Notes: Sixth in my Trust and Sobriety arc.

And Then There Was Silence
There are moments when the noise and chaos stops and in the silence there is clarity.

There were moments in life when the chaos stopped and the noise halted and there was silence and a second of cold brutal clarity.

When Sam was sick, there had been chaos, there had been noise, and things had spun fast and out of control. Then his heart stopped and then there was silence.

In that moment Nate knew the world that had existed until moments ago would never be the same.

The first time with Eliot had been rushed. They'd been spending more and more time together out of work. Then Eliot brought food to his place and there was noise from the game and Eliot talking to himself as he cooked, then they'd been playing chess, then they'd been not playing chess. They were halfway to the bedroom, only halfway dressed when they'd both stopped, startled into stillness, and then there was silence.

In that moment something changed and something started and they both gave up on what had been holding them back.

The team had been together it was the definition of noise and chaos and it was all he could do to keep them doing what they did, doing good, and not falling apart even as he fell apart. When it ended he convinced himself the quiet would be comforting after living with four thieves that you'd think didn't know how to not cause a scene. But then he got on that private jet and the door closed and there was silence.

In that moment, even if he wouldn't admit it until later, he knew he'd miss them.

When the team came back together they were still the definition of noise and chaos. They took over his apartment, raided his space with the same disregard of privacy they'd always had. There was flurries of movment, streams of conversation, and he kept having to try to dodge Eliot and the conversation he was not ready to have yet. It was too much but then they drew him in, played out the table, and then there was silence.

In that moment they waited and he realized there was only one response he could give. For better or worse this was his life, his team, and he couldn't turn his back on that.

Things went wrong on the con, and they started making things up as they went, and he had to tune out the noise in the backround to keep his head where he was and try not to get shot in the face. He knew it would cost him, to not know what the others were planning, but they were playing this the best they could. Then things spiraled down further as Eliot was dragged in, and Sophie told him to pull his marshals badge. Then they started talking about shooting Eliot and before he could even process it. Before he could even really react, there were the sounds that haunted his nightmares about Eliot: a gunshot and a grunt of pain, the air still for only a second before two more sent Eliot to the ground and then there was silence.

In that moment Nate knew that conversation he hadn't wanted to have with Eliot? He really wanted to have it now. He wanted to have that conversation, and the conversations that would come after it, and everything else he had been being oh so catholic about not wanting. But it was too little too late because there was silence. Eliot was dead and the world that had existed until moments before would never be the same

And it was later, much later, after Sophie broke the silence and Eliot wasn't really dead and the job didn't really fall apart. It was after Hardison bought his building (and really, what the hell?) and left for the day when it was just him and Eliot in Nate's apartment. Nate found a seat and pulled out a stone chessboard he'd kept through the years. He started to set up the pieces, listening to the clicks of stone on stone. Eliot came over and took the side he'd been playing since they'd talked after Chicago more than a year ago, white. He set up the pawns and something seemed to shift between them.

"We should talk about this." Nate said. He hadn't wanted this conversation but after earlier he couldn't justify it. He knew what he wanted and needed and that in the end he could no more run from Eliot than he could the rest of the team.

Eliot paused a moment, considering, before he shrugged. "Whats there to talk about?" He pulled the battered white knight he'd carried with him for the year between when Nate sent it to him after Sam's death until they met again in Chicago, the only thing he'd taken from the apartment they'd shared in L.A., and put it on the table. "I'm ready to start a new game."

Nate nodded, putting his last piece, the black king, in place and nodding at Eliot speaking three words that held as much meaning to them as the words they didn't say. "White moves first."

And then there was silence.