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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"You know, out there in the real world? That's actually the status quo. People being that good. Not killing each other, trying to help, it's not... something outlandish. It's how things are supposed to be."

He puts a bandage on Brett's shoulder. Maybe tearing a little more harshly than he usually would.

"I didn't poison you. You'd deserve it, though."

"I don't know what world you're living in, but those are the kinda people that get steamrolled by bigger, badder fish. You wanna be the shark, not the minnow, you know?"

He winces a little when he puts the bandage on. He's fine. Really.

"Deserve is so harsh."

"No, they're not. In the real world, that's just... that's how life works. You look out for each other. Someone needs your help you just... help them. Not everything is about being the bigger, badder fish."

He shakes his head. Why is he even trying to explain that to Brett of all people?

"Deserve is putting it mildly, actually. You're a horrible person."

"But that doesn't happen," Brett says stubbornly. He knows, he's been in this life for a while. "You take what you can get, when you can get it. People will run you over, if you let them. You be nice to someone and they'll take you for everything you've got."

A shrug, and he taps his chest (where it doesn't hurt, at least.)

"That stings, a little."

You be nice to someone and they'll take you for everything you've got.

Carter freezes because isn't that what just happened to him? Trusting someone and having it thrown back in your face in the worst possible way? No. No, he can't think like that, can't allow himself to think like that. That's not who he is.

"It does happen. I've seen it happen. Plenty of times, actually, before I was brought here," he retorts just as stubbornly.

A beat.

"Good."

"Then those people are gonna get got by something or someone someday. That's just how the world works." Even more stubborn!

Brett raises his eyebrows at that good. That's it? You're not even gonna punch his wound and gloat or something?

"Seriously, if I was a doctor and I hated somebody, they would be in so much trouble. And probably dead. You know, you're a really good guy." It's not anything judgy, just an observation. "Like I said, good guys get got. Just the way it is."

"Well, I'm still here."

It comes out a little tersely, tense, because it's too similar to what Eliot used to tell him. Eliot who was supposed to be his friend. Eliot who left him.

Just the way it is.

"And nobody got me. And you're gonna have to get used to that." Is it a little bitter? Maybe. "Cause I'm not going anywhere."

"Yeah, you are."

He frowns, his brows furrowing. "And honestly I'm a little bit surprised? I mean, someone like you, I wouldn't have expected them to last ten seconds in a place like this. You're pretty smart, getting all buddy-buddy with Spencer so that you got somebody to protect you. And then whatever happened with Moreau..."

A pause. Not going anywhere, huh?

"Unless you're not one of the good guys."

"I didn't--" Carter wants to argue because that's not why he 'got buddy-buddy' with Eliot. And the thing with Moreau – whatever that thing with Moreau is – hasn't been his decision. But the words catch in his throat because mentioning Eliot is like a knife to his heart and he can't let Brett know any of this; not how it wasn't a calculated move but actual friendship (or so Carter had thought) and definitely not how much it hurt. And if he talks about Eliot, Brett will know how much it hurt.

How much it hurts.

How he can hardly breathe when he thinks about it. How he still can't believe that Eliot left him behind.

"-- expect it either."

Carter sniffs, avoiding the assassin's gaze, trying to keep his hands calm and steady and not flinch away when Brett makes any sudden movements. Trying not to let on how scared he actually is of this guy. All he has is Moreau's favor now and that could change at a moment's notice. All he has is the pretense and he doesn't want to know what Brett will do to him when John loses either.

He is a little surprised when Brett calls him a good guy without any kind of judgment or reservation and frowns at his follow-up words. Unless you're not one of the good guys.

"... What do you mean?"

Brett knows you're scared of him, bro. It's super obvious, plus everything that happened before? Yeah. Totally scared. But right now, he's in your hands, and that changes the dynamic...a lot. At least for now.

"Well, I mean--you're still here, aren't you? You haven't tried to run away or-or tried to poison Spencer or me or anybody else, haven't tried going after Moreau, I mean, you're actually thriving here." A shrug. "Like I said, you became buddy-buddy with Spencer, you're on seriously good terms with Moreau. Most people couldn't stand being friends with murderers or crime bosses."

A smirk.

Carter falls silent at Brett's words, trying to keep his face impassive but looking more and more troubled. He doesn't like what the assassin is saying. What he's insinuating. What it might say about Carter.

"I'm not running away because it would be a death sentence. Besides, I'm officially dead. There's nowhere I could go."

He means to be calm and rational about this but instead his voice is getting defensive.

"I-I'm not thriving. I'm a prisoner here."

All's he hearing is excuses, bro.

"So this...this isn't thriving."

He eyes the clinic, and waves his good hand around.

"Nice suits, great digs, protection. Also prisoners don't really ask assassins to grab 'em a drink now, do they?"

He's not gonna forget that.

"Sh-shut up."

His face is suddenly burning, color rising to his cheeks. "It's not... it's not like that. I didn't choose this? You kidnapped me!"

A beat.

"And that was for beating me up and being a Grade A jerk."

"So you just...antagonize the guy that you know has it out for you anyway. I thought you were smarter than that, doctor." A smirk.

He shrugs, then winces because he just jostled his wound. Ouch.

"You know, if you really wanted to, you could leave. Didn't say you'd survive very long, but if you were really a good person, you wouldn't stand for any of this stuff."

"Didn't you just say it's kind of fair if I retaliate? That you're not mad?"

But he looks uneasy, avoiding Brett's eyes. He doesn't want to antagonize the guy that has it out for him.

His next words strike deep at Carter's heart and he freezes.

If you really wanted to.

If you were really a good person.

"I..." It's suddenly hard to speak. "I don't.... I don't know what you're talking about."

"Didn't say I wouldn't get you back for it." A particularly wicked grin.

But he wasn't exactly expecting the doctor to react like that.

Huh.

"...I think maybe you do?"

Well, that's just great?

"I just stitched you back together, shouldn't that count for something?"

He takes another look at those wounds because would you just stop moving!

"And what do you know about being a good person, huh?" he snaps, suddenly angry at getting called out. "Did you ever help anyone? Did you ever do anything for anyone other than yourself?"

Edited 2018-08-07 20:43 (UTC)

"But I mean, you aren't stitching me back up because you're nice, you're doing it because it's your job. So why should I owe you anything?"

Sorry, can't stop moving.

"I don't know anything about being a good person. I think it's stupid to look out for anyone but yourself. Fastest way to get killed. But I know everything about looking out for number one. So I'm a bad guy, big deal? Thing is, on first glance, you do seem like a good guy. But now that I think about it, probably not. Like I said, you wouldn't still be here if you were good."

Edited 2018-08-07 21:04 (UTC)

"Why do you have it out for me anyway? What did I ever do to you?"

Somehow this entire conversation is going horribly wrong. How is this about him all of a sudden? Why is he defending himself to Brett of all people, Brett, the most terrible person that he knows save from Moreau maybe?

All of this, it's a terrible logic and John realizes he's getting upset despite himself. It doesn't matter. It shouldn't matter? Why does it matter?

He doesn't want to hear this.

"... I don't care about your opinion of me. I'm a better person than you'll ever be. You're a murderer. It doesn't mater what you think of me."

"Nothing. You're a friend of Spencer's. Or were, anyway. The only reason you got beat up was because you were a way to get to him."

He shrugs again and why did he do that is he bleeding again ouch--

"I'm just saying. Making conversation? I just think it's kinda interesting, that's all. It would be weird if we had a good person here all this time somehow. You have to be some kind of bad."

John flinches at the past tense and quickly turns away to rummage through his equipment. He's not going to discuss Eliot with Brett of all people. He may be mad at his friend but that didn't mean he would tell the guy who had him beaten for nothing but rivalry anything. Hell would have to freeze over before that.

"If you don't hold still I will put you under," he snaps, trying to stop the bleeding once again. Honestly, how is this guy still alive?

"I'm not." But his voice wavers slightly. "I just... don't want to die."

"You couldn't put me under." It's a scoff, even though Brett knew very well he wasn't fast enough or recovered enough to make it past the door.

"Well. We'll see." It's an almost cheerful grin at that, as if someone's morality was just a game to him. "If do end up turning bad, I called it."

"You'd be surprised," Carter says a little tersely.

"And I won't turn bad."

Yes, he will. He knows sooner or later he will, he'll have to. Either that, or die. He's had enough debates with Eliot about this to--

No, don't think about Eliot.

"Why do you care? You hate me anyway."

He whispers under his breath, but it's loud and exaggerated. "I think you wiiiiilllll..."

Brett is about to shrug again, but he's also pretty sure that Carter will put him under, and he'd like to avoid that, so catches himself just in time.

"I wouldn't call it hate? It's more like, you're in the way and that's too bad for you? And I don't care, I just think it's funny. Like, it's funny cause you care so much about staying good."

He hates you so much.

John finishes with the suturing and leans back, snapping off the surgical gloves.

"What's funny about that? If I turned bad, do you even realize how much I would make you suffer? How quickly a little gunshot wound like this would have life-threatening complications?" He twirls his scalpel in one hand. "You should better hope I stay good for a long time to come, Brett."

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i lied one more tag goodnight

i'm cry goodnight o7

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