NEW LEVERAGE!!
So yeah, I've been obsessing over the new season all day today. I kept screaming out the countdown to whomever would listen, and I was a general pain in the ass. The first new episode did not disappoint! At the risk of spoilers, I'm just going to say I love the more complicated schemes that this season is promising. The one criticism (and not even one) I had about season one was how easy the cons were. There were barely any 'hiccups', except for when Sterling was involved. That's why I loved the 2 part season finale because Nate was challenged.
Aaaaaaaaaaand, Sophie has a boyfriend!! And, it seems that Parker/Hardison is getting to be canon. That leaves Nate and Eliot free to slash it up! Hahah, like they would, but hell, a girl can dream! And, I love how everyone pushes Nate to accept the fact that they are going to be there for a looooong while at the end, what with Hardison installing a shitton of techno-geeky stuff in his apartment and buying the whole damn building, Parker grabbing that insufferable painting, and Eliot taking a chainsaw to his apartment. The chainsaw, hahah! Love!
Omg!! Just saw the promos for next week's episode!! Fucking writers had me screaming because I thought they killed off Eliot this episode. If this is another close call for the hitter next episode (he, I'm guessing, goes undercover as a boxer), I'm probably going to scream myself hoarse. They can't kill off Eliot; CK draws in millions of viewers! It's TV show suicide!
Oh, and I was inspired to make fanfic!
Fandom: Leverage
Rating: PG-13 for suggested violence, preslash (if you squint), a poor attempt at TEH ANGST!, unbeta-ed with possible verb tense changes
Warnings: Yeah, spoilers :)
Disclaimer: I do not own this show or the concept. I only write fanfiction about it.
In the old cartoons, a gun sound was a hilarious BANG or PING designed to make the audience laugh.
It’s way different in real life.
Crack!
Nate whirls around, eyes wide, stunned. Eliot slumps in the chair, face drawn and eyes as wide as Nate’s as he wheezes out a sharp ‘uh’. He can see the wound ooze from where he helplessly stands. It isn’t fatal. Or, it doesn’t look it. Nate could save him…He could…
Wait.
If Nate rushes towards him, it would mean a blown cover and their certain deaths. Could he, would he risk everything to save him? His heart screams yes, yesyesyes, forGod'ssakeyes! but his mind screams:
This isn’t what I meant by improvise! I'm sorry, sososo sorry!
It’s his own damn fault. He should have never grabbed Eliot’s fake badge or exposed him as an enemy with so many guns and tempers flying around; he should have done something else, told them that Eliot worked for him. It was the truth, wasn’t it? Technically? He never should have gone back to the game in the first damn place. He was ready for a long, boring career at Boston Insurance ‘til they showed up, breaking into his apartment (honestly, he should have known that a few measly locks wouldn’t stop Parker) and making themselves comfortable. He should have said no, protested harder; then he wouldn't have been here.
Before he could make up his mind, two more shots ring out in the dingy warehouse, jerking Eliot out of his seat by the sheer force and sending him tumbling onto the floor. Nate stumbles back; one of the bullets hits him dead (no pun--no sick, twisted pun--intended) in the chest, in the heart. No one, not even Eliot, can survive that. Blood rushes in his ears and all he can hear for a few seconds is the harsh lub-dub of his heart. All he can see is the replay of the bullet launching into the hitman's chest. Nate’s stomach churns and he forces his throat to swallow down the bagel he ate an hour ago.
He can hear the chair clattering to the ground on top of him in a sick gesture of protection. It’s obscenely loud in the silence.
Nate whirls around, fists clenched to his side. He’s eager to find out which bastard did this, and so help him God, he is going to get his revenge on every one of these motherfuckers if it’s the last thing he does. If it’s the last act of his on this green Earth, he will kill whoever dared to...
Sophie stares back at him, gun raised. Her head tilts high; she’s in Ice Bitch mode. Nathan’s jaw drops-he can’t help it. He throws his arms wide as she commands him to check Eliot’s prone body. She waves the gun around, and he can’t help but feel a sharp stab of hatred in his guts. She was the one that betrayed all of them for a fucking lifeless statue. She is the one who killed Eliot. He wants to strangle her, feel his hands on her skinny neck, and watch as she struggles against him for air.
“Check ‘im for a wire!” she raises her voice, eyes pleading at him to trust her one last time. Numbly, he walks to the hitter’s sprawled body, but his hand stills. He doesn’t think his mind could take it if he has to feel the cold, clammy, deaddeaddead skin of someone he cared for again. There is so much he wants to say, but I’m sorry just doesn’t cut it. I didn’t mean to sounds so fake. He can’t even scream, and he swore off drinking. He doesn’t know what to do. He still doesn’t know how to express his loss without damaging himself.
He never should have encouraged them. Maybe if he had been stronger, if he had told them ‘no’, Eliot would still be alive. Eliot would still be here to nag him incessantly about his drinking or call him on his shit or playfully argue with Hardison or stun them with his résumé of fighting skills, hot temper, and uncharacteristic, Southern-grown level of modesty.
He can’t even blame Sophie; she’s just doing her job and covering his ass. He blames himself. Once they get out of this, he knows he won’t be able to face the rest of the crew, won’t be able to look Hardison or Parker in the eye. Out of all of them, Eliot, Hardison, and Parker share…shared, dammit, a special bond, being relatively close in age. He won’t be able to live with himself with Eliot’s blood mixing in with Sam’s on his conscience.
Nate takes a deep breath, brushing his fingers almost reverently against the skin of Eliot’s neck. He nearly cries out in shock when he feels the steady thrum of life under his thumb. His hands brush over Eliot’s torso, feeling for a matching heartbeat. Eliot’s stomach quivers under his questing hands; he can feel him breathing. Emotion punches him hard in the sternum, and it’s getting harder for him to breathe.
“No wire…” He almost breaks out of character then, but he’s sharply pulled back into their con. Eliot's alive, and that's good (it's fucking good), but the situation is still sketchy. If they give the mobsters the slightest chance to mistrust them, it's night-night in the Harbor. He makes a show of searching Eliot’s pockets and grabs the phone from his own pocket, mind working in overdrive. Sophie coyly pulls the goons along for a ride and the goons run with it, chasing that asswipe O’Hare out and leaving the three of them alone with the corrupted banker. The little toadie runs off as well into a well-played trap. Serves the crooked bastard right.
It takes him a short while to get his voice back to normal levels. “So…how did ya do it?” He has his back turned, but he can feel Eliot jumping up.
“Detonator. Ketch-up,” he replies dutifully, reaching into his shirt and taking out a packet. Nathan can’t get past how right it feels to have him by his side.
“Ah, the Classics,” is all he can manage.
“I love a good death scene!” Sophie gushes as they began moving. Nate turns his head and catches Eliot’s eye. This isn’t over yet.
I know. Eliot lowers his as he moves ahead of him.