The sun was setting, flaming red and peach-orange as it dropped towards the horizon, and both Lizzie and Kip sat at the table on the veranda at Wapanjara, Buster flung in a snoring, twitching pile at their feet.
They were poring over old photographs with Soapy. Both children had projects to do, and Kips' teacher had decided it would do the little boy some good to have a friend to help keep him grounded, considering the isolation in which he lived and the trauma with which he was dealing.
So camels had become a focus for both children, and Soapy had brought out some photograph albums of his grandfather during his cameleering days. The table also was littered with books from the Munros' informal library, much added to over the years by Eliot Spencer, who was an avid reader.
"See … look at the saddle. It's just like Gertie's," Soapy explained, pointing at the train of camels photographed packing goods into the wild interior in the 1930s.
"But the camels have things in their noses, Grandpa Soapy," Lizzie stated, pointing at the pegs in the animals' sensitive septum. "Doesn't that hurt them?"
"Grandpa Soapy?" Sophie asked as she emerged from the house, cup of tea in hand and settling herself in Eliot's recliner chair.
"Kip says Grandpa Soapy is his other grandpa, and I don't have a grandpa and grandma, so I thought –" Lizzie began to explain.
Sophie raised an elegant eyebrow, amused.
"Lizzie, have you asked Soapy and Jo if it's alright –"
"It's fine, Sophie," Soapy said, a little embarrassed. "Jo and I … we don't have kids of our own and Kip decided we should be honorary grand-people, so when Lizzie asked …"
"That's perfectly fine," Sophie said with a wide smile. "Lizzie doesn't have grandparents, so … if it's alright by you …?" the hope in her voice was unmistakeable. She had always regretted that Lizzie's grandparents had all died before she was born, and this unexpected family of Eliot's had made them so welcome. And, with Eliot being Lizzie's guardian and also one of the inheritors of Wapanjara, it sort of made sense.
Soapy's grin was infectious, and Sophie laughed softly, enjoying the warm family dynamic. The Leverage team was very much a family in its own right, but now it had grown, and rightly so. And all because of an enigmatic, taciturn loner of a man, war-scarred and dangerous, for whom a family had been for so many years out of reach and not for him.
"Well," she said, "if it's alright with Grandpa Soapy and Grandma Jo, then it's okay with me … and with your daddy too, I have no doubt."
"Works for me," Nate said as he wandered up the veranda steps and sat down beside his wife. "Kids need grandparents," he added, and felt a twinge of grief as he thought about his own father and his untimely death.
"Mama … why haven't Eliot and Alec called us?" Lizzie asked suddenly.
Sophie looked at Nate.
"Well, probably because they can't get any reception," Nate explained, which wasn't unexpected, although Soapy had said the radio was fairly reliable. But Nate wasn't unduly worried – Eliot could take care of both himself and Hardison.
But Lizzie's expressive eyebrows wrinkled, puzzled and a little concerned.
"But Daddy," she said in a loud whisper, "Eliot's hurt, y'know."
"I know, sweetheart," Nate soothed, "But Eliot's very capable and I'm sure he's managing perfectly well," he added, although he remembered Parker telling him about Eliot charging a man with a gun intent on infecting a whole city with the Spanish 'flu virus. Twice. And had also been shot twice, even as he stopped the fellow with a hefty punch, teeth bared like the wolf he carried in his heart. He could be impervious to danger if people's lives were threatened.
But that had been years ago, before Lizzie was born, and he had been nearly a decade younger. Still, Nate reasoned, Eliot was always at the top of his game, despite the scars and old injuries.
Sophie studied her daughter, and once more felt the chill of worry run down her spine. Lizzie was sensitive when it came to Eliot. She knew what he did and she knew his skills, but she always trusted that he could handle himself and keep his family safe. Lizzie had never fretted about him like this before.
"Tell you what," Soapy said. "After dinner we'll see if we can raise them on the radio. They'll have camped for the night so we have more chance of getting through, okay?"
Lizzie and Kip looked at one another, and then Lizzie nodded reluctantly.
"Okay," she said, chewing her lip. "I suppose. But what if they don't answer? What if –"
"There are lots of 'what if's,' my darling," Sophie said gently, hoping to ease her daughter's concerns, "and most of the time they are completely unfounded, you know that." She smiled reassuringly. "Come on now, you two – let's tidy up, put the books away and you can help Grandpa Soapy feed the horses with Daddy and Charlie, if that's all right, Soapy?"
Lizzie and Kip both broke into broad smiles.
"Can we? Please?" Kip begged, his face alight with hope.
Soapy grinned back.
"Well … I suppose so ... but only if you get everything put away first!"
Kip picked up several books and ran into the lounge intent on putting them back on the library shelves, but Lizzie was slower, and happy as she was at being able to help, she looked up at her father.
"Eliot'll be okay, won't he, Daddy? Alec will look after him if he's sick."
Nate nodded, but felt a sudden pang of worry. Where the hell was Lizzie getting this from?
"Stop worrying, Lizzie. They'll be okay," he said.
But even as Lizzie carried her armful of books to the lounge, Nate could see the doubt in her dark eyes.
"Fairwell and … and adieu to you fair Spanish ladies … fairwell and adieu to you ladies of Spain …" Eliot sang softly, his forehead resting against Hardison's back and doing his best to control the thumping pain in his head. Singing didn't exactly help, but the idea was distraction more than anything else.
"Um … a pirate movie …" Hardison proffered. "Maybe … maybe Captain Blood? Errol Flynn?"
Eliot huffed in disgust as his damaged body rocked gently to the rhythm of Gertie's stride.
"Call yourself a movie buff?" he murmured into Hardison's shirt. "C'mon, man … think!"
"Okay, okay … gimmee a clue!" Hardison retorted, annoyed.
Eliot thought for a moment and then came up with something.
"'We're gonna need a bigger boat," he quoted.
Hardison's eyebrows went up.
"'Jaws?" he said, keeping his voice low so as to not make Eliot's headache any worse. "Are you kiddin' me?"
Eliot let out a low, raspy rumble of a chuckle.
"Quint sang it, remember? When he was goin' out of his way-" he couldn't stop himself letting out a grunt of pain, "- goin' out of his way to piss off Hooper."
"Shit!" Hardison cursed quietly. Eliot Spencer, damaged, bloody and not-quite-right-in-the-head, was winning. "Okay … okay, let me think …" He tried to come up with a movie he thought Eliot wouldn't watch if his life depended on it. He brightened. "How about this one?" He cleared his throat and Gertie gurgled to herself as though in answer. "'Was you ever bit by a dead bee?'" he quoted.
Hardison could feel the heat from Eliot's body and knew the man had a fever, and he was doing his best to keep him conscious until they camped for the night.
"That's easy …" Eliot said, his voice dry with pain. "To Have an' Have Not. Walter Brennan."
"Damn, Eliot! I'm gonna have to start on Disney movies in a minute!"
Eliot chuckled, despite the lights sparking agony behind his eyes.
"My momma was a Bogart fan. Me too, come … come to think of it …" He closed his eyes and tensed. "Hardison …"
"Yeah, El?"
"Think … think I'm gonna puke … koosh Gertie …" Eliot gulped.
"Uh-oh!" Hardison, panicking slightly, quickly brought Gertie to a halt. "Koosh, baby … c'mon now –"
And Gertie sat down, Hardison still un-nerved by the way she did it, and the hacker was off the saddle before Gertie had even settled herself. He eased Eliot off the big camel just in time.
After Eliot finished retching and bringing up nothing, the two men sat quietly for ten minutes leaning on Gertie's comforting bulk, allowing Eliot to catch his breath. Hardison held one of the canteens to Eliot's lips and the hitter drank some of the cool liquid, freshening his mouth and quenching his increasing thirst.
Hardison felt Eliot's brow with one hand and frowned at the feverish heat he felt emanating from his best friend's skin. Then he checked bandages, and there was no blood seeping through, so that, in Hardison's opinion, was a win.
"Right – you ready, bro? 'Cause I think we've got that crappy steep bit comin' up." He asked Eliot. There was no answer. Eliot just sat with his head resting on Gertie, eyes closed. "Hey! Eliot! C'mon now … no sleepin' on the job, m'man!" And he gently prodded Eliot's good shoulder.
"Yeah, yeah …" Eliot groused, opening his eyes and squinting in the low evening light. "I know." He sighed. "God, I just love the smell of napalm in the morning," he said.
Hardison snorted.
"You're slippin', El. Easy-peasy. Apocalypse Now, Robert Duvall."
"Feelin' … feelin' fuzzy," Eliot murmured. "I hate feelin' fuzzy."
"Yeah … I know. But you'll feel better in a day or two, once we're back home an' you can rest up. How's the pain?"
"Keepin' me conscious," Eliot said, almost relieved. "It helps."
Hardison shook his head.
"Only you, you idiot, would say pain is a good thing. You always gotta push things to the limit, huh."
Eliot gave a pained half-smile as the thumping in his head made him wince.
"You must not let anyone define your limits because of where you come from. Your only limit is your soul," he said cryptically.
Hardison's eyed widened in surprise.
"Ratatouille? You're quotin' Disney now?" He reached out a hand to help Eliot to his feet while shaking his head in disbelief. "Well, thinkin' about it, of course you are. It's about a rat. Who's a chef. An' the whole damn film is about cookin'."
Eliot's soft chuckle made Hardison feel a bit better. Knowing Eliot was still able to pull his chain meant the Oklahoman was dealing with the situation so far. So far.
Once Eliot was standing up, looking more than a little wobbly and pale underneath his tan, Hardison tried to help him back onto Gertie, but Eliot waved him away.
"Nah … we gotta walk from here for a little bit. Get down the hill and past the billabong." He rubbed his head as though to ease the ache. "I don't think I could stay on Gertie … when we're back on the flat I'll be okay."
"You sure?" Hardison was doubtful. "Your leg …"
"I'll be fine," Eliot insisted, although Hardison knew the old wound in his back could cause Eliot severe pain on occasion. "You walk in front an' lead, an' I'll hang on to Gertie. I can see her easier … you're still a bit of a blur," he added.
"Story of my life," Hardison muttered. "Especially when Parker's pushin' me off a damn' building," he complained. "Okay, tough guy – hang on to this big hairy bastard an' we'll go easy, alright? Tell me if you need to stop."
He grasped Gertie's reins and got her to her feet – which made Hardison wonder about the sheer craziness of his life … Nana's little boy workin' with a camel, for Christ'sake – and waited for Eliot to get a firm grip with his right hand on Gertie's breastplate.
"M'ready," Eliot said, and Hardison thought the man looked like he was ready to fall over and pass out.
The hacker rubbed Gertie's nose, and the animal gurgled with affection, whiffling at Hardison's fingers.
"Okay, girl … you take it easy now, y'hear? Look after your papa …"
And off they went, Gertie pacing slowly and carefully, Eliot supported by her comforting presence. Hardison couldn't make his mind up whether to watch Gertie or keep an eye on Eliot, so he decided Gertie would find her own way, and he let the animal take the lead while he dropped back, still holding her reins, to walk beside Eliot.
They were quiet for a few minutes, and then Hardison just had to ask.
"Why didn't you tell us, El? You know we would have kept 'em safe, because they're family. Same as you would take care of Nana. An' I know it ain't anythin' to do with trust, bro … hasn't been for years."
Eliot, doggedly holding onto Gertie, squinted as he thought about answering or not. But, he knew, Hardison wouldn't let it lie. He never did.
"Honestly?" he said finally.
"Yeah, Eliot … honestly. They're good people. I like 'em a lot."
"They are that," Eliot admitted. "For … for a long time … they were all I had. An' sometimes … when somethin's precious an' it's all you got … it's not easy to share, even with those you –"
"-love?" Hardison finished, grinning. He caught Eliot as he stumbled and let his friend regain his balance and his breath again, "yeah … an' we love you too, you stubborn, bad-tempered ol' bastard," he added.
"Jeez, Hardison – don't say things like that! It's … it's just weird …"
"Yeah, Eliot … of course it is," Hardison quipped and Eliot grumbled to himself even as they came to the beginning of the steep track leading down past the billabong.
Then and there, Eliot Spencer swore to God that when he was fit again he was going to lace Hardison's friggin' gummy frogs with laxative, so help him.
The billabong looked even more menacing now, Hardison thought, as the sun began to set in earnest and the dark waters lay still and deep below them. He saw a movement at the far side … something lean and scaly at the edge of the sandy shoreline, and he realised it was a crocodile resting with its mouth open, cooling down in the balmy evening air. It wasn't a huge one, Hardison had to admit, maybe five or six feet long, but hell … a crocodile of any size was something he really, really didn't want to meet.
Eliot grunted with pain as a stone rolled away under his boot, and Hardison was there in a second, making sure his friend didn't fall. Gertie was taking it slowly. She didn't like the incline, although her big, tough feet tackled the rough surface with ease. But heading downhill was more difficult for her, so she was wary and careful of Eliot, whom she knew wasn't up to par.
Eliot was on her left side, next to the steep fall down to the billabong, his good right arm and hand hanging on to her breastplate as well as he could, Hardison keeping an eye on both animal and human.
"D'you think they'll be followin' us?" Hardison asked, his voice hollow with stress.
"No idea," Eliot replied huskily, and he coughed, his throat dry and his wounds aching like a sonofabitch, "whoever 'they' are. That bastard who shot Bomber an' me … was he Chinese, d'you know?"
"Not Chinese," Hardison replied. "But he'd been there for a while, watchin' the bore. I guess they'll miss him sooner or later."
Eliot was silent for a moment.
"You did the right thing, Hardison. Saved my life."
"Yeah … well …" Hardison sighed. He really didn't want to think about the fact he had ended another human being's life. "What the hell was he watching the bore for?"
"The pump was sabotaged," Eliot said. "Just what … what the hell is goin' on?" he ground out. Staying on his feet was getting harder, and sweat ran into his eyes. He let go of Gertie and tried to wipe his face.
"For god's sake, El, hang onto Gertie will ya?" Hardison rasped, irritated.
"Dammit, Hardison," Eliot retorted, his mind fuzzy but annoyed and trying not to catch the wound in his head with his sleeve, "I know what I'm doin' so-"
And then he slipped.
In a split second Eliot was a crumpled, sliding figure and he landed hard on his back, and no matter how hard he scrabbled with the fingers of his right hand he couldn't get any purchase. His boots couldn't get a grip, and he yelled with agony as his wounds jarred with the impact and the subsequent inexorable slide down the slope.
But then he felt a hand grasp his wrist and pull.
"Hang on! I gotcha!" Hardison bawled, and for a minute the hacker thought he had stopped the slide, and he pulled hard as he fell to his knees beside Gertie and hung on. But Eliot's solid one-eighty of muscle and bone was too much, and before Hardison could even think about it, they were both rolling down the incline in a tumble of arms and legs, Hardison doing his best to cushion Eliot from the worst of it and failing.
The slope ended fifteen feet above the billabong.
The two men suddenly found themselves falling through nothing but air, flailing and trying to control their descent, but then they were in the water, plunging deep, deep into the still depths in a rush of bubbles and muted noise.
Hardison broke the surface, gasping for air and coughing. Shaking water out of his eyes, he trod water and looked around for Eliot.
"Eliot! ELIOT!" he yelled, desperation growing the longer he went without seeing his friend.
There was a sudden tinge of red in the water.
"Oh no … oh no-no-no-no-" he swore under his breath and dove straight below the stain of red, thanking his Nana for insisting he learned to swim.
The water was reasonably clear as Hardison discovered as when opened his eyes, holding his breath and frantically looking for Eliot. Oh God. There he was, suspended in the water, arms and legs unmoving and eyes closed. Bubbles escaped from his nose and mouth. Blood drifted from his head and side, and Hardison saw Eliot's mouth open. He was drowning.
He swam as fast as he could and reached out, hoping against hope to grab Eliot's shirt before the man drifted out of reach, and he strained forward, almost out of breath … and missed.
The material treacherously floated like a wisp of smoke from his fingers and he struggled forward even as he ran out of breath and tried again. Eliot floated ever downward.
The surface of the billabong settled as the ripples faded, and apart from a faint and persistent tinge of blood, nothing moved. The crocodile snapped its jaws shut and shifted in the fading light, sliding back into the still water, the light of the sunset painting the surface in fire and brimstone, the only movement coming from the muscular tail of the crocodilian, drifting lazily across the billabong.
The water suddenly erupted as Hardison surfaced, spluttering and coughing water up and holding Eliot in the crook of his arm, the unconscious man pulled close to Hardison's chest as blood streamed down his face from the gash over his ear.
Hardison began to work towards the south side of the billabong and he could see Gertie hovering like a fussy nurse, honking and pacing backwards and forwards on the waterline, having trotted down the hated incline to make sure her charges were safe.
Hardison obviously wasn't swimming fast enough, because she then began to wade into the water, rumbling and gurgling, and Hardison aimed for the big beast, and it was just then that Eliot started to rouse from unconsciousness. He began to flail, annoyed, and as weak as he was, the wallop he landed on Hardison's nose hurt.
"Hey! Stop it, Eliot! I'm tryin' to save our sorry hides here, an' you're gonna drown both of us!"
Eliot coughed up a lungful of water and struggled against Hardison's fierce grip, even as the young man reached out and grabbed Gertie's bosal, the camel instinctively knowing to work her way back to the safety of the sandy edge.
By the time they were on dry land, Hardison felt as though his arm was being pulled out of its socket. Soaked and exhausted, he let go of Gertie, who dropped her big head down to inspect her charges, mobile lips running over limbs and Eliot's chest. Then she licked Hardison's face, making the young man curse, although he didn't have the heart to push her away seeing as she had just saved his life.
"Good girl … you're a special girl … that's right … you are …" Hardison crooned, and he scratched her chin, making Gertie huff with pleasure. "Okay … let's check out this pain-in-the-ass, huh? Why don't you hold him down so he doesn't take a swing at me?" His nose was still a little tender.
Gertie, always happy to oblige, dropped her head down to rest very, very gently on Eliot's good shoulder, humming to herself.
"Gert … Gertie … you okay, gal?" Eliot gasped, his lungs still feeling waterlogged and wheezy. He could sense Hardison checking his head wound and then ease up Eliot's sodden shirt to look at his side.
Gertie hummed louder at Eliot, happy that he seemed responsive, and Hardison stood up to drag the pack off Gertie's saddle to retrieve what was left of the medical kit.
"Ask how I am, why dontcha," Hardison grumbled, "but no … you have to ask how the goddamn camel is, huh. Now I know where I stand, Spencer –"
And it was then that the crocodile erupted from the shallows in a spewing gout of water and fastened powerful jaws on Eliot's left boot.
To be continued …