Chapter Text
The first time Eliot left Damien Moreau, it was really just to see if he could do it, if he could get away. Ultimately, he knew it wasn’t going to last. Eliot was too fresh out of the Army, all of his potentially helpful contacts having disavowed him, and Damien had too much money and too much power at that point for Eliot to last longer than six days away from him. Eight of Moreau’s men managed to track him down, but they couldn’t bring him in. He was still better than all of them, even running on half an hour of sleep, but he knew it wasn’t sustainable. Eventually, he’d be too tired, too outnumbered, and they’d be dragging him back to Moreau in a body bag. He came crawling back on his own with a broken wrist, thirty two stitches, and a flimsy excuse about owing a favor to a friend. Damien was impressed enough to let Eliot off with a warning, and a promotion.
The second time Eliot left Damien Moreau, it was a spur of the moment decision born out of shame. The last job had been too much collateral damage, and Damien had been too cavalier about it for him to stomach. He had barely left the city before Moreau’s men (his men, that he had hired for Moreau) caught up with him and escorted him back. Damien welcomed him back with a condescending smile and a “probationary period” that ended with Eliot on his knees in Moreau’s office, emotionally broken down and desperate to get back into Damien’s good graces. And Damien was more than happy to let him try.
The third time Eliot left Damien Moreau, he never went through with it. He planned to, got everything lined up for himself, got the timing down to a science, and got his go-bag from its hiding spot in his closet. It would have worked this time, Eliot knew, he had made sure he would disappear and no one would know until after he was halfway around the world. The only thing left to do was actually leave. And then his phone rang, and on the other end was Damien, his voice curling around Eliot’s name like he was something special, something valued and precious and wanted, asking him to get on a flight to San Lorenzo with him, and he couldn’t leave. Not when Damien wanted Eliot with him for business, and later pleasure, asking so sweetly that he couldn’t say no.
The fourth time Eliot left Damien Moreau, he didn’t want to leave, and that’s exactly why he knew he had to. He knew that Damien had curled himself so deeply into his mind and his heart that all Eliot wanted to do for the rest of his life was sit by his feet and kill anyone Moreau pointed at. He wanted it so badly that he knew he had to run, because Eliot Spencer had never in his life wanted anything that actually ended up being good for him. He wanted it so badly, and he knew he would cross any line he had ever set for himself to get it, because he already had a dozen times over. He couldn’t look at himself in the mirror anymore, and for a time that was okay because he could look at himself in the reflection of Damien’s eyes, and that was enough until it wasn’t. So he took that plan he made, the one that would have worked, and he put it in motion, got himself halfway around the world before Damien started looking for him. Eventually Moreau realized he didn’t want to be found and out of some lingering affection he stopped looking, and that display of love alone was almost enough to get Eliot to go crawling back again. Almost.
And when he saw Damien again, when he said his name and called him a friend, joked with him, flirted with him, as if Eliot hadn’t left him, the guilt and affection and fear and love Eliot felt for him came creeping up his throat, threatening to burst out at the first wrong move. The only reason Eliot was able to resist giving in and going back to Moreau was his team. His team that relied on him to keep them safe from everything. Even Damien. Even himself.
The fifth time Eliot left Damien Moreau, it was in a prison cell in San Lorenzo. Every step away killed him just as much as it set him free. He never looked back.