Title: The Saints Job
Author: LadyShadeBorde
Rating: I'm going with PG-13, R for language
Warnings: None so far...
Disclaimer: I'm not Troy Duffy, nor am I Dean Devlin or John Rogers. I'm just playing with the boys, and girls, for a little bit.
Summary: Eliot gets a call for a job from an old acquaintance.
Note: I do not understand how there is not more crossovers. Leverage & Co is IN Boston for peet's sake!
Note 2: Original bunny from LadyStarhawk, tweeked and Beta'd by my lovely CeltPrincess13
Feedback: Feel free, it'll keep me writing.
*** THE CALL ***
The team was just getting back from their latest con job when the call came in. Nate and Sophie were bickering about something, as per their usual; while Eliot and Hardison were stuck trying to explain to Parker what the hell was a Malibu Barbie, and why she got her own dream house.
"It's a doll, Parker. Little girls played with them and dressed them up-" Eliot started only to be interrupted by the perpetually confused blond.
"But why? I mean what's the point?"
"How the hell should I know, ask Sophie."
"Woah, woah… You saying you never had G.I. Joe growing up, Eliot?" Hardison jumped in the conversation, hoping to find something 'normal' about Eliot.
"No, why would I?" came the gruff reply.
With a raised hand, Parker tried to interrupt. "Why is she from Malibu?"
"You didn't have toys growing up?" Hardison almost sounded scandalized.
"Of course I had toys, just not dolls." Eliot turned back to Parker, preferring her brand of crazy. "I have no idea why she's from Malibu. And before you ask, I don't know anything about the damn house."
"G.I. Joe is NOT a doll!" Hardison bellowed.
The muted chirping of his cell phone was a blessed relief. There was only quick cursory glances in Eliot's direction when he pulled away from the group to answer his phone. But when the jovial look slipped off his face it was the ever observant, even if she didn't always know what she was observing, Parker that took notice. There was a deep sigh in Eliot's voice as he answered his phone. Sometimes he really couldn't believe the naivety of that girl. "Spencer."
"Saddle up Cowboy, it's coming on high-noon at the OK-coral." The slightly feminine lisp that came across the line was from the last man that Eliot was expecting to hear. Paul Smecker. And quick as a trigger, Eliot went from relaxed to ready for business.
"What, and where?"
"No hi, how are ya? It's been ages without a peep," there was no response across the line. "Alright, fine. Always straight down to business, always did like that about you. Extraction, two people, Hoag Maximum Security Prison."
"Hoag? Seriously? You don't ask for much, do you?" Eliot pitched his voice low, but knew better than to turn his back on his team. Nate was no longer listening to Sophie and was eying Eliot curiously. He rarely received phone calls, especially ones that got him riled up so fast. "Who are the targets?"
"Slow down John Wayne. Talk to your pals, use your secret decoder rings, whatever. Start thinking of a plan, and I'll be back in touch with you later with the names. Catch you later, Cowboy." And with a soft beep, the call ended.