Author's notes:
Well, I'm back :D
This is No.9 in series, and people who just now stumbled upon it will have no idea what's going on. I suggest (if you want to invest a little... (well, 'a little' isn't the right word here, but play with me),...a little time, start from the beginning.
Here's the full list. For description, links and trailers go to my profile.
1. The Occam's Razor Job
2. The Season Six Job
3. The Chargoggagoggmanchauggagoggchaubunagungamaugg Job
4. The Dark Rashomon Job
5. The Arch-nemesis Job
6. The Kryptonite Job
7. The SNAFU Job
8. The Redhead Twins job
9. The Eau de Doom Job
The list will be messed up around Christmas, because I'm writing a fic for Secret Santa Exchange on Live Journal. It's a gift, so it can't have Betsy, Florence, George, Orion, etc, except in mentions. Fics 3,4,5 and 7 are written that way (all shorter ones), so I'll try to put that one into the series as well. Wish me luck.
PS: I missed you :D And I missed those five idiots :D
PPS: Special thanks to my beta, Smooth Doggie. Love you, bro' :D
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The Eau de Doom Job
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Chapter 1.
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Four jobs in four weeks. The Leverage team never had that crazy a pace, and just after they'd barely lived through the kidnappers, killers and torturers, spiced up by a deadly dust storm in Arizona.
Eliot Spencer checked his watch and started his countdown. The last five minutes of their fourth job had just started. A tingling mixture of worry, adrenaline and his concentration sharpened the blurry, dark hall he was in. Thousands of pipes in all shapes and sizes climbed the walls around him, breaking through the ceiling like magic beanstalks. When they started this job, Hardison had mentioned what all those pipes were for, but it simply slipped his mind. He was tired.
Silence in his earbud waited for the answer. "Yeah," he said. "Sure, I can break through nine doors; Parker doesn't have to leave the vault for that. See you on the other side."
He wasn't sure which move would be wiser: letting the others believe that the holes in his shoulder and leg had healed completely in those four weeks since their return from Phoenix, or remind them that it would've only been the case if he'd spent those days actually resting. Which he obviously hadn't. Four damn jobs, each one crazier than the other. He couldn't remember the last time he'd even slept. When any of them had slept.
"You have less than five minutes. Police are already on their way here." Nate's voice sounded as if he spoke into his scarf, which he probably had. Nate was with Sophie at the other end of this huge facility full of pipes. And full of extremely pissed off thugs who patrolled all around after Eliot drew them all away from Sophie and her mark, Neil Francoeur. Nate just arrived at the scene, posing as a dirty cop who brought news of a planned attack and gained the mark's trust in this last, and most sensitive, part of the plan. Sophie, in a role of journalist selling secrets which Nate's alias provided, only had to work her magic and make Francoeur sign the deal. With Parker's loot from the vault, and Francoeur caught red-handed with these incriminating papers, the Police would have everything they needed to put him behind bars. Yet, Nate and Sophie had to clear out through the back of the building, so as not to be caught in the crossfire, or worse, detained at the scene by the Police. Timing was crucial – only this time, their timing was less stable than a rubber boat with fifteen holes. On a moody, annoyed sea with a hostile frown.
Eliot, in the role of a one-man attack team, had drawn the nine thugs away from them and kept them busy. Five still stood with Francoeur, and he could do nothing about it. He had to clear the escape route of thugs and doors.
He also used that diversion to check the state of his injuries. He ran and danced around the thugs while fighting, and was rewarded with just a slight stabbing pain through his thigh. Nothing more, all his movements were normal. His shoulder was a different story. It was first dislocated in the deadly fight with the Koreans, and only four days after that he got a through and through bullet wound in Washington on that damn flu job. It still hurt with any sudden movements, and the hits with his right hand were weaker. Slamming down nine doors wouldn't help it heal any faster.
Hardison's voice crackled through the static in his ear. "Old wooden doors. I can't do anything with them, but I'm working on blocking all elevators on the opposite side. Once you clear the escape route, I'll keep any reinforcements away."
Hardison was the only one outside of the building. He waited in Lucille with three fluffy pillows under his injured butt and with a permanent sulking tone in his voice.
"You said a forbidden word," Parker whispered. "I thought we weren't allowed to mention elevators-"
"You aren't allowed to mention them," Hardison said. "I have to."
Eliot hid his smirk, though none of them could see him; he was alone in the dark, in the half-abandoned wing. Technically, it wasn't Parker's fault that Hardison had landed on his butt during their last job; the elevator bottom simply fell off. It was her cackling that made it worse. Or maybe the fact that Eliot had to heave him over his shoulder and carry him away, because they had to clear out in haste.
"Nobody," Nate said, "nobody will mention elevators, or dust storms, or glitter – especially not you, Eliot – or pink barrels, or anything from our last four jobs. Are we clear?"
"Couldn't agree more," Hardison said. Eliot agreed wholeheartedly. More than that, he hoped he would be able to dismiss them from his mind permanently.
"We shall concentrate on this job, and try to finish at least this one without a disaster," Nate continued. "Only five minutes, and we're clear, and out of-" He cleared his throat, and his voice changed. "No, Mr. Francoeur." There was a cold edge in his voice now. "I came to you with a warning, and because of me you were able to stop this lunatic's attack. Not my fault your guys are so damn lazy that they can't catch one man. I won't wait any longer – sign those damn papers so my lovely associate and I can clear out."
Eliot didn't wait for Francoeur's response. He had nine doors to take care of.
He eyed the wood before him and took a few steps back.
"Uhm, Eliot, about those doors…" Hardison sang in his ear while he surged forward. One good thrust with his good shoulder and it would-
He slammed with all his force, and the door bounced him back with the equal strength. He ended on the floor – on his butt – listening as a loud bang of that impact spread through corridors, for all the thugs around to hear.
"Yeah, Hardison?" He spit the words out. "You were sayin'?"
"I found new specifications – they ain't plain wooden doors, there's a metal construction inside, and-"
"Yeah, I reckoned that."
He got up, swallowed seven curses, and groped around to find some pole to use as a lever.
"Nobody panic, nobody panic," Hardison's words sped up, a true sign he was talking to himself. "Even if it takes longer than five minutes, we can pull this off. Sophie, Nate, if you make Francoeur sign that shit just a tiny little bit faster, and if I put some obstacles in front of the Police, you can clear out via the main door, the Police won't be there yet. It'll be tight, but-"
"That won't be necessary, Mr. Francoeur." Sophie's voice, only for the four of them, changed in a nuance. She was talking to them now, among her honey words she wrapped around Francoeur.
Eliot found a pole. It even had a sharp end, perfect to stick between the lock and frame. He secured the metal, took a step back, and slammed his foot into it. The door gave way, but so did the pole.
"First one done," he said entering the huge storage room with another door on the far end, waiting for him. "Parker, how long?"
A loud clang similar to the sound he just made preceded the thief's reply. "Two minutes to take all documents, one minute to clear all traces, one minute to climb down. I can start on the doors in the fourth minute, and work on the ninth door, then eighth, towards you. We'll meet in the middle."
"Sounds like a plan," he said.
One more bang. The sound came from the other side of a long metal corridor. This damn place was a huge love child culminating from a baseball stadium and a submarine, all with hard edges, screeches and clangs.
A clamor of quick steps rattled closer. The thugs he'd drawn here and left to chase their tails had heard his noise. And in that same moment, all other sounds from his ear disappeared. Sophie and Nate sank in silence, leaving a void where just moments before voices and their background noise were.
He froze mid-step, than forced himself to move. "Hardison?"
For the longest five seconds, only cracking static answered. Hardison's voice broke through. "Don't panic, don't panic! It's this damn place; my signals had to dig through too much metal. I'm working on… here we go, I got them again."
Sophie continued her sentence from the middle. Perhaps she hadn't even noticed she was offline. Eliot started breathing again, and hurried to find another pole.
Parker might dance through all those doors faster, but the way their luck was going lately, he wasn't willing to leave anything down to only one person, or only a single action.
As if in confirmation of his reasoning, their luck twinkled for a second just a little brighter: the second door was unlocked. It gave him thirty seconds more.
A sparkle of their luck died with a hiss when he took his next step. "I think he is here!" A shout from his left was followed by sounds of running. He quickly withdrew deeper into a cluster of pipes and held his breath. Two thugs galloping. There was a chance they would simply continue past him, but whatever, every delay chewed off a little time they had.
The door he just broke might divert them and lead them to the room from which he came. For a few moments it even looked like a possibility, but-.
His phone rang.
The piercing sound of a trumpet, a cavalry in charge mode. He chose that ringtone for only one person – a person who was supposed to call him only when it was absolutely necessary. A surge of fear clogged his heart; he couldn't let it go to the brain.
He stepped from the shadows towards the thugs who hit the brakes. "I have to take this call," he said.
"Now?!"
"Now, Hardison." He gritted the words out, and put the Bluetooth piece in his other ear. "Mute my side, and leave others so I can hear them-"
"Can't do that. I'm keeping you all online with weaving ley lines and super glue – can't be sure I'll be able to get you back."
For a moment he had no idea what to do. The thugs read that hesitation from his posture and took a step forward. Cheerful trumpet followed their advance, as the phone kept ringing. Absence of words in his earbud was significant; even Sophie stopped talking, waiting to see what was going on.
All of them would hear his conversation. Yet, there was no chance in hell he wouldn't answer it.
Irritation almost muted his fear when he decided and clicked the phone.
"Evening, Spencer," a lazy male voice said. Interference sent cracking through Eliot's other ear. He could barely hear their mark explaining something, but he could clearly picture Sophie and Nate letting Francoeur talk, while listening to this conversation. The voice went on, "I know you've told me to call you only in-"
The first thug aimed, and he blocked his hit. "Cut the crap, Woodward, no time for small talk. What happened?" The second thug jumped in while he talked, and he slammed his foot at his knee to keep him at bay.
"Yeah, something happened, I don't know what yet. You said to report immediately anything suspicious, so… today Florence McCoy disappeared for three hours." The first thug paid for that info maybe a little harder than Eliot originally wanted, but damn, fear sped him up. Woodward kept going, "I always follow her when she drives to and from work, but today she made circle after circle and I lost her."
He grabbed the second one, head-butted him to keep him quiet, and put him in a chokehold. He cleared his voice of snarl and anger, and sang, "Would you mind telling me how one clueless writer could-"
"Hey, she ended at the mall, and I was alone! No harm done, she came to work right on time. But something is wrong. She marched through the writer's room, and I'm not sure whether she was pissed off or crying. She is now on the phone, I'm watching her right now. What do you want me to do? To find out what happened, or just leave it and pay more attention?"
He strengthened his grip, and the thug gave out a low bellow.
"What's that noise?"
"I'm watching a movie. Jurassic Park. Can't talk right now. I'll think about it and get back to you later, okay? Just keep a close eye on her until we see what happened."
"Gotcha. Later." Woodward cut the call, and Eliot lowered the unconscious thug on the floor.
Eliot's paralyzing fear diminished to its normal levels. She was alive and safe for now. But what the hell happened? Hundreds of possibilities ran screaming through his head, and he had to literally shake it to clear his mind. Not now. He had doors to take care of.
He dragged two bodies into the corner; in the dim light they looked just like two more pipes. Then he returned to the third door he had to break down. No lever in sight. And time was ticking.
Nate cleared his throat. "If you have to make some phone calls to check my info, Mr. Francoeur, now is the time to do it. Go on, all of us will be calmer and satisfied, able to concentrate on our job."
Just great. He wasn't distracted. "Not now, Nate. I'll call her later. Let's do this first – make him sign that shit finally!" The last word was followed with a bang. This time, the metal construction didn't have a chance; he simply barged through the door. Frustration and fear were the best fuel.
"Police ETA, three minutes," Hardison said. "So, that's how you dealt with the suspicious CIA counselor? Gave him a nanny job? Nice. But I doubt Flor- I mean, She-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named would be delighted if she finds out."
He ran through the unknown room, to the fourth door. The pipes clanged with his each step. "Not your damn business," he said. Static barely covered Hardison's low snickering.
If he took one of the heaviest pipes, could he use them to break through the door? Or were they full of gas, or steam, or who knows what shit? Asking Hardison to explain – again – the facts they were all supposed to know was not acceptable.
"Nate, I'm done with the vault, sending you the documents," Parker's voice chimed in. "I'll be at the ninth door in a minute."
From Nate's side, a clanging sound covered Sophie's soft voice. "You, young man, help me clear this desk," Nate said. "While they talk, I'll take a look at my laptop. Francoeur, I might have one more thing for you. Gimme a minute." When the clanging around him stopped, Nate spoke lower. "Okay, people, Francoeur is stalling. He is waiting for something; he's maybe only trying to get a better deal from Sophie, but we're in a tight spot here. Hardison, work on those elevat- on our other escape route. Parker, Eliot, if you can't open the doors in a minute, clear out. Stay together."
The fourth door was unlocked, and Eliot was at the fifth in only a few steps. He even found a pole on his way through the room. This time he pushed it under the door and pressed down with all his strength. Not only the lock and door gave way, even the frame cracked on the left side. So much about clearing out and leaving them to play hide and seek with the Police.
The pipe that went above the door cracked too, and with a quiet blurp, thick greenish goo rolled out and down. He jumped away and through the door, careful to avoid heavy trickles. It smelled like roses. What the hell is this place?
"Stop!" Hardison said, and he froze. Sophie stopped talking, and Parker's steps vanished. "Only you, Eliot – you have three guys approaching from the right. They'll be at the sixth door when you reach 'em. Can you evade them or-"
Yeah, right. Not in the mood for evading. He swirled the pole and charged at the three shadows at the far end of a long hall.
He was half way there when his phone rang.
One silver bell. Florence. He almost stumbled. Every other time he would wait, but not now, not after Woodward's warning. Something was up, and he was nine hundred and sixty-four miles away.
He cleared his throat from accumulated curses. "Hardison, you couldn't…"
"Nope. I have to keep you all online. Sorry, man."
"Okay, just try not to… try to… just keep quiet y'all."
He slowed down and clicked the phone.
"Hey," she said.
And that was enough. He melted. He hadn't heard that soft, warm voice for almost two weeks; he insisted they keep their talks to a minimum. Cell phone conversations could easily be intercepted.
The three thugs before him blinked in confusion. One of them even took a step back. Only then did he become aware that he smiled, involuntarily, that his face softened.
"Hi there," he said, and squinted when his voice went out in a warm, caressing drawl. One of the thugs returned an uncomfortable smile; the other two watched him with confused frowns.
"I hope I'm not calling at a bad time… can you talk? A minute?" Definitely a hesitation in her voice, and a barely noticeable tremble. Something did happen.
"Yeah, I'm right in the middle of something, but I can listen if it's really important." He tried to scowl at the thugs – eyebrow movement was crucial – but there was no chance he could change the gentleness of his voice. The result was so confusing that he simply shrugged at the thugs.
"Oh. You're working. Never mind, this can wait, I'll-"
"No way. Talk. Now." He took a step closer to the thugs and raised the pole. "I'm doing some plumbing, so if you hear clangs, those are just pipes. Lots of pipes around. So, what's up?"
All three surged forward, and the clangs really sounded authentic. Thuds, bangs, and grunts a little less, but he hoped she wouldn't notice.
"It's just… It's an awful end of an awful day-" Her words ended in a sound that was disturbingly close to a sob. "I was crying – and no, nothing serious, just everything went wrong and I was tired – and on top of all the shit that happened, I realized that I don't cry like women do in movies – I slobber and drool and I look like a monkey! That was the crown of the day."
He received two nasty hits, but he was grinning like an idiot, and he barely felt them. "Yeah, I noticed that," he said, and used her squeal to cover up an elbow hit in thug's face. "Why did you cry?"
"I tried to keep it secret, planning to surprise you, victoriously, but everything went south."
Yep, he could relate to that last part. He smashed the last thug, eyeing the sixth door. "Pipes, Flo. Many pipes around me. Stop beating around the bush and tell me what the hell happened."
"I went to a cooking class and they threw me out!" Her voice rose in a mixture of tears and anger, and interference sent a loud shriek through his other ear. Good thing that a combination covered up low Francoeur's murmuring in the background. He sounded like he was going through the documents Nate opened on his laptop. "Can you believe it? I was in there only an hour. I couldn't learn anything, how dare they … they said they would sprinkle a circle of salt around the building if I ever try to show up again!"
"I don't get it." He did get why they threw her out, though; he still remembered that dreaded sandwich she made. He'd barely survived it. "What has the salt got to do with-"
A low harrumph that grew in the background exploded, and Hardison laughed aloud.
"Oh, Hardison! The only one who knows of what I speak. Wait, how is it you're listening… Eliot, you have an earbud in, and you didn't tell me?"
"Well, there wasn't time… they can't talk, and I had to hear what's going on, so-"
"I can talk!" Parker chirped. "Hi, Florence! Did you know he doesn't allow us to say your name, like, ever?"
This wasn't happening. He did his best to keep them all separated – he was a damn hitter here, he knew why it was important – and now his two worlds collided with a bang. He muttered a curse and slammed at the sixth door.
"I can talk, too," Hardison said. "How are you surviving his paranoia lately?"
Florence's warm giggle sounded happy now. "I missed you so much. What happened, how come he slipped now? He said I can't call you, and now he's allowed a conference call-"
Eliot stepped over the crashed door; the darkness in the room behind them only emphasized their voices. "He is here, listening," he said. "And he most certainly didn't allow this."
Nobody seemed to notice that.
"We are working on a small case," Hardison said. "He did try to shut the earbud down, but I couldn't take him offline."
"Speaking of a case…" Nate trailed in.
"Nate!" Flo's voice, high and loud, set off another wave of static shrieking, and he couldn't hear Nate's reply clearly. But he heard the tone of it, bleak softness – a combination impossible to produce for anyone but Nate.
"- and a few days ago he slammed into a parked car 'cause he was texting you while walking-" Parker's voice continued, running over Nate's response, while Francoeur said, "You are a very attractive woman. Would you like to go out with me?"
Eliot seriously considered slamming at the seventh door with his head. If he could find them in the sticky darkness. The green goo seemed to follow him, crawling along the floor.
"Thank you," Sophie purred her words, warmth throwing her completely out of her role. The same warmth clearly triggered Francoeur's melting. "I would be delighted to finally see you. A dinner, perhaps? This isn't enough."
"Oh, me too, Sophie," Florence said, catching the message to her without any problem. "You have no idea how I've missed you, and this definitely isn't enough. But he will try to stop that, you know? He'll start with all You could lead enemies to the team, and the team can lead them to you speech."
"He did that speech on our end, too. More than once, actually," Parker said. "We kept nodding. Hardison calls it WES - Weekly Eliot Spiral and-"
For one second, all their voices disappeared. Eliot took a deep breath. But the silence lasted only one step, and six voices speaking at the same time – with giggles – returned in full force.
"-and you have to bring Orion." Hardison finished his sentence that ran over all of them. When did they have time to start arranging meetings? "George is lonely and-"
-and the sooner we finish with these papers, Francoeur," Nate sharpened his voice for this particular sentence, "you can go for that dinner, like, in two minutes."
"Ah yes, two minutes, that'd be it," Hardison said. "Police. ETA, that stuff. Hurry up. No, wait…"A silence after his words ended with a hiss. "Hell no. Clear out, now!"
Eliot opened his mouth to ask why, but then he heard it too – wailing of the police sirens. "Dammit, Hardison, what-"
"Hey, not my fault! I called them as an undercover cop in trouble and warned them to sneak in quietly! Somebody messed up big tim-"
"What's this?" Francoeur's voice rose in anger over Hardison's words. "You two! You set me up?"
"That's it," Eliot changed his course. "Hardison, guide me to them. Parker, take care of the doors, we'll come out hot. Flo, cut the call, I'll call you later." He ran as fast as he could, and his heart hammered. He would need minutes to reach them, and-
"No way." Sophie's voice still kept the same warmth. "Just stay. This might be a false alarm. Or even some trouble in the neighborhood. We most certainly don't want the police here."
"Are you sure?" Florence whispered. "I don't want to confuse you now… I'll stay online but I'll be silent."
"Trust me." A magic in Sophie's voice – probably accompanied by her hand on man's upper arm – silenced Francoeur's anger into a low growl. "These sirens sound distant. We have enough time to clear out, just in case. Maybe even to meet later and-"
"Tell me he signed it!" Hardison moaned in frustration.
"No, no time for that." A click of a laptop closing followed Nate's words. "That dinner will have to wait, Francoeur. But we'll have to finish this before that guy who attacked your men returns. He probably called the cops, too. I can't do anything about it."
Eliot slammed with his foot at the pipes as he ran, and a gigantic wind chime sent a low bawl before him. Still too far away. Francoeur could decide to end all his suspicions with two quick bullets. Every second of his silence increased the danger; sirens wailed louder.
"In the next corridor, turn left," Hardison said quietly. Parker and Florence kept silent. "Parker, when you unlock all the remaining doors, get out."
"This is my number," Sophie said. "Don't wait too long to call me." Her tone, more than her words, almost made Eliot curse out loud. It even set a tingling through his heart; so much power was in her voice. An irresistible, dangerous siren whose song lured her victims. The fact she had to use it told him that their lives really stood on a precipice.
Endless corridors still stood before him. A thug jumped into his way and he knocked him down mid-step without even changing his pace. A static rose around, muting all other sounds. He caught only two of Nate's words: exit and chance, and he sprinted. He was now in the heart of this metal tomb and with every step crackling grew stronger, covering up all voices. Only a basic sense of direction guided him. The scent of roses grew stronger.
Another door, half open, glimmered in a dull darkness, but no thugs came through. He surged forward. Nate showed up, opening the door completely, letting more light into this hall. Eliot jumped aside into pipes, but he didn't have to – only Sophie followed Nate, no thugs. She stood a moment at the door, turning to the light, and sent a dazzling smile over her shoulder.
He remembered to breathe again.
"This way," he called. "Do you hear Parker?"
Nate drew Sophie after him. "Only static. Lead the way."
"Before me." He let them pass. Sophie took off her high heels, but it only sped them up a little. At least no one chased them. For now. "Are we blown?"
"Lingering in a half-blown limbo until further notice," Nate said. He stopped at the end of a hall, and Eliot shooed them to the right.
A cluster of pipes burst out from the wall, missing them only because they ducked and jumped away. "What the h-" Green goo splashed on the floor like a thick mud, spraying their feet.
Light blinded them through a hidden door where pipes have been piled up, and Parker peeked out. "This way. Shortcut directly to the third door. Get in, now!"
They dashed through the opening, right on time. Eliot closed the door behind them in the same second two thugs appeared behind them.
Static cracked some more, but as they hurried through a narrow passage, a few Hardison's words broke through. "Stopping…Florence… and ready to…"
"Eliot?" To his surprise, Florence's voice came clear. "Hardison says you can't hear him. Phone call still holds. Do you hear me?"
"What did he say?" Green globs kept falling from the pipes with thudding sounds.
"Police stopped, and they surrounded the building. Francoeur is kept there in the main hangar from where you left. He said to… wait a second…"
In a pause of her words, he took his earbud out and the cracking ceased. He stopped the others. They stood in darkness, waiting. Only heavy breathing surrounded them, police sirens were muted here.
"You mustn't go to the third door – police are headed that way," Florence quickly continued, "Go left and you'll have an elevator open – it will take you one story down, directly to the back exit."
"Go, move," he nudged the others in the given direction. Parker led the way, he went the last.
"That part is still clear of police," Florence went on. "Hardison brought Lucille there, but hurry up. He can't say how long before police spread toward him. Are you all together? Are you okay?"
"Yeah, tell him we're fine."
It took twenty seconds to pass along the corridor on their left and stumble into the elevator, each second bringing him vivid pictures of police cars surrounding Lucille. He went out first and half ready to charge into guns, but daylight brought only Hardison opening all Lucille's doors.
"Get in!" The hacker parked the van three feet from the exit. One long step and a bounce, and they all simply stepped in.
Parker jumped into the driver's seat; Hardison slammed the door. They drove off, leaving the first cops to cough the dust behind them.
Lucille smelled like a rose garden.
.
.
.
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"…and rain in Portland! My dear, you don't know how lucky you are in LA; now I have more umbrellas than shoes, and that says a lot. Umbrellas have to match your outfit, and that's the main probl-" "I don't understand why people use umbrellas at all." "Parker, then you would be very confused in LA – they use it here when sun-" "We lived in LA. Sterling blew up my house and we fled. Too bad you didn't know that when you met him the first time, I'd ask for you to punch him." "You wouldn't have to ask, I punched him – technically, I slammed a chair at him, but that's the same." "And not to mention what constant rain does to shoes and hair…"
And it went on, and on, and on. Eliot avoided occasional Nate's glances in his direction. He took shotgun, Nate drove. The others cackled in the back. Hardison put Florence on their earbud feed.
He tried to ignore their voices and think of their fucked-up job. "We should've known it wouldn't be easy," he said to Nate. "Food industry is tricky, and Francoeur-"
"Oh, food," Florence said. "Can we not mention that word ever again, pretty please?"
"Our job was connected with a food chemistry compartment in-"
"Our food is something completely different," Hardison ran over his explanation. "You'll see when you get here, our menu-"
He pulled the earbud from his ear and took a long breath. Nate darted one sideways glance at him but said nothing. Good, his sarcastic remarks were the last thing he needed now when annoyance gathered and grew, and the sound of their voices scraped over his nerves.
They didn't get it. As if none of his warnings meant anything, as if all of them didn't know what dangers his life brought along. Leverage team was only partially aware of all the security things he did to keep them safe. Caution was a key word. He kept low, and kept all their heads down, below the surface of a very stormy sea. Florence should've known better, too. Their encounter with the Korean bounty hunters was merely a month ago, and it happened after he did everything possible to keep them under the radar. Her eventually visiting Portland and the Brewpub would be a security disaster. He already dreaded her presence in his life even without that clear a connection. If somebody was keeping tracks, trying to find a connection, it would mark her as a certain target.
Nine hundred and sixty-four miles between them.
He pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to stop a rising headache. Cheerful cackling behind his back didn't help, though they weren't in his ear anymore. They all spoke at the same time, even Parker. "… and then he crosses his arms, and does that thing with lowering his head while speaking – that means he is serious but you know that, right – and he goes blah blah danger, blah blah You- people-don't-know-shit-about security, blah blah Dammit Hardison, blah blah reckless. He was at two point four Weekly Eliot Spirals at the beginning, now he settled on one point seven per week." A short pause. Then Sophie laughed at something Florence said, and he put the earbud back in. Hating himself in process, but unable to stop it.
"… can't call it a better position, though – there are four of you so you can sneak out when he starts, and I can't. But you have to admit he tries to say it differently every time. Wait. He does try with you, too?-"
He pulled the earbud out.
Nate glanced at him – pretending to check the rear-mirror - and slowed down.
He was running out of means to show them – to force them to understand – that he wasn't joking, and every damn word just added to his frustration. The worst kind of frustration; a helpless one. He rubbed his forehead, feeling a bruise emerging, and tried to calm his anger down. His nerves still vibrated because of this green goo fiasco, and still – no one seemed to even remember how close to going down they were only six minutes ago.
There was only one thing worse than being surrounded by a bunch of babbling gold fishes with an attention span of zero point five seconds – being surrounded with them lined up on a barbeque, with dead eyes and open bellies. For ninety seconds, he tried to feel grateful because they were all alive, and it went surprisingly well, until Hardison said, "…heard about CBS' plans to move some of their projects to Portland. The rumors started a few weeks ago out of nowhere. That'd be great for you guys to finally-"
"Hardison!" he spat the word out. "Did you just tell her where our base is?"
"Yes, of course… wait, that means you didn't? You're a special kind of-"
"But I've known about Portland for more than six months," Florence quickly said. "Sterling showed me his card. I was positive you're in the same town."
"Eliot, will you stop being such a prick about it?" Sophie said. "When Lieutenant Schaffer sent us that postcard from a trip with Natalie and the girls, you only grumbled because they cut the girls' hair a bit, not because that gesture was clear 'I've found you, lawyers' note. Do you really think Florence would spread this around? And what if she does? We are not hiding in a dungeon, for Pete's sake, we run a legitimate B-"
"Shut up, Sophie!" he yelled the words in the last second, before she blurted out Bridgeport Brew pub. His voice might've been a little stronger than he intended. A little. A consternated silence fell in the back.
Lucille followed; her engine softened into a slow purr. He turned around to look at them; Sophie glared at him, clearly searching for words.
"What's wrong with you?" Florence was faster than the grifter. Her tone painted a picture in his mind; furrowed eyebrows and a hurt twist of her lips. He twitched. But he couldn't stop now. It wasn't that she would talk around, how the hell didn't they get it? He thought that a close encounter with a contract investigator should've taught them that information could be drawn out of people. If they knew nothing, they couldn't tell anything. De Bruin was just one of many who were after the team, and the mere thought of him anywhere near any of them made his skin crawl. There's no such thing as paranoia. Just decisions deciding between life and death.
He took a deep breath before speaking. "I don't want you in contact," he said. "I don't want you near each other. No meetings, no talking. No Orion happily visiting George. And that's my final word on it."
"She was right," Florence said. Warm happiness evaporated from her voice, leaving it colorless. "You are a prick sometimes."
"No, I'm a prick always. And you knew that from the beginning. Don't act like you haven't-"
"Why can't you be a normal person, just one time? We were only having fun!"
"Florence, stop."
She stopped. Three seconds of silence lasted before she took one long breath. "I don't know what's your spirit animal, Eliot Spencer," she finally said. She sounded strangely dull. "But I'm sure it has rabies."
A click of an ended line echoed through their earbuds.
He turned his back on their accusing glares, and tried to feel satisfied in spite of the bitter taste in his mouth.
Nate kept his eyes on the road. Lucille still smelled of roses.
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"We weren't, technically, beaten," Hardison said when Nate parked Lucille in the brewpub's back yard. No one was eager to go through the pub and the mass of people. No one, also, said anything as a reply to his words. Even Parker's shoulders were hunched slightly, and her steps lacked their usual bounce. "Francoeur didn't sign the documents but Parker planted them, and-"
"Shut up, Hardison." Eliot colored his words with a solid growl, just in case. He passed before all of them to enter first.
"-and the police got him in the end." Hardison continued as if he said nothing. "I will make sure to connect him to more…oh shit. We are home earlier than I thought. Eliot, maybe you should let me go first to check…"
Yeah, right. Hardison was definitely the right person to go first anywhere that needed checking. Eliot darted one annoyed glare at him over his shoulder, and opened the door.
And he stopped.
A twinkly line of pink colored water gurgled in the air, only five inches from his nose. He crossed his eyes to glare it away and then focused them again to see the whole picture. Behind that first line, a grid spread deeper in the room; dozens and dozens of water lines squirted across the room, all the way to their table, Parker's chair, and screens. A thick grid went from metal thingies on the floor, making arches - and moving – and every line ended in one of many vases strategically spread all over the floor.
"Hardison…"
"Well, uhm, about that…" The hacker peered over his shoulder. "Remember that French Guy from the PCA ceremony? I stole his performance. I copied his calculations, his cameras and lasers, and set it all up here, to test it. It's on a timer; I thought we would be busy a little longer."
"Why?"
"Do you have any idea how long it takes to water my Starfleet Academy?"
Eliot rolled his eyes. He was still trying to figure out why the hell Hardison had bought one hundred and ninety six small plants while he was away in Boston and playing with Sterling in the Vermont woods. The hacker did mention back then that he was working on bringing more light and green into their too dark offices, but those plants were rackety and weak. And they were everywhere. A fleet, indeed. The only healthy looking plant – gorgeous, in fact – in this room was George, and he stood… he looked better and gritted his teeth. "Hardison, is that a pink water jet going into George's vase?"
"Not…exactly. You see, it's just an effect. Cameras and lasers, and colored lights provide the optimum-ugh." Hardison's head disappeared; Nate took his place and observed the room.
Eliot took one careful step deeper in the room, avoiding the first line, so the others could spread behind his back instead of staying stuck in the door frame.
"Hardison, turn the water off," Nate said. "We have work to do and-"
"I would, but it's set in the back room."
The back rooms, on the other side of the main briefing room. Eliot eyed the computer on the working desk; the glass doors were closed.
"Okay." Nate sighed. "Parker, go turn that thing off."
"My pleasure."
Eliot moved again to make room, but he didn't have to; the thief slid past him and pirouetted her first step under the lines. They watched her progress. She was definitely showing off. He glanced at Hardison's soft smile and enchanted eyes, the same expression every time he watched her being a thief. Did he look the same while watching Florence? Damn, probably.
Not everybody watched Parker evading sprinkling water; when he turned sideways to see if they closed the door behind them – they did – he met a cold, calculated stare, drilling his skull. He glared at Sophie but she didn't back away an inch.
Parker danced through the drops; she had only two meters to reach the glass door, but plants there were lined in a tight line, everyone with its own water-string. She had to slide sideways into a crawl, then up with four turns. At least lines weren't moving.
Opening of the doors cut one line, and water sprayed off the glass, but she slid inside. "Okay, what now?" she asked.
Hardison squinted. "Not sure. I said I was only testing it, so I don't know by heart what steps-" She wasn't listening to him at all, Eliot could tell. Her fingers moved over the keyboard, and pink water turned green. She looked at them through the web of water and grinned.
"Not that! Try to- shit." Hardison's words ended with a curse the same moment when Eliot noticed the change in her grin. The same manic smile she had when she was about to use her taser.
He moved aside and stepped behind Hardison. Nate moved to cover Sophie, but he was slower.
Water arches rose a little; Parker's fingers on the keyboard stood still.
"Sensitive equipment, Parker! Room is full of it! Water is dangerous!" Hardison's voice sounded a little higher. "My equipment sen-si-ti-ving all over the place! Don't even think-"
"Nate," Parker said. "Eliot doesn't have to be here while Hardison finishes Francoeur?"
Hell no.
Nate glanced at him and then looked at Hardison. "No, indeed, he doesn't," Nate said slowly. "Yet, Parker-"
"Good." She cut him off. "Eliot, you should go and apologize for being a bastard."
Yes, this definitely helped with his annoyance. He was hovering somewhere between 'turn around and simply leave', and 'throw the nearest plant and smack that laptop from under her hands'. And he knew she could see it, damn lunatic.
One sparkly string moved from the vase nearest to them; she changed the direction of the sprinkler and pointed it toward them. It whipped the floor a few inches from their feet, leaving splotches, before it returned to the vase. One hundred and ninety-six water-lines, plus one for George… they were balancing on the edge of disaster.
"Stop with this crap," he said. "If this is some postponed revenge for that lemon juice back then in Boston, you better aim- ya' know, nobody tells me what I should or shouldn't do, Parker."
Water turned dark green while she watched him. Then slowly went to purple. Hardison's face followed this saturation play, going in opposite, losing its color as the lines grew thicker.
"Oh, for god's sake, Eliot," Sophie chimed in, "we all know you planned to go to L.A when we finish this. So why all this drama – and that includes you, Parker – when you'll do it anyway?"
"I will, but-" He stopped when water for a second turned bright red, then stopped. The last drops flew to the vases and the strings disappeared. Parker's grin, however, stayed.
"You wouldn't…?" Hardison said.
"I would."
"No, she wouldn't," Nate said entering the room.
Eliot wasn't so sure about it. He let Sophie before himself, just in case. Parker was still too near the laptop, but Hardison quickly joined her there. That should spare them of further danger. Should.
He went to check on George, not quite trusting Hardison. Nothing pink in his vase. George returned an annoyed glare. Sitting on the shelf near a humidifier and under an artificial light, the tree looked healthy. He was almost twelve inches taller – and wider – than he was in Boston.
"I suggest you take this as an uncle would take his nephews' playing around him," Eliot said in a low voice. It seemed George took it exactly like that, according to his patient, yet somehow pained smile. Eliot wasn't sure only who the nephews in question here were: Hardison and Parker, or the small plants scattered around him. Their tiny leaves were turned towards George, just like kids would have their eyes turned to someone older… but he stopped thinking about that as soon as his thought formed. The Leverage Consulting and Associates definitely didn't need more weird plants with names. Hardison's plants would stay just that – a decoration. With lousy decorating qualities, but anonymous.
He moved the closest plants to line up against the wall and George tensed. Maybe he wanted them near? But no, George's attention was turned toward the room. Eliot only then did become aware of silence behind his back, and he turned around.
Hardison closed the glass door to the back room, and his and Parker's voices almost muted.
Sophie and Nate sat at the high working console – Sophie's shoes still soaked in green goo stood on it, and her feet were in Nate's lap – and they watched him with unreadable eyes. He could understand Sophie's expression. The grifter's general disapproving of him, what included his thoughts, actions, behavior and probably dress code, was easy to read. Yet, Nate's un-readability definitely wasn't connected with the love life of his hitter.
"I don't think my leaving now is the best idea, Nate," he said. He checked George's soil – maybe slightly too soaked, but okay – and returned to them. He sat at his place in front of now dark big screens, and waited.
He did want to see Florence. 'Want' was understatement. He needed her. They had one weekend together since she came to LA for shooting; a weekend that went in a blink of an eye, at the same time deteriorating the healing of his shoulder for a month.
As much as it slowed his recovery, that weekend also helped him to survive four disastrous little jobs that lined up before them immediately after they got home from Phoenix. He was still clearing the concussion from his brain when clients poured in.
Nate didn't have that time-out. The mastermind had kept himself in a highly alerted state, and maybe this silence was just accumulated irritation and fatigue, the worst possible combination.
Nate did try to refuse the first job, because they all needed to rest and recover, but the woman's life was at stake and they started with no preparations, no intel. The only high point of that fiasco was Hardison posing as a drag queen for the whole three days, distraught and mad, and allergic to his make-up. Eliot had more than a hundred pics; he used every opportunity to snap his phone at the majestic beauty that raged under all the sneezing and slobbering, and with bloodshot eyes.
Before they even wrapped up that job, they had to start another one; another emergency with a dead-line. Hardison didn't get to rest either, because he was perfect to be a half-dying patient in a small private hospital used for drug trafficking. Sophie didn't have to work on him at all. She even made him look better, nagging about overdoing his part again.
Nate started to pull his hair out only when the third job fell before them, not before. Hardison's bad luck blossomed in that one, and although Eliot could hardly sympathize with a bruised butt, he knew how disastrous that injury was for a man who did merely nothing but sitting.
And now, this one, the fourth in line. Pipes and green goo, and feeling of something indecipherably wrong.
"The rest of this job," Nate said slowly, "is more or less rewiring the existing actions. Hardison will work on redirecting all data towards tax charges, not the blackmail ones that I initially planned. There won't be any need for actions like this evening. Paper work, mostly – or better to say, hacking. You can go."
The sound of Nate's voice didn't remove that feeling of silence wrapped around him. Maybe he is just tired. They all were. "And you won't take the fifth job while I'm away?"
"I hope not."
And that might mean he would have more than two days. The last time he flew directly to LA to save time, but now he could hide his tracks better. It was late afternoon, and by the night fall, he could fly to Sacramento. He had almost six hours of driving from there to Los Angeles, but he had a whole night for that. Rent-a-car and a false name, and no one who might be keeping tracks on him could connect him to LA. "Hardison," he called. "Get me on the flight to Sacramento. This evening."
The hacker waved through the glass.
"I won't take an earbud, but I'll have my phone," he went on. "If something happens and you need me here, try to call me before the trouble starts. Count the time needed to get back. I will return directly and as fast as I can, but I'd rather avoid direct flight."
Sophie rolled her eyes. "You will drive all night just because of an unknown and probably non-existing someone might notice you went to LA twice in a row?"
He suppressed a growl. "Let me put this as delicately as I can… I'm not telling you how to do your acting things. Do not tell me how to do mine. Okay?"
"We're a little bit twitchy, aren't we?"
As a matter of fact, he was – and much more than he showed to them. They saw only a small amount of slowly gnawing fear, ever present.
Before he could answer – and that was a good thing – Hardison left Parker and came to them.
"I put you on the next flight, in a little less than two hours," the hacker said. He typed on his tablet as he spoke. "I also changed a few things in my calculations for The Watering job – increasing the amount of water in lines would actually make them more stable. I'll work on that more when I finish with Francoeur's part."
Eliot glanced at George, soaked already. "You ain't experimenting on my plant, Hardison. Leave him out of that."
"Yeah, sure," Hardison said. He had that empty gaze of utter concentration, and his fingers flew faster.
"Okay, that's it. He is going with me."
Nate rubbed his forehead, the first move he made after he stopped talking.
Eliot flinched. "What?" This time, his growl had a defensive sound in it, and annoyance grew to the point of explosion.
"You're taking him to visit Orion," Sophie jumped in, "or you're thinking he would be a buffer when Florence tells you everything you ought to hear about your behavior?"
And that was crossing the line. He stopped a nasty snap at the last second and got up. "I have to send Florence details about my arrival, and think through all the steps," he said as calmly as he could, what was pretty pathetic attempt. "That includes a lot of ciphers, messages and flowers, so you'll excuse me while-"
"Wait," Hardison finally raised his gaze from his tablet. "You'll take him on the plane? I'll better make that two seats then, just in case. Though I don't doubt you'd charm your way through bunches of helpful flight attendants and have it your way."
Nate's gaze, now he noticed, lay on the small envelope put on the shelf near George. It stood there since he had returned from Vermont, and that look was a clear message: you're complicating too much. Nate had told him that all his plans about security while seeing Florence, had one core mistake, but he refused to say which one. He wrote it – one more way to prove he was an all-knowing bastard - and put it there for him to see it every time he looked at George. It did serve as a useful reminder, making him plan more thoroughly, but it was frustrating nevertheless.
Nate didn't have to say anything.
Eliot picked up George - lashed them all with one last, nasty scowl- and left.
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Nate observed the green goo tracks Eliot's boots left on the floor, and he rubbed his forehead again. The sweet flowery scent still lingered around them all.
The next five minutes he studied Sophie's struggle to not breach the berserk-paranoid-idiot subject. He pretended he was going through the documents Parker lifted from Francoeur's safe, hoping Sophie would use Hardison as a target. Yet the hacker was also busy and he replied to her probing with absent-minded mhm-mhm's until she gave up and went to the kitchen for coffee.
Parker wandered behind the grifter.
"I didn't want to say anything while they were here," Hardison said immediately after the thief closed the door, "but you should call Eliot."
"To come back? What did you find?"
"No, just to warn him. Remember those interferences in the earbud system? It wasn't because of the metal around us. Someone else was monitoring that facility. Maybe even Francoeur – or the police – but I can't know for sure. Whoever did that, wasn't in the building."
"I see." Keeping quiet was a wise choice. There was no point in adding fuel to Eliot's paranoia while Sophie was already going for his jugular. The hitter would initiate one more set of his precautions, and Nate could, unfortunately, imagine the lever of complicity he would put that simple going from point A to point B on. That would, also, raise his annoyance and explosion would be inevitable.
Hardison says that someone unknown monitored the facility. Nothing to worry for now, but keep that in mind. No change in plans until further notice. He sent the message to Eliot and spread all the papers he had on the working table.
Something wasn't quite right in that action today. Time to find out what.
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