fic: Leverage/Firefly: Pool Cues and Darts Are Not Toys (1/1)
Title: Pool Cues and Darts Are Not Toys
Author: Havenward
Series: Leverage/Firefly
Pairing: gen
Rating: hard PG13 (language)
Words: 804
Note: A belated gift for the wonderful and amazing elebridith. Part of the Idealists, Dreamers, and Thieves verse. Sort of an interlude between the first part and wherever the verse picks up properly. (Sorry this isn't longer, love. But I hope it works. :smooches:)
Summary: Eliot and Parker burn some time in a backwater bar. Eliot bumps into an old, er, friend, and Parker makes a new one.
The bar is small and out of the way, and Eliot figures on Parker not being able to get them into to much trouble before dinner. Normally he tries to get out of keeping an eye on the feisty blond, mostly because the girl don't need a baby sitter. But the mark had been hot on their heels before they'd slipped Beaumonde's atmo, and where normally Parker would be all over poking about Leverage with Hardison, she'd been keen to catch a little blue sky and steady earth.
Better safe than sorry, is all he's saying. Nate seems to agree.
“Oooh, darts!” she says cheerfully, skipping off to the far side.
“Jus' don' throw'm into anybody,” Eliot calls after her and heads straight to the bar. They've got a little downtime, after all. Ain't no call to waste it. He's surprised to see a Shepherd sidled up to the counter, though less so when he sees the old man's just drinking water.
When the guy turns to greet him, though, Eliot blinks. “Hello there,” the preacher says, as though greeting a stranger. And maybe he is. The flash of recognition slid off Eliot's brainpan like an oil slick.
“Howdy,” he says back, smiling and offering a hand. Man ain't no preacher, to be sure, but whoever he is doesn't leave him with the prickle of impending doom. The old man takes it in a firm grip and smiles. He opens his mouth to say something, then looks at someone over Eliot's shoulder.
“Da shiong la se la ch'wohn tian!” a familiar voice pipes up from behind him.
Eliot tries not to growl while he's still facing the preacher, cuz that just ain't polite. But he hasn't got more than a moment before that gorram idiot he'd tangled with on Bellerophon tries hitting him over the head with a pool cue. “Pardon me,” Eliot says with a tip of his head to the Shepherd. He catches the cue, spinning it in his hands before tossing it up in the air near the guy's face. Instinctively the man moves to catch it and protect his face, which only leaves him open to a few well placed punches from Eliot.
“Oh dear,” the preacher murmurs when the guy hits the ground, groaning and cussing his way into unconsciousness. “I'm afraid I have to apologize for him. He... takes things a little personally.”
“Hey,” Parker says, pouting and waving a fist full of darts under his nose. “I thought you said we had to stay out of trouble!”
Eliot holds his hands up, hoping to look placating. “'M sorry, mei-mei. Guy came at me with a pool stick.” Parker glares down at the unconscious man, ready to throw all three darts in his ass til Eliot takes them away from her and puts them on the counter. He glances over his shoulder at the preacher. “He's with you?”
“You shouldn't travel with idiots,” Parker says to the preacher, all quiet like it's some kind of secret.
The old man grins. “Perhaps. But aren't we all idiots, from time to time?”
Parker tilts her head at him. “No. But some of us like to pretend.”
The preacher just chuckles, like he's used to random exclamations of insight. And maybe he is. Eliot remembers that creepy girl, pale like a ghost framed in brown hair.
Even when all's they got is nightmares of their own... broken toys the grown ups throw away...
He shakes himself from that memory, that and others, when the Shepherd holds his hand out again. “You can call me Book.”
“Parker,” she chirps cheerfully before Eliot can give either of them an alias. “And this is Eliot.” He just sighs. Without Nate barking orders in their ears, the girl tends to forget no one ought to know who they are. “You look familiar.” Eliot's eyes snap to the old man.
“Just one of those faces, I guess.” His expression gives nothing away, and that right there confirms Eliot's opinion. Man definitely ain't a preacher.
“There you two are,” Sophie says from the doorway, one hand on her hip. “Come along, then. Looks like we'll have to float along sooner than we expected.” She doesn't wait for them to follow. But then, chances are good she has to find where it is Nate and his bottle buried themselves.
“And things were just getting interesting,” Shepherd Book says. Eliot thinks the disappointment in his voice is genuine.
He tugs at the brim of a hat he ain't wearing in salute, then starts to wander out. “C'mon Parker. Hardison ain't gonna be keen on havin' to come'n get us.”
Parker leans in and plants a feather kiss on the preacher's cheek. “Til we meet again,” she says, and skips to catch up with Eliot.
Author: Havenward
Series: Leverage/Firefly
Pairing: gen
Rating: hard PG13 (language)
Words: 804
Note: A belated gift for the wonderful and amazing elebridith. Part of the Idealists, Dreamers, and Thieves verse. Sort of an interlude between the first part and wherever the verse picks up properly. (Sorry this isn't longer, love. But I hope it works. :smooches:)
Summary: Eliot and Parker burn some time in a backwater bar. Eliot bumps into an old, er, friend, and Parker makes a new one.
The bar is small and out of the way, and Eliot figures on Parker not being able to get them into to much trouble before dinner. Normally he tries to get out of keeping an eye on the feisty blond, mostly because the girl don't need a baby sitter. But the mark had been hot on their heels before they'd slipped Beaumonde's atmo, and where normally Parker would be all over poking about Leverage with Hardison, she'd been keen to catch a little blue sky and steady earth.
Better safe than sorry, is all he's saying. Nate seems to agree.
“Oooh, darts!” she says cheerfully, skipping off to the far side.
“Jus' don' throw'm into anybody,” Eliot calls after her and heads straight to the bar. They've got a little downtime, after all. Ain't no call to waste it. He's surprised to see a Shepherd sidled up to the counter, though less so when he sees the old man's just drinking water.
When the guy turns to greet him, though, Eliot blinks. “Hello there,” the preacher says, as though greeting a stranger. And maybe he is. The flash of recognition slid off Eliot's brainpan like an oil slick.
“Howdy,” he says back, smiling and offering a hand. Man ain't no preacher, to be sure, but whoever he is doesn't leave him with the prickle of impending doom. The old man takes it in a firm grip and smiles. He opens his mouth to say something, then looks at someone over Eliot's shoulder.
“Da shiong la se la ch'wohn tian!” a familiar voice pipes up from behind him.
Eliot tries not to growl while he's still facing the preacher, cuz that just ain't polite. But he hasn't got more than a moment before that gorram idiot he'd tangled with on Bellerophon tries hitting him over the head with a pool cue. “Pardon me,” Eliot says with a tip of his head to the Shepherd. He catches the cue, spinning it in his hands before tossing it up in the air near the guy's face. Instinctively the man moves to catch it and protect his face, which only leaves him open to a few well placed punches from Eliot.
“Oh dear,” the preacher murmurs when the guy hits the ground, groaning and cussing his way into unconsciousness. “I'm afraid I have to apologize for him. He... takes things a little personally.”
“Hey,” Parker says, pouting and waving a fist full of darts under his nose. “I thought you said we had to stay out of trouble!”
Eliot holds his hands up, hoping to look placating. “'M sorry, mei-mei. Guy came at me with a pool stick.” Parker glares down at the unconscious man, ready to throw all three darts in his ass til Eliot takes them away from her and puts them on the counter. He glances over his shoulder at the preacher. “He's with you?”
“You shouldn't travel with idiots,” Parker says to the preacher, all quiet like it's some kind of secret.
The old man grins. “Perhaps. But aren't we all idiots, from time to time?”
Parker tilts her head at him. “No. But some of us like to pretend.”
The preacher just chuckles, like he's used to random exclamations of insight. And maybe he is. Eliot remembers that creepy girl, pale like a ghost framed in brown hair.
Even when all's they got is nightmares of their own... broken toys the grown ups throw away...
He shakes himself from that memory, that and others, when the Shepherd holds his hand out again. “You can call me Book.”
“Parker,” she chirps cheerfully before Eliot can give either of them an alias. “And this is Eliot.” He just sighs. Without Nate barking orders in their ears, the girl tends to forget no one ought to know who they are. “You look familiar.” Eliot's eyes snap to the old man.
“Just one of those faces, I guess.” His expression gives nothing away, and that right there confirms Eliot's opinion. Man definitely ain't a preacher.
“There you two are,” Sophie says from the doorway, one hand on her hip. “Come along, then. Looks like we'll have to float along sooner than we expected.” She doesn't wait for them to follow. But then, chances are good she has to find where it is Nate and his bottle buried themselves.
“And things were just getting interesting,” Shepherd Book says. Eliot thinks the disappointment in his voice is genuine.
He tugs at the brim of a hat he ain't wearing in salute, then starts to wander out. “C'mon Parker. Hardison ain't gonna be keen on havin' to come'n get us.”
Parker leans in and plants a feather kiss on the preacher's cheek. “Til we meet again,” she says, and skips to catch up with Eliot.