Disclaimer: They still aren't mine, I'm just taking them for a little walk.

Chapter 2

Elliot's 2 hour window would have been spot on if not for the turbulent weather they hit over the Cascades and then again on approach to Denver International. By the time he was able to debark, Elliot's nerves were almost as raw as his emotions and he was itching to punch someone or something. Luckily, for his knuckles and any annoyance nearby, he was aware of exactly how tight his time table was getting and he knew his aggression would not be appeased just yet. But maybe soon.

It was probably suspicious that he'd arrived with no luggage and looking rather ordinary for a private jet, but he'd let Hardison lecture him on the importance of blending in another time. As he stepped out of the cab at the main headquarters of the Colorado Bureau of Investigation he knew that standing out was exactly what he had to do. He'd been raking his fingers through his hair near constantly during the flight but he gave it a rough comb once more for good measure knowing that if he played it just so he might leave the building without handcuffs. Pulling out his phone he dials the number as instructed to do upon his arrival. When Lieutenant Avendano answers on the second ring, the man on the other end seems much more agitated than he had earlier and Elliot smiles, his first real smile since before the call; since before he started looking for Hardison's damn remote.

Passing through security always sets him on edge, but this adventure started him on edge and he's so tightly wound he's sure that all the security cameras are locked on him. Or maybe it's Hardison tracking him, again. But it isn't like he didn't tell them where he was going, sort of. He is greeted by a Hispanic man, probably pushing retirement, sporting a formidable girth around his middle and a stricken look on his face. Elliot takes the man's hand as he is escorted down a short corridor to the elevator bank and then down to an unmarked sublevel. Hard master key on the elevator, no cards or scanners.

He always hopes he won't need an escape route but he's already scoped out 4 routes to escape with and 6 other routes without completing his retrieval just in case. The Lieutenant is noticeably quiet as they cross the long hall with doors that are only labeled with an "H" for "Holding" and some corresponding number. A polite way of storing the riff-raff, numerically.

They stop just outside of "H-7" when Avendano's voice is heard again. Turning to face Elliot full on, the older man's features have soften considerably in their subterranean pilgrimage. "A little friendly advice. If I were you I'd invest in some bar soap. No offense intended Captain but your wife has a mouth on her that would make a sailor blush."

Elliot's laugh is genuine as he pats the other man on the shoulder, one of Sophie's techniques and an attempt to show comradery. "You're probably right 'bout that. She's somethin' else." He's able to suppress a groan when he realizes that in his haste to leave Portland he'd forgotten to remove his earbud. He's attempting to calculate the range as Avendano turns his back to Elliot to enter in the door's code as he tucks the devise into his jacket pocket. Four digit code, starting with 0 and ending with 0. Come on.

Elliot wishes he'd taken the time to steel himself before entering the darkened room. To anyone who didn't know better Avendano's description of the woman currently sitting in the corner with her face shielded feigning sleep might seem like an exaggeration. However, as the door clicks closed and Elliot takes a couple of steps towards the rumpled lump disguised as Harley Miller he is greeted with her venom, "What the fuck took you so long?". Something's don't change. Miss a few hours of sleep and she's using cuss words like commas.

"Charming, indeed. Okay, she's all yours. Like I explained earlier, as of last night she is by all rights dead. There was enough fuel used in the blast that we shouldn't have even been able to identify the building let alone any victims, but for her sake she needs to stay dead. Do we understand each other?"

Finally looking up at him, Harley rests her chin on her folded arm listening the two men discuss her life or lack thereof. Just another day at the office for them isn't it? She's starting to fade out again when she feels a hand on her shoulder. Flinching away and back into the corner she knocks her head against the wall with a resounding thud and sending her concussion into kill mode. "It's alright, darlin'. You're safe. It's just me."

Looking up at him, the halos in her vision make him look like some kind of apparition, like he does sometimes in her dreams, well the good ones anyway. But when he starts lifting her to a standing position the halos are replaced by what feels like an ice pick to the frontal lobe. He's too close but in the interest of self-preservation she allows him to hold her upright, wedged against his chest. When the world stops spinning a few moments later he's whispering something about her breathing but she's sure one of her eardrums is busted and so his "sweet nothings" are useless, at least on that side of her head.

"Save it Spencer. If you don't get away from me with that cologne I'm going to yak. Hummphh… too late."

At the sound of splattering Avendano is gone and Elliot is on his own. God-dammit, Harley.