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The House Rules

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This story is No. 6 in the series "The McDonald Boys". You may wish to read the series introduction and the preceeding stories first.

Summary: Sequel to "The Sky's Gonna Open" in the "McDonald Boys" verse. This may also be called by its longer alternate name: "How the Leverage Team Taught Lindsey to Be a Team Player, or Rather, Simply Annoyed Him into Cooperating." Family banter, humor.

Categories Author Rating Chapters Words Recs Reviews Hits Published Updated Complete
Television > LeveragepoestheblackcatFR1375,615092,8616 May 126 May 12Yes

Rule Number Five

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Rule Number Five: Trust is integral to being on a team. That means no stealing from other team members.*

*However, the fine print says this rule does not apply to food, small change (meaning anything worth less than a Benjamin**), socks, AA batteries, paper clips, and chewing gum.


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“Who ate my burrito?”

Yes, that’s right. Someone stole Lindsey’s burrito (not a euphemism, thank you very much). And whoever it was is going to pay.

“It was right there, in the freezer. Who took it?”

Lindsey’s arctic gaze goes around the room, examining each of the other three and a half members for signs of guilt and pinto bean filling around their mouth or on their person.

His eyes settle on Parker, always the first suspect in a thieving case. “Parker?”

“Nope,” she says, filching a gummy frog from Hardison. “I didn’t steal it.”

The icy blue eyes (as cold as his burrito should have been, had it stayed in the freezer, like it was supposed to) go to Hardison, who shrinks back a little from the hard stare.

“Uh-uh, not me,” he protests, his palms going all sweaty and clammy like they get when he’s all nervous and shit, “I think I saw it in there, though. When I got my Hot Pocket this morning,” he adds, when the glare doesn’t let up. “Pizza-flavored,” he squeaks.

“Hardison,” Lindsey growls, eyes narrowing.

“Hey!” Hardison pouts, getting put out at the very unfair suspicion, “How come you all comin’ down on me and not on Parker? Huh? She’s the thief. That ain’t fair, man. That’s racism. Sexism. Somethin’-ism. Me-ism. I didn’t take your damn burrito, man. I’m a Hot Pocket kinda guy.”

Lindsey’s growl gets more pronounced and his hands curl into fists as his eyes dart across the room to Sophie, who fakes a ladylike gag and says, “Mm-mm, not me. I can’t understand how you can eat those terrible things.”

“Seconded,” Eliot agrees with an emphatic nod. “They’re gross.”

The accusing gaze goes back to Hardison.

“Hey, no. I told ya. Not me.”

“Dammit, Hardison!” Lindsey explodes, “Personal property means personal property. You’re paying me back for that burrito.”

“I didn’t take it,” Hardison squeaks, bracing himself to being turned into a frog or a dog or something.

“Stop pickin’ on him, Linny,” Eliot snorts, “It was Nate. I saw ‘im throwing the wrapper away.”

“What was Nate?” says the devil, coming down the stairs from his room.

“You took my burrito. It was in the freezer, and you took it out and you ate it.” Lindsey’s stance is all controlled, calm, contained anger. The pure rage behind his flashing eyes belies his outward appearance. “My burrito.”

Nate stares at him. “It’s my fridge!” he exclaims. “It’s my apartment, and you all, all of you, you stole it! You stole my apartment! I have a right to things in my own apartment. Including that burrito.”

“It was my burrito,” Lindsey protests, jaw dropping open.

“My apartment,” Nate grinds out and stalks to his kitchen to get a refill from his coffee maker.

Lindsey plops down next to Eliot, arms crossed. Eliot pats his sulking brother’s arm. “Come on, Linny. Let’s go to the store and I’ll make you some real burritos, okay? None of that frozen crap.”

“I like the frozen crap,” Lindsey says petulantly, lower lip pushing out just a little. “It was my burrito.”

“Possession is nine-tenths of the law, lawyer boy,” Eliot sighs, rolling his eyes, “And right now, Nate’s in possession. Give it a coupla more days and it’ll be the toilet’s,” he adds, prompting a roomful of “Ewwww, Eliot!”-like responses and a happy snort from Parker.

“Sorry,” he says, not ashamed in the least, “Seven-year-old brain filter. Can’t help it.”

“No,” Lindsey says, shaking his head with a grimace, “That was adult you. I know your kinda humor, and that was older you. Not that it’s actually changed all that much over the years.”

“Does it matter?” Eliot huffs, scrambling off of the couch. “I wanna go to the store.” He stamps his foot and goes to wait by the door with an expectant expression.

Lindsey stands and sighs melodramatically. “Remember the days when you could take yourself to the store?”

Eliot narrows his eyes at him. “You want that burrito or not?”

Lindsey grins. “Let’s go. I’ll even let you cross the street without holding my hand.”

“Careful,” Eliot says, “Be nice, or I’ll put lima beans in yours.”

Lindsey makes a disgusted noise. “Blasphemer.”

“Veggie phobe.”

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AN: This is based on the sandwich thing in “The Office Job” episode. Because ohmygod, that sandwich sounded delicious. Mmmm. I’d totally steal it, are you kidding?
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