Xmas Fic #7 - Written for Hockeyfan68
Title: Control
Characters: Nate/Eliot
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 3708
Summary: Nate is only beginning to understand the truth of his relationship with Eliot. In the aftermath of Eliot's revelation about his past with Moreau, Nate takes an unorthodox step to help Eliot work through his guilt and shame.
Author's Notes: While this story was written for hockeyfan68's prompt: Nate/Eliot - your take on what Eliot did for Moreau, the essence of it has been in me to tell since "The Big Bang Job" aired. As you can see by the word count, it really wanted to be huge, and I didn't go as far as I could in light of all the stories I have yet to tell.
This story is dark, and employs a lot of BDSM themes and imagery. It is an extreme situation at this point between the two men, and I found it plausible that Nate would resort to extreme measures to help Eliot through his dark time of the soul.
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Eliot wasn't surprised when Sophie told him Nate wanted to see him upstairs. He'd been expecting the summons since their confrontation in the park earlier. He's gonna want details.
So be it. He'd known it would come to this when he'd let them know about his history with Moreau. Hardison had been too focused on his trip into the pool to think about what it all meant. Nate? Nate had seen betrayal where none had been intended, and Eliot hadn't been able to stand the look in his eyes.
As a result, he'd confessed - at least as far as he'd been able with the others listening. It had been enough to take the look of hurt and betrayal out of Nate's eyes, but the understanding between both of them was that the matter wasn't over.
Eliot knew that if Nate asked, he'd tell. He'd never shied away from owning to anything he'd done, as long as a law enforcement officer wasn't involved in the conversation. He'll ask, you'll tell, and then you'll leave. There was no other way it could go - not once Nate learned the entire scope of what his hitter was capable of.
Nate was standing on the far side of their briefing desk when Eliot entered the apartment. “Sophie said you wanted to see me?” Calm. He's too calm. This was going to be as bad as Eliot had envisioned.
“Thanks,” Nate said. He jerked his chin at the door. “Lock it, please.”
Confused now, Eliot did as Nate asked. “You know that's not gonna stop Parker,” he said when he turned back to face the older man; trying desperately to lighten the mood in the room.
“The others have agreed to give us some privacy to work this out,” Nate said, crossing his arms over his chest. “Even Parker.”
Eliot swallowed hard against a sudden lump in his throat. “There's nothing to work out, Nate. You know I worked for Moreau. You know what that means. Either we can get past it or we can't, and nobody gets to make that decision but you.”
Nate was quiet for long enough that Eliot had to fight the urge to stay quiet. Even though he appeared to be considering his options, Eliot knew Nate was watching everything he did - no matter how small or seemingly insignificant - cataloguing his reactions for...what?
“I owe you an apology, Eliot,” Nate said finally.
That? He hadn't expected. “For what?”
“You never flinch when it comes to protecting me, do you?” His voice was calm, his expression neutral - the picture of absolute control.
“No,” Eliot said. He was struck momentarily by how much more menacing Nate looked without a drink in his hand. “That's my job.”
“The reason I owe you an apology is that I have responsibilities to you that I haven't been living up to.” He paused. “I didn't understand. That changes here and now.”
“Nate...” Eliot began, but the other man held up a hand, effectively silencing him.
“Let me finish. This thing you did for Moreau - this great sin you've been holding back from us...it's a vulnerability. We need to fix it.”
Here we go. “Nate, all you have to do is ask what I did,” he said - forcing himself to maintain eye contact. “I won't lie to you - I swear.”
The mastermind was quiet again. “Telling me won't fix things,” he said finally. “You can distance yourself from it that way.”
Now Eliot was genuinely confused. “What then?”
Nate blew out a soft, quiet breath. “You need to confess it,” he said. “That's the only way you're going to be able to truly work through the hold it has on you.”
Eliot almost laughed, but there was nothing in Nate's expression that indicated he was anything less than absolutely serious. “All right,” he said finally, refocusing his thoughts. If this was what Nate thought needed to happen in order to make everything right, he could play along. “What do you want me to do?”
“Go upstairs,” Nate said. “You will have ten minutes to study everything I've set up and decide if you trust me enough to see you through this. If you can't, come back downstairs, and we will never talk about this again.”
Can't...not won't. Eliot inhaled deeply again, trying to ignore the small, nervous fluttering in his gut. Nathan Ford rarely did or said anything casually, and his choice of words told Eliot that the mastermind was offering a lot more than he'd first assumed, and that was fully aware of what he was doing.
“What if I decide to go through with this?” he asked.
He imagined he saw a small, knowing smile soften the lines of Nate's face. “You'll know what to do.”
*
He did know what to do - it just wasn't anything he'd ever expected to see. Certainly not in Nate's bedroom of all places.
A metal frame had been set up at the foot of Nate's bed. Heavy leather cuffs fastened to each corner by lengths of heavy chain left no doubt as to its purpose. Eliot examined each cuff in turn - the leather was heavy and the stitching was professional. Snap-closed, which meant greater comfort and security - it would be harder for Eliot to slip free, assuming it was even possible. Sheepskin lining...he spent a fortune on these.
Coiled on the foot of the bed was approximately a thousand dollars of additional equipment - three different whips, a willow rod, and a heavy paddle. He's really thought this through. Nate's intentions couldn't have been any clearer if he'd drawn a map for Eliot, and the hitter could find no fault with the other man's reasoning.
Human psychology's his thing, Eliot thought, picking up the paddle and testing the sting of it against his palm. Gettin' into people's heads, making 'em do what he wants... Of all the available courses of action, this was the only one that stood a chance of letting everyone come away marginally healed for the experience.
For it to work, however, Eliot would have to give Nate absolute control. He couldn't hold back anything. Can you do that? he wondered, setting the paddle back in its place on the bed spread and turning to look at the bondage frame again. Can you trust him enough to put yourself entirely at his mercy?
Once asked, the answer came surprisingly easy to him. Smiling slightly at how surreal the whole situation was, Eliot stripped off his shirt.
*
When the door opened behind him exactly ten minutes later, Eliot had stripped down to his skin. His clothes were folded neatly on top of the nearby dresser. He had fastened himself into the frame by three points - both legs and his right arm. His left arm was hanging loose at his side - waiting for Nate to complete the process.
He'd wrestled with whether or not to do something with the whips and paddles to indicate his preference. The fact that they'd been left out for his inspection could have indicated Nate intended to let him choose what would be used on him. On the other hand it could have been a test in order to see how he'd react.
In the end he left them where he'd found them. There were too many variables, and he was trying to second-guess a man who described his job as “being able to think two moves ahead at all times”.
It was a struggle to calm his thoughts as he felt Nate walk up behind him. He's a drunk. He can't handle it. He doesn't know what he's doing here... He inhaled sharply as - still standing well out of his field of vision - Nate took his left arm and raised it so that he could buckle the final cuff in place. Eliot successfully resisted the urge to turn and watch him, but it was a near thing. As soon as Nate was finished, Eliot jerked twice against the chain - testing it.
Nate had already moved on - taking his time testing the other three cuffs, making sure that Eliot hadn't left himself any slack, before coming around to stand directly in front of him. “You may look at me,” he said in that same calm, maddeningly controlled voice.
Eliot was simultaneously relieved and embarrassed - he'd been wondering at just that moment how strictly Nate intended to play by the traditional rules. “I want to make sure there are no misunderstandings what we're doing here,” the mastermind went on. “From this moment, until sunrise tomorrow, you are my responsibility. Your physical and emotional health, your safety - are all in my hands. Your only job in the next twelve hours is to listen to what I say and do as you are told.”
His eyes seem to be looking well past the surface, into the depths of Eliot's soul. “Do you understand?”
Eliot couldn't suppress a small shiver, but he kept his own eyes fixed on Nate. “Yes sir.”
A moment later he was regretting the decision; Nate raised a hand, and Eliot saw that he'd taken a blindfold out of his pocket. “No,” Eliot said, shaking his head emphatically. “I can do this without that.”
“I know you can,” Nate said, and the twinge of sympathy in his voice helped scale back the amount of adrenaline suddenly flooding Eliot's system. “That's not the point. I need you focused on yourself for this to work, and we both know that's not going to happen as long as you can see what's going on around you.”
Either you trust him to do this or you don't, Eliot thought, trying to slow his racing heartbeat. Being blindfolded would make the experience more real - more intense. He'd underestimated Nate by thinking that the older man wouldn't already know that.
“You can't absolve me of this sin,” he said, finally. He trusted Nate, and he was willing to try whatever Nate had in mind - but some things weren't Nate's to give.
Once again, he underestimated how much thought Nate had put into this. “Absolution is only granted if it's sought, Eliot,” he said. “I'm after your confession. Whether or not you are ultimately absolved of your sin is between you and your God.”
Before Eliot could say anything else, Nate slid the blindfold over his eyes. “Trust me,” he said, checking to see that it was secure. “I will see us both through this.”
Eliot managed not to struggle, but it was a near thing. Nate stepped away from him - far enough that Eliot had trouble sensing him. “The deal is thirteen strokes twice,” Nate said. Eliot turned his face towards the sound of Nate's voice, even though he couldn't see the man. “You will count the first thirteen, paying attention to the rhythm I set. I will count the second thirteen, and after each stroke you will confess a sin. The thirteenth sin you confess will be what you did for Moreau all those years ago.”
He heard a rustle off to his left. “Do you understand?” Nate asked; Eliot realized he was repositioning himself for the first blow.
“Yes sir,” he said.
Eliot heard the swish of leather cutting through the air, and braced himself for the hit. “One.” His voice was slightly strangled; it had been harder than he'd expected. Before he could adjust, the second stroke hit square across his shoulder blades.
“Two.”
Nate had chosen the cat to start things off - multiple broad strips of leather, distributing the force of each blow in an even “thud”. Now that he knew what to expect, Eliot forced himself to relax and breathe through each hit.
“Three.”
“Four.”
Once two more strokes had landed, Eliot's thoughts turned ahead to the next round of blows. What am I going to say? By ordinary standards, he had far more than twelve things he could confess before revealing what he'd done for Moreau.
Sins. He keeps saying 'sins'. Eliot realized with a jolt of nerves that Nate was expecting him to confess those things Eliot himself considered sins. The really bad stuff.
Fire lashed across the curve of his ass, bringing him back to reality with a gasp. “Pay attention!” Nate snapped - his voice sharp with the bite of command.
“Eleven!” Eliot managed to choke out - dimly realizing that Nate had switched to the heavy wooden paddle in order to bring him out of his head and stop him thinking too much.
“Twelve.” The cat again this time; Eliot almost sighed with relief.
“Thirteen.”
Nate barely gave him time to catch his breath. “One,” the older man called out. A split second later Eliot felt a knife-sharp stroke as the braided lash he'd seen earlier cut a line into his right shoulder blade. “I sold out a former client to a higher bidder.” It had been early in his career, and it had never sat well with Eliot.
“Two.”
“Torched a settlement in Croatia under orders. Intel said that the enemy was caching weapons there, figuring that we wouldn't attack.” He hadn't bothered to check how many civilians were in the houses that had gone up like dry tinder.
Their bones were so fragile...
Eliot inhaled sharply, shaking his head against the tiny thought that had slipped past his defenses.
“Three.”
The blow cut into a particularly sensitive area just out of range of his kidneys, pulling a small but legitimate pain sound from him. Struggling to get back on task, Eliot babbled something about another killing that had never sat right with him.
Effort. It should have taken more effort than it did. All those fingers...easier than snapping a twig in half.
Oh God. He could hear the screaming again - clearly in his head now, more clearly than he had in years.
“Four.”
He kept talking, kept confessing, but Eliot had no idea what he was saying anymore.
Her head. The gun was too big for the job...her head... Moreau had insisted he carry a gun on the job, and that he use it. “The others need to see you as part of the team, Eliot,” he'd said. “I need you working together, otherwise I'm not getting the most efficient use of my people.”
He'd agreed to do as Moreau wanted.
You were so stupid. He'd shot the child hoping that it would be a quick death - what Carson planned on doing to the girl in order to gain her father's cooperation was something he couldn't bear thinking about.
In the heat of the moment he hadn't stopped to consider how a very large caliber bullet would treat the fragile skull of a six year old child at extremely close range.
Screaming...there was so much blood and they wouldn't stop screaming...
“Eleven.”
He didn't know if Nate was increasing the strength of his blows, or if his own guilt and distraction was magnifying the intensity of each strike, but the eleventh blow shattered his resolve. There was another number to go before he was supposed to start talking about that night, but the memories were on top of him now. Eliot suddenly knew if he didn't start talking immediately, he'd never be able to survive getting it all out.
When he was finally able to speak, his voice was choked with sobs. He couldn't look away from their faces now...the eyes pleading with him to stop their pain...
“We were working for Moreau,” he said. “He wanted information from an arms dealer in Belgrade by any means necessary. We went to the man's house with orders to do whatever it took to get the job done.”
“We started...we started with the kids. Made the parents watch.” Oh God, he's never going to forgive me... he thought, feeling his stomach churn with barely suppressed nausea. He's going to make me leave...he's never going to be able to look at me again. Children were a hot button with Nate - there was no coming back from this.
“Twelve!”
The blow that landed on his back stung so badly Eliot cried out with the pain. “I killed...I killed one of the girls...shot...oh God...oh God...” He wasn't going to make it. Tears were streaming down his face. He couldn't breathe right, and he'd lost any sense of what existed outside the nightmare in his own head.
“Thirteen!”
Reality came apart completely. Encircled by the cuffs, Eliot's hands flexed uncontrollably as he tried to forget the feel of how delicate the boy's wrist bones had been...forget the tears and the pain and the eyes...the eyes that were so lost and confused...that never knew why Eliot and the others were hurting him...hurting his mother and his sisters...
The words were acid in his throat, destroying all the walls he'd built between himself and that moment so many lifetimes ago. He forced them out, spilling them into the darkness that surrounded him, knowing that if he died in the telling of it, at least somebody capable of grieving for the family would know the truth of what he'd done.
Would know the truth of what you're capable of...
When he finally stopped speaking, silence surrounded him - complete and absolute. Eliot began to shiver uncontrollably, imagining for one heart stopping moment that Nate had left him there, unable to take the truth. That fear vanished when he felt the older man's hand cup the curve of his jaw, only to be replaced by a fresh new terror as his other hand pushed up the blindfold. “Close your eyes. The light's going to hurt.” The mastermind's voice was gentle and steady; Eliot did as he was told.
Whimpering, he screwed up his face against the sudden brightness - visible even through his closed eyelids. “Look at me, Eliot,” Nate said. “Open your eyes slowly, and look at me.”
He didn't have the strength to resist. Best to just get it over with. But he wasn't prepared for the look in Nate's eyes as his face finally came into focus.
Grief.
Pity.
No trace of hate or loathing that Eliot could see.
“You with me?” Nate asked, the words filled with such concern that Eliot thought he would die from it.
He burst into tears, crying out the last of the sickness he had carried for so long.
“Shh...shh...” Nate stroked his hair, his face, trying to soothe him. “It's over. You're safe. No more memories, no more nightmares.” The litany continued as Eliot tried to pull himself together. Nate's touch against his skin seemed to be giving him strength - anchoring him to a reality he could trust.
The first kiss was pure impulse. Eliot surged forward, closing the small amount of distance that separated the two men, and kissed Nate hungrily. He felt the other man tense briefly, then Nate relaxed into the kiss - sliding a hand behind Eliot's neck to hold him steady.
“I've got to get you down from here,” Nate said finally, pulling away from Eliot's desperation. “You're probably starting to lose feeling in your hands.”
In point of face he was, but for the moment Eliot didn't care. He watched dimly as Nate got a chair and set it behind him. The mastermind then knelt down and released each of Eliot's feet, positioning them to help support him better.
“Can you stand on your own at all?” he asked, getting to his feet.
Eliot considered his answer carefully. “I don't know,” he was finally forced to admit.
Nate glanced up at the cuffs holding Eliot's wrists overhead before meeting his eyes again. “Hold on to me as long as you can. The goal is to get you into the chair behind you, so if you have to fall - that's where you want to aim.”
After Eliot had nodded to show he was paying attention, Nate reached up and undid his right arm. Eliot gripped the other man's shoulder as hard as he could manage while Nate worked on the other arm.
Somewhere in that time, his rational mind caught up with everything that had happened, and Eliot replayed the kiss in his mind. Oh wow. “Nate, I'm sorry,” he began as Nate lowered him into the chair. “I shouldn't have kissed you like that. I'm sorry. I wasn't thinking. I...”
“Quiet.” There was no anger or uncertainty in Nate - just the same calm, steady assurance as he settled Eliot securely in the chair. Eliot could feel the words threatening to slip out of him again, and blew out a long, slow breath, trying to still his nerves - let the fresh tension bleed away. When he could meet Nate's eyes again without shaking, the other man spoke.
“I knew what I was signing up for,” he said. “I promised you I would keep you safe until sunrise. There were no restrictions on that promise. Whatever you need, I'm here for you.”
It was more than Eliot had dared let himself hope for. “What now?” he asked, sinking back into his submissive role somewhat. He was so tired, so weak, and if Nate was willing to keep control a little while longer...
“Now I'm going to put you to bed,” Nate said. “You're going to get some rest and get this all sorted out so you can function again. We've still got work to do.”
Eliot felt a brief surge of panic at being alone in his own head again, and grabbed for Nate's arm. “Please. Don't leave me.”
Nate lay a hand against Eliot's cheek again. “Right by your side until morning.”
Just like he promised.
Characters: Nate/Eliot
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 3708
Summary: Nate is only beginning to understand the truth of his relationship with Eliot. In the aftermath of Eliot's revelation about his past with Moreau, Nate takes an unorthodox step to help Eliot work through his guilt and shame.
Author's Notes: While this story was written for hockeyfan68's prompt: Nate/Eliot - your take on what Eliot did for Moreau, the essence of it has been in me to tell since "The Big Bang Job" aired. As you can see by the word count, it really wanted to be huge, and I didn't go as far as I could in light of all the stories I have yet to tell.
This story is dark, and employs a lot of BDSM themes and imagery. It is an extreme situation at this point between the two men, and I found it plausible that Nate would resort to extreme measures to help Eliot through his dark time of the soul.
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Eliot wasn't surprised when Sophie told him Nate wanted to see him upstairs. He'd been expecting the summons since their confrontation in the park earlier. He's gonna want details.
So be it. He'd known it would come to this when he'd let them know about his history with Moreau. Hardison had been too focused on his trip into the pool to think about what it all meant. Nate? Nate had seen betrayal where none had been intended, and Eliot hadn't been able to stand the look in his eyes.
As a result, he'd confessed - at least as far as he'd been able with the others listening. It had been enough to take the look of hurt and betrayal out of Nate's eyes, but the understanding between both of them was that the matter wasn't over.
Eliot knew that if Nate asked, he'd tell. He'd never shied away from owning to anything he'd done, as long as a law enforcement officer wasn't involved in the conversation. He'll ask, you'll tell, and then you'll leave. There was no other way it could go - not once Nate learned the entire scope of what his hitter was capable of.
Nate was standing on the far side of their briefing desk when Eliot entered the apartment. “Sophie said you wanted to see me?” Calm. He's too calm. This was going to be as bad as Eliot had envisioned.
“Thanks,” Nate said. He jerked his chin at the door. “Lock it, please.”
Confused now, Eliot did as Nate asked. “You know that's not gonna stop Parker,” he said when he turned back to face the older man; trying desperately to lighten the mood in the room.
“The others have agreed to give us some privacy to work this out,” Nate said, crossing his arms over his chest. “Even Parker.”
Eliot swallowed hard against a sudden lump in his throat. “There's nothing to work out, Nate. You know I worked for Moreau. You know what that means. Either we can get past it or we can't, and nobody gets to make that decision but you.”
Nate was quiet for long enough that Eliot had to fight the urge to stay quiet. Even though he appeared to be considering his options, Eliot knew Nate was watching everything he did - no matter how small or seemingly insignificant - cataloguing his reactions for...what?
“I owe you an apology, Eliot,” Nate said finally.
That? He hadn't expected. “For what?”
“You never flinch when it comes to protecting me, do you?” His voice was calm, his expression neutral - the picture of absolute control.
“No,” Eliot said. He was struck momentarily by how much more menacing Nate looked without a drink in his hand. “That's my job.”
“The reason I owe you an apology is that I have responsibilities to you that I haven't been living up to.” He paused. “I didn't understand. That changes here and now.”
“Nate...” Eliot began, but the other man held up a hand, effectively silencing him.
“Let me finish. This thing you did for Moreau - this great sin you've been holding back from us...it's a vulnerability. We need to fix it.”
Here we go. “Nate, all you have to do is ask what I did,” he said - forcing himself to maintain eye contact. “I won't lie to you - I swear.”
The mastermind was quiet again. “Telling me won't fix things,” he said finally. “You can distance yourself from it that way.”
Now Eliot was genuinely confused. “What then?”
Nate blew out a soft, quiet breath. “You need to confess it,” he said. “That's the only way you're going to be able to truly work through the hold it has on you.”
Eliot almost laughed, but there was nothing in Nate's expression that indicated he was anything less than absolutely serious. “All right,” he said finally, refocusing his thoughts. If this was what Nate thought needed to happen in order to make everything right, he could play along. “What do you want me to do?”
“Go upstairs,” Nate said. “You will have ten minutes to study everything I've set up and decide if you trust me enough to see you through this. If you can't, come back downstairs, and we will never talk about this again.”
Can't...not won't. Eliot inhaled deeply again, trying to ignore the small, nervous fluttering in his gut. Nathan Ford rarely did or said anything casually, and his choice of words told Eliot that the mastermind was offering a lot more than he'd first assumed, and that was fully aware of what he was doing.
“What if I decide to go through with this?” he asked.
He imagined he saw a small, knowing smile soften the lines of Nate's face. “You'll know what to do.”
*
He did know what to do - it just wasn't anything he'd ever expected to see. Certainly not in Nate's bedroom of all places.
A metal frame had been set up at the foot of Nate's bed. Heavy leather cuffs fastened to each corner by lengths of heavy chain left no doubt as to its purpose. Eliot examined each cuff in turn - the leather was heavy and the stitching was professional. Snap-closed, which meant greater comfort and security - it would be harder for Eliot to slip free, assuming it was even possible. Sheepskin lining...he spent a fortune on these.
Coiled on the foot of the bed was approximately a thousand dollars of additional equipment - three different whips, a willow rod, and a heavy paddle. He's really thought this through. Nate's intentions couldn't have been any clearer if he'd drawn a map for Eliot, and the hitter could find no fault with the other man's reasoning.
Human psychology's his thing, Eliot thought, picking up the paddle and testing the sting of it against his palm. Gettin' into people's heads, making 'em do what he wants... Of all the available courses of action, this was the only one that stood a chance of letting everyone come away marginally healed for the experience.
For it to work, however, Eliot would have to give Nate absolute control. He couldn't hold back anything. Can you do that? he wondered, setting the paddle back in its place on the bed spread and turning to look at the bondage frame again. Can you trust him enough to put yourself entirely at his mercy?
Once asked, the answer came surprisingly easy to him. Smiling slightly at how surreal the whole situation was, Eliot stripped off his shirt.
*
When the door opened behind him exactly ten minutes later, Eliot had stripped down to his skin. His clothes were folded neatly on top of the nearby dresser. He had fastened himself into the frame by three points - both legs and his right arm. His left arm was hanging loose at his side - waiting for Nate to complete the process.
He'd wrestled with whether or not to do something with the whips and paddles to indicate his preference. The fact that they'd been left out for his inspection could have indicated Nate intended to let him choose what would be used on him. On the other hand it could have been a test in order to see how he'd react.
In the end he left them where he'd found them. There were too many variables, and he was trying to second-guess a man who described his job as “being able to think two moves ahead at all times”.
It was a struggle to calm his thoughts as he felt Nate walk up behind him. He's a drunk. He can't handle it. He doesn't know what he's doing here... He inhaled sharply as - still standing well out of his field of vision - Nate took his left arm and raised it so that he could buckle the final cuff in place. Eliot successfully resisted the urge to turn and watch him, but it was a near thing. As soon as Nate was finished, Eliot jerked twice against the chain - testing it.
Nate had already moved on - taking his time testing the other three cuffs, making sure that Eliot hadn't left himself any slack, before coming around to stand directly in front of him. “You may look at me,” he said in that same calm, maddeningly controlled voice.
Eliot was simultaneously relieved and embarrassed - he'd been wondering at just that moment how strictly Nate intended to play by the traditional rules. “I want to make sure there are no misunderstandings what we're doing here,” the mastermind went on. “From this moment, until sunrise tomorrow, you are my responsibility. Your physical and emotional health, your safety - are all in my hands. Your only job in the next twelve hours is to listen to what I say and do as you are told.”
His eyes seem to be looking well past the surface, into the depths of Eliot's soul. “Do you understand?”
Eliot couldn't suppress a small shiver, but he kept his own eyes fixed on Nate. “Yes sir.”
A moment later he was regretting the decision; Nate raised a hand, and Eliot saw that he'd taken a blindfold out of his pocket. “No,” Eliot said, shaking his head emphatically. “I can do this without that.”
“I know you can,” Nate said, and the twinge of sympathy in his voice helped scale back the amount of adrenaline suddenly flooding Eliot's system. “That's not the point. I need you focused on yourself for this to work, and we both know that's not going to happen as long as you can see what's going on around you.”
Either you trust him to do this or you don't, Eliot thought, trying to slow his racing heartbeat. Being blindfolded would make the experience more real - more intense. He'd underestimated Nate by thinking that the older man wouldn't already know that.
“You can't absolve me of this sin,” he said, finally. He trusted Nate, and he was willing to try whatever Nate had in mind - but some things weren't Nate's to give.
Once again, he underestimated how much thought Nate had put into this. “Absolution is only granted if it's sought, Eliot,” he said. “I'm after your confession. Whether or not you are ultimately absolved of your sin is between you and your God.”
Before Eliot could say anything else, Nate slid the blindfold over his eyes. “Trust me,” he said, checking to see that it was secure. “I will see us both through this.”
Eliot managed not to struggle, but it was a near thing. Nate stepped away from him - far enough that Eliot had trouble sensing him. “The deal is thirteen strokes twice,” Nate said. Eliot turned his face towards the sound of Nate's voice, even though he couldn't see the man. “You will count the first thirteen, paying attention to the rhythm I set. I will count the second thirteen, and after each stroke you will confess a sin. The thirteenth sin you confess will be what you did for Moreau all those years ago.”
He heard a rustle off to his left. “Do you understand?” Nate asked; Eliot realized he was repositioning himself for the first blow.
“Yes sir,” he said.
Eliot heard the swish of leather cutting through the air, and braced himself for the hit. “One.” His voice was slightly strangled; it had been harder than he'd expected. Before he could adjust, the second stroke hit square across his shoulder blades.
“Two.”
Nate had chosen the cat to start things off - multiple broad strips of leather, distributing the force of each blow in an even “thud”. Now that he knew what to expect, Eliot forced himself to relax and breathe through each hit.
“Three.”
“Four.”
Once two more strokes had landed, Eliot's thoughts turned ahead to the next round of blows. What am I going to say? By ordinary standards, he had far more than twelve things he could confess before revealing what he'd done for Moreau.
Sins. He keeps saying 'sins'. Eliot realized with a jolt of nerves that Nate was expecting him to confess those things Eliot himself considered sins. The really bad stuff.
Fire lashed across the curve of his ass, bringing him back to reality with a gasp. “Pay attention!” Nate snapped - his voice sharp with the bite of command.
“Eleven!” Eliot managed to choke out - dimly realizing that Nate had switched to the heavy wooden paddle in order to bring him out of his head and stop him thinking too much.
“Twelve.” The cat again this time; Eliot almost sighed with relief.
“Thirteen.”
Nate barely gave him time to catch his breath. “One,” the older man called out. A split second later Eliot felt a knife-sharp stroke as the braided lash he'd seen earlier cut a line into his right shoulder blade. “I sold out a former client to a higher bidder.” It had been early in his career, and it had never sat well with Eliot.
“Two.”
“Torched a settlement in Croatia under orders. Intel said that the enemy was caching weapons there, figuring that we wouldn't attack.” He hadn't bothered to check how many civilians were in the houses that had gone up like dry tinder.
Their bones were so fragile...
Eliot inhaled sharply, shaking his head against the tiny thought that had slipped past his defenses.
“Three.”
The blow cut into a particularly sensitive area just out of range of his kidneys, pulling a small but legitimate pain sound from him. Struggling to get back on task, Eliot babbled something about another killing that had never sat right with him.
Effort. It should have taken more effort than it did. All those fingers...easier than snapping a twig in half.
Oh God. He could hear the screaming again - clearly in his head now, more clearly than he had in years.
“Four.”
He kept talking, kept confessing, but Eliot had no idea what he was saying anymore.
Her head. The gun was too big for the job...her head... Moreau had insisted he carry a gun on the job, and that he use it. “The others need to see you as part of the team, Eliot,” he'd said. “I need you working together, otherwise I'm not getting the most efficient use of my people.”
He'd agreed to do as Moreau wanted.
You were so stupid. He'd shot the child hoping that it would be a quick death - what Carson planned on doing to the girl in order to gain her father's cooperation was something he couldn't bear thinking about.
In the heat of the moment he hadn't stopped to consider how a very large caliber bullet would treat the fragile skull of a six year old child at extremely close range.
Screaming...there was so much blood and they wouldn't stop screaming...
“Eleven.”
He didn't know if Nate was increasing the strength of his blows, or if his own guilt and distraction was magnifying the intensity of each strike, but the eleventh blow shattered his resolve. There was another number to go before he was supposed to start talking about that night, but the memories were on top of him now. Eliot suddenly knew if he didn't start talking immediately, he'd never be able to survive getting it all out.
When he was finally able to speak, his voice was choked with sobs. He couldn't look away from their faces now...the eyes pleading with him to stop their pain...
“We were working for Moreau,” he said. “He wanted information from an arms dealer in Belgrade by any means necessary. We went to the man's house with orders to do whatever it took to get the job done.”
“We started...we started with the kids. Made the parents watch.” Oh God, he's never going to forgive me... he thought, feeling his stomach churn with barely suppressed nausea. He's going to make me leave...he's never going to be able to look at me again. Children were a hot button with Nate - there was no coming back from this.
“Twelve!”
The blow that landed on his back stung so badly Eliot cried out with the pain. “I killed...I killed one of the girls...shot...oh God...oh God...” He wasn't going to make it. Tears were streaming down his face. He couldn't breathe right, and he'd lost any sense of what existed outside the nightmare in his own head.
“Thirteen!”
Reality came apart completely. Encircled by the cuffs, Eliot's hands flexed uncontrollably as he tried to forget the feel of how delicate the boy's wrist bones had been...forget the tears and the pain and the eyes...the eyes that were so lost and confused...that never knew why Eliot and the others were hurting him...hurting his mother and his sisters...
The words were acid in his throat, destroying all the walls he'd built between himself and that moment so many lifetimes ago. He forced them out, spilling them into the darkness that surrounded him, knowing that if he died in the telling of it, at least somebody capable of grieving for the family would know the truth of what he'd done.
Would know the truth of what you're capable of...
When he finally stopped speaking, silence surrounded him - complete and absolute. Eliot began to shiver uncontrollably, imagining for one heart stopping moment that Nate had left him there, unable to take the truth. That fear vanished when he felt the older man's hand cup the curve of his jaw, only to be replaced by a fresh new terror as his other hand pushed up the blindfold. “Close your eyes. The light's going to hurt.” The mastermind's voice was gentle and steady; Eliot did as he was told.
Whimpering, he screwed up his face against the sudden brightness - visible even through his closed eyelids. “Look at me, Eliot,” Nate said. “Open your eyes slowly, and look at me.”
He didn't have the strength to resist. Best to just get it over with. But he wasn't prepared for the look in Nate's eyes as his face finally came into focus.
Grief.
Pity.
No trace of hate or loathing that Eliot could see.
“You with me?” Nate asked, the words filled with such concern that Eliot thought he would die from it.
He burst into tears, crying out the last of the sickness he had carried for so long.
“Shh...shh...” Nate stroked his hair, his face, trying to soothe him. “It's over. You're safe. No more memories, no more nightmares.” The litany continued as Eliot tried to pull himself together. Nate's touch against his skin seemed to be giving him strength - anchoring him to a reality he could trust.
The first kiss was pure impulse. Eliot surged forward, closing the small amount of distance that separated the two men, and kissed Nate hungrily. He felt the other man tense briefly, then Nate relaxed into the kiss - sliding a hand behind Eliot's neck to hold him steady.
“I've got to get you down from here,” Nate said finally, pulling away from Eliot's desperation. “You're probably starting to lose feeling in your hands.”
In point of face he was, but for the moment Eliot didn't care. He watched dimly as Nate got a chair and set it behind him. The mastermind then knelt down and released each of Eliot's feet, positioning them to help support him better.
“Can you stand on your own at all?” he asked, getting to his feet.
Eliot considered his answer carefully. “I don't know,” he was finally forced to admit.
Nate glanced up at the cuffs holding Eliot's wrists overhead before meeting his eyes again. “Hold on to me as long as you can. The goal is to get you into the chair behind you, so if you have to fall - that's where you want to aim.”
After Eliot had nodded to show he was paying attention, Nate reached up and undid his right arm. Eliot gripped the other man's shoulder as hard as he could manage while Nate worked on the other arm.
Somewhere in that time, his rational mind caught up with everything that had happened, and Eliot replayed the kiss in his mind. Oh wow. “Nate, I'm sorry,” he began as Nate lowered him into the chair. “I shouldn't have kissed you like that. I'm sorry. I wasn't thinking. I...”
“Quiet.” There was no anger or uncertainty in Nate - just the same calm, steady assurance as he settled Eliot securely in the chair. Eliot could feel the words threatening to slip out of him again, and blew out a long, slow breath, trying to still his nerves - let the fresh tension bleed away. When he could meet Nate's eyes again without shaking, the other man spoke.
“I knew what I was signing up for,” he said. “I promised you I would keep you safe until sunrise. There were no restrictions on that promise. Whatever you need, I'm here for you.”
It was more than Eliot had dared let himself hope for. “What now?” he asked, sinking back into his submissive role somewhat. He was so tired, so weak, and if Nate was willing to keep control a little while longer...
“Now I'm going to put you to bed,” Nate said. “You're going to get some rest and get this all sorted out so you can function again. We've still got work to do.”
Eliot felt a brief surge of panic at being alone in his own head again, and grabbed for Nate's arm. “Please. Don't leave me.”
Nate lay a hand against Eliot's cheek again. “Right by your side until morning.”
Just like he promised.