I Don't Like What I See
Disclaimer: If you recognize it, then I don't own it.
A/N: For 2021 Whumptober #5 broken nose
Even when he was injured Eliot got little sleep. His healing body craved the rest but his burdened mind refused it. When he slept, he dreamed. Physically run down, his dark nightmares gained more power over him. The things he'd seen, the things he'd done came back to haunt him while he rested. The saying, "No rest for the wicked," was something he understood down to his tainted soul.
He laid in darkness, panting through the pain. Nurse Gail had wrapped his cracked ribs, set his broken nose, and checked him for skull fractures. She worked for anyone who refused to go to the hospital but had the cash for more in-home care. Her attractive looks served her well in her profession of helping tough guys who didn't want to appear weak. She poked and prodded worse than Parker but deemed him mostly fit and whole. A bad concision was the worst of it. He'd paid her the usual discretionary fee along with the medical care and sent her on her way. Like a one-night stand, she left into the night.
He was left alone in his safe house. Hours had passed as he sat in the dark. He meditated and retreated into his mind to try to escape the pain. He'd refused pain killers, needing to stay alert and in control. Gail had not wanted to leave him alone with his head injury but had worked with enough men like him to let the matter drop. He couldn't read with the concussion. Nor listen to music because of the pain the sound caused. Cooking was out because of vertigo and double vision every time he moved, let alone stood up for an extended amount of time. So, he sat in his recliner, waiting for the night to end.
He finally built up enough energy to attempt a shower. His nurse had cleaned up much of the blood on his face to gain access to the wounds. He could still taste the chemical bomb that had exploded all over him. He was sure he smelled like a bathroom catastrophe if he could smell through his swollen nose. His failures today sat over him like a second skin. He desired to feel clean again, even just as temporarily as a shower. He'd never truly be clean of his actions. He shuffled to the bathroom and winced as he flipped the light on. The light hammered into his pounding head. He didn't have any mirrors in this safe house. Much like the girl he had saved, he didn't particularly care for the person he saw reflected back at him.
He sat at the bottom of his tub, letting the warm water pound at his aches and bruises. He turned the water off and just sat there, letting the water drip off of his long hair and body. He sat there, unwilling, or perhaps unable, to move as his skin began to shiver, covered in goosebumps. When the shivers began to shake his hurts too much, he pushed himself up, using the wall of the shower. He panted and hunched over as he attempted to dress. He got a pair of sweats on and gave up when attempting a shirt pulled too much on his abused ribs. He stumbled out of the bathroom into the darkness.
A little green robot was at his safe, trying to open it.
He dropped into a defensive crouch, pulling out a hidden knife. He sniffed deeply when a familiar aroma made its way up into his broken nose. It was a very distinctive smell. It was his chicken noodle soup. He hid the knife away once more; he was no longer alone, but he wasn't in danger.
"Damnit, Hardison," Eliot growled trying to stem the blood flowing from his abused nostrils.
"Hey man, it's not my fault," Hardison defended himself, walking out of the darkened kitchen, holding up a heated mug of soup and a box of tissues as a peace offering.
"This better not be nuked," Eliot grumbled, knowing perfectly well he didn't own a microwave. Not that he wouldn't put it past the younger man to smuggle one in, along with a tv, computer, and game system.
"Fresh from a pan," Hardison swore. Eliot eyed it suspiciously but gratefully accepted it with his good hand. He stumbled back to his chair with a pained sigh. Sipping at the soup, he closed his eyes to refocus himself. He needed to get back on top of the pain.
"Where's Parker?" Eliot growled, taking too long to notice the other half of the troublesome duo was missing.
"Parker 2000 is trying to crack your safe," Eliot glared at him, "Human Parker is on a pharmacy run."
"I'm fine," Eliot grumbled.
Hardison just waved him off, "Sure, man. That's why you ain't stopped the robot yet."
Eliot just closed his eyes with a defeated sigh. The younger man pulled out his phone, no doubt to check in with his partner in crime. They sat in silence until Parker climbed through the window sometime later.
"Hardy needs more training," Parker looked disappointed at her green counterpart's lack of progress before throwing the stolen medical supplies at Hardison.
"Her name is not Hardy," The younger man protested, looking through the bag.
"She's mine, I get to name her," Parker argued back.
Eliot growled at them as their bickering caused his headache to worsen. The two shared a guilty look as they shut up. They walked into the kitchen, being followed by the little green robot, turning off the living room light as they went. Eliot sighed in relief at the quiet and lack of light. He listened to his teammates' hushed argument and felt content.
He'd never be a good man. He'd done too much evil. But, if people like the two in his kitchen cared about him, he couldn't be all bad. He would continue to do a little good in the world with his team by his side. Maybe someday he'd be able to look at the man in the mirror and like what he saw.