The Rewind Job, Chapter 10
Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters.
Warning: This chapter is somewhat darker than the previous chapters and some readers may find it and the chapter following disturbing. I have debated whether the rating should be changed to rated M. If you feel strongly about that, please let me know.
Recap:
"No," Nate reiterated with a tone that left no room for argument.
"Besides, Hardison, Eliot isn't thinking straight. You can't take advantage of a moment of weakness and harass him about his real name," Sophie chastised, feeling a certain camaraderie with the hitter, having hidden her real name for years before divulging it to the crew, minus Nate.
"Oh, now, hold on. I may not go digging', but I sho ain't gonna pass up the opportunity to rib Eliot once he's better. Ah Uh, no way," Hardison mumbled on his way to the refrigerator for some orange soda.
Chapter 10
Eliot took a deep breath and mentally told himself to relax. As he looked through the telescopic lens at his target, who was enjoying the serenity of breakfast on his rooftop terrace, he could feel a few stray hairs brushing his right cheek, the uneven edge of the rock beneath him pressing into his left shin, and beads of sweat rolling down his back. He wasn't sure what had him so antsy and easily distracted this morning. It wasn't like Stepanov didn't have this coming to him. The man was basically a terrorist, willing to do whatever it took to take out his enemies, regardless of the collateral damage…women, children, babies…Eliot had no qualms about killing him, but something just didn't seem right. If Moreau wasn't already suspicious about General Flores' "escape," Eliot would call the hit off and come back on another day. As it was, he didn't want to give Damien another reason to doubt his allegiance and decided he needed to just get on with it. After wiping a sweaty palm on his shirt, he lightly grasped the stock, adjusted the rifle butt against his shoulder, and fingered the trigger. Sighting just over the low terrace wall, he centered the crosshairs and steadied his breathing…inhale…exhale…inhale…exhale…squeeze…a wisp of gold entered the telescopic field and Eliot's finger froze a fraction of a second too late, the trigger pull weight of the weapon being light for a smoother shot. Although the gun had little kick for a fifty caliber, the hitter jerked back like he'd been slapped, staring at the sight before him, his heart pounding in his ears….
"NOOOOOO!"
Nate dropped the book he was reading, Sophie let out a startled yelp, and Alec jerked, spilling orange soda all over his lap, as Eliot screamed and bolted to a sitting position on the couch. Parker jumped slightly but otherwise remained silent and still.
After Eliot's earlier flashback, it had taken some time for the hitter to fall asleep again. The team had settled around the apartment, watching and waiting. When the time came to wake Eliot again, the hitter still seemed confused, but knew where they had told him he was and gave them the right answers to their questions. He had fallen back asleep rather quickly and rested quietly until this latest outburst.
Nate watched the color drain from Eliot's face and was moving to his side when the retrievalist stumbled from the couch toward the bathroom, slinging the door open and sliding to a stop on his knees in front of the toilet. Gripping the toilet seat with his left hand and bracing his ribs with his right, Eliot wretched violently. The vomiting soon turned to dry heaves, interrupted only by the hitter's gasping breaths.
Nate stood frozen in the doorway to the tiny room, wanting to help, but not knowing how. After what seemed an eternity, the vomiting finally stopped, but Eliot continued to grip the toilet seat as if it were the only thing keeping him grounded, his muscles tense and his whole body trembling.
"Eliot," Nate soothed, moving forward cautiously. His hand barely skimmed Eliot's shoulder and the hitter jerked away with a grunted, "DON'T."
Backing himself into the corner, Eliot pulled his knees up, curling in on himself, his right arm still bracing his injured ribs, left hand grasping his hair. His eyes met Nate's for an instant before he dropped his head onto his knees. "Don't," he managed in a half sob/half plea.
Nate swallowed the sudden lump in his throat, instinctively backing away. He didn't even want to think about what kind of nightmare could put such a devastated look on Eliot Spencer's face.