Shellshock (Leverage, 1/1, Eliot/Alec preslash)
Title: Shellshock
Fandom & Pairing: Leverage Eliot Spencer/Alec Hardison pre-slash
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: Don't own, don't sue, don't take too seriously
Summary: For the comment_fic prompt: "Leverage; Hardison (/or& any); three times Hardison did something unexpected (and slightly more awesome than usual)." As usual, I went overlong with it. :)
1.
Eliot surveyed the sidewalk, watching the mothers out with their kids and the office workers out on coffee breaks. Scanned the windows of the surrounding office buildings. Checked the traffic on the north side again for disruptions, but it was the heavy copse of trees to the west that was the greater concern.
It was idiotic, meeting out in the open like this, but these people-the crazy chick, the obnoxious geek, and the actress that only a fool like Ford would trust- none of them had screwed him over, yet. And Ford had kept his cool about everything, hadn't gone off the rails once.
Well, apparently he had, considering the turn his career had just taken, but that wasn't the point.
But he wasn't clear of the gig yet. In a moment, once the formalities were done- we don't know each other, never saw each other, this never happened- and the last piece of business was handled, he'd be gone.
The geek passed out the envelopes with a smug grin on his face, and it was so obvious that he'd done something- skimmed off the top of the payment, taken a gamble on the fact that Eliot didn't have the routing numbers memorized for every single one of his accounts- that the deposit amount didn't even register at first glance.
The second proved that even if the geek had tried to screw him over it wasn't going to-
-hell, the geek could've taken half, and he could still-
He could get out. Get clear.
He fought back a grin and looked up as Ford began to speak.
"One show only. No encores," he heard himself saying, only a little more reluctantly than he would've expected.
2.
He'll deny it to his dying day, but after all that- after the Juarez gig and the dogs and the militia and the bomb, Hardison's attempt to make up for their lost time fishing was more impressive than Eliot had let on.
Hardison hadn't wanted to go fishing in the first place. And yeah, sitting around drinking beer playing a video game wasn't the same, not at all. And no, it wasn't better, despite what Hardison said, but the ice packs didn't melt as fast in the air conditioning, and there weren't any mosquitoes, and Hardison's knack for turning anything into a competition was only amplified by the fact that the game kept score, but.
Hardison went full out. Eliot hadn't asked him why- if it was because he'd felt bad about whining or guilty about complicating everything, but Hardison had gone full out. Kicked everyone else out, pirated- or hell, who knows, maybe even designed and programmed, or whatever- the stupid fishing game. Lawn chairs, ice packs doing double duty in the beer cooler, and hell, Eliot could've sworn he smelled bug spray and sun block, too.
It was stupid. It was ridiculous. Not surprising behavior for Hardison, but.
But.
He'd done it for Eliot.
And Eliot had complained, at the time, that it just wasn't the same. And then he'd gone home, sat on the back porch, stared out past the trees to the water's edge and accidentally thought about nothing else for hours.
3.
Moreau was locked away, had been for days, and Eliot was finally beginning to let himself believe it. They were free of all of it.
At dinner, Sophie had been falling asleep in her chair and had gone up to crash in the loft while Parker disappeared the moment cleaning was mentioned. Nate was downstairs at the bar, ostensibly to get himself back into the local loop.
Eliot bagged up the last of the leftover takeout and pretended that he wasn't watching Hardison, hunched over his laptop on the couch. He'd gone quiet a while ago, and Eliot didn't like what he could see of his expression.
"You find anything in the news?" he asked, casually enough that Hardison's suspicion wouldn't be roused.
"Nah, we're still in the clear. The people love their president and nobody's pushing for Moreau's release, officially or otherwise."
"Cool." Relieved, Eliot nodded and turned back to wipe down the counter.
Behind him, he heard Hardison sitting up and shutting down his computer, crossing towards the kitchen. Moments later he was grabbing his jacket from the back of the bar stool, and was taking a deep breath. "Locals already went through and cleaned out the warehouse," he said, voice deadly quiet. "Bodies, bullets, everything. Guess we weren't the only ones who didn't want the attention."
Eliot stared at the sink, hoping first that he was hearing wrong, and then that his posture hadn't given anything away. "What the hell are you talking about?"
It was the wrong thing to say, he knew it even before he heard Hardison's scoff.
"I clean up our messes. That means every police report, every parking ticket. Every phone call, email, file transfer. Every security camera in every building we go near on a job, and most of the streets outside. Whether Nate tells me to or not."
There was no more avoiding it. Eliot turned around, but Hardison kept talking.
"And yeah, I can see why you didn't say anything, but do me a favor. Don't act surprised that I found out."
"You weren't supposed to." It was as close to an admission as Eliot was willing to get, and he frowned, meeting Hardison's glare head-on. "Nate told you he had it covered."
"He did." Hardison smirked, but there wasn't any humor in it. "And then he told me again. The third time he mentioned it got me thinking, and don't make this about him." He finished coiling the power cord and angrily shoved it into his bag. "It's done, you did what you had to do and we got away with it, ain't no reason to be upfront with the rest of us, and. Well, I don't know what else to say, but. I'm done. I'm gone."
"Hardison," Eliot beat him to the door, not knowing what he wanted to say, only sure that he wouldn't get another shot. "What do you want me to do?"
"I want you to get the hell out of my way," he said, and stared until Eliot stepped aside.
Then he left. Just like that.
---
It was sick, but Eliot was closer to panic now then he'd been in the warehouse breaking cover with no less than a dozen weapons trained on him, just set to fire.
With Hardison gone, the crew would fall apart, no doubt, and not just because of the Hardison- shaped hole on the roster. The moment he didn't come back, Parker would want to know why, and Sophie would probably start guessing. Maybe she'd figure out that it was Eliot's fault, even before Nate inevitably caved to necessity and explained it all.
And hell. They would all know that after everything- after all of Parker's insanities, after Sophie's fling with the two David statues, after every time Nate had kept them in the dark- that he'd been the one who couldn't be trusted.
He'd nearly gotten Hardison killed. He'd killed several others. And the fact that he'd had no other options either time didn't amount to anything, any more. They could say that the past didn't matter, as long as they weren't confronted with it.
---
Eliot wasn't a coward. He didn't shy from a fight. And maybe he could salvage this.
He'd only been to Hardison's apartment once or twice, but found it easily enough. From down the block he could see that the lights were out, but he parked his truck and rang the buzzer anyhow.
No answer.
He'd been an idiot, getting his hopes up like this. For all he knew, Hardison had a dozen other places he could've been hiding out- it wasn't like Eliot didn't have backups of his own. Or he could've been standing there, in the dark, holding his breath and watching him from the window while hoping he'd leave.
Hardison could've been halfway to the airport by now.
---
Taking the long way, Eliot kept to speed limit all the way home, no more, no less, needing something to concentrate on, if only to stave off the nausea.
In the morning, Nate would call.
---
He parked the car in the garage before walking around to the back yard, checking the perimeter and what he could see of the garden on his way inside.
"Hardison?"
He'd been waiting on the back steps, and his eyes inscrutable as he stood. "Eliot." If he knew he was blocking Eliot's path, he didn't let on, but Eliot couldn't help thinking of passwords before speaking.
If he had to choose between breaking the silence and watching Hardison leave, he'd go first. "I stopped by your place," he began, trying for casual. "Wanted to, ah. I dunno. Explain. Better."
"I'm listening."
"First. The pool. I was there to make sure the message got across, not the messenger. Not pretty, not cool, but that's how they do business. If I'd gone in after you, they would've known something was up; they'd be shooting before we made it out. But I'm sorry about how it went down." Hardison didn't respond, and not wanting to hear the silence stretch, Eliot continued. "And I no, I didn't want to go for the guns. But my job is to keep y'all alive. Didn't say anything 'cause I didn't want you all lookin' at me different."
Eliot looked out over the dark back yard as he finished, suddenly all too aware of something he'd not yet noticed. Nate already knew. Sophie could deal. Parker would probably be morbidly curious, but probably the least bothered. Hardison had been the one he'd wanted this kept from, even more than the others.
There wasn't enough time to follow that line of thought any further, though, because Hardison was finally relenting.
"Yeah, well. And my job is to make sure nobody's coming at us from behind. It's a lot harder to do when I'm not getting all the information." He snorted. "Don't get me wrong. I freaked the hell out, but. I'm over it."
"Just like that?"
"Had some time to think," he scratched at his ear and waved back at the steps. "Anyway, when it's all said and done, I still trust you. I mean. I might have to James-MacGyver-Bond an office chair once in a while, but it still beats rappelling, so. Yeah. Sorry. About earlier."
When Eliot reached out to shake Hardison's outstretched hand, he found himself being pulled into a one-armed hug. It was quick, just long enough to catch a hint of Hardison's soap mid-stumble.
Later, while leaning past Hardison to grab two more beers out of the fridge, he'd think about the other hugs- for morale- and the way Hardison had smelled out in the woods- like dirt, really, but good, too.
Now, though, Eliot had to finish processing what Hardison had said.
It was going to take him a few minutes.
Fandom & Pairing: Leverage Eliot Spencer/Alec Hardison pre-slash
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: Don't own, don't sue, don't take too seriously
Summary: For the comment_fic prompt: "Leverage; Hardison (/or& any); three times Hardison did something unexpected (and slightly more awesome than usual)." As usual, I went overlong with it. :)
1.
Eliot surveyed the sidewalk, watching the mothers out with their kids and the office workers out on coffee breaks. Scanned the windows of the surrounding office buildings. Checked the traffic on the north side again for disruptions, but it was the heavy copse of trees to the west that was the greater concern.
It was idiotic, meeting out in the open like this, but these people-the crazy chick, the obnoxious geek, and the actress that only a fool like Ford would trust- none of them had screwed him over, yet. And Ford had kept his cool about everything, hadn't gone off the rails once.
Well, apparently he had, considering the turn his career had just taken, but that wasn't the point.
But he wasn't clear of the gig yet. In a moment, once the formalities were done- we don't know each other, never saw each other, this never happened- and the last piece of business was handled, he'd be gone.
The geek passed out the envelopes with a smug grin on his face, and it was so obvious that he'd done something- skimmed off the top of the payment, taken a gamble on the fact that Eliot didn't have the routing numbers memorized for every single one of his accounts- that the deposit amount didn't even register at first glance.
The second proved that even if the geek had tried to screw him over it wasn't going to-
-hell, the geek could've taken half, and he could still-
He could get out. Get clear.
He fought back a grin and looked up as Ford began to speak.
"One show only. No encores," he heard himself saying, only a little more reluctantly than he would've expected.
2.
He'll deny it to his dying day, but after all that- after the Juarez gig and the dogs and the militia and the bomb, Hardison's attempt to make up for their lost time fishing was more impressive than Eliot had let on.
Hardison hadn't wanted to go fishing in the first place. And yeah, sitting around drinking beer playing a video game wasn't the same, not at all. And no, it wasn't better, despite what Hardison said, but the ice packs didn't melt as fast in the air conditioning, and there weren't any mosquitoes, and Hardison's knack for turning anything into a competition was only amplified by the fact that the game kept score, but.
Hardison went full out. Eliot hadn't asked him why- if it was because he'd felt bad about whining or guilty about complicating everything, but Hardison had gone full out. Kicked everyone else out, pirated- or hell, who knows, maybe even designed and programmed, or whatever- the stupid fishing game. Lawn chairs, ice packs doing double duty in the beer cooler, and hell, Eliot could've sworn he smelled bug spray and sun block, too.
It was stupid. It was ridiculous. Not surprising behavior for Hardison, but.
But.
He'd done it for Eliot.
And Eliot had complained, at the time, that it just wasn't the same. And then he'd gone home, sat on the back porch, stared out past the trees to the water's edge and accidentally thought about nothing else for hours.
3.
Moreau was locked away, had been for days, and Eliot was finally beginning to let himself believe it. They were free of all of it.
At dinner, Sophie had been falling asleep in her chair and had gone up to crash in the loft while Parker disappeared the moment cleaning was mentioned. Nate was downstairs at the bar, ostensibly to get himself back into the local loop.
Eliot bagged up the last of the leftover takeout and pretended that he wasn't watching Hardison, hunched over his laptop on the couch. He'd gone quiet a while ago, and Eliot didn't like what he could see of his expression.
"You find anything in the news?" he asked, casually enough that Hardison's suspicion wouldn't be roused.
"Nah, we're still in the clear. The people love their president and nobody's pushing for Moreau's release, officially or otherwise."
"Cool." Relieved, Eliot nodded and turned back to wipe down the counter.
Behind him, he heard Hardison sitting up and shutting down his computer, crossing towards the kitchen. Moments later he was grabbing his jacket from the back of the bar stool, and was taking a deep breath. "Locals already went through and cleaned out the warehouse," he said, voice deadly quiet. "Bodies, bullets, everything. Guess we weren't the only ones who didn't want the attention."
Eliot stared at the sink, hoping first that he was hearing wrong, and then that his posture hadn't given anything away. "What the hell are you talking about?"
It was the wrong thing to say, he knew it even before he heard Hardison's scoff.
"I clean up our messes. That means every police report, every parking ticket. Every phone call, email, file transfer. Every security camera in every building we go near on a job, and most of the streets outside. Whether Nate tells me to or not."
There was no more avoiding it. Eliot turned around, but Hardison kept talking.
"And yeah, I can see why you didn't say anything, but do me a favor. Don't act surprised that I found out."
"You weren't supposed to." It was as close to an admission as Eliot was willing to get, and he frowned, meeting Hardison's glare head-on. "Nate told you he had it covered."
"He did." Hardison smirked, but there wasn't any humor in it. "And then he told me again. The third time he mentioned it got me thinking, and don't make this about him." He finished coiling the power cord and angrily shoved it into his bag. "It's done, you did what you had to do and we got away with it, ain't no reason to be upfront with the rest of us, and. Well, I don't know what else to say, but. I'm done. I'm gone."
"Hardison," Eliot beat him to the door, not knowing what he wanted to say, only sure that he wouldn't get another shot. "What do you want me to do?"
"I want you to get the hell out of my way," he said, and stared until Eliot stepped aside.
Then he left. Just like that.
---
It was sick, but Eliot was closer to panic now then he'd been in the warehouse breaking cover with no less than a dozen weapons trained on him, just set to fire.
With Hardison gone, the crew would fall apart, no doubt, and not just because of the Hardison- shaped hole on the roster. The moment he didn't come back, Parker would want to know why, and Sophie would probably start guessing. Maybe she'd figure out that it was Eliot's fault, even before Nate inevitably caved to necessity and explained it all.
And hell. They would all know that after everything- after all of Parker's insanities, after Sophie's fling with the two David statues, after every time Nate had kept them in the dark- that he'd been the one who couldn't be trusted.
He'd nearly gotten Hardison killed. He'd killed several others. And the fact that he'd had no other options either time didn't amount to anything, any more. They could say that the past didn't matter, as long as they weren't confronted with it.
---
Eliot wasn't a coward. He didn't shy from a fight. And maybe he could salvage this.
He'd only been to Hardison's apartment once or twice, but found it easily enough. From down the block he could see that the lights were out, but he parked his truck and rang the buzzer anyhow.
No answer.
He'd been an idiot, getting his hopes up like this. For all he knew, Hardison had a dozen other places he could've been hiding out- it wasn't like Eliot didn't have backups of his own. Or he could've been standing there, in the dark, holding his breath and watching him from the window while hoping he'd leave.
Hardison could've been halfway to the airport by now.
---
Taking the long way, Eliot kept to speed limit all the way home, no more, no less, needing something to concentrate on, if only to stave off the nausea.
In the morning, Nate would call.
---
He parked the car in the garage before walking around to the back yard, checking the perimeter and what he could see of the garden on his way inside.
"Hardison?"
He'd been waiting on the back steps, and his eyes inscrutable as he stood. "Eliot." If he knew he was blocking Eliot's path, he didn't let on, but Eliot couldn't help thinking of passwords before speaking.
If he had to choose between breaking the silence and watching Hardison leave, he'd go first. "I stopped by your place," he began, trying for casual. "Wanted to, ah. I dunno. Explain. Better."
"I'm listening."
"First. The pool. I was there to make sure the message got across, not the messenger. Not pretty, not cool, but that's how they do business. If I'd gone in after you, they would've known something was up; they'd be shooting before we made it out. But I'm sorry about how it went down." Hardison didn't respond, and not wanting to hear the silence stretch, Eliot continued. "And I no, I didn't want to go for the guns. But my job is to keep y'all alive. Didn't say anything 'cause I didn't want you all lookin' at me different."
Eliot looked out over the dark back yard as he finished, suddenly all too aware of something he'd not yet noticed. Nate already knew. Sophie could deal. Parker would probably be morbidly curious, but probably the least bothered. Hardison had been the one he'd wanted this kept from, even more than the others.
There wasn't enough time to follow that line of thought any further, though, because Hardison was finally relenting.
"Yeah, well. And my job is to make sure nobody's coming at us from behind. It's a lot harder to do when I'm not getting all the information." He snorted. "Don't get me wrong. I freaked the hell out, but. I'm over it."
"Just like that?"
"Had some time to think," he scratched at his ear and waved back at the steps. "Anyway, when it's all said and done, I still trust you. I mean. I might have to James-MacGyver-Bond an office chair once in a while, but it still beats rappelling, so. Yeah. Sorry. About earlier."
When Eliot reached out to shake Hardison's outstretched hand, he found himself being pulled into a one-armed hug. It was quick, just long enough to catch a hint of Hardison's soap mid-stumble.
Later, while leaning past Hardison to grab two more beers out of the fridge, he'd think about the other hugs- for morale- and the way Hardison had smelled out in the woods- like dirt, really, but good, too.
Now, though, Eliot had to finish processing what Hardison had said.
It was going to take him a few minutes.