Fic: Saviour, Leverage
2nd installment of the fight!bingo ficathon. And this one I like! *woot*
Title: Saviour
Characters: Elliot, team, badly named OCs
Genre: action
Summary: "It's not the four thugs spreading out across the aisle that's a game-changer, it's the long, bent-bladed knives they're carrying."
Fill for: Knives
They hustle around the corner, shouting echoing behind them, gun firing at shadows somewhere in the warehouse. He's at the back, behind all the others, where he's meant to be because they're supposed to be running away from the bad guys, not towards them. But just around the corner, Nate skids and stumbles to a halt and Hardison and Sophie almost run straight into him.
Elliot slips wide, so he can see down the aisle they've just run along and in front of the rest of the team as well and he swears quietly.
“Get them out of here, Nate,” he growls. Hardison mumbles something unintelligible, Sophie shushes him, skims a hand up over the still-oozing welt on his temple where Marconi's goons knocked him out and blew their cover. Nate looks at him, calm and steady, worry almost hidden.
Almost.
“Are you sure?” the mastermind asks, just once, and Elliot nods. It's not the four thugs spreading out across the aisle that's a game-changer, it's the long, bent-bladed knives they're carrying. Khukuris. The hitter shakes out his fists, already bruised and aching, steps forward and scans the four men.
They're a wide mix of heights and weights; the first guy is tall and lean, long arms that give him a dangerous reach. Second guy is shorter, stocky, he'll be the powerhouse. He's got short hair, shaved down to a buzz-cut. Next up is a huge, hulking brute, shoulder-length hair lank and greasy, he'll be the easiest to take down but one blow from those massive hands will be game over. Third guy is average height, average weight, nothing special but there are Navy SEAL tattoos on his arms and he handles the khukuri easily, comfortably.
Elliot nods to the ex-SEAL, one professional to another, listens to Nate urging Sophie and Hardison back around the corner. Parker's already out, slipped over the rooftops but she's chattering over the comms,anxious and scared.
He takes his earbud out, sets it carefully on the edge of a crate.
Waits.
This is going to go one of two ways; if they come at him together, he can use them against each other, lose himself in the crowd and let them take each other out. He'll get bloody, sure, but nothing that won't heal but if they come at him one at a time, they can hit his blindspot while he's defending himself and there's no way he'll walk away from that.
He almost smiles when the short guy leads the rush, all four men charging down on him. SEAL stays wide, hangs back but he can't get near Elliot as buzz-cut, stretch and the bear tangle up around him and the hitter's ducking, leaning away from one blow that slices the air so close to his cheek he can feel it. He reaches up, grabs the hand wielding the knife - bear's - and shoves it back sharply, breaking buzz-cut's nose on the hilt of the blade. The short man howls, slashes wildly but Elliot pivots, drags the wrist still clamped in his hand across the path of buzz-cut's knife and blood sprays hot across the side of his face, stains the world red as he twists, breaks bear's elbow over his bicep and drives a short, savage punch into the big man's temple.
Bear staggers, knocks Elliot back and fire slices across the back of his shoulder. He snarls, slams two more punches into bear's head and lets the man drop, spins to meet stretch as the tall man comes in for another scything cut. His khukuri is stained red and Elliot can feel wet heat slipping down his back, forces the pain aside, tells himself later deal with it later, move now.
He moves, easing away from the knife and shoving stretch past him. Leans back, lifts his left foot and drives it into the middle of the tall man's back, feels bones break and stretch sprawls on the concrete, wheezing around shattered ribs. buzz-cut shouts, throws a punch that Elliot lets through, rolls with it enough that it just grazes his cheek and leaves his hands free to catch the short man's knife as it comes for his stomach but he's forgotten about SEAL and something burns through the muscle of his thigh. His leg buckles, folds beneath him and suddenly he's on his knees, still straining to keep buzz-cut's khukuri from disemboweling him. He knows SEAL is behind him, moving in fast so he grits his teeth and lets buzz-cut's hands slip through his grasp, turning the strike just enough that it gouges a long slash across his belly instead of opening him up and Elliot snaps his head forward, straight into buzz-cut's broken nose.
There's a wet crunch and the short man crumples.
Elliot twists, sees SEAL, just two or three yards away, moving in a low, silent sprint, khukuri raised ready to strike and there's no way he can deflect the blow, no way out. Everything slows, the racing beat of blood in his ears, the burning throbbing in his leg, shoulder and belly and he stares helplessly at the man who's going to kill him.
He realizes he isn't ready, not when he doesn't know if the team got out okay and he wishes, fiercely, that he hadn't taken out his earbud, wants to make sure they're okay. He's never been afraid of the end, but he's terrified of leaving them vulnerable and he can't see a move, runs frantically through every step in his head but it all ends the same way - his body cooling on the concrete. It takes him a fraction of a second to decide that he can at least take SEAL with him and he tenses, ready to throw himself forward. He can see every step as if he's already watching it happen to someone else; his hands will lock around SEAL's neck as the khukuri begins to slice forward and he'll twist sharply, hear bone's crackling as the blade scrapes between his ribs, let the man drop bonelessly. He can already feel the muscle of his heart trying to beat around the blade.
He barely even hears the shot, stops halfway through his lunge blinks dazedly at the man who's suddenly on the floor right in front of him, blood seeping out around his head, trickling down from the small, neat hole between his eyes. It reaches his feet, pools around the soles of boots.
“Elliot? Elliot, come on.”
Nate pulls him up, he never even heard the older man coming but he's there, steadying Elliot and the hitter looks for the gun but the mastermind's hands are empty and he's not even sure Nate knows how to shoot.
“Who?” he asks, all he can manage as the pain begins to overwhelm him, drown out the world.
“I don't know,” Nate snaps back, wraps an arm around his waist as he stumbles. “Figure it out later. Come on. We gotta get out of here before Marconi's men find us.”
They run, find Sophie and Hardison waiting for them at the door, the grifter waiting behind the wheel of a beat-up sedan. Nate slides him in to the backseat, next to Hardison and the hacker blinks groggily at him as he winces.
“Y'kay, man?”
Elliot smiles thinly, bites out through gritted teeth, “I'm fine. Drive,” to Sophie, and she leaves a few yards of rubber behind. Elliot forces himself to watch the rooftops, the windows, looking for the sniper who saved him.
“Not many people could make that shot,” he says, glances over at Nate in the front seat. The mastermind's watching him and the building's around them at the same time.
“I know,” Nate answers. But no one takes another shot at them as Sophie screams out of the warehouse with a shriek of tyres, heads for the interstate.
Elliot doesn't relax until they're back in Boston.
::lv::
I think I'm going to come back to this story sometime soon, maybe as part of the ficathon. I'd love to say I have some uber-devious plan for the mysterious saviour, but I really don't. Yet...
Title: Saviour
Characters: Elliot, team, badly named OCs
Genre: action
Summary: "It's not the four thugs spreading out across the aisle that's a game-changer, it's the long, bent-bladed knives they're carrying."
Fill for: Knives
They hustle around the corner, shouting echoing behind them, gun firing at shadows somewhere in the warehouse. He's at the back, behind all the others, where he's meant to be because they're supposed to be running away from the bad guys, not towards them. But just around the corner, Nate skids and stumbles to a halt and Hardison and Sophie almost run straight into him.
Elliot slips wide, so he can see down the aisle they've just run along and in front of the rest of the team as well and he swears quietly.
“Get them out of here, Nate,” he growls. Hardison mumbles something unintelligible, Sophie shushes him, skims a hand up over the still-oozing welt on his temple where Marconi's goons knocked him out and blew their cover. Nate looks at him, calm and steady, worry almost hidden.
Almost.
“Are you sure?” the mastermind asks, just once, and Elliot nods. It's not the four thugs spreading out across the aisle that's a game-changer, it's the long, bent-bladed knives they're carrying. Khukuris. The hitter shakes out his fists, already bruised and aching, steps forward and scans the four men.
They're a wide mix of heights and weights; the first guy is tall and lean, long arms that give him a dangerous reach. Second guy is shorter, stocky, he'll be the powerhouse. He's got short hair, shaved down to a buzz-cut. Next up is a huge, hulking brute, shoulder-length hair lank and greasy, he'll be the easiest to take down but one blow from those massive hands will be game over. Third guy is average height, average weight, nothing special but there are Navy SEAL tattoos on his arms and he handles the khukuri easily, comfortably.
Elliot nods to the ex-SEAL, one professional to another, listens to Nate urging Sophie and Hardison back around the corner. Parker's already out, slipped over the rooftops but she's chattering over the comms,anxious and scared.
He takes his earbud out, sets it carefully on the edge of a crate.
Waits.
This is going to go one of two ways; if they come at him together, he can use them against each other, lose himself in the crowd and let them take each other out. He'll get bloody, sure, but nothing that won't heal but if they come at him one at a time, they can hit his blindspot while he's defending himself and there's no way he'll walk away from that.
He almost smiles when the short guy leads the rush, all four men charging down on him. SEAL stays wide, hangs back but he can't get near Elliot as buzz-cut, stretch and the bear tangle up around him and the hitter's ducking, leaning away from one blow that slices the air so close to his cheek he can feel it. He reaches up, grabs the hand wielding the knife - bear's - and shoves it back sharply, breaking buzz-cut's nose on the hilt of the blade. The short man howls, slashes wildly but Elliot pivots, drags the wrist still clamped in his hand across the path of buzz-cut's knife and blood sprays hot across the side of his face, stains the world red as he twists, breaks bear's elbow over his bicep and drives a short, savage punch into the big man's temple.
Bear staggers, knocks Elliot back and fire slices across the back of his shoulder. He snarls, slams two more punches into bear's head and lets the man drop, spins to meet stretch as the tall man comes in for another scything cut. His khukuri is stained red and Elliot can feel wet heat slipping down his back, forces the pain aside, tells himself later deal with it later, move now.
He moves, easing away from the knife and shoving stretch past him. Leans back, lifts his left foot and drives it into the middle of the tall man's back, feels bones break and stretch sprawls on the concrete, wheezing around shattered ribs. buzz-cut shouts, throws a punch that Elliot lets through, rolls with it enough that it just grazes his cheek and leaves his hands free to catch the short man's knife as it comes for his stomach but he's forgotten about SEAL and something burns through the muscle of his thigh. His leg buckles, folds beneath him and suddenly he's on his knees, still straining to keep buzz-cut's khukuri from disemboweling him. He knows SEAL is behind him, moving in fast so he grits his teeth and lets buzz-cut's hands slip through his grasp, turning the strike just enough that it gouges a long slash across his belly instead of opening him up and Elliot snaps his head forward, straight into buzz-cut's broken nose.
There's a wet crunch and the short man crumples.
Elliot twists, sees SEAL, just two or three yards away, moving in a low, silent sprint, khukuri raised ready to strike and there's no way he can deflect the blow, no way out. Everything slows, the racing beat of blood in his ears, the burning throbbing in his leg, shoulder and belly and he stares helplessly at the man who's going to kill him.
He realizes he isn't ready, not when he doesn't know if the team got out okay and he wishes, fiercely, that he hadn't taken out his earbud, wants to make sure they're okay. He's never been afraid of the end, but he's terrified of leaving them vulnerable and he can't see a move, runs frantically through every step in his head but it all ends the same way - his body cooling on the concrete. It takes him a fraction of a second to decide that he can at least take SEAL with him and he tenses, ready to throw himself forward. He can see every step as if he's already watching it happen to someone else; his hands will lock around SEAL's neck as the khukuri begins to slice forward and he'll twist sharply, hear bone's crackling as the blade scrapes between his ribs, let the man drop bonelessly. He can already feel the muscle of his heart trying to beat around the blade.
He barely even hears the shot, stops halfway through his lunge blinks dazedly at the man who's suddenly on the floor right in front of him, blood seeping out around his head, trickling down from the small, neat hole between his eyes. It reaches his feet, pools around the soles of boots.
“Elliot? Elliot, come on.”
Nate pulls him up, he never even heard the older man coming but he's there, steadying Elliot and the hitter looks for the gun but the mastermind's hands are empty and he's not even sure Nate knows how to shoot.
“Who?” he asks, all he can manage as the pain begins to overwhelm him, drown out the world.
“I don't know,” Nate snaps back, wraps an arm around his waist as he stumbles. “Figure it out later. Come on. We gotta get out of here before Marconi's men find us.”
They run, find Sophie and Hardison waiting for them at the door, the grifter waiting behind the wheel of a beat-up sedan. Nate slides him in to the backseat, next to Hardison and the hacker blinks groggily at him as he winces.
“Y'kay, man?”
Elliot smiles thinly, bites out through gritted teeth, “I'm fine. Drive,” to Sophie, and she leaves a few yards of rubber behind. Elliot forces himself to watch the rooftops, the windows, looking for the sniper who saved him.
“Not many people could make that shot,” he says, glances over at Nate in the front seat. The mastermind's watching him and the building's around them at the same time.
“I know,” Nate answers. But no one takes another shot at them as Sophie screams out of the warehouse with a shriek of tyres, heads for the interstate.
Elliot doesn't relax until they're back in Boston.
::lv::
I think I'm going to come back to this story sometime soon, maybe as part of the ficathon. I'd love to say I have some uber-devious plan for the mysterious saviour, but I really don't. Yet...