set during s2e3. i know the bit about the woodshed doesn't appear until s2e6, but it made an earlier appearance for the sake of the story.

warnings: implied/referenced child abuse

Eliot meets the kid's eyes, and suddenly he's twelve again, his dad towering over him, hand raised in preparation to leave a bruise that matches the one decorating the kid's cheek right now.

He shakes his head, shoving the memory back into the area of his mind where he's buried the rest of his childhood. Hardison's voice sounds in his ear, urging him to keep moving.

Eliot moves, stumbling a little as he makes his feet move, his mind whirling.

He hates hospitals for a reason. Too many bad memories of adults that don't respond to his pleading looks, not in the tiny town of his childhood.

Too many adults that he couldn't trust.

His comm sparks to life again, and Elliot realizes he's stopped again. Hardison is speaking once again, his voice annoyed this time, and Elliot snaps something back- he's not sure what- and forces himself forward.

This problem can be dealt with once the mission is over. And it will be dealt with, Elliot's sure of that much.

For now, though, he needs to focus on his part in Nate's consulted scheme. He ducks forward, following the careful layout of the plan, and tries to ignore the thoughts at the back of his mind that are making him tenser than normal.

He turns the corner and the fight begins. He grins, welcoming the familiar rush of adrenaline, and rushes forward.

Eliot watches as the car pulls away from him, and relaxes a little. Things will be different for Randy than they were for him.

Nate opens the passenger door of the car and drops heavily into the passenger seat, ignoring the startled jump from the younger man. "So, uh, I heard the feds got an anonymous tip about him."

Eliot slides down in his seat, staring resolutely out the window. "Yeah, funny how that worked out."

Nate shifts, obviously uncomfortable. "Eliot, look, it seemed like this was a bit personal-"

Eliot cuts him off. "Why are you here, Nate?"

Nate's quiet for a moment. "Because something about this is bothering you, and it's my responsibility to make sure you're okay."

Eliot finally turns to face Nate, his face angry. "Just leave me alone, okay? You don't care, you just want to make sure that I'll be fine for the next job!"

Both men are quiet for a moment. Elliot's not quite sure where that outburst came from, and he can't quite bring himself to care. He slumps down again, head tilted against the window as rain starts to patter down on the roof, all his anger spent. "Just leave."

Nate's still quiet. Eliot wonders if he really will leave.

Everyone else always has.

To his surprise, there's no slamming door, no angry voice. No desertion. There's only the sound of breathing from both men. Then, Nate reaches out. Before he can stop himself, Eliot flinches away from the hand, hard. He scrambles to put space between himself and the older man, instincts brought back to the forefront of his mind by this job.

He winds up with his back smashed against the window, chest heaving and arm half-raised to block anything that might come. He stares wide-eyed at Nate, who's watching him with cautious, worried eyes.

Silence crashes over the car, nothing but Elliot's still-rapid breathing breaking the silence.

Eliot closes his eyes, curses old habits brought back to life by this job. Curses himself for not being able to keep them buried.

Nate carefully retracts his hand, keeping his movements slow and broadcasted. Eliot feels his face warming in embarrassment, and dares to crack open his eyes just enough to glance over at the older man. Nate's staring out the windshield, his face solemn.

Then he speaks abruptly. "I care, Eliot. Not just about the job, about you. The team. Everyone on it."

The younger man stays quiet. Then, before he knows it, words are spilling out of him. "I grew up in a small town- everyone knew everyone, you know? And, you know, if a well-respected man has his own views on discipline, even when he gets a little drunk, well, that's his own business."

Nate's still quiet, though Eliot knows the older man is glancing at him out of the corner of his eyes. "And if that man's kid tries to run away, the police of the town have a duty to bring underage kids back to their parents. And no one cares if that kid isn't seen for a week afterwards and has a new scar on his arm when he is seen again."

Nate wants to throw up; he's speaking before he even really knows what he's saying. "On the last job, with the boxing, you said you could take the punishment-"

Eliot laughs, hard and bitter and full of broken glass and broken trust. "I've had a lot of experience taking a beating."

Nate suddenly puts together his friend's behavior from months ago. "Back when- before- before I quit, you never got too close to me when I was-"

He can't finish, so Eliot finishes for him. "Drinking? Yeah. I just- I know you wouldn't do anything to me, it's just... bad memories, I guess."

Nate can't stop screaming at himself. Eliot keeps talking. "You did something he didn't, though. You actually stopped. He always said it was for my own good, or that he'd stop, back before mom left. But he never did. And it just got worse after she left."

Nate wants to- he doesn't know what he wants to do, other than go back in time and rescue Eliot from whoever his dirtbag father was. But that's impossible, so he settles for asking, "How long before you were able to get out?"

Eliot hunches down in his seat, shoulders curling in. "Too long. I tried to run a couple times, got caught. He almost beat the will outta me by the time I was sixteen. Then-" his breath hitches before he forces himself to continue. "Then Mom left and he got worse and I knew I had to get out of there. Took me until I was seventeen to actually get out."

Nate thinks about that, combining this new information with the way Eliot seems awkward with personal situations outside of cons, the way he never seems phased by the many injuries he gathers over the cases, the way that when a con goes bad, the younger man doesn't speak, doesn't draw attention to himself- except when Nate lays into someone for making a stupid mistake. Then Eliot starts talking, loud and noisy and angry and making himself the center of attention- the obvious target, Nate realizes now.

Nate thinks about the way that Eliot hasn't done this as much since the older man's stopped drinking.

Something else occurs to him as well. "A while back mentioned you were claustrophobic as a kid, but then you, uh, locked yourself in a woodshed for a couple days?"

There's another shrug. "Three guesses on what happened and the first two don't count. He thought I was a worthless, cowardly screwup. Sometimes... sometimes I think he might be right."

Nate doesn't really know what to say to that. He doesn't have a plan for this, for the way that Eliot's sitting there, hunched in on himself.

So he goes with his gut.

"Look, Eliot, I don't know who your father was, or where you lived, or anything, really, about your childhood other than what you've told me.

"But I do know a couple things. One, that you're not a screwup. Anyone who's as loyal to his team, to his friends-" Nate doesn't even hesitate before saying the next part, suddenly sure that that's what they've become- "His family, as you are, isn't a screwup. Not even close. I've seen you with the others, protecting them even at the cost of your own skin. You can't tell me that someone who was worthless or cowardly would do that.

"And as for being a screwup? Eliot, I've seen you do everything from taking down people while you had broken ribs and a concussion to- to making delicious entrees and hor d'oeuvres and catering a wedding. I don't think someone who was a screwup could do that."

Nate pauses, turning and looking straight at Eliot, who's staring at the steering wheel, hands clenched tightly in his lap. Nate says one last thing- something he thought was understood by each member of the team, but now understands that he needs to verbalized for this member, at least.

"I'm proud of you, Eliot. I've seen you do amazing things, and I've seen you grow from when this whole thing started. And you need to know that."

He falls silent. He's said his piece. All that remains is to see if Eliot will accept it. There's a beat of silence, and then, "Sometimes I wish he had been more like you."

Nate feels his threat clench up, his eyes watering. He reaches over and squeezes Eliot's shoulder. "Lets go home."