Eliot was sprawled across his bed on his back, his wrinkly sheets and black bedspread bunched into the bottom edges, and his right foot tangled into one corner. The window was open, letting in a cool breeze and making his body shiver in his restless sleep.
At the same time, the nightmares were making him sweat.
His long hair was clinging to his neck and face, and even in his sleep, his hands came up and covered his ears, trying to muffle the sounds inside his head. His body tensed and he let out a scream and curled his body. He clenched his fingers into fists and clung to the hair around his ears.
In his head, the scenes were shifting rapidly, each one making him tense harder. Gunshots were echoing in his ears and blood was staining his hands, splattered off the crates in the warehouse. In the centre, instead of an enraged Eliot sliding through, guns in hands as he dodged every bullet, Moreau stood at the edge of a pool and let out a laugh as he lifted his foot and shoved Hardison's chair into the water.
Fresh beads of sweat formed on Eliot's forehead.
"I can make you do it all again you know," Moreau cackled at him.
The scene shifted and Eliot's body relaxed slightly. There was fresh air now, and he was surrounded by his team. Parker sat on a bench staring up at him. "What did you do?" she asked.
"Don't ask me that, Parker. Because if you ask me, I'm gonna tell ya, so please, don't ask me that."
His body tensed again and the sweat pooled into his eyes before dripping down his face.
This time there was a gingerbread house, and a girl with a silly grin shoving the tray at him. He gave her an icy glare and shoved it back at her, trying to put an end to the over-the-top Christmas cheer.
The blond leaned in and sniffed.
"What are you doing?" he asked, nostrils flared.
"Your breath smells like gingerbread," Parker grinned.
Eliot looked at the table. The gingerbread house now had a hole in its roof. Dried icing and red candy stains betrayed his fingers."Wha—shut up, Parker."
She leaned in and sniffed again. Eliot swatted her away. At the same moment, a gunshot rang out and thousands of gingerbread pieces shattered and splattered around him. The grin was gone from Parker's face, replaced by glassy, terrified eyes as the crumbled house covered her eyelashes and blond hair.
Eliot, sweaty and shivering bolted straight upwards in bed and let out another scream. The kind of scream you might expect from someone who was ready to punch something. Anything. Realizing he had woken in his own bed, he froze, his light blue eyes focusing in on the shadows, breathing deeply, trying to regain control. He scanned the darkness, watching for movement. When he decided that everything was still, he opened his bottom lip and let out a sigh. He buried his head into his knees for a moment and ruffled his hair, trying to release the sticky locks from his neck.
He had once told Sophie that he only slept 90 minutes a day. Lately, 90 minutes was generous. 3am had found him again. He climbed out of bed and stumbled over to the window. He stuck his head out into the fresh air. He closed his eyes for a moment and breathed in deeply. When he opened them, he looked down at the city lights and watched a handful of cars drive by. He tried to use the hum of their engines to ground him, but his breathing remained heavy.
The images from his nightmares – from his past - were still running through his head. Images that made his blood tingle. Without even being aware of it, his hands curled into fists so hard that his fingernails broke through the skin on his palms. He slammed the window shut and ripped off his wet shirt and threw it in the laundry basket. He found his way to the living room and dug through a drawer until he found tape for his knuckles. He wrapped them carelessly before he turned and started throwing punches at his punching bag.
The more he punched, the more he tried to forget the images of his nightmares, and forget the memories that had created the nightmares in the first place. He threw his fists at the bag as it swung, looping in every direction, forcing him to readjust his feet before he became off-balance. He tried his best to punch the images out of his head, even for a moment. But nothing in his mind disappeared. It never could. He remembered it all. Every face, every name, even the eye colour of every person that waltzed through his memories. He didn't deserve it any other way. He knew that.
But the nightmares had never been this bad before. Not even when his jobs for Moreau were so fresh he could still smell the blood beneath his fingernails. He took a few last desperate punches at the bag and then sank to the floor, defeated.
He ripped at the tape on his wrists and unravelled it. It was bloodied now from the cuts on his knuckles. He left the tape tangled in a pile on the floor in front of his punching bag and went to hit the shower.
He let the cold water run over him for thirty minutes. He looked down at his knuckles, clean, now that the water had rinsed away his blood. He reached out and turned the taps off. He rubbed the water off his face and scrubbed his eyes with the bottom of his palms. The nightmares were beginning to clear a space in his head, and he started to think about his team.
Nate knew about the warehouse, and swore he would never tell. He trusted Nate with that. But none of them knew what he had done for Moreau. He doubted any of them could even imagine it. Still, it bothered him that they each knew there was something he had done that was so bad he didn't even want to talk about it.
"What did you do?" Parker had asked him. He hadn't wanted to snap back at her, but he had buried it all as deep as he possibly could. Deep in a shallow grave, if his mind tonight had anything to say about it. But deep enough to hope that he would never have to tell them, especially Parker. They all knew he was dangerous. It was why he was part of the team. His dangerous nature was what kept his friends safe. But his worst and deepest secrets would never even cross the mind of someone like Parker. The stealthy little thief that walked around at Christmastime with a goofy grin on her face. The girl who somehow still managed to exude innocence when she was hanging millions of dollars worth of stolen jewellery on her Christmas tree.
Eliot finally emerged from his room dressed for the day just as dawn was breaking. He glanced at the counter in the kitchen. The gingerbread house still sat there, and it gave him pause for a moment. The house that, even after shoving it back at Parker, had appeared on his counter just hours later. The house that now had a giant whole in the roof where he had decided to try just a taste. Somehow Parker knew. Whether she had smelled it on his breath like she said, or had come by again to see it partly eaten, he wasn't sure.
He stood there at the entrance to his kitchen and looked at the house. The gingerbread walls, the red, white and green candies that adorned it, dripping with white icing that he knew Parker had also used to top her cereal with the day she had made it. Somehow, seeing the gingerbread house sitting there was beginning to calm him. He almost recognized the tingle in his blood begin to slow. He thought of Parker and her smile when she tried to shove the house at him. He thought of Hardison, tinkering on his computer. Sophie, switching accents as she went from person to person at a cocktail party. And Nate, the mastermind of it all, the reason that they had all began working together. He thought of all these people who had somehow become his friends. He didn't deserve them.
And he didn't want to be calm today.
He wanted to throw punches, he wanted his blood to boil, and he wanted to make someone pay. He clenched his fists and snarled, trying now to control his anger again. He raised his arms and swept them across his counter, pushing the gingerbread house so hard that it smashed against the far wall. He stood for a moment, breathing deeply and picturing Parker's face. He closed his eyes and let out a groan, covering his face with his hands. Regret flooded his head. What would the blond thief do now if she saw her work smashed to bits on the floor? Not just because he had lost his temper, but because he had lost his grip with the man that he was trying so hard to be.
He took out his phone and texted Nate.
"I need a couple days away."
A couple days to clear his head, try to control the anger that his nightmares gave him. Maybe if he found some way to do that, he could come back and keep the team safe, and try to do more good to help balance the scales. Try to face his friends again. He couldn't be that person right now. His head wasn't in the game. It wasn't even on the field.
He didn't wait for a reply. He grabbed his jacket, his passport, and his wallet, and he left the apartment, slamming the door behind him.
