Written for comment_fic on livejournal

"It's not really about speed, it's about precision," he told Parker, demonstrating for her by slowing his chopping down enough for her to clearly see that every stroke of the knife made a row of thin, same-sized scallion rings.

"You try," he said, and she tried hard to suppress a giggle. People didn't usually hand Parker sharp objects. But then, Eliot didn't scare as easily as most people.

She stabbed at the green tubes, but Eliot quickly said, "Slow, remember?"

He was standing close, over her left shoulder, so she turned her head toward him and said, "Slow has never really been my style."

He let out a chuckle. "I believe it. But just try it my way this once. You might like it," he said, and added quick, almost imperceptible wink.

She cut a few slices into the greens as she tried to ignore the sensation of being watched, like a slow tingle up the neck. "How's this?" she asked, trying to sound like her entire focus was on the cutting board.

"Good, you're doing good. But you don't have to work so hard. Let the blade do the work."

"Duh," she said with a snort, "What else would be doing the work?" Damn, she thought. That was probably one of those things that girls know not to say. She looked back at Eliot again, wondering if it might just be easier to find some excuse to flee the kitchen.

But Eliot just smiled. Not a oh-you-silly-girl-why-do-we-put-up-with-y ou-smile, but a real smile. He said, "I can show you, if you'd like."

"Okay," she said, but then looked away quickly. Don't act weird, she told herself, as she felt Eliot's body move right up behind her. His right hand gently covered hers on the knife blade, and she stared at it for a second, noting the size of his hand, and its many callouses and scars. It actually made her feel delicate in comparison.

As he began to move her hand up and down, directing the knife in soft, perfect little strokes, she tried to focus on the rhythm of the cutting instead of on Eliot's lightly musky smell, or on the way his hair just barely brushed her cheek when he leaned forward to slide the finished scallions into the bowl.

"See what I mean?" he asked as he handed her back the knife, "Gentler actually works better sometimes."

She nodded. "Yeah, I'll try again," she said as she grabbed a pile of leave nearby and put them on the board, "People eat this, right?"

"Yeah, that's basil," he said. "You liked it last time I made linguini with pesto."

"Mmm, I did like that," she said with a smile, as she did her best to cut slow, even slices across the mess of leaves. Eliot was still behind her, hand on the counter next to her as he leaned in to inspect her work. "How'm I doing?" she asked as she turned her neck to look at him, her face just inches from his.

"Perfect," he smiled, eyes sparkling at her, "But keep your eyes on what you're doing. Those are billion-dollar fingers and you don't want them to get cut."

She turned her head back downward to watch her work, but said, "They've never stolen a billion dollars." That's just a ridiculous amount, she thought.

Eliot stopped her cutting once more, and brought her hands to his lips, gently kissing each one. "Wasn't talking about what they've stolen, darling."

Parker looked at him and for a moment she couldn't even think. When she could finally form a coherent sentence, she blurted out, "Maybe I do like cooking after all."