Fic: Not Tonight (Leverage, Gen, PG)
Jan. 10th, 2011 07:14 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
sherydenTitle: Not Tonight
Author:sheryden
Rating: PG
Word Count: 936
Spoilers: None.
Warnings: Well, I very lightly imply bad things that happened to Eliot during captivity, but nothing more than you’d get on the show.
Disclaimer: Not mine. If it was, Eliot would be shirtless in half the episodes.
Summary: Eliot remembers someone he’d rather forget.
Notes: Written forangst_bingo for the prompt “regaining memories."
There were more blank spots in Eliot Spencer’s memory than he cared to admit. Over the years, he’d lost days and even a week here and there—moments spent sitting in captivity someplace cold and bleak, hours spent tromping through a battle-scarred and crumbling city, days spent sick with fever in an understaffed hospital. He’d learned to live with these holes in his memory. And he’d learned that sometimes, the gaps were merciful gray areas filled with things he was better off not facing.
But sometimes, sometimes his memories would come bubbling back to the surface and bite him in the ass. There were certain smells, certain sounds that triggered something deep inside to shake loose. At these times, the worst of his forgotten memories would claw their way to the surface.
For the past week, Eliot and the rest of the team had been working a hometown gig—pretty simple one at that. Eliot hadn’t done much heavy lifting this time around. He’d pretty much just played his character, gotten Parker access to the target building, and helped with clean-up. For once, he was gonna go home and not hurt in every corner of his body.
And then it happened. The team was tidying up some loose ends at an old factory building—they’d been at dozens of buildings like this during the years they’d worked together. But this one…
There was a photograph on the wall near the office. It was of an important-looking man with dark hair and a soft, pudgy face. He was smiling broadly, but instead of looking directly at the camera, his eyes were focused off to the side. Chewing on his bottom lip, Eliot stopped to gaze at the picture, trying to remember why the man seemed so familiar.
After a moment, it hit him hard. There had been a man once with those same pudgy features and sideways-staring eyes. He couldn’t remember the man’s name, but he remembered the smile and the way he glanced over at… someone as he’d barked out a laugh. And he remembered the man’s calloused hands and the cell he’d chucked Eliot’s rag doll body into after a long and unpleasant conversation.
And just like that, he was back in a cell somewhere in North Korea, thirsty and in pain and afraid. He remembered buttoning up that fear so his captors wouldn’t think they had the upper hand. Shadows and splotches of gray erupted into his brain, and he had to blink hard to keep his mind focused on the here and now.
He shoved his hands into his pockets so no one would realize they were shaking. “I have to go,” he said as he moved toward the exit.
Sophie glanced up. “What—”
“I need to go.” He didn’t wait for anyone’s permission before walking briskly out the door and driving himself to McRory’s. The job was over, and the team was out of danger. It’s not like his presence was a necessity. And he had a right to be away from their prying eyes.
When Eliot reached the bar, he let out a breath and collapsed into a seat at his usual table. It was a Friday night, and the bar was pretty packed. For Eliot, that was a good thing, because it meant that he could get lost in the white noise for a while. It was a damn lot better than sitting in the quiet of his home thinking about the man with the pudgy face whose name he couldn’t remember.
He supposed that if his life were more normal—if he’d gone home to a regular job and a wife and a couple of kids, he could probably try to get some help.
The truth is he had seen a military doctor when he’d gotten stateside after his first tour. The doctor had looked tired and overworked and a little pissed off, and he’d prescribed Eliot something to “help him sleep.” The pills hadn’t chased away the nightmares, and they hadn’t taken away the waking memories. He‘d wound up throwing the bottle away a couple weeks later.
As Eliot sat lost in memories, Cora walked up and flashed a smile. “Beer?”
“No sweetheart,” he said, rubbing his eyes. “I need a little something harder tonight. Surprise me.” He cleared his throat. “And Cora? Bring me the bottle.”
She nodded like she understood and returned a couple minutes later with a glass and a bottle of Jack.
He was three glasses in by the time Nate strolled in to check on him. Leaning his weight on the table, Nate motioned at the bottle and said, “You trying to be me tonight? If you are, I prefer the good stuff.”
Eliot glared at him, even though Nate hadn’t done anything to deserve the rancor. “I don’t want to talk about it,” he said.
Nate eyed the bottle of Jack for moment, then turned his gaze to Eliot. “Just tell me if you’re all right.”
Eliot gulped down the contents of his glass and poured himself another. “Do I look all right?”
“No,” Nate said. “No, you really don’t.” He let out a breath. “If you change your mind and want to talk, I’ll be up late tonight.”
“I said I don’t want to talk about it.”
For a moment, Nate looked like he might try to push it. Instead, he just nodded. “If you ever do…” He let his words trail off, then he turned and walked toward the door.
Eliot dipped a finger into his whisky and stirred the liquid around. Maybe someday he would. But not tonight.
Master Fic List
***
Author:
sherydenRating: PG
Word Count: 936
Spoilers: None.
Warnings: Well, I very lightly imply bad things that happened to Eliot during captivity, but nothing more than you’d get on the show.
Disclaimer: Not mine. If it was, Eliot would be shirtless in half the episodes.
Summary: Eliot remembers someone he’d rather forget.
Notes: Written for
angst_bingo for the prompt “regaining memories." There were more blank spots in Eliot Spencer’s memory than he cared to admit. Over the years, he’d lost days and even a week here and there—moments spent sitting in captivity someplace cold and bleak, hours spent tromping through a battle-scarred and crumbling city, days spent sick with fever in an understaffed hospital. He’d learned to live with these holes in his memory. And he’d learned that sometimes, the gaps were merciful gray areas filled with things he was better off not facing.
But sometimes, sometimes his memories would come bubbling back to the surface and bite him in the ass. There were certain smells, certain sounds that triggered something deep inside to shake loose. At these times, the worst of his forgotten memories would claw their way to the surface.
For the past week, Eliot and the rest of the team had been working a hometown gig—pretty simple one at that. Eliot hadn’t done much heavy lifting this time around. He’d pretty much just played his character, gotten Parker access to the target building, and helped with clean-up. For once, he was gonna go home and not hurt in every corner of his body.
And then it happened. The team was tidying up some loose ends at an old factory building—they’d been at dozens of buildings like this during the years they’d worked together. But this one…
There was a photograph on the wall near the office. It was of an important-looking man with dark hair and a soft, pudgy face. He was smiling broadly, but instead of looking directly at the camera, his eyes were focused off to the side. Chewing on his bottom lip, Eliot stopped to gaze at the picture, trying to remember why the man seemed so familiar.
After a moment, it hit him hard. There had been a man once with those same pudgy features and sideways-staring eyes. He couldn’t remember the man’s name, but he remembered the smile and the way he glanced over at… someone as he’d barked out a laugh. And he remembered the man’s calloused hands and the cell he’d chucked Eliot’s rag doll body into after a long and unpleasant conversation.
And just like that, he was back in a cell somewhere in North Korea, thirsty and in pain and afraid. He remembered buttoning up that fear so his captors wouldn’t think they had the upper hand. Shadows and splotches of gray erupted into his brain, and he had to blink hard to keep his mind focused on the here and now.
He shoved his hands into his pockets so no one would realize they were shaking. “I have to go,” he said as he moved toward the exit.
Sophie glanced up. “What—”
“I need to go.” He didn’t wait for anyone’s permission before walking briskly out the door and driving himself to McRory’s. The job was over, and the team was out of danger. It’s not like his presence was a necessity. And he had a right to be away from their prying eyes.
When Eliot reached the bar, he let out a breath and collapsed into a seat at his usual table. It was a Friday night, and the bar was pretty packed. For Eliot, that was a good thing, because it meant that he could get lost in the white noise for a while. It was a damn lot better than sitting in the quiet of his home thinking about the man with the pudgy face whose name he couldn’t remember.
He supposed that if his life were more normal—if he’d gone home to a regular job and a wife and a couple of kids, he could probably try to get some help.
The truth is he had seen a military doctor when he’d gotten stateside after his first tour. The doctor had looked tired and overworked and a little pissed off, and he’d prescribed Eliot something to “help him sleep.” The pills hadn’t chased away the nightmares, and they hadn’t taken away the waking memories. He‘d wound up throwing the bottle away a couple weeks later.
As Eliot sat lost in memories, Cora walked up and flashed a smile. “Beer?”
“No sweetheart,” he said, rubbing his eyes. “I need a little something harder tonight. Surprise me.” He cleared his throat. “And Cora? Bring me the bottle.”
She nodded like she understood and returned a couple minutes later with a glass and a bottle of Jack.
He was three glasses in by the time Nate strolled in to check on him. Leaning his weight on the table, Nate motioned at the bottle and said, “You trying to be me tonight? If you are, I prefer the good stuff.”
Eliot glared at him, even though Nate hadn’t done anything to deserve the rancor. “I don’t want to talk about it,” he said.
Nate eyed the bottle of Jack for moment, then turned his gaze to Eliot. “Just tell me if you’re all right.”
Eliot gulped down the contents of his glass and poured himself another. “Do I look all right?”
“No,” Nate said. “No, you really don’t.” He let out a breath. “If you change your mind and want to talk, I’ll be up late tonight.”
“I said I don’t want to talk about it.”
For a moment, Nate looked like he might try to push it. Instead, he just nodded. “If you ever do…” He let his words trail off, then he turned and walked toward the door.
Eliot dipped a finger into his whisky and stirred the liquid around. Maybe someday he would. But not tonight.
Master Fic List
***
