DISCLAIMER: I own nothing to do with the Librarians or Leverage, sadly. If Dean Devlin or anyone who does own them wants anything of this, it's theirs.

"Got a situation I could use some help with. Are you still in Portland?" When Jacob calls for a favor, Eliot responds as only a brother can.

L ~ L ~ L ~ L ~ L

For the briefest of moments, Eliot Spencer almost felt sorry for the men he was following. There were four of them, and on most days, he wouldn't give them a second glance. Today, however, was not most days.

Today, these four had assaulted a friend of Eliot's, and if Eliot had one rule, it was that he protected his friends.

Because Alec Hardison had been running a personal errand when these four made the incredibly stupid decision to mug him, Eliot wasn't aware of the attack until Hardison called while the paramedics were treating his broken wrist.

"They took something, something I got for Parker," Hardison told Eliot, and that insult on top of the injury to Hardison had Eliot tracking the four down a street in Portland, Oregon, waiting for the right moment to confront them.

One block, another … Still too public, Eliot thought.

Then they turned down a side street, this one more residential, and Eliot picked up his pace. When they crossed the street at a crosswalk, he mentally dubbed them John, Ringo, Paul, and George.

There wouldn't be a better time, Eliot decided. No telling where they were going or how many others would be there when they arrived, so better to choose the place that suited him. He quickened his pace to overtake them.

George, trailing the other three, fell quickly and quietly, thanks to a punch to the base of his skull.

Ringo and Paul were walking side by side, and Eliot lunged to his left, knocking Ringo aside before throwing a punch at Paul. Paul reacted more quickly than Eliot had expected, dodging and swinging at Eliot in return.

Eliot ducked, danced back a couple of steps, felt Ringo grabbing at his left foot to try to pull him off balance.

Amateurs, he thought.

Three seconds later, Ringo and Paul had joined George in unconsciousness.

That left John for last.

Eliot scanned the street, but didn't immediately see him.

Too many cars, too many trees and shrubs. John could be hiding behind any one of them, Eliot knew.

But which one?

Eliot was just about to kneel down to search Paul and Ringo in an effort to draw John out when his cell phone rang.

Taking the call should be a good enough distraction. Eliot pulled his phone from his pocket, checking the display as he did. The caller ID displayed only one letter: J.

Eliot allowed himself a smile as he answered the call. "Yeah?"

"Hey, bro," the voice of his twin, Jake, came through the phone. "You busy?"

Bingo. Eliot sensed movement from seven o'clock – John, taking advantage of his apparent distraction. "Give me a sec."

"Sure."

Eliot barely heard Jake's reply as he spun to his left, lashing out with a kick that caught John squarely in the ribs. John staggered back and Eliot pressed forward, aiming his fist at John's throat.

John collapsed to the sidewalk with a gurgling noise.

Eliot shifted his phone to his left hand, started searching John with his right. If John really were the leader of this little band, he'd likely have the gift on him. "What's up?"

"Got a situation I could use some help with. Are you still in Portland?"

Eliot's searching fingers closed around a rectangular box, and he tugged it free of John's clothes. "Yeah. Between jobs at the moment, even. What d'you need?"

"Can you come to the St. Johns Bridge, northeast anchorage?"

"Yeah," Eliot answered, considering. This time of day, traffic shouldn't be too horrible, but he needed to get Parker's gift back to Hardison before starting the job. "Two hours?"

"See you then."

Eliot ended the call and opened the box, hoping Parker's gift was intact. Sunlight danced off its contents, and he narrowed his eyes against the glare even as he adjusted the box in his hand. Then he got a good look at what it contained: a charm made of emeralds in the shape of a dollar sign.

"Dammit, Hardison," Eliot muttered. "She likes money, not stuff."

With a shake of his head, Eliot closed the box and stood. Time to get the box to Hardison and then go see what his brother needed.

#

Eliot parked his Challenger along the pathway that circled the northeast anchorage of the St. Johns Bridge and strode up the grass toward Jake, who was leaning against the Gothic-style base of the bridge.

Jake straightened to meet him, and Eliot hugged his twin. Since their unplanned reunion a couple of months ago, they'd stayed in touch mostly by texts and calls, given the nature of their work. Their occasional in-person meetings still made Eliot's chest clench with affection. He had to think Jake felt the same way.

Jake pulled back, grinning, and nodded past Eliot's shoulder. "Mine's black."

"Boring. Like you," Eliot countered. "There a better place to park?"

"That'll do for now. C'mon."

"Where?" Eliot asked. Jake's answer was to open the door set in the base of the bridge. "Pretty sure that would be trespassing on government land."

"Remember I told you about the Library? This is the entrance to its Annex. Or one of its Annexes. Jenkins wasn't entirely clear on that."

"Jenkins?"

"You'll meet him, and the others." Jake led him through a corridor even more functionally drab than the corridors of the Pentagon.

"Almost forgot," Eliot said as he followed Jake down corridors even more dully utilitarian than those of the Pentagon. "Got something for you."

Jake paused, turned with a frown. "It's not anywhere near our birthday. Or Christmas."

"But it's the first time I've seen you since Hardison gave it to me for you." Eliot pulled a phone from an inside pocket, held it out to his brother.

Jake took it, turned it in his hand. "What's this?"

"Brand new phone," Eliot said. "More bells and whistles than any sane person will use in their lifetime – and completely encrypted."

"Thanks," Jake said. "And thank him."

"I will," Eliot agreed. "And I won't tell him you're as skeptical of it as I was."

Jake chuckled and shoved the phone in his own pocket and started walking again.

"So what's going on that you need my help?" Eliot asked. "Another empusa?"

"A party."

Eliot understood the words, but they made no sense. "How d'you need help with a party?"

"Because it's more a trap than a party," Jake answered.

"Who'd want to trap you and why?" It was a sign of just how unusual his and Jake's lives were, Eliot decided, that he didn't even question Jake's declaration.

Jake stopped, turning to face him, and Eliot read the embarrassment in Jake's expression clearly.

"When you enlisted," Jake began, "it was - a lot of things. But eventually, I realized it was a lesson. Just like you had to do what felt right to you, I had to do what felt right to me."

"You stayed, took over the family business."

"I also started writing papers on European and Native American art. I've been published in dozens of journals and popular magazines."

Eliot got the implications immediately - and not least because he hadn't found any such articles when he'd run the occasional check on his twin during the years they were apart. "You used a different name, so Pa wouldn't find out."

"Yeah." Jake started walking again. "And the invitation came to the pen name."

"Why's that a problem? You forget all your manners?"

Jake didn't answer. Instead, he made one more turn in the corridor, and Eliot found himself facing glass double doors decorated with swirling brass designs. Beyond them, Eliot saw what could have been an office in any building – a desk and worktable piled with papers and books, the only unusual items a ball of string as big as his head and a golden globe about the same size.

Exactly what he might have expected his twin's office to look like, if he'd ever thought about it.

"Ah, Mr. Stone, you're back." The voice was male – older, Eliot thought, middle American accent with hints of something else he couldn't quite place – and came from Eliot's ten o'clock.

Eliot looked in that direction, saw a snowy-haired man who might be in late middle age stepping into the room.

"I confess I didn't hear that monster engine on your way out, but –" the man stopped short, staring. "Good God, there are two of you. What happened? Was it a wishing well? Or perhaps an accident with a magical mirror –"

"Nothing like that, Jenkins," Jake said. "This is my twin brother, Eliot. Eliot, Jenkins."

"Good to meet you, Mr. Jenkins." Eliot offered his hand, all the manners his mama and the military had taught him coming back.

Jenkins took Eliot's hand, though he still wore a nonplussed expression. "I see."

The man – Jenkins – didn't seem inclined to idle conversation, so Eliot turned his attention back to Jake.

"Tell me more about this party that's a trap."

"A lot of art history scholars have been invited for a weekend of talk and discussion."

"Sounds like paradise for you," Eliot said, and it was the truth. Where he'd been the more active one, Jake had always preferred reading and deep conversation.

"Except for the trap part," Jake countered. "The host has ties to the Serpent Brotherhood."

"Serpent Brotherhood?"

"They want to use magic to rule the world," Jake said. "They've killed a lot of potential Librarians and forced the Library itself off this plane of existence."

"Bad guys," Eliot concluded.

"Yeah. We don't know that they're planning anything with this party more than a scouting mission, scoping out potential recruits, but Colonel Baird thinks we can use it for the same purpose."

"Figure out what they want by seeing who they want," Eliot said.

"Something like that." This time the intruding voice was female, with an air of command. Eliot glanced up, saw a tall blonde striding into the room. "Jacob says you're familiar with this kind of work."

"You could say that."

"And how did you acquire that familiarity? I ran a check on Eliot Stone and found nothing. Zip. Zilch. Nada."

Eliot glanced at Jake. "Colonel Baird?"

Jake nodded confirmation.

Eliot gave the grin that had gotten him in trouble with his superiors more than once back when he was in the Army. "Well, Colonel, that might be because I go by Spencer."

"Mom's maiden name?" Jake asked, and Eliot realized that hadn't come up in conversation since their reunion. "Why?"

"Same reason you write under a different name," Eliot replied. It was enough of the truth for now.

Baird was already typing his name into her phone, so Eliot focused on Jake once more. "So who am I pretending to be for this?"

"Adam Sinclair, independent art historian."

Eliot stared at his brother for a long, dumbfounded moment. Then he laughed. "Seriously?"

"Seriously," Jake said. "I loved those books. What's so funny?"

Still chuckling, Eliot reached for his phone, tapped in a number from memory.

Hardison answered on the first ring. "Yo, Eliot. 'Sup, brah?"

"I need you to reactivate my Adam Sinclair cover," Eliot told him. Beside him, Jake looked surprised. Then he, too, laughed.

"What for?"

Hardison never could just do what he asked, Eliot reflected - unless someone's life was in immediate danger, and not always even then. "Favor for Jake."

"Okay, man. Done. You need anything else?"

Eliot did a quick mental inventory. "I'm good. Thanks." He ended the call and met Jake's grin. "What? I liked the books, too."

"That was you?" Baird asked.

"Have to be more specific, Colonel," Eliot said.

"Croatia."

"Maybe. Been there a couple of times." Eliot turned back to Jake. "When and where is this shindig, and how formal is it?"