#trust him to be the one to beat the man who almost broke eliot completely.

[pebblesrus]

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

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

here we go

—

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

Eliot stalks after Hardison as he approaches the elevator.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

“Chapman”

“Eliot.”

“Stand down.” 

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

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

[pale-silver-comb]

The Big Bang Job: Counting the Seconds

Very late to the Leverage party but I just finished the show last week and I fell in love with the OT3. The Big Bang job still gives me all the feelings and even though I know there are amazing post-ep fics for this episode out there, I was consumed by the need to write one myself at 4am. Link to the ao3 version if you prefer.

Alec wasn’t surprised to see him. He was used to having Eliot in his space lately, pulling him in slowly, carefully; dinners with him and Parker (cooked by Eliot) turning in to late nights watching old heist movies (narrated by Parker). It was a thing they did.  

Closing the door, he fought the warm, happy feeling that usually came with seeing Eliot here now. He didn’t want it. Not tonight.    

Eliot had lied. Eliot lied and Alec hated that he wasn’t mad, hadn’t been since the moment he saw the look on Eliot’s face when Parker asked him what he did for Moreau. Please, don’t ask me.

Eliot didn’t speak as Alec made his way into the room. He was sitting on the couch, staring at his hands, a blank expression on his face. Something loosened inside Alec at the sight, and he found himself scanning the couch for the blankets he usually kept there. Blankets Alec bought for the three of them to share, when Parker got cold and Eliot made them hot chocolate. It was a thing they did.

The blankets weren’t on the couch though. They had been deliberately moved to the armchair.

Alec didn’t know why but his stomach clenched painfully at the thought.

“You said I risked your life,” Eliot said, breaking the silence. His voice was hoarse and Alec watched as his hair fell further in front of his face as his head sank lower, lower, lower, almost between his legs. It reminded him of the position Nana used to put him in when he had anxiety attacks as a kid.

Alec didn’t know if he was meant to take Eliot’s words as a statement or a question.  "You did," he said, because he was still smarting, just a little. “You did,” he said again, expecting, waiting, for the anger to reach Eliot’s face, for the “dammit, Hardison!”, because he knew Eliot knew that he knew Eliot would do anything to keep this team safe. To keep him and Parker safe. It wasn’t fair to put that on him too.

But the anger didn’t come. Instead, a flash of hurt crossed Eliot’s face. The kind of hurt Alec wasn’t used to seeing on his friend’s face. Alec wondered if Eliot was even aware he let had let the mask slip.

Standing, Eliot slowly walked towards him. His hands were shaking.

"I need you to know-" he said. Stopped. Risked a glance at Alec’s face. “I need you to know-” he tried again, but his voice broke. Completely broke, and Alec…Alec didn’t know what to do with that. For a moment, he just looked at Alec, almost pleading, and whatever he was trying to say, Alec realised it was about to cost Eliot something.

So, he waited. He waited so damn long he was sure Eliot had changed his mind and this was only going to end with Eliot punching something or storming out.

But he didn't. Instead, Eliot eventually murmured "I’d do anything for…” in that soft, gentle voice he sometimes had; the kind he usually reserved for scared kids and the animals Parker liked to visit, and sometimes steal, from the shelter. Except Eliot’s eyes were red and his hands were still shaking and there were no scared kids or wounded animals for him to gentle.

“I was counting the seconds, from the moment you were pushed.”

He stepped closer then, reaching out, but just as quick he snatched his hand back, closing in on himself in a way that, up until now, Alec had only witnessed in Parker.

Alec sucked in a breath. He couldn’t remember the last time Eliot looked unsure about something. Wary, yes. Cautious, always. But being unsure of his next move? That definitely wasn’t a weakness in Eliot’s skillset.

Alec wasn’t proud of himself, but he looked away. This was brand new territory.

"Alec, I-”

Eliot’s voice was wet, hands in fists by his sides, clenching and unclenching, but it was the Alec that got him, made him look back. Made him move closer, but Eliot flinched when he did. Scared.

He sucked in another breath.

He forgot, sometimes, that Eliot was just as vulnerable as Parker. Needed the same gentle hands, even if he tried to pretend he didn’t, and for the first time, Alec could see the cracks Eliot did such a good job of hiding all the time.

I'll never be clean of that.

“I’ll never ask,” Parker interjected, suddenly, perched on the side of the couch like she’d been there all along. It caused Alec to only jump a little. Her voice was loud and determined, her eyes serious and unflinching when Alec looked over at her, but her knees were drawn up. He noticed she was wearing one of his shirts. "I'll never ask. Never. It's done. For always."

Eliot looked at her too then, taking in her face, eyes moving to rest a beat too long on Alec’s shirt.

Huh.

Finally, he nodded, earning him one of Parker’s soft and open smiles. The kind Alec knew she’d been practising lately.

“Make it better,” she said, turning her eyes on Alec. “Make it better like you make it better for me.”

Alec couldn’t help it then. He smiled too, remembering the first time Parker had let Alec kiss her. How much she had struggled to open herself up to him, not because she didn’t want to, but because she didn’t know how to. It had scared her, that openness. Make it better, she had asked him, like she trusted Alec knew how.

“Alec,” Parker huffed, more insistent, and when he looked up, it took him a moment to realise Eliot was crying.

Suddenly, this felt a lot like kissing Parker.

Eliot wouldn’t ask though. Alec knew he wouldn’t.  Instead, he crossed his arms in front of his chest and deliberately didn’t bolt for the door because…because…well, Alec didn’t know why.

Then he looked at Parker, Parker who was now holding the blankets – their blankets – that Eliot had carefully moved, and he understood.

Alec moved on instinct then, catching Eliot’s wrist and pulled him into a hug. Surprisingly, Eliot went willingly. Too willingly, Alec noted, gathering him closer.

“It’s okay, Eliot,” Parker whispered, suddenly beside them. “It’s okay,” like she was trying to give Eliot permission for something, and when a small sob finally escaped him, Alec realised maybe she had.  

Leading them back to the couch, Parker arranged them so she could fit herself around them. Alec expected Eliot to say something then, to growl or push them away as he was typically prone to do when he and Parker tried to get him to sit in the middle on movie nights. But he let Parker in too. Let Alec continue to hold him. It was a heady feeling.  

"You don’t have to," was all he said, a little angry. At himself or them, Alec was past caring.

“Of course we don’t have to, silly.” Parker rolled her eyes.    

“Yeah man,” Alec agreed, heart suddenly beating rabbit fast. They needed to be careful about this. “This ain’t some kind of pity party we’re throwing here. We’re- you’re-” He didn’t know how to say ours yet.

Parker, of course, had no such worry. “You’re our Eliot!” She beamed.

Eliot’s eyes widened at the less-than-subtle implication. He shook his head. “I’m not a good man.”

“That’s okay, neither am I.” She said it matter-of-fact, yet her eyes were soft. “Hardison says that’s okay because we’re good for each other. And we help people now.” She looked at Alec then, then back at Eliot. She shrugged, and they shared a look Alec knew wasn’t meant to be understood by anyone other than ParkerandEliot, before Eliot smiled sadly. 

Carefully, she began to stroke Eliot’s hair, earning her a small glare but he didn’t pull away. It reminded Alec of the way Parker approached the newer strays that were brought into the shelter.

Alec silently agreed, smiling when Eliot slowly began to accept Parker's touch; cautious and, Alec thought, a little hopeful, head hovering just above her shoulder. When it finally fell, Parker grinned at Alec, a gleam in her eye. Alec stared at her, then at Eliot. Eliot, whose eyes had drifted shut, soft and sleepy, content for Parker to continue petting him.

It tightened something in Alec’s chest, seeing that. Made his heart skip a little faster.

The gleam in Parker’s eyes softened into a twinkle. “Bedtime!” she announced, swinging a leg up and over both of them, causing Eliot to grumble and pull Alec closer when it jostled him a little. “I want pancakes when we wake up. Just so you know.”

Eliot snorted but didn’t open his eyes. “Okay, Parker.” Then, more hesitantly, “Hardison?”

“Hm?”

“Do you…want pancakes too?”

Aw, hell.

Throwing caution to the wind, Alec leaned in to plant a kiss on Eliot’s cheek, loud but as sweet as he could, making him blush and Parker giggle. She decided to do it too.

“Yeah, man. Of course I want pancakes. No-one makes pancakes like you.”

Eliot blushed a little more. “Okay,” he whispered, a smile threatening his mouth. Then Parker laughed and threw the blankets over them properly.  

They'd figure out the rest when they were ready.

[rosey-writes]

The Alchemist Tributes: Book One

                                               Questioning

                                              Find a Curiosity 

And I was running late. Shoving the last of the bottles into the bag, I threw it over my shoulder as I raced out the building, bolting through the now deserted streets. I could hear the bell begin to chime and two minutes left. If I missed this and the peacekeepers didn’t kill me, Father would.

Wheezing for breath, I finally broke through the last street, skidding to a stop right by the desk.

It was 11:01.

“I’m sorry, you’re late. Please wait with the peacekeepers-”

“You don’t understand, I just got back from work-”

“You are late. Go wait with the peacekeepers.” The woman stared dead into my eyes. And I knew I was done.

“...my brother’s going up there, please.” I looked twelve, may as well try to take advantage of that.

“We all have someone going up there.” She rose. “If you won’t go willingly, I’ll have them escort you.”

My heart was thudding in my ears. Maybe I wasn’t so ready for Death. Maybe it wasn’t like I thought it would be seeing it on TV oh god I wasn’t ready to die-

“Jewelia, please.” I heard a voice from behind me and...no. No way in hell. “Why don’t we make an exception just this once. They haven’t even started.”

Eros Deamorte was helping me through.

I tried to hide my shock behind my glasses. No, it wasn’t my imagination, it was him, the fire red hair, jade eyes, an older, sharper version of his dullard son.

The woman’s face paled, and immediately she takes my hand, pricking the needle and smushing it against the paper, probably much harder than necessary, but I wasn’t pushing my luck. When I got it back, I put it in my pocket, looking back to...I still couldn’t believe I’m speaking to Eros Deamorte. “Thank you.”

“It’s no problem, sweetheart.” Eros smiled, slinging an arm around my shoulders. “I’m sure you’ll want a front row seat for this one.”

“Huh?”

“Your brother; we all know he’s going this year.”

Something about his tone seemed off. But maybe it was my paranoia. “Right.”

“But hey, can I ask you to deliver a message to the future tribute?”

Well, I wasn’t planning on visiting Illias before he went, but I did owe this guy now. Not a good thing, owing things to a Deamorte. “Of course.”

“Win for us. We’ll need a good mentor next year.”

What? “Why for nex-”

“Oh, look, the ceremony starting.” Eros pats my head, pushing me in with the fifteen year olds. “Good luck, Swift. May the odds be ever in your favor.” With a wink and a twirl, the sprout of red hair bobbed off into the crowd.

While I couldn’t see any of my brothers, I could feel their glare, Father too somewhere with the adults. Most of the other kids were staring at me too now. Wonderful. Clearing my throat, I stood up straighter, a bored expression stitched onto my face.

Before anyone could comment, a flash of smoke boomed onto the stage, and standing in the middle of it, decked head to toe in golds and diamonds, stood the one, the only person dumber than Fiyero and Illias, “Ammolite Gold, everybody! Come on, put your hands up!”

In most districts, the mayor is the one does this part, the song and dance about the dark days. But most districts don’t have Ammolite for an escort. He annoys me. I believe he annoys everybody, though most people are subtler about it. He’s loud, obnoxious, and, above all else, Capitol.

“Alright, so.” He flashed that golden grin of his. And by golden, I mean he spray painted his teeth gold. “Why don’t we get this show on the road? Play the clip!”

War, terrible war- and that’s where I zone out. The reel plays, I yawn, managing to spot the rest of my brothers. Illias was standing very front and center of the eighteen year olds, Bravon further back with the seventeens, and Satin was practically curled up mixed among the sixteens. Honestly, sometimes I feel Satin is just me without the willpower to tell dad he’s an idiot.

Our mentors for this year were up on stage as well, Lamar and Glitta. Far from the most embarrassing ones, I suppose: Lamar quiet and dignified, Glitta cocky and obnoxious but with enough sense to tone it down for on camera. I’ve known both most my life, being neighbors and all, though I never spent much time talking to either - minus telling Glitta if she lets her brats break into my room again, she wouldn't have them anymore.

Finally, the video came to an end, and Ammulite clapped, standing center stage. “Alright, now for the fun part. We’ve got an special surprise this time around!” With that, he pulled a golden envelope from his coat. I have no doubt that he based his entire outfit around the paper. “Welcome to... the Quarter Quell! It’s gonna be a good one, the Capitol came up with it, like, last week. Pretty sweet, right?” Then, he paused, putting a hand to his ear. “Oh. Uh, I mean, they came up with it when the games first started. Yeah. Totally not a rush job.”

Moron.

“But yeah, so, let’s see what we’ve got!” With that, he cut open the top with one of his long, sharpened nails, clearing his throat. “On this - wait, scratch that - on the 100th anniversary, as a reminder to the rebels that they forced their children into turning on their brethren, they shall choose among themselves who will represent them. Wait a second, this wasn’t on th-" I could see his lips still moving, but the mic was shut.

Really? Doesn’t seem like much of an extra punishment. Maybe for those kids out in 12 who aren’t swimming in volunteers, but here? Illias is still going in. They’re practically vote-ins already. When the name is picked, the mentor chooses from the pool of volunteers, or can just discard the volunteers altogether. Everyone’s just going to vote for Illias and Amazonia.

Ammolite was still talking, mic back on, about what, who cares, “Capitol says you could just use this to send your best, or you could get rid of someone you don’t like, do whatever, man,” as the peacekeepers pass around the tablets.

Illias turned back, glaring at me from his spot, mouthing put me, or else. Well. Now I’m tempted to not to, just out of spite. Whatever, It’s his life, not mine. I typed Amazonia’s name in first, her picture flashing at the top with a is this correct? Dark black hair, creepily green eyes and a smile that says ‘I eat souls for a pastime’. Yeah, that’s her. I admit, I hesitated a moment with Illias. Should I? I mean, I trust him, I suppose, I know he’s ready but...there’s twenty three other kids in there, and at least five as well trained as him… Not that I cared if he died, of course, because I don’t. With a huff, I typed in his name, passing off the tablet. Whatever, it’s not like my vote would make a difference anyway.

Within ten minutes, everyone had cast their vote, and Ammulite came back onto the stage. “Now it’s time for the fun part.” Another puff of smoke, and two balls appeared on the stage, each containing only one piece of paper. Why bother when there’s only one? No clue. I chalk it up to cyanide in the Capitol water supply, killing off brain cells.

“Now, let’s hear one for the ladies.” He sent a wink to the audience, more than a few girls letting out a dreamy sigh, as he reached into the bowl. There was a drum beat, somewhere, before he plucked it out. “Welcome onto the stage… Amazonia Rhode!”

The crowd went wild. I didn’t bother. She marched up the stage, trained soldier she was, taking Ammulite’s hand and holding it up in victory, as he kissed her cheek. Yeah, that surprised nobody.

“And now, onto the boys.” Another pointless drum beat. “Hey, we’ve got another Swift going up this year, sweet!” What a shocker. “Saw reruns of your dad the other week, ripping a guy’s lungs out, awesome.” Gross. “But, yeah, so, everyone, put your hands together for, Eliot Swift!”

Whatever, at least it’ll get him out of the hous- wait, what?

“Eliot Swift, come on up!”

No. No, no they had to have the wrong name in there, it’s not possible, I’m the only Swift who didn’t want to enter the games, no way it would be me. Illias was glaring daggers at me, and I heard laughter from every corner.

No, no, this was not- “Excuse me,” I spoke in a calm, collected voice because I’m not a savage and more importantly there’s no way they voted for me. “There must be a mistake, I believe you’re looking for Illias Swift.”

Ammulite on the stage took another glance at the paper, long and hard. Good, so it must have been a smudged letter. “No, I’m pretty sure it’s Eliot on here.”

…“No.”

“Uh, what do you mean, no-”

“No, it is not my name, it is Illias’s, why, what, who would have voted for me? Did anyone here vote for me?” Almost every single person raised their hand, with the exception of my brothers.

Really? Really? I could hear the jeers and laughter as I was pushed to the front, helped along by peacekeepers and the other teenagers that until now, I held mild contempt for, but now, now I swear they’ll pay.

As I passed the seventeen year olds, I saw him there, that infuriating puff of red hair, giving me that sickeningly sweet grin. “No one’s volunteering.” Sadist. I used to mean it sarcastically, but not anymore.

And so, I stood upon that stage, a shitty star against the sea of smiling faces, the girl next to me licking her lips like she’d found her first meal, mouthing ‘you’re first’. We shook hands, she crushed mine, I think actually broke it, but at this point, I was too high on rage to even notice.

Just my fucking luck.

Finally, Ammulite asked if we had any final words. I blacked out, brain turned off, running on complete autopilot, mind in the furthest reaches of the stem. Without permission from the control room, my hand took the microphone, tapped on it once, and used my kindest, sweetest voice. “I am going to win. Not because I want to bring glory, not because I want to live, but just so I can come back here and slice the smile off of every one of your petty, pathetic little faces. Fuck you, see you all in hell.”

I dropped the mic. On my foot. And squeaked in pain.

This was going well.