#moreau tw.

[hittcr-a]

You should write me something about Eliot realizing his feelings for Damien. ;)

eliot spencer took his job very seriously. damien moreau was his job. if eliot was being honest, damien moreau was his everything. which is why it was particularly unacceptable that someone had managed to get passed him. in one hand, eliot had his gun, safety off, ready to be put to use. in the other, his knife. it glinted in the moonlight. the streetlights shown in through the windows in the hallway. he’d heard something, or someone, moving down the hall. it’d woken him up. he and damien were the only ones on this floor and he was pretty damn sure that damien was asleep. or at least pretending to be. eliot actually hadn’t seen damien sleep. all the same, he was supposed to keep him safe. eliot crept down the hall in his socks, eyes sharp. damien’s door loomed in front of him. eliot’s breath was quiet, but he could hear his heart racing in his ears. if something happened to damien eliot wasn’t sure what he’d do. and for once it wasn’t just because he was worried about job security. damien moreau was more than that. he lingered by the door frame and pressed his ear to the hinges. it was quiet. there was a light on under the door and eliot stuffed the knife back into the waistband of his sweatpants. the door was cracked, so eliot pushed it open as quietly as he could. there was a lot emotionally to unpack, but eliot wasn’t going to mess with it until he was certain that damien moreau was okay. damien looked up from where he stood next to his mini bar, glass in hand. he raised an amused eyebrow in eliot’s direction, who relaxed just a little as soon as he saw that moreau was alone. “i thought-- - i heard somethin’.”damien shook his head. “i just went to get some ice, spencer. join me for a drink?” eliot didn’t want to admit that he felt something tug in his chest a little. he did offer a smile and relax his squared shoulders a little. “i... if i’m not interrupting...” it was here that eliot got the very distinct feeling, eyes roving over damien’s face and the way he held his glass, and the way he was looking at eliot, that maybe he was thoroughly and completely fucked. he wet his lips and nudged the door closed behind him. yeah. maybe he had feelings. @moneymoved

[hittcr-a]

It waits for Eliot on his counter. With the usual flair Damien is an expert at achieving so casually. A box. Inside a pistol. Generic, shaved off serial number, discreet. A card rests on top of the gun, addressed to the hitter. ' Eliot, ' The card is written in his need, measured, controlled script, ' Sorry I missed you. Portland is such a dreary city. Like London. Do you remember when we'd go to London together to see my associates? ' A break to the next line, ' A gun, so you can shoot me [1/2]

in the back instead of stabbing me like last time. I will see you soon, pet. - D. Moreau ‘ There is no evidence of how Damien got in and left. Or how long ago he was here, except for the lingering smell of that same expensive cologne. [2/2]

           eliot pursed his lips together, frown forming as soon as he opened his door. he knew that smell. he knew what it’d mean. eliot clenched his jaw when he saw the pistol. he knew better than to touch it. he did pick up the note though. damien wasn’t sorry he missed him as far as eliot was concerned. he planned this. to rattle him. it worked. eliot’s frown deepened. if damien knew him at all he’d know that eliot wasn’t going to take the bait. nor was he going to kill damien with a gun. if he killed him at all. “merry christmas.” he muttered to mostly himself as he cracked open a beer. he wondered if he’d ever be completely free of this particular ghost.