He'd somehow thought that when the first solid lead on his past life came, the memories would flood back like a broken dam. But nothing came to him. The images, the voice, the name – none of it made a difference. He still didn't know who he was. But they did. They had known all along, and kept it from him. He'd asked questions, given them every opportunity to share this vital information. They'd failed to do so. They'd refused to do so.

Slowly he came back to the moment. Noting that Parker had left, it dawned on him that being caught in here, in his present state of shock bordering on a panic attack, would not be the best plan. He pulled himself together enough to be able to put one foot in front of the other and made a hasty retreat to the kitchen. Knowing that the mindless routine of chopping, slicing and dicing would allow his brain time to regroup he pulled out the produce needed for the lunch menu and started processing. The results were some of the most finely minced onions ever seen in any kitchen. The problem was they were supposed to be onion rings. Wiping the blade and tossing the cloth to the side he told a waiter needed a bit of fresh air and headed out for a few minutes.

He stood on the loading dock at the back, watching the world go by, feeling totally detached from it all. Nothing made sense. Nothing was real. He wasn't real.

The team arrived together mid-afternoon after meeting with another satisfied client. As they headed for the office, Jason waylaid them, looking nervous. "Guys - Evan is back there. Waiting. Something is wrong, and he won't say what. He looks pissed off and that is one scary look on the guy. Never would have expected it of him."

They looked at each other. Nate shrugged. Only one way to find out what was going on.

"What's up Evan? Jason said you wanted to talk."

He was sitting at the desk, laptop in front of him. He spun it toward Hardison.

"Eliot – not Evan. You can drop the pretense. Find me the files she was watching. I want to see everything you've got."

"El – you remembered!" The grin of Sophie's face froze when she registered the anger in his voice.

"No – I don't remember anything. I saw it. She" he nodded toward Parker, "was watching."

They turned to her. "I, uh, was, well. I miss him OK. I watched some of the old surveillance stuff, and his last message. Well I didn't know he was here."

"Find me the files Hardison – now."

"No" Nate intervened.

Eliot got to his feet and stormed over, standing face to face with Nate. "Why not – it's me isn't it? The real me. The one you have known about all this time but couldn't be bothered to fill me in on. What the hell is that about? How could you do that man? Is this some kind of sick little game for you guys? I'm walking around in a fog, and you just watch for entertainment. Maybe a betting pool going on – when does Eliot come back?"

"It's not like that." Sophie reached out to him, and he pulled back so quickly she almost fell. He took a few steps away.

"Don't touch me – don't any of you come near me." He paced the room, like a stalking tiger, looking for the opportunity to pounce. His fists were clenched and the tension radiated from him. He looked fiercely at Nate. "Certainly explains last night a little better. Surprised I didn't kill them. Wouldn't have been a first, would it? Just how many times have I killed for this little business of yours? Or before?" No one spoke. "Shelly –military or mercenary? That's all part of it too isn't it? Who the hell am I?" His voice was getting louder with each word until he was at full volume. Then, as if a switch had been flipped he dropped to a whisper. "Who the hell am I?"

He looked up at them as they stared back. No one spoke. His eyes darted from one to the next, almost daring them to answer. It had been a long time since Nate had seen that look. It was dark, icy and soulless. The memories may not have resurfaced, but the long buried heart of a cold blooded hitter had. He knew if Eliot left this room, he wouldn't be coming back.

"Please. Give us a chance to try to explain this. You said you saw the message. You know we were – we are – friends. Let us prove it. Please."

Eliot turned from them and walked to the window, shoving his hands into his pockets to control the shaking. He hated this. Hated the feelings, the confusion, and especially the anger. He knew they were right. The message plainly showed how he felt. These people had been his family. But the last weeks put all of that in question. He no longer knew who he could trust, and that included himself. What he had seen on the screen scared him. It didn't sound like him; didn't feel like him. Of course, the same could be said of the man he was the night before, and the man he was right now. He'd been awake most of the night trying to reconcile his actions. That fight was not amateur. No one takes down two armed men with a wine bottle and a few punches. No sane person would even try. Oh sure, maybe in the movies, but not in the course of a real life robbery. He needed answers. That was why he had come back to confront these people. Walking out would solve nothing. He moved over to the work table and pulled a chair off to side, distancing himself from the others.

"Convince me."

Four sighs of relief filled the air. A few moments later everyone was seated. Eliot declined a coffee, or any other social nicety. He pulled a chair off to the side, distancing himself from the group. He had no intention of making this comfortable.

Trying with limited success to put on a relaxed air, Nate started.

"Not to make excuses, but I want to start by saying that for the most part we've been following doctor's orders. We were told it was best for you to remember this on your own. Especially since there didn't seem to be a physical cause for the amnesia. You've got to believe us when we say that wasn't easy watching you go through this. If there'd been any other way. But there wasn't." Eliot's face remained impassive.

"OK – well as you have figured out, you are Eliot Spencer. You've been with us for a little more than 4 years. Before that you were what you euphemistically called a Retrieval Specialist. In simplest terms – a thief with a very specialized set of skills for hire. And a damn good one. Very few people were considered to even be in your class, let alone be your equal. Basically you recovered items that were taken from people who were, usually, the rightful owner."

"At any price?" he questioned.

"If you mean could you demand high payment - absolutely. If you mean did you have boundaries and limits on what you would do, again the answer is absolutely. For one thing, you don't use guns. You can; believe me you can. But you don't unless pushed to the very edge."

Eliot nodded, keeping to himself the moderate degree of relief that news brought him.

"Since working with us, you have stopped being a hitter for hire."

"Wait – hitter? I thought I was a thief."

"Both. The kinds of jobs you took on, one usually required the other." Parker explained.

"So violence was my way of life. Guess I owe Shelly an apology. At least he is working for the military – serve and protect. I just seem to get my thrills beating people up."

"No!" Sophie wouldn't let that pass. "You don't get your thrills that way. You have no qualms about taking someone out if the need is there, but you don't go picking fights either. You're not a bully. In fact, you usually take them on, and then take them down. Eliot, you use your 'violence' to help people in trouble, to help kids…to help us. You told me once it was all about controlling the violence, inside. And you do that."

He looked at her for a moment. She seemed so sincere, so anxious to convince him of his merits. Of course, she had seemed sincere in the past, and he'd learned that lesson. Looking back, he signalled Nate to continue.

"Like she said, you help people. We help people. I wasn't lying when I told you Leverage Inc. is in the business of helping the little guy take on the tyrants. I just didn't go into detail. We basically pick up where the law stops."

"In other words, we're criminals. This just keeps getting better and better."

Hardison nodded. "Hitter, hacker, grifter, thief" he said, punctuating each title by pointing to the appropriate individual.

"What about him?" he asked, pointing to Nate. "Evil mastermind?"

Nate grinned. "Well, 'Evil' seems a little judgemental. Ok – yes. Sometimes. Especially in the beginning. You usually tried to rein me in on that score. Rarely succeeded, but always tried."

Eliot leaned forward, placing his elbows on his knees and resting his head in his hands, slowly massaging his temples. This was not going as he'd planned – expected. Hell, hoped. He was trying very hard to keep on hating these guys, but his resistance was wearing down. This all felt familiar, sitting together and talking things through. He didn't want this to get comfortable. He looked up to see them all watching him, waiting for him to take the lead again. He shifted, focusing his resentment.

"So you didn't listen to me in the past either. Sounds like a pattern."

"I didn't listen to anybody much for a while Eliot. I was too angry, too full of self-pity to give a damn. You helped me get past that. You talked me down from a few bad calls, and bailed my ass out when I was too stupid to listen on other ones. No matter how pissed off you were, and I gave you lots of reason to be pissed off, you always had my back. Our backs."

Sophie leaned forward. "When we thought you had died, back when all of this started, it just about ended us. And then you came back. At least part of you did. We were so afraid of screwing it up, losing you again. We wouldn't have survived losing you again." She paused, looking him straight in the eye. "We won't survive it."

Eliot fought to maintain his focus, his anger. He wasn't going to let sentiment get in the way.

"What about my past – before all of this."

"We don't know. OK – before you bellow, hang on. Whatever you did, whatever you were, you didn't share too much of it with us. I won't lie. We know enough to know you were a rather unpleasant adversary. There are people, for that matter, countries that have a price on your head. You told us once that there are things you did that you will never be clean from." They watched as Eliot's face went blank. His mind tried to deny what he was hearing, but he had known from the start of this conversation what they would eventually tell him. He was a stone cold killer. Some kind of hired assassin, or worse, some kind of psychopath. Why would these people even want him around? He realized Nate was still talking, and he forced himself to hear the rest.

"That's old news Eliot. You haven't been that guy for a long time. Personally, I would guess that debt is paid, but I doubt you'll ever see it that way." Nate paused. One look convinced him Eliot was not fully buying into this. He had to find a way, something to say that would turn the tide.

"Eliot - when we met, on the first job, you said you trusted me because I was an honest man. Well, as strange as this is going to sound to you, after everything we just told you, you are quite possibly the most honest man I know. You have no hypocrisy in you. You believe in what you believe, and hold yourself to a higher standard than you hold anyone else. You're harder on yourself than you need to be. And your moral code…well it may be a bit different from what most people follow, but I think it's a pretty solid guide."

There was silence in the room, all eyes on Eliot. He stood and began pacing, processing. In some ways he felt like he knew less than before and in others he felt overloaded. He couldn't stay still. There was so much nervous energy pulsing through he could barely contain it. Rapidly he clenched and released his fists, pounding them into his legs. He knew their eyes followed him, waiting for – what? Acceptance? Explosion? Anger? Memories?

None of this had helped the memories. The slate remained blank. Were they right? If this wasn't physical, was it repressed? Did he dread the details they had been unable to provide so much that he was willing to give up everything to detach from them? He felt an overwhelming need to shut down. Turn everything off and start from scratch. Maybe that's what the memory loss had all been for in the first place.

"Enough. I – I can't figure this out right now. I need to sort… I need to… Damn, I have no clue what I need." He took a slow deep breath. "Can you manage in the kitchen without me today?"

Nate wanted to laugh. It was a perfect example of what he'd been trying to say. Eliot's life was collapsing around him – again. And his concern was that someone could cover him on slice and dice for supper tonight. "Yeah Eliot. For an afternoon we can manage. Just for one afternoon though. You'll be back tomorrow." It wasn't a question, but Eliot answered him anyway.

"I'll be back. Can't say for how long." He left them without looking back.

Parker curled up in her chair, fighting back tears. "He's not going to stay. He doesn't trust us anymore."

"I don't think he's decided yet." Hardison replied. "But I think maybe he's leaning that way. What else can we do Nate – how do we turn him?"

"We don't. We can't manipulate him. No games, no lies." He glanced to Sophie and added "no neuro-linguistic programming. If he thinks for one second we are playing him, he will walk, and we'll never see him again. All we can do is be straight with him, and try to let him see that we truly are on his side. He may give us a month to convince him, he may give us a day. But if we try to screw around, we're done."

"So treat him like Eliot." Hardison concluded. "Not a dude you want to mess around with."

"Exactly."

TBC (almost done folks - I think!)