Nate woke with a start, disoriented at the sudden switch from the chaos of the van to the relative quiet of wherever the hell he was now. The room was dark, and there was a subtle beeping in the background that picked up speed as he got his bearings. He shuddered.
Hospital.
He took a few breaths to calm his nerves, the beeping starting to slow again. The pain in his side was present but manageable, and the chills were gone. Unsure of how much time had passed, he glanced over to the window. Still dark out.
"How are you feeling?"
His eyes adjusted as he looked over the sound of the voice, a wave of relief washing over him at the sight of Eliot sitting in one of the chairs.
"I've been better," he admitted, his voice still a bit raspy. In all honesty he felt like he'd been run over by a truck, or Hardison's van maybe. He couldn't be sure.
Hardison. The team.
The haziness of his mind started to lift but his memory wasn't quite as clear. He'd sworn they were in the van earlier but he couldn't remember with any kind of certainty. And if they had been, then Eliot shouldn't be here alone.
He started to panic. "Where are the others?"
"Everyone's fine, and I took care of Moreau," the hitter said, his tone of voice reassuring. "They've been going stir-crazy in here so I told them to go get some rest."
Nate's brows furrowed. "How long was I out?"
Eliot hesitated, that unidentifiable expression crossing his face again. "Four days."
Nate froze, the hitter's answer catching him off guard. He'd been thinking more like four hours. He got uncomfortable flashbacks to the last time he'd been in a hospital for that long, years ago with his son. "I, uh, take it there were –"
"Complications," Eliot finished for him, his expression noticeably tense. "You could say that."
The mastermind stayed silent, deciding he was better off not asking him to elaborate. Visions of Sam began flooding his mind, every single image as clear as the day it happened. His hands started to shake.
He had to get out.
Nate blocked the pain as he tried to get up, the IV line and other cables catching his attention the moment they prevented him from doing so. The hitter quickly vacated his seat to intervene. "Nate, stop."
"I can't stay here," the mastermind replied, reaching over to free his arm from the tether of equipment.
Eliot grabbed his hand to keep him from ripping out the IV. "You're in no condition to leave right now."
Nate locked eyes with him defiantly. "That's not your call."
The hitter held on firmly, his tone unwavering. "Listen, it's my job to protect you," he said. "Even from yourself. I'll handcuff you to this bed if I have to."
"Oh?" Nate replied, his anger rising at the threat. "Like Moreau would've if I'd tried to –"
The mastermind stopped short, guilt hitting him instantly at what he said. Comparing Eliot to Moreau was a new low, and even in his current drug-induced state of mind that was completely inexcusable. He took a deep breath to center himself. "I'm sorry, that's not how I meant that to come out."
Eliot paused, tilting his head ever so slightly as he analyzed Nate's face. He released the mastermind's hand gently and took a step back. "If you would've tried to what?"
Nate's jaw tensed. Of course Eliot picked up on that part of his slip, something he hadn't intended on sharing. Damn painkillers, throwing him off-balance. "Nothing. It didn't come to that."
Eliot's expression went hard at his answer. "Listen, Nate. I've been on both sides of this and it ain't pretty," he said. "What happened?"
"I'm sure you saw the chart," the mastermind answered, attempting to deflect.
"That's not what I'm talking about."
"I'm fine."
The hitter didn't reply, but Nate could tell by the look on his face that the younger man didn't believe him. The room was quiet.
Eliot took a deep breath before he continued, keeping his voice low. "Moreau, he gets in your head. Makes you question everything, do things you thought you'd never even consider. It's hard to get through even if you're trained for it."
Nate spoke with a tone of finality, seriously hoping to end the conversation. "Like I said, it didn't come to that."
"By how much?" Eliot demanded, unwilling to drop the subject. He was tenacious, the mastermind had to give him that. And perceptive as hell. To be successful in his line of work, he had to be both.
Nate looked away, trying to keep that answer to himself. He thought for a moment, again choosing deflection over honesty as he looked back up. "What would you have done?"
This time it was Eliot that didn't have a spoken answer. The hitter closed his eyes and took another deep breath.
The subtle beeping of the monitor was the only sound in the room.
After a minute he met Nate's gaze, his voice serious as he spoke. "Like I said, I've been there. More than once. If you ever feel like you can't handle it, I need to know that you'll come talk to me."
At that the mastermind stayed quiet, starting to wonder just how many times Eliot had been in the same predicament and how the future might look like if either of them had made a different choice. He felt apprehensive now that he considered it from that angle.
Eliot must've seen the uncertainty on his face, speaking in a lighter tone as he gestured to the medical equipment. "Think you can leave all this alone, just for now? I can get you something for the anxiety, if that helps."
Nate was thankful for the subject change, but based on Eliot's position between him and the door he wasn't going to be leaving anytime soon. He sighed and rubbed his eyes, trying to decide which of the other options was the lesser of the evils. More medication, Eliot's handcuffs, or more than likely Parker's taser. Oh, and Sophie's unavoidable piercing glare. Can't forget that one.
He didn't fancy any of them, but meds seemed to be the least objectionable choice. At the moment, anyway. "That would be helpful, yeah."
Eliot nodded appreciatively as he turned to the door. "Good, I'll get the team. They'll be glad to see you're finally awake."
"Wait," Nate called back. "Before you do that."
He turned around, looking at the mastermind curiously. Nate hesitated, not wanting to assume that of the hitter but he had to know. "Moreau. Did you…?"
Eliot smiled. "No. Guess I'm just not that merciful."
