A/N: First, I *adore* feedback- it brightens my day and makes my muses giggle :) Second, this is a tag to The Rundown Job. Who the heck lets Eliot just walk away after being shot twice?! I could see it in the first season when they didn't know him, but this was after five years of the team growing close and looking after each other. Paramedics may be good but they're not doctors, and he needs more help than just a few bandages loosely wrapped in place. Cue Parker (Hardison insisted on coming too) and a little TLC! A bit of a sequel to It's What Friends Do, but doesn't require you to have read it to understand. Also, hasn't been beta'd- all errors are mine, and are likely due to writing this over three days rather than one sitting.
Once they cleared the gathered officers and agents, Parker refused to let Eliot shrug off their support. Hardison retreated when pushed away, watching the minor struggle with curiosity- if Eliot didn't want help, then he'd just clear on out and leave the man to it. "Eliot," Parker warned, and that was all it took. She gestured Hardison out of his gawking and back to the other side of Eliot, and marched them all further away from the chaos. "Do you have an apartment here with supplies?" She knew that he kept tiny apartments in several major cities as his version of a hospital, complete with medical supplies, but she didn't know if he kept one in DC.
"No," Eliot grunted, leaning on them more now that he didn't have to keep up appearances, "planned to get a hotel room." Parker could see the front of his shoulder dressing slowly darkening with fresh blood. She needed to get things together quickly or else Eliot really would need the hospital!
"Hardison, can you get us a room? Somewhere nice with a concierge that won't ask questions or anything," Parker asked. She didn't plan on asking strangers to pick up anything, but the higher end hotels knew better than to pester their very well-paying guests with questions. Hardison let go of Eliot long enough to fiddle with his smart phone for a few minutes, leaning into him to provide support while his hands were occupied.
One pleased sound later and his arm was back around Eliot's waist again, snug under Parker's. "I got us booked into a suite at the St. Regis under Eliot's Jackson Cooper alias. Parker, you're his wife Victoria Cooper, and I borrowed your Doc Abernathy, Eliot. That should get us all through the doors and keep the management from being too alarmed: rich oil baron played weekend warrior on vacation and called his personal doctor to come take care of him. We gotta cover these bandages, though, or they'll call the cops on us," Hardison rapidly explained, already looking around for a suitable cover.
Parker pulled them to a stop by one of the park's benches. "Eliot, let's sit you here for a minute," Eliot didn't really have much of a choice in the matter as she expertly backed his legs into the bench's seat and caught his fall. Hardison watched, baffled, as their hitter actually allowed the manhandling and didn't shrug her off. He was startled out of his thoughts as Parker popped up in his face and grabbed his shoulders. "I'll get a coat for Eliot, that should cover the bandages, and you go find medical supplies. Get bandages, tape, a suture kit, and tools to remove the bullet in his thigh. Meet us at the hotel, okay Doc?" She didn't wait for his nod before she went spinning off in search of a long coat to steal. Hardison shared an amused look with Eliot at their thief's antics and then hastened off to collect the necessary medical supplies, and find a doctor's bag in which to carry them. Bit stereotypical, the bag, but the public always bought it and never questioned if the bearer really was a doctor.
Eliot simply tried to relax on the bench and ignore the throbbing in his shoulder and burning in his thigh. He didn't think Parker would have let him escape in the shape he was in, but it was worth a try. Actually, he wasn't sure that he would have wanted to escape in the first place; it would have been more painful and awkward than he cared to admit for him to stitch his shoulder by himself, particularly the bullet's exit wound in his back. He closed his eyes and soaked up the sun's warmth until Parker's shadow falling across his face brought him back to full awareness. Her manically grinning face was the first thing he saw, from less than five inches away, when he opened his eyes.
"Try this on," Parker pulled back as he startled and thrust a long wool coat into his hands before carefully pulling him to his feet. She carefully helped ease it up his right arm and held the other side so that he could work his left into the sleeve. Doing up the coat's buttons also pulled it around his legs and hid the thigh dressing, which should allow them to pass scrutiny with the hotel staff. "Okay, looks good, everything covered. We should go on to the hotel," she rambled as she moved back under his shoulder, this time taking Hardison's place to support Eliot's left side. Eliot simply nodded and let her lead the way. He knew from experience that it was useless to fight Parker once she'd determined that he needed help; last time he bothered to try was after Hardison's violin job and the beating he had to take to get the security guard into position, and even then it was half-hearted swats at her hands as she taped his ribs.
Two blocks later they were collecting themselves to walk into the hotel's lobby. Eliot straightened and tried to hide his limp, and Parker arranged her supporting arm to look more like she was cuddling into her 'husband'. Together they shared a grin and strode up to the desk with enough arrogance to match the millionaires they were portraying. "Jackson and Victoria Cooper," Eliot brusquely stated to the man, Robert as his nametag identified him, at the front desk.
"Yes sir, one moment please," Robert said as he pulled up their reservation and compared the file's photo to the couple standing at his desk. As they matched the photo Hardison's electronic trickery had planted, he held out a key card to Eliot and politely pointed them to the Presidential Suite, subtly gesturing a bellboy to escort them.
As they turned to follow the bellboy, Parker turned back to Robert. "Oh, I nearly forgot. Jackson decided to play at being a martial arts fighter," she fluttered her left hand as if to indicate how silly the idea was to her, "and he's got himself all bruised up. Our personal physician, Doctor Abernathy, will be by shortly. Please see that he's immediately brought up," Parker ordered and turned back to the patiently waiting bellboy. He scurried off and they followed to the elevators, glad to lean back against the car's wall as they rode up to their floor. Parker handed over a bank note after the young man opened their suite's door, ignoring the pang at handing over cash, and helped Eliot into the spacious suite. She kicked the door closed behind her and took a moment to orient herself. It had been a few years since she lifted a rather expensive star sapphire and diamond brooch from the suite and had to remember where the bedroom, and its ensuite bathroom, was located. She directed Eliot to the right and collected an armless chair from the library area as they passed it.
"Okay, here we go," she leaned Eliot against the bathroom wall to unbutton his coat while she sat the chair in the middle of the tiled floor and pulled out a handful of towels to lay over the chair's rich upholstery. Once she stepped back, Eliot nodded in approval and let Parker take the coat, which she then threw into the bathtub. He pulled loose the dressing wrapped across his chest and started a tear at the bottom of his shirt before he pulled to split it up to the ribbed collar. Parker pulled a thin knife from her stash and knew how much restraint it took for Eliot to simply stand while she brought a knife up to his throat. Granted, it was simply to cut the collar away, but at that distance she could lay his throat open before he could begin to react, and he had to trust in her to not hurt him. She gently patted his chest as she separated the collar and put the knife away so that she could help him unstick the shirt and dressing before he could shrug them off. They joined his purloined coat in the bathtub.
Eliot stood, left arm propping him up against the sink, while Parker unraveled the bandage around his thigh. It had bled with all his walking and the fresh blood had kept the blood from drying or sticking. She wadded up the bloody material and tossed it into the tub with the rest. A knock at the suite's door startled them both and Parker popped back to her feet. She gestured Eliot to stay behind as she crept through the suite and back to the door, standing to one side of it. "Yes?" she called softly.
"It's Doc Abernathy, as requested. Y'all want to let me in?" came back through the thick wood. Parker sighed in relief and let Hardison in. He was scolding even as she latched the door and headed back to the bathroom, which made her grin. "We separate and y'all don't even think to put your earbuds back in? I've been trying to reach you for the past ten minutes, woman!" He abruptly silenced when they entered the bathroom to see Eliot sat on the towel-covered chair, eyebrow quirked at Hardison. He'd removed his jeans but, out of deference to Hardison's modesty, left his boxers on.
"You get everything?" Eliot asked, gesturing at the large bag Hardison carried. Hardison snapped his horrified gaze away from the blood painting Eliot's skin to stammer an affirmative. Eliot and Parker shared a look and Parker handed Eliot a damp washcloth to start cleaning his skin before she backed a pale Hardison out of the room.
She had to think quickly before an excuse came to mind. "We have a problem Hardison. We only brought the one change of clothes because the diamond job should have only lasted one day, and we're going to have to stay put for several days until Eliot can heal up enough to move without bleeding again. Did you burn our credit cards already?"
"Err, n-no," Hardison stuttered until Parker brought his face around to focus only on her, not on the bathroom behind her. "I burned our phones, but haven't burned our cards yet, why?"
"We need clothing and supplies for all three of us, and I can't leave to go get them. I'll help Eliot stitch himself back together if you'll go do the shopping?" Parker tempted him with a way to get away from the blood, and Hardison ran with it. Blood and nasty, squishy stuff, or shopping with fake credit cards… Hardison quickly made his decision and bolted from the suite, calling reassurances back to them. He didn't even notice that Parker had relieved him of the medical supply bag, so eager was he to escape.
Eliot and Parker were both grinning at his reaction as she walked back into the bathroom, already rummaging through the bag. "You think we should put the earbuds back in?" she asked, looking up at last to put the bag on the sink.
"If we do, we'd have to listen to his dissertation on purple versus blue, and whining about what styles are available. I don't want to hear that," Eliot explained, and Parker had to agree. Hardison could be a clothes snob when he wanted to, but they both knew that he'd do a good job regardless; aside from the one time he bought Eliot a pastel pink shirt as a joke, he'd always bought to their tastes when he had to outfit the team.
Parker pulled out the supplies and handed Eliot a syringe and vial of anesthetic. "Here, I've never stitched a bullet wound before. If you can do your leg, then I'll watch and can do your shoulder for you." As Eliot handled numbing the area around the bullet hole, Parker poured rubbing alcohol into a glass so that she could soak the scalpel and forceps Hardison had provided. He'd done a great job, she thought, and had thought beyond the basics she'd told him, even going so far as to acquire betadine for them. She soaked a gauze pad in the solution and handed it to Eliot, carefully accepting back the used hypodermic and vial.
"So… how do you do this?" she asked hesitantly. She'd seen him through broken bones, bruises, concussions, and had stitched up longer knife cuts, but never bullet wounds. Eliot's shoulder wounds slowly dripped blood after the cleaning he gave them and she wound a temporary dressing over them before kneeling to watch Eliot.
The wound on his thigh was only an entrance, which meant that the bullet was still buried somewhere and he'd have to dig for it. "Give me the scalpel. It's already swelling and I gotta widen the track before digging for the bullet or I'll tear things up inside even more," Eliot explained as he fitted actions to words, carefully cutting down until he could feel the scalpel bump metal. It didn't hurt, exactly, due to the local he'd injected, but the pressure he could feel and knowledge of how much it could hurt made his stomach want to roll. It was firmly suppressed and he continued, exchanging the scalpel for the forceps Parker handed him. Fresh blood welled up from the hole in his thigh and he accepted another folded towel to place under his leg to catch it.
"See, I'm lucky with this one because it went in at an angle, missing both the femoral artery and femur," he continued, feeling with the forceps until he could get a grasp on the bullet. Parker remained the perfect audience- quiet, helpful, intelligent, and above all, not squeamish. She'd actually figured out how to tell when he really needed help by poking at him. If he fussed and bickered with her, then he was fine and didn't need help. It was when he went silent, however, or just glared back that she knew he was truly hurt. Those were the occasions when she tailed him home so that she could look after her friend. Eliot pulled the small bullet out and dropped it and the forceps into the sink while Parker used a hand towel as a compress to stop the bleeding he'd caused. He was rather thankful that his part was nearly done as shock and blood loss threatened to make his hands shake. He knew that he wouldn't be able to stand now even if he had to, feeling weak and very, very tired.
Eliot took over holding the towel while Parker first retrieved a bottle of water from the room's mini fridge, semi-glaring at him until he gave in and drank it, and then prepared the suture needle and thread. She handed off the threaded needle and dropped his empty bottle into the trash before resuming her observation. This was the part that she knew she'd need to pay attention to, the stitching. Eliot carefully lifted the towel and, seeing that the seepage had slowed to a trickle, slowly started to place careful stitches. Small stitches pulled the raw edges together and he worked hard to keep them even and tidy. "The better you can make the stitches, the smaller the scar I'll end up with," he explained as he tied off and clipped the last stitch, trading the needle with Parker for a damp cloth to wipe up. He eyeballed his work and was quite satisfied; nice row of stitches and barely any blood seeping out.
Parker handed him another bottle of water, fluids helped replace the blood he'd lose today, and worked at taping a thick pad of gauze over it. Another knock at the door sent her carefully stalking back, certain that it would be Hardison's return but unwilling to be careless.
"It's me," Hardison called through the door before she could check, so she unlocked and held the door open, slightly startled at the amount of luggage Hardison brought with him.
He grinned widely at her widened eyes as she locked the door again. "You supposed to be rich people, mama," he teased, opening one suitcase to show her the bags of clothing, "You gotta look the part too. I got clothing for us in three of these suitcases, and snacks and supplies in the other two. I also told the front desk that I'd be staying with you, to be on call for Mr. Cooper, so they shouldn't wonder why I didn't come back down," Hardison said, gaining a kiss from Parker in thanks.
"Unpack our clothing, Eliot's in the master bedroom and we can share the adjoining guest room," she pointed off to the left of the entryway to show where he should find the room, "When you're done, would you order dinner for us? Get Eliot a steak, rare, with those nasty green vegetables he eats, and I don't care what you order for me. I gotta go back and stitch up his shoulder, okay?" Parker kissed Hardison again before heading off back to the bedroom. Knowing better than to follow this time and get another stomach-turning eyeful, Hardison cheerfully set to unpacking, humming a bit to himself. Shopping was fun when he didn't have Sophie dragging him into every shoe store in the vicinity.
Parker handed Eliot the vial of anesthetic and syringe to prepare while she unwound her temporary dressing binding his shoulder. He injected the numbing agent around the front wound as she turned to throw the used dressing into the tub with the rest of the bloody clothes and towels, then she accepted the syringe to numb the exit wound for Eliot. "Gotta flush this one out," Eliot explained, nodding to the bottle of saline solution, "I couldn't do it myself earlier." Parker opened the bottle of solution and handed it to him, watching as he turned a bit in the chair. She quickly understood his intention and reached for another hand towel to hold against the back wound with one hand, while she helped him lean back with her left. Wound covered to catch the blood and fluid and neck supported, Eliot slowly upended the small bottle to let gravity flush the bullet's track. He grit his teeth silently as it burned- the local anesthetic only numbed so far in, which worked perfectly for stitching the skin up, but not so much for the deeper parts.
Finally it was over and Parker helped him sit back up in the chair, throwing the empty bottle away as she dumped the towel into the tub, one more in the growing mound of bloody items. She couldn't give him a moment to recover as the saline had started it bleeding again, more than the thin trickle it was before, and she wanted to get this done. "Why don't I close up the back wound first while you stop the front one from bleeding?" Parker asked, still slightly unsure as she carefully rethreaded the needle. She didn't like that feeling, being unsure, as it usually led to very bad things like falling or getting caught. Eliot nodded and grabbed another gauze pad from the stack she had on the sink ledge before leaning forward slightly to give her better access, pad held against the front of his shoulder to catch the bleeding.
"You can do this, Parker. It's just like closing a knife wound," Eliot encouraged, weariness slurring his speech slightly around the edges. That, more than anything, firmed her resolve. She could do this. Steady hands and attention to detail, both advantages in cracking safes, were also advantages to making tidy work of stitching her friend's skin back together. This one was larger than the bullet hole in his thigh, and more ragged, but she carefully pulled the edges back together and secured them with knots of thread. One… two… three… on and on until she could snip the thread and stand back, checking her work. It looked as good as the row he'd put into his thigh, so she wiped it down with another betadine swab to clean it and taped a thick gauze pad over it, same as she did before.
Hardison, standing well back from the open doorway, called in that their dinner should be delivered in a few minutes. Parker thought for a second before asking, "Hardison? Did you get Eliot any sleeping clothes?"
"Got him some loose pants and a tank to sleep in, want me to leave them outside the door?" he called back in to them.
Parker started to answer, but Eliot got there first, "Yeah, leave 'em on the bed. Boxers too, but no socks," he asked. Socks would only be irritating to try and put on only to take them back off when he went to sleep. Turning back to Parker, he leaned back in the chair and indicated the last wound to sew up, "You ready to finish?"
Parker grinned at him, feeling more comfortable now that she'd already done one bullet wound and answered, "Yeah, I got this." Eliot smiled at her enthusiasm and waited until she was poised before removing the pad he'd been holding to his shoulder. She quickly tossed it to rest in the tub and started in. More little stitches, as even and fine as the others, and then she was done. Eliot looked over what he could see of her work as she threw the rest of the thread in the trash. The needle was dropped into the now-red glass of alcohol alongside the scalpel and forceps, to be washed up later. She taped down another thick pad to bandage the wound and then stood back. The worst of it was done, and in time for dinner; they could hear a knock on the door, rattling of the cart, and Hardison jabbering away at the delivery person.
Eliot stood on wobbly legs, letting Parker slide the chair aside, and stood at the sink to wipe down what parts of him could be easily reached with a washcloth he dampened from the tap. Nothing could replace a real shower, but that wasn't an option for the next few days until everything scabbed over. Parker brought in his change of clothes and pushed the door to, giving them a bit of privacy. Neither of them spared the energy for modesty, but if Hardison saw his girlfriend helping Eliot into a clean pair of boxers, no one would hear the end of it. Once dressed, Parker helped Eliot out of the bathroom and around into the living quarters, seating him at the suite's long dining table.
"Here you go, my man: ribeye steak, rare, with spinach and grilled bell peppers to build you up. We also have a lovely German Riesling to go with. Sorry it's not a red, but the white wine helps iron absorption better," Hardison bustled around the table, setting up Eliot's dinner. Parker uncovered two hamburgers on the cart and, with a look of glee, happily set them out for herself and Hardison. She also spied a beer, for her, and orange soda, for him, on the cart as well. The three set to their dinners with appreciative silence, quickly emptying their plates.
Eliot uncomfortably shifted in his chair, "Thanks for helping me," he awkwardly started to say, but was stopped by Parker.
"We're your friends, Eliot, it's what we do," she firmly stated and Hardison echoed her statement. Eliot had quietly helped him conquer the nightmares he'd had of being buried alive, kept that information from the team so as not to worry anyone, and had cemented Hardison's respect in doing so. Parker nodded for him to clear the table while she rounded on an exhausted Eliot. "Come on, you're going to bed."
Normally, he'd have fought an order, but right now he didn't have the energy to argue; woman had willpower that would put a natural disaster to shame, so he simply leaned into her as Parker helped him stand and walk back to the bedroom. "Hey, wait a minute," Hardison interrupted them long enough to hand Parker a bag of labeled prescription bottles, "I got these when I was out. Antibiotic, painkiller, and one to settle your stomach if the other two aggravate it," he explained. Parker called back a thank you as Hardison had already disappeared to finish cleaning up their mess.
A trip to the bathroom was in order after the two bottles of water that he'd drank, and he brushed at his teeth with the toothbrush and toothpaste Parker had retrieved from where Hardison left them on the bed. Eliot double checked his bandages and it all looked good- no bleeding through. He shuffled back into the bedroom and headed to the king-sized bed. Once settled, Eliot waited as Parker pulled another comforter out of the linen chest and spread it on the bed to ward off chills. Losing that much blood, he'd feel the cold much keener than the others would and she didn't want him to wake up shivering. "Do you want to take the pills Hardison got?" she asked, handing him the bottles so that he could examine their labels. Stomach soother, antibiotic, and a much lighter painkiller than he'd expected, Eliot agreed and accepted the bottle of water she offered to take a dose of each. The painkiller was strong enough to take the edge off, yet not enough to make him feel slow. He really owed that geek a case of soda for being so thoughtful. Eliot then found a comfortable position and let himself fall asleep.
Parker turned off the light and latched the door behind her, as safe as she could make a hotel room, before heading over to hers and Hardison's room. It had been a long day and she was more than ready to sleep. They could finish cleaning up the bathroom tomorrow, washing and storing the instruments, and packing the tub's bloody contents into industrial trash bags for disposal. Hardison, brilliant man that he was, had thought ahead to pick up bags and the bleach they'd need to wipe down the bathroom. No trace would be left and the hotel would be none the wiser when they left in a few days. Yes, Eliot may not do hospitals, but that didn't mean that they'd just let their friend go without care.