A/N: First, I *adore* feedback- it brightens my day and makes my muses giggle :) Second, this is a tag to The Carnival Job. I don't see how anyone could just let him go off with a… well, whatever "nurse" Gail was, especially after the walloping Eliot took, so this is me volunteering Parker to give a little TLC! Third, the characters obviously aren't mine or they'd be having a lot more fun (and never would have been canceled). Enjoy!
"What the… Parker!" Eliot tried not to swear at her, but it was a close call. He'd just dragged himself to his city apartment only to find the elfin woman perched, cross-legged, on his kitchen table. At least, he thought there was only one of her; with the hit he'd taken from that ride, Parker may very well have had identical triplets.
"Where's your nurse Gail? Didn't you leave with her?" Parker asked rapidly, swaying back and forth with excess energy as she watched him. The movement was hypnotic and Eliot found himself swaying along with her until he listed a little too far to the left, sending him stumbling into the wall. Slowed reflexes meant that his shoulder did the catching for him rather than the hands which belatedly came up to fend off the impact. Two smaller hands gently helped right him, and he found that he could see straight if he closed his left eye. There, no more multiple Parkers.
Eliot thought he remembered her asking at least one question… Gail, right. "I passed out in the cab on the way here and she was gone when I came to. Must 'a freaked. 'Least she left my wallet," he mumbled. Parker may have snorted at that, or it may have just been the ringing in his ears, but she used her grip on his shoulders to gently steer him into the kitchen proper. His apartment didn't have much, more of a bolt-hole than a comfortable living space: open studio flat, kitchen in the middle, sleeping area off to the right, and exercise mats against the far left wall. But the best feature it had? The cache of emergency supplies he kept fully stocked with suture kits, bandages, and everything in between.
"Sit," Parker ordered and backed him into one of his kitchen chairs. Left with no choice, Eliot sat. Well, slumped would be more accurate, with his head in his hands and elbows on the table. He should, he knew, get the ice packs out of the freezer and start running a cold bath to help keep down the bruising, but he just couldn't find the energy to move. "Here," the voice startled him and he groaned at his muscles' sharp complaint at the movement. A cold ice pack was pressed against the aching left side of his head and spread relief so blissful that his eyes closed.
Parker allowed him to sit and enjoy the cold pack for a few minutes, puttering around in the kitchen and gathering bandages. She tried to be a little louder than normal since she knew he couldn't see well enough to know where she was. Actually, Parker wasn't sure just how mentally aware he even was at the moment. She'd never seen their hitter quite this mangled before and she didn't know how else to help. "Eliot? What do I do next?" she asked quietly, crouching down beside the chair so that he wouldn't have to work at looking up at her.
Eliot took a minute to process her question and think through the pounding in his head. He hurt, really hurt, and had trouble keeping concentration for more than a few seconds. "Go run a cold bath. Stops bruising," he slurred and pointed vaguely at the semi-exposed bathroom tucked into the front corner, then quickly brought his hand back to help hold up his head.
Parker stood and briefly touched his shoulder as she rounded the chair and headed to the bathroom area. It kept the open floor plan (and basic modesty) with a half-wall, but still allowed her to keep an eye on Eliot's slumped form as she moved about drawing the water for his bath. She scanned the bottles under his sink and found a cache of muscle relaxing salts. They wouldn't do a miraculous amount of good, but they also couldn't possibly hurt any. Parker checked again on Eliot and he hadn't moved so much as an inch, though he had pulled the ice pack down to cover his cheekbone as well. She'd seen a massive bruise already blackening there and knew it had to be nearly as painful as the concussion. She walked back, trying to make enough noise that she wouldn't startle him again, and crouched back down next to him again.
"Eliot, come on, open your eyes," Parker encouraged. She was using every single one of Sophie's lessons as well as what she'd learned from the others to keep from upsetting her friend. "I got your bath ready, but you have to get up. I can't carry you over there," Okay, that bit was a small lie. She could haul his weight over to the bathroom, but in his beaten condition it would be hellishly painful.
"Yeah, fine," Eliot grumbled as he levered himself out of the chair. He could only lean on one arm as the other side had what his long experience told him were cracked ribs just shy of being outright broken. Parker had to grab for his shoulders again as he wavered a bit before his knees firmed up and took his weight. He shuffled off towards the bathroom, trying to shed his clothes as he went. Jacket and hooded sweatshirt went just fine, but he couldn't get the undershirt without torqueing his ribs. He'd moved better in the bar when his adrenaline was still up and inflammation hadn't set in, and his ride in the cab hadn't done him any favors either.
Parker's cooler hands gently batted his away before she helped steer him into the bathroom. "I'll help," she promised. Eliot had looked after her many times before, insisting on cleaning and putting those little butterfly bandages on the long scrapes she sometimes got from air ducts. Not every construction company bothered to clip and smooth the ends of screws inside the ducts, and when Nate told them to get out fast she couldn't take the time to care if one or two scraped along her back. Better to be free and bleeding than squeamish and captured. Eliot was the only one she would allow to see the gouges; Sophie would scold and flutter around uselessly, Hardison would pale at the blood and find a reason to leave the room, and Nate… Nate would sigh and look at her sadly, like she was some broken thing which he pitied. No, Eliot understood and so was the only one she'd trust with that. He didn't make her skin itch when he stood behind her, the rubbing alcohol hurting while helping, and her with her back exposed, unprotected.
Eliot allowed Parker to help with his undershirt and in the end simply stood while she cut it apart as neither of them could see an easy way out of it which wouldn't hurt more than he was willing to put up with. He did, however, insist on unbuckling his own belt and dropping his pants himself, though he did accept her steading hands as he stepped out of them. Neither Parker nor Eliot cared much about modesty, an affectation left decades in the past for them both, and neither blushed as she helped him step into the cast iron monstrosity he called a bathtub. He chose it because it was longer than a standard tub and had a gently-sloping back; perfect for him to lie out and let the pain soak away.
Parker helped wash the stubborn bits of blood off his face, dried in patches where he couldn't see straight enough to do a better job of it in the bar's bathroom. After a bit he took the washcloth from her and flipped a hand, hoping that she'd get the message to leave him alone. Nope, she only started in on that hand's tape, gently peeling it off his skin and settling his hand back in the cold water. No chance of his dozing off in the tub- it was taking all his admittedly impaired mental discipline to keep from shivering and upsetting his ribs. After removing the other hand's tape as well, Parker did retreat and leave him to the numbing water in peace while she made a round of his apartment. Even with his eyes closed, he knew exactly where she was. Slide and thunk as she threw the door's specially-made steel composite bolt… click as she checked the locks on his only two windows, both a thick acrylic rather than glass, and heard her snort in amusement when she tapped a fingernail on one to confirm her own appraisal of the material. Yes he was paranoid, but there really were people out to get him.
She ended up in Eliot's kitchen and perused the contents of his cabinet, still going against her instincts and making enough noise that he could easily track. He didn't have anything fresh in either cabinets or refrigerator, only powders and nutrition bars with long shelf lives. Parker wrinkled her nose in distaste- Eliot didn't even have cereal! She pulled out a canister of powder and read the label carefully. It purported to give a complete meal's worth of vitamins and minerals in one eight ounce glass, though she was highly skeptical about the taste. By the time Eliot had soaked enough, in her opinion, she had mixed up a double glass of the stuff and left it on the table for later.
"You ready to get out?" Parker called as she raided his bedroom area for clothing. She found a pair of drawstring flannel pants, soft with age and wear, and decided against any of the shirts he had- they'd had too much trouble getting his undershirt off for her to put him through a struggle to get another one on. On her way back to the bathroom area, she bumped his thermostat up a few degrees to make up for it. Eliot hadn't answered her question, but then she didn't expect him to. She had asked only to let him know that she was going to haul him out of the tub and for him to get ready for it.
Eliot was sitting up in the tub by the time she came back around the half-wall and dumped his flannel pants on the sink, picking up a towel as she did so. Parker provided a counter balance and steadying force, holding his arms and pulling gently, so that all he had to do was simply stand up. That put the force on his legs rather than his torso, and he was grateful for the help as he stepped out onto the mat. Parker blotted his arms, legs, and torso with the towel, and then handed it to him so that he could dry the more personal bits while she pulled the tub's drain. A slight struggle with the pants later and he was shuffling back over to his kitchen table.
"Here, I made your nasty drink mix," Parker pushed the glass to him once he sat down, and he had to smirk a little at the moue of distaste she gave the drink, "I tried a sip and you should write a letter of complaint to the company. It tastes worse than the stuff Sophie tried to get us to eat," she said, waving her hands around a bit as if to pantomime the memory as she brought around his bandage kit. Eliot did remember Sophie's ill-fated attempt at making... well, he didn't know just what she was trying for, but it involved Roquefort cheese and asparagus, of all things. It ranked just above his time in Cambodia in terms of cruel and unusual torture.
"Not that bad," Eliot teased back as he downed the drink. Yes, the stuff fell far from the supposed vanilla flavor, but it was far easier than trying to chew real food with a battered mouth. He helped her re-tape his hands to stabilize the fractures and cooperated as best he could while she closed the bigger cuts on his body and face. He didn't want to wrap his ribs and she didn't argue; he was the expert in this.
"No sugar, no chocolate… that stuff should be marked as toxic waste," Parker returned to her critique of the nutrient drink as she stepped back to assess her work. "Anything else we need to do?"
"Just sleep," Eliot answered. He looked forward to being able to collapse into his soft bed and just let go for a while.
"Do I need to wake you up every few hours? You did that when I hit my head in that plane's cargo hold during that job," Parker asked. That was actually the first time Eliot had backed her into a corner and made her accept his help. Granted, she had been operating in a fog between their landing on the road and the team checking into a hotel to wait out the two days' wait for a plane back, but she hadn't welcomed his presence while she was hurting and incapable of fleeing. It was also the time that he truly earned her trust. He had kept the others from noticing, knowing that they would mob her with well-meant yet unwanted attention, and took care of her. No matter what, from her being sick on him to awakening her regularly all night long, even her snarling attempts to drive him away, Eliot had remained gentle and encouraging. He'd said that looking out for each other is what friends do, and that he would stay to help. It had taken several repetitions before she could even accept that his words were sincere, and even then she didn't quite know how to respond. They hadn't even known each other for a year yet and she'd never had any friends before. Now, though, she certainly considered him a friend and that's why she broke into his apartment when he was particularly injured- he'd said friends look after each other, and so she did her best.
"It's not that bad, just need to sleep," Eliot answered, well used to gauging danger levels of a concussion, as he again levered himself up out of the chair. Parker ranged ahead of him to turn down the bedding and offer a steadying arm if he needed it as he climbed into bed. Soon as he lay down, she flipped the covers over him and stood for a moment. Sensing her hesitation, Eliot dragged himself back from the edge of sleep to open one eye in question.
Parker fidgeted a second, and then decided. "I'll stay and keep an eye out until you wake, okay?" It came out in a bit of a rush and took him a second to decipher what she said, and then a second more to make his own decision. She was one of the rare few who he trusted and her presence in the apartment shouldn't be enough to wake him; would likely allow him to sleep deeper than normal, actually, as he trusted her to keep the apartment secure. A sort of nod and grunt of assent was all he managed before he let sleep pull him down beyond the reach of pain.
Another round of the apartment and Parker settled down on the floor between the two windows with a book she'd scrounged up. It was in Russian and not a genre she was really interested in but, she reminded herself as she settled back against the wall and prepared to be quiet for hours, it's what friends do.