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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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)

"Doesn't mean you gotta be friends with them! Doesn't mean you gotta protect 'em!"

U l t r a agitation--

--on no you did not just--

"Dammit Carter, I said I was sorry! I made a horrible mistake, I'm tryin' to make it right, but they--they're the worst of the worst! I understand tryin' to survive, I get that--we all do things to get by, but there's a difference between bein' an ally of somebody to get by versus--versus bein' their buddy!"

"They're not all bad! Like you weren't all bad!"

He spreads his arms wide.

"Everybody would have said the same thing about you back in the day!"

"You see the good in Moreau?"

He's clutching the bottle so hard it suddenly cracks loudly, shattering, but he's so far gone he's not even startled.

"I know that? I know that! But they--they stayed that way, and I--I didn't, I didn't want that..."

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

"That's not true and we both know it! When I first met you you didn't care! At all!"

Carter points an angry finger at him.

"Nobody forced you to go work for Moreau, that was your decision!"

Eliot stares at Carter for the longest time, opening his mouth several times with the start of something and giving up halfway through, no sound coming out.

He settles on a scowl, and goes back to the minibar to get another bottle. He clumsily knocks several out of the way before settling on one. He really, really doesn't need another one but right now he doesn't want to feel anything, because everything Carter was saying was making it worse.

"You're right. I--"

Eliot frowns, something catching his attention. He might be drunk but he could have sworn he heard footsteps, or a crushed can being stepped on. Presumably by accident, the way there was a slight scrape afterwards. He sets the bottle down, looking out the window--if someone had, somehow found them, they'd park far away so he wouldn't hear them coming, and walk up to the motel.

The parking lot is mostly empty, and their crappy rental car sits untouched. Eliot stares, if someone had come they'd probably rig some kind of device to blow their car completely if they managed to get down there in time to escape.

Eliot's eyes glance towards the clock on the wall.

48 hours and some change.

Was that...did that look like a disturbance near the pile of dirt by the curb...

...he's concentrating so hard on the window that he doesn't hear the doorknob rattle until it's too late.

Eliot's eyes widen and the door bursts open, splintering, Brett holding a gun out with--7 other men, spilling into the small room.

"Everybody down!" Brett yells, and another 7 guys are in the hallway behind him.

14. 15 including Brett.

Death trap.

And he can hear footsteps outside, where most likely more assassins are surrounding the motel, covering their car. From the sound of it, 10 more.

He has his hand in his jacket, pulling out his gun, but he's too late, and Brett kicks his hand, sending the gun flying. Another assassin gets close enough to grab Eliot's shoulders, and Eliot drunkenly tries to punch him. The assassin hits Eliot in the face, knocking him down--Eliot doesn't know why he's fighting, right now everything's a blur but there's one thought that overrides it all.

"Get outta here, Carter!"

Edited 2018-08-08 22:35 (UTC)

John freezes when the chaos breaks out and watches the commotion. He knew it. He knew this was going to happen. He was waiting for it to happen. Most of the men are on top of Eliot immediately, including Brett, knowing that they only stand a chance in a group, no matter if he's drunk or not.

Alright, he needs to play this smart, he needs to make them believe he had nothing to do with this (which he hadn't!), he just needs to convince them of the truth and...

Get outta here, Carter!

... and he really hopes Brett breaks Eliot's face.

Seriously!? He's gonna call out to him like that like he's some sort of collaborator?

It has an effect, too. Eliot's call to Carter is enough to make one of the assassins step up to him, about to raise the butt of his weapon to hit him in the stomach...

... and Carter slaps him right across the face with his open hand. The sound rings in the small room and it's enough to make several of the men stop in their tracks.

"What the hell took you so long?" John snaps. His entire demeanor has changed and he stands taller than just minutes before, the drunk emotional anger changing into something colder, more controlled. "Two days. It's been over two days. I had to start getting him drunk, for God's sake! And now you dare to raise that thing at me?"

"We were--"

"Oh wait, you were on guard duty, weren't you?" John's eyes are pure ice and the assassin that walked up to him shrinks back a little. "Is that why you're trying to beat me with that thing? Pin this on me, cover up your own mistake?"

He looks over at Brett with indignant exasperation. "Did you tell your guys to hit me?"

"Don't touch Carter--" Brett's not stupid enough to keep his attention off of Spencer, but he allows himself to glance towards Carter. He snaps at his men. "Stand down."

"Sorry." He sound genuinely apologetic, as he keeps his gun trained on Spencer.

And Eliot's caught enough off guard by that, and the sudden attack, but most of all Carter's reaction, what he's saying--combined with his slower reaction time, he can't get free from the assassin that's trying to hold him down--Eliot tries to hit him in the stomach, and two more come to punch him in the face repeatedly--over and over despite his struggling until he goes down, dazed.

"He's a little thorough when it comes to covering your tracks," Brett says, in a tone that's usually reserved for complaining about bad service at a restaurant, "are you okay?"

Edited 2018-08-08 23:18 (UTC)

When he realizes it's just one man acting out and they're not actually all trying to grab him (and drag him back and chain him up and beat him and--) Carter relaxes, some of the tension leaving his shoulders. Still, the fear is still so strong it's almost choking him and he moves over to stand with Brett. He always feels safer when he's with Brett.

He exhales and waves a hand like 'it's okay'. "Fine, I'm fine..."

His eyes wander over to Eliot but he can't look at him for too long lest he gives something away.

Not that there is anything to give away because he doesn't care. Not one bit.

"He didn't injure me. Just drugged me."

Edited 2018-08-08 23:28 (UTC)

"You sure?" The concern is real, and Eliot stares through the haze of pain and alcohol, he manages to pick up even that and he's pretty sure he has to be delirious by now because this wasn't happening--

--how could he have failed so thoroughly?

A part of him even wonders if maybe that was part of Carter's plan. To get him drunk and talking and letting his guard down--he should have never let his guard down--

--but no. He looks at Carter now and even though this could have gone better...much better...he still would have let his guard down. Said all those things.

Maybe this was inevitable.

But did Brett really have to be all concerned like that?! And Carter standing next to him like...like...

"...drugged you?"

Brett works his jaw, and suddenly hits Eliot's face with his gun. "Asshole!"

It takes Eliot a second--a lot of seconds to recover from that. He clearly doesn't go down easy, even when already at a disadvantage, but he spits out blood and looks at Carter, almost pleadingly.

"I...tol' you t'get outta here..."

Edited 2018-08-08 23:42 (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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