Disclaimer: I wish I did own it. The show wouldn't have been cancelled, that's for sure. But, as it is, I can claim no part of it.

Rating: I trust in your ability to decide whether or not you have the maturity level to handle this level of sophistication. *snicker, snort* Sophistication… yeah, right.

Summary: We get to spend more time with Lia and Broots, and Ms. Parker has to make her first choice in a line of difficult decisions.

Feedback: Y-E-S spells 'yes'. (Please!)

Quote:

              "Even if you're on the right track, you'll get run over if you just sit there."

                                                                                    -----Will Rogers

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

7:09 AM, Sunday

Flying Over The Borderline Between The Persian Gulf And Iran

The Centre Jet

(Broots)

The view up here is incredible, it really is. The blue water shining with the virgin light of morning, the puffy white clouds, the sapphire sky… the, um, the shining fire of the sun, and…er… uh…

    Oh, screw it. I'm not fooling anyone. There's no beauty, no splendor, no "virgin light", or sapphire sky. Not while I'm being held prisoner on a plane and my daughter is thousands of miles away from me, not knowing where I am or if something's happened to me, or if I'll ever come back… Oh god. I hope she's okay. Lord, I need her to be okay. If she's not, I'll… I'll break down. I just couldn't handle it. She's all I've got left.

   Sigh.

   I'm losing it. I know I am. I'm even having trouble believing my own memories. I couldn't have really attacked those sweepers, could I have? No, not Broots. Not timid, scurrying, insignificant-underling Broots. I cower when someone's being threatened, I don't pounce on them and try to gouge out their eyes.

    …Or do I?

   All I really remember from that night is Lyle showing up, me telling my daughter to run, and then… then what? Me going all Rambo on them? I've had fantasies about that, I won't lie. I've daydreamed of doing something manly or heroic, actually standing up to my tormentors instead of lowering my eyes and head. But to do that in real life? And in front of Lyle? Come on. That's a bit much, isn't it? There's only so much a guy can believe.

   I look over at Lia (It took me nearly ten minutes to get just *that* much info on her), and give her a small smile. Her puzzled expression softens, but doesn't disappear. An unspoken question remains in her eyes, and so I answer it.

   "I'm just thinking."

   She nods in acknowledgement before returning her gaze to the window.

   This girl is a complete mystery to me. We tried to "talk", and managed to learn a little more about each other. I know that she's basically clueless as to why she's here (as far as she'd tell me, anyway), doesn't know where we're going, is thirteen, likes listening to music, and is an orphan.

   It's like meeting Elf 17 all over again.

   There is no doubt in my mind that she's Astrea's sister, and when I found out about Lia's parents, it was one of the most horribly painful things that I'd ever heard (no pun intended). Astrea is truly an orphan now. She'll die without ever knowing who brought her into this world, and worst of all, she still thinks that they're out there, somewhere. Even Jarod has a father. It's going to crush Astrea's heart when she finds out.

   And then there's the whole thing about her sister, who she doesn't even know about because I was too stupid to remember it and tell her.

   Again, sigh.

   At the sound of someone approaching, both Lia and I are shaken from our musings. The curtain that separates our seating area is pulled back, and in walks one of the last people I'd expected (or have liked) to see on this plane.

   Mr. Cox.

   "Ah, you're both up and awake. Good. That makes things so much easier."

   Lia's eyes (that had narrowed to slits upon seeing the Triumvirate agent) clearly convey her rage at seeing him again. Apparently she's met him. Can't say I blame her for her reaction, then.

   He simply gives her a suave smile and signs something that makes her try to jump out of her seat at him. After a dry chuckle at the product of his provocation, he takes a seat on the arm of a chair directly across from me. He crosses his arms, leans back a bit, and then stares at me.

   Confused, I look around me before returning to his gaze.

   "So," he says finally, breaking the uncomfortable silence. "Mr. Broots, is it?"

   I nod, though I'm pretty sure that he already knows who I am.

   "You caused quite a stir last night among the sweepers. Many of them were talking of murdering you in your sleep, and I'm pretty sure that you don't want to know what Mr. Lyle was talking of doing to you," he says with a chuckle.

   Gulp. There goes any thought of my Rambo behavior being a dream.

   Cox grows serious again. "Now then, I take it you still don't know what you're here for?"

   I clear my throat, before responding shakily, "nope. I'm still, uh, still pretty lost."

   "That's to be expected," he says with a nod. "But I'll fill you in with as much as I think you need to know."

    While he collects his thoughts I glance over at Lia, and see that she's turned (as much as her bindings will allow) away from Mr. Cox. She obviously has a deep loathing for this guy. Either that, or she senses the true man behind his clever façade. If it's the latter, then she's an excellent judge of character.

   "Well," Cox begins, finally ready to give me an explanation, "I suppose I'll start with the obvious. You are here to do a job for the Centre. Dr. Raines is overseeing a special project, which, if I am to understand, you have encrypted the data on, and we've recently been having a spot of trouble progressing. There appears to be a problem with the programming, and the technicians we have stationed there have not been able to find out what is amiss. Therefore, it was decided that an extra pair of hands would be a amelioration."

   "Amelior-what?"

   "Amelioration," Cox reiterates. "In more basic terms, an improvement."

   I deadpan. "Your technicians are having major trouble with the code to a complex program, and to fix it you brought one more guy?"

   On the far left Lia gives a light snort of amusement.

   For a brief moment I see a spark of anger in Mr. Cox's eyes, and I shirk back in my seat. I still haven't forgotten the wax statues Jarod made when he was trying to warn us about this guy, and the image of me about to get my head chopped off is hanging overhead ominously.

   "I've been away from the Centre for too long to remember how things are done there, Mr. Broots, but in the Triumvirate we do not tolerate insolence from our inferiors. I take it you grasp what I am trying to tell you?"

    I slowly nod my head.

    "Good. Communication is only truly effective when both parties reach an understanding. Now," he stands up, his hands going into his pockets, "I've told you why you're here. I think that it's time you told me what happened last night."

   I resist the urge to raise my eyebrows in complete and utter confusion. I'm still not sure what happened last night. And even if I was, what makes him think that I'd tell him about it? He's a member of the Triumvirate, for Christ's sake! I've dug a deep enough hole for myself already, why fill it with quicksand?

   "Well?" he asks again, a single eyebrow showing that he's awaiting a reply.

   "Lyle threatened my daughter," I finally manage to say, though it comes out a bit more shakily than I'd originally intended. "I…I won't let anyone hurt her."

   Cox studies me for a moment, judging my sincerity, and then nods. "Very well. It is as I expected. Mr. Parker's son is notorious for his…'interests', even in the Triumvirate, and if you were merely protecting your daughter then you will not be held accountable for your actions."

   My eyes widen to the size of dinner plates. Was I just tried for something? And did I just get off?

   "However," Mr. Cox continues, looking me straight in the eye, "I'd advise you not to go against Centre orders in the future. It could prove to be hazardous to your health."

   Now's the time that I should come back with a witty retort, or shake off this whole incident with a care-free laugh.

   "O-okay."

   Sigh. Courage is still not my strong point.

   Cox stands, and inclines his head in a nod of acknowledgement. "Good day, Mr. Broots. I will go and explain the circumstances of your little 'outburst' to Dr. Raines, and try to see to it that your bonds are removed."

   I watch him go, and once he's finally out of sight I slump back in my seat with relief. Lia glances over at me momentarily, more questions in her emerald green eyes as to what that conversation was about. I simply look over at her wearily, and she realizes how worn out I am mentally and emotionally. She goes back to staring out the window.

   And I think once more of my daughter, and how she's doing, before trying to get comfortable enough to sleep.

8:10 am, Sunday

Blue Cove, Delaware

Ms. Parker's Home

(Sydney)

Would that I could sigh with enough might to bring mountains to their knees. With all that is happening, I'm sure that it would be an excellent way to release all of the anxiety that is eating away at me.

   Ms. Parker moved the "party" over to her home around half an hour ago. An hour after Debbie had fallen asleep (an hour during which we discussed the current situation), it was decided that her house was not the ideal place to calm the girl down and slowly coax her back to into being able to relax. Even in the deepest stages of her slumber she's been heavily immersed in wild and fervent dreams…or nightmares. The REM (rapid eye movement) behind her lids told us easily that her rest was not a peaceful one. The girl is carrying more worries than any of us right now, and my heart pains me to see her like this.

    I'm actually still a bit surprised that Ms. Parker suggested bringing the girl to her home. I know I shouldn't be. Ms. Parker is not a statue of stone, no matter how painstakingly she creates that mask. I shouldn't have to question her humanity. Ah, but I do. Nearly every day, I'm afraid. For if she truly is so kind, if underneath her years of Centre training there is still a pure and wholesome soul in that coldly beautiful body, then why does she still hunt him? She let Jarod go the last time; would she do it again? What reason could she possibly have to continue to track that innocent man down, and if she truly has not changed, why then is she suddenly so charitable towards Debbie?  It is as though she has two distinct personalities wrestling for control, and one will manage to get the other into a headlock before it is flipped onto its back and forced into submission by the other side.

   I reflect back upon my thoughts with an amused chuckle.

   Even now, with all that's going on, it seems that I can't abandon the role of the psychiatrist.

   My nose twitches and then wrinkles at the faint but clearly recognizable smell of tobacco. I get up from the armchair that I was relaxing in, push open the screen door leading to the front of the house, and step out onto the porch. Ms. Parker is sitting on her bench, her arms folded against the world and the cold as she takes long drags from a cigarette. I move to stand before the "ice queen" and look down at her admonishingly.

    "I thought you'd quit, Parker."

   She takes another drag, blowing out the smoke in a slow, deliberate manner before saying, "and I'd thought that you'd promised to try and stay out of my personal life, Syd."

   "I promised no such thing," I say softly. "And the only reason I pry is because I'm the only one who will. It's healthy to talk about things with others, like you used to talk about things with me."

    She narrows her eyes. "Freud, these cigarettes are healthier than my talks with you."

    Her cold remark stings me, and I find myself bristling with anger and hurt. Fine. If she wants to act like a child, then I shall treat her like one. Before she can react I snatch the still-burning cigarette from her fingers and throw it to the ground. Then, with a small amount of pleasure, I grind it into the pavement with my shoe. She looks up at me, appalled.

   I give her a steady and stony gaze. "You are not the only one worried about Broots, Parker, and it's time you realized that."

   "I know that," she hisses, clearly angry. "What does that have to do with anything?"

   I stare down at her pointedly. "Everything. That's why you were smoking, wasn't it? You needed a stress reliever and drinking alcohol would be far too obvious."

   She stands up, bubbling over with rage at my too-true accusations. "Why don't you just back off, Freud?"

   "I'm not going to let you harm yourself."

   "They're just cigarettes."

   "This is about far more than a simple addiction, Parker!"

   She gapes in shock at my uncharacteristic yell. I quickly become ashamed at raising my voice so loudly, and soften it.

   "Parker, Broots is gone, his daughter is shaken, and neither of us knows what to do."

   "Tell me something I don't know," she says, rolling her eyes. "What's your point?"

   I take deep and silent breath. "My point is that while neither of us know what to do, you and I both know someone who might."

    "Oh hell no," she says angrily, quickly turning and entering her home.

    I jog in after her and follow her into the kitchen. "Parker, think about it! Jarod knows better than either of us how to retrieve information from the Centre, and he may know a way to find out where Broots has gone and why."

   She whirls on me, clenching her fists. "No. Not this time. I'm tired of begging for help from that twisted lab experiment every time we get stuck on a question."

   "Jarod is not a lab experiment, and he is perhaps the best chance we have at solving this. If we could somehow contact him…"

    "And say what?" she glares at me. "Ask him to help us? Tell him it's important?"

    "Yes!" I lightly pound my fist on the counter for emphasis. "That is precisely what we'd say. Jarod has helped us many times before, and he would help. I know he would."

   "You know him less than you think, Freud," she criticizes.

   I stiffen. Another hit too close to home. I find myself irrationally wanting to insult her, or storm out in a rage. But, while she usually may be able to use that scythe-like tongue to cut men to their knees, I am a psychiatrist, and that is more than enough armor to use against her verbal assaults.

   "Parker, now is not the time to attempt to drown me in a lake of guilt for the actions and decisions I made when I was younger. I have done that enough over the past few years for the both of us. What it is time for, is for you to let go of your irrational behavior where Jarod is concerned, swallow your admirable but stubborn pride, and ask him for help."

   For a moment she just glowers at me, quivering with suppressed ire. I have done nothing but speak truth, and sometimes the truth can be a deadly weapon. Ms. Parker holds my fixed stare, and then the fight seems to leave her. Like a popped balloon she visibly deflates, the stress lines on her face becoming more profound and a haggard look in her eyes aging her at least ten years.

   "All right," she whispers, "hold on."

   She walks past me to the stairs in the living room, and goes up.

   I watch her with more than a little shock. She shouldn't have given up that easily. It is almost as though her spirit has broken, and the façade that she's worn to hide it took too much power to keep up. I know that these past few days have taken a toll on her, but to have this drastic an effect… Either I haven't been paying enough attention, or her mask is better constructed than I'd thought. Knowing me, though, it is probably the former.

   She descends the stairs a minute later, holding a small, aged slip of paper in her hands. I stare at it in curiosity, and she holds my gaze, a haunted look in her eyes.

    "Jarod has always sent me stuff, Syd," she explains quietly. "And one year, on the anniversary of my mother's death, he sent me a card with his cell phone number in it, should I ever… should I ever need to talk to him."

   Without waiting for a comment from me (which is probably for the best as she'd most likely be waiting a very, very long time) she takes out her cell and prepares to dial, but then pauses and gazes up at me in question.

   "What should I say?"

   I give her a warm, sensitive smile.

   "Whatever you need to, Parker."

8:47 pm, Sunday

Blue Cove, Delaware

Holiday Inn

Rm. 109

(Jarod)

I chuckle softly as I watch one of my favorite actors-- Bugs Bunny --trick the Tasmanian devil into eating a stick of dynamite. Astrea gives me a look over from where she's playing Arthur at chess, but more or less leaves me to my own devices. Just as she has her need to go out at night, I have my need to laugh at senseless entertainment. Especially when that senseless entertainment is so darn funny.

   Then, unexpectedly interrupting Bugs' timeless line, "What's up, doc?" I hear the instantly recognizable sound of a cell phone ringing.

   My cell phone.

   Both Astrea and I exchange nervous looks, knowing that no one should have my number. Apprehensively, I click off the television and pick up the impatiently ringing cell. I look down at my caller ID, and the name I see there causes me to turn on the phone so fast that the motion is a blur.

   "Ms. Parker?" I whisper, my throat suddenly hoarse.

   Silence.

   "Ms. Parker?" I ask again, becoming worried. "Are you there?"

   There's another moment of stillness, but then I hear a harsh sigh. "Yeah, Lab Rat. I'm here."

   Despite the insulting nickname that I have learned to grow numb to, my heart swells at the sound of her voice. She didn't throw it away. After all these years she's still kept the card, and the number inside of it.

   "You kept it," I say with joy, unable to keep it back.

   "Yeah. Look, Jarod, there's a problem that, as usual, it seems only you can solve."

   I sit down on my bed. "What kind of problem? We're having one of our own at the moment."

   Astrea is listening with rapt attention, her sensitive ears probably picking up both sides of conversation. Arthur seems to not have noticed what is going on, and is ignoring my dialogue as he desperately tries to get out of the 'check' that Astrea has put his king into.

   I can almost hear as the woman on the other line runs a hand through her hair, and easily imagine that she's pacing. "Jarod, I know you and that… that 'girl' are trying to figure out something, I heard about the Centre break-in, but Syd needs your help with something."

   " 'Syd needs'? "

   "All right, we need. Some time last night Broots and his daughter received a visit from Lyle."

   I feel as though the wind has been knocked out of me, and hear Astrea's snarl. I quickly glance over at her, relieved that she hasn't lost control. She seems to be suppressing her "transformation", but is obviously fighting hard to keep it that way.

   "What happened?" I ask.

   "We're not really sure at this point. All we could get from Debbie is that Lyle either insinuated that he was going to do something to her, or he threatened her-- we're not sure which. Then, supposedly, Broots attacked him."

   "Broots what?"

   "He attacked him. We were just as surprised when we found out. So, like I was saying, Broots attacked him, there was a struggle, and the next thing Debbie knew, Lyle and the sweepers were driving away and her father was gone."

   I mull over this shocking information in silence. There are dozens of possibilities of what could have happened to the loveable technician, and I don't find any of them particularly appealing. He's been having a rough week, that's for sure.

   "So you'd like me to find him." I don't add on the "if he's still alive", but I can sense that both of us know what I mean.

   "Yes," she admits rather grudgingly. "We need you to find him."

   "I'll have to think about this, you know. I wouldn't be the only one involved if I decided to help you."

    "I know that," she hisses in frustration. "But we don't have much time. For all I know, we might not have any."

    "I'm taking that into consideration. Astrea and I-" my eyes widen as I realize what I just said, and before my highly intellectual mind can quickly come up with a way to backpedal over my slip-up, Ms. Parker calls me on my mistake.

   " 'Astrea'?' " She asks with curiosity and a touch of smugness. "Who is 'Astrea', Jarod?"

   Feeling a spark of anger I growl into the phone, "look, do you want my help or not?"

   "Yes," she responds in an equally livid tone.

   "Then let me do my job." I feel bad for speaking to her like this (which I secretly know is absurd) but decide that now isn't the time to be apologizing. "I'll look up whatever information I can, and when I've either found something or found the absence of something, I'll call you."

   "Fine," she says, still fuming at my previous manner, and then hangs up on me.

   I put down my cell phone with a heavy, laden sigh, and massage my temple. Astrea comes and sits beside me on the bed, taking a deep breath.

   "So… we have a decision to make."

   "Yep."

   "We can either find out what happened to Broots, look up a way to cure my 'illness', or draw up a plan to save my sister."

   "Those do seem to be the only options," I admit.

   She muses on something for a moment. "Do you want to solve this the usual way?"

   I shrug slightly, too weary to come up with anything else at the moment. "Sure."

   Astrea stands and walks over to the closet, and then stops momentarily to move one of her pieces on the chessboard.

   "Checkmate."

    While Arthur stares in disbelief at the configuration on the board, she continues her path to the closet, unzips my backpack, and pulls out one of the items inside.

   I sit up straighter and she hands me the object.

   "Make it count."

   I nod solemnly. "I will."

   There's a moment of great anticipation as I hold up the item almost reverently, and give it a slight shake.

   "Is it best for Astrea and I to drop everything we're doing, take the advice of my childhood-crush-turned-mortal-enemy, and find out what's happened to Broots?"

    I groan and lay back on the bed as I receive the Magic 8-Ball's simple answer.

    'The way I see it, yes'

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

                                                               Review Returns:

   Earthdrago: Yeah, I know what you mean about finding out an author isn't finished yet. Sorry. Hopefully I'll be able to update quickly enough for you. Thanks for the many reviews, and maybe I WILL bring back Shadow Elf, the Bard. Hrm…

   Rem-Cycle: Somehow there are two reviews for the last chapter so, uh…. I suppose I'll answer both. Yep, they ARE going to be checking on "Project Location", and I'm absurdly pleased that I've been able to keep you clueless as to what's happening next. I just love surprises… And as to your last review, your first line scared me. I was certain that I was going to receive an ugly and lethal flame. Instead, I received a kind nudge (or shove, depending on your point of view) to update faster. And, if I may say so, it certainly motivated me. Thanks!

   Pretender Fanatic: Four times a day? *chuckle* Well, it might be considered obsessive if it was five times a day, but if it's only four… Anywho, thanks for the review! (Hey, that rhymed! I'm a poet and I didn't know it!)

   Trivnbugs: Yes, this story is still alive (though it may not seem that way sometimes). The reason that the Centre let Broots sit back with Lia is because they don't (even after what's happened) take him seriously, and since Lia is mute, they don't believe that they could communicate anyways. Thanks for the review and compliments! Hope you enjoyed the chapter!

   Onisius: Will Broots become protective of her? Hrm… maybe, maybe… My characters seem to have a life of their own, and it's really up to them, Lol. Thanks and I hope you liked it!