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Eliot stood in front of the meeting counter that split the room between living space and meeting space; arms crossed a scowl on his face, his piercing eyes daring the wall of monitors to not provide him with the information he wanted. Hardison splashed up several frames of the satellite captured footage taken of the helicopter full of kids being taken out by a missile strike. His voice a mere growl that cut off any comment the younger man had been ready to make, “Find any footage of the crash site after the smoke cleared.”
Hardison turned around and looked at the other man for the first time since he’d come barging in demanding he find a satellite that had been over a set of coordinates he’d thruster at him on a crumpled sheet of paper at a specific time. “What do you think I am? An international telepath? Or better yet, Merlin-that’s who you think I am! BAMF and it just appears. Dude we’re talking hacking. . .”
The resonating growl building from low within the hitter’s chest combined with the arctic blue of his eyes cut the other man off. “I said, find me the footage. If you can’t I’ll find someone who can.” The threat was left hanging as he was interrupted by the sound of some hyped-up Latin music blaring from his back pocket. Rolling his eyes he dug in his pocket and yanked the phone out pressing answer as he pinned the younger man with a look. Then turned and stalked out of the room as he held the phone to his ear and growled.
“Please tell me you’ve heard from him, bro!”
Eliot sighed; he’d know that voice anywhere. “Hold on, let me get somewhere secure.” That voice; it was the voice of the only person who he truly trusted to always have his back. Blue eyes the color of the ocean, and a knack for getting into trouble so deep he shouldn’t survive the getting out; but he always did. This complicated things while giving him a bit of peace. He knew whatever needed to be done the other man would have his back. But, this had been his unit before they’d become The Losers, before he’d been taken out of action. These weren’t just nameless, faceless men – these were brothers in arms.
Growling as Nate called his name, he continued towards his office, knowing he’d swept it for bugs earlier that morning and there hadn’t been time for anything to be planted-he stepped in and closed the door. Sighing he moved to the couch along the back wall and fell down onto it. Leaning his head back he pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed, “Bri, I saw the footage. I’ve watched it a couple of times. They didn’t do this. It was meant for them.” Now, he just had to figure out what the connection between Brian O’Conner and Coronal Franklin Clay’s crack commando team, The Loser’s was.