The Rewind Job, Chapter 9
Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters.
Recap:
Pushing the first aid kit aside, Nate sat on the coffee table beside Eliot's booted foot. "Hardison's a real genius with technology."
Eliot glanced up, before looking back at the tiny object in his hand. "What is it exactly that you guys do?" He asked aloud, followed by a silent, "And where do I fit into that picture?"
"We provide leverage," Nate responded easily. "We help people who can't get help elsewhere." At the hitter's quizzical look, he added, "Sometimes bad guys make the best good guys."
Chapter 9
Nate spent some time telling Eliot about their team and describing some of the cases they had worked, hoping it would jog the hitter's memory. Although Eliot knew he wasn't thinking clearly and had lost some time, he was still very skeptical of the idea that he willingly worked with Ford's crew. He was also hesitant to let his guard down enough to rest, but Nate finally convince him that he would recover faster if he gave his body a break. So after being stitched, bandaged, and bombarded with multiple ice packs, the hitter had taken a dose of ibuprofen, having refused anything stronger, drank a previously sealed bottle of water, and stretched out on the couch. He had declined to remove his boots, propping his feet on the end of the couch defiantly, boots and all, much to Nate's dismay.
Nate had eventually retreated to the kitchen/dining area, content to watch Eliot from afar. It had taken almost an hour of shifting, muttering, and jerking himself awake with a groan, before Eliot finally fell into a deeper sleep. Now, nearly an hour and a half after Eliot's last restless twitch, the team debated who would get the pleasure of waking Eliot to monitor his concussion and the safest way to approach the hitter, in case he awoke even more disoriented than he previously was and lashed out at them.
Parker had wanted to poke him with a stick, literally. Nate still wasn't sure where she had gotten the three foot long ¾ inch diameter wooden dowel or what piece of furniture he had that might collapse any minute without its support, but the thief's proposal was soundly voted down by the mastermind, grifter, and hacker. After several more moments of silence, Nate finally noted that the eyes of all the others were now on him.
"Yeah, okay…okay…" he mumbled before heading over to the end of the couch supporting the hitter's feet. With a sigh, he reached out to tap the toe of Eliot's boot, ready to jump back out of range in case the hitter woke up kicking or swinging, only to be stunned when Eliot launched himself off the couch in the opposite direction, scrambling backward until his back met an oversized chair. Pulling his knees up to his chest and holding his hands up in a defensive posture, Eliot's wild eyes flicked around the room, although Nate doubted that he was actually seeing anything in the room.
"Whoa…easy Eliot…" Nate soothed, only to be interrupted by the hitter's raspy voice, his Southern drawl much more prominent than usual.
"McLean, Eliot S., Lieutenant Commander, born June 27, 1974. I'm requesting medical attention for my men in accordance with Article 15 of the Geneva Convention," the hitter rattled off, pausing to try to catch his breath.
"Nate, what in the world…" Sophie's question was halted by Nate raising his hand and shaking his head and Eliot, reciting the same information again, only this time in some Middle Eastern dialect that none of them recognized.
"Just stay back guys," Nate insisted, seeing that Hardison and Parker had joined the grifter behind him. Moving forward, he crouched cautiously in front of the hitter, just out of arms reach, hands out and open in front of him. "Eliot…" The lump in the mastermind's throat increased when Eliot flinched at the sound of Nate's voice, like he expected to be hit. "Eliot….it's okay….you're okay…I'm….I'm not sure where you think you are right now, but you're safe…ok…you're here in Boston….at my place…Nate Ford….you remember me, right?"
Nate held his breath, for what seemed an eternity, before Eliot lowered his hands and finally looked at the mastermind. Nate could see Eliot gradually coming back to them and was relieved when the retrievalist blinked and looked quizzically around the apartment.
"Welcome back, Sparky," Parker muttered from behind.
"Eliot, are you with us?" Ford hesitantly asked. "Do you know where you are?"
Eliot took several slow, deep breathes trying to get his heart rate under control. Yeah, he knew where he was now…still with Nathan Ford and his merry band of thieves. And they'd apparently witnessed him in the throws of a very vivid flashback. He hadn't had one in years and to have one now while he was so vulnerable…the hitter shuttered slightly before schooling his face into a well practiced mask of indifference. "Yeah, I know where I am." He fought back an unexpected urge to apologize for the scene, instead focusing on how he was going to get himself off of Ford's floor. After a couple of failed attempts due to his uncooperative knee, he gave a frustrated sigh and grumbled to the group hovering nearby, "You'd think one of you could give a guy a hand."
Nate, who had wanted to help but was afraid Eliot wouldn't accepted it, immediately stepped forward and with a few grunts of exertion and several grunts of pain from Eliot, finally, got the injured man back on the couch. "You ah…you need anything?"
"Not time for another dose of ibuprofen yet," the retrieval specialist answered, then focused on getting himself more comfortable on the couch, hoping Ford would take the hint and leave him alone.
Nate picked up several stray ice packs that the hitter had abandoned when he resettled himself and motioned for the rest of the team to follow him into the kitchen.
"Nate, what….what was that? Is he ok? Maybe we should insist he go to a hospital." a very disturbed Sophie suggested.
"No, I think he's ok. I think it was just a flashback. He seemed to have come back…well back to where he was when he fell asleep at least," the mastermind commented.
"Well that's good I guess. For a few, I thought he was going back in time…wondered what we were going to have the next time he woke up…a teenaged Elliot?" Hardison rambled, letting Nate know how much Elliot had just scared him.
"Or maybe a wee Eliot," Parker muttered, then smiled. "I bet wee Eliot would be fun."
"Adorable," Sophie mused.
"Well, let's hope we don't go there." Ford countered with a soft smile of his own, seeing that the easy banter seemed to be calming everyone's nerves.
"Wait…WAIT..WAIT..WAIT..WAIT!" Hardison clapped his hands with glee. "I told you guys his real name wasn't Eliot Spencer…what did he say…"
"McLean," Parker offered.
"That's it! That was it, Mama!" Hardison's eyes gleamed, "Oh, I am so going to have some ammunition by the time Eliot gets back to his normal grouchy self."
"Hardison!" Nate snapped, then lowered his voice. "Absolutely not. The last thing we need is for you to raise red flags by researching Eliot's name. The man has too many enemies to have attention drawn to him when he's down."
"But…" Alec looked like a child who'd just had his favorite toy taken way.
"No," Nate reiterated with a tone that left no room for argument.
"Besides, Hardison, Eliot isn't thinking straight. You can't take advantage of a moment of weakness and harass him about his real name," Sophie chastised, feeling a certain camaraderie with the hitter, having hidden her real name for years before divulging it to the crew, minus Nate.
"Oh, now, hold on. I may not go digging', but I sho ain't gonna pass up the opportunity to rib Eliot once he's better. Ah Uh, no way," Hardison mumbled on his way to the refrigerator for some orange soda.
PS. I do not think we will see wee Eliot in this story. However, if someone wants to loan me a wee Eliot after this story is completed, my muse might take him out for a stroll.
