I’ve already talked about a Leverage crossover where the Hargreeves are conmen but I’m. losing it thinking about. a Leverage AU where the Leverage team sees these kids on tv, and they just go. oh shit, that’s just fucking wrong. (I know the timelines don’t match up but let’s pretend the umbrella kids were born a little later, or that Leverage takes place a little earlier, or something like that. I don’t know.)
But these fucking umbrella kids show up on TV, and at first none of them are paying much attention. Not right away. They’re busy running cons, and none of them except Hardison watch TV for fun very often.
So they’ve all heard bits and pieces about this Umbrella thing, and aren’t quite sure what to make of it. Superhumans, huh? Eliot mutters at one point. Whatever. Our lives are already so goddamn weird.
But eventually they catch a broadcast while they’re home in between cases. it’s playing in the background while they’re enjoying a meal together at the brewery.
The Umbrella Academy saves the day yet again! the broadcaster declares cheerily. We go now to a statement at the Louvre from their leader, Sir Reginald Hargreeves.
It’s just novel enough to catch their attention–being who they are, they all perk up at the word Louvre–and it gets them half-watching as they chat over breakfast.
It’s Parker that sees it first. She’s Parker, so what catches her attention is actually not the fact that one of them is covered in blood, nor is it the fact that their father is calling them by numbers instead of names. It’s the way that they stand, tense and upright. It’s the way that the one covered in blood is trembling minutely, so fine that it’s almost imperceptible. But she notices. And she notices the way that the one to the bloodied boy’s left–the fifth one in line–leans over ever-so-subtly when their father is looking away. Whispers something with the barest movement of his lips. And then, after a moment of hesitation, he links hands with his shaking brother, twining their fingers together. Parker knows that whisper, knows what this is. She used to do that with her brother. Used to hold Nick’s hand, just like that, when their fosters were scaring him, trying to provide comfort even despite the fear of being caught.
It’s not long before the others follow her gaze. She’s stopped engaging in the conversation entirely, is just staring at the television with a death glare, nose wrinkled.
“Parker, baby,” Hardison says. “That’s your angry face.”
“I’m angry,” she says, and doesn’t elaborate.
“Got it,” Hardison takes it in stride, as he always does.
Eliot’s frowning at the TV. Unlike Parker, his eye does jump to the most obvious thing first. To the boy, no older than eleven or twelve probably, drenched head to toe with blood. There’s no rips in his clothing; Eliot’s pretty sure the blood isn’t his. He’s standing up straight, but his shoulders are slightly hunched. Like he’s injured. Broken ribs, maybe? And he’s been taught to hide them too. He’s also not the only one with that too-stiff posture. These kids aren’t standing up straight. They’re standing at attention. Number One, their father calls one of them, and what are those? Fucking callsigns?
Sophie and Nate are watching too. Their faces are carefully blank. They aren’t happy, Parker’s pretty sure, but they’re trying not to react.
“What the hell?” Hardison says slowly. He’s the last one to catch on, though only by a very narrow margin. He lacks Sophie and Nate’s cynicism, and the years of personal experience Parker and Eliot have, but he’s still too smart to not figure it out almost immediately. And he is first one to abandon the stunned stillness that’s fallen over the rest of them, pulling his laptop out of his bag, already quickly tapping away at the keys.
“This ain’t right,” Eliot says, voice a growl in his chest. “This is–this is–it’s televised child abuse.”
Sophie makes a quiet noise of agreement then. “It is,” she says, quietly disgusted. “Those poor children.”
Nate is still staring at the screen, lips pressed flat.
“This Reginald guy looks rich,” Parker says. Then: “Can we kill him?”
Eliot chokes on his drink.
“How is this even legal?” Sophie asks. She sounds curious, though not particularly surprised by the grievous violation of child protection laws before her. “It’s so…blatant.”
“Sir Reginald Hargreeves,” Hardison says, no longer typing. “He is–oh shit.” And the typing resumes, faster and a little more panicked than before.
“Hardison?” Nate prods after a moment, giving Hardison a sidelong glance.
“Yeah, yeah, it’s all good,” Hardison says. “The INTERPOL files on this guy are locked up tight though. Almost tripped their security system there. I didn’t, of course, but–”
“You couldn’t get in?” Eliot says, smirking.
“Yet,” Hardison says. “Dammit, man, it’s been less than five minutes. Give me a couple hours and that thing is mincemeat. Metaphorically speaking, of course. But I do see what’s going on here and,” he clicks his tongue, shaking his head in disappointment. “Y’all, this is hinky.”
“Yes, I think we got that,” Nate says. The corner of his lip twitches up.
“Yeah, yeah,” Hardison says. “This guy has got friends everywhere. No one knows how he got the kids, but it looks like he technically bought them–”
“He what?” Sophie sounds like she’s been suckerpunched. Parker can’t think of the last time she heard Sophie sound so shocked.
“Oh yeah. You think that’s bad? The numbers aren’t code names The numbers are their name names. Like, legally. I just found an article that said he ordered them by how useful he thinks they are, but judging by the adoption papers it was actually in the order he, uh,” Hardison coughs, “acquired them.”
Eliot is swaying where he stands. “Common tactic. He’s pitting them against one another so they’ll be easier to control. It undermines the self worth of the ones lower on the scale and makes the ones that are higher up feel obligated to do what he wants. Son of a bitch.”
“…And it looks like he leveraged their powers as excuse to gain exemptions from child protection laws,” Hardison continues like he hasn’t been interrupted. “Claimed their abilities meant they don’t need the same safeguards.”
“That’s bullshit!” Eliot sounds thunderous.
“I know, buddy,” Hardison reaches over blindly, waving his hand around vaguely until he finds Eliot’s shoulder. He gives it a comforting squeeze. “I didn’t write it.”
Eliot heaves in a shuddering breath. “That’s just–”
“I’m inclined to agree,” Nate says. He’s not watching the TV anymore. He’s staring off into the middle distance, arms crossed over his chest.
“Oh!” Parker perks up. All the grief and distress that had been brewing on her face vanishes like storm clouds parting for the sun. “Nate! Nate, are you scheming? You look like you’re scheming.”
Nate makes a noncommittal grunt. “It would be dangerous.”
“They’re in danger,” Sophie says softly, jerking her head in the television’s direction.
Eliot’s long-since gotten to his feet. He’s pacing, and that’s how Parker knows he’s furious. When Eliot is too angry to stand it, he has to move, has to find some way to handle the rage roiling under his skin. Usually he cooks, chopping vegetables with furious aplomb. And when he can’t cook, he paces.
“They’re fucking child soldiers,” he says. “I can’t–” he cuts himself off with a furious shake of the head. I can’t believe, he was about to say, Parker thinks, but he had to stop because that’s not true. Eliot knows better than anyone what the government–what the world does to people they find useful, whether its skill or power that makes them so.
“Y’all are behind,” Hardison says in sing-song. “I’m already trying to burn this motherfucker down.”
“Hardison, do not tip our hand,” Nate says, snapping into his leader-voice automatically. Parker grins. He’s already got a plan, then. She knew all that reluctance was just for show. Sophie laughs, as clear and bright as the ringing of a bell, and even Eliot perks up.
Hardison grumbles, closing his laptop and stuffing it back in his messenger bag.
Nate is grinning a little too, though it’s that angry smile he gets sometimes when Parker knows he’s thinking about hurting bad people. She understands. She’s wearing hers too right now. Nate glances them all over, and for all the malice dripping off the knife’s edge of that smile, his eyes are soft. Maybe even a little proud.
“Fine. Fine. You guys win,” Nate says, lifting his hands in defeat. He’s putting on a show of being beleaguered, but Parker can hear the sparking anger in his voice, and oh, how could she have forgotten? Sophie is so gently righteous, Hardison so achingly distressed, and Eliot so full of fire and fury that she almost didn’t notice Nate’s seething wrath, nearly forgot that Nate looks at every injured child in need of help and thinks of Sam. “Everyone, get your things. Hardison, get us some plane tickets. Let’s go steal some children.”
“Okay, okay. I ain’t complaining cause, like, fuck that guy,” Hardison says, slinging his bag over his shoulder. “But stealing children? Could you have made us sound anymore like kidnappers?”
