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jendavisTitle: I Still Remember
Beta(s): amuly ♥, nevardevereaux ♥
Artists: cybel ♥, ryuutchi ♥
Characters/Pairings: Alec Hardison/Eliot Spencer
Rating: PG-13
Genre: Drama, Post-Series
Warnings/spoilers: None.
Summary: Alec's been running his own crew for five years when Eliot reappears- on the other side of a job. Remembering someone, it turns out, isn't the same as knowing someone.
"It's here," Ravi says, and Hardison takes a breath, lets it go, slowly. Game on
"Give it a few minutes, then do your thing," Alec replies. "Jason, you hearin' this?"
"Ah, yeah. Only been staring at it for the past half hour. Thing's freakin' huge."
Maria's got her binoculars out, keeping an eye on the dock while Hardison clambers into the back of the van, listening to her and Jason report the lay of the land. There are a few workmen standing around a table talking in the warehouse, and two pairs patrolling the maze of shipping containers with flashlights; they're on the western side of the yard for now.
Most of the dockers are in the yard, underneath the harsh glow of spotlights. Maria can't make Jason out of the fast-moving mix as they surge and shout, prepping for the unloading, getting cranes into place, shouting last minute orders at one another. It's not actually total madness, it just seems that way.
"Hardison," Maria says suddenly from up front, looking out the side window. "It looks like we've got Ferrara's guys approaching the gate. Two cars."
"Okay, people," Alec says, looping the pre-tied tie around his neck, carefully sloppy, ready for the show. "On your toes."
---
The badge and the warrant are all he needs to get through the front gate, but the tie, he's sure, helps. It's not as if he's trying not to be noticed, after all. Stashing the car in the visitor's lot, he heads past the offices and between the warehouses, and out into the yard. In front of him is one of the largest ships he's ever seen, and to the sides are mazes of shipping containers; more of the same carefully organized chaos. There are people and machines and noise everywhere.
Maria's tapped into the shipyard's radio frequency, bouncing the security channels to his headset, and Alec can hear the guards calling ahead, telling the foreman to be on the lookout for Detective Ledbetter. Already, containers are being loaded off the ships. Most of them are being stacked in the yard, adding to the maze, but there's one set of wheels set out in the yard, empty, waiting.
They've timed this right. Not that he'd been worried.
"Jason, you get the wheels tagged?"
"You think I'm an idiot?" Jason snorts. "'Course I did."
"Good. Ravi, you've got Jason's exit covered?"
"Western fence. I'm on my bike. Can be in the yard in thirty seconds if you need me."
"I'm already here," Alec points out. "Any trouble, you stay with the truck, got that? I'll leave you three to figure for yourselves, but I want eyes on Ferrara at all times. Maria, I'll have the video uplink soon as I can."
---
It's only a few moments before the foreman comes running up to Alec. He's a short, stocky man going gray at the temples, wearing a florescent safety vest over dingy canvas coveralls. The trying-to-be-affable grin spreading across his face doesn't look genuine, but nobody ever looks thrilled to see the police. He might not be in on it. He might. In another hour, it won't even matter.
"Chuck Evans. Mind telling me what you're doing here?" It's clear from his tone, as they shake hands, that he's ready to call in the dogs.
"Roman Ledbetter," he says, showing his NYPD badge. "I'm looking into the a Jane Doe that got pulled out of the water this morning." He pulls out the map from his pocket. "Currents and wind seem to indicate that she went into the water somewhere between here and the point sometime between nine and eleven last night. My suspicion is that she came off a boat out here." He indicates a point on the map, out in the shipping lane. "But you know how it is. I want to show some pictures around on the off chance."
"Yeah," Evans frowns, and Alec hands him the pictures. They're of Parker, laid out on a steel table, and he's been re-using them for years now. They tend to get a better response than the ones he'd done of Nate. Cute blond factor.
"Shoot," Evans nods, more relieved than sympathetic. "That's a shame." He frowns, catching Alec's glance towards the activity in the yard behind him, and he's flipping through the photos quickly now. "But just so you know, that ship, they're not technically on US soil, so…"
"This," he taps the warrant, "only covers materials pertaining to my investigation. "That ship just coming in now isn't part of it. I just want to see last night's security footage, and see if any of your guys might have seen something."
"Right now's not a good time," Evans stalls. "We're kind of-"
"Say no more," Alec grins reassuringly. "My pops worked across the harbor back in the day. Gotta keep those boxes moving. The footage, though?
"Of course," Evans is starting to get nervous again. He hasn't locked onto anything yet, but he's definitely checking his angles. He leads Alec back out front to the office, taking a winding and circuitous route, and pulls the blinds closed the moment they arrive. It's not a coincidence. Even though there's no line of sight on the yard, that truck is going to be driving right past the building as soon as the container's loaded.
"We don't need any rubberneckers coming 'round pokin' their heads in, or I'm not going to be hearing about anything else for the next month," Evans explains, then starts going off on stories about his crew, the drinking, the parole violations, the usual mess of nervous jargon. Alec plays along. It's increasingly obvious with as chatty as Evan's become that he's trying to distract him from what's happening outside, trying to bamboozle him with bullshit. And he's not asking enough questions- he's not even surprised at all that Alec's here- because he already knows the answers.
---
Evans has to enter his code to bring the security system online, but he's quick to send the live feed to the background while he brings up the video log.
"You ever use a system like this?"
"Ah, no. Not really. Most places I go, it's grainy tapes piled up in a cabinet, you know?"
Evans smiles, and talks him through viewing the recorded footage. It's obvious that he's been worried that Alec might simply go up to the menu and switch to view A:1-12, bringing the live feed back on. As if anyone- even a NYPD beat cop- couldn't figure it out. He settles back in his chair and begins watching the nine cameras that they've got covering the docks, before glancing up apologetically. "You want to pull up a chair?"
"What? Oh. No. Thanks. Was there, ah... anything else?"
Alec makes a show of shaking himself. "No, ah, sorry. I'm sure you've got things needing your attention. I'll be at this for at least an hour, so..."
"I'll be back to check on you," Evans nods, already backing out of the office.
The moment he's disappeared around the corner, Alec's uploaded the worm into their system, and Maria's confirming the uplink on her computer. They'll be able to start pulling all the data they want back at the office, and more importantly, they've got a permanent back door into the dockyard's system before Evans or anyone has a chance to panic and start thinking about cleaning their trail.
Jason comes on the line. "Okay, they're setting the container down on the wheels."
"Be careful," Alec mutters, settling in to watch the live feed. He follows Evans' progress past the warehouse and out into the yard, hurrying towards two men. One of them is Fletcher, the other, he can't see. They're rounding the far side of the eastern maze, already going out of sight.
"Is that Ferrara? Talking with Fletcher and the foreman?"
"It is," Ravi says, "but I'm losing them."
"Already on it," Jason says, sounding a little winded. "I'm up top in the maze. Have a bead on him in a second... Hardison? You're about to have company," Jason says, as if Alec can't hear security's chatter on the line.
Game time.
"Okay, people, we're on."Alec grabs his briefcase and heads towards the door, only to find that it won't open.
He hadn't even noticed that he'd been locked in.
"Okay," he takes a breath. This could be a problem.
Tara's been quiet since they all came online, but she's been paying attention. "Now?"
Alec fights the urge to check the feed again. "Where's the truck?"
"They're just hooking it up to the trailer."
"Right," Alec decides. "Now would be good." He pulls the lock pick out of his pocket, and he's still awful at this- he's never going to be at Parker or even Ravi's level; his hands aren't quite steady enough, too impatient. And he's on the clock.
---
The sirens, growing closer fast, must have the desired effect, because apparently that shouting that Jason's reporting means that the truck driver's not waiting to sign off on the clearance paperwork. "Fletcher's in the truck," he adds. "They're heading for the gate."
"We've got a good signal on the tracker," Maria confirms. "I got them from here."
"Ravi, get ready to follow, just in case." Alec gets the third tumbler. Two to go. "Where's Ferrara? His car? Coming this way? Talk to me, people."
"He's still in the yard, heading your way, but... " Jason mutters, sounding confused, and there's a rough sound, a slight metallic echo. "He's looking around, almost made me."
"You still up on the containers?"
"Yeah."
"Shit. Only reason he'd be looking up right now is-"
"He's expecting to find something," there's a sudden exhalation on the line, Jason's moving, and Alec would already be back in front of the monitors, trying to search him out, if he wasn't so close to getting the fourth tumbler. "There's someone else here, I’m gonna go check it out."
"No," Alec growls, finally starting in on the last tumbler. "You're out through the fence. Ravi?"
"Motor's running, I'm waiting. Jason? Come on, man."
There's no response. If Jason's out of position, they're running almost blind now. "Maria, you got Jason?"
"Already lost him in the maze," she admits. "And your exit route's about to be closed down."
"Shit." They're so closing to blowing it that Alec can't swallow. The last tumbler's fallen, though, and the door opens easily with a push. There's no time for gloating; he orders Maria, "just get me into the maze."
The siren's louder out here, the lights bouncing off the warehouse across the street now, close. The truck's heading past the gate behind him as he dashes along the front of the office, keeping low. From here, he's got to get around the warehouse- and there are no dogs, here, Jason had knocked them out an hour ago with a few laced steaks- but he's going to be on camera the moment he rounds the corner.
He runs along the east side of the warehouse. As soon as Evans and Ferrara get into the office to find he's gone, they'll go straight for the computer. They'll see everything. Distance is going to be the only advantage he has, and he doesn't have nearly enough of it.
He runs faster. The shipping containers are a solid black mass in front of him, but there's just enough light creeping through that he's got a corner to aim for, an entrance into the maze.
"Jason," Maria's scared, nearly shouting, probably glaring at shadows on her screen. "Behind you!"
"Too late," Jason mutters, and Alec's blood freezes in his veins when it's immediately followed by a huffed expulsion of air. Jason's taken a hit. "Found him."
---
There's noise up ahead, something hitting the side of an empty container, hard, followed by an upswell in shouting from the yard. Alec doesn't need Maria's directions, now. And he definitely doesn't need her yelling in his ear.
"I said go right," she's shouting as Alec rounds the corner heading left. "You're gonna walk right into-"
She's not wrong. Moving low along the length of one more container, and Alec can see more workmen rushing past, so he ducks back. Has to backtrack, go around from the other side. It's thankfully not far, and it sounds like the fight's moving this way. He can hear the punches being exchanged, nearly keeping pace with him over the container, bouncing off the metal.
He's cleared the end of the maze, finding himself at the corner of the yard and scans the fence quickly, looking for signs of Ravi's tampering, but they're not there, their escape route's on the west side of the yard, past everything.
There's no way they'll make it that far.
A stray flash of red and blue bounces off the side of a container, though- Tara's in position, waiting in her car, applying quiet, heavy pressure on the scene- and he's got an idea.
"Tara," he's saying, listening as the fight continues just around the corner. "Slight change of plans. Hope you've got your uniform on, 'cause I'm changing the play. Gonna need you to come in."
Jason tumbles out past the edge, back-stepping and reeling but still moving under his own volition, already lunging back in, low. Alec clears the end of the container in four steps, uncaring, now, of the flashlights moving in their direction, just wishing that they'd hold in place long enough that he could get a read on how to jump in. The assailant's got a gun holstered at his side, but beyond that, there's not much that's registering.
Thing is, the flashlights, they're getting closer, shining on Alec now too, and Jason catches sight of him as he shoves his attacker back off of him and tries to roll away.
"Hardis-" he's cut off by a punch in the gut, but then the attacker is jumping back, spinning around as his hand shoots down to his hip; and the light's in his eyes now, too bright on his face, but it looks like-
"Dammit, Hardison!"
It's Eliot.
It's fucking Eliot. And he's got a gun in his hand.
---
He's making inroads with the receptionist. He's careful to show how impressed he is with the family-only policy of the rehab clinic, as if she's the one who invented it. As if it's even rare. Another few seconds and they'll be in to see Nate.
"I'm with him."
There's no way the receptionist's first reaction is going to be belief, no matter how willfully blind to skin she might believe herself to be. Already, her expression is shifting to skepticism, and Eliot's about to start in on the adoption story he's halfway through inventing when Hardison derails him completely.
"Oh, so you're a friend of-"
"No. No, I'm." Eliot's already dreading where this is going the moment Hardison grabs his arm, tugging on it like he's got some proprietary right to even touch him. Unsurprisingly, he plays it too big and too loud, as if volume is adequate cover for his cluelessness. And it only gets worse as he continues.
"I am With. Him." The breathy voice, the tongue clicking, the lisp, it's fucking embarrassing. "See, he thinks the flirting, it makes me jealous, but it doesn't. You know. But, if you was like... Brad Pitt or Denzel or somebody? Oh, girl, it would be on. Seriously." He slaps at the bell, all limp wristed club-kid stereotype, dragging Eliot away with him, telling him to Bring His Ass.
It's obnoxious and draws too much attention, and worst of all, it actually works, which means Eliot can't justifiably clock him one without raising suspicion, or answering any questions. Because nobody needs to know. It's just one more misdirection, not even the most interesting one that he employs, and if he went around spilling his guts to everyone he ever met, he'd be dead in less than six months, easy. Same as it ever was.
Which does nothing to explain why it is, three days later, that he's in the middle of his workout wondering how Hardison would take it if he sat him down and laid it all out.
Maybe he'd be underwhelmed, hearing it with just a nod and a shrug. Maybe the whole scene would be comical and gut wrenching and vivid. Probably, it would just be awkward and uncomfortable; a lot of hassle for no good reason.
One thing he knows for sure, though: this line of thinking is pointless.
He's not saying shit.
---
Eliot's quick to think on his feet, but he's completely derailed, now.
Hardison's still staring at him, terrified, helping his guy up to his feet and muttering something at him that sounds like "interference" and gesturing towards the workmen who are starting to close in. Eliot watches him stagger off, hands held up reassuringly, and it's probably not much of a reprieve, it's not nearly enough to salvage everything that's gone fucked, and it's nothing like an answer, but it's all that he's got.
Hardison eases back when Eliot steps towards him, but it's not a flinch. His eyes are on the Beretta, though. Best to holster it. "What the hell are you doing-"
"Shut up," Hardison grinds out, shaking his head as his hand goes to his ear. "What's going on at the gate?" He's staring wide eyed, back at him, but his mind mostly still on the comms but not missing the fact that Eliot's holstering the Beretta. "Complications, that's why!" He takes a deep breath as his full attention returns to Eliot.
And he just doesn't have the fucking time for this. Hardison goes down with just one punch.
Kneeling to make sure he's not hit too bad- he just needs him uncoordinated and slow, not unconscious- he's back on his feet again as the police lights start to flash around the corner up ahead.
Eliot runs.
---
Alec can't make out much beyond sirens and flashing lights, he's not sure what's going on- it's the cruiser, right. Not an ambulance, then. Shame, that. He could probably use one.
"Oh, quit whining," Tara chides him. "You're fine. What the hell happened?"
"Eliot."
"What?" She's surprised. It doesn't happen often.
"I know. We're fucked." Swallowing thickly and working his sore jaw- man, that's going to bruise- he adjusts his earpiece and asks after the others.
"We're clear," Maria says, not necessarily because she likes disagreeing with him- which she does, on occasion- but probably because she hasn't been paying attention. "They're tagged, they're bugged. Nothing's changed."
Tara's the first to shake her head, but she remains silent. As helpful as she's been with the crew, she doesn't trust them yet, not entirely, and they're not her problem.
Alec sighs. "Yeah. No. Everything's changed. We got a track on our mystery muscle?"
"Lost him coming out of the yard," Jason cuts in. "Unless he doubled back without us seeing. We could go back-"
"No." Alec musters all the authority he can. "Everyone. We're meeting back up at the office," Alec summons all the authority he's managed to muster. "ASAP. Order some food or something, it's going to be a late night." At the sound of unsurprised groans, he removes his earpiece, resisting the urge to toss it out the window, grab the wheel, and turn around to run it over a half dozen times just for good measure. Tara probably won't go for that. They've made it back out onto the main road- no further sign of Eliot, though he hadn't been hoping or anything.
Tara gives him a few miles before asking. "So what the hell was he doing there?"
"I don't know."
Her answering silence- the length of it- is enough to get him suspecting what she's going to say next.
"Well, going by the looks of it, he's not on your side any more." She clearly doesn't know whether to be apologetic, grim, angry, or amused, and for one fierce moment Alec imagines her continuing with, "You want I should put a bullet in his head?". She could probably really sell it, if she tried, shade it a hundred different ways and mean at least half of them.
Only she hasn't actually said it, and it's not actually an option, and he's only thinking this mafioso scenario bullshit to distract himself from the ache in his jaw and the fact that his vision's still a bit off. He's hearing things from a strange distance, but can't tell if it's Eliot or Eliot's fist that's caused it. But he's got one thing figured out for certain. It's been five years, a few hundred postcards, and the first thing Eliot does when they're face to face is clock him one.
"Could've been worse, right?" Alec tries, but it feels like a desperate play, goading Tara into telling him something he actually wants to hear. He doesn't have much hope for success, so it's no surprise that she doesn't immediately answer.
"Yeah. He could've shot you." She rocks her head back and forth, reconsidering, before glancing sidelong at him. "You know, it could be a good thing. Right? Maybe he's working them and was worried you were going to mess up his plan, just needed you out of the way for some heroic stunt he's got in the works." She's trying, at least.
"Maybe. What I need to know is why. Was it 'cause me an him go back? Or because we're actually on different sides of this here thing?"
Tara sighs, turns onto the highway. "Guess you're going to have to ask him."
---
There are things he knows about the team that even Nate doesn't know.
He knows that Sophie's just her favorite alias, and that it goes back further even than Katherine and Jessica, so long, now, that Alec has to wonder if it's become permanent. But he also knows where it came from, thanks to a twenty-year old write-up on a school play in a council estate newsletter from 1985.
He knows how smart Parker had been, destroying just enough of her own records- protective services, doctors, courts- so that someone searching would think they had the whole story, but not her full name. Never that. Even Alec hasn't been able to find out where she'd stayed between the ages of ten and twelve. Maybe she'll tell him one of these days, maybe she won't.
He suspects that Eliot's probably not the one responsible for wiping most of his history off the face of the planet, because he probably would have gotten rid of the last traces of that near-miss in Belgrade, if he'd known about them.
Liam Kenny had been arrested under suspicion of espionage, though the authorities hadn't really had anything on him. They'd released him within twelve hours, but not before snapping a booking photo. He's six foot three, with blonde hair and pinprick blue eyes. They're cruel, and Alec hates him on sight, but this tells him nothing.
The report's arrest summary is more enlightening. Authorities had tracked Kenny to a hotel in downtown Belgrade, kicking the door down at four in the morning and finding him scrambling out of bed. There's a comical line from one of the arresting officers that indicates he'd been torn between finding his clothes and looking for a weapon.
There's a less comical paragraph coming next. The man who'd been sharing the bed with him was already armed. After a standoff, in which the man was assured that they were only there for Kenny. He'd gotten dressed, given them his information. The ID said Kevin Jackson, and the address had probably been a fake, even then. They'd taken his photo and flagged him as a person of interest in an ongoing investigation that proved to go nowhere, fast.
His hair's short, his face too young to look that fucking evil, but there's no question about it. It's Eliot, and the only reason Alec knows about it is because he'd finally stopped putting off updating his facial recognition software on a Tuesday morning. And now he has to sit here all day long, with Eliot at the end of Nate's couch, wondering.
Maybe it was just a job. Maybe it ties in with Moreau. The likelihood is enough to stop him from asking.
But he also knows that Eliot's the kind of guy who'll do anything to get the job done, and that Liam Kenny was arrested on charges that look an awful lot like Eliot's particular skill set. Which means that Kenny had either been a mark, a scapegoat, or just someone who'd gotten caught in the crossfire. Possibly by accident.
Parker's waving him over, quietly because she still hasn't figured out that they're allowed to talk to each other when everyone else is around. Right. The movie starts in half an hour.
It takes five seconds to erase all mention of Kevin Jackson from the report, another ten to gather his things and tell the others they're leaving. Eliot's glancing up from his magazine, catches Alec's eye for a second, and there's nothing there, now, that hasn't always been there, nothing guarded or different or worrying.
Alec sits next to Parker in the back row of the theater and watches the screen's explosions and gunfire, and he has no idea why the characters are fighting, even an hour into the movie. He's still hung up on puzzling out Kelly and Jackson. Enemies, friends, marks or lovers, or something else entirely.
Any or all, though, he tells himself, they're absolutely none of his business.
He doesn't remember what movie he'd seen when Sophie asks him the next morning.
---
The cruiser's been stashed in the garage downstairs, coffee's been made, but within ten minutes, the crew's run out of things to talk about. Ferrara's trucks have all split up and are taking different circuitous routes through all five boroughs, now, but that could mean anything. Ferrara's crew's been running silent; it's impossible to tell if they're trying to shake any tails they might have picked up, or if their plan's so solid that they don't need to.
Alec's gotten pretty good at this- planning, thinking on his feet, the rest of it- but this time it's different. The best idea he's got is the one he can't do. He's not going to call Nate in on this one. Yet. The fact Tara hasn't even suggested it is proof enough that it's a bad idea. Nate's retired, Sophie too, but they're liable to get up in arms over this one, and if it's as bad as it looks- if Eliot's really gone darkside- Alec doesn't want them anywhere near this.
By the time the food arrives, though, he's considering calling Parker.
The others' concerns are more mundane. The food they've ordered is at the door. Ravi's halfway to answering it before he turns, craning his neck. "Hang on. I got it last time. Whose turn is it to pay?"
"Mine," Jason stands up, hand going to his pocket to grab his wallet. Then he tries another pocket. Then he's going for his jacket. "Shit."
"Seriously?" Alec smirks. This isn't the first time it's happened. "You lost your wallet? Again?"
"No. I mean. Yeah." Realization dawns on his face as he looks at Hardison. It's almost comical. "Shit. The fight. I lost it."
"Aw, hell man."
Tara's gone ahead, purse in hand, to cover the food, but Alec's lost his appetite. Jason is torn between furious and humiliated, and neither one is going to cover for the fact that they might have left a trail.
"How? That thing was chained to your-"
In reply, Jason shows him the torn belt loop on his jeans.
"And you didn't feel that?"
Jason thinks back for a moment and his shoulders drop. "Had to have happened during the fight. Shit." Brightening slightly, though, he glances at Maria. "But that's where I keep my tracker, so... shouldn't be too hard to find, right? I can go pick it up."
"Hold up. If it's back at the yard, it's cool, but..."
For the record, Alec doesn't know if Jason should be looking relieved or worried either, so he's not going to think much on it. He brings up the tracker on Maria's computer and ignores her glares. She's looking over his shoulder as if waiting for him to crash her systems just by breathing near it. But a few moments' watching confirms that the tracker's just arrived at the Ravel Hotel down in Long Island.
"Good news. It's been recovered. Bad news. I'm guessing Eliot has it."
"Fuck," Jason rubs at his arm, and it's surreal to be wincing in sympathy for the other side of one of Eliot's fights. "That ain't good."
"We don't know what that is," Alec points out, though he wants to agree, because history or not, Jason's his crew now, and Eliot attacked him. "Which identification were you carrying?"
"My legit stuff. Needed it for the gig."
"Your address current?"
Jason's getting pissed, now, but the timely appearance of Tara with an icepack does a lot to forestall it; he merely nods. "Yeah."
"You're not crashing there tonight," Alec chides himself hearing the words leaving his mouth; it's one of the surefire ways to infuriate a hitter. Trying to lessen the proverbial blow, he eases up. "Not until we get a read on this."
"Why?" And no, Alec's backpedalling hadn't worked. Ridiculous to think that it would, really, and Jason's sneer is only reiterating the point. "He's not staking my apartment out. Besides. The guy just decked you, right? Ain't like he's all-"
"He can do a hell of a lot more if he finds himself a reason and the time," Alec doesn't make the mistake of leaving room for argument. "So I'm gonna get up ahead of both of those." Grabbing an egg roll in a napkin, he digs his keys out of his pocket. Tara's already heading back towards the door. Thankfully, she waits until they're in the stairwell to point out the obvious.
"You know, if Eliot wanted to set up a trap..."
"I know."
"This starts going south, I'm calling in Sophie."
"Then we'll just have to be careful." Alec knows his grin is more confident than he feels, but either he's getting better at selling this sort of thing, or Tara's letting him slide.
Chapter 3
Beta(s): amuly ♥, nevardevereaux ♥
Artists: cybel ♥, ryuutchi ♥
Characters/Pairings: Alec Hardison/Eliot Spencer
Rating: PG-13
Genre: Drama, Post-Series
Warnings/spoilers: None.
Summary: Alec's been running his own crew for five years when Eliot reappears- on the other side of a job. Remembering someone, it turns out, isn't the same as knowing someone.
"It's here," Ravi says, and Hardison takes a breath, lets it go, slowly. Game on
"Give it a few minutes, then do your thing," Alec replies. "Jason, you hearin' this?"
"Ah, yeah. Only been staring at it for the past half hour. Thing's freakin' huge."
Maria's got her binoculars out, keeping an eye on the dock while Hardison clambers into the back of the van, listening to her and Jason report the lay of the land. There are a few workmen standing around a table talking in the warehouse, and two pairs patrolling the maze of shipping containers with flashlights; they're on the western side of the yard for now.
Most of the dockers are in the yard, underneath the harsh glow of spotlights. Maria can't make Jason out of the fast-moving mix as they surge and shout, prepping for the unloading, getting cranes into place, shouting last minute orders at one another. It's not actually total madness, it just seems that way.
"Hardison," Maria says suddenly from up front, looking out the side window. "It looks like we've got Ferrara's guys approaching the gate. Two cars."
"Okay, people," Alec says, looping the pre-tied tie around his neck, carefully sloppy, ready for the show. "On your toes."
---
The badge and the warrant are all he needs to get through the front gate, but the tie, he's sure, helps. It's not as if he's trying not to be noticed, after all. Stashing the car in the visitor's lot, he heads past the offices and between the warehouses, and out into the yard. In front of him is one of the largest ships he's ever seen, and to the sides are mazes of shipping containers; more of the same carefully organized chaos. There are people and machines and noise everywhere.
Maria's tapped into the shipyard's radio frequency, bouncing the security channels to his headset, and Alec can hear the guards calling ahead, telling the foreman to be on the lookout for Detective Ledbetter. Already, containers are being loaded off the ships. Most of them are being stacked in the yard, adding to the maze, but there's one set of wheels set out in the yard, empty, waiting.
They've timed this right. Not that he'd been worried.
"Jason, you get the wheels tagged?"
"You think I'm an idiot?" Jason snorts. "'Course I did."
"Good. Ravi, you've got Jason's exit covered?"
"Western fence. I'm on my bike. Can be in the yard in thirty seconds if you need me."
"I'm already here," Alec points out. "Any trouble, you stay with the truck, got that? I'll leave you three to figure for yourselves, but I want eyes on Ferrara at all times. Maria, I'll have the video uplink soon as I can."
---
It's only a few moments before the foreman comes running up to Alec. He's a short, stocky man going gray at the temples, wearing a florescent safety vest over dingy canvas coveralls. The trying-to-be-affable grin spreading across his face doesn't look genuine, but nobody ever looks thrilled to see the police. He might not be in on it. He might. In another hour, it won't even matter.
"Chuck Evans. Mind telling me what you're doing here?" It's clear from his tone, as they shake hands, that he's ready to call in the dogs.
"Roman Ledbetter," he says, showing his NYPD badge. "I'm looking into the a Jane Doe that got pulled out of the water this morning." He pulls out the map from his pocket. "Currents and wind seem to indicate that she went into the water somewhere between here and the point sometime between nine and eleven last night. My suspicion is that she came off a boat out here." He indicates a point on the map, out in the shipping lane. "But you know how it is. I want to show some pictures around on the off chance."
"Yeah," Evans frowns, and Alec hands him the pictures. They're of Parker, laid out on a steel table, and he's been re-using them for years now. They tend to get a better response than the ones he'd done of Nate. Cute blond factor.
"Shoot," Evans nods, more relieved than sympathetic. "That's a shame." He frowns, catching Alec's glance towards the activity in the yard behind him, and he's flipping through the photos quickly now. "But just so you know, that ship, they're not technically on US soil, so…"
"This," he taps the warrant, "only covers materials pertaining to my investigation. "That ship just coming in now isn't part of it. I just want to see last night's security footage, and see if any of your guys might have seen something."
"Right now's not a good time," Evans stalls. "We're kind of-"
"Say no more," Alec grins reassuringly. "My pops worked across the harbor back in the day. Gotta keep those boxes moving. The footage, though?
"Of course," Evans is starting to get nervous again. He hasn't locked onto anything yet, but he's definitely checking his angles. He leads Alec back out front to the office, taking a winding and circuitous route, and pulls the blinds closed the moment they arrive. It's not a coincidence. Even though there's no line of sight on the yard, that truck is going to be driving right past the building as soon as the container's loaded.
"We don't need any rubberneckers coming 'round pokin' their heads in, or I'm not going to be hearing about anything else for the next month," Evans explains, then starts going off on stories about his crew, the drinking, the parole violations, the usual mess of nervous jargon. Alec plays along. It's increasingly obvious with as chatty as Evan's become that he's trying to distract him from what's happening outside, trying to bamboozle him with bullshit. And he's not asking enough questions- he's not even surprised at all that Alec's here- because he already knows the answers.
---
Evans has to enter his code to bring the security system online, but he's quick to send the live feed to the background while he brings up the video log.
"You ever use a system like this?"
"Ah, no. Not really. Most places I go, it's grainy tapes piled up in a cabinet, you know?"
Evans smiles, and talks him through viewing the recorded footage. It's obvious that he's been worried that Alec might simply go up to the menu and switch to view A:1-12, bringing the live feed back on. As if anyone- even a NYPD beat cop- couldn't figure it out. He settles back in his chair and begins watching the nine cameras that they've got covering the docks, before glancing up apologetically. "You want to pull up a chair?"
"What? Oh. No. Thanks. Was there, ah... anything else?"
Alec makes a show of shaking himself. "No, ah, sorry. I'm sure you've got things needing your attention. I'll be at this for at least an hour, so..."
"I'll be back to check on you," Evans nods, already backing out of the office.
The moment he's disappeared around the corner, Alec's uploaded the worm into their system, and Maria's confirming the uplink on her computer. They'll be able to start pulling all the data they want back at the office, and more importantly, they've got a permanent back door into the dockyard's system before Evans or anyone has a chance to panic and start thinking about cleaning their trail.
Jason comes on the line. "Okay, they're setting the container down on the wheels."
"Be careful," Alec mutters, settling in to watch the live feed. He follows Evans' progress past the warehouse and out into the yard, hurrying towards two men. One of them is Fletcher, the other, he can't see. They're rounding the far side of the eastern maze, already going out of sight.
"Is that Ferrara? Talking with Fletcher and the foreman?"
"It is," Ravi says, "but I'm losing them."
"Already on it," Jason says, sounding a little winded. "I'm up top in the maze. Have a bead on him in a second... Hardison? You're about to have company," Jason says, as if Alec can't hear security's chatter on the line.
Game time.
"Okay, people, we're on."Alec grabs his briefcase and heads towards the door, only to find that it won't open.
He hadn't even noticed that he'd been locked in.
"Okay," he takes a breath. This could be a problem.
Tara's been quiet since they all came online, but she's been paying attention. "Now?"
Alec fights the urge to check the feed again. "Where's the truck?"
"They're just hooking it up to the trailer."
"Right," Alec decides. "Now would be good." He pulls the lock pick out of his pocket, and he's still awful at this- he's never going to be at Parker or even Ravi's level; his hands aren't quite steady enough, too impatient. And he's on the clock.
---
The sirens, growing closer fast, must have the desired effect, because apparently that shouting that Jason's reporting means that the truck driver's not waiting to sign off on the clearance paperwork. "Fletcher's in the truck," he adds. "They're heading for the gate."
"We've got a good signal on the tracker," Maria confirms. "I got them from here."
"Ravi, get ready to follow, just in case." Alec gets the third tumbler. Two to go. "Where's Ferrara? His car? Coming this way? Talk to me, people."
"He's still in the yard, heading your way, but... " Jason mutters, sounding confused, and there's a rough sound, a slight metallic echo. "He's looking around, almost made me."
"You still up on the containers?"
"Yeah."
"Shit. Only reason he'd be looking up right now is-"
"He's expecting to find something," there's a sudden exhalation on the line, Jason's moving, and Alec would already be back in front of the monitors, trying to search him out, if he wasn't so close to getting the fourth tumbler. "There's someone else here, I’m gonna go check it out."
"No," Alec growls, finally starting in on the last tumbler. "You're out through the fence. Ravi?"
"Motor's running, I'm waiting. Jason? Come on, man."
There's no response. If Jason's out of position, they're running almost blind now. "Maria, you got Jason?"
"Already lost him in the maze," she admits. "And your exit route's about to be closed down."
"Shit." They're so closing to blowing it that Alec can't swallow. The last tumbler's fallen, though, and the door opens easily with a push. There's no time for gloating; he orders Maria, "just get me into the maze."
The siren's louder out here, the lights bouncing off the warehouse across the street now, close. The truck's heading past the gate behind him as he dashes along the front of the office, keeping low. From here, he's got to get around the warehouse- and there are no dogs, here, Jason had knocked them out an hour ago with a few laced steaks- but he's going to be on camera the moment he rounds the corner.
He runs along the east side of the warehouse. As soon as Evans and Ferrara get into the office to find he's gone, they'll go straight for the computer. They'll see everything. Distance is going to be the only advantage he has, and he doesn't have nearly enough of it.
He runs faster. The shipping containers are a solid black mass in front of him, but there's just enough light creeping through that he's got a corner to aim for, an entrance into the maze.
"Jason," Maria's scared, nearly shouting, probably glaring at shadows on her screen. "Behind you!"
"Too late," Jason mutters, and Alec's blood freezes in his veins when it's immediately followed by a huffed expulsion of air. Jason's taken a hit. "Found him."
---
There's noise up ahead, something hitting the side of an empty container, hard, followed by an upswell in shouting from the yard. Alec doesn't need Maria's directions, now. And he definitely doesn't need her yelling in his ear.
"I said go right," she's shouting as Alec rounds the corner heading left. "You're gonna walk right into-"
She's not wrong. Moving low along the length of one more container, and Alec can see more workmen rushing past, so he ducks back. Has to backtrack, go around from the other side. It's thankfully not far, and it sounds like the fight's moving this way. He can hear the punches being exchanged, nearly keeping pace with him over the container, bouncing off the metal.
He's cleared the end of the maze, finding himself at the corner of the yard and scans the fence quickly, looking for signs of Ravi's tampering, but they're not there, their escape route's on the west side of the yard, past everything.
There's no way they'll make it that far.
A stray flash of red and blue bounces off the side of a container, though- Tara's in position, waiting in her car, applying quiet, heavy pressure on the scene- and he's got an idea.
"Tara," he's saying, listening as the fight continues just around the corner. "Slight change of plans. Hope you've got your uniform on, 'cause I'm changing the play. Gonna need you to come in."
Jason tumbles out past the edge, back-stepping and reeling but still moving under his own volition, already lunging back in, low. Alec clears the end of the container in four steps, uncaring, now, of the flashlights moving in their direction, just wishing that they'd hold in place long enough that he could get a read on how to jump in. The assailant's got a gun holstered at his side, but beyond that, there's not much that's registering.
Thing is, the flashlights, they're getting closer, shining on Alec now too, and Jason catches sight of him as he shoves his attacker back off of him and tries to roll away.
"Hardis-" he's cut off by a punch in the gut, but then the attacker is jumping back, spinning around as his hand shoots down to his hip; and the light's in his eyes now, too bright on his face, but it looks like-
"Dammit, Hardison!"
It's Eliot.
It's fucking Eliot. And he's got a gun in his hand.
---
He's making inroads with the receptionist. He's careful to show how impressed he is with the family-only policy of the rehab clinic, as if she's the one who invented it. As if it's even rare. Another few seconds and they'll be in to see Nate.
"I'm with him."
There's no way the receptionist's first reaction is going to be belief, no matter how willfully blind to skin she might believe herself to be. Already, her expression is shifting to skepticism, and Eliot's about to start in on the adoption story he's halfway through inventing when Hardison derails him completely.
"Oh, so you're a friend of-"
"No. No, I'm." Eliot's already dreading where this is going the moment Hardison grabs his arm, tugging on it like he's got some proprietary right to even touch him. Unsurprisingly, he plays it too big and too loud, as if volume is adequate cover for his cluelessness. And it only gets worse as he continues.
"I am With. Him." The breathy voice, the tongue clicking, the lisp, it's fucking embarrassing. "See, he thinks the flirting, it makes me jealous, but it doesn't. You know. But, if you was like... Brad Pitt or Denzel or somebody? Oh, girl, it would be on. Seriously." He slaps at the bell, all limp wristed club-kid stereotype, dragging Eliot away with him, telling him to Bring His Ass.
It's obnoxious and draws too much attention, and worst of all, it actually works, which means Eliot can't justifiably clock him one without raising suspicion, or answering any questions. Because nobody needs to know. It's just one more misdirection, not even the most interesting one that he employs, and if he went around spilling his guts to everyone he ever met, he'd be dead in less than six months, easy. Same as it ever was.
Which does nothing to explain why it is, three days later, that he's in the middle of his workout wondering how Hardison would take it if he sat him down and laid it all out.
Maybe he'd be underwhelmed, hearing it with just a nod and a shrug. Maybe the whole scene would be comical and gut wrenching and vivid. Probably, it would just be awkward and uncomfortable; a lot of hassle for no good reason.
One thing he knows for sure, though: this line of thinking is pointless.
He's not saying shit.
---
Eliot's quick to think on his feet, but he's completely derailed, now.
Hardison's still staring at him, terrified, helping his guy up to his feet and muttering something at him that sounds like "interference" and gesturing towards the workmen who are starting to close in. Eliot watches him stagger off, hands held up reassuringly, and it's probably not much of a reprieve, it's not nearly enough to salvage everything that's gone fucked, and it's nothing like an answer, but it's all that he's got.
Hardison eases back when Eliot steps towards him, but it's not a flinch. His eyes are on the Beretta, though. Best to holster it. "What the hell are you doing-"
"Shut up," Hardison grinds out, shaking his head as his hand goes to his ear. "What's going on at the gate?" He's staring wide eyed, back at him, but his mind mostly still on the comms but not missing the fact that Eliot's holstering the Beretta. "Complications, that's why!" He takes a deep breath as his full attention returns to Eliot.
And he just doesn't have the fucking time for this. Hardison goes down with just one punch.
Kneeling to make sure he's not hit too bad- he just needs him uncoordinated and slow, not unconscious- he's back on his feet again as the police lights start to flash around the corner up ahead.
Eliot runs.
---
Alec can't make out much beyond sirens and flashing lights, he's not sure what's going on- it's the cruiser, right. Not an ambulance, then. Shame, that. He could probably use one.
"Oh, quit whining," Tara chides him. "You're fine. What the hell happened?"
"Eliot."
"What?" She's surprised. It doesn't happen often.
"I know. We're fucked." Swallowing thickly and working his sore jaw- man, that's going to bruise- he adjusts his earpiece and asks after the others.
"We're clear," Maria says, not necessarily because she likes disagreeing with him- which she does, on occasion- but probably because she hasn't been paying attention. "They're tagged, they're bugged. Nothing's changed."
Tara's the first to shake her head, but she remains silent. As helpful as she's been with the crew, she doesn't trust them yet, not entirely, and they're not her problem.
Alec sighs. "Yeah. No. Everything's changed. We got a track on our mystery muscle?"
"Lost him coming out of the yard," Jason cuts in. "Unless he doubled back without us seeing. We could go back-"
"No." Alec musters all the authority he can. "Everyone. We're meeting back up at the office," Alec summons all the authority he's managed to muster. "ASAP. Order some food or something, it's going to be a late night." At the sound of unsurprised groans, he removes his earpiece, resisting the urge to toss it out the window, grab the wheel, and turn around to run it over a half dozen times just for good measure. Tara probably won't go for that. They've made it back out onto the main road- no further sign of Eliot, though he hadn't been hoping or anything.
Tara gives him a few miles before asking. "So what the hell was he doing there?"
"I don't know."
Her answering silence- the length of it- is enough to get him suspecting what she's going to say next.
"Well, going by the looks of it, he's not on your side any more." She clearly doesn't know whether to be apologetic, grim, angry, or amused, and for one fierce moment Alec imagines her continuing with, "You want I should put a bullet in his head?". She could probably really sell it, if she tried, shade it a hundred different ways and mean at least half of them.
Only she hasn't actually said it, and it's not actually an option, and he's only thinking this mafioso scenario bullshit to distract himself from the ache in his jaw and the fact that his vision's still a bit off. He's hearing things from a strange distance, but can't tell if it's Eliot or Eliot's fist that's caused it. But he's got one thing figured out for certain. It's been five years, a few hundred postcards, and the first thing Eliot does when they're face to face is clock him one.
"Could've been worse, right?" Alec tries, but it feels like a desperate play, goading Tara into telling him something he actually wants to hear. He doesn't have much hope for success, so it's no surprise that she doesn't immediately answer.
"Yeah. He could've shot you." She rocks her head back and forth, reconsidering, before glancing sidelong at him. "You know, it could be a good thing. Right? Maybe he's working them and was worried you were going to mess up his plan, just needed you out of the way for some heroic stunt he's got in the works." She's trying, at least.
"Maybe. What I need to know is why. Was it 'cause me an him go back? Or because we're actually on different sides of this here thing?"
Tara sighs, turns onto the highway. "Guess you're going to have to ask him."
---
There are things he knows about the team that even Nate doesn't know.
He knows that Sophie's just her favorite alias, and that it goes back further even than Katherine and Jessica, so long, now, that Alec has to wonder if it's become permanent. But he also knows where it came from, thanks to a twenty-year old write-up on a school play in a council estate newsletter from 1985.
He knows how smart Parker had been, destroying just enough of her own records- protective services, doctors, courts- so that someone searching would think they had the whole story, but not her full name. Never that. Even Alec hasn't been able to find out where she'd stayed between the ages of ten and twelve. Maybe she'll tell him one of these days, maybe she won't.
He suspects that Eliot's probably not the one responsible for wiping most of his history off the face of the planet, because he probably would have gotten rid of the last traces of that near-miss in Belgrade, if he'd known about them.
Liam Kenny had been arrested under suspicion of espionage, though the authorities hadn't really had anything on him. They'd released him within twelve hours, but not before snapping a booking photo. He's six foot three, with blonde hair and pinprick blue eyes. They're cruel, and Alec hates him on sight, but this tells him nothing.
The report's arrest summary is more enlightening. Authorities had tracked Kenny to a hotel in downtown Belgrade, kicking the door down at four in the morning and finding him scrambling out of bed. There's a comical line from one of the arresting officers that indicates he'd been torn between finding his clothes and looking for a weapon.
There's a less comical paragraph coming next. The man who'd been sharing the bed with him was already armed. After a standoff, in which the man was assured that they were only there for Kenny. He'd gotten dressed, given them his information. The ID said Kevin Jackson, and the address had probably been a fake, even then. They'd taken his photo and flagged him as a person of interest in an ongoing investigation that proved to go nowhere, fast.
His hair's short, his face too young to look that fucking evil, but there's no question about it. It's Eliot, and the only reason Alec knows about it is because he'd finally stopped putting off updating his facial recognition software on a Tuesday morning. And now he has to sit here all day long, with Eliot at the end of Nate's couch, wondering.
Maybe it was just a job. Maybe it ties in with Moreau. The likelihood is enough to stop him from asking.
But he also knows that Eliot's the kind of guy who'll do anything to get the job done, and that Liam Kenny was arrested on charges that look an awful lot like Eliot's particular skill set. Which means that Kenny had either been a mark, a scapegoat, or just someone who'd gotten caught in the crossfire. Possibly by accident.
Parker's waving him over, quietly because she still hasn't figured out that they're allowed to talk to each other when everyone else is around. Right. The movie starts in half an hour.
It takes five seconds to erase all mention of Kevin Jackson from the report, another ten to gather his things and tell the others they're leaving. Eliot's glancing up from his magazine, catches Alec's eye for a second, and there's nothing there, now, that hasn't always been there, nothing guarded or different or worrying.
Alec sits next to Parker in the back row of the theater and watches the screen's explosions and gunfire, and he has no idea why the characters are fighting, even an hour into the movie. He's still hung up on puzzling out Kelly and Jackson. Enemies, friends, marks or lovers, or something else entirely.
Any or all, though, he tells himself, they're absolutely none of his business.
He doesn't remember what movie he'd seen when Sophie asks him the next morning.
---
The cruiser's been stashed in the garage downstairs, coffee's been made, but within ten minutes, the crew's run out of things to talk about. Ferrara's trucks have all split up and are taking different circuitous routes through all five boroughs, now, but that could mean anything. Ferrara's crew's been running silent; it's impossible to tell if they're trying to shake any tails they might have picked up, or if their plan's so solid that they don't need to.
Alec's gotten pretty good at this- planning, thinking on his feet, the rest of it- but this time it's different. The best idea he's got is the one he can't do. He's not going to call Nate in on this one. Yet. The fact Tara hasn't even suggested it is proof enough that it's a bad idea. Nate's retired, Sophie too, but they're liable to get up in arms over this one, and if it's as bad as it looks- if Eliot's really gone darkside- Alec doesn't want them anywhere near this.
By the time the food arrives, though, he's considering calling Parker.
The others' concerns are more mundane. The food they've ordered is at the door. Ravi's halfway to answering it before he turns, craning his neck. "Hang on. I got it last time. Whose turn is it to pay?"
"Mine," Jason stands up, hand going to his pocket to grab his wallet. Then he tries another pocket. Then he's going for his jacket. "Shit."
"Seriously?" Alec smirks. This isn't the first time it's happened. "You lost your wallet? Again?"
"No. I mean. Yeah." Realization dawns on his face as he looks at Hardison. It's almost comical. "Shit. The fight. I lost it."
"Aw, hell man."
Tara's gone ahead, purse in hand, to cover the food, but Alec's lost his appetite. Jason is torn between furious and humiliated, and neither one is going to cover for the fact that they might have left a trail.
"How? That thing was chained to your-"
In reply, Jason shows him the torn belt loop on his jeans.
"And you didn't feel that?"
Jason thinks back for a moment and his shoulders drop. "Had to have happened during the fight. Shit." Brightening slightly, though, he glances at Maria. "But that's where I keep my tracker, so... shouldn't be too hard to find, right? I can go pick it up."
"Hold up. If it's back at the yard, it's cool, but..."
For the record, Alec doesn't know if Jason should be looking relieved or worried either, so he's not going to think much on it. He brings up the tracker on Maria's computer and ignores her glares. She's looking over his shoulder as if waiting for him to crash her systems just by breathing near it. But a few moments' watching confirms that the tracker's just arrived at the Ravel Hotel down in Long Island.
"Good news. It's been recovered. Bad news. I'm guessing Eliot has it."
"Fuck," Jason rubs at his arm, and it's surreal to be wincing in sympathy for the other side of one of Eliot's fights. "That ain't good."
"We don't know what that is," Alec points out, though he wants to agree, because history or not, Jason's his crew now, and Eliot attacked him. "Which identification were you carrying?"
"My legit stuff. Needed it for the gig."
"Your address current?"
Jason's getting pissed, now, but the timely appearance of Tara with an icepack does a lot to forestall it; he merely nods. "Yeah."
"You're not crashing there tonight," Alec chides himself hearing the words leaving his mouth; it's one of the surefire ways to infuriate a hitter. Trying to lessen the proverbial blow, he eases up. "Not until we get a read on this."
"Why?" And no, Alec's backpedalling hadn't worked. Ridiculous to think that it would, really, and Jason's sneer is only reiterating the point. "He's not staking my apartment out. Besides. The guy just decked you, right? Ain't like he's all-"
"He can do a hell of a lot more if he finds himself a reason and the time," Alec doesn't make the mistake of leaving room for argument. "So I'm gonna get up ahead of both of those." Grabbing an egg roll in a napkin, he digs his keys out of his pocket. Tara's already heading back towards the door. Thankfully, she waits until they're in the stairwell to point out the obvious.
"You know, if Eliot wanted to set up a trap..."
"I know."
"This starts going south, I'm calling in Sophie."
"Then we'll just have to be careful." Alec knows his grin is more confident than he feels, but either he's getting better at selling this sort of thing, or Tara's letting him slide.
Chapter 3