Title: The Intersection of Points N and E
Summary: Snapshots of Eliot and Natalia's adventures over their years together.
Disclaimer: I don't own Leverage or any of the characters associated with the show. I only claim ownership to the character that I created. Also, no profits are being made off of this story. It's only for your entertainment.
Author's Note: Alright guys, they're back! This one isn't going to be so much of a continuous story as it is more of a series of Eliot/Natalia one shots that comprise their entire history. I also want to use it to experiment with different perspectives and styles of writing. I have lots of fun ideas already lined up! Thank you so much again to everyone who has followed my last two stories and I hope you enjoy this one as well. Don't forget to review and let me know what you think!
Chapter 1: Beaten By a Girl
~August 23rd 1998~
"It's like fencing?" Eliot stared down a long gray hallway illuminated by harsh fluorescent lights, scanning the placards near each door as he searched for his room number. He had been in training for about a month, but today was his first day in a new course entitled The Art of Sword Fighting. It sounded harmless enough, but he had already learned that nothing here was that easy.
"Yeah, but like the kind of fencing where if you're not careful, you'll lose a finger. Or a limb. Callaway is ex-marine. He doesn't fuck around." Nick Gordon matched Eliot's stride step for step. Gordon was in his second year of training as part of the program's medical team and he had fast become Eliot's friend. "That's your room right there man. Good luck," he slapped Eliot on the back.
"Let's hope I won't need it," Eliot ran a hand through his short wavy hair before opening the door to the room.
It was a cavernous space with cement walls and no windows, like just about every room he had encountered here. Along the far wall was a line of nine students, all in various stages of donning the gear they had been issued.
"You!" A gruff voice barked from a corner of the room. "You're late. Are you Spencer?"
"Yes, sir."
"Well here," the mountain of a man flung a white duffel bag square at Eliot's chest. He barely managed to catch it as it crushed the air from his lungs.
"Get over there and put it on. As soon as that's done you're up first."
"Yes, sir," he nodded and jogged over to the wall where the other students had nearly completed the process.
Damn, he doesn't fuck around. Inside the bag he found a padded chest guard, shin guards, bracers, and a steel mesh helmet - just about the only thing in the bag that resembled traditional fencing gear. He quickly put the pads on over the t-shirt and sweatpants he was wearing as Callaway ran through the course objectives and the shit he would and would not put up with.
"Alright. I want to see what you all can and can't do, and who I'm about to kick out of this class. Spencer, since you decided to join us last, you'll be our first victim. Now, let's see," He scanned the line of slightly terrified men until his gaze fell on the only form that didn't seem to be cowering even just a little. "You," he pointed. "Get up there." His opponent did as they were told, pulling on a helmet before joining Eliot on the mat in front of the class.
It was the last thing Eliot had expected. The figure before him was smaller than he had anticipated, standing a good four inches shorter than him. Even the oversized padding couldn't hide those hips. A woman's hips.
Seriously?
She was the only woman in the class and he couldn't stop himself from giving her a once over. She was wearing a black hooded t-shirt and matching Under Armour leggings tucked into worn combat boots. He didn't overlook the fact that she had forgone her shin guards. Jackpot.
"You have two minutes," Callaway barked as he handed each of them a well worn saber. "No hitting below the belt and try not to draw too much blood. I 'ent stitchin' any of you up. Other than that, do your worst."
Eliot twirled the sword in his hand. Damn, this ain't a fencing saber. It's like a pirate saber. And 'do my worst?' She's a she. Ain't no way she can do that much damage in two minutes. Eliot thought, smirking under his mask.
Callaway blew a whistle and Eliot's brain kicked into gear. Might as well make her look good for a few seconds. He took a swipe at her, which she easily blocked before he swung the sword to her right as she jumped out of the way. A series of stabs followed, as he stepped towards her, each move making him a bit more frustrated than the last as she parried each of his blows. She was fast. And far lighter on her feet than he was. Their motion came to a momentary stalemate, blade locked against blade, muscles trembling against the strain as they stood barely a foot away from each other. She may have been faster, but he was stronger. There was no way she could compete against his brute force.
Got her now.
Eliot swiftly released his pressure and leaned down to make that crucial swipe for her shins, hoping to slice a few of the laces on her boots and leave a nasty bruise to remember him by. But she somehow anticipated him, jumping over his strike and deliberately whipping her saber upwards, the tip catching the stainless steel mesh of his facemask.
There was a moment of stillness as she landed on her feet and Eliot staggered backward, the weight of their stares piercing each other's masks. The whole room sensed that their sparring match was about to escalate to a level no one expected.
Eliot lashed out at her striking blow after blow, each met with the blade of her sword. He let out an aggravated growl and gripped his saber with both hands, raising it above his head before slashing straight down. He had just made a huge mistake.
She brought her sword up above her head, stopping him. Now he was exposed. The woman kicked him square in the chest, sending him stumbling backwards, struggling for balance. She closed the gap before he could recover, slicing through the padding of his chest protector, feeling the metal of her sword connect with the steel reinforcement of the guard. Eliot reflexively lashed out at her with his left fist but she ducked his punch and whipped around to her right before he felt a blow to the padding over his left kidney. He reached behind him, fingers falling on the warm metal of a switchblade. She must have hidden it in her bracer. But there was no time to speculate. She was back in front of him and ready to strike again.
He thrust his saber up in a desperate block as he tossed the knife aside. He knew he had the advantage of strength and he pressed hard against her blade, hoping for a break he'd never catch. She used his momentum to whip her sword around in a circle, flipping the sword from his hand, sending it clattering onto the cement. He threw a right hook but she dropped to the floor, sweeping him off of his feet and onto his back just as Callaway blew the whistle.
Eliot didn't understand what had just happened. He was lying on his back, staring up through dented steel mesh at the blue-white glow of fluorescent strip lights. He had just been beaten by a girl.
The woman picked up Eliot's sword before handing them both to Callaway and pulling off her helmet as she extended a hand to Eliot. He took it and stood up before pulling off his helmet and finally looking his opponent in the eye.
She wasn't at all what he had expected. She was better. Eliot had learned long ago that plenty of women had incredible bodies, just like hers, but a truly gorgeous woman was a shockingly rare find. And yet here he was, face to face with one. She had dark bronze skin, a thin sheen of sweat catching the light across her high cheekbones and perfect nose. Her dark hair was tied back in an unruly ponytail and her full lips were parted in an effort to catch her breath. But her most striking feature was a pair of piercing emerald green eyes. She was the very definition of exotic. He had no idea what the fuck she was doing here. She could have been a movie star. She could have been anything she wanted. Suddenly he didn't mind being beaten at all.
"Well hell, I'd like to see the rest of you ladies live up to that," Callaway barked with a grin as he approached them. "Excellent work," he vigorously shook the woman's hand. "You put up a good fight Spencer," he laughed as he slapped Eliot on the back, obviously very pleased with what he had just witnessed. "You can relax now."
Eliot ran a hand through his short, matted-down curls before picking up the knife from the floor and storing the blade. Engraved on the handle in simple script was the name "Natalia."
"I believe this is yours," he tossed it to her as they made their way back to the wall while the next two students walked up to the mat.
"Thanks," she caught the knife and offered him the faintest hint of a smile before returning to her place in the line of students.
"Natalia," he whispered, testing the syllables under his breath with a smirk. "I like that."