Almost a month had passed. The team was safe, Moreau had been sent to a high security prison – after he was finally released from the hospital, that is – and Nate had more or less recovered from his injuries. Or at least acted like he had. Eliot knew better, noticing the almost imperceptible gestures of pain when the mastermind changed position too quickly, and he had the team make sure to keep him on the bench until he could make a full recovery.

He knew things shouldn't be bothering him, but they were.

He couldn't get the conversation he'd had with Moreau out of his mind. He'd expected the gnawing at his subconscious to fade with time but it'd only gotten worse, and he was starting to think that there was only one way he could get closure.

Tell them.

The mere thought of it seemed liberating, but at the same time it was fucking terrifying. Moreau was the only other person that knew his past, what he'd done, and he'd gone through great lengths to shield the team from that. Back in the park he'd essentially begged them not to ask, and they'd been kind enough not to.

And now here he was, about to be the one to bring it up. He'd had more than a handful of sleepless nights thanks to that, which meant plenty of time to think about what his game plan was.

He knew it would be best to speak to them individually, one-on-one. That would let him focus on each team member's expressions and body language to get a better read on their true reaction. He'd also decided that Nate should be first, as he'd already caught a glimpse of the former Eliot back in the warehouse. A small glimpse, but he needed to start somewhere.

He kept going back in forth between telling them and not, but the impulse to tell was winning the battle at the moment. So here he was, hiding in the shadows of the bar after hours as he watched the mastermind read through a stack of papers in preparation for their next con. A lurker, as Hardison would call him.

He stayed completely invisible, trying to figure out how the hell he was going to bring up the topic. Nate was absorbed in his work as always, and Eliot could tell by the look on his face that he clearly wasn't happy with the part he'd be playing.

The hitter smiled at that, thinking back to earlier that night when Nate and Hardison had been bickering about the mastermind's sideline roles in the last few cons they ran – Nate mistakenly assuming that was Hardison's doing – and how Sophie and Parker had laughed about the aliases they'd all been given. Nate of course hadn't stopped protesting against all of it, but unfortunately for him it was four against one.

Other than that things seemed to be more or less back to normal for the Leverage team. It was a comforting. He started to second-guess himself, his intuition telling him he should just leave things well enough alone. Closure would've been nice, but in the end keeping what he had was far, far more important.

As Eliot shifted his weight to leave the floor creaked – of course – prompting Nate look to up. "Hey, didn't see you there. Everything alright?"

The hitter could tell by the veiled concern in his voice that Nate had seen the conflict on his face. Fucking perfect.

"Yeah. Sorry," Eliot deflected, nodding at the pile of files in front of the mastermind. "Didn't mean to bother you in the middle of something important."

"No, no, that's alright," Nate said, sliding the papers aside and gesturing to the seat across from him. "I could use a break."

Now or never.

Eliot took a deep breath to calm his nerves, deciding the best course of action was just rip the Band-Aid off and get it over with. He walked up and pulled out the chair before sitting down. "I was hoping we could talk about Moreau. What I did."

Nate shrugged. "You did what you could. None of us expected him to get out."

"No, not this time," the hitter explained. "I mean before. Before the team." Now his own words from the park rang in his head.

"The worst thing I ever did in my entire life I did for Damien Moreau..."

Nate paused for a few seconds, his expression turning at Eliot's clarification. His voice was solemn when he answered. "You don't have to tell me anything."

"No, I don't," Eliot said, glad his shaking hands were hidden by the table between them. "I want to."

Nate leaned forward, his reply firm. "Listen, you can save your breath. I know what happened was bad, but it's the past and it's most certainly not who you are now."

The words almost seemed comforting at first, but Eliot became unsettled as a stark realization set in – Nate didn't clearly want to know. Moreau's voice was the next to echo in his mind.

"Is that your idea of trust?"

He'd expected an open audience after everything that had happened, so Nate's words, however well-intentioned, felt like a slap in the face. If the mastermind didn't want to hear what he had to say then he wasn't going to beg.

The hitter slid his chair back and stood, regretting his attempt at the conversation. "Forget I brought it up."

"Eliot..."

"No, I mean it," he said curtly, turning his back as he made his way to the door. The tone of his voice rose in sync with the anger he felt inside. "If you don't wanna know –"

"I already know!" Nate shouted after him.

The hitter stopped dead in his tracks, his mind racing as he processed what Nate had just said. When he didn't turn around the mastermind continued, his voice soft this time. "Moreau told me everything."

Eliot closed his eyes as paralyzing visions of 'everything' started to flash in front of him. Everything he'd done, the regret, the guilt. And of course the selfish bastard he'd done it for. Knowing that his actions were no longer a secret brought it all back to the surface, made it seem so much more painful. He couldn't bring himself to move, let alone speak.

Nate continued gingerly. "That's what I was trying to say. You don't have to tell me, because he already did."

At that the mastermind stayed quiet, Eliot assumed to give him time to process what he'd just said. Moreau's words ran through his mind yet again.

"...deep down inside you know they'll walk if your true colors ever see the light of day..."

Eliot took a deep breath, suddenly realizing that that had been Moreau's backup plan. His fail safe. Tell Nate what he did, so on the off chance that the hitter did manage a rescue he'd be rewarded by the abandonment of his team. His family.

Moreau, that fucking bastard. Talk about twisting the blade.

The room was silent as Eliot went over everything that had happened since their world was turned upside down those few short weeks ago. The phone call, the meeting, the rescue. His anger rose as he thought about all the effort he and the team had put into pulling that con off, and how Moreau hadn't even needed to lift a finger to make it all for nothing.

Except it wasn't.

The facts, Eliot reminded himself. Focus on the facts.

Against all odds, they'd pulled it off. They took down Moreau, in less than two days, while short one team member and without the Italian's help. Now they'd been home for weeks, and Nate hadn't let on in even the slightest way that he knew what Eliot had done. He had every opportunity to walk but he didn't. The hitter's anger quickly dissipated.

Moreau didn't win. Not this time.

Eliot slowly turned around, locking eyes with Nate. "You didn't say anything."

The mastermind's voice was confident, but his expression didn't mirror it. "No reason to," he said. "It doesn't change anything."

The hitter studied Nate's face carefully. The man was often impossible to read, but at this moment he'd let his guard down and his expression looked genuine. Vulnerable, almost. He seemed as afraid of losing Eliot as Eliot was of losing them. Did they know, as well?

The hitter stepped forward, closing the distance between them. "What about the others?"

"I was a captive audience," Nate answered, lacing his fingers together. "They aren't. That's your decision. But what I can tell you is they won't walk away. You were there for us, for them, and we'll be there for you as well. Regardless of what you do, or don't, want to share."

Eliot closed his eyes in relief, the gnawing at his soul fading at Nate's words. He looked back up and nodded gratefully before turning to leave, thankful that they did indeed have this conversation.

"And Eliot," the mastermind started, prompting the hitter to turn around again.

"Yeah?"

"I...I should've listened to you. Took your warnings more seriously," he admitted, taking a deep breath before continuing. "I'm sorry for that."

Eliot was well aware of how much it took to get an apology from Nate, and he greatly appreciated the gesture. "It happens to the best of us. Next time, I'll try to be more straightforward about it."

"I'm not really sure how you could do that," Nate replied, his tone much lighter than it was just a moment ago. "Short of calling me an idiot."

Eliot laughed. "Works for me."

"I'm sure it does," Nate said, shooting him a playful glare at the unintentional setup.

Since he was basically asking for it, Eliot couldn't help but continue. "It probably works for them, too, you know..."

"Alright," the mastermind said, throwing his hands up in surrender. "Don't you have ninety minutes of sleep or something to get?"

"I could use some, yeah." Eliot's tone was playful as well, but in all seriousness he was looking forward to some truly restful sleep for a change.

"Good," the mastermind said, waving him to the door. "Go get it. Hardison wants us ready to go at six a.m. tomorrow."

"I'll be there," Eliot said, a smirk forming as he pointing tauntingly at the mastermind's stack of papers. "Have fun, Nate."

"Yeah, yeah," he muttered sarcastically, grabbing one of the files and flipping it open. "Night, Eliot."

At that the hitter turned and walked out into the darkness, his instincts telling him that he was about to get the best ninety minutes of sleep he'd ever had.