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 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."

"I'm gonna talk to him. Maybe he needs help." Everybody who has to patch up Brett deserves sympathy, Carter thinks. "Besides, can't have this guy running around with random drugs."

You know. Despite the fact that he's a murderous assassin. There's a line to be drawn somewhere.

"Don't...don't do that, at least--not without me there," he tries to sit up, immediately worried. The thought of something terrible happening to Carter because he decided to try and talk to Brett's doctor is horrifying.

Bad idea to sit up so quickly, he's hit with a bout of dizziness and holds his head for a second, waiting for it to pass.

"Whoa, whoa, just, don't do that?"

Carter is at his side immediately, helping him to settle down again. "You're not out of the woods yet. Look, I'm not gonna do anything stupid, alright?"

"I'm fine, I'm fine," he waves his hand vaguely in Carter's direction, but at least he doesn't fight Carter off when he helps him settle down. He scowls though, he hates being taken out of commission like this, hates not being able to be at 100% in order to...well, he can't protect anyone if he's like this.

He's not used to protecting people he actually cares about. It stokes a new sort of fear in him--the same that appeared when Carter was in trouble, when Hardison showed up earlier.

"Doesn't mean Brett won't try to do something stupid," a growl.

"Drink." There's a glass of water shoved into Eliot's hands and he is 100% immune to the glare at this point.

"Speaking of whom, what happened? Hardison wouldn't tell me any details. Said he's not sure about the... soup?" Carter frowns. "He's a little weird."

It's really not fair you're 100% immune to the glare. Regardless, Eliot continues glaring even as he drinks the water.

"...soup?"

A blink. What does soup have to do with--wait, he vaguely remembers babbling about it before he passed out.

"I think that was the drugs talking. Uh, well...Brett drugged me somehow. It...it was probably my coffee, I thought it tasted off." A growl. Ruined a perfectly good cup of coffee and now he'd never be able to leave any of his food or drink unattended because he'd be suspicious forever. Thanks, Brett.

"He tried to kill me, and Hardison stepped in."

Edited 2018-08-02 16:59 (UTC)

"Should have come here. I have great coffee." He looks over at the small coffee machine. "... Well, hot coffee. ... Undrugged coffee?"

But he frowns when Eliot tells him what happened.

"I thought you guys don't do that. Looking out for each other." Not that he has a problem with it but it seems a little weird that a Hacker should step in to face off with Brett of all people. "I mean, I'm glad he did but why did he?"

"I think...I'll probably be coming here from now on, probably forever." He prefers undrugged coffee, thanks.

"I..." A pause. "We don't. Not usually. Not ever, you're the first person I..." He shakes his head. "I met him not too long ago, he's good at his job, friendly, just...I don't know. He put himself in danger for me." A shrug. "Could be workin' the angle so he's got somebody to protect him. Not that I blame him, I'd do the same thing."

There's a pause.

"Will you?" Carter goes to fetch both of them some of that undrugged coffee and looks over at Eliot. "Protect him, I mean."

Eliot frowns, but he's come to that conclusion the moment he realized--even in his drugged state--that Hardison put himself in serious danger for him.

"...yeah. Of course. I owe him my life."

That's... surprising and nice. Someone for Eliot to look after, to protect, someone else out there to look after Eliot when Brett and his goods play bad boy again... Carter likes the sound of that. It would do Spencer good, he's sure of it.

"You should bring him for coffee sometime."

Eliot scowls, an instinctive response to such a request. But after he thinks about it for a second, it actually doesn't sound so bad.

"...okay. Yeah, sure, I guess...I could do that."

"Okay. I'm gonna brew an extra thermos for you guys."

He smiles. "And maybe you can bring some of your good food?"

Well, now he brightens up at that. Fresh (undrugged) coffee!

"Hey, thanks?"

He might be actually smiling, now. "Sure, as much as you want. I even take requests."

"Oh man." He thinks about that for a moment. "I kind of miss tacos. I haven't had tacos in forever, that would be great?"

It's the little things he looks forward to these days. And Eliot's food certainly helped making this life a little more bearable.

"Tacos? Man, I will make you the best tacos," his mood has lifted considerably.

"I do both chicken and beef, and I can even make fish and shrimp if you like that? I make my own sauce, and I add a little spice to the sour cream just for an extra kick, y'know? Not too much, cause it can be too overpowering but you just want a little extra something. Some people use way too much heat and then you can't taste a thing? It's gotta be savory, but not painful."

And sometimes the little things like that is what Eliot looks forward to, too. Making other people happy with his food is something he's discovering that he's looking forward to.

Carter holds up his hands and waves them, a small chuckle escaping him. "Stop it, stop it! You're making me hungry, and I'm not letting you get up just yet."

He checks the IV again, drawing some blood to make sure the drug is properly flushed out of his system and running a few more tests. "My parents didn't want me to eat them when I was a kid. Too--" Improper. "-- unhealthy, you know? Sometimes I snuck out of the house to get some from one of the food trucks at the riverside."

"Hey, you brought it up!"

But at least it's cheered him up. He watches Carter as he does his doctor thing and frowns when he mentions his parents didn't want him to eat tacos.

"I can't blame you, that's not fair. I'd do the same thing. My parents were kinda...hands off on a lotta stuff like that. Learned how to cook when I was a kid and they were off working."

"Yeah? I never really learned how to cook until I got older."

He still has no idea how to work a stove.

Carter tries to imagine what it must be like to be a kid and home alone and teaching yourself to cook. Or do other menial tasks around the house. "I guess mine were pretty strict. About some things. Less so about others. It would depend. Like me going to med school? They thought it was just a phase. I don't think they expected me to really stick with it."

"What kind of stuff do you like cookin'?"

Sorry Carter, he's suddenly super interested. He'd love to talk about cooking with you.

"...wait, your parents didn't want you to be a doctor? I thought that's like, the goldmine for parents. Besides the whole take-over-the-family-business thing."

And the Inside Job - for Eliot Spencer

cw violence, drugs

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