Leverage Bingo Round 1 Fic #1.04: be fine this time
Title: be fine this time
Author: alinaandalion
Rating: T
Characters: Sophie, Eliot, and Hardison
Summary: Post- "The Scheherazade Job." Sophie apologizes to Hardison for helping with Nate's plan.
Notes: Written for leverage_bingo. Prompt: Hacker.
Sophie is barely able to keep from screaming at Nate for telling Hardison about the hypnosis. Especially with that arrogant smirk on his face like he deserves to be congratulated. Bastard.
She leaves before she can do anything stupid, and she’s flying on instinct, mind already turning over the possible places Hardison could be when she runs straight into Eliot. She stumbles on impact, and he grabs her arm in a firm grip; after she regains her balance, however, he doesn’t let her go.
“I just got of the phone with Hardison,” he says in a tone that would be casual if his entire body wasn’t vibrating with angry tension.
She sighs and relaxes her postures. “He told you what happened.”
“Give me one good reason.”
She furrows her eyebrows and says, “I don’t understand.”
“One good reason that you would help Nate do that to Hardison,” he growls, glaring down at her.
His fingers tighten around her arm, and she hisses at the small flare of pain. His eyes widen, and he lets her go immediately, his body shrinking down from his previous rage until he just looks so tired.
“I wasn’t exactly in on the plan,” she says quietly. “I mean, I should have guessed when Nate brought up the subject of hypnosis and which one of you would be good candidates, but…. I didn’t actually think he would do something like that.”
“But you knew before the concert,” Eliot says, his eyes narrowing.
She feels the anger and frustration bubbling back to the surface and quickly shoves it all away because none of that is going to help the situation. Besides, Eliot isn’t the problem here.
“What was I supposed to do? Nate had already hypnotized Hardison, we had already set the con in motion, and telling him would ruin all that. I thought that, well…I never considered that Nate would just tell him like that.”
“You need to tell Hardison that.”
“I know. That’s where I was going.”
He shakes his head. “Not tonight. He was furious, Sophie.”
“I know,” she murmurs, wrapping her arms across her middle.
Eliot sighs and starts to move past her; she places a hand on his arm.
“Don’t go in there and challenge him, Eliot.”
He turns back to her and asks, “Why not? You’re just going to let this go? Let him keep manipulating us?”
She flattens her fingers against his arm, keeping the pressure very light, angling her shoulders into his personal space, tilting her head to the side just a little. She hates doing this because it’s not all that different from what Nate just pulled, but she tells herself it’s for Eliot’s own good. Besides, she just needs him to calm down; she’s not going to stop him from talking to Nate if he really wants to.
She just needs to know Eliot won’t beat Nate’s face into a pulp if Eliot does go talk to him.
“If you challenge him, it’ll just make him think he’s right.” She sees the protest forming on Eliot’s lips and hurries on, keeping her tone warm but with a slight edge of command. “I’ve already spoken to him. Sometimes silence works better than words.”
“I know what you’re trying to do,” he replies quietly, taking a step back.
She lifts her chin a little defiantly. “And?”
“I’ll leave him alone.” He shakes his head. “Because I really just want to punch him.”
She laughs a little and says, “Well, he would deserve it.” She starts to turn away and turns back. “I’ll apologize to Hardison tomorrow. Give him a little time to cool down.”
“See you around, Soph.” He gives her a small smile and heads down the street.
She heaves a sigh and heads to her car to go home.
***************
She’s woken up in the middle of the night by someone beating on her door. Rubbing at her eyes, she grabs her robe from the end of her bed and walks to the door, turning on a few lights on her way. She peers through the peephole; once she catches a glimpse of Hardison, she pulls the door open.
“I need to talk to you.” He’s a little unsteady on his feet, and she just sighs and steps back.
“You’ve been drinking.” Her voice is calm, but she’s a little irritated; she’s done this too much with Nate for her to have patience for it anymore.
He walks inside as he says, “Just a little.”
He sways on the spot, and she grabs his arm; she guides him over to the couch. Leaving him there, she goes immediately to the kitchen to put some water on to boil for tea. When she gets back, he’s almost completely stretched out on the couch.
“So, what do you want to talk about, Hardison?” she asks as she sits in the chair opposite the couch, curling her feet under her legs.
He struggles to sit up but manages, and he glares at her with bleary eyes. “You helped Nate hypnotize me.”
“Not technically, no,” she replies quickly. “I didn’t know what he had done until after the fact.”
“You still didn’t tell me!” he yells, lurching forward and stopping before he left the couch. “You knew he had…had…hacked my brain, and you just went along with it. Like it was okay.”
“I didn’t know what else to do,” she says in a soft voice.
“You could have damn well told me!”
“And, what would you have done? Walked away?” She sighs and presses her fingers against her forehead; she can feel a migraine coming on.
“Maybe.” He’s settling down again, and he rubs at his eyes. “I just don’t like being used. Like I’m disposable or, I don’t know…replaceable.”
“I know,” she murmurs. “And, I’m sorry.”
He blinks. “You don’t do apologies.”
“Well, maybe I’m trying to turn over a new leaf.” She gives him a wry smile. “Now, come on. Let’s go have some tea.”
She stands up, and he makes a move to follow after her but stops. She looks back at him just as he bends over and vomits all over her floor.
When he’s done, he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and mumbles, “Sorry, I’ll just get some towels and…”
“Why don’t you go to the bathroom? Just in case you feel sick again,” she suggests, already walking into the kitchen to retrieve some towels and a cleaning spray to get the mess up.
“Wouldn’t be right,” he protests.
She shakes her head, grabs him by the arm, and helps him stand, prodding him toward the bathroom. “What wouldn’t be right is for you to get sick again on my furniture. Go on. I can handle this.”
When he leaves, she sighs and starts sopping up the mess, trying very hard to keep her own stomach from turning at the smell; she hadn’t thought he was far gone enough to vomit, but, then again, Hardison rarely drinks. She scrubs some of the cleaner into the rug and gets the rest of it out. She throws the towels away on her way to the bathroom; there is no way in hell that she will ever use them again anyway.
She knocks softly on the bathroom door and slips inside a moment later; Hardison is sitting against the opposite wall, his head between his knees. She perches on the edge of the tub and reaches over to rub his back.
“I’m sorry about the rug,” he says quietly. Then, he groans. “When will the room stop spinning?”
“Just breathe through it,” she murmurs.
It isn’t until twenty minutes later that he lifts his head and tries to get off the floor; she guides him up by his elbow and steadies him as they walk out of the bathroom.
“Why don’t you just stay on the couch tonight?” she suggests in a light tone. “I don’t want you to go home like this, and it’s late.”
“Yeah, okay,” he agrees wearily. He collapses onto the couch; a moment later, he says, “Hey, Sophie, I think your kettle is whistling or something.”
She looks over from where she’s pulling a few blankets out of the front closet. She drapes them over the back of the couch and goes into the kitchen, moving the kettle to a cool burner and switching off the stove.
She walks back into the living room to see Hardison struggling to arrange the blankets over his lanky body. She laughs a little and moves to help him, shaking out the blankets and laying them over his body.
His eyes slip closed, and she’s about to go back to her room when he says, “I just wish that I could play like that.”
She frowns and drifts her hand across his forehead because she thinks she can get away with it at the moment. “You can, Hardison. You’re very talented. Ridiculously talented.”
“At hacking,” he mumbles.
“You’re more than just a hacker.”
“Am I your friend, Sophie?”
She smiles softly. “Of course.”
He grins, his eyes still closed, and he looks so young. She smooths down the blankets and stops herself from pressing a kiss to his forehead. Turning off the lights, she goes back to bed and curls up deep under her covers.
Author: alinaandalion
Rating: T
Characters: Sophie, Eliot, and Hardison
Summary: Post- "The Scheherazade Job." Sophie apologizes to Hardison for helping with Nate's plan.
Notes: Written for leverage_bingo. Prompt: Hacker.
Sophie is barely able to keep from screaming at Nate for telling Hardison about the hypnosis. Especially with that arrogant smirk on his face like he deserves to be congratulated. Bastard.
She leaves before she can do anything stupid, and she’s flying on instinct, mind already turning over the possible places Hardison could be when she runs straight into Eliot. She stumbles on impact, and he grabs her arm in a firm grip; after she regains her balance, however, he doesn’t let her go.
“I just got of the phone with Hardison,” he says in a tone that would be casual if his entire body wasn’t vibrating with angry tension.
She sighs and relaxes her postures. “He told you what happened.”
“Give me one good reason.”
She furrows her eyebrows and says, “I don’t understand.”
“One good reason that you would help Nate do that to Hardison,” he growls, glaring down at her.
His fingers tighten around her arm, and she hisses at the small flare of pain. His eyes widen, and he lets her go immediately, his body shrinking down from his previous rage until he just looks so tired.
“I wasn’t exactly in on the plan,” she says quietly. “I mean, I should have guessed when Nate brought up the subject of hypnosis and which one of you would be good candidates, but…. I didn’t actually think he would do something like that.”
“But you knew before the concert,” Eliot says, his eyes narrowing.
She feels the anger and frustration bubbling back to the surface and quickly shoves it all away because none of that is going to help the situation. Besides, Eliot isn’t the problem here.
“What was I supposed to do? Nate had already hypnotized Hardison, we had already set the con in motion, and telling him would ruin all that. I thought that, well…I never considered that Nate would just tell him like that.”
“You need to tell Hardison that.”
“I know. That’s where I was going.”
He shakes his head. “Not tonight. He was furious, Sophie.”
“I know,” she murmurs, wrapping her arms across her middle.
Eliot sighs and starts to move past her; she places a hand on his arm.
“Don’t go in there and challenge him, Eliot.”
He turns back to her and asks, “Why not? You’re just going to let this go? Let him keep manipulating us?”
She flattens her fingers against his arm, keeping the pressure very light, angling her shoulders into his personal space, tilting her head to the side just a little. She hates doing this because it’s not all that different from what Nate just pulled, but she tells herself it’s for Eliot’s own good. Besides, she just needs him to calm down; she’s not going to stop him from talking to Nate if he really wants to.
She just needs to know Eliot won’t beat Nate’s face into a pulp if Eliot does go talk to him.
“If you challenge him, it’ll just make him think he’s right.” She sees the protest forming on Eliot’s lips and hurries on, keeping her tone warm but with a slight edge of command. “I’ve already spoken to him. Sometimes silence works better than words.”
“I know what you’re trying to do,” he replies quietly, taking a step back.
She lifts her chin a little defiantly. “And?”
“I’ll leave him alone.” He shakes his head. “Because I really just want to punch him.”
She laughs a little and says, “Well, he would deserve it.” She starts to turn away and turns back. “I’ll apologize to Hardison tomorrow. Give him a little time to cool down.”
“See you around, Soph.” He gives her a small smile and heads down the street.
She heaves a sigh and heads to her car to go home.
***************
She’s woken up in the middle of the night by someone beating on her door. Rubbing at her eyes, she grabs her robe from the end of her bed and walks to the door, turning on a few lights on her way. She peers through the peephole; once she catches a glimpse of Hardison, she pulls the door open.
“I need to talk to you.” He’s a little unsteady on his feet, and she just sighs and steps back.
“You’ve been drinking.” Her voice is calm, but she’s a little irritated; she’s done this too much with Nate for her to have patience for it anymore.
He walks inside as he says, “Just a little.”
He sways on the spot, and she grabs his arm; she guides him over to the couch. Leaving him there, she goes immediately to the kitchen to put some water on to boil for tea. When she gets back, he’s almost completely stretched out on the couch.
“So, what do you want to talk about, Hardison?” she asks as she sits in the chair opposite the couch, curling her feet under her legs.
He struggles to sit up but manages, and he glares at her with bleary eyes. “You helped Nate hypnotize me.”
“Not technically, no,” she replies quickly. “I didn’t know what he had done until after the fact.”
“You still didn’t tell me!” he yells, lurching forward and stopping before he left the couch. “You knew he had…had…hacked my brain, and you just went along with it. Like it was okay.”
“I didn’t know what else to do,” she says in a soft voice.
“You could have damn well told me!”
“And, what would you have done? Walked away?” She sighs and presses her fingers against her forehead; she can feel a migraine coming on.
“Maybe.” He’s settling down again, and he rubs at his eyes. “I just don’t like being used. Like I’m disposable or, I don’t know…replaceable.”
“I know,” she murmurs. “And, I’m sorry.”
He blinks. “You don’t do apologies.”
“Well, maybe I’m trying to turn over a new leaf.” She gives him a wry smile. “Now, come on. Let’s go have some tea.”
She stands up, and he makes a move to follow after her but stops. She looks back at him just as he bends over and vomits all over her floor.
When he’s done, he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and mumbles, “Sorry, I’ll just get some towels and…”
“Why don’t you go to the bathroom? Just in case you feel sick again,” she suggests, already walking into the kitchen to retrieve some towels and a cleaning spray to get the mess up.
“Wouldn’t be right,” he protests.
She shakes her head, grabs him by the arm, and helps him stand, prodding him toward the bathroom. “What wouldn’t be right is for you to get sick again on my furniture. Go on. I can handle this.”
When he leaves, she sighs and starts sopping up the mess, trying very hard to keep her own stomach from turning at the smell; she hadn’t thought he was far gone enough to vomit, but, then again, Hardison rarely drinks. She scrubs some of the cleaner into the rug and gets the rest of it out. She throws the towels away on her way to the bathroom; there is no way in hell that she will ever use them again anyway.
She knocks softly on the bathroom door and slips inside a moment later; Hardison is sitting against the opposite wall, his head between his knees. She perches on the edge of the tub and reaches over to rub his back.
“I’m sorry about the rug,” he says quietly. Then, he groans. “When will the room stop spinning?”
“Just breathe through it,” she murmurs.
It isn’t until twenty minutes later that he lifts his head and tries to get off the floor; she guides him up by his elbow and steadies him as they walk out of the bathroom.
“Why don’t you just stay on the couch tonight?” she suggests in a light tone. “I don’t want you to go home like this, and it’s late.”
“Yeah, okay,” he agrees wearily. He collapses onto the couch; a moment later, he says, “Hey, Sophie, I think your kettle is whistling or something.”
She looks over from where she’s pulling a few blankets out of the front closet. She drapes them over the back of the couch and goes into the kitchen, moving the kettle to a cool burner and switching off the stove.
She walks back into the living room to see Hardison struggling to arrange the blankets over his lanky body. She laughs a little and moves to help him, shaking out the blankets and laying them over his body.
His eyes slip closed, and she’s about to go back to her room when he says, “I just wish that I could play like that.”
She frowns and drifts her hand across his forehead because she thinks she can get away with it at the moment. “You can, Hardison. You’re very talented. Ridiculously talented.”
“At hacking,” he mumbles.
“You’re more than just a hacker.”
“Am I your friend, Sophie?”
She smiles softly. “Of course.”
He grins, his eyes still closed, and he looks so young. She smooths down the blankets and stops herself from pressing a kiss to his forehead. Turning off the lights, she goes back to bed and curls up deep under her covers.