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Fic: Find a Home (Leverage & ALL THE CROSSOVERS!)
lvg//eliot hitter - me
whiskyinmind wrote in fandomsbitca
Musical inspiration fic for leverageland

Title: Find a Home
Author: WhiskyInMind
Team: Grifter
Inspiration: Seven Nation Army
Rating/Warnings: PG-13 (canon-appropriate violence). ALL THE CROSSOVERS!!!!
Word Count: 774 (according to MS Word)

Eliot frowned at his phone and wondered why it was it only ever seemed to ring when he was in the middle of something. (He'd long since stopped wondering how it was Hardison always seemed to hack into it and replace the ringtone with the most annoying piece of "pop" he could find and instead Eliot kept it on silent permanently.)

He drove his elbow into the mark's joke of a bodyguard's solar plexus, effectively silencing him (apart from the strangled gasps) for a few minutes and finally answered the call.
"Vance. little busy here, Colonel." Strange how even after all this time he still found it tough to talk to the man without using his title. Hell, last time they met up it had taken more self-control than Eliot liked to admit not to rip off a parade ground salute.
"The old unit's getting back together for one last job. Sending you the coordinates." The phone buzzed as the text message arrived and before Eliot could say anything Vance had terminated the call.

The frown deepened as he considered the implications. The unit had been the prototype for Vance's future projects and had included members of every one of the nation's armed forces - hell, not just the US military at that; the last Eliot had heard Lavin was a rising star in Mossad working undercover throughout Europe. They'd been a good team, a tight unit, but they hadn't lasted. Hadn't ever been meant to last. And, Eyal aside, Eliot knew there were only three of them left in service – Vance, Shelley and Barton. (And after the whole mess in New York he figured there was probably a pretty big question mark hanging over Barton – as if the bow hadn't been idiosyncratic enough, working undercover was going to be a bitch when his face had been all over the news channels.)

No matter what though, they'd been a team. His team. He'd kill – and die – for each and every one of them, just like he knew the same was true in reverse. Refusing to work with just Vance was one thing, and he'd ended up doing that job anyway as it turned out; but he couldn't turn his back on the unit. He flicked his ear-bud back on and asked, "We done here?"
Hardison started into some kind of geek spiral about cleaning out accounts and erasing histories and Eliot tuned out almost as soon as the hacker started talking.
"Hardison. We're done here." It wasn't a question this time and he delivered one final punch knocking the bodyguard out so they could all clear out as he left.

Vance's co-ordinates led him to a no-tell motel thirty miles south of D.C. and Eliot wasn't surprised to find that Vance had booked out the whole place – had in fact done so for the past month – and decided not to mention it would probably have been less obvious to buy the place and close it down. No doubt the local 'by the hour' customers were going to be talking enough as it was. And anyway, Eliot figured the op was going to be nowhere near this place.

After checking out the surroundings he carefully opened the door to room nine – entering any room containing a group consisting of two expert marksmen/snipers and four down-and-dirty brawlers could be entertaining to say the least – and wasn't in the slightest bit surprised when a deceptively soft voice came from directly behind him.
"Not like you to let someone get the drop on you, Spencer."
"Good to see you too, John. You're going by Reese now, right?" Eliot figured it couldn't hurt to show off his information gathering skills (although he had admitted to himself that it would have been so much quicker to bring Hardison on board, he'd let himself get more than a little rusty since teaming up with Wonder Boy).
John – Reese – smirked at him and brushed past into the already crowded room. Eliot followed and looked around with a half smile. They'd never been the most disciplined of units (something that had used to drive Vance nuts), but seeing Hicks and Barton taking it in turns to throw playing cards into the open dresser drawer on the other side of the room (neither of them missing once) while Shelley and Lavin arm wrestled on the self same dresser made him smile.

Knowing Vance it would beat least another hour before they even got close to whatever he'd called them together to do, but Eliot knew it would be vitally important, and that they'd get it done. The seven on them. They always did.