It's a story like this that makes me really wish I could edit video. There are SO MANY SONGS that deserve to be set to Leverage, and I just have no skill whatsoever. My current favorite (which isn't a chapter in this story) is "O Fortuna" by Gregorian. Go listen to it, seriously.

Now, imagine that first opening being Eliot in The Big Bang Job preparing himself for the gunfight. Then, when it goes all quiet with the guitar? A flashback to Eliot with his own guitar. And the whole song becomes a lament and also a fond memory of everything that has led him to this point. "O Fortuna" is actually a great song for Eliot, because it's about the fickle nature of fate and its unforgiving curse.

Anyway. This is the sort of thing I think about sometimes.

Today's theme is "Time of Dying" by Three Days Grace.

Enjoy!

Chapter 4: Living a Nightmare

Eliot woke in bits and pieces, aware and yet unaware at the same time, and when he could feel anything about it at all, it was infuriating. He was at one point cognizant of being on a plane (noting the distinctive noise and pressure), but couldn't so much as open his eyes or listen beyond the roar of jet engines. He was also close enough to the surface to feel a hand on him, but dropped back into the confused, grey miasma of his head shortly thereafter.

But he forced himself to rise completely at the sound of a frightened cry of his name.

"Eliot! Help!"

Eliot surged upwards, fists cocked to slam, even before his vision remembered how to connect to his brain. He felt the impact with a bulky body and tore through several more while he tried to figure out if his eyes were open or not.

"Eliot!"

Oh, they must be open because he could see Molly somewhere between the two blurs that were in his way. He decided he didn't care about the blurs very much and let his body strike out at them while he tried to get his brain to orient to everything else.

Someone shouted something that didn't matter very much because then Molly was pressed to his side. She was unsteady – or he was a lot more unsteady than he thought – and he put an arm around her to pin her against him. She was saying something, but his ears were still working on language.

He felt Molly pulling at him and he followed her tugging just to make sure he kept holding onto her. There was more activity around him, people and talking, but none of it felt important.

"Eliot? Can you hear me?"

Eliot meant to say something reassuring because he wanted Molly not to sound so scared, but he was sure he didn't a moment later when she poked his shoulder with her voice raising in alarm.

"Eliot?"

This continued for some unknown amount of time while vision and hearing floated in and out and sometimes tasted the same. But finally Eliot became aware of a deep headache behind his eyes and could wrap his consciousness around the edges of his drugged state and shove it aside.

With a snap he woke in a barren, windowless room, a single bulb hanging above and providing some semblance of illumination that would put a firefly to shame. Still, it was enough to see.

"Molly?"

"Eliot!" Molly was crouched in front of him, her face smudged with dirt and tears. "Are you finally done being loopy? Because it's really not helping and you kept mumbling and I don't speak grunt."

Eliot took in the room in one long glance. Then he dropped his head and ran his hands through his hair.

Which was also when he noticed the heavy manacles on his wrists and ankles – the ankles chained with a long tether to a grate in the floor. They looked like leftovers from a gulag, probably Bulgarian but maybe Siberian. They were thick steel, much harder to break than standard US police-issue, and doubly hard to pick. If he'd even had lockpicks.

Before raising his head, Eliot whispered under his breath, "Don't believe me for five minutes."

He didn't even wait for Molly to answer before he looked up and spoke aloud. "I've got a pair of lockpicks in my back pocket. Give me a minute and we'll get out of here."

Molly blinked at him, wide-eyed.

"Here." Eliot palmed something and pushed it into her hands. "Go stand by the door. I'll be right there. I've got something else they missed that'll make them really sorry they didn't search me better." And he pulled one of the ankle manacles into the curl of his body to mess with it, counting slowly.

Six minutes later, he looked up. "Okay. All clear."

Molly made her way back over, holding out the rock he'd grabbed. "What's this for?"

"Nothing," Eliot said. "I wanted to know if they were monitoring us. If they had this place bugged with either cameras or microphones, they'd be here by now." He gave a dark smile. "First thing that's gone right all day."

"So…" Molly knelt beside him again. "We're not getting out of here yet?"

Eliot met her eyes and shook his head. "Not right away anyway."

"Oh. That's why you said not to believe you. Because you were testing them. So you don't really have lockpicks."

"Right."

Molly dealt with that information for a minute. Then she poked at the chains on Eliot's wrists. "Can you get those off?"

"Not without something to pick them. And it won't be easy. Gonna need more than a few hairpins to get these open." He gave an experimental tug. "I could break my thumbs, but that won't help with my feet."

Molly's eyes widened. "You won't...cut off your foot...will you?"

Eliot recoiled. "No! What the hell would you ask that for?"

"Uh, I saw it in a movie."

Eliot glared at her. "We are going to discuss your choices in entertainment from now on. Seriously." Then he shook his head. "Don't weaken yourself if you can help it when you're captured. Take the food you get, take the water. You have to be strong to survive and escape. Cutting off a foot is only something you do in the case of imminent death or danger. Imminent."

"Okay."

Eliot stretched out his legs, testing the bounds of the chains. His wrists could only be separated about twelve inches, and his feet maybe eighteen. The wrist manacles were attached to the ankle set with a chain not quite long enough for him to stand upright. Eliot grabbed the chain tether to the grate and gave it a yank.

"So...I guess you're not actually Superman."

Eliot turned back to where Molly dropped to sit on the ground. Her shoulders curved inwards and her head was down.

"Hey."

She didn't move.

"I said hey."

Now she looked up.

"In all that creepy-ass stuff you read, you ever come across the survival Rule of Three?"

"No?"

"It says you get no more than three minutes to find air if you're drowning. Three hours to find shelter if you're lost in the wilderness. Three days to find water. Three weeks to find food. That's how long you've got before you're dead where you stand. But there's something before all of that – you won't make it out at all if you go more than three seconds without hope."

She blinked at him.

Eliot gentled his tone and put out a hand. "You're alive, Molly. You're alive and you're not alone. And I'm going to get us out of this. I promise. I'll keep you alive and as safe as I can. You have to do your part in that. No matter how bad it gets, don't you let that third second without hope creep up on you. As soon as you do that, we're both dead."

Molly chewed her lip for a moment, then nodded. "Okay." She let him take her hand and she squeezed it. "I'm really glad you're here with me."

"Me, too. You got any idea where we are?"

"Nope. They made me drink the same stuff they gave you and I didn't wake up until we were getting out of a car in some dark garage." Then, a little more shakily, "They almost put me someplace else. But you kinda scared them. They made me put the chains on you, but the guy in charge said you'd be easier to control if you weren't going berserk trying to find me."

"That," Eliot said, "was a good call on their part. Or we might be in foot amputation territory by now."

She raised an eyebrow at him and gave him a shadow of a smile. "Now who's being creepy?"

"I learned from the best." Eliot twisted until he could get one of his dirtied sleeves closer to his face. He examined the dirt closely, smelled it, and even touched it with the tip of his tongue.

"God I hope you know what you're doing and you're not just crazy now," Molly said.

He frowned at her. "Gotta figure out where we are and that's the quickest way." He tasted it again, then spat. "I'm pretty sure we're in Venezuela. Caracas."

"You can tell that from the dirt?"

"It's very distinctive dirt." He closed his eyes. "This is bad."

Molly huddled closer to Eliot. "Why?"

He looked at her. "Are you sure you wanna know?"

She gulped, then nodded. "Yeah. I'm sure."

Eliot nodded too. "Okay. Short version – Venezuela is one of the most corrupt nations in the Western Hemisphere, which makes it a playground for every mafia, mob, and cartel that wants to set up shop. They've got everything from drugs to human trafficking here, and they can buy and kill with total disregard for the law because the law doesn't reach up into the shadows."

Eliot cupped his hands together.

"See, Caracas sits at the base of a mountain in kind of a big valley," he said. He wiggled his pinky in the center of his hands. "This is where the rich people live, at the heart of the city. Lots of wealth, lots of power. But out here," he wiggled his thumbs, "the poverty levels can be extreme. People live in boxes on top of boxes, or in garbage dumps. And the people down in the valley are surrounded. They'll do whatever it takes to keep a mudslide from rolling downhill. And the people on the hills will do anything to survive."

He sighed.

"I make it sound worse than it is. Look." And he met her eyes. "There are good people and bad people everywhere. There are always people who will do the right thing, no matter the consequences, and it has nothing to do with money. But this," and he held up his cupped hands again, "is the stuff of nightmares for the people who haven't been kind to others. It means funding for policing goes where the people with the money want it, deep in the center, and the good intentions of people trying for justice get swamped by the outside forces against them."

Eliot dropped his hands.

"We're in a place the US doesn't send tourists because it's too dangerous. And we're in a place where a little bit of money can buy a lot of muscle and a lot of official silence."

"But you've gotten out of worse, right?" Molly asked, a little breathless.

Eliot nodded. "Yeah. But it wasn't easy then and it won't be easy now." Seeing the low tremors that Molly was admirably trying to suppress, he lifted an arm and let her curl into his side, pressing her head against his chest. "I'm going to get us out of this, Botasky. It might take some time, and it might get ugly. I just need you to keep your head and do what I say."

"Okay, Eliot."

"I mean it." He put a little more gruff menace into his voice. "No playing hero, Molly. This isn't one of your creepy books. If I tell you to run and not look back, you run and don't look back. If I tell you to let them hurt me, you stand back and you let them hurt me, dammit. Got it?"

Her breath hitched and she tightened her grip around Eliot, tangling his shirt in her fists and shoving herself as deep into his space as she could get.

But she nodded against his chest.

"Okay. I promise. Under one condition. Non-negotiable."

Eliot was pleased at the fragile courage and even hint of humor in her voice. She was a tough kid and she was proving it once again.

But that didn't mean he'd let her get away with things. "What?"

"I just want you to tell me what's happening. I'll do what you tell me and I won't argue with you, but I...I want to know why."

"Might not have time to tell you," Eliot said.

"I know." Molly let out a breath. "But if you do have time, or if you can tell me later, will you? No secrets. Please?"

He wanted to argue that point. There could be any number of awful things that would happen, and he would rather she not have to know about his plans and defences against them. He'd already figured out why she was here – this was a standard Russian mob tactic. Force someone into committing a crime and then they could run their life forever. And with Molly right there, she was the perfect tool to ensure John Connell got roped body and soul into the power of these guys for life.

Eliot knew they would have promised Molly would be safe, but that was no guarantee. He knew what the Russian mob did with kids, especially girls. He knew what they could do to ensure compliance from even the bravest people. If he didn't watch out, Molly could get a lot worse than hurt before he got her to safety.

But, on the other hand, control and choice and consent were precious now, commodities as valuable as food and water. If Molly felt like she understood, she might feel more able to handle whatever was happening. And that confidence, no matter how slight, could save her life.

"Okay. No secrets if I can help it."

"Okay." A bit of tension drained out of her shoulders. "So...what do we do now?"

"First, you're going to sleep and I'm going to think."

That surprised Molly enough that she lifted her head. "Sleep? Why? I slept all the way here."

"You were drugged all the way here. It's not the same thing." Eliot shifted his hold on her and pulled her back to his chest. "There's no telling what kinds of openings we'll get, and we need more intel before we can start making chances of our own. You need to be rested for whenever we need to move." He hesitated for a moment before adding on, "Also, there's no telling when they'll feed us next. It'll be easier for you if you can sleep through being hungry for a while."

He felt her shudder, but almost just as quickly she forced her breathing to be slow and controlled.

"Okay. So why aren't you sleeping?"

"Because I can learn things by listening. And we'll both be safer if there's a lookout."

"Oh." Then, "What if I can't sleep?"

"Then count," Eliot said. "Count your heartbeats. If you get to five-thousand, that'll be enough for a start."

"Okay." Molly moved her legs to be slightly less uncomfortable and sank down, not relinquishing her hold on Eliot's middle. "Goodnight, Perky."

That gave Eliot an idea. "One more thing."

Molly looked up at him. "Huh?"

"You need to do everything I tell you to do. But if I ever call you Rats, what I need you to do is the opposite of whatever I'm telling you."

"Like a code?" Molly blinked. "So if you told me not to run but you called me Rats, you actually want me to run?"

"Exactly."

"That actually makes sense."

Eliot couldn't help but laugh – there was the cynical preteen he'd first met sulking under a tree in all her dismissive glory. "Thanks for the vote of confidence. Now – sleep."

Molly closed her eyes and settled. Eliot knew it was very hard to make yourself rest when you were scared, but he also knew that rest would be the best chance she would get at a clear head and the ability to react quickly later. He counted his own heartbeats and felt her slide into true sleep and not just fitful dozing around the two-thousand mark.

Then Eliot shifted his focus to completely outside himself, Molly, and their little room. He bent every sense he had to the tiniest of sounds and the slightest of air currents, and waited to see what they would tell him. Even a single piece of the right information would be enough for the groundwork of an escape plan.

And Eliot knew, from long experience, that the information he needed would come along eventually. He only had to be ready to catch it and use it.

-==OOO==-

Eliot's internal clock told him Molly had been asleep for the better part of two hours when he heard the sound of someone approaching the room. He shoved at her to wake her.

"Get behind me."

Then Eliot rolled to the balls of his feet, climbing into a crouch. He couldn't exactly spring far, chained to the grate as he was, but it put him in position to do serious harm to anyone who came within range. He pressed Molly back behind him to the wall.

"Remember our deal, Botasky."

"Okay, Perky."

He turned his snort into a warning growl as the thick door opened and a figure emerged.

"Ah, you're up. I'm impressed. Normally that mix puts people down for another twelve hours."

Eliot didn't bother to dignify that with any sort of response.

The man was the leader of the Russians who had stormed the Connell house. Eliot read him as former Spetznas in his bearing and the way he curled his socks, but he could also tell that this man was born into the Russian mob long before he ever went the special forces route. Probably vory born and bred. The tattoos he could see on the man's exposed arms and shoulders confirmed as much.

Wonderful.

"Hungry?" the Russian asked.

Eliot decided to get straight to the point. "What do you want?"

"You must eat something. We need you to keep your strength up. Otherwise you'll hardly fetch a good price."

Molly stifled a sound behind Eliot.

"I ain't exactly the kinda horse you wanna put in your stable," Eliot said.

The Russian shook his head. "Oh, no. Though, if our buyers get very creative, I'm sure they can get some use out of you. No, you're purely a money-making opportunity. A very lucrative money-making opportunity."

And Eliot understood. He dipped his chin. "You're running a hell of a risk here."

"Yes, but worth it." The man crossed his arms. "And with the collateral of your little friend there, I see no reason to be afraid." His smile was one of the most sinister Eliot had seen in years. "Shall I make our deal explicit?"

"Go for it."

"Behave yourself and you and the girl will be unharmed. If either of you makes trouble, however, both of you will be punished. Understood?"

Actually, that was more fair than Eliot had feared; he would trade a great deal for a guarantee of Molly's safety. "Yeah."

"Good." The Russian met Eliot's eyes evenly and Eliot knew he was dealing with someone who was completely aware of how penned-in the Hitter was with Molly's life on the line. "You will have to wait a few days before the sale, I fear, so we shall try to keep you in good spirits until then. If all goes very well, we may even send the little kukol'nyy home before it is your turn to say goodbye."

"It means puppet," Eliot quietly translated for Molly. Then he regarded the man. "Why? It can't take that long to sell me to anybody who wants my head."

"It doesn't." The Russian leered suddenly. "But you, my friend, provide an additional revenue source than just your head. There is a bounty on your employer. One as great as the one on yourself. And I have been assured by someone I trust that your Nate Ford will come for you."

Eliot felt his whole heart go cold.

"So I'm bait."

"A little worm on a hook." The Russian grinned. "Once we catch your friend and sell his body, we sell you and make twice as much. A very good deal, yes?"

The Russian turned to go.

"I will send down some food. I cannot let the little worm starve before he brings in big fish. Enjoy your hook. Soon you will be the food and I will be the one to feast."

When the door shut and was audibly locked, Molly leaned against Eliot. "Okay, his metaphors are the worst."

But Eliot wasn't listening. He was thinking.

A bounty on Nate's head.

And Nate would come for him; it was exactly the stupid thing Eliot told him not to do, so of course he would anyway.

Nate was leading the whole team into a trap.

Eliot lowered himself back to the floor and looked across at Molly, eyes glittering.

"New plan, kid."

"Yeah? We're still getting out of here, right?"

"Yeah, we are." And Eliot felt the steel and titanium of his soul grow up around his conviction. "And we're taking everything down when we go."

Eliot would leave this place nothing but a burned husk in his wake.

And then he would handle the bounty on Nate's head – by any means necessary.