Just a Soldier Part Two
Title: Just a Soldier {2/2}
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: gen,Eliot and Nate centric
Verse: N/a
Fandom: Leverage
Summary: The night before the Leverage team leaves San Lorenzo General Flores tells Nate about his history with Eliot.
Notes: Written for Ziplocless who won my Help_Japan auction.
Many thanks and much praise to my ever patient beta LMX_V3Point3.
Major spoilers to the season 3 finale.
Title comes from the song Sound the Bugle.
Part One
“Telling stories General?” Eliot asked, materializing out of the growing crowd of the bar with a drink.
Flores didn’t react as if he’d been caught doing anything unusual, casually asking. “Weren’t you going to see your team mates?”
“Hardison and Parker are goin’ out on the town,” Eliot responded. “Parker had her stealing things smile on an’ I didn’t feel like getting into more trouble tonight.”
“Well sit.” Flores gestured to the booth. “I was telling Nate about how you saved my life.”
There was no hint of tension in Eliot’s voice but Nate could have sworn something was off in his voice as he asked, ever so casually. “First or second time?”
The subtext was not hidden at all in Flores’s answer. “Second.” Eliot actually winced. All jokes aside it seemed to be a more difficult subject than he let it seem. “I was just at the part where you first left San Lorenzo and became an employee of Damien Moreau.”
There was a silence, Eliot looking into his drink, an odd moment where echoes of the past overlaid with the present. Eliot’s posture was stiffer when Flores was around, almost like a memory of military formality from their first meeting.
But now there was also this look of… not shame or guilt but…
Almost like the look a child gives when they know they’ve disappointed their parents that can still be seen on their faces when they make new mistakes as adults.
Ghosts of a young soldier overlaid on the team’s hitter.
“He didn’t…” Eliot started then stopped, shaking his head. “Excuse.” He added gruffly before taking a drink and stating. “I was a lot of things, and angry was the only one I was comfortable with. Damien used that. Used the confusion, rage, fear… He’s good at that. Picks his way through every chink in your armor until he knows how you tick then uses it to train you like a dog.”
Nate didn’t say anything. He wanted to ask but he remembered The Park, the look on Eliot’s face then. Eliot wouldn’t hide what he was from them. If asked he’d tell the truth.
And Nate knew once he had the truth he’d have to do something about it.
There were long moments of silence as they drank, the noise of the bar pressing in around them as people celebrated.
“Ironic thing is if it weren’t for a San Lorenzo election I probably would never have pulled back,” Eliot stated after long minutes passed. “I was Damien’s trained attack dog, but mostly untested where it counted. He needed his best man to take care of things here but he wasn’t sure if I’d follow his orders when they were for something a little more dirty than knocking out mooks and getting information from gun runners.” Eliot’s expression went hard and then eased away entirely, blank look on his face except for the tiniest hint of a smirk. “He got impatient. Sent me on a test job.”
He looked up, meeting Nate’s eyes, something in his own made Nate want to flinch away, turn away, not remember those words. “the worst thing I’ve ever done in my entire life…”
“I did it. I followed orders,” Eliot stated before breaking eye contact. “But I… after it was over I knew I was staring into hell, leaning so far over the edge I was pretty sure pulling back would just make me fall sooner. Fuck. I was pretty sure I was already on a one way ticket into it.” Something in his voice made Nate wonder if he still believed he was on his way to hell.
Some roads you start down you can’t turn back.
“Then Moreau sent him to kill me,” Flores said. “One last push over the ledge…”
oOo
Flores’d had nightmares like this before. Even before his contacts let him know that his activities had caught the wrong sort of attention.
Turning in his sleep, opening his eyes, finding himself staring down the barrel of a gun.
His eyes focused and he looked up, first thinking he was in the presence of a devil or demon before recognizing those blue eyes, the twisted deadly smile.
“Eliot.” The word left his mouth and he still wasn’t sure if this was simply another nightmare or reality.
The figure before him didn’t move, empty eyes, soulless eyes, lit only by the moonlight light drifting in from open curtains…
They stared back. Unmoving.
Flores closed his own eyes. There was nothing left to reason with and he didn’t want those eyes to be image he went to his grave with.
The moment stretched on. Silence. Darkness.
He was only glad Maria was visiting with Matthias. Maybe they’d be spared.
“G…Gen…” Eliot stuttered out the words hoarsely, the sounds escaping him like they had to fight their way out from whatever part of the Eliot he’d known lingered.
Flores’ eyes snapped open. If any…
The gun in front of his face was shaking.
“General…” The gun lowered. “I can’t,” Eliot said. “I was sent to but…” Something seeped back into the void. Sharp edges and pain scratched out a bitter sounding mockery of a laugh. “So I guess this is where I stop being an asset.”
Slowly, slowly, Flores pushed himself onto his elbows and eased into a sitting position. He didn’t move for the gun. Eliot had been sent to kill him but was apparently not able to go through with it. Flores knew if he rushed Eliot instinct would kick in and Eliot would kill him anyway.
“Eliot…” What? What could he possibly say? A part of him wanted to destroy the thing that had spent the past two years wreaking havoc in the name of Damian Moreau and now invaded his bedroom to kill him in his sleep.
At the same time It was a thing his own mistakes had helped to create.
“Evening general.” Eliot said, grin twisting to become almost manic in desperation to hold it all together. “Guess it comes full circle, me always coming back to you. Prodigal son and all.” The grin disappeared. “No. Not a son. Nothing. I…” He shook his head. “I messed up. And I can’t go home again. Again.”
His hand raised, still shaking, pressing the gun to his own temple. “And you can’t go home again.”
“Stand down commander!” The general ordered, forcing his strictest voice. A last chance play.
Eliot hesitated, instincts drilled into him over the course of his life causing his arm to falter for a moment.
Long enough for Flores to lunge forward, grabbing the weapon from Eliot’s hand. He sat back, ejecting the cartage and throwing it back over his shoulder, popping the round out of the chamber before throwing the gun in a different direction.
He had no intention of shooting anyone tonight so there was no point in leaving a gun on the field for others to use.
With the gun out of his hand Eliot just sank to his knees. “I can’t keep doing this,” he stated. “But if I stop I’m dead.” He ran a hand through his hair. It was longer than before, loose and wild around his face, untamed. “Can’t. Tried to just be alive. This ain't living.”
“It’s not,” Flores said, resisting the instinct to move to comfort Eliot. This wasn’t a boy. It wasn’t even the same man who collapsed on his doorstep. He didn’t know the details but the man before him had walked his road by choice and committed more than enough crimes to deserve whatever damnation fate had in store for him.
Flores wasn’t the man he’d been when they first met anymore. The years and changes had had an effect on him just like the rest of San Lorenzo. He watched heroes destroy themselves and his beloved country twist and dance at a monster’s will.
He wasn’t sure if he’d ever believed in salvation and love conquering all. He certainly didn’t anymore.
But there he was, staring down at Eliot, and offering a silent prayer to whatever wretched deity might still be listening.
“You’re not living,” he said again. “You have to be human to live. You’ve been nothing more than Moreau’s dog for quite some time.”
Eliot flinched.
Flores stood, retrieving the gun he kept hidden between the mattress and headboard of the bed, flicking off the safety. “I should put you down now. Spare the world the monster you’ll become.” He let out a breath. “But you saved my life, once before and now again, and I have saved yours. I brought you back from a dark place and did nothing to stop the world from shoving you back there. I counted you as my son. You will never be that to me again but…” He held out the gun slowly. “If I kill you now I only ensure your damnation.”
Eliot looked up slowly. Wide eyes finally meeting his.
“Take the gun. Kill me now and spare me from watching what’s left of my eldest son die or kill yourself and spare the world of the monster you’ve become.” Eliot’s hand moved, tightening on the weapon but not pulling it from Flores’ grasp. “Or fight.”
Surprise, shock, uncertainty.
“You were a hero once Eliot. I don’t know if you can ever be one again but you can try. Turn around. Start fighting your way back. Live. Fight. Atone for the evil you’ve done.” He tightened his hand around the gun briefly, fingers brushing Eliot’s. “And never pick up a gun again.”
He let go.
He’d taken his gamble. He’d set the pieces in motion. He could only hope there was enough fight left in Eliot for him to try.
Slowly Eliot turned the gun in his hand. He fumbled for a moment before unloading it, setting the ammunition down next to the gun on the floor.
“I was sent to kill you,” he said, his voice toneless, distant. In shock probably. “When Moreau finds out I didn’t he’ll send someone else to do the job.”
“I know,” Flores said. “But I haven’t survived the last three years out of luck. I know how these games are played. I’m the major opponent of Robera in the next election but the opposition is in chaos. We don’t have the organization, the means, to win this election. I have a few strings I can pull and an asset I can negotiate with. Combine that by withdrawing from this election I may be able to pull my name from Moreau’s hit list.” He didn’t like it, it felt like a retreat, but the past few years had taught him to be realistic about politics.
But the election after that he and the opposition in general would be ready to wage political war.
That was a long way off though. He had a more pressing problem to deal with.
“Did you tell anyone you were making the hit tonight?”
Eliot shook his head. “I work alone and he trusts me to get the job done when the time’s right.”
“Do you have a few more days?” A nod. “Things should be taken care of soon. You’ll be told by Moreau that the job is over and return to him.” He could see the hint of fear at those words. He silenced the anger at that. Eliot had brought it upon himself. “You will tell him that you wish to leave his service.”
“He’ll-“
“Do nothing,” Flores didn’t allow the interruption to continue. “He is supposed to be one of the most powerful criminals in the world and his business depends on that reputation. He cannot allow himself to be upset by an employee leaving, it would make him seem weaker for it.”
Eliot nodded, looking down. “After that?”
“Figure it out for yourself.” Flores said. “Unless you find a way to pay back some of the blood on your hands this will end our acquaintance”
Eliot stood and nodded whispering only “Yes. Sir.” Before disappearing into the darkness.
It was a long time before Flores fell asleep.
It was a long time before he stopped having nightmares of the monster he’d released once more onto the world.
But six months later he received a small envelope in the mail with nothing but an article about a kidnapping in Germany resolved by a retrieval specialist.
It wasn’t exactly saint’s work, but he slept a little easier that night all the same.
oOo
Years passed, slipping away. They lost the next election. And several members of the opposition movement. But they survived. The UN election officials they’d called in at least helped to keep the death toll low.
He didn’t get any other news from Eliot but he had other things to focus on. Maria, sending his son off to University, San Lorenzo, the men he’d served with. Marco passed away. The debts (all of them) Flores owed the Doctor still unpaid.
It was early summer, somehow so eerily similar to all those years ago, when Flores opened his door to find a man with long hair, suntanned skin, and eyes that held just the faintest hint of a long forgotten brightness in them.
He almost didn’t recognize Eliot at first. This man was…
“Good afternoon General.” Eliot said, pulling himself straight to stand at attention, formal in his greeting.
Not quite covering the wince and flinch that passed through him as he did so.
“You’re not going to pass out on my doorstep again are you commander?” He asked, keeping warmth out of his tone. Eliot seemed nervous. That was good. Brightness in his eyes wasn’t enough to convince Flores that Eliot had earned a homecoming.
“Not likely General,” Eliot said. “Two broken ribs still healing.”
“At ease,” Flores stated. There was keeping Eliot on edge and there was risking the boy hurting himself trying to keep military sharpness when he was injured. “Come inside and sit down. I’m guessing you have a story you’d like to tell me.”
Flores led Eliot into the house and had him sit in the front room, just a few feet from the rug they’d gotten to cover the bloodstain until the floors could be redone.
“Is that Eliot?” Maria’s voice echoed from the hallway. A moment later she was in the doorway.
Eliot stood quickly, covering the pain the action probably caused, and greeted her with the same formality he’d greeted the general.
“May I listen?” She asked after returning his greeting in kind. She knew of what had happened the last time Eliot and Flores had met.
She sat down and Flores had to suppress a smile at the sight of Eliot waiting for her to sit until doing so himself.
Ever the gentleman.
“So,” Flores stated. “Tell us a story.”
Eliot looked down at his hands before one slipped almost unconsciously to wrap around his ribs.
“Up until about a year ago I was working retrievals. Fighting for money. Not always on the right side of the fight but…” He shook his head and sighed. “About a year ago I was approached by a man named Victor Dubenich, who wanted to hire me to work as the muscle for a crew pulling a heist in Chicago to steal back his stolen airplane designs…”
That was the day they first heard the names Parker, Hardison, Sophie, and Nathan Ford. That was the day they first heard about the actions of Leverage Consulting and Associates.
When Flores heard about the betrayal that caused the group to break up he feared it was a sign of the final blow for Eliot but there was something in his eyes as he talked about it.
He was angry with them. But he missed them. And he’d learned not to run away.
Flores knew before the story finished that Eliot would go back. Eliot would find a way back to his team.
They’d finish that job and there would be others.
With the story ended Flores stood, stretching stiff knees, making his decision.
It was progress. But just progress.
“You are welcome to stay here tonight Commander. And when you get back together with your team I would like reports from time to time.” He let his tone soften. “It would be good to hear from you.”
“Come,” Maria stated. “Help me make dinner. Let’s see if you’ve let those skills I taught you go to rot.” Eliot was quickly bustled off to the kitchen.
You’d never know looking at her how Maria had raged at the threat to his life. She’d forgiven Eliot long before he forgave himself enough to walk back into their lives.
Maybe it was easier for her, not knowing everything Flores did.
Or maybe she was just more familiar with the care and dealings of damaged soldiers.
Flores caught sight of a museum pamphlet sticking out of the corner of Eliot’s bag and smiled to himself.
Yes. They’d find their way back to one another.
A little over seven months later Flores would receive a package in the mail containing a playbill for The Sound of Music in Boston and a prepaid, untraceable, cellphone with a single phone number programmed in.
oOo
Flores finished his story and it seemed he had nothing more to say. Eliot was scanning the growing crowd around them, part habit for when his surroundings were too noisy to depend on hearing, and probably partly to avoid looking at them.
Nate wasn’t sure what to say. Though that problem was somewhat alleviated when someone called a suggestion that they sing the San Lorenzo national anthem. Within moments the singing of the revelers drowned out any chance for conversation.
Eliot gave them both a glance before getting up and heading toward the bar. Flores motioned Nate to follow him out.
Assuming Eliot had gone to settle their tab (Eliot wouldn’t even leave an open tab at McRory’s) Nate followed Flores out onto the hotel’s patio.
“Our national anthem has thirteen verses.” Flores explained. “And the fourth and ninth are the same. If the singers are drunk enough they’re likely to just keep skipping back. They could be at it for a some time.”
It was quiet out here. Only the faint lull of the singers inside.
It felt… In a single night he’d been told more of Eliot’s history than he ever thought he’d get. He’d resigned himself a long time ago to not knowing about the pasts of any of the team.
And now…
“You’re the reason,” he stated, thinking of one of the many mysteries solved tonight.
“One could say I’m the reason for many things,” Flores answered, a hint of a joke on his voice but sharp eyes still focusing on Nate.
So much like Eliot.
“The reason for the guns,” Nate mused. “I always found it odd. But it makes sense.” Flores had had a huge impact on Eliot. Though it did make the interactions before this job seem a little odd. Not to mention… “Did Eliot tell you about the warehouse?”
It was a mess and, yes, Nate felt somewhat guilty about the part he played in getting there.
But this whole affair showed different sides of the hitter, showed that different aspects were in play he’d never realized before. He was still trying to figure Eliot out and he wanted to know if the Hitter would keep something like the warehouse from Flores.
After all, he’d kept Moreau from Nate.
“The warehouse before you came to San Lorenzo?” Flores asked, glancing sideways toward Nate before looking back out toward the city. “He was telling me before you got here.” He clasped his hands behind his back, falling into parade rest probably unconsciously. “I do not have a problem with guns Mister Ford. I am soldier. A gun is my tool I use to protect my country from those who would hurt us. But guns can be the tools of murderers, and monsters. Even in the hands of righteous men. And Eliot was not a righteous man then.”
Nate saw movement out of the corner of his eye. Three years ago, maybe even a year ago, he might not have noticed it but Nate could recognize that shadow now. Eliot was lurking, listening, watching.
Watching for danger. Watching their backs. Waiting in the wings for his input to be needed.
There had been moments of anger, accusation, even fear, but even now he unconsciously relaxed, knowing Eliot was there to watch his back.
There had never been any real doubt.
Nate wondered if Flores knew they had a shadow. He seemed to have gone silent, his pronouncement contradictory to how he had been acting. Though surviving a decade in San Lorenzo probably required at least a decent poker face.
“Eliot Spencer was not a Righteous man then.” Flores repeated. “And there is blood on his hands and deeds he has done of which he may never be clean.” He turned, looking towards Nate but his eyes slid past for a moment to land on the person who needed to hear the words more than anyone. “But in that hanger he picked up that gun to protect his family and bring down a monster. He came here again as he once did. As a soldier, wounded, but still fighting.” Flores stepped closer to him, lowering his voice to barely a whisper. “Ford, never let him forget what he’s fighting for.”
Nate moved his mouth to respond, not really sure how. But Flores was gone before he could articulate it.
Later he’d guess his answer could have ranged anywhere from snarky to mildly uncaring to even bordering more emotional than he normally let himself get. He wasn’t a nice man. He was the mastermind, not Eliot’s shrink. Definitely not his father.
Except the team was his family and if he was being honest he’d have to admit that only if you combined their broken bits would you even get anything close to resembling a whole and yeah, before this whole mess he might have considered that Eliot was the person on the team who actually had their shit together when it should have been pretty obvious that Eliot was just the best at faking it.
And if it meant keeping Eliot from spiraling back into the place where he’d walked knowingly into the employ of Moreau because he was just that pissed off at the world and trying that hard to drown the hurt…
Well, a reminder about what they were fighting for every once in a while…
Nate could manage that.
He turned, catching Eliot’s eyes across the patio, wondering if he should say something now.
But his cell phone went off. Sophie. Wondering where he was.
When he looked over again Eliot was gone.
oOo
They were on the plane the next day before he really thought about it again. The night with Sophie and the potential fallout had him too distracted to really consider anything.
And then he heard a very distinctive laugh and looked up.
He looked over, up and across the aisles separating him and Sophie from Parker, Hardison, and Eliot (as a rule now Hardison makes sure they’re at least four rows ahead of Nate and Sophie so that they can keep and eye on the “kids” without having to sit with them).
Eliot’s standing in the aisle (he, also by rule, gets the seat separated from the other two by an aisle), leaning on Hardison’s seat, talking to Hardison, working at repairing their damaged relationship. A pale hand reached up and over, snatching at the ends of his hair.
As Nate watched Parker all but evicted Hardison from his seat and soon enough the thief was restoring the small braids in Eliot’s hair for the first time in… awhile with Hardison keeping up his stream of conversation.
The first time Parker had successfully convinced Eliot to let her braid his hair Hardison hadn’t stopped making fun of the situation until Eliot threatened to break his fingers (while holding onto one).
Now it was just something Parker got into her head to do from time to time and Eliot let her and Hardison made no more note of it now than any other thing they did to entertain and indulge her. Parker bored was dangerous but more than that it was Parker. They’d do a lot just for that reason alone.
She was crazy, but she was their crazy. Someone for Hardison to love (and wasn’t that a headache waiting to happen), and someone for Eliot to take care of and protect. Someone to make life interesting and keep them on their toes and remind them in her own weird way what all of this was for.
He smiled to himself and looked back to Sophie.
Looked like he wouldn’t need to remind Eliot what he was fighting for. After all, Eliot fought to protect his family.
And one thing was certain by now, they were family, and none of them would ever let Eliot forget about them.
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: gen,Eliot and Nate centric
Verse: N/a
Fandom: Leverage
Summary: The night before the Leverage team leaves San Lorenzo General Flores tells Nate about his history with Eliot.
Notes: Written for Ziplocless who won my Help_Japan auction.
Many thanks and much praise to my ever patient beta LMX_V3Point3.
Major spoilers to the season 3 finale.
Title comes from the song Sound the Bugle.
Part One
“Telling stories General?” Eliot asked, materializing out of the growing crowd of the bar with a drink.
Flores didn’t react as if he’d been caught doing anything unusual, casually asking. “Weren’t you going to see your team mates?”
“Hardison and Parker are goin’ out on the town,” Eliot responded. “Parker had her stealing things smile on an’ I didn’t feel like getting into more trouble tonight.”
“Well sit.” Flores gestured to the booth. “I was telling Nate about how you saved my life.”
There was no hint of tension in Eliot’s voice but Nate could have sworn something was off in his voice as he asked, ever so casually. “First or second time?”
The subtext was not hidden at all in Flores’s answer. “Second.” Eliot actually winced. All jokes aside it seemed to be a more difficult subject than he let it seem. “I was just at the part where you first left San Lorenzo and became an employee of Damien Moreau.”
There was a silence, Eliot looking into his drink, an odd moment where echoes of the past overlaid with the present. Eliot’s posture was stiffer when Flores was around, almost like a memory of military formality from their first meeting.
But now there was also this look of… not shame or guilt but…
Almost like the look a child gives when they know they’ve disappointed their parents that can still be seen on their faces when they make new mistakes as adults.
Ghosts of a young soldier overlaid on the team’s hitter.
“He didn’t…” Eliot started then stopped, shaking his head. “Excuse.” He added gruffly before taking a drink and stating. “I was a lot of things, and angry was the only one I was comfortable with. Damien used that. Used the confusion, rage, fear… He’s good at that. Picks his way through every chink in your armor until he knows how you tick then uses it to train you like a dog.”
Nate didn’t say anything. He wanted to ask but he remembered The Park, the look on Eliot’s face then. Eliot wouldn’t hide what he was from them. If asked he’d tell the truth.
And Nate knew once he had the truth he’d have to do something about it.
There were long moments of silence as they drank, the noise of the bar pressing in around them as people celebrated.
“Ironic thing is if it weren’t for a San Lorenzo election I probably would never have pulled back,” Eliot stated after long minutes passed. “I was Damien’s trained attack dog, but mostly untested where it counted. He needed his best man to take care of things here but he wasn’t sure if I’d follow his orders when they were for something a little more dirty than knocking out mooks and getting information from gun runners.” Eliot’s expression went hard and then eased away entirely, blank look on his face except for the tiniest hint of a smirk. “He got impatient. Sent me on a test job.”
He looked up, meeting Nate’s eyes, something in his own made Nate want to flinch away, turn away, not remember those words. “the worst thing I’ve ever done in my entire life…”
“I did it. I followed orders,” Eliot stated before breaking eye contact. “But I… after it was over I knew I was staring into hell, leaning so far over the edge I was pretty sure pulling back would just make me fall sooner. Fuck. I was pretty sure I was already on a one way ticket into it.” Something in his voice made Nate wonder if he still believed he was on his way to hell.
Some roads you start down you can’t turn back.
“Then Moreau sent him to kill me,” Flores said. “One last push over the ledge…”
oOo
Flores’d had nightmares like this before. Even before his contacts let him know that his activities had caught the wrong sort of attention.
Turning in his sleep, opening his eyes, finding himself staring down the barrel of a gun.
His eyes focused and he looked up, first thinking he was in the presence of a devil or demon before recognizing those blue eyes, the twisted deadly smile.
“Eliot.” The word left his mouth and he still wasn’t sure if this was simply another nightmare or reality.
The figure before him didn’t move, empty eyes, soulless eyes, lit only by the moonlight light drifting in from open curtains…
They stared back. Unmoving.
Flores closed his own eyes. There was nothing left to reason with and he didn’t want those eyes to be image he went to his grave with.
The moment stretched on. Silence. Darkness.
He was only glad Maria was visiting with Matthias. Maybe they’d be spared.
“G…Gen…” Eliot stuttered out the words hoarsely, the sounds escaping him like they had to fight their way out from whatever part of the Eliot he’d known lingered.
Flores’ eyes snapped open. If any…
The gun in front of his face was shaking.
“General…” The gun lowered. “I can’t,” Eliot said. “I was sent to but…” Something seeped back into the void. Sharp edges and pain scratched out a bitter sounding mockery of a laugh. “So I guess this is where I stop being an asset.”
Slowly, slowly, Flores pushed himself onto his elbows and eased into a sitting position. He didn’t move for the gun. Eliot had been sent to kill him but was apparently not able to go through with it. Flores knew if he rushed Eliot instinct would kick in and Eliot would kill him anyway.
“Eliot…” What? What could he possibly say? A part of him wanted to destroy the thing that had spent the past two years wreaking havoc in the name of Damian Moreau and now invaded his bedroom to kill him in his sleep.
At the same time It was a thing his own mistakes had helped to create.
“Evening general.” Eliot said, grin twisting to become almost manic in desperation to hold it all together. “Guess it comes full circle, me always coming back to you. Prodigal son and all.” The grin disappeared. “No. Not a son. Nothing. I…” He shook his head. “I messed up. And I can’t go home again. Again.”
His hand raised, still shaking, pressing the gun to his own temple. “And you can’t go home again.”
“Stand down commander!” The general ordered, forcing his strictest voice. A last chance play.
Eliot hesitated, instincts drilled into him over the course of his life causing his arm to falter for a moment.
Long enough for Flores to lunge forward, grabbing the weapon from Eliot’s hand. He sat back, ejecting the cartage and throwing it back over his shoulder, popping the round out of the chamber before throwing the gun in a different direction.
He had no intention of shooting anyone tonight so there was no point in leaving a gun on the field for others to use.
With the gun out of his hand Eliot just sank to his knees. “I can’t keep doing this,” he stated. “But if I stop I’m dead.” He ran a hand through his hair. It was longer than before, loose and wild around his face, untamed. “Can’t. Tried to just be alive. This ain't living.”
“It’s not,” Flores said, resisting the instinct to move to comfort Eliot. This wasn’t a boy. It wasn’t even the same man who collapsed on his doorstep. He didn’t know the details but the man before him had walked his road by choice and committed more than enough crimes to deserve whatever damnation fate had in store for him.
Flores wasn’t the man he’d been when they first met anymore. The years and changes had had an effect on him just like the rest of San Lorenzo. He watched heroes destroy themselves and his beloved country twist and dance at a monster’s will.
He wasn’t sure if he’d ever believed in salvation and love conquering all. He certainly didn’t anymore.
But there he was, staring down at Eliot, and offering a silent prayer to whatever wretched deity might still be listening.
“You’re not living,” he said again. “You have to be human to live. You’ve been nothing more than Moreau’s dog for quite some time.”
Eliot flinched.
Flores stood, retrieving the gun he kept hidden between the mattress and headboard of the bed, flicking off the safety. “I should put you down now. Spare the world the monster you’ll become.” He let out a breath. “But you saved my life, once before and now again, and I have saved yours. I brought you back from a dark place and did nothing to stop the world from shoving you back there. I counted you as my son. You will never be that to me again but…” He held out the gun slowly. “If I kill you now I only ensure your damnation.”
Eliot looked up slowly. Wide eyes finally meeting his.
“Take the gun. Kill me now and spare me from watching what’s left of my eldest son die or kill yourself and spare the world of the monster you’ve become.” Eliot’s hand moved, tightening on the weapon but not pulling it from Flores’ grasp. “Or fight.”
Surprise, shock, uncertainty.
“You were a hero once Eliot. I don’t know if you can ever be one again but you can try. Turn around. Start fighting your way back. Live. Fight. Atone for the evil you’ve done.” He tightened his hand around the gun briefly, fingers brushing Eliot’s. “And never pick up a gun again.”
He let go.
He’d taken his gamble. He’d set the pieces in motion. He could only hope there was enough fight left in Eliot for him to try.
Slowly Eliot turned the gun in his hand. He fumbled for a moment before unloading it, setting the ammunition down next to the gun on the floor.
“I was sent to kill you,” he said, his voice toneless, distant. In shock probably. “When Moreau finds out I didn’t he’ll send someone else to do the job.”
“I know,” Flores said. “But I haven’t survived the last three years out of luck. I know how these games are played. I’m the major opponent of Robera in the next election but the opposition is in chaos. We don’t have the organization, the means, to win this election. I have a few strings I can pull and an asset I can negotiate with. Combine that by withdrawing from this election I may be able to pull my name from Moreau’s hit list.” He didn’t like it, it felt like a retreat, but the past few years had taught him to be realistic about politics.
But the election after that he and the opposition in general would be ready to wage political war.
That was a long way off though. He had a more pressing problem to deal with.
“Did you tell anyone you were making the hit tonight?”
Eliot shook his head. “I work alone and he trusts me to get the job done when the time’s right.”
“Do you have a few more days?” A nod. “Things should be taken care of soon. You’ll be told by Moreau that the job is over and return to him.” He could see the hint of fear at those words. He silenced the anger at that. Eliot had brought it upon himself. “You will tell him that you wish to leave his service.”
“He’ll-“
“Do nothing,” Flores didn’t allow the interruption to continue. “He is supposed to be one of the most powerful criminals in the world and his business depends on that reputation. He cannot allow himself to be upset by an employee leaving, it would make him seem weaker for it.”
Eliot nodded, looking down. “After that?”
“Figure it out for yourself.” Flores said. “Unless you find a way to pay back some of the blood on your hands this will end our acquaintance”
Eliot stood and nodded whispering only “Yes. Sir.” Before disappearing into the darkness.
It was a long time before Flores fell asleep.
It was a long time before he stopped having nightmares of the monster he’d released once more onto the world.
But six months later he received a small envelope in the mail with nothing but an article about a kidnapping in Germany resolved by a retrieval specialist.
It wasn’t exactly saint’s work, but he slept a little easier that night all the same.
oOo
Years passed, slipping away. They lost the next election. And several members of the opposition movement. But they survived. The UN election officials they’d called in at least helped to keep the death toll low.
He didn’t get any other news from Eliot but he had other things to focus on. Maria, sending his son off to University, San Lorenzo, the men he’d served with. Marco passed away. The debts (all of them) Flores owed the Doctor still unpaid.
It was early summer, somehow so eerily similar to all those years ago, when Flores opened his door to find a man with long hair, suntanned skin, and eyes that held just the faintest hint of a long forgotten brightness in them.
He almost didn’t recognize Eliot at first. This man was…
“Good afternoon General.” Eliot said, pulling himself straight to stand at attention, formal in his greeting.
Not quite covering the wince and flinch that passed through him as he did so.
“You’re not going to pass out on my doorstep again are you commander?” He asked, keeping warmth out of his tone. Eliot seemed nervous. That was good. Brightness in his eyes wasn’t enough to convince Flores that Eliot had earned a homecoming.
“Not likely General,” Eliot said. “Two broken ribs still healing.”
“At ease,” Flores stated. There was keeping Eliot on edge and there was risking the boy hurting himself trying to keep military sharpness when he was injured. “Come inside and sit down. I’m guessing you have a story you’d like to tell me.”
Flores led Eliot into the house and had him sit in the front room, just a few feet from the rug they’d gotten to cover the bloodstain until the floors could be redone.
“Is that Eliot?” Maria’s voice echoed from the hallway. A moment later she was in the doorway.
Eliot stood quickly, covering the pain the action probably caused, and greeted her with the same formality he’d greeted the general.
“May I listen?” She asked after returning his greeting in kind. She knew of what had happened the last time Eliot and Flores had met.
She sat down and Flores had to suppress a smile at the sight of Eliot waiting for her to sit until doing so himself.
Ever the gentleman.
“So,” Flores stated. “Tell us a story.”
Eliot looked down at his hands before one slipped almost unconsciously to wrap around his ribs.
“Up until about a year ago I was working retrievals. Fighting for money. Not always on the right side of the fight but…” He shook his head and sighed. “About a year ago I was approached by a man named Victor Dubenich, who wanted to hire me to work as the muscle for a crew pulling a heist in Chicago to steal back his stolen airplane designs…”
That was the day they first heard the names Parker, Hardison, Sophie, and Nathan Ford. That was the day they first heard about the actions of Leverage Consulting and Associates.
When Flores heard about the betrayal that caused the group to break up he feared it was a sign of the final blow for Eliot but there was something in his eyes as he talked about it.
He was angry with them. But he missed them. And he’d learned not to run away.
Flores knew before the story finished that Eliot would go back. Eliot would find a way back to his team.
They’d finish that job and there would be others.
With the story ended Flores stood, stretching stiff knees, making his decision.
It was progress. But just progress.
“You are welcome to stay here tonight Commander. And when you get back together with your team I would like reports from time to time.” He let his tone soften. “It would be good to hear from you.”
“Come,” Maria stated. “Help me make dinner. Let’s see if you’ve let those skills I taught you go to rot.” Eliot was quickly bustled off to the kitchen.
You’d never know looking at her how Maria had raged at the threat to his life. She’d forgiven Eliot long before he forgave himself enough to walk back into their lives.
Maybe it was easier for her, not knowing everything Flores did.
Or maybe she was just more familiar with the care and dealings of damaged soldiers.
Flores caught sight of a museum pamphlet sticking out of the corner of Eliot’s bag and smiled to himself.
Yes. They’d find their way back to one another.
A little over seven months later Flores would receive a package in the mail containing a playbill for The Sound of Music in Boston and a prepaid, untraceable, cellphone with a single phone number programmed in.
oOo
Flores finished his story and it seemed he had nothing more to say. Eliot was scanning the growing crowd around them, part habit for when his surroundings were too noisy to depend on hearing, and probably partly to avoid looking at them.
Nate wasn’t sure what to say. Though that problem was somewhat alleviated when someone called a suggestion that they sing the San Lorenzo national anthem. Within moments the singing of the revelers drowned out any chance for conversation.
Eliot gave them both a glance before getting up and heading toward the bar. Flores motioned Nate to follow him out.
Assuming Eliot had gone to settle their tab (Eliot wouldn’t even leave an open tab at McRory’s) Nate followed Flores out onto the hotel’s patio.
“Our national anthem has thirteen verses.” Flores explained. “And the fourth and ninth are the same. If the singers are drunk enough they’re likely to just keep skipping back. They could be at it for a some time.”
It was quiet out here. Only the faint lull of the singers inside.
It felt… In a single night he’d been told more of Eliot’s history than he ever thought he’d get. He’d resigned himself a long time ago to not knowing about the pasts of any of the team.
And now…
“You’re the reason,” he stated, thinking of one of the many mysteries solved tonight.
“One could say I’m the reason for many things,” Flores answered, a hint of a joke on his voice but sharp eyes still focusing on Nate.
So much like Eliot.
“The reason for the guns,” Nate mused. “I always found it odd. But it makes sense.” Flores had had a huge impact on Eliot. Though it did make the interactions before this job seem a little odd. Not to mention… “Did Eliot tell you about the warehouse?”
It was a mess and, yes, Nate felt somewhat guilty about the part he played in getting there.
But this whole affair showed different sides of the hitter, showed that different aspects were in play he’d never realized before. He was still trying to figure Eliot out and he wanted to know if the Hitter would keep something like the warehouse from Flores.
After all, he’d kept Moreau from Nate.
“The warehouse before you came to San Lorenzo?” Flores asked, glancing sideways toward Nate before looking back out toward the city. “He was telling me before you got here.” He clasped his hands behind his back, falling into parade rest probably unconsciously. “I do not have a problem with guns Mister Ford. I am soldier. A gun is my tool I use to protect my country from those who would hurt us. But guns can be the tools of murderers, and monsters. Even in the hands of righteous men. And Eliot was not a righteous man then.”
Nate saw movement out of the corner of his eye. Three years ago, maybe even a year ago, he might not have noticed it but Nate could recognize that shadow now. Eliot was lurking, listening, watching.
Watching for danger. Watching their backs. Waiting in the wings for his input to be needed.
There had been moments of anger, accusation, even fear, but even now he unconsciously relaxed, knowing Eliot was there to watch his back.
There had never been any real doubt.
Nate wondered if Flores knew they had a shadow. He seemed to have gone silent, his pronouncement contradictory to how he had been acting. Though surviving a decade in San Lorenzo probably required at least a decent poker face.
“Eliot Spencer was not a Righteous man then.” Flores repeated. “And there is blood on his hands and deeds he has done of which he may never be clean.” He turned, looking towards Nate but his eyes slid past for a moment to land on the person who needed to hear the words more than anyone. “But in that hanger he picked up that gun to protect his family and bring down a monster. He came here again as he once did. As a soldier, wounded, but still fighting.” Flores stepped closer to him, lowering his voice to barely a whisper. “Ford, never let him forget what he’s fighting for.”
Nate moved his mouth to respond, not really sure how. But Flores was gone before he could articulate it.
Later he’d guess his answer could have ranged anywhere from snarky to mildly uncaring to even bordering more emotional than he normally let himself get. He wasn’t a nice man. He was the mastermind, not Eliot’s shrink. Definitely not his father.
Except the team was his family and if he was being honest he’d have to admit that only if you combined their broken bits would you even get anything close to resembling a whole and yeah, before this whole mess he might have considered that Eliot was the person on the team who actually had their shit together when it should have been pretty obvious that Eliot was just the best at faking it.
And if it meant keeping Eliot from spiraling back into the place where he’d walked knowingly into the employ of Moreau because he was just that pissed off at the world and trying that hard to drown the hurt…
Well, a reminder about what they were fighting for every once in a while…
Nate could manage that.
He turned, catching Eliot’s eyes across the patio, wondering if he should say something now.
But his cell phone went off. Sophie. Wondering where he was.
When he looked over again Eliot was gone.
oOo
They were on the plane the next day before he really thought about it again. The night with Sophie and the potential fallout had him too distracted to really consider anything.
And then he heard a very distinctive laugh and looked up.
He looked over, up and across the aisles separating him and Sophie from Parker, Hardison, and Eliot (as a rule now Hardison makes sure they’re at least four rows ahead of Nate and Sophie so that they can keep and eye on the “kids” without having to sit with them).
Eliot’s standing in the aisle (he, also by rule, gets the seat separated from the other two by an aisle), leaning on Hardison’s seat, talking to Hardison, working at repairing their damaged relationship. A pale hand reached up and over, snatching at the ends of his hair.
As Nate watched Parker all but evicted Hardison from his seat and soon enough the thief was restoring the small braids in Eliot’s hair for the first time in… awhile with Hardison keeping up his stream of conversation.
The first time Parker had successfully convinced Eliot to let her braid his hair Hardison hadn’t stopped making fun of the situation until Eliot threatened to break his fingers (while holding onto one).
Now it was just something Parker got into her head to do from time to time and Eliot let her and Hardison made no more note of it now than any other thing they did to entertain and indulge her. Parker bored was dangerous but more than that it was Parker. They’d do a lot just for that reason alone.
She was crazy, but she was their crazy. Someone for Hardison to love (and wasn’t that a headache waiting to happen), and someone for Eliot to take care of and protect. Someone to make life interesting and keep them on their toes and remind them in her own weird way what all of this was for.
He smiled to himself and looked back to Sophie.
Looked like he wouldn’t need to remind Eliot what he was fighting for. After all, Eliot fought to protect his family.
And one thing was certain by now, they were family, and none of them would ever let Eliot forget about them.