quick hands

An NCIS oneshot

by mew-tsubaki

Note: The NCIS characters belong to Donald P. Bellasario, not to me. One passing line in e15 and I'm just TTwTT with Parknight over here, *lol*. Read, review, and enjoy! *Note: Set any time after s19e15, "Thick as Thieves."

- ^-^3

"Quiet, quick with his hands."

Those words haven't been front and center in Jessica Knight's brain for a few weeks, ever since the team learned of Parker's curious Philly history. Sure, she was jazzed to learned she was spot on about their team leader's past—she's damn good at sizing people up, even as tough a nut as Alden Parker—but, honestly, aside from the occasional observation confirming that he fits the teenage misfit type, the things she learned during that case have been sorted and set aside, things to be mused upon another day.

As for today, Knight busies herself with lacing up a new pair of boots while at her desk. "You know, considering I encountered more explosives as part of REACT," she says, "you would've thought I did more running from bombs then. Or from wannabe shooters. Instead, I'm on my second pair of boots with this team."

Parker snickers as he stands in front of his desk and flips through a file, searching for something before he's due to update the director on their current case. "Yeah," he agrees without tearing his attention from his desk, "I don't doubt that. This team alone encounters more danger than most agents I know greet across three agencies."

She does a double-take at him. "You're only on your second helping of alphabet soup—right?"

He pauses long enough to shoot her a smirk but doesn't disclose. FBI, NCIS—he could say NASA instead of NSA right now, and Knight would find that in line with his jack-of-all-trades character.

But Knight stuffs yet another note of Parker's intrigue into a mental cabinet of "Dwell on It Later" and stands up. Yeah. These boots aren't the exact same ones she had before (the soles are chunkier than she'd like, although they'll probably last longer this way), but they're black and sturdy and they lace, so they're secure on her feet. The only thing is, as with any other pair of new shoes, they're stiff as hell, so it'll take some walking to break them in. That's when she returns her attention to Parker and nods to the report he seizes at last and sticks in the file. "I know McGee's down in Autopsy and Torres is helping Kasie with the evidence, but did you want some company filling in Director Vance?"

"No, thanks. I'm going to have to explain why we haven't notified the lieutenant's family yet, and family issues…" He lets the thought hang there as he makes for the staircase.

Knight nods, vividly recalling Vance's un-director-like behavior when Kayla worked her first case with the team. "I'm told I'm an excellent buffer," she reminds Parker, going to follow him out of the bullpen.

Going to. As in, she doesn't quite make it.

Thoughts of breaking in her boots up and down the stairs or wandering the office while waiting on her next task to appear flee from Knight's mind the moment the toe of the chunky sole on the right boot catches on the carpet. The ground races up to meet her because she has nothing to grab hold of—

Like lightning striking, though, Parker's hand is there on her arm to catch her. His last-second save stops Knight from face-planting with fewer than thirty degrees between her and the floor, and he drops his file to help right her.

Hair in her face, heart in her throat, and cheeks aflame, Knight meets his eyes for two seconds. Then she laughs it off and runs a hand through her dark tresses after he lets go. "Nice catch, Parker! And thanks." Her laughter softens as embarrassment takes over. "At least the other two weren't here to see that, otherwise I'd never live it down," she remarks.

But Parker collects his file and straightens up—only to reveal an amused little smirk of his own that tells her maybe this moment will be remembered anyway. "You're welcome," is all he says as he walks away, but there's a lilt in his voice, as if he's close to laughing with her (but not at her).

Knight's still red in the face, but now her mind flies elsewhere, back to thoughts to be mused another day, because today is another day.

"Quiet, quick with his hands."

It's a bit harder to close the cabinet drawer on that thought now.

- ^-^3

"Hold on!" Parker warns her.

Knight's thoughts stray again days later. Different week, different day, different case—the variables have changed, but her mind goes back to that one specific detail about Parker as she rides shotgun with him and their tail on the second of two suspects turns into a chase the moment they've been made.

"Parker? Knight?" McGee's voice is staticky on Parker's phone in its dashboard holder. "Our guy's not moving. Are you—" The call drops.

"I'll get him and Torres back," Knight says, dialing from her cell. It doesn't even ring. "Crap. We might be in a dead zone." She tries texting each of her fellow agents next, but no check mark appears in either chat, showing her messages have been delivered. She drops her phone in her lap and braces herself with a hand against the roof's interior as Parker ramps up their speed. "Well, here's hoping McGee or Kasie can be ping our locations before we're in any real trouble."

Parker spares her the split-second to share her look of concern. Then his eyes are back on the road. "Good thing we're highly trained agents."

She snorts. She's got no witty retort to offer.

The suspect leads them further into this old warehousing district. Old, because it's dilapidated as hell—crate pieces strewn about, siding scattered like flooring, and Knight's bars on her phone disappear completely—and this really is no place to give chase, let alone have a high-speed pursuit. And, the further they go in, the more mazelike it becomes. And the more it appears the suspect knows this place, as the car ahead of them gets further away while Parker and Knight navigate the debris.

"Parker, Webster's weaving but turning…right! Holy—did he just clip that container?!"

"I see him, Knight." Parker floors it, sending odds and ends flying off the road behind them. "We'll catch up with him."

She leans forward—and blanches. "Parker. Parker. Parker! There was a beam on the container! Webster knocked it loose when he clipped it—" She can't even get the rest of her words out: "It's going to fall right through our car."

But Parker doesn't need her verbal warning. Quick as ever, he whips the steering wheel around, cutting a sharp right turn just in time for the beam to come clattering down outside his side of the car.

They idle long enough for Parker to peer through his window and for Knight to lean over him to glimpse at their brush with death. After two rattling, deafening heartbeats, Knight sits back down and locks eyes with Parker.

"Well, he's getting away," Parker reminds her, carefully going out around the beam and slowly pouring on speed again as they resume the chase.

Knight looses a nervous laugh. And she shakes her head at him when he spares her a reassuring glance. She's never known someone to drive as crazy as her—and yet she finds it reassuring. Which only makes her laugh a little harder.

- ^-^3

Then there is an instance such as today, which is no laughing matter. And, instead, Knight settles McGee and Torres each with a glare. "You couldn't have waited?" she snaps at them.

McGee, for his part, looks apologetically at the half-eaten pastry in his hand. His fish impression (mouth open, mouth closed, and repeat) also seems sorry and makes him seem as if he's about to offer her the last two bites. "Uh, well, you can have—"

But Knight flings up a hand, dropping her bag on the floor to punctuate her action. "I don't want your leftovers, McGee. Just finish it."

Yet Torres is impervious to her churlish attitude. "Uh snuh, uh ruh," he mumbles around the pastry caught between his teeth.

She has a strong urge to tear the damn thing from his mouth. "Come again?" Knight growls after plopping her butt into her chair. It's better for everyone involved if she's seated. Safer, really.

He takes the treat from his bite and grins. "You snooze, you lose. What's with you being nearly an hour late this morning anyway, Knight?"

"It wasn't my choice!" she huffs. "Today was just one thing right after the other. There was a power outage at my apartment building in the middle of the night, so my alarm clock reset, and I didn't have my phone set as a backup. Then I hit every red light on my route here—and there were two separate accidents backing up traffic, with no detours."

McGee raises his hand, though he abruptly lowers it when her eyes land on him once more. "Ah, um…"

"What, McGee?" Knight asks, willing her tone to be more even and less hostile.

He points to her t-shirt under her blazer. "…is this a bad time to point out that your shirt's on…inside–out…?"

Her eyes widen. She gropes the collar of her V-neck and feels the inner seam on the outside. "Son of a—"

"We have a dead petty officer on the floor of someone's unopened, dream flower shop downtown," Parker announces, rounding the corner with his phone in hand. He pockets it and surveys the team with a quirked eyebrow. "What did I miss?"

"Nothing," Knight insists as she grabs her bag.

"All right…" Parker nods to McGee and stops at Torres' desk, showing them a picture on his phone. "McGee, Torres, head straight for the flower shop to get started on the scene with Palmer. But if you see this person, Petty Officer Davis, call me."

Torres shoulders his bag but pauses before he and McGee depart. "Wait—aren't you and Knight coming to the crime scene?"

"Knight and I will chase down Davis' last-known whereabouts first. We had a call on the tip line that Davis was supposed to be out last night with the late Petty Officer Ryan, but Davis might've taken a detour at a bar that has him on their no-entry list."

Torres whistles as he follows McGee backwards towards the elevator. "Sounds fun. No bar fights without me, you two!" The elevator doors close on the pair, right as Torres crams the rest of his pastry into his mouth. Seeing that makes Knight growl again.

"Knight."

She faces Parker, her expression still severe (it's Torres' fault, of course—he's extremely good at riling people up). Then she blinks in surprise at an offering he holds practically under her nose. "That's—"

"The last one," Parker informs her.

"But the guys—"

"—descended like vultures on what I brought this morning," he acknowledges. He gently nudges the pastry into her hands before backtracking to his desk to grab his bag and his keys. He continues as they walk to the elevator, "And Torres gets a little greedy on the mornings when I bring in something a little less sweet, I've noticed."

Knight cocks her head at him.

But Parker only confides once they're in the elevator. "He takes a second one when he thinks no one's looking and puts a napkin and then a folder on top of it on his desk," he says, leaning in close and pantomiming Torres' actions.

She grins for the first time in hours—and not because she knows Nick Torres' pastry secret. She debates bringing up the subject, but she figures she knows Parker well enough by now. The man's got a decent, dark sense of humor, so Knight goes for it once they're in the car: "You sly fox. You nicked the pastry right off his desk when you were showing him and McGee Davis' photo."

Parker shrugs. But there's the most imperceptible lift at the right corner of his mouth, a hint of a smirk. "Once a thief, always a thief," he sighs. "But not really. I was only stealing it back, and for a good cause."

Knight laughs. "Aw, am I a good cause?"

His eyes linger on her for one Mississippi, which makes her laughter catch in her throat, especially since Parker doesn't answer her question. He drives out of the lot, waiting on a turn, looking at the traffic. Only then does he ask, "Feeling better?"

"Um. Yeah." She nods and breaks pieces of the treat off to eat in small bites. "Hey. Thanks, Parker."

"Ah, I don't believe in that 'you snooze, you lose' stuff anyway."

She smiles and tears off another piece. She holds it out for him to eat. "Want some? It tastes a lot better, knowing it's the last and that it won't be there waiting when Torres goes looking for it later."

Parker accepts the bite and nods after enjoying it. "Huh. You might be on to something there."

- ^-^3

But a man with quick hands and Parker's charms is kind of the last thing on Knight's mind when the team's under heavy gunfire.

Knight's on McGee's left, with Parker and Torres maybe a yard ahead of them to the right and that much closer to this cadet dropout. Some cases are simple—sometimes it's the family member who kills the lieutenant that shows up on Jimmy's table, sometimes people like Webster sell military vehicles for parts to make a quick buck, and sometimes it's a heated argument that just goes south between former best friends like Petty Officers Davis and Ryan—and then there is tonight. A Thursday night. The team's taking heavy fire from a seemingly good-on-paper cadet who faked his psych eval to get access to weapons. And this cadet dropout, Inneson, has got a lot of weapons.

Good grief. They might all die on a Thursday night. Who ever heard of such a thing?

The primary problem with their shooter is that he hasn't paused to reload any of his weapons. Instead, he takes two, three seconds tops, to switch to the next gun once he empties another. He's got at least two bags' worth of fully loaded guns.

Parker motions for Torres to spread out further, maybe flank Inneson? It's hard to see on this exercise field at night. Then Parker turns his head Knight's and McGee's way. "Regroup!" he shouts at them.

The three of them fall back, taking turns providing cover as they seek the largest items to hide behind. At this point, the sturdy climbing wall nearest a thick tree is the best option. They crouch there.

"How many rounds do you two have left?" Parker asks while he checks his own ammunition.

McGee's SIG clicks, slides, and clicks. "I'm on my backup mag, and I've got one bullet left."

"Knight?"

"Empty." She returns her gun to its holster. "Normally, I'd advocate talking the target down, but—given what Inneson pulled with his eval—that's not going to work." She grimaces. "If I had my rifle instead…"

It's dark, but there's enough moonlight to see Parker and McGee exchange a look, weighing the option of Knight sniping Inneson. "Let's give Torres another minute to sneak around and surprise him. In the meantime…" He pulls two bullets from his backup magazine to pass to McGee and passes another three to Knight. "Load up. No one runs on empty tonight, got it?"

Both nod and do as told. Knight's hands itch, having her SIG ready to go again, thinking this could all be over sooner if only, if only, if only

Ahead, Inneson's fire stops. There are grunts, and she, Parker, and McGee risk looking from their hiding spot.

Inneson has Torres on the ground. Torres protects his head while Inneson kicks him, repeatedly. Their friend's groans are clear in the quiet night—as is the clink of Inneson's semiautomatic, which he trains on Torres. "Enough games, NCIS! One agent isn't going to hold up against me," Inneson calls out to them. "So either show yourselves or I'll riddle this daredevil with holes."

Parker clicks his tongue against his teeth. "Yeah…Knight. How far to your rifle in the car?"

She chews her bottom lip. "I'm not sure. I can dash, but—"

"Then what about taking a rifle straight out of Inneson's hands?"

Knight raises her eyebrows. That sounds dangerous. That sounds like an Alden Parker-certified crazy idea. "That might work," she agrees.

"What?!" McGee yelps, barely keeping his voice down. "That's insane!"

But Parker shakes his head. "Inneson's closer than the car. It's simple geometry, McGee."

"But—"

Parker nods to Knight. "Only if you're good with it."

Knight doesn't hesitate. As if she even needs Inneson's prompting with another kick to Torres' middle, causing him to grunt, making her and McGee wince in response. "Let's do it."

"All right. McGee, you and I will provide cover. Knight, if you don't mind, I'd recommend the route opposite what Torres took," Parker says, pointing with two fingers around the tree. "You'll be wide open, but there are no lights on that side."

She nods. She sheds her jacket and gathers up her hair, prepping for the maddest sprint of her life. Knight waits for McGee to take up post on the edge of the climbing wall while Parker stays with her by the tree. Then she nods again to the pair of them.

But either Inneson is good at tracking movements or one of them drew his attention. He forgets Torres and opens fire towards the back of the exercise field where they are. McGee and Parker return a little of his fire, but it's like throwing pebbles at a cannon.

Knight takes her chance. She slips out from behind the tree and—

—bullets rain down on the tree, morphing branches, leaves, and twigs into angry pieces of shrapnel, closing in on their target as Inneson corrects his aim

—but Parker snatches her back from the gunfire in time. His hand darts out, grasping for any part of her, his fingers hooking through the nearest belt loop on her jeans, and he yanks her at an angle, away from danger. She crashes into him and they would've tumbled if not for the tree roots rushing up to meet them. The wind rushes from Parker's lungs, but he's got her, safe and sound.

An eternity (twenty seconds) later, Inneson's shooting stops. Then Torres calls out, "Inneson's down!"

Parker sighs after catching his breath. "About damn time."

Knight wants to tell him "thanks" for saving her life, but the reality of the past minute is still too fresh. She's not even certain "thanks" will cut it. So she politely clambers off him and offers Parker a hand up. "Just your average Thursday night," she quips instead as she helps him to his feet.

Parker laughs and shakes his head. "Never an uneventful night with you, Knight."

"Not with this team, no."

He opens his mouth…but changes his mind and closes it. "And now it's time to wonder where the hell our backup's been," he grouses, heading towards Inneson.

Knight wonders that, too. And, as it turns out, their backup had been on the way. It was nobody's fault except Inneson's that everything escalated so quickly. It hasn't even been ten minutes since Parker's team arrived on scene, looking to bring the dropout in.

Inneson protests the cuffs all the way, but he's secure. There's no ambulance on the way and, really, that'd be overkill, according to Torres. "This is nothing a pack of frozen peas can't heal overnight," he tells the team as he gestures to the welts on his arms and what are sure to turn to bruises on his midsection.

McGee rolls his eyes and sends Parker and Knight a skeptical look before walking Torres towards his car. "Nice try. I'm driving you straight to the ER myself, Mr. Hero, and then you're staying at my place."

"What? I've been shot at and beaten up tonight, Tim! I can't be a human jungle gym tonight—"

"And I will explain to the twins just how fragile Uncle Nick is. Now get a move on."

Knight and Parker watch the scene with interest, and she cracks a smile. "God, sometimes he really just doesn't know when to accept help," she remarks as she lets her hair down with a relieved sigh.

"Or medical attention," Parker adds.

She snorts. "That, too."

"Speaking of which—" Parker tilts his head her way and raises his eyebrows.

"What?"

"You need some patching up, too, Knight."

She scoffs. "No, I don't. I'm fine." Of course, the moment she says it, Knight hears how much she sounds like Torres. No wonder she gets along so well with him, dammit. "Hey, I wasn't beaten up or shot. Just…shot at. There's a difference," she says, finishing with a casual shrug.

"Uh-huh," Parker agrees in a tone that indicates he absolutely doesn't believe her. He heads towards his car, knowing she'll fall into step with him, and stops behind the vehicle to unlock the trunk. From it, he withdraws a first-aid kit. "You're covered in scrapes, Knight. At least let me fix a few of them."

They go sit on the hood of the sedan, putting themselves further away from the commotion of other agents working the scene but allowing Parker enough light to work. Parker's eyes rove over Knight's arms and face, checking for where it's worst, before he sorts through the kit's items. Knight gets comfy, sitting on her folded NCIS jacket, but, now that the adrenaline's worn off, suddenly she feels every little nick and scrape and bruise-to-be. She wonders if she's got some splinters, too, with the way Inneson shot up the tree.

"Let me know if something stings," Parker murmurs before gingerly taking her left hand.

Knight smiles a little, to herself. Over the last several weeks, the past couple months, she's had occasion to consider these hands. Now she has the chance to observe them up close, and she finds it quite fitting that Parker's hands, his fingers, are rougher than they seem. He's been through some things, seen some things, but he hasn't let those things change him—or, rather, he's turned his experiences, his past, into something good. These hands are proof of that. They are tough, rough, and yet stunningly gentle with her.

"Agh, dammit," he grumbles as a Band-Aid sticks to itself before he can cover a scratch on her forearm.

Now she openly grins. "You know, I can get an actual doctor to treat me. We've got one in-house back at headquarters," Knight points out.

Parker pauses his haphazard ministrations and slides off the hood to stand in front of her. He doesn't reply right away, instead choosing to focus on dabbing a sterile wipe to the faint scrapes he locates on her chin, her right cheek, a spot on her forehead directly above her left eyebrow. He purses his lips when he locks eyes with her, and his hand slows as he finishes up and pushes some hair out of her face. "…I know," he mumbles. "Best to act right away, though, right?"

Her grin is so wide, it hurts more than these insignificant grazes. "So this is your first move?"

But her grin feels weak, her bravado called out, when Parker's fingers linger on her cheekbone. There's something that shifts in his body language and expression; it's not tiredness, but more…coming undone, after being wound tight for too long. "I'm getting a bit tired of seeing you banged up on the job, Jess."

For a fragile moment, with their gazes held, Knight's brain takes an extra second to play catchup. It's not the use of her first name that catches her off-guard, she concludes, but the implied reference to their time on the Stargazer ages ago, as well as other cases. "…oh."

He gives her the tiniest shrug, not to play things off but to emphasize his concern. His eyes rove over her face again and he pushes another, smaller lock of hair back, but he can't help but settle his eyes on hers once more.

Knight chuckles. She leans forward, scooting down the hood a smidge, just enough to close the distance between them. Then she rests her head on his shoulder, by his chest. Huh. The danger's behind them, but she hears a speedy bthump-bthump-bthump pounding in his chest much the same as she heard when he saved her earlier. "Here I thought I was the one doing all the worrying, making myself crazy," she utters. Which is true. She's never met another person like Alden Parker who keeps her heart in her throat with nearly every case, nearly every day.

"Not in the least," he assures her.

Four simple words. And yet they're better than a confession or a more solid acknowledgment of what's developed between them.

Parker doesn't say anything else that night, but he doesn't need to. His words are in his actions, in his hands: He has one hand moving to gather the first-aid items and tuck them away while the other's preoccupied, since he has his other arm wrapped around Knight.

Sure, Knight knows. At some point, this moment will end. But they're beginning, at last.

"Quiet, quick with his hands."

Knight's been right about Parker before. And she's looking forward to learning more of him—but slow and steady, at their own pace now.

- ^-^3

:3c If you have read any of my other Parknights (and you rly should), dear reader, then you know by now just how much I love them. X3 I love them individually as well as a ship and DAMN if this fic wasn't fun to write! Firstly, may I just brag: I finally resolved any and all mini cases mentioned throughout an NCIS fic, which is a first for me. ;D ANYWAY. I did draft this before e16 aired, bc e15 gave me too much inspo that I couldn't help myself. XD What else… When the team was taking turns guessing about Parker's juvie crimes in e15, I was ECSTATIC that Knight not only got it right but gave us that line. UGH. GAH. UNF. So memorable. So useful. I could've turned this story into one with a stronger rating with that line, *LOL*, but I'm enjoying myself too much, dabbling in their early days of chemistry (altho don't think I haven't thought of writing some more proper, established Parknights, bc I'm brainstorming :3c). Their on-screen chemistry aside, this was just fun to write in terms of how Parker interacts with everyone; it was also fun writing more NCIS cases to give them some settings to work off of, and boy if they weren't useful (esp Inneson in the end XP). Also, I rly love Nick Torres, giving him all the dialogue I did in this story just gave me the warm&fuzzies. Gosh, what a dork. I love this team a lot, okay? ;w; Pls look forward to more Parknight from me and read the others if you haven't yet!

Thanks for reading, and please review! Check out my other NCIS fics if you liked this. And, as with my other NCIS fics, show your support via tumblr with a reblog~

-mew-tsubaki :D