"Me? I'm Eliot Spencer." There. It was done. Lord knows why he had done it, and he was regretting it from the moment the words left his mouth. He didn't need to look at Hardison to know what his face would look like. If the fact that he had told these men his real name hadn't told Hardison that he had a connection to Moreau, then the guards' reactions would. He knew their expressions, fear, they were shaken up. He hadn't seen those eyes in some time, not in conjunction with his name.

"Open the door. This way." Eliot was almost impressed. The guard hadn't fully regained his composure yet, but the fact that he responded with words was impressive in itself. Hardison was still silent, up until they reached the elevator. Eliot had been half-hoping that Hardison wouldn't say anything, would remain silent until he could get his thoughts together, but he knew he wouldn't.

"Eliot... Why'd you tell them your real name? Why'd you tell them your real name?" Eliot didn't want to be there, didn't want Hardison to be there, didn't want for this bit of information to be in the Team's profile.

"Look, just stick close to me, okay? This might get messy." Eliot knew the Team was in over their heads. It wasn't even a question. They didn't know Moreau, didn't know what he could do to people, how he could convince people, what he had convinced him to do.

As they began to walk through the hotel penthouse, Eliot could feel Hardison's bewilderment, which came as no surprise. Guards, Eliot was counting them, knowing that he couldn't back out now. 100 miles down the wrong road. The bikini-clad women ran screaming as the guns were pulled on Eliot.

"Chapman." Eliot hadn't been sure who would have been given his position with Moreau, but his former…acquaintance…wasn't particularly at the bottom of the list, he had always been ambitious.

"Eliot." The staring contest commenced. It was slightly different than Eliot's normal such competitions, no doubt because the chance of lethality was a bit higher this time.

"They gave you the job?" Eliot was taunting him, pushing him, enough to put him off balance but not enough to put them in danger. Not more danger than they were in already, at least.

"There was an opening." It appeared Chapman's one-sided competition hadn't decreased in the time since Eliot had quit. If Hardison hadn't been there, Eliot might have smirked, but now wasn't the time for superiority games. Eliot heard the steam room door open, and turned with the others to face the emerging figure. Eliot knew before he could see the face clearly who it was. Those steps, the aura he carried with him…Moreau. He hadn't changed. No, the only one who had changed was Eliot.

"Damien." Now Eliot knew they had gone past the point of no return. He considered the fact that Hardison might never talk to him again, but realized it was more likely that he would yell and glare and sulk. Eliot could hardly blame him. He should have told them, except he knew he shouldn't at the same time. They wouldn't understand, heck, he didn't understand why he had gone with it for so long.

"Let's catch up." Same cool voice, same language, same pattern of speech. He had had the man memorized when he worked for him. One didn't forget Damien Moreau. The problem was that Damien Moreau didn't forget you either.