Notes: This is a follow-up to "Scars"

Concerning New Rules, Old Scars, and Kitchen Knives

It wasn't long after Nate realized getting Eliot to tell the stories of his scars was helping him heal a little that Nate started to develop some rules for it. He was an honest man after all, and an honest man was only honest if he had rules. It kept him from doing something stupid.

The first rule was control, of course, though in this case it meant controlling his curiosity. Only one scar a night, he didn't want to push Eliot's trust in him too much. The second was never on a job since sometimes bad scars meant Eliot had nightmares afterwards and was distracted the next day and they couldn't afford to have Eliot not be on his game. The last was only when he was sober.

That last rule came the hard way.

It was a little under a month since they'd first talked at night about those whip marks. The team had finished a job the night before after nearly a week and a half and Nate had fallen back to drinking for reasons that may or may not have had something to do with the fact Eliot's half of the bed was always empty when they were on a job.

Eliot had a very strict interpretation of not mixing business with pleasure.

Nate had been drunk when Eliot had come to the apartment they shared. Drunk, and more than ready to make up for a lost week and a half.

He'd been too drunk to notice Eliot's distaste, the way he kept pulling away from Nate when Nate got close enough that Eliot could smell the liquor on his breath. He didn't notice how the man who was normally all to ready for whatever Nate was in the mood for was holding back and uninterested. It wouldn't be until later that Nate would realize the only reason Eliot was there in the first place was for all he said about not caring if Nate drank himself to death Eliot felt responsible for keeping him and their family together.

Nate didn't remember the sex, if they'd even had it. He didn't remember what had gotten him to remember to ask Eliot about this night's scar.

What he did remember of the night he almost wished he could forget.

The scar he'd picked was old, faded, a knife wound that looked like it might have come from Eliot's early days, maybe even before he'd made it to the big leagues. "This one." He'd said, tracing it from right shoulder to mid chest until it faded too much for him to follow.

Eliot breathed in closed his eyes and let out the breath slowly. Nate noticed his face twitched a little and he turned away, as close to refusing to answer as he'd come since they started this.

Nate traced the thin line of the scar again, trying to sooth the hitter's nerves, trailing the finger with soft kisses that normally caused Eliot to respond in all the best ways.

Instead Eliot pulled away, sliding over and sitting up so Nate wasn't touching him. "I got it three days after I turned twenty one." His voice was soft and hard at the same time. Nate could almost hear him focusing on self control as he answered the question. Eliot always answered Nate's questions, even times like these when it was clear he just wanted to be gone. "I was workin' as a bruiser for some small town crime boss when he decided I was gettin' to good at what I did. He sent seven of his guys to take me out. Before they killed me they wanted to know what I'd been doing with my cuts of the take since I barely spent any I didn't have to. Spent three days tied to a chair getting' real familiar with a cattle prod before I broke loose. Took 'em down but they got me with a knife. Nearly bled out."

Nate sat up and crawled over, wrapping his arms around Eliot for only a fraction of a second before Eliot broke away and turned to look at Nate, his eyes hardest. "Seven guys, three days, enclosed space. The smell of beer and whiskey got so thick I couldn't drink either for years."

Nate stopped moving and drew back, feeling sick to his stomach in ways that had nothing to do with the beers or whiskey that had been part of today's regiment.

Eliot got up and found his clothes, redressing quickly. He didn't say a word as he left. They didn't talk about it when they saw each other in the offices the next day either. They didn't mention it that night when they met at the apartment again. It wasn't until the set of shiny new kitchen knives Eliot had taken intrest in on the job appeared where the old set had been that either of them acknowledged what had happened.

Eliot picked up a knife, gave Nate a look somewhere between exasperation and gratitude before he turned to start chopping up some chicken for dinner.

A new set of knives he saw every night as he lingered in the kitchen while Eliot cooked and an old faded scar than seemed so much sharper than the others too him. Two reminders to an honest man that there were rules to follow for a reason.