The Two Sons Job: 8/9
Title: The Two Sons Job: Meeting At Dusk
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: gen, referenced past Eliot/Amie, Eliot/Dean
Verse: Steal The Sky
Fandoms: Leverage, Firefly, Supernatural, White Collar
Summary: Concering old friends, past history, father-son relationships, and the Burke Seven.
Notes: For the upset at a higher power square on my H/c bingo card.
This is the Steal the Sky version of The Two Horse Job and will, suprise suprise, focus mostly on Eliot's history.
Many thanks and much praise to my beta LMX_V3point3. Without her this chapter would not exist and the next would probably make much less sense.
Chapter One, Chapter Two, Chapter Three, Chapter Four, Chapter Five, Chapter Six, Chapter Seven
Warning: Referenced past dub-con, non-con, and suicide attempts
“Alright everyone, go home. Get some sleep.” Peter looked around the circle of faces then checked his watch. “Things go down in sixteen hours.”
The group started to disperse from his living room. Parker slipped over to walk out with Neal and Mozzie, plotting and most likely further corrupting his agent. Peter looked away, seeing Diana absently chatting with Sarah and Sophie while Jones talked to Hardison as they gathered their things and finished their drinks.
Across the room Peter caught sight of Nate watching the post briefing interactions. They met eyes for a moment and Nate gave a slight nod.
Peter would never admit it, and tried his damnedest to hide it, but that guy was plain unnerving.
With a shake of his head Peter turned to head into the kitchen. El was probably cleaning up from providing dinner for this lot and Eliot was probably helping. A third set of hands would probably be welcome and after this mess some time with his wife would be welcome.
El was in the kitchen but Eliot was not.
“He’s out back again,” El told Peter. The words could seem innocent enough but Peter remembered. Back then, when he’d only just met Eliot, the young man would stand in the backyard looking up at the sky, for hours sometimes, in the last few weeks before he’d been sent back to Olympus.
After the mess at the bar a few days ago…
“I’ll talk to him,” Peter said, resting a hand on El’s shoulder for a moment as he passed.
The air outside was chilly, the back porch dark. The Black was mostly obscured by light pollution though, and it was enough that Peter could see Eliot’s form.
“I think Parker, Neal, and Mozzie are plotting an art heist,” Peter commented, moving to stand next to Eliot. “I can’t decide which of them is the bad influence.”
Eliot didn’t comment but a hint of a smile did touch his face. Good.
“We haven’t really had a chance to talk,” Peter continued. “Sometime before you go you should spend some time with El. I get why you didn’t tell us yourself but when she got news you were dead she… we both…” It had been hard news to get. He’d known it was coming. They’d known from the moment they watched him board a ship back to Olympus. That hadn’t made it any easier. “For a long time I half believed Mozzie was lying to make us feel better when he said you were alive and free.”
A smile, distant, almost sad, tugged at Eliot’s lips. “Barely believed it myself. But guess Mozzie was proof it could be done.” He glanced toward Peter. “You were right.”
It took Peter a moment to remember what Eliot meant. Years ago when he’d told Eliot that his only hope to win was to keep playing.
“Yeah,” Peter said. He’d watched Eliot with his crew these past few days. The first mate of the good ship Leverage was so very different from the broken and defeated man he’d known. “But now’s no time to stop.” A hint of surprise on Eliot’s face and Peter suppressed the ache in his gut. “Yeah. I know. Nate told me.”
Eliot looked back toward the stars. “I won, Peter. I got out. Hell, my clan’s getting more stable every damn day. I earned my right to lie down. To rest.”
Peter wasn’t really sure he had an argument to that. Wasn’t really sure he had a right to argue.
Eliot had been suicidal when they met. Had wanted to lie down and die. But then he’d been barely more than a kid. He’d still had a chance.
Peter knew this time Eliot was dying whether he wanted to or not.
“Where’s Satch?” Eliot asks after the silence has stretched on long enough that the words almost make Peter jump.
He’s taken off guard enough that he almost doesn’t stop himself from looking around, paranoid. Eliot had been with them after they’d gotten Satchmo. That was on the official record. Eliot asking after Satch wouldn’t seem out of place.
Though Peter knew how badly Eliot probably wanted to see Satch. He hadn’t said anything but the fact the man was asking now... it wasn’t like either of them had been around the house in the days Eliot had been back. Asking about Satch should have come days ago but… “He’s staying with El’s sisters until the bad influences leave the house.”
He regretted his choice of words almost immediately. Peter wasn’t a Reader like Eliot but he was good enough at what he did to see the shift in Eliot’s posture.
And then silence again, or not.
“You know Nate lost a son,” Eliot said, hand reaching upwards, fingers and eyes tracking the skyline for something Peter wasn’t sure anyone but a Reader could see. “It’s how this happened. It was more than a year ago but he’s drinking it quiet and the drinking's getting worse.”
Peter didn’t know what to say. The crazy urge to tell Eliot he hadn’t lost a son crossed his mind, but it wasn’t true and as safe as Hardison had made their home what wasn’t said couldn’t be overheard.
Eliot’s hand clenched into a fist. “We weren’t supposed to get close. The team'n me. Nate’s already lost one son and a year he’ll have lost two.” His hand dropped. “Parker ‘n Hardison are like my clan… Sophie’s an older sister. Sam’s a friend and Dean… with him sometimes I forget. What happened.” He let out a breath, whisper-soft words repeating. “What happened…”
And Peter reached for the right words. It had never been easy last time but he’d felt like he’d known what to do. Treat the kid like a human being. Reintroduce humanity and life into his life. Let El at him. Before long Eliot had been walking around like an actual person.
But this stilted not quite conversation… it felt more like it had turned into some disjointed confession, Peter being the odd mixture of someone Eliot trusted implicitly, saw as strong enough to not need to protect, but wouldn’t be there when Eliot ran out of time.
Unbidden words rose in Peter’s mind. Bless me father for I have sinned…
Eliot was dying and as much as he might want to go quietly into the dark night he’d finally made ties to this verse and now with everything brought back up…
“I… I don’t want to leave them,” Eliot muttered finally.
“Th-“
Suddenly the stillness of the night broke. Eliot lashed out, foot connecting with the leg of the bench he stood close to, hands clenched into fists that sought something anything to connect with. Anger long simmering boiling over and Peter stepped back, watching silently as Eliot went to town on the wooden bench, the splinters that would need removing and the, inevitably, new bench needed ignored for now.
Hopefully El would remember the last time Eliot was with them well enough to keep anyone curious about the noise inside.
A final crack and Eliot sank down to the ground, chest heaving, the dark too deep for Peter to tell if Eliot still cried silently or if the years had beaten the last of the tears out of him.
“Why?” The question was strangled, barely above a whisper, boiling rage and loathing with no target burning behind it. Eliot looked up towards Peter, turning into what little dim lighting there was and Peter could see the ghost of the boy he’d come out to talk to on a night like this a decade ago. “Why now?” He asked. “Parker’s twenty six. Hardison’s still a kid. Why couldn’t this have happened when I was a kid? I coulda had ten years, not one. Maybe longer if… Or even just a year ago? Another year… I could get them ready for it. Or a year from now? Some other poor son of a bitch coulda gotten out of that hell hole then they wouldn’t have to watch me die.”
Peter wished he could answer but… he stayed silent. The questions had been flung at him but Eliot didn’t expect an answer, or response even.
Eliot turned back away, halfheartedly kicking at a scrap of wood near his foot. “Fate’s a sick son of a bitch,” he muttered.
Peter sighed and put his hand on Eliot’s shoulder. “You got a year.”
It was a statement and a reminder and so much more it was what Peter knew Eliot needed to hear and all the things that went unsaid in it. Whatever he was going through was okay. Whatever happened wasn’t his fault.
And whatever sick bastard was controlling this ‘verse they lived in Eliot had gotten a year’s grace period to walk free and get his team ready for what would happen and it might not have been perfect but… it was what he had.
“Peter?” Eliot’s voice was distant.
“Yeah?”
“I wanna see Satch. Before I go.”
Peter wasn’t sure if he should laugh or do something a little less manly. “I’ll see what I can do.”
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: gen, referenced past Eliot/Amie, Eliot/Dean
Verse: Steal The Sky
Fandoms: Leverage, Firefly, Supernatural, White Collar
Summary: Concering old friends, past history, father-son relationships, and the Burke Seven.
Notes: For the upset at a higher power square on my H/c bingo card.
This is the Steal the Sky version of The Two Horse Job and will, suprise suprise, focus mostly on Eliot's history.
Many thanks and much praise to my beta LMX_V3point3. Without her this chapter would not exist and the next would probably make much less sense.
Chapter One, Chapter Two, Chapter Three, Chapter Four, Chapter Five, Chapter Six, Chapter Seven
Warning: Referenced past dub-con, non-con, and suicide attempts
“Alright everyone, go home. Get some sleep.” Peter looked around the circle of faces then checked his watch. “Things go down in sixteen hours.”
The group started to disperse from his living room. Parker slipped over to walk out with Neal and Mozzie, plotting and most likely further corrupting his agent. Peter looked away, seeing Diana absently chatting with Sarah and Sophie while Jones talked to Hardison as they gathered their things and finished their drinks.
Across the room Peter caught sight of Nate watching the post briefing interactions. They met eyes for a moment and Nate gave a slight nod.
Peter would never admit it, and tried his damnedest to hide it, but that guy was plain unnerving.
With a shake of his head Peter turned to head into the kitchen. El was probably cleaning up from providing dinner for this lot and Eliot was probably helping. A third set of hands would probably be welcome and after this mess some time with his wife would be welcome.
El was in the kitchen but Eliot was not.
“He’s out back again,” El told Peter. The words could seem innocent enough but Peter remembered. Back then, when he’d only just met Eliot, the young man would stand in the backyard looking up at the sky, for hours sometimes, in the last few weeks before he’d been sent back to Olympus.
After the mess at the bar a few days ago…
“I’ll talk to him,” Peter said, resting a hand on El’s shoulder for a moment as he passed.
The air outside was chilly, the back porch dark. The Black was mostly obscured by light pollution though, and it was enough that Peter could see Eliot’s form.
“I think Parker, Neal, and Mozzie are plotting an art heist,” Peter commented, moving to stand next to Eliot. “I can’t decide which of them is the bad influence.”
Eliot didn’t comment but a hint of a smile did touch his face. Good.
“We haven’t really had a chance to talk,” Peter continued. “Sometime before you go you should spend some time with El. I get why you didn’t tell us yourself but when she got news you were dead she… we both…” It had been hard news to get. He’d known it was coming. They’d known from the moment they watched him board a ship back to Olympus. That hadn’t made it any easier. “For a long time I half believed Mozzie was lying to make us feel better when he said you were alive and free.”
A smile, distant, almost sad, tugged at Eliot’s lips. “Barely believed it myself. But guess Mozzie was proof it could be done.” He glanced toward Peter. “You were right.”
It took Peter a moment to remember what Eliot meant. Years ago when he’d told Eliot that his only hope to win was to keep playing.
“Yeah,” Peter said. He’d watched Eliot with his crew these past few days. The first mate of the good ship Leverage was so very different from the broken and defeated man he’d known. “But now’s no time to stop.” A hint of surprise on Eliot’s face and Peter suppressed the ache in his gut. “Yeah. I know. Nate told me.”
Eliot looked back toward the stars. “I won, Peter. I got out. Hell, my clan’s getting more stable every damn day. I earned my right to lie down. To rest.”
Peter wasn’t really sure he had an argument to that. Wasn’t really sure he had a right to argue.
Eliot had been suicidal when they met. Had wanted to lie down and die. But then he’d been barely more than a kid. He’d still had a chance.
Peter knew this time Eliot was dying whether he wanted to or not.
“Where’s Satch?” Eliot asks after the silence has stretched on long enough that the words almost make Peter jump.
He’s taken off guard enough that he almost doesn’t stop himself from looking around, paranoid. Eliot had been with them after they’d gotten Satchmo. That was on the official record. Eliot asking after Satch wouldn’t seem out of place.
Though Peter knew how badly Eliot probably wanted to see Satch. He hadn’t said anything but the fact the man was asking now... it wasn’t like either of them had been around the house in the days Eliot had been back. Asking about Satch should have come days ago but… “He’s staying with El’s sisters until the bad influences leave the house.”
He regretted his choice of words almost immediately. Peter wasn’t a Reader like Eliot but he was good enough at what he did to see the shift in Eliot’s posture.
And then silence again, or not.
“You know Nate lost a son,” Eliot said, hand reaching upwards, fingers and eyes tracking the skyline for something Peter wasn’t sure anyone but a Reader could see. “It’s how this happened. It was more than a year ago but he’s drinking it quiet and the drinking's getting worse.”
Peter didn’t know what to say. The crazy urge to tell Eliot he hadn’t lost a son crossed his mind, but it wasn’t true and as safe as Hardison had made their home what wasn’t said couldn’t be overheard.
Eliot’s hand clenched into a fist. “We weren’t supposed to get close. The team'n me. Nate’s already lost one son and a year he’ll have lost two.” His hand dropped. “Parker ‘n Hardison are like my clan… Sophie’s an older sister. Sam’s a friend and Dean… with him sometimes I forget. What happened.” He let out a breath, whisper-soft words repeating. “What happened…”
And Peter reached for the right words. It had never been easy last time but he’d felt like he’d known what to do. Treat the kid like a human being. Reintroduce humanity and life into his life. Let El at him. Before long Eliot had been walking around like an actual person.
But this stilted not quite conversation… it felt more like it had turned into some disjointed confession, Peter being the odd mixture of someone Eliot trusted implicitly, saw as strong enough to not need to protect, but wouldn’t be there when Eliot ran out of time.
Unbidden words rose in Peter’s mind. Bless me father for I have sinned…
Eliot was dying and as much as he might want to go quietly into the dark night he’d finally made ties to this verse and now with everything brought back up…
“I… I don’t want to leave them,” Eliot muttered finally.
“Th-“
Suddenly the stillness of the night broke. Eliot lashed out, foot connecting with the leg of the bench he stood close to, hands clenched into fists that sought something anything to connect with. Anger long simmering boiling over and Peter stepped back, watching silently as Eliot went to town on the wooden bench, the splinters that would need removing and the, inevitably, new bench needed ignored for now.
Hopefully El would remember the last time Eliot was with them well enough to keep anyone curious about the noise inside.
A final crack and Eliot sank down to the ground, chest heaving, the dark too deep for Peter to tell if Eliot still cried silently or if the years had beaten the last of the tears out of him.
“Why?” The question was strangled, barely above a whisper, boiling rage and loathing with no target burning behind it. Eliot looked up towards Peter, turning into what little dim lighting there was and Peter could see the ghost of the boy he’d come out to talk to on a night like this a decade ago. “Why now?” He asked. “Parker’s twenty six. Hardison’s still a kid. Why couldn’t this have happened when I was a kid? I coulda had ten years, not one. Maybe longer if… Or even just a year ago? Another year… I could get them ready for it. Or a year from now? Some other poor son of a bitch coulda gotten out of that hell hole then they wouldn’t have to watch me die.”
Peter wished he could answer but… he stayed silent. The questions had been flung at him but Eliot didn’t expect an answer, or response even.
Eliot turned back away, halfheartedly kicking at a scrap of wood near his foot. “Fate’s a sick son of a bitch,” he muttered.
Peter sighed and put his hand on Eliot’s shoulder. “You got a year.”
It was a statement and a reminder and so much more it was what Peter knew Eliot needed to hear and all the things that went unsaid in it. Whatever he was going through was okay. Whatever happened wasn’t his fault.
And whatever sick bastard was controlling this ‘verse they lived in Eliot had gotten a year’s grace period to walk free and get his team ready for what would happen and it might not have been perfect but… it was what he had.
“Peter?” Eliot’s voice was distant.
“Yeah?”
“I wanna see Satch. Before I go.”
Peter wasn’t sure if he should laugh or do something a little less manly. “I’ll see what I can do.”