Thank you everyone, as always, for reading and reviewing, and special thanks to Valawenel and quirkapotamus for your betas.
San Lorenzo had only one airport. It was surprisingly crowded, swarming with tourists, U.N. election inspectors, and even three people Eliot suspected were agents of various intelligence agencies undercover as either tourists or election inspectors. He made sure to watch those last few until they boarded their respective planes.
He saw Nate first, impossible to miss in one of his hats and a loud Hawaiian shirt — he was clearly going for the tourist cover. Across the ticketing area, Hardison and Parker were talking together, pretending to be a couple, which made Eliot smile.
He parked himself off to the side, holding a phone to his ear. All three slowly and nonchalantly moved in his general direction.
"Hello, darling!" came a female voice behind him.
He turned, and Sophie, head covered by a scarf, embraced him.
"What took you so long?" she said into his shoulder. "We were starting to get worried." Then she pulled away and waved at Parker and Hardison, who ran over.
"It's so wonderful to see you!" She hugged each of them in turn.
Nate came up behind Eliot. "Good morning. Did everyone enjoy their stay?"
Nate's smile was tight. Fake.
No one moved to give Nate a hug — not even Sophie.
"Good morning!" Sophie responded. "Yes, I had a wonderful stay!" Her answer was a little too loud and a little too late to be real.
Eliot raised an eyebrow at Hardison and Parker, who looked as flummoxed as he was.
To preserve some semblance of their cover, Eliot extended his hand to Nate without meeting his eyes.
Nate took it, clearing his throat and giving the smile another try — still fake. "You broke down my door and all I get is a handshake?"
"Wait, what?" asked Hardison.
"He wasn't answering," Eliot growled. "No one had seen him all day. For all I knew, maybe Moreau had —"
He stopped as he saw the looks on the faces of his team. Parker was wide-eyed; Hardison's mouth was frozen in a smirk. Sophie frowned in concern, and Nate's brow was furrowed deeply.
At least no one looked fake anymore.
"If I had known my hangover would worry you so much, I wouldn't have gotten drunk last night," Nate murmured.
"Somehow I doubt that," Eliot snapped.
They stood in a circle, like they always did before they split up. Parker was to Eliot's right, then Hardison, Sophie, and Nate to Eliot's left. He felt the tension in every one of them.
Sophie opened her mouth to speak, but Nate bowled right over her. "Hardison, do you have the tickets?"
Eliot was glad for the reprieve, even if it came from Nate. He didn't want to talk about what he was feeling. Mostly because he didn't know how he was feeling.
"Yup." Hardison handed them each a ticket, a passport, a credit card, and a wad of cash. "Five tickets to anywhere but here."
There was a long, familiar pause. This always happened. None of them wanted to be the first to leave.
"Do we have to split up?" Parker's voice was small. "I hate it when we split up."
"Yes," said Nate. "Two weeks, like we agreed. Until the furor of the election dies down."
Another pause, and Eliot's heart pounded. He needed to tell them he wasn't leaving San Lorenzo. He looked at his ticket: Rio de Janeiro, Brazil.
"Thank you," said Nate. "All of you. We took down Damien Moreau and saved a country from a corrupt president. I have never been prouder of this team than I am right now."
Eliot looked down and stuck his thumbs in his belt to keep his hands from shaking.
"I know this was a difficult job," Nate continued. "For everyone. But it's done. Moreau is gone. We're all safe."
Eliot swallowed in an attempt to dispel the painful lump in his throat. He felt the team watching him, but he didn't dare look up.
"Thank you," Nate said.
In the silence that followed, Eliot could only stare at the blurry floor and try to control his breathing.
It was done. Moreau was finished.
"See you back in Boston in two weeks." Nate was suddenly all business again.
"Wait!" The urgency in Parker's voice stopped everyone in their tracks. "How come Eliot gets to go to Brazil? I love Rio, and it's nice and warm there this time of year."
Everyone except for Hardison rolled their eyes, though in frustration or relief that it wasn't something worse, Eliot wasn't sure.
"Mama, you have an outstanding warrant in Brazil."
"So I have to go to Zagreb? It's freezing there right now! Eliot, will you switch?"
Hardison sighed. "Eliot liberated Croatia. There are people there that don't like him."
"I'd like to go to Paris," Sophie chimed in. "Can I change my ticket?"
"Are you people kidding me?" asked Hardison. "Do you have any idea how hard it is for me to coordinate this type of thing? I have to use aliases that aren't known in the countries you're going to, cross-check that with warrants you might have in the region and make sure those aliases aren't on them. It's a nightmare! And now you're all whining about the weather where you want to go. I'm so sorry I didn't take that into account when I booked the tickets!"
He paused to take a breath, and Eliot looked around the circle. Everyone was smiling. Even Hardison didn't look as annoyed as he pretended to be. No one said anything for a moment as they all looked at each other.
Hardison's face broke into an enormous grin. "We just stole a country. I ran a digital campaign and convinced the world that Vittori won the election."
"They named a girls' school after me!" Sophie's excitement seemed, if possible, to have actually increased since the previous night.
Parker's eyes gleamed. "Your face is going to be on the money. How cool is that? And I got to break into and back out of an inescapable prison — through a steam vent!" She was bobbing up and down on the balls of her feet.
"Moreau is in prison," Nate said quietly. "The job is done."
"No more of that Italian woman." Sophie's words had a sharp edge to them.
"Nate's not going back to jail," Parker added.
"And she can't —" Nate stopped and seemed to change course mid-sentence. "She won't bother us anymore. Things are back to normal."
Again, Nate failed to give a convincing smile; this time it was too big. Eliot knew it was because of the Italian. Nate had always been hiding something from them about her. He'd said that she threatened to throw him back in prison if they failed, but Nate Ford's self-preservation instincts were practically non-existent. Eliot had always known that there was more to it than that, and though he wasn't entirely sure what, he had his suspicions.
"What about you, Eliot?" asked Parker. "Are you feeling better?"
Eliot could feel all their eyes on him. Although Parker was the only one unsubtle enough to ask the question, it was obvious they all wanted to know the answer.
So he decided, for the first time since he'd confessed his past with Moreau, to tell them the truth.
"The General is no longer in the Tombs, and Moreau will never leave them." He gave a fake smile of his own. "That's the best outcome I could have hoped for."
Three faces smiled back at him. The fourth was focused on the floor, but seemed disproportionately pleased with himself.
Eliot's heart raced, but he forced himself to continue. Now was as good a time as any to tell them.
"This is the first time I've been back to San Lorenzo in eight years. Now that I don't have to leave —" He ripped up his ticket. "I'm not going to."
The silence that followed his statement grew long and cold. The warmth of just a minute ago was gone. Eliot had expected them to argue. Instead, three stunned faces stared back at him.
The fourth continued staring at the floor.
Hardison was the first to speak. "You're the one who said we had to get out of the country until the heat died down."
Sophie frowned and looked away.
"You're leaving, aren't you?" Parker's tone was fierce and accusatory; her eyes brimmed with tears.
Eliot's breath caught in his throat. Is that what they were thinking? He wasn't ready for this conversation. He hadn't made that decision yet.
"What?" Hardison looked shocked. Betrayed.
"Are you?" Sophie, too, looked on the verge of tears.
Only one of them didn't do or say anything. The only one who knew the truth.
"All you succeeded in doing was showing him that you're an even better man than he thought."
Juan was dead wrong about Nate.
A sudden pain shot through Eliot's heart, and it was then that he realized: he'd secretly been hoping Nate would try to stop him. That he would announce that he was leaving and Nate would tell him that no, they needed him, he couldn't leave. He shouldn't leave. That nothing had changed, that what had happened in the warehouse didn't matter. That he didn't think any less of Eliot — in fact, it showed him how much Eliot was willing to sacrifice for the team. For him. That they were a family.
Eliot blinked rapidly to dispel the sting of tears. Why did that rejection hurt so much? He should have expected it.
He always disappointed eventually.
But that was a conversation for another time. Or never.
He cleared his throat and forced an annoyed roll of his eyes. With all the grumpiness he could muster, he growled, "I didn't say that, Parker. I said I was staying here in San Lorenzo instead of going to Brazil."
He could never lie to Parker, but this wasn't a lie. It just wasn't the whole truth.
"Oh." The relief was visible on Parker's face. Hardison's too. The tension around the circle seemed to dissipate somewhat.
Sophie's intent gaze told Eliot she wasn't completely convinced, but she said nothing.
Nate continued to stare at the floor. But he could go fuck himself for all Eliot cared.
"So you're going to stay here for two weeks?" asked Parker. "Why? What are you going to do?"
"That's an excellent question, Parker," came a male voice behind Eliot. "I've been wondering exactly the same thing."
.
.
.
Eliot whirled around as Matty and Maria, walking arm in arm, joined their circle between him and Nate. They both looked lighter, happier, and years younger than they had the previous night, although Matty wore a hard, grim smile that embodied the tone of his comment.
Maria shot him a warning glance before beaming at the team, but Matty didn't take his eyes off of Eliot.
In spite of that, Sophie's brightest grifter smile actually almost succeeded in relaxing Eliot — damn, she was good. "This is quite unexpected, though certainly not unwelcome."
"Papa wanted to come too, but he couldn't get away." Maria shook her head. "He's awfully busy now, as Minister of State, though he did mention he'd talked to each of you today or last night. But we weren't going to let you leave without saying goodbye."
"Again," Matty muttered.
Eliot gritted his teeth.
"Matty," Maria chided. "Papa told us Eliot's staying here for a few weeks, and Eliot just said it again right now."
Matty crossed his arms, his stony gaze boring into Eliot. "Yeah, well, llámame Tomás."
Eliot's Spanish might have been rusty, but he'd heard that phrase often enough — usually from Matty — that it was burned into his memory. Literally, it translated to Call me Thomas, but it was an idiom, and like most things uniquely San Lorenzan, it was religious in origin. It referred to the apostle of Jesus, commonly referred to as Doubting Thomas, who refused to believe that Jesus had risen from the dead until he saw it with his own eyes and placed his hand in the man's wounds.
Roughly translated, Matty was saying, Seeing is believing.
"You want proof, Ramirez?" Eliot snapped. He held up what used to be his ticket. "This was my plane ticket. I'm staying here for the next two weeks."
Matty gave the scraps of paper barely a glance and cocked a disbelieving eyebrow. "Isn't that dangerous for you? To hang out at the scene of the crime?"
At that, Eliot felt a ripple of tension spread through the circle. The team was no longer giving off a welcoming vibe. Sophie's smile had sharpened, Parker's eyes flashed darkly, and Hardison widened his stance, crossing his arms. Nate was levying a glare at Matty that surprised Eliot in its menace, and Eliot suddenly felt the circle tighten, as if the team was closing rank.
"They are clearly willing to go to great lengths to protect you." Juan's words floated across Eliot's memory.
But Eliot didn't need to be protected, and certainly not by the team.
He forced his face into a blankly innocent look, but his tone was affably defiant. "Sometimes the best place to hide is in plain sight. Like at the home of the Commanding General of the San Lorenzo Armed Forces." He smiled as Matty's jaw clenched, and took a step forward. "Why, General? Are you going to arrest me?"
Maria sucked in a breath and squeezed Matty's arm. Eliot felt the circle tighten another notch.
Matty's eyes narrowed. "I have a feeling that wouldn't go over well with certain members of my family." One side of his mouth curled up into a sneer. "And anyway, the things I'd like to arrest you for aren't technically crimes."
Eliot's winced as the words hit their mark.
Matty was straightening his tux in front of a mirror. Eliot met the gaze of his reflection.
"I'm — is there anything I can do?"
"You've done enough."
Even after all these years, Matty still blamed Eliot for Pete's death. The realization made Eliot's chest ache with such acute pain that his eyes stung. Matty wasn't being fair, but Eliot remembered why it was so dangerous to taunt him: his fangs were sharp, and when provoked, he struck without hesitation.
"What makes you think you're even welcome here?" Matty snapped.
The fangs struck yet again, their venom seeping into Eliot's heart, causing his pulse to race. Was that true? Did no one want him to stay?
"Juan —" he rasped.
"Of course Juan wants you here. He's always had a soft spot for you." Matty tone was biting. Poisonous. "I'm talking about the rest of the people you unceremoniously left behind. The ones you didn't keep in touch with." He looked away, his voice dropping to a murmur. "Or say goodbye to."
The raw emotion in those last words sliced through Eliot's heart more swiftly and painfully than anything Matty had said before, and he recalled something Maria had said during their conversation the previous morning.
"You just left, Eliot. You didn't say goodbye. I think that hurt Matty even more than it hurt me, because he's lost so many people in his life, and he never got to say goodbye to any of them."
Eliot's anger faded, a confused disbelief taking its place. Was that what Matty had meant by "not technically crimes"? That Eliot had left without saying goodbye? He'd never thought Matty would miss him; if anything, he'd imagined Matty would rejoice at his absence.
He blinked. Maybe Mind Pete had been right — he and Matty did need to have a talk.
Just not yet.
"That's why I'm staying here for two weeks. I have eight years to catch up on."
Matty looked up sharply at the sudden softness of Eliot's voice, and he raised a wary eyebrow. "Eight years in two weeks?
Eliot shrugged. "It's a start."
"And when the two weeks are over?" Matty asked bitterly. "Will you leave for another eight years?"
"I don't have to stay away anymore. I can return whenever I want. And I intend to do it often." Eliot held Matty's gaze. "I'm staying for the next two weeks, Ramirez."
Matty swallowed.
"Let me guess," said Eliot before Matty could say anything. "Llámame Tomás? How's this then?" He tossed Matty his passport and money. "Hold onto those for me. I won't need 'em for a couple weeks."
He was conscious of small smiles spreading around the circle. Matty's eyes widened as he realized what Eliot had given him, but Eliot still didn't give him a chance to respond before adding one more piece of evidence for Doubting Matty.
"I'm not even packed. All my stuff is still at the hotel."
Eliot barely had time to register Matty's quick and discerning glance around the circle at everyone else's bags when Hardison interrupted, his hands forming a T.
"Whoa, time out. So when you said" — he narrowed his eyes and lowered his voice into a gravelly growl — "'I don't travel with luggage,' that wasn't true?"
Before Eliot could even start to object to Hardison's horrendous impression of him, Matty let out a snort.
"You told him that?" Matty smirked, and his eyes glittered with a humor so familiar and, in spite of the ache that throbbed briefly in Eliot's chest, welcome, that Eliot returned the smirk.
Then, to Eliot's — and, from the faces around the circle, everyone else's — surprise, Matty actually laughed out loud. "What did you think, Hardison, that he buys new underwear everywhere he goes?"
"Well, excuse the hell outta me for not thinking about the nitty-gritty details of Eliot's underwear."
"You probably believe it when he says he only sleeps ninety minutes a day, too." Matty shot another glance Eliot's way, and Eliot's smirk turned into a grin.
Hardison's eyes widened as he turned to Eliot, indignant. "Aw, come on, man! Is everything you tell me a lie? All that 'very distinctive' crap — ?"
"Actually that's real." Matty was serious now. "He's saved my life a few different times by noticing 'very distinctive' things."
A sharp intake of breath rippled through the circle. Eliot wasn't sure Matty had intended to say that much, and immediately wished he hadn't.
"So Eliot saved your life, too, just like the General?" Parker's question gave voice to the palpable interest of the group. "How many halves?"
"I saved his life, too," Matty said, a little too defensively. "And we count in whole numbers." Another glance at Eliot. "Double-digit whole numbers."
"One of us does," Eliot muttered.
"I got to ten a couple of months before the wedding." Eliot couldn't help but smile as Matty rounded on him. "We are even now, Spencer."
In spite of his words, Matty looked as if he was trying not to smile himself.
"It's not a competition," said Sophie.
"Yes, it is!" Eliot and Matty protested at the same time.
They grinned at each other. The circle fell into an awkward silence, and a memory forced its way to the front of Eliot's mind.
.
.
.
"If I hadn't pulled you down, Spencer, you would have been hit. That counts."
Eliot scoffed across the table at Matty. "Even if I had been hit, which we have no way of knowing, it would have been a graze. That's hardly saving my life."
Matty rolled his eyes. "Oh, please. If you hearing a 'very distinctive' snap of a twig counts as saving my life, this counts, too."
The commanders, who had just gathered for the meeting, followed the exchange like a tennis match. The General sat at the head of the table, a vaguely amused look on his face.
Eliot pointed a finger at Matty. "It was not a twig, Ramirez. It was the sound of a British Army issue steel-toed boot, which I know most of Moreau's men wear. And if I hadn't heard it —"
Pete flopped into the chair next to Eliot, throwing his head back dramatically. "Oh my God. Are you two still arguing about this? Why don't you just whip ''em out and see whose is bigger?"
Everyone stared, wide-eyed, in the stunned silence that followed. Eliot's felt his face heat; the crimson shade of Matty's face was only a small consolation.
"For the record, mine's biggest," said Pete.
The room burst into laughter. Eliot managed a small smirk, but he and Matty exchanged a mortified glance.
"General, I'm assuming you want an account of the mission?" Pete asked. Without waiting for a response, he gave his report. "We were pinned down at the beginning. El saved Matty's life by identifying the sound of boots, Matty saved El's life by pulling him out of the line of fire, then they both worked together to save my life after I was knocked out cold by a piece of flying debris. I'm fine, thanks for asking, although it's pretty clear that the person leading the mission was the one least qualified to do so."
At the last part, Pete dropped his gaze, looking slightly abashed.
Eliot and Matty started to speak over each other.
"Getting knocked out doesn't make you a bad commander —"
"This mission was a success because of you, Pete —"
Pete looked up suddenly, an enormous grin on his face. "Aw, thanks guys." He turned to the room. "The one thing they can agree on."
More laughter, and the glint in Pete's eyes told Eliot that his previous dismay had merely been a ploy to provoke them, and that they had responded exactly as expected.
"I know I'm a good commander. I have to be, because working with you two is like dealing with a couple of toddlers." Pete spoke to the room again, raising his hand. "Show of hands: on a scale of one to ten, how messed up is it that they keep a constant tally of who saved whom?"
Several commanders frowned.
"That doesn't make sense," said Matty.
Eliot shook his head. "How can they show a scale with their hands — ?"
"Ten! It's a ten!" Pete was riled now. "That's weird, guys. It's not a competition. You don't have to turn everything into a dick-measuring contest." He sighed heavily, then turned to the General. "Oh, and we accomplished the mission, we found the intel, good times were had by all. Any questions?"
The General smiled. "None at all. Excellent debrief, Pete."
.
.
.
Eliot's head spun as he tried to parse out his emotions. How had they gotten to this moment? Hadn't he and Matty been sniping at each other just a minute ago? And then what? Hardison had interrupted, and he and Matty had gone right into their banter so naturally that they'd forgotten what the hell they'd been arguing about. Eliot's heart sank. Pete had always been able to do that with them, to either embarrass them into submission or get them to make jokes at his expense — or both. And that was exactly what had just happened. Without Pete. And it had been so natural and familiar, like Eliot hadn't been gone for eight years.
An immense sadness hit him like a punch to the solar plexus. He remembered the look in Matty's eyes, the hitch in his voice, when he'd mentioned Eliot not saying goodbye; the cynical tone of Matty the idealist saying Llámame Tomás, the bitterness as he asked if Eliot would leave again for another eight years. For the first time, Eliot felt a sense of loss as he thought of when he'd left San Lorenzo — not for Pete, or Juan, or the life he'd left behind, but for Matty. Had they been … friends? Amid all the jealousy and resentment, antagonism and one-upmanship, had they actually grown to care for one another? Had Eliot's abrupt absence earned him an honored place on the too-long list of people Matty had lost in his life? Eliot suddenly felt like something was sitting on his chest. He found himself glad that he hadn't come to the realization before; it would have made leaving all the more painful.
And yet, as he held Matty's gaze, sadness was not the primary emotion he felt. He saw something in Matty's eyes he wasn't sure he'd ever seen there before — hope. It burned like a fire, almost childlike in its innocence, and it was somehow both enhanced and tempered by the tentative quirk of Matty's lips. Although he hardly dared allow it, Eliot felt a cautious optimism of his own. Was it possible that he and Matty could make amends after all these years? Could they somehow reach a point where Eliot could call Matty a friend? Eliot had so few of those nowadays that he could literally count them on one hand. Matty's friendship would be even more precious to him now than it would have been eight years ago.
"You and Matty need to have a serious talk," Mind Pete had said. The thought filled Eliot with both hope and dread. He wasn't sure which was worse.
"Hug it out," Hardison murmured out of the corner of his mouth. "You know you want to!"
Eliot felt an enormous sense of déjà vu as he watched Matty's turn a brilliant shade of red. Eliot, at least, could control his reactions a little better now.
He did, however, join Matty in sputtering incoherently.
"Ooh! They did last night!" Maria pulled out her phone, looking as excited as Parker talking about the steam vent. "It wasn't too long after you left, but I got pictures!"
The entire circle, except for Eliot and Matty, gathered around Maria's phone to witness their shame. Eliot saw Parker readjust her messenger bag. It was digging into her shoulder far more than it should have. It looked like she had packed something incredibly heavy. Far too heavy for a shoulder bag. Something like —
"Parker," Eliot said so only she could hear. "What happened to your luggage?"
Parker either didn't hear him or chose to ignore him.
"I had to threaten them with public humiliation to get it to happen," Maria was saying.
"Parker," Eliot repeated.
Parker, without looking up from Maria's phone, responded under her breath. "It's right here."
"I mean your other luggage," said Eliot. "The one with your souvenirs."
Parker turned her head sharply at the last word, but she did her best to look innocent.
"The only souvenir I wanted was Sparky, and you wouldn't let me keep her." Her pout was almost convincing.
Nate's eyes narrowed as his attention was drawn from the infamous photo, and Matty, who had never been interested in the damned thing, was now listening intently to their exchange.
Eliot felt a growing dread at Parker's less-than-deft dodge. It wasn't what was in her bag that scared him; it was how she'd gotten it.
Maria was still talking about the picture. "It was one of most awkward and hilarious things I've ever seen in my life."
"I need a copy of that pronto," said Hardison, typing feverishly on his phone.
"What happened to the trunk, Parker?" Eliot asked, a little more harshly than he intended.
That got Hardison's attention, and Maria and Sophie were only a moment behind.
Parker blinked in what Eliot figured was supposed to be confusion. He didn't know why she was being so coy. She'd decorated a Christmas tree with millions of dollars of stolen loot, for god's sake.
But he couldn't keep his voice steady. "Please tell me you were joking about Moreau's gold bars."
Parker didn't miss a beat. "I was joking about Moreau's gold bars."
"Of course she's joking," said Matty. "Moreau doesn't have any gold bars."
"Not anymore," Parker muttered.
Hardison hung his head with a sigh. Eliot's fists clenched involuntarily.
"No, I mean he never did," said Matty. "That was just a rumor. We raided his mansion this morning, and while there was an awful lot of crap there, gold bars were not among it."
"Maybe if you had raided his mansion last night …"
Eliot was done beating around the bush. "Were you in Moreau's mansion last night, Parker?"
"We were pretzeling," Parker said simply.
Hardison smiled at the phrase, but Eliot couldn't help but notice that Parker hadn't technically answered the question.
But now that the secret was out, Parker couldn't keep it in. The dam was broken, and the words gushed from her mouth in such a rush that it was difficult to understand her. "I wanted to see what all the fuss was about, and man, did it live up to it! There were motion sensors in every room, a Glen-Reeder Executive 6740 in the study, and it was all guarded by a Tanuki security system! I mean, I know Moreau is a horrible person, but he has some solid taste in security. You should have seen it, Eliot!"
"I have." Eliot barely understood his own words, spoken as they were through gritted teeth.
Complete silence. They all gaped at him — even Nate.
Eliot kept his gaze on Parker, because he couldn't stand to look at anyone else. "Moreau never had any taste in security. That's what he paid me for."
Parker eyes widened in alarm.
"No way," said Hardison. "You're wrong. You worked for Moreau like eight or nine years ago, right? The Tanuki system only came out five years ago, so —"
"That's not the point," Eliot snapped. He was finding it harder and harder to breathe. "That was just — that was an upgrade. I was the one who secured the mansion. I was the one who insisted on motion sensors and heat sensors and guards at every entrance instructed to use lethal force —"
"There were no guards," Matty interrupted. His voice was firm and authoritative, like he was giving Eliot an order. "Not with Moreau in prison. The motion sensors weren't even engaged."
Matty looked Eliot in the eyes as he spoke. Eliot knew what he was doing, and it worked — his tone had snapped Eliot right out of panic and into Commander Mode, which was much more logical. Parker — and Hardison, too, and boy were they going to have a talk about that — hadn't been in danger. Well, not anymore danger than normal when pulling a heist. Not like Eliot had feared.
Of the people present, Matty was the only one who understood enough about Eliot's terrible past to see what was happening inside his head and successfully stop it.
"You and Matty are two sides of the same coin — similar paths, different choices."
Damn, they really did need to have a talk.
"The motion sensors were engaged," Hardison muttered. "Until a twenty-four-year-old genius with a smartphone and a problem with authority turned them off."
Matty shook his head, though whether in disbelief or refusal to believe, Eliot wasn't sure. "Impossible. You couldn't have been there last night. None of my people saw anyone there."
Parker just stood there, arms crossed, but the look she gave Matty made Eliot want to laugh and cry at the same time, because it was a dead-ringer for one of Pete's looks: head tilted to the side, eyebrows raised ever-so-slightly, face deadpan, eyes that said, You're kidding, right?
Had Parker always given looks like that and he'd never noticed — or refused to allow himself to — or was this a new development? Eliot had a feeling it was the former but was surprised to find that, of the warring emotions inside him, it was the happiness that won. Pete would have found have loved the fact that someone was still around to look at him like that.
If Matty recognized the look, he didn't show it. He'd clearly focused instead on its meaning, and appeared to be countering a verbal argument that Parker never posed.
"What — that's not — no, listen to me."
Scratch that — attempting to counter the verbal argument that Parker never posed. Eliot met Hardison's eyes, and each man brought a hand to his face to hide his smile. They were both intimately familiar with that disbelieving stutter, but it was hilarious watching it happen to someone else.
"You couldn't have —" Matty closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and started again. "The big let's-go-steal-an-election plan only took care of Moreau. In order for it to work, Ribera had to get away." Matty exchanged a glance with Nate. "Or think he got away. But, given his reward for turning against Moreau —"
Another glance at Nate, and two identical smarmy, knowing smirks followed this time. Eliot felt the sudden urge to punch them both.
"I had an idea what his movements might be. A couple of my guys were undercover in Ribera's security forces before this election mess started, so I told them to stay that way, and keep me posted. As I guessed, he went to Moreau's mansion to check out his spoils. By this morning, he was still there, convinced we couldn't touch him. But he forgot that assets of political prisoners are seized by the San Lorenzan government."
Matty's lips curled into a full-blown smile, and Eliot recognized it — it was the look Matty always got when he knew he had the enemy right where he wanted him. "Or maybe he just forgot that when he resigned as president, he gave up his position in the government. Not a bad loophole."
He turned his grin on Nate, who returned it, but once again, Eliot noticed its falseness. There was something wrong — Nate loved gloating.
"Either way," said Matty, "we raided the mansion this morning, and I arrested the bastard for corruption and a host of other crimes."
"You arrested him?" Hardison asked. "Jeez, General, save some of the bad guys for everyone else!"
Maria beamed, obviously proud of her husband. Matty, for his part, whether because he didn't get it or didn't think it was funny, took Hardison's comment at face value.
"If I can arrest them, I'm going to. These chances don't come along too often, so I have to take advantage of them." He smirked again. "I put him in the Tombs, right next to Moreau. Neither were too pleased with that, which made it a really easy choice. But the point is," he said, turning to Parker, "we raided the mansion this morning and found everything but gold bars. That was just a rumor."
But even he didn't seem to believe that anymore.
"And my point," said Parker, "is that your people who were undercover aren't very good."
Matty's jaw tightened. The circle tensed, and even Maria looked a little nervous.
"What do you mean by that, Parker?" asked Sophie, patient with Parker as always, but nonetheless cutting to the chase.
Parker rolled her eyes, as though they were forcing her to explain the obvious. "Since we've been here I've heard people talking about the types of things that Moreau's supposedly got holed up in his mansion, and then I heard Nate talking about it to Ribera, and I knew I had to see it for myself. So last night, after we left the party, Hardison and I went exploring. We broke into the mansion, and it was like finding buried treasure!" Her eyes gleamed, glazing over at the memory. "Statues and paintings and jewelry and diamonds and all types of money …" Her eyes refocused, and she looked pointedly at Matty. "And gold bars. A whole crate full."
She sighed. "That's when Ribera showed up with his thugs. Hardison said we needed to get out of there, that it wasn't safe. But Ribera wasn't arrested yesterday like Moreau, and at the time, it seemed like he was going to get to keep all that stuff, and that wasn't right." Her fists clenched at her sides. "I wanted to take some of it, but Hardison said we didn't have the resources to steal it all then. He said we could talk to you guys and figure something out, but that we had to leave. So we did."
She crossed her arms and looked at the floor. "But I hated it. Ribera's a bad guy. He's not supposed to win. So after Hardison went to bed, I went back." She glanced guiltily at the hacker. "Sorry."
Hardison didn't look happy, which was only a small consolation to Eliot, who was shaking with rage and fear — and shame. What if she'd been caught? What had she seen? The thought of her in Moreau's study, where he'd been given countless orders by Moreau, where he'd made the deal to leave San Lorenzo eight years ago … His stomach lurched at the thought.
"I went back and stole the gold bars," Parker said. "And I did it right under the noses of your 'undercover guys.'" She made air quotes with her fingers. "They didn't even have any clue. But I did it because I didn't want Ribera to get everything, and I didn't know you were going to arrest him today."
"Well, now you do know." Maria's voice was tight, and Eliot knew her well enough to tell when she was barely concealing her anger. "That gold belongs to the government of San Lorenzo. You have to give it back."
"We can't." Parker shrugged.
"You can and you will." Maria sounded like she was in Mom Mode, scolding her child for doing something wrong. "You can't just steal things —"
"They stole an election and you were okay with that," said Matty.
"That gold belongs to the government!"
"It's blood money, Maria!" Matty nearly shouted. "If it's used for anything, it should be to help the people that Moreau hurt in order to get it, not to fill the government's coffers."
Maria crossed her arms; it seemed like she was turning Mom Mode on Matty now. "What exactly do you think I've been doing all day?"
Matty looked at her warily. "Nothing. Because you're supposed to be resting."
"And I was," Maria said with a roll of her eyes. "I was in bed, resting. And working on my laptop."
Matty pinched the bridge of his nose. "Maria, that is not what —"
"I was working on a plan for how to rebuild and start to fix some of the damage." The familiar fire burned bright in Maria's eyes. "I'm Minister of the Interior, and it's my job to minister to the interior. I asked them to send me a rough estimate of how much Moreau's assets are worth, and I'm creating a list of what needs to be done and how much money we'll need. To help the people." Her voice broke. "That's all I've ever wanted to do."
While Maria was talking, Matty's eyes softened little by little, and by the end, he was looking at his wife with a love and admiration so great it made the emptiness in Eliot's chest ache again. He opened his mouth speak, but nothing came out.
"I wish everything was as black and white as you want it to be, Matty, but it's not. I'm trying to do what's right with what we have." Maria turned to Parker. "That's why we need all of it. Please, can we have it back?"
"We don't have it anymore." Parker stared at the floor. "We gave it away."
Maria's eyes flashed dangerously. "You what?"
Parker looked up and met Maria's fiery gaze. She straightened and said, almost proudly, "We donated it to Our Lady of Good Counsel Orphanage. I thought Ribera was going to get away with all that money, and that was wrong. So I took it. This morning, Hardison helped me give it to someone who needed it. We can't give it back because it doesn't belong to us anymore."
Eliot smiled in spite of himself — Parker had come a long way from that lost, lonely young woman he'd met three years ago. Stealing just to keep the bad guys from winning, and then giving the loot away? Sophie was smiling, too, and even Nate looked pleased. Hardison grinned, nudging Parker gently with his elbow.
Maria blinked in bewilderment. After several moments, she turned to Matty. "Did you tell them?"
Matty shook his head. "They must have done their research."
Hardison and Parker exchanged a glance.
"Um, let's assume we didn't," said Hardison.
"We passed it earlier in the week when we were pretzeling," explained Parker. "It didn't look that great, so Hardison pulled up their financials and found out that they could really use some money." She frowned at Hardison. "Did you miss something?"
Hardison threw up his hands in defense. "I was a little bit busy with all the election stuff I had to do. I didn't have time to look into it any more than that."
"What's so special about that orphanage, Maria?" asked Sophie.
"It's where my father grew up," said Maria.
"And my mother," Matty added.
Eliot nearly took a step backward from the force of that revelation. He'd known Juan for years, considered him a second father, even, but he'd never known that Juan was an orphan. And he'd only rarely heard Matty talk about his mother, and certainly never anything about her childhood.
As if in answer to Eliot's thoughts, Matty said, "My father and Juan were best friends from the day they met at school, and my mother knew Juan because they were at the orphanage together. That's how they met. That orphanage is —" He looked away, swallowing before finishing thickly, "It's a very important part of our family's history." He returned his gaze to Parker and Hardison. "Did you really not know that? You just … saw an orphanage and wanted to help?"
Hardison shrugged awkwardly, but his faced shifted immediately to concern when he saw Parker, who had closed in on herself. He moved to put his arm around her, but she jerked away. He frowned, slightly hurt, but kept his distance.
Eliot's fists clenched reflexively, like they always did when he saw Parker so vulnerable. She stared at the floor, arms wrapped tightly around her torso, and asked in a voice so small it no longer sounded like Parker, "Juan — the General — is an orphan?"
"Yeah," said Matty.
"And your mom?" Parker couldn't have seen Matty nod, since she was focused intently her feet, but her breath hitched as if she had. "And —"
"Me," Matty finished, the word barely above a whisper. He didn't seem upset or angry, but merely stated it like the fact it was, as if he'd come to terms with it long ago and no longer felt any emotions surrounding the situation. He clearly understood its effect on Parker, however, because his gaze never left her for a moment.
With a sniff, Parker hugged herself even more tightly, blinking back tears. "So many orphans."
The team knew that when Parker was like this, she didn't like to be touched, so they always gave her space, no matter how much Eliot wanted to wrap her in his arms and tell her that everything was okay now, that no one would ever hurt her again. But Matty had only known Parker for a few days; he hadn't had time to learn what Parker needed under these circumstances. So when Eliot saw Matty move, he nearly threw out an arm to stop him.
Matty, however, clearly understood more than Eliot had given him credit for, because he only crossed his arms and took the tiniest step in Parker's direction. If Parker noticed it, she didn't show it. Matty ducked his head in an attempt to meet her downcast eyes, and she, almost imperceptibly, raised her head to look at him.
"You're right," Matty said. "Too many orphans." His voice was gentle and kind, but not condescending. Eliot got the impression, as he had the day before, that this was Matty's Dad Voice. "My country has a dark, violent past. We're so small the world forgets about us, so we've been suffering for years, alone and in pain." He took another small step toward Parker, and she raised her head another inch — not out of fear or wariness, Eliot realized, but in order to see him better. "But we have help now. The world knows who we are, and they want to make things better. We're not alone anymore." Matty glanced around at the team. Parker did, too, straightening up and dropping her arms to her side. A small smile graced her lips. It was obvious they weren't just talking about San Lorenzo anymore.
"The worst is behind us," Matty continued, with larger step forward this time. "Now we can start to heal." He leaned in close and dropped his voice, like he was telling a secret. Parker didn't budge. "You guys did that. You and your team helped us. Because of that, there won't be so many orphans now. And the ones that are here are going to have better lives because of what you did. You, Parker." Matty smiled, and it was the animated smile Eliot had seen when he'd spoken to his son the day before. "Thank you."
Parker was silent for a moment, returning Matty's smile. Then she frowned and shoved her shoulder bag at Matty. She spoke quickly, her words piling on top of each other. "I really like shiny things and there were hundreds of gold bars, so I kept two and Hardison made me papers for them so I can go through customs, but you should have them. For the orphanage." She darted a quick glance at Maria. "Or to help make the country better."
Eliot couldn't believe his ears. Parker offering to give away everything she'd stolen?
Clearly he wasn't the only one who'd been affected by their trip to San Lorenzo.
Matty didn't make a move for the bag. He just cocked an eyebrow. "I told you, we raided Moreau's mansion this morning. We didn't find any gold bars. That's just a rumor."
His eyes twinkled, and in that moment, Eliot saw a glimpse of Juan. Juan might not have been Matty's biological father, but there was no doubt that Matty was Juan's son. To Eliot's amazement, the thought prompted not bitter jealousy, but a sense of pride. In a weird, roundabout way, his departure and absence had helped to solidify Matty and Juan's relationship. Perhaps he'd been meant to leave, so Matty and Juan could heal, and he could find the team.
Eliot was jolted from his thoughts when Parker startled everyone by throwing her arms around Matty in a hug. After taking a second to recover from his initial surprise, Matty returned the gesture. He seemed to understand how special it was.
Parker breathed in deeply through her nose. "Mmm. I love the smell of San Lorenzo."
Matty pulled away quickly with an awkward chuckle.
"Parker," said Eliot and Nate at the same time.
Parker gave an unconvincingly innocent look. "What?"
They both stared at her, but Eliot saw Nate's eyes flick to him, searching intently for something. He kept his own gaze on Parker without waiting to see if Nate found what he was looking for.
Parker finally relented, heaving an impressive full-body sigh. "But they're so shiny!" she whined, dropping eight small, pewter stars into Matty's hand.
Matty's jaw dropped, and he gaped at his shoulders, now devoid of any indication of rank. "What the — ? How — ?"
Parker shrugged. "I'm a thief."
"And on that lovely note," Sophie smoothly cut in, "we should probably be going." She moved to hug Maria. "It was so lovely to meet you, dear."
"You, too." Maria planted a kiss on Sophie's cheek in the traditional San Lorenzan goodbye, which was immediately followed by a squeak as Parker launched herself into Maria's arms the moment Sophie retreated.
Eliot had to smile at Parker's enthusiasm. In the past few minutes, she had hugged both Maria and Matty, people she'd known for barely a week. He felt a sense of calm contentment at seeing these two sets of people he cared so much about — these people he'd risk his life for in an instant — getting along so well. It was like they fit together.
"Send pictures of the babies crawling out," Parker said. "I want to see how it all works!"
Maria laughed as she hugged Hardison. "I wouldn't want to miss out on an educational opportunity. I'll be sure to have Matty down there with a video camera."
Matty broke away from Sophie; their hug was just long enough to be awkward. "No, Matty will not be down there with a video camera. I stay strictly above the waist, thank you very much. I don't need nightmares."
"What, Ramirez, you don't want to be elbow-deep in placenta?" Eliot said with a wink.
Matty shot him a glare, but Eliot just grinned.
"Oh no, it's not that," Maria teased. "He's just worried the camera will catch him crying like he did when Berto was born. And there are two babies this time, so there'll be twice the tears."
Matty flushed a deep red. "What? I did not."
Hardison placed a hand on Matty's shoulder. "Crying when your kids are born is normal, man. Expected even. I'm sure you're a great dad. And a great husband, and general, and all-around perfect guy. Am I right, Eliot?"
Eliot knew Hardison was trying to get a rise out of him, so he tried to let the comment roll off his back. It was then that he realized Matty hadn't hemmed and hawed, or blushed, or shown any of his usual embarrassment at being complimented.
Instead, he'd tensed, shot the tiniest of glances at Maria, and then looked away again, scowling at a spot on the floor. If Eliot hadn't known better — and maybe he didn't — he'd have thought Matty looked guilty. Maria didn't meet his glance, folded and unfolded her arms, and then gave a forced smile.
The entire exchange happened so quickly Eliot would have missed it if he didn't know them so well. Eliot had no clue what the hell that was about, but he decided then and there that he was going to find out. They were supposed to be okay now.
Hardison, oblivious, held out his hand to Matty when he stopped scowling at the floor, and they performed their odd handshake. In spite of himself, Eliot felt a surge of something that wasn't quite jealousy. He'd thought that type of handshake was unique to him and Hardison, a symbol of their friendship, and here Hardison was sharing it with someone he just met. A person who happened to be, as Hardison himself had just said, all-around perfect guy Matty Ramirez. No, it wasn't jealousy he was feeling. It was hurt. Apparently Eliot wasn't good enough for Hardison anymore.
He tried to shake the feeling. That was stupid. Hardison was outgoing and made friends easily.
So why did it bother him? He was planning to leave anyway, so what did he care?
Eliot gritted his teeth. Damn his subconscious, manifesting itself until it forced its way into his conscious thoughts. As it turned out, he didn't need Pete's voice in his head — he was doing just fine on his own.
When Maria opened her arms to hug Nate, the mastermind awkwardly dodged it, instead holding out his hand for a shake. Maria, graceful as always, took the slight in stride.
"It was nice to meet you," she said, her tone formal. "Thank you for everything."
Nate gave one of his signature short nods in response, and his eyes came to a rest on Matty.
The two men stared at each other in silence for a few eternal seconds. Then they both spoke at the same time.
"Thank you, Nate."
"I'm sorry, Matty."
Matty blinked. "What?"
Nate held Matty's gaze. "I'm sorry we stole your country."
.
.
.
A stunned silence settled on the circle. Eliot couldn't believe his ears. Nate Ford, apologizing?
"But we saved San Lorenzo and stopped Moreau," said Parker.
"Yes, but we also subverted democracy." Nate looked around the circle, frustrated. "Doesn't anybody other than Matty have a problem with that? I sure as hell do."
Matty resembled a kid who had just been told Santa Claus wasn't real. "But you said — you told me that —"
"I said what I needed to say to get you to do what I needed you to do," said Nate. "But you were right."
Matty's jaw tightened. "Then why didn't you do something different?"
"I had plenty of plans to turn Ribera against Moreau that didn't have anything to do with the election. But they would have taken more time, and that was the one thing we didn't have." Nate rubbed his forehead roughly. "Earlier this year we took down Larry Duberman. I don't usually think about what happens after we finish a job, and because I failed to consider the consequences, we watched Juan, a man who has sacrificed nearly everything for his country, get beaten and arrested by Moreau's thugs. Because of us. Moreau said he'd be in prison until the election, but he made it perfectly clear that he wouldn't live long past it. And the election was in a week. I'm good, but ..." He shook his head in frustration. "There was no way I could put my plans into motion in that short a time. The only way to do it was to use the election."
Everyone was agape. Eliot was so angry he was shaking. Nate Ford, self-proclaimed thief, had just taken down one of the world's most dangerous and untouchable criminals. He'd refused to pull the plug, had insisted on finishing the job in spite of the risk to the team, and now he was having second thoughts?
The only thing that kept Eliot from hauling off and decking Nate, or grabbing him by the shoulders and shaking him senseless, was seeing how agitated Nate was. He'd started to pace in front of Matty — only a few steps back and forth, but that just made him seem more anxious than if he'd been pacing across a room. He was also talking too fast; Nate usually spoke slowly and deliberately, giving every word time to sink in for maximum dramatic effect. Now he was almost babbling.
"I can't tell you how many hoops we had to jump through to get here under the radar," Nate continued. "And within a couple of hours, Moreau had blown Plans A through Z to smithereens when he figured out we were in the country." He threw a small but significant glare in Sophie's direction. "Eliot and I had quite a heated argument about how to move forward." Matty looked at Eliot, eyebrows raised. Nate's eyes flickered to Eliot for a millisecond before he spun on his heel to pace away. "He wanted to pull the plug, and he was right. His job is to protect the team, and that was the safest and smartest thing to do. But Juan was in prison, we'd put his family in danger, and by that point we'd pulled in Vittori. I couldn't just —"
Nate stopped and ran his hands through his hair, and only then did Eliot notice how terrible he looked: he hadn't showered, he was clearly hungover, and the enormous bags under his eyes signified that he hadn't had a good night's sleep in … well, probably since all this Moreau crap started. He looked about as awful as Eliot felt. Eliot couldn't even muster up anger anymore, because now everything was falling into place — the fake smiles, the lack of the usual gloating, even, to a certain extent, his refusal to meet Eliot's eyes. Maybe it wasn't all because of the warehouse; maybe part of it was because Nate was feeling guilty about stealing a country.
Nate took a few deep breaths and resumed pacing. "We couldn't just leave, but Eliot was right. It was dangerous, and he only agreed to let us continue if I let him get some backup."
That wasn't entirely true, but Eliot didn't interrupt. Nate was on a roll, and Eliot wanted to know how this all came down to Nate apologizing to Matty.
"That's when he brought you guys in, and damn if it wasn't the best thing he could have done. Juan and Maria weren't exactly pleased with the idea of stealing the country, but they accepted it as a necessary evil. But you —" Nate's brow furrowed deeply, as though Matty was a puzzle that had him completely baffled. "You're one of the most uncompromisingly honest people I've ever met, and this tiny, long-suffering country is the last place I expected to find someone like you. With everything you've been through, I have no idea how in the hell you're not a cynical bastard like I am, but you're good and fair and honest. And I, cynical bastard that I am, had to con you. And it worked."
Nate's laugh was mirthless, and bitter, and borderline hysterical. He sounded like he was losing it, which was more than a little disconcerting. "We won." He threw up his hands helplessly. "The entire world thinks this is San Lorenzo's first free election, but it's all a goddamn lie! All we did was steal this country from the people, just like Moreau's always done. But I did it better, because I did the one thing he could never do — I got Matty Ramirez to help me." He shook his head. "You shouldn't be thanking me. I took one of the most honest men I've ever met, the best hope this country has for the future —" Nate threw his arms out in front of him, indicating Matty. "— and conned him."
He finally stopped pacing and looked Matty in the eyes, brow furrowed, face anguished. "I'm sorry, Matty."
No one spoke for a long moment. Nate had never gone off like this before, and he certainly never apologized to a client. Then again, Matty wasn't exactly their usual client, and this job wasn't like at all like their usual jobs.
The silence was broken by a chuckle.
Matty Ramirez was shaking his head and laughing in the face of Nate's confession.
Whatever response Nate had expected, it wasn't that. Eliot had never before seen the mastermind speechless, and he dearly hoped Hardison was somehow recording this for posterity.
"That was a nice little homily, Nate."
Matty stopped to chuckle again, and Nate stared.
"Don't get me wrong, I appreciate the apology, and I'm honored that you feel guilty about it on my behalf. But you didn't con me."
Nate seemed to have gathered his thoughts again because he inhaled to argue, but Matty held up a hand.
"You didn't con me. I knew exactly what I was doing. I didn't like it, but I made a choice because, like you said, there wasn't another one. It was steal the election out from under Moreau, or get our asses kicked. Again. And as someone so eloquently reminded me the other night —" He glanced at Maria. "I am sick and tired of fucking losing. I had my doubts, for sure, but you and your team came through beyond what I could ever have imagined. It was the first free election in San Lorenzo — or the closest to it we've ever been. We had a real opposition candidate, and the polls — which I know were not manipulated, because a certain twenty-four-year-old genius with a smartphone and a problem with authority was far too busy to do that on top of everything else —" He winked at Hardison, who beamed and pointed back in acknowledgement. "The polls said the results were too close to call right up until the end. You wrapped Moreau up in a nice little bow and left him on my doorstep, you served us Ribera on a silver platter, and you left us all the pieces we need to start to build something great. And as if that wasn't enough, when the job was done you decided, out of the goodness of your hearts, to help a struggling orphanage get back on its feet."
Matty smiled at Parker and let his gaze drift around the circle, resting on each member of the team in turn, before finally settling it on Nate. He paused for a moment, and then said softly, "You saved my family and my country. You have nothing to apologize for."
Then, just as the moment threatened to become too serious, he smirked. "And while I appreciate that you're very good at what you do, I promise you didn't do any permanent damage to my honesty. Wouldn't you agree, El?"
Eliot laughed at the absurdity of the idea. "I don't think there's anything that could ever keep you from being a sanctimonious son-of-a-bitch, if that's what you're asking."
Matty turned back to Nate, nodding his head in Eliot's direction. "See? And you can trust him, because he hates that about me."
That wasn't true — well, it wasn't entirely true. That, more than anything that had come before, convinced Eliot that the two of them needed to have a long, serious conversation, but now wasn't the time.
Nate frowned at the joke and opened his mouth yet again to argue. But before he could say anything, Matty pulled back the collar of his own shirt, revealing a scar just above his left collarbone. Eliot could tell from its large and irregular shape that it had been nasty, even for a bullet wound. He felt another pang of guilt that he'd only found out about the injury earlier in the week.
"I got this three years ago," Matty said, "by jumping in front of a bullet meant for the bastard I arrested this morning. Trust me — that type of idiotic righteousness can't be killed by a single conversation with anyone, even if he is the great Nate Ford."
The last words took on an almost mocking tone, and Matty's eyes twinkled. He released his collar, covering up the scar once more, but Nate's unreadable gaze remained fixed on the spot.
"I'm a military man, Nate. I understand that sometimes you have to make sacrifices in order to accomplish a goal. In fact, if I've learned anything in my life, it's that the noblest goals require the toughest sacrifices. This was a tough sacrifice, but I've faced tougher." His eyes flicked to Eliot. "And I can't think of a goal more noble than this. Tactically, stealing the election was the best move. And I don't have any regrets about it."
Nate blinked, finally tearing his gaze from the place Matty's scar had disappeared and raised an eyebrow. "Tactics and sacrifices?" He leaned in conspiratorially. "Tell me, General — do you play chess?"
Matty's eyes glittered with something Eliot hadn't seen there in years, and an unexpected memory floated to the top of Eliot's mind, different from all the previous ones.
.
.
.
Eliot stared at the chess board. He was losing, badly. Ten white pieces lined the left side of the board: his casualties, glaring resentfully across at the few black pieces he'd been able to capture. His only remaining pieces were three pawns, a rook, and a bishop.
And Matty Ramirez sat across from him, smirking, arms crossed in that annoying, smug way he had.
Eliot's concentration was not aided by Pete's impatient sighs and Maria's muttering.
"Hurry it up, El," said Pete.
"I'm thinking," Eliot said.
"Why don't you just move your penis-shaped guy?"
Maria snorted. Eliot just rolled his eyes.
"It's a bishop, Pete, and you know it," said Matty, cringing. "And I'm not even going to start about how sacrilegious that is."
"You know what's sacrilegious?" asked Pete. "Making a piece that looks like a penis and calling it a bishop. That's anti-Catholic!" He pounded his fist on an open palm in mock outrage.
"No, it's accurate," said Maria. "You've seen their hats. Plus, bishops only move in a straight line, right?" She wagged her finger and said in a stern tone, "Toe the line! Jesus said so!"
Matty looked aghast. "Both of you go stand over in that corner so I don't get hit when you get struck by lightning."
"All of you shut up!" snapped Eliot. He needed to think.
"El, hurry up and lose," said Pete. "I want to go drinking."
"You can wait," Eliot growled.
"We've been waiting. For over an hour." Pete sighed dramatically, this time throwing his whole body into it. He was such a teenage girl sometimes. "Just because you and Matty have decided that chess is your new way of measuring your … bishops —"
"Pete!" Eliot and Matty groaned.
Maria laughed. "Oh yeah. Definitely bishop-measuring." She and Pete shared a smirk.
"Seriously, El," said Pete. "I told you not to start with the Queen's Gambit. That's amateur. You've been in check for the past six moves. You have five pieces left. He'll have you checkmated in three more moves unless —"
Eliot finally made a decision and moved his bishop. "Ha. Check."
"— you do that." Pete sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose.
Matty moved his queen. "Checkmate." His eyes gleamed with pride and victory, and his smile was infuriating. "Want to go again?"
.
.
.
The memory baffled Eliot. It was the first time in a very long time — eight years, really — that a memory of San Lorenzo was completely happy, and he wasn't entirely sure why. Perhaps because it could be repeated in the present? Even the twinge he felt at the memory of Pete teaching him how to play chess wasn't enough to keep him from grinning, in spite of the gesture's obvious opposition to the general sentiment of the circle — the groans of the team and Maria were less than enthusiastic about the topic of chess.
Nate didn't take his eyes off Matty. "How good is he, Eliot?"
Matty snorted. "Eliot's never beaten me."
"Eliot's not that hard to beat," said Nate.
Even the unnecessary jabs couldn't dampen Eliot's mood. He shrugged. "I beat you once, Ramirez."
Matty rounded on him. "That was a draw!"
Eliot almost laughed at the ferocity of the reaction. Matty crossed his arms and calmly returned his gaze to Nate. "So technically, you've still never beaten me."
Nate's mouth formed his first genuine smile of the day. "Come visit us in Boston, and we'll play."
"Boston?" Matty's face lit up, and Eliot knew why. "If we do ever visit, it'll be Fenway first, then chess."
The elder General Ramirez had loved baseball — specifically the Boston Red Sox, for some arcane reason Eliot couldn't remember — and he'd passed that passion down to his son. Matty had never seen a live game before.
Maria put her face in her hands. "Chess and baseball? They'll be impossible."
Eliot chuckled. "You have no idea. And they'll use it as an excuse to be melodramatic and measure their …" He smirked. "Bishops."
Maria laughed, and then looked sharply at Eliot, as if only then realizing the importance of him making that specific joke. Matty looked shocked, but his smile, though slow to come, was genuine. Nate cocked an eyebrow, and Sophie clucked disapprovingly.
"I don't get it," whispered Parker.
"I'll tell you later," said Hardison.
An announcement sounded over the loudspeaker.
"That's my flight," said Hardison. "Yours too, Soph."
Everyone fell silent. No one wanted to leave.
"Thank you all," said Maria. "For everything."
Matty held out his hand to Nate. "Yes. Thank you."
"I just wish I could have done better by you," said Nate, taking Matty's hand.
"My children are going to grow up in a San Lorenzo that's safe and free," said Matty. "And a whole generation of kids won't have to grow up without parents because of Damien Moreau. So honestly, Nate — I don't think you could have done it better." He gave Nate a short, quick nod, which the mastermind returned. "And I think —" His smile faded, and he took a deep breath before speaking again. "I think that Sam would be proud of what you've done for us."
Nate stiffened. The color drained from his face. He took a step back, as though Matty had punched him.
"I — right — well — nice to meet you." Without looking at the team, he muttered, "See you in two weeks," and spun on his heel, putting as much space between himself and the circle as possible.
Matty swore in Spanish, running a hand through his hair. He looked helplessly at Eliot. "I didn't mean to —"
"It's all right," Sophie said, placing a gentle hand on his arm. "I know it doesn't seem like it, but that actually means a lot to him." She looked over her shoulder in the direction Nate had scampered. "I'll go talk to him."
But she didn't move.
Why was she hesitating?
"His flight doesn't leave for another hour, but you need to go, Soph," said Hardison. "Your plane's boarding. So's mine." He looked after Nate, concerned, but shrugged feebly. "I gotta go. See y'all in two weeks."
He left toward his gate. Parker gave Nate a last parting glance, then hitched up her bag — laden with the gold bars and the forged papers to get them through customs — gave a quick wave, and followed the hacker.
"Hey, Hardison, since Eliot's not going to Rio, can you change my ticket?"
Sophie still stared after Nate, but her feet were rooted to the spot.
"You go catch your flight," Eliot said to her. "I'll talk to him."
He could have sworn he saw Sophie's eyes flash in relief — what the hell was going on with her? — but she covered the momentary lapse a millisecond later with a frown. "Did you get a chance to speak with him in private last night? Or today?"
Eliot didn't answer, which was answer enough.
Sophie bit her lip. "I'm not sure it would be a good idea for you to talk to him now. Not with him like this and you …"
She drifted off, not meeting his eyes.
"You're still thinking about leaving?" Maria finished Sophie's thought, but in a much more accusing tone. "Eliot, you can't —"
"Maria." Matty's voice was firm. "It's his decision."
Eliot tried to read Matty's eyes, but the man's mask was back up. Whether that was because of his guilt about what he'd said to Nate or his feelings — whatever they were — about Eliot leaving the team, Eliot didn't know.
What he did know was that he was finally going to have to have that talk with Nate.
"Soph, go catch your flight. I'll talk to him."
"Are you sure?"
No, he wasn't sure at all. A sick, heavy dread was forming in the pit of his stomach.
He forced a smile. "Yeah, I'm sure."
Sophie wasn't convinced, as he knew she wouldn't be, but she accepted his offer, more than eager to avoid a conversation of her own with Nate.
She gave him a hug. "Good luck," she whispered in his ear. "And remember what we talked about."
Her words from the previous night came back to him: "You should look him in the eyes. I think you'll be surprised by what you find there."
She kissed him on the cheek, flashed her grifter smile, and waved to Maria and Matty. "It was lovely meeting you. Good luck with everything, darlings."
She blew them a kiss — not a corny gesture, coming from her, but classy as always. A graceful touch of her lips to her fingers, followed by a small, queenly wave. Then, with one last glance in Nate's direction, she turned and faded into the crowd.
Eliot stood awkwardly, trying to figure out a way around what he had to do next.
Nope.
He cleared his throat. "I'll see you two later, then," he said, starting after Nate.
"El."
He turned back. Matty's mask was blank as ever. He was silent for a long moment, as if debating internally, before finally speaking.
"Pete gave you a second shot. Don't blow it."
Eliot's breath caught. In eight years, he and Matty had never spoken so bluntly about Pete's death or its cause. But once again, in only a few words, Matty had managed to encapsulate everything that had been weighing on Eliot's mind.
He couldn't think of a way to respond. So he didn't. He whirled around and headed in the direction Nate had gone.
"Dinner's at six," Maria called after him cheerily. "Don't be late!"
In that moment, Eliot wasn't sure who he feared more — the formidable, honest pair who were currently engaging him in an effective, though perhaps unintentional, game of Good Cop Bad Cop, who somehow loved him in spite of an eight-year absence and a past darker than midnight; or the mastermind and head of his current family, who was always conning, plotting, planning, usually to protect that family, but who had seen the deepest midnight two weeks ago and started running, not stopping to look back yet.
Eliot shuddered. They were each, in their own way, damned terrifying.