Man I Used to Be #10
Title: Man I Used to Be
By: Jendavis
Rating: R
Spoilers: Up through 2x07
Pairing: Alec Hardison/ Eliot Spencer
Genre: Drama
Warnings: WIP
Disclaimer: Don't own, don't sue, don't take this too seriously.
Summary: The present's a mess, and the past isn't helping.
A/N: For cybel, who made me this awesome banner and totally made my week. Thanks, hon!
Previous Chapters: Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Another day or so, and Eliot seemed to be on the mend.
---
Hardison wasn't surprised to see Nate calling so soon from the hospital.
"He chased you out, too, yeah?"
"Think he's feeling better. He even chased Sophie out. Said we were interrupting his reading."
"He get glasses already?"
"What? Ah, I don't- Sophie, hang on," Nate broke off, muttering sharply. Apparently he'd decided to call in the middle of an argument. "Never mind. Anyhow, the doctors said that as long as there's no surprises, he'll probably be released tomorrow."
"Awesome. Want me to book the flight?"
"Actually, ah. The doctors don't want him flying just yet."
"But it's, what. Five hours by car?"
"Closer to six, actually, and we'll be taking breaks. So, longer, and if it gets to be too much we'll grab a hotel, finish the drive the next day. That work?"
"Fine by me."
"Great. Let Parker know, if you can find her. We're going to stop in at the car rental and trade in for something larger, but we'll be heading to the hotel when that's done."
"Right. I'll start tearing down," Alec lied, hanging up the phone and turning to regard the convoluted mess of conflicting information that should have been a simple lease agreement.
The property had traded hands, been rented out under the table, shuttered, foreclosed on and bought so many times in the past five years that he didn't have much hope of figuring it out in the next few hours, and the clock was ticking.
You're not actually hearing that, he reminded himself for the third time in an hour.
He'd never get anywhere with if he didn't get back to it, though. But first, he dialed Parker, resuming his post in the uncomfortable desk chair and ignoring the surge of homesickness that crept up out of nowhere. Stared at the ugly fucking artwork while he waited for an answer.
There was distortion on the line, a rush of wind, when Parker answered. "Yeah?"
"Hey, girl," he smiled when he talked. It was one of those thing's he'd learned in the four hours he'd worked telemarketing, way back when. They can hear it when you smile. "What's up?"
"Nothing, why?" There was a crash in the background, and Alec wondered if it was structural, expensive, or both.
"Whatever it is, wrap it up. We're heading back to Boston tomorrow."
"Cool." Again, there was wind, and a clanging noise in the background.
"Seriously, Parker, what are you doing?" Her answer was an indistinct grunt. He rolled his eyes and twisted in his seat, flicking the curtain aside to scan the skyline. "You're hanging off some skyscraper somewhere, aren't you?"
She hesitated, the way she usually did when she wasn't sure if she should tell the truth. "No. I'm under the 279 bridge. It might need some work, but I can't get close enough o see the bolts under here. You think I should send someone a note?"
"Yeah. When you get back. Why don't-"
"He yelled at me, you know. When I went to visit. It was-" Parker sighed, or maybe it was the wind. "He said he was sick of me looking at him."
"Eliot? Yeah. He's been yelling at everyone all day. Probably just going a little insane, you know? But he's getting released tomorrow, we're heading home."
"That's good," she replied, and her voice a sounded little bit more bright. Alec was pretty sure of it. "That's really good."
---
They'd cleared out of the hotel an hour earlier than planned, each of them more ready to get going than the last, which only meant they'd earned themselves an extra hour of waiting at the hospital while the doctors finished checking Eliot over.
Finally, though, it was time, and Eliot was stepping through the door, nodding in their direction before following the nurse to the counter to sign the paperwork. Even with his arm in a sling, which was doing double duty holding an ice pack in place, he looked a lot better. The street clothes and the shave he'd finally been allowed probably helped. He didn't look like he was at a hundred percent, but he was definitely more alive than dead.
And he looked like he knew it. By the time he'd crossed the lobby floor, he was smiling wide enough that no one commented on the small white pharmacy bag he held in his hand.
"Ready to go home?" Nate asked, not wanting to make a big deal of it, as he began to lead them towards the exit.
"You have no freakin' idea," he answered, even letting Alec hold the door open for him, passing by with a nod.
---
One stop for coffees of varying complexity, and they were on the road. Sophie took the first shift driving, and Eliot dozed in the front seat, half listening to everyone talk in fits and starts.
Growing up, the family vacations had generally meant squabbling with his sister in the back seat out of boredom, pretending not to know his folks were doing their Not Fighting in Front of the Kids routine up front. Some bad patch, he'd figure out years later, long after they'd pulled through it. He'd never asked about it. At the time, though, it was all truck stops with casino games and bad food, and every historical marker and rock formation from Oklahoma to California. Hours of boredom and Springsteen on the radio when he was lucky. Most of the time, he wasn't.
This wasn't shaping up to be a trip like that. The others were talking, but he was having a hard time tracking it. The doctors hadn't been thrilled with his plan to sit in a car for two hours, probably wouldn't have let him go at all if he hadn't lied.
Using his good arm, he pushed himself up in his seat, mindful of his posture. Just because he couldn't feel any pain, as slow and dosed as he was, it didn't mean he couldn't screw things up worse, and his chest was starting to ache just a little, anyway.
Didn't matter. He was finally heading home. Only a few more hours, stuck in here with everyone talking carefully around him, Not Worrying in Front of the Injured, and he'd be home.
---
"…and right then, just as the Premier was standing to make his toast, the fire alarms went off, and the sprinklers came on. Everyone was drenched, sitting in all their finery, and half of them still had their glasses raised. Well, you know, the ways these things go, the Premier went ahead and toasted the hero of the hour, who, of course, rose to bow, but he slipped, bringing most of the tablecloth with him. In all the commotion that followed, the prince made his escape, and was on a boat back to the mainland within minutes. All Ihad to show for it was a ruined dress. Oh, and the pot bellied pig."
---
"No. I know I did a good job with the license, but it's not actually valid. It's. Fake. Not letting you drive, Parker. No way. Nuh-uh."
---
"No, see. This guy? He stuck out worse than Hardison in Amish country. He'd dyed his hair, even his moustache, but he hadn't touched it up in a month or so. He knew enough of the language to get by, but not enough to catch on to the fact that the locals had been calling him Goldilocks for months. Heh. He was so convinced he had us fooled, even came right up to me in the marketplace and tried to sell me some watches. Cocky bastard was still trying to play the I don't speak English card all the way back to Miami. We had to get a translator in because he wouldn't break character, and this poor woman had to sit there with a straight face and try to pick apart broken Portuguese, spoken with a Swedish accent…"
---
"Eliot, are you certain you're okay? There's room to lean the seat back if it would be more comfortable."
Nate glanced over, caught Sophie's worried expression in the rearview. "He's asleep. Relax."
---
"Pull over, Hardison," Nate said, quietly, nodding his head in Eliot's direction before pulling away again, into the back seat. Alec half expected to hear yet another disagreement, but got none. Glancing over as he steered into the right lane, Alec could see that Eliot's eyes were wrenched shut and he was bracing himself against the back of the seat. He'd probably been in agony for miles.
The distance they covered between stops was growing distinctly shorter, and the breaks each time were growing longer.
Alec stretched, staying with the SUV as he watched them pair off, heading towards the visitor's center. Parker and Sophie were moving slowly, stretching stiffness from their bones as they walked, but they had already disappeared into the ladies' room by the time Nate managed to usher Eliot halfway up the sidewalk. It didn't look easy. When Eliot wasn't moving at a snail's pace, he was trying to edge away from Nate.
Alec rolled his shoulders and watched some kids playing with a puppy over by the picnic tables, as he re-estimated their arrival time for the seventh or eighth time since they'd hit the road.
He just wanted to get his ass home. Seriously, it had been a long week, and all he wanted was to get cleaned up in his own damned shower, park his ass in front of the TV for an hour or three, and not think anymore. He knew, in his head, that they were getting closer with every mile, but they were already an hour behind schedule, and had another hundred and twenty miles or so before they'd hit the Boston crawl.
Shaking his head, knowing damned well he was probably the first one to give up, he pulled out his phone, and started to look for nearby hotels.
He had five within twenty miles by the time the others returned. None of them were impressed, and definitely not Eliot, who of course was fine and dead on his feet and stupid and stubborn.
Nate had Alec's back, though, turning it into an ultimatum. Eliot would take his damned painkillers, or they'd stop at the next hotel. It worked. He ignored the pills that Sophie offered, but he did take the bottle, shaking one out and swallowing it dry. Screwing the cap back on, he glared at each of them in turn, betrayed maybe, or just daring them to say something.
It was Sophie's turn to drive again, and no one said anything more for sixty miles.
---
He was too tired to sit up anymore, to hold himself in place, so avoiding the massive sharp scraping in his chest, radiating down into his back and up into his shoulder, wasn't working so well.
The painkillers were wearing off already, and he was starting to think that maybe he should have given it another day before checking himself out. He didn't look up, didn't even open his eyes, really. He knew damned well that he'd find somebody watching.
You're a fucking idiot, he would have told himself, but he could barely breathe, let alone speak.
At some point, he became distantly aware that they were no longer moving, but whether or not it happened before or after Sophie was opening his door, he wasn't sure. She leaned down close to him, her voice carefully soothing.
"We're going to try putting the seat back, okay? Get you laying down until we get to the hospital." He felt the catch give, and the backrest was slipping away, but there were hands on him, he didn't know whose, and he wanted them gone, but they were careful around his shoulders, only easing him back down.
It wasn't perfect, it still hurt, but he could breathe. Pretended to pass out so he wouldn't have to take more drugs that didn't work right anyhow.
---
He wasn't even surprised to wake up in the hospital. Fucking stupid.
Seriously. He'd even known checking out was probably a bad idea. Wasn't like he'd been laboring under the impression he was invincible- he'd had to give that up years ago, and it had kept him alive longer than most. He didn't bullshit himself, and he paid attention.
Until now, apparently. Been slipping.
He didn't even have to turn his head to know where the call button was, but the last thing he wanted, right then, was to deal with anyone else.
Even if dealing with himself wasn't much better.
Maybe he'd gotten too dependant on the others, or, hell. Maybe it was just the opposite, because all he'd wanted- for what seemed like fucking ever, now, ever since the flight down to Kansas- was to go home. Find some fucking peace, some space. Get away from everyone's stifling concern.
Get the hell away from what they knew about him. And hell, back before Kansas, it was only Hardison he'd had to worry about, and. Shit.
This time, it was only one vaguely-familiar looking doctor. Same one from when he'd arrived. Name was Morris or something, and he was fairly bemused at the state of him, but checked his eyes one more time. Listened to him breathe, and asked him if he was feeling better.
"Yeah. Just think I overdid it."
"You think? Well. You should get some rest. Where do you live?"
"Out on Hough's Neck. Any chance of me seeing my house any time soon?"
Dr. Morris looked at his watch, seemed to think about it. "I'm guessing one of the four cranky people out in the hallway would be willing to drive you?"
"Yeah."
"I don't want you doing anything but lying flat on your back, which I'm guessing is what the last doctor told you, for the next few days."
"Sure thing."
"I'm also guessing that's what you said this morning. But, okay. You've had a bad day. It's just past four, now. Rush hour's in full swing. Visiting hours end at eight. If you rest until then, you can go home with your friends. Deal?"
"Fine."
Dr. Morris nodded once, checked his pager, nodded a second time, and left Eliot alone with his thoughts once again.
He knew how the team worked. He could guess the approaches they would have considered, before coming for him. They would've gathered around the table, staring up at as Hardison showed them the footage he would have probably found. Watching him curled on the floor, crawling on knees scabbed stiff to piss in a bucket, naked and pathetic.
God, Sophie would have seen it.
If that weren't bad enough, they would have done research, too. Finding the back-story to go forward. Talking about him. What they knew. Maybe everything Hardison knew. It was the same thing they did for every other case, every victim and villain.
It was his entire life, up on display for scrutiny and discussion. Job's he'd worked, things he'd done. People he knew. Maybe even his family. His sister.
They all knew. They all knew more than he himself did. They had to, they weren't stupid, none of them. He was known, now, scraped open a hell of a lot more than he was ever supposed to be.
The sooner he got home, the sooner he could shut them, and their attention, out. Find some peace for a while, a little bit of privacy. Even if home was a little less secure than it was a month ago.
Don't be an idiot. It's fine. It'll be fine.
He stared at the ceiling, forcing himself to believe it, but the door opened before he got there. It was the nurse, ducking her head in to ask him something.
"Yeah," he said, not paying attention until it was too late and Parker was following Hardison into his room. Both looked tired, and neither spoke. Parker wouldn't even make eye contact.
"Where're the others?"
"Nate got voted off the island on account of crankiness," Hardison explained. "Sophie sent him home. She's down in the cafeteria right now, but she's going to hang out here until you're released."
Eliot shook his head in annoyance. "Seriously? All I'm hearin' these days." He rolled his eyes, playing it up for Parker's benefit, who was looking scared. It seemed to help. "Y'all should just go home. I'm fine."
"Actually, they've got work to do," Sophie slid into the room, coffee in her hand. "Over at your house." She'd cleaned up a little, looked much better than she had in days, like she'd just come from some pleasant vacation somewhere. Parker must've seen it too, if the speculation on her face was anything to go by.
"My place? What for?"
Sophie looked askance at Hardison, and he pulled a face, telling her she'd jumped the gun, before answering. "Gonna clean the place up. Dump the rotten milk. You know."
"Make sure no one's lying in wait behind the couch," Parker finished in a monotone. Hardison was too tired to even try masking his annoyance, which she caught, but didn't understand.
"What?"
---
It was nice to come home to find the lights on, not that he'd say so. He waved back to Sophie and pretended not to notice that she waited until he was inside to pull away from the curb.
Trying the door, he found it unlocked, and it was totally mindless, but for a moment, he forgot to breathe.
Of course it's open. Chill.
He was stepping through the door and looking at his own stairs, his own living room, over on the left, and beyond it, his own kitchen, where Hardison must've heard him.
"Eliot?"
"Yeah," he said, shutting the door behind him and throwing the bolt. When he turned around again, Hardison had appeared, a pad of paper in his hand.
"Yo man, welcome home," he said, his grin widening into a yawn. "Sorry. Ah. We got everything sorted, but you're going to need groceries, I already started a list of the stuff that we had to throw out."
"Yeah, okay." Eliot nodded, not really knowing what else to do. "Where's Parker?"
"Uh, she took off. She was tired," Hardison explained, clearly covering for her.
"She still pissed at me?"
"Nah, man. She's just tired." Hardison scratched at his face. "Well. She might still be a little freaked. She'll be fine."
"Okay."
Thankfully, Hardison was already moving on. "So. We took out the trash and dealt with the rotten milk. Did the dishes and stuff. Turned the heat on, too."
"And looked around for bad guys."
"That too." Hardison looked abashed, but then he grinned. "Didn't find any, by the way."
Eliot let himself laugh, just a bit. "Didn't think you would."
"Yeah. Well. For future reference, a security system might be a worthwhile investment. Or changing the locks or something."
Eliot didn't want to get into it right now. He was too tired, and Hardison looked dead on his feet.
But he also looked determined, a little bit awkward and reluctant. "Look, man. We're going to have to talk about what happened. Not now, but, like. Real soon."
"Right."
"You okay with me coming 'round tomorrow? I can stop for groceries on the way, if you want."
"Okay."
"Right. Cool," Hardison fought another yawn. "I'll just clear out, get out of your hair in a second, here. I'll call before I come over tomorrow. That work?"
"Yeah," Eliot decided, not entirely sure why he continued with, "You could. You know. Crash on the couch if you want."
"Thanks, man, but I'm missing my bed almost as much as you've got to be. So. You need anything else?" He eyed Eliot's shoulder with apprehension.
"Nah, I'm good. Uh. Thanks. For everything."
"Don't mention it." Hardison grabbed his shoulder bag from the counter, and started making his way from the kitchen, stopping next to Eliot in the living room, his arm hanging a little loose from his body, like he might reach out, touch Eliot.
Eliot braced himself for contact, told himself he didn't want it when it never came.
Hardison scanned his face quickly, but didn't force eye contact. "Hey. Case I didn't say it? Glad you're back."
"Me too. Thanks."
---
Finally, Eliot was alone. The eyes were finally off him. He could relax.
He would, in a minute. Once he'd had a minute to warm up, to let it all set in. But the house was so damned cold.
There had to be a window open, somewhere in the house, letting the air in.
Starting in the basement and working his way up, he walked form room to room, slowly, spine straight and breathing shallow, growing more certain of the presence of the draft.
He knew Hardison and Parker had already gone through. It's fine. They'd turned the fucking heat on. Everything is fine. It wasn't as if he didn't know he was being paranoid.
But he checked the windows again, anyway, and felt around the seal of the doors, finding no air leaking through. Looking out the kitchen window at the shed, he realized that, at some point soon, he'd have to go check out the shed as well.
But the temperature outside was dropping, and he was being stupid. It was a shed. Ain't like he was sleeping out there. He could leave it.
It's fine.
He weaved a little too much in the hallway as he turned, enough that he had to wonder if he was already falling asleep. Dead on his feet. He stopped, though, at the thermostat.
He had to squint to be sure, but even then, he was surprised to find that it read 72 degrees.
Probably busted. Deal with it later.
The stairs were slower going than he wanted, and he had to open his mouth to breathe well before reaching the top and turning right into the bathroom, where he began the half-assed process of getting ready for bed. The sling, when it came off, felt like it was going to take the arm with it, as the weight redistributed itself, sending a whole new ache up through his shoulder and neck, and down into his chest.
He was startled by the reflection presented back to him. His skin was grayed out, except for the bruises under his right eye. It would have stood out more if exhaustion hadn't so heavily shaded the left.
He didn't even want to contemplate his chest and back yet. Hadn't even been clothed properly for an entire day yet, and it seemed a shame to waste the feeling of cotton on his skin. The wool in his mouth, though, had to fucking go, even if it meant a few moments of oxygen deprivation to get the job done.
Fuck, it was the first time he was using his own toothbrush in weeks.
The jeans were a total fucking hassle to handle one-handed, but once they were off, he realized there was warm air washing over his shin. The vent, under the towel rack, was working.
It was the best thing he'd felt in days, but he didn't go so far as to take his socks off. Or his shirts. The heinous process of dealing with those could wait until morning. And he couldn't stop shivering, anyway.
Overtired. Body can't self regulate the way it should. That's all.
---
He'd missed his bed, but hadn't truly realized how much until he was sliding under the sheets. It hadn't been the most extravagant thing he'd ever spent money on, but it was too big for him to move on his own.
He'd had to have it delivered, and it had taken three guys to haul it up the stairs. It would be near impossible to move again. Permanent. And it hadn't felt like a trap, the way he'd thought it might. Felt a little bit like home, even that first night.
He'd thought he'd be dropping solidly into sleep straight away, but he lay awake for a long time. Couldn't relax. He was still too wound up, and his surveying expedition hadn't helped the pain any.
But something was off. Maybe he'd gotten used to the hospital rooms, and their multiple beds and space for equipment, but the bedroom seemed cramped by comparison. And still too cold.
He was halfway out of bed, feeling the chill of the air and the floor beneath his feet, before realizing he'd moved. Stood there for a minute, waiting for the spasm in his back to fade and looking around. He went over to the bedroom door and threw it open, finding nothing but moonlight filtering through the windows, and stairs leading down towards the locked front door.
You're losing it. Get some sleep.
If he didn't suspect he'd crack his skull in the shower, the heat of the water would have been great. As it was, he'd have to get back under the blankets again if he planned to warm up any time this century.
Leaving the door open this time, in hopes that it wouldn't block any warm air from finding his bedroom, he staggered back to the bed, where he settled himself in, grasping at his arm to put it carefully in place.
Two breaths, maybe three, and then he slept.
---
The alarm, when it went off, came hours too early, Alec was certain of it. He slapped blindly at buttons in an attempt to make the noise stop, but only succeeded in turning the radio on, crisp and biting and entirely too loud.
Rolling himself out of bed in surrender, he staggered towards the bathroom, dropping his clothes to the floor as he waited for the shower to heat up.
The chilled air was nearly painful as he waited, naked, eyes more closed than open, but he was only aware of the weight of his limbs, gravity wanting to pull him down, back into sleep.
One hand braced against the tile for balance, he ducked into the spray and just stood, for a minute, listening to the insistent beat coming from the radio in the bedroom, steady and hypnotic and unchanging. Snare drums marching on, clicking at the edge of his awareness and worming into his head like clockwork.
Nodding absently to the beat he wasn't really hearing anymore, he reached for the soap and set upon the business of washing yesterday off. He didn't think, didn't make plans. He'd deal with today once he had some jeans on.
He turned the television on, finding the local news station and leaving it there. If aliens had invaded Boston any time in the past few days, he wanted to hear about it over fruit loops.
Or would have, if the milk had passed the sniff test. Trying not to breathe as he rinsed it down the drain, he wanted to cry. He had to go grocery shopping.
He'd told Eliot he'd run by there, anyway. What had seemed like no big deal the night before was stretching out before him like a never-ending gauntlet. Completely insurmountable. And he had work to do, here, besides.
You stay here, you'll just end up working in circles. You go over there, you might get some answers. And you promised, man.
Shoving a handful of dry cereal into his mouth, he went back to the entryway and retrieved the laptop case from the pile of bags he'd left by the door, but hesitated at the idea of going through. He'd only just gotten home. Didn't want to leave yet.
Dawdling, he meandered back towards the bathroom, he managed not to get any shaving cream on his shirt, so it was probably going to be a good day. Leaning over the sink to spit out the toothpaste, he became dimly aware that he was still nodding his head to the music.
He really needed to find a better radio station. Or maybe he should just turn the damned thing off. It wasn't until he was back in the bedroom that he heard a woman's voice finishing the traffic report, sending it over to Mark Margarit for the weather.
The music, or really, just the beat of what he'd half-heard, was a brain worm, too slow to dance to, ticking away insistently.
Locking up behind him, and heading down to the garage, he slung the computer case onto the front seat next to him. Dialed up Outkast and turned it up loud. Tried to keep up and tripped over the words, not catching up until the chorus, singing bombs over Baghdad as he turned left at the end of the block.
---
Alec had a cart, and he had his list, and he was only just realizing how useless both of them were. Milk, he could handle, but meat and vegetables were, in retrospect, a little vague, and whatever he'd scribbled beneath was completely illegible. Gotta learn to take better notes. Should have hacked his credit itemizations.
He could manage it on his phone, but it was a hassle. It would be easier from the laptop, but that was all the way back in the car.
He checked the time. It was just past nine. Hoping he wasn't about to wake her, he dialed Sophie.
She picked up on the second ring. "Hardison? Good morning."
"Sophie, hey. Didn't wake you, did I?"
"No, I've just put the kettle on. What's going on?"
"Ah. Minor crisis here. What does Eliot actually eat?"
"What, are you ordering takeout?"
"I'm at the store. Had to throw out a lot of stuff last night."
"That's so sweet of you!" Alec rolled his eyes and waited. "Okay. I know he does a lot of fresh fruit and veg, probably organic. But hang on. How's he going to cook with a dislocated shoulder?"
It was a good question, one that he would have missed. Eliot was one of the more animated chefs he'd seen, and chopping much of anything while throwing pans and plates around was going to be a pain in the ass for him.
To top it off, one of his kidneys had gotten messed up, though presumably the other one was taking care of things. Didn't mean the doctors hadn't ordered a restricted diet.
"Aw hell. Right. That's something to keep in mind, then. Thanks, Sophie."
"No problem. You're going over there already?"
He shoved his cart roughly to the side to allow a harried woman and her three kids swarm past towards the oranges. "Yeah, right when I finish up here."
"Give us a call, would you, when you've left? I don't want to barrage him with visitors, if he's sick of us, but…"
"Right. I'll see how he's doin' and get back to you. If you don't hear from me in a few hours, it's because I'm lost in the freezer aisle."
"I don't see how that would happen, there are really only two directions you could go."
After hanging up, he surveyed the produce section, he thought to himself, focus. One-armed hippie food. The organic section was, thankfully, advertised loudly, back towards the deli.
Apples and bananas and a few kinds of lettuce, two onions. Tomatoes, he wasn't sure about, but he grabbed one anyway. Green beans and red potatoes. Carrots and corn and sprouts. Peppers in various shapes and sizes, and he was on a roll. Tofu, too, because maybe he was the type. Bread was easy, though, and he didn't stumble until he hit the meat section. Chicken, ground beef, and pork, and some steaks. He wasn't going to mess with fish just now. This was supposed to be a milk and eggs run, anyway.
He got stuck in the kitchen supply aisle, not knowing exactly what he was looking for, but finding it anyway. He'd seen it on TV, a chopper thing that worked one-handed. It was the sort of thing he'd buy if he ever found the need to make food smaller.
That didn't mean it would actually work, though.
Just in case, he stopped in the freezer section. They made frozen dinners for hippies, too, after all. After that it was milk and eggs and cheese, and a swing through to grab some orange soda, which he set into the cart next to the oranges and peppers. Camouflage.
---
Eliot had woken up, not ten minutes ago, to Hardison's far too fucking awake voice on the other end of the line, announcing his imminent arrival.
Most of the time since had been spent crawling out of bed and throwing sweats on, and another pair of socks. A third shirt, because damn, he needed to do something about the insulation in this place. Ripping out walls to install more seemed easier than getting his damn arm though the sleeve, and it fucking hurt.
The sling settled right the first time he tried, though, so maybe things were looking up.
He'd just taken his pills, and put the coffee on, when Hardison exploded through the door, laden with bags and setting them on the counter. And then he left.
Just like that.
Only to come back with more a moment later, his laptop bag slung over one shoulder.
He caught Eliot's blearily raised eyebrows. "Didn't know what you wanted. So. I may have gone a little overboard."
"You think? But. Thanks, you didn't have to, what do I owe you?"
Alec gave him a patronizing look and waved it off. "Shit, this is probably the least ridiculous stuff I've bought in weeks. Where's it all go?"
"I can-"
"You can just sit right there and drink your coffee. Are you supposed to be drinking coffee? Never mind. Potatoes in the fridge?" Eliot blinked. There was no way Hardison was serious.
Then again.
"Basket on top."
"Right."
Eliot watched the invasion of his kitchen, trying not to jump in and do it properly. More greens than he'd be able to go through in a week, and he didn't even want to know what he'd picked up by way of meat, it was probably as random as everything else. Hardison seemed to be managing, though, even if he did shove half a dozen TV dinners into the fridge. Hardison didn't come up for air until he was came to a plastic container. Tofu?
"In the fridge," Eliot confirmed, boggled, trying to think of the last time he'd made it. Throw a marinade together, blackened, maybe. Or hell. Stir fry. There was this great Vietnamese dish he'd picked up…
Hardison was looking at him now, amused at something. "Hey, man. Earth to Eliot."
"What?" Eliot rolled his neck. "Hey."
"How's the shoulder?"
"Awesome."
"Picked up this thing," he said, holding a box up for inspection. "Sophie figured you might not be up to chopping things for a bit, and Billy Mays seemed really excited about it."
"Who?" Eliot reached out and examined it. Seemed like it might work, even if it looked like cheating. Didn't matter. It was just temporary. Besides. He hadn't even gotten around to thinking about cooking, yet. Hell, he hadn't even showered yet. And so far, the other's had already had a freakin' powwow on the topic.
Hardison was looking at him like he had information that needed to be extracted, and he was just figuring out his approach, and whatever it was, Eliot knew he didn't want to hear it.
Standing up, Eliot made his way to the fridge, waving him out of the way. "You eat yet?"
"Had some breakfast."
"Handful of fruit loops?"
"What? No. Yeah."
"Omelet?"
"Sure. Want some help?"
"No. Sit your ass down and get out of the way." Hardison hesitated before edging away, too slowly for Eliot's liking. He knew what this was about. "Seriously. I got this. You keep hovering, I'm gonna kick your ass."
"Right. Never mind two hospitals in the last day and a half, you're like a Dalek right now, old school. You get all exterminate on me and I'll just head for the stairs."
Eliot pretended not to get the reference. It wasn't like his folks raised him in a cave, after all. "Do you know how to make an omelet?"
"I'm sure I can work it out." Hardison eyed the carton of eggs speculatively.
"Well, I'm not aiming for hospital stay number three, so move." He rinsed the dubious chopper in the sink and got to work.
Hardison grinned, but he slid around and pulled up a stool, sliding his jacket and sweatshirt off like the cold didn't bother him in the least.
He didn't interfere, but Eliot could feel him watching, the entire time. Told himself it was normal, not at all weird. It was what any of them always did when he else was cooking over at Nate's place, after all, and hell. He'd done it himself, growing up. It was normal.
It just didn't feel that way. He kind of wanted him to stop, but he didn't want to talk about it.
---
Alec thought through fifty more things he could try with the warehouse records, rejecting each in turn as he ate. Even so, he finished long before Eliot was done picking at his plate.
Billy Mays knew his shit, but if omelets tired Eliot out as much as it looked like they did, then he'd been totally right on the frozen dinners. But he didn't rub it in.
He did, however, draw the line at letting Eliot do the dishes.
"I got this. You should. I don't know. Go back to bed or something."
"Not tired." It didn't look like he was lying, but he didn't seem to be up for much, either. "Should go grab a shower, though."
"You do that."
Eliot had already gone upstairs before Alec realized that he didn't know if he was supposed to stay, or leave. He was done with the dishes by the time he heard the shower come on, and realized that right now, at this particular house, at this moment in time, Eliot was upstairs, naked.
It wasn't a thought that went anywhere, though. Just a realization. Distracting enough that he didn't even notice what he was doing until he was already camped out at one end of Eliot's couch, turning on his laptop.
He wants you gone, he'll tell you.
---
It was a long time before the shower came off, and even longer before he heard him at the top of the stairs.
"Hardison?"
"Yeah man. In the living room." Wanted to make sure you didn't slip in the shower, but you're cool, so I can go. Unless you actually want to tell me what the hell this entire month has been about.
A few minutes later, and Eliot was leaning against the doorframe, but not yet committed to actually entering. He was wearing a different sweatshirt, no, just an additional one, and his hair was wet underneath a knit cap pulled low, shadowing his eyes. He looked ridiculous, but also a little like he was freezing. "What're you doin'?"
"Trying to work through the warehouse paper trail. Not having much luck, so…" Alec grimaced, suddenly not wanting to force it. He could practically hear Sophie insisting that Eliot needed to rest, not to be bothered with this stuff. Nate, though, would have let Eliot decide. "If you got anything, you know. Might help."
Eliot closed his eyes for a minute, and Alec was certain he was opening his mouth to kick him out, to tell him that they'd deal with this when he was feeling better, and he wouldn't blame him, but- "What do you got so far?"
Alec wasn't expecting that. Okay, so we're going to do this.
He also hadn't thought he'd be the one to have to start. He took a few seconds to get it straight in his head before he began.
"Right. So. The records for the building are a mess. No idea who actually owns it, and for all I know, they could have been squatting. So I'm nowhere on that. As far as the rest of it goes?" He shrugged, but Eliot didn't seem to have any answers. He barely had the energy to be hearing it.
Alec turned slightly on the couch, balancing his computer on his thigh, and resumed, determined. "A'ight, check it. Quick version. You never showed in Kansas, weren't answering your phone, and you weren't using your cards anywhere. We started checking it out, but couldn't find anything hinky going on. We rushed the job, saved the Bradshaw ranch, by the way, and got our asses back to town. Came here and looked around, which you already know. Realized that I hadn't included Dayan in my search, so…"
"Wait. What?"
Alec looked up, sharply, to find Eliot scowling in angry confusion.
"Mikel Dayan, she-" And then realization hit. "Oh."
He didn't know. Until now.
He scrambled to find words, something to rush them past this, to bring him back around, but Eliot's expression shifted, then.
He looked like he'd been crossed by someone he hadn't expected it from. Alec's brain ground to a halt and switched tracks.
Thinking about it now, Alec had to admit that he hadn't anticipated it, either. He'd seen them at the bar that one night, all intense eyes over handcuffs. And judging by the expression Eliot wore now, the flirtation had led exactly where Alec had thought it would.
And then it had led to here, and now, and a sudden flash of insane jealousy that really had nothing to do with anything.
He tried not to look at Eliot, didn't want to let on, but he wasn't seeing much of anything, standing in his own doorway like a visitor, blown and wild-eyed and totally fucking betrayed.
His voice, though, when he spoke, was a cold monotone. "How d'you know it was her?"
"I found the shirt you wore at the gallery."
"Huh?" Eliot pulled a face, trying to follow. "You remembered what shirt I was wearin'?"
"Pink stands out on a man, what can I say?"
"Whatever," Eliot frowned. "So you tracked her?"
"All the way to the warehouse. The rest, you know."
"No, I don't. Not really."
"Well, what do you know?"
Realizing how that had sounded, what it was that he was actually asking, Alec wished he could rewind, try that again. He leaned back in his chair, steeling himself for the explosion that was sure to come.
It didn't. Eliot's expression was blank, maybe a little shuttered, or maybe he really was fascinated by the blank expanse of wall across the room. The silence started to look permanent. The result of an error that Alec couldn't go back and recode.
He was about to try, anyway, when Eliot moved from the doorway, actually sitting down carefully on the other end of the couch. Glancing briefly at Alec, he rolled his head back to look up at the ceiling, resigned. "What do you want to know?"
"I want to know what happened." I don't even know where to start. "Why did you bail on the Kansas job?"
Eliot sighed, the annoyance visible at the side of his mouth. "I didn't bail, I was gonna come back." He paused, and Alec was just about to prompt him, but he continued, admitting, "I needed some space."
"And got it in spades," Alec agreed, forcing himself not to confirm his suspicions as to why distance had been needed. He was pretty sure he already knew, and they really didn't need to go there just then.
Eliot's relieved smirk was short lived, however. He tugged the cuff of his sleeve down over his knuckles, and began.
"I got home late and crashed out. Got up in the morning and went about my day. Um. Went out to the shed, but the light wasn't working, because the wiring had gotten corroded."
Eliot broke off, casting an abortive look in his direction. "It's funny, I was gonna give you a call when I was at the hardware store, ask you about the wiring." He nearly grinned, but didn't quite make it. "Got home, fixed it, no problem. Was going to start on the garden…wait." His forehead creased. Something wasn't adding up. "No, I went out on the porch and was going to read for a bit, but." The scowl deepened. He shook his head. "That's all."
"Until."
"Yeah."
"What happened next?" Alec saw the words leaving his mouth before he'd thought them, watched them register with Eliot. This time, however, the reaction was exactly what he'd been expecting.
"I hung out by the pool and worked on my tan," he growled.
"Right, alright. Sorry," Alec only half meant it, too damned tired of this conversation already. "I just needed to know if you learned anything, cause-"
Eliot cut him off with a sharp shake of his head. "No. I know." He knocked his head against the top of the couch, like he was trying to shake the tension loose. "Why not? Not like every last fucking detail of my life's not an open book to you anyway."
Alec snorted. "Look, I know this ain't fun, but if we're going to figure this out, we need all the information we can get." Eliot still wasn't looking at him, and he wasn't looking that good at all, really.
But Alec was getting damned tired of being the only one in their entire crew that was actually trying to deal. "Or, more accurately," he grumbled bitterly to himself, "I'm going to need all the information I can get."
Eliot's eyes were closed, but he didn't look like he'd passed out, or anything, and Alec wasn't about to reach over and check, so he turned back to his computer. Tried to think of some other approach to take, because talking? Talking never worked when you needed it to.
"What d'you mean, you?" It was so quiet, he wasn't sure he'd actually heard.
"Huh? Nothing. Don't worry about it."
"Hardison." Eliot was taking up too little space under his layers of clothes to back up the threat in his tone, but it came through nonetheless.
Didn't mean he knew how to answer, but Eliot could detect bullshit when he heard it. And he should probably know anyway.
He sighed. "Look. Ain't like the others aren't helping, but. The way this entire thing's been playin' out, it's pretty much been my skill set that's handling it. So. There's things that I haven't told them. Ain't tryin' to hold out on them, but." But seeing all of it? Could've broken them as well. It wasn't just you I was trying to protect.
Not being privy to Alec's inner monologue, his tone was acidic, accusing. "What are you talking about?"
"The camera. Filming your lounge chair by the pool. They haven't seen most of it. Just parking lots and hallways, the door to your, ah. Room. Nothing inside."
Eliot's frown deepened, like he didn't want to be thinking whatever it was that he was thinking, and it was as good a time as any, Alec figured, to dig himself in deeper.
"I, um. Haven't told them about the other stuff, either. Before Kansas. If you were worried."
---
The others didn't see the pathetic mess you became. It was something, at least.
And Hardison had kept his mouth shut, about the rest of it. That was definitely something, but it was a bit much to deal with now.
They'd all seen the fallout, a good portion of it, and he wasn't exactly clear on what they'd heard from the doctors, but they hadn't seen the worst of it. They hadn't seen him lying naked on the floor, waiting to die. Hadn't watched him cowering from the attackers. Hadn't watched him give up.
It was a nice thought, but it didn't make sense. Not with the way they'd been acting.
Nate, at the hospital, hadn't been able to deal. Parker had managed- she'd probably studied the other visitors to learn what normal people did, but she'd followed their lead pretty well. Sophie, so close to shattering herself, hadn't stopped treating him like glass, even on the ride home.
Hardison had given Eliot the same wide berth that he normally did, and it could have been denial, or it could have been confidence, but he'd rolled with it. Didn't look at him any different. Not pitying or patronizing, and he hadn't stared at him like he was a specimen under a microscope.
He'd been too busy staring at his screen, working. Figuring all this shit out.
He'd had his back more than anyone since his own folks, probably without noticing it, too busy trying to pull answers out of nothing.
And Eliot, so far, wasn't helping much on that front.
He thought of the photos, the best clue he'd had, this entire fucking time. And they hadn't meant a damned thing. It was bad enough not knowing, even if most of the time, he was okay dealing with the gray. Hardison, on the other hand? This had to be killing him.
Hardison was quiet, not even typing, and Eliot might as well have not been in the room. He was an accessory. Useless.
He'd been useless for a while now. Too long.
"I woke up in the cell, without my shirt or shoes. Nothing in my pockets," he began, telling it to the ceiling.
He knew it wasn't much, but if Hardison happened to overhear, maybe he'd find somewhere to start.
---
"I understand that you want to call in the marker."
"There are eyes on me. I want them gouged out. You do this for me, and your debt is forgiven. You get them to me in a box, and you'll be well compensated."
---
Chapter 11
By: Jendavis
Rating: R
Spoilers: Up through 2x07
Pairing: Alec Hardison/ Eliot Spencer
Genre: Drama
Warnings: WIP
Disclaimer: Don't own, don't sue, don't take this too seriously.
Summary: The present's a mess, and the past isn't helping.
A/N: For cybel, who made me this awesome banner and totally made my week. Thanks, hon!
Previous Chapters: Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Another day or so, and Eliot seemed to be on the mend.
---
Hardison wasn't surprised to see Nate calling so soon from the hospital.
"He chased you out, too, yeah?"
"Think he's feeling better. He even chased Sophie out. Said we were interrupting his reading."
"He get glasses already?"
"What? Ah, I don't- Sophie, hang on," Nate broke off, muttering sharply. Apparently he'd decided to call in the middle of an argument. "Never mind. Anyhow, the doctors said that as long as there's no surprises, he'll probably be released tomorrow."
"Awesome. Want me to book the flight?"
"Actually, ah. The doctors don't want him flying just yet."
"But it's, what. Five hours by car?"
"Closer to six, actually, and we'll be taking breaks. So, longer, and if it gets to be too much we'll grab a hotel, finish the drive the next day. That work?"
"Fine by me."
"Great. Let Parker know, if you can find her. We're going to stop in at the car rental and trade in for something larger, but we'll be heading to the hotel when that's done."
"Right. I'll start tearing down," Alec lied, hanging up the phone and turning to regard the convoluted mess of conflicting information that should have been a simple lease agreement.
The property had traded hands, been rented out under the table, shuttered, foreclosed on and bought so many times in the past five years that he didn't have much hope of figuring it out in the next few hours, and the clock was ticking.
You're not actually hearing that, he reminded himself for the third time in an hour.
He'd never get anywhere with if he didn't get back to it, though. But first, he dialed Parker, resuming his post in the uncomfortable desk chair and ignoring the surge of homesickness that crept up out of nowhere. Stared at the ugly fucking artwork while he waited for an answer.
There was distortion on the line, a rush of wind, when Parker answered. "Yeah?"
"Hey, girl," he smiled when he talked. It was one of those thing's he'd learned in the four hours he'd worked telemarketing, way back when. They can hear it when you smile. "What's up?"
"Nothing, why?" There was a crash in the background, and Alec wondered if it was structural, expensive, or both.
"Whatever it is, wrap it up. We're heading back to Boston tomorrow."
"Cool." Again, there was wind, and a clanging noise in the background.
"Seriously, Parker, what are you doing?" Her answer was an indistinct grunt. He rolled his eyes and twisted in his seat, flicking the curtain aside to scan the skyline. "You're hanging off some skyscraper somewhere, aren't you?"
She hesitated, the way she usually did when she wasn't sure if she should tell the truth. "No. I'm under the 279 bridge. It might need some work, but I can't get close enough o see the bolts under here. You think I should send someone a note?"
"Yeah. When you get back. Why don't-"
"He yelled at me, you know. When I went to visit. It was-" Parker sighed, or maybe it was the wind. "He said he was sick of me looking at him."
"Eliot? Yeah. He's been yelling at everyone all day. Probably just going a little insane, you know? But he's getting released tomorrow, we're heading home."
"That's good," she replied, and her voice a sounded little bit more bright. Alec was pretty sure of it. "That's really good."
---
They'd cleared out of the hotel an hour earlier than planned, each of them more ready to get going than the last, which only meant they'd earned themselves an extra hour of waiting at the hospital while the doctors finished checking Eliot over.
Finally, though, it was time, and Eliot was stepping through the door, nodding in their direction before following the nurse to the counter to sign the paperwork. Even with his arm in a sling, which was doing double duty holding an ice pack in place, he looked a lot better. The street clothes and the shave he'd finally been allowed probably helped. He didn't look like he was at a hundred percent, but he was definitely more alive than dead.
And he looked like he knew it. By the time he'd crossed the lobby floor, he was smiling wide enough that no one commented on the small white pharmacy bag he held in his hand.
"Ready to go home?" Nate asked, not wanting to make a big deal of it, as he began to lead them towards the exit.
"You have no freakin' idea," he answered, even letting Alec hold the door open for him, passing by with a nod.
---
One stop for coffees of varying complexity, and they were on the road. Sophie took the first shift driving, and Eliot dozed in the front seat, half listening to everyone talk in fits and starts.
Growing up, the family vacations had generally meant squabbling with his sister in the back seat out of boredom, pretending not to know his folks were doing their Not Fighting in Front of the Kids routine up front. Some bad patch, he'd figure out years later, long after they'd pulled through it. He'd never asked about it. At the time, though, it was all truck stops with casino games and bad food, and every historical marker and rock formation from Oklahoma to California. Hours of boredom and Springsteen on the radio when he was lucky. Most of the time, he wasn't.
This wasn't shaping up to be a trip like that. The others were talking, but he was having a hard time tracking it. The doctors hadn't been thrilled with his plan to sit in a car for two hours, probably wouldn't have let him go at all if he hadn't lied.
Using his good arm, he pushed himself up in his seat, mindful of his posture. Just because he couldn't feel any pain, as slow and dosed as he was, it didn't mean he couldn't screw things up worse, and his chest was starting to ache just a little, anyway.
Didn't matter. He was finally heading home. Only a few more hours, stuck in here with everyone talking carefully around him, Not Worrying in Front of the Injured, and he'd be home.
---
"…and right then, just as the Premier was standing to make his toast, the fire alarms went off, and the sprinklers came on. Everyone was drenched, sitting in all their finery, and half of them still had their glasses raised. Well, you know, the ways these things go, the Premier went ahead and toasted the hero of the hour, who, of course, rose to bow, but he slipped, bringing most of the tablecloth with him. In all the commotion that followed, the prince made his escape, and was on a boat back to the mainland within minutes. All Ihad to show for it was a ruined dress. Oh, and the pot bellied pig."
---
"No. I know I did a good job with the license, but it's not actually valid. It's. Fake. Not letting you drive, Parker. No way. Nuh-uh."
---
"No, see. This guy? He stuck out worse than Hardison in Amish country. He'd dyed his hair, even his moustache, but he hadn't touched it up in a month or so. He knew enough of the language to get by, but not enough to catch on to the fact that the locals had been calling him Goldilocks for months. Heh. He was so convinced he had us fooled, even came right up to me in the marketplace and tried to sell me some watches. Cocky bastard was still trying to play the I don't speak English card all the way back to Miami. We had to get a translator in because he wouldn't break character, and this poor woman had to sit there with a straight face and try to pick apart broken Portuguese, spoken with a Swedish accent…"
---
"Eliot, are you certain you're okay? There's room to lean the seat back if it would be more comfortable."
Nate glanced over, caught Sophie's worried expression in the rearview. "He's asleep. Relax."
---
"Pull over, Hardison," Nate said, quietly, nodding his head in Eliot's direction before pulling away again, into the back seat. Alec half expected to hear yet another disagreement, but got none. Glancing over as he steered into the right lane, Alec could see that Eliot's eyes were wrenched shut and he was bracing himself against the back of the seat. He'd probably been in agony for miles.
The distance they covered between stops was growing distinctly shorter, and the breaks each time were growing longer.
Alec stretched, staying with the SUV as he watched them pair off, heading towards the visitor's center. Parker and Sophie were moving slowly, stretching stiffness from their bones as they walked, but they had already disappeared into the ladies' room by the time Nate managed to usher Eliot halfway up the sidewalk. It didn't look easy. When Eliot wasn't moving at a snail's pace, he was trying to edge away from Nate.
Alec rolled his shoulders and watched some kids playing with a puppy over by the picnic tables, as he re-estimated their arrival time for the seventh or eighth time since they'd hit the road.
He just wanted to get his ass home. Seriously, it had been a long week, and all he wanted was to get cleaned up in his own damned shower, park his ass in front of the TV for an hour or three, and not think anymore. He knew, in his head, that they were getting closer with every mile, but they were already an hour behind schedule, and had another hundred and twenty miles or so before they'd hit the Boston crawl.
Shaking his head, knowing damned well he was probably the first one to give up, he pulled out his phone, and started to look for nearby hotels.
He had five within twenty miles by the time the others returned. None of them were impressed, and definitely not Eliot, who of course was fine and dead on his feet and stupid and stubborn.
Nate had Alec's back, though, turning it into an ultimatum. Eliot would take his damned painkillers, or they'd stop at the next hotel. It worked. He ignored the pills that Sophie offered, but he did take the bottle, shaking one out and swallowing it dry. Screwing the cap back on, he glared at each of them in turn, betrayed maybe, or just daring them to say something.
It was Sophie's turn to drive again, and no one said anything more for sixty miles.
---
He was too tired to sit up anymore, to hold himself in place, so avoiding the massive sharp scraping in his chest, radiating down into his back and up into his shoulder, wasn't working so well.
The painkillers were wearing off already, and he was starting to think that maybe he should have given it another day before checking himself out. He didn't look up, didn't even open his eyes, really. He knew damned well that he'd find somebody watching.
You're a fucking idiot, he would have told himself, but he could barely breathe, let alone speak.
At some point, he became distantly aware that they were no longer moving, but whether or not it happened before or after Sophie was opening his door, he wasn't sure. She leaned down close to him, her voice carefully soothing.
"We're going to try putting the seat back, okay? Get you laying down until we get to the hospital." He felt the catch give, and the backrest was slipping away, but there were hands on him, he didn't know whose, and he wanted them gone, but they were careful around his shoulders, only easing him back down.
It wasn't perfect, it still hurt, but he could breathe. Pretended to pass out so he wouldn't have to take more drugs that didn't work right anyhow.
---
He wasn't even surprised to wake up in the hospital. Fucking stupid.
Seriously. He'd even known checking out was probably a bad idea. Wasn't like he'd been laboring under the impression he was invincible- he'd had to give that up years ago, and it had kept him alive longer than most. He didn't bullshit himself, and he paid attention.
Until now, apparently. Been slipping.
He didn't even have to turn his head to know where the call button was, but the last thing he wanted, right then, was to deal with anyone else.
Even if dealing with himself wasn't much better.
Maybe he'd gotten too dependant on the others, or, hell. Maybe it was just the opposite, because all he'd wanted- for what seemed like fucking ever, now, ever since the flight down to Kansas- was to go home. Find some fucking peace, some space. Get away from everyone's stifling concern.
Get the hell away from what they knew about him. And hell, back before Kansas, it was only Hardison he'd had to worry about, and. Shit.
This time, it was only one vaguely-familiar looking doctor. Same one from when he'd arrived. Name was Morris or something, and he was fairly bemused at the state of him, but checked his eyes one more time. Listened to him breathe, and asked him if he was feeling better.
"Yeah. Just think I overdid it."
"You think? Well. You should get some rest. Where do you live?"
"Out on Hough's Neck. Any chance of me seeing my house any time soon?"
Dr. Morris looked at his watch, seemed to think about it. "I'm guessing one of the four cranky people out in the hallway would be willing to drive you?"
"Yeah."
"I don't want you doing anything but lying flat on your back, which I'm guessing is what the last doctor told you, for the next few days."
"Sure thing."
"I'm also guessing that's what you said this morning. But, okay. You've had a bad day. It's just past four, now. Rush hour's in full swing. Visiting hours end at eight. If you rest until then, you can go home with your friends. Deal?"
"Fine."
Dr. Morris nodded once, checked his pager, nodded a second time, and left Eliot alone with his thoughts once again.
He knew how the team worked. He could guess the approaches they would have considered, before coming for him. They would've gathered around the table, staring up at as Hardison showed them the footage he would have probably found. Watching him curled on the floor, crawling on knees scabbed stiff to piss in a bucket, naked and pathetic.
God, Sophie would have seen it.
If that weren't bad enough, they would have done research, too. Finding the back-story to go forward. Talking about him. What they knew. Maybe everything Hardison knew. It was the same thing they did for every other case, every victim and villain.
It was his entire life, up on display for scrutiny and discussion. Job's he'd worked, things he'd done. People he knew. Maybe even his family. His sister.
They all knew. They all knew more than he himself did. They had to, they weren't stupid, none of them. He was known, now, scraped open a hell of a lot more than he was ever supposed to be.
The sooner he got home, the sooner he could shut them, and their attention, out. Find some peace for a while, a little bit of privacy. Even if home was a little less secure than it was a month ago.
Don't be an idiot. It's fine. It'll be fine.
He stared at the ceiling, forcing himself to believe it, but the door opened before he got there. It was the nurse, ducking her head in to ask him something.
"Yeah," he said, not paying attention until it was too late and Parker was following Hardison into his room. Both looked tired, and neither spoke. Parker wouldn't even make eye contact.
"Where're the others?"
"Nate got voted off the island on account of crankiness," Hardison explained. "Sophie sent him home. She's down in the cafeteria right now, but she's going to hang out here until you're released."
Eliot shook his head in annoyance. "Seriously? All I'm hearin' these days." He rolled his eyes, playing it up for Parker's benefit, who was looking scared. It seemed to help. "Y'all should just go home. I'm fine."
"Actually, they've got work to do," Sophie slid into the room, coffee in her hand. "Over at your house." She'd cleaned up a little, looked much better than she had in days, like she'd just come from some pleasant vacation somewhere. Parker must've seen it too, if the speculation on her face was anything to go by.
"My place? What for?"
Sophie looked askance at Hardison, and he pulled a face, telling her she'd jumped the gun, before answering. "Gonna clean the place up. Dump the rotten milk. You know."
"Make sure no one's lying in wait behind the couch," Parker finished in a monotone. Hardison was too tired to even try masking his annoyance, which she caught, but didn't understand.
"What?"
---
It was nice to come home to find the lights on, not that he'd say so. He waved back to Sophie and pretended not to notice that she waited until he was inside to pull away from the curb.
Trying the door, he found it unlocked, and it was totally mindless, but for a moment, he forgot to breathe.
Of course it's open. Chill.
He was stepping through the door and looking at his own stairs, his own living room, over on the left, and beyond it, his own kitchen, where Hardison must've heard him.
"Eliot?"
"Yeah," he said, shutting the door behind him and throwing the bolt. When he turned around again, Hardison had appeared, a pad of paper in his hand.
"Yo man, welcome home," he said, his grin widening into a yawn. "Sorry. Ah. We got everything sorted, but you're going to need groceries, I already started a list of the stuff that we had to throw out."
"Yeah, okay." Eliot nodded, not really knowing what else to do. "Where's Parker?"
"Uh, she took off. She was tired," Hardison explained, clearly covering for her.
"She still pissed at me?"
"Nah, man. She's just tired." Hardison scratched at his face. "Well. She might still be a little freaked. She'll be fine."
"Okay."
Thankfully, Hardison was already moving on. "So. We took out the trash and dealt with the rotten milk. Did the dishes and stuff. Turned the heat on, too."
"And looked around for bad guys."
"That too." Hardison looked abashed, but then he grinned. "Didn't find any, by the way."
Eliot let himself laugh, just a bit. "Didn't think you would."
"Yeah. Well. For future reference, a security system might be a worthwhile investment. Or changing the locks or something."
Eliot didn't want to get into it right now. He was too tired, and Hardison looked dead on his feet.
But he also looked determined, a little bit awkward and reluctant. "Look, man. We're going to have to talk about what happened. Not now, but, like. Real soon."
"Right."
"You okay with me coming 'round tomorrow? I can stop for groceries on the way, if you want."
"Okay."
"Right. Cool," Hardison fought another yawn. "I'll just clear out, get out of your hair in a second, here. I'll call before I come over tomorrow. That work?"
"Yeah," Eliot decided, not entirely sure why he continued with, "You could. You know. Crash on the couch if you want."
"Thanks, man, but I'm missing my bed almost as much as you've got to be. So. You need anything else?" He eyed Eliot's shoulder with apprehension.
"Nah, I'm good. Uh. Thanks. For everything."
"Don't mention it." Hardison grabbed his shoulder bag from the counter, and started making his way from the kitchen, stopping next to Eliot in the living room, his arm hanging a little loose from his body, like he might reach out, touch Eliot.
Eliot braced himself for contact, told himself he didn't want it when it never came.
Hardison scanned his face quickly, but didn't force eye contact. "Hey. Case I didn't say it? Glad you're back."
"Me too. Thanks."
---
Finally, Eliot was alone. The eyes were finally off him. He could relax.
He would, in a minute. Once he'd had a minute to warm up, to let it all set in. But the house was so damned cold.
There had to be a window open, somewhere in the house, letting the air in.
Starting in the basement and working his way up, he walked form room to room, slowly, spine straight and breathing shallow, growing more certain of the presence of the draft.
He knew Hardison and Parker had already gone through. It's fine. They'd turned the fucking heat on. Everything is fine. It wasn't as if he didn't know he was being paranoid.
But he checked the windows again, anyway, and felt around the seal of the doors, finding no air leaking through. Looking out the kitchen window at the shed, he realized that, at some point soon, he'd have to go check out the shed as well.
But the temperature outside was dropping, and he was being stupid. It was a shed. Ain't like he was sleeping out there. He could leave it.
It's fine.
He weaved a little too much in the hallway as he turned, enough that he had to wonder if he was already falling asleep. Dead on his feet. He stopped, though, at the thermostat.
He had to squint to be sure, but even then, he was surprised to find that it read 72 degrees.
Probably busted. Deal with it later.
The stairs were slower going than he wanted, and he had to open his mouth to breathe well before reaching the top and turning right into the bathroom, where he began the half-assed process of getting ready for bed. The sling, when it came off, felt like it was going to take the arm with it, as the weight redistributed itself, sending a whole new ache up through his shoulder and neck, and down into his chest.
He was startled by the reflection presented back to him. His skin was grayed out, except for the bruises under his right eye. It would have stood out more if exhaustion hadn't so heavily shaded the left.
He didn't even want to contemplate his chest and back yet. Hadn't even been clothed properly for an entire day yet, and it seemed a shame to waste the feeling of cotton on his skin. The wool in his mouth, though, had to fucking go, even if it meant a few moments of oxygen deprivation to get the job done.
Fuck, it was the first time he was using his own toothbrush in weeks.
The jeans were a total fucking hassle to handle one-handed, but once they were off, he realized there was warm air washing over his shin. The vent, under the towel rack, was working.
It was the best thing he'd felt in days, but he didn't go so far as to take his socks off. Or his shirts. The heinous process of dealing with those could wait until morning. And he couldn't stop shivering, anyway.
Overtired. Body can't self regulate the way it should. That's all.
---
He'd missed his bed, but hadn't truly realized how much until he was sliding under the sheets. It hadn't been the most extravagant thing he'd ever spent money on, but it was too big for him to move on his own.
He'd had to have it delivered, and it had taken three guys to haul it up the stairs. It would be near impossible to move again. Permanent. And it hadn't felt like a trap, the way he'd thought it might. Felt a little bit like home, even that first night.
He'd thought he'd be dropping solidly into sleep straight away, but he lay awake for a long time. Couldn't relax. He was still too wound up, and his surveying expedition hadn't helped the pain any.
But something was off. Maybe he'd gotten used to the hospital rooms, and their multiple beds and space for equipment, but the bedroom seemed cramped by comparison. And still too cold.
He was halfway out of bed, feeling the chill of the air and the floor beneath his feet, before realizing he'd moved. Stood there for a minute, waiting for the spasm in his back to fade and looking around. He went over to the bedroom door and threw it open, finding nothing but moonlight filtering through the windows, and stairs leading down towards the locked front door.
You're losing it. Get some sleep.
If he didn't suspect he'd crack his skull in the shower, the heat of the water would have been great. As it was, he'd have to get back under the blankets again if he planned to warm up any time this century.
Leaving the door open this time, in hopes that it wouldn't block any warm air from finding his bedroom, he staggered back to the bed, where he settled himself in, grasping at his arm to put it carefully in place.
Two breaths, maybe three, and then he slept.
---
The alarm, when it went off, came hours too early, Alec was certain of it. He slapped blindly at buttons in an attempt to make the noise stop, but only succeeded in turning the radio on, crisp and biting and entirely too loud.
Rolling himself out of bed in surrender, he staggered towards the bathroom, dropping his clothes to the floor as he waited for the shower to heat up.
The chilled air was nearly painful as he waited, naked, eyes more closed than open, but he was only aware of the weight of his limbs, gravity wanting to pull him down, back into sleep.
One hand braced against the tile for balance, he ducked into the spray and just stood, for a minute, listening to the insistent beat coming from the radio in the bedroom, steady and hypnotic and unchanging. Snare drums marching on, clicking at the edge of his awareness and worming into his head like clockwork.
Nodding absently to the beat he wasn't really hearing anymore, he reached for the soap and set upon the business of washing yesterday off. He didn't think, didn't make plans. He'd deal with today once he had some jeans on.
He turned the television on, finding the local news station and leaving it there. If aliens had invaded Boston any time in the past few days, he wanted to hear about it over fruit loops.
Or would have, if the milk had passed the sniff test. Trying not to breathe as he rinsed it down the drain, he wanted to cry. He had to go grocery shopping.
He'd told Eliot he'd run by there, anyway. What had seemed like no big deal the night before was stretching out before him like a never-ending gauntlet. Completely insurmountable. And he had work to do, here, besides.
You stay here, you'll just end up working in circles. You go over there, you might get some answers. And you promised, man.
Shoving a handful of dry cereal into his mouth, he went back to the entryway and retrieved the laptop case from the pile of bags he'd left by the door, but hesitated at the idea of going through. He'd only just gotten home. Didn't want to leave yet.
Dawdling, he meandered back towards the bathroom, he managed not to get any shaving cream on his shirt, so it was probably going to be a good day. Leaning over the sink to spit out the toothpaste, he became dimly aware that he was still nodding his head to the music.
He really needed to find a better radio station. Or maybe he should just turn the damned thing off. It wasn't until he was back in the bedroom that he heard a woman's voice finishing the traffic report, sending it over to Mark Margarit for the weather.
The music, or really, just the beat of what he'd half-heard, was a brain worm, too slow to dance to, ticking away insistently.
Locking up behind him, and heading down to the garage, he slung the computer case onto the front seat next to him. Dialed up Outkast and turned it up loud. Tried to keep up and tripped over the words, not catching up until the chorus, singing bombs over Baghdad as he turned left at the end of the block.
---
Alec had a cart, and he had his list, and he was only just realizing how useless both of them were. Milk, he could handle, but meat and vegetables were, in retrospect, a little vague, and whatever he'd scribbled beneath was completely illegible. Gotta learn to take better notes. Should have hacked his credit itemizations.
He could manage it on his phone, but it was a hassle. It would be easier from the laptop, but that was all the way back in the car.
He checked the time. It was just past nine. Hoping he wasn't about to wake her, he dialed Sophie.
She picked up on the second ring. "Hardison? Good morning."
"Sophie, hey. Didn't wake you, did I?"
"No, I've just put the kettle on. What's going on?"
"Ah. Minor crisis here. What does Eliot actually eat?"
"What, are you ordering takeout?"
"I'm at the store. Had to throw out a lot of stuff last night."
"That's so sweet of you!" Alec rolled his eyes and waited. "Okay. I know he does a lot of fresh fruit and veg, probably organic. But hang on. How's he going to cook with a dislocated shoulder?"
It was a good question, one that he would have missed. Eliot was one of the more animated chefs he'd seen, and chopping much of anything while throwing pans and plates around was going to be a pain in the ass for him.
To top it off, one of his kidneys had gotten messed up, though presumably the other one was taking care of things. Didn't mean the doctors hadn't ordered a restricted diet.
"Aw hell. Right. That's something to keep in mind, then. Thanks, Sophie."
"No problem. You're going over there already?"
He shoved his cart roughly to the side to allow a harried woman and her three kids swarm past towards the oranges. "Yeah, right when I finish up here."
"Give us a call, would you, when you've left? I don't want to barrage him with visitors, if he's sick of us, but…"
"Right. I'll see how he's doin' and get back to you. If you don't hear from me in a few hours, it's because I'm lost in the freezer aisle."
"I don't see how that would happen, there are really only two directions you could go."
After hanging up, he surveyed the produce section, he thought to himself, focus. One-armed hippie food. The organic section was, thankfully, advertised loudly, back towards the deli.
Apples and bananas and a few kinds of lettuce, two onions. Tomatoes, he wasn't sure about, but he grabbed one anyway. Green beans and red potatoes. Carrots and corn and sprouts. Peppers in various shapes and sizes, and he was on a roll. Tofu, too, because maybe he was the type. Bread was easy, though, and he didn't stumble until he hit the meat section. Chicken, ground beef, and pork, and some steaks. He wasn't going to mess with fish just now. This was supposed to be a milk and eggs run, anyway.
He got stuck in the kitchen supply aisle, not knowing exactly what he was looking for, but finding it anyway. He'd seen it on TV, a chopper thing that worked one-handed. It was the sort of thing he'd buy if he ever found the need to make food smaller.
That didn't mean it would actually work, though.
Just in case, he stopped in the freezer section. They made frozen dinners for hippies, too, after all. After that it was milk and eggs and cheese, and a swing through to grab some orange soda, which he set into the cart next to the oranges and peppers. Camouflage.
---
Eliot had woken up, not ten minutes ago, to Hardison's far too fucking awake voice on the other end of the line, announcing his imminent arrival.
Most of the time since had been spent crawling out of bed and throwing sweats on, and another pair of socks. A third shirt, because damn, he needed to do something about the insulation in this place. Ripping out walls to install more seemed easier than getting his damn arm though the sleeve, and it fucking hurt.
The sling settled right the first time he tried, though, so maybe things were looking up.
He'd just taken his pills, and put the coffee on, when Hardison exploded through the door, laden with bags and setting them on the counter. And then he left.
Just like that.
Only to come back with more a moment later, his laptop bag slung over one shoulder.
He caught Eliot's blearily raised eyebrows. "Didn't know what you wanted. So. I may have gone a little overboard."
"You think? But. Thanks, you didn't have to, what do I owe you?"
Alec gave him a patronizing look and waved it off. "Shit, this is probably the least ridiculous stuff I've bought in weeks. Where's it all go?"
"I can-"
"You can just sit right there and drink your coffee. Are you supposed to be drinking coffee? Never mind. Potatoes in the fridge?" Eliot blinked. There was no way Hardison was serious.
Then again.
"Basket on top."
"Right."
Eliot watched the invasion of his kitchen, trying not to jump in and do it properly. More greens than he'd be able to go through in a week, and he didn't even want to know what he'd picked up by way of meat, it was probably as random as everything else. Hardison seemed to be managing, though, even if he did shove half a dozen TV dinners into the fridge. Hardison didn't come up for air until he was came to a plastic container. Tofu?
"In the fridge," Eliot confirmed, boggled, trying to think of the last time he'd made it. Throw a marinade together, blackened, maybe. Or hell. Stir fry. There was this great Vietnamese dish he'd picked up…
Hardison was looking at him now, amused at something. "Hey, man. Earth to Eliot."
"What?" Eliot rolled his neck. "Hey."
"How's the shoulder?"
"Awesome."
"Picked up this thing," he said, holding a box up for inspection. "Sophie figured you might not be up to chopping things for a bit, and Billy Mays seemed really excited about it."
"Who?" Eliot reached out and examined it. Seemed like it might work, even if it looked like cheating. Didn't matter. It was just temporary. Besides. He hadn't even gotten around to thinking about cooking, yet. Hell, he hadn't even showered yet. And so far, the other's had already had a freakin' powwow on the topic.
Hardison was looking at him like he had information that needed to be extracted, and he was just figuring out his approach, and whatever it was, Eliot knew he didn't want to hear it.
Standing up, Eliot made his way to the fridge, waving him out of the way. "You eat yet?"
"Had some breakfast."
"Handful of fruit loops?"
"What? No. Yeah."
"Omelet?"
"Sure. Want some help?"
"No. Sit your ass down and get out of the way." Hardison hesitated before edging away, too slowly for Eliot's liking. He knew what this was about. "Seriously. I got this. You keep hovering, I'm gonna kick your ass."
"Right. Never mind two hospitals in the last day and a half, you're like a Dalek right now, old school. You get all exterminate on me and I'll just head for the stairs."
Eliot pretended not to get the reference. It wasn't like his folks raised him in a cave, after all. "Do you know how to make an omelet?"
"I'm sure I can work it out." Hardison eyed the carton of eggs speculatively.
"Well, I'm not aiming for hospital stay number three, so move." He rinsed the dubious chopper in the sink and got to work.
Hardison grinned, but he slid around and pulled up a stool, sliding his jacket and sweatshirt off like the cold didn't bother him in the least.
He didn't interfere, but Eliot could feel him watching, the entire time. Told himself it was normal, not at all weird. It was what any of them always did when he else was cooking over at Nate's place, after all, and hell. He'd done it himself, growing up. It was normal.
It just didn't feel that way. He kind of wanted him to stop, but he didn't want to talk about it.
---
Alec thought through fifty more things he could try with the warehouse records, rejecting each in turn as he ate. Even so, he finished long before Eliot was done picking at his plate.
Billy Mays knew his shit, but if omelets tired Eliot out as much as it looked like they did, then he'd been totally right on the frozen dinners. But he didn't rub it in.
He did, however, draw the line at letting Eliot do the dishes.
"I got this. You should. I don't know. Go back to bed or something."
"Not tired." It didn't look like he was lying, but he didn't seem to be up for much, either. "Should go grab a shower, though."
"You do that."
Eliot had already gone upstairs before Alec realized that he didn't know if he was supposed to stay, or leave. He was done with the dishes by the time he heard the shower come on, and realized that right now, at this particular house, at this moment in time, Eliot was upstairs, naked.
It wasn't a thought that went anywhere, though. Just a realization. Distracting enough that he didn't even notice what he was doing until he was already camped out at one end of Eliot's couch, turning on his laptop.
He wants you gone, he'll tell you.
---
It was a long time before the shower came off, and even longer before he heard him at the top of the stairs.
"Hardison?"
"Yeah man. In the living room." Wanted to make sure you didn't slip in the shower, but you're cool, so I can go. Unless you actually want to tell me what the hell this entire month has been about.
A few minutes later, and Eliot was leaning against the doorframe, but not yet committed to actually entering. He was wearing a different sweatshirt, no, just an additional one, and his hair was wet underneath a knit cap pulled low, shadowing his eyes. He looked ridiculous, but also a little like he was freezing. "What're you doin'?"
"Trying to work through the warehouse paper trail. Not having much luck, so…" Alec grimaced, suddenly not wanting to force it. He could practically hear Sophie insisting that Eliot needed to rest, not to be bothered with this stuff. Nate, though, would have let Eliot decide. "If you got anything, you know. Might help."
Eliot closed his eyes for a minute, and Alec was certain he was opening his mouth to kick him out, to tell him that they'd deal with this when he was feeling better, and he wouldn't blame him, but- "What do you got so far?"
Alec wasn't expecting that. Okay, so we're going to do this.
He also hadn't thought he'd be the one to have to start. He took a few seconds to get it straight in his head before he began.
"Right. So. The records for the building are a mess. No idea who actually owns it, and for all I know, they could have been squatting. So I'm nowhere on that. As far as the rest of it goes?" He shrugged, but Eliot didn't seem to have any answers. He barely had the energy to be hearing it.
Alec turned slightly on the couch, balancing his computer on his thigh, and resumed, determined. "A'ight, check it. Quick version. You never showed in Kansas, weren't answering your phone, and you weren't using your cards anywhere. We started checking it out, but couldn't find anything hinky going on. We rushed the job, saved the Bradshaw ranch, by the way, and got our asses back to town. Came here and looked around, which you already know. Realized that I hadn't included Dayan in my search, so…"
"Wait. What?"
Alec looked up, sharply, to find Eliot scowling in angry confusion.
"Mikel Dayan, she-" And then realization hit. "Oh."
He didn't know. Until now.
He scrambled to find words, something to rush them past this, to bring him back around, but Eliot's expression shifted, then.
He looked like he'd been crossed by someone he hadn't expected it from. Alec's brain ground to a halt and switched tracks.
Thinking about it now, Alec had to admit that he hadn't anticipated it, either. He'd seen them at the bar that one night, all intense eyes over handcuffs. And judging by the expression Eliot wore now, the flirtation had led exactly where Alec had thought it would.
And then it had led to here, and now, and a sudden flash of insane jealousy that really had nothing to do with anything.
He tried not to look at Eliot, didn't want to let on, but he wasn't seeing much of anything, standing in his own doorway like a visitor, blown and wild-eyed and totally fucking betrayed.
His voice, though, when he spoke, was a cold monotone. "How d'you know it was her?"
"I found the shirt you wore at the gallery."
"Huh?" Eliot pulled a face, trying to follow. "You remembered what shirt I was wearin'?"
"Pink stands out on a man, what can I say?"
"Whatever," Eliot frowned. "So you tracked her?"
"All the way to the warehouse. The rest, you know."
"No, I don't. Not really."
"Well, what do you know?"
Realizing how that had sounded, what it was that he was actually asking, Alec wished he could rewind, try that again. He leaned back in his chair, steeling himself for the explosion that was sure to come.
It didn't. Eliot's expression was blank, maybe a little shuttered, or maybe he really was fascinated by the blank expanse of wall across the room. The silence started to look permanent. The result of an error that Alec couldn't go back and recode.
He was about to try, anyway, when Eliot moved from the doorway, actually sitting down carefully on the other end of the couch. Glancing briefly at Alec, he rolled his head back to look up at the ceiling, resigned. "What do you want to know?"
"I want to know what happened." I don't even know where to start. "Why did you bail on the Kansas job?"
Eliot sighed, the annoyance visible at the side of his mouth. "I didn't bail, I was gonna come back." He paused, and Alec was just about to prompt him, but he continued, admitting, "I needed some space."
"And got it in spades," Alec agreed, forcing himself not to confirm his suspicions as to why distance had been needed. He was pretty sure he already knew, and they really didn't need to go there just then.
Eliot's relieved smirk was short lived, however. He tugged the cuff of his sleeve down over his knuckles, and began.
"I got home late and crashed out. Got up in the morning and went about my day. Um. Went out to the shed, but the light wasn't working, because the wiring had gotten corroded."
Eliot broke off, casting an abortive look in his direction. "It's funny, I was gonna give you a call when I was at the hardware store, ask you about the wiring." He nearly grinned, but didn't quite make it. "Got home, fixed it, no problem. Was going to start on the garden…wait." His forehead creased. Something wasn't adding up. "No, I went out on the porch and was going to read for a bit, but." The scowl deepened. He shook his head. "That's all."
"Until."
"Yeah."
"What happened next?" Alec saw the words leaving his mouth before he'd thought them, watched them register with Eliot. This time, however, the reaction was exactly what he'd been expecting.
"I hung out by the pool and worked on my tan," he growled.
"Right, alright. Sorry," Alec only half meant it, too damned tired of this conversation already. "I just needed to know if you learned anything, cause-"
Eliot cut him off with a sharp shake of his head. "No. I know." He knocked his head against the top of the couch, like he was trying to shake the tension loose. "Why not? Not like every last fucking detail of my life's not an open book to you anyway."
Alec snorted. "Look, I know this ain't fun, but if we're going to figure this out, we need all the information we can get." Eliot still wasn't looking at him, and he wasn't looking that good at all, really.
But Alec was getting damned tired of being the only one in their entire crew that was actually trying to deal. "Or, more accurately," he grumbled bitterly to himself, "I'm going to need all the information I can get."
Eliot's eyes were closed, but he didn't look like he'd passed out, or anything, and Alec wasn't about to reach over and check, so he turned back to his computer. Tried to think of some other approach to take, because talking? Talking never worked when you needed it to.
"What d'you mean, you?" It was so quiet, he wasn't sure he'd actually heard.
"Huh? Nothing. Don't worry about it."
"Hardison." Eliot was taking up too little space under his layers of clothes to back up the threat in his tone, but it came through nonetheless.
Didn't mean he knew how to answer, but Eliot could detect bullshit when he heard it. And he should probably know anyway.
He sighed. "Look. Ain't like the others aren't helping, but. The way this entire thing's been playin' out, it's pretty much been my skill set that's handling it. So. There's things that I haven't told them. Ain't tryin' to hold out on them, but." But seeing all of it? Could've broken them as well. It wasn't just you I was trying to protect.
Not being privy to Alec's inner monologue, his tone was acidic, accusing. "What are you talking about?"
"The camera. Filming your lounge chair by the pool. They haven't seen most of it. Just parking lots and hallways, the door to your, ah. Room. Nothing inside."
Eliot's frown deepened, like he didn't want to be thinking whatever it was that he was thinking, and it was as good a time as any, Alec figured, to dig himself in deeper.
"I, um. Haven't told them about the other stuff, either. Before Kansas. If you were worried."
---
The others didn't see the pathetic mess you became. It was something, at least.
And Hardison had kept his mouth shut, about the rest of it. That was definitely something, but it was a bit much to deal with now.
They'd all seen the fallout, a good portion of it, and he wasn't exactly clear on what they'd heard from the doctors, but they hadn't seen the worst of it. They hadn't seen him lying naked on the floor, waiting to die. Hadn't watched him cowering from the attackers. Hadn't watched him give up.
It was a nice thought, but it didn't make sense. Not with the way they'd been acting.
Nate, at the hospital, hadn't been able to deal. Parker had managed- she'd probably studied the other visitors to learn what normal people did, but she'd followed their lead pretty well. Sophie, so close to shattering herself, hadn't stopped treating him like glass, even on the ride home.
Hardison had given Eliot the same wide berth that he normally did, and it could have been denial, or it could have been confidence, but he'd rolled with it. Didn't look at him any different. Not pitying or patronizing, and he hadn't stared at him like he was a specimen under a microscope.
He'd been too busy staring at his screen, working. Figuring all this shit out.
He'd had his back more than anyone since his own folks, probably without noticing it, too busy trying to pull answers out of nothing.
And Eliot, so far, wasn't helping much on that front.
He thought of the photos, the best clue he'd had, this entire fucking time. And they hadn't meant a damned thing. It was bad enough not knowing, even if most of the time, he was okay dealing with the gray. Hardison, on the other hand? This had to be killing him.
Hardison was quiet, not even typing, and Eliot might as well have not been in the room. He was an accessory. Useless.
He'd been useless for a while now. Too long.
"I woke up in the cell, without my shirt or shoes. Nothing in my pockets," he began, telling it to the ceiling.
He knew it wasn't much, but if Hardison happened to overhear, maybe he'd find somewhere to start.
---
"I understand that you want to call in the marker."
"There are eyes on me. I want them gouged out. You do this for me, and your debt is forgiven. You get them to me in a box, and you'll be well compensated."
---
Chapter 11