Author's Note: Originally this was published as a one-shot . . . but it didn't get the reviews that I wanted. I thought it could also fit here, but it's kinda a side-step, not as humor full.

Disclaimer: I could think of quite a few things that I would do if I owned Leverage . . . *gazes dreamily off into space and sighs* yeah . . .

(Other) Author's Note: I knew from right before watching the last episode that I wanted to do a one-shot of it . . .I just didn't know that they would make it this easy for me! If you haven't seen it yet then you may want to first . . . or else this will make no sense.

BTW: When you see text like this: it is modern. This: is the time that I will establish in the fic. Enjoy!


"Hrumm," the growl started low in his chest, bubbling up through his throat as he felt the pressure on his back.


Elliot knew the answer to that; he backed back down the one step he had taken and turned his back to where the man was trying to force him. Again the man told him to move, and Elliot sensed more than saw, him reach for his gun. "13." A kind of smile broke out on his face, the kind that only people like him would understand. The last time he had said that . . . just the thought of those circumstances sent a shiver down his spine. Before the man could react Elliot turned, spinning the gun to the ground as it went off and brought his knee into his chest. "12."

Ten years ago, or was it twelve now? damnit, the time really wasn't important, he knew it was a while ago, and, right before that there was a long incarceration in a Malaysian prison. Have you ever been to Malaysia? He wouldn't recommend it. He had also been hurt back then:

Elliot leaned against the nearest tree, breathing deeply. Felt his side: yup, the arrow was still there, still bleeding. Before his adrenaline had time to slack, he broke it off.

Two more men rounded the corner and Elliot pushed himself off the wall, "11, 10." That last one had the advantage, coming at him from behind, or so he thought. Elliot was willing to bet that he hadn't seen that donkey kick coming from a man that badly bloodied. By now Elliot was not only bleeding from the blow to the head the first man had given him with the butt of his gun, but also from a broken nose. Twisting his elbows in and straining his back and shoulders, Elliot pulled his arms apart, shredding the zip-tie that the men had used to bind him. That mixed in with the dangerous, murderous look he had in his eyes made him look wild.

"10," Elliot dropped the limp and dead body of the guard and slunk back into the trees. Yeah, he had no problem killing back then . . .

Hardison was lucky Elliot had heard his foot falls and known he was unarmed just as the third man hit the ground, otherwise things would have gone much differently. "What are you doing man?"

Elliot was already back into the zone. Malaysia, 2000, 1998, whatever . . . Elliot quickened his pace, as much as his wounded and beaten body would allow him to, knowing number four was near. He came at him, gun raised. At the time Elliot had no clue how he had avoided that shot, experience now told him that it was sheer, unadulterated drive, and want not to die there in that jungle. "9."

Hardison had watched in amazement (and somewhat with fear) as Elliot easily felled the next man, not even bothering to check that he was unconscious before leaping under the next set of stairs and falling to a crouch. Barely making eye contact, Elliot shot the hacker the "shhh" sign and motioned him to the ground. Now, Elliot wasn't paying any attention to him, eyes locked on the next gunman, his next target.

In Malaysia it was easier, the killing, Elliot had even relished in it back then; hadn't he? The next man was in his sight. Oh, how his lips waited to say "8", they yearned for it, even as he slunk up even with the man, never making a sound, never bringing his head above waist level. The guard's back was turned, what fun was that? It was too easy so Elliot allowed his last foot fall to make a sound. But just his last and that only gave the man enough time to turn and see the face of his killer, not even long enough to scream. "8," the number was growled, and nothing, not even a "hmm" or "oh" was breaking up his counting . . .

Not even now.

Hardison, who had acquired what he hoped was a friendly acquaintance with the hitter in front of him, was terrified. He even had to do double takes to be sure that the men Elliot had "taken out" were still alive. So far all of their chests rised and fell. So far.

Elliot dropped into another crouch, this time right outside a doorway, he had made more noise than he had intended to make the last guard turn around and now good ol' number six was coming. Down the stairs, two more stairs, now just . . .one . . . more . . . step.

He had loved that one, grasping the man's head between his hands and that swift tug, that satisfying crack as the man went limp. Hell, the man even had the decency to bleed a little, out of the corner of his mouth, before becoming a dead weight in the hitter's (then called "mercenary") hands.

"7." It was business, that was what Elliot had told himself then and that was what he told himself now. Somewhere in the back of his mind he heard Hardison say that they should be finding Nate, and something about Parker in danger. Words – he heard words, but they held no meaning for him now. "6." Number six in his memory wasn't worth remembering. Every one of the faces he remembered, all but her's.

That thought caused Elliot to falter just long enough that Hardison thought they were done for. The guard had said stop, Elliot thought, and then raised the gun. Lucky he was a bad shot.

"5", the edge of the jungle was coming closer.

He thought that he had seen Sophie, and that gave him hope, "It took you long enough."

Now Elliot only hoped that he had counted right as four more men came at him. 'The biggest gun, that one first,' he told himself, ducking under the attack of the unarmed man and ramming his head into the larger guy with the gun's stomach. The fall into the earth was enough to crack the man's neck and then Elliot spun, kicking the next man in the side of the head, but not before taking a bullet to the arm.

Elliot flinched at the new wound but continued, not even checking that Hardison was out of the way.

The tenth man he kicked back into the point of the tree. The man lived for the rest of the fight but would die shortly, after all, who would find him this far away from camp? Elliot turned his attention to the unarmed man who tried to run. Overtaking him was easy, killing him, a release.

"4,3, 2 – "


As Elliot turned the general stood between him and the tree line. He reached into his waist and pulled out the gun he had stashed, leveling it at the man in front of him. The one that stood between him and freedom.

Bang –

~ "0" ~

"What are you doing?" Nate asked quietly as they were being led further into the bowels of the ship by the gunmen.

"Counting . . ."

Author's Note: Soooo? Did you like it, hate it? I can't possibly be the only one who didn't see a recently-tortured Elliot slinking through the jungle right after he took out that first guy and RIPPED THE FRIGGIN' ZIP-TIES OFF OF HIS WRISTS! Whooo! Go Elliot!

As always reviews are appreciated!