Chapter Text
Elliot rang the doorbell and waited patiently for the door to the Rider home to open.
When it did, a stern man with brown hair sized him up. If Elliot had been back home, he would have been the perfect picture of a returned soldier, stiff and proud in dress greens with his hat in his hand. But in London, he was an out of place foreign soldier standing awkwardly on a stranger’s stoop.
“Elliot Starbright, sir,” he greeted, holding out his hand. When the other man shook it firmly, he said, “I’m looking for my sister, Jack Starbright. Is she here?”
“Ian Rider,” the man replied. His suspicion softened at Jack’s name, and he nodded. “Yes, she is. She told me you’d be arriving. Please, come inside.” Ian was perfunctory and polite as he held the door for Elliot.
The inside of the Rider home was modest, yet well cared for and nicely furnished. Ian shouted down the hall for Jack, and they stood in the entryway waiting for her.
“You’re in the American army, then?” Ian asked, looking at his decorated uniform with approval.
Elliot nodded and replied, “Yes, sir. I’m stationed at RAF Fairford. It seemed like as good a chance as any to visit Jack.”
Jack had yet to appear, but Elliot caught sight of a small, blonde head poking around the corner behind Ian. When they made eye contact, the boy, maybe five, ducked back into the other room. A moment later, he reappeared and Elliot winked, earning himself a gap-toothed grin.
“Alex,” Ian called, and the boy jumped, caught. He slunk into the hall to stand in front of Ian. Ian asked, “What did I tell you about eavesdropping?”
Instead of the normal ‘to not to,’ Alex said, “Not to get caught or not to bother.”
Ian nodded in approval and said, “Exactly.” Alex smiled proudly, glad to not be in trouble.
“Hey, buddy,” Elliot greeted with a wave.
“Alex, this is Sergeant Starbright, Jack’s brother,” Ian introduced with full British formality.
“Elliot,” he corrected, dropping to one knee to offer Alex a hand.
Alex shook his hand with wide eyes, looking at his uniform with the usual admiration of six-year-olds with bins of plastic army men beneath their beds.
“Where’s Jack?” Ian asked Alex.
“She started the washing machine a minute ago,” Alex said. At Ian’s suspicious look, he explained, “The water clicks started.”
Listening carefully, Elliot could indeed hear the ticking of an older water meter.
Ian too looked impressed. “Go get her. Tell her Elliot’s here.”
Alex nodded and scampered off.
“Smart kid,” Elliot said.
Ian grinned and said, “I have a feeling he’ll give me a world of trouble one day.”
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Elliot visited the Rider household several more times in the six months he was stationed at Fairford. He had even scored Alex a tour of the planes and tanks, which had delighted the youngster. Nothing like a boy and big machines.
During one visit, Alex had called Ian ‘Uncle Ian,’ making the man grimace and Jack laugh.
“He hates being called uncle,” Jack explained.
Alex whirled on Elliot and announced with the boundless certainty of a kindergartener, “If I can’t call him Uncle Ian, I’m gonna call you Uncle Elliot!”
Elliot opened and closed his mouth a couple times before Alex screeched in laughter. He had a new favorite joke.
He was Uncle Elliot from that day forward.
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Eventually, Elliot’s deployment in London ended, and he shuffled around the Middle East and Africa until being stationed in Algiers. He had two weeks leave, since Uncle Sam had seen fit to give him time off after his Delta unit’s disastrous joint MI6 mission. Bunch of clowns, the whole British intelligence apparatus. Faced with either putzing around Algeria, flying back to America, or catching a red eye to London, Elliot chose the red eye.
He had visited Jack, and by extension the Riders, several times since leaving Britain, but this would be his first visit in almost a year. Alex would be, what, seven? He wondered if he would still insist on calling him Uncle Elliot.
When Elliot arrived at the Rider home, he bumped into Ian on his way to work. The banker was harried and in a rush, only sparing him a perfunctory greeting. As Ian unlocked his car, his jacket rode up, and Elliot caught sight of a familiar model of handgun.
Suddenly a dozen oddities fell into place, and Elliot stared at him, shell-shocked. Ian was MI6. They were very distinctive agents.
Ian gave him a curt wave as he pulled out of the driveway, and Elliot spent another moment in shock before finally going to the door. As he rang, he wondered, did Jack know? What would Ian do about him knowing? It was probably best to keep it to himself.
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The years came and went. Elliot remained Uncle Elliot, even as the joke wore off and habit set in. Eventually he left the service, and had one more visit with the Riders, his only one as a civilian.
During this visit, Elliot realized how useful Alex’s extracurriculars were. How useful to their line of work, that is. He just hoped Alex would choose his future for himself and not let his uncle pressure him into the military. He knew the weight of familial expectations, and Ian’s field was a lot bigger commitment than managing the family hardware store.
But life marched forward. Elliot’s time being ‘normal’ didn’t last long, and he soon found himself caught up in more shady endeavors. It was a gradual slide from ‘foreign actors’ to ‘hostile foreign actors’ to ‘non-state actors.” And before he knew it, Elliot was a proper gallowglass.
His visits to Jack became fewer and farther between as his work became less predictable, and eventually he planned them around Ian’s ‘business trips.’ He didn’t need the agent to recognize him for what he was. Before long, Jack and Alex were all that remained of his old life. Moreau might be slowly stripping his soul away, but he was still Uncle Elliot. In London, he was still human.
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Ian died.
It sure as hell wasn’t a car crash. Elliot’s sources pointed the finger at Gregorovich. Jack called to tell him she would be Alex’s guardian, and that she planned to stay in London indefinitely. But then things got hinky in Pakistan, and his world shrunk to the job.
Once it was over, he returned to Nate’s little dream team, and didn’t have time to visit Jack. He should have made time.
Jack died.
When Elliot got the news, he just collapsed. Parker and Hardison helped him pick up the pieces, but the hole still ate at him. How could he not have visited? She was gone, and there was nothing he could do.