Work Text:
Coping Mechanisms
Eliot had to get out.
He knew the team cared about him and were only trying to take care of him. Some things he had to work through on his own.
Putting on one of Paker’s spare harnesses with a recently dislocated shoulder was not the most comfortable thing he had ever done.
To be fair it wasn’t the least comfortable thing he’d done either. That title was reserved for trudging through a swamp with attack dogs on his trail or listening to Sophie sing in The Sound of Music. Depended on the day.
He idly wondered if Parker had an extra rig stashed in each of their apartments. He had never seen one in his apartment.
As it was, he was glad this one was tucked away in Nate’s closet. Going out the front door was out of the question. He had 24/7 surveillance downstairs.
Yes, he was hurt. But they’d never understand that his skin itched with the need to move. The flesh of his arms felt tight to the point of bursting. If he could claw at them, it might feel better. But the team would notice that.
Here we go. Eliot opened the window, climbed out, and rappelled down the side of the building.
.
.
.
Three hours later, Eliot stood underneath Nate’s bedroom window looking at the side of the building. He didn’t exactly know why he was surprised that the rope was gone. He knew on some level that one of the team would come to check in on him and know what he’d done.
Not that he could have gone back the way he came. His shoulder ached before. Now it positively burned with tendrils of pain snaking down his arm.
He licked the split in his lip. Only one thing to do.
Eliot tamped the nausea back down and walked inside the empty bar. There was no way he would make it upstairs without being spotted. May as well face the music.
He made it all the way to Nate’s apartment door without seeing a member of the team. The doorknob turned under his hand, and he knew his luck had run out.
The door swung open, and he stood face to face with a wide eyed Hardison. “Eliot Spencer! Do you have any idea how worried we were? I mean...you’re hurt. Just the other day we rescued you from some bad, horrible, nasty people. You were...you were in a bad way, man. Now you’re out traipsing around. Rappelled down the side of a damn building!”
High heels clicked across the room. “Eliot! Oh my god. We were so worried. We saw the rope leading from the window and-” She finally took in his appearance. “What happened to you? Have you...you’ve been fighting!”
Eliot felt uncharacteristically chagrined. “Well...I-”
“Come in here this instant.” Sophie’s tone left no room for discussion. She grabbed his good arm and pulled him inside the apartment. “Sit. Now.”
Eliot let himself be pushed down onto Nate’s couch. Again.
In a flurry of activity, Sophie sat on the coffee table in front of him with a bowl of water and a cloth. She gripped his chin in her hand and tilted his head at the perfect angle to dab at his bleeding lip.
Her eyes locked onto his. The pain in them made him look away. “Sophie-”
“No. No, Eliot. No excuses, man! You sneaked out of the apartment. You’re hurt. We just got you back a few days ago. And you left. Not a word to anybody.” Hardison was in no mood for discussion. “We didn’t know where you were. Anything could have happened to you, and we wouldn’t have known where you were.”
“We were all worried.” Sophie dabbed at a cut near his eye. “I don’t know if this is a new one or if an old one got reopened,” she whispered.
“Look, I didn’t mean to worry anybody. I just needed to get out.”
“With the kinds of injuries you got? Are you trying to get yourself killed?” Hardison crossed his arms over his chest. Waited for a suitable response.
“Don’t be so dramatic, Hardison. I went out. Got a beer. Somebody started something.” He shrugged his good shoulder.
“Dramatic? Dramatic? You got into a fight. After being kidnapped, beaten, tortured...you go out and get into a bar fight!” He ticked off his points, holding up fingers as he went.
Eliot got to his feet. “I’m fine. Okay? I don’t need everyone mothering me. I need to go home. I’m fine. I get around fine. Can take care of myself.”
“Then why did you come back here?” Nate studied Eliot over his coffee mug. “I mean if you’re doing so well...could’ve just gone straight home.”
Damn him and his logistics.
Because I’ve traded one cell for another. But, of course, Eliot couldn’t say that. Instead, his boots clanged on the metal stairs as he retreated to the bedroom.