Just a silly little one shot, one of those fics that comes to you fully formed for no particular reason. I like Hardison, in particular, because I think he really is the sanest and most well-adjusted one of the group…
Tech Support
It didn't start out as hacking the Bank of Iceland or the CIA. No, it started out as sneaking into the school computer to change Scottie Walsh's grades because the kid thought it was funny to give him wedgies in the hallway. Scottie Walsh got moved to a remedial school, and Alec started to think that maybe, just maybe, computers were the wave of the future.
His Nana complained he was always up in his room playing those damn computer games, and he was, because it was all just another computer game to him then. He hacked things just to see if he could, and it usually turned out that yeah, he could.
But you don't hack into the NSA without some people noticing, so his name got out there, and in the anonymous world of the internet, where everyone was a screen name and an avatar, no one realized he was only seventeen. People started asking him to do things, and he realized that he could make money, like a lot of money, doing something he'd probably do anyway just for fun.
He got contacted about that job by a guy he'd come across in forums all the time, who he knew was pretty good. "I'm too busy to take the job," the email said, "but this lady is used to getting her way and I don't want to get on her bad side, so I said I'd set her up. I asked some of the specs and it's nothing you can't handle. She pays well."
That was all he needed to hear (or, read actually), except that when he agreed, he was given a time and a place. Like an actual physical place. In person?
But then, he really wanted to ask Denise Carpenter to the prom, and he was gonna have to step it up if she said yes, and limos didn't come cheap. So he met with the woman, who his contact seemed, actually, a little afraid of.
He didn't see her walk into the coffee shop, because he was looking for some kind of shady, trench-coat wearing, gun-toting criminal. He didn't see her until she stopped directly in front of him, and then he stared. She definitely didn't look like a criminal.
"Are you Peter's associate?" she asked, with a fancy British accent that totally worked for her.
"Yes Ma'am," he stood, and held out his hand, because his Nana raised him with good manners. "Alec Hardison."
She raised a perfect eyebrow. "Your real name? How quaint," she said, and he couldn't tell if she was laughing at him, but she accepted the handshake. "You can call me Jenny." She sat across from him, and went on. "I quite prefer to work alone but I'm afraid I'm really not good with technology. Still, I suppose progress can't be stopped."
"Age of the geek, Ma'am."
She blinked at him. "I don't know what that means."
"Uh…yeah, nevermind."
"Anyway, there are certain files that the FBI has recently acquired…about me. I've taken care of the paper copies, but I understand they've also got copies on their computers. My life would be a great deal easier if those files could…not exist anymore. Does that sounds like something you could do?"
"What? Aw hell yeah, that's nothing. I could hack into the FBI on my lunch period, easy."
"Excellent. This is a list of the file names," she said, sliding a piece of paper across the table to him (talk about "quaint," he thought). "There is one other matter. The FBI acquired those files from an insurance investigator named Nathan Ford. Could you get rid of his copies, as well?"
"Um, well, you got something I can trace back to him, like an email address, then yeah, I can probably do that."
"Yes, I do happen to have his email address. And if you were to, say, give him a computer virus or something, I'd be willing to pay more than your usual price," she smiled, and he started to think he just might like this lady.
She rose, apparently to indicate the meeting was over. "You can reach me at the number I've written there," she said briskly, turning to leave. A few steps later, she turned back to look at him. "How is it you know Peter?"
He shrugged. "Y'know, we're cool, we friends."
She studied him for a moment. "How old are you, Alec?"
He wondered if he should lie, but he was willing to bet she had some mad-jedi-voodoo skills to tell if he was lying. Before he could decide, she went on.
"You're very young, so I'm going to give you this one for free: He's not your friend. People like us, we don't have friends, not really. If you continue down this path, you should know that. You can't trust a thief."
He didn't recognize her right away the next time he saw her. Maybe because she never took off her sunglasses in their first meeting. Maybe because Nate called her Sophie and she was still filed away under "Jenny" in his mind. Maybe because he was so stunned by her God-awful acting that his brain wasn't working properly. Yeah, probably that last one.
And once he did remember, he didn't bring it up, mostly because it wasn't that important. It wasn't until over a year after they started working together, they'd just wrapped up the embezzlement case at the school, and he had to go in and erase certain details in their favorite FBI agents' reports. Mostly, mentions of their "undercover backup."
"What are you doing?" she asked him, wandering in restlessly. She sometimes bothered to ask, though he could have answered her in Greek, for all she understood his answers. Actually, she probably spoke Greek, so he could have answered her in some way more obscure language…
"Erasing FBI files," he said, and then glanced up at her. "Kinda like old times, huh?"
She looked confused for only a second, and then laughed a little. "I didn't know you remembered that."
"Yeah, well, long time ago. You still think that? That people like us don't have friends?"
He followed her gaze as her eyes slipped around the room. Parker was hanging backwards off the couch, watching TV, occasionally providing commentary whether anyone was listening or not. Nate was playing chess, apparently with himself, though she would occasionally pass by and contribute a move. They could hear Elliott in the kitchen, banging pots and swearing occasionally. She looked back at Hardison.
"Well, I've given some thought to something you said in that meeting, too," she finally said.
"What?" he didn't remember saying much during that meeting, he remembered a fair amount of stammering.
"We're cool. We're friends."