Work Text:
Dawn was breaking when Eliot Spencer arrived at the site of the new Orozco Healing Center. The debris from the explosion that had decimated the original structure had been cleared, the slab had been poured and more than half of the framing was up.
Eliot parked his orange Challenger and took his toolbox from the trunk. Other than the occasional con job, he’d done very little construction work, but Dr. Paul would have blueprints and a foreman on hand to make sure the work went smoothly. Eliot had all the required equipment, even a hard hat. All he needed was the muscle to swing a hammer and the mindset to turn the work into therapy… or so Dr. Paul said.
Paul and Mitchell Bukner were conferring under a tent a short distance away. The aroma of fresh coffee wafted its way toward Eliot. He’d have a cup and donut before he started.
‘Welcome!’ Dr. Paul called to him. ‘I was hoping you’d come.’
Paul handed Eliot a steaming cup and a croissant on a paper plate.
‘I couldn’t overpower such relentless arm-twisting,’ Eliot replied with a grin.
‘You remember Mitchell. Mitchell, this is Eliot Spencer. We served together.’
‘I do. Met him at your funeral - weird as hell saying that. Good to see you again.’ Eliot shook Mitchell’s hand, grinning. ‘Looks like you’ve made a lot of progress.’
‘Not as much as we’d hoped by now, but enough, I guess.’ Paul replied. ‘The new plans call for a second story and a gym, complete with running track. We’ll have free weights, Nautilus machines, a boxing ring, you name it. Hear the heavy equipment in the back?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Contractor’s digging us a lap pool. With the money you got for us to rebuild, we’re expanding. Show him the plans, Mitchell.’
Mitchell complied. ‘The second story will be a dormitory for homeless vets until we can get them back on their feet. Should be able to house about two hundred.’
‘Man, that’s great.’
‘Eliot’s done his own bit for vets returning from the service,’ Paul said. ‘A fleet of food trucks. We used to call ‘em roach coaches, remember, Eliot?’
‘That was at the base, man. Mine are a damn sight cleaner,’ Eliot grinned. ‘Hey - I’m ready to work. Show me where to start.’
‘Follow the sound of the hammers. Foreman’s there, he’ll show you.’
* * * * * * * * * *
The morning passed for Eliot in a very satisfying way - erecting wall studs, joining them to the joists, nailing the 2x6s to the sill plates and bracing, swinging his hammer for hours on end, sweating in the sun, thinking of nothing but sinking one nail after another into the thick boards. Dr. Paul was right. Never was his mind so clear. Nothing could have convinced him that such simple work could free his thoughts and give him such a sense of inner peace until he actually tried it. It was almost zen.
At the lunch break, sitting around with the guys, all of them veterans, of all ages, from the Vietnam era to the most recent skirmishes overseas, was another cathartic experience. Men from all walks of life with nothing in common except their service to their country, chatted together like lifelong friends, swapping stories, telling bawdy jokes, and occasionally sharing a memory. All of them now working together for a common goal, to give themselves and their fellow soldiers a place to share, a place to play, and a place to grieve, cry and heal.
Just before the hour was up, Eliot glanced at Paul and found his friend regarding him with understanding in his eyes. They smiled at each other and Paul nodded, as if to say, I’m glad you came. I’m glad you tried, like you said you would. We’re working to clear away the skeletons, aren't we?
* * * * * * * * * *
When the work ended that evening, Paul sought Eliot out. ‘You did a hell of a lot of good work today, my man.’
‘Felt good. Had fun. Got a job coming up but I’ll be back as soon as I can.’
‘A job, huh? Like I said, if you find you need a badass Latino medic, give me a call!’ Paul laughed. ‘It’ll be good to have you back; we can always use a good man. How about when it’s finished, Eliot?’
Eliot’s jovial mood turned somber. He looked away. ‘You’re talking about group, aren’tcha?’
‘Yep. No pressure, but would you think about it?’
Eliot was quiet for several minutes. ‘Yeah, Paul, I’ll think about it.’
‘Hey - go home, get cleaned up, and the tequila’s on me tonight.’
‘Hell, yeah.’
Paul raised his hand, and Eliot gripped it.
‘To the road we’ve traveled,’ said Paul.
‘To the road ahead,’ replied Eliot.
The End