Gravel crunched beneath the car's tires as Eliot pulled up to the warehouse, parking the sleek black Mercedes next to the side entrance before swiftly shutting off the engine. The last time he was here Nate had been with him, but now taking the mastermind's car was the best he could do. Despite that, it gave his troubled mind just the slightest bit of consolation. He'd left his comm behind; he didn't need the team tracking him and he most certainly didn't need them listening. He scanned the area for threats out of habit as he got out.
The place looked completely deserted, but the hitter knew better.
He entered through the same doorway he'd used before, except this time the sight that greeted him was exactly what he had expected. Readied gunman flanked each side of the room, while Moreau sat comfortably at a small table adorned with two glasses, a beer, and a bottle of champagne. God, he couldn't wait for this nightmare to be over.
Moreau stood and opened his arms as the hitter walked in, a warm smile crossing his face. "Ah, Spencer! So glad you could make it."
He gestured the guns down in a display of trust, one that Eliot hated having to play along with. He then motioned to the chair next to him as he sat back down. "Please, have a seat."
Eliot stopped ten feet short of the table and stood, crossing his arms defiantly. "Moreau."
His former boss sighed, uncapping the bottle of champagne in front of him. "Well I guess this was to be expected, given how much time has passed. You may not want to sit for me anymore but at least you're still loyal enough to come when called."
Eliot was getting really, really fucking tired of the dog analogies. "I should've ended this when I had the chance. Saved myself a trip to San Lorenzo."
"You know," Moreau started, speaking leisurely as he poured himself a drink. "I really should've shot him right there in the hangar when I had the chance. Saved myself a few hundred rounds."
Eliot's knives were screaming to be freed from their holster, and he was having a hard time keeping himself from accommodating them. "Well ain't we all just full of regrets."
"But you see, that's where you and I differ. I realized the mistake I had made and remedied it." He took a sip of his champagne before continuing. "And here you are, the opportunity you missed out on re-presenting itself on a silver plate and yet you do nothing. You need a handler, someone to give you direction."
Eliot took the opportunity to redirect the conversation to Nate, hoping he could get Moreau to slip even the tiniest crumb of information about the mastermind. "I have a handler, and despite what you might think it ain't you. Not anymore."
Family was term Eliot would've liked to use, but in this situation he needed to choose his words carefully.
"So you say." Moreau leaned back, taking another sip of his drink before continuing. "But your so-called 'handler' and his crew were trying to break their way through my defenses for months, and you and I both know they would've been so much more successful if you would've bothered to help them. Yet you didn't."
The hitter's fists clenched. Moreau was right, as much as he hated to admit it. But helping the team on that level would've put them in the man's sights much earlier, a risk that he hadn't been willing to take. Not while he was still trying to find another way, get a shot in on his own.
"So," Moreau started, swirling the drink in his glass. "Were you watching my back? Because you most certainly weren't watching theirs."
Eliot's whole body tensed, Nate's voice running through his mind at Moreau's words.
"We've been chasing Moreau for six months, and you didn't tell us..."
"...'cause you're protecting him?"
"I was protecting them, not you," Eliot asserted, to himself as much as Moreau.
"Well that didn't work out very well for your former handler, now did it?" Moreau asked, though it clearly wasn't a question. A subtle smirk formed as he watched Eliot take that in.
The urge to jump over the table and end things instantly was overpowering, but he couldn't risk it. It might be a bluff; it might not. Moreau always knew just what buttons to push, but he had to think about Nate. He focused on his breathing to keep himself under control.
Moreau laced his fingers together, clearly enjoying the power he still held over his former employee. "Tell me, do they know your history? What you've done?"
At that Eliot couldn't help but drop his gaze. They had no idea. Not even close. He didn't answer, trying to block the visions that started creeping up on him.
His silence prompted a knowing smile from Moreau."I didn't think so. Because deep down inside you know they'll walk if your true colors ever see the light of day. Is that your idea of trust?"
Eliot couldn't stand the taunts for one more second, the anger in his voice rising as he glared at his opponent. "Does this little pep talk of yours have a point? 'Cause I got better places to be."
Like fucking anywhere.
His former boss's expression went from smug to bittersweet. "Back at the hotel, when I told you we should catch up, I really meant that. Watching what happened to you was almost a tragedy. You were the best at what you did, and then this merry little band of thieves came along and you lost your way."
Eliot put his hands in his pockets and slowly approached the table, stopping directly in front of it. The sound of guns cocking filled the warehouse, but the hitter didn't take his eyes off of the man in front of him. "That's where you're wrong, Moreau."
His former boss leaned back, prompting for clarification. "Oh?"
"That's right," Eliot growled. "I didn't lose my way. I found it."