A/N: Okay, so the characters in this story decided to take an unexpected detour, and it is taking a bit longer to wrap up than I thought. I blame Eliot. That's why this chapter is a bit longer than the others have been. There's probably one more chapter after this one, maybe two.

I don't own Leverage or any of the characters, and make no profit off of this. I don't write slash. I write for fun, in the hopes of getting good enough to write for a living one of these days.

Thanks to everyone for reading, and a special thank you to my lovely, dedicated reviewers for letting me know what you think, and for supporting the story that started out as a little one shot, and watched it grow and grow and grow. Mere words can't thank you enough for your support. I hope you enjoy the new chapter as much as I've enjoyed writing it for you. I'm going to be sorry to see the story end.

Chapter 21

Once they arrived at the second safe house, and got everyone inside and settled, Doc took over door watching duty. Eliot started to protest, but she cut him off.

"Eliot, it seems you've forgotten one important fact about me."

"Really? What's that?"

"I can shoot with either hand. Look, I'm the one in the best shape to stand watch, except for you, and you need to take care of the Colonel. Though I can technically remove a bullet with one hand, too, it won't be much fun for him if I do." Seeing the wisdom of her words, Eliot nodded once and said no more.

Parker looked from one to the other of them, confused. "Wait, I thought we turned all of our electronics off so they couldn't track us."

Eliot shook his head. "We turned all of our electronics off so we didn't make it too easy for them. Are you kidding me? This is the CIA. If they want to find us, they will. It's only a matter of time, but there's no need to make it easier for them than it has to be."

"We'll have to time this next part perfectly, or it won't work," Vance mused, as he settled on the cot.

"Time the next part of what? What are you three up to?" Nate asked, wide eyed, and with a look on his face that Eliot couldn't quite read. The hitter could tell that the mastermind wasn't happy about being left out of the plan, though. Doc glanced at him and he knew what she was trying to say. It was a discussion she had been trying to have with him, and he hadn't wanted to listen, but it was necessary to say it now, in front of the team. For their sakes. He took a deep breath.

"What Vance means is, we can't stay here too long either. They'll figure out where we are eventually, and come for us. Nate, I told you at the beginning that this was gonna get bad. Vance and Doc and I—we'll keep the team safe and ensure that all of you get out of here. If all goes to plan, we'll all leave this place together, but if this goes south—I want you to promise me that you will take the team and Shelley and go somewhere else. Hide. Regroup. We'll keep Conrad and his men occupied. When Shelley's better, he'll know what to do. He can keep you all safe until you find another hitter." Eliot had been setting up the equipment he needed, and he now turned his attention to the man on the cot in front of him. He inspected the bullet wound, and prepared to remove it.

"Eliot, we don—"

Eliot shook his head. "Promise me, Nate."

Nate opened his mouth to say something and then closed it again. Eliot was worried, and in his experience, when Eliot was worried, there was cause for all of them to worry. He knew the hitter took his job seriously, and also that he didn't make promises he couldn't keep. If he said they would keep the team safe, then they would. How could he not give his friend the peace of mind of knowing that what he and his friends were getting ready to do for the team would not be in vain?

Vance groaned as Eliot dug the bullet out of his thigh, and then turned pale as the blood began to flow more freely. Eliot stemmed the flow of blood, and sewed a row of neat stitches. He bandaged the wound, and covered the man lying in front of him to ward off shock. Knowing that Vance wouldn't have much recovery time, he left the man to rest and looked at Nate, clearly expecting an answer.

"I promise, but I want you to make me a promise now."

"Yeah? What's that?"

"Promise me that you'll come home, in one piece, and explain all of this to us some time."

Eliot shook his head. "You know I only make promises I know I can keep." His eyes took in his team, then Vance, and then slipped over to glance at Doc, asking a silent question. She nodded.

After a short silence, she spoke, "Eliot, time draws short. They deserve to know what might happen to you when you come face to face with Conrad again."

Eliot nodded, but before he could speak there was a loud crash in the hallway just outside the door, and then the door flew open with force and smoke started to fill the room. Through it, they could see figures wearing masks pouring into the room, but there was no way to know how many there were. Eliot had to take a moment, in his mind, to admire the CIA man's resourcefulness. Doc couldn't take the chance of firing through the smoke, afraid she might hit someone on the team.

"Everybody, get down, now!" Eliot yelled, and Nate felt strong hands on his shoulders, forcing him to the ground. Hardison and Parker threw themselves at each other, and went tumbling down together, crawling over to a corner, out of the way, and then separating and sitting side by side, trying to see what was happening. Vance sprang up, faster than an injured man had any right to do so, in Nate's opinion, and scooping up the sleeping grifter, he hobbled over to Nate and deposited her beside him, and then turned back, ready to enter the fray.

Figures floated in and out of the smoke like ghosts. It put Eliot in mind of marksmanship training, where they were each sent through a room, with their pistols, and wooden figures would pop up before them, and they had a split second to determine if the figure was a threat or an innocent. He was good at that particular exercise, but he hadn't liked it then and he didn't like it now. Eliot was expecting Conrad to say the word at any moment, and he was trying to simultaneously move as far from the team as possible and get close enough to Conrad and his men to get as many hits in as possible before he said it, and Eliot lost control of himself. In the end, that's not what happened.

Conrad and his men were wearing masks, which covered their eyes and noses, and Eliot decided they must be infrared masks because most of their hits were finding their mark, and he felt like he was striking out blindly into the smoke. He couldn't see a thing. One of Conrad's men kicked him hard, and he heard the telltale crack of two ribs. The force of the hit spun him around, and a foot pushed him back toward his own team as someone yelped in surprise.

"Wait, we're being attacked with a potato gun?"

As the word connected somewhere in Eliot's mind, he let out a feral, wolfish growl, and began striking out viciously in all directions through the blinding smoke. There was no sense of morality, no right or wrong, no knowledge of who or what he was. There was only instinct. Hurt. Kill. Protect. He grasped two men by their shirts and yanked them up and into one another, forcing each skull to slam into the other, and as he felt them go limp, he let go, and they slid bonelessly to the ground. He struck out again and again, kicking and punching, hearing the grunts as his fists made contact.

The disorientation of the smoke and the fuzzy quality of his brain made it hard for him to defend himself properly, so he took more hits than he would normally allow, as well. A particularly vicious uppercut connected with his jaw, snapping his head back and making him spit out blood. Before he could regain some sort of equilibrium, the hits started pouring in, and then someone tackled him and slammed him against the wall. He hit hard enough that the back of his head made a hole in the drywall, and Doc winced. She made a mental note to check him for a concussion later. He bounced off the wall, and crouched back into fighting stance, ready for more blows. A hand touched his arm and his hand shot out and caught the person by the neck, squeezing. He wasn't sure what effect the squeezing was having, however. His vision was fading in and out and he was floating on the edge of consciousness. Something came flying in from the side and hit him like a ton of bricks, taking his feet out from under him, and he hit the floor. Just as the blackness claimed him, he felt a knife-edged, stabbing pain in his shoulder, and then all went still.

(0o0)

Vance rose slowly to his feet, breathing hard, and hobbled over to check the rest of the team. Doc rose at the same time, and threw open the door, to clear the smoke. She began checking on Conrad and his men. Mostly to make sure that Conrad was actually with them. As she ripped their masks off, she didn't bother to be gentle. She didn't much care if she hurt them or not.

"Get them out of here. I'll start mopping up," Vance ground out, clearly in pain but unwilling to stop before the job was done. That sent a strange glimmer of pride surging through Doc. There truly was a reason they were the best field team on five continents.

Those of the team who were conscious and could walk carried those who couldn't, and they slowly made their way down the back stairs and to the van. As they reached the dim coolness of the parking garage, three figures moved toward them and Doc swore under her breath, in what Nate was pretty sure were two different languages. None of them were in any condition for another fight. They'd barely survived the first one. As the three figures drew closer to them, shots rang out and the three of them sank to the ground, clearly alive but disabled. As Doc stared in shock, a familiar figure approached the three guards and finished the job of knocking them out and tying their hands and feet together. They were then dragged one by one into the security closet and locked inside. No one would find them for quite a while, and by then, they'd be long gone.

"Mitchell?" Doc said, suddenly wary.

He shook his head. "No time. I'll explain later. Let me help get them into the van where they'll be somewhat safer." Doc hesitated for only a moment, and then nodded. She would trust him that far. When they were all settled, he said, "Vance?"

"Mopping up upstairs. Eliot too."

"I'll go see if I can help." He held out a slip of paper, folded once. "Take them to this address and get them settled. We'll meet you there." She was hesitant, and he wasn't sure whether it was because she was still questioning whether he could be trusted or whether she just didn't want to leave them. He put a hand on her shoulder and looked her in the eyes.

"Kitty, listen. I never sold you out. I'll promise you that. Conrad had backup waiting along the route, and they ambushed us when we were stopped for a traffic light. I thought they were going to kill us, but they didn't. They beat Shelley until he was unconscious, and then dropped him somewhere, and made me keep driving. When they got further down the road, I'd estimate about ten miles further, they did the same to me. It took me this long to come around and get back here. I don't have time to explain more right now. I imagine the plan will be compromised if Conrad or his men wake up before the boys are ready, which makes me think Vance and Eliot could use some help. If they don't trust me, they'll kill me, and you won't have to worry about it. Eliot's counting on you to keep his team safe. We're counting on you to get them out of here so we can finish up and get out, too. You can do this. There's nobody else."

Kitty nodded and climbed quickly into the driver's seat, as Mitchell disappeared up the back staircase. She knew where she was going, having been there once or twice before, in times of great stress. This was Vance's off the grid place. Mitchell knew she would trust that more than his, and he didn't know where her place was. Vance did, though, and she couldn't be too careful. Making a quick decision, she turned in the opposite direction, and sped toward a place only she and Vance knew how to reach. She took a roundabout route, making sure they weren't being followed. Her place was so completely off the grid that it had well water, a septic tank and solar panels. When they arrived, she paused long enough to send Vance a text, informing him of the change in plans. She pulled Hardison's van into the huge, state of the art barn, half of which she had turned into a medical facility. She quickly got out and closed the wide, wooden doors behind them, bolting them from the inside. Vance would let her know when she needed to let him in.

One by one, she got the team in and settled. Most of them were conscious by now, though some of them might not be after they received some much needed treatment. Shelley still wasn't conscious, and she laid him out on one of the beds, covering him with a thin, wool blanket to ward off the afternoon chill that would grow worse as the hour grew later. Nate sat in a chair in one corner of the room, eyes raking over his team, checking for injuries. He was worried about Eliot, she could tell. After helping Parker and Hardison sit together on a small bench on the other side of the room, so she could treat the moderate injuries they had received in the fight, she moved back over toward Nate and without a word, she turned on the small television and flipped it to a news channel, knowing that if all went according to plan, they should be seeing the place they just left on the news soon. Sophie still had morphine in her system, and was barely conscious, so as soon as she helped the grifter lie on one of the cots near Nate, she was out again. Without thinking about what he was doing, he rose and got a blanket and spread it over the sleeping woman.

A moment later, the news program they were watching was interrupted by a special alert of breaking news, and they all watched in horror as the safe house they had just left a few minutes before, a safe house that contained Conrad and his men as well as Vance and Eliot was suddenly engulfed in a ball of fire, as the explosion shook the ground and destroyed objects in the immediate vicinity.

"Eliot," gasped the other members of the team at the same time, in unison. It was a single word, but it contained all of their pent up frustration at Conrad and his quest to destroy the team, their concern for their friend, and the worry that he hadn't made it out. While the program was playing, Doc had been frozen in place, watching with the rest of them, and she gasped as the building exploded. That wasn't supposed to happen. Was it Mitchell? Was she wrong to trust him? Her heart sank as she realized that two of her oldest friends might just have died in that building. She felt something ice cold slip down into her stomach and paralyze her. She couldn't move. She couldn't think. She wanted to go off alone and let out the worry that tied her in knots—scream her fear to the four winds, but she knew it would scare the others. With nothing else she could do for Eliot or Vance right now, she threw herself into treating the team's injuries.