Chapter Text
Nate stayed a pace behind his hitter. Damien towered over them both, lording his height advantage over them. He could see how he intimidated people into doing his bidding.
“You are not leaving here Eliot.”
Eliot swayed. Narrowed his eyes. “Left you once before.”
“And yet here you are. You could not stay away.” He chuckled.
“You fucking kidnapped me. There’s a difference.”
Damien shook his head. “And how terrifyingly easy it was. These people have made you soft. Surely you remember how many countries want you dead or alive. And in most of those places, alive is worse. I can offer you protection. You know that.”
“Don’t need your protection, Moreau. Got people that care about me. People that have my back.”
Damien took a step closer. “Do you not think I care for you, Eliot? Moreau’s favorite, they used to call you. I allowed you to walk away. To find your own way. I saved a place for you when you were ready to come back home. You slapped away the hand I extended to you. So, I allowed you to play. Go on your little crusade.”
Eliot’s shoulders slumped minutely, and Nate could picture the tiny wince on the hitter’s face.
“Not playing, Damien.” Eliot’s gruff voice echoed in the empty hall. “The team does good work. I...I help make it possible. Keep them safe so they can bring down people like...like you.”
Nate knew Eliot believed himself beyond saving. But the fact that he helped the team was his way of helping them save themselves. He didn’t know how to thank the man for his sacrifices.
The sound of flesh hitting flesh drew Nate’s attention back to the situation at hand. Damien had landed a stiff blow to Eliot’s cheekbone, knocking him to the floor. The baton Eliot held dropped to the floor and clattered out of the hitter’s reach.
Damien removed his suit jacket and hung it on a doorknob. He advanced on his prey as he rolled his sleeves up as if to keep blood off them. “People like me, Eliot, are what makes the world go around. People like me...” He kicked Eliot in the ribs. “...make people like you. We take people like you and mold you into so much more than you are on your own.”
“You made me a monster.” The tremor in Eliot’s voice bothered Nate.
The hitter believed what he said. Believed he was a monster beyond saving. Beyond love. “Eliot...” he had to tell him he was wrong. He wasn’t a monster. He was a good man. The monster was standing above him, staring down at him.
Moreau struck out with a speed reminiscent of Eliot and backhanded Nate; sent him to the floor in a heap.
“You have no room to act so high and mighty. You use him as your own personal gun. The only difference between you and I are the targets we point him at,” Damien spat.
The drugs Damien had given Eliot were hitting hard. He blinked up at Moreau with glassy eyes. “Damien,” he whispered. “Jus’ leave him outta...outta this. ‘M the one you got a problem with.”
Damien laughed as he looked down at Eliot. “Can we truly blame the instrument for the mistakes of the wielder?”
Eliot struggled to his feet. “Don’ talk about me like I ain’t a man. I can make my own damned decisions.” He threw a punch at Damien’s face, rocking the man back a step.
He laughed and held his chin. “Still have the fight I came to...admire. Tell me.” He shoved Eliot back a step. “How much have you told your new handler about our past, hmmm? Does he know everything, dear Eliot?’
The hitter stumbled, tripped over his own feet. “Shut up, Moreau,” he growled.
Damien kept up his advance as Nate scooted out of the way.
“Oh, so we are back to Moreau now? Shall I call you Spencer? Keep everything nice and impersonal as if we have no history at all?”
Eliot caught the right that Damien threw at him, only to be blindsided by the left that connected with his solar plexus. He doubled over and gasped, trying to catch his breath.
Damien pulled Eliot upright by his hair, baring his throat. “I still love the hair.” He backed Eliot against the wall and wrapped both hands around his throat. “You think you know him, Ford? You know nothing about what he really is. You took what I made and squandered it.”
Eliot clawed at Damien’s hands. “Not...not that man anymore.”
Nate watched the muscles in Moreau’s back flex as he squeezed the hitter’s throat. “That’s right. You aren’t that man anymore, Eliot!”
Moreau laughed. “You haven’t told him, have you? How about I fill him in, hmm? Save you the trouble?”
Anguish filled blue eyes met Nate’s. “Pl...please, Damien...”
“Oh, so now I am Damien again?” He glanced over his shoulder at Nate and turned his attention back to Eliot. “It was what...a year or so before you left me? All I had to do was ask. And Eliot could not fulfill my wishes fast enough.”
Eliot squeezed his eyes shut. “Please don’t.”
“You see, Ford? There was this building in a village that was housing enemies of mine-”
Nate couldn’t allow Damien to finish. Not when Eliot was in so much agony over what happened. Nate found he didn’t need to know. And if he ever found out, it would be because Eliot chose to tell him. Not because Moreau was using one more thing to try to tear Eliot down.
Nate scrambled to snatch the baton from the floor. Without thinking, he clubbed Moreau across the back of the head. He watched with satisfaction as the taller man crumpled to the floor.
The pressure on his throat gone, Eliot slumped to the floor as well.
Nate dropped the baton and rushed over to Eliot. “Eliot! Eliot, talk to me.”
He raised the hitter’s chin and patted his cheek, looked into dazed eyes. “Look at me. We have to go. Moreau is down but not for long probably.”
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.
.
Nate’s face swam in and out of focus. “Wha…is he…?”
Nate looked over his shoulder and shook his head. He turned back to Eliot. “He’s breathing. Starting to stir. We have to go. Now.”
Eliot blinked, tried to keep his eyes open and focused. He’s breathing. The thought echoed in his head. Damien Moreau was still breathing.
As long as he was breathing –
“Spencer!” The name was snarled from the floor. “This…is not…over.”
The voice caused Eliot to spring into action. He dragged his tired, battered body to his feet.
Nate sat back on his heels to watch Eliot get to his feet.
“You’re right, Moreau.” Eliot swiped a shaking hand across his bleeding lip. He stooped over Damien’s right foot, knowing Moreau was a creature of habit. And sure enough, there was the ankle holster with the 9 mil. He yanked it free and stood over Damien. Pointed the gun at his chest. “It’s about to be.”
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Nate rested his hand lightly on Eliot’s shoulder. “Eliot, come on. He isn’t worth it.”
The younger man’s hand shook, but he didn’t lower the gun. Tears built in his eyes and tracked down his cheeks. “You don’t know what he did to me,” he whispered.
“I don’t. I don’t know what you did for him. It doesn’t matter to us, Eliot. But I know if you do this you’ll regret it.”
Light glinted off the gun as Eliot’s hand shook. “Nate…”
Moreau sneered up at them. “You do not know your hitter as well as you think, Ford.” He locked eyes with Eliot. “I still own you, Eliot. Just like I did in Belgrade.”
Something broke loose in Eliot. Nate saw the change in his eyes. “Eliot, don’t.”
The sound of the gun registered in Nate’s mind after he saw the spot of red appear on Moreau’s shirt.
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.
The gunshot echoed through the hallway.
Eliot watched the blood spread outward from the hole in Damien’s chest. Did he…was he dead? Eliot’s hand shook. The gun clattered to the floor.
“Eliot? We have to go.” Nate was looking at him. Was that disgust or his imagination?
“I…I…” he couldn’t think. The drugs coursed through his body. He stared at his trembling hands and willed them to stop. “Nate?”
The mastermind put his arm around Eliot’s waist. “Come on, Eliot,” he whispered. “It’s okay. Let’s get out of here.”
Eliot stumbled as he tripped over his own feet. “Nate. I...I shot...”
“Shh. I know. It’s okay.”
“Is he d...dead. Did I kill him? Wha’ have I done?” His eyes burned with unshed tears.
“It’s alright. I’ll just get you out of here. Get you back home where those drugs can wear off. What do you think?” Nate tugged Eliot toward the exit. “We have to get out of here before the rest of his men respond to the...noise.”
Eliot shook his head, tried to think straight. “They...they see ‘im down, they’ll check him first.” He leaned on Nate more than he wanted but he was so tired. “’S he dead?”
“It doesn’t matter. All that matters is getting you out of here.”
Eliot’s chest hurt from the effort of holding in tears. “It matters. I s...said I’d never be that man again.”
“You aren’t that man. It doesn’t matter what he said. You aren’t that man anymore.”
The hallway disappeared and was replaced by fire, screams, and blood. He sank to his knees and covered his ears. “I’m sorry! I’m sorry!”
“Eliot, please. You aren’t there. I have to get you out of here, but I need you to help me. Come on.” Someone tugged Eliot’s arm. He flinched away from the touch.
“No, no, no. I din’t know. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” A sob bubbled in his chest, threatened to break loose. The screams grew louder. He bowed over his knees until his forehead touched the floor. “It’s my fault.”
Gentle hands untangled his fingers from his hair. “No, Eliot,” a man whispered. “It isn’t your fault. It isn’t who you are.”
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Nate pulled Eliot’s hands away from his face. “I know you’re hurting. But we don’t have time for that right now.”
He crouched so he could look Eliot in the eye. “Look at me, Eliot.”
Teary, blue eyes met his. His hitter looked tired. Scared. Broken. Nate thought about what he had learned in that room. The things Moreau did. The drugs he used. He learned it from Eliot. Their Eliot. The man in front of him didn’t look like someone that could do those things to another human. But Eliot had said it himself. My techniques.
“Nate?” The too quiet voice for a formidable man like Eliot Spencer broke Nate’s concentration.
Nate focused on Eliot’s face. Looked at him closer than he probably ever had. He saw the pain. The guilt. And the fear. Fear of being abandoned. It made Nate hate what he had to do all the more.
“Look. I can’t get out of here on my own. I need you to help me. I need you to be Eliot Spencer, alright? You hear me?”
Hurt resignation replaced all other emotion in Eliot’s gaze. “Yeah,” he whispered. “That’s what I do.” He forced himself to his feet. “That’s what I do.”
Nate steadied him with a hand on his arm. “Help me get us home. And we’ll put you back together. Because that’s what we do.”