cw: drowning, drowning imagery in gifs, murder, Leverage Season 3 spoilers

A dark beanie covered in dust sits innocuously in a hard-to reach spot in one of the bedrooms in Baneberry Hall. It's hard to find this one, and it's very likely that one will brush their hand against it randomly while searching, rather than plucking it out of the room outright. However, if you are so unfortunate enough to touch it, this memory immediately plays:

It's an indoor pool in a luxury hotel. The atmosphere is tense, though it looks like there's a party going on in the background. Hardison is sitting in an office chair, one hand handcuffed to the chair. Eliot is standing with his arms crossed across his chest. There's an intense feeling of worry coming from Eliot, that betrays his closed-off body language. He's keeping as cool as possible on the outside, but on the inside, he's terrified and tense.

He is focused on two people. Hardison, who he is desperate to keep safe in this dangerous situation, and Damien Moreau. Because of the con, he can only appear to be focused on Damien Moreau.

Damien Moreau, who is pouring a drink casually and walking over to the duo. He wears an expensive-looking blue bathrobe, his dark hair slicked back, and flip-flops. He's clearly just come from the sauna in another room. He points a finger towards Eliot, his voice laced with an accent that places him somewhere from the Balkan peninsula. "You work alone."

There's a flare of fear from Eliot, but he doesn't show it at all on his face.

"Things change," he says quietly. Too quietly.

There's not just fear at Damien Moreau, though. There's something else just as powerful.

Nostalgia. An old affection that he can't quite bury deep enough. He can't be around him, can't be near him, can't let himself remember that he used to care deeply for him. And that terrifies him, too. The fact that if Hardison wasn't here, he might be more open to considering...old patterns. Old friendships.

Things change, and part of him is afraid that he might, somewhere in his heart of hearts where he locked his old life away, wish that they didn't.

Eliot focuses on Moreau when he sits down, like he's a tiger ready to strike. He might as well be, they're in just as much danger.

"Don't take it personally," Moreau says to Hardison. "Takes me awhile to warm up to people." Hardison waves a hand, still fully in his character for the con they're pulling. A woman arrives with champagne on a tray and Eliot shakes his head no.

"He prefers beer," Moreau says, possessively, as if he could sense Eliot's nostalgia. Hardison tries to reach for the champagne but the woman sadly doesn't see him as she walks away. Eliot quietly shoots Hardison a look.

"Is this one of your retrieval jobs, Eliot? Tell me, whose snoopy lunchbox do I have?" Moreau's tone is amused. Condescending.

"It's not a retrieval. I'm escortin' the middleman. I'm contracted to make sure he gets in and out with the offer." Eliot's body language is still closed off, his voice soft, but cold despite Moreau's teasing and warmth. He can't allow himself to show any emotion here. There's a flare of annoyance though. Damien can't respect his new life, clearly.

Hardison clears his throat and speaks with a French accent, still in character. "Pardon. Monsieur. My client has heard of what you're selling and would like to acquire the Ram's Horn."

Moreau smirks. "And your client is...?"

"If you indulge us with the details of the auction, we can make a deal. All will be revealed. I assure you we are working in good faith," Hardison says with a smile.

"I'm sure you are, I'm sure you are. But I don't know you."

Moreau points to Hardison, then pauses, looking up at Eliot. "I do know you. We could talk."

Eliot pauses, never taking his eyes off him, a flare of fear at that. He can't really be alone with Damien. He'd brought Hardison to make sure that didn't happen. "I ain't much on talkin', Moreau."

A disappointed look crosses Moreau's face. "Okay." He puts his drink down. "Let's keep it short." He promptly gets up and kicks Hardison into the pool. Hardison yells, as the chair skids across the pool deck and plunges him into the deep water.

There's a moment of absolute fear and horror and--resignation. He was expecting something like this to happen, he'd hoped, hoped so badly it wouldn't but it did. Of course it did. Damien Moreau was, after all, Damien Moreau. There's disappointment, too, and anger--at himself, for letting it come to this. For not being able to protect Hardison, for being too afraid to tell him that he used to be Damien Moreau's right-hand man. Eliot doesn't move, doesn't budge, knowing what this is. A challenge. A test. He's counting down the seconds, just under his breath. The seconds that Hardison has left to live, how much air he's got.

Damien pauses, crossing his arms. "I'm sure you told your clients, I don't do business with strangers."

"That's why I'm here," Eliot says. "To vouch for 'em."

"Ah, a little vague," says Damien, another challenge in his tone.

"I never told anyone about you," Eliot says, for the first time emotion crossing his face, in his tone. It's almost a growl but not really, and it's also not a lie. There's a strange sort of loyalty there. It's not all borne of fear, either. He never told his crew, even when things were good, even when they weren't going after him. He didn't want this life, his old life, coming back to haunt him when things were good. "I use the same confidentiality with all my clients. However I can say they're overseas. You sell it to the international buyers it leaves US soil immediately. No trace back to you."

Damien shrugs. "I already have international buyers, so it's not an issue." He pauses, pointedly taking the time to reach down and pick up his drink, taking a sip, purposefully running down the clock, every movement, every moment a challenge.

Eliot's jaw twitches, but his face remains impassive. He's still counting down, still thinking of Hardison under the water. Possibly dying. A few more seconds pass and they feel like an eternity.

"What else you got?" Damien asks.

This time, another wave of emotion crosses Eliot's face, realizing what Damien wants here. What he's asking.

It's what he asked of him before, so many times. His old job. What he used to do, what he used to be.

It's so strange how easily he can pick up what Damien's asking even without him saying as much in as many words. It takes him a moment to find his bearings, and he lifts his chin, trying to sound as calm and collected as possible. He feels the opposite of these things. He's been afraid, for so many years, that this moment may come. And now it's here and he's not ready.

"What do you need?"

Damien smiles and he knows he's got him.

"I need you to kill someone for me. For old times' sake." He takes another sip of his drink, ignoring Hardison writhing underwater. "A man named Atherton. I'll send you the details, but I know that you'll do a fine job. Like you always do."

Eliot nods, and it hurts. He remembers a time when he used to do these jobs for Damien like it was nothing. Like he was agreeing to go out and get coffee for him.

"Excellent."

He nods to one of his men and they toss the keys to the handcuffs into the pool, haphazardly aiming towards Hardison, probably not even caring if he managed to grab them or not. Hardison unlocks the cuffs, and swims to the surface, coughing and gasping for air as he exits the pool.

Eliot never lets his eyes off Damien, and neither does the other, ignoring Hardison until he gets out. Eliot gives off an annoyed glance, but it's anything but on the inside. There's relief. So much relief. Hardison tries to collect himself, closing his suit and taking out a soaked handkerchief and wiping off his face. "And what message should I convey to my employer?" Damien just laughs.

"I like this one," he says delightedly. "Glad we could strike a deal. Reminds me of Belgrade."

The memory ends.

Eliot himself is in Baneberry hall at the time, exploring the different rooms. He's doing a pretty methodological search, paying careful attention to the lack of things as much as the things that are here.

He can be found checking the bars on the windows, the strange pajamas in the closets, trying to smash into the locked cabinets, or looking through the ruined paperwork to see if he can make anything out.

He will be spending most of the day here and the next, making it easy to run across him randomly during this time.