It'll Be Okay

After nearly letting Hardison drown to get an invite to Damien Moreau's auction, Eliot Spencer is drowning in guilt and panic attacks. When Parker slips into his apartment unannounced, she brings more than just comfort—she brings revelations about Hardison's feelings and her own. As the team faces their most dangerous job yet, Eliot must navigate both his past demons and an unexpected future with two people who might just forgive his darkest mistakes. The question isn't whether they can take down Moreau—it's whether Eliot can let himself be loved.

It'll Be Okay

After nearly letting Hardison drown to get an invite to Damien Moreau's auction, Eliot Spencer is drowning in guilt and panic attacks. When Parker slips into his apartment unannounced, she brings more than just comfort—she brings revelations about Hardison's feelings and her own. As the team faces their most dangerous job yet, Eliot must navigate both his past demons and an unexpected future with two people who might just forgive his darkest mistakes. The question isn't whether they can take down Moreau—it's whether Eliot can let himself be loved.

I sit on the floor of my bedroom with my fingers laced behind my head, elbows pulled as close to my face as I can get them. My heart hammers against my ribs, ears ringing, stomach twisted in knots. It's been years since I've had a panic attack like this, but the memory won't stop replaying—Hardison struggling for air, the bubbles rising to the surface, the sound of Damien Moreau's cold laughter.

Hardison could have died. If he hadn't thought quick, if he hadn't been the genius he is, he would have died. And it would have been my fault.

"It worked out, stop," I growl through gritted teeth, eyes squeezed shut. But the images won't fade.

"But you're not." I nearly jump out of my skin, grabbing for the knife under my mattress before my brain registers Parker's voice. She's perched on the windowsill I'm sure I locked, watching me with those impassive eyes that see far too much.

"Damnit, Parker!" My hand shakes as I release the knife. My fingers are ice, and I shake them violently, trying to restore feeling.

Parker just stares. "What did you do?"

Suddenly I can't breathe. I force air through my nose, filling my lungs until my head hurts, but my vision still wobbles at the edges. I press my palms into my eye sockets until I see stars.

"Eliot... Take a deep breath in..."

"I'm trying," I gasp, my voice trembling. The entire world feels like it's shaking apart around me.

Calloused hands—smaller than mine but surprisingly strong—cover the backs of my palms. "It's okay." Parker curls her thumbs under my palms, carefully pulling my hands away from my face so she can lace our fingers together. When I open my eyes, she's looking at me with all soft edges, completely unjudging.

"Whatever you did, that isn't you anymore," she says softly, like it's the simplest thing in the world. "You're not whatever you were back then; you're Eliot."

Before I can respond, she brings our joined hands up and presses her warm lips against my knuckles. The contrast between her warmth and my cold skin feels like a brand. Then she releases my hands, cups my face, and leans in—those soft, smiling lips approaching mine.