A Pretender fanfic
by Maggy
R/R e-mail: maggysfic (at) aol (dot) com
Please do not archive without permission.
DISCLAIMER: I don't own any of these characters, and I respect the rights of those who do. Sometimes, though, the characters show up unannounced and demand to have their stories told. I am but a helpless channeller...
Timeline: This tale takes place after IOTH with slight references thereto. Also, this tale makes specific references to another story I wrote, "Sotto Voce." Even though it is no longer posted, I hope the references are detailed enough not to spoil this story.
A/N: I guess I'm a hopeless MP/J. too.
LANGUAGE: Mild cursing.
CHAPTER 1: Thunder
More than a month had passed since the catastrophe on
Carthis, and, except for Miss Parker's phone call, which she had not shared
with anyone, no one had heard a thing from Jarod. Raines was walking
around waving his new thumb in everyone's face, while Lyle hurried behind
him like a trained lapdog. Both made nervous noises about "must find
Jarod" and "must find the scrolls."
In spite of the shake-up in the Centre's power
structure, there seemed to be surprisingly little interest in the Pretender
Retrieval Team of Miss Parker, Sydney and Broots. Miss Parker had just begun
to worry that Jarod's "What about us?" call had been his final contact with
her, when her office door opened just wide enough for Broots's hesitant bald
head to poke through.
"What?"
"Jarod."
She could tell by her colleague's expression that the
Pretender was up to something, and waited a couple of seconds before snapping
again. "Well? Is he running? Time to begin the chase for
the three hundred twenty-third time?"
Broots's visible eye took on a gleam of excitement, enough
to propel him into the room. "We may not have to chase this time, Miss
Parker. It was really kind of an accident that I was doing a routine check on some
of the Centre's closed accounts, and--"
"Reader's Digest version, please, Broots!"
"I'm pretty sure he's still in the process of setting up his -- operation. He won't know we're coming."
She surged up from her desk and crossed the room with a panther's grace. "Then what the hell are we waiting for? You know the drill. Get Sydney. We are going to finish this thing once and for all."
A mere seventy-two hours later, everything was in turmoil. Miss Parker unbuckled herself from her seat at the back of the Centre's corporate jet, and slowly made her way to the exit ramp. She had feigned sleep during the entire trip from Acapulco, preferring not to have to answer questions, or worse, make small talk. It didn't help. She kept seeing the replay over and over in her mind... how a single gunshot suddenly changed everything... again.
Broots hadn't wanted to leave Sydney in Acapulco any more than she did, but she could not listen to recriminations. Under the circumstances, they had had no choice. It was just as well that her tecxpert busied himself with gathering up his gear, avoiding her eyes as he passed. What could she say? What could anyone say about the nightmarish way this retrieval mission had been botched?Somehow, Sam preceded her in deplaning, and had the car warmed for her against the drizzling Dover rain. As they rolled onto the highway from the private airport, Miss Parker leaned forward.
"Sam?""Miss P?"
"My report to Raines and Lyle can wait. Take me home first, please."
The sweeper's expression faltered slightly at the unexpected courtesy of the request, but she didn't make any attempt to repair the damage. It was too late for that. She stared out the window, replaying the scene over and over-- the running, the chasing, the yelling-- and once again, she was forced to return to Delaware without the Pretender.
Gradually she became aware of the subtle change in the road surface, and gazed out the window at the suspension bridge she knew was barely ten miles from her home.
"Stop here, Sam."He was well-trained; he didn't make any foolish protests about the illegality of stopping on a bridge.
It was after midnight, and the rain had worsened as they drove. Miss Parker climbed slowly out of the car, gun drawn. Rain stringed her hair, and her heels clicked on the wet concrete as she walked to the southernmost end of the bridge. Making sure the safety was on, she removed the ammo clip and with a quick movement tossed it over the bridge into the churning water below. Then, with a heaving groan, she flung the handgun after it, watching desperately until it disappeared into the darkness. Although she knew it was too far away, she imagined she heard the satisfying plop! as it broke the surface.
She pictured it turning slowly as it sank, making its way to the impenetrable depths of the river, perhaps to be washed along with the tide somewhere out into the ocean...
Miss Parker rubbed her eyes with her fingertips, feeling the accumulation of rain on her cheeks. Several moments passed before she ralized it was only that: rain. There would be no release for her, no crying; that she could feel as surely as she could feel the knot of ice in her chest and the hollow sickness in her stomach. Tears were hot, and she had no warmth left.
"Miss Parker?" Sam's raised voice broke into her thoughts. "Theres a car coming from the other side of the bridge."
"Thank you, Sam." Moving quickly, she re-entered the car and leaned back. "I'm ready to go home."
Already she could hear the siren call of an unopened bottle of Scotch.