Man I Used to Be #16
Title: Man I Used to Be
Rating: R
Spoilers: Up through 2x07
Pairing: Alec Hardison/ Eliot Spencer
Genre: Drama
Warnings: WIP
Disclaimer: Don't own, don't sue, don't take this too seriously.
Summary: The present's a mess, and the past isn't helping.
A/N: Finally done with this part. Freakin' finally.
Banner by the wonderful and amazing and brilliant cybel
Previous Chapters: Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Chapter 15
"Remember, kid. Spencer's our end goal, not you. Don't go thinking you're not expendable. We find out you're more trouble than you're worth, and we'll move on to the next in your crew. Anything else, at least he'll know we're serious. So whaddya say, huh?"
In retrospect, elbowing the guard in the stomach and trying to run for it hadn't been the best idea he'd ever had. Alec nodded his face against the brick and hoped the gun pressed tightly to his spine didn't go off.
They led him back to his room, which wasn't so much a cell as it was a busted freight elevator, and shoved him inside.
"Hope it was worth it," the Dog the Bounty Hunter wannabe said, pulling the gate shut. "I don't know how soon we're gonna feel like letting you out for another bathroom break."
Alec rolled his eyes without turning around, as he took two steps towards the ratty yellow couch someone had pulled in there. He had no idea if it had been there before they'd scouted this place out, or if it had been specially moved in, but he doubted he'd get around to asking.
He sat down, too tired this time to avoid the crusted red stain on the edge of the cushion. It could have been blood or curry sauce, for all he knew. All told, though, the couch wasn't all that uncomfortable. Not a busted spring pushing up from anywhere, and he settled back.
He couldn't exactly start rummaging through the cushions like he was looking for spare change, not with the rotating audience of armed guys in bad leather jackets watching from the other side of the cage, but a busted spring would have been real useful, right about now.
It had only been a couple of hours.
---
A blue hatchback passed by, a red-haired woman alone in the driver's seat.
Eliot added her license plate to the slowly growing list, glancing at Hardison's building again before turning his regard back to the street. Another set of headlights were cutting through the mute gray haze, coming towards him, and he wondered if the sun had risen already or not.
The newspaper truck didn't slow as it passed, and he watched it in the rearview as the taillights faded from view.
There came a sudden tapping at the passenger side door, and he'd thrown the car into gear by the time he recognized Parker's, peering in at him, her pack over her shoulder, her breath just starting to fog the glass.
Obviously impatient, she waited for him to unlock the door and slipped inside, clearly concerned. "What are you doing here?"
"What are you doing here?" He could feel the chill of the air coming from her coat.
"I asked first."
Putting the car back into park, he watched a blue truck pass by and noted the license plate, but it seemed ridiculous, now. He picked up the notepad and showed it to her with a shrug.
"Just thought…I dunno." It was about as honest as he could manage, because he hadn't actually thought this through. When he'd left Nate's, he'd honestly intended to go home and try to sleep. He'd just wound up here, instead.
"Oh," Parker nodded, shifting her pack on her lap and perusing the list. "This is a good idea."
Not without Hardison to run them, Eliot admitted, but didn't respond. "What about you?"
"I may have broken into his apartment."
"Nate told you not to."
"He told us both not to. I just wanted to make sure nobody'd been in there. I grabbed his laptop, in case he bounces his security monitoring over to it, and-" Parker scowled, riveted by the scenery outside. "I took the external drives from when you. You know."
"Why?"
"Playing the odds. If they took Hardison, it had to be for what he knows, the evidence he has." She turned back to Eliot, her need for confirmation plain. "They're going to want it back, right? So I was just saving us time, later."
"Parker," he began, but exhaustion was suddenly rolling over him in a slow wave, and it all seemed like too much to get into. "Actually, that's probably good thinking," he decided. "You need a lift home?"
"I'll go home if you will."
"Deal."
---
He wished he could ask for some paints or something, because as outlandish as it was, it distracted him from how badly he needed a computer, a phone, anything.
This was ridiculous. He could do this. Even if last night didn't count, there were still only a few days left to get through.
Three days with nothing at all to do but pretend he didn't notice the guys with the guns watching him like he was a particularly important, if dull, zoo exhibit.
Three days with no contact. No information. No idea at all what the plan was. No way to learn, and no way to pass along what he found.
The guy that looks like a high school chemistry teacher on steroids needs a new set of kicks. Someone was smart enough to make sure the control panel of the elevator was removed before I got here. The guy with the flat head has a bad case of halitosis. The bathroom is out through the basement and up half a flight of stairs, and out of paper towels. Parker could get through the padlock on the gate in a heartbeat. If Eliot was there to take down the guards. If Sophie was there to talk everyone in. If Nate had a plan.
But if there was one, Alec didn't know. He was a NPC.
---
By the time he'd gotten home, Eliot lacked the wherewithal to make it up the stairs, winding up on the couch instead.
Sunlight had long been creeping in through the window by the time he admitted that maybe the extra effort to at least remove the sling would have been worth it, but it wasn't enough for him to act on it. He didn't want to move.
Last time he'd been inches from sleep on this couch, he'd known- all too well- where Hardison was. Even now, stretched out like he was, arm crossed carefully against his chest, there was too much empty space.
He wondered if maybe they'd let Hardison have a blanket or something. His house was cold enough, but it was comfortable, compared to a concrete floor.
It was stupid, though, thinking about it. He could hope all he wanted, but it didn't help any. Didn't even make up for the fact that this was his own fault.
---
The explosion had come and gone, and all that was left was the ever-present aftermath, but the sirens and alarms and beating of helicopter blades were fading, giving way to the sound that was actually waking him.
His phone, on the floor, going off in the silence. It was Nate, it was a little past noon, and truth be told, Eliot was surprised he'd held out for so long.
"What's up?"
"Hey, I've been thinking. How do we run game on Nicola when he already knows our faces?"
"He probably knows more than that, and we've got fuck all." Eliot replied like this was a normal topic to discuss before coffee. If he'd had some, maybe he would've thought more before saying, "We're gonna have to play along."
"But we can-"
"Hardison's a hostage, now, you hearing this?" Eliot pushed himself off the couch, because heading towards the kitchen wasn't pacing. "That changes everything. Ain't just some piece of artwork or something."
"So we find out what he wants, and then..." Nate trailed off, his head probably trying to spin a thousand plans at once, but his tone belied what he'd never admit. His hand was a bust.
"They want me, Nate. They're gonna call and demand a trade, and we're going to make it."
"You make it sound like we're out of options," Nate tried for confidence, and Eliot wished, hard, that he could play along. Might have been able to, if Nate didn't sound so rough. Like he needed a drink.
"We have options. This can go down smoothly, or this can become a shitstorm." He considered the contents of the refrigerator, idly, and shut the door.
They're feeding him, right?
Focus.
"You ever deal with hostage negotiations before?"
"Me? No. Why? Have you?"
"After a fashion, once or twice. Usually I only got called in after they'd gone south."
"So tell me how to avoid that when I talk to them."
Nate was supposed to know everything. He wasn't supposed to ask for advice.
And you're not supposed to get your own crew kidnapped. Nothing's where it's supposed to be.
"They're going to call my phone, so I'm guessing I'll be the one doing the talking."
"I hear that, but it sounds like if you get your way, I'll be the one trying to negotiate to get your ass out of there. So tell me."
They didn't call the first time around, did they? Eliot refrained from saying. It just sounded petulant. "By the time they call, it will have been a few days, so they should have cooled off from the initial assault. That's a point in our favor."
"Yeah, well, we need all of those that we can get," Nate agreed.
"Okay. Say you were taking the call for Hardison. We know why they've got him, and they know that we know, and they'll read any attempts to negotiate that point as an obvious stall. Don't argue with them and don't back them into a corner. Delay, make counter-offers, but keep them on the line. Ask open ended questions, not just yes or no."
"Won't that just give them the chance to confuse things?"
"Maybe, but the more they have to think, the better off we are. Like, ask about the details, how they want something done, that sort of thing. Ask about Hardison, if he's okay, if he needs a doctor, if you can talk to him. All the stuff you'd normally ask. "
"You sure we want their attention on him?"
"Definitely. The more they're thinking about this stuff, the better the chances are that they'll see him as human, so…" Eliot wasn't sure he was explaining this right. Trying to condense three weeks of decade-old training into one phone call was frustrating as all hell. He was starting to think that maybe he should just get his ass over there, explain it in person, but Nate prompted him to go on.
So he did. "Here's the thing. You don't want to push it too far. Don't frame yourself as the opposition, and don't let them paint you that way."
"But we are the opposition."
"Yeah, but. Look. If it goes south, we need to make sure that we've still got Hardison on our side, that he's not up to his eyeballs in Stockholm syndrome."
Silence on the line, for a moment, as Nate considered the possibility. "You really think that's a concern?"
"I don't know. He's just a kid, Nate."
"Eliot?"
It was a good thing that he hadn't gone over there. He didn't want to look Nate in the face right now. "He doesn't have the training to deal with this sort of thing. Ain't his world, you know?"
"Since when?"
This entire Q and A had gone on far too fucking long. "C'mon, man. Hacking, the computer stuff. It's not like he's built for going out and throwing down."
"He's not spineless." There was censure in Nate's tone.
"I'm not saying that he is, just." Eliot wished he'd never opened his mouth. "He can hold his own, most of the time, but I don' t know if he's prepared to deal with this."
"Were you?"
Eliot snorted, but it didn't turn into a laugh. "Which time?"
"Any of them. The first."
He fought the urge to throw the phone across the room, actually felt his muscles tensing ready to coil. "Actually, yeah. I was. This is what I do. All I'm sayin', is… It ain't supposed to be him, doing it. He's too-" The admission was a little much, maybe, so he continued. "So look. They'll call. They're going to want me. And everything I just told you aside, we're going make the trade. I'll make the trade."
"No, Eliot. I know you think all this-"
"Ain't about that. I've got a better chance of dealing with them and getting out." Without it destroying everything that I am, he almost added, but held back.
Nate's thoughts evidently weren't taking the same track. "Okay. I don't like it, but if you're gonna do this, we have to be smart. Get a plan. I'll call the girls, give them the rundown. You think you can get over here around three? We still need to go check out Hardison's place."
"Actually, we don't. Uh. Kind of ran into Parker there this morning. She grabbed the drives and his computer. Nobody was there."
"Seriously?" Nate was rolling his eyes, Eliot was sure. "Whatever. Let me reiterate that we need a plan. And that this time, I need everyone to stick to it, okay? If that's not too much to ask?"
---
"Any idea how they'll run it?"
"They've had time to move. Could be anywhere. But I'm guessing they're local. Nicola's not going to add barriers to prevent getting what he wants."
"What does it matter, anyway?" Eliot argued. "They'll make the call, we'll do what they want."
"No!" Sophie was surprised and Parker was vehement. "Eliot can't turn himself in!"
But he'd already decided that this was going to happen. He didn't need them to make it happen. He didn't need their concern, or their goddamned permission, and he really didn't need their arguments.
"It's the only option, and I'll handle it solo I need to." he said, as calm as he could manage, daring their disagreement.
"He's got a point," Sophie eventually ventured, hesitantly feeling her way through the sentence. "If we're not careful when we go in there, Hardison will reap the whirlwind."
"So we just make sure that doesn't happen," Nate stated, and Eliot had heard enough.
He pushed himself up off the couch, and started walking away, before he said or did something stupid.
"We've got your back, whether you like it or not, I don't care, you know," Nate called after him, but seeing that he was only going as far as the kitchen, and not escaping the apartment, he cleared his throat and continued at a more reasonable volume. "We're not letting you wander off to get yourself tortured just because you're feeling guilty."
"Maybe he's doing it because he loves him."
Parker's quiet protest hung loudly in the air, and he wanted to fall through the floor. If he kept his head down, pretended he hadn't heard, maybe he could look them in the face once he turned from the coffee pot.
"Hush, Parker," Sophie intoned, but all the same, he could feel three sets of eyes burning at the back of his head. He decided that maybe he'd add some milk and sugar to his coffee. Took a little extra time stirring it in.
He wasn't sure if Parker was right, but it wasn't like her being wrong would have been any easier.
---
Nobody had showed up yet, but everything was fine.
Or, had been fine, right up until he realized something that should've been obvious from the start.
They had no way to find him.
It had taken weeks to find Eliot, when he'd gone missing, but he'd been able to sift through the paper trails and bank statements and employment records. He'd traced phone records and passenger manifests.
He'd had intel, more importantly, he'd known how to find it, in places eve Nate, in all his genius, didn't even know about.
None of them had his skills. Pompous, but true.
Then again, right now, he could really use their talents. Any one of them would have been long gone by now. But not him. He didn't have their nerve.
It was a little pathetic.
---
Sophie looked mildly surprised to see him, which was strange, since she was the one standing on his front steps, one hand poised to knock, the other in her purse.
"What's up?"
"Oh! You're home. Excellent. I was just. I don't mean to intrude, but you left rather abruptly, earlier. I came by to make sure everything was all right. And to offer my ear, if you wanted to talk. It's been a strange time."
"Sophie, darlin'. Thanks, but. I'm not really in the mood."
"Of course not," Sophie's smile was self-conscious. "I'm sorry, I just worry, sometimes. But. I'll leave you to your evening, then. Call me, of course, if you change your mind. I'll listen."
"Thanks," Eliot said, watching her return to her car uneasily. He hadn't expected her to be so undemanding. It wasn't her style.
If he looked in the mirror, wouldn't be surprised to read Fuck Off hanging over his head in glowing red neon, and Sophie Devereaux didn't need so blatant an indicator to pick up on it.
She pulled away from the curb, so he went back into the kitchen and opened the refrigerator, hoping that the action would force his appetite out of hiding.
He barely felt like eating, not really. Pulling all the ingredients together to actually cook something was too monumental a task to deal with, so he rummaged through the freezer until he found a frozen dinner that Hardison had brought over. It would do.
Reading the ingredients as the preservative laden and artificially flavored food heated, he snorted, boggling at the fact that somehow, Hardison thought it was palatable.
Wasn't raised with no sense, he thought, and without warning, food was the last thing on his mind.
There was a woman Hardison called Mama, and his foster mom, Nana, who had no idea what had happened to him.
For all Eliot knew, they were sitting worried by their phones, waiting to hear from him. Because Hardison was the type to check in. But he couldn't now, because he was being held hostage, in some room somewhere. He was probably going hungry, tonight.
Because Eliot had done it again.
It was the same thing he'd done to his own sister. Screwed up her life by virtue of his own.
He was overcome with the need to pick up the phone and call her, but it wasn't like she'd tell him it's okay, everything's fine, no hard feelings. She'd had to become another person, had to give up everything. It was unlikely she had enough left in her to forgive him.
And maybe he could do better by Hardison, but he didn't know anything, really, about Nana or Hardison's mom, not even enough to find them, or to know if he should try. He only knew that there was another family out there, whoever they were, falling apart because of him.
The tray burned his fingers when he pulled it from the microwave, and he chemical smell of molten plastic filled the kitchen. Tossing it down on the counter, he didn't bother to make sure it didn't spill, because he was already sliding down to the floor.
Back pressed hard against the cabinets, eyes catching on the grit running along the floorboards, he decided that sometime in the next century, he'd really need to sweep and mop. Hell, maybe he needed to napalm the entire damned house, because yeah, maybe he was losing it a little bit, here, but of all the messes he'd ever made, it didn't fucking matter.
---
Alec tried not to let his ego get the best of him, but at least the situation was helping on that front. He felt like some neglected household pet, locked in a busted up elevator and accepting the fast food bag and soda they passed through.
It was root beer, sort of flat, and the fries were stale, but he didn't complain. Wasn't like they couldn't just decide to not feed him. They could take away the couch, as well. Or kill him, just as easily.
Actually, it would be easier to just ice him. The couch was fairly large, awkward, and looked heavy. His dead body would be easier to move, if they decided to go to the bother.
So he ate, staring at the grid of the gate and trying not to see past it. It was easier when he could ignore his captors, the matter-of-fact way they handled the situation, guns at hand, barely sparing him a second look. Like he wasn't anything more than the nasty couch he sat on.
He sipped his drink and made like he didn't know exactly what a nonentity he was. He was only a body, filling in until they could get the one they wanted, not worth the effort.
If he were more the noble type, maybe a bit tougher, he'd say it wasn't much of a relief.
But actually? It kind of was.
---
He spent the day watching the clock creep onwards from calm to panic to calm again. He packing supplies, making sure he knew where the ropes were, and checked that he had easy access to the bandages and bottled water.
He cleaned the gun and checked the ammo. Replaced it in the bag a seventh time, because he'd already gone through six instances of unpacking it. Zipped the bag shut with finality. He'd rather have it and not use it, given the choice.
He left his house before he could change his mind again. They'd be getting the call, soon, in a few hours, and there would be no time for hesitation.
It wasn't something he'd explained, before, and he had no plans to, because there'd be time enough for the team's disappointment later, but if it came down to it, he could play the triggerman again.
---
He was circling the block again, trying to find a place to park by Nate's, when his phone rang. He wasn't expecting to see Hardison's number on the caller ID. Not yet. Not for another hour or eternity at least.
And after everything, all that waiting, suddenly, this was it.
Careful to watch the road, he took a breath and answered. "Hardison?"
"Eliot. Hey," Hardison said, like he was calling about the weather, and for a split second there, everything was fine. But it was fleeting. "You're on speaker phone, so keep it clean. The friendly man with the gun wants me to pass a message along."
He was listening carefully, even before he spoke. "Okay, shoot."
"I'm going to presume you mean me talk, not them shoot," Hardison quipped, suddenly irritated, and Eliot cringed as he waited for the sound of gunfire, but it never came. Hearing Hardison take a breath, he knew what he was about to say.
"You have twenty four hours to get to Manhattan."
Or maybe he didn't. "Manhattan?"
"Yeah. Keep your phone on. I gotta go."
"Wait-" Eliot scrambled, but he was too slow. The connection was terminated. He called back, needing to know that he'd heard wrong, needing Hardison's voice, needing this not to be happening.
---
Parker snapped her head up again, to look blearily around, before sitting up straight and scratching her nose. Her attempts to stay awake were starting to fail, an inversion of Eliot's attempts to fall asleep. The road was a lulling low hum, and it was dark, but even after an hour and a half, stuck in the backseat of the Rover, he still couldn't gear down. Every time he thought he had his thoughts nailed down, they got away again.
Whenever his eyes lit on something outside the window, a storefront, an exit sign, another tract of incomplete suburban McMansions, he added a new backdrop to another bloody scenario, but never managed to change the results.
Hardison kneeling in a dead-end alley, a gun to the back of his head, beaten bloody. A utility van hiding them from the street's view, blocking off their exit.
He'd been ready for a lot of things, accounted for every double and triple cross, prepared for every endgame switch, but he hadn't expected to be doing nothing. When he'd told the others about the call, Sophie had flailed and Parker had scoped the windows. Nate had paced the room, working on plan Q or R.
But it had only lasted ten or fifteen minutes. The train wouldn’t have been all that much faster than driving, this time of night, and there would be no questions regarding their supplies, so somewhere, the decision had been made. He'd helped Parker load it all into Sophie's Range Rover. Ropes. Harnesses. Fake IDs and a duffel bag full of cash, just in case. Nate's laptop, and Sophie's suitcase. The bag he'd brought with him and the gun he'd expected to be using by now.
An empty parking lot, reaching the halfway point as the bullet finds him from a dark window across the street.
He tried to focus on what was real. Nate, up front, driving and murmuring the occasional comment about some book he and Sophie had apparently both read. Eliot hadn't caught the title, and wasn't really up for conversation, anyway. Didn't seem right.
Crossing a bridge, his own shadow cutting through the headlight's glare as he slowly approached the other car. Too bright to pick his target, the gun in his waistband heavy against his skin. Passing within feet of Hardison coming the other way, and not once seeing his face.
They pulled over to fill the tank and stretch their legs, but nobody said anything. It was late, starting to rain, and Sophie got in on the driver's side, this time.
Maybe a junkyard, like the one they just passed. Towers of rusted out old cars and refrigerators, the tripwire that would detonate the charge that would bring them tumbling down. Not enough time to warn the others.
Parker was toying with something, now. Palming and back palming her earpiece, trying to stay occupied. If Hardison were there, there was no telling if he'd be yelling at her to stop playing with the tech, or watching, impressed, and trying to one-up her, laughing.
Hardison, dodging his eyes like a stranger, or worse, meeting him head on, bloody and challenging and hateful, their message clear.
You did this to me.
Nate was snoring, up in the front seat, quiet enough that Eliot was only alerted to it when Parker leaned over the seat with her phone to snap a ridiculous number of pictures. She probably would have gotten more had Sophie not chimed in with "Parker, don't you think that's quite enough? You're blocking the rearview."
He was a little more at ease when she sat back and leaned over to show him the unflattering shots, grinning conspiratorially at him like they'd gotten away with something. He must not have shown the required enthusiasm, however, because she cocked her head at him, shifting a bit closer.
"You think he's okay?"
No. Because for all the circles Eliot had been running in, the fact remained that Hardison had guns on him and wasn't the type that saw the value in keeping his mouth shut, not when there were so many jokes to be made. There was something about guns that tended to make their owners lose their sense of humor.
Biting back his sarcasm, he answered carefully, not wanting to be heard. "Dunno. He'd better be." Because it was easier to be irritated with him than it was to worry about him. And it was easier to think about the bad scenarios that hadn't happened, yet, than it was to comprehend the current reality.
Hardison was probably bleeding and bruised, sporting a concussion or worse. Cold, hungry, confused, and only there because Eliot couldn't keep his past in the past.
She nodded, and that seemed to be the end of it, but it wasn't. "I hate this, you know," she admitted, warily, like she really thought it required explanation. "Worrying all the time. It's all we ever do anymore."
"Yeah." He hated sitting there, watching the frost that was just starting to gather on the side of the road, because the alternative was watching Parker trying not to look scared.
He couldn't keep doing this to people.
---
Not in the elevator anymore, but the cell in Pennsylvania. Eliot's there, close enough to see flush-heated skin and press fingers into pulse points as he leans in again.
His eyes slip closed as Eliot's hair brushes along his throat, followed by stubble, lips tracing his from his ear down to his shoulder. Dull scratches of nails on his hips he pulls Eliot closer, down, the press of bodies not loud enough to drown out the sound of the clock but they're trying, and it will be fine as long as he doesn't open his eyes again.
But they do, and the timer says eight, then seven, and there's just enough time for Eliot to pull away and ask, "You couldn't just get this one thing right?" before the explosion comes.
Shooting upright, Alec fell back again, trying to catch his breath, his response dying in his throat.
At least it's quiet, he stared at the metal grate. It wasn't anything Parker's tools couldn't handle. He contemplated it for a few moments, wondering if his brain would force him back to sleep, or let him to stay up long enough to puzzle it out. Find a weak join somewhere, just enough to bend and break back. Get a hand through, then an arm.
Because thinking about the dream? So not happening.
He probably would have been able to pull it off, were it not for the applause.
Struggling up again, he squinted through the gate to see Dog standing at the other side, his hands slowing to silence once more.
"Nightmares? That was the most interesting thing you've done since you got here."
Forgetting that sass probably wouldn't help the cause, he replied. "Glad to oblige. I sincerely do hope that you get a chance to try it yourself, soon."
"Not likely," Dog said, returning to his post, "but I'll be sure to record it next time. I'm sure Spencer will find it interesting."
If he shows, Alec's brain supplied, before he could stop it.
Because yeah, they were crew. And maybe Eliot was a little more. But it wasn't like there were any guarantees. No undying declarations of promised hostage extrications. Not even an indication that this was the most fucked situation Eliot had ever found himself in.
'Cause it probably isn't.
Making out in a hotel room, awesome as it was, didn't change anything.
Keep cool. That ain't him. And this ain't you.
Maybe if Eliot had said more than five words, Alec would have a clue. But those few words had been short, downright terse, even for him. Not enough to discern the meaning, and about as informative as a book with no pages.
Maybe if he'd dawdled some more, hadn't been such a coward, he could have gotten a sixth word, maybe even a seventh, and maybe he'd know.
Fucking New York, though, was all the answer he had.
---
Gathered in Nate's hotel room, finally in New York, they were running it down. Spinning scenarios and running down the possible responses in turn. Parker kept diligent notes, while Sophie and Nate took the lead, and Eliot found himself getting drawn in despite himself.
It was the pre-game for a job, and nothing like it at all.
They weren't usually running it at three in the morning, for one.
Mostly, though, without Hardison there, giving them the exact information they needed five hours before it was needed, it was an idle way to pass the time. There was no way to predict what would happen, no way to control the future until it arrived, but at least it felt like they were doing something.
They weren't supposed to need placebos, but Eliot didn't mention it. But he couldn't tell them what the real plan was, either, or how many bullets it would take. Leaning against the wall and scratching at his greasy hair, he tried to appear attentive.
"I see where you're going with it, Parker, but it won't work," Nate yawned. "Our guy's smart, stays two steps away from the mess. Doesn't get his hands dirty. Besides. Nicola knows our faces."
"So we bring in someone he doesn't know," Sophie paused, as if to go on, but Parker broke into sudden arm waving. Nate, his patience worn as thin as Eliot's own, ignored her.
"Sophie? Do you have someone in mind?"
"Well," Sophie trailed off, but apparently Parker's patience had run out.
She jumped to her feet in one fluid motion, nearly spilling her soda. Her excitement, however, flagged the instant she had their attention, and she hesitated. "What about Apollo?"
"Apollo?" Nate's tone was derisive.
"Yeah." Her tone was a little stronger now, insistent. "He's in town."
Sophie was about to ask her how she knew, that much was plain, but Nate didn't give her the chance. "What about Dayan? She could have told Nicola all about him."
But Parker had something, there. Worth consideration, at least, because it couldn't be any worse than some of the other plans being tossed about, especially that thing with the ice cream truck. And if he played along now, kept them distracted and off his trail, his own job would be easier, later.
Making sure he had Nate's attention, he spoke. "Her. This line of work, you don't give out for free what you can get paid for next week."
Nate considered the angles for a moment more, before clapping his hands together. "Good enough for me. Worst-case scenario, Nicola still sees us coming, and we're only as bad off as we would be anyway, long as we're careful. How do we track him down?"
"What should I tell him?" Even if she was having some trouble freeing her phone from her tight pocket, Eliot wasn't sure that he'd seen Parker that enthusiastic about anything in a while.
"Ah. Right," Nate blinked, giving in, obviously to Sophie's dismay. "Parker, make the call."
---
The guards were changing shifts, and a Starbucks cup was in the hand that wasn't holding the gun, so Alec figured it must be morning.
"He cause any problems?" Halitosis asked, and Cheap Sneakers shook his head as he tossed his paper aside and stood to stretch.
"He was sleeping. Didn't say much. Left you the crossword, there," like it was nothing
He choked his irritation down, because yeah, this was getting old, but they sure as hell didn't need to know it.
Before Cheap Sneakers left, they escorted him out to the bathroom and back again, closely aware of him, clearly expecting another escape attempt, but there wasn't a need for it. Maybe it was because he was still tired, or hadn't eaten, or the guns, but he didn't even bother to cause a fuss when they shoved him back in the elevator.
It didn't mean he wasn't sitting in a funk on the nasty-ass couch, thinking about what he should have done. He wasn't in chains, he wasn't dosed, and he wasn't really all that outnumbered. But, and maybe it was time that he admitted it, he was in over his head.
He'd tried to pay attention, the few times Eliot gave him pointers on fighting, but they'd never covered tactics for when someone could pick you off from the other side of a jail cell.
Halitosis was sitting in the chair now, intent on the crossword.
At this point in the movie, he was probably supposed to be getting tortured, or something. Fucked with. But it just didn't happen. Nothing did.
After an hour or two, he stood up, pretending not to notice the sudden close attention on him, and stretched his back. Tried to man up, will himself into some sort of action. Find his own fucking spine.
He sat back down, on the other side of the couch this time, just for variety's sake.
---
In sixteen or seventeen hours, as long as Nicola's crew didn't fuck around, he'd be turning himself in. Checking over his shoulder to make sure Hardison and the others had cleared the area, and if he was still alive at that point, it was because whoever else was left in the room was incapacitated.
Maybe dead, and if he was still breathing two minutes later, he'd need an exit strategy, and he'd have to move fast. Odds were, the others would try and intervene. He couldn't allow that complication.
Mostly, if it went out of control, he didn't want to see their faces when they saw his, after.
But he could do this. He'd done it before. Whoever Nicola was, it was probably catalyst for everything that had brought him to this point.
At least some good would come of it. Hardison, alive and out in the world, with half a chance for safety. He probably wouldn't forgive him, not this time around, but he'd be out there.
Eliot wondered if he'd have a chance to say goodbye, in the moments before it all went down. Apologize.
Fuck, you barely had a chance to say hello.
He caught his reflection in the mirror and wished he was looking at Hardison's face instead. Missing him too much, and he hadn't even lost him yet. Not really. There was losing him the way he'd done, and losing him the way he was about to. This time, it would be under his own control, but it was going to hurt a hell of a lot.
Because this time, Eliot wasn't even leaving as the man that Hardison knew, but going out like the man he used to be.
If there was any coming back from something like this, he'd only find out later.
He doubted it.
The instinct to twist his wrist, bring the barrel to his mouth and just squeeze was almost too much to resist, so he set the gun down on the mattress, nausea crashing over him.
He wasn't a fucking coward. He was sitting up again, one hand hanging onto the edge of the mattress with a white-knuckled grip, the other clawing at his collar tugging at the sling's clasp, but he wasn't a fucking coward, and in sixteen or seventeen hours, there were things that needed setting right.
---
The guards, no, henchmen. No. Assholes with guns were placing their bets. Dog had a hundred on Eliot showing up, while Halitosis anted the same, guessing that he wouldn't. The discussion derailed for a while afterwards, while they debated the pros and cons of various locations for dumping Alec's dead body. It was a while before Cheap Sneakers got to throw in- Eliot would show, but they'd be burying two bodies.
Alec was tempted to raise them five hundred each that they'd all have fingers to broken to go for their wallets to pay out, but it felt like bravado, so he kept his mouth shut.
Part of him wanted to attract their attention, see if they'd let him get out and use the can, but casual as they seemed, interrupting probably wasn't the best route to take.
At least they were in good spirits. Had to beat the alternative. He'd chill.
He didn't have to wait long. Right about the time he was starting to consider trying to climb the walls, Dog's phone rang.
"Yeah. You're in? Okay….yeah. We can have him there in an hour. Right." He hung up the phone, and nodded to the others. Cheap Sneakers ground his cigarette into the concrete and came towards the elevator.
"All right. Here's how it plays out. We're going on a trip, and you're going to be on your best behavior."
"Or what, I don't get no ice cream?" Their answering glares would have shut him up quickly enough, though the readying of all three guns was a nice touch.
"Move."
"Yo man, look. I don't know how long a trip it is, but I gotta piss."
Cheap Sneakers pulled a face, and Halitosis looked to Dog for the answer, before waving him towards the bathroom.
He'd gotten over the indignity of pissing with the door open a day or so back. Nothing major, just the sort of thing you did when you didn't feel like sitting around in urine-soaked jeans. They were already ripe enough as it was, probably.
But. He had to get back in the game, here. Get himself ready. Think. He already knew damned well there was no real way out of this, but the situation was about to change. They'd be moving back towards the van, and then at least one of them would be riding up front. They'd be in traffic. They'd have to stop, at some point, wait for the traffic to cross.
At some point, he'd have another shot. Just had to keep cool. Get his game face on.
He zipped himself up and made sure his face was back to worn complacency before turning to face them.
---
"So where are we going?"
"Like you don't know."
"Actually-"
Dog waved his gun towards the inside of the van. "Shut up and get in."
"Yeah," Halitosis chimed in from too damned close as he climbed in after him. "Chill out, kid. Ain't no reason for you to be making this hard on yourself. We've done all right by you, and you know it."
"You kidnapped me, how's that-"
Dog slid into the driver's seat, up front, and called over his shoulder. "Do you really want to know how much worse it could've been?"
Despite himself, Alec discovered that he was shaking his head. He didn't need them telling him that. He'd already seen the movie.
He remained very still, trying not to rock with the movement as the van turned and sped up, trying to pay attention.
If he stayed focused, he could get himself out of this.
Any minute now, there'd be a distraction. Halitosis would turn his attention to a passing streetlight, or Cheap Sneakers would reach down to mess with the stereo, and all eyes would be off him.
He just had to be ready. Stay aware. Concentrate.
Quit thinking about the wager the assholes had already made, and the likelihood of one of them collecting on it. Quit thinking that Eliot might not show up. Quit hoping that he would.
But he couldn't win, not really. His options weren't that great.
Either he could hate himself for wishing that Eliot would come in, fucking hand himself over, or he could hate Eliot for falling for something so obvious in the first place. Hate himself for his traitorous impulses, or hate him for his lack.
Or he could get his head in the fucking game, and for once, maybe, handle things himself.
Soon as he got the chance.
---
After an hour or two, his left foot was asleep and he was wondering if they were driving in circles, hoping to obfuscate their destination. But something was about to happen. Halitosis, especially, looked anxious, twitchy. Even closed his mouth to breathe for a while.
They'd hit traffic, Alec realized, as the van slowed, then sped up again as a green light flashed across the rear window as he rocked to the side. They were going around a corner, and this would be the moment Eliot would have chosen to make his move. Catch them while they're physically off balance, even that little bit would give him the advantage.
Parker wouldn't have waited for the van to slow down.
So he had it. Enough of a semblance of a plan, and as long as he didn't do anything stupid, like give himself away, or move too soon, he could rock this.
They were slowing down again, and easing into the turn, and-
"We're here," Dog stated, smirking as the van ground to a halt.
---
Chapter 17
Rating: R
Spoilers: Up through 2x07
Pairing: Alec Hardison/ Eliot Spencer
Genre: Drama
Warnings: WIP
Disclaimer: Don't own, don't sue, don't take this too seriously.
Summary: The present's a mess, and the past isn't helping.
A/N: Finally done with this part. Freakin' finally.
Banner by the wonderful and amazing and brilliant cybel
Previous Chapters: Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Chapter 15
"Remember, kid. Spencer's our end goal, not you. Don't go thinking you're not expendable. We find out you're more trouble than you're worth, and we'll move on to the next in your crew. Anything else, at least he'll know we're serious. So whaddya say, huh?"
In retrospect, elbowing the guard in the stomach and trying to run for it hadn't been the best idea he'd ever had. Alec nodded his face against the brick and hoped the gun pressed tightly to his spine didn't go off.
They led him back to his room, which wasn't so much a cell as it was a busted freight elevator, and shoved him inside.
"Hope it was worth it," the Dog the Bounty Hunter wannabe said, pulling the gate shut. "I don't know how soon we're gonna feel like letting you out for another bathroom break."
Alec rolled his eyes without turning around, as he took two steps towards the ratty yellow couch someone had pulled in there. He had no idea if it had been there before they'd scouted this place out, or if it had been specially moved in, but he doubted he'd get around to asking.
He sat down, too tired this time to avoid the crusted red stain on the edge of the cushion. It could have been blood or curry sauce, for all he knew. All told, though, the couch wasn't all that uncomfortable. Not a busted spring pushing up from anywhere, and he settled back.
He couldn't exactly start rummaging through the cushions like he was looking for spare change, not with the rotating audience of armed guys in bad leather jackets watching from the other side of the cage, but a busted spring would have been real useful, right about now.
It had only been a couple of hours.
---
A blue hatchback passed by, a red-haired woman alone in the driver's seat.
Eliot added her license plate to the slowly growing list, glancing at Hardison's building again before turning his regard back to the street. Another set of headlights were cutting through the mute gray haze, coming towards him, and he wondered if the sun had risen already or not.
The newspaper truck didn't slow as it passed, and he watched it in the rearview as the taillights faded from view.
There came a sudden tapping at the passenger side door, and he'd thrown the car into gear by the time he recognized Parker's, peering in at him, her pack over her shoulder, her breath just starting to fog the glass.
Obviously impatient, she waited for him to unlock the door and slipped inside, clearly concerned. "What are you doing here?"
"What are you doing here?" He could feel the chill of the air coming from her coat.
"I asked first."
Putting the car back into park, he watched a blue truck pass by and noted the license plate, but it seemed ridiculous, now. He picked up the notepad and showed it to her with a shrug.
"Just thought…I dunno." It was about as honest as he could manage, because he hadn't actually thought this through. When he'd left Nate's, he'd honestly intended to go home and try to sleep. He'd just wound up here, instead.
"Oh," Parker nodded, shifting her pack on her lap and perusing the list. "This is a good idea."
Not without Hardison to run them, Eliot admitted, but didn't respond. "What about you?"
"I may have broken into his apartment."
"Nate told you not to."
"He told us both not to. I just wanted to make sure nobody'd been in there. I grabbed his laptop, in case he bounces his security monitoring over to it, and-" Parker scowled, riveted by the scenery outside. "I took the external drives from when you. You know."
"Why?"
"Playing the odds. If they took Hardison, it had to be for what he knows, the evidence he has." She turned back to Eliot, her need for confirmation plain. "They're going to want it back, right? So I was just saving us time, later."
"Parker," he began, but exhaustion was suddenly rolling over him in a slow wave, and it all seemed like too much to get into. "Actually, that's probably good thinking," he decided. "You need a lift home?"
"I'll go home if you will."
"Deal."
---
He wished he could ask for some paints or something, because as outlandish as it was, it distracted him from how badly he needed a computer, a phone, anything.
This was ridiculous. He could do this. Even if last night didn't count, there were still only a few days left to get through.
Three days with nothing at all to do but pretend he didn't notice the guys with the guns watching him like he was a particularly important, if dull, zoo exhibit.
Three days with no contact. No information. No idea at all what the plan was. No way to learn, and no way to pass along what he found.
The guy that looks like a high school chemistry teacher on steroids needs a new set of kicks. Someone was smart enough to make sure the control panel of the elevator was removed before I got here. The guy with the flat head has a bad case of halitosis. The bathroom is out through the basement and up half a flight of stairs, and out of paper towels. Parker could get through the padlock on the gate in a heartbeat. If Eliot was there to take down the guards. If Sophie was there to talk everyone in. If Nate had a plan.
But if there was one, Alec didn't know. He was a NPC.
---
By the time he'd gotten home, Eliot lacked the wherewithal to make it up the stairs, winding up on the couch instead.
Sunlight had long been creeping in through the window by the time he admitted that maybe the extra effort to at least remove the sling would have been worth it, but it wasn't enough for him to act on it. He didn't want to move.
Last time he'd been inches from sleep on this couch, he'd known- all too well- where Hardison was. Even now, stretched out like he was, arm crossed carefully against his chest, there was too much empty space.
He wondered if maybe they'd let Hardison have a blanket or something. His house was cold enough, but it was comfortable, compared to a concrete floor.
It was stupid, though, thinking about it. He could hope all he wanted, but it didn't help any. Didn't even make up for the fact that this was his own fault.
---
The explosion had come and gone, and all that was left was the ever-present aftermath, but the sirens and alarms and beating of helicopter blades were fading, giving way to the sound that was actually waking him.
His phone, on the floor, going off in the silence. It was Nate, it was a little past noon, and truth be told, Eliot was surprised he'd held out for so long.
"What's up?"
"Hey, I've been thinking. How do we run game on Nicola when he already knows our faces?"
"He probably knows more than that, and we've got fuck all." Eliot replied like this was a normal topic to discuss before coffee. If he'd had some, maybe he would've thought more before saying, "We're gonna have to play along."
"But we can-"
"Hardison's a hostage, now, you hearing this?" Eliot pushed himself off the couch, because heading towards the kitchen wasn't pacing. "That changes everything. Ain't just some piece of artwork or something."
"So we find out what he wants, and then..." Nate trailed off, his head probably trying to spin a thousand plans at once, but his tone belied what he'd never admit. His hand was a bust.
"They want me, Nate. They're gonna call and demand a trade, and we're going to make it."
"You make it sound like we're out of options," Nate tried for confidence, and Eliot wished, hard, that he could play along. Might have been able to, if Nate didn't sound so rough. Like he needed a drink.
"We have options. This can go down smoothly, or this can become a shitstorm." He considered the contents of the refrigerator, idly, and shut the door.
They're feeding him, right?
Focus.
"You ever deal with hostage negotiations before?"
"Me? No. Why? Have you?"
"After a fashion, once or twice. Usually I only got called in after they'd gone south."
"So tell me how to avoid that when I talk to them."
Nate was supposed to know everything. He wasn't supposed to ask for advice.
And you're not supposed to get your own crew kidnapped. Nothing's where it's supposed to be.
"They're going to call my phone, so I'm guessing I'll be the one doing the talking."
"I hear that, but it sounds like if you get your way, I'll be the one trying to negotiate to get your ass out of there. So tell me."
They didn't call the first time around, did they? Eliot refrained from saying. It just sounded petulant. "By the time they call, it will have been a few days, so they should have cooled off from the initial assault. That's a point in our favor."
"Yeah, well, we need all of those that we can get," Nate agreed.
"Okay. Say you were taking the call for Hardison. We know why they've got him, and they know that we know, and they'll read any attempts to negotiate that point as an obvious stall. Don't argue with them and don't back them into a corner. Delay, make counter-offers, but keep them on the line. Ask open ended questions, not just yes or no."
"Won't that just give them the chance to confuse things?"
"Maybe, but the more they have to think, the better off we are. Like, ask about the details, how they want something done, that sort of thing. Ask about Hardison, if he's okay, if he needs a doctor, if you can talk to him. All the stuff you'd normally ask. "
"You sure we want their attention on him?"
"Definitely. The more they're thinking about this stuff, the better the chances are that they'll see him as human, so…" Eliot wasn't sure he was explaining this right. Trying to condense three weeks of decade-old training into one phone call was frustrating as all hell. He was starting to think that maybe he should just get his ass over there, explain it in person, but Nate prompted him to go on.
So he did. "Here's the thing. You don't want to push it too far. Don't frame yourself as the opposition, and don't let them paint you that way."
"But we are the opposition."
"Yeah, but. Look. If it goes south, we need to make sure that we've still got Hardison on our side, that he's not up to his eyeballs in Stockholm syndrome."
Silence on the line, for a moment, as Nate considered the possibility. "You really think that's a concern?"
"I don't know. He's just a kid, Nate."
"Eliot?"
It was a good thing that he hadn't gone over there. He didn't want to look Nate in the face right now. "He doesn't have the training to deal with this sort of thing. Ain't his world, you know?"
"Since when?"
This entire Q and A had gone on far too fucking long. "C'mon, man. Hacking, the computer stuff. It's not like he's built for going out and throwing down."
"He's not spineless." There was censure in Nate's tone.
"I'm not saying that he is, just." Eliot wished he'd never opened his mouth. "He can hold his own, most of the time, but I don' t know if he's prepared to deal with this."
"Were you?"
Eliot snorted, but it didn't turn into a laugh. "Which time?"
"Any of them. The first."
He fought the urge to throw the phone across the room, actually felt his muscles tensing ready to coil. "Actually, yeah. I was. This is what I do. All I'm sayin', is… It ain't supposed to be him, doing it. He's too-" The admission was a little much, maybe, so he continued. "So look. They'll call. They're going to want me. And everything I just told you aside, we're going make the trade. I'll make the trade."
"No, Eliot. I know you think all this-"
"Ain't about that. I've got a better chance of dealing with them and getting out." Without it destroying everything that I am, he almost added, but held back.
Nate's thoughts evidently weren't taking the same track. "Okay. I don't like it, but if you're gonna do this, we have to be smart. Get a plan. I'll call the girls, give them the rundown. You think you can get over here around three? We still need to go check out Hardison's place."
"Actually, we don't. Uh. Kind of ran into Parker there this morning. She grabbed the drives and his computer. Nobody was there."
"Seriously?" Nate was rolling his eyes, Eliot was sure. "Whatever. Let me reiterate that we need a plan. And that this time, I need everyone to stick to it, okay? If that's not too much to ask?"
---
"Any idea how they'll run it?"
"They've had time to move. Could be anywhere. But I'm guessing they're local. Nicola's not going to add barriers to prevent getting what he wants."
"What does it matter, anyway?" Eliot argued. "They'll make the call, we'll do what they want."
"No!" Sophie was surprised and Parker was vehement. "Eliot can't turn himself in!"
But he'd already decided that this was going to happen. He didn't need them to make it happen. He didn't need their concern, or their goddamned permission, and he really didn't need their arguments.
"It's the only option, and I'll handle it solo I need to." he said, as calm as he could manage, daring their disagreement.
"He's got a point," Sophie eventually ventured, hesitantly feeling her way through the sentence. "If we're not careful when we go in there, Hardison will reap the whirlwind."
"So we just make sure that doesn't happen," Nate stated, and Eliot had heard enough.
He pushed himself up off the couch, and started walking away, before he said or did something stupid.
"We've got your back, whether you like it or not, I don't care, you know," Nate called after him, but seeing that he was only going as far as the kitchen, and not escaping the apartment, he cleared his throat and continued at a more reasonable volume. "We're not letting you wander off to get yourself tortured just because you're feeling guilty."
"Maybe he's doing it because he loves him."
Parker's quiet protest hung loudly in the air, and he wanted to fall through the floor. If he kept his head down, pretended he hadn't heard, maybe he could look them in the face once he turned from the coffee pot.
"Hush, Parker," Sophie intoned, but all the same, he could feel three sets of eyes burning at the back of his head. He decided that maybe he'd add some milk and sugar to his coffee. Took a little extra time stirring it in.
He wasn't sure if Parker was right, but it wasn't like her being wrong would have been any easier.
---
Nobody had showed up yet, but everything was fine.
Or, had been fine, right up until he realized something that should've been obvious from the start.
They had no way to find him.
It had taken weeks to find Eliot, when he'd gone missing, but he'd been able to sift through the paper trails and bank statements and employment records. He'd traced phone records and passenger manifests.
He'd had intel, more importantly, he'd known how to find it, in places eve Nate, in all his genius, didn't even know about.
None of them had his skills. Pompous, but true.
Then again, right now, he could really use their talents. Any one of them would have been long gone by now. But not him. He didn't have their nerve.
It was a little pathetic.
---
Sophie looked mildly surprised to see him, which was strange, since she was the one standing on his front steps, one hand poised to knock, the other in her purse.
"What's up?"
"Oh! You're home. Excellent. I was just. I don't mean to intrude, but you left rather abruptly, earlier. I came by to make sure everything was all right. And to offer my ear, if you wanted to talk. It's been a strange time."
"Sophie, darlin'. Thanks, but. I'm not really in the mood."
"Of course not," Sophie's smile was self-conscious. "I'm sorry, I just worry, sometimes. But. I'll leave you to your evening, then. Call me, of course, if you change your mind. I'll listen."
"Thanks," Eliot said, watching her return to her car uneasily. He hadn't expected her to be so undemanding. It wasn't her style.
If he looked in the mirror, wouldn't be surprised to read Fuck Off hanging over his head in glowing red neon, and Sophie Devereaux didn't need so blatant an indicator to pick up on it.
She pulled away from the curb, so he went back into the kitchen and opened the refrigerator, hoping that the action would force his appetite out of hiding.
He barely felt like eating, not really. Pulling all the ingredients together to actually cook something was too monumental a task to deal with, so he rummaged through the freezer until he found a frozen dinner that Hardison had brought over. It would do.
Reading the ingredients as the preservative laden and artificially flavored food heated, he snorted, boggling at the fact that somehow, Hardison thought it was palatable.
Wasn't raised with no sense, he thought, and without warning, food was the last thing on his mind.
There was a woman Hardison called Mama, and his foster mom, Nana, who had no idea what had happened to him.
For all Eliot knew, they were sitting worried by their phones, waiting to hear from him. Because Hardison was the type to check in. But he couldn't now, because he was being held hostage, in some room somewhere. He was probably going hungry, tonight.
Because Eliot had done it again.
It was the same thing he'd done to his own sister. Screwed up her life by virtue of his own.
He was overcome with the need to pick up the phone and call her, but it wasn't like she'd tell him it's okay, everything's fine, no hard feelings. She'd had to become another person, had to give up everything. It was unlikely she had enough left in her to forgive him.
And maybe he could do better by Hardison, but he didn't know anything, really, about Nana or Hardison's mom, not even enough to find them, or to know if he should try. He only knew that there was another family out there, whoever they were, falling apart because of him.
The tray burned his fingers when he pulled it from the microwave, and he chemical smell of molten plastic filled the kitchen. Tossing it down on the counter, he didn't bother to make sure it didn't spill, because he was already sliding down to the floor.
Back pressed hard against the cabinets, eyes catching on the grit running along the floorboards, he decided that sometime in the next century, he'd really need to sweep and mop. Hell, maybe he needed to napalm the entire damned house, because yeah, maybe he was losing it a little bit, here, but of all the messes he'd ever made, it didn't fucking matter.
---
Alec tried not to let his ego get the best of him, but at least the situation was helping on that front. He felt like some neglected household pet, locked in a busted up elevator and accepting the fast food bag and soda they passed through.
It was root beer, sort of flat, and the fries were stale, but he didn't complain. Wasn't like they couldn't just decide to not feed him. They could take away the couch, as well. Or kill him, just as easily.
Actually, it would be easier to just ice him. The couch was fairly large, awkward, and looked heavy. His dead body would be easier to move, if they decided to go to the bother.
So he ate, staring at the grid of the gate and trying not to see past it. It was easier when he could ignore his captors, the matter-of-fact way they handled the situation, guns at hand, barely sparing him a second look. Like he wasn't anything more than the nasty couch he sat on.
He sipped his drink and made like he didn't know exactly what a nonentity he was. He was only a body, filling in until they could get the one they wanted, not worth the effort.
If he were more the noble type, maybe a bit tougher, he'd say it wasn't much of a relief.
But actually? It kind of was.
---
He spent the day watching the clock creep onwards from calm to panic to calm again. He packing supplies, making sure he knew where the ropes were, and checked that he had easy access to the bandages and bottled water.
He cleaned the gun and checked the ammo. Replaced it in the bag a seventh time, because he'd already gone through six instances of unpacking it. Zipped the bag shut with finality. He'd rather have it and not use it, given the choice.
He left his house before he could change his mind again. They'd be getting the call, soon, in a few hours, and there would be no time for hesitation.
It wasn't something he'd explained, before, and he had no plans to, because there'd be time enough for the team's disappointment later, but if it came down to it, he could play the triggerman again.
---
He was circling the block again, trying to find a place to park by Nate's, when his phone rang. He wasn't expecting to see Hardison's number on the caller ID. Not yet. Not for another hour or eternity at least.
And after everything, all that waiting, suddenly, this was it.
Careful to watch the road, he took a breath and answered. "Hardison?"
"Eliot. Hey," Hardison said, like he was calling about the weather, and for a split second there, everything was fine. But it was fleeting. "You're on speaker phone, so keep it clean. The friendly man with the gun wants me to pass a message along."
He was listening carefully, even before he spoke. "Okay, shoot."
"I'm going to presume you mean me talk, not them shoot," Hardison quipped, suddenly irritated, and Eliot cringed as he waited for the sound of gunfire, but it never came. Hearing Hardison take a breath, he knew what he was about to say.
"You have twenty four hours to get to Manhattan."
Or maybe he didn't. "Manhattan?"
"Yeah. Keep your phone on. I gotta go."
"Wait-" Eliot scrambled, but he was too slow. The connection was terminated. He called back, needing to know that he'd heard wrong, needing Hardison's voice, needing this not to be happening.
---
Parker snapped her head up again, to look blearily around, before sitting up straight and scratching her nose. Her attempts to stay awake were starting to fail, an inversion of Eliot's attempts to fall asleep. The road was a lulling low hum, and it was dark, but even after an hour and a half, stuck in the backseat of the Rover, he still couldn't gear down. Every time he thought he had his thoughts nailed down, they got away again.
Whenever his eyes lit on something outside the window, a storefront, an exit sign, another tract of incomplete suburban McMansions, he added a new backdrop to another bloody scenario, but never managed to change the results.
Hardison kneeling in a dead-end alley, a gun to the back of his head, beaten bloody. A utility van hiding them from the street's view, blocking off their exit.
He'd been ready for a lot of things, accounted for every double and triple cross, prepared for every endgame switch, but he hadn't expected to be doing nothing. When he'd told the others about the call, Sophie had flailed and Parker had scoped the windows. Nate had paced the room, working on plan Q or R.
But it had only lasted ten or fifteen minutes. The train wouldn’t have been all that much faster than driving, this time of night, and there would be no questions regarding their supplies, so somewhere, the decision had been made. He'd helped Parker load it all into Sophie's Range Rover. Ropes. Harnesses. Fake IDs and a duffel bag full of cash, just in case. Nate's laptop, and Sophie's suitcase. The bag he'd brought with him and the gun he'd expected to be using by now.
An empty parking lot, reaching the halfway point as the bullet finds him from a dark window across the street.
He tried to focus on what was real. Nate, up front, driving and murmuring the occasional comment about some book he and Sophie had apparently both read. Eliot hadn't caught the title, and wasn't really up for conversation, anyway. Didn't seem right.
Crossing a bridge, his own shadow cutting through the headlight's glare as he slowly approached the other car. Too bright to pick his target, the gun in his waistband heavy against his skin. Passing within feet of Hardison coming the other way, and not once seeing his face.
They pulled over to fill the tank and stretch their legs, but nobody said anything. It was late, starting to rain, and Sophie got in on the driver's side, this time.
Maybe a junkyard, like the one they just passed. Towers of rusted out old cars and refrigerators, the tripwire that would detonate the charge that would bring them tumbling down. Not enough time to warn the others.
Parker was toying with something, now. Palming and back palming her earpiece, trying to stay occupied. If Hardison were there, there was no telling if he'd be yelling at her to stop playing with the tech, or watching, impressed, and trying to one-up her, laughing.
Hardison, dodging his eyes like a stranger, or worse, meeting him head on, bloody and challenging and hateful, their message clear.
You did this to me.
Nate was snoring, up in the front seat, quiet enough that Eliot was only alerted to it when Parker leaned over the seat with her phone to snap a ridiculous number of pictures. She probably would have gotten more had Sophie not chimed in with "Parker, don't you think that's quite enough? You're blocking the rearview."
He was a little more at ease when she sat back and leaned over to show him the unflattering shots, grinning conspiratorially at him like they'd gotten away with something. He must not have shown the required enthusiasm, however, because she cocked her head at him, shifting a bit closer.
"You think he's okay?"
No. Because for all the circles Eliot had been running in, the fact remained that Hardison had guns on him and wasn't the type that saw the value in keeping his mouth shut, not when there were so many jokes to be made. There was something about guns that tended to make their owners lose their sense of humor.
Biting back his sarcasm, he answered carefully, not wanting to be heard. "Dunno. He'd better be." Because it was easier to be irritated with him than it was to worry about him. And it was easier to think about the bad scenarios that hadn't happened, yet, than it was to comprehend the current reality.
Hardison was probably bleeding and bruised, sporting a concussion or worse. Cold, hungry, confused, and only there because Eliot couldn't keep his past in the past.
She nodded, and that seemed to be the end of it, but it wasn't. "I hate this, you know," she admitted, warily, like she really thought it required explanation. "Worrying all the time. It's all we ever do anymore."
"Yeah." He hated sitting there, watching the frost that was just starting to gather on the side of the road, because the alternative was watching Parker trying not to look scared.
He couldn't keep doing this to people.
---
Not in the elevator anymore, but the cell in Pennsylvania. Eliot's there, close enough to see flush-heated skin and press fingers into pulse points as he leans in again.
His eyes slip closed as Eliot's hair brushes along his throat, followed by stubble, lips tracing his from his ear down to his shoulder. Dull scratches of nails on his hips he pulls Eliot closer, down, the press of bodies not loud enough to drown out the sound of the clock but they're trying, and it will be fine as long as he doesn't open his eyes again.
But they do, and the timer says eight, then seven, and there's just enough time for Eliot to pull away and ask, "You couldn't just get this one thing right?" before the explosion comes.
Shooting upright, Alec fell back again, trying to catch his breath, his response dying in his throat.
At least it's quiet, he stared at the metal grate. It wasn't anything Parker's tools couldn't handle. He contemplated it for a few moments, wondering if his brain would force him back to sleep, or let him to stay up long enough to puzzle it out. Find a weak join somewhere, just enough to bend and break back. Get a hand through, then an arm.
Because thinking about the dream? So not happening.
He probably would have been able to pull it off, were it not for the applause.
Struggling up again, he squinted through the gate to see Dog standing at the other side, his hands slowing to silence once more.
"Nightmares? That was the most interesting thing you've done since you got here."
Forgetting that sass probably wouldn't help the cause, he replied. "Glad to oblige. I sincerely do hope that you get a chance to try it yourself, soon."
"Not likely," Dog said, returning to his post, "but I'll be sure to record it next time. I'm sure Spencer will find it interesting."
If he shows, Alec's brain supplied, before he could stop it.
Because yeah, they were crew. And maybe Eliot was a little more. But it wasn't like there were any guarantees. No undying declarations of promised hostage extrications. Not even an indication that this was the most fucked situation Eliot had ever found himself in.
'Cause it probably isn't.
Making out in a hotel room, awesome as it was, didn't change anything.
Keep cool. That ain't him. And this ain't you.
Maybe if Eliot had said more than five words, Alec would have a clue. But those few words had been short, downright terse, even for him. Not enough to discern the meaning, and about as informative as a book with no pages.
Maybe if he'd dawdled some more, hadn't been such a coward, he could have gotten a sixth word, maybe even a seventh, and maybe he'd know.
Fucking New York, though, was all the answer he had.
---
Gathered in Nate's hotel room, finally in New York, they were running it down. Spinning scenarios and running down the possible responses in turn. Parker kept diligent notes, while Sophie and Nate took the lead, and Eliot found himself getting drawn in despite himself.
It was the pre-game for a job, and nothing like it at all.
They weren't usually running it at three in the morning, for one.
Mostly, though, without Hardison there, giving them the exact information they needed five hours before it was needed, it was an idle way to pass the time. There was no way to predict what would happen, no way to control the future until it arrived, but at least it felt like they were doing something.
They weren't supposed to need placebos, but Eliot didn't mention it. But he couldn't tell them what the real plan was, either, or how many bullets it would take. Leaning against the wall and scratching at his greasy hair, he tried to appear attentive.
"I see where you're going with it, Parker, but it won't work," Nate yawned. "Our guy's smart, stays two steps away from the mess. Doesn't get his hands dirty. Besides. Nicola knows our faces."
"So we bring in someone he doesn't know," Sophie paused, as if to go on, but Parker broke into sudden arm waving. Nate, his patience worn as thin as Eliot's own, ignored her.
"Sophie? Do you have someone in mind?"
"Well," Sophie trailed off, but apparently Parker's patience had run out.
She jumped to her feet in one fluid motion, nearly spilling her soda. Her excitement, however, flagged the instant she had their attention, and she hesitated. "What about Apollo?"
"Apollo?" Nate's tone was derisive.
"Yeah." Her tone was a little stronger now, insistent. "He's in town."
Sophie was about to ask her how she knew, that much was plain, but Nate didn't give her the chance. "What about Dayan? She could have told Nicola all about him."
But Parker had something, there. Worth consideration, at least, because it couldn't be any worse than some of the other plans being tossed about, especially that thing with the ice cream truck. And if he played along now, kept them distracted and off his trail, his own job would be easier, later.
Making sure he had Nate's attention, he spoke. "Her. This line of work, you don't give out for free what you can get paid for next week."
Nate considered the angles for a moment more, before clapping his hands together. "Good enough for me. Worst-case scenario, Nicola still sees us coming, and we're only as bad off as we would be anyway, long as we're careful. How do we track him down?"
"What should I tell him?" Even if she was having some trouble freeing her phone from her tight pocket, Eliot wasn't sure that he'd seen Parker that enthusiastic about anything in a while.
"Ah. Right," Nate blinked, giving in, obviously to Sophie's dismay. "Parker, make the call."
---
The guards were changing shifts, and a Starbucks cup was in the hand that wasn't holding the gun, so Alec figured it must be morning.
"He cause any problems?" Halitosis asked, and Cheap Sneakers shook his head as he tossed his paper aside and stood to stretch.
"He was sleeping. Didn't say much. Left you the crossword, there," like it was nothing
He choked his irritation down, because yeah, this was getting old, but they sure as hell didn't need to know it.
Before Cheap Sneakers left, they escorted him out to the bathroom and back again, closely aware of him, clearly expecting another escape attempt, but there wasn't a need for it. Maybe it was because he was still tired, or hadn't eaten, or the guns, but he didn't even bother to cause a fuss when they shoved him back in the elevator.
It didn't mean he wasn't sitting in a funk on the nasty-ass couch, thinking about what he should have done. He wasn't in chains, he wasn't dosed, and he wasn't really all that outnumbered. But, and maybe it was time that he admitted it, he was in over his head.
He'd tried to pay attention, the few times Eliot gave him pointers on fighting, but they'd never covered tactics for when someone could pick you off from the other side of a jail cell.
Halitosis was sitting in the chair now, intent on the crossword.
At this point in the movie, he was probably supposed to be getting tortured, or something. Fucked with. But it just didn't happen. Nothing did.
After an hour or two, he stood up, pretending not to notice the sudden close attention on him, and stretched his back. Tried to man up, will himself into some sort of action. Find his own fucking spine.
He sat back down, on the other side of the couch this time, just for variety's sake.
---
In sixteen or seventeen hours, as long as Nicola's crew didn't fuck around, he'd be turning himself in. Checking over his shoulder to make sure Hardison and the others had cleared the area, and if he was still alive at that point, it was because whoever else was left in the room was incapacitated.
Maybe dead, and if he was still breathing two minutes later, he'd need an exit strategy, and he'd have to move fast. Odds were, the others would try and intervene. He couldn't allow that complication.
Mostly, if it went out of control, he didn't want to see their faces when they saw his, after.
But he could do this. He'd done it before. Whoever Nicola was, it was probably catalyst for everything that had brought him to this point.
At least some good would come of it. Hardison, alive and out in the world, with half a chance for safety. He probably wouldn't forgive him, not this time around, but he'd be out there.
Eliot wondered if he'd have a chance to say goodbye, in the moments before it all went down. Apologize.
Fuck, you barely had a chance to say hello.
He caught his reflection in the mirror and wished he was looking at Hardison's face instead. Missing him too much, and he hadn't even lost him yet. Not really. There was losing him the way he'd done, and losing him the way he was about to. This time, it would be under his own control, but it was going to hurt a hell of a lot.
Because this time, Eliot wasn't even leaving as the man that Hardison knew, but going out like the man he used to be.
If there was any coming back from something like this, he'd only find out later.
He doubted it.
The instinct to twist his wrist, bring the barrel to his mouth and just squeeze was almost too much to resist, so he set the gun down on the mattress, nausea crashing over him.
He wasn't a fucking coward. He was sitting up again, one hand hanging onto the edge of the mattress with a white-knuckled grip, the other clawing at his collar tugging at the sling's clasp, but he wasn't a fucking coward, and in sixteen or seventeen hours, there were things that needed setting right.
---
The guards, no, henchmen. No. Assholes with guns were placing their bets. Dog had a hundred on Eliot showing up, while Halitosis anted the same, guessing that he wouldn't. The discussion derailed for a while afterwards, while they debated the pros and cons of various locations for dumping Alec's dead body. It was a while before Cheap Sneakers got to throw in- Eliot would show, but they'd be burying two bodies.
Alec was tempted to raise them five hundred each that they'd all have fingers to broken to go for their wallets to pay out, but it felt like bravado, so he kept his mouth shut.
Part of him wanted to attract their attention, see if they'd let him get out and use the can, but casual as they seemed, interrupting probably wasn't the best route to take.
At least they were in good spirits. Had to beat the alternative. He'd chill.
He didn't have to wait long. Right about the time he was starting to consider trying to climb the walls, Dog's phone rang.
"Yeah. You're in? Okay….yeah. We can have him there in an hour. Right." He hung up the phone, and nodded to the others. Cheap Sneakers ground his cigarette into the concrete and came towards the elevator.
"All right. Here's how it plays out. We're going on a trip, and you're going to be on your best behavior."
"Or what, I don't get no ice cream?" Their answering glares would have shut him up quickly enough, though the readying of all three guns was a nice touch.
"Move."
"Yo man, look. I don't know how long a trip it is, but I gotta piss."
Cheap Sneakers pulled a face, and Halitosis looked to Dog for the answer, before waving him towards the bathroom.
He'd gotten over the indignity of pissing with the door open a day or so back. Nothing major, just the sort of thing you did when you didn't feel like sitting around in urine-soaked jeans. They were already ripe enough as it was, probably.
But. He had to get back in the game, here. Get himself ready. Think. He already knew damned well there was no real way out of this, but the situation was about to change. They'd be moving back towards the van, and then at least one of them would be riding up front. They'd be in traffic. They'd have to stop, at some point, wait for the traffic to cross.
At some point, he'd have another shot. Just had to keep cool. Get his game face on.
He zipped himself up and made sure his face was back to worn complacency before turning to face them.
---
"So where are we going?"
"Like you don't know."
"Actually-"
Dog waved his gun towards the inside of the van. "Shut up and get in."
"Yeah," Halitosis chimed in from too damned close as he climbed in after him. "Chill out, kid. Ain't no reason for you to be making this hard on yourself. We've done all right by you, and you know it."
"You kidnapped me, how's that-"
Dog slid into the driver's seat, up front, and called over his shoulder. "Do you really want to know how much worse it could've been?"
Despite himself, Alec discovered that he was shaking his head. He didn't need them telling him that. He'd already seen the movie.
He remained very still, trying not to rock with the movement as the van turned and sped up, trying to pay attention.
If he stayed focused, he could get himself out of this.
Any minute now, there'd be a distraction. Halitosis would turn his attention to a passing streetlight, or Cheap Sneakers would reach down to mess with the stereo, and all eyes would be off him.
He just had to be ready. Stay aware. Concentrate.
Quit thinking about the wager the assholes had already made, and the likelihood of one of them collecting on it. Quit thinking that Eliot might not show up. Quit hoping that he would.
But he couldn't win, not really. His options weren't that great.
Either he could hate himself for wishing that Eliot would come in, fucking hand himself over, or he could hate Eliot for falling for something so obvious in the first place. Hate himself for his traitorous impulses, or hate him for his lack.
Or he could get his head in the fucking game, and for once, maybe, handle things himself.
Soon as he got the chance.
---
After an hour or two, his left foot was asleep and he was wondering if they were driving in circles, hoping to obfuscate their destination. But something was about to happen. Halitosis, especially, looked anxious, twitchy. Even closed his mouth to breathe for a while.
They'd hit traffic, Alec realized, as the van slowed, then sped up again as a green light flashed across the rear window as he rocked to the side. They were going around a corner, and this would be the moment Eliot would have chosen to make his move. Catch them while they're physically off balance, even that little bit would give him the advantage.
Parker wouldn't have waited for the van to slow down.
So he had it. Enough of a semblance of a plan, and as long as he didn't do anything stupid, like give himself away, or move too soon, he could rock this.
They were slowing down again, and easing into the turn, and-
"We're here," Dog stated, smirking as the van ground to a halt.
---
Chapter 17