Author's note: See Chapter 1 for disclaimers.
Once again, thanks to all those of you reading and/or reviewing! I hope you enjoy this next little bit about Eliot and guns...well, toy guns this time :D. ... Boys and their toys *insert eye roll here*.
"I thought you didn't like guns?" "Air gun." - The Morning After Job
"Never invite a drunk and a loaded shotgun to the same party."
Eliot's grandmother had told him that. He was eight, and wanted to know why she had a shotgun but no bullets.
It was coming up on Christmas, so he had been pretty sure he knew which party she was talking about, but –
"Who's the drunk, Grandma?" he had asked, frowning. "And why don't you just not invite them to your party?"
The look she had given him was one that, about fifteen years later, Eliot would call have 'veiled'.
"Well," she had said eventually, "you can never be sure one won't turn up, invited or not, can you? So why tempt fate?"
Eliot had given this due consideration, and he had to admit that he couldn't fault her logic.
When he had nodded, she had smiled at him and then handed over the string of Christmas lights she had been untangling.
"Here, take those out to your dad," she had told him. "That should finish off the outdoor decorations."
The lesson Eliot had taken from that little exchange hadn't been literal, but had served him well. Basically, he boiled it down to 'Keep idiots away from guns.'
There wasn't much he could do about the guns they already had – well, except take them away. But he could make sure he wasn't adding fuel to the fire, so to speak.
When he used guns, this meant always maintaining control of his weapon. Actually, that went for any weapon he carried – gun, knife, hand grenade... But guns in particular, because every idiot thought he knew how to use one, and that holding one made him the Lone Ranger, the Terminator, and the Guy in Charge, all rolled into one.
So, yes, maintain control. If you carry a weapon, make sure you know how to use it, are familiar with it,and know exactly where it is at all times. If you aren't physically capable of keeping it in your control, and out of the other guy's, hands, leave it at home. If you don't need it, or don't plan on using it, again, leave it at home.
When he stopped using guns, he adapted these rules to how he dealt the guns the other guys brought to the party: If they weren't in control of them - and Eliot had pretty high standards for 'in control' - take them away. If they were in control, take the control away first, and then the gun. Either way, take the gun out of play, at minimum by separating it from its ammunition.
The problem, he discovered, was the times when an effective disguise meant he couldn't just not carry a gun. You trying playing a cop or FBI agent in states where freakin' elementary school teachers carry guns to work, and see how far it gets you. An empty holster aroused far more suspicion than a less-than-perfect forgery of an ID or badge. He had tried carrying an unloaded weapon, but, unfortunately, too many of the standard issue law enforcement weapons made it far too easy to see when the ammunition clip was missing. He had, on occasion, resorted to loading the weapon with blanks. That way, if someone did get their hands on it, any shot they took was unlikely to be lethal. It wasn't a guarantee, though. And even a blank could be pretty damn disabling.
The air gun solution had felt like a stroke of genius. Eliot got the idea from a news story about a kid who had scared off a couple of carjackers with a convincing-looking toy gun. Interest piqued and curious as to how "convincing" the toys could be, he had done a little research at the local toy store under the guise of birthday present shopping for his nephew.
He had to say, some of those toys were pretty damn convincing. A couple nearby was arguing over how appropriate that was for toys intended for kids aged six to twelve years: Mom thought it would encourage violence and a cavalier attitude towards firearms and the damage they can wreak; Dad's eloquent rebuttal was along the lines of 'boys will be boys.' Eliot smirked a little, remembering a similar argument from the last of his nephew's birthdays he had actually made it to. The kid had been turning four, and Eliot had found a full miniature sheriff's outfit for his gift – Stetson, boots, vest, star, ... and a toy silver six shooter. The last item had been the point of contention: Uncle Eliot thought it was the best part; Mom wasn't convinced. Dad was a southern Baptist pastor, but hardly a pacifist, and had sided with Eliot.
"Aww, c'mon, Chrissy," he had entreated his wife. "Let the boy have a little fun. Don't try to tell me your brother didn't have toy guns when he was that age – or that you didn't play with them. I've seen the photos of you two having a shoot out in the back yard."
"Yeah, and look how that turned out," Chrissy had said, with a pointed look at her little brother.
But after a moment Chrissy had huffed a sigh and rolled her eyes, and the six shooter had stayed in the gift bag with the rest of the outfit. And the kid had loved it.
Back then, Eliot had still been working for his country – mostly. Enough that he could still say that to his family without feeling like he was lying...but not quite enough that he hadn't looked away under his sister's sharp gaze. Now... His smirk faded as he picked up a box containing a different model gun. Now he had to concede that maybe Chrissy had had a point.
Having had enough of shopping even for fake guns, he simply added the latest box to the stack in his arms and turned to go. As he did so, he realised he had attracted the attention of the arguing couple, whose dispute had faded in their shared disbelief over the toy gun shopping spree the long-haired, plaid-clad man in front of them was apparently going on.
"Shopping for my nephew," Eliot mumbled in explanation, pinned under the twin interrogatory gazes.
The woman's eyebrows inched even closer to her hairline.
"Him and his entire backwoods militia?" she asked, looking pointedly at the stack of boxes Eliot was holding.
Eliot looked down, noticing for the first time that he had gathered a collection of at least half a dozen toy guns, ranging from a pistol to a very authentic-looking AK-47.
"Oh, umm, no," he stammered, embarrassed. "I just – I don't know which one he'll like best. And I – I thought I saw kid over there about the same age, and I was going to ask what he thought..."
Eliot trailed off. He thought he saw the man's lips twitch in amusement as the woman snorted in disbelief, but neither of them said anything more. As he made his escape, he heard the woman address her husband again: "You see, that's exactly why I think we should get Peyton the chemistry set instead of the toy gun."
Eliot snorted a little to himself when he was sure he was out of ear shot. If she knew what he, Hardison and Parker could each do with a kid's chemistry set, she might rethink that recommendation...get the kid some water colours or a trumpet or something. He did, however, take heed of how suspicious a man buying quite such a large stash of toy guns might look and ditched four of them before he got to the cash register. He'd just have to hit another toy store or two to get the full selection to fit Hardison's little collection of law enforcement costumes.
Or maybe enlist Parker's help. She'd get a kick out of the job.
The effort was all worth it when the interference of Moreau's sniper meant they had to end the Vector job flying by the seat of their collective pants.
They had Moreau's codes, so, from that point of view, it no longer mattered if Vector testified. But to get justice for their client – not just the money he had lost, but justice – they still needed to invalidate Vector's immunity deal. Which meant preventing him from testifying...or, better yet, making the prosecutor not want his testimony because he had lost credibility with the grand jury. For that, the more unhinged and violent he looked, the better. But, at the same time, it had to be kept in mind that this was a guy with anger management issues who might actually be able to take Eliot in a close fight (even if they weren't on ice), and that the room was full of grand jurors and lawyers. Under those circumstances, no way was Eliot going to let him get his hands on a real gun, even one loaded with blanks: guys with anger problems fell into the same category as drunks on the 'loaded gun party guest list'. And a police officer carrying an unloaded gun would raise too many questions. The air gun, however, was perfect. Unprotected in Eliot's thigh holster, it was too tempting for an agitated Vector to ignore, and while the greatest danger it posed to anyone was if Vector decided to throw it at someone's head, his distraction while trying to get the 'gun' to fire was sufficient for Eliot – or, rather, Eliot, Hardison, and Parker with her tazer – to subdue him.
The biggest surprise, actually, was Hardison having walked around all day without realising he and Eliot were both packing air guns. The guy was smart enough to create an alias that could get a genuine Boston P.D. cruiser, but it never occurred to him to check what weapons he was and wasn't carrying? Never mind Parker and her joy in tazing people, that kind of obliviousness was the real menace to public safety. With the dual threat of Moreau and the Italian hanging over their heads, Eliot didn't have time to do anything about it right then. But, assuming that, one way or another, they managed to take Moreau down, and that the team somehow came out of that intact, there were definitely some classes in basic gun safety in Hardison's future.
Or maybe he could find a hacker who could write basic gun safety protocols into one of Hardison's little computer game things. That was probably the only way the kid would actually pay attention and learn something.
The End. (because all good things come in threes? well, until the fourth one of these things writes itself...)
PS. The next one might take a little time...I'm not sure how the next couple of snippets go, and I feel like I'm already starting to repeat themes. Maybe this is a sign that I should spend a bit more writing time on the story that is trying to have a plot to hold its bits and pieces together. :D
Alternatively, maybe it is a sign that the other characters each need a similar series. If that is the case, what might their "signature lines" or themes equivalent to Eliot's "I don't like guns" be? For example, Hardison's might be "Age of the Geek, baby" (although what I will do with THAT is a mystery given that my approach to technology is generally along the lines of 'keep pushing buttons until something happens, and, when it does, close your eyes and hope for the best!').