Call
Title: Call
Fandom: Crossover NCIS/Leverage, Abby/Eliot
Rating: R, to be safe
Summary: Four times Eliot didn't call, and one he did.
Disclaimer: NCIS is not mine. Leverage is not mine.
The first time Abby met Eliot Spencer, it was in Boston and she didn’t know his name was Eliot Spencer. Well, actually, as far as she could tell from various database searches, his name wasn’t Eliot Spencer, or at least it hadn’t always been Eliot Spencer, but that was his own business as long as it wasn’t her business professionally. The first time she met him, she only knew him as Eliot, although she quickly renamed him “Grumpy Cute Southern Guy” in her head. She worked with his team on a hack that Big H needed her to do and then when she was done, she left with a smile, a wave, and her number in Eliot’s pocket. She didn’t expect him to call, and he didn’t.
The second time she met him, it was in a bar on Canal Street, with her behind the bar. She’d taken some vacation time to help her uncle out while he recovered from back surgery. He was in pain from the surgery and she was in pain from doing customer service again. Her night had been total chaos until Eliot rolled in and requested whiskey, straight up. She could respect a man who ordered like that and she gave him the best they had. They’d spent the rest of the evening flirting back and forth and when last call sounded and she had to kick him out, he had her number again, this time in New Orleans. He still didn’t call, and she still didn’t expect him to.
D.C. was the setting of the third time. She’d gone out to a gallery opening for one of her friends and seen him there, wearing a tuxedo that emphasized his broad shoulders and a pair of gold-rimmed glasses that highlighted his eyes. Why he was at the black tie opening of an artist who worked with gold-dusted chocolate voodoo masks, she wasn’t going to ask, but they shared a few watery drinks and strong kisses against a column before he left with a slightly apologetic smile, a grumbling word about Nate’s sense of timing, and a promise to call. At this point, it was almost a running joke between them. She would have been more surprised if he had called.
The fourth time, she was in Portland for a conference. She loved the AAFS conferences for the chance to get out and see different places as well as talking to all of her friends from departments and agencies all over everywhere. The folks from Vegas were always full of great stories. Tonight, though, she was sitting alone at a bar, enjoying a good burger and the best sweet potato fries she’d ever had. When someone slid onto the stool next to her, she glanced up to see a familiar set of blue eyes. She’d smiled, he’d smiled back, and eventually they’d left together, although they didn’t go back to her hotel room. A hotel full of law enforcement personnel seemed to spook him, and given what his team did, she wasn’t surprised. The next morning, they’d left without a backwards glance at the other but with a promise to call.
The fifth time was in Chicago, now, and she was waiting for him in a swanky hotel room, sitting in a chair and wearing nothing but ink. She’d gone there for a supremely boring conference run by a bunch of lawyers, but things had looked up as soon as she ran into Big H at the Field Museum. First they untangled themselves and then spent the whole afternoon going around and being complete geeks about all the exhibits. That night, she’d gotten a phone call from Eliot suggesting they spend some time together while they were both in Chicago. She’d agreed, because lawyers were a lot less interesting than he was, and now she was waiting for him, reading the latest edition of the Journal of Forensic Science. His eyes flashed heat as soon as he saw what she was wearing (or not wearing, as was more applicable) and he tossed the journal to the side as he pulled her up against him firmly. Just as his stubble started to tickle her cheek, he rumbled four words.
“Told ya I’d call.”
Fandom: Crossover NCIS/Leverage, Abby/Eliot
Rating: R, to be safe
Summary: Four times Eliot didn't call, and one he did.
Disclaimer: NCIS is not mine. Leverage is not mine.
The first time Abby met Eliot Spencer, it was in Boston and she didn’t know his name was Eliot Spencer. Well, actually, as far as she could tell from various database searches, his name wasn’t Eliot Spencer, or at least it hadn’t always been Eliot Spencer, but that was his own business as long as it wasn’t her business professionally. The first time she met him, she only knew him as Eliot, although she quickly renamed him “Grumpy Cute Southern Guy” in her head. She worked with his team on a hack that Big H needed her to do and then when she was done, she left with a smile, a wave, and her number in Eliot’s pocket. She didn’t expect him to call, and he didn’t.
The second time she met him, it was in a bar on Canal Street, with her behind the bar. She’d taken some vacation time to help her uncle out while he recovered from back surgery. He was in pain from the surgery and she was in pain from doing customer service again. Her night had been total chaos until Eliot rolled in and requested whiskey, straight up. She could respect a man who ordered like that and she gave him the best they had. They’d spent the rest of the evening flirting back and forth and when last call sounded and she had to kick him out, he had her number again, this time in New Orleans. He still didn’t call, and she still didn’t expect him to.
D.C. was the setting of the third time. She’d gone out to a gallery opening for one of her friends and seen him there, wearing a tuxedo that emphasized his broad shoulders and a pair of gold-rimmed glasses that highlighted his eyes. Why he was at the black tie opening of an artist who worked with gold-dusted chocolate voodoo masks, she wasn’t going to ask, but they shared a few watery drinks and strong kisses against a column before he left with a slightly apologetic smile, a grumbling word about Nate’s sense of timing, and a promise to call. At this point, it was almost a running joke between them. She would have been more surprised if he had called.
The fourth time, she was in Portland for a conference. She loved the AAFS conferences for the chance to get out and see different places as well as talking to all of her friends from departments and agencies all over everywhere. The folks from Vegas were always full of great stories. Tonight, though, she was sitting alone at a bar, enjoying a good burger and the best sweet potato fries she’d ever had. When someone slid onto the stool next to her, she glanced up to see a familiar set of blue eyes. She’d smiled, he’d smiled back, and eventually they’d left together, although they didn’t go back to her hotel room. A hotel full of law enforcement personnel seemed to spook him, and given what his team did, she wasn’t surprised. The next morning, they’d left without a backwards glance at the other but with a promise to call.
The fifth time was in Chicago, now, and she was waiting for him in a swanky hotel room, sitting in a chair and wearing nothing but ink. She’d gone there for a supremely boring conference run by a bunch of lawyers, but things had looked up as soon as she ran into Big H at the Field Museum. First they untangled themselves and then spent the whole afternoon going around and being complete geeks about all the exhibits. That night, she’d gotten a phone call from Eliot suggesting they spend some time together while they were both in Chicago. She’d agreed, because lawyers were a lot less interesting than he was, and now she was waiting for him, reading the latest edition of the Journal of Forensic Science. His eyes flashed heat as soon as he saw what she was wearing (or not wearing, as was more applicable) and he tossed the journal to the side as he pulled her up against him firmly. Just as his stubble started to tickle her cheek, he rumbled four words.
“Told ya I’d call.”