Alec Hardison [Leverage] (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
stillageek) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
makingthisupasigo2018-07-24 12:53 pm
stillageek) wrote in makingthisupasigo2018-07-24 12:53 pm
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.
cw violence, drugs
"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.
no subject
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."
no subject
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."
no subject
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."
no subject
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."
no subject
Oh man.
"Lasagna?"
Moving on. "Ding, ding, ding, the family business it was. And they weren't... they didn't have a good opinion of the whole doctor thing. Too dangerous, too gory, you know?"
no subject
So not moving on!
"...how can a doctor's business be too dangerous or too gory?" A pause. His entire line of work was pretty gory, so he had to think about that for a second." Okay, I get the...gory, but the dangerous?"
no subject
No, really, can they move on!
"Well, lots of patients can get really aggressive. We got violent offenders and murderers and drug addicts coming into the ER all the time. A colleague once got beaten up really badly in the restroom, never caught the guy who did it. One time we were treating this gang member and they sent a kid with a gun to finish him off. It was really messed up."
no subject
"...that bad, huh?" A pause. "Actually that sounds kinda cool." Another pause. "I mean, it sounds terrible but fun, y'know? I wouldn't mind workin' in a place like that. Save a dude's life, beat up some other guys, sounds fun."