And the Inside Job - for Eliot Spencer

[stillageek]

One of the many advantages of being the hacker is you don't have to deal with your co-workers all that much. Which can be a literal lifesaver when your co-workers are the deadliest people on the planet.

Hardison is camped out in his server room, pulling up information and data for the various jobs that are coming up for the assassins. And, as usual, looking into the online habits of his co-workers. It's his way to protect himself, digging up dirt on all these guys to keep them at bay. So far it's been working. He hasn't been in Moreau's services for very long and it hasn't been pleasant (no, sir, it has not been pleasant at all) and in the beginning nobody expects him to survive very long.

But then Hardison lives up to his reputation and starts making things happen, digs up information that is thought to be impossible to get, gets a hold of people who are impossible to find, gets into systems they used to work around before because they're impossible to hack. And people take note. If Moreau's personal e-mails can be believed (which of course Hardison totally doesn't read) the boss even wants him to work with Spencer on one of the next jobs. He hasn't met Moreau's favorite yet but what he found out about the guy so far has him nervous in advance.

There's an alert and one of his screens light up, revealing a window with an online poker webpage. There's a second window next to it with code running in the corner. The webpage informs him that beefboy has entered the lobby.

Hardison rolls over in his swiveling chair, grabbing one of the keyboards. "Now what you up to, Brett, my man? You gonna play a little? Spend some of that hard-earned cash? Come on then."

There's just something incredibly satisfying about having these murderjerks lose their blood money on his fake gambling sites. Hardison watches the game unfold for a while, upping Brett's chances here and there, giving him a couple of good runs and waits until the assassin gets greedy. Then he quickly types a line of commands, causing the AI's cards to flip around right before Brett calls. The screen blinks and then the poker site informs that beefboy's winnings have just dropped down to a big fat 0.

There's an enraged howl coming from somewhere in the mansion and Hardison grins, clapping his hands together and giggling. "Ohh yeah, I got you. I got you good! In your face. Where's your beef now, huh? Where's your beef!? At the butchers, that's where it's at!"

While his analyzing programs run some calculations for his actual work he gets up to get himself some food from the kitchen. It's gonna be a long day of pulling data and getting ready for his meeting with Spencer, so he'd probably better grab some snacks while he's still got the chance.

Stepping outside he slows when he passes by a very angry assassin in the hallway. Hardison knows he probably shouldn't be pushing his luck too much but that angry vein that looks like it's about to pop is just too tempting. "Yo, Brett, what's the matter? You having a bad day, my man? Did I hear you scream earlier?"

There's murder in Brett's eyes (but then again when is there not?) and that tower of a man steps up to him. "You looking for a beating there, geek?"

"Yeah, I wouldn't do that if I were you. See, a little birdy told me that you've been using the company's credit card for some little personal shopping. ... The birdy is my computer, by the way. It's, I call it birdy, it's like a..." He trails off when Brett looks at him like he's going to snap his face in two.

"I'm gonna put your head underwater until you beg me to put a knife between your eyes."

Hardison frowns. "Uh, no you won't. Come on, b-boy, you know the drill? The moment something happens to me there's like an e-mail that goes straight to the boss. It's called automatic forwarding. You should look it up."

Brett looms and pushes past him very closely, growling. "You better watch your back, Hardison."

"Oh! Oh! No. What's that? No touching. You know the rules. No, there's no touch, you don't touch me." He holds up his hands, turning in a half-circle while Brett stomps past him and calls after him. "Can't touch this, baby! Yeah, I'm teflon! I'm the teflon man, they call me Mr. T. And the t is for teflon!"

The grin drops off his face once Brett disappears around the corner. God, he is scared to death of these guys.

It doesn't stop him from humming a little tune as he walks into the kitchen, though. Seems empty but there's something simmering on the stove. Hardison randomly sticks his hand inside to grab some of the food, tossing it in his mouth as he walks past it.

Stops.

Walks backwards until he's back at the pot and stares at it because damn. Damn, baby.

He grabs a small bowl from the cabinet, helping himself to some more.

Comments

[likeknives]

Eliot comes out of the pantry with a basket of vegetables, carrots and corn and broccoli and tomatoes and generally in a good mood about Moreau giving him a little extra in the budget for high quality ingredients. Sometimes it did pay to be his favorite, and Moreau often indulged his wishes far more than anybody else. Of course that made many of the more...ambitious assassins jealous, though it wasn't anything that Eliot couldn't handle. He was always on guard, anyway.

Except rare moments when he was relaxed and in the kitchen, because he wasn't exactly expecting to get attacked there--good food was just as effective as a fist when it came to getting people on his side, not that he cared for anybody else here, it was just a little extra incentive and way to avoid getting a literal knife in his back.

He was pretty sure he was going to have to kill Brett someday, though.

Which was why when he emerges from the pantry with his basket and sees someone helping himself to his latest concoction simmering on the stove--

--he throws the large, 8-inch chef's knife that was sitting in his basket at him, aiming to knock the bowl out of his hands.

[stillageek]

When the knife hits the bowl Hardison yelps, throwing his hands in the air and jumping back in startled surprise. He stares, mouth opening and closing while the bowl is stuck against the cupboard, still trembling from the impact and--

And that's a knife. And that bowl is impaled right next to his head and that is a bigass knife.

"Oh what in the hell!?"

He wheels around, eyes wide as saucers.

"What'd you do that for, man! I was about to wet myself! I still might!?"

[likeknives]

"The hell are you doin'?"

Eliot frowns, for a second he thought he was about to fight with Brett, but no--it's just the hacker.

"Don't sneak up on people cookin' like that, man!" He's more annoyed now than anything, but he sets his basket down with a huff and a glare. He walks over next to the hacker, reaching up and yanking the knife out of the bowl and letting the now-stabbed bowl clatter to the counter.

On second thought, he reaches into the cabinet, pulls out a new bowl, and hands it to the hacker.

"Here. If you wanted some, you just had to ask."

cw violence, drugs

[stillageek]

Brett hates a lot of people. It's the fuel of his life, it heightens the sadistic pleasure he gets when he sticks a knife in his mark's throat or a burning iron to their face. The pleasure of inflicting pain is one of the guiding principles of his life and he usually finds something to hate in a mark: their wealth, their treachery, their morals, their disrespect for Moreau, their face, their feebleness. So at the end of the day, Brett hates a lot of people.

But he never hated anyone as much as he hates Eliot Spencer. (Though that new Hacker guy is really starting to piss him off, too. As soon as he finds someone who can crack the guy's systems, Brett looks forward to paying 'Mr. Teflon' a visit, too.)

Taking out Moreau's favorite should have been easy. Brett is a good assassin, he knows how to fight, how to kill and he deserves that place at the top of the food chain. But no matter how many times he goes after his rival, somehow Spencer always ends up on top. Even going after him with higher numbers doesn't seem to do the trick; all that happens is that Spencer gets angrier and... beats up more people.

Apparently, to get to Eliot Spencer you had to play dirty. Brett was sick of trying to attack Spencer the honorable way and subsequently get his ass handed to him again and again. It was time to step up the game. If he had to be backstabby to be backstabby, so be it.

He orchestrates another incident, a group of five going after Eliot, but Brett knows that won't do much. That first attack is merely to distract him (of course Spencer wins that round as he always does, beating up quite a few of the lapdogs) so Brett can spike his coffee. Not enough to knock him out, of course. No, no, he wants him to be awake for this. When he finally wipes the floor with his face.

He lingers nearby, waiting until the drugs should start taking effect and leans in the doorway, one of his friendly-but-not-friendly smiles on his face. "Heard you ran into some trouble earlier today."

cw violence, drugs

[likeknives]

Eliot's just finished up with his coffee, throwing the paper cup away in the garbage before coming around the corner. It's weird, the coffee tasted a little...old, maybe? Maybe it's been sitting in the pot for too long. It wasn't enough of an off taste to alert him, and he'd downed the whole cup without further thought. There's a slight bruise on his cheek from the earlier altercation, but other than that he remained unharmed. He knows who's orchestrating these stupid attacks, and there he is, Brett, just standing there like he's done something he's proud of.

Eliot wants to punch that stupid smile right off of his face. This morning's fight was an embarrassment.

"It's like you're not even tryin' anymore," Eliot rolls his eyes. "If I'm not honest with you, you can't improve."

The room is starting to sway, and Eliot wipes his face clumsily. He squints, unsure if he's just imagining things. Then the room suddenly spins a bit more violently and a sudden weakness overtakes him--he grabs the wall to avoid falling down.

cw violence, drugs

[stillageek]

"Is that so?" Brett sneers, walking into the room. "'cause I don't know, buddy, you look a little worse for wear there. What's the matter, Spencer? You tired?"

Without another warning he goes in for an attack, grabbing his shoulder to pull him in, his knee coming up to dig into his stomach.

[stillageek]

There are times where Hardison wishes he wasn't so good at what he does. Granted, not often – but this is definitely one of those ties. He didn't even mean to come across the information, it just sort of... Alright, so maybe he did run a little background check on Carter. To see if the guy was safe, maybe get some insurance in case he wasn't and because there was this nagging feeling that he had seen the guy before somewhere.

Well, he got his answer to the last question and a lot more depressing stuff to go with it.

Maybe he should just ignore it. What's it to him? Ain't none of his business? He didn't survive that long because he actually got involved with the information he found. He just stashed it away, his own little security deposit box. His trusty intel guardian, making sure nobody snuck into his room and slit his throat in the middle of the night.

Plus, he has a feeling that Eliot is a little protective of the guy. Which makes him not look forward to the conversation ahead.

Maybe he should just ignore it.

Dammit.

He sends a text to Eliot telling him he's gotta talk to him.

About the next job, of course.

[likeknives]

Eliot arrives at Hardison's room not long after he receives the text. He seems like he's in a good mood, there's the scent of fresh herbs and spices about him and he was probably doing some prep work in the kitchen for dinner.

Surely there's nothing serious about this, it's just about the next job.

"Hey, what's up?"

[stillageek]

Aw man.

Hardison leans back in his swively chair and waits until the door closes behind Eliot. Yeah, he's got his own little anti-surveillance tech installed in here, so there's no way he's gonna talk about this anywhere else.

"Unfortunately, a lot. You should sit down 'cause I got a feeling this is gonna knock you off your socks."

cw mentions of abduction, violence, blood throughout thread

[likeknives]

He keeps going over the fact that maybe he shouldn't tell Carter over and over again in his mind as he approaches the clinic.

Maybe he should.

Maybe he shouldn't.

What if he suddenly ran to the police? It didn't matter, Moreau would buy them off or send Eliot himself to collect or worse, kill Carter.

But Carter has a right to know. It wasn't fair to him and he knew if he was in his place, he'd want to know as well.

He knocks on the door to the clinic before pushing it open.

"Carter?"

[setthetone]

Carter is busy taking care of the inventory and it's taking him a while. He's never been good at it; primarily because he never had to do it before, the nurses would use to cover that and damn, he really did never give them enough credit for it. He has kind of devised his own system and if they saw it they would probably rip his head straight off or laugh him out of town – but it works for him.

When Eliot comes in his head comes up in between to shelves, immediately alarmed and worried. "Yeah, I'm here. What's wrong?"

It's not lunchtime, so clearly if he just shows up here like that he must be injured.

[likeknives]

"Nothing. Nothin's wrong."

Well. Everything was wrong, but it wasn't like he was injured.

"I'm..." he scratches the back of his head. "I'm okay, I just...can I talk to you a sec?"

cw mentions of abduction, violence, blood throughout thread

[likeknives]

It was now or never.

Eliot knew his luck was going to run out sooner or later working for Moreau. He'd been so content in his security here, so assured that Moreau would never do anything to him since he was his number one assassin, that the thought never occurred to him that Moreau might actually not really care about him in the long run, after all. Certainly not enough to care about whether he lived or died in the attack that secured Carter.

There's yelling and he can hear Carter's voice and he can feel the heat of the blood--his own blood, spilling out onto the asphalt, and everything hurts and he's dizzy and weak and he knows that means it's only a matter of time before he bleeds out completely--

Moreau ordered that. It was basically a hit on himself.

The problem was, he had to get Hardison out as well, Hardison knew too much, and he was finding that he actually did care what happened to the dude.

And Carter.

The thought made him sick to his stomach, but he can't figure out a way to get Carter out of this.

Moreau did all this for Carter, if Eliot managed to sneak Carter out with Hardison, they would all be killed probably within days. As skilled as Eliot was--and he was the best, out of all of Moreau's men, he could only protect two people and himself under that level of attack for so long. And he knows how persistent Moreau's men were. The moment Eliot fell asleep or his attention slips it would all be over. They could survive twenty-four hours, maybe forty-eight. Not much longer than that.

If he left Moreau under his own power, with Hardison, Moreau may or may not issue a hit on them. He was still in Moreau's good graces, and maybe if he left something stupid like a note, left on good terms, they might make it out of this alive.

But not with Carter.

With Carter, they'd be dead.

And with Carter, that might even ensure the rest of Carter's family's deaths as well.

How was he going to tell Carter? How could he possibly tell him that he's leaving him to...to this?

He wasn't even going to tell Hardison about it. He wasn't even sure what the lie would be, as much as he liked Hardison he wasn't sure if he'd lose his nerve and try to spring Carter out. He'd tell him that Carter wanted to stay. Or something. He'd figure it out later.

Eliot didn't have very many personal items--knives, mostly, clothes. He put together everything he owned in a single, small backpack and gave it to Hardison to meet them outside the gates of the house after he was done with one last thing.

He'd...have to see Carter one more time before this was over.

In the kitchen, Eliot's making chili one last time, and sent a text for Carter to come and grab some before it got cold.

[setthetone]

Carter isn't having a very good week.

The truth about what really happened in that back alley, about why he is here, still weighs heavy on his heart and part of him wants to just... lay down and be done with everything. The shock and pain over what his family had done had slowly waned into the dull ache of a broken heart. Or maybe he's still in shock. Maybe he'll just be in shock for the rest of his life.

On top of that, Moreau has taken a sudden interest in him that he finds uncanny, requesting his presence more often 'now that he's settled in'. There's a new set of clothes in his room, too, suits and casual wear that probably costs more than Carter's entire clinic, all neatly prepared for him next to his labcoats and scrubs.

It's uncomfortable and maybe he should ask Eliot about it but the truth is, he doesn't have to. Now that he knows the truth Carter knows what this is. Why he's here. The role he's supposed to play. This he understands, this he grew up with.

A way for Moreau to display power during business meetings, having a Carter at his side. A way to exert it outside of meetings.

At first they're just short meetings, holding conversation. He's clumsy and nervous but Moreau seems to like that and soon after the meetings get longer and longer and Carter is sitting by the pool, champagne in hand and tries his best not to get shot. He's surprised to find that Moreau can actually be funny, witty, and sometimes when Carter is relaxed enough (or drunk enough) he can almost con himself into believing he's having a good time. Almost.

The only truly positive side-effect is Brett's face. The first time he comes in to see Carter seated at Moreau's side at the pool the sudden panic in his eyes is almost worth everything else that happened. Almost. But it doesn't quite make up for the goons with their machine guns patrolling the pool, or Moreau's voice lulling him in with strange charm, or having to sit there like some sort of trophy.

So when Eliot's invitation comes in he smiles for real, interrupting his current task to head over to the kitchen and meet him.

"Can smell that from a mile away," he calls out instead of a greeting.

[likeknives]

"Yeah, that just means you better get some before everybody else does," Eliot's good at pretending, keeping things casual, even though now that's he's grown somewhat of a heart it's...much more difficult.

Would someone with a heart truly be able to do what he was about to do?

He dismisses the thought, stirring the chili in the pot a bit more forcefully. He was trying to leave Carter with a good memory, here. He was probably going to hate him after this. He'd prefer to have Carter think he was dead (as if that was much better or something) but Moreau would likely tell him he just left.

Why did he have to start caring?

Why did he have to make a friend?

"I got cheese and chips, just how you like it." A smile as he scoops the chili into a bowl and sets it on the counter, and nods towards the cheese and chips next to it.

He wonders if his eyes are betraying him, or if they remain as cold as what he's about to do.

cw mentions of abduction, violence, blood throughout thread

[likeknives]

Ever since he heard the name Damien Moreau come out of Nate's mouth, he knew that he was gonna have a bad time before all of this was over. Over the months, their paths took them closer and closer, until that mission to save Yasmin at the D.O.D. lab and finding out about the battery, and Eliot realized he'd have no choice but to face him again.

And worse.

"We need more time," he tells Nate, but in his heart he knew it was too late.

"We've run out of time," Nate tells him stauchly.

"To prep this."

To figure out a way so that we don't have to deal with Moreau in the end.

"No, we have to figure out exactly what this Ram's Horn is and where Moreau is gonna be holding the auction."

"Hey, you cool, man?" Hardison had asked him.

Hardison knew, but he didn't know about Carter. He never told him the truth about leaving. That he'd just left him there.

The worst thing he'd ever done.

So Eliot throws a lid on those feelings--like he used to, all those years ago, before he learned to care again.

"Nate, me and Hardison will hit Moreau. We'll get an invite to the auction."

Moreau only deals with people he knows. Not that he was going to tell Nate that.

Later on, when they get to the hotel in D.C., there's a lot of Moreau's men around. It's not a big deal. Eliot only recognizes a few of them. High turnover rate in the assassin business, who knew?

But they'd know his name.

"Me? I'm Eliot Spencer."

And that was their ticket in.

Eliot's quite sure what to expect when he and Hardison walk into the pool. A warm reception...probably not. Guns to the face, a highly likely scenario.

And...well, Eliot's doing his best to keep his face as neutral as possible but seriously?

Brett!?

"Brett."

"Eliot."

"They gave you the job?"

"There was an opening."

Eliot didn't really pay attention when he hears the girls by the hot tub scream when the guns are pointed at them, but there's someone that he's not expecting to see here. There's a crack in his impassive facade and he looks at Hardison before back towards...

...Carter.

[setthetone]

Carter is mingling at the pool, clearly set apart from both the assassins and the other girls by an expensive looking robe, a glass of Campari in his hand. It's been a few eventful weeks and he knows Damien is quite busy and a little stressed out with his latest deal. So when the guards come down bringing two uninvited guests he's sure they will suffer his wrath and not see the end of the day. But then they come closer and Carter suddenly sits up a little straighter.

His hair is longer but he recognizes the man instantly.

But no, that can't be, that's impossible. What would he be doing here after all this time? ... Well, besides face off with Brett first thing he does because of course he would.

Carter stares at Eliot and for a moment there are some wild emotions running through his eyes but then Damien steps out of the sauna and he has to get up and moves to help him slip into his own robe. Damien is welcoming Eliot, making the assassins put their weapons down but the words are lost on Carter. There's a buzzing in his ears, like he's caught in a storm and he can't stop looking at Eliot until Damien puts his hand on his arm, making him look over.

"John, be so kind and fetch our guests a drink, hm?"

"Sure." John smiles at Damien, his own hand briefly touching his shoulder before he heads over to the minibar. Beer for Eliot. He remembers that.

He doesn't really care about Hardison's preferences.

He steps over to the pair, holding out the bottle for Eliot to take.

"You remember John, don't you, Eliot?" Moreau chats amiably while Brett still looks like he bit down on a lemon. "He used to be your doctor back in the day."

"Oh, I wouldn't be so sure about that," Carter muses in the same friendly, amused tone. "It's been quite some time. I'm sure he's forgotten all about me."

[likeknives]

Eliot does his best to keep his face impassive but he's sure there's something in his eyes betraying it. He knows just how much danger he and Hardison are in at the moment and he focuses on that.

Focus on the job. Get in, get out, get the info about the auction so they can take him down.

He should have taken Moreau down himself so many years ago to save Carter.

Seeing him here, all these years later...how much had he changed?

He remembers the chili and chips and cheese, he remembers how upset Carter was at learning he was an assassin, and he wants to tell him so badly that he doesn't do that anymore--that he changed, that he's trying to make it right and he's not giving up and it's because of you, Carter--

Eliot's intense gaze flicks down to the bottle, then back up to Carter. For a moment he considers refusing it, but...he wants to remain amiable here, so he takes it from him. He doesn't drink, not just yet.

"I remember."

I'm so, so sorry.

The worst thing he's ever done.

"He did a good job."

[setthetone]

He wakes slowly, slowly, and the first thing he notices is that his mouth is really dry, like waking up at 3 a.m. and all you want is that one sip of water that makes everything alright again.

Signs of dehydration, must have been out for a couple of hours...

It's strange, he doesn't usually sleep that tight anymore. It's more the light slumber he was accustomed to at the ER, ready to jump and be alert at a moment's notice. There's just no room to let his guard down for a deep slumber anymore.

There's a low hum and Carter wonders if someone had turned up the AC. But back home it's a modern AC, one that you don't really hear and this one is droning and vibrating, almost like a car moving and...

"W-wha...?" His head lolls from one side to the other a couple of times as he comes to. "'s happening...?"

[likeknives]

Eliot's stormy face is fully focused on the lonely, empty road, the repeating highway lights casting an eerie, flashing golden glow in the late/very early hour. How far had they gotten? They certainly weren't anywhere near D.C. anymore, and the rolling hills meant they were either approaching the Appalachians or past them, further into Tennessee or Kentucky.

The car is perfectly non-descript, a simple dark blue Ford Fusion that's clearly seen better days. It's rented under one of Eliot's many aliases (and one that Moreau doesn't know) and not stolen, so he'd bought them some time.

24-48 hours. Maybe, if they were lucky.

"Hey." Eliot looks over at Carter, frowning. "You up?"

[setthetone]

His head falls to the side, his eyes fluttering open and settling on Eliot, trying to focus. "Wh-- 'liot?"

John groans, tilting his head back, trying to stop the world from spinning. "What's... going on?"

cw violence, blood, and abduction throughout entire thread

[likeknives]

It's a cheap motel, but that makes it just that much safer from Moreau's men. He knows how they think, what protocol is, and he's doing everything he possibly can to throw them off their scent. Random small town in the middle of nowhere, burner phones, plain cash, he'd even tossed his earbud, which probably meant Nate was half-ready to hire an assassin himself to figure out what he was doing and go after him.

It's an equally cheap meal of beef-flavored Cup Noodles soup that Eliot places out on the rickety table. He gives an apologetic look to Carter as he hands him chopsticks.

"Sorry it ain't what I usually make."

It's weird, after what they'd hashed out on the road trip, he's not sure what to say.

But maybe...maybe they've got a chance here.

"And for dessert." He slaps down two packages of M & M's.

[setthetone]

Carter knows better than to make a break for it in the middle of nowhere. There are very few people in the world who have come in contact with Eliot Spencer's skillset like he has and lived to tell the tale; he knows there's no running from this.

And he's afraid.

But it's not Eliot he fears here, it's something different, something much, much worse. It's a different fear from the usual, diffuse pressure that has become the background radiation of his life, too. This one is imminent, acute, and ugly, stomach-churning.

Carter takes the chopsticks, he knows how to use them, but the noodles slip through the sticks again and again.

"... We're gonna die. Y-you don't know what it's like. When they catch you."

cw violence, blood, and abduction throughout thread

[zunesareawesome]

It was like the best surprise ever--Spencer, suddenly just up and leaving? Did he accidentally make a wish on a shooting star or something because this is perfect. For a minute there he honestly thought Spencer had gotten himself killed--as 'good' as he was, it wasn't unlikely for their line of work, but somebody had seen him doing a retrieval job, and then someone else heard he'd stolen some fancy art thing and made like a ton of money--like he couldn't make a ton of money working for Moreau anyway but whatever the reason, Eliot Spencer was gone and no longer Moreau's #1 assassin.

Which meant Brett was, and Brett was stoked.

Of course this meant good ol' John Carter was out of a job, or at least temporarily, since Moreau assigned him to Brett for the time being.

Honestly Brett wasn't sure what to think about him now, because clearly Moreau favored him like whoa, which was, y'know, awful. He was untouchable now, and Brett couldn't take out his anger on him, or bully him anymore. In fact if Carter wanted something, he was obligated to go and get it.

Which really, really sucked.

But at least Hardison and his nosiness was out of the picture too, Spencer had taken him with him.

Whatever. He didn't have to worry about either of them anymore.

And Carter was actually the best doc they had, and Brett, feeling already pretty good about getting the #1 one spot on Moreau's list, was feeling even better as he stumbles into Carter's clinic with a gunshot wound in his shoulder and leg.

"Hey! I need help here!"

[setthetone]

If there was ever a person Carter thinks he would make an exception for when it comes to 'do no harm', it's probably Brett. Yes, as a doctor he is obliged to treat anyone who needs it. And yes, he had to treat gang members, criminals, violent offenders and the scum of the earth in the past in the ER, no questions asked. Hell, he treated murderers these past months, no questions asked (sometimes some angry questions asked) and that didn't stop him.

But they never taught John to treat the man that had him beaten, had him at his most vulnerable, most humiliated. They never taught him what to do with his emotions then. When that person that had you at your lowest came in and demanded your help.

But that person is here now and he's injured, the trail of blood a more than familiar indication and for a moment Carter thinks of Eliot – and then he pushes that thought aside because it hurts too much – and he shakes his head, trying to focus on the task at hand, remember his training, be there for the patient.

Even if the patient doesn't deserve it.

"Sit down."