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onomatopoetic101999 · 3 months ago

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Regrets

Eliot Spencer x reader

Set during and after The Studio Job (S:3, E:6)

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The men Kirkwood hired to intimidate Nate had noticed you were with him and brought you along by force. They were tall - taller than Nate, and definitely taller than you. At first, you aren’t worried. Eliot would come to save you both in just a few seconds. But then, a minute passes of Nate quietly calling him with no answer. You whisper your own plea of his name, but nothing comes back. You aren’t worried about him being hurt - nobody had a reason to hurt him. No, if he wasn’t answering, it was because he had taken his earpiece out. But why…?

As the men tie you and Nate to the chairs they (forcefully) sat you in, you try to fight the sinking feeling in your stomach. That singer, your client. Kaye… something? She had been eyeing up Eliot since you had first met her. Surely he wouldn’t… not on a job…

Your thoughts are interrupted by a pained wheeze on your left, brought on by a powerful punch to Nate’s stomach. You cry out at them to stop, barely remembering to keep your southern accent intact, but the men just laugh at you. One even goes so far as to backhand you for talking too loudly. He has a ring on, and the power of the blow and the sting of the cut it slices through your cheek makes you gasp as your head is whipped to the side. The man then grabs your chin, turning it so you have to look him in the eyes.

“I said ‘keep quiet’ Sweetheart.”

Where Eliot’s “Sweetheart” always gives you a sort of warm, fuzzy feeling, this man saying it chills your blood. You glare up at him with watering eyes. Distantly, you hear Eliot’s urgent voice in your ear saying, “hang on!” but it barely registers.

Before you can fire back, probably just to receive more punishment, Nate pipes up.

“C’mon, y’all. That’s no way to treat a lady,” he lets out a wheezing laugh, “it’s me you’re trying to ‘convince’ ain’t it?”

When they shift their attention back on him, he smiles easily, playing up his confidence.

“Besides, which one of y’all would be getting the most money out of this anyway? Kirkwood doesn’t pay well from what I hear.”

The men pause and look at each other and, amazingly, begin to argue. The argument turns to blows, and before long, they both are knocked out.

You turn to Nate, amazed.

“How did you know that would work?”

Nate winks.

“I didn’t.”

Just then, the door bursts open, revealing Hardison, Parker, Sophie, and Eliot. The others run straight for Nate, and Eliot beelines it for you. He skips untying you by cutting the rope with a pocket knife before sinking to his knees in front of you. He hovers his hands around your face, eyes locked on the angry, red line that you can feel dripping blood down your cheek. You narrow your eyes when they meet his, and don’t bother to hide the tears leaving them.

He opens his mouth to say something, but you cut him off.

“Where were you? Actually, you know what?” You stand abruptly and turn to help the others with Nate.

“I don’t even want to know.”

“Sweetheart, I…”

You ignore him, straightening your clothes and swiftly walking out the door.

-------

The rest of the job is tense. Eliot clearly feels some kind of responsibility to this woman (Kaye Lynn, you learn she is called). He is furious when he finds out about Kirkwood stealing the song to perform, and he is determined to fix it for her.

He tries multiple times throughout to talk to you, to apologize, but you give him the cold shoulder. How dare he. How dare he! After flirting with you for months. You knew he was a player, you knew he got around, but this? Sleeping with a client on the job? Letting Nate and you get hurt?

…

Honestly, you should have seen it coming. Kaye Lynn was perfect; she was petite, talented, cute - everything you weren’t. Where Kaye Lynn had to look up to meet Eliot’s eyes, you could meet them head on. Where picking Kaye Lynn up would be a breeze, picking you up would take effort. You weren’t ashamed of your height, quite the opposite, but you hated when men saw it as a hindrance to your looks. You’d thought that Eliot was… well, it doesn’t matter what you’d thought. You had been wrong, clearly.

It isn’t until after the con that you speak to him again. In truth, it’s Hardison who convinces you, though you know he would take that to his grave.

You’re in the kitchen of the office/apartment, cleaning and reapplying a bandage to your cut, when he and Eliot walk in. They’re laughing and talking as they enter, but Eliot’s smile dies when he sees what you’re doing. He comes around the island to your side, sitting down next to you heavily.

“Sweetheart, I’m so-”

You stand and grab your mirror before collecting your excess bandages and heading out the door.

You hear Eliot sigh as you leave, but you don’t turn around. You don’t even realize Hardison has followed you until you’re sitting in the poker room, and he takes a seat next to you.

“He really is sorry, you know.”

At this, you frown.

“Is he? He seemed pretty content while Kaye Lynn was still around. Honestly, sleeping with a client in the middle of a job?”

Hardison nods in agreement.

“I know, he was completely in the wrong. He let you get hurt, and worse,” He puts a hand on yours to stop what you’re doing and make you focus on him, “He hurt you. In more ways than one.”

At your narrowed eyes, he smiles wryly.

“C’mon. You really thought nobody would notice? You’ve been head over heels since you joined, Girlie.”

You sigh in defeat and nod, tears coming to your eyes now that it’s been said out loud. You love him. You’re in love with him, and he let you get hurt because he was distracted with screwing another woman.

You lay your head in your crossed arms and let out your anguish in a long sigh. Hardison places a comforting hand on your back, rubbing back and forth until you’re all cried out. You sit back up, and Hardison hands you a tissue.

“I get it, Girlie, really I do. You think it doesn’t hurt every time Parker doesn’t…” he sighs. “These kinds of things take time.”

You look at him and nod in consolation.

“He shouldn’t have done what he did, and I am not saying you should give him a free pass. I guess,” he rubs a hand over his head, “I guess I’m just saying give him a chance to explain himself. If his excuses are crap, by all means, keep ignoring him, but girl.” He shakes his head this time, frowning at you. “He is miserable. Absolutely miserable. Like, ‘I don’t think I’ll ever be happy again’ miserable.”

Somehow, you don’t doubt that. You’ve never doubted that Eliot cares for you; he cares about the whole team, despite how he tries to hide it. No, you just know he doesn’t care enough. Not enough to go further than just flirting, and not enough to think of you when another woman was in front of him.

You sigh. It’s not his fault he doesn’t like you the same way. He could have paid better attention, sure, but you can’t keep hating him forever. If you’re honest with yourself, you never did hate him.

“Fine.”

Hardison gives the air a fist bump before standing up. Before he leaves, he leans down to you.

“Don’t tell him I said any of that, okay? I don’t want his head to get bigger than it already is.”

You offer a soft laugh.

“Don’t worry, your secret is safe with me.”

—------

The next time you see Eliot, you’re thankful you’re alone. You’re doing research on the next con when he comes into the office. You take a deep breath when you see him, and you try to look past the immediate anger you feel. He looks… tired. And exactly as Hardison said: miserable. There are dark circles under his eyes, and when he sees you his eyes light up momentarily before growing dim again. He takes a hesitant step towards you when he, too, notices you’re alone.

“Sw-” he stops, and begins again, this time with your name.

The change makes your heart ache.

“I’m sorry.” he pauses, and when you stay put, just looking at him, he stumbles the rest of the way forward to take your hand in his.

“I am so sorry I let that happen to you. I don’t know what I was thinking. I was exhilarated from performing and I needed to get y-” he cuts himself off again, “you don’t need my excuses. ” he raises a hand to gently run a finger along your cut and he winces as if he can feel it himself.

“Would,” he pauses, as if hesitant to ask, “would you tell me what happened?”

You nod, and tell him the whole story. When you mention the man called you “Sweetheart” after slapping you, his eyes grow dark, as if he’s planning every way he could go back and murder him.

He rubs his thumb along the back of your hand, and lets the hand on your face turn to cup your cheek.

“I will never, ever stop apologizing for what I let them do.”

You shake your head.

“You’ve been apologizing for weeks, El.”

“It’s not enough.”

You sigh, deciding now is as good a time as any to tell him how you felt. Maybe, if he’s still in the throes of guilt, he’ll let you down gently, though in the back of your mind you know he’ll do that anyway.

“That wasn’t… that wasn’t the only reason I was upset.”

Eliot’s frown deepens.

“I was upset because you were sleeping with her while I was getting hurt.”

He sighs, ”I didn’t know you were-”

“I was upset that you were sleeping with her at all.”

At that he stops and looks at you for a moment. Really looks at you. He takes in your tired eyes, your flushed face, your frowning mouth, your tensed posture… He looks, realizes, and frowns deeply. Your heart sinks.

“I know, I know I have no right to be upset about that.” You raise your hands in surrender and stand to take a step back, “and I know you don’t feel the same way, I just-”

He stands up immediately at that, and follows you step for step until you’re backed against the wall. He shakes his head, still frowning, and reaches forward to place a hand beside your head.

“‘You know I don’t feel the same way’?” he groans your name to the ceiling before looking back into your eyes, “I cannot believe how royally I screwed all of this up…”

You shake your head in confusion.

“I don’t…”

He leans in, then, presses the smallest of kisses against the side of your mouth.

“Sweetheart, I slept with her to get over you.”

At your shocked face, he sighs again.

“I know that’s a terrible reason, but it's the truth. The entire time I was up there singing, I was thinking of you. Of your voice and your smile and your beautiful mind. Of how if and when we all go our separate ways, you will be who I miss the most. Who I’ll be thinking of for the rest of my life.”

“You’ve- this whole-” You push on his shoulders a bit, but he doesn’t budge.

“This whole time?!” You shove again, but it’s like shoving a brick wall. In fact, it seems to urge him closer, leaning in to press a hesitant kiss to the side of your neck.

“I know,” he whispers and presses kisses beneath your ear when you don’t stop him, “I know, I’m sorry, Sweetheart.”

“I can’t believe you would…” your voice trails off when his arms wrap around your back to pull you closer, still mouthing along your neck and shoulder.

“Honey, I can’t tell you how sorry I am.” His voice is still soft, you feel the vibrations of it against your skin, and it sends shivers down your body that you know he can feel in return.

He leans back, then, and waits until your eyes open before continuing.

“She meant nothing to me. I know men say that a lot, but it's true. I lo- well.” he pulls you closer again to bury his head against your neck, this time out of embarrassment. You give a small laugh, and reach up to run a hand through his hair.

“You…?” you’re half teasing him now, but you need to hear him say it.

You feel more than hear him take a deep breath then lean back again to look you in the eyes.

“I love you, Sweetheart.”

You beam.

“I love you too, Eliot.”

#magsspeaks #magsscreamsintothevoid #fic rec #ficrec #magsrecs #magswrites #eliot spencer #eliot leverage #eliot spencer x reader #Alec Hardison #hardison x parker #nate ford

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01rocketboy01 · 7 days ago

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I need to write for Leverage because I can’t take the lack of fanfics anymore it’s gonna drive me insane so if anyone has any ideas let me know

#leverage #leverage x gn reader #nate ford #sophie devereaux #parker leverage #alec hardison #eliot spencer #breanna casey #harry wilson #leverage redemption

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fablesrose · 2 months ago

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Ch 23 - The Double Blind Job

Series Rewrite Masterlist

Pairing: Eliot Spencer x Ford!Reader

Description: A job in the pharmaceutical industry hits a little too close to home as a dangerous drug is about to hit the market.

Words: 7.8k

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“Hey, Eliot and I are walking past the pub heading to that cafe a couple blocks down, you wanna come?” Hardison asked when I picked up the phone.

I looked down at the outfit I was wearing and figured it was clean looking enough to step outside into public in, “sure, see you in a minute.”

When I got down to the street, Eliot and Hardison were just walking up. It looked like Eliot had a similar idea to me, riding the line of comfy and presentable. Hardison looked a little more dressed up with a scarf.

“What are you, a hipster in Portland?” I asked when I saw his outfit.

“That’s what I said,” Eliot huffed.

“I just have style,” Hardison said, “It’s not my fault you look like a bum next to me.”

“Hey!” Eliot and I said at the same time.

Hardison quickly corrected himself, “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that. Y/n, you look nice.”

I laughed at the clear exclusion and Eliot punching him in the arm.

“Ow!”

They started bickering, so before it could escalate, I wedged myself between them, putting them on either side of me and wrapped my arms around them, forcing them to continue to walk towards the cafe. “Come on, boys, I think we all need a little treat this morning.”

The rest of the walk went by without much incident. Once we got to the cafe Eliot opened the door, Hardison went in ahead of me and as I passed Eliot, he placed his hand on my lower back as he followed me into the building. He kept his hand there, though it was almost hovering, as Hardison ordered in front of us. I ordered, and when I had finally pulled out my wallet to pay, the cashier was already handing a receipt to Eliot. I looked between the receipt and Eliot, finally pulling it out of his hand to see that it had my drink and his on it.

“Eliot,” I almost whined.

“Yes, sweetheart?” He looked at me innocently, a smile on his face.

“You didn’t have to do that,” I insisted, feeling my face warm from the moniker.

His smile widened, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He then handed me my drink from where the barista had slid it over the counter to us. He then turned to add sugar and cream to his coffee before we joined Hardison who was standing away from the counter with a pastry.

“Thank you,” I whispered, taking a sip before we reached him.

Eliot just hummed.

“We staying or going?” I asked once we all stood together.

“We can head back, there’s something I want to check,” Hardison said, “but I’m almost done, let me just finish this.”

I watched as he took two more bites, finishing the pastry before throwing away the wrapper.

“Already?” I asked, “Do you not savor anything?” I took a gulp of my drink, feeling like I needed to catch up.

“Not today,” he replied, “It was too good to wait.” He took a napkin and wiped his face before tossing that too, “alright, ready to go?”

I looked at Eliot who rolled his eyes as he took a drink.

“I mean, I guess,” I said.

“Cool.”

Hardison led the way with Eliot and I right behind him when as we stepped onto the sidewalk, a woman ran into Harison, who then bumped into me. My drink spilled all over me and Eliot who stood beside me.

“Sorry,” I winced, and then turned to see who had bumped into us.

“FBI, sir,” two men came running up to us, flashing a badge that didn’t look right. “That young lady is in our custody,” he said, pointing at the woman who had run into us and Hardison was currently holding.

Hardison laughed, “Oh, you made two mistakes, bruv… First, you flashed that fake-ass FBI badge at me. Second, you spilled her drink.” Hardison then pointed at me and Eliot, who was looking over the damage. Eliot then tossed what was remaining of his coffee behind him and ran to beat up the two fake agents.

The three of us: Hardison, this mystery woman, and I, all watched as Eliot beat them to a pulp before joining us to head back to the pub. The woman told us along the way that her name was Ashley and that she was just sitting there at a different cafe down the block when a man approached her, offering information about the drug trial her sister was part of. The drug trial that led to her sister’s death. When she had turned her back to take a call, he had disappeared, but she noticed those two men watching her across the street. When she had tried to walk away they had started to chase her down, and that's when she ran into us. Super suspicious, sounded like our kind of thing.

“Alright, I’m gonna go change,” I said once we reached the pub.

“I’m gonna head home and change, too,” Eliot said, looking over his stained shirt, not only from my drink, but from the fake agents too.

“Sounds good, see you in a bit,” I told him as he walked down the street to where I assumed he had parked.

“Why don’t you go into the pub, I’ll go tell Nate to meet you down there,” I told Hardison.

“Can you tell him to bring my laptop down too?” he asked as he descended the stairs with Ashley.

“Sure.”

I did as we discussed, telling Nate to get downstairs with the laptop, and then went to change. I decided after I stripped down that I still felt gross, so I took a quick shower before putting on the clean clothes. They were a little nicer than my previous ones, figuring that if this was indeed a job, that I might need to look more publicly presentable.

When I had gotten myself all straightened out Hardison called to confirm my suspicions. Eliot was going to come pick me up to head over to Dr. Robert’s house. Apparently this was the man that Ashley had spoken to at the cafe.

“Hey sweetheart,” Eliot said as I hopped in his truck.

“Hey,” I mirrored, noticing that he had dressed up a little bit too. “Nice gloves,” were the only thing I commented on.

He smiled a bit as we drove, his grip on the wheel tightening though the leather gloves he was now wearing.

We pulled up to the address Hardison sent us and walked up to the Doctor’s apartment. Eliot knocked on the door while I called his name. We waited for a moment to listen for any movement inside, but it was quiet. Eliot tried the handle and it didn’t budge.

“Door’s locked and no one’s answering,” he said.

“Alright, see if you can break in, but be subtle,” Nate answered through comms.

Eliot and I exchanged a look.

“Yeah, yeah,” he muttered before kicking the door in with one blow.

“Real subtle,” I teased.

“You didn’t seem to have any ideas,” Eliot defended as we walked into the room. “Did you have a lock pick set on you?”

“Don’t tell Parker,” I replied, pretty much confirming that I didn’t.

Eliot called Dr. Robert’s name again while we walked further into the room. When there wasn’t an answer, I walked up to the table and picked up a set of keys.

“Does Dr. Robert’s drive a BMW?” I asked, looking at the key fob.

“Pretty small apartment for one of those,” Eliot commented, looking around the room further.

“He doesn’t drive a BMW, he drives a moped,” Hardison answered.

I hummed, thinking, and examined the key fob further. There was a seam in an odd place for just a decorative item. After some fiddling, it parted into two pieces, showing one side was a cap.

“It’s a flash drive,” I said.

“Plug it into Eliot’s phone,” Hardison said.

I momentarily wondered why my phone wouldn’t work, but didn’t vocally express it. Eliot tossed his phone to me from across the room. I fumbled it for a moment before catching it into my chest. I finally plugged the drive into the port, “is it working?”

“Okay, according to these files Dr. Roberts was meeting with, uh, Darren Hoffman,” Hardison said. “Now Hoffman was trying to buy something from him for… Two hundred thousand dollars.”

“Sounds like a bribe,” Nate said.

“To buy his silence maybe,” I added.

“There’s nothing in his account that shows up that big,” Hardison countered, “if it was a bribe, he didn’t take it.”

“We’ve gotta figure out who this Hoffman guy is,” Nate said.

I took the opportunity to slide Eliot’s phone, still plugged into the drive into my pocket so I could continue to explore the apartment.

Hardison pulled up information on Hoffman. He was the CEO of PallaGen labs, who bought the company that was doing Ashley’s sister’s drug trial. Hoffman was a career executive, jumping from CEO position to CEO position with little to no background in any of the fields he was the executive for.

I was about to turn a corner in the apartment when Eliot called out.

“I found Dr. Roberts. Y/n, don’t come in here.”

I paused. “Is he dead?”

“Yeah.”

“Is he gruesomely dead?”

Eliot paused for a couple of seconds. “No.”

I walked into the room to see the doctor curled up on the couch, looking pale and almost peaceful, but very dead.

“They made it look like a heart attack,” he said.

“What do you mean, made it look?” Nate asked.

Eliot started examining the body, starting at the face, “Well, there’s nine places that a professional will use to deliver an injection.” He had to pry the doctor’s arm up from his chest and pry his fingers up from their clenched position. “They went under the fingernail.” Eliot let the arm go to settle back to its original position, “your Dr. Roberts was murdered.”

I sighed, looking at the body, not sure how to feel. It’s not the first dead body I’ve seen, but the others were nothing like this. I could feel Eliot’s eyes on me, evaluating me. He seemed to determine that I wasn’t going to start crying or puke, so continued to survey the room, checking the doctor’s pockets and drawers for anything useful.

Sophie and Parker then joined the conversation saying that they had found the people Nate had sent them looking for, Parker listing off a substantial list of names.

“Okay, who have you talked to so far?” Nate asked.

“Well, that’s not really an option,” Sophie replied. “They’re all dead.”

That made Eliot pause again as the air started to feel heavier. It’s not everyday or every job where we have had evidence of the widespread impact of our marks, with a solid paper trail of just how many have already died. Usually its financial, or reputational ruin, or one or two deaths with the potential to save many more. I can’t remember a job that started with a death count this high.

This job wasn’t going to be a fix-it job. This was going to be an avengement.

Eliot and I did a little more searching of the apartment, but didn’t find anything else. I confirmed that Hardison had everything from the flashdrive before pulling it out of my pocket. I wiped off any fingerprints I may have left on it with my shirt and left the key ring on the table where I found it. I silently handed Eliot his phone back as he escorted me out of the apartment, his hand hovering on my lower back, much like it was this morning. It didn’t feel like the same day, though.

Eliot pulled the front door closed, making sure it didn’t swing open freely, even though he broke it down. We then walked silently back to his truck where the drive back to the pub was also silent. We seemed to wordlessly agree that we could pick this all back up tomorrow. It was probably for my sake. The more I thought about it, it probably didn’t bother Eliot as much as it did me. I couldn’t pin point quite what I was feeling, which made it that much harder to process.

I told Nate and Sophie I was turning in for the night, the both of them were staying up for a little while to do some research and planning.

I kept turning the day over in my mind. What triggered the feeling? Why is it lingering so much? Is it just the death, or the fact that a medical company is doing it? Maybe both. Eventually I digested it enough to fall asleep.

I woke up the next morning still in a bit of a funk, but feeling a lot better than the day before. I headed down to the poker room where Hardison had set up. Nate, Ashley, Hardison, and Parker were already there.

“How’re you feeling?” Nate asked once I walked in.

“Not quite myself,” I answered honestly. “But I can do whatever you need.”

Nate hummed, looking over some paperwork, “Just relax for now, I’ll let you know if we need an extra man on this one.”

I nodded, somewhat relieved, and sat at the table.

Nate and Hardison started explaining the plan. Parker was going to break into Hoffman’s office to find out what Dr. Roberts had on him. Her cover was going to be a pharmaceutical rep in training, previously a cheerleader and runner up beauty queen, to fit in with the other reps.

“Beauty queen?” Parker asked skeptically.

“Oh yeah, nice touch right?” Hardison said. “That was Ashley’s idea.” Hardison smiled, giving Ashley a fist bump while handing over Parker’s name badge which she took tersely.

Nate moved onto Sophie’s part, getting close to Hoffman so he would go to her when we rattle his cage and scare him. In order for that to happen with Hoffman’s busy schedule with a new drug launch, we had to steal an appointment with a Jennifer Pearson, an FDA rep.

“I’m sorry,” Ashley interjected, “how will you keep the real Jennifer Pearson from showing up?”

Nate looked at me for a hard moment, thinking, before replying, “Eliot can do that.”

Hardison called Eliot to give him a head start on getting ready and Parker pulled me aside while he was distracted.

“I need you to do something for me,” Parker said seriously.

I blinked, “Okay?”

“I need you to keep an eye on her,” she said with a sharp tilt of her head to point at Ashley.

I glanced at Ashley who was smiling at Hardison, “What am I watching for?”

“I don’t know, anything suspicious!” she whispered. “Please?”

I looked between the three of them: Hardison, Ashley, and Parker, starting to get a sneaking suspicion of what was going on here. I felt a smile twitch at my lips, “Maybe specifically between Ashley and Hardison?”

Parker’s jaw clenched and she didn’t meet my eyes.

I let myself smile softly before placing my hand on her shoulder, sympathy coursing through me. I knew the feeling. “Yeah, I can do that.”

Parker finally met my eyes again. Her body seemed to relax just a hair before she nodded at me in thanks and left to get ready herself.

Then it was just a waiting game for a little while. Waiting for Parker’s check in time, for Sophie’s stolen appointment time, for the real Ms. Pearson to show up. Hardison did a little bit of prep work, but most of the time was filled with talking. Between Ashley and Hardison specifically. Nate was mostly staring at the screens and some paperwork, lost in his own head. Ashley and Hardison pulled me into the conversation a time or two, but stayed mostly focused on each other. I had to give it to Parker, they were being a little friendlier than I would like if I was in her shoes. Which I guess I have been a couple of times. I think she was handling it relatively well.

Which, I did try to help her out, every time they started to go down a rabbit hole and start talking to each other closer and closer, I would gently try to add something to the conversation, making sure they were still in the real world and maybe not so close together. To their credit, it didn’t seem to bother them too much, so I didn’t feel bad being a horrible wingman for Hardison. Ya know, the whole “gals before pals” routine.

And then, just like that it was rapid fire of our team heading into the belly of the beast: Pallagen. First, Parker checked in with her pharmaceutical rep team. Then Eliot was there to intercept Ms. Pearson, offering to show her around to keep her busy. Sophie then swooped in to take her appointment with Hoffman.

We had the comms tuned to Sophie’s conversation. She had an air of flirtation, catching Hoffman’s attention.

“I’m sorry, I’ve just heard so many amazing things about this company, and… and the man that runs it,” she said once introductions were made.

“Well, you know… Can’t believe everything you hear,” he replied in cool humility.

“I’m sure in this case, I can,” Sophie doubled down. “I know that you must be very busy, but I was hoping you might show me around.” She placed down a file with a smack that we could hear through the comms, it must be the paperwork the real Ms. Pearson came to sign. “I have to discuss the possibility of doing some consulting for you.”

“I’d be honored.”

“Consulting is code for bribe,” Nate explained simply.

The three of us turned to look at him.

“Yeah, doctors who review drugs for the FDA are allowed by law to take consulting fees from the drug companies,” Nate continued.

I wasn’t super familiar with the practice, but I had heard of it. Hardison seemed to know more about it as he added onto Nate’s explanation to Ashley, who seemed the most in the dark. “See, it’s fifty thousand to each doctor on the FDA panel; two hundred thousand to the director of the New York Medical School to speak at the Pain Awareness Institute; and then twenty-five thousand to each celebrity who attends the annual dinner at the institute.”

“That’s a lot of money,” I said, mostly to myself.

“What’s the Pain Awareness Institute?” Ashley asked.

“It’s a foundation founded by Hoffman and PallaGen to, uh, legally funnel bribes,” Nate answered.

“This is legal?” Ashley asked in disbelief.

“Unfortunately,” I answered.

“We’re in the wrong business, man,” Hardison smiled at Nate and then me.

I cracked a smile and a huff at the joke, but Nate didn’t acknowledge it, moving on with the con.

“Parker, Sophie’s cleaning out Hoffman. Get in position.”

Sophie gave an all clear, meaning Hoffman was out of his office and she had planted a device on his digital door lock to keep it open. We then proceeded to listen as Parker used her awkwardness to her advantage for a full minute (though I’m sure it felt like a lot longer to everyone else) to get out of a sales role play exercise.

Once she got into Hoffman’s office, she sent Hardison all of the files on Hoffman’s computer.

“Locked file on a locked workstation,” Hardison said, picking out the file almost instantly. “I smell secrets… Oh, 256-bit A.E.S. encryption? Adorable.”

The file opened up with ease with multiple documents popping up on the screens.

“Wait, hold on,” Nate said, pointing at one document in particular, “this right here, make that bigger.”

Hardison obliged, blowing up a page that showed the chemical composition of Vioplex, the new drug Hoffman was launching. Nate sorted through some pages on the table until he pulled another chemical composition diagram. He walked up to the big screen, comparing the two diagrams.

“It’s identical,” he concluded.

“It’s HT1,” Ashley said, “I’ve spent three years learning everything I could about the drug that killed my sister. That is HT1.”

“Okay, so I thought Roberts made a connection between HT1 and Hoffman, but no, it's between HT1 and Vioplex,” Nate said. “So Hoffman is going to release HT1 as Vioplex… And a lot of people are going to die.”

The weight I had been feeling since yesterday just became even heavier on my chest. Now there was even more at risk.

Ashley did some more studying of the chemical compounds of the two drugs, telling us that they were the same drug, but Vioplex had a few time released protein inhibitors that would hide the symptoms and delay liver failure from months to years.

“No, he can’t get away with this, no,” Hardison said after Nate looked over all of Hoffman’s bribes in order to push this drug through.

“Listen, the FDA gets five hundred thousand complaints every year about bad side effects. By the time anybody figures out what’s going on, Hoffman will be long gone to his next CEO gig,” Nate explained.

“So he’ll never be held accountable for the people he killed,” Ashley concluded.

“That’s right, we need physical evidence that HT1 and Vioplex are the same thing,” Nate said. “We need the HT1 vials.”

“You think they still have them?” Ashley asked.

“Does any company or person over thirty five you know not have tax and other quote on quote ‘important’ documents on hand dating five to ten years back?” I asked rhetorically.

Ashley blinked at me.

I looked at Hardison in disbelief, hoping that he would agree with me. He gave me a pained frown and a nod telling me that he got me.

“Yeah, drug companies keep samples of everything,” Nate answered her more directly.

“They’ve still got vials of smallpox in over a dozen countries,” Hardison added.

“Do I wanna know what countries?” Ashley asked.

Hardison and I both shook our heads no.

What this all meant though, was that our con just got more complicated. Nate instructed Parker to try and find anything on where the vials were stored and Eliot had to keep Ms. Pearson around until we could get her the HT1 vials.

“Dude, she’s on a flight in two hours,” Eliot whispered, emphasizing the conflict of the situation.

“Well, do not let her get on the plane,” Nate replied while exiting the poker room to get a drink at the bar.

As I contemplated how he would do that, Eliot already got to work in making it happen. His tone when talking to her softened and lowered in a way that made goosebumps slightly raise on my arms and neck. He suggested she stay for a while, to not only tour PallaGen, but the city with him as well. I could hear her contained giddiness through the comms of changing her flight plans in order to oblige him.

It was only when Parker said that she found a safe and was scoffing at his easy password that I noticed that my hands were clenched hard enough to leave deep indents into my palms from my nails, my hands slightly discolored from the change in blood flow. I stretched my hands, trying to get myself to relax and distract myself from Eliot flirting with the FDA rep.

I noticed Hardison staring at my hands, seeing the indents and discoloration. “What?” I demanded, a little harsher than intended.

“Nothin’” Hardison snapped back with raised eyebrows and pursed lips, turning his gaze back to his computer.

I caught his lips start to creep into a smirk, so I tried to glare at him to knock it off, but it didn’t work. I tried to let it go and focus on something else, anything else. Unluckily, that something came when after using her phone to scan some documents she found, Parker was at risk of being caught when a security alert was sending guards to Hoffman’s office. Hardison told her to get out.

“No no no, Parker, you don’t get out,” Nate denied. “You stay right where you are until we get what we need.”

Hardison and I shared a look. What was he doing?

“How much time do I have? Sixty seconds?” Parker guessed.

“No,” Hardison replied, looking at his watch and getting up from the table, heading to the bar where Nate was, “fourty, uh, thirty-five, now twenty.”

“Now you have nineteen, you’re gonna stay where you are,” Nate said.

I followed Hardison out of the room to talk to Nate.

“No, Nate, look,” Hardison began, “security is literally seconds away from Hoffman’s office.”

“We need those vials,” Nate insisted.

“But we also need Parker,” Hardison answered.

While I was anxious about Parker, the feeling softened, hearing that from Hardison. I already knew she didn’t have anything to worry about with him, but hearing this just made it that much clearer to me, just the way he emphasized it, it was beyond just a teammate worrying about another member.

The anxiousness fully left when Parker told us she was done a moment later, escaping the office before security could arrive.

Nate’s smug and self assured expression at her answer caused me to purse my lips. This was toeing the line more than I would like. Even from Nate. Even for me, who has a higher tolerance for his bullshit than almost anyone.

I wasn’t sure how to articulate this to him right then, though. I just had to stew over it while Sophie finished up her meeting with Hoffman, Parker made her way back from PallaGen, and Eliot continued to entertain the FDA rep. Luckily with the latter, I didn’t have to listen to it once Sophie and Parker were out. His part was the equivalent to background noise of the con.

I was heading back up to Nate’s apartment at the end of the day to unwind with the others a bit when Sophie came nearly stomping into the pub. She had a fury on her face that told me that she was going to give Nate a talking to. That took a bit of pressure off of me to do it, though I knew I probably should still address it, Sophie could probably do it better and get through to him more than I could. As much as he loves and respects me, knows I am capable, I know that sometimes, I’m still just his little niece. A little girl that he needs to take care of, that he knows what’s best for her.

It’s kind of funny actually. Both of us knew that he had no idea what he was doing back then, but he tried his best. He still has the underlying feeling that he knows what’s best though. Maybe that contradiction is just something that comes with being a parent, or in this case guardian. Or maybe it’s not that one could feel that they know best, but that they know better, so for now it is the best for the child.

I guess it’s no good speculating. I won’t know for sure until I have kids of my own. If I have kids of my own.

I sat down across from Hardison after entering Nate’s apartment. It wasn’t long before Eliot strolled in.

This was the first time I had seen today, and boy, I wish I hadn’t seen him at all. He was in a suit, but no tie. Instead, his white shirt had two buttons tastefully undone. His hair was silky and voluminous as ever. Now I had to imagine him spending the whole day looking like that with the FDA rep. My jaw clenched as I tried to smile and greet him.

He sat at the head of the table between Hardison and I. He didn’t say anything as he lowered his head to the table, resting it on his crossed arms.

“Little Jennifer Pearson’s wearing you out, ain’t she,” Hardison teased with a smile.

“Dude, we walked the freedom trail twice,” Eliot answered without lifting his head.

“Nice,” Hardison grinned, assuming the innuendo, which I also assumed, causing even my practiced and poised tight smile to falter. I didn’t want to think about that, let alone hear about it directly from him.

Eliot slowly lifted his head, “No, man. The actual freedom trail.”

Hardison’s smile started to falter.

“We took paddle boats to the public garden, shopped on Newbury Street. I went to something called the Boston Duck Tour,” Eliot’s answer became slowly more exasperated, showing his displeasure and exhaustion.

I hated to take pleasure in his lack of, but I couldn’t help the bittersweet feeling coming over me. I would have liked doing all of those things with him, so hearing that he didn’t like it caused me to shrink a bit. On the other hand, I had to bite the inside of my lip to keep from breaking into an inappropriately wide smile, because at least he didn’t enjoy it with her.

Man, I’m turning into a monster.

I cautiously reached over and rested my hand on his arm, squeezing it comfortingly, “I’m sorry Eliot.”

He shifted his focus to me and his face softened a touch, “Thanks, sweetheart.”

Nate then walked in with a quick stride, without Sophie I noted, and sat at his desk to continue working.

“Yo, the information I got from Hoffman’s office confirms that he’s still got vials of HT1 in PallaGen storage,” Hardison told him. “Thing is, the vials are stored in a case amongst hundreds of other cases in one of ten storage facilities. Now, if I do my math, that means this case was —”

Eliot banged his head on the table, “It’s gonna be hard to find!”

“I believe I was making that point,” Hardison said almost sarcastically after a pause.

“Well, we are going to get Hoffman to lead us to the vials,” Nate answered coolly. “We’ll use Sophie’s friendship with him to get information, then I’ll enter the game to push.”

Eliot lifted his head with a cautiously thoughtful expression, “You realize the last guy that pushed Hoffman ended up dead?”

“Yeah, well, let him take his best shot,” Nate replied. “We’ll see who walks away this time.”

I felt my eye start to twitch at his attitude. I didn’t notice that I had started to grip Eliot’s arm, probably painfully, until he put his hand on top of mine. I instantly snapped my attention to him, relinquishing my grip on him, but he kept his hand on top of mine, giving it a squeeze.

The three of us then exchanged a skeptical look.

“Prison’s changed him,” Hardison said.

“Better or worse?” Eliot asked.

“Haven’t decided yet,” I answered.

On that note, we, with the exception of Nate, decided to call it a night.

The next day, Sophie went to meet Hoffman over drinks to further discuss her consultation. Hoffman pretty much confessed to everything we assumed of him. People were going to die from Vioplex, and he didn’t care. He wanted Sophie to push the complaints to the bottom and once the deaths become a problem, they’ll send out an apology and pay the fines that would be a small fraction of the profits.

Strangely, even though Hoffman was a dirtbag of one of the worst varieties, he still had enough chivalry to give Sophie his jacket when she expressed she was cold. Maybe that was some of her flirting and subliminal messaging though. She slipped away to take a phone call, giving Nate and opening the scare Hoffman a little bit.

Nate blackmailed Hoffman, saying that not only did he know that Vioplex is HT1, but that he had proof, namely the vials that we needed to steal. Nate asked for five million dollars in exchange for his silence. Nate rattled him enough that Hoffman couldn’t wait to go check on them. He quickly excused himself from Sophie and retrieved his jacket from her, where she placed a button cam on so we could spy.

The button cam was high definition and included GPS so we could track his path. We watched as he went to a particular facility and walked the halls to a particular storage room. He typed in the code in full view of the camera, so I chose to write it down, just to help keep track of it, along with the case number once he reached it.

“Thank you Mr. Hoffman,” Nate said, watching the screen.

“Now, Parker, look,” Hardison instructed before sending her off to get them, “we have the location, alright? Got the access codes, and we have the case number; all you have to do is go pick the lock on the cage. Now, I’m gonna compare Hoffman’s path to yours and, uh, lead you to the right room.” He handed her a button cam of her own so we could watch which she attached to her leather jacket.

“Good luck,” Ashley wished with a smile.

Parker lifted her head to look at her with poorly concealed disdain, “Luck? Do I look like I need luck?”

I placed myself in front of Parker, breaking her line of sight on Ashley, “hey, I’ve got it,” I reminded her in a whisper.

That seemed to stop her for a second enough for Hardison to reassure her, “whoa whoa whoa, she just meant like, you know…” he smiled and gave her a thumbs up.

Nate chose to send her on her way to change the situation. He handed her the trick case that she was going to switch the vials into, “go do your magic.”

Parker took it with the same expression, but left the poker room without further argument.

Sophie let us know when she got into PallaGen and quickly told us that Hoffman was up to something. “Hardison, are we tracking his phone?”

“I’ve got a signal, I just don’t have a connection point,” he replied.

Nate’s phone started ringing on the table next to me. I picked it up, looking at the screen to see that it was Hoffman calling, and handed it to Nate.

“And now I have my connection point,” Hardison quipped.

We listened to the short conversation between Nate and Hoffman that, in summary, consisted of Hoffman agreeing to the deal, but wanting to do it in person instead of just wiring him the money. Nate agreed before either of us could tell him no, convincingly at least.

“‘You’ll be there,’” Hardison mimicked, “Nate, it’s a trap. What are you–”

“Do you wanna end up like Dr. Roberts?” Sophie asked. “All Hoffman has to do is send his goons out into the crowd to brush past you with a syringe.”

“She’s right, this is a suicide mission,” Hardison agreed.

“Alright, listen, listen,” Nate interrupted, “If I don’t do it, it’s gonna tip Hoffman off and this whole thing will fall apart. So, I guess the rest of you are just gonna have to get it done before they manage to kill me.”

Through this whole exchange I couldn’t bring myself to say anything. I was angry, scared, and overwhelmed. With how nonchalant he was in his last statement, a surge of energy boiled over and I burst from my seat, rounding the table to stand in front of him, blocking his way.

“That’s bullshit!” I yelled. I wanted to say something else, but nothing came out. Instead I found my hand raising to slap him, but it paused about halfway to his face. It stopped and I clenched it to a fist and just shook it at him before hitting it to his chest. Through this Nate’s expression didn’t change, he just looked at me in his arrogant way when he doesn’t really care what happens. The outburst suddenly drained all my energy and resistance in an instant. I was finally able to whisper, “don’t let them take you away from me too.”

I thought I saw his expression soften, just for a moment before he kissed me on the forehead, whispering something into my hair that included “birdy,” but I couldn’t make out the rest of it. And then just like that, the moment was over and he was back to how he was, confidently sidestepping me and walking out of the room.

I grabbed the closest chair and slumped into it, the lack of adrenaline now draining on my body and emotions. Hardison hesitantly patted me on the shoulder before returning to his computer.

“You okay, sweetheart?” Eliot asked through comms on his way to PallaGen to entertain Ms. Pearson for a little longer and hopefully keep Nate from being killed.

I hummed, pausing before actually answering, “Ask me again when this job is over.”

Everything was quiet until Nate showed up to PallaGen.

“I’m in. Does anyone see anything suspicious?” he asked.

“No, but that’s kind of the point,” Eliot replied. “They’re gonna try to blend in. Look for guys that have a couple inches on everybody else here, and hands in their pocket. Shoes that lace up a little too high. Security guys always wear shoes they can run in.”

“Noted,” I commented.

“Narrows it down,” Nate fired back.

Ms. Pearson’s voice came through the comms, asking if Eliot was even listening to her. Eliot agreed distractedly, but couldn’t really respond.

“You know, I’ve dated a lot of you drug company guys,” she said, “you’re all the same. You’re nice, you’re handsome, and married to the job. Look, I’ve really enjoyed our time together. I’m just looking for someone who’s a little less settled.”

Eliot tried to stutter out a rebuttal.

“It’s not a criticism,” she assured. “You are a great guy. I’m just not looking for someone who sits behind a desk all day. I want someone who travels the world and takes risks, somebody a little more dangerous.”

“Right,” Eliot hesitantly responded.

Eliot chuckled and ensured she would wait to sign the paperwork with Hoffman until after the launch. She agreed that they could hang out for a little while.

“You alright Eliot? You need time to shake it off?” Nate asked bluntly.

“Shut up!” Eliot replied. “Let’s get this show over with.”

“You know? Respect,” I said. “Upfront, knows what she wants. I like it. It kind of compliments your grifting skills Eliot.”

Hardison gave me a side eye when I said upfront, to which I told him to shut up.

“Hardison, how are we doing on the vials?” Nate asked.

The route to the vial’s and Parker’s location, marked as a red dot was on the screen, Ashley and Hardison were watching it standing close to the screen. I chose to stay in my seat to try and give myself room to breathe.

“Parker’s two minutes out,” Hardison replied.

Parker’s dot deviated from the route, taking a wrong turn.

“Wait, wait, stop,” Hardison said. “Parker, you’re going the wrong way, turn around.”

She silently did as she was asked.

“Alright, now take a right,” Hardison told her. “There’s a security camera over your right shoulder.”

“Got it,” she responded. There were a couple of beats of silence as she maneuvered around it before she asked for the code to the door.

Hardison and Ashley looked at each other, asking the same question before scrambling back over to me at the table to find it. I sighed and pulled out my note where I had written it down.

“Parker, it’s five one one nine nine three,” I told her.

“I’m in,” she replied a second later.

I looked over to Hardison and Ashley who were staring at me, paused midway through shuffling through papers and scanning the video tape of Hoffman.

“What?” I asked. They didn’t answer, so I lifted my note that I had the code written on and waved it a little, “contingencies.” I turned back to watch the screen and Parker’s progress.

I heard Hardison mumble a bit clunkily, “you are your… uncle’s niece?” Clearly altering the saying of ‘you are your father’s daughter’ as he worked on his laptop making sure the motion sensors were disabled for Parker

I hummed in response.

Parker was able to get in and switch out the cases, putting the vials in a trick case that can make it seem like the vials are there or missing from the case, depending on when and how you open it.

“Done,” Parker said once she had exited the cage, but not the room.

“Alright, good,” Hardison replied. “Turning on the motion sensors… now.”

There was a moment where nothing happened.

“Parker, come on,” I said.

She sighed. There was another pause before she spoke. “I triggered the motion sensors. The HT1 vials are in the cage. How long until security’s here?”

“Fifteen seconds,” Hardison replied.

“Plus or minus?”

“Plus or minus none. Get out of there now.”

With a little bit of finangling with the guards, she was able to get clear.

Then it was time for Nate to at least try to get out before things got messy. Unfortunately that wasn’t in the cards with Hoffman’s goons grabbing him and bringing Nate to his office.

“So glad you could join us,” Hoffmann said.

Nate chuckled humorlessly, “What’s going on?”

“The deal’s changed.”

“Look, I don’t understand,” Nate stuttered in reply, “I thought a businessman like you would know how to keep a deal.”

“We had a deal when you said you had the vials, but you were bluffing. Nice, getting me to lead you to the storage facility. Too bad the hack you hired to steal the cases got caught.”

“Mm, she didn’t get caught.”

“She left empty handed,” Hoffman shot back. There was a pause before he continued, “See? Now I have the vials, and I have you. I think we need a new deal.” He then told his goons to wait outside and guard the door.

Eliot quickly made his way to the office and took care of the guards, making sure the door was clear.

“As far as I’m concerned, the old deal still works,” Nate said. “You give me the money, and no one finds out that Vioplex is identical to HT1, right? Okay, alright, listen… I’ll lower the price for you: two million dollars.”

“Still negotiating, huh? Well, I gotta admire your persistence.”

“Well, you know, the truth’s gonna come out once people start dying.”

“Well, sure, but by then, Vioplex will have made this company billions of dollars, and I’ll have turned that success into a penthouse office in a fortune five hundred. I think I’ll try oil next,” Hoffman replied, showing that Nate knew his corrupt CEO types well.

Sophie, at this point, went and approached Ms. Pearson at the launch party, introducing herself as Hoffman’s assistant, saying that he was ready for her to sign the paperwork, sending her up on her way to the office.

“It’s a great idea, great plan,” Nate conceded. “There’s just one little snag.”

“What’s that?”

“We stole the vials.”

“Then what’s this?”

“That’s an empty box. Yeah. We have the via- well, we had the vials.”

“You ‘had’ the vials? Where are they now?”

“Well, now, they’re in the champagne that you’re… drinking.”

Hoffman didn’t reply, there was a clacking noise coming through the comms of him opening the trick case to see it was empty with a little note saying ‘cheers.’

“Now, I got to tell you, it was a pretty concentrated dose,” Nate told him, “so, your liver will fail in the next few hours. Two days tops. You should be experiencing nausea, followed by this intense, profound, uh, fatigue, loss of appetite-”

“Now stop it!” Hoffman stopped him. “I know you couldn’t have drugged the champagne. I’ve been watching you since you’ve got here.”

“Well, I’m not working alone, so…”

Ms. Pearson entered the office, introducing herself, and told Hoffman that his assistant sent her up when he expressed confusion. Hoffman insisted that he had already met the FDA rep, and so Nate reminded him that he wasn’t working alone, revealing that Sophie was in on it.

Hoffman stormed out of the office with a ‘no!’ Ms. Pearson, understandably, asked what was going on, so Nate told her to follow Hoffman, that he would explain everything, handing her the case to keep with her.

Hardison hacked into the security system so we could watch the chaos unfold. Hoffman went around yelling about the champagne being poisoned, smashing glasses out of people’s hands. Hardison put the chemical compositions of HT1 and Vioplex next to each other on the screens, showing that they were the same. All of the shareholders were in shock and Ms. Pearson put the pieces together quickly. Hoffman insisted that we had stolen the vials, and so Ms. Pearson opened the case to show that they were still there. Now she had the vials to do testing with. The press surrounded Hoffman, asking questions.

“Fifty high profile doctors, two dozen medical journalists, and an FDA rep,” Sophie said once she met up with Nate.

“That should do it,” Nate replied.

“You do realize that that stunt you pulled defines ‘out of control,’” Sophie said.

“I just wanted you to see that I would never put any of you at risk if I wasn’t willing to take the same chances myself.”

“I love that you think that’s comforting.”

“Let me just pose a question,” I said. “Would you have made the same calls if I were in there?”

There was silence on the other end of the comms.

“That’s what I thought.” I pulled out my com and started helping Hardison clean up.

They made their way back to the pub. Parker pulled me aside again where I assured her that Ashley was fine, and nothing weird or inappropriate happened between her and Hardison. Despite this, she still looked a little uneasy.

Hardison sat down with Ashley to give her some financial compensation and a new quest of finding all the people that were impacted by HT1. Parker continued to stare them down, so I turned to Sophie who was sitting next to her and told her that it was her turn with Parker. Sophie gave me a perplexed look but I didn’t elaborate as I left the pub.

Eliot was waiting for me on the way to my apartment.

“You okay, sweetheart?” he asked again, referring to earlier in the job.

I sighed, a lot of the anxiety of the job leaving, “Yeah, I think I’ll sleep for a couple of days though.”

Eliot nodded.

“Thanks for looking out for Nate.”

“That’s my job,” he replied simply.

“I still appreciate it,” I reiterated.

We stood looking at each other for a moment before I turned and finished the short journey to my apartment. I followed through and almost immediately fell asleep, the lack of adrenaline and anxiety exhausting.

A/n: Reblogs and comments are welcome and encouraged! Thank you for reading!

Tags: @instantdinosaurtidalwave @kniselle @technikerin23 @kiwikitty13 @plasticbottleholder @wh1sp @who-actually-cares-anymore @romanreignsluver1 @fictional-hooman @nothingryuu @onomatopoetic101999

#eliot spencer x reader #eliot spencer #leverage #rewrite #slow burn #multichapter #nate ford #sophie devereaux #alec hardison #parker #ford!reader

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klaus-littlestwolf · 1 year ago

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Eliot Spencer Moodboard

Leverage Team Moodboard

#eliotspencerxyn #eliot spencer x oc #eliot spencer x reader #eliot spencer #leverage #leverage reboot #leverage redemption #nate ford #sophie devereaux #Parker #alec hardison #harry wilson #breanna casey #hitter #hacker #grifter #thief #mastermind

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hazel-eye-coffee-shop-girl-blog · 2 months ago

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Hard Hitter

Happy Wednesday Readers!!! I know, it's been a minute since I have grace you all with my writing, good, bad, or otherwise. Life has been a bit hectic to say the least as it has been for everyone I am sure. But hopefully I will be getting back into the swing of it, and writing/posting more.

I have been working on a few things, and been throwing some ideas around, possibly making a few changes to how I do/write moving forward, I am not sure if they will go over well with the fanfic community, but we will see.

anyhoo, let's get to it. This is a one shot, request/ask that I am filling, in for @nancymcl for some reason my desktop version of Tumblr won't let me pull her ask so I will just retype her ask here:

I am just now getting to Leverage. (Because Christian Kane) Would love to see how Eliot would react to Dean if they ran across each other while the boys were on a hunt.

I mean come on this sounds amazing! I hope I did you justice and you like what I came up with. I also tried something different with the "mood board" or "photo card" do we like it? I mean I could find a photo of Christian Kane shirtless in a boxing ring (the tap out job) but Dean not one I like, and AI I could not for the life of me, make anything work. Please for the love of God, anyone out there that can make good AI fan art, teach me your ways, send me some basic prompts and settings that I need to use, I will be forever grateful.

But, again anyhoo....back to the story at hand:

Plot: Eliot Spencer from Leverage and Dean Winchester from Supernatural. The story follows them as they discover an underground fighting ring with supernatural elements and eventually team up to take it down. We also have appearances from Hardison, Parker, Sophie, Nate, and Sam Winchester to round out the supporting cast.

This is intended as a one shot, but I did leave the door open for a series or a follow up. Let me know in the comments, if that is something you all would like to see???? Suggestions on where this could go.

Word Count: 3K+

-Multi POV-

Feedback, likes and reblogs are always welcomed. Please don't post as your own work, this is my work. If you would like to be added to my tag list, just ask, I am always happy to add you.

Thanks!

-Eliot POV-

The warehouse district of Boston wasn't Eliot Spencer's favorite place to be at 2 AM on a Tuesday, but after three weeks of fighting in this underground ring, he was finally getting close to the real money. Tonight was the big one—a hundred grand in unmarked bills riding on his fight. Not for himself—those days were behind him—but for the job. Hardison had tracked suspicious financial movements to this fight club with stakes higher than any legitimate boxing commission would allow, and Eliot had gone in as a fighter to infiltrate from the inside.

"I don't like this, Eliot." Parker's voice crackled through his earpiece. "The heat signatures in that building don't make sense."

Eliot adjusted his jacket, sore muscles protesting from his previous fights. "What do you mean they don't make sense?"

"Some of them are... too hot. Like, way too hot for a human." There was concern in her voice, rare for someone who typically treated danger like a playground.

"It's probably just the thermal imaging acting up," Hardison chimed in. "These warehouse walls are thick, man."

"Stay focused, Eliot," Nate's steady voice cut in. "You've built your reputation as the Mountain Man for weeks now. Tonight we find out who's really behind this operation."

Eliot grunted. "I've beaten everyone they've put in front of me except the champion. Tonight I finally get my shot at him."

The doorman—all three hundred pounds of him—gave Eliot a respectful nod as he walked through. Several spectators recognized him, some slapping him on the back, others quickly moving out of his way. Three weeks of bruising victories had earned him both fans and respect in this underground circuit. The interior smelled of sweat, blood, and something else... sulfur? Eliot put that in the back of his mind as he made his way through the crowd. His eyes, as always, noted the exits, the guards, and the cage in the center where two men were currently beating each other senseless.

Or rather, one was beating the other senseless. The victor moved with a fluid grace that seemed almost inhuman. His eyes flashed—and for a moment, Eliot could have sworn they turned completely black.

"Found our guy," he muttered into his comm. "The winner in the cage. Something's off about him."

"Define 'off,'" Sophie's cultured voice replied.

"Eliot, get visual," Nate instructed. "Hardison needs to run facial recognition."

Before Eliot could answer, the announcer bellowed into the microphone: "AND STILL UNDEFEATED! THE DEMON OF DETROIT!"

The crowd roared as the fighter raised his arms, a malevolent grin spreading across his face.

"Looking for fresh meat!" The announcer continued. "Who's brave enough to challenge our champion?"

Eliot was about to volunteer when another voice rang out.

"I'll take him on!"

The crowd parted to reveal a tall man with close-cropped hair and a cocky grin. Something about him seemed familiar to Eliot—the stance, the awareness, the way his eyes scanned the room. This wasn't some amateur looking for glory. This was a professional.

The newcomer entered the cage, shrugging off a worn leather jacket, his red flannel, and black t-shirt to reveal his bare muscled chest. Raising up his arms, to get the crown on his side, some cheering him on, he moves around the ring, as he turns towards Eliot, Eliot can now see, near the man's left side of his chest near his heart what looked suspiciously like protective sigils tattooed.

"Name?" The announcer asked.

"Dean. Dean Winchester."

"Hardison, you getting this?" Nate asked over the comms. "Run this Dean Winchester through the system."

"Already on it," Hardison replied. "But I gotta tell you, this guy's record is... interesting. Multiple reports of death, grave desecration, impersonating federal agents. Either we're dealing with the world's luckiest criminal or something else entirely."

-Dean POV-

Dean hadn't expected to find a demon fighting ring in Boston, but the trail of mysteriously broken-necked losers had brought him here. Sam was working another angle—checking the morgue for sulfur residue on the corpses—while Dean went straight to the source.

The "Demon of Detroit" wasn't subtle with his nickname, but Dean doubted anyone here realized it was literal. The black eyes had confirmed his suspicions. Now he just needed to get close enough to exorcise the bastard before he killed anyone else.

What he hadn't counted on was being matched up against another fighter first—a compact, hard-looking man with long hair and a stare that could cut glass. The crowd was already chanting "Mountain Man" as the fighter approached the cage.

"Change of plans, folks!" The announcer called out. "Our new challenger will face our local favorite, the undefeated Mountain Man, before earning a shot at the champion!"

Dean cursed under his breath. This Mountain Man had clearly been fighting here for a while—the crowd loved him, and judging by the announcer's introduction, he hadn't lost a match yet. He looked like he knew what he was doing, and Dean couldn't afford to get beaten to a pulp before dealing with the actual demon.

As they circled each other in the cage, Dean tried to size up his opponent. The way this guy moved told Dean everything he needed to know—trained, experienced, and dangerous. Far more skilled than anyone else he'd seen in these kinds of underground fights.

"Hey, man, I'm not here for you," Dean said quietly.

The long-haired fighter didn't blink. His eyes showed a calculating intelligence that didn't match the typical brawler profile. "Then why are you here?"

"Would you believe I'm hunting a demon?"

That earned him a scoff. "Sure. And I'm here collecting Easter eggs."

The first punch came so fast Dean barely saw it, connecting with his jaw and sending him staggering back. He recovered quickly, blocking the next blow and countering with one of his own that the other man slipped with practiced ease.

"You're good," Dean admitted, tasting blood. "Military?"

"Something like that," the man replied, landing a kick to Dean's thigh that nearly buckled his knee. "You?"

Dean grinned through the pain. "Family business."

They exchanged blows for another minute, neither gaining a clear advantage, though Dean suspected the other man was holding back.

"Look," Dean grunted after barely dodging a lightning-fast combination, "I'm serious about the demon thing. The champion? Black eyes? Sulfur smell? Ringing any bells?"

The other fighter paused, reassessing Dean. "You're saying the champion is... actually a demon?"

"Bingo." Dean used the momentary distraction to pull a small flask from his pocket. "Holy water. Watch."

He unscrewed the cap and flicked a few drops toward the champion, who was watching their fight with interest from the side of the cage. The water hit his arm, and the skin immediately sizzled and smoked. The demon hissed, eyes flashing black.

The long-haired man's expression hardened. "I'll be damned."

"Not yet," Dean said, "but if we don't stop this thing, plenty of others will be."

-Eliot POV-

Eliot had seen a lot of strange things in his life—corrupt governments, experimental weapons, Hardison's attempts at cooking—but actual demons were new.

"Guys," he whispered into his comm, "you hearing this?"

"If you're asking if we heard that demons are real and currently running a fight club, then yeah," Hardison replied, voice higher than usual. "Man, I was happier not knowing that."

"Eliot," Parker cut in, "the thermal scan makes sense now. That champion guy is literally burning hotter than a human should."

"Stay calm, everyone," Nate's voice came through, steady as always despite the revelation. "If demons are real, then this is a lot bigger than we thought. Eliot, work with this Winchester character if you think he's legitimate. Sophie, I need you to start looking into occult connections with these fights."

The Winchester guy was eyeing him, waiting for a response. Eliot made a quick decision. "I'm Eliot Spencer. Sounds like we're both here to shut this operation down."

"Dean Winchester. And yeah, I'm here to exorcise that demon and find out who's behind this. These fights are being used to identify potential vessels—humans strong enough to contain powerful demons."

Eliot nodded. "My team tracked money from some suspicious deaths back to this place. We thought it was just illegal gambling."

"Oh, there's gambling alright," Dean said. "Just with souls instead of cash."

The announcer was getting impatient. "Fight or forfeit, gentlemen!"

Dean leaned in closer. "We need to make this look good, then take on the demon together. I've got holy water and salt, but I'll need a distraction to start the exorcism."

Eliot resisted the urge to roll his eyes. "Holy water and salt? Why don't we just hit him really hard until he stops moving?"

"Because he's a demon," Dean said slowly, as if explaining to a child. "Physical damage won't stop him."

"You'd be surprised what physical damage can accomplish," Eliot muttered, but nodded his agreement. "Fine. Your way first. If that fails, we try mine."

"Eliot," Nate's voice came through his earpiece, "I'm sending Parker and Hardison to back you up. Sophie and I will work on identifying who's really pulling the strings here."

They started fighting again, this time choreographing it to look convincing while minimizing actual damage. Dean was skilled—not quite at Eliot's level, but he clearly had a lifetime of training.

"On three," Dean whispered after a particularly convincing exchange of blows, "I'll go down. You'll be declared the winner and face the demon. I'll circle around outside the cage."

Eliot nodded imperceptibly, then landed the pulled punch that Dean sold with an oscar-worthy performance, collapsing to the mat.

The crowd roared as Eliot was declared the winner. As promised, his next opponent would be the undefeated champion. As Dean was helped out of the cage—slipping away from his handlers at the first opportunity—Eliot prepared himself to face a literal demon.

"Hardison," he muttered, "I'm about to fight an actual demon. Any advice?"

"Besides 'don't'?" Hardison replied. "Man, I don't know. I'm still processing the fact that demons exist!"

"Focus, Eliot," Nate commanded. "Demon or not, this is just another opponent. Find its weakness and exploit it."

"Sophie, can you create a distraction if this goes south?" Eliot asked.

"Already on it," she replied smoothly. "I've identified the circuit breaker. On your signal, we can cut the lights."

The demon entered the cage, grinning at Eliot with malevolent confidence. Up close, the sulfur smell was overwhelming.

"You look tasty," the demon said, his voice oddly layered. "Strong vessel. Good soul. I'll enjoy wearing you to the prom."

"Yeah, not interested," Eliot replied, falling into his fighting stance.

The bell rang, and the demon attacked with inhuman speed. Eliot barely managed to dodge, countering with a strike to the kidney that would have dropped a normal man. The demon merely laughed.

From the corner of his eye, Eliot spotted Dean slipping along the edge of the crowd, a duffel bag now in his hand. Whatever plan the hunter had, Eliot needed to buy him time.

The demon landed a punch that felt like being hit by a truck. Eliot rolled with it, using the momentum to create distance. His ribs protested, and he tasted blood.

"Your friend was right," the demon taunted. "Holy water and salt are the traditional methods. But he forgot the most important thing—you need to trap me first."

"Good thing I didn't forget," Dean's voice called out as he flung a handful of white powder in a circle around the cage. Salt, Eliot realized. Completing a circle that Dean must have started laying down while everyone was distracted by the fight.

The demon snarled, lunging for Eliot with renewed fury, clearly hoping to finish the fight before Dean could complete whatever ritual he was planning.

"Now would be good!" Eliot shouted, barely avoiding a blow that would have crushed his windpipe.

Dean began reciting something in Latin, his voice carrying through the suddenly quiet warehouse. The crowd, confused but sensing something was wrong, began to murmur uneasily.

The demon screamed in rage, its attacks becoming wilder. Eliot took advantage, using the demon's fury against it, deflecting rather than blocking, conserving his strength.

"Sophie, lights!" he called.

The warehouse plunged into darkness, illuminated seconds later by emergency lights that cast everything in an eerie red glow. In the confusion, Dean had somehow made it into the cage and was continuing his Latin chant while flinging holy water at the demon, who screamed as each drop hit like acid.

"Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus..." Dean continued, voice rising.

"Eliot, remember that move you used in Belgrade?" Nate's voice was calm but urgent in his ear. "The one that disrupted the energy flow? Try it now."

The demon, now desperate, broke through Eliot's guard and grabbed him by the throat, lifting him off his feet. "I'll snap his neck before you finish, hunter!"

Eliot, vision darkening from lack of oxygen, did what he did best. He hit the demon. Hard. Right in the throat, using a strike he'd learned from a monastery in Tibet that was specifically designed to disrupt energy flow. It wasn't meant for demons, but apparently interdimensional entities still needed functioning vessels.

The demon's grip loosened enough for Eliot to break free, gasping for air.

"Keep chanting!" he rasped at Dean. "I've got this!"

"Holy water works better!" Dean argued, even as he continued the exorcism.

"Just finish the damn Latin!" Eliot snapped, launching into a flurry of strikes targeting nerve clusters and pressure points that would incapacitate even superhuman strength if hit precisely enough.

The demon staggered under the assault, its movements becoming jerky and uncoordinated. Dean's exorcism reached its crescendo, and the demon threw its head back, black smoke pouring from its mouth and eyes as it screamed in unholy agony.

The human host collapsed, unconscious but alive. Around them, chaos had erupted as the crowd realized something very wrong was happening. Several black-eyed individuals were trying to flee, only to be intercepted by a blonde woman wielding what looked like a taser and a tall, shaggy-haired man with a shotgun.

"That's my brother Sam," Dean explained, catching his breath. "Looks like your team met up with him."

"Parker and Hardison," Eliot nodded. "Sophie's probably already got the money trail locked down." He eyed Dean. "Not bad with the Latin. Still think a good punch works faster."

Dean rolled his eyes. "The punch wouldn't have expelled the demon. The exorcism did that."

"My punch gave you time to finish the exorcism," Eliot countered. "And it didn't require any arts and crafts supplies."

"It's not arts and crafts, it's—" Dean started, then stopped as he noticed more demons converging on their position. "We can argue methodology later. Right now, we've got more company."

Eliot cracked his knuckles. "Fine. We'll try it your way again. But if that doesn't work fast enough..."

"Yeah, yeah," Dean conceded, pulling out more holy water and a sawed-off shotgun loaded with salt rounds. "Then we punch things harder. I got it."

"Eliot, Dean, get ready," Nate's voice came through the comm. "Parker and Hardison have set up a trap by the east exit. Herd them that way."

Together, they turned to face the oncoming demons, an unlikely alliance of hitter and hunter, bound by a common enemy and a shared determination to protect the innocent—even if they couldn't agree on the best way to do it.

Three hours later, the warehouse was quiet again. The fighting ring had been dismantled, the demons exorcised, and the human organizers of the operation—a group of occultists trying to create the perfect vessels for higher-level demons—were zip-tied and waiting for the authorities, though their statements about demonic possession would likely land them in psychiatric care rather than prison.

"So you guys do this kind of thing often?" Eliot asked, pressing an ice pack to his bruised ribs as the two teams compared notes in the Leverage headquarters.

"Hunting demons? Yeah, family business," Dean replied. His brother Sam was deep in conversation with Hardison about tracking patterns of supernatural activity.

"And you... steal from the rich and give to the poor?" Sam asked, looking up from Hardison's array of screens.

"We provide... alternative leverage," Sophie explained diplomatically.

Nate sipped his whiskey thoughtfully. "We help people who have nowhere else to turn. When the law fails them, we provide... other options."

Parker, who had been studying Dean's collection of weapons with undisguised interest, picked up a flask of holy water. "So this stuff actually burns demons? That's so cool."

"Not as cool as watching Eliot punch that demon in the throat," Hardison added. "Man, I didn't think anything could make that thing flinch, and then you hit it with some Crouching Tiger Hidden Hitter move."

Eliot shrugged. "Just because something's supernatural doesn't mean it doesn't have weak points."

"Still," Dean insisted, "you need the right tools for the job. Holy water, salt, iron, Latin exorcisms—these things work because they have power over the supernatural."

"And a well-placed hit works because physics is physics," Eliot countered. "Even for demons."

Dean raised his hands in surrender. "Fine. Next time we fight a werewolf, you can try punching it while I use silver bullets, and we'll see who gets better results."

"Next time?" Sophie raised an eyebrow.

Sam and Dean exchanged glances. "This operation was bigger than just Boston," Sam explained. "We found evidence of similar fighting rings in five other cities. They're systematically testing human hosts for demon compatibility."

"That kind of geographical spread means serious organization," Nate mused, swirling the whiskey in his glass. "Money trails, shell companies, probably legitimate businesses as fronts."

"Exactly," Sam nodded, impressed with Nate's quick grasp of the situation. "We've been tracking the supernatural side, but the human infrastructure behind it has been harder to crack."

"Well, that's our specialty," Nate smiled, a calculating look in his eyes that his team knew well. "I think we might have a mutually beneficial partnership opportunity here."

"Sounds like our kind of problem," Parker grinned.

"And the demons are definitely our kind of problem," Dean added.

Eliot looked at the hunter, a reluctant respect forming. "So what you're saying is..."

"We might need to work together again," Dean finished, extending his hand. "God help me, but your punch-first-ask-questions-later approach actually worked pretty well with our holy water."

Eliot shook the offered hand, his grip firm. "And I guess the Latin wasn't completely useless."

"High praise," Dean smirked.

"I'll start planning our approach," Nate said, already moving to the whiteboard. "Sophie, we'll need covers for multiple cities. Hardison, I want everything you can find on these fight promoters, investors, property holdings."

As the two teams continued sharing information, planning their next move against the supernatural fighting rings, Eliot couldn't help but wonder what other impossible things might exist in the world. Demons were real—what else might be lurking in the shadows?

One thing was certain: whatever came next, he'd face it the way he always did—head-on, fists ready. And if Dean Winchester insisted on bringing salt and holy water to the fight, well, Eliot supposed there were worse backup plans.

After all, when it came to taking down the bad guys—supernatural or otherwise—results were what mattered. And between his fists and Dean's arsenal, results were something they could definitely deliver.

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security-chief-odo · 2 years ago

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The Fake Dating Job

Eliot Spencer (Leverage) x Reader

Description: Your sister's wedding is coming up and you already told her you had a date. The only problem is you don't. With none of the rest of your team available, your only option is to bring Eliot Spencer, who you just happen to be madly in love with.

Word Count: 1.2k

• • •

It is a bitter cold day out and you can still feel the chill down your spine as you enter the bar. You’re just happy to be in from the cold when Nate waves you over to the bar where he’s sat.

Nate hands you an envelope. “You get your mail delivered here?”

You shrug, “Well, I’m not in the habit of giving out my own address – especially not to my family.” Nate raises an eyebrow at your addition, clearly looking for you to elaborate. “It’s my sister’s wedding invitation. I’m a bridesmaid, but I honestly don’t even want to go.”

“Then why’d you accept?”

“Well at the time, I didn’t know one of the other bridesmaids would be bringing my ex, who was a total dick.”

“Ah.” He nods his head.

“Yeah and when my sister asked if it would be ok, I may or may not have told her ‘yes because I have my own date to bring”, which I don’t.” You let out a sigh, “Any shot I could talk you into being my pretend boyfriend?”

“If you’re trying to make your family think you’re doing fine, I don’t think bringing someone your father’s age will do the job.”

“Fair point, but I don’t exactly have an expansive social group to ask.” You let your head fall into your hands, “I’ll figure it out. Thanks for listening to me complain.”

“Anytime y/n.” He returns to nursing his drink as you head up to the loft to see if maybe you could talk one of the others into accompanying you.

Upstairs you find Hardison and Parker sitting together. They were very clearly bickering before you entered the room and it has devolved into childish mocking and light shoving. Hardison is holding his keys out of Parker’s reach. You can’t help but chuckle at the scene before you.

“Hey, y/n, can you tell Hardison I’m a perfectly fine driver?”

“Y/n, would you tell Parker that “perfectly fine drivers” don’t give their team whiplash every time they’re behind the wheel?” Hardison looks at you pleadingly.

Putting your hands up, you reply, “I’m not getting in the middle of this one, but I actually came up here for a reason”

Despite their previous focus on their argument, all disagreement seemed to be dropped now that there was a new person and a point of conversation. Hardison put the keys in his pocket and both turned their attention to you.

“So my sister’s wedding is coming up and I told her I had a date, but the problem is I really don’t.”

“Then why would you say you did?” Parker chimed in.

“Well I found out one of the bridesmaids is bringing my shitty ex boyfriend and I didn’t want them to think I was still into him – which I’m not, he’s the worst. I don’t know, I guess I want my family to think I’m doing well and my ex to know I’m better off without him.”

“But now they’re going to know the truth.” Parker nodded along.

“Well, not exactly. I came up here to ask if maybe you would be my fake girlfriend for the wedding.”

Before Parker had a moment to respond Hardison incredulously replied, “Wait, you’re asking her first? You think your family is going to like Parker more than they’d like me? I thought your mom loved me?”

Hardison had been with you when you ran into your mom in the city several months back and she had invited you both out to lunch.

“She did, but that’s kind of the problem, you’re the only one here who has met my mom, and we’d have to do a lot more work to convince them. And all I told them about my “new partner” is that we met at a coffee shop.”

“So that pulls me out of the race.”

“Exactly, so Parker will you be my fake girlfriend?” You hold out the invitation to her.

“Sure,” she starts reading through the invitation, “Wait, it's in two weeks?”

“Yeah I know it’s short notice but I kinda put off giving her an address for the invite and –”

Parker cuts you off, “It’s not that. It’s just that Hardison and I will be going to a convention out of town that weekend for one of his video games. I won’t be able to make it.”

“Fuck” you let out a groan.

“Why don’t you ask Eliot?” Parker suggests. This was something you were hoping to avoid. You’ve been head over heels for Eliot for probably a year. Maybe it would be better to go alone and just tell your family a different lie about a fake breakup from your fake partner.

Hardison has known all about your crush for months and the moment you look at him a knowing grin crosses his face, “Yeah, why don’t you ask Eliot?”

“You know damn well why that’s a bad idea.”

Parker glances confused between the two of you. “Well who are you bringing then? Nate?”

“He said no.”

“So you asked Nate before you asked me?” Hardison replies in mock offense. You roll your eyes at his theatrics.

“What about Sophie?” Parker adds.

“The goal is for my family not to focus too much on me and my date, and I’m pretty sure she would have the exact opposite agenda.”

Parker smiles a little at your remark. “That’s a fair point.”

“Then I think you’re gonna have to ask Eliot.” Hardison replies just a little too smug.

Just then you hear the door close behind you. “Ask Eliot what?”

Of course he walked in just in time to hear his own name. “It’s nothing.” You glare at Hardison as both he and Parker get up and leave the room to avoid this awkward conversation.

“Aw come on sweetheart. Don’t be like that.” He plops down into the chair next to you and gestures to the door that the other two just walked through “You know they’ll tell me if you don’t.”

You think about it for a moment as he stares at you with a lopsided grin. “Fine,” you sigh, “I need a date for my sister’s wedding in two weeks because my shitty ex will be there. You don’t have to go though, I’m sure I’ll figure som–”

Eliot cuts you off. “Yes.”

“Yes?”

“Yes, I’ll be your date to your sister’s wedding”

“You really don’t have to Eliot. My family can be a lot and you would have to pretend to be my boyfriend all night and for the rehearsal dinner. I can’t ask that of you.”

“I don’t mind.” He adds with a smile.

You. Are. So. Fucked.

Just this conversation already had you nervous and your heart racing. You aren’t prepared to spend a whole weekend with Eliot. Not to mention the whole pretending to date part of it all, while also trying not to give away your feelings to Eliot. This man and his stupid fucking smile will be the death of you.

• • •

Let me know if you want to be added to the series taglist for this one!

Read Chapter 2 here!

#reader insert #eliot spencer x reader #alec hardison #eliot spencer/reader #leverage fanfic #parker leverage #eliot spencer #eliot spencer fanfic #female reader #leverage fic #christian kane #leverage #fake dating

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rainbow-universe · 22 days ago

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Smile Over the Fence

5 Times Your Neighbours Showed Up At Your Apartment +1 Time You Showed Up At Theirs You get new neighbours and meet them and their friends in varying ways.

first leverage fic lets gooooooooooo (haven't watched s3 of redemption yet but i am so excited to!!)

just a fun silly little leverage fic :))

title from his quote: “A good neighbor is a fellow who smiles at you over the back fence, but doesn’t climb over it.” from Arthur Baer

cross-posted on ao3

wc: 4k

1. your new neighbours have just moved in across the hall, but you haven’t met them yet. you’ve seen them, at a distance, but rarely. they moved in efficiently and effectively and it barely seems like you have neighbours. not that you're waiting at your door for them to come out, you have a life. work, chores, friends, things to do. but when you're wandering the halls, on your way out, coming back, you nod to the neighbours you see, give them a little wave, say hi in the mail room as you cross paths.

but your new neighbours, well, they seem interesting, and you offer them quick greetings as you pass by in hall, but you haven’t really met them yet. they don't seem the type to bring over a casserole to meet their new neighbours and you aren't either. but you suppose you'll keep passing them by in the halls and meet them eventually.

the first one you meet is Parker, when she drops down into your apartment from, where you later learn, the vents.

you’ve seen them around before so maybe you’re not as freaked out as you should be to have someone pop out of nowhere in your apartment.

you introduce yourself and ask if they’re from across the hall. her face scrunches, realizing this isn’t the intended apartment.

xe introduces xemself, and you get a name for the face. Parker.

“it’s nice to meet you,” you say, then offer aer food because you were just about to make some for yourself, why not make some for your unexpected guest too and get to know your new neighbour.

they’re a bit suspicious but accept. you ask xem to point out things they like from what you have, you whip something up, serve it on your breakfast counter and eat together in silence.

Parker had only eaten half their plate when she starts picking at it.

you knew not everyone had a good, or even neutral, relationship with food.

“did you want to take it home? have it for later? or if you’re done, we can throw it out, it’s ok. the majority of food waste doesn’t come from households,” you offer, concentrating on your own food so ae has time to process and think about it. “or, you can bring it home and decide later if you want to eat it or throw it out, or give it to a friend,” you add.

you wonder if xe likes chocolate. you offer xem some and she perks up, eyes brightening, so you grab it from the other counter.

“im not sure if it’s good or not … if you like it, you can have it.” you hold it out to aer.

they grab it and open it fast, precisely, aggressively, not giving the package an option of not opening. ae bites into it immediately. thinks about it.

“it’s good.”

you smile. you’d just bought that chocolate, but maybe you’d bought it to make new friends. “good. you can have it.”

she smiles and hums.

xe leaves a little later, deciding to take their leftovers home.

you pack it up in a container you’ll only be a little sad to lose if it doesn’t make its way back.

(and if pictures and other items start disappearing from your apartment, and then reappearing a few days later … well, maybe you have a ghost, and who were you to stop them?)

(and if you started leaving small chocolates in place of your missing items every once in a while? well, they sometimes got returned faster. maybe it wouldn’t be great for your wallet in the long run, but it seemed like a nice way to make friends, didn’t it?)

(and if your container showed up a week after Parker went home with it in the back of your cupboard … well, you’ll thank your ghost with an extra chocolate left by your missing lamp.)

2. the next neighbour that shows up to your apartment is Alec Hardison.

there’s a banging on your door. when you answer it, confused, your neighbour is immediately steamrolling into an explanation of how his wifi just went out and he’s in the middle of something urgent and doesn’t have time to fix his own and can he please come in and borrow your wifi for a bit?

you let him in but tell him that if he slows down your wifi afterwards because he’s still using it, you’ll call the super on him, so they’ll never have a moment of peace, that there’ll always be someone wandering in to check on the water pressure.

he agrees with an amused laugh, setting up on your couch. you tell him the wifi but get the sense that even if you didn’t, he’d be able to connect.

you have chores to do that afternoon and he’s still there, so you let him know that if he leaves before you get back to lock the door behind him.

he assures you he will, and you leave him to it, grabbing your phone, wallet and whatever else you need.

he’s gone when you get back, space cleaned it up bar a few missed crumbs and a note in the middle of the coffee table with his name, number and a thanks for the wifi!, no other evidence he was ever there.

(except that in the coming weeks you get the sense that your wifi is a bit faster than usual …)

(you feel like you should bake cookies.)

3. the next time it happens, it’s late and you’re just getting in bed when you hear someone at the door.

there’s scraping and muttering and you pre-dial emergency services, but don’t hit ‘call’ yet, as you creep forward, wondering if it’s just a drunk neighbour at the wrong door or a really bad (and loud) thief.

you realize who it is after they break in, thanks to his grumbling. Eliot, one of your other neighbours, the grumpy one, from what you’ve (over)heard and seen at a distance, but a good cook from the brief mentions from the other two.

he’s stumbling about in your apartment, mumbling about …

oh. he may not be drunk, but you think he’s at least in shock, drugged, intoxicated, injured something bad, maybe, because he’s fumbling around, complaining to his partners, not seeming to realize it’s not their place. you turn your phone off.

he’s grumbling to Parker about why’d xe have to hide the first aid kit, he can patch himself up himself thank you very much, he doesn’t need help and dammit Hardison why’d you have to change the lights again?, opening cupboards in your dim streetlight-lit kitchen.

you sneak to your bathroom, grab the first aid kit there and place it on the kitchen counter when his back is turned, sliding back into the shadows, though you don’t quite know why.

he turns and sees it. huffs and says, “i know you’re still upset but thanks,” to the empty air, expecting someone to be able to hear it, hiding in the shadows. not you, though. these words, softer than you’ve even heard him speak, aren’t intended for you. this version of him, more tired than you’ve seen him, soft, open, vulnerable, isn't meant for you.

and maybe that’s why. because he thinks he’s in his safe space, and able to be vulnerable with people important to him, but here you are. an intruder in your own apartment, on accident in this moment, and you don’t want him to feel like he has to pull his mask up again.

(you may know a thing or two about that.)

he takes the kit to the living room, sits on the couch with everything laid out on the coffee table and gets to work patching himself up.

you step quietly into the kitchen, hoping he doesn’t catch you and get startled, grab some painkillers and fill a glass of water. you carry it over to where he sits.

you think maybe he’s so tired, from the pain, from the loneliness, from the day, and he really thinks he’s in his own apartment that it’s normal, not out of place, to hear the almost silent sounds of people sneaking around, that he doesn’t look up.

you place the water and painkillers on the side table, and with one last look (wondering if he needs anything else), you go to your room, hoping you won’t have to wake him from his tired delusion if he tries to come to the bedroom.

he doesn’t and soon enough you fall asleep.

you find him still asleep on your couch in the morning and you think that adjusting the blanket over him would probably wake him up, so you leave him be and get to work in the kitchen, quiet as possible.

he wakes up when you’re on your second set of pancakes.

you watch him out of the corner of your eye as he sits up, clocks the first aid kit on the coffee table, then the familiar unfamiliar room. he looks your way and you give him a small smile.

“hope you don’t have any allergies, i made breakfast.” you nod at the plate laid out on the counter.

he silently walks over. suspiciously, carefully. but lowers himself into the seat and slowly brings a piece to his mouth.

this is the cook of the family, and you’re slightly terrified of not meeting his expectations. you try to focus on the batter on the pan in front of you but can’t help glancing at him to gauge his reaction.

he continues eating, a little faster, and you smile proudly to yourself, feeling like you’ve received approval from Gordon Ramsey, or a middle school date’s parents.

you don’t say much, just offer him more and make sure he knows what sort of toppings and beverages you have, eventually standing across him on the other side of the counter, eating your own breakfast, mirroring when Parker visited the first time.

when he’s done, he thanks you in a quiet, gruff, but sincere, voice.

you smile. “no problem.”

he nods and leaves.

(a few days later you find that your coffee table no longer has one shorter leg, and your bookshelves are all even.)

(you think again that you should bake cookies but worry they wouldn’t hold up to Eliot’s standards.)

4. the fourth time it happens you feel you should really reevaluate your safety procedures and reactions, because there’s someone trying to break in again, and you’re just standing there.

in your defense, it’s happened before. and like then, you can hear the person on the other side muttering to themself. you were going to open if for them and save them the trouble, but you’d heard them when you’ve gotten closer.

“-can’t do it, ha! i’ll show them, he’ll have to take me seriously when i steal all his stuff and make his computer sing every time he opens it! he can’t just cut me out, that jerk! c’mon, i’ve done this before, why won’t this door open!”

you can’t help but feel for the person (kid? they sound younger than your neighbours) and leave them be, leaning back against the wall, allowing them this one victory, and wondering if you need to reevaluate your life because your friends would be very concerned if you told them that you let someone pick your lock.

“ah ha!”

…

“oh.” they stare.

you stare back. they look young, a young adult, wide eyed to have been caught breaking into your apartment, and not their intended location.

“good job.” (your friends would be so concerned) “they’re not back yet, i’m presuming you meant to break in across the hall? 7E vs 7F, happens all the time, anyways, you can chill here for a bit in the meantime, if you want. you hungry? i was just about to make myself a snack.”

they blink. cough. “uh, yah, ok.” unsure, but willing to take a break and snoop.

you introduce yourself and head to the kitchen, gesturing that they can make themself at the counter.

she tells you her name, Breanna.

you smile at her. “nice to meet you, cheese and crackers ok?”

“yah, sure.”

you pull out crackers from the cupboards and some cheese from the fridge and set about slicing it.

“how are you so chill about all this?”

you chuckle and shrug. “you’re not the first one to break into my apartment.”

“but why’d you let me keep going if you heard me? why not call the cops or something? honestly Hardison would’ve chewed me out if he caught me.”

you shrug. “probably should’ve, but, wasn’t the first time it’s happened, and it seemed like you needed a win, didn’t want to keep you from your goal.”

you plate the cheese and crackers on your charcuterie board, a little fancier than you’d been planning, but you had a guest which was a great excuse to be posher than usual.

midway through your snacks you speak up, “if you want to get in a little faster, there’s a spare key hidden by the fire alarm at the end of the hall.” you shrug innocently, making another cheese and cracker sandwich. “just in case you wanted to … i dunno, impress them with your speed and have more time for shenanigans.”

you don’t know Breanna. haven’t seen her around here before, and didn’t know if she actually was here for your neighbours across the hall, didn’t know if she actually knew them at all. but the grin she gave you (bright and mischievous) made you think of a younger sibling’s smile when they were about to annoy their older sibling.

(it was a smile you knew well, you’d seen it plenty times before.)

“thank you!” she was out of her chair and out the door, words left behind fading and leaving you in silence once more.

you lock the door behind her and clean up the kitchen.

(really, if they didn’t want their place broken into, it’d either be secure enough already, or it’d be a good reminder for them to update their security. it’d be good for them.)

the final time … a man is sent to your door.

there’s a knock one day and you’re wondering if it’s one of your Neighbours (across the hall) or one of your neighbours (anyone else in the building). you answer it and don’t recognize the person standing there. “hello?”

“hi, i’m Harry Wilson, i know-” he points to the door across the hall “-your neighbours, i was sent here to ask if i could use your balcony?”

you stare at him. you think he might usually be a confident man from the way he wears his suit, but he seems too business-like to know your neighbours (not that you actually know what they do) and he seems out of his depth. you wonder how he knows them (if he knows them.)

“who sent you?” you raise an eyebrow. you need to be sure before letting this 9-5 businessman into your apartment.

“Sophie and Hardison, and, um-” he frowns.

(he has an adorable frown.)

you don’t know a Sophie (other than Mrs. Tiller’s cat from 11C, but you doubt a cat sent him) but your phone buzzes in your pocket and you take it out.

it’s from Hardison.

he’s with us, u can trust him.

can we use ur balcony for a bit?

Harry’s harmless, dw about him, he was an evil lawyer but he’s doing better now :)

you’re not sure what ‘with them now’ means, and you’re not sure if you want to know, plausible deniability and all, but you're proud you were right about the business type.

you look back up at Harry, consideringly. you step back and open the door wider, gesturing him in. “c’mon in then.”

“thank you,” he smiles.

(he has a nice smile.)

you lead him across you apartment (feeling a little self-conscious at the homey mess that it is) and open the balcony door for him. “here you are.”

“thank you,” he repeats, and goes outside.

you watch him a moment, closing the door slowly, hearing talk to himself in a not-talking-to-himself sort of way (“yes, i have a view of the front of the restaurant and the alley…”) and wonder again just what sort of shenanigans your neighbours get into.

feeling a little confused, unsettled, off-balance, curious … you don’t quite know, you head to your kitchen and set about getting snacks ready.

you assemble a tray and with a deep breath, you take it out to the balcony.

“i brought snacks, may i join you?”

“oh, you didn’t have to, um-” he glances down at the street, whatever’s going on there “-sure, and, uh, if i start talking to myself …”

you wave him off, spreading the snacks out. “won’t hear a thing.”

he smiles, a bit embarrassed, self-conscious, awkward, you’re not sure, but he takes some of the snacks and you eat together, the wind and traffic carrying the conversation between you.

“so. i'm told you were a lawyer?”

he laughs. “an evil lawyer. i quit my practice, trying … i'm trying to do better now, help people instead.”

“a self-declared former evil lawyer. how very … good, of you. it’s good that you’re trying to help people.”

he smiles and you think he’s a bit self-conscious about it, not yet comfortable being a ‘good guy’, but you think he’ll be good at it, if it means this much to him to … redeem himself.

he shifts and you stay silent, sensing his attention has been called back to his work, and the reason you’re out on your balcony.

he responds to presumably the voices in his head, a hidden earpiece, ghosts, maybe…

you fall into companionable silence, but every once in a while, between his … work … talk, he turns and asks you questions about yourself. you return them and end up spending hours talking about all sorts of things under the sun. you find out you like similar things and he makes you laugh more than anyone not in your friend group has been able to in a while.

(and maybe when he’s distracted by relaying the comings and goings of the restaurant's back door you find yourself glancing to see if he wears a wedding ring. he doesn’t. you tell yourself not to think about it so much.)

you go inside in the middle of one of his one-sided conversations, as much as you wanted to stay (it’s amusing to watch after all), you were growing cold and hungry again, you hadn’t realized how long you’d stayed there. so you pack up the dishes and carry them inside and start on dinner, not being able to keep yourself from glancing out the window every once in a while.

it’s almost ready and you’re about to pull out dishes for two, when he comes back inside in a rush.

you raise your eyebrows, a small smile gracing your face.

“i have to go, thank you for everything,” he says on his way out.

“no problem,” you call after him. (at least you hadn’t got out dishes yet.)

you hear him pause at the door. he pops his head back around the corner. “it was really nice to meet you.”

you smile. “yah.”

then he leaves. you lock the door behind him and finish up, serving yourself and sitting at your counter to eat. alone.

(if you have to put on some music or move to the couch to watch a show so it’s not so quiet… well, there was no one to know anyway.)

+1 you don’t talk to you neighbours a lot, in fact you don’t see them all that often either. but their missing presence seems even more pronounced in the following weeks. (you feel like your plants are judging you, smitten after just one meeting??.) maybe they’re just busy, or travelling, or working, or you’re just missing each other every time, but it’s been a while since you’ve seen any of them. (and if you’re a little more eager to one of them in particular? well, that will stay between you and your plants.)

finally, on one of your days off, you take matters into your own hands and start baking.

you make two kinds of cookies, because you panicked and worried that not everyone would like one kind.

you assemble a plate to take over, hype yourself up, put your phone in your pocket, make sure your door’s unlocked so you won’t get locked out (but would it be the worst thing in the world if they had to help you break into your own apartment? … yes, if they weren’t at their apartment and you ended up locked out with only cookies for company), and knock on your neighbours’ door.

“hello?”

you don’t recognize the person who opens the door and immediately panic and wonder if they’ve moved out or if they never lived here in the first place, but then you hear Parker’s voice in the background asking who’s there.

“Sophie? who is it?” ae pops up behind Sophie and waves when she sees you. “hi!”

“hi, i brought, uh-”

“cookies!” the plate is out of your hands before you know it, brought up close to Parker’s face as xe inhales the scent of the freshly baked cookies.

you point out the two kinds. “i, uh, wasn’t sure what you liked so i made two different ones, i hope that’s ok.”

“ooooh yay!! more cookies!!” xe cheers and they’re off, disappearing with the cookies.

you hear more voices from the depth of the apartment, you think it’s Hardison who asks Parker who it was.

“um.” you’re about to return to your apartment, quest to deliver your cookies (and check that your neighbours still existed) accomplished, when you hear Hardison’s voice call out, inviting you in to share the cookies.

Sophie must take pity on your panicked expression at being put on the spot, because she offers again. “you should join us, the cookies will be gone before you know it.”

you glance back at your apartment. “i, uh, let me just go lock up.”

Sophie smiles at you.

you dash inside, make sure you have your phone and keys and panic about going into their apartment. they’ve all been inside of yours at this point (except for Sophie … that you know of), but this will be the first time you’ll be seeing theirs and it scares you more than you can explain.

but you decide, ‘gaslight, gatekeep, girlboss, baby!’, and leave your apartment, locking it behind you and seeing Sophie still standing there with the door open and a gentle smile on her face.

you go in, toeing your shoes off at the door. Sophie leads you to their living room where Parker, Hardison, Eliot, Breanna and Harry are sitting.

they greet you enthusiastically and warmly when they notice you’ve joined them, complimenting your baking skills.

you laugh. “i was worried i wouldn’t meet your standards but im glad you like them.”

Hardison and Eliot wrangle the plate from Parker to offer you one, you take a cookie, and Breanna quickly steals the plate next.

you end up sitting next to Harry, who sends you a soft smile.

(you don’t catch they teasing looks the others send Harry afterwards.)

you get to witness them acting like the family they are, banter, affection, food fights and all, laughing with them until your sides hurt.

(and if Harry’s eyes lingered a bit too long on your form when you weren’t looking, well… no one needed to know.)

(and if he was noticed by his family teammates, … well then they’d do the only thing to do, tease him about it and urge him to ask you out.)

(and if after you left, the teasing got worse, well, Harry’d leave the apartment to get out of range of their lighthearted barbs.)

(and if instead of going outside like he’d said he was going to, he ended up across the hall and got up the courage to knock, well then you’d open it and invite him in with a smile.)

(and if you two talked for hours before realizing how late it was, no one was there to call you out.)

(and if when he finally left, he asked you out on a date for later that week… well, you would’ve said yes.)

but even if that doesn't happen, you have fun.

~~~

thanks for reading!! feel free to rb and leave nice comments <3

#leverage fanfiction #writings by oak #gender neutral reader #leverage ot3: hitter hacker thief #leverage x reader #eliot spencer fanfiction #parker fanfiction #alec hardison fanfiction #breanna casey fanfiction #harry wilson fanfiction #sophie devereaux fanfiction #x reader #x gn reader #harry wilson/reader

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apocalypse-shuffle · 1 year ago

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ALEC HARDISON (leverage)

—

“Break” (Alec Hardison x Fem!Reader)

| You visit Alec to let off some stress and to get out of your own head.

| NSFW, 18+, minors dni, cockwarming, oral (male receiving), spacing out, sub space?

| Since Leverage: Redemption season two just came out and I watched Black Adam yesterday I’m gonna finally post this. Or not! It’s been, like, almost a full year since I wrote this.

| 1k+ words

Beg. NOTES: Listen, I don’t know how much of an audience reader insert fics with Hardison have (very little from what I’ve seen), and I don’t want to intrude by posting this, but hey! Without risks you’re not truly living, right? ALSO, I love Alec and Parker together and I love the OT3, okay? Don’t come for me.

You close your laptop only a little harshly, finally done with your work for the day. Now you could read or do something else to decompress and rest your eyes from the strain of your computer screen, but something is pushing you towards your boyfriend in specific.

You know he’s doing a virtual campaign right now so you haven’t seen him in a few hours, but he’s never rejected your presence as long as you weren’t disruptive, so? You shrug and walk off towards his room. No harm in testing it out. You feel the tiniest bit depraved of your Alec and you wanted to give your mind a break anyways.

He turns to you languidly, no startling and no obvious irritation on his face. You nod to yourself and softly click the door closed.

“Hey,” his voice is soft and he gives his usual bright utterly smitten smile that makes you want to die (in a good way). “Class go well?”

You smile just as sappily back at him and revel in the way it makes him soften even more.

“It was alright,” you incline your head as he chuckles. “I could use some of your company though. You know, if it’s not too much to ask?”

His eyes widen briefly before he starts hurriedly moving things around.

“Yea- yeah, girl. Come right ahead, you know I always got time for you,” he takes a second to unmute to declare he’s present since he was apparently on hold because of complications on somebody’s end. He beckons you over right afterwards. “You have something to do?”

You shrug, dropping down on all fours.

“I have four hours to waste, which means I have four hours to relax. If you wanna fuck around some?”

“Oh,” he breathes. He knows exactly how you like to fuck around when you’re stressed.

Alec looks at you wide eyed for the entire time it takes you to cross the room to his desk. Snapping out of it only when you’re kneeling in front of him and running your hands up his thighs.

He makes a choked noise, hand snapping up to cover his mike and pull it away from his mouth even with it being off.

“Jesus, baby, are you sure?”

His voice is rushed but he’s looking at you with obvious interest. You smile up at him before leaning in and ghosting the tip of your nose over where you know his cock is hiding in his basketball shorts.

You make eye contact, “Please?”

Alec’s leg jumps.

That, the soft needy question you pose, is all he needs because in a second he’s reaching his hand back for one of his pillows and dropping it down for you to kneel on. You do so with a small chuckle and a “thank you.”

He’s trembling and giving you the most eager looks in between participating, voice mainly only keeping steady because you’re not trying to distract him. You just want him in your mouth, no mischief needed. Though he is fidgety partially because he knows if the inclination struck you you could easily embarrass the hell out of him.

You laugh and move to pull his pants down his thighs with his assistance. Once he’s free to your satisfaction you brush the lightest kiss to his happy trail. He sighs, meeting your gaze intermittently as he plays through his turn. In response you trail featherlight kisses down to his dick, which is steadily hardening for your consideration, kiss at his base and then travel down to lick over his balls.

His voice stutters harshly over his next sentence and you smile before pulling away. He gives you this panicked desperate look, making as if he’s about to start complaining you, but you wave him off.

“Easy baby,” you mouth right before making him gasp by kissing his tip and then wrapping your lips around his head.

You keep your pace easygoing as Alec stutters and stops over his words; as he trembles against you, dick twitching while you slowly engulf him.

You wring your first moan out of him when you’ve gotten him all the way down your throat, mind steadily blanking on anything other than the weight of him on your tongue and the slight twinge in your jaw, when the back of your throat swallows over his head.

His head drops down and his hand clumsily snaps out to mute his microphone.

“S-shit girl, oh my god. It’s like you’re trying to kill me -goddamn.” he groans at the hum you give him.

You barely fucking hear him, have no clue when he moaned that he nearly did it for everyone to hear. You're just losing yourself in the sensations. The way he pulses in your mouth, the occasional twitch as he struggles not to fuck into your throat, how your jaw feels, the stretch of your lips, and then the drool running clear like polished glass down your chin and dripping onto Alec’s balls.

You sigh and go limp against him when his hand moves to your head. He burrows his fingers into your thick curls to get a firm grip but doesn’t do anything else. You swallow around his cock again in thanks, only in tune with the way it makes him shift against you. In the strangled noise he makes. The fact he’s on call isn’t even a factor any more; just his pleasure and how he feels in your mouth.

Your eyes flutter shut happily as he scratches blunt nails against your scalp.

“God baby,” he gasps and you whine just the tiniest bit, pussy twinging between your legs. Your hands don’t move from their position in your lap though.

Alec’s got you. The thought echoes in your mind nicely as you hand over control. You don’t have to worry about anything else but him.

- - -

Alec curses above your head, completely unregistered by you, and then rushes to get himself excused. You’re making him feel so fucking good and for that you deserve all his attention -and boy does he want to give it. Plus, you dropped so fast that he’s a bit worried about you; it typically took way more coaxing from him to get you out of your head.

He’s extra careful with his movements as he logs off and shuts down his setup. His eyes draw fully to you once he’s done and don’t leave. You were too pretty like this, face relaxed like it only ever was in sleep with your lips stretched to accommodate his girth.

He brushes his free hand over your face when he shifts too much for your liking and you let out an utterly disparaging whine.

“Shh, baby, it’s alright. You’re doing so good for me, you know that? I got you I promise,” he grinds forward the smallest bit, moaning when you squeeze down. “So damn good.”

NOTES: Hi, hope you enjoyed! I don’t know shit about dnd so I kept this as vague as possible, and I didn’t use gaming because I know even less about that shit.

I’ll catch any typos later!

I just got back on my Leverage bullshit and so now I feel I must finally blow the thick layer of built up dust off of this draft and post it. Keep in mind though that I have since turned this fic into another - heavily edited - Peter Parker fic with a similar premise because of how scared I was to post a “Hardison x Reader” story, let alone a smutty one. (I know, self plagiarism; the horrors! The whole idea of “self plagiarism” is nonsense anyway, but I digress.)

btw: if you’d like to leave a comment I’d very much appreciate it! this is a sideblog tho so I won’t respond.

#alec hardison #black!reader #black y/n #alec hardison x black!reader #alec hardison x fem!reader #alec hardison imagine #leverage x black!reader #alec hardison x reader #leverage x reader #leverage imagine #x reader smut #leverage #adult shit

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thegeeksideofsr · 2 years ago

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Recovery

I'm alive!!!!

Life has been busy and I've had this tucked in my drafts for awhile. I hope to get back into writing, both Eliot fics and some original stuff if anyone is interested.

But in the meantime, I give you this!! Not a full fic, but a blurb that takes place just after Blood Stains .

The doors to the trauma room swing open, causing the three of us to jump. I open my eyes and look at the doctor, as he walks towards us.

"You're here for Detective Baker?"

"Yeah that's us."

"We stopped the bleeding. The bullet entered his left side, it nicked an artery but you got to him in time. If you hadn't slowed the bleeding when you did he wouldn't have made it."

"He's gonna be ok?" Hardison asks.

"In time, yes. He also has cracked ribs, we treated them, between that and the gun shot wound, he should be on his feet in a month or two. He's being moved to recovery as we speak. We had to give him a mild sedative."

Parker huffs out a laugh.

"He's not gonna like that," She mumbles.

"Can we see him?" I ask the doctor.

He looks at me, he takes a breath but hesitates.

"Family only, I'm afraid."

"We are family."

He doctor watches me a moment more before he nods.

"Alright. But one at a time. He's still under sedation, but I'm sure he'd appreciate a familiar face when he wakes up."

"Thank you."

I look at Parker and Hardison, ready to ask if one of them would like to go first, but Hardison speaks before I can.

"Go. We need to grab a change of clothes and talk to Nate and Sophie. We will be back later.

I nod, the turn to the doctor. He gestures for me to follow him, he leads me down a hall and through a few corridors, coming to a stop in front of a door.

"He's in here. You can press the call button if you need anything."

I nod to him, then watch him walk to the nurses station at the end of the hall. I take a deep breath then open the door.

Seeing him laying is surreal. He lays so still I would have thought he was dead if it weren't for his chest moving and the heart monitor on the wall making a soft beep with his heartbeat.

I sit in a chair next to the bed, I hold his hand in mine. It's lost most of the warmth it usually holds. Normally he's the one who hold my hand when something happens, but now that it's him, it feels like a dream. Like I'll wake up and he will be yelling at Hardison for something.

But it's not a dream. He lays there, almost looking small, chest rising and falling steadily, his hair his spread out on the pillow, the usual crease between his eye brows is smoothed out. A peaceful look replacing the near constant scowl he wears.

I bring his hand to my face to press a kiss to the back of his hand, threading my fingers between his.

"Please wake up soon," I whisper.

I lay his arm back down with out letting go of him. I lay my head down next to his hand, letting my eyes close again, the quiet beep from the monitor lulling me to sleep.

°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°

The sound of the door opening jerks me awake. I sit up and look at the door to find a nurse coming in. She looks at me and smiles, then walks to the monitor on the other side of the bed, she then checks the IV bags and tubing to Eliot's arm.

" Is he ok?" I ask her.

"At the moment, the sedative should were off soon. It's good your here. He's a lucky man to have you here for him."

I smile at her then turn to Eliot. I must have a look on my face because the nurse speaks again, a knowing tone in her voice.

"You're in love with him."

"What?" I snap to look at her.

"I can see it in the way you look at him. I've seen that look before in couples."

"We aren't a couple."

"Mmmm. Maybe you should fix that. You almost lost him today. It would be tragic if something happened again and he wasn't as lucky as he was this time."

I look at her. She right, but telling him now feels like the wrong time.

"It complicated. We are best friends and partners, if my feelings did something to jeopardize that, I don't think I could handle it."

She nods then heads to the door.

"Call me if you need anything, dear."

"I will."

I stand and pace the floor at the foot of the bed, worrying my lip and playing with the hem of my shirt. A quiet groan from the bed catches my attention.

Turning back to Eliot, finding a small frown drawing his eyebrows together. I walk back to the side of the bed, whispering his name as I take his hand in mine, pressing the back of it to my cheek.

He squeezes my hand, his grip not as strong as it usually is, it still causes a smile to spread across my face. His head rolls towards me, the crease between his brows to deepens, his eyes open just enough to show his pretty blue eyes off.

" Hi." I say to him, tears blurring my vision.

"Hi," he grumbles, then looks down to my chest. "That's my shirt."

I huff out a teary laugh.

"That's all you have to say after nearly dieing?"

"Nearly died before. Never seen you in my shirt before."

I shake my head at him, then move to hit the call button so the nurse can check on him now that he's awake, but he grips my hand tighter, stopping me. I look at him with a questioning look, but he just stares at me.

"What?"

"Was that true?"

"Who?"

"What the nurse said."

My heart drops.

"You heard that?"

"Yeah. Was just coming out of it."

I take a deep breath to calm my nerves.

"What does it matter if it was true?"

"It matters."

A silents settles over us. We sit there staring at each other as if we could read each other's minds.

He takes a breath to say something else when the door bursts open, Hardison and Parker falling in the door. I release his hand and move to stand at the end of the bed.

"Is he awake yet?" Hardison asks me.

"Yes, dumb ass, I'm awake, and you are too damn loud."

"Well good to know you're already back to normal."

Eliot huffs out a laugh, then holds his side, face scrunching in pain.

"I'm gonna get the nurse." I say as I walk out of the room. I hear Eliot say my name but I ignore it and continue to the nurses station.

I find the same nurse that checked on Eliot earlier and tell her that he's awake and seams to be in pain. She nods then heads to his room.

I don't follow her, I stand at the counter of the station trying to figure out what Eliot meant by his response. I decide to let it go. He's probably high on pain meds, and probably won't remember that conversation tomorrow, just act like every thing is normal.

°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°

Eliot Spencer Tag list :

@katbratsupernaturalwhore @fictional-hooman @skyeofbees

#eliot spencer #eliot spencer x reader #christian kane #leverage fanfic #eliot spencer x oc #leverage #alec hardison #parker

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brooklhyn · 1 year ago

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Eliot Spencer and What I am Learning About Myself

A poem about my brother that isn't making it in my poetry book

I have little time on my hands, so much of what I consume has a purpose.

My food is treated like medicine (six brazil nuts a day...), media is an opportunity to learn what is happening, books and tv fill in the gaps of my knowledge from economics to how to cook for my elderly neighbors. You get the point.

My heart has dipped low, weighed down with the collected tears of the world in her pocket, looking for joy in a shadowy street.

I try not to give myself passes. After all, people giving themselves passes often leaves other lives at chance in my line of work. But reason and wisdom peak my interest. In the swoop a half-sided smile, I'm sent into the cold with a prescription for laughter.

With comedy quiet for the sleepy winter, somehow, I find myself transported back to a room of younger me with the click of a dvd in the player. It's not family movies- don't be so naive.

I have fragmented memories of these stories- they are seemingly more politically prolific today than I remembered. But what catches my attention is the man with the dedication and calmness. He reminds me of someone- he did back then too.

Living a 1,000 lives in the last fews years has set me on this hunt to dissect who I once was. I didn't remember until recently but the room younger me was sat in was one of expectation- waiting for the door to open and me to be swept up into open arms, circling around me with assurance that was safe.

Back then, I could tell myself he was off liberating Croatia. Now, my tears fill my heart as I know that his dying day came before my own.

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obfuscateyummy · 8 months ago

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Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Leverage (US TV 2008) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Eliot Spencer (Leverage)/Original Female Character(s) Characters: Original Female Character(s), Eliot Spencer, Nate Ford, Sophie Devereaux (Leverage), Alec Hardison, Parker, Cora McRoy Summary:

Inspired by the song Boston by Augustana.

TW: mentions of death, mentions of child death, terminal illness

Set sometime between 2.1 and when Sophie leaves in Season 2.

#eliot spencer x reader #eliot Spencer x ofc #eliot spencer #leverage #leverage (tv)#nate ford #parker #alec hardison #sophie devereaux #gracie writes fic

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onomatopoetic101999 · 5 months ago

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Lucky

Alec Hardison x Reader

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It’s late when Alec Hardison gets home, way later than usual. He’d expected you to have gone to bed without him, but the lights shining from underneath your shared gaming room door dictate otherwise. You’re careful to always turn off the lights in the rooms you weren’t using.

He shakes his head with a smile as he toes his shoes off by the front door before heading to where you were. He had a feeling he knew exactly what you were playing. He opens the door, and his suspicions are confirmed; you’re sitting in your gaming chair, laser-focused on the screen in front of you.

It displays some woods, with a pale, shirtless, platinum blond man coming out from behind a tree. He smirks, and Hardison recognizes him immediately - Astarion. You were playing Baldur’s Gate. Again.

Astarion steps forward with a sly grin as the subtitles read, “Waiting… to have you.” Hardison’s eyebrows raise. Was this a romance scene? He has to hold in his laugh.

You’re completely oblivious to his entering your space, completely enraptured by Astarion’s seduction. If it weren’t for the wedding and engagement rings on your finger, Hardison would almost be jealous. Instead, he’s just amused.

He keeps walking forward until he stands right behind you. He leans down, face inches to your left. Somehow, you still haven’t noticed him, and he can’t wait to see your reaction. He lifts one side of your headphones just enough to whisper, “Careful, he bites.”

You jump a mile high in your seat, and your startled yelp is music to Hardison’s ears. You rip off your headphones and turn around to see Hardison curled over with laughter. You cross your arms and pout, a blush across your face. Your expression just makes Hardison laugh harder, and his chuckles are infectious; you can’t help but join in.

By the time his laughter subsides, Hardison is wiping tears from his eyes.

“Sorry, Babe. I couldn’t help myself.”

You roll your eyes, but you can’t hide your smile. Hardison grabs his own gaming chair before rolling it over to you and taking a seat.

“Now,” he says sternly, “Do you know what time it is?”

Your eyebrows furrow and you blink, as if you had forgotten that time even existed. Hardison raises an eyebrow, and you give him a guilty smile.

“Uh… later than it should be?”

He huffs out a laugh. “I know that’s right.”

He stands up, then, taking your hands in his to pull you up with him.

“Time for bed, Honey.”

You don’t even argue, the late hour hitting you hard the second the game’s distraction is taken away. You raise a hand to cover your yawn, and nod tiredly.

“Okay, lemme just save real quick,” you go to turn around towards the screen again, but Hardison stops you with a gentle hand on your arm.

“Nah, I’ve got it. Go get ready for bed, Baby.”

You nod again and trudge to your shared bedroom. You change into your pajamas sleepily, and you yawn again as you open the door to the ensuite bathroom. You stumble to the sink and start sluggishly brushing your teeth.

You’re just about done washing your face when Hardison comes into the bathroom. He wraps his arms around your waist, resting his chin on your shoulder. His eyes meet yours in the mirror, and he gives you a fond smile.

“How we doin’ Honey?”

You hum an affirmative sound, and he laughs. You feel the shake of his body against your back. It’s a comforting sensation.

“Come on, Sleepyhead.” He releases you to take your hand in his, pulling you towards the bed. You onto the mattress with a flop while Hardison changes into his sleepwear: sweatpants. He slides into the bed next to you and pulls against his bare chest, pressing a kiss to your hair. You smile and snuggle closer to him before quickly falling asleep.

Hardison stays up for a few minutes longer, eyes watching the ceiling fan go around. Your lips are against his neck, your steady breaths brushing against his skin. When you murmur in your sleep, he pulls you just a bit closer.

His eyelids start to droop, and he has one last thought before joining you in slumber; how lucky he was to have you in his life.

#fic rec #ficrec #magswrites #alec hardison #alec hardison x reader #hardison x reader #hardison leverage x reader #hardison leverage #leverage fanfic #leverage #leverage tv #love this dude #for jessie 🥺

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fablesrose · 3 months ago

Text

Ch 22 - The Scheherazade Job

Series Rewrite Masterlist

Pairing: Eliot Spencer x Ford!Reader

Description: A corrupt wanna-be politician leads to Hardison's pursuit of musical endeavors.

Words: 7.3k

A/n: Heyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy..... It's, uh, been a minute.... The last few months have been a bit hectic with the holidays and finishing my degree. And now with the job search, unfortunately I cannot guarantee frequent or regular updates, but I hope to be more frequent than recent months. Anyway, I really appreciate the support and patience and want to hear your thoughts! Much love!

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*Bzz bzz*

I looked annoyingly at my phone as a message came in, momentarily quieting the classical music I had coming out of the speaker while I cleaned the apartment.

Nate: I’m going down to the pub to meet with a client. Make sure you’re ready for the brief as soon as we’re done.

Me: Do you need some company?

Nate: No, I’ve got Hardison and Eliot coming with me. Don’t want to overwhelm her too much.

I looked at the message puzzlingly before answering.

Me: Why both of them?

Nate: Hardison requested to come. The client has had some physical safety concerns and people following her. That’s what Eliot is gonna be there for.

Me: Is there gonna be a fight?

Nate: Probably

Me: Well, I’m coming for the show then

Nate’s typing notification popped up, but I sent another text before he could send.

Me: I’ll just stay in the back, you won’t even know I’m there. Plus, you might need a female presence at the ready, you never know.

I saw the typing indication go away and pop up again a couple of times before it vanished for an extended period of time. I took that as Nate not telling me no.

I finished up my cleaning task and made my way down to the pub. I spotted where the group was sitting and noticed that I must have made it just in time as Eliot was acting drunk and approaching two very intimidating looking black men in suits. I grabbed a chair at a table in the corner where I had a clear view, but the others wouldn’t be distracted by me.

The one who Eliot was directly speaking to downed his drink before punching Eliot in the gut with a level of finality I hadn’t seen in a fight. This didn’t last long, however, as the man’s face quickly turned to pain as Eliot rose up again, holding the man’s wrist at a painful angle that brought him to his knees with a long winded whine. While holding him there, Eliot punched the other man, who had yet to do anything, in the mouth. He tried to punch back, but Eliot quickly blocked and punched him again, hard enough to throw him into the wall this time. He did it again when he came back, all while the other man was still on his knees before Eliot seemed to become tired of it and punched him in the gut and threw him into the other one.

Eliot took a break to approach a nearby woman and excused himself for taking a sip of her drink before handing it back to her. Eliot cracked his neck and made an… interesting move to say the least as if asking the men if they wanted more.

I rolled my eyes at the dramatics, but knowing Eliot, he did it to prove a point. Likely to Hardison. And in my opinion, the point was probably made as the men both left the pub without further argument. My suspicion was confirmed as since the pub was so quiet after the fight, when Eliot sat back down at the table with a smile, I heard him ask Hardison, “Can your dog do that?”

I couldn’t help the snort that came out of me at the question. I hadn’t even heard the argument beforehand, but I could almost hear it in the moment. The noise I made must have been louder than anticipated as Eliot’s head snapped up a little bit and spotted me across the room. I smiled and gave an embarrassed wave. He smiled and gave me a half wink before looking around as if to pull up an empty chair. I quickly shook my head to stop him. He gave me a puzzled look. I contemplated how to tell him why I wasn’t coming over from across the room, but couldn’t think of any way to mime it out. I finally very obviously pulled out my phone to text him.

Me: Nate doesn’t want to overwhelm the client with too many people.

Eliot pulled out his phone and subtly looked at it under the table while also listening to the client tell her story. He looked at me with raised eyebrows as I received a text.

Eliot: You sure? I don’t think she would mind your company.

Me: Yeah, I honestly just came for the show ;P. I’m just gonna head back up to finish cleaning my apartment before the briefing. Thanks though.

I waited until he read it and gave me a nod. I was about to leave my seat when I decided to send another text.

Me: Nice job, btw.

I didn’t wait for a response this time as I left and got back to work cleaning my apartment.

I had expected a text from Nate when they were done with the client to head over for the briefing, but it didn’t come for a couple of hours, and when it did, it was for me to tag along with Parker and Hardison doing some leg work. Along the way I learned that Nate had gone to meet with the Italian to get some info on our mark, a corrupt businessman, looking to become the next president of Wadata, a small country in Africa. Our job was to canvas some of Moto’s properties to see where he would keep his valuables.

“Wait a minute,” Eliot said once Nate shared his info, “This guy makes money off the backs of children, and nobody goes after him because he feeds the CIA a bunch of names?”

“Sounds about right,” I commented through comms, looking over the building we had stopped at, trying to see what Parker was seeing.

“And what are the odds that these so-called ‘Jihadists’ aren’t terrorists at all?” Sophie pointed out, “They’re more likely Moto’s political rivals back home.”

“I’ll take that bet,” Nate said. “And if the government won’t go after Moto, we will. Now, he bought his real estate at the top of the market, so he’s leveraged up to his eyeballs. The only thing keeping him afloat from not going bankrupt is the steady flow of diamonds. And what’s the best thing about smuggled diamonds?”

“Oh, I know this one,” Sophie said. “It’s the way that they shimmer on the deck of a billionaire’s yacht in the moonlight.” I could imagine the dreamy look in her eyes as she imagined it.

There was a pause as we all digested her fantastical answer before Eliot answered, “Because they’re uninsured.”

“Right,” Nate agreed. “So, we go after Moto’s diamonds, and we end a political career before it starts. We just have to find out where the vault is… Parker?”

“Okay, we are on stop four of our tour of Alexander Moto’s Boston properties,” Parker responded, taking a break from taking pictures of the building.

“Records show he just renovated the place with state of the art security tech,” Hardison said from inside the van, “but he wouldn’t put a vault in here.”

“Why?” I asked, contemplating the white stone, almost colonial style building. It looked solid to me as I trailed behind Parker, following her across the street to get a closer look at the building.

“It’s Raine’s Concert Hall,” Hardison answered, “where the Massachusetts Chamber Orchestra plays.”

“They have concerts here?” Parker asked. “Look at that foundation, I thought this was a bank.”

Hardison stuttered, “Like – like I said, it’s the perfect place for a vault.”

Parker and I shared a sly smile at his mixup.

Parker laughed a little when we approached a utility box of some sort with a padlock that looked painfully easy for her to open. Looking on the inside, there were wires and tubes attached to what looked like an air tank.

“Guys, they have a dedicated air line that goes straight down to the basement, used for storing extremely delicate items,” Parker described. “That’s where your vault is.”

We closed the utility box and headed around the building to see if we could see anything else while Hardison did some searching.

“I think I may have found his fragile item,” he said. “Moto just purchased a Stradivarius violin for $4.5 million.”

“This all fits,” Sophie said. “Moto’s made himself a patron of the arts in Boston to, you know, up his profile with the old-money crowd.”

“And what’s his vulnerability?” Nate asked.

“His ties to America,” Sophie answered. “His father sent him out of the country at an early age. He was educated in Europe, got his MBA at Harvard. His brother’s a national hero, but Moto doesn’t even speak his native language.”

“A foreigner to his own country,” I commented, brushing my fingers along the wall as we turned a corner.

“He’s gonna have to kiss a lot of babies…” Eliot said. “Or stuff a lot of ballot boxes.”

“So Moto’s problem is that he’s an outsider to his own people,” Nate concluded.

“Yeah, well what about my problem?” Parker asked. “I can’t break into a vault without seeing the inside first.”

“Yeah, okay, so, you need a tour of the vault,” Nate thought out loud, “and Moto, our mark, needs to look good back home.” There was a moment of silence before he finally said, “Let’s go steal the man on the street. In Africa.”

I shared a look with Parker as we got back to the van to go home. An interesting plan was ahead of us it seemed.

The next morning Hardison, Eliot, and I worked on setting up a smear campaign against Moto. Eliot called our client to get some additional information about him as Hardison and I worked on writing an article and finding a good photo to edit. Eliot found out that Moto does drink occasionally, so we edited a photo of Moto at a ribbon cutting ceremony to show him visibly drunk. We paired it with our article which had Moto insulting Wadata’s people in big block quotes. Hardison got that published and spread around before we made a fake news report. Eliot was green screened into the streets of Wadata in the middle of a protest as a reporter. The protest was due to Moto insulting Wadata’s national soccer team.

Now waiting until it gets back to Moto.

Sophie called Moto’s office introducing herself as a PR agent, giving us an introduction to Moto. It didn’t take long for him to call for a meeting.

“Go with Sophie,” Nate told me, “be her assistant, secretary, something, some extra eyes and hands.”

I nodded along, but couldn’t help but whisper as I went to change: “Feels as if I’m being typecast here,” thinking back to our last job.

Sophie cut in before I could exit the apartment, “That’s not necessarily a bad thing, y/n. While variety is good, this particular role type is very versatile and can fit almost anywhere. You’re doing great, dear.”

I smiled and hurried out so we could go meet with Moto.

“Kristi Connely, from Bulger-Maple,” Sophie introduced herself with her card once we got there. “And this is my assistant, Candace Jones.”

I nodded at Moto in acknowledgement and he nodded back.

Moto put on some glasses and read the card before handing it to his bodyguard, “I appreciate your time Ms. Connely, but I am skeptical I could benefit from public relations.”

“Oh, I prefer the term ‘perception management,’” Sophie countered. “Perhaps you’d like to see a reference from one of my recent clients, the leaders of Uzbekistan or Myanmar.” Sophie showed her phone to Moto, showing contacts of the previously mentioned leaders.

“Those are two of the world’s most notorious dictators,” Moto pointed out skeptically.

“Whom I am rebranding as effective CEOs, leading their country into the 21st century, just as I can rebrand you as a force for good in your own country.”

“Ah, yes,” Moto replied. “The ‘Oprah’ way. Open a school. Open a clinic. Get out the checkbook.” He waved his hand dismissively.

I snickered a bit from behind Sophie. Moto snapped his gaze over to me before his attention was drawn back to Sophie when she did the same.

“We’re much more sophisticated than that now,” she said. “Have you heard the phrase, ‘One death is a tragedy, a thousand deaths is a statistic?’ Well, the same holds true for acts of charity. Build a school, and you just remind people of your wealth. But, help one single child… And you’re a hero.”

I watched as Moto’s eyes changed ever so slightly in recognition.

“It certainly sounds more affordable,” he relented. “What do you have in mind?”

Sophie smiled and gestured at me. I took my cue and opened the binder I was carrying with Hardison’s picture and fake details. I placed it in front of Moto as he slid on some glasses and started explaining the information contained within.

“This young man’s name is Temi. He’s a taxi driver who immigrated here from Wadata-”

“With a dream,” Sophie interjected.

“Yes, a dream,” I continued, trying to be unphased as if Sophie’s character did it often. “He wishes to attend the New England Conservatory to study the violin.”

“You,” Sophie took over again, “are going to make his dream come true.”

Moto looked at her over his glasses expectantly.

“The poor need schools and clinics, but, what they want? Is heroes. You are going to give them what they want.”

Moto smiled a smile that I would not want directed at me in any other context. There was one thing that I could not deny in any lifetime: Sophie was a closer. I would hate to see the damage she could do to the stock market.

Moto wanted to set up a meeting with “Temi” as soon as possible, and Sophie and I happily complied. The next thing I know, Hardison is sharing a couch with Sophie in Moto’s office, with Moto sitting across from them. I sat in a chair in between.

“So, Temi,” Moto began, “I have read stories about you. They say you are a prodigy.”

Hardison opened his mouth with a smile to respond, but Sophie beat him to it.

“He first picked up a missionary’s violin, aged five, and just knew how to play,” she bragged.

“I’m here for my family,” Hardison insisted in an accent and with a smile, “The violin can wait.”

Moto turned serious, “Don’t make excuses Temi. You have been given an opportunity.”

“I must respectfully disagree, sir,” Hardison replied. “In my taxi I’ve been beaten; I’ve been robbed. What opportunity do I have here?”

I softly smiled at the, obviously to me, but well executed bait question. The smile only grew once I noticed Moto quirk a smile himself.

“Come,” he said. “Let me show you what you can achieve in America.”

As we all stood, Sophie turned more towards me and mirrored my own smile. So far, it was all working.

“Good work, guys,” Nate said through comms. “He’s taking you to the vault. Let’s find those diamonds.”

Just as Parker predicted, we pulled up to the concert hall and descended the steps to the basement.

“Down these stairs, I think you will find something very inspiring,” Moto announced as we reached the bottom.

“Okay guys, look inspired,” Nate commented.

“Electric magnetic lock with retinal scanner. It can withstand two thousand pounds of pressure,” Parker narrated, watching through Hardison’s button cam.

“You want to know what you can achieve in America?” Moto asked, providing a leading question of his own, to which Hardison nodded with a smile. Satisfied, Moto opened the vault and invited us in. When we entered, Moto gestured to the violin in a glass case on the far side of the vault, “Antonio Stradivari made it himself in 1705. It’s magnificent, isn’t it?”

We approached the case with wonder.

Once we stood in front of it Hardison began to speak but lost his accent, “With all the technology in the world–”

Sophie cleared her throat and I sniffled loudly at the same time to cover up and remind him to keep the accent.

He quickly corrected himself, “--you couldn’t make a violin sound as good as that one. No one understands why.”

I bit the inside of my lip to keep myself from spouting off the recent opinions and research saying that much of that idea comes from confirmation bias. That actually, in many cases modern, and much cheaper, violins are just as good as Stradivarius violins. That isn’t to say that these violins weren’t still incredible, especially for the time that they were made. As Moto said, it was magnificent, a truly beautiful piece. I just had to keep reminding myself that that particular rabbit hole deep dive I did was not relevant or helpful to this job. Inside thoughts.

“Sophie, I need you to zero in on the lockers,” Nate said, shaking me from my thoughts.

“Security log shows a delivery from a Wadata a week ago that was placed in locker number Allegro,” Parker said.

“Allegro,” Nate repeated. “Musical terms. So he’s named his lockers after musical terms. Sounds like our diamonds. Okay Sophie, what I need you to do right now is to stand next to locker Allegro so Hardison can get us a shot.”

Sophie obeyed, softly wandering over to the lockers on the side, standing near the requested locker.

“I can tell from your reaction that we are a good match,” Moto said to Hardison.

“I think you would agree with that, wouldn’t you Temi?” Sophie called from her spot near the wall.

Hardison didn’t acknowledge her, still looking at the violin, so she repeated his name.

I put my hand on his shoulder from where I was standing next to him and firmly, but subtly, started to turn him to face her. Hardison finally got the hint and turned toward her so the button cam could see where she was standing and where the locker was.

I listened to Nate and Parker discussing the impossibility of breaking into the vault due to the seismic sensors that Parker picked up on and that it was apparently unhackable. Looking through records, they found that there was a time where these sensors were turned off: when a certain symphony was performed. Nate quickly changed the play when this new information was uncovered and requested Sophie to relay it.

Sophie gave a laugh of realization as she reapproached the group, “I’ve just had a thought: the story of you helping Temi is going to raise your profile in the cities, but what about the rural areas? They don’t have televisions or newspapers.”

“No,” Moto agreed, “only radios.”

Sophie smiled, “which is why this is perfect. Your brother is visiting in two days, you’re going to host a concert in his honor, in your concert hall, and Temi… Temi will be the star!”

Hardison made a noise that he quickly tried to cover with a smile, but the look that he had was nothing short of horror.

With happy congratulations on a well formulated plan, we parted ways with Moto and headed back to the apartment. The ride back was alternating periods of tense silence and Hardison rambling with anxiety, frustration, and down right anger of the position Nate and Sophie had put him in. Sophie tried to comfort and reassure him at first, but quickly found that it was futile so she and I sat in silence as he raved.

We all decided to call it a night, though Sophie and I discussed doing our own research into loud enough pieces to be suitable for the job. I spent a couple hours pulling up youtube and various classical music playlists, compiling a few that I liked and that also were loud enough to feel the vibrations through my skull.

The next morning, Sophie and I headed back to meet with Moto’s, each with a short list of possible pieces. We sold him the idea that the piece to be performed had to be loud and grand. Nothing less for his brother or for Temi. The piece had to leave an impact on his people listening in.

“Of course,” Moto readily agreed. He gave us access to his music library, pulling a few pieces that he thought fit the bill.

We looked over the sheet music, comparing our individual lists. After some discussion, we all decided on Scheherazade, much, it seemed, to Sophie’s delight.

Sophie and I expressed to Moto that we would pass along the sheet music to Temi and inform him of the rehearsal time.

“Also, Temi is the first person who I have met that is worthy of it. Please let him know that I wish for him to play my violin. I look forward to listening to him,” Moto said as we were on our way out.

“He’ll be thrilled,” I expressed at the same time Sophie said, “Fantastic!” We glanced at each other before thanking Moto for his time and exited the building.

Sophie relayed the story of Scheherazade on our way back to the apartment. How she was history’s all time great grifters. The Sultan would marry a bride everyday and have her killed by morning. Scheherazade was saved from this fate by telling the Sultan a story so compelling and leaving him on a cliffhanger every night so he dare not kill her and never know the ending. She kept this up for one thousand and one nights until the Sultan fell deeply in love with her. The piece was also gorgeous with loud instrumentals and a beautiful violin solo to complete the piece.

I stopped by my apartment for a moment to grab a snack while Sophie crossed the hall to Nate’s to relay the news to him and Hardison. When I went to cross the hall and join them, I saw Hardison muttering to himself and looking over the sheet music as he descended the stairs. I popped my head into Nate’s apartment to see him talking to Sophie.

“You know, I always like to pick up an extra wrench here or there for the old tool box,” Nate said cryptically. “You said it yourself, uh, he’s the best candidate.” He then almost forcefully started the metronome that I had only just noticed was sitting in front of him.

Sophie’s continued eye contact with him caused me to slowly close the door and retreat back to my apartment for a while.

It was later that afternoon when Eliot popped by with the equipment bags and rifle we would use to frame Moto for an assassination attempt. It was going to be my job to get it set up in the screening room during the concert.

“Do you need any help figuring it out?” he asked once he gently set it on the table.

I picked it up and opened the action to make sure it was empty, “I mean, I’m sure I could figure it out, but I haven’t taken apart this particular model, so I wouldn’t mind a hand.” I walked to a cupboard and pulled out a towel to drape across my table so neither it nor the gun would get scratched.

Eliot raised an eyebrow at me as he took a seat, “You seem like you’ve done this before.”

I sat across from him and set the gun back down between us, “Eliot, what country do you think we live in?” Before he could sigh in annoyance or answer I continued, “I’m just kidding. With Grandpa Jimmy’s background, Nate and my dad taught me some minor gun safety and maintenance as a kid. And there was this guy I dated who would always do those contests with his friends of who could take them apart and put them back together the fastest. He taught me how. He wanted to make sure I could handle myself around them, just in case something happened.” I smiled at the memory of us trying to race and he would beat me every time, but I started to get close after a while.

“Sounds like a nice guy,” Eliot said cautiously as he pulled out some simple tools.

“He was,” I confirmed. “We were just awful at communicating with each other, so we drifted apart. We parted ways amicably, I still see an occasional post of his pop up on social media.”

“Do you miss him?” Eliot asked.

I stopped what I was doing, looking over the rifle, and looked at him puzzled, “No, not really. We both had our separate lives to follow. I’m sure you don’t want to hear about a random guy I dated, so let’s get this gun figured out.”

Luckily the scope just popped off with a slide and a twist. The rest was a little more difficult, finding the screws and pins that needed to come out in order to take the gun apart. Eliot and I quietly chatted about the job and random odds and ends as we tried to figure out how far apart we needed to take it.

“So what music do you listen to?” I asked as we tried to figure out how to pack it into the bag most efficiently and disguised properly.

“Is it not obvious? Country mostly, I don’t mind some classic rock every once in a while,” he answered, sliding the packing foam over the gun.

“I didn’t want to assume,” I replied. Eliot and I looked at each other and nodded, deciding that we had determined how to take the gun apart and pack it properly. We took it back out so I could practice putting it back together.

“What about you?”

“Little bit of everything,” I responded. “It’s kind of funny actually, I was going through a classical phase the last couple of days. Seems it paid off.”

We both chuckled and continued chatting as I took the gun apart and put it back together a few times. The final time I took it apart, we made sure to wipe every piece and part down to ensure that no fingerprints were left behind as we packed it up once more. We left the bags there, ready for tomorrow as I walked him to my door.

Eliot turned towards me before he fully exited, “You know, I, uh, I like it when we hang out like this.”

He paused, looking like he wasn’t sure what to say next, so I reached up and placed my hand on his shoulder, letting my hand slide until I was just holding his arm. I wasn’t quite sure why I did it, and I had to swallow as I could just feel his warmth under my hand through his shirt before I said anything.

I finally drug my eyes from where they were staring at my hand up to his eyes, where I saw that he was staring at my hand too. “I do too. We should do it more often.”

I wasn’t sure if he liked my hand being there, so I let it fall. Right as it fully fell off his arm and brushed his hand, his hand caught mine. We stood there for a moment, his eyes still looking at our hands.

He hummed in what I took to be agreement. He squeezed my hand once before letting go and clearing his throat, “I’ll, uh, I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Mhmm,” I hummed, watching as he made quick eye contact before turning and walking down the hall, stuffing his hands in his pockets as he went.

I closed the door and let out a breath that I didn’t know I was holding. I lifted the hand that he was holding to my chest, feeling my heart beat. I wasn’t quite sure what to think. Maybe I shouldn’t think at all.

And I tried not to think about it the rest of the night until the next morning when Sophie, Eliot, and I headed over to the concert hall.

Parker was going over the plan at Nate’s, looking over blueprints. “We have three main obstacles,” Parker said when Nate asked how the plan was going, “two doors and a guard. At the first door there’s a six digit keypad.”

“Have the code yet?” Nate asked.

“Let’s find out. Sophie?”

“Minutes away,” Sophie replied as we hauled in the recording equipment and gun through the front doors.

“Oh, Ms. Connely and Ms. Jones, right?” One of Moto’s guards greeted us as we walked in. Another guard walked up and insisted on helping us with our bags.

We thanked them as they took the bags and set them up on the counter.

“We’re helping to organize the concert,” Sophie said explaining the bags, “I just wanted to check the acoustics, we’re broadcasting it on the radio–”

The first guard interjected, “I hope you don’t mind, we have to check your bags.”

“Oh, not at all,” I said as he began to open the bag with the gun in it. “We’re also filming for the television,” I explained as he began to lift the scope from the case. “That lens is very delicate,” I insisted tensely, putting my hand on his arm, not unlike what I did with Eliot last night, as if to stop him, or at least steady it. The guard paused, looking over the lens for a moment before looking at me, his eyes glancing from my hand to my face. He smiled at me and gently, but firmly used a single finger to press the scope back into the protective foam. “They are very fragile, thank you for being so gentle with it,” I smiled at him and batted my eyelashes a bit.

“Of course, I apologize,” he said, eyes lingering on me before turning back to the bag and looking at the other odds and ends we threw in on top to disguise the gun parts as camera equipment.

Eliot snuck in the room behind us, dressed as a maintenance man towards the locked door to try and get the six digit code. I caught the dirty look he gave the guard out of the corner of my eye. I gave him a wink when the guard wasn’t looking, but I wasn’t sure if Eliot saw it. After the guards were satisfied with our equipment, they let us through to set it up in the screening room. The guard then went downstairs to where Eliot was. After a verbal confrontation between the two, Eliot was able to get the numbers to the combination, but not the order.

“K, that means I need to punch in all the combinations,” Parker replied to the news, “that’s gonna take time, and there’s a guard.”

“Well, Eliot can take care of the guard, right Eliot?” Nate said.

“Yeah, sure,” he replied, but not enthusiastically.

Nate then mapped the route verbally to the vault. Parker pointed out the retinal scanner at the vault, citing that we didn’t have time to hack it, so she would just blow a hole in the floor above it.

“Okay, great, so we get to the vault through the ceiling, we get the diamonds, wait for the concert to end, and we slip out through the crowd,” Nate summarized.

“Nope,” Parker replied matter-of-factly.

“What do you mean no? That’s what–”

“Our only window to break into this vault is during the concert when the motion sensors are turned off, right?”

“Right.”

“Okay well, this is a concert for a foreign dignitary with a full secret service detail,” Parker described. “Which means we have to take out the guard, blow a hole in the floor without anybody hearing anything… It can’t be done.”

“Maybe we should have chosen Tchaikovsky’s 1812 Overture,” I commented as we set the bags down in the screening room.

“Why that one?” Eliot asked.

“If I remember right, they use cannons in that one, it would cover the explosion,” I said hypothetically.

Hardison disregarded my comment by insisting that he was out of the con too because he couldn’t do the violin solo.

“How much time do we need for the break-in?” Nate asked, ignoring both of us.

“Seven minutes,” Parker answered, “minimum.”

I heard a ruffle of paper and Nate narrated the different markers of the heist, “Of course depending on the tempo.”

“What are you talking about,” Parker asked.

“You’re trying to time the heist with the music,” Hardison said.

Nate and Hardison then alternated saying Yeses and Nos.

“We would need to be in sync, perfectly in sync,” Hardison pointed out. “We would need our own-”

“Conductor,” Nate exclaimed quite excitedly.

I wasn’t entirely sure how he was gonna do that, but I had faith in him. Now all that was left to do was wait, at least for Sophie and I. Hardison was practicing, Parker and Eliot were establishing their covers by walking the building, and Nate was finding his own conductor, which I think took the form of a computer with music timing software.

The concert hall slowly began to fill with the musicians and then guests, the noise in the room growing from near silence to a dull roar. Sophie and I stood on the balcony, observing the masses and giving Hardison reassuring looks when Moto approached with his brother.

“Oh, Ms. Connely, Ms. Jones, allow me to introduce my brother, President Simeon Moto,” Moto said.

“Ah, Mr. President, I think you are going to be so impressed with what this young man achieves tonight,” Sophie gushed.

“It will be nice to read something positive about my country for a change,” the President replies with a controlled optimism.

I gestured to the seats next to us with an invitation to sit, which the Moto brothers accepted. Sophie and I took our seats on the other side of the aisle. We scouted the area, looking for guards.

Sophie and I turned towards each other as if to chat in order to relay what we saw to the others, “We’ve spotted Secret Service guys on the balcony.”

It didn’t take long for the concert to begin. Hardison was spotlighted at the introduction before the music started.

“Okay guys,” Nate said shortly after, “Buckle up. You have seven minutes, but it depends on how fast the conductor leads the orchestra. I’ll follow his pace and cue you.” There was a short pause before he continued, “Alright, on my mark… now.”

At his cue, I gathered a binder that I had tucked away and rose from my seat. I feigned flipping through it, nodding at the President and our mark as I exited the balcony and headed to the screening room to set up the rifle.

I pulled on some gloves and listened as Eliot beat up the guard and Parker was able to gain entry through the first door.

“It’s a faster tempo, I’m moving up the timetable,” Nate said. “You guys have four and a half minutes.”

I finished putting the gun back together and made sure I wiped it down again to ensure that no fingerprints of mine or Eliot’s were left, making sure that the clean print from the guard on the scope was left alone. I set it up to aim at where the President was sitting, putting a few rounds in the magazine, but making sure none were chambered. As I left the room to head back to my seat, the sounds of fighting resumed. I was sitting in my seat for a minute or two before the loudest part of the piece was played and Nate cued the explosive. Sophie and I both quietly let out a breath as everything was on cue and went unnoticed.

Soon, Hardison’s solo came, and he looked at us with quiet resignation and a shrug, but stood to play it anyway. What came out of his fingers and that violin was probably the most beautiful sounds I had ever heard. A chill flowed through my body and my hand snuck over to Sophie’s and we held each other’s hands as the world seemed to fall still, like time had stopped to listen to the strings in Hardison’s hands.

As the music came to a stop, the crowd roared with applause and a standing ovation. Sophie and I shared a wide smile and joined them. Hardison looked baffled at first at what he had accomplished, but quickly a wide and excited smile spread across his face, bowing to the crowd.

After a moment, I could hear the alarms start to blare through the comms. I turned to Sophie, “Did they not get out?”

“I don’t know,” she replied, keeping a soft smile on her face as she looked down at Hardison in the pit.

“What are you doing here?” Parker asked.

“I’ll explain later, let’s just get out of here,” Nate replied.

“You got an exit plan?” Eliot asked.

“Working on it. Sophie, Y/n, any ideas?”

“Stall,” she replied.

“Alright guys, Moto and his brother just left,” Hardison said, “and I don’t know about y’all, but it wasn’t me, cuz I just rocked it. Ya know.”

“Okay listen, Hardison, just stay where you are, don’t blow your cover,” Nate said.

“Roger that.”

Sophie and I listened as Moto and the President entered the vault and discussed Nate, Parker, and Eliot breaking into the vault. Moto expressed that it wasn’t necessary for his brother to follow him and that his men would take care of them. That’s when Nate spoke up.

“Mr. President, wait,” he said, calling attention to himself, “Can I tell you a story about your brother here, and how he lured you here to assassinate you?”

“Oh, the thief speaks!” Moto exclaimed. “Who knew we would be entertained twice tonight! Please, go on.”

Sophie and I looked at each other and started making our way to the vault to join them.

“Think about it,” Nate said, “last minute concert, in the hall your brother owns? Him wailing over your bleeding body, live on the radio? Instantly bonding himself to the thousands listening back home.”

Moto laughed, “And who would foil this plot? You, and your team of burglars?”

“Burglars?” Nate replied, “No, we’re not in it for the money. We wanted this…” He paused, apparently showing something. “You see Mr. President, this envelope contains names of terrorists living in Africa that your brother supplies us with, at his leisure, for a price. This is what happens when you play with the CIA, Mr. Moto. We take what we need.”

I glanced at Sophie as we descended the stairs, Secret Service agents quickly passing us down the stairs. It was a compelling concept Nate was spinning here.

“You can’t be serious,” Moto replied.

“I turned a blind eye to these rumours about you for too long,” the President fired back.

“This is insane,” Moto insisted. “Can’t you see, this man is telling you a story! Every detail more outlandish than the last.”

“If he is lying,” the President said, “then go ahead, open the envelope.”

Nate agreed.

“It is not what he says,” Moto insisted, but much less confident now. “I can’t open it, it doesn’t belong to me.”

The Secret Service agents entered the room and approached the President while Sophie and I slipped in behind them, walking to stand behind Nate and Eliot.

“Mr. President, there’s something you should know,” the agent said. “We just found a rifle in the projection room, with a clean print on the scope.”

Eliot glanced at me and I gave him a wry smile which he returned before turning back to face the Moto brothers.

“It was my brother,” the President said with betrayal, “he is responsible!”

Moto was then arrested by the agent while sputtering and spewing accusatory claims at Sophie and I specifically. He finally left the room while saying that his brother was being duped by us. Which he was, but being duped with partial truth.

The President then wordlessly nodded at us and directed Moto’s men to leave the room.

“How’d you know what was in the envelope?” Parker asked.

“I didn’t,” Nate replied simply. “It made for a good story, though, right?”

“Scheherazade would have been proud,” Sophie said with a smile.

Nate thanked her and then said he had to meet with the Italian, which was apparently why he had that envelope in the first place. It didn’t take as long as I thought, though, for him to meet back up with us.

At the pub, Nate and Eliot sat at a booth with the client, telling her the good news and passing along some compensation to help the country. The rest of us sat at the bar, talking about how Hardison pulled that solo out of his ass.

“You had a recording of the solo,” Parker theorized, “and a gizmo that made it come out of the violin.”

“No, no, Parker,” Hardison denied, “you don’t just jam a gizmo into a Strad, okay? I just… I let it rip…”

Parker scoffed, “I still can’t believe you can play like that.”

Nate slid into the stool next to me. I glanced back at the booth to see Eliot and the client still talking. While I did feel that familiar pang, there was a little part of me that seemed to notice that he wasn’t leaning in as much as he usually did with some of the pretty, flirtatious clients. The moment I was watching them, he actually leaned back a little before he felt my eyes on him. He flashed me a soft and shy smile, raising a couple fingers off his glass in a wave. I returned the smile and Eliot returned his attention to the client, his smile falling slightly, if I didn’t know any better. As much as I wanted to continue to analyze the situation, I couldn’t when the most shocking sentence I’ve heard Nate say in a while fell out of his mouth.

“That’s because I hypnotized you.”

My head snapped towards him, “Say what now?”

There was a long pause by everyone else.

“You serious?” Hardison eventually asked.

“Yeah, I put you in a deep trance state,” Nate replied, almost proud, “and regressed you to when you could play the violin as a teenager. I mean, you knew how to play all along, but I… cleaned out the cobwebs. I just gave you the confidence to be the best version of you, I knew you could be.”

I nodded skeptically over my drink at the sketchy compliment Nate seemed to be paying Hardison.

“A Vegas hypnotist can pick a candidate out from a crowd,” Sophie said, “and so can I.”

Hardison’s expression grew hard as he stood from his stool, “Nate, hypnosis is something you do to a mark, not your own crew.”

“No no no, it’s exactly what you do to your own crew,” Nate rebutted. “Yeah, you push whatever button you need to, to get them to do what needs to be done. You wanted to know what other quality you needed to run your own crew, well that’s it, and you don’t have it.”

Hardison gave a tight smile, knocked on the bar top and left the pub. Parker hesitated a moment with a blank expression before following.

Sophie looked around me at Nate with a somewhat hard expression of her own, “Alone again. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you like it like that.” She then also left the bar.

I glanced at Nate, “It’s like I’m not even here.”

He shrugged, looking where Sophie had left.

There was a pause before I said, “So… Any chance you teach me hypnotism?”

“Probably not,” he replied, taking a sip of his drink.

“Rude,” I quipped, finishing my own before following the others out, heading back to my apartment.

A/n: Hey everyone, I've seen that this series has been gaining some traction with strings of likes. I appreciate the love for it so much!

Reblogging helps share the series to a wider audience and it along with comments can let me hear your thoughts, which can be incredibly motivating!

All I ask is that you consider adding one (or both!) of these to your reading routine at the end of this chapter (though it is entirely optional, just very appreciated). Thank you for reading!

Tags: @instantdinosaurtidalwave @kniselle @technikerin23 @kiwikitty13 @plasticbottleholder @wh1sp @who-actually-cares-anymore @romanreignsluver1 @fictional-hooman @nothingryuu

#eliot spencer x reader #eliot spencer #leverage #rewrite #slow burn #multichapter #nate ford #sophie devereaux #alec hardison #parker #ford!reader

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