Title: Traveler From The West

Author: Jedi Buttercup

Disclaimer: The words are mine; the worlds are not

Rating: PG/K+

Summary: "You're a damn dangerous woman," Eliot said, giving credit where credit was due. "Also, not my keeper, no matter what your great-grandfather may have been to mine." 1500w.

Spoilers: Post-movies for Mummy; vague pre-finale timeline for Leverage

Notes: For lizbet0, for the prompt, "I'd love a continuation of the Protectors of Man Leverage/Mummy crossover. Maybe Eliot has to go work with Faiza and sparks fly (literal or metaphorical)?" The kilij is the sword Ardeth is seen using in The Mummy Returns. Originally posted elsewhere on 12/2/2015.

There were worse times and places to conduct a surveillance op than a rooftop in Cairo after dark on a warm, clear night. There was definitely worse company he could have spent it with, too. Any other op, any other reason to be there, and Eliot would have been fully in the moment... but he'd been fighting the whole destiny gig for too long to relax into it now.

He took a deep breath, then let it out slow, feeling the sheath of the kilij he'd borrowed from his granddad shift on his back at the motion. Him, a Warrior for God. Wouldn't Damien have laughed to hear that. Rick O'Connell had three more great-grandsons and at least as many kick-ass great-granddaughters; if bloodlines mattered so much, why hadn't the tattoo passed to one of the others?

"You are troubled." Faiza broke the silence beside him, her voice low and lyrical in his ear.

"What? No," Eliot blurted automatically, breaking his gaze away from the building opposite. The Medjai warrior's dark, serious eyes glimmered faintly in the gloom, reflecting the stars; they were the clearest part of her he could see in the grey-on-black shadows of the moonless night, up and away from the few lit signs in that part of town.

"Huh? No, what?" someone other than Faiza replied.

Eliot winced; he'd forgotten the others were doing shifts on the comms just in case something happened before the scheduled break-in. He reached up to the 'bud in his ear and hastily tapped it off.

"I'm not... troubled. I'm fine," he continued, in a rough whisper pitched not to carry beyond the woman at his side. "Just, you know. A little tense. Anything goes wrong tonight, we won't get another chance before time runs out."

Faiza made a quiet noise of denial. "You do know who I am," she replied, wryly.

Eliot had been condescended to by plenty of people over the years, some of whom had actually been paid to do so by the US Government, but very few had actually been able to make him feel sorry for disappointing them just by their tone of voice. Nate was one, of course, though Eliot liked to pretend Nate didn't know that. And now Faiza: another tool in her arsenal to go with her looks and the tell-tale marks of training in the way she moved. There was a reason the Medjai had sent her, and not one of their young bucks, along on this operation.

"Granddad told me on the plane," he grunted, refocusing his gaze on the building across the street. "Ammar Bey, the current Leader of the Twelve Tribes; he's your great-uncle. The Ardeth Bay I grew up hearing tales about; he was his father, your great-grandfather."

"That is who my patriarchs are. I asked you who I am," she scoffed, unimpressed.

"A damn dangerous woman," Eliot replied, giving credit where credit was due. "Also, not my keeper, no matter what your great-grandfather may have been to mine. No offense, but I don't know you, sweetheart. And I'm not likely to be here long enough for that to change."

"I don't need to know you to know that you have been evading your destiny for many years," she parried, pointedly. "Every year since his health began to wane, my uncle has visited your grandfather to learn whether his heir has yet accepted the duty. And every year, your grandfather has replied that he'd have appreciated being given the choice when it was his turn, and that it could wait until you were ready. That day has finally come; and yet, you still evade."

Eliot clenched his hands into fists, then relaxed them again, slowly. It was his issue, after all; no point getting angry with her about it. "What does it matter to you? I'm doing the job, aren't I?"

"Because feeling is a part of faith. And faith is a part of this calling, as surely as the art of fist and blade. I can see the strength of your body. What of the strength of your soul?" she pressed.

What was this, some kind of test? Seemed like a strange time for it. Job counseling, then? What? "If you knew even a fraction of what I've done, you'd be surprised I even had one," he shook his head.

She had an answer for that, too. "No Warrior receives his final markings until he has known regret and chosen duty over the easier road; in this, you are no different from any other Medjai. Among our people it is said: if a man does not embrace his past, he has no future."

Yeah, well. If he did, Eliot wouldn't have much of a future, either. "So your granddad told mine. But I'm no princess' bodyguard, Faiza. I'm the knife in the dark, the steel fist in the velvet glove; and I lost myself to it for a good long while. Regret ain't really the word for it; it's like a pinprick against an avalanche. So you tell me how embracing my past is supposed to help, priestess."

"You do know who I am," she murmured, in surprised tones.

"Kind of hard to miss it. For all your people pray to Allah, you can't hardly claim there are no other gods, can you? The Beys always tattooed their family with the sign of Ma'at... and the magic was a little distinctive."

She didn't bother denying it. "Then know that when I say you would not have received the Mark had you outweighed the feather, I know whereof I speak. If it is guilt that causes your hesitation, it serves neither yourself, nor your family, nor your duty, Eliot Spencer."

He shot her another glance at that; but what he could see of her expression was just as serious and determined as it had been at the start of the conversation. She'd smirked at his irritation with the subject of destiny at the O'Connell manor, but she was cutting him no slack now that they were on her turf.

"Do we really gotta have this conversation now?" he sighed, gesturing toward the target building. Someone had lit a lamp on the second floor; it was impossible to tell from their angle who was carrying it, but at that hour of the night, it definitely wasn't expected activity.

As if summoned by Eliot's observation, his earbud beeped, then came to life in his ear. That was the sound of an emergency remote reactivation; Hardison had added the feature so they could have privacy sometimes, without potentially losing the earbud or missing an emergency call.

"Eliot, Eliot, man, you there? Parker says we got movement in the building where there's not supposed to be any movement. And it don't look like Sirk and his guys, either. We sure we're the only other people after this spooky dagger?"

"I hear you, Hardison. Gimme a sec, I'll ask," he replied, then repeated the question for Faiza's benefit.

To his relief, she let the earlier line of conversation drop and answered, thoughtfully. "The Medjai have kept the dagger safe for many centuries, but its power was well known before it came into our keeping. If word has spread that it has been removed from our protection, the possibilities are... many."

Eliot watched the light moving across the street again, frowning, then pushed back from the edge of the building and started for the route down. "Then I'm calling it. No point waiting for the optimum time to go in if the dagger ain't going to be there when we do."

"Calling it, as in 'go tell Nate and that Ammar guy we got to move up the plan', or calling it, as in 'get your ass to the keyboard and pull up those cameras, Hardison'?" his teammate asked.

Eliot growled, halfway down the staircase already with Faiza right behind him.

"Right, gotcha," Hardison replied dryly, followed by the rapid clatter of fingers moving over keys. "Good thing I already had 'em ready to go- I am the king of multitasking."

"Here we go," Eliot muttered to himself as he reached the street, holding up in the shadows while he waited for a late straggler on the sidewalk to pass.

Faiza paused behind him, her hand on his shoulder a light, anchoring weight.

"Something to consider," she murmured, in the ear that didn't have a microphone. "There is a place even for warlike Set in the fight against the serpent of Apophis. What makes you so special?" Then she darted across the street, a wry smile in passing beckoning him to follow.

He was a little rusty on his Egyptian mythology, but... sometimes bad guys make the best good guys, Eliot mused, and shook his head. Point to the lady.

More philosophical discussions could wait for later, though. "Call it for us, Hardison," he said, then unsheathed his sword and set his hand to the target door. Time to do what he did best.

-x-