Leverage Fic: Tunnels Where They Fell
Title: Tunnels Where They Fell
Fandom: Leverage
Word Count: 515
Warnings (if any): Talk of war/military engagements with casualties.
Notes: Written for the leverageland challenge 'forever alone'/single prompt. I went with the concept of 'Sole Survivor'. Title is from a Deacon Blue song and is incredibly morbid. Just like me. *g*
Setting: immediately post The Experimental Job
All of them had kept of something from their past, he noticed. Their tags, their BDUs, their boots, something. Something that reminded them of when they were part of something; of when they had brothers. A talisman.
And yeah, a lot of them were broken men now, but in that moment when they'd pulled together to take down Zilgram he'd seen the men they once were. Just like him. And to a man they'd all unconsciously touched their talismans at that moment when they had connected with their pasts, when they were whole. He hoped that maybe they'd take heart from that and find their ways out of the abysses they'd ended up in.
He doesn't have anything from back then, save more scars than he can count on a bad day, and he can't help but wonder if maybe there's something wrong with that. With him.
Of course he’s wrong about that: scars aren't the only things he's kept. He also has the memories.
"I.E.D.!" The shout comes out of the blue. This was supposed to be a milk run - touring the new recruits through the supposedly-safe zones. Of course, 'safe' was always going to be a relative term when insurgents could be hiding behind every window.
His squad reacts instantly, diving for cover automatically as the explosion rips through the air and flips their (thankfully empty) APV on its side. With his ears still ringing from the blast Eliot uses the APV's open door for cover and takes a rapid head count. All accounted for, no casualties he can see. Next, he's scanning the rooftops for snipers - or maybe even just for the son of a bitch who triggered the bomb. No one.
"Clear," he calls and motions the squad to form up and get the vehicle upright again. Something catches his attention, some flicker of movement in an alleyway he sees only from the corner of his eye and he raises his fist in a 'halt' command.
In silence he brings his weapon to ready and creeps towards the alley, trusting his squad to watch his back and secure the area.
He's halfway down the darkened alleyway when the secondary explosion triggers.
He turns, curses and runs. Knows it's too late, knows he abandoned his squad, knows he can't save them. Still, he runs into the flames.
They'd given him a medal. Said empty words about loyalty and bravery. But every time he'd looked at that shiny piece of metalin its velvet-lined box, all he'd been able to see were the twisted, fire-blackened tags that were all that remained of his squad. Eliot couldn't remember the name of the bar he'd left the medal in; he'd spent two days tryingo to drink away the memory of his mistake, and to this day he didn't regret not having it.
He had been absolutely honest with that joke of an interrogator. He’d never counted the people he'd killed because he didn't have to. He remembered each and every one of them…starting with the nine members of his first command.
Fandom: Leverage
Word Count: 515
Warnings (if any): Talk of war/military engagements with casualties.
Notes: Written for the leverageland challenge 'forever alone'/single prompt. I went with the concept of 'Sole Survivor'. Title is from a Deacon Blue song and is incredibly morbid. Just like me. *g*
Setting: immediately post The Experimental Job
All of them had kept of something from their past, he noticed. Their tags, their BDUs, their boots, something. Something that reminded them of when they were part of something; of when they had brothers. A talisman.
And yeah, a lot of them were broken men now, but in that moment when they'd pulled together to take down Zilgram he'd seen the men they once were. Just like him. And to a man they'd all unconsciously touched their talismans at that moment when they had connected with their pasts, when they were whole. He hoped that maybe they'd take heart from that and find their ways out of the abysses they'd ended up in.
He doesn't have anything from back then, save more scars than he can count on a bad day, and he can't help but wonder if maybe there's something wrong with that. With him.
Of course he’s wrong about that: scars aren't the only things he's kept. He also has the memories.
"I.E.D.!" The shout comes out of the blue. This was supposed to be a milk run - touring the new recruits through the supposedly-safe zones. Of course, 'safe' was always going to be a relative term when insurgents could be hiding behind every window.
His squad reacts instantly, diving for cover automatically as the explosion rips through the air and flips their (thankfully empty) APV on its side. With his ears still ringing from the blast Eliot uses the APV's open door for cover and takes a rapid head count. All accounted for, no casualties he can see. Next, he's scanning the rooftops for snipers - or maybe even just for the son of a bitch who triggered the bomb. No one.
"Clear," he calls and motions the squad to form up and get the vehicle upright again. Something catches his attention, some flicker of movement in an alleyway he sees only from the corner of his eye and he raises his fist in a 'halt' command.
In silence he brings his weapon to ready and creeps towards the alley, trusting his squad to watch his back and secure the area.
He's halfway down the darkened alleyway when the secondary explosion triggers.
He turns, curses and runs. Knows it's too late, knows he abandoned his squad, knows he can't save them. Still, he runs into the flames.
They'd given him a medal. Said empty words about loyalty and bravery. But every time he'd looked at that shiny piece of metalin its velvet-lined box, all he'd been able to see were the twisted, fire-blackened tags that were all that remained of his squad. Eliot couldn't remember the name of the bar he'd left the medal in; he'd spent two days tryingo to drink away the memory of his mistake, and to this day he didn't regret not having it.
He had been absolutely honest with that joke of an interrogator. He’d never counted the people he'd killed because he didn't have to. He remembered each and every one of them…starting with the nine members of his first command.