About five minutes later, Eliot felt the vibration of his cell phone. There was a text message for him from Vance. Eliot smiled a bit, then texted a quick reply.
"Keep heading this way. About thirty miles into Virginia is a small "mom and pop" motel – The Three Bear Inn – go there," Eliot told Hardison.
"The Three Bear Inn?" Hardison questioned sarcastically as he drove. "Well we got Goldilocks in the back seat and you sure are grumpy enough to be Papa Bear…"
"So you can be my little Baby Bear, Hardison!" Parker exclaimed, using a babyish voice from the back seat, rubbing the back of Hardison's head.
"Nuh-uh!" Hardison retorted. "I ain't nobody's little baby – not even yours, Parker!"
"I guess that leaves Mama Bear, then," she shot back, giggling.
Eliot closed his eyes and once again tried to shut the pair out for a bit. The wounds were becoming painful and uncomfortable. Every time he moved in the seat, he jostled either the shoulder or the leg. He was starting to feel bad about stealing the car now, as the seat he was in was going to be unsalvageable due to the blood stains he was leaving. He reached down to his left leg and pressed lightly with his hand, trying to be subtle and not worry his teammates.
…..
Hardison found the surprisingly non-descript motel about half an hour later. Parker got them a first floor room with two queen beds. Hardison was be happy to find The Three Bear Inn's accommodations included free wi-fi and cable TV and was in an area where they could have take-out delivered.
When Parker came back to the car she and Hardison helped Eliot get out of the car.
"You really need to go to a hospital, Eliot," Hardison remarked, slinging his friend's left arm over his shoulder.
"No. No hospital," Eliot protested, his stubbornness giving him some strength. "Just need to lie down and sleep for a while. I'm wiped out."
"Stubborn fool," Hardison muttered, unhappy, but still willing to appease Eliot as he walked him to the room.
Parker, who had been on Eliot's other side, let go of his waist once they were in the room. She shut the door behind them and quickly moved to the first bed, pulling down the covers.
"Put the shower curtain down first; then cover it with a sheet," Eliot instructed. He'd already made a mess in the car. He didn't want to ruin the motel room.
Hardison wanted to protest – he felt how much weight Eliot was letting him carry, he didn't think Eliot could wait too much longer before he'd collapse.
"Won't take her that long," Eliot muttered, feeling Hardison's body language protest.
And it wasn't. Parker, too, knew how long Eliot would last being held up by Hardison. She made quick work of the bed, spreading out the shower curtain and covering it with a sheet. She also dumped a pile of towels at the bottom of the bed.
Hardison helped Eliot hop over to the bed and to sit down, wincing himself when Eliot let out a loud groan.
Eliot closed his eyes tight as he clenched his teeth, trying not to let out the scream of pain that was trying to get out. He hated it enough that Hardison and Parker had to hear the groan he'd let escape.
"Easy, man," Hardison soothed, lifting Eliot's legs up onto the bed and helping him to lie down.
"Parker, go ditch the car," Eliot ground out. It was a necessary thing to do, so they wouldn't be found out, and he didn't want her around when he'd be stripping down to get to his wounds.
Parker was about to protest when Hardison told her, "He's right, Mama. You go on. I got 'im."
She nodded her head and moved to the door. Turning back, she said, "I won't be long."
After the door was closed, Hardison turned back to Eliot, who was now shaking with the effort of holding in the pain. "Let it go, El," he told his friend. "We're good."
"Need to cut off the bandages and clothes," Eliot told him, pulling out a pocket knife and ignoring Hardison's offer to let out a scream or two. "Use direct pressure on my leg. Tie the towels down tight."
Hardison made quick work of cutting off Eliot's pants leg, using the knife efficiently. He threw the bloodied cloth and bandages into a garbage can and grabbed two of the hand towels. He maneuvered one of them under Eliot's leg, at the exit wound and put the other on top at the entrance wound and pressed down hard, forcing Eliot to finally let out the scream he'd been holding.
"Feel better now?" Hardison asked, using the belt he'd taken off his own pants to tighten the makeshift bandages on Eliot's leg.
"Yeah, much," Eliot replied with a snarl. "If it bleeds through, add another towel," he told Hardison, bringing the conversation back to the task at hand and away from pain or feelings.
"You bleed through, and I'm calling an ambulance," Hardison muttered to himself, moving to the other side of the bed, to get to Eliot's shoulder wound.
"Same thing up here," Eliot said with a gasp, as Hardison's movement jarred the bed.
"Yeah, yeah, I got it."
Again, Hardison made quick work of Eliot's clothing, not bothering to try to save any of it – they would buy more. Putting more towels to work, Hardison realized, unhappily, that he was getting too used to this idea of cleaning up Eliot's blood; that while he didn't like doing it, he was doing it none-the-less.
…..
By the time Parker made it back to the room, Eliot was asleep. Parker moved to pull the covers up a little higher over him, to just under his chin. He moved his head to the side and moaned quietly under her touch, but did not awaken.
"He says he's fine," Hardison muttered, replying to her unasked question.
"Then he is," Parker said back to him, moving over to sit on the other bed. She saw that Hardison had put all the bloodied clothes and bandages into a plastic bag and was continuing to clean up the room a bit.
Hardison looked at Parker and moved over to the bed and sat on it, next to her. After she looked into his eyes, and he saw the weariness and worry, he opened his arms and pulled her into an embrace, brushing his hand through her hair and down her back. "He'll be fine. Our turn to take care of him," he told her.
"He's never been shot before."
"Not with us, no," Hardison responded. "But he's been shot before." He saw the scars on Eliot's body as he'd bandaged him. "So he knows what he can handle. He says he'll be fine, then I believe him." Hardison wasn't totally sure of that statement, but he wanted to be, for Parker's sake.
The two had been sitting quietly in each other's arms for about a half an hour or so, when they were startled by a knock on the door. They looked at each other, shrugging – signaling that neither knew who would know they were there. Hardison quickly checked the room – making sure the bag of bloody bandages was out of sight and Eliot was still covered up with the blanket. As he went to the door, Parker stood to the side, holding up a metal garbage can from the room, ready to hit whoever was there, if necessary.
A second set of knocks came and Vance's voice, announcing himself. "Come on Parker, Hardison; open up. I've got medical supplies for Spencer," he told them.
Hearing that, Hardison quickly opened the door and ushered in Vance and another man. The other man, while not dressed in uniform, was obviously military.
"How'd you find us?" Hardison asked, afraid that his own tactics and measures were countered by the government worker.
"This is Joe Gravers," Vance said, nodding to the other man. Looking at Parker, who was now standing between the two newcomers and Eliot, he added, "He's a medic. We're here to help."
"And again?" Hardison asked, wanting to ask how they were found.
"I'm the one who told Spencer to come here," Vance replied as he and Gravers moved to either side of Eliot. "Told him if I didn't hear from him in an hour, we'd come out to check on him."
Hardison nodded, glad that they hadn't somehow been tracked. Then he shook his head as he looked at Eliot; the man had had a plan. He and Parker moved back and watched as the two military men began taking care of Eliot.
Eliot had been startled and if he'd had the strength would have come up swinging, when the blanket was pulled down and he'd heard non-Parker and non-Hardison voices.
"Easy, Spencer," Vance soothed. "Just Gravers and me."
"Gravers… hell of a name… for a medic," Eliot mumbled, cracking his eyes open, looking at the men, making sure they were who they said they'd be.
The medic smiled back at his patient, saying, "That joke never gets old, Spencer. Now shut up and let me work."
Parker and Hardison looked at each other, shrugging at the banter, but found themselves relaxing. Eliot trusted these two, so they would, too. They watched as the two men worked, stripping Eliot of what was left of his clothing and inspecting the towel bandages that Hardison and Eliot had put on.
"They both have exit wounds, like I told you," Vance told Gravers.
"Yeah, so no bullet retrieval, but I want to irrigate and clean 'em both out. Clothing threads are bitch, wind up causing infections and shit," Gravers responded.
It was then obvious that the last statement was for Parker and Hardison's benefit. Vance looked to them and asked, "Think you can get another dozen towels or so? Frank, the owner of this place; he'll have some at the office, no questions asked."
"I'll get them," Parker said, halfway to the door already.
"This a regular place for you then?" Hardison asked Vance. He wondered how many other wounded men, like Eliot, Vance had sent here.
Vance, picking up on Hardison's hard tone, replied, "No. I just know the owner."
"Vance, give me a hand here," Gravers called, bringing the colonel's attention back to Eliot. It was then obvious that Vance had some medical training, too, as he was the one that started an IV in Eliot's left hand while Gravers was listening to Eliot's breathing.
Parker had brought the extra towels and she and Hardison sat and watched the two men work on their friend. Eliot had struggled, and cried out in pain at first, as Graver started cleaning out the bullet wounds, but then Vance added a narcotic to the IV. Soon, their friend's pain decreased and he fell into a drug induced sleep.
"Isn't too bad," Graver said to the pair watching. "Sometimes the bleeding takes the debris with it. And Spencer knows his limits. He also knows when he's got friends backing him up." Then he looked at Vance. "And sometimes not-quite friends."
Vance smirked at that and came back with, "Get back to work. I'm not paying you to talk, Gravers."
"You're not paying me for my medical skills, either," he replied.
"I'm sure Spencer will come up with something."
"If he doesn't, we will," Parker spoke up, looking at Gravers.
He smiled back at her. He'd gotten the low-down on this group on the drive with Vance. He had no doubt that he'd find some extra funds in his bank account by the time he next checked it. Not that he was expecting it, or would demand it. He still owed Eliot a few debts.
…..
When all was done, they carried Eliot over to the other, clean, bed and settled him in, again covering him up to the chin with extra blankets. By his count, Hardison saw that Eliot was on his fourth bag of IV fluids.
Parker helped Vance removed the dirtied sheets and shower curtain from the first bed. Vance grabbed the plastic bags they'd filled and left the room, saying he'd be back. And within ten minutes, he was, with an armload of clean linens and a new shower curtain.
Hardison offered to take them and put them to use.
"Frank said we're good here for the next few days," Vance said.
"Hard part'll be keeping Spencer down that long," Gravers added with a smile.
"You do know our boy very well," Hardison remarked.
"Got any good stories for us?" Parker asked, a little chipper in her voice, knowing that Eliot has been tended to by professionals and they weren't worried.
"Anything we'd tell you is classified," Vance replied.
"And anything not classified will get our asses kicked," Gravers said from his seat next to Eliot's bed.
"Yeah, we know," Parker sighed, disappointed.
Vance went to the door again. "I'll be back in a bit. I'll bring some dinner." Before anyone could put in requests or even protest, he was gone.