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le-amewzing · 2 years

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Zeptosecond

FINALLY got to work on a Parker hc I've been keeping in my back pocket for a while, thanks to the Parknight feels. ;w;

Fic: "Zeptosecond" [FFN] [AO3]

Pairings/Characters: established!Alden Parker/Jess Knight, Tobias Fornell, Raymond Isler, & Leon Vance, with supporting roles from some OCs and cameos from Torres & McGee

Rating: T

Words: ~18,040

Additional info: angst, romance, hurt/comfort, friendship, crime/murder/mystery, 3rd person POV

Summary: The tiniest fraction of a second—that's all it takes for Parker to mess up the good thing he has going with Knight.

Parker felt those particular dark eyes glaring, boring holes in his back, but he wouldn't take the bait. He filed away the folders in hand and shut the cabinet before him the next second.

On the other side of the room, Torres whistled from his own desk. "Damn, Parker. McGee's bitten my head off for slamming drawers like that," he pointed out.

Parker glanced at him (partly to avoid the glare off to his right) and shook his head. "I didn't slam anything shut, Torres. I finished filing the cases spread out on my desk before calling it a night—something you might think to do, too."

The younger man glanced at the pile half covering his keyboard but didn't seem to want to move his hands from their comfy spot behind his head. "Nah, I'm good. I'll need to find something tomorrow, anyway."

Parker wasn't the only one who gave him an unimpressed look, although McGee's appeared more resigned with his friend's lazy attitude. But then McGee turned his attention on their team leader.

"Nick's not wrong, though, Parker. Something the matter?"

He quashed the impulse to meet Knight's stubborn gaze. Standing at his desk, Parker shut his equipment down for the night and shook his head. "It's just been a long week, is all," he offered, which…frankly, wasn't far from the truth.

McGee offered him a sympathetic smile, but Torres' dry look meant the latter wasn't buying it. Torres glanced in Knight's general direction, likely looking for another clue.

But before their personal can of worms could be popped open in the bullpen, behind them Vance descended the stairs partway, noticeably without his briefcase in hand. He wasn't on his way out. "Ah. Special Agent Parker. You're still here."

All four of them turned to face the director. "New case?" Parker asked.

"Not quite," Vance replied. He nodded to Knight, McGee, and Torres. "Your shift's over, but, Parker, we've got a call for you up in MTAC. Rather urgent."

His irritation dissipated. Something urgent, cropping up on a Wednesday night? He left his things on his desk, and he briefly locked eyes with Knight as he passed by her.

Her glare had disappeared, too, replaced by concern apparent in her frown and the furrow of her brow.

Parker joined Vance, who kept quiet until they were upstairs and inside MTAC. There, in the otherwise dark room, was a bald head with a weathered face splashed across the giant screen. "…Raymond Isler," Parker said, unable to hide his surprise as he and Vance came to stand at the front of the room.

Isler smirked. "Alden Parker," he returned. "Sorry for the last-minute call."

"Not at all," Vance answered for the both of them. He glanced between the pair. "But color me curious as to you going through these channels, Agent Isler. The last I'd heard from the Southeast office, you'd retired from the FBI."

Parker also raised his eyebrows at the news, and Isler's smirk morphed into something akin to a tight grin. "You…hadn't heard wrong, Director Vance. Think of me as semi-retired. They keep pulling me in to lecture, mostly," he said, but then he dragged a hand over his face. "But, after poaching someone from your New Orleans office, I won't deny the need to look out for her and drop by from time to time."

Vance tipped his head at that. "Pass along my regards to Agent Percy, then."

"Will do. As for the purpose of this call—" Isler shuffled through some papers on the table in front of him. "Alden, do you remember the Digger case?"

With another curious look between them from the director, Parker nodded and summarized. "Sure. Hard to forget. Less than ten years ago…eight, maybe? I was still working out of the Philly office at the time. Had two bodies, initially. A young woman, a mother. Then there was an adolescent boy, as well. There wasn't anything in their backgrounds tying them together, only the unique markers about how the killer left the bodies."

Isler nodded and pulled up photos not for the squeamish. While the x-rays and imaging from the ground-penetrating radar could be stomached, the actual photographs of the victims, buried standing up, was enough to make Parker wish he'd skipped lunch—and it was suppertime already. Isler held up another set of photos, three with the odd burial ritual, too. "Not long after the bodies in Philly were found, we had these bodies in Trenton. But there had been a lone body right outside of Queens about two months before your Philadelphia case."

"I'm guessing that had been a case of yours?"

"Before we knew they were linked. There was a suspect after we discovered Trenton and the FBI even sent the Fugitive Apprehension Task Force after him."

Parker sighed and crossed his arms in front of his chest. "Yeah, I remember. Some fella…Fluvio?" He grimaced. "I'm foggy on the name since my bosses gave the case away once they linked the bodies."

"Ari Fluvio," Isler supplied, flipping open a folder and showing him and Vance a picture of a sallow-faced man with swirling, partially faded ink on the left side of his neck. "The task force got him eventually, but no other bodies appeared while they were on the hunt and no bodies appeared after they brought him in."

Vance frowned. "Has this Mr. Fluvio escaped, then?"

Isler shook his head. "Actually, he's been acquitted, Director Vance."

Parker's face fell. "How?"

"Because nearly everything we had on him, while it seemed good, was circumstantial. The one real thing connecting him to the Queens victim, even, a few hairs left in Mrs. Lauria's backseat? The same DNA technology back then that put him behind bars just set him free." Isler set aside Fluvio's rap sheet. "We had it checked, twice. Fluvio was from Lauria's neighborhood, but he never set foot in that car."

Parker let his arms slip free, and he placed his hands on his hips while he sought any other plausible explanation. "Then—"

"Alden, I also don't believe he did it. We have a new body this week, but Fluvio's being released tomorrow."

He began to pace. "Great. So we get a head's up that there's still a serial killer on the loose. Exactly what I needed to hear to end my night."

"Actually…" Isler cleared his throat, stopping Parker in his tracks and forcing both him and Vance to meet his eyes. "I need you back on this case, Alden."

Parker stared at him. Isler's timing couldn't've been worse. Not that he didn't want to find the real culprit and help a friend out, but Knight had been glaring at him earlier, all day, all week, for a reason. He pursed his lips and glanced at Vance. "What kind of support can NCIS offer?"

Isler frowned, not expecting the lukewarm reaction. "I actually meant you, Alden. My apologies, Director Vance, but Director Sweeney still wants to keep this in-house. He's authorized me to bring on a few of the previous case agents, but this is an FBI-only case, save for where we need to loop in local agencies, wherever things lead us."

Vance paused to mull things over, giving Parker a few seconds to hope he'd turn Isler's request down. But Parker knew better and knew Vance could see the strategy in doing Isler, and by extension Sweeney, a favor. If they scratched the FBI's back now, the FBI would have to do the same for NCIS at a later date. So the agency head nodded. "I think we can spare Special Agent Parker for a few days."

Isler nodded his thanks. "That'd be great. Lucky for us, our Digger hasn't traveled far from his hunting grounds. I'm leading a small team outside Reading, Pennsylvania, where we've found the most recent victim."

Vance gestured to the time, just off-screen from Isler. "Given the hour, I expect any flights to the nearest airport—"

But both former FBI agents shook their heads. "No flights because no airports," Parker said. He continued at Vance's confusion, "Some of the evidence never released to the press was that the victims' clothing was always found separately but nearby, in luggage that didn't belong to them. At first, we thought it was just another quirk, like choosing to dig exceptionally deep to have the victims stand—"

"—but then we learned all the luggage came from various missing baggage claims, from different airports," Isler finished. "We can't risk the Digger literally seeing any of us coming, Director Vance."

Vance nodded, just once. "…all right. Well, Reading is nearly—what? Three hours from here? Rental agencies are closed for the evening, so take another car from the pool once you've swung home to prepare your things, Parker."

He bit back an impatient quip, instead directing at Isler, "I take it this isn't something I can put off until morning?"

"The sooner you join us, the better, Alden." At least Isler offered him a brief, sympathetic smile.

Parker sighed a second time. "Yeah…yeah, I hear you." He glanced at Isler, who once more nodded his thanks. Then he was gone the next second, after Vance signaled the tech to cut the feed.

"Something troubling you, Agent Parker?" Vance raised his eyebrows, curious. "Your reluctance to head out surprises me."

But Parker grimaced and ran a hand over his mouth and along the back of his neck, where a knot had formed. "No, not reluctance… Just have something important on my plate at home, but"—his tone turned flat as he recalled the hurt that had preceded Knight's glare at the start of the week—"it'll have to wait."

Well, he thought his standoff with Knight (rather, mending things with her) would have to wait. As it turned out, he pulled up to the curb outside his apartment complex and saw the lights on up at the top, where his greenhouse windows faced the street.

…oh. He knew the rest of his team had headed home while he'd been in MTAC with Vance, but he hadn't been expecting Knight tonight, considering—

Parker shook himself free of that train of thought and hurried inside and to the elevator. This he hoped to take as a good sign. If Isler's surprise call had broken their tension, then it gave Parker a starting point. He and Knight could talk, without things boiling over. Hopefully.

When he set foot inside his home, Parker found Knight in the living room, changed into comfier clothes but pacing not unlike the way he'd done earlier in MTAC. The comparison made him chuckle, just a bit, but he covered the sound with a polite cough just as she turned his way.

"Alden. You're home," she said. There was uncertainty in her voice, though.

He dropped his bag and keys by the front door and toed off his shoes, but he didn't hang up his blazer. "Yeah, but not for long, Jess."

Knight frowned and furrowed her brow again. "So…what did Vance want?"

He met her eyes. "It wasn't Vance at all. An old FBI friend, Isler, needs me on a cold case that's heated up again."

Knight was taken aback, but she followed him as Parker turned down the hallway, grabbed some things from the hallway closet, and continued into the bedroom to pack a bag for several days. "Wait—so we've got another joint NCIS–FBI case?"

"I wish, but no. Isler's got only a little authority to bring in some of the previous case agents, so it's an in-house operation."

"So you're leaving."

He knew the context, but he hated how brittle her voice sounded when the words left her lips. They stopped Parker in his tracks, and he left his travel bag open on the bed with clothing spread out around it, his primary task forgotten while he faced her. "Jess. It's just for…" Parker hesitated and frowned. "I want to say 'a few days,' but that's really only the best-case scenario."

Knight's shoulders sank, even when Parker neared and rubbed soothing circles on her upper arms. She shook her head. "You mean it could be a week. Or more."

"I doubt it, but yeah."

She huffed and ran a hand through her hair. "I can't believe Vance signed off on this," she grumbled.

At that, Parker clenched his jaw and backed off, once more packing his clothes. "He was making a decision, a strategic move, as director. Besides, he's not really important right now with a serial killer active in Pennsylvania."

He didn't need to peek at her to know Knight was back to glaring at him if not outright scowling. He heard the whoosh of her exhale as she huffed a second time and undoubtedly flared her nostrils. "I'm not saying Isler doesn't need your help, but Vance is important. Sooner or later, we're going to need to come to an agreement about him—about handling us, with him."

"Jess, we've already had this conversation a dozen times this week—"

But Knight followed him, hot on his heels, as Parker finished in the bedroom and grabbed toiletries from the bathroom, taking everything out to the living room to finish organizing. "It hasn't really been a conversation, Alden," she corrected. "It's been me pointing out that my family's been trying their damnedest to pry into my business. That McGee's oblivious, but Jimmy knows because I needed to shut that down so he could move on to someone who could reciprocate. That Torres and Kasie know because they're too damn good at picking up on social cues." With each reminder, her volume had risen, so Knight took a second to calm down. In a softer voice, she added, "…things have been going smoothly for you and me, for a while, and I like that, I do. I love it here." She smiled at him, a tiny expression that didn't reach her tired eyes, but Knight visibly willed herself to relax. Her "I love you" was implied in the familiar cock of her head. "But, Alden, we can't keep going like this forever. Your family's great, too, those I've met—but you don't think they're curious, too?" Knight pursed her lips and gestured between the two of them. "Once family learns, it's like trying to keep the cat in the bag. Cats sure love their boxes, but they always find their way out of bags."

Parker swallowed a lump in his throat at the apt comparison. Knight had a lot of valid points, but— "Telling Vance about our relationship is not a wise idea, Jess." He zipped up his bag and dropped it on the couch so he could give her his full attention. "Just because he has a soft spot for the team doesn't mean things will work out in our favor."

Knight's face fell. She stood on the other side of the couch from him and crossed her arms in front of her chest; her fingers from her left hand dug into her right bicep as her temper returned. "We knew that going in. I wasn't the only person who still chose to act on her feelings," she spat.

He flinched but stood his ground.

"All we've done is kept putting this off, just another dismal thought to muse on, yet another day, between world-ending, life-or-death cases." Knight bit her lower lip. "If it weren't for Isler dragging you to another state, we'd be sitting here, talking this out, Alden. There are no other criminal masterminds out to get us. No ex-wives plotting. No ghosts haunting us. No family or friends in danger. It's just you and me, and we need to prep for the inevitable." She leaned her hands on the couch's back. "I don't think reporting ourselves to Vance would be as bad as you imagine—"

"'—because he's a reasonable man and has been known to gloss over things of a personal nature,'" Parker said in unison with her. He raised his eyebrows at her when she shot him a look for the unwelcome echo.

"So I've said that a lot this week. Point taken. But it's still true." Knight flung her hand out in frustration. "Look at how he handled that case with his own daughter, for crying out loud!"

Nevertheless, he shook his head. "This and that are two very different things. It's a chain-of-command issue, Jess." His frown deepened, and he took a step closer, even with furniture between them. When the edge of the seat bumped into his shins, his eyes darted down for a fraction of a second before returning to Knight's glare. "I don't want to destroy the chemistry of the team. Or worse: see you sent to another NCIS office altogether."

This was the point where, as had been the same each time this week, Knight went back to crossing her arms. A vein pulsed in her neck as she clenched her jaw and met his gaze head-on, as if they were in some high-stakes staring contest.

Parker liked to think this was when, much as she always gave him something to chew on, she, too, mulled over the validity of his concerns. It didn't matter that they'd repeated these same words to each other—he'd go through this again, and again, and again, until hopefully Knight relented.

Especially because he'd seen things pan out and not for the better at other agencies. And he didn't want to think of what lay ahead for him and Knight in this instance.

Just then, the quiet of his apartment broke when his phone chirped with a text. Parker glanced at his hip on reflex and, since they were at a stalemate, he checked the message. The team leader blew out a long breath. "It's Isler, with the address and some follow-up details for when I arrive in Reading tonight."

Knight shifted from one foot to another. "Do you absolutely have to leave tonight?" It wasn't much of a question, though, more of a snarl.

Parker pocketed his phone and grabbed the handles of his travel bag. "I don't have time for this."

Her temper flared as she stomped towards the door with Parker yet kept him at arm's length. "When will you have the time, then?!"

His phone chirped again, but Knight's words irked him more than the distraction. "We keep having the same argument, Jess! And I've told you my reasons—why won't you trust me on this?"

"I want to, but you refuse to see things from my side!" This time, a hint of desperation leaked into her tone—

—and that desperation wasn't something he was sure he could face, now or later.

"Alden—" she tried again.

But he was turning the door handle already, and he shook his head again, without glancing over his shoulder. He crammed his feet into his shoes and snatched up his keys. "Lock up behind me." And then he pulled the door shut behind him.

The moment the door latched, Parker regretted everything. But it wasn't until he was downstairs and outside that he let himself the luxury of looking back. He tossed his things in the backseat of his car, but then he leaned against the car roof, craning his neck where he stood, parked at the curb, peering up at the lights from his greenhouse.

No shadows, no movement. Knight left the lights on, for now, but she hadn't come to the windows to catch one last glimpse of him.

…that was fair. This FBI case had been sprung on the both of them, and he'd chosen to leave now, in spite of their rocky week.

Parker gritted his teeth and ran a hand through his hair. He couldn't help but replay the last several minutes in his head. His anger rose as their arguments flew back and forth on repeat, but the cherry on top was how he'd behaved and exited just now. Parker internally cursed and turned his anger on his car, kicking at the side panel above the front passenger wheel, kicking and kicking and kicking, until he had to stop and catch his breath.

And also caught sight of the small dent he left in his wake.

He dragged a hand over his face and rubbed his eyes. "Shit," he muttered to himself as he fumbled with his keys.

The drive back to NCIS helped calm him somewhat, even though the destination was a reminder of his prolonged fight with Knight. Still, Parker could envision himself setting his personal troubles aside for long enough to solve Isler's case, so long as—

"Shit," he groused again when he drew up on the brick building.

He rolled to a stop instead of rounding out back to head to the motor pool, and the familiar face coming down the front steps greeted him when Parker rolled down the passenger window. "Alden! Back to put in some overtime?"

"Shouldn't you be home, Tobias?" Parker asked as Fornell leaned on the passenger door.

The other man grinned. "Pretty sure I'm old enough to set my own curfew." He gave the door a light smack and jerked his head at headquarters. "So what gives? I dropped by, curious if any of you were up for drinks, only to find the team's turned in for the night."

"It's a reasonable hour to be home. We're not the night shift."

"I know. But you're a group of workaholics, and I'm accustomed to this bunch being here whenever."

"Again—shouldn't you be home?"

Parker knew he'd let a little too much of his annoyance into his tone, because Fornell closed his mouth and studied the other man for a second. That grin was still present, but it was less friendly, more that of a fellow investigator sniffing out something of interest. "You're not turning into Leroy Jethro Gibbs 2.0 on me, are you? Doing something stupid and going off on your own all half-cocked? This is what you have a team for, Alden."

Parker stifled a sigh. "I'm not. I'm doing a favor for our friends, the Feds."

Fornell's genuine curiosity showed in the way his eyebrows jumped an inch on his forehead. "Oh. Vance know?"

"It's a fully sanctioned mission, Tobias. I'm helping out on an old cold case."

"Where to?"

Parker shook his head but caved. "Pennsylvania."

Fornell nodded. The next thing Parker knew, the chirpy fellow opened the passenger door and slid in to the open seat beside him. "I'm down for a road trip."

Parker did a double-take. "Uh, no."

"Sure! Why not?"

"Because I have several good reasons. The top one being: You're not even a cop anymore. You're retired, Tobias."

But Fornell shrugged and buckled up. "Agencies bring in experts all the time, on the job and off. Hell, you guys use me pretty often."

Parker bit his tongue to keep from remarking, "Only because you linger around the office so much." He reluctantly drove towards the motor pool, figuring he had enough time to talk Fornell out of tagging along. "This is an official loan of assets—namely, me. Director Vance…" He shook his head; he'd already had his fill arguing about Vance with one person for the night. "Anyway, NCIS signed off on me heading there, and I'm borrowing one of our own cars. Then I'm driving straight there."

Again, Fornell shrugged.

All right, one more: "Tobias, you've got nothing but the clothes on your back. I'm probably going to be there for several days. A week, maybe."

"You know, there's this wonderful invention called a 'credit card,' Alden. Comes in handy when traveling."

Parker settled Fornell with a dry stare, which the latter unfortunately returned with thinly veiled amusement. Things didn't change even when the agent working the motor pool for the evening drove a black SUV to the front and passed Parker the keys for the agency vehicle, though the agent thankfully kept to himself, save for one wary glance spared at the mystery dent on Parker's own car.

Fornell joined Parker in the SUV. "I'm not bad company on road trips. I'm a hell of a navigator—"

"You know, there's this wonderful invention called 'GPS,' Tobias," Parker quipped, returning the favor while pressing a button on the console display to bring said GPS to life.

Finally, Fornell narrowed his eyes. "Look…"

Parker quirked an eyebrow as he drove them back around front, intending to drop Fornell where he'd found him and be on his way.

"…I confess. I miss solving cold cases." Fornell shifted in his seat, slouching a hair, comfortable. "That's one thing about the FBI—when we dig up a cold case, we follow it all the way to the end."

Parker conceded with a nod. Fornell wasn't wrong. It was one of the few things he still appreciated about his previous agency. Still— "That doesn't change the fact that they requested me, not you."

Fornell cleared his throat, but it was a poor attempt to hide his grumbles under his breath. He stared out his window like a sulking child. "Fine. Then drop me off at my friend's on the way."

"I didn't even tell you where in Pennsylvania I'm headed."

"So tell me now."

Parker grimaced. He'd told Knight…and it couldn't hurt to share just the town… "Reading."

"Yeah, I've got someone in Reading I could visit."

Parker wasn't sure if Fornell were being honest or yet again just trying to weasel his way onto this trip. Regardless, Parker was tired and done arguing, and he'd wasted enough time as it was between his prolonged fight with Knight and this bickering with Fornell. "Then to Reading we go," the team leader obliged at last. "But only if you can give me some peace and quiet."

His companion shrugged once more. But this time Fornell complied with Parker's request, and Fornell himself returned his attention outside the passenger window.

Despite the condition he'd set, Parker liked the silence in the SUV even less when they got on the road and NCIS was a silhouetted blip far behind them as they drove northwest. The silence didn't calm him now the way the short trip back to the office had earlier. Instead, Parker's thoughts went back to Knight, wondering what she was doing now… He kept picturing the hurt that had flashed across her features throughout the evening, which left Parker to stew over their argument in earnest.

"Cat got your tongue?"

Well, that quiet didn't last long. Parker gripped the steering wheel in response.

"Uh-huh…" Out of the corner of his eye, Parker glimpsed Fornell curtly nod. "Not in the mood for talking. I'd be offended if I didn't have an overabundance of experience with the buttoned-up type."

Parker frowned, and Fornell dropped his prodding for now. But his words directed Parker's thoughts elsewhere, down a familiar path full of memories, some happy, some painful…quite a few bitter. As it was, Fornell wasn't the first one to point out how blocked off Parker was—neither was Knight.

Being shit at talking had been something Vivian couldn't stand, and it was one of his personal foibles piled atop a heap of other major issues that had ended their marriage.

The last thing he wanted to do right now was think of Vivian, but it was hard not to, since their marriage had been his last serious relationship until now…until Knight. But this ongoing fight over whether he and Knight ought to loop Vance in—the truth was, Parker could see how Knight viewed things, ever the optimist. But he still felt justified in his caution, perhaps less so in his anger. And yet…it was easiest to see that if he let this argument run in circles forever, then it was akin to history repeating itself. Maybe there were just some lessons he never seemed to learn.

They'd been on the road for over half an hour when Fornell tried again. "Huh," he said, his voice too loud in the silence.

Parker felt Fornell's eyes on him and wondered how long the other man had been bored. He almost wished either of them had bothered to fiddle with the radio before now… He sighed. "Now what?"

"Well…this." Fornell waggled his left hand at Parker. "Something's definitely off with you. You know, you're always friendly, polite, or exasperated, but, whatever this is, it's new."

Parker almost spared him an unimpressed smirk, but that would be a response, and he wasn't biting. He kept his eyes on the road.

Fornell must've sensed the challenge, because he sat up straighter, more awake, livelier than before. "All right, let's see… Lady trouble?" he guessed.

Parker huffed and gripped the steering wheel again.

Fornell nodded sagely. "Well, I've been around that block and back. Anyone I know?"

"No," Parker answered, hasty, barely a second after Fornell finished speaking.

Of course, that lit Fornell's curiosity. He rested his elbow on the armrest and leaned in. "Unlike me and Gibbs, I can't see you back with your ex-wife, so it's not her… Dr. Grace is a catch, but she's way out of your league… Since Vivian was a fellow Fed, maybe it's someone at NCIS?" He stroked his chin. "I'd bet a hundred bucks it's not Kasie, and your team doesn't have much overlap or interaction with the night shift, so you probably barely known Ronnie Tyler. So, unless there's someone else at NCIS, that leaves Knight." Fornell paused.

Parker held his breath.

But then Fornell had a laugh and relaxed in his seat. "Ah, maybe I am rusty at this. Although the two of you do get along surprisingly well, even though she's a blue sky and you're kind of a raincloud, Alden."

At that, Parker pursed his lips and shot Fornell the briefest of looks.

"Oh, don't give me that. You, yourself, know you can be a sourpuss. But Knight always has a good word to say about you, at the office or even if your name comes up during group."

That piece of information caught him off-guard. It also helped replace some of tonight's anger and overall upset with guilt.

"Anyway, enough about Knight. Back to your lady troubles," Fornell insisted. A moment passed before he continued, his tone far less jaunty, "…well, I don't know what advice I can give you, really. You have more than anger going on tonight, so I'd hazard a guess that you had a fight, but—I don't know. For the longest time, fighting and romance went hand-in-hand in my mind." He, too, stared out at the road ahead of them. "You'd think I'd learn, but take me and Diane. She and I bickered and snarled like cats and dogs. But…we kept coming back to each other. It wasn't just Emily that we shared. We had so much between us. It wasn't worth giving up. It was too much fun, as well as too much hard work, to shun."

…despite all the teasing, Parker paid attention to that part, to heartfelt words Fornell most assuredly hadn't planned on sharing tonight. It was the first time in a long while, in Parker's memory, that Fornell had been able to talk about his late family without his voice breaking. His tone had shifted, from lighthearted to solemn, but still. He was doing better.

And that gave Parker an impetus to do better, too. (…just, later, because first things first, and he still had a case to solve.)

"Hey, Tobias. Tobias, wake up. We're here."

Fornell jolted awake, yanking his scruffy chin from his palm. He dabbed at his mouth with a tissue and squinted at a small hotel dead ahead as Parker pulled into the business' lot in front. "How long have I been out?"

"A couple hours. You nodded off shortly after…" Parker trailed off.

Fornell yawned, showing no tenderness towards the morose subject. Then his stomach growled. "Got anything to eat?"

"Nah. There'd be a granola bar in the glove compartment if it were my car, but—"

"Sonuvabitch."

Parker gawked at his friend. "Didn't realize not feeding you would piss you off so bad."

But Fornell scowled and had his hand on the seatbelt button as they arrived at the hotel's front doors. "Not that, Alden. That. Him."

Ahead, someone had just stepped outside the hotel's main doors. Even if Parker didn't recognize the partly backlit silhouette of the Black man with the bald head and broad shoulders, he'd know that "FBI casual" look with the short-sleeved polo and pressed slacks anywhere, and Isler still had the rigid, ready-to-go posture of an active agent. The SUV barely had come to a stop before Fornell was out and eyeing up Isler, who stood with his phone in hand. But, seeing Fornell and then Parker hustle to join them after grabbing his things, Isler pocketed the device.

"You didn't tell me you're working this case with him," Fornell grumped at Parker.

"You didn't ask."

Interestingly, Isler met Fornell's scowl head-on and partly smirked. But to Parker, he asked, "Why the hell do I see a skeleton standing beside you, Alden?"

Before Parker could explain, Fornell scoffed. "And here I thought you were so nice with your words, Raymond." He snorted, and the staring match continued, though Isler's expression darkened at the supposed jab. The pair looked ready to cuss each other out, though Parker was left wondering who'd stepped on the other's toes back in the day.

Finally, Isler yanked his glare off Fornell and frowned at Parker. "This case isn't one for tagalongs."

Parker threw his hands up. "Hey, I understand—"

"Don't worry; I was just along for the ride," Fornell harrumphed. "Any other case, Alden, I'd be happy to butt in."

"Yeah, another time, Tobias." Parker hesitated and gestured to Isler. "Hey, uh, while I'm here…you good with sharing your ride?"

Isler quirked an eyebrow.

But Parker handed Fornell the keys to the loaner before Isler could say anything. "Look, just. Take the SUV, Tobias. Keep it local—and keep it pristine—but try to enjoy yourself while we're working the cold case. I'll call you if plans change, and you do the same. Deal?"

It was enough to perk up the small fellow. Fornell's irritation melted away as he looked at the SUV with fresh eyes, and he grinned. "Deal." He jogged around to the driver's side door. "Usually this is where I'd say 'don't have too much fun,' but really just watch out for papercuts. Raymond's good at drowning people in paperwork and red tape. Enjoy, Alden!"

They watched Fornell ease out of the parking lot and drive back out onto the main road, and Isler shook his head. "Was that wise?"

"Eh, I could tell he enjoyed the SUV on the way up…and do not breathe one word of this to the director."

"That wasn't from—?"

"Yup."

Isler's eyes widened. "Well, that's none of my business. But this Digger case is. We've got a block of rooms booked on the second floor, but your keycard's still at the front desk. I was actually taking a break to call you and catch you up."

Parker narrowed his eyes at the taller man. "Catch me up? You've already got something?"

"No, just to remind you that Sanchez and Manning are still two gigantic pains in the ass when they're in the same room."

Finally, something to laugh about. Parker shook his head while Isler grinned and waited for Parker to check in with the worker running the lobby. On the way to the elevator, Parker asked, "So, who'd you pull together?"

"As I mentioned, Sanchez from the Queens office, before he retires next year. Manning's technically still running the Fugitive Apprehension Task Force, but, if there's a lick of truth in the rumors Sanchez has heard, then his task force has the right people trained up and they're hoping Manning will either transfer, switch to teaching cadets, or retire, too." Isler sighed while the elevator trudged on its way to meet them. "I thought retirement was a pipedream in our line of work…"

"You mean, you keep working or you drop while on the job?" Parker remarked grimly.

Isler pulled a face but didn't disagree. "Other than us 'seasoned' agents, we'll be in constant contact with the Philly office, which is close by to offer support, and we're coordinating with the local Reading police to boost our numbers."

"…are they even prepared to deal with someone like this?"

"They'll have to be."

Parker frowned. He followed Isler off the elevator, and exhaustion settled in with each step he took towards the end of the hallway. He didn't need Isler's guidance to know Sanchez and Manning were present. He could hear their shouting through the walls.

Isler grimaced and gestured to the door at the end. "Look, Alden. I appreciate you coming on such short notice, but the drive…" His smile was thankful. "Why don't you rest for a bit and I'll set aside some of the takeout we ordered? You can have it when you wake."

Parker wanted to protest that no one would be sleeping with those decibels continuing, but the vein pulsing by Isler's temple was a good indicator that Sanchez and Manning would be quiet soon enough. "All right. We'll get to work soon."

Isler left him to it. Surprisingly, two doors up from Parker's, a door opened and slammed shut, and the yelling cut off in an instant, all without Isler raising his voice.

Parker didn't bother unpacking, knowing there was a chance he wouldn't spend much time in this room anyway. But he did survey his surroundings—a simple bed, a mini fridge and microwave combo, a small television, a bathroom with a tiny stall shower and no tub, and a chair by a large window—before pulling the unappetizing, mustard yellow curtains shut and flopping back on the mattress.

But, while it was good to be out of a moving vehicle, unfurled from behind a steering wheel, Parker's mind wouldn't shut off and let him sleep.

He sat up and shed his blazer, and he dug out his phone. The silence in the drive up here hadn't been his imagination; his ringer had never gone off, and she hadn't texted him once. So. To call Knight or not…?

Parker unlocked the device and pulled up their text history—but his thumbs hovered over the keyboard, unsure what to type. Worse, he couldn't think of what to say if he heard her voice right now, so he couldn't bring himself to dial her.

In the end, Parker turned his phone on its face beside him and stretched back out. He closed his eyes again, futilely trying to catch some rest.

So much for doing better.

Parker must've actually fallen asleep, somehow. He woke in the wee hours when Isler knocked on his door. Parker rolled over and checked the time on his phone. 4:00AM. Well, damn.

"So much for resting 'a bit,'" Parker remarked when he exited his room and followed Isler up the hall into room 207.

"I knocked before, but it seemed you really needed it. Don't worry, there's still some leftover sweet and sour pork."

"Thanks, I'm starving."

Room 207 had the same setup as Parker's, except with a mirrored layout. Additionally, Sanchez or Manning had moved the chairs from the other rooms into here, and they'd commandeered a table, as well. Sanchez occupied one of the three chairs, while Manning sat on the edge of the bed, with files spread out atop the untouched covers. Documents papered two of the walls, too.

Parker took everything in and nodded hello to the other two men. "Nice to see you two still kicking," he said.

Sanchez smirked, his version of "hey." Though he was from the streets of Queens, he'd done a stint at the Philly office and had some overlap with Parker. Between similar upbringings and working together, it was easiest to get along with him.

In contrast, Manning still looked every bit the muscly Army veteran he was, and even now he had his sleeves rolled up to his elbows to show off a few tattoos from his Army days. "Yes, hello, we're here. Now can we track down our killer or killers?"

Sanchez rolled his eyes and Isler shook his head, but Parker took a walk around the pieces of the old case files pinned to the walls. "You don't really think we're looking for multiple killers, do you, Manning?"

"Until we have good evidence to rule it out, I don't see why not."

Sanchez muttered something in Spanish under his breath. "This is why you fugitive hunters have such one-track minds when it comes to profiling. You don't know how to see the bigger case at hand…!"

Thankfully, Isler stepped in as their volume rose like earlier in the night, but Parker ignored it and went to the fridge to find the food. He zapped it and ate while he reviewed the notes on the older victims.

Queens—Sara Lauria, aged seventy-eight, widow. Lived alone. Found upright in a grave dug a block from her home. Personal clothing located half a block from the crime scene.

Philadelphia—Tina Schenk, aged twenty, new mother, living with her newborn alone. Found upright in a grave dug two blocks from her apartment complex. Personal clothing located buried under garbage by Dumpsters behind her complex.

Philadelphia—Bobby Voight, aged eleven. Lived with his mother and father. Found upright in a grave dug in the playground up the street from the Voights' home. Personal clothing located under a bench at Bobby's school.

Trenton—Amalia Arder, aged thirty-two, divorced. Lived with a roommate, who was on vacation when she disappeared. Found upright in a grave dug half a block from their condo. Personal clothing located half a block from the crime scene.

Trenton—Serena York, aged thirty-nine, single. Lived alone. Found upright in a grave dug beside the commuter lot where she parked her car every morning. Personal clothing located at her train stop, off the beaten path.

Trenton—Jamie Kess, aged twenty-four, engaged. Lived with his college friends, the last ones to see him the night he disappeared. Found upright in a grave dug a block from his university campus. Personal clothing located outside a notorious fraternity on campus (leading to a truly terrible red herring that had derailed the case for weeks as the FBI waded through threats of legal action by wealthy parents and alumni protecting the fraternity).

Queens had occurred around two months before the Philly victims, which came about two weeks before the Trenton ones. Now, nearly a decade later, Parker laid eyes on the newest victim.

Reading—Cassandra Ebbing, aged twenty-seven, single. Lived alone. Found upright in a grave dug a block from the law office where she served as a paralegal. Personal clothing located, stunningly, in the trunk of her car.

Parker's eyes scanned happier, livelier photos the victims' loved ones had supplied. "Still nothing to connect any of them, even after all this time?"

"No," Isler answered. "Ari Fluvio being from Mrs. Lauria's neighborhood and the hairs…it seemed like a good connection at the time, and eyewitnesses back then gave their sworn testimony that they saw him. Plus, Fluvio didn't have an alibi for the other murders." Isler shrugged where he sat in the chair opposite Sanchez. "But Fluvio's being in prison while Cassandra Ebbing was taken and killed is an excellent alibi. On top of that, the DNA evidence does acquit him now."

"I still believe it's him and an accomplice," Manning snarled. He found Fluvio's photo from the pile on the bed. "You three weren't there when we took him in. You didn't see how he behaved. Innocent people don't lash out like that."

Parker sighed while Sanchez inhaled to offer what surely would've been another loud opinion, but Parker was the first to respond. "Scared people do, Manning," he pointed out. While he, too, didn't like the idea of Fluvio being out…

Isler passed him the DNA report.

The report could've been Kasie's work, it was that good and clear to understand. How anyone, even ten years ago, could've made the mistake about which types of hairs had been found in Mrs. Lauria's car stymied him. Telogen hairs—dead hairs—looked pretty damned distinct from anagen and catagen ones, and dead hairs fell off people all the time…could be collected and planted by anyone else, at any time.

"So you agree with me," Isler stated as Parker handed the report back. "Fluvio's been in jail for a crime he didn't commit."

"I do. And I'm really hoping the original tech who misinterpreted the evidence was fired."

"Long since. For another, surprisingly larger matter, I'm afraid. But the outcome's the same."

Well, at least there was some justice in the world. Parker went back to studying the victims' profiles. "Ebbing. She doesn't really have much in common with the other victims."

"No, she doesn't." Isler joined him before the photos. "Ebbing, Arder, and York were all Black women, employed, took care of themselves. But that's where the similarities stop. They don't even look alike."

It was true. The hairstyles and types varied, and York was more reminiscent of the olive-skinned Mrs. Lauria, a second-generation Italian–American. Which led to his next thought: "And nothing regarding religious background or finances?"

Sanchez answered this time. "Mrs. Lauria was the only Catholic. Arder's friend shared that Arder joked about her divorce turning her into an atheist. Ebbing was a practicing Buddhist, Schenk was a Reform Jew, but the rest were some flavor of Protestant. The victims were mostly middle class, though Schenk's and York's income put them on the lower threshold, especially with Schenk having her newborn son at the time."

The sweet and sour pork turned mostly sour in his mouth, so Parker set the leftovers aside, and he stopped voicing his other brainstorms. The thing was, the backgrounds wouldn't change. Even with Ebbing as a new data point, they didn't appear to be any further along today than they were years ago.

The same must've occurred to Isler, because their de facto case leader crossed his arms and turned away from the victims. "The Philly office is handling re-interviewing the witnesses today, but I've also asked them to bring in any friends and family members who will to come in and talk about the victims with us. There might be something we overlooked before."

"Especially since we never figured out the baggage claim connection," Sanchez piped up.

Isler nodded. "Precisely. So we'll take turns, but I want us to reread everything we have on each victim. Memorize it. Then we're going to stop at the coroner's office to look at Ebbing's remains for ourselves before we venture into the Philly office."

"The one we should be talking to is Fluvio," Manning growled under his breath.

"The only ones talking to Fluvio are the FBI's lawyers, given that he's got a good lawsuit in his near future. So give up on false leads and hunt down something real, Manning."

While they worked, Manning and Sanchez maintained a tense calm. That allowed for Isler's team of four to sift through boxes of documents and even quite a few digital files as they re-familiarized themselves with every last detail that had been gathered on each victim.

Close to noon, they left the hotel, Manning and Sanchez each in their own cars, Parker carpooling with Isler, with Sanchez leading the way to the coroner's office deeper in town. Isler took care of the introductions, and the coroner gave them an overview of his report (which they'd all read earlier this morning) before leaving the former and current FBI agents with the body and the evidence.

Parker and Sanchez pulled Ebbing's body from the drawer, but Parker froze.

The sheet covering Cassandra Ebbing hadn't been drawn up all the way when the coroner had last studied her. He'd left part of her head uncovered, and…

From where Parker stood, Cassandra Ebbing's crown of dark, wavy hair looked horrifyingly like someone else's, and it was too easy to picture, underneath that sheet, Kn—

"Hey, Parker, you good?"

He snapped free of the momentary nightmare and met Sanchez's narrowed, curious eyes. "Uh, yeah. Yeah, I'm good. Just thinking."

Sanchez shrugged and folded the sheet down, respectfully, like tucking in a loved one. "Guess I'll start."

Parker didn't object. He took a minute to let the sterility of Autopsy ground him: the chemically clean scent, the monotony of the metallic interior, the cold air. It centered him on what he was supposed to do.

The quartet spent over an hour there before they were due to head to the Philly office. They gained nothing new that wasn't already in the coroner's report, but it never was a bad idea to see all the evidence for themselves, just in case.

Philadelphia was a little over an hour away, in good traffic, if it weren't lunch hour. "Manning aside, I like to think we might actually solve the Digger case this time around," Isler piped up between other people laying on their horns.

Parker snorted. "Manning's politics are shit, but he somehow turned out a great task force, time and again."

Isler sighed and drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. "Younger agents are better at sorting out which lessons to learn and which to ignore these days."

"That they are."

"Still…" Isler cocked his head at Parker. "Sanchez is good, too, but it's great getting to work with you again, Alden." Then he pulled a face. "It just amazes me," he remarked with equal amounts of disdain and fondness, "that they managed to get another agent turned towards NCIS…"

Parker quirked an eyebrow, but, as that appeared to be Isler reminiscing and not opening a conversation, he let the topic drop.

The Philadelphia office was in nicer shape than Parker had left it before transferring to the D.C. branch. They hadn't redesigned any of the floors, but they'd updated a lot of the interior, so it was more modern, angular—colder, in Parker's opinion, like the upgraded equipment he noticed they now used, too, as he and the others were signed in as visitors and led upstairs to the conference rooms.

It was a good thing they'd stopped to eat right before coming in, because they spent the afternoon and rest of the day at the Philly office. More people than Isler had expected turned up: Mrs. Lauria's daughter-in-law, Bobby Voight's mother, Arder's roommate, all four of Kess' college friends/roommates, one of Ebbing's neighbors, and York's two best friends. More had been contacted, but Schenk's parents and two more of Ebbing's neighbors would come by the office tomorrow to speak with them.

There was a silent agreement not to leave Manning on his own, so Isler paired up with him to talk with Lauria's daughter-in-law and Kess' friends, leaving Parker and Sanchez to divide up the others. It wasn't much work, though, since Arder's roommate kept the interview short as she'd interrupted her workday for this and couldn't make it more than ten minutes without crying about her old friend again. Parker suggested she return tomorrow, if she were up for it.

One of the biggest differences between handling victims' surviving loved ones as opposed to dealing with witnesses was that survivors always brought something with them, Parker knew. Even Arder's friend kept a picture of them together from an old trip on her phone. That was one thing, but it was always hardest when parents, like Voight's mother, brought in entire photo albums.

Mrs. Voight wanted to examine every little aspect of her Bobby's life, from birth to death, each of his eleven years, with anyone who'd listen, especially since her son's murder had fractured her marriage. And she recalled every detail with stunning clarity, happily chatting in a daze, unaware when one album slipped from her lap and photos spilled everywhere.

Parker felt for her and assisted her in collecting her keepsakes, but he was relieved to interview Ebbing's neighbor after that. It was easier to listen to neighbors talk about each other like old friends than to hear a mother talk about her loss, in some ways as if it never happened.

Their day ended, and Isler took a copy of the Philly agents' notes on the fresh witness interviews with him. He waited until his team was back at the hotel on the outskirts of Reading to pick their brains. "How'd things go?" he asked Parker and Sanchez while Manning rifled through a small stack of takeout menus.

"York's friends brought a digital photo album," Sanchez said, sighing into a bottle of water he'd pulled from the mini fridge. "It was a good thing there was no one else for me to speak with, because York's pals are—" He cut himself off and accidentally gargled his mouthful of water as he groaned. He pinched the thick bridge of his nose. "Their phones. Have such large. Memory cards. And then the cloud…!"

Parker clapped him on the shoulder; he could commiserate. "Mrs. Voight wasn't as high-tech, but she went the picture route, too. Ebbing's neighbor, Mrs. Hu, just had stories to share from their building. Sounded as if they were a close-knit community. But Arder's roommate—I just told her to come back tomorrow. She was a mess, Raymond."

Isler frowned and set aside the witness notes. "Yeah, I'm hoping Ebbing's other neighbors will paint a fuller picture tomorrow. Meanwhile, Mrs. Lauria's daughter-in-law spoke about what the family's been like without their matriarch, but Kess' friends…" He shook his head. "I do hate reopening old wounds for these people."

The other three men mumbled in general consensus.

Given the late night and early morning they'd had, Isler decreed they'd order food now and hit the hay. "We'll compare notes and review Philly's witness interviews first thing in the morning. Then we'll head back there before lunch tomorrow."

"Sounds good," Parker said, and Sanchez and Manning nodded.

They settled on Indian for supper, which arrived about twenty minutes later. Sanchez filled the wait catching Isler and Parker up on his family—his kids had grown up, and he had one grandkid starting first grade this year and another turning two this winter—and Isler politely asked questions here and there and dodged questions about his time spent lingering around the New Orleans NCIS office.

Sanchez prodded Parker about his exchange of one D.C. office for another, changing tracks from FBI to NCIS, but Parker shrugged it off as inevitable, since Sweeney firing him over that whole Gibbs situation a long while back had been made quite public amongst the different FBI offices and other federal agencies.

Parker finished his meal first and excused himself. Sanchez and Isler wished him a good night, and Manning spared him a grunt of acknowledgment, but Parker was relieved to have time to himself now, especially since Sanchez had eyed him funny again during supper.

Overall, Parker thought the day had gone well, even though they hadn't progress to show for it. But that moment at the coroner's office definitely had thrown him through a loop. Even thinking on it now, Parker shivered.

This line of work didn't come without its nightmares, but some images were better left unimagined. Still, Parker felt that icky crawl up his skin, so he grabbed a change of clothes, blasted the hot water for a brief shower, and stepped out clean but not in the least bit refreshed.

He didn't bother with the television, because it wasn't a distraction he needed right now but a comfort. Instead, Parker dropped into the chair by the window and stole a peek at the darkened sky outside. Then he picked up his phone.

It was the same as last night. No calls, no messages. A large chunk of him wanted to call her right now, just to hear her voice, to confirm for himself that no, she wasn't on someone's slab elsewhere…but that would be discussing an ongoing investigation, and they didn't need to invite (any more) trouble right now.

Parker went to his Photos app to find the one thing to keep him company right now, a picture that lived in the Recently Deleted folder. In hindsight, it was a dumb move, constantly restoring and then deleting it to keep it there instead of marking it Hidden (the first place any decent trained agent checked for information)…although their call logs and text history revealed a hell of a lot more about them than did any one picture.

He wondered what this photo would say to someone else. It was a single shot of Knight by herself, taken by Parker over the summer. She smiled, laughing, in the photo, half caught in a twirl with her dark hair flying about her, dressed in a cute red-and-white polka dot dress she'd found the day before. She'd joked that she was like a version of her beloved Malibu Barbie.

It was easy to recall her laughter from that day out, but Parker knew he'd take one of her growls right now in a heartbeat. He also knew, he mused with a frown as he restored her photo only to delete it anew to keep it in Recently Deleted, that he just plain didn't like the idea of keeping her a secret.

He slept better the second night, although he vaguely recalled one detail from his dreams. Parker couldn't get the image of Knight grinning impishly and saying, on repeat, "Told you so…!" He had no clue what it meant, but he also knew better than to bother Dr. Confalone with something like this—especially without the time to provide the proper exposition.

Friday morning vanished quickly as Parker, Isler, Sanchez, and Manning compared their own interviews and then reviewed the new witness statements as handled by the Philadelphia office. Unsurprisingly, several witnesses had changed their testimonies once shown evidence that it couldn't've been Fluvio. There were a few holdouts, but one such witness had mentioned "fabricated evidence" by the FBI in the same breath, so Isler's team wasn't worried about pursuing new leads.

But as for finding new leads…

"Still nothing stands out," Isler griped when Sanchez finished recounting his chat with York's friends. He paced the length of the room by the door. "No debts in common. No acquaintances in common. Not schooling, not insurance—not even the same tax guy!"

"Raymond, whoa," Parker said, holding up a hand. His friend reminded Parker of himself just as he was getting worked up, right down to the hands on his hips. "The victims are just…average people. But there's always something. The more data we have—"

But Isler clenched his jaw. "That's what I'm afraid of. We couldn't catch this guy back then. Now Cassandra Ebbing's dead. Who's the next data point, Alden? Huh?" He jutted his chin out at Sanchez and at Manning, too, defiant. "Who?"

None of them needed the reminder of the gravity of the situation. "It's time to hit the office," Parker stated in a soft monotone that deflated the tension.

Isler came back to his senses, but he was the last one out of the room, and he trailed behind Parker on the way to the car. Parker almost thought to drive until Isler took the wheel and turned the engine over just fine.

After a few minutes on the road, Parker glanced at his friend and colleague. "You do realize we each have a personal stake in this case. The Digger case belonged to Sanchez and to me before it belonged to you, all before they handed it over to Manning and his team."

Isler grimaced, but his shoulders sank. "…yeah, yeah, I know."

Parker wondered if he'd gotten through to him. As an extra precaution, when they reached the Philly office, Parker stuck by Isler's side, even though they had half as many interviews as today. Sanchez and Manning called a truce for once and partnered up to talk with Ebbing's other neighbors together while Parker and Isler met with Schenk's parents. Arder's roommate would be by later in the day.

Mrs. Voight and her albums yesterday had been one thing. But Tina Schenk's parents had custody of their grandson and had brought him with them. The boy was still young, but he was the spitting image of his mother.

Mrs. Schenk noted Parker and Isler staring as a rookie FBI agent led their grandson down the hall to the break room for a snack while they spoke. "Every year, he looks more and more like her, you know? David will be nine in a few months."

Parker wasn't certain which words were best right now; NCIS hadn't turned up many cold cases since he'd joined, and he'd never worked a cold case this…messy, for lack of a better word.

But Isler seemed to have regained his footing thanks to Parker's message on the way here. "I imagine Tina would be proud of how you've raised him," he complimented.

The Schenks beamed at him in thanks. "So, what else can we tell you?" Mr. Schenk asked. "I thought we ran out of info to give you folks years ago."

"Just…anything that comes to mind. What Tina was working on then. Her interests. How she got along with the family. Memories you want to share. Anything at all. We're here to listen."

Those were the kind of words parents loved to hear, no matter the circumstances. The Schenks launched into the story of how they met—an arranged marriage that worked out quite well, actually, thanks to their mothers' meddling—and had Tina a few years later. Tina was their only child, so they spoiled her quite a bit, which led to some trouble on and off, and Tina ended up with some different views and values from her parents. "She didn't attend Temple a lot, so it was a surprise when she became a Reform Jew," her mother noted about the family's contrasting beliefs. And yet, despite all the clashing and spots of bad behavior, Tina never missed a holiday or a birthday.

"She never missed a single family trip, whether we were flying up to a friend's cabin in Maine for a week or driving to Jersey for a long weekend."

Something tickled the back of Parker's brain, but he couldn't quite put his finger on it. He leaned forward. "Did your family take a lot of trips?"

The Schenks shared a thoughtful look, and Mr. Schenk shrugged. "I suppose so? There were two yearly ones we liked to take, including that one to Maine." His eyes glistened when he smiled, just a bit, this time. "David loves that cabin just as much as Tina did."

"And where did you fly out of back then?"

"Let's see… Well, we were still living in New York City proper then, so Tina would drive up from her place in Philly and we'd fly out of JFK as a family."

Isler sat up straighter in his chair, too, catching on to Parker's line of inquiry. "Mr. and Mrs. Schenk, before the Digger got Tina, when had you last taken such a trip out of JFK Airport?"

"Oh, that's easy. Almost a year. It wasn't long after we got back that Tina found herself pregnant with David, and she told us that she wanted to wait to fly until after the baby was born. She had terrible nausea, you see."

Parker darted his eyes Isler's way; Isler covertly locked eyes with him, as well. So, they were on the same train of thought. Parker stood then and shook the Schenks' hands. "Mr. and Mrs. Schenk, thank you so much for coming in today. We appreciate your time and help, and we'll let you know if we need your further assistance. I'll let the agent know to show you two and David the way out."

The Schenks blinked and nodded, bewildered, but they stayed put as Parker and Isler exited the loaned conference room.

Parker walked down the hall and motioned for the agent with David Schenk to return the kid to his grandparents. With the break room unoccupied, Parker faced Isler. "Call it a hunch, but," Parker started in undertones.

"No, something about those family trips…you're right," Isler interrupted. He crossed his arms. "Americans love to travel, and we think nothing of going on vacation whenever. But I'm curious about that timeline, when the Schenks were in and out of JFK."

"And I'm suddenly eager to ask Arder's friend about that trip they took and how often."

Isler hastened from the break room. "I need to get my laptop and check Fluvio's file."

"I thought we weren't supposed to touch Fluvio?"

"We're not. But anything we already have could prove useful. Let me know when Arder's roommate's here." And then Isler disappeared down the hall.

Parker watched him go, but he finally felt some hope that Isler was right, that they really would close the Digger case for real this time—and that Parker wouldn't be here for a week, as feared.

Just then, his phone chirped.

He snatched it from inside his blazer's breast pocket. Sadly, it was only a text from Fornell:

-Still alive!

He'd even sent a photo of himself with a silver-haired woman his age at the bar. They were toasting with pints of pale ale, and each of them wore a pair of those silly-straw drinking glasses.

Internally, Parker grumbled. But he sent back:

-Try not to party too hard.

Fornell replied with a winking emoji.

Yeah, Parker felt prepared to return to D.C. alone and let Fornell walk back. He knew he'd told Fornell to enjoy himself, but he didn't need these kinds of updates…!

Sanchez and Manning wrapped up in time for lunch to be brought in—simple fare, from the food trucks at the plaza outside the building—but Isler didn't join them. Parker actually had to go and find him when Arder's roommate arrived, although it was like pulling McGee from his computer.

"Hey, can't that wait?" Parker asked. He motioned to Isler's laptop.

"You'd think, but—" Isler did a double-take. "Ah, well. I can pause for a moment."

And it was a good thing they did. Arder's friend wasn't in much better shape than yesterday, but Parker followed the hunch he had and got straight to the point today. "That picture you showed me, of you and Amalia—can I see it again, Ms. Kendrick?"

She nodded, barely smiling through the tears. "We wanted to take the trip every year, but the best we could do was about every other year…"

"And when had you last taken this trip, before…?"

Ms. Kendrick hiccupped. "Maybe the year before? She had lots of points for one particular airline, but it didn't fly out of Trenton, so we'd drive up to JFK to spend them."

"Thank you, Ms. Kendrick. You've been especially helpful." Parker nodded to Isler, who darted back to his laptop in the adjacent room. "This time, we're going to get the person who did this to Amalia," Parker promised.

Arder's friend and roommate smiled through the tears. She nodded at his reassurance.

Sanchez and Manning were already with Isler when Parker returned from showing Ms. Kendrick out himself. "This JFK idea looks good," Manning admitted.

"What did Ebbing's neighbors have to say?"

"Mr. Wade said they shared just about everything with each other, like family. The younger one, Miss Mitsui, was closer to Ebbing in age, though, and Ebbing usually told her when she'd be out, so Mitsui could collect her mail, water her plants, those sorts of things," Sanchez explained. "But Cassandra Ebbing never flew out of JFK. No need to, not when she lived here."

Parker heaved an exasperated sigh. "All right, so maybe she's an outlier. Raymond, what holds your interest in Fluvio's file?"

"Except for Ebbing, all the victims flew out of JFK in the year before their death, for business or for pleasure. We missed that before because, last time, we only checked travel records up to six months prior. But." Isler motioned to Manning, who flipped a switch, and a screen dropped down behind Isler. Isler practically stabbed one of the keys on his laptop, and his screen appeared behind them in large format. "Look at the old notes."

Parker and the others skimmed them. "Right, Fluvio's friend, Rory Woolford, worked at JFK at the time. We thought he supplied Fluvio with access to baggage claim, since there were no signs of breaking and entering at any of the airports local to the victims. But we ruled Woolford out; he was innocent."

"So, what?" Sanchez scratched his head. "Fluvio had some other friend helping him?"

"He really could've had a partner…!" Manning pointed out.

But Isler sighed. "No and no. Fluvio's off-limits, but Woolford's not." Isler brought up a records search for the airport. "Take a look at this complaint Woolford filed against a coworker, Josiah Lawson, for harassment."

Parker read the statement. "It's pretty generic."

"A little too generic, right? No details, just 'workplace harassment, on a daily basis.' But look what happens when I search for Lawson." Another click, and something fresh popped up.

Parker gaped at the mugshot and prison intake photos. Lawson's rap sheet was short but serious. "He's done time."

"For tampering with security at the baggage claim," Sanchez read.

"And he just got out the week before Ebbing turned up dead," Manning stated.

Isler met each of their stunned gazes in turn. "We still need to connect him to the victims and piece together why, but I'm betting Rory Woolford could fill in quite a few blanks. Sanchez, Manning, if you two would swing past the hotel and retrieve the rest of our materials, that'd be great. Parker, I'd like you to stay here and dig into Lawson's background."

Parker smirked. "Yeah? And you, Raymond?"

"I'm going to update Director Sweeney after I ask the Philly SAC for some extra hands. We're going to find Josiah Lawson, gentlemen."

Rory Woolford, it turned out, was a stone's throw away in his cousins' home in Pottstown. The Philly SAC was happy to assist and send out a spare pair of agents to fetch Woolford and bring him in for an interview. And Isler was right: Woolford held several puzzle pieces.

"Ari and I just liked to hang out, y'know?" the fidgety guy told Isler's team. He shrank back under the weight of their stares, as if he were their suspect, not Lawson. "Problem was, Ari was between jobs at the time, so he came and hung out even when I was workin'. No problem for me, really, no skin off my back. I could play and work at the same time. But Lawson?" Woolford scoffed. "The guy was tied tighter than a luggage tag. He didn't like us, but he especially hated Ari comin' around."

"Did Lawson ever interact with Fluvio?" Isler asked.

"'Interact'? Lawson tried to keep his cool, like, twice, but he finally lost it one day, one time when Ari brought me a sub to split for lunch. No big deal, right? Ah, maybe we shoulda offered to buy him something, I dunno." Woolford shrugged. "But nah, Lawson started shouting at Ari for being a lazy do-nothin' and constantly interruptin' work and bein' a distraction. Ari didn't back down none, either." Woolford swallowed a lump in his throat. "Though I wish he had. Lawson kept tabs on us all the time after that. That's why I filed that complaint, y'know? I heard from someone later that Lawson has a history, stalkin' people." He shivered.

Parker exhaled. "Stalking, yeah. We know." Now. That was a large part of Lawson's background he'd dug up while waiting for Woolford to come in. None of Lawson's previous victims had been hurt, though, only frightened.

"You know when they arrested him, he actually tried to pin it on me?" Woolford scoffed, but his fear of Lawson was too visible still. "Cocky bastard… First Ari goes away for somethin' he didn't do, and then Lawson tries to frame me. I wouldn't be surprised if he'd had a hand in Ari's troubles…"

"That's what we're wondering ourselves," Isler admitted. "To be on the safe side, though, Mr. Woolford, I'd recommend you stay put right here until we can locate Mr. Lawson."

Woolford swallowed another nervous lump. "You—You don't think he'd come after me for real this time, do ya?"

Isler didn't answer him, and the others kept quiet, since fear was a good motivator to keep Woolford rooted to the spot. He was one less thing to worry about, so they could focus on the deceased…and on keeping Lawson from growing his kill list.

With more room to spread out at the Philadelphia office, Isler's team went over everything, from top to bottom, with fresh eyes.

Sara Lauria. Family trip every few years to visit relatives in Palermo, Italy.

Tina Schenk. Family trips twice a year, including one to Maine.

Bobby Voight. Family trip once a year, to see cousins in England at Christmas.

Amalia Arder. Had a fondness for Nova Scotia and Canada; spent travel points out of JFK with friend and roommate.

Serena York. Regularly took trips with her two best friends, to fulfill a lifelong desire to visit all fifty states. Occasionally brought said friends on business trips to meet this goal.

Jamie Kess. Tried to turn a gaming convention in Upstate New York with friends into a yearly event.

Cassandra Ebbing. Business travel. Had been traveling every few months in the two years leading up to her death, since her law firm was looking at a potential merger.

So far, Ebbing looked like a definite outlier…but Lauria was unique, as well, given that she was the only one from Fluvio's neighborhood. Parker squinted at Lauria's file while one of the Philly agents hung a map and went about marking each victim's address, the locations of the bodies, and a ten-mile radius for each.

Parker took a step back from the victims' files to study the map instead. Seeing the locations up close and with what they now knew, the homes and gravesites stood out more to him. In particular, grouping the victims by community. "Hey, Raymond."

Isler, as well as Sanchez and Manning, turned Parker's way. "What?"

"Set aside your thoughts about Ebbing for a sec. What if we did have outliers before? And we never noticed until now?" Parker traced the radii around Schenk's and Voight's homes and gravesites. "Rather, we didn't know until now that we had extra victims."

The other three gawked at him when Parker faced them. "You think you can determine more victims from that map, Alden?"

But Parker splayed his fingers across what they had. "No. We have Lawson's intended victims—as well as ones he didn't mean to kill." He set Lauria's file down and gestured to the map. "Lawson's victims are overwhelmingly female. Except for Mrs. Lauria, they're also in a target demographic: single, living alone, between the ages of twenty-five and forty, look on the young side. Schenk wouldn't've been pregnant when he first saw her, coming through the airport months before he grabbed her. If you take away Bobby Voight and Jamie Kess, I think we have our pattern. And Ebbing fits that pattern."

"But Mrs. Lauria—"

"Woolford might've told us why," Parker realized as it came to him. "She was from Fluvio's neighborhood. Lawson later tried to frame Woolford for a crime, but what if Lawson ended up framing Fluvio for a crime because he couldn't get his hands on Fluvio?"

Manning gaped. "Son of a bitch. Fluvio was supposed to be his first victim."

Parker nodded. "I think so. And when Lawson couldn't grab him, he practiced on Mrs. Lauria instead. Lawson has a history of stalking, but I'd bet she was his first murder victim."

"Then what about the little boy and Kess?" Sanchez asked.

"We've got travel dates or estimates for everyone, so Lawson would've seen them…although we still don't know about Ebbing yet. But Bobby Voight's mother said he rode all over their neighborhood on his bicycle all the time. As for Kess—his home and gravesite aren't anywhere near Arder's or York's, but his university's less than a block away. I believe Voight and Kess were opportunity kills. Voight could've witnessed Schenk's abduction or death, same as Kess with Arder or York while Kess walked between campus buildings."

Isler hissed a curse and motioned to one of the Philly agents. "I need a BOLO for Josiah Lawson ASAP, as well as a list of missing persons reports for the tristate area for the past week meeting Special Agent Parker's description. Give special attention to anyone who was expected to be traveling. And loop in both Reading and the state police." The agent nodded and dashed off, but Isler pushed against the table and forced his attention away from his laptop. "Just because Lawson isn't supposed to be working at an airport doesn't mean he's not back at it…."

There was no returning to the hotel that night.

They had agents working around the clock, trying to locate Josiah Lawson. He'd tried to use a credit card that was rejected the same day he'd come out of prison, but that was the last digital trail he'd left. The BOLO didn't turn anything up in the time since—

—but the missing persons list did.

"Everyone, listen up," Isler announced to the conference-room-turned-tactical-headquarters. The face of a woman who could've been York's younger sister appeared on the wide screen behind him. "This is Judy Harpin, age twenty-three. She was reported missing by colleagues at her textbook publishing company. And, like Cassandra Ebbing, she was last seen at Harrisburg International Airport."

That was it. That was the missing connection. JFK International, Harrisburg International—Lawson had stuck to large airports, making it harder to find him and making it easier for him to melt in with crowds as he selected his victims and took his time until he was ready to make his move. He'd worked at JFK before, but a serial killer changing venues after a stint in jail wasn't unheard of, especially when he was trying to stay under the radar.

So much for that, Parker thought as he, fellow agents, and local law enforcement geared up to head out. "Middle of the night, though, Raymond," he murmured to Isler amidst the flurry of activity around them.

"We've slept enough, Alden. We can't let him take someone else. But…I see your point." Isler spoke again to the room. "Mind your lights on your way to Harrisburg. We don't know what we're getting into, and we don't need people panicking when they're half asleep."

The Philly SAC loaned them some extra gear as well as three spare teams of agents, along with a small tactical unit, in the event Lawson had outfitted himself with anything worse than a shovel. It was after midnight when Isler, Parker, Sanchez, and Manning led the cavalcade from the safety of the office's walls. They split into three groups, with Manning taking the tactical unit and a few of the staties. Sanchez led several of the Reading officers joining the hunt and took on two of the FBI agent teams. The remaining team joined Isler and Parker, along with the remaining state troopers.

Harrisburg was less than two hours away—a shorter trip even than that, with clear conditions that allowed them to exercise some speed. Parker was prepared for something close to Knight's hair-raising antics behind the wheel, but Isler was a tad more cautious with his maneuvers, like Parker.

"How's the security at the airport?" Parker asked.

"Good, but I asked the state police to send in some plainclothes officers. We would've had FBI agents instead, but Philadelphia's a little stretched for resources on such short notice."

"Any help where we can find it—"

But the dispatch interrupted him. Parker picked up the walkie-talkie and turned up the volume. The staticky voice crackled every few words, but enough of the message came through. "—avesite discovered at a gas station along I-83, along the beltway. Nearby units respond. Matches description of previous gravesites reported on BOLO for Josiah Lawson. Lima, Alpha, Whiskey, Sierra, Oscar, November. Repeat: Gravesite discovered. No reported sightings of Josiah Lawson. Lima, Alpha—"

Parker's phone buzzed, and he put Sanchez on speaker. "Isler, if that's a fresh crime scene…," Sanchez intoned.

Isler smacked the steering wheel. "I know! Take Unit Two and head there. The rest of us will continue on to the airport." He lay on the gas after that.

The road flew under their tires, buildings and the not-too-distant mountains mere blurs outside their windows. But, even at this time of night, the telltale din of the airport couldn't be quashed, and the sounds of jets thrummed overhead as Units One and Three descended on the travel hub and spread out at the entrance. Their arrangement blocked other vehicles from getting too close, but it kept others who hoped to leave soon from getting too curious at the same time.

Parker adjusted his vest, his thoughts on a certain photo on his phone which he slipped into a snug spot between his protective gear and his shirt, as he stepped out and nodded to Isler. He kept one hand on his gun but left it in its holster. "Plan for if we happen to cross paths with Lawson here?"

"…wolf pack," Isler settled on. He raised his volume with the other groups in earshot. "If you see Lawson, no one takes him out on their own. We corner him, guide him to our most advantageous spot."

One of Philly agents stepped forward. "Harrisburg police coordinated with security here. They said if we need a space like that outside, that'd be the tarmac. Inside, it'd be by the private screening rooms."

"Then we have our marching orders, people. Good luck."

They entered the airport intermittently, mixing in with the public as best they could. Even for a major airport, the odd hour did mean a thinned crowd, and Parker worried that only he and Isler blended in well. Manning's and the staties' body language reeked of military or a law enforcement background; the Philly FBI agents were somewhere between.

Parker wound his way through families looking to sit down and sleep and a few people hustling to their gates. But pretending to read the crappy magazines sold at the in-hub convenience store, pretending to be another traveler waiting for his connecting flight didn't yield anything. Parker did two slow sweeps, scanning faces, searching for hints of disguises.

He didn't see Josiah Lawson anywhere here.

Parker did another loop, as well as checked the men's rooms and stole a peek into the employee break rooms. Still…nothing. Parker tapped on his earwig. "Hey, Raymond. Given Ebbing a few days ago and Harpin just found…yeah, he might be looking for a new one. Or he might already have one. But are we even certain he's here?"

He could hear Isler huff. "I want two more sweeps and another perimeter check. I'll go check security footage myself."

Parker frowned, but he and the rest did as told. And yet the additional searches only reinforced Parker's feeling that Lawson, though he might've been earlier, wasn't here now.

The middle of the night slowly warmed to early morning. Parker felt himself dragging a bit, but the thought of heading home kept reviving him. As for the others… Well, he saw quite a few rubbing their eyes and suppressing yawns.

"Raymond," Parker piped up.

No response.

"Raymond."

A disgruntled sigh. "I'm here, Alden. Seems you're right. Lawson doesn't show in any of the footage from the past twenty-four hours."

Parker frowned. "It wasn't a waste, coming here. There are always blind spots cameras can't cover and places cameras can't go."

Isler cleared his throat. "Units One and Three, stand down. I repeat, stand down. Suspect not present. Regroup with Unit Two at the new crime scene."

There were some grumbles from others before people pulled out their earwigs in annoyance. Parker didn't really blame them, but he didn't think Isler had made any poor choices either. If anything, running this case and so smoothly at that despite all his ups and downs in his last years at the FBI, Isler showed that he hadn't lost his touch, Parker determined.

Back outside, Parker offered Isler a commiserating smile, which Isler didn't return. All around them, the other agents and officers left, but Parker jerked his chin at the car. "Want me to drive?"

Isler nodded, although the motion was quite mechanical. He passed Parker the keys and got in, and it was a good thing Parker drove. Isler pulled up case notes on his phone to scrutinize.

Parker inched them forward in the midmorning traffic of the airport parking lot. "Raymond, my honest opinion? You haven't missed anything. We just don't know enough about this guy—no one does."

"That's the whole point of a decent profile, Alden." Isler rubbed his mouth. "To be honest, I left my best profiler down in New Orleans… She's not FBI anymore, though, so Sweeney would blow his top."

"You mean that newbie you'd just brought on to your team after the Digger case? Gre…gorio, right?"

Isler smirked, brief, wistful. "You have a good memory. But yes. I'm desperate enough to call in a favor with her."

Parker grinned and waved to a friendly elderly couple that reminded him of his parents as they crossed in front of the former agents' car. "Hey, if you call Gregorio, Sweeney won't hear about it from—"

"What, so you have dirt on me so I definitely know never to let Vance learn you let Fornell drive an NCIS official vehicle around town? …Alden? What is it?" Isler followed Parker's line of sight out the windshield.

Beyond the flow of pedestrians crossing, several rows ahead on the left, people unloaded or returned to their cars. And yet there was one vehicle, a tan sedan, with its trunk open. A thick-set man with dark hair stood, loading luggage into it. He lifted his head as if he felt Parker's eyes on him and met Parker's gaze.

Josiah Lawson stared back at them.

Parker cursed. "Dammit!" He blasted the horn, scaring people out of the way, but this was the start of the busy hours, and people didn't clear fast enough. Parker eventually pulled forward—

—but Lawson had had enough time to close up and hop in the driver's seat, and he was speeding out of the exit a quarter mile away.

Parker followed while Isler called in a description of Lawson's vehicle, their current location, and their general direction. Lawson cut a sharp right onto Main Street, and the signs ahead gave them fair warning.

If Lawson made it to the turnpike up ahead, he'd have more space, an open road to put more distance between them.

He might escape.

Isler interpreted the signs the same way and called it in. "I want a full shutdown of the I-76 on—" Isler squinted at the signs. "Suggestions on a radius?" he asked Parker.

"Tell them to close it down on either side of the Susquehanna River!" Parker spat. He yanked the steering wheel one way, narrowly avoiding them clipping a minivan poking along at the speed limit.

Lawson must've met with more traffic, as well, because he was only half a dozen cars ahead of them now. He was closer to the pike's turnoff, too, but he missed it at the last possible second when a tractor trailer cut him off, forcing him to take the long way around.

Parker navigated through the traffic, closing the distance, one car length at a time…

Then, suddenly, an SUV moved in front of Parker and Isler. Parker honked and switched lanes, but they lost sight of Lawson for maybe ten seconds.

And ten seconds was all Lawson needed. Now, he was nowhere to be seen.

Parker and Isler both scanned the lanes around them. Ahead were normal morning traffic sounds; there was no indication Lawson was weaving in and out of lanes, beyond where they could see. So Parker lay off the gas and eyed the exits.

"Alden." Isler pointed to the nearest one.

"Worth a shot."

They pulled off. Isler updated the other groups, who hopefully were en route, but for now it was only him and Parker.

The former FBI agents kept their eyes peeled as Parker dropped to as close as a crawl as he risked. This exit poured them into a small shopping district that petered out into a residential area.

Parker tapped his fingers along the wheel. "He knows we're after him. He won't try to blend in with the crowd anymore."

"Do you think he came here with a purpose?" Isler asked.

"It's possible… Tell Manning and the rest to search the residential roads."

Once more, they were doing sweeps, and this task required as much patience as the airport had earlier, if not more. It was easy to confuse a similar car for Lawson's, and once Isler had Parker stop so he could check the engine. "No, cool to the touch. Hasn't been out recently," Isler stated when he buckled up again.

Parker growled under his breath, and they got back to searching.

Manning came on the walkie-talkie then. "Hey. Over on Smythe Road…fourth house from the street sign."

"Stay put," Isler answered. "Wait for backup before moving in."

"We passed Smythe less than ten minutes ago," Parker said as he got them turned around. "That bastard better be there."

They folded into a short line of familiar cars and SUVs that had joined them at the airport first thing this morning. Manning stepped out of the car second in lead, parked in front of the house he'd mentioned, and jerked his head towards the property when Parker and Isler joined him. "Car in the driveway matches the description. Engine's still lukewarm. Ran the plates—stolen."

Parker smirked. "Guess it's not easy to return to normal life when you've behaved like Lawson."

"No, indeed. Isler, I'll take point this time," Manning said, though he paused long enough for Isler to object.

Isler shook his head and motioned for the tactical unit to join Manning in the lead. "This is your area of expertise, Manning. The show's yours."

Altogether, the assembled groups flanked the single-level home, leaving a pair of state troopers at the front door to block the possible escape route. Manning and his unit approached from the right; Parker, Isler, and the rest took the left side, around an old heap of firewood set against that side of the home. Once in position, Parker and Isler glanced into the backyard.

Lawson stabbed the dirt beside a hole and caught his breath. Beside him, on the sparse grass, sat a white bucket with a bright, yellow-and-black warning label on it: chemicals.

"Bet you that's the same mix of caustic chemicals he used to speed up decomp on the previous victims," Parker whispered to Isler, who nodded.

Before Lawson could pick up the shovel again or reach for the bucket, Manning and the tactical agents drew near. "Josiah Lawson, put your hands up. You're surrounded by law enforcement, and we've got more officers at your other dumping ground. The game's over now."

Lawson stilled. Parker and Isler slowly revealed themselves, proving that exit closed off. But then the killer admired his handiwork, considered the open grave and the chemicals—

"Oh, no, you don't!" Manning yelled. He dropped his gun and ran head-first at Lawson in a textbook football tackle, and the pair of them went down. Thankfully, Manning's muscle kept Lawson flat and unable to break free with a feeble struggle.

Parker and Isler jogged over. Isler helped secure Lawson's wrists while Parker removed a nasty switchblade tucked into the back of Lawson's waistband. "That could've done some damage," Parker commented as Manning got to his feet and they stood Lawson up.

Isler leaned over to check the open grave. "Seems it already did," he said, his tone soft.

Parker didn't need to look. The chemicals were the clue: Lawson already had another body in there. They would determine later whether it belonged to Harpin or to another person whose absence had yet to be noticed.

But for now…this portion of the Digger case was closed, with only loose ends to tie up.

And Parker finally could shift his priorities to a certain person whose absence he'd felt acutely these past few days.

"I had a funny feeling you'd head out soon," Isler said to Parker the next morning.

Parker dropped his hand, since there was no point in knocking as Isler had opened his door right when the former drew up on it. Parker did that scoff-chuckle of his. "Can you blame me? We processed Lawson yesterday but still had a ton of evidence to go through."

"At least Sanchez found Harpin," Isler stated.

Parker pursed his lips. True. The body off I-83 had been Judy Harpin's; agents were still scouring the area for the baggage of her clothing that was Lawson's trademark. The medical examiner's rough estimate was that Harpin had passed three to five days before Ebbing. The body they found Lawson in the process of hiding…well, they hadn't identified the victim yet. There were still quite a few loose ends since their victims list had expanded.

Isler leaned on the doorjamb of his room. Despite the four of them returning to the small hotel on the edge of Reading, the bags under his eyes indicated that he hadn't slept much either. "You really were a great help, though, Alden, and I won't keep you here. There's nothing that we can't process without you."

"Eh, feel free to send me some homework if you need to. I can still write up a report like a good probie."

The taller man grinned. "I'll keep that in mind, thanks. Rather, I think I'll call you up again if I need your expertise." He quirked an eyebrow when Parker's friendly smirk faltered.

Parker scratched the back of his head. "Yeah…but I've got a life back in D.C. I've got a home at NCIS," he added after a split-second pause, though one particular person came to mind as he spoke those words.

Isler heaved a sigh. "Not the first time I've had someone tell me something similar. Just—do me a favor and make sure you take Tobias home with you."

Parker snorted. "You know, I did you a solid here—sometime, you've gotta tell me what the hell he did to get on your shit-list."

"…also need to stop owing NCIS agents anything," Isler grumbled under his breath as he started to close his hotel room door in Parker's face, "especially these pride types…"

He had no clue what he'd done or say that came across as prideful, so Parker let the musing slide and, travel bag in hand, headed downstairs to the lobby to turn in his keycard and check out. Outside the hotel's front doors, Fornell already had the SUV pulled up and waiting.

"You look worse for wear," Fornell commented as Parker climbed in to the passenger seat without complaint. "I warned you. Working with Raymond Isler is a pain."

"The only pain is that we didn't solve this in a day or two, rather than nearly four," Parker groused, exhaustion settling in as Fornell got them on the road heading back. He leaned back in his seat and closed his eyes, missing Knight warring with his anxiety over whatever awaited him when he got home. His anxiety chomped at the bit, but Parker dreaded and yet was hopeful Knight would be home when he arrived.

Fornell was quiet for a beat. "Catch me up after you've had a catnap, friend. I'll get us home in one piece."

The next thing Parker knew, the SUV was slowing down, and his body jostled, recognizing the familiar bump at the mouth of the NCIS lot. He woke and sat up, pressing the heel of his palm into his eyes. "What the…?"

"Ah. We're here~" Fornell announced in a cheery lilt.

Parker shot him a tiny glare. "Thought you said you'd wake me after a 'catnap.' You let me sleep the entire way back, Tobias."

"Correction: I never said I'd wake you, only asked that you'd fill me in after you napped. And you looked as though you needed it." He shrugged and rolled to a stop. "Wanna switch so no one knows you let me drive an official car? Or am I allowed to drive my exhausted friend and former colleague to the motor pool to collect his ride?"

They were already in the lot, so Parker bit back the rest of his grumbles. Stunningly, the same agent who'd worked the pool Wednesday night was working this Sunday, but he did a double-take when it was Fornell who turned over the car keys.

The nearly three-hour nap had refreshed him, so Parker felt better about getting his own car back. He dropped Fornell around front, although Fornell paused on his way out the door. "Knowing you, you've only come home because the job is done. I'd bet whatever was bugging you when we left last week, you'll figure out something there, too, Alden. Good luck."

Parker softly chuckled. "…thanks, Tobias. Get home safe."

Fornell saluted him and closed the passenger door. He patted the car's side, ushering Parker on his way.

Coming home now felt even faster than the trip back from Reading. Having left on the later side of the morning, he and Fornell had returned to D.C., even with traffic, in midday. Parker ran into no trouble getting to his apartment complex and got his usual parking space out front along the curb.

He hustled inside and upstairs, too impatient for the elevator. He unlocked his front door, figuring the first words out of his mouth needed to be either "hello" or "I'm sorry," and—

—and…it was quiet. Empty, really.

Parker's energy stopped thrumming as he set his bag and keys down inside the door. He glanced around the living room. "Jess?" he called out.

No answer.

He toed off his shoes and did a slow circle of the living room, sensing something was off. Parker frowned. Things didn't look out of place. Moving into the kitchen, the bedroom, even peeking into the bathroom and the greenhouse—nothing was wrong with the rooms, per se. So then…

It struck him when Parker noticed his books adjusted slightly on their shelves in the greenhouse.

Nothing was out of place, but things were tidier than usual.

His frown deepened into a grimace. That…was odd. Knight left to her own devices preferred to get around to chores eventually or to tidy up with Parker.

If she'd gone ahead and done it without him, then he didn't want to think of exactly how tidy his home now was, of what belongings of hers he would find absent even though, before, things had been so good between them that she'd been practically living here…!

Parker returned to the living room and sank onto the couch. Any pride in a job well done on that Digger case vanished, knowing he'd used work as an excuse to avoid being open and reasonable with someone he considered precious. Work was a good distraction but couldn't fill every void in life, especially not as large a one left by Jessica Knight.

As he sat there with his head in his hands, the door opened, followed by footsteps—and the thud of something substantial hitting the floor.

He picked his head up. "Jess."

Knight blinked at him, her hand over her heart. "Alden! Oh, my—! Wha—?" She shook her head and nudged aside the bulging shopping tote she'd dropped. "When did you get back? Are you all right?" Knight took a second to close the door behind her. "Wait—did the case turn out bad? Did you—you're not hurt, are you? You never contacted me, and Isler never called us—"

Before Knight could rush him or have a full panic attack, Parker blurted, "I'm sorry."

Knight froze on the other side of his coffee table.

"I never should've left, least of all with us arguing." Parker rested his elbows on his knees, his shoulders partially hunched, and he stared up at Knight. "I do want to talk this out. I just… I'm exceptionally terrible at discussing the important stuff."

Interestingly, Knight bristled; Parker mused whether it was in reaction to his referencing their argument or in general to how long it'd taken her to get him to open up, back when they'd only had a friendly, working relationship. But then Knight closed her eyes for two beats, exhaled, and nodded. "Actually, I'm sorry, too," she apologized. "You can't take all the blame. I let you go, Alden. That—That was incredibly stupid of me. I should've tried harder to delay your trip. I know better than to leave things hanging."

His stomach dropped. They were finally talking, yes, but Knight's words and tone… They only sounded like one thing to him:

His stubbornness and fears had sealed the deal.

They were over.

Knight took the opportunity to come sit beside him on the couch. She hesitated, glancing at the coffee table and his bookcase on the left side of the room. Finally her copper-colored eyes found their way back to his face. "So, um… How did the case go?"

He pursed his lips, but, honestly, Parker found it easier to force words out of his throat in that moment by talking about something else. He gave her an overview of the case; painted a picture of Isler, Sanchez, and Manning; and admitted that he wasn't thrilled to be in and out of the old Philadelphia office. "But it's changed a lot, so it's not the same office I knew," he finished with a small shrug. "That made it a bit easier to work there."

"I'm happy for you. When you first said you'd be working on an FBI case, FBI-only, I was a little worried about that," Knight commented. She smiled. "But it sounds as though you were in good hands. I wouldn't mind meeting Isler sometime. Although I feel for you, Fornell tagging along out of the blue," she commiserated with a chuckle.

The right corner of Parker's mouth quirked up in the semblance of a smile, but he didn't quite share in her amusement. A long, awkward silence followed.

"…AGH, I can't stand it!" Knight blurted, throwing up her hands and bumping a surprised Parker in the process. "Look, the last few days really sucked. The first night was especially fresh and awful and not my most shining moment—" She paused and gestured to her tote, which she'd left on the floor nearer the door.

Parker furrowed his brow. "What's in the bag?"

"A replacement hairdryer. I, uh, kind of took my temper out on my old one after you left."

His raised his eyebrows. …then again, there was a certain dent in his car from Wednesday night that he'd left there himself. They really did exercise their tempers in the same manner… He made a mental note to show Knight the dent later.

Knight faced him. "After that, I spent the whole time with my phone all but glued to my hand." She pouted. "I wanted to call you, but I didn't know what to say, so I just." Knight twisted her lips around and pulled her phone from her jeans' pocket. She unlocked it and when into the Photos app and found something she, like Parker, had "saved" in the Recently Deleted folder: from a different weekend date, a shot Knight had taken of Parker striking a dumb pose with sunglasses he'd found, a pair that let him pull off Arnie's iconic look in The Terminator.

…ah. To think, Parker and Knight had been thinking the same things and doing the same things, even while apart.

She chuckled fondly at the photo before setting her phone down on the coffee table. "But that was just me caught in a loop, driving myself nuts. And you know I don't do well sitting still." She smirked.

Parker couldn't suppress his chuckle at that.

"So I also spent my time alone going over the NCIS handbook, looking for something to help us, if we took things to Vance—"

Knight clearly was building up to something larger, but Parker had to know. "Wait, so we're…we're not splitting up?"

She gaped at him. "Fuck no. I'm mad as hell at the both of us, but I had some time to dwell on your side of things." Knight took a breath. "I—I don't want to break apart the team, either. But you and I are a team, too, Alden. I love you and I trust you. I—" Her eyes were damp, her voice caught, but Knight smiled, defiant. Proud. Happy.

So Parker kissed her, relieved and reminded just why he loved this strong-headed woman.

Knight grinned against his lips, and her breath was a warm welcome against his face when he pulled away.

"So, what now?"

"Well… I think the MCRT can continue all right, especially because our relationship hasn't affected our working dynamic at all." Knight paused to run her thumb over his cheekbone, above where his whisker line began. She continued, a little sheepish, "…actually, while you were away, I was, um, a little zealous in catching up on paperwork, so…"

He snickered. Good to know that a livid Knight turned into a paperwork-completing machine! Not that he'd take advantage of that—and he'd ensure McGee and especially Torres wouldn't, either.

"But! As I mentioned, I was studying the handbook, too." Knight locked eyes with him, copper meeting hazel. "When agents are from different teams, there are no obstacles. It's only when agents are on the same team, with a chain-of-command issue, that there's any trouble." She threw up a hand between them when Parker began to frown. "But that fraternization policy is too explicit in its statement regarding effect on morale and case completion. Given that, I thought that if I propose to Vance that I stay part of the team but report to him directly…it would let him assess things on his own." Knight raised her eyebrows. "So? What do you think?"

The more Knight went on, the wider Parker's smile grew. He ran his fingers through her hair when she finished.

She leaned into his touch. "What?"

"Just thinking that that REACT training still shows. You always find a way, somehow thinking three steps or more ahead. …damn, I missed you, Jess."

Knight flushed, pleased (with his words or ministrations or both), and she cupped his cheek before kissing him again. Her kiss, though, was more fervent than his earlier one. She nipped his lower lip before resting her forehead against his. "Y'know…I think this is our first gigantic fight, Alden. You know what that calls for?"

He chuckled, though it was a low, throaty sound deep in his voice this time. "And what would that be, Jess?"

"Makeup sex." Knight snaked her arm around his neck, her other hand no longer present on his cheek but busy at his collar, grazing his skin as she popped the buttons.

Parker was happy to oblige, drawing Knight closer to him. His hands were warm on her hips, but they felt hotter to him once his fingertips came into contact with the skin under her blouse.

…yeah, he was happy to oblige, but mostly he was happy to be home, happy that he was capable of learning from his mistakes, and happy that he had a partner interested in learning with him.

I…have so much to say. THIS is the beast that was the final of my April ideas that just wouldn't end, *lol*. The outline was p long to begin with, but I had a lot of dialogue sketched/finalized back then, luckily, all based on some initial inspo from s19e16: When the team looked into the Radner case, someone comments that Sam Radner leaving on a business trip and not speaking to his wife the whole time "sounds like dog house territory," and Parker corrects, "No, that's more like 'pack your bags and find a new house' territory." Sounded to me as tho Parker might've been speaking from experience…! Esp given that canonically he has such a hard time opening up, one wonders. :O So I added that to a personal challenge: Make my OTP fight. That and I think OTP death are the two biggest writing challenges (and no fucking way do I wanna write the latter for Parknight, *LOL*), so I wanted to approach the fight in a reasonable, realistic way. Which brings up another point: In s18, Knight destroyed a stapler when her team was accused of being shady. In s19, Parker kicked the shit out of his desk when his bestie, Billy, was a suspect. Their tempers canonically are similar since they usually rein it in aside from some yelling. But Parknight does work thru it in their own way and does talk bc they do genuinely care for each other…! ;w; As Fornell points out, they get along p great (also canon), so yeah. Now to some story elements:

I had the good fortune to rewatch the EJ Barrett arc (or a good chunk of it) on TV recently, which reminded me of some critical details—it is not against NCIS policy for agents to date, and there are even married agents (the implication being married to each other). Gibbs has his own rules about not dating teammates, ofc, but NCIS policy…well, the show hasn't said anything on-screen about chain-of-command ships, and I confess to taking some inspo from a fav series, Major Crimes, for that assist. :D But realistically speaking, informing superiors usually is the route to go, so… *shrugs* One wonders if Parknight rly could fly! ;D And as for sending Parker to PA: That was just exercising some more minor hcs, with his history in the Philly office. Plus, I sorely wanted to give Fornell and my beloved Isler some screen time, so there are quite a few NOLA Easter eggs for fellow fans. (I.e., Parker misheard Isler saying "pride types" when Isler meant "Pride types" with a capital P. XD) Also, while Fornell guest-starred in a s1 ep of NOLA, Isler didn't appear until seasons later, so I think it's legit that these two could know each other and not get along. (Now, as to when Isler brought on Gregorio… I might be fudging things a bit, having her join his team after the Digger case, but iirc we didn't know precisely for how long she worked with him before joining Pride's team? If anyone has an answer, pls lemme know. c:) I also simply enjoyed concocting a cold case, btw; that was a first. :D

Final details: The irony of the title—a zeptosecond is one sextillionth (10-21) of a second…far shorter than this 18K-word fic. The theme song for this story would be Gesu no Kiwami Otome's "Hoshi Furu Yoru ni Hanataba wo" (translated titled: "A Bouquet for the Nights When Stars Rain Down"), because of the gritty, raw chorus, although the lyrics are p heartbreaking, too. TTwTT (I actually ended up chilling to some Nightmares on Wax and ALL of saib.'s discography to get me thru writing this, tho, *lol*—highly rec both!) Lastly…did the yearning come thru enough??? XD Parker for Knight, Knight for Parker, even a fade-to-black bit as things heated up bc I'm not ready to write hawt stuff for Parknight yet, *lol* (it takes time for my live-action fandoms). Y'all know they made up and made up well, tho. B3c

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

#ncis #parknight #alden parker #jessica knight #fanfic #mew writes too much #tobias fornell #raymond isler #ncis: nola #ncis: new orleans #gotta tag it all #lol even tho the setting is pa of all places XP #writing this dealt me so much psychic damage folks #but also #love them so much #<3

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