#ronnie tyler

[le-amewzing]

the end of the world (and no one’s fine)

Decided to go way out of my comfort zone just for the holiday, so have some Parknight with a twist! XD *Note: This is a zombie apocalypse AU, so please check the closing A/N for a full list of trigger warnings.

Fic: "the end of the world (and no one's fine)" [FFN] [AO3]

Pairings/Characters: Jess Knight/Alden Parker, with Ronnie Tyler, Dale Sawyer, Sid (from Cyber XD), Tony Francis, & Curtis Hubley in supporting roles; cameos from Delilah Fielding–McGee & Victoria Palmer, as well as minor bkgd OCs

Rating: M

Words: ~10,330

Additional info: romance, family, angst, hurt/comfort, horror, supernatural, AU, 3rd person POV

Summary: The world's fallen apart in just a few months, loved ones are gone or scattered, but…but they've still got each other to depend on.

      The world outside these orange walls was not supposed to look like this, Knight thought when she got up from her desk in the bullpen to go have a peek between the shutters across the way.

      Outside NCIS, the sky was a sickly, greenish–gray. Clouds of smog permanently hovered close these days, just below the skyline, despite the efforts of those who remained at the necessary facilities trying to clean up the air across the country. Worse still, what was above was much the same below, and she didn't need a glimpse to know the parking lot here was as grimy as ever, strewn with debris and refuse and who knew what else, even though few cars and no people were present. Below that, underground, the water had become yet another situation.

      "Antsy?" Parker asked, drawing up on her left side at the window.

      Knight grinned without turning his way, but she knew it was a tight expression. There was no use in lying to him. "No. Yes? Maybe," she settled on. She glanced at him, copper eyes briefly meeting hazel. "Any word?"

      He shrugged. "I thought we were luckier, being here at headquarters, since it has a lot of what we need… But Cyber guys are Cyber guys. I don't know how Piper and Sid ever put up with Hubley's whining. Sid already kicked Hubley out, so Francis is helping him work on the filtration system."

      "Probably for the best. The filtration system is half tech, half mech. No offense to Hubley, but I'd rather Francis follow Sid's orders on which items need muscling into proper place." This time, when she smiled, it felt more genuine.

      Parker, too, smiled a little. Then he resumed staring out the window with Knight. "So, any word?" he asked.

      Knight scrunched her nose up briefly, hearing her own words and at how he asked right now, especially since he knew the likelihood of the answer. "…no. Ronnie and Sawyer are due back from patrol soon, but the satphone's been quiet." She paused. "Alden. It's been days since we last heard from Torres."

      He ran a hand through his hair, which had more white threaded through it these last few months, and cupped the back of his neck. Then he sighed and pursed his lips. "Jess—"

      "I know what you're going to say. I know," she insisted, half turning towards him, her attention no longer on how wrong things looked outside the window. "I know that he's busy. I know that he and Bishop are exceptional tools in the hands of that—Odette woman," Knight said, almost as if Odette Malone's name were a curse any time someone at NCIS mentioned her, "and that their coordination between here and other NCIS agencies, coordinating on the ground…it's what they do best."

      Parker raised his eyebrows.

      "And it takes time."

      He brushed back a lock of hair from her face and shoulder and let his hand trail down her arm until their fingers were linked together. Parker gave her fingers a squeeze.

      Knight squeezed back and took half a step forward, hiding her face in his chest. "But it's been days, Alden," she repeated. "And we can't lose Nick the way we lost Tim."

      At that, Parker's other hand came up to rest on her back, and he held her gently, without uttering a single word and yet saying everything on his mind in that moment.

      Ronnie and Sawyer came back inside a few minutes late—not yet late enough that Knight and Parker were suiting up to go fetch them, but late enough that all pairs of eyes in the bullpen turned when the partners did appear.

      "It's nothing, I promise," Ronnie swore up and down, shuffling ahead of Sawyer as she removed her rifle and passed it to the younger agent.

      "Uh, correction: It is something," Sawyer said with a mild glare at his boss' back. He checked the ammunition and safeties on the guns before standing them along the wall with other weapons by the elevator, ever at the ready.

      "Ronnie," Knight began, getting up to join the other woman on the other side of her desk.

      "She sprained her ankle out there," Sawyer tattled.

      There was a collective sigh of relief from their fellow survivors, although Knight could've sworn she heard Ronnie flare her nostrils when she glared at Sawyer over her shoulder for blabbing.

      Parker stood up straight from where he'd been leaning against the edge of Knight's desk. He hooked a finger at Ronnie, gesturing for her to follow him. "C'mon, Ronnie. First aid, even for a sprain."

      But Ronnie vigorously shook her head, sending her curls flying. "No. I don't need it."

      Parker exhaled a calming breath. "Ronnie—"

      "I am not going down there!"

      Her sharp tone pierced the quiet of the bullpen. Sid and Hubley, sitting on the floor already, ducked their eyes at her outburst. Sawyer continued to frown at his boss' back, and Francis glanced between Knight and Parker, the two senior-most agents present.

      Ronnie shook, slightly, in the middle of what had once been the squad room, though. With her fists clenched at her sides, dark knuckles blanching, she shook her head again and met Parker's stare head on. But, where she'd glared at Parker before, her anger abandoned her now. Those were the wide eyes of a frightened woman. Knight knew; she'd seen them countless times during her tenure with REACT.

      "Ronnie, it's the best place to keep the medical supplies," Parker reminded her. "And the place is clear. It's been that way since Zero Day."

      She flinched at his casual mention of the start of…well, Armageddon, Knight supposed, but Ronnie swallowed and found her voice. "I don't care, Parker. You won't get me down in Autopsy."

      Parker grimaced. The good humor left his posture, given the squaring of his shoulders and that tautness of his jawline, even though the latter was hidden by his whiskers to a less trained eye.

      That was why Knight stepped between them and offered Ronnie her chair. "Ronnie, just have a seat. I don't see why we can't pop down for an ice pack and wrap," she aimed at Parker, "and it'll be faster with the two of us."

      The tension in his jaw relaxed, and Parker conceded with a subtle nod.

      But Ronnie furrowed her brow. "Honestly, Knight, Sawyer's just being a worrywart. I simply tripped over that stupid tree root that broke up the foot path. You know the one over on the left side of the building. If I can get my foot up for an hour or two, I'll be fine."

      Knight smiled and shoved her notebooks and old paperwork—what use was there for case files when cases would no longer be closed?—onto the floor to clear room for Ronnie's foot. She even patted the spot for good measure. "Then get it up already." She glanced behind her. "Curtis, toss Ronnie two protein bars and go fill her a bottle, would you?"

      Ronnie's eyes went wide again as Hubley grumbled but left to fetch the items. "No! The water filters are back in place? No more stale water bottles?"

      "You're welcome," Sid said from the floor, though he still kept his eyes glued to…ah, he and Hubley had been playing some card game.

      Knight took a headcount, reminded herself that Hubley would be right back to join the other four, and followed Parker out of the bullpen, towards the back hallway. One they'd rounded the corner and stepped into the elevator to head down to Autopsy, she mumbled, "Kid gloves with Ronnie, Alden."

      He huffed. "I know. But—" He put his hands on his hips and turned away from the doors, as if Ronnie would be right outside when they next opened. "It's been months. Nothing's changed about Autopsy. Jimmy happened to have it empty that week, and it's been that way ever since."

      The elevator dinged, and they stepped into the short hallway before Autopsy's doors. But Knight didn't enter just yet. "It's been months," she agreed, "…but you don't just get over the loss of family like that. It was her daughter, Alden."

      Parker's shoulders sagged. He didn't say anything to that, so they went inside.

      Where Autopsy before had been just another aspect of their jobs, its chill sterility creeped Knight out more than it ever had now. She knew Parker was right—none of the slabs held any bodies, no dead, no reanimated, not even any parts—but being here, while the world was falling to pieces, weighed her down and threatened to bring on a headache.

      Months, she'd had to remind him. It'd taken the world two full weeks to grasp the reality of the situation, that this wasn't some large prank orchestrated nationally or globally by some select, dedicated horror buffs with elaborate designs and too much time and money on their hands. In two full weeks, they'd seen countries fall and the rest descend into chaos, ordered and not.

      The U.S. was a bit of a mix. Certain leaders had bit the dust or disappeared altogether, at every level. …no agency had been spared, not even NCIS.

      Knight bit her lower lip as her thoughts drifted to Director Vance. Supposedly, he'd located Kayla and Jared and gone into hiding with them. But it'd been almost two months since Knight and Parker had heard from him, and Torres and Bishop were constantly on the move between agencies, so it wasn't likely that they'd heard from him or tracked him down yet either.

      But she shook her head free of such dismal thoughts. Bad enough that she was worried about not hearing from Torres in a while. She'd already brought up McGee's death once today. She didn't want to entertain any others right now.

      "Ah, found the wraps," Parker announced from the storage closet. He emerged with one in hand and tucking another into his pocket. He did a double-take at Knight's expression. "Jess?"

      "Hmm?"

      "Your face is flushed. What's wrong?"

      Tears threatened to spill forth, but Knight shook her head and went to the freezer. She pulled out two packs, tossing one to Parker and pressing the other to her eyes. The cold helped anchor her. "Nah, it's just me being in my head too much."

      Parker went quiet long enough that Knight pulled her head out of the freezer and stole a peek at him. He cocked his head to one side. "Who's on your mind right now?"

      Damn, he was so good at that… She laughed, which helped to beat back the tears. Knight returned the second ice pack and closed the freezer door. "All of them."

      They returned to the elevator, and Parker cleared his throat. "You know… Just because we're waiting to hear from Torres and Bishop…hell, even from Malone…doesn't mean you can't touch base with the others."

      Knight chuckled. "I dunno… Calls mostly are for emergencies in end times, Alden."

      "They don't have to be."

      She nodded. Maybe they didn't have to be, but Knight hated to admit that she was scared to call and get no answer.

      "…what people have deemed 'Z-Day' is, in fact, the zombie apocalypse—" one of the announcers began on ZNN early in the evening.

      But a second announcer cut in. "Please excuse my colleague for such language. We here at ZNN do not identify such things as being real. Zero Day, as dubbed by early researchers of the phenomenon, is of course the name for the inciting incident, five months ago, when the recently deceased began to regain movement in city morgues and in hospitals. Though currently we still have no medical treatment for the cause, scientists have been able to study a few viable samples, and they say the name 'Zero Day' is apt. Not unlike a software vulnerability, the 'reinfection,' as some are calling it, appears to stem from the uncontrolled regeneration of white blood cells, cells everyone has, meaning it's rather like a human software bug that these white blood cells on steroids are exploiting." The second announcer narrowed her eyes at the camera and adjusted the papers on her desk, which was showing its wear and tear from the small crew holing up at the television studio. She cleared her throat and continued, "Scientists, in the same vein as software developers, are desperate to come up with, at the very least, a patch. In the meantime, other researchers are more concerned with what precisely would spur white blood cells' behavior in this manner, going from causing cancer to causing a transformation—and if that's even a fraction of the whole picture."

      Knight pulled a face and leaned forward to grab the remote, but Sid beat her to it, and the Cyber agent clicked around, trying to find something a little less doom-and-gloom for them to watch on the screen in the bullpen while they waited for Francis and Hubley to return from their patrol.

      "You'd think, even a few months in, they'd have agreed on the source of what's going on," Sawyer griped, breaking the quiet of the room that was only moderately filled by the television's low volume.

      Each of the rest of them settled him with a dry look. Even Sid bothered to crane his neck up, since he still sat on the floor and Sawyer had dragged what used to be McGee's chair out into the middle of the room.

      "What?" Sawyer gestured at the television with a mild scowl. "It's just history repeating itself, you know."

      Ronnie groaned and started in with, "Dale, you have got to learn to read the room…," so Knight took that as her cue to get up and stretch her legs. And, her mind flashing back to her chat with Parker at lunchtime, she grabbed the satphone to bring with her.

      Knight headed upstairs. She walked past MTAC and Vance's office, the latter with a wince, and kept going until she reached an empty conference room. There, she closed the door behind her and moved towards the window. She checked outside.

      Nothing. That stained sky remained, but there was no movement.

      Knight checked the signal on the satphone's screen. Its strength was best here or up on the roof, but Knight kept her visits to the roof limited ever since Zero Day… She heaved a sigh and scrolled through the short list of saved contacts.

      It took two rings, but Delilah answered. "We're fine, Knight," she said by way of greeting.

      Knight blinked. "How'd you know it was me?"

      "Because, like clockwork, you call around suppertime, every other day." She sounded tired.

      There was an apology on the tip of Knight's tongue, but she withheld it; Delilah had heard a lot of those in the first few weeks since losing McGee. "How're things at Sarah's?"

      Delilah inhaled, paused, and exhaled. "Not…terrible. Could've been worse, holing up with my mother."

      Knight's eyes widened. How Delilah managed to find any humor in the situation, she'd love to know!

      "But I think it's good for the twins, to be with their aunt." She went quiet.

      Knight asked what she was supposed to ask: "How're the twins?"

      "The same," Delilah answered, her voice breaking so slightly. "Johnny cries when he stops to think about his dad, but Morgan's—she's withdrawn, Knight. She's here, but she's not, you know?" Delilah dropped her voice to a whisper. "…it's as if I've seen the light go out in my little girl's eyes."

      "Delilah…" Words escaped Knight. They all knew what had happened to the McGees… All the years she'd known Timothy McGee, it made sense to Knight that he sacrificed himself to ensure his wife and twins made it to safety at his sister's at the start of this mess. But no one could've counted on any in his family witnessing that sacrifice, like Morgan.

      Delilah sniffled and cleared her throat. "But, otherwise, we're okay. You and Parker?"

      Knight frowned. "We're all right. Still have our tiny crew here, and we've shored up defenses as best we can, so it's not the worst bunker in the world."

      "Good, good…"

      "I'll…let you go then, Delilah."

      "Yeah. Catch you in two nights' time."

      Knight smiled to herself. Had she become that predictable these past few months? "Oh, hold on."

      "Something up?"

      "Have you heard from Torres lately?"

      "Mm… Maybe last week? Nick said he'd arrange for more supplies soon and asked what we needed, but I heard Ellie bugging him in the background that he was overdue to pay Lucia and Amanda a visit, too. Maybe he's with his family."

      "Yeah, maybe… Thanks, Delilah."

      "Sure thing. Thanks for always checking in, Knight. Bye."

      The line went dead, and Knight tapped the satphone's antenna to her chin. Could that be it? Torres and Bishop had just…made a detour? She desperately wanted to believe it and not think of other possible outcomes, so Knight chose to bury those concerns under other priorities for now.

      Scrolling down a little further in the contact list, Knight selected another name—but then the phone beeped obnoxiously with an incoming text. And the text had arrived from that number:

-Jess?

      Knight furrowed her brow and quickly typed back:

-Jimmy? Kasie?

      The reply was a bigger surprise:

-Victoria

      Not entirely odd… Victoria of course was at home with her dad, who'd taken in Kasie and Piper, as well, when everything had gone to shit. But it still raised Knight's hackles that the kid and not one of the adults was texting on the satphone. And Knight tried to convey her curiosity without showing her concern:

-Hey, V. U guys running low on anything? Uncle Nick should b making delivery soon, this week or next. We're keeping a good lookout here, so we're safe.

      She wished she could conclude the message with a thumbs-up emoji, but, sadly, this satphone wasn't quite current enough. But perhaps the emoji wouldn't've helped, considering Victoria's next few texts:

-No, we're good on stuff

-but Aunt Kasie & Piper don't see it

-something's off about Dad

      Knight reread the last message five times before the words registered with her. She blindly groped for the back of the nearest chair and gripped it once she found it. Knight sank into the seat as another message came in:

-Aunt Jess?

      Right. She couldn't leave Victoria hanging. Knight's thumbs flew over the keypad:

-Tell me everything that happened. And then I want you to start sequestering your dad in another room—tell Kasie & Piper this is on my orders—and move whatever supplies you need out of the way.

      She didn't want to sound alarmist, but it felt right, especially as Victoria filled her in on Jimmy's "milk run" yesterday late in the morning on his own… Knight shook her head, because her friend was a fighter and resourceful, but he lacked training.

      When Victoria signed off (just a quick "Thanks"), Knight set the satphone down and rested her head atop her arms on the dusty conference table. So much for touching base with others to lift her spirits….

      Knight woke with a start, nightmares filled with gunshots and screams echoing in her ears as she sat up in the conference room. She checked the time on the satphone.

      Oh, thank fuck. She'd only been out for fifteen-ish minutes.

      She yawned and stretched her arms and back before getting to her feet. Knight tucked the phone into her pants pocket and exited the room. But, coming down the hallway, she spied a familiar silhouette walking towards her. She smiled and met him closer by the top of the staircase, and they leaned together on the railing, looking out over the office floor. "I was long," she admitted.

      "Yeah, I was coming to see if something were up," Parker remarked. He rested on his forearms with his hands loosely clasped. "And the verdict is?"

      Knight raised her eyebrows and twisted her lips around. But she didn't have the energy to explain it all, so she pulled the satphone from her pocket and scrolled to the top of her exchange with Victoria. Then she passed the device to him.

      Parker read every last line. "…oh," he said, his voice low and final.

      "Yeah, 'oh.'" Knight took the phone back. Then she stood up straight and gripped the railing hard enough to turn her knuckles whiter than—well, than the way Parker's Oxfords used to look, before they'd begun holing up here, reduced to half a dozen outfits each and little means to clean anything. "It's like Tim all over again. We're not going to have the chance to say goodbye to Jimmy either, Alden."

      "I know."

      Still, she sighed. "I…don't even know how I can still get angry. Half our NCIS family is gone or going. The same goes for my blood relatives, the ones who aren't staying safe on the water, avoiding all this for now." Knight looked Parker's way.

      He nodded. "Trust me, Jess, I get it. My family's faring little better."

      She frowned and released the railing, moving to touch his nearer arm. "Oh, Alden, I didn't mean—"

      But Parker shook his head. "I'm lucky Viv still considers me a friend and took Dad into hiding with her. But Roman Parker was a crotchety curmudgeon when I was a kid and that wasn't going to change now. So he got antsy from being holed up and went outside when Viv's back was turned and got bit." He shrugged, but that hard line had returned to his jaw. His father's death was still too fresh and raw.

      Knight pinched his sleeve and rested her forehead on his shoulder. They stood together like that for a few moments, quiet, tired, and worn out. It was hard not to feel those things ten times over, really, when they kept replaying their losses like a scratched DVD. The comparison got Knight thinking, though. "I think…I've had enough dwelling on the past for this lifetime."

      Her words piqued his curiosity. Parker did half a turn, resting on one elbow on the railing now and facing her. "This lifetime?" He raised his eyebrows. "Dreaming of what life would look like if none of this"—he waved out at the floor, but Knight knew he meant outside the building—"had happened?"

      Knight blinked, not expecting Parker to take her idea and run with it. But the idea now felt so absurd, she almost wanted to laugh. "Oh, God. Can you imagine a different world? Just…no reanimated corpses. Just regular cases." She paused, squinting while her thoughts churned. "Or, bizarre in a different way. Instead of dead sailors, we investigate, I dunno, a storage container full of—cheese."

      One of those eyebrows sank as Parker settled her with a skeptical stare. "Cheese, Jess?"

      "What? So I'm hungry."

      His pink complexion grew rosier and his dimples made an appearance under his whiskers the harder he tried to stifle his laughter, especially when she smacked him in the arm for laughing at her.

      Little moments of levity like these were the only things Knight tried to hold on to anymore, though. The weeks had quickly built up into months, but the days were running together since everything seemed to be on repeat.

      Her imagination didn't seem that farfetched or anything like a laugh to her, though. Before Zero Day, NCIS headquarters had been just that—headquarters. Ronnie and Sawyer covered the night shift, Sid and Piper were still down in Cyber, Hubley was still wet behind his ears as a field agent and was considering returning to Cyber, Francis was a glorified paper-pusher who should've had his shot with the MCRT under Gibbs' supervision back in the day, and the MCRT… Well, the MCRT was Parker's and had been for a few years now, Knight thought with another glance to the man beside her. McGee had only just started talking about switching gears and setting aside the fieldwork, for the sake of his family, and Torres seemed itching to leave NCIS and pursue the nonexistent trail Bishop had left years ago.

      But Knight was still going to be here, at Parker's side, MCRT or no. Which reminded her… "C'mon, we might as well catch some shuteye now, while Sawyer and Sid head out for the nighttime patrol." She pecked his cheek and got him turned around to march downstairs.

      Parker huffed. "Tell me again why we took the morning shift…," he groused.

      She smiled at his back. "Obviously, because you're a morning person, Alden. Pastries in the office every morning? Then it was pastries at the little coffee klatch near your place on the weekends… Hell, sometimes it was pastries and coffee to end the night." Knight chuckled and poked him in the back. "You made a morning person out of me, you know."

      Despite all his grumping, Parker couldn't hide that smug smile of his. Yeah, he knew.

      Had the skies been clearer, they would've revealed the bright sun of the not-too-early morning this October day. But that green–gray tint clung to the clouds, even when Knight and Parker woke before their colleagues and friends in order to suit up.

      More than five months ago, "suiting up" would've been as simple as grabbing one's go bag and NCIS jacket and cap. Nowadays, Knight, Parker, and the others didn't bother with too much of their branded gear. Instead, they made use of some spare REACT body armor that had been available in the building at the time—Torres and Bishop hadn't been able to bring them more pieces yet, so no one had a full set—and they constantly combed the armory for weapons and ammunition, hoping to find useful items they'd missed on initial searches.

      They had a limited number of rifles and more handguns than that, but Knight wasn't as concerned about the ammunition, since that was one supply Torres and Bishop always managed to come through for them and have along with each delivery. Even if their group didn't see the couple until next week, they should still have enough ammo to last until the end of the month, used smartly.

      Knight finished adjusting her body armor (which covered her torso, her arms, her shins, and the front of her thighs…it'd have to do) and wound her hair up into a bun to keep it from swinging free into her face. She glanced across the small ground floor office-turned-equipment room and motioned to Parker with a jerk of her chin. "You good to go?"

      He pursed his lips but nodded. Parker did well keeping his calm, easygoing attitude in front of the others, but he didn't fake his fear with Knight, not after all this time. And, especially in the last several weeks, as more and more bad news reached them, he'd gone quiet when they prepped to head out each morning.

      Knight strapped on her SIG and slipped two spare magazines into her pocket before slinging her sniper's rifle across her chest. Then she held a hand out to Parker.

      Parker tucked spare magazines into his vest and placed two SIGs in separate holsters at each hip. A third one waited for him within reach on the nearby table, but he took Knight's hand first and drew her towards him, seizing the rare bit of privacy to kiss her.

      Knight lingered in the kiss, her head angled up, their foreheads resting together. Then she patted his scruffy cheek and broke away. "It won't be long," she reminded him, her tone light.

      He exhaled, trying to cover his huff. But Parker led the way out of the small office out into the lobby. He paused by the doors and, at Knight's signal, unlocked the heavy chains holding them together.

      Patrol wasn't a game, even though that was Sid's closest experience with heavy weapons until now, since he hadn't gone through FLETC as the rest of them had. But even for the most experienced agents like Knight and Parker, there was no real way to prepare for…this.

      "This" was the horrid stench that came with the tainted sky and foul-looking streets. Knight coughed as she stepped outside with Parker and wondered if they'd ever get used to the reek. "I know they confirmed it's not an airborne pathogen, but I still wouldn't turn down a gas mask if Nick comes across a box of them," she bitched to Parker.

      "Seconded," he said. But then he briefly touched her back, locking eyes with her, and slowly began his prowl out front, his eyes peeled for odd movements.

      Knight frowned. Patrol was the rare time when she and Parker had to split up, as he covered the front perimeter and she walked the rest since she was faster with the rifle. Even knowing it was the best use of their skills, she didn't have to like it. But Knight swung her rifle around into her hands anyway and got to walking.

      More than hating the current stench of grime and rot, which was hard to forget when sometimes one stepped and heard a stomach-churning squelch underfoot, Knight missed the saltiness of the air of the Navy Yard. She headed towards the motor pool, aiming to round the building eventually, but her eyes darted left, wishing she'd look out and see water beyond the gross, hazy fog. Hell, maybe if she wished hard enough, she'd hear the crashing waves.

      But, since Zero Day, there'd been an eerie nothingness. No waves, no wind, barely a rustled leaf. Just…nothing.

      The only sounds were the ones Knight made. Dead, mostly wet leaves squished under her feet as she walked across slick pavement. Her rifle made small clinks as it gently bounced against her chest and in her hands. The earwig connecting her to Parker via radio hummed lowly in her ear.

      She made it past the motor pool. The garage doors were sealed up tight, and their group of survivors staying here hadn't tried using the vehicles in inventory to go anywhere precisely because there was nowhere to go. No, the cars were better served as parts, if Torres and Bishop needed them for themselves or people elsewhere, or even just as a change of scenery. Usually, Knight and Parker slept in their chairs or in sleeping bags in the bullpen close by Ronnie and the rest. But, every now and then, it was nice to get away and pretend they were someplace else.

      Knight definitely could go for someplace else. She meant what she'd said to Parker earlier, about being done dwelling on what had transpired. But she wasn't exactly done imagining… Yes, Greece was one of the several countries that had fallen hard from the start, but Knight liked to think that, in that other life, she could see her dream, could have a vacation in Grecian waters with a handsome, whiskered silver fox at her side, laughing as he turned red as a lobster in the sun—

      Her ears pricked up when she heard the softest of snaps.

      She whirled around. Had that come from behind? Knight scanned the view behind her, tracking it with her rifle, but she saw nothing.

      Knight faced forward again and rounded the building, getting behind the motor pool. That either had been her imagination or the earwig, well, wigging out. She tapped on the comm just to make sure. "Alden?"

      No answer.

      Her pulse sped up, her mind filling in the blanks as to what the yard in front of NCIS might look like right then. She pressed on the comm again. "Alden, come on, answer me."

      Was it her stupid heart racing? She couldn't even hear the earwig's electric hum anymore.

      Knight turned heel and began jogging back. Their patrol was screwed, whether Knight didn't finish it or Parker were hurt. But, even knowing they had more people inside to protect, there was still a whole building for their friends to hide in; they had time. Parker didn't.

      As she picked up speed and ran, Knight fumbled with the battery pack in her vest. She plucked it out—and the damn light was out. Sonuvabitch, they'd checked their comms before coming outside, and the batteries had worked twenty minutes ago, but they must not have had enough juice, and—

      Her thoughts vanished the next second, for something slammed into Knight, hard as a concrete wall, sending her flying when she was halfway back to the front of the building.

      Instinctively, Knight clung to her gun and tucked her head in as she rolled, shoulder over shoulder, as if she'd been sent merrily down a hill. But this was part of the NCIS lot, not some damn hill out of a jaunty children's book, and she wasn't a little kid come out to play with her friends. When she came to a stop and got her bearings, Knight pushed herself upright with her free hand and searched for the source of her pain.

      There. Barely thirty yards away.

      One of the reanimated.

      "Fuck," she mumbled under her breath. Knight struggled to her feet, her eyes never breaking from its gaze. Even when she got her rifle aimed, she didn't break the eye contact…if it could be called that.

      There was footage of the reanimated, of course, but seeing one up close and personal was a new sensation. The skin was pulled taut over bones and decaying muscles, and the color was all wrong; Knight was put in mind of the rare floaters that appeared on Jimmy's autopsy table, bloated and a desaturated blue–green from all the chemicals and microorganisms that would enter a victim's body when submerged underwater for too long.

      Knight didn't waste another second. She pulled the trigger—but the gun jammed. Her heart and eyes fell, and her panic swelled. The rifle must've taken her tumble harder than she realized.

      The reanimated being took her movement as an opportunity. Its neck cracked as it turned its head impossibly at a ninety-degree angle, and other of its joints crackled and groaned when the reanimated took one step forward.

      "Oh, no, you don't!" Knight growled at the thing, swinging the rifle around so the stock was out of her hands and at the ready to use as a bat. She took a running step forward and swung.

      But the reanimated cracked its head the other direction and ducked her attack as it closed in, broken claws outstretched to grab her.

      Knight swung the rifle around and swiped the arms away, but she went down with the damn monster on top of her. She clenched her teeth and pushed the rifle against its neck, keeping the gnashing teeth above her barely six inches from her face.

      If this thing turned out not to be here alone…

      Knight wouldn't last in this current stalemate either, though, she knew that. Her mind spun until it settled on one crazy idea. The next second, she pushed the rifle against the reanimated's neck with just her left hand and clawed her right thigh for her SIG.

      The monster took the opening and pressed in closer to her, sliding down her body.

      Bile rose in the back of her throat. Her thumb shook to get the safety off—

      —teeth sank in to the side of her right thigh, beyond the protection of her body armor, and she bit back her scream and closed her eyes—

      —Knight got the safety off and unleashed one, two, three, four rounds into the reanimated's left eye socket—

      —finally, the thing stopped moving. Knight's blood, red and fresh, dribbled out of its mouth, and she spied some of her skin between its teeth, but the burst eye and leaking vitreous fluid were sure things. She could even see through the new hole in its head as she rolled it off her.

      Two thoughts struck her at once. Not one before the other, but at the same time and with equal weight:

      Parker would've heard those gunshots and would come running, the yard patrol be damned.

      And she couldn't let him see this wound.

      So Knight got to work and fast. Since the reanimated had sent her into the lot, she stumbled to her feet and dragged the true corpse closer to the building, behind the bushes. She had no bandages on her, but she'd take care of that once she made it back inside. For now—

      She glanced at her mutilated leg. The blood made barely a stain against the black of her jeans.

      Knight yanked off her boot and pulled off her sock, using it to cover over the wound. She hissed—stitches weren't going to make up for a missing chunk of thigh—but it'd do for now. At a glance, it was barely noticeable, that there was even a hole in her pants. So Knight crammed her foot back into her boot and returned her attention to the true corpse.

      Just in case, she flipped her rifle again. Then she jammed the butt of her gun against the head, smashing it over and over and over, until bits and pieces detached from the neck. There was nothing to reanimate when she was done.

      Knight wiped the rifle butt on nearby grass and emerged from behind the bushes. She jogged back towards the front and, unsurprisingly, Parker met her halfway.

      Parker's brow was furrowed, his eyes wide and his gun drawn. He lowered it two inches when he found Knight. "Jess, what the hell?! I heard gunshots!"

      She nodded. "I got one," she said. Knight put it out of her mind, the memory of being blindsided. "But it's fine. I took care of it." She cocked her head, indicating the spot behind her shoulder.

      For thirty seconds, Parker said nothing. Finally, he lowered his gun the rest of the way. "…all right."

      Knight gave him a tight smile. Then she blinked and held up her rifle. "Oh, hey. We need to duck back in. Thought this one was all good, but it jammed. Had to use my SIG. I'd rather have a working rifle strapped to my back than a gun-shaped baseball bat."

      He narrowed his eyes, but eventually he nodded, and the couple made their way back inside. Parker remained by the equipment room's door, though, while Knight swapped out her gun. "Jess, is that really all?"

      "Yeah, why?"

      "You look anxious as hell." His frown was small and concerned when she glimpsed it.

      But Knight shook her head and shrugged. "Meeting one of those things was not fun," she said with a forced smile and laugh.

      "Does that thing explain your leg then?"

      She froze. But Knight didn't stop smiling. "Kinda." Knight slipped the strap of a working rifle over her head. "It happened during the fight. I scraped my leg on a broken bit of brick out there," she fibbed. But she met his eyes and hoped he wouldn't press the topic.

      Parker held her gaze. He grimaced, but he gave her a curt nod. "All right," he said, accepting her truth, and he turned to lead the way back outside.

      But, behind him, Knight's heart broke a little, lying to him…but also that Parker wholeheartedly believed her.

      He'll know the truth soon enough, she thought as they descended the steps outside the brick building. It's only a matter of time.

      Their morning ended the way it should've: uneventfully.

      Knight and Parker had no further sightings of reanimated, and Parker didn't press her again on her earlier tussle. But she thought she caught him sparing her a few extra glances, so she mustered a tired but true smile for him, a sign that she was all right.

      Inside, everyone else was awake and waiting for them, and Ronnie and Hubley wore matching expressions of concern. "We heard gunshots," Ronnie said.

      "We're all good," Knight assured them. "What's for breakfast?"

      Francis held up an untouched plate. "It was going to be bagels, but they've gone stale, so water and protein bars again, plus a fruit purée pouch from Torres' ration stash, if you like."

      Parker looked around at the others. "Just—stale bagels? Not moldy?"

      They shrugged and nodded in response.

      Parker held his hand out for the plate. "All right, gimme. We have 'stale' bagels and a working microwave. I can make these things edible again," he promised. He turned for the kitchen but paused beside Knight. "Jess, breakfast?"

      "Mm, not yet. I'll hit the showers first. But save a bagel for me, thanks."

      "Got it." And, without hesitation, he brushed his lips against her temple before leaving the room.

      That had her doing a double-take. Parker was friendly with everyone, but she'd never known him to be good with PDA in their romance… Nevertheless, Knight decided to chock it up to their stressful morning and grabbed her gym bag from under her desk on her way to the showers.

      A shower was a luxury, especially since Sid and Francis had gotten the filtration system back up and running and they needed as much water as possible redirected to the faucets for drinking. But Knight had to wash the morning off her. Not to mention—

      She locked the door to the women's locker room and dropped onto the closest bench. With some effort, Knight shimmied out of her jeans and peeled away the sock-as-gauze covering. She snapped a hand over her nose and mouth when air hit her wound.

      Dried blood tracked down her thigh and over her knee, but the bite mark itself shockingly had stopped bleeding. The mark… Knight's thoughts went right back to outside, because once more something was the wrong color. The reanimated had taken a chunk out of her an hour ago, but no way should the torn skin look burnt brown, nor the flesh underneath rotten, that same kind of rancid green one might find when meat's been sitting too long in the fridge.

      Worse, her nose caught the faintest whiff of earthiness. Knight checked her jeans and the used sock, as well the rest of her clothing. Only the sock smelled the least bit like it. When Knight hunched over, getting her nose as close as she could stand to the wound on her thigh, the stench grew.

      That turning earthiness was her.

      Knight sat up slowly, her shoulders sinking. There was no way she'd be able to hide the smell forever, no matter how many showers she took or how hard she scrubbed.

      Nevertheless, Knight shed the rest of this morning's outfit and hobbled into the nearest stall. She bit down on her knuckle when the lukewarm water hit the bite mark, but Knight took several calming breaths and focused on that to get her through her task. In, out, in, out—there wasn't much dirt or sweat to wash away, but the rest of her felt a smidgeon better afterwards.

      At least until her eyes landed on her wound in the mirror.

      Knight quickly dressed. She didn't have a proper bandage mixed in with her belongings, but she selected her darkest t-shirt and tore it into strips. She wasn't going to need that shirt in the near future, but keeping this bite mark hidden was a top priority. Even with a spare pair of jeans to change into, she still needed this damn thing covered, just in case someone else had as good a sense of smell as did she.

      Finished, Knight stood and walked around on her injured leg. …it hurt like hell, and she hobbled when exhausted, but she could fake it for a little while longer, before the infection turned her.

      She took a deep, shaky breath and gritted her teeth, trying not to think of how much longer she had. Knight shouldered her bag and exited the showers, and she smiled when she returned to the main floor and heard sounds of laughter.

      "What'd I miss?" she asked when she rounded the short cubicle wall and slid her bag back underneath her desk.

      "Sharing FLETC stories since Sid never had the opportunity," Francis answered with a grin. He jabbed a thumb in Hubley's direction. "We all have our ups and downs, but Curtis here really takes the cake."

      "I did not mean to discharge my weapon at the instructor's feet—it was the firearm malfunctioning!" Hubley rushed to explain, sending another ripple of chuckles through their group.

      Knight couldn't help grinning, too, and the lighter moment made her feel more present and less preoccupied with her predicament.

      While Sawyer launched into the tale of what he assured them was a "near-perfect score" at training, Parker came over and slid a plate of food over to Knight. "As you wished," he murmured, a hint of a smirk on his lips.

      Knight returned the smirk. "Paraphrasing Westley now, are we?"

      "You've sat through every last Terminator movie and series with me and are still here. The least I could do was watch The Princess Bride with you, Jess."

      She snorted around a mouthful of bagel. "I'm not the one quoting it, though."

      He shrugged. "Well, true. The Princess Bride may not be sci-fi, but it's practically required watching for anyone who likes movies." That smirk was full-blown now. "Besides, Westley's not a bad guy to emulate, last I knew."

      Knight shook her head, but her eyes lingered on his. She found it hard to swallow and maintain her smile. "No…no, he's not."

      Parker quirked an eyebrow and brushed back a damp lock of hair behind her ear that had fallen forward, since she'd left it down to finish air-drying after her shower. Yet again, he did this in plain view of their friends, and Knight thought she saw Ronnie glimpse and quickly avert her eyes to the otherwise private moment.

      Even if Parker were being more deliberate in his actions, Knight swore to herself right then that she'd have a few more hours. She just wanted until the end of today with Parker.

      And then she'd head to her thinking spot on the roof, alone and armed.

      All to keep him safe.

      Even with her mind set, Knight found today dragging on, but she quickly put her finger on why.

      At lunchtime, when Ronnie and Sawyer were set to head out on patrol, Parker piped up, "Hey, you two—double-check the rifles you use."

      They and Knight stared at him, and Ronnie scoffed. "Uh, something I'm missing, Parker?"

      "Not a call on technique, I assure you." He glanced at Knight and briefly ducked his eyes before nodding at the nightshift pair. "Jess' jammed this morning, so I want us all taking extra precautions in going over the weapons we select."

      "Oh." Ronnie's shoulders slackened, and she nodded. "Thanks for the head's up." She narrowed her eyes at Knight. "Damn, Knight—you really took out one of those things with your pistol?"

      Knight mustered a grin, to which Ronnie made an impressed face and Sawyer whistled. "But, when in doubt, a rifle makes a great bat!" she added, and the pair chuckled at her humble attitude before they left. Then Knight turned around and settled Parker with a tiny glare. "Was there really no other way to alert them?"

      He rubbed her upper arms, but the gesture wasn't comforting like usual. "We've all gotta know how to protect our sixes, Jess."

      She grumbled under her breath, but he did have a point.

      Still, it wasn't just him being more vocal then. When everyone was together later in the day, too, and Francis had stepped upstairs while borrowing the satphone to check on family, and Sid once more tried doom-surfing the remaining dozen channels on the television, Parker sat closer to Knight than normal in the bullpen.

      That one actually took her a moment, because she was so accustomed to them lazing together at home that she didn't realize she was half leaning out of her chair and into Parker. It wasn't until she'd reached up to toy with his fingers that Knight became aware he'd slung an arm around her shoulders. They really must look as if they were cozy like two people at home in their own little world!

      And, driving that fact, er, home was Ronnie catching her eye and subsequently raising her eyebrows. Ronnie smiled a bit, too, before looking away and chatting with Sawyer, but still.

      Knight pushed Parker's hand away and sat up. She tried scooting her chair away, too, but something caught in the wheels. She glanced down.

      Ah. Parker had his foot wedged under one of the legs.

      Knight slowly met his unamused stare.

      Without a word, Parker pointed upstairs. He waited for Knight to stand first, and they ignored the others as they climbed the stairs, passing Francis on his way down. But Parker and Knight weren't simply heading to the next floor.

      No, Parker continued to the silver-plated retinal scanner and stood before it. The scan took, and the door to MTAC opened. He stepped aside and let Knight in first.

      When the door closed, Parker stuck his hands in his pockets and blew out a slow breath. "Want to tell me why you're antsy around me today, Jess?"

      Knight stared at the big, empty screen, wishing it would come alive with happy news for once. "You're weirdly affectionate today," she blurted, still facing away from him.

      "Okay… I thought that's one way for people in love to show their feelings. Unless that's changed?"

      His tone in asking that made Knight turn. She hated seeing his frown. "Alden, no. That hasn't changed. I'm just—" Knight bit her lower lip. "You're suddenly quite affectionate with me in front of everyone else, is what I mean. It's strange. Normally, you're PDA-averse."

      She expected annoyance or anger. Instead, Alden Parker's fear was plain as day in his features, deepening the lines around his eyes and even the dimples she loved so much that appeared whether he smiled or frowned. He blinked once, twice, and it took her a second to understand why: Parker, normally brave Parker, was fighting back tears. "…because I know I'm losing you."

      Her blood turned to ice. "What?"

      "Not because we're holed up here." Parker took a step forward; she took a step back. "You've been off since this morning's patrol." His eyes roved over her, sadly. "The thing that came after you—it got you in the leg, didn't it?"

      Knight opened her mouth, but no sound came out. She coughed and licked her lips. "I—"

      "I'm not stupid. And it's not easy to hide, Jess. Least of all from me."

      "But—!"

      Parker took another step and a half forward. "With each hour that passes, I feel as though I just have more proof. You're literally turning cold as ice, no matter how much I warm you up." He rubbed her upper arms once more and pouted.

      Ah. So that explained part of today's coziness. Knight's chest ached, being told that he'd known the truth all along. Her eyes brimmed with tears, and she clutched the front of his shirt. "…I lied to you, Alden. I'm so sorry," she said, shaking her head.

      He shrugged. "Easily forgiven, considering the circumstances."

      Knight stared up into his eyes, feeling incredibly lucky to be holding down this fort with him, knowing it had to be hard for the others downstairs without their loved ones, knowing it probably hurt as much as it helped Delilah to hear from her and Parker all the time as it did to see Torres and Bishop in the wake of her loss.

      Parker rested his forehead against hers, sighing a little. His nose brushed hers, too, and he leaned in closer—

      —but Knight blocked his kiss with her hand. "No, we don't—we don't know—" She couldn't bear to finish the sentence. It wasn't an airborne pathogen, no, but it was spread through bites. As far as they knew, any sort of contact with saliva…anything…

      "Hmm. Well, do you feel ravenous?"

      That threw her. "?? No?" Knight stared at him as if Parker had two heads.

      "A shame. And here we have MTAC all to ourselves."

      She blushed. How this scoundrel could turn a morbid joke into a sexual one and muster a smirk during this heightened tension, she would love to know…!

      Still, Parker remained right here in front of her, not ready to move away. And, despite the brief spot of dark humor, his gaze was still heavy-lidded and morose.

      So Knight conceded with a slight turn of her head, letting Parker kiss her cheek. The temptation was real, though, with his mouth so close to her lips. But she didn't want to risk it, to risk him.

      Parker exhaled, his breath tickling her cheek and rustling her hair, and he squeezed her against him, but this amount of intimacy would have to do.

      It would have to do for both of them, Knight knew as she squeezed him back and inhaled his scent, not yet ready to return downstairs.

      Parker's pain was something Knight shared in as the day bled into evening.

      But it was not her sole pain as the hours ticked by.

      After discussing the severity of the situation, they returned downstairs at Knight's behest. "I don't want to alarm any of them," she'd told Parker earlier in the day.

      He, of course, had settled her with one of his I-Am-Not-Amused stares, but he relented. Parker wasn't wholly content with idling away her remaining hours, but he would rather spend them together then not at all. At the very least, he got Knight to come around to his open affection, since it'd be the last.

      But, when evening arrived, Knight began to feel pain, emanating from her leg. She was standing one second, bickering with Hubley over who got which dehydrated meat for dinner, and then Knight yanked her desk chair under her the next, for fear she might collapse.

      Hubley eyed her strangely. "Uhh, Parker?" he called.

      Parker rounded the corner, returning from the restroom, and his eyes widened a fraction when they landed on Knight. But he kept his calm and walked up to them as though he meant to be part of the dinner conversation. "What, Hubley?"

      Hubley furrowed his brow and looked between the two, confused. "I, uh—"

      Knight forced a smile to her face. "Curtis, I'll set aside some turkey for you, I promise. Now please get a move on, because no one does patrol alone, and you're due right now with Francis. So get going, yeah?"

      The former Cyber agent pursed his lips, thoroughly befuddled, but he skedaddled as instructed anyway. And, with Ronnie in the break room, Sawyer upstairs borrowing the satphone, and Sid taking a nap elsewhere, Parker and Knight had a rare moment in the bullpen to themselves. Parker didn't waste it. "Why did we just fake Hubley out?"

      "Because I'm in a shit-ton of pain and I'm a crap actress, Alden."

      His face fell. Parker knelt before her and eyed her bad leg. "So…it's spreading."

      Knight nodded. "Yeah."

      Parker heaved an angry sigh. "I wish we knew how long. Of all the millions of things the experts don't know, it's how long."

      Knight leaned forward and cupped his cheek with her hand. "They've noted a bunch of quick cases, but there are too many factors. Health. Metabolism." She shrugged. "Maybe even the will to fight it." At that, her smile turned genuine. "I'm crap at acting, but you know I'm a fighter, Alden."

      He chuckled, but it was a wet sound. Parker covered her hand with one of his. "Yeah… Yeah, I do know."

      "Hey. Promise me this?"

      Parker peered up at her quizzically.

      "Once it gets really bad…keep me away from the others. Ronnie already lost her daughter, so she'd freak, seeing me like this. And I want to go out on my own terms."

      Parker closed his eyes, squeezing them shut tight, long enough that Knight thought he'd turn her down. "As you wish," he uttered, his head low, his brow touching her knees.

      Knight's heart surprisingly felt light, hearing his answer, knowing he saw the reason in her request. So she leaned down and pressed a soft kiss atop his head.

      The pain began in her leg, and it spread like tree roots, thirsty for her life.

      Slowly, slowly it became harder to stand. That was easy enough to solve, with her rolling desk chair right there in the bullpen. But then came the shooting pain up her sides, shooting up high and descending down into her arms.

      That was harder to hide. Those pains made Knight's hands convulse, and she endeavored to hide her hands in her lap, under her desk.

      By the time of the nighttime shift, as Sawyer and Sid prepped to head out and the others got ready to hit the lights and the hay, Knight noticed something new. In the light of her desk lamp, she was the wrong color.

      Was she seeing things now?

      Another wave of pain crashed through her, and Knight winced and gritted her teeth, knocking into her lamp. Parker was beside her in an instant, and she vaguely grasped the excuses he offered Ronnie, Francis, and Hubley as he escorted her to the men's room, where he could see her in better light and, more importantly, lock the door.

      "Jess, hey, Jess," Parker said, guiding her to the counter.

      Knight bent over the sink. The pain was bad enough she wanted to hurl. But just leaning on the edge, gripping it, steadied her. "Yeah. Yeah, Alden, I'm. I'm okay. I'm here."

      But Parker was running the tap, and he had it turned completely to the left until steam emerged. He touched her, ran his fingers under the hot water, and touched her skin again to compare. "…Jess, you are not okay."

      She lifted her head and eyed the people in the glass' reflection. In it, she saw Parker, same as ever yet more concerned than ever. Yet, beside him, she saw a woman she didn't recognize. She looked like a woman an artist had painted if given a vague, poor description of Jessica Knight. Her complexion was waxy, yellow and washed out…lacking warmth. And her hair, dark though it was, hung dull and limp; it looked as if it might begin falling out.

      "Jess—"

      "You promised," she reminded him. A shock tore through her, and her back arched as she bit back a cry of pain.

      Parker caught her before she could fall or crack her head open on the counter ledge. "Jess, please…"

      "Move me," she rasped. Knight licked her lips and clung to his arm. "Move me away from everyone else. If I can't make it on my own, get me to the roof."

      Despite his fretting, Parker got her right arm over his shoulders and unlocked the door. He checked the corridor and shuffled the two of them out since the coast was clear. They took the back stairwell, though, since anything else would catch their friends' attention.

      It was just a few flights of stairs, but those flights drained Knight of her remaining energy. For the last few steps, Parker all but carried her in his arms, including through the door that led outside.

      Yet…the air didn't hit her as it usually did tonight. Knight exhaled a tiny sigh of relief in the cool, damp air.

      "Ha, maybe I just needed some fresh air," she joked as Parker set her down against the brickwork beside the door.

      The cloud coverage filtered light, so it never got very bright or very dark anymore, and Knight therefore caught the little glare Parker shot her way for her ill attempt at humor. He settled down beside her, one leg outstretched and the other drawn up. He rested his arm on his closer knee, gun in hand, just in case they learned tonight, of all nights, that these things did indeed know how to scale buildings. "Definitely not what I'd call 'fresh,'" he grumbled.

      Knight hummed and leaned against his side. "Maybe not. But I feel a little better. …thanks for bringing me outside, Alden."

      He was quiet for a whole minute. Then: "Do you intend to sleep out here tonight?"

      Knight opened her eyes and stared at the brick wall in front of her. "I don't exactly have a choice. It won't be long."

      Parker didn't comment.

      Knight closed her eyes again and, eventually, she nodded off, matching her breathing with his…and then slowing it down…and dreaming, once more, of other lifetimes…

      When Knight's eyes snapped open, she had no clue how much time had passed, but she knew:

      The time was now.

      A fresh wave of pain rolled through her, primarily through her back and shoulders, into her neck—but it wasn't entirely pain. No, this something else was different and had Knight shoving Parker away while she shot to her feet, fighting the turn for real.

      Behind her, Parker stood. "Jess—"

      But she shoved him again, never minding the frailty that came with his age. She backed away from him with a frown, nearing the short brick wall that edged the roof.

      Again, he stood. "Jess, don't do it," he begged. "We'll—We'll figure something out. Maybe there's something the researchers are developing and haven't released yet. Maybe you have more time than you realize! You've been fighting this all day—don't give up now!"

      Knight climbed onto the ledge and narrowed her eyes at him, palming her gun.

      But Parker ran for her. He reached out for her—

      —and some part of her reached out for him, too, and managed to snag the front of his shirt—

      —they locked eyes, his going wide and white and round (was it fear? was it concern, for the one he lovingly called "Jess"?)—

      —right before she took those two steps backwards off the ledge.

Full trigger warnings (including spoilers): Zombies/zombie apocalypse, psychological horror, character death (implied and/or mentioned), discussion of death, consideration of self-harm/suicide (which is implied to occur), murder, and gore/graphic violence.

WELL. Happy Halloween? :O In the closing A/N to my oneshot, "Zeptosecond," I mentioned that I believe the two biggest challenges a shipper can write are breaking an OTP up and OTP death (either or both partners), and that I'd never write the latter. Then I got to thinking about Halloween coming up…and originally I had a more lighthearted, silly idea ("Who would even survive the zombie apocalypse of the current team?"). But then my muse took the dial, cranked it up to eleven, and ripped the fucking knob off, because I know for certain that, while I've written charrie death in other stories/fandoms, I sure af have never written anything like this. So—challenge met! That said, and triggers noted, my heart does rly hurt to think about what these charries might do for their loved ones at the end of the world, hence painting the picture I did for the McGees, for Ellick, for the Palmers, and, yeah, for Parknight, too. Nearly every action taken, tho, is an act of love. The only thing I want you, my readers, to doubt is that ambiguous ending. Was that Knight pulling Parker off the roof with her or one of the newly reanimated about to take his life, too? Was Parker about to see a chance to save her or at least save himself because, perhaps, he realized he'd already lost the love of his life? :3c I'll never tell~ This is, in some ways, both trick and treat. ;}

As for some housekeeping: Btw, I actually delayed another monster-sized (but not monster AU XD) fic to get this done in time for the holiday, so yay for long Parknights! :D All charries mentioned in the story are canon minor charries, with Sid, Piper, and Curtis Hubley being the newest additions from s19 (Ronnie Tyler and Dale Sawyer ofc have made several appearances and Tony Francis had cameos yrs ago during the Gibbs era—poor beefy guy rly was curious about joining Gibbs' team!). So there are a lot of Easter eggs/nods to canon for fans of all eras/seasons. :') I'm not certain whether it's stated that Cyber agents deffo have to pass FLETC same as field agents, so pls take Sid's lack of training with a grain of salt. Parker's mention of Westley and Parknight's brief chat about The Princess Bride is just an allusion meant to highlight Parker tryna be Knight's hero, ofc. :'D Also, Parker's "ravenous" joke srsly is just a play on the word's definition; it deffo was not a vore joke. XD The fic's title is also a spin on the awesome hit by R.E.M., "It's the End of the World As We Know It (And I Feel Fine)"—I grew up with this song and it honestly never loses relevance, no matter the crisis. But, interestingly enough, and as with my other story, "through and through," the vibes for this story were influenced by some of my fav survival/horror videogames, such as the BioShock series, Amnesia, the Silent Hill franchise, and the Resident Evil franchise (altho I deffo prefer RE's explanation of zombies to mine, *lol* XD). Finally, the soft, melancholic tunes of the album Balance by softy & Kendall Miles got me through this fic, and I just. Have a listen and have some feels. c: Aaaand, with this fic, I've officially written more than 100,000 words of Parknight content~ -w-

Thanks for reading, and feel free to leave an anon/unsigned review via the FFN link or comment via the AO3 link at the top of the post, especially if you enjoyed this!

~mew

[rocknrollflames]

Izzy Stradlin.

If you're a man and you don't like Izzy, you're just not cool.

Or he banged your chick.

Or both.

Probably both.

And if you're a woman who doesn't like Izzy - thank you.

There are too many of us.

He doesn't need you.

[entertainmentmask]

Unexpected Wake Up Call

Just something i did with the help of @ringovh during the night, we had fun hihihihi.

Also Ronnie (the red one) is their OC :]

Idk it looks nice i guess, more lore will be added later if i feel like it >:]

[freshlyblaked]

the hunks of hallmark, november 2023

[fallinginreversefanblog]

A brief story about Ronnie Radke's altruism again, helping out bands in need with money ❤️

Via Instagram

[darklydeliciousdesires]

Post after post after post... heart like... no engagement.

PLEASE FOR THE LOVE OF ALL THINGS LITERARY WILL YOU PEOPLE WHO DO THIS REALISE WE NEED ENGAGEMENT FROM YOU! 

That little comment telling us you loved it, that takes seconds to type? It means EVERYTHING TO US. That review you want to leave in more detail, but think you might be bothering us, or fangirling too hard? YOU’RE NOT. We sit there squealing with JOY to read all the parts you loved! That reblog? Do you know how thrilled we are to see you like something so much that you wanted it on your dash too?? 

It’s nourishment for us when you do this. We’re tired of having to remind people to engage. Our free to consume works are not free to create, unfortunately. Time and energy go into crafting a piece of writing for you. Your comments and reblogs are what replenishes us to continue doing it all over again. 

I know I sound like a broken record, but the whole process of engagement is broken. Spare a few beautiful people who read my stuff, most of my best engagement is from my fellow author friends, because they understand the assignment! 

It’s about time others understood it too. 

[rawsmackdownnxtdivas]

Bayley, Steve Austin, Xavier Woods, Big E, The Miz, Maryse, Shelton Benjamin, Tyler Breeze, Austin Romero 💞

[hallmark-movie-fanatics]

Hallmark Ad appearing in People Magazine. 

[crmsndragonwngss]

I’m still thinking about this lmfao

[mikeywayimdykeygay]

I gotta know man I’m itching to compare them with someone but no one else I know listens to either

[enteringdullsville]

Concept:

As They Appear in Rough Sketch:

As They Appear in It’s Color Theory:

Top to Bottom, L-R: Aaron (maroon), Percy (persimmon), Paige (beige), Amber, Tyler (teal), Skye (sky blue), Ivan (navy), Mallow (mauve), Fuchsia, Ronnie (saffron), and Lucy (puce).

[le-amewzing]

36 Hours

Just when I thought I was out of this universe, a missing moment pulls me back in. ;P *Note: This is set in my "20 Winks" universe and is set during the events described in the oneshot, "What's Yours Is Mine, What's Mine Is Yours," but this can be enjoyed on its own~ I just highly rec reading the previously published stories first for major feels. :3c

Fic: "36 Hours" [FFN] [AO3]

Pairings/Characters: Tom Dalton, Timothy McGee, & implied Alden Parker/Jess Knight (so please tag with Parknight, ty~ c:), with cameos from Nick Torres, Ronnie Tyler, & Dale Sawyer, as well as a background OC

Rating: light T

Words: ~4,710

Additional info: suspense, friendship, romance, 3rd person POV

Summary: Disgraced former Special Agent Tom Dalton has some visitors, but it's the one who has nothing to say that frightens him. -—Or, McGee and Parker question an imprisoned suspect, and McGee leaves with more questions than before.

      Dalton had come to appreciate exercise more behind bars. He'd been fit enough, during his days as an NCIS REACT Agent, and less so once he'd become Supervisory Special Agent. But being behind bars had robbed him of distractions that once kept him from focusing on his physique.

      Not to mention being in prison meant he couldn't enjoy his cigarettes the way he had, long ago, atop the roof of NCIS headquarters. No, cigarettes were currency, and he couldn't acquire them like a free man. Dalton had to be careful when he had them, and he risked a smoke only when he absolutely needed it.

      "Dalton!"

      One of the guards—ah, that was Ewing, because only his shrillness could cut through the post-lunch clamor inmates produced—stood by the doors leading out into the yard. Ewing squinted in Dalton's direction and beckoned to him with an impatient wave of his hand.

      Dalton ground his teeth, gnashing the freshly lit treasure hanging between his lips. Of course today, one of his rare smoking days, the guards decided to get on his case. Normally they looked the other way when it came to these things, because little vices were nothing to concern themselves with, but Dalton dutifully dropped the cigarette on the dusty concrete and stamped the butt out with his shoe. So far, his stay at this particular Camp Fed had been agreeable, but that was thanks mostly to his good behavior. Dalton didn't want to mess with that.

      "You could use some sun, Ewing," Dalton quipped once he was within earshot of the pasty corrections officer.

      Ewing frowned, not partaking in their typical polite banter. He stepped aside for Dalton to pass, closed the door behind them, and unhooked the pair of cuffs from his belt. "You have visitors, Dalton."

      Procedure explained the lack of friendliness. Dalton held his wrists behind him and eyed Ewing while he was shackled. "Anyone I know?"

      "A pair of feds, from NCIS."

      Ah. Dalton's eyes widened at the news, an amused spark burning to life in him. Suddenly, he no longer cared about today's wasted cigarette…especially if the agents here right now were here because of previous ones well spent.

      Ewing gauged his reaction and narrowed his blue eyes (pale, like the rest of him). "Surprised? I was, too. Didn't think you had any friends left at your old agency."

      Dalton shook his head. He tamped down his excitement as Ewing came around front to lead the way to the visitors' area. "No," he answered honestly, "I don't think I do, either."

      Their path from the inner courtyard exit where daily recreation occurred snaked through the prison at long intervals and ninety-degree angles. It wasn't a maze, but the length was an abysmally boring though healthy one, and Dalton had never bothered memorizing the path, understanding he'd never get out of here on his own. Besides, the visitors' area was right up by the main entrance and not far from the warden's office—meaning it was one of the most heavily guarded places in the prison. Making a mad dash out of here, even in decent shape, was not a risk Dalton wanted to take.

      Dalton followed Ewing to the entrance and past it, catching the eyes of some other personnel. Some of them looked at him curiously (maybe they wondered over the visit, too?), but many ignored him, as they tended to do with all the inmates, unless the inmates gave them a reason to pay attention.

      Ewing halted him outside a room that was little more than another cell, just slightly bigger in size and with solid, enclosed walls, the kind of room needed as though this were a visit with Dalton's lawyer. Ewing signed a clipboard another guard held out, and the latter then unlocked the door while Ewing re-cuffed Dalton's hands in the front. But before Ewing walked Dalton in, he turned to Dalton and said, "A reminder: Tom Dalton, you are in the care of this facility and have been on good behavior from the start. But you will remain handcuffed while speaking with these agents, and you will remain seated, or else."

      Internally, Dalton rolled his eyes. Ewing's "or else" was such an empty little threat.

      "I'll be right outside, Dalton," he added, and then he walked the prisoner in.

      Standing in the room were two male agents, one Dalton recognized and one he didn't. Both turned his and Ewing's way the moment the door opened, and their eyes never left Dalton's face as Ewing got Dalton seated in the lone chair on the door-facing side of the small, metal table centered in the room.

      Ewing faced them. "This is Prisoner Tom Dalton, as requested. You may freely question the prisoner on matters pertaining to your case, as indicated by word sent by his attorney this morning ahead of your meeting—"

      Oh, really? Dalton's currency must've worked, if his lawyer knew the pickle he was in was a legal quagmire that would've sucked in both of them. He fought down a grin and a laugh.

      "—and you are to follow house rules. Please stay on your side of the room at all times. Do not feed the prisoner. Do not give the prisoner anything to drink. Do not pass the prisoner anything—not even a pen or pencil to write something down for you. Dalton will remain handcuffed and seated at all times, as well, and I will be on the other side of this door, should you need anything."

      The agent Dalton recognized nodded his head and gave Ewing a fleeting, professional smile. "Thank you."

      Ewing returned the gesture, and then he was gone, leaving Dalton alone with his company.

      Dalton decided to settle on that familiar face and let some of his own smile show. The links on his ugly, forced bracelets clinked as he leaned forward on the table and pointed up at the younger man. "McGee, right? One of Gibbs'."

      McGee pursed his lips and cleared his throat. He pushed his jacket back, flashing his NCIS tin, and then gestured to himself and his partner. "Dalton, Special Agents Timothy McGee and Alden Parker. We have a lot to discuss."

      Dalton shook his head at the formality. "Down to business, huh?" He glanced behind him at this new Parker fellow who took several steps back to lean against the far wall. He had no recollection of such a man in NCIS' history, so Dalton assumed he must've been some sort of outside hire or transfer. Ah, well, whatever. Dalton focused on McGee. "I'd say Gibbs has changed his tune, taking on not just young blood anymore—"

      Parker didn't flinch at the prod.

      "—but, then again, word gets around even in here. Especially about a man like Leroy Jethro Gibbs."

      McGee hesitated. His pause was long enough for Dalton to continue.

      "How's retirement treating the old dog?"

      McGee grimaced at the choice of words. "We're not here to talk about Gibbs, Dalton."

      Dalton dropped his shoulders in what he hoped was a relaxed, tired pose. "Hey, I don't get to see many people, McGee, least of all anyone from my NCIS days. And you and I are a bit alike, you know."

      He could laugh, predicting the tiny furrow that formed between the guy's eyebrows. "How?"

      Dalton shrugged. "I didn't hear only about Gibbs retiring. Your team fell apart. So did mine."

      McGee bristled and clenched his jaw. "That's where you're wrong, Dalton. Our teams didn't fall apart. The one I'm a part of evolved. You literally destroyed yours."

      …damn it. So, McGee had more of a backbone than Dalton imagined. Well, seeing as there was no use in being amiable towards him, Dalton dropped the pretense, as well as the half-assed smile. He leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms in front of his chest as best he could while handcuffed, which meant he managed primarily to tuck his hands under his armpits. "Fine. You want to talk business, talk business."

      "We're here because you're trying to finish what you started, Dalton. Yesterday morning, Special Agent Jessica Knight's apartment was blown up."

      Hearing her name brought the old investigation to mind. "My ire didn't lie with her, initially, you know. If Madden had just kept his nose out of my business with the vests—"

      "We're not here to discuss Special Agent Madden."

      "—but then he made it his business, and one thing led to another." Dalton frowned and tucked his chin into his chest. "I told her before: I didn't really want to take out the entire team."

      Silence. Someone's foot ground on the floor in here. "Agents Madden, Ono, and Vargas are still dead, Dalton. If you never wanted to kill them, then why attack Knight?"

      Dalton stared at McGee, gritted his teeth. "Because she's too stubborn for her own good. She refused to let up on the investigation that landed me in here." He knew the statement was inculpatory. NCIS agents never showed up unless they already knew at least half the story. Dalton could guess at which parts they were missing. "So—she survive?"

      Parker stood eerily still in the back of the room, casual-like with his hands in his pockets, but that was the only notable thing about him. McGee's reactions were far more entertaining. The pale guy (not quite as alabaster as Ewing, but close enough) flushed with color at the thinly veiled disregard for Knight's status. He glared at Dalton, took a breath, and calmed, which smoothed out his round features. "Special Agent Knight is alive and safe, but her neighbors weren't so lucky. Three people were hurt in the blast, and two are critical. One of the critical is a five-year-old child, Dalton."

      Again, he shrugged. They were collateral damage. But saying that aloud wouldn't help him right now. "Well, you've come to the right place."

      "We need all the information you have about the person who took up the hit you put out on Knight."

      And here Dalton couldn't help but offer a commiserating smile. "McGee. Come on. 'Person'?"

      Another beat of silence. McGee's eyes widened, showing the whites all around his irises. "Dalton, exactly how many people did you hire?" He put down his notepad and pen, even, splaying his fingers on the cool tabletop.

      Dalton withdrew his left hand from the warmth under his arm and scratched his shoulder by the seam of his shirtsleeve. "…hmm…"

      "Dalton!"

      He stopped scratching and held his hand out, fingers extended. "One for each member of my old team."

      McGee paled (ah, now he looked like Ewing!). "Four?!"

      "Hey, I led them, McGee. Count again." He waggled his fingers, thumb included.

      The younger agent pulled a face. "Five. You hired…" He shook his head in disbelief and jotted it down. "We need names, numbers, addresses—everything. And now, Dalton."

      But here was where Dalton figured his lawyer had caved too quickly. He pursed his lips and gave McGee the tiniest shake of his head. "I can help, but not yet. If I'm going to fork over information, I expect to get something for it. And I want a better cell than what I have."

      This didn't impress McGee, who frowned but noted it regardless. On the other hand…

      Dalton's demand made Parker twitch at last, which finally drew the prisoner's attention to the older agent.

      Alden Parker, McGee had called him. …no, the name bounced around Dalton's head, but it didn't sound familiar to him, so he stopped trying to place the man in his memory. Besides, presently Parker was far more interesting, and Dalton sized him up. Parker dressed the part of a fed, with the suit and its pressed creases in all the right spots. He even wore a tie—a tie, for crying out loud! That put Dalton in mind of the relics running the different agencies nowadays. But that was where reading him stopped being easy.

      Parker's hair was silver, and he had lines on his face, densest around his eyes. But Dalton couldn't determine his age. Older than Dalton? Younger, even by a few years? The multicolored scruff made it hard to say. And yet that wasn't what snagged the lion's share of his attention.

      Parker's eyes… They were dark and seemed unfocused, but Parker's eyes unnerved Dalton when he realized Parker was, indeed, focused on him. Parker's dead stare burned holes in him, even as McGee resumed with the questions, of which Dalton only caught snippets thanks to this eerie concentration zeroed in on him.

      Dalton swallowed a lump in his throat. It was funny, almost. After everything he'd seen in his REACT days, he didn't think there was much left that unnerved him.

      "…ton. Dalton."

      He actually was grateful for McGee to yank him back into the conversation. Dalton dropped his eyes to the table, ignoring the itchy feeling he had now, sitting here with them. "What?"

      McGee huffed. "As I was saying, start from the beginning, with each name. And don't leave out any burners or any alternate…anything you can even guess at."

      Dalton swallowed a second, tinier lump and nodded. "You'll—You'll need to start with Metro PD. There's a lieutenant there, an old friend I used to play cards with who's putting in his papers in a few years anyway…Jonathan Spence…"

      McGee's pen flew over paper, and McGee flipped the pad as he filled the pages and Dalton handed him names and details. But their interaction wasn't the distraction Dalton hoped it would be, especially as this visit stretched out and certain points during the interview were punctuated by a dull cracking sound coming from the back of the room.

      Dalton's eyes flew back to Parker's still form. The agent was still…mostly. Except he took to clicking his jaw every now and then, as information came to light. "It—It was Spence's job to scout her address, get her routine down as best he could…"

      Click.

      "…Miles Seba was Spence's partner for a time, and someone we both knew—but he owed me personally, for covering his ass during a drug bust gone wrong, since I happened to witness a certain transaction—"

      Click.

      "—and there's an ATF agent I met on an old case: Stevie Colfer. She was my best option for access to explosives—"

      Click.

      "—but not just Colfer!" Dalton rushed. He stared at McGee's pen, wishing he could tune out the sound now that he'd discerned it. "There was… There was someone in the local fire department, too. Rocco Ortega." He licked his lips. "…and her building supe? Spence built that connection, actually. But Terence St. George is no saint, and I'm sure he was hoping for additional favors of his own, in the future."

      Click.

      Dalton barely managed to bring to mind the actual details McGee requested after he gave up the names, so concerned was he with the menacing, foreboding motion aimed at him from barely eight feet away. Ewing stood on the other side of the door, yes, but Parker's simple action made Dalton wary that he might be attacked by this unknown factor. And, case aside, he had no clue why, especially because Parker refused to talk, to utter a single syllable or release a lone breath during this interview.

      And yet there Special Agent Alden Parker stood, radiating a thinly veiled rage in the back of the room as Dalton counted off and detailed the numerous people he'd sent after Knight.

      It felt like forever, sitting there, reviewing with McGee Spence's last known whereabouts, Seba's backup cell number, Colfer's preferred meeting place for taking odd jobs, Ortega's reasons for getting his hands dirty. They reviewed, McGee noted, the clock on the wall ticked the hours by—and all Dalton could think was how much he wanted to be back in his cell.

      But there was something to be said for wish fulfillment. McGee clicked his pen then and stowed his notes in his inner breast pocket. "All right, I have everything," he announced, pushing his chair back to stand.

      Relief flooded Dalton, enough to embolden him to remind McGee of his demand. "That's because I gave you everything, McGee. I helped. Wh-What about that cell move I want?"

      At that second, Parker finally took a step toward the table, as if he'd be the one to answer.

      But Dalton's hackles went up, and he shrank back in his chair, the metal feet screeching as he hastily put any extra distance between him and this man with obvious bloodlust.

      McGee and Parker both made nothing of Dalton's reaction. "I'll…talk to the federal prosecutor," McGee said at last. He tipped his head at Dalton in acknowledgment—the closest thing a traitor got to thanks, Dalton supposed—and followed Parker out of the visiting room.

      For the third time that late afternoon, Tom Dalton swallowed an unwelcome lump in his throat, still trying to make sense of how that interview had gone. Ewing came in to find him a bit paralyzed and reluctant to leave the chair, but Dalton was compliant by the second attempt to heave him up.

      It wasn't until Dalton was halfway back to his cell that he realized the agents had left and McGee had made no verbal promise and also not left behind anything in writing regarding Dalton's side of the exchange.

      He ran a hand through his thinning hair, grinding his teeth and wishing he'd spent his cigarettes more wisely. "…fuck!"

      McGee double-checked that his gun and holster sat correctly on his belt as he and Parker exited the prison after their interview with Dalton. Parker didn't do the same, walking in confident, evenly paced strides ahead of him. McGee followed his boss' silhouette with his eyes and squinted. Parker seemed oddly stiff after what had been a successful venture out here.

      Frankly, though, McGee knew that wasn't the first odd thing about Parker today. No, the first thing had been Parker's strange request a couple hours ago, when they'd first arrived. "You'll do all the talking once we get in there," Parker had told him.

      McGee had cocked his head at him and pulled a bemused smile.

      But Parker had gotten ahead of any questions or objections, saying, "I believe in you, McGee."

      Which…was a nice vote of confidence, sure, but McGee was smart enough to know by now when there was something else behind a person's request. And McGee knew, too, that it wasn't only today but yesterday, as well.

      Something was off about both Knight and Parker since the explosion at her apartment yesterday morning. From Knight and Parker butting heads a bit at the scene to later talking quietly amongst themselves on and off at the office…

      Still, McGee had tabled his curiosities and followed through with Parker's request this afternoon. After all, the case—and Knight's safety—was their top priority. And McGee was glad they weren't walking away from Dalton empty-handed. He said as much while he and Parker traipsed back to the car, but he also tried to lift Parker's mood at the same time. McGee grinned slyly, pointing out, "With any luck, no prosecutor's going to rise to the bait. If anything, all Dalton's done is helped to add years to his time."

      Parker nodded rather absentmindedly. He slowed his steps once they were by the car, and he stood beside the passenger door, in no rush to get in.

      McGee squinted at him again, from across the roof.

      Of the past thirty-six hours, what Parker did next had to be the strangest thing McGee witnessed yet. The older man released a low, slow breath through his nose and slipped the tie from his neck, winding the neckwear around both of his hands, and he pulled. He pulled and pulled, hard enough to blanch his knuckles and fists, hard enough to stretch the fabric taut and thin and, holy shit, was he actually tearing his necktie in two—

      McGee nervously laughed. "H-Hey, uh, Parker? What… What're you doing…there?"

      The interruption appeared to snap Parker out of his momentary trance. He glanced at McGee and pocketed the trashed tie. "Venting. And I really didn't want to take it out on your car, McGee."

      He hadn't expected an honest answer! McGee gawped at Parker, hesitating to get in the car with him.

      But whatever version of Parker had been on display seconds ago was buried deep elsewhere, because normal Parker piped up, "McGee, come on. We're still on the clock, and we've got to track Dalton's people down, otherwise Jess is going to remain a target."

      Reality brought him to his senses, and McGee slid in behind the wheel. He turned the engine over and got them on the road back to NCIS, but a part of his mind was still back in that prison parking lot.

      The ride back was a quiet one. McGee kept glancing at Parker, not looking for an opportunity to talk, really, but just to observe. And Parker either didn't mind or wasn't aware of the scrutiny—the latter, McGee supposed, since Parker rested an elbow inside the passenger door, cupped his cheek in his palm, and stared out the window for the entire ride, his thoughts clearly elsewhere.

      McGee wondered about how dark those thoughts were, and why. Parker claimed he'd vented, and yet he still seemed as taut as his damaged tie.

      And, to think, McGee thought he and Torres had enough to worry about, with Knight being Dalton's target.

      Daylight was disappearing on them by the time they arrived back at the Navy Yard. McGee tried not to think about how Parker hadn't spoken an extra peep during the ride back—not unlike his stony silence during the interview with Dalton—and he pushed the memory of the shredded tie down as he and Parker took the elevator upstairs at NCIS. And the tie? Really, what was that? Just a footnote, if McGee actually thought about it.

      Knight's head popped up from her desk like a meerkat's when they exited the elevator. "Hey! How'd it go?" she asked.

      McGee went to exchange a glance with Parker, but Parker's tired expression was reserved for Knight as they entered the bullpen. McGee instead nodded at Torres and at Ronnie and Sawyer, whose shift as part of Knight's protective detail would've started just a few minutes ago. "Well, actually, I'd say it was a major success."

      Torres raised his eyebrows. "You're kidding. Vance's national security threat worked on the jerk's lawyer?"

      He nodded. "Yeah, lawyer wasn't there. Dalton was ours so long as we stuck to the details of this case only."

      Ronnie crossed her arms in front of her chest and shared an annoyed look with Torres. "Well, damn. If we'd known it was gonna be that easy…"

      Parker leaned on the front of Knight's desk and pulled his eyes away from her to settle the others with a frown. "The director didn't make a threat," he corrected. "NCIS still had to go through legal channels, which took a ridiculous amount of time considering how quickly we figured the likelihood it was Dalton yesterday." He practically spat the word, and Knight mustered a sympathetic smile for him and patted his nearer arm.

      "Hate to state the obvious, but…" Sawyer rolled on the balls of his feet and jerked his chin at their little gathering. "What's next?"

      McGee pulled his memo pad out and, since Parker didn't object, gave the sitrep. It wasn't just the names Dalton had given them, either, but also a list of other tasks—notes about which fellow inmates Dalton had paid off in some form to pass along messages, a reminder to check Seba's accounts under a recurring misspelling of his surname as "Seiba," even McGee's passing idea that perhaps Dalton's lawyer might've been instrumental in this and required checking. …and, the more he recounted, the larger McGee's worries loomed.

      They'd had big cases before, but this one—as quickly as they needed to get to the bottom of things—finally might be too big for just the four of them to handle.

      Ronnie picked up on that, dropping her arms to her sides and offering McGee a tentative smile. "McGee. We can help with this, too." Her curls bounced when she jerked her head at Sawyer, who shrugged noncommittally. "We've got Knight's back during watch, of course, but we can help you sift through this info when our shift's over."

      McGee wanted to jump on the offer. But he, Torres, and Parker had been spending as much time at NCIS with Knight and her protective details as possible, because they'd all suspected Dalton might still have connections worth using, maybe even still at NCIS.

      That meant that Ronnie and Sawyer, and Finley and Dawkins, weren't off the hook, even though the MCRT felt they knew them well enough.

      So McGee deferred to Parker.

      Parker straightened up but didn't take long to assess the offer. "We'd appreciate that," he said a beat later, ignoring McGee's look of surprise.

      When McGee glanced over his shoulder at Torres, he saw his own expression mirrored on his friend's tanned face.

      Ronnie grinned, though, none the wiser. "Great! I'll actually feel useful to you—not that looking out for you isn't important," she directed at Knight.

      Knight smiled and tipped her head. "Nah, I get it. I hate waiting around, too, Ronnie."

      While McGee dropped his things at his desk to settle back in, Parker dragged his feet, looking to leave the bullpen again. The older man ran a hand over the back of his head as he glanced upstairs. "I guess I'll go update the director, in the meantime."

      "I'll join you," Knight said, eagerly pushing out of her chair. For someone who'd nearly been blown up the other morning, she was awfully chipper at the moment.

      Parker hesitated, but the tension in his body language ebbed from him the longer Knight worked that soft smile on him. He nodded, and they fell into step together as they headed for the director's office, with Ronnie and Sawyer shadowing Knight at a polite distance.

      McGee stood by his desk, watching them until they faded from sight, and his curiosities from before returned in the office's quiet.

      Knight and Parker… Parker and Knight.

      His curiosities bubbled up, forming into something more solid. There was, of course, wonder over how much the past thirty-six (really, pulling up on forty now) hours had affected the team as a whole… And yet McGee wondered just how close Knight and Parker were.

      Butting heads at the scene.

      Talking closely, just the two of them, at the office.

      And not just earlier, when leaving the prison—there'd been a few other times McGee must've misheard Parker, calling her "Jess" instead of "Knight," during this case.

      But it wasn't just how they were acting around each other, McGee realized as it hit him, finally, why Parker's behavior in the prison parking lot had caught him by surprise. It wasn't only that McGee had been scared of that side of the man.

      McGee knew he'd seen that kind of reaction before, in others.

      Sure, he'd never witnessed anyone murder a necktie before, but—that rage? That was a special kind of rage, and McGee had seen it several times before, when certain people—loved ones—were in danger.

      Tony, with Ziva.

      Ziva, with Tony.

      Bishop, with Torres.

      Torres, with Bishop.

      At that thought, McGee's eyes wandered over to his friend, and Torres lifted his head, quirking an eyebrow at his audience, as if asking, Who, me?

      …ah, right. Torres' clueless expression helped snap McGee out of it, and McGee finally planted himself in his desk chair, determined to pry himself from this silly train of thought. And it was silly, even as his mind wandered back to when Parker and Knight had been trapped months and months ago in the parking garage explosion and he ventured that perhaps things had evolved for the two since then…

      But no. No! This was Parker and Knight, after all, and McGee was overthinking about these two. Clearly he was just seeing things, hearing things that weren't there….

OMG I don't think I've ever turned an outline into a draft so fast. XD SO! As with many of my Parknights, I wrote this before the s19 finale, so who tf knows how that changes hcs, but who cares?! Esp bc I love the "20 Winks" universe too much to change course with it much, I think (I'll hafta see how much I like the canon as we head into s20, *lol*). ANYWAY. This is the missing moment I referred to in "What's Yours Is Mine, What's Mine Is Yours," bc, the more I thought about it, the more I at least wanted to show an enraged Parker reining in his temper but also show how others take in Parker and Knight without knowing about Parknight; this is, indeed, one of my fav storytelling techniques, the ship-thru-others'-eyes, which I've employed before in NCIS fic (see "Sartorially Suited"), have done once for HQ!!, and enjoy on and off for HariPo, bc it's so much fun! It was also kinda fun scaring the shit out of Dalton, who thought he had the upper hand for a hot minute, and also torturing Parker a leetle bc Dalton was practically boasting about getting revenge on Knight bc sour grapes. X'D Poor bby deffo needed Knight's smile and frankly a hug and a smooch when he and McGee returned to the office, but a protective detail makes that difficult! Also, also! The tie murder (*LOL*) felt appropriate, considering the ways Parker has expressed his rage before canonically, but the more I thought about it, the more it felt right to have McGee draw the comparison in this manner to Tiva and to Ellick. But, ofc, Timothy McGee laughs things off, bc nooo, he can't possibly be seeing Parknight with his own two eyes! Anywho. Also, Ronnie & Sawyer cameo bc yay. c: (I rly do adore the minor charries across my fandoms~) -w- Lastly: Do take the prison/lawyer stuff w/a grain of salt, even if Vance did claim national security, bc yeah no. :O So you know the drill, if you read my stuff! Check out the others in the "20 Winks" universe if you started with this one first, go read some other Parknights bc I have what feels like a million of them now XD, enjoy some art by me (on my pillowfort) as well as other content (on the parknights tumblr), feel free to request (fic or art!), and always feel welcome to come chat! Idk where this universe will go (if anywhere) next, but we'll see! I'm just so happy to write 3 Parknights in a week, *lol* (as of writing, this, "What's Yours," and "Late-Night Promises" were all written within just a couple days of each other, and another two stories were edited…luckily before I started feeling like crap again bc thanks, allergies). ;P

Thanks for reading, and feel free to leave an anon/unsigned review via the FFN link or comment via the AO3 link at the top of the post, especially if you enjoyed this!

~mew

[jrueships]

guppy <33

[redrobin95060]

BACK IN THE BATTER'S BOX.....ER, CAGE!

It was a short process, nursing the wounds from the Super Bowl but honestly, it was a really good game so it’s sort of hard to be disappointed for too long. And besides, today was the first exhibition game of Baseball’s Cactus League and the San Francisco Giants were in it, kinda, sorta. So I’m reading Evan Webeck’s article in this mornings Sentinel that casually mentions our newest center…

[fallinginreversefanblog]

Falling In Reverse, I love you as a band! ❤️ This how I saw you first live, never seen a more awesome band on stage! 🥰 May you stick to each other and '24 bring y'all the enormous success you fairly deserve! 🤘🔥❤️❤️❤️

Sonic Temple Fest, Ohio, 5/2023

RockFest, Wisconsin, 7/2023