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trekscribbles · 2 months ago

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The Bushwhack Job: Updated Chapter Thirteen (New Ending)

Note: This is the newly revised ending, which I changed after deciding to add 2 more chapters like a maniac. The beginning of the chapter is the same—only about the last 1,000 words have changed.

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

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

If this had been a normal job, Parker would have been insulted by how easy it was to evade security. After all, they were clearly looking for her—they mentioned finding “the thief” several times, loudly, over their radios while clomping down the hall in their clunky bad guy shoes. She could have avoided them blindfolded, if she’d had the time to play.

But this wasn’t a normal job, and she wasn’t in the mood for playing.

Actually, the guards had been more of a help than a hinderance. Their patrol patterns had showed her where the safe was, so she’d known exactly what to avoid, and they’d confirmed that Lancaster was in his top-floor office.

And they’d given her a gun.

Well, not given, exactly, but as good as. It wasn’t her fault that the guard on the top floor didn’t have the stamina to stay conscious after being tased. And if they didn’t want people to take their guns after knocking them out, then they should have more than one guard patrolling together.

Lancaster had practically invited her in.

She stole down the hallway on silent feet, the guard’s Glock in one hand. According to the men she’d overheard, the next security sweep of this floor wouldn’t be for another six minutes. Plenty of time to find and take care of Lancaster.

Follow the plan, said the voice in her head. We don’t hurt people.

“Maybe you don’t,” Parker said. “Didn’t. Whatever. But you’re not here, so I’m going to make sure Lancaster never hurts anyone else, ever again.”

Nate will keep that from happening.

“Obviously not.”

She was at the door now, and she reached out with her left hand to open it while the voice went on not being helpful. You should call him, he said. You should tell him what’s happening. Go back and find the safe. Stick with the plan.

She waved a dismissive hand and focused on the office. Lancaster had his back to the door, sitting in his chair against one wall, but he spun when he heard her enter. “Finally,” he snapped. “You’re late. Hurry up and get this—”

He frowned when he saw Parker, and scooted his chair back when he saw her gun. “How did you get in here?”

She gave him an annoyed look. “The door.”

“Listen,” he said. “This has all been just a big misunderstanding. You’re a thief, right? You want money? I can give you money.”

“I can take money,” Parker said.

“I can get you more.”

Parker stepped into the room, leaving the door open. She didn’t want it to slow her down later.

Don’t do this.

She ignored the voice and addressed Lancaster instead. “You tried to kill me. I could get over that—I know it was nothing personal. But what you did to Eliot...” She cocked the gun. “That, I can’t forgive.”

“It was a mistake,” Lancaster said. He pressed back into his chair, his eyes wide. “I didn’t mean for—”

She lifted the gun. “I don’t care what you meant. Right now, I just want you to beg.”

“Beg?” he squeaked.

Parker added her left hand to the gun, and Lancaster scrambled back until his chair hit the wall. “Okay,” he said. “Okay—Please. Please don’t kill me. I’ll do anything—pay anything. Please, anything. Anything you want.”

Don’t.

“That wasn’t as satisfying as I thought it would be,” Parker admitted. “Maybe you weren’t sincere enough. Maybe you should cry.”

“Please,” Lancaster whispered.

Parker.

“No,” she said. “I think he should cry. I think that would help.”

“Parker.”

“Stop!” she shouted. Across the room, Lancaster flinched, but even that didn’t make her feel better. “Stop telling me not to do this. He deserves it.”

“You don’t.”

“Yeah, well, neither did you,” Parker said. “It still happened.”

Lancaster’s eyes were fixed over her shoulder. The gun trembled in her hands.

“Parker. Look at me.”

She squeezed her eyes shut. Because yes, okay, she knew the voice wasn’t inside her head, but if she was wrong—if she looked and he wasn’t there, it would mean she was crazy, for real, and it would mean he was gone gone, and she couldn’t handle that. She couldn’t. So she would just stand here and wait, and eventually the voice would go back into her brain where it belonged, and she could get on with killing Lancaster and everything would be fine. It would be fine.

A hand touched hers. Her eyes flew open against her will, and it was Eliot’s hand, and it was Eliot’s face moving in front of her, and Eliot’s voice telling her to give him the gun. She let it go, and he took it and disarmed it and tossed the magazine away while her heart made sick, limping stutters in her chest. She reached out to touch his shoulder, because maybe his hands had been imaginary, but his shoulder would have to be real. It made no sense. She didn’t question it.

Her fingers brushed his upper arm—his very solid, very real arm—and she took a breath.

“Okay?” he asked.

She nodded.

Eliot turned to Lancaster. “Where are the other bombs?”

“The other—” Parker stared at Eliot, then at Lancaster, wondering if she could get to the discarded magazine before Eliot stopped her.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Lancaster said.

“Really?” Eliot folded his arms, shifting his stance so his shoulder bumped against Parker’s. “Because if they go off while you’re still inside the building, that could go poorly for you.”

“I wouldn’t—”

The blare of a fire alarm cut him off, and Eliot raised his eyebrows. “That’s Hardison. Nate and Sophie are already outside, along with the evidence that you planned to destroy your own property again. The rest of the building’s being evacuated now. It’s over. Tell me where the other bombs are, and we’ll bring you out with us.”

“Do we have to?” Parker hissed.

Eliot didn’t look at her, but the ghost of a smile lifted one corner of his mouth.

Lancaster glanced between her and Eliot and licked his lips, his chest heaving. “Okay,” he said at last. “Let me go and I’ll tell you where they are.”

“Tell us where they are and we’ll let you go,” Eliot countered.

“Okay,” Lancaster said. “Okay. Untie me. I’ll show you.”

Eliot frowned, drawing out the decision, making Lancaster sweat—Parker would have made him wait longer, but apparently Eliot was more worried about the bombs. He nodded once and moved across the room, kneeling beside the chair to remove the phone cord from Lancaster’s ankles.

“All right,” he said. “Lead the way.”

Lancaster spun on the chair. “But you have to untie my hands!”

“You can walk without your hands,” Eliot said.

“But I—”

Eliot grabbed him by the elbow and hauled him to his feet. “Go.”

Lancaster stumbled, turning, and Parker watched the way his hands scrambled for something to hold onto. They were bound behind his back with a belt—his belt, by the looks of it—but he’d worked part of it loose. He twisted as Eliot let him go, bending his arms at an awkward angle, leaning forward at the waist—

“Eliot—”

Parker saw it an instant after he did. The gun up Lancaster’s sleeve went off with a sharp crack, but Eliot was already moving forward, putting himself between it and Parker. He grunted, his body jerking as the bullet hit, and Parker threw herself forward to catch him as he fell to one knee.

She screamed. Lancaster fled, and she let him go, running her hand down Eliot’s chest, searching for the wound while trying to hold him up. This wasn’t happening. Eliot hadn’t come back from the dead just to be shot now—he couldn’t—he couldn’t—

“Parker,” Eliot said, loudly, like it wasn’t the first time he’d spoken. He took her hand, holding it still over his heart where she could feel it beating. “I’m okay. He got me in the leg.”

He was still upright, leaning against her with one hand over hers and the other pressed against his thigh. “See?” he said, easing his fingers back to expose the tiny hole above his knee. “Small caliber,” he said, his teeth gritting over the words. “In and out—nothing serious. What the hell kind of fake cowboy dork carries an actual freaking derringer in his sleeve?”

“You’re not—” Parker panted. “You’re not—?”

“I’m fine,” he said firmly. “Something that small is single-shot, low accuracy, low damage. Okay? Come on, we gotta…” He started to stand, biting down on a curse, and Parker eased under his arm to help him to his feet. With a groan, he reached for his belt and unclipped a walkie-talkie. “Nate?” he said. “J.B.? You there?”

“We’re here,” Nate answered. “Speak up—can’t hear you over the alarm.”

Eliot cleared his throat and raised his voice. “Is Hardison out?”

“Yeah, he’s right here.”

“I’ve got Parker,” Eliot said. “Or… she’s got me. Lancaster’s on his way downstairs.”

A new voice came over the radio—J.B., whoever that was. “What happened?”

“He had a derringer,” Eliot growled. “Got me in the leg. I’ll be slow getting out. The bombs in the basement had cellphone detonators; Lancaster will call to set them off as soon as he gets out of the building.”

“We’ll cover the exits,” Nate said. “You and Parker get out of there.”

“Roger.”

Eliot handed her the walkie-talkie and pushed her gently toward the door. “Go. I’ll catch up.”

Parker moved back against his side. “I’m not leaving without you.”

“I’m right behind you,” Eliot said. “But I’ll slow you down. You have to—”

Parker stopped, standing still when he tried to nudge her ahead again. “Either we both go, or we both stay.”

Eliot looked at her, his eyes serious and tired beneath the bruises on his face, and her heart broke all over again at the distress in them. It didn’t make any sense. He was here now, he was safe, and they were getting out together. Why did he want her to leave?

“Please,” he said. Begged. “Please, go. If Lancaster detonates the bombs…”

“I’m not leaving you,” Parker said.

His expression shattered. “I left you.”

“What are you talking about?” she asked, her brows furrowing. “You didn’t—”

“I left you,” he repeated, his voice harsh and raw. “Or I—I left the place I thought you were. I would have left you behind.”

“You mean the LanCast building?” Parker asked. Eliot closed his eyes, and she took advantage of his distraction and eased them forward a step.

He went with her, breathing heavily through his nose. “I thought you were inside,” he said. “And after the explosion, I ran off without you. Okay? I abandoned you, and you should—you should do the same to me. I’m slowing you down.”

“I wasn’t inside,” Parker said.

“But I thought—”

“I wasn’t inside.” Parker clipped the walkie-talkie to her waistband with one hand and glared at him from under her bangs. “I don’t care what you thought. I wasn’t inside. It would have been stupid to go back in, and you probably would have died for real if you had. So I’m glad you left.”

“Parker—”

“No,” she snapped. “You’re saying I should just leave you here because you’re feeling guilty about something that didn’t happen? That’s stupid.”

“I’m not—” he sputtered. “I’m saying you can’t trust me. I should have—”

“Stop it,” Parker said. They’d reached the elevator, but when she pressed the button, nothing happened. Eliot opened his mouth, and she turned them both toward the staircase to cut him off. “He must have disabled the elevator. Come on, we’ll take the stairs.”

“Parker, please—”

She kicked open the stairwell door. Eliot let out a pained grunt as he half-stepped, half-fell forward, but she was having a hard time feeling sorry for him. How could he think she would leave him behind? Especially now? She shifted to take more of his weight and spoke without looking at him. “I thought you were dead. Just—gone forever, no warning, no goodbye. And then you come back, and… Do you know what that feels like?”

“Yes,” he whispered.

“Then why are you trying to get rid of me?”

She tried to say it casually, but it came out just as pathetic and broken as she feared it would—because this was Eliot, and he was supposed to understand her, and—

And she was supposed to understand him, too. She turned her head, listening to his sharp, quiet breaths under the sound of the echoing alarm, taking in his pale face and the whites of his knuckles as he clenched the railing. This wasn’t Eliot in pain.

It was Eliot afraid.

“Why are you trying to get rid of me?” she asked again.

“I don’t want to get rid of you.” He said it softly, breathlessly, like he was trying to hold the words in even as he let them out. “But right now, I can’t—I can’t protect you, and if anything happens—” He inhaled when she moved down a step, his fingers tightening on her sleeve. “You have to get out,” he finished in a weak voice. “I can’t lose you again.”

Parker gripped his arm. Sophie had told her once that Eliot was so good at what he did because he knew how to stay in control when everything around him fell apart. It was the thing that kept him safe… kept all of them safe. It gave him the clarity to do what needed to be done—the hard things, he’d told her once, that the others couldn’t do. Those were the kinds of decisions they made.

The kind of decision he was asking her to make.

“Eliot,” she said. She waited until he looked at her, his jaw clenched in preparation for her refusal, his mouth pressed flat. She stopped and shifted under his arm so she could face him. “If it gets to the point that you need me to leave, I’ll go. But only if you promise that you’ll make it out after me.”

His expression softened, his hold on her shoulder relaxing into something less desperate, and he nodded.

She eased him down another step. “Do you know Lancaster is after actual buried treasure?”

He snorted. “He told me.”

“Hardison found a bunch of audition tapes he made a few years ago,” Parker said. “When he was trying to get into different Westerns. His accent was even worse than it is now.”

Eliot gave a short laugh, and the sound made Parker beam in response.

Everything would be fine now. The certainty sank through her like melted gold after a successful heist-turned-laundering operation—not that she did those anymore—and she let the warmth soothe away the last of her hurt. Lancaster, hidden treasure, bombs... none of it mattered.

Everything was going to be fine.

Eliot’s knee gave out on the last step, but Parker caught him and held him up while he straightened himself on the railing. “When this is over,” she said, readjusting her grip on his shirt. “We’ll watch all of Lancaster’s audition tapes. Hardison will put them up on the screens and you can make your fancy popcorn on the stove, and we’ll mute it so Sophie can do the voices.”

Eliot huffed out a laugh. “They were that bad, huh?”

“Sophie’s a better actor than he is.”

She opened the door to the lobby, measuring the distance between them and the door. They were so close, and Lancaster was nowhere in sight—not in the lobby, and not outside. Floor-to-ceiling windows gave her a clear view of the sidewalk and street, and the only person she could see was a tallish man in a hoodie, with a walkie-talkie clenched in one hand. Eliot’s friend, probably, watching the front exit, which meant Lancaster had to be inside yet.

Eliot hesitated, his body going still as the door closed behind them. “What?” she asked, her attention on the window. She couldn’t see any of the team, so they must be at the other exits around the building. They were so close now, and she wanted to be outside with them, celebrating with them, welcoming Eliot back…

“I don’t know,” he muttered, his eyes searching the room. “Just… something feels off.”

Parker glanced at the desks and cubicles lining the walls. She knew better than to ignore Eliot’s instincts, but they had to keep going. They didn’t have time to backtrack and find a different exit. If they could just get across the floor, get outside, they’d be safe.

She patted his arm. “Come on. We’re almost there.”

She took a step, and he went with her, gaining momentum as they went. They were three-quarters of the way across… halfway… just a little bit more…

A glint of light flashed in her eyes, but she dismissed it as a reflection off a car outside. Then there was a crack, and she was on the ground with Eliot’s arms around her before she registered what had happened.

“Are you hit?” he gasped.

Hit. Bullet. Someone was shooting at them.

“Are you hit?” Eliot repeated, and she could hear the barely-contained panic shredding his words.

She shook her head. Then, because she was lying on her back with Eliot on top of her, and because he was looking back and forth between her and wherever the shot had come from, she said, “No, I’m okay.”

“Behind the desk,” he said. “Go!”

He shot to his feet, stumbling, and she ran in a crouch a step ahead of him. They dove behind the shelter of a thick wooden desk as the next shot shattered a lamp over Eliot’s shoulder.

“Dammit,” he grunted, dropping to the floor with his back against the desk, breathing hard. “We lost the radio.”

Parker felt for her waistband—it must have come off when Eliot tackled her. “What now?” she asked.

Eliot made an effort to control his breathing, but there was a layer of sweat on his face, and his skin was pale. “Lancaster,” he called, lifting his voice so it echoed through the lobby. “The police are on their way by now. It’s over.”

“You think I don’t know that?” Lancaster answered. Parker peeked around the side of the desk to find him, but Eliot pulled her back.

“What do you think they’ll do when they find you shooting at people inside your own building?” he yelled.

“I’m going to jail anyway,” Lancaster said. “My life is over. So I figure I’ve got two choices—waste away in a cell, or go out in a blaze of glory. Butch Cassidy style, right? I couldn’t have planned a better ending.”

Another shot hit the desk, sending file paper confetti raining down around them.

“What do we do?” Parker said. “Wait for the police? If the bombs—”

Eliot looked at her, and she broke off when she read his plan in his eyes.

She almost shook her head. It would be so easy to say no, to pretend not to understand, to insist he find a different way. But it would only be easier for her, and that wasn’t why she’d come.

She took a breath, waiting until she was sure she could speak in an even voice. “You promise?”

His eyes were clear, laying out more than the plan, more than the pain he had stopped trying to hide—and she knew he was reading the same things on her face: all the things they didn’t say, that they didn’t need to say, all right there in the open for anyone to see.

But it was only them, and it would always be them.

Lancaster couldn’t take that away.

“Okay,” Parker whispered.

Eliot shifted to get his feet beneath him, putting his weight on his left leg. “Single shot,” he said, all business again. “It’ll take him five to seven seconds to reload. You’ll have to be quick.”

She smirked. “I can do it in three.”

An answering grin touched his lips, and he angled himself toward the edge of the desk. “You shoulda spent more time at the range,” he said loudly. “And maybe think about using something with a longer barrel if you want to dry-gulch somebody.”

“Hit you once, didn’t I?” Lancaster answered.

“Yeah,” Eliot laughed. “In the leg. You were standing point blank and couldn’t land a shot center mass. Butch Cassidy would be so proud.”

“With my hands tied behind my back,” Lancaster said, an edge in his voice.

“Oh, that explains it,” Eliot said. “They must still be tied.”

He glanced at Parker—one more time, his eyes bright and sharp—before launching himself across the space between them and the next desk. The gun went off.

She ran for the door.

#leverage #parker #eliot spencer #the bushwhack job #leverage fanfic #fanfiction #my fic #I decided I wanted an old west style showdown #and also threw in some more bushwhacking and dry gulching from the man called noon #good ol' louis l'amour standbys #including the “glint of light off the gun barrel warning the mc that someone's about to shoot at them”#I'm leaning heavy on the western tropes here but I'm not sure anyone is going to notice

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