A/N: So late. So tired...must post...must respond to reviews...must...get...review fix...Enjoyzzzzz Zzzzz... -pj
Eliot stood over his sink, his face dripping wet. He'd turned off all the lights he could in the apartment and was bracing himself against the sink, eyes shut tight.
He'd downed a handful of painkillers already but knew it was futile at this point. He was going to have to ride this out, plain and simple.
Great.
His entire head was throbbing now as if caught in a vice and his stomach rolled every time a lamp passed into his peripheral vision. He sighed and reached out blindly for a towel, knowing his hands were trembling.
There was no getting around it now, he couldn't work like this. And he couldn't stay here while he waited for it to be over.
"I just think I should go check on him," Sophie insisted, pacing in her bare feet, she'd shed her 3-inch Manolo heels at the door.
"Yeah, he really sounded like he wanted company," Hardison commented sarcastically, nursing a soda at the island counter.
Parker sat on the counter beside him, her legs swinging to and fro, hitting the cabinet doors rhythmically, a cold beer in her hands.
"But what if he's hurt more than he's letting on?" The thief asked, giving a concerned look to the hacker, and then Sophie.
"He's always hurt worse than he's letting on," Nate commented, entering the room from the spiral staircase of his loft, "Parker, chairs are for sitting, not countertops."
"Then we should do something, shouldn't we?" Parker frowned as if she had not been aware of that particular fact about Eliot. She probably hadn't.
"Not now, no," Nate shook his head, Hardison nodding in agreement.
"Finally," he sighed, "someone with a healthy sense of self- preservation."
Sophie rolled her eyes and Parker glared at him.
"If he's hurt, then we should help him."
"Look, Eliot's used to taking care of himself. Lets' just," Nate held his hands up in a calming motion, "give him his space. Parker, you can go check on him in an hour."
Parker brightened a little at this and Sophie relaxed, swiping Parker's beer to take a sip.
Hardison just shook his head, "Don't say I didn't warn you."
Eliot stumbled around his apartment, pinching the bridge of his nose tightly, tears springing to his eyes as the pain spread from his skull to his spine and across his shoulders, intensifying with every step. He found if he kept his eyes closed, the dizziness was easier to ignore and he allowed himself a groan only because there was no one around to hear him.
He kept one shoulder to the wall and shuffled to the couch, dropping down with a sigh. He rested his head against the back of the couch and reached for his phone and dialed a number by memory.
"Mike, it's me," he rasped, wincing when the man's enthusiastic greeting almost sent him reeling, "yeah, listen, I'm headin' into town, get the place ready for me, will ya'?"
He heard the affirmative answer and hung up, dialing a second number to arrange for a cab. He wasn't so irresponsible as to drive in this state. Then one more call to arrange his flight.
Sometimes, he'd found, it was an advantage to own a private plane. Even if he rarely used it.
That done, Eliot allowed himself to rest for a few minutes, though it did nothing to ease the pain, and then stood when he received the call that his cab was waiting. He stood to get his own sunglasses, the ones made especially for such an occasion, and place Hardison's on the counter with a note for Parker, who would undoubtedly be breaking into his apartment soon looking for him.
The team sat around Nate's apartment one hour and ten minutes after his outburst. Hardison sat at the kitchen table, surfing the internet. Sophie sat across from him, pretending to read a book and Nate stared at the television where a game of some kind was playing. They all looked up when Parker walked into the apartment, her hair braided in one messy plait on the side of her head, her black leggings and green tennis shoes shifting nervously on the floor.
"What is it Parker?" Sophie asked, both she and Nate standing to meet her.
"I think Eliot's gone."
This brought Hardison's head up sharply and Nate and Sophie both converged on the small thief near the door.
"What do you mean, 'gone'?"
Parker held up a torn piece of white paper. "This was on his counter."
Sophie reached out, taking the note to read aloud, "Taking a few days off. Be back before the week is up. Don't worry."
"Short and not sweet," Hardison said from the couch, "sounds like Eliot."
"These are yours." Parker tossed Hardison's sunglasses at him and dropped with a huff into one of the black chairs, wrapping her arms around her knees.
Hardison gave her a wary look while he assessed his sunglasses for damage. "You didn't pocket them." It wasn't really an accusation, more of an observation.
"Not in the mood," mumbled Parker, dropping her chin to her arms.
Nate and Sophie exchanged a glance. The grifter was already worrying her bottom lip and Parker was pouting.
Nate took a deep breath and raised his hands in a calming motion, "Now c'mon guys, Eliot said not to worry. He's a big boy, he can take care of himself."
"He collapsed, Nate," Parker said scornfully, cutting a glare in his direction.
"Yeah, man, he really didn't look good," Hardison added.
Nate reached up to pinch the bridge of his nose and Sophie stepped in, seeing emotions teetering close to the edge.
"Look, let's all just calm down, yeah? We'll do as Eliot says. Give him a few days, if he doesn't contact us…we'll look for him. How does that sound?"
She looked around at them."Okay then," she nodded, putting her hands on her lips. "How about some breakfast then?"
She turned toward the kitchen and Nate left the room by way of the spiral staircase. Hardison turned back around and shrugged at Parker, who rewrapped her arms around herself and frowned, biting her lip as she mumbled petulantly, "Eliot always makes breakfast."
TBC- go ahead, tell me what you thought. I want to know. Really I do.