Chapter 30

Mr. Clark was sitting in the living/briefing area of Leverage Inc., carelessly flicking through a local newspaper for sports results when his youngest son slowly wandered into the room. He was back on crutches after a couple of days in his wheelchair, and he seemed genuinely relieved to be able to stand on two feet again.

Still, if you stared deep enough into those cornflower blue eyes, you could just about see the tension that was gradually brewing.

That's what had the older man shifting in his seat to ask, "hey, Son. How y' feelin?"

"Umm, ok I guess." It wasn't a lie, Spencer was feeling pretty ok, almost good in fact. He just needed some time to let things settle after the week he'd had.

"Good, good... Hey Spence." Mr. Clark smiled at his boy, budging to his left a little as he signaled to the newly opened spot next to him. "Do you mind sittin' down with me for a moment?" It was a simple request, but it still held a lot of nerves for the father, knowing just how quickly it would have been rejected only a week ago.

However, things had changed now, and after a shortly spoken "sure" his son was soon sitting next to him, his bad leg propped carefully on a dragged-over stool.

"We haven't really had a second to talk, since all that stuff with your friends kicked off and I just wanted a chance to explain myself the way I tried to before. I know you weren't in a good place then, and that you couldn't hear me. But I thought that maybe now you might..." Mr. Clark paused and sighed exhaustedly, as his carefully thought-out words seemed trapped on his tongue. It wasn't that he didn't know what to say; he just wasn't sure whether the timing was right to say it, if this was the best thing to do for his son. However, a soothing whisper soon encouraged him to continue.

"I'm listening."

"I guess the first thing I need to say is sorry. Sorry for a lot of things really, but mainly for the way I treated you as a kid, and for abandoning you even though I technically was still there. I wasn't the farther you needed back then." He stopped for another moment, letting the air return to his lungs before, where they felt small and contracted. "And I also need to apologize for taking so long to come and find you. I realize now, that even as an adult you maybe still needed me, even if it was just t' yell all your frustrations out." It was difficult to get all of that out, his chest feeling like it was about to explode from all the tension. But in the end, it felt like a relief to finally have the chance to say it. "Do y' have any questions? I'm willing to answer them, best I can."

The hitter shrugged not really knowing what to say after all that, but then a thought popped into his head, and he turned.

"What happened, after I left, I mean? What made you change all 'a sudden?"

"Had my ups and downs. Your leaving hit me quite hard, and I finally realized what I'd been too ignorant to see. Had a bit of a drink problem for a few years back then, but then your cousin Laury stepped in. She got me sobber, then told me to go get therapy. At first, I hated it, couldn't see the point in talking about my feelings to some shrink. But soon I started to see just how many problems I had, and how I let them affect the people around me." Mr. Clark dropped his head for a second, shaking it in a sign of sorrow and self-loathing. He then lifted it again so he could look his son straight in the eyes. "Spencer, I should never have blamed you the way I did, and I should have been there more when you grew up. I don't want to make excuses or nothin' but the doc diagnosed me with depression, and she thinks that my disassociating from you was a symptom of that."

After that, there were a few moments of neither man speaking, both giving the other time to let that all sink in.

"You ok, Son? I didn't just spring too much on y'?"

"No..." the hitter shook his head. "Just still gettin' used to you callin' me that."

"I can stop, y' know... if it makes you feel uncomfortable. I only came to help you, and hopefully mend some bridges."

"I know, and it doesn't bother me, just..." The hitter sighed and rubbed his temple even though his pills were still working and his head hadn't hurt him for a while. It was more of a nervous tick than anything pain related, a way to show his frustration or confusion in a matter that was stressful for him. "I guess I waited a long time for you to start calling me that again, and when it didn't happen, I went looking for things from other people to make me feel... something. I'm not really sure what, or why even, just that I looked in the wrong places sometimes. And now you're standing next to me, telling me the things I wanted to hear for so long, and I don't really think I deserve it anymore." And with that last statement, Eliot slumped back into his seat, letting his head fall back where the top of the sofa slightly dug into the crease of his neck.

It took a few seconds for the older man to really understand what his son had been trying to explain to him, but when he did, he could actually feel his heart break just a little.

"Come here, son." Mr. Clark offered his arm to Eliot, inviting him closer so he could lay a calming touch onto his son's tense shoulder blade. He just wanted to hold the younger man, in a way that he should have so many years ago, but was making up for now. "Look, Spencer. You are my boy, and y' always will be. It doesn't matter what y' think you deserve, those are the facts, and I will always love y'."

"But you don't know what I've done. The person I became."

"I don't need t'," he scoffed gently, letting a small smirk crease his upper lip. "Spencer, the things you've been through, not just in the army, but before that, they would have affected you in ways you wouldn't even realize. And that's not your fault. You may have done bad things as a result, but that doesn't necessarily make you a bad person."

It was a hard lesson to learn, one that the older Clark was still taking lessons in, so it wasn't surprising to see that his son was still not getting it. Maybe a different approach was needed though.

"You see, son, people react to trauma in a lot of different ways, some big, some small. Even when the point of impact is the same, some people splinter and crack, whilst others shatter into a million tiny pieces. But you see everyone is broken, just in different ways. Now..." Mr. Clark took a long breath and turned to face his son, placing his pulled-back hand over the palm of the other before gently resting it on the hitter's knee. "The important thing to focus on is not how we break, but how we fix ourselves."

"Y' don't understand..."

"I do, son," the father cut in swiftly, his grip tightening on Eliot's thigh as he continued to explain. "I understand completely... You did things in your past, things that y' never feel you can ever be redeemed of. And then it slowly numbs y' inside, to the point where you can barely feel yourself even when the pain slashes at your heart." You see he knew that feeling, he felt it every day thanks to his past mistakes. It was the reason he pushed himself to come here, regardless of his fear, because he knew he needed to make things right. And the same was true for his son, because "despite how far past redemption you see yourself, here you are, still trying with every breath y' take. Fightin' for people who can't defend themselves, because that's who you are inside."

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It had been a few minutes since the end of their conversation, and now Eliot and his Dad were ambling about the kitchen preparing some lunch together, moving seamlessly around each other as they worked in complete symmetry. As one reached high for the butter the other ducked under and bent low for the cured meat, and so on and so forth. Until two perfect sandwiches were made, paired with potato chips and some crisp salad. It was actually kind of weird how well they gelled together, especially given the time they'd spent apart, but maybe their shared genes just made it easier for them to harmonize.

And now that their food was made and plaited, the two men could sit down at the kitchen's bar to enjoy their meal.

It wasn't until he was about two-thirds into his sandwich that the hitter stopped and said, "Dad..."

"Hmmm"

"I was wondering..." He paused trying to find the exact words he was looking for, finally coming up with, "what was therapy like for you? Did it actually help?"

"Well, yeah son, it helped a lot. Still does in fact." Mr. Clark answered, putting the few fingers full of chips he was about to place in his mouth down as turned to his son to ask. "Why, are you struggling with your sessions?"

The hitter sighed, again finding it hard to know what to say and how to explain himself, but giving it a go anyways. "I guess that I'm just not seeing much progress. And I don't know if it's me that's causing the issues, or if I'm just so far beyond help." His team had always said that he wasn't good at using his words and that he needed to find ways to communicate better, instead of just punching his way out of an argument. Maybe they were right.

"Spencer, my boy, you are never beyond help. Trust me." The father spoke confidently, patting his son on the thigh as he moved his stool in a little closer. "Now, why don't you tell me what's been going on with this therapist, but only what you feel comfortable with me knowing."

"Well..."

Eliot hesitated for a moment, wondering how much he should honestly share. Not just because of his criminal past (he'd actually opened up quite a lot about that to his father) but more to do with his inner feelings, the ones he didn't like to share. He hadn't even spoken to Nate about his therapy sessions, only offered a short 'it was ok' or a 'same old' whenever he was asked about them. However, for some reason, he felt like he could talk to his dad about this stuff, maybe because he'd been through something similar and could offer some advice.

In fact, that had to be the reason, the only reason that the hitter was now bursting out every thought and feeling he had regarding his therapy sessions, and explaining in great detail, everything his therapist had to say about him. Starting with...

"Dr. Levine says that I have a problem with acknowledging my accomplishments and that I tie a lot of my self-worth into what I can physically do for others. But I don't see how that is a problem. And I definitely don't understand how talking about it is going to change anything. God... I just get so frustrated sometimes, and I can see that Dr. Levine is annoyed with me when I can't find the words to explain myself. But it's not like I'm doing it on purpose. Or maybe I am, I don't know. I just don't like having to think so hard about myself. It makes me uncomfortable and confused." The hitter stopped for the briefest of seconds just to take a quick breath before carrying on with his quickly-spoken rant that got louder and more frantic the longer it went. "And I know what I need to say, kind of. I know what the problem is and what caused it, I think. But whenever I try to explain myself it's like all the thoughts have floated out of my head and only feelings remain. Useless, messy feelings that don't help at all. Damnit!" It was taking all of the hitter's well-practiced control to keep him from slamming his fist into the kitchen counter, his breathing coming in sharp little bursts until he eventually calmed down enough to carefully mutter a few softly uttered words. "I just want to get better. I should be able to do this, it's not rocket science. So why do I shut down all the damn time?"

"Son."

Mr. Clark paused for a moment, trying to take in everything that the younger man said. It was a lot, and some of it he didn't really understand because he and his son were still different in some ways, and he still didn't really know Spencer as the man he is now. But he at least got the gist of what was troubling his boy, so maybe he could start trying to fix it.

"Therapy is hard, for everyone, but especially guys like us. It needs you to be open in a way that is foreign and kinda' scary. And sometimes it takes a while for you to get to a point where the fear isn't taking your voice away."

"But you managed it." The hitter sighed as his hands reached for the second half of his sandwich, tearing it up into tiny little un-edible pieces before throwing them down onto his plate. The destructive act proved to be a lackluster distraction for his built-up nerves though, so soon he abandoned it and let his arms fall to his sides. "You've been going for years and you've learned all this stuff about yourself and healed because of it."

"Exactly, Spencer. I've been going for years, and still to this day, I find subjects that are hard for me t' talk about. It just takes time, you'll get there."

As his large calloused hands moved to still his sons, the father paused yet again, allowing his words to sink in for just a moment.

"Spencer... Do you remember that fight we had, right before we found out your team was missing?"

"Yeah?"

"Do you remember the things you were saying to me?"

Eliot shuddered at the memory, a feeling of guilt spreading through his stomach and up into his spine. "I remember. But what does that have t' do with anything?"

"You told me all about how you were feeling as a child, the anger, the disappointment, how you felt abandoned by me, and how that affects you even now."

"I know. I shouldn't have gone off on you like that..."

"No, you should have, Spencer. You needed to get that stuff off your chest. And don't you get it? All those things you've been trying to say, the words that get trapped on your tongue, you said them. Well shouted actually, but it still counts. So now you just need to repeat them to your therapist."

"Huh, I guess I did." There was a moment of clarity there, just a few seconds, before the hitter's brow knotted again with confusion. "But I was pissed then, there was all this adrenalin pushing me t' talk. What if I need that? I can't exactly start a fight with my therapist."

"You don't need to. Now that you know you can say those things, and know what words to use, and how to express yourself, it will come easier. It did for me, after one particular drunken row I had." The look on his boy's face, let the father know that he was being heard, and although it still confused the hitter a little, his words were being understood and accepted. It was in the way Eliot's eyes flickered as if his mind was traveling back in time and putting back the puzzle with all the missing pieces finally in his grasp. "But, son if you do need someone t' talk to outside of therapy, you've always got me. I'm gonna stick around for a while, I think. Make sure you get sorted, and see about making up for some of those missed opportunities."

"Thanks pops."

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"So, Eliot."

Dr. Levine moved into her office holding a file in her hand filled with notes and evaluation for her next appointment, the subject of which was already sitting in the room patiently waiting on the soft cushions of her window seat. It was a pleasant site to see, not having him tired and forced into his wheelchair after a lengthy physio session. And it was another sign that the man was well on his way to further physical recovery.

"It's been over a week since our last session, how have you been?"

"Umm... Different, I think is the best word to describe it. Things have changed and I think maybe for the better."

"That's good to hear." The therapist nodded, opening up her patient journal to the appropriate page, before moving on to continue. "Have you been keeping up with your homework? I know your dream journal was a bit of a bust, but the other seemed to be working for you, and we looked to be making some form of progress before your sudden trip."

"Yeah, I got it, it's just..." Eliot paused, recalling what his father had said to him that morning, and the advice he'd repeated before he'd headed off for his appointment.

Just remember kid, you said it all before son, you can do it again. It's still going to be tough, and you haven't got the argument to fuel y' this time, but it will come, you just have to push y'self.

"Look, I know I haven't been the most cooperative patient you could ask for, but I really do want to try and get better, so, I'll do whatever it takes. Even if I do think it's stupid and a waste of my time. You're the professional, and I should listen to your advice and follow it."

"Huh..." Dr. Levine appeared stunned, her jaw dropping for a moment before she shook her head and reorganized herself. "What changed your mind all of a sudden? Don't get me wrong, been getting a lot better during these sessions, listening more, and becoming more open to my suggestions. But I've never seen you this willing to actually follow my treatment plan, especially before hearing it. What happened this week to trigger such a turnaround?"

"Saw my dad again after... Oh, God knows how many years." Once again, the therapist seemed surprised, that was the last thing she expected to hear. However, she let her patient continue with his explanation, this time leaning in with her entire body as she got wrapped into the juicy details. "And although it was tough at first to come to terms with him being there, stuff happened, and it forced us to work together again. It gave us time to really talk and see things from each other's perspective."

"Did the talking help?"

"Yeah. I managed to get some things off my chest that had been building up for some time, and he got to explain himself and apologize for his past mistakes. I think I understand now, what you were trying to tell me about the way I was acting. That it was the negative feelings from my childhood that were making it hard for me to see myself as others do."

"I'm really glad to hear that, Eliot." Dr. Levine smiled, a warm and genuine one that settled the hitter's heart. "I was worried for some time that your past issues with your father may have been negatively impacting your recovery. Maybe now we can focus on finding ways to mend yourself a little. Move these sessions past the diagnosis stage and into recovery."

"I would like that..." Eliot returned the doctor's smile, and then some, as it grew into a huge grin. "Honestly, I really would."

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It had been a few weeks since that session, and so armed with a fresh perspective, and some homework from his therapist, Eliot was ready to see himself in a new light.

According to Dr. Levine, the hitter needed to do a lot of things if he wanted to repair himself, such as learning to focus on what he'd accomplished during the day rather than what he hadn't. Or working with others to recognize reasonable goals. Oh and, very importantly, accepting failure, not as a fault of his character but a simple fact of life.

Practicing all of this was apparently going to fix the hitter, it was just going to take time and patience.

However, before he could accomplish any of that, Eliot needed to regain control of his life and learn to accept what was best for him for a change.

So that's what he was about to do...

Walking into the mastermind's personal office area, Eliot paced around the room for a minute before finding a soft place to land his body. "Nate, can we talk?"

On hearing the younger man's voice when he finally decided to speak, Nate lowered the brown manila folder he was looking at and peered over his pair of worn reading glasses that perched on his nose.

"Sure El, what's up?"

"I think it's time we addressed the few Elephants in the room. Mainly the one that has me not being your hitter anymore."

Before he spoke again, Eliot shifted his gaze toward the crutches that were leaning precariously against the wall next to him, using them as a reminder of why he came there that day.

It was actually a trick his neurologist had taught him during a routine checkup. He explained that by using objects that he saw around him, ones with hidden messages attached to them (only visible in the hitter's own head), Eliot could prompt himself until what he needed to say became clear.

Things like toys that helped him talk about his childhood, or books that reminded him of things he wanted to talk about. Just about anything seemed to work, as long as it had relevance.

Even now, just by looking at his walking aids he could see the message that he'd imprinted on them, that his life was different, and things needed to change because of it.

"Honestly, we should have talked about this as soon as Dr. Davis told us about the nerve damage and all the other stuff I have wrong with me, but I guess none of us were really thinkin' straight."

"We weren't sure how bad it was, Eliot. We thought that maybe there was some chance that..."

"That I might recover." The mastermind tried to placate his younger team member, but the hitter just cut him off. "Nate, we both know there was no chance of me getting back the strength I had before. Damnit, it's a miracle I even got this far."

Nate sighed as he moved across the room, coming to sit down opposite his friend as he leaned against his desk. "It wasn't a miracle, El. That was hard work and determination that got you here, and you deserve every ounce of credit for it. I can't say nearly enough times how proud we are of you Eliot, but I sure am going to try."

"I do appreciate that Nate. And I have to thank you and the others for all the patience you've shown me, even when it didn't look like I was grateful for it. Without you, I just know I wouldn't have recovered this far." He let out a huge breath, finding the courage he needed from somewhere deep within. "But that still doesn't change what I came here to tell you. I need to let you know how things have got to change."

"So, what are you saying? That you don't want to be on the team anymore. Because I don't honestly know if we could do this without you. You're an important part of this group even if you can't hit things anymore." Nate's voice was a muddled mix of rage, exasperation, and compassion as he spoke, his arms flailing about as hurried to get his piece out before the hitter could interrupt again.

"I know. And I don't want to leave." Eliot shook his head, frustrated yet again that his thoughts often couldn't be expressed very easily, especially when he was feeling rushed by the man he was talking to. Eventually, though, he remembered the exact term he'd come up with that best described his idea. "No, what I actually want is to be the team's recruiter."

"Wait, our what?"

"Your recruiter," the younger man repeated. "You know, for making new teams like ours. I mean, we made all those plans to take leverage international, even stole the black book so we would have enough clients from all over the place. But then we did nothing with it."

"Well, yeah. We kind of got a little busy over the last couple of years. It's rare we get any time for ourselves, so building up new branches of Leverage Inc. wasn't exactly top of our priorities list."

"I know. That's why, I want to be the one in charge of running it, using my contacts to find people like us to make teams across the world. And my first task in this new job role will be finding you guys a hitter for your team."

It was a pretty good idea that his teammate had come up with, brilliant actually, but Nate was still hesitant to accept it.

I mean, yeah it would be better for Eliot to stop being a hitter. And I've made it no secret that I wanted that for some time even before the accident. The thing at the carnival really scared the crap out of me, and I never wanted to see the man I think of as a brother so bloody ever again. But I still want him as part of the team with us, not gallivanting across the world. Besides, he needs to stay close so we can look after him. He's not yet one hundred percent, and he probably never will be.

I get that this is something the team needs, they've been running around too much these days trying to get everything done by themselves, but they could get someone else to be a... recruiter? It doesn't actually need to be Eliot.

Yeah, it would probably help the hitter to come to terms with things, but still...

"El, I don't..."

"Look, I'll still help you guys, be the spare grifter and assist with planning. But I think this will be good for me, give me something to focus on. I'm not leaving the team, I promise."

It took a few minutes (ok more like eight) of Eliot and Nate staring at each other in complete and utter silence before the mastermind finally came to a decision.

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"I guess we got ourselves a recruiter."

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One more chapter to go. Sorry, it's probably going to take a while to post because I'm editing all the previous chapters first to make them better. But it will come... Eventually.

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