makingthisupasigo | And the Inside Job

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.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

John smiles, nudging Brett. "Always thorough."

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."

The glare from Eliot when Carter nudges Brett like they were...like they were best friends or something could have drilled a hole right through the wall were it a laser. He's one of the people Carter wants to protect.

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."

With their faces so close together and shielded from the assassins, John's eyes soften sadly.

"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.

What matters is gettin' back up.

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."

Edited 2018-08-09 18:20 (UTC)

Carter checks on Eliot's vitals, making sure that everything is in order and gets to his feet, allowing the assassins to drag him away. He watches them leave and the sight weighs heavy on his heart. It's still like he can feel Benton's disapproving glare burning into his neck and it's weird; he hasn't thought about him for so long, why now? Why today?

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."

"Yeah, man, I was worried--like I know he probably wouldn'tve hurt you but you never know, I mean, this is Spencer we're talking about and it's been two days and we've been trying to track you down and I haven't slept in like two days and are you sure you're okay? You're okay right, you said that already--"

Please accept all his babbling, Carter, because he actually really was super worried.

Edited 2018-08-09 18:44 (UTC)

John looks up at his friend when he babbles on like that and despite everything, that makes him smile.

"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."

Brett finally pauses in his rambling, but he returns the smile. Look how relieved he is?

"You know it. I told you I got your back."

Unlike other people in the room, as he shoots a glance towards Eliot.

"Yeah." Brett always had his back. Brett was always there for him.

John leans in impulsively and gives him a hug because he really is drunk right now.

"I'm really glad you're here."

"And I'm really glad you're here." Brett can't help but laugh a little, and wraps an arm around his shoulders in return. "What say we get you to the car and you can sleep this off a little?"

He barks something in his collar and nods to the other assassins, who start to clean up the room before Brett ushers Carter forward and down the hallway.

Edited 2018-08-16 21:01 (UTC)

"Yeah, that... that sounds pretty good."

There's not much more he can do for Eliot at this point and he is relieved that Damien isn't mad at him, so he just tags along. He's swaying slightly and man, when did he drink so much? He can't remember drinking so much?

Sleep seems like a good idea here, really.

"Just put one foot in front of the other, man." Brett guides him gently to the car once they're outside, opening the door for him and helping to lower into the seat.

"Easy does it, just sleep. You don't have to worry about anything anymore, I've got your back, bro."

"Thanks."

John flops into the seat and immediately everything becomes really heavy.

You don't have to worry about anything anymore, I've got your back, bro.

Brett has his back. Nothing's gonna happen to him. Nobody's gonna hurt him this time. He knows the same won't hold true for Eliot but he can't really focus on that right now because he's just so happy nothing is going to happen to him.

With a soft sigh his eyes slip shut. "Wasn't... wasn't running away."

Brett fastens his seatbelt for him and pats him on the shoulder before shutting the door.

"I know, man. Damien knows. This wasn't your fault. Just rest now, buddy."

"Okay."

The word slurs softly towards the end when he's already drifting off. It doesn't take long for him to be fast asleep.

And the Inside Job - for Eliot Spencer

no subject

cw suicidal ideation

cw suicidal ideation

cw suicidal ideation

cw suicidal ideation

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject