3x Fics in Leverage/X-men and Human Target
I've been trying to talk myself out of writing ALL THE THINGS and burning out again almost immediately, but as you can see... Less than successful. Now if I can just finish those WIPs...
Fic: Taking a Walk In The Woods
Fandom: Human Target
Rating: PG-13
AN: A Comment Fic for hawk_dancing
"You know what the Old Man's gonna say about this, don't you."
It wasn't really a question, in the same way the huffed breath he got back wasn't an answer.
Dusk was falling under the cover of the trees and this whole 'escape' thing wasn't going to get any easier as darkness fell, especially not with Guerrero fumbling around like a wounded stag and him trying to keep his arm immobilised while they walked.
Junior yelped as Guerrero stumbled on the uneven ground and knocked into his injured (probably broken, but he can't worry about that yet) arm. The move pulled Guerrero's hand away from the wound on his cheek and it started bleeding again, adding another sluggish layer on the thick coating across his face and neck. He wasn't a tanned guy, but he was getting pretty damn pale.
"OK, stop," Junior wheezed when the white-hot pain had subsided a little.
"Dude, what?" Guerrero ground out, wringing out the sodden compression strip and shoving it back against his face.
Junior hadn't realised quite how useless his part-time playmate was without his glasses until today, he couldn't even focus on his face; squinting and leaning in close, like getting in his personal space was going to help any.
The offending articles were currently in a shattered mess in Guerrero's shirt pocket, missing most of the glass. A good part of that glass was still embedded in the guy's cheek.
"We're clear of the search perimeter," Junior pointed out, "Let's take a minute here, take stock."
"Not a lot to take stock of, dude. We're down most of our gear, our transport and a couple of pints of blood each." Guerrero stepped to one side and carefully spat on the ground. Junior grimaced at the blood and the glint of shards of glass.
Probably more than a couple, Junior was inclined to think. "Yeah, that pretty much covers it."
"I figure we've walked about six miles, got maybe ten before we reach civilisation or somewhere we can steal a car." He made a motion with a distinct, 'so let's go' to it. Junior picked a tree to lean back against, making his own silent objection.
"Why don't you wear contacts?" he asked, truly curious. "I know the old man tells you to every time you work contract for him."
Guerrero gave him a long look, that was really lacking in its usual force. "You really bust up bad enough you need to do this to buy you time?" he asked, eyebrow raised.
"Do what?" Junior sank into the tree and slid to the moss-covered floor with a sigh of relief.
"Personal talk, dude. You know my feelings on the matter and is that a yes? 'Cause I need you fit enough to drive us out of here."
Junior blanched. He'd not thought about who'd be driving when they finally found transport. He'd been imagining himself asleep on the back seat. "I'm fine," he said firmly. He'd driven one handed before, they'd be fine. He'd just have to make sure they found an automatic.
"Yeah, well, get off your ass and prove it. We need to get out of here."
Standing, Junior briefly debated before deciding he couldn't go any further like this. "I need a hand to sling my arm."
Guerrero glanced over, "Your T-shirt in enough pieces, dude? First aid kit was with all the gear."
"Yeah, I know, T-shirt'll be fine." He was lucky that no one had come at him with a knife - apart from a very close miss with a bullet that had torn up his shirt and scuffed the very edge of his ribs, the rest of his clothes were intact.
"Which arm?"
Junior glanced down at himself, at the arm he was quite obviously holding immobile with the other, then looked back up at Guerrero. "My left. How much can you see without your glasses?"
"Ugh, enough," Guerrero grunted in response, and moved in close.
Junior would never know how Guerrero made every movement so self-assured. He expected some hesitation or fumbling, but it was firm efficient hands that pulled the bottom of his T-shirt up to shoulder height, encasing the injured arm in a make-shift sling and tying it tight at his back.
"Any movement?" Guerrero asked, adjusting and tidying.
"Nah, that's good," Junior breathed as the sharp pain of the manoeuvre eased back again.
"Can we get out of here now, dude? Or you got any other hurts you need mothering?"
Without replying, he started heading North again, letting Guerrero fall into step behind him before he answered, "The concept of you showing any kind of parental affection is truly horrifying, man. But since you asked..."
"Finish that sentence and I'll find my way home alone."
Junior chuckled before falling into a companionable silence. It wasn't long though, before curiosity started to niggle. "So..."
"You bring up contacts again, dude, and I won't be held accountable."
"Seems you threaten a lot around me, but never follow through," he observed. "I'm gonna stop believing your hype."
Guerrero made a disgusted sound. "You're the only one of the Old Man's kids I've successfully broken in, killing you now would be wasteful."
"At least not until I've gotten you out of this forest and driven you home," Junior added, suppressing a grin.
"Yeah, dude. At least until then."
--
Fic: Jumping To Conclusions
Fandom: Leverage/Human Target
Type: Crossover, Fight Bingo
Rating: PG-13
AN: A Comment Fic for hawk_dancing; Eliot was good but Guerrero was *fast*
Fills the Fight Bingo square 'Guns' ( Masterpost)
Eliot had made a judgement based on the file he'd been handed by Moreau and the noise on the street that followed the name. It was a simple drop and leave, no need to hide the body, no need to be elegant about it. His mark was going to send Moreau's message back to his boss and he wouldn't need to be alive to do it.
He knew it wasn't going to be simple. Guerrero was some serious dude, and Eliot wasn't prone to underestimating people.
Problem was... he'd seen this guy and he'd underestimated him.
He was smaller than Eliot (and Eliot wasn't small, he just had a lot of tall friends), which was a hell of a surprise because there weren't many assassins out there with Guerrero's rep who were so small... And with hair that looked like it got in his eyes half the time, and a messy scruff on his face... He'd jumped to so many conclusions and... well, that's what had gotten him here.
His gun's a good way out of reach, gone in the first flurry of movement as soon as he'd gotten too close, Guerrero has a second in the back of his jeans and Eliot's been trying hard not to give him the chance to go for it, the first one he'd pulled is over in the fishtank in the corner, which makes it pretty safe as far as Eliot's concerned. And this has turned into a hand to hand fight with someone smaller than him.
Eliot's been fighting guys bigger than him his whole life, this should be easy.
Problem is, he's just so damn fast as he ducks under Eliot's reach and puts blows in with hammer force before Eliot has even realised he's moved in close. Eliot's sure if he can get Guerrero into a take down he'll have the upper hand, but so far every time he's got a hand on him the smaller man's spun out from under him. He's starting to realise why the bigger guys look so slow and cumbersome to him. Sure, he's getting the blows in himself, he isn't asleep on the job, but Guerrero is like a little jack-in-the-box.
There's a moment when they spin away from each other and Eliot remembers the second gun just as he realises he's ended up along side his own. There's a frenzied movement on both sides and the guns are up and they're back to a deadlock.
This time, it's a deadlock where they're both breathing hard, bloodied and stooped around injuries.
"Dude, you've got a cool style," the other assassin says, with something like a grin on his face. Eliot is totally thrown, considering just shooting this guy for putting him off his game so badly, but he can't help but verbalise...
"You're pretty damn fast," with a shrug, sharing compliments.
And then they're ducking around bullets and back into flight.
--
Fic: Claws and Katanas
Fandom: Leverage/X-men
Type: Crossover, Fight Bingo
Verse: Mutant!Eliot
Rating: PG-13
Pairings: Logan/Eliot
Warnings: Little blood
AN: A Comment Fic for hawk_dancing
Follows from the other Mutant!Eliot fics on my masterpost. Also sneaks in for my 'Weapons' block in Fight Bingo ( Masterpost). :D Happy days.
They decided, eventually, that Eliot was one of those mutants whose mutation was almost entirely internal. He was faster, stronger and more resilient than someone of his size and stature might be expected to be, he healed up fast (if not as fast as Logan did) and occasionally when pain or emotion got too much for him, something entirely animal stepped in and took over.
They used the length of his canines to determine how close he was to losing it, and slowly trained up his resistance to that loss of control.
Which mostly meant Logan beating the crap out of him, repeatedly.
Today, that meant Eliot holding an adamantium katana against Logan's claws. He was always doomed to lose this fight, the challenge was to hold off on losing control for as long as he could. And not bleed to death, if possible.
The sword was beautifully weighted, and for such a heavy metal, remarkably light. The handle was a good fit for him, and he'd settled into a comfortable open stance with a feeling of coming home. It had been a long time since he trained with a weapon like this.
The sound of Logan's blades extending came with a shiver of excitement, and Eliot breathed deeply, eyes closed, waiting for a call to begin.
The first flurry of movement was all about learning the other's movements - how the claws moved, or didn't move, and how the blade could be turned to provide maximum power and force. Eliot had the advantage in height and manoeuvrability, Logan's claws couldn't spin or turn like the sword could in Eliot's hands, but Logan had more force behind every blow, plus the ability to heal every injury before he'd ever noticed it.
The first blood went to Eliot, sliding along Logan's claws and slicing at the back of his hand. Second blood went to Logan, one hand distracting while the other swiped at Eliot's thigh. The pain was sharp, but the wound was shallow.
They both span away, grinning maniacally. Logan was the first to dive back in, and Eliot took advantage of his haste to twist in high with the sword and catch his shoulder to the bone before he could draw back. He was rewarded with a series of fast strikes he had to twist sharply to get away from, a graze across his middle back the nearest Logan got to contact.
There was a pause, Logan glancing down at his shoulder while it knitted closed, blood mixing with the slightest sheen of sweat on his chest and back as they started pushing each other. He grinned at Eliot and got a sharp-toothed grin back. Nothing to worry about, not yet. No one else would even notice the change in his teeth at this point, but Eliot was feeling the adrenaline.
He fell back into a long stance, waiting for Eliot to do the same and dove back in with low strikes, the sword having to do twice the work to deflect both hands and Logan could see the impacts jarring on each strike, the blade not giving quite as much as the traditional steel. He caught the blade between both sets of claws and flicked upwards, let the momentum pull Eliot's body high and diving in for his exposed rib cage.
He pulled back the blades at the last minute, leaving his fists planted in Eliot's midsection and six grazes on his ribs. Eliot had already flipped the blade in his hands and didn't hesitate in pushing it down though Logan's body.
Dead heat, two killing blows. Logan pulled back and Eliot let him take the sword with him rather than worsen the injury. Logan pulled the sword out and sat down to cough on his own blood for a few minutes.
Eliot slumped down next to him, poking at the shallow wounds. He'd work up the energy to go and wrap them up in a moment, for now they weren't vital and he wanted to be sure Logan would heal up properly. He always did, but it felt wrong to walk away with him incapacitated.
"So that was pretty good," he mused.
"Didn't even..." Logan stopped to wheeze for a minute and spat a clot of blood out on the floor, "Didn't even need the trauma kit this time," he agreed.
"Heal up, old man." Eliot punched his shoulder, moving for the first aid kit laid out on the side. "There's always next time."
--
Fic: Taking a Walk In The Woods
Fandom: Human Target
Rating: PG-13
AN: A Comment Fic for hawk_dancing
"You know what the Old Man's gonna say about this, don't you."
It wasn't really a question, in the same way the huffed breath he got back wasn't an answer.
Dusk was falling under the cover of the trees and this whole 'escape' thing wasn't going to get any easier as darkness fell, especially not with Guerrero fumbling around like a wounded stag and him trying to keep his arm immobilised while they walked.
Junior yelped as Guerrero stumbled on the uneven ground and knocked into his injured (probably broken, but he can't worry about that yet) arm. The move pulled Guerrero's hand away from the wound on his cheek and it started bleeding again, adding another sluggish layer on the thick coating across his face and neck. He wasn't a tanned guy, but he was getting pretty damn pale.
"OK, stop," Junior wheezed when the white-hot pain had subsided a little.
"Dude, what?" Guerrero ground out, wringing out the sodden compression strip and shoving it back against his face.
Junior hadn't realised quite how useless his part-time playmate was without his glasses until today, he couldn't even focus on his face; squinting and leaning in close, like getting in his personal space was going to help any.
The offending articles were currently in a shattered mess in Guerrero's shirt pocket, missing most of the glass. A good part of that glass was still embedded in the guy's cheek.
"We're clear of the search perimeter," Junior pointed out, "Let's take a minute here, take stock."
"Not a lot to take stock of, dude. We're down most of our gear, our transport and a couple of pints of blood each." Guerrero stepped to one side and carefully spat on the ground. Junior grimaced at the blood and the glint of shards of glass.
Probably more than a couple, Junior was inclined to think. "Yeah, that pretty much covers it."
"I figure we've walked about six miles, got maybe ten before we reach civilisation or somewhere we can steal a car." He made a motion with a distinct, 'so let's go' to it. Junior picked a tree to lean back against, making his own silent objection.
"Why don't you wear contacts?" he asked, truly curious. "I know the old man tells you to every time you work contract for him."
Guerrero gave him a long look, that was really lacking in its usual force. "You really bust up bad enough you need to do this to buy you time?" he asked, eyebrow raised.
"Do what?" Junior sank into the tree and slid to the moss-covered floor with a sigh of relief.
"Personal talk, dude. You know my feelings on the matter and is that a yes? 'Cause I need you fit enough to drive us out of here."
Junior blanched. He'd not thought about who'd be driving when they finally found transport. He'd been imagining himself asleep on the back seat. "I'm fine," he said firmly. He'd driven one handed before, they'd be fine. He'd just have to make sure they found an automatic.
"Yeah, well, get off your ass and prove it. We need to get out of here."
Standing, Junior briefly debated before deciding he couldn't go any further like this. "I need a hand to sling my arm."
Guerrero glanced over, "Your T-shirt in enough pieces, dude? First aid kit was with all the gear."
"Yeah, I know, T-shirt'll be fine." He was lucky that no one had come at him with a knife - apart from a very close miss with a bullet that had torn up his shirt and scuffed the very edge of his ribs, the rest of his clothes were intact.
"Which arm?"
Junior glanced down at himself, at the arm he was quite obviously holding immobile with the other, then looked back up at Guerrero. "My left. How much can you see without your glasses?"
"Ugh, enough," Guerrero grunted in response, and moved in close.
Junior would never know how Guerrero made every movement so self-assured. He expected some hesitation or fumbling, but it was firm efficient hands that pulled the bottom of his T-shirt up to shoulder height, encasing the injured arm in a make-shift sling and tying it tight at his back.
"Any movement?" Guerrero asked, adjusting and tidying.
"Nah, that's good," Junior breathed as the sharp pain of the manoeuvre eased back again.
"Can we get out of here now, dude? Or you got any other hurts you need mothering?"
Without replying, he started heading North again, letting Guerrero fall into step behind him before he answered, "The concept of you showing any kind of parental affection is truly horrifying, man. But since you asked..."
"Finish that sentence and I'll find my way home alone."
Junior chuckled before falling into a companionable silence. It wasn't long though, before curiosity started to niggle. "So..."
"You bring up contacts again, dude, and I won't be held accountable."
"Seems you threaten a lot around me, but never follow through," he observed. "I'm gonna stop believing your hype."
Guerrero made a disgusted sound. "You're the only one of the Old Man's kids I've successfully broken in, killing you now would be wasteful."
"At least not until I've gotten you out of this forest and driven you home," Junior added, suppressing a grin.
"Yeah, dude. At least until then."
--
Fic: Jumping To Conclusions
Fandom: Leverage/Human Target
Type: Crossover, Fight Bingo
Rating: PG-13
AN: A Comment Fic for hawk_dancing; Eliot was good but Guerrero was *fast*
Fills the Fight Bingo square 'Guns' ( Masterpost)
Eliot had made a judgement based on the file he'd been handed by Moreau and the noise on the street that followed the name. It was a simple drop and leave, no need to hide the body, no need to be elegant about it. His mark was going to send Moreau's message back to his boss and he wouldn't need to be alive to do it.
He knew it wasn't going to be simple. Guerrero was some serious dude, and Eliot wasn't prone to underestimating people.
Problem was... he'd seen this guy and he'd underestimated him.
He was smaller than Eliot (and Eliot wasn't small, he just had a lot of tall friends), which was a hell of a surprise because there weren't many assassins out there with Guerrero's rep who were so small... And with hair that looked like it got in his eyes half the time, and a messy scruff on his face... He'd jumped to so many conclusions and... well, that's what had gotten him here.
His gun's a good way out of reach, gone in the first flurry of movement as soon as he'd gotten too close, Guerrero has a second in the back of his jeans and Eliot's been trying hard not to give him the chance to go for it, the first one he'd pulled is over in the fishtank in the corner, which makes it pretty safe as far as Eliot's concerned. And this has turned into a hand to hand fight with someone smaller than him.
Eliot's been fighting guys bigger than him his whole life, this should be easy.
Problem is, he's just so damn fast as he ducks under Eliot's reach and puts blows in with hammer force before Eliot has even realised he's moved in close. Eliot's sure if he can get Guerrero into a take down he'll have the upper hand, but so far every time he's got a hand on him the smaller man's spun out from under him. He's starting to realise why the bigger guys look so slow and cumbersome to him. Sure, he's getting the blows in himself, he isn't asleep on the job, but Guerrero is like a little jack-in-the-box.
There's a moment when they spin away from each other and Eliot remembers the second gun just as he realises he's ended up along side his own. There's a frenzied movement on both sides and the guns are up and they're back to a deadlock.
This time, it's a deadlock where they're both breathing hard, bloodied and stooped around injuries.
"Dude, you've got a cool style," the other assassin says, with something like a grin on his face. Eliot is totally thrown, considering just shooting this guy for putting him off his game so badly, but he can't help but verbalise...
"You're pretty damn fast," with a shrug, sharing compliments.
And then they're ducking around bullets and back into flight.
--
Fic: Claws and Katanas
Fandom: Leverage/X-men
Type: Crossover, Fight Bingo
Verse: Mutant!Eliot
Rating: PG-13
Pairings: Logan/Eliot
Warnings: Little blood
AN: A Comment Fic for hawk_dancing
Follows from the other Mutant!Eliot fics on my masterpost. Also sneaks in for my 'Weapons' block in Fight Bingo ( Masterpost). :D Happy days.
They decided, eventually, that Eliot was one of those mutants whose mutation was almost entirely internal. He was faster, stronger and more resilient than someone of his size and stature might be expected to be, he healed up fast (if not as fast as Logan did) and occasionally when pain or emotion got too much for him, something entirely animal stepped in and took over.
They used the length of his canines to determine how close he was to losing it, and slowly trained up his resistance to that loss of control.
Which mostly meant Logan beating the crap out of him, repeatedly.
Today, that meant Eliot holding an adamantium katana against Logan's claws. He was always doomed to lose this fight, the challenge was to hold off on losing control for as long as he could. And not bleed to death, if possible.
The sword was beautifully weighted, and for such a heavy metal, remarkably light. The handle was a good fit for him, and he'd settled into a comfortable open stance with a feeling of coming home. It had been a long time since he trained with a weapon like this.
The sound of Logan's blades extending came with a shiver of excitement, and Eliot breathed deeply, eyes closed, waiting for a call to begin.
The first flurry of movement was all about learning the other's movements - how the claws moved, or didn't move, and how the blade could be turned to provide maximum power and force. Eliot had the advantage in height and manoeuvrability, Logan's claws couldn't spin or turn like the sword could in Eliot's hands, but Logan had more force behind every blow, plus the ability to heal every injury before he'd ever noticed it.
The first blood went to Eliot, sliding along Logan's claws and slicing at the back of his hand. Second blood went to Logan, one hand distracting while the other swiped at Eliot's thigh. The pain was sharp, but the wound was shallow.
They both span away, grinning maniacally. Logan was the first to dive back in, and Eliot took advantage of his haste to twist in high with the sword and catch his shoulder to the bone before he could draw back. He was rewarded with a series of fast strikes he had to twist sharply to get away from, a graze across his middle back the nearest Logan got to contact.
There was a pause, Logan glancing down at his shoulder while it knitted closed, blood mixing with the slightest sheen of sweat on his chest and back as they started pushing each other. He grinned at Eliot and got a sharp-toothed grin back. Nothing to worry about, not yet. No one else would even notice the change in his teeth at this point, but Eliot was feeling the adrenaline.
He fell back into a long stance, waiting for Eliot to do the same and dove back in with low strikes, the sword having to do twice the work to deflect both hands and Logan could see the impacts jarring on each strike, the blade not giving quite as much as the traditional steel. He caught the blade between both sets of claws and flicked upwards, let the momentum pull Eliot's body high and diving in for his exposed rib cage.
He pulled back the blades at the last minute, leaving his fists planted in Eliot's midsection and six grazes on his ribs. Eliot had already flipped the blade in his hands and didn't hesitate in pushing it down though Logan's body.
Dead heat, two killing blows. Logan pulled back and Eliot let him take the sword with him rather than worsen the injury. Logan pulled the sword out and sat down to cough on his own blood for a few minutes.
Eliot slumped down next to him, poking at the shallow wounds. He'd work up the energy to go and wrap them up in a moment, for now they weren't vital and he wanted to be sure Logan would heal up properly. He always did, but it felt wrong to walk away with him incapacitated.
"So that was pretty good," he mused.
"Didn't even..." Logan stopped to wheeze for a minute and spat a clot of blood out on the floor, "Didn't even need the trauma kit this time," he agreed.
"Heal up, old man." Eliot punched his shoulder, moving for the first aid kit laid out on the side. "There's always next time."
--