A/n: Here's chapter 3. I had planned to make this a one shot, but it seems the story had other ideas. I own nothing of Leverage or it's characters or worlds, I just like to invent pieces to add to the world, and people to play on them. Thanks to all of those who are reading, following, favoriting, and especially reviewing. You all make my day with your lovely kind words. Please keep it up, as I am dying to know what you think. I hope you enjoy reading this as much as I've enjoyed writing it. Thank you!

Chapter 3

Eliot had led the team that turned the psych building into a holding cell for Mr. Zilgrim's benefit, and judging from the comments he had heard from the other veterans involved in those experiments, he wasn't the only one taking an undue amount of satisfaction from making the kid squirm. His first inclination, when he heard the girl's story, was to show this punk how the CIA and other special ops agencies actually do things. He could have closed him out with no trouble, and just because he didn't do that anymore, didn't mean that he wouldn't consider it when there was sufficient cause. He might even act on it, if this were a side job. The best hitter in the world sometimes found it necessary to keep his reputation intact, and if push came to shove, he was sure he could make Nate understand the importance of that decision.

Now that Conrad had crawled back into whatever hole he had crawled out from, and Zilgrim was in jail, the team was working to put the homeless veterans in touch with resources that could help them get back on their feet. There wasn't much for Eliot to do except provide the usual security for the team, and the lack of sleep over the past few days was quickly catching up with him. He put out a hand and gripped the edge of a concrete ledge that topped a stone wall on the campus, as his vision went blurry for a moment. Exhaustion settled over him like an invisible weight, embedding itself in every fiber of his being, and yet he couldn't shake the hyper-vigilance or the strange energy that imbued him. He had started shaking again, and was having trouble breathing. He quietly edged away from the rest of the group, and walked a distance away, withdrawing his cell phone from his pocket as he did so. This was not the phone that he carried for the team, nor was it one that Hardison knew anything about or could track. This particular phone was one in which he kept the contacts that were useful from his past life, contacts that could help him when the need arose, and some that he kept in there so that if they called, he would know he needed to get out of town for awhile. For Hardison to have knowledge of any of them could be deadly both to them and to Hardison, not because he would do anything with them that he shouldn't, but because those that might be looking for them didn't know that, and the young man was sometimes too curious for his own good.

Scrolling down, he found the contact he wanted from the list, pushed the button, and then turned away from anyone who might see him and spoke softly. A moment later, he hung up, and found something spongy in the woods, squeezing it in his hand until a vein popped up in the crook of his elbow. He slid the syringe out of his belt loops with the other hand, uncapped it with his teeth, slid the needle into the vein, and injected himself. Recapping the syringe, he put it back where he got it, and stood, slightly bent at the waist, with one hand on his thigh and the other putting pressure on his arm where the needle was withdrawn. The stimulant both strengthened him and made his shaking worse. He wasn't sure this was better, but it was, at least, manageable, and would allow him to do his job until he could get away, back to a place where there was someone who could help him reset his body's natural rhythms, so he could sleep again.

When he was sure he was steady enough to do so, he walked back up to the rest of his group. Two hours later, they had finally tied up the last of the loose ends and they were getting ready to leave. Nate glanced over and his eyes widened slightly at the look of the hitter. He wanted to say something about it, but he knew Eliot wouldn't take kindly to him calling everyone's attention to it. Much better to wait until they were alone. Eliot glanced up and his eyes met Nate's, and the look on the older man's face wasn't lost on him. He must look pretty rough if someone else noticed. Stepping up beside his friend and boss, he spoke so softly that Nate wasn't sure if he actually spoke the words or not.

"I'll make it, Nate." He had to stop for a moment to catch is breath, and Nate found that alarming. "I would tell you if I couldn't. I'll explain it to you later. Please don't let the others know."

Nate couldn't help thinking that if the others looked at the hitter properly, they would know, but he didn't say that. He just nodded. It was important to Eliot that the rest of the team saw him as invincible, lest they lose faith in his ability to protect them.

"How can we help?" Nate whispered, just loudly enough for the younger man to hear him.

Eliot shook his head, and then said, "This is beyond my ability to fix for myself, so I called in a friend to help. He'll meet me at the office tonight. I don't plan to explain his presence to any of the others, at least not until afterwards. If you want to help me, deflect their questions, or shut them down. Keep them out of the room while we are working."

"Two conditions, Eliot." Nate ignored the hard look the hitter gave him, and hurried on. "One—you let us hear what he says, so we know how to help you."

Eliot considered for a moment, then nodded his consent. It was a reasonable request. "Two?" he growled.

"Two—you explain all of this to us when you are feeling better."

"I can only make you this promise—you will understand everything you need to understand by the time this is over."

"Fair enough."

(0o0)

Nate had decided that the best way to keep the others out of the room with Eliot and his friend while they were working was to keep them away from the office altogether. Tonight, that meant taking everyone out to dinner. Eliot begged off, claiming fatigue, which everyone understood, considering he had been awake pretty much all the time he was in the cells at the school. Eliot had said he thought his friend would only need a couple of hours to do whatever it was he was planning, and he didn't see any reason why they wouldn't both be waiting for the team's return. Dropping Eliot off at Nate's apartment, the others immediately got back on the highway and drove away.

Once inside the apartment, Eliot walked back into the room Hardison had slept in the night before, and stripped the sheet off the cot, and then took the sheet and the blanket and placed them in the washing machine, turning it on. He opened the linen closet and took another sheet and another blanket back into the room with him, and in a matter of moments, the cot was again set to rights. He had just finished his work and started pacing the living room when there was a very particular knock on the door. He ushered an ancient Japanese man inside, closing and locking the door behind him.

"Sensei. Welcome," Eliot said, bringing his right fist up in front of his chest and placing his left hand, open, on top of it, and bowing.

"Tsuneo. Hello" he said, returning the gesture and the bow. "You look tired, my friend."

"That's why I called you. Come with me." Eliot turned and walked into the room in which he had just been working, and sat on the bunk, motioning his friend to sit in the desk chair.

Instead, the sensei sat on the floor, and with a simple motion, invited Eliot to join him. Eliot did so, choosing to sit directly across from him. The sensei lit two candles, and then reached up and turned off the lamp, letting the room fall into dimness. Reaching out, he placed a hand over Eliot's eyes, which were already closed, and said, "See what is inside you as it is, and tell me."

"I have not slept for a week. I cannot meditate. I have a strange, almost manic energy, so I can't stop moving, yet I am exhausted. I need to sleep, but it is as though my body doesn't remember how."

Reaching out, the man grasped one of Eliot's hands at the wrist, counting his pulse. Frowning, he did it again. Meeting Eliot's eyes, he said, "Your heart is racing."

Eliot nodded. "Probably a result of the stimulant."

"What stimulant?" Eliot told him the story, and he said, "You know better than that, my friend."

Somewhat defensively, Eliot replied, "I didn't feel as though I had much choice. There were others depending on me for their safety, and I had to be able to protect them until the job was done."

"How much of this do they know?"

Eliot shook his head, not meeting the other man's eyes. He didn't expect anyone else to understand this. Hell, he didn't always understand it either. Feeling a hand on his arm, he looked up, to find his sensei still watching him. The sensei must have seen something in his friend's eyes because he nodded once, and didn't say anything else until a few minutes later.

"Have you analyzed a blood sample to be sure this isn't the result of some type of foreign substance?"

"No."

"That's our first step, then."

Eliot gathered the supplies he needed. The man sitting across from him was a Naturopathic physician, as well as Eliot's martial arts instructor, so Eliot knew he could talk the man through drawing blood, if he by some slim chance didn't already know how. That said, there were some things it was just easier for him to do himself. When his friend saw him bracing his left arm on his lower thigh and knee, he reached over and grasped Eliot's arm right above the elbow. The slight pressure would act as the tourniquet it was impossible to tie with one hand. Eliot grunted as he slid the needle in, and then watched with fascination as the two vials filled. He withdrew the needle and bandaged himself while his friend rummaged through his pockets and bag.

A portable microscope appeared from somewhere, and it was then that the sensei rose, set the microscope up on the desk, and seated himself in the desk chair. For fifteen minutes, he performed tests on both vials of Eliot's blood, and then turned to find his friend seated on the bunk.

"Tell me about this mission you just completed."