gulp them down with confidence, like swallowing a key and knowing they can't beat it out of you. like downing the rations before the taste of them reaches your brain. he hands the plate back, feeling lighter, and hardison must be able to tell because he offers his dish up next. he watches as eliot inspects it thoroughly like a jeweler counting carats. the process doesn't take long, and, after a few minutes, each takeout box has been combed through for error, and eliot has determined they are safe enough to settle at the bar for the meal.

he doesn't sit down though, isn't supposed to. he goes to check exits, to stand by the door. he thinks about meetings in moreau's office, thinks about clubs and bars and women in bikinis that moreau never wanted to touch. because women were shows- because if moreau wanted something, he got it, and eliot knows this, so he knows moreau didn't want the women. he knows that moreau hungered for something different- not younger, but meaner. harder. he thinks about moreau in the sauna, beckoning eliot over, saying dismiss your post and meaning drop to your knees, folding before him like christ, like washing feet, like intimacy anew. he thinks about hardison, tied to the chair, and about chapman and his gun and moreau towel-drying sweat from his skin. he thinks about the kick, the move he invented, and hardison sucking air from the pneumatic, thinks about sucking air and-

///

"pause the show," sophie says, right before eliot goes from nervously checking the locks for the dozenth time to crumpling to the floor, his fingers digging claw-like into the edge of the doorframe. his breaths are too quick, huffing in and out, in and out, fast as chopper blades overhead screaming against wind. his whole body is vibrating by the time ted's voice is cut off, hand closing over the cloche in slow motion.

parker is the first to him, light on her feet and perching in front. she observes him like a cat might a dead bird; curiosity and hunger, unfamiliar yet innate. but then that hunger fades, is sated, and she's tucking her knees beneath her body and folding herself by eliot, kneeling. she surrounds him, skin heavy like a blanket, and eliot melts into her like one fades into the air after jumping from a plane- the way the heat melds to your back as an explosion follows you out the door.

with only slightly more hesitance, hardison joins them on the floor, his long arms enveloping them. eliot's hair tickles his nose, hardison's soft breaths blowing them away, then pulling them back like the ebb and flow of waves lapping a shoreline. he closes his eyes for a long moment, batting away the thought of water filling his lungs, and reopens them to find nate staring down awestruckenly.

sophie smiles softly in a way that means she knows something no one else does, cracking the mark open like a pistachio shell. hardison squints, searching for an answer, but she gives none. instead, she pulls nate away by his wrist, casting a look across the room before quietly trailing up the staircase, leaving eliot, parker, and hardison tucked tightly into the corner.

///

the seconds evade him while he sits there, sobbing on the floor. it feels like a weakness, something he should be hiding- he hasn't cried like this since the night his momma died (not in his pristine funeral suit. his father has pulled his tie-tight and said, "now don't you embarrass me," and he didn't then- made sure he never did again.) he hadn't cried like that the entire time during , or post , but now it was post-post and here he was, broken to bits on the wooden floor of a dingy bars' loft in boston.

not for the first time, he finds himself wondering how the hell he ended up here. how he escaped the during , how he made it to post-post. because, really, he's seen greater men die on their first tour. he's been in the hellholes they strung soldiers up in, purple heart wearers bleeding nothing but red, red, red- and he's been that man, russian roulette spun and against the odds making it a baker's dozen rounds before the tortures tired of threats and moved onto toenails. even then, he didn't cry like this- if he did cry, well, that was sweat in his eyes. that was him praying to a lord he stopped believing in at 18, saying, "if you get me out of this one alive, i'll get better" and it never, ever being true.

he isn't aware that parker and hardison have been whispering a mantra of "it's okay, it's okay, eliot, you are here, you are ours" until they pause for breath until parker's voice is addressing hardison, asking, "hey- hey, if it's too much, it's okay. you can take a break."

it's then that he realizes he isn't the only one praying then; they all are, the shoulders of his shirt on either side soaked through, not by the unrelenting rain but by the two closest things he has to family. that hardison's voice has gone from soft and strong to shaky: a leaf resisting those oklahoma winds rising from 40 to 50, from cold fronts and warm one crashing and crushing everything in their path as they war with one another. that parker's body has cooled as she gifted her warmth to eliot's still rain-frozen form.

it's then that he realizes he's lucky. that san lorenzo is sweeter because parker dashed it with maple syrup when he wasn't looking- that hardison replaced the whiskey sours with sodas. that post-post doesn't fit any of the characters sophie has taught him to play, and that he doesn't need to count the hats because nate already has; he knows each shape and each color, the brand names printed on the bill.

the next breath is a little deeper as hardison whispers, "i'm good, i'm good," across him to parker, and eliot feels the rattle of her head against his neck more than he sees it. the way they draw in a little closer, the way parker subconsciously syncs their breathing like sophie's taught her to do with marks, but it's different because eliot isn't a mark- because it isn't post-post, it's something different entirely.

it's the scent of his favorite thai food crusted in the corners of an unwiped mouth. it's his closet being reorganized by color, his go-bag packed with money he didn't put there. it's in-jokes and damnits and distinctive sounds. it's not explaining because they won't make him.

when his breathing is finally stable, he feels them pull back- not entirely, but enough that there's an instant ache in eliot's gut for them to come back to him. hardison's brows are knit, all the anger of the week prior washed away and replaced with nothing but care. parker is smiling gently with that even present lilt to her eye- like she's stolen his watch and is waiting for him to notice.

with slowly re-steadying hands, eliot brushes the last remnants of tears from his face, feeling his cheeks flush slightly when his father's voice tries to rise from somewhere within him. as though feeling the demon climbing up, hardison places a hand on the outskirts of eliot's bicep, holding him gently- grounding him.

"you good?" hardison asks simply, but the question makes all the raw things in eliot sore again in the way a second-day sunburn feels; not quite painful, but omnipresent. warm.

"yeah," he finds himself saying, and it's not something a post eliot would mean, but maybe a post-post eliot does. maybe a post-post eliot can. he finds himself smiling at the notion.

"yeah, i am."

#long post #leverage fanfiction #eliot spencer #thats all im gonna tag lmao i hate posting fic on tumblr #anyway hi everyone #im so tired #tw rape #tw ptsd #tw abuse #also i didnt care to mess with some of the formatting that was lost in translation sorryyyyy #no italics for u tumblr

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ot3tropetober · 4 years ago

Photo

Eliot and Hardison are travel journalists for rival publications who keep showing up in the same places

Fic for this (~3500 words) is below the read more! Some notes:

[backstory on why Hardison is writing these comes from this post]

[Eliot, Parker, and Hardison are all commenting on this document, think of it like the chat in Google drive? In-document comments from Eliot are italicized, from Hardison are in bold, and from Parker are plain text]

By the time Will Coffey stepped off the plane in Dallas, all he wanted was a nice long shower and to sleep in his own bed for once. Being a travel journalist for a leading travel magazine had its perks– a month-long trip across Mexico, for example, all expenses paid or at least reimbursed – but after a month on the road he was dead tired and ready to be home.

Is this supposed to be me? Why am I living in Dallas?

Yes, and also, you don’t actually live in Dallas, Eliot, you live here, in Portland, with us.

I know that, I just– you know what, never mind.

Well, Will Coffey likes Dallas.

I am Will Coffey!!

That’s the spirit.

The other thing about being on the road for a living was that sometimes it felt kinda lonely, and as relieved as he was to be home, the first couple of minutes after he walked in, turned on the lights, and looked around at an empty place, that was always a little bittersweet. But the only other person he’d really seen in any kind of serious capacity the whole time he’d had this gig was a fellow traveler who spent just as much time on the road as he did, so it just kinda was what it was. He set his keys and his bag down and headed to the kitchen for a beer, but he hadn’t even opened his fridge when his phone buzzed a couple times. It was a text from Sarah, his editor. He’d known her forever– they shared a couple classes in college. Now they shared the stress of managing a print publication in an increasingly digital world.

“Did you see this?” she had written. There was a link in the next message. “How does this guy get this stuff up so fast?“

Will already knew what he was gonna find before he clicked the link, and sure enough, it directed him to a popular travel blog called The Travel Geek, which was a ridiculous name for a travel blog but people absolutely went wild for it. Will liked it too, not that he would ever really admit it, but that probably had more to do with the guy who ran it than anything else. They had…not a thing, exactly? It was hard to explain whatever was going on with Jeremy Edwards, who by rights Will should probably hate for stealing his stories and his audience. But the problem with that was mainly that the guy was so goddamn likeable.

I’m guessing that’s you.

You would be correct.

You think I think you’re likeable?

No, I know it.

he is pretty likeable

Yeah, yeah.

Will had met Jeremy a couple of years ago, right when he was just starting out with his blog. Jeremy said he’d been reading Will’s stuff for a while and would love some advice from a pro. It wasn’t like Will didn’t know it was a little bit of flattery, and it wasn’t like he didn’t know it was a little bit of flirting, either. It also wasn’t like Jeremy was bad to look at. So Will said sure, he’d be glad to, and they were in Belgium, so they shared some beers, ate fries from a baraque at one in the morning on a park bench, shoulders pressed together, while Will tipsily rhapsodized about gaufre de Liège while Jeremy laughed and laughed.

I have never *rhapsodized* about anything in my damn life.

Have you heard you talk about food? This is not a criticism. I could listen to that all day.

Nothing really happened, in the end, just a good conversation and the promise to keep in touch. That turned out to be easier than it should have been, because they started covering the same damn things, all the time. One big world, and somehow they were always sharing part of it: Will was in India on a camel safari through the Thar Desert, and Jeremy was there, keeping Will up at night tappity tapping on his keyboard. Or Will was in Oatman, Arizona, for a piece on Route 66, and there was Jeremy, taking selfies with the wild burros roaming the streets of the town. Or Will was traveling around Japan, doing a feature on onsens, and Jeremy was there, too, acting like he wasn’t looking in Will’s direction while they sat, very naked, in the soothing hot water. It went on like that for a while until finally one night in Barcelona, in front of Sagrada Familia, he looked at Jeremy, tall and handsome in this absurd brightly patterned scarf, and said, “This is ridiculous, man,” and pulled him in for a long, lingering kiss.

Do you honestly think it would have taken me that long?

I don’t know, baby, it took your cowboy ass five years in real time, so Will’s doing a lot better than you.

OoooooooOooo

We had a lot goin on!!! And what is that supposed to be, parker? are you some kind of ghost?

it made more sense in person

I’ll take your word for it.

It wasn’t a relationship, exactly. It was just something they did, sometimes, if they happened to run into each other on the road. It wasn’t like he was getting invited home for the holidays, or anything, and he was fine with that, really. The long and short of it was, they’d basically been circling each other for years now, professionally, personally, whatever, but the professional stuff was definitely getting in the way of anything else. Because Will would sit down and write out his long, detailed articles with carefully selected photographs that would look just right on the page, while Jeremy had already turned out quick blog entry after quick blog entry, listing off places people should visit with witty little one sentence summaries, and people just ate it right up with a spoon while Adventure., Will’s magazine, slowly saw its sales circling the drain. It stung a little. Maybe more than a little. It wasn’t like he could say the guy wasn’t working hard, but damn. Hell, the best selling issue they’d had in a couple years was the one where Sarah had masterminded a collaboration between Will and Jeremy. Blogging was definitely here to stay.

That night in Belgium was five years ago, and at the time it seemed impossible that the internet would ever really fully overtake print. But bloggers and phones had both gotten smarter over the last five years, and now everyone wanted their news in little chunks that they could read on a screen during their commute, so travel blogs were the hot new thing. Will grimaced as he looked at the blog entries Jeremy already had up from Mexico, where they’d run into each other at least half a dozen times.

Five Reasons You Need to Visit Mexico City Right Now; What You’re Missing Because You’re Not in Monterrey; Everything You Wanted to Know About Agave But Were Too Afraid to Ask

“You gotta be kidding me with this,” he muttered, staring at his phone and thinking about the half-written article he had saved on his laptop detailing the history of agave and how to experience Jalisco as more than just the birthplace of tequila.

He pulled up Sarah’s number and dialed.

“I don’t know how we can compete with this,” he sighed, when she picked up.

“We’re going to have to adapt,” she said. “You know that. I can hear you making a face."

"I don’t want to blog,” he complained. “I like print."

"I know,” she sighed. “I’m working on it. Anyway, I’m glad you called, I was going to call you. I need you to go to Italy. Flight leaves tomorrow."

"No way. Not interested,” he told her. “I just got back to my apartment, Sarah, I’ve been in Mexico for a month. I’m beat."

"It’s not my fault that you spend half your time on extracurricular activities,” she teased.

“You can just say sex,” he said. “I won’t be offended. And it’s not half my time. Like, maybe twenty-five percent. Anyway, I get the job done."

"Yeah, and you’re very good at it, which is why I need you to go to Italy,” she said.

“I’m not saying yes,” he told her, “and I’m not interested. But what’s in Italy that’s so important for me to get to?"

"You’ll love this one,” Sarah promised. “It’s a food festival."

Okay, maybe he was a little interested. "Oh?”

“Yeah,” she said. His phone buzzed in his ear. “I just emailed you the details. Including your flight info."

"Dammit, Sarah–"

"Oops, emergency, the printer’s on fire, gotta go!” she chirped, and the line disconnected.

Yeah okay that’s Parker huh

Yep!

I do know y'all a little bit.

“Dammit,” Will said again, and opened Sarah’s email to read up on his next destination.

The food festival turned out to be a week long international celebration of local food from around the world. It only happened once every few years in October, when a world of people descended on the city of Torino, and more specifically the park by the River Po, where they set up tents and stands and served pretty much every kind of food you could imagine, and Will loved food and could imagine a lot, so that was saying something. It was pretty cool, seeing all these people from all over the planet showing off food that was important to them, sharing it with strangers. It really was the whole planet, too, the way the park was set up you could walk through a continent at a time, with all the countries on it represented at their own space. He figured he’d pay his respects to the hosts first and start with Italy, which was definitely the largest section. Halfway through the displays he found a stall with some folks from Campania selling fresh mozzarella di bufala the size of his fist for a Euro. It was speared on a stick like a candy apple so he could walk around with it, nibbling on the sweet cheese as he checked out the festival’s other offerings. Aged cheeses covered in mud and straw from a little town in France. A swanky tent with wood plank floors where the Filipino agriculture offices had a set up with big displays dedicated to traditional food and heirloom crops. Six different kinds of wild rice were layered in a glass display bottle in the booth dedicated to Indigenous agriculture in North America. There were folks from the Yucatan peninsula displaying cured meats and wild honey. There was a whole series of displays about preserving, protecting, and raising Maasai red sheep, from Kenya. The whole event was really impressive, actually, and even though his body had no idea what time zone he was in, he didn’t feel too tired– although that might have been more because he’d been downing every cup of coffee from anyone selling it.

Okay, this actually sounds pretty cool. But now you gotta fake a whole food festival like this if we ever use these aliases.

I don’t have to. That’s a real thing. Happens every couple of years. I was gonna ask if you wanted to go to the next one. Parker can probably find us a job after, anyway.

I’d love– like that.

Hardison. HARDISON.

Why isn’t this deleting the things I tell it to delete???

Ooh, forgot to tell y'all, this chat records your keystrokes? You know. Just in case you happen to type something sappy about how much you love me, and then delete it before you send it in the chat. Pretty much exactly what just happened.

Dammit Hardison I’m gonna delete YOU

Baby, that doesn’t even make any sense.

im w hardison on this 1. it’s ok if u love things eliot. especially food . or us

Just let me finish reading Hardison’s make believe story so I can get back to dinner prep, ok?

(he loves us)

I know :)

Will strolled around the park, snapping photos here and there, jotting down notes. He talked to folks from all over who came here to run their country’s booths, locals who had come out to enjoy the day, and people who had traveled long distances to be there. After a couple of hours and a really good lunch, he found an unoccupied bench near the river and posted up there for a while, notebook open next to him as he flipped through photos on his phone, the story he could tell about this event already starting to take shape in his head, and he had to admit, at least to himself, that Sarah had been right about this one. Nobody else on their staff knew food enough to get this right. But even though he had a good idea where to start, he couldn’t help feeling a little overwhelmed, too. You could spend two weeks here and still not talk to everybody, and it seemed important to try, somehow.

“Well, well, well,” said a voice, and Will looked up from his phone and his notes to see the tall form of none other than Jeremy Edwards.

“Dammit, Edwards,” Will swore. “You’ve gotta be kidding me. Again?"

Yeah it’s pretty much EXACTLY like that every time

Mmmhmm. You talk a big game, man, but no one here believes you.

What he said ur like that stuff u put on the dessert u made 4 us last wk

Stuff on dessert– the Italian meringue? You really comparing me to Italian meringue?!

Is that the stuff that was kinda hard and crunchy on the outside but actually really soft and sweet inside?

Yep that’s the stuff

This is the worst conversation we’ve ever had.

It’s weird how I can hear you smiling right now, though.

Shut up, Hardison, I’m reading.

Got him! XD

"Looks like it,” Jeremy said. He took a seat next to Will on the bench, despite the fact that Will had absolutely not fucking offered it to him. He grinned. Will looked back at his notes before he smiled back. “We’ve really gotta stop meeting like this."

"Yeah, well, trust me, I’m working on it,” Will grumbled, and risked a look at Jeremy again. Still handsome, and still smiling, unfortunately. He thought about the blog a little and made himself frown. “So, you’re here to blog about this, huh? How many blog posts have you done already?"

"None so far,” Jeremy said, scratching his chin, “but I am working on one right now. Tentative title, How to Tell The Guy You’re Casually Seeing And Have Been Chasing All Over the Globe That His Boss Sent Me Here To Work With Him."

Well, there was a lot of information there, but Will decided maybe sticking with the professional stuff was better for now. "I’m sorry, you’re here for what?"

Jeremy shrugged. "Sarah really liked that collaboration thing she got us to do last year, I guess, wanted to try it again for this. I said yes. It’s good for your magazine and it gives my blog some credibility with all you snooty print folks."

"We’re not snooty,” Will said, although that wasn’t exactly true. Maybe they were, a little. He unlocked his phone and saw the email from Sarah, the subject line of which read: “DON’T ARGUE IT WILL BE GOOD FOR YOU/US/THE MAGAZINE.” He sighed and looked back at Jeremy. “I can’t believe she sent you to a food thing."

"I’m offended,” Jeremy said, although it didn’t much sound like it. “I know food."

"Oh really? So last year when we were in Beijing and you were looking for a McDonald’s that was just you knowing food, huh,” Will drawled.

“Sometimes you just really want a Happy Meal,” Jeremy joked, and Will just shook his head.

“I guess we should figure out what we’re doing, then,” he said, and Jeremy raised his eyebrows.

“About the story,” he said, “right?"

"Yeah, about the story,” Will grumbled.

“Whatever you say,” Jeremy said affably, just like always.

It was actually pretty easy to figure out how to cover the festival now that he had a partner in crime. They worked out a plan that afternoon, sketched out a couple of pieces, a collab for Adventure., a short guest piece for Will on The Travel Geek, and a short story in the magazine for Jeremy. Sarah signed off on everything from afar– “What time is it where she is? Does that woman ever sleep?” Jeremy asked, as they both got email after email. “I don’t think she does, man,” Will laughed– and they got to work pretty quick. There was plenty to do and they were both here for a few days, so they wandered through the park as they worked, stopping occasionally to sample food or take photos. Eventually they walked all the way out of the park and into the city, up to a big plaza, Piazza Castello, in the center of the historic part of town. They got gelato from one of the many carts set up nearby for the festival, and sat outside, eating and talking as the sun set.

It was nice. It was always nice, when they ran into each other. That wasn’t the problem. But they’d been stuck in the same routine for years now: they’d find themselves in the same place, Jeremy would laugh, Will would pretend he was annoyed, and then they’d spend a good chunk of their time together enjoying each other’s company in as many ways as they could find, and then they’d head to the airport and go their separate ways. And that was that. This shouldn’t be any different, but somehow it was. Maybe it was the sunset lighting up Jeremy’s skin, or maybe he’d just been lonely too long, but maybe they needed to figure out what they were doing with more than just the stories they were here to tell.

“You wanna get dinner?” Will said, before he could talk himself out of it.

“Yeah,” Jeremy said, smiling again, and this time Will let himself smile back. Just a little.

They asked around for recommendations and ended up at a little restaurant in the city, a few blocks from the Piazza. They split a bottle of wine, a margherita pizza, and some perfectly fried fish, and they didn’t really talk about work at all.

“You know,” Jeremy said, about halfway through the wine, “not for nothing, but I’ve gotta say, this looks and feels a lot like a date."

"I wasn’t under the impression that you’d be opposed to that,” Will said.

“Oh, I’m not opposed,” Jeremy told him, “I’m just a little surprised you’re asking. I figured at this point it was gonna have to be me who said something."

Will eyed him carefully, thought back to a lot of nights on a lot of trips. "How long exactly have you been waiting around?"

"I mean, don’t get the wrong idea, here, I haven’t been pining away for you like some Victorian in a bad novel,” Jeremy said, and Will snorted. “But yeah. I played a long game, man. I gotta say, though, after that fishing boat incident in Guyana I really thought you figured out we had a thing."

"Yeah, well, I didn’t have time to notice, I was too busy taking pictures of you hiding behind that skinny British guy when that big old fish jumped out of the water,” Will snickered.

“Big old– that thing was two-hundred and thirty-four pounds of ichthyological torpedo headed straight for yours truly,” Jeremy said, and Will chuckled. “Big doesn’t really describe it.”

“Hmm. It was kinda wild he thought we were gonna get in the water with it,” Will mused. He winked. “Glad you finally remembered you owed me dinner for keeping him from pushing us into the river."

"Ha. You know Sarah wants us to work with that guy again, right?"

"Aw, hell,” Will said. “Really?"

"Yeah,” Jeremy confirmed. “She said she was gonna talk to you about it when we got back from this. Canada this time, so when Mister Fisherman tries to throw me in the water at least the hypothermia will probably get me before the monster fish does."

"Nah,” Will said. “Don’t worry about that. Nobody throws you off a fishing boat. Except maybe me. No. Well. Maybe. No,” he concluded.

Hah. I mean, okay, that does sound like me.

Oh, I am aware, trust me.

“Sarah maybe also mentioned we might do a few more of these little…collaborative things,” Jeremy said, drawing invisible circles on the table. “Maybe even in a more formal capacity."

Will raised his eyebrows. "No way she talked you into giving up the blog."

"Oh, definitely not,” Jeremy said. “But funnily enough, people keep sending me emails about wanting a print version of some of my photographs? But I don’t really have the publishing connections. A magazine, though…” he shrugged. “Me and Sarah figured we might come to some kind of mutually beneficial arrangement, somehow. Might be seeing more of you, is what I’m trying to say."

"Can’t say I mind that,” Will said, and reached out across the table to cover Jeremy’s hand with his.

“I was hoping you’d say that,” Jeremy answered, and this time Will didn’t try to hide his smile.

/end

Okay?

Okay, what?

Well where the hell is the rest of it?

What rest of it? It’s clearly implied that they’re dating now. They’re dating, they’re happy, they’re gonna work together for real, happily ever after, et cetera.

they should have at least kissed. i would be into that

This is what I’m saying. Where’s the resolution, here?

Baby, anytime you want a kiss, you know where to find me.

What I want is for you to take this seriously since you’re making us read all of it.

Wow, okay. Here:

They walked around the city for a long time after dinner, still holding hands, and the kiss they shared later under the moonlight felt like a promise. The Actual End.

Y'all happy?

too sappy 4 me but idk what eliot thinks

Not your best work but it’ll do, I guess.

Are you still in the kitchen?

Yeah, why?

I’m gonna come give you a demonstration of my best work, that’s why.

Bring it on, man.

do i get a demo too

You know it.

#author: coffeesuperhero #leverage ot3 #parker x hardison x eliot #hardison x eliot #leverage #ot3tropetober #submission

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pale-silver-comb · 5 years ago

Note

Aloha! You did it, you made me watch 5 seasons of Leverage in about a week. Thank you, I love them all and miss them already. Where is my spin-off with the OT3? Where? I do have a question though, what do you think are the living arrangements for the team? We once see Parker's storage unit and it is pretty clear at least Parker and Hardison live above the brew pub. Did they ever talk about moving in together? Did I miss something? Do I have to watch it all from the start? What a hardship ;-)

Asdfghjkl!!!!! I feel like I’ve collected a family of new Leverage fans in the past three weeks AND I’VE LOVED EVERY SINGLE MOMENT OF IT.

Also. A week????? Bloody hell. That’s dedication. I miss them too. I’ve started watching it all again for that very reason.

Oooh oooh oooh! I do have thoughts about this.

I think Parker and Eliot would still have separate living spaces to start with. Even if Parker lives with Hardison above the Brew Pub on the main, I think she’d still need space sometimes. Whether that be something similar to her old storage unit or just sleeping in the air vents of the Brew Pub every so often. However, by season 5 I feel she’d be pretty settled on the whole. Mostly because I never imagine Hardison would have asked her to move in. Hardison gets Parker and he’s always respected her boundaries and let her move at her own pace. So I imagine when Hardison bought the Brew Pub, he bought it with Parker and Eliot in mind (see: those sweet, sweet high ceilings and large air vents/A WHOLE PUB FOR ANGRY LITTLE CHEF MEN TO COOK IN ‘TIL THEIR HEART’S CONTENT) but with no pressure. Parker probably moved herself in one day. Or stayed the first night and never really left. Much to Alec’s delight.

Eliot though. Eliot I imagine takes much longer. Post-canon. Despite establishing that this thing between them is, indeed, a relationship relationship, not Hardison/Parker + Eliot for as long as they all shall live, I think Eliot would still be…slow moving. When they first get to Portland, Eliot will have had his own place, I’m sure of it. There’s no way he clocks that the Brew Pub is for him (and I’m sure Hardison planned it that way).

However, we all know this soft boy has dreams of running Hardison’s pub until his dying day. He’s fooling no-one with that “I guess this is my life now” act. He’ll never admit it but he sees himself as an old man in that pub, with an equally old Hardison and Parker to bicker with and feed. It sets his little heart aglow (not that he’d ever admit that either.) However, Eliot’s probably not thought about settling down with anyone but himself since Aimee. The thought probably scares him, just a little. Not because he’s scared of committing to Parker and Alec or that he’d ever let them down, but because he honestly thought he’d never get this. He took “happily ever after” off the table long ago and now here’s the two most wonderful, infuriating people he’s ever met offering it to him. Just like that.

Hardison is savvy to this though and I think he’d end up building Eliot a separate apartment over the Pub. Or give him a separate room in the apartment they already have. One that Eliot gradually moves into. He’d make it about the Pub and not him and Parker because Eliot needs to do things on the basis he’s helping someone, doing good. He won’t do it for himself. I can imagine Parker getting a little frustrated with how long it’s taking Eliot to move in with them but it’s a good balance because while Hardison is prepared to go as slow as Eliot needs, Parker is always the one insisting it’s silly that Eliot keeps going back to his own apartment when he could stay for cuddles and breakfast. This more or less always convinces Eliot (who is genuinely worried the two people he loves most in the world will die of poor eating habits before anything else).

I don’t think Parker would ever give up her living space away from the Pub. Even if she rarely uses it I think she’d like having the choice. Eliot, though. Eliot may take odd jobs that take him away from Parker and Hardison from time to time, but once he’s moved in he’s there for good. I like to think Hardison buys a huge bed for them all to sleep in but sometimes he’ll wake up and Parker will be sleeping in the air vents or the roof or whatever other small space she can find. Whereas Eliot, while mostly content to sleep curled up next to them, sometimes ends up sleeping on the couch or decides he’s had enough sleep by 4am and goes down to the Brewery to try out new things for the menu. On occasion, Parker will find him and join him there and will silently taste test all the food Eliot makes until the sun comes up. It’s a private thing they share and usually always ends in Parker convincing Eliot to make them all some ludicrous breakfast, like rainbow waffles or “morning chicken”. (It doesn’t matter how many times Eliot tells Parker putting “morning” in front of a food item doesn’t make it breakfast, she never listens, and he always caves.)

The best thing for Parker and Eliot though? The knowledge that one Alec Hardision will always, always be in that bed. Their bed. No matter what, they know he’s not going anywhere. Ever. Will always welcome them without judgement. Just open arms and that smile they love so, so much.

#leverage #leverage ot3 #alec hardision #parker #eliot spencer #letterschming #okay this maybe got a little too long #I JUST LOVE THEM OKAY #talk leverage to me #parker x hardison x eliot

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leverage-ot3 · 4 years ago

Text

notable moments from The Miracle Job

leverage 1.04

Eliot: That was the worst night of my life.

Parker: Come on, man, you've been in worse situations.

[Flashback]

(money is thrown on the table while a man loads one bullet in a gun and spins the barrel. He points it at Eliot’s head and pulls the trigger. Eliot flinches, but the gun does not go off)

[Leverage Kitchen]

Eliot: No. no, that was the worst.

what a dramatic little bitch

,,, also I’m always down for wacky eliot flashbacks

- - - - -

Parker: That’s St. Nicholas?

Hardison: Yes.

Parker: Santa Claus has a church?

Eliot: He’s not Santa Claus.

and the saga of parker loving christmas beGINS

- - - - -

Hardison: You think that we just gonna walk into some random tunnel and find some cholos just all yoked up? You know?

Eliot: Hardison—

(gang bangers follow Eliot and Hardison into the tunnel)

Hardison: "Yo, holmes, let me fix my do rag..."

Eliot: Dude, quiet. Listen. (turns around) Boys. We don't want any trouble. All right? We just want some answers.

Gang Leader: How's this answer?

(the Gang Leader holds his shirt aside to show the gun tucked in his waistband. Eliot reaches out and puts his hand on the gun, cocking it)

eliot’s bde move? how the fuck do you even RECOVER from that???

(another gang member pulls a gun and points it in Eliot’s face)

Eliot: You seeing this, Hardison?

Hardison: Yeah, the--the situation has my attention, yes.

Eliot: You see that's why I don't like guns. They have a specific range of efficacy. See, most guys make one mistake. They get too close.

(Eliot grabs the gun and head butts the gang member, emptying the gun and dropping it on the ground)

eliot hates guns and I love him for that

Eliot: Who rolled... a priest?

Gang Leader: We didn't beat up no priest. We are not monsters.

(Hardison notices a third gang member moving restlessly. He hits the man in the shoulder, and the man goes down in pain. Eliot grabs the gun from the Gang Leader’s waistband)

Hardison: Dislocated shoulder's a biatch. Priest gave him that.

Gang Leader: You beat up a priest? (looks at Eliot) Do you mind?

Eliot (hands him the gun): Be my guest.

Gang Leader: (points gun at gang member) You got a long penance ahead of you. Start by answering the man's questions. Now!

Eliot: Who hired you?

Gang Member: I don't know. I got a call on my cell with an offer, and I called him back after the job was done. He paid me. That's all I know. I swear.

Hardison: You got a number?

(Gang Member pulls a piece of paper from his pocket and hands it to Hardison)

Eliot: Can you do something with that?

Hardison: Seven digits. I could find you on Mars.

Eliot: Gentlemen, we'll leave you to your internal affairs. Come on.

(they walk away, out of the tunnel)

Hardison: How 'bout that? Man, you-you see me?

Eliot: He was injured.

Hardison: Well, somebody got to fight the injured. Shoot, that's my niche

me too hardison

also LMFAO eliot is so done with you you’re lucky he already has imprinted in you

- - - - -

Sophie: What is that you just took?

Grant: Xanax.

[Construction Site]

Grant: For my nerves.

Parker: Actually, caffeine. With a dash of dextroamphetamine.

(Hardison looks at Parker in surprise)

Eliot: You gave him speed?

Hardison: He beat up a priest.

hardison and eliot went from scandalized to mmm, seems fair REAL QUICK

- - - - -

Eliot: How do you know all this stuff?

Nate: I went to school with father Paul. to, uh...seminary school.

(they enter Nate’s office. Eliot hands Sophie a cup of coffee)

Eliot: So you dropped out of priest school to become a -- an insurance cop? And now you're the leader of a band of thieves. Nice.

I love eliot

- - - - -

Hardison: Y-you-you’re a catholic who wants to fake a miracle. I’m pretty sure that puts us in moral-sin territory.

Eliot: So now you're religious, too?

Hardison: No, no, I’m not denominational. It’s just, I never do anything my nana said "don't do." This, what we doin', it just don't seem right.

additionally, the hardison loving his nana saga begins

- - - - -

Nate: Give Hardison anything he needs.

Hardison: As long as I don't have to do anything immoral.

Nate: Ah, absolutely not. No, I just need you to figure out, you know, how to fake a miracle.

(Eliot laughs)

Hardison: We all going to hell

eliot being a little shit to hardison? always iconic

- - - - -

Grant (entering room): Yes, ma’am, thank you for your opinion. (hangs up) Ok, I just received a threatening phone call -- from a nun!

G O O D

- - - - -

I love the shots where the ot3 walks together they cute as hell

- - - - -

Hardison: Hell fire, damnation, et cetera. You know what? I’m gonna step over here, so when the good lord throws down on all of y'all, I don't get hit by the lightning.

Parker: Wasn’t Zeus the one with the lightning?

hardison having a freak out meanwhile parker’s just trying her best

+ bonus: another hidden talent of parker’s is that she knows obscure things like greek gods

- - - - -

BIBLETOPIA

tomas is so fucking done with andy

- - - - -

Hardison: Bibletopia?

Sophie: The man cannot be stopped!

Parker: It’s like everything we throw at him just makes him stronger.

Eliot: Kind of admire him, though. My nephew would like Bibletopia.

Hardison: Oh, no, see? This is what happens when you mess with god. He raises up your enemies with his right hand, and he smites you with his left.

ELIOT META: he has at least one sibling and a nephew fic writers take n o t e

poor hardison is having a Time™ in this episode

- - - - -

Hardison: I hope this is the part where you suggest prayer.

Nate: No, the weeping statue of St. Nicholas is not gonna be stolen. It's gonna miraculously disappear in the middle of tomorrow's mass.

Sophie: I’m sorry?

Nate: In front of the priest, the Vatican, the entire congregation.

Sophie: Have you learned nothing, Nate?

Nate: How much does the statue weigh?

Hardison: About 900 pounds.

Nate: Good.

Hardison: I am so sorry, nana.

let hardison REST

- - - - -

both the boys clipping the gear on parker? thievery hijinks ot3 domesticity

- - - - -

HARDISON AND ELIOT DID THEIR FIRST HANDSHAKE

- - - - -

the little girl calling parker an angel? same

- - - - -

eliot hyping up the crowd lmfao

- - - - -

Grant (to Sophie): Kristi, save me, huh? You can spin this, right? instead of, uh, "felony," maybe soften it to, uh, “controversy" or something.

(cops continue to pull Grant away as press follows)

Sophie: You know, when you say "controversy," I always hear "attention”.

*john mulaney voice* sophie is a bitch and I L O V E H E R

- - - - -

(Nate looks at the candles along one wall and walks over to them. He lights a candle as the rest of the team waits. After a moment he rejoins them and they walk toward the door)

Hardison: Look at that. Saved a church.

Parker: It’s like Christmas. See? I told you St. Nicholas is Santa Claus.

Sophie: No, he's not, Parker.

Parker: Well, who is he, then?

Sophie: St. Nicholas… is the patron saint of thieves.

the team is always there to support each other pass it on

patron saint of thieves? ICONIQUE

#leverage #leverage 1.04 #leverage 1x04 #notable moments #mine #the miracle job #leverage season 1 #season 1

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