Work Text:
Time: 2010, a decade after HL series ended. Middle of season 2 of Leverage, but minor spoilers for later seasons.
...
“Okay, people,” said Nate Ford to his team of only three today. Sophie Devereaux was still off traveling the world. The others were listening more than usual, which was good considering how close to failure their latest con jobs had come. Timing was everything in a heist and they were still struggling to adapt a quintet’s music score to a quartet.
“This next con is a modified Memling Judgement. Hardison, tell us more about security at the Widen Historical Society of Boston.”
“Cameras everywhere. No biometrics, just card readers," replied Alec Hardison. "Which makes this less complicated than a certain job that will not be mentioned again."
Hardison looked pointedly at both Eliot and Parker, as though daring them to do so. Both only wore bored expressions, but Parker smirked when Hardison looked away.
"So, we need to steal somebody’s ID to access the doors. That’s easy. The problem is everybody knows everybody there. l can blind the security guys with looped video, of course,” stated Hardison factually with a hint of pride. “Once in, most people probably won't question strangers who look like they belong, but the door guards and people in charge sure will. Oh, and this place operates twenty-four seven, fully staffed, so going at night won’t help either.”
Nate asked, "Surely, they have some visitors?”
“Ultra rare. Nobody just drops by. Got one old guy on the schedule; that’s it for the whole month.”
Nate stood up and paced behind the long sofa the others were sitting on. “All four of us can't waltz in then," Nate replied. "So, back door. Eliot?”
“Not a problem," Eliot Spencer answered. "Everybody has garbage pick up.”
"What's our target?" asked Parker as she pilfered Hardison's bag of chips and made a mess on the coffee table.
"Antique books," answered Nate. "All handwritten at the start of the nineteenth century."
"Books?" Eliot exclaimed, his usual frown growing more stern.
"Not data or money or art or gems?" asked Parker sounding disappointed.
"One-of-a-kind books," Hardison specified. "Nobody has ever printed or scanned copies of these. I checked."
That made Parker look happy again.
“Parker, can you steal them without being seen?" Nate asked.
“Sure. What’s my way out?” she asked as she examined the map of the facility on the bank of screens that filled one wall of the room.
“Same way Eliot gets you in,” Nate told her.
When she still looked baffled, Eliot said with a smirk. “Trash can.”
“Eww," she answered.
Nate paused his pacing and asked, “Hardison, you said one visitor is expected?”
Hardison hit a few keys and gestured to the bank of screens as they changed from the target location's floorplan to a photo of a man about age sixty. “Joseph Dawson.”
“Has this Dawson ever been to the Boston branch of this book club before?” Nate asked.
“Doesn’t look like it," answered Hardison as private information and more pictures of Dawson were displayed on the screens. "Better still, his plane ticket next week departs from Paris, France.”
“Good, the people here won’t know him,” said Nate. “I will pretend to be Joseph Dawson mistaking the appointment date and arriving a week early.”
“Nate, I can’t get you a legit ID for this place.”
“I don’t need the card to actually work. I’ll run interference at the front door to draw the administrators' attention away from Eliot and Parker. Any questions?”
Nate looked around. Parker was perched on the couch ready to spring up like a hyperactive squirrel, Eliot had his arms crossed doing his usual impression of a heavyweight boxing champion before a fight and Hardison’s fingers were already flying across the keys of his computer. No one mentioned Sophie’s empty spot.
“Great,” said Nate. "Let's steal a library.”
As they all began to leave to prepare for their parts of the job, Parker squeaked to herself, "Not the entire library, right?"
...
The morning of the heist, Hardison leaned back in a comfortable chair surrounded by screens displaying security cameras he’d hacked and all of them ready to obey his every command. The assortment of soda and snacks at his disposal was just a bonus.
“Nate,” he said into his microphone that distributed to the rest of the team’s earbuds. “Eliot’s garbage truck just pulled into the back alley.”
“Are you positive you don’t mind staying outside, Hardison?” Nate’s voice asked from the speaker. “I don’t want you to feel left out while the rest of us perform on the ground this time.”
Hardison savored a gulp of his favorite orange soda before he answered, “I’m sure.”
“I’m sure, too,” Eliot added to their conversation, though his voice was almost unheard over the sound of him slamming the garbage truck door. His disguise as a trash pickup worker was in reality just his usual t-shirt and jeans with an unbuttoned shirt over it. The only additions were a knit hat and a reflective vest. “Rescuing Hardison last time stunk worse than this can.”
“Which you said would not stink!” Parker complained from inside the large plastic trash bin Eliot was now rolling up the alley.
Eliot muttered, “I never promised that.”
Hardison ignored Eliot’s sniping and replied to Nate, “It’s necessary this way to make Parker and Eliot invisible as needed from the cameras and it gives me the opportunity to do a little conducting.”
“I see,” was the only comment Nate made to Hardison’s implication that he would try his hand at masterminding some of this operation.
“Nobody wants to look inside a smelly can,” Eliot continued rationalizing to Parker under his breath. In a louder voice, he addressed the guard standing behind the gate they were approaching, “Other truck’s lift arm is jammed, I gotta trade you an empty one today.”
Hardison watched the screen as the guard unlocked the gate, stepped out and then attempted to open the lid of Parker’s trash can, exactly as Eliot said he wouldn’t. Eliot grappled the guard from behind. When he had him wrestled to the ground, he knocked the guard out with one punch and snatched the ID card off his shirt. There wasn't much choice of where to hide an unconscious man, so Eliot dropped him into different bin nearby on the curb.
Parker popped into view like a whack-a-mole arcade game. “He gets to go in a recycle bin? No fair!”
"Oscar, the Grouch,” Eliot called her as he dragged both bins into the courtyard and closed the gates behind them. He used the guard’s ID card to unlock the back door. “Nate, we’re in.”
"Good,” Nate replied. “I’m walking up to the front now."
On the screen, Eliot and Parker were entering a service elevator. Hardison tuned out their bickering when his cell phone began buzzing at him. He hit the mute on his microphone to the others’ earbuds so he could answer the phone privately. “Hey, Sophie."
“Have I missed it?” she asked.
“Nah, just started. You should see Nate. He's decked out in a fake beard and grey hair, leaning on a cane like he’s a hundred years old or something,” he told her with a laugh as he described what he saw on the security camera feed to her. “He’s got security all flustered, making them check all their equipment and calling down the people in charge. It’s brilliant.”
She replied softly, “I’m glad.”
Hardison’s smile vanished at her wistful tone. “Come back, Sophie. We need you. Parker plays in garbage cans now and Eliot is calling her names again and he swears at me a lot more. And Nate, well..." he trailed off mysteriously.
"No one can try to kill me again if I stay dead," she reminded him.
"That's not the real reason you skipped town."
"True,” she admitted gently.
The voice of Eliot over the speaker interrupted them, “Damn it, Hardison!”
Even Sophie could hear him shouting in the background and said, “Go, go.”
“See what I mean? Nate never tells him to watch his language, you know,” Hardison complained even as he put down the phone. “Eliot, what?” he asked, then remembered to unmute his microphone and repeated, “Yeah, what?”
"We are on the fifth floor and I can't find the door to supply room 5C,” Eliot replied. On the screen, Eliot was slowly rolling Parker's trash bin past a row of copier machines.
"Up ahead, next to the swords display."
"Which swords display?” Eliot hissed. “The Colichemarde and Navy Cutlass or the Artillery and Calvary sabers?"
"Pardon me," Hardison drawled. "The badass swords display."
"No door by the Colichemarde."
"The ones with the loopy handles are the coolest ones there," argued Hardison.
"Those are like jewelry man, mostly useless," criticized Eliot. "Found the door. There’s no card reader on it."
“That’s ‘cause this door ain't electronic.”
“Anybody around to hear me?” Eliot asked.
“No, the only two people on your floor are on the opposite side,” said Hardison as he glanced over all his feeds again.
Eliot simply kicked the supply room door in. Inside was a large space, boxes of copy paper and other equipment neatly organized and it had its own camera to watch it all.
Parker, dressed all in black, climbed out of her trash can hefting her bag of gear and commented, "I could have picked that lock, you know."
When Eliot didn't reply, she elaborated just in case he didn't understand her. "Now, the lock is broken."
Ignoring her, Eliot gruffly slid the trash can directly in front of the doorway, but it was too wide to fit through the opening. He growled under his breath as he reached into the bin for the battery powered saw and kicked the door closed.
“Get this," Hardison narrated for Sophie's benefit. "The bogus ID card I made is so convincing, Nate's got them questioning their scanner. Am I good or am I good?”
“The best,” Sophie replied indulgently.
On the screen, Parker and Eliot exchanged a look. Hardison glanced down in alarm at the phone he hadn't noticed was resting much too close to his microphone. He scooped it back up to his ear.
Eliot quickly turned on the saw and began cutting into the floor. The sound was a welcome reprieve from the inane prattling of a stuffy librarian Nate was forced to keep up in order to continue diverting people downstairs. If Nate had heard Sophie's voice, Hardison had missed his reaction.
“One Parker sized hole,” Eliot said, gesturing to his handiwork with all the flare of an upscale restaurant waiter presenting a dish.
With a roll of her eyes and a slightly disturbing grin, Parker rappelled down into one of the library rooms. "Hey, guys," she said as she took in her new surroundings. "We're gonna need a bigger bin."
“Incoming,” Hardison warned them. “Woman, about forty, must have heard you cutting into the floor after all. Hold up, I think she’s going to the copier. No, she’s moving the bin.”
Still at the ground floor entryway hassling security, Nate was surrounded by people, making it difficult to give his team directions. On the phone to Hardison, Sophie said, “Tell Eliot to brace the door until she gives up."
"Eliot, hold that door shut. She’ll give up trying when she can’t unlock it,” Hardison relayed her instructions for the others who didn’t know he was talking to her. Eliot obeyed, stretching from where he was guiding Parker's rope to grasp the door handle with his other hand.
New movement on another screen caught Hardison's eye. “Whoa, big problem, guys,” he exclaimed. “The real Dawson is in the house and worse, he is walking towards the library.”
“Didn't you say the walking cane guy was out of the country until next week?" Parker asked, almost idly. She was the only one free to speak while Eliot was silently holding a door with a broken lock and Nate was trapped in a crowd.
“He was!”
“How’d you not see him on the cameras before?”
“Cameras aren’t pointed at the toilets! And I was watching all of you," Hardison defended himself. "He must have arrived just before we did this morning.”
Nate spoke up at last. “Security just permitted me into the building," he said in a concerned murmur.
"Maybe because they thought Dawson just stepped out for coffee or something, so they knew his card ought to work?" Hardison suggested.
"They should have noticed that I don’t really look like the first Dawson.”
“You are both wearing mostly similar clothes,” said Hardison, trying to make sense of it himself. “Maybe they just saw what they wanted to see to not get in trouble?”
On the screen he watched Nate slowly traverse the ground floor halls, keeping up appearances meant he couldn’t move fast. No one was escorting him or following him. However, each time he found a private corner to talk, within a minute some random person would wander by.
“They should not have let me in,” Nate insisted.
“I have more bad news,” Hardison told them. “That lady in the hall took off with our trash can and she’s already at the elevator.”
"What?!" Eliot exclaimed now that Hardison informed them there was no longer anyone to overhear him through the door.
"Bet she took it because recycle bins belong next to copiers, not trash bins," Parker criticized.
“Keep to the plan, everyone,” said Nate. “I’ll get the bin. Hardison, tell me where she abandons it and I'll send it back on the elevator for Eliot to fetch. Parker, get the books."
"Want me to take Dawson out?" offered Eliot.
"No,” he paused with a sigh. “Hardison won’t let me cross paths with Dawson, right Hardison? Nobody needs to see double today.”
...
Alone in a room full of books, Parker scurried cat-like around the stacks as she searched for her target. There in a corner was a camera. She pulled out her cellphone and waved it in the air for Hardison to see.
“Yeah, Parker. Sounds good on the left,” Hardison replied, emphasizing the word ‘sounds’ and ‘left’ to remind her not to hold the phone over the same ear as the earbud. Otherwise, everyone would hear her call.
Sophie answered her speed dial on the first ring. “Hello, Parker, dear!”
"Hiya, tell me again why I can't just rip the microchips out of the books?" she asked in a rush, careful not to say Sophie’s name.
"You are not supposed to damage the books," Sophie answered.
“I explained this, Parker,” Hardison said and Parker jumped when his voice echoed in her earbud and the phone. She looked down at her phone only now noticing it was a three way call to Sophie and Hardison.
“There are too many books and they all look the same."
“Is there a terminal you can call up information on?” Sophie suggested.
“The computers are over by people who aren’t supposed to see me.”
“You have time,” Nate replied through her earbud. “The trash bin’s handler is gossiping on the second floor. Until she leaves it, I’m hiding out in a stairwell because a man with no legs won’t use the stairs.”
“Speaking of,” Hardison said. “Dawson is now inside the library and moving towards the back rooms. Hide, Parker.”
“No,” Nate disagreed. “Don’t hide, Parker. Dawson is the only person who doesn’t know everyone here personally. Act like you belong and get Dawson to find the books for you.”
Parker squawked, “Nate, I’m not a good grifter. I can’t just walk up to this guy and ask for help. I’m not dressed like a librarian either.” She glanced down at her all black, fitted clothes.
“If it doesn’t work, just walk away."
“I’ll guide you,” said Sophie. “You are going to pretend to be on the phone with your boss. Act distracted and flustered.”
“I'm going to pretend to be on the phone with my boss, yeah,” answered Parker aloud to inform the others.
She walked back to stand under the hole she'd dropped through and tied her gear to the harness still dangling from the rope. Eliot pulled it all up out of sight. Then Parker began shouting into the phone, “I’m sorry, Sophie! I can’t find the 1081 volume anywhere. Please, don’t fire me!”
“Not quite so loud," said Sophie and at the same time Nate told Parker, “Less drama.”
“Can I help?” said a man’s voice from the open archway into the room.
Parker turned around awkwardly. “You sure can. I’d love some help, Mister... uh?”
“Joe Dawson," said the man and he ambled slowly toward her, his cane silent on the carpet.
"Tell him your name is Alice White.”
“I’m Alice White," Parker parroted.
"Pleased to meet you, Alice,” said Dawson.
"Parker, be very careful around this Dawson guy. I got a good look at him from the ceiling,” Eliot advised. “He's an ex-marine and knows how to kill people with that walking cane."
“You can tell that by the way he carries his cane?” Hardison asked.
Eliot ignored him. "And Parker, don't take that as a challenge to try to deck the guy. This isn't playtime."
“Have you looked up the call number on the computer?" Dawson asked.
Parker walked to the nearest piece of furniture, a cabinet full of little drawers, and leaned on them imitating Eliot's manner in such situations. "Nah, I don't need a computer,” she said to try to avoid going into the front of the library.
The real Dawson’s voice and demeanor was not the fussy geezer Nate had pretended to be downstairs. "Card catalog, then?" he suggested.
"What's a card catalog?"
Joe smiled in a rather grandfatherly manner. "Something they still keep around for old geezers and anti-tech people. Well, that and for when the computer search system goes down." He gestured with his cane toward the cabinet she was standing against. “I suppose they aren't used much by people your age.”
"Oh," she replied and pulled on one of the handles to look at the long drawer filled with papers. "It’d be easy to hide a false compartment in these."
He didn’t seem to know what to reply to that statement. Sophie saved her by saying, “Give him the phone.”
“My boss, Sophie, wants to talk to you. Here.”
As Joe took the offered phone from her, Parker heard Nate in a faintly annoyed tone state, “I knew you really called Sophie.”
When no one protested or denied it, Nate sighed and announced, "Change of plan. Not using the trash bin.”
"Yay!” Parker cheered, earning her another indulgent smile from Dawson as he happened to locate the number they needed in the card catalog at that moment.
Hardison complained at once and said, “The whole point of the bin is to block the RFID signal.”
“No, the metal we lined the plastic bin with blocks the signal,” Nate reminded them. "Sophie is going to persuade Dawson to check the books out for Parker."
"She's going to grift over the phone?" Eliot asked.
"She's the best."
Nate was right, whatever Sophie told Joe on the phone worked. He led Parker to exactly the right shelf.
"Here it is," said Joe. "The 1801 volumes are what you were looking for. She wasn't alive yet in 1081, but don't feel bad. My father had dyslexia, too."
Parker answered with a nondescript, "Oh,” as he revealed how Sophie had convinced him to help her.
"Writing and reading the chronicles is only one part of this job," Dawson said kindly as he returned the phone to her. "Your boss thinks you have a lot of potential if you'll just stick it out and finish the academy."
"Keep pretending to use the phone, Parker," Sophie instructed. "Hardison, put me through to the team's earbuds." Parker's phone abruptly disconnected and in her earbud Sophie said, "Now, select more books than you can carry. Then complain about their weight to Dawson."
"Oof," said Parker, using her shoulder to hold the phone to her ear while she grabbed the largest of the books. "These are heavy. Seriously, I can't carry them."
"Here, don't drop them," replied Dawson and he tucked a couple of them under one arm. "I'll help you take them to the desk."
"Good job, Parker," Nate praised. "Nice to hear your voice, Sophie."
"You, too, Nate."
"We need you back, Sophie," Eliot spoke up. "Trying to do these jobs without you has made Parker begin sleepwalking and Hardison always forgets to brush his teeth now. You know how he drinks all that soda.”
"Do not!" sputtered Hardison automatically. "Well, Eliot has been calling Parker names!"
"Is that so?"
"Yeah," Parker said. “He called me ‘Oscar’ today and I’m pretty sure that was an insult. Was that an insult?”
She was still pretending to talk into the phone, but Joe gave her another strange look.
"This job is falling apart without you," Hardison insisted to Sophie. "The clerk isn't going to let Dawson check them out himself and then give the books to her. Parker needs a working ID card."
"Which I have," Eliot reminded them.
"Which belongs to someone the clerk knows!"
"Maybe not as well as you think. I'm going in," Eliot said anyway. "We can't let the clerk have a chance to wonder why he didn't see Parker enter the library earlier."
"Parker," said Nate. "When Eliot hands over the guard's ID card to the clerk, you need to cause a distraction while Eliot talks to Dawson."
"Nate, Eliot's right,” Sophie said. “The clerk must not notice Parker."
"Trust me, she wants to be noticed,” Nate argued back. “It's Eliot the clerk can't be allowed to focus on."
"Sophie, how do I get the clerk to notice me and not Eliot?" Parker asked bluntly, choosing to follow Nate’s directions and not caring what Dawson might think of that question to her supposed boss.
Sophie replied simply, "Flirt."
"Yeah, I don't know how to do that."
"Throw yourself at him, give him your full attention, make him look only at you."
She and Dawson were placing the books on the checkout desk when Eliot came striding up to them. He no longer wore the knit hat, his overshirt was now buttoned up and tucked it in, and he was even wearing his reading glasses.
"Alice, what took you so long? Didn't Sophie call you?" he berated her.
Parker had no idea what answer to make, but Eliot continued on, addressing the library clerk next as though ordering drinks at a bar, "These chronicles are for me." He slapped the ID card onto the counter face down next to the books she and Dawson brought, but then turned away so the clerk couldn't scrutinize his face.
"Distract him now, Parker," Nate said.
"Hi," Parker greeted the clerk and she sent her phone sailing straight at him.
The clerk ducked on instinct to avoid the projectile.
"Oh, no! I dropped my phone. Can you get it for me?" she asked him and made as much noise as she could knocking things off onto the man while trying to look over the counter to where her phone landed behind him.
Meanwhile, Eliot reached out to shake Dawson's hand. "I'm Wes Abernathy. We weren't expecting you until next week, Mr. Dawson, but we're very happy you could stop by."
"Please, call me Joe," he replied. "Yeah. MacLeod had a change of plans and since the layover here in Boston is six hours long, I decided to look at the Thyssen Chronicles now.
The clerk stood back up and gingerly slid the phone across the counter back to Parker. He kept a wary eye on her while scanning Eliot's ID card and all of the books.
"Bare wrists?" Joe questioned.
Eliot was wearing a watch and so was Dawson, but Dawson had something else visible on the inside of his left wrist when it was turned upward.
"Oh, shit," exclaimed Hardison in their earbuds. "I did not know that was a thing."
"New policy against wrist tattoos," said Eliot quickly to Dawson.
Dawson nodded. "I made a lot of noise about the importance of keeping them easily visible when the Tribunal changed that last year, not that it did any good,” Dawson grumbled. “You must have done very well in the academy to get your first assignment right away."
"Thanks," replied Eliot. "Graduated second in my class actually and I happen to work in the same profession, so I was the logical choice."
"All finished, Wes," said the clerk.
Parker's spine went rigid as the clerk addressed Eliot, however Eliot smoothly backed up to scoop the books up without actually turning to face the clerk. His caution and weird behavior wouldn’t have mattered because the clerk was still staring at Parker like she was about to attack him again. He paid Eliot no mind.
"Thanks for your help, Joe," said Parker in a vaguely familiar fashion and she grabbed Eliot's arm to lead him quickly out of the library.
"What's our exit?" Parker asked once they were clear.
"Same way you came in," replied Nate. "I hope there's room in the garbage truck for me."
...
Nate did not show surprise when only an hour after they made it out of the Widen Historical Society, Joe Dawson walked into the pub below his apartment. It was too much to hope that it was a coincidence. Though Dawson sat patiently, even ordering a coffee, it was obvious what he was waiting for and that he wouldn’t leave until he recieved it.
“Nathan Ford, I presume?" Dawson said pleasantly when at last Nate approached. "You can call me Joe.” And he gestured for Nate to take a seat.
"Nate, is fine," he answered in kind. Nate placed a bag on the table and unzipped it to reveal its contents. Parchment pages peeked out from the aged leather bound covers and they gave off a musty odor. “I can’t deliver these books to my client."
"And why is that?"
"Because they rightfully belong to your historical society."
“Did you read them?” Dawson asked, his expression blank.
“Of course,” said Nate. “Enough to determine that what my team obtained isn't what we were led to believe. Oh, the covers and titles are as were described to me. But the contents? No." Nate gave a sardonic laugh. "Immortals? Expert duelists who cut off people’s heads and live for centuries?" He shook his head and declared, "I'm not interested in helping my client plagiarize badly written antique fiction.”
Dawson cracked a sympathetic smile. “What will you do now?"
"Nothing."
"Nothing?" Dawson echoed, sounding unconvinced.
"My team and I are in the business of righting wrongs for those who have no other recourse. Personal gain is not our objective. However, this is not the first time a client has pretended to be the innocent party and attempted to con us into stealing on their behalf," said Nate with a look of long suffering. "I apologise for the inconvenience, Mr. Dawson."
Dawson hesitated, frowning slightly as he replied, "I didn't tell you my last name."
Nate gently slid the bag of books across the table toward Dawson for him to take. "That's right, you didn't."
Only after Dawson left did Hardison step into view and join Nate at the table.
"I had to return the books," Nate said by way of an apology to Hardison. "You understand, don't you? Those people would never rest until they got their property back."
"Yeah," replied Hardison, resigned.
"What I want to know is why didn't you just hack into the Watcher database?" Nate asked. "Aren't all their chronicles digital?"
"Not everything. And well, the books," Hardison emphasized, "they're really old, they're proof that this stuff was written years and years ago."
"Why did you need proof?"
"What I downloaded said that some orphans, not all mind you, but some grow up to…" Hardison trailed off, uncomfortable.
"Become Immortal," Nate said, guessing the end of Hardison's sentence.
"And all Immortals are orphans. She needs to know. Deserves to know, don't you think?"
...
Eliot waited in an alleyway listening for the sound of a cane on the sidewalk. It was difficult to pick out over the city noise. The tapping continued around the next street corner and stopped, only then did Eliot move out of the shadows.
"I take it that went well," Eliot said rather than asked as he eyed the heavy bag slung over Joe's shoulder. “He returned them?”
"Yes and it went well enough," Joe replied. "If the higher ups don't like it, they can damn well crawl out of their cluttered offices and take care of it themselves next time. By the way, Larry says you owe him a beer for dumping him in the recycle can."
"I'll buy him two."
"I just have one question," Joe said. "Who do you think is the pre-Immortal back there?"
"Hardison and he knows it, too," Eliot said firmly. "His hacking grows obsessive when he's scared."
"How he hacks told you he believes himself to be pre-Immortal?"
"It's a very distinctive way of hacking."
"Until Hardison has a first death or it's confirmed by an Immortal's reaction to him, your hunch isn't enough. Everybody else has pegged Parker as the pre-Immortal. She was literally found abandoned as a baby. She doesn't have real birth record."
"Neither does Hardison! The Nana he talks about ain't kin to him. She's his foster mother."
"I'm not trying to argue with you," said Joe placatingly. "I'm just saying you already stepped on enough toes today on top of staying behind to Watch two unproven potential Immortals instead of following your assignment."
"But you understand why now? I said a year ago when I joined that Hardison is too good a hacker not to stumble onto the Watchers. And there was no point blowing my cover running after the Duchess after she died in public. She'll be back to look after her future student soon enough," he said grimacing. "Betcha Hardison will tell her about Watchers though."
"Just don't let them suspect you."
"No worries, man. I keep my tattoo covered and none of them know I used my own card. Not even Nate, who should have questioned why the ID of a back door guard like Larry could access the archives," Eliot pointed out. "But with my luck when the Duchess does return, she'll sweet-talk Nate into asking me to teach Hardison how to use a sword. Ain't that gonna be ironic?"
"Could be worse. Imagine digging him out of a grave," Joe replied with sympathy. "Today was just another one of those times a Watcher has to do more than just Watch."
"You wrote the textbook on that, Joe. We had a whole class on it."
Joe only nodded as a car pulled up to the curb to pick him up. "Good luck, Dr. Abernathy."
"Thanks, Joe," Eliot replied. "And please, call me Wes."