Note: The characters of Jarod, Sydney, Miss Parker, etc. belong to TNT and whoever else owns them. This is nothing more than me paying tribute to what was a great show. I'm not trying to make money, etc. You know the drill.
This story is pre-pretender movies, since I didn't like where the movies took the story. It doesn't exactly pick up where season four left off either, so you could say this is just one of "those" stories where it could've happened anytime.
Also I would like to add that the name Trista means "sad" and Caitlyn means "pure beauty" which I thought rather fitting for the characters.
Chapter One
A Pretender Fanfic by Sylver
The black clothing he usually wore was totally unsuitable for southern heat, he knew, yet he didn't mind, even as sweat trickled between his shoulder blades and beaded across his forehead. In the Centre, he'd only been allowed to wear their generic idea of clothing unless he was doing a pretend. Even then, it hadn't been his choice. Nothing he'd ever done had been his choice.
Wiping the sweat away with the back of his hand, he continued walking, admiring the inherent beauty around him. He'd been to San Antonio before, long ago, but he was back again. A soft breeze blew across his face, it was warm and full of humidity, yet it caressed his flushed skin and cooled him off.
Just now, he was hoping to exhaust himself as he hadn't slept in a good forty-eight hours or so. Maybe more. It was hard to tell when your mind was slowly turning to mush, yet refusing to shut off. The rich air and the heat should've knocked him flat on his back, and yet here he was, wide awake.
The River Walk was a cacophony of endlessly moving bodies, pigeons hoping for bits from the tourists and delightful smells from the many restaurants that lined the way. He headed to his hotel, the River Marriot, tired of trekking around the city, looking, watching ordinary people around him who had no idea about anything other than their own lives.
Not that he blamed them. He would have given anything to have been one of them. To have that jaded, self-centeredness that revolved around his own life and nothing more. Almost anything, he silently corrected himself, except his pretender skills. No matter that those very skills were the reason he'd never be able to live that normal life, deep down he knew that to just be truly ordinary, one of the masses, would be no fun at all.
If he was even more honest with himself, he knew that somewhere in his heart, there existed a place that enjoyed the game. True, he held a great deal of pain, and he was tormented with memories of atrocities done to him, of his own inner demons that plagued him, but he'd had very little to enjoy in his life. Someday the Centre would no longer give chase (when hell froze over), and he might miss the game, the taunting, the chase.
He wouldn't miss the anxiety of wondering if someday they might very well outsmart him and drag him kicking and screaming back to what he lovingly deemed "Purgatory". He snorted at that thought, wondering how his mind could be so blazingly sarcastic with only himself to hear it.
One of life's little mysteries, he supposed.
Or Parker was rubbing off on him.
A grin spread over his face at just the thought of Miss Parker in her tailored, power, too-shot, corporate suits, sexy bare legs, and that caustic snarl curling her lips. Not to mention her precious gun in one hand and her cell phone in the other. If only she knew how adorable a picture she made, her gun drawn and her mouth cursing his very existence as she ran him down, stilettos sounding a staccato beat that made him want to stop and plant a huge kiss on those perfectly lined and colored lips of hers.
Bringing his wayward thoughts to heel, Jarod rubbed his face, wondering if perhaps sleep depravation was causing him to fantasize about his own personal Artemis, Goddess of the Hunt, complete with shard-edged tongue capable of flaying him to the bone.
Definitely sleep depravation.
With that thought firmly implanted in his head, he stifled a yawn and entered the Marriot, stumbled into the lobby only to have his attention drawn away from the thought of twelve straight hours of sleep in his bed (fat chance that), by a hysterical female being restrained by hotel security.
All thoughts of sleep fled from Jarod as his chivalry reared its ugly head. Damn, he'd been born in the wrong century, he thought irritably; he should have been born in the middle ages as a knight of the realm, rescuing damsels on his noble steed.
What is wrong with you, he chastised himself silently, knowing that if he continued to talk to himself in his head, he'd best go check himself into a mental institution. But it was nothing that a good night's sleep couldn't have cured.
His long legged stride ate the ground between him and the young woman who was crying hysterically, her words finally pierced the dense fog around his brain.
"…My baby! You've got my baby!" she was accusing someone, though Jarod couldn't see who.
The two security guards were having the very devil of a time restraining the distraught girl, who was wild-eyed with fear and sorrow. Her face was flushed, her hair disheveled haphazardly about her rounded face. She wore a baggy gray shirt and tattered, faded blue jeans.
She broke one arm free and lunged over to where Jarod, who was almost right behind the struggling trio, saw a woman with a stroller and a squalling baby inside of it. She was shielding her baby from view, eyeing the girl before her distastefully.
Something about the woman, who was wearing a designer blouse and floral print skirt with cute little pumps to match, that was eerily familiar to Jarod.
He grabbed the younger girl's arm, who in turn whirled and tried to strike him, but Jarod had expected as much. He dodged the blow easily and pulled the hysterical body into the safety of his arms.
She struggled against him, the security guards tried to pry the girl loose and all the while Jarod just whispered nonsensical things into her ear to comfort her.
He gave the security guards a piercing look, while the concierge came over to demand what was going on.
By now, the girl in his arms had stopped struggling and was only sobbing and trembling violently.
"Someone please explain to me what all the commotion is about?" the concierge demanded, his name tag identified him as Isaiah Garza.
One of the security guards, a black man with a shaved head explained that the young girl had burst into the hotel's lobby and accused one of their guests of kidnapping her child.
The concierge gave the girl in Jarod's arm a shrewd look, then merely glanced over at the female guest, standing there trying to comfort the child she had picked up.
"I have to ask, is that your child, ma'am?" Mr. Garza inquired politely of the lady.
She raised an arched eyebrow, her blond hair swishing a bit in her indignation, "Of course it is. This is my son, Noah Gardner, and I'm his mother, Catherine Gardner."
Jarod frowned at that name.
The concierge only nodded, then turned a disdainful look to the young girl, "Miss, can you calmly explain to me why you thought Mrs. Gardner has taken you child?"
A shudder wracked the girl's body, but she pushed away from Jarod and stood firmly before the whole world it seemed, her stance defiant and her shoulders rigid.
"Someone tripped me and pulled the stroller containing my daughter from my grasp. I chased them until I saw them come into this hotel. I lost track of them, but I saw her," she indicated by pointing an accusing finger at Catherine Gardner, "coming out of the bathroom with my baby in my stroller!"
"Why that's ridiculous," Catherine replied, her face indignant, "My child is a boy, which is easily proved, not to mention that I have his birth certificate and social security card with me to prove I am his mother."
Mr. Garza held up both his hands, noticing that a rather large crowd had gathered to gawk at the spectacle the two women made. He sighed in frustration, but then smeared a false smile on his face at everyone, "Ladies, if you will come back to my office so that we can conclude this matter. In private, if you please."
Everyone nodded, the guards broke up the crowd and Jarod trailed behind the younger girl as she followed the concierge and Catherine Gardner into his office.
Once the two ladies were inside and the concierge had closed the door, Jarod stood there waiting patiently for whatever was to happen. Something just wasn't right about this whole situation.
Several minutes later, the door opened and a very pale and trembling young woman walked out in front of a smug Catherine Gardner and stern Mr. Garza.
She turned, casting one last pleading look at the concierge, "Someone has my daughter, Mr. Garza, someone in this hotel. Why won't you help me find my child?"
Isaiah Garza cast a cold look over the young woman's attire, from her frizzled brown hair, pale, drawn features, tattered clothing and scuffed sneakers, back to the woman who carried her son, wearing her self-righteousness like a fur coat about herself.
"I will not harass my guests any further today. If you would like to file a police report, you may. I am certain they will be very happy to help you," the concierge informed her.
Everything about the young girl crumpled, her face, her shoulders, even the defiant gleam in her dark brown eyes. Tears poured down her face as she turned away, leaving Jarod wondering why no one was willing to do everything possible to find the young girl's missing baby.
He followed her, his longer legs quickly catching up to her. She looked up, gave him a frown and kept walking.
"I'd like to help you," Jarod offered her quietly as they exited the building onto the crowded, noisy street.
She stopped dead in her tracks, looked up at him, "Why? So you can laugh at the poor, helpless woman who has no proof her baby even exists?"
Jarod frowned, "What do you mean?"
A shudder wracked her body, absolute grief clouded her features, "I mean I didn't give birth in a hospital! I don't have a birth certificate, a social security card or anything else except my word that my baby exists."
Confusion color Jarod's face, "How have you taken care of a child if you're homeless?" he asked.
She threw him a scathing look, turned on her heel and began walking away, "I never said I was homeless," she admitted.
Jarod caught up to her again very quickly, for she was only about five foot five, if even that.
"Why don't you start from the beginning and explain to me what's going on? I can only help if you tell me everything," Jarod tried again.
"Who said I need your help?" she growled.
This was going nowhere, so Jarod grabbed the girl's arm and pulled her around to face him, "Look, I want to help you. I was kidnapped from my parents when I was a child. I am still searching for them to this day. If you let me, I'll help you find your daughter," Jarod told her.
All the bravado fled from her face, her lip trembled and an unsteady breath escaped her, "I'll never see her again, will I?" she asked.
Again, as in the hotel lobby, Jarod pulled her against his chest, a feeling of protectiveness surging through him that he had no idea where it came from. It wasn't sexual or even paternal. It was like he couldn't stop himself from wanting to help her. It was stronger than his usual need for absolution from his own imagined sins against humanity. She reminded him of someone, and because of that he knew he would do everything in his power to help her.
"Shh, we'll find her, I promise. Let's go back to my room and you tell me everything you can."
She nodded; willing to allow him to take charge over a situation she knew was out of her control. His fingers intertwined with hers as he led her back into the Marriott and up to his room.
He pushed her into the couch in the sitting room and got her a glass of water; she accepted the water gratefully and at his urging, began relating to him what was going on.
"First, let's start with yours and your baby's name," Jarod encouraged.
She gave him a tremulous smile, "My name is Trista Reilly and my daughter's name is Caitlyn."
"Tell me why you didn't go to a hospital when you gave birth if you're not homeless, Trista. Trust me," he added.
Nodding, she took a deep breath, her eyes glazing slightly as she was drawn back into the past, back just before she was pregnant.
"I met this guy named Jeremy, he actually kind of reminds me of you, he had lighter hair than yours, but he had dark, sad eyes. I met him at the gas station I worked at. It was being robbed and he saved me by disarming the robber and calling the police. He disappeared before the cops showed up, but when I was walking to my car after work, he was waiting for me. He asked if he could stay at my place for the night. I agreed because I was grateful to him for what he'd done. It was a real risk, ya know? Almost got shot.
"He was so sweet, and since I knew he didn't have any place else to go, I told him he could stay with me for awhile. Sometimes I swear he was afraid someone was after him, at night he would prowl my apartment, looking out the windows as if he was expecting someone to be out there. We … became close. One night he came to me and told me that he had to go, that someone was after him and that I was to never tell anyone that he had stayed with me, slept with me or anything or my life would be at risk. He seemed so frightened, so sincere when he begged me to keep it secret, I believed him. He was terrified, I didn't think that kind of terror could be acted or pretended."
Jarod cringed a little at her word choice, but he nodded for her to go on.
She gave him a wistful smile, "I guess I should be mad at him for leaving me alone, carrying his child, but I'm not really. I won't pretend that I'm happy about it, but I think he only wanted to protect me and that's why he left. I've never met anyone like him before. He was more genuine than any other guy I've ever known. He was real; he didn't hide behind humor or anger. He told me things about himself, his dreams and his deepest wishes," she stopped suddenly, blushing.
"What's wrong?" Jarod asked.
She had long since put the glass of water on the side table next to the couch, so she put her face in both hands and groaned, "I sound like some naïve child. I know I do. Here I am blurting out what I've never told anyone to a perfect stranger. You probably think he was nothing more than one of those jerks that go around sleeping with stupid, innocent girls and then leaves them heartbroken with some lame story about being on the run or whatever. But I swear to you it wasn't like that. He wasn't like that."
Jarod shook his head, "No, I can understand his reasons for leaving. If what he said was true, and he was on the run, then he did care enough about you to move on so you wouldn't be in danger," Jarod paused, "I am sorry, in all of this I forgot to give you my name. I'm Jarod Taylor," he told her a little sheepishly. He had totally forgotten in everything that had happened.
Nodding, she mulled over what he'd said before continuing with her narration.
"I found out I was pregnant a few weeks later. I admit, I was scared, so scared I thought about terminating the pregnancy, but I couldn't go through with it. I kept thinking the child I was carrying was my last link to Jeremy. I knew I'd never see him again, but I would always have his child to remember him by."
Jarod tilted his head to the side, "So Jeremy has never contacted you since he disappeared?"
She took a deep breath; "Well …" she drew the word out, "Actually he called me three weeks after I had found out about the baby. By then I knew I could never get rid of it, so when I told him, he freaked. He panicked and wanted to come and get me. He even asked me if I could live life on the run. I wanted to be with him, but whenever I thought about that kind of a life for a baby, I knew I couldn't do it. We agreed that I would never tell anyone who the father was, that I wouldn't go to the hospital to have the baby unless there was something wrong. The plan was to wait a year or two and then register for a social security number and birth certificate. He told me he could never contact me again or he would place the baby in danger."
Everything clicked into place for Jarod. It reminded him too much of the Centre. He wondered if it was possible that Jeremy was from the Centre as well.
But, what were the odds?
"So that's why you don't have any of those things that prove your daughter exists, why you didn't go to the hospital. How long ago was it since you've given birth?" Jarod wondered.
"Four months ago," she answered.
"Do you have any pictures? It'll be easier to track your baby if I have a picture of her. I also need to know the last thing she was wearing and anything you can tell me about the person who kidnapped your child. Any detail you can think of. I don't care how small it is, a smell, or an impression. Where you were when you were tripped. I need to know all of it," Jarod told her.
A sudden blush suffused Trista's face as she glanced down at her chest then back up at Jarod. She turned away from him suddenly and began muttering.
Concerned, Jarod walked over to where she sat her back to him, putting a hand on her shoulder he asked her, "Trista, is something wrong?"
She shook her head, but when she glanced over her shoulder at him, he could tell she was humiliated, "Where's the bathroom?" she asked quietly.
He pointed, "Over there," past the bedroom door.
She nodded, and then stood up, her arms crossed over her front, her eyes refusing to make contact with his.
Suddenly it hit Jarod what was wrong. Her milk had come in.
"Would you like a new shirt?" he inquired gently as she walked past him on her way to the bathroom.
Just before the bathroom door slammed shut, he heard a very soft reply, "Yes, thank you."
He grinned as he rummaged through his clothing, finding a plain black t-shirt. He went to the bathroom door and knocked gently, "I'm going to leave the shirt on the bed and close the door to the bedroom, all right? Come out whenever you're ready," he called through the door.
There was no reply, but Jarod knew she was embarrassed by a natural occurrence. Concern for her baby's welfare, anxiety and perhaps trying to remember the last moments in which she'd been with her baby probably triggered the let down reflex. He went back into the sitting room to wait for Trista to come out.
Several minutes later, she emerged, her face still crimson and her eyes falling to Jarod's feet. Jarod knew it was best to just pretend it hadn't happened.
She sat back down and took a few deep breaths, her thought wandered back to her daughter. Tears stung her eyes as she wondered where her daughter was. Was she scared? Alone? Had they fed her and changed her diaper? Would they sing to her as Trista did whenever Caitlyn was upset?
Then Jarod was next to her, comforting her, assuring her they would find Caitlyn. His soft crooning noises were so strange coming from a man she hardly knew, she pushed away from him feeling foolish.
"All right, try and remember what happened when they took Caitlyn," Jarod urged her.
Her mind wandered back to what seemed like hours ago, when it had really only been less than an hour.
"I was walking down the street, about a block from this hotel. Caitlyn was sleepy, so I had gotten out a blanket to put over the front of the stroller. As I began walking again, I felt something pull my left foot out from underneath me and then shove me to the right. I felt the stroller being pulled from my grasp and I fell. When I looked up, it looked like a man was walking rapidly away, but I never saw anything other than a loose blue denim shirt, baggy blue jeans and a Spurs baseball cap pulled low, down to the collar of the shirt. I never saw a face or anything else. I ran after them, but they were flying down the sidewalk. I saw them duck into this hotel, just like I told everyone downstairs. When I finally walked through the doors, I didn't see anyone who might have had my daughter. Until that stupid bitch walked out of the bathroom. Jarod, I swear to you that was my stroller. But when we were in the concierge's office, she showed me her baby. It was a boy!" she ended despairingly; reliving the events had caused her to become agitated once again.
Jarod didn't know what to make of the entire situation. Was this one of those kidnappings where lawyers sold babies on the black market? Was it whoever was pursuing the baby's father involved? Jarod couldn't even begin to guess, there were too many unknown elements. It was going to take ever skill he possessed to re-piece this puzzle together.
Jarod turned to her, pulling himself out of his thoughts, "Do you have any pictures?" he asked.
She nodded, "Of course, but they're at my apartment. I was afraid of carrying any pictures of her with me."
Sighing in utter frustration, Jarod knew this one was not going to be easy. How was he supposed to find a child that technically did not exist?
"Good, we'll need those pictures in order to prove you're not lying."
His mind was not working properly at the moment. He couldn't even keep one coherent train of thought. He shook his head, hoping to clear away some of the fuzz that seemed to be overtaking his cranial cavity.
He glanced over at Trista and grimaced, she was still lost in the kidnapping. He couldn't function like this.
"Trista, listen to me, I want you to go home and get some rest. Whoever has your daughter is already gone. Trust me; as soon as you began raising hell in the lobby, they took off. I have to get some rest," Jarod told her, and then yawned, "I haven't slept in over 48 hours and I will be useless to both you and Caitlyn if I don't sleep. You'll be of no use to Caitlyn as well, so I want you to go home, go to sleep and come back in eight hours with pictures and anything else that might be helpful. If you have any pictures of Jeremy that would be great as well."
She shook her head, no.
Well it had been a long shot anyway.
Slowly Trista stood, her gray shirt lay crumpled in her hands, twisted from her nerves.
"I don't think I can sleep," she whispered.
Jarod nodded, "Try to, if you can. Contact the police as well. Tell them everything that's happened so far, except about me. Cops don't like civilian interference, but I can promise you I've done this sort of thing before."
She frowned, "But what do I say when they ask me why I didn't report Caitlyn's kidnapping right away?"
"Tell them … tell them that you've been trying to find her yourself in the hotel until you got kicked out."
Trista nodded, she began walking towards the door when she stopped and turned back to look at him, "I don't know how to thank you, Jarod. I know you haven't done anything yet, but …" she left it at that by twirling away and running out of his hotel room.
Exhausted, Jarod dragged himself over to his bed and fell into his softness. Sleep began to claim him, even as his mind whirled to stay awake and piece together this puzzle. In the end, sleep won out.