Alec Hardison [Leverage] (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
stillageek) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
makingthisupasigo2018-07-24 12:53 pm
stillageek) wrote in makingthisupasigo2018-07-24 12:53 pm
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 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!"
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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!"
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He spreads his arms wide.
"Everybody would have said the same thing about you back in the day!"
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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..."
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Carter points an angry finger at him.
"Nobody forced you to go work for Moreau, that was your decision!"
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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!"
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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?"
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"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?"
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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."
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--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..."
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"Brett, you know I don't... like that." He briefly puts his hand on his arm to keep him from hitting Eliot again. "Come on, I'm okay, I promise."
He looks over at Eliot and for a moment his eyes soften, almost as pleading in return because please, please, please will you just shut up? Can't you see that he's trying to salvage what can be salvaged here? Do you really want him to go down with this ship, too?
"And I told you they would come and kick your ass. You really should have known better than trying to kidnap me."
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Even though it infurated and confuses him--why was he acting this way towards Brett?!--Eliot sees Carter's eyes soften through the haze, and he...what can he do here? He was dead either way.
And if he tried to do more, he'd get Carter dead too. Or worse.
This was his fault.
Something in his posture shifts, and he slumps even as they hold him. One of the other men pats him down and removes another gun and several knives from his jacket and pockets.
Brett glances over at Carter. "You sure you're okay?"
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And if Damien hears about it, John will be punished. And John can't ever, ever go through that again.
"I'm fine," he repeats, tearing his eyes away from Eliot's sad figure and flashing Brett a smile instead. "... Well, I'm really drunk," he admits after a moment, steadying himself on his arm.
But his smile falters when the fear threatens to overwhelm him again. "Damien knows I didn't... didn't run away, right?"
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This of course just makes Eliot stare, because is this actually happening or is it some kind of horrible nightmare, a drunken delirium?
Brett shakes his head. "No, of course not. He's sure this is all Spencer's fault. He knows you'd never ever do that to him." Well, again.
He too notes the change in Spencer's demeanor and he allows himself a particularly satisfied, smug smile. "We finally got you, man. We finally beat you. And Damien's gonna have a special welcome prepared for you, Spencer. A little welcome home present. It's gonna be great. Just you and him, maybe me, maybe a few of the guys, and we're gonna have a nice little chat."
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That's putting it mildly. 'In an absolute frenzy' might be more like it but no need to admit to that. It's bad enough that Eliot saw him like this.
A little welcome home present. Carter's face falls at the idea of Damien having a little one-on-one with Eliot and he shivers when bad memories try to worm their way into the forefront of his mind. He quickly slams a lid on them because the alcohol and the talk with Eliot is making it more and more difficult to keep them buried.
And now Damien would do the same thing to Eliot. Maybe something even worse.
Why did Eliot have to come? Why did he have to do this?
I don't want to give up on you.
It's not fair. He can't put John in this situation.
"... Did you bring my gear? I can put him under for transport. It's safer than you guys knocking him out and I'm sure Damien doesn't want him too damaged."
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...even though he'd failed him spectacularly.
There's a certain irony that he drugged Carter to get out here, and now they'd have to do the same to get him back.
As much fun as it would be to knock him out the usual way... "Yeah. Should be here any second--" Brett's very proud of the fact that he's covered all his bases for this job, and not moments later another assassin comes through the door hauling a black duffel bag, which he throws at Carter.
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But then one of the assassins hauls his gear and John catches the bag with effort, almost dropping it, his hands quickly windmilling underneath it like he's holding a hot potato until he manages to get a good grip.
"Why-- Don't throw that. Seriously! How many times do I have to tell you guys?!" Gosh.
Shaking his head he sets the bag down carefully, going through his gear.
Yeah, there's everything he needs.
Everything he needs and more.
It would be easy to end it all now. Give Eliot a little too much. He could just tell Damien there were complications, that Eliot had an allergic reaction to one of the components, it's rare but it happens, too bad. He can save Eliot from all this.
He draws the liquid into the syringe and it's so easy. All he has to do is take a little more. It would be quicker, kinder than anything Damien has in store for him. He'd be doing his old friend a favor. He just needs to...
Carter, what the hell are you doing?!
His hand freezes before he can draw a lethal amount, almost dropping the syringe when Benton's voice hits him out of the blue.
I-I was just...
More than 0.25 mg and your patient goes into cardiac arrest, what are you, a first year? Is that what you're trying to do here?
N-no! I was just--
Carter blinks, shaking his head and the voice away. Stupid alcohol! Stupid people and voices from the past.
But the amount of liquid drawn stays at the minimum for a standard anaesthesia.
"Hold still," he tells Eliot, not unkindly. "Let me do this. They'll just punch you out if you don't, and the headache will be worse."
cw suicidal ideation
The assassins seem to oddly respect Carter, even the one that threw the bag seems apolegetic in response, and it's just...strange to see. Especially after how frightened Carter was at the beginning, how he was with everyone and then now this...
...it was strange to see how much he'd changed actually in action.
Eliot glares at Carter, and a part of him does wonder if he'll wake up after whatever's in that syringe is injected into him.
Assuming that he wouldn't die from it, he would need to be at his best (relatively speaking after the hangover that was sure to come, coupled with coming out of whatever that drug was) so the logical thing to do would be to accept it.
And if not...if he was wrong and Carter did kill him...
...well, it wasn't like he didn't deserve it.
And either way, it wasn't likely he was going to be able to escape Moreau. He might not see Carter again. Eliot nods, but he looks up at for what might be one last time.
"...it was good to see you again."
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"Yeah."
Ignore it. He should just ignore it. Wait for the drug to take effect and be done with it.
He leans in close, sticking the needle into his arm, his mouth close to Eliot's ear.
"... Someone once told me it's not about the punches."
What matters is gettin' back up.
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It's...enough.
It's enough to keep Eliot from slipping completely into a state of hopelessness, it's enough to give him the slightest encouragement that he might even get back to Nate and Hardison and Parker and Sophie. How? He had no idea, but he'd get back up.
He'd do his best to get back up.
The drug hits his system and coupled with the alcohol and the hits he's already taken, he's instantly out--his head hangs down and the assassins holding him can tell he's already fallen into unconsciousness.
Brett's still too paranoid not to lower his gun, but he speaks into the radio in his collar. "Get the cars, bring them around. We got Spencer. Carter's riding with me in front."
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What the hell are you doing, Carter?
I'm working on it, okay?!
Why did any of this have to happen?
He rubs his face, then steps back over to Brett's side. "... It's good to see you."
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Please accept all his babbling, Carter, because he actually really was super worried.
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"I'm fine, Brett. I promise." He places his hand on Brett's chest to interrupt the stream of consciousness.
"I knew you'd find me."
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"You know it. I told you I got your back."
Unlike other people in the room, as he shoots a glance towards Eliot.
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John leans in impulsively and gives him a hug because he really is drunk right now.
"I'm really glad you're here."
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