makingthisupasigo | And the Inside Job

And the Inside Job - for Eliot Spencer

One of the many advantages of being the hacker is you don't have to deal with your co-workers all that much. Which can be a literal lifesaver when your co-workers are the deadliest people on the planet.

Hardison is camped out in his server room, pulling up information and data for the various jobs that are coming up for the assassins. And, as usual, looking into the online habits of his co-workers. It's his way to protect himself, digging up dirt on all these guys to keep them at bay. So far it's been working. He hasn't been in Moreau's services for very long and it hasn't been pleasant (no, sir, it has not been pleasant at all) and in the beginning nobody expects him to survive very long.

But then Hardison lives up to his reputation and starts making things happen, digs up information that is thought to be impossible to get, gets a hold of people who are impossible to find, gets into systems they used to work around before because they're impossible to hack. And people take note. If Moreau's personal e-mails can be believed (which of course Hardison totally doesn't read) the boss even wants him to work with Spencer on one of the next jobs. He hasn't met Moreau's favorite yet but what he found out about the guy so far has him nervous in advance.

There's an alert and one of his screens light up, revealing a window with an online poker webpage. There's a second window next to it with code running in the corner. The webpage informs him that beefboy has entered the lobby.

Hardison rolls over in his swiveling chair, grabbing one of the keyboards. "Now what you up to, Brett, my man? You gonna play a little? Spend some of that hard-earned cash? Come on then."

There's just something incredibly satisfying about having these murderjerks lose their blood money on his fake gambling sites. Hardison watches the game unfold for a while, upping Brett's chances here and there, giving him a couple of good runs and waits until the assassin gets greedy. Then he quickly types a line of commands, causing the AI's cards to flip around right before Brett calls. The screen blinks and then the poker site informs that beefboy's winnings have just dropped down to a big fat 0.

There's an enraged howl coming from somewhere in the mansion and Hardison grins, clapping his hands together and giggling. "Ohh yeah, I got you. I got you good! In your face. Where's your beef now, huh? Where's your beef!? At the butchers, that's where it's at!"

While his analyzing programs run some calculations for his actual work he gets up to get himself some food from the kitchen. It's gonna be a long day of pulling data and getting ready for his meeting with Spencer, so he'd probably better grab some snacks while he's still got the chance.

Stepping outside he slows when he passes by a very angry assassin in the hallway. Hardison knows he probably shouldn't be pushing his luck too much but that angry vein that looks like it's about to pop is just too tempting. "Yo, Brett, what's the matter? You having a bad day, my man? Did I hear you scream earlier?"

There's murder in Brett's eyes (but then again when is there not?) and that tower of a man steps up to him. "You looking for a beating there, geek?"

"Yeah, I wouldn't do that if I were you. See, a little birdy told me that you've been using the company's credit card for some little personal shopping. ... The birdy is my computer, by the way. It's, I call it birdy, it's like a..." He trails off when Brett looks at him like he's going to snap his face in two.

"I'm gonna put your head underwater until you beg me to put a knife between your eyes."

Hardison frowns. "Uh, no you won't. Come on, b-boy, you know the drill? The moment something happens to me there's like an e-mail that goes straight to the boss. It's called automatic forwarding. You should look it up."

Brett looms and pushes past him very closely, growling. "You better watch your back, Hardison."

"Oh! Oh! No. What's that? No touching. You know the rules. No, there's no touch, you don't touch me." He holds up his hands, turning in a half-circle while Brett stomps past him and calls after him. "Can't touch this, baby! Yeah, I'm teflon! I'm the teflon man, they call me Mr. T. And the t is for teflon!"

The grin drops off his face once Brett disappears around the corner. God, he is scared to death of these guys.

It doesn't stop him from humming a little tune as he walks into the kitchen, though. Seems empty but there's something simmering on the stove. Hardison randomly sticks his hand inside to grab some of the food, tossing it in his mouth as he walks past it.

Stops.

Walks backwards until he's back at the pot and stares at it because damn. Damn, baby.

He grabs a small bowl from the cabinet, helping himself to some more.

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Eliot's just...cutting up the meat even more aggressively now.

Except--

"I blink! I'm blinking right now? This isn't staring, you'd know when I'm staring at you and this is just looking, man--you got somethin' to be nervous about, huh?" It's practically a growl.

He's muttering under his breath as he stabs the meat a little too stabbily.

"Don't have fish eyes, I have nice eyes, gonna show you what dead, soul-sucking eyes really look like..."

"You kidding? 'course I got something to be nervous about. There's like an entire list of things to get nervous about in here, I get so nervous they probably gonna pull treasure out of my ass at some point. Cause I'm a wreck, get it?" He grins as if this was the most normal thing in the world to admit. Finger-gunning, too. "Gonna have nightmares about that knife, man, it ain't cool."

Hardison nibbles on some chips while he waits for the next course, playing with his phone in the meantime.

"Hey, you think we can pack up some of that for the road?"

Just.

The longest Look.

Again.

"Yeah, well, you shouldn't be nervous. You're a good hacker, right? Or Moreau wouldn't've hired you. You do your job, you follow my lead, do what I say, and you won't get killed. Simple as that."

The meat's in the pot and now he's stirring it. Seriously, Hardison? But that's a compliment too, so he doesn't mind.

"...yeah, sure. I'll fix us some to go."

"You're doing it again!"

Yeah, what, do you expect him not to immediately jump on that?

Hardison turns the phone, snapping a quick picture before holding it out for Eliot to see. "Now tell me that's not a little bit fishy? Look at those eyes, do I hear the Jaws theme playing here? Oh yeah, yeah I do. Here comes John Williams, baby. Martin Brody screwed up because that shark'ss in here with us!"

Eliot makes an audible growl when Hardison shows him the picture, and he takes several steps forward, grabbing the knife he was using to cut the meat off of the cutting board.

For no reason at all, of course.

"The hell is wrong with you!? Delete that!" A pause. "And there's nothing shark-like about my eyes at all!"

"Whoa, whoa, easy, big man! It was a compliment?" Hardison immediately sticks his hand out in a placating manner.

"I mean, sharks, they're pretty dope? Boys, they get merch with sharks on it all the time. You ever been to the dollar store? All the boys' birthday stuff, like the little plates and hats, they all got sharks on 'em. You the big shark around here, right? I mean, next to Moreau who's like... the bigger shark but you're like the, you're also pretty sharky?"

"A compliment?!"

...what is even happening here.

"I don't--the dollar store, what are you--well, I mean, yeah, he is, and I'm kinda like--"

A pause.

"You didn't make it sound like a compliment!"

"Yeah, 'cause you were starin' at me. Would you compliment the shark that's staring at you? No, no, you do not. You'd be all instinct and oh no, is he gonna eat my face and then you'd leave out the important bits like, you know, that sharks are totally fish. I mean, they are, right? They're not dolphins."

This all makes 100% sense, alright?

"You should, man. They got good deals. Sometimes they even got the brand stuff, like, I don't get why you would go to the big stores and pay thrice as much? Like, is it a pride thing?"

Edited 2018-07-25 18:17 (UTC)

...why is this even happening.

"I was just--just looking, like, I can't even look at somebody without being called a shark!?" So much exasperation.

"I like going to the mom and pop shops, all right? Supporting local businesses?"

"You do? Alriiight!" Hardison grins because he sure can respect that! "Good on you, man! You know, most of the time people are just talking but never see it through? Just, major respect there, for real. Here, let's just, let's, we should..."

Holiding out a fist.

You wanna bump that fist?

Bump that fist, Eliot.

"Come on, man. For the mammas and the papas."

...how is this even happening.

Eliot stares (again), just...maybe he messed up somewhere and Moreau is punishing him. Maybe Brett put him up to this. Maybe he's just accumulated a lifetime of bad karma and payback is starting now.

The longest sigh.

He bumps his fist.

Alriiiiiiight indeed!

At the fistbump Hardison pulls his hand back to do a little jazzhand, grinning.

"Yeah, baby! You cool. You cool, Elli, I knew you're cool. We gonna rock this thing."

"I'd settle for coming back alive."

The fakest, most aggressive smile. He goes back to his cooking, as it's almost done, and he turns down the heat before grabbing a couple more bowls and scooping the food into them.

"And I'm sure you'd like to come back alive too. So how about you do what I say, whatever I say, when I say it?"

"Works for me, man."

Please don't stab him?

"Unless this is some weird kind of I gotta assert dominance kinda thing. 'cause, you know, there's no need? Like, you can have the man points, that's cool. Just don't be a jerk about it."

"This is a kind of 'I-know-what-I'm-doing-and-I-can-get-us-both-out-alive' thing. I mean, unless you want to take the lead, then go right ahead."

He hands the bowl over to him.

"We'll be dead in an hour. Careful, that's hot."

"Oh, hell to the no. Nu-uh. Nope. No. You keep your lead right where you have it. ... Thanks."

He grabs his fork and goes through a set of impatient attempts to blow on the food enough to make it edible right away, trying several times to stick it into his mouth but being deterred by the temperature. Look, waiting for it to cool off is for sissies.

"Good. So we have an understanding."

This was going to end horribly, wasn't it? As nice as Hardison was when it came to complimenting his food, and as friendly as he was, that didn't translate to any reason why he should trust him, or rely on him. Eliot's still on his guard, but he's impressed/mildly horrified that Hardison's not even waiting for the damn thing to cool off before eating.

"You...uh, gonna be okay there?"

"Mmh, wha...? Oh yeah, absolutely, absolutely."

Nevermind him hahhhing and hhffffing over here. "Oh man, this is so good?"

"Thanks."

That's great? And he's really glad you like it? But you can wait two minutes? He stirs his own bowl, wisely waiting for it to cool off.

"You burned your tongue, didn't you? I told you it was hot."

"That's when it tastes the best! You gotta be willing to take some collateral."

He totally burned his tongue, you bet.

"Can't wait for the deliciousness."

"Not when you sear your tastebuds off! How are you gonna taste anything if they're all gone!?"

A pause as he tastes his.

"You really like it? I think it's the garlic that gives it the added kick, and a little lemon juice..."

"Don't you worry about me. I got a lot of these babies still in here."

Now that the food is cooling off he can actually start eating normally. "Yeah, the lemon's a nice touch. That your own recipe?"

"That's not...that's not how that works?"

How is this guy both equal parts infuriating and equal parts friendly enough that he can't quite pull up an active dislike?

"Yeah, I do all my own recipes here, man. I try to always add my own thing to the classics, y'know?"

"Sure, they just grow back. Tongue's fine."

He'll just keep eating, talking with his mouth full. Hope you don't mind.

"That's cool. Cool, cool. This like your hobby or did you work as a chef before?"

"Not fast enough that you can enjoy the exact food you're eating at the moment!?"

Yeah, he minds. You're getting all the glare as Eliot digs into his bowl.

"Hobby. Just somethin' to do, y'know." Besides kill people for a living.

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