Part II (and on LJ)
Part III (and on LJ)
Part IV (and on LJ)
Part V (and on LJ)
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.
Fade in from commercial to Eliot kneeling on the floor in front of two redheaded women.
“Stand up and come with me.” The redheaded women are both looking at Eliot, but it's the one in yoga pants that speaks.
Eliot looks at her; he doesn't move, not yet. Lady Alessia is still holding the remote; she jabs her finger at the button. This time, it's a long shock, nearly enough to knock him out.
“That's enough.” Anastasia holds out her hand for the remote. “He's a lovely gift, Alessia, thank you. But if I'm going to control him, you'l have to give me the remote.”
There's a moment where Alessia hesitates, frowning. Then she nods. “Of course, dear sister. Here. And the keys as well, although I'd be careful with unlocking him. He's a bit... feral.”
“You always give me the nicest presents.” The remote goes into Anastasia's back pocket, and her arm goes under Eliot's shoulders. “Stand up,” she repeats, in exactly the same tone as before, “and come with me.”
“So this is the 'intake database' for the slave markets of Tír na Cali.” Hardison's air quotes seem to cut the air. “And they're very thorough. Everything about every slave they 'intake' comes into this system. It's one of the most secure in the world. One of.” He pokes the screen. “It took me almost half an hour to crack it, and I only have about fifteen minutes before they notice I'm here.”
He flips through photographs of naked people, one after another. Most of them are young, many of them are handsome. “This is the intake for the week Eliot and King went missing. And here is Brendan King.” Their mark - their former mark - looks lost and sad, standing against height markers like a prisoner, wearing nothing but handcuffs and a plastic collar.
Hardison takes a breath. It has none of his usual dramatic flair; his hand hesitates on his remote.
“And here is Eliot.”
There are stats, lines and lines of information and notes. None of them are looking at that. They are all looking at the photo of their friend and teammate, handcuffed, shackled, and collared, in the process of lunging at the camera already.
“Right.” Nate puts his hands on the table. “Let's go steal an Eliot.”
“Any Eliot?” Sophie's lips purse. “I've found myself rather fond of the one we had.”
“There are no other Eliots. Nobody else is an option.”
“I'm teasing, Parker. I'm just teasing. Of course we're going to steal our Eliot. “
“Because he's the best.” Parker is trying to smile; it's obvious she's not quite getting there.
“Because he's ours.
Tír na Cali
Lady Anastasia walks Eliot down the hall. Her arm is still wrapped around his shoulders, although his footsteps, even shackled, are growing more steady.
They turn down a quiet, dimly-lit stretch of hallway, and she releases him. She takes three steps away; her stance shifts, feet spread, hands lazy at her sides. Eliot, bound as he is, still gives the impression he's ready for a fight.
“Before you kill me.” Anastasia's voice is rough but certain. “There's something you should know.”
Part VII: http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/679176.html
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