Page 13 of Pistols and Plush Toys

Sostupid,and now he was being held hostage by some… some what? Russian mob boss? That was certainly what it seemed like, for all that it didn’t makesense.Why were they so upset over anantique dealer?

Fuck, it didn’t matter, did it? They had a bone to pick with Mattia and so here Elliot was, and now… now it was a waiting game. Waiting to see if Mattia would meet their demands. Waiting to see what they’d do to him if Mattia didn’t.

Even if they didn’t torture him, Mattia would make Elliot pay later. Mattia already had to do so much to keep Elliot in line, to keep him from acting too foolish and embarrassing him. Correcting the many mistakes Elliot couldn’t seem to keep from making. Grabbing him with bruising force and hissing in his ear when Elliot messed up in public. Being a little… a little rougher when they were in private.

He was always sorry about it afterwards. After Elliot had given Mattia enough space and had properly apologized, Mattiawould kiss his bruised cheek or thumb his split lip and do his best to hide how disappointed he was, all for Elliot’s sake.

“I wish you didn’t make me do this shit to you, El. I just know you can do better. Now you wanna make it up to me, babe?”

Except Elliot didn’t think that he’d be able to get back into Mattia’s good graces after this by sliding to his knees or bending over. This wasbad.If Mattia did deign to keep Elliot around, Elliot would probably never be allowed to leave the penthouse again. He’d let Elliot work in the diner as a kindness, allowing Elliot a job where he’d be safe after Elliot had begged to be allowed to cook again.

So much for being safe, Elliot thought dully. And so much for the small bit of freedom that working for the diner had given him. If Elliot couldn’t even go outside without getting kidnapped, why would Mattia ever let him out?

His stomach dropped like he’d missed a step on the stairs going down. Because it wasn’t only that he’d fucked up with Mattia. Everyone in Mattia’s family would know it was Elliot’s fault that Mattia had to make some sort ofdealwith a possible mob boss. Mattia’s family was important to him, and they already saw Elliot as a weakness.

If there was anything he knew about Mattia, it was how much the man hated to appear weak.

Whatever Nikolai and his men did to him, at least it wouldn’t be personal. He wasn’tStupid Elliotto them, he was just Mattia’s partner. A pawn to be used. Someone to hurt so that Mattia would cooperate.

And once Mattia did and got Elliot back—

His hands were shaking, so he twisted his fingers together, clenching them so his knuckles turned white. His eyes caught on the red abrasions around his wrists. The zip ties had bitten in because he’d struggled, but the effort had come too late.

Because he was such a fuck up. So fucking stupid.

He could hear those words in Mattia's voice, and how right he’d be to say them. If Elliot hadn’t insisted on working at the diner today, if he hadn’t been late, if he’d simply looked at the guy getting out of the car, he would have realized it wasn’t one of Mattia's men.

His stomach twisted again, the anxiety pushing up through him. He’d eaten a basket of fries at the diner between orders, but while he’d been starving then, now he couldn’t imagine eating anything ever again, regardless of whether or not there actually were snacks in that mini fridge.

He bit his lip to keep the pathetic whimper in. Even if it wasn’t personal, these people could still damage him in a way that was permanent, in a way that would trail him long after he got out.

Or maybe–

Or maybe Elliot would never get out. Maybe he was such a useless burden now that there wasn’t a deal Mattia would take. Maybe there’d be no negotiating for his release at all. Maybe Mattia would just leave him here to rot. After all, why would he bother trying to get Elliot back if Elliot was such a failure to him?

Suddenly Elliot was on his feet and stumbling up from the bed, rushing toward the bathroom. He barely made it to the toilet in time to be sick. The food was long gone, so he threw up bile, and it was disgusting and acidic in his mouth.

He was sick until the dry heaves subsided, and then he collapsed down beside the toilet. His stomach cramped and his throat ached.

He was vaguely grateful that the tiny bathroom was clean. The white tile was practically sparkling.

Less clean now with him strewn across it.

He sat there for a long time in the bathroom, trying to catch his breath, trying to let his heart stop pounding so hard inhis chest. He was sweaty with sickness, and when he reached for some of the toilet paper to wipe his mouth, his hands were still shaking.

He needed to clean up. He probably needed food, and to actually keep it down.

Elliot squeezed his eyes shut and then slowly opened them, leveraging himself to his feet. The room spun when he stood, and he had to grab for the sink for a long moment to regulate his breathing.

When he was able to take a breath without it feeling like a sob, he washed his face in the sink. Cupped some water into his hands to rinse the taste of bile from his mouth, and then cupped some more to drink that down.

He shuffled back to the bedroom, dizzy and exhausted, and collapsed on the bed. In a moment of weakness he looked to his backpack, which was still half open, and then before he could stop himself, he dug inside for the sweatshirt lump, and unwrapped Apricot from where he’d been hidden.

He toed off his shoes ungracefully and then crawled under the covers, still clinging to Apricot. Usually he wouldn’t be caught dead with his giraffe stuffed animal out in the open, but did that even matter now? If he was going to die here–

He curled his body up on the large bed. Apricot wasn’t big enough to properly hug, so he just kept the giraffe close and buried his face in the soft, familiar, orange-speckled fur.

By now Elliot would’ve thought he didn’t have an ounce of moisture left in his body to cry, but the tears still seeped out of the corners of his eyes. He felt pathetic and afraid. Like he didn’t even deserve to hold Apricot like this.

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