Chapter Text
It wasn’t a risk-free job by any stretch of the imagination. The mob is still the mob, no matter how much better their team was. But it was relatively low-risk. Eliot would put it at a 3, maybe 4 if things went south. This part was supposed to be simple. Hardison was posing as the client, looking to buy whatever chemicals they’d gotten their hands on. Harry was playing evil lawyer extraordinaire, and Eliot was there for the look of it and as insurance if things did go south. It had been going well. Hardison was selling the pitch, and honestly, their security was bad all things considered. It really looked like Eliot would be there for show. Most of them were bass in a guppy pond, except for the man to the mark’s left. He was shorter than the rest, with dark hair and blue eyes. He looked strong, but it was in that deceptive way hired muscle tended not to go for. Hardison said he looked like a model. He made Eliot uneasy. Ex-military maybe? Espionage type seemed more likely… There was something about his stance Eliot had seen before, but couldn’t quite place… That alone was worrying, not to mention he was too invested in what was going on. He was calculating something, and bodyguards who could think were always a problem. Regardless, if the others were bass, he was a barracuda. Nothing Eliot couldn’t handle, but still. And then, Harry walked in with the papers.
Pretty Boy's face twisted. There was rage there, recognition, and genuine hatred for one second, before his face smoothed back out into that passive calculating look. Honestly, that was more worrying. It meant he could bluff, and he knew Harry Wilson, not “Sam Winters”. And then Pretty Boy let out a breath and shifted back into a more relaxed stance, and it clicked into place. Cold dread traveled down his spine. Eliot hadn’t seen that stance in years, and he’d hoped he’d never see it again. They had to leave. They had to leave yesterday, no, last week. They were not equipped for this. Forget barracuda, that was a fucking bull shark, no, a megalodon. This was a predator out of their league. Where the hell had these morons even gotten that kind of cash for someone like him? No better question, what was he doing here?
“We need to leave, now,” Eliot hissed into his coms. Hardison glanced back for a second, and Harry tensed a little. Pretty Boy’s eyes narrowed.
“Wait, what?” Breanna said, “Everything is going great! Hadison’s got them! Harry just needs a signature!”
“Are you compromised?” Parker said with a slight hint of worry creeping into her voice.
“No, not yet. Don’t burn us, that will make it worse.”
It wasn’t silent by any stretch, but the phone’s ringtone was too loud regardless. Hardison reached into his pocket. Pretty Boy’s hand twitched. Eliot tensed.
“WHERE ARE YOU?” A shrill, Russian-accented voice screamed through the phone. Eliot had to hand it to Sophie; she always knew the most dramatic option. “YOU WERE SUPPOSED TO BE HERE TEN MINUTES AGO. MR. DANIELS IS WAITING!”
“No, no, that's tomorrow,” Hardison said with fake urgency. “NO, IT’S NOW, AND HE SAYS IF YOU AREN’T HERE IN THE NEXT TWENTY MINUTES HE’S PULLING OUT.” Sophie seemed to have decided that was enough to get them out of there because she hung up without another word. Eliot winced internally; they were not on the same page. “Sorry, “ Hardison said, leaning over to the mark. “We really need to go; there’s been a scheduling error. My receptionist will be dealt with.” He threw in a glare for added effect. Eliot mentally rolled his eyes. Always so dramatic. He never learned. “Can we reschedule this in a couple of days?”
Eliot's stomach sinks. If anything, Pretty Boy looked more interested than ever. The mark looked annoyed. He was about to say something when Pretty Boy leaned over and whispered in the mark’s ear. Eliot noted that Harry never left his line of sight. The mark relented, waving them off angrily. And Eliot wasted no time getting them all the hell out of dodge.
They got back to headquarters, and before he could even sit down, Breanna started her interrogation, “What are you doing? We almost had him!” There was an edge of frustration to her voice, and she looked tense. Eliot supposed that was fair; these guys were messing with her girlfriend and her family. And her girlfriend’s mom was already in the hospital.
“Pretty Boy is Renegade.” That did not have the reaction he expected or hoped. Breanna stared blankly, which he guessed bitterly was fair. Renegade was before her time and not exactly in her field. Annoyingly, Parker, Hardison, and Sophie were also giving him blank looks. Which, really, he was old news, but you’d think they were up to date at the time, at least. Renegade had certainly made waves back then. But Harry, Harry went pale. His hands started shaking.
“Oh come on, Deathstroke’s apprentice?" Eliot huffed out. That had more of the desired effect. Sophie, Parker, and Hadison now looked worried (not worried enough, mind you), and Breanna was squinting like the name sounded familiar. The kid was going to give him a heart attack; she somehow had less survival instincts than Hardison had when they’d started working together, and that was saying something. Nate, well, Nate had honestly been trying to get himself killed. But at least Sophie had been able to throw a punch, and well, Parker was Parker. Twenty pounds of crazy in a ten-pound bag, he thought fondly.
“I thought Deathstroke worked alone?” Sophie said hesitantly.
“He does now, but there was a period about ten years ago when he didn’t.” All eyes swiveled to Harry.
“Annnd you know this extremely unrelated to your profession fact about a professional murderer, why?” Hardison said with (in Eliot's opinion) valid skepticism.
“Actually, corporate espionage was absolutely under my purview. Deathstroke stole something for a former client, but they didn’t pay him enough to kill law enforcement. Renegade was the one who called me to get him out of jail. He sounded young, but still that guy couldn’t have been past his mid-20s,” Harry said miserably. He looked shaken and suitably guilty.
“And that worked!” Sophie cried.
“I mean, yeah, they didn’t have enough evidence to hold him.”
“He’s a known killer!” Harry shrugged helplessly.
“I was a very good evil lawyer, and he is very good at his job.”
“Can someone please tell me who Deathstroke, Renegade, whatever his name is, is?” Breanna snapped, apparently done with being out of the loop and ready to give Eliot a fresh headache.
“Deathstroke is the alias of Slade Wilson, otherwise known as the world’s deadliest assassin. He’s a merc for hire, whatever you need. Theft, murder, blackmail, kidnapping, you name it. Costs a small fortune, but he can go toe to toe with Justice League heavy hitters,” Eliot said grimly. “Like Harry said, there was a period of about 8 months, 10 years ago, when he had an apprentice Renegade. After that, he dropped off the map. No one’s heard from him since. Most people thought he was dead; either a mission went south, or Deathstroke didn’t need him anymore.” Eliot paused at the horrified look on Breanna’s face. “People die a lot in that field, and you don’t always find the body.” He shrugged. “I worked with him once. The guy was ridiculously loyal and good at what he did. He’d earned that uniform. I thought he was older, too, definitely young, but at least 18.” Eliot said, directing the last comment at Harry.
“So this is ok then,” Breanna sounded hopeful. “ Dudes, the apprentice, not the master. And he’s been inactive for over a decade–”
“No.” Eliot cut her off. “It’s probably worse. Deathstroke is a known element; the man takes his terms and conditions seriously. If it’s not in the contract, he’s not doing it, at least not without a substantial additional fee. We could have worked around that or waited till he was done with the job. Sloan sure as hell isn’t making Deathstroke money. Maximum, he’d have handled one job or a short one-time contract. We could probably have waited him out, but we don’t know Renegades' MO or pay scale. And just because Renegade hasn’t been active for 10 years doesn’t mean he hasn’t been in the field. Just that he kept a low profile and didn’t use that alias. Hell, no one had anything about him before this no-name; no one ever saw him without the mask. He never even got caught, let alone arrested.”
“Ok, so how do you know it’s even Renegade if no one’s ever seen his face? I mean, both you and Harry think he’s older.” Breanna was starting to sound more desperate
“It’s a very distinctive stance,” Eliot muttered darkly.
“And apparently he’s got it out for Harry,” Hardison said flatly. Harry gulped and somehow got paler.
“So,” Sophie started, “We need to decide what to do now and if we need to bail on this job.”
“What, no! We promised we’d help. I mean, we’ve taken on hit men before! And Eliot wasn’t even there that time!. And we’ve got an advantage, we can find out who he is. Besides, Eliot's the best!” Breanna cried indignantly.
“Kid, I’m the best normal hitter. I don’t tend to do Capes, and at most, I do low-level. They are a whole other ball game, and frankly? Way too much trouble. We have it on record that his boss fought Batman in Gotham and got away with it. He’s not Deathstroke, but the last time I saw him fight, he was plenty good, and apparently, he wasn’t even your age yet. Even if I could take him, I couldn’t guarantee anyone else's safety.”
“But we have an advantage no one’s had before!” Breanna said. She seemed to have found her second wind, Eliot thought glumly. “We know his face! We can track him to find out who he is and what he wants! Let's at least wait till we find that out before we give up.” She turned to the group with a pleading expression. “I can’t let Cora down. These guys put her mother in the hospital. They are trying to run her family out of town. We can’t just sit by and ignore that!”
“Fine,” Sophie said, slipping into her mission voice. That was good. It meant she was starting to take this seriously. “You and Hardison, look and see what you can find. But,” she said, raising her hands, “if I decide this is too dangerous, we are pulling out. We’ll find another way to help Cora, Breanna, but this is a different game than we usually play.” And she swept off to go to bed, leaving a slightly crestfallen Breanna in her wake. And just like that, she recovered, dragging her brother with her towards their geek cave to do god knows what. All Elliot knew was that privacy was dead, and Hardison had certainly helped kill it. Eliot was glad they were on their side. He didn’t like enemies he couldn’t fight physically. Although this one might honestly be worse.
Parker leaned over to him with a little concern in her eyes. It was amazing how much people could change. 10 years ago, Parker wouldn’t have read that fear in him. Hell, she’d probably be out of the country the second she heard the name Deathstroke. If you and the Terminator had the same quarry, you were giving it to him one way or another; most people preferred the one where they still had a pulse by the end of it. Eliot hoped that Renegade had changed for the better over the last decade. He’d certainly changed; the Renegade Eliot had seen had been skilled, yes. If Eliot hadn’t been a worse person, hadn’t seen war. He’d probably have nightmares about what he’d seen Renegade do to men. But he hadn’t been independent. The Renegade he’d known was more like one of Breanna’s robots or a shadow. It had been creepy, like he only breathed and ate because Deathstroke had told him to. Most of the mission, it hadn’t even felt like anyone was home. Not that Eliot had been much better, he thought with a twinge of regret. He’d left Moreau soon after. Parker hugged him and disappeared to god knows where. Leaving Eliot alone with Harry.
“You should stay here.”
“What?” Harry said with a start.
“You should stay here for the night. It’s better guarded. And Hardison's right, he hated you; that wasn’t professional distaste. I don’t know what you did, or he thinks you did, but that? Was personal.” Harry was starting to sweat. He’d have to tell Sophie to give him more acting lessons. Harry needed to be able to hide that fear better.
“I’ll just go tell Becky I won’t be home tonight.” He was already fumbling with his phone. Maybe Eliot should make him take his self-defence course with Breanna. It hadn’t really occurred to him before this point that Harry’s evil lawyer days may have caught some very bad, very dangerous people in the crossfire, not just helpless children and families. Eliot sighed. Harry had hung up his phone and was now looking around, slightly baffled.
“Come on,” he said, leading Harry up the stairs to the spare room across from Sophie. The setup wasn’t ideal; everyone was too spread out, with Breanna and Hardison in their geek room and Parker, god knows where. Probably in the walls, Eliot shuddered. But this room had reinforced windows and an alarm system, so it would have to do. Besides, it had the best position for a defender. Eliot would have to hope Renegade would go directly for Harry. And if he did that, Eliot would have to be better, or at least luckier. He settled in. It was going to be a long night.