Title: Havana
Summary: Eliot meets up with an old friend while the team takes a short vacation.
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: This is turning into more of a story than I originally intended, but I hope you all like where it's going nonetheless. Shout out to CharleyMom for the awesome reviews! Thank you!
Chapter 7
They had breakfast at the hotel cafe before hitting the streets of Havana to rebuild Eliot's wardrobe.
"You should definitely get a Speedo," Natalia teased as they made their way down the cobblestone streets of the city, past cars straight out of the 1950's. It was like being in a movie and they were the stars. She blended in easily with the locals, being of Caribbean descent, but Eliot would have stuck out like a sore thumb had it not been for his training. He was wearing the wrong clothes and Boston had made his skin a bit too pale. But he knew how to mix in to avoid looking like a tourist, and having her on his arm helped. They spoke Spanish in any conversation that was loud enough to be overheard, each quickly grasping the Cuban dialect. Every monetary transaction was carried out in Cuban Pesos, the currency of locals, which had been provided to Natalia courtesy of the US government. They lost themselves in the environment like the experts they were.
The pair found a few boutiques meant for tourists where they picked up lightweight beige cargo pants, a black polo, a few cheap fitted t-shirts and tanks, new boxer briefs, black slacks, and a black button-up shirt for a nice night out. He even found a straw fedora with dark brown and beige fabric banding at one of the local-run roadside stands. Eliot tried it on as a joke, but when he turned to Natalia, the expression on her face was undeniable. Her green eyes were lit up, nose scrunched, lips parted in an honest to goodness smile. Yeah, he had to get that hat.
After a few hours, they wandered down to the beach for lunch at a seaside cantina. It was one of those well-loved local hangouts, complete with bright peeling paint, scuffed wooden floors, and a bar that had seen its share of the Havana nightlife. Their waiter led them to a deck overlooking the beach. Eliot pulled out Natalia's chair for her in a display of chivalry that caught her off guard. But then again, it was Eliot, she should have known better. Once she was settled, he excused himself to the restroom to change into something less conspicuous and hopefully much cooler. While he was away Natalia took the liberty of ordering them both mojitos, a must-have while in Cuba.
Before long he returned and found her fiddling with one of the frayed paper coasters, gazing out to sea.
"How does it look?" He boyishly shoved his hands in his pockets.
She immediately glanced up at him through her dark aviators, a bright smile spreading across her face. "You're wearing the hat," her grin was contagious and Eliot found himself beaming as well.
"It's not too much is it?" He could feel her stare even through the shades as she traced her way over the black polo shirt, down to the cargos that fit pretty damn nicely in the ass region if he did say so himself.
"Darling, this is Havana," she removed her sunglasses and rested them on the table before picking up her menu. Eliot sat down as their drinks arrived, a smirk on his face. In Havana, everything was "too much." The heat on your skin, the weathered buildings, the brightly colored clothing, Che Guevara propaganda at nauseum, the smells of food and cigars mingling with sea air. It was a barrage to the senses that all culminated in the wonderful experience that was Cuba.
"You were undressing me with your eyes just now weren't ya?" Eliot leaned back in his chair and took a sip of the drink, surprised at how impossibly delicious it was for what he considered to be a sugary girl beverage.
"Yes, and?" she didn't even bother to look up from the page. "Don't act like you didn't sneak a peek at me getting dressed this morning."
Damn. Caught. He grinned. But what a peek it had been. He glanced over the menu before settling on chicken while Natalia opted for seafood. She couldn't resist good seafood. Once their orders had been taken, the assassin settled back in her seat and proceeded to sip her mojito.
"How's work treating you?"
"Not bad, not bad at all," he smiled. She knew a good deal about the team, most of her knowledge accumulated through stories that Eliot told over their years of trysts.
"I heard you all were going after Damien Moreau."
"How…" his face took on a look of mild confusion. "Where'd ya hear that?"
"In this line of work you hear things. We wanted to go after him ourselves, but there are about 12 names that rank higher on our list of priorities. Plus, when we heard Nate Ford was going after him, well…" she leaned into the table, folding her arms and propping her elbows on the surface. "We didn't see fit to continue an active investigation at this time. That one's all yours."
"Thanks," Eliot huffed a bit sarcastically. He wasn't exactly happy with how Nate had handled some aspects of the case, but he did trust the man's judgment. He supposed that was all he could do for now.
"Just…" Natalia idly trailed a finger through the condensation on her glass before looking him straight in the eye, "be careful."
"Yes, ma'am."
"How are you and Hardison getting along?" She again leaned back in her chair, this time pulling her hair out of the bun it had been wrapped in all morning, causing her hair to cascade down over her shoulders in big loose waves. It was always a different color every time he saw her. Chocolate brown, dark red, highlighted, low-lighted, she even had blue streaks once. Last year it had been a stunning auburn. This year it was a subtle fade, starting with her natural black at the roots and ending in a shade of lighter red-ish brown. He vaguely remembered Sophie saying that it was going to be a big trend this fall as she flipped through one of her girly magazines, but he couldn't remember what she had called it. Oh wait, she had asked a question.
"Fine, I guess," he was fighting the urge to reach across the table and run his fingers through those locks. "I think lately I've been a bit harsher with him than usual."
"Not surprised," she casually tousled her hair before tossing it over the shoulder that her shirt didn't cover.
"How's that?"
"You were too stressed. Too tense. Whatever you've been doing over the last little while has been boiling under the surface with no outlet. Makes sense that you'd take it out on him. Doesn't make it right, but it makes sense."
She never missed a thing. Natalia had always believed 99% of communication was comprised of body language and actions. She was naturally very perceptive, but her training and experience had pushed it over the edge. It was impossible to slip anything by her.
When he sat down and thought about it, that's exactly what it was; his job had been stressing him out. The team had taken case after case with no breaks in between. Eliot's body had taken a beating, which was just part of the reason why one of his normal and perhaps best outlets – sex – hadn't been an option for three months before now. He had been running on high alert for longer than he'd realized, wearing himself thin while everyone else preserved their sanity, one way or another. Nate drank, Sophie bought things, Hardison played video games, Parker jumped off buildings. And ate fortune cookies, or whatever.
But Eliot, no. It took this long for him to finally let it all go.
"What did I do?" He asked with a smirk on his face. He could pick up others' tells with ease, but apparently he wasn't so good at suppressing his own in front of her. Or maybe she just knew him too well.
"The way you fucked me last night gave it away."
His eyes widened ever so slightly and his lips pursed a bit as he shot a nervous glance over to the inside of the cantina, making sure no one was within earshot.
"Cool it Spencer. The guy at the end of the bar is more absorbed in his cigar and the soccer match on TV than anything else. The couple in the corner booth, most likely on honeymoon, they're too busy playing tonsil hockey to give a shit. And our waiter, who happens to be the bartender as well, is back in the kitchen, because he's also one of the cooks."
The entire time those big green eyes never left him. Yeah, she was really freaking good at this.
"Go on," it was his turn to lean in and rest his crossed arms on the table.
"Sex last night was like fighting with you. You pushed me, I pushed back, you pushed harder. It was desperate, it was rough, it was fucking in every sense of the word. And it was amazing. But it's not how you usually operate, at least not the first time we see each other. You usually take your time."
He imagined at that moment that his expression held a mixture of shock and satisfaction, tinged with a bit of guilt. He worried that he may have moved too fast, or been too greedy in his pursuit of pleasure.
"And you can wipe the guilt right off of your face," she continued. "I needed it as much as you did," she leaned in and smiled. "Your muscles weren't so tense this morning and your entire demeanor is more relaxed. It feels good to know I did that."
He would have kissed her just then if their food hadn't arrived. She was his medicine and his drug all in the same fiercely sexy package and he was dying for another hit.
They spent the rest of the meal chatting and laughing, content in the fact that they were indeed very good for each other. It was mid afternoon by the time they made it back to the hotel.
"I'm going to go take Hannibal out for a bit," Natalia dropped her purse on the writing desk and scooped up the puppy, who was very happy to see both of them. "Stay and relax," she kissed him before putting a homemade harness and leash on the little dog and slipping out the door.
Eliot's list of priorities then was as follows; change and nap. Naps usually weren't his style, but seeing as how he was on vacation, and sleep wasn't exactly what he had in mind for tonight, he figured he could allow himself the luxury. The hitter carefully removed and folded everything he had been wearing before selecting a new tank and a fresh pair of boxer briefs. He stretched out on the side of the bed closest to the window, and promptly fell asleep.