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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Ever since he heard the name Damien Moreau come out of Nate's mouth, he knew that he was gonna have a bad time before all of this was over. Over the months, their paths took them closer and closer, until that mission to save Yasmin at the D.O.D. lab and finding out about the battery, and Eliot realized he'd have no choice but to face him again.

And worse.

"We need more time," he tells Nate, but in his heart he knew it was too late.

"We've run out of time," Nate tells him stauchly.

"To prep this."

To figure out a way so that we don't have to deal with Moreau in the end.

"No, we have to figure out exactly what this Ram's Horn is and where Moreau is gonna be holding the auction."

"Hey, you cool, man?" Hardison had asked him.

Hardison knew, but he didn't know about Carter. He never told him the truth about leaving. That he'd just left him there.

The worst thing he'd ever done.

So Eliot throws a lid on those feelings--like he used to, all those years ago, before he learned to care again.

"Nate, me and Hardison will hit Moreau. We'll get an invite to the auction."

Moreau only deals with people he knows. Not that he was going to tell Nate that.

Later on, when they get to the hotel in D.C., there's a lot of Moreau's men around. It's not a big deal. Eliot only recognizes a few of them. High turnover rate in the assassin business, who knew?

But they'd know his name.

"Me? I'm Eliot Spencer."

And that was their ticket in.

Eliot's quite sure what to expect when he and Hardison walk into the pool. A warm reception...probably not. Guns to the face, a highly likely scenario.

And...well, Eliot's doing his best to keep his face as neutral as possible but seriously?

Brett!?

"Brett."

"Eliot."

"They gave you the job?"

"There was an opening."

Eliot didn't really pay attention when he hears the girls by the hot tub scream when the guns are pointed at them, but there's someone that he's not expecting to see here. There's a crack in his impassive facade and he looks at Hardison before back towards...

...Carter.

Edited 2018-08-04 01:39 (UTC)

Carter is mingling at the pool, clearly set apart from both the assassins and the other girls by an expensive looking robe, a glass of Campari in his hand. It's been a few eventful weeks and he knows Damien is quite busy and a little stressed out with his latest deal. So when the guards come down bringing two uninvited guests he's sure they will suffer his wrath and not see the end of the day. But then they come closer and Carter suddenly sits up a little straighter.

His hair is longer but he recognizes the man instantly.

But no, that can't be, that's impossible. What would he be doing here after all this time? ... Well, besides face off with Brett first thing he does because of course he would.

Carter stares at Eliot and for a moment there are some wild emotions running through his eyes but then Damien steps out of the sauna and he has to get up and moves to help him slip into his own robe. Damien is welcoming Eliot, making the assassins put their weapons down but the words are lost on Carter. There's a buzzing in his ears, like he's caught in a storm and he can't stop looking at Eliot until Damien puts his hand on his arm, making him look over.

"John, be so kind and fetch our guests a drink, hm?"

"Sure." John smiles at Damien, his own hand briefly touching his shoulder before he heads over to the minibar. Beer for Eliot. He remembers that.

He doesn't really care about Hardison's preferences.

He steps over to the pair, holding out the bottle for Eliot to take.

"You remember John, don't you, Eliot?" Moreau chats amiably while Brett still looks like he bit down on a lemon. "He used to be your doctor back in the day."

"Oh, I wouldn't be so sure about that," Carter muses in the same friendly, amused tone. "It's been quite some time. I'm sure he's forgotten all about me."

Eliot does his best to keep his face impassive but he's sure there's something in his eyes betraying it. He knows just how much danger he and Hardison are in at the moment and he focuses on that.

Focus on the job. Get in, get out, get the info about the auction so they can take him down.

He should have taken Moreau down himself so many years ago to save Carter.

Seeing him here, all these years later...how much had he changed?

He remembers the chili and chips and cheese, he remembers how upset Carter was at learning he was an assassin, and he wants to tell him so badly that he doesn't do that anymore--that he changed, that he's trying to make it right and he's not giving up and it's because of you, Carter--

Eliot's intense gaze flicks down to the bottle, then back up to Carter. For a moment he considers refusing it, but...he wants to remain amiable here, so he takes it from him. He doesn't drink, not just yet.

"I remember."

I'm so, so sorry.

The worst thing he's ever done.

"He did a good job."

Carter's eyes linger on him for another long moment and he looks like he's about to say something but then he turns away to move back over to Moreau's side. "Yes, I did. Kept me quite busy, too."

"Y'all remember me?" Hardison pipes up because come on, man. He's kind of here, too?

"Oh, I remember you," Brett snarls and Hardison holds up his hand, indicating that okay, cool, he's satisfied by that.

"Yes, quite the little reunion we got going on in here." Moreau hums. "You boys got homesick all of a sudden?"

Eliot doesn't like the way Carter's by Moreau's side. He can't forget Carter's impassioned speeches when they first met, about how much he hated this lifestyle, and then...

...well, he knows how little of a choice he had in the beginning, but that was so many years ago...maybe it's still just an act.

"We represent a client interested in the Ram's Horn. We're contracted to acquire the details of the auction, and they'll make a bid."

Eliot keeps his voice cool and professional, and focus on Moreau. It'd be a miracle if they could get out of here without Brett getting into a fight with Hardison and himself.

Edited 2018-08-04 02:53 (UTC)

At the mentioning of the Ram's Horn, Carter glances over at Moreau. There's a dangerous tension in the air and it's not just the animosity between Brett and Eliot.

"Ah." Moreau sits, taking a sip of his drink and drumming his fingers together. "And that client would be..."

"I think we should just get rid of them," Brett suddenly chimes in. "They're nothing but trouble, boss, and you know it! How do they know about the Ram's Horn anyway?"

"Hey, don't interrupt the boss while he's talking, beefboy? That's rude," Hardison pipes up again and cold fury crosses Brett's face, his gun coming up to aim between Hardison's eyes who looks like he has many regrets.

Carter watches the exchange, eyes unreadable as they wander between Brett, Hardison and Eliot, then he leans down to talk closely to Moreau's ear.

Moreau listens, then snaps his finger, causing Brett to reluctantly lower his weapon. "Brett, that's no way to treat old friends? Let them speak."

Eliot can sense the tension, he's already gritting his teeth and has mapped out all possible exits and scenarios if this goes bad. He and Hardison get killed in most of them.

He shoots a hideous glare at Brett, but Hardison's already got that covered. He watches Carter carefully as he speaks to Moreau, and then...Brett lowers his weapon. There's the tiniest bit of a sigh of relief, the tiniest release of tension in his shoulders.

"I can say that our client is overseas. You sell it to the international buyers, it leaves U.S. Soil immediately, no trace back to you."

"I already have international buyers, So, uh, it's not an issue." Moreau takes another sip of his drink, slowly, smiling, looking like he's actually starting to enjoy this. "What else you got?"

Carter sits down next to him, picking his Campari back up, quietly watching the exchange, waiting.

Damn it.

Eliot didn't want it to have to come to this, but in his meticulous planning (and trying to plan around Nate's plans) there was one option that could possibly get Moreau on board, but it was something he really didn't want to do.

He had nothing else to bargain with, and if he didn't leave here on good terms, it was also possible he and Hardison could be killed. And that would really mess up Nate's plans.

"I can do a job for you." He doesn't look at Hardison, keeping his voice steady.

His eyes flick back over to Carter, unsure if he'd be seeing disappointment on his face...or worse, nothing at all.

He knew that Moreau had a tendency to dispose of his liabilities, and he was pretty sure at this point Atherton had made himself a liability. At the very least, he knew too much and it was possible they'd want that loose end tied up.

"You want Atherton killed, don't you? I can do it."

Hardison's head snaps up because what? What is happening here? He has too many questions about Carter being here already, what the hell was Eliot's angle?

On the other side of the fence Brett looks just as outraged... if for slightly different reasons. "What!? We don't need him. We don't need them! I can do the job!" The gun goes back up and again finds its way between Hardison's eyes while he grabs the hacker by the collar, dangling him dangerously over the edge of the pool. "What, you think you can just waltz back in here after all this--"

"Brett."

Carter gets up, the ice in his glass clinking. He steps over and leans in, glaring at the assassin. "This is a 5000 dollar robe, do I look like I want to resuscitate anyone in it because you lost your cool? Hm?"

Brett stares back at him, furious but intimidated at the same time and works his jaw.

Damien smiles, watching the exchange and wagging his finger like a disapproving parent. "Now, Brett, you know how John feels about unnecessary violence. Very strongly."

"Very strongly," Carter repeats coldly.

Hardison looks back and forth between them. "Uh, me too. Very strongly? Very adverse. You think you can let me go now?"

Brett glares down at Hardison and releases his collar, scoffing.

"Why don't you two stay the night?" Damien suggests as if this was some kind of spontaneous idea. "For old time's sake. Eliot can familiarize himself with the data on Atherton and tomorrow, when that's done, we can talk about the auction. And everybody gets a chance to catch up!"

Despite Eliot's face remaining impassive, he's instantly on alert--Brett's got Hardison over the edge of the pool and it's taking every single ounce of his self-control not to turn around and slam Brett's face into the side of the pool.

And then Carter stops him, and Eliot can actually breathe again.

That's the Carter he knew. Besides the whole 5000 robe.

He knows he's going to probably have a lot of explaning to do to poor Hardison, but right now he can't make a mistake, he has to play this as perfectly as possible.

"...stay the night?" A slight falter in his facade, the tiniest bit of surprise in his eyes. It wasn't...ideal, but it would get them into the auction, and maybe he can figure out a way to get out of killing Atherton. Somehow. He'd just have to play his part longer, that's all.

"...all right." A nod. "We'll stay the night."

"Wonderful." Moreau smiles and leans back. "John, why don't you show Eliot to one of the guest rooms? And I'm sure one of the ladies here would be delighted to find one for Hardison, too."

Hardison's eyebrows go up. "Oh, Hardison would be delighted just as much..."

If Carter is surprised by the request it doesn't show on his face. He steps away from Brett, downing the rest of his Campari and setting the glass down on a random tray. "Sure." He nods at Eliot, leading the way. "Come on."

Eliot looks back over at Hardison worriedly--he doesn't want to let him out of his sight, even if technically he'd be safe. If Moreau wanted them dead they would have been killed already. But still, he can't help but worry.

Reluctantly he follows Carter, his body language and face completely impassive.

He needs to say something.

He needs to say anything.

Maybe he shouldn't. Maybe he should just write Carter off as just another casualty of his life before, and that was that. There was no point in trying to get through to him, he was gonna take down Moreau and that was that, and he'd never see him again...

But he's not that person he used to be anymore.

If Carter has something to say to him, he deserves to hear it.

"...so." Eliot clears his throat. "...you doin' okay?"

Edited 2018-08-04 17:01 (UTC)

Carter chuckles but it's not a nice sound and he doesn't speak until they're by themselves, over by the guest room. "Doing great."

But there's something different about Eliot, it's like something is of about himf. He's trying to keep up the mask, Carter can tell, but he knows what to look for, and it's curious. He briefly wonders if the rumors are true. If Eliot really has gone soft.

He opens the door and strolls inside, waving his arm around to room as if to say 'there you go'.

"Then again, why would you care?" He looks over at him, trying to gauge his reaction. "You're here for a job."

That's an unusual tone to Carter's laugh and Eliot doesn't like it. He turns around, looking over the room (and mapping out escapes and areas to look for later to check for bugs) and turns back towards Carter.

"Glad to hear it."

He's just here for a job. Well, that was true.

"I'm just askin'. It's been awhile."

"Yes, it has. It's been quite a while, Eliot. Maybe you're right, maybe we should catch up." He smiles. "We both know Damien expects me to."

Carter moves over to the cabinet, pouring them two drinks. "You were right. He didn't get bored of me. Took quite the interest in me, even? I'm the chief physician, the only one who gets to treat him, we're... close. Sometimes I treat the assassins, too, it... keeps them in line. You don't really want to mess with the guy that stitches you back together, you know?"

He walks back over, offering Eliot his glass. "He also takes my counsel on potential business partners, so you better keep me in a good mood."

"Yeah."

Moreau probably wanted to get more intel on him and Hardison, and he couldn't blame him. Sending Carter...and Carter would probably tell Moreau all about him.

"You got a promotion." It's almost a joke, an amused twitch of his lips. He wasn't just physician to the best assassin anymore, he was Moreau's personal one. And there's a part of him, a colder, detached part that's actually proud of Carter for making it this far, for being able to exert power over the other assassins, for being able to protect himself.

He takes the glass, but he doesn't drink just yet, he won't until he sees Carter drink from his glass.

"...I better? I'll do my best to." He lifts his glass.

"Yeah, you better." It's playful, amused but lacking any real warmth. Carter puts the glass to his lips, taking a long sip, watching Eliot over the rim.

"So how about you?" There's a sharper edge to his tone. "What have you been up to?"

"Me?"

How much to tell him? He finally takes a sip from his glass.

"Just the same old thing."

Not really.

"Found new clients." Found a family.

He wants to tell him everything, he wants to tell him how much Carter changed him.

That he threw his gun away forever the moment he realized Moreau would not be coming after him and Hardison.

Maybe...maybe he can reveal a little. Moreau probably knew about this anyway, it wasn't like he could truly keep his reputation a secret when he got a lot of his retrieval jobs based on his reputation.

"Mostly I've been working as a retrieval specialist." Y'know. Not an assassin.

"Retrieval. Huh."

Carter keeps watching him, keen eyes trying to probe that shell. It's familiar, like a throwback to old times only that he doesn't like to think of the old times because thinking of the old times hurts.

"They say you've gone soft."

He twirls the ice in his glass.

"I find that hard to believe."

"People say a lotta things."

He couldn't really afford that being confirmed, considering he was offering to kill Atherton--and he didn't want to think about actually having to kill Atherton, there was probably another way around it, and Nate was excellent at figuring those sorts of things out...

...what would Nate do in this situation?

...probably drink the bar dry and get Moreau pissed off at him. And then Eliot would have to come and bail him out.

"You don't think I could have gone soft?" That might be an advantage here if Carter refused to believe otherwise, but Eliot's also mildly insulted.

At that, Carter laughs for real. Like the idea is genuinely funny to him.

"After you sold me out like that? No, I don't."

He takes another sip.

"I tried for so long to get you to soften up, and something else out there just, what, randomly did it instead? Come on. You even told me you cared and then you went and threw it in my face."

John shakes his head.

"No, I think that's the same con you played on me. Spread the rumor, make people think you lost your touch, get them to underestimate you. I'm not gonna let Damien underestimate you."

Eliot freezes, his eyes widening.

He expected the subject to come up, just maybe...not so soon. Or maybe he was just unprepared for it, even though he's been preparing for it ever since he heard they were going to go after Damien Moreau.

You even told me you cared and then you went and threw it in my face.

If it hurt before, when he was just learning to care again, it felt like a knife, now.

"I did care." A pause. "I do care."

It's easier for him to get worked up now, even though he's been doing a good job of keeping himself calm for this job.

"I wasn't playin' any con on you!"

"No, you left me." Carter sets the glass down, the amiable mask turning hard and cold. "You left me, Eliot. So don't do that. Don't tell me you care because I know – because I lived – that you don't."

He refills their glasses; maybe he needs another drink, maybe he needs something to do with his hands, maybe it's easier to walk the room, take control of the space surrounding them.

"You know, words? They're all good and nice and important in this business. But what matters? That's the deeds. I can talk about how I want to save a man all day long, Eliot, but it won't do him no good if I let him bleed to death, now, will it?"

He leans against the counter.

"You get out, you leave me behind and now you just... show up here after all these years, asking for a job?" He scoffs. "That's even colder than I expected from you. And I expected plenty."

Eliot thought he was prepared. It's a mistake that's haunted him for so long, that's been the reason behind so much of his change, that's affected every decision he's ever made since then--

--and it was the mistake that just kept on giving.

"I'm sorry, okay?" It's half-yelled. He can't get involved like this, he has a job to do, he needs to get the details of the auction and that wasn't going to happen if he didn't play his part perfectly, but that was starting to shatter.

He's had this conversation in his mind for years. And now it was becoming real.

Definitely wasn't going the way he was expecting.

"I didn't want to leave you behind. I didn't have a choice. It was the only way to make sure that we all survived!"

cw mentions of abduction, violence, blood throughout thread

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