#now. it's bedtime. time to think about eliot and parker and hardison. I need a hug.

[running-in-the-dark]

okay I'm giving up and going to bed. how do people stay awake for more than 12 hours without feeling like they're going crazy? how did I do it before? weird.

anyway. couldn't paint because I already felt too tired (like, that thing where you can't think anymore and everything is wobbly) and finally convinced myself to stop watching Leverage (so that I can go to bed and think about Leverage)

(im literally barely conscious at this point and I'm pretty sure I shouldn't post this but whatever I won't remember it anyway)

it's 6:30 in the morning and I've just remembered that my niece is coming over today. which isn't great because I haven't slept yet and if I go to bed I'll sleep until 18:00. so. right now I'm thinking I'll just not sleep.

I also really need to paint something and I've been thinking about it all night but didn't want to start, but it's driving me insane so I should probably just do it. which could be good since I usually lose track of time when I paint. hm.

[be-gay-do-heists]

a dog, a baby,* and a semi-domesticated hitman walk into a bar museum.

*i guess toddler idk

eliot and hardison are out for their weekly date night out to chill away from the children - the children being a dog, a hitter, a thief, and only one actual child. it's been a few hours since they've heard from quinn, who - now that they're looking back at it - too willing agreed to babysit. they're not worried, quinn is an ex hitman after all, he can handle a dog and a baby... right?

hardison of course has a tracker on meg (possibly on all 3). "i'll just check real quick, if everything's fine we'll go home to enjoy some alone time chill."

hardison's heart jumps to his throat as he realizes that the 3 are at the portland art museum. which would be fine except.. the museum is closed at this hour.

hardison and eliot are now mildly freaking out. mildly. they don't think quinn would endanger their children just.. what the fuck, quinn.

hardison and eliot get to the museum to find a bunch of passed out guards tied up in the lobby (zip tie style, just like eliot taught him thank you very much). they wander around until they find quinn, beaming, holding gabriel on his hip, wandering around the european antiquities exhibit, and meg trotting along side them. quinn carefully removes every piece of art that meg stops and wags her tail at or that gabriel gleefully points at.

a fuming eliot and a slightly bemused hardison drag their loved ones out of the museum, quinn, quite litterally, by an ear.

everyone gets home, ready to just. sit on the couch. decompress. recover. fuss at quinn some more ("it's educational. they need proper enrichment" "quinn that doesn't mean you can bring my child to a heist!!" "and why would you bring a dog?! meg doesn't need a criminal record!!" "she had fun and you know it. just ask her.").

but parker is there. vibrating.

"look at everything i got!"

"parker you weren't even at the museum?!"

"i'm parker"

hi i hope you know this is everything i have ever needed or wanted. im literally vibrating about this

quinn taking meg and gabriel out because he’s a GOOD UNCLE to one (1) dog and one (1) toddler and good uncles plan educational heists. he’s pretty sure that’s in the uncle handbook. they were having a good time!! there was no need to stop date night and get all angry about it

gabriel falls asleep in the car ride back so eliot and hardison feel at liberty to take turns chewing quinn out because why!!! would you do that!! are you trying to give us heart attacks!! (hardison covers meg’s ears while she sits on his lap so she knows none of this is her fault)

seeing parker ecstatically showcasing her spoils takes the wind out of them completely and they just accept that this is how the evening was always going to go

EXCEPT they discover in all the hulabaloo that gabriel’s beloved stuffed elephant plushie that he never goes anywhere without was left at the museum, and they have to quickly plan a second, more difficult family heist to get it back because otherwise bedtime is NOT happening [leverage theme playing]

[swordandquill]

Leverage Writing Prompt #31

Title: Future Tides

Fandom: Leverage

Summary: Nate has been keeping a secret from the team, but an inopportune explosion forces him to reveal it.

This is a prompt fill for @leverage-writing-prompts. I actually submitted this prompt back in July, but only got around to finishing it now.

In honor of the beautiful (and also occasionally creepy) mer-May art I still have circulating on my dash: Parker (or Nate) is secretly a merperson. When a job goes wrong, they’re forced to reveal their secret.

@rinahale did a really fun fill for it already with Mer-Parker.

You can go here to read this on AO3 instead.

Author’s notes: The merrow are Irish merfolk who require a magical cap to move between land and sea.

Bone and Sickle podcast by Al Ridenour did a really great episode on the Kraken (Ep 65: The Kraken & Other Marvels of the Northern Sea). In its earliest renditions, the Kraken was a sea serpent. It was only later that it became associated with first giant octopi, then the giant squid.

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

Nate knew as soon as the explosion knocked Eliot over the railing of the pier that he only had one option. Eliot was strong swimmer, but not stronger than the turbulent currents under the pier, particularly if he was unconscious. Nate hadn’t been able to tell in the split second it had taken to register him going over.

Even as he was yelling for the rest of the team to get off the burning structure, he was shucking off his shoes and jumping over the railings. He hoped they listened. The rickety structure was going to collapse, with or without another explosion. Getting to Eliot before he got bashed into the pylons was going to be enough of a challenge without having to worry about the rest of the team ending up in the water.

By the time Nate hit the water, his fingernails had hardened into claws, and he used them to tear the rest of his clothes off so he could finish the change. There was something euphoric about settling into his other form. He hadn’t changed since before Sam was born, and it was like finally allowing himself to scratch an itch that had been burning its way through his skin.

There wasn’t time to think about that though. Nate blinked his second eyelid closed, and the murky water sharpened into black and white, the fire above reflecting through the water in bright, washed-out streaks. He had to fight the chaotic currents rushing under the pier to stay still long enough to spot Eliot.

He had already been swept under the pier, probably already been driven into the pylons at least once, and was limp in the water. Nate flicked his tail and pushed into the current, using it to reach Eliot before he could be driven into the pylons again, but he wasn’t able to get them clear of the pier before the next surge. The best he could do was curl around Eliot and turn them so his back hit the pylon instead of Eliot. He was going to be bruised, but it was better than Eliot hitting again.

He pushed hard across the current and surfaced a good four meters from the pier. Eliot started coughing as soon as they broke the surface. The shear relief of it left Nate drifting for a moment, Eliot’s head tipped back against his shoulder and the rip tide pulling them out. There was blood fanning across Eliot’s face from a cut at his temple, and he wasn’t quite conscious, but he was breathing, and for now, that was enough.

Nate cut across the rip to escape it, then brought them into shore, doing his best to keep Eliot’s head above water, although there was no doubt he had breathed in more water by the time they reached the shore.

Changing back was not as easy or simple as the change to had been, but Nate had known it wouldn’t be, known he couldn’t deny his body something it had been craving for so long, then expect it to just let go of it so quickly again. It meant he had to drag Eliot up onto the beach with a tail, which was less than ideal and required more arm strength than he was used to using in either form, but he managed it.

He turned Eliot on his side in the sand as he continued to cough up water. Part of him wanted to leave him here for the team to find and make a break for it before they saw. Eliot was unlikely to remember anything, and Nate was sure he could make something up that would appease them. Then nothing would have to change.  

Eliot’s eyes fluttered open, and he shifted fitfully, his whole body shaking with cold and shock.

“Just lie still,” Nate brushed the wet hair from his face with a webbed hand, “you’re alright.”

Eliot blinked up at him, and Nate waited for the reaction, but Eliot just gave an unsurprised “oh” before another coughing fit had him curling back into himself.

Nate let out a sigh and rubbed his back. He couldn’t wait to hear what “distinctive” thing about him had tipped Eliot off to what he was.

Someone yelled his name, and he looked up to see three silhouettes, framed against the light of the burning pier and racing towards them. It was a relief to see them, but Nate couldn’t help the unease as they got closer.

Parker reached them first, too focused on Eliot to pay much attention to Nate. She dropped down in the sand next to them, grabbing Eliot’s shoulder and shaking him in the Parker version of gentleness. Eliot batted at her weakly, but curled closer to her none-the-less. It wasn’t until Nate brushed her hand away when she tried to poke Eliot that she finally looked up at him.

Nate braced himself for fear, or disgust, or any number of negative reactions, but her face lit up like she’d just received a bag of non-sequentially numbered bills.

“You have cool teeth!” she told him brightly.

Nate’s world snapped back into place and all the unease drained out of him.

“Thank you, Parker,” he said drolly, just managing to not run his tongue over the points of his teeth.

“Oh my,” Sophie stopped short as she reached them, and Hardison almost ran into her.

“What is it?” the hacker demanded anxiously, “is Eliot…”

Hardison trailed off, mouth open and eyes wide at the sight of Nate’s tail.

“Nate’s a mermaid,” Parker announced gleefully.

“Do I look like a maid to you?” Nate groused.

“Maybe if you had a feather duster,” Sophie was giving him a look that said they would be having a long, unpleasant conversation later, “and a frilly little French smock.”

“Mermaids are real?” Hardison sputtered.

“Merrow,” Eliot corrected hazily, then curled into another coughing fit.

Nate was never going to hear the end of this from any of them. The fast-approaching sirens were almost a relief.

“Get him out of here,” Nate helped Parker to sit Eliot up, “don’t let him tell you he doesn’t need a hospital. He’s got water in his lungs.”

Hardison ducked down and helped Parker get Eliot to his feet. He swayed unsteadily, and the two were quick to get his arms around their shoulders and take his weight.

“What about you?” Sophie gestured towards his tail.

“Changing back takes longer,” Nate made a shooing motion, “I’ll catch up with you later.”

“You promise?” Parker demanded, refusing to be dragged in the direction Hardison was trying to usher both her and Eliot, “not like the little mermaid; you won’t turn into sea foam for loving humans?”

“No, not like that,” Nate assured her with an eyeroll, “hurry up and get out of here so I can too.”

“But you promise,” Parker refused to budge, “you’ll catch up later. You won’t disappear.”

“I promise,” Nate snapped, “go already.”

Parker grinned and turned back to help Hardison with Eliot.

“Don’t think I won’t send a trawler after you if I have to,” Sophie threatened, then turned to follow the rest of the team in the direction of the waiting van.

Nate didn’t doubt she would, and that they would find him, but he didn’t have any intention of making them do that. For now though, he pushed back into the water and let the waves carry him back out towards the open sea.

**********

“I can’t believe you didn’t tell us you were a mermaid,” Hardison hissed, voice low in a futile attempt to not wake Eliot.

“Merrow,” Eliot mumbled groggily.

Futile because Eliot wasn’t sleeping. Exhausted, still feeling chilly if the truly ridiculous number of blankets piled on him were any indication, and a bit out of it from a not insignificant head injury, but not asleep, at least not at the moment.

“You know, I googled that,” Hardison groused, “just because Nate wears stupid hats all the time doesn’t mean he’s some kind of Irish shape-shifting sea creature.”

Sophie snorted indelicately.

“That’s not…” Eliot started to protest, only to be cut off by Parker, which was probably for the best given how soar his throat sounded.

“You can’t have your hat back,” Parker pulled Nate’s hat down farther on her head; she must have picked it up after he dropped it at the pier, “just in case.”

Eliot moved restlessly in his hospital bed, and Nate, sitting on the edge of it, dropped his hand down to pat the hitter’s wrist. He left his hand there, fingers resting lightly against Eliot’s pulse point.

“You can keep the hat, Parker,” Nate said easily, “it looks good on you.”

Parker beamed at him from the foot of Eliot’s bed.

“It’s a con anyway,” Nate continued dismissively, “someone made it up centuries ago to trick fishermen and it stuck.”

“You really are a merrow,” Hardison deflated, as if the reality of it had finally sunk in.

“Yes, Nate,” Sophie sat back in the uncomfortable hospital chair regally, looking for all the world like a queen reigning over her court, “do tell us about being a mythical sea creature.”

Parker leaned forward like a child eager for a bedtime story.

“Well…”

Nate was interrupted by Eliot reaching up with his free hand to try to pull his oxygen cannulas off. Again. Nate caught his hand and lowered it back down to rest on his chest.

“Leave that be for now,” Nate gave his hand a pat.

“I don’t want it,” Eliot shifted, movements agitated and unsure, as if he couldn’t decide what he wanted to do, “we should get out of here. It isn’t safe.”

“I’ve got it all taken care of, man,” Hardison reassured him patiently, “we’re safe.”

“Security’s not…” Eliot started to protest.

“We’re security,” Nate let his hand fall back to Eliot’s wrist and left it there, “we’ll check in with the doctor this afternoon and reassess, alright?”

Eliot grumbled, but settled down again.

There was very little chance of Eliot being released before tomorrow. He was responding well to oxygen, and the CT had looked good, but he had been unconscious underwater, and that wasn’t something any of them wanted to take lightly. He was having trouble focusing and keeping track of what was going on around him, and it wasn’t because of the relatively mild pain meds he had been given.

Better to keep him where he could get the care he needed, at least while they could. Nate wasn’t kidding about reassessing. If the situation changed, and they needed to go to ground, they had other resources they could tap into to make sure Eliot still got taken care of. For now, though, this was best.

“Nate,” Parker was looking at him intently, “Sophie said I should pick something besides money that I want for my birthday.”

Nate turned to face her, resigned to whatever was coming.

“I like gold and gems too,” Parker grinned, “shipwrecks have lots of gold and gems.”

Nate gave a long-suffering sigh, and pointedly ignored Sophie suppressing a snicker.

“It wouldn’t even be like stealing,” Parker pressed, “it’s not like anyone really owns it anymore.”

“There are plenty of countries that would disagree with you on that,” Nate said dryly.

“Only if they know we have it,” Parker shrugged, “so can we go diving for treasure for my birthday?”

“You have to commit to a date for your birthday first, sweetheart,” Sophie pointed out, “also, if we’re diving for treasure, there is the platinum reserves Spain dumped into the ocean in the 16th century. Probably not enough to make the expense of an actual expedition worth it, but if you could just swim to it…”

“No,” Nate said firmly, “absolutely not. We are not treasure hunters.”

“But we could be,” Hardison smiled impishly, “we do need alternative revenues streams after all.”

“Not Spain,” Eliot murmured sleepily, “’s guarded.”

“By what? A kraken?” Hardison scoffed, then paused, “wait, there isn’t a kraken, is there?”

“No,” Nate said firmly at the same time that Eliot said “yes.”

He glared at the hitter, who gave him a tired, shit-eating grin.

“It’s not a cephalopod,” Eliot looked far too pleased with the way Hardison started to sputter.

Nate pinched the bridge of his nose. At this rate, they were never going to get Hardison near the water again.

“You’re making that up,” Hardison balked, “there aren’t sea monsters.”

“How would you know?” Eliot countered, “you don’t even swim.”

Hardison opened his mouth to deny the accusation, but Nate interrupted him.

“What I want to know, is how you knew what I was,” he gave Eliot a curious look.

It would be good for him to know what had tipped Eliot off so he could fix it. The fewer people that could tell what he was, the better. Maggie had known, had seen him change once before they were married, but he hadn’t wanted to split his life between two worlds. He had chosen the land, still chose the land. That remained where the things that mattered to him were.

“You bled all over me when you were shot,” Eliot said, “your blood is different than human blood. It’s distinctive.”

Not something he could do anything about then, although it was interesting to him that Eliot hadn’t bothered to say anything about it sooner. As with all the random and far-reaching knowledge Eliot had, Nate was caught between wanting to know how he knew and feeling it was probably best not to ask.

“That’s just nasty,” Hardison grumbled.

“So we’ll go to South American, and Hardison and I will track down the shipwreck sites,” Parker continued as if she had never been interrupted, “you can search the shipwrecks, and Eliot can help me update my dive certification.”

“Whatever you want, darling,” Eliot yawned.

“Do I get a say in this?” Nate asked.

“Probably not,” Sophie looked thoroughly amused.

“It will be like a family vacation,” Parker grinned, clearly excited by the idea, “you and Sophie keep saying I’m supposed to try normal people things that I haven’t done before.”

Nate knew a lost cause when he heard one. He sat back and listened to Hardison and Parker plan, keeping half an eye on Eliot as he finally drifted off to sleep.  Sophie alternated between encouraging the pair with much too much enthusiasm and giving Nate thoughtful side glances. He was grateful she didn’t push for more information. Not yet anyway.

He had told Maggie before he had proposed to her. It had seemed unfair not to. And Sam… Sam had been so young. Nate was never sure he really believed it was more than a fairy story. Maybe if he had lived longer… gotten to be older… who knew what could have happened, what potential had never been unlocked. It hurt to think about, made him want to reach for a bottle and try to forget all the things his son should have been, should have had.

Eliot reached for the cannulas in his sleep, and Nate caught his hand, bringing it back down to his side and holding onto it.

Nate had a future here. Different from the one he had so badly wanted, shaped by different tides, full of unexplored depths and currents, but still good. He was learning to live with that, slow though the process was. It wasn’t the catastrophe he had always thought it would be, having them find out.

If the trade-off for this new future was the occasional treasure hunt, Nate could live with that.

*********

Parker continued to be non-committal about choosing a birthday, but there was a lovely 16th century gold and ruby pendent necklace tucked under the tree for her at Christmas.

[andthentheresanne]

Fic: raised on the edge of the devil’s backbone

Title: raised on the edge of the devil’s backbone Fandoms: Overwatch & Leverage Characters/Pairings: Jesse McCree, The Leverage OT3 (Parker/Eliot/Hardison) Summary: Jesse grew up on fairy tales where the bad guys are good guys and all justice needs is a little leverage. He hasn't believed in fairy tales for a long time.

They hadn’t meant to leave their children a war, the three of them, but that's the way the world crumbled.

--

Aka the Leverage/Overwatch crossover that no one actually asked for.  

Blame a re-watch of Leverage, McCree starring in my other current WIP, and a certain line about a huckleberry.

(I'm aware the timeline doesn't quite work out (as far as I can tell), but I'm not one to let a plot weasel go to waste.)

--

The stories that his folks told him and his sisters, growing up, Jesse knew that they were nothing more than bedtime stories. Fairy tales to try and convince a couple of kids that the world was not always as bad as it had once been. Or rather, that it had, but that there had been heroes once. That someone had cared enough to do something. That before the world had fallen apart, there had been heroes, and champions, and people willing to do what was right.

His mother and fathers had thought the world of the three of them, their kids. They never told the kids which one of them was whose--it didn't matter, they were family. Sophia had gotten their mother’s blonde hair, curling out in a frizz. Maggie never freckled, saw systems with her startlingly blue eyes like a game she could beat. All three of them got their mother’s light fingers, their fathers’ quick minds, their own unique talents. All with that big heart lying under everything that would’ve buried it deep beneath the simple business of trying to survive in a world gone mad.

They hadn’t meant to leave their children a war. Jesse once remembered a whispered argument, or so it had sounded, between his folks, late at night when the kids were all in bed, supposedly. His mother, insisting they could have done more. Papa reassuring her in hushed tones, Dad gripping the back of the chair like it could give answers if he squeezed hard enough.

His mother’s final foray into blaming herself in some way was met with Dad thumping the palm of his hand onto the back of the chair. “Gonna check on the kids,” Dad muttered to the other two as he walked toward where Jesse had been hiding on the stairs.

Dad hadn’t been fooled for a second at Jesse’s curled-up form under the blankets, feigning sleep. He’d heard the thumping of little feet trying to not thump. Unlike his sisters he hadn’t quite learned that skill yet. Dad sat down on his bed, ruffling his hair with a fond hand. “Hey, kiddo. What’re you doing up at this hour?”

Jesse had given up the play-acting immediately, sitting up in bed, giving a shrug. “Dunno. Couldn’t sleep.”

“Were you eavesdropping?”

“Yeah.” He didn’t even think of denying it. “Mom says it’s how you learn things sometimes.”

Dad laughed, but it didn’t sound like the kind of laugh you gave when you were happy. “There is that.”

Jesse twisted up his mouth in a frown, not understanding most of what he’d heard. “What’d mom mean? When she, when she was talking about stopping the robots?”

His father’s calloused hand stroked through Jesse’s hair as he thought, soothing. “There are a lotta woulda, coulda, shouldas in this world. Your mom’s just thinking about one of those. That’s all.”

Jesse didn’t understand it, but couldn’t figure out how to get around that not-understanding in his head, so he let it go. Years later, when he was older, there were so many questions he regretted not asking, but back then he was a child, and if Dad said it was so, then it was so.

Jesse once remembered a time when he thought his parents had stolen the stars to hang in the sky, believed his mother when she said the moon was the greatest heist she just hadn’t pulled yet, thought his fathers could protect him and his sisters from the rest of the world.

That had been a long time ago.

He always knew his parents were criminals of some kind, but then, who wasn’t, in this new world? There were the criminals and the dead, eventually. Even if some of those crimes were small, petty things, things that a court, if things still worked the way they once had, wouldn’t even bother with. Neglect and little cruelties that leaked through into his sheltered world on occasion. He was the youngest, the baby, but he had a good eye. Jesse never missed much, growing up.

Jesse feels like his world should have been shattered in a single moment or maybe night of high drama, fleeing and blood and darkness. Something suitably dramatic, like something out of one of his parents’ stories. But instead their safety had seeped away, drips and drabs and long nights sleeping in the back of Papa’s van as his folks drove.

He remembers his folks arguing long and low with Sophia, that night she left. That she felt she could make a difference in this fight, and wasn’t that what they had always taught her? And Dad’s eyes seemed so far away and Mom seemed like she was gonna cry and Pops circled back to the arguments he’d pulled out forty minutes before.

In the end, she had left with one of Dad’s friends, Mom whispering advice into her hair and Pops reassuring her that if she changed her mind, at any moment, they’d be there, all she had to do was say the word, and…

“You’re really going?”

Sophia crouched, ruffling his hair. Jesse swiped it back into place. “I got to, baby bro.”

Jesse crossed his arms, half-self-consciously trying to mimic one of Dad’s poses. She just laughed, gathering him into a hug. “Don’t give me that look. I’ll keep in touch. And I’ll be back.”

“You promise?”

“I promise.”

Jesse learned later not to make promises he couldn’t keep. He never blamed her for that one, but it had still hurt. Never officially declared, of course. Things had been too chaotic, by then. But Pops had looked and looked, and every time Dad would come back without Sophia and it seemed like something in Mom went behind a locked door, after that. A door he didn’t know how to open, even with all his parents had taught him.

Maggie hadn’t even been a victim of the war, not really. First responders went into dangerous and deadly situations all the time, Jesse knew that. That building could have collapsed on anyone. Jesse knew, but it didn’t make it any better.

Not for his folks, either. They clung to him tighter, but got more distant, Jesse the one thing they hadn’t lost yet, besides each other. They whispered in secrets to each other more often, Dad going hard-eyed and tight-lipped whenever Jesse was around. No more easily-forgiven eavesdropping in those days. The other problem was that the tighter they held onto Jesse, the more his budding teenage rebellion grew. He stopped trying to listen in, stopped trying to get behind those doors and walls all three of his parents had hidden themselves behind, and so he drifted away.

He remembers the last time he saw them, though maybe not exactly as it happened. He isn’t sure how much of a teenage asshole he was. A fair bit of one, he knows, from the way Pops had rolled his eyes, from Mom’s pained smile. He remembers Dad was serious, drilling Jesse on where the emergency cash was, how to get out, what to do, when, how, Jesse playing along in pre-teen irony.

Dad caught the irony, of course. Did that thing where he looked like four different things tried to come out of his mouth at once, and finally gave up, grabbing Jesse in a crushing hug. “Dad!”

Despite protest, Dad hadn’t let him go for a good long moment. “Hold down the fort for us.” Abruptly he released Jesse, bracing him, then turned and grabbed up his duffel in one swift motion.

Pops watched him go, then pulled Jesse into a hug too, far less over-bearing than Dad’s had been. “What your dad said.”

Jesse was a little unnerved now, the weirdness of the situation seeping through his ironic detachment. “Y-yeah, of course, Pops.”

Then it was mom’s turn for a brisk squeeze of a hug and she was leaving too. House to himself for a weekend, that’s what they had told him. He had believed them.

“We’ll be back,” Mom nodded firmly, then shut the door behind her.

At least she hadn’t promised, Jesse thought later. After.

Jesse was never sure what happened to them, still isn’t. Heard rumors, of course. He could have found out, he was sure, sifted through everything and found the truth hidden among the lies. But he chose to believe the stories he’d heard, the ones that sounded like a fairytale, full of justice and honor and a little bit of payback. He’d been worried, then scared, then everything his folks had taught him had kicked in. Before he knew it he was going down the only path open to him, the one to survival.

Later on, after the blood on his hands and a second chance, Jesse still chose to believe in something. Maybe it wasn’t your traditional fairy story, but a man had to have something to cling to. And what Jesse knew was that maybe there was justice to be found in the world, and maybe there wasn’t, but you couldn’t do a damn thing without leverage