Eli relaxed. He knew this bit. He could mutter about feeling angry and it being important to talk about it. “I need to make sure I don’t scare anyone or accidentally set them on fire.”
Jonathan’s grin was wide. “Excellent plan. How does your family feel about you being an FBI agent?”
Sudden anger burned a path to Eli’s gut. “I don’t have a family.” Hadn’t he read the file at all?
Jonathan nodded as if that was a perfectly reasonable answer. As if it had been a perfectly reasonable question in the first place. “My uncle was a cop for thirty years. He said his partner was a big part of his family.”
“I don’t—” But he did. He did as of last month. “I have a new partner.”
“Yeah?” Jonathan seemed interested. “Tell me about him.”
Eli huffed. What the hell? Surely Finn had told him all about Daniel.
“He—he has a big family. His younger brother is on our team.” Jonathan nodded encouragement but didn’t reply, so Eli assumed he needed more.
“He’s just left Washington. He was going to leave for good, but he got a transfer.” Why? Why had he said that?
“Leave for good? You mean quit? Stop being an agent?”
Eli squirmed. This wasn’t any of his business. “I guess.”
“Why would he want to do that?”
“I don’t know.”
“What did he do?”
“He was a data analyst.” But that hadn’t been all. He’d heard Vance telling Finn exactly what he did. “He had to look through evidence, pictures.”
“Very distressing. I imagine looking at the sort of pictures necessary to put the villains away you must come into contact with must be unimaginable.”
Eli didn’t answer.
“Maybe you should ask your new partner to make an appointment with me?”
Eli gazed into a pair of deep green eyes. He made it sound so reasonable. “I guess.”
“And do you think your experience in the unit would be beneficial to your partner?”
“How should I know?” Eli got to his feet. This was ridiculous. Eli stalked over to the window. He gazed out over the parking lot and wondered where Daniel was. He didn’t see his car.
“Is you being an enhanced a problem for him? You would be well within your rights to ask for a change of partner.”
“No.” No, he didn’t want that. “He doesn’t have a problem with me being enhanced.”
“Then is it your sexuality? Is you being gay a problem? Some agents are homophobic assholes who—”
“No.” Eli nearly yelled the word. “He doesn’t have a problem with me being gay. He doesn’t have a problem with me being enhanced.” Eli turned to stare at him. “How did you know I was gay?”
Jonathan gestured to the file. “Is he gay?”
“Bi.” The word was out before Eli could filter it. Vance had told him.
“Ahh,” Jonathan said like that explained it. “Then has he been inappropriate?”
“It isn’t like that,” Eli snapped. What the actual fuck was this guy on? “I can’t—” He stopped himself in time and ran a frustrated hand through his hair. “We aren’t allowed relationships on the team.”
“You didn’t used to be able to, no. But seeing as how six members of your team are now living with their respective work partners, I’m sure ASAC Gregory would encounter difficulties if he tried to enforce that.”
Eli’s anger deflated, and suddenly despite the best sleep of his life last night he was exhausted. “I’m not going to get involved with him.”
“Because he’s a judgmental asshole?”
Eli couldn’t help the small smile. “He’s anything but.” He’d been kind, supportive. He’d held Eli all night and never asked for anything in return. “I would be no good for him.”
“Why?” Jonathan’s voice was gentle.
“Because I’m no good for anybody.” The words escaped before Eli could trap them.
Jonathan let the words just sit for a few minutes, and Eli wasn’t sure if he should retract them or attempt to explain them, but Jonathan wasn’t pushing him for more.
“Maybe I can tell you what I have learned from the notes I’ve read and what I know of your medical history? Then you can tell me if I’ve got it right or not?”
Eli glanced at him. He’d often wanted to know what they had on him. It would be interesting.
“You were fostered just before your seventh birthday after your mom’s death.”
Eli nodded. Kept his breaths even.
“After transforming at nine, you were admitted to an adult psychiatric hospital that was closing down, or should have already closed down.”
He nodded again and tried to keep his hands still.
“Because the enhanced have fast metabolisms, the dosage of the drugs you were given would have felled a three-hundred-pound man.”
He guessed.
“You were kept restrained.”
Eli didn’t even breathe.
“When you were finally transferred to Orlando, it was still to an adult facility because they didn’t know what else to do with you.”
He met Jonathan’s eyes.
“You were placed in a situation not of your making with professionals who should have known better.”
He didn’t seem to need a reply to that one.
“And for some reason you think you deserved it.”
Eli’s breath caught and his throat tightened. He gazed at the floor. There was a piece of red LEGO hidden just behind the table leg. If he bent down he could pick it up, but he couldn’t seem to move.
“We’re going to meet every week,” Jonathan decreed. “You’re going to keep me on the straight and narrow sugar-wise, and I’m going to convince you to forgive yourself.”
Eli looked up, startled. “It wasn’t my fault.”
“Good,” Jonathan said. “As soon as you believe that, my work will be done.”
Chapter Nine
Let me know if you are sleeping at home? Daniel would have scoffed if Eli wasn’t sitting next to him after he had collected him from the doctor’s. He couldn’t believe Eli had taken all that bullshit without telling him to fuck off. It was going to be a hell of a long month, and Daniel knew he needed advice. His five-minute ground rules he’d taken straight from the Connie rule book. He must have grown up with over twenty foster kids over the years, and his mom always said the same thing. Give them rules. Be fair and reasonable, but most of those kids came with a ton of personal baggage and zero security, including a few with food issues. Kids needed security. And his mom should know. He never knew exactly what each kid had gone through unless the child themselves let it slip. His mom was as fiercely protective of their right to confidentiality as she was to theirs and her family’s safety, and Daniel knew better than to ask.
Food was often more of an issue than some people would think. Children that had every conceivable right stripped from them, even over their own bodies, often resorted to the one thing they could do—controlling what they ate. He’d seen his mom negotiate over meals more times than he could count. Craig, he remembered, could only eat if there was no one watching him. His mom didn’t let him take food to his bedroom, but they had a small nook off the kitchen and he would eat in there. Daniel smiled to himself. That must have been over ten years ago now.