Title: "The Ties That Bind Job" (Part One) Author's Note: An epic tale, marrying a plot bunny of mine with a plot bunny of my mother's. The family that fics together...*g* Nothing particularly spoiler-y or triggering, unless you can't stand hospital settings, or near-fatal injuries.
'Verse: Leverage/Angel
Characters: Entire Leverage team plus Faith and Angel
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 2175
Summary: Memories, connections and a case of mistaken identity. Faith and Angel's investigation of an Orpheus ring in South Boston brings them into range of the Leverage team...just in time to save Eliot's life.
Coma… The word kept echoing through Nate's mind as he jogged up the steps of the Boston Medical Center. Eliot Spencer in a coma – it wasn't something his brain was prepared to accept. The man was the damn energizer bunny when it came to taking a licking. The worst beating Nate had ever seen him take hadn't kept Eliot down for more than a few hours.
"Hardison!" The hacker was waiting for him as he stiff-armed his way through one of the lobby's few manual doors. "What do we know?"
Hardison fell into step with Nate as they headed for the elevators. "Ambulance found him in one of those warehouses he was checking out. Bruises, scrapes, probable concussion, three broken ribs, a broken hand…"
Nate pulled up short, turning to gape at the younger man. Acknowledging Nate's shock, Hardison continued, "Multiple puncture wounds that might be bite marks, and massive blood loss." For the first time, Nate registered just how uncharacteristically concerned the hacker was. "It's not good, man. They've got him listed in critical condition."
Nate pushed the call button almost reflexively, mind already wrestling with the problems and possibilities that would be waiting for them upstairs. "He's not in ICU, is he?"
"Naw, man," Hardison said – his drawl more pronounced than usual from the stress. "They're holding him in a private room under the name 'Lindsey McDonald'."
The chime of the elevator arriving was the only thing that kept Nate moving forward. "Lindsey who?" he asked as Hardison pushed him into the cab. Hardison pushed for the fourth floor, and waited for the doors to slide shut before answering Nate's question.
"Lindsey McDonald. It's the name he was signed in with."
Nate shook his head, trying to shuffle through what Hardison was telling him. "That's not one of his usual aliases." Then the rest of what the hacker had said finally registered. "Wait. Who signed him in? You said he was in a coma."
"That's where it gets interesting," Hardison said, showing Nate the screen of his smart phone. "Meet our Good Samaritan." The picture of a dark haired young woman in her late twenties appeared on the screen. "Called 911, stayed with Eliot all the way in through admitting."
"She signed him in?" Nate asked, studying the picture. There was something disturbingly familiar about the image. "Who is she?"
Hardison shook his head. "No idea. Sophie's working her, but no joy when I came downstairs to wait for you."
The elevator doors slid open, cutting off any further speculation. Nate let Hardison take the lead, following him down a crowded hallway to a room at the end of a side corridor. He knocked twice on the door before pushing it open. "Just us!" he called out.
It was a private room, but small. Hardison moved in far enough to make room for Nate, who took in the scene at a single glance. Sophie was off to his right, looking very upset. Parker was curled up in a chair in the corner, hugging herself so tightly it looked as though she was trying to squeeze herself out of existence.
Eliot was in the bed, hooked up to enough tubes and monitors to cause Nate to break out in a cold sweat.
On the far side of the bed stood a tall, dark-haired man in an expensively tailored suit, over a round-collared shirt. In his shadow was the woman in Hardison's picture. Nate glanced at the hacker, but he shrugged – clearly as in the dark as his boss as to the identity of the man.
"Nate," Sophie said, stepping smoothly into the conversational breech, "this is Mr. Angel. He runs a legal firm in Los Angeles. And this," she gestured at the young woman, "is Faith."
Lawyer… Nate gave the man a second look – his brain immediately rejecting the designation. If he's a lawyer… His attention shifted to Faith, and he barely smothered a gasp of surprise. That face… He'd definitely seen it before, and the memory twisted his heart in his chest.
"Just Angel," the man said, bringing Nate's attention back to the larger picture in front of him. "Not mister."
"What does a law firm from California want with something like this?" Nate asked. Focus, dammit! His responses were off – he was still too rattled to project the sort of belligerent defensiveness people would expect in this situation. Faith's presence wasn't helping things; Nate found his attention constantly drifting away from Angel to zero in on her.
Angel studied him for a moment before responding. "Answer me something first. What is your connection with this man?" He gestured at Eliot.
Before Nate could shuffle through his options and come up with a safe, yet appropriate response, Faith touched Angel on the arm. "Call me." She pushed to her feet and walked towards Nate – heading for the door.
He started to step out of her path, and then stuck his hand out in obvious invitation for her to stop. "Nathan Ford."
This close, it was almost impossible to keep his reactions in check. He did know her – but the eyes that met his were from at least two complete lifetimes ago. Possibly three, he thought as she gripped his hand and pumped it twice. "Faith." The smile she flashed showed hints of humor, liberally laced with suspicion.
Nate waited a moment, then gave her his most charmingly persuasive smile. "You have a last name?"
She let go his hand, but her smile never faltered. "Sure do." Stepping around him, she continued out the door. Nate didn't turn to watch her go; he had the information he was looking for, and the implications were more than he was prepared to handle right this second.
"Mr. Ford." Angel's voice brought him back to the problem at hand. "You didn't answer my question."
Nate's grin widened. Manic energy flooded through his body – the kind of rush that typically preceded his most reckless, and ultimately most effective behavior. "Don't see where I have to, Mr. Angel. You're not the police. We've only got your word that you're an attorney, and even then the last time I looked Boston was a long way from California." He stepped forward, deliberately putting himself in front of his teammates. You and me, big guy, he thought. Just you and me.
Angel was silent for a long moment. "It's not Mr. Angel, Mr. Ford. Just Angel." His gaze ticked down to Eliot, then back to rest on Nate again. "And I never said I was an attorney."
That was interesting, Faith thought, shrugging up the collar of her leather jacket as she strode away from the hospital. She'd known the job wouldn't end up as simple as Angel had tried to sell it to her – they never did. Finding Lindsey McDonald the victim of a vamp attack however, and then running into Father Nate was a little higher on the wacky scale than she'd expected.
Old homestead, moron, she thought, shoving her hands in her jacket pocket against the cold. Makes sense you'd run into at least one familiar face along the way.
She would have never bet it was going to be his. Father Nate (no last names, please) had been a part time counselor at the Belmont Center, where Faith had spent time in the mid nineties. She hadn't been lucky enough to get him herself, but among the girls on her floor even the hardest cases liked Father Nate. He talked straight with his charges – never making them feel stupid or worthless. The grapevine swore he'd run the streets of South Boston in his youth, which gave him a credibility most of the other counselors lacked.
Didn't hurt how easy he was on the eyes. Faith smirked. Still is.
She walked another block, and her mind drifted inevitably back to the job and the reason why Angel had convinced her to come. Orpheus – a brutal, enchanted narcotic developed by the supernatural underworld of Los Angeles – had made its way east. Angel was certain a major distribution hub was getting ready to mobilize in South Boston, and wanted to do whatever he could to stop that from happening.
He'd turned to Faith primarily for her availability and knowledge of the area. The fact that she'd experienced the effects of the drug first hand was a bonus that definitely outweighed the somewhat dated nature of her intel.
Need to go back and finish checking out those warehouses, she thought, turning down a side street. Then meet Angel back at the hotel. Thoughts of the suite of rooms Angel had booked for them made her smile. She was getting paid for her work these days, which was nice, but Faith still would have had problems shelling out the kind of money it took to acquire the five star digs Angel was accustomed to now.
Angel's attention kept sliding back to the unconscious Lindsey. He couldn't work out how it had happened. Maybe Lorne had lost his nerve at the last second. More likely that he had one last, ridiculously obscure spell in reserve to save his life. Maybe none of his wilder theories were true – maybe Lorne had shot him, and maybe he'd just survived.
Lindsey had always been persistent that way.
It was him. Even Faith had agreed that it was, and she'd only ever met the man once. The hair was a bit longer, the face a bit more weathered. Definitely Lindsey McDonald, though.
He forced himself to look away from the bed, and back at Nathan Ford – clearly the de facto leader of Lindsey's band of friends and supporters. The man didn't like him – that much was obvious beneath his worry for Lindsey.
Angel glanced at the bed again. Personally, he couldn't muster the energy to be too worried about the man. Lindsey had definitely survived death more times than any human should really have been able to, and surviving vampire attacks was almost a talent. That said, Angel had seen plenty of men weaker than Lindsey come back from worse.
Nate had mistaken him for a lawyer.
If only he knew how tragically ironic that was.
It hadn't taken much in the way of strings – or cash – to secure Lindsey in a private room. Angel checked around the space to distract himself from the hostile looks Nathan Ford was periodically sending his way. It wasn't a large room, though, and here and now it was crowded with Nate and people he assumed were the man's…employees? Partners? Friends?
Friends, he decided, noting the way the brunette hovered over Lindsey. The young black man who had gone to the lobby to retrieve Nate had retreated to the corner near where the small blond girl had hidden herself. He alternated between fidgeting and touching the blonde's shoulder…for reassurance?
He's the leader, Angel decided – his attention refocusing on Nate. No question. The others deferred to him automatically – Ford fielded questions from the medical staff that drifted in and out of the room at semi-regular intervals, and demanded answers with equal confidence. Angel could sense the man's worry for his friends, but he never let it distract him from the job at hand.
So why'd Faith bolt like that? She'd never been shy around authority figures, but her reaction to Ford had been…perplexing, to say the least. Not quite hostile, but she'd certainly been eager to get out of the room.
Angel's memory finally obliged him by flipping a card. Faith had lived here, hadn't she? Born and raised, before she was Called. She'd filled him in on her history in bits and pieces, during some of their talks sitting on opposite sides of bulletproof plastic. That was part of the reason he'd asked for her help in the first place, after all.
An Orpheus ring was something to be dealt with quickly. Faith was as tough as him, if not tougher, and she knew the area. Get in, get out, quick and clean, nice and neat. That was how he'd hoped it would go, at least. Bar Lindsey getting there first and flushing the vamps out of hiding, that was how it would have gone.
His plan had been for Faith to come in the front, shock and awe, giving him a chance to attack from the rear. It had all quickly gone to dust in favor of saving Lindsey from the dozen or so vampires already in the process of kicking his ass. Between them, they'd staked a few vamps, killed a few demons, and come out with some of the Orpheus. Unfortunately, the added chaos of protecting a badly wounded civilian had meant that Faith allowed a few of the vampires to slip past her and get out with what they had left of the drug.
Even if she had been helping someone like Lindsey, Angel couldn't stop himself from being proud of her. That mercy, that care, was a mark of how far Faith had come.
Lindsey McDonald would live.
At least long enough to answer some questions.