Hi everyone!


Leverage is one of my favorite shows to write fics for! I'm studying to be a television writer and it would be so cool to write for the reboot! Dream big, right? :)

Here's a little oneshot I wrote about Hardison's first step out from behind the safety of his screen. Hope everyone is staying safe, and is just as excited as I am about this awesome news! Leverage is back, baby! Let us all wait impatiently to hear "dammit hardison" once again. ;)


Hardison adjusted the ice pack on his head, shifting the cold to the epicenter of the throbbing pain.

He hissed a little as he did, closing his eyes. The guard had gotten him hard with a punch to the back of his head. He'd been knocked out cold, waking up to see Parker leaning over him. Though without a security camera showing proof of the guard's attack on him, he would have bet he was hit with a ton of bricks.

The job had gone more or less according to plan, his injury being the only hiccup. Luckily, Hardison's part of the con had been finished and he was on his way out of the building when he was attacked. The guard dropped him and then went after Eliot, and regretted it.

Regardless, they'd reconvened at Nate's after a car ride full of fussing from Sophie and quite painful poking from Parker. Eliot asked him a few questions to gauge whether or not he had a concussion—and if he did, it was minor—and also muttered a soft apology that no one else heard but him. An apology for not being there, as the team's hitter.

Nate acted as if nothing happened, but it was Nate's response that Hardison appreciated the most.

Everyone else in the team had been injured so far, with Nate getting shot, the attempt on Sophie's life, Parker's fighting with the guards from the orphanage job, and Eliot being Eliot. But this was the first time Hardison didn't get to stay behind the scenes. And the first time he's gotten hurt.

But what hurt him the most was the painful blow to his pride.

No one fussed over the others as much as they fussed over him, and it was clear to him that they thought of him as the most vulnerable member of the team. Maybe it was true; he usually did stay behind his shield of screens. But it somehow annoyed him that they all saw him this way.

And more than that, was the fact that they were right. Because he was still thinking about being attacked, and still thinking about how terrified he'd really been.

So it was now that Hardison shifted the nearly-warm ice pack, wishing for more pain medication, that he looked over at the chair a few feet away where Eliot was sitting.

They were alone in the dark room, only lit by the television which was playing some sports game.

"Hey… Eliot?" mumbled Hardison slowly, as if he was trying to decide whether or not to keep going.

Eliot didn't take his eyes off the screen. He grunted a "Hm?" and took a swig of the beer in his hand.

Hardison lowered the ice pack and sat up. "Would you…" He shifted uncomfortably. "Would you teach me to… fight?"

Eliot took his eyes off the game. He raised his brows at Hardison. "What?"

"I… I mean, like," stuttered Hardison, feeling like he was handing over his pride with the words. "You know, how to fight. Punch guys. Knock people out. Kick ass. You know. What you do."

"Hardison," said Eliot. It was a gentler voice than Hardison expected. "He got the jump on ya. It's got nothin' to do with you not knowin' how to fight."

"Yeah, I know…" mumbled Hardison, his head throbbing painfully at the reminder. "I know. But… even if he didn't, I don't think I could have…"

"That ain't your job, Hardison, it was mine." Eliot sat up in the chair, the game forgotten. He leveled Hardison with a sincere look. "I shoulda had your back. I'm sorry you got hurt."

Hardison winced internally at the burn to his pride, which was little more than a pile of ash by now, and said, "Man, you always have my back. But you needed to have Sophie's today, and I mean… even Parker knows how to hold her own in a fight, and Sophie KO'd Nate with a cookie sheet and I—" Hardison averted his gaze, feeling less and less manly by the second. "I'm a frilly little butterfly, apparently."

"No one thinks that, Hardison."

Hardison didn't say anything.

"Alec," said Eliot, and Hardison looked up a the sound of his name. "I'm glad you don't know how to fight like they do. Parker's had to learn to fight like that because…" He hesitated, something dark passing through his eyes. "I don't know exactly why, but I have ideas, and I don't like any of 'em. She had to fight to survive. Sophie preys on marks that don't give a damn about how they treat women, and she's had to account for that. Nate… is Nate, which has earned him enough fights to teach him how to handle his own. And I..." He shifted uncomfortably. "I had to learn to do a lot of things I never would have thought I'd needed to do to survive." He looked at Hardison. "You haven't needed to worry about this. Most of your jobs you've been able to be miles away from your mark and their security."

Hardison didn't say anything—couldn't.

"Not being used to somethin' ain't the same as bein' bad at it," said Eliot quietly. "I'm glad you haven't had to learn this stuff yet."

Hardison was quiet. He never thought about it that way. How they knew these things because they had to. How he'd always been lucky enough to be far away from danger instead of right in the middle of it.

He nodded slowly, feeling Eliot's gaze still on him.

"I'll train you up a bit once your concussion heals," said Eliot, learning back in the chair and returning his attention to the game.

Hardison smiled a little. "Thanks, man."

"And I'll have you practice with Parker."

Hardison's smile dropped.

"Aw, hell. I'mma die."

Eliot just grinned.