A/N: I hope you enjoy this story as much as I enjoyed writing it for you. Here's the second chapter, and now, it looks as though there will be at least a third one, too. I don't own Leverage or any of the characters, and make no money off of any of this. Thank you to those who are reading and following, and a special thank you to those who take the time to review. Reviews make my day, so please keep them coming. Now, on with the story! GHK

Chapter 2—

Eliot settled down on Nate's sofa, and closed his eyes. He knew Hardison would be out for awhile, and if his friend needed him, it would be later in the night, or on toward morning. He might as well get his requisite ninety minutes a night now. Eliot didn't sleep anywhere he didn't feel safe—that was the price he paid for the life he used to lead—and he seldom allowed himself to sleep anywhere remotely public. Even though he felt safe (mostly) at Nate's, he seldom slept there, either, but he had resigned himself to not having any choice tonight. He hadn't slept at all for the past few nights, due largely to the fact that the psych building was not only very public but also felt very unsafe. And that didn't even count the fact that because of the 'experiment', it was cold and loud. He laughed sardonically, at that thought. He had slept all over the world, in places that didn't even qualify as a sleeping chamber, like the middle of the jungle or the top of a tree, under all kinds of conditions, and when he thought about it, he probably got more sleep when he was a killer than he does now. He frowned, and made a mental note to give that thought further consideration at a later time. His eyes opened again, and he sighed.

Eliot knew what kind of trouble the human body got into when a person didn't sleep. Actions became slower and less defined, clumsier. Vital functions started shutting down. Ruthlessly, he clamped down on that thought—he wasn't helpless or hopeless yet, and it wouldn't come to that. He wouldn't let it. Maybe a workout would help. Launching himself off of the sofa, and walking as quietly as he did when sneaking through the woods, he slipped out the front door and went for a run. He was back two hours later, and without a sound, he slipped into the room in which Hardison was sleeping. That was the main reason for joining the two rooms together—the room to which they created access had been an employee lounge, complete with restroom, back in the days when apartment buildings had doormen and elevator operators, and other attendants. It had been closed off for years when Hardison found it on the blueprints of the building, and realizing it was right off of Nate's apartment, which was also the team's headquarters, he decided to give them access to facilities without them having to invade Nate's privacy. They had renovated it, replacing the existing fixtures as needed, and adding a shower, and he was grateful to have access to a shower. Maybe the two together, a run and a warm shower, would help him fall asleep.

He turned the water on as hot as he could get it, then climbed in and just stood, letting the hot water wash over him. He felt his muscles starting to relax as he bathed and washed his hair. Fifteen minutes later, he was out, dressed, and toweling his hair dry. It was around 4:30. If he tried, he might still get his 90 minutes in before anyone else woke up. Moving silently back to Nate's sofa, he put a towel under his head, so that he wouldn't get the cushion wet, covered himself with a blanket, and closed his eyes. He stayed that way for thirty minutes before deciding it was no use, and getting up. He checked on Hardison, and as he reached to straighten his friend's covers, he saw his hand shaking. Cursing to himself, he made his way over to the small refrigerator and took out an energy drink and downed it. It was not the ideal solution, but it would do for now. They still had work to do, and when this job was over, he would go away for a few days, until he had dealt with the problem. He sat next to Hardison's bed, in the desk chair he had placed there, making notes in a file (recognizing the prudence of keeping some form of record, even if they were in a shorthand known only to himself, in the event they were ever needed) and waiting to feel more in control of himself again. It took almost thirty minutes before he felt like his old self again. Still, a tiredness lingered in the periphery, like a tiger waiting to attack at the first sign of weakness.

Rolling the chair over to the makeshift desk, he quickly filled a syringe with a stimulant from his first aid kit, he then capped it and slid it into his belt loops. There was no telling how long the job would run today, and he had to hold it together until it was over. He hoped it wouldn't take long to tie up loose ends, and he would never need it, but he also knew that these things had a way of dragging on, especially when people hoped they wouldn't. Satisfied that he had done all he could for the time being, he moved out to the kitchen and started cooking breakfast.

By 6:30, he had a spread of eggs, bacon, homemade biscuits, fruit cups, yogurt and granola laid out on the bar, and Nate and Sophie came downstairs raving about the wonderful smells permeating the apartment.

Nate sat down at the bar and asked quietly, "How's Hardison?"

"He's fine. I gave him some morphine and he slept through the night. He's probably gonna be stiff this morning, though. How long before we have to be back at the school?"

"A few hours."

"All right. Help yourselves to breakfast. I'm going to wake Hardison up and put him in a hot shower. It'll help the stiffness. Except for his ribs, which will take a few days, he should be good as new this morning."

Parker had arrived and they had all finished eating by the time Hardison found his way to the kitchen. Eliot motioned him to his regular seat at the bar, and put the plate he had saved for his friend in front of him before he went back to cleaning up the kitchen. He was glad the hacker seemed none the worse from his experience the day before. It would be time to leave soon.