Summary: Episode tag for 'The Tap Out Job' S2E2. Starts during Eliot's fight with Tank in the ring. What if Eliot thought he really had lost control? What if he thought he really had killed Tank? An introspective story focusing on Eliot, with appearances from the whole gang.

Warnings: Moderate violence.

Disclaimer: Writing belongs to me. Everything else belongs to TNT and co. For entertainment purposes only.

AN: I've only very recently discovered Leverage and I'm so glad I've found this wonderful show! This is my first Leverage fanfic. I have to admit, 'The Tap Out Job' made me cry; the look of utter devastation on Eliot's face when Tank was pronounced dead was far too raw and real for me to believe that that was simply part of the con, so I played with the idea that, due to the heightened emotion in the ring and all that he'd been asked to do, Eliot really thought he had lost control during the fight, that he'd really killed Tank, and how that would have affected him. This is an episode tag though, so rest assured I've made it so that it fits in with canon and everything works out the same in the end. Hope you enjoy :) Reviews are much appreciated.

Control

By Lanthiriel25

The world was dimming round the edges, colour seeping out until everything was shades of sickly yellow and faded grey. The ringing in his ears was getting louder and louder until that was all he could hear, until he felt his head would explode from it. Everything seemed to slow, time distorting, twisting around him as the punches rained down and he just let it happen. His muscles twitched with the fight or flight response but he forced it down, fighting his instincts and taking control of those ingrained responses.

They were always talking about control; Sophie thought he meant taking control of the violence shown towards him by other people, by being able to meet that violence, own it, not be the victim, but it wasn't; for him it was the complete opposite. He worked hard, every second of every day, to control himself, to control the raging fury which burned white hot inside him, the violence which bubbled under the surface, hovering just under his skin, his every fibre and sinew vibrating with it. He hurt and was hurt every day, that was his job, that didn't mean he enjoyed what he did, he just did what was necessary. But the control he had was absolute; he wouldn't have lived this long and be able to sleep at night if he wasn't able to keep a lid on things, to keep that precious control, only letting the violence out in measures, as required. In a way this was the hardest job he'd ever had to do, to deliberately lose that control, to make it seem like, how did Sophie put it? Like the safety on his gun had been removed.

Usually to keep himself and those around him safe his control had to be airtight, but this time the only way to keep his team, his friends, safe, to help the Howorths, was to give up that control, to make Rucker think that he had drunk the drugged water which would tear down his defences and make him lash out enough to make Rucker believe there'd been a death in his joint and he'd skip town. But all of that was easier said than done. At the same time though, he mused through the suffocating haze, as he lay on the ring floor, it was still his decision, the control was still with him, as it always was, he was choosing to let himself fall into the place inside himself he fought to stay away from; to get the job done, to keep control of the situation, he had to lose control.

In the end it was so easy just to let go, let the pain and the haze eclipse everything else, allowing conscious thought to just slip away, his body and instincts taking over; he let the fear, his need for survival, viciously claw its way through him until it burst out, all animalistic ferocity and deadly desperation. His attacker was trying to kill him and he couldn't let that happen. Everything became crystal clear, his whole world narrowing to one simple fact; stay alive, by any means necessary. He didn't remember anything after that; he didn't remember anything from the moment he chose to give up his control.

The next thing he knows is Nate's grip on his shoulder as he sits on the stool at the ring edge. Everything is spinning around him still, white noise buzzing around his brain, his chest heaving as his lungs dragged in the oxygen he needed. His body was shaking with a potent mix of fatigue and adrenaline, his mind frantically trying to piece the world back together in front of him, desperately trying to fill in the huge blank that was his recollection of where he was and what had happened. All he knew was that his solid walls had broken down and he'd lost control, somehow. Sweat ran in rivulets down his face, stinging his eyes, his hair sticking uncomfortably to his skin. His body ached but he didn't feel it. He gripped the ropes of the ring, ignoring the two men in front of him, eyes darting around the room, trying to get a handle on what was going on. He remembered they were working a job, he had to fight in the ring otherwise the people they were trying to help would get hurt, but…there was nothing else.

The picture in front of him filled him with dread, the fateful images settling painfully in his mind: an empty hall, the expressions of horror on his friends' faces, the angry, shouting voices, the body laying unmoving in the ring, medic bent over him. His thoughts kept misfiring, not wanting to believe what he seeing, what the images in front of him suggested had happened. He grabbed his t-shirt from the floor, pulling it over his head, forcing himself to keep his movements slow and calm.

He'd lost control, he knew that, he recognised the signs, and every inch of his body was screaming at him, confirming it. He ducked his head. He'd sworn he'd never let this happen; he was always in control. He wasn't the man he used to be, he wasn't a contracted killer with no conscience anymore. He only let out just enough aggression and violence as the situation called for, but here the floodgate had been torn down and it had all come rushing out. It was taking every ounce of his wavering control to cage it all back up again and slam those doors closed. His fists clenched and eyes screwed up with the effort. He scrubbed his hands over his face as he fought with himself; resting his elbows in his knees, hands twisted together, he bowed his head as he tried to deal with everything his senses were telling him, everything he didn't want to believe.

The doctor's words cut through his awareness like a gunshot, shattering his world as the implications hit him full force.

"Hey! Listen to me! Tank is dead!"

Dead…dead…The word rattled nauseatingly around his head. He'd killed before, more times than he could count, he knew how to inflict pain on people in countless ways, and had used that knowledge to great effect many times over, but he'd always been in control, there'd always been a reason, a cause. This was none of those things. He'd lost control, pure and simple; the black pit of dark violence had escaped somehow and now someone was dead, because of him.

If he couldn't keep a lid on it, then he had no right to be doing this job; his survival and the survival of others depended on him being in control, always. He worked so hard to keep everything locked down, controlled, how had to come to this? To say he was ashamed of himself was an understatement; he was devastated, watching, helpless, as everything crumbled to pieces. He felt like someone had reached into his chest cavity and pulled his heart out, his whole world splintering around him. It was fear, fury, confusion that twisted in his gut and it was guilt, despair, shame which wrapped its way around his chest. How could he have done this? How could he have let this happen?

"You killed him!"

Through still wavering vision he saw the doctor point an accusatory finger at him. He'd always said he was a bad guy, repeated it time and again, but he was part of Leverage and his friends tried to get him to see that he was a good guy now, they all were. He could respect that, to a certain extent; they helped people, he helped people, but he didn't think that made him a good guy. After everything he'd done in his life, no amount of good deeds would ever erase the violence and anger he could feel simmering away in his soul.

He glanced up at his friends' faces for reassurance, hoping they could somehow make this ok, stop the burning anguish, devastation and guilt which tore mercilessly though him, but he was only met with their aghast expressions, erasing all their assurances to him that he was good. So now they knew. They knew what festered inside of him, the blackness in his heart, how irredeemable he really was. He'd have to leave; he couldn't stay with them, he didn't deserve to part of Leverage any more, he wasn't sure he ever did. He would leave, to keep them safe; he couldn't know when he would lose control so utterly and completely again, he couldn't take the risk. And he knew he couldn't handle them not trusting him anymore, of them being afraid of him, waiting for the moment he would lash out and hurt one of them. He couldn't let that happen. He was a hitter and he would run, run from this and never look back. Feeling everything beginning to fall back into place, he hardened his heart to pack up his things and walk out of there, leaving his friends behind, keeping them safe one last time, but this time, safe from him.

"Eliot? Eliot!?"

He suddenly became aware of Nate gently shaking his shoulder as Hardison tried to get his attention. He ducked his head so he wouldn't have to meet their eyes, wouldn't have to see the recrimination there.

"You ok, man? You took a hell of a beatin'. Talk to me, brah, or I'm gonna think you finally had your last brain cell punched right outta that thick skull o' yours."

He frowned; his friend didn't sound angry, just his usual annoying self, with an undercurrent of worry lacing his words. Why was he was worried? Was he worried he'd lash out again? He didn't think that was it though; there was a subtle difference between worry and fear. Fear was for yourself, of someone else, but worry was fear for someone else; and it was worry, not fear, he could detect. He was confused, his brain still spinning.

"Hardison?" he breathed.

"Yeah, it's me. You doin' alright? You zoned out on us there for a minute. How you feelin'?"

That sounded like Hardison cared, and Nate was still carefully bracing him upright, supporting him, as he dimly saw Parker and Sophie gather round him. They were all smiling at him. He blinked a few times, squinting to test the illusion; it seemed real, but how could they be? Why would they smile at him, after all of this?

"Why are you…I don't….I…lost control…I killed him," he whispered, voice rasping in his throat as he rubbed his palms together in his lap distractedly.

Sophie gasped, hands flying to her mouth, as she glanced over her shoulder in the direction of Tank and the doctor. He watched sadly as the smiles fell from his friends' faces, their expressions darkening. Now he was even more confused; how was this a shock to them? He knew they knew; he'd seen their dismayed reactions to the doctor's pronouncement. It just didn't make sense and that did nothing to stem to rising panic and claustrophobia he was suddenly feeling, being penned in by his friends in the corner of the ring. He could feel his breaths coming faster and heavier, his heart picking up its speed, pounding painfully fast against his ribs.

"I'm….sor…ry, I didn't mean…to kill…anyone," he gasped out as his vision swam, blurring around the edges as he began to lose consciousness.

"Nate!" came Sophie panicked exclamation. "He doesn't remember! He thinks it's real! Nate, do something."

He flinched at the shrill volume Sophie's voice. Thinks what's real? He wished he would just lose consciousness already; this was all too confusing and painful to be dealing with right now, but a sharp slap to his cheek forced him to refocus.

"Thanks Parker," he heard Nate offer dryly.

Hardison helped him to drink some water; he savoured the refreshing liquid as it cooled him from the inside out, soothing his burning throat. Nate gently guided his gaze so he was looking at the older man, making sure that he was lucid and focused.

"Eliot, I need you to listen very carefully, alright. Tank is fine. You didn't kill anyone and you didn't lose control, not really. I need you to think. We planned this, remember? Pretending you drank the water Rucker drugged? Letting Tank overpower you? The paralytic? It was part of the plan Eliot, the con, and you did it. Rucker's gone, it worked, all thanks to you."

He blinked at Nate, tendrils of memory winding their way into his brain at Nate's quiet but commanding words, pieces of the puzzle slipping into place. How could he forget that?! He'd thought Tank was really dead, but he…the con, it was all part of the plan. His eyes flicked rapidly from Parker, to Hardison, to Sophie, searching for confirmation in their faces, before his returned to Nate, a deep frown creased on his brow.

"Yeah, I…" He shook his head, as if to clear it, ignoring the nausea the action caused.

"You never lost control Eliot," Nate continued, emphasising every word, needing him to understand. "We needed to make Rucker run, to scare him off. And you did that. You came through for us; you let yourself go for the plan and we did it, you did it. The good guys won. I'm sorry you had to do that, but you did it, this one's on you. Thank you."

As the memories came flooding back, he felt relief wash over him. He remembered, the fight, the plan, the paralytic, everything. Everything was ok. He felt his strength leech out a little more as he sagged slightly in his seat. He thanked his lucky stars that he hadn't truly lost control, wouldn't have to leave Leverage, lose his friends.

He was still worried about his friends having seen him unleash that part of himself however but they'd trusted him enough to let him go there and they trusted him to put it away again. And more importantly he'd trusted them to keep him safe once he let himself go and they'd come through. Nothing was broken between them; they were going to be fine.

Sophie carefully helped him up and supported him off the ring and into a chair, the rest of them crowding round, asking him if he was ok, checking him over. The tension was still trembling in his muscles, the heat burning off him in waves, but he felt more centred than he had since the fight had started. He could feel his annoyance rising however, but he was pleased to note that it wasn't the same white hot fury from before, merely the simmering frustration of being coddled and fussed over by his teammates. Sensing that he was holding a fragile balance right then the others backed off, sitting in the remaining seats along the front row, leaving him to sit quietly and put himself back together again as they explained what had happened to Mr. Howorth.

Letting the voices, but not the words, wash over him, his physical aches and pains began to make themselves known as the adrenaline wore away, leaving him drained. But he felt like himself again; pain and exhaustion he could deal with, they were routine, almost comfortable in their familiarity.

He smiled softly to himself as he watched the team explain what they'd done. These were his friends, his family; they were both his harness and safety net, keeping him from falling, catching him if he did. He'd been reluctant to join a team, found it hard to trust and be trusted, but he'd realised that he liked it; he didn't want to lose it. He would do anything to keep them safe, even let go of his control if that meant that they were protected. The thought still scared him, to have that level of responsibility towards other people, to be accountable; it made him feel like a ticking time bomb of violence, that he might hurt them someday. But after today, he finally truly believed they were safe from him; his control was absolute, at least where they were concerned. He'd relinquished his control for them in the ring and they'd protected him through that, controlled the situation for him when he couldn't, kept him safe in return.

And maybe that was what being part of a team was all about. He was glad to be stand beside Nate, Sophie, Hardison and Parker, protecting them, and being protected in return, sharing the load, together.

The End

Thank you for reading; hope you enjoyed! Reviews are very much appreciated :)