A/N: Just another P/Q plot bunny that escaped from the warren. For SymbioticDeath's prompt: Parker & Quinn, Shooting range date.


Shoot From the Hip

"When was the last time you actually used that thing? And can you please get it out of my face? Honestly, Parker, I used the damn doorbell for christsake."

Parker let the pistol come back down to her hip. She frowned at the hitter standing on her front door step. "That's why I got the gun in the first place. Who uses doorbells?" she remarked. "Seemed suspicious."

Quinn sighed and shook his head. Once he wasn't as concerned about the continued safety of his good looks he was able to relax more fully. He waited for Parker to give the sign that he was allowed to step inside. Respecting a woman's boundaries had been finely ingrained in him by his mommas.

"When was the last time, anyway?" He couldn't resist asking again when he settled at the tiny dinette in Parker's kitchen. The spread of folders, photos, documents, and markers showed that she really hadn't been kidding when she said on the phone that she was deep in plotting mode.

Parker lifted one shoulder. "Thirty-two months, give or take?" she replied.

It was an awfully specific number of months. Quinn would give his best derringer that it would line up with one of the first few jobs that she ran with Nathan Ford's crew. Their hitter, Spencer, was an honorable man. His decision to not use guns clearly had rubbed off on the others. Quinn recalled it being a non-negotiable rule on the job to take down Dubenich, even if Spencer himself had nearly broken it to save Nate's soul or whatnot. Still…

"You're likely as not to hurt yourself more than someone else if you haven't kept up on practice with that," Quinn said lightly. Parker was pawing over her pages, looking for the details that she had wanted Quinn's perspective on. He waited a beat before adding, "Have you at least gone to the range since then?"

She hummed in the negative. A folder was pressed into his hands followed rapidly by a series of other scrambled documents. Quinn neatly tapped them into straight order, though he didn't start to page through them yet. He waited for Parker to settled onto her own chair - legs folded impossibly foot-over-thigh on both sides in a way that made Quinn wince just thinking about his tendons - before speaking again. Patience was key to dealing with Parker. Patience, respect, and the wisdom to know when to let things go. In this case, Quinn knew he shouldn't let this one slip aside.

"Parker, I know you know how to handle yourself," he started, "but I would feel a mite bit better if you had more chance to practice with that outside of threatening pizza delivery guys."

"I don't threaten pizza guys."

"Don't they use the doorbell?"

Parker laughed. The sound warmed Quinn from the inside out, even over something so strange as this conversation. "This is Portland," she replied, as though that answered everything. Hell, maybe it did.

Quinn shook his head. This was one of those times to let things go. "Do it for me, if it makes it easier. Indulge a nervous partner," he said.

She hummed, this time in the affirmative. "Now I want pizza," she sighed. "You're getting us pizza."

"After the range," he conceded.

"After the range after we figure out these guard patterns."

"After the range after I figure out these guard patterns for you and after you give me that kiss I thought I was gonna get at the door."


A/N: Blanket statement for my oneshots - Please do not ask if I am continuing these. They are single "chapter" fics which I am considering complete. Thank you. - DragonMaster65