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Luke's, Thursday

Hardison was glued to his laptop today. Which was nothing unusual in and of itself, but normally he was a lot more relaxed about it. Today he was almost manic about it; checking and rechecking data, refreshing windows, pulling up information about airlines and ship manifests and global maps. The staff tried to ask him for his input on what they should make, his only response was a brusque, "Man, like I know. Somethin' with apples, leave me alone!"

So, yeah. Apples it was. Maybe they'd start to make a dent in the mountain the busboy had brought back.

Today's Specials
Apple, Bacon, and Gouda Mac 'n Cheese
Israeli Couscous and Apple Salad
Apple Cheese Danish
Fresh-Pressed Apple Cider (Cold and Mulled available)

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If you don't feel like interrupting the furiously typing hacker, say.

...It's important, right?

Eliot knew Hardison would tell him if he'd found anything. This did not stop him from swinging by when he knew Hardison was in the diner to peer over his shoulder and ask "You find anything yet?"

Another reason why Eliot had spent years working alone: when he was stressed he got mean and obnoxious.

Hardison took a deep breath and slowly exhaled, counting backwards from ten down to one. "I ain't called you yet, have I?" he asked. Reasonably. "So, no, I ain't found anything yet."

It wouldn't be so bad except Eliot had been riding him about this since Monday. And, while skilled, Hardison couldn't just make the Butcher appear outta thin air.

Not out of thin air! He had to be somewhere in the multiverse, after all, right?

"Where the hell is this guy? Baltimore's startin' to get twitchy."

Which had everything to do with the criminals all anticipating the Butcher's arrival and nothing to do with the way Eliot kept stalking around downtown.

Sure, no, not at all.

"Yeah, well, unfortunately 'Baltimore'--" the air quotes were audible "--is gonna have to relax a damn bit. The Butcher moves on his own time, not ours."

Eliot ran his hand through his hair, resisting the urge to punch something. "Yeah, well, the longer it takes to find him, the more likely Kathy's gonna do somethin' fatally stupid."

"Yeah, so, about that..." Hardison said, gesturing vaguely. "Y'all, uhh, clear the air between you yet?"

Eliot shook his head. "I'll be lucky if she ever talks to me again."

He didn't sound so much upset as resigned. Because, you know, her hating him was basically the inevitable result of them being friends.

An uncharitable part of Hardison wondered if this meant he was off the hook for looking up college applications. Another part was quietly happy that his TA was sensible. And that included the part where she wanted to fling herself off something high to learn to fly.

...They needed to get on that.

"I'm sure she'll come around after she realizes that you did...alla whatever happened...to protect her. You forgave us after we tied you to a chair, right?"

"I wasn't seventeen." And it wasn't exactly the first time he'd been tied to a chair for several days.

Your life, Eliot. Your life. Hardison would like to point out that he'd only been tied to chairs after getting to know you. Just sayin'.

"An' for that, I'm sure we're all grateful," Hardison said, steering the conversation over to less fraught topics. "I don't think I could handle a seventeen year old Eliot."

"I was charmin', athletic. A pillar of my community." Eliot smirked. "You wouldn't've stood a chance."

At least a little because Hardison would have been, like, five at the time.

Oh kiddie weekend was going to be such fun!

"Yeah, cause in high school that was just my type," Hardison drawled. "Handsome white boys who had it all. Be still my heart."

"Hey, I worked two jobs after school. Not all of us knew how to rob banks in other countries when we were in high school."

The vent over Hardison's desk opened, and Parker somersaulted out. "You're the only one of us that didn't," Parker noted, holding up what looked like-- tiny shoes? Maybe? "Would Kathy forgive you if we taught her how to do that?"

"Kathy doesn't strike me as the bank robbin' sort."

Not yet. She was far too into being altruistic. Maybe when she got older, and about five million times more cynical.

4,999,999 times. Eliot had surely made her at least a little cynical by now.

Hardison didn't even look surprised anymore, just shifted over to make room in the booth with her. "Bet Sophie could do it, too," he added. "Babe, why do you have tiny shoes?"

"They're for the gremlins. I thought it might work like those elves in the Barry Plodder books." She gave the little shoes a thoughtful look. "They're Sophie's weakness too. Do you think she's related to elves?" She looked over at Eliot now, eyes much more focused. "Do you think it would help if I talked to her, maybe? I know she likes you more, but still."

"She doesn't right now." Eliot shook his head. "Won't tell you not to, but I dunno that it'd do any good. She's determined to throw herself on this like an idiot."

"Man, it sorta reminds me of someone," Hardison noted. "Tryna figure out who, though. Gimme a sec, it'll come to me."

Along with a significant glance at Eliot.

"Which reminds me, yo. What exactly is the plan?"

"She was learning from the best," Parker said, deadpan. "For Shelley to find the Butcher, then call Quinn. And to stay on comms. And... anything else?"

"Quinn ain't even necessarily in the country," Eliot said. "I'm on the ground on this one. Once we get a location for him I'll go in and take him down."

"How?" Hardison asked. "Cause...just sayin', you done that already. What, twice?"

"Not that we doubt you could do it," Parker added. "But plans are good. And plans to get away with stuff are even better."

It was good that Parker added that, because Eliot was just about to growl at Hardison for doubting he could do it.

"This time I'll make sure he ain't gettin' back up," Eliot said. "As for, uh. Clean up. I got a system."

Which he'd detail if they insisted, but it was kinda gross, so. . . .

"Okay, so when we're talkin' 'take him down', we don't mean take him down, cuff 'im real good, an' lock him away in the darkest, deepest hole Vance can find, an' forget about 'im," Hardison noted. Then he put his hands up. "Ain't sayn' you're wrong, just makin' sure we're all on the same page here."

"I don't like this page. But I dislike the page where Kathy or you get hurt even more," Parker admitted to Eliot. Looking at Hardison, she asked, "That doesn't make it wrong, does it?"

"Vance doesn't have a hole deep enough." Eliot did not want to have to fight this guy a fourth time.

"I'm pretty sure I lost all right to determine whether somethin's right or wrong when I told Eliot to take out Deon," Hardison said quietly. "I don't get to make that call anymore. If Eliot thinks this is the right course of action, then I'mma agree."

"I don't think it's a one-time-and-done thing, Alec." Yes, things are that serious. First name is being used. Parker was giving Eliot a troubled look. "It's just-- I keep going over it, thinking will this make things better? Or worse? And it only makes it better for everyone if you come back home alive, Eliot. And you don't get arrested."

"Which is why I'll be on comms," Eliot said, giving them both relieved looks. "So my crew can make sure the cops don't come breathin' down my neck. Or let me know if the Butcher's got somethin' extra up his sleeves."

"'I'm not so sure about that, mama," Hardison sad, squeezing her hand. "But for now, let's focus on plannin' somethin' so Eliot takes out the Butcher without anyone else gettin' hurt, killed, or arrested. All right, Mastermind. Let's mastermind."

I want all of the apple foods in the world.

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Luke's, Thursday

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OOC