The song for this chapter is "Serenity" by Godsmack.

I just want to take a moment to thank everyone who has been reading, favoriting/bookmarking/kudosing/reviewing/commenting on this story. You all don't really know me and maybe you don't care but…I fill my heart up with what you give me and sometimes that's what carries me through. It's been a rough spring on my end, and I can honestly say that it has been bearable sometimes because of your feedback, your encouragement, and your kindness. So thank you, all of you, for feeding my heart when I needed it.

Oh, also? I totally stand by what Molly says in this chapter about a certain classic movie. It's fun, don't get me wrong, but it is NOT the most female-empowering movie ever made!

Enjoy!

Chapter 9: Relight the Flame

Nate assessed Eliot while the crowd of thugs positioned him across the room, linking the Hitter's chains to a heavy ring embedded in the floor. He couldn't see much of Molly, given that Eliot had her in something of a permanent bear-hug. But she was here, and that was enough.

Since Molly was with Eliot, he had protected her. Water would run uphill and the sun would engulf the Earth before he let harm come to her. There was simply no other possibility.

But, after so many hours of worry, finally Nate could see his Hitter clearly – and he did not like what he saw.

He had expected a certain amount of abuse heaped on Eliot's body – he'd been captive too long for anything else. Scraped knuckles, a couple of bruises on the face, tightness to the chest or stomach, all of that was normal, nothing out of the ordinary on any given job.

Which was not to say Nate was okay with the fact that Eliot got hurt all the time, because he was not.

But Nate trusted Eliot, trusted him to know his limits, trusted him to handle himself. Because Nate had known, almost from the beginning, that Eliot could have ended most of his fights without a scratch – if he was willing to strike killing bows. So every bruise, every cut, except when up against genuinely exceptional fighters, was testament to Eliot's refusal to kill unless necessary. Testament to his willingness to fight conservatively, and accept some pain and injury in return, to let his opponents live.

This time, Eliot looked like he had been through a warzone.

His clothing was spattered with blood, and his sleeves were soaked in it all the way above the elbows. There was a torn scrap of material bound around his head, but it did not entirely hide the purpling lump that spread over Eliot's skin. His face was several different colors, with one particularly brutal bruise along one whole cheek that had the pattern of the same chains that clanked from his wrists when he moved. His hands were bound with more strips of material, and the littlest finger of one hand had been splinted to the ring finger, clearly broken.

And under all the bruising and mottled blood, Eliot was pale, his eyes haunted.

Nate didn't have to ask or even guess – he knew. This time, Eliot had taken a life.

Nate wondered if it made him a terrible person that he felt a mixture of pity and gratitude – pity for what Eliot would suffer, and gratitude that Eliot was alive – while feeling nothing at all about his victim. But Nate didn't give a damn about the faceless whoever that had done such harm to his Hitter. He would rather Eliot kill five more of them and live.

The guards finished checking Eliot's chains and left, one getting in a final punch aimed at Eliot's head. Nate didn't bother to warn him; Eliot shifted at the last second and took the hit on his shoulder.

Molly made an indignant noise in Eliot's arms, but he shushed her before she could do more than squawk. Nate didn't miss, however, that she hissed "Coward" after the thugs when they'd closed the door and latched it.

Only then did Eliot unfold from his protective posture and let Molly slide out from his hug.

And then Eliot turned an incinerating glare on Nate. Nate was pretty sure that glare could kill all on its own.

"What the hell are you doing here?"

The anger actually made Nate feel better. Whatever else had happened, his Hitter was still fighting. Of course, it was aimed at him right now, but that was better than the alternative.

"What does it look like?" Nate replied, smirking. "Working on my tan?"

Eliot's face went stonier. "Molly, cover your ears."

She blinked at him. "Why?"

"Because what I'm going to say is not appropriate for you."

Molly grinned wobbily at him. "Then I definitely want to hear it!"

"Brat."

"Meathead."

Nate was surprised at the shade of relief that filtered into Eliot's expression so quickly anyone else except Sophie would have missed it. The banter seemed natural, not forced at all. Nate wondered if the blood on Eliot's sleeves had made it difficult for them to be this easy with one another, if whatever Eliot had done had broken Molly as much as it had broken Eliot to do it.

But Molly was staying close to Eliot, close enough for him to grab her again if necessary, so whatever had come between them, it was not stronger than what had been there in the first place.

"Molly," Nate said, "could you do me a favor?"

"Don't," Eliot said. "Make him sit there in his chains and wait. Serves him right. Damn idiot."

Molly looked between them. Then she tipped her head at Nate.

Nate could see fear in her, lines of it in her young face, but also a rebellious spark that had yet to be extinguished. She regarded him with the full teenage arrogance of her age.

"You really are an idiot, you know."

Nate smiled. "The only idiot here is Eliot, if he really thought we wouldn't come after him."

Eliot growled. "It's going to get you killed, Nate. You and them."

"Maybe." Nate made a show of stretching out on the floor as if it were a throne. "But not today."

"I hate you so much right now."

"Noted. Now, Molly. I still need that favor."

Eliot let out a sigh that was more grunt than huff and turned away. Molly took that as a cue, or permission, to cross the floor to Nate.

She bent low beside him. To Nate's surprise, she whispered, "There's a price on your head. Eliot's worried about it. Gogol said he was going to kill you."

Nate's eyebrows went up. "Gogol?"

"The Russian boss."

"Ah." Raising his voice, Nate said, "His real name's Pavel Tretiak, if you want to know. Also known as Borzoi."

"Call him whatever you want. He's still going to kill you, Nate." Eliot's words were not exasperated now – they were deadly serious.

Nate swallowed. But he turned his gaze back to Molly, keeping his words loud enough to be heard across the cell.

"I've already accounted for it. I'll be fine. But I need you to take these." And he held up a closed hand.

Molly reached out and Nate dropped two earbuds into her palm.

"One's for you, one for him."

Molly scowled. "It's not supposed to be that easy to sneak stuff like this into a prison. Didn't they search you or something?"

At that, Eliot's face bent slightly and he chuckled. "I'm sure they did, Botasky. But Nate's got more tricks than anybody but Parker. He could hide a tank and nobody would see it if he didn't want them to." Then Eliot eyed Nate. "But you better not have hidden that anyplace...unsanitary."

"No, I didn't," Nate said quickly before Molly dropped them. "Now, I've got three very silent people in my head waiting to hear you on comms, and if you don't get with the program, I think they may explode."

Nate smirked at an offended squeak that had to be Sophie because Parker was too busy staying quiet.

Molly picked one of the two and tucked it into an ear, making her way back across the floor.

Nate watched Eliot closely as he took the earbud from her. Eliot stared at it for three seconds longer than necessary. Nate wondered what Parker would say about that.

It felt, oddly, like a goodbye.

But he put the earbud in anyway.

"Hey."

Three sighs sounded in his ear.

"Man, you have no idea how good it is to hear your voice," Hardison said, talking just a little too fast to be anything but frantic. "Seriously."

"Are you all right, Eliot?" Sophie asked.

"Fine."

"Is that 'fine' like 'normal fine' or fine like 'Eliot fine' because sometimes that includes a lot." Parker's voice was very low, but otherwise completely typical for her.

"He got beat up a bunch," Molly said. "But he's okay." Then she looked at Eliot. "Right?"

"I'm fine, seriously. Parker – what are you doing?"

Nate knew Eliot wouldn't miss it anyway.

"Nothing."

"Try again."

"I'm just checking a layout."

"What layout, Parker?"

"Um."

"You're here. All of you." Eliot's glare went back to Nate, and intensified to somewhere around DEFCON 3 levels. "And exactly how many terrorists, gangs, and dictators are already here?"

"No dictators," Hardison said. "I mean, a couple of their lackeys, but this isn't really the kind of party for heads of state, you know?"

Nate needed to cut off the imminent explosion – fast.

"Look. You knew we would come for you. And you're mad that we're here, but you can't do anything about that now, so just work with us, okay? I do, in fact, have a plan."

"Oh. Really." Eliot's voice was icy cold. "And what plan is that? Get yourself captured by the same guy who wants to kill you and sell your body to whoever put a bounty on your head? Walk Sophie in as, what, some kind of underworld agent? Hardison as an evil sheik? Parker as...I don't even know."

"I'm not grifting," Parker said. "I'm working on escape routes."

That was the right answer, but it didn't deter Eliot's growing fury one bit. He actually shifted position, from sitting to crouching, looking like a predator ready to spring.

"Listen to me. This ain't a game. This ain't a con. This is a situation I wouldn't walk into without a full military extraction ready. There's not a person in this building besides us who wouldn't put a bullet in all our heads without a second thought."

"What do you want us to do, Eliot?" Sophie asked, sharp and annoyed. "Back off? Wait for you to get yourself killed instead?"

"Backing off would be a good start," Eliot said, ignoring her ire. "You three get clear and wait. I'll take care of things here."

"It's too late for that," Nate said. "Like it or not, we have to see this through."

"Molly." Eliot's head swung to her. "You interested in kicking some sense into him?"

Molly glanced between them. "What happened to not weakening yourself when you might need to escape?"

Eliot gave a very not-nice smile. "First, Nate'll be able run no matter how hard you kick him. Second, it would be worth it. And maybe teach him a lesson."

Nate wasn't sure if he should feel pleased that Eliot had given him something of a compliment on his stamina – at least insofar as that compliment extended to his abilities to endure the kick of a teenage girl – or annoyed that Molly was actually considering it.

"Knock it off." He eyed Molly. "And don't even think about it. We need to start preparing for the next phase of this plan."

"Nate." Eliot's voice was just as angry, if not moreso, but his tone had dropped. Cold and intent and serious. "This is bad. You need to get out right now. Not in an hour. Not in ten minutes. Right now."

"And what about you?" Nate shot back. "I'm not leaving you here, Eliot."

"You're going to have to."

"Why?" Hardison asked, genuinely curious. "Why can't you both just get out together?"

Eliot's expression shut down completely and he didn't answer.

"Molly, dear." Sophie's voice was warm and coaxing. "Is there anything you can tell us about what has happened so far that would help us understand the situation better?"

Molly looked at Nate, then at Eliot, then into a random corner, as if speaking to Sophie there.

"I...I don't think I should tell you."

"Oh? Why not? We're Eliot's friends too, you know."

"Yeah, I know. But that's why." She swallowed. "I don't want to make it harder for Eliot to protect all of you. It's been...hard enough for him to protect just me."

Eliot gave her a smile, a real one. "Thanks, kid."

"Any time, Perky."

Parker gave a soft snort. "Ooh, she shut Sophie down."

"I'll note it on the calendar," Hardison said. "The day Sophie couldn't grift a mark."

"To be fair, though, I wouldn't tell either," Parker said.

Nate sighed. "People, can we focus?" He turned back towards Eliot and did not melt under the Hitter's furious gaze. "At least let us catch you up on what we've been doing so you're not working blind."

Eliot barely dipped his chin, which Nate took as a truce. Or at least an angry agreement.

"We needed a way in," he said. "And, you're right, posing as underworld figures bidding on you could end really badly for us, so that was never the plan. But we needed Borzoi to think that was the plan, so he'd play his part."

"See?" Hardison put in, indignant. "I'm not the only one who does the behold-my-genius thing!"

Nate opted to ignore him. "We received a warning that there might be interest in the rest of us along with you, so we decided to use it."

"Not all of you," Eliot said. "Just Nate."

"Oh, that's just insulting," Sophie said, pouting with all her might. "Nate is hardly the only one worth the attention of criminal empires."

"This ain't like me," Eliot said, rage close to the surface once more. "Me? What I've done? Yeah, there's more people want me dead than even ten auctions is going to bring in. But this isn't about the team. This is about Nate. Somebody who wants Nate dead. At a price that doesn't even make sense."

Nate made a face. "Now I think I should feel insulted."

Eliot's glare hardened. "Millions of dollars on your head, Nate. Out for your blood. Do you have any idea what that means?"

"That somebody bought Nate's inflated ego?" Hardison asked.

Eliot growled low in his chest – it made a deep rumbling over the comms. "No. It means Nate isn't safe anywhere. It means the next time that door opens, any random guy with a gun could come in here thinking to make himself a fortune."

"Two fortunes," Parker said. "You're in there, too."

"It's different with me, Parker. First of all, most of the people looking for me want me alive, not dead, so they can make me dead as slowly as possible. And second of all, there's too many of them."

"Having multiple parties interested in you makes you safer?" Sophie asked.

"Because they can wheel and deal with each other about it, and they can use me like a chip in their game to gain more power or make alliances. Why do you think this is a live auction?"

"To give the players a chance to meet," Nate said. "Not so different from those corporate types who used a mountain-climbing excursion to cover their business dealings and acquisitions."

"Exactly." Eliot's body was uncoiling from his furious crouch, but he was no less tense. "They all want me dead, yeah, but they're going to get everything out of me on every level before they worry about that part." His eyes went sharp and cold. "You, Nate, somebody just wants dead. Somebody in particular."

"And that means?" Parker asked.

"That means there's no reason to wait. They don't want to trade Nate like some kind of screwed up horse market. They're not bartering him for territory or drug routes. They're not trading him for weapons. Somebody, one person, wants him dead." He shook his head and broke away from Nate's gaze. "It's a miracle he's still alive now."

Nate could hear the anger, the gruffness, the coldness Eliot meant to share. But he could also hear the heart breaking under the words. The terror that only barely rose to the surface between one breath and the next.

Nate had walked in here without the Hitter to protect him.

Nate could have been dead a hundred times over by now.

And Eliot would have failed him.

To be fair, though, Nate felt rather the same way. Eliot had been in the hands of Borzoi for days, and while every indication was that Eliot was worth more alive than dead, there was always a chance he could have been killed by a trigger-happy thug or in one of however-many beat-downs he'd endured. And with the blood on his sleeves, well, Nate knew that the Russians did not take it well when someone killed one of their own.

Nate could have come in here to find a dead body himself. And he would have been to blame for that.

"It's not the same thing, Nate."

Nate looked up, surprised that Eliot was facing him again – but not surprised that Eliot had read those thoughts in his face. Of the whole team, Nate and Eliot had a unique connection, a wordless understanding, the subtlest of languages between them. Sophie could read a mark at fifty yards, and could read Nate in uncomfortably close detail, but they didn't share this wavelength, like a string between two tin cans, stretched taut and vibrating at a frequency that transmitted what no one else could hear.

"It is the same thing," Nate said.

"No. It isn't."

"Why not?"

"Because." And Eliot made a very not-nice smile that stretched his bruises into dark pools of malice. "This is my world."

Nate was suddenly grateful for the stupid chains that kept him on this dirty, cold floor; without them, he might have flown over there to wring the neck of his Hitter, and that would only end in more injuries – mostly to Nate, if he was honest with himself.

"No." He hissed it because he didn't dare scream it. "It hasn't been your world for years and you are not going back there now. Not even for us."

If anything, Eliot's dark smile grew and deepened.

"What makes you think I ever left it?"

"Your psycho-protective pissing match aside," Hardison broke in, "maybe we should finish the briefing before the bad guys with guns show up?"

Nate and Eliot were locked in a staring match, so Hardison took up the summary.

"Basically, Nate went in pretending to be some kind of Irish mobster with a flimsy cover story that fell apart like toilet paper and they made him, which they were supposed to do. But the reason Nate isn't dead right now is that we put something in Borzoi's email that made it look like there were other people willing to bargain over Nate, too, not just the one guy. Figured we might be able to start up another bidding war, but control it ourselves, to keep Nate from getting offed before you showed up."

There were several questions Nate knew Eliot wouldn't ask; he was surprised by the one he did.

"And you all agreed?"

"It hasn't exactly been a picnic out here," Sophie said, affronted. "You weren't the one roused from your bed in the middle of the night and dragged across the country and then to another continent on no sleep and with a go bag without any heels in it!"

"There's something wrong with you," Parker said calmly. "Besides, what else could we do? We couldn't find you, and we had to do something or Sterling was going to chase us away."

Eliot raised an eyebrow. "Sterling's here?"

"Followed us like a zombie out for brains," Hardison said.

Eliot twisted up one side of his mouth. "And he's following you now, isn't he?"

"I'm sure Interpol is going to be very disappointed they weren't invited to this particular party," Nate said.

"Sterling's gonna go all Maleficent on them." Parker's grin was audible. Then, after several beats of silence, "What? She's the best Disney villain ever!"

"That doesn't even make sense," Hardison complained. "This situation is nothing like Sleeping Beauty."

"Chains, dungeon, girl in trouble and three people on the outside ready to help? It's close enough."

"Yeah, but Maleficent loses in that fight!"

Sophie made a slight noise that might have been a sigh. Or a groan. "Anyway. Eliot, you just need to hang in there until they storm the place. Sterling will ride in on his white horse, and you two can escape through whatever routes Parker's got for you."

Parker huffed. "And you complain about me not getting metaphors. Maleficent doesn't ride white horses. She turns into a dragon."

"We'll discuss it later, dear." Sophie sighed.

"What about me?" Molly asked.

Nate and Eliot hadn't forgotten about the teenager who squatted next to Eliot, leaning on his arm, but the other three clearly had.

Eliot nudged her with a shoulder. "You're with me, Rats. To the end."

Molly nodded and, after a moment peering into his face, settled closer against him.

There was something about that Nate didn't like, but he couldn't put his finger on it.

"So, now we wait," Sophie said. "Hardison and I have a...well, I hesitate to call it a truck because it's really more of a boxcar on wheels, but we have it and we're not far down the mountain from you. As soon as Sterling and the authorities move on the compound, Parker will get you out."

Eliot grunted. "In the meantime, Hardison?"

"Yeah?"

"I need you to find out who put that price on Nate's head. Whoever it is, they've been talking to Borzoi privately. This wasn't a deal where just anybody could find it."

"Already working on it. Whoever it is, they're good, but they're not me. I should have it any minute now."

"Just hurry it up."

"Well, somebody's a cranky bear," Hardison shot back. "I take it life in the Pit of Despair isn't all it's cracked up to be?"

Nate could see the warning in Eliot's eyes, the mixture of anger and guilt that was deep enough to drown him. But before he could say anything, Molly spoke up.

"In the Pit of Despair, Wesley got his wounds patched up and they fed him regularly before they put him through The Machine. We were in a basement with almost no food or water, we had to pee in a grate, and nobody had any sense of humor or dark banter." She paused, then tossed her head. "And that movie sucks anyway."

"Hey, do not rag on a fantasy classic!"

"Seriously?" Molly blew out a breath at Hardison's tone. "The entire movie is predicated on the idea that the princess can't make a single decision on her own and can't take any action that matters. She doesn't get to choose who to marry, she gets captured like four times, she makes one break for it and it's pathetic, she lets Wesley drag her around for no good reason other than holding her hand, she lets the prince take her back and try to marry her again, and she tries to get out of it by killing herself! The only good thing she does in the whole movie is toss Wesley down the ravine and that isn't even on purpose!"

Hardison made a slight squeak.

Molly huffed and crossed her arms. "You could literally replace the girl with a mop everybody likes and the story wouldn't change one bit. It sucks."

"She has a point, Hardison," Sophie said. "It is one of the most deplorable examples of damsel-in-distress syndrome I've ever seen outside of a 1950's detective novel."

"It would be better if Inigo and Wesley got together in the end," Parker said suddenly. "They could go have adventures together and the girl could, I dunno, learn to knit or whatever useless girls like that do."

Hardison made a frustrated noise. "Y'all are dumping on a classic. And...okay, I can't say it's the most feminist story ever but...but…"

"Hardison." Eliot's voice was hard, but Nate could see amusement dancing in his eyes. "Focus. Price on Nate's head? Remember?"

"Yeah, yeah, I'm getting to it."

"Don't you mean 'as you wish?'" Molly asked.

"We are gonna have words, you and me. Seriously. But later." The sound of typing, which had been almost constant to that point, paused. "Ha! I got it. And this is why I am the master and the rest of you wannabe hackers are pathetic! The name of the guy with a serious Nate problem is Amand Gauthier. You know him?"

Eliot froze so still even Molly looked up at him in surprise. But when he spoke, his tone was painfully normal.

"Yeah, I know him."

"Good," Nate said, trying to dislodge the ice creeping into Eliot's eyes. "Because as soon as we get out of here, we're paying him a visit."

"Nate." Eliot swallowed, and the comm couldn't miss the slightest tremor in his voice. "There's something…"

But he broke off suddenly and pushed to his feet. The chains still held him down in an awkward sort of three-point stance that would not have looked entirely out of place on a football field, but Eliot braced his feet under him and hunched his shoulders.

"Molly. Move."

She blinked, surprised, and practically jumped to wedge herself between Eliot and the wall, shrinking down until she was almost completely hidden behind his body.

Nate wondered how many times the two of them had braced for an attack like this – and it turned his stomach.

"What's happening?" Sophie asked over the comms.

A moment later, the door opened and seven armed men entered with Borzoi ensconced in the center of the crowd.

"The guests have arrived," he said, smiling a shark's smile at Eliot. "It is time for the prize to take the stage."