Striking in the West
Jul. 20th, 2010 04:41 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
fleurlbFandom: Leverage
Title: Striking in the West
Author: ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
fleurlb
fleurlb Rating: PG
Characters: Hardison, Eliot, Parker.
Word Count: 5,500
Spoilers: If you know anything about the show, you're golden.
Warnings: A bit of violence, but nothing too harrowing
Disclaimer: I own nothing here and am just doing this for fun.
Summary: When Nate and Sophie are kidnapped, Hardison has to step far outside his comfort zone.
Notes: Written for the fic-a-thon over at ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
36_stratagems. Thanks to ultranos_fic for inventing and running the community and also for graciously giving me a short extension. Special thanks to celtic_flicka for the thorough and speedy beta. All mistakes are my own.
36_stratagems. Thanks to ultranos_fic for inventing and running the community and also for graciously giving me a short extension. Special thanks to celtic_flicka for the thorough and speedy beta. All mistakes are my own.6. Make a sound in the east, then strike in the west. In any battle the element of surprise can provide an overwhelming advantage. Even when face to face with an enemy, surprise can still be employed by attacking where he least expects it. To do this you must create an expectation in the enemy's mind through the use of a feint.
Hardison often thought that their work had no happy middle ground. They were either doing awesome, getting everything they needed and watching all their pieces fall into place. Or they were standing by helplessly while a vanload of thugs drove off with somebody. Which was damn funny when it happened to that fake psychic. It was a lot less funny when it happened to Nate and Sophie.
“Hardison,” came Eliot’s voice in his ear, sharp and angry. “Tell me that didn’t just happen.”
Fingers flying over the keyboard, the hacker easily gained control of several traffic cameras. “Give me a second.”
“We don’t have a second,” said Parker as she opened the back of the van and climbed in.
“You know, I don’t think any faster if I’m panicking. In fact, I think a whole lot slower, so you might want to sit down and back off a bit,” replied Hardison, keeping his voice as light as possible as his eyes remained glued to his screens.
He had a visual of the van, the license plate, and a string of traffic cameras standing by to track them. This was exactly the position you wanted to be in if your mastermind and grifter had just been captured, which itself wasn’t exactly a position you wanted to be in at all. But hey, Nana always said you had to deal with what was put in front of you.
Hardison was dimly aware of Eliot getting into the front of the van, talking about how whoever had done it knew something about them, since their first step had been to take Nate’s button cam and both their earbuds.
“Hardison, what’ve you got?” asked Eliot, cutting through his work-induced haze.
“Van’s registered to a rental company. I can hack in to get the records later, but it’ll probably be a waste of time.”
“What else you got?” growled Eliot as he threw the van into gear, the sudden movement nearly knocking off Hardison’s cap.
“Traffic cameras. I’m tracking them. Sending the route to your GPS up there now.”
“That’s more like it,” said Eliot, as close to praise or a thank-you as the guy would ever get.
“What does it matter? We’re probably just going to find their bodies anyway,” said Parker gloomily.
“Hey, if they wanted them dead,” said Eliot, “they’d be dead already. How many times do I have to tell you that?”
“Is that supposed to be comforting? Because really, man, you gotta work on that,” said Hardison.
“Ain’t my job to comfort you, Hardison.”
“So what are we going to do now?” asked Parker.
“We’re going to follow the van, see where they take Nate and Sophie, and try to learn as much about the situation and the kidnappers as we can,” said Eliot, his voice calm and collected as he drove the van through rush hour traffic.
“You think we’re looking at ransom or what?” asked Hardison as he enhanced an image from the button cam to run through the facial recognition software.
“I don’t know. You get anything usable off the button cam?”
“Running it now.” Hardison kept most of his attention on the traffic cameras, confidently tracking the van as it zig-zagged through the streets, seemingly headed for the waterfront.
“Looks like they’re headed for the docks,” observed Parker, who had suddenly appeared at his shoulder, her head close to his. It was making it difficult for Hardison to focus, especially when she leaned against him.
“What is it with bad guys and warehouses on the docks?” said Hardison, aiming for a joking tone to lighten the mood in the van.
“Cheap space, maximum escape routes, minimal chances of eyewitnesses....not really much of a mystery,” replied Eliot.
“That was a rhetorical question, you know, one of those that doesn’t actually expect or require an answer,” said Hardison, ramping up to needle Eliot when his screen flashed announcing a match.
“I know what a rhetorical question is, but that sure didn’t sound like one to me,” grumbled Eliot.
“Never mind that,” said Hardison. “I got a match on the driver of the van. Ivan Kyshenko, pulling up anything I can on him now.”
Eliot cursed under his breath. “He’s with the Butcher. One of his best guys, former kick-boxing champion. Practically unbeatable in a fight.”
Hardison scanned the file the computer produced, hoping it would contradict Eliot’s assessment, but, as usual, the hitter was right about their opposition.
Eliot slowed the van and pulled over. “They’re in the warehouse complex now. I don’t want to get too close, tip our hand. Hardison, can we steal some camera coverage in there or do we need to plant some?”
“Me! I can plant cameras,” said Parker, jumping at the chance to do something, her elbow knocking sharply into Hardison’s back.
“Sit down, Parker,” said Eliot.” You’re not going anywhere near there if you don’t have to.”
As Parker sunk into a chair, muttering about never getting to have any fun, Hardison found a feed for the warehouse facility’s rent-a-cops.
“Yeah, I got it. I can reposition a few cameras and spoof the footage in the guard’s center so they’re none the wiser.”
“Good, let’s back off and then come up with a plan.” Eliot put the van back into gear and pulled into the street, making a tight turn to head back to Nate’s condo.
--//--
It took Hardison the better part of three hours to collect all the necessary blueprints, floor plans, video feeds, and intel needed to establish what, exactly, they were dealing with. Ivan, the former kickboxing champion, was standing at the front door, unarmed. Four or five armed guards were stationed inside the warehouse, which was a big open space with only one small office.
Eliot guessed that maybe two guards were patrolling the open areas and two guards were probably inside the office where they were holding Nate and Sophie, with maybe one guard posted at the door. At least that’s how Eliot would’ve divided up the men. The wild card was the Butcher, who, from the communications that Hardison was able to intercept, seemed to be en route from Kiev.
“Okay, we strike hard and fast, get Nate and Sophie out of there before the Butcher arrives,” said Eliot, stepping up to the screens, which were displaying both the blueprint of the warehouse and a schematic for the street.
Hardison and Parker both nodded in agreement. In three hours, they’d received no ransom demands or communication from either the kidnappers or their team members. They didn’t need Eliot’s grim knowledge to confirm that this was a bad sign.
“Hardison, you’re going to go to the front,” said Eliot, “And take on Ivan while Parker and I cut out one of these windows on the side, sneak inside, take out the guards, and free Nate and Sophie.”
“Nu-huh,” insisted Hardison, shaking his head to emphasize his point. “That’s the worst plan I’ve ever heard.”
“I can’t just march up to the front door and take on Ivan without tipping our hand. You’ll go up in costume, buy a little time, then fight him for just long enough to keep him busy.”
“Keep him busy? Keep him busy? Man’s a trained fighter and killer, not a cranky toddler. I am not going to be able to keep him busy,” said Hardison, crossing his arms and sinking back in the couch. He was going to die.
“You’ll be fine,” said Parker, patting his arm. She paused before adding a final Parker-esque touch to her pronouncement. “Probably.”
“Why can’t you just take Ivan out with your magical fighting skills?” asked Hardison.
“Yeah, I can do that. And while I’m doing that, he can give the command to the thugs in the warehouse to kill Nate and Sophie. Is that what you want?”
Hardison was silenced for a moment, but then a troubling realization hit him. “How do you know he won’t do that anyway?”
“Because he’s not going to see you as a viable threat. Especially if you rile him up first. He’s a hot head, so if you get him angry enough, all of his focus will be on you and he’ll forget about his hostages.”
“I still don’t see why you can’t do that,” grumbled Hardison.
“Because as soon as he sees me coming, he knows what I’m there for. I’m thinking you go in wearing your crazy man costume, looking like just another guy sleeping rough in the warehouses, he’s going to drop his guard.”
“Okay, but that still doesn’t solve my main problem. Man is a kickboxer. I’m a hacker. Pounding in another dude’s skull is not what these hands were made for. Besides, look at him. He looks like he eats raw meat and steroid cereal for breakfast.”
Parker wrinkled her nose. “That sounds like a terrible flavor.”
Eliot rubbed his hands over his face, his first warning sign that his patience was wearing thin. “OK, both of you, get up off the couch.”
“I was just saying,” protested Parker.
“Hardison, I’m going to teach you everything you need to know to get through today alive, okay?” asked Eliot. “Parker, you’re going to help.”
Parker bounced up with a gleeful smile. Remembering all too well the last time Parker ‘helped’ Eliot demonstrate fighting techniques, Hardison was less thrilled with the idea. Grumbling, he peeled himself off the couch and moved uncertainly to the open area that Eliot had gestured to.
Hardison stood a few feet away from Eliot and Parker, trying to get psyched up for the training. He watched as Eliot whispered a few things, then affectionately cuffed Parker in the ear. She squared up, ready to fight, her whole face serious and intent. Hardison didn’t know how he was going to fight the Human Steroid Cruncher when truthfully, he didn’t even want to play-fight a woman half his size.
“Hardison, quit jumping around like a goddamn jackrabbit. You’ve got to focus your mind and energy, not waste it,” barked Eliot, turning the full force of his glare on the hacker, who’d just been trying to loosen up a few muscles before getting pummeled.
Eliot whistled and Parker came forward, advancing steadily. Hardison made a few half-hearted jabs in her direction and was entirely unsurprised when she punched him in the face and then tackled him to the floor.
“Parker, don’t concuss him in training,” said Eliot with a sigh, pulling her up.
“You didn’t tell me to go easy,” replied Parker with a pout.
“No, but I expected you to use some sense,” grumbled Eliot, extending a hand and effortlessly hauling Hardison back to his feet. “You ready?”
Hardison blinked and shook his head, then rubbed the back of his neck. “Give me a few seconds, man. That floor is hard.”
“Look, you gotta use whatever advantage you have in a fight,” said Eliot.
“What about when you have none?”
“You always have something. Against Ivan, like against Parker, it’s going to be your reach. He ain’t that much taller than her. You’re gonna have at least 6 inches on him, so your arms are a couple of inches longer. Use it.”
“What? Like in the Three Stooges? Should I just put a hand on his forehead and hold him back?”
“No! Not like the Three Stooges,” said Eliot, practically combusting in a fit of annoyance. “Go on, Parker. Get him.”
Eliot stepped back as Parker advanced again. This time, Hardison was ready. He took a few swings to drive her back and then danced away. She swung, he dodged. She kicked, he stepped aside.
He was dimly aware of Eliot giving encouragement and commands, but he kept his attention on Parker and her little fists. He was more focused on the fight this time and found that he was getting pretty good at just prancing around her, which he was sure looked completely idiotic. But maybe, just maybe, it would keep him alive.
“Make a sound in the east, then strike in the west,” said Eliot.
“That sounds like a fortune cookie,” said Hardison with a smile as he dodged Parker’s flying fist and gave her a little shove to push her off balance.
“Did you eat my fortune cookies for breakfast?” accused Parker, turning her attention from the fight to Eliot. Hardison knew he could turn her mistake to his advantage, but it didn’t feel very sporting. Plus, he was slightly out of breath, so he leaned forward and put his hands on his knees.
“No, Parker, I didn’t eat your fortune cookies for breakfast. Unlike some people, I eat actual food for breakfast.”
“Then what the hell were you talking about?” asked Hardison, pulling himself upright slowly.
“It’s one of the Thirty-Six Stratagems,” explained Eliot, “a Chinese essay on ways to win in politics and war.”
“I love strategy and gems, so stratagems sound perfect,” said Parker.
“It’s not....nevermind. Take a break, Parker,” directed Eliot as he pulled Hardison aside. “You’ve got your reach working for you, now you need to learn how to feint.”
“I’m sure I’m going to faint alright, as soon as that big boy’s boot hits my head,” replied Hardison.
“Dammit Hardison, f-e-i-n-t, as in a ruse to pretend to attack in one place, when really, you’re attacking in another.”
“Isn’t that what this whole plan is?”
Eliot narrowed his eyes and ignored the question. “Look, this guy is a trained kickboxer. He’s going to be watching your core, trusting it to give him warning of where you’re going to strike next.”
“So you what? Want me to lean left but hit with my right?”
“That’s exactly what I want you to do. Now go get her.” Eliot gave him a not-so-gentle shove in the direction of Parker, who was rested and ready.
Her first blow landed hard on his chest, nearly knocking the wind out of the him. But Hardison reminded himself to heed Eliot’s advice. It took a few long minutes of painful practice, but finally, he was getting the hang of it. Telling part of your body to do one thing while directing another part to do something different was a learned skill, but in a strange way, it was transferrable. Like playing the violin, when your left hand had to move at lightning speed to play several measures of slurred sixteenth notes while your right hand and arm stayed steady, smooth, and long on the bow.
“Enough, I think we’re ready.” Eliot’s voice cut through Hardison’s concentration, allowing Parker to land one last jab to his face.
“Ready or not, we got a job to do,” replied Hardison, grimly focused on the job at hand.
--//--
Eliot parked the van a block up from the warehouse, in the shadows created by a couple of broken street lights. Hardison adjusted his wig, hoping that it would stay on for the duration of the fight. Part of him wondered how long the fight could actually last anyway, since he was so going to get his ass kicked. The dread was worse than anything he’d ever experienced, even junior high school gym class.
Hardison exited from the back of the van and struggled to pull out the shopping cart they’d stolen on the way there. It was filled with props to give him street cred as Crazy Homeless Guy and also to use during the fight: a squeegee, a bucket of water, old clothes, a blanket. Parker had tried to put a box of cereal in there, but then changed her mind when he told her that she probably wouldn’t get the box back.
“You ready?” asked Eliot, who, like Parker, was dressed in all black.
“As I’ll ever be,” replied Hardison, trying but failing to keep the fatalistic sigh out of his voice.
“You’re going to be fine,” said Eliot. For a second, Hardison nearly believed him, until he saw Parker’s wide-eyed, confused look.
“Let’s go,” said Parker, dashing off into the inky shadows without so much as a good-bye, leaving Eliot no choice but to follow her, muttering darkly to himself.
Hardison waited until they were in place and then slowly rolled the shopping cart up to the warehouse, fake arguing with himself the whole way there about who would win in a fight between Batman and Wolverine.
He cut across the parking lot in front of the warehouse, purposely not noticing Ivan, who was standing at the front door. He was wearing a white and gold tracksuit, which somehow made him look even bigger and more intimidating than he had in the kickboxing pictures online.
Hardison made directly for the nearest grimy windows and got to work wiping down what looked like several centuries of industrial waste.
“Can’t see much inside,” he murmured, trying to feed Parker and Eliot as much intel as possible. “I can barely see figures moved around the perimeter. I can see the door into the office and it’s on the north side, so time it right, and you should get in without anyone seeing you.”
“What you doing here? Private property, go away,” said Ivan, who had abandoned his post at the front door and was now dangerously close to Hardison.
“Manager told me if I clean all the windows, I can sleep here tonight. See, I even got keys,” said Hardison, as he started pulling multiple key rings and loose keys from his pockets, dropping them in a shoebox that sat in the basket of his shopping cart.
“No way. Private property, you go,” insisted Ivan, who had folded his arms and was staring with a menace that Hardison had only ever seen from Eliot on extremely bad days.
“Hey, boss man said and I need a place to sleep tonight. Plus, look at these windows. They’re filthy. My nana’d be ashamed, she saw the state of them, mmm-hmmmm,” said Hardison, making the same sort of disapproving noises that he’d heard his nana make over the state of his room, his report card, and anything else that didn’t measure up to her high standards.
Ivan stepped up and put a hand on Hardison’s shoulder, pushing him hard. “You go now or I call cops.”
Eliot’s voice sounded in Hardison’s ear. “We’re going in now.”
“Just let me wash some of these windows first, man. Maybe boss man’ll pay me for them,” said Hardison, picking up a bottle of Windex. He made to spray the window, but instead caught Ivan in the face.
The man growled and swiped at his eyes, then advanced on Hardison, who heeded Eliot’s advice and did his best to keep the cart between him and the angry Ukrainian. He figured he bought himself 30 seconds, maybe even a full minute as he comically repositioned the cart while asking if the guy was okay and trying to offer him a dirty rag to wash his face.
Ivan was not amused and finally grabbed hold of the cart and pulled it way, shoving it roughly to the side. Hardison watched as all his props and time-buyers drifted away, but his attention was soon distracted.
“Leave now, or you’re going to be sorry. Final warning.” Ivan’s smile was feral and dangerous. Hardison shivered a little in spite of himself and wandered back to the cart, appearing like he was about to leave.
“You’re doing good, Hardison,” said Eliot through the comm. “The guards patrolling the warehouse floor are down. We’re going to need a few minutes to figure out how to take out the two in the office without hurting Nate and Sophie.”
“Define ‘a few minutes,’” whispered Hardison as he pretended to take inventory of his window washing equipment.
“I don’t know. Ten minutes maybe, we need to get Parker into an air vent to get an idea of what’s going on inside the room. Can you hold him for ten more minutes?”
“Ten more minutes? I’m going to die,” muttered Hardison, not even a little bit embarrassed when it came out a bit squeaky.
“I didn’t catch that,” said Eliot.
“No problem,” said Hardison through clenched teeth as he edged away from Ivan, who was now doing what sounded like a countdown in another language. He got to the last number and then launched a terrifying kick at Hardison’s head. He managed to dodge it, but the breeze was nearly as frightening as the kick itself.
Hardison dodged and tried to put the cart between him and Ivan, but the kickboxer had gotten wise to the trick and made short work of pushing it out of the way. Ivan’s strikes were fast and certain and Hardison was only able to dodge about half of them. The ones that did land were solid and painful. The inside of the van never looked so good.
Hardison managed to get a few punches off, but they were glancing blows that did nothing but poke and anger his opponent. The hacker grabbed blindly at the shopping cart and managed to grab the squeegee, which had a long arm on it. He jammed it in Ivan’s chest and then kicked him hard in the balls.
“Sorry about that, man,” said Hardison with a wince, unable to avoid feeling a tiny twinge of sympathy.
“Don’t apologize,” said Eliot. “It’s you or him in a fight like this, anything goes.”
“Well, I wish anything didn’t have to go for much longer,” said Hardison, jabbing the squeegee at Ivan in a feeble attempt to ward him off. “Can you hurry it up at all?”
“Keep your shirt on.”
Which reminded Hardison about the clothes in the cart. He grabbed a big flannel work shirt and tossed it at Ivan, managing to land it on the man’s head. Hardison moved in while his opponent was temporarily blinded and punched him repeatedly in the face, then tried to land a knock-out blow to the chest, but it was like driving his hand into a brick wall.
Hardison backed off, shaking his hand and wondering how Eliot managed to punch beefy guys in the chest day after day. Ivan pulled the shirt off and Hardison was nearly gratified to see the man spit out a few teeth. But a bloody feral smile was even more frightening than the plain old feral variety.
A flurry of fists and feet came at him, reminding Hardison of a fight scene in a cartoon, where the dogs were just a blur with fur flying off them. He remembered how Nana used to turn the hose on the alley cats when they fought and that gave him another idea.
He picked up the bucket and emptied it on Ivan, who paused for a minute before wiping water from eyes and laughing dangerously.
“Well that’s not how I expected that to go at all,” said Hardison before throwing the empty bucket. Ivan unleashed a kick that splintered the bucket into many small pieces. Which would’ve been cool, except that Hardison could all too easily picture the guy doing the same thing to his head.
“Eliot, I sure hope y’all are almost finished because I’m running out of ideas,” said Hardison.
When Eliot answered, slightly out of breath, Hardison could hear the unmistakable crunch of breaking bone. “This’ll go a whole lot faster if you quit bugging me.”
Hardison grabbed the handle of the shopping cart and jabbed it at Ivan, half-heartedly trying to run him over while wondering what would happen if he just ran away. Would Ivan give chase? Would it ruin the rescue?
Ivan grabbed the shopping cart and wrenched it out of Hardison’s hands. Then, like Donkey Kong, he picked it up, lifted it over his head and hefted it out of the parking lot.
“See, now that’s cool. I can respect a move like that,” babbled Hardison, backing away with his hands raised.
Ivan came at him hard and Hardison did his best to use his reach and feint, to do everything that Eliot had instructed. He was hitting with as much force as possible, but it didn’t seem to be enough to put even a dent in the kickboxer. Hardison knew that he was just barely treading water and was relieved to hear a heads-up from Eliot that they’d be coming through the front door in ten seconds.
Hardison moved fast, jabbing at Ivan to keep his attention on the fight and then maneuvering to make sure the man’s back was to the door. The sound of the warehouse door crashing open was one of the sweetest sounds that Hardison had ever heard, even better than the chime of leveling up in World of Warcraft.
Watching out of the corner of his eye, Hardison saw Eliot march up and a land a hard punch at the base of Ivan’s neck. He dropped immediately, sprawling in a heap on the asphalt as Parker ushered out Nate and Sophie.
Nate paused to look at the heap of Ukrainian kickboxer, an amused smile on his face. “Nicely done,” he said to Eliot before continuing on to the van.
Hardison’s eyes widened and he shook his head. “Nicely done? I did all the hard work here. All Eliot did was finish the fight.”
Eliot chuckled and slapped him on the back. “Exactly. I brought the guy down with one punch.”
“That’s only because I softened him up for you the last twenty minutes,” said Hardison, who was growing huffy and impatient. He followed the others back to the van, insisting that he’d done all the hard work and it wasn’t fair that Eliot was getting all the credit for it.
Hardison climbed into the back of the van and sat in front of his screens, still seething about Nate’s reaction. He didn’t even have any real work to do, he just wasn’t ready to talk to anyone.
Parker slipped into the seat next to him and leaned close. “You know Ivan’s lifetime fight record was 127-1 and the most anyone ever managed to fight against him was four rounds.”
“I’m listening,” said Hardison, angling a look at Parker.
“Rounds in championship kickboxing are two minutes, so eight minutes was the longest.”
“Until now,” said Hardison with a grin. “I guess I did okay then.”
“Oh yeah, you did way better than Eliot thought you were going to. He owes me a hundred bucks since he bet you wouldn’t last more than ten minutes.”
Parker’s eyes were sparkling, but Hardison had to put that down to the money. He smiled and looked back at Eliot.
“Never bet against me again, man,” said Hardison, pleased with the way the evening had turned out. Nate and Sophie were safe, Eliot was out a hundred bucks, Parker was happy, and he hadn’t gotten his ass kicked too badly. As plans went, it had come together just fine.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2010-07-20 04:39 am (UTC)It turned out okay in the end, but my inner mama bear wasn't happy with Eliot at all. *glares* I want Hardison's Nana to turn up and give Eliot a piece of her mind! :)
no subject
Date: 2010-07-20 10:47 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-07-21 02:12 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-07-21 01:20 pm (UTC)I *heart* your icon. :)
no subject
Date: 2010-07-21 01:22 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-07-21 01:23 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-07-21 08:52 pm (UTC)I just ... I don't know, I guess I'm protective of the kids.
Heh, the icon's from some demotivator poster I saw somewhere, once. I love it! Not a clue where that was, though. That probably makes me a pirate or something, but eh. :)
no subject
Date: 2010-07-21 11:45 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-07-22 04:52 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-07-22 04:54 am (UTC)Batman and Wolverine is one of those geek discussions I find endlessly fascinating. :) Had it once with my nephew, when he was about 5 and he had the most interesting observation: "Batman would win because his super power is that he's CRAZY."
no subject
Date: 2010-07-23 01:06 pm (UTC)I seriously did a butt wiggle in the chair when I saw that you posted something new. I might have to avoid LJ for a while so that when I come back, maybe, just maybe, you'll have a present for me, again. Hee.
no subject
Date: 2010-07-25 06:41 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-08-01 09:31 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-08-01 09:31 am (UTC)