A/N Alright here we go the second half of the chapter... As always my everlasting thanks to Alexandra926 for keeping me comprehensible :D

Hope you enjoy it!

Eliot slapped his hand over the strings of his guitar to stop the reverberation when Parker audibly sighed for the fourth time in the last twenty minutes.

"What is wrong with you, Parker?" he growled, annoyed, twisting around on the couch so that he could see where she was perched on the windowsill. The ledge was far too narrow for any normal human to be comfortable sitting on it, but that hadn't stopped her from camping out on it for most of the afternoon.

"I'm tired of the rain," she said, her forehead resting against the windowpane where she was watching the nor'easter that had been pounding the city for the past four days. Since Parker's warehouse was in one of the lower lying areas of the city, she'd chosen to weather the storm - which the news, in its typical overly dramatic fashion, had been calling 'the storm of the century' - at Eliot's.

"I thought you liked a good storm," he countered, turning his attention back to the instrument in his lap, picking out random chords more than playing an actual song.

"Yeah, when I can be outside in it," she sulked, with yet another heavy sigh.

Eliot rolled his eyes. He hardly thought he was being unreasonable by telling her that the rooftop was not where she should be during hurricane-force winds.

"Last thing I need is you getting sick again," he reminded her instead. "Do you want a repeat of last month? Because I sure as hell don't."

Parker ignored that pointed statement and just sighed again, sliding from the ledge and skulking over to the couch where Eliot was sitting. "I'm so bored!" she exclaimed, before flopping backwards over the back of the couch, so that she was now looking up at him, her head hanging off the edge of the seat.

For once, Eliot could relate. They'd been stuck inside for days now and even he was starting to get a little stir crazy. It didn't help that the power had been offline since that morning, leaving them with even fewer options to keep themselves occupied than usual. Parker had done some sketching earlier, when there was still enough ambient light to draw by, but she'd tired of that eventually. Even her box of favorite practice locks had only kept her attention for so long.

"We should go steal something. Right now," she proposed, letting her hands dangle above her head so her fingers brushed the floor.

Eliot looked down at her like she was insane. "I'm not going to go pull a heist with you in the middle of a freakin' monsoon."

"What, you afraid you're gonna melt if you get wet? You're not made of brown sugar, Sparky," she retorted. "Besides, think about it, we could steal anything in the city right now." She grinned, her mind already spinning at the possibilities. "With the power out all over the city, alarm systems are going to be down or running on backup generators, which are super easy to bypass. All nonessential work has been shut down for the next couple days, so that would minimize the chance of running into human guards. And with the flooding and downed power lines all over the city, emergency services are going to be so backed up, there's no way police response times would be anywhere near effective."

It was a testament to just how bored he was that what Parker was saying actually sounded logical and he found himself considering it. "No," he shook his head, coming to his senses. "You're right. It would be easy. Too easy. Where's the fun in that?"

Parker's bottom lip pushed out in a pout. "It would still be a little fun."

"Nah," he reached over and poked her side, making her squirm a little. "Besides darlin', I thought we don't do that anymore."

Parker responded with a huge put-upon sigh, which told him exactly what she thought about about that.

"Why don't you find something to read, instead," he recommended, trying to divert her attention, gesturing to the bookshelves that lined the back wall with his head.

"It's getting too dark in here," she replied, shooting down his suggestion.

"That's what the lantern is for," he pointed out, referring to the battery-powered camping light sitting on the coffee table. He'd pulled it out of the closet earlier when the power had gone out, just in case NSTAR didn't get the electricity up and running again before nightfall. Which was looking more and more likely by the minute.

"You know I can't sit still and read," she scoffed.

"Yeah," he asked curiously, "why is that?"

He'd never bothered to ask before, just chalking it up as another one of Parker's many quirks. But he had noticed that whenever she picked up a book, she always read it while wandering aimlessly around the condo. He would watch her sometimes as she ambled in and out of rooms, around tables, between chairs, using her superior situational awareness and peripheral vision to avoid bumping into anything while she flipped through the pages.

"If my hands aren't busy, then my feet need to be," she explained simply.

Eliot turned that over in his head for a moment. He supposed that did make a certain amount of sense. In Parker logic, at least. For a split second, he considered suggesting that she take up knitting to keep her hands busy, but then he realized that Parker with knitting needles was a terrifying proposition indeed and dismissed the idea.

As evening fell and the sun went down, the dim stormy haze that they'd spent most of the day in, quickly became legitimate darkness. Parker, who was occupying herself by picking loose threads from the hole in the knee of the jeans Eliot was wearing, sighed again before flipping backward off the couch, landing nimbly on her feet.

Eliot didn't bother asking where she was going when she left the room, and only glanced up when she came back with what he recognized as the box of beeswax candles she'd forced him to buy at the farmers market a few months back. He only had to arch one questioning brow before she was answering his unasked question.

"I like fire better," she explained, with that disquieting grin of hers.

"Of course you do," was all Eliot said, bemused, as he watched her sit down on the the floor on the opposite side of the coffee table, carefully arranging and lighting the candles until they covered the surface, bathing the circle they sat in, in a soft flickering glow.

He watched her for a moment as she occupied herself with the candles, letting her fingertips dance through the flames.

His first instinct was to scold her for literally playing with fire, sure that she was going to burn herself. But he decided to trust that just like when she figuratively did the same, that she knew her own limits. She would never chance doing actual damage to her fingers; her hands were too important to her. Leaving her to it, Eliot let the random notes he'd been playing begin to segue into the opening chords of Johnny Cash's arrangement of Hurt, and he began to sing softly.

Halfway through the song, Eliot looked up and was taken aback to find that at some point, Parker had stopped what she was doing and had turned her full attention towards him. In a moment, all the air rushed out of his chest and he had to remind himself how to breathe. He had to play the interlude through twice before he had collected himself enough to continue on to the second verse. It wasn't finding himself the sole subject of Parker's sharp focus that had thrown him so thoroughly. It was the fact that lit by the dozen or so candles between them, she looked… ethereal.

He'd never considered himself to be overly poetic, but it was the only word that seemed to fit. Illuminated by the soft flickering glow, her pale skin and blonde hair seemed to positively glow from the inside out.

Watching her watching him, with that soft and gentle smile she so rarely wore; it was too much somehow, and he had to look away as he continued the mournful song.

Eliot had always been aware that Parker was an attractive woman. He'd known that since that first job back in Chicago; he had eyes, after all. And back when this was all supposed to be a walk-away, he might have actually considered doing something about it, if he hadn't so quickly shoved her into a neat little box labeled crazy. Over time, the label on that box had changed, first to crew, then to friend, and now she was simply Parker. But all of that added up to the same total sum: off limits, not to be thought of that way. He didn't know why he was suddenly forgetting this very important fact.

But when he glanced up again he was once again struck by the fact that his Parker was a beauty.

No, not his...

Parker. Just Parker.

It was the storms fault, he decided. He'd just been stuck inside too long was all. As the last notes faded away, Eliot cleared his throat roughly and pushed those thoughts right out of his head.

"Did you want to play for awhile?" he offered.

"No, I like listening to you sing," she shook her head with a soft smile, content where she was. "You don't do it very often."

He inhaled sharply and covered it with the first thought that popped into his head, "Uh, do you have any requests?"

Parker's eyes darted around the room while she considered his question, until her gaze landed on the storm-battered window and inspiration struck. "Play November Rain."

Eliot swallowed hard. That wasn't really the vibe-changing song that he was looking for. "That's like a nine minute song, Parker," he said instead.

"Yeah, and? Do you have somewhere to be?" she asked, looking at him oddly, as she pointed out the foolishness of his objection.

"Just pick something shorter," he said gruffly.

Parker continued to search the room for new inspiration until her attention settled on the candles in front of her. "Play... Light My Fire," she requested instead.

Eliot swallowed hard. She was killing him, and she had no idea. That song was even worse, but he couldn't think of a good reason to shoot down the suggestion.

"You know it, right?" she asked when he didn't start playing.

"Yeah, I guess," he agreed, not able to tell her why he didn't want to sing it.

"Cool. But hold on a sec. I wanna get something first," she said before she popped to her feet, already into the kitchen before he could blink. He shook his head to himself, and gratefully took a moment to regroup as he listened to her rummaging around in a cupboard in the dark. In her excitement at the prospect of whatever it was that she was looking for, she hadn't thought to bring a light with her.

While he waited for her, he strummed the guitar idly, thinking about his offer. He really would have let her have a turn on the guitar, had she wanted one. Of course, that hadn't always been the case. The first time she'd stolen the instrument from its case, which he kept hidden away in the back of his closet, his head had nearly exploded. But that was before he knew she could actually play. When pressed, she'd shrugged and explained that a former foster brother had taught her when she was a kid. When he'd asked her why she hadn't ever mentioned it, she'd given him that look that always made him feel like an idiot and informed him simply that he'd never asked.

She wasn't half bad, either. Her nimble fingers made easy work of even the most difficult chords. She couldn't read music, and the one time he'd attempted to teach her how, had ended disastrously with a mutual agreement to never speak of it again. But she had a good ear, that when combined with her near-perfect recall meant that she only had to be shown a song once, and run through it on her own a few times before she'd have it memorized.

Eliot chuckled fondly when Parker reappeared and he saw what her prize was. "Where did you even get those?" he asked, when he realized she had a bag of marshmallows in one hand and a fork in the other.

"The kitchen," she replied lightly, ripping open the bag and popping two at once into her mouth.

"I figured that much," he rolled his eyes. "How did they get there?" he asked instead, knowing for a fact that he hadn't bought them.

"Ipumfumfer."

"Chew, swallow, then speak."

It was Parker's turn to roll her eyes, but she did as she was told. "I put them there," she repeated unrepentantly. "You have your emergency supplies and I have mine. And if you ask me really nicely, I'll share."

"Who says I even want any?" he challenged, leaning over the guitar in his lap with a grin.

"Everyone likes a toasted marshmallow," she challenged right back. "And if you don't, then there's something wrong with you."

Eliot smirked at hearing his own words thrown back at him in a growled tone that could only be her attempt at an imitation of his voice. Instead, she sounded like she was getting getting over laryngitis. But he had to give her points for the attempt.

Parker was preoccupied with her project as he started playing, and he watched her spear a marshmallow on a fork and hold it over the candle's flame.

"You know that it would be untrue
You know that I would be a liar
If I was to say to you
Girl, we couldn't get much higher"

He watched the smile on her face grow into something a little scary, as the marshmallow caught fire and started to burn, the outside quickly charring black. She brought the flaming treat to her lips and with one swift breath, blew out the flame, barely letting it cool before pulling it off the fork with her fingers and popping the whole gooey mess into her mouth.

"Come on baby, light my fire
Come on baby, light my fire
Try to set the night on fire"

He watched her repeat the same process twice more, before she took another marshmallow out of the bag and this time took her time roasting it over the small flame. She held it just close enough for it to toast, but not for it to catch flame. There was a look of fierce concentration on her face as she slowly turned the fork, making sure each side browned evenly.

As he played the last chords of the song, she reached over the coffee table and fed him the now perfectly toasted marshmallow off of her fork. It wasn't anything he hadn't done for her a thousand times as she sat and watched him cook dinner, giving her tastes of whatever he was making. But he couldn't help but swallow hard as he pulled the perfectly golden confection off the fork with his teeth. The warm sugar melted on his tongue while he watched Parker innocently suck melted marshmallow from her fingertips, having no idea the picture she made.

Of their own volition, his hands went back to strumming the guitar and he started playing another song. Even as he started to sing Tupelo Honey, he questioned what he was doing. He let his eyes fall shut as he leisurely played his way through the first few verses, but when he glanced up midway through the song, and saw he had once again captured her full attention, that soft smile playing across her lips. Something warm and viscous, just like the honey he was singing about, spread from his chest all the way out to his limbs, and he couldn't help but catch her eye and sing directly to her.

"She's as sweet as tupelo honey
Just like honey from the bee

You know she's alright
You know she's alright with me."

Once he got through the rest of the song, Eliot sighed and set the guitar to the side. He needed to stop while he was ahead.

"Are you bored, too?" Parker asked curiously.

If only it was that simple.

"Yeah, Parker," he agreed anyway, with another sigh. It was half of the truth. "I'm bored."

Suddenly faced with someone else's boredom for once instead of just her own, Parker twisted up her mouth as she tried to come up with a solution. "Do you want to learn how to get yourself out of handcuffs?" she offered.

He almost said no. After all, his own tried-and-true method was to simply kick the ass of whoever had the keys, and that had always worked out for him in the past. But he knew that there had been times when being able to get himself free without drawing attention to himself would have come in handy. However there was a practical problem with her idea. "I don't have any cuffs to practice with," he pointed out.

"I do!" she chirped, as she popped to her feet and disappeared down the hall.

"Of course she does," Eliot said to the empty room.

He felt like he should have been more surprised than he was when she came back and set a good sized box down between them on the couch. Peering into the box, he saw that it was indeed filled with handcuffs of all different makes and models, including a few pair that could really only be called shackles. If any other woman had revealed that they possessed a box full of assorted handcuffs, he would have thought she was either incredibly kinky, or a serial killer. But this was Parker, so he just shook his head and chuckled.

"What the hell Parker? Where did you even get all of these?" he asked, pulling out a pair of Hiatt speedcuffs, that he knew were the handcuff of choice for the police force in the United Kingdom.

While they had both spent more time than they would have liked in handcuffs, for a whole variety of reasons, he knew there was no way that she'd actually been caught and cuffed as many times as there were restraints in the box. She was too good at her job for that.

"Those, I got in London." She pulled another set from the box, "And these, I got in Shanghai, and these-"

Eliot cut her off. "Forget I asked."

Parker grinned and answered the question that Eliot was really asking. "Whenever I see a pair of handcuffs I don't have, I lift them," she explained. "While I've never found a set that could actually hold me, it's always best to have an advantage, just in case."

Eliot had no problems picturing Parker wandering the world, stealing cuffs off of cops so she could practice. "Do you lift the keys too?"

"Why would I do that?" she asked, genuinely.

"Nevermind," he said with a smirk. "How do I start?"

"You know the basics of how to pick a lock, right?" she asked. After all, they hadn't become the best in their fields by not knowing at least the basics of everyone else's as well. When Eliot nodded, she continued. "Handcuffs are actually some of the easiest locks to pick since they're only ever meant to be a temporary restraint to begin with. Mostly they're counting on you not being able to get to either a pick or the lock. Personally, I always have at least three items I can use as a lock pick on my person at all times," she informed him, in what he considered to be her 'professional thief' voice.

"At all times?" he asked, giving her current outfit a speculative once over. She was wearing what she typically wore around the house, which was to say that she wasn't wearing much.

"At all times," she confirmed, with a smirk. She extended a leg which had been curled underneath her and propped her foot up on his knee, before pulling a slender pick from between the threads of her knee high rainbow toe socks. "I always keep them different places, in case I get searched by someone who knows what they're doing, or so that at least one of them will be in reach depending on how I'm restrained," she explained, handing him the tool, before pulling another from her hair to use for demonstration.

Eliot found himself surprised at what a thorough and patient teacher Parker was. He hadn't been sure what to expect from someone who never seemed to realize that any of her more extraordinary skills weren't inherent to everyone. She always seemed so genuinely surprised that not everyone could draw nearly photo-realistic portraits from memory, or do complex calculations in their heads. Eliot had been curious to see whether Parker would get frustrated if he didn't pick it up as quickly as he imagined she originally had.

But instead, she slowly and carefully walked him through each step. All the while, explaining the best places to secret away extra picks, different items she'd fashioned improvised picks and shims from, and the best way to position your hands while getting cuffed to make getting out of them easier. She'd started him off with the easiest set first and had him pick the lock with his hands still unrestrained. When Eliot had demonstrated that he could do that with relative ease, Parker had reached out to take the cuffs so she could fasten them over his wrists.

"Now, this actually makes a bigger difference for you than it does for me because you're so muscular, but you always want to flex your wrists as much as possible, making them as big as you can while you're getting cuffed. Especially if they know what they're doing," she explained as she fastened the stainless steel over Eliot's wrists. "That'll give you that extra wiggle room to get your hands in the positions they need to be in to get to the lock."

Eliot actually already knew that, but he didn't tell her. Just as he hadn't told her when she was repeating any other information he was already aware of. He was enjoying listening to her speak about something she was so passionate about. Parker walked through life so ambivalent about pretty much everything; her own particular niche of criminal knowledge was one of the few things in life that she got truly enthusiastic about.

"If anyone ever actually cuffs you with your arms in front and the locks facing your hands," Parker laughed as though she'd just told the funniest joke she'd ever heard. "Well, they might as well have just handed you the key, too, because why even bother? But it's good to start learning with," she added, handing him the pick.

While he worked, she coached him along, while she explained what kind of cuffs he would most likely come across in their travels. It wasn't long before he knew how to tell a single from a double lock, and the differences between a lever lock, a push-pin lock and a slot lock.

When Parker was satisfied with his progress, she asked him if he was ready to try to it with his hands behind his back. She slid behind him to clasp the cold steel around his wrists and when she moved back into his line of sight she was grinning.

"What, you like seeking me cuffed?" he asked, one eyebrow raised.

She shook her head, the smile only growing. "I like seeing you get out of them," she told him. "You teach me your stuff all the time, this is the first time I've taught you my stuff. I like it," she said with delicate little shrug. "So thanks."

"For what, darlin'?" he asked, fiddling with the pick, trying to position it correctly in the lock without being able to see what he was doing.

"For trusting me," she said simply.

He wasn't sure if she mean trusting her enough to teach him a new skill properly, or trusting her enough to let her restrain him with handcuffs, especially considering that they'd already established that she didn't even possess the keys for them. Either way, it didn't matter. Because he realized that he did trust her. In fact, it never even crossed his mind that Parker wouldn't remove them for him, if he needed the help, which in of itself was revelationary.

It was funny, he may not have trusted her not to accidentally set his kitchen on fire, or for her to be able to resist a locked door. And he certainly didn't trust her to feed herself a balanced diet. But he trusted her. When it came down to it, he trusted her with his life. And that was something rare and priceless.

"Of course I do, sweetheart," he told her sincerely, a grin of his own spreading across his face when he felt the click, and the cuffs fell open.

"Good job, Sparky," Parker praised. "Now, see if you can do it faster."

As he held his hands out so that Parker could fasten the cuffs over them again, he couldn't help but chuckle lowly.

"What's so funny?" she asked.

"Sometimes it just strikes me how not normal our lives are," he admitted. Of the some five million-odd people living in the Boston area, all shut in by the storm that night, he felt fairly confident in thinking that they were probably the only ones passing the time in quite this way.

Her head tilted to one side in genuine curiosity. "Why would we want to be normal, when we could be us?"

A slow grin spread over his face; the real one that made his eyes crinkle. "You make an excellent point, darlin'," he conceded. "You make an excellent point.

A/N And there we have it! I hope you liked it :D Just letting you all know now, we're gonna switch gears a little starting next chapter as we head into the next phase of the plot ;) but until next time, if you enjoyed this chapter, let me know what you thought!