A/N: Hello people! I was overjoyed when Leverage was resurrected and was waiting with baiting breath for my favorite character's cameo, but it didn't happen. The idea for this fic started forming at the end of season one, but I decided to have my wishes fulfilled in the next season. It didn't happen either, but the finale gave me the perfect opening how to kick-start my plotline. So here it is…

Disclaimer: Don't own any Leverage Inc characters at all.

Another Dubai Job

By Lady Arabella Malfoy

It has been almost two years since I have been with the crew. Well, half of that time I attempted and spectacularly failed to leave the con artists, who were equalizing the chances of the people, who couldn't fight for themselves against the rich and powerful. I initially spent years working for the latter. My attempts were thwarted by the crew not wanting to give me up and, frankly, by me not leaving them either. That group of misfits managed to form a family that I am honored to be accepted as a member of. At first, I felt stranded with all their history, although it became easier with all members sharing stories about their cons – their badges of honor. Through those stories came out their personalities that they were not willing to disclose in general conversations. It is understandable, that as former conmen, they were very cagey about opening up to a new person. But little by little, I came to understand the people of Nate Ford's crew, and then Parker's crew, and now Sophie's crew. Still, there were a lot of mysteries left to be uncovered if they ever allowed me to see beyond the façade of the crew into the hearts of its members. But how much of myself will I have to give up for that?..

A lot of revelations about the crew's past were made through various guests, who appeared on the threshold of the current headquarters in New Orleans. Generally, they were all very heartily welcomed (excluding the notorious men from Sophie's past, who made our life dangerously difficult in recent weeks) as if they were long-missed friends.

But when that man entered the former bar without knocking, reactions were the complete opposite.

"The Hell you are doing here?!" Elliot barked, stabbing a huge kitchen knife deep into the carving board he was mincing vegetables on.

Others instantly turned toward the door, spooked by Elliot's violent reaction, and posed to flee. Must've been an engrained reaction to danger. The clear shock on everybody's faces gave me the understanding that the man's presence in New Orleans or in that very room was a complete impossibility. And even if the possibility existed, nobody wanted him there. With passion.

This was instantly demonstrated by Elliot who rushed toward the man and leveled him with his signature stare, getting right into his face. The man stared back. It was clear, there was no love lost between those two.

I looked around the room. Nobody seemed to think about doing anything to break the stalemate. Sophie was frowning, Parker and Hardison were giggling like children who were watching a highly entertaining show and Breanna looked completely lost, meaning she had no idea who the visitor was. Still… the situation was getting a bit ridiculous… so it fell to me as a professional negotiator to diffuse it. And to choose the appropriate approach to the escalating situation if Elliot's snarl was any indication. I attempted to apply Sophie's lessons about reading the target… well, reading the person. The 'hostile' was a man of average build in his fifties, maybe older. His suit looked expensive and could be even personally tailored because it sat very well. The watch was definitely expensive. The man exuded an air of authority and demand that his orders be obeyed without question. So… someone who was rich and powerful – the complete opposite of our usual clients. And someone who the crew had an unpleasant history with. Yes, the day was turning out to be an interesting one. Not that it was ever dull with the company I was keeping these days.

"If you would like to state your business, mister…" I started tentatively, trying to redirect the visitor's attention toward myself in the hope of breaking Elliot's fixation on the man. I was ignored, with the men remaining in the deadlocked staring match.

"I came to hire you lot for a retrieval job," were the first words of the prospective client.

"As if we will ever work for you," Elliot spat into the still-nameless man's face and finally retreated to his carving board. Although his nearness to the huge knife was disconcerting.

"Sophie owes me. Owes me big time. As you very well know."

And everybody apart from Breanna and I indeed knew, but we were in the dark and nobody seemed to be eager to enlighten us.

A flash drive was tossed at Hardison, hitting him on the forehead. The hacker went down to retrieve it from the floor grumbling all the way, about… something I couldn't hear, unfortunately.

"I need you to find Graig Harrison whose file is on the drive. His name is an alias so don't bother checking, it won't give you anything. Harrison was investigating an international drug ring. He didn't appear at the meet-up with his handler 14 hours ago. It is believed that his cover was blown and he was taken to be interrogated and… dealt with. You will find him and get him back. Nothing else is required. The drug ring is not your concern. Nothing is your concern but Graig Harrison."

"And if there is no Graig Harrison anymore?"

Indeed Hardison. Considering how drug cartels operate, the possibility of the blown agent still being alive is rather slim.

"Then you bring his body. Do you take the job then? Before you decide… You can employ any resources necessary, they will be compensated for their time. If you deliver… we will be even," the man in the expensive suit stated looking directly at Sophie for the first time since his invasion. Addressed the leader of the crew who, surprisingly, has yet to weigh in on the situation.

When I try to use people's reading skills on Sophie, my observations are always inconclusive. Not that she is purposefully hiding something, but there are depths to her that I could never discover. I am fascinated by her ability to become pretty much anyone on a dime and remain a mystery even during downtime. I came to terms with the fact that all crew members reverently hid any personal details of their past. Although, sometimes it comes to haunt them as was the case with Sophie recently.

Is this man another such haunting? He clearly belongs to some government agency that deals with drug trafficking. Most probably the FBI. As far as I know, the crew does have some connections there, formed during their early work. Is this man one of those? But the collective hostility indicates that he is not a friendly acquaintance.

The indecisive silence stretches on. Until Sophie moves behind Hardison and nods towards the huge screens to run the meeting. Even to an amateur like me, their nonverbal conversation is clear as day.

Sophie: "Do it."

Hardison: "HELL NO!"

Sophie: "DO IT NOW!"

With demonstrative reluctance, he gives the drive to Breanna, who is not sure how to proceed, but inserts the drive into the port.

"I will be waiting for your report outside." And with that, the current client disappeared as abruptly as he appeared, and the room instantly erupted into a myriad of angry outbursts.

"How can he just order us do stuff?!"

"Look at these files! There is nothing here!"

"This is Dubai all over again!"

And it went on and on. It is the first time I see Sophie close to losing her cool and control over her crew. They are usually so composed, so driven… How can one person completely destroy the dynamics that have been built for more than a decade?! Who is this guy?!

It is not my place, but I decide to take matters into my own hands. "Guys! Can you stop this childish squabbling? There is a man's life on the line!"

That makes the gang turn to screens that indeed do not contain much information. Graig Harrison has the handsome face of a thirty-one-year-old. He is also rugged enough to pass for a member of a street gang as is his current assignment. As far as the presented reports are saying, the assignment grew out of a single sting operation that made Graig join the drug cartel since he saw an opportunity to investigate and make arrests of the top leaders of the cartel. The report to his handler contains his reluctance about pursuing the lead himself, but eagerness to provide an introduction for another suitable agent.

The handler declined the proposition and Graig had to conduct the investigation himself. The communication goes back and forth for three months and then just stops. The handler notified his superiors about Graig not making contact at the designated time and that was it. No action was taken to investigate Graig's disappearance. There is the last place of residence and the materials he gathered about the cartel movements and members, so there is enough to start the search, but do they have the time? The man can be tortured to death right this very minute!

"Man's life my ass!" Elliot snarled, chopping the vegetable into extra tiny pieces. "That bastard is dragging us into an extremely dangerous situation and the whole thing is a smoke screen because he doesn't care if we get the man dead or alive. I'm 130% sure that Graig guy has some microchip or something in his body and this is the only reason why they are even bothering with extracting him!"

"We don't know that, Elliot," Sophie retorted, probably in an attempt to pacify the hitter, but that didn't seem to do any good.

"We don't know anything at this point!" Hardison exclaimed, drawing our attention once again to the blacked-out files. "Not to mention, we've never done something like this before! What if we are too late? How are we going to attempt to find a body buried in the wilderness?!"

"Let's hope that it won't come to that, Hardison. I'm calling it – let's steal Graig Harrison. Do everything you can to find this man."

With that declaration, Sophie heads upstairs, clearly not in the mood to drag out the hostile atmosphere. I should leave it be since I have no right to oppose her decision – not that I want to – but I can't help but worry. Is this another threat from her past? Will she ever be free from it? But when are we ever free from our past?

"You blame your client for hiding essential information, but don't I deserve an explanation too?" I hail Sophie before she can disappear into her room. "Who is this man? Is he blackmailing you?"

"Blackmailing? Not exactly… Depends on how you look at it. I do owe him a great deal and I knew he would ask for his due sooner or later, I just never imagined it would be something like this. Who is this young man for him to go to such lengths?.."

"Shouldn't you have asked it from the client himself?!"

"He is a secretive man… Why don't you ask him while we are waiting for the hackers' magic to be done. And bring whisky, the good stock."

"At two in the afternoon?!"

"He can always refuse but, at least, he can't complain of us being bad hosts. He is the type to complain about everything."

So I take the bottle of our best whiskey (it has been standing under the bar for months and nobody has touched it, so why was it even there?) and two tumblers and go to our front yard, where we usually meet the clients. Fortunately, I catch our newest client mid-call which revealed a considerable amount of information about the mysterious man.

"There is no point in worrying yourself sick, darling. They took the job, even if with extreme reluctance, as you can imagine. I'll send an update when I am able. Love you."

He disconnects and I busy myself with pouring the whiskey, trying with all my might to look disinterested in the conversation that revealed not only that our client was married (the now visible wedding ring was a confirmation of the fact. Did he keep his left hand in his pocket on purpose while he was talking to the crew or was it just out of habit?) but that his wife was familiar with the crew which meant… what? That either he or his wife were crew members in the past? And there was some kind of betrayal and that's why there was so much animosity?

"So did you draw the short straw to babysit me or is it your usual spot to have whiskey in the middle of the afternoon?"

"Neither. We haven't been properly introduced-"

"I know who you are, Mister Wilson." The clipped tone unnerves me.

"But I don't who you are. It is improper to share a drink with a stranger."

"People do it all the time."

"Still… If we are to have prolonged cooperation-"

"Hopefully not."

"-I need to address you somehow." I am not backing off on this matter, whatever trick he may pull.

"Call me 'boss' then."

"Boss? Why?"

"Because I am your boss for the duration of this… cooperation."

"You are not our boss, you are our client. Even if you think otherwise. And our cooperation will be productive to you if you act accordingly and respect people who are risking their lives for you."

"I feel properly chastised, Mister Wilson. The judicial system lost a great lawyer in your face." Chastised, right. That smirk shows the complete opposite. "Call me 'chief' then."

Still a position of power, but I can't do anything about it. Seems, this is his default attitude. Well, I can work with that. I have plenty of experience with arrogant bastards who think they are the center of the universe. However, the next two hours changed my opinion to the point of me being utterly lost about the character I was having a drink with. First of all, before I could ask anything of importance 'chief' asked if I played chess. I replied that I dabbled, so he ordered me to bring a chess set because there should be one somewhere for sentimental reasons. Whatever those were, I was not informed. So we set the board and get to it. It was clear right from the start that he didn't just dabble. The guy was serious about the game because nothing could distract him enough for him to lose or to forget whose turn it was, despite his phone buzzing roughly every twenty minutes. Some of the messages he just looked at, some replied to with a single click, possibly accepting or rejecting the contents. Some of the rejections were accompanied by grumbling about incompetence and the absence of basic skills. His moves were made with a decisive hand and a strategic mind with me being not much of an opponent for him. But no comment was made, the chief continued to move the set pieces without much thinking between moves, but his body language did not speak of enjoyment of the casual game and an easy win. His whole body was tense, wired to jump to action at the moment's notice. His glance constantly shot from the board to the door behind which the crew was congregating. Whatever others were saying – or shouting rather – the job was much more important to our client than they thought.

During our third game, my teenage daughter calls, complaining yet again about the awful living conditions I'd put her in, mainly that there was no high-speed wifi in the basement I remodeled for her to stay in and how that was depleting her social life. I finish my highly emotional call with a groan of exasperation, but the following remark from my game partner almost makes me spill my drink (the stress level has gotten so high that I had to take a sip).

"Teenage daughters can be a handful for a single father. My girl is graduating college this year. I don't know what is worse – this or high school."

I don't even notice being checked too shocked to process what is happening. The guy refuses to say his name, profession or anything really, but then spills out that he has a daughter and bringing her up alone (thus being either divorced or a widower and remarried at some point)?! Most personal information possible?! Why would the chief disclose this? To identify with my strife? But what for? We won't see each other after this job anyway. Or?.. Moreover… did he tell me about his family, because the crew knew it too thus it was not actually a secret? Gods… the man was befuddling.

Disregarding my confusion, the chief continues in the same candid vain. "You shouldn't use your real name, Mister Wilson. There is a reason con men prefer aliases – to hide from the authorities and from people who wish them harm, generally, their victims. I doubt you wish for your family to feel the backlash from your current activities."

I haven't thought of that. Should I be concerned? Is this a warning or a threat? "And your 'current activities' do not put your family at risk?" Oh, do tell what you actually do.

"To some degree, yes. But I've been in this line of work long enough to know the level of danger, you, however, have not. Separating from your loved ones due to the possibility of putting them in jeopardy is not something you want to experience."

What line of work? If he is FBI then everything should be above board, isn't it? Why should he fear for his family then? Or was the chief dirty? That's why he has personal ties with grifters and thieves? Also… Looks like he knows what he is talking about. Is he speaking from his own experience or… is he talking about Sophie?! How could he know about her stepdaughter? And if he does… is this the string he is pulling on right now? Blackmailing Sophie by threatening her stepdaughter? God, that's downright despicable! How can he do something like this being a father of a daughter himself?!

"I think, I can make decisions for myself, thank you very much." So what if I am rude? He was out of bounds first. "One should care about their own family in the way one can."

"Indeed, Mister Wilson."

What is this? He is backing off? Without any confrontation? It is the completely opposite attitude of the man, who has just destroyed me in chess for six games straight. What's going on?

I am so deep in thought about the conundrum of our client that I don't notice Sohpie appear from the sanctum santorum.

"We are ready, Harry. Thank you for entertaining…"

"Chief. Today this is the name I prefer."

"Well, that's not that far from the truth."

And with this granule of truth, Sophie departs, making me wonder why they just don't come clean about the chief's identity. What is the point if everyone, besides me and Breanna, knows who he is?

….

The atmosphere in front of the huge computer screens was surprisingly relaxed with a man's life on the line. Have they found him safe and sound? Maybe the whole thing was a misunderstanding? I mean, the undercover agent (if Graig was one) was missing for only fourteen hours- Wait a minute… Fourteen hours on the moment our client unceremoniously walked through our doors, so considerably less on the moment of the discovery of the fact. Chief isn't Graig's handler so how did he find out so fast and why is he so sure about the foul play? Something is not connecting here. Is this why the crew is so agitated?

Before Hardison even opens his mouth to start the meeting, Elliot is in the chief's face again, burning his eyes out with a menacing stare. The chief doesn't budge as was during the previous confrontation.

"Swear to me that this is not another Dubai. Swear on whom you hold dear," Elliot whispered, a promise of pain attached to every syllable.

"I can't because it is." I am halfway in my attempt to if not stop then divert Elliot's fist that is heading right at the chief's jaw when Elliot holts his movement. Something in our client's expression must've given Elliot the reassurance he was demanding.

"Run it, Hardison," Elliot finally barks to kick off the meeting, but he is still buzzing with barely contained aggressive energy. More than usual anyway.

"So we cross-referenced the data in all the reports, searched through thousands of CCTV images, triangulated calls and GPS coordinates of possible abductors- And you don't care about all that." Unfortunately, Hardison, even I don't care how you got to the location of the man who could very well be on the brink of death. "We neared it down to a warehouse outside of New Jersey."

"You are 100% sure?" No need to pressure, Chief. Hardison has done a great job.

"Well, we are here and New Jersey is all the way over several state borders, you should've picked a crew near DC. This is the basic point of logistics."

"Well, I am not here because of effective logistics, aren't I, Hardison?!"

"Why are you here, Ste-, hm? Because nobody else will take your shit?!"

The situation was spiraling out of control again. "Please! Let's get on with returning the poor man home in one piece. Isn't this the job we were asked to do?" Is my plea enough to get them on track? Will I ever know the true reason for this animosity between everyone?

And it does work because the Chief instantly steps away from being practically in Hardison's face and visibly gets himself together. Hardison demonstratively turns back toward the screens.

"You have proof of life?" Chief asks in a moderate tone.

"Nearby camera grabbed a partial of an arriving car and two men dragging out another one. That was a bit over three hours ago. The unconscious guy, obviously, had his head covered. So it could've been someone else-"

"I'll take my chances. Good job. I have a cargo plane on standby. How many others are we picking up?" The question is addressed to Elliot, who, I suppose, is to bring up additional backup.

"No need. We go as we are," Elliot replies in his usual gruff manner.

"And what is the plan here? Are you planning to just waltz in there, grifting your way to distract armed and dangerous men of an unknown number while Spencer gets Graig out through the back entrance?!"

Now that does sound thoughtless. Although I saw Sophie's crew work with less. Also… I don't remember any client questioning the crew's capabilities before, they are usually completely captivated by things happening as if on their own accord, miraculously delivering results the client asked for. Here the client knows exactly what our crew is capable of and even questions our methods. Interesting development indeed…

"This worked before. On numerous occasions. Occasions you should be knowledgeable of." Should he be, Sophie? Why? Because he was part of those jobs?

"This is not going to be another Maltese Falcon, Sophie. You had time back then, a proper introduction. And despite all that… You remember, how that job ended, do you? If I am to leave that warehouse with a body bag, it will be only one."

The somber silence that engulfs the room, confirms my suspicions. Something truly traumatic happened to drive the wedge between the crew and our current client. Was it the loss of another crew member? How many such losses occurred during their work together? And was the Chief worried about it happening again to us taking the drug cartel head-on? Sophie's sadistic ice queen act can take us only so far. They are rough and violent people. Any little thing can set them off, which usually ends with shooting anything that moves.

"You need a distraction. Preferably without the need to show your faces to anybody in the warehouse."

"Alright. We will get the details on the plane. Sorry, Breanna dear, but you are sitting this one out. And cargo plane, really? You've always been a cheapskate."

"We don't have time to mess with your fake IDs for a charter plane, Sophie. Moreover… Don't you need your truck?"

By sheer luck, I am standing near Hardsion when the question is asked and I see how his expression instantly changes into one of admiration, even if he has been spitting vitriol at the Chief just moments before. Because nobody remembers the truck…