Holidays in Eden, Chapter 13

Title: Holidays in Eden
Author: yeahlev
Beta: weaselett

Rating: PG-13
Genre: Action Adventure, Friendship
Warnings/spoilers: Cursing.  Some violence, commensurate with what you see on the show.  Blatant use of geographical and place details as needed.  Set pre-series.
Word Count: 182,943
Summary: Before they were criminals with hearts of gold, they were Eliot Spencer, retrieval specialist trying to make a break from Damien Moreau, and Nate Ford, insurance investigator and family man.  When Nate needs back-up on a dangerous job, he hires Eliot.  They immediately dislike each other.  Then they run afoul of a cartel enforcer, and Eliot has to decide just how far removed he is from being the man he was with Damien.

CHAPTER 13

Guaviare Department, Colombia

October 2004

Day 7

It wasn’t the first time Eliot Spencer woke up in a hospital but it may have been the most surprising.  He was alone in a small room.  His wet, dirty clothes were gone, replaced by a hospital gown.  He was clean . . ish.  And his right leg was pain free.

(He had a faint throbbing somewhere deep in his skull, though, the way a concussion felt when it was tucked underneath a blanket of painkillers.)

He flung the sheet back and propped himself up on his elbows.  His right knee was in a brace, the leg elevated from thigh to foot.  His knuckles were scraped and bruised, and the muscles in his ribs pulled uncomfortably at the strain of sitting upright.

He laid back and pulled the sheet back over himself, staring at the ceiling and trying to think.  The last thing he remembered was the jungle, the traps he set for Ventura and his men.  Fighting.  Fighting with Ventura with a gimpy knee and a concussion and getting his ass kicked.

“Ah senor, you’re awake.”

Eliot turned to the doorway, and he blinked.  There was a soldier there, an officer, and suddenly a wave of recognition came over him.  It was Guitierrez, the soldier from their first day in Miraflores.

What the hell?

Eliot tried to keep his features still, but some confusion must have showed on his face, because Guitierrez smiled and moved to the foot of the bed, his long, thin fingers curling lightly around the rail.

“I was just stopping by to wish you beunos viajes.”

From the looks of him - the easy posture, the relaxed voice - it didn't seem to be a lie. Or at least, he didn't seem to have any nefarious intentions. Which still left the question of why he was there at all.

“ . . . thanks,” Eliot said.

“Don’t mention it.  You are a very lucky man, Mr . . . Spence.  Very lucky indeed.  If my men hadn’t found you when they did, Cesar Ventura probably would have skinned you alive.”

“Is that right?” Eliot said.  “I guess it’s lucky you were on patrol.”

Gutierrez’s smile changed, grew cagey.  “What makes you think we were on patrol?”

“I just figured, you know.  Why else would you guys be so deep in the jungle?”

“Hm,” he said, considering that.  “Yes, well.  One might ask the same question about a . . . sports agent.”

Eliot’s hackles started to rise a little at that, at the threat that seemed implicit there, but then Gutierrez laughed.  “Senor, I am not here to make trouble for you.  You must have taken quite a blow to the head, hm?  Don’t you remember when we found you?”

“I remember a few things,” Eliot said defensively.

Gutierrez smiled and turned towards the door. Whatever game he was playing, he seemed to be tiring of it.  “Any time you and Senor Gillis want to visit Colombia again, you are more than welcome in my territories.”  He smiled.  “I have found your visit quite . . . rewarding.”

“Gillis?”  Eliot asked, alarm bells going off.

“Yes, of course,” Gutierrez said without turning back around.  “How else would I have known you were in trouble? Or where to find you?  You have a good friend there, Spence.  Not many men would have done what he did for someone who was as good as dead.”

And then he was out the door, pulling it partially shut behind him.

*

Eliot lay in bed puzzling out what must have happened.  Ford had gotten back to San Jose and gone to the military before he went to the airport.  And he had managed to talk Gutierrez into going back for him.  The man sucked at jungle hiking, but he was smooth, Eliot had to give him that.  And he’d been able to orient himself enough along their trip to give the military accurate directions back to him, too.

He was listening to the noises outside in the hall when he heard the shuffling of feet across the floor and a voice.  A soft-toned, worn voice, with that slight nasal lengthening of the vowels.

“Excuse me,” he said in Spanish to someone outside.  “The nurse said you might have a phone I could use.”

Eliot shifted in bed, sitting up just enough to look out the crack in his room door, just in time to see Nate move past in the hallway to the security counter.  He looked freshly shaved and showered, his hair still wet and pushed back.  He wore a pair of track pants and a t-shirt and rubber sports sandals. Bandages were evident on his feet, on the worst of the cuts and scrapes on his face and neck, and his arm was in a sling.

He and the security guard spoke for a bit - exchanging pleasantries, Nate promising he would reverse the charges - and then the man lifted a phone onto the counter.  Eliot heard Nate pressing the buttons on the phone.


Heard him take a deep sigh, like he was preparing himself for the conversation he was about to have.

“Hey, it’s me,” he said, and then:  “No, no,  I’m okay.  I just, uh, I had no way to call, you know?  It’s a jungle down here.  Literally.”

There was a short silence, and Nate spoke again, a fond smile in his voice.  “Yeah?  I miss you, too.  I miss you both.  How’s Sam?”

Eliot shifted in his bed to get into a more comfortable position.  Nate had had his elbow on his counter, his head low and tilted against the receiver.

“Yeah, well, I’ve got some bad news about that,” he heard Nate say.  “I’m not going to make it in time . . . no, no, I’m fine, I promise you Maggie.  It’s just-” he sighed.  “Things got complicated.  I’m gonna catch a flight this afternoon, but it won’t put me back in LA until tomorrow morning.”

There was another silence, and Eliot knew that Maggie must have been telling him how disappointed Sam would be, because when Nate spoke again, there was a terrible sadness in his voice.

“I know.  I know he will.  I am too.”

Ford was silent again for a bit and then he laughed a bitter, rueful laugh.  “Nope.  No artifact either.  I’m a big 0-fer on this one.”

Eliot frowned. What?!? How could that be?  The croc was the one thing -

Then he remembered what Gutierrez had said, how he’d found their visit rewarding.

Then it struck him:  Gutierrez hadn’t marched a bunch of his men into the jungle out of the goodness of his own heart.  That man was motivated by one thing:  personal gain.  And there was only one thing of value that Ford had on him when he left Eliot in the jungle.


The crocodile.

Not many men would have done what he did for someone who was as good as dead.

Ford hadn’t sent Gutierrez and his men back into the jungle with directions.  It had seemed unlikely when he heard it, that Ford would have been able to provide them with the precise location.  And now he realized he’d been stupid to ever think that.

Ford hadn’t sent Gutierrez and his men back into the jungle with directions, because he'd led them back to Eliot himself.  And he’d missed his deadline - his son’s birthday - to do it.

The heavy weight of that knowledge settled in Eliot’s chest, and he laid back in the bed, head propped on the pillows again.

“I’ll tell you about it when I get home,” Ford was saying, “but I promise I had a very good reason for it. . . . look, let me tell Sam okay? . . . yeah, I love you, too.”

Ford was silent for a few seconds, but then he was talking again, a sudden exuberance in his voice.  “Hey buddy!  Happy birthday! . . . you excited for your party? . . . yeah? . . . that’s great, that sounds really cool . . .” his voice trailed off, and Eliot could almost feel the growing sadness even before he heard Nate speak again.

“Look about today, Sam.”  He took a deep breath.  “I’m not going to be able to be there today.”

Eliot sat up in bed again, to look out the door, and Nate's head was hanging low as he listened to his son’s response.

“I know buddy, I know I did, and I am so so sorry.  I just - . . . I know, I know.  But listen.  There was a man I was working with who got in trouble, okay?  He got hurt.  And if I hadn’t taken the time to help him, he might have gotten hurt a lot worse.  And I couldn’t just leave him and let him get hurt real bad.”

Eliot laid back and closed his eyes.

"I hope you can understand, buddy," Ford was saying. "If it had been anything else, anything, I would have been there."

Ford was silent for a moment, but then he was talking again, answering some question Sam had asked.

“Well, we were in the jungle - no, I didn’t see Tarzan.  But I saw monkeys and scorpions and men who lived in huts and had spears and poison darts that they blew out of these long tubes made of hollowed out limbs. . . Yes!  I’m telling you the truth . . . Look, I’ll tell you about it when I get home, I swear, but I’ve got to get going here, I’ve got a plane to catch. And when I get there, we’re going to do some fun things, just you and me, okay?  . .  great . . . I love you, too.”

Eliot let loose a deep sigh.

Sam must have asked him one last question, then because Eliot didn’t hear the phone hang up.  Instead, he heard Nate say, “What’s that buddy?  Oh.  Well.  Yeah.  Yeah, he is a friend.”

*

He’d left for the airport almost as soon as he got off the phone.  As he walked by Eliot’s room, the shuffling of his feet came to a stop, and Eliot closed his eyes, feigning sleep.

(Which definitely had nothing to do with the fact that he was not quite ready to see the man whose private conversation with his son he’d just eavesdropped on.)

The door creaked softly as Ford pushed it open, and Eliot heard him take three hesitant steps into the room, walking gingerly.  There was a silence, and Eliot could hear Nate breathing.  He could hear his own heartbeat in his ears.  Just as he was wondering whether Nate would try to wake him, the footsteps retreated, and the door creaked almost shut.