Notes: This is the first in a short series within a series of one-shots.

Scars

The team learned very quickly not to ask Eliot about his scars. At the best of times he'd sigh, get an annoyed look and give some explanation that even Parker could tell had been made up. Other times he'd glare. If you did manage to get a story out of him he'd withdraw afterwards, back into his head and the dark places he'd been.

Nate didn't ask, he knew some wounds never really healed and prodding them like that would only bring back the pain.

But his curiosity burned every time he saw those scars and after he found himself sharing a bed with the retrieval specialist he took to learning those scars, memorizing every mark life had left on Eliot. He could recognize some easily enough, he knew from the scars on his own shoulders what bullets left, though the 14 bullet scars Eliot carried made Nate's shoulder hurt to see. There were knife marks, marks left by surgery, marks left by whips... Too many marks left by whips.

Nate's fingers traced the scars that crisscrossed Eliot's back. He never asked, he knew Eliot didn't like talking about the past and especially not times when he'd been hurt so badly. Still Nate always wondered who had hurt Eliot like this and something burned in his stomach he wasn't sure what to do with.

Beneath his hand Eliot sighed, lingering on the edge of sleep. "A prison camp in Croatia. I got caught, spent a couple months there before I escaped." Eliot said softly, breaking the silence himself. "Guards'd sooner beat ya than look at you. Kept you too weak ta fight back. Barely escaped alive."

After that Nate tried to balance his curiosity with patience. Eliot started to explain the scars he bore but nearly all had a story of pain and shame, of captivity and humiliation that left dark lingering behind bright blue eyes.

Nate didn't understand why Eliot would allow himself to be drawn back like that at first. It wasn't until a client asked about his scars and Eliot simply shrugged off the question Nate started to realize. In the telling Eliot wasn't reliving old pain, he was bleeding it off, putting old ghosts to rest and maybe finally leaving those dark places truly behind him.

Some wounds never really healed but maybe his were starting to.