The Everlasting #10
Title: The Everlasting
Rating: R
Spoilers: Up through end of season 2
Pairing: Alec Hardison/ Eliot Spencer
Disclaimer: Don't own, don't sue, don't take this too seriously.
Summary: It's not really the end of the world, it just looks that way.
Story starts here
Alec paced the storage unit, his eyes glued to the phone, trying to keep his patience in check and watching the time crawl.
It would only take a minute or so for Nate to call Sophie- Sophie, who was alive and nearby and already in the game, to tell her Alec was in play.
He forced himself to look away, study the stack of boxes in the corner. A watched pot never boils, Nana used to say. But the waiting was killing him. In the meantime, he tried to puzzle out Nate's game.
Nate had said that Sophie was playing Cornelius, playing the Ice Queen with a proposition. Basic enough, though Alec had no idea how they'd managed to pick their game so well.
Man's probably psychic, he guessed, not for the first time. He'd have to be, to know that he could call up out of the blue, spit out some instructions, and assume that Alec was in a position where he could follow them to the letter.
Then again, that was Nate and Sophie. He picked the plays, she picked her acts, and they'd always been damned good.
Come on, hurry up.
That left the last piece, trying to figure out why he was calling Parker's phone, instead of calling Sophie directly. It would've made sense, yeah, if he was intending to speak to Parker, and if he'd had a different message.
He kept his eyes on the phone and watched as finally, the digits flipped over. It was now 8:17, and he had a war to start.
He dialed Parker's number and waited, listening as the phone rang for what felt like a very long time. When the call was answered, he began to speak in a harsh monotone.
"I'm moving on Cornelius tonight. Getting you your piece, this town's gonna be yours, but the price just went from five to seven. I know about that woman, and don't like new players in on the scene, see. Same place, meet me at ten with the money, and I'll order the hit."
Just like Nate had promised, it was Cornelius' voice that answered, his tone irate. "Who the hell is this-"
But Alec was already ending the call, smirking in satisfaction. He hadn't been able to hang up on somebody in forever.
Wanting to savor the feeling for a little bit longer, he shoved the phone in his pocket, listening to it rattle against the screwdriver. He'd call Nate on the way, tell him it was done.
He was almost at the door when he realized he'd left the lantern on, over by the compressor. Turning back to shut it off, he heard the noise behind him, but it wasn't warning enough. By the time he landed, hard, on his back, they were already on him.
---
A heel to the underside of the jaw knocked the second guy back, but the first was already coming at his neck with a knife.
He caught the man's arm with both hands and pushed up as hard as he could, but didn't have the leverage to gain any distance between himself and the blade.
He knew he was staring at the guy's face, but he wasn't seeing it, not really. He was trying to find two brain cells to rub together, trying to fucking think.
He'd watched Eliot fight plenty of times, trying to pick up on some detail that had turned the tables, but it wasn't easy to find. Eliot never let them get this close.
Alec was out of practical guidance, there, then and saved one portion of his sneer for the thought. Eliot would have made this look so damned easy. Slid out from under like it was nothing.
Fucking bastard.
Wait.
Yeah.
That's it.
Eliot wouldn't have been grappling like this, fighting against the force head on. He was smarter than that, knew how to conserve his energy for when he had a better chance to use it. In the meantime, he'd be working to deflect the force. Basic daggum physics, then, slithering out sideways.
It was easier said than done, but Alec managed to rotate his elbows, bring his shoulder up just enough that- yeah, there it was- his assailant was shifted slightly enough balance to-
Alec brought his arms down to the left, letting go at only the last second as he rolled right. He glanced back just in time to see the man pushing his face up from the concrete floor with a grimace.
"Figured you'd pull something like this," The other man said from his admittedly smart position behind his gun, and Alec hadn't had the time to notice, before, but it was Johnson, one of the trainees from earlier.
Fucker must've doubled back.
"Now just stay right the fuck down there," he said, while the other guy shoved at Alec's back, grabbing the gun from his waistband.
"As much as I'd like to know how you managed to get a phone up and running, I'm a little more interested in who the fuck it was that you were talking to. Who you're working with. Ah- keep your hands in the motherfucking air. I'll tell you when you can reach down and give me the phone."
Alec glowered, glanced sideways. They got their hands on that, one call to the main number, and Cornelius would know he'd been played. It wouldn't take a genius to figure out the connection between new arrivals on the scene and everything going to hell in a hand basket.
Sophie was going to get burned. This was bad.
But. Maybe. If Johnson didn't know what was going on, than maybe the other guy didn't know, either.
"Sorry, boss," he muttered, dropping his eyes to the floor in careful submission.
There was a startled pause before both men answered. "What?"
It's not the words that are important. It's the space between the words where all the ideas creep their ways in. The words, usually, just get in the way, Sophie had once explained, back on some job that had been terrifying at the time but looked like preschool by comparison.
"Who's he talking to?"
Johnson scoffed. "We're the only ones here, dipshit, and what do you mean, what's he mean? He was talking to you."
"I ain't working with the punk. You're the one been hanging 'round with him all-"
"He's playing us," Johnson interrupted, smirking, and Alec cut his eyes in Dipshit's direction before darting away again, pretending to be scared. It didn't take much, and it had the desired effect. All that was left now was to make it look like he didn't give a damn anymore, that he knew he was going to get killed, and that he wouldn't be bothered much by what happened next. When he opened his mouth as if to speak, Dipshit cut him off, never knowing he was cementing the deal.
"I'm gonna cut your lying throat out, you little fucking-"
"He hasn't said anything yet," Johnson swung his gun in Dipshit's direction, and there it was. Suspicion firmly planted. "I mean, shit. Man's gotta wonder what's going on when he sees a guy go at a mark with a knife instead of a gun."
Johnson was talking out of his ass, imagining that it had actually meant anything at all, taking what he'd seen and forcing it into the shape his mind had already selected.
While they were distracted with their argument, Alec moved away, carefully, as if protecting himself from the conflict. It earned him a sidelong glance, but the arguing continued.
Shifting slightly, he was able to position the phone in his pocket against the multi tool. One final shift, to move his weight onto that small point, and he heard the plastic crack. Hopefully it was enough. He couldn't afford to check.
Not with the other two seemingly settling their differences, now.
"Nice try, punk. Stand your ass up."
Alec did so, moving slowly and trying to keep his hands as far from himself as possible.
Worst-case scenario, barring any other good ideas, they had him, but they wouldn't be able to get to the others.
Dipshit came around back and grabbed the phone out of his back pocket, and the multi tool too.
"Shit. Broken." Up front, Johnson's eyes were darting to the phone. A moment later came the sound of plastic hitting the floor. One small piece, and then a slightly larger, more shattering crash.
"Doesn't matter," Johnson said, and raised his gun, pointing it at Alec's chest, and smiled. "You should have just gone home," he laughed, shaking his head and rolling his eyes.
And that was a stupid thing to do in a fight. Alec knew that because he'd done it several times himself, and it always amounted to the same thing.
It always gave the other guy the chance to move.
He dropped down to the floor, falling back and to the side, shoving against Dipshit's leg as he did so, bringing him down as well.
Johnson, though, had already got a shot off, Alec's head was full with the sound as he grabbed Dipshit, pulling him on top of him before wrenching his fingers back, making him drop the gun.
The second shot came as he was trying to sit up, but Dipshit the human shield caught it this time. And the third, and the fourth might've gone through him, but Alec wasn't sure.
Johnson didn't have a shield, so Johnson went down, hard. Alec shot him again, anyhow.
When it was all over, he shoved Dipshit to the side and crawled away, convinced he was going to throw up. His stomach actually hurt from all this.
---
The blood wasn't a good sign, either.
---
"Fuck, Hardison!" Eliot fell to his knees and Alec let him pull his shirt up and away to assess. Two gunshots, one to the side, and one a few inches inwards that didn't look quite so bad.
"Tried getting the bandages. Couldn't reach," Alec grimaced as Eliot forced Alec's hand back to his side. "Got tired."
"Shh," Eliot hissed, opening the package and moving back to keep the pressure on. "You're okay," he said, and Alec stuttered, trying to laugh as he closed his eyes again.
"Yeah, sure… they didn't get the phone," he muttered, and the nonsensical response stopped Eliot's heart cold.
Fuck, there was nothing he could do for him here. There were doctors, over at the parking garage, but Alec would never make it.
It was anyone's guess if they'd make it out here in time. If they even knew where the fuck to go.
Alec's face was screwed up in pain, but that was good. Meant he was still feeling. He was still breathing, too. He was doing everything he was supposed to be doing, here.
Eliot, on the other hand, was staring down at him like an idiot. Two more packs of bandages, and he'd be out of supplies. He was already out of ideas.
Ideas were Nate's job.
Careful not to move his left hand, he fished the phone out of his pocket, and dialed Nate.
"Eliot?"
"He's down Nate. Got shot. Losing a lot of blood, and I don't know-"
"Where are you?"
"Parker's storage unit. Ah. Castle Self Storage." His hair was hanging damply against his forehead, a stupid thing to be distracted by. "Old Colony Avenue. We're pretty far out, I just-"
"Eliot. Is the street outside clear?"
"Huh? What?" Alec's sitting here dying and Nate wants a goddamn traffic report? "Yeah. Wide open, but-"
"Get him outside. Fast as you can. Help's on its way."
"Nate, man, I-"
"Do it!" Nate growled. In the instant he disconnected the call, Eliot became convinced that he was about to lose his freakin' mind.
You're panicking. Stop it, he tried convincing himself, but then Alec's free hand moved, grabbed his shirt.
"El?"
"You're going to be fine," Eliot decided, reining it in. He could do this. He could at least fucking try.
He slung the pack over his shoulder before taking a breath. "Okay. Here's the deal. I don't want to have to ask this, but can you walk?"
"What?"
"Can you walk? We need to get out of here, now. Help's coming, but they need to be able to find us, and they're going to need room to work."
"Help….up, an' we'll see."
---
It took a few minutes to get him standing, another to maneuver around the two dead bodies that Eliot had been too freaked to notice before. It took several more minutes to reach the street, but Alec had passed out somewhere in the vicinity of the front entrance.
Eliot laid him down on the street and sat behind him, pulling his head into his lap and pressing down on the sluggishly flowing wounds with all the strength that he had left.
His head was pounding and his mind was swimming, spinning off in a million directions all at once, and Eliot's hands shook too hard to be sure if he was really feeling Alec's pulse, or just imagining it.
He doesn't feel this, Eliot told himself, deliberately looking away. Easier on him. Less shock to the system. It wasn't much of a consolation.
They were sitting here in the middle of the street, right out in the open. Two men lay dead, inside, but there was no way of knowing if they'd been alone. One or two more bullets, fired from anywhere, could end this now.
His arms were shaking and covered in Alec's blood. He was tired. He almost wished the shots would come.
His eyes followed the street's centerline as far as he could see and tried to imagine what headlights looked like. Could almost imagine it, too, up at the intersection, only nothing was making sense, because the light was coming down on him. When he looked down, to warn him, maybe, to ask madly if he was the only one seeing this, Alec's face was cast in shadow. Eliot couldn't even find it.
He finally noticed the noise, then. Motors. Scratch that. Rotors.
Eliot's face was wet, but when he blinked, managed to clear his eyes for a second, the helicopter was still there. Another blink, and it was getting really hard to focus, but he thought he saw medics running towards them, shouting.
Where'd you come from? he nearly asked, but he didn't fucking care, because they were there and maybe things were going to be fine but miracles didn't happen, not to guys like him. He wasn't ready for them to wrench Alec out of his arms.
Afterwards, he knew he looked like an idiot, fucking sobbing so hard he couldn't get enough air, much less answer their questions, and he was thinking that there was only so much he could take before he finally lost it.
It wasn't until he felt himself sliding into unconsciousness that he figured that he already probably had.
---
Chapter 11
Rating: R
Spoilers: Up through end of season 2
Pairing: Alec Hardison/ Eliot Spencer
Disclaimer: Don't own, don't sue, don't take this too seriously.
Summary: It's not really the end of the world, it just looks that way.
Story starts here
Alec paced the storage unit, his eyes glued to the phone, trying to keep his patience in check and watching the time crawl.
It would only take a minute or so for Nate to call Sophie- Sophie, who was alive and nearby and already in the game, to tell her Alec was in play.
He forced himself to look away, study the stack of boxes in the corner. A watched pot never boils, Nana used to say. But the waiting was killing him. In the meantime, he tried to puzzle out Nate's game.
Nate had said that Sophie was playing Cornelius, playing the Ice Queen with a proposition. Basic enough, though Alec had no idea how they'd managed to pick their game so well.
Man's probably psychic, he guessed, not for the first time. He'd have to be, to know that he could call up out of the blue, spit out some instructions, and assume that Alec was in a position where he could follow them to the letter.
Then again, that was Nate and Sophie. He picked the plays, she picked her acts, and they'd always been damned good.
Come on, hurry up.
That left the last piece, trying to figure out why he was calling Parker's phone, instead of calling Sophie directly. It would've made sense, yeah, if he was intending to speak to Parker, and if he'd had a different message.
He kept his eyes on the phone and watched as finally, the digits flipped over. It was now 8:17, and he had a war to start.
He dialed Parker's number and waited, listening as the phone rang for what felt like a very long time. When the call was answered, he began to speak in a harsh monotone.
"I'm moving on Cornelius tonight. Getting you your piece, this town's gonna be yours, but the price just went from five to seven. I know about that woman, and don't like new players in on the scene, see. Same place, meet me at ten with the money, and I'll order the hit."
Just like Nate had promised, it was Cornelius' voice that answered, his tone irate. "Who the hell is this-"
But Alec was already ending the call, smirking in satisfaction. He hadn't been able to hang up on somebody in forever.
Wanting to savor the feeling for a little bit longer, he shoved the phone in his pocket, listening to it rattle against the screwdriver. He'd call Nate on the way, tell him it was done.
He was almost at the door when he realized he'd left the lantern on, over by the compressor. Turning back to shut it off, he heard the noise behind him, but it wasn't warning enough. By the time he landed, hard, on his back, they were already on him.
---
A heel to the underside of the jaw knocked the second guy back, but the first was already coming at his neck with a knife.
He caught the man's arm with both hands and pushed up as hard as he could, but didn't have the leverage to gain any distance between himself and the blade.
He knew he was staring at the guy's face, but he wasn't seeing it, not really. He was trying to find two brain cells to rub together, trying to fucking think.
He'd watched Eliot fight plenty of times, trying to pick up on some detail that had turned the tables, but it wasn't easy to find. Eliot never let them get this close.
Alec was out of practical guidance, there, then and saved one portion of his sneer for the thought. Eliot would have made this look so damned easy. Slid out from under like it was nothing.
Fucking bastard.
Wait.
Yeah.
That's it.
Eliot wouldn't have been grappling like this, fighting against the force head on. He was smarter than that, knew how to conserve his energy for when he had a better chance to use it. In the meantime, he'd be working to deflect the force. Basic daggum physics, then, slithering out sideways.
It was easier said than done, but Alec managed to rotate his elbows, bring his shoulder up just enough that- yeah, there it was- his assailant was shifted slightly enough balance to-
Alec brought his arms down to the left, letting go at only the last second as he rolled right. He glanced back just in time to see the man pushing his face up from the concrete floor with a grimace.
"Figured you'd pull something like this," The other man said from his admittedly smart position behind his gun, and Alec hadn't had the time to notice, before, but it was Johnson, one of the trainees from earlier.
Fucker must've doubled back.
"Now just stay right the fuck down there," he said, while the other guy shoved at Alec's back, grabbing the gun from his waistband.
"As much as I'd like to know how you managed to get a phone up and running, I'm a little more interested in who the fuck it was that you were talking to. Who you're working with. Ah- keep your hands in the motherfucking air. I'll tell you when you can reach down and give me the phone."
Alec glowered, glanced sideways. They got their hands on that, one call to the main number, and Cornelius would know he'd been played. It wouldn't take a genius to figure out the connection between new arrivals on the scene and everything going to hell in a hand basket.
Sophie was going to get burned. This was bad.
But. Maybe. If Johnson didn't know what was going on, than maybe the other guy didn't know, either.
"Sorry, boss," he muttered, dropping his eyes to the floor in careful submission.
There was a startled pause before both men answered. "What?"
It's not the words that are important. It's the space between the words where all the ideas creep their ways in. The words, usually, just get in the way, Sophie had once explained, back on some job that had been terrifying at the time but looked like preschool by comparison.
"Who's he talking to?"
Johnson scoffed. "We're the only ones here, dipshit, and what do you mean, what's he mean? He was talking to you."
"I ain't working with the punk. You're the one been hanging 'round with him all-"
"He's playing us," Johnson interrupted, smirking, and Alec cut his eyes in Dipshit's direction before darting away again, pretending to be scared. It didn't take much, and it had the desired effect. All that was left now was to make it look like he didn't give a damn anymore, that he knew he was going to get killed, and that he wouldn't be bothered much by what happened next. When he opened his mouth as if to speak, Dipshit cut him off, never knowing he was cementing the deal.
"I'm gonna cut your lying throat out, you little fucking-"
"He hasn't said anything yet," Johnson swung his gun in Dipshit's direction, and there it was. Suspicion firmly planted. "I mean, shit. Man's gotta wonder what's going on when he sees a guy go at a mark with a knife instead of a gun."
Johnson was talking out of his ass, imagining that it had actually meant anything at all, taking what he'd seen and forcing it into the shape his mind had already selected.
While they were distracted with their argument, Alec moved away, carefully, as if protecting himself from the conflict. It earned him a sidelong glance, but the arguing continued.
Shifting slightly, he was able to position the phone in his pocket against the multi tool. One final shift, to move his weight onto that small point, and he heard the plastic crack. Hopefully it was enough. He couldn't afford to check.
Not with the other two seemingly settling their differences, now.
"Nice try, punk. Stand your ass up."
Alec did so, moving slowly and trying to keep his hands as far from himself as possible.
Worst-case scenario, barring any other good ideas, they had him, but they wouldn't be able to get to the others.
Dipshit came around back and grabbed the phone out of his back pocket, and the multi tool too.
"Shit. Broken." Up front, Johnson's eyes were darting to the phone. A moment later came the sound of plastic hitting the floor. One small piece, and then a slightly larger, more shattering crash.
"Doesn't matter," Johnson said, and raised his gun, pointing it at Alec's chest, and smiled. "You should have just gone home," he laughed, shaking his head and rolling his eyes.
And that was a stupid thing to do in a fight. Alec knew that because he'd done it several times himself, and it always amounted to the same thing.
It always gave the other guy the chance to move.
He dropped down to the floor, falling back and to the side, shoving against Dipshit's leg as he did so, bringing him down as well.
Johnson, though, had already got a shot off, Alec's head was full with the sound as he grabbed Dipshit, pulling him on top of him before wrenching his fingers back, making him drop the gun.
The second shot came as he was trying to sit up, but Dipshit the human shield caught it this time. And the third, and the fourth might've gone through him, but Alec wasn't sure.
Johnson didn't have a shield, so Johnson went down, hard. Alec shot him again, anyhow.
When it was all over, he shoved Dipshit to the side and crawled away, convinced he was going to throw up. His stomach actually hurt from all this.
---
The blood wasn't a good sign, either.
---
"Fuck, Hardison!" Eliot fell to his knees and Alec let him pull his shirt up and away to assess. Two gunshots, one to the side, and one a few inches inwards that didn't look quite so bad.
"Tried getting the bandages. Couldn't reach," Alec grimaced as Eliot forced Alec's hand back to his side. "Got tired."
"Shh," Eliot hissed, opening the package and moving back to keep the pressure on. "You're okay," he said, and Alec stuttered, trying to laugh as he closed his eyes again.
"Yeah, sure… they didn't get the phone," he muttered, and the nonsensical response stopped Eliot's heart cold.
Fuck, there was nothing he could do for him here. There were doctors, over at the parking garage, but Alec would never make it.
It was anyone's guess if they'd make it out here in time. If they even knew where the fuck to go.
Alec's face was screwed up in pain, but that was good. Meant he was still feeling. He was still breathing, too. He was doing everything he was supposed to be doing, here.
Eliot, on the other hand, was staring down at him like an idiot. Two more packs of bandages, and he'd be out of supplies. He was already out of ideas.
Ideas were Nate's job.
Careful not to move his left hand, he fished the phone out of his pocket, and dialed Nate.
"Eliot?"
"He's down Nate. Got shot. Losing a lot of blood, and I don't know-"
"Where are you?"
"Parker's storage unit. Ah. Castle Self Storage." His hair was hanging damply against his forehead, a stupid thing to be distracted by. "Old Colony Avenue. We're pretty far out, I just-"
"Eliot. Is the street outside clear?"
"Huh? What?" Alec's sitting here dying and Nate wants a goddamn traffic report? "Yeah. Wide open, but-"
"Get him outside. Fast as you can. Help's on its way."
"Nate, man, I-"
"Do it!" Nate growled. In the instant he disconnected the call, Eliot became convinced that he was about to lose his freakin' mind.
You're panicking. Stop it, he tried convincing himself, but then Alec's free hand moved, grabbed his shirt.
"El?"
"You're going to be fine," Eliot decided, reining it in. He could do this. He could at least fucking try.
He slung the pack over his shoulder before taking a breath. "Okay. Here's the deal. I don't want to have to ask this, but can you walk?"
"What?"
"Can you walk? We need to get out of here, now. Help's coming, but they need to be able to find us, and they're going to need room to work."
"Help….up, an' we'll see."
---
It took a few minutes to get him standing, another to maneuver around the two dead bodies that Eliot had been too freaked to notice before. It took several more minutes to reach the street, but Alec had passed out somewhere in the vicinity of the front entrance.
Eliot laid him down on the street and sat behind him, pulling his head into his lap and pressing down on the sluggishly flowing wounds with all the strength that he had left.
His head was pounding and his mind was swimming, spinning off in a million directions all at once, and Eliot's hands shook too hard to be sure if he was really feeling Alec's pulse, or just imagining it.
He doesn't feel this, Eliot told himself, deliberately looking away. Easier on him. Less shock to the system. It wasn't much of a consolation.
They were sitting here in the middle of the street, right out in the open. Two men lay dead, inside, but there was no way of knowing if they'd been alone. One or two more bullets, fired from anywhere, could end this now.
His arms were shaking and covered in Alec's blood. He was tired. He almost wished the shots would come.
His eyes followed the street's centerline as far as he could see and tried to imagine what headlights looked like. Could almost imagine it, too, up at the intersection, only nothing was making sense, because the light was coming down on him. When he looked down, to warn him, maybe, to ask madly if he was the only one seeing this, Alec's face was cast in shadow. Eliot couldn't even find it.
He finally noticed the noise, then. Motors. Scratch that. Rotors.
Eliot's face was wet, but when he blinked, managed to clear his eyes for a second, the helicopter was still there. Another blink, and it was getting really hard to focus, but he thought he saw medics running towards them, shouting.
Where'd you come from? he nearly asked, but he didn't fucking care, because they were there and maybe things were going to be fine but miracles didn't happen, not to guys like him. He wasn't ready for them to wrench Alec out of his arms.
Afterwards, he knew he looked like an idiot, fucking sobbing so hard he couldn't get enough air, much less answer their questions, and he was thinking that there was only so much he could take before he finally lost it.
It wasn't until he felt himself sliding into unconsciousness that he figured that he already probably had.
---
Chapter 11