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crossovers2009-04-26 09:59 am
exhausted_pigeon) wrote in crossovers2009-04-26 09:59 am
Entry tags:
Fic: He knew it was a little weird... (Leverage/SG1, G)
Title: He knew it was a little weird...
Author:exhausted_pigeon
Fandom: Leverage/Stargate SG1
Characters: Eliot Spencer, Hardison, Daniel Jackson
Summary: The AU where Eliot doesn't talk about his past much and it drives Hardison crazy.
Spoilers: None
Rating/word count: G, 500 words
Eliot Spencer doesn’t talk about his past much. There’s a gap, years long, between the day he left Kentucky for good after years of in and out and the day his name began to be known in their circles as a retrievals man.
Five years of his life where he mostly wasn’t there. Where someone has taken to Eliot Spencer’s past with a giant, really, really good eraser. All Hardison has been able to find out, in two months of looking between jobs, is the man seemed to have bought a lot of take out at infrequent intervals in Colorado Springs, that even that stopped for the better part of a year, that Eliot’s records in the air force just aren’t quite right (you spend five minutes watching the guy try to program his TiVo, you know he wasn’t involved in radio telemetry) and that Eliot’s Serbian is really, really weird. Like, really old fashioned weird. With the odd loan word in a language no database Hardison runs it past can crack but which are most probably related to Egyptian. Like he said, weird.
Eliot bows out of their Friday Football Night one evening. “But, but,” Hardison says, spluttering. “Friday Football Night! I made tacos!” Eliot shuders. He isn’t going to forgive Eliot that any time soon. (Look, you have one minor mistake with the lumpy milk and the mac’n’cheese and some people just never forget it.)
So, when Eliot grabs his jacket and ties his hair back, Hardison spends twenty seconds typing away at his laptop, setting Eliot’s phone to ‘record and transmit’ and the little GPS tracker in it to ‘on’. Yeah, he’s had the talk from Nate. Twice now, in fact. Hardison can probably recite the lecture by heart. No spying on the team. Mostly, he follows it, too. Except when Eliot’s mysterious past comes out to play. He puts the laptop to one side, swings his feet up onto the coffee table and turns on the playstation. “You have fun now!” he calls, as Eliot leaves.
He gets a visual when Eliot arrives at a restaurant for dinner, watching some very manly hugging and backslapping between him and his dinner partner. Dr Daniel Jackson, his facial recognition program tells him. Archaeologist, Linguist, Anthropologist and plenty of other ists, attached. He sets his trawlers to Jackson and settles back to watch blurry security camera footage and listen to muffled phone audio. (Eliot, he assumes, is sitting on his phone again. He never learns.) Not a date but they know each other. Worked together, the computer tells him and then the trawler tells him it won’t be doing more searching right now, kay, thanks. Once he’s fixed it, he’s pretty much lost both feeds, audio and visual - the phone’s off and the ceiling fan blocks the camera from seeing anything at all other than Eliot’s left knee and foot.
Eliot looks smug the next morning and Hardison promises himself (again) that he’s going to stick a bug into Eliot’s shoes and maybe a camera in his belt buckle so he doesn’t lose the damn feed again.
Author:
exhausted_pigeonFandom: Leverage/Stargate SG1
Characters: Eliot Spencer, Hardison, Daniel Jackson
Summary: The AU where Eliot doesn't talk about his past much and it drives Hardison crazy.
Spoilers: None
Rating/word count: G, 500 words
Eliot Spencer doesn’t talk about his past much. There’s a gap, years long, between the day he left Kentucky for good after years of in and out and the day his name began to be known in their circles as a retrievals man.
Five years of his life where he mostly wasn’t there. Where someone has taken to Eliot Spencer’s past with a giant, really, really good eraser. All Hardison has been able to find out, in two months of looking between jobs, is the man seemed to have bought a lot of take out at infrequent intervals in Colorado Springs, that even that stopped for the better part of a year, that Eliot’s records in the air force just aren’t quite right (you spend five minutes watching the guy try to program his TiVo, you know he wasn’t involved in radio telemetry) and that Eliot’s Serbian is really, really weird. Like, really old fashioned weird. With the odd loan word in a language no database Hardison runs it past can crack but which are most probably related to Egyptian. Like he said, weird.
Eliot bows out of their Friday Football Night one evening. “But, but,” Hardison says, spluttering. “Friday Football Night! I made tacos!” Eliot shuders. He isn’t going to forgive Eliot that any time soon. (Look, you have one minor mistake with the lumpy milk and the mac’n’cheese and some people just never forget it.)
So, when Eliot grabs his jacket and ties his hair back, Hardison spends twenty seconds typing away at his laptop, setting Eliot’s phone to ‘record and transmit’ and the little GPS tracker in it to ‘on’. Yeah, he’s had the talk from Nate. Twice now, in fact. Hardison can probably recite the lecture by heart. No spying on the team. Mostly, he follows it, too. Except when Eliot’s mysterious past comes out to play. He puts the laptop to one side, swings his feet up onto the coffee table and turns on the playstation. “You have fun now!” he calls, as Eliot leaves.
He gets a visual when Eliot arrives at a restaurant for dinner, watching some very manly hugging and backslapping between him and his dinner partner. Dr Daniel Jackson, his facial recognition program tells him. Archaeologist, Linguist, Anthropologist and plenty of other ists, attached. He sets his trawlers to Jackson and settles back to watch blurry security camera footage and listen to muffled phone audio. (Eliot, he assumes, is sitting on his phone again. He never learns.) Not a date but they know each other. Worked together, the computer tells him and then the trawler tells him it won’t be doing more searching right now, kay, thanks. Once he’s fixed it, he’s pretty much lost both feeds, audio and visual - the phone’s off and the ceiling fan blocks the camera from seeing anything at all other than Eliot’s left knee and foot.
Eliot looks smug the next morning and Hardison promises himself (again) that he’s going to stick a bug into Eliot’s shoes and maybe a camera in his belt buckle so he doesn’t lose the damn feed again.