Hi all!

So, in case it isn't clear, the chapters of this story will go back and forth in perspective, which sometimes means getting the same events from both sides. This is Eliot's end of what happened upon returning to Boston.

The song for this week's chapter is Halestorm's "Mayhem."

Enjoy!

Chapter 2: Cruel Intentions

Eliot looked up at the house he had last seen through a swollen eye and a concussion. In the noon sunlight, it seemed just as ostentatious as it had back then, if slightly less cold.

But, then, if Connell had reformed in the wake of his daughter's near-kidnapping, it probably was less cold, less a monument to grief and more to the people living in it. Close calls tended to bring out the humanity in people.

Either that, or it eradicated any that was left.

Eliot opted not to think too hard about which was more true of himself.

Old habits still strong, Eliot had parked the dumpy car – bought from the first internet ad that would accept cash he could find in Boston since his Charger remained in Oregon – around the block from the house. It was actually situated on the street behind the Connell house, so he would only need to get through a pair of fences and yards to reach it if necessary.

Eliot wished he could have concealed his arrival a little better, but without involving a second person, it was hard to arrange a standard switch – pretend to be a delivery guy and get someone else to leave in his place. Parker would have pulled some kind of vanishing act, appearing in the house without anyone seeing her and giving no explanation as to how she did it. Maybe Hardison would've delivered himself by drone or something equally geeky.

But they weren't here, so Eliot did things Eliot's way – the complete opposite of subtle.

Eliot marched up the front steps, overnight-bag on one shoulder, rang the doorbell, and planted himself on the porch, scanning the neighborhood and daring anybody to peek out their blinds at him.

The door opened after the sound of several locks clicking to a harried-looking John Connell.

"Wow. You really just did that."

"Deterrents don't work if you don't know they're there," Eliot said, still glaring along every sight-line and vantage point. "Anybody comes here, they'll know what's gonna happen to them."

John cleared his throat. "Okay. Well, whenever you're ready…" He stepped aside.

Eliot spared one last glare, a dire, test-me-and-die version for the house next door, then followed Connell into the house. He noted at once the extra security and approved of the heavy door bar that had been added. That was good for keeping people out – assuming they came in the door.

"Had any trouble lately?"

Connell swallowed, then shook his head. "No. Not since I called." He collected himself with a visible effort. "Thank you for coming so quickly."

Eliot simply nodded, his attention on the sound of footsteps.

"Eliot!"

His stern expression melted at the smile that raced towards him, and almost without knowing he was going to do it, Eliot caught Molly in a hug.

"Heya Botasky."

"Hi Perky!" Molly drew back, grinning. "You remembered!"

"Buddy of mine made me read it." He couldn't quite bring himself to verbalize the ridiculous title which had kept Parker amused for the better part of a week. Eliot grimaced and looked up at John. "Do you have any idea what goes on in that thing?"

"Uh, no?" John looked between them. "Should I?"

"Yeah."

"It's not that bad," Molly said.

"It gave my friend nightmares."

"Seriously?"

Eliot nodded. He looked back at Molly. "And he's a grown man, sort of. Exactly how old are you?"

Molly shrugged, unrepentantly. "Old enough to download a bootleg copy if anything happens to my originals."

John huffed a laugh. "I think I've created a monster."

"The digital apple doesn't fall far from the tree, dad. And neither does the PC."

Eliot snorted. "I hate computer nerds."

"I can tell." Molly almost managed to say it with a straight face – Sophie would have been proud. "So, dad, where's Eliot gonna sleep? Spare room one, two, or three?"

Eliot shook his head. "None of the above, kiddo."

Her face fell, and Eliot could see an edge of fear creeping into her eyes – no, a return to fear.

"But I thought you were staying over for a while?"

"I am," he said quickly. "But I won't sleep much. I can keep going for days if I have to. Just give me a chair and a nap and I'll be good to go."

"Molly, why don't you take Eliot upstairs and show him where to put his things. He can have the room next to you, okay?"

Eliot didn't need Molly to show him the way – he'd memorized the layout of the place during the job, of course – but he followed her anyway. He noted a few small changes to the house since he'd been there last, mostly in that it was no longer under construction and there was a lot more visible security, from polycarbonate windows to an internal alarm system complete with regular motion detectors and cameras.

Molly pushed open a door to a spare room that was more elaborate than Eliot's whole apartment in Portland and leaned on the doorjam while he dropped his bag on the bed.

"So, no voices in your ear this time?" she asked.

"Nope. Just me."

"Too bad. That was fun." Molly glanced around the room for a bit, a nerve-gathering tactic Eliot could have read from across the street. "So...what are you and my dad up to, anyway?"

That was a surprise and Eliot rummaged in his bag to hide his expression. "He didn't tell you?"

"No. He just said you were coming over for a while. And that things would be fine."

Eliot could hear her rolling her eyes, so he turned back. "Something wrong with that?"

"No." She gave one of her dramatic sighs. "Except that's all he says when I ask him anything. I can't go hang out with friends, I can't go to the mall or the movies, but everything's fine." Eliot saw her hand twitch, as if she wanted to grab onto something, hold onto something for security. "And now you're here. So it's clearly not 'fine.' But whatever. He won't tell me."

Eliot considered her for a minute. "You sure you want to know?"

It wasn't an offer he made lightly. But Molly had handled the kidnapping well, all things considered. She had been scared, but fear was natural, even healthy in that situation. She'd kept her head, remembering to use the earbud when she was alone and then dropping a vital clue to Eliot that she knew he would remember but would be meaningless to her captors.

Also, Eliot had seen she had a pretty good set of instincts for when he was telling her the truth. This would be a really long few days if he had to try to lie to her at every turn, and probably get hassled for it every chance she got.

Molly nodded and moved into the room, perching on a rocking chair in the corner. "I won't tell dad I know, I promise."

"I know you won't." Eliot leaned against the bed and faced her, keeping his ears alert for John coming upstairs after them. "The short version is that your dad is helping the authorities track down some bad people, and he asked me to come keep an eye on you."

"So…" Molly considered him. "This is, what? Witness Protection? That kind of thing?"

"Sorta."

"But you're not with the FBI or anybody." She stopped. Frowned. "Are you?"

"Nope."

"Huh." Then, "Is this about those guys who moved in next door?"

Eliot raised an eyebrow. "Maybe. What do you know about them?"

"Well, they keep their blinds down a lot. And dad goes over there to talk to them sometimes, but he doesn't let me go with him. Plus, the property ownership documentation online says it was bought by a Barry McElroy, and that is the fakest fake name I've ever heard."

Eliot nodded and filed the name away for later – it would make for a fantastic deliberately-fake cover. "Pretty good, Botasky. So, who do you think they are?"

Molly thought about it, then said, "Somebody who doesn't want to be seen? But they're not very good at it."

Eliot filed that information away and made a mental note to call Nate soon. "Well, whoever they are, they won't get past me." He held her gaze, pinning her with the same steady look he'd given soldiers and bystanders and even his teammates sometimes. The one that practically forced the person on the other end of it to calm down and listen and trust. "I'm gonna look out for you, Molly. You and your dad. Until we figure this all out. Okay? Does that sound like the truth?"

"Yeah." Molly gave him a small smile. "Okay, so, now what? Do we sneak around and try to read their mail? Tap their phones?"

"Not right away, short stuff. For now, we'll just keep an eye on things. Surveillance, if done right, is slow and boring...until it isn't."

Molly pushed to her feet, setting the chair to rocking. "Great. More boring." Then her eyes lit up. "Hey, have you read Maus yet?"

Eliot had a bad feeling about this. "Mouse?"

"Yeah! I'll grab it and you can read it while we're being boring!" She darted to her room and Eliot could hear a pile of books scattering in her wake.

Eliot closed up his bag and muttered to himself, "First rabbits, now mice. At least it can't possibly be any darker than the last one."

One look at the cover of the slim book Molly thrust into his hands sent that hope spiralling into oblivion.

-==OOO==-

Eliot managed to call Nate for a brief conversation under the pretense of checking the back door. As soon as he hung up the phone, he felt better about things. He didn't want the team anywhere near whatever disaster this simple guard job was going to turn into, but it was reassuring to have the combined brainpower of Nate Ford and Alec Hardison on his side – even if he'd rather eat a fork, tines first, than admit that to the Hacker.

Then he did a full sweep of the house, noting the locations of all the security devices and any spots that were blind to them. He also poked his head into the closet which led to the safe room, but didn't bother to get Connell or Molly to open it for him; he was just reassured it was still as secure as ever.

Checking for provisions led to the discovery that John Connell clearly had no idea what to do with food, if the stack of frozen pizzas in the freezer was any indication – he ate about as well as Hardison on a bad day.

Which turned into an impromptu cooking lesson for Molly and his speech about knives, though he left out the bit about how to slice Yakuza with them. Molly was easily entertained watching him chop through forgotten vegetables and combine them with spices he found in the back of a cupboard which had been taken over by fast food menus.

Connell joined them just as Eliot's frittata was done and the honey-glazed vegetables came off the stove. Eliot got Molly to set the table and put a large pile of food in front of them both.

Molly was a growing kid who needed more than pizza and soda, and John Connell was increasingly demonstrating to Eliot that he was barely holding on by a thread. If he were any more spooked, he would be a jackrabbit. Eliot half expected the man to collapse in a nervous fit – or lock himself in the safe room and refuse to come out.

Which was strange, actually. Eliot tuned out the cheerful banter about 'real men who cook' that passed between father and daughter and studied Connell more closely. He teased Molly in a way that felt natural, but he was more on edge now than he had been when Eliot arrived. And it could be for any number of reasons, but it added another piece to the puzzle that was this whole situation and Eliot did not like it.

Maybe Connell was just nervous that Eliot would come clean about the situation with Molly.

Maybe he was worried that the FBI would find out Eliot had come and make trouble.

Maybe something had happened in the last two hours.

Too many variables, not enough facts. Eliot didn't like it at all.

He considered calling Nate again, but decided against it. If Nate were here, he could read Connell's body language for himself and maybe come up with something. If he were here, he would see a hundred angles that were hidden to Eliot who was too close to the situation to back up and take a broader view. Without Nate here, all Eliot could report was 'stuff is even hinkier than it was,' and that was not useful intel.

Connell and Molly washed the dishes while Eliot prowled about the house some more, then settled down in the entertainment room to watch movies. Eliot didn't bother joining them, instead positioning himself with his back to a wall and line-of-sight to three different points of vulnerability. The tension in the room was too thick to be cut with a chainsaw, between Connell's absurd levels of discomfort, Molly needing every ounce of self-discipline not to ask about it, and Eliot's watchfulness. Even an empty action movie full of explosions was tame in comparison.

After two action films that Eliot honestly could not have told apart except by the fact that one was being advised by someone with a background in munitions disposal due to some very distinctive explosions, Molly and John ate bowls of ice cream and headed to bed. And it was only because Eliot was fully keyed-up that he didn't get a spoonful of ice cream in his hair courtesy of Molly.

He did toss an ice cube down her back in revenge, though.

"Uh...if anything happens…" John began, hesitating in the upstairs hallway beside his own room.

Eliot glanced to where Molly was not-so-subtly leaning out her bedroom door to listen. "I'll cover you. Get Molly and get into that safe room and call for help."

"But what if…?"

"You'll be fine," Eliot said. "They won't even come in range of you. Either of you."

John Connell nodded. "Thanks. And, uh, goodnight." And he went into his room and shut the door.

Eliot fought the urge to roll his eyes and tromped down the hallway to Molly. "You hear enough, Botasky?"

She pouted. "No. Why won't he tell me?"

"He doesn't want you to be scared." Eliot could see past the brave front she had put up all day to the kid who had tearfully whispered his name over comms from the carnival House of Mirrors. She was brave, no doubt, but she was also scared. "Look. Same deal for you. If you hear me yelling, you get out of bed and down to that safe room. And you stay there. I'll come get you when it's safe."

"You promise?"

"Promise."

She made an impish smile and held up a hand.

Eliot scowled. "I swear to god if you try to make me pinky swear, you're going to find syrup in your PJs, kid."

Molly grinned and put both hands behind her back with exaggerated innocence. "Fine! I won't!"

Eliot turned to go back downstairs. "Go to sleep. And no more disturbing reading material. Seriously. What's wrong with you?"

"What's wrong with you?" she shot back. "Goodnight Eliot!" she practically sang at him before shutting her door.

Eliot hmphed at her and pretended he didn't smile all the way downstairs.

-==OOO==-

Later, Eliot would blame his over-reliance on his team for the lapse in judgement. He had become so used to having others there who could watch for problems or spot behavior that didn't fit, he was a little out of practice watching and cataloging micro-expressions on his own. When he found John Connell in the kitchen sometime after 3am with a glass and a bottle of whiskey, he only nodded to the man, reminded comfortingly of Nate.

He was at the front of the house when he heard the distinctive sound of a lock sliding back.

Eliot spun, already moving towards the kitchen. "Connell! What are you – ?"

A crowd of armed Russians burst into the house. They ran past John Connell who stood damningly beside the unsecured door.

They ran for Eliot.

Eliot turned and climbed the stairs taking them three at a time, yelling. "Molly!"

Molly opened her bedroom door just as there was a crash of glass from inside her room. She cried out.

Eliot reached her in three steps and wrapped an arm around her, pulling her just out of the reach of someone big and menacing. Eliot rolled with his momentum for the nearest door, which happened to be a bathroom. He flung them inside and slammed the door shut, leaning against it with all his weight.

"Eliot! What's going on? Where's my dad?"

"Sorry, kiddo." He peered around before his gaze landed on some kind of ornate, iron towel stand. He grabbed it and shoved it against the door, wedging it into place with the sink vanity. The door shuddered as someone pounded on it, but held.

"Get in the bathtub," Eliot said. "And cover your head."

He wanted to find something to put over her – she was so terribly vulnerable with only glass shower doors between her and danger – but he had one thing he had to do first. While he turned to the little window in the room, checking it with one hand for structural integrity, he pulled out his phone with the other and dialed without looking.

"Nate!"

"Eliot! What is it?"

"It's a set-up, Nate! There was no FBI! Connell played us! He's working for the Russians!"

Eliot knew he didn't imagine the shock that quickly turned to determination in Nate's voice. "I'll call Bonanno. Just hold out as long as you can."

"Stop." Eliot sucked in a breath. "There's no point."

"Eliot. Listen to me. We will come for you. Just hang on. Okay?"

Eliot couldn't admit the warmth that certainty, that loyalty, that devotion lit in his gut. A promise like that from Nate Ford was better than the word of honor of most of the so-called heroes Eliot had ever met. But he couldn't let Nate walk into this, couldn't let him bring the team into a kill-box like this.

"No, Nate. Then there'll be five bodies instead of just one. Don't...don't throw away your life and their lives. Not for me."

The window wasn't made to open, but Eliot could fix that if needed. The problem was that Molly would fit out it, but he wouldn't. And that was a long drop to the ground. He needed another plan.

"Eliot!"

"I didn't call you to get you out here where you can all get killed. I called you because you need to know Connell is dirty. Don't trust him. But don't come out here. They ain't even gonna look for you. I'll make sure of it."

"Eliot, listen!"

"Take care of them, Nate." Then, because he knew the guilt that Nate would feel, knew this would open a wound that was only just beginning to heal, he added, "This ain't your fault. You didn't do this. You didn't…what you did... I was dead. Before you and the team. I was dead. I just...I need you to know. What you gave me...I can't ever repay it."

There was a loud crash as the door started to crack and Molly cried out.

"I gotta go. Keep them safe. If there's a way out, I'll find it. And I'll come back. If not...thanks. For being my reason to live."

He dropped the phone and turned back to face whoever came through that door.

He didn't expect it to be a flashbang grenade shoved through a fist-sized hole.

Eliot's body reacted without even consulting him. He knew flashbangs weren't generally lethal, but he also knew they could kill in close proximity and could maim just as easily. And there was Molly, lying in a tub behind a wall of thin shower glass.

Eliot threw himself on top of her as light and noise exploded around him.

Even before the afterimage faded from his eyes, Eliot erupted upwards, bracing for the attack that was coming through the door. He kicked at the shower glass, sending shards of it at the crowd that had dislodged his barricade. But he was outnumbered and backed into a corner without a lot of room to swing. And Molly was crying.

He dropped two opponents before someone rammed him with the towel rack and threw him off balance against the toilet. Eliot recovered quickly, but the damage was done.

Because Molly wasn't in the tub anymore.

Eliot blinked furiously, willing his eyes to focus.

Molly hung in the grip of a much larger man, and he had her in a lethal choke-hold. The man was saying something, but Eliot's ears were still ringing. However, he could read the man's lips to understand the threat well enough.

"Unconscious to dead in thirty more seconds. Your choice."

He didn't have to do the math. He knew all about deoxygenated blood and restricted bloodflow to the brain and pressure points. If it were one guy, even one well-trained guy, he could break through and reach her in time. But more were piling into the bathroom, climbing over the bodies of their beaten comrades.

He couldn't take the risk.

Eliot raised his hands in surrender.

"Good choice."

Eliot was roughly yanked out of the bathroom into the hallway. Molly was stirring slightly, but, though the man had shifted his grip to be less dangerous, she was still helpless in his arms. John Connell stood behind him in a crowd of what must be thirty members of the Russian mob.

"Connell." Eliot made sure his voice grated as low and deep as possible. "You'll pay for this."

"No, Eliot Spencer. You are payment." The man with Molly gestured and someone produced a water bottle. The cap's seal was broken and the water inside was distinctly cloudy.

"Drink it all." The man put a fist around Molly's throat. "Now."

Eliot gave John Connell his darkest, most malicious, death-glare as he chugged the water in a few swift swigs. The carfentanil's distinctive taste felt heavy in his mouth. He had only just finished swallowing when the world tilted badly sideways. Eliot knew he had only moments of useful consciousness left before the drug pulled him into grey clouds.

"Tell your boss," Eliot said, and he was already slurring, "he should've killed me instead."

"Oh, no." The man holding Molly smiled. "You're worth much more to us alive."