Author's Note: Decided to continue with this theme in order to work on my 'action-writing' skills, which let's face it, need some honing. So this is going to be a series of one-shots, I think.

This one is centered on Pride, since I'm trying to like him more. As it is, despite liking Scott Bakula a lot (fan of him in Quantum Leap and Enterprise) Dwayne Pride sort of bores me… I don't dislike him. But I don't particularly like him, either. I'm thinking that maybe this is just because I've never tried to get into his head (nothing about him has drawn me in, I guess), and am going to give it a go…

Dwayne Pride, federal agent (some would say 'veteran' agent, or 'well-seasoned' -he liked that, 'well-seasoned', it conjured images of a perfectly prepared culinary delight, rather than an old worn down man, which he thought he perhaps was, as he) chased the young woman up the metal stairs, her light footsteps creating a musical melody, his clunky old feet rattling the structure in a cacophony.

And then they hit the deck and she really got a lead on him, the distance between her bare feet and his boots growing wider by the second. The girl was probably less than half his age. Hell, Christopher was just barely over half his age, and this spry young woman was likely only a few years older than Laurel, if that. Far too young to be a cat burglar, let alone a murderer. But she was both.

And she was escaping.

And where the hell were his junior agents? He'd sent them to the port side boarders' rooms while he checked the passengers that had booked rooms on the starboard side of the cargo vessel. There weren't that many, just an attempt by an already wealthy-beyond-reason corporation to make a few more bucks by offering up the space left by employees they'd cut off the manifest in the interest of 'cost-effectiveness'. They should've been through with the five mystery persons of interest. He doubted any of them met Miss Ross's description at all. What 20-year old liked to travel via sketchy cargo ship? Didn't they like to go on cruises to the Caribbean or Tijuana? Thankfully, Laurel was a little more sophisticated and intelligent, had been talking about back-packing across Europe, the thought of which terrified her father as much as if she was making plans to go to Cancun for Spring Break, or booking passage on a rusty, decades-old cargo ship headed for Peru with a crew that looked more like pirates than merchant seamen.

Thankfully, the ship was a hub of activity, the scruffy-looking crew unloading the last of the hold before they began loading for their return trip. His suspect was significantly slowed by the stacks of crates, busy crew and small loaders zipping about the deck. Pride pushed himself, knowing he wouldn't have made it this far if he didn't still run a couple miles every day. Slowing down is what made a person stop. And once you stopped doing the things you used to, at his age, it was near impossible to start once more. He didn't usually feel old, not even when chasing suspects, engaging in gun battles and fist fights. But his suspects generally weren't little girls that reminded him very much of his own little girl... not so little anymore.

The burglar-turned-murderer made a mistake. She should've turned left as she made her way through that maze of crates, reached the port edge of the ship where it would be a clear run to the gangplank. But she'd turned left and found herself stopped at the precipice of the gaping cargo hold. She turned around, a gust of coastal wind molding the oversized flannel shirt about her slender body, whipping her mousy-colored hair about her face...

God, did she look young, her cheeks full and round, her green eyes as big as a frightened doe's. Her mouth was set in a firm, determined line, even as he trained Charmaine, his Colt Python, on her, center mass. He didn't want to shoot her. God, he didn't want to kill a girl whose life had just barely begun.

Dwayne had to remind himself that she was a killer. Not just a young woman caught up in a bad life, a thief who could still be set on a straight path, who still might have a good heart inside of her. He concentrated on the image of the scene she had left behind for them to find., the Admiral's wife lying in a pool of her own blood, having surprised the young thief mid-robbery, recalled how the evidence had revealed the grim sequence of events, that this girl had shot Michelle Johnston, puncturing the older woman's lung, leaving her to slowly drown in her own blood as she proceeded to finish opening the safe and clearing out its contents before fleeing, consigning her victim to die slowly, agonizingly, alone in the dark while her husband was serving a tour in the Pacific.

"It's over, Nadine," Pride shouted over the din of the machinery, men and the roar of the wind as it continued to pick up in intensity. "We know you're responsible, for the string of robberies in Uptown, and for the murder of Michelle Johnston. Just turn yourself in."

The girl glanced behind her, looked back to Pride with a grin that could only be called 'vulpine' curving her lips. She took a step back that made his heart scramble up into his throat. Granted, the girl's deliberate step was reminiscent of that of an Olympic gymnast on a balance beam, poised, perfectly placed, and eminently confident. But still...

"Don't do it," Pride said. "We can work this out. There ain't any reason to do somethin' rash. Ya've got your whole life-"

The girl raised her arms above her head, her knees bending slightly, and then her entire body launching up about a foot as she arced backwards, again reminding him of an Olympic athlete, only this time one doing a backwards dive off the high platform... Only it was no deep pool of water she'd be landing in.

He sprinted to the edge of the hold, simultaneously apprehensive and eager to look down, to know what had happened to the graceful girl. Instead of finding a gruesome sight of a broken body in a pool of blood and innards that exploded outwards by the force of the impact, Dwayne found himself stumbling back a couple of feet, his mind blanking with shock as the large net filled with cargo was lifted out of the hold, an incongruous barnacle in black leggings and a red flannel shirt clinging to the side. As the net was lifted, the full, round face grinned at him with youthful exuberance, green eyes sparkling, passing by him just three feet out of reach. He was in such shock, he hadn't even lifted his gun to threaten the suspect, until a moment later, the bundle rotated under its imbalanced weight, removing the insane cat burglar from his sight.

Nadine Ross was going to escape.

A girl, maybe a year older than his college-age daughter, had outsmarted him, well, at least physically out-classed him, and was going to escape.

A cold-blooded killer, albeit one with dimples, was about to get away with murder.

Not on Senior NCIS Agent Dwayne Cassius 'King' Pride's watch. No siree.

He tucked Charmaine into his belt at the small of his back, took several steps backward and then got enough speed to launch himself off the edge of the hold and into the bundle of cargo with no chance of missing it, grabbing hold of the rough rope of the net with his hands, and scrambling to tuck the toes of his boots into the large gaps.

He allowed himself several purposefully slow, deep breaths to calm his heart. It'd been awhile since he'd pulled a stunt like this. And then he heard a familiar voice call his name.

"Pride?!"

He forced his eyes open, craning his neck to look down onto the deck of the ship, which they were now about ten feet above, the hold a dark chasm of terrifying depth directly below. Standing on the edge looking up at him with eyes gone ridiculously wide, were his junior agents. They, both of them, had very big, expressive eyes as it was, and in their current state of surprise, they resembled small children seeing a Ferris Wheel for the first time, terrified but also a little bit impressed.

"What in the blue blazes are ya doin'? LaSalle shouted, still staring at him without blinking.

Slightly disoriented -he'd sent the bundle of cargo spinning faster with his momentum- he looked hastily about, until he saw Nadine Ross smiling her vulpine grin at him, her cheeks dimpling and her green eyes lively and bright. And then she disappeared, and he could feel the cargo boxes and barrels shift and shake inside their bundle. She was climbing up towards the crane's cable.

"What does it look like, I'm doin? I'm catchin', the suspect," he shouted down. Now the man and woman really did look like children, as they got smaller and smaller, the net being raised higher and higher. He watched Brody and LaSalle exchange a look before she ran off, shouting at the nearest deckhand and then pointing frantically up at Pride.

Well, he'd come this far, he might as well finish the job.

Pride let go of the thick rope net with one hand, flexing his fingers, feeling the knuckles lock up painfully from the force with which he'd been gripping the only thing keeping him from being gumbo in the bowels of an old rust bucket. And then he reached up as high as he could, got a good grip, and pulled, drawing up his feet into new holds, and continuing to climb. Nothing to it, really. He'd done this back in gym class in elementary school, climbing a cargo net. And that was what, only about fifty years ago... Well, he remembered it like it was yesterday.

Almost there. He crested the swell of the net, to see that the young, lithe cat burglar had already reached the cable. He amended his original assessment of Nadine Ross as an Olympic athlete. She was all lean muscle, but also graceful, and the way she easily ascended the thick rope of metal was more like something out of Cirque du Soleil. Gritting his teeth against the ache in his shoulders and the burning in his biceps and calves, Dwayne pushed himself to climb the remaining few feet. He was going to have to lie on the heating pad tonight, after he had his palms treated for rope burn of course.

Okay. Now what?

He was standing precariously perched near the apex of the cargo net, hugging himself fiercely, trapping the cable between his arms and his chest. All the while his murder suspect was shimmying away, just out of his grasp.

No. No way. Not on his watch. He had a reputation to preserve. And if the criminal element in his city thought he was gettin' soft... Not to sound too conceited, but that would be bad news for everyone. He'd spent long hard years, lots of 'em, to establish a reputation of honor and well, stubbornness that held sway with good people and bad guys alike.

So Dwayne released his embrace on the cable, opting instead to hold himself steady with one hand, and use his other to reach up, straining all of his muscles and tendons, a couple popping disturbingly audibly, stretching as far as he could manage to… almost, just a little further, just a small springy jump and-

He wrapped his fingers about a slender, bony ankle, and tightened his grip, felt a tug as Nadine tried to raise the foot, a yelp as she realized what was snagging her. And then she began to thrash the appendage, causing the cargo net, its contents, and its stowaways to jerk and shake, and spin round and round and round and-

Dwayne closed his eyes tight, latched onto the young woman's ankle even tighter. He'd be damned if he was going to let a murderer go free just because of a little personal discomf- oh boy!

Nadine Ross, athletic circus acrobat cat burglar, fell.

Apparently, too intent on casting off the agent who had gotten hold of her like an old dog sinking his teeth into a bone, she'd lost her grip on the cable.

Agent Pride would not have let her fallen to her death. He would've caught her, held onto her despite his arm muscles screaming in pain. At least, a younger Agent Pride would've prevented his suspect from falling.

Dwayne, however, on days like these, had to admit he was in his declining years. But admitting to it was NOT submitting to it. And he adamantly refused to just roll over and die, to retire before he was ready, to let homicide suspects escape.

And so he hadn't let go of the young woman's ankle when she fell. But neither had he caught her, saved her from falling.

No, he'd inadvertently chosen the third option.

Agent Dwayne Pride fell along with Nadine Ross, from the net full of cargo, dangling from a crane, which had swung them out over... the water.

Dwayne breathed a sigh of relief even as he plunged the fifty feet down, knowing that hitting the surface of water could be just as devastating as concrete, and finally choosing to release Nadine Ross' ankle in an attempt to get his feet underneath him, pull his arms in against his sides, take a deep breath and-

He pierced the dark surface like a an Olympic athlete. Okay, it was as close as he'd ever get to performing an Olympic high dive. The harbor water was almost the consistency of cowboy coffee, murky with stirred up silt and other debris he rather not consider. His heart thudded in his ears, which ached in a way that made him wonder if the sudden pressure of abruptly being plunged fairly deep under water hadn't burst his eardrums. But everything else felt... pretty okay, even as he once more pushed already taxed muscles, kicking his legs and pulling with his arms to propel himself towards the surface. He broke it, the sunlight seeming far brighter than it had moments before, making him blink even as he gasped and ran a hand over his face, swiping the water from his eyes, nose and mouth.

He tread water, paddling himself about in a full circle, searching for a round face with dimples, green eyes, or that nondescript, mousy brown hair. A red flannel shirt? Pale skin?

Nothing. Shit.

Instead of waning off, his adrenaline increased, and he wondered how much any person's heart could take, let alone a man entering his seventh decade. He let himself sink under the water, searching the depths for any sign of the young woman he hadn't found on its surface. But it was just so murky... he couldn't see a foot past his face in the clouds of silt.

He popped up, heard Christopher LaSalle's frantic tone.

"King!"

Looking up, he spotted the agent leaning over the railing on the side of the cargo vessel. Mostly unloaded, the ship was riding high, about twenty feet up, but his young friend looked determined to dive off. He knew Chris was a strong swimmer, but he'd rather not the man risk it, with a wall of steel to bounce himself off from. Thankfully, the more level-headed recent addition to their little family was holding him back. Literally. Agent Brody had an arm across Christopher's chest, her other hand gripping his shoulder, her head turned towards him. She appeared to be speaking calmly into his ear. He didn't appear to be responding, jerking in her grasp and shouting for his boss again.

"I'm fine." Dwayne's attempt to reassure his junior agents failed in a pathetic croak. He took a moment to take a deep breath, completely filling his lungs before he tried again. This time waving his arms for extra measure.

"Here! I'm fine," he shouted, flailing, until his team spotted him, their shoulders visibly sagging in relief. "Do you see Nadine Ross?"

The two agents broke apart, began moving in opposite directions along the starboard side of the deck, searching the water.

"There!" Brody shouted and pointed.

Following her outstretched arm, Dwayne turned himself about, growing weary of treading water, but anxious to find the young woman, hopefully not drowned, so he could get out of the bay, the cool temperature of which had begun to annoy him, as well as the questionable smell.

And sure enough, there she was... swimming for shore. Well, for the nearest dock ladder, anyway.

Suddenly, he regretted wishing her not drowned. How was he supposed to overtake her now? And what? Struggle with her? And end up drowning them both? He just didn't have the energy.

"Cut her off!" He barked back over his shoulder at his agents, before sighing heartily and throwing himself into a spirited front stroke, working much harder than he'd ever done, combating sore muscles, fatigue and the weight of his soaked clothing and boots, the revolver like a lead weight still tucked into his belt at the small of his back. Poor Charmaine. She would need some serious love after this little adventure.

Thankfully, he apparently was a stronger swimmer than the fit little cat burglar. Besides the boost to his injured ego, it gave him the edge to catch up to her just as she began to climb the metal rungs screwed into the side of a wooden boardwalk. He suffered a brief flash of deja vu as he reached up, grabbed that same ankle -it was marked with some livid red that had already begun to purple- and tugged her off the ladder. She fought him off, thrashing about in the water, and Dwayne willingly backed off, let her pull herself up and begin to climb the ladder once more, because he'd bought the time needed for LaSalle and Brody to arrive.

By the time he hauled his bruised, aching, fatigued, sopping wet, sorry old ass out of the water and onto the dock, the pair already had Nadine Ross, currently-looking-like-a-drowned-cat burglar cuffed and mirandized, sat on her ass in a pool of water on the thick, worn boards of the dock.

"King!"

Those little boy eyes of his young friend's lit up, and the man instantly closed in on the weary old agent, pulling him into an embrace. And hell, he could never slight that affectionate 'little boy' manner of his dearest friend- hell, surrogate son. There really was no use in denying how he felt about him. Dwayne wrapped his arms about the younger agent in return, clapping his back a couple times in classic man-hug fashion.

"Christopher."

After they broke apart, Dwayne turned his attention on his other junior agent, throwing his arms wide, threatening to embrace her, too. Her eyes went big (well, even bigger than normal) and she took a step backwards, throwing her own hands up protectively in front of her.

"Oh, no you don't," she said, eyeing the pool of water forming at his feet and Christopher's now soaked shirtfront. "This blouse is silk."

He raised his eyebrows at her, looked to Christopher who was grinning, obviously enjoying himself and the show. Or maybe he was just immensely relieved on his mentor's behalf.

A blush was creeping up Brody's neck, but her expression gave nothing of the embarrassment away. He supposed it was a little mean of them, but they always teased her when she came across as 'prissy'. Agent Brody was nothing of the sort, really. Her tastes just ran slightly different than his and Chris' male-oriented, down-home style.

"Now, our team is family…" Dwayne said, taking a step towards the younger woman whose eyes had gone wide, reminding him of the way Laurel would look at him when she was five and he was threatening to chase her down and tickle her. "An' families, embrace one another, especially durin' hard times."

"You obviously don't know my family," Brody said, her expression turning from alarmed to steely. "And if you ruin this blouse, you're buying me a new one, Pride. It was handmade by a seamstress on Royal."

Dwayne paused.

"Fifty?"

Dark brown eyes locked with his.

"Try doubling that."

He let his hands drop. Not worth it. Christopher laughed, and then suddenly sobered. Dwayne thought Brody must have sent him some sort of quelling look, but she was frowning at the younger man in concern.

"That was some stunt ya pulled, King," Christopher said, catching the older agent's eye with one of his intensely serious looks. There was no playfulness left in their dark blue depths now.

"I ain't dead yet, Christopher." He refused to back down. The day his young friend started treating him with kid gloves, or like he had reserved a spot for him in the Old Fed's retirement village, was the day that Christopher would find himself knocked on his ass. And if Dwayne Pride could not longer manage that, then he'd go willingly. But it was not today.

"Ya keep playin' hero like that an' ya jus' might be."

"It's the job, and you know it." He glanced at Brody who gave him a nod, before returning his attention to an obviously emotional Christopher LaSalle, but one who was marshalling his anger and fear, also nodding his head in agreement.

"We all do," Dwayne said, giving the young man's shoulder a squeeze, trying not to think about how reckless he'd been that day, how big of a scolding he'd be giving Christopher if their roles were reversed. Loving your partners, your team, it gave you strength to do the job. But it could also break your heart.

A/N: I obviously seem him in the fatherly role with his little NCIS team family. Not sure if I had too much of his thinking about his being 'old', but knowing many people of his years, it tends to be on their minds a lot, about things they used to do so easily which are more difficult now, even when they're in as good as shape as someone like Pride (Scott Bakula) is. I imagine an agent approaching retirement age would be aware of his physical limitations, especially when chasing down a fit young suspect. And if he gets to worry about LaSalle, then LaSalle definitely gets to worry about Pride.

A/N2: I also took liberties with shipping vessels and dock procedures/facts.

A/N3: I'm aware 'well-seasoned' actually refers to the age of items, such as firewood, or lumber, but being a foodie, Pride would obviously go to the culinary aspect.