Leverage fic: The Meaning of Pancakes (Eliot and the team) PG-13
Title: The Meaning of Pancakes
Characters: Eliot, Parker, Nate, Sophie, Hardison
Word Count: ~2,000
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Eliot thought he was comfortable with dying alone, but...
Spoilers: Nothing specific, although the idea for this came from the end of "The Reunion Job."
Disclaimer: I am in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of Leverage. Wish I were.
Notes: Thanks to fleurlb for betaing! Feedback is appreciated.
~*~*~*~*~
Even as he struggled to stay awake, Eliot couldn't stop wondering how he could have let it all end this way. After all of the dangerous people he'd faced, after disarming all manner of destructive weapons, it was a teenager with a switchblade who had finally taken him down. He'd underestimated the threat--that's where he went wrong. He thought the kid was just tagging along with his mobster father, learning the family business. There was no weapon to be seen, but suddenly the blade was between his ribs and he was sinking to the floor, his blood pooling beneath him.
Eliot briefly had tried to stop the bleeding, in the hopes that one of his teammates would rescue him, but soon decided that it was a losing battle. The blood just kept coming, and the others needed to save themselves. There had been a time, not long ago, where he'd made himself comfortable with the idea of dying alone. He closed his eyes and tried to go back to that time so he could at least slip away peacefully.
A sharp slap to his face brought him back to reality.
Blinking hard, Eliot tried to focus on the masked, black-clad figure in front of him. He tried to hit back, but he could barely lift his arm. Then he noticed the wisps of blonde hair peeking out of the stocking cap.
"Eliot! Come on! We've gotta get out of here!" she said in a harsh whisper as she pulled her mask down. "Damn, it took a long time to find you."
"No... just go..." he mumbled.
"Wow, this looks...um...not good." Parker ripped her hat off and put it against his wound, then moved his arm over it. "Hold this here," she ordered.
Eliot assumed she was going for help so he closed his eyes again, but a painful yank on his other arm put him suddenly on his feet. He swayed, faint from blood loss, and the thief tucked herself under his arm to support him.
"Parker," he rasped, "you can't..."
"Let's move, Eliot."
"Too... heavy..."
"I hang from buildings by my fingertips," she said sternly. "I may not be able to carry you, but I can damn well hold you up. You'd better start walking or they're going to find both of us, because I'm not just leaving you here."
Too weak to protest, he shuffled his feet forward as Parker partially dragged him toward the emergency exit. When his knees buckled, her grip around his waist tightened and he was abruptly upright again.
"Whoa," he slurred.
"Told ya."
They hit the emergency door with a crash, setting off the security alarms. The sudden burst of sunlight blinded Eliot and he lost his balance again. He didn't think he ever hit the ground, but he was too disoriented to be sure. Alarms screeching, voices yelling, hands grabbing at him, the searing pain in his side that was growing worse by the second... it was all swirling together and tearing through his brain. The torture was as bad as any interrogation he'd survived.
It seemed to go on endlessly--Eliot began to believe that he had gone to hell. He'd never really believed in an afterlife, but the physical and mental agony he was suffering felt as though he was being forced to pay for his past crimes. He couldn't move his body, but his mind screamed out...
...And then... silence.
Eliot lay still in the quiet for some time--a few minutes, a few hours, he couldn't tell--trying to figure out where he was without opening his eyes and letting on that he was awake. Or was he? He was lying on something soft, probably a bed, but he couldn't hear anything. His brain felt fuzzy, and he tried harder to focus on his surroundings.
Did he smell...pancakes? Surely this couldn't be hell if there were pancakes.
Heaven? No such luck--his body still hurt a lot, even if it wasn't nearly as bad as before.
His keen hearing didn't pick up any sounds, and he knew he'd be able to hear someone nearby, no matter how hard a person might try to be quiet. Certain that he was alone, he slowly opened his dry, sore eyes and blinked against the faint light in the room.
When he shifted his weight slightly, the throbbing in his head reminded him of what had brought him... wherever he was. Eliot looked around the room and didn't recognize it, so he gingerly pushed himself into a sitting position. He rubbed his face to try and wake up a bit more, then tried standing up. He felt a little woozy, but well enough to walk, so he slowly shuffled toward the smell of the food.
The image of Nate's living room swam in front of him. It looked the same, but not quite. His teammates were all engaged in quiet activities--Sophie was curled up with a book, Hardison was tapping away at the computer, and Parker was timing herself at lock-picking, while Nate was delicately flipping pancakes, only barely scraping the pan with the spatula. He watched them for a few moments, wondering if this scene was supposed to mean something.
The ache in his side flared up and he grabbed the wall for support. The soft sound made them all look up at him at the same time.
"It's you!" Parker yelped, leaping out of her chair and charging toward him.
"Parker!" Nate said sharply, and she stopped short before crashing into Eliot.
"I guess this means I'm not dead," he muttered.
"Hmm, I don't think so," Parker said, putting his arm around her shoulders once more and leading him into the room. "You feel like you're alive. Mostly."
Slowly and carefully, he lowered himself onto the couch. He pretended not to notice Hardison's hands on his back making sure he landed softly, but he appreciated the help.
All four suddenly began talking at once, and the clamor of voices made Eliot feel sick and disoriented again. "Could everyone shut up for a second?"
His voice was gravelly and it made his throat hurt. Before he could ask for something to drink, Sophie put a glass of orange juice in his hand. She helped him sip it, then took it from him and put it on the table in front of him.
Nate turned off the stove and came around the room to sit across from Eliot.
"Are you OK?" he asked seriously. "How do you feel?"
Eliot considered brushing off the question with a "Fine" like he usually did, but he knew no one would believe it this time.
"Like shit," he rasped. "What the hell happened?"
"You got stabbed," Parker said casually.
"I got that, thanks."
"Parker found you on the first floor near the storage room," Hardison elaborated. "She got you out the door, and that's when you passed out. But we pulled up right then, which is lucky, because it took all four of us to drag your unconscious ass into the van. Damn, you're heavy when you're out cold."
"Pfft." Eliot said, rolling his eyes. "I wasn't... I was just, y'know..."
Sophie put a soft hand on his arm. "First of all, your acting skills are really not up to par at the moment. But there's no shame in admitting that you were seriously hurt."
Eliot saw the look of real worry on her face and dropped the act. "That bad?" he asked.
"Blood everywhere," Parker piped up.
"The van's gonna need new carpet," Hardison added with a faux-scolding tone. "But after the incident with the blue slushie in your car, we can just call it even."
"You're a pal," Eliot growled.
Nate sighed loudly to stop the teasing before it turned into an argument. Once he had their attention, he explained.
"None of your major organs got hit, but it was a deep cut so you lost a lot of blood," he said. "Your ribs are probably gonna hurt for a while too. It was...ah..." Nate paused and ran his hand through his hair. "It was a close call."
At that comment, Eliot became aware of the thick bandage on his side and gently prodded at it.
"We couldn't take you to a hospital," Sophie continued. "The police were moving in just as we left, and there was so much of your blood at the scene...we heard on the scanner that the ERs were being notified to look out for a stabbing victim."
"Wait," Eliot said, realization beginning to dawn as he woke up a bit more, "you guys didn't do this yourselves..."
"I do stitches, not surgery," Nate said. "But I appreciate the vote of confidence. No, I know a doctor who won't ask too many questions--if you pay in cash. He fixed you up, but the next day we decided it would be better to bring you back here where it's safe, and just have the doc check in on you."
"So how long has it been?" Eliot asked.
"Three days," Parker said.
Eliot took note of her pajamas. "And you've been staying here since then?"
"Yeah, well, after we got you here, there was an argument about who was going to stay and keep an eye on you," Nate said with another put-upon sigh. "And it ended up with everyone staying. In my home. Again."
"Yup! It's been a big sleepover," Parker said with a grin.
"And now that you're awake, everyone else can go home and sleep in their own beds tonight!" Nate said pointedly. "You, however, are staying until you don't need the morphine anymore."
Eliot rubbed his forehead. "Morphine--that's why I can't shake off this brain fog."
"It's been making you talk in your sleep, too," Parker added, raising her eyebrows.
"Oh, man," Eliot said, alarmed. "What did I say?"
"Most of it didn't make much sense," Hardison explained with a smirk. "But we've gathered that there was a secretary in Latvia who made quite an impression on you..."
Eliot groaned.
"Katya, I think her name was? And oh, the stories you told about the lovely Marisol in Brazil."
"All right, all right," Nate interrupted. "Let's stop giving crap to the guy who nearly lost a lung. Who wants to eat? Eliot?"
The thought of food made his stomach churn. "No, not yet--I'm just going to rest."
Nate, Sophie, and Parker headed toward the kitchen, but Hardison stopped.
"Do you need help back to the spare room?" he asked, all teasing now gone from his voice.
"Nah, I'm OK here. I want to stay awake for a little while." Eliot carefully slid down so he could rest his head on the back of the couch. "Go eat."
Hardison clapped him softly on the shoulder as he joined the others, who were debating the merits of various pancake toppings.
"Pancakes are what maple syrup is for," Nate said. "What else do you do with it?"
"Ugh--who wants soggy pancakes?" Sophie argued. "A little butter, a little cinnamon, it's delightful."
The whoosh of a whipped-cream can being discharged drowned them out briefly.
"I can't believe you guys won't try the Reddi-Whip," Parker said. Another whoosh indicated that she was spraying some directly into her mouth, as usual.
Hardison laughed. "That's so gross."
Eliot folded his arms across his chest, listening as the conversation went on, and his eyes soon began to drift closed. The dull ache in his side faded as the sounds of his team bickering soothed him back to sleep.
~ FIN ~
Characters: Eliot, Parker, Nate, Sophie, Hardison
Word Count: ~2,000
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Eliot thought he was comfortable with dying alone, but...
Spoilers: Nothing specific, although the idea for this came from the end of "The Reunion Job."
Disclaimer: I am in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of Leverage. Wish I were.
Notes: Thanks to fleurlb for betaing! Feedback is appreciated.
~*~*~*~*~
Even as he struggled to stay awake, Eliot couldn't stop wondering how he could have let it all end this way. After all of the dangerous people he'd faced, after disarming all manner of destructive weapons, it was a teenager with a switchblade who had finally taken him down. He'd underestimated the threat--that's where he went wrong. He thought the kid was just tagging along with his mobster father, learning the family business. There was no weapon to be seen, but suddenly the blade was between his ribs and he was sinking to the floor, his blood pooling beneath him.
Eliot briefly had tried to stop the bleeding, in the hopes that one of his teammates would rescue him, but soon decided that it was a losing battle. The blood just kept coming, and the others needed to save themselves. There had been a time, not long ago, where he'd made himself comfortable with the idea of dying alone. He closed his eyes and tried to go back to that time so he could at least slip away peacefully.
A sharp slap to his face brought him back to reality.
Blinking hard, Eliot tried to focus on the masked, black-clad figure in front of him. He tried to hit back, but he could barely lift his arm. Then he noticed the wisps of blonde hair peeking out of the stocking cap.
"Eliot! Come on! We've gotta get out of here!" she said in a harsh whisper as she pulled her mask down. "Damn, it took a long time to find you."
"No... just go..." he mumbled.
"Wow, this looks...um...not good." Parker ripped her hat off and put it against his wound, then moved his arm over it. "Hold this here," she ordered.
Eliot assumed she was going for help so he closed his eyes again, but a painful yank on his other arm put him suddenly on his feet. He swayed, faint from blood loss, and the thief tucked herself under his arm to support him.
"Parker," he rasped, "you can't..."
"Let's move, Eliot."
"Too... heavy..."
"I hang from buildings by my fingertips," she said sternly. "I may not be able to carry you, but I can damn well hold you up. You'd better start walking or they're going to find both of us, because I'm not just leaving you here."
Too weak to protest, he shuffled his feet forward as Parker partially dragged him toward the emergency exit. When his knees buckled, her grip around his waist tightened and he was abruptly upright again.
"Whoa," he slurred.
"Told ya."
They hit the emergency door with a crash, setting off the security alarms. The sudden burst of sunlight blinded Eliot and he lost his balance again. He didn't think he ever hit the ground, but he was too disoriented to be sure. Alarms screeching, voices yelling, hands grabbing at him, the searing pain in his side that was growing worse by the second... it was all swirling together and tearing through his brain. The torture was as bad as any interrogation he'd survived.
It seemed to go on endlessly--Eliot began to believe that he had gone to hell. He'd never really believed in an afterlife, but the physical and mental agony he was suffering felt as though he was being forced to pay for his past crimes. He couldn't move his body, but his mind screamed out...
...And then... silence.
Eliot lay still in the quiet for some time--a few minutes, a few hours, he couldn't tell--trying to figure out where he was without opening his eyes and letting on that he was awake. Or was he? He was lying on something soft, probably a bed, but he couldn't hear anything. His brain felt fuzzy, and he tried harder to focus on his surroundings.
Did he smell...pancakes? Surely this couldn't be hell if there were pancakes.
Heaven? No such luck--his body still hurt a lot, even if it wasn't nearly as bad as before.
His keen hearing didn't pick up any sounds, and he knew he'd be able to hear someone nearby, no matter how hard a person might try to be quiet. Certain that he was alone, he slowly opened his dry, sore eyes and blinked against the faint light in the room.
When he shifted his weight slightly, the throbbing in his head reminded him of what had brought him... wherever he was. Eliot looked around the room and didn't recognize it, so he gingerly pushed himself into a sitting position. He rubbed his face to try and wake up a bit more, then tried standing up. He felt a little woozy, but well enough to walk, so he slowly shuffled toward the smell of the food.
The image of Nate's living room swam in front of him. It looked the same, but not quite. His teammates were all engaged in quiet activities--Sophie was curled up with a book, Hardison was tapping away at the computer, and Parker was timing herself at lock-picking, while Nate was delicately flipping pancakes, only barely scraping the pan with the spatula. He watched them for a few moments, wondering if this scene was supposed to mean something.
The ache in his side flared up and he grabbed the wall for support. The soft sound made them all look up at him at the same time.
"It's you!" Parker yelped, leaping out of her chair and charging toward him.
"Parker!" Nate said sharply, and she stopped short before crashing into Eliot.
"I guess this means I'm not dead," he muttered.
"Hmm, I don't think so," Parker said, putting his arm around her shoulders once more and leading him into the room. "You feel like you're alive. Mostly."
Slowly and carefully, he lowered himself onto the couch. He pretended not to notice Hardison's hands on his back making sure he landed softly, but he appreciated the help.
All four suddenly began talking at once, and the clamor of voices made Eliot feel sick and disoriented again. "Could everyone shut up for a second?"
His voice was gravelly and it made his throat hurt. Before he could ask for something to drink, Sophie put a glass of orange juice in his hand. She helped him sip it, then took it from him and put it on the table in front of him.
Nate turned off the stove and came around the room to sit across from Eliot.
"Are you OK?" he asked seriously. "How do you feel?"
Eliot considered brushing off the question with a "Fine" like he usually did, but he knew no one would believe it this time.
"Like shit," he rasped. "What the hell happened?"
"You got stabbed," Parker said casually.
"I got that, thanks."
"Parker found you on the first floor near the storage room," Hardison elaborated. "She got you out the door, and that's when you passed out. But we pulled up right then, which is lucky, because it took all four of us to drag your unconscious ass into the van. Damn, you're heavy when you're out cold."
"Pfft." Eliot said, rolling his eyes. "I wasn't... I was just, y'know..."
Sophie put a soft hand on his arm. "First of all, your acting skills are really not up to par at the moment. But there's no shame in admitting that you were seriously hurt."
Eliot saw the look of real worry on her face and dropped the act. "That bad?" he asked.
"Blood everywhere," Parker piped up.
"The van's gonna need new carpet," Hardison added with a faux-scolding tone. "But after the incident with the blue slushie in your car, we can just call it even."
"You're a pal," Eliot growled.
Nate sighed loudly to stop the teasing before it turned into an argument. Once he had their attention, he explained.
"None of your major organs got hit, but it was a deep cut so you lost a lot of blood," he said. "Your ribs are probably gonna hurt for a while too. It was...ah..." Nate paused and ran his hand through his hair. "It was a close call."
At that comment, Eliot became aware of the thick bandage on his side and gently prodded at it.
"We couldn't take you to a hospital," Sophie continued. "The police were moving in just as we left, and there was so much of your blood at the scene...we heard on the scanner that the ERs were being notified to look out for a stabbing victim."
"Wait," Eliot said, realization beginning to dawn as he woke up a bit more, "you guys didn't do this yourselves..."
"I do stitches, not surgery," Nate said. "But I appreciate the vote of confidence. No, I know a doctor who won't ask too many questions--if you pay in cash. He fixed you up, but the next day we decided it would be better to bring you back here where it's safe, and just have the doc check in on you."
"So how long has it been?" Eliot asked.
"Three days," Parker said.
Eliot took note of her pajamas. "And you've been staying here since then?"
"Yeah, well, after we got you here, there was an argument about who was going to stay and keep an eye on you," Nate said with another put-upon sigh. "And it ended up with everyone staying. In my home. Again."
"Yup! It's been a big sleepover," Parker said with a grin.
"And now that you're awake, everyone else can go home and sleep in their own beds tonight!" Nate said pointedly. "You, however, are staying until you don't need the morphine anymore."
Eliot rubbed his forehead. "Morphine--that's why I can't shake off this brain fog."
"It's been making you talk in your sleep, too," Parker added, raising her eyebrows.
"Oh, man," Eliot said, alarmed. "What did I say?"
"Most of it didn't make much sense," Hardison explained with a smirk. "But we've gathered that there was a secretary in Latvia who made quite an impression on you..."
Eliot groaned.
"Katya, I think her name was? And oh, the stories you told about the lovely Marisol in Brazil."
"All right, all right," Nate interrupted. "Let's stop giving crap to the guy who nearly lost a lung. Who wants to eat? Eliot?"
The thought of food made his stomach churn. "No, not yet--I'm just going to rest."
Nate, Sophie, and Parker headed toward the kitchen, but Hardison stopped.
"Do you need help back to the spare room?" he asked, all teasing now gone from his voice.
"Nah, I'm OK here. I want to stay awake for a little while." Eliot carefully slid down so he could rest his head on the back of the couch. "Go eat."
Hardison clapped him softly on the shoulder as he joined the others, who were debating the merits of various pancake toppings.
"Pancakes are what maple syrup is for," Nate said. "What else do you do with it?"
"Ugh--who wants soggy pancakes?" Sophie argued. "A little butter, a little cinnamon, it's delightful."
The whoosh of a whipped-cream can being discharged drowned them out briefly.
"I can't believe you guys won't try the Reddi-Whip," Parker said. Another whoosh indicated that she was spraying some directly into her mouth, as usual.
Hardison laughed. "That's so gross."
Eliot folded his arms across his chest, listening as the conversation went on, and his eyes soon began to drift closed. The dull ache in his side faded as the sounds of his team bickering soothed him back to sleep.
~ FIN ~