Chapter 21


"What have you got for us, Hardison?"

They weren't in their usual briefing room on the bottom floor of the Bridgeport Brewpub, no instead, they were camped out in a rented office space just a few streets away.

It was a large building (for the area) that offered a number of single rooms or entire floors to businesses to rent on both short and long-term bases. Some of the cheaper options had just your standard office equipment, chairs, desks, maybe a landline and computer if you needed them. But the hacker had chosen one of the top floor accommodations, with its large conference table, smart tv, high-definition sound system, and a few other bells and whistles just to make the place more comfortable. Obviously, he'd brought in some gadgets of his own to improve the space. Because, if he couldn't be at the apartments, Hardison was definitely making this place as homely as possible.

It was at the mastermind's insistence that they relocate temporarily, somewhere that the hitter wouldn't accidentally walk in on them and discover their plans. And apart from that moment, Hardison had been the only one to really spend any time there, as he did his recon.

As it were, the team (bar Eliot) had gathered ready to hear what the hacker had found.

"Before we get into all that," Sophie interrupted the hacker without him even opening his mouth. "How is Eliot doing? Did he get to his physio ok?"

The hitter's physiotherapy appointments had been put on hold for a couple of weeks while he recovered from a nasty chest infection that had left him bed-bound. For the past two weeks, all Eliot had managed to do each day, was wait in his room whilst the others brought him various soups to eat and cooling pads to help bring his temperature down. It had been actual torture for the poor man, having to just sit there as his chest burned and the medicine made him feel either nauseous or bloated (oftentimes both). He was miserable and that left his team feeling miserable as well, but they tried not to show it.

Now that he was officially cured according to his doctor, the next task was getting him back onto his crutches again, after weeks of not using them.

"It took us some time," Nate sighed as he rubbed tiredly against his eyes. "El was determined to walk from the car to the clinic, even if he was still exhausted from it all. Benny's gonna keep an eye on him today, just to make sure he doesn't overdo it."

"Do you think he should have taken longer to recover?" It had been a heavy topic of conversation for the past few days. The hitter was determined to go back and pick up where he left off, but it was their job to make sure he looked after himself. Sometimes Eliot would forget that his health needed to come first.

"No, he needed this. Besides, Benny said they were going to work on his fine motor skills today, so he should be fine."

With her worries placated, Sophie finally let the others sit down ready for the briefing.

"So, Hardison..."

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The hacker handed out a thick manila envelope to each of his teammates that contained copies of the information currently shown on the large screen. Things like birth certificates, school records, and high school photo's that Hardison had hoped would be more embarrassing. (Damn Eliot and his cheekbones)

"Meet Spencer Jack Clark, born on the 7th of February 1976."

With a quick click of a button, a birth certificate filled up the screen with a few baby pictures surrounding it. One of the photo's depicted a small infant with a full head of curly brown hair. His bright blue eyes took up the majority of his pink chubby face as he smiled up at what they assumed was his mother. It was hard to believe that the same innocent little boy would one day grow up to be a world-renowned hitter and retrieval specialist.

"He was the younger of two boys born to Jackson Clark and his wife Mary. Their other son was named Eliot Ryan Clark."

A new picture was thrown up of the Clark family celebrating the 4th of July with the rest of their small town. The two boys could be seen munching on a burger each, with ketchup smeared across their faces. Their mother looked exasperated at the mess while their father just chuckled.

"Quite the happy family," Nate commented. "What happened to them?"

"Mr Clark runs a hardware store with his niece's husband. According to his last will and testament, the store was meant to go to his son Spencer, but recently that changed and now it's going to his niece's son instead. As for Mrs Clark and her eldest son..."

Two death certificates spread across the screen.

"How'd they die?" Sophie asked solemnly.

"A car accident. Drunk driver ran them off the road and into a ditch. By the time the paramedics got there, both were pronounced dead at the scene."

"Poor, Eliot."

Yes, poor Eliot. The mastermind agreed. It was hard enough losing his son as a fully grown adult, but losing both your mother and brother before hitting your thirteenth birthday even, definitely poor Eliot.

But that still didn't make sense though. Eliot had made it sound like it was his fault, but according to all this, he wasn't even there when the accident occurred.

"Was there anything else, Hardison?" Nate questioned, hoping that more information would give him the answers he needed to solve this conundrum.

"Not much. His grades were pretty good mostly A's, one B for science and a couple of A+'s for languages and home ec. And he was the quarterback for his school team like we all suspected... There were a few notes from teachers though, expressing their concerns over young Spencer."

"What kind of concerns?"

Hardison flicked through his notes, looking for the file that held Spencer's old school records. He hadn't been expecting to get asked about them, so they weren't displayed like the rest of the information.

"Umm... here it is. They all say the same thing pretty much, that Spencer was a bright kid but lacks confidence. That he was rather withdrawn and they suggested seeing a counsellor to help with his anxiety." That last part was spoken with a questioning tone. "I guess it makes sense given that he just lost half of his family."

"Yeah, maybe..."

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"What are you planning, Nate?"

Just before he managed to pull out of the office building's parking lot, Sophie jumped into her husband's car, strapping herself in as she ignored the glare coming across from her.

Nate sighed and scooted around in his cramped front seat. "Soph, I need to go pick Eliot up. I'm already running late as it is." He didn't have the time or the energy to deal with his grifter right now, he needed all of his focus to be on Eliot and his first trip back to physio.

"Yeah, I'm coming with you. You can drive and answer my questions at the same time."

She wouldn't take no for a response, and Nate knew it.

Giving up with a long-drawn-out breath, the mastermind put his car into gear and headed off toward the clinic.

"I really can't do this right now; I need to keep my head clear while a talk to Benny and Dr Levine." He was feeling nervous about what they might say, he didn't want to hear the words regression or extended recovery times, but he knew they were a high possibility. "Can't I just drop you off at home so we can deal with this later?"

"No, Nate..."

Sophie sighed as she pulled her long, thick black hair into a ponytail, before pining it upright with one of the large plastic clips that she kept in her purse. She then turned to angle herself as far into Nate's direction as she could so she could stare him into submission. Her almost black eyes burning holes into the dark material of his blazer.

"We need to do this now before we take things any further."

Feeling that the stare-down wouldn't end until he gave her something the mastermind surrendered and asked, "what do you want to know?"

"I want to know why you have Hardison looking into Eliot's past. Is there something wrong with him? Do we need to get hold of his father for some reason?"

They turned a corner, heading up to and past the brewpub at a leisurely speed.

"There's nothing wrong medically, it's just..." Nate hated having to be the one to explain all this stuff. He wasn't exactly a natural talent when it came to dealing with emotions and mental health. (He's a recovering alcoholic for Christ's sake, and most people would argue the recovering part) And to tell the truth, he still didn't fully understand what was going on inside the hitter's head. That's why he had Hardison look into Eliot's history, he hoped that it would give him some ideas on how to help his best friend.

"Has this anything to do with nightmares he's been having lately?" Sophie queried.

"That's part of it, yes."

"Hmmm..."

"I think Eliot blames himself for his family's death, in fact, I'm certain he does... But that doesn't make any sense. It was a car accident which he was nowhere near, so how had he caused that? Whatever his reasoning is, it's having a serious effect on his mental health and I want to help him."

"Help him how, Nate?"

The mastermind turned to face her as he pulled up to a red traffic light. His face displayed a confusing mix of apprehension but also determination as he met his wife's steely gaze.

"I think I need to visit his dad..."

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Physio had gone alright.

And his therapy session with Dr Levine was only mildly awkward as he tried to avoid talking about his fever-induced nightmares.

They'd mainly worked on his fine motor skills, (e.g., relearning how to write with the oversized pens, throwing and catching a large ball, and playing with a puzzle that was meant to improve his dexterity) which was why he was now sat in the kitchen on a high rolling stool that Nate had picked up for him. It was his homework for the afternoon, to prepare a simple meal for himself that involved a little bit of chopping and some stirring as well. Spaghetti bolognese seemed like a good choice, although he simplified the recipe a bit, to only include just a couple of not-so-finely chopped vegetables.

He'd managed to get some roughly sliced mushrooms into the large saucepan when his mind started to wander...

Spencer was just finishing up the last of the dicing before he sprinkled the little green herbs into his sauce. He'd learned this recipe in his home ec class that week, (well he'd actually learnt a slightly different recipe, but this one was much better) and he was really excited to show his pops what he could do.

His old man was already sitting at the dining room table, waiting impatiently for his evening meal.

"What's taking you so long, boy?" His voice echoed throughout the house, sending a large shiver down his son's spine.

"Sorry pops. I got a bit carried away with the seasoning, I wanted to make sure the balance was right."

"Don't see what's so challenging about a spag bol. It's only a bit of pasta and a jar of sauce, even a monkey could work that out." The older man grumbled as he bit into the dish.

Spencer just stared at his father waiting to see his reaction as he tasted the food.

But there was nothing there. No spark of pleasure, not a comment about how fresh it tasted or how the herbs added a certain kick to the meat. The man just ate as if it were the plainest meal in existence.

'Might have well've stuck with that crap from a jar.'

They continued to eat in silence for another five minutes before Spencer plucked up the courage to talk.

"The guidance counsellor at school started talking about college today. She said we needed to start thinking about where we might like to go and what subjects we might be interested in." He paused to wait for a reaction, but his father just carried on eating like nothing had been said. "I was thinking about Texas State..." His voice trailed off as his pops finally looked up and paid attention.

"And what the hell do you think you'd do at Texas State? You don't need to go to some fancy college boy, your s'posed to be runnin' the store. You don't need no degree for that, it'd just be a waste of money and time."

"Well actually I thought about getting a business degree, that would help with the store. Or they have a food and nutrition course I could do; I think I'd be pretty good at that."

Mr Clark scoffed, "and who's gonna pay for all this?"

"Scholarship?"

"Ha!" It came out loud and vicious with a certain bite that made the teen jump. "How are you gonna get a scholarship? Those take brains kid, and sorry you just don't have 'em."

"My grades are decent..." He went to scowl at his father but quickly took it back once he realised how disrespectful he was being.

"What you think are decent ain't anywhere close to what they think is. I'm tellin' you kid, don't even bother."

"Could always get a football scholarship." His coach had pretty much guaranteed his pick of colleges based on his current track record. That mixed with his high academic performance meant he was a top contender for some of the best colleges the state had to offer. He didn't really need his dad's permission to go to school, he just wanted it as a sign of respect.

"Those types of awards only go to the quarterbacks' kid, not bench warmers like you"

Spencer had never been a bench warmer, not even in his freshman year. But his pops wouldn't know that given that he'd never attended a single game.

The teen gave up talking to his father after that. In fact, the next time he mentioned his future was the day he signed up for the army. The last time he ever spoke to his father.