AN - I own nothing, if I did Eliot would never wear clothes!

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Eliot Spencer. Retrieval specialist; hitter; protector; sometimes thief; sometimes grifter; but all times in control.

There was a darkness inside him, one that threatened his control every day. He'd done so many things in his life that at one point he'd been proud of, and as much as Eliot would like to pretend that man didn't exist anymore, he was always there, just behind the curtain, waiting to come out and play. The only thing stopping the monster from returning was the modicum of control he maintained, holding back the darkness, and holding on to his life.

Control. It was such a simple little word but one that he had learned to live by. Since the day he stopped working for Moreau he'd vowed never to lose it again. He'd carefully picked his jobs and picked his battles, stayed out of the way, hidden from his onetime boss and friend, but the current situation meant at least one thing, he wasn't going to be able to stay in the shadows much longer.

He'd researched and planned and worked tirelessly to delay the moment that the inevitable would happen. It was almost guaranteed that when they confronted Moreau his past would come spilling out and his control would be threatened.

As he stood in the warehouse looking at the gun, the torrent of emotions, the inner battle shone brightly on his usually expressionless face. Picking it up may mean taking some lives to save some lives. But picking it up also meant losing control and giving in to the darkness; he would save two lives, but it may cost him what remained of his soul.

Eliot Spencer looked at the gun, took a deep breath and picked it up, seemed to decide it was a price worth paying.