Summary: AU. Eliot confesses to the team that he's an undercover federal agent. Written for comment-fic at LJ.
Oh, lookie here. Poesie thought she could write a 100-word comment-fic. That's adorable. Here is my eight-page comment-fic. Another one. Yes, I do have a habit of writing long-ass comment-fics, don't I? Who wants to stop me? Cookies? Somebody distract me, please.
Renegade
"Where's Eliot?"
"He will not be leaving with you."
The man was obviously a high-up, probably had some fancy title and a corner office to go with the big fat "BUREAUCRAT" practically stamped across his forehead. Parker's fingers twitched, and it was only the glance from Nate that kept her from pulling out a black marker and helping Mr. G-man to some forehead tattooing.
"And why is that?" Nate could be scary sometimes (a lot, Parker amended under her breath), all deadly calm exterior and well-oiled gears cranking in his head and "I know something you don't know" demeanor.
"We have business with him. I would recommend that you leave and forget everything you ever knew about Eliot Spencer."
The man's a pompous ass, thought Sophie. Hardison couldn't wait to get his hands on a smartphone or a computer so he could get working on electronically ruining the man's life.
"I'm afraid I can't do that," Nate told the man.
O-O
They'd finally gotten caught. The whole team had been surrounded, FBI agents swarming the place. They'd already taken care of the mark and his crew of thugs, and while it was perfectly fine for them to get arrested and put away for a good long while, it was not okay that the FBI had silently arrived and managed to cut off all exits before the team themselves could get away.
When the FBI did it right, they were good.
"Nate?" Eliot had looked to the mastermind, asking without words, "Kill or no?"
They hadn't had a chance, really. It was either have Eliot kill their way out of there, or let the agents arrest them. They'd be able to figure out a way to get out. They were good at getting out of tight spots. But to make (no, not make, let, or maybe something in between) Eliot kill, especially after what they'd found out about his history with Moreau, that was something they'd wanted to avoid.
So they had surrendered.
And it had gone fine, or so they'd thought. There was the usual interrogation, Good Cop, Bad Cop, Angry Cop, Psychic Cop (he "knew" everything about them, most of which was all faked up by Hardison anyway), and then the two hour-long percolation time during which Nate thought of Plans up to M (Hardison died in that one) and Sophie made eyes at the agent watching her (gay, shame, but nice shoes).
And then the black-suited agents had come in, looking as confused as the team was once they got through explaining what little there was to explain. That they were free to go, as long as they kept on the good side of the law.
O-O
"I got the security footage of Eliot's interrogation. No audio. This is from four hours ago. He's just sitting there. That's not like him."
Nate peered over Hardison's shoulder. "No," he said, seeing the tension just barely contained under the seemingly calm exterior. "That's exactly like him when he's in that kind of a situation."
They watched as the man who'd spoken to them (and made them leave by threatening to have them bodily thrown out of the building) walked into the small interrogation room like he owned it. That part didn't surprise them. What did was Eliot's reaction to the man.
He straightened and stood, or tried to, chained up as he was. Then he sat again, as the man presumably told him to. There was a long, serious conversation (shockingly without violence on Eliot's part), and Nate had just wished that he'd brushed up on his lip-reading, when Eliot's lips moved around words that he recognized.
"He just say what I thought he said?" Hardison asked.
Sophie frowned. "'Let them go. I'll come back'? What is that supposed to mean?"
Hardison tapped on his laptop. "It means…The man is Richard Walsh, Director of the FBI. He's here because…Huh?"
"What?"
"Uhhh."
"Just say it, Hardison!" Parker snapped.
Hardison decided he didn't want Parker snapping at him, anywhere near him, anyway, so he acquiesced. "An Agent Spencer E. Harrison III was reactivated today, around the time they let us go. What does that mean? Guys?"
"When you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth," said Nate slowly.
"This 'impossible' really is impossible, Nate," Sophie said. "There's no way that Eliot, our Eliot is an FBI Agent."
"He has two first names. It has to be him," Parker said, nodding sagely.
"Three. 'E' stands for Eliot," Hardison said. "But seriously, man? Eliot a Fed? No way. Maybe…Maybe…Nah, I got nothin'."
"Are you telling me that Eliot is a better grifter than I am? All the years we've known each other and I never suspected a thing!" Sophie exclaimed. "And neither did you, Nate."
Nate swirled the glass in his hand. "Well…"
"Well what?" the rest of the team said together.
"There are a few things," Nate said.
The other three exchanged glances. "Like what?"
"Well, first," he started, in lecture mode, "Eliot Spencer has too good a reputation to be completely real. For example, there is no way he could have gotten into an Al-Qaeda training camp, killed twenty men in a tent, all of whom were armed to the teeth and were the best at what they did, and gotten out undetected. All this without a shot being fired."
"It was nineteen, actually. One was just a kid, so I knocked him out instead. I should've killed him. He was on one of the planes on 9/11."
An uncomfortable silence filled the room after that statement. Eliot, having sneaked in sometime between the video playing and the argument over his employment, endured the hostile glares with the tense calm that was distinctive to him.
"You lied," Parker said.
Eliot sighed. "Yes, I did, Parker. I'm…" He bit his bottom lip. "I'm sorry, guys. I just came to tell you, they're off your backs, so just stay offa their radar, okay? I'll be leaving now." He turned to go.
Hardison bristled. "And you'll what? Go back to being an FBI agent? Huh?"
Eliot stopped and turned back, resignation written on his face. "I was undercover. I had to. It was my job, guys."
"You ran a con on us. Another con," Sophie fumed. "How could you?"
Eliot threw his hands up. "I told you. It was my job. And would you have trusted me if I had told you?"
"Of course not."
"Nope."
"Nuh-uh."
"Eliot Spencer has a legit history of at least ten years, that I know of," Nate said, in lieu of an answer. "Are you saying that you were an agent for all that time?"
The hitter ran a hand through his hair. "I went undercover straight out of the academy. And there was a time when I kinda went…" he cleared his throat and averted his eyes, suddenly very uncomfortable, "renegade for a while."
"Moreau?"
He shook his head. "No, that was part of the job. I was in the National Security branch, counterintelligence, counterterrorism, the works. They had me do jobs for the bad guys, give them what I got on 'em, and then they'd swoop in and arrest 'em a few weeks later, long enough that I wasn't suspected of having anything to do with the arrests. Moreau was part of that."
"But they didn't get Moreau." Nate's eyes pierced into Eliot's, trying to catch him in a lie.
"He was starting to put the pieces together and I had to leave. I have…" Eliot stopped abruptly.
"What happened?" Sophie said gently, sensing sensitive material.
There was a long pause, during which Eliot seemingly made up his mind to tell them. "I have a family. They…I couldn't let Moreau get to them. So I had my handlers pull me out." He looked at them, eyes almost begging (Eliot never actually begged) for them to understand.
Parker frowned. "You have a family? Like a wife and kids?"
"Dad and a sister."
"Oh yeah, here they are. Spencer Eliot Harrison the Second. Big war hero, decorated and everything. And your sister's married, with- "
"Don't, Hardison," Eliot cut the hacker off harshly. "She's my kid sister. The less people that know, the better. Understand?"
Hardison blinked and nodded slowly. "Yeah, sure man. Cute family Christmas e-card, though. With the sweaters and…"
"What do you mean, you went renegade?" Nate asked over Eliot's warning growl. "And why did you say, 'I'll come back'? They reactivated you."
Eliot shrugged. "I got on the team with you all, and I, I didn't see you as bad people. You, we," he amended, "were doing good things for good people, but they wanted me on more jobs where I had to do things that…I didn't want to go back to that. So I quit."
"Just like that."
Eliot nodded and gave them a weak half-smile. "Yeah."
"It wasn't a lesbian bar, was it?" Parker shot out at him with an intense look.
Eliot blinked, thoroughly confused. "What? Oh, that? You mean the…thing with the…" He gestured towards his face. "It was. But it was for a job."
"For them."
"Yeah."
"Did you get to steal anything?" she asked next.
"Uh, yeah," Eliot replied, uncertain where she was going with this.
"Okay then." Parker nodded and leaped over the back of Nate's couch.
"Okay?"
"Yeah."
"You said right out of the academy," Sophie said. "How old were you when you started this con?"
Eliot grimaced at the use of the word. "Twenty-one. Joined the FBI after I graduated West Point."
"West Point?"
The hitter flushed red. "With a name like mine, where the hell didja think I came from? 'The Third' is just plain pompous, ain't it? Always hated it."
"Eliot Spencer," Nate said thoughtfully.
Eliot shifted on his feet, ready to bolt if Nate got any more accusatory than that, knowing the others would follow suit. "Still me, but not. I could make up who I wanted to be. I didn't want to have to live up to my dad's war record. I mean, Hardison, look it up, man," he said, looking insecure for the first time in a long time. "It was tough, bein' his kid. Man had a long shadow. So I joined the FBI and became this guy. And then over the years, I really did become him. It wasn't even really a con by the time you guys met me. It's still me. I just…" He broke off with a short laugh. "Why'm I even explaining this to you? I'm a Fed. Automatically a bad guy. Hell, I'm probably lucky you guys didn't shoot me on sight. Or taser me."
"McSweeten's cute, even though he's a Feeb," Parker said from her perch on top of the bookshelf.
Eliot smirked at her. "I'm no McSweeten."
"No," Nate said, "No, you're not. You're dangerous."
Eliot froze. "I would never hurt you guys. Never."
"We know that, Sparky."
"Did you tell them anything about us?"
"Not too much, Soph. Just who was on the team. I was still working for them when we started. I had them look you guys up, actually. I was impressed," he said with a slight smile.
"Yeah? Seriously?"
The small, uncertain smile widened. "Seriously, man. This one tech geek they have there went nuts over your fireants or some shit."
"Firewalls. Fie-errr waaa-luh-zuh. Repeat after me, Neanderthal."
Eliot scowled. "Does it matter what the hell they're called?"
"When did you stop?" Nate wanted to know.
"Uh," Eliot frowned slightly, remembering. "After the one with the airplane. You know, the one Hardison was late to 'cause of some video game. I called in, said I ran into the Butcher of Kiev the other week, and by the way, I quit."
They stared at him incredulously. "And they didn't have anything to say about that?"
He shrugged. "Like what? They'd send someone in to kill me? Nah, they know me better than that. They made me. So they wouldn't send anyone because they know I'm perfectly capable of killing whoever they sent."
"But you wouldn't now," Hardison said to make sure.
"No, I wouldn't," Eliot confirmed. "Possibly."
"But you would if they sent anyone after us."
"Yeah, probably," was the answer.
"Can you stay?" Parker said, popping her head out of the hall closet. "I know! We'll steal Eliot from the FBI! Nate, say it! 'Let's go steal an Eliot,'" she mimicked, using a deep voice.
Eliot shook his head, an expression as fond as he ever got on his face. "Parker, I made a deal. I can't reneg on something like that. It could get you killed. It could get you all killed."
"Eliot, dear. What you don't seem to realize is that all of us would be perfectly willing to put our lives at risk if yours is at risk," Sophie said, walking over to him to put a soft hand on his arm.
"No one's pointing a gun at my head, Sophie," Eliot said gently, shooting a glance at the hand on his bicep before looking into her eyes. I know what you're doing.
"It's your life, and they're taking it from you!"
"We can steal it back," Parker said, nodding. You can steal anything if you're good enough.
"And ya know the neatest thing about all this?," Hardison said, grinning ear to ear. "We got a Harrison and a Ford on the team now. Ya know what that means? Do you even realize what that means? It means the Force is on our side, dawgs."
"Why does it matter if we have a Harrison and a Ford?" Parker frowned.
Hardison turned to her, visibly upset. "Parker, I am disappointed in you, I really am. Harrison Ford? He played Han Solo? Am I gettin' through here?"
"What are you talking about?" Parker asked, bounding over to him. "Everyone knows Indiana Jones played Han Solo. You're cute." She patted the very appalled hacker's head. He sputtered incoherently at her.
"Your last name isn't Fisher or Hamill, by any chance, is it?" Nate asked Sophie in a low voice.
She slapped his arm. "Oh, you. You're worse than Hardison." She smiled mysteriously. "I will tell you, though, my name is neither Carrie nor Mark, and it definitely isn't Leia. But I am possibly a Princess."
Eliot stood looking at the four crazy people in front of him with his customary scowl. "There is something wrong with all of you."
Parker passed him on the way to the kitchen and poked a two-day-old bruise on his arm. "There's something wrong with you, too, Ratatouille."
Eliot's scowl deepened. "'Ratatouille'? I'm not a damn Disney character."
Parker grinned maniacally. "But you're a rat and you cook. And you're adorable when you're pretending to be mad. Hey, I'm hungry."
"You…Ador-…Stay outta my kitchen, woman!"
AN: In Parker's defense, her insensible use of the word "rat" came from Thesaurus dot com, which says it is another word for "renegade," the title of this story. And well, it gave a great opening for the rat chef line.
Oh, and I stole a quote from Sherlock Holmes (and it's not "Elementary, my dear Watson." The movies lied. There is no such line in any of the stories. I looked. *anal frowny face*). I mean, it was totally Nate, so I swear, both he and I meant it as a quote, used in an appropriate way.
I'm sorry about the Star Wars references. It just happened. It's all Nate's fault, for having "Ford" as a last name, and Eliot's, too, for having two first names already and making me want to give him three first names in this fic. And then there was the Indy!Eliot character from "The Boiler Room Job."
Wikipedia tells me that there is a "service commitment of five years of active duty and three years of reserve status upon graduation" from West Point, but pretend Eliot was a rebel and went all, "Eff that, I'm joining the FBI instead." Yeah, or maybe he joined the Feebs and started his undercover job in the Army…or something. I'm sure you readers can think of a better idea than those.
PS: In my world, the FBI geek that "went nuts" over Hardison's fireants, I mean, firewalls, was like totally Garcia from Criminal Minds.