Fear, Doubt, and Serious Regrets (or: Valid Reasons to Hate Fishing)
Title: Fear, Doubt, and Serious Regrets (or: Valid Reasons to Hate Fishing)
Fandom: Leverage
Pairing: Eliot/Hardison
Rating: FRT (…a lot of swearing)
Disclaimer: So totally not mine.
Summary: “You set a booby trap, Hardison, you didn’t hack the goddamn forest.”
A/N: Set throughout episode 3x07, ‘The Gone Fishin’ Job,’ so obviously there are extensive spoilers for that episode.
Hardison only agrees to go fishing because Eliot bugs him about it for months, stating his desire for the two of them to do things together that don’t include stealing, maiming, or computers. Hardison suggests a normal date- dinner and a movie or something- but Eliot vetoes it immediately and begins his campaign for an outdoorsy activity.
“I don’t like the outdoors,” Hardison says.
“I really don’t care,” Eliot replies.
After three months of Eliot’s guilt trips, intimidating glares, and occasional withholding of sex, Hardison gives in.
When Nate sends them out to a bank in the middle of nowhere as part of a job, he makes sure to mention that there are some good fishing spots nearby and that there’s no hurry for them to get back once they’re done. Hardison glares and calls Nate a jackass, but when Eliot grins he gives up and resigns himself to his fate.
Now, after the job has gone south and they’ve been taken, handcuffed together and thrown in the back of a crappy van, Hardison hates fishing more than ever.
They’re dragged into the middle of the forest and find themselves surrounded by men in full camo who talk about the “revolution” and how the government is their enemy. One of them holds a gun to Hardison’s head and Hardison stalls until Eliot knocks the one holding the gun out and then they’re running through the woods, trying to escape idiotic militia members with semi-automatic weapons.
Despite their decision to head uphill they still find themselves on the edge of a steep embankment, and Hardison stops moving and eyes it warily. Eliot continues forward, taking measured steps to keep his balance on the slick moss and unstable dirt. When Hardison doesn’t follow he tugs sharply against the cuffs and growls, “Come on.”
Hardison stumbles forward a few steps before regaining his balance and grabbing Eliot’s arm, pulling him to a halt. “Don’t- don’t just go dragging me down some steep-ass hill, man. I don’t have crazy Eliot-ninja-moves, I’m gonna fall and break something and then where’ll we be?”
“At the bottom of the hill,” Eliot says, “with me dragging your pansy ass behind me while I keep moving because I don’t want to be killed by the crazy people with guns.”
“Hey, hey,” Hardison protests, “there’s no need for name calling, here.”
“You’re the one who wanted to go downhill in the first place,” Eliot says, “so here, you’re getting your wish. Just shut up and go with it.”
Hardison glares at him. “No need to get pissy about it,” he mutters. “Just ‘cause I don’t want to die in a tragic ravine accident…”
“If you don’t get moving you’re going to get both of us killed.”
“At least then the story will have more impact,” Hardison grumbles. “Crazy white dudes shoot black man during fucked up and completely ineffectual attempt to overthrow the government,” he intones, as though he’s reading the headline of a newspaper.
“More like ‘unidentified skeletal remains found in a goddamn creek in the middle of fucking nowhere,’” Eliot counters. “This ain’t a racial thing, Hardison, it’s a ‘get shot and die’ thing, so can we keep moving?”
“Easy for you to say,” Hardison mutters, “your pasty white ass would fit right in with them.”
“You’re going to pay for that later,” Eliot growls. He glares and tugs sharply at the handcuffs again as he starts down the hill, Hardison edging along behind him.
“You sell my ass out for your freedom and I’ll kill you,” Hardison says, and then he trips on a rock and stumbles down several feet, jerking Eliot down along with him.
“Hardison!” Eliot hisses angrily.
Hardison makes a dismissive noise while he tries to regain his balance. “I told you I don’t do hills or nature or any of this shit. I warned you, man.”
Eliot glares again before continuing down the slope, tugging a reluctant Hardison along.
And then they’re still on the run and the militia men and their dogs are on their trail and their comms don’t work, and Hardison says they have to get a clear view of the sky for them to be able to hear the rest of the team.
Climbing a tree while handcuffed is, predictably, really fucking difficult, and by the time they reach a safe height and get themselves situated Eliot has scrapes all along his forearms and Hardison has a bruise on his side from where Eliot accidentally kneed him during a particularly tricky maneuver.
They stay still and quiet while they watch the militia men search the area below, and when Hardison presses his pinky finger against the heel of Eliot’s palm Eliot turns to look at him and give what he hopes is a reassuring smile. Hardison’s pinky slides down to twine with Eliot’s in a gesture reminiscent of a pinky promise, and they stay that way until the area immediately below them is clear.
When it’s safe enough to talk without being overheard Hardison turns to Eliot. “Your hat looks stupid,” he says.
Eliot smiles and squeezes Hardison’s fingers lightly. “I love you, too,” he says. “Ready to go?”
Hardison nods.
Nate tells them to head to a nearby set of railroad tracks and they make it without running into any problems except for the dumbass kid who gets close enough for Eliot to grab his gun. Hardison refuses to hop on the passing train (“Like a fuckin’ hobo,” he points out) for ethical reasons and Eliot calls him an idiot, but they cut the links of the handcuffs free and head back into the woods to make sure the militant group can’t go around blowing shit up with homemade fertilizer bombs.
“I can’t believe we didn’t just get on the damn train,” Eliot grumbles, tromping his way back through the woods, “and away from the crazy people with guns instead of going back to their fucking headquarters like idiots.”
“Hey, you were the one who wanted us to do something together in the outdoors,” Hardison says.
“I meant fishing or hiking or something. Maybe camping.”
“Yeah, well we’re doing this instead.”
“What?” Eliot stops walking. “This doesn’t count!”
Hardison stops and turns to face Eliot, eyebrows raised. “We’re together and we’re outside, aren’t we? This meets my nature quota for, like, ten years. At least.”
“Jesus, Hardison! I play your stupid video games and watch your geeky TV shows with you all the time.”
“Yeah, and today we were going to do your fishing thing and instead we ended up kidnapped by hillbilly psychos with guns and bombs, so you ain’t getting my ass near any forests or meadows or fresh fuckin’ air any time soon.” Hardison says. Eliot frowns (more like pouts, really, but neither of them is stupid enough to call it a pout) and Hardison leans in to press a quick kiss to the corner of his mouth. “You can bitch about it later,” he says, “right now we gotta stop this stupid ass ‘revolution’.”
They run into some “soldiers” on their way back, but Eliot takes most of them out easily and Hardison manages to take care of a few himself.
“That was some crazy ninja shit you just pulled, man,” Hardison grins. “Swinging around in trees like a monkey or something and still taking people out.”
“You just call me a monkey?” Eliot scowls.
Hardison instinctively takes a step back, but his smile doesn’t fade. “A ninja monkey.”
Eliot rolls his eyes and stalks away, swiping branches out of the way with more force than necessary.
The next group they run into is too big to take down, so they let themselves get taken back to the base camp and Hardison uses a cigarette to make a bomb and Nate shows up and causes a clusterfuck that pits the militia members against one another and leads them directly to the bank where the FBI is waiting.
Standing in the bank parking lot with everything more or less wrapped up Hardison says, “I’m feelin’ like there was some sort of animosity between us back there, man. I mean, you musta told me to shut up at least twenty times. That kind of repressed anger can have a negative impact on a relationship, y’know-”
Eliot pushes Hardison against the side of the van and kisses him hard, sliding his hands along Hardison’s sides and sliding his fingertips just up under the hem of Hardison’s shirt. When he pulls away and says, “Sometimes you just need to be quiet,” Hardison grins and pulls him forward into another kiss.
When they feel someone come and lean against the van next to them they break apart and find Nate standing there, watching. “Would have thought you two got enough of that when you were cuffed together,” Nate smirks.
Eliot shoots him an exasperated glare. “We were a little busy trying not to die, so there wasn’t really time for me to cop a feel. There a reason you watchin’ us so intently? Got something you want to share?”
Nate gestures vaguely and says, “No, I’m good,” before he wanders away, presumably to find Sophie.
They watch him for a moment before Eliot laughs softly and turns to tilt his head up for another kiss, and he can feel Hardison smiling against him. They keep it short and almost-chaste, the barely there slide of tongue flicking against Hardison’s bottom lip before Eliot pulls away enough to rest their foreheads together.
“I’m glad you didn’t die in a tragic ravine accident,” Eliot says after a moment.
Hardison grins and slides one hand along Eliot’s lower back. “Love you, too,” he murmurs. They stay like that for a minute, foreheads pressed together and fingers splayed against one another’s skin for a minute before Hardison says, “I still think it was a racial thing.”
They wait for Sophie and Parker to get away from the FBI agent they called in, and then they’re all packed into the van and getting the hell out of there as quickly as possible.
Hardison and Eliot sit next to each other on the floor, pressed together along their sides, and Hardison tells the story to Sophie and Parker, going into detail about how he ‘worked his magic’ to take out a few men, like ‘the forest was his keyboard’ and, obviously, he can control anything if he has a keyboard.
“For fuck’s sake,” Eliot interrupts, “you set a booby trap, Hardison, you didn’t hack the goddamn forest.”
“See man, you’re not looking at the big picture, here. I had to use, like, trees instead of my computer but I still did what I do, y’know?”
Eliot looks at him disbelievingly. “Do you even hear yourself?”
Hardison glares at him, pissy rather than intimidating. “What- yeah I hear myself, what kind of dumb-ass question is that? I know what I’m saying, I’m not stupid.”
Eliot rolls his eyes. “I ain’t saying you’re stupid, I’m just saying you sound like a frickin’ moron right now.”
“Oh, and that’s different how? You’re over here callin’ me a moron… see if I save your ass next time you need someone to go back and cover your tracks.”
“You’re trying to call the forest your keyboard, man- how does that not sound dumb?”
“It’s called a metaphor, Eliot. I’m just trying to make the story interesting, and you’re up in here undermining everything I say. ‘S just not cool.”
Eliot opens his mouth to respond but Sophie cuts him off. “I’m surprised neither of you has tried to kill the other in his sleep by now,” she says.
Eliot furrows his brow and focuses his attention on her. “Why would we try and kill each other?”
Hardison sends her a confused look and says, “Yeah, we’re cool.”
Sophie raises an eyebrow. “You argue more than any couple I’ve ever met and you threaten each other several times a day. And you tend to glare at one another quite a bit.”
Hardison shakes his head slightly. “No, that’s not… We’re good. And, you know, happy. Right?” He glances at Eliot who nods his head in confirmation.
“Yeah, we are,” Eliot says. “We’re good.”
“And incredibly dysfunctional,” Sophie mutters.
“Wait,” Parker interjects, “this isn’t how normal relationships go?”
Sophie sighs resignedly.
When they get back to Hardison’s loft the first thing that Eliot does is grab two beers from the fridge.
“I smell like some nasty-ass plant… thing,” Hardison says, looking down at his shirt.
Eliot presses a beer against Hardison’s chest. “It’s skunk weed,” he says.
“Aw, hell. You mean I have skunk stains on my shirt?” Eliot smirks and Hardison glares. “I seriously hate this shit. From now on whenever you go do weird Eliot wilderness survival things I’m sticking ‘round here to do normal civilized things.”
“Spending 24 straight hours playing World of Warcraft is not normal,” Eliot says.
“Neither is practicing knife throwing for six hours straight.”
They’re silent for a few minutes before Eliot sets down his beer and casually says that he’s going to take a shower. Hardison hops up to follow him, and his shirt is already off by the time he meets Eliot by the stairs.
“I think I have a pretty good compromise on the fishing thing,” Hardison says, tugging at the hem of Eliot’s shirt and helping pull it off.
“Yeah?” Eliot asks, undoing his belt and the top button of his jeans.
Hardison’s tongue darts out to lick his bottom lip and Eliot smirks. “We’ll talk about it later,” Hardison says, twining his fingers in Eliot’s belt loops and pulling him up the stairs. “Got more important things to do right now.”
Three hours and two orgasms later they’re in the living room sitting in crappy camping chairs, wearing garishly tacky fishing gear, and casting lines via Hardison’s PS3. Eliot keeps commenting about how it’s nothing like real fishing, but he’s grinning the whole time.
“One day I’m gonna get you out there on a real stream,” Eliot says.
Hardison casts his line and shakes his head. “Not a chance in hell, baby,” he says distractedly. “I’m a city boy, born and raised.”
Eliot grins. “I’m up to the challenge,” he says, and when Hardison glances up their eyes meet for a moment and both of them smile.
Fandom: Leverage
Pairing: Eliot/Hardison
Rating: FRT (…a lot of swearing)
Disclaimer: So totally not mine.
Summary: “You set a booby trap, Hardison, you didn’t hack the goddamn forest.”
A/N: Set throughout episode 3x07, ‘The Gone Fishin’ Job,’ so obviously there are extensive spoilers for that episode.
Hardison only agrees to go fishing because Eliot bugs him about it for months, stating his desire for the two of them to do things together that don’t include stealing, maiming, or computers. Hardison suggests a normal date- dinner and a movie or something- but Eliot vetoes it immediately and begins his campaign for an outdoorsy activity.
“I don’t like the outdoors,” Hardison says.
“I really don’t care,” Eliot replies.
After three months of Eliot’s guilt trips, intimidating glares, and occasional withholding of sex, Hardison gives in.
When Nate sends them out to a bank in the middle of nowhere as part of a job, he makes sure to mention that there are some good fishing spots nearby and that there’s no hurry for them to get back once they’re done. Hardison glares and calls Nate a jackass, but when Eliot grins he gives up and resigns himself to his fate.
Now, after the job has gone south and they’ve been taken, handcuffed together and thrown in the back of a crappy van, Hardison hates fishing more than ever.
They’re dragged into the middle of the forest and find themselves surrounded by men in full camo who talk about the “revolution” and how the government is their enemy. One of them holds a gun to Hardison’s head and Hardison stalls until Eliot knocks the one holding the gun out and then they’re running through the woods, trying to escape idiotic militia members with semi-automatic weapons.
Despite their decision to head uphill they still find themselves on the edge of a steep embankment, and Hardison stops moving and eyes it warily. Eliot continues forward, taking measured steps to keep his balance on the slick moss and unstable dirt. When Hardison doesn’t follow he tugs sharply against the cuffs and growls, “Come on.”
Hardison stumbles forward a few steps before regaining his balance and grabbing Eliot’s arm, pulling him to a halt. “Don’t- don’t just go dragging me down some steep-ass hill, man. I don’t have crazy Eliot-ninja-moves, I’m gonna fall and break something and then where’ll we be?”
“At the bottom of the hill,” Eliot says, “with me dragging your pansy ass behind me while I keep moving because I don’t want to be killed by the crazy people with guns.”
“Hey, hey,” Hardison protests, “there’s no need for name calling, here.”
“You’re the one who wanted to go downhill in the first place,” Eliot says, “so here, you’re getting your wish. Just shut up and go with it.”
Hardison glares at him. “No need to get pissy about it,” he mutters. “Just ‘cause I don’t want to die in a tragic ravine accident…”
“If you don’t get moving you’re going to get both of us killed.”
“At least then the story will have more impact,” Hardison grumbles. “Crazy white dudes shoot black man during fucked up and completely ineffectual attempt to overthrow the government,” he intones, as though he’s reading the headline of a newspaper.
“More like ‘unidentified skeletal remains found in a goddamn creek in the middle of fucking nowhere,’” Eliot counters. “This ain’t a racial thing, Hardison, it’s a ‘get shot and die’ thing, so can we keep moving?”
“Easy for you to say,” Hardison mutters, “your pasty white ass would fit right in with them.”
“You’re going to pay for that later,” Eliot growls. He glares and tugs sharply at the handcuffs again as he starts down the hill, Hardison edging along behind him.
“You sell my ass out for your freedom and I’ll kill you,” Hardison says, and then he trips on a rock and stumbles down several feet, jerking Eliot down along with him.
“Hardison!” Eliot hisses angrily.
Hardison makes a dismissive noise while he tries to regain his balance. “I told you I don’t do hills or nature or any of this shit. I warned you, man.”
Eliot glares again before continuing down the slope, tugging a reluctant Hardison along.
And then they’re still on the run and the militia men and their dogs are on their trail and their comms don’t work, and Hardison says they have to get a clear view of the sky for them to be able to hear the rest of the team.
Climbing a tree while handcuffed is, predictably, really fucking difficult, and by the time they reach a safe height and get themselves situated Eliot has scrapes all along his forearms and Hardison has a bruise on his side from where Eliot accidentally kneed him during a particularly tricky maneuver.
They stay still and quiet while they watch the militia men search the area below, and when Hardison presses his pinky finger against the heel of Eliot’s palm Eliot turns to look at him and give what he hopes is a reassuring smile. Hardison’s pinky slides down to twine with Eliot’s in a gesture reminiscent of a pinky promise, and they stay that way until the area immediately below them is clear.
When it’s safe enough to talk without being overheard Hardison turns to Eliot. “Your hat looks stupid,” he says.
Eliot smiles and squeezes Hardison’s fingers lightly. “I love you, too,” he says. “Ready to go?”
Hardison nods.
Nate tells them to head to a nearby set of railroad tracks and they make it without running into any problems except for the dumbass kid who gets close enough for Eliot to grab his gun. Hardison refuses to hop on the passing train (“Like a fuckin’ hobo,” he points out) for ethical reasons and Eliot calls him an idiot, but they cut the links of the handcuffs free and head back into the woods to make sure the militant group can’t go around blowing shit up with homemade fertilizer bombs.
“I can’t believe we didn’t just get on the damn train,” Eliot grumbles, tromping his way back through the woods, “and away from the crazy people with guns instead of going back to their fucking headquarters like idiots.”
“Hey, you were the one who wanted us to do something together in the outdoors,” Hardison says.
“I meant fishing or hiking or something. Maybe camping.”
“Yeah, well we’re doing this instead.”
“What?” Eliot stops walking. “This doesn’t count!”
Hardison stops and turns to face Eliot, eyebrows raised. “We’re together and we’re outside, aren’t we? This meets my nature quota for, like, ten years. At least.”
“Jesus, Hardison! I play your stupid video games and watch your geeky TV shows with you all the time.”
“Yeah, and today we were going to do your fishing thing and instead we ended up kidnapped by hillbilly psychos with guns and bombs, so you ain’t getting my ass near any forests or meadows or fresh fuckin’ air any time soon.” Hardison says. Eliot frowns (more like pouts, really, but neither of them is stupid enough to call it a pout) and Hardison leans in to press a quick kiss to the corner of his mouth. “You can bitch about it later,” he says, “right now we gotta stop this stupid ass ‘revolution’.”
They run into some “soldiers” on their way back, but Eliot takes most of them out easily and Hardison manages to take care of a few himself.
“That was some crazy ninja shit you just pulled, man,” Hardison grins. “Swinging around in trees like a monkey or something and still taking people out.”
“You just call me a monkey?” Eliot scowls.
Hardison instinctively takes a step back, but his smile doesn’t fade. “A ninja monkey.”
Eliot rolls his eyes and stalks away, swiping branches out of the way with more force than necessary.
The next group they run into is too big to take down, so they let themselves get taken back to the base camp and Hardison uses a cigarette to make a bomb and Nate shows up and causes a clusterfuck that pits the militia members against one another and leads them directly to the bank where the FBI is waiting.
Standing in the bank parking lot with everything more or less wrapped up Hardison says, “I’m feelin’ like there was some sort of animosity between us back there, man. I mean, you musta told me to shut up at least twenty times. That kind of repressed anger can have a negative impact on a relationship, y’know-”
Eliot pushes Hardison against the side of the van and kisses him hard, sliding his hands along Hardison’s sides and sliding his fingertips just up under the hem of Hardison’s shirt. When he pulls away and says, “Sometimes you just need to be quiet,” Hardison grins and pulls him forward into another kiss.
When they feel someone come and lean against the van next to them they break apart and find Nate standing there, watching. “Would have thought you two got enough of that when you were cuffed together,” Nate smirks.
Eliot shoots him an exasperated glare. “We were a little busy trying not to die, so there wasn’t really time for me to cop a feel. There a reason you watchin’ us so intently? Got something you want to share?”
Nate gestures vaguely and says, “No, I’m good,” before he wanders away, presumably to find Sophie.
They watch him for a moment before Eliot laughs softly and turns to tilt his head up for another kiss, and he can feel Hardison smiling against him. They keep it short and almost-chaste, the barely there slide of tongue flicking against Hardison’s bottom lip before Eliot pulls away enough to rest their foreheads together.
“I’m glad you didn’t die in a tragic ravine accident,” Eliot says after a moment.
Hardison grins and slides one hand along Eliot’s lower back. “Love you, too,” he murmurs. They stay like that for a minute, foreheads pressed together and fingers splayed against one another’s skin for a minute before Hardison says, “I still think it was a racial thing.”
They wait for Sophie and Parker to get away from the FBI agent they called in, and then they’re all packed into the van and getting the hell out of there as quickly as possible.
Hardison and Eliot sit next to each other on the floor, pressed together along their sides, and Hardison tells the story to Sophie and Parker, going into detail about how he ‘worked his magic’ to take out a few men, like ‘the forest was his keyboard’ and, obviously, he can control anything if he has a keyboard.
“For fuck’s sake,” Eliot interrupts, “you set a booby trap, Hardison, you didn’t hack the goddamn forest.”
“See man, you’re not looking at the big picture, here. I had to use, like, trees instead of my computer but I still did what I do, y’know?”
Eliot looks at him disbelievingly. “Do you even hear yourself?”
Hardison glares at him, pissy rather than intimidating. “What- yeah I hear myself, what kind of dumb-ass question is that? I know what I’m saying, I’m not stupid.”
Eliot rolls his eyes. “I ain’t saying you’re stupid, I’m just saying you sound like a frickin’ moron right now.”
“Oh, and that’s different how? You’re over here callin’ me a moron… see if I save your ass next time you need someone to go back and cover your tracks.”
“You’re trying to call the forest your keyboard, man- how does that not sound dumb?”
“It’s called a metaphor, Eliot. I’m just trying to make the story interesting, and you’re up in here undermining everything I say. ‘S just not cool.”
Eliot opens his mouth to respond but Sophie cuts him off. “I’m surprised neither of you has tried to kill the other in his sleep by now,” she says.
Eliot furrows his brow and focuses his attention on her. “Why would we try and kill each other?”
Hardison sends her a confused look and says, “Yeah, we’re cool.”
Sophie raises an eyebrow. “You argue more than any couple I’ve ever met and you threaten each other several times a day. And you tend to glare at one another quite a bit.”
Hardison shakes his head slightly. “No, that’s not… We’re good. And, you know, happy. Right?” He glances at Eliot who nods his head in confirmation.
“Yeah, we are,” Eliot says. “We’re good.”
“And incredibly dysfunctional,” Sophie mutters.
“Wait,” Parker interjects, “this isn’t how normal relationships go?”
Sophie sighs resignedly.
When they get back to Hardison’s loft the first thing that Eliot does is grab two beers from the fridge.
“I smell like some nasty-ass plant… thing,” Hardison says, looking down at his shirt.
Eliot presses a beer against Hardison’s chest. “It’s skunk weed,” he says.
“Aw, hell. You mean I have skunk stains on my shirt?” Eliot smirks and Hardison glares. “I seriously hate this shit. From now on whenever you go do weird Eliot wilderness survival things I’m sticking ‘round here to do normal civilized things.”
“Spending 24 straight hours playing World of Warcraft is not normal,” Eliot says.
“Neither is practicing knife throwing for six hours straight.”
They’re silent for a few minutes before Eliot sets down his beer and casually says that he’s going to take a shower. Hardison hops up to follow him, and his shirt is already off by the time he meets Eliot by the stairs.
“I think I have a pretty good compromise on the fishing thing,” Hardison says, tugging at the hem of Eliot’s shirt and helping pull it off.
“Yeah?” Eliot asks, undoing his belt and the top button of his jeans.
Hardison’s tongue darts out to lick his bottom lip and Eliot smirks. “We’ll talk about it later,” Hardison says, twining his fingers in Eliot’s belt loops and pulling him up the stairs. “Got more important things to do right now.”
Three hours and two orgasms later they’re in the living room sitting in crappy camping chairs, wearing garishly tacky fishing gear, and casting lines via Hardison’s PS3. Eliot keeps commenting about how it’s nothing like real fishing, but he’s grinning the whole time.
“One day I’m gonna get you out there on a real stream,” Eliot says.
Hardison casts his line and shakes his head. “Not a chance in hell, baby,” he says distractedly. “I’m a city boy, born and raised.”
Eliot grins. “I’m up to the challenge,” he says, and when Hardison glances up their eyes meet for a moment and both of them smile.