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.
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Actually, it's the only way of putting it. Carter pushes away from the counter and runs his hand over his mouth, pacing.
"Who'd do that? Who would... do that, I mean..." His hands come up and fall back down at his sides. "They... they took my life!"
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Eliot doesn't really care for people in his space, mostly from living such a dangerous life, and it's a big deal if he responds with touch at any time.
He reaches out to lay a hand on Eliot's shoulder.
"Hey. Look at me, John. I'm sorry for what they did, but anybody that'd do that--they were never your family in the first place."
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When Eliot uses his first name, when he feels the hand on his shoulder something stirs in Carter, something that breaks through the shock and the anger. He draws in a shaky breath, looking up, and suddenly everything seems to come crashing down on him at once, his vision swimming before his eyes.
"I just wanna go home, Eliot. Please, I just... I just wanna go h-home."
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Eliot keeps his gaze, unflinching.
"But you can't. And life is just like that sometimes. It ain't fair. Sometimes bad things happen and the best thing, the only thing we can do is take the hit and keep on fightin'. You see me when I get into a fight? It's not about the punches. What matters is gettin' back up."
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There's a finality there that Carter can't fight, can't argue with. Because he hasn't just been kidnapped, he's been given away. Even if he made it out of here, it wouldn't just be Moreau's men after him, it would be his own parents.
For a moment he gets the crazy idea of just camping out in the ER's supply closet. He can just sleep in the empty rooms, eat at the cafeteria and work the rest of the time. Maybe the nightshifts. A little doctor goblin, helping out in secret.
But it's gone immediately, driven out by the thought of Moreau's men – maybe including Eliot – getting sent to the ER to bring him back and clean house while they're at it. No, he can't do it. He can't ever go back.
"W-what's there left to fight for? I don't..." He shakes his head, distressed. "I don't know what to fight for anymore."
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Eliot points at him with his free hand.
"John Carter's worth fighting for. I think he's worth fighting for."
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Is he, though? John isn't sure anymore. Not after everything that happened, after everything he did...
I think he's worth fighting for.
There's something in the words that moves him to the core. John stifles a sob and rubs at his eyes, nodding slowly.
Maybe... maybe if there is just one person in the world believing in that he can believe in it, too.
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"You're not gonna give up now, are you? Cause I ain't gonna give up on you."
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John shakes his head, his hand coming up to cling to Eliot's arm.
"I'm not... I'm not giving up."
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He keeps his eyes fixed on him.
"You're gonna get through this, and you're not gonna let it beat you."
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A nod.
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"You want me to sit with you awhile? Maybe we can get somethin' to drink in the kitchen."
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He gives a shaky, humorless chuckle. "I could really use a drink right now. ... I don't think I've ever needed a drink so badly in my life."
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