The Season Six Job, Ch.23
Title: The Season Six Job
Characters: Nate Ford, Eliot Spencer, Alec Hardison, Parker, Sophie Deveraux, Patrick Bonnano, OC
Fandom: Leverage
Spoilers: None - takes place before Season 4 finale, they're still in Boston
Warnings: None for now. No network presidents were harmed during the writing of this fic.
Disclaimer: I do not own blah blah blah
Author's note: A sequel to 'The Occam's Razor Job', following cca one week after. (Parttwo in The Texas Mountain Laurel Series). After all this shit TNT put us
through, there was only one way to deal with it - see what The Team
would do when faced with TV Network. No need to read TORJ first, all you
need to know will be explained.
Special, special, special, special thanks to trappercreekd for Betaing :D
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***
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Okay, this wasn’t so bad. Eliot slowly exhaled his anxiety along with his fear. For the next few days they would be here, relatively safe, before they started the recon for Knudsen, and that would give him time to get it together. Hardison would do his geeky stuff with this Season Six Job, and the hacker would be occupied with that day and night. He could even hope for some silence along the way, Florence would be helping him.
They didn’t need him for anything for now, and if their luck held, it would remain until the end.
When Nate and Sophie went shopping, he might even start on the almonds; though the kitchen was connected with the rest of the room, divided only by a counter with chairs, it gave off an aura of ‘don’t disturb’ when he was in it, cooking. He calculated that he would be able to be busy in the kitchen for one hour before he needed to rest - much better than a few days before when he almost passed out during lunch, and needed to lie down twice while preparing the meal.
He stood up, putting Orion on Hardison. The hacker left his tablet on the table and just sat there with his eyes closed; it seemed that even those few buttons he pressed were making his headache worse. He sneezed instantly, muttered a curse, and clutched his head. Orion snuggled closer.
“Where the hell are you going?” Nate looked at him.
“I’ll see what we have in the fridge, and make a list,” he said taking his juice with him. “I’ll make something to eat before you get back from shopping.”
“Ah, I don’t think you’ll have time for that,” Nate said. “Sit, we are not finished here.”
“I don’t need to participate in all the geeky things about ratings, YouTube and viewership - I’ll listen from the kitchen.”
Nate’s smile grew wider. “Sit, please.”
He sighed but sat down.
“If I recall correctly, and I do,” Nate said slowly, “Florence said one time that her fans, those who are commenting on the news right now, are gathered in groups all over the web, on different social media. Twitter, Tumblr, LiveJournal, Facebook…”
“Look, I see your mouth moving, but I only hear 'blah blah’ coming out. I have no idea what those Twimbly things are, so unless you have something for me to do, I’m out of here, okay?”
“Good you mentioned that - because I have something for you to do.”
“What?”
“Everything.”
At that, even Florence stopped biting her nails. He stared at Nate, not liking his smile, not liking it at all, while terrible suspicion started to grow in his head.
“Nate…” he said just that, half question, half warning.
“Hardison will be here to help, but I want him to rest as much as he can, and what little time he can spend typing, to do his search for info on Knudsen. You agree that’s more important, right? But I need someone who will handle this part with the fans.”
His vocal cords were strangely wooden, he said nothing.
“It happens that you’re the resident expert on Facebook, by happy chance,” Nate went on, with the same smile. “Florence will show you all the Facebook groups that you need to pay attention to, so I suggest you focus on them.”
He cleared his throat. “You want me to type?!” He summed up all that shit in one word, filling it with as much acid as he could spit. “Why can’t Sophie and Parker do that?!”
“Because you’re the only one, except Florence, that watched the majority of the episodes, and you’re still watching it - and because I know that when I told you to watch it, you did it, thoroughly, knowing its importance. You can walk among them and play a rabid fan - the two of them can’t. ”
He stared at him in disbelief, noticing how cautious Hardison suddenly was; except for a grin, he was silent, just watching them both in turns.
“And what…” His voice betrayed him, he stopped for a moment just to breathe, deeply regretting the loss of the oxygen mask. “How am I supposed…? What the hell should I do with Facebook fans?”
“It’s called grifting.”
“Nope, I can’t.” He crossed his arms and glared at Nate. “I’m insecure and scared, remember? Won’t do it.”
“Eliot…”
“You don’t understand… I made a fake account just for Betsy, I’m not on Facebook. I have no idea what people do there, the only thing I know how to do is to return a gift for Farmville! That’s the only fucking interaction!”
“First thing, find the groups. Second, join them. Third, mingle, post, talk, read what they say, adapt. It’s not any different than infiltrating an enemy base, for crying out loud, it’s not nuclear physics!”
“I wouldn’t have problems with nuclear physics, it’s logical! Groups of screaming people… women… freak me out, there’s nothing logical in crazy!”
“Hey!” Florence and Hardison spat at the same time. “Hold your tongue, man,” Hardison glared. “Fandoms and communities are not crazy, they are just devoted. And loyal.”
“Yeah, geek boy, there’s nothing crazy about dressing up in plastic costumes and skirts, right? Playing out the scenes from movies and series… Grownups screaming and running around with plastic weapons? Nothing crazy, my ass.” He turned to Nate again. “Florence can do it. She can make a fake account, and do all of that much faster - and you can’t say she’s not an expert among M7 fans. She… she is their fucking mother, she created ‘em!”
“That’s why she’ll be helping you….” Nate hesitated, studying him. “But she can’t do one thing, Eliot… We need a commander for the legion. We need them organized and directed in the direction we want them to go, to be a force that will help us, and not destroy our efforts. And you are the one who can do it.”
Unbelievable. Un-fucking-believable.
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***
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“When do we start?” Florence asked when Hardison went to prepare Eliot’s laptop, and Nate and Sophie started a private, quiet conversation.
“As soon as you list all the important groups, I’ll make him a new account. It would be suspicious if he appears suddenly, so I’ll make his account in groups look like it's a few months old. With over one thousand members, the admins will think he was just inactive, and he came back after the news of the cancellation. After that, you’re on your own.”
Eliot still sat stupefied.
Florence slowly got up. “No need to hurry. Nate, your upstairs bathroom…anybody need it?”
Nate just waved his hand, and she took one of her bags, passing by Parker and Orion engaged in a battle of wills over the red dot.
She tried to keep her steps slow as she climbed the stairs. She tried to smile at Sophie, who followed her with those dark, deep eyes from the moment she spoke. She really tried not to look like she was running away to hide.
When the doors were locked, she sat on the floor, hugged her shins and moaned.
Crying would help her, but her eyes were dry.
Too much. Her teeth clattered. Too much of everything. First, she had been slammed into a wall, then she found out that the Mob wanted her dead, and finally, Nate had just ruined every chance for M7. There was only a limited number of shocks she could endure with a smile.
Surprisingly, she managed to keep calm after she almost died, yet she would never forget Eliot turning in less than a second and striking in the same move. One would think that Death was terrifying; no, Death had calm, emotionless eyes. It didn’t matter that those eyes immediately filled with shock and fear, no, only that first moment was important. Death in action. It took all her control not to show him how frightened she really had been, how that outburst of violence shook her. Because it wasn’t his fault. It really wasn’t.
All of a sudden, all her clever plots, action scenes, fights and shootings felt so childish and false - she saw the real nature of violence. And it wasn’t rage. It was efficacy. Cold, calm, practical. That was terrifying.
He did warn her. He tried to tell her she might face things she wouldn’t be able to handle.
She meant everything she said to him, but it was one thing to babble, still in shock, about how great was to know, at last, what that looked like - what violence really looked like - and something completely different to let herself feel it. And she continued with that, for him, because she saw the despair in his eyes. It wasn’t his fault.
Oh God, Sophie would know, Sophie could see through her, the grifter could feel how her words in the briefing were forced and empty, just a mask she put on her face to hide behind.
She jumped to her feet, washed her hair with quick movements, washed her face with cold water, and tried to glue a smile on her face again. It didn’t work. She stared at a crooked, false grimace.
The rest of the briefing could justify her bad mood, she decided - there was no need to pretend she was well. She just had to hide what, exactly, bothered her. She drew in one shaky breath. All those dead in Estrella now became real, not just a note in the news, now that she saw a killer in his eyes. That one second, one long, cold, endless second when she stared into Death.
She put a towel on her head, straightened up, and opened the door.
And jumped back with a suppressed cry.
The android stood right there, a few inches from the door, motionless, her eyes covered by large black glasses; Florence was pretty sure that Parker hadn't moved during the entire time she was in there.
“Parker,” she gasped. “You need the bathroom? You should call out, or knock, I would come out faster-”
“You aren’t heading for Nate’s window? You’re not that type, and it’s a two story fall.”
“What?”
“You ran away.” She tilted her head, two black mirrors hiding her eyes. “I know running away.”
Right, Parker, of all people, could see that? As far as she knew until now, the girl was barely able to read basic emotions.
“If you don’t want somebody to notice, don’t clutch your bag at your ribs on the side of your dominate hand, and don’t lower your eyes. Smaller steps, one third slower, and more flexibility in the knees is also useful. And never smile. Try to look thoughtful, or bored.”
Florence stared at her. Thoughtfully. “Can you”-she waved her hand at her face-“take them off?”
“Nope. Headache. Everything’s too bright,” Parker slowly reached with her hand, waited to see if she would flinch, and patted her on her upper arm, slowly, three times. Florence blinked at that; the thief did it carefully, with concentration.
“Thank you, Parker.” She figured it was an encouragement, at the last moment. “I already feel better.”
She said the right thing, Parker smiled. “Nate is scary. When he creeps you out, remember he never loses. You can worry or not, but in the end, it all ends well. It always does.”
That reminded her of her talk with Eliot, about winning, how refusing to lose was the only way, and she clutched her bag. The dark glasses turned down to her hands, and she released her grip with a sigh.
“You are all scary,” she darted a nervous smile.
“Hardison isn’t.”
No, he wasn’t. She knew his type, she was surrounded by young, brilliant people. He wasn’t dark and deadly. He wasn’t… she shifted uncomfortably under the android’s invisible gaze, reminding herself to be more cautious in front of her. Parker could read her too, just differently - it seemed they all were experts at noticing a different set of tells. Together, they were a terrifying bunch.
“He keeps us alive, and he won’t let them get you.”
“Hardison?”
“Duh.” Somehow, she knew Parker rolled her eyes. “Eliot, silly. That’s what he does.”
Was the thief actually trying to explain to her what happened in the back room, or she was thinking that the mobster threat was troubling her the most? She wasn’t sure.
“He growls, but he isn’t biting,” the thief continued. “He is domesticated, and on a leash. Only trespassers have to worry, not the people in the yard - and you are inside, now.”
That put a smile on her face.
“And what happens if the head of the house isn’t near?” she asked. “Who’s holding the leash?”
“Oh, Nate doesn’t hold the leash, ever. Eliot does.”
Parker smiled once more, and passed by her, heading for the stairs. She silently followed.
It wasn’t the time to ask her what would happen if that leash ever snapped.
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***
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Hardison’s eyes - his eye - practically glowed when he brought him his laptop. The hacker had pulled out one more from who-knows-where; the damn room swarmed with laptops.
He knew from the beginning that something was strange about Nate’s and Sophie’s going to buy groceries, but now he got a pretty good idea why they felt that retreat would be a clever thing to do. Hardison was silent, with an almost angelic aura around him, and only that damn eye gloated in mocking, which he didn’t even pretend to hide. And he was also becoming smarter - the hacker didn’t say anything, and he couldn’t react, couldn’t explode at him.
“While you’re busy with the… job… Parker and I will make something to eat,” Hardison said gently.
No you won’t.
“No, we won’t,” Parker said passing by the sofa. She had Nate’s black glasses covering her eyes after she returned with Florence from upstairs - her hangover was obviously worse - and her steps were slow, without the usual bounce. “Wake me up when they return.” She proceeded to the bed.
He opened the laptop. Then closed it, and closed his eyes.
Well, this was silence, if nothing else.
Hardison was at dining table with his job, and his typing was painfully slow. On the opposite side of Hardison and kitchen, he could hear the pitter-patter of Florence’s feet; she was busy with her bags, piled under the two windows, along with the rest of the stuff. She was quiet and invisible, and she carefully avoided coming even near his sightlines. And they were supposed to work together on this shit; well, this would be a day to remember. Especially when the urge to curse was the only thing on his mind.
He should’ve been satisfied with her retreat; after all, her too normal behavior was troubling him. The danger of acting too relaxed with them - with him - accepting them as normal, was now pretty much solved. At least, now she knew what was lurking deep inside him. He wanted that, though he would've chosen any other way than that hit to show that to her.
He opened his eyes and looked at her; she was leaning over the bags and digging through the clothes she had in there. He had a perfect view of her ass and long legs, and he tried to look at her like he would look at any other fine looking woman, noticing all her attributes in one expert glance. His attempt ended when she straightened up, and only thing left in his mind was her shoulders. She was hunching again, slightly, a defensive mechanism he noticed before. Fuck, that wasn’t good.
Liking her would be a disaster. Liking her as in liking her. Especially now. He could, for a change, like her as a nice, lovable client, right? That would do no harm, and it could even help with the battle for the damn show. Not too emotionally engaged, but caring. Yep, that’d do.
He closed his eyes again, and started to think - and he needed an effort to do that - about this trap he fell into. Somehow he had a feeling it was a set up from the beginning.
Did Nate do this so he had something to work on and to occupy him in case he wasn’t able to do the hitter’s job? Or did he do this to push him into action, to show him what he would have to do unless he got himself together? Both versions were bad. And both, probably, were true.
Damn.
Well, if he wanted to function after the two day deadline, he should try to rest as much as he could - and that meant going back to bed. He picked up the laptop, brought the juice along, settled in the bed, half sitting up, and went to see what Hardison had done to his new Facebook page. As if one wasn’t too much already.
He never checked his wall, he always went straight into the game, trying to spend the least amount time he could - and now his new wall was full of information, pictures, events. Hardison probably used an already-made fake ID, just as he did for Alice White. He traced posts all the way back to 2011. What a bunch of useless crap… he sighed and resisted making a comment, scrolling through all of it, remembering the most important facts, in case somebody asked something. At least the hacker had enough decency not to put any picture as his profile picture, leaving it up to him.
This was just recon for the job, he reminded himself, just like scouting or monitoring… only virtual. Right. He sighed again. That drew a low chuckle from the dining table, but when he glared at Hardison, he pretended to be busy with his own screen.
Just then he realized that there was no clear info about his sex - the name was neutral as well. His identity had many sport links, but also a bunch of motivational crap with roses and deep thoughts written on sunsets. Dear Lord.
He tried to concentrate on that, when Florence came, bringing her laptop along with a chair.
“Are you ready to start?” she asked lightly, sounding as she was looking forward to it - the best sign that showed she wasn’t. Welcome to the club.
“No.” That drew an almost earnest smile.
She placed the chair so they were both facing the screens over the sofa in front of them, so she could peek at his laptop.
“I’m sending you a list of the biggest, most important groups of M7 fans on Facebook - the first on the list is our main target.” She typed quickly.
“What should I expect?” he asked her, noticing how she avoided looking at him. He expected some postponed reaction after everything that happened today, and he made a mental note to keep an eye on her, and maybe, if necessary, nudge Sophie to talk to her.
“Look, they are fans. They love everything connected with the show. They post pictures, they make banners, fanvids, they write fanfiction, they vote in polls - nobody expects you to do any of that, of course, but you’ll be there, commenting on their pictures, asking how their pets are doing, talking with them… as one of them. Do you want to be guy, or… a woman?
“What?”
“Be a guy, not all of them are women - there is a significant number of viewers who like the show not because of the seven guys, but because it’s entertaining. That will give you a dose of authority. What picture do you want to use? We can’t put your face there, right? Don’t use one of the seven, it will draw only admirers of that particular one - a recurring character that everybody loves is always a good choice.”
He sighed. “You’re babbling again.”
“And you’re sulking. We are, at least, consistent, right?” she smiled and pointed a finger at one picture. That unhappy smile again. “Here, use this one. Just last year we managed to get him on the show, and we’re no longer known as ‘the only geek show that doesn’t have Mark Sheppard as a bad guy’.”
He eyed the guy, disliking him immediately. “He’s half bald already.”
She looked at him the way Hardison used to glare when he commented on his geekness - he called it geeky frown number nine: unable to sort out all thirty-seven sentences that ran at the same time and vocalize them as just one.
“He is…” she stopped. Yep, he was right. Thirty-seven at least. “Just put this picture, okay? And don’t pay any attention if the Supernatural Horde tries to lure you onto their side, just be polite. We've been fighting with them for years now, we are always in the finales of all the voting polls and the battles we fought are epic.”
He exhaled and ran both hands through his hair. Information overload. And not just that - that was information he didn’t want to know, ever. Like, ever.
“Two guys with demons and vampires? What do they have to do with your show?”
“Rivalry. Their fan base is huge, millions, literally, but we are…I mean, my fans, they are persistent. They vote for hours, days, weeks, they are simply not stopping.”
“And why would they try to lure me to their side?”
“Because of Mark Sheppard,” she said.
He watched her. She blinked once.
“You don’t know…He's Crowley…” she swallowed all thirty-seven sentences and smiled. “Hardison?” she turned to the hacker for help.
Hardison was staring at them, elbows on the table, not trying to hide how much he enjoyed this.
“Now you see what I’ve been living with for years,” he said. “He still thinks that Vulcans are in Star Wars, you know?”
“How’s your headache?” he asked, politely. “Aren’t you supposed to have problems focusing?”
“Surprisingly, distant objects are not double, I can see you without crossing my eyes… the near ones, however, are troubling.”
“Focus on Knudsen,” he growled and looked at the screen again. “If Supernatural fans are the Horde, what’s our name?”
“The Cavalry. In fact, they are not exactly a Horde… that’s the name we gave them to mock them. They call themselves Family, and they are a warm, nice fandom. I like them a lot.”
He sighed. “Warm and nice fandom, I get it.”
He opened the group she'd stated was the most important and looked at all the posts, each with dozens of comments. He didn’t sigh this time, Hardison would chuckle again.
“So, that’s it,” Florence said. “Start reading, and slowly, comment, post, mingle. I’ll be here if you need any help. I’ll work on my blog, and create a few more IDs. I’ll take Twitter for now, and monitor reactions.”
He just nodded.
He glanced at the huge banner. All seven guys were shirtless.
Dear Lord.
Well, there was no use in hesitating, and the sooner he started, the sooner it would be finished. He murmured a curse, shook his head once, still not believing he was doing this, and typed:
‘Hi there. I wasn’t posting much since I joined, but now I have to; this cancellation crap is awful. Any new info?’
There. Not so hard, he told himself. He still had no idea what to do, but he would figure that out, with time. He had to see what kind of people were in the group, for starters, and read their- a soft ping, a notification jumped up. They were quick in commenting.
‘Hi :D Good to have you and welcome back - we are in desperate need of more voters - here’s the links for important polls. The PVA is covered for now, can you vote on the others? <3 Supernatural and Castle are pressing hard, their numbers are rising quickly.’
Florence peeked to look at their reply.
“The Admin. Boss Lady is in charge, do everything she told you. Go vote. Or, say you’re going to vote - be helpful.”
“Yes, Ma’am,” he sighed. That got him one almost not unhappy smile in return. Then he typed: ‘Yes Ma’am, I can vote.’
It took only two seconds, and one stupid 'heard' came as a reply. Yet, judging by the response of the chief - and he knew fast responses in the middle of a battle, and their importance - they were fighting hard, and they were outnumbered.
He didn't expect fighting for them to be his first step, and that, slightly, lessened the awful feeling of all this Facebook crap being completely useless. He could fight. It didn't matter that it would be fighting by voting and with a mouse - the feeling was important.
That Supernatural and Castle were going to get their asses kicked.
He smiled.
Under the seven guys, huge letters said: Magnificent Seven: Vote & Promote Group.
Characters: Nate Ford, Eliot Spencer, Alec Hardison, Parker, Sophie Deveraux, Patrick Bonnano, OC
Fandom: Leverage
Spoilers: None - takes place before Season 4 finale, they're still in Boston
Warnings: None for now. No network presidents were harmed during the writing of this fic.
Disclaimer: I do not own blah blah blah
Author's note: A sequel to 'The Occam's Razor Job', following cca one week after. (Parttwo in The Texas Mountain Laurel Series). After all this shit TNT put us
through, there was only one way to deal with it - see what The Team
would do when faced with TV Network. No need to read TORJ first, all you
need to know will be explained.
Special, special, special, special thanks to trappercreekd for Betaing :D
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***
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Okay, this wasn’t so bad. Eliot slowly exhaled his anxiety along with his fear. For the next few days they would be here, relatively safe, before they started the recon for Knudsen, and that would give him time to get it together. Hardison would do his geeky stuff with this Season Six Job, and the hacker would be occupied with that day and night. He could even hope for some silence along the way, Florence would be helping him.
They didn’t need him for anything for now, and if their luck held, it would remain until the end.
When Nate and Sophie went shopping, he might even start on the almonds; though the kitchen was connected with the rest of the room, divided only by a counter with chairs, it gave off an aura of ‘don’t disturb’ when he was in it, cooking. He calculated that he would be able to be busy in the kitchen for one hour before he needed to rest - much better than a few days before when he almost passed out during lunch, and needed to lie down twice while preparing the meal.
He stood up, putting Orion on Hardison. The hacker left his tablet on the table and just sat there with his eyes closed; it seemed that even those few buttons he pressed were making his headache worse. He sneezed instantly, muttered a curse, and clutched his head. Orion snuggled closer.
“Where the hell are you going?” Nate looked at him.
“I’ll see what we have in the fridge, and make a list,” he said taking his juice with him. “I’ll make something to eat before you get back from shopping.”
“Ah, I don’t think you’ll have time for that,” Nate said. “Sit, we are not finished here.”
“I don’t need to participate in all the geeky things about ratings, YouTube and viewership - I’ll listen from the kitchen.”
Nate’s smile grew wider. “Sit, please.”
He sighed but sat down.
“If I recall correctly, and I do,” Nate said slowly, “Florence said one time that her fans, those who are commenting on the news right now, are gathered in groups all over the web, on different social media. Twitter, Tumblr, LiveJournal, Facebook…”
“Look, I see your mouth moving, but I only hear 'blah blah’ coming out. I have no idea what those Twimbly things are, so unless you have something for me to do, I’m out of here, okay?”
“Good you mentioned that - because I have something for you to do.”
“What?”
“Everything.”
At that, even Florence stopped biting her nails. He stared at Nate, not liking his smile, not liking it at all, while terrible suspicion started to grow in his head.
“Nate…” he said just that, half question, half warning.
“Hardison will be here to help, but I want him to rest as much as he can, and what little time he can spend typing, to do his search for info on Knudsen. You agree that’s more important, right? But I need someone who will handle this part with the fans.”
His vocal cords were strangely wooden, he said nothing.
“It happens that you’re the resident expert on Facebook, by happy chance,” Nate went on, with the same smile. “Florence will show you all the Facebook groups that you need to pay attention to, so I suggest you focus on them.”
He cleared his throat. “You want me to type?!” He summed up all that shit in one word, filling it with as much acid as he could spit. “Why can’t Sophie and Parker do that?!”
“Because you’re the only one, except Florence, that watched the majority of the episodes, and you’re still watching it - and because I know that when I told you to watch it, you did it, thoroughly, knowing its importance. You can walk among them and play a rabid fan - the two of them can’t. ”
He stared at him in disbelief, noticing how cautious Hardison suddenly was; except for a grin, he was silent, just watching them both in turns.
“And what…” His voice betrayed him, he stopped for a moment just to breathe, deeply regretting the loss of the oxygen mask. “How am I supposed…? What the hell should I do with Facebook fans?”
“It’s called grifting.”
“Nope, I can’t.” He crossed his arms and glared at Nate. “I’m insecure and scared, remember? Won’t do it.”
“Eliot…”
“You don’t understand… I made a fake account just for Betsy, I’m not on Facebook. I have no idea what people do there, the only thing I know how to do is to return a gift for Farmville! That’s the only fucking interaction!”
“First thing, find the groups. Second, join them. Third, mingle, post, talk, read what they say, adapt. It’s not any different than infiltrating an enemy base, for crying out loud, it’s not nuclear physics!”
“I wouldn’t have problems with nuclear physics, it’s logical! Groups of screaming people… women… freak me out, there’s nothing logical in crazy!”
“Hey!” Florence and Hardison spat at the same time. “Hold your tongue, man,” Hardison glared. “Fandoms and communities are not crazy, they are just devoted. And loyal.”
“Yeah, geek boy, there’s nothing crazy about dressing up in plastic costumes and skirts, right? Playing out the scenes from movies and series… Grownups screaming and running around with plastic weapons? Nothing crazy, my ass.” He turned to Nate again. “Florence can do it. She can make a fake account, and do all of that much faster - and you can’t say she’s not an expert among M7 fans. She… she is their fucking mother, she created ‘em!”
“That’s why she’ll be helping you….” Nate hesitated, studying him. “But she can’t do one thing, Eliot… We need a commander for the legion. We need them organized and directed in the direction we want them to go, to be a force that will help us, and not destroy our efforts. And you are the one who can do it.”
Unbelievable. Un-fucking-believable.
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***
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“When do we start?” Florence asked when Hardison went to prepare Eliot’s laptop, and Nate and Sophie started a private, quiet conversation.
“As soon as you list all the important groups, I’ll make him a new account. It would be suspicious if he appears suddenly, so I’ll make his account in groups look like it's a few months old. With over one thousand members, the admins will think he was just inactive, and he came back after the news of the cancellation. After that, you’re on your own.”
Eliot still sat stupefied.
Florence slowly got up. “No need to hurry. Nate, your upstairs bathroom…anybody need it?”
Nate just waved his hand, and she took one of her bags, passing by Parker and Orion engaged in a battle of wills over the red dot.
She tried to keep her steps slow as she climbed the stairs. She tried to smile at Sophie, who followed her with those dark, deep eyes from the moment she spoke. She really tried not to look like she was running away to hide.
When the doors were locked, she sat on the floor, hugged her shins and moaned.
Crying would help her, but her eyes were dry.
Too much. Her teeth clattered. Too much of everything. First, she had been slammed into a wall, then she found out that the Mob wanted her dead, and finally, Nate had just ruined every chance for M7. There was only a limited number of shocks she could endure with a smile.
Surprisingly, she managed to keep calm after she almost died, yet she would never forget Eliot turning in less than a second and striking in the same move. One would think that Death was terrifying; no, Death had calm, emotionless eyes. It didn’t matter that those eyes immediately filled with shock and fear, no, only that first moment was important. Death in action. It took all her control not to show him how frightened she really had been, how that outburst of violence shook her. Because it wasn’t his fault. It really wasn’t.
All of a sudden, all her clever plots, action scenes, fights and shootings felt so childish and false - she saw the real nature of violence. And it wasn’t rage. It was efficacy. Cold, calm, practical. That was terrifying.
He did warn her. He tried to tell her she might face things she wouldn’t be able to handle.
She meant everything she said to him, but it was one thing to babble, still in shock, about how great was to know, at last, what that looked like - what violence really looked like - and something completely different to let herself feel it. And she continued with that, for him, because she saw the despair in his eyes. It wasn’t his fault.
Oh God, Sophie would know, Sophie could see through her, the grifter could feel how her words in the briefing were forced and empty, just a mask she put on her face to hide behind.
She jumped to her feet, washed her hair with quick movements, washed her face with cold water, and tried to glue a smile on her face again. It didn’t work. She stared at a crooked, false grimace.
The rest of the briefing could justify her bad mood, she decided - there was no need to pretend she was well. She just had to hide what, exactly, bothered her. She drew in one shaky breath. All those dead in Estrella now became real, not just a note in the news, now that she saw a killer in his eyes. That one second, one long, cold, endless second when she stared into Death.
She put a towel on her head, straightened up, and opened the door.
And jumped back with a suppressed cry.
The android stood right there, a few inches from the door, motionless, her eyes covered by large black glasses; Florence was pretty sure that Parker hadn't moved during the entire time she was in there.
“Parker,” she gasped. “You need the bathroom? You should call out, or knock, I would come out faster-”
“You aren’t heading for Nate’s window? You’re not that type, and it’s a two story fall.”
“What?”
“You ran away.” She tilted her head, two black mirrors hiding her eyes. “I know running away.”
Right, Parker, of all people, could see that? As far as she knew until now, the girl was barely able to read basic emotions.
“If you don’t want somebody to notice, don’t clutch your bag at your ribs on the side of your dominate hand, and don’t lower your eyes. Smaller steps, one third slower, and more flexibility in the knees is also useful. And never smile. Try to look thoughtful, or bored.”
Florence stared at her. Thoughtfully. “Can you”-she waved her hand at her face-“take them off?”
“Nope. Headache. Everything’s too bright,” Parker slowly reached with her hand, waited to see if she would flinch, and patted her on her upper arm, slowly, three times. Florence blinked at that; the thief did it carefully, with concentration.
“Thank you, Parker.” She figured it was an encouragement, at the last moment. “I already feel better.”
She said the right thing, Parker smiled. “Nate is scary. When he creeps you out, remember he never loses. You can worry or not, but in the end, it all ends well. It always does.”
That reminded her of her talk with Eliot, about winning, how refusing to lose was the only way, and she clutched her bag. The dark glasses turned down to her hands, and she released her grip with a sigh.
“You are all scary,” she darted a nervous smile.
“Hardison isn’t.”
No, he wasn’t. She knew his type, she was surrounded by young, brilliant people. He wasn’t dark and deadly. He wasn’t… she shifted uncomfortably under the android’s invisible gaze, reminding herself to be more cautious in front of her. Parker could read her too, just differently - it seemed they all were experts at noticing a different set of tells. Together, they were a terrifying bunch.
“He keeps us alive, and he won’t let them get you.”
“Hardison?”
“Duh.” Somehow, she knew Parker rolled her eyes. “Eliot, silly. That’s what he does.”
Was the thief actually trying to explain to her what happened in the back room, or she was thinking that the mobster threat was troubling her the most? She wasn’t sure.
“He growls, but he isn’t biting,” the thief continued. “He is domesticated, and on a leash. Only trespassers have to worry, not the people in the yard - and you are inside, now.”
That put a smile on her face.
“And what happens if the head of the house isn’t near?” she asked. “Who’s holding the leash?”
“Oh, Nate doesn’t hold the leash, ever. Eliot does.”
Parker smiled once more, and passed by her, heading for the stairs. She silently followed.
It wasn’t the time to ask her what would happen if that leash ever snapped.
.
.
.
***
.
Hardison’s eyes - his eye - practically glowed when he brought him his laptop. The hacker had pulled out one more from who-knows-where; the damn room swarmed with laptops.
He knew from the beginning that something was strange about Nate’s and Sophie’s going to buy groceries, but now he got a pretty good idea why they felt that retreat would be a clever thing to do. Hardison was silent, with an almost angelic aura around him, and only that damn eye gloated in mocking, which he didn’t even pretend to hide. And he was also becoming smarter - the hacker didn’t say anything, and he couldn’t react, couldn’t explode at him.
“While you’re busy with the… job… Parker and I will make something to eat,” Hardison said gently.
No you won’t.
“No, we won’t,” Parker said passing by the sofa. She had Nate’s black glasses covering her eyes after she returned with Florence from upstairs - her hangover was obviously worse - and her steps were slow, without the usual bounce. “Wake me up when they return.” She proceeded to the bed.
He opened the laptop. Then closed it, and closed his eyes.
Well, this was silence, if nothing else.
Hardison was at dining table with his job, and his typing was painfully slow. On the opposite side of Hardison and kitchen, he could hear the pitter-patter of Florence’s feet; she was busy with her bags, piled under the two windows, along with the rest of the stuff. She was quiet and invisible, and she carefully avoided coming even near his sightlines. And they were supposed to work together on this shit; well, this would be a day to remember. Especially when the urge to curse was the only thing on his mind.
He should’ve been satisfied with her retreat; after all, her too normal behavior was troubling him. The danger of acting too relaxed with them - with him - accepting them as normal, was now pretty much solved. At least, now she knew what was lurking deep inside him. He wanted that, though he would've chosen any other way than that hit to show that to her.
He opened his eyes and looked at her; she was leaning over the bags and digging through the clothes she had in there. He had a perfect view of her ass and long legs, and he tried to look at her like he would look at any other fine looking woman, noticing all her attributes in one expert glance. His attempt ended when she straightened up, and only thing left in his mind was her shoulders. She was hunching again, slightly, a defensive mechanism he noticed before. Fuck, that wasn’t good.
Liking her would be a disaster. Liking her as in liking her. Especially now. He could, for a change, like her as a nice, lovable client, right? That would do no harm, and it could even help with the battle for the damn show. Not too emotionally engaged, but caring. Yep, that’d do.
He closed his eyes again, and started to think - and he needed an effort to do that - about this trap he fell into. Somehow he had a feeling it was a set up from the beginning.
Did Nate do this so he had something to work on and to occupy him in case he wasn’t able to do the hitter’s job? Or did he do this to push him into action, to show him what he would have to do unless he got himself together? Both versions were bad. And both, probably, were true.
Damn.
Well, if he wanted to function after the two day deadline, he should try to rest as much as he could - and that meant going back to bed. He picked up the laptop, brought the juice along, settled in the bed, half sitting up, and went to see what Hardison had done to his new Facebook page. As if one wasn’t too much already.
He never checked his wall, he always went straight into the game, trying to spend the least amount time he could - and now his new wall was full of information, pictures, events. Hardison probably used an already-made fake ID, just as he did for Alice White. He traced posts all the way back to 2011. What a bunch of useless crap… he sighed and resisted making a comment, scrolling through all of it, remembering the most important facts, in case somebody asked something. At least the hacker had enough decency not to put any picture as his profile picture, leaving it up to him.
This was just recon for the job, he reminded himself, just like scouting or monitoring… only virtual. Right. He sighed again. That drew a low chuckle from the dining table, but when he glared at Hardison, he pretended to be busy with his own screen.
Just then he realized that there was no clear info about his sex - the name was neutral as well. His identity had many sport links, but also a bunch of motivational crap with roses and deep thoughts written on sunsets. Dear Lord.
He tried to concentrate on that, when Florence came, bringing her laptop along with a chair.
“Are you ready to start?” she asked lightly, sounding as she was looking forward to it - the best sign that showed she wasn’t. Welcome to the club.
“No.” That drew an almost earnest smile.
She placed the chair so they were both facing the screens over the sofa in front of them, so she could peek at his laptop.
“I’m sending you a list of the biggest, most important groups of M7 fans on Facebook - the first on the list is our main target.” She typed quickly.
“What should I expect?” he asked her, noticing how she avoided looking at him. He expected some postponed reaction after everything that happened today, and he made a mental note to keep an eye on her, and maybe, if necessary, nudge Sophie to talk to her.
“Look, they are fans. They love everything connected with the show. They post pictures, they make banners, fanvids, they write fanfiction, they vote in polls - nobody expects you to do any of that, of course, but you’ll be there, commenting on their pictures, asking how their pets are doing, talking with them… as one of them. Do you want to be guy, or… a woman?
“What?”
“Be a guy, not all of them are women - there is a significant number of viewers who like the show not because of the seven guys, but because it’s entertaining. That will give you a dose of authority. What picture do you want to use? We can’t put your face there, right? Don’t use one of the seven, it will draw only admirers of that particular one - a recurring character that everybody loves is always a good choice.”
He sighed. “You’re babbling again.”
“And you’re sulking. We are, at least, consistent, right?” she smiled and pointed a finger at one picture. That unhappy smile again. “Here, use this one. Just last year we managed to get him on the show, and we’re no longer known as ‘the only geek show that doesn’t have Mark Sheppard as a bad guy’.”
He eyed the guy, disliking him immediately. “He’s half bald already.”
She looked at him the way Hardison used to glare when he commented on his geekness - he called it geeky frown number nine: unable to sort out all thirty-seven sentences that ran at the same time and vocalize them as just one.
“He is…” she stopped. Yep, he was right. Thirty-seven at least. “Just put this picture, okay? And don’t pay any attention if the Supernatural Horde tries to lure you onto their side, just be polite. We've been fighting with them for years now, we are always in the finales of all the voting polls and the battles we fought are epic.”
He exhaled and ran both hands through his hair. Information overload. And not just that - that was information he didn’t want to know, ever. Like, ever.
“Two guys with demons and vampires? What do they have to do with your show?”
“Rivalry. Their fan base is huge, millions, literally, but we are…I mean, my fans, they are persistent. They vote for hours, days, weeks, they are simply not stopping.”
“And why would they try to lure me to their side?”
“Because of Mark Sheppard,” she said.
He watched her. She blinked once.
“You don’t know…He's Crowley…” she swallowed all thirty-seven sentences and smiled. “Hardison?” she turned to the hacker for help.
Hardison was staring at them, elbows on the table, not trying to hide how much he enjoyed this.
“Now you see what I’ve been living with for years,” he said. “He still thinks that Vulcans are in Star Wars, you know?”
“How’s your headache?” he asked, politely. “Aren’t you supposed to have problems focusing?”
“Surprisingly, distant objects are not double, I can see you without crossing my eyes… the near ones, however, are troubling.”
“Focus on Knudsen,” he growled and looked at the screen again. “If Supernatural fans are the Horde, what’s our name?”
“The Cavalry. In fact, they are not exactly a Horde… that’s the name we gave them to mock them. They call themselves Family, and they are a warm, nice fandom. I like them a lot.”
He sighed. “Warm and nice fandom, I get it.”
He opened the group she'd stated was the most important and looked at all the posts, each with dozens of comments. He didn’t sigh this time, Hardison would chuckle again.
“So, that’s it,” Florence said. “Start reading, and slowly, comment, post, mingle. I’ll be here if you need any help. I’ll work on my blog, and create a few more IDs. I’ll take Twitter for now, and monitor reactions.”
He just nodded.
He glanced at the huge banner. All seven guys were shirtless.
Dear Lord.
Well, there was no use in hesitating, and the sooner he started, the sooner it would be finished. He murmured a curse, shook his head once, still not believing he was doing this, and typed:
‘Hi there. I wasn’t posting much since I joined, but now I have to; this cancellation crap is awful. Any new info?’
There. Not so hard, he told himself. He still had no idea what to do, but he would figure that out, with time. He had to see what kind of people were in the group, for starters, and read their- a soft ping, a notification jumped up. They were quick in commenting.
‘Hi :D Good to have you and welcome back - we are in desperate need of more voters - here’s the links for important polls. The PVA is covered for now, can you vote on the others? <3 Supernatural and Castle are pressing hard, their numbers are rising quickly.’
Florence peeked to look at their reply.
“The Admin. Boss Lady is in charge, do everything she told you. Go vote. Or, say you’re going to vote - be helpful.”
“Yes, Ma’am,” he sighed. That got him one almost not unhappy smile in return. Then he typed: ‘Yes Ma’am, I can vote.’
It took only two seconds, and one stupid 'heard' came as a reply. Yet, judging by the response of the chief - and he knew fast responses in the middle of a battle, and their importance - they were fighting hard, and they were outnumbered.
He didn't expect fighting for them to be his first step, and that, slightly, lessened the awful feeling of all this Facebook crap being completely useless. He could fight. It didn't matter that it would be fighting by voting and with a mouse - the feeling was important.
That Supernatural and Castle were going to get their asses kicked.
He smiled.
Under the seven guys, huge letters said: Magnificent Seven: Vote & Promote Group.