Notes: Well collage is settling down and in and I think I'll be able to manage about two posts a week. Thats my goal anyway. I'll try for more when I have time.
I had trouble with this post. Somehow writting this while plotting out the In the Shadow of a Gunman arc (which is all about Eliot being very protective of the team) causes a bit of a dicotomy. Anyway, hope you enjoy it. I had to mess around a lot with FF to get it posted.

The Way of the World
After the Homecoming Job Nate and Eliot play chess and reflect on the ways of the world.

Later he wouldn't really remember how he ended up over at Nate's place. Sure, he could recall in exact detail his route, mode of transport, even the time each step of the trip took. He could remember the details he just didn't feel like he'd made the trip. It was the sort of disassociation he was more used to when he'd been drugged or slipped over to the Black Knight.

He wasn't used to it just being from being lost in his head a little. He normally managed to avoid that sensation.

But somehow here he was, knocking on Nate's door a little after midnight, hours after the team had met up to celebrate their first successful helping people job and broken up not long later when they'd all been collectively disturbed by the bartender where they'd gathered assuming they were friends.

Somehow here he was, with no more excuse for his presence than the offer of a rematch for the chess game they'd played back in Chicago.

Nate answered the door and smiled. "Was wondering when you'd show up." Was all he said.

Eliot didn't like the fact he'd apparently become rather predictable after only two jobs.

Hell he didn't like that he was predictable at all. It was dangerous in his line of work.

He followed Nate into his apartment and back into the living room where the old stone chess set he'd sent Nate after their little chase through Italy was set up. Eliot could only smile. The weather-beaten white knight he'd carried for a year stuck out against the polished stone pieces.

Kinda like him. He may be playing a white knight now days but Eliot's armor was more dinged up than most.

Neither man spoke as they settled down to play the game. Years ago Nate might have filled the silence with a rambling talk that was part story, sermon, and lesson. Within the walls of cell number eight he'd helped long hours pass by teaching a much younger Eliot like a father might.

But ten years had changed them and two jobs were enough to know that the fledgling sense of father and son had died. Eliot was no longer the young man he had once been, somehow still reaching for a hint of guidance and father figure to replace the monster he'd been given. Nate had lost his son and let the father in him die with it. Even if a hint of it might still exist he was suppressing it, Eliot's line of work far to dangerous for him to allow even a chance that he might have to deal with the pain of another son dying.

Years had changed them and stolen the need for words.

Now it was enough to share the silence, indulge in the hint of comfort of what had once been while still trying to figure out what might yet be.

Pieces were exchanged and plays made. He moved his battered knight to protect a pawn, a odd move but he could see strategy playing out down the line.

He smiled bitterly, his white knight protecting a pawn on masterminds orders…

It was odd, how carefully Nate would step when it came to Eliot. The others didn't notice, or maybe they did, but he skirted Eliot's duties and never asked for more than necessary.

At the hospital Eliot had been the one to take down the hitmen to protect Perry. He was the hitter taking out the threat to getting the job done, in this case ensuring the client lived long enough for the job to get done.

But as soon as the immediate threat had passed Nate had taken over. Nate had taken Perry to his car, and from there to his safe house, and never once even looked toward Eliot in the process. Where others might have assumed that Eliot was the best person to ensure Perry was safely tucked away Nate knew better.

Hitters weren't bodyguards, they were perhaps the worst bodyguards you could hire. Their entire existence was about protecting themselves before others and the only exception was directly for a job.

Even for a job it only went so far before self preservation won out and the job was left hanging in favor of walking out alive.

And those who hired hitters quickly learned what Nate was obviously trying to avoid. If you press a Hitter to take a role of a bodyguard they're as likely to just walk away.

Most of the criminal world understood that was just how it worked. Sophie and Parker understood and even if Hardison seemed a little confused when Nate and Perry went off leaving Eliot to return to home base with the others he was still a kid. He'd learn or get himself killed. It was how the world worked. Unless he started assuming Eliot would be his guardian angel it wasn't really Eliot's issue.

"You know Nate once told me why he's not like the others in his work." Sophie said from the doorway of his darkened office, breaking his reverie as he waited for Nate to get back. "Why he sees us as capable of more than just being theives. He said he'd been taken hostage and spent two weeks sharing a cell with a young hitter who helped him escape, even protected him."

Eliot watched her dispassionately, not letting on anything more than a faint interest in her getting to her point.

"That was you, wasn't it?" She asked, or stated maybe, as she walked a little further into the room. "I couldn't quite figure it out before, but it would explain."

"What?"

"Nothing." Sophie said with a little smile and shrug. "I'm just passing time and trying to figure out the rule of this team of ours." She turned away. "It's odd to find a hitter with a protective streak."

Before he could argue Hardison called out that Nate was heading back. Eliot grabbed the bag and headed out for the conference room.

Alright, he did have a protective streak where family was involved and maybe it extended just a little towards Nate.

But he was the god damned hitter of the team. He hoped Sophie wasn't going to start thinking he'd be her white frikken knight.

White knight protecting pawns, protecting the other pieces.

Stupid.

He made his next move then watched, surprised, as Nate's black knight came out of nowhere taking one of his pieces.

God damnit. When did the world start sneaking up on him that was Parker's job.

He'd been in his office again, trying to get rid of all the crap Hardison had put in there that he didn't want and kill time before the next part of the job. He was moving around furniture to make room for a comfortable arm chair that didn't look like it belonged on the bridge of some frikken starship when Parker appeared.

The door was still closed.

He didn't want to know. "What do you want Parker?"

"Teach me how to fight." She said. He blinked at her once and then opened his mouth trying to form some kind of answer. She interrupted him. "We have a hitter which means there will be hitting but you won't protect us. Hitters are hitters not shields. If theres hitting going on I need to know how to hit. So you need to teach me."

"No." He started, a dozen reasons appearing in his mind for why that was a Bad Idea. They ranged from the fact there was something wrong with her and he didn't want to give that firepower to the fact she seemed-.

He didn't have time to finish the thought before she shrugged. "Oh, alright" and left through the door calling over her shoulder that Nate probably wanted them to leave for the con's next part soon.

He was left standing in his office, with the finished thought playing in his head. "to the fact she seemed messed up enough already without dipping her toes into his world."

Since when did he care that she was going to get more messed up if she messed around in the world of Hitters? Oh, yeah, because he was being forced to work with her and he could do without her being more wrong than she was.

He'd go with that.

"Theres somthin' wrong with her."

Nate was giving him the look that meant he was taking a little long to make his next move.

With a long sigh Eliot moved another piece. He needed to stop thinking about the team as chess and start thinking about chess before Nate kicked his ass.

"Protect your bishop." Nate said, a hint of amusement in his voice.

Eliot scanned the board and realized the source.

The bishop, the piece his mind that seemed to associate everything with chess when Nate was involved thought of Hardison as, was being threatened.

The battered old knight was the old piece that could protect it. The act would cost him the piece though he knew it was better to lose a knight and keep his bishop and momentum but.

Had Nate learned how to read minds and not mentioned it?

He didn't think Hardison would have told Nate about their little talk earlier.

It had been an offhand comment, just some random remark that should never have even registered in Eliot's head.

But things had spun out of control all day and they were finally settling down. The job was over, they were on their way back to the office (and why was he giving Hardison a ride?) and Eliot was trying to relax. His nerves had been fraying from the fact he was working with *people* and that the whole problem of violence thing.

He should have let it slide, he actually was rather good at picking his battles and not letting the little things get to him.

Okay, he didn't let all the little things get to him.

But it was Hardison mouthing off about Eliot being the teams champion protector against evil and god knew what he was actually on and Eliot pulled the truck over and screeched to a halt. He whirled sharply toward Hardison. "Will you shut it already. " Hardison actually seemed a little afraid of him. Good.

He was ignoring the twinge of something that wasn't good.

"Dude? I was only joking man. Lighten up." Hardison said, hands raised and an expression of 'theres something wrong with that man' sliding across his face. "Whats your problem?"

"My problem?" He asked, trying to reign it back in enough that Hardison only was a little worried Eliot was going to deck him. He took another deep breath and let it out, shifting the truck back into gear and pulling out onto the road again. "My problem is you didn't know what I do. You want to last long? Learn about the other lines. Learn what retrieval specialists are. We're hitters. We hit, we don't protect."

Hardison, to his credit, seemed to recover from whatever shock he was in quick enough to try to stutter something out.

Eliot wasn't hearing it. "I watch out for my own back, maybe Nate's cause I owe him. The rest of you, unless it's to do the job, have ta watch out for yourselves. Ya all got so spooked when someone came after Perry. That's the way of the world in my line. If I don't watch my back I'll end up dead. If you think I'm watchin' your back you'll end up very dead. Got it?"

The rest of the ride was silent, but Eliot never felt Hardison's eyes leave him.

Nate took his knight.

Nate fucking took his knight.

Oh, this was serious now.

"Yes." Nate said, breaking the train of thought he'd been forcing himself down to avoid and ignore the part of his mind mocking him for getting so wrapped up in the events of the last few days.

"What?" Eliot asked, looking up from the board for the first time in a while.

"They're afraid of you. On some level they're all afraid of you. They might always be." Nate sat back, studying Eliot with that expression that for the life of him Eliot could never read. "Does that bother you?"

"Should it?" Eliot asked with a shrug. "You saw how they got over Perry. We're all criminals but their worlds' different than mine." He shook his head and moved a piece. "Hardison thought I'd be protecting us."

"Can hardly blame him." Nate said with a little grin, moving his own piece. "In the few days we've worked together you've saved him from prison twice and saved his life once." He chuckled. "Just give them time. This team will pull them into your world and they'll understand soon enough."

Eliot paused, hesitating a moment before taking his next move. He wasn't sure why that…

"That does bother you." Nate said, only a hint of surprise in his voice. "Intresting."

They continued the game in silence, Eliot trying desperately to break Nate's momentum and turn the tables back. He was losing, badly, and couldn't seem to intercept Nate's strategy.

"You're a hitter." Nate said in the quiet while Eliot was trying to figure out his next move. "Your job begins and ends with making sure you get out alive. I'm not going to interfere with that or try to order you to do otherwise. You're a survivor and it's against your nature."

"Not a survivor." Eliot interjected. "Self preservation." He added, not taking his eyes off the board. After taking his move he looked up, explaining. "I'm practical. I know when my best option is to lay down and die. You should know I have a Hitter's back up plan." He turned his eyes back down to the board. "I've gotta couple good reasons not ta use it, but I'm a professional. I know when the game's up."

It took Nate a moment to regather. He had to know what Eliot meant. A Hitter's Back Up plan was a cyanide capsule implanted on a back molar in preparation of the day they were caught and couldn't escape. It was a way to end the pain for good.

"Good for me to know." Nate said with a small, curt nod. He made his next move and let out a breath. "I was saying I won't ask you to go against the laws of your world. I just have one question, you don't even have to answer."

"What?" Eliot asked, making his move.

"If you hadn't been determined to save me, would you have survived Cairo?" Nate moved his piece. "Check Mate." He stood from the board and wandered over to his bar, pouring himself a drink.

Eliot just watched him, a dozen different emotions and reactions whirling in the pit of his stomach and just a hint of something he didn't even recognize as he watched Nate and tried to work through what Nate had meant.

"I'm off to bed." Nate called over his shoulder. "Crash on the couch if you want."

Eliot turned his attention back toward the board. How the hell did this happen. Whirled around in his head.

Somehow, he was pretty sure he wasn't thinking about the lost chess game.

At least not the literal one.