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Eliot had met many hitters over the years, usually because they worked for the other side. This particular guy’s face has been burned into his brain like a camera taking a picture.
Quinn, as he recalled, was crouched behind a stack of boxes. Specifically the stack of boxes Eliot had wanted to take shelter behind. The job turned out messier than anticipated and now he was stuck in a warehouse with about ten armed guards walking around and shooting everything that moved in their line of vision.
Eliot was going solo as this was supposed to be an easy and basic retrieval. There was no team for backup, no comm in his ear. What he had instead was a young man, with blood running down the side of his face. And a gun in a shaking hand, which was of course aimed at Eliot.
The older hitter swiped the gun out of Quinn’s hands and disarmed it—before ducking behind the boxes because a bullet soared by, only barely missing his head.
"What the fuck are you doing here?" Quinn spat out, still whispering but the venom in his voice was very much noticeable. He pressed further into the corner between the boxes and the concrete wall behind him as Eliot took cover next to him.
Eliot didn't dare turn his back at the seemingly disarmed hitter because Eliot expected him to have a few backup weapons.
"Job," Eliot said, clipped, while peaking out to find the source of the bullet that almost had gotten him.
"Great. So when’s your precious team coming to rescue you? Huh? S'that what the great Eliot Spencer has been reduced to?" Quinn gestured toward a bleeding gash in Eliot's side with one hand, while the other was braced tightly against his own chest.
"There is no team," Eliot hissed angrily and wondered at the same time why he was even talking to the guy who broke his ribs and tried to take him out unsuccessfully.
"What? Did Sterling succeed anyway?" Quinn let out a laugh that turned into a coughing fit and a pained groan.
"Sterling’s embarrassed. Haven't heard from him in a while," Eliot growled back as another volley of bullets flew past while he backed up further behind the boxes, which brought him closer to Quinn.
Who immediately tried to shove him away one handed. "Fuck off man. Find your own cover."
Eliot was steady enough on his feet that he could ignore his weak attempts to put more distance between them. Having Quinn touching him was too much though, so he grabbed his wrist tightly before he could try again.
"Cut that," he growled and shot a glare at the other.
Quinn had cold fury in his eyes and jerked his hand out of Eliot’s grasp. Eliot let him. Its not like he could afford to get into a fight with him now. He also wasn't a fan of kicking people while they were down, and the guards had done a number on Quinn already.
"Look, either both of us get out of here or neither of us," Eliot began.
"I ain't working with you," Quinn hissed.
"I don't want to work with your ass either but contrary to you I have a team to get back to. And neither of us are gonna finish the job with the circumstances as they are right now," Eliot said back.
A different kind of pain flashed in Quinn's eyes when he said the team bit. But it disappeared again within a second, hidden behind the glare he shot Eliot's way. Quinn didn't say that he didn't see them surviving on their own either, but Eliot counted on him to have enough experience to know that already.
They glared at each other for a while before Quinn looked away and sniffed, annoyed.
"Fine. But I need my fucking gun back."
Eliot handed the parts over without a word and watched as Quinn reassembled them with shaky fingers. He didn't have much hope for this guy’s survival if they got into a shootout.
Quinn shoved himself up once he was done and crouched next to Eliot, eyes darting around.
He braced himself with one hand against the ground and Eliot briefly wondered how many injuries were hidden beneath the suit he wore.
"There were fifteen guys after me earlier. Guns, clubs, knifes," Quinn mumbled while he loaded his gun.
"I took three out. Ex military and ex spec ops," Eliot added. "Pretty sure one had a scythe."
"Great," Quinn groaned lowly as he peaked around the corner, the opposite way where Eliot had thought an exit might be. "I smashed a window in the far back when I came in. The client didn't inform me about armed guards. Said no one would be here," he muttered.
"Pretty sure mine sold me out. Should have let Hardison do a background check before taking the job," Eliot grumbled.
"So twelve guys remain. I've got six bullets left and..." Quinn patted around his body. "Five knives. Huh? I've had worse odds before."
"You ain't killing them," Eliot stated matter of factly. He could almost hear how Quinn rolled his eyes and then glared at Eliot over his shoulder.
"Put your morals away, Spencer. If we don't kill them, they'll kill us."
"I won't..."
"Then don't. But I sure as he'll won't be saving your ass if one of them gets the drop on you. Your white hat shit doesn't belong here anyway," Quinn snarked.
Eliot growled at him but the blond didn't react to that.
Another rain of bullets came at them.
Eliot counted the shots until the guy had to reload.
Quinn slid out on his knees once the bullets stopped, aimed his gun with a surprisingly steady hand, and shot once at the window of a surveillance container Eliot had clocked earlier. There was the sound of glass breaking, a muffled yelp, then silence.
"This place will get flooded within the next minute," Eliot said helpfully, and to get a rise out of the blond.
"Get your damn ass up then," Quinn hissed as he struggled to get to his feet.
Eliot got up easily, the bleeding gash in his side only a faint throb in the back of his mind. He grabbed Quinn by the back of his jacket and pulled him onto his feet.
"Move," he growled as the other tried to find his footing.
"Asshole," Quinn muttered—but followed his lead when Eliot took off.
They managed to turn two corners before the thugs caught up to them. The smashed window was in sight by then but there were seven people between the two hitters and freedom, and another five behind them. Eliot could hear Quinn move to guard his back; he got into a defensive stand and waited.
The guy closest to him had a gun. The others batons and knifes. No one moved so Eliot did the honors, grabbed for the gun, dismantled it and punched the guy out.
The next minutes consisted of the same. He evaded knifes, punches and batons like it was second nature and dropped one guy after the other. There were some minor cuts on his arms, and his shoulder protested when he smashed against the wall to get out of the way of a wooden plank that one of the thugs had grabbed at random.
He could hear Quinn move behind him, less smoothly but as long as he moved Eliot wasn't too concerned. There were shots fired, too. Quinn counted bullets out loud. 4,3,2,1.
Eliot had just dropped the last thug in front of him when there was another shot, too close for comfort and for a moment he thought Quinn must've finally shot him in the back now that the way was clear. But the distinctive pain of a bullet piercing through him didn't come.
Eliot whirled around in time to see a thug holding a big knife slowly dropping to his knees. He looked surprised as he collapsed. Eliot could see blood coming out of the back of his head once he was sprawled on the ground.
Quinn stood behind him, gun in hand.
"Zero," he said, meeting Eliot’s eyes in a way that screamed 'I told you so.'
Eliot was about to say something when one guy behind Quinn got up again, a crowbar in hand. Eliot lunged past Quinn—who staggered out of the way—dropping into a roll and using the momentum to shove the guy into a metal shelf. Breaking his nose felt satisfying enough.
The guy didn't get up again after he’d crumbled to the ground.
"Damn."
It was said quietly but Eliot's ears picked it up anyway.
The air had gone still in the warehouse and the only people still standing were him and the other hitter. At least that's what he had thought but when he turned around to give Quinn a piece of his mind about killing people, the blond was knelt on one knee and pressing a hand against the side of his stomach.
He had gone pale, Eliot noticed.
He frowned at the other man. The way was clear now. He could take him out easily and run. Probably didn't even need to take him out. He could very easily go back to his team and forget about the whole affair. It would be so easy. But when had Eliot ever taken the easy route?
"Get up," he said gruffly as he stepped forward towards the blond. Quinn looked up at him with wide eyes and genuine fear.
His breathing was coming in sharp bursts, the way it happened when it was painful to get any air at all. He was vulnerable in a way Eliot didn't even let himself get when he was with his team. He could just go and Quinn couldn't come after him.
But Eliot respected the man too much to leave him to die.
"Up," he repeated and Quinn tried, he really did. Still, he sunk back to the ground before he could get his feet under him.
He was leaning forward, his curly hair shielding his face while he braced his arms across his chest and the bleeding stab wound.
Eliot watched for another minute before he stepped closer and hooked his hands under Quinn’s armpits to haul him up. Quinn made an animalistic sound through his teeth but didn't fight him off. He wasn't heavy, Eliot noticed. Almost a little too light for his height.
The lack of snarky comments was concerning, especially when Eliot hooked one arm around his shoulders and the other under his knees to get him into a bridal carry. Quinn whimpered as Eliot moved him but kept silent otherwise. All the bravado he’d had was stripped away by pain and blood loss.
Eliot started to walk.
His own injuries were starting to buck him too, but he was far, far from defeated. He didn't even get shot this time.
Quinn curled in on himself, his head pressed against Eliot's chest as he forced air into his lungs. … Eliot glanced down at him before he lifted Quinn carefully through the broken glass and out into the still night.
The hitter remained pale and had an expression on his face that reminded Eliot of a terrified cat. He wondered if Quinn could even process what was happening right now.
"I have a safehouse nearby," Eliot said, though he was certain that the other couldn't hear more than the sound of his own breathing. "I'll take you there to get patched up. Then we'll see."
Quinn didn't say anything.
Eliot carried him all the way to his truck, which was parked on the other side of the building, glancing down occasionally to make sure Quinn didn't pass out on him. His eyes were less open with every check. Slightly glazed over, also.
But his breathing normalised slowly, meaning Eliot wasn't too concerned.
Strapping Quinn into the backseat felt like moving a puppet. Eliot used the spare moment to check his stab wound and wrapped a scarf Hardison had left behind, at some point, tightly around Quinn’s midsection to lessen the bleeding. That was the only moment during this entire drive where Quinn tried to buck him off.
A hard stare and a firm hand pressing his shoulder into the seat stopped him fighting.
"Why?" Quinn pressed out through his teeth.
Eliot growled, "You saved my ass, idiot. Now im saving yours."
"We ain't friends," Quinn spat out.
He was in pain, Eliot could hear the strain in his voice.
"We're not," Eliot agreed and firmly closed the door to get into the driver’s seat.
This safehouse was one he didn't frequent much, especially not now that he had the team, who rarely let him out of their sight when he got injured. Safehouses had lost their purpose, with Eliot staying in the office most of those times.
This safehouse was also barely furnished. It didn't have a real bedroom. Livingroom and kitchen were the same room, and the bathroom was tiny. Despite all that, it had to be enough for now.
The apartment was high up in the building. Eliot thanked whichever higher beings for the working elevator. He could've never taken Quinn up so many stairs alone.
The blond was barely conscious when they arrived and it had taken everything for Eliot to get him out of the truck and into the elevator.
He dropped him onto the bare sofa and went to find the medical kit after they finally had made it to the apartment. Quinn didn't move until after he got back, put the kit on the table next to them, and started to methodically strip him of his clothes.
"Should've bought me dinner first," Quinn mumbled sluggishly but he didn't try to stop him this time.
"Shut up," Eliot responded.
And Quinn did.
He had lied about the weapons he carried, Eliot realised, regarding the growing pile of knifes next to him. That and a small pistol he had carried in his boot. He had found a few bare holsters strapped to his arms and empty pockets in his suit, so Quinn must've used its inhabitants during the fight.
Eliot hadn't noticed back in the warehouse.
He worked in silence, cleaning and wrapping Quinn's wounds, stitching the ones that needed it (and his headwound and the stabwound needed it badly). His torso was black and blue along with his jaw. Prodding around his ribs made Quinn tense and gasp for air.
"That rib's broken," Eliot noted.
Quinn shot him a death glare for his obvious observation.
"Worth it," Eliot mumbled under his breath, and then he got out a few instant icepacks before wrestling the blond into a plain shirt and sweatpants. He had moved him to lying on his back and put the icepacks on his ribs; all this before throwing a blanket over him.
"I going to take a shower. Don't do anything stupid in the meantime," Eliot warned before taking the medical kit and retreating to the bathroom to take care of his own wounds.
Quinn was lying with his face turned to the backrest when Eliot returned. Only the mob of unruly blond curls was visible under the blanket and he was breathing easy and steadily. The pile of weapons on the floor was gone; the suit folded neatly on the table, despite the bloodstains. Eliot shook his head while he wandered into the kitchen area to see if there was anything in the freezer.
He wasn't going to stay much longer, the wish to get back to the team growing steadily. But he wasn't sure if he could leave the younger man by himself. He had taken lives today, killed when Eliot was in danger of getting killed. And the way he had been out of it when he noticed he couldn't defend himself anymore if Eliot decided to turn on him... the hitter shook his head and pulled a container of frozen soup out from the freezer.
He had to stay until the kid decided to leave. That’s what he was. A kid. Eliot wasn't sure how old, but definitely younger than him and he had only turned 35 recently. And Quinn was as alone as it’d first seemed. No backup, no one to call. Eliot almost felt sorry for being as much of an asshole as he had been before they got into that fight today.
And now there was an injured, spooked, armed hitter on his couch. Good job, Eliot. Good job.
They sat together later, a bowl with soup in front of each of them and dull morning light streaming in through the open curtains. Quinn was bundled up in his blanket and was only sitting upright because Eliot had shoved a pillow between him and the armrest.
He suspiciously eyed Eliot, who was sitting crosslegged on the carpet and ate unbothered.
Quinn didn't touch the soup.
"So what now? You gonna keep me as a pet for your team to play cat and mouse with?"
Eliot looked up at his words. "Where the hell did that come from?" he asked, confused and slightly horrified. Because what the fuck?
"Its not like you guys have any reason to like me or anything. Easiest way for you to deal with this would have been to leave me behind and hope I didn't survive to come after you. Or even easier and much safer: Just put a bullet into my skull and don't even worry about that," Quinn tried to be mean about how he said it, with an antagonising tone. He tried to get a rise out of Eliot.
But there was something Quinn didn't know—Eliot had worked with Nathan Ford for a bunch of years now. He didn't take the bait. "You could have just let that guy gut me. But you killed him before he could," Eliot reminded him.
"You getting killed would've put me at a disadvantage. As you saw back there, the odds that I could've taken this one in a fight would've been... fairly low. I also didn't notice the guy behind me. Keeping you alive was my best chance of survival," Quinn pointed out.
"Even though you expected me to kill you?"
"The chance is never zero," Quinn shrugged and winced.
"I didn't kill you in that hangar," Eliot protested.
"Your team was too close. I figured you don't want them to see the messy part of your job."
"I don't kill. Its a fixed thing!"
They stared at each other for a while. Quinn's eyes were flitting around his body while Eliot tried to hold eye contact. There was something familiar and broken about the other man. He was acting too unbothered about the whole potentially getting killed thing.
"So what now? What do you get from this?" Quinn repeated his question from earlier.
Well, Eliot never claimed to be a good man. "What were you there for?"
Quinn glared, but reached over to where his suit lay folded and rummaged through the pockets. He threw what he had found in Eliot's direction. Eliot catched it, even though the rapid movement pulled on his stitches.
"Rare pink diamond. I bet your grifter friend would know how much its worth," Quinn said while he tried to settle back into a comfortable position.
Eliot turned the stone in his hand and... "Too bad its fake. Your client really set you up, huh?"
Eliot grinned while Quinn's face turned a deep shade of red. From embarrassment or anger Eliot couldn't tell. Eliot continued, "I was supposed to grab this too, though. I need to tell Hardison to tear into my client’s accounts when I get back." He pocketed the stone anyway and watched Quinn stare at the bowl of soup in front of him.
He was clearly flustered. Eliot kept grinning. What a little lie could do to a man's ego. It was amazing.
Eliot picked up his own empty bowl. "You should eat. Those wounds of yours won't heal otherwise," he informed him and then wandered over to the sink. He could feel Quinn's eyes on his back until the sound of a spoon against ceramic overtook the silence.
Eliot slipped out into the staircase to call his team and give Quinn some time alone.
The bowl was empty when he got back and the hitter was slumbering deeply, one hand buried in the blanket, his head rolled to one side against the backrest. Eliot wondered briefly if he had accidentally drugged him. Why else would he be out cold like that? Eliot watched him for a bit. It was the first time that he noticed the shadows Quinn had under his eyes. He probably didn't tend to get much sleep.
Eliot sighed and scrubbed a hand over his eyes. He needed to stop adopting people into his life. Hardison, Parker, Nate and Sophie were bad enough for his blood pressure.
Speaking of. Hardison had confirmed everything Eliot had suspected. The whole job had been a setup, both clients working together and throwing money at hired muscle. Unfortunately Eliot had pissed off Quinn's client before and vise versa. And now he was in this mess with this boy. Also, Hardison and Parker both had yelled at him for taking a solo job. Great. At least the diamond Quinn had found actually had papers and was indeed real. They planned on gifting it to a museum once the time came. Right now Eliot would keep it and pretend he wanted to gift it to Parker because she liked shiny things more than money.
Which also was a lie but Quinn didn't know that.
"Fuck," Eliot muttered with one last look at the kid sleeping soundly on his couch before he went to check the freezer again.
When Quinn startled awake later that day the only thing stopping him from falling off the couch was Eliot's hand; Eliot, who had grabbed his shoulder from behind to prevent just that. He had noticed Quinn moving in his sleep moments before and hadn't been sure if he should try to wake him.
Presently, Quinn twisted away from the touch instinctively, lost his balance and landed on the floor with a thud and a groan.
Eliot leaned his hip against the back of the couch, crossed his arms and looked at him unimpressed. "You done?" he asked but Quinn just gasped for air and didn't acknowledge him. "Dammit," Eliot muttered and rounded the couch to help him at least to sit up.
Quinn was shaking like a leaf and Eliot felt his racing pulse under his fingertips.
"Easy. You're good. Its safe," Eliot repeated quietly like a mantra while shifting to rubbing circles on Quinn's back.
"It’s not. It’s not. It’s not," he mumbled frantically under his breath while his hands scrambled for something to hold onto. He found Eliot's arm.
"Breath, slowly," Eliot instructed calmly while Quinn clung to him. He obeyed the order, eventually.
"It hurts." Quinn managed after a few deep breaths.
"With those ribs of yours? I’m not surprised," Eliot returned, without much humor. He couldn't remember if he himself had ever freaked out like that from a nightmare. Probably, he had to admit to himself.
The grip Quinn had on him lessened until he let go completely and crossed his arms in front of his chest. He still looked like a miserable little heap to Eliot, though. "Lets go back onto the couch instead of sitting in front of it," Eliot suggested lightheartedly. But Quinn shook his head. "Or we just stay down here," Eliot shrugged. The carpet was cold underneath them, grounding.
"I had a partner once," Quinn said unprompted.
Eliot raised an eyebrow, prompting Quinn to continue.
"We worked together. Fooled around when we had no jobs lined up." He started to pick at the carpet, lost in thought. Eliot wondered if he would still have a carpet when Quinn was done. "Things were... easy. He taught me some stuff. I think I taught him some stuff. We clicked. We ran together for three years. Never messed up.” Quinn kept picking at the carpet.
“Then there was a retrieval. Old warehouse, patchy roof. Inside was as much snow as outside. It should have been easy. In, out. Two minutes, tops. He had kept contact with the client and when we entered there were five guys waiting for us. I thought it was a typical double cross. We fought through them like normal. It was still too easy. We got what we came for... and then he just... he just shot me in the back. Told me we had a good run and bid me goodbye," Quinn laughed but it sounded hollow and lost. It ended in hiccuping. His hands came up to cover his face, rubbing around his eyes and going through his hair.
"How did you survive?" Eliot asked. He firmly ignored what 'fooling around' could mean in this context but he was fairly sure that the younger man carried a broken heart along with all the scars Eliot had found while he took care of his wounds.
There was a starburst next to his spine, if he remembered correctly (which he did). Dangerously close.
"Shitton of luck. Someone called the police and when they showed up they though it was an armed robbery and I was some office guy that had been mugged." He dropped his hands back into his lap. He then turned his face towards Eliot and looked at him with glassy eyes.
"It felt like a Déjà-vu when you stood over me. I thought you were just gonna kill me and then go on with life... like... like he did."
And didn't this just break Eliot’s heart a bit? "How long ago was that?" he asked because he didn't know what else to say. This kid just poured his heart out to him, trusting him with personal information Eliot didn't think he deserved to know and now he had to react in some way. Fuck.
"Sterling was the first client I took after getting out of the hospital. So.. yeah. It’s been some years..."
Eliot ruffled his hair before he could stop himself. Quinn tried to duck away and grimaced at the movement. "What the hell man?" he protested weakly.
"I'll pull the couch out. Less likely to fall off this way," Eliot muttered and got up to do just that, while Quinn still sat slumped on the floor. Watching him absentmindedly.
When Eliot was finished, Quinn’s head had sunken onto his chest and he had dozed off again. He barely woke when the older hitter pulled him up and helped him to lay down. This time, though, Quinn buried a hand firmly in Eliot's shirt and didn't let go. Just like a toddler, Eliot thought, as he sat awkwardly next to the younger man.
Quinn curled up under the blanket again, with one arm outstretched to hold Eliot in place. "Just a kid," Eliot muttered. Quinn slept on.
Eventually he let go, so Eliot managed to get away for a while, heading outside to talk to the team. He didn't spill everything Quinn had told him, but he did put Hardison on the task to figure out who and where Quinn’s former partner was and gave him permission to mess with him to his heart’s content. He could hear Hardison's eyeroll at that through the phone. They asked when he was coming back and Eliot didn't have an answer. They offered that he could bring Quinn with him and Eliot wasn't sure if that was a good idea. They gave him another week to work things out and Eliot was grateful for their trust.
He was sure a few years ago that conversation would have gone very differently. Especially right after Moreau. But now they trusted like nothing else.
Quinn was stirring when Eliot returned. He shifted around, mumbled words under his breath Eliot couldn't understand and settled again. The blanket was wrapped tightly around him.
… Eliot really couldn't stop himself from thinking of him as a kid, a child who wasn't supposed to get into this life and still somehow did.
Over the week Eliot watched the shadows under his eyes disappear as Quinn recovered. Quinn slept a lot and, when he didn't sleep, he asked questions about Eliot. How he became a hitter, how he met the team. What was the first thing he had stolen and when. If he had always worked solo before the team came together. If he ever regretted the life he had lived before that. Mostly, Eliot tried to deflect and growled when he really didn't want to answer.
Quinn stopped flinching after the third time Eliot growled, because Eliot never made a move at him. Never tried to hurt him to make him shut up. Quinn got clingy when trust was established, Eliot realised. Like. Once he could get up again without much pain he always wandered after Eliot wherever he was going. He watched him cook or followed him outside for walks. Eliot resigned himself to having a shadow for a while.
Until the week ended.
Eliot found himself sitting next to the dozing blond. The bruises had faded away, for the most part, and Quinn was relaxed. It was so different to the boy that had pressed himself into a corner and told him to fuck off.
"Quinn. We gotta talk," Eliot started.
"Mmh?" Quinn blinked at him and pulled himself into a sitting position. "What's up?"
"I have to get back to my team."
Quinn's face fell. "Right. Damn its been a while huh? Just let me grab my stuff. I'm out of your hair in a few minutes."
He scrambled to get up but Eliot gently shoved him back. "Its not urgent. Yet. They asked if you were joining me," Eliot watched him carefully, but Quinn had slipped a mask overtop his feelings.
"I don't think thats a good idea," Quinn said.
"That’s what I told them. I just wanted to know if I was right. The offer stands though. Having someone to rely on is always better than doing these things alone," Eliot told him sincerely.
"I guess I would have to play by your rules?" Quinn asked.
Eliot nodded, "We're the good guys. Usually."
"I'm doing fine enough on my own, I guess," Quinn got up again. This time Eliot didn't try to stop him. He went to put his suit on. Eliot had cleaned it when Quinn had still been sleeping most of the day away and, as such, it looked halfway to new when he got back from the bathroom.
Quinn stopped in the doorway, looking at Eliot uncertainly, "I... thanks for everything. Appreciate it."
"Take care, Quinn. You know where to find us if you need it." Eliot gave him a smile, to which Quinn nodded tightly.
Then he slipped out the door and left. Eliot didn't expect to see him again anytime soon.
So Eliot returned home to his team. And they pulled jobs and he got hurt and clenched his teeth and pulled through. He didn't go solo again, didn't leave again. But there was always the concern for a certain blond in the back of his mind. He didn't ask Hardison to keep an eye out. It wasn't that bad.
But sometimes he was tempted to go out just to find if Quinn was still doing good or not. Or if he was six feet under already somewhere. Eliot didn't want the latter to be true, so he didn't check at all.
Schrödingers Quinn.
It’s been months when Hardison's security system pinged and set Eliot into motion. He didn't know exactly what he expected. Maybe an old mark coming back at them. It didn't matter, though, because Hardison's system alerted which meant danger which meant Eliot got his ass down into the bar within seconds.
When he came to a stop at the base of the stairs he was faced with none other than Quinn, who looked at him sheepishly from under his unruly curls.
"Hi Spencer, heard that the FBI put my old partner behind bars. You didn't have anything to do with that, did you?"
Eliot stared at him for a second before barking out a laugh. The blond relaxed visibly, a small smile playing on his lips.
"I might've put Hardison onto that." Eliot grinned.
Quinn huffed out a laugh. "I hoped your offer still stands. Running around alone ain't for me anymore." He fidgeted with the edge of his sleeve.
"Well, that depends."
Quinn's eyes widened as he looked at Eliot, awaiting what it depended on.
"You think you can deal with a hacker that keeps running his mouth, a drunk Mastermind, a catburglar, an overconfident grifter and a hitter with self sacrificial tendencies? The latter are definitely not my own words, though."
There was a smile tugging at the edge of Quinn's lips again. "Yeah. I guess I can do that."
"Good." Eliot threw and arm around Quinn’s shoulders and steered him towards the stairs. "They've been waiting for months to meet you."
And Quinn went willingly. Finally smiling brightly, as Eliot complained playfully about all the annoying things the team had done in the past and which he had been dealing with by himself, and how glad he was to have someone else dealing with them too.
Eliot didn't leave his team again and he made sure none of them left, either.