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Nate looked steadily at Eliot with a growing sense of despair.
Eliot stared back, intense blue eyes demanding that Nate do something, right-the-hell-now, to stop this.
After a long moment, Nate blinked. “Not to put too fine a point on it, Eliot, but why didn’t you go to Sophie with this?”
“Because Sophie’s a girl!” Eliot protested through gritted teeth. “And don’t you dare suggest Parker.”
Ruthlessly smothering the grin that was trying to get him killed, Nate schooled his expression before giving the most diplomatic answer he could. “Eliot,” he said gently, checking how far he was from the combat specialist, “you may have notice that at the moment? You are, too.”
“Damnit, Nate, just do something!”
Nate dropped into the chair behind his desk, solid wood between himself and a confused, gender-switched, hormonal, mad-as-a-wet-cat Eliot. It might buy him a few seconds.
If he was lucky.
He pinched the bridge of his nose. “It’s a period, Eliot. I can’t do anything.” And yep, that was the usually unflappable man blushing like a schoolgirl. “Why don’t you go see Dr Fraser, get yourself some…uh… supplies and some Ibuprofen and then go ask Sophie or Parker how they deal with it?” he suggested.
Without warning, Eliot burst into tears, the cursing starting up shortly after as Eliot realised he couldn’t stop them. Which just made things worse, because now they were angry tears and not frustrated tears, and even when the person crying in anger wasn’t a gender-switched Delta Force operative, angry tears had always scared Nate.
With a resigned sigh, Nate shoved his box of tissues across the desk before reaching for his phone.