He had no idea how long he'd been here. Time was non-existent now. An hour? A day? Longer? He didn't understand he was here. He had things to do. Important life and death things. He knew he had to leave, to take care of his responsibilities. There were just two problems with that. He couldn't really seem to move, and he could not for the life of him remember what it was he had to do. He'd have to ask the team; they'd let him know what he'd forgotten. Parker and Hardison would tease him about it, Sophie would worry about the fact he forgot and Nate – well Nate would just be Nate. But they could tell him what he'd forgotten. All he had to do was find them. Where were they?

Oh God! His team. His friends – his family. It wasn't true. It wasn't real. He tried to move, to wake up from what had to be another nightmare, but couldn't. The flash of the explosion played over again in his mind. Then he felt the hands on him, holding him. The voices, trying to coax him forward. The voices were from his team. But they couldn't be. There was no team anymore. But there were voices, faces flashing around him. Ghosts. They were his victims. They knew he was coming, and they were waiting for him. There was justice waiting for him, and it was nothing he didn't have coming, in spades. He was ready to face it. He deserved it all. And he didn't have the desire to fight it any longer. It was easier to surrender. For the first, and what he knew would be the last, time he was ready to admit the bad guys won. The bastards had beaten him and he needed to accept that. As he allowed himself to drift off for the last time, he swore he heard a sad and despondent Parker speaking to him. He had no idea what she was saying, and even though he knew it was another hallucination, it served a purpose. The never say die rebel that had defined his life was awakened. Surrender was not a word in his vocabulary. There was retribution to be had – scales to be balanced. He could accept the punishment and castigations coming to him, but not before he had finished his work. There were two men responsible for the death of his friends, and he was going to make sure the other one paid as well.

Once again they thought he was coming back, and once again he pulled away. Each time he left it seemed a little further, a little more distant. Whatever resolve he initially had was weakening. They became increasingly concerned that the next step back would be his last; the one that took him over that precipice he was hanging over.

They talked, argued quietly amongst themselves, over how to reach him. Medical advice was offering slim hopes with no promises at all. Drug therapy, electroshock, even pulling the plug. None of the options were on the table as far as the team was concerned. There was no patience for waiting it out, and no desire to subject Eliot to experiments. Not now was the decision of half the team, not ever was the vote of the others.

Somehow, there had to be another way. Another option. Find the reason he fought them, why he wouldn't come back. Find the reason he was hanging on, and use that to bring him forward, out of his limbo. Parker couldn't understand why he wouldn't come back to his family. Hardison speculated that he was angry at them for getting him hurt- again. Sophie feared he'd simply had enough pain and suffering and was too tired to fight anymore. Nate, as always, put all of their unique perspectives together to come up with the answer. This is what made the team work – the whole once again was even better than the sum of its extremely gifted parts.

They had all been close to the answer, all possessing a part of it. Parker was right – he wouldn't leave them. But he thought they were gone. His few words had been telling them he believed they were dead. Which he why Hardison had the right idea, but backwards. He wasn't mad at them for getting him hurt, he was mad at himself for getting them killed. For failing to rescue them. More than mad – he was responsible, and would pay the price for that. When Nate closed his eyes he could see Eliot running straight into the explosion, knowing he couldn't save them, refusing to let that stop him.

And that was where Sophie was right. Eliot was too tired, too hurt to deal with it. To deal with what he would see as his failure. They'd heard him back on the hard concrete when this all started. He'd killed them. All that remained for Eliot was grief and guilt. And it had become more than he could cope with. So he wasn't going to.

Nate moved his chair as close to the bed as he could, and for the first time he started to speak to him, not at him. He kept his voice firm, fighting the emotion that tried to break through. He had to smother the anxious feeling and fear. He reached out, forcing his hands to stop trembling. There could be no sense of hesitation or uncertainty. He placed one hand over Eliot's heart, the other on his head. Instinctively the hitter tried to pull away but Nate kept his hands in place. Not grabbing, not forcing, but a gentle steady pressure to send the message that he wasn't going anywhere, and neither was Eliot.

"Listen to me. Focus on just my voice, my hands. They're real Eliot. Not hallucinations, not wishful thinking, not ghosts. Real. I'm here. We all are. Nobody died Sophie is here. Hardison is here. Parker is here. You didn't lose anyone. You warned us in time. You saved us Eliot. You always do. Now we need you do come back to us. Nobody died, and we want to keep it that way. Whatever is wrong, we can fix it. Together. We need you back to keep us together. We aren't a team without you Eliot. Do you get that? Do you get that we NEED you back?"

Slowly, the others add their hands to Nate's, sharing the reality of their existence. Gently letting Eliot feel their presence.

They were reaching for him again. This couldn't go on. He had to find a way to stop them, to hold them off. At least for now. He needed time to – he couldn't remember any more why he needed time, what needed to be done, but there was something – wasn't there?

This time it felt different. They weren't pulling at him, weren't forcing him. They were softer. Quieter? Was this goodbye? They were leaving him. They'd given up. Somehow, this felt worse. Even if they stayed only to berate him, to condemn him, at least they were here. Still part of his world. But now he really would be alone. That never would have bothered him in the past. He worked alone, lived alone. Liked alone. Solitude was his friend. The original lone wolf. But now – now he was stunned to realize that he needed them. He had to let them know he needed them – wanted them to stay. He tried to speak, and couldn't. Couldn't let them hear what was in his heart. And he knew he had to let them go. He had no right to hold on. All he could do was listen to their final words to him. They were asking him to listen, and he owed them at least that. So, for the first time since the blast blew apart his world, he stopped thinking, and started listening.

No – their words were lies. What he wanted to hear. He'd seen them die. Seen everything shatter. Yet here was Nate – Nate's voice – saying they were there, alive, waiting for him to wake up. No. The building blew up – he saw it. It was too late. Wasn't it? Could they have gotten out? How?

He had failed in warning them. They hadn't acknowledged him. Could any of this be real? He focused on the hands he felt. They were warm. They were solid. They were real. This wasn't some ethereal spirit. These weren't the angels he vaguely remembered from long ago Sunday school. These were flesh and bone hands. Real voices. Reaching for him, steering him forward. Leading him to life, not death.

Was it part of the delusion? One final evil mind game. There was only one way to find out. He was afraid to try it. He had faced gun fire, knives, torture, and more with no second thoughts, but the idea of opening his eyes right now terrified him. If this one last shred of hope was crushed, he knew he was done. And if done, there would be no chance for justice for his friends. But, if it was real, then the blood debt did not need to be paid. Oh, he would still need to neutralize the threat, but there were ways of doing that. Especially with his team by his side to help. They'd lay the ground work, he'd finish the job. Keeping them clean, keeping them safe. That was what he did.

It could all work out if he could just bring himself to take the chance. To trust in what he wanted so badly. More than life itself. And when it came down to it, he knew he had no choice. He had to try, and to take that final risk. Had to know. No more stalling.

Slowly, almost glacially so, he opened his eyes. He was in a hospital. That much of his nightmare had been right. There were wires and tubes over and around him. He could see a woman briskly walking toward him. Dark hair, tall, striking figure. Sophie! She was here, it was real and everything was going to be alright. Then she spoke.

"Welcome back Mr. Stevens. You've had us all pretty worried. My name is Dr. Malloy. Can you understand me? Mr. Stevens? Eliot? Open your eyes. Come on. I know you're in there. Stay with us here. Eliot?" She gently tapped at his face, held his hand. There was no response. He closed his eyes and faded back into the darkness.

He should have known better. In his heart, he did. He'd seen the explosion, seen and heard the ghosts haunting him since. Why did let himself believe, even for a moment? That moment, that fleeting feeling of hope left him now more lost than he had been before.

People like him didn't get miracles in their lives. He was alone, as he was always meant to be. He had to focus on his mission, his only remaining purpose. He didn't know if it was enough to keep him going, but he was going to fight to find out.

"He was awake for just a moment – the monitor reflected an slight increase in the brain activity. An effort to return to consciousness. Then he slipped back." Dr. Malloy looked at the foursome in front of her and could feel the disappointment and grief radiating from them. They had stepped away for just a few minutes, to meet with Eliot's primary physician. Reviewing options. That was the moment he had elected to come back, and no one was there waiting for him. Four days of nothing, and he wakes up the moment they leave.

"Did he say anything? Did he seem to know where he was?" Nate felt tired and beaten. He was trying desperately to get some send of hope back, not just for the others, but for himself as well. Trying to stir the embers of a rapidly fading flame.

"I'm sorry – there was no indication of conscious activity. As I said, there was a small increase of activity on the monitor, but really, this was more a reflex – an autonomic response. You mustn't torture yourselves over this. I doubt very much he would have been aware of your presence if you had been here."

"He would have noticed." Parker spoke softly, but with certainty. "He would have known. Now he thinks we've abandoned him – given up. How could we do that to him Hardison? Why didn't one of us stay?" She turned quietly, leaning into him for support, and he reached his arms around her to offer what he could.

"He'll be back girl. Eliot doesn't know how to quit."

Nate nodded his agreement, hoping his face showed more conviction than his heart felt. Sophie slipped her hand into his, as she too hoped the mass delusion could somehow become reality.

The vigil continued. Every so often one of them believes they see signs of his return, a flicker of the eyelid, a twitch of the hand, even a hint of a smile on his face. The moment passes, unconfirmed by the others, or more importantly, by the man himself. He was never left alone, even for an instant. Day turns to night and back to day over and over again. No one leaves till someone else arrives. No one sleeps in the chair pulled right next to the bed. No one reads or looks at their phones. They keep their eyes locked on him. Hold his hand, stroke his forehead, brush back the odd hair blown by the gentle breeze from the air vents. Watching for any sign.

When he wasn't with Eliot, Nate searched for the instigator of the tragedy. Tracking any leads, hints, notions, suggestions or hunches. Anything. They'd used every contact, every favour they had owed to them, all to no good. The players in their world were all too insignificant to seek vengeance on this scale, or buried too deep to have the resources to try. Nate reached out to contacts from Eliot's past. They didn't know many, but a few sources were available to them. Most had heard what happened to Eliot – his world worked that way – and had already started looking, with the same lack of success.

Nate slept very little anymore. When he closed his eyes he saw Eliot running, charging in to save them, unaware he had already succeeded. He had succeeded. They had failed. And they were still failing him. He knew Eliot's perception of the world was the exact opposite, and he was sure that perception was what kept him from waking.

He didn't feel tired anymore. He had passed that. Exhausted, drained, depleted, shattered, consumed. Those words were closer, but still not enough. He needed a new word. Something clever and witty. Not his thing. Parker could come up with something, or Hardison would. Or Sophie, or Nate. They'd come up with something for him. He'd ask them when he saw them. And that's when it hit him again – he wasn't going to see them. And his world crashed - again. The cycle continued. Hope, despair, fatigue, surrender. Over and over. His own personal circle of hell, on an endless loop. Taking different forms, feeding different memories, but always ending badly, as he tried to cede to the grief. He'd given up on all of it. There would be no justice, at least not by his hands. He had to hope that fate, or karma, or any number of other concepts he had never believed in, would settle the debt. He was trapped in a revolving door of misery. Couldn't get out on either side – and he no longer had the strength to try. He waited until the energy simply failed.

There were moments when he was sure he could see what was waiting, just beyond his reach. They were still calling for him to join them, and he could see and hear others in the background. The other ghosts from his past. Still waiting, still planning to send him to the deepest circle of hell. He couldn't imagine what would be worse that his present repetitive world of hope and despair. Actually, he could imagine it all too well. He'd created it after all. Years of things he'd never share, now all coming back to balance the scales.

There they were again. Glimpses. Fleeting moments when the hope came back. He was tired of it all. Tired of fighting, of denying them, of trying to move on. It was time to stop. What was coming would be worse, he knew that. But he might have a few final moments to be with them again, and that was worth whatever cost followed. So, as the memory circled again, this time he reached out and allowed the team to pull him to them.

Sophie gasped when Eliot's cold hand squeezed back. She'd been stroking his wrist, speaking softly as she had for days. Then, with no warning, no hint of awareness, suddenly he was clutching her fingers, holding on as if his very life depended on maintaining the connection. And she mirrored the action, gripping his hand, begging him to come back. With her free had she stabbed at the call button, then reached up to activate her comm.

"He's coming back – he's waking up!"

It took only moments for the team to be assembled in his room. Nate had been walking – stretching his legs after hours in the chair. Parker and Hardison were a block away trying to find coffee that would meet Sophie's standards. Now they stood, huddled around the bed watching the hands that hadn't lessened their grips. Eliot squeezed again, getting a bit stronger each time. Sophie knew her hand would be sore later, and couldn't have been happier about it. Then a soft groan came from the bed. A small sound that echoed through the room.

"Eliot? It's Sophie. Come on Eliot – time to wake up. We really want you to wake up now."

"Come on man – Let's see that steely blue glare again. Need my dose of Dammit Hardison."

Once again, he found himself looking at the stark white of institutional walls, surrounded by harsh lights, beeping monitors and the overwhelming odor of disinfectants. He'd always know hospitals were hell; he'd just never figured it to be so literal. As he started to close his eyes again, hoping to get them to focus, the voices became louder and clearer.

"No Eliot, stay with us. You've got to stay with us this time." Eliot looked up to see a blurry version of Nate's face staring back at him. Taking Eliot's other hand, he leaned in close enough to fill his field of vision. "Eliot. Listen to me. We're alive, all of us. You did it. You warned us in time. You did your job. Now it's time to come home. Come on Eliot – join us."

Slowly he allowed his eyes to drift from one face to the next. They all looked real enough. Not that he knew what a ghost would look like, but somehow he figured it wouldn't be this solid, this tangible. This anxious. They looked alive.

"You're real?" he croaked, his voice raw after 9 days of silence. It was the most beautiful sound they had ever heard.

"Absolutely" Sophie sighed..

"Damn straight." Parker could hardly hold herself back from jumping on him, but somehow held back, at least for now.

He closed his eyes again, but this time the smile that came to his face kept them from panicking. He could see the other ghosts of his past dropping away, fading in the distance. He knew they'd be waiting for him, that their time would come, but not today. And when it happened, there would be 4 faces missing from the crowd, and that made the anticipation a lot less terrifying.

He opened his eyes once again to take in the relieved expressions. He had questions, and concerns, and any number of things that would need to be discussed. But not now. For now, he just wanted to take it in – revel in the fact he got the miracle he didn't deserve.

(That's all for now, maybe one day I'll let them seek revenge)