A/N: I hope this is the longest gap between chapters, but no promises. Thanks for hanging in there with me. Much angst and introspection in this one...

Chapter 4

"Couldn't you have gagged him, girl?" Hardison glanced up from the careful packing of his necessary gear. He frowned toward the closet door where a string of invectives only slightly less imaginative than Eliot's worst could be heard, albeit somewhat muffled. Parker was pacing in front of the door, though her usual pre-con frenetic energy seemed to be lacking. She appeared lost in thought, idly twirling her taser in one hand, but at Hardison's query she stopped and returned to the work table, taking up position next to Sophie, who had given up trying to help Hardison sort his gear when it became clear she was only getting in his way.

"Eliot says a person can suffocate from that if you're not careful and we're not trying to kill Eliot's friend." Parker pursed her lips, and shifted her eyes toward Nate, who had just returned from downstairs. "Are we?"

"Um, no Parker. We are not trying to kill Eliot's friend. We may need him later. Okay guys, I gave Cora a very sanitized version of why we'll be gone for a while. She promised to keep an eye out for anything unusual. And no," he turned toward Sophie, who appreared ready to object. "I don't think she or anyone in the pub will be in any danger. The destruction in San Lorenzo aside, blowing up our building here would draw too much attention, and I doubt he simply wants to kill us. As long as we're not here, they should be safe."

Attempting not to dwell on that sobering thought, Hardison yanked home the final zipper on his computer bags, and shoved the largest one into Nate's hands. He knew they were waiting on him only, since emergency go bags for everyone were permanently stowed in Lucille. Facing the wrath of an impatient Leverage team, Hardison lingered long enough to reach under the work station and pull out Hardy. Yeah, okay, Parker2000 may have been a little on the nose, but Hardison thought it had a nice ring to it. Hardy, though? Where did she get that from?

He handed his second favorite girl in the whole wide world over to Parker who, with a puzzled frown, carefully took the green robot and cradled it in her arms. Hardison's heart melted just a bit at how strangely vulnerable she seemed in that moment, almost like a child given something priceless, but at a loss what to do with it. He spared just another second to give her a little grin. "Who knows babe, we might need some extra help, huh?" But the moment had passed, and Parker only reached out to grab his arm and tug him toward the door, leaving him barely enough time to grab one last bag from atop the work station.

Hardison was last out the door, but he paused again before pulling it shut behind him. With the noise-cancelling headphones on, and the closet door shut, there was no way Shelley could have known if they were still in the apartment, or had left twenty minutes ago. But the tone and target of his expletives had changed, and were now interspersed with the occasional faint thump or grunt, as if he might be seeking a way to loose himself from his bindings. Not a little spooked, Hardison pulled the door shut with a bit more force than necessary, and rushed to join the others who were already making their way down the fire stairs to the alleyway.

Parker leaned out Lucille's side door, waiting to slide it shut as soon as Hardison climbed in, but he dropped to his knees by the rear bumper instead, yanking open the small bag.

"Hardison!"

"Gimme jus' a minute guys. Believe me, I know we're in a hurry. Eliot's friend up there sounds like he's gettin' ready to go 'T-Rex escapes the paddock' on us..." He fished around the bag and came up with a small screwdriver and a set of new license plates. "Lucille here has as many solid aliases as we do, let's put one to work." He secured the rear plate in place, then rushed around the vehicle to attach the front plate. "Now, she's just a family camper van outta the great state of Virginia, home of the most awesome peanuts and ham you can imagine!" He stuffed the old plates and screwdriver back in the bag, and climbed inside, grinning with satisfaction.

Nate didn't even wait until the side door rolled shut before he floored Lucille out of the alleyway, across a thankfully-empty side street, then turned to join traffic on a busier boulevard. With a huff, Hardison strapped into one of the rear jump seats near the van's computer bank. No appreciation at all! Not even an acknowledgement of thorough planning and genius foresight. Zip. Zilch. But then Parker, still hugging Hardy tightly to herself, turned and smiled at him, and for a brief moment, everything was right with the world.

Nate drove for a time in silence. He was less concerned with where they went at the moment than that they simply put as much physical distance as they could between themselves and Mr. Shelley. Eventually, they would have to find a temporary base of operations. Eventually, they would have to discuss what to do next. But for now, they had a nearly-full tank of gas, and a lot of open road. It looked like there would be rain though, and they should find somewhere to hole up before things got nasty.

Despite his bravado with Shelley back at the apartment, Nate at the moment could see no clear path forward. There were Things To Consider, simple bullet points on a list in his mind, but he needed to weave them together into something actionable. Keep Shelley at arm's length, but within reach. Dodge death. Find Eliot...and keep him from doing something he'd never be able to come back from. Because Nate was pretty sure he himself was at least partly to blame for this.

Nate knew what Eliot was capable of. He knew something of what Eliot struggled with. Eliot had killed, and not just in combat. And Eliot didn't want to kill any more.

Nate, if I'm engaged...

Do your worst.

It sounded like someone had spoken aloud, but maybe that was just Nate's conscience again, that pesky little thing he always tamped down even when he knew Eliot was right, but he felt like poking the bear anyway.

What right did Nate have to wield that sort of control over Eliot? No matter Eliot had essentially given him the power, but Nate didn't like it. He didn't trust himself not to abuse it. And too often, he forgot that Eliot was not some dog on a leash, to be set loose or brought to heel at Nate's whim. The first tiny drops of rain began to fall, pock-marking the fine layer of dust on the van's windshield. Nate barely noticed them.

The more objective part of his mind clamored that whatever Eliot was doing now, he was taking orders from no one but himself. That the actions he'd take to protect the team would have no root in Nate's directive at the carnival yesterday. Only yesterday? It felt like decades ago. The objective part knew Eliot would have done whatever he had to with or without Nate's blessing. The objective part knew Nate couldn't have stopped him at the carnival if he had wanted to. And the objective part tried to ignore the obvious deduction to be made from that: that the team likely had no chance of stopping Eliot now, either.

And the objective part also knew there would be worse things than the folding of Leverage, Inc. if they lost their hitter and friend to his demons, figurative or literal. It would be like...blue-tinted lights...No. Don't put it into words, not even in your own mind. Can't think like that, too personal. Too painful. Focus on this: No matter how minuscule the chance the team had to stop Eliot, Nate had always liked playing the odds.

But where to start?

He cleared his throat, uncomfortably aware of Sophie's probing gaze on him, but he kept his own eyes on the road ahead. "Look, guys, things snowballed pretty quickly back there, and we didn't really discuss this..."

"We're good, man." Hardison must be at Lucille's computer bank: the quick, deliberate rhythm of his typing the only sign he was well-immersed in something, and apparently not feeling any trace of the motion sickness he usually claimed to have when he wanted the front seat. Parker was silent.

"Nate," Sophie touched his arm lightly, and Nate was nearly certain it was only a touch, and nothing more. "We all want to find him, Nate. We all want to survive Moreau. And we're all good with doing whatever it takes to accomplish both."

Faced now with the weight of the team's trust, solidarity, and determination, Nate swallowed down his indecision and uncertainty. Turned them toward pressing the team into helping him find solutions. It was time to lead.

"Hardison, what have you got?"

"On San Lorenzo, nothin' new yet. There still isn't any real media coverage. It's mostly being reported as 'just another' military coup in a country no one cares about." The intermittent raindrops turned into a slow drizzle. Nate switched the wipers on, and began to look for a quiet place to pull off and park the van.

"As far as Eliot...We know he doesn't have the phone I issued him, no earbud, and none of us knows where he lives, so I can't check traffic cameras around his place. If he went to an airport or bus terminal, he dodged all the cameras. So essentially, he's in the wind..."

"But would Eliot leave the country?" Sophie turned in her seat to address Hardison. "We know Moreau's empire was extensive. Surely, he has people here to do his bidding, if he's not already on the way himself."

Sophie had put to words Nate's own thoughts. He knew Eliot would remain close. Eliot had sent Shelley to them to be the guard dog, but Eliot was playing the bait. And he didn't need to spell it out to the team, they all knew their friend too well for that.

"So, I thought, maybe we could start with where we saw him last...huh."

"Hardison? We don't need any 'huh's' right now." But he had found one thing they did need, and pulled Lucille into a nearly-empty roadside rest stop.

"'Huh' as in I got a pretty clear picture of Eliot's date from the pub's security cams...turns out she really is a nurse at Mass General." He huffed a laugh, and Parker snorted. It was the first sound she had made for almost the entire drive, and a too-quiet Parker was never a good thing.

"That helps us how, Hardison?" Lucille could pass for a small family camper van, so Nate parked down at the end of the lot farthest from the road, where sleepy drivers would be expected to park and catch an hour or so of shut-eye.

"It's just...you know. For the most secretive, paranoid man in the entire world, Eliot ain't exactly shy bout sharin' his more 'colorful' escapades...I just thought, the way he said nurse Gail that it was, like a euphamism 'r somethin'...Okay, look. They apparently took her car to a nice, but not pretentious, restaurant on the river. I got 'em both on security cameras going in, but only her leaving...much later. 'Course the cameras don't cover the entire restaurant. Eliot probably snuck out the back somehow, maybe went for a swim in the Charles River or somethin'...anyway, that's the last place we know he was at."

"So, still not helpful." Nate flicked the windshield wipers off, and swiveled the driver's seat around, pretending to ignore Sophie's judgmental glare.

"Well, I mean...we gotta start somewhere, right? While we wait for Eliot to call Shelley or Shelley to call him?"

"Nate, he's right. We would be remiss if we don't make sure, absolutely sure, that this nurse isn't somehow further involved." Still, Nate hesitated. Every fiber of his being told him they didn't have much time to find Eliot and convince him to accept their help. He was a juggernaut when he was in defensive mode, and this was more than just a simple protection gig. Do your worst. Eliot's worst was nuclear.

But the team couldn't afford to make mistakes either. And if there was even the slightest chance this nurse was not who she seemed...well, at least they'd have something to go on.

"Okay. We start with the nurse."

Damien picked up on the second ring. "Ah, Eliot. I've been waiting for you to check in. Was there a problem completing the job? If I didn't know you so well, I would think you're losing your touch." There was a hint of humor in Damien's voice, a conciliatory tone like that of a receptionist when dealing with a simple missed appointment. Sure, Eliot. We can reschedule for a more convenient time. When is good for you? But one did not simply "reschedule" with Damien Moreau. He expected his wishes to be carried out with no delay.

"Yeah well, I'm declinin' the job."

There was a fraction of a beat of silence, the huddled anticipation of thunder following a lightning strike. Then Moreau's voice came again, now with a cold steely edge. "Is this because you know the General personally? I never took you for the sentimental type, Eliot. Or perhaps you no longer have the stomach for the work?"

"I'm goin' freelance. I ain't interested in working for a single person anymore. It was understood when I took your offer, I could walk away at any time."

And here was the pivotal moment. There would be no going back now. All that remained was to see how cleanly he could walk away.

Eliot knew he'd never be clean again.

"Now, I'll tell ya what I do have the stomach for, Damien." Here he paused, trying to gauge the weight of the silence on the other end of the line. How angry was Damien? How likely was he to heed the wisdom in what Eliot was about to offer?

"I'll tell ya what I have the stomach for. I have the stomach to end any and every person you might attempt to send after me. You know I'm more than capable of that. And if you persist, I'll have the stomach to come after you. So, save yourself the money, the headache, and the manpower and let me walk away. Forget about me, Damien. Forget about me, and I will keep your confidence, as I always have."

Damien barked a laugh. It was a hollow, evil sound. "I would have been willing to forget you, Eliot. I had forgotten you. But then, you came after me with your merry little crew. Perhaps I will take them from you one at a time...but what shall I do with them? Killing them would simply be...anticlimactic. I wonder, how well could the incomparable Devereaux grift her marks with a face so terribly scarred no one would ever call her beautiful again? Or your hacker. How would he fare with no hands? Would Parker remain the perfect cat burglar with every bone in her delicate body broken? And your mastermind...Perhaps I'll return his head to you when I'm done with him."

Eliot jerked awake, his strained hip protesting the cramped position in the driver's seat of his plain little sedan. Heart pounding, he took note of his surroundings, seemingly normal for the type of neighborhood where one could sleep behind the wheel of one's car without seeming out of place. And without being harassed.

He took a deep breath, pressing the heels of his palms hard to his eyes in an attempt to chase away the last vestiges of sleep. He checked his watch, he had drifted off only forty minutes ago, not quite as long as he had wanted to allow himself. Damien's last laughing words were the figment of his imagination of course, but they rang all too loudly in his head, driving him out of the cramped, claustrophobic, little car. He had to move, fight, do something! But he couldn't. Not yet. He couldn't make his move until he knew just how Moreau was moving. And the waiting was the hardest part.

So for now, Eliot would walk. He left the car behind, knowing in the unspoken understanding of this neighborhood, that it would not be molested in his absence. He would not be gone from it long, but he needed to work the stiffness out of his joints, and the ghosts out of his mind. He needed food, though his stomach churned at the very thought of eating.

His head throbbed. Yesterday's concussion, though mild based on his prior experience, was being exacerbated by a sinus headache brought about by falling barometric pressure. There was a storm coming.

Even out of the car now, alone on the wide-open sidewalk, Eliot felt as though the very sky was bearing down on him, trying to press him into the ground. At the same time, he felt as though he were caught at the top of a roller coaster, moments before the breakneck drop, or on the knife's edge between the click of a pressure plate, and the roar of death. It was an expectant lull, a mere pause that carried physical weight.

Moreau had the patience and cunning to wait and plan his escape, to make sure nothing could go awry and that everything was perfect. Eliot had been prepared to wait for years for a move from him. This escape was bold, brash, attention-grabbing, but...ultimately anti-climactic. It did not fit what Eliot thought he knew about Moreau's methods. No, either he should have escaped quietly as possible and gone to ground for a while, or followed up this brazen escape with something immediate, taunting, and fearless. This lull wasn't right, but Eliot couldn't fill in the blanks yet.

Even pinned down in San Lorenzo, as he should be if Flores had managed to close the borders quickly enough, he'd have some link to his men world wide. He could have contacted associates in America immediately, since he must have known his escape would alert Eliot. He'd want to deal with the team personally, but surely he could have sent people to capture or at least watch the team if he couldn't travel himself.

So why was there no sign of it? Why had there been no further move?

This reeked of distraction. But distraction from what? Eliot's thoughts swirled, and that didn't help his throbbing head. He couldn't do anything until he knew more. And he couldn't rush his contacts if he wanted to stay below the radar. He had to wait, and it chafed.

Eliot found himself longing for Hardison's electronic network, something he could use to search and watch anonymously, and not have to rely on contacts with dubious third-hand information and loyalty only to their own skins...but he ruthlessly squashed the desire to contact the team. He could not think of them as assets to be used in a war that was all his own. He couldn't be certain that something Hardison did, some database he pried into wouldn't in some way, tip off Moreau.

And you don't hide behind civilians. That was a tactic of the enemy.

The street vendor's glance lingered on Eliot's bandaged hand, but he did not comment. In this neighborhood, you didn't ask questions. There was a small park across the street, and Eliot chose a bench with good vantage points. He wasn't bothered by the light, misting rain that began to fall. Eliot ate mechanically, out of necessity rather than desire. Something in the back of his mind noted he would have enjoyed this meal under other circumstances (and that Parker would have enjoyed the finger-food aspect, and Sophie and Hardison might have turned up their noses at the color and texture), but it tasted of ashes to him right now. Ashes and blood.

Flores was supposed to contact him when he had a handle on things, and each hour without word from the General made him more and more concerned. Eliot's first thought after they put Moreau away was to simply go in later and kill him, no matter Nate would be disappointed. Eliot knew the General would have allowed it, looked the other way even if he had not approved. But removing a man like that left a vacuum...and there were too many people loyal to him scattered all over the world. If Eliot killed Moreau, someone else would simply rebuild. If they held Moreau, used his imprisonment as bait to those loyal to him...they may be able to root out the foundations of his empire.

They let it be known Moreau was imprisoned. They carefully fed information to the Italian. By her work, Italy and other countries were turning over and seizing Moreau's considerable assets. Moreau was a dealer in many things, but he had discriminating tastes, and had always been a collector of fine goods. Many of Moreau's assets were still tangible items: art, antiquities, things he could barter, sell, or hoard. And he was smart enough to scatter his stashes across the world.

Having eaten, it was time for Eliot to put to use one piece of the scattered bits of information his contacts had provided him. He opened his phone, and dialed a number.

"David's Used and Vintage Books, how may I help you?" The voice on the other end was welcoming, grandfatherly.

"You tell the woman with no name...If she knew about this beforehand, and didn't bother to warn us...if she is after that damn statue...I will find her. This is the only warning she gets."

"Who is this?" The voice was unflustered, imperious, all other affect immediately dropped. This was NOT the voice of a confused shop owner receiving a wrong number.

"Give her the message. She'll know who it's from."

Eliot ended the call, and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. The Italian was useful, but he still didn't trust her. Though she had ultimately helped them, she was motivated by her own set of ideals and loyalties, her own greed. Still, she could become an asset again.

An asset. It had been a long time since he had thought of people in terms of "assets" and "liabilities." He was tired of it. He was tired of running from his past. He was tired of caring. He was tired of not caring.

"Perhaps you no longer have the stomach for the work?"

Eliot stared at the bandages wrapped around his hand. Parker had done a great job. She paid attention to what he taught her. She cared. If Shelley had to give the team his other message...If Eliot had his way, Nate and Sophie would settle down, Parker and Hardison would lead a blissfully domestic life.

They'd go nuts in a week.

So if that wasn't an option...he hoped they'd take his suggestion to bring Shelley in if they couldn't leave the work behind. Shelley was trustworthy, a good and loyal friend, and Eliot mourned that he had not been a very good friend to him these last few years. Still, Shelley would look after them. The team was as safe as Eliot could make them right now.

The rain fell heavier. He needed to get moving. He'd been in one place for too long. His thoughts were too scattered, and he needed rest. Time to head back to the car, find a place to hole up and wait for news. And soon, it would be time to check in with Shelley.

-TBC