AN: Sorry about the shortness of that first chapter. I swear, it did look longer in my Word doc. But it's a Prologue! (excuse) This one is about the average length of the rest of the story. The first part of this chapter is meant to come off as very ramble-y and kind of strange. It's not my typical writing style to not distinguish between spoken language and the rest of the story, but I think it works in this context. The rest of the story isn't like this. It's more like the second part of this chapter.

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Taken

It starts with a bunch of disappearances.

Homeless men and women, migrants and misfits who wouldn't be missed by most of society. But those amongst them notice. They see, and they hear (Ol' Crazy Jon hain't been around lately, he ain't jumped the rails, gone out west, too early for that, maybe he kicked it, Red Marie and Lil' Ronnie ain't here no more neither). They whisper and huddle closer together. They don't venture out on their own, but in pairs, groups. They pass up opportunities they normally wouldn't in favor of sticking together, preferring hunger over being taken.

No one else sees. Boston continues to bustle and swarm around them, the invisible, least-loved members of their society.

But one man does take notice. It's his job to. He sees how they sit in clusters at night instead of spread out across town like they usually are. He sees fewer of them on the street, and more of them in the sewers (he sometimes traverses the dark underground highway to lose a possible tail or merely to keep in practice). He hears the muted whispers tinged with dread. He feels the fear, the constant terror they live in.

And he asks. He asks them, What are you so afraid of? What's scaring you? Where's the guy who used park his old wire shopping cart in the doorway of the dressmaker's shop on 12th and Elm, who used to wear the yellow-and-green striped sweater on his head, rain or shine? The crazy old man who liked to quote Bob Marley and Nietzsche? And the lady with the big, sad eyes and the dirty teddy bear tucked into her red duffel bag with the broken zipper? Where are they?

And they tell him, Gone. They're gone, they're all gone. And more are being taken every day.

Who? the man asks, anger glinting in steely blue eyes.

He's dangerous, they can sense that, but they don't fear him. He protects them, in a way; he's always willing to buy them coffee and a sandwich when times are rough and leaves them with the change and then some. They find warm clothes and blankets and cough medicine left surreptitiously in their usual haunts when the weather gets cold. He doesn't feel sorry for them, and they appreciate it. He doesn't smile, but neither do they.

They help him, too. When he's running, and someone's chasing, a dangerous someone (or someones), they mislead the chaser (he went that way, suh, help a po' man out, thankee suh) or keep mum, trip them up, help the man get away, away from the bad man. If there's been someone lurking around his place while he's been gone, they'll let him know, say to him, Don't go home tonight, bad night to go home. And when he's hurt, they see it, and they watch, make sure he gets home alright, no touching, he doesn't like touching or grabbing (who does?), but he always gets home.

So when the man asks, Who? they tell him, The Shadows, they come, they steal into the night, and they take you away, the Shadows come. They'll eat you alive, they will, they'll make you scream, they'll take your shoes, all the clothes you own, all that you're wearing, they'll take them, and then they'll gut you, and you cry like a lil' chile. I seen it, they tell him, With my own two eyes, the Shadows, they come.

I can help, the man tells them. I'll help you. And they believe. Because he's a good man, a dangerous man, but a good one nevertheless, and him, they can trust, with all their paranoia (it ain't paranoia if it's true, they're watching, always watching, they're coming for you, for me, for him), he's one they can trust. He'll fight for them when no one else will.

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"We got a new job. Someone's been kidnapping homeless people offa the streets at night," Eliot announces, as he strides into Nate's apartment.

"How the hell d'you know that?" Hardison asks. "You memorize everyone's faces on the way to work? You do, don't you?"

"They told me."

"You talk to homeless people?" Parker asks. "Why? They smell bad and eat garbage."

"You're one to talk. You live in a warehouse that doesn't have running water," Eliot retorts with a scowl. "Don't even get me started on what you eat."

"Since when, and how many?" Nate asks.

Eliot relaxes, just slightly. "As far as I can make out, it started maybe three, four months ago, about thirty people altogether." He frowns. "And it seems more people disappear um, this is gonna sound strange…"

"You already strange, man, so go right ahead," Hardison says, and takes a healthy gulp out of his bottle of orange soda.

Eliot doesn't rise to the bait, which is highly unusual in itself. "They told me, 'the Shadows come at night when it's getting bright and round. Not when it smiles.' And they don't mean dawn."

"The moon," Parker says, and nods. "Full moon."

They all stare at her.

"What?" she says, and Hardison interrupts with her oft-used rationalizing statement, "You're a thief?"

"Yes! But that's not what I was going to say. I don't like doing jobs when it's a full moon."

"Why? Are you a werewolf?" Hardison asks, starting to get excited, "Werecat?"

"Don't be silly, Hardison," Sophie sighs, "There isn't any such thing. Eliot, do you really think…? Crazy people are called lunatics for a reason. They say the phases of the moon affect one's sanity, and- "

"That theory doesn't exactly work in modern settings, Sophie," Nate says. "Eliot?"

"Full moon's this week," he tells them, "and four people are already missing."

"Okay," Nate says, walking out of the room with his coffee. "Let's go steal…homeless lunatics."

"Why don't you like being out in a full moon?" Hardison asks Parker again.

Parker looks at him with disdain. "You don't notice very much, do you? Too much visibility. They'd see me on the roof."

"So you're not a were-anything? Because that would be cool if you are. As long as you don't bite anyone, of course."

"Hardison, they aren't real," Sophie tries again to reason with the hacker.

"Actually," Eliot starts.

"No," Sophie turns to him and picks up her china cup of cream tea in one deliberate movement. "No, don't tell me. I don't want to know," she says firmly and goes to join Nate in his office.

Eliot shrugs, and sips from his own mug.

Hardison appears at his side. "Eliot, man, really?" He looks like a puppy waiting eagerly for Eliot to throw him a treat.

The hitter throws him a cool glance instead. "Really what?"

"Werewolves." The younger man is practically drooling.

"Yeah, sure," Eliot says in his usual offhand way, making Hardison's eyes bug out, "Knew one who was dating this vampire. Didn't work out, from what I hear. Oh, and did I tell you about the one demon from the dimension Pylea whose clan disowned him for liking humans and singing show tunes instead of killing people? Crazy anomaly, I can tell you. Except, well, he did shoot my brother, but that's a long story."

"Screw you," Hardison says with something between a glower and a pout. He sweeps his laptop off of the breakfast table and storms into the living room area.

Eliot almost smiles into his tea. His teammate can be so easy sometimes.

"Why didn't he believe you?" Ah, Parker. She sees more than they think.

He puts the mug down. "He doesn't really want it to be true, Parker. Just like he doesn't actually want to drive like he does in that game where he steals cars."

It always makes Eliot want to tear the joystick out of Hardison's hands and throw it at a wall whenever the hacker plays that game when he's around. One too many whoops and "Take that, suckas!" would do that to just about anybody.

"Real life and imagination," he says, "There's a difference."

Parker tilts her head to the side, thinking it over. "I drive like that in real life."

Eliot really does smile into his tea this time. "Yes, you do, darlin'."

"I met a ghost once," she tells him, "She was lonely."

He nods, "They can get like that. What did you do?"

"I talked to her."

"That was nice of you," he tells her. Positive reinforcement is good. Maybe Sophie's lessons are paying off after all.

"I was lonely, too. Before I met you guys."

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AN: The werewolf who dated the vampire is Nina Ashe, who had a fling with Angel in Season 5, and the demon from Pylea who sings is Lorne.