Chapter Five
The hospital server takes Hardison less than thirty seconds to crack. He runs a search for Eliot's name, frowning as he sees the size of the file the search obediently offers up. It's big, big enough not to just be his current injuries and Hardison hesitates before he opens it.
What he's doing is a massive invasion of privacy and he knows that. Another one, and one he's not sure Eliot will easily forgive but worry is eating them both alive and the nurses won't share any information. Ever since Eliot turned them away, he's been imaging the worst. Parker has barely spoken, spending her time alternating between slumped on the couch and obliterating locks in increasing inventive ways.
He clicks, waiting as the file loads. It offers up xrays, photos of injuries and Hardison almost closes it there. It's way more information than he should have access to, because he knows just how closely Eliot guards his past and this file is blowing it wide open. He startles when Parker appears behind him suddenly, the plush hotel carpet muffling her steps. An x-ray pops up. Must've clicked it by accident, Hardison thinks, and wants to close it, but he's transfixed, feeling like he's watching a ship go down but can't turn his eyes away.
He's no doctor, but he can spot the broken ribs, the fractured clavicle, the dislocated shoulder. For the first time in his life, he fumbles the mouse, clicking next when he means to click close. It's a hand xray and it takes him a second before he spots the multiple fractures in each finger, in the delicate bones. It sends a chill through him because there's no way the injuries were accidental. The breaks are too regular, too evenly spaced. Someone did it, took their time for maximum suffering and the intent behind the act turns his stomach.
Parker winds her arms around him. "Poor Eliot," she says and Hardison nods.
The xrays paint a devastating picture of exactly how much the other man has been through. And it's not even the full picture, Hardison thinks, because there are ten or fifteen or twenty more xrays, not to mention various scan images that he has absolutely no intention of clicking on. Instead, he closes the current shot and brings up a custom program, typing his search terms and letting the search run.
It pops up a chart and he zooms in, knowing right away that it's the wrong thing, a date, obviously hastily scribbled and incorrect, if the single line through it is any indication, on the first page meaning it got dredged up too. Evidence of sustained torture including water- he reads before clicking out of it.
Parker's hands are tight on his shoulders, her hair tickling his neck as she leans forward to rest her temple against Hardison's.
"He'd hate us seeing this," Hardison says. He knows, intellectually, that someone with Eliot's history wouldn't get away unscathed, but seeing it in black and white is another story altogether. It brings the injuries home and he vows that he's going to force the other man to take better care of himself, maybe try to convince him not to throw himself in quite so many fights.
"Screw the file," Parker says, and stands, "Let's go and break into the hospital."