[canon-typical violence, hospitals, mentions of spinal injuries, mentions of food/alcohol, canon mentions of suicide]
It took me way too long to finish, but here is the second chapter, based on the Homecoming Job. We get to know a little more about what happened to Eliot and what his life looks like, and the team coming together.
A couple of things have been asked in the comments (here and on AO3), which I wanted to address for everyone to see:
- Human echolocation is as real as it gets, though it is somewhat rare. I've done a lot of research on this and made it as realistic as I could.
- A guest (if you're reading this, thank you for your comment, though I can't answer you personally) commented on my using "identity first language" rather than "person first language". I don't know if it was about using blind, autistic or disabled, but being two of those, I never use person first language, and thus my characters won't either. Personal preference should always be respected, but the autistic community at the very least overwhelmingly prefer identity first language as I do (that is "an autistic person/being autistic" rather than "a person with autism/having autism")
Enjoy this chapter!
"What are you doing?" Hardison asks over the phone, half a world away.
"Nothing," Eliot answers, kicking his last opponent with his foot to make sure he's unconscious. "Why?"
"Then get your ass over here, 'cause we're back in business," Hardison says. "You need a plane ticket?"
"To where?"
"Los Angeles. We're setting up our offices there and everything."
"Good, then I already have what I need," Eliot says. Is it a coincidence that Nate decided to set up shop in the same city Eliot has lived in since losing his sight, or is it a concession to his circumstances? Eliot reminds himself Los Angeles is also where Nate raised his son, though he hasn't lived there since he divorced. It might have nothing to do with him at all.
By the time Eliot gets to the address Hardison texted him, a little under twenty hours after his phone call, he is tired and annoyed. He's spent the last five days on a retrieval job for a regular client, but it feels less rewarding when the payment barely registers above the outrageous amount of money now in his accounts. He has donated a lot of the payout from their first job to various charitable organizations, but even that has hardly lowered the numbers.
Coming back from Berlin has been a hassle. Eliot has never enjoyed flying, even before losing his sight, but now that he is dependent on the good will of airport staff to get him where he needs to go, he actively hates it. The big, open spaces that make up airports are confusing and overwhelming, and they're about as inaccessible to him as anything can be, with all the information exclusively on screens and no way to tell where to go without sight.
The airport staff and flight attendants are almost always friendly, but Eliot hates having to ask for help. No amount of flirting and joking with them will let him forget that this is one of the limitations he can't overcome, one of the many ways in which this society isn't made for him.
The two-hour flight delay in Philadelphia means he hasn't been able to do more than drop his bag at his apartment before coming here. He's operating on a nine-hour time difference, and he hasn't slept in twenty-eight hours. Yet he can't help smiling when he hears Parker's voice. He can distinguish her airy steps coming toward him from the street's background noise, though he only recognizes them when she starts speaking.
"Eliot!" she calls excitedly. "I've missed you!"
"Parker," Eliot says more sedately, hiding his smile before he turns toward her.
She taps the back of his hand with hers, exactly as he showed her last time. She's more obvious about it than she needs to be, but it seems that with Parker, everything is more intense. Eliot grasps her elbow and lets her guide him inside the building, though he keeps swiping the floor with his cane. He tries not to limp or look stiff, but the flight was long and didn't do wonders for his neck.
"Sophie's already waiting for us upstairs," Parker says. "Come on!"
Sophie joins them outside the elevator when they reach the last floor.
"Eliot, this is Sophie," she says, adopting proper manners around blind people without Eliot having to tell her. He doesn't need her to say who she is, especially since he was expecting to meet her, but it is nice of her all the same. Not for the first time, Eliot wonders if she's known another blind person before.
"Sophie," he says with a nod and a half-smile.
"Do I need to do that too?" Parker asks, once again offering her elbow.
"Do what?"
"Tell you who I am?"
"Nah, I know you now," Eliot drawls.
He doesn't ask her to warn him when she's around, either, because she won't remember to do it, and he's had enough training that he doesn't usually need it anyway. Parker may be light and silent on the job, but she's loud enough when she's not trying to hide.
Eliot keeps using his cane in the corridor, using the sound the metal tip makes hitting the floor to give him a sense of what is around him. He takes note of every bend and door, to make sure he can walk back out on his own if he needs to. Parker stops in front of what sounds like a glass door, midway through Sophie explaining what she's done with her money.
The two women both let out a hiss of admiration when they walk through the door. Eliot doesn't know what has them react this way, but Parker slips through his grasp to go exploring, and he finds himself suddenly on his own in the middle of the room. He can't help tensing.
"What is this?" Parker asks from somewhere on his right.
"This is our new cover story," Hardison says, walking into the room. "Welcome to Leverage Consulting and Associates, founded in 1913 by the great Harland Leverage the Third."
Sophie suddenly starts laughing, and Eliot turns toward her sharply.
"I'm sorry," she says toward Hardison. "Nate is going to kill you."
Still clueless, Eliot huffs in annoyance at being left out and swipes the floor until he finds a table in the middle of the room. He walks slowly around it, trying to get a sense of the layout of the room.
"Anyone want to tell me what's so funny?" he asks.
"I'm so sorry, Eliot," Sophie apologizes. "Hardison painted a portrait, and… I don't know how to says this..."
"It looks like Nate," Parker says. "Sort of. Only older and out of the 1910s."
Eliot tries to picture it, fishing out an image of Nate from before he went blind, but his brain comes up with no more than a mop of brown hair and an ugly tie. He swallows, trying to keep the pang of pain off his face. He has known he's started to forget faces for a while now, but it still bothers him every time.
"You paint?" he asks Hardison, shaking himself out of it.
"I'm gifted," Hardison answers.
Eliot just rolls his eyes. He has no way to judge Hardison's talent, but even Sophie seems impressed, so it must be good.
"It's weird," Parker mock-whispers to him from behind.
Hardison doesn't respond to that and instead starts off on a monologue about the offices that Eliot only half-listens to. He is handed a phone and a file, which he almost discards as useless, but he pulls up short when he realizes the thickness of the folder comes from the multiple Braille-embossed sheets of paper inside. Skimming the top of the first sheet, he recognizes his own birth date, though not the name.
"Where did you find a Braille printer?" he interrupts Hardison. The others have started to move toward the open door on the right side of the room, but Eliot doesn't follow them, his cane tucked under his arm as he reads the rest of the document. It's a completely made up − and, Eliot has to admit, creative − resume for a new identity Hardison set up for him.
"I bought one," Hardison says proudly, coming back toward him.
"You bought a Braille printer? How did you even know I read Braille?"
"Don't all blind people read Braille?"
Eliot groans. "No, only about ten percent. I can't believe you bought an embosser and didn't even research that."
"Well, it's good that you read it, 'cause I bought you a Braille display as well," Hardison says, completely unbothered. "It's all in your office."
Unable to decide whether he wants to hug the man or hit his head on the desk from frustration, Eliot opts for closing the file and turns to the cell phone Hardison gave him. It feels close enough to his own phone that he can quickly figure out what each button is for, and pushing the right one reads out the time in a synthesized female voice.
"It's fully encrypted, and I took the liberty of looking into your phone to get you the same screen reader," Hardison says.
"You hacked my phone?" Eliot asks, once again torn between gratefulness and annoyance. If he's going to work regularly with people like Parker and Hardison, he'll have to get used to the fact that none of his possessions are safe. Thankfully his secrets are better guarded than his cell phone.
"It also has GPS and a home-made text-to-speech synthesizer. The screen reader can connect to your comm unit," Hardison continues, ignoring him. "I'll show you how later. Now come on, Nate's waiting for us."
Eliot gets his first chance at exploring the offices after the briefing, though he really wants to go home and crash onto his bed. Hardison's high-tech conference room is not going to be of much use to him, but the younger man proudly describes every inch to him. The chairs are comfortable, at least, since it sounds like they are going to spend quite a bit of time in here, and the sound system is impressive. Even Corporal Perry's cheap camcorder video came out good enough for him to distinguish the weapons.
Hardison leads him down the corridor to his new office, awkwardly letting Eliot take his elbow.
"Nate's office is up front, since he's the boss," he chatters on the way. "I put you all the way in the back, because the printer makes a hell of a racket when it's embossing. I could hear it from the other side of the building. That okay?"
"Sure," Eliot says.
"There we are," Hardison says, opening the door at the end of the corridor. "Desk's in front of you, you have a couch on the left, and the printer's at the back by the windows. I gave Sophie the corner office beside you, since I figured she'd appreciate it more than you."
"What," Eliot asks dryly. "I don't get to enjoy the view?"
Hardison's answering laugh is more relaxed than he's been with Eliot since he learned about his blindness. Eliot counts that as a win.
"Seriously, though, I tried to get you everything you need, but tell me if there's anything I missed−" Hardison says, real concern in his voice.
"It's fine, man, I think you've got it covered. Just let me get used to this place," Eliot says.
Hardison's already done far more than he expected. Braille displays and printers are awfully expensive and most people just work with the cheaper voice outputs.
Eliot likes Braille more than he likes listening to the synthesized computer voice, because it feels closer to reading print and he used to love that. Mastering Braille was one of those few things that truly felt like an accomplishment, untainted by the bitterness of having to relearn everything else. He does buy audiobooks, mostly because there aren't that many books available in Braille and they take up a lot more space that the tapes, but he uses the Braille display on his Pocket computer more than the voice output.
He can feel Hardison's gaze on him as he explores his new office in his own way, until Eliot raises an eyebrow at him and Hardison self-consciously backs out of the room, leaving him on his own. Eliot runs his hand on the furniture, noticing the space between each piece and the way they are arranged, making note of what he'll need to move. The desk and the cabinet beside it are just close enough that he's bound to bang his hip on the corner of one or the other when trying to walk in between, and the couch would be well replaced by a fold-out bed, so he can stay the night if he needs to.
The embosser takes up a large part of the far corner, and it looks like ones he's come across before. Running his finger on the command board, Eliot smiles at the raised dots on each button. This is a machine he won't need help to use.
The computer is another matter. Contrary to Eliot's Pocket computer, this is a regular PC, complete with a screen, in which Hardison just plugged the brand new Braille display. It doesn't seem to have his usual screen reader software installed, since the display remains blank and none of the keystrokes he tries seem to turn it on. Eliot grumbles under his breath and gives up for now, walking out of the office instead to explore the rest of the floor.
He finds Parker in the break room. He can feel her gaze on him as he explores the furnishing − better than most break rooms, with not only a good quality coffee machine but also a large fridge and a kitchenette − but her watching him doesn't feel in any way awkward. She fidgets noisily with some kind of plastic toy and Eliot can tell she is curious, so he lets her observe him go through the cabinets slowly, careful not to tip anything over.
Eliot takes out a mug and starts looking for anything resembling tea bags, hoping Nate was the one who went shopping and not Hardison. Hardison's kitchen in Chicago was basically unused and contained little other than microwave popcorn, candy and sodas. Eliot doesn't even know how the man can survive on that.
He finds a promising box in the cabinet above the sink, but there is no way to tell if it is in fact tea unless he opens it. It smells faintly of bergamot, so Eliot bets on Earl Grey.
"Parker," he turns to her, "that's tea, right?"
Parker doesn't answer, instead groaning in pain as she hits something.
"What are you doing?" Eliot asks.
"I want to know what it looks like for you," Parker says. "This place, I mean."
Eliot groans as he understands she's been trying to cross the room with her eyes closed. Unless he's hearing wrong, she veered right and ran into the table.
"Banging your hips on furniture ain't gonna help with that. Walking straight is a bit of an acquired skill."
Parker hums, still rubbing her hips vigorously.
"It's Earl Grey," she says.
"Thanks," Eliot answers. "You want to see how it's done? Come here."
Parker skips over, stopping close to him but not quite touching. Eliot takes that to mean that she doesn't want to right now, because she's been fairly tactile with him before, so it's not just shyness. He's not particularly in a tactile mood either, so this suits him fine.
"Close your eyes," he says. "Mug's here. Can I take your hand?"
"Yeah," Parker says.
Eliot slips his hand around Parker's, his grip purposefully firm. "We want to fill the mug with water. Sink is on the left." He guides her hand over, staying behind her. "Gimme your other hand."
Parker move her arm against him and he grabs her hand, curling it around the faucet head. "Mug goes underneath. You want your finger inside so you can tell when to stop."
"Like this?" Parker asks.
Eliot checks that she's holding the mug vertically enough, with one finger in.
"Yes. Now you turn on the water with your other hand and fill it up until you feel the water."
"Got it."
"Good. Now let's put it in the microwave, okay? It's a bit trickier."
Eliot has no problem making himself tea, but he vividly remembers having to learn all these things, and how complicated it seemed back then. Of course, this is only a game to Parker, she doesn't have the pressure and the anxiety that come with needing to get it right, needing to be able to this independently, but he still takes a leaf out of his occupational therapist's book.
"Do you remember where it is?" he asks. He himself noted the exact position of the microwave earlier, but Parker might not have, since she doesn't need to know in advance.
"On the table by the wall. Door opens on the left."
Then of course, she is a thief. Knowing exactly where things are is part of her job.
"One hand on the mug, elbow up to protect your face. The other at hip height, you don't want to hit the table again."
Together, with Eliot still standing close to Parker but not touching her, they make it to the table. Parker obviously remembers the configuration of the microwave, because she goes directly for the door opener and only fumbles a little placing the mug inside.
"Good job," Eliot tells her. "How did that feel?"
"Weird," Parker says. "Fun, but also kinda scary. Will you teach me more?"
Eliot is honestly amazed she hasn't lost interest yet, so he nods. "Sure. Not right now, though. Can you help me with that?" He gestures to the microwave's commands.
There are two dials and several buttons, but nothing to differentiate them. Eliot will have to do something about that, find a way to label them properly, but in the meantime he can't use it on his own.
"There," Parker says, guiding his fingers to one of the dials. "To set the time, then the button on the right to start it. See, there are notches for every minute up to ten, then every five minutes."
"Thanks."
Eliot goes back to get a tea bag from the box and drops it into the steaming mug when the microwave beeps. This feels like heresy, after learning to make tea in the Chinese countryside. Eliot wishes he could make himself proper tea, but there's no kettle and microwaving is a lot easier than trying to pour hot water into a mug without burning himself. He has better tools at home, but here this will have to do.
Maybe if Sophie invests in a kettle and tea leaves − she seems the type, and she's British − he'll bring in a Liquid Indicator. That is, if their crew makes it through their second job.
By evening, he's less than certain that they will. Sure, they coordinated well on searching DuFort's office, though Nate grumbled about having to be the waiter. Eliot just waved his white cane, "How do you think I would do, going through the crowd with a tray full of champagne glasses?"
But now the man they're supposed to be helping is in danger of being strangled in his sleep, and they're likely to be too late. And while this kind of situations is nearly business as usual for Eliot, he can hear Nate's frantic impatience at the wheel, Sophie's worried voice. This isn't what they signed up for. No one was supposed to get hurt.
As he scrambles out of the car, Eliot wonders, idly, why exactly they think he's here.
He doesn't realize until he's outside that he never asked what hospital Corporal Perry is in. Despite the fact that the late hour brings a quietness to the street by the front entrance that is never there during the day, he recognizes the place immediately. After all, this is where he first learned to navigate sidewalks and traffic by ear.
It's the same rehab center he spent nine months in, four years ago.
It's five blocks away from his apartment, so he should have recognized the route, but somehow he already trusts Nate enough that he didn't bother to keep track of the turns. This crew seems to be insinuating itself under his skin far too quickly.
He doesn't have time to reflect more on his feelings before Nate ushers him inside. There's a good chance that Perry is already in danger, and they have to get moving.
"I'll go get Perry," Nate says. "I know where his room is. Eliot?"
"I'll find us an exit route," Eliot says. It's his job, after all, making sure they all get out safely.
"Should I come with you?" Sophie asks.
Eliot shakes his head. He knows the hospital, and the rehab center especially. "No, go with Nate. I'll be fine," he says.
He doesn't wait for an answer before heading off. He walks down several corridors, checking that the fire exits are clear. With his cane sweeping the floor in front of him, he has no trouble passing off as a patient to the few nurses on night duty, and he doesn't look lost enough for them to bother him.
When Nate declares that Perry is out of his room, Eliot adds finding him to his mental checklist. The corridor are quiet and empty, with only the low level chatter coming from his right to tell him where the nurse's station is. This isn't an ICU where things are always busy. The rehab center sleeps with its patients, with only a couple of nurses and one doctor on duty at this time of the night.
"We've got him," Nate says in the earbud. "We've got to get you out of here now," he adds for Perry.
Eliot can't help cringing at Perry's remark to Sophie, "I'm in a wheelchair, I'm not blind." Muttering under his breath that being blind doesn't prevent you from hooking up with beautiful women, he almost misses what's off with the two men who walk past him.
They are wearing the wrong shoes.
Eliot has spent enough time listening to doctors and nurses walk down hospital corridors to know exactly what the sensible soft plastic shoes they all wear sound like. Those men are wearing combat boots.
"Are you...wait, I know you," a voice he recognizes vaguely says from behind him.
Ignoring her entirely, Eliot breaks into a run and tackles one of the two men to the floor. He hears Nate's voice at the other end of the corridor at the same moment, though his brain takes a second to locate him properly since he also heard him through the comm at the same time.
Engaged in a close fight with the guy who didn't fall − the trick is to keep him within arm's reach, to be able to anticipate his moves − Eliot misses Nate trying to help by throwing a wheeled bed into the other mercenary's way. He hears the man double over too late to stop his own forward move and crashes painfully into the bed railing, along with his opponent. A knife clatters to the floor. Cursing, Eliot picks himself back up and does his best to ignore the pain radiating out of his hip in favor of knocking out the man, who is trying to grapple him to the floor.
The second man is on him the moment the first's grasp loosens. Eliot kicks out with his right leg, connecting with flesh, but it makes him overbalance, his left foot too rigid in its splint to compensate. He has to jump backward, awkwardly, to avoid the knife coming to his side, and just like that, he's lost the advantage. The man is too far out of his fighting space.
Eliot still knows exactly where he is, a click of his tongue enough for echolocation, but he can't hear his stance, can't predict his moves.
They face each other for a moment, Eliot standing still and the other man circling around him. Eliot doesn't let him get between him and Perry, still at the end of the corridor with Nate and Sophie. He attacks − and knows immediately that he's guessed right. The man is well-trained enough to have figured out he's fighting a blind guy, and that, ironically, has made him lower his guard enough to give Eliot the opening he needs. People always underestimate him.
The man feints right, assuming Eliot won't be able to tell, but Eliot's fist connects violently with his jaw. A second blow makes him double over, and the third crumple on the floor. Eliot takes the time to check that he's unconscious and kicks the knife out of his hand. He does the same, more slowly, with the second man.
"What the hell was that?" he shouts toward Nate, indicating the turned over gurney that hit his hip.
"Sorry!" Nate says.
"I know you were trying to help, but don't," Eliot says, taking a second to assess his environment. He's lost his cane in the fight and he isn't sure where it is. "You'll only make it harder if I don't know where you are and what you're doing."
Fighting takes enough concentration that he can't afford to try to keep track of everything else. More people getting involved means more parameters to be aware of, and that makes his job more complicated. Eliot makes a mental note to make this clear to the crew as soon as he gets the chance.
They don't have time to waste right now, though. They need to get Perry to safety and figure out where to go from there, and they need to do it fast, before they encounter more mercenaries coming to take him out.
Eliot starts swiping the floor carefully with an extended foot for his cane, then remembers he doesn't have to do it alone. "Where's my cane?" he asks, annoyance seeping through his tone.
"Over here," Nate says. Eliot opens his mouth to point out that it doesn't help him, but Sophie is at his side suddenly, tapping his arm with his cane so he can grab it. "Thanks," he says instead. "You've got Perry?"
"Yes. Corporal Perry, this is Eliot Spencer," Sophie says.
"Corporal," Eliot says with a nod towards where he can hear the shape of the wheelchair.
"Nice to meet you," Perry says after a silence, sounding a little awkward.
Eliot is puzzled for a second until Sophie adds, "Eliot's blind." Perry probably offered a hand and thought Eliot was ignoring him.
"Oh," Perry says sheepishly. "Sorry."
Eliot shrugs and turns to Nate. "We need to go. Elevator?"
"Behind you," Nate answers.
"Where are you taking him?" Eliot asks Nate when he joins them back at the hospital entrance after clearing things with Dr LeRoque−who would have called the police right away if she hadn't recognized him as a former patient. Sophie is getting Corporal Perry's wheelchair into the car trunk.
"Hardison's set us up a bunch of safe houses along with the office. Closest is… five miles from here. He can stay there until we've figured this out."
"Wait, is it accessible?"
"Damn. Hardison, is it accessible?" Nate relays as he starts the car.
"Let me check," Hardison says over the comms. "I don't really know. The building has an elevator, but I haven't actually been there."
"Did it say it was accessible when you rented it?" Eliot asks.
"I don't know, man, I got it furnished and everything!" Hardison snaps. "Wait, no, the ad didn't say anything about that."
"Then we can assume it ain't. Do you have any other safe houses in the area?"
"One. But it's on the fifth floor of a building that doesn't even have an elevator, so I guess that's out."
"Damn," Eliot curses. He considers the issue for half a minute, but there's only one solution he can think of. "Nate, do a U-turn. I have somewhere we can go."
Refusing to answer the others' questions, he guides Nate back to his apartment. He's owned the place for years, and he hopes he won't have to give it up because of this, but it will do fine as a safe house. None of the others live anywhere close to this part of the city, and they need to get off the streets before anyone tries to track them.
He goes to unlock the door to the first floor apartment, leaving Nate and Sophie to help Perry out of the car.
"Eliot, is this your place?" Sophie asks as she enters last and closes the door behind her.
"Yeah," Eliot answers.
He lets her look around as he goes to get some clean bed sheets and something Perry can change into, since he wasn't able to bring a bag of his own. After a moment's reflection, he goes ahead and changes the sheets on the bed himself, knowing it wouldn't be easy for Perry. He takes a blanket and a pillow out for his own use.
"Corporal, the bedroom's yours," he says, walking back into the living room. "I'll take the couch, it's a fold-out and it's pretty comfy, so don't worry about it."
"Wow, thanks," Perry says. He still seems shaken, but he's also clearly impressed. There's something like admiration in his voice. "Back there…thanks for taking out those men. I wouldn't have been able to escape them."
"You're welcome," Eliot really smiles for the first time tonight. "Hitting people's my job."
"But you're blind." Perry's tone turns tentative.
"I am," Eliot nods.
When he doesn't elaborate, Nate says, "Okay, now that you're settled, we really need to get on with things. Eliot, Sophie, you coming?"
"Yeah," Eliot says. "Corporal, I probably won't be back for a few hours, so make yourself comfortable, okay? Do you need any help?"
"I'm good, thanks. How long do I need to stay here?"
"We'll try to fix things as quickly as we can, but it will be a few days," Nate answers. "I'm sorry this will hinder your rehab a little, but if you stay in the hospital they'll just keep coming for you."
Eliot empties the bag he took off one of the mercenaries onto the conference room table. He can feel − and recognize − the weight of the gun, the distinctive 'clong' it makes hitting the table. Without bothering to check what else is in the bag, Eliot grabs the weapons and empties it, tossing the magazine away.
"Money, cigarettes, knife, sunglasses, a piece of paper," Parker rattles off. Eliot smiles at her in thanks. "And the gun."
"Registered in Robert Perry's name," Hardison says.
"'I can't live with the pain, I'm sorry…'," Sophie reads. "This is a suicide note."
Eliot hears the clink of glass on glass, a slosh, followed by Nate's footsteps.
"Nate, one of the guys was ex-Marine, probably Force Recon, by the way he used his knife," he says. "These guys aren't there to play. They're gonna come after us."
"You ID'd a guy off his knife-fighting style?" Hardison asks.
"It's a very distinctive style," Eliot grumbles.
There is a lull in the room, only broken by Nate taking a sip of his liquor.
"I didn't sign up for any of this," Hardison says. "What I did before, no one go hurt."
"I stole painting for a living," Sophie says.
"I never hurt anybody," Parker shrugs.
Eliot feels all eyes turned toward him, waiting for his reaction, and he bites his lips.
None of them are good people, not really. They're on the wrong side of the law, and Eliot doubts Sophie or Hardison really cared whether their cons hurt anyone before. Maybe they never hurt anyone on purpose, but large scale jobs always have collateral damage.
Parker doesn't seem to care enough to check whether she's stealing from someone who can afford it, but her taste for very shiny, very expensive prizes probably made sure her marks were rich, at least.
And Nate may have been an honest man once, but he's started to reveal a side of him Eliot only glimpsed at, back when they worked together years ago. Nate's sense of justice is only matched by his twisted way of looking at the world.
But even when they are at their worst, the world they know is not the world Eliot lives in.
And now that Perry is staying in his apartment, involved in their con, it's his responsibility to keep him safe. And to keep the others out of the more dangerous side of this.
"I hurt people for a living," he says finally, though it's not what his job is really about. "I'll make sure Perry's safe, but we have to finish this."
"If anything happens to this kid−" Sophie trails off.
"It won't," Eliot says.
"You can walk out anytime you want," Nate says, annoyed, taking another drink of what Eliot assumes is whiskey.
"We finish this one," Parker says.
Nate gives Eliot a ride back home after their debrief, because it's too late for his car service and it's easier than getting a cab. He'll need to get a place within walking distance of their new offices, he thinks as he lets himself in.
He tries to make as little noise as possible setting up the couch and taking a blanket and pillow out of the closet, and crashes without bothering to remove more than his jacket and shoes. With the adrenaline leaving his body, he's exhausted. Hell, he was exhausted when he rode back from the airport fifteen hours ago. All he's had since is a twenty minute nap in his office, on the uncomfortable couch he needs to change.
Eliot rarely sleeps for long, though, and he's up again before dawn. He's still awfully tired, and hurting more than he'd like. He forgot to ice the large bruise on his hip last night, and it's tender under his fingers, but his leg is the real culprit. Even with his splint strapped on, he can't help the slight limp.
He takes the time to shower and change, then decides he needs to get some groceries if he's going to feed a second person for the next few days. He normally gets most of his shopping delivered, at least what he doesn't get at the farmers' market, but with Perry hiding out here, he can't afford to have someone come over. Which means he has to go to the store and get someone to help him find what he needs. Damn. He hates having to rely on strangers' help for the simplest things.
By the time Eliot comes back, Perry is up and about. Eliot greets him and goes directly to put away the food and make them some coffee, trying to curb his bad mood to be civil to his guest. When he comes back into the living room, Perry is seated at the table, where he has presumably removed a chair to make space for his wheelchair.
"So how's the rehab going?" Eliot asks, sitting down and passing him a mug. He's already decided not to tell Perry about the fake suicide note they found, or the gun registered in his name, because the young man doesn't need to be more scared than he already is.
"Well, no one seems to be sure about my legs, but my upper body strength is definitely getting better," Perry answers, keeping his tone light.
"That's the spirit," Eliot smiles. He grows more serious as he asks, "How long as it been? About two months, right?"
"Give or take a few days, yes, why?"
"Give it time. I know it's hard, but you have to be patient."
"That's what everyone keeps telling me." Perry's voice turns bitter. "It just doesn't feel like it's ever going to get better, you know?"
"Yeah, I know," Eliot says soberly. "But if you push too hard, it's just gonna come back to bite you in the ass. What you were doing last night, pushing yourself without the supervision of your therapist? A single fall could set you back weeks."
Perry sighs. "And how would you know about that?"
"For one, I know what it's like to hear the pity in people's voice when they see you," Eliot evades, his voice tight.
"Does it get easier?" Perry asks.
"No. But you get used to it, a bit. And you might not have to. There's a good chance you'll walk again, right?"
"Maybe. But it's unlikely I'll get back to full strength, I'll probably have a limp all my life."
"Then you'll adapt," Eliot says.
"You do know a lot about this, don't you?"
Eliot frowns. "What do you mean?"
"This is your place," Perry says slowly. "But it has a wheelchair-accessible kitchen, and bathroom bars. At first, I thought they might just have come with the apartment, but then why would you have a shower seat? I started to put two and two together when you said you knew what it was like."
Eliot sighs, but nods. He hasn't planned on discussing it, but Perry is observant. And he clearly needs someone he can relate to.
"Yes, I do know," he says. He pulls up his hair and turns his head to show Perry the twin surgical scars at the back of his neck. "I was at the same rehab center you're in, that's why I live so close by."
"So what was it?" Perry asks. "You know what happened to me."
"I broke my neck and injured my spinal cord," Eliot says. "Incomplete quadriplegic. I regained function in my right side fairly quickly, but the left took a little longer."
"Wow. I can't imagine. At least I can still use my arms. How long was it, before you were…back to normal?"
Eliot shifts uncomfortably. "Normal is...what you make it be. I'm not the person I was before. I became blind at the same time, for one thing."
"Gosh."
"But you meant how long until I could walk again, right? It took a while. I still have bad days, and my left side will always be weaker," Eliot adds after a moment of consideration. It's not something the crew knows yet, and he doesn't really intend to tell them until he has to. But Perry deserves to know something of what's ahead of him. Eliot kicks off his shoe to show him the thermoplastic splint strapped on his lower leg. "This helps."
"That must have been quite a ride," Perry says. "The doctor's saying I might still need physio for another year and a half, but it feels like it might as well be forever, right now."
"You'll be walking before then, I'm sure." Eliot bends down to tie his shoe back on.
"How long ago was it?" Perry asks.
"Almost four years," Eliot answers. Getting up, he busies himself with putting away the remains of their breakfast.
"Watching you fight last night, it looked like you've done this your whole life," Perry says, wheeling himself back to the table.
"I have, pretty much," Eliot answers. "Close combat isn't all that different sighted or blind. I just had a good teacher to help me make adaptations."
"Still, it was really impressive. Especially knowing how far you've come."
"Yeah, well you'll get there too, I'm sure," Eliot smiles. "You know what you want to do when you get back on your feet?"
"Not really. It's been a hard couple of months."
"Will you be on your own when you get discharged?"
"Yeah, should happen in the next few weeks. My occupational therapist has me looking at places around here, but it doesn't feel right, you know? There's so few fully accessible apartments, and I don't really want to need one, I guess."
"Yeah, I know," Eliot says. He remembers how big a step it was, buying this place. It both felt like a new freedom to finally get out of the hospital and a scary leap into the unknown, learning to accept that his disability wasn't going to go away overnight and that he needed the accommodations that came with the pitying stares and limitations of an ableist society. "However hard this feels, it will be a lot harder if you can't be independent because you won't accept the proper accommodations, though. Even if it's just temporary."
Perry hums non-concomitantly. Eliot lets it go, deciding it isn't his problem anyway.
"Tell you what," he says, "when you're settled in your own place, come to the Carlton Martial Arts Studio. I'll give you the address. The owner used to work at the rehab center, and he's really good at building special training programs. He might be able to help you."
"Maybe I'll try to come," Perry says. Eliot nods, knowing this is the best he can hope for.
During the next three days, as they work full time on bringing down Castelman Security, Eliot is only in his apartment to sleep, and he finds little time to talk with Perry again.
Eliot is more used to dealing with mercenaries and soldiers than with the politicians who hire them, but Nate and Sophie are right at home conning DuFort and Congressman Jenkins. It's beautiful in a strange way, how their plan falls together seamlessly. Eliot's job is messy at the best of times, but he's learning from the best that there can be another way to do things.
And they're learning from him, as he takes every precaution to keep Perry safe, that there is a world of violence out there that they barely suspected. He's pretty sure that word has gone back to DuFort's hired mercenaries that Perry is well-protected, and that using brute force to eliminate him is not likely to work, but Eliot still makes sure he's well hidden. He checks the perimeter every night for suspicious cars or passersby, even has Hardison hack into the street's security cameras to monitor the entrance to his building. Hardison obviously thinks it's overkill, but Eliot doesn't let him slack off.
On the fourth day, Eliot gets a ride back to his apartment in the middle of the afternoon.
"I didn't expect you back yet," Perry tells him when he walks in. "I mean, this is your place, but I thought you might be working until late again."
"Not today," Eliot says. "We're done. I don't have a TV, so you might not have heard yet, but Castelman's CEO has been arrested, along with the Congressman he bribed."
"Does that mean I'm not in danger anymore?" Perry asks.
"Yes. We're wrapping up the job as we speak. We have a little surprise for you. Are you ready to go back to rehab?"
"Hell yes. What's the surprise?"
"Wouldn't be a surprise if I told you now, would it? You okay to go back on foot? It's about five blocks away."
"It will be on wheels, in my case, but it will be good exercise."
Eliot laughs. "Avoiding those phrases isn't worth the trouble. People always tell me to look at things. If I had a penny for every time someone apologizes for that, I'd be pretty rich by now." Well, it wouldn't really make him much richer − there's very little that could, now − but Perry doesn't need to know that.
They have a moment of awkwardness figuring out how to walk side by side, but it's quickly resolved. Rather than hold onto Perry's wheelchair at the risk of slowing him down, Eliot opts for walking a little further to his side and slightly in front, since he's the one who knows the way, and he doesn't want his cane to snag into Perry's chair.
"Could you go get Dr LeRoque?" he asks when they reach the front entrance of the hospital. He can hear the truck parked in front, and as soon as Perry is gone the crew assembles around him.
"How is he doing?" Sophie asks.
"He'll be fine," Eliot says. "I'm sure what we have in the truck will make him happy enough to forget the long road ahead for a few days."
He realizes belatedly how melancholy that sounded. "He handled the threat to his life very well," he adds. "He's strong."
"That's good," Sophie responds.
Eliot nods and turns around when he hears Perry coming down the driveway, along with someone who's walking.
"Hi guys," Nate says.
"What do you want?" Dr LeRoque asks. She's on the defensive, still. She may have let Eliot get away with knocking out two mercenaries in her center and delayed talking to the police, but she still doesn't believe their team can do anything for her patients.
"Show them," Nate tells Hardison, who unlocks the back of the truck.
"An empty truck?"
Eliot smiles when he hears the doctor's surprise at Hardison revealing the pallets of cash. They've done what they were here for, without any collateral damage. He's proud of his crew.
Once the shock of the reveal has gone away, Eliot makes his way back to Perry. Relief and disbelief are battling each other in his voice.
"I really don't know how to thank you," he says.
"Just work on putting your life back together, that's all the thanks we need," Eliot says. "You got hurt serving your country, most of those guys did. We're just giving you what you deserve."
"Still, what you did… When I called Mr Ford, I didn't think my life was on the line, just my finances. Having me at your place must have put you in danger, too."
"I know how to defend myself," Eliot says.
"I've seen that," Perry agrees. "So you take the hits. What does she do?"
"Who?"
"The blond."
"Parker? She's a thief," Eliot answers. "You should watch your wallet around her."
"I think I would have noticed if she'd taken it," Perry says cockily.
"You sure about that?"
Eliot hears Perry checking his bag. "No. It's gone. How did she do it?"
"Parker!" Eliot yells. "It's bad form to steal from our client!"
Parker saunters over. "But he's not our client any longer, is he?"
"Still, it's bad for business," Eliot says, holding out his hand.
Parker drops the wallet in it. "Fine. I won't steal from a client again. Can I steal your wallet?"
"Parker..." Eliot growls under his breath, checking his pockets. "My phone, Parker. Give it back."
"But it's fun!" Parker whines. "Look, it tells the time!"
Eliot hears the slightly metallic voice of his screen reader, and shoots out his hand in its direction. It closes on Parker's wrist, and she yelps. Eliot grabs the phone and lets her go.
"Don't steal from me again," he grumbles, but there's no heat in his words.
"She's feisty, isn't she?" Perry says when Parker walks away.
"She's out of your league, Perry," Eliot says.
"I think she might be a whole league of her own."
Eliot laughs and nods his agreement. "Yeah, she sure is."
He steps away from Perry and listens for his crew. Parker is back with Hardison and they're chatting excitedly to one side, obviously feeling the elation of completing a job and making someone happy. Parker even seems to have forgotten her earlier horror at giving away the absurd amount of cash they'd just scored.
Eliot can't hear Nate anywhere, which probably just means he's quietly watching the scene, but Sophie is talking with Dr LeRoque. Eliot heads toward them.
"Obviously we're not going to leave you with a truck full of cash, that was just to satisfy Nate's taste for theatrics," he hears Sophie say. "Hardison is going to set you up a donation fund so you can make use of the money legally."
"Yes, I was wondering about that," the doctor says. "Ah, Eliot," she adds, noticing his approach. "I have to admit that when I saw you the other night, standing over two unconscious goons, I didn't quite expect you showing up with several millions in cash."
"Well, you've always suspected I wasn't just a martial arts teacher, haven't you?" Eliot answers. "By the way, please try to convince Corporal Perry to come to the studio, I think it would do him some good."
"I will," she smiles. "What you've done...I still can't believe it. We've been struggling for years to take care of everyone."
"We just did what the government should have done a long time ago," Eliot says, holding out his hand.
"Well, It was nice to see you again. It's always a pleasure to see former patients doing so well," the doctor answers. She shakes his hand firmly and steps away toward Nate. Eliot turns to Sophie, feeling her gaze on him.
"Ask your questions," he growls. "While I'm in a good mood."
"You were in rehab here?" Sophie asks.
Eliot nods. "Yes. After this happened," he says, waving a hand in front of his eyes.
"They seem to mostly do physical therapy, though. Aren't there specialized centers for the Blind?"
"Sure," Eliot shrugs, not elaborating. That he wasn't here because of his blindness isn't something he want to discuss with Sophie. Not yet.
Sophie doesn't push. Eliot realizes he's flexing his left hand unconsciously, and he has no doubt she has noticed it, but she's unlikely to have enough elements yet to interpret it.
"I want to see your apartment!" Parker exclaims, slipping between them.
Eliot is confused for a moment as to who she's talking to, but Sophie doesn't react, and Parker hangs herself on his arm.
"Why?" he asks.
"You showed it to Nate and Sophie!"
Eliot snorts, amused at her specific brand of logic. "So you think you should see it too?"
"Yes!"
"You know I didn't really have a choice about bringing Nate and Sophie in, right?"
"I don't care! It still means you've got to show me."
"Fine," Eliot grumbles. He's not sure how pleased he really is with that idea, but where he lives is not a secret to his crew anymore, so there should be no harm. He's kind of flattered that Parker seems comfortable enough with him to ask.
"Does it mean I get to see where you live?" he asks her playfully.
He doesn't expect her to say yes, and he's perfectly willing to respect her boundaries, even if she tends to forget his.
"I don't know," Parker answers. "Maybe?"
Surprised, Eliot gives her a wide smile before he remembers he's supposed to be the grumpy one.
"So you're both sticking around?" Hardison asks, rejoining them.
"One more," Eliot nods.
"Maybe two," Parker adds.
There it was! Please don't hesitate to tell me what you thought.
I really hope I won't need another six months to write the next chapter. It should be based on the Wedding Job, and it's about one-third written. I've got a lot written for this series (as in, about 130,000 words), but I can't seem to write anything in order, so most of it takes place much later in the series.