Leverage Crossover
Who
Doctor Who/Leverage, The Doctor (your choice) + Eliot and the Leverage team, the Leverage team learns that Eliot used to be a Companion to The Doctor
Eliot looked at the picture on Hardison's screen. "No, no, that's all wrong. Franklin didn't write like that. He wrote at a weird angle. And that November, he was thinning his ink. That's a fake."
He looked up to see everyone staring at him. Even Parker had stopped munching on her fortune cookies to stare at him, open mouthed.
"What? It's a very distinctive angle."
"No, seriously, how would you know that?" Hardison asked. "The top historians couldn't tell me that and that's their job. And trust me, I questioned them. Sophie questioned them."
"It's very distinctive, okay? Damn it, Hardison, I don't got to explain everything to you." Eliot had no idea actually how he'd get out of this one, if they pushed it. They normally didn't. Everyone had their secrets to hide. If they pushed him, he could push right back and they'd been living in each other's pockets long enough to know everyone else's buttons.
"If we're hinging this whole con on your knowledge, we need to know how you know what no one else does," Nate said, steepling his fingers and looking disturbingly like Eliot's dad, when he was still at home.
Eliot just scowled. Normally that fixed everything. Just have the hitter look like he was gonna hit you. Damn, he hated that it worked and depended on it, too. But this time they didn't back down.
"Do you have a degree in history?" Sophie asked gently, like she thought he might scare off.
Eliot raised an eyebrow. "Do I look like I got a degree in history? No, I saw him write the damn journal."
... And he did not mean to say that.
"Do you mean you don't die?" Parker asked, all too eager. "Or do you just die a lot?"
"I don't die," Eliot told her. "I mean, I would if you, like, shot me. But I haven't died yet. And I was only born in '74."
"1974 or 1774?" she asked archly.
"Damn it."
"I think you want to explain this," Nate told him and, for once, poured scotches for everyone.
Eliot measured the situation. Sophie and Hardison were between him and the main door and Nate was by the stairs. He would get out without hurting them and even if he decided to take the fall from the windows, Parker probably had a harness on under her sweater. If he had a broken leg, it would be easy pickings for her to catch him.
It'd been almost five years. They'd seen Nate in and out of prison, drunk and sober. They'd shouldered Hardison through his WoW sessions and the time in the Andes when they lost all internet service. He'd met Parker's Archie and vowed to knock his face in next time they met. He even knew Sophie's real name. Maybe it was his turn to give a little.
"It was somewhere between Sonid Zuoqi and Zammin-Uud. I was the last one left and... I didn't think I was gonna make it. It was winter and I'd already lost my boots. And then this... God, this impossibly British guy in an oversized coat walked over to me and asked if I wanted some tea. And... I said yes."
"So you were hallucinating."
"No." Eliot glared at Nate. "I mean, I thought I was at first. Especially when the blue box was bigger than the Henderson's ranch inside, but he was real. Patched me up real good, said I deserved a break after seeing what I saw. Took me around a bit, introduced me to his friends."
"Like Benjamin Franklin?"
"Yeah. And Virginia Woolf. And Queen Elizabeth. And some other people you've never heard of."
He watched as Sophie and Nate exchanged concerned looks. This was exactly why he never told anyone, not even his commanding officer. As far as anyone was concerned, he just miraculously survived his way into Mongolia. It hadn't hurt his reputation.
"Did you steal anything? You know, as proof?" Parker asked, popping more fortune cookies into her mouth. Clearly, stepping into a blue box for tea in rural China and then traveling through time meant that Eliot was a-okay and totally trustworthy in her world.
"Did... you say a blue box that's bigger on the inside?" Hardison asked slowly, his hands shaking a bit.
"Yeah. Like a telephone box or something in an old movie," Eliot said.
"And he was British? And he liked his tea and could travel through time?"
"Isn't that what I just said?"
Eliot had not expected Hardison to launch himself at him or for his grip to be so strong. "My god, man, why didn't you watch those DVDs I've been sending you? We have got to catch up! Was is Eight? Or Ten? Eleven?"
"What the hell are you talking about?" Eliot asked, but it was lost in the noise of Hardison pulling up his Netflix account on the screens and telling Parker to make popcorn. Nate and Sophie were still exchanging significant looks, but apparently the Franklin journal was forgotten in favor of... God, it looked like bad sixties British television.
Brothers
Supernatural/Leverage; Jake & Hardison; twins.
Alec never talked about Jake, not with Sophie or Nate or even Parker. He didn't blog about him or talk to his internet friends about him, even if he kept an eye on traffic cams and INTERPOL and everyone else's websites, just in case he saw his face.
He hooked up with the team about a year after Jake went MIA. He'd almost been happy that it was after Nana died; it would have broken her heart to see Jake go missing.
They'd been a tag team, a package, a pair. Nana had adopted them both, no questions asked, and they'd breathed identical sighs of relief when they got to stay together. They'd been older brother to Melody, who took over Alec's violin lessons when she was ten, and Jim, who, in retrospect, was too much like Eliot for his own good. They'd all loved Nana for making them a family.
Sometimes Hardison felt guilty for not talking to Melody and Jim anymore. But Melody was engaged now and Jim was living in San Francisco doing drag shows and avoiding him as well. He kept an eye on them, electronically and in person, when he could. He hoped that was good enough for Nana.
By the time five years had gone by, Alec was at a point where he wasn't thinking about Jake everyday. He wasn't double checking his own face in every camera feed in case it could be him. He wasn't scanning every army e-mail, just in case. He thought he might have been moving on.
And then, in the back of Lucille, while Sophie and Nate conned the mark and Parker worked the safe, Eliot asked, "Do you have a brother?"
And that was enough to bring it all back. Somehow he managed to choke out, "Yeah. Yeah, I did."
Eliot paused for minute, letting Alec catch his breath. “I thought you were Jake, back when we met in LA. I figured you were conning Nate, saying your name was Alec, but the last name was the same.”
“He was my twin. We were identical.”
Eliot nodded and looked as serious as Alec ever saw him. He pulled his hair into the half ponytail they all associated with fights and positioned himself so Alec could take a swing at him, if he wanted and was feeling suicidal. “I wasn’t posted with him; I was supposed to be in Iraq, but you know how that can go. And I’m a specialist - and Jake was special.”
Alec blinked, realising that Eliot had actually known his brother. “‘Course he was. Boy woulda given his leg for you if he thought it could help.”
“Naw. I mean, he would, but not like that.” Eliot wouldn’t look him in the eye and that unsettled something in Alec’s stomach, remembering DC and Moreau. “He was special. Saved my life twice. I was gonna ask to get him transferred.”
“You saying you were sleeping with my brother? In Afghanistan?”
“No! I mean - “ Eliot caught himself and shook his head. “The transfer papers were going through the night he disappeared. I know he wasn’t my brother, but we both lost him.”
Alec looked away from Eliot and fiddled with the volume on the ear pieces, just to have something to do. From the look on Eliot’s face, Jake had done the thing Jake was so good at and grabbed at Eliot’s heart. Good on Jake. Alec knew he never could. He swallowed past the lump in his throat. “Too bad there’s nothing we can do now.”
“No. If I ever me that yellow eyed bastard, he’s gonna pay.”
Alec didn’t have the heart to ask Eliot what he was talking about then. But that night, and over the next few months, he found some very interesting websites. And the incident in the roadside motel with Eliot and Parker and the weird dude in the trenchcoat was a story for another time.
Special
Because apparently this is a continuing series where Leverage crosses over into everything.
Where the crew meet Castiel
Alec Hardison decided he hated Eliot Spencer the day he introduced him to Castiel, angel of the Lord.
He could deal with the fact that Eliot had travelled with the Doctor. That the Doctor had rescued him from Chinese mercenaries in the Gobi desert. He could even live with the fact that Eliot had probably had extensive army sex with Jake and hadn’t told him about it until they’d been living in each other’s pockets for nearly four years. He could cope with all of that.
But when they got to the shitty ass motel room and the dorky guy in the oversized trench coat walked right up to him and said, “You are Eliot Spencer. Raphael has had much to say about you,” Hardison pretty much exploded.
Castiel just looked at him with the same blank face while Parker poked him in the back. And Eliot glared at him. If looks could kill, Hardison knew he’d be dead five minutes ago.
“Do you really want to be the guy that things like that talk about in their spare time?” Eliot asked, pointing at Castiel like his finger was a gun. “And do I have to tell you for the fiftieth time how many of the Doctor’s companions die inside the TARDIS?”
“No?” Hardison squeaked, but it didn’t keep him from wishing that, just for once, he could be special, too.
And then when Eliot showed the big guy with the floppy hair a trick with the “demon killing” knife and Parker did a bendy thing with his brother, Hardison nearly cried. They were in the stone age, out here in rural Wyoming, and no one needed an elite hacker. You couldn’t hack paper - or didn’t need to, when you could just steal it.
Hardison pretended he didn’t care when he was the only one who went to bed alone that night. And he really, really didn’t want to know who was bunking with who. He’d seen the eyes, back in the Winchester’s room. Hardison did not need to know. It didn’t mean he wasn’t lonely, though. And it didn’t mean that he didn’t feel left out.
That was before the incident with the redhead and the conspiracy nut in the cornfield at the Iowa state border.
Doctor Who/Leverage, The Doctor (your choice) + Eliot and the Leverage team, the Leverage team learns that Eliot used to be a Companion to The Doctor
Eliot looked at the picture on Hardison's screen. "No, no, that's all wrong. Franklin didn't write like that. He wrote at a weird angle. And that November, he was thinning his ink. That's a fake."
He looked up to see everyone staring at him. Even Parker had stopped munching on her fortune cookies to stare at him, open mouthed.
"What? It's a very distinctive angle."
"No, seriously, how would you know that?" Hardison asked. "The top historians couldn't tell me that and that's their job. And trust me, I questioned them. Sophie questioned them."
"It's very distinctive, okay? Damn it, Hardison, I don't got to explain everything to you." Eliot had no idea actually how he'd get out of this one, if they pushed it. They normally didn't. Everyone had their secrets to hide. If they pushed him, he could push right back and they'd been living in each other's pockets long enough to know everyone else's buttons.
"If we're hinging this whole con on your knowledge, we need to know how you know what no one else does," Nate said, steepling his fingers and looking disturbingly like Eliot's dad, when he was still at home.
Eliot just scowled. Normally that fixed everything. Just have the hitter look like he was gonna hit you. Damn, he hated that it worked and depended on it, too. But this time they didn't back down.
"Do you have a degree in history?" Sophie asked gently, like she thought he might scare off.
Eliot raised an eyebrow. "Do I look like I got a degree in history? No, I saw him write the damn journal."
... And he did not mean to say that.
"Do you mean you don't die?" Parker asked, all too eager. "Or do you just die a lot?"
"I don't die," Eliot told her. "I mean, I would if you, like, shot me. But I haven't died yet. And I was only born in '74."
"1974 or 1774?" she asked archly.
"Damn it."
"I think you want to explain this," Nate told him and, for once, poured scotches for everyone.
Eliot measured the situation. Sophie and Hardison were between him and the main door and Nate was by the stairs. He would get out without hurting them and even if he decided to take the fall from the windows, Parker probably had a harness on under her sweater. If he had a broken leg, it would be easy pickings for her to catch him.
It'd been almost five years. They'd seen Nate in and out of prison, drunk and sober. They'd shouldered Hardison through his WoW sessions and the time in the Andes when they lost all internet service. He'd met Parker's Archie and vowed to knock his face in next time they met. He even knew Sophie's real name. Maybe it was his turn to give a little.
"It was somewhere between Sonid Zuoqi and Zammin-Uud. I was the last one left and... I didn't think I was gonna make it. It was winter and I'd already lost my boots. And then this... God, this impossibly British guy in an oversized coat walked over to me and asked if I wanted some tea. And... I said yes."
"So you were hallucinating."
"No." Eliot glared at Nate. "I mean, I thought I was at first. Especially when the blue box was bigger than the Henderson's ranch inside, but he was real. Patched me up real good, said I deserved a break after seeing what I saw. Took me around a bit, introduced me to his friends."
"Like Benjamin Franklin?"
"Yeah. And Virginia Woolf. And Queen Elizabeth. And some other people you've never heard of."
He watched as Sophie and Nate exchanged concerned looks. This was exactly why he never told anyone, not even his commanding officer. As far as anyone was concerned, he just miraculously survived his way into Mongolia. It hadn't hurt his reputation.
"Did you steal anything? You know, as proof?" Parker asked, popping more fortune cookies into her mouth. Clearly, stepping into a blue box for tea in rural China and then traveling through time meant that Eliot was a-okay and totally trustworthy in her world.
"Did... you say a blue box that's bigger on the inside?" Hardison asked slowly, his hands shaking a bit.
"Yeah. Like a telephone box or something in an old movie," Eliot said.
"And he was British? And he liked his tea and could travel through time?"
"Isn't that what I just said?"
Eliot had not expected Hardison to launch himself at him or for his grip to be so strong. "My god, man, why didn't you watch those DVDs I've been sending you? We have got to catch up! Was is Eight? Or Ten? Eleven?"
"What the hell are you talking about?" Eliot asked, but it was lost in the noise of Hardison pulling up his Netflix account on the screens and telling Parker to make popcorn. Nate and Sophie were still exchanging significant looks, but apparently the Franklin journal was forgotten in favor of... God, it looked like bad sixties British television.
Brothers
Supernatural/Leverage; Jake & Hardison; twins.
Alec never talked about Jake, not with Sophie or Nate or even Parker. He didn't blog about him or talk to his internet friends about him, even if he kept an eye on traffic cams and INTERPOL and everyone else's websites, just in case he saw his face.
He hooked up with the team about a year after Jake went MIA. He'd almost been happy that it was after Nana died; it would have broken her heart to see Jake go missing.
They'd been a tag team, a package, a pair. Nana had adopted them both, no questions asked, and they'd breathed identical sighs of relief when they got to stay together. They'd been older brother to Melody, who took over Alec's violin lessons when she was ten, and Jim, who, in retrospect, was too much like Eliot for his own good. They'd all loved Nana for making them a family.
Sometimes Hardison felt guilty for not talking to Melody and Jim anymore. But Melody was engaged now and Jim was living in San Francisco doing drag shows and avoiding him as well. He kept an eye on them, electronically and in person, when he could. He hoped that was good enough for Nana.
By the time five years had gone by, Alec was at a point where he wasn't thinking about Jake everyday. He wasn't double checking his own face in every camera feed in case it could be him. He wasn't scanning every army e-mail, just in case. He thought he might have been moving on.
And then, in the back of Lucille, while Sophie and Nate conned the mark and Parker worked the safe, Eliot asked, "Do you have a brother?"
And that was enough to bring it all back. Somehow he managed to choke out, "Yeah. Yeah, I did."
Eliot paused for minute, letting Alec catch his breath. “I thought you were Jake, back when we met in LA. I figured you were conning Nate, saying your name was Alec, but the last name was the same.”
“He was my twin. We were identical.”
Eliot nodded and looked as serious as Alec ever saw him. He pulled his hair into the half ponytail they all associated with fights and positioned himself so Alec could take a swing at him, if he wanted and was feeling suicidal. “I wasn’t posted with him; I was supposed to be in Iraq, but you know how that can go. And I’m a specialist - and Jake was special.”
Alec blinked, realising that Eliot had actually known his brother. “‘Course he was. Boy woulda given his leg for you if he thought it could help.”
“Naw. I mean, he would, but not like that.” Eliot wouldn’t look him in the eye and that unsettled something in Alec’s stomach, remembering DC and Moreau. “He was special. Saved my life twice. I was gonna ask to get him transferred.”
“You saying you were sleeping with my brother? In Afghanistan?”
“No! I mean - “ Eliot caught himself and shook his head. “The transfer papers were going through the night he disappeared. I know he wasn’t my brother, but we both lost him.”
Alec looked away from Eliot and fiddled with the volume on the ear pieces, just to have something to do. From the look on Eliot’s face, Jake had done the thing Jake was so good at and grabbed at Eliot’s heart. Good on Jake. Alec knew he never could. He swallowed past the lump in his throat. “Too bad there’s nothing we can do now.”
“No. If I ever me that yellow eyed bastard, he’s gonna pay.”
Alec didn’t have the heart to ask Eliot what he was talking about then. But that night, and over the next few months, he found some very interesting websites. And the incident in the roadside motel with Eliot and Parker and the weird dude in the trenchcoat was a story for another time.
Special
Because apparently this is a continuing series where Leverage crosses over into everything.
Where the crew meet Castiel
Alec Hardison decided he hated Eliot Spencer the day he introduced him to Castiel, angel of the Lord.
He could deal with the fact that Eliot had travelled with the Doctor. That the Doctor had rescued him from Chinese mercenaries in the Gobi desert. He could even live with the fact that Eliot had probably had extensive army sex with Jake and hadn’t told him about it until they’d been living in each other’s pockets for nearly four years. He could cope with all of that.
But when they got to the shitty ass motel room and the dorky guy in the oversized trench coat walked right up to him and said, “You are Eliot Spencer. Raphael has had much to say about you,” Hardison pretty much exploded.
Castiel just looked at him with the same blank face while Parker poked him in the back. And Eliot glared at him. If looks could kill, Hardison knew he’d be dead five minutes ago.
“Do you really want to be the guy that things like that talk about in their spare time?” Eliot asked, pointing at Castiel like his finger was a gun. “And do I have to tell you for the fiftieth time how many of the Doctor’s companions die inside the TARDIS?”
“No?” Hardison squeaked, but it didn’t keep him from wishing that, just for once, he could be special, too.
And then when Eliot showed the big guy with the floppy hair a trick with the “demon killing” knife and Parker did a bendy thing with his brother, Hardison nearly cried. They were in the stone age, out here in rural Wyoming, and no one needed an elite hacker. You couldn’t hack paper - or didn’t need to, when you could just steal it.
Hardison pretended he didn’t care when he was the only one who went to bed alone that night. And he really, really didn’t want to know who was bunking with who. He’d seen the eyes, back in the Winchester’s room. Hardison did not need to know. It didn’t mean he wasn’t lonely, though. And it didn’t mean that he didn’t feel left out.
That was before the incident with the redhead and the conspiracy nut in the cornfield at the Iowa state border.