Disclaimer: Do I really need this? Does anyone think I own these characters? Because I don't...

The Faked Death Job

"I'll do it." Eliot volunteered, setting down his coffee to sit back on the couch.

The others looked at him, a little surprised.

Really, he wasn't as gung-ho about the plan as that statement might make him appear, but since it looked like this was what was going to fly…

He didn't like getting tangled up in the law. They were all really good at what they did, and it wasn't like they got caught when they did illegal things. Sure, occasionally they had to mess with a court case, but that was usually as the lawyers, and even Mr. Papadocholus made Eliot uncomfortable.

The idea of purposefully being the offender made the hair on the back of his neck rise.

This case was going to need so many grifters to pull off right, and good grifters at that, or someone was going to actually end up behind bars.

Eliot was not a good grifter.

Getting hit by a car, however, he could do.

"What?" He asked at the expressions on their faces. "I can't want to do the part of the job that requires physical stuff instead?"

"You realize faking your own death requires a certain amount of publicity." Sophie pointed out.

"So?"

"Which you don't usually like."

Eliot nodded uncomfortably. He didn't. "Not that much information's going to get to the press."

"We need publicity." Hardison was a master of getting publicity up on screens and into print. "If you're going to keep everything on you under wraps..."

Nate was giving him that look.

"Yeah, I know." Eliot sighed. "But a fake ID and... honestly, it's not like there's a lot of stuff on me for them to find. We needed the body to not hang around for the coroners anyway."

"Your photo will be all over everything."

He cringed a little inside at the thought. "Not a particularly good one if we don't leave anything at the crime scene."

"We need news coverage on the trial. Lots of it." Nate repeated the statement that had started this whole thing. The words still set off all sorts of alarms in Eliot's head, even after hearing the explanations.

"News coverage on a mysterious victim isn't enough?"

"It has to be enough that they'll be interested in the client."

Eliot made a barely audible sound in his throat, what Parker had once called his 'angry growl' and glared a little. "I don't know why you're all fighting this so much. Raise your hand if you want to be hit by a car." He shot his gaze around the table.

They all considered this. No one moved.

"Moving on." Eliot said firmly. "Who's going to hit me?"

Nate looked like he wanted to.

Sometimes Eliot wondered if there was anything worse than evil law firms.

They weren't even dealing with Wolfram and Hart here, so admittedly not evil by demon-y standards – yeah, that would have been fun to explain to the team – but it didn't make this bunch of money stealing, defenders-of-evil lawyers any less slimy.

Something had to be done about them, and when everything that could prove what the firm did was protected by lawyer-client privilege…

The only thing for it was to become a client.

In the end, it had come down to Nate being that client. Hardison, Sophie and Parker were all needed outside, and Nate could plan and get arrested at the same time.

With a flashy enough case to grab the firm's attention, they might actually pull it off.

Which left Eliot at the edge of a moderately not busy road, starting into the crosswalk. Hardison was sitting at that stupid street side café place that they were counting on for plenty of witnesses. The ancient cell phone – Hardison had complained at this, but Eliot wasn't having high quality footage of himself broadcast anywhere – in his hand, ready to capture the scene.

The shriek of tires and locking brakes broke through the ambient noises of a busy street.

Eliot prepared for the impact, ready to fall under the car. People with half his experience did this for insurance scams. He could do it without any serious injuries. Didn't mean it wasn't going to hurt.

He glanced in the direction of the car only when he was sure it would be too late to jump out of the way.

The rest was a flash of metal, rolling asphalt, shrieks, horns, yelling from passersby…

This was going to leave one hell of a bruise.

Then Nate was at his side, and he was trying to not be too much of a dead weight as he was shoved in the backseat, while still pretending to be dead. He was twice Nate's weight in muscle, and they had to do this fast, before anyone could "help".

It had been mentioned that using one of the girls would have made this step a lot easier, but hell if Eliot was letting Parker or Sophie get hit by a car.

Then the car door slammed shut and the car sped away from the scene, completing the hit, grab and run. Eliot lay out of sight of the windows and imagined a dozen cell cameras clicking pictures of the license plate. Someone would collect the wallet that had been left on the road where he'd hit, and the ball would be rolling.

Hello, six o'clock news, here we come.

"You can't hardly tell it's Nate," Parker leaned closer to the TV, where a heavily disguised Nate went through the actions in grainy footage.

Eliot leaned back on the couch, squinting at the screen and holding an ice pack to his side. "Just rough enough evidence that a cocky defense lawyer might actually take the case." His tone betrayed how tired he was of talking about this. He'd had a tiny part to play in this case, and now they were just watching it over and over and over…

Hardison looked up from his laptop, where he was doing… that laptop thing he did that Eliot really didn't want explained to him, and watched as the clip replayed again.

"How many times are they going to play this damn thing?" Eliot snapped. It was already a day and a half since he'd *done* the thing, he didn't need to keep seeing it.

"What can I say? People find you getting hit by a car very entertaining."

Parker tilted her head and watched Eliot hit the pavement again, making a quiet humming noise.

"Can we at least not watch it?"

"Things are progressing fast, man. We've got to keep an eye on the news." Hardison looked back at his computer. "Besides. It's funny."

Eliot crossed his arms solidly and then remembered the bruise. That discomfort hid behind the annoyed expression he'd already been building up. "This job better finish quick."

"First step's good." Hardison said absentmindedly. "I mean, as good as Nate being in prison being defended by a lawyer who should be convicted himself…" The hacker's voice trailed off in a distracted fashion as something on the laptop's screen distracted him and made a frown crease his forehead.

"Frown." Parker narrated.

Hardison looked up. "What?"

"You frowned. What's up?"

Hardison shook his head. "I guess it doesn't really matter, but some new lawyer's been transferred to the prosecution."

Eliot's eye's drifted over from the TV. Even details that didn't "really matter" were useful distractions. "I thought it was just gonna be some state guy."

"Yeah, that's what it was gonna be." Hardison shrugged. "Some local bigshot specifically requested the case."

"Why would he want Eliot's case?" Parker said in a voice that was just a little offensive.

"It's not like I got the whys here, guys." Hardison scanned the page and then read aloud, "'On special request, District Attorney Wilson was replaced as lead prosecutor on the Spencer case by local attorney Lindsey McDonald."

Eliot jumped, jarring his ribs.

"Ow."

He had, honestly, not been expecting that.

"You don't say ow. You're Eliot." Parker wrinkled her eyebrows at him.

Hardison's "Whoa," overshadowed this statement.

He pressed a few quick buttons and the TV where they had been watching the clip changed to show what was on his computer screen. Eliot's relief that the news was off was greatly diminished by what showed up next.

He groaned and closed his eyes, trying to sink into the couch, when his face appeared on the screen.

Well, not his face.

Lindsey's face.

But really, same difference.

"Is that… lawyer Eliot?" Parker sat up straighter.

"It's Lindsey McDonald." Hardison pointed at the caption in the lower corner.

"You have an evil twin?" Parker arched an eyebrow at him.

"I'm a hitter, and he's the evil twin?"

"He's a lawyer."

True enough.

Eliot groaned again. "My brother thinks I'm dead." He pinched the bridge of his nose and tried to imagine explaining this to Aunt Mae.

"He not only thinks you're dead, but he's pissed about it." Hardison pulled up a news story which listed Lindsey's accomplishments and whistled quietly. "Nate's so screwed."

Eliot stood quickly and headed to his room.

"Whoa, where are you going?"

"Somewhere where people aren't admiring the perfect twin," he offered as a moderately true excuse.

His bedroom door slammed, but he could still hear Parker ask whether they should call Sophie to tell Nate. If he weren't worrying about other things, like what this must be doing to Lindsey, he would have been amused by Hardison's reply. It was just hard to appreciate the mental image of Nate and Sophie's reaction if they didn't find out until they got to court, when he was much more vividly imagining how he would have reacted if it had been him finding out about his brother's death.

Lindsey strode into the courthouse with grim determination. In the back of his head, even as he ran through his case, the clip of his brother that had been flashing all over the news was on an infinite loop.

There was going to be hell to pay.

And after so long of working for Wolfram & Hart, hell had become decidedly literal for him.

The security guard at the door to the courtroom swung the door open for him. His hand tightened on his briefcase, but he otherwise didn't acknowledge the accession to his recent injury.

The room was crowded but quiet, only murmurs running through it as he walked down the center aisle.

He resisted the urge to slam the briefcase onto the prosecution table, trying to exude the confident nonchalance he liked to use in court. He didn't even glance over at the defendant until he had rifled one handed through his papers and set them in a neat stack in front of him.

Then he met the man's gaze, his own eyes narrowing with the only hint of his fury that this piece of shit was going to get.

The man had the decency to stare back into the face of the man he'd killed. Or at least a face just like it.

Lindsey took a little pleasure at that shock before turning back to the task at hand.

"Mr. McDonald. Pleased you could make it."

He looked at the judge and then down at the watch on his left wrist. He was late.

"Apologies, Your Honor. I've been off the job, and I… hit an unexpected delay." His fingers went to his tie, and the judge's eyes went to his right wrist. She knew what he meant. The corners of his eyes tightened, but he pretended not to notice. "I'm ready to begin at your convenience."

"Good then. Let's get started."

Eliot was cooking dinner when Sophie stormed into the office.

His gaze flicked up at her and then back down at the sautéing mushrooms. "How was court?" His voice was mild, but his stance was defensive.

"You have a brother."

"This I knew."

"A twin."

"Actually, I knew that too."

"It's not funny, Eliot."

"I'm not laughing."

He slipped the pan off the burner and turned to her. Parker was standing in the doorway behind her – Eliot hadn't heard her come in – and Hardison was watching from the couch.

He looked at Sophie, who looked very upset.

"He's trying pin Nate with Murder one."

Eliot's stomach dropped. "Murder? How's he swinging murder? Car crash is manslaughter."

"He's saying that the fact that the car was reported stolen and that Nate was too covered for a perfect ID, instead of being cause for doubt, are reasons to think it was premeditated."

"Pre-" Eliot swore. "Damn it, Lindsey, I'm the protective brother."

"Well," Parker chimed in from the doorway, "He isn't exactly protecting you."

Eliot shot her a glare he wouldn't usually level at the little blonde thief, no matter what she said. "He thinks I'm dead."

"Well, can you get on the phone and tell him you're not?" Sophie asked, hands on her hips. "He's out for blood."

"Can't." Eliot growled, turning to go back to the food now burning on the stove behind him. "Lindsey's not a 'Help the Helpless' sort of guy. He won't play along if he knows. He'll just be pissed and ruin the whole con."

He wanted to tell Lindsey. He really did.

"I suppose he's not hurting the con now…" Sophie said. "Everything's certainly got Nate's lawyers right into the whole thing." She laughed faintly. "In fact, everything Lindsey said – up until the whole "murder" thing – worked so well, I would have thought you'd cut your hair and put on a suit, if it weren't for the whole hand thing."

"Hand thing?" Eliot glanced over his shoulder.

"Well…" Sophie sounded uncomfortable. "It's kind of hard not to notice his right hand being… well, missing."

Eliot spun so fast his sleeve caught on the pan, and he barely grabbed the handle in time to keep the whole thing from dumping onto the floor. "What's wrong with Lindsey's hand?"

"I didn't exactly get a chance to ask what had happened." Sophie was looking at him in surprise at his reaction.

"Let me be clear, though." Eliot's voice grated low. "My baby brother lost a hand?"

Parker muttered something about them being twins, and Sophie just stared at him.

"Well, I… I thought you would have known."

He wiped his hands on the dishtowel beside the oven and then threw it into the sink. "Just toss everything together for dinner. It's close enough." Parker ducked out of the way to let him leave the kitchen.

"Eliot, where are you going?" Sophie followed to the kitchen door.

"To find out what happened to my brother."

"You can't go out, though." Sophie was at his side as he put on his jacket. She wasn't stopping him, though.

"She's right, man." Hardison said from the couch. "You're all over everything. People'd recognize you." That wasn't stopping him either.

"Don't care." He pulled his hair back, wrapping an elastic band twice to keep it up.

"Dude, wait two seconds and see if I can find something out online."

It was the only thing that had made Eliot pause. He would prefer to find these things out using foot and fist methods, but he'd seen what the hacker could come up with.

The hesitation was all Hardison needed to get moving. He bent quickly to his laptop.

Eliot crossed his arms. "You have five minutes. Then I'm doing this my way."

A search result popped onto the screen at the front of the living room. A medical report dated only a month ago. Eliot walked forward slowly to stare at the screen. Doctor jargon filled several pages worth of Hardison's scrolling, but it was clear enough that Eliot could read "bladed weapon" between the lines, not the "blade saw accident" that it had been labeled as.

He would have thought – he didn't know why he would have thought this – that amputation would be one of those things he would know about. Through the grapevine – so what if he kept tabs on his family? – or, hell, hear it from his brother…

"Um…" Hardison said. "I'm not having any luck getting into his work stuff-"

Eliot snorted, giving Hardison a look that said, "Yeah. Like that'll ever happen." Wolfram & Hart had the best security. Period.

"Hacked his private email though."

Eliot looked back at the screen curiously.

It took Hardison less time than it should have to make a list of enemies.

Eliot grunted his approval. He had to admit he was impressed.

The list was surprisingly short, considering what Eliot knew of his twin's life. Half of them were coworkers, and leading over them all by an unreasonable amount was a group called Angel Investigations.

Well, it was one place to start. The address Hardison had pulled up on the screen would be easy enough to remember if Angel Investigations ended up the biggest suspects.

He nodded a thank you, slipped out the thick, black-rimmed glasses he sometimes used as a disguise, and pulled a baseball cap low over his forehead.

No one tried to stop him this time.

Parker called after him to ask where he would look. He didn't answer. None of them would believe him if he told them he was going to a karaoke bar.

He pulled off the glasses to go inside. No demon cared whether he was supposed to be dead or not. The hat he threw into the bed of his truck, but he left his hair pulled back.

The host was distracted, looking down with fixed attention as he made drinks. His glances up were directed at the stage, where a blond girl was merrily singing her heart out.

Eliot slid into a seat at the bar where the demon was working, listening as the girl finished, slightly off key but decent enough for a karaoke club. He continued listening when she came over and "Lorne" gave her advice on what he'd read off her.

When she finally moved away, Eliot ordered a drink and watched the host dividing his attention between that and the very offkey, apparently fairly upsetting singer that had now stepped up on stage.

"You going to be singing tonight?" The demon asked, as he poured the drink, eyes on the stage but obviously talking to Eliot.

"I don't sing."

"Lindsey, baby, I've heard you sing. Your voice is wonderful."

"Yeah well, Lindsey can sing." Eliot reached out and took the drink Lorne had just finished.

Lorne's gaze travelled up his arm and fixed on him, actually looking finally, and he saw the differences, hair pulled back instead of short and the face more worn than a glance out of the corner of the eye would have shown.

"You're not Lindsey."

Eliot shook his head.

"Then who?"

"A man in need of some information."

"What kind of information do you think I can give you, doll?"

Only a person who had something Eliot really needed could get away with calling him 'doll'.

"I need the story behind what went down with my brother."

The green demon looked uncomfortable. "You mean what Angel did to his hand?"

Eliot's face went stony. "So it was Angel?"

Lorne backpeddled quickly, not expecting to be caught so quickly in knowledge he hadn't meant to say.

"There's a lot more to the story than that. Angel was just doing what he had to…"

Eliot scowled. "That supposed to make me feel better?"

"When Angel did that, Lindsey was about to-"

"If words come out of your mouth that equate to my little brother deserving what he got, I'll feed them back to you."

"It's not about deserving; it's about not blaming Angel for what Lindsey was doing that left it the only option."

Eliot watched him quietly, tapping his finger on the shot glass on the bar in front of him. They both knew he had every right to be upset about his brother, the demon just wasn't emotionally involved enough to admit it.

"My brother's sung in here, right?"

Lorne nodded.

"Has he ever brought his guitar?"

The tightening of the demon's expression was enough of an answer for Eliot. He nodded firmly, tossed back the shot and stood up from the bar.

There wasn't really a need to say more. He'd gotten what he'd come for. He didn't have the patience or the stomach to keep discussing all this. He needed to actually do something now.

He tossed some money on the bar, a large tip added onto the cost of the drink for the information.

Then he was out into the sunlight and headed towards the hotel where Hardison had told him Angel Investigations was located.

Eliot sat in his truck, windows down, and stared at the ornate front doors of the Hyperion. Of course he knew who and, more importantly, what Angel was. In his line of work, it didn't take long to run across something of a supernatural nature. Though he'd attempted in all ways he could to steer clear of it, Lindsey, upon finding out that his brother wouldn't scoff at the idea of vampires, had felt no reluctance to let the less normal details slip into the conversation. Well, it was something to say when conversation, at this point only the annual birthday call, became stilted, slow from disuse.

He knew what preparations he'd need to take, and he knew he damn well wasn't going to be able to catch the guy by surprise. Not when superhearing would easily pick up his footfalls.

Most other cases, he'd just walk in and be done before they had a chance to say more than a questioning hello. This wasn't, however, the best strategy. People who would mistake him on sight as their arch nemesis, he couldn't exactly just walk up to and say 'hi'.

He heard footsteps passing the car and buried his face in a map, managing to look sufficiently lost and obscured by the folds that the dark skinned member of Angel's team passed by without paying him mind.

He stopped crinkling the paper and listened, measuring the man's footsteps, reading from them enough to approve of the guy's training.

He listened a few seconds longer, closely, to the beats of the man's tread and weighed the merits of the plan that was forming in his head.

The man disappeared into the hotel. A few minutes later, Eliot caught sight of him through one of the upper story windows, and that was all the convincing he needed. He stepped out of the truck.

Footsteps echoed through the quiet entrance from the back of the building to the study where Angel was flipping the pages of a book in frustration.

"Gunn-" He turned to the doorway, book in hand, eyebrows shooting up in the split second between realizing that he'd been mistaken on the recognition of the footsteps and being punched in the face with enough force to knock him back into the desk.

"Guess again."

"Lindsey," Angel rubbed his jaw, which hurt more than that blow should have caused.

"And still wrong," Eliot said, shoving Angel back again and blocking the vampire's attempt to retaliate. "I would have thought the whole right hook thing would tell you that I'm probably not Lindsey." He held up his right hand. Each finger bore a ring with a little cross on it, like a set of holy brass knuckles.

"Then who the hell are you?"

"Name's Eliot Spencer." The next blow didn't land, but the rings burned the vampire's hand to Eliot's satisfaction when he caught it.

"Not McDonald?" And now it was Eliot blocking a punch and falling back into a stance which, unfortunately allowed Angel to regain his balance.

"Lindsey was the only McDonald I liked. Aunt's name was Spencer."

"And you're here to do what? Avenge him or something?"

"I'm here to warn you that if you touch my brother again, I can and will dust you."

Angel snorted and then had to duck. As much as it was tempting, there wasn't really time for witty banter as it became a full on fight.

Angel, admittedly, had superstrength, speed, and a good two hundred years on him. There was no amount of training that could make up for that kind of experience. However, considering that, Eliot felt he was doing pretty well. He had enough holy water, crosses and fighting styles to keep generally on a level.

After getting slammed into the doorjam hard enough to remind him of the problems of such an enclosed space, he managed to maneuver a throw to toss Angel into the foyer.

There was blood on Eliot's fist, and he was nearly sure it was Angel's. He'd have bruises and scrapes of his own tomorrow, plenty, but it was worth it. He had a feeling he'd managed to get enough of a message through.

With the noise they were making, it didn't seem likely that they'd be unobserved for long. Assured by the gash above Angel's eyebrow torn by one of the rings and the way the vampire favored one side, Eliot fought his way up the steps and then flung open the double doors, letting in all the slanting light of the glaring evening sun.

Angel jumped back away from him into the shadows.

"Try chopping at my brother again and you'd better start looking over your shoulder."

He turned and headed towards his truck, waiting until the doors swung closed to let himself start limping.

"I don't have time for this, Angel." Lindsey said, sounding more tired than angry. He had a case to work on. He may have been working on it all night, but he couldn't leave it alone. This was a case he couldn't lose.

He should have been working on it at home, rather than in his office, but it felt better here. Less depressed and lonely. He wasn't in the brooding stage of grief yet. However, his in apartment, are least, he wouldn't have to worry about damn uninvited vampires.

"Make time." The vampire tossed down a photo of a demon. "This one of yours?"

"First, what insanity possessed you to think I would tell you? Second, I have no idea." Lindsey pushed the picture away. "I've been out on leave for my… health. I'm actually working on a private case right now, so…" He looked up and was surprised when he made out Angel's face in the dim light. "What the hell happened to you?"

Angel looked like he really didn't want to talk about it. "Your brother happened."

Lindsey's eyebrows snapped down tightly from surprised into a frown. "When?" That gash still needed a bandage.

"This afternoon. Listen, I-" He was trying to push the photo again, looking more than a little annoyed.

Lindsey cut him off abruptly. "Undead? Or…" He hardly dared…

Angel frowned at him, and, the answer too slow in coming, Lindsey stood and grabbed his shirt.

"Was. He. Alive?"

"He looked pretty alive." He pushed Lindsey off, and the lawyer sat back heavily in his seat. "He wasn't a vampire. Lindsey-"

Lindsey wasn't listening. He was staring down at the file scattered across the desk. Witness statements, stills from the video… Everything that said his brother was dead.

"I'm going to kill him." He muttered.

Angel looked completely confused, but Lindsey ignored him and left the office.

Parker went to the door when there was a knock. The team had agreed that Eliot had risked enough going out that afternoon and didn't need to completely destroy the job by doing anything remotely resembling contacting the outside world.

However, when the door opened, a loud voice asked, "Where is he?"

Eliot sat frozen for a second, hearing Parker say something – he wasn't sure what – followed quickly by determined footsteps.

He stood and turned to get a face full of brother.

"Eliot, you bastard!" Lindsey punctuated with a solid shove to Eliot's chest, which was actually, because of his fight with Angel, pretty painful and sent him back a step. Lindsey continued advancing. "You let me think you were dead!"

Eliot put his hands on Lindsey's shoulders to hold him there. Lindsey smacked his arms away.

"How could you do that? I've been working on your murder trial."

"Hey, hey, you butted into my investigation. You weren't even supposed to know!"

"Inves-investigation?" Lindsey stared at him furiously. "What the hell kind of investigation requires faking your own death?"

"My kind." The quiet, half joking answer got the response desired.

Lindsey deflated. "Shit. You're alive," He breathed, grabbing Eliot into a rough hug, which Eliot permitted, despite the fact that Sophie, Parker and Hardison were watching and, hell, Hardison was probably recording it to play again at some embarrassing time.

"Yeah, I'm not going anywhere."

They separated, and Lindsey glared at him a moment. "I hope getting hit by that car hurt."

Eliot grimaced.

"And I suppose that the guy who 'killed' you is with your little group?" His gaze swept to the rest of the team.

"That's Nate." Parker answered for them, looking between the brothers. "Eliot never told us he had a brother. Did he tell you he had a team?"

Lindsey's eyes slid sideways to his brother. "I knew he was working for 'Leverage Consulting', but a team? Eliot, since when were you a team player?"

Eliot shrugged. "Since I met these guys, and they weren't entirely annoying."

Parker grinned. "Eliot loves us."

Eliot ignored it, but there was a hint of a smile in the tilt of his lips. "Parker. Sophie. Hardison." He introduced each of them. "This is my brother, Lindsey."

"Nice to meet you." Lindsey nodded to the team, but directed his questions still towards Eliot. "And what exactly does your team do?"

"We provide leverage." Sophie answered, the standard line. "We're trying to catch the thieves in the law firm defending Nate."

The look on Lindsey's face made Eliot speak up to continue the description, despite the fact that he had already told Lindsey more than he should ever have known. Lindsey was obviously not taking anything short of everything as a proper excuse.

"They use their defendants' transaction fees to launder the money from a scam they're running. We had to get one of us as a defendant in order to catch them. They'll play right into the trap."

"Yeah, well, not anymore." Lindsey scowled at Eliot. "I'm finished with this damn trial."

"Lindsey, you can't-"

"The hell I can't! You think after the shit you just put me through, I'm going to just smile and help you?"

"He wanted to tell you, man."

Eliot shot a glare at Hardison; he didn't want help. They obviously didn't get that message, though, as Sophie also took the opportunity to chip in.

"Yes, Eliot didn't want to leave you in the dark, but he knew this would be how you'd react."

"So your con was more important than my thinking you were dead?" Lindsey said.

Sophie opened her mouth, but Eliot interrupted. "Guys, stop helping." He looked at his brother's face. "By that time you already thought it and all telling you would have done would have been to make that have been pointless." Lindsey glowered. "Sorry. If I'd known you were going to find out that I 'died', I wouldn't have done it."

"What did you think would happen, broadcasting the name 'Eliot Spencer' all over the news?"

Eliot's turn to grimace. "I forgot anyone knew me by Spencer."

"You… forgot?" Lindsey's eyebrows arched and then he rubbed his face tiredly with his left hand. "I hate you sometimes."

"Sorry, Linds."

"Fine. I'll help you finish your little court case. But you owe me."

"Definitely."

"Well, if I'm going to have to spend the night rewriting my whole case – I assume you don't want your friend strung up on every charge I can pin on him? – I'd better get on my way."

"Thanks," Eliot said, the team murmuring assent to that effect.

"Oh, and Eliot?" Lindsey turned back when he reached the door. "Thanks for the mess you made of pretty boy's face." His grin was echoed by a smirk from Eliot, and then Lindsey was gone.

There was silence for a few moments. Eliot swore in his head when quiet giggles broke the stillness.

"Brothers." Sophie had that stupid tone in her voice that most people used when they said 'adorable'.

"Aw, Eliot, we all new you were a big softie inside." Parker grinned.

"What just happened *never leaves this room*." Eliot growled.

Hardison started laughing.

"It's not funny."

"Oh, it's *hilarious*. That is so coming out at the Christmas party," The hacker snorted, confirming Eliot's earlier suspicions that the conversation had been recorded for posterity.

"I hate all of you," He firmly informed them, but they just grinned back. "See, this is why I never tell y'all anything." He shook his head and moved back to where he'd been sitting before Lindsey had shown up, but had to retreat to his room when it became obvious that the others weren't going to let him nurse his injuries – physical and pride – in sullen silence.

Lindsey walked into the courtroom again, annoyance at having been talked into this replacing the blind fury as the cause for the look he sent in the direction of the defendant's table.

He was no stranger to a certain amount of acting or, hey, flat out lies in his cases. So if Eliot needed him to just play along, he could do it, however grudgingly.

He hated doing it, though. Hated but let himself be thoroughly trounced in the farce of a trial that commenced. Honestly, the Defense was barely decent, and he had to keep biting off retorts that would dispel their evidence.

Eliot's friends began parading through the courtroom as "witnesses", lying their asses off on the stand in a way that was honestly impressive.

After the first few witnesses, he decided that the defense attorney was a disgrace to the forces of evil, and he would enjoy helping take the firm down.

He gritted his teeth through a particularly intolerable aspersion on what the effects his 'emotional involvement' had on his competence, and then topped off the insanity with a disgustingly weak closing statement.

'This better be damn worth it to you, Eliot.' He thought as he left the courtroom to await the verdict and had to ignore the defense attorney's smug smile.

Waiting outside, he saw Eliot's friend and the lawyer go into a private room, and out of a perverse curiosity went to lean against the wall next to it. Considering the confidential material that people in such a room would be discussing, it was surprisingly easy to overhear them.

He listened, a smirk growing, as the attorney slowly dug his own grave, barely needing any wheedling from the man Eliot's team called 'Nate'.

'…The money'll go back and forth a few times…"

Lindsey was disgusted at how in depth the explanation of the process was and wondered how a moron had managed to trick so many people out of their money without getting caught yet.

"Oh, don't worry about that," The lawyer said in response to being asked where the money came from. "The people who… lost it can't afford the kind of action it would take to get it back."

Lindsey rolled his eyes and pushed away from the wall. With that so neatly in the pocket, he might as well get some coffee while they waited.

"You owe me dinner." Lindsey pushed his way past Eliot into the apartment.

"It's on the table."

"Do you realize how hard it was to do that badly? I don't think you do." Lindsey had a feeling, when he saw the table, set with all his favorite food – in particular, all his favorite foods which could easily be eaten one handed – that Eliot did realize.

"Hey, I've thrown a fight before."

Lindsey snorted. "My reputation is ruined."

"Yeah, permanently damaged, I'm sure."

They sat down, silence falling the second forks were picked up. Good food was to be appreciated.

"So, what did you guys get off this guy?" He assumed it had to be money, since they certainly hadn't turned the lawyer in to get arrested.

"Took all the money they'd made, swore to him that if he ever did it again, we'd hand over the evidence to the authorities. Then handed over the evidence anyway to some local rivals who'll probably continue blackmailing them for all it's worth."

"And the money?"

"Gave it back to the people they took it from."

Lindsey stared. "You didn't keep any."

Eliot shook his head. "Never do."

"You mean you don't get paid for this shit?"

"First job set us for life," Eliot said, laughing a little at Lindsey's face. "The rest we do for fun."

"You call this fun?"

"Tell me it didn't feel good to screw with the Man."

"Eliot, I work for the Man. The man pays me a very nice salary."

Eliot shrugged. "One day you're going to hate those bosses of yours and want to piss them off just like we do. Then you'll remember this and you'll understand."

"And I'll what? Call you?"

"I'm sure you'll handle it all on your own."

"You'll be there anyway."

"Yep. Just like you'll be there if I need you."

"Next time you need a lawyer, it had better not be over your murder trial, or I'll kill you myself."