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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Eliot's staring at his soup, digging his fingers so hard into the flimsy Styrofoam cup it leaves indentations. He turns his head, glaring up at Carter.

"I care, I'm here and I'm gonna protect you! What'd you think, I'd just abando--" He cuts off sharply, because that's exactly what he did before. Of course Carter wouldn't trust him.

"I ain't doin' it again. You can be sure of that. You don't gotta worry about them because I'm gonna take care of them. That's even if they find us."

12 or 13. Eliot checks his watch again. 14 would result in definitely getting shot, and guaranteed serious injury. 15 or higher and this room, this hotel would become a death trap. Cops wouldn't get here in time. The car was parked in the lot below, and they were on the second floor. Jumping out of the window was doable, but clearing the distance between here to the car would also be fatal if there were men below. Their best defense was the winding, random route he'd taken to get here, the fact that this was in the middle of nowhere was a huge factor, and this place took cash, no cards involved. There was no way Moreau or any of his people could find them here. They were safe. They had nothing to worry about.

He returns to his soup.

"I know what I'm doing."

"No, you're ruining my life because you don't want to feel guilty anymore. That's what you're doing."

Again the noodles slip from the trembling chopsticks and he drops them impatiently. "I need a drink."

Carter heads over to the minibar and just returns with the entire bottle. It's a brand so cheap he's surprised it doesn't just say liquor on the label but he doesn't care. Maybe the stuff will make him blind or kill him on the spot, it's starting to look more and more preferable.

He pours himself a shot and some of the liquid spills over his fingers as he knocks back the drink quickly. It's terrible and he coughs miserably but the alcohol warms him from the inside and after a moment his hands cease to tremble. He braces his arms on the table, staring down at his soup and taking a shaky breath.

"I had one chance." He holds up his finger. "One. And you took that."

John swallows and shakes his head, touching the side of his face as if to shield it.

"I know what's gonna happen when they bring me back, I can't--" His voice cracks and he tries to pour himself another glass before he gives up on manners and just takes a swing from the bottle. "I can't go through that again. Why couldn't you just leave me alone?"

"I'm not ruinin' your life, I'm savin' your life. I told you once I wasn't gonna give up on you. I failed you once, I'm not gonna do it again."

He's silent when Carter goes over to the minibar, as he tries--and fails--with the glass.

"What did they do to you last time?" His voice is quiet. He's not sure he wants to know, it'd just make him angrier.

He shouldn't talk to him. He should just keep quiet until Brett and the others found him, brought him back, make everything alright again.

But if they did they would do to Eliot what they did to him and nothing would ever be alright again.

Then again, why did he care? Why did he care what would become of Eliot? Eliot left him.

He takes another swing of the bottle.

I failed you once, I'm not gonna do it again.

"... When they grabbed me outside the station they... beat me and put me in the trunk. That was the longest ride of my life?" He laughs, a bit breathlessly. "I was lying there in the dark and I could hear them talking about what they... what they thought Damien would do to me. Who of them would be tasked with getting to do what. They were laughing, and taking bets, and..."

He stops, his hands coming up to rub at his arms. Some of the tough act falters.

"When they brought me back Damien was very calm. He stepped up to me, looked me in the eye and asked 'Why would you do that, John'? And I said 'I'm sorry. I just got scared.' And the assassins laughed as if it was funny. But Damien, he didn't laugh. He just shut them up and then he said... he said... uh."

John clears his throat. "'I understand. I do. But you realize, John, that I can't just let one of my assets run off like that. It would be bad for business.' So he--" Carter's voice falters. "He punished me."

Eliot tries to keep his face impassive, he really does, but as Carter goes on, the intensity of his eyes--while already at an extreme--seems enough to burn through the table, if they'd been lasers. Something twitches on the side of his jaw, as he grits his teeth hard enough to possibly crack a molar.

He doesn't want to think about them beating Carter, throwing him into a trunk. He's done that so many times in his own line of work both working for Moreau and with Nate, but this is different. He can imagine how frightened Carter was and...

He looks back up at him, his gaze unflinching.

"What did he do to you?"

"Don't ask me that."

His voice is quiet, rough, almost pleading.

"Please don't ask me that."

That only makes Eliot bristle more, and he gets up, needing to work some of that pent-up agitation off. He paces, then goes over to the minibar and pours himself a glass of something probably just as poisonous as what Carter was drinking. He looks out of the dirty window, with the yellowed blinds, before downing what was in the glass.

"...that's fair."

"Why are you here?"

It's angry, born of fear, he doesn't want to know that, doesn't want to hear about Eliot's motivation because Damien taught him that's how they get you, on the personal level, that's what they did.

Whoever 'they' were.

"Why are you doing this? Why now? It makes no sense."

It's the worst possible move from every angle. If they wanted Carter, there was no need for the auction. If they wanted Moreau there was no need for Carter.

"What do you want?"

It is a completely ridiculous, terrible move, the literal opposite of anything resembling sound strategy, and Nate was probably cursing his name from three states back.

"Why?"

There's a bitter chuckle, and he pours himself a second glass and downs that one, too, before he dares continue. It's an equally terrible idea, considering he needs to be functioning at his best in case they were attacked, but he was starting to break down, what Carter said was just too much. His heart hurt, and the guilt was too much.

"I made a mistake. And I want to fix things. I wanted to..." a sigh. "...you're right, you know. Always was, back then. And I...if I don't save you, I haven't changed at all. There's no point to being better, because that means I'm still the same guy. And I can't...can't go back to bein' that guy."

A pause.

"So yeah. This is about me, too. But you were my friend, and I was wrong to leave you then."

"You're not tied to me. You're not responsible for me. What you do is not about me and what I do, it's not... it's not about you."

He doesn't know where the words are coming from but they're there suddenly. "It's not on you who I am now. I have... I have some agency left, you know."

More 'liquor' going into his system. It's stupid, he knows, especially with who is on their trail but he can't seem to stop.

"You can change without me."

"I know that? I know."

He turns around, leaning against the wall.

"It's just..." It looks like he's giving up on the glass at this point too, taking a drink from the bottle itself.

"You're the reason I changed, y'know? Why I stopped doin' what I did, what you said about...everything, that matters to me. It matters to me every single day, every time I go out and do a job and I don't take the easy way out? Because it's easy. So easy to just...not care anymore. And the reason that I even have a...a--" He can't say the word family, but it's implied. "...team now is because of you."

Another drink. "I owe you a lot."

Edited 2018-08-06 23:52 (UTC)

"I..."

For a moment he can't speak. I owe you a lot. There's too many memories, nice ones, Eliot and him having lunch together, horrible ones, of Moreau, of being punished... and those in between, those he can't quite sort out, the ones never gets the chance to sort out.

"It's not fair. Telling me this. Now. After everything."

He drinks more of that horrible liquor and oh God, it's horrible.

"If they find us? When they come in here? I'm gonna sell you out. And don't think I won't. 'cause I have a..." Family. "... a team now, too."

Edited 2018-08-07 00:51 (UTC)

And that hurts. It hurts so much to hear because the old Carter...would he be like this?

"I miss the old you."

And it was as simple as that.

He looks down at the bottle--when did it get so low? And takes another drink.

"Yeah, me too." Another swing of the bottle. "Sometimes."

When he can afford it. Which isn't often.

"I missed you a lot, too. Whoever you were back then."

...and that hurts even more, now. Carter missed his old self...Eliot remembers the vague inclanation of doing so, back then when he worked for Moreau, the sense of loss of who he used to be. He'd never want that for Carter, and now...

And then--

I missed you a lot, too. Whoever you were back then.

The bottle's empty and he's blindly reaching for another one, not even caring what it was--hopefully it wasn't soap or drain cleaner or anything. Right now he probably couldn't taste the difference.

"...I wass'nt...myself back then. I mean, maybe a little, but...I was horrible? Like...really, really horrible."

"Yeah, you were. You were awful. Terrifying. A cold-blooded murderer."

His voice is quiet as he stares down at the bottle and the sloshing liquid inside. A part of him, the survival part, screams at him to shut up, to stop talking. He can't be talking to Eliot, not about this, about any of this.

"But you were my friend." His heart twists painfully. "You were my friend and I trusted you."

Somehow it hurts worse, hearing Carter say it out loud. Hearing anybody say it out loud.

"Yeah...I was."

For all of those statements.

"And it's one of th'worst things I've ever done, what I did t'you."

"If you had just--"

No, don't go there, don't talk about it, you can't open up to him, it's a mistake, shut up, shut up.

"If you had just told me. Just... one note. One line. One explanation. Anything."

Something stirs in him, an old upset feeling he had buried a long time ago. "Anything, Eliot."

"...I know."

He winces, a long sigh escaping him.

"And I should've. There's no excuse. I was just...afraid, afraid somethin' would tie Moreau back to me, get on his list, message gets intercepted, what if you'd been compromised...and yeah, Hardison could've, but...by that point it'd already been some time and I just...let it go. Maybe you were dead."

He knocks back a good amount of the second bottle, before wiping his mouth and snarling. "I was jus' afraid, okay!? Afraid of what you'd say t'me!"

Edited 2018-08-07 20:18 (UTC)

John is quiet for a long moment because he gets that, being afraid.

"I'd say..."

And he runs away because he wants to be a good person.

John Carter is worth fighting for, Eliot tells him.

He wants to be worth fighting for.

"I don't know what I'd say."

"Maybe that's...a good thing." Eliot puts the bottle down on the table, almost knocking it over, and the remainder swirls at the very bottom.

"I'll never forgive m'self for it."

Mellowed out from the alcohol Carter's expression softens for a moment.

"What's done is done. I survived. That's what matters."

But the words are hollow, haunted. For so many years John was convinced that Eliot didn't care for him. Now it turns out he did? It didn't change anything, it didn't change what he had done to John but it made things... different.

And Carter doesn't like it.

"I don't want you to save me. I don't want to help you fight your damn demons. You made your bed, you go lie in it... but no, you just had to drag me into this. So you can feel better about yourself, so you can be the good person you want to be. But that's not gonna happen, Eliot. What is gonna happen is that we're both in for a world of pain. I'm gonna suffer because of you and your stupid plan here."

What's done is done and there's nothing he can do to take it back. And he's trying to fix it and...well, that's not going so well, either.

He stares at the table for a moment, working his jaw.

"Maybe you're right." He certainly knows he doesn't deserve any actual help from Carter in trying to make himself feel better, it's his mistakes and he deserves every ounce of pain that's resulting from this.

"But I can't give up on you."

No.

"...I don't want to give up on you."

But if Carter truly and honestly didn't want to be saved from this, what could he do? It felt like something was pulling apart his heart, tearing it into tiny shreds. A part of him is angry, chastising himself for letting himself feel in the first place--this is why he shut it all down before, because getting emotionally involved was the quickest way to getting killed out in the field. He thinks back on what he told Carter before--

And I'm tellin' you that now, you will die if you let this stuff in. When I was in the army, I saw guys--trained guys, mind you--completely fall apart in combat. And it's not their fault--they're good guys, they just couldn't put their feelings away. And I saw someone fall apart in the middle of a fight because their friend got killed...

Was he that someone? Was he just gonna get himself and Carter killed?

I don't want to give up on you.

John Carter is worth fighting for.

John stares at him, the room spinning around them and he doesn't know if it's the alcohol – it has to be the alcohol, what else could it be? Why is he listening to this? He shouldn't listen to this.

He shouldn't believe this.

"... You shouldn't have come for me, Eliot. You can't save me."

What is he saying? It's like he's beside himself, like there is someone else taking over and talking because that can't be him talking right now.

"I can't go back to who I was. Too much has happened."

"I had to try." His voice is so quiet. It's almost like he really is saying goodbye to Carter, the Carter he knew, watching him die in front of him.

He looks back up to him, his eyes shining.

"I had to try, I couldn't...there'd be no point to anything good I've ever done since then if I didn't try."

I can't go back to who I was. Too much has happened.

"Then I killed you, didn't I?"

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