From Nowhere To Somewhere Part I

[yansadracan]

Title: From Nowhere to Somewhere
Author: YanzaDracan
Disclaimer With the exception of the work noted as being originally mine, all works of fiction and characters thereof belong to their original creators/studios/producers/publishers. No money is being earned, and they are used without permission. In the case of RPS, the people being used as characters belong to themselves. I do not know them. Everything I've written is complete fiction. Any goofs, gaffs, bending of facts, or mistakes are mine.
Characters/Pairings: Eliot/Quinn; Parker; Hardison; Nate; Sophie; General Flores; Damien Moreau
Rating: R; Mostly for language, torture
Genre: Slash, het,
Warnings/spoilers: set after The Last Dam Job
Word Count: 5,609/11,100
Summary: Moreau escapes his San Lorenzo prison and sets out to extract revenge. He only finds Eliot, who lets himself be taken to protect the team from Moreau’s revenge.

Dark eyes watched the pony-tailed guard as he made his rounds. The prison grapevine said the warden had hired the man out of familial obligation. Apparently holding down a job was not the young man's strong suit, but the grapevine also said if you wanted something and had the price he was the one to see. It had taken time, but he had finally accumulated what he deemed would be enough to buy the young guard's services.

%%%%%

He leaned back in his chair watching Hardison and Parker clean up the dishes from their impromptu cookout. Parker had started it with wanting burnt hot dogs wherein new mother, Sophie had taken over and like Sherman marching across Georgia had organized them from a business meeting about several situations they were watching to a family evening. Eliot had been about to leave not wanting to be odd man out when he'd been pleasantly surprised to see his lover come through the door with the supplies he'd need for dinner.

"Job finished." He asked when they'd come up for air.

"No, but I'm not needed for a few days, so I decided to come see my favorite retrieval specialist." The smooth tenor voice snarked.

"Hmmm. Glad you did." He took the grocery bags from the younger man. "I hate shoppin'" He smirked giving Quinn a sassy wink.

"If I can't drag you away, you really need to stop that." He grabbed Eliot and pulled him in tight for another breath stealing kiss.

"Hold that thought, darlin' 'cause I think your stomach just overruled everything else." Eliot teased when the other man's stomach growled loudly.

"Hate airplane food." Quinn complained.

Now here he sat with a life he never thought he'd have. The warm weight of a lover in his arms, a home where only the locations sometimes changed, but not the people, and the whole team moving toward retirement.

At 43, he was beginning to feel homesick for the Hill Country of Texas where his ranch waited for that retirement-a retirement he never thought he'd live to see. His foreman snidely called it the Flying S Retirement home for burned out assets.

His smile was indulgent as he watched Parker still leading Hardison around by his 'man bits'. Their relationship had progressed to them actually having sex and living together, but Hardison still hadn't convinced the thief to marry him.

Movement in his peripheral vision had him watching Nate help Sophie out of her chair while holding their daughter. The grifter had presented Nate with a brown haired, blue-eyed daughter the month before, and was just now getting back to her pre-pregnancy figure. Eliot was looking for a job that would take him away for a few weeks or months. Baring that he'd get rid of any electronics Hardison could trace and go to Texas.

It wasn't that he didn't want to be here, it's that he couldn't. Concerned that it was something in his genetic makeup that had caused Sam's cancer, Nate had a vasectomy after his son died. Next thing Eliot knew he was in the middle of their marriage as Sophie convinced Nate that Eliot was the perfect sperm donor, since the two men had similar coloring, and the next thing Eliot knew he was making a donation, and the grifter was hugging him tightly as she whispered in his ear she was pregnant.

Not wanting to deal with Nate's Jesuit guilt over Eliot never being more than an honorary uncle, the retrieval specialist planned to be gone until Rowena Jamie Ford was at least 3 months old, giving Nate plenty of time to bond and forget that Eliot was ever a part of the child's creation.

Maybe instead of a job, he'd tell Quinn about the ranch and they could spend a couple months relaxing…That thought gave him pause. He'd never in the ten years he'd owned the ranch told anyone about it, but now he wanted to share it with Quinn?

The younger man was just hitting the top of his game, and people in their profession never talked about retirement because they rarely got to retire. They usually ended up dead in some backwater retrieving something not worth what the client was paying, or taking a bullet for some ass with more money than sense.

Feeling Quinn's body going limp in his arms, Eliot shook him awake.

"Come on, Bubba. You'll get chilled laying out here."

"I've got my own personal furnace." He started to snuggle back down.

"Up."

"No."

Eliot dropped his voice so only the younger man would hear.

"Do you really want to have sex on Nate and Sophie's patio?"

"And have Parker ask to watch? Are you touched?" Quinn growled as he climbed off the chaise lounge.

Eliot chuckled as they made their round of goodnights.

"You're just going home early so you can have hot monkey sex." Parker theorized as she sat on Quinn's chest after landing on him when she'd slithered out of a tree.

"Parker!" Hardison sounded horrified as everyone else laughed.

Eliot gave them a hand up.

"That's the best idea I've heard all day." Eliot smirked at the hacker.

As he shoved Quinn toward the door he called back over his shoulder.

"I'll call you."

%%%%%

"Are you sure this is the only way?"

"I want all traces of that man obliterated."

"What about Eliot?"

"You said he's survived many things."

"Not what we're about to do. We could lose him."

"You are being very well paid for your part in this. That should provide a man like you comfort."

"Not anymore." He whispered.

%%%%%

Pushing his glasses up his nose, Eliot read through the notes he and Parker had made on a preliminary reconnoiter for a job they were considering once Sophie recovered from Rowena's birth. They had taken a few jobs that could be handled without the grifter, just to keep boredom at a minimum. A bored Parker is never a good thing.

Eliot grinned when he felt his pocket buzz. He pulled it out hoping it was Quinn saying his long assed contract was finally finished. The grin turned to a scowl when the number showed 'Restricted'.

"Talk." He growled in the phone.

"He has escaped and gone to ground." A voice he recognized as now Presidente Flores told him.

"When?"

"It was discovered during the morning check."

"How'd he leave the country?"

"It appears to have been by boat."

"Help?"

"A corrupt guard at the prison."

"Any idea who he is?"

"No. The information on his application was falsified."

"Thank you for calling, Sir. It will give me time to get my family safe." Eliot said sincerely.

The call ended.

Flores leaned against the wall to collect himself. When he hatched this plan to clear his country of the stench of Damien Moreau, he never dreamed it would be so complicated. Eliot and his friends had made it look so easy-the way they manipulated the players in their game into doing their bidding, had intrigued the former general until he studied every aspect of how they stole the election and put Moreau in prison.

He remembered the expression on the Eliot's face when the door clanged shut on Moreau. It was as though a great weight had lifted from the retrieval specialist's shoulders as he thumped Flores on the back in congratulations before disappearing into the crowd of revelers.

Wiping his hand over his face to clear the memories, Flores straightened from the wall and headed for his office. It was done, his course was set. He would see it through to the end, and light a candle that one day he would be forgiven.

%%%%%

Eliot laid his forehead on his desk. Moreau was loose and probably heading toward the States as fast as he could while dodging law enforcement. Then some devil in his brain had him wondering if General…Presidente Flores would call Interpol-admit that one of the most wanted men in the world had escaped his San Lorenzo prison, or if he'd keep it hidden and send his own men to find Moreau. Either way if was up to him to protect the family. He picked up his phone and dialed.

It was deep in the night when Eliot stretched out on his office couch and pulled the afghan off the back over his shoulders. He'd done everything he could until everyone was awake so now he could rest for a minute.

Breakfast was waiting when everyone appeared the next morning. They saw bags and crates piled by the door.

"Eliot, what's going on?" Nate asked as seated Sophie at the table.

"You're leaving after breakfast." He answered flatly.

"What do you mean, leavin'?" Hardison's voice was grating. "I just got this place just the way I like it, and you expect us to leave?"

Eliot stopped what he was doing and looked up. Sophie gasped at the dead eyed look on his face.

"What's happened?" Her simple question left the others sputtering.

"Moreau escaped."

"When?" Nate demanded.

"Flores called me after y'all went to bed last night."

"You should have woke us up." Parker stated.

"You needed the sleep. You have a long trip ahead of you."

"What do you mean long trip? Where are we going?"

"Not we-you. I'm sending you the safest place I know. No one knows about it. You'll be safe there." Eliot picked up several crates and headed for the door.

"What about Sophie and Rowena?" Parker asked.

"Taken care of. Their medical records are in that case," he pointed to the red case, "along with Hardison's favorite computer of the moment."

He finished loading the big SUV in front of the house.

He walked up to Nate.

"Here's your map. Do not plot it into any GPS or any other electronic gizmo that can be traced. I want you totally off grid. Man you're meetin's name is Jake Pike. He knows everything about the situation, and he'll take care of gettin' Sophie and Ro to a doctor-the works. Him and the rest of the crew will take care of you, keep you safe." His tone softened.

"What about you?" Parker looked confused.

Eliot took a deep breath and hoped they didn't fight him.

"Remember what I told you?" He asked her quietly. "Remember what I said you and me?"

The blonde head bobbed as the lump in her throat kept her from speaking.

"This is one of those times."

She threw herself into his arms and buried her face in his neck, and wept silently. He let her cry for several minutes before giving her a squeeze.

"We need to get you on the road." His voice was quiet.

Nodding, she took a step back, wiped her face on her sleeves, and grabbed the next box.

"Let's move it, people. Ain't got all day." She shouted.

Sophie gasped. "You aren't coming with us."

"It's me he wants. They only way you get time to get to where you're going is if I stay." The General probably has Interpol on Moreau's trail as we speak. Sterling will probably get here before Moreau." He gave them a cheeky smirk.

An hour later the SUV pulled away from the house leaving Eliot standing in the driveway.

Three days later, a call from Jake let him know the team had arrived.

Three days after the call, he was stacking bodies like cordwood outside their office as a group of men tried to take him. They were obviously under orders to take him alive while he was under no such compunction. Bones snapped, bodies lay unmoving as he refused to go down until he looked into the sherry colored eyes staring from behind the balaclava and paused-a pause that allowed a needle to puncture the vein allowing the tranquilizer to enter his adrenaline hyped system. Breaking the wrist of the man wielding the needle, he began to move toward the man who the week before had lain under him offering his body and his heart, now offered his betrayal.

As the drug pulled him under there was something in those brown eyes as he was caught in strong arms and gently lowered to the ground.

%%%%%

"Hardison have you found anything?" Nate asked as he watched the hacker feed camera footage through facial recognition.

"Two vans pulled up to the office three days ago, but I haven't found any camera angle that lets me see faces, plus it looks like they're wearing masks. The vans were there for an hour before they left. I was able to follow them to a bunch of abandoned warehouses across town, but with no cameras in that area there's no way to tell where they went."

"Have you been able to get in touch with Quinn or Flores?"

Hardison shook his head.

"The number I have for Quinn goes to voicemail and I'm getting the run around from San Lorenzo."

Nate turned to see three sets of eyes watching him expectantly.

"Fine." He pulled out his phone and dialed.

"Sterling."

"Was Interpol informed that Damien Moreau had escaped from prison in San Lorenzo?"

"Hello to you, too, Nate?"

"Did President Flores from San Lorenzo inform Interpol that Moreau had escaped?"

He listened to Sterling turning pages. Knowing his impatience would only feed Sterling's ego, Nate bit his tongue and waited.

"It appears that the government of San Lorenzo has been remiss in its reporting Moreau's escape. Perhaps it's time I become acquainted with the officials to see how such a thing could happen."

The line was silent for several beats.

"You owe him and us for your daughter." Nate reminded before Sterling got too entrenched in his moral superiority.

He could almost hear Sterling deflate.

"I'll let you know what I find out."

Nate unbent.

"Thank you."

%%%%%

As awareness returned, his brain was already cataloguing his surroundings and his physical condition. He couldn't have been unconscious very long-his arms were just beginning to tingle from being stretched over his head. Smells told him wherever he was had been abandoned until recently. Among those smells were two that he would never forget. Both scents caused the acid in his stomach to rise to his throat. They belonged to two men who knew him better than anyone living, and he, always the tactician, knew exactly how they would use that knowledge.

Two sets of eyes watched the body hanging from shackled wrists. Anger and madness showed in the hazel eyes of Damien Moreau. He paid little attention to the man standing behind him, the man responsible for giving him what he'd lusted after as he sat in his prison cell--Eliot Spencer at his mercy.

Whiskey colored eyes watched the insanity Moreau had kept in check coming to the fore as Eliot swung from his wrists. Nothing in Quinn's body language or face gave a hint at the turmoil going on inside.

Eliot had introduced him to Flores when they'd taken a vacation to the beautiful little country, he never dreamed he'd be the reason his lover was about to tortured by an insane sadist. He prayed to the god of his childhood if it existed that Flores would quickly round up the players involved in the corruption of the judicial and penal system of his country. It was the last bastion of the Ribera regime the Leverage crew had unseated.

He sent another prayer out to the universe that Eliot would forgive him when he knew the whole story. Quinn knew the only reason they'd gotten close enough to drug his lover was because Eliot had recognized him behind his balaclava, causing the older retrieval specialist to hesitate.

No completely trusting Flores, he'd set up an email to be sent to Hardison if they weren't free of Moreau within the next ten days. The last hope he sent to whoever was listening was that he and Eliot made it out of this without permanent damage.

%%%%%

The President of San Lorenzo frowned at Stefan, his personal assistant. The younger man had served him in the same capacity before he'd retired from the military. When he'd retired, Stefan followed him into the private sector. Absolutely loyal, he knew the young man wasn't lying when he said James Sterling from Interpol was in the outer office.

The cells beneath the government offices had many new guests, and he himself had called Interpol an hour ago to report Moreau's escape so he was curious to find how an officer had gotten here so fast.

"Is Mr. Sterling comfortable for the moment?" Flores asked.

"Yes Sir. I explained you were on an overseas call."

"Give me five minutes then send him in."

When Sterling entered the room, Flores came around his desk, hand extended.

"Mr. Sterling! It's only been an hour since I telephoned your office. Do you have Moreau in custody already?"

Hazel eyes full of keen intelligence narrowed at the President's behavior.

"No. I don't have any information about Damien Moreau except for the fact that he actually disappeared at least a week ago." He sat in the pre-offered chair.

"Is that so?" Flores settled behind his desk. "From where did you receive this information?"

"A very reliable source." Sterling smirked.

"What did this reliable source tell you?" Flores tried to steel himself for whatever Sterling would say-after all he was a retired general.

"That Eliot Spencer had packed them off to a safe house because Damien Moreau had escaped and would surely be coming to find them. They lost contact with Eliot Spencer four days ago." Sterling picked up his coffee cup and watched the minister closely.

A smirk formed as James Sterling watched President Flores digest the information he'd been handed. He had to give him credit. Flores was good, but he was better. Nathan Ford might be a lot of things Sterling didn't like, but he'd been an excellent mentor in reading people. There was a slight tightening of the mouth, the slight deepening of the crease between the dark brows, all telling James Sterling that the President was considering his options.

By the time Flores finished giving Sterling the details of his plan, both men had switched from coffee to scotch. Sterling had grown to respect Eliot for his sharp mind and brutal honesty though he still held a grudge over that little thing where he'd drugged him in Dubai. The plan that Flores had hatched using the man he knew was Eliot's lover as his inside agent appealed to his Machiavellian side, but appalled him at the same time.

"Oh Presidente, you may so live to regret this little plan." Sterling commiserated. "Nathan Ford finds out about your machinations…" He trailed off has he stood to leave. "I wouldn't look for Eliot Spencer to forgive you anytime soon, either."

"I have always done what was necessary to protect my country." Flores puffed up to cover his guilt.

"Not this time, Presidente. This time you were looking to solve a problem and keep your hands clean at the same time."

Hand on the door handle he turned back to Flores.

"By the by-did Mr. Quinn tell you where they're holding Eliot?" He smiled as Flores paled. "I myself have made use of Mr. Quinn's services in the past. He's not on the same level as Eliot, but he's made vast improvement since he started keeping company with Spencer."

The minister visibly deflated then wrote something on a piece of paper.

"These are their last know coordinates. I was about to contact their hacker-Hardison-when Stefan informed me of your presence."

"Were you now?" Sterling's expression said he didn't believe Flores.

Before the man could answer, the Interpol agent was out the door.

%%%%%

He'd lost track. Not of time, his internal clock still kept perfect time. What he'd lost track of was the number of times the blade of the knife separated his skin. He made no noise. He'd bite his own tongue in two before he gave Moreau the satisfaction of hearing his pain.

There were times when buckets of salt water were thrown over his wounds that almost caused him to scream, then he'd remember Quinn standing at Moreau's shoulder and sink into the pain-welcoming the darkness.

%%%%%

Quinn was beginning to quietly panic. It had been a week since he sent the coordinates to Flores and no one had come for them. He'd expected to see Sterling or Ford come through the door like the hounds of hell we behind them, but there was no one.

Not wanting to alienate Moreau, he followed the man's instructions to the letter until Moreau left the warehouse each day. Even on the lam, Damien Moreau refused to stay in an abandoned warehouse. He carefully tended Eliot's wounds thankful each day the Moreau hadn't cut something that would cripple or cause Eliot to bleed out. With only the ambient light to see, he'd coax the older man to drink and eat what little he could manage, lacing the food with as much antibiotic and painkiller as he dared. When he had done all he could, he'd use his body to cushion Eliot from the concrete floor and in a ragged whisper beg his forgiveness.

%%%%%

He listened. The noises outside the building, the sound of Damien's satisfaction along with the sound of the knife separating his skin…he learned new sounds like the noise blood made in a silent room as it ran in rivulets down his body…he even fancied he could hear the sound the drops made when they hit the floor.

He listened as Moreau talked incessantly, and wished he'd just shut the fuck up and get on with his big master plan. He'd done his job, the team was safe, his daughter was safe and would have them to love her as he could not.

The last thing he listened to every night was Quinn. He listened as he told him about Moreau's insanity, Flores' plan, and his own ego for going along with the General's plan thinking he'd be able to protect him until Flores or Interpol or even the team got there to end this travesty of a plan. He fell into unconsciousness each night cradled in the younger man's arms as he listened to Quinn's entreaties to hold on and never forget he had people who loved him and needed him alive. He listened to the young hitter beg for his forgiveness.

%%%%%

As he had every morning for fourteen days, Quinn pulled Eliot's arms over his head until his toes touched just enough to give the muscular arms a small respite. Hearing a vehicle stop outside, he stepped away from the swinging body to stand patiently in the same place he'd stood every day since this began. Giving up that anyone was coming for them Quinn had started to make his own plan.

As Quinn gently let his arms take his weight, Eliot closed his eyes and let himself feel everything. There had been a change in Quinn. He was tense, angry. The air was still, the birds and insects silent as though anticipating a great event. He opened his eyes to see Damien stop and speak with Quinn. The younger man acted as though he was going to argue with something Moreau said, but finally nodded and left the building. When the car pulled away he knew what was going to happen today. Today one of them would die.

%%%%%

Nate Ford wanted to scream his frustration. Eliot's foreman-all of the people working on the Flying S were intelligent, helpful, highly trained, and extremely protective of each other and those they'd been told to protect even against themselves. The rest of the team was just as frustrated, but for the sake of peace everyone was trying to project a calm they didn't feel.

Rowena was his and Sophie's on paper. She looked like her mother until she opened those blue eyes and stared into your soul. She was as hyper-aware of her surroundings as her true father, and was quick to let everyone know she wasn't happy, which since Eliot had gone missing she was unhappy-a lot.

It had been fourteen days with no word. Sitting on the wide porch enjoying the respite from the south Texas heat, everyone came instantly alert when Nate's phone rang. Hardison ran out of the house, but a raised hand silenced him.

"Hello Sterling."

Nate listened for several minutes.

"You just now confirmed? How long have you had this information, Sterling?"

"You could have given it to us when you got it. Hardison could have confirmed it the same day. Still climbing the corporate ladder on the backs of my team?"

He disconnected the call. Before he could speak, Hardison's phone rang.

"QUINN! Where have you been, man? We've been tryin' for two weeks to get a hold of you. Moreau's escaped, Eliot's missin', we think Moreau grabbed him after he sent us to some godforsaken place in the outback of nowhere…" The hacker stopped his spiral when Quinn interrupted him. He pulled the phone away from his ear and put it on speaker. "You want to very carefully repeat what you just said? I don't think I heard you right. I warn you you're on speaker."

"I said: It's safe to come back to Portland. Moreau's is dead." Quinn stopped.

"Eliot. What about Eliot?" Nate asked.

There was a long pause.

"Eliot's missing."

"What do you mean missing?"

"I mean he's not here, and he's injured."

Before Quinn could say anymore they heard a familiar voice.

"Mr. Quinn! A word about what happened here." James Sterling's condescending voice came across the phone as the call disconnected.

"Find Jake." Nate barked at Parker. As the blonde took off he turned to Hardison and Sophie, who were already on the move. "Get packed. Hardison."

"Tickets. On it." He ran back in the house.

"Stay with Rowena. I'll take care of getting us ready." Sophie assured him with a soft kiss. "He'll probably be at the house with an ice pack on his bruises when we get there."

"I hope she's right." Nate whispered to his sleeping daughter.

%%%%%

He tested the shackles as a punch to the body from Moreau sent him swinging. He knew Quinn left them a little looser each morning. He could feel the blood starting to trickle where the cuffs cut into his wrists acting as lubricant. Each time his swing changed directions Damien would be there with his knife leaving a line of red across his torso. He knew it was only a matter of time until the former arms dealer/financier got bored and started going for things that were important-hamstrings, tendons, genitals-things that would cripple-eyes, major nerves, fingers, kidneys. Most of the damage had been confined to his torso, Moreau's way of playing with him, trying to get inside his head.

Sending Quinn away meant playtime was over.

"You're still so beautiful." Moreau murmured as the tip of the knife went in the skin and skittered along his hip bone. "Chapman was a poor substitute after you left. All brute-no brain-I did so miss you, moja nenora."

Damien stopped his body from swinging, and stepped back like an artist inspecting a canvas.

"Perhaps…there is a way…" He muttered to himself.

Grabbing the chains that controlled the hoist he was hanging from, Moreau began to lower him until they were face to face and his feet were almost under him. Damien pulled the knife out of his belt and moved toward him, the gleam in the hazel eyes half-past crazy.

He never looked away from the handsome face as the knife came closer. He felt the knife running along his brow bone, but had to close his right eye as the blood obscured his vision as he quietly wrapped his hands around the chain between his cuffs.

"I always loved this part of your face. When you scowl, the bones make you look so fierce. This will dim your beauty, but not diminish that famous Spencer glare. Soon only my hand will touch you for all others will turn away from your scars." Damien started following his facial bones with the blade of the knife.

His face a crimson mask, the agony, anger, and betrayal of the last two weeks were all channeled into one effort. In a blink of any eye, he was driving Moreau's nasal bone into his brain with snap of his head. Hands slid through blood slickened cuffs. Adrenaline surge exhausted, he crumbled to his knees beside Moreau. Crawling forward he checked for a carotid pulse. Finding none, he fought the urge to find a wooden stake to drive through the broad chest to make sure the dead stayed dead. Struggling to his feet he staggered toward the place Quinn put him at night hoping there were still supplies.

Going through the supplies he was beginning to think that maybe Quinn was telling the truth about the Flores hare-brained scheme. The emotional pain that had heaped on top of the physical pain Moreau was dishing out had him off balance and by no means ready to welcome him back in his bed.

Looking at his face after he'd washed away the blood and made liberal use of the butterfly bandages in the first aid kit, he considered Moreau was probably right when he said no one would want him again.

Scars were scars and nothing he could do anything about. Instead of simpering in front of the mirror like a teenage girl, he bandaged what he could reach then pulled on the clothes in the duffle. Finding a wallet with one of his ID's and plenty of cash, it was time to leave before Quinn got back. He was not ready to face Quinn or anyone else right now so fortified with mild painkillers, protein bars and energy drinks, he headed to a little clinic he knew always needed money and didn't ask a lot of questions when you paid in cash.

%%%%%

There was a collective sigh of relief when the cab pulled away from the historic houses that made up the Leverage and Associates complex. The offices and Eliot's house were situated at the mouth of the dead end street with Hardison and Parker's next and Sophie and Nate's at the end of the street, their backyards separated from the public thoroughfare by a tall historically correct fence that afforded them security and soundproofing.

Luggage was shoved in the reception area as Hardison got to work to find out what was happening. He'd been working during the flight, but there was not a lot of information on the electronic wavelengths. There was the body of Damien Moreau found in a warehouse with his nasal bone shoved into his frontal lobe, but other than that nothing. There was no DNA samples, the photos showed an old warehouse with a dead body-no blood trails, fingerprints-nothing, totally sterilized.

"Eliot might have made a phone call for clean-up in aisle one because the CSI folks found nada, zip, zero, and Sterling is mad as a hornet." Hardison informed them.

"Sterling not getting his way is a bonus, but what about Eliot or for that matter, where's Quinn?"

"Right here." The weary voice came from the door.

"Where have you been?" Sophie asked as she settled Rowena to feed.

"After I finally got away from the Sterling and the cops I went looking for Eliot." He rubbed his hands over his face.

"Well?" Parker perched on the chair arm by where Quinn leaned on the door frame.

"He's gone to ground."

"Why wouldn't he come home?" She asked.

"He's hurt, pissed, betrayed, and vulnerable. It's his job to protect you, not the other way around so he won't surface until he feels he's able to do that again."

"Hurt? How hurt?" They could see the wheels turning in Nate's head.

Hardison went back to his keyboard.

"What ID did Eliot have on him?"

"That won't work." Quinn sat down next to Sophie running a finger softly over Rowena's dark hair that was so like Eliot's.

"Why not? I can find anyone." The hacker practically stomped his foot.

"Eliot's a pro. Eliot's old school. Cash only. No questions. He probably has connections in this city you don't know about, and really don't want to know about. It's all part of how he does his job."

"So help us find him." Nate insisted.

Quinn stood and walked toward the door, but Parker blocked his path.

"Please?" She asked.

"You're not listening." The hitter ground out from between clenched teeth. "He doesn't want to be found, won't allow anyone to find him until he wants to be found." He waved his hand at Hardison's computers. "All the searching in the world won't make that happen until Eliot's ready. You're not the mastermind on this job, Nate-Eliot is." He picked the thief off the ground and set her gently to the side.

"What do we do now?" Parker asked after the door closed.

"Wait. Use Quinn until Eliot comes home. Short of walking the streets and falling over him there's not a lot we can do." Nate rubbed a hand over his mouth wishing for a large glass of Irish whiskey.

Looking over at Sophie and Rowena, he poured a cup of coffee, and went back to studying a map of the area surrounding the warehouse trying to figure out where Eliot would hide.

%%%%%

Part II