Chapter 6

Eliot woke suddenly to the sound of giggling. Wait, woke? Was I asleep? He was sitting in the chair on the balcony of his hotel room in San Lorenzo. Memories of Pete were not exactly his idea of a good night's sleep, but they sure beat the hell out of waking up screaming in terror.

He wasn't happy at the thought of falling asleep out in the open on the balcony, though. It was incredibly insecure, and if Moreau found out they were here …

He heard the giggling again, closer this time — on the next balcony over. It was a very distinctive giggling.

"Wow, that was great!" Parker said. "I had no idea that I could have so much fun without stealing something!" She was slightly out of breath.

Then Hardison spoke, gasping for air. "Hehe, I told you. But damn, woman, I'm out of shape, you shoulda slowed down!"

Eliot's eyes widened in horror. Christ … Is "pretzels" … their code work for sex?

"Well you should have stayed still, silly! I told you that if you kept wiggling we'd set off the motion sensors!"

"Wiggling?! Of course I was wiggling, what the hell did you expect?"

Motion sensors?! Parker's a fucking exhibitionist! He tried in vain to push the images from his mind, but didn't succeed until he heard his own name come up in conversation.

"… Eliot?"

Shit! Had they seen him? The sky was starting to lighten and Parker had eyes like a cat. He silently slid down to the floor of the balcony. The vertical slats of the railing were wide enough that they couldn't see him.

"What about him?" Hardison asked, sounding as though the change in conversation had just burst his bubble.

"Have you noticed he's been acting weird lately?"

"Not particularly, no …" Hardison mumbled. He sounded as though this was the last conversation he wanted to be having.

"Sophie and Nate said he looks really tired. And I talked to him on the plane, and I scared him! Like, he made this weird squeaking noise, like this —" She made the noise, and Hardison snorted. "Right? I've only ever scared him once, when he was the Fiddle, so I know something's wrong. He said he was worried about his friend the General."

Hardison must have reacted, because she followed up with, "He says it's not your fault, and that he didn't mean to yell at you. He was just scared for his friend."

"He's just saying that," Hardison said bitterly. "He has no idea if it's my fault because he has no idea what's involved with securing a phone call. He just knows it's my job and I fucked it up."

"But you didn't. You said that Manticore is practically impossible to hack. You couldn't have —"

"Eliot doesn't understand any of that, Parker. He just knows that I didn't do my job and now his friend's in jail. And it doesn't matter how much he says it's not my fault. I saw the look on his face. He blames me."

Eliot put his head in his hands. He should've talked to Hardison on the plane.

"Sophie says that Eliot only ever blames one person when things go wrong — himself," Parker said.

Dammit, Sophie, stop telling Parker things like that!

"Whatever," Hardison mumbled.

"She also said that you're having trouble forgiving him," Parker said.

"Dammit, Sophie needs to stop talking about people behind their backs!" Eliot almost smiled at Hardison's outburst — almost. "She doesn't know what the fuck she's talking about!"

"Yes she does," Parker said defensively. "She reads people for a living. And even I know that you're still mad at him for what happened in the pool."

Eliot's stomach did a somersault. Fuck. He'd never gotten a chance, what with the bomb and pretending to kill Atherton, to talk with Hardison about that. And since the warehouse, he'd been so focused on himself … A pain sliced through his heart. How could he have been so selfish? He'd let his best friend nearly drown at the bottom of a pool, and he hadn't even explained his reasoning.

"Let it go, okay?" Hardison snapped.

"Alec," Parker said softly. "You know Eliot would never let anything happen to any of us, right?"

Hardison didn't say anything — and that said everything.

Eliot's heart broke. Hardison no longer trusted him. He'd betrayed his best friend. And that, in his eyes, was the worst sin he could have committed. He was shaking, and he felt like he was going to vomit.

"Sophie said you should talk to him," Parker said quietly.

"Will you shut up about what Sophie says?!" Eliot winced at hearing his best friend talk that way to the girl he loved. He'd never heard Hardison snap at Parker like that. Because of me.

Parker must have reacted in some way, because Hardison backtracked immediately. "I'm sorry, Parker," he said gently. "I'm not mad at you. I just — I don't know what to do."

"Talk to him!" Parker urged. "It'll make you feel better."

"Yeah, 'cause he's been so damned talkative lately. Hell, we've barely seen him since we got back from D.C., and when we do see him, it's like he's just going through the motions. He hasn't teased me about computers or made comments about my orange soda. He hasn't even said, 'Dammit, Hardison.'" Hardison's voice broke.

Dammit, Hardison, Eliot thought. There were tears in his eyes. He'd been so focused on hiding his relapse from the team, hiding the fact that he was still "that man", that he hadn't noticed the man he was turning into. It was a good thing he was leaving; the team didn't deserve this. But he was going to make it right before he left.

"It's like Moreau stole my best friend and replaced him with a robot," Hardison continued.

A lump formed in Eliot's throat. You're not wrong, Hardison.

"I just want our Eliot back …"

Eliot couldn't take it anymore. As quietly as possible, he crawled back into his room and locked himself in the bathroom. He turned the shower on as hot as it would go, letting the water burn his skin. He didn't know what was worse, thinking about Pete or thinking about Hardison. This was why he had to leave. He couldn't just forget what he'd done. He could no longer look his team in the eyes. He had never hated himself more than he did now, because he'd let it happen again.

The memories came to him in flashes: Pete laughing … Maria looking radiant in her wedding dress … the look on the General's face when Eliot told him he was leaving, that he had no choice … He realized with a pang he hadn't seen any of them in nearly ten years. The pang grew sharper as he thought about how long it would be before he saw his team again. Ten years? Never? He'd promised himself last time he wouldn't let anyone in again. When he left San Lorenzo, he'd locked his heart away, deep, deep down in his chest. He'd built up walls, kept his distance. He'd worked alone so he'd never have to worry about anyone getting too close.

Until that bastard Dubenich had made him an offer he couldn't refuse. One night, three hundred thousand dollars, and all he had to do was work with a couple of other thieves and Nathan Ford? Easiest money he'd ever make. One show only, no encores.

But then the asshole had tried to kill them, and Eliot had gotten sucked into Nate's Robin Hood fantasy. He had finally understood what Juan meant when he'd said "that doesn't mean you can't do good." He'd tried to keep them at arm's length, to build the walls higher, bury his heart deeper, to not let them in.

But they were thieves. They didn't need him to let them in. They found their own ways in. They'd plotted, and hacked, and grifted their way in; they'd scaled the walls and picked the locks. He hadn't given his heart away this time — they'd stolen it. And the worst part was, he'd enjoyed every damned minute of it.

They can keep it, he thought, turning off the water. He didn't want it anymore. Things would be easier without it.

He was done.