Summary: Rule #1: Don't piss Eliot off. Rule #1a: Do not hurt his team because it will piss him off.

Prompt: Five times Eliot did something (for them) they'd never mention and one time the team decided to say thank you.

Originally written for comment-fic at LJ. (Yes, it was a 7-page comment fic. So what? I got inspired, okay?)

One - Psychic

Dalton Rand sat in his jail cell, wearing an ugly orange jumpsuit. He hadn't even seen it coming. Some psychic he was - even if he knew he was a fraud, he should at least have expected it. Well, he had expected it and had made safeguards against it, but his greed had overpowered him, and jeez, when the hell had he gotten so gullible, that he was sucked in by his own con?

But he only had five years, and those could be shortened for good behavior, and with few greased palms, he'd be out of here in no time.

He startled when a guard walked up to his cell door.

"What do you want?"

"You're the psychic. Tell me what I want," the burly, long-haired guard said.

Dalton scoffed. "Now, that, you're not getting."

The guard just smiled. "Okay. Come here."

There was something about the guy that made Dalton wary of him, not just because of what he was proposing.

"Come here," he repeated. "I ain't sayin' it again."

Yeah, no, not happening…Though, somehow Dalton found himself standing up and walking slowly to the bars on his cell door.

Then a hand shot out and grabbed the front of the orange jumpsuit. Dalton's face slammed into the metal bars. "You made my friend cry," the guy whispered, blue eyes sharp as flint, "Nobody makes her cry. You're gonna pay for that."

"I'm already in jail," Dalton said. Shit, what was this guy planning on doing to him? And who had he made cry? He'd made a lot of people cry, he thought, then cringed.

"Yeah, sure," the guy agreed, feigning affability. Dalton's face slammed into the door again, harder this time. "By the time I'm through with you, you're gonna wish it was just a couple of years of jail time you have to put up with. I know people, people who owe me, and they're going to make your life in the clink a living hell."

The way he said it made it seem like it was the God's honest truth. He didn't have to be a psychic to know that.

And then the world blacked out as he was slammed into the metal bars of the cell door another time. A broken face when he woke up told him the blow that had knocked him out wasn't the last time he'd "bumped" into the door.