AN- Hi everybody, so for some reason, Lindsey's death on Angel has really been bugging me lately. This was supposed to be one of those 5 and 1 stories, (you know the ones), with Eliot finding out about Lindsey's death 5 different ways and then I would get to bring Lindsey back to life at the end. But long story short, I could only come up with 3 of the 5, and I realized something: It's been, what? 5? 6 years since Lindsey died? I think it's time for me to let go of my beloved lawyer boy. So this is me, letting go of Lindsey, with a little help from Eliot.
Disclaimer: I don't own Nate, Eliot, Lorne, Lindsey, Nate's apartment, Lindsey's death scene, etc, etc, and so on and so forth
Eliot entered Nate's apartment silently, and headed straight for the kitchen. Nate saw the grocery bags in Eliot's arms, nodded an acknowledgment, and turned back to the game on the six-screen system. It wasn't unusual to find Eliot cooking away in Nate's kitchen in between jobs. Nate's kitchen was bigger, and many of Eliot's favorite dishes served large groups (and considering how much Parker and Hardison could put away, Leverage Consulting certainly qualified).
As Eliot set up his workshop for an afternoon of heavy duty cooking, he saw a box he hadn't brought in sitting among his supplies. He walked over to Nate to get his attention and pointed to it in inquiry.
"That just showed up outside my door this morning." He said with a noncommittal shrug, barely looking away from the game.
Eliot examined the package warily, noting it was addressed to him, c/o Leverage, with no return address. His first thought was danger. Nate had brought it in and he seemed fine, so it probably wasn't some kind of contact poison on the cardboard. Eliot refrained from frightening the older man by checking on him further, or asking him to leave, in case his second guess happened to be the right one: bomb.
He wouldn't have been the first Leverage employee to get one delivered to him, just the most likely choice. The box (and Nate) was still in one piece after being handled, so it wasn't motion sensitive. If it was on a timer they were both screwed.
He mentally tracked down the closest, safest place he could take it that would cause the least amount of casualties, meanwhile still trying to figure out a way to figure out what it actually was. If it wasn't on a timer, then it was rigged to blow as soon as he opened it, so that was out of the question.
He mentally kicked himself for bringing all of those cooking ingredients with him. Many ingredients of a bomb he could have identified by smell, but not when surrounded by all theses spices and various strong odors.
Eliot lightly placed a hand on each side of the box, holding it in place, and placed his ear against the package. He new the idea of hearing a ticking, if it were a bomb on a timer, was juvenile at best, but he learned long ago to not underestimate the use of all your senses, especially in situations like this.
The box didn't tick so much as. . .Sing? Sending. . .otherworldly vibrations throughout his head and down his spine.
He staggered back a step, overwhelmed by the feeling. It was a unique sensation he didn't quite have a name for. It took him a moment to recognize it, he hadn't felt magic in over 10 years, but it was something you never quite forgot. Suddenly he knew exactly who the package was from.
There was no point in being careful anymore. Whatever was in that box, it was something he couldn't stop or control, so there was no point in trying. He pulled out one of his knives, cut the tape on the box, and opened it up.
He looked human, features a bit angular, nose a bit pointed. The exception being the green skin and red horns, both clashing with his garish clothing. His eyes and lips were blood red.
"Yeah", he responded, sullenly, "I bet you do"
Lindsey gave a slight grin, "you don't trust me" he shrugged with hands. "You don't think a man can change?" Eliot was pretty sure the hint of desperation in Lindsey's voice was something only a brother could hear.
The other man looks at the floor, a decision already made, just going through the motions. "It's not about what I think." Looks him in the eyes this time, sighs. "This was Angel's plan"
Lindsey scoffs, a fake bravado. "Come on. . ." The fear in Lindsey's eyes this time is unmistakable, almost frantic. The mood in the room has changed, and Eliot doesn't realize his hands have clenched into fists so tight they are shaking. "I could sing for ya."
The green man raises the gun as he says, "I've heard you sing" and shoots twice. The gun gives two muffled pops due to a silencer. Part of his brain is identifying the gun, bullet, choice of target area, and what they mean about the shooter, but he ignores it.
Lindsey's breath leaves him in a rush of air. It's as if he's too shocked to realize he should be dead already. Lindsey stares at the holes in his chest, the question of "what" or "why" never really leaving his lips.
"One last job" The green man says, more to himself than to Lindsey. "You're not part of the solution, Lindsey. You never will be."
Lindsey's confusion turns to anger. "You kill me?" He collapses to the floor missing the chair he had been backing towards entirely. "A flunky! I'm not just. . . Angel kills me! Angel!"
Lindsey's head goes limp to his shoulder.
"Eliot, are you alright?" The fear in Nate's voice brings Eliot back to reality. He's still in Nate's kitchen, only now he's sitting on the floor, his back against the counter.
"What. . .Yeah, yeah I'm fine. I just. . .I'm fine." He said, trying to mentally right himself. He rose to his feet and busied himself with the ingredients in front of him.
Nate stares at him a few minutes, Eliot not meeting his eyes. "Eliot, what was in that box?"
Eliot's mind reels, too much at once. "Nothing" he says blandly, continuing to cook. "It was empty. See for yourself."
Nate looked in the now empty box, huffed a sigh, satisfied, and went back to the game.
Once Nate's back was turned, Eliot dropped the busy work and returned to the task of figuring out what the hell just happened.
His twin brother just died is what happened. But it wasn't real. Well, not real time anyway. It happened at night, it was now the middle of the day. He replayed the scene, which was now permanently etched in his brain, back through, focusing on timeframe. 60 seconds exactly.
His brother had given him the last 60 seconds of his life. The question now was, what was he going to do about it?
fin
AN- Thank you for reading. This was my first Leverage fic, so please forgive any mistakes in character or, you know, general lack of talent, and please review. Good or bad, all opinions are appreciated. If it seems appropriate I will probably add a second shorter chapter (one of the other 5 ways I mentioned earlier) that I was looking forward to putting up.