Eliot passed out soon after that. At this point, he never fell asleep, his body just shut down. He still had dreams, though, which Nate soon learned.
An hour or so after Eliot's body went limp and his breathing evened out, Nate was no longer paying attention to him. The mastermind was looking around the cell, recalling plans and blueprints, and trying to hear when guards passed the cell. That's why he didn't notice the sounds at first.
When the hitter cried out softly, his cellmate blinked from his rumination and looked over. Eliot was shaking. His breathing was shallow and quick, interrupted by small gasps and grunts. His brow was furrowed, studded with beads of sweat, and his back was slightly arched. He looked like he was in pain.
Or reliving it. It was a nightmare.
Eliot jerked and whispered something in Arabic. Another jolt, and he said it again, louder. It was a sentence, the same one. The next time, he said it loud enough that it rang out. Nate began trying to call his name to wake him up, but he was deep in the throes of his nightmare. With one more yell, their captors burst in again.
They were angry. Eliot was still out of it, trembling. He only woke when he was kicked in the chest. The hitter coughed and opened his eyes, which moved up to the faces of the men above him. He moved back and tried to sit up, but a boot met his chest and pushed down, forcing him to the ground with a grunt. The man holding him down, the same one that had grabbed his chin and kicked him, asked him something. Eliot shook his head and began to speak, but the boot was ground heavily into his cracked ribs, and he wheezed. The man asked again, more slowly and dangerously, and Eliot replied shortly. Now the man was speaking and gesticulating. Eliot opened his mouth again, but the boot just dug into his ribs to keep him quiet. The Syrian turned to Nate, speaking to him. When Nate didn't respond, he growled, heading toward the mastermind.
Eliot yelled the same thing he had in his nightmare. The man laughed and replied, stilling in the center of the room.
"You'll get what you wanted, Nate. I'm supposed to tell you what he says to you."
"That'll be helpful," Nate said, keeping a wary eye on the Syrian.
The man spoke, then nodded to Eliot.
"He wants to know where your partner is. He says, you couldn't have made it that far in, alone."
Parker. "Tell him the truth, I don't know."
Eliot translated it to Arabic, relaying the information.
The Syrian yelled and stormed at Nate, grabbing him by the neck. Eliot yelled at him, but the man didn't stop.
Nate could see the gears turning in the hitter's head. He was calculating what he had to do to save his teammate, because, clearly, the Syrian didn't believe Nate. The mastermind was dispensable.
Eliot looked resigned and yelled something else, which caught the man's attention. Nate was released, choking, and the Syrian returned to the weary hitter. He was unchained from the wall and dragged out.