He walked slowly towards the back door of the restaurant. He knew looking back was a bad idea, but that had never stopped him in the past. He paused, hand on the knob, for one final look around. The kitchen was dark for the night, having been cleaned after the prep of his last meal with his friends. His friends – that was an association he never thought he would have, and now could not afford to keep. He could hear them, talking in the office. They were still catching up on news with Nate and Sophie - she would always be Sophie to him – and planning what to do with the next couple of days off. He knew those plans would change tomorrow, but for tonight, let them have their illusions. He tossed an envelope on the counter and walked out the door for the last time.

Nate thought he heard the door, but that made no sense. Eliot said he would join them in a few minutes – no mention of leaving. Maybe he was just putting out the garbage. After a few moments of silence down the hall he got up to check it out. The others looked up, but he waved at them to carry on – "just going to see what is taking Eliot so long". He was only mildly surprised to see the area dark, knowing it had been too quiet. Knowing Eliot had been too quiet this evening. Clearly something on his mind, and they all knew when Eliot got quiet, it was best not to push. Safest. He started to turn, to head back, when he saw the envelope. A plain brown envelope, with Eliot's writing – scrawl – on the front, addressing it to Nate, with note. Without even reading it, Nate knew things were not going to be the same anymore.

xxxxxxxxxxxx

"Hardison, start tracking Eliot – NOW!"

"I'm sorry – what?"

"Do it – something is wrong and I don't think we have a lot of time to figure it out."

Sophie came over to the table. "Nate, what's going on – what's in the envelope?"

"He left it for us."

"Left it – what the hell are you talking about?"

"Eliot is gone. Keys on the desk, apron on the hook and envelope on the counter. He's gone."

Nate put the envelope in the centre of the table where they all could see the note – Goodbye- Don't look for me.

They all stared for a minute, then Hardison jumped over to the computer array. "I've got trackers in his phone, in his shoes, in his stuff – all left over from past jobs. Something has got to show up" his voice trailed off, and the silence of the moment was punctuated only the by the tapping of keys, and the occasion curse. "Nothing moving – no phone, no tracker – nothing."

"Try street cameras – he's only been gone 10 minutes"

"Nate, Eliot can disappear into the netherworld in under 2 minutes. You really think we can find him, at night, with no tracker, if he doesn't want us to?"

"We find a way. There has to be something."

Parker sat perfectly still, only her eyes darting back and forth following the exchange. This didn't compute with her. Eliot wouldn't leave without saying goodbye. Hell – Eliot wouldn't leave. They were family. He was her big brother, and family didn't just walk out on each other without a hell of a reason.

"Why now – why did he go now" she asked quietly.

Nate stared at her – "What? – No, you're right. Hardison, find his emails, any communication you can find for the last couple of days."

Hardison was typing as Nate spoke. "This will take a minute, he deleted everything – or at least he thinks he did." Silence filled the room as Hardison's fingers flew over the keys. "Damn, I should NOT have been teaching him how to use the tech. Hang on – give me a minute to rebuild this stuff. OK, getting some images..." He stopped speaking, staring at the display screens on the wall. Pixilated photos were reforming – Nate, Sophie, Hardison and Parker. Over a dozen pictures, some with them in groups, some on their own. They were taken recently, all within the last few days – and all with a sniper's crosshatch imposed on top. The team looked at each other, without speaking. They didn't have to. They knew why their friend had disappeared, and they knew there was likely nothing they could do about it.

xxxxxxxxxxxx

It had been three hours, and other than mumbling and swearing from Hardison as he kept pounding the keyboard, the room was still. There had been a heated discussion about going out to the streets to look, but Nate vetoed it. The odds of finding Eliot were all but negligible, and since they might be targets as well, the exposure wasn't worth it. Nate didn't really believe they were in danger. Eliot would still be here if that had been the case. His departure was what was keeping them safe. But, if Hardison got a lead, they needed to be ready to go. That hadn't stopped Parker from scaling to some neighbouring roof tops with the infrared binoculars, but she couldn't determine if any of the shapes she saw moving belonged to her friend. Not that she expected to find him. Eliot was a ghost when he wanted to be. She shuddered at her subconscious choice of phrase. "Bad Parker – no ghosts!" she berated herself. She kept looking, aching from the tension of watching for movement that felt familiar, desperately hoping someone would turn around and she would see that look that only Eliot could give her, telling her to get her ass of the roof.

Nate had been holding the envelope in his hand the whole time. He didn't want anyone looking inside. He was pretty sure what would be in there, but looking at it, seeing it, was going to make everything too real. He didn't think he was ready for that, and he knew the team wasn't. Sophie wasn't being fooled. "It's his will – isn't it? His legal papers and final instructions? Maybe notes for each of us? Eliot would have that all prepared. Not wanting to cause any trouble, any problems." Nate just looked up at her – not speaking, not acknowledging her willingness to grasp of the reality of the situation, because that would mean he too would have to accept it.

Xxxxxxxxxxxx

Eliot spent the night wandering past some of his favourite spots in town. Some might call it walking off his nerves, but really it was more sorting out his decision. He went through dozens of scenarios trying to find a way out. None of them ended well, so as Nate would say, it was back to Plan A. No – that wasn't right. Nate's plans would not end this way. He finally walked toward the designated meeting zone. It was coming up on sunrise, which seemed like as good a time as any to die.

None of this was how he had expected things to play out. He had never deluded himself that he would waste away in a nursing home to the ripe old age of 89. He figured making it past 29 had been a major accomplishment. But if anyone had told the Eliot Spencer of five years ago that he would walk into his own execution to protect his friends, he would have assumed they were insane. That Eliot didn't have friends or even acquaintances. He barely had colleagues. Working alone was his thing. Being alone was his thing. You didn't live his life, do what he had done, and expect to have anyone accept you into their world. As a rule, people don't invite assassins to dinner. And yet here he was, walking unarmed into what he was certain would be at the very least, a kill box; trapped with no way out. On the other hand, it had occurred to him that maybe he wouldn't die today. He may find himself handed over to any one of at least 20 people who would like to watch him die slowly and painfully. Payback truly is a bitch.

The last five years had changed things. He wouldn't go so far as to say it restored his humanity. That ship had sailed. But, he had started to care about things again. About his team, about the clients, and, what he found most surprising, about right and wrong. He had lost that ability years earlier when he pulled the trigger on the first "wet-work". In the beginning he could justify the actions. Bad things are supposed to happen to bad people, and it was his job to make that work. But gradually, bad things were happening to not so bad people, and then to innocent people. And justification was becoming less and less necessary, as he put his emotions, his conscience, away. Not so much put them away as buried so deep he figured nothing could ever resurrect them. Do the Job was the philosophy now. There were no consequences – only action, adventure and very large payouts. He long ago accepted he was going to Hell, so why not enjoy the ride.

Then Nate showed up. It started as just another job, $300,000 with no strings. Somehow, it morphed. It was slow at first, still not trusting anyone, and not caring about the outcome other than as a goal – another notch on the belt or money in the bank. But slowly the job, the people, broke through his armour and got under his skin. Parker – 20 pounds of crazy in a 5 pound bag. More damaged than anyone he knew, other than himself, but in her own very unique way, sweet and vulnerable. It just took a while to find that side of her. Hardison; who could have imagined that the annoyingly cheerful, wordy, geeky nerd that he initially wanted to strangle would end up as his best friend – and greatest source of frustration. Smartest dude he knew. Sophie – beautiful, sophisticated, con-artist and something unheard for the Eliot of the last 20 years, a woman who he respected and cared deeply about in a purely platonic fashion. And Nate – they had somehow helped to pull each other up from their lowest points. Sophie had once described them as a couple of old-fashioned gunslingers who were lucky enough to end up on the same side of the fight. They were weird kindred spirits who understood each other at the most basic level. He knew Nate would have this figured out as soon as he saw the envelope. He just hoped he hadn't left them enough time to try to do something about this.

Eliot had the one thing he never expected to have – a family. And he was going to do the only thing he could to protect them. He had finally recognized that it wasn't having something you were willing to kill for that gave you strength. It was having people you were willing to die for.

He walked down the hill to the open field below. Scanning the perimeter the breaking morning sun allowed him to see the silhouettes of the gunmen. A quick count showed 7 – more than enough to qualify as a firing squad. He grinned to himself, wondering if he would get a blindfold.

As he approached the bottom he addressed his faceless audience. "I know you guys can hear me. Just remember the deal. Anything happens to anyone on my team – I mean anything – paper-cut, hangnail, you name it – and you will be held accountable. I have people who will make sure of it. And if all else fails, I will haunt your ass to Hell and back."

A disembodied voice answered – "Understood. Goodbye Commander."

As Eliot closed his eyes he thought he could hear a gentle whooshing. He recognized the noise as military helicopter blades – they had a very distinct sound. Dammit Hardison, he thought as he felt the first two bullets tear into him. Then nothing.

xxxxxxxxxxxx

The hillside flooded with lights just as the man in the field collapsed to the ground. Debris was scattered as helicopters dropped low, with gunfire spraying the hillsides. Militia clothed shadows rappelled down and did a clean and sweep in seconds, as Nate and the team watched from the sidelines, unable to yet get close enough to see the outcome. In less than a minute all was still. Even the helicopters seemed respectfully quiet, as the stealth mode whisper of the blades became the only sound. On a hand signal from the militia, Eliot's friends ran forward, only to slam to a stop a few feet away from him. He was on his back, legs bent underneath with his right arm over his chest, the left splayed above his head. His lips were moving ever so slightly, as last breaths gasped out. There was more blood than Nate could remember ever seeing. Sophie moaned and dropped to her knees. Parker ran forward, grabbed him and started to rock back and forth. Nate and Hardison stood and stared, unable to process what they were seeing. Watching the light fade from his eyes.

Xxxxxxxxxxxx

Nate was sick of the view out of the hospital room window. 6 days of staring at parking lot trees, in order to not have to stare at life support machines. He had gone through this once before, with Sam, and swore he would never again sit around a hospital just waiting for someone he loved to die. Yet here he was, watching the lifeless form that had been Eliot Spencer lie wired up in a sterile room, playing the last few days over and over again in his mind.

xxxxxxxxxxx

The medics had worked fast at the scene. They pulled Eliot free from Parker's grasp and had him wrapped in pressure bandages and on one of the helicopters so quickly the team barely registered he was gone. They were hustled into another chopper and taken to the same military base, and questioned, relentlessly. They were given updates every 10 minutes on what was happening with Eliot, but the price for their answers was more questions. How did the team know about the plot, how did they find Eliot, and who did they think was behind this? Nate could hear Parker yelling her answers in incoherent jumbles. He could hear Hardison yelling in language his Nana would not have been happy to hear. He couldn't hear Sophie, which at some level made him very concerned for her interrogator. Nate made a deal, the only realistic option anyway. Let the others wait together and he would answer all of the questions.

xxxxxxxxxxxx

"Got him!" Hardison shouting – jolting the others to action. They had been waiting, Parker pacing, Sophie tapping nervously and Nate trying to find an answer, an option – a plan. "I found a coded email that he got after the photos. Not so much an email as a sequence of numbers really, that I had to …

"Hardison – where is ELIOT?" The decoded email appeared on the screen.

Nate picked up the phone and called a number Eliot had given him two years ago. Using it was a one-time deal, and there would likely be consequences down the line. That didn't matter now. The cost of not using it was going to be too high.

"This better be good Spencer". Nate had an idea who the voice was, but it didn't really matter at this time.

"Eliot Spencer is going to be executed at 5:47 this morning at these co-ordinates. I think you can do something about it."

"Ford?"

"Yup"

"Car will pick you up in 7 minutes". He hung up.

xxxxxxxxxxxx

"I keep telling you that is all I know. You guys have the bodies from the hill – you must know more than we do. I don't give a damn about the details right now – I just want to be with my friend." The interrogator looked to a man in a dark suit standing silently in the corner. 30 seconds passed, and Nate turned his head to glare. Another 30 seconds and the man nodded. Nate was taken to join his team.

Sophie and Hardison hurried over to him as he came into the waiting area. Parker remained frozen in her chair.

Sophie spoke quietly. "He's still in surgery. Doctor said he lost about 7 pints of blood before they got him here." Nate went pale – 5 pints would kill a man, but then this was Eliot they were talking about. "They've given him about 9 more transfusions just trying to stabilize him. Nate, one of the bullets hit his heart." Nate could feel his knees going out from under him. Hardison grabbed his arm and helped him to the chair.

Over the next 3 days things seemed start looking up a little. Nate was sure that at one point Eliot opened his eyes, and reacted to hearing his name before drifting out again. He was restless in his unconsciousness, like he was fighting internal demons. All things considered, it did not seem unreasonable. On the fourth day the seizures started. At first it was mild trembling, then stronger shakes. Finally sudden violent seizures that tore the IV out of his arm, ripped sutures and pulled the monitoring devices from his body. They stopped faster than they had started, but when the monitors were reactivated, the story of the damage was clear. Brain activity had dropped to a barely perceptible level - almost non-existent. For all intent, Eliot was dead. His body just hadn't caught up yet.

xxxxxxxxxxx

The man in the suit walked over to Nate. "I need to talk to you". Nate hadn't seen him in a few days, and had only heard the voice briefly, but recognized it from the phone call six days earlier. He sighed, but didn't move. He had a million questions, but no energy or will to deal with the answers. He finally turned his head from the view of the parking lot.

"We haven't formally met – I assume you're Vance."

"Valid assumption. I wanted to thank you for the call on Spencer."

"Yeah" Nate replied, glancing over at the bed. "That was a lot of help."

Nate stood up and tipped his head to indicate they should step outside the room. The team was stretched out on chairs, or in Parker's case, huddled in the corner on the floor. None of them had reacted to the intrusion, but he knew they were listening. The conversation might be better in private.

"Who did this to this to him – Moreau?"

"No. He's still – shall we call it incommunicado?"

"One of our targets?"

"No. Look, Ford – this is all on Spencer. A job he did, unofficially, a long time before all of this. You guys are not a fault. They just used you as incentive. This was old news – ancient history. Proof that some people can hold a grudge for a long time – as long as it is needed."

"You have no idea."

"Back away from this Ford. You guys aren't in the vengeance business. That's my game."

"We take care of our own. We owe him."

"So do I. And he was my enforcer long before he was your Hitter. Trust me; this is being taken care of. Watch the news tomorrow." He left without saying more.

Nate turned back to see the team watching him. He walked over and took Sophie's hand. He'd never seen her look so tired. "It's over – or it will be soon". Hardison looked away for a moment, then turned back. "Will the bastard be dead? Cause that is the only way this ends right."

Sophie spoke softly – "Don't go there Hardison. Eliot would not want you to become-"

"Don't tell me what he would want – This is about what I want. I want to go back and find his location two minutes faster so we ain't sitting here right now. I want him to have come to us with this when it started to work something out as a team damn it. He had no right going off on his own. Who the hell does he think he is – Superman? Well that didn't work out did it?" Parker reached out and grabbed at his waving arms forcing him to look at her and her alone. "Stop it – it isn't you fault. It isn't his fault. He didn't want to be found. He didn't want us hurt. He was protecting us." She tilted her head, trying to mimic Eliot's move. "That's what he does. Now he'll be our guardian angel."

A weak voice came from the far side of the room "only Parker is crazy enough to call me an angel". The team looked at each other, almost afraid to turn around. Slowly, led by Nate they slid there glances to the bed. His eyes half open, Eliot slowly licked his lips to be able to speak again and looked at Hardison. "Damn straight I'm Superman".