My take on what should have happened at the end of the Reunion Job. Yes - once again I have to mess with then ending of one of the stories. What can I say - I want my boy to get more attention! Written with due respect to the original writers and creators of one of my Favorite places - the Leverage Universe.
"Morning after the prom – I guess this is what that would feel like." Parker was speaking softly, more or less to herself, but Hardison could hear the mumbling.
"What'd you say? Speak up. I'm too tired to have to work at it this morning. Good tired, but tired." He smiled, remembering their dance from the night before, and the promise he chose to believe it held.
"I was just thinking – I guess that was kind of like going to the prom or something – right?"
"Yeah – or something definitely. You OK with what happened?" Dealing with Parker on anything emotional was a minefield. Tread carefully and all was fine, but one misstep and the past 2 years of building a relationship could be blown to bits.
"Sure – I mean it was just a dance. Right?"
"Of course it was just a dance." Sophie had walked in on Parker's question, and immediately assumed they were discussing her dance with Nate. Her unexpected, unpremeditated dance. It had been a wonderful combination of past memories and future dreams, all happening in a very surreal present. Regardless of the potential of the moment, she was not about to have the event discussed by the team. "Nate and I really had no choice given the circumstances. I mean, walking out was not really an option now was it?"
"Maybe not for the first dance, but I'm thinking the next 6 or 7 could have been avoided." Hardison grinned at her discomfort. Better she think they were gossiping than she find out about his dance with Parker. Sophie would build that up to trouble in record time. No, that quiet moment they shared on the scaffolding above the dance floor would remain a private interlude between him and Parker.
"Not your dance Sophie, the one Hardison and I shared." OK – should have discussed the privacy issue with Parker. Oh well.
"Really?" He hated it when she got that look – head tilted, eyebrow up, eyes gleaming. Danger Will Robinson!
"Morning all." Saved by Nate, at least for the moment. "Everybody recovered from teen age flashbacks? Hardison, did all the Manticore stuff disappear as planned?"
"Looks like it. Just started the review – yes I know, running late this morning – but I can find no activity that we should be worrying about. I suppose I should keep an eye on what happens to the corporate interests, but that will likely be tied up in court challenges for a few years. You'd have to have heavy juice and lots of money to get any control of those kinds of corporate rights and patents with any speed. They'll be years out of date before anyone can make a move."
Nate nodded his approval. Few things were as satisfying as that moment it was confirmed the bad guys were done. Watching them squirm a little always helped. Watching them squirm a lot was even better.
"What about our 'friends' from the Iranian secret police?"
"Well, there were no reports of bodies found had Manticore headquarters, so Eliot either left them alive or hid the bodies. Of course, it's still pretty early. They may not have found them in there yet. I'm routing the evidence of terrorist and terrorist like activities we have on them through a bunch of decoy sources on route to Homeland, so it should be a matter of a few brief days till they are on a plane to somewhere nasty courtesy of the US Government. They won't be a problem for anyone."
"Speaking of Eliot – where is he?" They all looked around the room at Sophie's question. "Well I wouldn't have asked if he'd been here! Anybody hear from him last night after the job?"
"He was mumbling something on his way out of his job, but nothing after that. Well, just more mumbling. I think he was pissed off at us."
"Why? He got to do his thing – beat people up. He should have been happy." Parker looked confused.
"Parker, he doesn't necessarily LIKE beating people up – he's just really good at it and has no issues with doing it when they have it coming to them." Nate tried again to explain.
"Like I said, he should be happy."
"I think is issue was a bit more than that. I mean, he was fighting with a couple of trained assassins. He would have told us if there'd been a problem – wouldn't he?" Sophie's voice was now tinged with a bit of concern. Eliot wasn't usually late to the office, especially right after a job. He was particular about ensuring any loose ends were taken care of so nothing came back to haunt them.
Nate looked like he was having the same thoughts. "Hardison, check his comm. See if it's active." A few keystrokes showed the device as off. "Ok, bring up the recording from last night. Start it when he was leaving."
A few more key strokes later Eliot's voice filled the room. The anger was evident.
"Anybody asking about Eliot – Anybody wonder if Eliot's alright?" They could hear the sound of a punch, then the rant continued. "No, you all have a real good time there. Enjoying the music. Good food? Y'all got each other's back – right." A few moments of heavy breathing, followed by the rev of a motorcycle.
"Well – he obviously was fine – pissed off, but fine. So where is he?"
The voice started up again. "I mean, it's was just a few security guards right. Oh yeah – and the trained assassins. Iranian trained assassins. No big deal. Two of them, that's nothing right? Hell, Eliot can take them blindfolded, so no need to worry about him. Why waste time worrying when you can be dancing. Not like he'd want to be dancing with a pretty girl when he can go a few rounds on the dance floor with killers!" They could still hear the motorcycle in the background as the hitter went quiet again.
"He is seriously annoyed with us." Sophie occasionally had a gift for understatement.
"Annoyed? Annoyed? Damn woman, he is homicidally manic. Nate – I think this might be a good opportunity to put a deadbolt on the office door. I mean I know he can bust it down, but it might give us a few minutes head start."
"Relax Hardison. The fact he isn't here probably means he is taking some time to cool off. He'll come by in a while and we'll make…"
Eliot's voice came over the speakers again. "Anybody listening there. Guys, I got company. They're back and they're pissed off." They heard a shot and the ping of a ricochet as the bullet hit the bike. "Damn, they wreck this bike I'll kill 'em. Just finished rebuilding the engine." There were a few seconds when all that could be heard was the bike, then another shot, and another. After the second there was a soft grunt, almost drowned by the engine. "Shit. Nate I'm on…" Another shot, with the sound of the bike on gravel, followed by tumbling, banging and the crashing of metal. Followed by silence. Aching silence.
"Track the route Hardison. It was – what – about 4 minutes from when he left the building. He's got right onto the highway, probably going at a good clip since he was mad. So in four minutes at say 80 mph he has gone about four and a half to five miles…"
"5.3 miles" Parker interjected quietly.
"Right. What is four and a half to 6 miles from where he started."
Sophie was checking a news source on her phone. "There are no reports of any accidents in the area, but if his bike went off the road…"
"We'll find him."
"Uh – Nate?" Hardison looked pale and scared. He pointed to the screen where he had brought up images of the search area. Rocks, curved roads and cliffs – lots of cliffs. If Eliot had gone over… no, he wasn't going there. There were ditches and soft rolling hills as well. That's where they'd find him.
"Does anyone care if Eliot got out?"
No response. Of course not. They were too busy. They had important things to worry about – like the spotlight dance. Much more important than worrying about his survival against a team of security guards (ok – fairly amateur level security guards compared to some he had been up against – but they were armed dammit) and a pair of Iranian trained assassins. Granted, the day he couldn't take out two assassins in a fight was the day he needed to start planning his retirement (although realistically not taking out the assassins would likely mean it would be too late for future plans). OK – mind wandering a little too much here. Oh – look. A security guard. See, pay attention Eliot.
One solid punch took care of the unfortunate guard. Probably hit him a little harder than necessary, but hell – he worked for the bad guys so it was justified. Eliot headed to his motorcycle, still mumbling at the others. Still getting no response. With a quick glance back to the now quiet building, he revved the bike and headed off. He could faintly hear the music in the background through his earbud, which only served to feed his growing frustration. He was wishing he'd thought to turn it off before putting his helmet on. Too late now.
He'd opted for the service roads to head home. Less traffic and a lot easier to open the bike up a little more and release some of his anger on the side roads than on the highway. Much safer for all concerned, and fewer patrols. He continued to mumble periodically as he aimed back to the city and McRory's. He didn't really expect an answer, and at this point didn't really want one. Venting was the only thing on the agenda. He knew it was best to get it out of his system now, while they weren't paying attention. He knew there was no logic behind his anger. After all, it wasn't like he wanted them worrying about him. His job was to make sure the bad guys were out of the way, and that's what he was doing. They expected it of him, and their lack of concern only proved they trusted him to take care of business. Of course they weren't worried. This was Eliot Spencer they were talking about.
And when they did fuss – did worry? Well, he tended to get a bit cranky. OK, full out bad-tempered, ornery son-of-a-bitch mode. When they worried about him it meant they weren't focusing on the job.
But this was different. The job was done, _ was done and the game was over. He was headed home to put ice on his bruises and wrap up a couple of cracked ribs. At least this time he didn't dislocate his shoulder. They, on the other hand, were enjoying dancing, food, drink and a bit of relaxation. Even Parker was buying into the "prom". Who'd have guessed she would relate to something like that? So they enjoyed, and he recovered. Sometimes his job sucked.
He'd been so caught up in the frustration of moment he hadn't noticed a car coming up behind him. He'd reached a deserted stretch of road. Little traffic at the best of times and this late at night all but abandoned. The car had turned off the headlights, so he'd had no sense of danger until it he caught a glimpse in the mirror as he followed a curve in the road. At virtually the same moment he saw the pistol pointed out the passenger side window, and swerved his bike in an avoidance manoeuver. He could feel the impact as the shot hit the seat on the bike, just inches behind him. Damn, that was going to be expensive to fix. The speed he was travelling made control difficult, but he'd had enough past experience to keep upright.
"Anybody listening there. Guys, I got company. They're back and they're pissed off. Damn, they wreck this bike I'll kill 'em. Just finished rebuilding the engine."
He felt the slug hit his shoulder. It wasn't a bad hit, but speed, angles and force of impact were enough to make him lose control, just briefly. It couldn't have been at a worse place, he thought, as he headed for the curve unable to steer. He could feel the gravel under the wheels as he crossed the shoulder into the rough terrain, and then could feel only the sensation of falling, tumbling, head over heels toward the edge of the ravine. The last feeling he remembered was making full body contact with a large and unforgiving boulder. He bounced of it, back on his path to the cliff.
Nate drove slowly along the road, looking for any sign of a vehicle off to the side. They'd been looking for almost two hours, cruising along the side roads off the highway. Any main road accident would have been spotted by now, and Hardison's review of the police and highway patrols showed no motorcycle incidents. Incident – much safer word than the alternative. Nate wasn't letting himself, or the team, say the alternative. Eliot was too good to let that happen.
Sophie sat beside him, watching the other side of the road. The overnight rains were making it difficult to find any signs. Downpours washed away evidence of a collision and deep puddles hid any indication of tracks along most of the roadway. Neither occupant had spoken for some time. Periodically Sophie pulled out her cell and hit redial, but the call kept going to Eliot's voicemail. She reached for the phone to try again.
"Give it up Sophie –he'd have answered by now if he could."
"Well, he was mad at us. Maybe he's holding out."
"Really? After his last words do you really think he would play games now? On something like this?"
"Don't say that – they weren't his last words."
Nate inhaled and let out a slow breath. "You're right. The last words we heard last night" he amended. They drove on.
Below them, on a road that traversed under the cliffs, Parker and Hardison were having a similar conversation.
"He might tease you this way, but no way would he torture the rest of us Hardison. Eliot is not messing with us. He's in trouble and we have to find him. So shut up and drive."
After a few seconds of silence she spoke again. "I'm scared" was the only explanation she offered, but it was more than enough. Hardison reached over and took her hand, hoping to be reassuring. It might have been more convincing had his hand not been shaking so badly. "I am too. We all are. But this is Eliot we're talking about. Nothing can take out Eliot."
"That's the problem though, isn't it? We all take for granted that he is like some kind of superhero. But he's not. I mean, he's amazing and all. I'm real glad he's on our side, 'cause I'd hate to be going up against him. But he is human. Sort of. That's why he was so mad."
"He wasn't mad Parker – not really anyway. Eliot just gets…well, I don't know. Frustrated with us maybe. But you're right. We take him for granted. We all gotta talk about that with him when this is done." He hoped she picked up on the optimism. She smiled back.
He was wet, sore and pissed off. Those were the feeling he had as he woke up. Not necessarily in that order. It took a few seconds to register just what had happened. The fight, the bike ride, the car. The shot. Falling, rolling. And ending up in a ditch? He'd been headed for the cliff, and he ended up in a drainage ditch. "What do you know" – he thought to himself – "life is a 'ditch'!"
OK – hysteria. Not good. "Focus Spencer. Report!"
He started reviewing his status. He was conscious – alive. Always a good starting point. His head hurt, but not bad. He was definitely wet, but then it was raining - hard. He could feel it on his face, so kept his eyes closed against the onslaught. Wasn't raining when he was shot – right, add shot to the report – so he'd been out for a while. Shot in the shoulder – so much for celebrating that there was no dislocation this time. Always a price to pay for premature victories. Aside from shot, how was he hurt? He couldn't tell. He couldn't move. He forced down a welling sense of panic. He couldn't move. But he hurt. He could feel a throbbing pain in his leg, and the shoulder wound hurt like hell. And he was bleeding. Could feel in on his side and lower back. Opening his eyes he looked down to see the bike covering him. That explained a lot. He flopped is head back down, once again feeling the downpour on his face.
His eyes popped open again. He was pinned down, in a drainage ditch, in a thunderstorm. That did not sound like a best case scenario. Even as the thought entered his head, he became aware of the water inside his helmet, and just how wet his head felt. He'd been lying in the water for some time he realized. Which meant, amoung other unpleasantness, that the earbud was out of commission. Next priority was going to be for Hardison to get the damn things to work underwater. He was supposed to be a tech genius – figure it out already. He tried to remember if he'd been able to tell the team where he was, but couldn't get those last moments on the road clear in his head. No one had come from him, so it didn't really look promising.
Speaking of figuring things out…pinned down and water rising. Not a good combination. Eliot made the effort to try to flip the bike. The pain that shot through his leg stopped him quickly. Something from the bike was digging into him, and the movement felt like he was ripping his leg off. Not about to try that one again right away. His next idea was to try to lift his head above the waters. That worked a little better, but the dizziness made it hard to keep his head up for any time. He felt around as much as he could with is free hand to see if there was something he could use as booster. The wound to his shoulder limited his reach and he found nothing. If he could get the helmet off, he could use that. Wouldn't be great, but better than nothing. He'd try that, in a minute, after he rested. Just as soon as this fatigue went away, he thought, drifting off.
He dreamt he was swimming – strange since he didn't really enjoy the water. Tended to associate it with being up to his neck in a swamp or sewer somewhere, about to do something that violated all the lessons him mom had hoped he'd learn in Sunday school. Yeah, those never really took.
He realized, coughing – choking – this was no dream. He tried to sit, but the weight and pain kept him down. He was able to turn his head. He'd slipped off, turning his head to be half in the water – the rising water – again. Nearly drowning had brought him around, but the coughing was playing havoc with his cracked ribs. Who was he kidding? Those ribs were broken now. And if he couldn't settle down, the movement was going to result in a puncture or two. Bad to worse.
He had no idea how long he'd been here. The cloud cover camouflaged the time of day. There were traffic sounds, but nothing close enough to make him think he'd be spotted. Besides, he was halfway down a hill, in a ditch, with rocks and shrubs around him. Not exactly out in the open. Someone would really have to be looking. He seriously doubted anyone was.
They might be, depending on how late in the day it was. He'd obviously missed the morning briefing. They were starting early to make sure the client's family in Iran was safe. Eliot had a source he could contact if needed. It was a once in lifetime kind of call he'd have to make, but if they needed protection, he'd call. He hoped desperately that hadn't been needed. He guessed he'd never know now. Anyway, the team would assume he was still ticked off and passed on the meeting. It wasn't his style, but they'd presume that before they'd be guessing he was drowning in a ditch.
They'd be looking if they'd heard him last night. He hadn't given a specific location, but Hardison could track him. Hardison could do just about anything technical – except get those damn comms working underwater. Water – the water was still rising.
"Focus!" he actually shouted out loud, and surprised himself. He could speak. Why hadn't he tried that? Probably because he was in the middle of nowhere in a thunderstorm. Why waste the energy? Maybe he could figure it out after another quick nap. Just close the eyes for a minute or two, and figure everything out after that.