I'm not sure I actually like this chapter... Don't know why, just not sure I do. Hope you guys enjoy anyway!

Hardison listlessly brought up the GPS locator on his laptop. Parker was curled up on the couch of the hotel suite they'd checked into, with Sophie and Nate sharing a chair, Sophie curled up in Nate's lap, her head on his chest. The woman was surprisingly small when she got rid of her heels, and while not quite Parker-sized, she fit very well into Nate's lap. Hardison's eyes drifted back to the screen. He stared.

"That can't be right…" he mumbled to himself.

Then again, it couldn't be wrong – his computers did not make mistakes.

Eliot wasn't one-hundred percent sure on what he was going to do now. He had a problem. The team he knew, the team he worked with would be convinced he was dead, and perhaps it was for the best, if her reappearance had anything to do with any business going down. It hadn't occurred to him when they'd been in the room that she never came to Canada. Eliot never found out why she didn't come to Canada, but she didn't. Which meant that something big was going down. He pulled out his phone and dialled a number.

No answer.

He tried another.

No answer.

Another.

No answer.

That had echoes of a previous situation. Now Eliot just had to figure out how the hell he'd managed to miss the fact that everything had quietened down, and that if he continued down the alley he'd descended into, away from the police lines, he'd be able to double back on himself and get out into a different street. Absently he wondered whether staying away from his team was a good idea.

Yes. He decided firmly. It was. This was too dangerous for them. They all relied on guns for defence, the people he was likely to be meeting used their fists, and could disarm people in seconds. They were like him, trained to kill with hands and knives, and to beware the guns that could just as easily jam up and misfire, no matter how good condition they were kept in. Fists didn't let you down, knives didn't fail to shoot, and neither ran out until the adrenaline left your body. Neither were traceable in the way guns were.

Eliot had seen too many good men die, or get caught thanks to guns. He wasn't about to let that happen to him. Or to his team. He found himself wandering out onto a darker street than the ones around him. He wondered just when night had fallen, it hadn't been that late when the building blew up…had it? He wasn't paying attention to his path, but he was more than aware of what was going on around him. He felt a group moving towards him, and kept his head down, hands in his pockets, shoulders tense, but only a real pro would notice that one. He heard footsteps. The gang was closing in. Perfect. As they circled, he stopped, managing to hit a pool of light dead-centre.

"You don't want to do this," he stated, not looking up. He counted shoes. Six attackers. Easy. He could do that without working up a sweat…if they were just your average gang-bangers.

"Yeah, I think we do," the leader swaggered forward, and Eliot looked up. Yup, just the average wannabe-gangsters.

Eliot shook his head slowly, and made a small tutting sound. "I really didn't want to have to do this today…"

Before any of the group could figure out what that meant, Eliot was moving. The leader went down, a guy came at his back and he span, grabbed the guy's wrist and threw him into another of the guys, his other fist slamming into a person's face. Didn't these idiots realize that this was what he did? Apparently not, cause they refused to run. It took him a few minutes, but they were all down. He lifted the only one who was still conscious by his collar.

"Bar?" he demanded harshly.

The man stammered out directions and Eliot punched him, knocking him out cold. Then he headed for the bar. The first thing he noticed when he entered the bar, was the music. He rolled his eyes, just his luck, of all the bars he had to walk into, this one had to be the one he should've avoided.

"Just wanna storm in there and scream how I feel!"

Clearly that was the end of the song, rather than the beginning as the woman's voice died as the guitar faded into silence. Still, instead of leaving, Eliot just sighed, ignored the stage and headed for the bar. A beer was a beer, no matter where it was served.

"Beer," he grunted to the barmaid who gave him a sympathetic smile.

"Tough day?" she inquired politely.

Eliot grunted an affirmative as she set the bottle down. Another sympathetic smile and a hand brushing against his arm.

"Well you're in the right place. The band's been great all night, and hell, we got beer a plenty, just give me a yell."

Eliot jerked his head as the strummed beginning to a familiar song caught his attention. The rock style of the group had faded, heading for a more country feel, and he glanced to see the singer now seated on a stool, an acoustic guitar settled in her lap, eyes closed, foot tapping as she felt the music. She leant closer to the microphone.

"This one's for an old friend of mine," her voice was smooth, her accent faded, but reminding everyone that it was there, clipping some words strangely, putting different inflections on the words. "We wrote this together, so many years ago." She fell silent, her fingers plucking out a tune before settling back to strumming.

"Get me a ticket to anywhere but here," she sang gently. "I know you don't care, but why can't you pretend?"

"Cheers to that," Eliot saluted quietly.

"So just give me a ticket to anywhere out there! Cause I just can't keep living out this lie! Yet still I just sit here, drinkin' beers and forcing smiles!"

Eliot chuckled quietly. The tempo picked up slightly, turning more like a country song, turned rock ballad, it was what made the song so unique and so easy to fall in love with.

"I'm telling you that everything's alright! Can't you tell it's a lie? Can't you tell that I'm not real? I stare in the mirror, but I can't see myself!"

Eliot hummed along with the tune and then joined in with the words when she started singing again.

"Get me a ticket to anywhere but here! Cause I wanna live, have someone notice me! So just give me a ticket to anywhere out there! Cause I want a reason, for me to survive!"

Their eyes met and Eliot let his voice rise a little bit, noticing absently that the entire club had fallen silent (an unusual occurrence).

"Yet still I just sit here, drinkin' beers and forcing smiles! Cause I can't seem to tell you what I am! Can't you tell I still care? Can't you see that I'm still here? Staring at me, but you can't seem to see the truth!"

Her eyes drifted closed as her guitar once again picked up the tune.

"Get me a ticket to anywhere but here! To where I'll be noticed, to where I can live! So just give me a ticket to anywhere out there! To where I don't feel, that I don't belong…"

A hesitation in the lyrics, put there after years of figuring it out, after years of working on it deep in the night when they'd not been able to sleep.

"To where I don't sit here…"

The guitar had fallen silent, and their voices were barely a whisper that still carried through the club.

"Drinking beers and forcing smiles…"

They fell silent, eyes once again fixed on each other. Then she brushed her hair away from her face.

"Thank you," she said to the stunned crowd. "Good night."

With that she slipped off her seat, and headed for a back room. It was then that Eliot noticed that two guys had sat down on either side of him.

"We thought it was appropriate," one of them stated. "Let our little sister play your song."

"Should've known she wouldn't be here alone," Eliot growled. "Damn it's good to see you guys again."

"You got somewhere to stay?" the other asked easily.

"Not yet," Eliot shook his head.

"Our hotel then, c'mon. Let's split, she'll meet us back there."

Eliot drained his beer, flashed a smile at the disappointed barmaid, and followed them out into the night. None of them had vehicles, so they walked the half-hour back to the hotel the guys were staying at. It wasn't anything flash, completely utilitarian, nothing more, nothing less. And if Eliot wanted to bet any money on it, chances were, they got very good rates.

They crossed the lobby and hurried up to the top floor. The taller of the two guys let them in, and they all reflexively ducked to the sides as a knife thudded into the door as it swung closed. They all turned to see the only woman in the group turned towards them on defensive, she relaxed and smiled slightly.

"Sorry folks," her accent was rougher than it had been at the club, but it was more natural now.

Eliot shook his head, and pulled the knife out of the door, watching as she pulled out her lighter, turning and sauntering back towards the kitchen area of the apartment style room, lighter flicking off and on absently. Her red hair had been pulled up into a bun, held in place by what Eliot knew were daggers. They looked decorative, but Eliot knew they'd be sharper than a few of his knives. They were also poison coated if memory served correctly.

"Coffee?" she inquired, flicking the kettle on and pulling out mugs.

"Why'd you blow me up earlier?" Eliot demanded. The girl turned, wincing slightly at the glares the two other men threw at her.

"It was fun," she stated unrepentantly, the lighter flicked on. She was so much like Parker, but at the same time, nothing like the thief – as the entire Leverage team had once said, apart from Eliot, they didn't hurt people. "You didn't get hurt."

"My team thinks I'm dead. I checked. Earpieces weren't taken out. They think I'm dead."

"You didn't have to stay on the fire escape. I let them know…if they can decipher my note."

"This is you," the smaller of the two men crossed over to her. "Your notes are indecipherable to us. And we know you."

She shrugged.

"What're you guys doing here?" Eliot asked finally.

"Following you," the taller man stated. "What did you think we were doing kid? Well, that and our glorious little pyromaniac wanted to kill the guy you were conning."

"Did she?"

"Yup. His body went up with the house."

"Well that's a relief. I didn't get blown up for nothing then." Eliot's response was the tiniest bit on the annoyed side. "All said, it's good to see you all again. Was trying to avoid you guys. For obvious reasons."

"But we're better when you're around," the woman stated, sliding off her perch and moving towards him, movements silky and smooth. She caught her lip between her teeth. "You're our leader." Her back straightened as she hesitated for a second and she saluted. "Our CO."

"Tav…" he stated. The woman they all called 'Tavia' smirked at him, stepped forward again to the point that she was practically in his arms.

"Then you left."

She swept away, moving over to where there were cups of coffee set on the bench, she lifted her own, and started almost necking it.

The smaller man rolled his eyes from where he was now sat at a laptop. "We have other problems guys."

"Oh shit," Eliot mumbled. "When Reeve says we have problems, he's never wrong."

"Your team's tracking your cell-phone. They've got a lock. You have two options here boss."

"We're not killing them," Eliot growled. "Even Marco there will agree."

The taller man nodded. "Absolutely."

"I even agree," Tavia murmured. "We can't kill his family. Even if we were there first."

Everyone stared at Tavia. It wasn't often that she objected to killing. She shifted uncomfortably.

"What? I'm just saying…"

She moved away and Eliot found himself watching Tavia, Marco and Reeve as they all silently started to plan. Eliot tapped his fist sharply on the nearest surface, not at all surprised when all he got was a slight inclination of their heads so that they were more focused on him as they continued with their own tasks. Tavia was sharpening daggers, all of them neatly laid out on the table beside her once she was finished. Marco was shuffling a deck of cards which wasn't exactly dangerous, at least, it wouldn't have been if it was anyone else shuffling the cards, these guys all had a way of making people nervous about even the most mundane action. Reeve was typing at his computer, checking things over. This team was the best, not because they all specialised as hitters, but because of their own personal talents – Reeve's computer genius, Marco's ability to ingratiate himself into anyone's confidences, and Tavia's escapology (he hadn't asked how she'd escaped the burning building, he knew he wouldn't understand). Sure, as a team of thieves no-one could beat Leverage, but as a team of mercenaries and assassins, no-one could beat this group.

"We could just clear out," he stated calmly, surprised at the fact that he'd voiced that.

"Translation," Reeve snapped. "We could just clear out and leave our boss to face the fire alone…"

"I resent that," Tavia retorted easily. "They're no-where near as dangerous as fire." And she was the expert on how dangerous fire was.

"…Point. But as I was saying, we're not leaving our boss to the anger of his team. When they get here…we'll just have to pull a few tricks on them."

Eliot would've started banging his head on the wall if he hadn't been able to tell that all they were really going to do was tease his team mercilessly.

Unless one of his new team attacked…

But none of them were fighters.

True, but because none of them were proper fighters, none of them could tell a fighter when they saw one. Not a proper one like these three. None of them looked like hitters. Tavia was a slip of a woman, smaller than Parker, and thinner too. Reeve with his glasses perched on his nose, squinting at the computer screen. Marco, a card sharp yes, but not a killer.

None of them really looked like what they were, but what they had been when they'd all been taken in by the top-secret government organization that had made them what they had today. Tavia, the street-smart, half-feral, half-Croatian ex-street-child (how she ended in America, no-one ever knew, no-one ever actually asked), in her torn jeans and tight leather outfits. Reeve, the computer genius, the one who sat behind the computers while smartly dressed suits made deals on the technology they produced, all comfortable jeans and loose shirts. Marco, a card sharp, a criminal through and through, but a well-dressed one, always in clean cut outfits that showed off his…assets.

Eliot took a deep breath as they settled in to wait. All still going on with their own little tasks. Eliot had a feeling that the meeting with his team wasn't going to be an easy one – for a start, how the hell was he supposed to explain the whole 'not actually dead' thing?

OK, I sorta lied. I like the end. Please review...