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.
Author's Note: A few responses to the lovely reviews I have received:
Vid Z.: It would be safe to assume that this will become JMPR. (heart)
nightowl: don't browse too far back, it ruins the illusion that I know what I'm doing ;-) However, I appreciate your support. So... thanks!
To everyone else: your kind words urge me forward. Thank you for the inspiration!
The Final Legacy
By Bec-Bec
Chapter 3
Faceless
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Miss Parker stared at herself in the mirror, examining her cheekbones, the icy coldness of her eyes, the arch of her eyebrows. She wondered briefly how often Jarod looked at himself in the same manner. How often he stood there wondering if he was simply the sum of these composite features. Just a human, so much the same as anybody else. Knowing that it wasn't the case, but wondering just the same.
"Who am I?" The words slipped from her mouth unbidden.
Jarod had left her alone over an hour ago, knowing she would need the time to come to terms with what he had given her.
Earlier, she had projected a facade. A sharp attitude and stone face to deter Sydney and Broots from probing her. But here, by herself, there was nothing to hide behind.
She turned her head to the side and lifted her chin, examining the way the muscles in her neck flexed and stretched. Just the same as everyone else. But not.
Her reflection glared back at her. There were no smile lines around her eyes, no scars from childhood, no freckles from the sun, nothing but the lightest etching of life. Glassy, hard, and dark.
Miss Parker reached out and touched the mirror with the tips of her fingers. She was empty.
The Centre had permeated every fiber and molecule of her being, simulating her entire existence. Simulating her.
It shouldn't have been a surprise. Nothing should have been a surprise anymore.
They had tested her, molded her, done every possible thing they could imagine to strip her of her humanity, of her ability to care and accept the care of others. And now she knew it had been their pre-meditated goal.
Jarod's file hadn't just contained a piece of her past; it had held years or her life. Directive after directive of the Centre's plans to mold her into an assassin.
She had been a cog in their system, just another test-subject. They had conditioned her differently than the others. There were no simulations or pretends. Things were simply done. People killed. And then she was measured and tested again.
Her mother, Thomas, her father... there were even outlines on Sydney and Broots.
Anyone she had ever cared about... except her childhood friend. The one person who wasn't expendable to whatever master plan they had devised. So instead, they had trained her to hate and distrust him. They made him their scapegoat, blamed him for all of their strikes against her.
They had tried to harden her. To make her impermeable to anything. The truest ice queen. But they had underestimated her. They had trusted her facade. This facade.
She stared at herself in the mirror, suddenly terrified of what she saw. Her father's ice cold eyes. His stiff jaw. Nothing was hers.
She turned the sink on and started to scrub at her face, removing every touch of make-up. Her entire mask. But when she looked in the mirror, she still didn't see herself. What she saw was a wet and ragged Catherine Parker, completely defeated. She couldn't help but flashback to her mother's stricken face. Her suicide. Miss Parker gasped, her hand flying to her mouth.
She backed away from the mirror, stumbling into the shower stall behind her. She curled up in the corner, and reached for the faucet. An icy cold spray showered down on her.
All she wanted was to wash away down the drainpipes.
----
Jarod knocked a second time. "Miss Parker?"
He had left her alone to sober up and absorb the weight of what he had handed her. But after two hours of pacing the street outside her hotel, he found himself anxious and unable to focus.
He stared at Miss Parker's hotel door, with worry.
When a third knock failed to yield a response, his worry escalated to anxiety and panic. He hesitated for only a moment, wanting to respect Miss Parker's privacy, but fear for her safety overtook him.
He picked the lock as quickly as possible, bursting into Miss Parker's room.
"Parker?"
The bedroom was empty, but he could hear water running in the shower. He breathed a short sigh of relief: she simply hadn't heard him because of the water.
He walked to the bathroom doorway, eyes averted, and knocked on the doorjamb. "Parker?"
Still no answer.
Jarod's brow furrowed. "I'm coming in." He walked into the bathroom cautiously. "I hope you're decent." He smiled wryly, knowing how irritated she would be.
His face fell immediately.
Miss Parker sat, rocking back and forth, soaked to the bone.
Jarod turned the water off, and instead of pulling her from the shower, he simply sat down next to her and rested a hand on her shoulder.
He had been here many times. Adrift in a sea of darkness. Anchorless. Without identity. Completely friendless and alone.
But he wasn't. And neither was she.
Together they swayed, back and forth, back and forth.
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Author's Note: It didn't seem right to break the mood by adding a more plot-driven scene to the end or beginning of this. This chapter is part of Parker's journey... a journey that I will expand on in the following chapter.
Cheers. And I'll see you again soon.