Pop!
"Welcome to Eliot Spencer's world," Reuel musically informed his guest.
The mastermind paid no attention to a word he said. Instead he was too busy trying to keep himself from coughing out his lungs. His chest hurt and every muscle ached. His bullet scars were tingling with the sensation of the movement. His scraggly form was hunched over while he tried to make the black and purple spots disappear.
"Ooh," Reuel exclaimed, "Right. They told me that tended to happen to humans during their first disbursement."
Nate stared at the angel in horror and asked, "Told you?"
"Well obviously I haven't done this before if I haven't earned my wings yet," Reuel sighed.
Nate rolled his eyes at that.
"Of course," he said. Then he straightened his back and took in the view. "Where are we?"
They were in some desolate place in the middle of nowhere. There was bright orange-red sand all around so it looked like a desert. There was a small palm tree growing by a giant hut. A small pond was on the other side of the hut. It was surrounded by bigger palm trees and other exotic plants. The air was hot and humid instead of the expected dry. It was an oasis.
"Where are we?" Nate repeated, breathless from the quick temperature change.
"We are in Erenhot, East Govi," Reuel explained, "Mongolia."
"The Gobi Desert," Nate nodded. It made sense considering the surrounding temperature and everything. "But why are we here?"
"Eliot Spencer lives here," Reuel shrugged, "He's completely isolated himself from the rest of the world. You did that."
"How did I do that?" Nate barked towards the man.
Reuel just gave him a look. "You wished you were never born," he reminded, "Now your best friend is paying the price."
Before the mastermind could even dare to say anything, a whistle started to blow. It started soft and got louder and stronger as it approached the door. A man with long flowing hair and a hat exited from the door. He ignored his guests and just kept going through the motions. He went to his little well and pumped some water into a watering can. Then he immediately set to work watering each and every one of his wonderful plants. He whistled all the while and didn't care who heard him.
"You should check up on him," Reuel suggested softly, "Maybe you'll find the answers you've been looking for."
Nate glared at the "angel" and turned back on the whistling man. Even from this far away he could tell it was Eliot. Only his hitter would ever make such careful movements to make something beautiful. This con was getting more and more unbelievable with every step.
Nate rolled his eyes and headed in the direction of the hitter. It took a few minutes, the heat pounding down the entire way. By the time he actually reached the hitter he was sweating profusely and already feeling like his world was about to end.
Eliot sensed him two minutes before he reached the little hut. Everything in the hitter's posture changed. He was silently assessing the threat and debating if his hedge clippers would be necessary. His eyes never left the plants he was caring for but his peripheral vision was perfectly placed on the mastermind. He didn't look like he recognized the steps though.
"Stop right there," the hitter growled. Nate was at the edge of the garden and sweating buckets. Apparently Reuel decided to take them on one of the hot days of the year.
"I mean you no harm," Nate said. The sense of dread was filling his stomach to the brim. That paired with the sun made him want to find the nearest bathroom and hurl. His world was spinning and he knew something awful was about to happen.
"No," Eliot agreed, "You're just here to offer me a job."
The hitter gently placed his watering can in its proper place. He turned two narrowed blue eyes on the mastermind and bent his knees. He made no other fight move but he was prepared for battle. Then he waited for Nate's move.
"Damien Moreau," he said.
He regretted the action immediately. Eliot had flinched at his ex-employer's name. Then he shifted his weight to his right leg and folded his hands into fists. His eyes glinted with fire and the mastermind back up a few inches. He raised his hands in surrender and shook his head.
"I don't work for him," he explained, "I'm only interested in what you know."
Eliot's familiar scowl appeared upon his face. He stood straight, the fight gone. He picked up his watering can and marched towards the hut. He opened the door and looked back with a glare.
"I don't know anything," he said. Then he slammed the door behind him.
Nate breathed a small sigh of relief. He was alive. That was a good thing.
"You see," Reuel sighed, "Everything's changed."
"He didn't recognize me," Nate nodded, "Did you drug him?"
"You still don't believe," Reuel shook his head, "And transported you to the other side of the world and you still don't believe. No wonder you had a crisis of faith after Sam."
"Don't talk about my son," Nate hollered towards the man, "You have no idea-"
"I have every idea, Mr. Ford. Who do you think sent me here to help you?"
The mastermind backed away from the man at that. Horror and shock were written all over his face, he was sure. He felt anger, a bubbling fuel rolling up his stomach and burning his throat. He didn't know which emotion to allow through and which to discard. All he knew was that this had gone too far.
"Stop this," Nate growled, "Send me back or whatever it is. I'm sick of this con. Let me go!"
"It isn't a con," Reuel sighed, "I really did erase you from time. Eliot Spencer really does not know you. Parker and Hardison are not together. Sophie is gone. Your team does not exist."
Nate's arms were wrapped around the angel's neck in seconds. He was squeezing with all his might. The anger was pumping through his arms and heart. Pain was urging him forward. Tears were prickling at his eyes.
"What do you mean?" He demanded breathlessly, "What the hell do you mean by Sophie is gone?"
"The name," Reuel chocked out, "The name is no more."
Nate released him, relief suddenly overflowing everything else.
"She's alive?" He asked.
Reuel shrugged. "You will see," he said, "Follow Mr. Spencer. All of your answers rest with him. I am just the guide."
"What am I supposed to do?" Nate snarled at the man, "He doesn't even recognize me!"
"You are the top criminal mastermind in your field," Reuel smiled softly, "Do what you do best. Think."
"What do I say?" Nate asked softly, "Can I use my name?"
"Do whatever you need to," Reuel advised, "Only you know how to gain Eliot Spencer's trust."
This was going to be a long day, Nate thought sadly. He turned towards the hitter's hut and proceeded inside without a backwards glance. He had a job to do. The mastermind barreled into the hitter's home with every expectation of a fight. Instead he only managed to get into the door and stop in the living room.
The place was a mess. Everything was nothing like how the hitter usually liked to keep his things. Clothes were discarded on the floor in random piles. Plates were stacked a mile high against the wall. A reclining chair was sitting beside it directly across from a big screen television. How the hitter got electricity was beyond him but…
"I haven't had a chance to clean up. I've been busy."
The tone Eliot used wasn't threatening. It was defensive. He genuinely sounded discouraged by the idea of somebody entering a messy house. That was very… Eliot.
He was standing behind the recliner with a beer in hand. His defenses were down. His arms were against his chest. His legs were clad in blue jeans and his plaid shirt still reined his style. His long hair wasn't cut or trimmed to be less long. If anything it had gotten longer. His build seemed more chiseled and toned. He was working harder on maintaining his physique. He was still in the retrieval business then.
"You gonna tell me what you're doin' here?" The hitter demanded roughly. He punctuated the statement by finishing off the beer and throwing it into a pile.
"Do you have another one of those beers?" Nate asked. They were in the desert and withdrawal was the last thing he needed at the moment.
"It depends on what you want to know," Eliot growled. His smirk had returned but that was because he found his opponent's weakness. The mastermind would recognize that look anywhere.
"Damien Moreau," Nate stated scornfully. His voice even held a note of more knowledge than what he was showing. It was cocky and on the offensive. He couldn't exactly help that. The hitter refused to give him beer. "You used to work for him."
"The key phrase is used to," Eliot replied a snarl in his voice, "I'm not in that kind of business anymore. Haven't been for a while either. You're gonna have to try harder if you want that beer."
"I just want to know everything you know about him," Nate responded softly. He was trying to keep his temper in check but he knew it wasn't happening. Eliot's stance shifted towards his fighting figure again. He was prepping for battle and not even listening to the words.
"There's nothing to tell," Eliot growled.
"Why not?" Nate demanded harshly.
"Damien and I have an agreement," Eliot shrugged, "I don't talk about his business and he won't kill me."
"That doesn't seem like a great way to live," Nate countered.
"I'm alive," Eliot smiled at that. Then he nodded towards the door. "Don't let the door hit you on the way out."
Nate stared at the man with disbelief on his features. Anger was still bubbling up his stomach but he squashed that down. He knew how to get the hitter to give him what he wanted. He just had to remember how to do it. The hitter never opened up voluntarily. It was always for something bigger than his ego. He always did what was best for others over himself. Keeping Moreau's secret allowed him to do that. What would protect innocent people and get him to find the others at the same time?
"I want to take him down," Nate said, "and I need your help to do it."
The hitter stared at him with wary eyes. He studied every inch of the man before him. The puzzlement and curiosity were obvious but the rest wasn't. He had a new expression on his face. It looked like doubt but the mastermind couldn't be sure. His face had a slight frown and his left foot kept tapping on the ground. There was no sign of what the hitter wanted to say or thought. He only looked tired.
"You can't take Damien Moreau down," Eliot shook his head, "He's too powerful."
"I just need information," Nate sighed, "I need to know everything you can tell me. I promise I won't be too much trouble. I just need to know how he likes his drinks and everything you can think of. I know I can take him down with that."
The hitter laughed at that. His voice echoed and boomed in the tiny hut of a home. Fear and disbelief dominated his every move. He knew there was absolutely no way to destroy Damien Moreau. There couldn't be.
"You're crazy," he said.
"Let me prove it to you," Nate replied desperation clouding out all other judgment, "Help me with one day of recon. I promise you that I will find a way to destroy him and his empire."
Eliot stared at him with an amused look on his face.
"Not in that order," the mastermind finished.
He knew it was a winner the moment the words flew from his mouth. He watched as the idea of it dawned on the hitter. He saw the possibilities bouncing around in his long mane. His blue eyes rolled up and started calculating the likelihood of success. His muscles twitched with every successful punch of his fist. Then a crooked grin appeared on his lips.
"I'm in," he said.
Nate smiled something he was certain matched the hitter. Then he said the only other thing he needed to know.
"We're going to have to make a quick stop first."
The expression on the hitter's face was priceless.