Nothing says I'm back like a new chapter:) special thanks to the guest that got me back into this by reminding me I've bern neglecting it for a while. By the way, if you're even a bit squeamish, maybe be warned there is some mention of blood.

I must confess that I feel like a monster.

Parker brought her head up quickly from the floor, eyes darting around the room. She spotted Nate rising from behind the desk, a worried expression on his face as he stared at the door. Hardison was still slightly slumped against his wall, eyes wide as he panted for breath. Parker felt a twinge as she realized he was likely going into shock. She reluctantly tore her eyes away from her hacker as she saw Sophie slowly make her way out of the bathroom. The client, whatever her name was, was the first to step out of cover and was now wandering the room, her guilt and aggravation leaking out through her voice as she started to babble nervously. That woman really was a walking dictionary, or rather very knowledgeable of useless facts. Why would Parker ever need to know the speed of the bullet as it was being shot at her? No, Parker went off instinct, and it's served her well for her whole life. Why know the speed of a bullet when she can know the ways of escaping the scenario from ever happening? But the woman babbled on in the silence.

"...in which the final velocity rivals the speed of a wraiths evaporation or even the speed of... Does anyone smell that?"

Everyone paused as the young werewolf tilted her head and slowly made her way over to Parker's area by the kitchen.

"You've been shot."

Parker looked down at herself then, not even noticing the red that had started to slowly soak her left pant leg up at the thigh. Must have been the adrenaline.

"It's just a graze." Parker claimed robotically.

"It's still bleeding." Sophie countered as she came over to see the thief leaning against the wall with the wounded leg stretched out.

Nate was heard softly speaking to Hardison as Sophie tried to help the young blonde at least wrap the wound closed. Layla stood helplessly aside as she tried not to babble to relieve the stress and guilt of hurting these people. She hated that characteristic of herself, wanting to babble when overcome with things she tried to handle. However, as she refrained herself for the most part, only shooting out random information about how to treat gunshot wounds, Layla heard other lower babbling in the room. Looking over, she saw the young, handsome dark man get up, slowly starting to ramble/complain about the instance. Layla was sure she heard "nana" in there somewhere but quickly brushed it off.

Suddenly, Eliot walked through the door, the only announcement of his presence was his low huffing that Layla was fairly certain only she could hear. That and the blood smell, though there was that everywhere. The team looked over at their hitter as he entered through the doorway, and they all took in his wounds. Sophie seemed to rush forward to help him but was stopped as he raised a red covered hand and spoke.

"I took out the two snipers across from the bar, and I'll need a way to bring them over here without suspicion. We can get information out of them."

The team gaped at their hitter, even Hardison passing the chance to laugh at the difficulty the man had with speaking clearly through his fangs.

"Did you kill them?" Parker randomly asked, because if anyone was to voice it, the thief would be the one for the job.

"No. Though I wish I did." Eliot replied, the last part more under his breath than the first. His thoughts drifted to the phone call with Moreau and he quickly wiped it from his mind, bigger priorities to mess with. He shifted his weight in the silence, mostly hiding the grimace as he put more pressure on his wound on the side. If he kept this up, he'd bleed out before anything would get done, but looking over at Parker on the ground, he knew he had something to do first. Undoing the buttons of his black over shirt, he slowly took the material off and ripped it into three pieces. He took the first and put it around his right leg, tying it off just as the first question came.

"Uh... What are you doing?" Hardison stammered out as he looked a little green.

Eliot gave a look and shook his head, not even bothering to reply. He tied off the other two on his side and shoulder good enough, and went into the kitchen area. Finding the right cabinet, he pulled down the first aid kit he kept for after especially rough cons. Turning around, he noticed the team still staring at him.

"Shouldn't you be getting the snipers? They won't be unconscious all day."

"But you were shot, Eliot." Sophie countered as she watched him unpack the necessary items.

"Yeah, so?" The hitter responded in kind.

This statement quieted the grifter as a realization washed over the team. This wasn't a new situation to the hitter, for him being shot multiple times was an occupational hazard.

"Go." Eliot tilted his head in the direction of the door, and surprisingly, the team went. All except Layla and Parker. The thief went to join her team but as she went to get up from the wall, she was pushed back down by the hitter. He looked over her leg and grabbed some scissors. Cutting off the pant leg, he cleaned the wound, numbing the area, then stitched the small area closed. By the time he was done, he was sweating and had a hard time seeing straight. Wrapping gauze around the wound after applying the bandage, he took the kit and checked to see if Parker had her taser. Seeing she did, he felt more secure in leaving her with the unknown Layla. The woman didn't seem a threat, but Eliot was more cautious when it came to his teammates and he needed to tend to his own wounds before he passed out. He would be no good to the team then. Slowly, he made his way over to the bathroom with the first aid kit, closing the door firmly behind him. Once the door was shut, he slumped back against the wall, releasing the groan he had been holding. Not one to quit, he leaned forward from the wall to check his wounds, seeing the red stain he left on the wall. They still bled sluggishly and he felt it. He could feel the dizziness and exhaustion and his mouth felt like the Sahara desert, not that it had been a nice place either. There was a small debate on whether to treat his leg or shoulder first, but it was answered quickly. He unwrapped his leg wound first, certain he would not be able to stand for very long. He quickly sewed the wound closed and realized there was also the exit wound. Using the mirror, he stitched it to the best of his ability, which was surprisingly well since he has worked with less. Once it was done, he wrapped it and moved on to the shoulder. Sitting down finally, he tried to sew it also, though through picking his leg to treat first, he gave up the chance that his arm would still be functional. It was still slightly responsive, and he used that to his advantage. He virtually did the same with his shoulder as he did his leg, stitching the front and using the mirror for his back. By the time he had wrapped his shoulder, he was shaking violently. Trying to stop the shuddering and the way his eyesight swam, he moved on to his side. He couldn't tell if he was grateful or disappointed to find no exit wound for his side. It was the wound that bled the most, in fact, was still bleeding quite a bit. But that meant the bullet was still inside. Grabbing tweezers out of the kit, Eliot hunched a bit to see the wound. This was going to be fun. Breathing deeply, Eliot reached into the wound and ended up biting his lip from the cry that wanted to erupt from his mouth. His fangs dug into his lips easily and blood flowed down his chin as he further dug into his wound. Eventually coming across something, Eliot grabbed ahold of the object with the tweezers and removed the bullet from the wound. Gasping, he took his shaking hand and slowly and shakily treated the wound. Finally finishing, Eliot leaned back against the wall and let out a sigh that turned into a moan. His eyesight had started to fill with ever growing black spots and now they threatened to take him under. He couldn't let that happen. Trying to get up, he made it halfway before he lost strength and fell back to the floor. The spots consumed him before he could resist.