Well, one day an idea filled my head: To make a Damien/Eliot fic... that wasn't settled in the past, so here it goes.
I hope you all will like it.
Special thanks to Wakko, who, as always, has helped me out with it.
"You look haggard." Damien Moreau looked up to the door of his cell: he would recognise that accent anywhere anytime.
From all the people of whom he would be expecting a visit, he was the last person he would have thought. They didn't end up in friendly terms by any means, mostly because he had tried to kill him. But then again, he had tried to kill or actually killed everyone who had been near to him.
"Eliot. What are you doing here?" He asked, narrowing his eyes when he heard the distinct sound of someone manipulating a door to get it open.
"Retrieval job." Came from the other side of the, still closed, door.
"You are… retrieving me?" He asked, surprised. And a bit scared. Why would the man he had tried to kill and that helped to put him in jail retrieve him?
"Well, if you want, I can leave you in here." Eliot said as he pushed the heavy metal door open.
Damien stared at the man in front of him; he looked like he always did: black wife beater under dark blue plaid shirt, worn jeans, black military boots, his leather bracelets, earring and the silver necklace he always wore. His tan skin and long thick mahogany mane remained untouched. But there was something different in him: he looked like the man who used to work for him rather than the man who worked in the Robin-Hood team.
"I think I'll come with you." He stood up and Spencer was able to see how drawn the European looked: his always perfect black hair looked ill and thin, his skin was almost translucent, sign that he hadn't gotten much solar light for the past two years, his green eyes looked tired, but they still had that strength and hardness Eliot always remembered.
"Let's go then."
"Not so fast, Eliot. Why?" He asked.
"Do you really want to have this conversation in here where at anytime the guards and soldiers can show up?" The American asked.
"All right. Where are we going, because I don't think they are going to let me wander through the city."
"And that's why we are going to the villa." Eliot replied.
"The villa your friend Nathan Ford gave to Ribera?" And he never saw coming the hatred glance he got.
"First of all, I'm no longer friends with any of them besides Parker."
"The thief." He said and Spencer gave a short nod. "May I know why?"
"I'll tell you in due time. And certainly this time it's not now."
"Okay, tell me how you got the villa back." He asked.
"Killed Ribera and his family, kept the service." Eliot replied as he opened the back door with a hard kick. "Let's go. Get into the car."
As they drove to the villa Moreau newly owned, Damien realised that Eliot had said 'killed'.
"You killed him? I thought you said you weren't in this business anymore."
"If I weren't in this business no more, why would have I rescued you?" The American growled as he stopped the car in front of the house. "By the way, there's an old friend we have in common in there."
"An old friend?" He asked as he stepped out of the car and started to get into the house, Eliot behind him.
Just like the old times. Eliot was his shadow again.
"And old friend, huh?" He said, looking at him over his shoulder.
"And old friend indeed."
As the crossed the house, Damien realised that Ribera had done some changes in the house: decoration, distribution, the wall painting… And despite those change he was still able to tell that they were going to the bedrooms area.
"Well? Who is this 'old friend'?"
"You'll find in due time, Damien." He could hear in his voice that Eliot was having fun with that, but he didn't mind at all.
They kept walking in silence until Eliot stopped in front of a room and opened the door, stepping to the side and letting the European to step in.
"Thought you would like to have your old room." Eliot said from behind his back and then led him to the bathroom.
And to say that Damien Moreau was dumbstruck, would be an understatement. Eliot Spencer wasn't exactly known for being a gentle man and even less for being a man who cared about others, but tight now, he had given back Damien his villa, killed the former president of the country and retrieved him from jail. That could only mean one thing: Eliot was back. Back to the place he truly belonged: by his side. They would rule the world again.
And before he realised what was going on, Eliot was undressing him, strong, yet rather small, calloused hands were caressing his sides and his fingers trailing over his ribs.
"You definitely need to intake more proteins." He said before he slid the pants down, revealing the, now, naked body of his boss before his eyes. "Take a bath, I'm going to make lunch." He said. "I'll meet you in two hours at the pool." He said before he stepped outside of the room.
Damien went to the bath and started to run the water until it was warm and he stepped in, sighing when the water hit his muscles: it had been damn too long since he had taken a proper bath.
He still had no idea what Spencer was up to, but he did know two things: The first was that he knew he could trust him. There second one was that Eliot was the most loyal person he had ever known and if he had abandoned his crew is was because they had hurt him deeply. Deep enough to make him go back to him, to his side.
After two hours he stepped out of the bathtub, dried himself off with a big, white fluffy towel he found next to the bathtub, and then put a dark blue suit he found in the closet of his bedroom. It didn't fit but he guessed that it was because he had lost a lot of weight over the last two years. He didn't comb his hair though, he, unlike Eliot, wasn't good at dealing with long hair. He went to the pool and arched an eyebrow when he saw that Eliot had all the service lined up in front of the pool. He glanced towards the table and saw that the food was there and covered with a silver cover.
"What's going on?" He asked, stepping next to the hitter.
"Just wanted you to know your service and the service to know you." He said.
"Are you all maids and butlers?"
"Yes, sir." The eldest one, a woman in his old-thirties, replied.
"No cook?" He asked, arching an eyebrow and looking at Eliot.
"She was dreadful." The hitter replied, shrugging carelessly.
"Are you going to cook then?"
"Yeah, I can cook for two people or more."
"What about in meetings? You know I like you to be with me and I can't have you in the kitchen." He said, easily accepting that they really were going to be in the business again.
"Ok. I'll get a cook. A chef or something." Eliot grumbled, folding his arms over his chest.
"What about security?" He asked to the woman.
"Mr. Spencer fired all of them." She replied, glancing at the short but imposing man with frightened eyes.
"All of them?" Damien asked, staring at his hitter.
"You didn't need them back then, you are not going to need them now." He simply said. "I did keep one, though. Our old friend." He said and then sat down on the chair, waiting for Damien to join him so they could start eating.
"Well, now you got me. Are you going to tell me who the hell is this old friend?" He said and then sat down across the table. "You are dismissed." He said to the service that quickly disappeared inside the house.
"Maybe." Eliot replied as he took a good swing of his beer. "But not yet."
"All right, I can live with that." He took his fork and put a piece of the perfect seared stake, chewed it slowly and smiled. "Great. As usual." He cleaned his mouth before he spoke again. "Going to tell me why did you put me out of jail?"
"Yeah. I thought you might wanted to be… in top of the word again."
"Ok." He nodded, waiting for more.
"And we both know that I'm the best man you ever got." The black-haired male couldn't help to chuckle at the always-present cockiness on Spencer, but he was right, Eliot was, by far, the best man he ever had in his lines.
When he had hired him, Eliot did not agreed on being another hitter, he had stepped up his game from the first very week: he would take the missions anyone else wouldn't, he had taken Moreau's well-being as his own responsibility, his safety as the first thing on his list. He became his shadow and still did the most dangerous missions. He had replaced five bodyguards, much bigger and scarier than him and yet he did a better job than them.
Moreau had a small circle around him formed by his five closest men and when one day he stepped in with Eliot in his back, they all demanded explanations. The six of them, Damien included, were sophisticate men all wearing hand-made suits, Italian leather shoes, silk ties and perfectly gelled hair. Eliot walked around with plaid shirts, worn jeans, boots (either military or cowboy), untied long hair and on occasion he would wear bandanas or wool hats. Not to mention the jewellery: leather bracelets, earrings and the silver medals he always wore. Eliot stood out like a black stain in a piece of white clothing.
And he didn't give a shit about it.
He wouldn't say anything; he just stood there, behind Damien, arms folded over his chest, eyes hard and always aware to everything that was done in the rooms.
They both were aware of what was being said about them but they never said if it was true or false, they let the people wonder about it, let them stew in their own juices because they knew that no one would dare to ask. Not with the knowledge they could end up dead before they knew it in Eliot's hands.
And no one wanted to meet that fate.
"Yes. Yes you are. Also the most loyal." There was some obvious regret in those words and they both knew it.
"Also the one who betrayed you and you let walk away." Eliot said, putting the fork down and then his hand, in the middle of the table.
And Damien didn't hesitate to cover it with his own, tracing a small scar near his knuckles.
"And do you really wonder why?"
Eliot shook his head before he retrieved his hand back before placing it in his lap. "No. Not really."
That's all for now!
Please, share a bit of your mind so I can know if you liked it or not!
Thanks for reading!