whenrabbitsattack (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
whenrabbitsattack) wrote2010-07-11 06:49 pm
whenrabbitsattack) wrote2010-07-11 06:49 pm
Entry tags:
"Parley" -- Leverage
Disclaimer: I own neither Leverage, nor the characters involved. They belong to someone far wittier than I. I make no money from these works, they are for entertainment purposes only.
Title: "Parley"
Fandom: Leverage
Character: Jim Sterling and Tara Cole.
Genre: Gen
Word Count: 1,980
Rating: PG (language)
Spoilers: Up to 2.15 "The Maltese Falcon Job". Takes place just after the conclusion of S2.
Credits: Thank yourinkle and goodisrelative for the beta, plus that other pesky anonymous person.
Notes: This is the second of three I wrote surrounding that last scene in "The Maltese Falcon Job." I couldn't decide which to post, and my betas said I might as well go with all three. So, yes, there is a third, forthcoming. Sorry, couldn't resist that.
Parley
Tara hung back for a moment, studying the figure on the park bench. Old habits worked with new concerns to put her on edge. Things hadn't gone so well the last time they'd met; he'd practically accused her of betrayal. Not in so many words, but if you knew the man and knew his peculiar code of honour, it was clear.
At the same time, he'd called this meeting, and that same code dictated that he wouldn't use it as a trap. Even he understood that some trusts needed to be maintained. Parley was parley. You didn't use it for ambush.
She started forward, pretending to adjust her Bluetooth earpiece as she did so. She sat down on the opposite end of the bench and continued a non-existent telephone conversation while he ostensibly remained engrossed in his paperback.
"So, what's the emergency?" There had to be one, or he wouldn't have called. This was, after all, Jim Sterling, sworn enemy of criminals and cheats the world-over, now. He didn't go through the machinations of setting up a meet with one just for idle conversation.
He said nothing.
"You called me, remember?"
Still no answer from the man she was pretending not to be with.
"Okay, I get it. You're still pissed off over Kiev." She had to admit, he had a small right to a grudge. He had, after all, set aside his own animosities, and Nate's team hadn't managed to do the same. "What did you expect?" She knew the answer to that, she'd known it the moment she'd heard the accusation in his voice back then, wanting to know how she could side with the 'punch-up artist' she'd just met over the devil she'd known for years. It had only seemed like a rhetorical question; he hadn't even looked at her when he'd spoken it. After all, the team didn't know they knew each other.
But she'd known, caught the hurt in those tones that sounded so close to derision that she thought she might have been mistaken. Again, you had to know him, like the others didn't. "You're not risking a nine million dollar artefact," they'd heard, and stopped listening, assuming he didn't really care about the fates of Maggie and Nate, now that he had his prize back. It could be taken another way, with the next three words taken into consideration. He'd been right, too. At that moment all they did have was a hunch and the egg was all the leverage they had. If they'd lost it without regaining their people it could have been disastrous.
"At least you got something out of it. You know what we got? Zero. No pay and maybe it works for the rest of them, but doing things out of the goodness of my heart just doesn't do it for me." She knew she was falling for it, the same trick she'd pulled on Chernov, but it was a trick that worked for a reason. Not only that, but one of its most skilled practitioners sat right here beside her. That he still refused to speak said a lot about that.
"Okay, fine. Clearly you are just interested in wasting my time for some reason or another – which, knowing you, I'm not even going to attempt to guess – but I've got far better things to do with it." She was about to get up and walk away when she happened to glance down. Sterling gripped his paperback far too tightly, the ends of his fingers going white as they pressed indents on the pages. She froze. It was the sign of a man fighting to maintain control, which was something Sterling never had to do. It took a lot to rattle him, and even then it never lasted long. She found it suddenly difficult to speak. "What happened?" she managed.
"Nate's been shot." His voice was rougher than normal, the words uncharacteristically abrupt. For a moment, they didn't even make sense.
"How... when... not the..." Surely Nate hadn't been insane enough to fight it out with the FBI. Yes, he'd been going off the rails, but still... "Not you."
"No." He didn't sound offended that she'd asked the question, though in his current state she wasn't sure if it really registered.
"Is he..." All he said was 'shot', not dead. There had to be a reason for the distinction.
"He's an active alcoholic with a severe traumatic injury. The prognosis is not promising." Sterling mimicked a doctor's careful, PC delivery. "In English, he's a drunk with a fucking hole where his shoulder ought to be."
"Damn him..." It had to have happened before they parted ways, if Sterling was telling the truth. He had no reason to lie. At least not one that she could think of.
"The fucking hero," Sterling spat. "And what to show for it?"
She didn't know how to answer that. Despite Nate's people's impression of Sterling as 'evil', he wasn't the complete heartless bastard even he made himself out to be. Not only that, but it was easy to see that he didn't count Nate as an enemy. An opponent, certainly, but Sterling thrived on antagonism. Nate was the same way; they seemed to understand each other and the rules of their game. Rarer still, Nate seemed to be one of the few people Sterling held in any measure of respect.
And he was right, what was there to show for it? A team he'd likely never see again, if he were smart, maybe a sense of victory for outsmarting Kadjic and possibly Sterling. From the sounds of things, he hadn't even really done that. If Nate was in hospital, then he was in custody. That could hardly be counted as a win, and from the looks of things, Sterling wasn't calling it one, either.
"I'm sorry," Tara said. She meant it. It was on her watch that it happened. That it had been inevitable didn't make it any easier. That she hadn't clued in made it worse.
"At least one of you is."
"Oh. No." That wasn't a shocking revelation; nevertheless, it wasn't a good one. If she knew Nate even half as well as she gauged she did, it meant he hadn't cared about his own exit strategy. Like all too many addicts, he was a natural born, selfishly noble bastard. For all his preaching about team, in the end, the story had to revolve around him. As Sterling had said, 'fucking hero', indeed. No doubt the others didn't even know. It would be like Nate not to tell them. She'd already been at the airport, awaiting a flight when Sterling had contacted her. No doubt he'd concocted a story to send the rest of them away, before daring to admit any kind of injury.
"Oh, yes, it's all one fucking cosmic joke. And thanks to his little joke, if he dies, I've got next to nothing to directly link Kadjic to those weapons. Really fucking hilarious."
Tara said nothing. If anybody took someone of Kadjic's calibre seriously, Sterling was that someone. No matter how it had seemed, he'd always been the primary target.
"I fucking told him how to get out of it. If he could have pulled his head out of his arse for one second, I'd have had Kadjic and Nevins all tied up with a nice little bow, and you all could have gotten lost in the confusion."
"Nevins, too?" She knew the answer even before she'd finished asking. Nevins had been turning a blind-eye to the smuggling. To Sterling that would make her an accomplice. Metaphorically, at least, Sterling believed in the practice of staking out his enemies' heads pour encourager les autres. And he really, really hated the weapons trade.
"Now... this is the biggest cock-up I've ever played witness to. That bitch still thinks Nate is more of a danger to society than her tame snitch's special business partner; none of them are going to cooperate, meaning I'm going to lose all proof of Kadjic dealing on American soil meaning she'll claim we had no grounds to arrest him so she can cover her own incompetence..." he paused to take a breath, "... and all I'll be left with is a penny-ante con-artist, or rather, his corpse."
"You've got nothing?"
"Nothing direct. I told Nate that. What else was I supposed to tell him with that bitch breathing down my neck?"
"And they're thieves." She meant Nate's team. It still would have factored into Sterling's decision making, no matter how badly he wanted Kadjic.
"Thieves I can live with. Not happily, mind you, but I can live with it." If it were possible, his scowl deepened. "At least while Nate was keeping them somewhat in line. And I could find them."
Unfortunately, Tara reflected, no one had been keeping Nate in line.
"Given the choice..."
"I know," she said. Despite what people thought, Sterling always went with what he thought was the least of the available evils. She wasn't sure he actually believed in such a thing as good, or even heroes. The attention hound image, complete with the expensive clothes and appreciation of only the finest things in life, was just that – an image. Behind that lurked the real Sterling, a mystery few people came close to solving. Nate at least somewhat appreciated that fact, but from what she'd seen, the rest of them had no comprehension of just how dangerous an enemy the man next to her could be. She hoped they'd never find out. They were, after all just thieves and con-artists. Sterling was... not. "What happens now?"
"I don't know." A hard admission for him. Like Nate, Sterling was addicted to control. Unlike Nate, he'd fully admit it, if asked. He was definitely shaken if he didn't already have a new plan. "If he makes it... if he doesn't..."
"So, it's still all about Nate." It sounded nasty to say or even think, but the man would be proud. He loved nothing more than seeing events pivot around what he did or did not do. To know he was pulling strings from a hospital bed, possibly even a drug-induced coma? He'd be thrilled.
"As always." Sterling slotted a piece of paper between the pages of his book before closing it. Even when only pretending to read something he'd never stoop to dog-earing the pages. "And as always, someone else gets to clean up."
"Ouch." It was hard to deny the truth in that, however. She felt sorry for Sophie, sometimes. Why she put up with it, Tara wasn't entirely sure. She'd only done so for Sophie's sake, and the chance for some semi-decent cash. In that light, Nate's shooting wasn't really that unbelievable. "Look, if I can help..."
"Probably not. Given the choice... I already know the answer to that." He tucked the book under one arm, preparing to stand up.
"Ouch," she said again. "That wasn't personal, just..."
"Easier. After all, they're such nice people, it's easy to forget they're criminals." Sarcasm from Sterling was like handing a knife to Elliot during a fight – someone was going to get hurt. "It's all fun and games until somebody dies." His tone became almost scarily calm. "I hope they're ready for that." He got up and started away, leaving her while he still had the last word and she couldn't demand an explanation.
Tara sat for a while, watching him leave. Some days she hated the man, with his arrogance and so-much-better -than-thou attitude, some days she grudgingly admired him and his commitment to the rules of the game he seemed to constantly play, and some days she felt sorry for him and everything he'd had to lose to become the person he was. But today, she felt none of that. She just found herself hoping that Nate would be okay.
Title: "Parley"
Fandom: Leverage
Character: Jim Sterling and Tara Cole.
Genre: Gen
Word Count: 1,980
Rating: PG (language)
Spoilers: Up to 2.15 "The Maltese Falcon Job". Takes place just after the conclusion of S2.
Credits: Thank you
rinkle and goodisrelative for the beta, plus that other pesky anonymous person.Notes: This is the second of three I wrote surrounding that last scene in "The Maltese Falcon Job." I couldn't decide which to post, and my betas said I might as well go with all three. So, yes, there is a third, forthcoming. Sorry, couldn't resist that.
Tara hung back for a moment, studying the figure on the park bench. Old habits worked with new concerns to put her on edge. Things hadn't gone so well the last time they'd met; he'd practically accused her of betrayal. Not in so many words, but if you knew the man and knew his peculiar code of honour, it was clear.
At the same time, he'd called this meeting, and that same code dictated that he wouldn't use it as a trap. Even he understood that some trusts needed to be maintained. Parley was parley. You didn't use it for ambush.
She started forward, pretending to adjust her Bluetooth earpiece as she did so. She sat down on the opposite end of the bench and continued a non-existent telephone conversation while he ostensibly remained engrossed in his paperback.
"So, what's the emergency?" There had to be one, or he wouldn't have called. This was, after all, Jim Sterling, sworn enemy of criminals and cheats the world-over, now. He didn't go through the machinations of setting up a meet with one just for idle conversation.
He said nothing.
"You called me, remember?"
Still no answer from the man she was pretending not to be with.
"Okay, I get it. You're still pissed off over Kiev." She had to admit, he had a small right to a grudge. He had, after all, set aside his own animosities, and Nate's team hadn't managed to do the same. "What did you expect?" She knew the answer to that, she'd known it the moment she'd heard the accusation in his voice back then, wanting to know how she could side with the 'punch-up artist' she'd just met over the devil she'd known for years. It had only seemed like a rhetorical question; he hadn't even looked at her when he'd spoken it. After all, the team didn't know they knew each other.
But she'd known, caught the hurt in those tones that sounded so close to derision that she thought she might have been mistaken. Again, you had to know him, like the others didn't. "You're not risking a nine million dollar artefact," they'd heard, and stopped listening, assuming he didn't really care about the fates of Maggie and Nate, now that he had his prize back. It could be taken another way, with the next three words taken into consideration. He'd been right, too. At that moment all they did have was a hunch and the egg was all the leverage they had. If they'd lost it without regaining their people it could have been disastrous.
"At least you got something out of it. You know what we got? Zero. No pay and maybe it works for the rest of them, but doing things out of the goodness of my heart just doesn't do it for me." She knew she was falling for it, the same trick she'd pulled on Chernov, but it was a trick that worked for a reason. Not only that, but one of its most skilled practitioners sat right here beside her. That he still refused to speak said a lot about that.
"Okay, fine. Clearly you are just interested in wasting my time for some reason or another – which, knowing you, I'm not even going to attempt to guess – but I've got far better things to do with it." She was about to get up and walk away when she happened to glance down. Sterling gripped his paperback far too tightly, the ends of his fingers going white as they pressed indents on the pages. She froze. It was the sign of a man fighting to maintain control, which was something Sterling never had to do. It took a lot to rattle him, and even then it never lasted long. She found it suddenly difficult to speak. "What happened?" she managed.
"Nate's been shot." His voice was rougher than normal, the words uncharacteristically abrupt. For a moment, they didn't even make sense.
"How... when... not the..." Surely Nate hadn't been insane enough to fight it out with the FBI. Yes, he'd been going off the rails, but still... "Not you."
"No." He didn't sound offended that she'd asked the question, though in his current state she wasn't sure if it really registered.
"Is he..." All he said was 'shot', not dead. There had to be a reason for the distinction.
"He's an active alcoholic with a severe traumatic injury. The prognosis is not promising." Sterling mimicked a doctor's careful, PC delivery. "In English, he's a drunk with a fucking hole where his shoulder ought to be."
"Damn him..." It had to have happened before they parted ways, if Sterling was telling the truth. He had no reason to lie. At least not one that she could think of.
"The fucking hero," Sterling spat. "And what to show for it?"
She didn't know how to answer that. Despite Nate's people's impression of Sterling as 'evil', he wasn't the complete heartless bastard even he made himself out to be. Not only that, but it was easy to see that he didn't count Nate as an enemy. An opponent, certainly, but Sterling thrived on antagonism. Nate was the same way; they seemed to understand each other and the rules of their game. Rarer still, Nate seemed to be one of the few people Sterling held in any measure of respect.
And he was right, what was there to show for it? A team he'd likely never see again, if he were smart, maybe a sense of victory for outsmarting Kadjic and possibly Sterling. From the sounds of things, he hadn't even really done that. If Nate was in hospital, then he was in custody. That could hardly be counted as a win, and from the looks of things, Sterling wasn't calling it one, either.
"I'm sorry," Tara said. She meant it. It was on her watch that it happened. That it had been inevitable didn't make it any easier. That she hadn't clued in made it worse.
"At least one of you is."
"Oh. No." That wasn't a shocking revelation; nevertheless, it wasn't a good one. If she knew Nate even half as well as she gauged she did, it meant he hadn't cared about his own exit strategy. Like all too many addicts, he was a natural born, selfishly noble bastard. For all his preaching about team, in the end, the story had to revolve around him. As Sterling had said, 'fucking hero', indeed. No doubt the others didn't even know. It would be like Nate not to tell them. She'd already been at the airport, awaiting a flight when Sterling had contacted her. No doubt he'd concocted a story to send the rest of them away, before daring to admit any kind of injury.
"Oh, yes, it's all one fucking cosmic joke. And thanks to his little joke, if he dies, I've got next to nothing to directly link Kadjic to those weapons. Really fucking hilarious."
Tara said nothing. If anybody took someone of Kadjic's calibre seriously, Sterling was that someone. No matter how it had seemed, he'd always been the primary target.
"I fucking told him how to get out of it. If he could have pulled his head out of his arse for one second, I'd have had Kadjic and Nevins all tied up with a nice little bow, and you all could have gotten lost in the confusion."
"Nevins, too?" She knew the answer even before she'd finished asking. Nevins had been turning a blind-eye to the smuggling. To Sterling that would make her an accomplice. Metaphorically, at least, Sterling believed in the practice of staking out his enemies' heads pour encourager les autres. And he really, really hated the weapons trade.
"Now... this is the biggest cock-up I've ever played witness to. That bitch still thinks Nate is more of a danger to society than her tame snitch's special business partner; none of them are going to cooperate, meaning I'm going to lose all proof of Kadjic dealing on American soil meaning she'll claim we had no grounds to arrest him so she can cover her own incompetence..." he paused to take a breath, "... and all I'll be left with is a penny-ante con-artist, or rather, his corpse."
"You've got nothing?"
"Nothing direct. I told Nate that. What else was I supposed to tell him with that bitch breathing down my neck?"
"And they're thieves." She meant Nate's team. It still would have factored into Sterling's decision making, no matter how badly he wanted Kadjic.
"Thieves I can live with. Not happily, mind you, but I can live with it." If it were possible, his scowl deepened. "At least while Nate was keeping them somewhat in line. And I could find them."
Unfortunately, Tara reflected, no one had been keeping Nate in line.
"Given the choice..."
"I know," she said. Despite what people thought, Sterling always went with what he thought was the least of the available evils. She wasn't sure he actually believed in such a thing as good, or even heroes. The attention hound image, complete with the expensive clothes and appreciation of only the finest things in life, was just that – an image. Behind that lurked the real Sterling, a mystery few people came close to solving. Nate at least somewhat appreciated that fact, but from what she'd seen, the rest of them had no comprehension of just how dangerous an enemy the man next to her could be. She hoped they'd never find out. They were, after all just thieves and con-artists. Sterling was... not. "What happens now?"
"I don't know." A hard admission for him. Like Nate, Sterling was addicted to control. Unlike Nate, he'd fully admit it, if asked. He was definitely shaken if he didn't already have a new plan. "If he makes it... if he doesn't..."
"So, it's still all about Nate." It sounded nasty to say or even think, but the man would be proud. He loved nothing more than seeing events pivot around what he did or did not do. To know he was pulling strings from a hospital bed, possibly even a drug-induced coma? He'd be thrilled.
"As always." Sterling slotted a piece of paper between the pages of his book before closing it. Even when only pretending to read something he'd never stoop to dog-earing the pages. "And as always, someone else gets to clean up."
"Ouch." It was hard to deny the truth in that, however. She felt sorry for Sophie, sometimes. Why she put up with it, Tara wasn't entirely sure. She'd only done so for Sophie's sake, and the chance for some semi-decent cash. In that light, Nate's shooting wasn't really that unbelievable. "Look, if I can help..."
"Probably not. Given the choice... I already know the answer to that." He tucked the book under one arm, preparing to stand up.
"Ouch," she said again. "That wasn't personal, just..."
"Easier. After all, they're such nice people, it's easy to forget they're criminals." Sarcasm from Sterling was like handing a knife to Elliot during a fight – someone was going to get hurt. "It's all fun and games until somebody dies." His tone became almost scarily calm. "I hope they're ready for that." He got up and started away, leaving her while he still had the last word and she couldn't demand an explanation.
Tara sat for a while, watching him leave. Some days she hated the man, with his arrogance and so-much-better -than-thou attitude, some days she grudgingly admired him and his commitment to the rules of the game he seemed to constantly play, and some days she felt sorry for him and everything he'd had to lose to become the person he was. But today, she felt none of that. She just found herself hoping that Nate would be okay.