Guest – I am glad you are thinking of opening an account but I really don't what your name should be since it's a personal thing. PM is really easy on fanfiction but don't worry, I'll keep responding at the beginning of my chapters until you get along with it. I am sorry to hear you don't like E/S stories, especially because this one has a bit of them. I hope you enjoy it anyways.

A/N: This chapter was a piece of work, I had so many different ideas for this I didn't know which one to choose. I almost killed him at an early age again five different times, until finally, I managed to pull off something else. I don't know what to make out of this and must warn you it's not exactly the happy ending you any be expecting to read therefor all your opinions on this will be really helpful so I can be better next time.

His momma didn't wear neat clothes, instead, she wore discoloured, parched clothes under an equally discoloured apron that was like a second skin to her; one she wore day after day to clean her hands or her kid's faces and always smelled like cake. His mother had too many wrinkles on a face that was too young and carried too many weights on a chest that didn't deserve it, at the age of thirty-two her hair already was sprinkled with white and her fingers were deformed due to the hard work she had done from a young age. But still, to Eliot, she was the most beautiful woman in the world those grey eyes that could calm you down or make you fear for your life and that smile; the smile she wore like nobody else and always made him feel safe.

That's why he didn't ever forget the day that smile wore out, the day he found her on the kitchen table crying her eyeballs of, at the time, he was seven so he did only thing a scared boy could do, he hugged her, wanting to retrieve the smile that enlightened his days. He didn't know she was crying because she was too sick to work and her husband's income was just not enough, there was too much month at the end of their money and too many mouths to feed with too little food. He also didn't know she'd die only eight months later.

That crying sound burnt into Eliot's heart and he lived with it for the rest of his life so, when he heard it again, the desperate, broken, cringe, he recognized and he knew he was in hell.

Maybe, he thought, that was his punishment; maybe he'd have to hear the voices of those he'd hurt or failed for eternity. He became sure about it when Sophie's pleading voice joined the cries, but then he started hearing bleeping noises that he knew all too well and he realized everything around him felt comfortable and warm. The minute he started trying to make sense out of all of that the smell of Vanilla invaded his nostrils and he realized he wasn't dead.

The crying woman was Sophie and he was lying on a Hospital bed. God almighty, for some reason, had speared him once more.

His eyelids were as heavy as leaden yet he managed to open them. Sophie was by the bed, sobbing with her head hiding between her arms as one of her hands grabbed one of his. Her back was shaking up and down as she cried her broken heart and the words "Wake up, please, wake up!" constantly stumbled out of her mouth.

His voice came low and raspy when he called her name and he found his throat was sore, really, really sore. She practically jumped at the sound of him calling her. "You're awake!" She yelled as she cleaned her face with her hands.

"What happened?" He managed to say, fighting how exhausted he felt.

"You saved me and got shot." She responded with a shaky voice, grabbing his hand harder as if she were afraid he'd die again if she let go.

"I know, darlin'..." He closed his eyes, not being able to keep them open anymore. "After that."

"You died! You actually died!" And he noticed she was crying again. "You lost so much blood and the doctors didn't know if you were going to make it and I felt so scared and you... you didn't fight!" He managed to open his eyes and stare at her, Sophie was a wreck, she was still inside the same dress he had last seen her with, her hair was messy, her eyes red and swollen and he was sure she hadn't eaten or slept in days.

"Where are the others?" He asked it because he didn't want to face her accusation.

"They'd only let relatives in; currently I am your wife." She responded simply.

"For how long have ya been here?"

"Five days, the time you've been asleep. You didn't fight, Eliot. Why?" She had her arms crossed in front of her, messy strands of dark hair falling to her face, giving a much simpler look than usual.

"Why would I, hon'?" He asked, too tired to say more.

"To stay with us!" She marked, her voice, higher, hurt and offended. He shook his head.

"I've done so much wrong… You four are a blessing that I don't deserve. I don't get to fight for you when I've taken so much, I accept what's coming with the dignity that I have left. And don't think I am not grateful for these years, I am, but I must accept my fate…" That was what he wanted to tell her yet nothing came out of his lips, no word, no sound at hell so he started at her with wide blue eyes begging that she'd read him for he did not wish to cause more pain. She shook her head as she got up from her place and walked away.

"I'll go tell the others you're awake..." and her voice was so low, so painful to his hears; suddenly she stopped and walked back leaning over the bed and kissing him on the lips.

"If you're not going to fight for yourself; fight for me!" and she left.

Five years later

It was the same scenario again, he was lying on the floor with a blurry vision and too much blood coming out of his body, he was cold, numb and the tips of his fingers and lips were grey, his eyes were unfocused and his forehead was covered in sweat, his throat was dry and his chest burn, there was a different thing this time though. He knew he was going to hell; he knew he deserved it yet he didn't want to go, not yet, not that night.

He couldn't feel Nate's hands on his lower abdomen, pressing against his wound, he couldn't hear Parker going through the first aid kit they had on the Van, searching for something that would help him, he couldn't hear Hardison calling nine one one, yet he felt her scent; Vanilla.

"Soph..." He called with his eyes closed. "Don't let me fall asleep!" He begged; he truly wanted to stay.

"I won't." and her voice sounded fairway.

"Tell me... about Adam ..." He asked and his entire body shook as he coughed and blood came out of his mouth, a situation that was too terribly familiar.

Sophie stared at the fading man on the ground. It was so ironic, the one time he fought for his life was also the one time he wasn't going win. She ignored the tears running down their face and started talking. She told him everything he already knew, he told him about the boy's big dark brown eyes, full of eyelashes, about his easy laugh and his charming smile that was his father's, she told him about his stubbornness and courage, about the proud on his voice every time he talked about daddy. That he loved purple and hated red, how he had cried the night the fish died.

And in the end when he couldn't keep his eyes open anymore she told him between tears that when his five year boy asked her why daddy was gone she'd tell him that he loved his boy, but that he had gone to heaven where he belonged.

Sophie Deveraux believed men with good in their hearts would go to heaven, no matter his deeds. She was right.


Eliot saw himself standing at the door of his childhood home, with his father smoking on the front porch and the horses he had bought him running free on the back, as he entered the house, the scent of cake immediately overloaded his senses. He practically ran there to found his momma singing in the kitchen as she prepared dinner, she was wearing the smile he remembered.

"Eliot" she said and he felt like a little boy and hugged her, she smelt like cookie dough and herself and to be in her arms felt as safe as always. She stepped away first, brushing his scruff with the tip of her fingers. "My boy's all grown up..." and her eyes were shiny and dreamy as he had never seen before. They were staring at each other when he heard baby cries from above.

He left the kitchen and headed for the stairs, as he climbed them the old wood steps transformed into a newer, lighter one and the rail, that was also wood, transformed into iron. When he climbed the last step he recognized he was in a different house, the one he had bought for his brother a long time ago.

He opened the door to find his sister-in-law rocking her baby on a swing chair as his brother stared at them in adoration

"Isn't he the best thing in the world?" His brother asked staring at him with blue, honest, eyes. Eliot smiled and nodded. "We don't blame you. For nothing." The woman said from the chair and started singing to the still crying baby. "Whatever choices you made, we know we did the best you could!" His brother reassured placing a big hand over his shoulder and squeezing lightly. Eliot smiled; he was at peace; finally.

At the moment he realised it, the moment he realised he had nothing to fear, everything disappeared.

He woke on the same Hospital bed with the same British woman begging him to wake up. The woman he loved.

"You fought!" She said between tears as he smiled.

"I did. I will" He promised and everyone knew he always kept his promises.

Eliot Spencer lived the rest of his life without the fear or the weight on his chest he felt for thinking he'd be punished; that he deserved to be punished. He lived the rest of this life to the fullest, almost died a handful of times, and enjoyed every minute he had as a blessing.

He died at the advanced age of eighty-three followed by Sophie two years later. "Here lies Eliot Spencer a man with a good heart and pure intentions." Was written on his tomb stone.

Did you like it, or should I have let them stay alive and well? Please tell me what you think of it.