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Podfic length: 10:30 (no music), 11:38 (with music)
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Years of experience in active war zones and places that made Hell seem cozy had taught Eliot a lot of lessons. The kind of stuff that made all the difference, and separated those who survived from the bodies left behind in a desperate, mad dash for cover. One of the most important things on that laundry list of things was how to deal with the aftermath of shit.
Shit was the best thing to call it. That was the best term to encompass… everything. And there was so much shit.
Stopping a major bioterrorist attack was a first for him, but it was still just that. It was just shit.
It was a first for the others, too, though.
But somehow they were the ones helping him sneak into their hotel room and not the other way around, because he'd been hurt and… Well, that was okay. Better him than them. Always better him than them. So Eliot only rolled his eyes and didn't really argue when they said they were going to take him in through the back.
They didn't even have much of a plan, they just covered him in a freshly stolen coat and paid their way into the employee entrance. There was no way to tell what the hotel staff were thinking, but as long as they didn't see the blood, it should be fine.
"Y'know, it's almost like we're smuggling a pet into our room," Hardison commented as they made their way up to the room, one arm holding Eliot up while he typed away on his phone with the other hand. "Management gonna kick us out if they find your shaggy ass dog hair."
"Bloody dog hairs," agreed Parker, poking his head lightly. It wasn't her usual poking, though. She was never this careful with Eliot when he was hurt, and the difference made him uneasy, forcing him to contend with the seriousness of his injuries even before they started hurting properly.
"Good thing he doesn't need walkies," Hardison continued, checking outside before leading the way out of the elevator and into the room, where they deposited him on the nearest chair. Smart, fewer blood stains that way. "I'm gonna dip out and acquire some supplies so you can patch our puppy up."
"Hardison," Eliot groaned and tried very hard not to think of it as a growl because that would make this incredibly silly joke take root in his brain forever. His friend gave him that toothy grin and 'aw shucks' shit in response, but that too looked wrong - the shadow of worry on his face robbed Hardison of his usual ease. It was a forced version of something Eliot had grown used to and fond of, and the realization panged deep in his chest.
But then Hardison was out of the room, leaving Parker to peel off his bloody clothes and bandages. "Hold still," she ordered even though he didn't need the instructions, pulling out her knife to cut the fabric out of the way instead of trying to undress him. "I hate stitching other people up."
"Prefer to do it on yourself?" Eliot asked with a raised eyebrow. They were probably the only ones there with any real, extensive first-aid experience. The serious kind, the kind that took more than band-aids and butterflies. And she was doing a good job of cutting open his shirt and jeans, leaving him in only his underwear. Practical, methodical, serious. She kept her head in the game, just like him.
"No, it's just never a good thing when I have to play nurse," Parker replied with a sigh, taking the mess of bloody clothes to the bathroom and probably throwing them in the tub, by the sounds of it.
That was when the cold started to settle in. That was also when Hardison got back into the room, just in time to catch him shuddering with the first wave of his adrenaline crash.
"Hold up, here," he rushed to Eliot's side and threw his own jacket over his shoulders, like it would do anything. Before he could even argue about it, Hardison's mask broke a bit more. "Shit, no, that ain't--" and he grabbed the fucking duvet of the nearest bed - the one bed - to wrap around him, fussing like a grandmother.
"You realize I need to stitch him up, right?" Parker asked, butting in, and her tone was shakier too. Coming down from it, Eliot belatedly realized, and ignoring her own needs to care for him. Even her hands, always so strong and steady, trembled minutely as she set about threading a needle to put through his skin. It would be impossible for him to miss it from up so close. "Get us-- get him a snack, something sweet," she ordered without taking her eyes off the work she was doing. "Chocolate, I don't know."
"Gotcha," Hardison replied, gathering whatever he could find on top of the mini-fridge, then ordering food for the room.
Eliot couldn't pay attention anymore at that point. The pain of three gunshot wounds and the exhaustion of saving a city, possibly the entire country, from a terrible fate had caught up with him at last. His entire body ached, burning with exertion now that there was nothing there to numb it, and it was like he could feel each and every pull of Parker's needle through his skin.
But what got to Eliot was seeing them fret over him, ignoring their own distress to make sure he was okay. They were all wrung out and drained, in desperate need of rest and food and air that never seemed to fill their lungs completely now that the action was over. But his teammates were putting his needs ahead of their own. Eliot, who was supposed to be the muscle. Eliot, whose job was to fight and get beat up in their place, to take the brunt of the damage, to withstand the abuse so that the rest of his crew could do their jobs right. Eliot, who'd promised himself not to be this guy way back when, after his service, after seeing enough pain and death for a few lifetimes.
At some point all of that had changed.
He couldn't tell when, exactly, they had truly become a team. Sometime before they parted, when things were still tentative and weird. But between then, the moment when Eliot decided to really give this crew a chance, and whatever this was… Something else had changed. He had changed, and so had his friends, because they'd long stopped being only teammates.
They were family.
Nate, Sophie, these two doofuses and him.
They were his to protect.
And he was supposed to be disposable, not… loved.
Eliot knew that they cared, that they cared above and beyond the close knit relationship of an established and seasoned crew. He'd known it was more than friendship since Nate handcuffed himself to that ship and forced them all to accept that they were in this for the long run, mastermind included - that it wouldn't last just while they ran jobs together.
But that was them all, the five of them.
This was them, and it meant something else entirely that Parker was treating him like he was precious, that Hardison wasn't cracking any jokes at his expense anymore. There was something brewing here, something that had started to turn very real and palpable a while ago and had condensed now, solidified under the pressure of this job.
Right then, at that moment, it dawned on him. Not the fact that Parker and Hardison cared about him, but the extent of their feelings, the true depth of their love. His friends, the closest people to his heart, whose warmth was the only thing that could soothe his shaking at that moment.
Eliot couldn't remember the last time he'd felt like this. The fear of losing them had been staggering in that train, when they were faced with death and failure. Now that they were safe, it made him sick with the realization of what it meant for them going forward.
"Done," Parker announced with a deep, ragged sigh as she sank back heavily on her chair, taking him out of his thoughts. Next to her, standing nearby to help like a good nurse, Hardison looked about as shaken as the time they dug him out of a coffin. "Eliot? What's wrong?" she asked, brows pinched. "You've got a weird… look on your face."
Oh.
In the short span of time necessary to get him properly patched up, the three of them had lost their masks. The same way Eliot couldn't help but see their concern for what it really meant, they must be able to see his troubled thoughts clear on his face. Maybe they would assume he was in more pain than he actually was, but maybe the shock of finding himself so deeply loved showed in his eyes against his will.
Either way, Eliot didn't want them to worry and this was not the time for that talk. And there would have to be a talk, because they were thieves and life was very dangerous for them even when they weren't getting tangled into stopping terrorist attacks. If nothing else, the three of them needed to be able to focus and do their jobs - they needed to know where each other stood on this and what they were, what this meant for their future.
Their future was a given. Eliot wasn't going anywhere, and neither were Parker and Hardison. That much had been set in stone for a while now, even if Nate should retire at some point and Sophie probably already had plans to make him.
"I'm fine," he replied after a beat too long, not really trying to sell it and knowing that they wouldn't buy it either. Instead of giving them an opening to fuss even more, Eliot grabbed some of the snacks that Hardison had piled up on the table. Someone had to take care of them, after all. "Eat something, will ya?" he grumbled, pushing some energy bars at them both while struggling back to his feet - even this, the fact that they reached out to help him and Eliot let them, accepted it, was delighted by it deep inside…
"Eliot," his friends started, but a smile shut them up.
"I'm gonna sleep now and you should too," he announced casually, dragging himself to the bed and falling into it with a loud groan. Sure, he was a bit careful not to undo all of Parker's hard work, but that shit was going to hurt either way. Experience told him that he needed rest more than he needed food right now and his body would shut down soon, demanding it, so being horizontal would speed up the process somewhat.
An untold amount of time later, Eliot felt shuffling and heard hushed voices, then the bed dipped on either side of him. His heart settled, too, once they were laying next to him. They were fine, they would be fine, and hopefully he wouldn't have to deal with the fear of losing them again anytime soon.