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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There's a grunt at the kick in the side, the pain's secondary to the frustration of not being able to get out of this, not being able to move fast enough. He clumsily swats at the air, though he's still miles off from where Brett actually is.

When the knife appears his eyes widen--it's half-fear, half sheer indignation--to be killed by Brett because he got drugged!? This isn't a fair fight, and if this is how he's going out--that just pisses him off even more. He's been in a lot of tough fights, in a lot of bad situations, and he knows he can handle pain. But Brett's clearly going to make this slow, and he knows Brett's personality. He can't let him do this--

"Gonna kill you--" Eliot manages to slur, his face a mask of rage as he tries to push against his boot, his lungs compressed and he can't get a good breath in--

"I don't think so," Brett sneers, pushing down even more. "Here's what's gonna happen. We're gonna have some fun together until you will beg me to kill you."

He kicks at Elliot's face, the knife twirling again. "How about we start with those precious hands of yours? A finger or two, what do you say?"

He doesn't doubt that Brett has the ability to do exactly that. This only makes Eliot's movements more frantic, trying to push against the boot, but whatever's in his system robs him of any speed or accuracy whatsoever. And the kick to the face stuns him, suddenly everything's spinning and there's more blood from...from somewhere. His nose? Mouth?

"G...go to hell--"

"You first." Brett smirks, squatting down and roughly grabbing his wrist. "Let's see if we can take two at the same time, what do you think?"

He presses his hand down on the ground, putting the blade down at the knuckles, nicking the skin--

-- and there's a loud, very characteristic slurp of a juice box straw coming from behind them. "Ey yo Brett, whatchu doin' to my man Elli there?"

Brett freezes, a myriad of emotion crossing his face – disbelief, annoyance, exasperation and hatred, lots and lots of hatred – and he glares up at Hardison who leans non-chalantly at a nearby wall. How in the hell did that bastard find them? It's the perfect spot and Brett picked it on purpose. His men should have made sure they were not disturbed – and now instead here was the most aggravating person in the entire mansion interrupting his sweet, sweet victory. "You stay out of this, geek boy. This is between me and him. You leave now and maybe I won't slit your throat, how about that."

Edited 2018-07-31 17:33 (UTC)

Eliot's helpless and he hates this feeling, hates it, he tries to yank his wrist back but he can't, and Brett's knife is at his knuckles, there's a tremendous growl as he tries to fight his body's slow responses but he can do nothing--

--and then suddenly there's Hardison.

A dozen thoughts flash through his mind at once. A witness? Brett might not continue. But no, Brett could easily just kill him. Maybe Hardison could help him but no--he can't fight back against Brett, and he'd be killed. Again.

And he doesn't want Hardison to get killed, even if his own life is about to be taken from him. Maybe he could tell Moreau. Maybe at the very least Moreau would avenge him and have Brett killed.

"H-Haridison, g-get outta h-here--"

Hardison looks down at Eliot and at the sight of his beaten and bloodied body actual concern flashes on his face. "I'mma get you to your doctor is what I'm gonna do, man."

Brett gets to his feet, approaching him menacingly. "Oh, you better think again. 'cause this time I've had it with you and your bullshit. The only thing that's gonna leave this room is both your corpses!"

"Ah ah." He quickly holds up his hands. "Wouldn't do that if I were you... beefboy."

Brett freezes. There is a long pause in which the assassin stares and Hardison waits (a bit wide-eyed) if he is getting shanked. Miraculously, he isn't getting shanked. When he isn't getting shanked, a big, confident grin spreads on his face.

"... What did you just say?" If it was heated rage on Brett's face before it now turns into the coldest fury.

"17.357 Dollars and 23 Cents, ain't that right?" Hardison whistles. "That's a looot of money you lost there on your last poker game, Brett. You see, at first I thought you was playin' with your earnings but then I thought man, that's a lot of dough, who'd he kill, a Persian prince? Turns out no, no he didn't? So I did some digging and man, your lame-ass cheap private hackerguy didn't do a very good job covering up how you've been funneling travel and gear money to scratch that little gamblin' itch of yours."

He wags his finger at the still unmoving assassin. "Don't think the boss is gonna approve of that. You've been a bad beefy boy there, B-man. So here's the deal. You and your pals leave my man Eliot here alone. He's under my protection." Hardison beats his chest a little dramatically.

"Your protection?" Brett suddenly explodes, indignant and outraged. "Who the hell do you think you are!?"

Hardison frowns, looking down at Eliot. "Elli, you help me out here, was I being unclear? I mean, you're all drugged out of your mind but you understood that, right? Was I... did I speak too fast here?"

Edited 2018-07-31 18:45 (UTC)

What he really wanted to say was, No, Hardison, get your ass out of here because Brett is not only going to kill you, but he's gonna make you suffer and I can't do a thing about it cause I'll also be very, very dead but all that comes out is a half-mumbled, "No..."

From what he can piece together it sounds like Hardison actually does have something on Brett. Something that would piss off Moreau, which in that case...there's a sudden, strange hope that he might actually get out of this alive.

He's under my protection.

Seriously? Eliot squints up at Hardison, but the sight of Brett getting ridiculously pissed off was satisfying.

"...pretty damn clear...t'me."

"Thank you." Back at Brett. "You see? It ain't that hard? You leave now and Moreau doesn't need to know about how absolutely terrible you are at cards."

The look Brett gives Hardison in return is terrible and promises pain. "I'll get you for this, Hardison. This ain't over." He glares over at Eliot too. "You better make sure nothing happens to your little pet here."

Granted, Hardison manages to keep a straight face until Brett turns to leave. "Pet? Ey! I ain't nobody's pet, man! Come back here! Come back and fight like a man!"

The door slams shut and Hardison breathes a sigh of relief, his arms raising to the ceiling. "Ohh shit. Ohh boy, did you see that. I think I was gonna die for real, I'mma bout to cry. Oh my God, the last time I got this close to wettin' my pants you tossed a ten-inch knife at me!"

...it's over? Eliot can scarcely believe it, he was already accepting the fact he wasn't going to get out of here but suddenly Brett's gone and he's not dead.

All he wants to do in that last split second is to fight past the drugs and kill Brett, but there's definitely nothing he can do about it right now.

Hardison's alive and...hopefully safe. He doesn't doubt Brett will try something again. But this time, he'll be ready for him.

Hopefully. He wasn't expecting to be drugged at all.

Except he stares at Hardison because he really, really, really didn't need to know about any potential pants-wetting at all.

"...shut up."

Thank you for saving my life. He's still shocked that someone would risk their own life to save his.

"You ever want you momma real bad? 'cause damn son, if that ain't one of those moments, I don't know?" Please excuse his voice going up an octave, that's just his general state of upset and being so glad about not almost dying here?

Then again. Maybe Eliot's state of being a bloody mess should take precedence.

"Aw man, you look like hell. Is your doctor in? 'cause I don't know much past kissing it better and I think the rumor mill is already grinding."

It takes Eliot a second to realize that Hardison's very clearly not used to violence, especially personal violence in close proximity, being a Hacker keeps him very far removed from anything like that, and he feels sorry for him--

--and he'd probably feel a lot more sorry if he wasn't beaten and lying on the ground and unable to do much except growl, can you help him out instead of complaining? Danger is a thing, get over it.

"P-probably."

Wait, rumor mill?

"...d...dammit, H-hardison..."

"Uh, you're welcome?"

Seriously! Are you complaining? At least he's squatting down to check on you now?

"Hey, uh, so can I move you? Is it okay to move you? Should I just call him? Is he gonna stab me in the throat if I call him?"

Ugh, okay, fine--

"...thanks." The most glariest, angriest thanks.

"Mmm' fine, don't...don't need 'im..." He's had worse, scarily enough. He waves a hand aimlessly, don't mind the blood all over the floor from his face. Except that when trying to get up, he seems to be pushing back down on the ground again, his eyes unfocused. Which way is up?

"Yeah, we gon try that again when you're not busy recreating the Moulin Rogue Absinth scene." And he'll hold you to that.

"So what you're telling me here is 'yeah, wow, you should absolutely call him, I'm just too stubborn and manly man to admit it'."

On his phone now, typing away. "It's Carter, isn't it? He cool?"

"...what?" He'd probably be angrier about what you just said if he could make sense of what you just said, because right now words were all starting to sound like someone spinning the radio dial at top speed and who needs to speak, anyway?

Wait, did he say something about Carter?

"Carter...yeah? Carter's..." he slurs. "Carter likes soup."

"Soup? A'ight. Soup, that's. Sure. Soup it is. Wait, is that code for something?"

There's not really time to ask so he just pings Carter anyway. "... Hey, you gonna be fine, okay?"

Edited 2018-07-31 23:41 (UTC)

"No, he...he just...likes soup." It's a little more adamant this time, even if it's still slurred and Eliot's clearly talking to the floor here. Carter just likes soup. It seemed very important to tell Hardison this.

"...okay." It's rare for people to tell him that, usually he's telling himself that. But it was nice hearing it from someone else for a chance, besides Carter.

Oh. Okay then.

He'll just... hope that is not some weird double code and he'll end up dead on the bottom of some random-ass sea for helping this guy out here.

"Well, soup is kinda dope, I guess. ... Listen, how about you just rest and I take care of the rest here?"

"...s'soup."

Soup is dope. He's glad you agree. He'll even make you some soup too, Hardison, if the world would just decide to stop spinning. Maybe later.

"...okay." Sounds good to him. He's just going to...lie here like this.

You lie there like this, Eliot, that's cool. Hardison will just... do what he does best and take care of the framework.

Meaning that the next time Spencer wakes up he will be in his bed in the clinic, all his injuries taken care of, an IV making sure he gets enough fluids into his system and the drug washed out.

There's a moment of confusion when Eliot wakes up, he's not quite sure what's happened or even where he is.

...the clinic. Of course. He's woken up enough times like this in the clinic to be used to it.

What...what happened? He brushes a bandage on his face, and there's an IV in his arm...

--Brett. Hardison.

"Carter? Hardison?" Y'know, hoping that Brett doesn't go for round two when he's laid up like this, or attack any of his fri...allies.

"There you are." When Eliot speaks up Carter puts his coffee down, stepping over to the bed to check on him. "How are you feeling?"

His head comes to rest on his forehead. "He got some nasty hits in but you're gonna be okay."

"Like I got hit in the head and drugged," he admits, frowning, trying to focus on him.

"I can't believe he drugged me! Are you okay? Did Brett come back, did he try anythin' else...? Is Hardison okay?"

"Yeah, still trying to figure out how Brett got his hands on those. Didn't come from my stash, I can tell you as much. You know who his doctor is?"

Carter shakes his head, sitting down with him. "Yeah, I'm fine, haven't seen him around much. Think he's playing it safe. Hardison's okay. He wanted to upgrade my equipment but I wouldn't let him." Carter scowls. "Said it's 'stone age' but I have a feeling that just means he can't hack into it and I am very okay with that. Is he... can we trust him?"

"Yeah, his doctor's named Richardson, I don't know him very well, though. Don't see him much."

He breathes a sigh of relief, though, Hardison's threat actually worked. He was half-expecting to have to fight off Brett any second now.

"...that sounds like him." But he nods. "...yeah, I think we can. He saved my life."

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