Chapter 6

The hospital room was a stark white. The bed sat on the right side of the room, parallel to a large window. Next to the metal frame was a square box monitoring heart rhythm and blood pressure, and a small liquid pouch delivering a sedative to the patient. On the other side of the room was a small burgundy chair, with just enough cushion for an uncomfortable sleep. Resting on it was a dark-haired woman with tired eyes and a worried brow. She obviously cared for the muscled man she held visual over.

His clammy hand clenched tight around the thin white sheet. Veins traced the curves of his muscled arms, leading to a set of tensed shoulders. His chest moved quickly up and down, and his mouth was left agape as he sucked in short shallow breaths. His entire body from head to toe was covered in small bumps.

"P... p... please... don't, I'm sorry, I... I didn't m... mean to... Please."

The heart monitor started to bleep faster, alerting the barely conscious grifter. She rose from the chair and tiptoed over to the bedside. She studied the hitters face taking note of his pale complexion, sweat-soaked brow, and trembling lips. She placed a slightly shaky hand on her friend's face cupping his jaw. She could feel the definition of his face, it was slimmer than it had been just a couple of weeks ago. Her gaze travelled down to his uncovered torso. It was pulled taut, shivering, and like his face, smaller. Her mind flicked through images from the past weeks, images of the man who once had a healthy appetite now struggling with a few small mouthfuls of food. She wondered what would happen if this continued, what would become of the strong body she had always known him to have. She pulled the sheet back up across his chest resting it just below his chin.

"You're dead... You're dead... YOU'RE ALL DEAD!"

She combed her fingers through his hair, stroking the soft curls. Her aim was to calm him down, filling his head with sweet words. "It's ok, your safe. I'm here, nobody's dead. Just calm down. Shhh. Everything will be ok."

"No. Get away. Please, don't touch me. PLEASE!"

"Shhh. It's me, Eliot. It's Sophie. Shhh, everything will be ok."

His body started to thrash from side to side, trying to throw punches but failing due to his restrained wrists. His back arched off the mattress ramming his head into the overstuffed pillow, his feet tangling within the sheets. His face was trapped in a constant state of terror, his eyes squeezed shut, and his forehead wracked with lines.

"Why are you doing this to me? Please I don't understand... No, that's not... it wasn't like that... I... I... I'm sorry... I'M SORRY! I'M SORRY! I'M SORRY!"

He woke with a strained scream launching himself as far as his restraints would stretch. His eyes scanned the room, battling the stinging sensation as sweat poured into them. They darted to the figure shivering next to him. A breathy sob escaped from its lips.

"Eliot. Eliot, it's me, Sophie. Eliot, can you hear me? Please say something."

"Yeah." It wasn't much but at least it was something.

"Are you ok?"

"Where am I?" He looked around trying to remember what had happened. He remembered an ally way and a fight with two guards.

"You're in Hospital. Eliot, you were hallucinating... you weren't yourself, but it's going to be ok."

"Wha..."

"Doctor Gregson is here; he is going to talk all this through with you. I'll go get him."

Sophie left the room and headed left towards a nurse's station. She could only have been gone a few minutes before returning with the mentioned physician. The pair wore smiles as they entered the room, but they were obviously fake, merely a disguise for the fears.

"I see you are awake Mr Spencer."

"I think I am doc."

"You seem calmer than the last time I saw you." His feet wandered over to the machines. "Your blood pressure and heart rate are still elevated though. How are you feeling, honesty?" The doctor's eyebrow raised in a way that said "I don't have any time for your usual nonsense."

"Guess I'm a little on edge." The hitter looked and sounded much younger when he spoke. "And tired."

"Ok, both of those feelings are completely understandable. I have spoken with your friends and I am quite confident that I know what has been the cause of your recent troubles." He moved closer to his patient. "I have been made aware of an incident involving a drug. Red Haze I believe was the name given. Although the blood tests indicate that it has been removed from your system, I believe the after-effects still remain." Eliot just sat there, not uttering a single word or making a single sound. They couldn't even tell if he was still breathing. His eyes just locked onto his wrestling fingers. "I think Eliot, that you are suffering from PTSD. Do you understand?"

His eyes moved away from his fingers but still didn't meet the other people in the room. He simply nodded... slowly.

"Eliot. It's important for you to know that none of this is your fault. We are going to work with you and find a way to manage this."

"Manage... You mean I may be stuck like this?" The beeping started to speed up again.

"Eliot calm down, it's ok. PTSD is very complex, and treatment has a range of options and outcomes. You have a strong support system. I'm sure with time we can find a solution that gets you back to functioning as usual."

"What do I have to do?" He went to bite his nails but remembered there were none left.

"Well, there's a lot of different methods to try. But first I think it's most important that you talk to someone about the memory you keep on reliving." Eliot's eyes shot up. Sharp blue panic glared at the doctor. "Don't worry. You can take your time, move at your own pace, only talk when you're comfortable. But I would like you to try. The reason that this has hit you so hard, is that you are so closed off from people when it comes to certain parts of your life."

"Ok... I'll try."

"Good. There's a clinic for veterans just a few streets away, and I have a good friend who works there as a therapist. She has agreed to take you on as a patient, to start with you will see her twice a week." Sophie's fake smile started looking much more realistic. "She will be coming by this afternoon for your first session, after that, we will talk about possibly sending you back home."

"Thanks, Doc."

"I'll leave you two to talk." And with that, he left the two teammates in awkward silence.

"So," the grifter decided to talk first. "How are you feeling? Are you ok with talking to the therapist?"

"Yeah... No... I don't... Agh."

"It's ok to be nervous. As the doctor said, we'll move at your pace, only do what you're comfortable with."

"But I'm not comfortable. I don't talk about my past. You know that."

"And that's the problem. You have bottled up so much, and now one small shake has burst the cap off completely."

"It's not like talking about losing someone or going through a terrible accident. What's in my head is top secret. Highly classified."

"And they will understand. They won't ask for details. They won't ask for names, dates, locations. They just want to know why it still haunts you, what happened to you."

"What if I can't tell them that?"

"What do you mean?"

"What if I don't remember what happened. Not completely anyway. Just before and after."

"That's something that you should talk to your therapist about, they may be able to help." She brought her hand to his knee and gave it a quick squeeze. "I'm going to see if I can get you some food."

"I'm not hungry."

"El, you haven't eaten since yesterday. You're not going to be able to get better if your just skin and bones." Without waiting for a response, she was out the door.

"So, Eliot." It was a female therapist, not bad looking, he liked blondes (and redheads, and brunettes really anything, to be honest). If it wasn't for the marshal, he would probably be flirting with her right now. "As you have probably been made aware, I am a therapist from the local veterans' clinic. And we will be meeting twice a week with the aim of treating your recent bout of PTSD. Now Doctor Gregson has mentioned the special circumstances of your situation, so don't worry. Have you ever seen a therapist before or been treated for PTSD?"

"I had a few mandatory therapy sessions whilst in service, but other than that, no."

"Ok, in that case, we will start off slow. Just tell me how you feeling at the moment."

"Tense... I'm not big on talking."

"That's fine. A lot of people find the first few sessions awkward. Is there anything that you would like to talk about?"

"I... I don't... I don't know. I didn't really come prepared for this." His eyes fell down and his body started to shudder.

"Would you find it easier if I asked some questions, and you answered the ones you feel comfortable with?" He nodded. "Ok. Doctor Gregson said that you first saw him for sleep deprivation, that you were suffering night terrors related to a traumatic event. Is that right?"

"Yeah. It started off as just reliving the memory, but after taking the sleeping pills they became... messed up... more like a demon carnival ride."

"I'm afraid night terrors can be a symptom of both PTSD and sleeping pill use. The event that you keep on reliving, have you ever spoken to anyone about it?"

"No, it was a military operation, highly classified."

"What about after the operation happened? Did they make you speak to someone after to see if you were fit for duty?"

"No. I left before they could. I quit after that mission, no need for medical sign off if I'm not working there no more." His hand started rubbing on his bicep in a self-soothing manner.

"I see. It must have been pretty bad out there to make you quit so suddenly. Do you feel up to talking about it?"

"I... I... I can't do this... I... I'm sorry, I... I..." His hand started moving faster and faster, rubbing the skin raw. His breathing hitched as he spoke, not letting the words out.

"It's ok, just calm down. We won't talk about it. We can leave it there for today." His hand stopped as soon as she mentioned finishing. The skin on his arm stung and felt very dry. "You did really well today, Eliot. I'm going to have a quick talk with Doctor Gregson and I will see you in a few days."

The room was very crowded. One patient, one doctor, and four thieves. Everyone was nervous, so many questions floating around. When can he leave? Will he be safe? What if he goes crazy again? And the Doctor had all the answers on the tip of his tongue.

"I spoke to Doctor Lindsey and she said the therapy session went very well. I know you had a small panic attack, but that's completely normal and will get easier with time."

"Does that mean he can come home?" The blonde thief asked.

"Yes. But before we start getting him there, we need to talk about some coping strategies that might help Eliot. And I think it would be a good idea for you to all learn with him. We can also talk about some things that you guys should look out for. It will be helpful for him if you guys can spot when he's struggling and support him through steps to counter it."

"But what if he ends up like before." This time the lawyer spoke. "I don't think we can keep on tasing him."

"Well no. Please try to avoid tasing him." The doctor seemed amused by his own statement. "Before you were unaware of the problems and he was fighting them alone, it probably only got that bad because he was avoiding the issue. With the coping methods that I'm about to teach you, and the therapy, my hope is that it will never reach that point again. But if it does, call the hospital, explain the situation and we can assist you."

"Thanks, Doc. That puts my mind at ease."

"No problem. So, Eliot." He turned to face his patient but made sure his body was still open to the rest of the group. "Along with your therapy sessions, I have some strict guidelines for you to follow. Living a healthy lifestyle helps people with PTSD. By that I mean, eating healthy. I know you have no problem cooking well-balanced meals, but you can't skip meals or choose smaller portions. If you don't eat right, you'll become tired and it will affect your mood and mental state." The Doctor had noticed a stark decrease in mass since that first home visit. Especially around the waist and face. "Exercise and getting outdoors is also advised. Have you ever done any meditating or breathing exercises before?"

"Ooh, ooh, yeah he does those all the time," Parker spoke very eagerly like a small child talking to her favourite teacher.

"Well good. When you find yourself getting overwhelmed, these kinds of things can help. Maybe you guys could support him by joining in, make him feel less alone."

"Will do boss." The youngest member of the team finally decided to chime in.

"Now this may be hard to hear, but there is one thing I have to mention. No alcohol."

"What!" Well, that got the hitters attention.

"There is a risk with people suffering from PTSD, that they may over-compensate with drugs and alcohol to cope with symptoms. But in fact, it just makes those symptoms worse. So, no booze."

"We'll hide the Whiskey Doc." He preferred it when the hacker wasn't talking.

The doctor turned more towards the group. "There are a number of things to look out for, and I know you noticed a few of them already. It's important that if you notice these things, that you mention them. Talk to him, see how he is feeling and suggest a coping method to work on together." He paused to make sure everyone was following. "You need to look out for sudden changes in mood, irritability, hypervigilance, or if he is avoiding things/people. And Eliot, you need to make them aware if you are suffering from flashbacks or visions."

It suddenly dawned on the group how serious this really was. One of them was sick, and it wasn't going to get better overnight. Once the doctor had finished talking it was time to take their friend home. They had forgotten after seeing him in that bed all day, how tired his movements had been lately. Just getting him to the van seemed like a daunting task. They managed it, however, and after a slow walk, the team was back in the food truck and heading home.

The journey home had been tense. No one knew what to say to Eliot and he didn't feel much up to talking. They resigned themselves to this new atmosphere, content to let it be until they remembered what the doctor had told them. They were as much a part of the healing process as Eliot was. With that in mind, Harry nudged the hitter's side and began to speak.

"How're you feeling El?"

"You don't have to do this man, it's ok. I'm fine." He turned his body towards the window in a way that said he wasn't in the mood for this. But the lawyer hadn't taken the hint.

"No, you're not fine. And the doctor said you need to be open with us. So, how're you feeling?" He had a hand on Eliot's shoulder as a way of keeping him connected.

"I don't know. Jeez, tired, I guess. I just wanna go home and sleep." He shook the hand of his shoulder and it was official, conversation over.

The rest of the ride fell to utter silence. It was hard to tell what was Eliot's usual lone wolf mentality, over warning signs of PTSD. Was he isolating himself because that's 'what he does,' or was he pulling away to hide his weaknesses, trying to avoid anything that could make him feel those pesky emotions. As the van came to a stop outside the theatre, the hitter practically threw himself out the door and stumbled into conference space. However, he stopped once he saw what was waiting for him.

"Bro! Why're you out of hospital? I was just about to come visit you."

"Damnit, Hardison! What are you doing here?" He growled even though he was slightly happy to see the man he saw as a brother.

"Your best friend ends up in hospital, you fly your ass over to them."

"There was no need. See, I'm already out. Free and clear with a clean bill o' health."

"Really?" He drew up an eyebrow. "Because it says here, on your hospital records, that you've been diagnosed with a severe case of PTSD. And... It says that you have been referred to a clinic and are required to have therapy sessions twice a week. That doesn't sound like a clean bill of health to me."

"You hacked my medical files." The rest of the group was standing just inside the door by now. They had wanted to rush in and give their friend and brother a hug, but they hesitated when they felt the rising anger coming from them both.

"Of course, I did. Parker called me on the brink of tears. Said you had been hiding stuff, not sleeping, not eating, exercising to the point of passing out, and now this. You should have told someone the moment you started seeing things. El, it's ok to be sick. But it's not ok to go on pretending like everything is fine and putting the team in danger."

"But..."

"But nothing. It was stupid and reckless, and completely unnecessary. You have lied to us El. We have all asked you if you're ok, and you brushed us off. They didn't think you were ready for a job, but you assured them you were, and look what happened. How are we supposed to trust you with our safety if you can't be trusted with your own? Jeez, you hardly look capable to stand. What have you done to yourself?"

Eliot didn't say a word in response, in fact, no one spoke for at least a minute. They just stood and stared at the hitter. His head was down, eyes fixed on his boot laces. His greasy, sweat-drenched hair fell in front of his face, hiding its terrified expression. His whole body was frozen in place, like a stone statue, but it trembled at the same time. He had to make the conscious decision to take in air, but he kept on forgetting. After what seemed like an hour of tense silence, he finally responded.

"I... I... I..." He shook his head and escaped upstairs, tripping on a step as he ran. The others simply looked on in shock. They had never seen him run away before, from anything.

"Ah, Crap! I was too harsh, wasn't I?" Nobody answered, nobody knew the answer. "It's just... He can be so... Damnit. Why can't he just ask for help sometimes?"

"It's ok. This isn't anybody's fault." Sophie comforted him with a soothing tone and some soft arm touches.

"Except RIZ. It's definitely their fault." Briana interrupted.

"Oh definitely. But what I meant was, this is going to take time, for all of us. Eliot needs to be able to open up to us more, and he will, it just won't be overnight." The original hacker nodded in agreement. "Come sit down, we will go through what the doctor told us."

As a team, they worked on implementing the doctor new rules. It was slow going at first, Eliot struggled to follow the guidelines which frustrated the group of thieves because they seemed so easy and doable.

"Hey, Bri."

"Hey, Harry. Have you seen Parker?" She jumped from the stairs, avoiding the last few steps.

"She's in the garden. Why?"

"Eliot locked himself in his room. Soph told me to get parker to pick the lock."

"Ok." He nodded and returned to his newspaper.

Before she had a chance to find the thief, they heard a crash above them followed by a lot of shouting.

"FOR GOD'S SAKE HARDISON! YOU DIDN'T HAVE TO KICK THE DOOR IN!"

"IF YOU HAD JUST UNLOCKED IT FOR US WHEN WE ASKED, I WOULDNT HAVE!"

"IT WAS LOCKED FOR A REASON! THAT REASON BEING YOU!"

"NO, THAT REASON IS THAT YOUR SICK, AND DOING NOTHING TO DEAL WITH IT."

The pair stormed down the staircase shortly followed by Sophie. The hitter's face was red and scrunched into a scowl that far surpassed the usual 'Spencer Special'.

"Eliot, remember what you were told. When you feel your emotions are getting to be too much, you need to do some coping exercises. Just pick one and we'll do it with you." Sophie tried to reason with him before things got too out of hand.

"I don't need a coping exercise. I need space. I'm going for a drink."

"No. El remember, no alcohol. You can't." She pleaded with him, pushing him back away from the exit.

"I don't care what some doctor says. If a want a drink I'll bloody well have one." He marched past her almost making it to the door when a pile of curly hair got in his way.

"Please Eliot, don't go." Her voice was so soft and sad, like a puppy being kicked.

"Stay out of this Bri." He growled, snarling almost.

"Just sit down. Do what the doc said, for us. You're not right El, we just want to help." He stared at her, losing the scowl. He still looked angry, but it was less angry. "Show me how you meditate. We'll go upstairs where it's quiet."

He let himself be dragged upstairs by the young woman, unwilling to upset her any more than he already had.

After that one triumph, they thought that they were on the road to success, that things would get easier. That was until the next problem reared its ugly head. A stubborn little thing that would not go away.

It had been a little over two weeks since they had left the hospital, and after Briana's intervention, Eliot had started using the coping methods. Only when he was told to though, but they hoped in time he would be able to remind himself. For the moment someone had to be with him at all times, keeping an eye on any change in behaviour or mood. Because he wouldn't mention it to them if they didn't see it, and he wouldn't deal with his emotions, just try to bury them.

The group took it in turns cooking, using a binder full of Eliot's recipes. Parker had asked Doctor Gregson how many calories someone like Eliot needed in a day. Using that information, the team made meal plans with strict portion sizes that met his dietary needs. This seemed like it would be a simple fix. They just had to make sure he ate enough; how hard could it be...

Apparently very hard.

The team sat around a large table. Sophie sat at the head (normally where Eliot would sit), Harry and Hardison sat on one side, while Parker and Briana sat on the other. Eliot had been squeezed forcibly in between the two girls. Every plate on the table had been emptied bar one. The hitter's plate had at least two-thirds of its contents remain. And this wasn't just a one-time thing. Every meal, breakfast, lunch and dinner had the same outcome. And they had been patient with him. They understood that this was hard for him and he was trying. But it had been over two weeks, and they were extremely worried.

"Eliot, you need to eat more than that." Sophie scolded him.

"I can't." He turned his face away from his plate like he was disgusted by it.

"No, I'm tired of that excuse. Now eat."

"Soph, it's not an excuse. I seriously can't."

"No, what you can't do is go on like this. You have to start helping yourself. At the moment it's us that's doing everything." She slammed her hands down onto the table making the entire room jump. "We are the ones that look out for your sudden mood changes. We are the ones that have to tell you to do a coping exercise. If it was up to you, you would bottle it up until you had another breakdown. We took all that on and more, so you need to do the one thing we are asking you. Finish that meal."

He looked down at the plate in front of him, fully intending to do what's asked. But when he sees it, he doesn't know why, but it looks so daunting. He feels likes he's eaten at an all you can eat buffet, and now they're asking him for round two. His eyes snatch away from the plate travelling right into the grifter's sightlines.

"I'm not hungry."

Sophie was about to lose it so Harry stepped in.

"We know you're not hungry. It's not about being hungry or not, it's about being healthy." He paused to make sure he had the hitter's attention. "At the moment you're not eating enough to be healthy. You know that right. And it's making you tired, and that affects your mood. Which is dangerous because you're already having trouble with controlling your emotions. This, what you're doing now isn't helping." He took a second to breathe. "So, please for your own sake and for our peace of mind, eat, at least a little bit more."

It looked like the lawyer might have gotten through to him as he reached for his fork. He twirled the utensil in his hand a few times before bringing it to the plate. He was almost there when he stopped, hesitated, and brought it crashing down onto the table.

"I'm going for a run. Need some fresh air."

And with that, he was out of there before anyone could stop him.

On his run, he had time to think.

'Why are they making such a big deal out of this. They're acting like I'm starving myself. I eat three meals a day without fail. They may not be the largest meals, but they're clearly enough. I eat until I'm full, that's what you're supposed to do. Why does it matter if it equals some arbitrary number some doctor told them. I am fine. I am healthy.'

He returned forty-five minutes later, bypassing the group that clearly waited to talk to him, in favour of a hot shower. Once he felt clean enough, he turned off the water, stepped out of the bath/shower combination, and reached for a clean pair of jeans. He stood for a second gripping the waistband, holding it up as he searched for a belt. Usually, belts were more of a fashion statement for him, but right now it was more of a necessity, without one his jeans wouldn't stay up. He was still standing there, with a fist full of denim, when he caught a glance of himself in the mirror.

'Is that really what I look like?'

His hand gently felt across his torso, it was like there was nothing there. The space between his hip bones was hollow, no wonder none of his jeans fit right, there was nothing to grip onto. His eyes moved upwards and he was horrified by what he saw. That was his rib cage, the one that's inside his body. It was barely visible, still covered by muscle in most parts. But he could still see the bottom two and he never had before. He quickly turned away, wanting to throw up. But he knew he had to see the rest, see what his team saw every day. He leaned into the sink and slowly raised his head. He didn't even recognise himself. All skinny and frail-looking, his cheekbones stuck out, and his eyes were sunken in. No wonder his team was so pissed. They had to look at this freak every day.

It was at that moment that he found the motivation he would need to eat that one mouthful more, and then keep going until his team was satisfied.

"So, Eliot. It's been three and a half weeks since our first session. What progress do you think you've made?"

"I'm better than I was back then. I'm eating more now. Although still not enough apparently. I am trying, each day I manage a little bit more. But if I try too much, I end up just throwing up. Then I'm back where I started."

"As I said when you brought up your concerns last week, it will take time to get to where you want to be, but you're doing good. I can tell because there's actually colour in your face." The hitter smiled a bit with embarrassment, red tinting his cheeks. "Are you finding it easier to identify your emotions and triggers?"

"No, not yet. The team is pissed at me. They think I'm hiding the way I feel, but I just don't notice when I get that way. Sometimes it happens so slowly that I don't know it's happening until someone points it out. And other times, it's like lightning, so fast that I can't do anything to stop it."

"When they 'point it out,' what happens? Do you talk about things, like what led to it or how you are feeling?"

"No. I guess I just keep quiet. I meditate till it passes then leave."

"Well, can I suggest sticking around and talking to them? Together you might be able to figure out what your triggers might be." He swallowed hard but also nodded his head. He knew she was right even though it scared him. "I would like to talk about that military operation. We made some good headway last time. You managed to talk about some of the event in more detail. Get yourself comfy and take as much time as you need."

He took a minute to relax, sinking into the leather chair. He rolled his head around, stretching out his neck, and rotated his shoulders. He felt himself calming, ready to recount his tale.

"The mission was top secret, a need-to-know type deal. The higher-ups got intel on the enemy taking over a small-town east of one of our bases. They were worried about an imminent attack, so they called in my team for an emergency operation." He paused and took a deep breath. Thinking about the bureaucracy always set his temper aflare. "We didn't know what we were going into. We thought it was going to be a few soldiers hiding amongst the locals. We didn't expect a massacre." Doctor Lindsey raised her eyes at the chosen term. "By the time we arrived, the enemy had captured all the residents. The men had been lined up and shot, leaving just the women and children as human shields." He shifted in his seat, bringing his knee up to his chest. "I was in charge of this mission, so I gave the command for my men to rescue the civilians no matter what... I had probably killed at least a dozen people before getting pinned behind a wall. An explosion next to me blew out my eardrums and knocked me to the floor. I don't think I got knocked out, just winded slightly. I reached out for the riffle I dropped and set myself back up... I remember all I could hear was my own heartbeat, but I kept on firing my rifle." He felt the fear building up, but pushed through. "I saw an enemy soldier through my sight. He was holding a woman... she was... crying, he had a gun to her head. I shot the bastard right between the eyes, but it was too late... she was already gone. I wanted to stop, to scream my lungs out... But I couldn't... I had to keep going for my men. I kept on shooting, not sure exactly how long it had been, or what was going on with my team. All of a sudden, I heard him... Jackson that is, he was the youngest member of my team. Cocky kid, always giving me grief about my accent." He laughed to himself. "I could never stay mad at him though, too bloody funny." The smile dropped from his face. "He came to get me to safety. Once I could hear again and focused on his voice, I realised he had been calling for me... Things had taken a turn and he needed new orders. I told him to take cover in a nearby building, I went with him so we could cover each other. We set up by a window, firing and taking cover so quickly that I didn't know if I was coming or going... I'm not sure how long... how long he'd... been down. But when I turned to reload, I saw..."

"Saw what Eliot?"

"Him. He was..."

"You need to say the word."

"He was d... d... dead." He squeezed his eyes shut. "He had been shot, killed instantly. After that... I don't know. I can't remember anything. The next thing I knew, I was twenty-three miles away from the town, covered in blood. I woke up a couple of days later to the news that my entire team had been killed, along with all the civilians and most probably all the enemy soldiers. Everyone dead... except me."

He stared into the glazed eyes of the soldier next to him. For one minute and forty-two seconds, he just stared into those lifeless eyes, as his grew cold and despondent. His breathing slowed to an inhuman rate, and his trembling hands stilled. Taking his reloaded weapon from off the ground, he stepped out from the protection of the building.

The first shot hit his target to the left, shortly followed by another straight ahead. Three more shots were taken, all finding their mark. A group gathered around one of the vehicles his team had travelled in on. He took the opportunity to take them out with one bullet, by firing an armour piercing round into the machine's engine, blowing it up along with several people. The blast made him stumble a bit, as he closed the gap between him and a line of enemy combatants.

He stopped roughly seven metres in front of them, just standing there completely stoic with no discernible emotions. They paused as they looked into this Crazy American's eyes, he must've had a death wish. His eyes panned the battlefield. The last few civilians were being shot as every member of his team lay dead in the sand. His eyes tracked back to those who stood ahead of him. He pulled the rifle up and without hesitation, he fired round after round with perfect precision. He didn't care about the bullets flying past his head, hell, he didn't even flinch when they pierced his skin. One found its way into his right thigh; another grazed his hip. He was unstoppable. At this point, a bullet to the brain would be the only way to stop him.

As the dust settled, he found himself knelt down in a pool of blood, his enemies piled up around him. He placed his hands into the thick liquid in front of him and pushed himself to stand. With no clear idea of what had happened and where he was, he just walked. He walked until he couldn't walk any longer, until all the energy was drained from his system, bringing him down in a heavy heap on the ground.

The team woke up to the sound of screaming and heavy objects being thrown against the walls. As they stumbled into Eliot's room, they saw the hitter curled up in the middle of all the chaos. His camp bed was leant up against the far corner, his chest of draws were smashed against the floor. Something must have been thrown towards the shelving unit, probably the broken lamp, as they hung at an angle with their contents scattered below. Eliot himself was sat shivering in the centre of the room, knuckles bleeding, and lungs gasping for air.

"Eliot, what's the matter? Was it a nightmare?" Sophie spoke gently and she eased herself closer. "Eliot, can you hear me? Do you know where you are?" There was no response, no eye contact, nothing. He was completely gone to the world. "Hardison, I can't get through to him."

"El, can you please talk to us. We need to hear your voice." Hardison joined them, reaching out his hand towards Eliot's shoulder. The hitter jerked at the physical contact, scurrying backwards until he hit the wall behind him with a solid thud.

"Don't touch him, he doesn't know where he is."

"Should we call the hospital or the clinic or something?" Harry spoke from the doorway, Parker and Briana nodding in agreement.

"Let's give him some time. He may come around by himself." The hacker suggested.

His back was pressed against the wall, his head rocking forwards and back as he drew in shallow breaths. His eyes were fixed on the wooden panels in front of him, but they looked as if they were seeing something completely different. The group waited with him like that, for thirty-five minutes. They sat with him in complete silence until he got up and walked downstairs.

It was like he was possessed. He didn't speak, just moved in their direction not even acknowledging their presence. They followed him, watching him drag his feet and bump into various objects. Parker slid past him in order to get a look at his face. She stared into his eyes. Gone were those glazed distant iris's, instead she was met with a look of pure sadness and self-loathing.

"El, are you ok? Would you like to talk about it?" He turned his face away and continued walking aimlessly with no real purpose or destination in mind. "Please Eliot. We can't help you unless we know what's going on in that head of yours." She brushed her hand against his forearm, but he pulled it away stumbling slightly as he did.

Briana went to catch him but changed her mind at the last second. "How about we go for a jog, that always clears your mind?" She suggested, flicking her head towards the door.

He didn't utter a single word. He just walked over to the couch, sat down, and stared at his hands.

After four hours of complete silence and isolation, the team gave in and phoned Doctor Gregson. They were lucky that it was his day off, and he could make a home visit. When he arrived, he was guided to his patient by the entire group, but they decided it would be best if it was just Sophie that stayed with them.

"You said he's been like this since he woke up this morning?"

"Yeah. He woke up screaming, trashed his room, and then just went quiet."

"Eliot." The doctor approached with caution, trying not to startle his patient. "Can you talk?"

The hitters head sunk lower as his body began to quake. His breathing was shaky at best, and if he had spoken, his voice would probably have been too soft to hear.

"Eliot. It's Doctor Gregson, I really need you to speak for me." He waited for a moment and then shook his head.

"What's the matter with him Doc? Is it like last time? Is he seeing things again?"

"I don't think so. Whatever he saw in his dream must have been too much for him to handle, so he's shut himself down."

"Does he need to be admitted again?"

"To be honest there's not much the hospital can do for him. He needs time for his mind and body to get into sync again. Stay with him, keep talking to him, ask simple questions, try and get a response. Make sure he is warm and safe. And see if you can get him to eat or drink something."

"What will this do to his recovery? We were starting to make progress."

"It's not something I can predict. He may bounce back like nothing happened. Or he may revert to where he started. I'm sorry, I know that's not what you want to hear."

"It's ok. Thanks for coming out to us, you've been so good to us."

"After what you did for me, it's the least I could do. I'll check back in a few days."

It was like he'd reverted back to the start, but somehow worse. One-word answers turned into no answers at all. All that progress they made with his eating seemed to be for nothing, as he stopped eating entirely. Trying to get him to do anything but sit and stare at his hands was pointless. When they woke up the next day, they realised he hadn't even attempted to go to sleep. He was trapped inside his head, and they had no clue how to pick the lock.

"Eliot, please talk to me, you're really scaring me... It can be anything, tell me about that bike you're working on, or what new girl you're seeing, hell, call me a geek I don't care. Just say something." Hardison grasped onto his friend's hands. For the first time in days, he hadn't flinched. "Eliot, I know what happened must have been really bad. And talking about it is really difficult. But if you don't, well, your gonna start to get really sick again. And if that happens, the Doctor says you'll have to go away to get help. And you can't leave Parker like that. She needs her big brother. El?" He sighed and started to turn away.

"I remember."

"What? You remember what, El?"

"I remember what I did." Tears started to roll down his cheeks, just a few and very slowly. "I saw it all, for the first time since it happened. I know what I did. I'M A MONSTER!" That last part came out in a painful screech. His breathing started to hitch and tears poured down his face. "It was me that killed all those people. It was their blood that I was covered in. I didn't even care enough to remember."

Hardison had never seen the man shed a single tear, let alone this waling, shivering wreck in front of him.

"Eliot, you know it's not like that. You didn't forget because you didn't care. You forgot because you cared too much. Your brain blocked out the memories to protect itself."

"I... I... It doesn't m... matter. I s... still killed all those p... people. I... I..."

"Eliot calm down, breath for me. Good, now listen. You were a soldier right. And you were sent there on a mission. And part of that mission involved taking down the enemy."

"W... we were sent t... to a town that was under siege. We di... didn't know how b... b... bad it was. They were using the people as shields."

"See, you went there to help those people."

"But we didn't they all d... died. Everyone, my team, the civilians, ev... everyone but me."

"Aww man, I'm sorry. But none of that's your fault."

"It was my fault; I was in charge of that m... mission. M... m... my orders got him killed."

"No, El. You said it yourself. You didn't know what you were going into. You should have been warned."

"I should have died." Hardison looked at him in complete shock. "Why does a monster like me get to live when innocents die."

"El, please don't talk like that. You're not a monster. You deserve to live. If you hadn't survived, think of all the lives that would have been lost. Me and Parker probably wouldn't be together. All those veterans that you help would be on the streets. Hell, you liberated Croatia on your downtime. El, you have done so much good in this world, please don't forget that."

The pair of them sat in silence for a few minutes, whilst the hitter worked on getting his breathing back to normal. Eventually, the hacker turned around and asked, "how're you feeling bro?"

"Hungry."

TBC