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.

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"Okay."

There's a bitter taste in his mouth when Brett mentions Eliot yet again. Every time his name comes up it's like a tiny stab at John's heart and it's getting increasingly difficult to ignore.

He isn't here anymore.

His hands grip the coffee mug tightly.

"... Did you kill him?"

"What? No."

Unfortunately, it sounds like a very disappointed no.

"I mean, I woulda liked to?"

He probably should have told people he did, but he knows that's just gonna get out eventually and then he'd have a worse time of it with people calling him a liar.

"Yeah, you would have, wouldn't you."

So Brett didn't kill Eliot. John doesn't think the assassin would lie about that. If he had killed him, he'd be gloating in his face about it.

It's a relief but somehow strangely infuriating at the same time. John shakes his head angrily.

"Then where is he? He wouldn't just leave."

"I'm glad he's gone," Brett still sounds disappointed that he didn't get to kill him, but at least he's not around anymore.

"Yeah, maybe he would. Did you know him all that well anyway?"

"I-- yeah! Yeah, I did."

But then why did he disappear? What could possibly have happened?

"Maybe one of the others got him. Or... or something else happened, there's gotta be a reason."

Well, good for you, bud. Great that you knew him well. Brett scowls.

"Could be. Dude like that, he's got plenty of enemies. He's probably dead, get over it."

Carter scowls right back because this is a touchy subject. A really touchy subject. Which he brought up himself, in a way, but he's really not prepared to hear those words from someone else.

"I'll get over it when I want to."

"Which means you won't."

Brett says this a-matter-of-factly, leaning back. "I've seen it before. Don't say I didn't warn you."

"Seen what before?" His voice turns icy.

"You guys murdering each other? I bet you have."

He's about to shrug again, but that would definitely tear the stitches so he quickly catches himself just in time, wincing. Please don't knock him out, Carter.

"--yeah...yeah, it happens? It's like literally a job hazard."

John shakes his head, lips pressed to a thin line because he's afraid if he keeps talking his voice will give away just how upset he is by all this.

"Whatever."

"That's exactly what someone who's not getting over it would sound like."

He takes the moment to grin as wickedly as he can while taking another sip of his coffee--ow, still hot.

Jesus Christ!

"You think this is funny? You think this is some kind of joke?"

Well, so much for not getting emotional. But there's just something in Brett's grin that sets him off, something in the callousness of it all. Eliot had been cold and callous in the beginning, too, but he had never enjoyed it, had never mocked Carter with it.

"What do you get out of this, about me being miserable? What's the damn appeal? Have you never cared for anyone? How'd you feel if I made fun of them!"

Brett raises his eyebrows, okay, he wasn't exactly expecting that kind of reaction.

"Dude, chill, okay?"

He sets his coffee down for a moment.

"Yeah, I actually think it's pretty funny when you get all worked up. But--"

--yes, he's cared for someone and if Carter made fun of her he'd--

"--I'd punch you into the ground, that's what I'd do."

"Well, that's how I feel right now! And that's what I'd do right now, but I can't, you wanna know why, because I am physically unable to pick and win a fight with you because you're stronger than me and that's why I'm making you get me drinks, you insufferable jerk!"

Sorry, Brett. Apparently, he has no chill left.

And the Inside Job - for Eliot Spencer

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