Disclaimer: I don't own them. Dammit.

A/N: Whaaa??? Wah-keetcha, 'no cliffhanger'? I thought that was a hell of a cliffhanger. You want I should dangle him over a blazing hot fire on a little shish-kabob stick with the marshmallows?? heheheh

Missing Something???

Nathan Ford looked at the ringing phone and saw Eliot's name on the caller ID.

"You better trace it, Hardison; I have a bad feeling about this."

"You? You have a bad feeling? You? Man, my 'Spidey' sense is tinglin' the hell all over," the hacker said as he started the trace, the two women sitting up alertly.

"Are you missing something?"

The cruel voice that came over the phone made the little hairs on the back of Nate's neck shiver. It had nothing to do with the fact that Eliot was about a day overdue, and everything to do with the sadism that dripped from each word.

There were no more words as the phone was dropped, and in the background they all heard the unusual sound of a crack, followed by a strangled exclamation. Angry voices could be heard, and then a particularly sharp crack! , followed by Eliot's bloodcurdling scream.

Then the phone went dead.

Moments were all it took for the team to leap into action. Hardison traced the call to the Montana Skies Ranch, and was transferring all data onto his handheld. Nathan called the airport and had the jet put on emergency standby, and Sophie and Parker grabbed the always packed overnight bags and transferred them to the van. Within minutes they were heading for the private runway and on their way to Montana.

oooOOOooo

Montana Skies Ranch:

Thom, Caroline and George watched in horror as their captors doled out Eliot's 'punishment'. One stood guard, holding a rifle casually pointed at them. The leader, Dubravko, held a phone up to Eliot as the third one viciously whipped the young man. They had seen him tormented, beaten, and nearly killed in the last few days, and wondered what kind of monsters these three men were.

oooOOOooo

'Chris' had come to their ranch four years previously. He showed great skill with the horses, and a genuine love of the outdoors, the horses, and the people he was around. Shy and reserved at first, but hard working, he had quickly become one of Thom and Caroline's favorite workers, almost as close as an adopted son. Though he had stayed only five short months, it had been a great blow to the ranch to loose him.

When he had showed up on their doorstep almost a week ago, he had deep lines of strain around his eyes, their usually bright blue depths clouded with some inner turmoil. They had hoped being back at the ranch would soothe some of that pain, and after the first day, it seemed like it had.

And then one of their newest helpers, Bill, left without a word. Carson was next, and he looked like he had been in a fight. He wouldn't say anything, just left as quickly as Bill had. Randy had gone the day before to stay with his mother for the month, so it looked like they would be hard pressed for the near future with only themselves, George, and the untrustworthy 'Greg'.

When George had called them to the barn, fear evident in his voice, Thom and Caroline could only wonder what calamity had befallen them now. Surely, Lord God, not one of the horses?

Upon entering the barn, 'Greg' had appeared with a rifle, and behind them came two other armed men. They had tied the three up and put them in an empty stall, covering their mouths with duct tape. Their captors hadn't harmed them, but Thom almost wished they had, if it meant taking some of the pain away from Chris. Eliot.

When he had opened the stall door that first evening, Thom had seen something different in the way the young man moved. Gone was the easy mannered amble, here was something more lethal, almost feline in his grace and the way he held his body, tensed for danger. When he had seen them tied up, fear for them had replaced the wariness on his face, only to be quickly overshadowed by pain as the shovel slammed into his head. They had dragged him out of the stall, leaving the door open so the three inside could watch, and tied ropes to his wrists, pulling him upright as they tugged the ropes taut. Eliot's head hung loosely, blood trickling down his neck to his collar.

For hours they waited until Eliot awoke, Thom and Caroline worrying increasingly about a severe concussion. Then his eyes were open slightly, and they knew he was taking in all of his surroundings. For Thom and George, both veterans of different wars, the signs were easy to see now that this was a young man who was much more dangerous than he had seemed.

When one of the strangers kicked Caroline lightly, enough to startle her and make her yelp, Eliot's growl and promise of death made Thom and George think of their own wars. They saw Greg/Dubravko sidle up behind Eliot and knew it was too close for Eliot's comfort, even though the younger man would give no indication. When his hair was cut free of the leather band and the knife held at his throat, they saw an angry lion straining to protect what was his. Them.

What Eliot and Dubravko spoke about in half understood words meant little, only that Eliot had done what they always knew he would, stand up for the weaker, and free whomever he could.

After the cruel beating, as Thom saw the third man's beefy hands encircle Eliot's neck and begin to choke him, and as the smaller man's body writhed and fought for air he wished he was just a bit younger, just a little faster, and just a bit smarter so he wouldn't have fallen victim to these three thugs.

Later, when Eliot woke up, Caroline asked the leader for water. If only George could have stopped her from asking her innocent question. He had seen many men tortured as Eliot was being tortured, shoved under the water again and again, until they drowned. The only difference between then and now was that in the past there had always been questions that needed answers. Not now. They had demanded no answers from Eliot, and that was confusing.

When Eliot's struggles became weaker and weaker, George began to get scared. When they threw his limp, unresisting body onto the ground, he was terrified that the young man was dead. Then Eliot convulsed and coughed, vomiting up water. He still wasn't conscious, but he was breathing.

Dubravko ordered his body tied to the rafters again, and later they heard the sounds of horses being rounded up into the hall. Unsure of what that meant for the moment, they watched Eliot intently for signs of waking.

When the horses were startled into a stampede, all three of the captives watched in horror. They had all seen the terrible damage horses could do when provoked, and that Eliot was helpless in the middle of that equine fury made their blood run cold.

Eliot, too, had seen the damage a wild horse left on a fragile human body, yet he could not blame these otherwise gentle animals for their fear. George and Thom saw that forgiveness even as he was battered and beaten by the hundreds of pounds of horseflesh that ran past. They watched in horror as two of the more high strung stallions reared and slammed their hooves into Eliot's side, his face twisted in agony and his breath coming in short, pained gasps.

Then that bastard had come up behind Eliot again and cruelly dislocated his shoulder, causing him to scream in pain before he passed out.

Thom sighed in relief as he saw the young man collapse. Even though his shoulder would burn like fire when he woke up, Thom was grateful that he was oblivious for the time being. He couldn't believe it when they dragged him out into the open paddock and forced the others to follow. They dropped Eliot's body onto the dusty ground and tied the three captives to lawn chairs set up as an audience. Hours went by with no indication of awareness from the young man who lay in the dirt. His long, tangled hair covered most of his face, and every once in a while an exhalation of breath would stir the chestnut locks a little.

Late in the afternoon, Dubravko ordered them to tie the specialist to the fence post. They used rope to tie his shoulders, hips and knees, but then Thom's gorge rose when he saw them wind razor wire around Eliot's waist and wrists.

"What do you want?" Eliot had asked.

Dubravko smiled behind him, and said, "Nothing."

Thom saw the light go out with those words as Eliot, George and himself realized what those words meant. There would be no reprieve from what Dubravko and his men would do, nothing that Eliot could do or say that would stop them. Thankfully, Caroline was still innocent of that.

Still unbelieving that the man could be so full of cruelty, they watched as one of his followers took the 12 foot horsewhip from the ground and started practicing, the sharp crack echoing through the valley. Thom kept careful vigilance on Eliot's face, seeing the corner of his eye twitch with every 'pop' of the whip. Dubravko sliced the shirt from the well-built chest, and they gasped at the dark bruising that mottled his ribs and sides, knowing that it covered his back too. Under those dark marks, they could also see testaments of a harder life of knives, guns, and more cruelty written on the well-muscled torso. They tried to strengthen him with their words, but they weren't sure it was enough. When Dubravko whispered something into Eliot's ear and slid the knife along his back, they saw the smaller man's eyes fill with fear and remembered pain, and he started to tremble.

They missed what transpired between Eliot and Dubravko, but saw the phone the wicked man held up to him as he felt the first kiss of the whip. Eliot's eyes snapped shut and his teeth clenched in an effort not to make a sound. The whip was drawn back and sailed through the air again, the popper at the end wrapping over Eliot's shoulder as it struck him. He couldn't stop the strangled groan from escaping his throat. They started to yell and scream for Dubravko to stop, watching Eliot's eyes glaze over with pain, choking on his own breath when the whip descended a third time with fury. The lash bit into Eliot's back, blood spraying from the wound as he tried to arch away from it. He screamed in agony and his eyes finally rolled up into his head as he fell against the post.

Dubravko smiled with satisfaction and snapped the phone closed.

"And now, my friends, our business is concluded," he said. Snapping out orders in a guttural language, they barely noticed as the other two men hastily left the area. All they were concerned about as they struggled against their bonds was the shivering form of the young man tied to the post in front of them.

Caroline was startled when Dubravko stepped in front of her and held the knife in her face. She shook as she looked at his face, then at the glinting steel.

"Do not worry, little Caroline, you will not be hurt. Remind the little smutljivac Eliot of my words. What we have done once, we will do again." With that he slid the knife into a sheath and laid it in her lap. He walked behind her, and a few moments later, a vehicle started up and drove off.

The vehicle was barely out of sight when Eliot started to move. His hands clenched at the railing spasmodically and his head jerked. With a strangled groan he lifted his head to stare blearily at them.

"Easy, Eliot, take it easy, you're okay," Thom started in his gentlest voice, as if talking to a panicky stallion.

"…..t….Thom…," he could only whisper brokenly.

"It's okay, Eliot, they're gone now," he continued, "You're okay. Just relax."

Eliot saw that they were still tied up and started to struggle, pulling at the wire around his wrists but not seeming to realize that the razors were digging in deeper.

"I…I...I can't…can't…" he fought to free himself as they tried to calm him.

"It's okay, Eliot. Stop struggling. Eliot, Eliot, stop. We will be okay, you're hurting yourself."

Awareness seemed to shimmer in his eyes as he watched them, then looked at his raw and bleeding wrists.

"…..oh," he said thickly.

Thom had managed to twist around in his chair enough to reach the knife in his wife's lap, then unsheathe it and start to saw on the bindings on his wrists with a little direction from Caroline. When his wrists were free, he quickly cut Caroline's and then ran over to calm Eliot with his soft voice.

In moments Caroline had freed George, and he ran to help Thom as Caroline ran into the barn for blankets and a wire cutter.

Returning, she gave the wire cutters to George and spread the blankets on the ground behind Eliot as the men worked to free their young friend.

Just as she finished she heard a soft moan behind her and she turned around as George started to unwind the razor wire from Eliot's right wrist. The wire had dug into the mangled flesh of his wrist, causing heavy blood flow. Thankfully, it had cut only the back of his wrists, not the major veins. Caroline took the ragged remnants of his denim shirt and ripped it into strips, tying one tightly around the fragile wrist. Thom had finished cutting all the rope and was holding Eliot upright now, one arm around Eliot's shoulders and one knee between his legs and braced against the post, so the weight of his body wouldn't pull at the other wounds. Blood had poured from the gash in his back and trickled into the waistline of his jeans, seeping deeply into the fabric. George made short work of snipping the other wrist free of the wire, then gently unwinding it. Caroline was right next to him, quickly tying the make-shift bandage tight. George moved to the wire around Eliot's waist, thanking God that the majority of it had dug into his jeans, but some of the wire had still clawed its way into the young man's sides. He cut the three strands that were wrapped around the lean waist and carefully tugged them free, trying to ignore the soft whimper of pain.

"Are you ready, son?" Thom gently whispered into Eliot's ear before he moved.

Eliot raised his head with effort and nodded, letting his head fall back against Thom's broad chest.

With tremendous care, Thom and George lowered Eliot's body onto the blanket, settling his legs and hips on the ground before moving any further. Eliot trembled in Thom's arms, his breaths coming in short, stuttering gasps. They waited a few moments until his breathing evened out, then lowered him the rest of the way to the blanket, settling him somewhat on his left side. Even with the beatings he had taken, it seemed like they were fortunate enough that he had no broken ribs.

"Caroline, call 911," Thom started to say, but Eliot's hand snapped out and clamped around her wrist before she could stand up.

"No!" he said forcefully. "No hospitals. Promise me." His eyes bored into Thom's until Thom acquiesced.

"But Chri…Eliot, Honey, you need a doctor."

"No, no doctors….no…'m friends'll come soon…be okaaaay…" his whispers disappeared softly as he lapsed into brief unconsciousness.

"How're we gonna get him into the house?" George asked.

Caroline jumped up and ran off behind the barn, returning a few moments later with her garden cart. It had two large carriage wheels on either side of a low wooden platform that was about four feet long. She tipped it up to a low incline and they gently pulled the blanket carrying its precious burden onto it. His lower legs and feet were still on the ground, but the majority of his body rested on the sturdy cart. Thom pulled the cart towards the house as George and Caroline held the end of the blanket up so his feet didn't drag. In short moments they were at the porch.

Thom knelt down and gathered the smaller man to his chest, preparing to carry him into the house when Eliot stirred again.

"Kin walk m'self," he slurred stubbornly.

He abruptly gathered his feet under himself and rose awkwardly, almost overbalancing and falling again, but Thom steadied him, the blanket wrapped firmly around his shoulders. Once he felt steady, he slowly negotiated the steps, and walked carefully into the front great room. Thom steered him towards one of the lounges in front of the fireplace when Eliot started to argue, mumbling something about 'blood on the furniture', but Thom insisted. He sat the wounded young man on the edge of the chaise and waited for Caroline to spread a thick, soft blanket over it before lowering him onto the cushion.

Eliot moaned as his back touched the blanket, arching up in an effort to take the pressure off of the wound. Thom and George helped adjust him onto his side again as Caroline busied herself in the kitchen. George poured a glass of water from the pitcher on the sideboard, and Thom helped raise Eliot's head enough to drink. He managed a few faltering sips, sighing in relief as the water seeped down his dry throat, and they waited a moment before letting him drink again.

While they worked to get him to drink the much needed water, Caroline was in the kitchen boiling pans of water and gathering towels, bandages and bruise liniments. Since they lived on a ranch, wounds were somewhat common, and therefore they had a well-stocked first aid cabinet. When the first pan of water was boiling, she brought it and the towels and bandages out to the great room where Eliot lay.

The men had maneuvered Eliot onto his left side and were preparing to put his shoulder back into the socket. Caroline set the pan of water and towels down, and moved swiftly to crouch at Eliot's head. Smoothing his hair and making soft crooning noises she distracted him from what the others were doing. She was unprepared, however, for the way his head jerked back and his mouth opened in a silent scream as they slid the joint back into place, the veins in his neck standing out in sharp relief. His eyes slightly crossed as they rolled back again, and his face relaxed as his head dropped onto the couch.

They all worked as quickly as they could to bathe the blood from his wrists and back and wrap the wounds with bandages, knowing that he had a tendency to regain consciousness quickly. The last whip slash had gone down to the bone in places, so Thom decided to stitch it. With the others sitting close, ready to soothe the young man if he awakened prematurely, he set to work closing the almost 14 inch gash. Eliot wavered close to the surface at times, his breath hitching as Thom pulled a stitch, only to be sent back under by a soft touch on his hair or a gentle squeeze of his forearm, two of the rare places he could be touched without pain.

Unconcerned for modesty, they removed his boots and jeans, and wrapped his thigh and hip with hot compresses where the hooves had struck him. The heat would bring out the bruising, but it would keep the muscles supple and relaxed, and would ease some of the pain.

When they were finished with all that they could do, they stoked the fire to blazing and tucked soft blankets around his shivering form, knowing that above all else, they had to keep him warm.

The front door opened with a crash.