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#leverage

1.2 The Homecoming Job

John Rogers: And look at the distress as he explains how they’re gonna give it back.

Dean Devlin: This is the first time they really realize that they have to give money back.

Chris Downey: Look at that look.

Dean: That’s like the worst thing that they’ve ever heard in their lives.

John: No, not liking that idea in any way, shape, or form.

Dean: It goes against everything they believe to the core of their being.

From Leverage DVD commentary. Transcript here (x)

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okay i know i only watched leverage for the first time like a month and a half ago

but consider

should i rewatch it?

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Eliot saying ‘I don’t like any sports you can’t score on defense’ (2.14) really just. Sums up his fighting style doesnt it. God the layers in this show still kill me. The put so much thought into it!!!!

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Honestly even if Eliot’s necklace isn’t connected or meaningful, I am super relieved that this means that Parker and Hardison are still together. I trust the writers but I’ve also been conditioned to expect happy couples to break up for a bullshit reason off-screen so they can reconcile over the course of a sequel

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What if eliot’s necklace is a lock pick

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hi aleena! my day’s looking a lot better now, thank you <3 i would HIGHLY RECOMMEND leverage!! it’s available on amazon prime as part of imdb tv. there are ads, but they’re not obnoxiously long or anything.

personally, i watched it before it went on amazon, so i…. watched it on dailymotion, which i would not RECOMMEND but it WORKED. definitely the imdb tv option is the better option. and it has the benefit of showing them that people are excited for the reboot!

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The Price of Peace



He gives in, in the end, to the doc’s increasingly worried questions, coupled with concerned looks from the team and lets the man drive him to the hospital. Maybe he’s more blasé about injuries than the rest of the team, but that doesn’t mean he’s stupid. He knows his body well enough to know when to worry, and while he’s pretty sure there’s no need now, he’s no longer responsible for just himself. He has a team who relies on him now, and that’s enough motivation to accept the offer. 


Nate herds Hardison and Parker back to the hotel and Eliot expects Sophie to go with them, but she follows him to the doctor’s truck. His zip through hoodie is in her hands and she offers it to him, because the night air is taking on a chill and his skin and hair is still damp from the exertion. He slips it on, keeps his eyes averted from her as he eases his left arm into the sleeve, biting back a curse because moving hurts. It’s been a while since he did any real wrestling and the muscles in his back and thighs are letting him know they’re not happy about it. 


The doc unlocks the truck doors and climbs into the driver’s seat, cell phone in hand as he makes quiet arrangements. Eliot tucks himself in the back seat next to Sophie with a groan he can’t quite stifle. There’s a nasty throb starting in his left shoulder and his left eye has started to swell closed. The gloves have worked to mostly protect his hands but his knees and elbows are already sore. It’s nothing that he hasn’t been through before, but he’s not used to anyone looking out for him, more used to retreating to that week’s safehouse and bunkering down until the worst injuries heal and he can take his next job. Having a team to care about -for- him is new, and he’d be lying to himself if he said he’s totally comfortable with it. 


Sophie wordlessly hands him an instant ice pack and he presses it to his cheek, leaning back against the seat and letting his good eye close. His head aches, a sharper pain wrapping around his cheekbone and down through his jaw. The ibuprofen he’d swallowed back in the gym aren’t doing anything but making him feel vaguely sick. The truck is chilly despite the hoodie and the ice pack isn’t helping. He shivers once, a quick quake working through his body.


“Here,” Sophie says quietly and shakes out one of her giant scarfs so it mostly covers him. The silk is cool on his skin at first but it warms quickly. It smells like Sophie- jasmine and musk and some hint of spice that he’s never quite figured out. It helps, blocking some of the cold sir and he feels himself relax, just a little, which helps his tight muscles. 


He has to swallow twice before he can answer and even then, his voice isn’t quite as steady as he would have liked. “Thanks.” He forces his good eye open and rolls his head so he can look at her. 


It’s just dark enough to hide the expression on her face, but he thinks that she’s frowning. “We could have found another way, you know,” she says, softly. “No-one would have thought less of you." 


Something in his jaw clicks when he starts to speak. "How long would that have taken? We did the right thing.” He shifts, fingers clenching under the scarf as his battered ribs join in the chorus of hurts playing on his body. “The Howorths are safe now, and Rucker can’t try the same trick on anyone else." 


"Damn hard,” the doctor says, “watching you taking that battering. Never seen anyone do that before.” The doctor glances at them in the mirror, then turns his eyes back to the road. 


“It’s what he does,” Sophie says, with a tone in her voice Eliot can’t quite figure out, because he’s exhausted and hurting and still feels vaguely sick. There’s reluctant admiration in it, coupled with worry, because they all know there’s only so much damage a body can take before something breaks beyond repair. 


It’s not something he wants to think about, at least not while he’s battered and bleeding. He closes his eyes again, leaning back against the seat, and lets himself doze, just a little, knowing it’s a risk but doing it anyway. Trust has to start somewhere, and this is that place. 





“Eliot,” Sophie calls softly as they pull into the hospital parking lot. He’s quiet and still on the seat next to her, enough to worry her if it wasn’t for the steady rise and fall of his chest. There’s a little blood on the corner of his lip, more caked in his hairline and the sight of it makes something fierce clench in her chest. We should have found another way, she thinks, even though she knows it would have taken too long, left the family they were trying to protect defenceless. As much as she hates it, he’d been right. 


He blinks awake, muscles in his jaw clenching as the pain hits again, sending measured breaths through his teeth until he gets it back under control. “Fuck,” he breathes, fingers flexing in a way that makes her want to take his hand. He catches something in her expression and smiles, softly. “I’m okay,” he says and hands the scarf back to her. 


“Eliot, you’re bleeding,” Sophie replies, and hears the doctor chuckle dryly at her tone. He is though, a slow trickle threading through his hair. His face is lined with pain and she hadn’t missed the slight shake in his hands when he passed the scarf back. 


He shakes his head, lost for words, and twists to open the truck door, bracing himself as he swings his legs out. Moving is a bad idea, because the slow, sluggish nausea that’s been plaguing him suddenly becomes much more acute, and he has to close his eyes, leaning back against the truck until the worst of it passes and he can breathe again. 


Cool fingers find his wrist, and he startles a little, twitching his arm away. “Sorry,” Sophie says, and reaches for his arm again. “May I try something?” 


He squints at her, then nods, once, and regrets it as a galaxy of stars filters through his brain. It’s all part and parcel of a concussion, and while he’s lived through it before, he’s not too thrilled to be living through it now. 


She presses her fingers against his wrist, feeling for the right spot, knowing she’s found it when some of the tension in his jaw fades. “I learned this on a cruise. The ship had some wonderful art I was going to relocate, but we got hit by a tropical storm and I spent three days throwing up until one of the stewards took pity on me.”


It helps, as does her warmth as she leans against the truck, close but not quite touching him. “Let me tell you, when he showed me this, I wanted to kiss him and kick him at the same time.”


He huffs a quiet laugh at that and starts walking, gently disengaging her fingers. They follow the doc towards the hospital doors and Eliot wonders why in hell he let himself be talked into this. He has no love for hospitals, has spent more time than he’d like inside of them, and he already can’t wait to be walking back out of this one. 


It’s a handsome redbrick building, newer than he’d expected. The doc leads them straight into the ER and points to an open bay, where there’s already a nurse waiting. Eliot stops, thinking about walking back out to the truck, going back to the hotel and sleeping for at least twelve hours. A quick glance at Sophie’s face dissuades him of that idea; she’s frowning, clearly worried, and her eyes keep darting from the blooming bruise on his cheekbone to the still oozing cut on his hairline. 


“Eliot?” she says, and the frown deepens. “What’s the matter?” Her hand drifts to his elbow and he draws in a soft breath because the contact hurts. He’s pretty sure that come the morning, he’s going to be covered in nasty dark bruises. 


“Nothing,” he says, and resigns himself to god knows how much poking and prodding, taking a seat on the bed, idly rubbing his thumb over one aching knee. “Can we get this over with?” he asks the nurse, with the best smile he can muster and sighs. 



—-



He walks out again four hours later, after enough scans and xrays to make him feel like he’s glowing, a bag of prescription meds dangling from one hand, a pretty good buzz running through his veins and ten stitches in the cut in his scalp. All he wants is to find a vaguely horizontal place to occupy and sleep for at least eight hours. His limbs feel like they’re made from lead, heavy and stiff and vaguely achy. His back aches too, each step jarring through him like he’s in a car with a blown suspension. His left shoulder is taped, supporting a torn muscle, and he’s starting to wish he’d accepted the offer of a sling. 


Sophie is sitting in the waiting area, silk scarf wrapped around her. She looks exhausted and he pauses, feeling a wave of fondness wash over him at the sight. She has nasty oily coffee from the ancient vending machine and she offers him the cup when he walks up to her. 


The smell makes his stomach roll and he shakes his head. “I’m good, thanks,” he says, voice just a little hoarse, and thinks about sitting down. He’s pretty sure he won’t get back up any time soon if he does so he rests his hip on the row of chairs instead. 


He can see the question in her eyes just waiting to escape, and while she’s not frowning any more he’s got to know her well enough to know that she’s still worried. “I’m fine. Nothing major,” he says, carefully avoiding mentioning the hairline fracture in his cheekbone. “Worst of it is a couple of broken ribs and a damned concussion." 


She presses her lips together, a mix of anger and concern drawing her brows into a frown. "Just a couple of broken ribs,” she mutters and shakes her head. 


“Soph,” he says, fighting back a yawn. She looks up at the nickname, head tilting just a bit. “I’m fine. I’ve lived through worse. It’ll suck for a couple weeks, that’s all.” He keeps his tone gentle, knows the anger in her is coming from a place of worry, knows she’s probably blaming herself, because he knows for damn sure that’s what he’d be doing if their positions were reversed. He’ll tell Nate everything in the morning, because you don’t hide injuries from your commanding officer, but Sophie doesn’t need to know everything. It’s just more weight to bear and God knows they’re all already carrying enough. 


The doc breaks the moment by ambling over, Eliot’s chart tucked under his arm. He offers it to the other man. “Figured you wouldn’t want a record of your visit leaving here,” he says and pulls his keys out of his pocket. “Can I interest anyone in a lift back to their hotel?" 



—-



The gentle motion of the truck is soothing and he leans on the door, bruised temple resting against the cool glass and lets his mind drift. His eyes don’t want to focus, turning the passing street lights into a pleasing blur. He’s not sure if it’s the concussion, the exhaustion, the drugs, or a combination of all three but he’s content to just watch the darkened streets go by. He blinks heavy a couple of times, realising that he’s dozing again and they’re almost back at the hotel.


          The doc swings the truck into the parking lot and drives up to the door, pulling to a gentle stop. Eliot knows he should thank the man but he can’t find the energy and settles for an exhausted nod as he opens the door and practically falls out of the vehicle. He desperately needs sleep, preferably before the painkillers start to wear off. 


         Sophie waves the doc goodbye and comes to stand at Eliot’s side, one hand raised like she wants to help but isn’t sure how. He digs deep, trawling reserves of energy he rarely ever uses, and forces his legs to move. They stumble into the waiting lift and he leans against the wall with his good shoulder, all the words he wants to say jumbled on his tongue. 


         She reads something of it in his expression and nods, once; message received and understood. 


        The lift stops and they walk out. He expects Sophie to head to the girls’ room but she doesn’t, pulling out a key card and leading the way to the third room they’d hired, the one Hardison had dubbed the control centre. "The doc said someone should keep an eye on you tonight. He listed a few gruesome ways in which you could come to peril,” she says dryly and pushes the door open. “Besides, Parker snores. I hope you don’t." 


       "No one has ever complained,” he says and limps into the room, heading to the recliner, glad he’s got running shoes on that he can just toe off unlike his usual boots. He’s pretty sure he’s going to have enough trouble getting up in the morning and the bed just seems like tempting fate. “I’m fine here,” he tells her and eases down into the soft leather, tapping the button to raise the leg support. It takes him a second to get vaguely comfortable but he’s honestly so exhausted that he’s not sure comfort is really going to matter. 


       Sophie shakes a blanket out over him, watching him fight to keep his eyes open. There’s something oddly endearing about it that makes her smile. “Go to sleep,” she says softly and with a sigh, he does. 

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(Leverage fandom)

Ok so my teacher’s 10 year old son was in my English the other day, and he tried to get his mom to give him the password but he said why so I gave him advice on how to get around that (by asking for the password to solve an “okay” problem, even one he created) and everyone was like “Seriously Oliver” and then I was like oh god I’m turning into Parker

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holy shit, i zoomed in on the promo pic and it looks like eliot, parker, and hardison are all wearing similar (not quite identical) necklaces! parker’s is a lock, but we can’t see eliot or hardison’s yet. maybe, just maybe, it means something. here’s hoping for some ot3 crumbs!

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im not entirely clear on whats been happening but why is the uy who played Nate not on the show? Did he turn down doing the new Leverage? is he part of some terrible scandal thing? whats up so I can be in the loop.

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real talk one of ya’ll is gonna have to watch Leverage 2.0 before me and tell me where to skip all mentions of Character Death because crew being sad is forbidden and I refuse

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‘you didn’t even get a chance to tell him’

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Summary: Parker wants to teach her boys safe suspension practise. Eliot has some qualms about this.

A/N: This is my first fic for this fandom and the first fic I’ve written in months. But I really love them (almost as much as they love each other), so I hope you enjoy.

AO3 Link

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

The light shined off the black ropes as she slid down from the ceiling, stopping herself inches from the floor. There was a sort of poetry held in her—the contrast between her fluid movements and her blunt words—not that Eliot would ever claim to have thought about that kind of thing.

“This is stupid,” he commented in a way that made him sound angrier than he really was; he was always happy to see them, “You know this is stupid, right?”

Parker grinned, unhooked her harness in an instant. “We won’t let you fall.”

He could hear the sound of Hardison in the bedroom, rifling through Parker’s equipment to find some piece of rigging that she needed. Eliot sort of wished he was here, if only so he had some back-up in his resistance; Hardison hadn’t been thrilled by the idea either.

That, of course, wasn’t the only reason he wished Hardison was here right now. He at least had a better sense of boundaries.

“That ain’t exactly what I’m worried about, Parker.”

Keep reading

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There is nothing you can say that’s gonna make me feel better.

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The French Connection Job

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when parker kisses lucielle right before they blow it up she left a little kiss mark on the window!!! we love to see it!!!

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