Work Text:
Distinctive Style
by Sam-Tony
"What makes you say that I fight like a Marine?"
"It's a very distinctive style."
Eliot could have told him it was in the way he moved; decisive, confident, and sure with an economy of motion both on the feint for the set up and on the merciless strike for the kill.
He could have told him it was in the way he took in whatever that thing was (Eliot had seen the teeth) with only a small tensing grip of the large hand on the hilt of the knife he carried, weighing the balance one more time. Before the thing even charged, the kid had been ready; already in position to meet the attack and turn it away from the rest of the bar. Away from civilians like Eliot who wasn't and the rest of the Team who were.
Eliot could have told him a lot of things, but mostly it was just in the way the larger body moved that had caught the hitter's attention the moment the kid walked into McRory's just before closing. It was in the eyes that took in everyone in the bar (not that many), immediately dismissing the rest as not a threat (though they did linger on him), before flicking sideways and homing in on the guy Eliot himself had tagged as a possible the second the guy had stepped through the door, just a few seconds ahead of the kid.
Sharp green eyes that had narrowed in satisfaction and definite menace as he saw the guy with the teeth had no way out except back through him. Eyes that knew things, eyes that had seen things; eyes that could rake a man from head to toe, see down into the soul and leave him feeling exposed, haunted. *Seen*.
Despite the lingering flush of heat from those eyes Eliot could tell the kid had been a man on a mission and Eliot had been hunted by too many after his own hide to not have that ping off his radar.
Never been hunted by someone like the kid, though. Might have let himself be caught.
So he didn't tell him anything.
Though he did offer to help the kid get rid of the body.
End