No Rest For The Weary
by Glenna Meredith

He couldn't remember ever feeling so weary from the road and the mission. Sometimes it wasn't the pain of being shot or brutalized that wore one down, rather the emotional stress of waiting for something to happen. This trip had been completely non-productive, with nothing to show for all of the hours spent huddled in the cold of Iceland in the city of Ko'pavogur; waiting and more waiting for a Thrush conclave that never materialized. The intelligence they had received had been faulty. And for all of that, he had come down with a cold.

The first thing he did after closing the door behind him was to begin to unpeel the clothing that had traveled the journey from cold and ice to his warm little apartment. He left a trail behind him as he headed directly to the bathroom. Turning on the water with one hand he ran his other through the blond hair, anticipating the feeling of piercing hot jets sluicing across his body, loosening the muscles into pliable masses instead of the rock hard tension that was robbing him of energy.

'I can't remember the last time I was this tired, at least not from inactivity', the thought ran through his mind as the water ran over his body, rivulets pouring across his chest and abdomen. He turned and let it wash the tension from his back and down his legs...'Ahhh...relief, finally'

His sigh resounded within the tiled bathroom, the expulsion of air almost as satisfying as the feel of the water as it tended to his strained physique.

When he emerged finally, he felt refreshed and slightly less tired. The effects of the cold still remained, so a cup of tea was next on the agenda. Still naked except for the towel around his waist, he let even that small encumbrance drop to the floor. He crawled into his unmade bed with his tea in hand, sank back onto his rumpled pillows and drank deeply of the special brew.

Tired or not, this spot was something to be grateful for. As he finished his tea he set the cup aside, burrowed his head into the soft down pillows and sank, with a smile on his face, into the sleep of the just, if not that of the innocent.