It has been brought to my attention that I should point out I am writing this for shear pleasure and not profit. I also apparently write it because I enjoy making my followers cry - a lot. So, this and all Leverage based writing I do is at the indulgence of those who do own the rights, and is done with love and respect for the creators, writers and actors who have brought the gang into our living rooms (or any other room you care to use - I don't judge!).

Thanks for the Memories - chapter 3

FOUR MONTHS LATER

It was quiet in the offices; not an unusual state of affairs these days. Jobs were rarer now than they had been, and usually favoured the consulting side of Leverage Consulting far more than the hands on nature the work had been. Nate tried to keep the team on task, but focus was lacking. Hardison was kept busy, as most jobs involved research and some creative computer play to achieve the goal. Parker still did some basic break and enter, but spent most of her time planning elaborate break-ins that remained theoretical (at least for the moment). So far she had scoped out entrance to pretty much every museum in the US and several aboard, as well as three international financial reserves, and Fort Knox. Sophie could be found at the theatre more often than not. She continued with classes, but had yet to mount any kind of production. Her heart had not been in it for some time now, and she knew that if things didn't pick up soon, she would start to lose her students.

They hadn't taken on any real jobs, not the kind they used to. They had tried a few. Brought Quinn in the first time they decided they needed a hitter, but he wasn't a long term team player, at least not for their team. They had even called on Shelly for a job, but it was just too painful, too awkward. Having him there was a tangible reminder of what was wrong, and his guilt was intense.

Jason, the new manager at the Brew Pub, knocked on the frame to the office door before entering. The tray he was carrying was the source of a wonderful aroma that filled the room.

"I've got something here you guys should try. It's the trial run of the new guy I'm thinking of hiring for the kitchen. He came in this morning. Resume is virtually non-existent, but you have got to try his cooking."

"Sure – leave it on the desk and we'll give it a taste." Hardison looked up from the screen. "What about the waitress jobs – are we back up to full staff?"

Jason stopped his exit from the room. "Just about – would like to get floater for evenings if possible. Seriously man – try this stuff" he added as he left. Jason had come on board a couple of month back when Hardison realized he had neither the time nor inclination to give the Pub the attention it deserved. He wanted to keep thing running, the way Eliot would have wanted, but spending time on the day to day operations had lost a lot of its appeal. He compromised by hiring a manager, a fresh face who would be good for business. The mood of the place over the last few months had resulted in a significant turnover of the restaurant staff, but slowly things seemed to be getting back on track. They had a good, albeit unimaginative, chef running the kitchen, but still needed an assistant to cover the schedule. With any luck, they could find someone who might liven up the menu a bit as well.

Hardison picked up the plate of spring rolls and stuffed mushrooms from the desk, taking them over to Nate, devouring a mushroom as the handed the plate over. In mid-bite he froze. He knew this taste. He'd first experienced it years ago, in the kitchen at Mosconi's house. Eliot had made them for the wedding. He was as sure of that as he had ever been of anything in his life.

Without looking up from the files, Nate grabbed a spring roll and took a bite and was struck with the same Deja-vu. His encounter was more recent, but he knew the rolls. They looked at one another, each about to comment on the sensation when they realized it was shared.

"Jason – get back here" Nate bellowed in a tone that brought the manager running as if the hounds of hell were after him. "The chef – the new guy. Tell me everything you know."

"Said he saw the ad. Didn't have any training that he could tell me about, but brought in the rolls. I had him make up the mushrooms in the kitchen so I could be sure he was actually the guy doing the work."

"Does he have a name?"

"Huh – oh yeah. Sure. Evan Simmons."

Hardison's knees went weak, and he was glad he'd been beside a chair at that moment as he dropped into it. Simmons had been an alias for Eliot on a job they'd done a couple years back. He was fighting every instinct he had to run into the kitchen. "What else do you know about him?"

"Not much. Like I said, no resume. Very vague about his past. Looks like he may have been hurt a while back – seems to be protecting his left arm a bit, and has a slight limp. If I had to guess, I'd say his has some military background from the way he carries himself. I'd also guess he's a loner. He's friendly enough, but not too open. Could be he just takes time to warm up to people, but I get the feeling there is more."

"Very observant. You always size people up that way?"

"What can I say? I'm a people watcher."

Nate smiled. "Good trait to have. Tell me, did – Evan? – seem familiar with this place? Comfortable in the kitchen?"

"Familiar – no, not really. I mean, he was looking around for stuff. But then, he's never been here before, so naturally he'd have to search. Comfortable – definitely. Like it was almost second nature to be cooking. He moves around in there like it's all he's ever done. And he flips that knife around like a freakin' ninja!"

"Is he still here? Great – give us about 5 minutes then send him back here." Jason nodded again and left.

"Nate – what the hell is going on? I mean, this is just weird."

"Jason said he was likely hurt – we know when that happened. My guess is it messed him up – seriously messed him up. Either physically or mentally. Or both."

"So he became Evan Simmons? On purpose? I mean, does he know he's Eliot and is hiding it, or does he really think he's Evan? No, can't be trying to hide or he wouldn't come here. Why Evan? That was like two years ago, and was such a minor deal as well. Why would he even remember that name?"

"Hardison, slow down. I don't know any more than you do. Until we see him, we don't eve know for sure it is him" Hardison raised an eyebrow, "Yeah, ok, we know it's him. But I don't know any more than you do."

"What do we do?"

"Talk to him. Carefully. Let me take the lead on this. Where's Parker? Last thing we need is her walking in on this until we have a few answers."

"I'll text her – tell her we have a client interview so she doesn't need to come by until later. What about Sophie?"

"Theatre for at least a couple of hours. Said she'd likely not be around for the day. Better text her as well. Just to be safe". Nate sat quietly for a moment as the messages were sent. The men looked at each other as they heard the footsteps getting closer, almost afraid to watch his arrival in case somehow they were wrong, but equally afraid of what would happen if they were right.

"Guys" Jason's voice broke the silence, "this is Evan Simmons, who I am really hoping will be our newest addition to the kitchen. Evan – this is Nathan Ford and Alec Hardison. They own the place."

"Pleased to meet you both. Really nice place you have here." If Evan – Eliot – noticed their hesitation he didn't let on, holding out his hand. A few seconds later Nate shook himself out of his shock and returned the greeting. Hardison nodded, hoping he was smiling in a manner that wouldn't terrify.

"Uh – thanks. Please – have a seat. We tried your stuff. Really great."

"Yeah" Hardison found his voice. "Love the mushrooms."

"Thanks – it's the lemon juice. Gives it a distinctive taste."

Hardison did his best not to gasp, but a small sound must have come forth, because Eliot gave him a concerned look. "You OK man?"

"Fine – just a weird kind of deja-vu flashback thing. Nothing to worry about." Eliot smiled warmly for a response.

"So – Evan, where'd you learn to cook?"

"Can't really say Mr. Ford. Just seems to be something I know how to do."

"Please – it's Nate. We're pretty informal around here. Surely you've got some kind of training though. Jason says you're pretty comfortable with a knife."

Eliot shrugged slightly as a response. "Can't say man. It's just what I do."

There was a moment of silence as they waited for him to expand on his reply. "Look, thanks for your time, but this isn't going to work out. Hope you find someone else." He turned to leave.

"Whoa man – where ya goin'?" Hardison moved to block the exit. "What's not working?"

"Mr. Hardison…"

"No Mr. – just Hardison."

"Really? OK. Hardison, clearly you want some references or resume, and I can't give you that; I can't even give myself that." He sighed, taking a moment to size up the situation. For reasons he couldn't name, he felt he could trust these two. "Look – a few months ago I was in what we'll call an accident. I guess it was wrong place, wrong time. I don't know. When I woke up I didn't know who or where I was. Still don't remember what happened before. And not just right before the accident. I don't remember my life before waking up on that cot. The folks helping me didn't know much either, but did make it pretty clear to me that I'd be better off staying unofficial."

"So how did you remember your name, and where you were from?"

"I didn't really. There were a few things I had on me when I got hurt. Part of an ID tag, but it was messed up we could only make out initials. 'E. S.' The rest of the last name was obliterated by a chunk of shrapnel. I woke up the next morning with the name Evan Simmons in my head, so I assumed that was me. As for home – no idea. My 'rescuers' got me back to the US on the condition I told no one about them, or any details on how I got here. Since I had no one to tell, that wasn't a problem. Came into Oregon and I started looking for work in Portland. End of story. So, thanks for your time, sorry to waste it."

Hardison didn't step out of the way, looking over to Nate, who spoke up. "Relax…Evan. Trust me when I tell you that you are not the only one who has a few things better left unexamined. And for what it's worth, we have all the reference we need right here" pointing to the now empty plate. "Besides, Jason said he wants you in the kitchen, and that seals the deal for me."

"That's it? I'm hired? After what I just told you, or more accurately didn't tell you? Maybe I should be asking some questions."

"Maybe you should. Let's give this a couple of days to see how things shake out. But I think this is going to be a good fit. Go tell Jason he has his cook – sorry – chef."

After Eliot left Nate grabbed a pad of paper and started making a list. "Send another text to Parker and Sophie and tell them need to meet. Not here. We'll go to the theatre. We have to talk to any staff that was here when Eliot – died. They need to be filled in. I should call Shelly and let him know – we may need his help. I don't think we should contact his family yet – not until we have a better handle on everything. What?" Nate stopped talking when he looked up and saw the way Hardison was staring.

"You're not going to talk to him? What are you waiting for? The guy doesn't know who he is, and we do. What's up with that?"

"I'm – we're – going to tell him Hardison. But we need to know more first. Including why he doesn't know us. You heard him – he has no idea of his past, but he remembers his recipes, handles a knife like a pro? I don't think a head injury works that way. There may be more to this amnesia, in which case we need to tread softly. Let's just start of by sharing a bit of good news with Sophie and Parker, and deal with the rest from there."

An hour later they were sitting on the stage of the empty theatre. Sophie was rapidly growing more impatient, but the boys refused to share until Parker arrived. The second she did, Sophie pulled her into a seat and turned to Nate.

"OK – wipe those silly grins off your faces and talk – now."

"We have a new chef for the restaurant."

"That's it?" Parker exclaimed. "You pulled me off a rooftop for that?"

"What were you doing on a… never mind. Yes, we called you in for that. He's a very special chef – with a very distinctive style."

Sophie let out an exasperated sigh. "Nate what are… wait. Distinctive?" Nate smiled and nodded. Hardison was still grinning widely. "You can't be serious. You are serious? He's alive? He's back, he's really here?"

"Serious about what – who's back?" Parker hadn't picked up the clue. Hardison stepped over and took her hands in his.

"Eliot's back Parker. Sparky is back." Parker's response was completely as expected as she turned to run from the building with the intention of not stopping until she reached the pub. With effort, Nate blocked her path.

"Slow down – there is a lot we need to talk about."

"Where is he, why isn't he here, is he hurt, is he staying, where was he?"

"Was that all one question girl? You gotta breathe at some point in there." Hardison sat her down next to him. "First, he is still at the pub, and will be there tonight cooking. Since he has been hired as the chef, yeah, I think he plans to stay."

"Wait." Sophie interrupted. "What to do you mean hired?"

"Can we just hold off on the questions for a few minutes and let us tell you what we know?" Receiving nods for response, Nate filled them in on the morning meeting. Both women sat in stunned silence at the end, then Parker turned angrily to Hardison.

"You said Sparky was back. You lied."

"No Parker, he's back. He just doesn't know it yet. We are going to find a way to fix that."

"How?"

"That, Parker, is an excellent question." Nate turned his head to Sophie. "Open to suggestions here."

"Are you planning to let Shelly know about Eliot's resurrection?" On receiving an affirming nod, she continued. "I'm willing to bet he knows a few people with the right medical background to help out. Maybe even someone who knows Eliot."

"Good. We'll let 'Evan' think he needs a medical clearance for insurance. If we can find out the reason behind all of this, maybe we can start to fix it."

"You think he doesn't want to remember." Sophie was making a statement, not a question.

"Who knows? Maybe his subconscious remembers what happens and isn't ready to deal with it. If he thinks Shelly and the rest of his friends were killed. If he thinks he was responsible in some way. Maybe his subconscious has had enough, and this is his way out. Let's face it; Eliot has a lot of stuff worth forgetting."

"And worth remembering." Parker spoke softly. "Why wouldn't he want to remember us?"

"It's not that easy. The mind doesn't always follow a logical path. I'll call Shelly and see what I can find out. In the meantime, I guess we just have to get to know Evan."

The team found at least a dozen reasons for checking out progress in the kitchen that evening. There was a collective fear that this was some kind of mass hallucination that could end at a moment's notice.

It was late enough in the evening that the orders had slowed to a trickle, so 'Evan' finished putting the place in order, then pulled a chair to the corner of the room and sat back for a few minutes. Looking around the kitchen he was surprised to realize he was relaxing. For the first time since waking up in that makeshift hospital bed, he felt at ease. It was more than the relief of having a steady paycheque coming in, which had been a growing cause of concern. He'd been getting by on the money he'd earned cooking on the freighter he came home on, along with some day labour along the way since then. As a result, he hadn't had any opportunity get settled properly. For that matter, he hadn't been sure he'd be staying around here anyway. Things had changes and now finding a place to stay was at the top of his list. The shelter had been a step up from some of his recent accommodations, but not his preference.

He knew his sense of well-being came from somewhere else, although he was damned if he could figure where. There was just something right about this. The city, the job, even the pub; it all felt comfortable. And the people. Well, they were definitely interesting. He'd been aware of their scrutiny all evening, but tried to ignore it. Seemed a little strange to have that much interest given to a new employee, but maybe they were just a hands-on kind of operation.

Meeting the other two owners earlier in the afternoon had been, to say the least, interesting. They were certainly friendly enough, and appeared to enjoy his cooking. Parker loved the noodles enough for three servings. He was confident any probation period he might have been dealing with wasn't going to be an issue.

"You look beat." He jumped out of his seat, not having heard Nate enter the kitchen.

"Yeah, a little. Sorry. Just catching my breath for a minute" he said, rubbing the back of his neck to work out the stiffness.

"Relax El-Evan. You've been here almost 12 hours with your 'audition' this morning and a full shift in the kitchen. You're allowed to be tired. Why don't you call it a night? Anybody wants something beyond the basics, we'll tell them the kitchen is closed."

"That sounds good. Don't imagine I'll have trouble sleeping tonight."

"Do you usually? Have trouble I mean."

"Uh, no. Well, not really. Sometimes a little restless is all."

"And the injuries? Still bother you?"

'Evan' didn't answer right away.

"Sorry, not trying to pry. Well, maybe a little. Nosy by nature. The thing is I need you to see a doctor before I can add you to our health insurance. Just routine stuff. We've got a company guy you can see – no charge."

"OK. He's gonna tell you I'm a bit messed up, but I guess you figured that out."

"Well, you did say you were in an accident." There was no response. "And I can see when you're tired, like now, you seem a bit stiff." Still no response. Time to change the subject.

"Where are you staying?"

"Got a place not far." OK – that was an out and out lie. The shelter, not strictly speaking his place, was on the other side of town. It was going to be a long walk home. It was a decent enough spot, and they had let him use the kitchen for his job hunt (in return for which he'd been helping with the meals). As he looked up, he knew Nate was onto the lie. He had a feeling not too much got by this man.

"Look, there are a couple of loft apartments upstairs here. They aren't fancy. Really more crash pads than anything else. We use them sometimes when working late, or if we need a place for a client to stay. If you'd like, you're welcome to rent one of them until you can save up enough to look for something a little more permanent. Hardison can give you a lift to wherever your stuff is and you can move in right now if you want."

"Why?"

"Sorry?"

"I've worked here a day. You hired me with no references, no resume, no background check. You have all watched me tonight like I was some kind of side show act. Now you're inviting me to move in. For all you know I'm a mass murderer. Hell, for all I know I'm a mass murderer. So what gives?"

"Let's just say I'm a very good judge of character – and you're a very good cook. The two traits come together to work in everybody's best interest in this case. Take the win."

After a moments silence the younger man nodded. "OK. I don't need to go back for anything – everything I own is in that duffle bag. Tonight, I just want to sleep."

He handed a key over. "Make yourself at home. Go, sleep."

Nate watched his friend walk away, and added quietly under his breath "welcome home Eliot".

TBC