Nate stumbled up the stairs of McRory's Pub, a little drunk. He hadn't been able to finish a drink in ages. Eliot had been missing for a long time now; what if they received a call about him, or if he burst in needing help? Nate couldn't afford to be drunk at a time like that. The nightmares, unsated without the drink, were hell, but they were nothing compared to his concern for the hitter.

The team knew that he'd been taken by force. His apartment looked like the scene of a huge fight. Things were broken, strewn, and smashed. The locks on the door were broken off and the wood there was splintered. He must have been in his kitchen when the attack began, because there were broken dishes and a bloody knife. Eliot didn't kill anymore, he just put enemies out of commission for a while. If he'd resorted to stabbing them, the odds must have been against him. There was too much blood for all of it to belong to his attackers; there was also a blood trail where he'd, apparently, been dragged out. There was no note, no call, no ransom. Eliot Spencer had been specifically attacked and brought in for something that didn't involve the team, which only made them more fervent in finding him.

When someone like him, the world's most feared retrieval specialist and hitter, was taken, it always meant a lot of pain. A hit like this wasn't about extortion. It was revenge.

Being buzzed was like being sober to the alcoholic, so he felt pretty clear-headed as he entered his apartment. That's why he knew what he saw next wasn't his imagination.

The mastermind walked into his bedroom, letting the door slam open and hit the wall. He froze at the sight before him. He'd only noticed so quickly because it flinched at the door's slamming open.

A man, clad only in boxers, was tied to his bed. Each limb was bound to a post by thick rope. He was blind-folded with a black cloth.

Eliot.

Nate tripped back a bit, leaning on the door frame for support. Eliot looked like hell. He was pale and too thin, had too many new scars, and was bruised. Not just like he'd been beaten, either; there were hand prints, strangulation marks, and even what looked like bruises from knees left on the insides of his thighs. The hitter was trembling minutely, and jerked slightly at every sound and movement. It was too much to believe that someone could do all this, even simply capture, Eliot Spencer.

Someone had gone to a lot of trouble to do this.

"Eliot."

The hitter flinched.

Nate slowly walked up to him and touched the blindfold. Eliot jerked his head away, breathing sharply.

The mastermind sighed. "Lift your head, now." He used his most commanding voice, and his heart broke when Eliot obeyed immediately. He untied the cloth and pulled it away.

Eliot blinked and looked around fleetingly, assessing his situation, before looking up at the man standing over him.

"Nate..." He inhaled shakily and said it again. "Nate." He closed his eyes, breathing deeply. "I'm back."