Breath. Just breath, he reminded himself as he took a slow deep breath through the pain. They are safe. Focus on the task at hand. Finish this first, you can deal with the consequences later, he told himself. They are safe, he repeated in his mind. Although they very nearly hadn't been. His team, his family had been in danger. Because of him. Because his past had come calling again and it wasn't pretty.
They had just finished wrapping up a job. Things had been rocky since Moreau, but they were just starting to get back to what they were before; maybe even better. Taking down the slime had helped. And they had just taken down another one. The rest of the team had gone out for a celebratory show, Sophie had insisted. Eliot had elected to remain behind, making the excuse of needing to ice his head (he had taken a few knocks in the final stages of the wrap up). In truth it wasn't much, but he really wasn't in the mood for Sophie's idea of theater. Especially since he had the feeling she was planning on participating.
It was late. The team had been gone a few hours and he was flaked out on the couch in their offices, resting his eyes in the dark, when he heard a very distinctive sound. As quickly and quietly as a shadow he was up and blending into darkness behind the door. His already superb senses heightened with the knowledge that danger was close, he listened to the bodies moving behind the closed door. He heard the tumblers click as the lock gave way. Silently the door opened, admitting the dark shapes of armed men into their offices. Six of them. He lurked in the shadows, listening to their barely audible communications.
"Fan out. Find him. Team two…is the bar clear?"
"….doesn't matter, we already have the others. But we won't need the fish bait much longer if this goes smooth…"
"No sign of the primary target, sweeping the location now."
Eliot's heart had clenched at this information, but then a cold anger had taken over. They had underestimated him. A fatal mistake.
Swift, sure movements closed the distance between them. Slash, duck, hit, thud… he had surprise on his side. They did not expect him to be waiting for them.
It was over in moments. Six bodies, some unconscious, some not, lay sprawled across the entry way. Snagging one of their radios, he slipped the earpiece in and headed towards the bar. He needed to find the others! He needed to find out what was going on!
The intruders searching the lower levels took a little longer. Either they were just smarter or the silence from the upstairs team tipped them off. A grand total of 10 minutes since Eliot had become aware that something was wrong and all hostiles on the premises were neutralized and Eliot was rifling through their affects for information. Stepping around the broken glass and furniture, Eliot dumped what he had gathered on the bar. Cell phones, wallets, radios, weapons, keys, various and sundry…..
Holding up one of the smart phones, he activated an app Hardison had installed on his phone and held them up next to each other, watching as the program allowed him to see the locations the phone had been. He checked through all of them, noting a common location in the warehouse district. He deposited all of the gathered loot upstairs and dragged the bodies into the back room. Ensuring that the ones still breathing were secured, he grabbed a few necessities and headed out the door.
Arriving outside the warehouse, he dialed Nate's cell again. None of them were answering. Not on comms, not on anything. Still listening in on the stolen radio, he knew at least the rest of the team was alive. And he knew who had them. His blood boiled with rage and his mind clouded momentarily with the force of the anger directed at his enemy. He shook his head and forced that anger to focus and change into something he could use. He was going to get his family back.
It had been vicious and bloody. They had been waiting for him this time. It had been a trap. Of course it had been a trap. It had been too easy to find them. The group that had tipped him off had gone down too quickly with too many clues pointing at where to go. Of course he knew that. One doesn't go after Eliot Spencer unless one has made ample preparation. Or one has a death wish. But they had underestimated him again. Not his skills, but his motivation. NO ONE THREATENED HIS FAMILY.
He had moved with lethal precision and fierce determination. A deadly shadow, striking quick and fast as a snake. Using gun, knife, fist, elbow, foot, head, door, wall, everything and anything, an unstoppable object, he fought and killed. Nothing that stood in his path remained standing for long. When he finally reached his family, he was drenched in blood. Not all of it his own.
His mind gave a silent cry of relief at seeing them all alive and relatively unharmed. He had hoped what he heard of their status over the radio had been true, but he had feared the worst. Knowing firsthand what sadistic tortures his enemy was capable of. He assessed the situation, taking in the remaining guards, the locations and conditions of each member of his team, as well as the chief instigator of their current situation. Eliot growled low in his throat when his eyes met with those of his enemies'.
That battle was perhaps the hardest for him. Having the team right there, so close, and seeing him like this… He had to get them out. No matter the cost. He tried not to look at their shocked and terrified expressions as he expertly moved in to take advantage of an opening in the deadly dance he was in to slit the throat of the man in front of him. As the last of those opposing him fell noisily to the floor he stood where he was gasping in air like he was drowning. The crackling noise of the fire (originating from the fight at the start of his infiltration into the warehouse) drawing closer and gaining in volume startled him out of the moment.
He moved towards the team, moving slowly but exactly, pretending not to notice the looks on their faces or the flinched movements as he came closer. He tried not to imagine what he looked like. Drenched head to toe in blood and sweat, smelling of it. And gunpowder and fire. Although he suspected part of the dazed look on Nate's face was due to the large purplish bruise blossoming across his forehead. He quickly released them from the cuffs that had been keeping them in place.
"Follow me outta here, stay close. We gotta be quick. This place is gonna burn down around our ears and from the sounds on the radio, there is at least one more squad out there gunnin' for us." Eliot directed them through the stacks of boxes and avoiding the quickly spreading fire, found them an exit. He kept his movements careful and deliberate. He didn't want to scare them and he also didn't want to let on how much he was hurt.
Hardison and Sophie helped support Nate as they made their way out of the warehouse, with Parker clinging to the ends of Hardison's shirt as they all trailed after Eliot. They didn't run into the remaining goons on their way out. Which, while Eliot was relieved at, it also worried him. It meant that they were still out there. He led them to the van he had driven there. The team hadn't used it when they went out earlier that evening.
"Sophie, can you drive?" Eliot asked her. She seemed okay, at least physically, and he knew she could be tough when she had to be. He would have asked Nate, but with the bump on his head he didn't think it was a good idea. And with his own head spinning ever so slightly he decided he probably shouldn't be driving either.
She looked up at him startled and seemed to really look at him for the first time since he had come for them. He could read it in her eyes the moment the thought occurred to her that perhaps some of the blood that was now covering him actually belonged to him. She paled even more, but her lips tightened and she answered,
"Sure,… here Hardison, help Nate into the back."
Once they were all in and peeling out of there, away from the blazing warehouse behind them, Eliot quietly said,
"Not to the office. It's not safe right now. I have a place." Sophie looked at him, a strange look on her face, but she nodded anyway.
When they reached his safe house he headed straight for the master bath. He had an extensive collection of medical supplies there. On the drive over he had ascertained that no one was too seriously injured. Hardison had sprained his wrist when he decked a guy while they were being taken. Even the bump on Nate's head wasn't too bad. Painful, but no concussion. Both Sophie and Parker had managed to escape relatively unscathed, they were all just in shock. Which is probably one of the reasons they didn't notice Eliot's condition. He hadn't been so lucky. He was bleeding heavily from a through and through gunshot in his arm, several knife wounds to his chest, couple of bruised/cracked? ribs, a dislocated shoulder, and probably a mild concussion (if he was lucky) from his head making contact with several boxes and a fire extinguisher during the course of the evening. And he might have sprained his ankle and twisted his knee when a particularly large goon had managed to grab his leg during one of his kicks and had twisted hard. He was lucky it wasn't broken. Although the other guy hadn't been so lucky.
He quickly locked the door and turned on the shower to block any noise and to ensure his privacy. He assessed the damage and cleaned himself up as best he could. He ached. The adrenaline fueled rage that had kept him mobile and functional throughout it all had burned away. He was on empty. And the blood loss wasn't helping.
He reset his shoulder with a grunt of pain. Sighing, he hooked himself up to an IV of saline and proceeded to clean, stitch, and dress his wounds. He tried to hurry. Both because of wanting it over and needing to check on the team. He needed to make sure they were going to be okay. At the same time, he dreaded going back out to face them.
They had seen his dark side. The side he had tried to shield them from. He didn't regret what he had done. He knew it had been necessary. An appropriate response to the threat that his enemy had been. If he had failed… he shuddered to think what would have happened to them. He knew what his enemy had been capable of. He regretted that the innocent members of his team had been exposed to it though. And yes, maybe he was afraid…yes afraid, of what their reaction to him after all this would be.
IV done and finished for the moment with what first aid he could manage, he steeled himself to emerge. He pulled on clean clothes, making sure to wear a long sleeve shirt so all of the bandages would be covered. He glanced himself over in the mirror before heading out. He was pale and tired looking, but his appearance did not scream injured and ready to keel over. Which is how he felt. He headed out to face the team.
Nate, he noticed, had grabbed a bed in one of the other rooms and was passed out with an ice pack on his head. Sophie, sitting on the bed next to him with arms wrapped around herself, looked up as he walked past into the living room. She got up to follow. Eliot looked around for the other members of the team in the large open space that made up the rest of the safe house.
Aside from the one hallway that had several bedrooms down it, the rest of the layout of the place was open. The entry merged with the living room and the living room with the kitchen. All tied together with high ceilings and a sense of belonging. There wasn't much furniture. A couple of couches, a table, a few chairs, and one bookshelf. Which was surprisingly full. Ordinarily, the place had a feeling of peace to it. Right now however, the air was tense as Eliot emerged from the hall and scanned the space for Parker and Hardison. He knew that Sophie had followed him.
Hardison was nowhere in sight. At first neither was Parker. But knowing her as he did, he glanced up and saw the pale blond sitting cross-legged at the juncture of two of the beams stretching across the ceiling. He couldn't help it. He sighed again. Oh, but he was tired! He finally located Hardison when he heard the sound of retching coming from the main bathroom. He started forward but Sophie got there first. She paused only a moment after knocking on the door then pushed it open and Eliot could hear her quietly conversing with the hacker. He slowly levered himself into a chair at the table.
"….but there was so much blood! And Eliot… and…. I don't know…..Sophie,… the blood… all of it!...what do… everything….." the hacker's panicked voice drifted into the room. Eliot couldn't quite make out Sophie's murmured responses. Eliot, his eyes closed, felt a presence drift closer. Parker. She settled herself on the table as Sophie came back into the room a few minutes later with Hardison at her side. The hacker drifted over to the couch, to which Parker promptly launched herself once he was settled with his laptop.
Sophie set herself down across the table from Eliot. She looked him over, her face tense and worried. She was the only one who had looked at him since the rescue. Nate was out of it and the others' glances just seem to slide over him and look EVERYWHERE else. Even when Parker had been sitting on the table, she had been watching the door through which Hardison had been.
"What happened Eliot?!" Sophie demanded.
"He was after me…." Eliot began, but Sophie interrupted.
"WHO was that!? What is going on? WHY DID THEY TAKE US!? WHY can't we go back to the office? What did you DO?" She was practically hysterical.
This last question was too much for Eliot.
"I SAVED YOU!" Eliot hollered. "Dammit! Do you have any idea what he would have done to you? Before he killed you? I, I did what I had to…" he gulped and swallowed down his anger. "I…" he tried to begin again, he wanted to explain. To make sure everything was okay. Try to make them understand. Dammit Nate, hell of a time to be taking a nap, he thought. He could have used his input to mediate this. Nate knew about the other warehouse after all. The one where he had left all of Moreau's men.
He did it to protect them. Always. He was their protector. No matter the cost to himself.
"Those people Eliot, what…" Sophie started.
"You killed them, Eliot," Hardison dazedly interrupted.
"I did what I had to." Eliot stated fiercely as he rose. "I'm goin' to bed."
He tried not to look at their faces as he turned and headed back to his room. But he still saw. Saw the judgment, the hurt, the shock, the fear. Oh yes, the fear. They were scared of him. And why shouldn't they be? It was his fault that this had happened. His past rearing its ugly head. His enemy. Again. First Moreau, now this. He couldn't stand to see the fear in their eyes, the fear of him. He should have seen it coming. That was why he always worked alone. Too many enemies who would use the innocent people you cared about as leverage. And with a sinking in his heart he knew things had changed.
Hours, and a little bit of sleep, later Eliot silently slung his duffle over his shoulder and walked down the hall. The door to the room Nate had been in was closed, and Eliot knew that now both he and Sophie were asleep within. Eliot slowed as he entered the living area. Hardison and Parker were asleep on the couch. The hacker and thief were wrapped in each other's arms and oblivious to the world in their slumber. His heart aching, Eliot slipped silently out the door.
It was time to go. But he had business to take care of first. He headed back toward the office. It was still early morning. Boston was still essentially asleep. The sun's first rays had yet to make an appearance. And if he had his way he would be done and gone when they did.
He started in the bar and then moved on to the upstairs. He gathered the remains of the evidence from the fight, bagging some and putting the rest in the dumpster. His wounds burned with the exertion. He found the goon's car and loaded the live, bound, and still unconscious muscle into it. As for the other ones, he loaded those and the rest of the evidence into the back of his truck that had been left at McRory's.
He gathered a few of his personal items from around the office as he did one last sweep. He paused, his hand on the door, his chest tight. He whirled around to the kitchen, grabbed the pen and paper from the counter and scratched out a note. Finished he practically fled downstairs. Leaving a stack of cash on the till behind the bar for Cora to replace what had been broken he headed out the back, got in his truck and drove.
Breath. Just breath, he reminded himself as he took a slow deep breath through the pain. They are safe. Focus on the task at hand. Finish this first, you can deal with the consequences later, he told himself. They are safe, he repeated in his mind. The team would be safe. He had seen to that. After he had taken care of the….evidence… stashed in the back of his truck, he had made a few calls.
The first had been to a trustworthy friend who would be willing to watch out for the team for him. He needed to know they would be safe. The second had been to Detective Bonnano. He had given him a partial description of the situation, leaving out the more incriminating parts. He told him the location of the van full of bound goons, as well as the location of the team, and the contact information for the friend he had coming in to watch the team. He also expressed his worry about the remaining squad of baddies still in the wind.
"Your team know your leaving?" Bonnano asked him.
"They will soon enough."
"You really think it's a good idea to run off in the middle of all of this?" Bonnano asked shrewdly.
"I've taken care of it." Eliot growled. "It's for the best, really. Ya don't know, ya don't know the half of it. I am doing what needs to be done. Just watch out for them for me, alright?"
"You know I will, I owe you all too much not too." Bonnano replied with a sigh.
Finished with that mission for the moment, Eliot hung up and turned the phone off. He was at another one of his safe houses across town. Well, actually it was really just his garage. It was an old closed down auto shop that he had bough and converted into a safe place to store and repair his many vehicles. Or tinker on them. Fine tune them. But the point right now was that the team couldn't find him here. Or, at least they wouldn't until it was too late.
He was tired and sore and his heart hurt. His head wasn't in a happy place at the moment. But he knew what he had to do. He had already made the decision. And it's not like he'd never lost someone before. He'd spent most of his life on his own. A lone wolf. Sure, he'd worked with others before. Just never like the team. This team, his family. At least not for a long time. He knew the way his mind worked though. He knew what his mind and body needed; what it had needed last time. Even though this time was different, he was choosing to leave, the emotions felt the same. Last time he liberated Croatia. This time, well…. Time to make one more call. But this time on a cell Hardison couldn't trace.
Looking at the clock on the wall he dialed the number from memory.
"Steve….hello, yeah, it's me. You still got a spot open for that job you're puttin' together?"
TO BE Continued... maybe
