Chapter Six

Eliot wishes that he could sleep. He's on the downward slide with the drugs, the pain starting to creep up on him again, and he's desperate for some kind of escape. The TV is still playing old western movies but he doesn't have the attention span to follow them. The lights have been dimmed, and it's still dark outside.

His new nurse walks into the room. He knows he's been told her name, but he can't remember it. It should bother him more that he can't.

"Hi, Eliot," she says and starts running her checks, hands efficient but gentle as they pass over his body. She takes his hand. "How's your pain?"

He'd give it a pretty solid six right now and squeezes her hand that many times. He's also pretty sure it won't stay at a six for much longer which is the problem. Broken ribs suck but he's dealt with them before. It's the surgery, body protesting to the invasion, and the concussion which has pretty much flattened his defences.

"Okay," she says and makes a note on his chart. "Let me see if I can do something about that for you," she says, and gives his hand a quick squeeze before she leaves his room.

He listens to the door close and shuts his eyes, poking his brain until it offers up a pleasant memory he can lose himself in, for just a little while. He's in his kitchen, pots bubbling away on the stove, putting the final touches on a pot roast for the team. He's already sent most of the sides in and is just finishing off the gravy. The potatoes are done and he calls for one of them to come- the hospital room door creaks open and the memory vanishes.

"Eliot?" a voice he knows says hesitantly and the landslide of emotions he feels would have ripped the air from him if he had any choice in the matter.

She's at his bedside before he can do anything and he closes his eyes, not wanting to see pity on her face. She touches his cheek, gentle like so few things in his life are and it almost undoes him. "Open your eyes," Parker asks and he's never been able to deny her for long. Her gaze is soft and sad as it takes in the tubes, the monitors, but it's for him, not at him and he can cope with that.

"Hi, Eliot," Hardison says from the other side of the bed. "We thought you might want some company." His voice is hesitant, like he's expecting to get kicked out and it makes something in Eliot's chest ache.

Eliot knows that he should be furious that they've gone against his wishes but he just can't find it in himself, especially when she settles down in the chair next to the bed, resting her head on his good shoulder. There's no way it can be comfortable but she seems quite happy so who is he to judge? Hardison steals the bedside table, wheeling it over to the small couch and pulling out his laptop. The rattle of keys is like a lullaby, soothing and Eliot can feel his eyes getting heavy.

He knows he probably won't sleep, but just having them close is a balm he didn't know he needed.

"Please don't send us away again," she whispers and something about her tone hits him deep, touching old hurts.

The angle is awkward but he fumbles until he can take her hand, holding on tight. He still hates them seeing him like this, but her eyes hold no judgement as they pass over his body, just worry and sorrow and pain. He's not usually one for grand words but he wishes he could talk, wishes he could explain because not having a voice is slowly driving him insane. He'd try signing again but he's pretty sure neither one can speak it.

They both look up when the door opens and his nurse walks in. She stops, taking in the two interlopers and frowns. "You both can't be here outside of visiting hours," she says.

Parker is on her feet in a flash, an angry flush on her cheeks, hands balled into fists at her sides. "We're staying," she says, voice firm but even.

"I'm getting security," the nurse says and heads out of the door.

"You do that," Parker snaps to her retreating back.

Eliot watches her leave, pressing his casted hand gingerly against his side. The pain that was a six has crept up to maybe a seven point five. He realises he's clenching his jaw, biting down on the tube and has to force himself to stop. He feels like it hits him all at once, just how fucking uncomfortable he is. It's not just the wounds, it's the ET tube, the strap holding it in place, the IVs, the catheter. He closes his eyes, counting to ten, wishing he could control his own breathing because a breathing exercise or two wouldn't go amiss right now.

He's shaking again, but he knows what this is, even if he hasn't felt it in years. Normally he'd hold his breath, force his heart rate to slow and get control that way but he can't do that and he suddenly feels like he's choking, like he's not getting enough air even though the small, rational part of his brain still remaining knows that's physically impossible.

Panic attack. He thinks it like it's a dirty word but he can't stop it. Stripped of all his usual coping mechanisms, he's helpless against it. The heart monitor beeps match his racing pulse, chasing each other, faster and faster. A thin, wavering thread of steel self control is all that stops him from ripping the tube out and as soon as he's thought about it, his good hand is rising towards his face.

"Eliot," someone says, their hands on his cheeks, and at first he thinks it's Parker. He forces his eyes open to see a dark haired woman in a lab coat standing next to the bed. "Listen to me, we're going to try something," she says and turns off the vent.