Each chapter title is that character and the year it happened. I did extensive research trying to figure out ages, but ultimately just had to do some trajectories and calculations that I pulled off the top of my head using the provided variables the show did give us. Anybody curious about how I arrived at my ages, feel free to ask and I will reply!

I will have an authoress's note at the end of the last chapter when I post it for the story behind the story, if anyone is curious.

Cheers!


Fall, 1995

I still remember the world
from the eyes of a child…

Parker hunched down inside the too-big jacket that swallowed her too-gaunt little form. She swam in the coat, a twig inside stiff, quilted material that was large in every way.

Hollow, sad eyes watched the other children running around the play area for hours, as she huddled by the gravel edge, toes perfectly lined up with where the grass ended and the playground began. They were sunken in a pale, empty face, but they saw everything, took it in deep, and stuffed it all inside a special, angry place reserved for all the things too big and scary in the world for a little child to cope with.

She spoke to no one, and no one spoke to her, and that was life without friends, or family, or anyone in the world.

It didn't matter. She'd be out of here before too long, and what did someone like her need with someone to play with, someone to talk to?

The wind picked up, heavy cloud cover implying rain but the forecast she'd heard droning on the TV said that there wouldn't be any until the evening. That was hours ago, just before noon, and school had been out for a while, but she still figured it'd be a few more hours before the sky let loose.

She shivered, goosebumps raising on the scraped and bruised legs peeking out beneath a lavender pleated skirt and tights she'd cut off at the knees, but she wasn't ready to go back to that dark house with the foster parent (was it a man or a woman? She hadn't been sure when she was picked up, and hadn't interacted with the couch potato since) who snored as loud as the chainsaw her last foster father had chucked at her when he'd caught her slipping a yellowy chain from the garage into her pocket.

She didn't get it; it'd been shiny and the twists were interesting, so she'd just wanted to look at it more back in her room. She would've put the trinket back.

That's why she was here now, in another empty house with another listless parent, but at least this one slept and drank and worked more than paid any attention to her; it meant less hitting and hurting and other things.

Still, she didn't want to go back, but she was getting cold, and she was hungry, having eaten her PB&J on questionable bread hours ago, and she was lonely.

The wind blew her hair across her face, and she swiped at it, glancing up to see that the park was mostly empty now as parents ushered their kids out of the coming storm. Obviously no one else had paid attention to the forecast, 'cause it wasn't night yet, so there was still play time.

She sighed. She guessed it was back to the dim house and whatever pickings were in the fridge.

"Hey." The quiet voice gave her thoughts pause, and she looked up to see a little boy with squinty eyes and tentative smile shifting from foot to foot a few steps off.

He was about her age, maybe a little older, maybe an inch or two shorter, with wild, dark hair sticking up all over his head like a helmet of wiry, moppy fuzz. She just caught herself from reaching out and touching it. Touching people who didn't touch first was a no-no, and even when they touched first, it usually wasn't good. And Parker didn't want to be not-good.

"I said 'hey'." The boy repeated, flags of whites flashing starkly against brown skin as he offered her a bigger smile, trying to be friendly.

She shrugged, turning away.

"Hey, wait." He protested, running around to stand in front of her again. "Please don't go. Everyone else's gone home. Want to play? Please?"

She stared at him. Was he talking to her?

He smiled lopsidedly at her, but it quickly disappeared as his nervousness came through, not quite sure what to do with her silence. Finally, she turned away and looked at the playground again, which was completely empty now, watching the dead leaves swirling around the still toys, kicked up by the airstreams, and the merry-go-round spinning lazily in the wind.

The boy waited, hovering behind her but not looming at her shoulder, overbearing. He was just there.

At last, she shrugged and started toward the toys.

He ran to catch her, dancing around to in front of her. "Great! Momma-Kay said be friendly, and I've been trying, but it's not a witnessing day and you've not been playing with anybody, so I wasn't sure you'd be nice, but you look nice, and sad." He babbled.

She didn't reply, just started climbing the monkey-bars, hand-over-hand, then out across the top. He watched her, wide-eyed.

"Wow. You're good at that." He praised, and she let go with her hands, hanging upside down, watching him as she was buffeted by the wind.

At this level, they were practically eye-to-eye, if still a few feet apart. He cocked his head, studying her for a moment.

"I can't do that." He said. "I don't like monkey-bars. Colin pushed me off last time and it broke my arm, and I haven't liked climbing on them since. I like your hair." He burst out the last suddenly then ducked his head, obviously embarrassed.

She blinked impassively.

After a moment, he raised a heavy head, trying to recover. "Can…" he cleared his throat, "can we play on the swings instead? Colin always gives me a swirly, but he's not here, so we can play nicely." He smiled hopefully.

She shrugged, releasing her knees with her arms outstretched so she'd drop from the bars to the ground in a handstand, except she wasn't good at it and the coat got in the way, so she hit her palms and toppled straight down and knocked the breath from her body.

The boy yelped. "Oh God! Oh God! Don't be dead! Momma-Kay will be so mad!" He was hopping around like mad when she turned her head to look, too winded and aching to get up yet. When he saw her move, he calmed but a little. "You're alive! Are you fine? Please be fine. Please be alright. Are you hurt? Don't be hurt. Can you breathe? Anything broken? Please, please – say something, girl! I don't know CPR or how to fix bones or have any money for a payphone! I'd have to run all the way home, and you could die by the time I—"

She pushed to her knees, her lungs finally drawing in a breath, and nodded her well-being to him.

He huffed, his shifty feet stilling, and stared at her. "You're up at least, and – you're fine?"

She nodded again, amused enough for a tiny smile to tick at her lips. He calmed at the sight of it.

"Good." He smiled back. "Just gotta get your wind back, right?"

Another nod, then she stood on shaky legs and brushed at her too-big coat. She started when he began to help, and he immediately pulled back.

"Oh, sorry. Momma-Kay is always telling me not to touch people I don't know. My name's Alec," he introduced himself quickly, as if to make up for his disobedience. His dejected-style nervousness blossomed to the surface again as she remained silent, his shoulders drooping. "What's yours?" he prompted, trying to get her to talk.

She shook her head.

"No? What's that mean? You don't have one?" His brow furrowed, then, "Oh." It was quiet, sheer dejection wresting every other emotion aside on his face. "You don't want to tell me. I…I get it. I understand. I'm a stranger. I just…well, I didn't mean to be bothering you, I just wanted to play. Sorry if I—"

"El," she whispered, startling herself at the sound of her voice. It gave him pause, but it shocked her more.

It'd been two years since she'd said a word.

In ten minutes, he'd done what sixteen different foster families couldn't achieve in weeks, months, even a whole summer at one point.

But there, she'd said something, her name no less. Well, it wasn't strictly her name. She actually hated her name, but somehow he'd drawn it out of her, or the shortened version she went by, at least. Elisabeth was a curly-haired, chubby-faced toddler with a mom and dad; Elisabeth was a foster-child bounced from home to home; Elisabeth was a face among a never-ending line of children sent by the state and then taken away by that same state. El was what she called herself, because everyone who'd ever called her Elisabeth had hurt her, so she hated that name.

A smile blossomed on Alec's face. "El? That's different. Like a letter of the alphabet, except it's your name. That's cool! It reminds me of Professor X, only his real name's Ks-a-ver."

She frowned, and then shook her head. She was not like this Ks-a-ver guy, whoever he was. It didn't even sound like a real name. The boy, Alec, was still talking though.

"My name's just Alec. Kind of different, I guess, because most people think Alex, with the ks sound, but it's not ks, it's A-lec, ck." He emphasized. "But still, El. That's better." He grinned. "Can I call you Agent?"

She was about to sharply tell him off, that that wasn't her name; she wasn't agent. She was El. Elisabeth Parker, but he most certainly could not call her that.

"Agent El!" He bounced around, excited. "We could play it like we're secret space agents, saving the world from the bad giants out in the universe. They're like wolves in sheep's clothing for real, so they look like sheep but they're all snarly and they're big, like, no one can take them down. But Agents El and Al – let's call me Al, 'cause that sounds better with El than Alec – Agents El and Al can do it!"

And he was having too much fun with it, she couldn't tell him no.

Instead, all she did was nod, finding his enthusiasm was beginning to be infectious. Maybe it wouldn't be too bad, just for a day, to be Agent El, undercover agent of a nonexistent corporation, savior of the world from giant wolf baddies.

Agent Parker, El. Had a nice ring to it.


Lyrics belong to Evanescence (Field of Innocence). Up next in a few days (or sooner if I'm impatient): Eliot - 1998