Author's Note: Well, my friends, it's been a while. Once upon a time I had the energy, dedication, and free time to be majorly involved in this fandom. But, alas, as life goes, there are always other plans and more pressing matters to attend to. One thing, however, has never changed: my persistent adoration of these complex, unique and intriguing characters. After four screenplays and an almost equivalent number of years, I'm back for another ride.

Disclaimer: As ever, these characters aren't mine.

Summary: Once upon a time, everything was beautiful and nothing hurt. But that was never their reality. In their world, you died horrifically. But Parker and Jarod refuse to leave that as their legacy.

The Final Legacy

By Bec-Bec

Chapter 1

The Devil's Advocate

"We spend all of our lives acquiring things that we can't take with us. The things that matter, the legacies that we leave, are the memories that we created." - RMA

When the clock struck midnight, it was time to move.

The guard rotation shifted at a trade-point down the hallway, allowing a tiny window of opportunity to access the next room-the same room Jarod had snuck into all week.

With muscles tense from waiting, he sprang forward gracefully and silently; his trained movements precise and swift enough to avoid detection.

He glanced down the hallway at the guards before quietly opening the door and slipping into the Centre's sublevel data annex. The door was shut again before the new guard began his rotation of the corridor.

The cavernous room was lined with tall shelves, stacked deep with files, cassettes, film canisters, microfege, and a variety of unidentifiable storage devices that had failed to catch any public interest or distribution. Together, they comprised nearly one tenth of the Centre's information from conception to the early nineteen eighties. The largest collection in one place.

Other files were stored in annexes across the continental United States, and a few scattered locations in Western Europe.

But this was one of Jarod's last storage areas.

During his years outside of the Centre, he had covertly visited many of the annexes, uncovering tiny pieces of information. Several of the secrets he had sent to Miss Parker regarding her past had been discoveries based on information he had pulled from the data facilities. However, information about himself had been the hardest to uncover.

Few occasions had presented themselves for Jarod to search the Centre's file room, but thanks to Mr. Raines' recent staff cutbacks, the security team had less guards than ever before. Unlike Mr. Parker, Raines paid less heed to the Centre's former filing processes, concerned only with the more recent computer back-up files. This gave Jarod easier access to the information which most concerned him; information regarding the beginning of the Pretender program and its initial studies, as well as its "acquisitions" and their backgrounds. Their families.

Jarod moved to the wall opposite the entrance, picking up the clockwise circle that he had begun on his first night there. He lifted a massive box of paperwork from a low shelf and began flipping through its contents.

The work was slow, tedious. But Jarod focused with the acuity of a computer's search function, scanning document after document, line after line. Only five and a half hours later, as his eye muscles tensed and his brain had absorbed file upon file, did words like "merger" and "rectify" somehow translate into "Margaret" or "red file." And after the false sense of victory had passed, he realized that the hour for him to leave was drawing near. The guards would be changing again on the hour.

He tidied up the last box he had investigated and made a mental note of its position on the racks. Based on his progress, he made a quick calculation of the number of boxes left and the amount of time it would take to examine their contents. Satisfied with his general rate of exploration, he moved toward the door.

Kneeling against the wall, Jarod slid a tiny strip of mylar beneath the door and into the hallway. After his first night of searching, he had realized that the electronic surveillance equipment he had brought was unnecessary. This low-tech device was perfectly adequate for the sublevel's sparse sweeper population.

He tilted the strip to the side. The current guard was tapping his foot impatiently and looking around the switch-point corner for his replacement. Satisfied with the guard's preoccupation, Jarod made his way out of the room as stealthily as he had entered it.

Then he was in the air ducts and the silent, unused chambers of the Centre's sublevels, making his way to the surface once more.


"I once heard someone make a statement about politicians," Jarod commented dryly. "'They use each other's nasty little secrets against themselves.'"

"Jarod." Sydney's voice was nearly jovial. It had been a long while since he'd heard from his protégé.

"Hello, Sydney." The Pretender's voice had an equivalent fondness in its tone.

Sydney leaned back in his office chair. "I was beginning to worry. We haven't heard from you in nearly a month."

"I had other pressing matters to attend to."

"Politicians?" Sydney asked with interest.

"In a manner of speaking. A form of politics, at least."

Sydney's brow furrowed. "What sort of politics?"

"The kind that will bring justice for wrongs inflicted by the Centre."

Sydney sat forward. "You're not dealing with the Triumvirate, are you?"

There was a pause on the line. "No. Not yet, anyway."

"But you will be."

Jarod didn't answer.

The psychiatrist slumped back into his chair once more. "It is not advisable to play the Centre and the Triumvirate against one another."

"I'm merely feeding off a millennium of distrust."

"Using their nasty secrets against them."

"So to speak."

Sydney frowned in disapproval. "And if your plans backfire?"

"At the very least, Raines will no longer be in control of the Centre."

"You can't be certain that whatever information you've gained access to is unknown to the Triumvirate."

"No. But I can be fairly certain the information I have about the Triumvirate is unknown to the Centre." Jarod's voice was cool, ominous.

"You're playing the devil's advocate," Sydney stated with displeasure.

"Only because the devil is so easily led astray in the pursuit of power."

Sydney spoke with caution. "Raines may not be as quick to strike against the Triumvirate as you believe him to be." The psychiatrist looked around his office quickly. "He's been well outside of their reprehension for quite some time. And the past month has only proven their continued support of his Centre leadership."

Jarod chuckled darkly. "Nobody has full support from the Triumverate, not even itself." Shuffling noises sounded over the phone line. "I'll be in touch."

The line clicked.

"I hope so, Jarod, I hope so." Sydney stared at the phone handset grimly, as though he could will the Pretender to call back and change his mind. But he knew Jarod far too well to believe it was even a remote possibility. He only hoped his protege knew everything that he was calling into jeopardy.


"Miss Parker?"

No response.

"Miss Parker?" Sam stepped into the office cautiously, afraid to frighten his boss out of her thoughts. He frowned when she failed to answer him a second time.

Clicking the door shut behind him, he approached her desk slowly.

Miss Parker's eyes were focused on some distant object that Sam couldn't perceive, and her skin was even paler than its normal fair complexion.

The fear that she had been poisoned or otherwisely harmed crept into his skin.

"Miss Parker?" he asked with urgency.

The concerned timbre of his voice finally broke Miss Parker from her contemplation.

She looked at him curiously. "Mmm, Sam? What did you need?"

Sam puffed air out of his chest with relief. He hadn't even realized that he was holding his breath.

"Mr. Lyle is on his way to Atlanta. I thought you'd like to know."

"Yes, thank you," she answered, with focused clarity. She stood, smoothing her suit.

"Are you alright?" The sweeper asked slowly, afraid that she might rail on him.

Miss Parker smiled softly. "I'm fine, Sam."

He nodded and left the room.

Miss Parker sighed, her mouth forming a troubled frown.

She turned to her office window and looked down at the frozen Centre grounds. Ice coated the grass blades and the trees in the nearby conservatory.

It was going to be a long and chilly winter.


"Sydney, has Miss Parker seemed… distant to you lately?" Broots asked quietly.

The psychiatrist smiled thoughtfully at the nervous techie. "No more than usual, Broots."

Broots frowned. "Ever since she got back from Carthis. It's like… she's focused on someplace that isn't here, and some thing… that troubles her."

"We're all troubled, Broots," Sydney paused, "but I suppose she has been a bit less focused since her return."

Miss Parker chose that exact moment to walk in with determined purpose. "We're going to Atlanta."

"Didn't Mr. Lyle just go to Atlanta?" Broots stuttered.

"That's what he wants us to think. And I'm going to let him think that we followed him."

Broots blinked in confusion.

"Just pack it up, Broots. Okay?"

She spun on her heal and left the room again.

Broots looked at Syndey in confusion. The doctor simply shrugged.


"Ugh!" Miss Parker slammed the hotel door shut behind her. After four hours of Broots' rambling and Sydney's psychiatric advice, she was at the end of her patience.

Thankfully, the Centre-funded hotel in Atlanta had more than one room available. She left Dr. Spock and Nervous Nelly in a room down the hall.

Collapsing on the queen-sized bed in the middle of the room, she let out one more annoyed groan before allowing her body to go lax. She removed the gun from her waistband, slid it under her pillow, and immediately drifted off to sleep.

"You've been sleeping an awful lot lately, Parker."

Miss Parker sat bolt upright in bed, her hand grabbing her gun instinctively and pointing it into the darkness.

"I can cock and shoot faster than you can say 'please,'" she sneered.

"But we all know shooting me isn't your forte, Miss Parker." Jarod switched on a lamp. He sat comfortably in a well-stuffed chair.

"What are you doing here, Jarod?" She kept her gun levelled on him.

"Just thought I'd stop in. Maybe visit the zoo. You know, I've heard they have this adorable baby panda-"

She cut him off. "Bullshit. What are you doing in my hotel room?"

"I think the more appropriate question is what are you doing in Atlanta? I haven't sent the Centre any clues or hints in the last month."

"And yet here you sit at the other end of my gun. Odd coincidence, isn't it?" She smiled coldly.

"Lyle sent you here on a goose-chase. Why did you take the bait?" Jarod asked her calmly.

"I have my reasons." She cocked the gun. "And you have yours. Explain before I put a cap in you."

"I've come to offer you an olive branch. A piece of your past." He stood and pulled a large file folder from inside of his trenchcoat.

Miss Parker narrowed her eyes at the folder. "What is it?"

"Something that should help you choose your alliances when the war comes."

"What war?" She accepted the folder from Jarod, dis-arming her gun and dropping it on the bed.

"Read the file. It will explain everything."

She looked down at the folder skeptically. When she looked up again, Jarod was gone.

"Smartest man in the world and he still can't figure out how to use a door." She scoffed.

Frowning, she opened the folder and began to read.

Author's Note: This should start slow and gather more momentum. Forgive me for keeping it short, that isn't normally my style.