Eliot watched Hardison carefully as he came downstairs, and settled himself at the desk in front of the large screens. Sophie had noticed it first, no doubt because it wasn't a physical injury—or not solely physical anyway. The grifter had come to him earlier in the day, and informed him that something was "off" with the hacker, imploring him to watch the young man and tell her if he agreed with her assessment. Granted, it hadn't been but a couple of days since Hardison had been placed in a casket when the team ran afoul of the Mexican drug cartel, and buried alive. The man had claustrophobia, so it was understandable that he might feel like he had lost a step, and needed some time to get back on his feet. Watching him, Eliot was starting to understand what Sophie meant. There was nothing overtly obvious—his movements were a bit slower than normal, his actions just a tad clumsier. His eyes were rimmed with the beginning of dark circles, and his normal gregarious personality wasn't as happy-go-lucky as usual. Eliot knew he would need to approach this situation carefully; people tended to get touchy about things they didn't want to discuss, and he didn't want the young man to shut him out.
As soon as the briefing was over, Sophie approached him, pulling him off toward another area of the bar so they would be afforded a bit more privacy. As he went with her, he called back over his shoulder to the rest of the team, "There's dessert upstairs, if anybody wants some."
When they were out of earshot of the rest of the group, Sophie spoke up. "So? Did you notice anything?"
"All right. I'll admit he seems a little more subdued than usual, but I don't think it's anything to worry about. I'd be a little subdued, too, if I had watched my life flash before my eyes in that damned box."
Sophie paused, considering what he said, and then nodded. "Agreed." Eliot hoped this was the end of it, for Hardison's sake. No one deserved to have someone as observant as their grifter watching their every move. If he knew Sophie, though, it wasn't over yet. A wave of sympathy washed over him.
"So, you'll talk to him, won't you?"
"Sophie!"
"Just to be sure he's all right."
"Sophie!" he growled, in exasperation. Truth be told, he planned to talk to Hardison, but Sophie didn't have to know that. If what was going on was what he thought it was, it would be hard enough for the young man to deal with without him having to face the scrutiny of the rest of the team. He looked at the woman standing before him, and he said, "All right, Sophie, I'll talk to him, but you stay out of it. And don't say anything to the rest of the team." She looked like she wanted to say something else, and he broke in, "I mean it, Soph. Not a word. If you want my help, you do things my way."
She smiled and acquiesced, almost too easily, and Eliot made a mental note to be on his guard. He would have a hard time believing this was the end of it. Smiling, he touched her elbow gently, and spoke. "I'm going upstairs now, if you'd like dessert."
"Maybe later. Right now, I think I'll run a stall on the other members of the team."
"Suit yourself. Give me ten minutes, and I'll have him somewhere private." Eliot saw that Hardison was still sitting at the bar, and he put a hand on the man's shoulder. "Hey. Come on upstairs. I need your help."
"Can it wait until tomorrow?" Hardison thought he knew what this was about, and he didn't really want to deal with it tonight. Especially not in front of Eliot. "I'm really tired."
"No. Now." His grip tightened on the other man's shoulder, and Hardison winced and stood.
"All right. All right. I'm coming."
Hardison followed the retrieval specialist upstairs, and somewhere along the way, the hand on his shoulder became an arm around his neck. He opened the door to Nate's apartment, and walked straight to the kitchen, where he set out the dessert he had made earlier, along with plates and spoons. Then, with his arm still around Hardison's neck, he led the younger man into a room off of Nate's apartment. The room had once been an employee lounge in the days that the building had a door man, and it had an en suite bathroom, with a single stall water closet, a sink, and a shower. Eliot and Hardison had worked together to renovate it, and had turned it into a combination treatment room, for injuries that required a bit more privacy than Nate's living room, and training gym.
"Why are we here?" Hardison asked.
Eliot handed the younger man a small pad of paper and a pen. "Inventory," he said. "Write down what I tell you."
Hardison looked at him, confusion coloring his features. Eliot had never asked for help with inventory in this room before. Of course, the room had never been quite so well-stocked, and he had been really busy lately, so it was possible he had gotten behind or wanted to save time. Deciding not to ask, he took the pad and paper, and got ready to write.
"Antiseptic." Hardison wrote it down.
"Alcohol pads." Hardison added that to the list. Eliot was silent for a long moment, checking the rest of that cabinet. There was a good supply of almost everything else.
"Cotton balls."
On and on it went, with Eliot opening and closing cabinets, and periodically calling out something to add to the list, and Hardison writing it down. When they were halfway done, Eliot stopped to allow Hardison to catch up. He sat down behind the desk, straightening the already neat space. Anyone who knew him well would say that he was nervous.
"What's going on, man?"
"What do you mean? I'm just waiting for you to catch up."
"You don't usually ask for help with inventory, and you seem worried about something. Why did you really want me to come in here with you?"
Well, the hacker was getting more observant. He shifted position in the chair, and said, "Fair enough. I wanted to check in with you. See how you were doing. You went through an ordeal inside that box, and I can't help but feel that it had to have taken it's toll."
"I'm fine."
"Yeah. That's why you have dark circles under your eyes and your usual thousand watt personality has dimmed a bit. If I had to guess, I'd say you're not sleeping." Eliot opened one of the larger drawers in the desk and drew out a small hot plate. He plugged it in and turned it on.
The hacker glared at him, slightly embarrassed that Eliot read him so easily. "How—How do you know that?"
Eliot smiled, but it didn't quite reach his eyes. "It's not that hard to figure out. You're not quite as energetic as you were before." Seeing the young man's discomfort, he said, "Hey, nothing to be ashamed of. Are you having nightmares?" Eliot didn't make eye contact with the young man, thinking it would be easier for him to talk about what was bothering him, if he didn't feel as though every move he made was under scrutiny. Rummaging in one of the other drawers, he drew out a small leather pouch, loosened the drawstring, and sprinkled some of the leaves into the bottom of a mug.
"Sometimes. There are nights I can't close my eyes without being back in that box. And then all the fear and the feelings of suffocation and claustrophobia come back. It's getting to the point that I don't want to sleep."
"Well, you can't stay awake forever." He filled the mug with water from a small pitcher that sat on the desk, and placed the mug on the hot plate.
"I can try."
"That's not the answer. The nightmares won't go away until you deal with them."
"Deal with them how?" Hardison's voice was laced with suspicion.
"I have some suggestions that might help. Things I do when the nightmares visit me. They never completely go away, but they do get better. We'll discuss what you can do about the nightmares tomorrow. The important thing now is to help you get some sleep."
"I don't want to sleep, Eliot. If you want to help, help me stay awake."
"If I do that, it'll be a whole lot worse when you finally do sleep. You can trust me when I tell you that eventually, you won't have a choice. Why not sleep here instead? Let me stand watch with you. I can wake you if you start having nightmares. We will face the shadows together."
Hardison turned away. When he looked back, Eliot was still watching him. He felt compelled to say something.
"I can't. I don't know if I'm strong enough."
"Then let me help. We're strong enough together. You don't have to do this alone."
"You say help. How?"
Eliot reached over and took the mug off the hot plate, then reached into the drawer next to him and brought out a small jar of honey. He picked up the small wooden spoon and watched as the excess honey ran back into the jar. When enough of it was off that he could move it, he sank the spoon into the mug, and stirred it around.
Noticing the expression on the young man's face, he motioned for him to sit down in the chair on the side of the desk. When he had done so, Eliot handed him the cup and said, "A good friend taught me how to make this tea when I started having the nightmares. Drink it. It'll help."
"Will it ensure that I don't dream?"
"Only a sedative can provide a sleep without dreams, and then, only sometimes, and if you did have nightmares, you wouldn't be able to wake yourself up from a sedative. This will help to ensure that you have fewer dreams, and that the ones you have are mostly positive. You can do this, Hardison. I have faith in you."
Hardison nodded woodenly, and took the cup that was offered. Watching him, Eliot got the impression that the hacker was like one of the robot friends he built for Parker. Mechanically, he lifted the cup to his lips and took a small sip. A very pleasant heat flowed through him each time he took a sip, and when he had finished half the cup, he was growing sleepier.
He put himself to bed on one of the cots in the room, and he was asleep as soon as he stretched out. Eliot rose and moved to cover him with a blanket. Then, he poured himself some coffee and sat back down in the chair behind the desk, settling in for a long night watch.