Title: Aut vincere, aut mori
Pairing: Hints (several) of Parker/Eliot, Hardison/OC
Spoilers: None
Disclaimer: A few characters of this fic belong to me, like the two men in this first chapter. Later on you will see another one who totally belongs to me; Jasmine.
A/N: Hello everyone, its me again hi! Okay so this story came up like this; someone sent me an prompt, this prompt was something like this "Eliot doesn't come back from a solo mission. They think he's dead. Parker deals... or doesn't deal... in her own Parker-y way. ;)" so this fic happened, but quite differently from that request. I turned this into a multi-chapter action-y drama-y fic. Not my first muli-chapter fic but indeed my first because I wrote this before my last one (which contained 5 chapters) Please let me know what you think, I will update as soon as possible.
Love,
Fran
When Eliot regained consciousness his whole body hurt. He couldn't move his arms, nor his legs, and he could tell from the stiffness of his back that he was sitting very firmly on a chair.
Silence surrounded him. The air was thick, the room dark and humid. He was probably in some sort of abandoned room, maybe even a house
He couldn't tell how long he had been there, locked and tied. All he could tell was that he was tired, sore and thirsty, not to mention completely and utterly confused.
The last few days were a blur. The last thing Eliot remembered was walking into his apartment in the middle of the night, or at least trying to, before someone hit him in the back of his head with something hard and heavy. Then everything turned black.
Now he was here. Where? He had no idea.
A light came on from some point in front of him, he closed his eyes momentarily from the shock and pain He could hear men chatting outside, and a constant yet familiar noise. He wasn't as far from the crowd as he thought he was because he could immediately distinguish male voices only. Now it was definitely not an abandoned house.
The light vanished as quickly as it appeared and he was surprised by a metal door closing behind whoever walked in.
A light bulb went on and Eliot noticed it came from above his head and the room suddenly lit, which helped take a mental note of the surroundings. His dark jeans were stained with blood, the walls were of a dark grey color, the floor was made of wood and had dark red-ish stain that closely resembled dry blood.
The man who had entered the room stood before him and grinned with disdain. He felt a sudden anger building inside of him. He remembered his face, the look of apathy in his eyes and the distinctive scar on his left cheek.
He had met that man before, when he made the worst decision of his life.
"Look who is awake," the man said in a distinctive hispanic accent. Eliot's eyes hurt from being in the dark for so long but still he tried to keep them open, not giving in his tiredness and soreness
"Who—who are you?" he asked, his voice raspy and dry from lack of water.
"Oh believe me, gringo, you don't want to know," the man responded.
The unidentified man walked a few steps away, took the time to light a cigarette, and paced around to stand behind him. Eliot tried not to show it but the nervousness was inevitable.
"What do you want?" Eliot asked. He couldn't see his face anymore but he could feel his presence and the smirk on the man's face. If he hadn't been firmly tied to his chair he would have erased it his fist.
"¿Qué es lo que quiero?" the man spoke in Spanish, almost growling by his ear. "Quiero a la mujer."
"You want what?" Eliot asked. He understood him perfectly well. All those years as a retrieval specialist took him all around the world, and forced him to learn different languages and now he could easily identify the man's distinctive spanish from probably Chile.
"Don't play stupid with me, boy," the man said, suddenly very close to his face he could feel his hot breath on his cheek. "You know who I'm talking about. Where is she?"
"I don't know what you're saying."
Instead of getting the answer or question he wanted, what Eliot received was a hard punch on his face that almost knocked him off the chair. The man grabbed him by his shoulders, forcing him to look at his face. Eliot's eyes were clouded from the pain he was holding back.
"You won't leave this place until you tell me where she is. Do you understand?"
"I don't know who she is!" Eliot snapped and received, yet again, another blow. He had been getting lots of them, apparently, from the blood he could still taste on his mouth.
The man breathed heavily and rubbed his temples in exasperation, dropping the rest of his cigarette to the floor, its light fading away. Eliot sensed another punch coming but instead he took his phone out of his pocket and dialed.
"Envíen a los muchachos," he spoke over the phone, hanging up quickly before he could get a reply. He directed his attention towards Eliot once more, who looked cool and composed, as if nothing were happening even though the man standing there looked like he had done this more than once. Someone else could be terrified but not Eliot, he had been through something like this several times before, he could handle more strikes.
Ten minutes later, three men walked into the room. All of them as big as gorillas, wearing black trousers and black shirts, they stood in front of him side by side. The man who had been questioning him before approached them but none of them took their eyes off Eliot.
"Quiero información," the man spoke to the gorilas. "Quiero saber dónde está la mujer y quiero saberlo ahora."
"¿No lo quiere muerto?" one of the guys spoke, receiving a slap in the back of his head from his boss.
"¿Que no me oíste?" the man said "Quiero a la mujer y este hombre sabe dónde encontrarla. No lo quiero muerto, golpéenlo hasta que hable."
"Are you sure?" another one spoke, almost disappointed he didn't want him dead.
"Yes, do whatever it takes" he responded, turned around to leave but changed his mind at the last minute. "Just don't cut any of his parts off…yet. I want him conscious."
"Si, señor," the men replied in unison.
He smiled at Eliot, buttoning his impeccable black jacket as he did so. He had that mocking smirk he had seen before, a triumphant smile that Eliot wished to wipe off as soon as possible.
The man left before Eliot received the first punch. And suddenly he wondered if some secrets were worth being kept.
TBC
a/n2; I'm gonna translate the Spanish phrases in case you don't speak spanish like I do: "Quiero informacion": I want information "Quiero saber dónde está la mujer y quiero saberlo ahora" I wanna know where the woman is and I wanna know now "¿No lo quiere muerto?" You don't want him dead? "Que no me oiste?" Didn't you hear me? "Quiero a la mujer y este hombre sabe dónde encontrarla. No lo quiero muerto, golpéenlo hasta que hable" I want that woman and this woman knows where to find her. I don't want him dead, beat him until he speaks"