Maybe that's all he could hope for out of this. Carter knew that he'd changed. That's good. And that was that. It was unfair to Carter, unfair after what he'd done, to expect anything more.
There's a part of him that's been trying to atone for all the bad he's done--again, from what Carter said about how he wasn't even trying, before--and maybe that's the part that's stubbornly clinging to the notion that maybe, somehow, he can salvage something. That he can get back what he'd lost.
But I learned to survive.
Something cold twists in Eliot's stomach, and he remembers--back when he was still a shell of himself, back when he'd lost the ability to care. Those conversations...
You're not gonna last two seconds here if you keep thinkin' like that. Because this business? It ain't nice. And it'll tear a good guy like you to pieces if you let it.
We don't get many guys with...attitudes like yours here. They don't last. Or if they do, they're someone else at the end. Someone different.
I don't want to change. But I don't want to die either.
Eliot knows he's past the point of trying to hide any of his reactions on his face, and he looks genuinely shocked that Carter tried to escape and...didn't die.
And he listens, he does, but Carter's right. He's so used to being able to take care of himself, so used to his confidence in his abilities, that he truly doesn't know what it's like to be in that situation. He remembers the time he was drugged and that indignation and horror at being so helpless--that was only a tiny scrap of what Carter must have felt all these years, being trapped, being unable to fight back.
"You're right." Eliot's voice is quiet, gritty. "I don't know what that's like. And sorry won't cut it, it won't ever make it right."
"If I did, I wouldn't have left?" The words come out stinging, bitter. Not that he's angry at Carter, he's angry at himself.
cw reference to drugs
There's a part of him that's been trying to atone for all the bad he's done--again, from what Carter said about how he wasn't even trying, before--and maybe that's the part that's stubbornly clinging to the notion that maybe, somehow, he can salvage something. That he can get back what he'd lost.
But I learned to survive.
Something cold twists in Eliot's stomach, and he remembers--back when he was still a shell of himself, back when he'd lost the ability to care. Those conversations...
You're not gonna last two seconds here if you keep thinkin' like that. Because this business? It ain't nice. And it'll tear a good guy like you to pieces if you let it.
We don't get many guys with...attitudes like yours here. They don't last. Or if they do, they're someone else at the end. Someone different.
I don't want to change. But I don't want to die either.
Eliot knows he's past the point of trying to hide any of his reactions on his face, and he looks genuinely shocked that Carter tried to escape and...didn't die.
And he listens, he does, but Carter's right. He's so used to being able to take care of himself, so used to his confidence in his abilities, that he truly doesn't know what it's like to be in that situation. He remembers the time he was drugged and that indignation and horror at being so helpless--that was only a tiny scrap of what Carter must have felt all these years, being trapped, being unable to fight back.
"You're right." Eliot's voice is quiet, gritty. "I don't know what that's like. And sorry won't cut it, it won't ever make it right."
"If I did, I wouldn't have left?" The words come out stinging, bitter. Not that he's angry at Carter, he's angry at himself.