In this farewell, there's no blood, there's no alibi.

Cause I've drawn regret from the truth of a thousand lies.

So let mercy come, and wash away

What I've Done.

Eliot exhaled as he walked into his darkened apartment. Today had been a success. The team had almost taken down Damien Moreau, one of his most powerful enemies. They'd stopped a bomb from killing hundreds. Even though Moreau was in the wind again, they had a good idea of where he'd be, and how to stop him for good. Yes, today had been a good day.

But why did he feel so horrible?

Because you thought you were done killing, Eliot.

Damn his thoughts. Damn the voices in his head, telling him he was the worst kind of scum. A murderer.

Eliot couldn't get the images out of his mind. How the men in the warehouse had died. How easily the memories of every kill came flooding back into his brain. Some of those men had families. Wives, mothers...who would never see their loved ones again.

His hands were shaking. The familiar thoughts were creeping back in. You killed those men. Those people. These were human beings, and you played God; took their lives. His eyes were drawn to the small handgun sticking out of his duffel bag. One of the guns he had used to execute Moreau's men. You don't deserve to be alive, you know. What gives you the right to keep breathing - with everyone you've killed...

"Stop it!" He choked aloud, willing the internal voices to shut up.

You can make this right. Blood for blood. The gun is right there. Take it. End your own life. Do it.

"No." Eliot whispered. His story wasn't over yet. The team still needed him to finish the job. Moreau was still out there.

One thing was for certain, however. He couldn't be alone right now...but where could he go?

Nate.

Ten minutes later, Eliot was standing in front of Nate's door, second-guessing his decision to come over. It was almost one in the morning. It had been a long day for all of them, Nate was probably sleeping. He sighed and turned to leave. But before he got far, Nate's door opened, spilling a soft light into the hallway.

"Hey, Eliot. Everything okay?" Nate was wearing a robe, and looked as if he'd just rolled out of bed.

"Yeah, yeah everything is fine. What are you doing up? How'd you know I was here?"

Nate smirked. "I had Hardison install an alarm system that goes off if someone's on my doorstep in the middle of the night. I looked on the security cam and saw it was you."

"Oh."

"You just gonna stand there?" Nate waved Eliot into his apartment. Yawning, Nate finally asked, "So, what are you doing here?"

Eliot felt silly. "I...it doesn't matter...I'm sorry for bothering you."

"You know you're not bothering me. What's up, Eliot?"

"Can...can I stay with you tonight?" Eliot looked down.

"Why? Is everything alright at your apartment?" Nate sounded confused.

"Yeah, everything's fine. I just...don't wanna be alone." He cursed internally at how stupid it sounded aloud. But Nate didn't make fun of him.

"I'll grab some blankets, you can crash on the couch."

"Thanks."

Nate gathered a couple blankets and a pillow, laying them out on the couch. He didn't know what was up with Eliot, but he could guess that it had something to do with what happened at that warehouse. The normally tough, solitary hitter was acting uncharacteristically vulnerable.

"Eliot, what's going on?" Nate asked softly, sitting on the couch next to his friend.

Avoiding his gaze, Eliot shook his head. "Nothin'" He mumbled.

"Come on, I can tell something's wrong. This is about what happened with Moreau's men, isn't it?"

"Nate, please. I don't wanna talk about it."

"Okay." This was obviously a sensitive subject. Eliot's hands were shaking, almost imperceptibly. Nate put a hand on his shoulder. "If you need anything, I'm upstairs. Don't hesitate to wake me."

"Thanks."

"I'm serious, Eliot."

Dammit, he hated worrying Nate like this. He could see the concern in his friend's eyes. This had been a mistake. He'd woken Nate up in the middle of the night for nothing. But he was already here, he might as well try to sleep. It was only when he laid down that he realized how exhausted he was. His eyelids drooped, and he fell into a fitful slumber within a matter of minutes.

Nate discreetly watched Eliot from the top of the stairs. There was definitely something wrong. The man had to be completely exhausted, yet he tossed and turned in his sleep, muttering broken phrases like, "I'm sorry,"

I'm sorry...I'm sorry... It was the only thing he could say. He was surrounded by people he had killed. Murdered. He never forgot their faces. Not a single one. They were closing in on him, their accusing eyes drilling holes right through him. A young enemy soldier handed him a gun. The boy couldn't have been more than 17 when Eliot had gunned him down in the streets of Iraq. "Say it." The boy hissed. "I killed you...I deserve to die." Eliot didn't even bother trying to defend himself. He was as guilty as Moreau. "Do it." The soldier watched with satisfaction as Eliot raised the revolver to his own head and prepared to pull the trigger.

"Eliot!"

What? The voice sounded so familiar, but it was a million miles away...

"Eliot, wake up!"

The hitter reluctantly fought his way back to consciousness. Nate was kneeling beside him, shaking his shoulders.

"Alright, enough, I'm awake." Eliot said, breathing unevenly. He sat up, and pushed Nate's hands away.

"You were having a nightmare."

"Yeah. Sorry."

"Eliot, you're shaking." Nate's concern was evident in his voice.

"I'm...I'm fine."

"I think we both know that's a lie. What's really going on?" Nate sat next to him once again.

Eliot tried to tell him it was nothing. He tried to say it was only a bad dream. But years of pushing it down and keeping it to himself finally came to the surface.

"I killed them." He whispered. "I've killed so many people. Nate, you have no idea what I've done." He went on to describe how the men in the warehouse had died. How the bullets struck and their blood splattered, and how they fell. The looks on their faces as they realized he was going to kill them, and then as he did. He detailed that moment when they could have all taken their shots, but were too afraid to do so. He told Nate about the smell of human flesh burning, and how he'd never be able to get those images out of his mind.

"I was done, Nate. I hadn't killed in a long time. Hadn't touched a gun for years. I'm a monster." His voice broke.

"Eliot..." Nate was speechless. The hitter was always so stoic. He was the rock; the one in the group who never fell apart. He never could have guessed how broken the man truly was.

"You're not a monster."

No response.

"You're not a monster! You've never killed without reason. You've saved my ass more times than I can count. You're not a monster, you're a hero!"

"I think about killing myself sometimes." Eliot blurted out.

Nate sat in stunned silence. "Why?" He finally whispered.

"I killed them. What right do I have to live when I killed them?"

"Eliot, that's not how this works-"

"I know! It doesn't make sense, I just...I can't stop thinking about it."

Realization dawned on Nate. "That's...that's why you came here tonight, isn't it?"

"Yeah." Eliot ran a hand through his hair, looking embarrassed. "God, I sound like a teenage girl."

"No, you don't. With everything you've been through, I'd be surprised if you didn't have some emotional issues."

"Yeah."

"Eliot, look at me."

His friend reluctantly met his gaze.

"You're not a monster. You don't deserve to die. We need you, okay? This team needs you. I need you. You're family." Nate's voice broke. "How...how would I tell Parker? Just...imagine the look on her face. We can't lose you."

Eliot shakily released a breath he didn't realize he'd been holding. "You're...you're right, I couldn't do that to you guys."

"You can't leave. You're stuck with us now." Nate gave a small smile.

"Alright." Eliot smiled back. Maybe coming here hadn't been a mistake after all.

"If you ever need to talk, I'm here. And you can wake me up in the middle of the night anytime."

"Thanks."

"I mean it."

"I know. Good talk." Eliot said, feeling a little better. "You can go back to bed now."

Nate hesitated. "You sure?"

"Yeah, I'm fine. Enough chick-flick moments. Let's go to sleep."

Nate grinned. "Alright. Just wake me up if you need anything."

"Will do."

The next morning, Nate shuffled down the stairs. He smiled when he saw that Eliot Spencer was still curled up on his couch, sound asleep. He knew from experience that having good friends didn't erase the emotional trauma, but it sure made it easier to cope. His only hope was that one day Eliot would be able to forgive himself.