A/N: I don't own Leverage or any of the characters, and make no money off of any of this. Thank you. I hope you enjoy this next chapter, though it is a bit shorter than the last. Next one should be up in a day or two, though the words are coming much faster, so it may surprise me.

Thank you to all of my readers, and to my reviewers, who have really made these past days bright with their helpful and supportive comments, and their playful banter. 53 reviews to this point. I would never have believed it if I didn't see it happen. Thanks so much!

Have a great day, and I hope you enjoy.

Chapter 22

Nate had been watching Doc since she got them in and started cleaning them up and treating their injuries. It had been over an hour. It was only early evening, but they were all exhausted from the events of this long day, and she had finally gotten the other to agree to lie down and rest. Doc had been watching Nate, too. He hadn't said a word since he came in, he simply sat and watched over the team, brooding. When she finished checking Shelley, she moved over to Sophie and picking up her hand at the wrist, she looked at her watch, counting out the grifter's pulse. Finished with that, she gently laid the hand on the bed beside the woman, and moved to the counter beside Nate. Reaching into an upper cabinet, she pulled down two tumblers and a bottle of scotch. She poured a splash of the amber liquid into each glass, and sat down in the chair next to Nate, handing his over as she did so.

"Thank you," he said, growing uncomfortable under the intensity of her gaze as she watched him.

"How are you?" she asked quietly.

"I'm fine," he snapped, but her expression didn't change. She simply continued watching him.

When he didn't speak again, she said mildly, "You're worried about Eliot, and what his absence means for the rest of the team."

"You knew about this plan and didn't tell us. Why would I want to talk to you about anything?"

"It wasn't my plan, and therefore, it wasn't mine to tell. It still isn't. For what it's worth, I tried to get Eliot to tell you, though in his defense, I am not sure it was his plan either. I can tell you that the safe house was not supposed to blow up. That was never part of the plan." She paused for a moment, taking the measure of Nate.

He took that opportunity to look at her incredulously, and say, "You mean, you all follow a plan even when you aren't sure who came up with it?"

"No," she said, smiling, "but any of us will follow a plan one of the others made. We trust one another, from long years of experience." She paused for a moment, unsure she wanted to say the rest, but her instincts told her he needed to hear it. Finally, she said, "Do you think you're the only one who is worried? Eliot and Vance are two of my oldest, dearest friends. If anyone has the ability to survive an explosion of that sort and come back, relatively unscathed, it would be the two of them, but I'm worried, with every fiber of my being, that this will be the time that doesn't happen—that they've beat the odds one too many times before—that maybe it's my fault because I made a mistake in trusting Mitchell." Nate stared at her for a moment, and then said, "Sorry."

She shook her head. "I'm going to see what I can find to cook for dinner. Your friends will wake soon and be hungry. If you wish to help, keep an eye on them and let me know if anything changes."

He nodded, and she disappeared into another part of the barn, preparing to cook and contemplating what she hadn't bothered to say to Nate. If the plan had failed, and Vance and Eliot were blown up with that building, there was a good possibility that Conrad and his men might, even now, be searching for them. As much as she might think this hidey hole of hers was off the grid, and as much as the three of them had done to cover their tracks—there was one thing she knew with certainty: You can't hide from the CIA forever. If they want to find you, they will. She had lived long enough and had seen enough to know that. She also knew that while they were indifferent before—perhaps on the radar, but not raising much attention, they would now be considered enemies of the CIA, and that wasn't a place anyone wanted to be. She hoped this plan worked.

The news outlets covered the story of the explosion ad nauseum over the next four hours, and as the others awakened to eat dinner, and realized their hitter still wasn't back, the tension in the room grew and grew again, stretching and twisting until it started to turn to grief. Doc wanted to encourage them, to tell them that she had seen Vance and Eliot come back before, but she had to admit to herself that they hadn't been away for this long before without at least getting word to her somehow, and that it certainly seemed as though they'd have been back by now unless there was something wrong.

(0o0)

It was after midnight, and Doc was standing watch, the silent sentinel keeping everyone else safe. She had done it many times before, on various teams and under various conditions, but never had it meant so much to her. She was doing this for Eliot. And for Vance. They would want her to keep Shelley and the rest of the team safe. Exhausted, Nate had even finally consented to getting some rest, and she had put him to bed next to Sophie an hour or so ago. It had been almost eight hours since they had left the others and driven away from that safe house. She still couldn't get her mind around the fact that two of her oldest friends, two of the best men she had ever known, were gone. Her spirit refused to accept that. Something in the back of her mind sang denial, but she'd deal with that later. For now, she simply allowed it to happen in order not to fall apart.

Caught up in her reverie, she had assigned one part of her brain to sentry duty, so when she first heard the soft noise, she wasn't sure where it was coming from. It was a muted groaning sound, followed by a slight scratching noise. In an instant, she had raised the gun and pointed it at the door, knowing that Vance or Eliot one would have given her some warning if they were outside.

Then she realized the sound was coming from inside the room. Someone was waking up. She lowered the gun and looked around as Shelley stirred and then tried to sit up. She was by his side in an instant, with a restraining hand on his chest.

His voice was laced with fear when he said, "Who's there?"

A cold prickle of fear and concern slammed through her, freezing her insides. But Doc wasn't what she was for nothing, and she forced her voice to steadiness as she spoke.

"Shh, Shelley. You're safe. It's me, Doc Carrington."

His voice held a note of relief. "Doc." Then, he sounded confused. "Why can't I feel anything?"

"Probably the pain meds." He nodded, seemingly relieved at that.

A moment later, a look of sheer panic crossed his face again, and he said, "Doc? Why can't I see you? I can't see anything."

"Shh," she soothed, somewhat alarmed, but injecting more confidence into her voice than she actually felt. "Relax. It's the after effects of what you've been through today. I'm going to give you some more medicine." She filled a hypo as she spoke to him, and injected him with it, breathing a sigh of relief when he faded off to sleep again. She found herself hoping, with every fiber of her being, that what she had said was actually true, and his problems were only temporary.

Now that there was nothing for her to do except listen to the soft, steady breathing of those she was charged to protect, she found herself with too much time to think. The sadness that had been swimming around the back of her thoughts for the past eight hours hit her with the force of a hurricane and threatened to overwhelm her. Silent tears poured down her face, and she was embarrassed to cry where others might see, but she realized, at the same time, that she had no other outlet for grief she could no longer hold back. As she cried, she felt like something poisonous was being leached from her body, and when it was gone, her spirit felt lighter.

She heard a commotion outside the barn, and a scratching sound, and then someone was banging on the door and there was muffled shouting. Her heart dropped down into her stomach as she quickly grabbed the gun again, fearing the worst. Had Conrad's men found them? How? She cocked the gun and snuck quietly out into the larger room in the middle of the barn, debating whether or not to unbar the door. It would hold against Conrad and his men for awhile, and maybe she could figure out some way to bring Eliot's team out of this all right. It was the least she could do for him.