So, for those who were happy with chapter 1 being stand-alone, feel free to pretend this one doesn't exist! For those who pled for chapter 1 NOT to be the end, read on!

Also, my knowledge of scuba diving is entirely theoretical, largely based on watching nature shows and reading Wikipedia. So…for anything I got wrong, I apologize in advance.

Finally – thank you everyone for your kind words. Apparently that first chapter was something that really worked for a lot of you!

Enjoy!


"He's not answering! Eliot! Say something! The damn thing's sinking!"

"What if he can't hear you?"

"He's gotta hear me! Eliot!"

"What if he's…?"

"This can't be happening…"

Nate hit the water and started to swim.

Thank God Sophie wanted to surprise them. Thank God she wanted me to teach her scuba diving and she bought practically the entire store. Thank God Hardison sent me the frequency for the new comms so we could monitor them any time we were in the neighborhood.

Lara, his brain said quietly.

No. She's here, with the team. We're all together. And when we're here, she's Sophie.

Never mind.

Hang on, Eliot. I'm coming.

You did your job. You always do your job. You kept them safe. And Sophie won't let them try to come after you. We both know how that would end. Hardison swims like a squirrel. Parker can swim well, and maybe she'd even have a better chance of getting in there to find you, but there's no telling if she could get you out again. And neither of them have tanks or gear in that little boat.

Maybe I'll be giving a scuba lesson for three.

But only if you're there to tell me everything I'm doing wrong.

Nate reached the off-shore platform which was rapidly succumbing to the changing tide and the black-red waves. He attached his guide-line to a piece of the structure that seemed less likely to tip over any moment and dropped the surface marker buoy just in case. Then he dove.

Some of it's flooded, some of it seems to have trapped air pockets. Dear God, let him be where he can still breathe. Eliot can survive anything, but he can't hold his breath forever.

Just give me until I can get there. I'll do the rest.

Please. Give me this much. Please don't take him away.

The off-shore platform wasn't as big as an oil rig, though its design was effectively the same. Nate had walked a few oil rigs in his time with IYS and knew their layouts. He started close to the control room where Hardison and Parker had been before the explosion. Then he moved inward, navigating stairwells which were some of them dry and some completely submerged.

As he went, he found other bodies, turning each one over with fear in his heart that this would be the one he knew and could not stand to lose. But they were strangers, and Nate left them behind.

Everywhere around him, metal was buckling as the fixed platform continued to crumple.

You're going to pay for this, you bastards. You sons of bitches. You 'invested' in a rinky-dink installation about as solid as aluminum foil. How many lives did you endanger just to save a buck while dumping chemicals into the ocean?

Whatever Hardison's got planned, whatever Parker does to you – when they are finished, I will come after you a hundred times harder. People are dead, you bastards, and one of mine might be with them. When I am through with you, there won't be a man or woman alive who will dare whisper your names for fear I'll come for them, too.

You killed people. You endangered my team. You deserve everything I can think of to make you suffer.

And I'm just getting started.

But first he must save Eliot.

Eliot who was brave and selfless. Eliot who was afraid of nothing but the demons that lived so deep inside his heart even Nate had only ever seen a glimpse of them. Eliot who had killed to protect them, who would have killed or died to protect them all. Eliot who cooked for them and bandaged up their hurts and watched their backs. Eliot whose eyes had been dead until Nate gave him a job.

It had never been said between them, never spoken, never whispered. But they both knew. How could they not?

Nate Ford had lost a son once. By the grace of God, he had gained two more, and a daughter as well. And Eliot, who had lost a father to stubbornness and cold-heartedness, had gained more than just a father – he had gained a family.

Eliot, Hardison, Parker. The three children of Nate's heart and soul. Parker, taking the place of a youngest child, wild and yet strangely the most like him of them all. Hardison, middle-child, trouble-maker, boundaries-tester, and yet also quickest to make peace when the family got loud.

And Eliot. His second-in-command. His right hand. The one who spoke to him like an equal, but followed him as he would a general. The one who was first to question Nate, first to challenge him, not out of a sense of entitlement or rebellion, but because someone had to keep the Mastermind in check. Someone had to know when to drag Nate back to earth. Someone had to know him as well as he knew himself, and keep him safe from himself.

Nate was certain Sam would not have grown up to be at all like Eliot, but he would have been very, very proud if he had.

And he was not going to lose him. Not now. Not today. Not ever.

Nate Ford owed Eliot his life. Owed Eliot Sophie's life, Parker's life, Hardison's life – more times than he could remember. He owed Eliot for their safety and their success and their souls. What Eliot had done to keep them from harm was a debt he could never repay.

But he was determined to try. And that meant first bringing Eliot home.

Nate pulled out of the upper decks of the platform and dove for the stairs that led below. Through a damaged porthole, he spotted a flash of a flannel-clad arm bouncing in the shadows. He sped for the nearest door hanging open and waving with the red tide, and followed a buckled corridor to a chamber where the last air was bubbling away through a million cracks.

As Nate pushed into the room, he watched Eliot's head sink completely beneath the water.

Cold determination coiled in his gut.

Eliot had to be alive. He had to be.

Nate was bringing him out or he would die trying.

It took three-and-a-half excruciating minutes for Nate to work his way across the room. He could have moved more quickly, but he didn't dare disturb any of the debris or fallen supports – the slightest shift could collapse what was left of the structure and cut Eliot in half. By the time he reached where Eliot was trapped, he was counting seconds and sweating within the wetsuit.

Eliot's face was slack.

Nate ripped off his own nose clip and slammed it onto Eliot's nose, hoping for a reaction.

Nothing.

His fingers numb, Nate detached his pony tank and pushed the regulator into Eliot's mouth.

Breathe. Please breathe.

Still nothing.

Nate nearly screamed.

Damn you! You're not allowed to die like this, Eliot Spencer! You're not allowed to give up now!

Fight, dammit!

It couldn't happen again. He couldn't let it happen that he stood by while a life was snuffed out. Eliot had never looked as vulnerable as Sam, had never been so frail. But Eliot was Nate's son and brother and friend all in one and he was dying and Nate's soul could not take it.

Nate couldn't have said he was entirely sane, and certainly not calm, so he did the only thing he could think of.

He punched Eliot in the face.

You have to live. You have to come back with me. You can't leave us. I need you watching my back even when I'm halfway across the globe. I need to know you're there if the worst happens. I need to know Sophie will be protected if I ever let her down. I need you to be the only person in the world I know without a doubt would come for me, for Sophie, for Hardison and Parker, even if you had to walk into Hell to find us. And Hell would break against your will. I need that will, that courage. I need it, Eliot, for all of us. But mostly for myself.

Don't you remember Parker on comms when Hardison was buried alive? She cried, Eliot, and she's crying now. She knows you aren't indestructible, but she needs you to be. You can't leave her. Hardison loves her, but you understand her. Even better than me. Without that, something in her will break, maybe forever.

And Hardison. Hardison would take a bullet for you, if you'd let him. Hardison trusts you like he hasn't trusted another human being except his Nana, probably. He trusts you with his jokes and his teasing, but also his safety. And with Parker. Hardison can put everything he loves into your hands because he knows you'll die to protect that trust. You are his fixed point, more than I ever was.

You once told me your job was to have my back all the way down. And in return, I had to be the person you came back for.

Now I've come back. So I need you to be with me all the way down.

Live, dammit!

Nate punched him again.

And a tiny column of bubbles rose from the scuba regulator.

Eliot was breathing.

Nate wanted to shout for joy, but there was no time. Instead, he turned his attention to the fallen platform that had pinned Eliot in place. An entire level of the off-shore platform had collapsed, trapping Eliot between the metal ceiling and floor of the room.

Dead or alive, Nate had been determined to get Eliot out.

Eliot would have done the same for him.

But Eliot was alive, which meant everything, it truly did, but it also added its own difficulties, too. There was no way to tell if Eliot was hurt or how badly. His spine could be broken. He could already have had a leg snapped and ripped off by the impact. He could be bleeding out.

Freeing Eliot from what pinned him down could kill him.

But not freeing him would definitely kill him.

So Nate set about finding a way.

First, he anchored the pony tank to a protruding twist of metal, tucking it close to Eliot's body. Eliot was breathing, but he still didn't appear to be awake. It was a complicating factor, a variable Nate had to track. When he eventually found a way to shift the debris and free him, Eliot might drop the regulator and try breathing water. Nate would have to stay close by, close enough to make sure anything he did wouldn't endanger Eliot further.

Getting Eliot out of the wreck while unconscious was a whole other problem, but first Nate needed him out of the crushing grip of the collapse.

Nate tugged on his guide-line, giving himself some slack to move deeper into the room. The water was rising enough for him to swim over the collapsed metal sheeting on top of Eliot, but he didn't dare, not yet. He moved his flashlight up, checking beams and structures and damage. There had to be a way to move the heavy pile without bringing it all down on both their heads. He began whirling possibilities and outcomes through his Mastermind brain, searching for the combination that would save them.

Until suddenly Nate's brain reset.

Why was Eliot in here in the first place?

Nate already knew Hardison and Parker had been up top, thus their easier escape into the boat. Eliot would never have moved too far from their position, not unless he couldn't help it. The only reason Eliot would have been trapped two levels down from Hardison and Parker was that there was a genuine risk down here.

A bomb? Not likely. It would have gone off when the tanks exploded.

The hired goons? Eliot would have held them off from a choke point.

Nate visualized the off-shore platform before it had sunk into the red waves. Considered where this area would have been before the explosion caused the whole rig to list sideways and sink. Considered the tactical situation the way Eliot must have.

Someone was waiting. Someone was down here with eyes on their escape route. Someone who could take a shot and they wouldn't see it coming.

Eliot came here to make sure no one would put a bullet in their backs.

Which means there should be a way out from here, too.

Nate stopped looking up and turned his flashlight to what was left of the floor. Before the collapse, this would have been the bottom level, situated just out of the reach of the tides. There must be a hatch, an exit, some way for the gunman Eliot feared to pose a threat to a little dinghy and an outboard motor.

The tanks had exploded. Eliot needed to get out, but he also needed to neutralize the threat.

And if he had any choice at all, he wouldn't have left whoever was down here to die.

Nate tipped his head sideways until his view was level with the room at its intended orientation.

There's nothing on the walls, so it has to be on the floor.

Right under where Eliot is pinned.

Of course it is.

Nate tied off his guide-line close to Eliot, then attached an offshoot line. He needed to get around and under, and if he took the time to wind all the way out of the platform, he might lose too much air. It was riskier, trying to get through a break in the floor, but it was faster.

Eliot needed him to be fast.

Nate didn't look back, couldn't look back. He kicked for a spot in the corner, nearest where the platform's leg that had buckled should have been attached. Sure enough, there was a gap ripped in the floor beneath which was nothing but ocean. Nate lowered himself carefully, watching every inch of his line and his equipment. If something went wrong, if he got stuck now, they would both die.

Not today. You don't get to take him today.

I'm bringing him home.

In the open water, Nate could move much more quickly. He darted under the structure, wincing at the bent support leg which looked like it might snap any moment. But he couldn't stop it from snapping and worrying about it would only waste time he did not have to spare.

He almost ran into the foot that dangled from an open hatch.

A foot held on by nothing but a last layer of skin and half a pair of denim pants.

But Nate knew almost as soon as he got his light on it that this was not Eliot's leg. The skin was wrong, the hair, even the musculature. This was the leg of someone who had tried to shoot Parker and Hardison as they fled – and yet Eliot had tried to save them when he should have been running for his life.

Nate followed the foot upwards, flashlight less bright in the dense red tide.

But it was enough to see a body halfway out an open hatch, long dead and drowned. Nate reached up, cringing and apologetic but not stopping for either, and felt into the hatch.

God bless you, you bastard. You tried to kill my team, but you died and that's going to save Eliot's life.

Nate wrapped his hands around the dead man's jacket and pulled.

He could feel bones giving way, already smashed from being jammed partway into a hole. The water was red and dark already, so Nate couldn't know how much blood was leaching everywhere, but he thought it must be a frightening quantity. The more of the gunman he yanked roughly downward, the more he realized how mangled the body was. Bones dislocated, spine severed, ribs shattered. A man reduced to nothing but soup inside his skin.

Please don't let this be Eliot, too.

The body popped free and Nate let it drift away. He reached up into the gap left behind and felt legs.

Eliot. I'm coming.

If he had no better choices, he could pull Eliot backwards through the hole, but he knew there would be no way to keep the pony tank in place. Even if it only took a matter of seconds, Nate didn't want to risk it. Didn't want Eliot to stop breathing. Even for a moment.

Nate followed his offshoot line back to the gap and wiggled through it as quickly as he dared. For a moment he couldn't see Eliot and fear caught him.

No. He can't die now. He wouldn't dare.

Nate dove to his guide-line and it led him to where he'd left Eliot.

Eliot had shifted when the body pinned beneath him was gone. But that tiny line of bubbles rose from the regulator again, and Nate couldn't tell if he was crying and he didn't care if he was.

That dead gunman's body had been just enough of a blockage that his absence created margin for Nate to be able to extract his Hitter.

Come on, Eliot. Let's go home.

Nate reached into the now-widened crevice and gently worked him loose, tugging slowly and carefully in case anything was still trapped. He could feel the twist in Eliot's knee and winced with sympathy. The Hitter would be laid up for a while on that, unable to walk and probably yelling at everybody just to hide his frustration and fear.

An Eliot who was down, who couldn't fight, was an Eliot who felt helpless, an Eliot who feared he couldn't protect.

But you have always protected us. Even when you were miles away. You protect us because we know you'll come for us if you have to do it on one leg or none at all. You protect us and you watch out for us.

And this will be my turn to watch over you. I promise. Just keep breathing.

At last Nate pulled Eliot free, though he was no more conscious than before. He hung in the water, arms and legs limp, hair floating. If not for the bubbles and the fact that the gauge on the pony tank showed use, Eliot would have seemed dead. Dead and gone and beyond where they could find him or bring him home.

Not today, Eliot Spencer. Not today.

Nate tightened his tie-off of the guide-line and dropped the reel. He was going to have his hands full getting Eliot out, and he didn't care if the line went down when the platform finished sinking. He just needed to get Eliot to the surface.

Nate checked that the pony tank's regulator was still tight in Eliot's mouth, then pulled Eliot's shirt open. With a silent apology, he shoved the tank down the collar of Eliot's shirt to hold it. It wasn't the most elegant solution, and it could easily bounce against what would certainly be wicked bruising and maybe broken ribs, but he needed the tank not to shift too much or float away.

Then, counter to every rule of cave or wreck diving, Nate turned around, grabbed Eliot under the arms, and began swimming backwards along the guide-line. He knew there were dozens of things that could catch him, corners of metal that could snag on his gear, even damaging his hose lines or his tank.

But this was faster, and Eliot still needed him to be fast.

He flinched when a sharp slice of metal burned into his shoulder, glancing off his bicep and tearing the wetsuit. He glanced back just long enough to ensure he wouldn't get caught on whatever it was and gave another strong kick.

My turn to shed blood for you, Eliot. Don't you dare make it not count.

Two tight spots later, Nate dragged Eliot out the last door and into the open ocean where he disconnected from the guide-line entirely. The dive computer on his wrist showed the need for a single decompression stop about halfway to the surface, which gave him the chance to pause and adjust Eliot's regulator. The tiny stream of bubbles continued, but nothing else had changed.

You have to wake up, Eliot. I don't care if it's now or at the surface or tomorrow. But you have to wake up. You are not allowed to die today.

He glanced back at the platform which looked like a crumpled child's toy left in a bathtub, slowly being overtaken by the tide and slipping towards the bottom.

I'll make them sorry they did this to you. To you and everyone in there. You just keep breathing. And live. You have to live, Eliot. For all of us. For me.

Don't make me bury another son.

The dive computer signaled it was safe to ascend again and Nate swam towards the sunlight.