Chapter Text
“Jesse?”
Quinn couldn’t breathe. He figured this would happen. He hadn’t figured on it being this soon. He’d hoped it wouldn’t happen. That Eliot would never remember the kid he’d betrayed, that he’d never make the realization. Then again, Quinn had never been lucky. There was more knocking at the door. Quinn realized he’d shut it the moment he’d heard the name drop from Eliot’s mouth. He couldn’t do this.
He heard the name be called out once more, a plaintive cry. Quinn squared his shoulders and let his face go blank. He carefully identified the multitude of emotions running through him and closed them off in his mind. Little boxes stacked in the dusty corner of his mind. If he was going to do this then he would be in control. He needed the control. Quinn was built out of control. He took a breath and carefully opened the door, his shoulders tensing around his neck. All thoughts of control fled once he saw the face across the threshold and his fist was flying faster than any of his thoughts could. There was a satisfying sort of smack as his fist connected with Eliot’s face. His arm retreated and they both just stood there.
“You’re not going to leave, are you?” Quinn questioned, his voice resigned to the inevitable.
Eliot simply shook his head, his eyes narrowed at Quinn as if seeing him for the first time. As if seeing a ghost, and wasn’t that all that he was anymore. Quinn didn’t know what to do, he stood there, observing and silent. The stoic mask on his face felt like it was shattering, like he was shattering, even as it held firm. Quinn couldn’t help but think that this would be the last time he would see Eliot like this, one last reminder of everything he’d once held dear. Nothing was going to be the same after this. The world he'd built was … it was crumbling around him.
The older hitter pushed into the room, demanding to be heard, leaving Quinn behind. The younger man shut the door and turned, the gun forgotten in his hand as he crossed the room and sat on the edge of the bed. The silence was heavy and Quinn focused on keeping his breathing and composure steady as he made eye contact with Spencer.
“How did you… I thought you were dead. How are you here? How did you survive?”
“No thanks to you,” Quinn sent a languid smile his way, “I’ll say it was nothing short of a miracle, although you would have to question the god that sent it.”
Quinn leaned back slightly, arms propping him up as he took on a relaxed posture, “Why do you care? I mean really Eliot, we’re two successful hitters, well established on our own. Why don’t we let bygones be bygones? My death really wasn’t that pivotal. Especially since it didn't seem to stick.”
Eliot’s face contorted, and Quinn really had to hand it to him, he’d never seen such an expression before, “The hell you mean?! Death, you, Jesse… Your death meant everything. Jesse, that you’re alive…”
“Jesse is dead.”
Quinn met Eliot’s eyes, daring him to contradict the statement, “My name is Quinn, and really Eliot, my death couldn’t have been that important. I was just another body left in your wake.”
Quinn cocked his head to the side, “That does make me wonder though, just why did you leave me behind? We both could have made it out. No judgement here, you never were a team player, although that’s changed apparently. But after all the missions between us, I would have expected a little more from you. A little loyalty.”
While the tone and body language might have been casual, Quinn’s heart was racing. The impulse to leave, to flee , was intense and Quinn found himself waiting for the shoe to drop. Waiting for Eliot to decide he was a threat to the new family he’d built. Waiting for the inevitable as Eliot would eliminate him once more. Quinn’s expectations sat silent in the room, a shadowed form between the specter of Jesse and his own physical presence.
“I didn’t mean to, hell, I…” Eliot petered off, emotion Quinn refused to acknowledge lacing each word as he continued, “The mission was more important, I thought I was going places. I had Moreau’s ear, I had power at my fingertips. I thought Moreau would send a team… I didn’t think… You could always take care of yourself, it never crossed my mind you wouldn’t be back, but I couldn’t jeopardize the mission.”
Quinn hummed a response even as the reality of his fears were realized. He’d always been less than the mission. Always been the afterthought, nothing more than a convenient coworker. Even worse, Eliot’s negligence, his faith in their employer had left him callous to the danger of a forgotten comrade. Quinn had been given up.
“I never thought you’d…”
Quinn interrupted him, standing abruptly, he didn’t think he could stand hearing any more excuses, “That’s not really that important anymore is it?”
Eliot just stood there his mouth open, eyes intently focused on Quinn’s restless form, “I… you… Without you I never would have left him. I wouldn’t be with the team.
A pause, “I wouldn’t have my family, I owe you everything.”
The world stopped.
I owe you everything. I owe you. Everything.
The words echoed around Quinn's mind.
He couldn’t breathe.
The casual smile he had pasted on his face was frozen.
The weight in his hand was no longer forgotten, the cool metal sending a shiver down his spine.
Click
“Get out.”
“Jes… Quinn?” Eliot’s hands were raised, a look of apprehension crossing his face.
Quinn’s arm was outstretched, the cool metal of the gun rested easy in his hand as he pointed the barrel at Eliot.
“Get out.”
Numbness had spread through Quinn’s body, easing the anxiety he’d felt. Instead, a calm sense of detachment swept through, steadying his hand. Eliot looked back at the younger hitter. Emotion clouded his eyes in a way that Quinn refused to decipher. He was tired of caring about the man in front of him, tired of craving the knowledge that he’d meant something to the hitter. He was done letting the truth hurt. If he was nothing then, then it was a blessing he’d died in the hell hole Eliot had abandoned him to. Quinn had been reborn once before and he would be damned if he let this set him back. He was good at one thing, the consistent occupation held before Eliot and held after Eliot. He was a machine and Eliot would no longer interfere.
Silence held between them.
Eliot tried to say something, his mouth opening, but nothing came out as he eventually began backing out of the room. Quinn kept his gun trained on the retreating figure until he was positive Spencer was gone. Only once the distinctive squeal of Spencer’s car was heard departing from the hotel did Quinn relax. His body sagged onto the bed and he cradled his head in his hands. The cool metal of the gun grounding him even as his thoughts spiraled. He had to leave , was the dominant thought running through his head, he could come back and decide you aren’t worth the trouble. Thoughts spilled through his mind, messy and conflicted, even as Quinn took the necessary five minutes to pack his things and start the automatic check out process. He made his way to the lobby and took the back way out to his car.
He needed answers to questions he didn’t even know how to ask, he needed to let Jesse rest in peace. The boy had died in a shallow grave years ago, what had crawled out of the dirt had been a man reborn. He needed to go to the source, he needed to talk to Moreau.
***
Quinn dropped off the face of the earth. If he had been hard to find before he was near impossible to trace now. Nate had responded to Eliot’s frantic call that night with a request for Hardison to try and trace Quinn. However, despite the hacker’s best efforts nothing could be found. The team lost any contact they had.
“What happened? Why is he so important to you?”
It had been Parker that had asked the question, Hardison behind her with an arm slung around her shoulder. The hacker had a concerned but accepting face as he observed the distraught hitter. No questions were asked by him. Sophie had merely squeezed his shoulder and lightly struck Nate’s arm, a stern glance directed at the mastermind.
“Parker,” Eliot squeezed his eyes shut, memories drifting through his mind, laughter overlapping and blurring between Jes.. no Quinn and his current family, “he… he’s my brother. I can’t lose him again.”
“Again?”
“Parker, please, if you ask, I’m gonna tell you. Please, don’t ask,” the plea was soft, shame seeping into his words as he met her gaze, “I’m not that man anymore.”
Parker had nodded, an easy acceptance for the man she’d grown to trust. This wasn’t the regret he’d shown when she’d asked about Moreau, this wasn’t the anger that simmered under the surface everyday, no, this was something else in the hitter. Eliot had given her his word long ago that he would stick with them, now it was time to give that promise to someone else. She understood the risk better than anyone else.
Life moved on though.
The team continued taking cases, helping restore agency and dignity to individuals. However, there was a constant search running for Quinn - looking for any sign of the hitter, of their own prodigal son.
***
Quinn had found Moreau. The bastard was hidden deep in a cell in the nation of San Lorenzo. It was almost too nice of a prison for the man. He'd read about the job the Leverage crew had run on Moreau. Wasn't that poetic justice, Eliot taking the down the man who had built his a career. They had been brutal, cutting away every resource, every ally, every bit of potential for Moreau to escape. They had decimated his network and killed his chance to retake even a fraction of the power he'd once claimed. Quinn observed the place, it wasn’t crawling with guards or heavily armed. It looked like Moreau was nothing more than another political prisoner, pathetic without his assets, wealth, and leverage. He wasn’t sure why, but Quinn needed to see the face of his other killer. The man who orchestrated the events that led Quinn to where he was.
Sneaking in was deplorably easy and Quinn debated on whether or not he should write the guards a letter later detailing the inadequacies of their facility. It wasn’t long before he was hidden in the shadows staring at the bored looking figure in the cell.
The banality of evil, a phrase thrown around academic settings, now rattled around Quinn’s mind. The idea that evil could be so commonplace that it became ordinary. Moreau was a banal figure, plain and tedious. He had won people over, not through his character, but through the secrets and persuasion only a man who dealt in lies could afford. He was pacing his cell, bored, unaffected by the atrocities committed in his name. Atrocities Quinn’s own hands had committed. Atrocities Eliot committed, his mind whispered. He took another minute to observe the man in front of him before stepping out of the shadows.
His presence caused Moreau to lift his head, his eyes narrowed in consideration at Quinn’s figure, “Who are you, you’re not one of the guards?”
“In fact,” A pause as Moreau let a small smile lift the corner of his mouth up, bargaining, “I don’t recognize you at all? Is there something I can do for you?”
Quinn stayed silent a moment longer, the implications of Moreau’s questions taking root in his mind. The man didn’t recognize him, while they’d never had many face to face meetings, Moreau had been familiar enough with him back in the day. Quinn shouldn’t have been surprised, if Eliot couldn’t recognize him then there was no way Moreau would. Still, the knowledge that he was a ghost was a bitter one at the moment.
“Well, I can’t say you would have a good reason to recognize me. But, there is something you can do for me.” Quinn sidled up to the bars separating the two men and smiled, it was sharp, dangerous, but Quinn tempered it with his relaxed stance.
“I want you to try and remember a boy, he used to work for you.”
“A lot of people used to work for me, what makes this one so special?”
Quinn shrugged, “Well nothing, really, he was average I guess. Nothing much to remember, but I’m sentimental, let's say.”
“Why should I remember anything for you?” Moreau spread his hands open, “I don’t know you, I don’t get anything out of it. From my side of things I’m doing all right without bothering to remember the past. It brings up bad memories, I'm told they aren't good for my health.”
Quinn cocked his head, nodding, “True, what could be better than what you have. A little 6 by 8 foot square and a cot. Luxury, I’m sure, and exceedingly beneficial to your health.”
“Are you offering a potential alternative?”
“I could be,” the smile was back, “It all depends on what you remember, now doesn’t it?”
Moreau raised his eyebrows, the man wasn’t stupid enough to think he had a better alternative. While the man before him was certainly a threat, he could also be an ally, and after the scrawny crew of Ford and Spencer had left him here Moreau could use an ally. The other reason a well dressed anonymous man entering his prison was not a happy alternative, so Moreau would take the chance.
“Sure, give me a name, I’ll see what I can come up with.” A showman’s smile decorated Moreau’s face, even as a conniving gleam entered his eyes.
“His name was Jesse, a blond punk, worked with your extraction and retrieval teams for a while. He disappeared,” Quinn paused for a moment, a hesitation Moreau picked up on, “I’m trying to find the kid again.”
“Hmmm, Jesse? The name rings a bell,” Moreau hedged while moving around the room. “Do you have any other details?”
Quinn narrowed his eyes at the man, he could tell Moreau was fishing for more than information, he was searching for leverage, “Not much. Heard he went missing somewhere near Saudi Arabia. Mission gone wrong.”
Moreau turned his back while he paced, he remembered the kid, it wasn’t a pleasant memory. That punk had been the reason he’d lost Spencer. His ‘positive’ outlook had been taking Spencer’s loyalty away from Moreau and funneling it into the annoying upstart. Moreau hadn’t been able to tolerate that, he couldn’t risk losing Spencer and so he’d placed a hit on the kid. He hadn’t expected Spencer to quit, in fact he’d expected Spencer to seek consolation in Moreau at the loss of his young partner. That had been a poor miscalculation on his part really.
“I seem to remember a thing or two about that kid. He was good at his job, drove Spencer quite mad for a while,” Moreau turned to face the blonde monolith before him.
“He was one of the best, shame he was taken too young. Could have made something of himself had he stuck with me. Tell me though, what was he to you? A brother, cousin, did he kill someone you loved?”
Quinn stood silent, flashes of the past going through his mind. Who was Jesse? Really? Was he someone Quinn could claim anymore, did it even matter who he was when all he had now was what he’d made after the burial? How many lives had he already said goodbye to?
“Who he was doesn’t matter. He died though? What do you know about his death?”
“What do you know about getting me out of here?”
“I know that whether or not you see the sun again depends on how truthful you are.”
Moreau made another miscalculation. The thoughts racing through the mind of the man were under assumption that the suited man before him was pleased with Jesse’s death. With that belief cemented in his twisted psyche he confidently stated, “I killed him.”
Quinn cocked an eyebrow, that wasn’t exactly how he remembered his death going. It was a lot more hands on than Moreau tended to go, he snorted a laugh out, “Care to expand on that statement?”
“He was costing me the loyalty of my favorite employee. A man named Spencer. I'm sure you've heard of him, he's a man of many talents, and enemies these days. Anyway, I couldn’t afford to lose his devotion to another man, let alone another employee. It was fairly simple to hire a known armed contingent in the area of their mission. One thing leads to another and my problem is eliminated. Jesse was eradicated, and while it was a shame to lose such a valuable tool. Really, he was phenomenal, no one had been able to match Eliot’s skill before. However, I need Spencer far more than I needed the kid.”
Moreau ended his explanation with a self satisfied smirk, “Now, what can we do to get me out of here?”
Quinn just turned on his heel, the figure of Moreau shrinking behind him.
“Hey! I told you what I knew! You…” but whatever Moreau was going to say faded as Quinn left the facility.
He was never supposed to get out. Even if Eliot had come back for him, Moreau probably would have had them both killed. Jesse was going to die either way.
Something about the inevitability left Quinn laughing. He couldn’t stop, his ribs ached, his body shook, until tears streamed down his cheeks. There was nothing left to do but laugh. He was never supposed to win.
***
Jesse woke up in a dusty warehouse, his lips were chapped, his mouth filled with the taste of iron. Whatever humidity had been in the air was long gone, baked out by the heat. He swiveled his head, taking in his surroundings. His arms were strung up. Pain radiated out of his shoulders.
This wasn’t good.
Eliot would come. They were a team, Jesse couldn’t count the amount of times they’d bailed each other out. Eliot would come. They were a team.
Jesse spat into the dust, clearing his mouth as he wiggled his hands, testing the bonds. He was stuck and he didn’t know where or with who. This was going to be a nightmare, but all he had to do was wait for Eliot. He stood on tiptoes, resting his shoulders from the dead weight they’d been holding. Relief spread through his body, but that was short lived as he heard a door slide open.
Two men walked into the room. Jesse didn’t know it yet but those faces would be burned into his memory forever.