Chapter 10
He woke up a couple of hours later to the strong smell of slightly burnt garlic bread wafting through the apartment. The fact that it was only slightly overcooked meant that it was Nate in the kitchen, as the others had a tendency to cause small fires whenever an oven was involved. The hitter sighed and contemplated the fact he'd be stuck with the team's mediocre cooking. He hoped they had the good sense to monitor Hardison's and Parker's contributions because if not, they'd be living off junk food and sugar for the foreseeable future.
Eliot tried to pull himself up, but he was no longer used to lying flat at night and he hadn't the strength yet to lift himself upright. He attempted to push up using both arms, but his right side just collapsed under him.
He knew what he needed, and it was staring him right in the face.
Hooked onto the side of his bed frame was a rectangular device that looked kind of like a tv remote. It was in fact, the controls for his bed that he'd been taught to use earlier that day. It was a pretty simple layout, with diagrams showing what each of the buttons moved and in which directions. The hitter knew exactly what button to press to raise the back of his bed into a sitting position... but he was not pressing it. Instead, he glared at the contraption for five whole minutes, willing it to explode into a million pieces. He hated the thing, and what it represented. He was only in his thirties; he shouldn't need a special bed to get up in the morning. Just a few months ago he'd been launching himself out of bed at the crack of dawn and starting his exercise routine. Everday, forty sit-ups without breaking a sweat, but now, he couldn't even do half of one to get himself out of this stupid bed.
The hitter could hear Nate's slow and heavy footsteps coming down the hall. He could always tell which member of the team was approaching by the sound of their footfall. Sophie was easy because of the distinctive sound her heels made on the hardwood floor. Hardison had loud steps like Nate but they were faster and often paused as if he was unsure of the destination. Parker's were almost silent, and if it wasn't for his training, he wouldn't have been able to hear her at all. So yeah, it was definitely the mastermind that was making his way to the makeshift bedroom.
Eliot didn't want his boss and friend seeing him as he lay helplessly in bed. So as much as he'd been cursing the device, the hitter picked up the bed's controls and pushed down on the red arrow button.
As Nate walked in, he could hear the mechanical sound coming from the bed. His teammate was lying on his good arm as he awkwardly used the knuckle of his right hand to trigger the bed into moving.
"Do you need a hand getting into your chair?"
Eliot grunted pushing his bad leg over the lowered safety rail. He hadn't bothered raising the bed earlier so it was still at the right height for an easy transition. The hitter lined up the chair so it would only take a short shuffle to get him seated in it, and the breaks were set to make sure that it wouldn't roll away as he moved.
"You're getting pretty good at that," the mastermind commented as he moved closer to the bed. "I made dinner. I wasn't sure if you'd want to eat in here or join us at the table?" His eyebrows drew in tight as he watched his friend struggle with the breaks release catch. Eliot was still having issues with grip strength in his right hand, and it was times like this that you could really see it. "Let me do that." Nate pretended not to see that look of disgust as he bent down to help, he'd gotten used to the hitter's need for independence even before the accident. He knew that the hate wasn't directed at him but it didn't make it hurt any less. "I don't think your hand is gonna be up to pushing you very far. Let me just wheel you to the table, you might find it improves once you're a bit more awake."
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Apparently, the table was new as well. Somehow, Hardison had managed to find one that fitted his wheelchair perfectly. It was also a lot closer to his room now, taking over the space where Nate's desk used to be. The two youngest members of the team were making idle chat whilst the others brought in food and drinks. Eliot just sat quietly, staring aimlessly from his place at the head of the table.
When the food was finally placed in front of him, the hitter couldn't help but notice the special cutlery that he'd also been given. He slowly picked up the knife with its overly thick red handle rolling it over in his palm.
"Doctor Davis suggested them," Sophie answered the unasked question. "He didn't want you getting upset if you couldn't perform ordinary tasks by yourself. This way you can still do things yourself without overexerting."
They all paused waiting for a response. It wasn't like their teammate had been talkative before the accident, but he would usually have something to contribute if given the chance. He looked down at the knife in his hand, flipping it a few times before grunting a quiet "thanks."
About fifteen minutes later, as Nate took his last bite of food, he noticed that Eliot was still only about halfway through his meal. He watched as the hitter awkwardly cut through his lasagne with the side of his fork, his knife long since abandoned at the side of his plate. From the way his arm sat lifelessly on top of the table, he could tell that Eliot's arm was hurting and that was why he'd given up on the knife.
"Eliot, would you like some help with that?" He nodded his head towards the plate, lifting his own knife in the process.
"No, I can manage." It came out a little harshly but no one took offence. They all knew that it was just his frustration bleeding out into his words.
"El," the grifter rubbed gently on his arm trying to still the fork as it sawed through layers of pasta. "Let us help you. You're just going to tire yourself out going on like this."
Without waiting for an answer, Parker leaned over and started cutting up the rest of his food into child-size pieces. "There you go, Sparky." She patted him a little too hard on his bad arm causing him to flinch. He didn't growl at her like he usually would have, an omittance the entire team managed to pick up on.
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They all waited for the last team member to finish eating. Sophie, Parker and Hardison sat talking about the latest upgrades Steranko had put in place after their last encounter, whilst Nate caught Eliot up on the latest hockey results. The hitter could almost forget how screwed up his life was now as he listened to the voices around him. They weren't the sympathetic tones of the nurses or the overly professional canter of the doctors, it was just his friends talking as they normally did. He had almost forgotten the accident as if it was just a bad dream, that was until he knocked over his drink. His grip hadn't been tight enough so the glass just slipped out of his hand, and all the memories from the last few months came flooding back.
"Shit! Sorry, let me just..." He went to roll himself over to the kitchen where paper towels were kept, but as he tried to push himself into reverse, he only succeeded in crashing his bad leg into a table leg. "FUCK!" The hitter doubled over in pain, his head crashing into the table and then staying there. Harsh breaths were pushed through his gritted teeth as he ground his aching forehead into the wood.
Nate grabbed the back of the wheelchair and pulled it back to face him in one smooth motion. "Are you ok, El? Where does it hurt?" The man didn't answer, just rubbed his face as he tried to force down the pain. "Tell you what... Let's just watch a movie tonight, all together like we normally would." The others yipped and bounced at the idea, each of them calling out a task they would complete. Eliot just nodded and let himself be pushed towards the couch.
The hacker was already setting up the TV when the wheelchair got pushed into view. Without hesitation, he got up and climbed over the low coffee table. Within seconds he had the hitter in his arms ready to transfer him onto the right side of the sofa.
"Hey man, any suggestions?" Hardison shook the remote above his head as he sat on the floor fiddling with a connector.
"You hate when I pick."
"That's because you never pick anything from this century."
"That's because I don't know any films from this century. I told you before, Hardison, I don't have tv, ergo no movies."
"But how have you not seen basic instincts? That came out in 92."
"Not many movie theatres in Iraq, Hardison." He sighed, shifting as he tried to make himself comfy. "Just let Parker pick."
"Fine," the hacker agreed as he slumped down in the chair closest to the tv.
Soon, Sophie and Nate joined Eliot on the sofa, handing out bowls of popcorn to everyone. They then waited for their resident thief to bounce through with her assortment of sweets and condiments that she would scatter across the table before sitting by her boyfriend's feet.
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"Hey, can you pass me the caramel sauce and some of those chocolate buttons?" The hitter leaned forward, pointing at the thief's hoard.
"Since when did you add stuff to your popcorn?" The grifter leaned over with an accusative gaze. "You always complain about those two and their poor eating habits." She tipped her head to the hacker and his girl as they cuddled on the smaller chair.
"I just fancied somethin' sweet is all. I don't gotta be perfect all the time." He sunk back into the chair after Parker had passed him what he asked for, drowning his popcorn with the sweet sauce.
Nate nudged his wife back into the sofa giving her a small shake of his head. It was going to be hard for Sophie to not point out all the little changes in Eliot's behaviour, her need for context often outweighing everything else. But the doctor had said how important it was that they didn't make the patient feel judged for any deviances from his usual self.
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By the time the movie finished, Eliot was softly dozing with his empty popcorn bowl balancing on his stomach. Nate considered leaving him there, just moving him slightly so he could lie flat. But he didn't want to risk him not having bed rails to stop him from falling. Besides, he needed to check the hitter's leg where he'd crashed into it earlier.
"El," he gently called out, making sure to keep a safe space between them. "El, I need to get you to bed. I don't want you sleeping out here."
Eliot opened his eyes but he still looked half asleep. His eyelids were sitting at half-mast, and his movements were slow and uncoordinated.
"Can you get into the chair, or do you need some help?"
Slowly, the hitter mumbled his way through a response, the gist of it being that he did need help both in and out of his wheelchair. Nate patted him on the shoulder before going to wake the hacker who had also drifted off during the film.
"Can you help me get El into bed?" Hardison nodded whilst rubbing the sleep from his eyes. After a huge spine cracking stretch, he made his way to his friend that was already starting to fall back to sleep. "Come on, El. Time for bed." Together they lifted him into the chair and pushed him back to his room.
As soon as the hitter's head hit the pillow, the hacker left him in Nate's capable hands.
"Busy day today." The mastermind stroked a few stubborn curls away from his friend's face, but they just sprang back again. "I know it was tough, and you don't like all the changes we had to make. But you will get used to it, and in time, some of this stuff might not be necessary. But until then, we just need to be patient and try our best to accept things. You're not alone anymore, Eliot, you have a team now that wants to help you but you have to let us. Hopefully, in the morning you'll have had but more time to adjust."