Some Experience Necessary (1/?)

Rating: PG

Characters: Debra Parker and Roderick Nelson (Claire & Joey Matthews)

Summary: Hostage negotiations are not Debra Parker's specialty.

Author's Note: God, I've missed writing Parker so much.

Background Note: This is part of the "secrets" universe that I've been posting a lot about recently. Unlike the other stand-alone stories, this is going to be a multi-chapter fic. Originally it was only going to be three parts, but I think it might end up being longer than that... That said, I am so, so excited to write the conclusion to this universe! It's been a long time coming. :) Please enjoy!

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Forty-nine hours.

Parker looked at her watch, just to check, and after some quick math, there it was again. Forty-nine hours. It was past midnight now and that meant she'd been awake for over two entire days, working for over two entire days—and she felt like she was going to fall over with every step she took.

Whenever she closed her eyes, she visualized her hotel room, which was waiting for her just a few blocks down the road. The beds here in Havenport, Maryland were just as uncomfortable as they'd been in Richmond, Virginia—(sometimes she wondered if the Bureau was picking cheap hotels to spite her and her chronic lower back pain)—but a bed was a bed and at the end of this particular double all-nighter, she just wanted to collapse in hers, no matter if it was made of bricks or down feathers.

She felt guilty heading off to sleep—she felt guilty doing almost anything these days—but she consoled herself with the fact that she'd be better tomorrow. More alert. More awake. Ready to solve every problem set in front of her.

Yeah, right.

She could've had a good night's sleep every day for the past year, she knew, and she still wouldn't have been able to crack the case. It was impossible, and made all the more impossible by the fact that it shouldn't be this impossible.

They'd brought in nearly every single type of government employee in existence—from local police officers to federal counterterrorism specialists, and everyone else in between—but each person brought in on the case seemed to have less insight than the one who came before. The manhunt for an escaped serial killer had long ago stopped being a wild goose chase and had now turned into nothing more than a completely hopeless and mortally dangerous waste of time.

It had be some kind of some statistical anomaly—some genuine miracle—that she wasn't dead yet.

Parker wondered, not for the first time and not for the last, if she should just give up and resign now, so as to save herself and the Bureau the trouble of actually having to go through the firing process. She could simply take her severance and go, and drink herself into oblivion. That had worked for Ryan Hardy, after all. Who's to say she couldn't follow in his once great and now totally disgraced footsteps? She was no different from him now, was she? She could do it.

Parker groaned aloud at the thought, pressing a hand over her face to massage the headache pounding against the front of her skull. A voice asked her again and again if that was what she really wanted.

You know it's not.

Another voice asked her if there was any other option left to her at this point.

She had no answer to that question.

It had been forty-nine hours since she'd last slept, but for all that hard, constant work and seemingly endless sleep deprivation, she again had nothing to show for it. She was still no closer to finding Joe Carroll or his cult than she was to finding his son or his ex-wife. They were most likely all in the same place, Parker knew, but that somehow—somehow, infuriatingly somehow—didn't make them any easier to find. It was maddening, this case, and she felt herself slipping closer to certifiable insanity every single day she worked on it.

She briefly comforted herself now, as she always did at these moments of internal panic, with the fact that she wasn't alone in falling apart. Weston had stopped being so bright-eyed and eager months ago, and rarely ever laughed or joked or even smiled anymore. She had played at calling him Hardy, Jr., but even that teasing had hit too close to home and quickly worn off. The real Hardy himself came and went, sometimes familiarly drunk and sometimes startlingly sober, but he was little help even when he had himself together. This was not a one-man operation, not even for Joe Carroll's favorite. Nick Donovan had been replaced thrice over in the past couple of months, but no shuffling of personnel or change in leadership, it seemed, could make their mission any more successful.

They had not found any of their initial or secondary targets—not even any members of the group that had attacked Weston all those months ago, the enemies they had faces for—and every day the body count went up. For every federal agent they lost, they usually took two to four of Joe's people with them, but those efforts hardly seemed to make a dent. Joe's organization—as it had been dubbed by people who, unfortunately, had seen this sort of thing before—was like some kind of sick hydra out of Greek mythology. Every time a piece of it was knocked off, more rushed to fill the vacancy. It seemed the list of people who were willing to die for Joe Carroll was never-ending.

Parker shut her eyes as she walked through the back halls of Havenport's police station, their too-bright fluorescent lights bearing down on her, humming constantly as if to remind her of all the work she was leaving behind, unsolved, as she headed for the exit and her bed.

I just need to sleep, she told them, and herself. Just for a couple hours.

She didn't promise she'd be back, because she was already thinking of hopping on a plane and flying away to God-knows-where to get away from it all. If Hardy could run off to Brooklyn whenever he'd had enough, surely she could take a sojourn to Florida or California or the Bahamas. Hell, she'd even go to Antarctica, if only it meant getting away from here.

Knowing this case, though, it would probably find its way back to her. The things she hated always found their way back to her.

Parker immediately shut her eyes, forcing back the sudden onslaught of memories that came at her whenever she recalled her family. No one at Serenity Hill had ever killed anyone—as far as she knew—but still, she couldn't help thinking of it whenever she worked on this case. She didn't know why—the two groups had almost nothing in common—but fear bred fear, and whenever she became frightened, she always resorted back to being that fourteen-year-old girl, screaming and crying, being dragged back into that bedroom.

She forced her eyes open to do away with the memories, but had to immediately shut them again when she saw a trio of people suddenly standing before her.

She recognized two of them immediately.

What the hell?

She blinked, trying to come up with an understandable explanation for what she had just seen. She was sleep-deprived; that had to be it. Yes, that was it. She was very, very tired. There was no other explanation, because what she had seen just could not have been reality. It was just a figment of her imagination; a hallucination. That's all it is.

However, when Parker opened her eyes again, it wasn't a hallucination, it wasreality. They were all still standing there, all three. Only now there was a gun involved.

She didn't dare close her eyes again this time for fear of what horror she would see when she next opened them.

The gun was pointed at the back of the boy's head, the boy Debra had spent the last three and a half months staring at photographs of, searching for, praying for. And there was his mother at his side, holding onto his hand, looking nothing less than… alive.

The man keeping them all in place was unknown to her, though when she squinted her eyes—just for a split-second—he looked familiar. She couldn't place why this was, or where he was from, though, and after the second passed, he was unrecognizable again. His features were rather average—blonde hair, blue eyes, white skin—and so she supposed she had seen many variations of him all over the place. His busted nose set him apart, but right now she cared more about the gun in his hands than anything else.

Parker swallowed quickly, beating back her shock and rising fear so she could focus on the situation at hand. The gun was pointed at the boy's head, but it seemed to be placed there more out of leverage than necessity; the boy wasn't a threat, and he wasn't running. And with the gun pointed where it was, clearly, neither was his mother.

Parker forced herself not to let her hand reach for her own gun as her eyes travelled over the man holding them all in place, his finger on the trigger. She didn't want to do anything to set him off, for she was nowhere near confident that she could take him down before he killed at least one of his hostages.

Her mind raced, but before she could come up with a plan, the click of the cocked handgun cut through her logical mind. She responded on nothing more than instinct: "You don't want to do that."

Strangely, the man didn't disagree with her. He didn't say Oh yes, I do, or begin shouting about Carroll's unquestionable orders or reciting lines of Poe's most famous works. Even more odd, he smiled calmly and met her eye as he replied: "You know, you're right; I don't." He even glanced down at the boy standing in front of him as he leveled a gun at his head, as if to remind himself of exactly what he was doing. "I've never really been fond of the idea of doing away with children…" He then shrugged like he had just lost a decidedly inconsequential bet: "But, if necessary, I will do what I have to do."

Parker could feel Claire Matthews's eyes on her, all while the man was talking, begging her to keep her son from getting killed, but Parker couldn't spare a promise, let alone a look, for the woman. She had to keep her focus on the man with the gun, otherwise they were all going to die, no question about it.

Their stand-off hadn't yet attracted the attention of the few agents and officers working just two halls down, and she wanted to keep it that way. At most, she, Claire Matthews, and her son would die here if—though more likely when—something went wrong. If others came, however, it would turn into a bloodbath. One thing she'd learned about Joe's people—they knew how to take enough of their enemies down with them to make their deaths something to fear, not celebrate.

"Do you want to put the weapon down?" she asked softly, purposefully keeping her voice low and her posture non-threatening as she stood before the trio, and thought about when—if ever—would be the right time to draw her weapon.

"No, not really." He kept his voice quiet like hers, but she could tell, just from the look in his eyes, that he was making fun of her. She tried to think of what she could say so that he would take her seriously, and not brush her aside like these people were fond of doing with most law enforcement agents they came across.

"That's… That's a lot of trust Joe's shown you, giving you his wife and son," she commented, gesturing to the two people shaking at his side. She forced away thoughts of why they were here, why Joe had let them go—none of that mattered right this second. "You must be… very proud."

Far from the grateful, starry-eyed look Parker had been expecting to see on the man's face, he threw his head back and laughed.

"Something funny?" Parker asked, trying not to let his amusement put her on edge. His happiness was as worrisome as others' fury, and she did not want to have to be subjected to it any longer than necessary.

The man was still chuckling when he faced forward again. "Oh, yes… There are a number of adorable misconceptions in your subtle little search for information there, but—just so we can skip further pleasantries—don't mistake me for a lackey, please." He let go of Claire Matthews's arm, which he'd been holding on to, for a moment to unzip his jacket, and Parker watched with a wary eye as he rummaged inside. She held his breath until he pulled out the object—she was expecting to see a grenade or a knife—but when he tossed the shiny piece of metal onto the linoleum floor between their feet, it didn't explode. The sheriff's badge shone beneath the florescent lights, familiar and commanding respect, and it made her stomach twist to see it in his possession. Not for the first time, she wondered how just many other government employees were in Joe Carroll's pocket, just waiting for the perfect opportunity to make their deadly presence known.

"I don't need Joe's approval to do what I want," the man replied coolly, "and you can be certain, Agent Parker, that I wouldn't be here now if Joe still trusted me."

Parker's skin crawled, both upon hearing him call her by name when she hadn't given it, and at the fact that this man appeared not only beyond Joe's control, but apparently his own personal mission to take the madman down. She wondered how far he'd go to spite his former leader. He'd worked hard, no doubt, to bring Claire and Joey all the way out here undetected—he wouldn't have gone through all that trouble just to kill them here in back of the police station, would he?

That would be a waste of the best bargaining chips he'll ever have, Parker thought to herself.

But it would make quite a scene, she realized, her stomach sinking. Out of all the followers she's come across, not one of them had yet been without Carroll's penchant for theatrics. Already, she knew this man would be no different. Especially not when he had two of the major players at his personal disposal.

"So… So you're doing this without his permission, then?" Parker asked, feigning momentary confusion in the hopes to stall him a little longer so she could think her way out of this. "You took Claire and Joey with you behind Joe's back?"

"And right under his nose, too," the blonde man replied happily, "if you want to be technical. I'm sure your people will start getting infuriated phone calls from him soon enough, once he notices his son is nowhere to be found and his wife's missing from bed…" He frowned, and craned his neck to look around. Parker didn't dare turn her back on him to see who or what he was looking at. "Speaking of, is Ryan Hardy here?"

Parker couldn't help but glance over to Claire Matthews, and she was surprised to see the woman's face display nothing but pure panic at the sound of her former lover's name. Parker had thought she might look relieved—if only for a moment—upon hearing Hardy's name, but maybe she'd overestimated the strength of their connection…

"Well? Is he here?"

Parker shook her head, reluctantly moving her eyes away from Claire's. "No, he's not."

The man chuckled, as if she'd told a weak joke. He leaned forward, one ear turned towards her. "I'm sorry?"

"He isn't here." Parker shrugged. "I don't know what else to tell you, but—"

"I don't appreciate being lied to," the man cut in sharply. The coldness of his voice shocked her; he had acted nothing but congenial up to this point and it was jarring to see his mood change so abruptly. He grabbed Claire's arm again, shaking her, and out of the corner of her eye, Parker saw the woman wince at the treatment. When she tried to shrug him off, his hand clamped down on her arm so tightly Parker could swear she heard the other woman gasp. "Claire will tell you all about that soon enough, I'm sure. I only deal in the truth."

"I'm not lying to you," Parker insisted. "He isn't here. He's in New York. Brooklyn," she added quickly, in the hope that specifics might placate him. His hand was going to bruise Ms. Matthews's arm if he didn't let go soon.

The man snorted in disbelief and, thankfully, did let go of his hostage's arm. Parker could see her reach over to massage it with a free hand once he'd let go, but she did nothing more than that. She didn't dare so much as inch away from her kidnapper when he had a gun to her son's head. "What the hell…" The man shook his head, scowling in disbelief. "Did you give him the day off for all his useless work or something?" Beneath his ridiculing exterior, Parker could hear the genuine anger there, and she knew Ryan not being here was foiling some part of his plan. She hoped he'd still turn over Claire and Joey Matthews even if he didn't get to see Ryan's face as he did so.

"He's dealing with a… a personal issue," Parker replied diplomatically.

The man nodded, as if they two had an understanding. "I presume it has a great deal to do with his liver, then." He shook his head, but it was in a good-natured manner, as if he and Hardy had a friendly association. "How has he not drunk himself to death by now? I mean, honestly. I'm continually amazed! The man just keeps bouncing back. With his heart, it must be some kind of medical miracle." He cocked his head to the side. "You think they'll right about him in some medical journal, after Joe eviscerates him? Hell, maybe he'll even survive that! Researchers would have a field day."

"Is there something you would like to discuss?" Parker asked loudly, having to raise her voice to be heard over his laugher. "I'm guessing there's a reason you came here; would you like to tell me what that is? Is there something in particular you want?" She eyed his injured face and thought about offering him medical treatment to get him to set aside the gun. But of course he would want more than just a couple stitches and Band-Aids if it meant giving up his prized possessions.

"I require protection," the man answered promptly, sobering at once. "I figured these two—" he waved the loaded gun between the woman and child still at his mercy "—would buy me the best you've got for accommodations. That said, those accommodations are not here. Since I'll end up in a federal pen by the end of the trial, I'll expedite the process for you now and pick one myself. If you'd be so kind, I'd prefer a place in the center of the prison; four walls, no windows, no bars. Solitary confinement is certainly acceptable, however I think I may be able to handle myself amongst the general population for a time. Not sure if they'll be able to handle me." His boastful smirk was fleeting before his face turned grave again as he continued, "I really would prefer minimum interaction with the guards, however, and I really must stick by that. Too many of them are puppets to Joe and I really would like to live a long life inside prison, not a short one."

"What…" Parker's head was spinning with all of his demands. She briefly wondered how embarrassing it would be later, to ask him to repeat them, so she could write them down for the record. "What makes you think I can meet all of your…" she fished for his word "requirements?"

"Oh, simple logic." He smiled. "Either you give me the protection I need, or I put a bullet through this little boy's brain, and then do away with his mother." He smirked as he concluded in a whisper, "Don't worry, I'll leave you here to break the news to Hardy and the rest." His smile widened as he leaned forward towards Parker, and his genuine excitement was palpable as he said, "Just think about all the havoc Joe's little underlings will wreak when the find out his son and wife were killed while under FBI protection." He laughed, cheered at the prospect, "The Bureau won't be able to replace agents fast enough. It'll be a massacre." His eyes shone with sick glee. "An extermination."

Parker took a deep breath, and forced his threats and the horrors they promised from her mind. "All right. Say I—Say I can get you the things you want, you'll let go of them immediately? You won't hurt them?"

The man smiled, ever patronizing. Ever a student of Joe. "Cross my heart, Agent Parker."

Parker nodded. "Okay." She took a breath, and waited. He didn't move. Didn't lower his gun. Didn't step back. "Well, don't we have a deal?" she demanded sharply. She had already been exhausted before all this began, and this high-stress situation she'd stumbled into was turning her into nothing less than a hysteric.

The man laughed in her face. "Are you kidding? You think it would be that easy; you just say a few magic words and I hand them over?" He clicked his tongue. "No, no, no. I'll need that all in writing. Stamped and sealed. Approved by the people at the top."

"But you have witnesses here," Parker protested. "You really don't need—"

"Oh, by witnesses, do you mean yourself and these two?" The man snorted. "No offense, Agent Parker, but I'm not certain I can take you on your word." He gestured to his hostages. "A child's testimony won't be believed and this one—" he smirked, looking over to Claire "—oh, she'll turn on me the second she's free." He kept his eye on her for a moment longer before turning back to Parker. "Well? Are you going to bring me my deal or not, agent?" He glanced around. "These boring white walls could use a nice splash of red, don't you think? It would certainly spice the place up."

Though Parker felt like doing nothing less than taking out her gun and shooting him right between the eyes, she held in her emotions and nodded silently. She pushed down her anger, swallowed her curses, and finally was able to reply calmly, "I'll get that deal for you." Even still, she couldn't help her fingers from twitching; she'd never so badly wanted to pull her weapon in all her life.

"Thank you." He smiled pleasantly, as if she'd just offered to serve refreshments, and she turned away before she could do something they'd all regret. He called out to her as she walked away, and though she coached herself not to give into anything he said, what he said would have stopped her in her tracks no matter the situation.

"You can make the paperwork out to Sheriff Roderick Nelson." The name sent a dash of cold water through her veins, and her feet froze even as she knew she should keep walking. She could almost hear the triumph in his voice when he continued, "I'm sure they'll have my file on hand here somewhere, though it's probably under a different forename." Parker couldn't help herself—she had to turn and look—and when she did, he stood there grinning at her because he knew. She wondered if this was what he'd looked like while he'd overseen his people beat Weston as close to death as she'd ever seen a man. Had he smiled and laughed and toyed with a gun like he did now? "You can put a heart over the 'i' in either name, if you like." His eyes glinted happily as they met hers across the hall, and confirmed what she'd feared: "And be sure to say hello to Agent Weston for me when you call him in, won't you? I heard he ran into a nasty band of street thugs some months ago… I sure hope he's all right. Hard to come back from a near-death experience and still be the same person you once were, isn't it?" He sighed slowly, as if contemplating the meaning of life, and Parker watched, feeling her stomach turn as much as she knew Claire Matthews's must be heaving, as he placed his gun-toting hand on top of Joey Matthews head. "Well… We'll just wait here for you to return. Don't take too long, will you?"

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Author's Note: Thank you so much for reading. Please leave your thoughts on the story below! I will try to update as soon as possible!