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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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!"

"No, you're not. You just didn't expect me to be here."

Carter remains impassive at Eliot's outburst, at least on the surface. His eyes lose a bit of that cool, burning as he glares at him, revealing some of that old hurt underneath.

"Oh yeah, I could tell when you saw me. What did you think happened, Eliot? That I got killed sometime over the years? I don't blame you. It's what should have happened. But it didn't."

Carter circles him, taking another sip of his drink.

"Is that what you've been telling yourself all these years? That you've been saving me?"

"I am sorry." It's muttered, stubborn. His hair's in his face but he doesn't look at Carter, his eyes cast off somewhere to the side. He knows he's glaring at him by just the sound of his voice.

"...I don't know what I expected." That's surprisingly honest. There was a part of him that knew that Carter might be here, and another part that said it was impossible for him to still be around. "You made it, though. You're here."

This time he does look up at Carter, he doesn't have a right to be angry here, but it still comes through. "If I took you with me and Hardison, Moreau would have had us killed. I couldn't protect the both of you against all of his men, and we woulda lasted an entire day. Maybe two. I saved your life."

"No, you saved your life. And Hardison's. Come on, did you even check once if Damien had me killed? If he retaliated?"

Carter scoffs, shaking his head, but bristling at Eliot's anger.

"You could have told me. Hardison could have gotten a message to me and don't tell me he couldn't have. You could have stayed. But you were mad about what Damien did to you so just straight up deserted me. You didn't even leave a note, didn't even--"

He pauses when he gets carried away and exhales, knocking back his drink.

"You know, I didn't believe it at first? I thought they were lying to me. That Brett and the others had gotten to you and it was just some stupid cover-up, I mean, come on, was I seriously to believe that, that you would just leave? ... But then news came in that you were taking on jobs somewhere else and I realized it wasn't the 'cover-up' that was stupid. It was just me."

John steps up to Eliot, narrowing the personal space between them and staring him down.

"You can say sorry all you want, Eliot, but I don't believe it. I'm not gonna believe a single word out of your mouth ever again. You taught me better than that."

He was too afraid to. That's what it boiled down to, wasn't it?

Too afraid to find out if he was going to add Carter's name to the list of people he's killed. An innocent name.

He was mad about what Moreau did to him.

"I..."

He freezes. He trembles slightly, brimming with anger and regret and a slew of feelings that felt like poison in his gut.

Carter's in his face and he hates the way he's looking at him like that. So different from the last smile he'd given him.

And then he can't hold it back anymore, careful Eliot who always watches his back and is careful with his words and for a second he forgets why he's here because it's more important than anything that Carter knows--

"--I stopped. I stopped, and it was cause of you."

It wouldn't take back anything Carter's said. That was all true and it was on his soul and he'd never be clean of it.

"The retrieval jobs? It's because I stopped killing."

But he needs Carter to know.

Edited 2018-08-04 21:32 (UTC)

I stopped killing.

The words stop him cold. It's a lie, John knows, it has to be, but there's something raw and unguarded about the words, something that is uncharacteristically vulnerable for Eliot. Something emotional and open, something John remembers he has been looking for so long back when Eliot was still around.

Eliot, cooking for him. Eliot, coming to his aid while Brett and his guys beat down on Carter with bats and chains.

Eliot, walking out on him, not saying goodnight.

Over the past years Carter had a chance to learn quite a bit about how all these cons and schemes work but he's not like Moreau and this move throws him for a loop. He looks at Eliot, bewilderment on his face.

"... Why would you tell me that? You're trying to broker a deal here. You just told Damien you'd kill Atherton for him. Do you honestly think I will lie to him for you?"

"Didn't say I wouldn't make exceptions."

He shouldn't have said it, but he keeps his gaze fixed on Carter, unflinching in the face of his questions.

"Which makes my offer that much more valuable, seeing that it's rare. I'm still the best at what I do."

He doesn't expect Carter to lie for him, but it still hurts, hearing him say that.

"But I stopped. I thought...I just thought you should know that."

"What for?"

He sounds genuinely curious at that.

"What are you looking for here, Eliot, my approval? Closure? I did what you told me to do. I got up. I fought back. I survived. Like you said, I'm still here."

But he hesitates, the ice in his glas clinking. "I... still don't enjoy violence or murder. If you stopped, I am glad." A beat. "I don't know what to tell you beyond that."

"...I don't know."

He really doesn't. What was he looking for here? Carter to suddenly cheer, shake his hand, tell him he did great, tell him how good of a person he was now?

No, Eliot knows he's not a good person.

Did he want Carter's forgiveness? That wasn't happening. As much as he would like it, that definitely wasn't happening.

He remembers Carter's smile, right before he left. When he told him he didn't expect to make friends here. What wouldn't he give to see Carter smile like that at him again.

"I don't know." It's a mutter. "I thought maybe...you'd like to know that it wasn't all for nothin'. This..." he nods his head towards the door. Towards Moreau. "...you did something good for me, and I...you made a difference." In my life.

Thoughts like poison worm their way into his mind. Imagining Carter in those first few days, wondering if he was dead. A very real and likely possibility. Did he mourn? Or what happened if and when he found out he was alive and he'd just...left? How angry was he? How betrayed did he feel?

How afraid was he without Eliot there to protect him?

He should have told Hardison the truth, asked him to send a message. Or even somehow, someway arranging it in person.

Until one day it'd been a year and it was too late. Until it'd been many years and he was too afraid to even to really think about what he did to Carter because it made him feel so bad, though he couldn't forget. He never forgot the people he's killed, either.

For someone who willingly faced physical danger every day, he was afraid of this.

And yet he realizes he's never actually stopped thinking about Carter, because this...what happened...stayed with him, forever. Carter's words haunted him every time he did a job and thought about killing somebody because it was so much easier sometimes, when being good was difficult and it was taking everything he had not to take revenge, when he was on a job and even Nate was falling so close to that dreaded line and Eliot feels like he's talking to Carter sometimes, someone that doesn't want to be a bad guy even though it's too late for that because of the life they were leading...

Carter's been with him all this time.

He thinks about what it would be like to leave Hardison and Parker and the thought is so abhorrent he almost recoils--and then he realizes what he's not getting here. He was falling into his old way of thinking even trying to prove so much that he'd changed.

And now he's realizing how much he missed Carter. It was as simple and as complicated as that.

Edited 2018-08-05 04:54 (UTC)

Carter drinks, more slowly this time, mulling the words over.

He should be happy about it. Doing something good for Eliot, making a difference. That used to be what he was about, helping people, a good doctor who is there for his patients. And part of him is, the part that still abhors murder and violence. But that same part is also increasingly enraged by Eliot finding a better life out there at Carter's expense, without him. Having worked so hard to get Eliot to be a better person and to get nothing in return but a few empty words so many years later.

"If that is true I'm happy for you. You learned to care, that's great, really."

John remembers feeling happy when Eliot showed signs of remorse, when he was slowly breaking through to him. It wasn't enough, never enough, but it was something. Some kind of memory of the world out there to cling to, where people looked out for each other, helped each other, loved each other. Where people had friends. When Eliot leaves, that memory is ripped away from John, that last beacon of hope shattered.

"But I learned to survive."

With Eliot gone and the assassins out for blood all he can do is flee into the protection at Moreau's side. And Moreau is there to pick up the pieces, entangling him in his web like a spider and even though Carter knows, deep down, there's nothing he can do about it. Because this time there really is nothing left but survival.

He takes another sip of his drink.

"... You know, I did try to escape. Once." Just once, that was enough to never attempt it again.

He gives Eliot a wan smile. "You can probably imagine how that went. Made it past the fence, though, almost to the station even." He briefly touches his neck, gaze turning inwards with what can only be very bad memories. "Damien... wasn't very happy about it but he said he understood that I was upset and gave me another chance. And I decided to take it."

John shakes his head.

"You don't understand what it's like for a guy like me in here. You may think you do? But you don't. How there's nothing you can do when these guys decide to take you out. Nothing."

He spreads his arm wide. "I'm not like you, Eliot. Somebody attacks you, you go ahead and break their face. I don't have that. And these guys? They have no concept of someone not having that. They don't understand that if they lose their cool, if they hit me too hard, I'm not getting up again. Hardison, he could blackmail these guys, me? I don't even have that. I had nothing on them. All I had was Damien."

His voice turns harsher. "And you don't know what that's like. What I had to do to make it in this place. If you did, you wouldn't--"

John stops abruptly, snapping his mouth shut.

Maybe that's all he could hope for out of this. Carter knew that he'd changed. That's good. And that was that. It was unfair to Carter, unfair after what he'd done, to expect anything more.

There's a part of him that's been trying to atone for all the bad he's done--again, from what Carter said about how he wasn't even trying, before--and maybe that's the part that's stubbornly clinging to the notion that maybe, somehow, he can salvage something. That he can get back what he'd lost.

But I learned to survive.

Something cold twists in Eliot's stomach, and he remembers--back when he was still a shell of himself, back when he'd lost the ability to care. Those conversations...

You're not gonna last two seconds here if you keep thinkin' like that. Because this business? It ain't nice. And it'll tear a good guy like you to pieces if you let it.

We don't get many guys with...attitudes like yours here. They don't last. Or if they do, they're someone else at the end. Someone different.

I don't want to change. But I don't want to die either.

Eliot knows he's past the point of trying to hide any of his reactions on his face, and he looks genuinely shocked that Carter tried to escape and...didn't die.

And he listens, he does, but Carter's right. He's so used to being able to take care of himself, so used to his confidence in his abilities, that he truly doesn't know what it's like to be in that situation. He remembers the time he was drugged and that indignation and horror at being so helpless--that was only a tiny scrap of what Carter must have felt all these years, being trapped, being unable to fight back.

"You're right." Eliot's voice is quiet, gritty. "I don't know what that's like. And sorry won't cut it, it won't ever make it right."

"If I did, I wouldn't have left?" The words come out stinging, bitter. Not that he's angry at Carter, he's angry at himself.

"If you did, you wouldn't open up to me."

Despite the words, Carter's voice is less angry, more in control than before, more like his old self.

"You're not the only one who's changed. I'm not the same person I used to be." His eyes soften just a bit. "I don't think you'd much like me anymore."

Eliot doesn't answer for a long moment, even though a hint of the old Carter comes through. Either he's thinking about what he wants to say, or he's upset and can't quite find the words.

He downs the rest of his drink before continuing.

"...you got through to me when I was at my worst. I can return the favor."

"And then what?"

Carter's tone is mild, a hint of amusement in it. "You're gonna come in, the knight in shining armor and sweep me away from here? It's a little late for that, Eliot. And I have no reason to trust you."

"No, I..."

He sets the glass down a little loudly.

"...maybe. Would you come with me? I know people who can...we can get you out of here."

Carter freezes, the amusement fading, and turns a little pale.

"What are you doing? Do you want to die?"

"...what if I told you I had a way to do it?"

Not that he could, if he told him he was taking down Damien Moreau, there was a very real chance that Carter would go right up to Moreau and tell him that.

"Would you?"

"Who do you think you are? You think I'm gonna answer that? You think I'm that stupid?"

If Carter was angry before, he's visibly furious now. Furious, insulted, outraged.

"You come in here, after all these years, and ask me go against Damien? Just like that?" He steps up dangerously close to Eliot, eyes burning. "You think I'd go for that? Give you something to use against me? I should go out there right now, tell him your little deal is off."

"If I asked you that years ago you woulda jumped at it!"

Carter's anger seems to fire him up as well. He knows he's in the wrong here, but he's giving Carter a chance and it's at considerable personal risk to him and the crew's plan.

"I'm tryin' to save you! I missed that chance, and I'm tryin' to make up for it, okay? I left you once, if I can--if I can fix that--"

"Yeah, but you didn't, Eliot! You didn't! And now I don't need it anymore!"

At least you broke through his cold exterior?

"You're lucky this room isn't bugged or this conversation would already be over. You're trying to get me killed? Is that it?"

“You don’t need it anymore!?”

Eliot’s eyes widen, his usual intensity at an all-time high.

Who are you and what have you done with John Carter?

“You’re right, I didn’t. But I’m offering it to you now, and...”

He shakes his head, his hair falling in his face again. “No! Of course not! You don’t even know how much I’m risking by just being here, much less even telling you this—“

Edited 2018-08-05 18:09 (UTC)

"That's right." Carter glares at him, a little breathless. "I don't! Some of us are loyal to Damien, whether you like it or not. And it doesn't matter if you like it or not."

He works his jaw, almost too upset to speak for a moment and when he continues, his voice is pure ice.

"I'm there, at his side, I'm his partner and it took me a long time to get there. A long and a very, very painful time, no thanks to you. And you don't get to come in here and take that away from me. Not after what you did. Not after what I've been through."

An even colder look than his voice. "And if you try, I will ruin you and your little scam here."

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cw reference to drugs

cw reference to drugs

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cw reference to drugs

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