Isolated
Written for the prompt : Leverage, Eliot, isolation
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Isolated
Eliot's used to being alone; being a hitter is not a job that makes it easy to make friends. On the occasions where he's been employed by someone with a bunch of muscle, he finds that he doesn't like the usual type. He might be good at what he does for a job, but he likes to think there's more to him than just brute force, enjoyment of violence and anger.
He's used to filling his free time with solo activities; he enjoys his cooking, takes refuge in his meditations and exercises, loves his music and when the opportunity to get some time on horseback out in countryside with nothing and no one but the wind, that's what he really wants for his life.
Hitting used to be a necessity, then it became a means to an end . . . now it's penance. He wants to seek absolution for all the wrong things he did, had to do to survive, so working for Nate, for the team help him go some way towards that. He doubts it will ever be enough.
He stands on the edge of the group, knows that they trust him to keep them safe but wonders if they'd feel the same if they knew all he'd had to do to get here today. He hangs back, trying to work out what to do, how to be a person who can have the friendship they offer, how to feel like he's worth it, like he deserves it.
He wonders if he'll ever feel like he's part of this group and not just hanging on to the edges.