The Librarians Fanfic: By Paths Coincident 9/?
Title: By Paths Coincident 9/?
Author: Honorat
Rating: T
Crossover: Leverage and The Librarians
Characters: Jenkins, Eve Baird, Jacob Stone, Cassandra Cillian, Ezekiel Jones, Parker, Alec Hardison, Eliot Spencer, Others TBA as needed.
Pairing: Parker/Hardison, Cassandra/Jake, Cassandra/Eliot, just a touch of Eliot/OC
Disclaimer: Dean Devlin, John Rogers, TNT own these characters.
Description: The Librarians discover Leverage International. Jacob Stone and Eliot Spencer have a family past, but they aren’t the only members of the two teams who’ve met before. Expect whiplash between light and dark. Lots of backstory in this chapter.
Previous chapters HERE.
* * * * *
By Paths Coincident
* * * * *
The Present
Bridgeport Brew Pub, Portland, OR
Eliot Spencer allowed himself one slightly deeper breath of relief. From the moment he had seen that Colonel Baird both recognized his name and knew that he was the one who had slaughtered her team and done his best to kill her eleven years ago, he had not been sure whether she was going to launch a frontal assault or stand down. For now, at least, it seemed she was willing to settle for reconnaissance. He had no illusions that the confrontation was over.
Hell, he wouldn’t blame her if she called in all of NATO to take him out.
Perhaps it was a good thing Parker had lifted her phone and her gun.
Baird’s one hand still hovered where her Glock would have been, but the other touched the nearly invisible scar at her throat-a scar that represented so many other unseen wounds. He did not think she was aware of that telltale gesture.
Eliot knew exactly what he had done to this woman. He had left her not breathing, with no detectable pulse. The fact that she was here, alive, spoke of an unbelievable will to survive in the face of incredible odds. But he also knew that she would count all the years of recovery from such major trauma as nothing in comparison to what he had done to her team.
He owed her a debt oceans deep in blood.
But this was not the moment, nor was he the one to set the terms.
She watched him, his victim in life rather than dreams, her eyes as beautiful now as they had been eleven years ago-and as angry. Wrath rose off her like smoke from an inferno. And beneath that anger, so much fear and sorrow. These were not fragments of memory and imagination excavated by his guilt to torment him. These were her real emotions.
His responsibility.
The knowledge carved into his heart like knives.
Their frozen tableau drew out to an awkward eternity, only he and Baird understanding why, the others merely worried and confused.
Miss Manners had provided no script for polite conversation with a woman one had left for dead nor for how she should respond to her murderer.
It was Hardison, bless him, who unthawed first. With all the panache gained from his childhood years sporting a bowtie door to door selling salvation, the young man flashed a brilliant smile, extended his hand in patented Sophie-subverting-an-entire-nation fashion, and said, “Pleasure to meet you, Ms. Baird. My name is Colin Hartnell.”
Oh. Damn. Right. Aliases. At the moment, Eliot could not have told what names they were running the Brew Pub under if his life depended on it. Whatever rational fragment of his mind remained noted that he hadn’t been this shaken in . . . he could not remember how long. There had been no point in his giving a false name, since Jake would know the truth, but there was no need to blow the others’ cover stories.
As though she had to come back from a great distance, Colonel Baird drew her hand from where she had no weapon to draw and took Hardison’s hand briefly.
“And this,” Hardison continued, pulling Parker forward, “is Martha Tyler.”
Parker moved as though she had forgotten her knees bent. In situations of intense personal emotion, their thief still had a tendency to go a bit wooden.
“Oh. Yes. Of course. I’m Martha.” Parker smiled. At least her smiles no longer left people the impression that they did not ever want to meet her alone in dimly lit places-unless, of course, they really didn’t.
Jake joined in the heroic effort to diffuse the situation, shaking first Hardison’s and then Parker’s hands. “Great to meet you Mr. Hartnell, Ms. Tyler.”
“Please.” Hardison’s voice was all warmth and welcome. “It’s Colin. You’re practically family.”
“Martha, that’s me!” Parker piped up, following Hardison’s lead in her own way.
“And this is Ezekiel Jones.” Jake introduced the last member of his team, the Australian, judging by the little of his accent Eliot had already heard. “He’s in . . . um . . . acquisitions.”
He noted that Hardison and Parker exchanged glances at that name, as though it meant something to them; however, he got no sense that the recognition involved any threat.
Ezekiel, too, participated in the obligatory handshake.
By that time, Eliot had developed the beginnings of a plan. Food. Sophie always told them that sharing a meal was a way to build connections, hard-wired in the primitive part of the brain. The sanctity of the guest was not as intrinsic to American culture as it was in the Middle East where he had spent so much time, but the psychology existed. His cousin and colleagues had come to the Brew Pub to eat. Perhaps he could say to Baird with food what words could not say-that he wished them no harm, that they were safe here.
“Why don’t you finish looking at the menu,” he said to the group at the table, as they reseated themselves, even Baird, although she looked like she would rather be standing at parade attention or perhaps barricaded behind the bar and packing an M-16. “Dinner’s on the house tonight. And I have a couple of specials not on the menu I’ll throw in as well.”
“That’s mighty generous of you.” Jake grinned up at him. “But I insist you and your friends join us. That is if you have the time?”
There was nothing to be done but accept the invitation with grace. At least the resulting shuffling of chairs and adjusting of their occupants allowed Parker to un-pick everyone’s pockets. She settled into her seat with a bounce, her they’re-making-me-give-everything-back scowl replaced by a laser-focused, homicidally cheerful, unnervingly curious, tooth-glitteringly hungry smile.
“So, Jake, what was Eliot like when he was a kid?”
Eliot fled for the refuge of the kitchen. He’d just send Amy out to take orders after all.
* * * * *
Jacob Stone watched as his long-lost cousin departed in what looked suspiciously like a strategic retreat. The atmosphere around their table remained stormy, but with Eliot’s exit, the lightning strikes were gone and only the far off rumble of thunder remained. Something powerful and terrible was going on involving Eve Baird and Eliot Spencer.
He had seen Baird fight off assassins with a barstool, shoot a Minotaur in the balls as she slid beneath its legs, and crash land a cargo plane using instructions off of Google, but he’d never seen her this shaken. The past was a dark cave from which monsters could crawl, Jake knew, but what was it about his cousin’s name that had called forth such creatures for the impervious Eve? Whatever it was, Eliot had known. And yet Eve had not recognized Eliot. Of course. Or she would have recognized Jake’s face months ago.
He was going to have to corner Eve and ask.
He could not ask Eliot-that or any of the questions to which he really wanted to know the answers. The one that marched in majuscule letters across his mind, reducing all others to obscurity, was Why? Why had Eliot stopped coming home? Why had he stopped calling or writing? What could possibly have been worse than letting his family wonder if he were still alive?
Eliot was family, but they were now practically strangers to each other; whereas Eve was fast becoming more than just a colleague. She was a friend.
In the new configuration, he was seated next to her, and he scrutinized her carefully for clues to what had just gone down. She looked broken, and Jake had never seen Eve break. Not when she’d been dragged backwards up a staircase by a spirit, leaving her so injured she had needed his help even to stand. Not after she’d been shattered across the planet delivering hope enough for the sorry old world to survive another year. Her eyes, fixed on the point where Eliot had disappeared, held a bleak sort of rage, but also the wounded look of a frightened child-an image he had never associated with either her uptight military persona or, lately, her more relaxed but fiercely protective mama bear side.
Her hands were clenched precisely shoulder-width apart on the table, as though she did not know what to do with them if she could not hit something.
Sliding one arm along the back of her chair, he could feel the tension vibrating in her shoulders. With his other hand, he covered her fist nearest him.
“Colonel Baird,” he said softly. “Eve? Are you okay?”
Eve seemed to come back to herself then, shaking her head as though to re-set some doomed train of thought. Closing her eyes and taking a deep quiet breath, Eve opened them again, seeing him this time.
“I’m fine,” she said, and he almost did not hear the shiver in her voice. “I’ll be fine.”
She did not look fine, but Eve was as tough as nails, and he had no doubt she would be. Even now, reminded of their existence, she was pulling herself together.
“Thanks,” she said softly, and she smiled at him.
He squeezed her hand and released it.
The other occupants of the table had remained silent, the awkwardness as thick as clay.
At this juncture, their waitress arrived bringing drinks. Everyone looked relieved at the interruption.
“Oh, good,” Martha said. “Here’s Amy.”
The table began to unfreeze as the beverages were passed around.
Eliot had apparently ordered for his friends, because Amy had something for everyone.
“Here you go, Boss,” she said, handing Colin a shockingly orange soda. Martha’s poison of choice turned out to be hot chocolate with colored marshmallows and a candy cane stir stick.
And these people ran a Brew Pub? Jake shrugged and gratefully took a swig of his beer. Eliot seemed to work with some odd people, but then who was he to talk.
The fact that Ezekiel’s drink proved to taste as bad as Amy had advertised removed a little more of the fraught atmosphere.
The look on the thief’s face as he considered which course of action was the lesser of the two evils-to spit or swallow-was worth the price of admission.
Cassandra laughed until she couldn’t breathe.
Colin pretended to take umbrage at everyone’s lack of appreciation for his art.
And Martha looked entirely too much like she was hoping Ezekiel would turn purple and go up in smoke.
At least Amy had thoughtfully provided a tankard of the regular house brew for him to wash away the taste. Jake resolved that she should receive a generous tip.
However, the easing of strain did not extend to Eve. Jake casually did not remove his arm from the back of her chair. He could feel her pressing back against him, as though steadying herself.
* * * * *
Now that Eve had her whiskey, she realized there was no way she was going to be drinking it. Her feelings were already edging on a turbulence she could ill afford. Alcohol would only put her more off balance. She was grateful for Stone’s silent support. So often now, they all depended on him to be their rock in the midst of chaos.
When Spencer had disappeared her adrenaline had spiked. That was a man she needed in her sights at all times. He wasn’t safe at any time, but he was even more unsafe when not visible.
For Eve everything had condensed to one point-extraction. Ezekiel Jones, Cassandra Cillian, and Jacob Stone-she had never meant to feel this way about a group of people again. It was the height of irony that she should cross paths with Spencer again, just when she had bonded with another team. She had to get this team, this time, out of this situation alive.
Food held all the appeal of ashes to her now, but she knew she needed to replenish her energy after such a strenuous day.
Everyone was placing orders. Since he was getting his meal for free, Ezekiel ordered the most expensive dish on the menu. Of course, he would.
Eve finally settled on a salad.
“Eliot’s chili is the best,” Martha suggested. “It’s his own version of his mama’s recipe.”
Stone raised his eyebrows, “I’m gonna have to try that. I haven’t had that chili since, well, since my aunt died.”
Colin and Martha focused on him expectantly. But Stone just gestured to Cassandra who also ordered the chili.
When the waitress had departed, Martha rounded on Stone like he was a treasure vault she needed to break into.
“I still want Eliot stories,” Martha insisted. “Tell!”
* * * * *
TBC
Author: Honorat
Rating: T
Crossover: Leverage and The Librarians
Characters: Jenkins, Eve Baird, Jacob Stone, Cassandra Cillian, Ezekiel Jones, Parker, Alec Hardison, Eliot Spencer, Others TBA as needed.
Pairing: Parker/Hardison, Cassandra/Jake, Cassandra/Eliot, just a touch of Eliot/OC
Disclaimer: Dean Devlin, John Rogers, TNT own these characters.
Description: The Librarians discover Leverage International. Jacob Stone and Eliot Spencer have a family past, but they aren’t the only members of the two teams who’ve met before. Expect whiplash between light and dark. Lots of backstory in this chapter.
Previous chapters HERE.
* * * * *
By Paths Coincident
* * * * *
The Present
Bridgeport Brew Pub, Portland, OR
Eliot Spencer allowed himself one slightly deeper breath of relief. From the moment he had seen that Colonel Baird both recognized his name and knew that he was the one who had slaughtered her team and done his best to kill her eleven years ago, he had not been sure whether she was going to launch a frontal assault or stand down. For now, at least, it seemed she was willing to settle for reconnaissance. He had no illusions that the confrontation was over.
Hell, he wouldn’t blame her if she called in all of NATO to take him out.
Perhaps it was a good thing Parker had lifted her phone and her gun.
Baird’s one hand still hovered where her Glock would have been, but the other touched the nearly invisible scar at her throat-a scar that represented so many other unseen wounds. He did not think she was aware of that telltale gesture.
Eliot knew exactly what he had done to this woman. He had left her not breathing, with no detectable pulse. The fact that she was here, alive, spoke of an unbelievable will to survive in the face of incredible odds. But he also knew that she would count all the years of recovery from such major trauma as nothing in comparison to what he had done to her team.
He owed her a debt oceans deep in blood.
But this was not the moment, nor was he the one to set the terms.
She watched him, his victim in life rather than dreams, her eyes as beautiful now as they had been eleven years ago-and as angry. Wrath rose off her like smoke from an inferno. And beneath that anger, so much fear and sorrow. These were not fragments of memory and imagination excavated by his guilt to torment him. These were her real emotions.
His responsibility.
The knowledge carved into his heart like knives.
Their frozen tableau drew out to an awkward eternity, only he and Baird understanding why, the others merely worried and confused.
Miss Manners had provided no script for polite conversation with a woman one had left for dead nor for how she should respond to her murderer.
It was Hardison, bless him, who unthawed first. With all the panache gained from his childhood years sporting a bowtie door to door selling salvation, the young man flashed a brilliant smile, extended his hand in patented Sophie-subverting-an-entire-nation fashion, and said, “Pleasure to meet you, Ms. Baird. My name is Colin Hartnell.”
Oh. Damn. Right. Aliases. At the moment, Eliot could not have told what names they were running the Brew Pub under if his life depended on it. Whatever rational fragment of his mind remained noted that he hadn’t been this shaken in . . . he could not remember how long. There had been no point in his giving a false name, since Jake would know the truth, but there was no need to blow the others’ cover stories.
As though she had to come back from a great distance, Colonel Baird drew her hand from where she had no weapon to draw and took Hardison’s hand briefly.
“And this,” Hardison continued, pulling Parker forward, “is Martha Tyler.”
Parker moved as though she had forgotten her knees bent. In situations of intense personal emotion, their thief still had a tendency to go a bit wooden.
“Oh. Yes. Of course. I’m Martha.” Parker smiled. At least her smiles no longer left people the impression that they did not ever want to meet her alone in dimly lit places-unless, of course, they really didn’t.
Jake joined in the heroic effort to diffuse the situation, shaking first Hardison’s and then Parker’s hands. “Great to meet you Mr. Hartnell, Ms. Tyler.”
“Please.” Hardison’s voice was all warmth and welcome. “It’s Colin. You’re practically family.”
“Martha, that’s me!” Parker piped up, following Hardison’s lead in her own way.
“And this is Ezekiel Jones.” Jake introduced the last member of his team, the Australian, judging by the little of his accent Eliot had already heard. “He’s in . . . um . . . acquisitions.”
He noted that Hardison and Parker exchanged glances at that name, as though it meant something to them; however, he got no sense that the recognition involved any threat.
Ezekiel, too, participated in the obligatory handshake.
By that time, Eliot had developed the beginnings of a plan. Food. Sophie always told them that sharing a meal was a way to build connections, hard-wired in the primitive part of the brain. The sanctity of the guest was not as intrinsic to American culture as it was in the Middle East where he had spent so much time, but the psychology existed. His cousin and colleagues had come to the Brew Pub to eat. Perhaps he could say to Baird with food what words could not say-that he wished them no harm, that they were safe here.
“Why don’t you finish looking at the menu,” he said to the group at the table, as they reseated themselves, even Baird, although she looked like she would rather be standing at parade attention or perhaps barricaded behind the bar and packing an M-16. “Dinner’s on the house tonight. And I have a couple of specials not on the menu I’ll throw in as well.”
“That’s mighty generous of you.” Jake grinned up at him. “But I insist you and your friends join us. That is if you have the time?”
There was nothing to be done but accept the invitation with grace. At least the resulting shuffling of chairs and adjusting of their occupants allowed Parker to un-pick everyone’s pockets. She settled into her seat with a bounce, her they’re-making-me-give-everything-back scowl replaced by a laser-focused, homicidally cheerful, unnervingly curious, tooth-glitteringly hungry smile.
“So, Jake, what was Eliot like when he was a kid?”
Eliot fled for the refuge of the kitchen. He’d just send Amy out to take orders after all.
* * * * *
Jacob Stone watched as his long-lost cousin departed in what looked suspiciously like a strategic retreat. The atmosphere around their table remained stormy, but with Eliot’s exit, the lightning strikes were gone and only the far off rumble of thunder remained. Something powerful and terrible was going on involving Eve Baird and Eliot Spencer.
He had seen Baird fight off assassins with a barstool, shoot a Minotaur in the balls as she slid beneath its legs, and crash land a cargo plane using instructions off of Google, but he’d never seen her this shaken. The past was a dark cave from which monsters could crawl, Jake knew, but what was it about his cousin’s name that had called forth such creatures for the impervious Eve? Whatever it was, Eliot had known. And yet Eve had not recognized Eliot. Of course. Or she would have recognized Jake’s face months ago.
He was going to have to corner Eve and ask.
He could not ask Eliot-that or any of the questions to which he really wanted to know the answers. The one that marched in majuscule letters across his mind, reducing all others to obscurity, was Why? Why had Eliot stopped coming home? Why had he stopped calling or writing? What could possibly have been worse than letting his family wonder if he were still alive?
Eliot was family, but they were now practically strangers to each other; whereas Eve was fast becoming more than just a colleague. She was a friend.
In the new configuration, he was seated next to her, and he scrutinized her carefully for clues to what had just gone down. She looked broken, and Jake had never seen Eve break. Not when she’d been dragged backwards up a staircase by a spirit, leaving her so injured she had needed his help even to stand. Not after she’d been shattered across the planet delivering hope enough for the sorry old world to survive another year. Her eyes, fixed on the point where Eliot had disappeared, held a bleak sort of rage, but also the wounded look of a frightened child-an image he had never associated with either her uptight military persona or, lately, her more relaxed but fiercely protective mama bear side.
Her hands were clenched precisely shoulder-width apart on the table, as though she did not know what to do with them if she could not hit something.
Sliding one arm along the back of her chair, he could feel the tension vibrating in her shoulders. With his other hand, he covered her fist nearest him.
“Colonel Baird,” he said softly. “Eve? Are you okay?”
Eve seemed to come back to herself then, shaking her head as though to re-set some doomed train of thought. Closing her eyes and taking a deep quiet breath, Eve opened them again, seeing him this time.
“I’m fine,” she said, and he almost did not hear the shiver in her voice. “I’ll be fine.”
She did not look fine, but Eve was as tough as nails, and he had no doubt she would be. Even now, reminded of their existence, she was pulling herself together.
“Thanks,” she said softly, and she smiled at him.
He squeezed her hand and released it.
The other occupants of the table had remained silent, the awkwardness as thick as clay.
At this juncture, their waitress arrived bringing drinks. Everyone looked relieved at the interruption.
“Oh, good,” Martha said. “Here’s Amy.”
The table began to unfreeze as the beverages were passed around.
Eliot had apparently ordered for his friends, because Amy had something for everyone.
“Here you go, Boss,” she said, handing Colin a shockingly orange soda. Martha’s poison of choice turned out to be hot chocolate with colored marshmallows and a candy cane stir stick.
And these people ran a Brew Pub? Jake shrugged and gratefully took a swig of his beer. Eliot seemed to work with some odd people, but then who was he to talk.
The fact that Ezekiel’s drink proved to taste as bad as Amy had advertised removed a little more of the fraught atmosphere.
The look on the thief’s face as he considered which course of action was the lesser of the two evils-to spit or swallow-was worth the price of admission.
Cassandra laughed until she couldn’t breathe.
Colin pretended to take umbrage at everyone’s lack of appreciation for his art.
And Martha looked entirely too much like she was hoping Ezekiel would turn purple and go up in smoke.
At least Amy had thoughtfully provided a tankard of the regular house brew for him to wash away the taste. Jake resolved that she should receive a generous tip.
However, the easing of strain did not extend to Eve. Jake casually did not remove his arm from the back of her chair. He could feel her pressing back against him, as though steadying herself.
* * * * *
Now that Eve had her whiskey, she realized there was no way she was going to be drinking it. Her feelings were already edging on a turbulence she could ill afford. Alcohol would only put her more off balance. She was grateful for Stone’s silent support. So often now, they all depended on him to be their rock in the midst of chaos.
When Spencer had disappeared her adrenaline had spiked. That was a man she needed in her sights at all times. He wasn’t safe at any time, but he was even more unsafe when not visible.
For Eve everything had condensed to one point-extraction. Ezekiel Jones, Cassandra Cillian, and Jacob Stone-she had never meant to feel this way about a group of people again. It was the height of irony that she should cross paths with Spencer again, just when she had bonded with another team. She had to get this team, this time, out of this situation alive.
Food held all the appeal of ashes to her now, but she knew she needed to replenish her energy after such a strenuous day.
Everyone was placing orders. Since he was getting his meal for free, Ezekiel ordered the most expensive dish on the menu. Of course, he would.
Eve finally settled on a salad.
“Eliot’s chili is the best,” Martha suggested. “It’s his own version of his mama’s recipe.”
Stone raised his eyebrows, “I’m gonna have to try that. I haven’t had that chili since, well, since my aunt died.”
Colin and Martha focused on him expectantly. But Stone just gestured to Cassandra who also ordered the chili.
When the waitress had departed, Martha rounded on Stone like he was a treasure vault she needed to break into.
“I still want Eliot stories,” Martha insisted. “Tell!”
* * * * *
TBC