He still isn't used to having a record of him anywhere. Yeah, he knows the CIA has a file on him but it's whatever they've managed to dredge up through his contacts willing to talk to the US government– Eliot doubts they have the full story of Serbia or Kazakhstan in their paper report.
He winces as the camera flash goes off again to his left. The light is still bright, even if it's not in his face. Parker has some fool-crazy idea in her head that the team's Christmas needs to be recorded and the camera hasn't left her hand for the past hour. Of course Hardison fiddled with it so all the photos load directly to the computer. Eliot knows the hacker's putting all them on some sort of encrypted server but what is the man gonna do if someone steals the server? (Eliot's done that job before.) His skin itches, feeling too tight for his tense muscles.
Parker bounces over to him and Eliot tilts the hat further down so the fuzzy ball obscures his line of sight to the traitorous camera. He scowls but it doesn't deter the blonde.
“I need a picture of Santa Eliot!” She chirps and Eliot is tempted to let her. It would be so easy to let down his guard, he's safe with these people. But it's habits that have kept alive for years that make him turn away from Parker and head toward the kitchen. Sophie immediately coos at her and Eliot rolls his eyes.
His chest aches with want and his legs move like lead but this is for their own protection. The team already knew that he worked for Moreau but Eliot's more than aware that some of the jobs he did for the bastard are still wanting retribution, vengeance.
Merry Christmas to them all, if Eliot Spencer is ever tracked to the rooms above a bar in Boston. He chuckles darkly, checking on the goose in the oven; it's nearly finished cooking. He straightens and Nate is leaning against the counter.
“I didn't think we'd need to have this conversation again,” the older man says quietly.
Eliot crosses his arms. “My job for years was slipping in and out with no record but my name.”
“You're not that person anymore,” Nate counters with the force of a hurricane though his voice doesn't raise in volume. Eliot closes his eyes.
“It ain't that easy.” Eliot growls. Nate takes a measured sip of his eggnog and just stares at him. Eliot swallows his pride and quiets his screaming nerves. “Fine, one picture.”
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timeasmymeasure
Fill: 8mm
Date: 2011-12-20 05:39 pm (UTC)He winces as the camera flash goes off again to his left. The light is still bright, even if it's not in his face. Parker has some fool-crazy idea in her head that the team's Christmas needs to be recorded and the camera hasn't left her hand for the past hour. Of course Hardison fiddled with it so all the photos load directly to the computer. Eliot knows the hacker's putting all them on some sort of encrypted server but what is the man gonna do if someone steals the server? (Eliot's done that job before.) His skin itches, feeling too tight for his tense muscles.
Parker bounces over to him and Eliot tilts the hat further down so the fuzzy ball obscures his line of sight to the traitorous camera. He scowls but it doesn't deter the blonde.
“I need a picture of Santa Eliot!” She chirps and Eliot is tempted to let her. It would be so easy to let down his guard, he's safe with these people. But it's habits that have kept alive for years that make him turn away from Parker and head toward the kitchen. Sophie immediately coos at her and Eliot rolls his eyes.
His chest aches with want and his legs move like lead but this is for their own protection. The team already knew that he worked for Moreau but Eliot's more than aware that some of the jobs he did for the bastard are still wanting retribution, vengeance.
Merry Christmas to them all, if Eliot Spencer is ever tracked to the rooms above a bar in Boston. He chuckles darkly, checking on the goose in the oven; it's nearly finished cooking. He straightens and Nate is leaning against the counter.
“I didn't think we'd need to have this conversation again,” the older man says quietly.
Eliot crosses his arms. “My job for years was slipping in and out with no record but my name.”
“You're not that person anymore,” Nate counters with the force of a hurricane though his voice doesn't raise in volume. Eliot closes his eyes.
“It ain't that easy.” Eliot growls. Nate takes a measured sip of his eggnog and just stares at him. Eliot swallows his pride and quiets his screaming nerves. “Fine, one picture.”