Emily (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
iluvroadrunner6) wrote2010-08-25 05:32 pm
iluvroadrunner6) wrote2010-08-25 05:32 pm
Eliot/Jo - The Fine Line Between Holding On and Letting Go
Fandom: Leverage/Supernatural
Title: The Fine Line Between Holding On and Letting Go
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
iluvroadrunner6
Rating: PG-13
Characters: Eliot Spencer/Jo Harvelle
![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
kissbingo Prompt: Emotion: Anger
10_orders Prompt: 13. Don’t Lie to Me
Content Warning: Spoilers for Supernatural Season 5.
Summary: Eliot didn’t need to be told to know what happened to Jo in Carthrage.
Author’s Note: Part of my Thinking of You series. Follows “Somewhere Over the Rainbow.”
Disclaimer: I don’t own. They belong to Kripke and Devlin. I’m just borrowing and will put everything back where I found it.
Eliot didn’t need to be told to know what happened to Jo in Carthrage.
He wasn’t an idiot. He knew her, and he knew what her odds were, and while he hoped, for the first time in a long time that she would eventually come waltzing back through that door again, he knew that the chances weren’t high. This was the Apocalypse, or at least that was what she said, and if that was true, it meant that there were going to be a lot of casualties on either side. Jo was probably going to be one of them, and he knew that that time she said goodbye was probably going to be the last time.
He last heard from her over the phone, sometime in November of 2009. He assumed it was the night before her death, because she said she’d call him once it was done. After not hearing for her for a week after that, he felt it safe to assume that she wasn’t coming home. After a month, he knew it was a fact. Jo was gone. Eliot figured that he should have been used to it by now. After that month, he asked Hardison to quietly run a check through the morgue records in the area to see if he could find anything. Unfortunately, there was nothing to find. Carthrage had been slaughtered—men, women and children alike and no one had found a culprit for it yet. Six months later they finished identifying all the bodies, save for two—two Caucasian females whose bodies seem to have been killed in some kind of explosion. The answer seemed obvious, and Eliot slowly began the process of letting her go.
That had been three years ago.
Three years of moving on and trying to forget about her just like he did everything else. He boxed up whatever she had left in the apartment, took over the lease, and made it seem as though he was the only one who ever lived there. Hardison would have probably pointed out that living in the apartment that belonged to your dead girlfriend wasn’t really moving on, but he also didn’t want to get punched in the face.
Jo’s world had always been on the fringes of his own, something he was never really involved in, so when Eliot found a tall man standing in his entryway, he thought it was someone coming after him, and he reacted accordingly. He started throwing his punches, trying to get the guy off balance, but he was good—better than Eliot had anticipated. He was starting to think that he might actually be in trouble, when there she was. All five foot four of her, long blond hair, wrapped in a sheet that was covered in something that looked like blood, and at first, Eliot wasn’t even sure if she was real. He wasn’t really given the chance to find out.
Eliot wasn’t a guy who slept much, but he had been knocked out a lot, and this was the first time he had come to feeling refreshed as oppose to having a massive headache. They had moved him to the bedroom somehow, and when he woke up, there she was again, dressed, hair a little wet, but there. And he had a feeling she wasn’t a ghost either.
“Jo?”
“Yeah,” she said softly. “It’s me.”
He didn’t believe it at first. He couldn’t help it. His hackles were up, and people didn’t just come back from the dead. Which meant that she was never dead in the first place, and he had been had. He knew that they never officially said that they were anything to each other, but he had felt that there was something and he at least deserved a damn phone call. “Three years is a long time to wait to end things with a guy.”
She looked confused at first, before shaking her head. “Look, Eliot, I know what you’re probably thinking—”
“Know what I’m thinking?” He shoved away from her, getting up off the bed and starting to pace the room. “I’m thinking that I thought you were dead, and turns out, three years later, here you are. I’m thinking that I’m pretty damn pissed off because I got played.”
“Or maybe I was actually dead? Every consider that maybe Heaven has a crappy long distance plan?”
She was on her feet to match him at this point, staring him down, and he just shook his head, continuing to make hard eye contact with a look that would make even the scariest thug take two steps back, but she held her ground. That only made his jaw clench harder as he tried to figure out what game she way playing.
“Not possible.”
“Eliot—”
“You’re saying you were dead.” His words were firm, and he watched the way she recoiled at the statement, eyes looking to the far wall as she tried to process that. “People don’t just come back from the dead, I don’t care how crazy the world is.”
“No, you’re right. They don’t—with a few, very rare exceptions.” She took a deep breath before turning to face him again. “Apparently, I’m one of them.”
“Bullshit. Don’t lie to me, Jo. I’m not in the fucking mood for it.”
“I was mauled to death, in Carthrage,” she snapped before he could continue. “Hellhounds. Nasty bastards when they’re coming for you, and it’s twice as bad when you really didn’t do anything to deserve it but get in their way.” He could hear the way her voice changed, the way her throat tightened around the words as she was saying. “I was dead, Eliot. Do you think that I would lie about something like that?”
“If you were dead, then why the hell are you here?” That was the part he didn’t understand, because he couldn’t. Dead was dead. There was no coming back from that.
“I don’t know.” She wasn’t lying. He had heard her lie to him before, and this wasn’t it. It was real, and she was scared, because she understood this probably about as much as she did. She crossed her arms in front of her chest again, and swallowed hard before continuing. “That guy that was in here earlier? He’s a friend of mine. His name is Castiel. He’s an angel, believe it or not. He’s checking into the whys and hows, but as far as he’s concerned, no one has any idea why I’m not six feet under.”
He still didn’t want to trust it. She had told him about things that could take the faces of people you knew and use it against you, but he didn’t know why anyone would pick her so long after the event. It just didn’t seem possible. Besides, she looked far too solid to be a ghost. “How do I know?” His voice was low and soft, the kind of question he asked when he wasn’t sure what he was supposed to do, and this kind of tone didn’t come up often.
She looked over at him, and the defensive posture dropped a little, her arms coming down to rest at her sides as she started to move closer to him. When she reached his personal space, he took a step back on instinct, but she kept moving in closer, her hands coming up to frame his face, pushing his hair out of the way. She then leaned in to kiss him softly, sweet and slow. He resisted at first, waiting for the other shoe to drop and for her to stab him in the back, but there was something incredibly familiar in it. She whimpered softly when he actually started to kiss her back, and suddenly it was as though it hadn’t been three years. His hands moved to her waist, bracing her against him, before slipping lower to lift her up and wrap her legs around his waist, pulling her closer. It wasn’t long after that before they were stumbling back towards the bed, sinking into the bed and picking up right where they left off.
There was a chance that this all was a trap. There was a chance that this was just an extremely screwed up dream and when the moment was over, she would be gone again. But if this were to end badly for him, whether it be death or something else—this would certainly be a hell of a way to go.
Title: The Fine Line Between Holding On and Letting Go
Author:
iluvroadrunner6Rating: PG-13
Characters: Eliot Spencer/Jo Harvelle
kissbingo Prompt: Emotion: Anger10_orders Prompt: 13. Don’t Lie to MeContent Warning: Spoilers for Supernatural Season 5.
Summary: Eliot didn’t need to be told to know what happened to Jo in Carthrage.
Author’s Note: Part of my Thinking of You series. Follows “Somewhere Over the Rainbow.”
Disclaimer: I don’t own. They belong to Kripke and Devlin. I’m just borrowing and will put everything back where I found it.
Eliot didn’t need to be told to know what happened to Jo in Carthrage.
He wasn’t an idiot. He knew her, and he knew what her odds were, and while he hoped, for the first time in a long time that she would eventually come waltzing back through that door again, he knew that the chances weren’t high. This was the Apocalypse, or at least that was what she said, and if that was true, it meant that there were going to be a lot of casualties on either side. Jo was probably going to be one of them, and he knew that that time she said goodbye was probably going to be the last time.
He last heard from her over the phone, sometime in November of 2009. He assumed it was the night before her death, because she said she’d call him once it was done. After not hearing for her for a week after that, he felt it safe to assume that she wasn’t coming home. After a month, he knew it was a fact. Jo was gone. Eliot figured that he should have been used to it by now. After that month, he asked Hardison to quietly run a check through the morgue records in the area to see if he could find anything. Unfortunately, there was nothing to find. Carthrage had been slaughtered—men, women and children alike and no one had found a culprit for it yet. Six months later they finished identifying all the bodies, save for two—two Caucasian females whose bodies seem to have been killed in some kind of explosion. The answer seemed obvious, and Eliot slowly began the process of letting her go.
That had been three years ago.
Three years of moving on and trying to forget about her just like he did everything else. He boxed up whatever she had left in the apartment, took over the lease, and made it seem as though he was the only one who ever lived there. Hardison would have probably pointed out that living in the apartment that belonged to your dead girlfriend wasn’t really moving on, but he also didn’t want to get punched in the face.
Jo’s world had always been on the fringes of his own, something he was never really involved in, so when Eliot found a tall man standing in his entryway, he thought it was someone coming after him, and he reacted accordingly. He started throwing his punches, trying to get the guy off balance, but he was good—better than Eliot had anticipated. He was starting to think that he might actually be in trouble, when there she was. All five foot four of her, long blond hair, wrapped in a sheet that was covered in something that looked like blood, and at first, Eliot wasn’t even sure if she was real. He wasn’t really given the chance to find out.
Eliot wasn’t a guy who slept much, but he had been knocked out a lot, and this was the first time he had come to feeling refreshed as oppose to having a massive headache. They had moved him to the bedroom somehow, and when he woke up, there she was again, dressed, hair a little wet, but there. And he had a feeling she wasn’t a ghost either.
“Jo?”
“Yeah,” she said softly. “It’s me.”
He didn’t believe it at first. He couldn’t help it. His hackles were up, and people didn’t just come back from the dead. Which meant that she was never dead in the first place, and he had been had. He knew that they never officially said that they were anything to each other, but he had felt that there was something and he at least deserved a damn phone call. “Three years is a long time to wait to end things with a guy.”
She looked confused at first, before shaking her head. “Look, Eliot, I know what you’re probably thinking—”
“Know what I’m thinking?” He shoved away from her, getting up off the bed and starting to pace the room. “I’m thinking that I thought you were dead, and turns out, three years later, here you are. I’m thinking that I’m pretty damn pissed off because I got played.”
“Or maybe I was actually dead? Every consider that maybe Heaven has a crappy long distance plan?”
She was on her feet to match him at this point, staring him down, and he just shook his head, continuing to make hard eye contact with a look that would make even the scariest thug take two steps back, but she held her ground. That only made his jaw clench harder as he tried to figure out what game she way playing.
“Not possible.”
“Eliot—”
“You’re saying you were dead.” His words were firm, and he watched the way she recoiled at the statement, eyes looking to the far wall as she tried to process that. “People don’t just come back from the dead, I don’t care how crazy the world is.”
“No, you’re right. They don’t—with a few, very rare exceptions.” She took a deep breath before turning to face him again. “Apparently, I’m one of them.”
“Bullshit. Don’t lie to me, Jo. I’m not in the fucking mood for it.”
“I was mauled to death, in Carthrage,” she snapped before he could continue. “Hellhounds. Nasty bastards when they’re coming for you, and it’s twice as bad when you really didn’t do anything to deserve it but get in their way.” He could hear the way her voice changed, the way her throat tightened around the words as she was saying. “I was dead, Eliot. Do you think that I would lie about something like that?”
“If you were dead, then why the hell are you here?” That was the part he didn’t understand, because he couldn’t. Dead was dead. There was no coming back from that.
“I don’t know.” She wasn’t lying. He had heard her lie to him before, and this wasn’t it. It was real, and she was scared, because she understood this probably about as much as she did. She crossed her arms in front of her chest again, and swallowed hard before continuing. “That guy that was in here earlier? He’s a friend of mine. His name is Castiel. He’s an angel, believe it or not. He’s checking into the whys and hows, but as far as he’s concerned, no one has any idea why I’m not six feet under.”
He still didn’t want to trust it. She had told him about things that could take the faces of people you knew and use it against you, but he didn’t know why anyone would pick her so long after the event. It just didn’t seem possible. Besides, she looked far too solid to be a ghost. “How do I know?” His voice was low and soft, the kind of question he asked when he wasn’t sure what he was supposed to do, and this kind of tone didn’t come up often.
She looked over at him, and the defensive posture dropped a little, her arms coming down to rest at her sides as she started to move closer to him. When she reached his personal space, he took a step back on instinct, but she kept moving in closer, her hands coming up to frame his face, pushing his hair out of the way. She then leaned in to kiss him softly, sweet and slow. He resisted at first, waiting for the other shoe to drop and for her to stab him in the back, but there was something incredibly familiar in it. She whimpered softly when he actually started to kiss her back, and suddenly it was as though it hadn’t been three years. His hands moved to her waist, bracing her against him, before slipping lower to lift her up and wrap her legs around his waist, pulling her closer. It wasn’t long after that before they were stumbling back towards the bed, sinking into the bed and picking up right where they left off.
There was a chance that this all was a trap. There was a chance that this was just an extremely screwed up dream and when the moment was over, she would be gone again. But if this were to end badly for him, whether it be death or something else—this would certainly be a hell of a way to go.
no subject
no subject
no subject
no subject