Work Text:
In their first meeting all back together since the Marko job, Kingpin shows up with a fourth person.
Sebastian sighs like he knew this was coming.
“Hey, what the hell?” Daniel says.
Kingpin—Lewis—smiles patiently at his right and left hand men.
“This is George,” he says, as if the kid’s Christian name alone can explain his presence.
George is dressed in a peacoat almost identical to the one Lewis is wearing, except that his is oatmeal to Lewis’ tawny brown.
“Hello, George,” Seb says, extending his hand to shake George’s. Daniel follows his lead, but still looks to Lewis for an explanation.
“I know I’ve told you some of the details of the new plan, just the bare bones. I’m bringing George on board because I think we’re going to need a much bigger crew this time around.”
Daniel continues to examine George’s outfit while Sebastian steps to the side with Lewis.
“When you say much bigger crew…?” he half asks, half prompts.
Lewis nods. “The Marko job was personal, the three of us could handle it just fine. I don’t think we can take on all of Maranello with only three people, Seb. In fact, I know we can’t,” he says.
Sebastian deflates a little bit. “Lewis, you’re not serious about this. I thought we were past this.”
“I’m deadly serious. What they did to you was unacceptable and we can’t let it go unchallenged. It would be bad for business.”
Seb holds his gaze for several long seconds, but eventually relents. He knows Lewis is just as stubborn as he is, and besides, Kingpin always gets the final say.
“Why are you bringing George on, then?” he asks. “And how many more will we need?”
“You can think of George as my protégé,” Lewis says. “He’s very organized. Sharp mind. He’ll help me with the planning side of things.”
Seb nods shortly. “Good,” he says.
“And I think we’ll need at least seven, maybe more. We’ll definitely need a hacker. A cat burglar. Maybe someone to help George run the finances, I’m not sure yet.” Lewis grins ruefully. “That’s why I need your head for this. You’re better with the personnel.”
Sebastian grins back. Pushing back against Lewis is practically his job at this point, but he’s liking the sound of this operation already. “Alright,” he says. “Let’s get to work.”
“Seriously,” Daniel says loudly. “You can’t go by George. I'm not calling you that.”
"What—" George splutters. "That's my name!"
Sebastian smiles at the look of exasperation on Lewis’ face. He's missed being with Lewis and Daniel like this.
“Deadlines mean nothing to this man,” Lewis offers, swooping in to rescue his mini-me. “He can work miracles up against the clock.”
Daniel whistles at the high praise from Lewis. “Punching it in at the eleventh hour, I like it, I like it.”
Sebastian wanders his way back over to them and can’t help but feel buoyed by the smile on Daniel’s face as he raises his eyebrows and pauses for dramatic effect.
Daniel claps a hand on George’s shoulder.
“Mr. Saturday, it is.”
"Welcome to CARBON."
“What’s a nice-looking man like you doing in a place like this?”
Charles stretches himself out over the low table in front of the ordinary looking man sitting on the couch.
The man takes his drink when Charles offers it and Charles takes the opportunity to give him a slow once-over, both to telegraph his intentions and to get a feel for whether this mystery man will be worth his time. Business is slow tonight, and the man isn’t ugly, just older than Charles usually caters to.
He looks to be mid-thirties, unmarried, richer than Charles had initially thought based on how he’s styled himself. Very nice watch, wool slacks. Blond hair that Charles can only describe as frumpy, but the way the man carries himself... part of Charles shakes off his club persona and sits up in interest. The man seems very assured of himself, and his slate blue eyes won’t leave Charles’ face.
Charles flutters his eyelashes demurely and looks away, playing at coquettish.
Finally, the man set his glass down on the table by Charles’ wrist after taking a single swallow.
“What’s to say I don’t regularly come to places like these?” Charles’ mystery man finally answers him, and then—oh, then—he leans back casually and stretches an arm out over the back of the couch. Charles’ eyes go first to the pull of the man’s shirt across his chest, and he mentally adds a point because he clearly works out, and then to the holster he wears around his exposed shoulder, disappearing into the folds of his midnight blue jacket.
Charles laughs in delight to mask his surprise and immediately joins him on the couch, curling into his side in a way that just so happens to put himself in the way of the man reaching for his gun.
“You’re insane,” he titters, still half sunk into work mode. What’s to say the man isn’t here for a quick fuck, gun or no gun? He curls even closer and brings his lips right up to the man’s ear. “Lucky for you, I really like that,” he purrs.
The man only snorts, and turns to face Charles head-on.
“I hear you’ve worked for Mr. Camilleri in the past,” he says bluntly.
Charles draws back by centimeters. He keeps his hand on the man’s chest just in case.
“I... I’m sorry, sir, I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“No, I’m sure you don’t,” the man smiles wryly. “Let’s start again, shall we? My name is Sebastian Vettel.”
Charles takes the man’s hand and shakes it even though they’re pressed together from shoulder to knee and sitting on a couch in a discreet gentleman’s club with the lights down low.
“I’m Chéri,” he says, grinning up at Vettel.
Vettel has the nerve to roll his eyes at Charles’ stage name.
“What do you want with me, Mr. Vettel?” Charles asks politely, because frankly, if he’s not here to pay for Charles’ services, Charles has had enough of him.
Vettel finishes his glass of gin and sets it back on the table. He smooths out a wrinkle in his trousers. “I’m here to offer you a job,” he says, and then catches Charles’ fingers when he immediately tries to get handsy. “And not the services you’re currently offering. Something a little more precise.”
So sue him, Charles has always been too curious for his own good. He accepts.
Besides, Vettel really isn’t that much of an eyesore. He could get used to working in company like this.
He’s led out to the curb and escorted into the passenger seat of a beautifully sleek and low-slung Aston Martin.
“She is beautiful,” Charles says, running a hand along the dash and tucking his puffy faux fur coat in around himself to avoid getting stuck in the door. “Do I get one of these, to come and work for you?”
Vettel grins at him before gunning the engine.
“You get to pick your own,” he promises.
“I want a Ferrari,” Charles says immediately, and pointedly ignores when Vettel scoffs in distaste. “A red one.”
“Hades,” Daniel hisses into his phone, keeping his eyes glued to the gallery across the street where their jewel thief is arguing with another man who was definitely not supposed to be here. “Hades, do we need a demo guy?”
“A what?” Sebastian asks.
“Demolitions. Do we need a guy who can blow things up?”
There’s a full four-second pause where Daniel starts to get antsy. He doesn’t want Diamond to get away. And he doesn’t want Seb to call him stupid for asking, either.
“Why not,” comes the resigned answer. “I’m assuming you’ve already found one.”
“Yeah, ‘right, see you in a few,” Daniel rushes out and then hangs up on him, already leaping out into the street to intercept the bickering duo.
“Oi!” he calls when he gets near them, and wow, that fire is really a lot hotter close up.
Both men turn towards him sharply, and he throws up his hands just in case the unknown explosions aficionado is packing. The shorter one—Diamond, the one who was actually supposed to be here—looks absolutely furious, and is somehow managing to make recently exploded chic look amazing. His frosted tips are artfully tousled from the blast. Daniel is mildly jealous.
The taller one just glares at Daniel, which, rude.
“Who are you? What do you want?” the tall one demands, with a thick Russian accent.
“Honey Badger,” Daniel answers, instead of asking him the same question in return. “And I was actually here for you, Mr. Gasly,” he says, looking at Diamond. “But you both look like you could use a quick getaway. I can get you out of here.”
Here, the taller man looks to Diamond. Interesting.
“Fine,” says Diamond. “But I want to know how you found me.”
“Done, let’s go,” says Daniel.
He hadn’t expected to need to make a flashy getaway this evening, so unfortunately he’s brought the custom DB11. Both Diamond and his partner eye the neon accents warily but they pile in without complaint.
“I guess you made a bigger bang than you were expecting to,” Daniel remarks, swinging the car out neatly past three cop cruisers and giving them a good view of the smoldering windows of the gallery. He gives a jaunty wave to one officer as they pass.
“You’re insane,” Diamond hisses. “And no, we were not intending to blow up the entire west wing of the building,” he says pointedly in the direction of his partner. First time working together, maybe?
“Did you at least get what you came for?” Daniel asks.
“Yes.”
“Great. Then I am in a position to make you a job offer.” Daniel glances in the rearview mirror to where the other man has jammed himself into the back seat. “That goes for you, too, Torpedo. We are an equal opportunity employer.”
That earns a laugh from the Russian. “You’re not serious!” he says.
“Real high pay,” Daniel says. “And we picked you out specifically for your skills.” He directs this last part at Diamond.
He finally merges onto the highway and really opens up the throttle on the Aston. He notices the appreciative look on Diamond’s face.
“And you’ll get to drive one of these bad boys,” he throws in, and he knows he’s got them hook, line, and sinker.
“I think you may have been right about needing someone to help us crunch the numbers,” says George. His head is resting in his hands and he has five separate printouts spread all around his laptop at his desk, in addition to the color-coded and heavily tabbed planner he carries with him everywhere. It’s flopped open to his personnel task tracker.
“What’s that, George?” Kingpin asks from his own desk.
Only the two of them have their own dedicated desks so far here at HQ—read: Lewis’ insane apartment suites, worth over a million, with a heated garage—everyone else makes do with stealing Hades’ desk on the main floor, as was modeled for them by Honey.
“You were right,” George says again, “we need a maths guy.”
Lewis stands and stretches out his shoulders. “I know we do,” he says. “None of this will make any sense otherwise.”
They both stare blankly at the readout on George’s screen for a few seconds.
“So,” Lewis says. “Economics? Or strictly maths, do you think?”
“Definitely maths,” says George, and then hesitantly adds, “Um. I might know a guy.”
Lewis gives him an assessing look, and then nods. “Tell me.”
George sighs in relief. “Right, so there’s this guy who was a year ahead of me at Uni. We were in a proofs class together my first term…”
Alex Albon isn’t hard to find at all. He’s still in town, working way too many hours a week as a corporate analyst. He agrees to meet up with George a couple blocks walk from his office on his lunch break. Lewis accompanies him on the meet.
“Hey, man. Long time, no see,” Alex greets George with a smile and a hug that George returns gladly.
“It’s been too long,” he agrees.
Alex clocks Lewis, standing right behind him. “I’m sorry, I don’t believe we’ve met,” he says, extending a hand to shake with Lewis.
“Ah, Alex, this is my boss, Mr. Hamilton. I know this is weird, but he has a job offer for you.”
Alex raises one skeptical eyebrow at George, but he listens to Lewis’ pitch, and by the end, he’s smiling, and Lewis has gained another member of his team.
“Kingpin, huh?” Alex says under his breath to George as they walk back to Lewis’ car.
“Code name,” explains George. “It’s good business practice in our line of work.”
“Wait, do I get to pick a cool nickname, too?” Alex demands in a whisper.
“Well—” says George.
“Because I want to be called Fractal.”
"Chéri, please stop trying to seduce your teammates before the job is done," Hades says, interrupting Charles at his work yet again.
Charles turns away from Pierre to look at Vettel—Hades—whatever.
"Fine," he sighs, letting Pierre slink off to whatever it is he was supposed to be doing. "Out of curiosity, why don't you want to sleep with me? Everyone does."
Hades stares at him blankly. Charles waits him out with a cocked head. It is way too much fun to mess with Vettel.
"I don't sleep with colleagues. And you remind me too much of myself," he says eventually.
Charles smirks. "If we really are that alike, then sleeping with someone who reminds you of yourself should be a pro, not a con."
Hades looks like he's on the verge of losing his cool, which, good. Charles wants to see that.
"And you're too young for me," Hades deflects, leaving the room.
Charles cackles.
Quadrant comes on board through… unconventional means.
Daniel has been staking out an upper level CS course at the University downtown for the better part of a month. His and Kingpin’s hacking skills don’t amount to much, but they’re enough to get him into the professor’s grade book. He’s talked over the merits of the top four students with Lewis and Seb, and the two of them were finally able to settle on one of them to recruit.
Daniel watches as his target leaves the classroom and parks himself at a table in the commons. Daniel hits send on the message he’d drafted earlier.
I have a job offer I think youll want to hear. ur prof recommended you very highly ;)
meet me at the southwest corner of the front steps, 3:40, if youre interested
He doesn’t have to wait long for the young man to sit up a little straighter at his table and adjust his glasses like he’s focused on something surprising.
“Gotcha,” he murmurs.
He’s about to pack up and start making his way to the front steps to wait for the kid, but before he can close out of his browser, his computer freezes on him, and a chat box opens itself on top of the rest of his programs. It only takes a second for a message to pop up.
>u don’t want him. u want me
Daniel pinches the bridge of his nose. Just his luck.
>>whys that
>i figured out ur game, he still thinks ur hiring him for an internship
>ive seen u watching our class
>whyd you pick ben anyway?
Daniel huffs. It would probably behoove him to find out whoever it is that’s doing this. He decides to answer truthfully.
>>good grades. top of the class
>ugh. is this really not enough of an audition for you? i promise im better than him
>>fine. i assume ur closeby?
>sure am
>>i meant, do u want to come out and play? or r u just going to hide from me forever
>k.
The mystery hacker doesn’t say anything else, but they also don’t kill the chat window, so it’s not like Daniel can do anything until they show themselves.
At least he isn’t made to wait long. A kid almost identical to the one he’d been watching earlier pushes out of the stairwell across from Daniel’s table and makes a beeline towards him.
Curly brown hair, not physically small but hunched in on himself to make it seem that way, a pair of glasses folded into the collar of his t-shirt, and a backpack hanging off one shoulder. He’s carrying his laptop under his arm.
He’s wearing a ratty grey hoodie and battered Chuck Taylors, because of course he is.
The kid sticks out his hand.
“Lando,” he says. “Call me Q.”
Daniel shakes. “I guess you know who I am already,” he surmises.
Lando fidgets with the backpack strap.
“I mean. You’re the Honey Badger.”
Daniel nods.
“I know that much. I know you’ve been watching me. I know you’re into something shady because you’re at least attempting to clear your digital footprint. I know you drive a really nice McLaren.”
Daniel barks a laugh.
“Alright,” he says, pensive. “Lando Norris, right? Hades didn’t want you. Your grades were up to snuff, but you skipped too many classes.”
Lando—Q—rolls his eyes.
“Wanna come take a joyride in my really nice McLaren?” Daniel offers.
Lando does a terrible job at hiding how excited he is about that idea.
“Uh. Are you offering me the job, then?” he hazards.
Daniel snaps his laptop closed. “Yeah. Keep up.” He turns on his heel towards the exit, and expects Q will be following.
Seb is gonna hate him for this.
"We've run through the plans over and over," says Lewis. "I don't think our problem is the logistics, I think we just need another body on the team."
Seb is silent, mulling it over.
Daniel drops the carbon fiber dagger he was spinning on his finger. "Shit."
"We could just bring on some muscle,” suggests Sebastian. “They could watch the van while Daniel is inside, and they can also be the one to get Torpedo out when he's done. It doesn't have to be another hacker or anything like that."
Lewis hums.
"I like that," he says. "Yeah, then it would also solve our problem of Charles needing a bodyguard because he's such a trouble magnet."
Seb huffs in annoyance.
"Alright, who do we know that's in town?"
Daniel jerks his chair around. "Oh, I know a guy."
"Say more," Lewis says, even as he's pulling up a register of everyone they've worked with in the past on the screen in front of him.
"I've worked with him before. Great guy, doesn't ask too many questions. Loyal. And I know exactly where he’s holed up."
Sebastian watches Daniel's gesticulating hands with a measure of worry. He's still brandishing the knife.
"Alright, can you get him by tomorrow?" he asks.
Daniel stalls by smiling, fooling absolutely no one.
"There is just one little problem," he admits.
"Of course there is," says Lewis, not even looking up from his laptop.
"That gang of frenchies got their hands on him. They’ve got him locked up."
Sebastian groans. "Not you and the French again."
Daniel throws his hands up. Somewhere along the line, Sebastian is pleased to note, the knife has disappeared.
"Hey! It wasn't even my mess this time."
Lewis looks up and they both settle down automatically.
"So, we know where he is. Will I need to send one of the kids with you?" he asks.
Daniel grins, and this time it's his dangerous one. "Nah, I can handle this lot. Besides, if they ever did think of our guy as a high priority prisoner, they don't anymore. He's been there for months, and no one's tried to break him out yet. Easy in-and-out job."
Sebastian barely has to give him a look before he's adding more promises.
"No one will trace it back to me. I'll make sure the word doesn't get out."
Lewis nods. "I know you won't. Be safe. Make sure you both come back in one piece."
"Aye, aye, cap'n," Daniel drawls, rapping his knuckles twice on Lewis's desk, and then leaves the two of them behind to run the plan again.
Sixteen hours later Daniel arrives back at base with a screech of tires, covered in blood and towing an extremely tall and lean man along with him. Daniel is obviously buzzing off of the combination of adrenaline and bloodlust, but his companion looks murderous. Especially in Daniel's general direction.
Daniil finds their new recruit in the gym later that evening, working it out on a punching bag.
“You really hate our Honey Badger that much?” Dany asks playfully, when he finally takes the bag down and starts unwrapping his hands.
The man chuckles.
“Well,” he says. “He hired me to do a job, landed me in the hands of the guys we were stealing from, and then left me in that prison for four months. Then, he busts me out just to offer me another job that’s even more dangerous than the first one. So, yeah. I’m a little bit mad at him.”
He turns away to grab a drink from his water bottle and Dany notices just how ripped he is. To be fair to him, there probably isn’t much else to do while being kept in a cell by a rival gang for four months, other than work out all the time.
"You're scary," Dany says frankly.
The other man glances up at him.
"Thank you," he says. His accent is very French. "I've worked very hard to cultivate that appearance."
Dany laughs, and the new guy smiles tentatively.
"I'm Splinter," he offers, shrugging on a sweatshirt over his bare chest.
"Torpedo," Dany responds, which only makes Splinter's grin even wider. "I'm demolitions."
"I'm sure it will be a pleasure to work with you."
"Kingpin," George says late one night in Lewis' office, tentative in a way Lewis thought he'd cured George of by now.
"Yes?"
George steels his spine before he speaks. Internally, Lewis approves.
"We've been drilling this run for over a month. The window closes in less than three weeks. We're ready."
Lewis stares him down, scrutinizing him.
"Why are we still waiting? You know we're ready," George pushes.
"I suppose we are," Lewis concedes. "Start the clock. T-minus forty eight hours till we all drive out of here."
"Of course," George says smartly, leaving to tell the others.
Lewis smiles to himself and then texts Seb.
Daniel's favorite part of any op is always the ritual of raiding the garage to pick out their wheels. It's the last step before a job goes down.
Lewis and Sebastian store all their cars together, and over the years Daniel has earned himself a row at the back of the garage for his own collection.
The three of them walk the rows of gleaming chassis, trying to match each member of their team to a vehicle. Daniel imagines he can feel the sheer amount of horsepower contained in this room rushing through his veins.
He finds his own car, his baby, the candy pink McLaren, and then selects cars for two of the others. He rendezvouses with Lewis and Seb at the front of the garage again and they send him off to the keybox with their own selections.
He starts to count off the models in his head as he plucks out the keychains, rattling and clacking against the lock box.
Two McLarens, three Mercedes, one Ferrari...
The room is overflowing with excess energy. Everyone is gathered in the same place, for the first time in weeks. It’s impossible to miss the thrum of excitement coursing through every body in the space.
Splinter and Torpedo are play fighting at the front of the room, with Diamond and Chéri heckling nearby. George is sitting on the couch, meticulously running over his plans with Q draped over his back and arguing with Fractal about the theoreticals of self-driving sports cars.
Chéri says something nasty to Diamond, and then shrieks when Torpedo scoops him up off the counter and tosses him onto the couch.
Mr. Saturday shrugs Q off his back twice, earning him a jab in the ribs.
Above the bristling din of the staging room, there comes a high, piercing whistle. All the boys snap to attention, their eyes finding Hades’ sharp gaze as he enters the room with Kingpin right behind him.
The two men stop in front of the couches, and wait for everyone to adjust themselves. This is it.
“Honey is on his way with the backup vehicles,” Kingpin says in measured tones. “After that, it’s go time.”
The look on his face leaves no room for questions or talkback. Hades stands to his right, approximating casual as always, but still slightly in the shadows. His eyes pass over each of the young recruits in turn, and although they know they’ve already passed the tests, it’s still an intimidating experience.
Just then the Honey Badger saunters into the room, dressed in a pair of pants so tight it’s a wonder he can even move in them, holding up the fingers of his right hand. There are two sets of keys dangling from each finger and his favorite rifle is hanging on a strap down his back. It taps against the back of his calves with each step.
His black patent leather boots carry him to Kingpin’s left, and click to a stop on the ceramic floor.
“Well boys, here we are,” he calls, slinging the keyrings around the room and tucking the handgun that Hades offers him into the back of his pants. “You know the drill.”
He pauses for dramatic effect, which should seem silly, but in Honey’s case just works.
He has the attention of the whole room. His eyes glitter.
“Let’s go hunting!” he crows, and the rest of them take up the cheer, like wolves amping themselves up before a run. They all know the plan. They’ve practiced their placements. It’s time to hunt.