The One Step Too Far Job Part Three
Eliot’s hand was pretty damn good - full of kings and queens - and he just knew that he was going to win this game. Across the table, Nate was frowning at his own hand, taking sips from his whiskey as he tried to work out the best move to make. Eliot smirked; Nate might be good at figuring out moves for a con and playing chess, and his card playing skills were good, but not good enough against him.
McRory’s still hadn’t changed. Cora was still there with a welcoming smile and their closed job drinks ready within minutes of them entering. The dart board was still up on the wall, currently being used by a group of middle-aged men who seemed to be too drunk to aim properly. A few of the regulars, men that Nate had known for years, entered and waved at them then turned away from their card game to find some action of their own.
“Well, this was an interesting one.” Sophie sat down, taking a sip of her red wine.
“Let’s hope we never have to repeat it.” Parker dropped down into the seat next to her.
Hardison nodded. “Yep. Amen to that.”
Selecting a card, Eliot spoke. “It’s not the first time a job’s gone wrong.”
“Yeah.” Hardison put his beer down. “But it’s the first time you and Nate have been cut off. That was pretty hairy for a while there, man. I mean, something goes wrong with a con, we go to Nate. Nate isn’t there and we think we’re in danger, we go to you.”
Taking a long pull of his drink, he inclined his head, thinking about that for a moment. “Don’t say that in front of Nate, man. He’ll-”
“I’ll what?” Looking amused, Nate rested his arm along the back of Parker’s chair.
“You’ll get a big head.” Sophie supplied.
Parker shrugged. “Or you’ll start thinking we need you all the time.”
“And that’s definitely not true.”
Eliot nodded and scraped his chair back a little, twisting to look around the room. “When are we expecting our next client?”
“Tomorrow.” Sophie took a sip of red wine. “I think it’s going to be interesting.”
Nate laughed. “When are things not interesting?”
Hardison grinned. “Exactly. By the way, I’ve booked us a table at a restaurant tomorrow.”
Watching as Nate stared at his cards, Eliot frowned. “Why?”
“Because we’re all alive and we should celebrate it. Call it a team bonding exercise if you like.”
“It sounds good to me.”
Parker stood up. “And me.” She headed towards the bar.
Nodding, Nate threw a card down on the table. “Don’t see why not.”
He sighed. “Fine. But it better be a good restaurant, good food because, if not, we could have just had a meal here for a lot less money.”
---
The only time Eliot ever stepped into a private room of a restaurant was when he was meeting a rich client who wouldn’t meet anywhere else. These people, they seemed to think rooms like that guaranteed privacy, discretion, when they only really made them look more suspicious. The food was usually good, though, so he never complained out loud. This time definitely wasn’t going to be an exception, not with the taste of the ratatouille he was tucking into.
“Do you think you can do it?” Lennings, a wealthy businessman with links to the Russian mafia, wiped his mouth on a napkin.
He set his glass down and leaned back in his seat. “I can do it but I don’t want to.”
“What?”
“Mr. Lennings, what you’re asking me to do is dangerous, not because of the gangs or the rebels but because you’re being watched by the police. If I do the job, I can guarantee that I won’t get paid for it because you’ll have been arrested.”
Lennings nodded. “I should have come to you earlier.”
“Yes. Thank you for the meal.” He made to stand up, cursed as the door opened and Nate Ford walked into the room. A year after they’d first met, and the guy’s knack for appearing at inopportune moments had struck again.
Relaxing back down into his seat, Eliot didn’t react as Nate’s gaze flickered over onto him. If Lennings thought there was even a chance that they knew each other, he’d think he’d been sold out. That wasn’t a very good reputation to have.
“Who are you?” Lennings stood up, hand hovering over where Eliot knew he kept his gun.
Leaving the door open, Nate stepped further into the room. “My name is Nate Ford. I’m from IYS.”
“Ah.”
Nate nodded. “Exactly. Ah. Now, the local police are on their way, but I just have one question for you first.”
He reacted almost before Lennings did, diving off the chair and for the gun in one fluid moment. Lennings had the gun, but Eliot had the advantage; money had meant Lennings had never needed to learn to fight for himself.
Lennings almost seemed not to notice that he was no longer holding the gun, bringing his arm up towards Eliot, shouting when Eliot twisted it behind his back. And that, with Eliot holding a gun and making a man scream was when the police arrived.
In the brief moment when Lennings was pulled away from him and he was left standing in the middle of the room, guns aimed at him from all sides, Nate stepped forwards and muttered in his ear.
“I’ll get you out of this. I promise.”
“You can’t.”
“I can. I’ll talk to someone. I promise.”
Eliot allowed his hands to be pulled behind his back and met Nate’s eyes. “You shouldn’t make promises you can’t keep.”
---
The restaurant was busy when they arrived, tables crammed in next to each other to make room for all of the families out on a Friday night. They waited to be shown to their table and Eliot, dressed in a smart shirt that Hardison had insisted on, glanced towards Nate as a group of children ran past and slowed when their parents admonished them. Nate tore his eyes away from the families that were sharing meals and steadfastly refused to look at him. Eliot didn’t say a thing.
Their table was in the corner of the room, wedged into it by a group of laughing women and a family with two young children and a teen. Sitting down at the end of the table, Eliot smirked when Hardison tripped over on the way to his own chair. Nate ordered a drink from the waitress. Smiling, Eliot asked for a beer, frowning when the waitress stared at his bruises for a little too long.
He tuned out as Sophie began to recount one of her old cons, adding the usual embellishments to the story. He twisted around, counting the number of exits just in case they needed to get away quickly. The door they’d come into the restaurant through was blocked by people queuing for tables. He shifted in his seat so that he could see the kitchen. It was a habit of his; he liked to see the set-up, make sure it was clean. A man was talking into his cell phone by the door where staff were hurrying in and out with laden plates; it’d be hard to make a quick exit through there, too. He scowled when he felt a foot jab sharply into his leg, looked back around to see Hardison glaring at him.
“What?”
Hardison shook his head, “Pay attention, man. We’re supposed to be making conversation, bonding.”
“Fine, I-” He trailed off, frowning, “Something’s wrong.”
“Yeah, damn right there is, you’re not getting in on the bonding and-”
“No, Hardison. The way he was standing.”
“The way who was what?”
“Something’s wrong. Just shut up a minute.”
Everyone at the table stopped talking and, satisfied, he turned back to look towards the kitchen again. The guy with the cell finished his call and headed back to sit at his table. A waitress came hurrying out of the kitchen with plates full of food. The door swung shut, and then opened again as a man pushed his way through and Eliot cursed, made to stand up and froze when the first shot was fired.
Ski masks on, three men, all holding guns, emerged from the kitchen. The shots - four of them in total - had been fired at the ceiling.
The room fell silent.
The men strode further into the room, guns pointed in random directions; Eliot followed their line of fire. Guns, that’s why he hated them - they ended up getting pointed at strangers, at kids.
“What are we going to do?” Parker muttered under her breath.
“We do what we always do.”
Eliot turned to look at Nate, “You want us to pull a con?”
Nate nodded. “It’s what we do.”
He looked back over towards the men, who were now scanning the room. “I can take them.”
“No.” Hardison shook his head, “No way. Not from over here, we’d have to get you near them. And they’ve got guns.”
“And they’re heading over this way.” Sophie bit her lip. “You don’t think-”
“Nelson.”
Nate nodded. “Yeah, I do. This plan or whatever you want to call it has been put together quickly, desperately. Eliot, would a distraction
help?”
“Yeah.
“Sophie, are you ready?”
“Are you kidding?” She smirked, “I was born ready.”
Two of the men came to a stop in front of their table, guns pointing at Nate and Parker.
Pushed herself up out of her chair, Sophie staggered a little then collapsed down onto the floor, her eyes closed tight as the men ran over to her.
“Not going to work, sweetheart.” The man speaking jabbed his gun against Eliot’s chest to stop him moving any closer. “We know who you are.”
Eliot didn’t hesitate. He brought his arm up, pulled the gun from the man’s grasp and punched the guy that had been holding it in the face, sending him to the floor. Laughing, he elbowed the second gunman that tried to sneak up behind him He turned around and dragged the man’s balaclava down so that it covered his eyes before wrenching the weapon from his grasp and brought his knee up into the man’s solar plexus. Across the room, the third man raised his gun ready to shoot but Eliot was too quick for him, throwing the gun he’d taken from the first guy across the room. It connected with the forehead of the last man standing.
“That was pretty smooth.” Hardison stepped up beside him.
“It was messy.”
“Messy?”
“There were too many civilians watching. We need to get out of here.”
Nate nodded. “We’ll meet back at my place.”
Holding his arm out for Sophie to link, Eliot walked for the nearest exit and didn’t look back at the carnage.
---
Sitting down, Nate waited for Hardison to complete his bug sweep of the apartment. He was doing that regularly now, making sure that someone wasn’t listening in. This thing with Nelson had spooked them all and if Hardison needed to do a sweep to reassure himself, he wasn’t going to stop him.
“Do you think Nelson’s going to try again?” Turning around, Hardison nodded to let them know that everything was clear.
“Maybe not.” Eliot crossed over to join them from where he had been leaning against the wall, looking calm. That was something he had
always admired about Eliot; his ability to remain calm, rational, removed from the situation when survival depended on it.
“Why?” Parker shrugged. “He’s tried for revenge once from behind bars, why not again?”
Eliot sighed. “Because organising the hit in the restaurant was impulsive, a reaction to the fact we won. He’s had time to think, now, to speak to his lawyer. He’s going to realise that being linked to anything else bad is only going to damage him.”
“But - and I mean this in the least morbid way possible-” Hardison coughed, “If we’re dead, he has more chance of getting out and he gets the gratification of revenge.”
“That’s true,” Eliot said. “But I think even the restaurant was half-hearted; those guys weren’t professionals.”
“So he’ll stay away?”
“I think so, yeah.” Eliot glanced his way, nodded and Nate took it as his cue to speak.
“I agree.” He waited until they’d all turned to look at him before continuing. “I think we need to try and put him out of our minds, take a few days to regroup, and then get on with helping people like we always have.”
Sophie smiled at him, approving. “I like the sound of that.” She turned and watched as Parker and Hardison moved over to the other side of the room and, after looking at both Nate and Eliot, crossed over to join them. Nate wondered what she was thinking about.
“Do you think this is going to be a regular thing?”
“What?”
Eliot shrugged. “Simple cons, simple meals out, going wrong all the time.”
Looking over to the other side of the room, where Parker and Hardison were starting to play scrabble again, while Sophie watched, Nate
shrugged. “Nothing’s ever really been simple with us anyway. We’ll be fine.”
“You think so?”
“I think so.”
“Right.”
“You don’t?”
Eliot sighed. “I think that one day our luck’s going to run out. Because that’s all it is: luck. We were lucky that Sophie was even free for that first con we ever did, lucky that you ended up surviving that gunshot wound, lucky that I managed to take down Moreau’s men. Lucky.”
He watched the hitter for a moment. Eliot looked tired, worn-out. “If our luck runs out, we’ll deal with it. I promise - no more pushing people away.”
“You shouldn’t make promises you can’t keep, Nate. You’ve done that before.”
Eliot sitting in a restaurant with a client. Eliot saving his life again. Eliot being led away in handcuffs. Nate nodded. “What if I say I’ll try my best to keep that promise?”
Eliot quirked his lips. “Then that’s probably okay.”
He smiled and then, on an impulse, spoke again. “Hey.”
“What?”
“Come over tonight, after the others have gone.” He saw the surprise register and saw Eliot push it away, make his face carefully neutral again.
“Okay. I’ll bring some food.”
Maybe they could get back to before Moreau, to before their little makeshift family formed, to before things got even more complicated than a wife and a son and two sides of the law. “Good.”
“Good.”
---There had been Lennings to deal with; the protests as he had been handcuffed and led towards a police car. The millionaire had spouted rubbish about unbeatable lawyers and innocence and how Eliot Spencer was to blame for everything.
Then the local cops had been asking questions, demanding answers and Nate had found himself having to call his colleagues at IYS to get them to confirm details, to fax information. Even that hadn’t been enough for the locals and they’d forced niceties on him, offers of drinks that night and tours of the area and even, god forbid, an interview with the local paper. Then they’d started asking about Lennings’ dinner companion; did he know who the guy was and then, after a phone call, had he ever heard of Eliot Spencer?
Eliot Spencer. The man who had just saved his life. He shook his head - no, never heard of the guy but he saved my life - and licked his lips nervously as the sheriff walked inside the restaurant. Hoped that Eliot had managed to get away because he didn’t break promises but he didn’t know how to keep this one.
He wanted to keep this one.
Eliot was a hitter, a thief but he was also the complete opposite of what he had ever expected. Eliot was kind - if he could save someone’s life, he would - and he was an excellent chess player and, sometimes, he smiled like he knew exactly what Nate was thinking.
Pushing himself off the car that he was leaning against, he started to walk towards the entrance of the restaurant. He’d talk to the sheriff, point out again that Eliot - this guy here, Spencer - saved his life and was he sure he’d got his facts right about this one?
He stopped walking as the sheriff appeared; Eliot being led out behind him, handcuffs in place and guns trained on him, presumably in case he tried to escape. Sighing, Nate stepped backwards until he was leaning against the car again and focused on Eliot, not the people all around him. The hitter didn’t look too worried, more irritated at being caught than anything, but something changed as he watched. Eliot stood a little straighter, frowned, and then Nate heard the new sirens and realised why.
When they arrived, the FBI didn’t waste any time. They’d jumped out of the cars almost at the same time as they had parked. Guns out, safeties off, they approached Eliot as if he was a bomb ready to go off and, Nate supposed, he was. Eliot Spencer was dangerous, after all.
Eliot Spencer met his eyes as he was hurried past him towards a waiting car, told-you-so smirk on his face, and Nate nodded. He’d be careful about what he promised the hitter next time they met.
---
It wasn’t often that Eliot was at Nate’s when the others weren’t, alone with Nate. It hadn’t been intentional , at least not until recently, just a by-product of awkward memories and an awareness that a lot had happened in both their lives since those few years when they had first got to know each other. The few times it had been just the two of them had been good, a little uncomfortable because they’d never addressed the thing that they were both so aware of. Eliot had avoided these get-togethers for a while now, mostly because of Moreau rather than the other, undercurrent of tension that had been there all the time. This time, though, Nate hadn’t exactly left him with much of a choice.
Shifting on the sofa, he turned and looked towards the kitchen where Nate was getting them some beers. He seemed to be taking his time about it, picking out glasses which was unusual, and opening the bottles in there rather than just letting Eliot pop the top off his own.
Looking away again, Eliot drummed his fingers against his stomach while he waited for Nate to finish.
“Here you go.” Holding the beer and glass out to Eliot, Nate smiled. “Are you tired? You look tired.”
“Yeah, well, in the space of two days I’ve been kidnapped, staked my life on a game of chess, and held up in a restaurant. I am tired.”
Nate sat down, twisted so that he was facing Eliot. “After we meet our new client tomorrow, we’ll wait a few days before getting started.
Things have been fast-paced recently; I think we could all use a break.”
“Yeah. You said.” He took a long pull form his beer, swallowed and nodded. “We could. How’s your shoulder doing?”
“Oh, you know, okay. It’s not really bothering me. How about you? Are those stiches ready to come out?”
“I’ll do them tomorrow. That’ll be soon enough.” The scars would stay, though. A reminder of Nelson and the consequences of him and Nate both being stubborn. “Why am I here?”
Nate sighed. “We didn’t exactly get much of a chance to finish talking after what happened with Nelson.”
“Nate, I-”
“No, please let me finish.”
Nodding, he brought his beer back up to his lips as he listened.
“I want to say I’m sorry. And I know, I know, Nate Ford saying ‘sorry’ and all the other things you could say, but I really am sorry. I was the only one of us who knew what happened to you at that warehouse and I pushed you away. I shouldn’t have. So, I know it’s late, but if you want to talk about anything, you can come to me.”
Eliot stood, picking up the bag of food that he’d brought with him before heading into kitchen. Once there, he began to take ingredients out of it, placing them methodically on the counter. Nate had offered something big, there, and they both knew it. He had taken Nate up on a similar offer once, before Sam; in a car parked in the middle of nowhere he had talked about - edited out the worst bits - his first involvement with the United States government.
“Eliot?”
“I don’t want to talk about that stuff.”
“Okay.”
“It’s not that - I mean, I trust you.”
“I know.”
“It’s just - it’s in the past. I’m not the same person I was when I worked for Moreau and what happened, it happened because we needed to survive. I don’t regret that.”
“Neither do I.”
He glanced at Nate as he opened one of the cupboards to look for a pan. “What?”
“Don’t get me wrong, I regret that you were put in that position, but I don’t regret the fact that you dealt with it the way you did. You saved my life and you made it possible for us to take down Moreau.”
“I’m not proud of it.”
“Me neither.” Nate moved aside to let him get into the sink. “There are a lot of things I’m not proud of.”
Washing his hands, he nodded. “Looks like that’s another thing we have in common.”
“Yeah.”
Eliot moved back to the counter, pulled an onion out of the bag and onto the chopping board. He took the knife that Nate handed him gratefully and nodded towards the other end of the kitchen. “You can choose a wine, if you like.”
Nate crossed over to the wine rack while Eliot kept on chopping ingredients, sliding them into the pan as and when he needed to. He paused for a moment, running his finger along the handle of the knife and wondering whether Bonano had found the knife he’d lost at Nelson’s office.
“It’d probably be best not to ask.” Nate held a wine out. “This look okay?”
He checked the wine; a white that probably would have gone better with fish rather than pasta but nodded anyway. “Sure.”
“Is this too weird?”
“What?” Stirring the onion, Eliot looked at Nate over his shoulder.
“Us. Having dinner together like this.”
They’d had dinner together - just the two of them - once before, sitting crossed-legged on a single bed in a hotel room that had become a hide-out. He shook his head. “We’re not having dinner yet. But, no. This is a lot less awkward than I thought it would be. You like mushrooms, right?”
“Love them.”
“I’ll put plenty in, then. You can go chill out in front of the TV if you want. I don’t mind.”
“I’m good here.” Leaning against the counter, out of Eliot’s way, Nate inclined his head and looked up at the ceiling. “This is good.”
Humming, he added the rest of the vegetables into the pan and listened to the satisfying sizzle as they hit the oil. The sounds of cooking always relaxed him. “Do you have any more white wine? For the sauce.”
“Yeah, Sophie made sure there was a couple there. Help yourself.”
He paused on his way to get the wine. “You and Sophie. Are you - it doesn’t matter.” He grabbed the wine and took it back to where he was cooking.
“We slept together.”
Eliot closed his eyes. “When?”
“In San Lorenzo. She was - she was there when you came in to wake me up.”
“She wants more?”
“I think so.”
Nodding, he poured some of the wine into the pan and stirred. “And you?”
“I’m not - I think - I don’t think so.”
He hadn’t been expecting that. Sophie and Nate had been dancing around each other for months, separating themselves from the group in a way. “You need to be straight with her.”
“I don’t want to hurt her.”
“You’ll hurt her more if you give her hope.”
“I’ll talk to her.”
“Good. Go and set the table, will you, while I put the pasta on to boil?”
“Eliot-”
“It’s fine, Nate. The past’s the past, right?”
“We’ve never really talked about it, have we?”
He dropped the pasta into boiling water - he hadn’t had the time to make fresh - and shook his head. “We don’t have to talk about it now, either.”
“But-”
“This isn’t the time. You need to talk to Sophie first, deal with the present. Go and set the table, I’ll be over with the food in a minute. Please.”
Eliot relaxed slightly when Nate moved away to do as he’d been asked, but he knew that his shoulders were still tense. He should never have brought Sophie up, not after things with Nate had just - finally - got back on track after Moreau. He’d just wanted to know. It hadn’t just been him and Nate who had been different recently and he had been wondering about Sophie for a while.
He dished up the food, large portions to make up for the fact that he hadn’t made a dessert, and carried the plates over to the table, where Nate was just finishing pouring the wine. He took his seat, clinked his glass up against Nate’s obligingly, and began to eat.
“It’s good.” Nate scooped up another forkful of the pasta dish.
“Thanks.” He waited for Nate to finish his mouthful. “I made too much so I’ll freeze some here for you - it’ll come in useful, I guess.”
“Maybe you could come over and help me finish it off.”
“Maybe.” He took a bite, tasting the mushrooms and the wine and wishing that the pasta was fresh. He could always taste the difference.
“Or maybe you could ask Sophie.”
“Sophie? No, I - I don’t want to give her the wrong idea.”
“Maybe you should.” He placed his fork down and looked Nate in the eye. “You and Sophie could be very happy together. She’d be good for you, to you.”
Nate nodded. “You’re probably right.”
“I am.”
“But, as much as I care about Sophie, it’s not her that I want to be with.”
Eliot closed his eyes and shook his head. “Don’t do this.”
“You know, Eliot, after I lost Sam - not after I’d had time to think about it but straight after - Maggie and I, we - we sat in that hospital room with him and we promised each other, promised Sam, that we’d live our lives to the full for him. We said we’d do what we wanted to do and never put up with anything we weren’t enjoying. I guess that’s why Maggie filed for a divorce.”
Nate hadn’t talked to him about Sam ever since the boy had died and Eliot knew he should interrupt during this pause but he couldn’t do it to him.
“Anyway, I didn’t really get it at first, that promise we made, but I do now. I’m doing the work I want to do - taking down these bastards we come across every day. I like living here, I have good friends. But, Eliot, I’m not with the person I want to be with. I really want to change that and not for Sam but for me and for the person I want to be with.” Nate picked up his wine again, took a sip.
“You haven’t known what you want for a long, long time.”
“I know now. I really do.”
“It’s too complicated.”
“What isn’t?”
He could see Nate shrugging, determined look in his eye. “The others-”
“We don’t have to tell them. Not until we’re ready.”
He opened his eyes and stared at Nate. “More secrets.”
“What’s another secret on top of all the ones me and you are already keeping?”
Eliot blew air out through his lips and stood up. “I’m going to go now.”
“You haven’t finished eating.”
“I’m going to go now and you’re going to speak to Sophie when you’re ready to and then - only then - we’ll talk again.”
---
Eliot stood on a red dirt road, sun beating down with an almost unbelievable ferocity, and watched as Nathan Ford walked away from him. He raised a hand up to touch his lips and dropped it almost immediately just in case Nate turned back around. He’d told him to go; it wouldn’t help either of them if Nate saw the last, wistful action before Eliot went back to his own life.
Nate’s life was far removed from his. Nate had a family.
Ford had a family.
A wife. A son. Not even a boy, a baby. Ford had mentioned Sam every time they had bumped into each other over the last year, had never mentioned his wife - Maggie, or something - but Eliot knew he loved her. One kiss, fuelled by adrenalin and the false impression of friendship, wasn’t going to change that.
He stood there until Ford climbed into his car, a hundred yards away, even though he knew he should be leaving. On foot, he would still be able to escape the police that were on the way but he shouldn’t be delaying, taking stupid risks. But he stood, watching, as Ford drove away
just in case this was the last time he ever saw him, just because of the kiss.
As expected, Nate didn’t turn and look back.
---
The knock on the door was earlier than Nate had been expecting - although he knew he should never expect anything of Sophie, unpredictable and wonderful - and he finished pouring his glass of orange juice before crossing over the apartment to answer it.
She looked like she’d been awake for hours, even though she had still been asleep when he had called her just two hours earlier. Smiling, she walked into the apartment and he closed the door behind her and followed, wiping his palms on his jeans. He gestured towards the couch and sat down next to her, leaving a good few inches between them.
“What’s the matter?” Sophie had been smiling when she had arrived but she was frowning now, concerned, and Nate was reminded again of why he cared for her so much.
“We need to talk.”
“Okay.”
“About San Lorenzo. About - about it all.”
“Oh.” Sophie sat back in the seat.
“Oh? What?”
“Oh, Nate. I’ve known you long enough to know that if you want to talk about the fact we had sex, it can’t be a good thing for me.”
He let that hang in the air for a moment while he thought it over and then stood up to go and get his drink off the kitchen counter, changed his mind and sat back down. “You’re right, I think. Unless-”
“Unless what?”
“Unless you don’t want a repeat of San Lorenzo. In which case, what I’m about to say is a good thing.” He winced at the way he’d blurted it out. She deserved more than that.
Sophie leaned forwards. “You don’t? Want a repeat?”
“No. No I - Sophie, I love you.” And those words came to him easier now than they ever had before, now that he was clear on how he loved her. “But as friends, family. Not like - like that.”
She didn’t cry, not that that surprised him. He still wasn’t sure where Sophie stood about San Lorenzo, whether she had wanted more or not. She didn’t cry, just nodded and told him things would still be okay and stood up and left, promising that she would be back for the briefing later.
He cried. He cried for what could have been but had arrived too late and he cried for Sophie, for Maggie, for Sam.
---
Eliot made sure he was the last to arrive at Nate’s for the briefing. He didn’t want to have to stand around and make small talk while he waited for everyone else, didn’t want to do anything other than be professional. He walked by Parker, into the apartment, and saw instantly what had happened. Sophie was sitting in her usual place but her body was twisted slightly, facing away from Nate just a little bit more than normal. Nate was acting as though nothing had happened but made a conscious, obvious effort not to look at Eliot as they settled down, getting ready to be briefed.
He took his own seat next to Sophie, only half-listening as Hardison started to talk about their next mark. Nate had done it. The thing that Eliot had never thought Nate would do, and Nate had done it straight away. The connection between Sophie and Nate had been evident from day one; he’d never been jealous of it - that train was long gone - but he’d always been aware. Strong, flexible, able to withstand everything that was thrown at it, Eliot had always imagined that the relationship between Nate and Sophie would grow and change and last.
He’d obviously been wrong.
“Eliot?”
Glancing up from the table that he’d been staring at, he caught Hardison’s impatience, Nate’s slightly amused look. “What?”
“Can you do it?”
He looked towards Nate again, waited for the nod before answering. “Sure, I can.” Nate knew his limitations, now better than ever.
“Okay.” Sophie stood up. “That’s our plan, then. We’re taking a few days first, right?”
“Yeah. Yes.” Nate coughed. “I think it’s best after - after Nelson.”
“Good. In that case, see you all on Monday.” She left quickly, smiling at him and Hardison and Parker as she went. Eliot wondered whether she’d still smile at him like that if she knew.
“What’s up with her, Nate?” Parker moved into the middle of the sofa, now that there was more room. “What did you do?”
“I think she just needs some space.”
“Me too.” It didn’t sound like a bad idea.
“See-” Nate broke off as Eliot stood up. “Where are you going?”
“Downstairs for a while, I want to get a drink.”
There was no sign of Sophie in McRory’s and Eliot was glad that she’d gone straight home. Nodding at Cora, he sat down at the bar to wait for his beer. He felt Nate slide onto the stool next to him but didn’t look around. At some point they were going to need to talk but, once that conversation happened, everything would change one way or another and he wasn’t ready yet.
“I’ll get this, Cora, and my usual, too, please.” Nate handed some money over.
“Thanks.” He took a long pull of his beer and turned to look at Nate. “Parker and Hardison still upstairs?”
“No - they went out the back way. I think they went to get some supplies.”
“Right.”
“I told Sophie that there’s not going to be any repeat of San Lorenzo.”
He waited until Cora had placed Nate’s whiskey down and walked away before answering. “I know.”
“She took it better than I was expecting. She’s sticking around.” Nate ran his finger around the rim of his glass.
“She’s hurting. Badly.”
“I know. It’s not your fault. It’s mine.”
He shook his head, pushed his beer away. “It’s both our faults, just like it was both our faults with Maggie, too.”
“Eliot, come back upstairs so we can talk. Please.”
He let out a breath of air and looked around for a moment, wondering whether there was an out he could take.
Lots of things had changed over the last few days but not McRory’s. Cora was there at the other end of the bar, counting the takings discretely during the lull between customers. A few men in the corner were arguing over whose turn it was to throw their darts, beer sloshing out over the tops of the bottles in their hands as they gestured wildly. And Nate, Nate was still honest, still a bit of a drunk, still the same person he had been when Eliot had first met him, just a little bit more messed up.
“Okay. Okay, we can talk.”
“Thanks.” Nate nudged Eliot’s elbow with his own and stood up off the stool, left his whiskey, untouched, where it was.
---
Sitting on the sofa, Eliot looked more uncomfortable in Nate’s apartment than he’d looked when they’d been locked in that damn storage unit. Nate finished pouring the coffee and started to wipe down the kitchen counter, aware that he was delaying now that he’d managed to get Eliot alone. The confidence that he had felt down in the bar had vanished, replaced by the same horrible niggling in his stomach that he’d felt when he proposed to Maggie. It had been stupid, asking Eliot up now. Two serious conversations in one day were going to prove to be too much and he could just sense the outcome now; he’d say something, Eliot would take it the wrong way and they’d be right back where they were before Nelson.
“Coffee nearly done?” Eliot turned and looked back at him, calm exterior fixed in place now.
“On my way.” He picked up the two cups and carried them over to where Eliot was sitting.
Eliot smiled as he took his from Nate, sipped at it even though Nate knew it was scalding; just the way Eliot liked to drink it.
“Thanks for coming up to talk.”
“We go a long way back, Nate. You don’t need to thank me for this.”
He set his own coffee down on the table and nodded. “We do - go a long way back, I mean.”
Eliot continued to look straight ahead, eyes fixed on the wall, and Nate hoped that it was just an act, that Eliot actually wanted to be here.
He’d always been a gambling man. “I meant what I said the other night. I know who I want to be with.”
As if he was cold, Eliot wrapped both of his hands around the cup he was holding. Finally turned to look at Nate. “I’ve known who - me too. But I don’t know if this can work, Nate. Like you said, we go a long way back. A lot’s changed.”
“And a lot of things have stayed the same.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. You’re still better than me at chess, you’d still save my life if you needed to. I’m still a little mixed up and I’d still do what I could to keep you out of handcuffs.”
Eliot smiled. “Well, when you put it like that.”
“Yeah.” He watched as Eliot’s smile dropped away. “What is it?”
“We’re not exactly conventional. If we - if we try something, try this, there are going to be a lot of problems.”
“Stumbling blocks, I know. That’s the same as any re - partnership.”
Eliot laughed. “You might as well call it what it is, Nate.”
“Relationship. Relationship.”
“What if it doesn’t work out?”
That was the big risk. They’d known each other - avoided things - for so long now that, if things went wrong, if they broke up, Nate wasn’t sure they’d be able to get back to what they were. Years and years of a strange, tentative friendship and, more recently, working together and it could all boil down to nothing. Eliot wasn’t Sophie. Their history wasn’t the same.
“Nate?”
“If it doesn’t work out, we’ll deal with it. But, Eliot, if we don’t at least try, then-” he trailed off, a little relieved when Eliot nodded.
“It’d seem like a waste.” Eliot quirked his lips and leaned forwards to place his coffee down on the table. “Not to try after everything that’s happened.”
“Such a waste.” Taking a chance - another big risk in a long line of them - he shifted closer to Eliot and closed the gap between their lips.
This kiss was nowhere as chaste as their first one, their only other kiss, had been. Eliot reacted almost immediately, reaching out to grasp Nate’s shoulder as their mouths opened and their tongues slid up against one another. He shuddered as Eliot scraped his teeth against his bottom lip and reached out to tangle his fingers in the hitter’s hair. Eliot moaned, making both of their mouths vibrate with the sound and Nate thought that this - not hours spent in a hotel room or hours spent on the road, chasing - was perhaps the most open that he had ever seen Eliot. Not that he was really seeing him. No, he was feeling him, instead.
Needing to breathe properly, he pulled back, running his hand gently once through Eliot’s hair before pulling that back too and just looking. Eliot was smiling, full wattage instead of the half-smile he usually gave, and his hair had gone past unruly; was messy, ruffled. Lips slightly redder, now, Eliot licked them and sat back, rubbing the palms of his hands against the denim of his jeans.
“Please tell me that was worth it for you too.”
Eliot nodded, laughed. “More than.”
“There’s still some of that pasta in the fridge. Do you want some lunch?”
“I told you to freeze it.”
He shrugged. “I hoped we’d need it today.”
Eliot smirked a little, nudged his knee against Nate’s. “So did I.”
---
Nathan Ford stood in the crowded lobby of a hotel in Johannesburg. The hotel had been his refuge for the last twenty-four and a bit hours but he wouldn’t be making any sentimental return trips. This time had been too close; if he hadn’t been able to get away, get to a phone, he would have been dead.
A hitter had saved him.
A hitter called Eliot Spencer. They’d met once before, briefly. He had pointed a gun at Eliot and the hitter had snorted and told him he wouldn’t shoot. Eliot had gotten away that time. This time, he was letting him go without a fight. Quid pro quo. Eliot had saved his life, he would repay him in kind. Maybe, another time, he’d have taken Eliot in anyway, called any of the number of governments and agencies who were offering a price for Spencer’s location.
Not this time.
Eliot had beaten him at chess, had proven his over-confident statements about his own abilities wrong, but hadn’t smirked or gloated. Eliot had simply nodded and offered Nate a beer. He’d shared a beer with a hitter, with one of the people that he chased as part of his job, and he’d enjoyed it.
“You ready to go?” Eliot came to a stop beside him, eyes darting around the lobby.
“Yes. Are you sure about this?”
“We both need to get to the airport. You’ll be safer with me - I don’t mind.”
“Thank you.”
Eliot laughed. “You can repay the favour someday.”
“Sir?” One of receptionists approached, a piece of paper clutched in his hand. “Mr Ford?”
“Yes, that’s me.”
“I have a message for you from a Mr. Sterling. There’s been a change of plan - you’re being met here instead of at the airport.”
“Thank you.”
“I guess I’m leaving on my own, then.” Eliot didn’t look too upset. “Good luck.”
“Wait.”
The hitter stopped walking, turned to look at him. “What?”
“Good luck.”
Eliot nodded and disappeared into the crowd. Nate caught sight of him once more, walking out through the lobby doors looking like any other tourist. Leaning against the lobby’s far wall, Nate waited for his contact to arrive and wondered whether Eliot would get out of the country okay before realising that that was stupid. Eliot would, because he was resourceful and used to situations like this. The hitter had also been different to what he’d expected, though. Funny and quiet, peaceful even.
Nate hoped he’d see him again.
Part Two
Author's Notes