The One Step Too Far Job Part One
McRory’s never seemed to change. The same old men sat in the corner playing cards, good-naturedly hustling each other out of every penny. Behind the bar, the red-headed Cora always had a smile and a piece of good advice if you needed it. The photos on the wall and the well-used dartboard were now just as fixed in Eliot’s memory as the smell of basil or the serrated edge of a knife. The scene in front of him was familiar too; roughly seven times out of ten he’d walk into the bar and see Nate, and usually Sophie, talking to a client. Eliot paused in the doorway for a moment, taking in the sight of the woman - tears running down her face, hands shaking as she tried to drink her tea - and vowing that he’d do his best to help take down whoever had put her in that state.
Behind Eliot, someone coughed loudly and he realised he was still blocking the doorway. He moved aside to let the guy pass and stepped further into the bar himself. Sliding onto a stool, he nodded at Cora McRory as she handed him his usual beer. He took a drink, set it down, and twisted around to look at the client again. She had calmed down a little, probably because of the hand Sophie had rested on her arm. From the way that Nate drummed his fingers on the table, Eliot guessed they’d heard the full story already. Sure enough, the client stood, smiled shakily at Sophie, and left the bar. Eliot waited for a moment then crossed over to the table and sat down next to Sophie.
“Parker and Hardison here yet?”
Sophie nodded. “They’re already upstairs - Hardison said he was going to show Parker something.”
“Right.” Eliot brought his beer to his lips and took a swig before looking towards the door. “What’s the deal with the case?”
“Our client is Helen-”
Nate held his hand up. “Wait. We - we should wait.”
“What for?” Wondering whether they needed some more information, Eliot looked at Sophie, who shrugged.
“For the others. For the briefing.”
Sophie began to argue but Eliot shook his head. The three of them talking about cases away from Parker and Hardison wasn’t unusual but if Nate wanted to be awkward he wasn’t going to rise to the bait.
“Fine. I’ll see you upstairs then.” Leaving his drink half-finished, Eliot rose and headed for the stairs. If Nate didn’t want to share then that was fine with him. No more small talk, no more letting Nate throw him off a job then ask him back; things from now on would be strictly professional between them. Even when they’d been on opposite sides of the law, they’d always gotten along to some extent. He had respected Nate’s honesty and values and Eliot knew Nate had somehow respected him back. There’d even been that one time - in a hotel room, working together to stay alive - when Eliot thought Nate had come close to confessing something that would have changed everything. But that was in the past. Professionalism was the way forward.
---
The hotel room was expensive, all silk sheets and chocolates on the pillows. It was more ostentatious than he would usually go for; there’d even been a welcome pack upon arrival, giving details of restaurants that Eliot couldn’t afford or want to go to.
The hotel room was perfect. It was the complete opposite of what the people who were after him would expect. Nathan Ford had proved to be useful for the second time in the six months that he had known him. If Ford was trustworthy or not was a different matter and Eliot wouldn’t relax until he knew for sure whether or not food was going to sell him out.
He looked at himself in the bathroom mirror and splashed some water on his face, trying to get rid of the blood and the dark circles underneath his eyes. Wiping his damp hands on his jeans, he listened for a moment, checking to make sure that Ford wasn’t speaking on a phone. All clear, and he grabbed the clean shirt he’d bought from the hotel’s shop - and that showed just how expensive the place was - and pulled it on.
Still buttoning the shirt up, he walked out into the bedroom and nodded towards Ford. “Bathroom’s all yours.”
“Thanks.” Not moving, Ford sighed. “You’re not going to just vanish, are you?”
He shook his head. “This is the safest place I could be for now.”
Ford nodded. “Yeah. Well I’ll just er, just-” he gestured vaguely and walked past him into the bathroom.
Eliot relaxed again and looked around the room, pleased with what he saw. The beauty with being someplace where wealthy people stayed was that people with money often had to make quick exits. Whether it was because they were famous or private or corrupt, the hotel room was tailored for their needs. A fire escape at one of the windows. Two doors which meant two exit points. A phone in the bathroom as well as the main bedroom. Possessing lots of money definitely had its advantages, escape route-wise.
He really hoped he wasn’t going to have to escape from this place. One day. That’s the time limit his contact had given him in order to get him new papers to flee the country. That’s how long Ford’s IYS boss said it would take to get a local police security detail to escort him on the way to the airport. His life would be so much easier if they managed to stay holed up, undetected, over the next 24 hours.
The bathroom door opened and he watched as Ford entered the room again, wearing a different suit. The guy looked around the room, eyes resting on bed for a moment, and then at the floor.
“You want the chair or the bed?” Already heading for the chair, Eliot glanced over his shoulder as he waited for Nate to answer.
“The chair. You’re injured - you should take the bed.”
He shrugged and changed direction. “Fine. How much was the room?”
“Why?”
“Half of the bill is mine. I haven’t got a lot of cash on me right now but I can get some to you back in the States.”
Ford sat down, shaking his head. “Don’t worry about it.”
“I-”
“Look, Eliot, you saved my life. You didn’t have to come back when you saw they had me but you did. The least I can do is pay for this place.”
Typical civilian; insisting on chivalry and values. If Ford was really as tough as he made out, he’d make sure he got all the money he was owed and he’d ignore good manners in favor of survival.
“What were you doing there anyway?” Ford watched him.
“Don’t ask me that, Ford. You know I’m not going to answer you.”
“Yes, that’s true, I suppose.” Ford laughed. “Why don’t you call me Nate? You’ve known me for six months now.”
“In the space of those six months I’ve spent maybe four days with you. I think we should keep things on a professional level.”
Ford laughed longer and louder. “If I was being professional, you’d be sitting in a prison cell right now. Speaking of, the last time I saw you, you were being arrested. How come you’re out?”
“It’s been a month since then. Nate. A lot can happen in a month.” Eliot smirked. Especially when you were popular with people in the American government.
“A lot can happen in a day.”
“Let’s hope nothing happens over the next twenty-four hours, then. What were you doing there?”
Ford smiled. “I don’t have anything to hide so I’ll answer your question. Chasing up a stolen painting - I wasn’t expecting to find Harris there, actually.”
“Who were you expecting to find?”
“A woman, someone I’ve been after for a while.”
He nodded and shifted on the bed, getting comfier on the pillows. “Looks like she fooled you again, then.”
Ford shrugged. “I’ll get her. Just like I’ll get you.”
“Oh, really?”
“Yes. It’s just like chess; I make one move, she - or you- makes another and so on until I make checkmate.”
“You’re very confident that you’ll be the one to win.”
“I’m very good at chess.”
Eliot glanced towards the games cupboard - another perk of money - and raised his eyebrows. “Prove it.”
Reaching the top of the stairs, he took a few steadying breaths and pushed the door open. Parker and Hardison were sitting at the table, leaning over some kind of games board. As he watched, Parker laughed, unaware of the fond look Hardison was shooting her way. Feeling slightly more relaxed, he pulled the door shut. After a quick glance at the computer screen, he paused as he came face to face with a photo of himself wearing what looked like fairy wings.
“Hardison.” Crossing the room, he came to a stop behind the hacker, gaze half on the screen, half on the scrabble board in front of them.
“What? Oh right - the wings were Parker.”
“Yeah right - I know it’s you who does the computer stuff, so-”
“He’s right.” Parker took a few more letters. “It was me - it’s called manipping. Hardison showed me how to do it.”
“You shouldn’t teach her that kind of stuff, man.”
Hardison shrugged. “I just give her the skills, Parker’s the one with the ideas.”
Shaking his head, Eliot dropped down onto the seat next to Parker and watched them play for a few moments before standing up again. “Hardison, get rid of it.”
“Get rid of what?”
“The photo thing.”
“Oh.” Hardison glanced up at him. “Is this like the smurf thing?”
“”It’s exactly like the smurf thing.”
When Hardison nodded and headed over to the computer, Eliot took some of Parker’s letters and arranged them on the board. When he finished, he pulled out a seat and watched with a smirk as Hardison returned to the game and realised that Parker’s score had just risen dramatically.
Shaking his head, Hardison dropped back down into his chair. “Parker, that’s - that’s not even a word.”
“It is.” Leaning back, Eliot checked that the image was gone from the computer before continuing. “It’s a particular way of holding a sword, usually avoured by taller men.”
Parker grinned. “That’s cool.”
“No.” Hardison started to place his own word on the board. “That’s cheating and-” he broke off as the door opened and Nate walked in. “We’ll continue this discussion later.”
“Yeah, right. C’mon.” He moved to sit in front of the screen, ignoring Sophie’s concerned gaze.
“Okay, let’s get started.” Nate clapped his hands and nodded towards Hardison. “Can we have an image of Robert Nelson on the screen?”
“I’m on it.”
Nate nodded. “Nelson’s our guy and he’s-”
“Not a very nice person.” Sophie spoke across whatever Nate was about to say. “The con he’s running isn’t complicated but it’s mean, it’s exploitative. He needs to be stopped.”
Sophie always empathised with their clients but it had been a while since Eliot had seen her this worked up about a case. “You said it’s a simple con?”
“Yes.” Nate walked a few steps across the room. “The 419 con. It’s-”
“A modern variation of the Spanish Prisoner Con.” Sophie ignored the annoyed look that Nate sent her and carried on. “You know the one; as far back as the eighteenth century, the con man would trick someone into paying money by convincing them to help a wealthy businessman who was wrongly imprisoned. Nelson’s just running an updated version of that. He tells people that he knows a man, a rich man, who has been wrongly blamed for losing charity funds and that he needs to find the money from someone somewhere and-”
Nate held up his hand. “The mark-”
“Victim.”
“His mark. Our victim. He or she hands over money, usually by a bank transfer. Then once Nelson and his guys have the bank details, they just keep on taking money out until they’ve taken it all.”
Standing up, Sophie moved to stand beside Nate. “And the beauty of it is, no-one wants to be seen to question a charity so these people don’t go straight to the authorities - they go to the ‘charity’ to see if there’s been an error, but the bad guys just cover their tracks and move on.”
Hardison nodded. “It’s cold, man, really cold. These people think they’re doing a good deed but they just get ripped off.”
“It’s simple, but clever.” Parker crossed her legs up on the couch.
“It’s out of line.”
“Yes, Eliot, it is and that’s why-”
“But it doesn’t make any sense.” He ran a hand through his hair and looked at the image of Robert Nelson. “The guy’s a millionaire - why would he need to run a scam like this?”
Nate gestured vaguely. “Because he’s a bad person - he likes to hurt people.”
“I don’t buy it. There’s another reason.”
“Not everyone hurts people for a reason, Eliot.” Nate shrugged and hit a button, changing the image on the screen. “Sometimes it’s just what it is - cruelty or mindless violence or both.”
Eliot blinked against images of Moreau’s men and shook his head. “It still doesn’t make sense.”
“Rich people get greedy sometimes, they want more money so they set out to get it. It’s not a difficult concept, Eliot.”
“But why break the law to do it? If Nelson has that much money, a scam like this is unnecessary. It’s risky and it’s dirty. Why not just embezzle from the company or something?”
“I don’t know Eliot. I’m not in this guy’s head. I want to get back to the con now, if you don’t mind.”
He snorted. “Fine. What’s your plan?”
“Right, the plan. We take down a simple con with a simple con. Sophie poses as a potential ‘victim’, we lure them somewhere, make sure there’s evidence on them at the time and get the FBI there.”
“McSweeten?” Parker sat up straighter.
“Exactly.”
“Wow.” She glanced at Hardison. “That is simple.”
“Too simple.” Eliot stood up, began to pace. “It’s too simple. It won’t work.”
Nate nodded. “It will.”
“But it’s-”
“Look, Eliot. My role here is to make the plans, to decide what will work and what won’t.” Turning his back on them all, Nate grabbed a bottle of whiskey from the side and poured himself a drink.
“So I’m not allowed a say?”
“You can have a say when it comes to the best way to bash a guy’s head in or throw a knife, but this, planning and cons, I know this.”
“Right.” Heading towards the door, Eliot stopped just for a minute to turn back and look at Nate. “So I’m the muscle and nothing else. Guess I know where I stand now.”
He left, ignoring the shouts of Parker and Hardison as he went down the stairs two at a time. They wouldn’t understand. They didn’t know about Moreau, about all the people who had ever told Eliot that punching people was all he was good for. Nate was the only one who knew and he was the one who was using it against him, making this worse, dragging the issue back out of the shadows every time Eliot managed to almost forget about the lives he had taken.
It seemed like Nate was never going to let him forget.
---
Nate watched Parker and Hardison run out of the room after Eliot, Hardison pausing at the door to turn and glare at him, then turned his attention to Sophie. She crossed over the room to stand in front of him, one hand on her hip.
“That wasn’t fair. Eliot didn’t deserve that.”
“He can take it.”
“Are you sure about that? Because, the way I see it, he’s close to walking and that’ll be your fault. I mean, you told him to leave during the last con, you’re belittling him in front of everyone.”
“Let him walk. It’s his choice.” Nate glanced towards the door. “It’s his decision.” It wouldn’t be the first time he and Eliot had walked away from one another, even though Sophie didn’t know it.
“No, it isn’t. He wants to stay, Nate. If he walks, it’s because you’ve left him with no other option.”
“Maybe he-”
“I don’t know what your problem is but that’s just it: it’s your problem, not his, and you need to stop taking it out on him.”
He sighed and did something he knew he’d regret later. “He killed people.”
“We all know that, we all knew that when we started working together. That’s not the problem here.”
Shaking his head, Nate stood up and began to pace the room. Breaking Eliot’s confidence was something he’d never meant, or wanted, to do but he needed to tell someone about this before he blurted it out to the wrong person. “I mean recently - as part of the team. We were ambushed by Moreau’s men.”
Eyes widening, Sophie handed the whiskey back to Nate and sat down. “Okay. That’s not good but the way you’re treating him; that’s still your problem - not his. God, he must be struggling right now and you, you’re making it worse.”
Nate sighed, pouring himself a double measure, and nodded. “He did it for me, because I put him in that situation.”
“And now you’re pushing him away so that it won’t happen again.” She half-laughed. “You’re a bloody idiot.”
“What?”
“Do you not know him at all? Eliot’s just as stubborn as you are, he’d put any of our lives above his own and you pushing him away, it’s only going to make him more reckless. He’s going to think you blame him and he’s going to take more risks to redeem himself.”
“Oh, come on, Sophie.” Nate took a drink of whiskey and leaned back against the wall. “He doesn’t think that much of me, it won’t-”
“You’re joking, right? Nate, he respects you and he thinks of you as a friend. A friend. That - this - it’s a big deal to Parker and to Hardison but it’s a big deal to Eliot, too, and I think you forget that. Eliot hasn’t had many friends, hasn’t trusted many people.”
“He doesn’t trust me. He questions me all the time.” Always had done, right from the day they first met.
“Yes. But he still goes along with all the things he questions you for. That’s trust, right there. And there’s - there’s always been something more between the two of you, a trust there that’s different, and you’re risking ruining that, too.”
Nate chose not to comment on that; if Sophie knew what that something more was, she wouldn’t be able to keep it a secret. “Do you think he’s right? About Nelson.”
Sophie sighed. “I don’t know. I don’t think so - Nelson seems like a simple creep to me - but I don’t know.”
Nate nodded, swallowed air. “We’ll keep an eye out, while we’re working.”
“Maybe you should tell him that.”
“He’ll notice.”
“You should tell him.” She stood up. “You should talk to him about Moreau, too.”
“I can’t do that. How about if-”
“No. It’s not my place and it’d kill him if he knew I knew. You need to do it, he deserves that at least. He deserves more than you sitting here wallowing in your own self-pity.” She walked out of the room, leaving him on his own again.
---
Eliot watched from across the room as Nate talked Sophie through the plan one last time. Sophie didn’t need it, would already know it inside out, but Eliot figured Nate needed to feel like he was doing something if he couldn’t physically be at the warehouse with them when everything went down. Looking away from them, he selected a knife from the few that he brought with him and held it up so that he could see the edge. It was too blunt.
Too blunt. Just like the plan was too simple and Nelson was too rich and Nate was too judgemental. Eliot had only ever taken a knife out on a job with him once before, when they’d been in Mexico and good old fashioned hand-to-hand combat had never been going to be enough. He hadn’t needed to use it then, not in the end. A bat, taken from one of the guys he was fighting, had done the trick. He’d take it with him today, though. Just in case.
“Have you ever used that before?” Parker sat down next to him, looking more inquisitive than horrified and that was something.
“Yes.”
“What happened?”
Eliot shrugged. “It was either me or him. The knife bettered the odds. Are you ready?”
“Of course. I’ve been cracking this type of safe for years, it’s simple.”
“So everyone keeps telling me.”
“What?”
“It doesn’t matter.” He picked up the stone and started to sharpen the knife, something that had always given him a feeling of satisfaction. It was best to keep the others out of the trouble between him and Nate, keep them as far away from the horrible truth as possible.
“What doesn’t matter?” Hardison slid into the seat on his other side, smart phone in his hand.
“Nothing.”
“Is this about Nate calling you out yesterday? Because you shouldn’t take it personally if it is. I mean, he’s criticised me I don’t even remember how many times.”
Eliot kept on sharpening the knife, filled in the silence that followed Hardison’s words with long, metallic scrapes.
Parker twisted in her seat. “He’s told me off, too. Remember that time with the fork?”
“Yeah, but there’s a bit of a difference. See, you stabbed someone with a fork. Eliot - Eliot expressed concerns about a con.”
“What he means, Parker, is that I questioned Nate and Nate can’t handle that.” He stood up, tucking the knife into his belt. “I’m going to go and wait downstairs.”
He met Nate’s look as he passed by, because he was a lot of things but he had never been able to back down when people judged him. He wasn’t going to start because of Nate. He was who he was and he’d never pretended to be anything else. Nate knew that, had probably known it since the chase in Georgia two months after they’d first met when he’d walked in on Eliot fucking some guy he’d picked up in a bar.
The bar was quiet in the way that bars often are during afternoons. Cora sat in the corner of the room, only glancing up now and then from her book to check there were no customers waiting. Eliot watched her from the doorway for a moment. Nate cared about this girl, had shown his loyalty at her father’s wake. It was all part of the complexity that was Nate. He’d been brought up in this bar, surrounded by his father’s friends and enemies, made miserable by the life Jimmy Ford was bringing him up in. But then he’d come back, a thief, and he was still loyal to the people. Eliot wondered whether Nate was still loyal to him, whether he ever really had been.
“We’re going now.”
He didn’t turn to look at Sophie but he nodded to acknowledge her words.
“You shouldn’t let him get to you. He’s just-”
“Yeah. Hey, Sophie.”
“Yes?”
“Be careful today, okay?”
“You’re really not happy about this job, are you?”
He watched as Cora got up to serve a guy at the bar. “It’s just a feeling. But something’s already gone wrong - Nate being questioned by the cops wasn’t part of the plan.”
“I know. I’ll be careful.”
He nodded and turned to follow her out of the bar. “Good.”
---A shaft of light fell over the crates that Eliot was hidden behind, letting him see the particles of dust that were floating down towards the cold, concrete ground beneath his feet. He could hear Hardison’s chatter over the comms, Sophie delivering the final blow to their mark. They were familiar sounds now, as familiar as the sound of a gunshot and the slap of a hand against skin.
Parker was quiet, most likely looking through the documents that she had just taken from the safe in the office of the warehouse they were in. Nate was somewhere else, across town in a crowded bar so that he had an alibi. Apart from that little hitch - Nate being questioned by the police in a matter totally unrelated to Nelson - the con had gone to plan and it felt strange. Usually, there was some hired muscle or the mob or the FBI to take down. He almost wished there had been a hitch, something to prove to Nate that he wasn’t always right.
He ducked further down behind the crates as sirens began to sound, hoping that Sophie’s exit would work out. If not, they were all screwed, McSweeten included.
“Clear.” And Parker was out, had planted the evidence and would be running across the lot towards the van.
“Me too.” Sophie, heading for the rental car, probably smiling at the local police as she passed them.
More relaxed now that they were all out, he sat down rather than crouching and tuned out the comm sounds. All he had to do now was wait for the cops to clear out and then he could leave, job done. This was the part he enjoyed; the thrill of the con still coursing through his veins but none of the danger. Everyone was safe.
The talking over the comms stopped and he realised that they must all have taken them out. He followed suit, glad to get his out of his ear. He was used to it now but hearing everyone’s voices during the con, although necessary, was something he was never going to like. It distracted him too much and, worse, it helped him to understand the others, made him depend on them more. Made him weaker.
He shifted slightly, trying to get more comfortable with his back pressed up against the rough wood. It sounded as though the cops were nearly done, sounded more as though they were just checking the immediate area for any evidence, and he was glad that he had hidden at the opposite end of the warehouse. He had hesitated over that decision for a moment, had wanted to be nearer to Sophie in case anything had gone wrong. But it hadn’t and his instinct had been right.
His instinct had gotten him through a lot over the years; jobs gone wrong and kidnappings and hostage situations. Eventually, he had learned to trust it more than he trusted anything.
The cops left, car engines sounding loud in the otherwise silent perimeter. Eliot smiled; he only needed to wait a minute or two, to be sure that they were all gone, and then it was over. He closed his eyes for a moment, the warmth of the light almost adding an extra layer to his skin. Moments like this were rare on jobs, his time usually taken up with fights or lies or running around trying to fix something.
He heard footsteps heading towards him and he wondered briefly whether Parker had come back to meet him.
He looked up, squinting into the brightness of the sun and he didn’t even have time to get up, to fight as the light was blocked out.
The moment of peace was gone.
---“Eliot.”
Someone was shaking him, gentle movements that still managed to jar his shoulder.
“Eliot. Eliot?”
He groaned and pushed the hand away, tried to match the voice to a name because this guy knew his, and that was an unfair advantage.
“Eliot, are you okay?”
Opening his eyes, he saw a blurry Nate Ford and nodded. “I’m fine.”
“I’m not convinced.”
He pushed himself up so he was resting on his good arm and managed a smile. “Really, I’m fine. What are you doing here?”
Nate frowned. “I was tracking you - trying to recover that dagger you stole last month.”
Laughing, he looked up at the sky. “Looks like you caught me.”
“Oh, come on.” Nate shook his head. “There’s no way I’m taking you in like this. It - it wouldn’t be fair.”
“If you let me go, that’ll be the third time in a year.”
“If I take you in, I haven’t caught you. I’ve just…commandeered you.”
Watching Nate for any sign of a change of heart, he asked, “What are you going to do?”
Nate grimaced. “I’m going to drop you off at the nearest hospital. Come on.”
“Where?”
“My car.”
“That’s called aiding a fugitive.”
Nate shook his head. “It’s called being a decent person.”
Taking no notice of Nate’s attempts to help him to his feet, he stood up and swayed just a little bit before heading for the only car in the lot. He’d let Nate drop him off in front of the hospital, let him rest easy in the knowledge that he’d done the right thing, and then get himself home, clean up his wounds himself.
---Blood. There was a line of blood trickling down his neck and there was blood gushing out of the cut on his stomach and there was blood on his hands. Eliot was pretty sure that he had already lost too much and he needed to get pressure on his wounds quickly. Earlier, he had felt a rib, maybe two, break and he needed to get those wrapped up, too.
The elevator that he was in reached his floor and he limped - not stumbled, never stumbled - out into the corridor, his eyes fixed on the door to his apartment. There were only a couple more yards to go. No distance really, but his sprained ankle was going to hurt like a bitch if he put too much pressure on it and broke it. Steadying his breathing, he leaned against the wall for a moment and then lurched forwards, his hand scrabbling at the door handle before he remembered he needed his key.
Inside, and he didn’t bother with the light, just headed straight for the bathroom and the first aid kit. He knew he should reach for the phone first, call someone. They were supposed to be a team now - that’s what the others had kept telling him and he had almost believed it. But things with Nate had been tense lately and he had been ambushed at the warehouse. They were the only ones who had known he was there. He had trusted them, told them about Moreau and let them in. Any one of them - Sophie, maybe, or Parker - might have done it, might have betrayed him. He couldn’t call them, couldn’t trust them until he knew for sure that it wasn’t any of them, that they were still the family he thought they were. He would do what he had always done; look after himself.
Before Moreau, he would have called Nate. Nate was honest, even if he was a thief. Nate wouldn’t have sold him out, no matter what else was going on between them. And it wouldn’t be the first time Nate had helped him clean up after a bad fight. But Moreau and Moreau’s men had happened and there was too much distance between them for him to let Nate see him like this.
The last time he’d been ambushed this badly he hadn’t been alone and he hadn’t been able to get away without killing people. Nate hadn’t forgotten that and things were still too raw. He’d look after himself, stitch up his own wounds and then find out who had set the men on him. He had to get rid of the blood first. There was blood on his leg, blood on his face, blood on his hands. Not all of it was his own.
Later, and Eliot was pretty sure he had managed to clean all of his wounds, stitch up the few cuts that had needed it. Purple, mottled bruises had already appeared on his stomach but it didn’t matter. No-one would see them. He managed not to limp as he walked into the apartment above McRory’s, caught the moment Nate noticed his cut lip and black eye anyway.
“What happened to you?” Moving to stand in front of him, Sophie made to touch him but stopped mid-gesture. “Was it an old mark?”
He shook his head. “I was ambushed. At the warehouse.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah. Oh.” Fighting against the limp, he made his way over to the sofa and dropped down just a little too hard, winced as he jarred his back.
Nate crossed over the room and sat down next to him, sitting closer than he’d done ever since they’d brought down Moreau. The concern there in his eyes - real concern - made Eliot feel strangely calm. “It wasn’t any of us.”
“Yeah.”
“I mean it, Eliot.”
“I know you do. But you were the only ones that knew I was there unless-” he trailed off.
“Unless what?” Parker crouched down in front of him.
“Unless Nelson’s reach extended further than we thought.”
Hardison shook his head. “Guy would need to have some serious weight to get someone beaten up from the back of a police car.”
“Yes.” Sophie stopped pacing the room for a second and turned to look at them. “But the alternative is that one of us sold Eliot out and that’s-”
“Not possible.” Nate met his eyes. “You know we wouldn’t.”
Nelson was far more likely to have been behind the attack than any of his team, his friends. Eliot nodded. “So Nelson, what? Worked it out and brought some men with him to the warehouse on the down low just in case?”
Nate stood back up. “That sounds plausible.”
“So why’s Eliot still alive?” Hardison coughed. “I mean - well, you know.”
“Maybe it was a warning?” Parker inched closer to Eliot, rested her hand on his knee.
“No.” Eliot looked over at Nate. “They set out to kill me.”
This time, Nate refused to make eye contact and stared at the blank screen instead. “That’s the answer then. Revenge, send a message that anyone who messes with Nelson will be dealt with quickly and with finality.”
“Oh no.”
“What?” Parker raised her eyebrows at Sophie.
“Well, the message wasn’t sent, was it? Eliot got away. I mean, I’m glad but-” she trailed off.
Holding his hand against his stomach, Eliot tossed his head back to look up at the ceiling. “You think they’re going to come back for more?”
Sophie nodded. “I think it’s a very real possibility.”
He did, too. His hunch about Nelson had been right from the start and he was the type of guy that didn’t give up on getting revenge that easily.
“But he can’t find us. And he’s in prison, I mean-”
“Uh oh.” Hardison spoke across Parker, eyes fixed on the screen of his laptop.
“What?”
“He isn’t in prison. He was in prison but he isn’t, as of an hour ago. Serious, serious weight, people.”
Parker shook her head. “But he doesn’t know who we are, he can’t-”
“No.” Eliot exhaled. “If this guy had the power to get out of prison that quickly, even with the evidence we planted, he has the power to find out who we are.”
“We can take that power away from him.” Nate turned to face them again. “He probably won’t come after us again, but if he does, we can take him down. We’ve taken down worse than him.”
Eliot wasn’t in the mood to argue with him, not yet. If Nate wanted to keep on underestimating Nelson, that was on him. But there was no way he was going to be making the mistake of going along with Nate again. It wouldn’t be the first time he had said that, though.
“Do you want me to change your dressings?” Already moving, Sophie reached out for the bottom of his t-shirt.
“No.” Eliot pulled away. “They’re fine. Really.”
“Maybe you should go to a hospital.” Hardison closed the top of his laptop and reached out to touch Eliot’s forehead.
He hated hospitals, always had. It wasn’t that he didn’t appreciate the work that doctors and nurses - especially the nurses - put in. He just hated the scrutiny, the questions. This time, though, his dislike of hospitals wasn’t why he had to keep out of one. Nelson had targeted him and hadn’t finished the job properly. Someone would be back.
In a hospital, he would be vulnerable - open to attack.
Nate didn’t like hospitals, either. If there was one thing Eliot knew about him, it was that. He also knew that, if he thought the injuries were bad enough, Nate would fight his way past that and make him go to the hospital. He didn’t want to put Nate through that.
“I’m fine, Hardison.” Standing up, he headed towards the kitchen, feeling guilty that he’d even thought that one of these guys could have sold him out.
---Nate watched the door close behind Parker and Sophie and stared at it for a moment, wondering how long they’d be gone. Hardison was due back in about ten or fifteen minutes, but he really hoped the girls would be back sooner to break the awkward silence that was suffocating and strange and still new, even after several weeks of awkward silences between him and Eliot. Even before they’d been working together, instead of against each other, things hadn’t been awkward like this.
It was necessary, though. He needed to keep Eliot at a distance, needed to stop any more problems from developing within the team. God knows, he’d already messed things up by sleeping with Sophie, and by not anticipating Moreau’s move with the warehouse and the auction.
“Nelson’s going to be back for more.”
He didn’t turn to look at Eliot, didn’t want to see the accusing look in his eye. “You don’t know that for sure.”
“No. But I know the odds and so do you.”
“He’s no more likely to come after us than anybody else we’ve taken down.” He shook his head as Eliot snorted and picked up a book that had been sitting unread on the table for two months.
“That’s right - do a Nate Ford and pretend nothing’s happening. Run away.”
Turning the page, he ignored Eliot’s words and didn’t put the book down until he heard the door slam. He hoped Eliot had only gone downstairs to the bar because he didn’t want to have to start explaining his absence to Sophie. How was he meant to explain a past of ten years, fragmented moments that made a history and a fight in a warehouse that was threatening to blow it all apart?
Part Two