Fighting is Easy. Fighting is what I do.

“I hate any kind of fun that requires going out,” he declared viciously. But he was already closing the laptop and getting up, because thinking on it further, being alone in the house or worse, alone with goon #1 and goon #2, were much worse options. “Can I sit in the car and wait for you to be done dancing or whatever it is you do in there?”

Hardison wrinkled his nose. “Outside air, gross.” The idea of ‘the club’ was much grosser, he didn’t understand why Wolfgang liked it so much or subjected himself to it so regularly. Smoky and loud and sweaty and full of people all touching each other. An actual hellscape. “I’ve got a lot of work to do still, you can go by yourself, can’t you?”

Hardison lay back stiffly in the bed like a slab of wood while Bogdanow tucked him in. He could remember being tucked in maybe five times total in his whole life, and he was too awkward to know what to do and afraid he would enjoy it. “In the morning? How much sleep do you think I need?!”

It turned out Bogdanow had expected him to sleep an entire night, which was a tall order in a strange bed in a strange room in a strange house without a security system he had personally installed. It was hard the first night, but it got easier.

A week later, he was almost sleeping through the nights. Revamping the security system had helped, and so had replacing the bedding. Now he was tapping away at one of his new-built laptops in Wolfgang’s office, ostensibly tracking down someone for Wolfgang but in another tab browsing luxuriously heavy curtains that he and Tante Elke had agreed were just what the front parlour needed.

Wolfgang had spent part of the week making sure Hardsion was taking the medications prescribed, part adjusting to having a not so quiet shadow, and part business as usual. It was almost strange how easily it worked so far. Hardsion was as computer savvy as he promised and they’d had many conversaions about what could be done to improve the business. It had only been a week though, the shoe was bound to drop at some point.

“I should at least get them started charging, that way they can be ready to go as soon as I wake up, so we don’t waste time,” he said. The likelihood of him being distracted by finding something to work on and not going to sleep at all was uh…high, but it was for their common good. The sooner he got all set up, the better for the Bogdanows. 

He sat on the bed and tried not to physically wrinkle his nose at the quality of the sheets and blankets. And mattress. “I’m not a kid,” he said, toeing his shoes off without using his hands and neatly lining them up. He looked at all the zippers and buttons in the rest of his clothes and decided he was keeping them all on.

“I’ll charge them in my room.” Wolfgang interjected calmly. “That way you can have them in the morning and won’t have to dig around here for the plugs and cords.” He had the feeling Hardsion would be up all night with the systems otherwise. He seemed like the type. 

“More when I was younger, mostly action, but some other things too.” When they were finished shopping Wolfgang took the bags more out of sensibility then anything else. He stuffed them into the truck, pushed more then a few weapons out of the way while he did it. When he had Hardsion settled back in he drove them back to the family house. “I’ll need information on the man who’s after us now you realize? I can’t just go stabbing at the dark.”

“Get me back to your place and once my new babies are all charged up I can tell you everything about him. Literally everything.” He hid a yawn behind his hand. “Tell me more about the movies you like. What are your favourites? I can rip you any upcoming ones you wanna see, you don’t even have to wait for the theatres.”

“You need to charge up too.” Wolfgang glanced over at him as he pulled into his parking spot.He hefted the bags of their shoulder and walked with him into the house. There were a few empty guestrooms. He had much less use for them then his uncle, only the guards, and occasionally Felix, used them. “We can start tomorrow. You need to rest for now.”

“Really?” Hardison perked up. “You’re a movie buff? Which ones do you like? Do you ever watch any sci fi? Fantasy?” He had to trot to keep up with Wolfgang, who had surprisingly long strides despite being slightly shorter than him. He grabbed the first five t-shirts he saw in his size, not caring that one was neon blue, one had something in French he couldn’t quite understand, and the rest had cartoon characters he didn’t recognize. And then he grabbed the most expensive five pack of underwear he could find (ooh, organic mulberry silk, that sounded great) and said, “Done. Fast enough for you?”

No one had ever ‘protected’ Hardison before. The concept was almost absurd. Protecting was what he did for networks and data. “Your English is pretty good,” he commented instead. Feeling was starting to come back into his arm, tingly and unpleasant. “There’s an APC on the way, I can get some clothes there.”

An involuntary bark of laughter punched its way out of Hardison before he could stop it. Oh, Bogdanow thought he was keeping him prisoner. That was cute. "Okay, thanks for the free room and board I guess? Superfluous, and I’m not subtracting it from my fees.”

“I don’t need to pick up anything. We’re just stopping at Saturn so I can buy a few laptops, and then I’m all yours.” He winked at Bogdanow before he remembered not to. “I wasn’t exaggerating when I said my last client is going to come kill me, though. He’s insane. I was trying to – I didn’t know until it was too late, or else I wouldn’t have taken the job at all. The plan was to give him what he wanted and leave the country, but then your big ol’ goofs kept tailing me.” He hunched into Bogdanow’s jacket, which he planned to keep. It worked out better that he was staying in ‘the house’ anyway – more walls and bodies between him and Agent Macklemore.

“I didn’t doubt you.” Wolfgang glanced over, amused at the wink before he listened to Hardsion’s story. He considered whether he should believe it or not, but decided there was no reason not to at this point. Even If no one was coming after him there was no harm in extra vigilance. “I’m not keeping you there just because I don’t trust you, yah? If I’m going to protect you then what good would you living out in the open like, what’s the American saying a ‘sitting duck’ do?.”

Hardison blinked at the unexpected English, brain having to work for a moment to understand it because it was trying to translate it into English. He nodded and squeezed his hand, threading their fingers together in an attempt to self-soothe, or at least distract himself from the completely alien sensation of surgery on his hand that he couldn’t feel but could still tell from vibrations and movement was happening. 

He was given aftercare instructions when done, directions on how to change the bandage and a strict regimen of therapeutic exercises to do after it was healed to regain mobility. It was all in German and he hoped Bogdanow would care enough about his finger not falling off again to help, if nothing else because it would be a hassle to drive him here again. “…….wait, what did you mean about grabbing my things, earlier? Why would I need my things?’

Wolfgang took the information packet they were given and rolled it up to tuck into his jacket. He clasped a hand on Hardsion’s shoulder and squeezed it slightly as he walked them back out to the car. “You really don’t think I’ll trust you off somewhere where I can’t keep an eye on you, yah?” He shook his head and opened up the passenger door for him.

“Your foundation has termites and your plumbing’s all broken, but don’t worry, I’ll get it up to code for you,” he told Bogdanow. It was what Hardison did: find problems and fix them. Especially now that Bogdanow was being kind to him. It made him feel compelled to help in response. 

He pulled Bogdanow’s jacket on loosely, letting the sleeve hang over his hand and hunching over like he was cold. Someone came out of the building and ushered them inside, speaking to Bogdanow in German too fast and too accented with another dialect for Hardison to follow. He was put into a curtained room, given various shots which made him start to panic because he had no idea what liquids were in those syringes, and a local anaesthetic that made his whole arm go dead. And then there were multiple people surrounding his hand and blocking his view of it, and every time he tried to look his head was pushed back down and turned away. He grasped for Bogdanow’s arm, gripping it tightly. “Stay,” he begged. “I’m scared.”

Wolfgang spent most of that time having a bit of an argument with the doctor over various treatment options. It took him a few moments to even notice the death grip on his arm. He turned and looked down at Hardsion, seeing how he was looking a bit ashen and nodded. “Alright... ok.” He reached down and squeezed his hand, using his foot to drag a chair over to sit down beside him.

Hardison may have made an involuntary helpless noise, but that could clearly be blamed on the fact that he just had his finger amputated by force recently. He opened his mouth as told and let Bogdanow pop the half of a painkiller in, lips softly sliding over the tips of his fingers. He dry swallowed it and cleared his throat. They were still looking into each others eyes. 

“Okay but seriously, why is your cybersecurity so bad when you can clearly afford better?” he said, wrenching his gaze away by force to look out the window.

“Very good.” Wolfgang smirked slightly at Hardison, thumb lingering on his lip for half a moment before he gave his cheek another pat and sat back in his seat more. He pulled back into traffic, focusing on the road again as they talked. “My family has been very set in their ways. Old fashioned. I’m sure if you were paid to spy on me then you know that I have not been in charge of it for long. You can’t renovate an entire house in a day, the foundations would crumble.”

“Eh, we’ll see,” Hardison said non-committally. He knew that whatever Bogdanow might rely on that man to do, he could do better if it came down to it. Mindless brawn was never any match for smart technological solutions in the age of the geek. Bogdanow would see soon enough. 

“That’s not comforting,” he informed him, and then stared as he bit off half a pill. He went still like an animal trying to avoid detection by a predator when Bogdanow reached out towards him. “Germs,” he said, pressing his lips closed.

“I literally already broke into several of your offshore accounts,” he pointed out, “and your man who held my hand down is going to be in for a fun surprise next time he renews his drivers licence.” Hardison had swiped his phone and was going to put him on the child sex offender registry. Oh, he would show Bogdanow things alright.

“I’m not taking random pills from your car, just to get drugged and wake up in the middle of the woods about to get fed to wild boars,” he sniffed, hunching so he was sort of curled up around his hand. “I don’t need things. I can get new things.” He wasn’t showing them even one of his many hidey-holes.

“I don’t care about that.” Wolfgang waived his hand dismissively. “That money is family money.” Wolfgang was old fashioned. He paid for all of his own things in cash and the emergency cash he cared about was physically hidden away. “Whatever you are doing to my man, if it doesn’t effect his work I don’t care about it either.” 

“Oh, trust me, when you see what I can do you’ll be begging to pay me more.” Sure it was cocky, but it was also true. He climbed into the car and cradled his hand to his chest, about ready to cry again. It hurt.

“You can call me Hardison,” he replied distractedly. Close enough to a name. “What are your scary men gonna think when I start hanging around the staff break room sharing their water cooler, with my finger magically sewn back on?”

“Show don’t tell.” Wolfgang said simply. He’d be more impressed with that. He glanced over at him. “There’s some pills in the glove box. Take them.” That was generally Wolfgang’s version of going to the doctor if things got bad. “I don’t believe in bragging until you have something to actually show me.” His men came to him too often with boastful ideas for heists and the like and expected the praise before the job was even done. Actions over words always.

“Money is everything to people who don’t have it, and I’ve got shit to spend it on,” he said, not elaborating on what. Money in itself wasn’t everything, but money was a way of keeping track of power, money was control, money was a stable life and medical treatments and school supplies. “As long as you can pay my prices, I can be loyal.”

He followed him out, sticking much closer to Bogdanow than strictly necessary, drawing from the warmth of his body, leaning on him. “Are we putting my fingie on ice? Can you carry it? It’s gross. I know it’s mine but it’s…gross.”

“You’ll get what you earn and you’ll be happy for it.” Wolfgang told him curtly. He knew well the importance of money, but it wasn’t as though he wasn’t going to be compensated. “Yes, we’re getting ice.” He agreed, having no qualms with wrapping up the finger in a handkerchief and stopping in the kitchen to get some ice to keep around it. 

“Yes, I’m crying! Don’t act like I’m the crazy one for crying when you’re the one who cut my finger off! How is crying not the rational response!!!” He felt himself drawing closer to Bogdanow for comfort, as he made him feel taken care of. He tried to mentally remind himself that Bogdanow was the reason he needed comfort in the first place, but it was hard. He was a big sucker for eye contact. “I’ve never done an exclusive contract for anyone before.” He rallied for some sass left in his body, if it hadn’t all leaked out of his fingie stump. “I’m not sure you could afford it.”

“I can’t, I’m seriously gonna pass out, it’s not like I can control it,” he wailed. “I’ve been trying to tell you, I’m for sale, you can own me without cutting bits off like a psychopath, I’m just expensive – oh my god, stop slapping me!” Hardison was genuinely lightheaded, not so much from blood loss yet since hadn’t been long enough, but just from general sensory and emotional overload. And from the hyperventilation that probably meant he was about to start to – yup, there he went, he was crying. 

“I’m dead in an alley anyway if I tell you, or worse. People who hire hackers are playing on a different level. You can hire me to use me against them, but that means you have to protect me, too,” he negotiated through tears.