Not surprisingly, he got a clean bill of health. Yes, there were injuries still healing, hence the stiffness and the limp. There were also indications of serious wounds that had healed. It was clear to see how the dog tags had been damaged when Doc saw the still prominent scars on his chest, overlying some older ones he remembered patching up for his friend. Shrapnel could do a lot of damage. He also advised them it would be best to leave Eliot alone when it came to his memories. There were no noticeable indications of a serious head injury, and without a full set of scans and tests that could not be explained as a basic physical there was no way of determining the nature of the problem. While it was likely, based on his other injuries, that there had been at the very least a serious concussion, it was equally likely that the trauma went beyond the physical. So it was decided that, unless circumstances changes, Eliot would remain buried in his subconscious. It was a decision they all had trouble with.
A few days after the check-up Nate came down to the kitchen mid-afternoon. Evan stood at the counter, looking off into space.
"Isn't it a bit dangerous to daydream with a knife in your hand? Whoa – slow down." The young man hand spun around quickly at the unexpected voice, knife held tight in his hand and pointed at Nate.
"Don't sneak up on me like that. Damn – sorry man. " He had the grace to look apologetic, realizing as he spoke that he hadn't been the victim here.
"No – it's ok. You alright? You were a million miles away."
"I just – I thought I was… Did you ever get the feeling there was something you knew, something important, but you just can't quite get at it? I keep getting this sense of stuff, but nothing tangible, nothing real."
"You think your memory is trying to come back and just can't break through?"
"I don't know. Maybe." He leaned back against the counter. "It's like there is some kind of dense fog. I know there is movement there, something hiding. But I can't make it out. Not even shapes or outlines. Just the knowledge there's something. It's driving me nuts."
"Have you thought about trying to force the memories?" An arched eyebrow indicating curiosity encouraged Nate to continue. "You could try hypnosis or something; try to clear out some of the fog. I think there are drug treatments too."
"No drugs. Don't trust them. Besides, I don't like needles."
"Seriously?"
"What can I say? Don't like getting jabbed. Hypnosis – maybe if things get too crazy" he pointed to his head "in here, I'll think about it. It's a weird feeling man. Like a blackout I guess. Just this feeling part of your life has been lost in some kind of deep permanent lost weekend hangover. You got any idea what that feels like?"
Nate grinned. "Yeah – a little bit."
"And what happens if I do remember, and wish I hadn't? Maybe I was a real jackass – or worse. One of the councillors at the shelter said I should check with the cops in case there was a missing persons report on file. Kept telling me someone might be looking for me."
Nate tried to keep a casual look and tone. The last thing Eliot needed was to alert the officials as to his whereabouts. The number of law enforcement organizations that would be interested was staggering. "Why didn't you?"
"Doesn't feel right. I can't explain why, but I don't think anyone is waiting with a light in the window for me to come home. I don't have the sense that anybody misses me or wants me back." He tried to keep his tone neutral, but Nate could hear the wistful sorrow underneath. "If you only knew" he thought, "just how much we want you back".
"He told me could get the cops to run a fingerprint check on me any time I'm ready. See if anything comes up, but I kept wondering what would happen if the prints match up for the wrong reasons. Who knows, maybe I'm some kind of wanted felon or something. Gotta to admit though – I sorta wonder if I'm going crazy. I mean, what happens if I never figure out who I was?"
He looked lost and vulnerable as he sighed softly and turned back to his work. This was not a look Nate was used to seeing on the younger man; the emptiness in his eyes and faraway gaze were heartbreaking. That moment was the closest Nate came to breaking down and coming clean on the whole story. But the moment passed.
In the six weeks since Eliot had reappeared, they had almost stopped thinking of him that way. Evan had become a natural part of the pub, and even the stumbling over his name didn't occur (much) any more. They still kept the full nature of Leverage Inc. secret from him. When he had asked about the business, they described it as a sort of ombudsman service, intervening to represent those who were fighting against people or organizations with more power. He seemed intrigued by the concept, to the point of offering his assistance if they ever thought he could be of help.
"Can't imagine what I could contribute," he'd said at the time, "but I'd been willing to lend a hand sometime." It was all they could do to keep Parker from spilling the whole story after that, but she silenced herself, glaring at the team as she stalked out of the room. So instead of drawing Evan into the operation, they continued to take jobs that allowed for a less aggressive approach. Bringing in outside help was not an option. Anyone recognizing Eliot could endanger Evan. As long as those who'd had a price on his head continued to believe he was dead, there was no threat.
The last of the customers had left about 10 minutes earlier after a busy Friday night. Evan was helping Cassie with closing the place up, bussing the tables while she closed out the cash.
"You don't have to do that Evan – you've had a busy night."
"Well, so have you, and it will go faster with help. Why do you agree to the late shift when you've got your little guy at home to be tucked in? What did you say he is – three years?"
She nodded. "My husband can handle that on the odd night I work late. Tips are good on a Friday, and the cash is always appreciated." Just as she reached to turn out the outdoor light and lock up the door slammed open, knocking her back and almost off her feet. Two men burst in the door, guns pointed straight at her. On spotting a second employee, the thug in the leather jacket turned his weapon. "OK folks, no need for anyone to get excited here. You know what we want, so let's just hurry the process along."
"Sorry man, you're too late. Boss took the cash a few minutes ago. There is some petty cash left for tomorrow, but the evening take is gone." He wasn't sure why he was lying to these guys, but hoped it would inspire them to turn tail and run. He doubted it would work, and was right.
"Nice try – we've been watching and no one left. So hand over the bag under the counter – NOW."
Cassie turned to get the deposit, but Leather Jacket caught her arm. "Not so fast darling. You stay right here with me. You're too pretty to let out of reach." He leered, and she fought the nausea that rose.
"Keep your hands off her – I'll get you the damn cash."
"Ah, now don't be offended – you're kinda pretty too. Just not my type." Leather let out a laugh while his partner snickered.
He could feel himself shifting, subtly changing his stance. He had taken on the posture of a hunter, quietly waiting for his prey to enter into the danger zone. His eyes shifted, almost imperceptibly, between the two would-be robbers, determining which would be the first to fall. Leather Jacket took another step closer to Cassie, reaching out to her face and brushing back a stray lock of hair. The diversion was all he needed. One hand grabbed an empty wine bottle from the table he'd been clearing and threw it with unerring accuracy at the second hood, taking him out of commission. He took three steps to close the gap between himself and Leather. In the blink of an eye he had kicked the gun from the thug's hand and grabbed his arm, twisting it far enough back to feel a pop from the shoulder. Grabbing the jacket collar he slammed the man onto the bar, sending him into unconsciousness. The encounter had barely taken 5 seconds. He picked up the gun that had been dropped, ejected the clip and cleared the slide. He looked down at his hand, wondering exactly how he had done that, but before he could process anything, Cassie was hugging him, fighting back tears.
"Oh my God – are you alright? Thank you – thank you. How did you – where did you learn…?"
"No idea. Are you OK? You better call the cops. And get Nate down here."
A couple of hours later the cops were gone, prisoners in tow after medics had determined them to be more or less alright. Both tried to take a wide turn as they passed their attacker, who leaned against the wall next to the door watching them. How could a guy in an apron be that dangerous? It had been agreed by all parties to keep the episode and the police report low key, in an effort to avoid the chance the media would take any interest in a local hero stopping the theft.
Nate walked up to the pensive man in question and handed him a beer while guiding him over to a table. "You ok?"
"Yeah, fine. How's Cassie?"
"Extremely grateful. The cops gave her a lift home. She can't stop talking about you. I'm pretty sure that if she ever has another kid it'll be named Evan – even if it's a girl." He grinned, but got no similar response.
"What the hell Nate? How did I do that? Here I've been thinking I was a nice, easy going kind of guy, and next thing you know I've gone ninja on their asses."
"Adrenaline is a strange force; makes people do all kinds of things."
"Screw force, how did I know what to do? I don't remember thinking about it or debating with myself about the wisdom of trying. I just did it. Second nature. I mean, it's one thing to cook or throw darts or play cards second nature, but to take out two armed criminals? Am I crazy?" He looked genuinely frightened that the answer might be yes to that.
"Look, Evan. Whatever it was that inspired you to do this, it was right. You have to trust that your instincts, your natural instincts, will guide you on this kind of thing. You said yourself you thought you might have some kind of military service in your background. Why?"
"Don't know – maybe because of the accident that caused all of this, maybe just a sense of – I don't know – training?"
"Well maybe that training is what kicked in. Whatever it is, the two of you are ok because of it, so I say sit back, be grateful and take the win."
"Maybe. I don't know." He shook his head and pushed the beer away, looking lost. "I thought I was doing OK with this. Yeah, it would be good to know who I was, but I was beginning to think I was OK about not being able to remember. Now? Crap – I'm not even sure I want to remember. How screwed up is that?" He quickly stood and headed to the door. Nate reached out to stop him, but dropped his hand when he realized he had nothing to say that could possibly help.
Hearing the next day of the adventure in the pub just made Parker miss Eliot more. She knew he was still there, still her Sparky hiding somewhere inside. The proof was there now. She tried to accept Evan, and she'd even grown to like him, more than she thought she would. But she resented him too. She couldn't look at him without thinking that he had stolen Eliot from them – that somehow this was all his fault. It was all crazy, but then, as Eliot had been so fond of telling her, so was she. So now, feeling lost and confused again, she did what she'd done dozens of times since this started all those months ago. She headed to Hardison's laptop and opened up some surveillance files from old cases, putting the images on the big screen. She could hear Eliot growling at Hardison to shut up, at her to hurry up, or at Nate and Sophie to stop fighting and make a call. On other clips, she could watch him case out a room, size up an opponent and clear the path for the team to make their escape. And she could see the way he would look at them as he brought up the rear. Watching to make sure they were safe. Smiling ever so slightly, when he thought they couldn't see, as they joked with each other. Guarding them like a hawk. God help the mark who tried to come between the Hitter and his team.
This day, because she wanted – needed – even more, she resorted to a clip she rarely watched. She pulled up the message he had left for them. It wasn't quite as painful anymore, now that he was back, but it still hurt to see the man he'd been. To hear the care and concern he had for them, even as he prepared for his own death. Yet, knowing he wasn't gone, even though he wasn't here, made this tape special. Because the words and tone of the message gave her hope that Eliot was strong enough despite all that had happened, to one day finish coming back. So she listened again, holding onto the pendant she still wore every day, not realizing she wasn't alone. When it was over, she turned off the computer and left the room, and the observer.
He had gone to the office early, looking for Nate. After a sleepless night, he had an inordinate number of questions running through his mind, and for some reason believed Nate would have answers. Ever since they'd met he hadn't been able to get past the feeling that there was more to Nate and the others than they let on. He'd been drawn to this town, this pub. It all felt somehow comfortable in a world that in all other ways had become very uncomfortable to him. This place, this pub and these people gave him an illusion of peace, or at least something close to it. But with it was a small dark cloud hovering in the distance. The awareness that while much of this felt right, there was something wrong. After last night's outburst, the need for answers had become more acute. He wasn't sure he trusted himself anymore. He needed to know the real story, and he was all but certain Nate could provide the details. He was far less certain he would be happy with them.
The office was empty when he arrived, and as he debated whether to wait, he heard soft footsteps coming. Too light to be Nate or Hardison, and no heels, so not Sophie. That left only Parker. In no way was he up to dealing with Parker right now. There was something about her he could not put his finger on. There was no doubt that she was just a little crazy, but in a way that intrigued him. It was clear she was with Hardison, so the idea of any relationship was totally out of the question. Didn't matter, that wasn't how she intrigued him. There was an overwhelming desire to protect her, even though most of the time she gave of a vibe that clearly said she could take care of herself. He was sure she had done just that for years. As much as he felt that connection, he also found at times it was just too hard to be around her. He couldn't shake the feeling he had somehow let her down; that he should be something more for her, but didn't have a clue what that should be. The result made her exhausting to be around, and this morning he wasn't up to it. So he hung back when she came in.
He'd been near the back anyway, hidden by the morning shadows. Hoping she was planning on staying only a moment, he remained still. The stillness became a paralyzing force as the videos appeared on the screen. His mind could scarcely register the images he saw. He was fighting, beating on people with abandon. He was with Nate and the others. They were clearly friends, or at the very least co-workers. No, he could see the looks. They were friends. Then the message came up. He forgot how to breathe as its significance registered. This was Eliot Spencer. He was Eliot Spencer.
TBC