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It wasn’t supposed to be anything different from what they’ve dealt with before.
To get to the Mona Lisa, they need to take many, many carefully thought out baby steps, and this was one of them. This is a three person job, with the occasional need of a contact or two. The three of them have a range of contacts from over the years, and ways to ensure no double crossing occurs.
A double cross would be real shitty, in Booth’s unfortunate, experienced opinion.
Their current infant based step finds them in need of a hacker. While they are capable of hacking into the storage facility’s system themselves, hiring someone else reduces the chances of leaving a trail with them at the end of it. And, frankly, it makes it more fun.
The Bishop provides a hacker she has worked with on a few occasions in the past, a strictly professional exchange lacking names and faces. The payment their friend asks for is an item within a storage unit at the facility, a 1933 Ariel Red Hunter in perfect condition. The trio accepts this and notes down the unit number holding the motorcycle before mapping out the building.
“Once the system has been hacked, we will have fourteen minutes before it comes back online. In that time, we need to get the motorcycle and a keycard to duplicate for museum access. We do not have a second chance at this. Once the transport leaves for the Louvre, we will not see another transfer from storage for another four months. We’d either have to wait or go without the cards, and going for the transport itself is too risky.”
Sarah glances up at Hartley as he nods before glancing over to Booth who is staring over her shoulder.
She sighs, “Booth, are you listening?”
His eyes turn to her as he crosses his arms. “I want the motorcycle.”
She rolls her eyes, not fondly she’d add, “I expected as much. You can get the motorcycle.”
His eyes light up and he bounces a little, letting out a small noise of triumph before settling to hear the rest.
Sarah turns back to Hartley.
“I will take care of the keycard and you the getaway car. We shouldn’t need the full fourteen minutes, so aim to be out of sight of the entire facility before power comes back on.”
…
There was not supposed to be anyone in here. Booth is sure of this. I mean, who the hell stands in a closed unit in complete darkness? Why? To scare people shitless?
Booth was giddy to get his hands on this motorcycle, so when a shadowy figure with a gun steps out of the dark corner, it puts a pretty big damper on his excitement.
This facility houses mostly antiques and old art, so no one needs to make personal trips here, and this guy decidedly does not look like a security guard.
“You’re not who I was expecting.”
Booth blinks.
“Uh-“
His head is whipped to the side as sparks fill his vision, stumbling against the bike. He drops his flashlight and feels his earpiece dislodge and fall to the floor, being crushed shortly after. Blinking the stars away, he sees the gun in this stranger's hand and the weird look in his eye.
He looks down at Booth’s bloodied brow and laughs, “I didn’t know the Bishop was picking up strays now. Has she gone soft?”
Booth let’s out an exaggerated gasp as he glances at the closed unit door. “I’ll have you know I’m the best art thief in the world.”
“That’s the Bishop.”
“A close second.”
Gun guy lands a kick to Booth’s ribs, knocking him back onto the floor and the air out of his lungs.
“You’re annoying.” Gun guy sighs, “I know she’s here, so why don’t you tell me where I can find her and I'll leave you be. How’s that sound?”
Booth sits up, painfully, and doesn’t hesitate saying, “Unfortunately this was a solo mission. It’s just me here.” Why did he not hesitate? I mean, they are a team, but they’d sell him out to save their asses, right? It sucks of course, but they’ve done it before. Water under the bridge, but it still stings a little.
He likes to think they’ve grown closer over the few months during their current plan, but he doesn’t feel so sure sometimes. Booth felt like he had gotten close to Hartley, only to find out it was all a lie and he was being used. How can he be so sure now? They’ve had to spend a lot of time together, even living together, and it seems like they work well and get along, but how can he be so sure?
His spiraling thoughts are cut off by Gun guy’s annoyed “Wow you’re a dumbass huh? A self sacrificing dumbass. How much is she paying you to make you willing to get dragged into her shit?”
“We’re partners-“
“Partners?!”
Booth winces. Ok so that might’ve been a bad thing to say.
Before he can take it back, Gun guy is pulling him up by the collar of his coat and shoving the glock into his neck.
“I helped her keep the Feds off her ass for years and she accepts your dense ass as a partner?!”
Booth’s eyebrows shoot up and his eyes shine.
“You’re the hacker.”
Gun guy, now promoted to Hacker guy, rolls his eyes harder than Booth thought possible, “No shit.”
Okay, Booth realizes he should’ve connected the dots sooner, but he’s currently nursing a likely concussion and bruised ribs, give him a break.
“Also, for the record, we’re fully capable of keeping the Feds off our asses ourselves, we just wanted to share.”
Wow I am good at making situations worse.
Hacker slams Booth’s face into the side of the, now near perfect condition, motorcycle, before raising his bloodied face back to his own.
It’s been at least ten minutes now right? Close? The power is going to come back on soon.
“I know you’re here for access card, so why don’t you tell me what you’re planning on taking? I’ve earned my share.”
…
Hartley taps his fingers impatiently against the steering wheel of the truck.
He’s just around the corner of the outdoor unit, a hundred or so yards away, from where the motorcycle is supposedly held. It shouldn’t take this long for Booth to have signaled him over, gave him a heads up, anything.
To respond at all.
Hartley had been keeping track with Sarah and was now waiting for her to arrive back at the truck any second now. Neither of them have heard anything from Booth for roughly four minutes.
“Why are you so worried? Maybe he’s just having a hard time finding the unit. We still have time,” Sarah suggests as she gets into the passenger seat, showing the access card between her fingers.
Hartley shuffles a bit. “He would’ve said so by now.”
Sarah huffs a laugh, placing the card back in her pocket, “He’s stubborn, you know this. He wants to do it on his own. He’s capable.”
Sarah is becoming more and more accepting of the fact that she believes what she’s saying. She thought he was a bit of a dunce at first, but she’s realized he is smarter than he lets on. He can be dumb sometimes of course, but not as dumb as he lets you think. It can sometimes work in his favor, or sometimes against him. Like when they double crossed him.
Sarah winces. Unfortunately she feels guilty for it now. She knows Hartley does as well.
“I’m going to check.”
Before she can protest, Hartley is exiting the truck and walking to unit 34 around the corner. Sarah follows closely after him. Once near the door, they hear a muffled voice that sounds nothing like Booth. Hartley pulls his gun from his coat pocket and holds it closely as he approaches the closed unit door. Sarah prepares her own gun, before they have a silent countdown. At zero, Hartley tugs the door open and Sarah enters with her pistol at the ready.
A bloodied Booth is dangling in front of the bike, on his toes, being held by the collar by a bearded man who, while only an inch or so taller than Booth, has arms the size of his head. The moonlight reflects off the glint of a gun held to Booth’s chin.
The man looks at them as they enter, before smiling at Sarah, “There you are! I wasn’t expecting you to have friends with you.”
Sarah doesn’t lower her gun as she glances between Booth and the man.
“And who are you?”
His smile drops as he answers, “Another one of your paid hands you don’t care to share your profits with.”
Hartley speaks up, leveling his gun on the man, “Your share is right where you said it would be. You can take it and leave. We’ll forget this happened.”
“This seems pretty unforgettable for me, personally,” Booth mumbles before the barrel pushes deeper into his jawline, bobbing as he swallows.
“I want in on whatever you’re stealing. I want a fair share of the profit. I know you’re going to the Louvre. I’ve helped you. Now you owe me.”
“We paid you for one job. That’s all you will be taking part in.” The Bishop’s voice leaves no room for argument.
“You’ll give me my share or your loyal little lap dog will deal with your shit!” His voice grows more steely with each word, tugging Booth’s collar.
“No-“
“We’ll pay you a portion.”
Sarah and Booth jerk their heads towards Hartley.
“We’ll what?”
Hartley continues unaffected, “We’ll pay you your fair share. After you put the lap dog down.”
Booth groans, “That’s low man.”
The hold on his collar loosens and the barrel of the gun is less bruising on his face. Hacker turns towards Sarah.
“I want to hear her say it.”
“I’m not saying anything until you drop my partner and the gun.”
Booth looks shocked at being called a partner. She’ll be talking to him about that later.
Hacker hesitates, “If I drop my gun you’ll shoot me.”
Hartley shakes his head, “We won’t. As long as you cooperate.”
“Give me the keycard.”
Hartley’s brows furrow, “You don’t get to make demands!”
“I do when I have your partner!” He yells, giving Booth a shake. Booth winces at the roughness, worsening his headache and bruised ribs.
“Now give me the fucking card,” he says, voice cold.
Sarah and Hartley glance at one another, concern in their eyes, before Hacker gives Booth another rough shake, pulling a pained grunt out of him.
Sarah and Hartley look back over at Booth, before he starts shaking his head vehemently at the other two. They’re considering it, he can feel it. Hacker tightens his grip on his collar, choking him and stopping the motion. He meets their concerned eyes, holding their gaze, knowing they’d lose it all if they gave up that card.
They seem to think for a moment, before responding, “The card stays with us. We can discuss your involvement after you put him down.” Sarah’s voice is firm.
Hacker seems to consider for a moment, before slowly placing his gun back into the holster. He glances over at the two still holding guns on him, before pulling the knife from his waistband and sinking it into Booth’s stomach.
As Booth gasps, the lights come back on, a gunshot rings out, and Hacker drops him to the floor.
Booth curls in on himself, pain flooding his body. His ears ring from the echo against the metal walls, barely picking up the pained grunts from Hacker and his own labored breaths. He pushes at the hands grabbing at him before realizing it’s Sarah.
“Hey Nolan? Stay with me alright? You’re gonna be okay.”
“Yea, for sure,” he mumbles before his vision goes hazy.
…
He floats between the sensation of hands on his face and stomach, feeling weightless yet so heavy, arms supporting him, the rumble of a speeding car. There’s a hand in his hair.
If this is death, maybe it isn’t so bad.
…
The safe house is quiet, painfully so. It’s a different type of quiet from the usual. It’s tense, concerned.
Empty. Empty with three people in it.
Hartley continues to pace from kitchen to living room, glancing out the balcony window, then back again. Every few seconds he looks back at the couch, like he can’t even control it.
Booth being bloody and limp is one of the scariest things they’ve had to see.
They didn’t know if he'd make it for a while. There was a lot of blood. The knife didn’t hit anything vital, but it took longer than they had hoped to get to a safe house and patch it up.
He’s always so vocal and lively, to see him so still is…
Sarah turns her head away from the resting man as she continues typing. Hartley appears at her shoulder.
“How’s it going?”
“He’s going to be in jail for a long time. They found him at the facility and arrested him. I’ve sent in all the hacking he has done, and we’re nowhere on record. Mentioning us will be like mentioning ghosts.”
She feels a relaxed confidence run through her. If Hartley can sneak his way into the FBI and she can become a warden to a major prison, they can do this.
They look at each other, before turning to the man resting on the couch. Sarah leans into Hartley’s shoulder, letting out a long breath she’d been holding. A comforting hand lands gently on her arm, rubbing up and down, as he places a kiss on her head.
Sarah lets out a shuddering breath, before stating, “I should’ve given him the card. This is my fault.”
Hartley grabs both her shoulders, turning her to face him. “This isn’t on you, and if it was, it would be on us both. The only one at fault is the man who hurt him. And we’re going to help him heal. Plus, he didn’t want us to give up the card.”
Sarah chuckles lightly, “Since when do we listen to what Booth says?”
Hartley smiles, “You got me there. Maybe we shouldn’t.”
They smile at each other, knowing Booth has proven trustworthy. Now they need to return the favor.
Sarah exhales, “He needs to stop getting hurt before I go gray.”
“He’s going to be fine. He’s tougher than he looks,” Hartley replies.
“Wow… I think that’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said about me.”
Glazed eyes land on them as they rush to his side, heartbeats in their ears. Sarah’s relief turns to a gentle scowl.
“Don’t ever do that again.”
“Sorry for almost making us lose the card and jeopardizing the plan. That would’ve screwed everything up huh?” Booth lets out a humorless laugh.
They look confused. “What? No, we weren't worried about that. We were worried about you. We could get a new card with time,” Hartley replies.
Booth looks confused, saying “Is that concern in your voice? Care? Were you worried for my safety?” His grin grows with each word.
Hartley sighs, a regular occurrence with Booth, “Yes. We were. You’re our partner. We’d prefer you not get stabbed.”
Booth seems to think for a moment, looking surprised, before uttering a small “oh.”
“We do care about you, Booth,” Sarah replies gently.
He still seems shocked, but relieved.
Yea, they’re going to have to explain better later. And maybe apologize for the double cross. They owe him that.