Author: Snarkcasm
Title: Cliches
Rating: Mild T
Summary: Sometimes, he thinks they are just a bunch of clichés.
Warnings: Nothing really. Written with season one in mind
Disclaimer: I do not own Leverage or its characters. It's all John Rogers and Chris Downey's domain. I'm just a poor schmuck who enjoys the show to pieces.
Sometimes, he thinks they are just a bunch of clichés.
Take Parker for example. She was a brilliant person if you wanted to break into something and/or steal something in record time. She was highly disciplined in her craft, but lacked focus. He remembered when he caught up to her in Milan, stealing a Rembrandt. She got side-tracked by a large, shiny, top-of-the-line safe, wasting her time cracking it instead of fleeing. She managed to escape his handcuffs-several times in fact-and led him on a chase through Turkey before being distracted again, this time, by a tall building she just had to scale. An insane blonde swinging on Isbank Tower 1 like a petite King Kong? Not hard to find at all.
On the other side, you had Alec Hardison. His technological expertise meant he had to have focus. Every second, technology shifted to something smaller, better, easier, f a s t e r. To keep up with that after all these years and being proficient in all matters electronic took a lot of drive. Hardison could focus (contrary to popular belief), but he had a hard time with discipline. He wasted his "powers"-for lack of a better word—on frivolous fancies, like claiming to be Mick Jagger or using his techno prowess to screw with IYS's software just for shits and giggles. In retrospect, it was easier to catch him out of the four. All Nate had to do was follow the silly stunts, ride out the pathetic, half-baked misleads, and there Alec was in Guam, torrenting a Sci-Fi show with a smarmy grin on his face.
Then there was Eliot. Eliot Spencer was a typical retrieval specialist: hard-boiled, powerful, focused to a scary degree, and trained in so many physical and mental disciplines it made Nate's head spin. He was intelligent and adaptive in that homegrown, modest way of his. But, he lacked forethought. No, it wasn't forethought; Eliot didn't really think of himself as important. It's the creed of the retrieval specialist—the merchandise is worth more than anything or anyone.
Whatever the cause might be, Eliot still didn't think things through. He would rather break heads than figure out a decent exit strategy. Don't get Nate wrong, Eliot was brilliant with tactics when he put effort into it. However, Eliot was too hard-headed, too impatient, too sure of his abilities to really give forethought a chance. Nate had no chance with hand-to-hand with him as a mark, so his plan was to agitate the raging bull, so to speak, and tire him enough out. Nate had several back-up plans, even back-ups for his back-ups. Eliot, already half-insane from a stint in a Cairo prison, had no chance…even if his right hook stung like a bitch several days afterwards.
Prague. So many memories. Mostly, about Sophie Devereaux and her crazy, whirlwind goose chases. It was the second week that Nate began to question his profession and the sheer insanity took to be an insurance fraud agent. Tugging hard at the hand cuffed to the iron-wrought headboard, he growled out obscenities while cringing at the right mess he made. Honestly, the headboard? Really?
So, he was stuck in a room, drunk. Hell, he deserved a few fingers of smooth Bourbon after his ordeal. Luckily, Sophie was sooo considerate to leave one hand free and a fine-looking tumbler between his knees. He did not like her superior, knowing look as she vanished. He found her a year afterwards, shooting her when she thought she had the escape. What made Sophie hard to capture was her fine abilities to read people and incredible forethought. What made Sophie easy to capture was her lack of follow-through on projects. Sure, she could charm her way into royalty, but she didn't take the time to study the finer details to really pull her marks under her spell.
And, what about him, you say? He was the leader, the one who kept them together, played on their incredible strengths, and guided them through their weaknesses, but he had no control over his own life, over his drinking, over the over-whelming pain of losing his son. It had put his team in danger many times—Eliot still refuses to talk to him when he's drunk, Hardison 'forgets' to stock the liquor cabinet, Parker doesn't go out of her way to say or do anything to his face, but his 25-year-old Scotch went missing just last week, and Sophie…the less said the better.
They are all clichés, no one more than he. He was the one in control with no semblance of control. They put their faith in him, but he has none for himself.
The list goes on and on. Damn, by the fifth whiskey, he's getting pretty maudlin.
A warm hand brushes his shoulder before settling firmly. Eliot. "How are you doin', boss?" Nate doesn't question how Eliot got into his apartment; it's pretty obvious when Parker joins them at Eliot's right side, pixie-ish face blank. He looks up from his glass to meet Sophie's eyes. Hardison's right behind her, no trace of his ever-present cockiness.
"Fine."
"We good?" Hardison pipes up. Nate nods, setting down his drink. Sophie's right there, taking it from him gently and handing him a glass of water.
"You'll have one hell of a headache in the morning, but we'll take care of you. Don't fret."
Silence as everyone turns to look at Parker. She blinks.
"Well, Parker? Anything you want to say to me?"
She pauses before nodding. "Yes: too much alcohol consumption can lead to erectile dysfunction."
Sophie, Eliot, and Hardison all groan with Eliot and Hardison throwing in a few "oh man"s and "I didn't need to know that"s for good measure.
Nate's laugh cuts through the chaos, and they all stop, relief on all their faces. "That's my Parker."
They may all be clichés, but they're family and Nate wouldn't have it any other way.