Control. It's such a simple little word, but also such a finite resource. For Eliot Spencer, retrieval expert extraordinaire, it was something he fought to hold onto every day, only somedays it felt like he was fighting a losing battle. Today was one of those days.

They'd gotten the job done, gotten the outcome they wanted, the baddie was in prison and his stashed fortune was distributed to the people he'd ripped off, but there had been one more piece of unfinished business.

The second he'd seen the kid he knew. He looked sweet and innocent and that's how he should have been, but if you looked closer, something in his eyes showed the truth. His so called father had taken that away that innocence. The man who was meant to look after him had hurt him and probably killed his faith in people, forever. It made Eliot's blood boil and threatened the control he worked so hard to maintain.

Now, alone in the gym, the punching bag was taking all the punishment, but it wasn't enough. The anger and frustration were not leaving him as he pictured the man's face on the bag in front of him. He yelled and screamed as he kicked and punched the bag to smithereens. He could feel the rage bursting to get out, wanting to take over, to go and find that guy and dish out the same punishment he showed his son, but that was dangerous. If he let go, there would be no stopping him, so he fought. He fought for the control he'd worked hard to find. He fought for the life he lived now, peaceful and happy, at least most of the time. He'd already fought for the kid, in the only way he could these days, legally. But he wasn't satisfied.

It would be so easy. He knew where they lived, he knew the kid was gone, he could walk outta the gym, be at the house within thirty minutes and be gone in thirty five, and no-one would have to know. Only one thing was holding Eliot Spencer back. Control.

It was a control he'd learned the hard way and the trail of broken bodies he'd left in his wake was proof of that. He remembered the face of every person he'd ever killed, but the first was the one that haunted him most.

He'd thought he would find peace after that animal was out of his life, instead he'd found more rage and pain and hurt. All the years he'd not been able to fight back, to stop him, to run away didn't disappear with his death, in Eliot's mind, they just became meaningless. His actions didn't change the past, couldn't fix what was broken. It was just the last cruel act of a heartless man, taunting his only son, daring him to finish the job, remorseless to the end.

Eliot tried to hold onto the thought that he didn't want to be just like his father, but if he went after that kid's father he really would be his father's son, using his fists to solve problems.

There was a part of his brain that didn't care about the consequences, didn't care about the regret he'd feel afterward, it just wanted to kill. It wanted to tear that monster from limb to limb, hurt him in such a way that he'd never forget Eliot's face. The other half of his brain knew that even if he let loose, he'd never be content; he'd just hate himself more.

So Eliot punched and kicked the shit outta that bag for hours, until he was so exhausted he couldn't move, or speak or think anymore. He fell to the ground and held his head in his hands as the tears slowly ran down his face, his control finally, fully restored.

"Why", he said aloud to the empty room.

He was talking to the monster from the hospital today. He was talking to his own father and talking to himself, but it was a question that would never have an answer. It was a question he'd push down and forget about, because he was Eliot Spencer, retrieval expert extraordinaire and he had control.