Eliot…The Things I've done
Chapter 1.
"You think you know what I've done, Nate? The worst thing I ever did in my entire life, I did for Damien Moreau. And I...I'll never be clean of that." Eliot stammered choking back his emotion.
Parker asked "What did you do?"
Eliot stood there looking at his team in a haze. Seeing Moreau again brought back a life he buried a long time ago. He hadn't expected to feel this way; he was a hitter, the one and only Eliot Spencer, he doesn't feel, he just reacts. He promised himself after that night he would never think on it, he didn't want to feel that way about anyone ever again.
"Don't ask me that, Parker. Because if you ask me, I'm gonna tell you. So please, don't ask me."
As they made their way back to the office Eliot could hear them talking, but could not comprehend what they were saying. The thought of Moreau being free of his San Lorenzo jail cell sent his head spinning. How could this have ever happened? They had planned everything so perfect. The Italian had promised he would never leave, Moreau was supposed to die in that cell, Eliot was supposed to be free. He knew he had to get away- it was going to be the only way to save them all.
They were once again all talking at the same time as they walked into the office and it was making his head hurt. They each scattered to their own predisposed comfort zones and to try and calm down.
Nate poured himself a generous drink and took it down with one gulp; he rolled the bottle back and forth in his hands, deep in thought. Sophie paced the kitchen back and forth opening and closing the refrigerator while muttering in French. Parker flopped on the couch and looked like a lost puppy while she picked locks over and over. Hardison was typing so rapidly on his computer it sounded as if the keyboard was about to break.
Eliot just stood there in the entrance way looking at each of them over and over. He knew Moreau was coming for them. He could no longer hide from them his sorted past, from what Moreau asked him to do. He wasn't ready to face it, that night had changed him forever and now it stared down on him like the barrel of a gun.
Knowing he could use their panic as a distraction he slipped silently past them and opened the door to the hallway that he had cut out and built when they first set up shop in Nate's condo; it adjoined the neighboring condo and gave them each individual rooms. He slowly walked to the end of the hall, went in his room and locked the door.
Leaning against the door he closed his eyes.
He could hear them talking and the conversation was now about him. He looked around his room for comfort, but he had kept it bare so none was to be found, he needed it that way so he could easily walk away if necessary. Now he had nowhere to turn. He couldn't take the voices anymore as they were pounding in his head.
He walked into the bathroom and turned the shower on as hot as he could stand, he tried over and over to wash away the memories that kept flashing in his mind, but the more he scrubbed the more agitated he got. He pounded his fist on the shower wall in anger and pain as he momentarily lost control and finally opened the floodgates, his emotions flowed upon him like the water, scalding and painful. He slid himself down and sat on the shower floor his head in his hands. "What am I doing…..? What... am I… doing?"
He sat there tortured with his memories until the water turned cold. Shivering, he struggled to pick himself up to turn off the water.
He stepped out of the shower and wrapped himself in a towel. He pulled his long hair back out of his face and placed his hands on the edge of the sink; looking up at himself in the mirror, he suddenly didn't know who was staring back at him. Who was this man that did all these things? Why was he tasked with this life?
He was jarred from his self-loathing by a light rapping sound on the door
"Eliot are you alright?" Sophie called through the door.
"I'm fine," he growled back.
"Do you want to talk about it? It might help."
He turned his head towards the door and opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out. How could he possibly tell them? He couldn't bear to have them look at him the way he looked at himself. He lowered his eyes to his feet and waited to hear Sophie's footsteps shuffle away from the door. For a brief moment he felt relieved.
"Nate, I'm worried about Eliot; he is really out of it, not quite his usual grumpy self. I think this whole thing with Moreau has really gotten to him." Sophie stated as she walked over to the wet bar.
Nate looked up at her "He will be fine, Eliot is like an onion, you have to peel him back one layer at a time. Unfortunately, right now, somebody just used a knife. Give him some time, you know he will run if we push him too hard. Let's focus on the task at hand, he will come to us when he is ready."
"Are you sure? You know how he shuts down. He's a protector, Nate, and right now he is feeling like a failure. We need his strength, we won't be able to get through this without him."
"I'm sure, he needs to get his head on straight, and besides when have you known me to not have a plan M?"
"Don't I die in plan M?" Hardison quipped. Parker snorted a chuckle.
Sophie shook her head and looked towards the hall. "Oh Eliot what have you done?"
Eliot motionlessly lay in his bed with his arms behind his head, staring at the ceiling. He fought the urge close his eyes because every time he did memories overwhelmed him. He didn't want to do it, but he had his orders and nobody disobeyed Moreau. Had he known he would have never went to that bar, he never would have met her and he would never be where he was now. He could no longer take it as a shot of restlessness hit him hard and he shot up out of bed. It was late and he was sure everyone else had gone to sleep. He tried to be quiet while he moved his headboard to reveal the false vent he had installed. He removed the screws and laid the vent cover on the ground.
He sat there staring at a small box almost afraid to touch it.
The box was dented and scratched, it had seen the world and lived through wars. Eliot had protected it with his life, for within it was his life. The life he secretly wanted and dared to never reveal.
He took the box out of its hiding place and set it in his lap as a wave of emotion hit him. He closed his eyes and he could see her face, that sly smile and piercing blue eyes that rivaled his own. He could smell the light fragrance of her perfume, honeysuckle, her favorite scent.
He opened his eyes and looked in the box. On top was a picture of the two of them, it was faded and crinkled from years of being folded and unfolded. He traced the outline of her face with his finger and lowered his head to his chest. He searched the contents until his fingers felt the bottom of the box and stuffed in the corner under more pictures and notes was a chain with a small pool ball charm attached. It felt cold against the warmth of his hand, he flipped it over to see the word Ringo engraved on the back. He smiled. To most it was nothing just a trivial little trinket, but to him it was his prize possession. She had given it to him so he would always remember that first night, as if he could ever forget; he remembered that night vividly as if it were yesterday.