I do not own Leverage nor The Sentinel.

Eliot had known what he was since his fourth birthday, when Great-Grandfather Spencer had taken him down to the creek and explained to him what it meant to be Adatiya. Before then, with all the innocence of a child, he had thought that everyone was able to see all the colors he could see, and hear and smell all the things that he could. (Though knowing that they couldn't explained a lot of things about Uncle Rob, and why he was able to get away with being so dirty all the time, and why, when he was sick, Mama took him to Aunt Janna instead of giving him medicines like she gave baby Molly.)

He'd finally learned why all the tribal elders had such an interest in him, a little boy whose blood was only a quarter Tsalagi. He was a Blessed Warrior. Alisdelisgi, Protector.

Some blessing.

The first fourteen years of his life hadn't been that bad. Mama had helped him the couple of times when his senses overwhelmed him. Great-Grandfather called it her "mother-gift" that she was able to help him, even though she was Ayvwunega.

Then Mama and Great-Grandfather had died in the fire, along with many of his aunts, uncles and cousins, Tsalagi and white alike. Dad had closed himself off then, turning to drink, and Gramma had tried to come up from Texas and help out, but he'd sent her away. So Eliot was left to take care of Molly, who was only ten.

Even that hadn't been unbearable. Dad was just distant, not violent, and Molly was a bright star in a dark night. It was during those years that he'd learned to play the guitar, Pastor Charlie had taught him how, when he'd sought refuge in the small church. His senses had still been easily manageable. On the two occasions he'd gotten Lost, Molly had brought him back.

The tension between him and Dad had grown though. By the time of the fight on his eighteenth birthday they had been so angry at each other. Looking back, Eliot thinks that his father was afraid that his son would die the way his own father had. No Adasehedi, and Lost so deep that he couldn't be brought back.

That was once his greatest fear too. Not anymore.

The Army had been good at first. He'd done well and he is still proud of what he had accomplished with the men he had met and called family. The men who'd had his back the way he'd had theirs.

And then came the black-ops. Wet-work. Things he didn't like to think about for too long because it made him want to smash something. Preferably someone's face.

He'd left the army and worked freelance for two years before he'd met Damian Moreau. Less than two weeks later, his senses had woken with a vengeance. If they had been uncomfortable before they were excruciating now. The least light left his eyes burning. The smoothest fabric or smallest amount of dust left his skin feeling as though it was being peeled off in strips. The smells overwhelmed and were bitter on his tongue. He wasn't able to eat.

He had fully expected for Moreau to put a bullet in his head himself. What use was a hitter who couldn't even sit up and look around?

Instead, he'd woken to Moreau, speaking to him in low tones, soothing the pains away.

Eliot had latched on to that voice and not let go. It had been the only lifeline in the insanity. Damien Moreau was Adasehedi, a Companion. One of the gifted who could bring Adatiya back from the brink and give them control.

Except Damian hadn't given him control. He'd taken it for himself instead.

Whatever else might be said about Damian Moreau, no one had ever claimed him for a fool. He had been swift to realize the benefits to be reaped by one who possessed such as Eliot.

And so it had been. What Damian commanded Eliot accomplished. And in return he was given a relief from the ocean that threatened to drown him.

It seemed a small thing, but it was still the thought of the whistle that brought the worst memories rushing back.

Some months after Eliot's senses had woken, Damian had decided to test the effect of a dog whistle on his new Adatiya. He'd liked the results a lot. He had taken to wearing a silver dog whistle on a chain around his neck, to drive Eliot to his knees in pain, or call him to his side.

And, like any good attack dog, Eliot came.

They had become almost a dream, the talks with Great-Grandfather as he explained the "gifts" to Eliot as a child.

"You are blessed, Grandson. You have been given the ability to be Alisdelisgi, a Protector. It will be for you to stand between others and the monsters in the dark."

Great-Grandfather had forgotten to mention that he would become one of those monsters in the dark. Something that others needed to be protected from.

He had hated it. Hated that he was so easily controlled, hated that his senses made him so vulnerable, so weak. He had become so very angry, and he took it out on anyone who got in his way. On the people that Moreau sent him after, on passersby in the streets, on others of Moreau's own men.

Honestly, anger has been a part of Eliot's life for so long, that he's forgotten what it is like to be without it. Not since his mother died.

Then he'd met General Flores and his wife, Ana. And they were kind to him and he was supposed to kill thembuthteywerekindtohimnoonewaskindtohim.

So he'd spared them. He'd warned them, and he'd left.

It had been rough, but he'd been ruthless against himself. He'd pushed the senses down and told them to go away. They hadn't gone away, not completely, but they'd faded, so that he only got Lost twice in as many months. It had been hard, but he'd managed, he'd managed for years. And he'd sworn to never again give anyone the kind of power over him that Damian had had. He would die eventually, he knew, probably sooner rather than later, but anything was better than being someone's pet.

Then Dubenich had contacted him about The Job. And Eliot hadn't been doing anything else at the time so sure, why not. He could work with a team again, just this once. He'd never met either of the others, but he'd heard about them. The hacker-genius and the crazy-girl thief but was their babysitter who really made things interesting.

Almost everyone in his line of work had heard of Nathan Ford, Insurance Agent. He was one of the best, if not the best.

He'd even come close to catching Eliot once. Or twice. (Okay, maybe more like three or four or five times.)

Of course, that was a while ago. Last Eliot had heard Ford had sunk into a drunken haze after his son died and his wife left. Eliot isn't sure that he wants a drunkard calling the shots. How can you trust someone to remain in control of a situation if they can't control themselves? (And yes, he is aware of the hypocrisy in that question.)

Oh well. If it gets too bad he can just leave.

Ford seems pretty well together though. Eliot figures it has something to do with the fact that the company they are stealing from is insured by IYS. Yeah, he knows about that. He knows about a lot of things people don't expect him to.

Ford assesses him quickly, taking in the simple black get-up and glasses before returning to the plans he has spread out over the table.

Eliot grits his teeth. One down-side to suppressing his senses is that sometimes they go wonky. Most often his taste, which he can't really do anything about, or his vision, leaving him requiring glasses or contacts. Fortunately, he always loses vision the same way, so he was able to get a prescription and keep it on hand. It usually works, but Eliot hates himself for looking vulnerable. Unfortunately his last pair of contacts were lost in Moldova and he hasn't been able to get new ones yet.

For now, he tamps down on the familiar rage and stands silently against the wall perpendicular to the door. Just one job. He reminds himself. Get in, get out, get paid, get gone.

Hardison and Parker arrive at the deserted office building they are using for the first meet together. Not together-together, just at the same time. Hardison through the door, and Parker through the window. Parker must have been a few seconds earlier than the hacker, because the instant he enters the room, Eliot's world slams to a halt.

No, no, no, nonononono. Please no.

Even from here, he can tell the kid is Adasehedi. He can feel the pull and it terrifies him.

Not again. Please not again.

The only thing that keeps him from running is that the kid is in between him and the only door. He would have to go past him to get out.

Get a grip Spencer! He orders himself, the voice in his head sounding like his old drill sergeant back in basic. Get a grip! Calm down!

By the time he trusts himself to remain in control, Ford has given the kids curt, businesslike greetings, not hiding his slight disdain for them any more than he did with Eliot, and is outlining their parts in this heist. Eliot draws a deep breath and listens.

He can do this. It's just the one job after all.

Translations for the Cherokee, in alphabetical order. (I do not speak Cherokee, this was the best I could do with online lexicons.)
Adasehedi - Guide
Adatiya - Guardian
Alisdelisgi - Protector
Ayvwunega - White woman (I think, this is one I'm not sure, I lost the lexicon I found it on.)
Tsalagi - Cherokee

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