Chapter 7
"Come on Sparky, up and at 'em. The Doc said we can take you out for a walk... roll."
Eliot's eyes slowly cranked open; they were thankfully shielded from the bright sunlight by the shadow standing over him. He'd had a rough sleep, like most nights, due to the nerves waking up in his arm and leg. He used the TENS machine for thirty minutes before going to bed, but it only took some of the pain away temporarily. He wondered if keeping the ability to eat was worth not being on stronger pain meds.
"Wha...?"
"I am so sorry, El." A wild grifter flew into the room. "She was so excited that she just ran off without us." Parker was about three seconds away from jumping onto the bed when Sophie pulled her into a nearby chair. "The doctor gave us permission to take you out for some fresh air today. The nurse should be here with a wheelchair any minute."
He faked a look of mild enthusiasm, anything greater would read as suspicious to the seasoned grifter, but he didn't want them seeing just how uninterested he really was. It was a big deal for them, him getting out of that room for a bit, but to him, it meant nothing because he still couldn't take himself out of there.
When the nurse came, she gave Eliot a round of pain meds and started listing off instructions to the two women in the room. They needed to look out for signs of him being in too much pain and there were certain things that they needed to avoid so as not to set him back in his recovery. Once that was sorted, she started the tedious task of moving him into the chair.
Even with the painkillers, moving the right side of his body resulted in a boatload of agony. To start with, they had to remove the device that kept his blanket from making any kind of contact with his leg. The nurse was well trained and very rarely bumped him when moving the thing, but no one was perfect and she still managed to catch him slightly. It wouldn't matter much anyway, as the next step involved her lifting the damaged limbs as he tiredly shuffled over to the edge of the bed. It felt like a fire was lit under his skin, he was surprised that his skin hadn't turned red from the burning sensation. He was left sitting there for a moment while he caught his breath. The hitter couldn't quite hold himself up though so the nurse kept a hand pushed against the centre of his back. After a minute, Sophie had to step in so the nurse could fetch a sling for his arm, she didn't want to risk it falling and getting caught on a wheel, so instead, the arm had to be pinned to his chest as tightly as possible. The final step was to transfer him into the chair. It was a group effort with Parker holding the wheels still, whilst Sophie and the nurse pulled him up and into the seat. As soon as his leg was strapped into a brace that kept it straight, he was ready to go.
"Right Sparky, lead the way." The thief jumped behind the hitter and waited for him to move.
"Umm, Parker... You do know that he can't move, right?"
"Yeah he can, I've seen him do it before."
The grifter shook her head.
"That was when I had two hands, Parker. If I tried to do that now, I'd just end up goin' round in circles." It was an embarrassing picture that he really hated having to paint. At least in the past he'd been able to escape from the hospital when he'd busted his leg, but now, he actually needed permission or a willing accomplice to complete the task. "Soph, do you mind pushin' me. I've already fell victim to Parker's drivin' and I don't think I could cope with that again." He'd said it like a joke but was honestly quite worried over the idea of being pushed around by the Tasmanian Devil.
She agreed and slowly started to wheel him out of the room.
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Outside they met up with Nate and Hardison, both of which carried a number of drinks in their hands. The smell was quite pleasant, obviously not from the hospital cafeteria then.
"Hey man, I got you a herbal tea. We checked with the doc and he said you could have this kind because it didn't have caffeine in it."
Eliot's left hand had been cleared for duty last week so he'd had the brace removed allowing its full use again. It was still a bit stiff but at least he could hold a cup now.
"Did you manage to figure out why that guy recognised me?" The hitter spoke as if he was asking about their weekend plans.
"Yeah, turns out one of his men worked security for a mark we hit a few years ago. It took him a while but he soon realised you were the guy that beat him up and got him fired." The hacker looked guilty as he inspected the contents of his cup. "I'll make sure to keep a database of security guys we've gone against from now on."
Eliot knew that this wasn't Hardison's fault, that he should be reassuring the younger man of that fact. But the resentment that had been building up inside him was too strong and he couldn't find the willpower to beat it down. So instead, they just sat there in silence.
"How's the physio going?" Nate changed the subject. "Started getting any movement back in your arm and leg?"
The hitter sighed, "a bit." He looked down at his splinted wrist. "I can wiggle them some, but ain't been able to lift them any." He turned to face the group again but his eyes didn't follow. "They said it would probably take a while before I start getting' any range of motion, and I may never get back to fully functioning."
"What does that mean?" The hacker asked, the guilt still not cleared from his voice.
Eliot shrugged and winced slightly at the pull on his arm. "That I'll be weaker, more prone to falls and droppin' things."
The group fell silent again, no one wanting to touch that with a ten-foot pole.
Sophie quickly plastered a smile on her face. "But we don't know if that will be the case yet. You still have every chance that this will fix itself in time."
A breeze blew by causing a painful shiver to travel around Eliot's body.
"Do you mind takin' me back in now? I'm pretty cold and I don't want the flu on top of all this."
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Back in his room, Eliot had to be checked for any cuts or injuries, just in case he didn't notice something when it happened, something that could get infected. It was possible that this would be his future now and he hated it. After the nurse left, Eliot decided he would try to get some sleep.
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"Do you know why you have been called for a disciplinary hearing, Spencer?" A tall man in army fatigues and an impressive number of stripes asked the much younger man.
"Because I disobeyed a direct order from my superior whilst on the battlefield." The young man spoke clearly and without fear of reprimand.
"And what was the command?"
"To retreat sir."
"And why was that command given?"
"Because the situation got too dangerous and an airstrike had been called."
"So why did you choose to disobey that order?"
"Because a number of good men would be left behind." A flicker of emotion had managed to break through his stony expression.
"Were those men alive when you went back for them?"
"They were not, sir."
"Then was it worth the risk of another soldier's life, especially one as high ranking as you, to go back in for a dead body."
"I believe it was sir." Spencer was known for his stubbornness; it was what got him this far in the first place.
The older man shook his head and turned to the man standing next to him. "I'll leave this to you, Vance."
The man nodded and threw the young soldier an annoyed scowl.
"Right then, Spencer..."
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It didn't look to be too much later when his eyes opened again. Something had woken him up, something familiar, something... Oh, lunch. Most people complained about hospital food, but when you've lived off rations or eaten a rat you found in your cell, well, hospital food seems pretty decent. Eliot was certain that the nurses were trying to flirt with him, no matter which one was on duty he always got an extra pudding. He should probably ask them to stop, he'd already succumbed to boredom eating during the day, snacks happily provided by Parker and Hardison. He mused about all the exercises he would need to do to get back in shape, but then he thought... why do you need to get back in shape? It ain't like you'll be any use to anyone. That notion sat comfortably inside his head as he took the extra dessert and ate it with contempt.
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"How are you feeling today, Mr Krane?"
It must be a Wednesday. Dr Davis always checked in on him during his longer shifts on Wednesday afternoons. Obviously, he came more often than that, but those visits always came with tests or physio appointments. This, however, was just a quick check in to assess his mental state, and see if there was any decline in the patient's mood. It was a good technique if your patient wasn't a grifter. Eliot knew how to fluctuate his behaviour to a believable amount that wouldn't set any alarm bells off. Take today, for example, today Eliot was feeling "not great, the walk was nice but it was embarrassing being pushed around." A totally understandable response, and much better than, "fucking horrible. I hate seeing my friends and their happy faces when they tell me how good I'm doing. I hate listening to their constant talk about the future and how everything will be back to normal when I know my life is well and truly over." Telling him that would be like asking for a one-way ticket to the psych ward.
"Was it alright, being in the wheelchair? Was the pain in your arm and leg manageable?"
What could he say? "The pain was fine, as long as I didn't move faster than a snail. As long as my leg and arm were tied down as tight as possible, which fucking hurt by the way. As long as there wasn't a breeze causing my body to shake then spasm because I can't wear anything longer than a pair of shorts." He was starting to piss himself off with his inner monologue whining all the time.
"Gettin' in was tough, but I could just about cope for an hour or two."
The doctor picked up his coat ready to leave but paused for just a second. "Is there anything you want to ask? Anything that we could do to make you more comfortable."
"Shoot me and get it over with."
"I think I'm good, doc."
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God, he loved this machine. It was the one point in his day when he could just relax and forget everything. For thirty minutes he was free from the pain, free from the constant pep talks, free from the reminder that his life would never be the same again. Soon he would start drifting off, hopeful that he wouldn't wake when the nurse came to switch the machine off.
Wonder what memory I'll be subjected to tonight?
They seem to be switching between his worse moments and the good times he gave up. How many times do you think a person can get PTSD? Has it just been one long case stemming back from his army days, constantly re-upped like a subscription service? Or was it multiple bouts, each one with a new cause? To be honest, he hasn't been right in the head for a long time. Even before he went off to fight for his country. He'd never been diagnosed, never let it get that far, he just knew that it was pretty clear, if only to himself, how screwed up he was.