Part I (and on LJ)

It’s written in an experimental style for me, and, well, it’s fanfic, so pls. be kind.

Fade in from commercial as a black-haired woman aims a rifle at Eliot.

She’s wearing the same outfit as the men on the floor – black fatigues, black tank top, black jacket. She’s too slender, too weedy, to be believable as a soldier, and her hair is loose, tangled black curls everywhere. She’s aiming the rifle with military precision, though.

“Shoot me.” Eliot grunts out the challenge. “Come on, shoot me. You can’t, can’t you? You need me alive.”

“Yep.” She pulls the trigger.

Location: Their Newest Office.
Time: The next morning

“So, this is what we have. Sophie and Parker cased the bar; the bartender remembers Eliot and King going out for a smoke; King was drunk enough that he was falling all over Eliot.”

The Last Call Bar

“I have to say, they weren’t the sort that I pegged for being a little bit swish, you know, but the way the older guy was all over the younger one…” The bartender sits down on one of his own stools. “Sorry, ma’am. You said the old guy was your husband?”

“Ex.” Sophie’s persona snips the word off. “My ex-husband. And his boyfriend, you say? Well, that certainly explains a lot about him and his poker games.”

Gambling debt explains a lot. The bartender nods. “Men do stupid things when they’re trying to hide things, ma’am. I’m awfully sorry. It’s just, he ran out on a tab…”

The Office.

“And Parker found in the back…”

Parker dumps a bag onto the table; cigarette butts and matches fall onto the table. “This isn’t the interesting part, unless you find it interesting how many cheap cigarettes people smoke. No, this is.” With thick gloves on, she extracts a single needle-tip from an envelope. She sets it down on top of the envelope and adds a spent cartridge.

“Tranq. He was tranqued.“ Hardison glares at the dart as if it’s offended him. “Shit.”

“And King?” Nate is staring at the needle, too. “Concrete facts, Hardison. King?”

“As far as we can tell, he’s missing, too.”

Somewhere in Tír na Cali

Eliot comes to in a glass box; the box is only big enough for him to sit in. His hands are shackled behind his back, his ankles cuffed together, and the metal collar he is wearing is thick and clunky-looking.

There is a man we haven’t seen before in the cell to his left; in the cell to his right sits an uncomfortable-looking Brendan King. Both are wearing the same sort of plastic collar that Eliot was earlier sporting; neither are handcuffed.

A gorgeous redhead strides into view, her heels clicking loudly on the floor.

Cut to Commercial.

Part IV (and on LJ)

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/649510.html. You can comment here or there.

Part I (and on LJ)

It’s written in an experimental style for me, and, well, it’s fanfic, so pls. be kind.

Fade in from commercial: an expensive chair, the back of a woman wearing very expensive high heels and a sleek business suit, Eliot’s back.

“I did say behave.”

Eliot clenches his jaw. From behind him, we can see how his fists, too, are clenched. Lash marks mar his back, some fresh, some already beginning to heal.

“Now kneel.” The woman’s voice is like knives, sharp and cold.

“Fu-” The electric sound fills the air again. Eliot’s hands twitch and once again clench into fists.

“Kneel.”

And he kneels.

Location: Their Newest Office.
Time: The evening Eliot was taken

“I’m telling you, this is where the tracker went dead.” Hardison jabs his finger at his state-of-the-art screen, at a glowing point on the map that indicates Eliot’s last-known: the red box noting the mark’s watering hole of choice suggests he’d moved a couple miles north of the Last Call Bar.

“But that doesn’t make any sense.” Nate is frowning; that’s fair, they are all frowning. But he’s frowning at the data. “I mean, the plan was for Eliot to bring the mark out to his car, and then take him back to the warehouse.” He gestures broadly at the map. “The car is gone…”

“Tracker disabled, car missing, not in any junkyard we’ve been able to find.” Hardison’s voice goes from short to snapppish. Nobody notices. “And what’s more? King’s car is missing, too. And so’s King.”

“Eliot was supposed to make Brendan King vanish.” Sophie purses her lips. “That was the con. Get him to spill everything in front of a witness…”

“And then buckle him up tight.” Hardison nods. “Yes, exactly. The thing is, they were supposed to vanish from everyone but us. This… this is not everyone but us.”

Parker twists in her chair, looking between the other three members of the team. When she speaks, her voice is very quiet. “You don’t think he’s ditched us, do you?”

Deep in Tir Na Cali
As the team is discussing his disappearance

Eliot throws a punch, knocking a man to the ground. Surrounding him are the bodies of five others, all wearing the same uniform: black on black, with black hats. The room in concrete block with narrow metal beds; a chain link gate swings open behind him.

Eliot is wearing a plastic collar, bright orange, and half a pair of handcuffs.

Behind him, a black-haired woman aims a rifle.

Cut to Commercial.

Part III (LJ)

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/646705.html. You can comment here or there.

This is … what happens when you let me watch an entire season of Leverage in a week and a half. *cough* Tír na Cali/Leverage fanfiction crossover.

It’s written in an experimental style for me, and, well, it’s fanfic, so pls. be kind.

“Hardison, no!”

Alec Hardison levels a gun at a pretty redhead; her eyes narrow. Behind Hardison, Eliot shouts out. A glint of gold can be seen around his neck.

The redhead moves.

Three weeks earlier

“And that’s when she left me.” The man has been crying into his whiskey for an hour, while Eliot keeps the drinks coming and pretended to be interested. “And she took the Molier.”

This is the piece of information that they’ve been waiting for. “Damn, man.” Eliot shakes his head in sympathy. “Damn, that’s hard.”

The drunk is patting his pockets. “Got a light?”

“Yeah, but you can’t smoke in here. Come on, I’ll join you.” He tilts his head towards the back porch.

They step out onto the porch, the only ones out there. It’s a Tuesday night, and the bar was nearly empty to begin with; a few nudges cleared it out. There’s nobody to interfere with –

Eliot never sees who hits him with the tranq dart. The dart lands; he shoves the mark out of the way. “Nate?” He pulls the dart out. “Nate, I’m hit. I’m…”

Not even an elephant tranq should be that fast-acting. He goes down on top of the mark, swearing into the com.

Location: Deep in Tír na Cali.
Time: Four days later

“Now remember to behave until I hand you over.” The woman was gorgeous – red hair like a flame, body sleek like an athlete, dressed like a businesswoman. Her eyes are pale, her smile painted-on, and her nails are very sharp, which Eliot has had cause to learn, if the lines across his face are any indication.

He is wearing, in addition to her claw-marks, a very thick metal collar, shackles just as thick, and thin pants that don’t suit him.

“Behave.” He snarls it, half an agreement, half a question, but does not move. The redhead still tut-tuts at him.

“I did say behave.” She pushes a button waiting in her hand. A buzzing zzap fills the air, brief but loud. Eliot clenches his jaw, refusing to shudder.

Cut to commercial.

Part Two (and on LJ)
Part III (and on LJ)

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/645538.html. You can comment here or there.