Who: Eliot Spencer/Open if Candy or Iggy or Sophie or anyone at Sam's bedside wants to intercept him. What: A narrative: Eliot needs to work off some raw energy Where/When: Around town/Today Warnings: Not really
He'd been restless before they even made it to Vegas. He hated the sit he had to wear, hated the flashiness of the city. The wedding had gone off without a hitch, Nate and Sophie were finally married. Hardison and Parker were married. Eliot had a hard time wrapping his head around that.
The girls, though determined to party all night long after the wedding, had finally crashed. Eliot had taken them back to the hotel room, and that was when Sam was hurt. Eliot hadn't had time to react properly, by his standards. He'd had to think about the girls and Candy and Nate and Iggy and everyone but Eliot.
Sam was awake, and apparently suffering amnesia. Iggy was with him, Candy was there, Nate was on his way. Eliot dropped the girls at a local day care, so maybe they'd have a chance to be normal little girls for a little while. They needed that. Being cooped up in a hotel room wasn't good for anyone, no matter what the situation.
After he dropped the girls off, Eliot drove over to the hospital. He didn't go inside. He sat in the car for a good ten minutes before he opened the door. By then, sweat dampened his shirt and his hair. He usually pulled his hair back when he fought, and he wrapped it in a hair band without thinking. He had no intention of going inside the hospital just then.
He started walking. They were in Vegas. he had no doubt he could find some seedy character to smack around. It didn't take long. Not even a black from the hospital, he witnessed some loser grab a woman's purse. She screamed, and the man that was with her cowered. Eliot didn't bother to watch them further, it was the purse snatcher he wanted.
Ten minutes later, he returned the woman's purse. He had a fat lip, and a cut over his eye. The other guy was on the ground, writing in pain. Hitting him had been the release Eliot needed. He was a hitter, he'd been groomed to fight. Fighting was his release. He didn't fight for the raw power of it, most of the time it wasn't about the fight at all. He used violence as an acceptable response. Having a worthy opponent made all the difference.
Idiots who grabbed purses and ran, those were the worst opponent; they generally didn't know how to fight. At the moment, Eliot didn't care. he needed to unleash the raw energy inside him. Ideally, he needed to spar. He needed someone who knew his strength and could match him blow for blow. There wasn't time for that.
After returning the woman's purse, and blowing off her professions of gratitude, Eliot sought out another victim. He observed some kind of transaction in an alley behind a restaurant. Deeming it on the illegal and immoral side based on the thugs walking away with smug looks and a wad of cash, Eliot took on all three of them at once. That was more like it. He disabled guns and doled out crushing blows from both his fists and his feet. It didn't take long to dispatch the trio, but the effort left Eliot winded and limping. He barely noticed.
He left the scene just as a crowd was starting to gather. He'd left the three thugs in a dog pile, and not one of them was conscious. The crowd stared, but parted as Eliot pushed his way through. No one wanted to be the next victim.
He made his way back to the hospital. Candy had said whoever didn't understand his need to hit something could go to hell. The words echoed and weighed heavy on his mind, but he couldn't worry about it. He was who and what he was, and he was a hitter, a fighter. He needed the fight, sometimes, to settle his nerves. Not a usual coping mechanism, but Eliot wasn't like other people.
He grabbed his bag from the car, and went inside. He brushed past a nurse who looked at him with a wide eyed, gaping look. He sneered at the bathroom's one occupant and the man backed out without washing his hands. Eliot avoided meeting his own eyes in the mirror, focusing on washing the blood from his face and hands. He changed his clothes, stuffing the bloody shirt and jeans in his bag. He pulled his hair out of the pony tail, finger combed it out, and headed upstairs to Sam's room.