(Leverage/Warehouse 13) Memory for backrose_17
Title: Memory
Author: sheryden
Fandoms: Leverage/Warehouse 13
Characters Eliot, Hardison, Nate, Parker, Sophie, Cora; Pete, Myka
Pairings: None
Rating: PG
Word count: 3300
Spoilers: Leverage - spoilers up to the third season (though nothing specific). Warehouse 13 (none)
Warnings: Mention of violence
Disclaimer: Leverage and Warehouse 13 belong to their respective creators.
A/N: This isn’t what I originally intended to write, but I got to thinking about one of your prompts, and this is what came out. Hope you like it.
Summary: Pete and Myka head to Boston to find out what is causing ordinary people to display PTSD-like symptoms.
Full house, Spencer. Can you beat that?
Shut up a minute, McLaren. Did you hear something? Shit. Get down!
Eliot jerked awake, sitting up so fast that the muscles in the middle of his back seized into a painful ball against his spine. He winced and blinked several times, trying to get his bearings. After a moment, the sleepy fog in his brain started to clear, and he gazed down at the card-filled table he’d just been using as a pillow. The bar. He’d let himself fall asleep in the bar. Dammit, he knew better than to let his guard down like that.
As he was internally berating himself, Eliot heard movement from across the room. He clenched his hand into a fist and stood up to face the intruder.
“It’s just me, Eliot. Simmer down.”
“Dammit, Hardison. Don’t sneak up on me like that.” Eliot unclenched his fist and slumped back down into his booth. As much as he didn’t want to admit it, he was relieved that it was only Hardison and not some thug he had to defend himself against. In his current state, he wasn’t sure he could handle a fight.
Hardison walked over to the booth and lowered himself into the seat across from Eliot. “I wasn’t sneaking up on you, man. I just walked into the room.”
“Yeah, man.” Eliot said with a nod. “I know. Just be more careful, okay?” He ran his hand along his lower jaw, which was warm and numb from being smashed against a hard table for the past hour. Eliot knew better than to fall asleep in an unsecured location. He’d left himself vulnerable, and by doing that, he’d left the team vulnerable. He scrubbed his hands across his face.
“You know,” Hardison said. “I thought you went home until I saw your truck parked outside.”
“I came down to play solitaire for a while.”
Hardison motioned to the empty beer bottles that littered the table. “Looks like you did more than play cards. You all right? You’ve been kind of edgy all night.”
“I’m okay,” Eliot lied. “Just thinking about stuff I haven’t thought about in a while. You know how that goes.” He picked up a creased and crinkled ace of hearts and gazed at it for a few seconds. He hadn’t touched this deck of cards in years-not since the night he’d played with McLaren…
“Hey, Eliot.”
He glanced up at Hardison. “Hm?”
“You sure you’re good?”
With a nod, Eliot mechanically started to gather up his cards and slip them into the box. “Yeah, I’m good. I let myself fall asleep. I’m still a little disoriented.”
For a moment, Eliot thought Hardison might push, but instead, he gestured toward the door. “Well, Nate’s got a job for us. It’s time sensitive, so he wants us on a plane ASAP. He said he’ll brief us when we get there.”
Eliot stifled a yawn. “Let me get this cleared up, or Cora’s gonna have my head when she opens tomorrow.”
“Look, I’ll take your bottles and clean up a little. You go splash some water on your face.”
Eliot stood unsteadily to his feet and watched as Hardison made quick work of clearing up the mess. “Do something with these cards,” he said. “I’ve had ‘em for a long time. I don’t want to lose ‘em.”
Hardison grabbed a cloth to wipe down Eliot’s table. “Just stick ‘em behind the bar under the cash register. You can get ‘em when we get back. Now seriously, go splash some water on your face. You look like you’re about to fall over.”
***
~Eight days later~
Agent Myka Bering went over the mental checklist of information she had on the latest victim as she strode purposefully down the hospital corridor. Cora McRory, proprietor of McRory’s bar. Randomly attacked a college freshman from BU the previous night. Cora was the third Boston resident in a week to show randomly aggressive behavior. So far, Myka and Pete had been unable to find the artifact responsible, but their interview of the first two victims had put them both in McRory’s bar within the last few days. If an artifact was responsible, it made sense that it might be connected to the bar.
When Myka reached Cora’s hospital room, she pushed open the door and stepped inside. A woman with fiery red hair and a weary expression was lying in bed a few feet away. Beside her stood two men. Myka guessed that the older of the two was probably in his late forties. The other looked to be in his thirties. He was a rugged man with long hair and day-old razor stubble. They both immediately turned to look at Myka as she entered the room.
Myka cleared her throat and took a step forward. “Hi,” she said as pleasantly as she could. “Are you Cora McRory?”
The woman nodded. “Yeah, I-”
Before she could finish, the younger of the two men stepped between Myka and Cora. “And you’re Officer who?”
Myka smiled thinly. “It’s Agent, actually.” She flashed her badge. “Agent Myka Bering. Secret Service.”
The older of the two men arched an eyebrow. “What could the Secret Service possibly want with Cora?”
“Actually, I really need to talk to Miss McRory alone.”
“I think I’d like to stay.”
Cora placed a hand on the man’s forearm. “It’s all right, Nate. Why don’t you guys go get some rest. You look exhausted.”
Nate narrowed his eyes at Myka for a long moment. Turning to Cora, he said, “Give us a call if you need anything. Okay?” He nodded at the other man, and the two of them disappeared into the hallway.
Cora smiled at Myka. “Sorry about that. They’re kind of protective. Nate’s like an uncle to me. I’ve known since I was a kid. I think they kind of blame themselves for what happened, because they were out of town when I had my little meltdown.”
“Yeah, actually, I was wondering if I could ask you some questions about what happened.”
“Sure.” Cora scooted herself into a sitting position. “Like I told the police, though, I don’t remember much.”
Myka nodded. “Well, just walk me through it. Any little detail could help. You were working at McRory’s?”
“Yeah, I’d just closed up for the night, and I headed to the bank to drop off the night deposit.”
“You walked?”
“Yeah,” Cora said. “It was only a couple of blocks. I’d done it before, but this time, I felt… jumpy. It felt like I was being followed, or like something bad was about to happen. It was really intense.”
“Had you been threatened earlier?”
She shook her head. “No. Not at all.”
“What happened next?”
“Well, I got to the bank, put my bag into the night deposit. And then I looked over and saw… someone. I don’t even know who it was, but I suddenly had this overwhelming feeling that I needed to protect them.”
“So you… tackled them.”
Cora winced. “Yeah. I wound up cracking one of my ribs, but I guess the other person was luckier. They were just bruised a little. I have no idea why I did it.”
“Two other people-an Officer Flaherty and a Rick Malloy both experienced similar symptoms. How much did you interact with them this past week?”
“I don’t think I talked to Rick at all this week, but Tommy-Officer Flaherty came in with some of the boys to play darts and poker. I served them drinks, peanuts, the usual.” Cora cocked her head at Myka. “Agent Bering, why is the Secret Service interested in this?”
“Well, you’re the third person to experience these symptoms, so we’re trying to figure out if there’s an external force causing it.”
“Like a virus or something?”
“Maybe. Has anything new come into the bar lately?”
Cora smiled. “It’s a bar, Agent Bering. We get deliveries all the time.”
Myka tugged on her bottom lip. “This would probably be something that’s new to you but might actually be older. Maybe a gift from a customer or something you picked up at an antique shop.”
“I can’t think of anything. I’m really sorry.”
Letting out a breath, Myka pulled out a card and sat it on the nightstand. “Well, if you think of anything, let me know.”
***
When Myka walked into the hall, Pete was leaning leisurely against a wall, staring at a pretty nurse who was bustling about in the distance. Shaking her head, Myka walked up and smacked Pete on the arm. “I hope you had better luck than me.”
Pete shook his head. “Not so much. I talked to Artie, and he’s coming up with nothing. I mean, I guess it could be something that’s not in the Warehouse’s database.”
“Figures.” Myka folded her arms across her chest. “Okay, so we have three people who have suddenly shown PTSD-like symptoms within a week.”
“Yeah.” Pete started to pace. “And all three said both felt like they were protecting someone else when they became aggressive.”
“And every one of them was inside McRory’s before it happened.”
Pete clapped his hands together. “I think it’s time we paid a visit to McRory’s.”
***
Eliot sat at the bar and kept his eyes fixed on the door. After he and Nate returned from the hospital, Nate sent the staff and customers home and closed up the bar. Cora was probably going to be a little ticked off, but until the team figured out why the Secret Service was poking around-not to mention why three perfectly ordinary people had just had meltdowns-it was probably best to keep everyone else out of the way.
Hardison was sitting across the room in a booth, sipping a bottle of orange soda. “So do we think this woman is really Secret Service?”
“Badge was real,” Eliot said.
“Isn’t there like, some ‘very distinctive’ thing that tells you if she’s Secret Service?”
“Yeah,” Eliot grumbled. “Her badge was distinctive.”
Hardison scowled at him and turned to Nate. “You know, Nate, I could run upstairs and get my laptop.”
Nate shook his head. “The last thing we want is Secret Service detecting a hacker poking around their files.”
Parker lifted herself up onto a barstool next to Eliot. “I could go hide in the hospital vents and eavesdrop.”
“Maybe.” Nate narrowed his eyes at the door. “Or we could just let them in and ask them what they want.” He motioned out the window at a man and a woman who were climbing out of a rental car in front of the bar. “Eliot, let them in.”
Nodding, Eliot walked over to the door and wrenched it open long enough for the two agents to walk inside. “Guess you didn’t get what you wanted out of Cora, huh?”
Myka licked her lips and scanned the room. She pulled out her badge and flashed it to Sophie, Hardison, and Parker. “Agent Myka Bering. This is Agent Pete Lattimer. I was wondering if we could look around a little bit.”
Nate walked over to the pair and extended his hand. “I’m Nate. What can we help the Secret Service with today?”
Pete shook Nate’s hand. “Hi, Nate. We’re trying to figure out what caused three people to wig out. Now, either you have some really good liquor here. Or something else is going on.”
“Fair enough,” Nate said. “What do you think is going on?”
Myka cocked her head at Nate. “This may sound strange, but has anything out-of-the-ordinary come into the bar lately? Maybe some kind of new decoration or piece of equipment. Or maybe even a vintage bottle of alcohol. Something that all three victims might have come into contact with.”
Hardison stood up and took several brisk steps toward the agents. “Hold on. You’re really with the CDC aren’t you? This is some kind of a disease outbreak.”
Eliot pinched the bridge of his nose. “They’re not CDC. Sit down.”
Myka shook her head. “No, we’re definitely not CDC. We’re just investigating all angles, and it would help if we could look around.”
Hardison touched his forehead with the back of his hand. “You know, I’ve been feeling kind of weird. Eliot, feel my head. I think I have a fever.”
Eliot glared in Hardison’s direction. “I’m not feeling your head. Make Sophie do it.”
Pete held up his hands. “Okay, guys. Seriously. There’s no disease outbreak. We’re just looking for an object of some kind. It could be anything. It could-”
“Wait a minute.” Eliot pointed at Pete and Myka. “An object that’s making people do wonky things. I can’t believe it took me this long. You guys are Warehouse agents.”
Sophie leaned forward. “The Warehouse is a myth.”
Parker shook her head. “No, it’s not. It’s totally real. I know, because I stole-“ She bit her bottom lip and looked sheepishly at the agents. “I mean, I know someone who stole something from there, but they gave it back because stealing is wrong.” Parker nodded, as if that resolved the matter.
Pete turned to Myka. “When we got the orientation speech, they said the whole thing was a secret, right?”
Parker shrugged. “We’re crooks. We know a lot of stuff we’re not supposed to know.”
Myka rubbed her temple as if she was trying to ward off a headache. “Okay, if you know what we do, then you know what we’re looking for.”
Nate raised his hand. “For those of us who don’t know what’s going, some clarification would help.”
Pete nudged Myka with his shoulder. “I got a good feeling about them.”
Letting out a breath, Myka nodded and launched into an explanation. “Sometimes objects can become infused with a kind of emotional energy-say through a heroic event or a trauma or simply an emotionally charged moment in time. And when that happens, they can affect people in different ways.”
Nate narrowed his eyes. “Like causing them to have aggressive episodes.”
“Possibly.” Myka tapped her knuckle against the bar. “All of the victims have shown symptoms resembling PTSD, and they all seemed to have an irresistible impulse to protect someone. And they all have the bar in common.”
Everyone on the Leverage team turned to stare at Eliot, who folded his arms tightly across his chest. “Why are you looking at me?”
Hardison placed a hand on Eliot’s shoulder. “That thing you were talking about last week. When you said you were thinking about the past?”
Eliot clenched his jaw. “You mean that thing I said to you in private?”
“E, I’m sorry.” He gave Eliot’s shoulder a squeeze. “But you know, protecting people is what you do. So maybe…” He snapped his fingers and pointed toward the bar. “The cards. What about the cards?”
Myka turned to Pete. “Cards. Yeah, Cora said Flaherty was in the other day playing cards, and she waited on him. It’s not a stretch to think Rick Malloy played cards, too. Who knows how many other people might be affected.”
Eliot closed his eyes for a moment. “You’re saying my cards might be responsible for Cora being in the hospital?” He shook his head and circled around the bar to the cash register. Snatching up the deck, he slid it down the bar toward the agents. “Take ‘em,” he said. “I don’t want ‘em to hurt anyone else.”
And then he turned on his heel and walked out the door.
***
Myka slipped on a pair of gloves and gingerly picked up the deck of cards. “Pete, grab a bag.”
“On it,” Pete said. “Let’s get these bad boys neutralized.”
As soon as she slipped the cards inside the bag, purple sparks shot off, and Myka felt a sense of relief wash over her. “Well, that was did it. Everything should be fine now.”
Nate pointed at the bag. “What was that?”
“Well,” Myka said. “This bag contains a substance that renders an artifact like this deck of cards dormant.”
“So you’re saying the deck of cards was causing people to… randomly attack people?”
“Whatever trauma your friend experienced while touching these cards was probably enough to transform them into the kind of artifact we were sent to contain. It’s not his fault. He didn’t know it was happening.”
“So you’re saying his PTSD went into the cards.”
Myka nodded. “Something like that. But they’re dormant now, and we’re going to put them somewhere safe, so no one else will be affected.”
Hardison glanced outside. “Well, there’s one more person who’s still affected by all of this, isn’t there?”
***
Eliot sat with his back against the brickwork of McRory’s and played with a loose string on the seam of his jeans. Closing his eyes, he let his mind drift back several years to that game with McLaren. The images of that night were so clear when he made himself think about it. Most of the time, though, he could bring himself to dredge up the memory.
Full house, Spencer. Can you beat that?
Shut up a minute, McLaren. Did you hear something? Shit. Get down!
As Eliot replayed the moment in his mind, he heard Hardison shuffling down the sidewalk toward him. “Hey,” he said cheerfully. “They zapped the cards in some purple goo. We’re all good now, I guess.”
“Good to know,” Eliot said. His voice sounded hollow, even to his own ears.
Hardison was still for a moment, then he sat down next to Eliot.“Want to talk?”
“Not particularly.”
“Look, Eliot,” he said. “We all know you’ve been through a lot. And we all know that when it comes down to it, you’re gonna have our backs. But dude, we can have your back, too, if you’ll let us.”
Eliot let his head fall forward onto his knees. He wasn’t used to sharing his pain with other people. But maybe it was time he did. “I was just a kid,” he said after a moment. “I hadn’t been in the Army long, and I was stationed overseas. Away from home for the first time in my life. Hadn’t seen much action. For days, it had been dead quiet, and we were all bored. So me and some of the guys were playing poker.” Eliot took a breath. “To make a long story short, we got attacked.”
“What happened?”
“Cliff Notes version? I got a medal.”
Hardison looped an arm around Eliot’s shoulder. “Talk to me.”
Eliot gazed into Hardison’s eyes for a long moment. Before he gave himself a chance to change his mind, he started talking. “I thought I heard something,” he said. “My guard was down, and I ignored what I thought I heard. By the time I realized what was happening, it was too late.”
“Why? What went down?”
“My buddy, a guy name McLaren. He took a bullet to the head, and I couldn’t protect him. I’d never seen anyone get shot before. Some of his blood sprayed onto my face. I remember I was holding an ace of hearts in my hand, and I just held onto it for dear life.” He took a breath. “I learned at that moment that I could never let my guard down again. Last week was the anniversary. I hadn’t touched those cards in over fifteen years. I guess I felt like I was finally ready to think about it.”
“Well, Agent Bering said the cards are dormant now. Maybe you can put that guilt you’re feeling to rest, too.”
“Maybe.”
As Eliot and Hardison sat there, the door of the bar flew open, and Parker came hurrying out with Myka trailing along behind her.
“Actually,” Myka said. “If we could just talk to you a minute about your…friend. I’m just curious as to what she might’ve taken out of the Warehouse.”
“I can’t talk right now,” Parker said. “I have a bunny to take care of.”
Eliot and Hardison exchanged glances. “Hey, Eliot,” Hardison said. “You don’t think Bunny…”
“This is Parker we’re talking about. You up for a trip to her place?”
“Sounds like a plan.”
-END-
Prompt: Forced to face a fear; getting outside help for a case
Author: sheryden
Fandoms: Leverage/Warehouse 13
Characters Eliot, Hardison, Nate, Parker, Sophie, Cora; Pete, Myka
Pairings: None
Rating: PG
Word count: 3300
Spoilers: Leverage - spoilers up to the third season (though nothing specific). Warehouse 13 (none)
Warnings: Mention of violence
Disclaimer: Leverage and Warehouse 13 belong to their respective creators.
A/N: This isn’t what I originally intended to write, but I got to thinking about one of your prompts, and this is what came out. Hope you like it.
Summary: Pete and Myka head to Boston to find out what is causing ordinary people to display PTSD-like symptoms.
Full house, Spencer. Can you beat that?
Shut up a minute, McLaren. Did you hear something? Shit. Get down!
Eliot jerked awake, sitting up so fast that the muscles in the middle of his back seized into a painful ball against his spine. He winced and blinked several times, trying to get his bearings. After a moment, the sleepy fog in his brain started to clear, and he gazed down at the card-filled table he’d just been using as a pillow. The bar. He’d let himself fall asleep in the bar. Dammit, he knew better than to let his guard down like that.
As he was internally berating himself, Eliot heard movement from across the room. He clenched his hand into a fist and stood up to face the intruder.
“It’s just me, Eliot. Simmer down.”
“Dammit, Hardison. Don’t sneak up on me like that.” Eliot unclenched his fist and slumped back down into his booth. As much as he didn’t want to admit it, he was relieved that it was only Hardison and not some thug he had to defend himself against. In his current state, he wasn’t sure he could handle a fight.
Hardison walked over to the booth and lowered himself into the seat across from Eliot. “I wasn’t sneaking up on you, man. I just walked into the room.”
“Yeah, man.” Eliot said with a nod. “I know. Just be more careful, okay?” He ran his hand along his lower jaw, which was warm and numb from being smashed against a hard table for the past hour. Eliot knew better than to fall asleep in an unsecured location. He’d left himself vulnerable, and by doing that, he’d left the team vulnerable. He scrubbed his hands across his face.
“You know,” Hardison said. “I thought you went home until I saw your truck parked outside.”
“I came down to play solitaire for a while.”
Hardison motioned to the empty beer bottles that littered the table. “Looks like you did more than play cards. You all right? You’ve been kind of edgy all night.”
“I’m okay,” Eliot lied. “Just thinking about stuff I haven’t thought about in a while. You know how that goes.” He picked up a creased and crinkled ace of hearts and gazed at it for a few seconds. He hadn’t touched this deck of cards in years-not since the night he’d played with McLaren…
“Hey, Eliot.”
He glanced up at Hardison. “Hm?”
“You sure you’re good?”
With a nod, Eliot mechanically started to gather up his cards and slip them into the box. “Yeah, I’m good. I let myself fall asleep. I’m still a little disoriented.”
For a moment, Eliot thought Hardison might push, but instead, he gestured toward the door. “Well, Nate’s got a job for us. It’s time sensitive, so he wants us on a plane ASAP. He said he’ll brief us when we get there.”
Eliot stifled a yawn. “Let me get this cleared up, or Cora’s gonna have my head when she opens tomorrow.”
“Look, I’ll take your bottles and clean up a little. You go splash some water on your face.”
Eliot stood unsteadily to his feet and watched as Hardison made quick work of clearing up the mess. “Do something with these cards,” he said. “I’ve had ‘em for a long time. I don’t want to lose ‘em.”
Hardison grabbed a cloth to wipe down Eliot’s table. “Just stick ‘em behind the bar under the cash register. You can get ‘em when we get back. Now seriously, go splash some water on your face. You look like you’re about to fall over.”
***
~Eight days later~
Agent Myka Bering went over the mental checklist of information she had on the latest victim as she strode purposefully down the hospital corridor. Cora McRory, proprietor of McRory’s bar. Randomly attacked a college freshman from BU the previous night. Cora was the third Boston resident in a week to show randomly aggressive behavior. So far, Myka and Pete had been unable to find the artifact responsible, but their interview of the first two victims had put them both in McRory’s bar within the last few days. If an artifact was responsible, it made sense that it might be connected to the bar.
When Myka reached Cora’s hospital room, she pushed open the door and stepped inside. A woman with fiery red hair and a weary expression was lying in bed a few feet away. Beside her stood two men. Myka guessed that the older of the two was probably in his late forties. The other looked to be in his thirties. He was a rugged man with long hair and day-old razor stubble. They both immediately turned to look at Myka as she entered the room.
Myka cleared her throat and took a step forward. “Hi,” she said as pleasantly as she could. “Are you Cora McRory?”
The woman nodded. “Yeah, I-”
Before she could finish, the younger of the two men stepped between Myka and Cora. “And you’re Officer who?”
Myka smiled thinly. “It’s Agent, actually.” She flashed her badge. “Agent Myka Bering. Secret Service.”
The older of the two men arched an eyebrow. “What could the Secret Service possibly want with Cora?”
“Actually, I really need to talk to Miss McRory alone.”
“I think I’d like to stay.”
Cora placed a hand on the man’s forearm. “It’s all right, Nate. Why don’t you guys go get some rest. You look exhausted.”
Nate narrowed his eyes at Myka for a long moment. Turning to Cora, he said, “Give us a call if you need anything. Okay?” He nodded at the other man, and the two of them disappeared into the hallway.
Cora smiled at Myka. “Sorry about that. They’re kind of protective. Nate’s like an uncle to me. I’ve known since I was a kid. I think they kind of blame themselves for what happened, because they were out of town when I had my little meltdown.”
“Yeah, actually, I was wondering if I could ask you some questions about what happened.”
“Sure.” Cora scooted herself into a sitting position. “Like I told the police, though, I don’t remember much.”
Myka nodded. “Well, just walk me through it. Any little detail could help. You were working at McRory’s?”
“Yeah, I’d just closed up for the night, and I headed to the bank to drop off the night deposit.”
“You walked?”
“Yeah,” Cora said. “It was only a couple of blocks. I’d done it before, but this time, I felt… jumpy. It felt like I was being followed, or like something bad was about to happen. It was really intense.”
“Had you been threatened earlier?”
She shook her head. “No. Not at all.”
“What happened next?”
“Well, I got to the bank, put my bag into the night deposit. And then I looked over and saw… someone. I don’t even know who it was, but I suddenly had this overwhelming feeling that I needed to protect them.”
“So you… tackled them.”
Cora winced. “Yeah. I wound up cracking one of my ribs, but I guess the other person was luckier. They were just bruised a little. I have no idea why I did it.”
“Two other people-an Officer Flaherty and a Rick Malloy both experienced similar symptoms. How much did you interact with them this past week?”
“I don’t think I talked to Rick at all this week, but Tommy-Officer Flaherty came in with some of the boys to play darts and poker. I served them drinks, peanuts, the usual.” Cora cocked her head at Myka. “Agent Bering, why is the Secret Service interested in this?”
“Well, you’re the third person to experience these symptoms, so we’re trying to figure out if there’s an external force causing it.”
“Like a virus or something?”
“Maybe. Has anything new come into the bar lately?”
Cora smiled. “It’s a bar, Agent Bering. We get deliveries all the time.”
Myka tugged on her bottom lip. “This would probably be something that’s new to you but might actually be older. Maybe a gift from a customer or something you picked up at an antique shop.”
“I can’t think of anything. I’m really sorry.”
Letting out a breath, Myka pulled out a card and sat it on the nightstand. “Well, if you think of anything, let me know.”
***
When Myka walked into the hall, Pete was leaning leisurely against a wall, staring at a pretty nurse who was bustling about in the distance. Shaking her head, Myka walked up and smacked Pete on the arm. “I hope you had better luck than me.”
Pete shook his head. “Not so much. I talked to Artie, and he’s coming up with nothing. I mean, I guess it could be something that’s not in the Warehouse’s database.”
“Figures.” Myka folded her arms across her chest. “Okay, so we have three people who have suddenly shown PTSD-like symptoms within a week.”
“Yeah.” Pete started to pace. “And all three said both felt like they were protecting someone else when they became aggressive.”
“And every one of them was inside McRory’s before it happened.”
Pete clapped his hands together. “I think it’s time we paid a visit to McRory’s.”
***
Eliot sat at the bar and kept his eyes fixed on the door. After he and Nate returned from the hospital, Nate sent the staff and customers home and closed up the bar. Cora was probably going to be a little ticked off, but until the team figured out why the Secret Service was poking around-not to mention why three perfectly ordinary people had just had meltdowns-it was probably best to keep everyone else out of the way.
Hardison was sitting across the room in a booth, sipping a bottle of orange soda. “So do we think this woman is really Secret Service?”
“Badge was real,” Eliot said.
“Isn’t there like, some ‘very distinctive’ thing that tells you if she’s Secret Service?”
“Yeah,” Eliot grumbled. “Her badge was distinctive.”
Hardison scowled at him and turned to Nate. “You know, Nate, I could run upstairs and get my laptop.”
Nate shook his head. “The last thing we want is Secret Service detecting a hacker poking around their files.”
Parker lifted herself up onto a barstool next to Eliot. “I could go hide in the hospital vents and eavesdrop.”
“Maybe.” Nate narrowed his eyes at the door. “Or we could just let them in and ask them what they want.” He motioned out the window at a man and a woman who were climbing out of a rental car in front of the bar. “Eliot, let them in.”
Nodding, Eliot walked over to the door and wrenched it open long enough for the two agents to walk inside. “Guess you didn’t get what you wanted out of Cora, huh?”
Myka licked her lips and scanned the room. She pulled out her badge and flashed it to Sophie, Hardison, and Parker. “Agent Myka Bering. This is Agent Pete Lattimer. I was wondering if we could look around a little bit.”
Nate walked over to the pair and extended his hand. “I’m Nate. What can we help the Secret Service with today?”
Pete shook Nate’s hand. “Hi, Nate. We’re trying to figure out what caused three people to wig out. Now, either you have some really good liquor here. Or something else is going on.”
“Fair enough,” Nate said. “What do you think is going on?”
Myka cocked her head at Nate. “This may sound strange, but has anything out-of-the-ordinary come into the bar lately? Maybe some kind of new decoration or piece of equipment. Or maybe even a vintage bottle of alcohol. Something that all three victims might have come into contact with.”
Hardison stood up and took several brisk steps toward the agents. “Hold on. You’re really with the CDC aren’t you? This is some kind of a disease outbreak.”
Eliot pinched the bridge of his nose. “They’re not CDC. Sit down.”
Myka shook her head. “No, we’re definitely not CDC. We’re just investigating all angles, and it would help if we could look around.”
Hardison touched his forehead with the back of his hand. “You know, I’ve been feeling kind of weird. Eliot, feel my head. I think I have a fever.”
Eliot glared in Hardison’s direction. “I’m not feeling your head. Make Sophie do it.”
Pete held up his hands. “Okay, guys. Seriously. There’s no disease outbreak. We’re just looking for an object of some kind. It could be anything. It could-”
“Wait a minute.” Eliot pointed at Pete and Myka. “An object that’s making people do wonky things. I can’t believe it took me this long. You guys are Warehouse agents.”
Sophie leaned forward. “The Warehouse is a myth.”
Parker shook her head. “No, it’s not. It’s totally real. I know, because I stole-“ She bit her bottom lip and looked sheepishly at the agents. “I mean, I know someone who stole something from there, but they gave it back because stealing is wrong.” Parker nodded, as if that resolved the matter.
Pete turned to Myka. “When we got the orientation speech, they said the whole thing was a secret, right?”
Parker shrugged. “We’re crooks. We know a lot of stuff we’re not supposed to know.”
Myka rubbed her temple as if she was trying to ward off a headache. “Okay, if you know what we do, then you know what we’re looking for.”
Nate raised his hand. “For those of us who don’t know what’s going, some clarification would help.”
Pete nudged Myka with his shoulder. “I got a good feeling about them.”
Letting out a breath, Myka nodded and launched into an explanation. “Sometimes objects can become infused with a kind of emotional energy-say through a heroic event or a trauma or simply an emotionally charged moment in time. And when that happens, they can affect people in different ways.”
Nate narrowed his eyes. “Like causing them to have aggressive episodes.”
“Possibly.” Myka tapped her knuckle against the bar. “All of the victims have shown symptoms resembling PTSD, and they all seemed to have an irresistible impulse to protect someone. And they all have the bar in common.”
Everyone on the Leverage team turned to stare at Eliot, who folded his arms tightly across his chest. “Why are you looking at me?”
Hardison placed a hand on Eliot’s shoulder. “That thing you were talking about last week. When you said you were thinking about the past?”
Eliot clenched his jaw. “You mean that thing I said to you in private?”
“E, I’m sorry.” He gave Eliot’s shoulder a squeeze. “But you know, protecting people is what you do. So maybe…” He snapped his fingers and pointed toward the bar. “The cards. What about the cards?”
Myka turned to Pete. “Cards. Yeah, Cora said Flaherty was in the other day playing cards, and she waited on him. It’s not a stretch to think Rick Malloy played cards, too. Who knows how many other people might be affected.”
Eliot closed his eyes for a moment. “You’re saying my cards might be responsible for Cora being in the hospital?” He shook his head and circled around the bar to the cash register. Snatching up the deck, he slid it down the bar toward the agents. “Take ‘em,” he said. “I don’t want ‘em to hurt anyone else.”
And then he turned on his heel and walked out the door.
***
Myka slipped on a pair of gloves and gingerly picked up the deck of cards. “Pete, grab a bag.”
“On it,” Pete said. “Let’s get these bad boys neutralized.”
As soon as she slipped the cards inside the bag, purple sparks shot off, and Myka felt a sense of relief wash over her. “Well, that was did it. Everything should be fine now.”
Nate pointed at the bag. “What was that?”
“Well,” Myka said. “This bag contains a substance that renders an artifact like this deck of cards dormant.”
“So you’re saying the deck of cards was causing people to… randomly attack people?”
“Whatever trauma your friend experienced while touching these cards was probably enough to transform them into the kind of artifact we were sent to contain. It’s not his fault. He didn’t know it was happening.”
“So you’re saying his PTSD went into the cards.”
Myka nodded. “Something like that. But they’re dormant now, and we’re going to put them somewhere safe, so no one else will be affected.”
Hardison glanced outside. “Well, there’s one more person who’s still affected by all of this, isn’t there?”
***
Eliot sat with his back against the brickwork of McRory’s and played with a loose string on the seam of his jeans. Closing his eyes, he let his mind drift back several years to that game with McLaren. The images of that night were so clear when he made himself think about it. Most of the time, though, he could bring himself to dredge up the memory.
Full house, Spencer. Can you beat that?
Shut up a minute, McLaren. Did you hear something? Shit. Get down!
As Eliot replayed the moment in his mind, he heard Hardison shuffling down the sidewalk toward him. “Hey,” he said cheerfully. “They zapped the cards in some purple goo. We’re all good now, I guess.”
“Good to know,” Eliot said. His voice sounded hollow, even to his own ears.
Hardison was still for a moment, then he sat down next to Eliot.“Want to talk?”
“Not particularly.”
“Look, Eliot,” he said. “We all know you’ve been through a lot. And we all know that when it comes down to it, you’re gonna have our backs. But dude, we can have your back, too, if you’ll let us.”
Eliot let his head fall forward onto his knees. He wasn’t used to sharing his pain with other people. But maybe it was time he did. “I was just a kid,” he said after a moment. “I hadn’t been in the Army long, and I was stationed overseas. Away from home for the first time in my life. Hadn’t seen much action. For days, it had been dead quiet, and we were all bored. So me and some of the guys were playing poker.” Eliot took a breath. “To make a long story short, we got attacked.”
“What happened?”
“Cliff Notes version? I got a medal.”
Hardison looped an arm around Eliot’s shoulder. “Talk to me.”
Eliot gazed into Hardison’s eyes for a long moment. Before he gave himself a chance to change his mind, he started talking. “I thought I heard something,” he said. “My guard was down, and I ignored what I thought I heard. By the time I realized what was happening, it was too late.”
“Why? What went down?”
“My buddy, a guy name McLaren. He took a bullet to the head, and I couldn’t protect him. I’d never seen anyone get shot before. Some of his blood sprayed onto my face. I remember I was holding an ace of hearts in my hand, and I just held onto it for dear life.” He took a breath. “I learned at that moment that I could never let my guard down again. Last week was the anniversary. I hadn’t touched those cards in over fifteen years. I guess I felt like I was finally ready to think about it.”
“Well, Agent Bering said the cards are dormant now. Maybe you can put that guilt you’re feeling to rest, too.”
“Maybe.”
As Eliot and Hardison sat there, the door of the bar flew open, and Parker came hurrying out with Myka trailing along behind her.
“Actually,” Myka said. “If we could just talk to you a minute about your…friend. I’m just curious as to what she might’ve taken out of the Warehouse.”
“I can’t talk right now,” Parker said. “I have a bunny to take care of.”
Eliot and Hardison exchanged glances. “Hey, Eliot,” Hardison said. “You don’t think Bunny…”
“This is Parker we’re talking about. You up for a trip to her place?”
“Sounds like a plan.”
-END-
Prompt: Forced to face a fear; getting outside help for a case