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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"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?"

He's quiet for a long time. He's almost angry enough to use it against Eliot – yes, you killed me, this is all on you – to just reach in there and rip his heart straight out.

But the words won't come.

He tries but they just won't come. Maybe he isn't that cruel after all.

"No."

His voice is surprisingly gentle, a tone he wasn't sure he even had anymore.

"You didn't. I died trying to run away. Trying to be a good guy."

For the first time he smiles but it's pained. "Maybe... that's how you can remember me."

Eliot stares, a lump in his throat and his eyes feel like they're burning. He's not sure if that was from the drinks or because he's dangerously close to breaking down, but it doesn't matter. He's focused on Carter and the pain in his chest is almost too much to bear.

Carter tried and then Moreau got him back and that was it. It was almost comforting in a way, to think of Carter having a heroic last stand, trying to be a good guy, holding out for as long as he could. And Moreau was, well, Moreau, and with that lifestyle, it was only a matter of time, right?

He'd suspected Carter might have been killed in the ensuing years, anyway.

So many names, so many faces, so many people he's killed and it weighs so heavily on his heart, but with Carter it feels like the weight's doubled into something unbearable.

And the red on his hands won't ever, ever go away.

"I think I'd like that." Eliot looks up at him, his eyes still shining, a ghost of a sad smile on his face.

Edited 2018-08-08 16:29 (UTC)

"Yeah, me... too."

Carter chuckles, a little out of breath, and rubs and his eyes because they're suddenly burning, he doesn't know why.

So many years, so many missions, his distaste for killing and violence the only remnant from the time before.

But his face his different now, kinder, like Eliot is reaching something that people don't look for anymore these days. He hesitates. "This crew of yours. You're... close?"

It's strange--he feels like he's gotten through to Carter, but not in the way he wanted.

But he'd gotten through.

And then Eliot's caught completely off guard, and it takes him a second to formulate an answer, working his mouth a bit before sound actually comes out.

"Uh, yeah. Close. Real close." Close enough that Nate was probably going to crawl through that window to yell at him any second now.

There's another weak smile. "They're probably really pissed that I did this."

That makes him laugh for real. "I bet."

He exhales, downing the rest of his bottle.

"I'm glad. That you have... that you have people who care for you. That you care about. It's all I ever wanted for you."

"Yeah?"

That warms him considerably more than he'd expected, and certainly not something he expected to hear. Eliot has to look away, not wanting Carter to see the sudden blast of emotion on his face.

"I worked alone for a real long time. It's not...somethin' I'm used to. But I'd die to protect them. I'd die to protect the people I care about."

He looks straight at Carter, which means you're included in that, too.

"You were always good at that. Protecting others. Even when you forgot about it."

Carter looks down when Eliot's intense gaze settles on him. He was never particularly good at meeting it.

"I know you would." And I shouldn't be one of them. "And I get it. I got people to protect, too."

He's not sure if he should be sad or...proud of that. Maybe it's okay to be both.

"Not good enough." It's another sad smile.

However, it falters somewhat when Carter mentions that he's got people to protect. He's pretty sure that includes Moreau, though never in a million years would he ever suspect it's Brett, too. He doesn't want to think about it, about how Carter was there for so long naturally he had to have found people--because they weren't good people, even though some part of him imagines that maybe he'd managed to carve a life that was Moreau-free, maybe found people that had nothing to do with that life. But that was an impossible thought, considering how he knew Moreau ran the place, how Carter was an asset to Moreau, and how he'd never give him enough freedom to do that, or at least he'd assumed.

"You do, huh?" It's a little bitter, and he drinks the remainder of what's left in the bottle.

John bristles at the tone, some of the warmth leaving his features.

"Yeah. I do."

He looks up sharply. "You prefer if I didn't? If I still sat at the window of my clinic, pining sadly for you? That what you want, Eliot?"

"That sounds a lot better than being friends with any of those assholes!"

Look, he probably wouldn't be so agitated if he hadn't drank too much...?

Yeah, but here's the thing with being drunk, you're not the only one, Eliot?

"I was friends with you! You were one of them for a damn long time! Who are you to judge them, who do you think you are?!"

"Exactly, that means I know exactly the kind of people they are and they're horrible!"

Agitation getting worse!

"Pals with Moreau too, huh? Must be nice."

Oh no, you didn't.

"What do you know!? You don't know anything! You don't know what I've been through!"

So much agitation!

"And why would you deserve my friendship more than they do?! They didn't leave me! They protected me! They were there for me!"

Edited 2018-08-08 20:46 (UTC)

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cw suicidal ideation-ish just in case

cw suicidal ideation-ish just in case

cw suicidal ideation-ish just in case

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