This first part of the story can be read as a stand alone, as that was how it was originally written. It was my first completed fic. Since then, however, an idea for a continuation has come to me and chapters are slowly being added. I don't know where this is heading, yet, as I'm quite new to writing, but I hope you guys enjoy the ride.
***
It's that hour of the night that's not truly late enough to be early. That point where it almost seems like the world pauses for a second and takes a quiet breath. There are no cars on the road outside, so it is truly as quiet as you can get in a city like Boston.
Staring out the dark window at the sea of lights that is the city he currently calls home, Eliot takes a sip from the mug in his hand and rolls his shoulders a little. Like the city, this is a moment for him where he can almost relax for a second. The jobs are all done, there was nothing being planned and everyone in the team was safely tucked up in their respective apartments, even if they aren't actually asleep. Eliot had taken his usual tour earlier on his bike, to be sure.
Hardison had been at his desk, surrounded by an army of empty and not-so-empty soda bottles. Parker should still be where he left her, idly picking locks while flipping through a magazine of the latest safes. Earlier that day, she had mentioned one she'd like to find because she'd never actually done it yet.
Nate and Sophie were the least worrisome. Nate had actually fallen asleep reading, of all things, some dog eared copy of ''The Case Book of Sherlock Holmes''. And a normal sleep without the aid of alcohol. Soph spent her evening doing girly things Eliot didn't even have names for and then went to bed early. In all, his odd little 'family' were safe, for now.
Realizing his mug was now empty, Eliot set it down next to the sink before padding barefoot to where he'd left the stereo remote on the table. A couple presses of buttons and the low lit apartment was filled with the sound of music piped through hidden speakers. The music was something quiet and non-vocal, some vaguely exotic Japanese cd he'd picked up somewhere but couldn't remember the name of. It soothes and relaxes him even as a small amount of adrenaline floods his system.
Yanking his worn, grey t-shirt over his head, Eliot tosses it in the corner before tieing his shaggy mane back in a small ponytail. A couple slow stretches and deep breathes and he's set to go.
Eliot doesn't normally use katas; doesn't like the habitual rigidity it tends to put into people's fighting styles. This move follows this move follows this one until a fighter can get complacent and become predictable. But sometimes there's a place for them. Tonight he just wants to relax, as much as he ever can, and think as little as possible but still move. He slides through the ritualized movements, every motion carefully contained and aligned just so. Breathing in sync with the steps as a sheen of sweat shines on his chest, he falls into a light trance, still aware of everything around him but not immediately registering it.
Tonight is a good night, a quiet night. A moment of peace he savours for when the whirlwind catches him up again. The only kind of peace he knows he'll have...until the end.