EDIT: I'm sorry it keeps doing this weird thing but as long as yall tell me I'll fix it:) sorry again, hope this is better;)

I know. I'm the scum of the earth. Blah blah blah. Excuses. This is what happens when a procrastinating perfectionist tries to write fanfiction. But lucky for the readers who actually are still on this atomic bomb of a story, I am also stubborn and don't want an unfinished story so... Allonsy!
Brutal honesty: need I also remind that Moreau is not gay for eliot nor will he be in this story. There are other ways to interpret this than gay love. Not everyone is gay peeps! Unless they are gay canonically (and I do mean that, not fan interpretation or assumption) it's not happening here. Sorry if that's what you were waiting for. If not, then please continue scrolling down to this jumbled mess of a tale.

The darkness just begun.

Eliot panted as he looked down at the unconscious snipers on the floor. How did this happen again? He couldn't remember getting here. Thinking back, Eliot had a hard time focusing. All his senses were sharp and too much so, he was constantly fighting the overwhelming smells and sounds. He rewinded a bit to when Layla was talking too much and he could hardly keep up. He recalled that the information was too important but he couldn't focus. He remembered he growled, not caring what the team thought it meant. Then his instincts screamed and he had picked up the distinct sound of a loaded sniper. Though it was mostly due to his eye catching the gleam of the scope in the reflection of the stove. He remembered he dived for Nate as the glass behind him shattered with the bullets he knew were coming. In the chaos, he did a visual count of his team, checking their safety. Then there was the woman. Layla, he reminded himself. He'd found them all, alive, but not completely unharmed. He'd seen, smelt, could practically taste the blood in the air. But it wasn't much, a graze likely. But that was his team. No one shot at what was his. The bullets stopped abruptly and Eliot knew it was likely a trap, but he had to move Nate or they would be in a kill box. Jumping up quickly, the bullets returned full force and the other two windows broke. He growled low at the memory of being hit above the hip on his left side, trying to shield Nate. The hot fire poker feeling that tore through his body was a shock. It was as if someone had managed to put small, blazing spikes on a marble and then shoot that marble through his body, yet it would still feel only half of what he'd felt. But that didn't matter. It didn't even matter when he was hit yet again twice more in the right shoulder and thigh. The thought of the wounds returned him to the present as the injuries in question throbbed and tore at him. But even that didn't matter. He'd remembered he'd gotten out of the apartment and across the street, ignoring the people who spared him a glance. Not that it was particularly packed in that area of Boston but it wasn't the first time with a sniper attack. Eliot remembered charging into the building like a freight train, heart racing as he took the steps two at a time. He had made it just in time to meet the snipers head on. They were... Weird. Eliot wouldn't know how to place it, their difference, yet he knew they were out of place. They... Smelt different. Moved different. Were different. But that didn't matter. What really was important was that they had the audacity to shoot at his team. No one with half a brain messed with what belonged to him. And it was true, they were his. As much as he was theirs. It wasn't anything romantic, he couldn't even fathom that option. Maybe once a long way back, he would have spared more than a glance at Sophie, but the thought of it now nearly made him physically sick. They were his family, and he always took care of his family. But these... Creatures were trying to snuff out the light of his relit candle. He remembered the rage he felt when he burst through the door of the snipers' vantage point. The shock on their faces as they were packing up their guns was satisfying. So, they did expect him, just not as soon. He launched himself at the nearest one, grabbing him by the throat and tossing him into the other one that headed toward him. They both crashed into the wall and scrambled upward, trying to orient themselves to the oncoming storm that was Eliot Spencer. He didn't give them time. He attacked with no mercy, quickly dispatching the two with a few well placed punches and elbows. That was how he got to this point, looking down over their unconscious bodies. Eliot heard a telephone ring and realized it came from one of the snipers. He reached down to retrieve it and answered with a growl.

"Moreau." Eliot had known who it would be.

"Spencer. Good to hear from you again." The familiar purr of deception and death sounded just as it did last time.

"Call off the others." Eliot spoke bluntly, tension radiating off him in waves as he watched the gunfire of the other snipers shooting at his team.

"Ah. But what good would that do me?" Moreau's arrogant attitude leaked through the phone, making Eliot feel like he was a mouse caught in the claws of a cat.

"Might give you an option between electrocution or drowning, instead of both." Eliot growled, right hand pressed to his side to stop the blood from pooling out of him, though it pulled at his also injured shoulder.

"Such hostility. And I thought we left each other on good terms." Moreau's voice held a slightly bitter tone. "Well. I guess I could do you this favor. You're of no importance to me dead." He paused, a smirk if only visible in his voice. "You do know you have to put pressure on wounds, right my friend? Surely our time apart has not made you naive to your personal care?" Moreau almost sounded sincere in his fake concern.

"What do you want Moreau?" Eliot asked bluntly, looking around for any other threat. The snipers did stop though. Small favors. Eliot wasn't even surprised at Moreau's knowing voice. The man had eyes everywhere.

"You."

"The line went dead.