Author's Disclaimer: Sadly, I don't own the characters from either Leverage or Witchblade. I'm just playing in the sandbox. All of these characters are the property of their respective creators. I'm not making any money off this story. You wouldn't get anything if you sued me.
Author's Note: I blame sleep deprivation courtesy of my 1 year old for coming up with this cracked crossover. I also blame the case of writer's block I've got on my other story. But hey, maybe writing something off the wall will shake me loose and get my other story moving again! For the moment though, I like the idea of this pairing. The dichotomy of a larger-than-life cop possessed by a mythic weapon and a down-to-earth con who'd rather use fists than guns falling for each other just gives me all sorts of ideas.
Author's Note: I am trying to get this written out at the rate of a chapter every one to two days, however sometimes life gets in the way. I also find that writing when I don't have a plot fully outlined in my mind before-hand is a bit of a challenge. Sometimes it takes me a while to get going when I sit down to write and I end up losing valuable writing time in trying to figure out how to pick up where I left off when I desperately want to be writing the random as-yet-unconnected scenes for later that are currently in my head. Patience, I remind myself. All good things, especially in writing, come as the reward of being patient.
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"Give me a sec to wash up and change before we head out. Why don't you make yourself at home?" Sara tossed over her shoulder as she headed toward the only walled off section of the loft.
She didn't even look back to see what Elliot decided to do but she did smile to herself when she heard the door click shut and a pair of booted feet wander slowly around the space behind her. Curious but respectful, huh? I can deal with that. She thought as she tucked her gun and shield into the footlocker that served as a nightstand and locked it closed. She'd finally grown to trust that she could sometimes afford to leave her gun and badge behind at home when she was off-duty. The witchblade (and Ian's silent protection) were more than enough to handle the dangers of the ordinary world. If she were likely to encounter something out-of-the-ordinary, the witchblade always seemed to give her plenty of warning. And in the cases when the extraordinary intruded on her life, a gun and badge were usually no protection at all.
Elliot wandered between the worn furniture looking for clues about the woman he was suddenly taking out to dinner. No photos, no trophies, no real personal mementos to give him a clue as to the life she led. It was almost as if she didn't expect her tenure in this apartment to be anything more than temporary. Or, it was as if she didn't want anyone who might break into her space to be able to learn anything from it or damage anything she held dear. That tune sounded all too familiar to Elliot. She'd probably have felt right at home in his apartment, though he admitted that his furnishings were of a much better quality thanks to the paycheck from his Leverage, LLC jobs and Alec Hardison's good taste.
Sara gave herself a few minutes for a quick shower. It had been a busy day before she'd arrived at Gabriel's apartment; she could still smell the hint of something undefinable on her skin that she associated with the morgue. Not exactly the kind of scent that would be appealing when sharing dinner with someone-
Someone, what? Sara thought to herself. Exactly what sort of someone was Elliot Spencer to her?
Someone attractive, she grudgingly let herself complete the thought as she rinsed off and stepped out of the shower. As she dried off, she took a moment to evaluate the possibilities objectively. Sara hadn't allowed herself to get close to anyone romantically since Conchobar's death. She'd let herself fall too hard, had been hurt too deep, and she admitted that she'd rushed head-long into their relationship without really thinking about the dangers she'd been exposing him to with the witchblade's presence in her life. She knew better now. She couldn't let herself become attached to anyone. Everyone who got close to her died. In some ways, that made this situation perfect; Elliot had said he was from out of town. He wouldn't be sticking around therefore there was no way this could grow into a relationship.
Right, so there's no harm in going out on a dinner date with this guy and letting yourself enjoy a little flirting and harmless fun, is there? Sara pulled a sweater over her head that bared her toned stomach and accentuated her thin, athletic build. She failed to notice that for once, the witchblade had kept silent on the matter.
As she stepped back into the larger space of the loft, Sara gave herself a moment to take in the man who was sitting on her couch engrossed in something on his phone. Nice build, well muscled - hrm bet he's done some martial arts or boxing. Thick shoulder length hair that Sara itched to run through her fingers. (That had been the one thing Conchobar lacked; good hair. Sara LOVED a man with a good head of hair that she could tangle her fingers in when they kissed.) He had a nice smile but so far she had yet to see it really reach his eyes. However the fact that the expression was never all-encompassing just made her curious as to why. And speaking of which, those blue eyse were pretty appealing too. He dressed casually, comfortably, in clothing which fit him well and showed a certain sense of personal fashion. And the soft bit of southern accent she'd caught in his voice was smooth on the ears like whiskey and mint juleps. In all, not a bad package when one put it together as a whole. You could certainly do a whole lot worse, Sara chided himself. After all, there were guys like her partner out there. Jake was full of himself in a very unappealing way and the surfer boy look just didn't do it for her.
While not a fan of technology, Elliot did carry one of the more high-tech cell phones on the market. Nate, Sophie, and Hardison had finally convinced him of their usefulness after a couple of the jobs they'd done hadn't gone as planned. At the moment, he was taking advantage of the opportunity to send a quick email back to the office. :: Mostly done here in NYC. Job went smoothly. Managed to offload the Egyptian masks to my art dealer per our earlier discussion. He says it will be no problem to find PRIVATE buyers for these pieces at a good price. Hardison, can you dig up background dirt for me on Sara Pezzini and Ian Nottingham? Just send anything you find to my phone. See you all in a couple days. -Elliot::
He couldn't help himself; Elliot was incredibly curious about exactly who this woman was. All of the pieces he'd seen so far didn't quite add up yet and he just wasn't willing to wait to find them out from conversation or through asking Gabriel. While he didn't expect immediate answers, Elliot knew Hardison would be more than likely to have something for him within a couple hours. The man was almost psychically linked to his computer. He'd probably get the shakes like an addict in withdrawal if he had to be away from one of his machines for more than a couple hours, Elliot thought with wry amusement. He didn't have the chance to follow the line of thinking any farther as he heard Sara's footsteps coming toward him from the other room. When he looked up Sara stood framed in the doorway; her figure outlined and shown off to tantalizing advantage by the brighter light from the other room. The sweater she was wearing left him wanting to reach up beneath it's hem and caress the rest of the smooth skin hinted at by her exposed midrif. No gun this time, he thought, unless she's got it tucked into the back of those jeans or stuck in an ankle holster inside her boots. The gun was part of the puzzle he was still trying to figure out. Despite the potential violence in some parts of the city, the average New Yorker did NOT carry a gun. But then, he'd already guessed that Sara was something more than merely average.
