Notes: This is actually somthing I wrote quite awhile ago in the typical burst of insperation flashes I get (though it's a good deal longer than those tend to be). I posted it over on lj but apparently never posted it over here. It was sort-of written for a prompt. I had a deal with the ficer who was writting Broken Road (it's a really good fic about Eliot with only one issue) that we'd both write a story using the same basic concepts and post them at the same time to see what we did diffrently with the idea. Unfortunatly, as any of you who are *still* waiting for the next chapter of Broken Road might know she did a bit of a disapearing act. So um... yeah. Here it is. At the end of the fic I'll post the promptish thing.

Coming Home
Somtimes the hardest part is coming home.

Nate had been wearing a white hat, an ugly fake leopard print band around the middle making it look like a cowboy hat playing dress up. He'd been drinking something out of a tumbler, the smell of alcohol mixed with soda and mixers sharp. A dark Armani suit from this year's spring selection. Eliot could remember how good the alpaca wool felt against skin though it had been later that night that he'd paused in the process of pulling it off to appreciate it. Nate had given him that look that he always got when Eliot's behavior strayed farther from his tough guy image than was normal.

But that was for later memory. Focus on the evening first. Nate's tie had been blue silk, the same color of his eyes, though Eliot made a point not to ever utter a sentence like that out loud. He'd looked good in that suit, though the god ugly hat really needed to go. Eliot would give Parker a few bucks to steal it the next day.

It was just the two of them at the moment, sitting in a high-end bar under the guise of brothers catching up over a couple drinks. It was nice, talking of light matters, though Hardison had told them over the coms that they weren't playing Sam and Dean, whatever that meant, and to lay off the subtext.

The bartender had been blonde and cheerful, her outfit was a red and black tunic/pant/belt combo that fit her figure well enough he'd noticed. Nate had noticed too which meant there would be no jealousy issue so long as they both remembered the look but don't touch rule.

He shifted on his stool, it was hard as stone and uncomfortable considering how badly he'd gotten the stuffing knocked out of him pain wasn't surprising but it hurt to sit. No. We sat in a booth. They were comfortable, and I had no injuries.

A door to the bar banged open in the distance and echoed down an empty hallway.

No it was a bar there was no echo.

But it was useless, the memory he'd been wrapping his mind in slipped away and painful reality stole him back.

Eliot's eyes opened slowly. He was disoriented and the agony wracking his battered body was roaring to new heights like it was angry at him for trying to block it out. He panted for breath, though a pair of busted ribs had made anything more than shallow breaths difficult for a few days now. Pain rolled down from busted hands to wrists bleeding from where the cuffs chaining his arms to the wall above his head bit into his skin, down to arms and shoulders cramping from being forced into the same position for too long, across his chest and back still burning from rounds with whips and electroshock, settling on two busted ribs before traveling outward to inhabit the dozens of bruises he sported.

It took a moment for Eliot to remember what had pulled him back to the present. The drugs they'd been injecting him with every eight hours made it hard to focus, hard to think. They pulled his mind a couple feet back from his body. He was still connected enough to feel everything but removed so much it was an act of will just to curl his fingers into a fist. He hadn't even managed to throw a single punch the one chance he'd gotten to try.

It was footsteps that clued him in on what was going on. Footsteps echoed around a long empty passageway leading to the room he was being kept in. He couldn't stop his body from shaking as he reached desperately for the memory he'd been building. Another few moments and he'd be in here. There was only one which meant it would be That this time.

He tried to gather himself, hold himself together, he was Eliot Spencer, not some other guy who a week of captivity and torture could break down. He was stronger than this. He was stronger than them.

He just had to hold on and the others would find him. Nate would find him. It was just taking time. McCormic was thorough and hired the best he could, but the best were on the Leverage payroll. The others would find him.

He just had to survive until they did. It couldn't be much longer. He'd hold it together until then. He'd get out, he'd see Nate again. They'd go to a bar again, they'd play pool and talk, not undercover but as themselves. They'd sit, they'd go back to their apartment, he'd cook dinner, they'd eat and maybe watch a movie. They'd do normal couple stuff and it would bore the hell out of them both but right now he didn't give a fuck. Nate was the only thing he was living for right now, the long dark hell this was turning into had blocked out everything else. Nate had lost so much already if Eliot died, if all Nate got back was his broken and brutalized body…

It was the reason Eliot hadn't wanted to go into this relationship. They both knew Nate couldn't take losing someone else and he was taking that chance with a retrieval specialist…

Eliot had to survive. If he died here Nate would kill himself.

He was staying alive for Nate. Eliot protected Nate and the rest of the team. It was his job to protect them. It was the only thing he'd done since he left home that had really made him feel right. He protected the team and Nate. He'd protect them by surviving.

He focused on that goal. That goal and memories of good times were keeping him alive. He closed his eyes, trying to fall back into memories even as steps came closer.

She was pale. He still flinched when the key was put into the lock outside his cell door. He could force his mind to remain focused but his body's reactions to fear and pain had long been out of his control. And her hair was red, not blonde. She still looked like Parker. Nate ordered th- He flinched again as a hand fisted in his hair and pulled his head up. Eliot raised his eyes to meet the dark green ones watching him but couldn't summon enough energy to glare at him.

"Good morning Eliot." The man said with a meaningful pause before backhanding Eliot with his free hand and saying again. "Good morning Eliot. Come now my boy, we've already had a discussion about your manners. I thought we wouldn't have to have this conversation again."

Eliot swallowed hard but let his eyes slide away, focusing on trying to not let himself react. He knew no matter what he said he wouldn't get out of whatever this man had in mind. He'd suffer humiliation and submission if it was all he could do to survive but he had no intention of giving what his captors wanted when it wouldn't make a difference.

His eyes landed on something in the doorway that made him not care about the next punch. He didn't care that it was just another hallucination giving him what he wanted most. Nate was standing in the doorway, dressed in that same Armani suit. Eliot smiled, hands moving as much as they could to reach for him.

The green-eyed man didn't deliver the next punch, unnerved by the smile crossing the captive's face.

"Nnnate." Eliot croaked. Dark anger spread across Nate's face and he raised his arm. Eliot recognized four rounds being fired from a 44 caliber before a heavy weight collided against him, painfully flinging him into Oblivion.

He floated in and out of consciousness, nothing really making sense. Scenes, like memories he'd been getting lost in swam by like dreams. He opened his eyes slowly, hesitantly, dreading that it was all some hallucination, confused and disoriented.

He was in the medical closet again. It was supposed to be a janitor's closet in the Leverage offices but they'd cleared it out, sterilized it, brought in whatever medical equipment they might want or need, and set up a four by eight foot medical room. Eliot had used it the most though this was the first time he'd woken up on it.

He groaned softly, accessing aches and injuries that were responsible for landing him here to find they weren't as bad as he'd thought. He moved each limb in turn to test for any damage before slowly sitting up and looking around for hints to what had happened.

He was in his own clothes, a button down shirt and some sweatpants. He needed a shower but not nearly as badly as he could. He was hungry and thirsty but his throat wasn't dry enough for him to have been out for too long.

His wrists had new cuts and scars that looked like they'd been from restraints of some kind, which meant captivity. That also might explain his disorientation and the difficulty he was having remembering what was going on. A head injury could easily lead to amnesia. He unbuttoned his shirt, wincing when he saw the mottled nearly healed bruises and burns with a fresher set laying over them. Yep, defiantly captivity.

He slowly got off the cot, his bare feet against the cold tile floor making him wince a little. As ironic as it was no matter how many times you went through hell there were little things in everyday life that still bugged you.

After making sure he could stand without falling over Eliot let go of the bed's railing and crossed to the door. It was time to find out where everyone was and what was going on. He had a small flash of that movie Hardison had made all them watch… whenever ago… with the zombies and the guy waking up from a coma to find the world destroyed. God he hoped that wasn't what was going on.

God he needed to stop letting Hardison pick the movies the team watched.

He paused half a breath, mind sliding back toward that movie night. It was on a job. They were killing a few hours since they had to wait two days before the next step. Afterward he and Nate had gone back to their room and in the morning Eliot had gone for a walk alone to clear his head and try to stave off boredom since they wouldn't need him to do anything for days. The job was running smoothly. There was no reason to think anything was wrong. He'd let his guard down just a little.

And they'd taken him. They hadn't even been working with their mark. It was a bunch of guys working for one of Eliot's old employers.

Eliot's hand tightened around the handle as memories started rushing back. The walk, the ambush, the seven guys he took out before being overwhelmed, waking up in that cell, McCormic, the drugs, the torture, the-

He's nearly hyperventilating, his fight or flight instinct going into overdrive, when he forces himself to stop remembering, knowing already that what came next wasn't something he should think about. The adrenalin and fear were having a powerful effect that he normally wouldn't of allowed himself. He was getting soft but his emotional control, normally iron tight, was shaky at best right now and he didn't understand why.

He knew why it might be but he refused to even acknowledge the possibility. He'd been tortured before. His normal tactics for surviving the aftermath was to not think about it. If you thought about it you'd realize there was something crazy about what you were doing with your life. You'd be a little hesitant on the next job, and that moment of hesitation could get you killed.

There was no room for fear in his line. Torture and all the aftermath caused fear. Blocking it all out was the safest method to go by. He'd just block it all out. Even That. Especially That. He would move forward, run away, change his name if he had to. Leave and leave behind the emotional baggage. That was the only way to survive in this life.

Except he couldn't do that.

The realization hit him like a blow to the gut, shaking him up much more than he liked to think it should of. He didn't understand why he felt so shaky, he was being like a frikken little girl right now the way he was reacting. He should just shake this off. He didn't have to run away just to escape a couple of nightmares. He'd deal.

Somewhere outside the med closet a door slammed open and he could hear steps. Stopleavego Eliot staggered back away from the door, falling halfway onto the bed, his breathing coming in quick gasps again. He was shaking and he couldn't even tell why. He'd been having flashbacks since he was twenty-one and got his first taste of the painful side of a cattle prod. It had been more than a decade since he reacted so harshly to a trigger and some of those triggers had been a lot more extreme than someone slamming a friggen door.

He tried to adjust his footing to push himself all the way onto the bed but his stagger had knocked some papers onto the floor and when he stepped on one as he was trying to get his footing it slid out from under him. As busted up and disoriented as he was he only just managed to grab onto the railing of the cot. His arms spread wide to either side, holding the railing tightly to keep himself from completely falling to the ground.

Nocan'tdon'tstop pain, blood, hands all over, he couldn't see, he couldn't breath, a sound between a whimper, moan, and scream ripped from his throat

He was on the floor now, curled around himself like he could physically hold himself together. Why couldn't he make it stop? He'd been blocking out things since he was a fucking kid who went into the shed in time to see his father eat his own gun. Why couldn't he make this just stop?

A door opened and someone was speaking to him.

A voice in his ear, whispering everything they'd do to him and how much it would hurt and why don't you beg like a good little boy. You know what to say to make it stop.

And then they did it to him.

Over and over until he screamed it at the top of his lungs, no longer caring about his pride or giving them what they wanted. He was so far past that. He screamed until no sound came anymore. They patted his cheek and called him a good boy like he was some fucking dog they were paper training. He would have torn them apart with his bare hands if he could of but he could barely even breath.

The hands were back, mockingly comforting for a moment. Sweet nothings were whispered into his ears even as they touched sparking alligator clips to his chest. He screamed louder than he thought he could before oblivion took him.

Oblivion released him slowly, drugs making him groggy, his body heavy but light at the same time.

You know there is something wrong with your life when you're only lucid by the loosest definition of the term and you recognize the feeling of being really high on morphine.

Eliot wasn't entirely sure what had happened and at the moment he didn't really care. He always took Morphine as a mixed signal. It was very good since it meant he wasn't in pain which was better than the alternative any day of the week. It was bad because it meant that he should be in pain. At the very least though it normally meant those who had him weren't malicious. Of course they might be feds, but feds weren't that tough to deal with.

He faded in and out for a while, coming closer to reality every time as he came down from the morphine induced haze.

There was someone speaking above him. "Dude you gotta wake up. I think Nate's gonna lose it soon. The man's a walking time bomb and Parker's been mumbling all day about the kinds of explosives you can make outta alcohol. So you gotta pull through cause honestly I like Parker a lot but our team ain't big enough for another crazy."

Eliot moaned out loud, though whether it was Hardison's babbling aggravating his headache, the thought of another crazy on their team, or the fact he was closing in on consciousness and beginning to feel a bit of what the morphine wasn't covering he wasn't sure.

"Eliot?" Hardison asked, excitement plain in his voice. "You awake man?" Another groan seemed the best response. "Thank you." With those last almost-but-not-quite-joking words Eliot could almost imagine Hardison had sent a little thank you heavenward.

Slowly Eliot forced his eyes open, squinting against the bright light. He was in the medical closet. What the hell? He moved his eyes to Hardison. Everything was starting to hurt despite the morphine, which meant it would be a bitch once he was off it. Hardison had gone to the door, calling out that Eliot had woken up.

It was only a couple of moments before all of team Leverage was stumbling into the room. Eliot immediately looked to find Nate, wondering why Hardison had been the one waiting by his bedside. The bleary-eyed face scrubbing Nate was doing told Eliot he'd been sleeping. Hardison had probably made Nate go lay down for a few hours since the medical closet didn't have room for a chair to sleep in.

They were all talking at once, asking how he was and saying the other things you say to someone you were worried about but hadn't been in mortal danger. Eliot did his best to smile reassuringly at them, still not sure what had happened. He wanted to say something but he was quickly finding his throat felt like he'd swallowed liquid fire or something equally not meant to be digested.

Before he could even begin to figure out how to communicate that he would of killed for something to drink if he could of Nate had slid the cot's railing down and was sitting by Eliot's head. He leaned over, gently sliding an arm under Eliot's shoulder's and Eliot realized he didn't have a shirt on. A moment later he croaked out his first word "Fuck" as the raw skin on his back screamed in protest when Nate helped him sit up.

"I'm sorry" Nate whispered softly. Eliot could almost hear in his voice how much he hated causing Eliot more pain. Nate brought a cup of something to his lips and Eliot struggled to raise his arms enough to hold it, refusing to be helped to drink. A painful moment later he was forced to surrender and drink with Nate's help, his cheeks burning to know the other's were seeing him this weak.

"Perhaps we should give them some time alone." Sophie said tactfully, already reaching to herd Parker and Hardison out. Eliot knew Sophie was still having a hard time with being a woman scorned. When her eyes met his, though, right before she slipped out of the room behind the others he knew it didn't matter to her right now.

Another sip and he was done, knowing his body wouldn't be able to keep any more down. He licked his lips and waited a moment before Nate got the message and laid Eliot back down.

Eliot was beginning to piece together what had happened to get him here. McCormic and the long hell that had been his captivity was coming back to him. He was a little fuzzy on the details and he wasn't sure if what he last remembered was a hallucination or his actual rescue. He would care about that later though, if at all. He needed to start putting all that in the past now anyway. He had to try very hard to block all of it out.

But all that would wait. He was saved and safe and sane. He'd come home alive to Nate and that was all that was important. There would be time later to deal with the fallout. "Nate." He said, his voice less rough. Nate was occupying himself with something Eliot didn't care about. Whatever it was it could wait until after he'd grounded himself in the here and now.

Nate still wasn't looking at him.

"Nate" He said again, wondering why Nate wouldn't turn to look at him. Why those files on that table were suddenly so important. "Nathan."

Those blue eyes finally met his and he almost wished they hadn't. Guilt, pity, revulsion, sadness, pain… it was all too much and it didn't make sense. Unless Nate knew.

Nate must of known. He must have seen or heard or something and now he knew and Eliot went cold. If Nate knew. If this was his reaction…

Eliot wanted to be infuriated. He wanted to shout that this wasn't his fault. That it could have been anyone. That it didn't mean anything and didn't change anything. He hadn't done anything more than survive. He wanted to be mad as hell but he was too tired, too worn down to even care right then. Suddenly the only thing he'd been living for didn't matter and he couldn't find it in him to care.

"You should go." Eliot said softly. "You need sleep an' I do to."

Nate turned to go looking like he'd been smacked and Eliot relented a little, hoping that look meant Nate might too. "Come'ere." Nate turned and hovered a moment beside the bed. Eliot moved his hand just enough to grip Nate's sleeve and tug it toward him. Nate got the idea and leaned over, his lips just barely brushing Eliot's before he turned to leave.

Silence reclaimed the medical closet once Nate was gone. His condition was stable and there was a call button inches from his right hand. They knew he'd want his space, he always did. They wouldn't bother him now.

He half wished they would. With nothing but silence to distract him it was hard not to remember. It was hard not to let the horrors take over and run rampant.

He tried to remember other things instead, like he had during the long hell of his captivity he tried to remember happier times. Times with Nate and the team.

It was only a couple of days since the team found out about him and Nate and the awkwardness seemed mostly over with. At least Parker and Hardison had gotten over the shock and were taking it in stride. Hardison had even gotten them passes into some super exclusive gay club as apology for his initial freak out, though they weren't likely to use them anytime soon. For Nate any bar with alcohol was good enough and Eliot had a fondness for dive bars where there was a permanent cloud of smoke and the management could care less if you broke a pool cue or two over some guy's head as long as you paid for it later.

They were at a bar like that now. It was the entire team minus Sophie who hadn't quite gotten over it yet. To be fair their choice of bar might have been another major factor in her absence. None of them really cared right then. They were playing pool, talking about work knowing there was enough of a criminal element here the other patrons would know to mind their ps and qs (another bonus of this type of joint), and enjoying each other's company for once.

Everything was warm, they were all having a good time. The beer was flowing like water and he was free to "harass" Nate to his heart's content. Nate was subtler, a touch or brush here and there to drive him crazy but that innocent-evil smile of his, the one that makes you wonder if he's planning on taking over the world or ending world hunger (Eliot knew if Nate would only stop drinking he could probably do either without much trouble), the only hint the others got that he was tormenting Eliot.

In their third game they'd started deciding to make it interesting by putting up wagers on every shot. Hardison wagered the use of his geek services, Nate wagered hours without drinking, Parker was trying to decide whether or not to offer up money and Eliot was wagering cooked meals when Nate complained that Eliot already cooked for him. Hardison and Parker, taking the situation in stride, added their suggestions about what Eliot should offer up. Parker made a very lewd suggestion that left Hardison sputtering for only a moment before egging on the argument further with his own.

Nate just kept smiling. Eliot said if they really wanted to get personal Nate should wager keeping his hands to himself. It was a stupid thing to say, Eliot liked Nate touching him, but he was getting annoyed and Nate kept fucking smiling. He just calmly walked over to Eliot put his hand on Eliot's shoulders and slammed his head down against the pool table, bending him over before

Eliot came awake with a start, shooting to a sitting position and was halfway to the door in a blind flee before his mind caught up with what's going on and he managed to get a grip on his own panic. He let out a long breath, feeling terror leave replaced by a heavy feeling like the aftereffects of a mild sedative. Had someone given him a sedative?

Eliot glanced at the clock. It was three in the morning, hours after he'd last woken up. Everyone was probably gone and the sedative had been to keep him sleeping until morning. Normally he would have been angry for the others leaving him so defenseless but the med closet had been modified to a sort of panic room. In the off chance anyone was going to attack the office it would take them hours to break in without the codes.

Still, he couldn't help feel a sting at being left alone like this.

Maybe he wasn't alone. Maybe Nate was sleeping just outside, waiting for him to wake up. Maybe he could get Nate to take him home. He wanted to go home in a way he hadn't since the month after he'd left it as a teenager.

Carefully Eliot slid off the bed, wondering absently why he was there in the first place. He saw the healing cuts on his wrists and thought better than digging too deep into the memory of what had happened. With his body feeling this sore and such clear signs he'd been restrained and no memory of it at all he'd probably blocked it already. Sooner or later he'd start to remember what he needed to but there was no reason to pry at something clearly better off forgotten.

Right now he just needed to get home.

Eliot put his hand on the door handle, the empty med closet and how he'd woken up alone reminding him of that god awful movie Hardison had made the rest of them watch. The one about the zombies. He cocked a dry smile, if that was the case he hoped Hardison was still alive to "enjoy" being a member of the zombie defense league he'd been bragging about.

There was something naggingly familiar about that train of thought but Eliot moved past it, opening the door slowly, instinctively checking the room for danger. The lobby was empty, dark, but Eliot knew the path to Nate's office well enough he didn't need a light. He checked inside, the smell of alcohol heavier than he remembered but Nate wasn't there.

Somewhere behind him there was movement and someone flicked on a light. Eliot turned and felt adrenalin spike through him. What was McCormic doing here? He was standing in the doorway to Eliot's office, a black silhouette against the light from the passageway behind him. "Eliot"

Eliot backed away, shaking his head. "Don't come near me." He threatened, reaching for his boot knife only to find he was barefoot. He needed a weapon. The sedative had been too weak to keep him sleeping through to morning but it was slowing him down a little. He needed an advantage to defeat McCormic and get back into the med closet before McCormic's goons showed up.

McCormic was between him and the closet.

But McCormic wasn't between him and the kitchen.

The kitchen had plenty of knives.

Eliot fled into the kitchen, grabbing onto one of the knives from the knife rack, automatically adjusting his grip so he was holding it the right way to cut an onion.

"Like this Nate." He said, emphasizing how he was gripping the blade before beginning to chop up the onion for the soup he was making. "You hold it like you were and you're gonna lose a finger. Didn't anyone ever teach you anythin' about cooking?"

Nate just sighed resignedly and went back to dicing carrots. Normally Eliot didn't let him help cook at all and Nate didn't try but it had only been five days since Eliot had been rescued and there was still only so much he could do on his own. He'd been wanting a decent home cooked meal for far too long and Nate had agreed to let him into the kitchen so long as he took it easy. The result was a crash course in cooking for Nate.

Eliot winced as Nate scooted a stool out and slid it back in as he sat on it, the noise grating his nerves. At least a little help in the kitchen was what Eliot was saying this was about. Really he just wanted some excuse to bring Nate closer, to try to ease the tension and distance that had been growing since that first day. Eliot hated to admit it but if it meant they might get closer again he didn't mind letting Nate seep into one of the few parts he'd kept mostly to himself.

It seemed to be working. They were talking lightly and joking and Nate had even brushed against him like he used to, lost in the moment too much to remember the new distance. They were relaxed and things were alright for once in too fucking long.

"Think you have enough carrots there or are we having everyone over for dinner now?" Eliot asked, eyeing the mound of carrot bits.

"Guess I got a little…" Nate stopped himself, rubbing his temple. "I was about to make a pun. A bad one." There was mock horror on his voice. "I'm not even that drunk yet."

"I'm startin' to worry 'bout what you'll be like when you are." Eliot threw in. It wasn't exactly witty verbal sparring but he wasn't a poet and Nate was well through the bottle he'd brought over so what did either of them expect really?

The dishwasher beeped the end of it's wash and rinse cycle startling a little jump out of Eliot. He let out a slow breath and finished the chopping, scrapping the chunks into the pan to sear. He reached up to the spice rack, adding what he needed to the nearby pot by feel, the smell making him sigh contently. The chop chop of Nate's vegetable cutting stopped for a moment and Eliot knew Nate was admiring the view. It was nice to know he could still capture his partner's attention so easily.

A small smile crossed his face as he walked over to rinse the cutting board off in the sink. Maybe Parker was right and they should just get over themselves and fuck already. Then again taking advice from Parker was never a wise idea.

Eliot stumbled, trying to keep from falling at the dizzy spell. It was just another reminder that something had happened that was thankfully becoming rarer as time went by. The crash of the cutting board hitting tile flooring sent a chill down his spine.

Cool it. It's just a cutting board. He told himself, berating himself for getting worked up over the things he did. He bent to retrieve it, carefully supporting himself on the counter.

Handstouchpaininsidestop Eliot spun around, breaking free from the arms holding onto him from behind and slamming his fist into McComic's face. Another punch sent the green eyed bastard stumbling backwards, grunting with pain. "Keep your damn hands off" He growled, injuries not preventing him from all but tackling the man and taking him down to the ground. Eliot was inches away from tearing him limb from limb when he saw that the frightened eyes blinking up at him were blue not green. Oh god.

Eliot all but fell off Nate, apologies spilling from his lips at a confused pace. He couldn't believe. He'd seen. He'd thought…

"Eliot we need to talk about what's been going on." Nate said slowly. "That's the third time you've attacked one of us, we're just lucky we made it this long before you actually got a blow in and you're not strong enough to do real damage yet."

"Third time?" Eliot asked, not even able to remember the other two. Silence stretched between them for a moment as Nate gathered himself and nursed a bleeding nose. "Eliot I think you might need help. We can't just keep pretending like there isn't something wrong with you." Nate winced, if he hadn't been touching a smarting nose Eliot might have almost thought Nate had known how stupid that choice of words was.

"You're one to talk Nate." Eliot bristled at the implication there was something wrong with him. "Drinking the way you do you have no right to tell me I need help."

"I'm not attacking you." Nate said raising his voice a little in irritation. "I'm not confusing reality with what's in my head so much I'm attacking the people I care about. You know how to break someone's neck before they even know you're there Eliot. Next time you loose it like that we could all be dead before you snap back to."

Eliot shook his head he didn't want to think about that, or That, or any of this. His head hurt and he was having trouble not remembering. "I'd never hurt you."

"You just did."

The words came out without accusation but Eliot felt it none the less. All he'd had to hold onto during captivity was Nate and now suddenly he was back with Nate and he kept slipping back and hurting someone. He was a wreck and falling apart and Nate still needed him. If he fell apart on Nate that would be even worse cause Nate would blame himself. He was already blaming himself.

"Eliot you need to get some help." Nate said softly, cutting through the thoughts tearing around Eliot's head. "You can't keep doing this to yourself. You need to deal with what's going on."

Eliot wanted to point out the irony of the alcoholic of the pair saying that to him but he couldn't seem to be able to make himself say anything. The silence stretched on and they said nothing as they finished cooking the meal in silence.

They hadn't slept together since Eliot got back, they hadn't even really held each other, but that night was the first time since he'd left the leverage medical closet that Eliot had gone to sleep without Nate close bye keeping his fears at bay.

"Shhh shh, stay with me here. It'll be over soon and it'll feel good if you let it." Eliot was shaking as that fucker held him tight, running his fingers over the fresh welts left only moments ago. He caressed and petted Eliot's hair and battered back and arms, touching every new and old wound leaving a tingle of pain and something Eliot wouldn't even acknowledge cause the situation was already way too fucked up and all he wanted was the world to stop spinning for awhile. They'd given him a slight overdose of some drug and the entire world was shattering into a haze of pain, touches, mocking words, and the hell that had been growing inside his head since the beginning.

"shh shh. It's alright." The hands were different, gentler, less demanding. They were avoiding his injuries, prying his fingers off of something before arms wrapped around him. He shuddered and shook and sobbed because it smelled like Nate and he was so far gone he couldn't make himself care about anything except that it smelled like Nate and for a moment he could pretend this hell was over.

"Eliot it's okay. I'm right here. I'm not going anywhere. Just relax. Breath. I'm sorry. I'm sorry." The words were soothing, sounding like Nate even. It was some horrible trick probably but it was enough to just let this hallucination hold him until it turned nightmarish again. "Eliot it's alright. Just come back to me."

"Eliot it's alright. Eliot." Strong arms were holding him up as he sobbed and shook. Cold tile was beneath him and he could tell the smell hadn't been fake. It was really Nate holding onto him.

"Nate." Eliot said, fingers tightening around the cloth he was holding onto, trying to ground himself and stop himself from the flip out he was having.

"Shhh" He hushed in return, holding Eliot like he thought he was the only thing holding Eliot together. In a way he was. "Just stay still for a little while."

Eliot closed his eyes, breathing and trying to process. He couldn't understand. He didn't know. He was so far out of control his own mind was turning against him. "What's happening to me?"

Nate held him a little tighter. "Listen Eliot. You have to promise not to do that again." Eliot swallowed hard, not understanding. "I know it was bad and I'm sorry but you can't do this. I find you like that and the next thing I know your attacking me with a knife?" Nate seemed to be struggling to find words, pulling away from Eliot a little.

And he has every right. After all he'd done and said and what McCormic and now he was even… Eliot didn't even know for sure what part of that mess Nate was trying to get him to promise not to do again. He curled around himself, his injured ribs screaming that the beaks weren't so far along in healing he could abuse them like this. "I'm sorry." He said, stumbling for words and trying to pull himself back together. He was a mess and he shouldn't be. He wasn't like this. He'd always bounced back from torture easily before. This shouldn't be different.

Nate gave a small sigh of regret and let Eliot pull away. Or did he draw back in revulsion? He couldn't tell.

Maybe… no Nate wouldn't blame him would he? That wasn't his fault was it. Was Nate? Was that rescue a hallucination and did the real rescue come Nate found him during… then maybe Nate thought. "Nate I didn't want him to. I tried not to. It didn't…"

Nate looked confused. "What? What didn't you want?"

Eliot lowered his head, too tired. He didn't want to think didn't want to deal with this. He couldn't say it. He couldn't think it. "What he did."

"Eliot when did we rescue you?"

Eliot looked up to meet Nate's eyes finally. "Yesterday. Maybe the day before if I slept long."

Nate closed his eyes and sighed before speaking again. "We rescued you more than a week ago. When you woke up last night it was after you'd gotten knocked out in a fight."

Eliot swallowed hard memory beginning to spill around and make sense. "The gang."

"You went into their territory wounded, on purpose." Nate said. "We'd just had a big fight." He let out a slow breath before speaking the words Eliot had been avoiding for a lot longer than he could remember. "Eliot, you need to tell me what happened to you."

"Screw you Nate." Eliot shouted storming out of the apartment. He honestly couldn't even remember what the fight had been about. It was this big blank space and if he thought to hard memories he knew weren't from hours ago started to invade his mind. All he knew was he had screwed up, maybe for the last time he'd get and he was walking around a back alley trying to get himself together.

He should run away. Just leave right now and never look back. It was what he was good at doing. It would make everything stop. It always did. Running and fighting. It was the way he dealt and released. What was he hanging on for anyway? They were all probably scared of him by now the way he'd been acting lately. They should be. He was a loose cannon, a danger to himself and others, a ticking bomb waiting to explode. He couldn't stomach the idea of anything hurting them so he'd go before he did it himself.

The thought of leaving hurt more than he cared to admit. It weighed him down, made him walk slower, made him need to rest. He stopped, sitting on a stoop, just waiting for his head to clear. Suddenly he was thinking about Parker and Hardison and how they used to hang out together behind the old store in his hometown.

Except that was Ammie and Alex long before he'd met Parker or Hardison.

He rubbed a hand over his face. His memories were getting more mixed up by the moment like wires were crossed or his mind was preparing for the blue screen of death to appear. Did he really just make a computer metaphor?

He could almost hear Hardison laughing at him.

He stood up. He needed to leave, to go away for awhile, get himself sorted out and fix his head. If he couldn't do that at least the others wouldn't be around when he went batshit crazy.

Nate…

Nate would be better off without him. He was walking away on his own. Maggie had done that and Nate had pulled through. Sophie would be happy at least. Hardison and Parker would get over it soon enough. Hell, Hardison might be able to get Parker's attention long enough to start a relationship now.

And if he managed to recover and pull himself back together and return then maybe his time away would be enough for them to be willing to give him another chance.

If he didn't. If he died. Then at least they wouldn't have to deal with the fallout of whatever happened.

Funny, making plans like that didn't feel like he was going crazy.

He got up. One stop at his apartment to grab the bag he kept packed in case he ever had to disappear and he'd be good as gone. Two hours and the others would be safe from whatever was going on with him. It was his job to protect them. He'd do it even if it meant protecting them from him. Even if it meant never coming home.

He had to stop three times on the way to his apartment. Memories came in vivid flashbacks at the slightest provocation.

When he walked through his door that grim determination to do his job wavered. He'd lived alone, just for himself, with no one but himself or some hot thing to lighten his day. He used to live alone. He didn't understand why the prospect of weeks, even months alone, without the team had him feeling like he'd been shot. When did he become this kind of a sap? Why was he suddenly sad at the thought of dieing alone?

When did he get out into the street? Why didn't he have his bag with him?

The others weren't safe with him around anymore. He was dangerous and he didn't know how long he had until he snapped. He laughed bitterly. They say you can't know you're insane because you have to be sane to recognize insanity. He wondered how long it would take for him to prove them all wrong.

Was he heading back to the offices? He should be leaving. He was supposed to be leaving. They weren't safe around him and he'd probably scared them all away. He could remember the look of disappointment and fear in Sophie, Hardison, and Parker's faces that first time the cops took him out of school. Things had never been the same after that. And Nate's face that last time he came back? Right before he got married.

No. It wasn't making any sense. None of that was right.

He needed a fight. A good knock down drag out no holds fight. It would clear his head. It always did.

There was a gangster up ahead. Eliot didn't need Nate's ability to read people to recognize a person who would better serve the world as dead.

The guy didn't even see him coming.

But Eliot didn't see his buddies coming either.

It quickly escalated. He was fighting two guys. Then he was fighting five guys and his ribs were burning and he was hurting all over and his adrenalin and terror and rage were pumping so hard he could barely see and instinct took over in a way he never imagined it could.

His mind had always cleared when he fought. Fighting was so much simpler than everything else. Eliot had become such a good fighter because he had discovered this early. All his life when the world was spinning too fast and nothing made sense he would fight or train until he could barely move he was so exhausted. Things would make sense for a little while when he did.

He wasn't sure when in the fight, or how many guys he'd taken out before, he realized he wasn't winning this way. He was fighting and more kept coming and if he kept going on like he was he was eventually going to be overwhelmed. He could run away, but he couldn't get away anymore. There were too many now.

Suddenly there were voices down the alley that he recognized. Nate and Hardison with guns and police sirens blaring toward them and suddenly the guys he was fighting decided that maybe they should cut their losses and split.

He could continue what he was doing or he could run away or maybe- A sharp pain and the world went black. The last thing he saw was Nate screaming his name

"Eliot stay with me." Nate said, shaking his shoulder a little. "Eliot stay here."

Eliot blinked looking up at Nate, not even sure where he was anymore.

Eliot blinked looking up at Nate, not even sure where he was anymore. "Nate?"

"Eliot I need you to stay with me for a little while longer okay?" Eliot nodded blinking. His mother leaned over him. "Eliot I nee" "Eliot!"

"I'm here." Was Nate dialing 9-1-1? "No hospitals."

"We should of taken you to the hospital when we got you back. You were drugged when we got you. It's done something to you."

"Isnt this fun. Nilithe poison."

"What did you say Eliot?"

"Mild sedative every eight hours. Nilithe Poison. It's what he drugged me with before he… I've been dosed by it before. Did my homework. No long term side effects." "Before he did what Eliot?" Hands all over. Pain. Stop. Hands holding him tighter. "Eliot what the hell happened to you?" Ammie's eyes went wide when she ran her hands along his chest, seeing the dozens of new scars he'd picked up in the past eight years. "Eliot look at me." He tried to look away. He didn't want to see him. He tried to rip his head away, forcing his eyes shut. "Eliot" Someone was kissing him, holding his tightly. "Eliot. Please just look at me." Nate. Eliot forced his eyes open, locking his eyes on blue ones looking back at him. "Make it stop." Was he the one talking? "Eliot just hold on. What's happening." Inside. Fucking inside. The cell in Nishka's duneon. Aligator clips. Blue bikes. His arm broken in the cornfields waiting for those brothers to come back to finish him. "Eliot what are you seeing?" The shot was so loud but his father's body hitting the floor was louder. The blood splattered onto his face burned. He wasn't sure which of the seven bodies that blood was from. Or maybe it was his own. Two days tied to a chair had given him a new appreciation of this kind of violence. "I don't know where the monkey is." He pleaded. Hands tightening around Nate's shoulders. Nate. Nate was here. Stop loosing it. He carved another slash into the wall. Two months, two weeks, three days. Twenty-one escape attempts. Each time he'd learned something. Each time the agonized screams they'd wrenched from him afterward had bourn testimony he'd escape one day. Blue eyes still watching. "Can't make it stop." He couldn't breath. He choked for air sucking in a lungful of water instead before they pulled him back up coughing and gaging. "Can't make what stop?" He didn't know what they were saying but they showed him the bullet happily enough before spinning the barrel and firing at his head. "can't stop remembering." "Eliot listen to me." "Russian roulette, water torture, cattle prods, that monkey." "Eliot." "Aligator clips. Three months away from the sun. Can't breath."

"El. What did McCormic do to you."

Eliot blinked. The nickname, something only Nate called him and something only rarely even then, broke through for just a moment. "Tell me what McCormic did to you El." Eliot let out a slow breath, images playing across his eyes. He wouldn't deal. He wouldn't face it. He couldn't be slowed down so he wouldn't look back. "Eliot you can't running forever." He could remember the alley fight a few days ago. He couldn't keep fighting like he had, he was being overwhelmed. It was too late to run away. But the others had been there to help.

"They kept me drugged. I couldn't move but I could feel." Eliot said, keeping his eyes locked on Nate's. He was talking but he would remain right here. "Left me alone in the dark, drugged. After a day McCormic and his guys started to torture me. Basic stuff. Beatings mostly. McCormic'd talk about the days I used to work for him. How upset he was I left his employ. I told him he was a sick fuck. That I'd heard about what he'd done. I don't retrieve human merchandise. I don't kidnap kids. He said…" "I don't want you to do any retrieving yet. You aren't properly trained." "He said he had other things in mind for me." Nate opened his mouth but Eliot shook his head. "Three days of torture to wear me down. Nothing too bad, no lasting damage. Fourth day…" Eliot couldn't help the flinch. His head hurt. He couldn't say That. Still couldn't say That had happened.

"Eliot." Nate said softly, drawing Eliot back to the present, back to what they were doing and what was being said. Something in that soft word, the way they were sitting right now, the look in those blue eyes… Nate wasn't going anywhere. Whatever distance there had been was gone. Nate was still with him.

"He raped me." Eliot said finally, feeling like the words burned as they came out. Shame that it could happen to him of all people, confusion at how his own body had betrayed him, uncertainty, and rage against how helpless he'd been exploded from the carefully contained can of worms. "Not just once. I fought it but I…" Was his voice shaking a little. What the hell was wrong with him. "I'm sorry."

Nate closed his eyes, pain crossing his features and he gently pulled Eliot into an embrace, still loose incase Eliot needed to break away. "Don't be. It's not your fault." Eliot went willingly, feeling drained but relived at the same time. They sat together like that for a long time, neither moving, neither speaking but somehow the little pieces started fitting back into place.

It was sometime, long into that long night, neither of them anywhere closer to drifting off to sleep when Nate spoke. "I knew. I cleaned you up when we rescued you so the others wouldn't. I didn't know… I didn't know what to say." Nate ran a hand through Eliot's hair. "You still with me?"

"Haven't left since…" Eliot answered. He was exhausted beyond belief and was developing a massive migraine but his head was clear for the first time in weeks. "I don't… I don't understand what happened"

"You know about injuries." Nate said slowly, testing his words. "When someone as strong as you gets hurt you can ignore it and stay functioning. You've fought with broken ribs before. It takes a long time to heal and might not heal right but you can survive without medical attention. You've learned how to compensate."

Eliot didn't press Nate to get to his point. Letting Nate talk was something you learned to do. It was the only way you could get even close to understanding how his head was working.

"What would happen if you got shot and it wasn't a through and through and you ignored it?"

Eliot gave Nate a look of confusion but answered easily enough. "I'd be able to manage at first but it'd probably get infected and that's the surest way in hell to get blood poisoning."

Nate was smiling, a little bitterly, but in that infuriating way he gets when he's been clever. "You've been shot a lot but this time it wasn't a through and through. You ignored the bullet a little too long and the infection kept getting worse."

It took a minute to get the analogy, and a bit longer to admit it made about as much sense as anything else in his life did.

"Ya sayin' we got it out and I'm better now?" Eliot asked.

"I'm saying you're no longer in cardiac arrest." Nate said pointedly continuing with the analogy because honestly? They both were more used to dealing with physical injuries then physiological ones. "You've still been shot. You could still use some help, but who among us couldn't? We'll see what happens next. Play this by ear."

Eliot nodded, unable to make himself object. He'd taken pride to being the sane one of the team but he could live without that. "Mind if I go to sleep here?" He asked, exhaustion starting to get the better of him.

Nate moved a little easing himself back. It occurred to Eliot the kitchen floor of the office wasn't the most comfortable place for either of them but he didn't feel up to moving and Nate wasn't complaining.

Nate settled and settled Eliot against him, just holding him tight to keep him safe while he slept. "Sleep El. We'll figure this out tomorrow. We'll work through this and things'll be alright." Eliot closed his eyes, letting himself relax for what felt like the first time in years, Nate's voice a comforting constant by his ear whispering as sleep took him.

It would be the last night in a long time that he slept without nightmares but in the morning when Eliot woke up in that medical bed, strong arms still holding him close he knew it didn't matter they were still in the office.

He had done his real job.

He had come home.

End Note: The prompt was along the lines of "A Nate/Eliot aftermath story where Eliot had been captured, tortured, and raped and his method of survival by not even acknowledging whats been done to him is biting him in the ass."