Chapter 4

"Where am I?... What's going on?... SOMEBODY ANSWER ME DAMN IT!"

The soldier couldn't catch his breath, everything was wrong, this wasn't how it happened. He stood in the centre of the ruined city; bodies scattered around him. He could hear his blood pumping through his skull, his chest heaving as the pain radiated from his left side. He continued to call out, giving orders, demanding a response.

"WHAT HAPPENED? WHY AM I HERE?"

His voice echoed but there wasn't a living soul around to hear it. Getting nowhere he decided to move away from the carnage. He saw a small basin of water by the side of the building. Leaning over it, he saw his reflection but didn't recognise the man. The face was right, stern eyebrows, light skin, and that small cut on his lip. But his hair was too long, not military standard, and he had lines across his face. But the most startling part was his eyes, his icy blue eyes were a dark red. He took a hand full of water splashing on his face, trying to rid himself of the illusion. When he looked back, he was horrified, it wasn't water he had splashed on his face, no, it was blood. He was covered in blood. Not just his face, but his hands, clothes, boots, it was even dripping from his hair.

The pain in his chest was getting worse, his breathing was sporadic, finding it hard to take in oxygen. Panicking he launched himself backwards landing in a dusty heap. He tried wiping the blood off of him, but it just seemed to spread even more. He took a second to look in front of him when he saw the shadow of a parade. He turned to face his rescuers only to find the corpses had risen up and were reaching out for him...

It had been five days since the doctor saw him, five days he had been taking the prescribed sleeping pills. And to be fair, they did what they were supposed to do, he had been getting at least six hours a night. The problem was, they were doing other things.

'It was better when it was just the memories, this is just screwed up. What kind of sick mind comes up with this stuff, mine that's who's. I'm a monster, I know that already, I don't need the constant reminder from my own subconscious... SHIT! There's blood on my hands, where'd that come from? GET OFF GOD DAMN IT... Shit, I need a shower.'

Eliot got out of bed with sluggish movement. Normally he would shoot out of bed, full of energy, ready to face the day. But since those damn pills, he finds that getting up is a daunting task. If he was honest with himself, he knew it wasn't the pills, it was more likely the result of hours' worth of tossing that had left his muscles aching. He was so stiff, pushing himself up using the bedside table, he continued to lean on it whilst he rotated his ankles. Moving further up the body, he drew his right leg back stretching out his thigh. Everything ached, it wasn't painful just sore, and it made him not want to move.

But he had to move. Firstly, he needed a shower, he was soaked in sweat and there was still blood trapped under his fingernails. Secondly, he had training with Briana today. He had cut down his workouts but was still permitted to do some light bag work with her and Parker. And not to forget (though he wishes he could), he had an appointment at that clinic, lovingly arranged by Sophie. So yeah, best get a move on.

He made his way to the bathroom hands in his pockets trying to hide the stained cuticles. It wasn't until he got into the bathroom that he realised those were the least of his worries. 'Crap! How'd I do that?' he pulled down the collar of his blood-stained bed shirt. The skin on the left side of his chest was red and torn up. 'Must have been scratching at the same spot all night.' He grabbed some antiseptic cream and gauze from under the sink, laying them out ready for after his shower. 'Thank God for power showers.' The hot water pounded his sore muscles into submission, working the knot out of his neck and cleaning away any evidence of a hard night's sleep. The patch of whatever skin was left stung, 'Son of a...' He turned the water off and made quick work of tending to his hurts. Once that was done, he grabbed a pair of nail clippers, cutting the weapons of mass irritation as short as possible. Before he went downstairs, he retreated back to his room to hide the bloody shirt with a number of other items, including sweat-soaked sheets, a blood-stained blanket, and a vest he'd somehow managed to tear in half the other night (he remembered the feeling of suffocating in that night's dream).

Downstairs he prepared breakfast. His teammates had piles of chocolate chip and blueberry pancakes stacked high on their plates, however, Eliot himself only had one plain pancake without any syrup or flavouring. While the others dug in with smiles on their faces, he just pushed the food around his plate taking the odd small bit of food. Sophie looked at her friend, scowled, and then took a notebook from her pocket and wrote something down. She had done this a few times over the past couple of days, but Eliot didn't have the energy to ask her about it.

"Hey, El. Are you ready for your appointment later? It's at 12:25 remember."

She got a mumbled sound as a response.

"What was that?"

"Yeah, Soph. I'll be ready." She had been pushing him slightly to interact with the group more, after noticing how shut off he was becoming. But she found getting even a few words out of him was a challenge.

"Good. I'm going to drive you there. I spoke to Dr Gregson when I made the appointment, and he says I can sit in with you."

"Huh."

"I'm going in with you. There are some things I need to discuss with him."

"So, make your own appointment, or better still take mine, I don't need it." Out came the notebook again. Anyone would think he was a new species of gorilla being studied. "Don't see why I need to go, the pills work, and I haven't collapsed again."

"It's about more than sleep El. Be ready by 12, no arguments."

After breakfast, he wasn't sure what to do with himself. It should be the time he would train himself before coaching Briana, but he was under strict instructions that he could only exercise for two hours a day. So, if he worked out now, he would have to cut his afternoon run. That was not an option, it was the only time he could get away from the others. Instead, he found himself pottering around the HQ, anxious and in need of some distraction.

'Shit! My chest is burning, and it itches like crazy. Please don't say it's infected. That's the last thing I need. Ouch. Eliot Spencer do not scratch, scratching hurts, and it's gonna start to bleed aga... too late.'

He leaned over the balcony to see what Harry and Briana were doing. As he gazed down his eyes started to itch, and the world around him started to tint with a reddish hue. He rubbed his eyes trying to make it go away. As he moved his hands back down, he could still see his friends, but now there were shadows moving towards them.

'This isn't real, It's all in your head. The shadows weren't there then and there not here now.' Beads of sweat were forming on his face, his jaw slightly open trying to make way for the air he was sucking in. 'Come on Spencer... Breath... You know it's not real... Just breath... BREATH GOD DAMN IT!' He drew in a shaky breath. Pushing himself away from the balcony, he dropped onto the couch placing his head between his knees. '1... 2... 3... 4, come on 4 you can do it, 4... 5, and repeat.' Having calmed, he lifted his head to find the room back to its normal colour. He was still shaking but it was easing bit by bit.

"Now a jab... remember to twist into it."

"Like this?" She threw her left hand into the thick pad her mentor was wearing.

"Better, now the same with your backhand... Good. You ready to do some sparing?"

"Bring it on." He chuckled; Briana was always a willing student.

They began sparing with each other, Briana was on the offensive whilst Eliot took on a defensive role. Each attack was masterly dodged or deflected with ease and grace. She swung a right hook at his jaw but he simply ducked under it. She tried a mix of jabs and backhanders, but he feigned every one of them. He was starting to enjoy himself when a shadow crossed the room. For a second he lost concentration, too focused on finding the culprit when SMACK! Briana had attempted the right hook again, this time connecting with the hitter's jaw and sending him to the ground.

"Oh my God. Are you alright?"

"Yeah fine." He laughed it off.

"What happened?"

"I think the technical term is you 'punched' me."

"I meant what happened with you? You didn't dodge it."

"Yeah, it was a good shot, had some nice speed. Well done." He pushed himself slowly of the ground, gripping his jaw as he went. "I think we can call it day." He walked off in the direction of the kitchen, Sophie passing him on the way.

"You're finishing early?" She directed the question towards the hacker.

"Yeah. I kind of punched Eliot." She was worried and the seasoned grifter could read it from a mile away.

"Isn't that what's supposed to happen?"

"I've never landed a punch before. Never even came close."

"Then how'd you do it this time?" She started to mirror her friend's concern.

"I think he got distracted."

"Hmm." She reached for her notebook making a lengthy entry.

The kitchen was usually empty until he called people for dinner, this made the perfect place to hideaway. He was tucked away in the corner, rubbing his hands over his arms as if he were trying to dispel a chill in the air. A few quick shadows ran across his vision causing him to gasp and spin around. Elbows balanced on the counter, he leaned forwards, gripping the bridge of his nose. He wasn't sure if it was because of repeated trauma or just bad luck, but he was more susceptible to headaches (and migraines), and they hit him much worse. He scrunched up his eyes trying to force the pain away, his heartbeat was in his head, thumping against his skull. It was so loud he missed the tall man approaching him.

"You alright Eliot?"

"Huh." He was shocked that he was no longer alone. "Yeah Harry." He made his way to the door but was blocked.

"Hey don't leave. Feel like we've barely spoken this week." A shoulder shrug was his only response, which he took gratefully. "Wanted to check in with you. I know I haven't known you for long, but from what I've seen... How do I put this? This doesn't seem like you." Eliot was doing the thing with his eyes that scares people. "What I mean is... Maybe you need to talk to someone. Not me. Unless you want it to be me... Please just say something."

"I'm fine Harry." This time it came out with more of a growl.

"Yeah, you keep saying that but nothing else. And no offence but no one is buying it. And avoiding this and us isn't going to solve anything. What I'm trying to say is, we want the real Eliot Spencer back, and we want to help you with that."

"Excuse me." This wasn't going to be good. "But what exactly do you think you know about me." This was different. Everyone joked that Eliot was an angry dude, but he wasn't really. Grumpy yes, but never angry, not for no reason. "Maybe this is the real me, maybe I'm just tired of hiding it. You people seem to forget, I'm a bad guy, done a lot of evil things, and that's never going to change. Now back off." He stormed past the trembling lawyer, barging into his shoulder as he went. Harry just stood there, shell shocked, trying to find where he went wrong.

The clinic waiting room was the typical set-up. Rows of chairs that had the smallest amount of cushion on them, magazines that were years out of date, and the low hum of music that no one recognised, constantly getting interrupted my medical advice. Eliot was sat in the corner, picking at the freshly cut stubs that were his nails. Sophie sat next to him, one eye on her reading material the other on her friend.

"I need you to be honest in there... Eliot." She tapped him harshly on the shoulder. "Eliot, could you at least acknowledge that I'm speaking to you." He turned to face her, but his eyes didn't make the journey. "I need you to tell the doctor what's been going on. I understand not being able to tell him all the details but don't hide other stuff because you feel you can't explain. He will understand if there's stuff you can't talk about." He didn't respond, but she was coming to expect that.

"Mr Spencer."

"Eliot... El I will drag you in there if you don't move, and it will be more embarrassing for you, trust me." He slowly dragged himself to the consultation room, with the speed and willpower of an overfed cat.

"Afternoon Eliot, Sophie. Having a good day?"

"Yeah." The hitter gave a small unconvincing smile.

"It's been a bit rough, Dr Gregson." The grifter filled in for her friend.

"Ok. Have you been taking the pills I prescribed for you and following the other advice?"

"Yeah."

"And things are getting better?"

"Hmm" He didn't make eye contact with the man asking him questions.

The doctor turned to face the poised lady sitting opposite him. "Has this been a recent development, the not speaking?" He shared the same concerned look that she portrayed.

"I'm right here you know." He huffed, his once icy gaze more grey steel now.

"He stopped speaking about three days ago. The foul mood comes and goes, but seems to be a permanent fixture today." The last statement seemed targeted towards the ill-tempered man who was twisting away from her.

"Eliot is there anything you would like to say in response?" He returned to speak to his patient.

"I'd be fine if people would stop talking about me and making stupid notes all the time." The doctor looked confused for a second until Sophie pulled about the little black item from her purse.

"I've been making some notes. That's why I asked to speak with you."

"Ok. Before we discuss your observations, I would like to give Eliot a chance to talk about how he feels, and what he thinks might have been happening."

"Not Much to say. I take the pills, I sleep, nothing else."

"Have you had any other problems since taking the medication? Are you having any of the side effects that we talked about?" He was still trying to coax information from the man, trying not to get frustrated, he knew that this was probably not how he would normally behave.

"Nope."

"Ok. Maybe we should discuss your friend's concerns now?" Eliot didn't respond, finding the hem of his shirt more interesting. "Please." He nodded to her, giving her permission to speak.

"Well, he is sleeping more." She smiled for a brief second before letting it slip from her face. "But he still seems tired and sluggish. We have been keeping an eye on him, we made a rule of only two hours of exercise a day. So, we know it's not that again." She flicked over to the next page of her book. "Oh yeah. He hasn't been eating much, normally he has quite a large appetite, but now it's hard to get a child's size portion down him." They both turned towards Eliot waiting for a reaction. Seeing they weren't going to get one, she continued on. "And as you have probably noticed, he's becoming quite distant. Not talking unless pushed, and he seems distracted, losing concentration. Which for him is completely unheard of."

"Would you say this was accurate, Eliot?"

"A bit." He mumbled under his breath.

"Hmm. A lot of what you have mentioned are common side effects of the pills prescribed to Mr Spencer." He made some notes in his file. "I think the best course of action would be to find the reason behind the original sleep deprivation. Until we can work on that, I'm afraid he will need to stick with the medication." Eliot had long since stopped listening. "I would like Eliot to see a colleague of mine who specialises in sleep therapy." The grifter nodded her approval. "Wait here for a minute whilst I make a call."

The room fell into an oppressive silence. She felt as if the walls were closing in, but somehow her friend was being pulled away from her. She looked over to him, curled up, just the shell of the man she had come to love and care for. She wanted to reach out, to embrace him and never let go. But she knew, that at this moment, it would only push him away. It didn't take a grifter to see that Eliot Spencer was battling demons, and based on what Harry had told her, these were the worst.

Flashback

"I think I screwed up."

"What did you do?"

"We were talking... well I was talking, and I mentioned how he'd changed over the past few days, that he wasn't himself."

"Then what happened?"

"He flipped out. Telling me that I don't know him. That this was who he was and we should accept that. He said... he called himself... a bad guy, said he'd done evil things." He shuddered slightly as he remembered those cold dead eyes. "I mean I know he has a past; Hardison gave me some background. But the way he said it, it was like it wasn't his past, it was like he was saying that he is that guy, right now, today."

"Out of all of us, Eliot is the only one who will never forgive himself." Harry looked up, the corners of his eyes becoming moist. "He will never see himself as a good man, he doesn't believe he can have redemption, ever." A hand gripped Sophie's heart, squeezing it tightly. "But he's ok with that, he excepted it a long time ago."

"So, what's changed?"

"I'm not sure. But something has been dragged up, something is haunting him. And I'm afraid if he continues down this road, he may never come back."

"Sorry about the wait."

"That's ok Doc." She was relieved to hear his voice again, driving out the silence.

"I spoke to my friend and there is a space a week on Thursday."

"But that's... nine days. Is there nothing sooner?" She leant in close to whisper, "I'm really worried about him. I'm not sure how much longer he can cope."

"I'm afraid not... Don't worry, if you feel things are getting bad, call me and I will do a home visit."

"Can I go back to work Doc?"

"What was that Eliot?"

"Can I go back to work? we have a few cases that need looking at." Sophie looked shocked. After how he'd been for the past week, he thinks he can run a con, think again sunshine.

"Depends on the work. You can't run heavy machinery, and if you start feeling overly tired or run down, stop what you're doing. We wouldn't want you injuring yourself because you lost concentration."

"I can't believe I'm hearing this. Eliot, you can't work a con, your job is dangerous as it is. You got hit by Briana earlier, imagine if that had been some large thug and you got knocked out."

"Yeah, I wouldn't suggest any fighting." The doctor added.

"We need to trust you with our lives, and at the moment we can't." She shook her head to further drive her point across.

"YOU CAN'T TRUST ME! HOW MANY TIMES HAVE YOU SCREWED UP AND WE FORGAVE YOU."

"Eliot, calm down"

"NO, I HAVE PROVED MYSELF TIME AND TIME AGAIN FOR THIS TEAM. I'VE TAKEN BEATINGS, BEEN SHOT, HIT BY A CAR AND FACED MY WORST ENEMIES FOR YOU. BUT NOW YOU DON'T TRUST ME. SCREW YOU SOPHIE!" He pushed his way out of the office, scowling at the people in the waiting room who had obviously overheard his rant.

"I am so sorry Doctor Gregson."

"Don't apologise. I'll make that appointment for you."

"Thanks." And with that, she headed out of the office as well.

The rest of the team were sat on the stairs waiting for their friends to return. The door crashed open as the irate hitter slammed into it, his hair bouncing as he stomped through the main briefing room. Sophie followed shortly behind, obviously completely void of patience.

"How'd it go? What we gonna do?" Parker queried.

Eliot simply stared at his traitor, silently repeating the questions.

She huffed and threw her arms in the air, "guess we're working a case."

TBC