#hardison would be the first to go 'no. no no no we are not stepping FOOT in there no thank you!!'

[katierosefun]

hello i would like you to know that, without fail, every time you reblog a haunting of hill house post with timothy hutton i think to myself "what episode of leverage did i miss???" 💕

; DHLFSDF:LK SDFLSDF lmaooo (nate ford . . . arguably the role)

although y'know, on the same note of the haunting of hill house, i do think it's a shame we never got to see leverage crew try to steal a haunted house. i think there would have been so many shenanigans to come out of that one.

[trekscribbles]

The Bushwhack Job: Chapter Twelve

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Standby,” Spencer said.

“Roger.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Routine maintenance,” the man said.

“With C4?” Spencer asked.

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

“Who sent you here?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

First things first.

He turned to face the server room.

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

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

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

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

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

He wasn’t himself without them.

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

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

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

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

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

Spencer nodded.

“And you found us anyway?”

He nodded again.

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

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

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

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

“He’s here,” Eliot said.

“And the thief?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“June?” Nate guessed.

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

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

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

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

“Roger that.”

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

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

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

Hardison frowned. “How do you know?”

“Because that’s what I did.”

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

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

“I can help, man, I can—”

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

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

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

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

Eliot went.

[lemissingmask]

[ID: Sketch in partial colour of Redemption era Parker and Eliot sitting side by side in the courtyard of their New Orleans base, in similar relative positions to when they had a heart to heart at the end of the hurricane job. Parker and her background are in colour, and she’s looking sadly down, hunched forward slightly. Eliot is in greyscale and wearing prison clothes, looking sad and serious. End ID] -

Day 29: alt. Prison

AU for The Turkish Prisoner Job, where Eliot gets stuck in the prison, and also the first part of the three-parter of ficlets, with the others on days 8 (dissociation, part 3) and 15 (experimentation, part 2). I know it’s backwards but that’s the way the days worked out 😅

Ficlet below the cut.

-

“Do exactly what they say,” were the last words they heard from Eliot for days, and they hadn’t even been addressed to the team.  He had been speaking to Romero, just as he was about to get released on a day pass by their marks, and then he was gone.  Taken away by prison guards under orders that overruled the detectives.

The confusion and surprise didn’t last more than a few seconds.

Sophie stepped in, had Breanna mute Eliot’s comm for all but her, and talked their client through how to proceed, keeping him calm and collected as he had to keep going now without a hitter for back-up.

The job had taken another turn, requiring a change of plan, new considerations, and they needed all of them involved to pull it off successfully, which meant it was two days before they had a chance to get back to Eliot.  If had been any member of the team other than Eliot, Parker would have been worried.

But it was Eliot and a stint in prison out of contact with his crew was nothing to him.

Regardless, she felt something unpleasant and annoying and she didn’t understand it.

“Babe, you okay?” Hardison asked, his image large in the screens as their long distance call connected.

Breanna had emailed him as soon as they lost contact with Eliot, just in case there was something he could do with his amazing exosphere hacking access. But the prison ran a closed network, no access from the outside even from the exosphere.

“It just feels wrong.”

Hardison frowned, “Eliot being in jail?”

“I don’t know. Yes. Maybe…”

For over ten years Parker had barely gone a day without one or both of Hardison and Eliot either right there beside her or talking in her ear. Now Hardison was gone, only reachable through a complicated video link thing or emails that took too long and were too impersonal, and Eliot’s voice was no longer there either.

“Babe?”

Parker realised she had let her mind wander and looked back to the screen.

She couldn’t place what she was feeling.

She was angry. Angry at Eliot for not just breaking out, angry at Harry for running the job so Eliot ended up in prison, angry with Sophie for letting Harry run the job, and angry with herself because it wasn’t Harry’s fault or Sophie’s fault.

This happened.  They did a dangerous job, especially Eliot, and this sort of thing could happen, and no one was to blame.

And she was anxious.  Worried about Eliot, which was stupid because it was Eliot Spencer and he was always fine.

“Parker? Talk to me.”

She looked up.

Hardison looked worried, sad.

She smiled slightly, feeling that rising warmth that came whenever he looked at her with so much emotion. The reminder that she wasn’t alone.

“I don’t like not having him here,” she said quietly.  She wanted Hardison to understand.

“I know,” he replied, “I’m sorry I’m not there right now.”

She nodded, “Well, you’ve got satellite stuff to do.”

That earned her only a sad smile, and she looked down at the keyboard.

“Harry going into the prison tomorrow?” Hardison asked, “Playing the lawyer.”

“Yeah. We can’t do anything until we know more.”

“I’ll keep trying to dig up intel from my end too. Got an algorithm running right now to cross-reference each of his aliases and his real name against email communications between government agencies, prison networks, rich folk…anyone who might want to lock him up.”

“That’s a long list. We’ve made a lot of enemies.”

And Eliot had a lot more still from before Leverage.

“Yeah. It’s gonna take a while,” Hardison replied, “So, wanna watch something together tonight?  I can stream from any country in the world and share the screen.”

“Sharknado?”

Hardison sighed, “We got access to pretty much any film that exists on the internet, and you wanna watch Sharknado.  Again.”

She grinned, “We can watch Sharknado II after.”

Sighing again, but smiling properly this time, he got to work finding the films, and they began their movie night.

-

Harry’s visit to the prison had three purposes.  The first, to see if there was a quick route to getting Eliot released.  The second, if that failed, to find out what had happened and why Eliot had been detained.  The third, to get an earbud back to Eliot.

This required what was, essentially, a pointless and entirely fabricated lawyer-client conversation between Eliot and Harry, which Parker mostly ignored in favour of watching Breanna attempt to find a way into the prison security system now they were parked close to the building in the food truck.

The culmination of this conversation was that no, it was not going to be quick and easy to get Eliot released because he reportedly had committed severe infractions within the prison, as observed by the guards.  Eliot had been moved to solitary because of these supposed dangerous acts, which were false but backed up by multiple guards.  He hinted that he had some idea of why, but the conversation was recorded and monitored, with two guards in the room at the time, so he couldn’t say more.

But the third task was successful.

About half an hour after Harry returned, and while they were still outside the prison, Eliot’s comm came online.

“Welcome back,” Sophie said, seeing the feed on the laptop screen appear.

“Thanks,” Eliot whispered, suggesting he suspected someone may be listening, “Romero okay?”

“Okay and rolling in it,” Breanna replied proudly.

“Job’s wrapped up, everything sorted, so now we just need to get you out,” Parker added, “Any idea what got you locked in there?”

“Think so,” he replied, “Sorta.  Pretty sure I’ve been ID’d.”

That was no surprise.  It was among the theories they had discussed.

“Who by?” Harry asked, “It has to be someone high up for them to get you moved to solitary and multiple guards confirming a false story to keep you there.”

“Dunno, but I heard someone talkin’ outside my cell.  Think they were on the phone, an’ they told whoever they were talkin’ to that they had me - said my name, not the alias’s - locked down.  My guess is they’re gonna transfer me at some point.”

“Weakest part of any transit is when the goods are being loaded into the vehicle,” Parker repeated information she had heard from Eliot years before, “That’s where we rescue you.”

Breanna shifted her screen to bring up several views of roads, “Look, I didn’t manage to get into the prison cameras, but I could get into some CCTV on the roads leading to the prison.  A prisoner transport is gonna require an armoured car, right?  And it’s gotta go down one of those roads.”

“We’ll be ready for it too, now,” Sophie added, “You can tell us when the transfer is taking place.  We’ll get everything prepared to attack the car, and when you give us the signal, we’ll move.”

Considering the number of times they’d waylaid and broken into armoured vehicles in the past, setting up the plan for dealing with this one - and contingencies in case of an escort, alternative routes, timings being off, and so on - didn’t take more than a few hours.  And, with the plan established and it already nearing midnight, they all went to bed.

All except Parker.

She tried sitting at the bar and then the desk and then on the stage, and finally wandered out to the courtyard to sit on the picnic table there. It felt very empty to be sitting on that table without Eliot next to her. But then most places she was used to sitting tended to have their hitter there too.

She felt stupid. Ridiculous. Eliot had been away from them undercover or kidnapped or on some side-hustle job loads of times and she never felt this unhappy about it. Hardison had been away loads too, working on those hacker things only he could do, and she felt sad but not like this. Not this icky, distracting, fuzzy feeling in her brain like something was really really wrong.

She pulled her earbud from her pocket and put it in her ear.

“Hey, Eliot?  You asleep?”

“Yeah.”

“I’m going to listen to that podcast with all the facts. Wanna listen with me? We’re like six episodes behind.”

Eliot didn’t reply immediately. She heard a quiet background noise. His footsteps on a hard floor.

Then he spoke quietly, not answering the question.

“You doin’ alright, Parker?”

She tried to laugh properly but it didn’t work.  It didn’t sound like a laugh, even though she was meant to be good at grifting by now.

“I’m not the one sitting alone in a dark lonely cold prison cell.”

She could hear the smile in Eliot’s voice. The gentle, soft smile.

“I’ve been in a lot of prisons, Parker.  This one’s among the nicest,” he paused, and in it she could picture his expression perfectly. It was the kind, understanding, expression few people ever got to see.

The thought of it, so clear in her mind, finally made her understand what felt so wrong.

She was lonely.

She hadn’t been lonely in a very long time and now it hurt so much more than before.

“It’s just,” she began, looking down at her shoes on the bench, “First Hardison left. And now so have you.”

“Parker,” Eliot said softly, “I didn’t leave. I’m right here, an’ I’m always gonna be. Hardison might be a stupid number of miles away, but he’s right there with you too.”

“With us.”

“With us,” he accepted her correction without hesitating, “We’re not, either of us, ever gonna leave you. An’ I know right now it feels lonely, but you’re not alone. We’re here, Sophie’s there. Harry an’ Breanna are there. Hell, if you wanna call up Hurley I bet he’d answer any time of the day or night an’ probably make you talk to his damn cat.”

Parker laughed despite herself. She liked Hurley’s cat. Eliot didn’t, so the cat always sat on Eliot when they visited, purring contentedly while he growled at it to go annoy someone else, and trying to pretend there wasn’t a fond smile just on the verge of forming on his face.

Eliot left a long pause for his words to sink in, and for Parker to find the truth within them. When he spoke again it was in a more normal tone, saving her from falling too deep into emotions she couldn’t name.

“So,” Eliot said, “About that podcast. ‘Cus solitary’s pretty damn boring.”

Parker found herself smiling.

She already had it up on her phone, the first in their episode backlog ready to go.

“You hear it?”

The familiar theme tune started as she pressed play.

“I hear it,” Eliot replied, then added softly, just as the voices of the podcasters began, “Thanks, Park.”

She nodded although he couldn’t see, smiled, and settled in to spend the night happily with Eliot, even if there were miles and walls of concrete between them.

Parker went to sleep, still listening to that podcast with Eliot in her ear.

When she woke up, Eliot was gone.

His comms were off, and no amount of yelling into her earbud would get a response.

Harry went back into the prison, playing the part of his alias's lawyer again, but he was told that alias wasn't in the prison system. Never had been in the prison at all, according to the records. Hours of intense hacking from outside the walls and from the exosphere found that alias wiped entirely from the prison records, and Eliot's name was nowhere to be found either.

During the night, while his crew slept, Eliot had been made to disappear.

-

[onyxbird]

I Am the Greatest Date-Planner in This Apartment

Summary: Eliot wins date night after he gets a recommendation of a sci-fi movie his “geeky friend” might enjoy and gets carried away with a movie evening complete with a themed meal. Fortunately, despite all Eliot's fears to the contrary, both of his partners are just the type of people to appreciate those elaborate efforts.

AO3 link here.

...

The first time Eliot Spencer really knocked “date night” out of the park, it wasn't even his idea.

The old army buddy he'd helped out a few weekends before had managed to draw out some (carefully vague) information about Eliot's current colleagues, including his geeky “friend” who was always into a new video game or superhero that Eliot knew nothing about, and he'd left Eliot with a suggestion. It took a few weeks to implement, not because the film was hard to obtain, but mostly because Eliot kept second-guessing his choice.

What if Eliot hated it as much as Hardison's comic-book movies? What if Hardison hated it? What if Parker was bored? What if they thought the themed dinner was stupid?

Eliot restlessly double-checked the array of toppings laid out on the counter against his mental list. Baked potatoes were almost done—they'd be ready by the time Parker and Hardison were scheduled to arrive.

Dessert would feature little pouches of freeze-dried ice cream, because Parker would expect it, alongside the main feature: a tiramisu dusted with red cocoa powder and garnished with carefully spaced upright sprigs of mint. A variety of homemade chocolate truffles, formed in silicone molds that were the one thing Eliot had to order for this project, completed the dessert assortment.

He'd been wrestling with himself about the truffles all week. They were important, because he wasn't sure how much his sugar-loving partners would love the tiramisu, but also terrifying, because they were, by far, the most overt theming of the entire meal.

The loaded baked potatoes could be justified as just a good, hearty, simple meal; the tiramisu was classic; the ice cream was a low-effort token to Parker's quirks. But there was no hand-waving the truffles.

He glanced at the clock again. No more than 90 seconds had passed.

At this rate, he might not survive the wait to die of embarrassment.

…

Parker and Hardison arrived at the appointed time, on the dot.

Eliot didn't mention that he'd seen them park Lucille 17 minutes ago, or that he'd watched them emerge 5 minutes ago for the less than 90-second walk up to his apartment.

In the absence of any information except for “dinner and movie night,” Hardison had hedged his bets on formality: Nice jeans, a dark gray sports coat, and a blue button down featuring a subtle pattern of tiny TARDISes. Parker, on the other hand, had simply topped a typical head-to-toe black ensemble with an unbuttoned royal-blue shirt. A very familiar one.

“…Is that my shirt?”

“Yup!” said Parker, cheerfully.

“Parker, I was looking for that!” (Technically, turning his closet inside-out wondering how the evening was already going wrong.)

“Oh.” She considered, tugging absently at the bottom hem. “Do you want to trade?”

“No, I don't want to—! Why do you have my clothes?!”

“We're having a date. I wanted to look nice.”

“Which you both do,” interjected Hardison firmly, pausing to rake his eyes conspicuously over Eliot's own dark-red button down and jeans and lingering on the larger-than-usual collection of bracelets on his left wrist. “So, uh, can we come in, or are we banned on grounds of clothes-stealing? Which, for the record, I have not participated in. I am wearing all my own clothes, which you can probably tell by the fact that they fit my long-ass body and have TARDISes on them.”

Eliot belatedly stepped back to allow them into the apartment.

“These are for you,” said Parker, shoving a bouquet of a half-dozen red roses and as many stalks of orange and yellow snapdragons into his hands.

Eliot's brain stopped functioning for the second time since he'd opened the door.

“Uh…”

Parker frowned at his lack of response and elbowed Hardison sharply in the ribs, eliciting an “ow!”: “You said adding the snapdragons would be fine. Maybe we should have stuck with traditional.”

“I don't think it's the snapdragons, babe. Give him a minute.”

Eliot figured out how to form words again, blinking rapidly. “Thanks, Parker. These are nice.” He stared at the flowers, aware that there had to be a next step he was blanking on.

“You got a vase or something we can put those in for you?” said Hardison, with the very deliberate sincerity characteristic of him either grifting or trying not to laugh. “Don't want to interrupt…” He gestured vaguely at the apartment. “…whatever it is you're preparing for the evening.”

“Right! I, uh…” Eliot moved towards the kitchen on autopilot, trailed by the others. He didn't think he had an actual vase—that wasn't something that generally came up for him—but a quick rummage in the cupboard produced a weizen glass as a passable substitute.

Parker and Hardison eyed the baked potato fixings as Eliot's brain scraped together the remnants of his thoroughly derailed explanation, acutely aware of the heat crawling up his face. This wasn't how the evening was supposed to go.

“So, we've got, uh, baked potatoes for dinner that you can fix however you like.”

Why had he thought this was a good idea?

“I thought we could eat while we watch the movie. It's all set up in the living room. There's dessert, too, that I was going to put out in the living room when we're ready so you can help yourselves without having to stop the movie…”

Maybe he could cut his losses and just not pull out the ice cream and the truffles? But then he had nothing as backup if Parker or Hardison didn't like the tiramisu, and just baked potatoes and tiramisu was kind of a skimpy as a date-night dinner—

“Sounds great!” said Hardison, as Parker made concurring noises. “What's the movie?”

“Well… we have options. We can watch whatever you guys want! I got one that sounded like you might like it from what I'd heard, but if you don't like it or have already seen it, that's—”

The others exchanged glances.

“OK,” Parker broke in, “but what is the movie you picked?”

“…It's called The Martian.”

Parker's head tilted quizzically without recognition, but Hardison's eyes widened.

“You got us The Martian to watch?! That's—Wait, is that why we're having potatoes? Did you theme dinner? Oh my god.” Hardison's voice caught. “Oh my god, I can't wait to see dessert. I don't even know what that would be for The Martian.”

“Oh, I, uh…” None of Eliot's planning had accounted for an actual enthusiastic reaction. “I'll get it out, then. Why don't y'all fix your potatoes?”

He'd just finished placing the plate of truffles and the packets of “astronaut ice cream” on either side of the tiramisu when Hardison and Parker emerged with their plates. Parker leaned over to study the spread avidly, nimble fingers scooping up an ice cream packet. “Hmm, not a little-green-man Martian, then?”

“That's—” Hardison eyes were fixed on the red-cocoa-covered tiramisu. “That's the Martian potato field.”

Eliot gave a hesitant nod.

“And—” He took a closer look at the truffles. “Are those Mars rover chocolates?”

Eliot shrugged sheepishly.

“And freeze-dried ice cream. Freeze-dried space ice cream! I would not have dared to bring such an item into your kitchen.”

“If we're gonna watch an astronaut movie, then Parker was gonna want—”

Eliot's explanation was cut off by a tight hug.

“This is amazing, man. I can't believe you did all this.”

Eliot slowly sagged into the embrace, still reeling from the fact that this had actually worked.

After a moment, they were interrupted by a gentle poke to each of their ribcages.

“Hey,” said Parker, “Eliot, go get your food. I want to actually watch the movie so I know what all of this food is about.”

[thegeeksideofsr]

Keeping Secrets

I had an idea about Eliot and a single mom of an eight year old, and I couldn't get it out of my head. I hope you enjoy!

Takes place around season two.

Content: mention of a kid slipping on a flight of stairs, bruises, and single parenting

" Look, we need this for the job. I know it's short notice, but you said you have some on hand."

"I said I had half finished ones. It would take at least six hours of painting to finish. Then the process to make the paint cure and ageing takes another four. I can't Nate." I say into my phone as I add cut carrot to the pot of soup on the stove, then turn to glance at my daughter drawing at the table. "I have priorities that are outside the team that are more important then conning someone."

" Alright. I talk to Hardison, see what he can cook up."

"Good plan. I'm sorry I couldn't help. See ya."

I pull the phone away and hangup, tucking it into my pocket. I turn back to the pot on the stove and give the contents a stir.

The call with Nate still on my mind after dinner, even though I tried to punch it out of my mind and focus on Odette

After she went to bed I texted Hardison to make sure it was all good, which it was of course, but the guilt of not telling the team was starting to get to me. Especially not telling Eliot.

He and I would flirt and dance around each other all the time, we have since I joined the team. But I still keep my life private, being one of the best forgers is dangerous. Even if it's part time.

The next morning I bring her to school, making sure to sign her field trip permission slip, then give her a long hug, before sending her inside.

I head to McRory's to check in and do some legitimate work.

I walk into Nate's apartment, finding him and Hardison there with security feeds on the screens.

" Hey guys. How's it going?"

" It's going. Managed to pull something together. Not as good as yours but it's getting the job done." Nate says with out looking at me.

"I'm sure he did a great job." I reply as I pull out my sketch book to work at Nate's dinner table.

"Nice of you to join us." Eliot's voice cracks through the comms.

"Nice hear you too, El. Sorry I couldn't help last night."

"S'alright. Hardison managed. But I'd love to hear about what kept you busy."

"Was it a date?" Parker asks.

" Kinda."

"Oh? Who with?"

"Somebody special. Now can we stop talking about my personal life?"

The rest day passes with out much excitement. The team comes and goes and soon enough we are all down in the pub. I note that school let out thirty minutes ago, but Odette has a practice for a school play for an hour and a half after school. Meaning I hang out for another half hour with the team, then head to pick her up, and grab some take out on the way home.

A light touch at my elbow makes me jump and turn to see Eliot grinning at me.

"Didn't mean to scare you, darlin'. I was just asking if you had plans later."

I let out a sigh and look down. This isn't the first time he's asked that, and I doubt it will be the last. He's asked me out before, but the thought Odette getting attached to him like I have, or getting caught up in something scares me enough to not risk it.

" I do. I'm sorry, Eliot."

"With the someone from last night?"

"Yeah. But please, Eliot, I want to keep my private life, private."

" I understand. I won't push it, but I wish you'd tell me why we do this dance, yet you always have mysterious plans."

" I know. But I can't tell you, El."

" Because you don't trust me?" His voice is low as he looks at his feet.

I step close to him, I cup his cheek and make him look at me.

"Eliot, I trust you with my life. But this is something I can't risk, this part of my life shouldn't touch the other side."

"What do you think would happen?"

"I don't know, and I am terrified to find out. But if something changes, you will be the first to know, okay?"

A small smile crosses his face, I return his smile and press a kiss to the corner of his mouth. I wish I could let my self fall for him with out a care, kiss him properly, but I can't.

I pull away and step back, taking a deep breath, I grab my stuff and turn back to him.

"Good night, Eliot."

"Good night."

I turn and head out the door and once in the safety of my car I relax just a little. I check the time, almost an hour to kill till pick up, I drive over to Odette's school and park. I pull out my sketch book and wait.

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

A rapid knock on my car window pulls my attention away from work to find my daughter's face pressed against the glass making a face, causing a laugh to bubble out of my chest.

When she pulls away I roll my window down.

"Hey kiddo! How's was today?"

"Good. Miss. Anne read to us and we got to make a recipe form the book."

"Cool! Hop in and you can tell me more on the way home."

She grins and runs to her side of the back seat, tossing her turquoise backpack next to her. She buckles in and kicks of her shoes before she begins retelling her day of school, while I drive towards home, stopping for take out on the way.

*********

"Are you okay, Mom?" She asks suddenly during dinner.

"Yeah. Yeah I'm fine, just thinking about work."

"Just work?"

I let out a sigh.

"I got asked on a date tonight before I left."

She lets out a shriek of excitement and starts bouncing in her seat.

"Was it Eliot? Did you say yes? Please say you said yes !!"

"Yes, it was Eliot, and no, I didn't say yes."

Her excitement fades, making my heart ache.

"But why? You like him a lot. You talk and tell stories about him all the time. You've even drawn him."

"Because it's complicated, love. We work together and it might end badly and mess up the friendship we have. And you. I don't want you to get hurt."

"But you like him!"

" Odette. It's not happening. I'm sorry."

She lets out a dramatic sigh and slumps back in her chair.

It's silent for a few minutes, then she starts telling me about something that happened during the play rehearsal.

*********

The con had been rough to say the least. A mark with trust issues, a head goon who was actually good at his job, and a forged master piece all part of Nate's plan. At least I wasn't a main option grifting or thieving.

Hardison, Parker and I were sitting in a booth while Nate and Sophie talked with the client. I was laughing at something Parker said, when out of the corner of my eye I see the flash of my phone ringing.

My heart drops to my stomach when I read her teacher's name.

"Shit." I mutter as I pick it up to answer.

"What? What's wrong?" Hardison asks as he looks at me concerned.

I ignore him as I put it to my ear.

"Hello? Anne, what's up?"

"Hi, Y/N, I'm calling because of an incident that happened during the field trip today."

"What happened? Is Odette okay?"

"We were at the top of the steps to the second floor of the museum, the kids were a few steps ahead of Rick and I, and her foot slipped on a step. And she fell about four feet to the next landing "

I try to stand, but the table of the booth stops me in my tracks.

"What?"

"I know, it's not the best news. And I feel terrible that it happened but she's ok. A small scrape on her knee and some bruises. I wish it had never happened but it could have been so much worse."

"Are you back at the school? Should I come get her?"

"We are at the school. She asked me to call you to come and get her. She seems ok for the most part, I think it just scared her."

"I'm on my way. I'll be there in twenty."

"Alright, I'll let her know. See you soon."

I pull the phone away from my ear and shove it in my pocket. I grab my stuff, slide from the booth, and head for the door.

" Yo, where you goin'?" Hardison calls after me.

" It's private. Tell the others I had to cut out early."

I head for the door of McRory's trying to dodge people, but failing as I run in to someone, nearly falling on my face.

But a familiar scent of warmth and spices floods my nose as a pair of strong arms wrap around my waist. Eliot.

"Careful, darlin'. Where you off to in such a rush."

"I'm sorry it's hard to explain. I have to go." I say to him as I detangle my self from his arms and rush out the front door.

I make it to my car and toss my bag in the passenger seat, start the engine, and pull out of my spot and head towards the school.

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

I practically run through the school to Odette's class room. I open the door to find her sitting on a beanbag chair with her teacher and a book.

She looks up when I enter, and starts to wiggle to get up. Once on her feet she runs over to me, and I drop to my knees to hug her tight.

"Hey, baby."

"Hi, momma." Her voice muffled by my shoulder.

I pull away from her and look over her arms and see a bruse forming on her upper left arm, some on her leg, and a few scrapes on her knees. I cup her face and kiss her forehead.

"Let's get you home, okay baby?"

She nods, then pulls away to grab her backpack.

I look to her teacher, who is now standing, then walk to give her a quick hug as well.

"Thank you, Anne, for taking care of her."

"You're welcome. I took her to the nurse when we got here, nothing broken, just bumps and bruises."

I offer her my hand, which she takes and holds tight, then we say goodbye to her teacher, and head to the car.

I give her a nod, then turn back to Odette who looks all too ready to go home.

Once she's settled in her seat, I get in as well, and head home.

A few minutes into the drive my phone starts to ring, I answer without looking at the contact.

"Hello?"

"Hey, I just wanted to check in. You flew out of here like a bat outta hell." Eliot grumbles with a concerned tone.

"Yeah. I'm okay. But it's personal. I might be out for a day or two."

" Hardison said it sounded serious. You sure you're okay?"

"I'm fine, it's just-"

My sentence is interrupted from the back seat, loud enough I know Eliot hears.

"Momma? Can we get pizza for dinner? With olives? Please?"

I glance at her in the rearview, she's barely awake, her eyes heavy and head lulling to the side.

"Sure thing, love." I say to her, receiving a sleepy smile in return.

Eliot is still silent on the other side of the line. I let to go a second longer, then start to speak.

"Look, I have to go. I see you when I see you."

I hear him try to say something, but ignore it and hang up. I know is rude to hang up on someone like that, but he already heard Odette, and it was the only way to not have to answer his questions.

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

As I pull into the driveway, I see Eliot leaning against the side of his truck, arms crossed and staring a hole into the ground.

I park next to him and shut the car off. I let out a sigh as he looks at me through the window. I toss my keys in my bag, swing it to my shoulder, open my door to climb out, then shut it quietly so I don't wake Odette.

I walk around to the front of the car and stand a few feet in front of Eliot. We stand in silence, just starring at each other.

"Hi, Eliot."

"That all you got to say. You ran out of the pub, then when I called to check in you brush it off, and then to top it off I hear a kid your car call you mom."

His tone is calm and even, but I know him well enough to know he's boiling under the surface.

" It's complicated, Eliot."

" Is it? Is that what you have been keeping a secret all this time? Why?"

"Because she is my whole world, and if something happened to her because of a job I would never forgive myself."

"Is she the reason you always said no?" His voice quiet and heartbreaking.

I take a step closer to him and cup his face in my hands.

"Eliot. You have no idea how many times I have wanted to say yes to you. How many times I have dreamt about what would happen if I did. But if I take that leap and something happens, it won't be just me who would be heartbroken."

"You think I'd hurt you?"

"Not on purpose. But with the jobs we pull, and the danger we put ourselves in, there are somethings we can't control. And if something happened to you during a job, and you didn't get back up."

I stop short, the lump that had been growing in my throat making it hard to speak. His hands come up to hold my head.

"I get it. I do. But you can't live with that fear forever."

"I know, I just-"

I cut off at the sound of a car door opening, and a sleepy voice calling my name.

I pull my head from Eliot's hands and turn to look at Odette, who looking between us confused and tired at the same time.

"Hey, baby." I hold my arm out to her as I take a step back from Eliot. "Come here, I want you to meet someone."

She walks over to us, never taking her eyes of Eliot. She hugs my waist, and I wrap and arm around her shoulders.

"Odette, this is El-"

" He's Eliot. I recognize him from your drawings." She says with a cheerful tone.

I feel my face heat up as I close my eyes, a low chuckle come from Eliot, causing me to open my eyes.

He's trying to fight a smile, the corners of his eyes crinkle as he looks between Odette and I.

"Not a word."

He raises his hand in surrender, then squats down to be eye level with Odette, offering his hand to her.

"You're right, I'm Eliot. And who might you be?"

" I'm Odette." She says shaking his hand.

"It's good to meet you."

I watch the interaction with a smile on my face. It's going better then I ever could have hoped. My feelings for Eliot growing more intense as he talks to Odette.

Odette's voice pulls me from my thoughts.

"Momma?"

"Yes, baby?"

"Can Eliot stay for supper?"

She has a pleading look in her eyes. I look to Eliot who is already looking at me with a soft smile.

"Sure. You asked for pizza earlier, you still want that?"

"Yes!"

"Alright," I laugh at her excitement, " go get your backpack and we'll go inside."

She lets out a squeak, then runs to the car. I look to Eliot as he stands up.

"Are you sure you want to stay?" I ask him.

"Yeah. I'm sure. I got win her over if I want to date you don't I? You come as a package."

We share a smile, then when Odette comes back with her backpack, we head inside.

Once inside I take Odette to her room to change and to give her a once over my self. She has bruises and scratches all down her side and on her arm and leg. The scrapes all ready treated my the school nurse.

"Oh baby. I'm sorry you have so many bruises. Do they hurt?"

"A little. But not bad, just when I poke them like this."

I watch as she pokes a dark bruise, then flinches. I pull her hands away, and hold them.

"Well don't poke them if they hurt. Why don't you pick out some comfys and get changed. Then we can go make Eliot watch a Disney movie. I don't think he's ever seen one."

She lets out a shocked gasp then runs to her dresser.

I leave her room and walk back to where I left Eliot in the living room. I find him looking at the wall full of photos from the day Odette was born, to one I took at the beginning of the school year.

I watch at he stops at a picture of me holding Odette when she was maybe eight months old, with matching grins on our faces.

"That one is my favorite." I say to him.

He spins around like he got caught looking at something he shouldn't.

"She looks like you."

I nod, walking forward to stand next to him.

"She also looks like my dad." I point to to picture of him and I.

Eliot nods, then takes a breath to say something, but let's it out without a word.

"What? What were you gonna ask?"

"Where's her dad? I don't want to step in anything."

I shake my head, slip my hand into his and give it a squeeze.

"You aren't stepping in anything. He was a one night stand. I don't think he ever even told me his name."

"So you did it all on your own?"

"Pretty much. My family helped as much as they could, and I took as much legit work as I could find, but then when Nate approached and asked for a favor, I said yes. Plus the paycheck was nothing to laugh at."

His face scrunches.

"You knew Nate before you joined the team?"

"Yeah. He and my dad worked together at IYS. My dad left because he couldn't stand Blackwell. But he kept in touch with Nate over the years."

He let's out a huff of a laugh, and shakes his head.

"I ordered a pizza while you were in there."

"You didn't have to do that."

"I wanted to. Made sure it had olives." He gives me a knowing smile.

"Well then you have won Odette's heart already."

"What about yours?"

"You won that a long time ago." I lean up and press kiss to his cheek.

I pull away when I hear little feet pound down the hallway, into the living room, then she bounces onto the couch.

Soon enough the pizza arrives, and we enjoy dinner in the living room. Eliot and Odette getting along like they've known each other for years, rather then an hour and half at most.

After dinner, and clean up, Eliot tries to leave, but Odette uses her professional puppy eyes get him to give in to her pleas for him to stay.

He finally caves and sits rigid of the couch while Odette diggs through our movie collection, and settling on Lilo and Stitch.

We manage to Eliot to relax, jacket and boots by the door, and sitting on the couch next to me, Odette squeezed between us, and a blanket over the three of us.

I notice Odette stops wiggling half way through the movie. I turn to check on her, and find he asleep, her face pressed into Eliot arm. He looks more relaxed then I have ever seen him in the entire time I've known him.

He turns to look at me and we share a smile.

When the movie is done, I turn it off, then get up and go to scoop Odette to bring her to bed, but Eliot raises a hand to stop me.

"I got her."

He moves slowly, so he doesn't wake her. Cradling her head, then lifting her into his arms resting her head on his shoulder.

I lead him to her room and open the blankets for him to lay her down. He lay's her among the blankets like she's made of glass. I pull the blankets up and tuck her in snugly, press a kiss to her head, then we both creep out of the room, latching the door behind us.

We walk back to the living room, sitting close enough the our legs are touching. He leans his head on the back of the couch, exposing his neck. It's a position I had never seen him in before, probably because it left his neck vulnerable, but it also made me want to kiss his neck. He looks peaceful. Head back, eyes closed, body completely relaxed.

" I can feel you starring."

I breathe out a laugh, then shift to sit on my knees, lean over him, cupping his face in my hand, turning his head gently towards me, the scruff on his cheek is rough against my palm. I lean down and kiss him. I feel him take a deep breath, then his hand comes up to hold the wrist of the hand on his cheek as he kisses me back.

It doesn't last long, but it's enough to take my breath away. When I pull away, he's already looking at me, his blue eyes fulls of confusion and hope.

"I've been wanting to do that for a long time." I whisper, rubbing my thumb along his cheek.

" So have I, darlin'. Can I kiss you again?"

I nod, leaning into him again. He wraps and arm around my waist, lifting and dragging me into his lap, wrapping both arms tight around me.

"Can I take you in a date?" He asks, pulling away just enough to mumble against my lips.

I humm in response, then lean in for another kiss.

Time seems to disappear as we sit there, making out like teenagers. We eventually separate, trying to catch our breaths. It's quiet, until he asks something I hoped he'd forgotten about.

" Did you really draw me enough that she could recognize me?"

I let out a groan and drop my head to his shoulder, his laugh ringing through the room.

××××××××××××××××

Eliot Spencer Taglist:

@katbratsupernaturalwhore @fictional-hooman

[my-beloved-lakes]

@leveragetober

Leveragetober 2023

Prompt 8: Museum

After Sophie and Nate retire, Eliot, Hardison and Parker comes to bother them on Christmas and convince them to break into a museum, just for the fun of it. (Under the cut)

Nate sat in his and Sophie's living room watching the snow fall silently outside. Sophie sat next to him flipping through the pages of a magazine.

The Christmas tree was set up, he had his wife by his side, and a warm cup of coffee. Everything was peaceful and exactly the way it should be this Christmas Eve. And of course, there was the added bonus of knowing that Sterling wasn't going to bother him for at least a week, since he was spending his Christmas with his daughter. Nate wasn’t a fan of Christmas, but it usually meant no one would bother him.

Nate jumped when he heard a knock at the door.

"I'll get it." Sophie offered.

"Please tell me it's just carolers."

Even after he had retired, people still showed up at his door from time to time, looking for help getting even with greedy CEOs and the likes. He wasn’t exactly sure how they did it, but he guessed Hardison had something to do with it. Nate didn’t really mind. It only happened occasionally, and they were usually pretty straightforward and easy. It kept him and Sophie from getting bored in their retirement. But it was Christmas eve. He just wanted to relax with his wife.

"Surprise!" He heard Parker shout.

"Aww! How did you guys get here so fast? I thought you were in the middle of a job!" Sophie asked.

"Yeah, a job in Boston." Hardison said. "We decided to leave that detail out so that we could surprise you guys."

"Aww!" Sophie pulled Hardison into a hug, then Parker and Eliot.

Nate sighed and stood up to greet them.

It wouldn't really be Christmas without them.

"Well make yourselves at home." Nate said even though he knew he didn't need to give them permission to. They'd make themselves at home whether he wanted them to or not.

"Did we miss dinner?" Eliot asked.

"No."

"Good! Cuz I got the perfect meal planned." Eliot said, rubbing his hands together with excitement.

Everyone gathered into the dining room to be closer to Eliot as he set to work cooking dinner.

Nate listened contently as Parker and Hardison explained everything they had been up to for the past few months, Eliot occasionally throwing in his two cents from the kitchen. They seemed to be settling into their new responsibilities really well, and Nate was proud of them.

After a while Eliot brought in a couple platters of food and set them on the table.

"Alright, let's eat!" He said.

They all gathered plates and silverware, and Eliot served the food.

***

"You know what we should do?" Parker asked with a sly smile when they had all finished their food.

"Oh no! No, no, no!" Nate said. "I know that look! We're not stealing anything! It's Christmas Eve!"

"I was gonna say we should break into the Boston Museum and put Santa hats and reindeer antlers on all the statues." Parker said.

"Nooo!" Nate moaned.

He had been looking forward to a peaceful evening at home.

"Oh, come on Nate!" Sophie begged.

"You guys can, but I'm staying home."

"No, Nate. It's only fun if everyone comes!" Hardison insisted.

Nate threw his hands up in resignation. He knew he wasn't going to win this one.

***

Eliot checked over his shoulder to make sure none of the other security staff was around, then pushed his janitor cart into a room full of statues. The janitor aliases that Hardison had set up for the two of them was enough to get them inside the museum, but he still had to make sure none of the guards caught them putting hats on the statues. He didn't want to get fired on his first day of work after all… or arrested.

He pulled out a step ladder and climbed up on it to place a Christmas hat on the head of an angel statue, then glanced over at Hardison who was stringing a set of Christmas lights between the hands of another statue, making it look like the statue was decorating for Christmas. Eliot chuckled to himself as he moved on to the next statue.

Sophie climbed out of the janitor cart and started sticking Rudolph noses on the portraits.

"You killed the cameras, so they'll have no idea what happened, right?" Nate asked.

"You dare doubt me?” Hardison scoffed.

Parker lowered herself from the ceiling above one of the statues and pulled out a headband with velvet reindeer antlers on it. She put it on the statue's head then took a minute to admire her handy work.

When the team was all done decorating, Nate waited for everyone to clear the room then stood in the doorway, admiring their decorations. He pulled out his phone and snapped a picture before heading for his exit. He would never admit to anyone that he had enjoyed this. That picture would remain a secret forever.

The museum staff would discover the decorations in the morning and there would probably be a news article or two out about it not long after that. Maybe a few camara crews would show up to do a story on it, but no one would ever know how it had happened. People would probably be calling it a Christmas miracle. 

Nate smiled. None of that really mattered though, because he would have this memory to share with his family for the rest of his life. It'd be their little secret.

He would never admit it, but Nate felt the warmth of Christmas spirit building up inside of him as he walked out of that museum.

[pyresrpgear]

I agree with all of this.

I think a big part of the reason a lot of people don't zero in on this aspect is in large part because of the way Nate is shown.

In season 1 the only times (that I can think of off the top of my head) when “the company didn't pay for the treatment” was really talked about as the focus of the conversation was in the pilot episode when they were world/character building and across the 2 Davids episodes at the end of the season. The rest of the time we were getting hit with the ever-expanding flashback in the hospital. It kept getting reinforced that that was Nate’s trauma.

We never saw the weeks and months both before and after. We didn't see Nate trying to figure out how to keep everything together. We didn't see the “broke, sleeping in my car” Nate. We didn't really see the potential after-effects of being that broke, of not knowing where or when your next meal is going to be, of sleeping in your car and never quite being sure you won't be murdered in your sleep by someone stealing your car. Obviously at least some of that is because Sam's death and then the divorce are much larger traumas for Nate so he likely was too fucked up (and too drunk) to pick up those particular coping methods. We never saw a moment like Parker clocking Luka as for sure an orphan because of his mannerisms, from Nate.

We never really even saw “before” Nate except for on-the-job flashbacks. The closest we get to seeing who adult Nate was is Sterling. So we never really get a good read on the before/after aside from the alcoholism.

The other thing that I think throws people off is Nate’s relationship with money across the show.

In episode 2 he paid for everything setting up the new HQ in LA, then “he gave the rest away” after buying an electric car that shall not be named. Granted he gave it to charity but it was said as a bit of a throwaway and nobody is going to think twice about it because of what happened to Sam (instead of what happened to Nate and Maggie at the same time).

When they moved to Boston he moved into a pretty nice apartment that looked like it could not have been cheap.

Then before calling the team to Portland he bought a boat and spent months(?) sailing around. I don't recall if we ever found out if he got a place on land, but I highly doubt Sophie would have been happy living at the marina.

On the surface, these don't lend themselves to a characterization of someone who was financially at rock bottom and it changed the way he deals with the world. A cynical take might look at Nate and see someone who was probably upper middle class, hit a (very) rough patch, then bounced back and ended up better off than he had been and just rolled with it.

But as John Rogers once tweeted “you are always 3 very bad months from being homeless”. Nate had those months and then some.

And there are other things that while not explicitly stated do lend themselves to Nate having backups for his backups.

Like I fully expect that at least some of the jobs they pulled in season 2 where Nate paid Tara’s invoices out of his own pocket. Do you really think anyone on that team was going to take part of an inheritance that was going to go to a charity to help kids in the foster system? With Parker and Hardison (and after revelations in Redemption Eliot as well) on the team? Or taking a cut of loan shark money that was being returned to the victims? Not a chance. But somebody had to pay Tara.

And do you honestly think that someone who plans a con, then makes plans for what to do if any step goes wrong, then a plan for when every step goes wrong, does not have backups in place now for if life goes wrong?

In the first ep of season 3 shen Nate was in jail the team used “everything you have left” to scam the warden. I am fairly certain that the account Sophie used was just Nate’s active account. Probably the one he used to pay Tara, and what he uses for normal person bills and such. I would bet that he has at least a handful of others that the team (except Hardison who either found them on his own or set them up for Nate in the first place, after all he did help Nate set up the office in LA before anybody else even knew they were going to work together again) don't know about. Hell he might even have individual accounts set up to cover the worst-case scenario of each member of the team ending up in the hospital.

Nate lost one family, he is not going to let it happen again.

And his first instinct to save a family, be it his own or the clients, is money.

hey, Leverage peeps, I've got a thought. I've seen a lot of posts and memes joking about Nate's inability to understand that his clients do not want money, they want revenge. I also find this funny. but I was thinking about it and I realized something: there's a personal reason behind it. there is a very, very good reason why Nate doesn't get that.

Nate's drive to lead Leverage, outside of the crew, originated from his son's death due to his insurance company's refusal to cover the bill for the required treatment. we all know this. if his company had paid for Sam's treatment, everything would've been fine.

…or, if Nate had been a little wealthier, had a little more change to spend… maybe he could've paid for it. maybe Blackpool never would've had a say in any of it. maybe Nate would've had everything under control from the start.

we've discussed at length in the fandom how money equals safety for some of the others in the crew (Parker and Hardison grew up with little to none and know its importance to survival, Eliot needs it to stay ahead of his old enemies, etc.), but I don't know that I've seen any discussion on how it's relevant to Nate. for him, however, money equals security in healthcare and in housing (he lost the house, remember?). Nate's older than the others. he remained in the same place for much longer, and he had a stable life for a while. the others haven't been in that position before. many of their clients, however, are at that place in life.

yes, for the others, money keeps them ahead of the game and it keeps them secure. but none of them ever lost a kid because they couldn't pay for healthcare. none of them risk losing the life of someone who is completely dependent on them when they don't have enough.

(Hardison, perhaps, has the closest understanding, considering he hacked a bank to pay for his Nana's healthcare. but he never lost her.)

Nate thinks ahead, you know? he has a long-term view of things. I imagine that for him, when clients refuse the money, they're not just refusing a month's worth of groceries, or a place to stay the night, or the ability to keep running. for him, they're refusing control over their hard-earned, stable, long-term living situation. they're refusing the potential to save a family member's life.

I dunno, guys. I think that's a pretty good reason to not understand why people don't want the money.

[kookicat]

The Second Needlepoint Job

"Quinn, I said distract them," Nate hisses, one hand pressed against his ear to block the screaming fire alarm as he digs through the full filing cabinet  drawer with the other. 

Quinn shrugs. "What do you think this is?" he asks, indignant, and gestures vaguely at the fire smouldering away in the middle of the office. "It's contained. And they're all outside." 

"Barely!" Sophie yells. Both her hands are pressed against her ears against the blaring alarm. 

Quinn isn't wrong, exactly, but the small metal bucket doesn't seem the best choice. Smoke drifts lazily up, and Sophie takes a step back. The carpet has already started to melt from the heat, and the combined smells are delightful. 

"Nate, I think we should go!" Sophie says, and he glances over. 

"Just a second!" The file number he needs appears under his hands. "Now we can go!" He yanks it out and holds it up, just as the overhead sprinklers spring into life and send down a deluge of chilly water. "For fuck's sake, Quinn!" he snaps, exasperated beyond belief. 

The office door opens again, and Eliot sticks his head in. "What's takin' so long?" he calls over the noise. "And why the fuck are the sprinklers going off?" 

Eliot swipes his soaking hair back from his face and glances at Nate, biting his lip at the look on the other man's face. Huh, been a while since I saw that expression, Eliot thinks, looks like he wants to murder someone. 

"Ask Quinn," Sophie says, dryly, and ducks out of the door, stopping to slip her heels off, because it's a long ten floors to the ground. 

Eliot turns his gaze to the other hitter. "Wanna explain?" 

Quinn shrugs, again. "Nate said to make a distraction. I made a distraction." 

"Next time, I'll be more specific," Nate snaps and follows Sophie. 

"You do that!" Quinn calls, and Nate's shoulders tense up even more. 

"It's really not funny!" Eliot says as they both head towards the stairs. 

"It's a little funny," Quinn argues and despite himself, Eliot has to agree. 

He laughs, spitting water, and shoved the staircase door open. "Yeah, maybe," he allows, and they start down together. 

----

It appears on the fridge five days later. Each stitch is beautifully worked, in colours ranging from palest yellow to deep burnt umber. 

Parker spots it first, while getting a midnight cereal snack, and cackles in delight, leaving it be, because she knows Nate will spot it when he gets the creamer for his morning coffee. She takes a picture and retreats to the room they've claimed, poking Hardison until he wakes and she can dangle the phone in front of his face to show him. 

He stares at the pic for a few long seconds, lip twitching as he tries not to laugh. "That man is not right," he mumbles, and goes back to sleep. 

The yell, several hours later, wakes all of them, minus Eliot who is already up and in the kitchen. 

"What's this?" Nate asks, accusingly, and holds the offending item up. 

Eliot shrugs and pops a bit of cooked bacon into his mouth. "Quinn dropped it off, last night. Said it would go with the other one." 

More colour rises in Nate's already pink cheeks. "That man is a menace," he mutters and hangs the dammed thing back on the fridge. 

"Handy with a needle, though," Eliot says, mildly, "and his colour composition is comin on nicely." He flips the pancake in the frying pan, a thoughtful look crossing his face. "I did wonder why he was so interested in desserts, though." 

Nate sighs, and knows the damn Needlepoint will be turning up in the pub for months to come. 

Really Quinn? He thinks, and reads the words again. Arson? Oh, you mean crime brulee. 

[s-wordsmith]

There's a conversation, early in The Order 23 Job, as they're going to steal a hospital, between Parker and Nate that I have always loved and can now rant about now that I have Tumblr.

Nate has pretended to be a doctor and they are now setting up in a hospital so he can not only continue to do so but can do so more thoroughly. Parker is . . . confused, for one. Concerned. Curious.

The conversation goes as follows (to the best of my hearing):

Parker: "So let me get this straight. You're a doctor."

Nate: "Yeah."

Parker: "What if someone asks you to deliver a baby?"

Nate: "I'd say I'm not an obstetrician."

Parker: "What? A what?"

Nate: "A baby doctor."

Parker: "(Oh.) Well what if there's a train accident, there's stretchers everywhere? And then someone points at you and says 'Hey, you, help me with this sucking chest wound.'"

Nate: "Ah, I wo--I would stick my hand in the chest and, uh, y'know, hope for the best."

Parker: "Oh, you are so not operating on me."

Here's the important part: the tone.

Parker is, as I said above, confused and concerned and curious. Most tellingly, she feels comfortable expressing that with no filter. She's comfortable asking questions instead of pretending she understands as we sometimes see her do. And she's right to, because Nate responds absolutely patiently. He's calm; he doesn't get angry that she's questioning him (even though Nate specifically has done that with Eliot and Sophie more than once). He's rational; he thinks through his answers and then gives them to her, doesn't blow her off or act like she's inconveniencing him and when she doesn't know the word "obstetrician" he doesn't mock, he answers in exactly the same conversational tone. He's comforting without being condescending. He knows she needs to ask questions to understand things other people might not and he answers them without judgement.

This is a huge step forward for both of them.

I make jokes about the OT3 being Nate's kids/Nate being the Tired Dad, but in reality he's actively resistant to any conscious display of fatherliness. He can't be nice to Hardison directly without either a backhanded compliment or something serious forcing it (like active danger). He respects Eliot, but tends to hold him at arms length. Parker is the one person he steps into any sort of fatherly role for and I think it's only because he can justify it as a mentor relationship. Nate's trauma has manifested in a resistance to fatherly behavior. But you can see it every once in a while and this is one of those times. He's so soft during this conversation. (And it works. Parker doesn't seem to be nervous at all after and in fact seems to have fun at times.)

Parker hides not only her emotions but her lack of knowledge whenever she becomes aware of it, as a protective measure. She does this by modeling behavior or outright repeating words she sees/hears from those around her. I know there are examples from the first season but I'm blanking on them right now and the only thing I can think of is when Tara first joins the team and Parker is thrown off rhythm and retreats into this behavior, most notably when she refers to the someone as hot in a tone that suggests she's just repeating what the others said. But she's not doing that here. She doesn't understand Nate's process, so she asks, repeated questions as she tries to wrap her head around it. He uses a word she doesn't understand and she asks for clarification, immediately, in a very thrown-off way that suggests she didn't think it through first (the way she always thinks everything through), and then gets right back to her original line of questioning.

And then "oh, you are so not operating on me," which at first seems like such an odd leap, but I don't think it is. I think this is Parker deciding and establishing a boundary in the same moment: I am trusting you to pretend to be a doctor for this con, but I am not trusting you to operate on me like a real doctor should the need arise. Which is a healthy and reasonable boundary. I'm not sure Parker knows at this point that Nate would have expected this boundary to not need to be said and I'm not sure Nate knows at this point that this is not an understanding he can take for granted. They are learning each other.

As a side note, why did Parker just have "sucking chest wound" to pull out of her hat? There's a story there.

[histrionic-dragon]

I also love that scene! My takeaway from it is a different kind of intimacy/comfort, though. I think it’s about comfort and knowing each other.  In the first episode, they turned away because WHOOPS, Parker apparently does NOT have Boundaries about undressing in front of guys but they do, and they’ll respect what they think her boundaries should be for her too. But in The Cross My Heart Job, we have reached the stage of reciprocal casual undressing. Parker’s not going to be creeped out, Eliot’s not going to be freaked out. The job requires a quick costume change so they do it. They even toss each other needed clothes, IIRC. It’s working together.

Also, this would not work with Hardison. He’d politely squeak and look away--or politely look, I don’t remember quite what stage the two of them were at in this episode--but it wouldn’t be this matter-of-fact. That’s something Eliot and Parker have in common: the ability to be businesslike about changing together. And it’s businesslike not because they’re ignoring that it’s a big deal but because for both of them it can be not a big deal. Goal is Steal Heart Back and they’re in work mode, and neither of them has to worry about the other one reacting weird to a costume change.

--Actually, it’s probably something Sophie has in common with both of them too, under the right circumstances . . . . Heh. I would love a missing scene from something where Parker, Eliot, and Sophie are all in one room changing while discussing next steps for a con, and Hardison and Nate (having heard conversation and not realizing various stages of nudity are in progress) enter the room and flip out, to the general “What?” of the others.

--Not to hijack your post....  I like your observations too. They just set off the pinball machine of free association in my head and this came out.

So I’m mid Leverage rewatch - Can we talk about how the boys make such a big deal about looking away from Parker whipping off her clothes towards the beginning of the series, and now here we are in 4.9, “The Cross my Heart Job,” and once again Parker whips her shirt offf. But does Eliot look away? Not at all. He looks at her out of the bottom of his eyes as he takes his jacket off and throws it at the camera, giving them both privacy from the viewer. That is a WHOLE other kinda vibe. That is a new level of comfort with her, interest, even intimacy. I’m not gonna say something has happened between them at this point (though I’m not gonna rule it out). But it is at the very least an option now in a way it never was before. There is a closeness there where he’s maybe allowed to appreciate her, even in a friendly, curious way. — The point is I’m here for it. Thank you for coming to my Ted talk.

[lemissingmask]

[ID: Sketch in mostly greyscale with coloured fire and blood of Parker running over and starting to drop to her knees beside Eliot, who is lying amongst rubble, holding one hand to his abdomen, which is severely bleeding, and starting to push himself up onto his elbow. He also has blood on his head and face and elsewhere on his hands and chest. End ID]

-

Day 21: Blood loss

Eliot with very severe and rapid blood loss after an explosion causes him to acquire shrapnel wounds.

Ficlet below the cut

-

It was the sharp pain on the palms of her hands that Parker noticed first, the only clear sense in that confusion of noise and heat and swirling smoke.

Gravel.

Rough, sharp, gritty gravel underneath her hands and digging into her knees.

It had left bloody grazes where she had caught herself on the ground after Eliot propelled her behind the crate, throwing her to safety no more than a second before the explosion.

She hadn’t even really registered that there had been an explosion at all until she looked around and saw the fire, the smoke, the twisted fragments of metal and concrete scattered over where Eliot lay.

Or had been laying.

He was already pushing himself up from the ground, shards of glass catching the firelight from within his hair, glistening like the rich red blood that was rapidly darkening his clothes.

Parker stumbled to her feet, head feeling too heavy and body overbalanced, but within a couple of steps she found her limbs complying properly, and managed to get to Eliot’s side before he could get as far as standing.

As the thief dropped down, her knees landed in wetness, in Eliot’s blood, pooling rapidly beneath him as several deep wounds seemed to be determinedly pumping out his blood with each beat of his heart.

The worst, or where most blood could be seen, was his abdomen. He had his left hand pressed there, clutching the fabric of his undershirt tightly, both it and the clothing already covered in that shining red.

Knowing Eliot, knowing he would never just stay there like people actively bleeding out should do, she ducked under his arm to help him up, and together they stumbled back behind the crate that had protected her.

There had been three explosions in quick succession. More might be coming…secondary explosions as other things ignited and blew up.

Worse yet, she could already hear the wail of sirens, faint in the wake of the deafening explosion.

They needed to disappear.

Now.

If they were found there would be ambulances, hospital, police questioning, and Parker would either have to run and leave Eliot to be held prisoner in a hospital until they could break him out, or be arrested under suspicion herself so Hardison would need to get them both out.

She had to get out of there. Had to get them both out of there.

“Park,” Eliot, hoarse and close and quiet.

Next to her ear, not in it.

The earbuds?

She felt her ear, the device was still there but tapping it offered no feedback and she heard no reply as she called out Hardison. He always responded over comms, if they were working.

“Earbud’s fried,” she said, shifting it to her pocket.

Eliot reached for his, “Mine’s gone.”

Somewhere amongst all the debris.

Parker turned to Eliot, the motion making the world spin again for a moment, and she wondered if she had hit her head. Her brain felt too fuzzy.

“We have to get to Hardison,” she said, aware that he was probably thinking exactly the same, “Can you walk?”

He nodded, gaze fixed on her’s, assessing something that she didn’t understand.

“Okay…” she looked away, out at the gradient of lessening destruction as it went away from the epicentre. Somewhere out there Hardison would definitely go to park the van and wait to rendezvous. Did they wait?

“There!” Eliot pushed himself up, gripping her arm tightly and pointing towards an area some way off.

The deep shadow from one building was interrupted by an intermittent light. Regular sequence. Morse code, Parker guessed, and something that made Eliot smile slightly.

“Hardison?”

Eliot nodded, wrapping his arm back around Parker as she helped him to stand.

It was only a short distance - a hundred and twenty three metres - to the deep shadow, but it felt like twice or even three times that with Eliot practically a dead weight beside her, his steps slow and faltering, and having to hold one hand over his bleeding abdomen just unbalanced them more.

He stumbled and very nearly brought them both to the ground as they reached the van, saved by Hardison sprinting in to prop up Eliot on his other side.

“Dammit man!” Hardison took most of Eliot’s weight, freeing Parker to sprint ahead to get the van door open, “Please tell me you went and slaughtered a chicken or something on the way and that is not all your bl-“

“Hardison!” Eliot growled, cutting off his growing panic.

The hacker looked wide eyed and more than a bit ill as he got Eliot into the back, “We are taking you to a hospital this time.”

“No…just…” Eliot fumbled in his pocket, getting a hold of his phone, the screen cracked and blood in the fine lines of the glass.

More blood smeared over the phone as he dialled, fingers shaking on the buttons and making him mess the number at least twice. But he dialled what he intended and switched the phone to speaker, letting it fall gently onto the floor of the van, his hand limp beside it.

“Eliot Spencer. Got another imminent terrorist threat for me to have to deal with today?”

The familiar voice of colonel Vance.

“Discrete medic in West Michigan,” Eliot said as loudly as his failing strength would allow, “You got anyone?”

A brief pause, then, “I’ll text you an address and let them know you’re coming. Nature of the injury?”

“Shrapnel wound to the abdomen, severe blood loss.”

Vance abruptly hung up. Moments later there was a text, an address, and without a word between them, Hardison grabbed up the phone and jumped into the cab, kicking the van into motion almost immediately.

Through all this, Parker had been focused on the injuries that were quickly threatening to kill their hitter. The conversation, the suddenly moving van, her own bleeding hands and arms were distant. Like something happening elsewhere, out of the bubble of her and Eliot and all that blood.

He had taught her basic first aid, and how to slow bleeding, how to clean and stitch up wounds. Bullet wounds and knife wounds. How to stabilise a broken leg or arm…not this. Not this jagged, deep, metal-flecked mess.

But she had grabbed their first aid kit anyway. Well stocked. Eliot had a medic friend who designed him the sort of first aid kit he would need, kitted out for the types of injury most likely in his line of work.

She had pulled on nitrile gloves over her own scraped up hands, grabbed gauze, sterile and bundled, and packed some in the wound, applying pressure over the top with more gauze. Her pressing over Eliot’s abdomen made him wince, but nothing more.

“How long?!”

Hardison glanced back over his shoulder, “Twenty minutes. If we’re lucky.”

Parker looked back down at Eliot, fading fast, almost colourless as his blood kept seeping out through the gauze and between her fingers.

“Tie this down,” he slipped a shaking hand over one of her’s, “Make it tight.”

She nodded, letting him take over applying pressure as she scrambled to get another roll of gauze from its packet. She looped it round over the wound and behind his back a couple of times, tightening it until she saw him tense from the pain, then fastening it with a knot probably not meant for bandages but it was what she knew.

“Good…now IV…” Eliot rasped, clumsily pulling up his left sleeve to expose a vessel she could use, “You remember…how to…?”

She nodded and returned to the kit. The only time she’d done this before, he had been more conscious than he was now, and they were only doing it to deal with severe dehydration. He had been able to help more than he was now, and there wasn’t all this blood on his skin already and they weren’t in a moving vehicle and…

“Parker,” his voice brought her back, “‘s okay. Instructions…on the…”

She looked at bags, neatly packed in beside the lines and sterile needles. Taped on each was the clear name of the fluid in the bag, when to use it, and stepwise instructions for how to set the IV up.

Eliot had planned for situations like this.

So she followed the instructions, blocking out the sight of the blood and the sound of Eliot’s breath growing more ragged, and Hardison’s panicked updates on how long it would take.

She couldn’t focus on all of it at once and she needed to get the fluids into Eliot. He was losing a lot and he needed more. Blood pressure getting too low was bad. She knew that.

And she did it.

She got the IV hooked up, the fluid moving into Eliot’s body…

He smiled that soft smile that made her chest tighten, “Good job.”

She fought back a wave of fear.

Not good enough.

Eliot was still bleeding out, still getting paler and paler.

Parker held his hand in one of her's, using the other to try and put more pressure on the wound.

After about seven and a half more minutes, his finger's uncurled, hand falling limp and unresponsive in her's.

"Hardison!"

"Almost there," he replied shakily, catching her gaze in the rearview mirror, "Just hold on. A couple more blocks."

It felt like ten, twenty, a hundred more, every passing second making it less and less likely that Eliot would survive this.

But he was still breathing, he still had a faint pulse, when the van stopped.

The back doors opened and Hardison jumped in.

Parker looked beyond him, to the concrete parking lot and the white building beyond. A door was already opening and two people pushing a gurney towards them.

She heard them say something, Hardison call something back, but the words didn't really register, and suddenly they were in the van too, taking up too much space and too much air and she couldn't breathe.

"Babe," Hardison's voice in her ear, his hands on her arms, "Parker, they got Eliot. You gotta let go."

She looked down at her hands, still holding Eliot's hand and the gauze tightly, both red but the blood was drying and getting darker.

Mutely, she nodded.

These were the medics Vance had said were okay, and they were going to help Eliot.

Parker let Hardison guide her back out of the van into the too-bright world outside.

His hand was shaking where it rested over her shoulder. She held it to make it stop.

The medical people had Eliot on the gurney now, wheeling him into the building at a run. Parker wanted to follow but she knew she wasn't supposed to. She could watch from a vent maybe, but that would mean leaving Hardison alone, and he was breathing quickly, panicking now everything they could do was done.

"Would you like to follow me?"

The kind voice, with a smile that was completely inappropriate, came from a tall person wearing Crocs and multicoloured scrubs.

"We have a staff area where you can shower, and I can find you some clothes to borrow."

Parker looked down at her once-white vest top, now a reddish brown over almost all the front.

They didn't need to borrow clothes since they always had plenty spare in the van, which was good because Parker wanted something comfortable and safe and ended up, after a long shower, engulfing herself in one of Hardison's hoodies.

After they had both showered and changed, the kind person in Crocs brought them some water and offered them hot drinks and cookies. They were now sitting in a cheaply furnished room with hot chocolate and a plate of chocolate chip cookies, staring at the same door Croc-person came in through before, waiting for them to return and offer some sort of update on Eliot.

Last they had heard, when the kettle had been boiling for the hot chocolate, he was still in surgery and that was all Crocs knew.

An hour later, they still had no new information, and the sun was starting to set.

Parker finished her drink, long-since gone cold, and rested her cheek on Hardison's shoulder. She let her eyes fall shut, the white of that door lingering behind her eyelids, until it faded with the creeping darkness of an exhausted sleep.

She opened her eyes to a dimly lit, horizontal, world.

Her pillow had changed from the wool of a sweater to coarser denim, and the hood over her head had been replaced by a familiar hand resting lightly on her hair.

From this vantage point of Hardison's lap, she could see very little of the room.

The coffee table, part of the counter beyond, and a leg that she knew with a very distinctive boot at the end of it.

She slowly slipped out from under Hardison's hand, registering by the lack of response that he was asleep, and sat up to get a better look at their hitter.

Pale but not covered in blood, and wearing clothes that had to belong to the clinic, except for his own boots, which were not quite as cleaned of blood as the rest of him. He was sitting in an armchair with a beer in one hand and an IV hooked up to the other arm, watching her calmly.

"Hey," he whispered, voice still as weak as it had been when they first got him into the van.

"Hey," she echoed, the image of him sitting there all clean and bandaged felt less real, less tangible, than the bloody, bleeding out, Eliot she had been knelt beside for an unbearably long twenty minutes.

She was clean but her hands still felt dirty. She still had some of his blood caught up in the corners of her nails and on her shoes, like on his shoes.

He had nearly died right there in the back of Lucille, and Parker couldn't stop it.

She opened her mouth, but shut it before making a sound.

How could she voice the reality that she - they - could never bear to lose him, that it would destroy them both, and that they would neither of them survive the overwhelming grief...she couldn't form the sentence that conveyed it.

“You doin’ alright?” he asked softly, something in his expression and those words telling her that he understood perfectly those words she couldn't say.

She nodded, swallowing down tears she hadn’t realised had been welling up, “You need to apologise to Hardison. You got blood all over Lucille.”

Eliot bowed his head, “I’ll apologise when he wakes up.”

“You’ll clean her when I wake up,” Hardison mumbled groggily, not moving.

Parker smiled as Eliot let out a small, tired, laugh, “Never gonna happen, my man.”

-

[pebblesrus]

i have no defense for this, @darkfinch, re: the most fucked up au, if the big bang job was canon up until the pool scene. 

why eliot would still bring hardison to the pool, uhh, idk. i acknowledge that this shouldn’t exist, and it’s messy still because i am vibrating and not thinking clearly, but it exists in my brain so. 

here we go

—

"I'm your bodyguard? Okay. That's your plan, hmm?”

Eliot stalks after Hardison as he approaches the elevator.

“What’s this.” The guard scoffs at the pair.

"Garçon. I'm the manager of the kitchen, and I would like to personally deliver Monsieur Moreau's cuisine.”

Eliot walks up to the guard, stands face to face with the man who, forty-eight hours previously had been watching his back as he planted a bomb in a DOD research lab.

"What the hell are you doing?” The guard sneers. 

“I’m Eliot Spencer—” The rest of the sentence hangs in the space between them. If you question me again it will be the last thing you ever do. 

Confusion is seeping out of Hardison’s body as he frantically asks Eliot what he’s doing. Eliot ignores him and ignores every muscle in his body screaming at him to run—to take Hardison back to safety.

“Look, just stick close to me, okay? This might get messy.” He mumbles to the nervous man beside him. 

If it doesn’t work—worse case scenario—if Hardison sticks close enough behind him, maybe Damien will have to take Eliot out first so that he doesn’t have to watch Hardison’s execution. 

—

Doors open for him as he walks into Damien’s makeshift lair, as they always have, as he knows they always will. Familiar faces line the walls but no one dares raise a gun to Moreau’s chief of staff. 

Eliot’s eyes meet Chapmans across the room and both men know that whatever game Eliot’s been playing is over. 

Chapman walks to meet him halfway. They’re at a deadlock—every gun in the room is pointed at Hardison—waiting for Eliot to make a call.

“Chapman”

“Eliot.”

“Stand down.” 

Every gun in the room lowers the second the words hit the frigid air. Chapman doesn’t step back—like he knows he should—but his body still surrenders under Eliot’s command, shoulders loosen, head bows just slightly, the challenge in his eyes dissipates.

Eliot feels Hardison take a stumbling step back as it hits him—the realization that, in all the months the team had been chasing Damien Moreau, in all the rumors Hardison had found about Moreau’s enforcer, a man who might actually be worse than Moreau himself—they never once considered that he had been close enough to snap their necks the whole time. 

[cloysterbell]

Thank you Faor my good friend Faor

Okay, so first off, something something actors know their characters better than we do because they live in that headspace and have to bring these characters to life blah blah blah.

On the other hand, I think CK’s definitely not right.

“He’s killed a lot of people — sometimes for money, sometimes because they deserved it, but he’s killed a lot of people — and there’s no way that he’s ever going to be able to redeem himself for that.”

Step by step. 

He’s killed a lot of people, check. Correct. We don’t know how many exactly and we never will

Sometimes for money, sometimes because they deserved it. Also correct. We know he killed for Moreau because it was a job, we also know he killed because he fought in the war and they “deserved” it (whether THAT’s true or not depends on your POV of war as a whole but that’s not the point here). We also know he killed people in Leverage itself because they were simply in the way, eg. The Big Bang Job

There’s no way that he’s ever going to be able to redeem himself. Debatable but from Eliot’s POV, I agree. He has so much blood on his hands and as much good as he does for people, he’ll never be able to bring back the innocent people he killed. Eliot also strikes me as the sort of guy who no matter how many times you tell him something, if he’s not willing to believe it, he won’t. So while Sophie might thing he can be redeemed, until Eliot goes and gets himself some therapy, he’s too stubborn and set in his ways to actually internalize it

But if you add it all up and you actually listen to the dialogue and pick pieces out of it all, Eliot’s a serial killer.

Okay so what is a serial killer. Technically a serial killer is someone who does multiple murders, usually three, “with the murders taking place over more than a month and including a significant period of time between them.” So if you judge based purely on this then yes, Eliot is a serial killer. But then so are a LOT of people who go to war. Like, I’m pretty sure US President Ulysses S “Unconditional Surrender” Grant actively went to war and killed a LOT of folks and he was the president.

But the real kicker is motivation. Wikipedia says

Psychological gratification is the usual motive for serial killing, and many serial murders involve sexual contact with the victim. The Federal Bureau of Investigation (FBI) states that the motives of serial killers can include anger, thrill-seeking, financial gain, and attention seeking, and killings may be executed as such.The victims may have something in common; for example, demographic profile, appearance, gender or race.

None of this applies to Eliot. Why did Eliot kill? Two major reasons: he’s a country boy from middle America with a “God in his heart and a flag on his shoulder” or whatever that quote is, and he was an employee/mercenary for Moreau. We don’t really know exactly what he did for Moreau or what the terms were, but we know all of Moreau’s guys have “innocent blood on their hands.”

So, Eliot killed for the sake of his country and because it was a job. None of that is personal motive. It’s not anger or thrill seeking or based on demographics (though like teeeeechnically Moreau was for financial gain but I think there’s more to it than that), therefore definitely not a serial killer.

But I do think CK’s right that Eliot will never be redeemed because deep down I don’t think he wants to be. Accepting redemption would mean that it was justified and forgiveable to kill all those people and Eliot cares way too much to be okay with that.

Anyway this article is bogus because I think one of the biggest mistakes Redemption made was exploring his past and telling us more. Sometimes things that are unknown and left up to the viewer (and fic writers) are more interesting and enticing and scary. Also if they want to give Eliot a relationship with someone who actually knows and understands him then like, Parker and Hardison are literally right there. Freevee has no rules, it’s not cable, they can do a canon throuple, who gives a shit.

I just read that article and it was fascinating but I want to know what you, a bigger fan than I am, think about CK calling Eliot a 'serial killer' ?? It was bizarre hearing him say those words out loud

What article......???

[wolves-in-the-world]

unintended benefit of the setup in quinn was almost always there AU with the captive situation / obvious bickering in front of the team / "I am untying you for transport only please don't make this difficult, yes sophie will get you more tea when we get there, we're not jackasses" stuff going on is that there is some team awareness about the situation that quinn and eliot met in. the team know Something about it. quinn was hired to do something to or against eliot and decided not to for some reason. eliot owes him for that. eliot is invested because of that, to a unique degree. Something.

and quinn doesn't have to be a genius to figure out it's a private topic, but that first day was… a bit hectic, alright. quinn wasn't expecting to stick around the team, neither of them ever expected or planned to be anywhere near moreau again. it wasn't meant to be a problem that they let a few things slip.

but the team Knows Something. so I'd say it gets halfway through season three before they're picking up on enough weirdness (eliot visibly stressed, quinn paying more attention in briefings) that nate just looks over at them during a planning session like alright, it's time we knew.

and eliot is just deer-in-the-headlights, not moving an inch but his body language suddenly all screaming shame. he should be planning exit strategies but he's just staring at this team he's been lucky enough to get and won't possibly be lucky enough to keep; he was hoping to get through this and find a way to act (but he hadn't been doing anything, had he, it's just that moreau knows him too well and every time he tried to plan-)

and it's quinn snapping at nate on eliot's behalf that snaps him out of it.

or rather, would snap him out of it. would be enough. by itself.

probably.

but first quinn tosses his current book at the back of eliot's head, and eliot flinches so hard with it he's standing up and swearing at quinn, and he has to keep standing and pace a few steps to avoid feeling trapped like that again. while quinn calmly defends him.

(sometimes the best tricks for dealing with occupational hitter trauma are dirty ones. quinn's not ashamed.)

so the team finds out. it sucks and it's awful but the team knows eliot's been lying to them for months and quinn's been enabling it. what they know because of quinn and what he chose to fill in for them helps. eliot clearly isn't betraying them, it's kinda scary that he might just never have told them, that he, what, might have just gone off and killed moreau while they were still planning to take him down properly; nate's looking at him very sharply sometimes and quinn's taken to only reading paperbacks just in case—

and maybe there's a talk, an awful talk, about how eliot can't be useful to them as eliot-spencer-the-reputation if he's known to break confidentiality. maybe quinn being there helps a bit. because eliot is steadfast, is loyal, is some sort of honourable despite everything he's done and been through. quinn is more practical. if quinn shrugs and says that's what the hitter world's like, they'll believe him.

or maybe eliot breaks it. maybe they take moreau down quick enough it doesn't matter or maybe they damn the consequences.

but hardison doesn't take any risk without first knowing the lay of the land. none of the team take any risk at all without quinn being there as extra backup.

they keep eliot away from the bastard, but quinn gets to see moreau again in san lorenzo, showing up at the end with general flores and michael vittori. (quinn was technically present during that awful gloating videochat, yes, but he was reading in the corner at first and decided to keep that advantage.) moreau takes one look at him, looking like this is just the icing on the insult cake that has been his entire day, and says "you? seriously?"

there's probably a rule against decking people in the face when they're being taken into lifelong custody, but nobody told quinn he couldn't.

[be-gay-do-heists]

OKAY finally finished with eliot hand pain hurt/comfort fic, and i couldn’t actually decide whether i preferred it in second or third person POV. this is the version with the third person POV, otherwise nothing is different from the other version !

------

Contrary to what the four crazy people he spent his time risking his life for nowadays thought, Eliot didn’t like the pain.

There was nothing cleansing about it, nothing satisfactory. A ringing hit to his jaw didn’t feel like penance. The actual protection aspect was a different story. Standing like a wall between your people and danger, there was nothing that made Eliot’s ribs ache with pleasure like that; a wall didn’t feel, didn’t think, it was just an immutable fact. He was an immutable fact. The problem was that the wall-as-Eliot, or perhaps the Eliot-as-wall, had to become human again sometime after the last man went down and the last dollar bill was stuffed into a duffel. To hurt was human, and not just to hurt but to remember the wound long, long after, for it to live in your knees and wrists and between the vertebrae in your spine. Some days— and this was a product of how long after a job it had been, how hard he had pushed—some days were worse than others. The fact that some days the first sound out of his mouth wasn’t even a groan, but a whine, or worse the half-awake pleading for please please make it stop i’ll do anything just make it stop—

No, Eliot didn’t like the pain.

Comparatively, today was a good day. Today, he could get out of bed. His head and body were blessedly in agreement that it was in his best interests to swing his twinging knees to the side of the mattress, push himself up onto legs that were sore but stable, with arms that shook only slightly. But compared to Eliot’s best days, the ones where except for the old shoulder injury which would never let him forget it and the scar on his hip that put a falter in his giddy-up in all kinds of weather, the days on which except for those he sometimes even forgot the pain, this didn’t hold a candle. Today his hands were so beat and weak that the ache radiated up to his mid-forearm, settled into him all familiar-like and made its home in him.

In the bathroom, Eliot used his wrist to turn on the faucet and stuck his mouth under the water to drink. Holding a cup was off the agenda. His morning routine was interspersed with winces, not unusual for his post-job bathroom adventures, and if it took Eliot longer to shimmy on the sweats he knew he wouldn’t be getting out of today, it made him appreciate the comfort of wearing them a little more.

Going handless was fine until he was face to face with the fridge, and resisting the urge to growl at it, like that would solve anything. Taking a deep breath, he put a hand on the stainless steel handle, testing his grip. A light flex had Eliot drawing it back like the metal had burned him, like someone had snapped a tight clothespin onto each ligament. He took a moment to pace a couple steps, let out a loud but cathartic expletive, and then wedge his hand between the handle and the door so he could open the fridge with his elbow strength. The feeling of triumph behind his collarbone faded quickly as the hitter scanned its contents and realized there was nothing he wanted to eat, or at least nothing he wanted to hold and eat. The thought of grasping a fork brought another growl to his throat, and he slammed the fridge door to stomp to the couch and throw himself down, cradling his hands in his lap.

Eliot knew the drill: in an hour, he would grit his teeth and get to up to try and fumble open his bottle of painkillers, and if he succeeded, he would wait another hour for them to truly kick in so he could handle the tv remote, put on whatever game was on, and vegetate on the couch until further notice. The phone he had left on the nightstand rang loudly, fully audible from the other room, blaring out the chorus to “Macho Man” that Hardison had put as his ringtone and Eliot hadn’t figured out how to get rid of yet. If it was important, whoever it was would call again, so he ignored it. His ire rose when the same noise sang out from the bedroom a couple minutes later, a bit-off groan escaping from his clenched teeth as he levered himself up to get to it as fast as he could, awkwardly accepting the call and maneuvering the phone between his shoulder and ear. “What?”

“Man, we haven’t heard from you since we split yesterday, I thought we were gonna get a beer downstairs last night?”

He rubbed his eyes with his wrist, frustrated that he had forgotten he was supposed to get together with Hardison the night before. Getting home, washing the sweat and blood off, and falling into bed had seemed like the only goal in his mind. “Look, sorry, I’ve been busy. And if this ain’t important, you—“

“Bullshit. Absolute bullshit, you’re using your tough-guy, bullshit voice. And you actually apologized, so something is double wrong.”

Eliot snarled. “I don’t have— Hardison, I don’t know what you’re talking about, just leave me alone.”

“Too late, we’re already at your place.”

Before he could open his mouth, his doorbell rang, drawing a groan from him. If he was correct about who the “we” was, it seemed silly to even ring it. His suspicions were confirmed thirty seconds later as the door clicked open anyways and Parker and Hardison came in, having the decency to at least look slightly sheepish. Eliot had already moved back to the couch, tilting his head back and closing his eyes. “Make yourself at home, why don’t you,” he growled.

“Excuse us for being worried about your wellbeing, Mr. Suffer-In-Silence,” Hardison scoffed.

Parker leapt onto the couch cushion next to him. “We thought you might have been captured by ninjas.”

“You would know if I had been captured by ninjas,” Eliot muttered. “It’s a very dis— look, you’ve seen that I’m not kidnapped, it’s our day off, can you please leave and let me rest.”

“You still owe us a hangout from last night!” Parker chirped. “Don’t worry, we won’t stay long.” She vaulted back over the couch to go rummage through his snack cabinets, getting into the granola bin by the sound of it. Eliot made a note to restock it before she came back next.

When he next opened his eyes, Hardison was lightly sitting on his coffee table, looking at the hands still resting in the hitter’s lap. “What’s up with your hands, Eliot?”

Eliot’s first instinct was to deflect. He trusted his team, sure, but this was different. They weren’t supposed to know that he had these days. That he wasn’t invulnerable. “Nothing’s wrong with them, stop sitting on my coffee table.”

“Mhm mhm, sure,” Hardison said. “Go like this for me?” He wiggled his fingers in a “hey sailor” kind of fashion. Before Eliot could tell him just what he thought about that, Parker’s ponytail swung into the side of his face, the thief reaching down to poke one of his hands faster than he could stop her.

By the time Eliot was able to refocus and pull himself back from the whiteout of pain, Parker and Hardison were looking at him with open concern, the hacker leaning back slightly, a little pale. Eliot thought he might have howled; he wasn’t sure. Both his hands were clenched tightly to his chest, wrists together, arms outward, wishbone shaped. He felt just as brittle as one, with their stares on him. He summoned the anger from his throat, the only weapon at his disposal (only half-expecting that it would work, always defenseless when it came to their prodding).

“Can you leave me the hell alone now?”

Hardison looked at him, taking his time formulating his thoughts, but it was Parker who spoke. “Nope.” Eliot turned to her where she was perched on the couch. “You get hurt taking care of us. Now you let us take care of you.”

Eliot looked at Hardison pleadingly, hoping he at least would take pity on him and let him wallow by himself. The hitter wanted to hide like the trap-escaped, half-dead badger whose den he had accidentally put his foot into half a lifetime ago in the Italian Alps, earning him an earful of hissing that scared the shit out of him. He wondered if he seemed as belligerent as that now.

Hardison just shrugged and smiled gently. “Hey, you heard the woman.” He leaned forward slightly, just enough in Eliot’s space to let him feel his warm presence without crowding. “Couldn’t get rid of us if you tried.”

He didn’t want to try, was the thing. It was only that it wasn’t their job to take care of him. It was his to take care of them. They just seemed to be wholly unaware of this.

“You taken anything for those yet?” Hardison asked, pointing at his hands. He hummed at Eliot’s slight head shake. “Thought so. Which ones?”

“White bottle, red pills. Only need a half,” Eliot mumbled, slouching. Parker was already up and heading to the bathroom.

“We need to get something you can actually open when this happens, some kind of spring-loaded catch maybe,” Hardison mused. “Alright, let me see them.” He patted his legs, frowning at Eliot’s growl. “C’mon, none of that. I know they hurt, I’ll be really, really gentle. I won’t even touch without asking.”

Eliot looked him in the eye for the sincerity he already knew would be there, the eagerness to help that (damn him) was one of his favorite traits of Hardison’s. Hesitantly, he extended his hands, rolling his eyes at the hacker scooting forward to offer his knees to rest them on.

“I assume you got antiseptic and ointment on these knuckles already, so totally disregarding those, even though it sucks. Nothing broken?”

“No, just. Aches. Like a son of a bitch. Can’t make a damn fist. Happens sometimes.”

Parker bounded back in, armed with a glass of water and half a pill in her open hand. “So no jobs for a while. Easy, I’ll tell Nate. Open up.” With a scowl, Eliot took the medication from her fingers with his teeth (gently, gently), and let her raise the glass to his lips, nearly choking as she tipped it a little eagerly, and choking for real when Hardison said, “Whoa, woman, let him swallow.”

“It’s not just the last job, Park, it’s jobs two years ago, or five, or ten,” Eliot managed, once he had his breath back. “Part of the package that comes with the lifestyle. It just happens sometimes, don’t matter what schedule we’re on.”

She frowned. “Still. We shouldn’t be doing jobs if you’re hurt. Nate should know that.”

Hardison leaned forward a little more while he was distracted trying to find the right response to that, that they wouldn’t be doing any jobs at all if that were the case, that Nate trusted him to get the job done no matter what, reaching out to his forearm and stopping just a hair’s breadth shy of touching. The hitter froze, and Hardison did too, meeting his eyes. “It’s ok. I’m just trying something out. Is it alright if I touch you here?” At his tiniest of nods, the hacker placed his fingertips on his arm, rubbing circles so lightly that Eliot almost couldn’t feel it. “Let me know where it starts to hurt, okay?” Hardison applied the slightest pressure as he added his other hand and lightly started rubbing down his forearm. When he got to his wrist, Eliot couldn’t help the strangled noise that partly escaped through his nose, high and strained. Hardison moved away from there immediately, going back to tracing soothing, gentle patterns. “You’re ok, you’re ok. I can work with this, no problem. Where do you keep your hot pads, man?”

“Bathroom, lower right drawer,” Eliot grit out. Parker was zipping off to get it and warm it up before he could even process. Hardison applied a little more pressure with his fingertips, rubbing the meat of his forearm. Eliot breathed out long and slow at how good it felt once the initial ache had ebbed.

“I want to try giving you a hand massage, but I don’t wanna hurt you more than it would help,” Hardison said, pausing slightly. “You up for it? I’m not gonna pressure you either way.”

Eliot’s thoughts stuttered, and then bolted in different directions. The feeling that he didn’t deserve this, that this was too much to ask, which had been simmering this whole time leapt to life again. It joined with the wounded, snarling animal part of him that still wanted to hide, burrow down with the covers over his head until his pain faded into the muted background noise of the world. He didn’t even know if a hand massage would work, might make the pain worse.

But it might be nice, a small, hopeful part of him murmured. Eliot couldn’t remember the last time he had been offered something like this, let alone the last time he had taken the person up. If there was anyone he trusted to do it, if there was anyone he wanted to receive it from, it was these two. How could he refuse them even he wasn’t fully on board with what they were suggesting?

“Sure, just…” Eliot said as Parker returned with the hot pad, pausing from tossing it hand to hand like a hot potato to fix her stare on him. He licked his lips, swallowed around a dry throat. “Just be gentle.”

“I will,” Hardison said earnestly, taking the hot pad from Parker to gently maneuver it under Eliot’s hands, resting on his knees. Eliot tensed slightly as the thief leapt up onto the back of the couch, perching above his head, but otherwise relaxed as the warmth of the hot pad started to loosen the ache in his hands. Hardison started where he had before, applying the slightest pressure to the hitter’s forearm. Parker ran her fingertips lightly through his hair, humming.

“Your hair is kinda wonky,” she said, fingers catching on a tangle. Eliot winced.

“That’s what happens when you go to bed without brushing it properly, you know that,” he grumbled, breath hitching as her fingertips grazed his scalp. His breath stuttered again as Hardison’s hands started working towards the sore meat of his wrist. Eliot’s hand began to shake.

“It’s ok baby, I got you,” Hardison murmured under his breath, more soothing sound than words. Eliot cracked open an eye to see him looking between his hands and his phone, playing a video where it was propped on his thigh.

“Man, are you watching hand massage tutorials right now?” he gritted out, doing a poor job of masking his genuine amusement with frustrated disbelief.

The hacker tapped his index finger against Eliot’s arm lightly. “I’ve been watching videos dude; think you’re so slick, tryna hide your hand pain from me. I just wanna make sure I get it right in real time.”

Parker’s fingers running through Eliot’s hair more boldly silenced any follow-up thoughts he had, mind going fuzzy with how good it felt. Without thinking, he insistently pushed his head up further into her touch, making her laugh. The sound reverberated in his chest, leaving him longing to hear it again. Instead a half-whine left his throat as Hardison probed the bottom of Eliot’s palm, the ache drawing him back to full awareness.

The hacker backed off for a moment. “Sorry, sorry. You still cool to keep going?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Eliot breathed shakily.

“Just tell me if there’s anyplace else that needs to be handled more delicately, or you don’t want me going at all,” Hardison said, putting his clever hands to Eliot’s again and taking up his gentle, slow pace. Parker’s fingers had paused in his hair a second, but went back to running through it again, scratching his scalp on every other pass.

Slowly, slowly, the vice of pain on Eliot’s hands started to dissipate, bone by bone, finger by finger. He don’t know how long he sat there in a haze, as Hardison and Parker patiently touched him, fixated on the single task of caring for him. The thought made the tender space behind his breastbone twinge. When he surfaced from the half-asleep contentment of their efforts, the television was on, Star Trek playing at the lowest volume. Eliot grunted, lifting his head from the couch to look at the two of them sitting beside him, grinning at his movements. Hardison’s warm hand was still in his, but instead of massaging he was just holding it softly.

“Hey sleepy,” teased Parker, throwing herself over Hardison to get closer and forcing an “Oof!” out of him.

Eliot looked down to his hands, flexing one experimentally, in disbelief at how the ache had faded to an almost imperceptible hum. With the other he tightened his fingers around Hardison’s hand, moving his thumb lightly over his.

“Hey,” Eliot simply said back, a real smile rising to his lips.

[onyxbird]

Also, while he's not a violent character, Hardison being cavalier and overconfident about handling guns was handled consistently in other episodes. E.g.,

Twelve Step Job: Hardison picks up a dropped gun and shoots the bad guys' car, a tactic Eliot compliments until Hardison says he was aiming for the guy's leg and Eliot takes the gun away.

Boys Night Out Job: Eliot hands Hardison a gun he took from a bad guy (telling him "Don't play with that"); Hardison promptly aims the gun at fleeing bad guys, fails to lower the gun when Eliot runs past him in pursuit of a bad guy, and then repeatedly tries to convince Eliot to get out of the way so Hardison can shoot the guy.

(Hmm, unless I'm forgetting other episodes where Hardison handles a gun, maybe Hurley is the bad influence here. Also, I thought there was a scene where Hardison asks Eliot to let him have a gun Eliot took off someone when they're going into a dangerous situation, and Eliot refuses, but maybe I was misremembering the Boys Night Out scene.)

It's a weird blind spot of Hardison's that I always interpreted as him intuitively thinking of guns the way they're portrayed in movies and video games, where pointing a gun at someone as a threat (even if you don't actually intend to shoot them) is normal, choosing to shoot someone in a non-lethal location is easy, guns can be waved around and handled carelessly without them going off by accident, and you don't have to face the bloody aftermath (or guilt) of a real person being shot.*

He's a smart guy who should at least intellectually know that that's not the way it works in reality. However getting carried away in an over-the-top persona is very typical Hardison, so I think it's that he's falling into what he thinks is a tough-guy/action-hero persona and lacks the first-hand experience or training that would override that impulse with a recognition of the risks.

And Eliot gets annoyed about him "playing with" guns, but snaps at him the same way he grouses about much more trivial things rather than really calling him out on how dangerous it is. (Which similarly seems both consistent in the series and weird when you logically combine it with other character info--we know Eliot hates guns and is intimately familiar with how dangerous they can be, but he seems surprisingly unconcerned about other people behaving badly with guns.)

*And there's also the very real possibility that Hardison is actually correct that Hollywood firearm behavior is how the Leverage universe works, given things like Nate and Sophie shooting each other in what was portrayed as if it was a "meet cute," etc.

On rewatching the first episode of leverage after finishing the show the first time, there's a couple things that felt kinda out of character, but the one that really stood out to me was Hardison threatening Nate and Eliot with a gun. Like I feel like the Hardison I know would not have done that.