Sorry it has taken so long to get this chapter out. Now that summer is coming to an end, I should be posting more regularly. I haven't abandoned any of the stories on here-all will be finished, but I just started a new job, and I'm in the adjustment period.

Thanks to everyone who has been reading, following, favoriting, and reviewing. It really does make my day to know that people enjoy what I write. Constructive comments welcome.

I don't own Leverage or any of the characters or plot lines in the story, except those of my own invention. I write for fun and not for profit. I don't write slash. Again, thanks for reading, and I hope you enjoy. One chapter remains.

Chapter 11

Hardison wasn't really listening to what they were saying around him. He found he didn't really have the energy for that. Instead, he leaned back in his chair, and let the words wash over him. A moment later, the conversation ceased, he felt eyes on him, and looked around to find the others all staring at him, as though they were expecting an answer, but to what?

"Did you ask me something?" he asked, looking between them because he wasn't sure to whom he should address his question.

"I did. I asked if you trust us." Eliot said.

He certainly trusted Eliot, and it was clear that Eliot trusted Doc and Vance. He nodded.

"Good. Are you ready?"

"For what?"

"To let us help you face your fear?"

Hardison nodded, though he really wasn't sure whether he was ready or not. He allowed Doc to help him lie down on one of the cots in Eliot's treatment room.

"Close your eyes," she said, gently.

He tried, but he couldn't bring himself to do it. Instead, he wrinkled his forehead and gazed at her.

"I'll tell you everything I need to do before I do it, okay?" He nodded. "Close your eyes."

Hardison closed them, and she turned to look at Eliot, jerking her head to the side as she did so. He rose and moved over next to her.

"Hold his hand. It'll help keep him anchored to reality while this is going on."

Eliot seated himself in the chair next to Hardison and put his hand on the younger man's shoulder, squeezing gently.

Talking softly to Hardison, Doc had Eliot guide him until he was sitting up, and then, in one smooth movement, she slipped the hood and mask over his face. His whole body stiffened, and Eliot squeezed his shoulder more firmly. Eliot saw that his friend's breathing was shallow. He had led enough people through life and death situations to know that the young man would respond better to his command presence than he would to friendship at the moment. Summoning his best command growl, he said firmly, "Breathe, Hardison."

His breath hitched, and then, a moment later, he started breathing again, but though it was deeper, it was still in irregular intervals.

"Control your breathing. We'll breathe in for a count of four, hold for a count of four, and breathe out for a count of four." Eliot counted off the numbers out loud, knowing that Hardison couldn't see him, and would take comfort in the sound of his voice. After several minutes of this, the young man started to relax.

When he reached the point where he wasn't on the verge of hyperventilating anymore, Doc leaned forward and spoke softly.

"I want you to think about your dream, to see it in your mind, just as clearly as you usually see it, but this time, I want you to try to think of a way to change some part of it—so that it isn't quite so scary. You don't have to share how you plan to change it, but I want you to go over the change in your head until you are so comfortable with it that you are almost convinced that the change is what you dreamed in the first place. Can you do that?"

Hardison nodded, swallowing a lump in his throat as he did so. Eliot squeezed his shoulder gently and then let go. A moment later, Hardison felt a warm, gentle pressure on his right hand, and he heard a voice in his ear.

"I'm here, brother. Right here next to you."

"Eliot? It's dark in here."

"I know."

"I'm a little scared," the younger man said, with an expression of imparting a deep secret, and worried about how it would be received.

"Me too," Eliot said, squeezing his hand harder. "What say we walk through the darkness together, yeah?"

"Okay. Just-" Hardison began, then broke off abruptly.

"Just what, Hardison?"

Just—Just don't leave me, Eliot. I don't think I can do this alone."

"I'm not going anywhere."

It was at this point that Doc injected Hardison with the medication in her syringe. As he slipped deeper into the land of dreams, she leaned forward and began speaking intently.

(0o0)

Two hours later, Hardison heard quiet voices as he came back to awareness. He hadn't yet opened his eyes, and when he did open them a crack, he saw Eliot, still seated in the chair he was in before. Careful not to move too quickly, Hardison moved his head until he was staring at the ceiling, and concentrated on appearing to still be asleep.

"What's the verdict, Doc?"

"He did really well dealing with the mask before he went under. That was mostly because of you. He'll likely be dealing with some issues over the next few weeks, as he processes all of this. You'll need to be there for him when it happens, and you know about the nightmares as well as I do. Be there for him, but don't coddle him, as much as you might want to do so. It'll be easier for him if you don't. Otherwise, I think you'll find he's better."

"Thanks for taking such good care of him, Kat." He turned his head, and looked at the chair next to hers, including Vance in the next statement. "Thanks for coming, both of you. I know it was time out of your busy schedules, and I really appreciate it."

"You can pay us back by talking to Doc about your nightmare, and how all of this is affecting you."

"It was one nightmare, Kat. One. It just threw me off balance because I hadn't had one in a long time. I'm okay. Just shaken and drained."

"If you remember, you and I spoke several months ago about an incident that took place during a job with your team, in which you ignored your gut and allowed an adversary to gain the advantage of you. Are you seriously telling me you don't think the two are related?"

Eliot froze, stiffening visibly. He thought about that for a few minutes.

"You do?"

"I think there's a good possibility. I know you, Eliot. You're way too careful to allow that to happen otherwise."

"But how?" he asked.

"Why don't you tell me?"

"I don't know," Eliot said, defensively.

"You're the only one who does know." She knew better than to push him to speak, or to demand that he do so. Neither of those options would get her anywhere. There were some other options if it came to that, but none of those had been necessary for a long time. Usually, all it took these days was the knowledge of what they had been through together and maybe a gentle reminder that she already had enough dirt on him to destroy him, if she chose to do so, which they both knew was nothing more than an idle threat.

When he remained silent a beat longer than usual, with an unreadable expression on his face, she cocked her head to the side and looked at him, and said, "Eliot?"

"It's been a busy few months. As word spreads about Nate Ford's team, and what we do, we keep getting more clients who need help. None of us really want to turn any of them away if we can help it, but sometimes, it isn't an option. Jobs were stacking up and several of them were physically taxing—more so than usual. I had been telling Nate that we needed to take more down time in between jobs, and I understand why he didn't want to do it. That doesn't change the fact that we needed to take some time off, though.

"This team has come to mean a great deal to me—almost as much as our team once did. They are my responsibility. I can't stand the thought of any of them getting hurt and because of the frequency of jobs and the nature of some of them, I was worried that someone would get hurt. I almost came to the point that I left the team. I couldn't stay in good conscience, feeling like I was allowing Nate to put the team in danger and I wasn't sure how to stop it, short of kicking Nate's ass."

Eliot heard a gasp from the direction of the bed, and looked over at Hardison in time to see him squeeze his eyes tightly shut. The hacker's breath was too rapid for him to be sleeping. With a growl, Eliot said, "Damn it, Hardison—you may as well open your eyes. I know you aren't asleep."

Slowly, Hardison opened one eye and peered at Eliot, trying to gauge the hitter's anger. His friend didn't seem angry, just slightly confused. Breathing a sigh of relief, he opened the other eye.

"How much did you hear?" Eliot asked, trying not to growl, and failing slightly.

"Enough. Would you really leave the team—leave us—at this point?"

"Only long enough to scare some sense into our illustrious leader, and it probably wouldn't come to that. I'd figure something else out first. I should tell you, though, now that you are awake—what happens in treatment, stays in treatment. I wouldn't want any of this shared with the rest of the team." Hardison nodded. He had figured as much, and in his own case, he didn't want anyone sharing the details of his treatment either.

With that, Eliot turned his attention back to Doc, who still sat watching him. He finally said, "And, honestly, I guess I trusted Sterling because Nate trusted him, and because we were helping him. There was no reason for him to betray us."

"I believe I'd like to meet this James Sterling," Doc said, in the tone of voice she had that was so much like a cat, playing with its captive prey before devouring it. Eliot decided quickly that this was a conversation he'd pay money—real money—to see. Or then again, maybe he wouldn't. As much as he seemed to attract violence, he wasn't a fan of bloodbaths, or of the kind of fireworks they would see if Doc and Sterling were to ever meet.

A moment later, she shook herself, and then said, "Have you told Nate any of what you just told me?"

"Some. Mostly the last part. He doesn't know I considered leaving."

"You need to talk to him," she said. And so do I, she thought, but she didn't say that to Eliot.