#immediately after this eliot says 'there's something wrong with you'

[ghostlyarchaeologist]

Leverage S03E09 The Three-Card Monte Job.

[augustheart]

leverage fighting supernatural creatures concepts from me and @theboost.

we used fighting kind of... loosely. we also used the concept of supernatural creature pretty loosely. this post is so long i had to put part of it under a cut.

mummy: they have to run a con on a museum at the request of another member of leverage international who has been trying to return a mummy to a burial site for months with no success. parker dresses as a mummy and keeps jumping out to scare people because the entire con hinges on making the mark believe the mummy is legitimately cursed. it gets breanna every single time and eventually she destroys the mummy costume. at the end of the episode breanna sees a mummy shuffling around a corner and asks where parker got a second mummy costume. "what second mummy costume?" parker says from next to her. EPISODE ENDS

werewolf: eliot and hardison are on a road trip together and end up in a small farming town that's terrified of whatever has been causing the deaths of their livestock. a guy with a condition where he's really hairy is being persecuted for being a werewolf. they meet a wise old lady with an adopted daughter who's sick who says something like "you know appearances... they can be deceiving. even in a place like this, not everything is as it seems, especially under the full moon." they uncover the mayor is behind a group that's poisoning the water (maybe by looking at the water under moonlight idk i'm not that kind of scientist), causing the girl's sickness and the deaths of the livestock. as they leave town hardison teases eliot for believing in werewolves (this has been a c-plot the whole time) and then looks out the window and sees two werewolves, the old lady and her daughter. EPISODE ENDS

witches: alice white joins an MLM based on ~divine feminine energy~ so parker can take it down from the inside. it's all based on easily faked "magic" and sleight of hand, and she keeps impressing them by pointing out how they're doing their tricks and then replicating them because hardison had a whole phase where he wanted to learn stage magic or something. they're so impressed they invite her to a ritual but they ask her to bring a virgin sacrifice. parker immediately brings harry ("i'm not a virgin?" "the magic isn't REAL harry"). they get some of harry's blood and start doing shit that can't possibly be faked. it goes wrong because he isn't a virgin and a demon kills the witches but allows parker and harry to live because they're using aliases and not their true names or whatever. somehow this destroys the MLM. EPISODE ENDS

mermaid: breanna meets a girl at the beach who keeps looking at her with big wet sad eyes and telling her about how the fish are dying because of pollution. she is only ever in the water up to her waist. breanna is immediately smitten and they stop the top polluter. they kiss in celebration and then the girl is like "i'm sorry... i can't be with you..." and she dives underwater and we see her tail as she swims away. EPISODE ENDS

ghosts part one: harry meets a beautiful lady because he heard someone crying and wandered down a street looking for them. he promises to help her save her destined-for-foreclosure house that she says has been in her family for 100 years or something. the rest of the team conveniently never sees her but is willing to help. after they save her house she kisses him (he's thrilled) and tells him she'll be right back before going into the house. a car pulls up and an older woman gets out. she's like "oh i can't believe you managed to save it. i really thought they'd destroy this place." harry asks her if she's a friend of the family and she says "it was my mother's before she died [x] years ago." harry goes inside to look for the lady but she's gone. EPISODE ENDS

ghosts part two, this one is insane: it's halloween. a car carrying a murderer crashes into something and the murderer dies while eliot tries to do cpr on him (he was next to the crash site but has no connection to the case) only to pull a charles lee ray and push eliot's soul out of his body and possess him. the serial killer wanders around in eliot's body observing before pulling a gun on hardison because he's annoying him too much. parker and hardison look at each other and Immediately go "serial killer ghost." breanna has had a ouija board tapestry hanging up on the wall that keeps falling down because eliot is trying to communicate with them. they lay it out and eliot explains things to them. hardison asks if they're sure this is eliot and not just another ghost trying to trick them. the ouija board painstakingly spells out "dammit hardison." they decide the only thing they can do is have eliot fight the ghost out of his body. he possesses a willing harry and makes him ragdoll around while he fights him. as the clock strikes midnight because idk ghosts can't stay in their bodies past midnight on halloween because they can only possess you on halloween Or Something eliot pushes the serial killer out of his body. EPISODE ENDS

faerie: sophie is kidnapped by faeries and brought before a jury because she didn't call queen titania back after they hooked up, which means the rest of the team has to go there to save her. eliot is pissed because he can't eat any of the food and they won't let him take stuff back to the human world where eating it would be harmless. harry is absolutely thriving because in a world of doublespeak a formerly evil lawyer is a king. it's revealed he actually has been to the faerie realm to do trials tons of times but they wipe his memory at the end of each one so he doesn't reveal any secrets to humans. they free sophie and bring her back to the human world when she promises to call titania back. she immediately throws titania's number away again. "so needy." EPISODE ENDS

dragon: the team has to infiltrate a crime ring. the crime ring is very dragon themed with dragon tattoos and ranks named after dragonslayers and shit like that. they just assume the dragon is metaphorical but then when eliot passes the test to rise through the ranks he's brought before a chained up dragon and they're like "the dragon will choose if you're worthy!!" he's like "WHAT the fuck." they save the dragon and set it free at the end of the episode despite parker begging to keep it. it says "thank you" and flies away despite never speaking before then. EPISODE ENDS

phantom of the opera: sophie has like a struggling theater she volunteers with and one of the girls there is being stalked by some weird guy. harry immediately asks if this is going to be like phantom of the opera and starts blasting the soundtrack constantly. sophie meets a guy with an eyepatch or a covid mask or something and recognizes him as a former broadway star. he ends up being the stalker. at the end it's revealed he is Literally the phantom of the opera. breanna says something like "okay so eliot and alec saw a werewolf and now we just fought the phantom of the opera. are there any other classic universal monsters i should know about?" hardison says "oh i fought the invisible man." they all turn and look at him. he shrugs. EPISODE ENDS

psychic: breanna dates a psychic who keeps saving her from improbable final destination style accidents. the team becomes convinced she's orchestrating these accidents for some nefarious purpose. breanna insists that no her girlfriend is just psychic and there's a montage like the one in quantum leap set to i want to know what love is but instead of a sex montage it's a romance montage because breanna is asexual. parker is disturbed due to her established understandable emotional turmoil after the future job. they have to help the psychic after she sees her own death. maybe the phantom of the opera is involved again idk. EPISODE ENDS

troll: someone is trying to put tolls on freeways by lobbying the department of transportation. they also keep making people answer really shitty riddles with answers that aren't at all obvious. when they answer one of their riddles right in the final ten minutes they explode. their name is like t. roll or something. EPISODE ENDS

the leprechaun from the leprechaun movies: okay at this point we were really tired and i'd been laughing hysterically for the past two hours. but someone finds his pot of gold and spends it on some stuff like medical bills and the leprechaun shows up and does his stupid bullshit. the client turns to the leverage team for help. they're convinced it's a gas leak until one of them sees the leprechaun not in the client's house. harry accidentally spends one of the leprechaun's coins. eliot keeps trying to fight the leprechaun but his bullshit magic lets him evade all his punches. i don't remember how we said this one would end

bigfoot: closing us out with the one i actually think could happen. they don't fight bigfoot!! they help conserve and protect some natural habitat by faking a bigfoot sighting and scaring off some shady developers (i am now realizing that i am describing a reverse scooby gang)! throughout the whole episode parker has been consistently reaffirming her belief in bigfoot and casually describing bigfoot encounters she's heard about while breanna and sophie try to convince her bigfoot isn't real. she manages to get harry, eliot, and hardison to be on her side. breanna sees bigfoot at the end of the episode but sophie doesn't believe her. EPISODE ENDS

[reinanova]

Consider:

Harry walks in on Parker kissing Eliot to comfort him (or vice versa) and he backs out of the room in a panic because this poor precious child is unaware of polyamory and the leverage OT3. So, in support of the Bro Code, he goes to Breanna and asks her to send a message to Hardison so he can talk to him.

Now Breanna, the wonderful little sis she is, asks Harry what’s so important that he feels the need to contact Hardison immediately. So Harry confesses that he just saw Parker cheating on Hardison with Eliot and that he needs to tell Hardison about it.

You cannot tell me that Breanna, our gay ace gen Z icon, is not aware of her brother being in a polyamorous relationship. And okay yes, maybe she “accidentally” found evidence of their relationship when she “accidentally” hacked into their phones but that’s hardly her fault. That was just the proof for her suspicions.

Back to Harry. Breanna is just holding back laughter at Harry’s obliviousness and of course she’s here for the drama (and listening to Hardison rant about the interruption) so she sets up a video call with Hardison, secretly sharing the video screen to the room Eliot and Parker are in.

So Hardison shows up on the call, visibly busy with lots of chaos and going ons behind him and is all, “Breanna, what’s wrong?”

And then Harry is all, “Hardison, I gotta tell you something” and tells him what he saw and is very apologetic that he’s informing Hardison that his girlfriend is cheating on him.

Hardison stares into the camera like he’s on The Office, visibly annoyed before going “Really man? Really??? You interrupt me while i’m dealing with [lists like five things he’s got going on right now] for this?”

And then turns to Breanna and says, “You let him call me for this?”

And she gives no fucks about it and just shrugs and is all “I thought it would be funny.”

Now Harry is growing more and more confused and he’s like, “Umm excuse me, are we just ignoring the whole girlfriend cheating on you thing?”

At this point, Parker drops in from the ceiling or something behind Harry and is like, “It’s not cheating when they’re both my boyfriend.”

And Eliot also pops up and says, “I should hope I’m able to kiss my girlfriend when our boyfriend isn’t around to kiss us.”

After Harry recovers from his mini heart attack after getting startled twice by Parker and Eliot, he’s like, “Cool, cool. Wait, what??”

But Eliot and Parker have already wandered off and Hardison is distracted with his stuff and Breanna shrugs at Harry before picking up her laptop and leaving to go catch up with Hardison while she has him on the call. So Harry is left standing there in confused but supportive spirit.

[corralinesage]

Portrait of a wounded heart (4/8)

CHAPTER 4 Weeping soul 

You struggled to focus in class, your pencil sketching a pair of eyes into your sketchbook. You knew whose they were, even if they might not have been very close to what she looked like in real life. You did your best to recall the shape of her eyelids, the angle of her lower lash line, the curve of her lashes. You found your eraser automatically without even having to look for it, your hand reaching for it blindly. You changed the shape of her canthi, concluding that they were slightly too dominant to match her appearance, simultaneously shading in some of the whites of the eyeballs to soften the sketch and make it more lifelike. You glanced up at your professor, hearing a couple words she was saying about George Eliot’s style of writing, but it all blurred into nothingness the second your eyes moved down to the paper beneath you. She was waiting for you. She wanted to see you again, spend time with you. Nothing in the world could have possibly made you focus on the lecture no matter how much you knew you should have been paying attention. Your daydreams were back, her captivating presence had once again conquered your mind, your newfound information only feeding your daydreams.

Your pencil came to a stop against the paper, your eyes falling out of focus. You were beyond tired. You wanted to close your eyes so badly, your mind immediately searching for comfort, slowly starting to recall the previous night, and just how cozy you had been in your bed with Natasha. You wondered what it would’ve been like to actually have her there, wondered how much better it would have been to rest your head against her chest instead of your fluffy pillow. Your heart actually ached from longing as you imagined yourself in her arms. You had never even hugged her, but you could envision the way she would wrap those strong arms of hers around you and hold you long after you fell asleep. You thought about other things that typically happened in bed, your mind and heart racing in tandem as you thought about kissing her. You could almost feel the way her breath would tickle your chin, see the way she would look at you with those green eyes right before she would press her pink lips to yours and steal your breath away.

“Y/N, what did you think about Ladislaw?” Your eyes snapped up to meet your professor’s, your cheeks flushing warm. Crap, getting caught daydreaming was clearly becoming a staple during lectures.

“I- I… um.” What had Natasha said about his character? Something about him being fickle. No, not fickle, maybe an idealist. Hopelessly in love with Dorothea, that was for sure. He was artistic and liked politics. “He’s a bit rebellious. Kind of an outsider at times.” You tried to be vague to avoid saying anything that could have been considered wrong.

“That’s right”, the professor replied, grasping your statement and starting to expand its implications. “He doesn’t seem to quite belong anywhere, isn’t that right?” You nodded your head, looking at the professor until her gaze shifted to someone else, signifying that she was no longer addressing you directly, your eyes falling out of focus again as she kept talking. “Did you guys notice that he doesn’t seem to belong to any social class?” From then on you were gone until the end of the class, your mind wandering far, far away from Middlemarch.

You nearly jumped up from your seat the second your professor started to wrap up the lecture, your books and notebooks getting shoved into your school bag with such vigor they nearly missed your bag altogether. You wrapped your scarf around your neck, tugged on your coat, and swung your bag over your shoulder, leaving the classroom in an instant. You hurried down a flight of stairs, beelining straight into the women’s bathroom to check your appearance. You looked at yourself in the mirror for a while, studying your features, noting the very same flaws that you knew to be there since birth. You walked a bit closer, digging up some lipstick from a pocket in your bag, applying it carefully to enhance the dull color of your lips. It helped a little, your fingers coming up to brush over your brows and lashes as if adjusting them, and then you just stared at yourself, hoping that you were enough to appeal to the older woman who you were falling for faster and harder than you even realized.

Upon entering the university library, your eyes scanned your surroundings with a certain vigilance, searching for your desired person, eventually spotting her sitting by a table with a book open in front of her. She had two takeout cups of coffee beside her, her elbow leaning against the edge of the table as she played idly with her earring, eyes fixed on the pages. She was so beautiful, so uncommonly gorgeous that you had to pause for a moment as you just stared at her, observing the picturesque sight that she was, your eyes noting every little detail of her appearance. She adjusted her loose curls with her left hand, leaving her silver earring alone for a moment as she raked her fingers through the auburn locks. They fell beautifully around her slim face, the color accentuating the paleness of her complexion. Once satisfied with her hair, her hand moved to her face to swipe across the underside of her round nose as if to get rid of an itch before her hand went right back to one of the many earrings she had. You felt like you couldn’t move, suddenly very nervous to disturb her in any way. She looked so peaceful, so in her element, that you didn’t dare to intervene, and thankfully you didn’t have to. Her eyes flicked up from the table, landing right on your own as if she would have felt your gaze on her. She lifted her head up to see you better, offering a small smile to you, the slight tilt of her head beckoning you to come closer. You looked down at the floor, a shy smile on your face as you headed over to her, doing your best to control your nerves.

“Hey, solnishka”, she nearly whispered, mindful of the other people in the library. You gave her a bright smile as you seated yourself beside her on a chair that she pulled back for you.

“Hi.” You blushed violently for no apparent reason, your stomach fluttering weakly with butterflies. Oh, how silly of you to feel so deeply, so strongly toward a woman who could merely be classified as an acquaintance. She pulled you a bit closer by your arm, leaning down to kiss your cheek as a greeting, much like she had done the last time you had parted ways. You felt dizzy.

“How was class? Did you learn anything new?” Her eyes were inquiring, that small smirk always ever-present on her lips.

“It was okay, nothing crazy.” All you had learned was that you were falling in love with her, and the erratic thud of your heart only confirmed your suspicions. Your eyes dropped down to her lips. You could just kiss her. If you somehow gathered up the courage, you could just lean forward and place your lips on her pillowy ones. Nothing was stopping you from going after her. There were no rules, no restrictions, just two friendly people who got along with each other more than well. Surely there was nothing wrong with wanting to kiss her, wanting to feel her body against your own. And there truly was nothing wrong with it, but you eventually tore your eyes away from her mouth, focusing on your bag as you dug out your laptop, copy of Middlemarch, and her umbrella that you returned to her.

“Thank you”, she said with a small smile, placing the accessory over her purse that sat on the floor. “You didn’t fall asleep in class”, she said teasingly, handing you the large mug of coffee from the table. “Here’s your drink. I need to keep that smart brain of yours sharp and focused.” You pursed your lips slightly, trying to hide your reaction to her attentive words.

“Thanks. I didn’t, but I wasn’t far from it.” You chuckled softly, grasping the mug into your cold fingers, surprised to find it still hot to touch. “What’d you get me?”

“Guess.” She gave you a small smirk that you returned immediately as you brought the mug to your lips, taking a careful sip of the drink in case it would burn you. The warm liquid coated your tongue, your eyes fluttering shut on their own as you allowed the sweet and creamy drink to surprise your taste buds. There was a very strong blend of spices mixed in, the flavor something you recognized but you failed to pinpoint where you knew it from.

“Mm, that’s so good”, you hummed, taking another sip that was followed by a small groan, her smile widening. “What is it?”

“A dirty chai latte”, she murmured, holding your gaze knowingly, the mirth behind her eyes coming off as playful, like she had been waiting for you to ask for the name.

“Ohh, that’s what it was.” The flavor suddenly made much more sense as you slowly recognized its familiar depth.

“Have you ever had one before?”

“Not a dirty one”, you said, failing to wipe the smile off your face, the tension between you far too exciting.

“It’s my favorite. Especially the dirty part”, she hummed, earning an amused eye roll from you. “I like them extra dirty.” She whispered it to you like it was a secret.

“And how dirty are we talking?” You inquired, arching a brow at her words, your eyes nailed on hers. It was hard to sort out what you were feeling, the intensity of the emotion making it difficult for you to identify it. All you knew was that there was a strong pull, an irresistible force that drew you to her like a magnet.

“Sometimes I take a double shot of espresso. It balances out the sweetness.” She eyed your cup for a moment, watching you take another sip. “Do you like it?”

“I love it. But I won’t lie, it could be dirtier.” Natasha’s smirk widened into a pleased, little grin.

“Glad you agree.”

“What did you get?” Your eyes dropped down to the cup between her hands, noting that her knuckles were slightly bruised, a bit of cool toned purple pushing through the paleness of her skin, hues of crimson and greenish yellow marking the area. You wanted to ask, but didn’t, deeming it inappropriate. Besides you really shouldn’t have been all that protective of her when you most likely meant nothing at all to her.

“Oh, just a regular latte in case you had a vendetta against chai or something”, she chuckled, her fingers playing with the paper cup. “I’ve noticed that it often divides opinions.”

“Natasha”, you sighed in a mild chastise for her thoughtfulness, her attention suddenly fully on you as if she had been caught off guard by you using her name. “That’s so sweet of you. You should’ve just gotten your favorite.” A small frown found your face. “Here, you can have some of mine.” You offered the cup to her.

“Thank you”, she hummed with a certain softness to her features as your other hand came up to the cup to remove the lid, your fingers starting to pry it off. “Don’t bother, darling.” Her hand pushed yours away gently, the lid remaining in place. “I don’t mind.” She gave you a small smile as she grabbed the mug and brought it to her lips, pressing her mouth over the small hole, the very same place where your lips had been just a moment before. She had a way of dominating the atmosphere with the simplest of acts. She merely took a small sip of the drink, yet managed to steal your breath away, your eyes lingering on her lips. You were practically kissing, and there was nothing in the world that could have convinced you otherwise. You felt a spark of thrill go through you.

“Ah, that hits the spot. It’s like Christmas in a cup. Thank you.” She handed the drink back to you, her eyes flitting down to your mouth. You were sure of it. She looked at your lips. You were more than glad for having made the decision to put on some lipstick, no matter how little it probably did for your poor lips that were struggling to adjust to the cold climate that was creeping up on you.

“It is. Dare I even say better than pumpkin spice?” Natasha gave you a look of disbelief, sarcastically suggesting you that your statement was nothing short of preposterous.

“Beware krasotka, the autumn fanatics will come for you.”

“Let them come. I’ll show them the gingerbread candle in my living room and the Christmas playlist that’s been in my ‘recently played’ since September.” She laughed at your retort, scrunching her nose the slightest bit. You couldn’t tell what it meant, but it filled you with warmth, the adorable gesture lingering in your mind. You wanted to see it again.

“Oh, see now you’re crossing a line”, she said, the air of gaiety that surrounded you only strengthened by your camaraderie. It felt strange to talk to someone with an equal amount of wit, it felt strange to be with someone of your own kind, someone with depth and nuance, someone who complimented you. “You gotta wait at least until Thanksgiving.”

“Eh, I like a head start.” You looked down at your hands, fidgeting with the long sleeves of your knit sweater, your hands resting on the table beside hers. You thought about what she had said regarding hands and their intimacy, your cheeks heating at the thought of holding her own. You were so close, and she was right there. “That way I get the most of it.” You glanced up at her, moving your hands as if unintentionally, your fingers brushing against hers. They were cool to touch despite the multiple layers of clothing she wore, your heart clenching at the feel of her soft skin. With bated breath you waited for her to pull her hand away, to adjust her cup or take a sip of coffee to break the connection like you had expected her to, but she didn’t. You felt abnormally shy all of a sudden, uncertainty consuming you, squeezing at your chest when there was no reaction on her part. You didn’t want to be pushy, slowly drawing your hand back enough to break contact despite how much you would have wanted more. You should’ve probably started your assignment anyway. You pulled away from the table altogether, focusing on the laptop you had brought with you, Natasha seemingly completely unfazed. “What were you reading?” You asked her as you started up your laptop, your gaze shifting to the book that she had moved to the side to give you more tabletop space.

“Zhila-byla zhenshchina, kotoraya khotela ubit' sosedskogo rebenka by Ludmilla Petrushevskaya.” The Russian rolled off her tongue so naturally that it shocked you, the language switch bringing out the lower register of her voice, a tone you had yet to hear properly. If you had thought she sounded attractive when speaking English, you had been far from prepared to hear how her Russian sounded. “The English name for it is There Once Lived A Woman Who Tried To Kill Her Neighbor’s Baby”, she elaborated, correctly assuming that you hadn’t understood a word of what she had said.

“That’s quite the title. What’s it about?” And so, the assignment had once again found its way into oblivion as you two discovered yet another topic to discuss. It wasn’t until well past two in the afternoon that you finally managed to redirect the conversation back to Victorian literature. You turned your attention back to your laptop and got to work, creating a fresh document for you to write your essay into, Natasha focusing on your copy of Middlemarch to look for examples to use in your assignment.

Working with her was nearly impossible, and it tested the very limits of your willpower, your gaze shifting back and forth between the screen and her pretty face. It felt like no words came to you every time you tried to type something into your sparsely filled-out document. You had managed an introduction paragraph, the date, and your name, despite how much time had already passed since you had officially started working on it. You were good at writing, you liked writing, but with her there, all you could do was curse your mind for being so disorganized and blank at the same time. You felt verbally constipated, the emotional high you were experiencing consuming your mind whole, yet for some reason you wouldn’t have changed it for the world. You hadn’t been as happy and full of life as you were at the moment in months. You hadn’t felt anything all summer, and sitting there, observing her appearance, her demeanor, you realized that you had been miserable long enough for it to have become your norm. So, how could anyone blame you for taking an extra minute or two to look at her? Who could blame you for ignoring your schoolwork? Who could blame you for falling head over heels for someone who was slowly bringing back your spark?

Your eyes met again as she caught you staring, your gaze moving back to the screen to hide your blush, your fingers hovering over the keyboard as if you would have actually had something to write. From the corner of your eye, you saw her smile to herself as she too went back to the pages of Middlemarch, her finger marking the spot where she had left off. You wanted closer to her, you wanted to make physical contact with her more than you wanted anything else at the moment. You needed things to move forward, for something to happen because you couldn’t take the tension any longer, those gorgeous green eyes returning to your frame with the same frequency as yours went to hers.

“Can I see what you’ve got so far?” She asked quietly a moment later, the pining starting to get a bit too obvious, her voice nothing but a whisper in the silent library. You nodded your head, her hands moving to the laptop, those cool fingers brushing over your own as she brought the device in front of her to get a better look. She tried not to allow a smirk of amusement to take over her features as she finally saw just what you had managed to get done in the span of ninety minutes. Your work was slow, incredibly so, but she was willing to forgive you since she had a feeling that the reason for it wasn’t your incompetence, but rather her presence that to her pleasure seemed to have quite an effect on you. “Mind if I add something?”

“No, not at all. Floor is all yours.” You chuckled softly, watching with great curiosity as she pulled back her sleeves a bit to get them out of the way, your eyes devouring her veiny hands that you had previously overlooked due to the bruising on her knuckles. Her pale hands and forearms were just as toned and defined as the rest of her body, green and blue veins pushing visibly through her fair complexion. She started typing away, her fingers flying over the keys so fast you could barely process their coordinated and skilled movement. You had always been attracted by hands and forearms, but when you saw the way her muscles rippled beneath her skin with each movement of her hands she gave it a whole different meaning. You would do anything to hold those strong and capable hands in your own, to feel them grip your hips and waist, you would do anything but actually take a leap of faith and grab her hand.

Natasha finished off your paragraph, continuing your argument from a perspective you had discussed together. You were almost jealous of how beautifully the words flowed into the document, her fingers forming full, intellectual sentences with little-to-no time spent thinking of their structure. It was like she was pouring out her thoughts onto the white screen of your laptop. “I’m gonna write down the structure for you. It’ll be easier to follow along and keep up with the story.” The clicking sound of the keyboard seized, those round eyes turning to you as you simply nodded your head.

“I should probably read that one chapter you mentioned, with the codicil and stuff”, you reasoned partly to yourself, but seeking for Natasha’s validation.

“Yeah, it could definitely give you a clearer picture on the argument you’re trying to make.” She typed a couple more sentences in French lines, structuring your essay. You were more than thankful for her assistance, surprised to find yourself genuinely comfortable receiving help, instead of feeling threatened for having someone meddling with your work. It was a bigger issue at times, but not an issue around her.

“Ugh, and I still need to find the passages to quote too”, you groaned suddenly, leaning back into the uncomfortable chair you occupied, bringing your hands to your face in exhaustion. You were hungry and tired, your feet and hands getting colder by the minute in the drafty, old building. You wanted to let go of the essay, find something else to think about to give your brain a much-needed break from analyzing prose. You wanted to escape the stress of the nearing midterms that would require you to put extra effort into your schoolwork that you were already neglecting to begin with. You wanted a moment of peace, a day where you didn’t have a list of tasks to complete.

“How many did you need?”

“Three is the minimum, but you don’t have to look for them. You’ve already done half the assignment”, you said jokingly, but it was far too close to reality. She huffed out a small chuckle, studying your tired face with a look of empathy on her features, her head tilting to the side as if in compassion. She remained quiet for a moment, clearly in thought, before she spoke.

“We should take a break, go for lunch, get some fresh air. The deadline is next week, right? You don’t have to cram it all in one sitting. You can let the thoughts and arguments marinate for a while. I’m sure a bite of something would help you get your brain going again.” She spoke softly, her gentle tentativeness shining through like a beacon. She was oddly caring, something that you rarely saw in the people around you. It felt strange. Her attention didn’t come off as patronizing or belittling, but rather supportive. She was like a pillar for you to lean on, and it was all her doing, her own volition. You weren’t begging for her to take care of you, you weren’t even asking for it, yet she had no problem being her assertive, caring self.

“I’d love that.” You didn’t know why you let her sweep you off your feet time and time again when you knew better than to trust people, to trust strangers. You knew that you shouldn’t ever lean on anybody if you wanted to avoid getting hurt, avoid betrayal and disappointment. But she was right there in front of you with those soft, angelic features and a genuine smile, and you were so lonely, so lonely that your heart ached from the sole thought of having someone again. So, you gave in to your desires and let go of everything that you were used to, blindly diving right into the deep end of love because there was nothing else you could have done, not when every morsel of your being was given what it needed.

You walked through the sunny streets of New York City, the cold biting your cheeks as the crisp October air numbed up your fingertips. The sun was relatively high in the sky, and shone brightly, giving the city a warm, golden glow, the vibrant-colored leaves reminding you of why you loved fall so dearly, the surrounding trees glowing like flames of a campfire. You hugged yourself tightly to warm yourself up as you crossed the road to Cornelia Street, walking along it until you reached Bleecker Street, your nose locating your favorite pizza place before your eyes found the sign that read John’s Pizzeria.

“This is it?” Natasha asked for confirmation, earning a small nod from you.

“I swear the pizza is so good. It’s the best pizza I’ve ever had. It’s a foolproof choice. I come here too often. I think the workers recognize me”, you explained in mild amusement, Natasha yanking the front door open for you, her hand guiding you inside the cozy and crowded restaurant.

“It better be. I’m starving.”

As much as her company excited and thrilled you, there was a part of you that felt uneasy. Something didn’t add up because you were actually getting along with someone, you actually found yourself comfortable in someone else’s company in a way that wasn’t familiar to you, and by the time you received your orders, your alarm bells were going off. Things were advancing too quickly, too naturally. Why did you feel so connected to this woman after just two days? Why did it feel so easy, so right? You couldn’t fall in love, you couldn’t. It required you to be vulnerable, open to love and happiness, open to the possibility of getting hurt again, open to giving another person the control to rip your life into shreds if they so wished.

You were just going to be friends. It was decided, it was official. You were just going to be friends because anything more than that scared the living daylights out of you. You would just have to suck it up and ignore the herd of butterflies that swarmed inside you every time she so much as glanced your way. You were going to stay strong and ignore your crush. You had done it once before no matter how poorly, at least you had done it, but your plan failed the second you looked up at her from the cheesiness of your plate to see her take a bite of a huge slice of pepperoni pizza, the mozzarella stretching and stretching until she let out an awkward laugh, using her hand to get rid of the long string of cheese. Her pink cheeks gave her a slight glow, accentuating the hypnotic green of her irises, her perfectly carved nose matching the hue of her cheeks. You couldn’t resist her, you couldn’t fight the feeling no matter how much you would have wanted to, the weight of an uncertain future lifting off your heart as you watched her lap up the rope of cheese off her chin before reaching for a napkin to wipe her mouth with, those full lips a deeper shade than you had ever witnessed on her. It didn’t matter that you didn’t know what the future held, it didn’t matter if she broke your heart in two and stomped on it with those heeled boots of hers because that moment was enough to make up for it, the comfort and solace you felt were enough to make up for it.

The small break was far from short, your stay at the restaurant stretching like a warm piece of cheese that wouldn’t snap no matter what. You stayed for so long that both of you ended up finishing off your plates after complaining that you were too full on multiple occasions, but somehow as the conversation flowed, and the irresistible pizza sat in front of you on the table, it slowly disappeared in small bite-sized pieces that you tore off as a way to keep your hands busy. By the time you exited the restaurant, the sun was low in the sky, shining right into your eyes on its way to hide behind the horizon. It was somehow even colder outside, your warm breath forming a faint cloud of vapor in the air that faded away instantly, but you felt warm all over as you two made your way back to campus, taking a detour around Washington Square Park to get a better look at the effects of the season on the surrounding nature, wishing to find an excuse to prolong your non-official date. You were walking silently beneath a gorgeous arch formed by the canopy of trees, a bit of sunlight peeking through the warm colors of the leaves, when her hand brushed against yours.

You glanced at her as if to see if she would react, her head turning your way. You expected to feel nervous, waiting for that feeling of dizziness to take over once again, but it didn’t. All you felt was calm determination. You wanted to hold her hand. It couldn’t have been any more obvious, so you reached your freezing fingers for hers, tentatively grasping her bare hand into your own, noting that she possessed a bit more warmth than you did. Your steps slowed down, both of you coming to a halt as if to process the change that had taken place on the pathway littered with brown and orange leaves. Natasha looked away, her lips stretching into a reserved smirk that was the result of an attempt to hide it. Your cheeks flushed warm as if to fight against the relentless, cold air that was slowly starting to sting the delicate skin of your face. You gave her hand a squeeze, pleased to receive one in return. She held your hand with purpose, with confidence, your heart fluttering weakly. She wasn’t just keeping your hand limply in hers, but actually holding it, leaving no room for obscurity regarding her willingness to make contact with you, reminding you of her words from the night before. She wouldn’t hold just anyone’s hand.

With a small smile adorning your lips, you took a step forward to continue your way back to campus, but to your surprise she didn’t move, her arm reaching forward like a stretching spring until it held you back, bringing you face to face with her in a single, firm tug. You looked up at her questioningly, expecting her to say something to explain herself. Maybe she wanted to go a different route, or suggest getting coffees, or maybe it was time for her to go home. As if panicked by the mere thought, you started analyzing her face as an automatic habit that was solely the result of your artistic nature, your eyes taking in the fiery red of her hair that was enhanced by the setting sun behind her. You knew what shades of paint you would have used to mix the hue of orange, you knew where you would have placed the warm highlights to make the painting in your imagination glow in the most captivating way. You noted the leaves on the trees behind and above her, deeming that the specific shade of orange deviated from her hair. It fell flat beside her auburn locks. You could almost feel in your hand how you would have held a brush in it, how you would have carefully placed the lights and shadows of her pale face, her cheeks and nose tainted pink from the cold. You knew just how much ultramarine you would have needed to add into the mixture of titanium white and carmine to mute down the color to match her complexion. You saw the hint of lemon yellow that you would have needed to maintain the warmth of the sensitive hue. It was all right there for you, the possibility of the most perfect portrait study, the naturally flawed picture of feminine beauty staring back at you.

She didn’t smile, her lips parting the slightest bit as she looked at you, drawing your attention to their shape and size, your trained eye measuring every curve and arch. She leaned closer to you, her gaze trailing down your features to your mouth, her hand remaining in yours as she erased the small gap between you. She kissed you tenderly, showing her vulnerable and tentative side to you for the first time, her lips pressing over yours, the cold tip of her nose brushing against your cheek. Your eyes fluttered shut to savor the feel of her mouth, however gentle and light it might have been. You weren’t guaranteed another chance, another kiss, so you allowed your mind to shut off for just a moment as you held your lips pressed up against hers. The kiss was objectively very tame, shy even, your lips remaining together for mere seconds, but the intimacy of the almost child-like innocence of the kiss made your head spin. It felt so pure, so genuine, so vulnerable that it made you shiver. You felt like she had undressed you from clothing, from all your defenses. There was nothing protecting your poor heart that had been clawed raw by the past. She had full access to your weeping soul, and she was treating it with nothing but care.

Natasha pulled back first, her widened, pale eyes meeting yours as if she couldn’t quite believe she had done it, a sense of awe pushing through to you. There was a small twitch in her brow when you let go of her hand, as if she feared letting go of you, feared upsetting you, but her expression morphed into one of relief when your arms slid over her waist to bring you both even closer to one another. You rose onto your tiptoes, bringing your mouth back on hers, putting more weight behind the act, your body seeking for support from her to get you through the intensity of your emotions. It was so cold outside, so cold that you could barely feel your lips anymore, but it didn’t matter, your numb arms squeezing her closer as you molded your mouth over hers. The contact was an imitation of the first kiss, slowly developing into something more as she parted her lips enough to fit your bottom one between hers, her tongue remaining on the very edge of her lower lip, softly caressing you with its velvety warmth every time you kissed as if providing you a promise of what was to come. Her gentle breath warmed your skin, the wind ruffling her hair, the auburn curls tickling your cheeks. You pulled back just enough to see her, to look her in the eyes to make sure it was her that you were kissing, that those pale green eyes were looking at you, that those rosy lips were kissing you. She smiled at you, unable to contain it, the expression wearing off on you when you pressed your mouth on hers again, her teeth scraping lightly against your lips as you kissed her smile. Her hands stroked over the material of your coat, going up your biceps to find your face, her ice-cold fingers cupping your cheeks. She deepened the kiss, a delicate moan falling from your lips, the sound going through Natasha like a bolt of lightning.

She took control slowly, her tongue growing more dominant as her grip on you tightened. You weren’t just kissing, but you were being kissed, kissed in a way that left no room for debate on who was in charge. Your body melted into hers, searching for her strong frame for you to lean on. You craved her steadfast body, her energy, yearning to let go of the harsh grip you had kept on yourself for months on end. You just wanted to be. You wanted to sink inside her where you would be safe and sound, where your heart could rest. You kissed her harder, tried to fight the position she had claimed for herself in your life for one last time, but she was unyielding, those full lips far too soft, far too irresistible. She was everything you wanted.

You were forced to pull away when your lungs started to ache, your chest heaving with each intake of breath as you looked up at her, mirth sparkling in your eyes. There was no denying that the experience was nothing short of thrilling. You felt like your body was buzzing, the warmth in your chest gliding down your spine, pooling in your lower abdomen with such intensity you almost felt mortified, eternally thankful that she had no way of witnessing it. You both smiled at each other, her thumbs brushing over the cold skin of your face, her slight frown letting you know that she wanted you inside, somewhere warm. She leaned closer once more, pecking your lips softly as her left hand found your right one to hold, her hand remaining snugly linked with yours as you continued your walk in the sea of rimy leaves, their quiet rustle and crunch filling in the blissful silence between you.

[piratefalls]

a leverage quinn/eliot thing i'll never write that’s been sitting in my drafts for a literal year so i'm just yeeting it out into the void

okay so who the hell knows if this is in any way an original thought but i think it’s sort of accepted by fandom that quinn and eliot knew each other long before they fight in the first david job. so let’s run with that. maybe when they met eliot was fresh out of the service and trying to figure out what he was going to do with his life. private security would be the obvious choice, but he still needs the adrenaline, and a break from people giving him orders. so he becomes an independent contractor, a retrieval specialist, and on a job he runs into mr. quinn. same place, same time, but different targets, and they hit it off while digging through an old storage space. and they just keep running into each other, time and time again, and eliot gains a reputation for being the best while quinn is happy to remain in the shadows. being lesser known has its own set of benefits.

and then they hang out after a heist, and things happen, and they find themselves becoming more than friends. this goes on for the next year, maybe two, and then...then they work a job together. something they’ve never done before, for some reason. and it feels off from the beginning, but it's quinn, and eliot trusts him more than anyone in the world, so he pushes those concerns aside until he can’t. the job goes so wrong so fast, and eliot finds himself taken hostage, waking up in an old warehouse, bruised and bloody and so tired. all he has to do is survive, because quinn is coming, he just has to hang on until quinn finds him. quinn will always find him. and then quinn does find him, and he looks so guilty, so fucking sad, and it hits eliot like a kick to the stomach that he’s been sold out. eliot gets free somehow and they fight their way out, and at the end of it all, a trail of bodies behind them, they stand there and look at each other. quinn is devastated, trying to find the words, and eliot just... shakes his head and walks away. he never hears quinn quiet plea for him to wait.

in the interim eliot finds his way to moreau, the awful things he does to forget, never telling anyone why he will only work alone. after a while he realizes he either needs to get out or lose himself completely, so he gets out, spends some time with toby learning to cook, and eventually goes back to working solo. then he’s hired to do a job in LA, a one and done with a team of thieves, and he does it. what a massive miscalculation on his part, because he does not want to like these people. liking people means wanting to be around them, giving them power over you even if you don’t mean to, and he just won’t do that again. but he does. and he keeps coming back, and despite the fact that hardison never shuts up, and parker loves jumping off buildings in a way that makes him deeply concerned, and nate is a ticking time bomb, and sophie is as warm as she is a terrifyingly good liar, he finds himself building a home there, working with these four people, beating up bad guys because he's helping people.

and then sophie cons the team, and the betrayal hits twice as hard this time. but before he even finds that out, he sees a face he’s done his level best to never see again. he lets quinn beat him up a bit, lets him think he’s winning, because eliot knows quinn has always been one thing above everything else, and that’s cocky. and when eliot grunts “now that rib’s broken,” he doesn't tack on like my fucking heart the way he wants to. it’s been years, and it wouldn’t have the impact he wants it to. and then the team separates and he’s never felt so adrift in his life.

in the immediate aftermath, quinn tries to reach out, and eliot keeps changing numbers, because really quinn should have gotten the fucking hint after the first five unanswered calls. eventually eliot shoots him a text, saying that quinn needed to leave him alone, and that he would reach out when he wanted to. the calls stop after that.

three years later, eliot has to go hunting for quinn because he needs a favor. and all quinn wants in return (besides the money, of course) is for eliot to just let him explain. they can go back to not talking, but he wants eliot to know the truth.

and when the job is over, when dubenich and latimer have been dealt with and the bat cave has been deserted, quinn tells him what really happened that night. how eliot wound up in that warehouse, why the job went sideways. [there’s some kind of bribery/secret that he was just desperate enough to keep quiet that he’d sell eliot out] and the price was that quinn had to turn eliot over. he tried, tried so hard to think of a way to get them all out of it alive, and they were almost home free and everything went so wrong so fast and he couldn’t think fast enough. and then eliot walked away never knowing that had the right amount of pressure not been applied to the exact right spot, quinn never would have put eliot within 100 miles of that job because even though they never said it in so many words, quinn had loved him and he knows eliot loved him too.

and so eliot takes a few days to think while everyone else scatters to parts unknown but this time with the full understanding that they’ll all eventually be reunited. eliot thinks, and thinks, and eventually texts quinn and invites him out. they can start with a beer.

[pinkiepiebones]

I dunno, this is purely freeform and probably won't go up on AO3. The beginning and end stanzas are sections of "The Love Song of J Alfred Prufrock" by TS Eliot.

"There will be time, there will be time

To prepare a face to meet the faces that you meet;

There will be time to murder and create,

And time for all the works and days of hands

That lift and drop a question on your plate;

Time for you and time for me,

And time yet for a hundred indecisions,

And for a hundred visions and revisions,

Before the taking of a toast and tea."

-

'Young immortal' felt wrong in Renfield's mind. 'Young,' the word, it carried on it's lithe shoulders a sense of springtime. Awakening. Gentle greens and warm rains. 'Immortal,' the word, was something greyed and wheezing, stooped in the ever-expanding gasp between autumn and winter. Together, they did not stick, oil stretching across the canvas of still waters.

Close, but never touching.

The process of becoming a familiar was something akin to a sainthood. Will you fight for me? Protect me? Will you bleed and kill and sacrifice for me? He was captivating, immediately. Seductive. 

The process didn't take long. 

The process took ages.

The sound of a ticking clock dripped blood from his fingers broken crushed bones clutching bodies vampire hunters. He grins, he grinned, the pain unbearable, a dog presenting a fox to it's master.

Master.

Master.

Master is pleased.

You've done fine work, Renfield.

His blood is black like ink but does not shine. Renfield opens his mouth, eager and terrified. 

He tastes embers and bitter fruit.

'Young immortal' now, then. A pet sheep herding flocks for the wolf. How old am I now? Do I stay here? Am I here as long as you are here? What happened to your last familiar?

Servant.

He learned, learns, when and what to say. It's okay. There's time now.

Hunt. Gather. Weep. Bleed. Die, and live again. Not undead. Not alive. 

my heart hurts.

Insects have a certain little scent, taste. Each is different, subtly. The silky chocolate of a spider. The elastic salt of a worm. The simple sugar of ants. He avoids butterflies. They can escape in flight and colour. He grows to envy and hate them.

Master treats him well. Master gives him room and board. Master heals the cuts and burns and breaks and bruises. Master is the only reason he can't die. No matter how he tries.

He stops trying after a few years. It hurts Master so.

"You will grow to enjoy your status in time, Renfield" he says with red teeth and lips. "You are beneath me, of course- but, you are an elevated class, now." 

-

I am not Prince Hamlet, nor was meant to be;

Am an attendant lord, one that will do

To swell a progress, start a scene or two,

Advise the prince; no doubt, an easy tool,

Deferential, glad to be of use,

Politic, cautious, and meticulous;

Full of high sentence, but a bit obtuse;

At times, indeed, almost ridiculous—

Almost, at times, the Fool.

[flamingswordofdoom]

so i have thoughts on this

5e D&D based stat blocks

Eliot - fighter dex 18 wis/con 17/16 or 16/16 cha 16 str 15 int 15 i think that this DM is probably a roll 6 drop 2 believer, and that eliiot started (pre military) with something close to con 16, wis 15, dex 14 or 15 and then kept taking his bonus fighter feats and putting levels into his ability scores. also he is the 2nd most charismatic team member after sophie. people pretty much always either believe him completely and are either VERY scared of him or completely at ease

Parker - rogue dex 18 int 17 con 16/17 str 16/17 wis 14 cha 11 i think she starts the series with a wis of a flat 10, then levels it over time. i think her con is the highest after eliot (the average human can stand that for 57 seconds, as well as others) and she's stronger than average by a good margin (hangs from buildings by her fingertips). i think her cha is the lowest bc she…just doesnt stand out. people dont remember her TO have an opinion on her unless she rolls a nat 20 (jury job). and people just dont change their opinions or choices based on her attempts to get them to (this is sometimes played for laughs, the office worker who was already interested in the person who's identity she grabbed couldnt be convinced that she wasnt that person and/or wasnt interested until ELIOT got involved. eliot who DOES have decent cha modifier got him to believe her in .2 seconds) she's a thief who when she IS caught she cant get out of it by talking no matter what she does, and she's the only member of leverage like that

Hardison - artificer int 18 wis 16 (but he rolls either nat 20s or really funny nat 1s when making decisions) cha 15 dex 14 str 14 con 12 i think he starts with a str of 12 then by the end of s5 it's a 14. he's the 3rd highest charisma (developing it is a huge part of his backstory and several episodes depend on it, but he DOESNT get the same reactions sophie and eliot do). he also has a weaker con than eliot and parker, but he's miles above nate. and i think he and sophie have the same con and dex for similiar reasons. he's not falling over, but he doesnt have an amazing con. (oversleeps by accident bc he stayed up late playing WoW among others) and he can make basic lifts, work with small pieces making gadgets and costumes, but he's ok not at parker's level with slight of hand

Sophie - bard (theater background, specializes in disguise) cha 18 int 16 (but she pretends she's a 12!) wis 15 (team mom) dex 14 con 12 str 8 or 9 (if she's done her job, the mark picks it up for her) of course she's the highest cha, her whole thing is getting people to do things for her. str is her dump stat. she's definitely wis over int…..just kidding that's what she wants you to think. her int is 100% higher than she wants anyone to believe. she teases the rest of the team about how she doesnt have to memorize every bank or do anything with computers….but also she cant help making a comment about hardison and eliot going to the wrong address for parker's house, she's got all of her fake identities memorized and can pull out facts from any country that is useful to her. con and dex on match with hardison, again she can perform basic lifts but instead of all her time being spent away from the marks like hardison, she's right next to them while they hand her what she needs. different situation, same result. she has worked on enough dex for when she needs it no more. con also, i think both sophie and hardison are more solid than say, nate. but they arent the fall over get punched stand up immediately sturdy that parker and eliot are

Nate int 18 wis 16 dex 15 str 12 cha 12 (memorable, but only ever as a greasy salesman or as himself) con 8 (-2 modifier hits you like a truck…or a mountain) con is so much his dump stat that he K'Os himself going too high up a mountain and that's only barely talking about his alcoholism. when he gets hit he stays down, or at least he's really struggling to breathe/stand (which i dont think is as fake as he wishes it was based on sophie and eliot's reactions when it happens). i think his int is higher than wis (which he gets called on sometimes! including by the team). his wis rolls work until they dont, and he relies on his int to work around problems and create new plans when his wis score rolls low as well as depending on the team to trust that even WHEN he fucks up the wisdom checks he's smart enough to get them out of it anyway. i think he's around the same strength as hardison when the show starts, if only bc he has worked on fighting a little and hardison hadnt at the beginning of the show alcohol debuff knocks the score down slightly from straight matching hardison. also barely a higher dex than hardison and sophie, but isnt close to eliot/parker(edited)

just started watching leverage for the first time and so far my conclusion is that they’re like a dnd party but they all have charisma as their highest stat. it’s fascinating.

[e-vasong]

I’ve already talked about a Leverage crossover where the Hargreeves are conmen but I'm. losing it thinking about. a Leverage AU where the Leverage team sees these kids on tv, and they just go.  oh shit, that’s just fucking wrong.  (I know the timelines don’t match up but let’s pretend the umbrella kids were born a little later, or that Leverage takes place a little earlier, or something like that.  I don’t know.)

But these fucking umbrella kids show up on TV, and at first none of them are paying much attention. Not right away.  They’re busy running cons, and none of them except Hardison watch TV for fun very often.

So they’ve all heard bits and pieces about this Umbrella thing, and aren’t quite sure what to make of it.  Superhumans, huh? Eliot mutters at one point. Whatever. Our lives are already so goddamn weird.

But eventually they catch a broadcast while they’re home in between cases.  it’s playing in the background while they’re enjoying a meal together at the brewery.

The Umbrella Academy saves the day yet again! the broadcaster declares cheerily. We go now to a statement at the Louvre from their leader, Sir Reginald Hargreeves.

It’s just novel enough to catch their attention--being who they are, they all perk up at the word Louvre--and it gets them half-watching as they chat over breakfast.

It’s Parker that sees it first.  She’s Parker, so what catches her attention is actually not the fact that one of them is covered in blood, nor is it the fact that their father is calling them by numbers instead of names.  It’s the way that they stand, tense and upright.  It’s the way that the one covered in blood is trembling minutely, so fine that it’s almost imperceptible. But she notices. And she notices the way that the one to the bloodied boy’s left--the fifth one in line--leans over ever-so-subtly when their father is looking away. Whispers something with the barest movement of his lips. And then, after a moment of hesitation, he links hands with his shaking brother, twining their fingers together.  Parker knows that whisper, knows what this is. She used to do that with her brother.  Used to hold Nick’s hand, just like that, when their fosters were scaring him, trying to provide comfort even despite the fear of being caught.

It’s not long before the others follow her gaze. She’s stopped engaging in the conversation entirely, is just staring at the television with a death glare, nose wrinkled.

“Parker, baby,” Hardison says.  “That’s your angry face.”

“I’m angry,” she says, and doesn’t elaborate.

“Got it,” Hardison takes it in stride, as he always does.

Eliot’s frowning at the TV.  Unlike Parker, his eye does jump to the most obvious thing first.  To the boy, no older than eleven or twelve probably, drenched head to toe with blood.  There’s no rips in his clothing; Eliot’s pretty sure the blood isn’t his. He’s standing up straight, but his shoulders are slightly hunched.  Like he’s injured.  Broken ribs, maybe?  And he’s been taught to hide them too. He’s also not the only one with that too-stiff posture. These kids aren’t standing up straight. They’re standing at attention.  Number One, their father calls one of them, and what are those? Fucking callsigns?  

Sophie and Nate are watching too.  Their faces are carefully blank.  They aren’t happy, Parker’s pretty sure, but they’re trying not to react.

“What the hell?” Hardison says slowly.  He’s the last one to catch on, though only by a very narrow margin.  He lacks Sophie and Nate’s cynicism, and the years of personal experience Parker and Eliot have, but he’s still too smart to not figure it out almost immediately.  And he is first one to abandon the stunned stillness that’s fallen over the rest of them, pulling his laptop out of his bag, already quickly tapping away at the keys.

“This ain’t right,” Eliot says, voice a growl in his chest.  “This is--this is--it’s televised child abuse.”

Sophie makes a quiet noise of agreement then. “It is,” she says, quietly disgusted. “Those poor children.”

Nate is still staring at the screen, lips pressed flat.

“This Reginald guy looks rich,” Parker says.  Then: “Can we kill him?”

Eliot chokes on his drink.

“How is this even legal?” Sophie asks.  She sounds curious, though not particularly surprised by the grievous violation of child protection laws before her. “It’s so...blatant.”

“Sir Reginald Hargreeves,” Hardison says, no longer typing.  “He is--oh shit.” And the typing resumes, faster and a little more panicked than before.

“Hardison?” Nate prods after a moment, giving Hardison a sidelong glance.

“Yeah, yeah, it’s all good,” Hardison says.  “The INTERPOL files on this guy are locked up tight though.  Almost tripped their security system there.  I didn’t, of course, but--”

“You couldn’t get in?” Eliot says, smirking.

“Yet,” Hardison says.  “Dammit, man, it’s been less than five minutes.  Give me a couple hours and that thing is mincemeat.  Metaphorically speaking, of course.  But I do see what’s going on here and,” he clicks his tongue, shaking his head in disappointment.  “Y’all, this is hinky.”

“Yes, I think we got that,” Nate says.  The corner of his lip twitches up.

“Yeah, yeah,” Hardison says.  “This guy has got friends everywhere.  No one knows how he got the kids, but it looks like he technically bought them--”

“He what?” Sophie sounds like she’s been suckerpunched.  Parker can’t think of the last time she heard Sophie sound so shocked.

“Oh yeah.  You think that’s bad?  The numbers aren’t code names  The numbers are their name names.  Like, legally.  I just found an article that said he ordered them by how useful he thinks they are, but judging by the adoption papers it was actually in the order he, uh,” Hardison coughs, “acquired them.”

Eliot is swaying where he stands.  “Common tactic.  He’s pitting them against one another so they’ll be easier to control.  It undermines the self worth of the ones lower on the scale and makes the ones that are higher up feel obligated to do what he wants.  Son of a bitch.”

“...And it looks like he leveraged their powers as excuse to gain exemptions from child protection laws,” Hardison continues like he hasn’t been interrupted.  “Claimed their abilities meant they don’t need the same safeguards.”

“That’s bullshit!” Eliot sounds thunderous.

“I know, buddy,” Hardison reaches over blindly, waving his hand around vaguely until he finds Eliot’s shoulder.  He gives it a comforting squeeze.  “I didn’t write it.”

Eliot heaves in a shuddering breath.  “That’s just--”

“Evil,” Sophie finishes.  

“I’m inclined to agree,” Nate says.  He’s not watching the TV anymore.  He’s staring off into the middle distance, arms crossed over his chest.

“Oh!” Parker perks up.  All the grief and distress that had been brewing on her face vanishes like storm clouds parting for the sun.  “Nate! Nate, are you scheming?  You look like you’re scheming.”

Nate makes a noncommittal grunt.  “It would be dangerous.”

“They’re in danger,” Sophie says softly, jerking her head in the television’s direction.

Eliot’s long-since gotten to his feet.  He’s pacing, and that’s how Parker knows he’s furious.  When Eliot is too angry to stand it, he has to move, has to find some way to handle the rage roiling under his skin.  Usually he cooks, chopping vegetables with furious aplomb.  And when he can’t cook, he paces.  

“They’re fucking child soldiers,” he says.  “I can’t--” he cuts himself off with a furious shake of the head.  I can’t believe, he was about to say, Parker thinks, but he had to stop because that’s not true.  Eliot knows better than anyone what the government--what the world does to people they find useful, whether its skill or power that makes them so.

“Y’all are behind,” Hardison says in sing-song.  “I’m already trying to burn this motherfucker down.”

“Hardison, do not tip our hand,” Nate says, snapping into his leader-voice automatically.  Parker grins.  He’s already got a plan, then.  She knew all that reluctance was just for show.  Sophie laughs, as clear and bright as the ringing of a bell, and even Eliot perks up.  

Hardison grumbles, closing his laptop and stuffing it back in his messenger bag.  

Nate is grinning a little too, though it’s that angry smile he gets sometimes when Parker knows he’s thinking about hurting bad people.  She understands.  She's wearing hers too right now.  Nate glances them all over, and for all the malice dripping off the knife’s edge of that smile, his eyes are soft.  Maybe even a little proud.

“Fine. Fine. You guys win,” Nate says, lifting his hands in defeat.  He’s putting on a show of being beleaguered, but Parker can hear the sparking anger in his voice, and oh, how could she have forgotten?  Sophie is so gently righteous, Hardison so achingly distressed, and Eliot so full of fire and fury that she almost didn’t notice Nate’s seething wrath, nearly forgot that Nate looks at every injured child in need of help and thinks of Sam.  “Everyone, get your things.  Hardison, get us some plane tickets.  Let’s go steal some children.”

“Okay, okay.  I ain’t complaining cause, like, fuck that guy,” Hardison says, slinging his bag over his shoulder.  “But stealing children?  Could you have made us sound anymore like kidnappers?”

“Hardison!”

“I’m just saying.”

[firebirdsdaughter]

So…

… I kinda mumbled about this in the tags of another post, but I do love how the fam all has different roles and positions and strengths and weaknesses in their relationships.

Like it’s interesting how something unplanned can result in some really interesting character stuff. The introduction of Tara in a role I like to dub the ‘wine aunt’ even if it never involves wine, gives some really great new angles for the characters, both their flaws and strengths.

Bc the fact is, Sophie’s right, they needed someone with a clear view on hand, for different reasons. Parker and Hardison are still the younguns; they absolutely talk back to Nate, esp when he deserves it, but ultimately go along w/ him, bc he’s dad and ultimately they trust and care about him, and Parker’s got that touch of the chaotic herself, to put it mildly.

Eliot’s a little different. I love how different his relationship is w/ the ‘parents’ and as a result how differently he responds to Tara. Parker and Hardison are tense immediately bc the primary grifter they’ve worked w/ is Sophie, they’ve already settled into family roles, and Tara is just that much different that it’s awkward. Meanwhile, as Tara herself notes, Eliot is a consummate professional when it comes to the job, but even his initial response to Tara is wary (he’s half in protective mode until Nate confirms her story). Further on, Tara proves she can be relied on on cons, and Eliot has enough concern for her to call Nate out about her (although he’d do that for anyone), but there’s still a distance, and I think you really see it in that moment at the start of the Zanzibar ep where she brings up Nate’s drinking.

I already love the moment where Nate specifically looks back at Eliot after being forced to take a drink in the Bottle Job, the way Eliot’s reaction is shown first. Eliot is the left hand, imo he becomes Nate’s closest confidant after Sophie, he’s the one Sophie’s always colluding w/ about Nate’s behaviour, something she presumably let Tara know. But when Tara tries to talk about Nate’s drinking, Eliot… Kinda shuts her out. He doesn’t outright push her off, and some of it may be that Nate is right there, but the way he responds w/ ‘I’m not an idiot’ and bluntly tells her it’s a symptom comes across to me as him almost telling her she doesn’t know what she’s talking about; and looking back, he never discusses private matters w/ her like he does Sophie, and she never asks him again, bc when she did (albeit not the most tactful or polite way), he closed ranks and pushed her off. And I think that’s the danger w/ Eliot—Eliot will absolutely keep an eye on Nate, call him out, stand up to him, do his best to manage things, but his first instinct will always be to protect Nate. And that’s what he’s doing in that moment—sure, Tara can be counted on for jobs, but Nate’s drinking issues are something personal that Eliot’s not going to discuss w/ just anyone; it’d take much more time for him to fully open up to Tara about that, he’s only semi just solidified his attachment to Nate and the rest of the team in the previous finale. Nate is kinda already filling the role of surrogate father for him, and by now his loyalty to Nate is totally locked in. It ties in to that conversation they have outside the hotel in the finale, where Eliot reads Nate the riot act and Nate asks if he’s walking away (something I think he only ever directly asks Sophie and Eliot, he says ‘anyone can walk away’ a few times, but I think he only ever directly asks them if they’re leaving, but I should be in bed, so maybe I’m wrong), to which Eliot says no, he’ll have Nate’s back, but he’s going to say his piece. But he’s still in.

And that’s it. Eliot is nigh too loyal and protective. He’ll try to stop Nate going off the rails, but there’s only so much he can do, and if it happens he won’t pull the plug, he will never cut out. He’ll follow Nate to hell and try to protect him from it. And that’s why they need that additional piece.

They’re all just so interconnected and I love it.

[readinginthereadyroom]

it’s the queen’s gambit job (lev 4x10) and they are sitting around a table in mcrory’s eating takeout. running down the con.

and nate’s last minute addition of salt to parker’s equipment wasn’t plan b. no, it was plan m.

which is the plan hardison usually dies in. that is if he hasn’t already died in plans c, f, or m thru q. which hardison is VERY concerned about. after all that’s like 27% of the time. it’s a little too close to home.

eliot and parker don’t die in any plans, tho eliot could be permanently disfigured and blinded in one.

nate DOES NOT ANSWER for sophie.

so they are bickering and being found family (and seriously hoping this is just nate messing with them) and parker proposes a toast. to a glass eye.

and I am gonna headcanon that this becomes a kinda inside code. maybe not plan m, but bad. tho the level of bad is never discussed. after all it’s just a joke. right?

so it’s years later and parker’s the mastermind. she regularly assures hardison that there is no plan m. it’s not even in her alphabet. eliot teases her that her plans span different languages. hardison mutters about binary code and quadratic equations. there’s no m in cuniform, right?

and most the time their cons go off without a hitch. parker’s good like that. the best. her plans are like ballets spun between rotating laser beams. both planned to the smallest movement and completely on the fly. set to violin symphanies, country ballads, and christmas carols.

but sometimes the cons go wrong. eliot gets injured. hardison can’t hack the code. she gets trapped inside a building. and sometimes the cons go wrong bad. sometimes it gets bloody.

that’s when they say it. the first time was eliot. he’d been fighting with the mark’s security goons when the gunshot had rung out over the comms. followed by a grunt of pain and the sound of a body hitting the floor. then a terrible silence. parker hates that she knows what it means.

she flips around in the air duct. barely manages to keep her voice low. the cons over. I’m coming to you eliot. the only sound on the comms is the clack of hardison’s lightspeed typing. a buzzing static. do you hear me eliot? I’m coming to get you.

eliot? hardison’s voice sounds so small. that’s when parker remembers that they’d hacked the cctv footage. hardison had seen the whole thing. I-- he-- hardison stutters before rushing out he’s been shot. it’s bad. you got to get to him parker and you got to get to him. now. 

eliot’s gruff drawl interrupts them. I think this might be a glass eye scenario, sweethearts.

hardison’s typing never falters, but his breath hitches over the comms and his voice is strangled—like he swallowed his soda wrong—when he tells eliot to shut up, I am trying to save your ass. you already look mean enough without any damn glass eye.

it’s classic hardison. talking right over all his internal fears. trying to manifest his words into being. eliot’s huff of laughter tho. it’s strained but it’s also the most beautiful thing she’s ever heard.  

parker’s still in the air vent. she’s moving as fast as she can without rattling the ducts. she whispers into her comms. you should have hardison make it bionic. put a laser in it. and after dealing with a tricky corner dip, also it should be green.

more pained laughter, followed by a groan. my eyes are blue, parker. then hardison’s, guess we’ll just have to save you then. keep you from going all 6 million dollar-terminator-borg on us. keep your baby blues blue. parker smiles. she knows her boys. knew they always focus better when they are bickering.

and in the end it’s okay. parker gets to eliot with the first aid kit and patches him up. hardison hijacks them an elevator and they get out safely. eliot’s glass eye is evaded.

the next time it’s hardison. he’s snatched from lucille 5—right out from under their noses. they can hear his squawk of surprise over the comms. the shuffle of bodies and the distinct sounds of fists hitting flesh.

eliot growls deep and menacingly. parker can hear him instantly switch gears—from grifting the mark to protecting the team. his heavy footfalls are followed by offended protestations as he knocks people out of his way. the con is blown but parker doesn’t care.

because there’s snow fizzing in one ear and a polite automated error message in the other telling her all she needs to know. hardison’s gone. taken.

it’s an excruciating 28 hrs later when a text message from an unknown number chimes thru on parker’s backup burner phone. it’s only two words: glass eye.

parker sidles right up to eliot. bumps their shoulders together and shows him the message. it’s hardison. we can track his location if we move quick.

good. eliot’s voice drops from it’s usual honeyed whiskey to bloody gravel. it always does when he’s in hitter mode. tell me where he is. I swear if they’ve hurt him I’ll rip their lungs out. parker nods, hardison’s spare laptop already open on her lap. I’ll help.

hardison’s in bad shape when they find him. but not as bad as his captors once eliot’s thru with them. they’re on the highway speeding toward a hospital when hardison finally opens his eyes. parker can see him smile up at eliot in the rearview mirror before he glances up at her.

it’s my peoples. knew you’d come get me. eliot uses a corner of his bandana to wipe the blood away from hardison’s face. course we did, alec. can’t have you getting any glass eyes. wouldn’t suit you. eliot leans down and stage whispers in his ear, his voice warm and smooth again, you’re not nearly badass enough.

hardison sputters in outrage and parker lets out the breath she didn’t know she was holding. drops the hard line of her shoulders. lets up on the gas. if her boys are bickering then she knows everything is going to be okay.

hardison will be okay. they will be okay. no glass eyes today.

and eventually it’s parker’s turn. it’s not even a proper job—she’s scaling an elevator shaft for recon when a support gives way. and it’s silly. she’s fallen 3 floors and her leg is definitely broken. and she can hear eliot’s voice in her ear saying it was a very distinctive crunch but all she can think is that this is her glass eye.

she must’ve said that out loud because hardison is babbling on about scars and lasers and talking about numbers. seven and nine what? she vaguely thinks it might be some sort of new concussion protocol tho she can’t quite focus enough to make it make sense.

something warm and wet is pooling under her cheek, blocking her vision. oh and that’s it, isn’t it? hardison’s still muttering under his breath and eliot is grunting her name over the comms. c’mon parker you gotta talk to me! I’m coming to get you dammit but you gotta talk. to. me.

can I have a snowglobe in my glass eye? hardison sputters before stuttering—woman I swear you will be the death of me. and she thinks he sounds a little bit relieved. but it doesn’t stop his voice from warbling when he asks, you okay mama?

parker lifts her face out of the tacky puddle it’s in, starts to nod and then immediately throws up. she can’t focus. eliot’s don’t move parker, you have a concussion is followed by a sympathy gag from hardison.

her head is throbbing and her leg feels like it’s on fire. but she can hear her boys breathing over the comms. can hear them cajole her to talk more. they’re coming to get her.

but they’re not bickering. and that feels wrong. that feels wrong bad.

and then there’s a metal scraping sound as the elevator doors above her are pried open. light floods the shaft and parker blinks into it. I can see you she whispers. and she can. they are silhouetted in a rectangle of light above her.

and then they are setting up ropes and climbing down toward her. just like she taught them. and it’s kinda beautiful. even if it’s plan m and a glass eye. I think I broke the pretzels.

when she wakes up it’s two weeks later and she’s hooked up to a hospital bed. her left leg is in a cast and her arms are covered in bruises and rope burn. there’s a bandage blocking half her vision.

but then she sees eliot. he’s asleep in a chair next to the bed, his hand wrapped gently around hers and his head resting on hardison’s shoulder. he looks exhausted. his hair is frizzy and he hasn’t shaved. hardison doesn’t look much better. his mouth is open and he’s half snoring. his clothes are dark and rumpled.

she smiles. she’s always enjoyed catching her boys like this—soft and quiet and together. it’s the next best thing to hearing them bicker.

that’s when she sees it. a sparkle of light, almost like a diamond, on the medical cart between them. nestled in a padded velvet box is a glass eye.

[soap-brain]

AND THEN

during the bisexual gloat / giving the money to cpl perry and that poor, poor doctor (now i did only do two years of medschool but i don't think "how to deal with two europallets of cash money given to you by random strangers for medical treatment" is something you learn there. could be wrong tho) parker stands next to eliot again. closer than she's standing to nate (i hc her and nate only start to manage some kind of accord later in s1, during the juror #6 job maybe. he doesn't trust her bc "parker is insane". she admires him but despite saying she trusts him can't actually trust him yet). both her and eliot have their arms sort of crossed / out of the way. so not touching, really, but. eliot is forgiven for illegally touching her earlier. she's not fully at ease yet, and eliot takes care to walk around her when he goes to shake cpl perry's hand (if it were hardison you know he'd get a shoulder bump). and immediately after, he leaves parker alone again

so in the pilot. they've just recruited sophie and now they've gone back to hardison's apartment to plot. how is it that eliot, coming back from the kitchen with more popcorn, kicks hardison's feet off the coffee table that hardison owns, then carefully steps over parker's 😂

[adventures-in-a-world-of-fiction]

The Leverage/Stargate fic I’ll probably never write

I have an idea for a Leverage/Stargate crossover fic but no drive to actually write it. So I’m going to lay down the plot summary of the story that exists in my head. If anyone wants to take some or all of this idea and flesh it out into a full story, you’re welcome to it.

AU!Eliot Spencer went to work for Stargate Command early on in its existence and has been there ever since. He's extremely good at his job but in a ruthless way that has everyone at best wary of him and at worst terrified. He's the guy you send on the most dangerous missions, but he's also the guy you send when you want something awful doing without any questions asked.

The Goa'uld have put a bomb in a child and killing the child is the only way to stop it going off and killing thousands? Eliot Spencer is your guy. The megadeathray gun is surrounded by slaves as human shields? Eliot Spencer is the guy who will blow it up while everyone else is busy arguing about whether there's a better way. Need someone to headshot a Goa'uld and not care about the innocent host? He's the guy who will pull the lever on your trolley problem while everyone else is still arguing the ethical ramifications.

They keep him around because he is really good at his job but also because everything he does is technically for the greater good and you can see the logic in shooting the guy with the alien virus before he can spread it and cause a plague but still, you'd think the guy would show a little remorse about shooting an innocent person in the head. So he doesn't really have friends in the SGC just reluctant allies, but he's doing good and saving the world in his own, violent way.

But then one of the science teams discover something that's giving off the same sort of energy readings as the quantum mirror and Eliot is there to act as bodyguard/escort to the scientists. They bring the shiny, aliens toys back through the Gate but then something gets activated by accident, zapping Eliot, and then suddenly canon!Eliot is there in the base, with an apron and a wooden spoon because he was in the middle of cooking dinner.

Naturally, he's immediately on the offensive because he's apparently been kidnapped and these people are all in military uniform, so he starts fighting and takes down six marines with a wooden spoon but then AU!Eliot is there fighting him and they're evenly matched. Neither can get an upper hand and they only stop when someone shoots them both with a zat while they're locked in combat and knocks them out.

Eliot wakes up heavily restrained and they try to explain that they think he's been pulled from a parallel universe and of course Eliot doesn't believe a word of it because it sounds like something from one of Hardison's weird TV shows, and the guy who looked like him was clearly a trick. He's scared that the other Eliot is part of some plot to get to his team and so of course he's not going to give them any sort of cooperation. Everyone else is scared of him because they know how scary their Eliot Spencer is and they don't want to get on the wrong side of him, but they need to get one of the techs to try and undo what was done, so they get one of the team to bring in the alien gizmo - and it's Hardison.

The Hardison of this world was still a computer genius and got recruited to get alien and human tech to work together. He doesn't really know Eliot because the techs tend to spend most of their time with other techs generally, but also that guy's scary. He really doesn't want to be in the same room as two of them, glaring at each other, because if their Eliot Spencer is the good version, he really doesn't want to know what the evil mirror universe Eliot Spencer is like. But he drew the short straw so he's got to come in and try to get some tech they barely understand to zap this guy back to where he came from.

Canon!Eliot recognises Hardison at once but thinks that he's here as part of a con as a rescue mission, so he pretends to have no idea who he is, but plays along. When Hardison starts explaining about parallel universes and alternate timelines and quantum mirrors, Eliot listens and pretends he might start to believe this technobabble and asks questions like he's starting to be convinced. The first test to send Eliot back to his universe doesn't work but he agrees to cooperate if Hardison keeps working to send him home, because he needs to get out of these restraints anyway if Hardison's rescue plan is to have any chance of succeeding. And the other people who are around standing guard or watching the events unfold are surprised that Eliot would believe Hardison over an alternate universe version of himself.

"Of course I don't trust me. I know me!"

But AU!Eliot knows him too and thinks that he's been convinced too easily and that this is a trick. He knows he would never be so quick to believe a total stranger and thinks that Eliot is just lying to get out of the restraints and then he'll start fighting everyone again, probably taking that tech as a hostage.

But while all this is going on, people are referring to Hardison by his real name and talking to him like he's been here for years, and canon!Eliot starts getting weirded out because Hardison would never use his real name in a con and he has a very distinctive tell when he's playing a part and he's not showing that tell now.

AU!Eliot wouldn't just announce that he doesn't think this guy is telling the truth so he beckons whatever senior officer is present over to the far corner so that they can talk quietly but he can still keep an eye on canon!Eliot and warns him about what he thinks the guy is planning. Meanwhile, Hardison is still running tests on canon!Eliot with the alien tech and now no one is close enough to overhear, so Eliot lets his hair hang in front of his face to shield his mouth from the security cameras and whispers, "Is Parker okay?"

Hardison just goes, "Who's Parker?" in a voice loud enough that everyone in the room can hear it.

"Damn it, Hardison!"

The senior office asks Hardison what happened and he repeats back exactly what Eliot said to him. That's what convinces Eliot that this is real because he knows that Hardison would never do anything to expose Parker and he wouldn't blurt something like that out in the middle of a con after all the years they've been doing this.

"You're not my Hardison, are you?"

"Your Hardison?!"

And Eliot tries to then convince them that he now believes them, even though they're more suspicious than ever because he was pretending to believe them before. Eliot just looks at Hardison and says, "I swear on your Nana's chicken, chilli caserole recipe that I won't hurt you if you let me out of these restraints."

Everyone else is really confused but Hardison is astonished because Nana's chicken chilli caserole recipe is sacred. It's a family secret, but she will only give the recipe to family members she deems worthy, meaning that only one of her foster kids has ever been told it and Hardison (who consists off gummy frogs and orange soda in every universe) has never so much glimpsed the page it's written on. It's a meal that is served on the specialest of special occasions and Nana would guard that recipe with her life.

"You know Nana's recipe?"

"I proved myself worthy at your engagement party. She gave me the recipe for the wedding."

"I'm married in your universe?!"

"Not legally." Because three-way unions aren't legal and besides, the guy they had officiate their wedding dropped out of priest school to become an insurance agent con artist, so it's not exactly official, but that's never stopped them. Hardison is still confused but thinks that maybe it wasn't legal because of gay marriage rules and this means he had an unofficial commitment ceremony to Eliot Spencer. He has to sit down while he processes this.

After some discussion, they let Eliot out of the restraints and he spends a little bit of time in the SGC while Hardison works on the tech. He talks to the alternate version of himself and suggests he take a cooking class and tells him he should get to know Hardison better because, "Once you get past the annoying surface part that makes you want to murder him, he's one of the smartest, bravest, and best people you could ever hope to meet, and half the irritating stuff he does is just to make you smile."

"And the other half?"

"He's just being irritating," but Eliot says this with a soft, caring smile that AU!Eliot hasn't seen in his reflection in a very long time and that makes him think it's worth giving it a shot.

And Eliot talks to Hardison too, telling him that he has absolute trust in his ability to work out all this alien tech stuff and get him home safely because he has people there who need him because he doesn't trust Hardison to feed himself any with more nutritional value than gummy frogs without him there to take care of him. And he convinces Hardison to take a chance on this universe's Eliot because if anyone can get past his defences, it's him. Or Parker, but she doesn't seem to be around in this universe.

And that seems like the perfect moment for Parker to appear out of a vent because she wanted to give herself a challenge breaking into a facility with more security than any museum and she's been listening in on all of this stuff as it unfolds.

So this universe's Hardison and Eliot convince the SGC guards not to shoot Parker because she has a really useful skillset, and canon!Eliot wishes them luck as he gets sent bak to his own world, where his Parker and Hardison are in the middle of tearing the criminal underworld into a million pieces to find out what happened to him.

[pebblesrus]

i want to talk about the pool scene again. because there is something wrong with me.

anyway right now what i can’t stop thinking about is the way eliot interacts with the guard vs chapman vs moreau.

at the elevator, eliot walks up the guard. the guard checks him out, “who the hell are you?” 

eliot has this moment of resignation in his eyes of like times up. no more plays. it’s time to tell moreau that i came back. his eyes flick up to meet the guards. “me? i’m eliot spencer.” he maintains eye contact, not a challenge, just like, i ain’t going away. you know the name eliot spencer. i know you know your orders are to let me in no questions asked. until the guard steps aside.

chapman, however, eliot has a personal relationship with. chapman recognizes him the second he walks in. eliot goes right up to him, not looking at any of the like 15 guns pointed at him, just, eye contact with chapman. 

breaks eye contact for a second when he says “chapman” to check the dude out, but in a yeah. yeah, i could still take you. way.

chapman taunts him. i have your job and i’m doing it much better (bloodier). 

eliots eyes go back and forth across chapman’s face. not necessarily a challenge, but maybe just meeting the taunt. i know your weaknesses. i could take your place in moreau’s operation in a heartbeat, without even lifting a finger. 

when moreau comes out, eliot immediately makes eye contact. moreau looks hopeful. eliot looks... vaguely tortured. HOWEVER, there’s this single moment his eyes flick away, as if submitting to moreau. i am still afraid of you. moreau breaks the eye contact after that. 

eliot’s eyes scan moreau. “damien.” he starts off with damien in another act of i came back to you. 

damien looks at chapman like he’s yesterday’s trash. looks back at eliot, “let’s catch up.” moreau smiles like finally i can claim back what is mine. 

[schrijverr]

Hold Me Together

Chapter 2 out of 4

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

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

On AO3.

Ships: Thiefsome OT3

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

~~~~~~~~~~

Pull Me Close

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Grouchy didn’t entirely cover that.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

No.

Fuck no.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Not a truck?” Hardison asked.

“No, motorcycle hit is very distinctive.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

~~

A/N:

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

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

[vickyvicarious]

Parker: "Teach me to like stuff."

.

Okay, so. I have some thoughts about The French Connection Job's Parker+Eliot subplot. And I think I wanna approach it separately, scene by scene from each of their perspectives, because we have a couple different things going on here. It's still a little more of a Parker meta than an Eliot meta, but I have enough to talk about on both sides, and they're connected enough not to be in separate metas, that I am going to do it this way.

Also going to put this under a cut because it gets long.

Parker

This whole subplot comes on the heels of the last episode, in which there was a lot of banter throughout about Hardison and Parker's dates, and him wanting to branch out into other things than just bungee jumping or whatever. We have seen hints of this throughout S5 so far, even though we're only a few episodes in at this point. They went on a world tour that was pretty much just jumping off of stuff, Hardison said something about them figuring things out. We saw a cute domestic scene of the aftermath of them watching a movie together, except Parker 'fell asleep again' and missed most of it, and Hardison eventually went off to work on his laptop. Parker tried to comfort him last episode about dust mites and ended up freaking him out instead. She talked about how she liked fire and Hardison complained she was missing the point of his offer for a candlelit picnic. They did end on a very romantic note with her still making the effort to make it happen but getting rained out, and him recognizing her effort and listening to him, and projecting the stars around the dark room then having the picnic inside. They are clearly very happy together and both making the effort to meet in the middle, but there are still some disconnects. Which makes sense this early on anyway, but it's not out of place for Parker to start getting worried about her limited interests here given the context of them contrasting Hardison's more widespread interests.

Starting right off the bat - there's a picture limit so I can't show these early moments, but throughout the first part of the episode we see Parker looking visibly upset/pensive. Hardison notices and asks her what's wrong, but is immediately distracted by his package arriving, and then the team gets into the briefing and he doesn't get to talk to her again. (Sidenote that this is pretty OOC for Hardison, and I have to assume he would at the very least come back to her later, but they were clearly trying to get Parker talking with someone else this episode and apparently couldn't come up with a better way to do it. His writing outside of the kitchen stuff was kinda off this whole episode anyway, what with the whole tip thing.) She was about to open up to him, however, which is important. There's also a scene shortly afterwards where she confides in Nate, again after he notices her being upset and asks what's bothering her. She claims everyone but her has 'a thing', and names a few of them. He asks her what she thinks when she sees Michelangelo's David, and when her answer is an immediate assessment of how it's guarded and what she'd have to do to steal it, he kind of hesitates and then goes right back to running the con. He basically gives up on helping her with this once it becomes clear that a quick sentence or two isn't gonna cut it.

So after those brief, unhelpful conversations, that's when she makes a move. She was responding to others before, but this time she comes up to Eliot, clearly nervous. And she asks him to help her feel something.

(I find it very interesting that she doesn't ask Sophie. Sophie is the person who she would usually go to for something like this, after all. But, aside from this being an Eliot-centric episode and just like them sidelining Hardison's possible assistance earlier the writers want Parker to talk with Eliot not Sophie, I think there are maybe a couple reasons why she might go to him here. First, just distance. Eliot is right downstairs, meanwhile at the moment Sophie is however far across town at her theater. Certainly not saying she wouldn't go to Sophie eventually, but maybe that's why not first. Second, she and Eliot have an understanding, one that's been explicitly acknowledged since the start of S4. They are similar in a way entirely unlike the rest of the crew. So while Sophie may understand emotions best, Eliot is the one most likely to know what Parker is talking about when she says she just isn't feeling anything. Which by the way I'm gonna get more into later on. Thirdly they're in love but that's not actually relevant here since all of the team love one another.)

Eliot

On Eliot's side, she approaches him when he's busy in the kitchen. This whole job is stirring up a lot of old feelings in him right from the start. Toby was someone who 'kept him from falling all the way down', and Eliot is deeply concerned for him. At the same time, the way they are running this con is allowing Eliot to take on the role of teacher. Even though his students aren't anything like the eager students Toby has just had taken away from him, Eliot wants so badly to take advantage of this opportunity to teach them - maybe even all the more because they're resistant. He's being given a very rare opportunity to indulge his belief that food is life and to share it on a larger scale. To use the knife to create, not just destroy. Leverage often walks a line between doing both (taking down the bad guys and helping people) but Eliot doesn't often just straight up get to just do the 'creating' part. (I mean, he loves the destruction too, he genuinely loves beating people up and taking down bad guys, but this is a rarer pleasure.) So he's pretty preoccupied with that at first, and initially dismisses Parker just like the other two guys did.

But when she just looks quietly disappointed at his response, he goes still and watches her. We cut away from them here so we don't see his actual response, but it's immediately clear that he's realizing this is actually something deeply important to Parker, and well worth his time.

On to the next part of this scene below.

.

[Eliot sets a dish down in front of Parker]

Parker: "...It's just food."

Eliot: "It's not just food! Alright, some people could look at it and just see food, but not me. I see art. When I'm in the kitchen I'm, I'm creating something outta nothing, you know what I mean? And sometimes I crush it, sometimes it's crap, but either way - it makes me feel something."

Parker: "Feel what?"

Eliot: "Just... feel."

Parker: [murmuring] "Feel... okay." [looks down at the food and hesitates]

Eliot: "You know, I didn't feel anything for a long time. Then Toby taught me how to cook, and after he did, I started to feel stuff again. That's why I share it through my food - this is my art. This is my art, Parker." [Parker nods, looking worried] "It's like lettin' a stranger in your head, just for a second. And you allow them to feel what you're feeling." [pause] "Look again." [he pushes the plate a little closer to her. Parker takes a deep breath and slowly sets her elbows down on the counter as she stares down at the plate. Eliot watches her closely.]

Parker

At this point I want to talk a little about what Parker means when she says "feel something" and talks about "having a thing." Because we've seen her have interests outside of straightforward thievery before. Sure, most of her hobbies revolves around stealing - casing local banks for fun, for example. But she clearly has a deep love for Christmas and for chocolate. So why doesn't she count those kinds of things as 'feeling something'?

I think it comes down to what Eliot's talking about here. It's a sense of art. Not even necessarily making it yourself, although that certainly applies. Parker likes sweet things like chocolate and donuts, but although she really really likes them they don't make her feel any truly deep emotion. It's more tactile than anything else, just a pleasant flavor. Her love of Christmas isn't the same either in her eyes because it's not uniquely hers. It's something she loves to celebrate but she can't do so all year round, and plenty of other people like Christmas too. This one comes a lot closer, because it definitely seems to be tied up more in community and family for her than something like enjoying chocolate and piñatas, but it still doesn't belong to her in the same way that cooking does to Eliot or theater does to Sophie. And while theoretically her love of base jumping and so on could maybe count, it is still so tied up in her thieving that it doesn't feel separate. She's really good at drawing but only thinks of it as a useful skill, not a creative outlet - this is similar to that.

She has been branching out into a lot of new experiences and emotions lately, and while she's struck out deep into uncharted waters with her relationship with Hardison, once there she's only seeing more and more things that she just... doesn't get. She loves spending time with him, and enjoys what they do together, but she doesn't understand all of those things. Not on a deeper level. She wants to feel that sense of connection to something, wants to feel deeply emotionally moved by something.

And honestly? I think she's way up in her head about it. I'm not trying to dismiss her struggle here at all, but I do think she is stressing herself out about having something uniquely her own. About having a huge interest that speaks so strongly to her personally. And those are amazing to have, but it's really not necessary. She doesn't need a strong secondary passion so much as she needs to let go of trying so hard to force herself into something.

And what's happening in this scene in particular is that Parker is trying so so hard to force herself to feel something. It's evident in her face throughout the whole scene, in her body language. And she is so terrified that it's not going to work that honestly, I'm not surprised at all that it doesn't.

Eliot

On Eliot's side of this scene, he feels like he recognizes where Parker is. This entire job has him remembering how it was to feel nothing. Her phrasing got to him deeply. He wants to reach out and teach her to see something more, just like Toby taught him.

He knew a bit about how to cook before Toby. But it was only seeing Toby's passion that struck something in him, that awoke a part of himself he might've never known before. For Eliot specifically, cooking being an art isn't just something he likes. It's something that brings him hope.

Eliot doesn't believe in redemption. But he believes in actions. And what Toby did, by teaching him to cook, was to teach him that his actions can be good. That he can create, not just destroy. That all is not lost - not 'for' him necessarily, so much as 'in' him. There is a deep empty place inside himself that he can enter so so easily. The difficulty is crawling back out again. Cooking was his rope out of there. He still finds it difficult to express his emotions very often, particularly verbally, but when he makes someone a meal he puts a part of himself into it. And yet doing so doesn't take anything from him, it just adds more.

This is all very vague and figurative and may make no sense, but the takeaway I want to have is that Eliot is opening up to Parker on a very deep level here. He feels like he recognizes what she's talking about, and it was a very bad place for him. (Again, I don't think she is quite that badly off at this point in canon, but I digress.) And while making food allows him to feel that he is demonstrating his love for someone, that he is sharing a part of himself with them, he recognizes that she isn't receiving that. What she's getting, is just a plate of food. Tasty food maybe, but nothing more than that. And so Eliot verbalizes everything to her in a way he rarely does.

And then he keeps trying. This scene obviously doesn't end up making her feel something, and we don't get to see the immediate aftermath of that, but we can glean a little about how they feel based on their reactions. And Eliot is deeply determined to help Parker feel something from his food. He insists that she play the food critic; even speaks directly to her and reminds her to consider what they talked about.

.

In the restaurant, we start out with Parker dutifully playing her role but feeling nothing much beyond just the role. Eliot checks in with Parker, she acknowledges that the food is good but doesn't make her feel anything, and he makes improvements based on her feedback. Then something abruptly changes.

Parker: "I can taste garlic, and mushrooms... and something else that makes me feel different."

Hardison: "Wait, was that for me, cause I-I don't get it."

Parker: "No, it's the food. I get it." [smiles] "I feel something."

+

Parker: "Mmm! These black noodles are amazing!

Eliot: "Parker, it's tagliolini nero con gamberi."

Parker: "Mmm." [eats a huge forkful] "Mmm. Mmmm. These are really good."

Parker

What just happened here? Last we saw from Parker, she'd failed to feel something from the meal Eliot made especially for her in the brewpub, and she was clearly disheartened. She felt it as a failure, very much in the sense of a disappointment. She didn't want to try again, didn't think it would work, and tried to protest when Eliot said she would be the food critic. Even once she got to the restaurant, nothing was happening for her.

The difference wasn't in the flavor of the food. The moment Parker started to feel something was right after she said she felt nothing and Eliot, instead of being disappointed or giving up, took it as a challenge. He changed his recipe, he improved it specifically to better reach out to her. He kept trying.

And yeah, maybe the bone broth helped it taste better. But that wasn't the point, not really. The point is that Parker had gotten herself stuck in a hole, trapped herself in this cycle of not understanding how things make you feel and then believing that she just couldn't. She wanted something of her own and she didn't have it and she didn't immediately get anyone else's thing either, and that was it. She just wasn't capable. She was other. This is an old old fear of Parkers, dating back to Archie or even before. Something in her just isn't capable of being like other people. She wasn't worthy of being in Archie's real family, and she's not able to feel passion for anything outside of stealing. (Setting aside the fact that she loves her team, that all she needed was the right family. That you don't have to be a creator to feel passion, and you don't need to be passionate about any particular thing in order to feel deeply and find beauty in the world.) Parker has empathized deeply with people, has felt so intensely before and is constantly trying to learn more and new ways to be. But because she is noticing her teams' passions now, she has this ideal that she wants to reach, and none of that is good enough for her. She doesn't even know exactly what her ideal involves, but she can't get to it.

But when Eliot doesn't give up, that gets to her. If he views his food as sharing himself with others, Parker finally gets what he's been trying to give all along. It's all about him trying again and again, changing his approach to match her better. That's what she feels, that's what she enjoys.

And once she starts, the floodgates open. She loves the black noodles. She is so happy, she is relieved. There was this huge resistance that she couldn't get past before, but Eliot persisting helped her to break past that and now that she is out of her head about it she can enjoy the food in a way she never has before. Because she feels his love for her in it.

Eliot

Eliot is trying so hard to connect to Parker. It's not really different from what I said in the last Eliot section, and basically the same as what I just said in that Parker section, but I want to emphasize a little more just how much this is about love on his end.

Eliot loves Parker. He loves her, and he wants so much to help her. It doesn't honestly matter that he does this with food, except for the fact that food is what matters so deeply to Eliot himself. He can't reach out to her in the same way through any other medium. And we don't get to see his reaction to Parker's moment of realization. But I think it would be such a deep sense of joy. This is as fulfilling for Eliot as it is for Parker. It's exactly what Eliot has been hoping for this whole episode, to teach someone else to see food in the same way he does. It doesn't matter if it only lasts for a moment or a single meal. That's enough. He has been the support Parker needed through this time of self-doubt. And it is all the more meaningful to him because this isn't just a random student, this is Parker.

He told her he loves her through his food, again and again, and she eventually felt it. She understood. That must mean so much to him.

.

I wanna end with one more brief note on Parker. Does she get her own "thing" this episode? No. No she does not, and this scene shows us that. Parker is not suddenly interested in food or cooking. The importance of that meal was purely derived from Eliot on the other end of it, focused on her and trying his best to reach out to her.

And I don't think this is something only Eliot could have done for her either, not really. The difference between him and the others this episode is mostly in persistence. However, it's also about her mentality. Hardison has built/done things for Parker before and she felt them just as deeply - but the context was different. She wasn't looking for a sense of beauty or art in the world at large then, and so even though she felt the love in the gift just as much, it didn't make her feel like she could find that kind of emotion in other things. She just wasn't looking for it. Also, it was made easier for Eliot to reach out because there's that connection Parker has with him, that understanding that they are on the same level somehow. She doesn't feel that with Hardison - and she loves him all the more for him being different from her, but he also I think can intimidate her with how good and open he is, with how much he can feel in so many different directions. It's part of why she got so worried about herself not being able to do so this episode.

Like, the team has scolded Nate for not having a life or interests of his own outside the job not too terribly long ago! And Parker has had her own joys before! But she isn't seeing that this episode, too caught up in this fear about not having her own 'thing', not feeling anything that way. So while anyone could have helped her through this, it was easiest for her to let Eliot do so + for him to understand what she needed from him. (Hardison in particular was rudely robbed the opportunity, but they all love and support her and could have reached her. Not to detract from Eliot doing so, but also I don't wanna sound like no other method of reaching out would've worked.)

But as soon as she feels something once with Eliot's help, that relaxes those fears. And then Parker is free to look in other places. She remembers Nate's comment about art, and maybe even tells him what she plans based on him knowing where she is at the end of the episode. And then she goes to visit this statue. In her own way which means breaking in, but without any goal of taking it. She just goes to look at the art. And she feels something again.

Parker doesn't gain some big passion at the end of this episode. She doesn't need to. She never did. She just learns how to let herself relax from that restrictive frame of mind. To simply be in the moment and enjoy things for the sake of what they are. To feel - not really in any way she was incapable of before, but intentionally now. It's a quiet victory, in the end. It doesn't mean she's going to get a new hobby or change her lifestyle at all really. But she's let go of a fear and is now intentionally seeking out new connections with the world beyond her once-limited parameters.

[baubabble]

“Subtle Differences” Part I - Hotch x F!Reader

PART II FINAL PART

Summary: When three women turn up dead in Seattle, the BAU heads West to investigate the crimes. The reader, an agent returning to the field after an injury, is asked by her boss to stay close to him on this one. However, her feelings for her boss have only grown over her time at the FBI and now it seems that he may reciprocate them after all...

Word Count: 3084

Warning: Violence, Murder, Basic CM Violence

Song I Wrote To: “Drumming Song” by Florence + The Machine

Note: I seriously need to get better at summaries again. This is my first attempt at criminal minds. This one is either going to be two parts of three. Depends on what happens. I love Hotch so much but I also have a Reid imagine in the wings! Stay tuned for part two!

---------

George Eliot once said, “One can begin so many things with a new person - even begin to be a better man.”

It was early when you received the text from Garcia that there was a case. 

It wasn’t the first time the team has been called in early, but it looked like this was going to be a bad one considering the lack of happy emoticons in Garcia’s message. Figuring you were going to heading to the jet shortly, you didn’t bother with the suit. Arriving at Quantico in your jeans, you slumped in the elevator as it rose to the sixth floor. The familiar hum of the mechanism offered you some comfort but didn’t do anything to shake the fatigue that weighed heavily on you. 

Stepping out onto your floor, you headed right for the kitchen, pulling out your travel mug. As you passed the bullpen, you noticed that both Rossi and Hotch were in already, their lamps in the offices illuminating the blinds that kept them sequestered from the rest of you. Entering the kitchen, you breathed in the smell of fresh coffee as it brewed in the pot. You knew it had to be Rossi who had done it. You really did love that man. 

As you waited for the coffee to finish, a yawn escaped you. “Keep doing that and we’ll all start.” You turned to see your boss enter the kitchen with a small smile on his face.

Aaron Hotchner was dressed in his usual suit and tie, holding a mug of his own in his hands. You and the Unit Chief had met while you worked in anti-terrorism and had hit it off immediately. To anyone else, if they were to observe you, they would see two friendly coworkers, but you knew there was something else there, whether he did or not. When Strauss had invited you to join the BAU, Aaron was thrilled, but it only made hiding your attraction to your boss that much harder. Especially in moments like these. 

“That’s what happens when Penelope calls us in before the sun is up,” you said with a small smile of your own.

“Did you have a good weekend, (Y/N)?” Hotch asked, leaning against the counter next to you. 

“It was pretty uneventful,” you said with a shrug. “What about you? Do anything fun with Jack?”

“If by fun you mean Jack having a fever and two very sleepless nights, then yes,” Aaron said and you could see the exhaustion that also weighed on his shoulders. 

“Oh no,” you said, “how’s he doing now?”

“Better,” said Hotch. “His aunt is going to watch him while we’re gone and I’ll check in later.” 

“Must be hard to be away from him when he’s sick,” you said, pouring hot coffee into your mug. 

“It never gets easier, no,” he said softly. “But that’s the job.” You nodded, well aware of how important the job was.

The BAU had become a second home for you and while you would have loved to go see your parents in Maryland or spent a day relaxing on your couch, you couldn’t ignore the feeling you got when Garcia sent out her bat signal, calling you all in. It was what pushed you to return to work after your injury a few cases back. Hotch made sure to ask about that as well.

“How’s your arm?” he asked, his eyes on your forearm that had taken a bullet during a pursuit in Delaware.

“I’m clear for the field, Hotch, don’t worry,” you said with a glance at him, but you knew he would be one to argue. 

“It’s my job to worry,” he said, “I need to make sure my agents are always at the top of their game.” 

“Are you questioning if I am able to perform in the field, Sir?” You asked and you thought you saw his brow twitch as you addressed him formally.

“Not at all, (Y/N),” he assured you, “but I must remain vigilant.”

“Of course,” you said. “I will make sure not to disappoint you, Hotch.” You smiled at him over the lip of your mug. Aaron rolled his eyes at your playful tone and moved to grab the coffee pot. You didn’t step back fast enough and for a moment, the two of you were flush against one another. You could feel his breath on you as well as the smell of his cologne. Glancing up, your eyes met for a fraction of a second before you awkwardly stepped out of his space. “I, uh, I’ll see you in there,” you said as you pushed your way out of the kitchen and back towards the bullpen, not waiting to hear his response.

Shaking your head slightly, you tried to keep your focus on the task at hand. On the way to the round table, you ran into Rossi. “Good morning,” he greeted. 

“Is it even considered morning yet?” You asked with a slight laugh. Rossi was watching you with narrowed eyes. “Stop it,” you said. 

“Stop what?” He asked, innocently. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I hate profilers,” you groaned as you entered the conference room. JJ, Prentiss, Morgan, Garcia, and Reid were already there. You could hear Hotch coming up behind you. 

“You are a profiler,” Rossi reminded you. 

“My point exactly,” you said, taking your seat next to Spencer. 

“What did I miss?” Reid asked. 

“Nothing,” you and Rossi said at the same time. Spencer frowned, but didn’t press the issue as Hotch entered the room, ready to get to work. 

“Morning everyone, I’m sorry to call you in so early,” Hotch said as he went to take his seat before the monitor. 

“Are you though?” Morgan asked, nursing a cup of coffee of his own. Hotch just smirked at him. 

“Garcia?” Hotch asked and Penelope stood up and grabbed the remote. 

“Okay, my sleepy crime fighters, we have a weird one,” Garcia said as she pointed the remote at the screen. “If you will turn to the information on your tablets, you will see that Seattle PD is asking for our assistance on their newest collection of murders. Two women have been found dead in local parks. Mason Walker and Rayna Graves were both murdered within a one week of each other and one more woman, Lisa Bracken is missing.” 

“Cause of death?” JJ asked.

“Medical Examiner says asphyxiation on both of them and then there is this,” Garcia hit another button and pulled up an array of images. 

“Is that…?” You asked.

“Candle wax?” Garcia finished for you. “Yes it is, my lovely friend.” Each of the victims were covered in red candle wax that looked straight off a Maker’s Mark bottle. Their legs, arms, torso, and face were covered in thick red drops of the thick substance. “Both women were found with it covering them like an old altar in a church.”

“Do the locals have a theory?” Rossi asked. 

“Some believe it is to do with a religious ritual, but none have come up in any research done by the detectives.”

“Which makes our job that much harder,” Hotch said. “Wheels up in thirty.” As the rest of the team stood up and got ready to move, Aaron stopped you. “(Y/N), a moment?” You paused, your heart picking up speed at whatever he was about to say. Would he reprimand you for what happened in the kitchen? You didn’t think so, but still those nerves remained. 

“Sir?” You asked, nervously. 

“I want you to stay close to me on this case,” Hotch said. Your brow furrowed, confused. 

“Why?” You asked, afraid you had done something wrong. Aaron picked up on it immediately. 

“You’re not in any kind of trouble,” he assured you. “After your injury, I am expected to have an agent evaluate you in the field on your first case back. I’ve decided to take on the responsibility myself. If that is okay with you, of course.”

“Yes, of course, Sir, that is completely fine with me,” you said, trying to keep your breathing even. Hotch seemed satisfied with your answer. 

“I am not trying to be overbearing and please don’t think you’re being criticized. I just want to get a feel for how you respond in the field.” You nodded, fully aware of procedure. However, it was usually JJ or Morgan that did these evaluations, not the Unit Chief.

“I understand, Hotch,” you said. “Just tell me where you need me.” Hotch nodded and after one more glance, you left the conference room to grab your go-bag as you tried not to think about spending the entire case with Aaron Hotchner.

————

On the jet, you sat next to Derek. 

You and Morgan had been friends since your first day at the BAU. With his flirty attitude and your ability to call him out on it, the two of you had connected fast. Hotch and Rossi sat across from you while JJ, Prentiss, and Reid milled about. 

Once you reached altitude, you began reading the case file again. Flipping through, you focused on the ME’s report as well as the detective statements. Something was bugging you about the way the bodies were found, something was familiar, but you couldn’t put your finger on it.

Unable to focus on it any longer, you closed the file and looked out the window, watching the sun come up. Morgan sighed next to you and you turned to look at him. He was looking at you with a question on his lips. “What?” You asked. 

“Nothing,” he shrugged, “I’m just trying to figure something out.”

“And what would that be?” You asked, already regretting the question. 

“Of all the time I’ve spent with you outside the office, I don’t know much about what you like to do.” 

“That’s what you’re curious about?” You laughed, shaking your head slightly. 

“Come on, (Y/N/N), tell me something. What’s a hobby of yours?” He asked and out of the corner of your eye, you could see Aaron look up from his tablet at Derek’s question. 

“Well, I like to ride motorcycles,” you revealed. Derek’s dark brows shot up. 

“No way,” he said, his grin widening. “Seriously?” 

“Yes, seriously,” you said with a chuckle.

“My girl likes to burn a little rubber, huh?” He asked. 

“Actually,” Spencer interjected, “modern sports-bike tires don't contain any actual rubber at all. They are made entirely from synthetic rubber, which is beneficial due to a balance between durability and traction.” 

“Huh,” you said, impressed. “I did not know that. Thanks, Reid.” He smiled at you and you mirrored the expression.

Across from you, you noticed Hotch was smiling proudly at the interaction. You knew he felt very protective of Spencer. He also didn’t like it when people shot him down when Spencer went on his tangents. You loved when Reid babbled, it always made you smile and next to JJ, you were one of the only people that let him talk as much as he wanted. Aaron always noticed this and it made him appreciate you even more than he did already.

Suddenly, Garcia’s face lit up the monitor. “Bad news, friends,” she said solemnly. “SPD just found Lisa Bracken’s body outside Century Link Field.” 

“Same MO?” You asked, grabbing the file again. 

“Unfortunately,” Garcia confirmed. “Local PD is waiting for you at the crime scene.”

“Thank you, Garcia,” Hotch and she nodded before logging off once again. “Alright, Dave, you and Reid go to the coroner’s office and see what you can make of the first two bodies. JJ, Morgan, and Prentiss, I want you to go to the latest crime scene. (Y/L/N) and I will go to the precinct and set up there.” You nodded as you flipped through the file. 

You expected this. Hotch said he would want you to stick close to him and he was always first to interact with the locals. Glancing up from the file in your hands, you noticed Hotch looking at you again. He quickly looked away once your eyes met his, but his gazing was unmistakable. Rossi caught your eye and he quirked a brow causing you to turn away and watch out the window. You really did hate profilers.

———

Arriving at the downtown precinct, you and Hotch pushed into the warm building and out of the rain.

You both were greeted by a handsome man who bore a detective’s shield on his hip. “FBI?” 

“Yes, Sir,” Hotch said, reaching for his hand. “I’m SSA Hotchner and this is SSA (Y/L/N),” he introduced. “The rest of the team will join us shortly.”

“Detective Perotta,” the other man said as he let go of Hotch’s hand and turned his attention to you. He smiled as you took his hand firmly. “Ma’am,” he said respectfully. You nodded back, taking your hand back. His eyes lingered on you for a moment and you suddenly felt very exposed. Hotch cleared his throat, grabbing the Seattle detective’s attention once again. 

“Do you have a place where we can work?” Hotch asked and Perotta nodded. 

“Yes, we’ve cleaned out the conference room for you,” he said as he headed towards a room near the back of the main room. You followed both men, trying to warm your hands back up after being out in the cold weather. “We got everything your technical analyst asked for,” Perotta said as he pushed open a glass door. Hotch held it open for you as you followed the detective. 

The locals had set up your case boards as well as provided all the current findings on the three known victims. Dropping your raincoat on the back of one of the chairs, you got to work setting up the board just the way your team liked it.

“So, you think it’s really a serial?” Perotta asked, watching as you placed Mason, Rayna, and Lisa’s photos up on the board as well as the initial photos that were taken of their bodies at their respective crime scenes. 

“It seems like it, yes,” Hotch answered. “We should be able to begin building the profile once we figure out how the three victims are related.” Perotta nodded and then Hotch’s attention turned back to you as you stared at the photo of Mason’s body that was found in Volunteer Park. He watched as you spun the gold ring on your right finger, the one thing you always did when you were thinking. “Detective, could you get us a map of the area?” Hotch asked. 

“Of course,” Perotta said, “one minute.” The Detective left, gently closing the door behind him. Hotch moved towards you, watching the way you analyzed the board before you. 

“What are you thinking?” He asked softly. You didn’t look at him, but you could feel his eyes on you as he noted the way you focused on the first crime scene. “(Y/N)?” 

“It’s the candle wax,” you finally said. “There is something so familiar about it. You see the way it’s dripping along her legs and then gets thicker at her ankles?” You asked, pointing to the photo. Hotch nodded. “I’ve seen that before.” 

“Where?” He asked. 

“I can’t remember,” you sighed, “but it was recent, definitely.” Turning to Hotch, you looked at him with frustration in your eyes. “Give me a few moments and I’ll figure it out,” you promised. Hotch gave you an easy smile, well, what you considered to be a smile. 

“You’re not Reid, (Y/N),” Hotch said, “I don’t expect you to be able to recall everything you’ve ever seen.” 

“Fair point,” you said, relaxing slightly. “But I’m still going to figure it out.” 

“I know you will,” Hotch said, looking down at you, his eyes filled with kindness. It made your heart swell. You were going to say something else when his phone rang. Digging it out of his jacket, he pressed the speaker button. “Dave, what do you got?” He asked. 

“Medical Examiner says the women had wax in their throats as well as their lungs,” Rossi said on the other line. You and Hotch exchanged a glance. 

“They were drowned in it?” You asked. 

“Yes,” Reid interjected, “it seems that it was quite hot too when it was forced down their throat. M.E. found notable burning in the esophagus and trachea.” You frowned, glancing between the phone and the photos behind you. 

“Did the M.E. notice any patterns to the other wax drippings?” Hotch asked. You didn’t hear Rossi or Reid’s answer as a light bulb finally went off. 

“It’s almost artistic,” Spencer was saying. 

“No, that is exactly what it is,” you said, interrupting Hotch as he went to say something else. “The bodies are mimicking a painting.” 

“What do you mean?” Rossi asked. 

“I knew this looked familiar. There is this new big Italian exhibition opening this week in Seattle,” you explained, tapping at your tablet, “It’s been all over the news… Here it is,” you said, showing Hotch the image you brought up from the site. It featured the main piece that would be on display. It was a beautiful painting of a woman laid out in a field with a cloaked figure standing over her dripping red wax on her body. “I sent it to your phone, Spencer.” 

“Yeah, I got it,” he said. “I agree with (Y/N). This is exactly what the unsub is emulating in his kills.” 

“So, he believes he’s whatever is above the woman in the painting?” Rossi asked. 

“Maybe,” you said with a shrug. 

“Okay,” Hotch said, “good work guys, get back here once you finish.”

“Will do,” Reid said. 

“Thanks.” Hotch hung up and pocketed his phone. “Well done,” Hotch complimented. 

“I knew it would come to me,” you said, examining the print on your screen. 

“I never knew you were so into art,” Hotch said, looking over your shoulder. 

“One of my many hobbies,” you said with a shrug. 

“Like riding motorcycles?” He asked and you looked up at him. He was looking at you as if he was truly interested in anything you said next. Your heart skipped at the expression on his face.

“Yeah,” you said with a nod. Hotch smirked slightly before moving back to the table, ready to look into the Italian exhibit again. You had to remind yourself to breathe as you went to print out a copy of the painting and pull yourself together before even the detectives knew what you were thinking by looking at your face.

PART II