Disclaimer: Not mine. Dawn belongs to Joss Whedon. Eliot and Hardison belong to Jerry Bruckheimer.

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“No. No, no, no, no, and aw ---- no!”

“You’re just scared you’d lose.”

“Not a chance, Girl. Ain’t no way you’re winning.”

“Which is why I offered a bet.”

“I’m not takin’ it.”

“Because you know you’ll lose. Admit it. You won’t man-up because you’re afraid to lose to a girl.”

“You being a girl has nothing to do with it.”

“So it’s just a loser thing?”

“You know what? Fine. I’ll take the bet.”

Dawn called Eliot into the room and asked him to teach her how to kill a man using only a small knife. He refused point-blank until she stared up at him with her lower lip trembling and big blue eyes filled with tears. He stared back at her silently. He threw his hands up in the air and growled when a single tear slipped down her cheek. Eliot groaned and nodded, telling her to be ready in one hour. He then left the room, grumbling about manipulative little girls, and only teaching her to keep her safe. Dawn grinned at Hardison.

“Wore him down in five minutes after only one sentence. That’s two months without any orange soda.”

“Big, strong hitter-man can’t even last ten minutes against a girl who never hurts people. That’s wrong, man; just wrong.”