A/N: Thank you all so much for reading, favoriting, and reviewing. : Aelan010, Gaben, you both rock. Thank you so much for the reviews!
LLL - LLL - LLL
Breathe in. Breathe out. In through the nose, out through the mouth. Breathe in. Breathe out. In through the nose, out through the mouth. Eliot moved gracefully through from position to position letting them flow through his brain with total concentration. This was the one place he could concentrate fully on the flow of the movement, and be safe.
Breathe in. Breathe out. Eliot could feel his muscles stretch and warm with the slow controlled movements. Breathe in. Breathe out. Stretch, contract. Movement. Eliot let the sunrise roll over his shoulders and rise over the farm. He felt his feet in the damp grass, lifted his arms towards the sky and felt the warmth of the rising sun.
Eliot could smell wood smoke in the air. Breathe in. Breathe out. Stretch towards the trees. Center your soul. It was a morning ritual that Eliot had cultivated over the last few years. It was a morning ritual that centered him, kept him sane, it kept him grounded. Stretch, curl, feel the earth, reach for the sun. It was a morning ritual that he'd learned in a country that no longer existed, in a place that technically never existed, and from a man that was probably dead by now.
Breathe in through the nose. Out through the mouth. Smell the wood smoke, the damp trampled grass. To his left Eliot could smell the cows that the Dale's had next door. The wood smoke was from the oak that he was burning in the stove in the kitchen.
This was the one place which Eliot felt completely safe. No one knew about the farm; his secret garden if you liked children's literature. Shirtless Eliot curled his toes into the grass and completed his morning ablutions. He grabbed his shirt and padded back towards the kitchen and the simple breakfast that was waiting for him. A cup of coffee, eggs from the farm down the road, and toast from the loaf of bread he'd made yesterday with jam he'd made last fall.
A few minutes later Eliot was reading the paper, the Sunday paper. Weekends up here were a wonderful thing. He was going to have to head back into town tomorrow; but, there were a couple of things he needed to do today. Sonny, the caretaker next door needed to put a new back door on his little house. The man was many things; but, a carpenter wasn't one of them. It shouldn't take more than a couple hours. And Eliot had been planning on fixing the basement window for a couple of years; it wasn't truly bad. Just not great, which was why it had been at the bottom of the list for too long.
Stretching the hitter finished his cup of coffee; he was feeling kind of stiff. His body didn't bounce back as quickly as it did ten years ago. Maybe instead of making Parker cookies this afternoon he'd see if Elambert was available for a massage. Elambert had the most amazing hands; she worked the kinks out Eliot and left him feeling like a wet noodle for the rest of the day. But, when he woke up in the morning the stiffness and achiness would be gone. And best of all she didn't gossip. So, while Eliot was on her table at the mercy of her hands he didn't need to worry about her telling anyone anything. Sonny had told him that people were asking questions about him; apparently the fact that he appeared to be both single and straight was making him the target of a lot of questions. Shaking his head at the idiocy of people Eliot reached up to the wall behind him. Yep, this was a plan. Fix the door, and get a massage, then back to the city in the morning.
A/N: Yes, this is very short. But, I've always wondered how Eliot manages to appear to be grounded and fairly normal given the profession he's in. I've met a lot of soldiers/sailors and the such over my life as well as a lot of wanna-be's. And Eliot seems to be very well adjusted for having a violent profession. So this is my take on one of his techniques to remain 'normal.'