San Lorenzo was an adrenaline high the likes of which Hardison hadn't seen since stealing from the bank of Iceland. He was capturing the hearts and minds of the people; they all were. He would have loved to see Moreau's face during the "puppy fight ring" story Eliot ran. Or, well...maybe not see. You know what? He could imagine the stupid look on his face just fine from the safety of this public place full of people. Yeah.

Things had started to stabilize between them now that they were on the job. Eliot had managed to reclaim his professionalism, and while it made him a little colder than normal, Hardison felt like he knew what to expect from him again. It did help that Nate kept him close, sending Eliot off to work with Parker.

Hardison wished it didn't.

"Okay, we're in the endgame, people," Nate said, pacing and gesturing with his glass of scotch. "Got a lot of moving pieces to keep track of on election day."

They all knew their roles, but hearing them again wouldn't hurt. The timing was going to be a close thing. And going over the plan again made Nate back off a little on the micromanagement later, Hardison added to himself, not actually listening. No running around for him; his part was easy. The victory message was already written and everything. Beside him on the couch, Parker was turning the complementary chocolate mint wrappers into a brightly coloured foil chain; beside her, Eliot was actually paying attention, as was Sophie in the armchair.

"—and that's when Flores calls the TV station. Now, Eliot, while that's happening, I'm going to need you at the presidential palace—"

"No."

The room went quiet. Nate tipped his head, studying him. "Sorry?"

"No," Eliot repeated. "Vittori's gonna kill Flores if we do that. I'm not leaving him to die."

What makes him so special? Hardison nearly asked. The surge of bitterness and anger that prompted it was unexpected, but he managed to choke it back.

Nate made a vaguely dismissive noise, and Eliot began to bristle. "I ain't leaving him behind, Nate. We talked about this."

They had talked about it. Eliot had always jumped in at that point in the plan to insist that he break Flores out of the Tombs without laying out the details on the how, and Nate had...not actually agreed, now that Hardison was thinking it over.

"Eliot," Nate said carefully, adjusting his hold on his drink. "I need you nearby when Vittori's men come after me. It could get messy. And how are you going to shoot Sophie if you're down in the prison?"

"I'll find a way."

"Everyone else is busy," he continued. "I can't send you with anyone."

"Then I'll go alone!"

"I understand that Flores is your friend, but if we screw this up, Moreau goes free. You said it yourself, he's a good soldier. If Parker gets him a weapon, maybe, uh..."

Sophie made a sound of realization. "You're trying to use Flores' execution to destroy Vittori, too."

"Well, I don't want the General to wind up dead—"

"Nate." There was something choked in Eliot's growl.

"We don't have the manpower to cover everything, and this will bring them both down. The general is a capable man—with a little prep from Parker, he'll be fine."

"When is Parker doing this prep, exactly?" Hardison asked.

Before Nate could answer, Eliot had pushed himself to his feet. "Nate," he repeated, his voice shaking ever so slightly. "Flores is a good soldier in all the ways I'm not. He'll accept his death with dignity, okay? He won't fight; he'll protect his men, set an example for them."

"But if Parker—"

"They can't fight their way out of the Tombs, man. He wouldn't risk it anyway, not when it might help Vittori secure the election. Moreau already almost—" Eliot pushed his hair back from his face. Hardison thought he glanced his way, but then Eliot was stepping into Nate's personal space, arms folded and voice low. "I'm not letting Flores die."

"Wait," Parker said, suddenly looking up. "You said the elevator was a killbox, and the shaft doesn't go anywhere else. If you aren't going to go through the vents, how are you going to get out?"

That was a very key and important point that needed answering right there. When Eliot slowly turned to look at Parker, though, he looked way too confident. "I'll find a way."

Nate's expression went startled as he watched Eliot. Seemed he knew something they didn't, though Hardison couldn't understand what it might be. "Okay," he said hurriedly. "Okay, alright Eliot. You—you're right. It's not worth taking down Vittori, too. We'll save Flores. What if...what if you went down with the executioners? Those suits cover you completely, right?"

Eliot took a step back, and the intensity in the room dropped about ten notches. "We would need two people to pull it off. The private presidential guard work in dedicated pairs."

Nate thought for a few long moments, pacing again, then turned to point at Hardison. "You can work from anywhere," he said, far too reasonable.

Hardison would like it to be known, for the record, that their cons were not normally this messed up by their own interpersonal issues—Nate and Sophie's thing notwithstanding. That said, going down there with Eliot to save Flores...if something went wrong, that killbox would be for him. And there was a tiny voice in his head saying that Eliot's priorities might not be ones he liked. "Yo, man," he said, keeping his voice light, "we already talked about me going down into some oubliette place. I'm not real comfortable with the, with the—"

"Come on, Hardison. It'll be fine! And if anything does go wrong—"

"Nate," he said, serious.

Parker and Sophie both turned to face him with furrowed brows. Nate looked between him and Eliot. Eliot, who had been standing statue-still, turned and headed for the door, very obviously putting his comm in his ear as he did. He glanced back at Nate once, then disappeared.

"What's going on?" Sophie asked.

Nate sighed, leaning against the wall and looking for his answer in the far corner of the room. Parker studied Hardison a little too closely, then tilted her head, squinting at him. "You don't trust Eliot anymore?"

Sophie blinked and stared at him. Nate sighed again, flopping a hand at him tiredly. "You're going to have to get over this sooner or later, Hardison. Preferably sooner. Now, I've kept you from having to rely on Eliot so far for this job, but if we're going to save Flores—"

"Why don't you trust Eliot anymore?" Parker murmured.

Hardison shook his head at them all, frustrated. He tried to set it aside to talk to Parker, but knew his voice remained clipped. "Parker, he was going to let me drown. Why do you think I'm having trouble trusting him?" She made a faint sound, but he had already turned to glare at Nate. "Why are we saving Flores, huh Nate? Because Eliot wants to?"

"No, it—I was sure that Flores would be able to fend for himself." Hardison watched him, unyielding. Nate kept talking, pushing away from the wall. "Look, Hardison. I understand why you're upset—"

"I don't think you do," he said sharply. "I don't think you realize just how close it was. I am allowed to be pissed about it. And if you think I'm going to ignore the blatant favouritism—"

"Hardison," Nate interrupted, setting his drink aside. "I can't tell you why I changed the plan. I just can't," he cut him off before he could ask. "But this is not going to put you in more danger than staying out in the open will. Honestly, it will probably be safer—and yes, part of the reason for that is that Eliot will be with you. Now, can you accept that to save a man's life or not?"

Nate was playing dirty, but Nate always played dirty. "Fine," he said. "Whatever."

"Hardison."

"I'll do it, Nate."

Nate straightened, picking up his glass. He put in his earbud. "Eliot, you can come back now. Uh—yeah, he agreed." Silence for one beat, two— "No, there's no reason for you to..." Nate pulled out his earbud with an exasperated sigh. "He'll be back as soon as he finishes his perimeter check."

It took a while for Eliot to get back, and longer for Nate to finish beating the plan to death with the new changes. Parker ended up having to work with them, collecting and transporting all the guard equipment they'd need. Hardison very definitively did not look at Sophie the entire time. Tomorrow was just another job, he told himself. Just another con. They'd already done all the hard parts; now, it was just the payoff.

Hardison struggled into the body armour, trying to catch his breath. He could run, yes, but sprinting up and down that many stairs had pushed him. Nearby, Eliot was already more or less dressed, keeping a wary eye out for anyone who might come near their cubbyhole.

Hardison fumbled a strap on his shin guard and swore breathlessly. Next thing he knew, Eliot was securing it for him. He flinched. "Why you gotta ma...materialize...out of thin air...like that?" He panted.

"Arms up," Eliot said, face blank.

He stuck his arms up, and Eliot had the torso guard on him and secured in what felt like seconds. Normally, this would've had a litany of damn it Hardison underpinning it all, but this time there was only Hardison's stuttered breathing and Eliot's quiet, efficient directions.

Eliot was helping him tug on his gloves just as things were getting to the stage of being so awkward that you gave up and embraced it. When the words came, they made him jump. "Thank you."

Hardison stared at him. Eliot glanced at him, then away, tugging on his second glove for him with a bit of a jerk. "I know you don't—" He took a breath. "It means a lot. That you're helping me get Flores out of there."

"Flores is a good guy."

"...Yeah. Still. You could have said no."

"Not and looked my Nana in the eye ever again."

Eliot's mouth twitched towards a real smile for the first time in too long. Hardison bumped his shoulder with a fist; their body armour clacked. "Look, man, there's mad, and then there's cutting ties. I still got your back."

Eliot met his eyes seriously. "Not everyone would."

Before he could answer, Eliot passed him a helmet and a gun. Time to go.

And if Hardison still felt relieved when Eliot and Flores went up onto the balcony together, when it let him slip away from them and strip out of the constricting armour that much sooner? Nobody needed to know.