Chapter 23


Nate was still feeling the jet lag as he dropped his keys onto the coffee table. A yawn catching him off guard at only... 12:45 in the afternoon.

He was just considering the pros and cons of taking a small nap when Eliot came limping through the door.

"Hey, Soph. Did you forget to lock the door when you went out?" The hitter called back toward the direction he'd come from, hearing a muffled replay for he continued inside.

Trying to balance a small fabric shopping bag full of groceries on his left elbow, he continued to grip tightly onto his long-metal crutches that supported his heavy frame. It was quite a struggle for the still-recovering Eliot, but he was determined that he would manage this small feat.

He didn't acknowledge the other man standing in the centre of the room until he finally dropped his bag on the counter with a loud thump.

"Oh! Your back. Had a good trip?"

Nate could hear the animosity in his friend's voice, but he didn't know the reason for it being there. Did he forget to mention that he was leaving? Or maybe he didn't leave good enough instructions, and Eliot's routine got messed up? Still, he's back now and things can go back to normal.

"It was alright. It turned out to be a waste of time though. How was your week? Did Sophie manage to cope ok with the instructions I left her? Where is my wife, by the way?" He rambled off the half-a-dozen questions, quickly without pause.

"Our week was good," ok, there were a few mishaps and some anxiety on the hitter's part, but they coped. "And Sophie is just unpacking the car with Jack and some of the kitchen staff."

The mastermind was just on his way out to help her when the hitter made a small coughing sound to gain his attention.

Eliot had improved a lot over the past couple of weeks, and he was mostly over the chest infection that had laid him up for so long. But sometimes at night he would get a little congested, thanks to that last remaining fluid still lying in his lungs. Right now though, Nate could barely hear the rasp in his friend's voice or the crackle in his lungs. He was clearly on the mend.

That didn't mean that the hitter didn't get winded still, or that exhaustion wasn't an issue as the day got later. And that was probably why Eliot was wobbling on his crutches as he made his way to the couch.

"Nate, I think we need to talk."

"Are you sure you don't want to lay down for a bit, El? You look pretty wiped out." The mastermind suggested, but his words just got waved off. Instead, he chose to sit down next to the hitter, where he could keep an eye on him should he start to waver. He then waited patiently for his friend to speak.

...

"Nate, why did you go alone to that client meeting? We don't do that, it's unsafe and you know it."

So that's what Eliot's problem is. Nate should have known; it was the hitter that had made the rule in the first place, and El did always go with him to the further-out meetings. He should have realised that his going alone would send the man's anxiety levels through the roof.

"I'm sorry El, you're right I shouldn't have gone alone. I just got excited and wanted to get this one done, but no one else was available to go with me."

"You could have taken me."

And there were those sad puppy dog eyes again. Does he realise he has those? The ones that remind Nate just how human and oftentimes... sensitive... the hitter truly is. The fact that they were on display now, meant he had really scared Eliot, during a time when the man was feeling vulnerable and possibly rejected given his last comment. Nate, you are an absolute dick sometimes.

The mastermind edged his way closer until he could just about reach the hitter without making him feel crowded or boxed in. It was their way of comforting each other. Making it known that they could touch if they needed to, but it wasn't a requirement if neither one felt the urge. In fact, there had only been two occasions where one of them had reached out to the other, one of which was when Nate's father had died.

With both of them as relaxed as they ever could be, Nate started to talk.

"El, I'm not saying that I can't take you with me in the future. But this time it just wasn't safe." He could see the interruption coming so he stopped it in its tracks. "And I'm not talking about your need for physio, or worrying about taking you away from your doctor, I know you can take short breaks."

"Then why not take me with you this time? I can go on a plane if that's what's worryin' you. I just have to take some documents with me to explain m' pills and the metal in m' leg."

"I know all that El." He gently patted the hitter right above where the large steel rod had been grafted into his leg. "And I'm fine with you getting on a plane as long as you're ready. My concern was that you were still getting over your chest infection. And although you felt better, you were still recovering and didn't need to be trapped in a plane for six hours, with God knows how many germs floating around. Do you understand? I still want you on this team, and I still trust you to be the best security consultant I could ever find. But your health and safety always comes first."

"As does yours, Nate," Eliot scalded, although he was feeling a lot less concerned now. "I'm not the only person on this team that needs looking after sometimes. So, if you can't bring me with you, wait or take one of the others."

"Will do."

.

.

.

After his conversation with Eliot, Nate observed the hitter as he made some lunch before helping him into his room so he could shower and rest.

Knowing that his friend would be alright on his own for a thew hours, Nate decided that it would be a good opportunity to get some much-needed sleep. Or at least he would have... if his wife hadn't chosen now as the perfect time to talk.

"How was Oklahoma? Did you get what you need?"

Pushing himself up so that the grifter could slide in next to him, Nate plumped some pillows so she could lie comfortably against his chest. He then pondered over what it was he wanted to say, and how he could vocalise it.

"To be honest, it was a complete waste of time." He sighed and pulled Sophie firmly into his embrace. For Nate's entire journey home, all he could think about was holding his family and making sure they felt loved. He really wanted Eliot to be there with them, so he could lather some nurturing onto his surrogate son, but he knew that wouldn't go down so well. "I mean, I know my father wasn't winning any prizes for dad of the year, but at least I knew he cared for me. Eliot's dad didn't even ask what happened to his son, he just made some excuse about not really knowing El anymore."

Sophie twisted herself slightly so she could look her husband in the eyes.

"We knew this was a possibility, Nate. There was a reason that Eliot left and never went back. What did Mr Clark say exactly?"

"Not much. Just that he never really knew his son and wouldn't be much help for him now. He didn't appear as if he disliked Eliot like I thought he might. Instead, he looked... regretful, but I don't know why."

"Did you give him a way to get in touch? You know, in case he changes his mind."

The mastermind nodded but didn't keep eye contact with the grifter. "Yeah, I left a card for the Brewpub, but I bet he trashed it as soon as I walked out."

"Well then dear," She patted her husband firmly on his chest where her head had once rested. "There's nothing more you can do except be there for Eliot the way you've always been. I know he appreciates how much you do for him, and he will get better even its without his father's help."

.

.

.

"What you doin', Sparky?"

Parker had spent most of the day shifting through vents at a marketing company's headquarters, whilst Hardison remotely hacked their cameras and alarm systems. This had all been fun, but now that she was back home and completely bored again. That's why she'd sought out the hitter, dragging her boyfriend along with so they could play together.

"Mobility exercises," Eliot grunted in response.

He'd been making great progress with the walking, but his fine motor skills just seemed stuck at this barely functioning standard. It had been months since he started the physio and yet he still couldn't shave, struggled with chopping and stirring food, and even undressing at night could be a challenge if he was overly tired. It was all so frustrating. Even this, having to write his name out over and over again proved difficult, and what he did manage to write was completely illegible.

"I have to re-learn how to write with these stupid oversized pens." He threw down to chunky writing implement with a huge huff. "But m' damn hand shakes too much an' it all looks like scribbles."

Hardison could see how worked up the hitter was getting and decided to settle things down before the man caused himself a headache. He started by moving the various exercise tools out of sight (and also out of throwing range), before sitting down opposite his friend so he could talk to him calmly.

"El, it's ok... Well, it's not ok. If I could go back in time and stop this from happening to you, I would. But what I mean is, it's ok to struggle sometimes. No one is going to judge you for not being able to write your name or build a puzzle block. You've already done so much, and we're proud of that."

"But it's not enough." Eliot was red in the face, his breath still fast because of his frustration. "What good am I to anyone if I can't even look after m'self? What use am I to the team if I have to stay here all the time, out of harm's way? I'm supposed to be the one keepin' you guys safe, not the other way round."

"Things change, El." The hacker shrugged and moved closer to his friend so he could quell the man's tremors. "And as a team, we adapt to that change so all of us come out safely. Anyways, who says you're not still the one keeping us safe? If it wasn't for you checking over Nate's plans, or jumping into a con with no prep, then our hides would have been cooked on multiple occasions."

Hardison wasn't lying either. Eliot had been consistently great at his new role as second in command/security consultant/grifter. He just needed reminding of that sometimes.

"What's this all about? Is it because of Nate going off without you, Sophie said you got a bit upset about it?"

"I wasn't upset. I just... Ever since I got sick, he's been actin' strange around me, treating me like I'm fragile. I wanted to prove that I can do things still, for the team. But how can I do that when basic stuff like this is too hard for me?"

"I don't see the point in this," the thief chimed in suddenly. It made Hardison jump as he'd forgotten she was there. Eliot just looked her way, confusion plastered across his face. "They should have you practising important skills."

Before they could ask her what was more important than the ability to write, Parker had sprinted away into the hitter's private quarters. She soon returned with the set of lock picks that she'd gifted to Eliot at Christmas.

"Parker," the hitter sighed and was about to explain to her how he 'loved the present but wouldn't be able to use them' when the thief just cut him off.

"You need to learn things that you're actually going to use. Now you can't punch locks open anymore because you can't make angry fists. So, you'll have to learn my way instead."

She handed the picks over to Eliot, her body language telling him that there would be no room for arguments.

After about fifteen minutes of muffled cursing, and about three stabbed palms, Eliot was on the verge of giving up.

"I can't do this, Parker." He definitely did not whine, no matter what any hacker or thief told you. He just complained in a slightly higher-pitched voice, as he stretched out each syllable.

"Yes. You. Can. You just need to concentrate on feeling when the pins catch."

"How am I supposed to do that when I have little to no feeling in my fingers? Their numb Parker, that's what nerve damage does to people."

"Can you not feel anything with your hands?" Hardison asked. They hadn't really talked about the extent of the hitter's nerve damage; they just knew there was some and that the physio could only help so much.

"No, I can feel things. But it's like when you lie on your arm and it goes to sleep. Sometimes it's just numb whilst other times I get this tingling sensation. And it's the same with my right foot. Benny suggested that I learn to do things with my Left hand as well to see if that improves things, but it doesn't help much when I need both hands for a task." He dropped the lock and picks onto the table and started to slowly massage his fingers the way one of the nurses had shown him. It helped ease the pain as well as calm him down.

"I Know!" Parker jumped straight off of the table, almost onto the hitter's lap before she was caught by Hardison. She sometimes forgot that Eliot couldn't catch her anymore, and that is leg would spasm if she landed on it hard. Acting as if she hadn't almost set his recovery back a few weeks, she smiled and said, "I just need to teach you how to do it one-handed."

"Isn't that really complicated, babe?" Hardison asked as he planted her on his knees.

"Nah, if anyone can do it, Eliot can. It's like you said, he just needs to adapt to the changes in his life."

So that's what they did.

For the rest of the afternoon, Parker coached Eliot on how to pick locks one-handed using his left hand which still had full feeling.

And like most things in his life (that didn't involve tech) the hitter picked it up quickly. He even managed to get his time to thirty seconds faster than Hardison's.

Parker was very proud of her new prodigy.

"Next, we should try safe cracking."