Nate heard a single chime from his phone, prompting him to set his coffee aside and leave the partially read file on the counter. He stood up and made his way to the living room, grabbing the device off of the table and checking the screen.

Eliot

Missed Call (3)

He tilted his head, not exactly sure why the phone hadn't rang. It was unlike Eliot to call during his time off, and even more so for him to call repeatedly. Without hesitation Nate dialed and lifted the phone to his ear.

It rang three times before the hitter answered, his voice significantly grouchier than usual. "Yeah?"

"Hey, is everything alright?"

There was a moment of hesitation before Eliot answered, a hint of confusion in his voice. "Yeah, why the hell wouldn't it be?"

"You don't usually call on your day off," Nate answered.

"What are you talking about? I didn't call."

A quizzical look crossed Nate's face. "Wait, what?"

Before he could process another thought a barrage of gunfire overtook the apartment, the rush of adrenaline sending him diving for the safety of the floor.

The chaos felt uncomfortably surreal, almost like he was back with Mark Vector when Moreau's sniper had opened fire. Glass flew everywhere as he used his hands to try to shield his face from the shower of debris. Time seemed to come to a standstill.

Just as quickly as it had started the gunfire ceased, leaving the apartment deathly quiet. Nate slowly lifted his head and took in the scene.

All was still. Completely obliterated, but still.

The mastermind started to get up but a searing pain brought him straight back to the floor. He grimaced and clutched his side, taking a few careful breaths before pulling his hand away to double check what his mind very well knew. The sight that greeted him confirmed his fear.

Blood.

The front door slammed opened and he saw three men with guns drawn, their heavy boots crunching on the debris as they entered. Two completely ignored him and proceeded to sweep the apartment for threats while the third walked directly up to the mastermind and stood over him. Half a second later he felt the cold barrel of a gun press against the back of his head.

The only thought running through his mind was how royally screwed he was.

Until one more person unexpectedly sauntered into the room, taking 'royally screwed' to the next level.

Damien Fucking Moreau.

One moment he was enjoying a nice, hot cup of coffee and less than sixty seconds later he was on the floor, with a bullet in his side, and one of their most vicious ex-marks looming over him. To say he was blindsided would be the understatement of the year.

Moreau crouched down next to him, keeping his voice to a soft whisper. "Make one single sound and he pulls the trigger. Understood?"

Not willing to take any chances, Nate kept his answer to a brief nod.

Satisfied, Moreau got up and crunched his way to other side of the living room, bending down to retrieve the mastermind's phone from among the debris. He heard a muffled "...talk to me, Nate..." from the speaker as Moreau lifted the device to his ear.

A sly grin crossed his face as the man plopped himself into a neighboring armchair. "Hello, Spencer."

Nate closed his eyes. God, Eliot. Protecting the team was his entire being, and right now Moreau was about to rip every last bit of that to shreds. He prayed that Eliot wouldn't blame himself for this, even though he knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that the hitter would.

Moreau continued, bringing the mastermind's thoughts back to the room. "Nate is, shall we say, unavailable at the moment." He leaned back, fingering the plush fabric of the armrest as a smirk crossed his face. "Shall I take a message?"

The mastermind had no idea what Eliot said, but it brought a fit of laughter from the man's former boss. Moreau crossed his legs casually before continuing.

"Come on Spencer, you know how the game is played. You took something from me, now I took something from you. And at fourteen to one, in all honesty you're still ahead. So far." He leaned forward, his expression darkening as he lowered his voice to a whisper. "So, tell me...how does it feel?"

With that Moreau stood and flipped the phone shut, tossing it back on the floor where he'd found it. He gestured to his men. "Get him up."