Disclaimer: I don't own nothing.

Rating: Whatever floats your boat. (PG---PG-13 for those of you who have trouble making up your mind)

Summary: Someone contacts Ms. Parker, Astrea finds hope and happiness in the Christmas holiday, and Lia meets someone new.

Feedback: Pleeeeeeeeeeasse!

!!!Author's Note!!!: I'm incorporating "When He Thinks That I'm Not Looking" into this chapter, and so if you haven't read it you might want to. You'll still understand the chapter if you don't read it, but it would explain things in more detail.

Quote:

                      "A human being is nothing but a story with skin around it."

                                                                                                            -----Fred Allen

************************************ShadowElfBard**********************************

3:55 am, Sunday

Blue Cove, Delaware

Ms. Parker's Home

(Ms. Parker)

"What the hell?" I murmur to myself blurrily as I rise from sleep, awoken by the persistently irritating ringing of my phone. Deciding to ignore and go back to bed, I put my head down once more until a sudden thought hits me.

   What if it's Jarod calling?

   Thoughts of returning to sleep gone, I bolt up and hurriedly grope around on my bedside table until my hand finds its mark. I raise the phone to my ear.

   "This better be good," I grumble into it, too tired to bark out a proper Parker greeting, and not wanting to scare Jarod away if it's him calling.

   "M-ms. Parker?" comes a little voice from the other side. I hear a sniffle. "Is… is that you?"

   My forehead creases with puzzlement as I realize that the voice on the other end is not the master pretender, but Debbie.

   "Debbie?" I ask calmly, slowly, trying to get the obviously distressed girl's attention. "What's happened? What's wrong?"

   "I-it was a-a man. He-" sniff "- he took my dad."

   My eyes widen in surprise at the unexpected message. "A man?"

   "Mhm. It, it was a man and, and he had th-three other guys with him. They… they were all wearing black."

   "Debbie, now this is important, did the three men have on black glasses? Were they swee-" I stop myself from saying 'sweepers', realizing that Debbie probably has no clue what it means, but as I'm trying to come up a substitute for the word, she answers my question.

   "Yes, they w-were sweepers."

    I furrow my brow in confusement, wondering how in the world she knew that term.

    "Ms. Parker? Are, are you still there?" the girl asks frantically, frightened by my silence.

   Realizing that this kid is terrified and panicking, I come to a quick conclusion. "Debbie, I'm going to get Sydney and come over in a few minutes. I want you to stay in the house, with the doors and windows locked, the curtains closed, and the lights shut off. Don't answer the door if you don't see me through the peephole. We'll be right over, so just sit tight until then, okay?"

   "O-okay."

   "All right, see you soon."

   After I hear the dial tone I hang up and get out of bed, moving over to the dresser. Once I've slipped some clothes on (some plain black slacks and a red shirt), and I've brushed my hair, I grab my car keys and rush out the door into the night.

   What a wonderful way to start the morning.

                                                                      *******

"Debbie!" I yell at the closed door. "Sydney and I are here!" I rub my arms against the frigid air as I wait for the locks to be undone, Sydney shivering quietly beside me. The door opens slowly, hesitantly, before it's flung open with a mustered confidence.

   "Ms. Parker!" Debbie shouts once I come inside. She immediately hugs me, and begins crying into my shirt, "I was so scared… I didn't think you'd come…"

   I stiffen when she hugs me, feeling uncomfortable with the embrace and the girl's sobbing, but slowly I wrap my other arm around her and comfort her while Syd smiles at the scene.

    "Shhh, shh. It's okay Debbie. Why wouldn't I come?" I ask her softly, trying to calm her down.

    "It's just that some--" sniff "--sometimes you're really, really busy and you d-don't like to be dis-disturbed and…"

   Though I try not to show it, her words are a bullet to my heart.

   I tighten my arms around her, feeling horrible that my 'ice queen' visage could have made this child believe that I would abandon her for my work. I feel even worse when I wonder if it's true.

   After a moment more or two of soothing words and hugs, Debbie moves to the couch and I sit beside her. Sydney stands in front of her, his psychiatrist game face on, warm and consoling.

   While he asks her to explain what had happened, I finally realize what a mess this place is. The tree is toppled over, a few of the ornaments are in pieces on the floor, presents are strewn everywhere, a few ripped or crushed, and there is-- if I'm not mistaken --blood on the wall.

   I look into Sydney's eyes with shock, my eyes telling him how horrified I am. He nods slowly, sadly, and then turns to Debbie.

   "So your father had gone to open the door, then what?"

   "There, there was a man. He was dressed in a business suit and had three sweepers with him. They pushed past my dad and came in." She looks over at me. "I think the man was Mr. Lyle, but I don't really remember what he looks like that well…"

   Freud and I exchange a glance, both mentally calculating what it would mean if it was Lyle who'd come.

   "Debbie, after these men came in… did they say why they were there?"

   "The man in the business suit said something about my dad needing to come with him. He, he made it sound like if my dad didn't go then my dad would be… he would be hurt."

   I furrow my brow at the uncomfortable sound in her voice. "The 'man' didn't threaten you, did he Debbie?"

   "No… not really, but…" she hugs her arms and lowers her voice to a whisper. "He looked at me."

   "He looked at…? Oh." Sydney breaks off in understanding, and I see him clench his fists.

   That bastard, I think with fury, my nostrils flaring. I'll kill him… and this time I'll make sure he stays dead. And it was as I bubbled over with rage at the thought of the lewd looks my demented twin must have given her that I thought of something.

   "Debbie," I say suddenly, cutting off whatever question Freud had been going to ask, "how did your father react?"

   She furrows her brow. "I don't under--"

   "When the man was looking at you. How did your father react?"

   "Oh!" she's silent for a moment. "Well, he told the guy not to… not to think of touching me." she shudders briefly at the thought. "But I didn't really get to see what happened next because then he ordered me to run upstairs."

    Both Sydney and I process this information as she continues.

   "Then, when I was upstairs, my dad yelled something. I, I couldn't understand him but I heard… fighting, afterwards.

   "I came down after it was quiet and…" she clenches her eyes shut. "There was blood on the wall and the men were driving away. I didn't see what happened to my dad." She stares down at the carpet. "There's nothing more to tell, really. After it happened I sort of… sort of cried myself to sleep. When I woke up I called you."

   I glance over at the wall Debbie had mentioned and see the spot of blood. It's not that large, so whoever was injured is probably fine, but the thought does nothing to ease my worry. Especially because I'm betting that the blood doesn't belong to the sweepers.

   "Debbie?"

   The girl looks up at Sydney. "Hm?"

   "You look a bit chilly, why don't we get you some hot chocolate?"

   "Okay. S-Sure."

   Freud leads her into the kitchen, his arm comfortingly around her shoulder. I watch them and then sit down on the couch, letting out a deep sigh and running my hands through my hair. 

   "God Broots," I whisper to the empty room,  "why didn't you just run?"

   "Because he needed to protect his daughter."

   I look up, and see that Sydney is back in the living room, his hands in his pockets as he stares at me.

   I give him a small smile. "You set the kid up with some hot cocoa?"

   He nods. "She decided to make her own. She wasn't able to stop anything that happened last night and needs to feel some sort of control right now. If making her own hot chocolate helps, then I am certainly not against it."

   He sits beside me. "So, what do you think?"

   I straighten up. "Well this definitely sounds like Lyle. We might need some prints to prove it but--"

   "I meant," he interrupts softly, "what do you think has happened to Broots?"

   "Oh. That." I sigh. "I want to believe that he's all right, but you never know. Lyle could have killed him and stuffed him in the trunk of a car, he could be full of experimental drugs that the Centre's made, he could be injured and wandering around in the snow somewhere… The list goes on and on."

   "So whatever the case, you don't think he's alive and well?"

   I scoff bitterly. "You saw the blood too, Syd. He's probably dead."

   There's suddenly a loud crash from behind us. Both Sydney and I turn around to see Debbie standing in the kitchen doorway, a the glass pieces of a broken mug lying in front of her feet in a pool of hot chocolate. She's staring at us in complete and utter horror, her eyes bulged wide and her lips parted slightly.

   "Dead?" she whispers, an obvious lump in her throat. "Dead?"

   Sydney stands up quickly and he takes a small, non-threatening step forward. "Debbie…"

   "No," a trace of anger and panic invades her voice. "Don't."

    She backs away hurriedly, and slips on the linoleum, falling on her bum. Sydney moves forward to help her, but she scuttles away backwards until she's up against the kitchen wall, her eyes wide and fearful.

   "I knew it, I knew it," she babbles to herself in a loud whisper, almost at the point of hysterics. "I knew it, I read the files, I knew it. I should have told him what I knew, he would've quit, I knew it, I knew it…"

   I stand up and walk in to stand beside Sydney, and he kneels beside her, his face puzzled. "Knew what, Debbie?"

   Her eyes, once again moist with tears and rimmed red, look into his asking for forgiveness. "I know about the Centre. I didn't mean to, but I didn't really know where he works; he never told me. I didn't mean to learn about it, I swear…"

   An unsettling suspicion nestles in the pit of my stomach. "Debbie, what do you mean you know about the Centre? What exactly do you know about it?"

   Her lips quiver, and when she answers it's in a whisper. "Everything. I-I know about Jarod, and Ms. Catherine, and Mr. Raines, and Mr. Lyle, and Angelo…"

   I feel as though I've had the wind knocked out of me. Running my hands through my hair I pace, listening with shock as she lists the people and projects of the Centre. She knows about pretenders, knows about the red files, knows about my mother's murder, knows of Lyle's cannibalistic habits…. Everything! She knows everything!

   Debbie goes quiet, and her head lowers, not having enough strength to keep it up.

   Sydney looks over at me, the same stunned astonishment on his face. We both look back down at Debbie, who's hugging her knees as she heaves dry sobs, too dehydrated and drained to cry anymore tears. Freud and I both still have questions, we both still want answers, but even I can't bring myself to ask them. The girl is going through too much right now.

   "M-Ms. Parker?" the teenager in question brings her head up slowly and with an obvious effort. "Do… do you really think that my dad is," she takes a shaky breath, "that my dad's dead?"

   "I don't know," I answer her truthfully. "I wish I did."

   Sydney steps in quickly and adds, "Your father is very resourceful Debbie. Don't write him off just yet."

   She nods, although hesitantly. "O-Okay. Ms. Parker?"

   "Yes?"

   "I know that it's ear-early and that you both probably want to go back, back to sleep, but…" she bites her lip. "Do you think that you both could stay here? With me?"

   I'm so touched that for a moment I almost go over and hug and console her. But years of training immediately step in, and I instead give her a sweet smile. "Of course, Debbie."

   She gives a strong, happy grin, and then the emotional onslaught finally breaks through her barriers and she falls asleep before our eyes.

5:37 am, Sunday

Blue Cove, Delaware

Holiday Inn

Room 109

(Astrea)

What do I do now?

   I've probably asked myself that question nearly twenty times within the past hour. Even when I was sleeping (which I'd found very hard to do after I'd finished reading Raines' file) I was suffering from anxiety. My dreams are troubled, my mood swinging precariously, and my mind lost in a fog. Jarod, being the self-sacrificing hero that he's always been, tried to comfort me of course. So had Arthur. Both were obviously as stunned about the information as I was, and both as worried, but more fearful of how I'd react to it.

   I have an explanation for what's happening, at least. After an hour of sifting through files, I'd found my own. Within it, had been the answer to the question of why the cells that made me unique were active again. Pissed does not even come close to describing my mood right now. There is no curse in English, Latin, Egyptian, Korean, Portuguese or even German that comes close to conveying my rage at what I've once again found out about.

    For it seems that during our brief stay at the Centre, Jarod was not the only one to receive a dose of CW-A-41.

   Ah, yes. The amnesiac-creating chemical that had afflicted Jarod and gave me hell during our escape was used on me. Apparently, one day after our return I was administered a very, very small dose that had been almost entirely diluted in a glass of water handed to me by Lyle after one of our 'work-out' sessions. According to the file, however, the chemical was not entirely the same as Jarod's. For Jarod's was made to immediately repress memories of his past, while my small dose was altered to be on a time-release. In other terms, they blocked my memories of what happened three minutes after I was given that water. From what I've read, I was taken to Raines where he'd administered the concoction that had activated the cells within me last time through an injection in my wrist. And as I never remember that happening, I'd say that the small dose of CW-A-41 did its job afterwards.

   "As-Astrea?"

   I turn away from the window I was gazing out of and see Arthur rising from the other bed with a yawn. He rubs his eyes.

   "Wh-What are you doing up so early? It can't be more than six at the most."

   I give him a half-hearted smile. "Couldn't sleep. There's too much to think about to sleep."

   He groans. "Between you and Jarod, I'm amazed that either of you can function. You both are practically insomniacs. It's not healthy."

   I grin at him cheekily and he just sighs and shakes his head. "Oh, why do I even bother? But, speaking of Jarod, where is he?"

   "Went to the 24-hour mini-mart for coffee," I respond calmly, making room on the bed for Arthur to sit beside me.

   "How wonderful," he comments dryly. "He can't sleep and so he runs out to get caffeine."

   I give him a lightly patronizing look. "He's a grown man, Arthur, and a genius to boot. I don't really think that you're in the position to be criticizing his sugar cravings and night owl routine."

   "That may be true," he responds grudgingly, "but it's not very responsible. He left you up all alone and--"

   In a sudden epiphany I realize the reason for his mood. "Arthur. Arthur!"

   "Hm?"

   I smile sweetly at him. "Thank you for caring about me, but I'll be okay, really. This thing… I've dealt with surprises like this before, I can do it again."

   "But I want to help," he whispers, a look of sorrow passing into his eyes. "It's… it's so appallingly atrocious what they've done to you. You're just a child."

   "I know. But I can't change what I've gone through and what I am. And neither can you, Arthur. Or Jarod. The best we can do is work through what's going on now, and use our past experiences to build a foundation for a better future." I look down at my lap. "What I saw on that computer screen… that's not going to go away. I am ill, and I can't change that fact. What I can do is find out how to get better."

   "And I'll help you," says Jarod, suddenly walking through the door. He sets down his cup of coffee and comes to sit beside Arthur and I on the edge of the bed. "We'll figure this thing out together."

   I smile at him, and then at Arthur, my spirit rising with joy.

   Arthur too seems touched. He takes off his glasses, wipes his eyes, and then puts them back on again with a sniff. "This is all so moving. We should do something now."

   "We could hug," Jarod says jokingly.

   "Or hold hands and sing," I pipe in with a laugh.

   Arthur suddenly springs up. "I've got it!" He dashes over to the coat closet, and pulls out a shopping bag full of wrapped presents.

   "It is Christmas morning, right? Well, since we're all apparently up and awake, I think that this is the most opportune time to open our gifts from one another."

   Before either Jarod or I can protest, he's handed out the presents and is sitting down on the bed with his own gleaming wrapped parcel.

   "Well," Arthur prompts us, "go on and open them!"

   I look down at my two gifts, one from Arthur and the other from Jarod, and nod my head at the master pretender. "You should open yours first. I'll go last."

   Jarod picks up his present from me, sends me a small smile, and then unwraps it.

   "So… do you like it?" I ask him hesitantly.

   He stares at it, his lips parted slightly. "It's… wow. How did you… how did you know that…?"

   "How do people like us know anything, Jarod?" I whisper.

   He looks down at it once more, a memory from his past at the Centre, when he had befriended a slow but kind janitor. A silver paperweight, fashioned to look like an origami crane. I know, too, of the sad memories that come with this gift, but I'd hoped when I'd bought it that it would also make him remember the feeling of joy he'd experienced before.

   He finally gazes up at me again, obviously touched by my insight. "Thank you. This means a lot."

   "You're welcome," I return. I clear my throat. "Arthur, do you want to open yours next?"?

   "I already have," he says, giving me a wide and wonderful grin. He holds up his present, a glass chess set, with obvious delight. "This is very sweet of you Astrea, and I thank you. Perhaps you should open yours now, though, hm?"

   "All right, all right," I relent.

   I open Jarod's first, and laugh out loud at the notebook he picked out with the silver drawing of the wolf on the cover. I thank him for it with a hug, and then slowly open the small box from Arthur. It's delicately wrapped, and the tissue paper inside is a cotton-colored white. Underneath that paper though, is something that takes my breath away.

   It's a necklace of stunning black onyx, with a pendant of enchanting emerald hanging regally from the center. I pick it up with awe.

   He watches me eagerly. "Is it… is it all right? Do you like it?"

   "This is amazing, Arthur," I breathe, drowning in the shimmering green of the adornment. "It's more beautiful than anything I've ever… thanks."

   "Think nothing of it, my dear," he says gentlemanly, standing and taking a bow.

   And for once, my mind is free of troubles and worries. And with this newfound freedom, I allow myself to laugh and smile with my two friends as I bask in a sensation of bliss that only Christmas can bring.

5:51 am

Passing over the Mediterranean Sea

Centre Jet

(Lia)

Squirming uncomfortably in my chair, I sigh for what has to be the fifth time in the past hour. Boredom, the bane of my existence, has me in its clutches once again.

   I was fine two hours ago-- I'd been able to sleep then. But then I'd woken up, and everything had gone downhill from there. I bet I've been on this godforsaken plane for at least eight hours. That's waaaay more time than I usually have to spend sitting in one spot. Then again, I'm usually not being held captive by psychotic corporate executives.

   Yep, I'm still with the freaks. I'd been "escorted" to this damnable aircraft yesterday night, and buckled into a chair in what I know is the lowest class seating area on this thing. Then I'd had to wait an hour, just sitting here, with no company whatsoever save for my snazzy suit-wearing guards. The strange bodyguard from before was there too (the one who lied to that guy Raines), but he didn't make eye contact. …Or maybe he did. I don't know. It's hard to tell from behind those stupid black sunglasses they wear. But, like I was saying, after the hour of nothingness, the bodyguards had left and supposedly gone to the front of the plane. When they'd come back, they'd been dragging an unconscious man with them.

   You read right, they pulled in a dude who looked like he'd passed out over one to many drinks. They'd set him in a seat directly across the aisle from mine, and then left the two of us back here… alone. Then the plane had started off. And so far, my strange new companion hasn't been much of a chatterbox, if you know what I mean. He's been out cold through this whole stinking trip! And it's driving me freakin' insane! The guy isn't even that interesting to look at. Despite a few bruises, a split lip, and one heck of a nasty mark on his forehead that's going to give him hell when he wakes up, he's your normal Joe. And who knows how many more hours we have until we arrive at wherever it is we're going.

    God, what I wouldn't give for my CD player…

    "Urgg…"

   I give a little jump in surprise at the new sound and quickly look in the direction of my usually silent travel companion. I watch as his eyes slowly open, and notice that he's moaning groggily as he comes to. It seems that Sleeping Beauty is finally awakening.  

   "What the hell…?" he murmurs to himself as he shakes off the last vestiges of sleep.

   He gazes around him slowly, and starts to panic as he notices that one of his hands is manacled to his seat. He struggles against the restraint more out of instinct than anything else, though I do get the impression that there's something else worrying him, but when he sees me studying him curiously, he freezes.

   "Er… hello."

   I give a little wave.

   He responds with a nervous smile, and then licks his dry lips. "Um… uh… yeah."

   I feel like laughing out loud at how uncomfortable he is. The unease he's experiencing is coming off of him in waves. He obviously wants to know who I am and why I'm here, and the irony of it all is painfully humorous. I want to know about him, he wants to know about me, and neither of us is really able to just come right out and ask. I can't for obvious reasons, and he seems just a tad too timid to be that bold. We'll probably end up staring at each other like this until the plane lands or hell freezes over-- whichever happens to come first.

   He stares at me a moment longer, seems to jump slightly in surprise at something, calms down, narrows his eyes, relaxes them, and then sighs. "You're Astrea's sister aren't you?"

    Okay, so maybe not.

   Who?

    He blinks at me, and his mouthparts slightly. "Are…Are you deaf?"

    I give a silent chuckle of amusement. If I was deaf, I wouldn't be able to answer the question then, would I?

   He too, seems to notice his mistake and rolls his eyes. "Oh, right." He clears his throat. "My name is Broots, and, as my former boss loved to remind me, I can be a real idiot sometimes."

   Encouraged by my smile, he continues. "Er, since you're obviously not deaf, you're probably signing because you're mute. And, because I never learned sign language, I guess this conversation is going to be really one-sided unless I ask just yes-or-no questions."

   I nod.

   "Oh well. I guess that means no formal introductions, huh? At least I won't have to worry about remembering your name." His eyes suddenly widen as he gets an idea. "Wait! I can guess the letters, can't I?"

   I shrug, using my body language to tell him 'sure, what the hell'.

   "All right, we'll just go through the alphabet then. Does your name start with an 'A'?"

   Shaking my head negatively, I mentally groan as I prepare myself for what will undoubtedly be a very, very, very long flight.

************************************************************************************

Review Returns:

   Rem-Cycle: Thanks for the very long and detailed review! Yes, "Hotel California" rocks. There's just no denying it.  Also, I never knew what a lynch pin was, so thanks for teaching me something new. :-) Once again, thanks for the review and I'll try not to hurt Broots too much. *wink*

   Ann: Aw, thanks. *blush* It's nice to hear that obsessed fourteen and fifteen year-olds aren't the only people writing and reading fan fiction.  Hope you enjoyed the chapter!

   Pez7701: Thank you for your review, Pez old buddy, old pal. I hope that this chapter didn't disappoint either.

   Pretender Fanatic: I made you cry?! AND my story is your favorite Pretender fiction?! Wow. I feel like I've won an award of some sort… thanks. Also, as to your summary idea, I'll think on it. It's not that bad a notion, actually. Hope you enjoyed the chapter, and be sure to update your own story soon!