It was a cold, frigid December night in Boston, and Parker shivered as she tugged at the hem of her skin-tight pink dress. "Why can't Sophie do this?" she complained, fluffing her hair. She was painfully aware of the makeup weighing down her eyelids and the gloss on her lips, and her feet already hurt from Sophie's high heels. She preferred pants and sneakers - quick and light.

"Because Valenti's already seen Sophie and I don't look good in a dress." Eliot grunted, hopping out of the back of Lucille. He sported an Armani suit that looked out of place on his thick, rugged frame and his long hair was tied in a bundle at the nape of his neck. Parker rolled her eyes. "You probably look better than I do."

"Okay, guys," Nate interrupted over the coms. "Valenti just arrived. Showtime."

Eliot extended his arm and they walked together into the high-society gala that glittered and glowed with enormous wealth. Instinctively Parker mapped her exits and took note of all the valuables in the giant ballroom. Spotting a multi-million dollar necklace hanging off an ancient old bat, she squeezed Eliot's arm longingly. "Look, look! It's right there! Can I just-"

"No, Parker." Eliot snagged two glasses of champagne from a passing tray and and surveyed the room, his serious blue eyes guarded. "There he is." he mumbled. Parker followed his gaze until it landed on Valenti. Mr. Valenti was fat and balding, wearing too many rings on his fingers and sweating profusely. He didn't look like the kind of guy who would have people murdered, but then again, they never did.

"Eliot, Parker. There's your cue." Eliot put his hand gently on the small of Parker's back and they approached Valenti together, their personas smoothing over their own personalities like a second skin.

"Dr. Abernathy!" the bald man bellowed, spotting them. Eliot plastered on a grin and said, "Mr. Valenti, good to see you. I don't believe you've met my wife, Fiona?"

Parker smiled. She could feel Valenti's beady eyes scoping the curves of her body, and her fingers tightened around a fistful of Eliot's jacket. "It's okay, Parker," Sophie's voice said in her ear, "Just smile. Okay, now touch his arm...good..."

After a few minutes of flirting, Parker excused herself to go powder her nose. She left the party and hurried down to the basement, following Hardison's navigation in her ear.

"She sure is something!" she heard Valenti say to Eliot. Eliot laughed and said, "she's a hell of a woman."

"You got that right! Great body. Nice ass. Wouldn't mind getting my hands on that!"

Parker's mouth dropped open at that, physically shuddering at the thought. "Ew!"

"Oh, come on now, doc. One man to another: she's a tiger in the sack, am I right?"

"Don't hit him, Eliot." Nate warned.

"Right, yeah. I better go, uh, check on her." Eliot said through gritted teeth. "Excuse me."

Now in the sub-basement, Parker flitted to the last door on the left and pulled a bobby pin from her hair, picking the lock swiftly. It's embarrassing how easy this is, she thought with a smile as she slipped inside. It was a long, narrow room full of unmarked file cabinets. She only needed one file - but there were thousands. Thousands of files...thousands of victims. Suddenly she sensed someone behind her and whipped around, coming face to face with a tall, silver-haired man pointing a nine-mil, silenced Glock right at the centre of her chest. He was Valenti's head of security, and he was smiling. Parker sucked in a breath. "Eliot -"

Pop pop

The bullet tore through her flesh like a pencil through paper; she was aware that it happened - aware that blood was pouring from the wound, dripping down the front of her dress and splattering to the floor. But she couldn't feel it. She couldn't feel anything. Numb. Silent. She slumped to the ground, her legs giving out, and suddenly she thought of her brother. The day her parents brought him home. Saturday morning cartoons and bouncing a basketball through the hoop on the garage door and the bicycle, the bicycle she taught him to ride that sunny, sunny day...

And then she was in the back of Lucille and everyone was yelling, and her body was moving of it's own accord; Eliot straddled her and ripped open her dress, opening the floodgates; blood surged from her body, spilling onto the floor and over Eliot's hands, coating them in crimson. He pushed his wadded up suit jacket against the wound and she screamed, grasping his arm. "No, no!" she shrieked, "No, no, please - please, Eliot - it hurts -"

"I know, baby, I know," Eliot soothed, working fast as he replaced his soaked jacket with something else, trying to keep up with the blood. "Hardison!" Nate's voice barked, "Drive faster!"

Parker's chest heaved. Her body was slowing, cold and unresponsive. She was dying. Her fingers grasped at Eliot's shirt, feeling the warmth from his body. "Did...did you mean it?" she managed. His brow furrowed but he didn't look at her; he was focused on her wound. "Mean what, honey?"

"That...that..." Parker choked, blood seeping out of the corners of her mouth. "You think I'm a hell of a woman."

Eliot finally looked at her, only for a moment, but it was enough to calm her fear. "I think you're amazing, Parker, now shut up and keep breathin'."

His voice echoed in her head as she slipped, ever so gently, into darkness, her last breath falling from her lips like a perfect stone.