Disclaimer: Leverage is not mine.

Prompt #10: Hitter - Sometimes they overexaggerate their own abilities.

Words: 716


I'm a retrieval specialist. Or I was. Still am. Whatever.

Point is, I'm a hitter.

I'm good at what I do. If there's a guy in my way, I mow him down. There's something I need to get, I get it. Somebody threatening my team? He's unconscious in less than ten seconds.

I'm the hitter because nobody else can do what I do. Nate has some skills (how in the hell did he drop those two thugs of Kirkwood's? "They got in an argument" my ass) and Sophie knows enough to grab a weapon and bash her way through. Tara was okay, from what I knew of her.

Hardison sucks. And Parker...well, she's not normal.


Hardison can't punch, shoot, or even kick properly. Dumb geek.

He does try, though. I'll give him that much. Though when he said he's the one who "fights the injured" I had to roll my eyes.

But then he tries to do what I do. And he gets hurt because he can't do what I do. He punches wrong, and his hand is busted for a few days. Then I gotta hear him whining about how he can't hack the Presidential e-mail or the Pentagon servers or the Swiss banks or whatever else he's doing on his down time.

He loses to Parker, for gods' sake. And he wants to head his own crew.

Dammit, Hardison.


Parker knows enough about fighting to get clear. Smart thief.

After the two Davids job, I taught her some moves. The way she was captured by Sterling freaked her out a little.

But mostly she uses a Taser. Smart girl. Drops a guy twice her size and she won't have to worry about breaking her hand.

She can wrestle a guy to the ground and hold him there. So I normally don't worry about her when we're in a skirmish.

But she leaves herself wide open as she's making pillow talk to a safe.

There's something wrong with her.


Gotta admit, though. They try.

After they took out Moreau's bomb, we all regrouped back at Nate's apartment to figure out what to do next. Nate and Sophie went down to the bar, and I went to get a clean shirt. That Italian's blood was all over the one I already had been wearing.

I walked back into the room to find Parker and Hardison in the kitchen. She was rummaging through the fridge while he was cradling his right hand. I saw the swelling on his knuckles and rolled my eyes. He punched a guy again? When will he learn?

"Next time, bring a Taser," Parker said, her head still stuck in the freezer.

"Well excuse me for not bringing one with me all the time," he griped. "I normally don't have use for one."

"Never would've blown up the bomb if I didn't have mine."

He chuckled. "Very true." He looked up as Parker came over with a bag of peas. "But, ya know mama, I always seem to be with either you or Eliot. Mostly you."

Parker frowned. "Your point?" she asked, which was what I was thinking.

"Well...couldn't you pack another Taser for me to use?"

I rolled my eyes. Dammit, Hardison. That's pathetic. He doesn't understand the whole concept of being able to defend yourself - you don't rely on anyone else.

But then again, those two are mostly always together on the cons. They also bail each other out of tight spots more often than not.

For two solo acts, that's saying something.

Maybe Hardison's not such an idiot.

And maybe Parker's not so weird.

They'll never be able to go into a twenty-guy gunfight with two handguns and walk away unscathed, but I think they'd survive anything less if they stay together.

But I'll never tell them that.


Now Eliot's musings. I think it's okay.

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