Page 7 of Pistols and Plush Toys

By the time the door had been shut and locked, Elliot was all out of tears. He sat there on the bed afraid to move, afraid to make a sound, in case it caused them to come back. The main guy–Nikolai– said they weren’t going to hurt him if he behaved, but how could he believe that?

If this had to do with Mattia’s business, that was serious. Probably more serious than he even knew.

After all, he hadn’t really thought he’d be a target, even after Mattia’s warning. But here he was.

He looked around the barren room. There was no clock to tell the time, but Elliot knew from how long it’d taken to drive here that the wedding had started and that he was missing it.

Mattia was going to be so pissed he’d gotten himself kidnapped.

Nikolai had been vague about the conflict between him and Mattia, but Elliot could guess whatever he was being bargained for was going to hurt Mattia somehow.

He wished he understood more. Mattia dealt with antiques, primarily antiques weapons, sourcing them and matching them with buyers. What could Mattia have possibly done that—that had gotten Nikolai angry enough to kidnap Elliot as collateral?

All Elliot knew was that Mattia’s business had been doing particularly well recently, that Mattia had been coming home from work in a good mood, revved up and expecting Elliot to share in his success, for all that Mattia never went into detail.

Mattia in a good mood was infinitely better than Mattia in a bad one. And now… now Elliot was going to be blamed for it going wrong.

In the best outcome, Elliot imagined Mattia would just dump him on his ass and be done with him after this. He’d been fucking up so much recently, but this was another level entirely. Being so stupid and letting himself get kidnapped—there was no way Mattia would want to deal with him after this.

But something in Elliot—something that he didn’t want to look at because it made his chest hurt and his vision grey out—knew that Mattia wouldn’t just dump him and leave.

If he lost Mattia money, ruined his business, there would be hell to pay.

Mattia didn’t just forgive and forget. He’d want to take his anger out on—

On the person who deserved it.

Fuck . Why had he gotten into that car? He was so fucking stupid, not paying attention to the driver or the man who’d said his name.

So stupid, 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 make sense. Why were they so upset over an antique 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, Mattia would 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 was bad. 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 of deal with 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’t Stupid Elliot to 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 in his 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.

But he was weak and stupid and childish too, so he squeezed the soft fur against his face, smearing tears against the toy plush.

Eventually, his exhausted body escaped into sleep.

***

Elliot jolted back into his body at the crash of a door opening.

He shot up in bed, scuttling back up against the headboard before his eyes had even opened.

His mind was still in a nightmare where he’d been cooking at the diner and a fire had broken out.

It had spread so fast, and Elliot had scrambled to get away as Mattia screamed at him about how he’d been so careless.

He’d been sobbing, apologizing even as the flames licked closer and closer, but Mattia wasn’t interested in apologies, grabbing him by the back of the neck and holding him still.

Elliot had felt the heat beginning to singe his skin and—

And then he’d been thrust into consciousness and he was gasping, ready with another apology for disturbing Mattia before the world swam into focus.

The person that had just barged into the room wasn’t Mattia though, but Nikolai. Elliot wasn’t in Mattia’s penthouse, but locked in this man’s guest room because he’d been kidnapped.

Kidnapped .

His heart thundered in his chest and he couldn’t calm his breathing. His body curled in tight as Nikolai strode quickly into the room and then stopped at the foot of the bed.