AN: Howdy Folks, Thank you so much for all your lovely reviews, and for kindly sticking with this tiresome tale. I am really grateful for your continued patience throughout this ordeal.

I may have failed to warn you significantly sufficiently about the graphic nature of these nightmares of Eliot's, if I have offended or upset anyone I apologise wholeheartedly. I do not understand the system used on this site and did not take the time to ask the question. It only occurred to me as I wrote this forthcoming chapter. Talk to me if anyone has any direction please?

I have neglected to remind you continually that I do not own any of these characters (aside from Flynn the Medic, a nod to an old friend) they all sadly belong to Dean Devlin, John Rogers and Chris 'Pitchfork' Downey. ALL mistakes and errors are mine – I have not used a Beta at all, nor would even know how one would got about finding a Beta if the need arose. Mistakes are therefore, unreservedly, all my very own.

It might also be obvious to the trained eye, that I am not a writer by trade, far from it. I write using my own experiences and am thus a little haphazzard about these things. As in I rarely write the whole story before diving in head first. I also had never heard of a story board prior to this Christmas (yes, last week folks!) when I received a copy of Fiction Writing for Dummies from my dear friend….

I promise that my next fiction will hopefully be much better prepared and executed. Speaking of which….on with the show. Part II of the finale, later tonight – it's being read through by my cats as we speak, they're dreadful critics!

Confined once again deep in the murky recess of his own mind Spencer began to tremble, his skin cold and clammy, his head began to thrash about across his comfortable pillow. Sophie first commented on the hard goose bumps that covered his toned arms, thus encouraged closer inspection by the others. It could also be said that his short fair arm-hair stood on end, as though stood to attention on the finest of Military parades.

Parker took a deep breath and moved straight forward into position so she could talk to the poorly hitter. Paying no attention whatsoever to either leader stood by Eliot's bed, other than to note the odd look they both shared; something akin to compassion. It was clear to her that everyone in that room was there because they cared for the southerner.

"Shush….Eliot, you're safe," Parker caressed his upper arm while simultaneously sweeping back his sweaty hair from his face. "Eliot, wake up," She pleaded, quietly, "please." When was this nightmare going to end and Eliot just wake up?

"I'm upping the Meflaquinne," Michael Vance announced to the room as he finished fiddling with his cellphone. He'd obviously texted his Medic friend and although having Flynn in reach over the phone had been incredibly useful, alongside his own limited abilities, they were fast approaching a stage where Spencer really needed to be in hospital. Not looking forward to broaching that subject with the team Vance thought.

While Parker tended to Eliot, talking gently and trying to reassure him, that he was safe, he was surrounded by people who cared for him and finally that he was safe at home. Sophie continually prepared cool, damp flannels which both ladies used to dampen the burning skin along Eliot's face and neck, finally placing one upon his forehead. They could only hope this would help to keep him calm and more importantly, cool. Noticing the sweat beads forming faster, Parker reached for the thermometer and once again placed it under the hitter's armpit.

After only a moment, "His temp is back up to 104," Parker announced to the room, though aiming it at the mastermind in hope he'd come up with a plan. Afterall, he would always come up with a plan. Wouldn't he? Wide tear stained eyes glanced up to face Nate with repeated hope.

Gazing across at Vance, Nate was about to ask what was left in the bag of tricks which might deal with this stage, particularly at their medical triage level, when the Agent produced his cell phone and stepping out of the room he placed a call, presumably once more to their trusted medic. Seemingly they were now communicating without physically speaking or more than likely the Colonel was equally as worried about their young charge as he found himself. If Nate had to guess right at that minute, he would opt for pure fear at Spencer's state. Mere seconds later Hardison, who Nate had failed to even notice depart, reappeared arned with a couple of ice packs which he swiftly dropped upon the bed.

"Found these in his store cupboard, man it's like a walk-in pharmacy!" passing them across to the ladies near the head of the bed, "these ones activate by snapping them. With any luck they'll stop his brain from boiling."

"Good thinking Alec," Nate slapped the youngster on his back, proud of him for keeping a relatively cool head when the rest of them were starting to run low on machinations.

"Right you'll all have to excuse us for a few minutes, I need a moment or two alone with our friend." Colonel Vance used his business tone on the remaining team members of Leverage Consulting as he swept back into the room.

Sophie stepped up, eyes straight to Nate who nodded in agreement. She stepped around the bed to usher Parker slowly out through the door, all the while casting furtive glances between each other. It grated both Leverage men to be ejected from the room, however they both deferred to Vance when it came to triage and undoubtedly he had his reasons for it, especially given how private a man Eliot Spencer was; it was also becoming apparent to Nate that it was increasingly likely that Vance knew more than he was letting on.

- LEVERAGE –

Finally alone with the former soldier, Vance stepped forward to try rouse him from his heavy slumber, without great effect. Usually Spencer would come up fighting, rallying some war cry while his fists flew in all directions, however it was not the case this day. Instead he settled for taking vitals from pulses on varying parts of Spencer's now completely uncovered body and capitulating them to the medic who paced equally at the other end of the call. When Spencer failed Vance's simple hydration test straight off the bat, despite a saline IV in place, Vance opened the flow completely and squeezed the bag hanging over his friend's head from the wall lamp. "Damn you and your God-damned fear of doctors Spencer." The man did not mean the bite with which he spoke, it was born of frustration at the current situation over any anger towards the younger man. He understood why Spencer did what he did and even why he did it to a certain extent, but would the man really prefer to die alone than talk to a bloody doctor?

"Flynn you'd better be sure about this," Vance spoke once more into the speaker phone. "This is gonna hurt him and unless you tell me it's the only way, then I am not going to risk Spencer coming to and kicking my ass." While he spoke with the absentee medic about the necessity of this injection into the muscles at the base of their friend's neck, Vance knew with some certainty that the injection was indeed necessary as the medic was accomplished in many differing fields of tropical medicines – after all Michael Vance only worked with the best. Consequently he began to mix the two medications into one hypdermic syringe.

At the opposite end of the phone call was an equally concerned friend who was trying to separate conflicting emotions, this was a drastic measure to take with their friend, however without this specific course of action, even an ambulance would fail to reach Spencer's hideout in time to prevent him falling into a deathly and complicated coma.

"I wouldn't ask you to do this if it weren't absolutely necessary, last time that son-of-a-bitch contracted Malaria it was bad, his lungs are severly compromised already Mikey, last time," Christ he needed to get it back together in his mind but could barely keep from accessing memories from the previous time he'd treated Spencer for a relapse in his Malaria. "Last time he was in a field hospital, surrounded by machinery that could help keep his stubborn ass alive and we almost failed at that." Flynn knew both Spencer and Vance well enough and had occasionally even accompanied them on their little soujourns out of the Countriy on missions to do whatever super secret stuff and nonsense they got up to. Usually, he went along to keep the pair of them from falling apart!

"Listen Mikey, the last time his temp got that high with the seizures you've told me that are already happening, he ended up in a frickin' coma. After that there's only Convulsions left before his nervous system starts to fry. Now, d'you think you can do this?"

"I can do it," confident he would be able to help because he knew that if the roles were reversed Spencer would be able to do it for him, "To confirm, I need 100cc Artesunate mixed with 50cc Meflaquinne straight into the muscle at the base of his skull?" he asked then finished with "Call me back in twenty, will ya?" Vance cut the call without remorse and yelled for help to turn over the bulky hitter.

"Ford!"

Instantly the door flew open, Eliot would not have approved of his door being treated so violently, the speed was only possible due to the group of people waiting right on the other side, he had fully expected they would never move too far from their friends side.

"What's happening?" enquired the frazzled team leader. Michael Vance knew that look only too well and he ran legit guys, not a team of ex cons!

"We need to get him cooled down." Vance answered, "Though that's the easy part. Then we need him on his front and you're going to help me hold him still."

"What's in the needle?" Nate risked the question, even though he was sure that Eliot trusted these guys to have his back.

"Not sure you want to know, nor where it's going, just be warned he might try to move – and he really shouldn't." Vance looked almost nervous, obvious to Nate even though he did not even know the enigmatic man who stood before him.

With the others standing by the door slowly moving forward, they obviously heard the exchange between the two men as they entered the room fully.

"What can we do to help?" Hardison countred, hoping he would not have to do anything with the syringe but wanting to help all the same.

"Sure thing, run the bath again Blondey," Vance directed Parker with a tight smile, hoping the affectionate name would relax her somewhat. With a nod she turned immediately and left the room.

"Sophie we're going to need more towels, sheets, wet flannels and see if you can find any more of those ice packs or ice?" When she moved away to gather said items, the colonel explained the plan to two men remaining.

"First off we're going to give him another dunk in the bath, get this temp down a bit."

Moving Eliot Spencer was a great deal easier between the three men, using a tightly rolled-at-the-sides sheet, stretcher like to move him. Christ knows how Parker did this by herself earlier Hardison pondered, the muscle-man was just that, solid bloody muscle.

Thirty minutes later and a considerably cooler Eliot Spencer was laid back on his bed, this latest dunk had diminished his temperature to a somewhat more satisfactory 102 degrees. While he retained a harsh fever at this rate he was less likely to continue seizing as of course he did once more before entering the tub. A sight that was never easy to watch, rendering the entire team helpless at his side, no matter how tough you were, watching someone so close while they shook overwhelmingly, salivating excessively and occasionally even losing control of their other bodily functions, would render you powerless. Thankfully though they were spared on this particular occasion.

While getting him prepared for his bed and the injection they hoped would break the back of this nightmare, he had began to mumble and murmur again. Quick as a flash Parker had taken hold of his hand and in a most nurturing tone continued to speak to him as though she were simply explaining the trivialities of her day. It was only when Nate moved closer to help turn the hitter he realised she was explaing the exact floorplan and security systems she had bypassed in Paris when she had 'visited' the Louvre.

While settling the muscular southerner on his front, Spencer had begun to get agitated, clearly sensing the disruption even in his slumber. Unsure of what he was even saying now, or the language he was mumbling, Parker had continued stroking his arm, squeezing his hand and generally placating the hitter in a manner Sophie had believed alien to the aloof thief. She found herself incredibly impressed by this latest aptitude and felt a warming in her heart for how adorable she found the idea of an effusive Parker and growling Eliot together.

With the ladies on either hand, the others positioned themselves to give Vance easiest access to Eliot's head. Nate readied himself to lean across the hitter's waist while Alec had plans to grab both feet and throw himself onto his lower legs if the need arose. At that precise moment, the usually composed CIA man would have opted to defuse an atomic bomb rather than preparing to stick a six-inch hypodermic into the base of his friend's skull. Gathering his own momentum, he was momentarily caught up by the conversation the thief was having with their friend, was she really explaining how to bypass the security system in The Louvre?

"Everyone set?" Vance requested of the room, murmors of accent were echoed and he proceeded to wipe Betadine upon his target mark. Parker had tied the hitter's thick mane of hair up out of the way in the bathhroom. Piercing the skin was always the hardest part of administering an injection, choosing the exact amount of pressure required was an art, hence why the medical profession trained for so long. Of course this is all a moot point if your patient refuses to lie still and Eliot Spencer chose that exact moment to actually began the transition from unconsciousness to heavy slumber.

He felt warm, dry and oddly serene. Without even opening his eyes he continued to lay upon this comfortable bed, surrounded by a super comfy duvet. Sadly it was not to last long as before his very eyes the room was transformed into a cluster of bombed out buildings, dust and debris lay all around. There was an odour that offended his nose and the backing track of his day rapid small arms fire ….before the scene changed once again, this time to a place that was instantly recognisable, terror loomed and his breath felt icier with each breath he took. Frozen in an unconcealable fear Eliot Spencer found himself once more thrust back into a battle he'd long since lost.

Charging forward firing furiously with his pistol, hitting wherever he could on the bodies of each mercenary soldier. Knocking a few down with physical force as he charged, bull headedly straight for the garrulous leader. Emptying his Glock he instead used it to whip the nearest thug with it's butt before tossing it headlong towards another. Dragging his M16 front and centre he shot off a rapid burst towards another group of soldiers gathered some 20 metres, he spotted the 'leader' sheltering behind several of his own team, using their allegiance to their cause to form a protective shield. Oddly enough they seemed more than willing to take the shots on his behalf. That was some way to command respect from your men!

Cold cocked from the rear Spencer vaguely recalled the sketchy details of his capture when he did finally awoke. They had told him it was days later, he'd been unconscious several times since his capture and although their English was even sketchier than his memory, something in the back of his mind told him that they weren't lying. Daylight changed nothing in Bosnia at that time, fires burned freely, rampaging any materiels that would ignite amongt the stone buildings. Those which did not burn were razed to the ground by mortar rounds, those buildings still fell and weary battle-worn mercenaries still fought and slaughtered their way through the villages as each was encountered. Seemingly nothing could stand in their way. Certainly nothing was going to change without serious intervention and with his own team unnacounted for, possibly wiped out, it seemed without point. The key to breaking this rampage was his mission, his team were charged with gathering the pertinent morcels of intelligence that would break this 'action' wide open. Those pieces of final Intel, which was thankfully ensconced safely in his head, would be worth nothing if he couldn't get news back to his superiors at the Pentagon.

Constantly returning to this scene in his dreams was his punishment as he saw it. A punishment befitting a man who had failed humanity when it was leaping towards the last hurdle. As always he hoped this would be his final visit to this place in time, back where he stood alone against so many. Finally permitting him to relinquish the blame he felt, he risked opening his eyes to verify his current predicament. Dread seizing him as Spencer realised he was shackled to a wall in what appeared to be a cave, all stone walls and concave in nature. Damp soiled earth and dust beneath his feet and torn uniform, he looked at each wrist trying to test how much movement he might have between the chains that fettered him to the wall. With his left hand bloody and swollen numb, iron clasps locked across each wrist then attached to two foot of chain was what kept him from turning over his left shoulder too far. The right side was similarly constrained, though it remained less swollen from where he could inspect. Noticing his bruised and bloodied hands it would appear he had swung his way through the final men before his capture. At least he hoped so.

Where were the rest of his team, scattered he hoped, ruthlessly outnumbered more likely. Surepticiously glancing around he failed to see another living soul, they couldn't all be dead or could they?

Angry sounds and the stench of rotting, infected flesh permiated his nostrils rousing him thankfully seconds before cold water pelted him from his right side. When he tried to turn a brutal hand grabbed his hair and forced his head backwards into the wall. Waking once more he found himself shackled to a chair, his hair wrenched in order to divert his glassy eyes at the leader he'd encountred previously. That was one face he would never forget, that bastard would pay, several lifetimes over if it were at all possible.

"You will serve us to exchange for weapons Sgt Spencer, First Class ha ha ha," mocked the brutal Serbian in broken English, "Then we deliver the bodies of your dead men Mister Spencer." Pausing for more posturing bravado in front of the other mercenaries, Mladic the Serb laughed heartily at whatever face he had involunarily made. "I think US military will not be happy with you much for this, no? We would be shot in our Army for such poor protection of your own team." It was eerier than canned laughter in a house of mirrors and whatever this Mladic lacked in originality, he surely made up for in menacing. Sneering close to his now swollen face, the Serbian spat, "Perhaps we save them the bullet, dah?" Pistol drawn at his forehead Spencer raised his head to stare at his would be killer, praying to anyone who would listen, that he would make this right ten times over if they just spared him. The last thing he heard was the sound of a pistol firing.

Yet he awoke again, this time standing in the middle of another cave. A boot slammed into the back of Eliot's knees forcing him to kneel while that Mladic bastard kept hold of his cropped hair. Not that he had much but he always kept it slightly longer on top and that was what was currently being yanked out from the roots. Clumps of hair were torn out and his shoulders forced backwards by the chains holding his wrists. Dribbling and sneering into his ear, Drako Mladic, as he introduced himself, insisted that Eliot know precisely what had befallen each and every one of his eight strong team.

"The last one cried for his whore of a mother. She will be no doubt glad that such weak boy has been sent to meet maker. For sure!" More laughter followed this and shoving Eliot's face away from his, he pulled out a knife before slicing up the back of the US battle dress which all soldiers wear, not caring if he caught skin while doing so.

Two other soldiers stepped forward, one to strip his shirts from his upper body and the other to hand a long paddle type instrument to the disturbed individual charged with his torture.

Before he could put too much thought into what instrument of torture was coming his way, he was whacked with the paddle causing puncture wounds from the six rough tacks embedded in it, upon his stricken shoulder. Wriggling them to cause the most amount of pain and damage possible, Drako laughed as Eliot cursed and spat out blood from his bitten tongue rather than scream and give into this sick and twisted sadists little ritual.

Realising that his toy would not give up quite so easily, Drako Mladic opted to use his knife instead to slice patterns into the American's torso. Some deeper than others he ensured maximum damage by criss crossing the slice wounds so they could not be easily stitched nor heal efficiently.

After what seemed an eternity at the hands of his Serbian captor, Eliot felt himself go weak, colder all of a sudden, knowing that consciousness was failing, he tried to ask what Drako wanted before he passed out once more.

"Nothing Spencer, I don't want anything from you. That's the best part. I got you for fun." Spitting in his face with foul stenching breath Eliot finally realised that no one was alive to come for him, even if they had known where he might be.

That's when the knife wounds stopped and the paddle returned, this time into his neck at the back. Try as he might, Eliot simply could not help the scream that escaped his lips.

"Wake up Eliot, wake up please," tears coursed freely down her face, while Eliot remained somewhere between sleep and consciousness, though eerily aware of the fragile sounding pleas because he began to mumble.

Vance emptied the final 10cc into Spencer's neck prior to removing the syringe. The hardened Agency man found himself somewhat shaken by events and mumbled a swift apology to the hitter as he helped the others turn him over. "I'm sorry Eliot, I didn't know all that had happened out there."

"S'ry...m'sorry, so sorry," he mumbled over and over, thrashing his head about on the tear-stained pillow. Deciding immediately that drastic action was going to be required in order to try calm the hitter down, Parker went closer, rather than the natural instinct of running in the opposite direction. While Nate, Hardison and Sophie backed up towards the door, assuming that Parker was following on, she instead did something that would have previously terrified her, with minimum of fuss Parker hushed their patient, making gentle contact with his arm initiallly while pushing back his hair from his fevered brow, finally pulling him closer to her and into a fierce hug.

Happy New Year :p

Back shortly with the last piece…feel free to leave an interim review if you feel I deserve one x