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telarynTitle: Apart From The World
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
telaryn
Word Count: 3530
Fandom: Leverage/SPN
Characters: Ellen/Eliot, Sam, Dean, Nate Ford
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: None
Disclaimer: No ownership implied, no profit obtained.
Summary: Pursuit of an artifact stolen from Wolfram & Hart takes Nate on a collision course with Eliot's attempt at a normal life.
Author's Note: Written for![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
angst_bingo's Round 3, for the prompt "bullet wound". I really did intend for Nate to get shot was well, but it just refused to go that way.
The simple truth was that with his commissions on top of his base salary Nate brought in more money than Maggie did. Not to mention it was his insurance coverage standing between their son and a slow, torturous decline. As much as he might want to be with his family, Nate understood that changing things now was a death sentence for Sam.
Truth and facts didn’t stop him hating the whole mess, however, and they certainly didn’t stop the silent litany of curses that echoed in his mind. Ian, IYS, Wolfram & Hart – each of them bore the brunt of some of Nate’s silent resentment. The international law firm had requested him specifically for this retrieval, and they paid enough money to IYS every year that Ian wasn’t interested in any sort of compromise Nate had tried to offer.
Which was why he was currently in a house in the middle of Nowhere, Nebraska, ransacking a battered army duffel bag for the priceless artifact Wolfram & Hart had reported stolen three days earlier. The attorneys he’d met with had been adamant about the identity of the thieves, and the building security system had backed them up nicely. Sam and Dean Winchester. Brothers – each with the sort of history that had convinced Nate to do this job quick and dirty. No cons, no games, and his .38 close at hand.
His knuckles had just brushed against something the right shape and size, wrapped in heavy cloth and stuffed at the bottom of the bag, when he heard the front door open. Dammit. Switching to his left hand, Nate drew his gun with his right and aimed at the closed bedroom door. Heart pounding, he continued trying to extract the object from the suddenly tangled mess of cloth and canvas.
He was only going to get one chance at this.
*************
It had been a good night – the closest to normal Sam and Dean saw these days. They’d decided to tag along with Eliot and Ellen when they headed off for the night’s work at The Roadhouse. Dean had been particularly surprised to learn that Eliot was helping part time with the cooking while Ellen tended bar – the new man in Ellen Harvelle’s life definitely didn’t read like somebody who knew his way around a kitchen.
Then he tasted Eliot Spencer’s idea of a bacon cheeseburger, and Dean found himself seriously wondering how an offer of marriage was likely to go over. He’d managed to stop himself from going that far, but when Eliot had asked him during a break how he liked the food, Dean had started babbling to the point of utter embarrassment. Sam had finally thrown an ice cube at him to shut him up. Spencer hadn’t said anything, but he did seem pleased that Dean liked his cooking.
The last thing Dean expected – the last thing any of them expected – was that they’d come home to an intruder in Ellen’s house.
Sam had been making noises about taking advantage of the washer and dryer in Ellen’s basement before they set off on their next job. While Dean, Eliot and Ellen were busy sharing stories about a couple of tourists that had wandered into the bar that night, the youngest Winchester disappeared into the bedroom they’d been using.
“Whoa! What the hell?”
Dean was moving before Sam’s startled exclamation had died away, drawing his pistol as he ran. He hit the open doorway in time to see Sam – hands in the air – being covered by a stranger with a .38 revolver in one hand, and the artifact they’d acquired for their next job in his other. Dean drew a bead on the intruder’s forehead just as the stranger’s eyes ticked to his. “Drop it.”
“You first,” Dean said, trying to maneuver so that his cover was maximized. The man was older than they were – early forties, with thick, curly hair.
“What the fuck’s going on?” He could hear Ellen and Eliot behind him, and frantically waved them back.
“We’ve got a visitor,” he said, not taking his eyes off the man with the gun.
“What’s he carrying?” Eliot asked, his voice low and cautious. Dean risked a glance to his right and saw Spencer taking up a position to the latch side of the doorway.
“A .38,” the stranger said, pitching his voice loud enough to be heard in the next room. “And if everyone will just relax and back up, I’ll be on my way and Sam here will continue breathing.”
Sam asked the question a fraction of a second before Dean could. “How do you know who we are?”
The man grinned darkly at them. “I do my homework.” He raised the wrapped bundle in his left hand. “And my clients will be very glad to get this back.”
Dean risked a glance at Eliot again and saw the man give a quick, sharp nod. “All right,” he said loudly, raising his hands. “Nobody needs to get hurt here. You’ve got what you came for.”
“Dean,” Sam started to argue, “he’s got the…”
“He’s got the gun, Sam,” Dean said sharply, cutting him off. “That gives him the advantage, unless you’re tired of being the pretty one.” He took an exaggerated step backwards. “Everybody just needs to calm the hell down.”
Eyeing him suspiciously, the intruder gestured at Sam with his weapon. Sam began backing up – making no attempt to attack the man or ruffle him in any way.
In addition to being stupid a phenomenal cook, a nice guy and stupid in love with Ellen Harvelle, Eliot Spencer was also one of the best trained fighters Sam and Dean had ever met. There’s a lot of redacted intel in those files Ash put together, he’d told them once, and Dean had tried really hard not to think about the implications of that. What he’d seen was enough to make him very, very glad Eliot was on their side.
Sam finally cleared the door; Dean saw Eliot tense. As soon as the intruder appeared in the doorway, Spencer moved. Before Dean could put together everything that happened, Eliot had the man disarmed and spun face first into the nearest wall – his arm twisted up behind his back. “I thought I recognized your voice,” he said, plucking the wrapped artifact out of the man’s hand and tossing it safely to a nearby couch.
“Who the hell is he?” Ellen demanded, stepping forward. “And you’ve got about a minute to tell me why I’m not calling the Sheriff.”
It was Dean’s turn to tense when Eliot let the man go and stepped back. “He’s a cop,” Spencer said, glancing at them. “Sort of.”
Fuck, Dean thought, resisting the urge to look at the artifact again.
“Insurance retrieval,” the man said, exhaling sharply before he turned to face them. “My name is Nathan Ford.” He locked eyes with Eliot. “And I’m surprised to see you involved in this. Holland Manners said they weren’t allowing Lindsey to bring you in on the retrieval, but I…”
“You’re working for Wolfram & Hart?” Eliot asked – his expression suddenly hard and dangerous. Dean glanced at Ellen, looking for some clue as to what was going on, but she looked just as lost as he felt.
Ford’s eyes widened with realization, and he started to laugh. “You’re not involved.” He looked at Sam, then Dean. “You had no idea what they were doing.”
“Eliot,” Sam began, but Spencer had rounded on them.
“You stole something from Wolfram & Hart?” He was as close to angry as any of them had ever seen him.
“We needed it for the job in Little Rock,” Sam protested, but before either of them could say anything else Eliot turned and walked out of the house.
***************
Wolfram & Hart. Those stupid sons of bitches. Eliot forced himself to breathe through the tangle of emotions suddenly roiling through his gut. It didn’t bother him that the boys had stolen an artifact; he understood hunters had a flexible morality when it came to being able to do their jobs. It was part of the reason he felt so comfortable around them.
They’ll know where you are. That was the heart of it. Eliot wasn’t afraid for himself – his twin brother was a controlling bastard, but he was blood and that meant something. His fear was for Ellen, and by extension Ash and Jo, and the girls at The Roadhouse. These people had accepted him into their lives, despite all sane arguments to the contrary. And while Ellen had assured him repeatedly that she would stand by him no matter what part of his past tried to come calling – Wolfram & Hart was a mess he couldn’t bring to her doorstep.
Not and face himself in the mirror.
All right, all right – think, dammit! Ford was a reasonable sort as insurance cops went. I’ll talk to him, let him take the artifact back…
One of the deepest truths Eliot lived with was that if somebody decided to put a half-way competent sniper in his path, only luck would save him. In that moment he was thinking fast, trying to find a solution everybody could live with, but it was an understatement to say that he was off his game. He heard the shot, but was too distracted to understand what it meant and force his body to react in time.
Fire seared a hole through his left chest, just below the collar bone. The world went soft around him; he registered that he’d stumbled back into the weathered table where he and Ellen sometimes ate breakfast, but he couldn’t feel the impact his body made as it struck the wood and he rolled awkwardly to the deck.
Breathe… Was he breathing? It was suddenly very important that he figure out what his body was still capable of doing. Eliot focused all his attention on his lungs and drew and experimental breath. It hurt as bad as anything he’d ever experienced – bad enough that he cried out in pain, his back bowing reflexively against the deck.
“Eliot?”
“Stay back!” he cried out, desperate to keep any of the rest of them from walking into the same trap he had. “Sniper!” The word was broken on his tongue, and all Eliot could do was pray that one of them had understood.
**************
“Out of my way.” Ellen’s expression was fierce, as she squared off against the Winchesters. Dean was standing between her and the door, but Sam was hovering close enough to grab her if she bolted towards Eliot. Gunshot…sniper…oh God…
“Not happening,” Dean said – and she knew immediately from the look in his green eyes that she would have a fight on her hands if she tried.
While they were faced off, Ellen caught movement out of the corner of her eye. “Hey!” Sam exclaimed, making a half-hearted grab for the man who’d broken into her house – the man they’d momentarily forgotten in the confusion.
The man Eliot recognized, Ellen realized, using the direction to bolt for the front window. Dean started to move to intercept her, but stopped when he realized she wasn’t going for the door. Ellen crouched at the glass, making herself as small a target as she could before twitching the curtain aside.
Dammit, Cowboy… No matter how much they wanted it, Eliot wasn’t the kind of man whose past would just step off and let him live in peace.
Ellen finally spotted him, lying at the edge of the porch. The insurance cop - Nathan Ford she remembered – had reached his side, and seemed to be applying pressure to a wound in Eliot’s chest. Eliot’s right hand was gripping Ford’s arm and the two appeared to be talking. “There’s still a sniper out there,” Ellen said, glancing at Dean. “You boys find him or make sure he’s gone.”
“Don’t suppose you’ll stay here?” Dean asked. When she just stared at him, he sighed and shook his head. “Great.”
She waited until they’d both left by the back door before slipping out the front. Ford glanced at her. “It’s bad. We need an ambulance.”
Ignoring him, Ellen slipped around to Eliot’s side. “Am I calling an ambulance?” she asked, taking his hand off Ford’s arm and wrapping her fingers around his. Her heart was hammering so hard against her ribcage she couldn’t breathe right.
Even in the strange light of the security lamp, Eliot didn’t look good. After looking at her for a long moment, he sighed quietly, closed his eyes and shook his head. Ellen looked back at Ford. “Boys are beating the bushes for the sniper. “Help me get him inside – I can handle the rest.”
*******************
Eliot Spencer was the most dangerous criminal Nate had ever pursued. He’d lost more times than he won, and his few victories over Spencer could only be counted by his successful recovery of whatever item had been stolen.
”They can’t know about her. Help me.”
It was a desperate plea, made all the moreso by the heel of Nate’s hand pressing against the bullet hole in Eliot’s chest.
Dawn filled the small front room with a soft light. Sam Winchester and Ellen had been in the kitchen for the past several hours, presumably trying to keep Eliot from bleeding to death. Even though he understood Spencer’s caution, Nate suspected it was likely to end up being a fatal error that they hadn’t called an ambulance.
He held his tongue on the matter, however; when the dust settled, he still had a family to go home to. Right now he was surrounded by exactly the sort of people who could keep that from happening and not lose a whole heck of a lot of sleep in the process.
At least they caught the sniper. The man, Montague, was tied to a chair on one side of the room. Nate’s own handcuffs had been donated to secure his wrists behind his back. Dean Winchester sat nearby, his pistol in his hand – Nate could tell he assumed he was guarding Nate as well as Montague.
We’ll see… Montague had turned out to be a professional, also hired by Wolfram & hart. For reasons Montague couldn’t full explain, the law firm had suspected Eliot was in close proximity to their missing artifact, and Holland Manners had made the understandable leap to assuming his direct involvement in the theft.
“That explains why they made a point of telling me you wouldn’t be involved in the retrieval,” Nate said, just before Sam pushed him out of the kitchen.
Dean tensed suddenly, almost exactly at the same moment Nate saw Ellen coming towards them from the kitchen. The white apron she was wearing was streaked with blood, and she was wiping her hands on a cloth. “How is he?” Nate asked, pushing to his feet.
Ellen glanced at him, and he saw a flash of emotion in her expression. “He’ll live.” Turning back to Dean Ellen said, “He wants to talk to you both. I’m asking you as a personal favor to do what he says. I’ve already talked to Bobby, and he’s got some ideas about Little Rock – he said to call him as soon as you hit the road.”
Dean licked his lips, and Nate could see a flurry of questions and protests chasing across the handsome, square-jawed face. In the end though, all he said was, “What about him?” He jerked his head in Montague’s direction.
“We’ll handle him.” She smiled coldly at Nate. “Him too.” Looking at Dean again, she laid her hand against his cheek. “You get going now. I want this wrapped up, so he’ll agree to take his pills and go to bed.”
****************
It was weakness she couldn’t afford, but Ellen felt most of her remaining strength drain out of her as soon as Dean had left the room. Too much. Too much had happened – there were too many people around. She needed it to be just her and Eliot once more, then maybe she could feel like everything would be all right again.
“You can cut out the middleman just by calling my employers,” Montague said. “They’ll bail me out one way or the other as soon as I’m processed.”
Ellen realized with a start that she was too tired to deal with the sniper. His fate was set; they didn’t have a choice in the matter. “Shut up or I’ll gag you,” she said finally.
The insurance cop snorted softly, drawing her attention. “Nathan, right?” she asked, scrubbing a hand across her tired eyes.
“Nate.” The man looked thoughtful. “How is he? Really?”
He cares. The realization was surprising and confusing – Ellen suddenly wasn’t sure how she was supposed to behave around him. The man was law; Eliot was definitely…not. “He’ll pull through,” she said. “Dead Eye there wasn’t looking to put him down for good. We got the bullet, and he’s promised me he’ll behave himself about recovering.”
The man nodded. “Good. I still think he should have gone to a hospital.”
Ellen smiled tightly. “You’re entitled to your opinion, but I take care of my own.” She paused, unsure whether she wanted to deliver the message she had for this one. “The boys are going to be hitting the road,” she said finally. “As soon as he’s talked to them, he wants a word with you.”
**************
She was important to Spencer – at least as important as he was to her. It was a weakness Nate had never thought he’d be privy to; a weakness he couldn’t in good conscience exploit. How would you feel if somebody came after Maggie or Sam? He didn’t know all the details of Eliot’s relationship with Wolfram & Hart, but the presence of the sniper on the scene spoke volumes about the reality of the danger Spencer believed they presented.
“I’m not a doctor,” he said, leaning against the open kitchen door, “but I’m pretty sure they advise rest after getting shot in the chest.”
Eliot was sitting on the edge of the kitchen table, looking as though he was taking a break from trying to get to his feet. “I’ve come back from worse,” he said, glancing up at Nate with a wolfish grin. “Can still take your sorry ass.”
Nate laughed, moving further into the kitchen. “You won’t hear me arguing.” In a perversely ironic twist, Spencer’s beaten down condition made him seem more dangerous – not less. “Your lady said you wanted to talk to me?”
There was a brief flash of something almost – soft – in Eliot’s eyes, before he remembered himself. “I meant what I said outside, Ford,” he said, meeting Nate’s eyes without flinching. “The company can’t know about Ellen. I’m off the grid, out of the game. I haven’t even told Lindsey about this place; where I am.”
“You’re deliberately putting me in the driver’s seat,” Nate said.
“I’m hoping we can come to an agreement we can both live with,” Eliot countered. “Killing you would eliminate the chance that you might speak out of school, but you’re basically a decent guy, and you did save my life.”
Trying to breathe through the spike of adrenaline that hit his system on the heels of the casual threat against his life, Nate said calmly, “I’ll need the artifact. That part’s non-negotiable.”
Eliot nodded. “You’ll have it. If I’d known what the boys did, I would have taken care of things before they got this far.”
Nate was quiet for a moment, considering the situation. “What about Montague,” he asked. “Holland Manners already suspects you’re connected to the theft.”
The same wolfish grin he’d seen moments earlier returned. “It’s a little more complicated than that, but I’m reasonably sure that’s nothing you want to be involved with.” He sighed, sobering slightly. “We’ll handle Montague. You don’t need to worry about him.”
They were pretty words, but Nate was a realist. “You’re going to have to kill him,” he said quietly. “You can’t trust that he’s going to keep quiet.” He felt foolish saying it out loud to somebody like Eliot Spencer, but the man seemed like he was genuinely trying to carve out a life for himself here, away from the blood and the violence. It changed things.
“I know.” Spencer’s expression was perfectly neutral – the statement so devoid of emotion he might have been commenting on the weather.
Ellen appeared in the doorway – Nate realized he hadn’t heard her approach. Her attention tracked immediately to Eliot, and she nodded. “Does she?” Ford asked. He wouldn’t have pegged the woman as being okay with the measures Eliot was going to have to take to keep Montague from talking, but he’d also never been able to imagine the type of person that could look at somebody like Eliot Spencer with such quiet, uncompromising acceptance.
Eliot’s attention had shifted automatically to Ellen. The movement was natural, easy, and spoke volumes about what was really going on between the two of them. They can’t take their eyes off each other.
When Spencer spoke again, his voice was full of more emotion than Nate would have thought possible. “She does.”
Author:
telarynWord Count: 3530
Fandom: Leverage/SPN
Characters: Ellen/Eliot, Sam, Dean, Nate Ford
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: None
Disclaimer: No ownership implied, no profit obtained.
Summary: Pursuit of an artifact stolen from Wolfram & Hart takes Nate on a collision course with Eliot's attempt at a normal life.
Author's Note: Written for
angst_bingo's Round 3, for the prompt "bullet wound". I really did intend for Nate to get shot was well, but it just refused to go that way.The simple truth was that with his commissions on top of his base salary Nate brought in more money than Maggie did. Not to mention it was his insurance coverage standing between their son and a slow, torturous decline. As much as he might want to be with his family, Nate understood that changing things now was a death sentence for Sam.
Truth and facts didn’t stop him hating the whole mess, however, and they certainly didn’t stop the silent litany of curses that echoed in his mind. Ian, IYS, Wolfram & Hart – each of them bore the brunt of some of Nate’s silent resentment. The international law firm had requested him specifically for this retrieval, and they paid enough money to IYS every year that Ian wasn’t interested in any sort of compromise Nate had tried to offer.
Which was why he was currently in a house in the middle of Nowhere, Nebraska, ransacking a battered army duffel bag for the priceless artifact Wolfram & Hart had reported stolen three days earlier. The attorneys he’d met with had been adamant about the identity of the thieves, and the building security system had backed them up nicely. Sam and Dean Winchester. Brothers – each with the sort of history that had convinced Nate to do this job quick and dirty. No cons, no games, and his .38 close at hand.
His knuckles had just brushed against something the right shape and size, wrapped in heavy cloth and stuffed at the bottom of the bag, when he heard the front door open. Dammit. Switching to his left hand, Nate drew his gun with his right and aimed at the closed bedroom door. Heart pounding, he continued trying to extract the object from the suddenly tangled mess of cloth and canvas.
He was only going to get one chance at this.
*************
It had been a good night – the closest to normal Sam and Dean saw these days. They’d decided to tag along with Eliot and Ellen when they headed off for the night’s work at The Roadhouse. Dean had been particularly surprised to learn that Eliot was helping part time with the cooking while Ellen tended bar – the new man in Ellen Harvelle’s life definitely didn’t read like somebody who knew his way around a kitchen.
Then he tasted Eliot Spencer’s idea of a bacon cheeseburger, and Dean found himself seriously wondering how an offer of marriage was likely to go over. He’d managed to stop himself from going that far, but when Eliot had asked him during a break how he liked the food, Dean had started babbling to the point of utter embarrassment. Sam had finally thrown an ice cube at him to shut him up. Spencer hadn’t said anything, but he did seem pleased that Dean liked his cooking.
The last thing Dean expected – the last thing any of them expected – was that they’d come home to an intruder in Ellen’s house.
Sam had been making noises about taking advantage of the washer and dryer in Ellen’s basement before they set off on their next job. While Dean, Eliot and Ellen were busy sharing stories about a couple of tourists that had wandered into the bar that night, the youngest Winchester disappeared into the bedroom they’d been using.
“Whoa! What the hell?”
Dean was moving before Sam’s startled exclamation had died away, drawing his pistol as he ran. He hit the open doorway in time to see Sam – hands in the air – being covered by a stranger with a .38 revolver in one hand, and the artifact they’d acquired for their next job in his other. Dean drew a bead on the intruder’s forehead just as the stranger’s eyes ticked to his. “Drop it.”
“You first,” Dean said, trying to maneuver so that his cover was maximized. The man was older than they were – early forties, with thick, curly hair.
“What the fuck’s going on?” He could hear Ellen and Eliot behind him, and frantically waved them back.
“We’ve got a visitor,” he said, not taking his eyes off the man with the gun.
“What’s he carrying?” Eliot asked, his voice low and cautious. Dean risked a glance to his right and saw Spencer taking up a position to the latch side of the doorway.
“A .38,” the stranger said, pitching his voice loud enough to be heard in the next room. “And if everyone will just relax and back up, I’ll be on my way and Sam here will continue breathing.”
Sam asked the question a fraction of a second before Dean could. “How do you know who we are?”
The man grinned darkly at them. “I do my homework.” He raised the wrapped bundle in his left hand. “And my clients will be very glad to get this back.”
Dean risked a glance at Eliot again and saw the man give a quick, sharp nod. “All right,” he said loudly, raising his hands. “Nobody needs to get hurt here. You’ve got what you came for.”
“Dean,” Sam started to argue, “he’s got the…”
“He’s got the gun, Sam,” Dean said sharply, cutting him off. “That gives him the advantage, unless you’re tired of being the pretty one.” He took an exaggerated step backwards. “Everybody just needs to calm the hell down.”
Eyeing him suspiciously, the intruder gestured at Sam with his weapon. Sam began backing up – making no attempt to attack the man or ruffle him in any way.
In addition to being stupid a phenomenal cook, a nice guy and stupid in love with Ellen Harvelle, Eliot Spencer was also one of the best trained fighters Sam and Dean had ever met. There’s a lot of redacted intel in those files Ash put together, he’d told them once, and Dean had tried really hard not to think about the implications of that. What he’d seen was enough to make him very, very glad Eliot was on their side.
Sam finally cleared the door; Dean saw Eliot tense. As soon as the intruder appeared in the doorway, Spencer moved. Before Dean could put together everything that happened, Eliot had the man disarmed and spun face first into the nearest wall – his arm twisted up behind his back. “I thought I recognized your voice,” he said, plucking the wrapped artifact out of the man’s hand and tossing it safely to a nearby couch.
“Who the hell is he?” Ellen demanded, stepping forward. “And you’ve got about a minute to tell me why I’m not calling the Sheriff.”
It was Dean’s turn to tense when Eliot let the man go and stepped back. “He’s a cop,” Spencer said, glancing at them. “Sort of.”
Fuck, Dean thought, resisting the urge to look at the artifact again.
“Insurance retrieval,” the man said, exhaling sharply before he turned to face them. “My name is Nathan Ford.” He locked eyes with Eliot. “And I’m surprised to see you involved in this. Holland Manners said they weren’t allowing Lindsey to bring you in on the retrieval, but I…”
“You’re working for Wolfram & Hart?” Eliot asked – his expression suddenly hard and dangerous. Dean glanced at Ellen, looking for some clue as to what was going on, but she looked just as lost as he felt.
Ford’s eyes widened with realization, and he started to laugh. “You’re not involved.” He looked at Sam, then Dean. “You had no idea what they were doing.”
“Eliot,” Sam began, but Spencer had rounded on them.
“You stole something from Wolfram & Hart?” He was as close to angry as any of them had ever seen him.
“We needed it for the job in Little Rock,” Sam protested, but before either of them could say anything else Eliot turned and walked out of the house.
***************
Wolfram & Hart. Those stupid sons of bitches. Eliot forced himself to breathe through the tangle of emotions suddenly roiling through his gut. It didn’t bother him that the boys had stolen an artifact; he understood hunters had a flexible morality when it came to being able to do their jobs. It was part of the reason he felt so comfortable around them.
They’ll know where you are. That was the heart of it. Eliot wasn’t afraid for himself – his twin brother was a controlling bastard, but he was blood and that meant something. His fear was for Ellen, and by extension Ash and Jo, and the girls at The Roadhouse. These people had accepted him into their lives, despite all sane arguments to the contrary. And while Ellen had assured him repeatedly that she would stand by him no matter what part of his past tried to come calling – Wolfram & Hart was a mess he couldn’t bring to her doorstep.
Not and face himself in the mirror.
All right, all right – think, dammit! Ford was a reasonable sort as insurance cops went. I’ll talk to him, let him take the artifact back…
One of the deepest truths Eliot lived with was that if somebody decided to put a half-way competent sniper in his path, only luck would save him. In that moment he was thinking fast, trying to find a solution everybody could live with, but it was an understatement to say that he was off his game. He heard the shot, but was too distracted to understand what it meant and force his body to react in time.
Fire seared a hole through his left chest, just below the collar bone. The world went soft around him; he registered that he’d stumbled back into the weathered table where he and Ellen sometimes ate breakfast, but he couldn’t feel the impact his body made as it struck the wood and he rolled awkwardly to the deck.
Breathe… Was he breathing? It was suddenly very important that he figure out what his body was still capable of doing. Eliot focused all his attention on his lungs and drew and experimental breath. It hurt as bad as anything he’d ever experienced – bad enough that he cried out in pain, his back bowing reflexively against the deck.
“Eliot?”
“Stay back!” he cried out, desperate to keep any of the rest of them from walking into the same trap he had. “Sniper!” The word was broken on his tongue, and all Eliot could do was pray that one of them had understood.
**************
“Out of my way.” Ellen’s expression was fierce, as she squared off against the Winchesters. Dean was standing between her and the door, but Sam was hovering close enough to grab her if she bolted towards Eliot. Gunshot…sniper…oh God…
“Not happening,” Dean said – and she knew immediately from the look in his green eyes that she would have a fight on her hands if she tried.
While they were faced off, Ellen caught movement out of the corner of her eye. “Hey!” Sam exclaimed, making a half-hearted grab for the man who’d broken into her house – the man they’d momentarily forgotten in the confusion.
The man Eliot recognized, Ellen realized, using the direction to bolt for the front window. Dean started to move to intercept her, but stopped when he realized she wasn’t going for the door. Ellen crouched at the glass, making herself as small a target as she could before twitching the curtain aside.
Dammit, Cowboy… No matter how much they wanted it, Eliot wasn’t the kind of man whose past would just step off and let him live in peace.
Ellen finally spotted him, lying at the edge of the porch. The insurance cop - Nathan Ford she remembered – had reached his side, and seemed to be applying pressure to a wound in Eliot’s chest. Eliot’s right hand was gripping Ford’s arm and the two appeared to be talking. “There’s still a sniper out there,” Ellen said, glancing at Dean. “You boys find him or make sure he’s gone.”
“Don’t suppose you’ll stay here?” Dean asked. When she just stared at him, he sighed and shook his head. “Great.”
She waited until they’d both left by the back door before slipping out the front. Ford glanced at her. “It’s bad. We need an ambulance.”
Ignoring him, Ellen slipped around to Eliot’s side. “Am I calling an ambulance?” she asked, taking his hand off Ford’s arm and wrapping her fingers around his. Her heart was hammering so hard against her ribcage she couldn’t breathe right.
Even in the strange light of the security lamp, Eliot didn’t look good. After looking at her for a long moment, he sighed quietly, closed his eyes and shook his head. Ellen looked back at Ford. “Boys are beating the bushes for the sniper. “Help me get him inside – I can handle the rest.”
*******************
Eliot Spencer was the most dangerous criminal Nate had ever pursued. He’d lost more times than he won, and his few victories over Spencer could only be counted by his successful recovery of whatever item had been stolen.
”They can’t know about her. Help me.”
It was a desperate plea, made all the moreso by the heel of Nate’s hand pressing against the bullet hole in Eliot’s chest.
Dawn filled the small front room with a soft light. Sam Winchester and Ellen had been in the kitchen for the past several hours, presumably trying to keep Eliot from bleeding to death. Even though he understood Spencer’s caution, Nate suspected it was likely to end up being a fatal error that they hadn’t called an ambulance.
He held his tongue on the matter, however; when the dust settled, he still had a family to go home to. Right now he was surrounded by exactly the sort of people who could keep that from happening and not lose a whole heck of a lot of sleep in the process.
At least they caught the sniper. The man, Montague, was tied to a chair on one side of the room. Nate’s own handcuffs had been donated to secure his wrists behind his back. Dean Winchester sat nearby, his pistol in his hand – Nate could tell he assumed he was guarding Nate as well as Montague.
We’ll see… Montague had turned out to be a professional, also hired by Wolfram & hart. For reasons Montague couldn’t full explain, the law firm had suspected Eliot was in close proximity to their missing artifact, and Holland Manners had made the understandable leap to assuming his direct involvement in the theft.
“That explains why they made a point of telling me you wouldn’t be involved in the retrieval,” Nate said, just before Sam pushed him out of the kitchen.
Dean tensed suddenly, almost exactly at the same moment Nate saw Ellen coming towards them from the kitchen. The white apron she was wearing was streaked with blood, and she was wiping her hands on a cloth. “How is he?” Nate asked, pushing to his feet.
Ellen glanced at him, and he saw a flash of emotion in her expression. “He’ll live.” Turning back to Dean Ellen said, “He wants to talk to you both. I’m asking you as a personal favor to do what he says. I’ve already talked to Bobby, and he’s got some ideas about Little Rock – he said to call him as soon as you hit the road.”
Dean licked his lips, and Nate could see a flurry of questions and protests chasing across the handsome, square-jawed face. In the end though, all he said was, “What about him?” He jerked his head in Montague’s direction.
“We’ll handle him.” She smiled coldly at Nate. “Him too.” Looking at Dean again, she laid her hand against his cheek. “You get going now. I want this wrapped up, so he’ll agree to take his pills and go to bed.”
****************
It was weakness she couldn’t afford, but Ellen felt most of her remaining strength drain out of her as soon as Dean had left the room. Too much. Too much had happened – there were too many people around. She needed it to be just her and Eliot once more, then maybe she could feel like everything would be all right again.
“You can cut out the middleman just by calling my employers,” Montague said. “They’ll bail me out one way or the other as soon as I’m processed.”
Ellen realized with a start that she was too tired to deal with the sniper. His fate was set; they didn’t have a choice in the matter. “Shut up or I’ll gag you,” she said finally.
The insurance cop snorted softly, drawing her attention. “Nathan, right?” she asked, scrubbing a hand across her tired eyes.
“Nate.” The man looked thoughtful. “How is he? Really?”
He cares. The realization was surprising and confusing – Ellen suddenly wasn’t sure how she was supposed to behave around him. The man was law; Eliot was definitely…not. “He’ll pull through,” she said. “Dead Eye there wasn’t looking to put him down for good. We got the bullet, and he’s promised me he’ll behave himself about recovering.”
The man nodded. “Good. I still think he should have gone to a hospital.”
Ellen smiled tightly. “You’re entitled to your opinion, but I take care of my own.” She paused, unsure whether she wanted to deliver the message she had for this one. “The boys are going to be hitting the road,” she said finally. “As soon as he’s talked to them, he wants a word with you.”
**************
She was important to Spencer – at least as important as he was to her. It was a weakness Nate had never thought he’d be privy to; a weakness he couldn’t in good conscience exploit. How would you feel if somebody came after Maggie or Sam? He didn’t know all the details of Eliot’s relationship with Wolfram & Hart, but the presence of the sniper on the scene spoke volumes about the reality of the danger Spencer believed they presented.
“I’m not a doctor,” he said, leaning against the open kitchen door, “but I’m pretty sure they advise rest after getting shot in the chest.”
Eliot was sitting on the edge of the kitchen table, looking as though he was taking a break from trying to get to his feet. “I’ve come back from worse,” he said, glancing up at Nate with a wolfish grin. “Can still take your sorry ass.”
Nate laughed, moving further into the kitchen. “You won’t hear me arguing.” In a perversely ironic twist, Spencer’s beaten down condition made him seem more dangerous – not less. “Your lady said you wanted to talk to me?”
There was a brief flash of something almost – soft – in Eliot’s eyes, before he remembered himself. “I meant what I said outside, Ford,” he said, meeting Nate’s eyes without flinching. “The company can’t know about Ellen. I’m off the grid, out of the game. I haven’t even told Lindsey about this place; where I am.”
“You’re deliberately putting me in the driver’s seat,” Nate said.
“I’m hoping we can come to an agreement we can both live with,” Eliot countered. “Killing you would eliminate the chance that you might speak out of school, but you’re basically a decent guy, and you did save my life.”
Trying to breathe through the spike of adrenaline that hit his system on the heels of the casual threat against his life, Nate said calmly, “I’ll need the artifact. That part’s non-negotiable.”
Eliot nodded. “You’ll have it. If I’d known what the boys did, I would have taken care of things before they got this far.”
Nate was quiet for a moment, considering the situation. “What about Montague,” he asked. “Holland Manners already suspects you’re connected to the theft.”
The same wolfish grin he’d seen moments earlier returned. “It’s a little more complicated than that, but I’m reasonably sure that’s nothing you want to be involved with.” He sighed, sobering slightly. “We’ll handle Montague. You don’t need to worry about him.”
They were pretty words, but Nate was a realist. “You’re going to have to kill him,” he said quietly. “You can’t trust that he’s going to keep quiet.” He felt foolish saying it out loud to somebody like Eliot Spencer, but the man seemed like he was genuinely trying to carve out a life for himself here, away from the blood and the violence. It changed things.
“I know.” Spencer’s expression was perfectly neutral – the statement so devoid of emotion he might have been commenting on the weather.
Ellen appeared in the doorway – Nate realized he hadn’t heard her approach. Her attention tracked immediately to Eliot, and she nodded. “Does she?” Ford asked. He wouldn’t have pegged the woman as being okay with the measures Eliot was going to have to take to keep Montague from talking, but he’d also never been able to imagine the type of person that could look at somebody like Eliot Spencer with such quiet, uncompromising acceptance.
Eliot’s attention had shifted automatically to Ellen. The movement was natural, easy, and spoke volumes about what was really going on between the two of them. They can’t take their eyes off each other.
When Spencer spoke again, his voice was full of more emotion than Nate would have thought possible. “She does.”
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19/12/11 23:15 (UTC)Eliot and Ellen, then throw Nate in the mix and everything pre-Leverage. I adore you so much right now, this is so great, I can't even start to describe it.
Love how Nate sees more about the relationship and feelings existing between Ellen and Eliot.
It's perfect, that's what it is. The only 'fault'? I want a fic about how Eliot and Nate meet again for the first Leverage job...