Chapter Text
It was a depressing statement about his life that when Eliot Spencer found himself waking up on a hard cement floor in a cold, dark room, head splitting from the kind of headache that meant he had been physically knocked out, his first thought was damn it, this again.
Depressing and a little infuriating. He could all but hear Nate in his ear, making some smartass comment about how him being more susceptible to concussions meant he should avoid getting more, Spencer, not leap in front of every fist you see.
Ha fuckin ha. Also fuck you, imaginary Nate voice. Like you’re not the one who puts me here all the damn time.
But okay, fine. Unconscious, flat on his stomach, on a hard floor in a cold room. Not the first time, wouldn’t be the last. He knew the routine.
He liked to lay around a bit, if he didn’t sense any imminent danger, and try to figure out as much as he could before anyone realized he was awake. But it was quiet around him, still. Over the pounding of his head he couldn’t hear a damn thing. He focused on keeping his breathing even, faking unconsciousness, until that pounding died down a little.
Eventually he risked opening his eyes. It was pitch black, like his eyes never even opened, but some sense memory made him groan all the same. Maybe just the heavy weight of lifting his eyelids.
Black. Cold. Quiet.
Huh.
He pushed up on his hands, slow, but the movement didn’t seem to make anyone react, so he figured he was safe to sit up. The wall behind him was also cement, rough, cold, but it felt almost good as he leaned back against it and gritted his teeth against the headache pounding at his skull.
“Damn it.”
“Someone awake?” The voice was instant, from somewhere else. Another room, another cell, whatever the hell this was. Someone near.
Eliot squinted out at the darkness and braced himself to talk again. “They got you too, huh?”
Nate let out an audible breath, almost a groan. “Looks like it. Is it just you and me?”
Eliot shifted towards the sound of his voice, and felt along the wall until his hands found the seam of the door. “Got me, I can’t see shit.”
“Same over here.” Nate was close. Across from his door, a few feet. Eliot couldn’t help but picture a row of jail cells, and Nate across from him in some grim, moldy prison. Whoever had them had done a damn good job making sure there was no light at all, even from under the door.
He minded being knocked out and left on the ground far less than he minded not being able to tell what the hell was happening.
A sudden sound behind him made Eliot turn from the door, but of course there was absolutely nothing to see.
He scowled out at the black beyond him. “Someone else in here?”
There was a pause, another shift. Just a rasp of movement against concrete. Someone waking up, he figured. Not just Eliot and Nate, anyway.
“Spencer? What’s going on?”
“I got company.”
“I’m alone over here. I think.” Nate sounded mildly grouchy, which was pretty much standard for him. Not even being kidnapped and knocked out and dealing with endless black could dampen his constant sense of bemused irritation.
The mystery mover behind Eliot groaned, and Eliot’s scowl only grew.
Dammit. “Hardison.”
Nate said something muffled and vehement, which Eliot agreed with. Bad to worse, this whole thing. All three of them, which meant Parker and Sophie might be there, too. All of them. What could have taken out all of them? They were rarely even together during a mission.
Hardison shifted again, groaned again. “Jesus,” he slurred out.
Eliot frowned. He didn’t sound good.
“He okay?”
He ignored Nate, edging carefully into the darkness until his foot brushed against a solid mass.
“Shit!” Hardison jerked, which led to another broken groan.
“It’s me, relax.”
“Rel…Spencer?” Hardison moved, but caught himself. “I can’t see you. Am I blind?”
“You’re not blind, it’s dark.”
“Oh.” Hardison paused. “It’s really dark.”
“No shit.” Eliot edged back towards the door, movements uncertain in the blackness. “We’re good here, Nate. Anyone else with us?”
“We’re here.” Sophie called out clearly, somewhere further down and farther off. “Parker’s in a bit of pain, but we’re alive.”
Eliot fisted his hands. “She hurt?”
“I don’t…I can’t remember how they got us. Or who they are. But I think they got more physical with her than with me.”
Damn it. Eliot glared back at the darkness. There was no way to tell if Hardison was actually hurt worse than him or if he was just being a giant baby. Hardison didn’t handle pain well. Or closed-in, dark spaces. Claustrophobic, though Eliot suspected it wasn’t that bad a condition until he'd damn near died in a buried coffin that one time.
Still. Baby.
“Anyone remember anything?” Nate sounded more alert by the second. “I’m drawing a blank here.”
Eliot had woken from enough knock-out blows to know that trying to remember the moments before the black was usually futile. Still, helped to put together whatever he could. “We were talking out the plan on the Rushing job, right?”
“The banker, yeah. We were…in the bar?”
Eliot dropped back to sit on the ground, leaning against the cool door again for some kind of headache relief. “Hardison, you with us here? Remember anything?”
“Not…” Hardison let out a breath as he scraped movement across the floor. Sitting up, finally. “Ow. Feel like someone kicked me in the head, man.”
From overhead, a good ten feet up if Eliot was any judge, there came a sudden crackle, like static over a speaker, and then a voice. A smug, tinny, familiar voice. “Well, that’s more than I thought you would remember.”
It sounded like an old school PA system, like when Eliot was in junior high listening to morning fuckin announcements. He frowned, trying to place why the voice was familiar.
Nate, of course, spoke up loud and fast. “You wanna tell us what this is all about?”
“I don’t want to talk to you at all, Ford, so keep your mouth shut.” It was almost funny, that smarmy voice trying to sound tough while crackling through a ratty old PA.
“Well. Rude.”
The voice ignored Nate. “I want to set the scene for your little Scooby gang. Right now you’re separated, in the dark, without any of your possessions except the clothes on your backs. We are underground, in a different city than the one you fell asleep in. This place was specially selected because there are no electronic systems, there’s no wifi in range, and nothing for you little tricksters to break through. Just big locked doors and big guys to guard them.”
“This is all dramatic, which I’m enjoying, but do you wanna get to the part where–”
“I want you to shut your smug god damned mouth, Nate. ”
Eliot glanced back towards the door, hearing something dangerous in that snap of voice. Nate must’ve heard it too, because he fell blessedly quiet.
“Now that we’ve set the stage, let’s introduce the players. I’ve got a thief who can’t escape, a con artist with no one to fool, a hitter who has nothing to hit, and a brain with nothing to plan. Last, and most fun for me, I’ve got a hacker with nothing to hack.”
Eliot frowned out in the black towards his cell mate.
Hardison shifted around, but didn’t say anything. Out of character for him, and that made Eliot start to feel legitimately worried about how hurt he might be.
The smug, annoying ass voice kept going. “We’re gonna play a game, Hardison.”
“You’ve lost every game we’ve played, Chaos.”
Eliot frowned, both at the sound of Hardison’s voice rasping and the words themselves. Chaos. Right, that asshole hacker from the Van Gogh thing, and that Santa shit. Must’ve broke out of the pen a second time. Good for him.
And what was with hackers being overdramatic nerds when they plotted shit out? The whole disembodied voice in the blackness thing coulda come straight from Hardison. Some DnD scenario brought to life.
“Both. Not every, just both. So you’ll have no problem going three for three,” Chaos answered sharply. “Now everybody shut up and listen.”
Eliot snorted. “Good luck with that with this crew, pal.”
“Including you, you redneck meathead.”
Eliot rolled his eyes but sat back against the door, waiting. Classic bad guy shit, wanting to talk out plans and lord it over captors until they fucked everything up for themselves. No point trying to stop that from happening, especially with these condescending ass tech nerds who assumed they were always the smartest guy in the room. Let ‘em talk.
“We’re gonna play a game, Hardison. You and me. See, both times we went head to head, you didn’t really beat me. Your whole team together did. But you by yourself? I want to see exactly what you’re made of.”
“Orange soda and high fructose corn syrup,” Eliot answered under his breath.
Hardison huffed a faint laugh out in the dark in front of him.
Eliot smirked.
“I’ve got a little something in the works here that I don’t want you people getting involved in. But just keeping you here until I’ve done what I have to do, that’s boring. So we’re gonna conduct an experiment.”
“Are you literally allergic to getting to the point, man?”
Eliot’s smile grew, if for no other reason then at least Hardison was starting to sound like himself again, stronger.
“Patience, people. None of you are going anywhere. Now. I’ve had to hire a small workforce to make sure you stay in place, and…well, they’re the types to get bored if I don’t let them get bloody now and then. So they’re gonna come down there in about ten minutes, and they’re gonna open up one of those doors. They’re gonna earn their paychecks by beating the living shit out of someone on your team.”
He paused, dramatic as a movie villain. Eliot could hear Hardison draw in a tight breath, but nobody said anything.
“One of them is going to suffer. And you, Hardison, are gonna pick who.”
“Okay, but I’m not, though.”
Eliot smirked into the darkness.
“You are. Because if you don’t, we’re taking your little girlfriends from their safe space and we’re gonna do it to both of them.”
Hardison had no instant comeback to that.
“Get it now? Are the stakes sinking in? You pick one person. Sure there’s someone here you like less than everyone else, right? You give me their name and we focus on them. Refuse to play, we take the ladies.”
Hardison sounded way less cocky when he finally answered. “I can’t. I can’t do something like that.”
“And yet, here we are.”
Eliot rolled his eyes. Dramatic little shits. Both of them.
He wasn’t without sympathy, there was just nothing to think about here. They all had their roles on the team, defined and clear cut. Eliot’s role was to dish out the beatings, and to take them when someone had to. Easy choice.
He wondered if that was why he and Hardison were in the same room, because Chaos already knew what would happen and wanted Hardison to suffer all the more guilt for his proximity to it. Fuckin psycho.
Chaos - no, Mason, right? That was the asshole’s name. Mason got back on after a pause, sounding smug as shit that nobody said anything in the silence. “Ten minutes, Hardison. Let the games begin.”
There was a crackle, an audible sound as Mason disconnected. Eliot had no doubt he could still hear everything they said down there, though. Low tech was still tech, and as obnoxious as Mason was he had the know-how to make it do what he wanted.
“Okay, well, obviously this is bullshit.” Nate spoke up after a few more moments of silence. “We’re not gonna put that kind of choice on you, Hardison. If he’s serious, we pick as a team.”
“He’s serious.” Parker, speaking for the first time, and something in Eliot relaxed to hear her, even sounding so grim.
There was some shit that nobody questioned Parker on, so Nate seemed to pretty much accept the words and went on. “I think it’s safe to go ahead and rule Parker and Sophie out. That leaves me and Spencer. We could make an argument for either one of us.”
“Nate! That’s not fair! I don’t want to be ruled out right from the start.”
“Parker, are you seriously asking to be beaten by a pack of hired thugs?”
“Wouldn’t be the first time,” she answered, and Eliot could all but picture the stubborn set in her jaw. “Anyway, we should at least be considered. We can take hits too.”
“Speak for yourself,” Sophie said, soft but audible.
“Come on, Sophie. Feminism!”
Eliot almost laughed. “Just knock it off, guys. We all know how this is gonna go down. I’m the muscle, I take the beatings.”
“You’re also about one concussion away from permanent brain damage, in my estimation, so maybe let’s not take that as a given.”
He scowled back at the door and Nate’s voice. “Nobody’s knocked anything loose so far, it sure as shit ain’t gonna happen now ‘cause of some piece of shit hacker who wants to play games.” He faced towards where he thought Hardison was sitting. “No big deal, man. You’re not even picking me, you’re just telling them I picked myself.”
“We have to think about the long game here, Spencer,” Nate said before Hardison could respond, earning another glare from Eliot that of course went to waste. “We’re getting out, and we’re going to need you on your feet to do that.”
“We’re also gonna need you thinking clear enough to make a plan.”
“Which means feminism wins!”
“Shut up, Parker.” Eliot twisted to face the door, like he could convince Nate better that way. “Look, of everybody here I’m the one that gets his bell rung often enough that I can shake it off fast. No rent-a-thugs are gonna put me down so bad I can’t fight our way out. That ain’t even a consideration here.”
“It sure as hell is a consideration. You want me to make the escape plan, I need my hitter in place. If we’re as offline here as our hacker friend said, we’re getting out through muscle and wits.”
“Your wits, my muscle,” Eliot confirmed. “Which means you don’t get your brain bashed in either.”
There was a pause. Eliot could all but hear the gears in Nate’s head turning, trying to come up with an argument.
“Feminism!”
Eliot didn’t have the heart to shut her up twice, so he stayed quiet. He knew damn well Nate wasn’t gonna let some goons beat up on Parker or Sophie. Feminism could screw itself.
There were a few more moments of quiet. Everyone’s heads going in the same circles, no doubt. Eliot wasn’t worried about it. He was right, he was the only choice, and he knew that. He was good with it. Would suck, sure, violence always did. But whatever. He’d done worse things. Taking a beating in place of someone else on his team? That was cake.
“You’re being very quiet, Hardison,” Sophie called out suddenly.
Eliot frowned into the dark. “Hey, you’re not overthinking this guy’s bullshit, are you? They’re just mind games, man, we deal with this crap all the time.”
Hardison sighed, a quiet sound in the dark. “Actually, I’m thinking about how much I’d rather be at home playing WoW right now.”
It was only later, thinking about it, that Eliot realized what a grim tone there was in those words.
At the moment, though, he just grinned. “Good man. Don’t let the worm win. He wants to get to you, so that’s the one thing we’re not gonna let him do. This has nothing to do with you, whatever happens. It’s not on you, bro.”
“Really.” Hardison sounded surprisingly cynical, for him.
There was a sound from outside, a solid thud and sudden footsteps. Definitely a few guys, walking heavy. Light appeared, thin through seams between the door and the wall, but enough to make a difference.
“You know…I have to say, I underestimated the pack mentality of your little group.” Mason managed to sound even smugger in person. “Every crew I ever worked with, they would have been promising me all kinds of wealth and power to not consider them for a beating. Here you all are, tripping over each other trying to take the hit. It’s…well. It’s stupid. You’re idiots. Good people are morons. But it’s unexpected.”
Another dramatic pause. Eliot glowered towards the sound of his voice but didn’t bother answering. Had to keep up his strength, and he was already at less than optimal because of whatever had knocked him out in the first place.
“Well? How about it, Hardison? Your inbred pal in there makes a good case for himself.”
A shift, and this time when Eliot looked over he could almost see shape, movement. Shadows against darker shadows.
Hardison was standing up.
Eliot frowned. Hardison was an idiot and didn’t understand the violent world of violent men like Eliot did, but he wasn’t dumb enough to try to rush an unknown group who had the upper hand.
But he put it together, almost the same instant Hardison actually answered.
“It's me. You’re taking me.”
Eliot jumped to his feet. “What? What the hell are you talking about? We didn’t talk about that.”
The door opened, and in the flood of sudden light Eliot found himself blinded, shoved back against the wall by strong arms. He fought, because he was who he was. He swung out blindly, listening to footsteps and trying to follow motion. He got in a couple of blows, but mostly glancing things.
Didn’t take them long to have him pressed against the wall, more than two pairs of hands holding him.
Fucking strong, these assholes Mason hired.
“I admit it, you’ve surprised me again. You weren't supposed to be a choice, but I didn't make that clear, did I? My bad.” Mason sounded less intimidating from a couple feet away. “But okay. I can work with this. Bring him.” The last words were an order.
Eliot reared up, shoving at the hands on him, trying to get free. “Hardison! God damn it, this is not an option.”
But it was, because Hardison walked out of that cell on his own, footsteps dragging a little but not hesitating at all, not even when he walked past Eliot.
And then Eliot was let go, shoved to put him off balance, and by the time he whirled around the door was shut and the room was black again.
He was alone.
He charged to the door and pounded at it. “Chaos, get your wormy ass back here. We didn’t agree on this shit!”
The footsteps headed off, but didn’t vanish. They stopped somewhere a few yards beyond them, closer to Parker and Sophie.
“Let’s talk this out, okay?” Nate called out when no one answered Eliot. “Whatever you want, whatever you’re planning, we don’t have to get involved. Nobody has to get hurt here.”
“Tell you what,” Mason answered. “For every one of you whose voice I have to hear during this whole thing, I’m giving each of my guys one more hit. Every whiney little comment.”
Eliot gritted his teeth and sank against the door, fists planted against the wood.
Nothing interrupted that silence but the sound of a beating.
It was fucking visceral, and Eliot hated listening to it as much as he hated being in the middle of it. There was something about the thuds of fists and feet planting into flesh, of the grunts and groans and gasps of it all, that Eliot had never gotten used to. He’d seen violence almost every damn day of his life, and he was good at it. But that didn’t mean he liked it.
Especially this right here. Listening, helpless, uninvolved, recognizing his goofy dweeb of a partner in those groans and gasps.
Fucking evil. Chaos had been an irritation, and then a danger. Now he had slid right into the lowest category, sharing company with the likes of Damien Moreau. Fucking evil .
He recognized the sounds too easily. He could tell which grunts were Hardison fighting, struggling to get free, to get a hit of his own in. He knew when those defensive sounds faded, until Hardison wasn’t landing any blows on anyone. Until it was just him taking the hits, the kicks, the elbows. He could tell when the levels shifted. When he fell, or they dropped him, and the blows then came from low down. The hits switched more to kicks.
And it just kept fucking going.
He could picture the whole fucking thing. So well that when he broke the silence, which he knew he might regret, there was a note of pain in his voice that was strange to him. “He’s out, it’s enough!”
The blows hesitated, and then stopped.
“Ballsy, talking like that. I should let them take those extra hits.” Despite the words, Mason sounded a little unnerved. “But you’re right, meathead, he’s out. No fun when he’s out. I’ll just save them for the next round.”
There was movement.
Eliot knew better than to try anything, not right then. The goons would be tired, but their adrenaline would be going, and Hardison was gonna be in rough shape. Wrong time to go for an escape.
He backed up against the back wall, furthest from the door. Standing there, fisting and unfisting his hands, he saw the slashes of light and shadow as the door opened and a couple of conspicuously large silhouettes dropped a tall, limp body on the ground.
Eliot hit his knees before the door even shut, but with that the light went away, and he was left feeling around blind. “Shit. Shit, shit.” It was bad. Worse than he’d expected when Mason first leveled the threat.
Hardison was out, gone. He rolled limp to his back when Eliot nudged him, but without any light Eliot couldn’t see what was wrong, much less try to be any help.
What little wisps of light there were vanished as the heavy door at the end of the corridor shut, taking the footsteps with it.
“Jesus.” Eliot couldn’t move, hands close to Hardison but unsure about touching.
“Spencer? Talk to us.”
He let his fingers come down and settle, light as feathers, against what felt like Hardison’s arm. “I can’t see shit. I can’t tell…” His voice was uneven.
“Is he okay?”
If it had been anyone but Parker who asked, or she sounded anything but terrified, he would have laughed. Of course he wasn’t fucking okay. But it was Parker, and that was real fear, and he swallowed down his first response.
“He’s alive,” he said. “He’s breathing.” He sank down to the cement floor, making sure he was still in contact with Hardison’s limp body. “God damn it. What were you thinking, man?”
“What do you think he was thinking?” Sophie then, her voice sharp. “You and Nate just spent ten minutes telling us how important it was that both of you be ready to escape. We’re low tech. No need to have your hacker at full capacity. We just need plans and muscles, right?”
“That…” Eliot swallowed, looking down at the black that was swallowing Hardison. “That’s not what I meant.”
Nate’s response was just as hushed. “Just. Watch him, however you can. I’ll form this plan.”
“You better,” Eliot snapped back, tension making him sharp. “You fucking owe him now.”
They both did. But for the moment he couldn’t do a damned thing for his partner except sit there in the dark with fingers on his arm, like that made any fucking difference at all.