Author's note: Here there be nought but tooth-rotting foofery and fluff.
Hardison watched as Danny McAllister Junior came undone, saw the car swerve, and reaped the satisfaction of seeing the man shatter so completely as his revenge took hold.
The highway cameras had given the hacker a spectacular view of the result of his immaculately-timed hijacking of the computer system and GPS on the Porsche despite the rain and fog, and he had made sure that there had been no traffic in the vicinity, so no-one was endangered other than the nasty little shit McAllister himself.
He studied Eliot, now awake and drowsily talking quietly to Lizzie as she sat beside him, patting him oh-so-gently as if she knew her beloved grouch was so badly hurt. Eliot could have no better nurse than the little girl who would keep him still and quiet, allowing him to heal and to rest without the demons that had plagued him for decades crawling from the shadows of his mind.
Hardison looked again at Danny McAllister as he sat, terrified and shaking in the pouring rain, and his heart hardened. This man had almost robbed them of Eliot. His brother. The man who was Lizzie's guardian, the one who would protect her – and the rest of them – until his dying day. And that day had come frighteningly close. Too close. Eliot was one of the most dangerous men alive, but at the end of the day he was only mortal, no matter that Hardison had long ago secretly decided Eliot was made of adamantium infused with a generous amount of grizzly bear and an extra serving of bad temper.
He was also quietly fierce both in love and kindness, and the most loyal of friends, no matter how hard he tried to hide it. And an absolute sucker when it came to Lizzie.
Which was why, Hardison decided, he could now move onto phase two. He wanted Junior off the streets. Just frightening the crap out of the creepy little psycho wasn't enough.
"Nate?"
"Yeah?" Nate had been enjoying the food Sam had brought, sharing it with Sophie and Toller, who had figured out that if he turned up at the right time he would get a decent meal. Microwave dinners in his empty, lonely house could only just keep body and soul together. Sam had been delighted to make extra for the little doctor who had saved Eliot's life.
"Do you have much on Senior? I've been concentratin' on Junior, but I mean … if we could take both of 'em down it would be a plus."
Nate nodded.
"I have a nice, big juicy file I've been working on over the years here and there. I even had an insurance case involving him back in the day. I'll bring it in tomorrow."
Hardison shook his head.
"Nah, don't worry about it. I'm gonna let Junior stew for a few days, an' do the whole 'false sense of security' thing, so I thought I'd leave it until we get Eliot outta jail." He glanced once more at Eliot. Lizzie was having a giggle-fit at something no-one else understood, and it had produced that special smile on Eliot's battered face that he reserved only for Lizzie … a tiny half-hitch of a smile that made his laughter-lines appear. "He needs us right now. We gotta fix whatever is goin' on in his crazy head an' get him back on his feet, an' it'll give me time to figure out our next move. We got no time limit here."
Nate nodded and rested a hand on Hardison's shoulder. He looked at the multiple screens in front of the hacker, and smiled grimly, watching Danny McAllister fall apart.
"Y'know, Hardison – you'd make a fortune organising Halloween murder mysteries. Remind me never to get on your revengeful side."
He stood for a moment and studied their young hacker. He hadn't noticed before, but now he could see the exhaustion in dark, worried eyes and weariness in the tall frame. Nate frowned and pulling up a chair, sat down beside Hardison.
"Listen … you should go home for a bit. Eliot's safe and it looks like he's beginning to mend. Get some decent sleep. Couches are okay, but sleeping in your own bed will make the difference – trust me, I know."
Hardison turned bleary eyes to Nate, finally acknowledging that the man was right – he was worn out. But he shook his head.
"I gotta do this, Nate," he said doggedly. "You an' Soph got Lizzie to look after an' Parker an' me … we gotta look out for the fool." His eyes became intense, and Nate noticed something he had never thought to see in Hardison's eyes. Hatred. This gentle, kind young man had learned to hate.
"Hardison … I think you're right. I think you need to take a step back, let it go for a little while. Go home. I'll be telling Parker the same thing when she gets back."
Parker was driving the physiotherapist crazy by asking how to do the exercises Eliot would need when they got him home. But thankfully the nice, middle-aged lady was very tolerant, and understood the single-mindedness of this odd young woman and her drive to look after the scary man and the group of other odd people who had stormed a room in the hospital and made it theirs.
"That asshole hurt Eliot, Nate. Nearly goddamn killed him." Hardison whispered harshly, the memory of that night when they found the hitter in the parking lot running rife through his mind. He would never … never … be able to shake off the feeling in his heart and soul when for a few seconds he thought Eliot was dead. Family meant the world to Hardison. His Nana had brought him up to treasure whatever he could when it came to family. Eliot was family.
"Tickle us, do we not laugh … prick us, do we not bleed …and wrong us, shall we not revenge?" he murmured.
Nate smirked, bemused.
"Are you quoting Shakespeare now?"
Hardison's tired face creased into a wry smile.
"General Chang, Star Trek; The Undiscovered Country. Kinda Shakespeare, I think."
Nate shook his head, amused. Trust Hardison to use a Klingon as a moral compass and make it a good thing.
He slapped Hardison gently on the back.
"Pack this junk up and go home," he said softly. "Sleep. Come back tomorrow. I'll keep an eye on Eliot tonight."
"'Scuse me?" Hardison was affronted. "Junk? Did you jus' call my babies junk?"
Nate grinned, his concern laced with humour.
"Jeez, Hardison. Rattle your cage, and you hit the bars every damn time," he teased.
Hardison huffed, but kept his dignity intact even as he began to shut down the sophisticated interceptor equipment he had designed, based on the very secret and jealously-guarded firmware belonging to Homeland Security but with a few inspired additions of his own.
"Junk … I'll give you junk … this stuff is state of the art … NSA ain't got nothin' on this, m'man … designed it my own self … damn' FBI would kill to getta hold of it …" and as Hardison muttered to himself and began the work of packing away his kit, Nate eased from his chair and turned to look at the situation they had found themselves in.
Eliot, healing slowly but with a hard time ahead of him. Sophie, sitting with Sam and Toller, enjoying the hot meal and watching Lizzie as she began to droop sleepily against Eliot, who held her as well as he could … his best girl, he called her. Nate knew Parker was in interrogation mode, plaguing the physiotherapist.
Damn, he could do with a drink. But he didn't drink these days. Nope, none of that. A coffee would do, but the hospital machine produced dishwater. Nate sighed. At least they were all alive, and together, and Eliot would be home soon. They had to look to the future.
But that would be after they had taken down Danny McAllister and his father. When they got back to Leverage International, he and Hardison would figure out how to take the McAllisters apart.
The three days Eliot had to wait before Toller allowed him to leave the hospital seemed like a lifetime.
He was allowed his crutches the following morning after his abortive 'escape', and this time Parker was in charge. After a good night's sleep, the little thief was bristling with energy and raring to go, which is more than could be said for Eliot.
He was tired and still very sore, but if putting up with Parker's unsympathetic attitude to physiotherapy got him out of this damn place, then he'd deal with it.
He even managed to put away some breakfast, courtesy of Parker, who had called in at a deli she knew Eliot loved and brought him an everything bagel with nova lox and a superb cream cheese … delicious, but easy on his still-delicate stomach. The accompanying Earl Grey tea was redolent with Bergamot and just what Eliot needed to begin work in earnest.
This time, with his leg braced and Parker hassling him every inch of the way to hold the dang crutches properly so that his ribs and chest weren't compromised, Eliot managed to walk across the room and back to his bed, hurting every inch of the way, but as triumphant as hell.
After that, he had to endure the indignity of Parker putting him through exercises to deal with the pressure on the femoral nerve and to help prevent his muscles wasting.
There was a lot of lying flat on the bed while Parker made him hang the lower part of his bad leg over the edge while she pushed it firmly back and forth, which was apparently called 'nerve flossing.'
"I ain't a damn tooth, Parker! Ow! Jesus! You have a real nasty streak, you know that?"
Parker pushed his leg out straight and then made him look upwards.
"Oh, stop!" she said brusquely. "Get over it, you wuss! Doctor Walt says you're up to it. And … stretch …"
"Ow-ow-ow-ow –"
"Stop whining! Whatever happened to the strong-but-silent Eliot Spencer? Grow some spine, will you? It's not that bad!"
Parker grinned wickedly. Normally Eliot would have been as stoic as hell, especially with the nurses and the hospital physiotherapist, but with Parker he could relax and let rip.
"You are just a nasty, vicious harpy, Parker, you know that, don't you? You like hurtin' people. Hell, you just like hurtin' me! An' –shit – wait-wait-wait –"
"And … hold … one-two-three and … relax …"
"When I get back on my feet I am never gonna make you Chocolat Religieuse ever again –"
Parker looked at him with ill-concealed glee.
"Phooey." She said. "aaaand stretch …"
"GODDAMIT PARKER!"
"That's more like it!" Parker commented, grinning.
"You … you're friggin' enjoying this –"
"Oooooh yeah …"
Eliot dropped his head back on his pillow and groaned. He was in hell.
The day Eliot walked out of the hospital on his own two feet was a memorable one.
He was only allowed to walk from the elevator to the big entry doors and out into the cool, crisp day beyond where Lucille waited, but for Eliot it was the first indication that he might just have a future.
It was less than two weeks since he had been attacked and left for dead, but here he was, battered and walking with crutches and a leg brace, but he was on the move and to hell with the goddamn wheelchair.
He could now see out of both eyes, although his face was still a myriad of colourful, fading bruises, and his chest was clear and healing. Another catch-up MRI had told Toller that the incision in Eliot's back was mending, and the easing of pressure was beginning to help with the healing of the nerve. It might take a few months, Toller told him, but the nerve damage should repair itself.
There had been a caveat, however. There may be pain, Toller had reiterated, and it may never fade. Exercises would help, and Eliot now used a TENS machine which eased the perennial ache, so it would just be another issue to deal with. But … he could be left with a limp.
Eliot wouldn't allow that, he decided. He would fight the idea of any kind of weakness with his entire being, and, dammit, Parker would help him with her unique, if somewhat demanding form of physiotherapy. But it would be a long haul. He didn't know how he could protect his team in the meantime.
However, that was to be figured out later. But not today. Today was a day of triumph. Of winning. Of getting the hell out of this friggin' hospital.
Toller was waiting by Lucille, arms crossed as always, smiling at the hitter as he slowly made his way outside, his family beside him, all of them letting Eliot do his own thing but there if he needed them.
Surgeon and hitter faced each other for long moments.
"Come back next week, Eliot. Just for me to keep an eye on how the leg and that wound in your back're doing, okay?"
Eliot studied the little doctor who had saved his life … what was it … three times now, if he included that time in Iraq? He nodded slowly, and quirked a small smile.
"See you then, Doc. An' thanks," he added softly. "For everything. I owe you."
Toller snorted.
"Hey, I'd do it all again if I got to eat as well as I have these past couple of weeks."
"Come by the brewpub. We'll always feed you, free of charge."
"So I've been told. I don't deserve it, but I'm not going to turn down the offer. The food's fantastic. Oh, and I'm not too sure where the new coffee machine in the acute unit came from, but I have a sneaky suspicion you guys have something to do with it." Toller sighed contentedly. "Latte. On tap. Free."
Nate shook Toller's hand.
"Had to do something, Doc. That stuff you had was vile."
"I wish we could do something about the food though," Sophie said, Lizzie safe in her arms but reaching out for Eliot, who turned his head and allowed her to pat his face. Lizzie chortled. Her Eliot was here, so all was well.
Hardison, tactile, generous Alec, opened his arms and gave Toller a hug.
"Thanks Doc, for lookin' after the dumb-ass. I know he's a pain, but he's worth it. Come by next week an' we'll celebrate. Bridgeport Brewery. Sam'll cook us all somethin' special."
Toller nodded.
"That'd be great. I can check on Eliot then. Save him coming back to the hospital seeing as he has such an aversion to them."
That earned him a pained "Dammit, Doc!"
"Doctor Walt!" Parker launched herself at Toller, who by now wasn't so startled by Parker's enthusiasm when it came to hugs and the people she loved … and Toller was one of the few people on the planet whom Parker decided that she loved. She squeezed him breathless. "Thank you!"
When she finally let him go, Toller was crimson, but charmed.
"You're very welcome, Miss Parker."
Parker grinned her Cheshire cat grin. She knew that to Toller, she would always be Miss Parker, just as he was Doctor Walt, and she felt a warm, squishy belonging-little-sister-feeling in her tummy whenever he said it, as though she was someone really special, but in a good way.
Eliot was getting noticeably tired, so the team as one descended on him and very gently managed to ease him into Lucille's passenger seat. Parker put a cushion between the seatbelt and Eliot's chest, to ease the pressure. And, Eliot decided, he was grateful for it as the sheer effort of getting into Lucille had taken the last reserves of his strength.
Hardison clambered into the driver's seat, and waited until everyone was settled, and then turned on the engine, Lucille's mechanical purr music to his ears. He looked over at Eliot, who sat with his head against the headrest, tired but content.
"Y'okay?" he asked.
Eliot hummed wordlessly, but Hardison knew what he meant.
He grinned.
"Good," he said. "Let's go home."
And easing Lucille into gear, Hardison drove out onto the highway and set a course for Leverage International.
God, it was good to be back, Hardison decided as he settled down at his desk and powered up his equipment, the monitors bursting into life.
They were all staying at HQ for the next few days, settling into their own rooms and letting Eliot take each day as it came. Sam had cooked them all a welcome home meal, and even Eliot had managed a small plateful even though his appetite was far from normal.
After that he had gone to bed. There he discovered that an extra mattress had been added to the bed so he could manage to get up in the night for bathroom visits, and he had an assortment of books and a television set up so he could relax without exerting himself too much. He just wanted to sleep.
Nate helped him this first night to get settled, and within minutes he was out like a light. Leaving the door ajar in case they were needed, Nate wandered back to the meeting area in the big office.
Hardison swung around in his chair.
"Nate … I think I got somethin'." Hardison didn't often look grim, but he did right now.
Sophie looked up from the big couch where she was finally finding the time to relax with ginger tea and a magazine, now that Lizzie was fed and bedded for the night. But this sounded far more interesting. She stood and wandered over to sit beside Hardison as Nate peered over the hacker's shoulder.
"What is it?" she asked, curious. "Is it Junior?"
"Sorta," Hardison said, pointing at three different windows open on the screen. "Hang on … gonna put this up on the plasma …"
And seconds later the huge screen came to life, and the three windows popped up, larger than life. Each of them looked like a litany of text-messages.
"Junior must be with his shitty sidekicks. I've set up his cell to clone any 'phones nearby, an' these just came up. They must all be in the same car or somethin', 'cause I got near on a week's worth of messages here. An' bingo – look at this."
Nate quickly read through them, and whistled.
There were mentions of 'merchandise,' and dates and times, and Junior's mention of financing the deal. Nothing incriminating on the face of it, but it looked interesting.
"He's doing a deal," Nate said. "And I'm guessing his father doesn't know about it. There's nothing from Senior here at all. Any ideas what it could be? The last text from Junior was just minutes ago, so can you ping his cell?"
"Already done," Hardison replied smugly. "He's near a storage unit near Powell Boulevard." He brought up a street plan of the Midway Business District, and a small red blip pulsated gently.
"Any CCTVs you can access?" Sophie interjected.
"Oh yeah!" Hardison countered, and his hands skimmed over the keyboard. "The benefits of my beautiful and sexy BIOS malware, people! All I gotta do is find their incursion vulnerabilities an' … hey presto!" He gave a little jazz-hands flourish.
Black-and-white images resolved onto the screen, and once again, there was Junior, looking a little jumpy, but more confident with his three goons around him as they wandered across a parking lot. But no matter how hard he tried, Hardison couldn't find an angle which could tell him where they were going.
"That's one of the guys that hurt Eliot!" Parker hissed angrily, making Sophie jump. The thief had appeared from nowhere, as was her wont, but even after six years she could still startle Sophie.
"Dear god, Parker! Don't do that!" Sophie calmed her beating heart and peered at the figures on the screen. "What are they doing?"
Nate squinted, but could see no more than Hardison could.
"No idea. But we know where they are, right?"
Hardison nodded.
"Yeah, but Nate … I don't want any of us near that place if we can help it. El's fretting enough about not being able to keep us safe according to his standards, so leave it with me. As I said, we got some time before we need to move on this. By the look of these texts we got a week or two. Let's be safe, man. An' let me do my magic, okay? Anyhoo, Eliot needs us right now."
"Yes, I agree," Sophie added, the frown lines back on her face at the mention of Eliot. "He's happy he's home, but that won't last long. He's facing a lot of pain, Nate. A lot of self-doubt. And possibly that he won't ever be able to do his job again – at least, the job as he sees it."
"He'll come right, you'll see," Nate had to disagree. "He's Eliot. He won't let it beat him. And we can't afford to let this –" he gestured at the screen, "- go. I've wanted to take down McAllister for years, and now we have the opportunity. Eliot wouldn't want us to wait just on his account."
Sophie could see the cogs turning in Nate's head. He wanted the McAllisters. He needed to make them pay, not just because of what Junior had done to Eliot – although that was bad enough – but what they had done to countless others.
But Sophie also knew it was part of Nate's obsessive makeup that he just couldn't let go.
"No. We'll wait," she said quietly but firmly. "I want to wait. I want Eliot to be safe and able to heal without worrying about anything more than he has to. I want us to be safe. And more than anything, I want Lizzie to be safe. And we can only do that of we take the time to plan. I don't want to fly by the seat of our pants on this one, and we don't have Eliot to catch us when we screw up, because we will screw up if we don't approach this properly."
Nate looked at Sophie, and saw the raw worry on her face. And then he looked at Hardison and Parker, and saw the wariness in their eyes. This time, Eliot came first. And, Nate realised, they were right.
He thought for a moment, and then nodded his assent.
"Okay. You're right. Absolutely, you're all right. We wait. And then, when we're ready – when we've planned and we know we can do this safely, we'll go get 'em. Agreed?"
Hardison smiled.
"Works for me. Now, I'm gonna find out just what the hell Junior's up to."
So that's exactly what he did.
To be continued …
