Billie by Ginger, admin

1. Part 1 by Ginger

2. Part 2 by Ginger

3. Part 3 by Ginger

4. Part 4 by Ginger

5. Part 5 by Ginger

6. Part 6 by Ginger

7. Part 7 by Ginger

8. Part 7b by Ginger

9. Part 8 by Ginger

10. Part 9 by Ginger

11. Part 10 by Ginger

12. Part 11 by Ginger

13. Part 12 by Ginger

14. Part 13a by Ginger

15. Part 13b by Ginger

16. Part 14 by Ginger

17. Part 15 by Ginger

Part 1 by Ginger
A WARNING: The following contains, among other things, elicit drug use, bucket loads of nookie, and disparaging remarks about Madonna. (Here I refer to the performer who, for reasons I cannot fathom, has recently adopted a British accent even though she was born and raised in the great state of Michigan, not the figure millions worship as the mother of Christ. She would be "The Madonna" and I would never associate her good name with something like this.)

ANOTHER WARNING: In other words, this fic is rated *****NC-17***** for a DARN GOOD REASON. If you haven't already moved on to the next message, you should probably be ashamed of yourself. I know I am but when has that ever stopped me?

A FURTHER WARNING: The following takes place on a farm. Therefore, please refer to and heed my dearest Mandy's previous warning about a certain synonym for the word ROOSTER!

A FINAL WARNING: If you were born before 4/10/85 then I'll see you at my next fic, you whippersnapper!

DISCLAIMER: The characters of Jarod and Miss Parker are not my own. I am borrowing solely for the purpose of getting them l..., ahem, solely for use in a piece of fiction for which I have not, and will not ever, receive monetary compensation. If you sue me over this, guys, then it will all have to come out in open court. You cannot possibly want that.

The character of Grace Wilhelmena Babcock is my own, inspired by and in tribute to someone very dear to me who, even though she departed this world over a decade ago, is always with me. She is in no small way responsible for my wacky, adventurous side and I have a feeling she'd get a real kick out of this.


Billie, Part 1
By Ginger


"Oh, God," Parker groaned as she climbed out of the comfort of her air-conditioned sedan into the oppressive noontime heat of a stifling mid-August day. "Deliver me from the set of `Hee-Haw.'"

A rooster scurried by a tad too close for comfort causing her to jump back, banging her hip against the car door. "Perfect," she spat through clenched teeth. "Here I am again, in hell!"

Too bad hell doesn't have a rewards program like the big hotel chains, she mused as she straightened her stance and strode up the walkway toward the door of the farmhouse. She'd have earned a free trip to Tahiti by now.

"Hello!" she called through the screen door and an elderly, but spry looking, woman appeared after a few minutes. Peering through the screen she gasped and brought a hand up to her mouth.

"Good Lord! You look just like..."

"Her, I know," Parker completed wearily. It was an old refrain that had ceased to cause the flutter of excitement it once had.

"Why, dear, please come in out of the ghastly heat," the old woman offered as she pushed open the screen door. "My, my, Catherine's little girl. Dear, sweet, Catherine: may God rest her soul," she continued as Parker followed her into the house.

"Let's hope so," Parker muttered under her breath, looking around as her geriatric hostess led her into the parlor.

She motioned toward a pretty, if prehistoric, loveseat for Parker to take a seat then sat down in an equally ancient looking armchair adjacent to it. Looking into Parker's eyes, she sighed and commented,

"I was beginning to wonder if you'd ever come. I feared I'd meet my maker before you made it out here."

"I couldn't have come any sooner. I've only just found out about...this place...you."

"Hmmm...funny..." the woman said with a quick nod then glanced anxiously out the window. Parker followed her gaze toward a barn off in the distance.

"Is something wrong?" Parker inquired warily, wondering if she'd made a monumental blunder, failed to adequately cover her tracks back at the office.

"Well, my dear, that very much depends on you and..." She glanced out the window again, just in time to see a figure emerge from the barn. This time Parker hopped up and paced over to the window. She looked out, blinking a few times to adjust to the near- blinding glare of the sun, then her eyes grew wide.

"You son-of-bitch!" she growled before charging past her rattled hostess and stalking angrily out of the house.

"Oh dear," the old woman whispered to herself. "I'd better put out some refreshments."

* * * *

Stony silence and an icy glare; he on one side of the circa 1950s chrome kitchen table with the formica top - probably the most state-of-the-art item in the house - and she on the other. Neither had spoken a word since their minor `altercation' outside but the daggers were flying back and forth nevertheless. They'd never needed many words to communicate.

Their hostess nervously, and remarkably swiftly given her age, moved about the kitchen as she set out a meal for her disappointingly adversarial guests: a pitcher of iced tea, ham salad sandwiches on her homemade bread, and a luscious-smelling, if she did say so herself, fruit salad, garnished with coconut, no less. For dessert she would put out a very special treat. The occasion certainly called for it. Margaret's boy had already demonstrated a love of sweets and couldn't seem to get enough of her baked goods; hopefully Catherine's baby would permit herself a small indulgence, although, by the looks of her, she probably rarely ingested any real food, just that crap the city folk eat that looks and smells like something destined for the mulch pile.

When she finished setting the food out in front of them, she glanced ruefully at one then the other, then sighed, silently backing away to take her seat on a stool at the large wooden counter, where she set about shucking peas for dinner.

After a time, Parker shifted in her seat and remarked caustically, "One of the `Village People,' I presume? I didn't realize they'd added `farmerboy' to the act." Jarod was wearing a pair of overalls, under which he was shirtless. And his exposed skin, stretched over annoyingly taught muscle, was unnervingly tanned.

He glowered. "I am tired of having a gun shoved in my face, Parker, particularly your gun." She wasn't wearing any makeup for some reason, probably because of the heat, and he could see the delicate, faint freckles that dotted her nose. And, even though he'd known of their existence, their sudden reemergence made him uneasy for some reason.

"And I'm tired of your incessant meddling in my life! And I'm even MORE tired of your unhealthy obsession with MY DEAD MOTHER!"

"YOUR mother! What does this have to do with YOUR..."

They both glanced over at the woman silently shucking peas. With her back to them, they could not detect the enigmatic smile now gracing her lips.

"When did you get here?" she asked tersely, crossing her arms.

"Day before yesterday," he replied.

"AND?" she demanded.

"And what?" he shot back, annoyed.

"I want to know EVERYTHING, Jarod. I have a right to..."

"HA! That's rich, you talking about rights."

"It is both immoral and cruel for you to withhold information about my mother."

"Again..." He sneered. "That's just plain ironic coming out of your mouth."

"You fucking son-of-bitch!" she yelled, bolting upright into a standing position, leaning forward to place her palms flat on the tabletop, and glaring at him menacingly. He didn't flinch a muscle but simply glared back at her.

"That'll be quite enough, thank you!" the old woman chided thunderously, surprising them both. In unison, they looked over to find that she had swung around to face them. Parker unconsciously sank back into her seat.

"Jarod doesn't know anything because I haven't told him anything. And I won't tell him, or you, a blessed thing until I'm good and ready to. I'm 93 years old and, if I can exercise a little patience at my age, then the two of you sure as heck ought to be able to. Now simmer down and eat your lunch!"

With that, she maneuvered back around and rededicated her attention to the task at hand. Parker and Jarod exchanged a fleeting look then set about sheepishly dishing out their meal, which they consumed in grudging silence as each stole the occasional surreptitious peek at the other.

* * * *

"WHAT?" Parker bellowed incredulously as Jarod looked on uneasily. He was none too happy himself.

"You heard me, young lady. I've got my bridge club today," the old woman explained as she untied and slipped off her apron, meticulously folding it then laying it on the stool she'd just vacated. "Cora is on her way over here right now to pick me up and I have every intention of going. One must keep up an active social life, my dear, keeps one young. I'll be back in plenty of time to finish preparing dinner. Now Jarod." She turned to her attention to her other guest. "Please be a dear and go down to the root cellar and bring up some of that lovely sweet corn. Oh, and show Miss Parker where her room is." She paused a moment, a nascent smile playing across her lips. "It's the one right across from yours."

Parker shot Jarod a withering glare and he quickly looked away, coloring slightly. He was worried, her freckles weighing heavily on his mind ever since the moment he'd set eyes on them.

"Listen, old lady," Parker warned, "if you think I'm really going to hang around here all day and..."

"Parker," Jarod interrupted.

"Shut up!" she snapped back.

Their hostess heaved a heavy sigh and shook her head. "It really doesn't pay to get so worked up in this heat. You'll either stay or go; it's your choice. But the only way you'll get what you've come for is to join us for dinner and stay the night. I refuse to be badgered and I won't be intimidated. Just ask Jarod." He nodded resignedly in assent.

"Now I recommend the two of you stay put and enjoy...my stars, I almost forgot!" She walked over to a cupboard and produced a plate piled high with her most delicious confection.

"Dessert!" she announced with a broad smile as she set the plate down on the table. "Enjoy! See you in a few hours, kids!"

When they heard the car drive off, Parker launched out of her chair and began pacing like a caged tiger. Jarod remained seated in a relaxed position, his arms folded across his chest, but his eyes tracked her every move. The mood she was in, he was thankful her gun now resided atop a rather large manure pile, where he had angrily tossed it during their initial encounter.

"I don't' fucking believe this!" she snarled.

"Why don't you sit down, Parker. It's too damned hot to pace."

"You think I'm just going to sit here and..."

"You have a better idea?"

"Yeah, as a matter of fact, I do. She'll be gone for hours, right? Why not search the place?"

He chuckled. She stopped pacing right in front of him, folded her arms and asked, "Something I say funny, rat boy?"

"Do you HONESTLY think that hasn't occurred to me? I spent the entire night before last going through the whole place, attic to root cellar, not to mention the barn and the other out buildings. And, when she was preparing breakfast yesterday morning, I went through her room...thoroughly. I have a feeling whatever is to be learned here is locked securely in the mind of Miss Grace Wilhelmena Babcock." He tapped on his temple for emphasis.

"And I'm just supposed to take your word for it?" she challenged, leaning forward slightly.

"Would I still be here if I'd found anything?" he asked with a smirk.

"Splendid!" she barked, then turned away from him and resumed her pacing.

He shrugged then pulled the plate bearing their dessert toward him. "I do believe Billie is a force to be reckoned with," he remarked with a sigh. "Good cook, though," he added before picking up one of the small, aromatic squares and biting into it.

"Mmmm..." he hummed as he chewed. "Very good!"

Parker glanced over at him in disgust then glanced heavenward before retaking her seat across the table from him.

"You really should try one," he chirped. "They are very tasty...spicey...I think you'll like `em." He popped the rest of the square into his mouth and grabbed another.

She watched with contempt for a time but found her eyes increasingly drawn to the plate. Whatever they were, they did smell damn good. Jarod noticed and had to hide his smile.

"Come on, just one," he tempted. "Might as well. You heard her; we're not getting what we came for until she's good and ready." He pushed the plate toward her.

Parker grudgingly snapped up a piece and cast him a sarcastically sweet grin before biting into it. "Oh my God!" she blurted before she could stop herself. "This is so good, it's almost better than..."

Their eyes met for an instant but both averted them quickly. Jarod cleared his throat and Parker flushed slightly.

"Well," he announced as he stood, reaching over to grab another square of Billie's addictively delicious creation. "I think I'll go down to the root cellar. When I get back I'll show you to your room."

"Not on your life, lab rat," she replied as she stood. "I'm not letting you out of my sight for a second."

"Whatever," he sighed before popping the square into his mouth and turning to exit the room. Parker followed closely behind him, snatching up another square of her own on the way out of the kitchen.

* * * *

A basket of corn at their feet, Jarod and Parker sat side by side on Billie's front porch, both staring blankly into the distance.

"Sure is hot today," he commented amiably.

"Sure is," she replied, equally amiably.

He blinked for the first time in what seemed like ages and turned to her. "You look pretty today, Miss Parker. I like the way you look without all that makeup. You don't need it." He had not the slightest intention of saying so and only realized he had when he heard the words leaving his lips.

"Thanks, Jarod. Nice tan," she responded good-naturedly then wondered where the hell his comment, or hers for that matter, had come from.

"Something funny..." he started but didn't complete the thought.

"Yeah, funny." she affirmed with a slow nod. A couple of beats later, she started to giggle. The sound caught him completely off-guard and he stared at her for a time, gap-jawed, until he, too, began to giggle.

"What are we laughing at?" he finally managed to inquire.

"I have absolutely no idea," she replied as she fought to catch her breath.

"Something funny." he repeated.

"Yeah, I know, you already..." Her eyes grew wide as it dawned on her. She shook her head slowly then announced matter-of- factly, "We're stoned, Jarod."

"What?" he looked at her incredulously.

"We're stoned. The crazy old bat must be using Alice B. Toklas's recipe. Haven't enjoyed that particular treat since my college days and, to her credit, Billie's are much better than I remember, which is probably why it's just dawning on me. Well that and that fact that I'M STONED."

"You mean?"

"Yup, there's a special ingredient in there, cannabis sativa."

"I can't believe she drugged us!" he exclaimed, wide- eyed. "We have to do something!"

"Like?" She asked with a sigh as she leaned back on her elbows and closed her eyes.

Looking over at her, his eyes roamed slowly across her reclining form. "Like... like... I don't know."

"Frankly, I'm not feeling terribly ambitious right now. We'll deal with her later, when she gets home. Neither of us is in any condition to drive so we might as well wait it out here," Parker replied in a relaxed tone, her eyes still closed.

"Will you be alright?" Jarod asked as he leaned over her slightly, fixating on those delicate freckles of hers, just a few perfectly adorning her nose. One... two... three... four...

"I'll be fine and so will you. Just sit back and enjoy the buzz, Jarod."

He flopped on his back next to her and stared up at the porch roof. "They're wiggling," he observed after a time.

"What?"

"The beams.... up there." He pointed up at the porch roof.

"Maybe you should close your eyes," she advised.

He didn't close his eyes, deciding instead to turn his head and look at her. A wave of guilt washed over him and he reached into his pocket.

"Hey," he said, propping himself up on his side to face her. "What do you think this opens?" He held a key up and she opened her eyes to look at it.

"Where did you get that?" She raised an eyebrow at him.

"Found it yesterday, along with another photograph of my mother. Now I have two," he responded proudly.

"And when were you planning to tell me about this?" she inquired, sounding more amused than accusatory.

"Never," he replied wanly. "I didn't think it was any of your business."

"MY mother is MY business, Jarod."

"I didn't know YOUR mother had anything to do with this until YOU showed up here."

"You are SO full of shit, Jarod," she commented without anger but with a faint smile before taking the key from him and looking at it.

"A small chest of some kind or maybe a jewelry box?" She casually pondered the item as she held it up in front her eyes before closing her hand tightly around it.

"I'll take that back now, thank you."

"Like hell you will," she teased. "You have demonstrated that you're an untrustworthy little shit so I think I'll hold on to this for safe keeping."

"Parker, I'm not kidding." He cautioned as he endeavored, rather unsuccessfully, to suppress a smile.

"No way, Jose!" she quipped with a chuckle.

"I'm warning you!"

"Warn away, Wonderboy, you're not getting it back!"

"That's what you think!"

Jarod pounced on her and thus ensued a relatively low- intensity game of keep away, Parker managing to stay a step ahead of Jarod as he attempted to free the item in question from her tightly clenched fist. To do so she fell back on her greater experience with functioning in an impaired state as well as her childhood recollections of where he was ticklish. She eventually managed to slip the key down the top of her blouse, positioning it in a most strategic location. Jarod froze and she took the opportunity to shake him off and stand.

"I knew it!" she taunted. "You're not man enough to go after it!"

Looking up at her he swallowed hard, then replied determinedly,

"You wanna bet?"

# # # #
Part 2 by Ginger
And please see Part 1 for full disclaimer.

We launch right into the naughtiness here so, if it ain't your cup of tea or you're on the wrong side of the NC-17 dividing line, then I strongly recommend that you...

GO AWAY!!!!! NOW!!!!!

Billie ain't even in this part and the fic is named for her. That should tell you something. You have been warned.

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Billie, Part 2
By Ginger


Giggling, Parker ran down the hallway. Jarod had almost overtaken her on the stairs but had stumbled over the shoes she'd decided to abandon in the midst of their pursuit. She picked a door, burst through it, and slammed it closed behind her, taking a moment to catch her breath before spinning around to face it. She could hear him approaching and bit her lip in anticipation. She could feel beads of sweat running down her body; the heat was stifling. He slowly opened the door and stood in the doorway, adopting his best "Wild West" pose.

"Hand it over, Parker."

"Not gonna happen, Jarod. Not in THIS lifetime," she challenged, her eyes burning into his.

"Don't make me come in there," he warned.

"Chicken!" she teased and commenced clucking like the aforementioned bird to drive home her point.

"Am not," he said as he stepped into the room.

"Are too," she taunted then resumed clucking.

"Just so we're clear here, I did ask nicely."

Her only response was to continue clucking. A small voice in his head chanted: Don't do it, Jarod! Don't do it, Jarod! Don't do it, Jarod! And he might've listened to it were it not for those damned freckles on her nose. He paused a moment to count them again.

Four...five...six... there ARE six, just like I remembered!

He ignored the voice in his head and tackled her, sending them both tumbling onto the bed with a thud. Again, it wasn't much of a struggle, with Jarod quickly gaining the advantage this time, effortlessly pinning both her hands above her head with one of his and straddling her. And, despite his diminished capacity, and her squirming body, he easily tugged her blouse out of the waistband of her slacks and deftly unbuttoned it. Parting the material, he caught sight of the key, tucked beneath the clasp of her bra and pressing into her visibly damp, flawless ivory flesh. Again, he froze, fixating on the little brass key.

"C'mon, Jar, be a man," she prodded, her voice more soft than taunting.

He looked up at her and shot her one of his smirks, then pressed his index finger to her flesh, right above her belly button, followed by his middle finger, and slowly walked them up her soft skin, which was deliciously slippery with perspiration. She giggled. When he reached the clasp of her bra, he very gently pushed the key out from under it and grabbed it. Holding it in front of her face, he smiled sweetly and spoke softly,

"See? Got it."

He then relaxed his hold on her and Parker promptly disengaged to sit up. "Man, it's hot in here," she observed.

Jarod's face fell as she climbed off the bed. He carelessly tossed the key onto the nightstand then turned to watch her, his face brightening when she closed the door, which he had neglected to do when he entered the room. She then flicked on the wall switch to an overhead fan he'd forgotten all about. She peeled off her open blouse and tossed it on a chair then stood in the center of the room, hands on hips.

"You look silly," he remarked with a chuckle.

"Excuse me?" she responded, raising her eyebrows.

"You're shirtless!"

"Yeah, so what? You're shirtless."

"But I'm a man," he replied dumbly.

"Ostensibly," she shot back with a smirk. "That's one of many injustices that plagues our fucked up society: men can walk around shirtless when it's hot out, women cannot."

Jarod laughed. "I'm sorry, Parker, but it just looks so silly. A navy blue lace bra and a pair of linen pants."

"`Midnight blue' buddy and, hey, don't knock it. This look made Madonna millions," Parker pointed out as she began to chuckle herself.

"Oh, that's it!" he exclaimed. "Well that solves one puzzle that has baffled me since my escape. I KNEW it couldn't possibly have anything to do with her music." More laughter followed.

"So," Parker continued as her laughter subsided, "this look really doesn't work for you?"

"Well, if I had to be honest, I'd say no."

"Okay," she sighed. With a shrug, she proceeded to unceremoniously remove her pants, which joined her discarded blouse on the chair.

"Better?" she asked as she stood before him wearing only her matching "midnight blue" bra and panties.

"Much!" he answered, wide-eyed and nodding enthusiastically.

Parker smiled. It was very different from the smiles he remembered from their childhood and it made his heart beat faster. She calmly, gracefully strolled toward the bed as if parading around half-naked in front of Jarod were something she did everyday.

"On your back, Wonderboy," she ordered as she crouched down. He wordlessly flopped on his back then grinned up at the ceiling as he felt her remove his boots and socks.

"Now up on the bed, all the way!" she demanded and he, again, raised no objection.

When he was positioned comfortably on his back in the center of the bed, he inquired hopefully, "Now what?"

"Now, this," Parker replied as she scurried up on the bed and climbed atop his body, kneeling over him to straddle his torso then sitting back on her heels and coming to rest on his abdomen.

He emitted a deep moan at the sensation of her heat against him. "You're so warm," he whispered.

"It's hot as hell today, Jarod," she commented matter-of- factly as she leaned over to unfasten his overalls. When she completed the task, she flipped the bib over to expose his chest. Her eyes flashed approvingly and she licked her lips.

"Have I complimented you on your tan?" she asked distractedly as she ran the fingers of one hand over his muscled chest.

"Um, I don't know... ah!" She was now ardently fondling one of his nipples. "I th...think so, maybe."

"Well, if I haven't, it's one hell of a tan...tawny...even..." she described as her other hand joined in the exploration of his warm flesh, as slick with sweat as her own.

At some point, Jarod had unconsciously begun stroking the tops of her thighs, beautifully long limbs...soft...so very soft. And thus they remained for the longest time, each caressing the damp skin of the other until Parker commented lazily,

"Sure is hot today. Aren't you uncomfortable in those heavy overalls?"

"Well," he replied throatily, "now that you mention it."

Without another word on the matter, Parker foisted herself up on her knees and climbed off Jarod, allowing him to shimmy out of his overalls and kick them aside. She reclined beside him and propped her head up. He turned to her and, with a shy smile, observed,

"I..you...we haven't... you know... kissed."

"You wanna?" she inquired affably.

"You?" he asked hopefully.

"Okay," she said with a shrug and leaned in to kiss him. It started light and sweet but, before long, he had pulled her body on top of his, the full length of her stretched out against him as they kissed and kissed and kissed for what seemed like an eternity. Each languidly explored the other's body, hands skittering over perspiration-soaked flesh. There was no urgency to their actions; their pace unhurried. Eventually, Jarod's hands found their way to Parker's bottom, cupping her and tugging her into position astride his body. He then commenced grinding her pelvis against his, at which point she decided it was time to move things along. Pushing herself up off his body, she kneeled above him once more.

"Something wrong?" he asked in a raspy voice.

"Nope," she replied as she unclasped her bra.

His eyes grew wide and he smiled broadly as he took in the sight of her. "I REALLY wanna touch `em," he said as he continued to stare.

"Well, what are you waiting for?"

He reached up and gently cupped one breast, kneading it and stroking the erect nipple with his thumb. "I really wanna taste `em," he volunteered as his other hand moved up to take the other breast.

"Ya think?" she shot back with a smirk.

He sat up, gliding one hand into her hair and the other around her back before pulling her body forward and sinking down to capture a nipple between his teeth. He began gently nipping and sucking, applying just the right amount of pressure. Parker moaned contentedly, resting against him as she stroked his hair and tickled the sensitive flesh of his earlobes. They continued as such for a good, long while, until the sensation that had been slowly building since their wrestling match on the front porch had grown too intense for Parker to ignore. She took one of his hands in hers and slid it under the waistband of her panties.

He tore his mouth away from her body and gasped, looking up at her. "Wow," he uttered in a low voice.

"I know," she commented with a wry smile. "I'm gushing. What can I tell you, genius, you make me wet. Always have..." she tacked on before she could stop herself.

"I...I..." His head was spinning; he didn't know what to say. He didn't really want to SAY anything. All he wanted was to do was....

"Hasn't a girl ever told you that you make her wet?" she inquired amusedly. He shook his head no. The fact was no one had ever put it quite that way.

"You know me, Jarod..." She moaned as he began to stroke her hot, slippery flesh. "Never one to mince words," she added with a throaty chuckle which he answered with one of his own.

"Oh, man, we've got to do this," she whimpered then stilled the movement of his hand. Climbing off him, she quickly divested herself of her wet panties and tossed them aside. "You too, Jarod. Get rid of `em!" she demanded and he hastily tugged off his boxers before she climbed atop him again and instructed more gently, "Now lie back like a good boy and let me do this."

He swallowed hard and acquiesced, sinking back onto the bed as he gazed up at her naked body, his eyes greedily taking in every inch of her. She wrapped her hand firmly around him and smiled wickedly, giving him a playful stroke or two for good measure. He closed his eyes, emitting a deep groan of yearning, but quickly reopened them to meet hers.

"Nice, Wonderboy, real nice," she complimented with a wink. He cast her a mischievous grin in response. Parker then scooted into position and guided him inside her, sinking down slowly. Both moaned softly at the sensation of it.

Wincing, she stopped for a moment then explained, "Whoa, it's...it's been a while and I'm a little t...tight. But it's okay, I... we can do this."

She sank down further, taking him fully inside her. Licking her lips, she paused again. "Ooh, y.. you feel so good," she whispered shakily. "Y...yeah, we can do this."

"Parker..." His voice reverberated throughout her body and she shuddered. "Open your eyes." Her eyes opened slowly, glancing down to meet his. "Okay?" he asked sweetly, reaching up to cup her cheek.

"Oh yeah," she affirmed with a quick nod. "I just needed a second."

"Take as long as you like," he whispered. "I'm not going anywhere."

"Damn right you're not!" She grinned evilly then leaned forward to kiss him.

Bracing herself with her palms pressed flat against his chest, Parker set the pace as she began to move, very slowly at first but speeding up slightly with each and every thrust. Resting one hand gently on her hip, Jarod employed the other to caress her silky skin, exquisitely, wherever he could reach.

"So good..." she moaned. "So fucking good!"

He could only nod in agreement as he focused intently on her, watching her move, rhythmically and gracefully, on top of him. It was like a dream; she was like a dream, her hair flying as she tossed her head back, her flawless ivory skin flushed pink with arousal, the amazingly beautiful expression on her face as she reacted to the sublimely intense pleasure of it. Was it the effects of the chemical THC in his bloodstream, he wondered as he felt an almost painful pressure building within him, or was it her?

"You're perfect!" she cried out. "P...perfect fit! Oh, God, here it comes!"

With that came a sensation beyond description, beyond all reason, as her entire body began to shudder then twitch then convulse and she uttered a sound that fell somewhere between a scream and whimper, a sound almost otherworldly in its beauty. His body reacted swiftly to hers, bucking powerfully and momentarily levitating them both off the bed. When he flopped back, she collapsed onto him, her face coming to rest against his neck, their still-joined, sweat-soaked bodies trembling violently. As soon as the capacity for rational thought returned, Jarod concluded:

It's her alright; it's her.

# # # #
Part 3 by Ginger
Please see part 1 for full disclaimer and PLEASE NOTE THE RATING ON THIS ONE!

I can't believe I'm posting something like this from the home of my dear, sainted mother...;-)

Billie's missing from this part as well (and y'all know what that means;) but she will make a reappearance in the next one.

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Billie, Part 3
By Ginger


Drifting, half-asleep, Jarod became aware two things: a strange sound, rather like that of a pig snorting, and the sensation of his face pressed against something warm and soft. Rubbing his cheek against the warm softness, he made a slow, steady ascent into consciousness and strove to identify the sound and isolate its source. Jarod was somewhat bemused when he eventually discerned the sound to be snoring and himself to be the source. With that came the realization that his mouth was wide open and that he had drooled in his sleep. And if he had drooled in his sleep then...His eyes snapped open and he lifted his head to look down.

He had drooled into Miss Parker's belly button.

He knew he was as good as dead and for reasons that went far beyond this particular offense. Jarod wiped his mouth and carefully considered the pool of saliva. He wondered if he should attempt to surreptitiously mop up the little puddle, or simply slip away quietly and make a break for the border. Glancing up, he was startled to find Parker's eyes open. She was staring blankly down at him, her face completely unreadable. And thus constituted one of the single most terrifying moments of his life.

"Sorry about that," he offered sheepishly before raising himself up to roll off her.

"No big deal, when you consider the assortment of bodily fluids I'm wearing right now," she replied in a chillingly even tone, her voice emotionless.

He didn't like this. She was calm; too calm. An image flashed in Jarod's mind of Parker tearing him limb from limb with her bare hands. He knew he should say something; he wanted to say something, but found himself utterly at a loss for words.

"God, there is NO AIR in here," she observed after a time, breaking the tortuous silence. She dropped her head and sniffed, wrinkling her nose. "And I reek. Where's the bathroom?"

"Across the hall to your left," he replied, fashioning his voice into a relaxed tone even though he felt anything but.

She sat up and stretched with a groan, slipping off the bed. At the sensation of moisture seeping out of her navel, she glanced down and sighed. Shaking her head, she bent to pick up her panties then padded across the bedroom toward the door. When she reached it, she turned to him and inquired,

"Whose room is this? Yours?"

"Uh, no," he responded, praying his voice didn't hint at the thousand or so little explosions set off inside him by the sight of Parker casually strolling around naked. "My room is across the hall. This is your room."

"Lovely," she remarked coolly before turning to exit.

When the door closed behind her, Jarod buried his face in his hands and muttered, "Slick, genius, real slick. You're a dead man."

* * * *

Leaning forward and resting her palms on the sink, Parker stared into the mirror for several minutes. She pondered her reaction to recent events, or rather lack thereof. After all, she had awakened that morning fully expecting to go on yet another wild goose chase in the quest for the truth about her mother, whatever the hell that might be. Afterwards she figured she'd have dinner, maybe a couple drinks and, perhaps, end the day by ordering some dirty pay-per-view movies in her motel room. They were usually good for a cheap laugh or two.

Instead, like the bad penny he is, Jarod had turned up. They fought; he tossed her gun onto a big pile of shit; a crazy old lady fed them spiked brownies; and she promptly fucked his brains out. Yeah, the day had taken a bit of an unexpected turn. So, why was she so calm?

As she turned on the tap to wash her underwear, a necessity since her luggage was back at the motel and she obviously wasn't going anywhere for a while, Parker's thoughts drifted to her college days. She had always come down quietly. It was when she was high that she couldn't keep her mouth shut, which was one of two reasons she had given up that particular vice so early in life; regular drug tests at the Centre being the other. Apparently that hadn't changed: she had foolishly blurted out that she'd always wanted him. Maybe he wouldn't remember that, she thought optimistically as she turned off the tap and wrung out her panties. After all, he was rather preoccupied at the time.

She opened the cupboard under the sink and was pleased to find a blowdryer. By the looks of it, Billie had acquired it back in the days of roller disco and Parker emitted a sigh of relief when she turned it on and it actually worked. She made quick work of drying her underwear; there wasn't much to them really. Like hell he won't remember, it came to her as she hung her freshly laundered panties on a hook on the back of the door. He'll remember alright, she mused, and I'm toast.

And if even he didn't remember, what difference would it make? He'd still know as well as she did that an acre of marijuana couldn't compel her to do anything she didn't truly want to do. What their inadvertent intoxication had given her was an excuse to act on a long- suppressed desire, plain and simple. In the final analysis, she didn't have any choice but to adopt her present demeanor. To do anything else would be not only disingenuous but also undignified. Her pursuit of Jarod had already cost her enough dignity; she sure as hell wasn't about to part with more.

Parker sank down onto the fuzzy pink cover of the toilet seat and rested her forehead in one hand, thereby adopting a modified version of the pose of Rodin's "Thinker." And there she sat, buck naked in the middle of the afternoon in the bathroom of a woman she barely knew, unmoving and staring off into space as she contemplated everything and nothing at all.

* * * *

"Parker?" he called softly through the door after knocking a few times and getting no response. His voice betrayed a faint hint of alarm.

"Yes?" she replied, her trance finally broken.

"Are you okay? You've been in there a while and I haven't heard the shower come on."

Parker took a deep breath then stood and opened the door to face him. His eyes widened a fraction at the sight of her still-nude form. He had put on his boxers.

"Parker?" he uttered dumbly.

"We better get cleaned up," she stated matter-of-factly, nodding behind her toward the bathtub. His eyes grew wider.

"But..."

"I'm guessing there's only one bathroom in this house," she commented with a trace of impatience in her voice.

"There's a half-bath on the first floor," he explained.

"Only one shower then," she qualified as she turned away from him and paced over to the bathtub. Pulling the shower curtain aside, she continued, "And time is ticking away. Billie will be back soon and, no offense, Jarod, but you stink. So do I. We reek of...well, you know what we reek of."

Jarod gingerly stepped into the room and gently closed the door behind him then stood and watched, bemused, as Parker leaned over the tub to turn on the tap and adjust the temperature of the water.

"Any fresh towels around here?" she called over her shoulder.

"In the cabinet over there," he answered meekly. "I....I'll get them." He walked over to the cabinet and opened it, glancing warily over his shoulder at her as he pulled out three fresh towels: one for her body, one for her hair, and one for him.

"C'mon, Jarod, we don't have all day," she remarked as she stepped into the tub and flicked the lever to divert the water from tap to the showerhead.

He turned to see the spray hitting her body and gulped. As Parker started to close the curtain that encircled the tub, she cast him a look that read: Well? Jarod moved slowly across the room, imaging how humiliating it would be to faint along the way. He set the folded towels on the counter next to the sink and swallowed hard again before removing his boxers and stepping into the tub through the small gap she had left open in the shower curtain.

She had her back to him and was already fully engaged in the process of lathering up her body. He stood awkwardly, silently behind her, his eyes shifting from her to his feet and back to her. After a few minutes, she reached over her shoulder and said,

"Here."

"Huh?"

"The soap." she clarified, turning her head slightly to glance over her shoulder. "I assume you need it."

"Uh, oh, yeah, thanks," he muttered shyly as he took it from her.

"We should probably switch places," she offered courteously as she turned to face him. "You can get the shower spray while I wash my hair."

"Good thinking," he replied with a quick nod.

They carefully sidestepped each other and proceeded as planned. Parker began to work the shampoo into her hair with one hand then turned to set down the shampoo bottle so she could employ the other likewise. That was when it caught her eye: the foamy white streaks of lather running down Jarod's tanned, muscular back to his perfectly rounded buttocks then down his strong, toned legs. She absently massaged her scalp as she fixated on the contrast between the milky white of the beads of soapy water and the warm doe brown of his skin, a contrast that weakened considerably as she tracked their progress to a region the sun didn't hit.

Museum quality, Parker mused, and before she even knew what she was doing, she had reached out to touch him, one hand lightly tickly his spine. He froze and probably even stopped breathing for a second or two.

"Parker, I think we should talk..."

"Move over," she instructed softly. "I need to rinse my hair."

He complied and she stepped under the spray, a small smile playing on her lips as he kept his back to her. When her hair was completely rinsed, she reached around Jarod, causing him to jump slightly. She picked up the shampoo bottle and squeezed a drop into her palm then set it down again before slipping her fingers into his hair.

He sighed then began, "I...I really think we should...."

"We've been talking for years, Jarod," she interrupted. "You add up all those late-night phone calls and it probably comes out to several solid weeks of talking. And where did it ever get us?" Her voice was low, her tone conversational, as she gently shampooed his hair. Her tasked completed, she instructed genially, "Rinse."

He stepped under the showerhead, still keeping his back to her, but this time she did not retreat to the other end of the tub. She simply stepped aside to give him access to the water, the backs of her calves hitting the side of the tub. As he rinsed his hair, she touched him again, this time raking her nails lightly over the firm skin of his back, making broad, circular patterns and moving lower and lower until she reached his derriere. His breath became visibly labored as she tickled the deliciously soft skin there and he reached forward to steady himself against the wall. Parker slid her hand around to the front of his body and nodded slowly, a wry smile gracing her lips. He gasped and shuddered at the sensation of her hand on him, the slow, steady strokes.

Resting her chin against his shoulder, she requested, "Turn around, Jarod."

"I don't...I..." he whispered, his voice quivering as he felt her body press up against him.

"C'mon, turn around," she coaxed softly.

He slowly turned to face her and, through the spray of the shower between them, searched her eyes for a sign, although of what he had absolutely no idea. Parker met his gaze, her eyes remarkably wide and bright considering their recent ordeal, as she took him into her hand again and resumed stroking.

"But I think we..." he tried one more time but she shook her head slowly, silencing him. She took a half step to her right and pivoted ninety degrees, literally tugging him along with her, so that he ultimately wound up positioned with the shower hitting him directly in the back and with her directly in front of him. Then, using her free hand to brace herself against the side of the tub, Parker sank down onto her knees, all the while keeping her eyes locked on his.

"Parker? What are y- you're not...I...we... PARKER!"

* * * *

Why, she thought, as she held his shuddering body against hers and stroked his hair, why did I do it?

Shouting so loudly that Parker wouldn't have been surprised if the ladies in Billie's bridge club had heard him, even if they'd left their hearing aids at home, Jarod's legs had given out and he collapsed in a panting, trembling heap before her. Sitting back in the tub, Parker had pulled him into her arms and held him close to her as he recovered. The hot water long since used up, a cool spray now cascaded down onto their tangled legs.

Why did she do it? The answer was quite simple really: because she wanted to, because she had always wanted to. She had always wanted to have him completely at her mercy, to reduce the man who so often succeeded in getting the better of her to a quivering puddle of goo. And she had succeeded beyond her own expectations. If one were to construe his decreasing coherency over the course of the event as indicative of anything, it would appear that she had actually managed to lower his I.Q. by several points, if only temporarily.

"Time to get up, Jarod," Parker announced when she detected his heartbeat approaching something resembling a normal rhythm. "Billie will be home anytime now."

He silently complied, disentangling his limbs from hers and hauling himself into a standing position then offering his hand, which she took. Following a quick, final rinse in the chilly water for both of them, he shut it off as she slid open the shower curtain and stepped out of the tub. She shook the excess water out of her hair with a towel before wrapping her hair into a turban and grabbing up another to dry her body.

Stepping out of the tub, he noticed for the first time a rather large bruise on her right hip and, nodding toward the area in question, inquired remorsefully, "Did I do that?"

Looking down, she raised her eyebrows and pondered a moment before it dawned on her.

"Oh no," she replied with complete deadpan as she wrapped a towel around her. "That's the result of my FIRST close encounter of the day with an unruly cock."

On that note, Parker gracefully spun away from him and, smirking, casually strolled over to the door. Stopping to pull her underwear off the hook, she wordlessly exited the room, leaving a thoroughly bewildered Jarod, gap-jawed and blinking, behind her.

# # # #
Part 4 by Ginger
Well, I've actually included several actual PLOT POINTS in this part. IMAGINE THAT! Thought I'd clump them all together so those of you in it solely for the SMUT could save yourselves the trouble of reading it!

Worry not, if this one is plot-heavy, it leaves me plenty of space in the next one for...;-)

Please see part 1 for full disclaimer.


Billie, Part 4
By Ginger


"I had to bring more corn up from the cellar," Jarod announced as he entered the parlor to find Parker sitting on the loveseat, drinking a glass of iced tea, and thumbing through a magazine she'd pulled from a rack in the corner. "Rupert had gotten into the basket we left on the porch," he added.

"Rupert?" she inquired, meeting his eyes.

"Billie's rooster," he explained.

"Oh, him," Parker commented with a smirk before turning her attention back to the magazine.

"What are you reading?"

"Time."

"What's new?"

"Well, this columnist, for one, thinks that Ford is a shoo-in in November, regardless of who the Democrats nominate to run against him."

"What?"

She held up the magazine so he could see the cover dating back to July 1976 and he chuckled. "Couldn't you find something a little more recent?" he asked as he sat down in the armchair adjacent to her.

"Within the confines of Billie's magazine rack, this IS recent," she remarked as she flipped it closed and set it down beside her before looking at him again. "It's from my lifetime."

"I retrieved your gun. Once it has dried, I will clean and oil it for you," he offered courteously.

"Thank you," she responded, suppressing a smirk. Sure, she mused. You'll do just about anything for me now that it's ABUNDANTLY clear what I can do for you...typical male.

"I noticed the empty plate on the counter. Garbage?"

"Where else? The trunk of my car?" she shot back, raising an eyebrow.

He smiled, leaned forward slightly, and began toying with the idea of grabbing her and pulling her into a passionate kiss, the kind men were always giving women in those old black and white films he'd seen on television. She simply gazed back at him, sphinx-like, as she unconsciously played with a lock of her hair, which was air-drying soft and billowy, and perfectly framing her face. He wanted to kiss her in the worst way and had just resolved to go for it when they were both jolted back to reality by the sound of a car pulling up.

Detecting that Parker was poised to pounce, Jarod placed a hand on her knee and advised, "Careful, now. We wouldn't want to give the impression that she's gotten the better of us, would we?"

"If that crazy old lady wants to see 94, then she had better start talking," she huffed as she folded her arms and sank back into her seat.

Hearing the screen door open, Jarod quickly pulled his hand away from Parker's knee, sat up straighter, and adopted a stern expression to match hers. And thus they waited in silence for the appearance of the sweet, harmless-looking elderly woman who had rather brilliantly succeeded in totally upending the dynamics of their relationship and, as a result, very likely their lives as well.

* * * *

Billie had to keep herself from grinning like the Chesire Cat when she entered the room. Oh, the two of them were doing their best to look fierce but Catherine's baby had a rosy glow to her cheeks that wasn't there when she had left them. And Margaret's boy, well, just to look at him it was clear that he was a goner, his dark eyes twinkling more than usual. He now wore different clothing, a pair of faded jeans and a t-shirt, and her hair was damp. What exactly had they gotten up to while she was away? Between her complexion and his eyes, Billie had a pretty fair idea.

"Still hotter than hell out there," she chirped. "Hope the two of you managed to stay cool. Did you show Miss Parker to her room, Jarod?" she added, the faintest hint of a smile playing on her lips as the color in Parker's cheeks deepened and Jarod's eyes momentarily darted about the room.

Recovering quickly, Jarod cleared his throat and replied evenly, "Yes." He then instructed gravely, "Please have a seat, Billie." He motioned toward the spot on the loveseat next to Parker. "We need to have a serious talk; I think you know what about."

Billie sighed and glanced heavenward. Kids... they always take things so damned seriously, she thought as she sat down next to Parker, who proceeded to shoot her the single dirtiest look she'd ever seen in all her 93 years. She almost laughed out loud. It did her old heart good to finally have Catherine's beautiful baby girl under her roof. It was a long time coming.

"You have been very naughty, Billie," Jarod began and Parker rolled her eyes at the gentle tone he'd adopted. "Slipping mind- altering substances into food and offering it to people without their knowledge is not only illegal, but also irresponsible, and quite possibly dangerous."

"Nonsense," the old woman replied, waving her hand dismissively. "You two look just fine to me."

"That's beside the point. One of us might have had a negative reaction. Or what if Parker had decided to leave after all, and was on the road when the full effects of the drug hit her?"

"I think that highly unlikely, don't you?" she remarked, looking Parker squarely in the eye.

"That's it, you old lunatic!" Parker barked as she bolted upright and stood over the woman. "Either you tell us what the hell is going on here or I'll..."

"Parker, please," Jarod pleaded anxiously.

"No need to defend me, Jarod," Billie broke in. "I'm not the least bit intimidated by this one." She held Parker's glare and didn't so much as flinch.

Jarod glanced nervously between the two then it hit him and he felt a smile form on his lips. Well that explains it, he thought. He now understood why he'd found this particular little old lady to be so confounding, while being completely drawn to her at the same time.

"How are you related?" he asked softly with an affectionate smile. "You're not her grandmother because you've never been married. Great aunt, I presume?"

Stupefied, Parker looked at him then back at Billie, who smiled and commented, "For a genius, you sure took your time figuring it out."

* * * *

"You really should eat something, dear," Billie counseled softly before shooting Jarod an inquisitive look. He gave a small shrug and turned his attention to Parker, who sat in silence at the dining room table, staring off into space and barely touching her food.

He was worried about her; he thought she'd be thrilled to find more of her mother's family, her family, and another piece of her past. Instead, she just seemed overwhelmed. Well, of course she's overwhelmed, he thought, we've had quite a day. Guilt and shame washing over him, he suddenly wasn't so hungry himself and set his fork down on his plate. He should have been able to control himself; he should have been the strong one. If she weren't okay, if she was really hurting in some way, then he would never forgive himself. He should have known better, damn it!

"You're really my grandmother's sister?" Parker finally spoke in a quiet voice.

"Yes, my love, I am," Billie replied with a kind smile as she reached across the table to place her hand over Parker's. "And I have been waiting a very long time to meet you."

A few tears rolled down Parker's cheeks and Jarod had to resist a powerful urge to bolt from his chair and wrap his arms around her. Instead he just watched over her, his own eyes filling as he sensed the powerful emotions raging within her.

"Your Granny Jamison was a Babcock, born and raised right here on this farm. She married and moved East. I never did and spent my life here. Your mother used to love to come here as a girl on school vacations and over the summer. Oh, the times we had! The whole place would come alive when she visited!"

Parker broke into a wide smile through her tears and Jarod thought his heart might burst at the sight of it. "I can just imagine," she said. "Tell me all about it… please?"

"Of course, I'll be happy to share as much as you're willing to sit through, sweetie, but I think I should start with that special summer. Your mother's fourteenth year, I believe it was. That was probably the best ever for us; three ladies having a real time of it."

"Three? Did Granny join you that summer?"

"Oh no, my dear, not your grandmother. It was Catherine and another youngster, a lovely young woman, nothing like your mother in temperament but they hit it off instantly."

"Was it?" Jarod broke in even though both he and Parker already knew the answer.

Billie smiled as she recalled, "The local preacher ran a program for orphans from the big city, giving them the opportunity to spend a few weeks in the fresh country air over the summer. One year he asked me if I would host a child and I said I would. She was such a quiet girl, so pretty and with such a sweet temperament. At first, I feared Catherine might roll right over the poor child, hers being such a strong personality. But she took the poor dear under her wing and, soon, you couldn't keep them apart if you tried, not that I did, mind you."

"M...my mother was an orphan?" Jarod choked out.

"Yes, my boy, the lovely Margaret was orphaned; I believe her mother died bringing her into the world and her father, sick with a broken heart, followed soon after her. I remember the reverend told me there was no other family so she ended up in care."

"Do you have any idea where she might be? I know you saw her after that because I found the p..." his voice trailed off and he colored slightly.

"I would have appreciated it if you'd asked properly but, of course, you may have it," Billie said, raising an eyebrow at him, before adding with a sigh, "Unfortunately, I lost touch with her around the same time that Catherine made the single biggest mistake of her life."

"Marrying Daddy," Parker muttered.

"I'm sorry; I really shouldn't speak ill of him in front of you."

"Why not, everyone else does," Parker remarked evenly. Jarod cast his eyes down and appeared to spend an inordinate amount of time contemplating his uneaten peas.

"Anyway," Billie continued, "Margaret sent me her engagement photo, which she planned to send to the local paper where she was living at the time, along with the announcement. She'd have preferred to have a proper one taken with her intended but there was no time. He popped the question then was off on a mission, her dashing Major. That was the last I ever heard from her. Sadly, I must admit that I didn't hear much from my own niece either, from then on. She became distant after her marriage. That is until..."

"What?" Parker asked, looking intently into the old woman's eyes.

"The way it works around here is that the one who cooks gets a break from the clean-up. It's been the rule as long as Babcocks have lived on this land, as long as this house has stood. So, I'll leave the two of you to it. If you need me, I'll be resting in the parlor."

"But..." Parker protested.

"Everything in good time, my dear," Billie smiled then turned away from them to exit the dining room.

Parker looked at Jarod and they exchanged shrugs. She heaved a heavy sigh and stood, picking up her plate with one hand and playfully tussling his hair with the other as she passed, saying, "C'mon, lab rat, we'd better get to it."

* * * *

Relaxing with her eyes closed in her favorite chair, Billie smiled. She could hear the telltale signs of cleanup, the jingling of cutlery and the clanking of ceramic and glass, but she could also hear them talking, low and intimate, having a real conversation. She couldn't make out the precise words and didn't much care; it was beside the point.

That's it children, she thought to herself, you have to begin dealing with each other, talking and trusting. It'll take more than what went on here earlier today for the two of you to survive what lies ahead. It always does.

"Well, Catherine," she whispered. "I'm doing my best. I just hope it's enough. Although I must confess," she chuckled quietly then added, "Margaret's boy is right; it was very naughty of me but I'm afraid they left me with no choice, snarling at each other like that."

She then began to drift off with an image playing in her mind, that of two girls, one raven-haired and the other with hair the color of cinnamon collapsing on the ground together in a fit of laughter following an unsuccessful attempt at milking her old nanny goat. All the while the sound of their children, now grown, working side by side in her kitchen and actually allowing themselves to enjoy each other's company, played in her ears. And it gave her a profound sense of well-being, as if everything were the way it should be, for now anyway.

* * * *

"Billie?" Parker whispered as she stood in front of the dozing woman, who opened her eyes and looked up at her, smiling lovingly.

"Just napping, my dear," she said with a yawn. "It's been a long and exciting day."

"You're not kidding." Parker muttered as she glanced in the direction of the dining room where Jarod was putting away the last few things from dinner.

"I'll bet he's made it mighty difficult to stay angry with him over the years," the old woman remarked with a twinkle in her eye.

"Impossible, the pain in the ass," Parker declared with a wry chuckle then, patting her belly, added, "But I never let that stop me. Punched a hole in my own stomach trying."

"Come here." Billie motioned. "Let me get a good look at you." Parker kneeled down in front of her great aunt, who took her face in her hands.

"My, my..." the old woman uttered with a sigh. "I think you may be even prettier than your mother and I'd have thought such a thing impossible."

"No," Parker whispered, lowering her eyes and shaking her head. "Momma was beautiful, inside and out. I could never..."

"What do you think?" Billie called out coyly to the man now looking on from where he leaned against the archway leading into the room.

"I think everyone here is aware of my feelings on the matter," Jarod stated with tender smile. Parker sighed heavily and closed her eyes.

"What is it sweetie?" the old woman asked, tilting her chin up.

"Just tired, that's all. I think I'll go up now, if you don't mind. Only...I didn't bring."

"You should be able to find something in the dresser in your room. Catherine always kept a few things here so she wouldn't have to pack so much. And there should be a spare toothbrush under the sink. I always keep a couple handy for guests because there's nothing more annoying than unpacking to find you've left your toothbrush behind. I've always been a firm believer in good dental hygiene which is why I've still got my own." She grinned broadly and pointed to her teeth. Jarod and Parker both smiled. "Now off you go, little one," she instructed then placed a tender, lingering kiss to her great niece's forehead.

Parker stood and offered a warm, "Goodnight, Billie."

"Goodnight, my dear."

As she approached Jarod on her way out of the room, Parker stopped and looked into his eyes. She brushed the back of her hand across his cheek and whispered, "Sweet dreams, Jarod," then gave him a genial pat on the shoulder as she moved past him. Grasping her hand to stop her for a moment, he whispered back,

"I'm not likely to have anything but."

Glancing over her shoulder, she gave him a small smile before ambling away. Jarod watched until she disappeared up the stairs, then stared at the empty staircase for a time. Billie leaned over the side of her armchair and looked at him.

"I thought you might be retiring as well," she said with a faint smile. He looked down at the floor and blushed.

"I'm a lot more enlightened than one might expect for a woman of my age. All I want for her, for you both, is happiness. Besides, I know what's in your heart. You'd sooner die than hurt her."

"I don't want to push her," he explained in a low voice as he continued to contemplate a spot on the floor near his feet. "She's dealing with a lot right now and I've pushed her enough over the past few years. Besides, she should get some rest; she doesn't take care of herself the way she should."

"Hmmm..." Billie responded with a nod.

Eager to change the subject, Jarod looked up at her and raised an eyebrow. "Regarding your level of enlightenment, care to explain that little stunt you pulled this afternoon?"

With a chuckle she replied, "Good Lord, is there ever story behind that!"

"I thought there might be," he commented with a smirk.

"C'mon, Jarod." She waved him into the room. "Sit down, take a load off, and I'll tell you how I came to acquire that particular recipe."

* * * *

Parker carefully opened the drawer and smiled sadly as she gently ran her hand over the soft, pretty items contained therein.

"Momma." she whispered. "I finally made it here. Only..."

She looked over at the door and sighed. It was simply too much for a person to process in one day: she and Jarod consummating their totally dysfunctional relationship in the very same house their mothers had once shared as children. If only she and Jarod had known earlier what they knew now, then maybe they wouldn't have. Maybe, she thought with a shrug. Who knows?

Parker was exhausted and had a faint headache, probably due to a combination of fatigue and the heat. Even though the sun had gone down, it was still suffocating on the second floor and, upon entering the bedroom, she had immediately opened the window as wide as possible and switched on the overhead fan as high as it would go. It felt as though the humidity had actually risen since the afternoon and she again experienced the sensation of tiny beads of sweat running down her body. She strolled over to the window and leaned out, calling into the still night air,

"RAIN...PLEASE!"

Parker strolled back to the dresser and pondered a moment before pulling out a nightgown of thin white cotton. She held it up to her face and breathed in. There wasn't even the faintest hint of mold or dust. Billie had kept her mother's things impeccably. The plainly pretty, knee-length nightgown was sleeveless with thin straps and had a scoop neck adorned with some delicate white-on-white embroidery. Perfect, Parker thought, for a hot summer night on the farm...quintessentially Mom.

She quickly undressed, hanging her clothes in a cedar wardrobe gracing one corner of the room and stripping off her already sweat-soaked bra and panties, which were destined for another hand washing. The presence of the hairdryer in the bathroom meant that particular chore could wait until morning so she tossed them on a chair before pulling on the nightgown. She smoothed the material against her skin and closed her eyes.

"Mom." she repeated softly before shaking herself out of her reverie.

She had stopped in the bathroom on the way to her room to claim a toothbrush and use the facilities so all that remained was to climb into bed. With a shrug, she padded over to it and folded down the coverlet, completely removing it and setting it on the same chair that bore her underwear. She frowned. It smelled of her and Jarod and...one of them would have to wash it before they left.

And then, without further ado, she pulled back the sheet and climbed into bed. It was very comfortable, which she had failed to notice earlier, her mind occupied with other things at the time. She sighed as she felt herself giving in to exhaustion, relaxing quickly despite the bizarre events of the day. It felt right to be there. Sensing her mother all around her, it almost felt as though she were tucked securely in her arms. Just before completing her descent into unconsciousness, Parker mumbled,

"Love you, Mom."

Pressing his ear to the door, Jarod did not hear a sound. She must be asleep, he thought. Good. He pressed both palms flat against her door, rested his forehead against it, and whispered, "Sleep tight," before turning around and entering his own room.

# # # #
Part 5 by Ginger
Hi folks,

It's been hot and kinda sticky here all week, until tonight when we had a thunderstorm that broke the heat spell. Something similar happens below. I guess life sometimes imitates fiction but, rather disappointingly, only up to a point...;-)

WARNING: Do I really have to say it again? I guess I do. This fiction is rated NC-17 for STRONG SEXUAL CONTENT!

DISCLAIMER: Please see part 1 for full disclaimer. Although, by now, I wouldn't be surprised if the characters of Jarod and Miss Parker have been sold to a liquidator named "Fast Eddie" who is now peddling them out of the trunk of his car somewhere off the Jersey Turnpike.

ONE FINAL WARNING: The "cock" depicted herein ain't Billie's rooster!

S

M

U

T

;-)

S

M

U

T

;-)

Billie, Part 5
By Ginger


Tossing and turning, Parker's eyes snapped open as she awoke with the sound of laughter ringing in her ears. She had dreamt of them, of two girls, a brunette and a red head, running about the place, getting into mischief, and giggling. And she had seen the lively, confident brunette pressing sweet kisses to the face of the quiet red head with the kind, sad eyes. Sensing her new friend's loneliness and isolation, Catherine must have showered Margaret with affection and was perhaps the only person to do so up to that point in Margaret's life. Not unlike Parker's own experience as a girl when she'd first encountered.

"Oh, God," she muttered as she struggled to free herself from the sheet tangled around her sweaty body. The parallels were absurdly apparent, well, up to a point anyway.

It still hadn't rained and Parker felt as though she were suffocating. Having finally succeeded in flinging aside the sheet, she propped herself up and glanced over at the coverlet lying neatly folded on the chair then closed her eyes as her body reacted to her memories of the previous afternoon.

"Brilliant," she whispered with a sigh then opened her eyes. "That'll keep you REAL cool."

She leaned back against the headboard and glanced up at the ceiling, striving to overcome the discomfort of heat and her restlessness, which together had the potential to keep her up for the rest of the night. That would be very bad, particularly with Jarod so close-by... with those eyes...and that smile...and that body....the way it felt... pressed against....inside of....hers.

Parker groaned. This wasn't getting her anywhere and she could barely breathe. She exhaled deeply then quietly slipped out of bed and tiptoed across the room. Carefully opening the door, she peeked into the hallway before stepping into it and silently closing the door behind her. She froze for a moment, staring at Jarod's door and wondering if he were awake. She almost took a step toward it but stopped herself and frowned, shaking her head vigorously before turning and creeping silently down the hall toward the stairs.

* * * *

Lying on his side with a pillow propped under his head by one arm, Jarod slowly opened his eyes. He wondered what she was doing up and contemplated the wisdom of getting up himself to go check on her. Hadn't she been able to sleep? Despite his earlier comment to her, Jarod hadn't had any sweet dreams because dreams of any kind would have required sleep. Whenever he would close his eyes, images from the previous afternoon would flash in his mind and, as a result, he was wide-awake. And that was the source of his present dilemma. He began to question his motives in even considering going to her. Would it really be to check on her? At least partly, but there was another factor at work and one that was impossible to disregard. Every cell in his body screamed for her.

What Jarod had told Billie was true; he really didn't want to push her. But that didn't stop him from wanting other things too, like, for instance, to hold her in his arms while she slept. In fact, he was beginning to wonder if he'd ever be able to fall asleep without her there with him, which he realized was completely ludicrous since all they'd ever shared was an hour-long nap during which he'd drooled all over her like an idiot. He winced at the memory of it; never in his life had he felt so inadequate. And yet, when he had gone to check on her afterwards.

The human body is comprised of billions of cells, every last one of which had apparently had enough because, before he even realized what he was doing, Jarod was out of bed and pulling on his jeans. He decided not to bother with his shirt; the heat was stifling. That's what he told himself, anyway, although his true motivation in leaving it off was, again, more complex.

* * * *

Parker leaned over and peered into the refrigerator. She had decided against the iced tea, even though it was delicious. The last thing she needed at that hour was caffeine. She spotted another pitcher in the back and dug for it.

"I hope it's not `Kool-Aid,'" she muttered under her breath with a smile, wondering if Billie had ever read any Tom Wolfe. After all, Parker mused with a soft chuckle, she had turned out to be quite the "Merry" little "Prankster."

She pulled out the pitcher and sniffed. Lemonade...and fresh squeezed by the smell of it. Closing the refrigerator door with her hip, she shuffled over to the counter and set the pitcher down then reached into the cupboard for a glass. She poured and quickly drained her glass. It was delicious, not too sweet, and very refreshing. Parker was not at all surprised to find that Billie liked a little tartness to her lemonade. She filled it again and leaned back against at the counter, sipping contentedly, until a sound from outside caught her attention and she turned to set down her glass.

"Thank GO, it's about time," she uttered softly then sauntered out of the room.

When Jarod entered a few minutes later, he was expecting to find Parker there. She hadn't been in either of the bathrooms, or the parlor, or the dining room, so this was the next logical place to look. But all he found was the pitcher of lemonade sitting out on the counter next to a half-empty glass. It was then that he became aware of the sound coming from outside and, furrowing his brow, pondered a moment before turning to exit the kitchen.

* * * *

"Miss Parker, are you feeling alright?" a bemused Jarod asked from the porch as he watched her stand in the pouring rain with her eyes closed, her face slightly upturned.

"Yeah, why?" she asked casually without opening her eyes to look at him.

"Because you're standing outside in your nightgown in a torrential downpour."

"And?"

"AND, you're getting all wet!" he exclaimed, his concern rising. Maybe it was all just too much for her, he thought, and she'd snapped.

"Kinda the point, Einstein," she shot back, adding, "Man, this feels good."

He leaned against the porch beam and folded his arms, watching her intently and ruminating. This wasn't like her. Miss Parker wasn't carefree; she was probably the most deliberate person he'd ever met. She would never go out and play in the rain just for the hell of it. She was far too practical, not to mention fastidious about her clothing and appearance. She was methodical. She was predictable. She wasn't wearing any underpants.

Jarod's mind wandered off topic as her rain-soaked, and therefore transparent, nightgown clung to her body, possessively caressing her skin. His eyes roamed slowly from her face, down her lovely neck, its length accentuated by her tilted head, to her breasts, where his gaze lingered on the exquisite swell of her flesh, so clearly defined beneath the thin fabric plastered against it. He watched the gentle rise and fall with every breath she took and unconsciously began to breathe in time with her. His eyes continued south, along the flat plane of her stomach to the sleek roundness of her hips then to the triangle-shaped dark patch visible under the sheer white cotton.

This is the woman who rendered my legs completely inoperable, he concluded as he unfolded his arms and opened his fists to air his sweaty palms. It then seemed completely logical to him that she would play in the rain.

Parker slowly opened her eyes, looking at him for the first time since he'd joined her outside. "And what, might I ask, are you looking at?" she asked defiantly, although her eyes conveyed something else.

"You," he replied softly with a warm smile.

They wordlessly stared into each other's eyes for what seemed like an eternity. Parker remained out in the rain and Jarod held his post on the porch as he ran the most likely scenarios. He could turn and walk back into the house, leaving her to enjoy the rain while he made another attempt at sleep. She could decide she'd had enough and simply move past him into the house and back to the solitude of her own room. Or...

Parker was right; the warm rain felt wonderful on his skin as he stepped off the porch and slowly approached her. She didn't move a muscle, but raised an eyebrow slightly, the tiniest hint of a smile gracing her lips.

He stopped only an inch or two away but did not touch her, declaring, "I want to state unequivocally that I won't let you off the hook for this. If you had wished, I would have disregarded what happened in your room because we were both under the influence of a mind-altering substance. I was even willing to forget about what happened later, in the bathroom, because I figured we were both a little emotionally fragile."

"Forget?" she remarked with a smirk.

"Forget is probably the wrong word."

"Probably?"

"Okay, forget is definitely the wrong word. Satisfied?"

"Not yet, but I'm fairly optimistic."

"I'm not kidding, Parker," he warned through an involuntary smile. "I want to be sure that..."

"My intentions are honorable?" she drawled and fluttered her eyelids, a gesture that worked to its fullest effect in the rain.

Jarod emitted a sound that fell somewhere between a sigh and a growl as he pulled her to him. "What's happening to us," he murmured against her lips, as he tasted the warm summer rain on her.

"Damned if I know," she sighed as his lips moved off her mouth and skittered across her jaw line toward the sensitive spot in the groove between her jaw and earlobe.

Parker moaned and pulled him closer, sliding one hand up into his hair as the other continued to glide across the slick skin of his back. She was completely tucked into his body now, her breasts crushed against his muscular chest, his hands hungrily caressing her through soaked fabric as he continued his assault on her neck.

"N...no marks," she whimpered.

"Nowhere anyone will see," he whispered into her ear, nibbled again, and added, "Anyone but me."

He continued to feast on her neck then moved to her shoulder, sliding the strap of her nightgown aside to access the skin beneath it, before returning to her lips. As it began to rain more heavily, they kissed, long, hot, and wet, their tongues dueling and invading. Occasionally they would giggle into each other's mouths and, at one point, Jarod pulled away long enough to pant, "You taste like lemon."

Parker could feel him hard against her and snaked her hand between them to cup him through his jeans. "Rupert, I presume?" she whispered with a chuckle.

"Very funny, Miss Par..." Jarod was interrupted by a bright flash of lightening followed by a loud clap of thunder. He quickly pulled out of their embrace and grasped her hand, tugging her toward the house.

"C'mon," he advised. "That was fairly close and you wouldn't want Billie to find us out here in the morning, toasted to a crisp."

"Knowing her, she'd just shrug and go looking for a shovel," Parker joked as she allowed Jarod to push her up the porch stairs.

As soon as they stepped inside the house, he was all over her again with his hands and his mouth. He moaned rather loudly and she hushed him.

"Billie," she whispered as she tried to stifle a giggle. "She might hear."

"Doesn't... like... to... climb... stairs... very... often... sleeps... in... room... at... the... back... won't... hear... a... thing," Jarod explained between nips and kisses to Parker's skin.

"If you so say, `Tarzan,'" Parker quipped with a chuckle.

"Hmmm...?" Jarod responded distractedly as he propelled them toward the stairs.

Their progress was somewhat hindered by his refusal to let her out of his embrace or even to stop fondling and kissing her. They bumped into the wall a couple times and nearly toppled over altogether once, giggling and hushing each other like mischievous children.

The stairs were a real trick for, although Parker had managed to wriggle away from him at the bottom so she could turn to climb the staircase, he had grabbed her around the waist from behind, pulled her to him, and immediately resumed his assault, this time on the back of her neck, the tops of her shoulder blades, and anywhere else he could reach. Up they went, slowly, Jarod groaning as Parker's bottom was forced against his groin with each step they took. About halfway up, he moved one hand from her waist to cup and squeeze a breast, causing her to cry out softly. Encouraged by this, he moved the other hand up and commenced fondling her in earnest, forcing her reach out and desperately clutch at the banister to steady them both.

"We can't!" she gasped.

"Hmmm...?" He had apparently lost the power of speech.

"We c...can't fuck on Billie's stairs. We need to show some r...respect... OH!" Jarod had slid a hand down to cup her through her wet nightgown, which, of course, didn't make it any easier for her to move.

Parker sighed with relief when they had somehow managed to make it to the top landing. Jarod spun her around and recaptured her mouth, wrapping his arms tightly around her and literally lifting her body off the floor.

"My, we are eager this evening," she whispered seductively into his ear and he grunted in response.

Some genius, she mused. He had regressed well beyond `Tarzan' and was now at a developmental level about on par with Neolithic Man.

Jarod somehow managed to get them down the hall, to open the door to his room, and to push both him and Parker through it. He finally set her down so that he could turn to close the door then quickly spun to face her dark silhouette and they both just froze a moment, each breathing heavily. A bright flash of lightening illuminated the room for an instant and he could see her, soaking wet from head to toe, and so very beautiful. He took a step toward her and tenderly cradled her damp cheeks in his hands, brushed aside a lock of her hair, and tilted her face up.

"I want you," he whispered.

"It speaks!" she joked, adding, "No need to clarify; I sorta got that."

He smiled as his hands meandered down to grasp the wet cotton sticking to her body.

"Mom's," she whispered.

Nodding, Jarod slowly, carefully peeled the wet garment up and off Parker's body as she raised her arms above her head to assist him. He turned away from her for a moment and lovingly draped the nightgown over a chair before pulling her to him again and devouring her lips, his hands everywhere on her damp flesh. He pulled away and she groaned in protest as he sank to his knees.

"What do you think you're doing?" she teased playfully.

"Mrrhmph..." he replied against the delicious, soft flesh of her belly before craning his neck to tickle the undersides of her breasts with his tongue.

She chuckled breathlessly as she stroked his hair, holding him tightly, possessively to her as he frantically delivered wet kisses and tender bites to her skin. He needed to taste every inch of her and groaned with hunger as his head dipped lower and he rubbed his cheek against her hipbone.

"Come here!" he growled as he wrapped both arms tightly around the backs of her knees, forcing her to topple forward onto him.

He put one arm out to support them as he lowered them sideways to the floor then pushed her onto her back and climbed over her to straddle her body, his palms resting on either side of her head. Parker reached up to unbutton his jeans, swearing to herself as she struggled with the heavy, rain-soaked denim.

"Don't worry about that now," he whispered as leaned in to kiss her, again working his way from her lips to her neck to her shoulders.

Pushing himself down her body, Jarod lapped at the valley between her breasts then blissfully rubbed his nose against her moist skin. She could feel his long, thick eyelashes tickling her breasts and found it to be sublimely pleasurable. This doesn't feel like sex, Parker mused as he slipped one hand into hers and grasped tightly, not even good sex. This feels like making l...

He now hovered just above a nipple and she shuddered at the sensation of his warm breath on her. "Don't tease," she whimpered with complete sincerity.

His chest tightened at the sound of her voice, so soft and full of need. He had a sudden, powerful urge to blurt out something he knew he shouldn't but managed to stop himself. Instead he murmured in a deep voice, "As you command, Miss Parker."

Oh yeah, she concluded, moaning at the sensation of his tongue and teeth on her, he's making love to me. She'd been fucked plenty but not made love to nearly enough and was, therefore, keenly aware of the distinction. She felt his hand on her thigh, spreading her legs so he could settle between them and bring the wet skin of his upper body into full contact with hers. The wiry hair of his chest deliciously tickled her skin as he moved against her. A voice inside her whispered, he's making love to me... Lord help me... Lord help us both...

"You... taste... so... good," he affirmed softly as he kissed his way from her breasts to her abdomen to her hips to the spot he'd coveted from the moment he caught sight of her standing in the rain.

He parted her legs wider and, as lightening flashed again, Parker caught a glimpse of his mischievous expression. How'd he end up completely in control here, she wondered. He kissed the inside of her thigh, right above her knee, and remarked in a tone that she might have found irritating if her body would have permitted her to feel such an emotion toward him at that moment,

"Ever since we took that shower, I've been dying to reciprocate."

* * * *

Billie stirred as the image of Catherine, walking up her front steps, played in her mind.

"Catherine... dear, sweet Catherine... home again after all these years," she mumbled in her sleep.

Despite her reassuring smile, Billie had seen the fear and sadness in her niece's eyes. And it had struck terror in her heart.

"I am depending on you, Aunt Billie, and so is our baby. She is so beautiful. You'll love her and she'll love you. You will do this for her, for both of them, and for my dearest friend. Promise me."

"Of course, my child, I'll do anything you ask," she had responded, shuddering as a feeling of deep foreboding rose within her.

A pretty wooden box setting on the coffee table...

Catherine pressing the little brass key into her hand...

Within a matter of weeks she was...

Gone.

"Catherine!" Billie cried out softly then opened her eyes, trembling as the sound of a violent clap of thunder reverberated in her ears.

* * * *

"Son-of-a-bitch," Parker muttered, struggling to catch her breath as her body continued to shudder.

"Problem?" Jarod asked amusedly. He was now lying on his side next to her, propped up on one elbow as he traced exquisite, feather- light patterns on the skin of her face and neck with his fingertips.

"No," she replied in as even a tone as she could muster. Unless, she reasoned, one might consider it a problem that, in the throes of a powerful orgasm, she had just blurted out that no one had ever made her feel that way; that he was the best she'd ever had. And this time she couldn't blame her motor mouth on narcotics. She was sober as a judge, he knew it, and he'd never let her live it down. Son-of-a-bitch.

"Only one thing to be done," she commented with a sigh.

"About what?" he inquired languidly as he continued stroking her skin.

She turned on her side to face him and replied throatily, "About this."

Parker pressed her hand to the bulge in Jarod's jeans then gave it a light squeeze. He moaned and his fingers sank more deeply into her flesh.

"How are your knees?" she asked as she unzipped his fly.

"Okay... w... why?" he replied haltingly. "Because you've been on them for a while and, even with the rug, it's a pretty hard floor. I was thinking..." She slid her hand under the waistband of his boxers and grasped him firmly. "We might be more comfortable on the bed."

"Uh... ah... okay..." Frankly he didn't care; if she had wanted to make love hanging upside down from a trapeze, he'd have been game.

Parker quickly removed her hand, eliciting a loud groan of protest from him that made her chuckle, then scrambled to her feet and padded over to the bed. Taking a seat at the edge of it, she waited a moment or two then looked over at Jarod, who hadn't moved. Poor boy, she mused with a smirk, his brain isn't getting any oxygen.

"I'll make it all better if you come over here," she coaxed seductively then bit her lip when she heard him clamber to his feet.

He walked over to the bed and stood in front of her. She leaned back on her palms and spread her legs wide, snaking her feet around his legs to encircle him.

"This would be a lot easier without your pants," Parker commented wryly then sat up, slipped her hands into his jeans, and tugged them down, taking his boxers along for good measure.

She leaned back again and he leaned forward, putting both palms flat on the bed to brace himself above her. She scooted farther back onto the bed to give him room and leverage. Kicking his pants and underwear all the way off, he climbed onto the bed and positioned himself, half-kneeling, between her legs. Parker reached up and stroked him lightly before guiding him to her.

"See," she whispered as he moaned at the contact with her slick skin. "We can dispense with the niceties. This is for you. We've already taken care of me. I doubt I could... again so soon... not after that one."

"Non... sense," he said with a husky groan as he slowly glided inside of her. When he was all the way in, he stopped for a moment and added, "I have faith in you, Miss Parker." He then began thrusting in and out of her in a slow, steady rhythm.

"Shit," she panted as they rocked together. "The... bed... squeaks. She'll... hear..."

"I..."

"Don't..."

"Care..."

And soon she didn't either.

* * * *

Billie glanced up at the ceiling from where she sat in a rocking chair in the corner of her room, clipping recipes from a magazine by the light of a small table lamp.

"That squeaky old bed," she muttered with a smirk before redirecting her attention to the task at hand.

It's good to have signs of life again in this old house, she thought as she pondered a recipe for pumpkin cheesecake bars. Although she did find herself wondering, with a sigh, if the poor boy would be in any condition to finish the repairs to the barn in the morning as promised. For the Babcock women were legendary in these parts for their ability to wear out their men, many having gone through several by the time they departed this world.

# # # #
Part 6 by Ginger
Hi Folks,

This one contains more of those darn plot elements that keep getting in the way of the smut! Oh well...;-)

DISCLAIMER: Please see part 1 for full disclaimer

WARNING: Please note the rating above. And while this part probably doesn't warrant it, previous parts have and future parts will.


Billie, Part 6
By Ginger


Parker moaned softly and turned over then was quiet. Jarod smiled, gazing over at her exquisite sleeping form bathed in the morning sunlight as he quietly dressed. It would make a beautiful painting, he thought. Too bad he would die by her hand should he ever attempt to paint it. He chuckled quietly then sighed.

He had forced himself up and out of bed, grabbing a quick shower before returning to the room to dress. He had not had the slightest inclination to move. In fact, if he had listened to his body, he'd have stayed put for the rest of the day and straight through the following night. But as a guest in the home of Parker's great aunt, he would never dream of doing such a thing. Besides, he had promised Billie that he would finish the repairs to the barn. And he knew full well what would happen if he were still in bed when Parker awoke; it would make for a rather late start to the day.

So, when Jarod awoke to find Parker wrapped around him, he had very carefully, if regretfully, disentangled his body from hers and climbed out of bed, well, once he had resumed breathing. He still couldn't bring himself to quite believe it: Miss Parker in his bed. He very much liked the idea though; he loved it actually. And he could even accept the fact that he had to start the day because he could picture her there, where he had left her, gloriously nude and sleeping peacefully, in HIS bed. HIS bed...

He had just turned to exit the room when he heard a sleepy voice call out to him, "Where do you think you're sneaking off to?"

"Uh-oh," he whispered to himself with a smile and slowly turned around to find her blinking up at him. "I'm not sneaking off anywhere. I didn't want to wake you."

"What time is it?"

"Oh, I'd say around seven."

"Seven? Ugh."

He walked over to the bed and sat down next to her. Brushing aside a lock of her hair, he said softly, "I've got a few things to do but I'm sure Billie wouldn't mind if you slept in. It will be good for you."

"It'll be even better if you `sleep in' with me," she coaxed with a sleepy smile, tugging him toward her.

He leaned forward and kissed her tenderly before sitting up again and replying, "Now that would defeat the purpose wouldn't it?" She yawned in response and he chuckled, adding, "Looks like somebody wore you out, Miss Parker."

"In your dreams, Wonderboy. I just feel relaxed here that's all."

"Well then, you should definitely seize this opportunity to get some rest," he advised, stroking her cheek before leaning in to give her another kiss. Then he stood.

"Good idea," she responded with another yawn then turned over. "Chasing an overgrown infant all over creation is exhausting..." Her voice trailed off as she snuggled deeper into the bed.

Jarod emitted a heavy sigh as he watched her drift off. He had to fight a powerful urge to peel off the clothing he'd just put on and rejoin her, if only to hold her as she slept and feel her warm, even breath against his skin. Instead, he took one last look and quietly exited the room.

* * * *

"Well, well this IS a surprise. I didn't expect to see you down here so early," Billie remarked as Jarod ambled into the kitchen. "Coffee?"

"Yes, thank you," he replied evenly without meeting her eyes. "I want to get started on the barn before lunch and need to run an errand first."

"Oh?" She raised an eyebrow.

"For Parker," he explained, coloring slightly. She's staying here again tonight and doesn't have any..."

"Oh yes, by all means!" Billie exclaimed enthusiastically as she set down a mug in front of him and took the seat next to his. "I'm so glad she's decided to spend another night, although I doubt I can take the credit for her decision." She cast him a knowing glance and he quickly averted his eyes.

Undeterred, she continued, "That was quite a storm last night. And most welcome too. We got a good soaking rain and it broke that awful heat. Nearly three weeks it lasted... terrible. Made it awfully hard for a person to sleep though... Good lord, the racket." She cast him a sideward glance then added with complete deadpan, "The thunder was pretty loud too," before taking a long sip of her coffee.

"My stars, you're the color of Harvard beets!" she squawked through chuckles after almost choking on her coffee.

"I think it only right to warn you," he advised fighting a smirk of his own as he kept his eyes affixed firmly to his mug, "that to tease Parker in such a way is to do so at your own peril."

"Oh, my dear boy!" she chirped, laughing heartily as she reached out and patted his hand. When her laughter subsided, she got down to the important business at hand,

"So, what'll it be this morning, Jarod?"

"Pancakes?" he asked hopefully.

"Sure, why not? Hmmm..." She stood and lumbered over to the pantry, sliding open the curtain and disappearing inside. Calling out to him, she asked,

"Blueberries, raspberries, bananas or..."

"What?"

"Are you SURE you'll finish the barn today?"

"I said I would. Don't I always keep my word to you, Billie?"

"Very well then," she said with an over-exaggerated sigh then stepped out of the pantry bearing a wide grin and wiggled her eyebrows at him. "Chocolate chips?"

He grinned back at her and nodded gleefully in response.

* * * *

Parker sank further into the warm water and hummed contentedly. She loved old bathtubs; they were always so deep. She lifted a leg out of the water and ran her hand up the length of it, stopping when she caught sight of a rather large, reddish-purple mark on her inner thigh.

"I'll kill `em," she muttered with a smile as she inspected Jarod's handiwork.

She knew he loved her legs. Often when Parker would encounter someone in Jarod's wake who knew exactly who she was before she even opened her mouth, he (for it was always the men who did so) would mention that Jarod had described her as "a tall, slim brunette with great legs." And, though she would never under pain of death have admitted as much, she took pleasure in hearing it. It was one of those little things that helped her get by in the less than ideal conditions under which she lived and worked, as well as a small consolation for having missed him. The view of those tight little buns of his as he ran away was, of course, another. She chuckled throatily and closed her eyes, relaxing into the pleasing warmth surrounding her.

"What," she called out lazily when she heard a faint knock on the door, then sat up straight and opened her eyes when she remembered where she was and it dawned on her that the person at the door might be her great aunt. "I mean, yes?" she offered in a conciliatory tone.

"Parker?"

"Oh, it's you," she replied flatly, rolling her eyes as she sank back into the tub. "Come in; it's open."

Jarod opened the door, peeked in and smiled. "So, you're up."

"Sort of." She had closed her eyes again but turned her head slightly to open one at him briefly. "Make up your mind, in or out."

"Excuse me?"

"You're standing in the doorway with the door wide open. Either leave and close the door or come in and close the door, but make up your mind today."

"Oh, sorry," he mumbled then entered the room and closed the door behind him.

A small smile tugged at her lips as she continued to lounge in the bath with her eyes closed. "Is there a reason for this visit or is it just a social call?"

"I'm about to head out to the barn and wanted to let you know that I went into town and picked up your things. You'll find everything in your room."

"Thank you, Jarod," Parker offered amiably.

She received no response and several moments elapsed in silence, as Jarod remained unmoving in the center of the room. She could sense the intensity of his gaze upon her and feel her body warming in response.

"Is there something else you wanted?" she inquired after a time with a faint hint of amusement in her voice.

"Uh... well, no, I shouldn't... I mean, I'd better get out to the barn or Billie will have my hide."

"Pity," Parker remarked with a sigh. "I was rather hoping to have it myself."

Jarod grinned and strolled over to the bathtub, crouching down behind her and slipping his arms around her neck then kissing the top of her head. She finally opened her eyes and tilted her head back to cast him a mischievous look then placed her hands on his and slid them down to her breasts. He narrowed his eyes and groaned before leaning over to capture her lips in a hot, wet, inverted kiss. He growled and she whimpered as the kiss lingered and his hands glided effortlessly over warm flesh made delightfully slippery by the soapy water.

"Jarod!"

At the sound of Billie's voice booming up the staircase and down the hallway, they froze then opened their eyes.

"Busted," Parker whispered against his lips with a smile. He lifted his head and she straightened hers, observing, "That old lady has quite a set of lungs on her."

"I warned you," Jarod replied with a sigh as he slowly removed his hands from her body. Standing, he added, "I believe she's keeping breakfast warm for you."

"Tell her I'll be down shortly," Parker advised then sank back into the water.

"Will do," he chirped as he walked toward the door. He stopped and shot her another one of his smiles before exiting the room.

"Well, it's official," Parker groaned, shaking her head as she placed her hands over her face. "I've finally lost my fucking mind," she mumbled into her palms then sank deeper and deeper into the water until she was completely submerged.

Galloping down the stairs, Jarod announced cheerily, "She'll be down in a few minutes."

"Hmmm..." Billie responded, shooting him an accusatory look. "Don't make me regret those pancakes, young man."

He smiled sheepishly and unconsciously dried his wet, soapy hands on his shirt as he moved past her, adding, "If anyone needs me, I'll be in the barn."

"Hmmm..." Billie repeated, shaking her head and smiling after him.

* * * *

"I've got a taste for a nice, cold beer. Care to join me?"

"It's barely noon," Parker pointed out as she looked up from the photo album Billie had brought out to the porch for her to look through. She and her great aunt had been sitting out there together for almost two hours, ever since Parker had finished breakfast. Billie had been sharing stories about her own youth, growing up on the farm with Parker's grandmother, as well as reminiscing about Catherine.

"Why aren't there any pictures of Mom in here? I recognize a few of Grandma Jamison. I know Mom had pictures of her because she showed me, although where they ended up after... is anybody's guess. I vaguely remember meeting her once, when I was very young."

"Like her little girl, my sister departed this world too early," Billie remarked with a sigh, adding, "As did your grandfather, who left her a widow when she was barely fifty years old. Sometimes I think they both died of a broken..."

She pressed a hand to her lips before continuing, "I did have several pictures of your mother, taken here over the years. Only, back in the late spring of 1970, right after... we lost her... someone paid me a visit when I was out and basically picked the place clean of any evidence that your dear mother had ever existed. That is, except for the clothes, which they mustn't have realized were here."

Parker's stomach turned as she flipped through the book, looking more closely at the binding and spotting places where pages had obviously been removed. The handiwork of a Centre cleaner no doubt, she thought bitterly. Perhaps it was one of her predecessors on the job or maybe even someone with whom she had trained early on in her career.

"I'm sorry Billie," she whispered sadly.

"What are you apologizing for? It wasn't your doing."

"I know; I'm just sorry, that's all."

"It's okay, my dear." The old woman reached over and patted Parker's hand. "Really. It wasn't as though I wasn't expecting..." Shut up you old fool, she silently chided herself, not yet!"

"Expecting?" Parker repeated, bewildered.

"I'm afraid I'm getting ahead of myself. This is a conversation for another time. How about that beer?"

"It is rather early, Billie."

"Well, it IS a special occasion, isn't it? It's not everyday that I get to enjoy the company of Catherine's baby girl!"

* * * *

"Nice," Jarod quipped, raising an eyebrow as he approached the porch. "I'm slaving away in the barn while the two of you sit here guzzling beer."

"We're not guzzling!" Billie protested. "Besides, I have always supported women's liberation."

"Here! Here!" Parker declared, raising her bottle. Her eyes danced playfully with Jarod's as she took a sip from it.

"If there is one thing the women around here are most definitely not lacking, it is liberation," Jarod observed with a wry smile.

"Oh!" Parker exclaimed, setting down her bottle. "That reminds me, I'd better get that..." She motioned toward a basket of freshly washed laundry. "Up on the line before it wrinkles beyond salvaging and we have to wash it again."

"YOU... HANG LAUNDRY?" Jarod asked amusedly.

Parker looked him straight in the eye and challenged, "You got something to say, genius?"

"Not really, I'm just surprised that's all. Rosie would be too. I'll bet she'd be willing to pay to see it."

"My housekeeper," Parker explained in an aside the Billie as she folded her arms at her chest.

"Lovely woman," Jarod commented. "Makes the best grilled cheese sandwiches. How is her grandson faring at Harvard? I know she was worried about how he would adjust to being on his own so far from home."

Parker shot him an icy glare, stood, and leaned over to pick up the basket. Without another word, she stalked down the stairs and charged past him. Jarod cackled then turned to follow her.

"Jarod, my dear," Billie called off the porch.

"Yes," he turned back to her and smiled.

"You two won't go disappearing on me, will you?" she asked with a glint in her eye. "Lunch will be ready soon."

"Of course not," he replied innocently. "I'm just going to help her hang the laundry."

"Hmmm..."

That was her only response as she foisted herself out of her seat and strolled indoors, leaving Jarod to ponder Billie's recent skepticism about his motives. Well, for about a second, until he turned around and trotted off in the direction Parker was heading and promptly forgot all about it.

* * * *

"Get away from me, asshole!" Parker barked as she sensed Jarod hot on her heels.

"Aw, come on, don't be mad," he pleaded but she could sense the shit- eating grin in his tone. She always could.

"I'm glad you think this is so funny. Do you realize that you've just given me grounds for firing Rosie? Some hero!"

"I know you would never do something like that. The woman who gave Rosie's grandson, a young man she had never even met, such a generous graduation present would never fire her over something like this."

Parker slowed her pace and spoke softly. "She told you."

"She said she almost fell over when she opened the envelope. Ten thousand dollars is a lot of money, particularly to a woman like Rosie who has had to work so hard all her life for every penny."

"His scholarship aside, the cost of living in Boston is astronomical," she explained as they reached the long clothesline hung between two poles driven into the ground. "I figured the kid could use all the help he could get. And Rosie has been a faithful employee, hardworking and discreet. Well, I thought so anyway."

"She is," Jarod affirmed with a smile. "And very protective of you, I might add. I stumbled upon her by accident on our first encounter and nearly met the business end of an iron skillet she was oiling. By the way, I've been meaning to ask you: Why on earth do you own an iron skillet?"

Ignoring his query, Parker tossed back one of her own, "Who did you say you were?"

"Just someone looking out for you. I know you haven't told her anything but she's nobody's fool. She knows that your life is `unorthodox.'"

"Someone looking out for me, huh?" Parker remarked as she leaned over the basket to retrieve an item to hang on the line. "There's a word for that, you know?"

"Really, and what's that?"

"Stalker."

"Cute, not funny, but..."

"Shut up and give me some clothespins." Parker motioned toward the bag hanging from the pole and Jarod fished inside it to retrieve a few.

Handing them to her he said thoughtfully, "You know, I heard you tell Billie that I made it difficult for you to stay mad at me."

"Yeah, so, what of it?"

"Well, you didn't make it easy for me either. You would succeed in making me really angry, almost to the point of giving up on you completely, then you would turn around and do something totally amazing, like what you did for Rosie's grandson. Sydney has always said that ambivalence is one of the toughest emotions on the human psyche and I'm inclined to agree with him. Sometimes I thought the stress of it might kill me."

"No such luck," she quipped, stifling a smile, before adding softly, "I know you came here looking for your family and you ended up finding mine. I'm sorry it's turned out to be another dead end for you."

"On the contrary, Miss Parker. I now know more about who my mother is and where she came from. I know that she was alone as a child, well, until a lively, precocious girl brought a little joy into her life. Hmmm... something about that sounds oddly familiar. Now where have I heard it before?"

He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye and brushed the outside of his palm against hers, forcing a small smile from her as they stood side-by-side at the clothesline. From then on they worked in companionable silence and it wasn't until after they had completed their chore that Jarod spoke again.

"Maybe... it's making a false distinction anyway," he offered tentatively, eyeing her closely to gauge her reaction.

"What is?" Parker asked as she picked up the empty basket.

"My family and yours," he replied as they began to stroll toward the house.

"Really. Does that mean you will be joining Daddy, Lyle and me for dinner next week?"

She immediately regretted her words, as well as the sarcastic tone with which they were delivered, but couldn't bring herself to offer anything further on the topic. Jarod's face fell and he lowered his head to look at the ground as he continued to walk beside her in brooding silence. When they had almost reached the house, Parker noticed that he was rotating his arm and rubbing his shoulder and asked,

"Are you okay?"

"Fine. Just a little stiff, that's all," he answered without looking at her. "I guess it's been a while since I've put so many demands on my body," he continued then colored slightly at his unintentional double-entendre.

"Remind me later," she offered casually as she reached the porch steps. "We'll see what we can do about it."

He stopped and, his face brightening slightly, he looked up to watch her saunter up the porch steps. When she reached the screen door, she glanced back at him and advised,

"C'mon, Jarod, pick up the pace. Time for lunch."

* * * *
Part 7 by Ginger
A WARNING: Please note the RATING in the subject line and I MEAN it this time!

A FURTHER WARNING: This part was already in the works prior to last Friday evening when, as everyone living on this PLANET knows , Ginger got a MAJOR dose of inspiration!

A FINAL WARNING: I believe the following reflects just how "inspired" I am!

DISCLAIMER: Dearest Craig & Steve, you took him for granted. And, now that I've seen him, I hereby claim him as MINE! MINE! MINE! Oh, and since he can't really exist without HER, she's MINE too! Billie's always belonged to me so THERE! (Seriously, do you think I get PAID for this stuff?)

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Faint of heart, turn back now!

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Rated NC-17, remember?

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Okay, so I got a little carried away there...

Billie, Part 7
By Ginger


"Oh, kids," Billie commented with a sigh as her laughter subsided. Over dinner, she had regaled her guests with amusing stories of their mothers' adventures on her farm. Sliding aside her plate, she sat back in her seat and added, "I can't remember the last time I've had so much fun. Thank you."

"No, Billie, thank YOU," Jarod replied.

"We're the ones who owe you a debt of gratitude for giving us a piece of our past," Parker added.

"Well, it's my pleasure. It's good to have young people about the place. I'm blessed with dear friends but, between you and me, more than a few of `em can be such old fogies at times. Sometimes I think they're too old too keep up with me, which is funny when you consider that I've got at least a good decade on most of `em!" She chuckled.

"I think we're all too old too keep up with you," Jarod joked.

"You may have a point there, kiddo," Billie said as she moved to stand.

"You stay right where you are," Parker ordered as she quickly stood. "I'll get the coffee and dessert."

She moved around the table to clear it, stacking the dishes on one arm. When she reached Jarod, she leaned over him to pick up his plate, stopping along the way to place her hand casually on his shoulder and thereby initiating the already familiar exchange of energy between their bodies.

"And Jarod will give me a hand. Won't you, Jar?"

"Of course," he said with a diffident smile then stood and took a stack of dishes from Parker's arms, casting her a deep, knowing glance as he did so.

Billie grinned with satisfaction as she watched Margaret's boy follow Catherine's baby into the kitchen in a manner that suggested he'd be just as willing to follow her to hell and back. She wondered if they realized what they'd just done in conversation, how one had finished the other's sentence, completed the other's thought, unconsciously, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. And she found her great niece's use of the words "us" and "our" to be most encouraging.

* * * *

"Mmmm..." Parker hummed as she lifted the pie to her face and sniffed. "Key lime."

Jarod looked over at her and smiled as he placed a coffee carafe, mugs, sugar and cream on a tray. When he had assembled everything, he left the tray on the counter and walked over to where she stood slicing into the pie. She raised the knife and ran her finger along the blade before lifting the finger to Jarod's lips. His eyes burned into hers as he took her finger into his mouth and sucked it clean.

Electricity buzzed between them, their bodies awake with anticipation of what they both knew would happen later on, upstairs, when they were alone. They would share a bed, and from the start this time. By this point any pretense to the contrary would have been absurd.

When she reclaimed her finger, he pulled her to him and kissed her roughly. It was a bruising, plundering kiss that conveyed both lust and possessiveness. She was somewhat startled at first, still clutching the knife in one hand and doing her best to keep it safely away from him as he crushed her body against his and hungrily probed her mouth. She soon relaxed and enjoyed the sensation of being kissed with such passion, as the man she'd hunted like an animal conveyed thirty years of pent up emotion from his lips to hers. When their lungs began to protest the lack of oxygen, they broke away, panting. He was about to lean in again when she placed her hand over his mouth and shook her head.

"Coffee and dessert... remember?" she reminded with a smirk.

"Oh, yeah..." he replied absently, running a hand through his hair. He then turned away from her to retrieve the coffee tray and followed her out of the kitchen.

"Good gracious, if you two were gone any longer, you'd be bringing breakfast!" Billie declared with a chuckle that deepened into a full belly laugh as her already flushed guests turned an even deeper shade of red.

It couldn't have been more obvious: her lips were bruised deep red and he was so bleary eyed that Billie would have been surprised if he could see two feet in front of his face. They really couldn't keep their hands off each other, the poor kids, and here they were saddled with a batty old woman. And they had been so kind, respectful and well mannered all day. He had labored away in the barn, good naturedly finishing the project as promised. And she had been so attentive, at Billie's side, lending a hand wherever she could and just listening.

It so warmed her heart to be around them that part of her wanted to be selfish, to keep Margaret's and Catherine's babies close to her, to bask in their brilliance and beauty for as long as possible. But she wouldn't. Part of her responsibility to her niece was to provide a shelter from the storm for her and Margaret's children, and it was meant to be a shelter for TWO.

When dessert was finished, Billie announced, "Well, we better get to it."

"Get to what?" Parker asked.

"The cleaning up, of course."

"But I thought..." Jarod began.

"So, I'm breaking a house rule. Sue me," she commented with a shrug. "It'll get done faster if we ALL work together. And we're having company for lunch tomorrow so we'd better make an early night of it. Which reminds me, young man, we'll be needing that key you swiped from me."

With that, Billie proceeded to stack the dessert dishes on a tray as Parker and Jarod sat in stunned silence, looking first to each other then to her before rising and wordlessly helping her clear the table.

* * * *

"I was out in the barn all day and I'm feeling pretty grimy. I think I'll catch a quick shower before turning in," Jarod declared when the washing up was done. Goodnight... everyone," he added before quickly sauntering out of the room.

As she sat at the counter thumbing through recipes for lunch the next day, Billie pretended to be so engrossed as not to have noticed the small smile playing on her niece's lips.

"Is there anything else I can do for you?" Parker asked, while unconsciously playing with a lock of her hair. "Help you prepare for lunch maybe?"

"Oh no, my dear. You should get some rest. You won't be able to sleep away the morning like you did today," she replied off- handedly as she squinted at a recipe for cheese soufflé. Nah, too fancy, she thought and moved on.

"Are you sure?" Parker prodded.

"I wouldn't say it if I didn't mean it." Billie looked up at her and gave her a quick smile before returning to her recipes.

"No, I don't believe you would," Parker remarked before clearing her throat and asking tentatively, "D... do you happen to have any cornstarch?"

"Of course, dear, in the pantry," the old woman answered distractedly as she pondered the prospect of doing a casserole for lunch.

"Thanks," Parker offered then reached into a cupboard to retrieve a bowl and went into the pantry to fill it with cornstarch. When she emerged, she passed Billie and gave the old woman a quick peck on the cheek and said, "Goodnight."

"Goodnight, sweetheart, sweet dreams," the old woman replied without looking up.

Several minutes elapsed before it registered but when it did, Billie looked up and muttered to herself,

"Now, what on earth is that child planning to do with a bowl of cornstarch?"

* * * *

Jarod emerged from the bathroom wearing a towel around his waist and carrying the clothing he had shed. He padded up the hallway and turned to enter his room when he saw a note taped to his door and grinned.

It read: You just took a wrong turn, GENIUS!

He pivoted, stepped across the hall and knocked on her door.

"What!" she called out in typical Parker fashion.

"I have just been informed that I have taken a wrong turn," he answered with a smile.

"Well, I guess you should come in then," she said with an exaggerated sigh.

He opened the door and was rewarded by a glorious sight: Miss Parker lounging casually on her bed and reading a magazine, wearing only a shiny satin bra of deep wine red and panties, matching of course. He briefly pondered why she would have packed such elaborate foundation garments for a routine business trip but quickly concluded that it didn't matter. He was the one seeing her in them, and out of them, and that was all that mattered now.

He kicked the door shut behind him and tossed aside his clothing. She hadn't looked up at him yet, her eyes still glued to her reading.

"So, what's new?" he inquired as he moved toward the bed.

"They've conducted a poll," she replied as she turned the page. "And the American people are apparently very concerned about the launch of `Sputnik.'"

"You don't say," he commented amusedly. "What's that?" he added as he spotted the bowl of white powder on the nightstand.

Parker finally looked up from her magazine and followed his gaze to the item in question. "Cornstarch," she replied matter-of-factly then reached down to place the magazine on the shelf in the nightstand.

"What's it for?" Jarod asked as he stopped next to the bed and stared at it.

"You."

"Me?"

"Yup. Now take that towel off and lie face-down."

"Excuse me?"

"Your sore back, remember?" Parker slid over and patted on the bed, coaxing, "Now, come on."

"W... what are you going to do?" he asked as he clutched adorably at his towel.

She rolled her eyes. "What do you THINK I'm going to do, genius? Give you a massage!"

"A massage?"

"YEAH! You know, when one person rubs another person's aching muscles."

"A massage," he repeated, raising an eyebrow.

"YES!" she barked impatiently.

"Well, that explains it," he remarked with a sigh as he pulled off the towel and tossed it aside.

"Explains what?" Parker asked as her eyes danced across his body. God, he's beautiful, she thought as she watched him climb in bed beside her.

"That eighteen months Bucky spent in jail," Jarod replied as he rested his head on the pillow to face her.

"Bucky?"

"Yeah, Bucky... BUCKY! LaFontaine. You remember him; he ran the adult bookstore, you know the one where I left you the..."
Part 7b by Ginger
"I remember," she interrupted with a smirk then climbed astride him and sat back on his naked bottom.

Jarod sighed and continued, "He told me he once served 18 months for running a massage parlor and I asked if it was because he wasn't a licensed massage therapist."

Parker chuckled. "And what did he say?"

"Nothing. He just looked at me... in that way people do... all the time."

She took a deep breath and smiled wistfully before leaning forward to place a sweet, gentle kiss on his cheek then sitting up again.

"What was that for?" he asked suspiciously.

"Nothing. I just felt like it, that's all," she replied as she leaned sideways to take a handful of cornstarch.

"Oh," he replied evenly. "Anyway," he continued, "I'm beginning to get a sense of the type of establishment Bucky was running."

"Really," Parker purred with a grin as she began to sprinkle the cornstarch down the center of his spine. "How does that feel?"

"Feathery, soft, very nice actually, but is this method of treatment sanctioned by the American Massage Therapy Association?"

"I very much doubt it," she said in a low voice as she began to knead the perfectly sculpted muscles of his upper back, brushing the silky soft powder across his skin.

"I didn't think so," he remarked then groaned as she hit a particularly tense spot on his shoulder and deftly worked it out. "With that ensemble you're wearing and this technique, I think you might have been a natural for Bucky's place."

"Why Jarod," she replied in a tone of faux coyness, "are you implying that there's something less than reputable going on here?"

"G...God, I hope so," he muttered, his breath hitching as she did wonderful things with her hands. She chuckled throatily and continued her ministrations.

Then it was silent except for Jarod's delicious sighs, moans and grunts as she worked her way from his powerful shoulders, over his shoulder blades and down to the fleshier part of his back. Parker had always had a thing for men's backs and Jarod's was a fine specimen. She hungrily claimed every inch of his skin, her fingertips gliding effortlessly across it as she drew patterns in the satiny white powder. She had unconsciously begun to rock her pelvis on his buttocks and found herself emitting soft sighs and moans in answer to his. She reached over and scooped up another handful of cornstarch to work his lower back.

"Feels like liquid satin," she whispered.

"Mmmm..." was the only response he could muster, his senses rocked by a powerful combination of relaxation and arousal.

The dual sensations of her hands working expertly on the tight muscles of his back and her hips rocking gently on his behind, forcing his groin into the bed, were almost too much too bear. And in the midst of all this was a slowly building awareness of heat and dampness in the spot where her body rested on his.

Jarod felt her rise and move lower on his body. He tensed in anticipation then jumped slightly as he felt her part his legs, her fingers on the sensitive flesh of his upper thighs notching up his level of arousal. Parker worked her way down one long, sinewy leg to his foot, which she paid special attention to before tickling it slightly and eliciting a yelp from him that made her chuckle. She then moved on to the other foot and repeated the same process in reverse.

When she was again at the mid-point of his body, she reached across him to dip once more into the bowl of cornstarch, while leaning forward to tickle the skin of his lower back and upper buttocks with her hair. He was trembling now; the intensity of it had him on the verge of tears. She was taking him, all of him inch by inch, and possessing him in a way he'd never have imagined possible.

Jarod emitted a loud rumble from deep within his chest as he felt the sensation of the silky powder sprinkling over the flesh of his derriere. He knew she'd find her way there eventually but Parker still managed to shock him with what she did next. She bent down, very close to his skin so he could again feel her hair tickling him. He heard her inhale then...

His eyes snapped open and he practically howled at the sensation of her warm breath on his buttocks as she tenderly blew the silky powder across his skin. Parker placed one palm in the center of his back to still him and employed the other to skitter her fingers across his sensitive flesh. She looked up to see him clutching at the sheet and the veins in his neck knotted in tension. His breath had become labored and he whimpered.

"Shhh..." she whispered and began to use the hand she'd placed in the center of his back to trace slow, calming circles on his flesh.

He quieted. She had complete mastery of his body now. She closed her eyes and smiled as she rested her head against the soft skin of his backside. Perfect, she thought as she committed the moment to memory. She knew full well what she was doing. It was ill advised; it was dangerous. Hell, it would likely prove fatal but she didn't care. At that moment all she wanted was to make him hers, to own completely the prize that had eluded her for so long. Parker slowly lifted herself off him and walked up his body to resume her original position.

"C... careful," Jarod warned. "Please don't sit down too hard or you'll force so much blood back into my upper body that it'll cause a pulmonary embolism."

"That can't happen and you know it," she said with a smile as she carefully rested on his backside.

"Let's just say that, right now, I'd be willing to buy the premise."

She chuckled throatily as she unclasped her bra, slipped it off, and cast it aside, before adding softly, "Not to worry, we'll turn you over in a minute."

Parker leaned forward and rested her bare chest against his back. She slid her arms up to caress his and her head came to rest against the soft skin between his head and shoulder. And there she remained for what seemed like an eternity, her heart resting right above his as she drank him in. She would occasionally lift her head to smell his freshly shampooed hair or to place a gentle kiss to the back of his neck, but that was it. Otherwise all was silent except for the sound of their breathing, in unison.

Parker felt him shuddering beneath her and slowly sat up. Climbing off him she instructed tenderly, "C'mon, Jarod, on your back."

He flipped himself over but turned his face away from her. Lying on her side with her head propped up on her elbow, she glanced down his body to see that he remained aroused and painfully so by the looks of it. She grasped his chin gently and turned his head to face her. Parker's chest tightened at the sight of his tears and she was seized with a sudden wave of terror. It was too much; she had gone too far. This was supposed to be about fun and five-years of pent up sexual tension and plain ordinary lust but she'd just made it about something else. Yet her fear subsided as quickly as it had arrived and was replaced with an overwhelming urge to make him understand that it was okay that was immediately followed by an intense desire to make him feel extreme pleasure.

She sat up and leaned over him to press feather light kisses to his face, starting with both eyelids, then down to his wet cheeks. Between kisses, she coaxed in a sensual whisper,

"It's okay... it's okay. Tell me what you want. Tell me how to make you feel good. I want to make you feel good. Please."

"I..." He stopped and shook his head as he reached up to stroke her hair.

"Please tell me. I'll do anything you ask... anything." And she meant it; even in bed, she didn't say things she didn't mean.

"Hold you down," he mumbled.

"What?" she gently prodded.

"I want to hold you down... and take you... hard... and fast." Jarod looked away from her again. "But I don't want to hurt you," he whispered sadly.

Parker emitted a small, ironic chuckle and bit her lip. For once, she was willing to grant someone's wishes without giving a thought to herself and he had asked for something that she wanted, desperately.

"Look at me, Jarod," she commanded. He turned to her.

"I want... I NEED you to fuck me," she said evenly. "And I don't care how you do it and I don't even care if you end up killing me in the process because if you're not inside me soon, I'm going to die anyway."

"But..." he protested, a look of anxiety washing over his face.

"You won't hurt me. You can't. Not like this."

They stared into each other's eyes, he silently contemplating and she wordlessly convincing. Parker was still leaning over him and reached down to take him in her hand, giving him a light squeeze and a couple gentle strokes.

"Please," she entreated as she stroked him. "Please fuck me."

Jarod emitted a long, deep groan then pulled her to him, encircling her with his strong arms and flipping them both so that she was beneath him. He entwined the fingers of both hands with hers and slid her arms above her head then captured her mouth in a hard, wet, invasive kiss, his teeth clicking against hers. Parker could feel him, warm and throbbing, against her belly and moaned, twining her legs around his waist.

He growled predatorily and tore his mouth away from hers to assault her neck, biting down just to the point of pain, then soothing her skin with his tongue. She gasped and pressed her fingers into the indentations between his knuckles. He moved lower, and worked on her breasts, grazing her flesh with his teeth before taking a nipple in his mouth and bearing down, just a bit harder than he would have previously dared. She let out a quiet scream and bucked her body toward his. His mouth still affixed to her flesh, Jarod glanced up at her and cast her that look, the one that had both infuriated and aroused her for years, before repeating the action on the other breast.

"You son-of-a-bitch!" she growled. Panicked with desire, she made a futile attempt to free herself from his grasp and whimpered in frustration.

"No," he mumbled against the flesh between her breasts. "I own you."

"Fuck you!" she snarled, bucking her hips again.

"No," he said calmly, his voice quivering every so slightly. "Fuck you."

With that, he pushed her arms closer together and got a firm hold of both her wrists with one hand. He pushed himself off her slightly and reached down to grasp her panties at the hip, where they were comprised only of a thin satin ribbon.

"So pretty," he remarked wistfully. "Almost hate to do this."

With that he violently yanked at the ribbon and it separated easily from the flimsy material. He repeated the process on the other side then brusquely tore the shredded garment away from her body, holding it up and waving it in front of her before tossing it aside. Her eyes flashed at his and his narrowed at hers, the only sound their labored breathing. It was as though time stood still for an instant.

Until Jarod slid first one, then two fingers inside her. Parker shuddered, closing her eyes. Exhaling deeply and nodding approvingly, he removed his fingers, shifted his weight and positioned himself to enter her.

"Open your eyes," he ordered and she complied.

Then he did it; he unceremoniously thrust himself inside her, as deeply as he could go. She gasped and he moaned. He paused there a moment and Parker saw a glint in his eye that might qualify as dangerous if she didn't know him so well and want him so badly. It was unbelievably erotic. Jarod used his free hand to scoop up one of her legs and bend it back toward her body to afford him greater contact with her most intimate flesh then, without warning, commenced pounding into her with animal ferocity.

Parker would have screamed bloody murder if her lungs were receiving any oxygen. All she could muster was a faint whimper, her mouth hanging slightly open and her eyes, wide with shock, locked on his as he ravaged her. Jarod grunted with effort, perspiration beading on his brow and upper lip as he frantically drove himself inside of her.

She became aware of a sound, a loud thumping, and realized that it was the headboard smacking up against the wall. Parker thought fleetingly of her mother, and of the fact that she and Jarod were fucking like feral beasts on her mother's bed in her elderly great aunt's home. Then she thought of nothing at all, focusing on the man inside her and what he was doing to her, as if nothing else existed.

"Mine. mine. mine. you're. mine," Jarod chanted as his movements became more frenzied. He was clearly on the verge.

The intensity of it was blinding; she was completely immobilized and painfully aware of all the points at which his body was in contact with hers. One hand clutched tightly at her wrists, pinning them above her head while the fingers of the other dug into the flesh of her thigh. And finally, that painful pleasure radiating throughout her entire being, the result of his relentless assault on her. It hurt like hell and it was exquisite, the pain ratcheting up the pleasure.

Finally, he bucked into her so hard that she literally saw stars and that was it. She was gone, biting down so hard on her bottom lip that she drew blood. Parker could no longer focus with her eyes but felt the briny warmth seeping into her mouth. Shortly thereafter she heard Jarod call out her first name then sensed the familiar release of pleasing warmth inside her.

Jarod finally loosened his grasp on her and collapsed onto her, his body smothering hers. It felt spectacular; she felt whole.

"What's happening to us," he sobbed against her neck, asking that question of her for a second time.

"I don't know, baby. I don't know," she whispered as she reached up to stroke his hair.

# # # #
Part 8 by Ginger
Hey Folks,

Well, I went back and checked and was surprised to find that it's been over a month since I posted the last part. Sorry, time just sort of got away from me there, plus my imagination took that little vacation to Italy.

Anyway, here it is. Please see Part 1 for full disclaimer and note the rating in the subject line, although this part doesn't really warrant it. More plot here, I'm afraid.


Billie, Part 8 by Ginger

* * * *

Parker placed a hand over her eyes to shield them from the sun's glare as she jogged down the front steps, following the sound of the girls' laughter. She walked around to the side of the house and found them huddled together, giggling.

"Hello," she greeted with an amused smile, crossing her arms at her chest.

"Hello," the pretty red haired girl replied as the brunette looked on mischievously.

"What, may I ask, are you two up to?" Parker inquired, raising an eyebrow.

"Us? Nothing. But someone's waiting to meet YOU," the brunette announced with a knowing smile.

"Oh, really? And who might that be?"

"You'll have to figure that out yourself!" the girl called out as she and her companion both turned and ran off in the direction of the barn, the sound of their giggling echoing in their wake.

"Hey... wait! Wait for me! I need to go back inside for a minute! I have to go to the..."

* * * *

Parker's eyes snapped open. For an instant she was completely disoriented, having absolutely no idea where she was until she became aware of warmth and rhythmic breathing beside her. Jarod. Holy shit. Jarod.

It was only a minor anxiety attack and a brief one at that. It was soon interrupted by an intense, urgent awareness of a full bladder. She carefully slid out of bed, doing her best not to wake him, and stood. Taking a step, she emitted a small gasp and winced. Well, she thought, I suppose I could always CRAWL to the bathroom. She glanced back at the headboard and wondered about the condition of the wall. By the time we're through here, poor Billie will have to call in FEMA, she mused with a soft chuckle before turning around again.

She haltingly crossed the room and felt around on the chair, picking up the first article of clothing she laid her hands on, Jarod's v- neck t-shirt, and slipped it over her head. It smelled like him and the soft fabric tickled her skin, reminding her of his touch. At the sensation of her nipples stiffening, she dropped her head and muttered under her breath, "for crying out loud," then, shaking her head, lumbered out of the room.

"Are you alright?" a raspy voice called out when she crept back in a few minutes later.

"Well," she replied dryly, "peeing was a new experience in pain and I think it's safe to say that I'll never play the violin again."

"Violin? But you never played the..."

She snickered as she walked over to the bed and climbed in next to him. "I tried not to wake you," she whispered as she settled in.

"I sensed you leave me and it woke me up. Then I thought for sure the whole thing had been a really good dream until I smelled you on my skin and remembered you were real."

Coming out of any other man's mouth, those words would have sounded like a cheesy line from a one-nighter lobbying to become more, but not from Jarod. Parker pulled him close to her, tucking him into the curves of her body with his head resting against her chest. He clung tightly to her as she stroked his hair.

"You're wearing my t-shirt," he observed, rubbing his cheek against the fabric.

"You mind?" she asked softly, drawing tender circles on the soft skin of the back of his neck.

"Not at all. I rather like the idea. It seems..." He considered a moment. "Domestic."

She laughed softly then turned serious. "I wonder what will come to light tomorrow or, I guess, it's today, isn't it?"

Lifting his head to look up at her, he said, "You're anxious about it."

She sighed. "They were here, you know, right after... They invaded this home to rob Billie of all she had left of my mother, her memory. They took every memento they could find, every last photo taken during all those childhood visits. They coldly, methodically, set about eradicating all evidence of the existence of a human being, just as they were trained to do... just as I was trained to do. Just... like... me," she tacked on in a sad whisper.

"No," he responded lifting his head off her chest to look up at her. "Not like you."

She smiled sadly and sighed again, resting her head back against the headboard and closing her eyes. Jarod watched her for a moment then settled back down on her body, rubbing his cheek against her lovingly.

"I'm surprised they left behind that picture of my mother," he remarked softly. "That was a MAJOR oversight."

"It was misplaced. Billie didn't unearth it until years later when she was going through a box of books and it slipped out of one. The cleaners would have been instructed to look in logical places for specific things. They didn't take my mother's clothing either because I assume they weren't told to. Maybe whoever..." She paused a moment and Jarod knew she was wondering if it were her own father because he was wondering the very same thing. "Gave the order wasn't aware of their existence. Mandates are always limited, instructions specific, and any background information provided only on a need-to-know basis. I guess they figure the less we know, the less likely we are to have a crisis of conscience when carrying out these little assignments."

"Hey, what's with this use of `we'? You're not a Centre cleaner anymore," he reminded before lifting his head to place a gentle kiss over her heart.

"Oh, yeah, I've gone on to MUCH bigger and better things," she replied sarcastically.

"Well, I can tell you one thing, Miss Parker, you are a success because you have most definitely caught me."

"It would appear so," she replied with a sad smile as she tightened her arms around him then continued, "Fortunately, Billie had the foresight to store whatever that key you found opens safely elsewhere, in the hands of someone she obviously trusts. And, in those days anyway, she always wore the key on a chain around her neck."

"The Babcock women are a clever bunch," he commented, adding with a sigh, "but you can't turn your back on `em for a second because they can be trouble."

"She is a piece of work, isn't she?" Parker's voice was laced with affection.

"I wasn't just referring to HER," Jarod replied in an amused tone. "But that was some stunt she pulled on us."

"I wonder where on earth she got the idea, or the recipe for that matter?" Parker inquired with a soft chuckle.

"I know exactly where she got it because she told me, last night, after you went up to bed... the FIRST time," he added and she could hear the smile in his voice.

"Well?"

"Well... they were served at one of the ladies' bridge parties."

"WHAT?" Parker demanded, tilting Jarod's head up to look him in the face.

He chuckled and turned over to settle on his back next to her before continuing, "It happened a couple months back. Each week the ladies alternate hosting the gathering and, on this particular occasion, it was in the home of a woman who suffers from glaucoma. Apparently, her grandson, a college student who's visiting from out west for the summer, had decided to try a `home remedy' on granny."

"He didn't," she said, giggling softly.

"Oh, yes, he did. He gave her one square every afternoon with her tea and told her that it should be their little secret because he baked them just for her and her only. She had no idea WHY she should keep it a secret but had, ostensibly, been keeping her mouth shut and getting happily stoned for weeks. Then it came to be her turn to host the bridge party and she had forgotten all about it until it was too late to bake anything. When Billie arrived that day, she confessed that she couldn't seem to get out of her own way lately and couldn't imagine where all the time had gone. Well, I guess her days would be pretty well shot once she'd had her tea. And I understand this crowd can be pretty brutal so she was in a bit of a bind. If she served them store bought baked goods for bridge, she'd never live it down. Her grandson was out for the day so, she figured, what the heck? Under the circumstances, he wouldn't mind if she shared with her friends. So, she did."

"Oh my God!" Parker exclaimed, chuckling heartily. Reveling in the sound, Jarod joined her. "So, Billie tried it and decided she simply HAD to have the recipe!"

"Actually, no. She and her good friend Cora had gone to the Chinese buffet - Billie LOVES the Chinese buffet - for lunch and both were apparently too full to try any. So they got to observe and could hardly believe it. This group of women who, by her description, are usually about as compatible as a den of badgers, were suddenly quite harmonious. It wasn't a very productive day for bridge, with all the giggling and rambling conversation. She and Cora just kept looking at each other and shrugging. Apparently, they found the whole thing quite puzzling."

"I can only imagine," Parker managed between chuckles.

"Billie noticed the look on the grandson's face when he returned home to find the nearly empty plate of brownies sitting out on a table. That's when a light bulb went on. She didn't say anything at the time, but had Cora run her over to the local library the next day to look up what a person might do to brownies to give them, as she put it, an `extra kick.' I guess Billie thought such a recipe might come in handy someday. She returned to the scene of the crime a couple days later, under the premise of bringing over a coffeecake, and cornered the hapless young man. She began casually discussing `secret recipes' and `secret ingredients' and, by the time she was through with him, I guess the poor kid looked like he was going to faint."

Parker was laughing so hard she could barely breathe and Jarod paused a moment until his own laughter began to subside before continuing,

"Then she went in for the kill, subtly implying that, should he be willing to share a little of his `secret ingredient,' the whole thing would go no further. Apparently, he was a tad shocked but rather relieved and only too happy to comply."

"So..." Parker commented, as she struggled to compose herself, "The old woman essentially blackmailed the kid into giving her a quantity of a rather expensive, and let's not forget illegal, commodity. Because, take my word for it, Jarod, it was high quality stuff. God, I love her!"

"Like I said," he remarked warmly, his laughter subsiding as he turned to curl up against her body once more. "Those Babcock women are trouble."

This is wonderful, he thought as a companionable silence fell. Besides the obvious benefits of sharing a bed, it was so nice to engage in whispered late-night conversations and laugh together. Okay, so they'd been having late-night conversations for years, but he definitely preferred it this way, with his body wrapped around hers. Now for the tricky part: how on earth were they to go about making this a permanent arrangement? And, more to the point, how was he going to convince her that they should try?

Parker shifted beneath him and emitted a small groan, causing him to ask again, "Are you okay?"

"Yeah, fine... from the waist up, anyway."

He propelled himself up on his hands and looked intently into her face, illuminated only by the moonlight shining into the window, and in a voice oozing regret, inquired, "I really did hurt you... earlier... didn't I?"

"Nothing that won't heal and it's a really GOOD hurt," she replied softly as she reached up to cup his cheek and brush her thumb over the birthmark under his right eye. "Besides," she added, "I know just the thing for it."

"Really? What?" he asked innocently. He was willing to fetch her anything she needed.

"Hair of the dog, genius, hair of the dog."

"Dog? What d... MMMM!"

Parker stifled his inquiry by tugging him down into a kiss and he never did get around to posing the question. Didn't matter, though, he soon got the idea.

* * * *

She was back out in the blazing sunlight, hot on the heels of the girls, and heading toward the barn. They soon disappeared inside and she called out futilely after them,

"Hey, where are you going? Wait for me!"

They had left the barn door slightly ajar and as she reached it, Rupert, or a creature looking very much like him, scurried out, passing her with an indignant cluck. She jumped back momentarily and swore before cautiously opening the door and stepping inside.

"Hi there," chirped a boy or, rather, a young man of about 16 or 17, who was raking then scooping up straw bedding into a wheelbarrow.

Parker didn't know him, in fact, she was certain she had never set eyes on him before. Yet, something about him made her heart skip a beat.

"Hello," she said, offering a warm smile. "Did you happen to see two girls run through here?"

"Two girls? Sorry, no. Did you say two? She must have a friend over... perfect," he muttered as he continued his chore.

"Hmmm... I was sure they came in here," Parker commented as she glanced around the building and kicked awkwardly at the straw. For some reason, she felt compelled to prolong the encounter.

The young man looked up at her again and politely inquired, "Is there anything else I can do for you? Mom and brother went into town but I think Dad's up at the house."

"So, you... your family... live here?"

"Good God, no. Not full time anyway. My mother: a farmer's wife? Now that WOULD be funny!" He chuckled and Parker joined him, for no other reason than she found the sound of his laughter most appealing.

"No, we spend a few weeks a year here, usually at Thanksgiving, sometimes Christmas, and at least a month during the summer. When we're not here, we have someone to look after the place, you know, take care of the few animals we keep. And we have a pretty tight extended family so there's always someone passing through."

"What's your name?" Parker asked warmly.

"Oh, that was slick. Please pardon my manners," he apologized, setting his rake aside and wiping his hand on his jeans before stepping toward her and offering it to her. "Everyone calls me Chase," he stated amiably, lowering his eyes ever so slightly, barely perceptibly, in deference to her. Something about his demeanor was eerily familiar, evocative of another.

"Well, hello, Chase. It's a pleasure to meet you," Parker said with a wide smile as she accepted the boy's hand.

"Pleasure," he nodded, blushing slightly. When she released his hand, he remained beside her, smiling shyly and occasionally casting his eyes down at the floor. He was beautiful.

"Chase..." she repeated softly. "Interesting... Is it a family name?"

"It's a nickname. We're REAL big on nicknames in this family. My baby brother goes by Kit. Mom says we sound like a couple characters from a Zane Grey novel."

"You have a younger brother?"

"Yes, ma'am, exactly eleven minutes and fourteen seconds younger. Apparently, Dad clocked it. Mom says he's lucky she didn't clock HIM." The young man laughed softly.

"So, it's the two of you."

"Hardly..." Chase rolled his eyes. "There's `The Hurricane.'"

"Hurricane?"

"Well, EVERYONE calls her CC, but Mom and Dad sometimes refer to her as `The Hurricane.' She's two years younger than us. Ah..." He sighed, shaking his head. "What a peaceful two years that must've been. Wish I could remember it."

"The hurricane..." Parker repeated to herself in a whisper, feeling as though there were something she was forgetting.

"Well," Chase offered, "you've probably had enough of this stinky old barn. I would be happy to walk you up to the house, Miss... Miss... I'm sorry; I never did get your name... Miss?"

* * * *

Parker opened her eyes and blinked several times as they adjusted to the light streaming into the room.

"Good morning," she heard a soft voice call to her and looked up to see Jarod standing at the foot of the bed wearing the towel he had shed the night before.

She blinked a few more times at him before returning a weak, "Good Morning."

"I was just headed to the shower. Care to join me?"

"Um..." Her mind felt fuzzy, her thoughts clouded.

Jarod furrowed his brow and walked around the bed to sit down beside her. Tenderly brushing her hair off her forehead, he asked, "Are you okay?"

"Yeah, why?" she replied with a yawn.

"I thought you might have had a nightmare. I heard you mumbling something in your sleep, the word `chase.' Were you dreaming about hunting me?"

Parker stiffened and quickly foisted herself into a sitting position before answering, "No, I mean, I don't remember dreaming anything." Eager to change the subject, she added, "What time is it? I don't want to leave everything for Billie to do herself; she could probably use some help with lunch."

"Relax," Jarod soothed, leaning in to place a gentle kiss on her lips before adding, "It's barely eight o'clock. We have plenty of time."

She looked into his eyes, sighed, and with a small smile offered, "Make it a hot bath and you've got a deal."

* * * *

"You're mighty pensive this morning," Jarod remarked then brushed his cheek against the back of her head. They sat together in the steaming water, he with his back resting against the porcelain and she in front of him with her back resting against his chest.

"Hmmm...?" she responded distractedly as she held one of his hands in both of hers, turning it over and over, stroking the flesh, tracing the path of the veins beneath it, running her finger along the creases and lines of the palm, and measuring the elegantly long fingers against her own. It was as though she were inspecting it, looking for something in particular. But, for what, she had absolutely no idea.

"Oh, that was slick. Please pardon my manners," she whispered under her breath for no apparent reason, which jolted her out of her reverie.

"What did you say?"

"When?"

"Just now."

"D... did I say something?" she asked unsteadily.

"Alright, now you're starting to worry me," he commented, only half joking.

"I'm fine," she replied, exhaling deeply and closing her eyes as she regained her composure. "Except," she purred, "for that HARD THING jabbing me in the ass."

"Uh, sorry, I guess I haven't gotten used to the look... and feel... of you naked yet."

"Yet?" Parker repeated amusedly then reached back and dipped a hand into the water behind her. Jarod closed his eyes and moaned.

"Not in this lifetime, lab rat."

* * * *

"Mmmm..." Jarod hummed as he entered the kitchen. "Something smells delicious."

"Pork Provençale... it's in the oven," Parker explained as she stood at the counter working.

"Hmmm!" Jarod responded, raising his eyebrows approvingly.

"Billie's idea," Parker added with a smile.

"With apple salad to start," Billie piped in. "And that was YOUR idea, my dear. Ingenious. I've always thought apples went splendidly with pork."

"It's Mom's recipe for Waldorf salad... one of the few things I can manage, probably because it doesn't require any actual cooking."

"Well," Jarod announced as he strolled over to where Parker stood at the counter. "The table's made... for FOUR. Care to share the identity of this mystery guest?" he inquired as he reached down for a slice of apple. Parker slapped his hand away and shot him a sideward glance. He grinned.

Clearing her throat to recapture his attention, Billie replied, "You'll find out soon enough, young man. By the way, where's that key you pilfered?"

"Shit!" Parker exclaimed then immediately tacked on, "Oh, I... I beg your pardon, Billie."

"Don't worry about it, sweetie. I've heard - and said - worse in my day."

Addressing Jarod, Parker said, "I forgot all about the key; I think it's still..." She lowered her voice to almost a whisper. "Where you left it the other day, on the nightstand in my room."

"Completely slipped my mind too. I'll go up and get it," Jarod offered.

"No, I'm just about finished here and I think I want to change my shirt anyway. I'll go."

It took a second to locate the key because it wasn't on the nightstand. Parker got down on her hands and knees to search the floor and did, indeed, find it there, having obviously been knocked off at some point... in the course of events. She smirked then stood up and slipped it into her pants pocket before heading over to the wardrobe to change her shirt. Just as she was pulling a thin silk sweater over her head, she heard a car drive up. She hastily pulled her sweater down then took a brief moment to check her appearance and smooth her hair in the mirror before quickly exiting the room.

Parker sauntered down the stairs. She was very anxious to meet the person to whom Billie had entrusted something very precious, something of her mother's. Plus, she was curious as hell as to what that something was. As for this friend of Billie's, well, she owed him or her a debt of gratitude for safely storing this precious cargo for three decades. When she reached the bottom landing and turned into the foyer, her face fell and her blood ran cold.

"What the hell are YOU doing here?" she demanded, her eyes darting between the three people standing before her. "How did you figure out where I...? Did something happen at the... or..." Her voice cracked. "Who else is here?"

"It's okay," Jarod said softly, his own voice quivering with emotion. "No one else is here. He was invited. This is our lunch guest."

It was only then that she spotted the wooden box. Parker didn't say anything, but sank to her knees where she'd stood and just stared, wide-eyed with shock, into the face of the visitor.

# # # #
Part 9 by Ginger
Well, if nothing else, Ginger is a woman of her word. Here's part 9 (I think, I've sort of lost track). For you smut addicts (shame on you!;), I'll apologize in advance. I'm afraid this is another one of those pesky, plot-driven installments, so this one probably rates only PG-13 or so for language. But there's so much filth in the rest of it that I figure I'll just keep slapping the NC-17 rating up.

Disclaimer: Craig & Steve, you are more than welcome to the contents of my piggybank but I ain't making a penny on this!


Billie, Part 9(?)
by Ginger


Billie gazed forlornly at the ceramic baking dish, noting to herself that a casserole had definitely been the right choice; it had hardly been touched. Casseroles improve with refrigeration; it would taste even better next time. The cheese soufflé she had briefly contemplated, on the other hand, would've gone straight to the compost heap. Either that, or the young Stevenson boy, who sometimes ran to the grocery for her, would have had an extra special treat for his pet pig, Pinky. She emitted a soft sigh.

Until today, she'd have thought the lunch the children had shared on the afternoon of her great niece's arrival was the most awkward, tension-filled meal she had ever witnessed. And, until today, it probably was. But, compared with what this party of four had endured over the better part of an hour, that lunch had been downright relaxed in atmosphere.

Parker sat in silence, seething, her anger bubbling just beneath the surface and threatening to boil over at any moment. She hadn't lifted her fork once. Jarod, who was seated next to Billie, alternated between shoveling his food around on his plate, gazing up at Parker and the visitor, who were seated side by side, and staring off into space for minutes at a time, as though he were trying to work out something in his head. The visitor did make a valiant attempt at lunch, managing a few bites and graciously complimenting Billie on her efforts, but she could tell that he had to muster every bit of his strength just to swallow. Finally, she decided to take her life in her own hands and address her great niece,

"You haven't touched a bite, my dear, are you alright?"

"No, Billie," Parker replied in a menacingly controlled voice. "I'm afraid I am not alright. What I am is?" She brought her hand down hard on the tabletop, causing the rest of the party to jump at the clatter and clamor of jolted tableware.

"Sick to death of being lied to!"

"Miss Parker, please, let me."

"What? Explain? I'm sick to death of explanations too! My father's fed me a lifetime of explanations, excuses! Whenever he's backed into a corner, he pulls another one out of his hat! By now, I've come to expect as much from him. But, idiot that I am, I somehow expected MORE from YOU! I can't believe I ever allowed myself to trust you! Never again, Sydney, NEVER AGAIN!"

"Parker, please try to calm down," Sydney entreated. Ignoring him, she continued,

"Let's set aside the previous QUARTER CENTURY, shall we? But what about all that time we've spent together over the last few years, more than with anyone else on the planet! Shit, the crises, the NEAR DEATH experiences, all those GOLDEN OPPORTUNITIES for you to SPILL YOUR GUTS! Apparently, it all meant NOTHING to you!"

"Please, Parker," Jarod interjected worriedly, looking about ready to bolt from his seat and go to her.

"He did it to you too, Jarod, because this involves YOUR mother too! Just another Centre lie at our expense, only this time it was dear-old Sydney who turned out to be the BIG FAT LIAR!"

"That will be ENOUGH, young lady!" Billie broke in. "I will not have a guest at my table who, I might add, is here by MY invitation, treated with such disrespect."

"Which reminds me, I haven't even gotten to YOU yet, old lady!"

"And you won't, not now anyway. Whatever else you have to say to the good doctor, or to me for that matter, will wait until he, until we, have had the chance to tell our side of the story."

"But..." Parker began to protest.

"MARGARET CATHERINE PARKER! DID YOU NOT HEAR A WORD I SAID?"

Billie's thunderous outburst just seemed to hang in the air for a time, accompanied by an eerie quiet, as if every living thing for miles were holding its breath. At hearing her full name spoken aloud for the first time in decades, Parker was stunned into silence as she stared, slack-jawed, across the table, first at Billie then into Jarod's eyes, the shock evident in them reflecting her own. She was seized with a completely irrational desire to jump up, grab him by the hand, and just run, as fast and as far away as they could. Absurd as it was, it was a familiar sensation: she had experienced it several times when they were together as children, right after her mother's death. Sydney observed the look exchanged between them then glanced down at his plate, a small, bittersweet smile gracing his lips.

"I know this must be a terrible shock, Miss Parker," he began softly. "But I made a solemn promise to your mother and, as it was the last thing she ever asked of me, I felt honor-bound to follow her wishes."

Parker took a deep breath then turned to look into Sydney's eyes and in an even, slightly quivering voice, said, "Okay, Syd, spill it."

He gave her a small smile and shrugged, "She paid a visit, late one evening, to my home. She had already confided to me that she feared for her life and I was very worried about her, particularly because she had missed our session that day. Nobody seemed to have any idea where she was."

"That's because she was here," Billie piped in. "That's the last time I saw her," she tacked on sadly.

"Catherine handed me a small wooden box, which she told me was locked. She said that, obviously, a lock wouldn't stop me should I become curious about what it contained. But it was her hope that I wouldn't do so because it was up to the children; it was theirs to open. By the children, she meant of course."

"The two of us," Jarod intoned.

"Yes, Jarod, the two of you. Catherine asked that I trust her even though she couldn't say more. It had to be that way for my own protection; she needed me to be safe for your sake, Jarod." He turned his attention back to Parker. "For both your sakes. She said it was vital that I do everything in my power to ensure that I remained assigned to Jarod and, as much as possible, to look after you, Parker. She rather cryptically noted that she was confident I'd play a more substantial role in your life later on. Of course, I had no idea what she meant at the time."

"So, she asked you to take the box and keep your mouth shut. That's it?" Parker asked brusquely.

"She said that when the time was right, I'd hear from someone, a woman, and that I could trust this person. This woman, who had been entrusted with the key to the box, would tell me something else that, based on everything I KNEW to be true, would seem preposterous at first but, upon reflection, would actually make complete sense to me."

"And you bought all this?" Parker huffed, folding her arms. "And let her go off into the night to face whatever fate awaited her, even though what she had told you sounded completely ludicrous, at best, delusional, at worst."

"I didn't know what to believe, frankly. All I know is that I was faced with a frightened but determined woman. And I didn't know how to protect her. I didn't even know how to protect myself, not to mention you and Jarod. I told her as much. You must understand, Parker, these were extremely dangerous, uncertain times at the Centre."

"When AREN'T the times dangerous and uncertain? We're hardly working at Disney these days!" she interrupted.

"She's got a point," Jarod added.

Sydney cast his eyes down and smiled, recalling Catherine's touch as she gently caressed his cheeks, the softness of her lips as she pressed them, so sweetly, to his forehead. He could hear her voice, as clearly as he could that night, just as he had heard it echo in his head all those times over the years when he was beginning to lose faith.

"My dear friend. I'm counting on you," he whispered.

"What?" Parker asked, her tone softening a bit.

Gazing deeply into her eyes, he saw the eyes of his beloved, long-departed friend and sighed, gently placing his hand over Parker's where it rested on the table. "She placed her faith in me, Parker. SHE gave me the strength to carry out her wishes. There was simply no alternative. I'm afraid that is all there is."

"Not all," Parker said, glancing at her and Sydney's joined hands. "You loved her, didn't you?"

"She was a devoted friend, a respected colleague, and an incredibly strong, capable woman. I am a better man for having known her. And..." He hesitated a moment then continued, "I consider myself fortunate to have had another in my life, and so much like her."

Shaking her head, Parker asked wearily, "Couldn't you have said something, Syd, once we were working together, day in, day out? Maybe it could have saved us all some... I don't know."

"Early on, you didn't trust me; your judgment was clouded by all their lies. You'd never have believed a word I said. Later on, as we became closer, I was, indeed, tempted. But Catherine was unequivocal on one point; not a word until I heard from."

"Me," Billie cut in. "And, I wasn't to contact him until I had Catherine and Margaret's babies under my roof." She glanced first at Jarod then at Parker and with supreme satisfaction added, "Together."

Then, with a heavy sigh, she continued, "I hated how distant your mother became after she married Mr. Parker. I barely heard from her and, worse yet, never had the chance to meet her baby girl. So, you can well imagine my surprise, and joy, when I glanced out the window to see her walking up to the house. I remember it was sunny and the first really warm day of spring that year. And there she was; it seemed a miracle. But as soon as I looked into her eyes, I knew something was wrong. Oh, she did her best to reassure me but I couldn't shake the feeling that she was saying goodbye... and for good."

Billie paused a moment and roughly swiped a tear from her cheek. She didn't like crying and prided herself on having shed few tears in her 93 years. She took a deep, fortifying breath then recounted, "We talked for hours. Catherine begged my forgiveness for having kept her distance all those years, which was of course completely unnecessary and I made quick work of telling her so. She explained that she had done it because a voice inside her had always advised to keep me separate from the life she had made with Mr. Parker. Then she told me all about you, my dear." She looked into Parker's eyes and smiled. "She said you were beautiful, smart as a whip, and quite a handful. And she believed, above all else, that you were the very best part of her, that you were special, and destined to do great things. My goodness, when I think of how her eyes lit up, how the sadness in them completely disappeared... for a time. She showed me pictures of you and said she wished she could leave them with me but that it wasn't possible."

"She knew they'd come," Parker remarked in a low voice.

"Yes, and she said it was very important there be no evidence of her visit. She said I couldn't tell another living soul of it because THEY, whoever in God's creation THEY were, couldn't know that she'd been to see me because if they did then I wouldn't be safe. I remember thinking at the time, good lord, what has the child gotten herself into. I wanted to ask but I knew there was no point. Then, she glanced at her wristwatch and said she'd soon have to be on her way. She went out to her car and came back with the wooden box, which she said would be delivered that very evening into the hands of someone she could trust to keep it safe. She handed me a small slip of paper bearing the name of that person then the key and told me to guard both as though they were the most precious items on earth. Then she smiled and asked me what I thought was the strangest question under the circumstances. She asked if I remembered Margaret. Of course I remembered her. I'd rightly assumed that Catherine had named her baby for her."

"That's when she told you about me?" Jarod asked softly.

"Yes, my dear boy. And she had many wonderful things to say about you, but she seemed so sad when she spoke of you and your mother. She did not go into the matter and, again, I didn't ask. Truth be told, I don't think I wanted to know; what her eyes told me was enough to send a chill down my spine. And that's when she gave me my instructions. I was to hold onto the key until such time as Margaret's son and her daughter were together under my roof. I'll never forget how single-minded she was on that point. Remember, Auntie, she repeated and more than once, they must be TOGETHER. Then, and only then, was I to contact this fine gentleman." She nodded in the direction of Sydney. "And, when I did, I was to tell him I had the key, that the children were here, and that we were all waiting for him. Imagine, an old woman like me, delivering cryptic messages like something out of one of those spy stories they play at the pictures."

Billie emitted a small chuckle then added, "The years went by... and by... and I began to lose hope of ever seeing the day then, suddenly, here you both were. So, I fished the doctor's address out of my recipe book... hide in plain sight, you know." Jarod quirked an eyebrow and Parker allowed a small smile to form on her lips. "And," Billie continued, "On our way to bridge the other day, I had Cora run me over to the mailboxes place the Wilson boy runs in town to send a Western Union. Jamie, that's the Wilson boy, said nobody sends telegrams anymore what with all those new-fangled devices they've come out with, the Internet and those fax thingies. It was a regular leap of faith. Who knew if it would reach its intended destination, or if this person was even alive anymore?"

"Fortunately," Sydney tacked on, "it did and I am. And here we are, although I'm afraid I will have to cut my visit short. As it is, Lyle has been sniffing around, asking if we had any idea when to expect you back. I certainly wouldn't want to provoke further suspicion by being away for too long."

"Lyle," Parker whispered, a sick feeling gnawing at the pit of her stomach. She glanced up to find Jarod gazing knowingly at her. How on earth, she thought, would she ever begin to explain Lyle's existence, let alone his character and track record, to her great aunt, to THEIR great aunt?

"Well then," Billie announced, "I'd better get the dessert and coffee."

"I'm sorry I tossed the rest of the brownies the other day," Parker muttered as she stood and began to clear the table. "I could really use one about now."

* * * *

"I wish you didn't have to leave so soon," Jarod said as he walked Sydney to his car. "I'd really like to talk with you. So much has happened over the past couple days and... I don't know. I just don't know."

The older man patted his protégé on the shoulder then turned to glance up at the porch where Parker paced back and forth, her arms folded tightly at her chest. She stopped momentarily and met his eyes then continued pacing. Sydney remarked with a wry smile, "I'm sorry, Jarod, but I think this is one you'll have to handle without my help."

He opened his car door and climbed in. Resting one arm on the top of the car, Jarod leaned in and, in a hushed tone, confessed, "But I think I love her, Sydney, that I'm IN LOVE with her."

"Have you told her that?" Sydney asked, although he was pretty sure he already knew the answer.

"No," Jarod replied with a look of horror. "I realize I take more risks than your average human being but I do not believe I possess a death wish."

Sydney chuckled and advised warmly, "Well, perhaps it's time you took one more. This one has the power to transform your life, Jarod. And, since I have a feeling life is about to change regardless, and in ways I wouldn't even attempt to predict..." He glanced up at the porch again and smiled. "I've said it before and I'll say it again. She's worth it; you're both worth it. Catherine certainly thought so and Miss Babcock clearly thinks so. In this case, however, the only opinions that count are yours... and hers. Be well, Jarod."

"Thanks, Sydney," Jarod replied with a wide smile. "I'll be in touch," he added then pushed the door closed, waving as his mentor drove off.

He turned to see Parker leaning against the porch railing, her arms still folded, and shrugged. There was still the small matter of a thirty-year secret to contend with. Everything had been one way for so long but now it was all changing and, Sydney was right, in ways that were impossible for any of them to anticipate.

"I guess it's time to open that box," he stated as he climbed the porch steps.

"Couldn't we not and say we did?" she asked, only half-joking.

"Come on, Parker. It's from your mother."

"Sure, why not," she said with a heavy sigh, dropping her arms to her sides as she turned away from him. "We'll probably find out, after all this time and about 48 hours too late, that we're really brother and sister."

"That's not funny, Parker," he rebuked.

"Do you see me laughing?" she shot over her shoulder as she pulled the screen door open and stepped inside.

"There you are," Billie observed as she met them in the foyer. "I was just coming out to let you know that I'm retiring to my room for a while. It's been quite a day. I've left the." She motioned. "I've left it on the coffee table. If you need anything, just holler." She gave them an encouraging smile and squeezed her great niece's hand before ambling toward the back of the house.

Jarod and Parker walked slowly into the parlor stopping, side by side, in the archway leading into the room, to stare a the pretty, elegantly carved wooden box.

"Cedar?" Parker asked, rather absurdly she thought a couple seconds later.

"Cherry, I think," Jarod replied quietly and took her hand.

They walked into the room together, moving gingerly around the coffee table to sit, side by side, on the loveseat. Again, they stared.

"Oh, for Christ's sake, this is ridiculous!" Parker exclaimed. "It's a freakin' box, Jarod. Why are we behaving like idiots?"

"Well, I can only speak for myself, but I'm terrified," he confessed then turned to look at her. "How about you?"

"Me?" She looked away from the box and at him. "Oh, the usual: a pounding headache, faint nausea, that terrible foreboding that the shit's about to hit the fan." She reached into her pocket and produced the key. "Now or never," she said with a shrug.

"Now or never," he repeated with the faintest of smiles. Parker slipped the key into the lock.

"Wait!" Jarod declared, placing his hand over hers on the key.

"What?" She jerked her head sideways to look at him again.

"I... I just wanted... I..." He emitted a small groan then pulled her to him for a brief, but forceful, kiss.

"For luck," he said, coloring slightly and glancing down as he released her.

"For luck?" She cast him an incredulous look and gave her head a slight shake before redirecting her attention to the task at hand. When she heard a faint click and felt the lock pop open, she felt as though she were barely breathing.

"You open it," Parker said as her hand came to rest on Jarod's thigh, right above his knee.

"Okay." As he leaned forward to flip open the lid, her grip on his leg tightened.

# # # #
Part 10 by Ginger
See Part 1 for full disclaimer... no money's changing hand, nobody's copyright is being molested.


Billie, Part 10
by Ginger


*My Darling Baby Girl,

Few things in life give me as much pleasure as our letters. It's our special way to stay close, to share things, and I treasure every moment I've spent putting pen to paper, writing to you, my love. This is the most important letter I'll ever write to you and, while I continue to hope and pray that you'll never have to read it, and that I'll be there to share all the new and exciting things to come, I am now all but certain that we will be robbed of that opportunity.

If you are reading this, then I am gone. And there are a few things you should know, baby. Chief among them is that I love you very much. You are the best thing that ever happened to me and I cannot imagine what my life would have been like without you in it. I wouldn't even want to try. I truly consider you to be a gift from God, a gift I sometimes feel I don't deserve given all the mistakes I've made. But I have to believe that it was in God's plan to send me an amazing little creature with the spirit of an eagle and the heart of a lion, my precious baby girl who will have the courage and intelligence to succeed where I've failed and to make the future what it ought to be. I know it won't be easy but I have faith in you, my love. I believe in you.

If you are reading this, then Jarod is sitting beside you. Picturing that makes me smile even as I write this. It amazes me how close you two have grown in such a short period of time, but then, finding a kindred spirit in childhood is hardly without precedent in this family. Of course, you won't look the way you do now, as I steal glimpses of the two of you off together in a quiet corner, in your own little world. You'll both be all grown up and, I fear, will have spent far too much time apart. Alone. Jarod is so like his mother- his capacity for love is infinite. I do not presume to predict what form that love will take in the future for that is up to the two of you to decide, or, if such things are not to be decided, then to negotiate as the heart wills. But this much I do know - you are both searching, striving for the same thing and your best, perhaps only, chance for success is to take this journey together. It's time, baby girl. But you will not be alone in this. You are not alone.

If you are reading this, then you have met your great aunt Billie. Again I'm smiling because it's impossible to think of her without doing so. I'm sure you already understand. Even though I rue the circumstances, and my heart breaks at the thought that it will likely be the last time, I very much look forward to seeing her again. One of my biggest regrets, among the many, is not keeping her in my life and I am even sorrier that the two of you will have to wait so long to meet. But I have faith - no, it's more than that - I feel a certainty that I am at a loss to explain - a certainty that it has all been in service of a worthy goal, to bring you to this place, at this time, to read this letter from me. Our dear Aunt Billie and Sydney have come through for us, bravely carrying out my wishes without question, persevering through years of fear and doubt, at considerable personal risk and maybe even at substantial personal cost. For that I owe them a tremendous debt, one I'm afraid you will have to repay. Treasure them, baby, and always keep them close. And please convey my eternal gratitude and love to them both.

With the likes of those two on your side, I cannot see how you and Jarod could possibly fail. But there are others as well, and just as committed, who have been watching and waiting - waiting for the leadership that only you and Jarod can provide - to finally bring an end to this nightmare once and for all. I have tried to provide that leadership myself but it has simply become too much for one person to take on - alone. I am confident that you and Jarod will make a formidable team, now that you're grown and able to look after yourselves. And that is the most important thing to me - your future and his. I could not declare total war because there are things I am not prepared to risk - your life, his life, the safety of Margaret and her family. So they win this battle, but you, my child, you and Margaret's son will win the war.

And while I'm on the topic of Margaret, when the opportunity arises- and, again, I just know it will - please tell her that I love her and that I'm eternally grateful that she somehow found it in her enormous heart to continue to love me even though her association with me cost her so much. A long time ago, when we were girls, I told her the future would be beautiful and, in spite of everything, she has never stopped believing. You'll have to ask her about it someday - I think you'll find the story interesting.

My pen has slowed almost to a stop and you know how fast I tend to write. I am reluctant to end this, baby, because it feels like saying goodbye. And I can't think of anything more horrible than saying goodbye to you so I won't. It isn't necessary anyway because, even if I can't be there with you everyday, I will never leave you. One thing they will never be able to destroy is my love. I love you, my beautiful Margaret Catherine, and that is forever.

With all my love, always,

Mom*

* * * *

Tears rolled down Parker's cheeks as she looked up from the letter to gaze off into a distant horizon visible only to her. She carefully refolded the sheets and pressed them to her chest. Jarod remained seated beside her, neither speaking nor reaching for her, but keeping his glistening eyes trained protectively on her through several long moments of silence.

"It isn't enough," she finally remarked in a soft, slightly quivering voice. "And it isn't fair." She turned to him and he nodded slowly.

"It still hurts so much, after all this time. So much... I can't stand it. I don't want this life. I don't want this. I don't want to avenge her death or inherit her legacy of righting wrongs. I don't want to honor her memory by becoming that woman everyone seems to want me to be. I don't want to succeed where she failed. I don't want to hear her voice inside me or speak to her in my dreams. I don't want to read letters she left behind. I want my life back, exactly the way it was on April 12, 1970. I want her here with me, alive. I want my mother, Jarod. I want Momma."

His own tears now spilled as he bore the full weight of her grief. And it was neither rational nor analytical - the way he experienced the emotions of those he simulated - but deep and visceral, the way he had always felt her pain. He instinctively opened his arms to her and she impulsively fell into them, burying her face in the spot where his neck met his shoulder. He pushed himself all the way back in his seat and pulled her to him, drawing her completely into his embrace until her body was literally cocooned in his. Jarod then commenced rocking Parker gently in his arms as she sobbed quietly against him. Brushing his cheek against her hair, his eyes drifted shut, wringing more tears as he cried with her.

* * * *

Parker began her ascent from the half-conscious state she'd slipped into once her sobbing had subsided, a bit disoriented and without the faintest idea of how long she and Jarod had been curled up together, their long limbs entwined and their bodies practically molded into a ball on the loveseat. All she could discern was that it was still daylight and that all was quiet in the house. She surmised that Billie must not have emerged from her room yet and probably wouldn't until summoned so as to grant her and Jarod plenty of privacy within which to deal with the contents of the box. Oh yeah, she noted as she struggled to break through the grief-induced haze, the damned box.

"Jarod," she whispered then slowly lifted her head, which felt unusually heavy, from where it rested over his heart. She strove to focus eyes seemingly veiled in gauze, and saw that he too had dozed off. "Jarod," she whispered a little louder the second time. His eyes opened drowsily to meet hers and he looked about as out of sorts as she felt.

"Hmmm?" he managed in reply then ran a hand across his face, furiously rubbing his eyes before blinking up at her again.

Moving sluggishly into a seated position she muttered, "We've got to. There's more..."

Jarod nodded lethargically and raised himself into a sitting position, swinging his legs fully onto the floor. Parker slid over and climbed across his lap to perch on the edge of the loveseat between his parted legs. He leaned forward to wrap his arms around her and rest his chin on her shoulder. She reached back to slide one hand into his hair as she turned her head slightly to give him a small nuzzle. He placed a sweet, tender kiss high on her cheekbone and she momentarily closed her eyes. It occurred to her that Jarod's touch was assuming the role usually played by single-malt scotch in these situations. Better for the liver, she thought wryly before turning her attention to the coffee table, glancing first at the folded letter that Jarod had earlier pried gently from her trembling hands and lain next to the box, then to the open box itself and its remaining contents.

With Jarod gazing intently over her shoulder, Parker reached into the box and retrieved another folded sheet of paper. Unfolding it, she stared at it, her forehead creasing.

"What the hell is it?" she asked.

Jarod leaned forward, taking the sheet from her and holding it closer to his face. He contemplated it then emitted a "Hmmm" that evoked mild surprise and announced with a small nod,

"Codes... required to access an encrypted file from a maximum security data storage system developed by the Centre in the late- 1960s but never widely adopted. In fact, I wasn't aware that it was adopted at all at the network level."

"Then how can you be sure that's what it is?"

"Because I'm the one who developed it. Wasn't my best work, but then, I was all of nine years old at the time. I'm surprised Catherine knew anything about it; I'd all but forgotten about it myself."

"Do you have a computer with you?"

"It's.. nearby. My laptop is in a secure location, along with the..." He cleared his throat.

Parker leaned back against him and, managing a small smirk, inquired, "DSAs?"

"One can never be too careful," he murmured into her ear before pressing a soft kiss to it.

"Don't you trust me?" she said on a sigh.

"With my body, definitely, with my heart, well, let's just say I'm thinking about it."

She heard the smile in his voice and, to her amazement, found herself smiling at his sweetly earnest, guileless attempt to cheer her up, the same strategy he had employed when they were kids, each and every time he saw her in those sad days right after her mother's death. And then, as now, it was surprisingly effective.

"But with the DSAs? Not on your life, honey..." he joked, adding, "Hey, look at this." He reached around her and into the box to retrieve the final item it contained.

"It's them!" he exclaimed gleefully as he held up the worn and faded black and white photograph.

Parker's eyes grew wide. It was, indeed, them, and looking exactly as they did in her dreams the night before, right down to the clothing they wore. Her heart began to race and blood thundered in her ears.

"Mom is so pretty!" she heard Jarod babbling excitedly, but it sounded distant, as if he were in another room instead of wrapped around her, as he continued,

"Catherine looks like you did at that age, so beautiful and full of fire. I'll bet they had so much fun together."

Something made her reach up and grab Jarod's wrist then rotate his hand so she could see the back of the photo. Sure enough there was writing on it, in her mother's hand. An intense panic rose within her, her chest tightened, and Parker felt as though she wasn't getting any oxygen. She violently shoved Jarod's hand aside, startling him and causing him to drop the photograph. She roughly extracted herself from his embrace and, springing into a standing position, bellowed, "No fucking way!"

Without another word, she bolted from the room, leaving Jarod stunned, speechless and alone on the loveseat. He shook his head then glanced over at the photo that now lie beside him and, picking it up, reread the words scrawled on the back that had so thoroughly, if inexplicably, upset Parker. And after he had succeeded in at least slightly easing her pain, he thought disappointedly. Looking up, he furrowed his brow, quietly reciting Catherine Parker's cryptic message to her daughter:

"Believe in your dreams, baby. I do."

* * * *

"This is fucking ridiculous," Parker muttered to no one in particular as she paced nervously back and forth on the porch. "Life does not work this way... not even MY fucked up life!"

One does not get inadvertently high, then get laid, and have it change the entire course of her life, of the lives of those around her, of history. And, even if one did, it sure as hell wouldn't be to fulfill some grand destiny. It was beyond ludicrous. No... fucking... way.

She heard the screen door open and turned to find Jarod wearing that quintessential look of concern. She raised her hands defensively, shook her head, and stormed down the stairs, stalking off in the direction of the. Well, she had no idea where she was headed; all she knew was that she needed to get out of that house for a while.

"Parker!" Jarod called out as he bounded down the stairs after her. "Please tell me what's bothering you! Tell me what's wrong!"

She spun around and shot him an incredulous look. "Are YOU kidding? Let's see, what could POSSIBLY be wrong?"

Parker pivoted and picked up the pace but he caught up with her quickly, grasping her firmly by the shoulders and forcing her to stop and turn to face him. Jarod reached out and gingerly brushed a hand across her cheek.

"Please don't retreat from me again. I thought we were past all that. Talk to me. We have important things to do and we need to communicate."

"Correction. What I really need right now is some fresh air. And you need to access that file. Get cracking, Jarod."

"But..." He lowered his head slightly then continued softly, "I'm worried about you."

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath before responding in a much more civil tone, "Don't worry about me. I just need to clear my head bit. I won't be long and maybe when I get back, I'll be able to settle on a mood for longer than thirty seconds."

"It's been a long day," Jarod observed with a small, compassionate smile as he caressed her cheek, this time allowing his hand to linger there.

"Yeah," she affirmed then placed her hand over his to give it a quick pat before pulling back and turning away from him.

With a heavy sigh, he watched her walk off then turned slowly and began to amble toward the house. It occurred to him that Parker might begin to feel better once she knew what that file contained - he knew he would - and he picked up his pace.

* * * *

Jarod rubbed his face and ran his fingers through his hair, scratching his scalp then stretching. He could hear Parker moving about the house but she had remained quiet ever since her return hours earlier. He hadn't pushed her, leaving her to her thoughts as he labored away at his laptop. He heard soft voices and looked up from the screen to see Parker and Billie engaged in a hushed conversation in the foyer. Billie took Parker's hand and held it in both of hers. Jarod smiled fleetingly then glanced at the wooden box sitting on the coffee table next to his laptop before redirecting his attention to the computer screen. He had to access that file.

"Since it's getting late, Billie wants to order pizza for dinner. I guess I'll have to go into town and pick it up. How's it going?

"It isn't," he replied with a frown and without looking up. "Well, that's not entirely true. I located it fairly easily because I knew it had to be stored on one of the old servers that could support the archaic software. Even those only date back to the early eighties and, without regular software upgrades I wasn't sure where we'd be. But it looks like someone has been minding the store for us."

"Huh?" Parker moved around the coffee table to look at the screen but did not sit down.

"A person or people have been upgrading the operating software - which is sort of analogous to the sea upon which the file your mother left for us floats. Whoever it is must have been doing it for years and fairly regularly because it's essentially up-to-date and there are a limited number of generations you can skip and maintain functionality."

"So what's the problem."

"I've hit a snag. I managed to successfully permeate the three security barriers that I built into the system. I had to be extremely careful because they were designed to give the user only two cracks at each barrier. If you try a third time at any point in the process, the file will self-destruct. So, I figured I was home free only THIS file contains one more barrier, which wasn't in my original design. So, I've been staring at this stupid screen for nearly two hours, trying to work out a BACK way in because, even though it's only a five-character password, most likely alphanumeric, I can't risk running a decryption program. I have no idea how it will respond; I could end up destroying the file. I think I may have to enlist the help of Mr. Broots for this."

Parker squeezed Jarod's shoulder then leaned forward to stare into the screen. "Five letters, huh?" she asked casually.

"Well, five CHARACTERS. It could be letters or numbers or a combination of both."

"It's all letters," she stated matter-of-factly. "And you won't have to bother Broots with this."

"What do you mean? What are you doing?" Jarod inquired nervously as he watched her place her fingers on the keyboard and calmly peck out five letters. Then his eyes grew wide.

* * * *

"Are you almost finished?" Parker asked impatiently, pacing behind the loveseat as Jarod quickly scrawled the contents of the Catherine's document onto a sheet of paper. He had exactly three minutes to copy the information it contained before the one-time, read-only file would literally disintegrate.

"Almost there." he cooed. "Got it and with..." He glanced at his watch. "23 seconds to spare!" He looked back at her and grinned cheekily. She rolled her eyes. Exactly 23 seconds later the letters began to disassemble, giving the appearance of falling snow as the pixels ran down the screen until it was blank.

"Very clever, Boy Wonder," Parker quipped as she moved around the loveseat to sit beside him. "So, what is it?" she asked, glancing at the sheet in his hands. "Does it tell us whom Mom suspected was planning to kill her?"

"No. It's a list of names, that's it."

"That's it?" She asked disappointedly.

"It's a start. It must be the names of the others."

"The people awaiting our leadership," she interjected and with a sardonic chuckle added, "Poor Bastards. But, I'm serious, Jarod, assuming these people are still alive, and that's making one hell of an assumption, how on earth are we going to find them?"

"Well, do any of these names mean anything to you?" He asked as he scooted over in his seat to be closer to her. They read through the list together.

"These people don't mean a fucking thing to me, Jarod."

"Hmmm..." he uttered, grimacing, until something caught his eye and he smiled, shaking his head. "That's not true, Miss Parker. I do believe this one does, indeed, mean something to you." He pointed to the middle of the page.

"Jarod..." Parker emitted an exasperated sigh. "I do not know anyone by the name of Salvatore Mancuso, Sr."

"Maybe not, but you know his son." He looked knowingly into her eyes.

She blinked at him for a few beats then it dawned on her, her eyes widening. She shook her head in disbelief then exhaled deeply. "Holy Shit," she muttered then stood up and began pacing.

"What the HELL have you been doing all this time! Clearly, you haven't learned a damned thing! And neither have I! All this time we've been running around like idiots, searching for the truth, and neither of us has a clue! Not one fucking clue!"

Jarod shrugged then offered with a hopeful look, "Well, it looks as though we're finally going to get one, anyway." Parker buried her face in her hands and groaned.

"Come here," he advised warmly with a nod.

She walked resignedly to him and he pulled her onto his lap. Pressing his forehead to hers, he said, "It may be premature to declare that the end is near but I think it's safe to say that the beginning of the end is near."

"I hope so," she whispered.

"And the beginning of the end begins with Salvatore, Jr. So I guess it's your move, Miss Parker."

She said nothing, nodding her head gently against his. He wrapped both arms around her and crushed her to him in a tight embrace.

# # # #
Part 11 by Ginger
Or maybe it's Part 11. At this hour I could SWEAR it's Part 4956.

Anyhoo...

See part 1 (if you can find it, I believe it was written some time early in the Crimean War) for full disclaimer.

Note: This one probably rates an "R" but, again, what's the point of reading every third or fourth installment of a fic. It's me after all so, rest assured, this one will get down and dirty again before it's over. By the way, I am hoping THAT will happen some time before we colonize Mars.


Billie, Part 11
by Ginger


Parker had shed her pants and was sitting on the edge of the bed in her sweater and underwear as she stared into the circular dispenser, silently counting off days. Nope, she thought, emitting a sigh of relief, I haven't missed one. She punched the small orange pill through the foil and popped it into her mouth then snapped the container shut and pressed it to her lips for an appreciative kiss. Flopping onto her back, she exhaled deeply and pondered the ceiling.

Of course she hadn't missed one; she hadn't missed one in twenty years. They went with her everywhere, always in her purse not her luggage, just in case. Besides, she wasn't getting any younger and all those new studies were suggesting that female ovaries pretty much age in dog years. She probably had, like, half a viable egg left, if that. She silently chided herself for her earlier hysteria, for getting carried away with the intensity and emotion of the moment. Life was about to get plenty interesting without worrying about fantasy children. Or maybe they were real but someone else's. Maybe they were HIS children with someone else. Perhaps what she (and, ostensibly, her mother) had gotten a glimpse of was a future she wouldn't be a part of... a future she wouldn't be around to see.

"Well, THAT'S depressing," she muttered, hauling herself up to put the small plastic case back into her bag, while trying to ignore the little voice in the back of her mind that warned: Then again, if there's a man alive who could fertilize that shriveled up half of an egg, it's Jarod, if only to annoy the living crap out of you.

As if on cue, there was a soft knock on the door. Parker emitted a wry chuckle then called out, "That you, genius?"

"Who else?" he answered, sounding genuinely perplexed. "Can I come in?"

"Sure, why not. What harm could it possibly do," she replied with a smirk. Glancing heavenward and shaking her head, she flopped down to retake her position on the edge of the bed, this time leaning back on her palms and crossing her outstretched legs at the ankles before turning her head to face the door.

"I'm all." Jarod paused a moment to register the lack of attire on the lower half of her body and was either unaware of the gleeful smile that appeared on his lips or didn't find it necessary to stifle it.

"You were saying," she prodded, raising an eyebrow.

"I'm packed and I've already said goodbye to Billie."

"Do you have to leave right away?" Parker asked softly, her tone now serious.

"No," Jarod replied with a sweet smile. "Daybreak will be fine."

"Good," she said with a yawn then stood and stretched. "You can come to bed," she tacked on then pulled her sweater over her head and tossed it aside.

* * * *

As she lazily traced the lines and crevices of Jarod's left hand with her tongue, Parker noted to herself that the day's events seemed to add a dimension to their physical relationship. It was damned good from the start but it now seemed even more... something, she wasn't sure what. Drawing his forefinger into her mouth, she suckled lovingly. He groaned and shifted beneath her. She answered with a shuddering breath. He was ready again and so was she. Neither wanted to squander a moment of those last, few, precious hours together before he had to disappear, she had to go back, and they had to prepare for whatever came next.

Parker pushed herself up to kneel astride him, grasping him firmly and stroking tenderly to elicit one of those deep, delicious moans that conveyed so much raw need; as though he were critically ill and she were the only cure, his hands reaching for her, clutching at her with an almost desperate urgency. She smiled, taking a moment to commit the sound of his voice and the feel of his touch to memory before sinking down on him, biting her lip and humming approvingly at what had already become one of her favorite things: the sublimely pleasurable sensation of Jarod's body gliding deep inside of hers.

She rocked slowly... excruciatingly, devastatingly slowly... trying to hold onto the moment for as long as possible. She was practically holding her breath, trying to keep it at bay, hoping to stop time, but it just kept building. She stopped moving altogether, emitting a small whimper.

"Mac?" he whispered as he tenderly stroked her thigh. "What's wrong?"

"You haven't... that name... it's been so long," she replied, shuddering as her body, primed and aching, protested the sudden lack of motion.

Jarod slowly raised himself into a sitting position and wrapped his arms around her, drawing her into a tender embrace while their bodies remained joined. "You like it?" he murmured against her ear.

"I love it," she panted before engaging him in a lingering, passionate kiss. And that was the absolute truth; she loved hearing him call her by the nickname he'd secretly graced her with when they were kids. It sounded beautiful in the deep, masculine voice of a grown man, a voice quivering with passion and so far beyond the imagining of the girl who last heard it spoken aloud.

She could be still no longer. She had to move. It was impossible to stay still with that man inside her. Jarod had always been her catalyst, forcing her to open her eyes, to question everything she'd been raised to believe, to challenge her notions about the world and her place in it. And now he was her catalyst to move. So move she did... until the world splintered into a million pieces pierced by blinding light. And pleasure... so much pleasure.

* * * *

Parker could feel the warmth of the morning rays on the top her head, which rested on her folded arms on the kitchen table. She lifted her head and blinked in the brightness, catching sight of the ceramic mug bearing lukewarm coffee. She sighed then reached up to touch her lips as she recalled those last few kisses, out there on the porch. Jarod had just kept kissing and kissing her, making each and every one count. He was resolute: conveying an oath with one kiss, extracting a promise with another, branding her bruised and swollen lips with his. Echoing in her ears were the his softly whispered pleas of "Be safe, Mac, please be safe," and assurances that, "I'll be in touch, I'm not going anywhere, you'll never get rid of me."

Now what, she thought as she considered refreshing her mug. The answer was quite simple, really. She would go back to Blue Cove, back to work, and lay low, as if nothing had changed. Then, when she deemed the time was right, she would make that important contact. Meanwhile, she would have to learn to live with wanting him, with aching for him. She already understood this for the ache was already beginning to grow with each and every mile he placed between them.

"He's gone, isn't he?"

Parker turned to smile sadly at Billie who had silently slipped into the room. "Yes, he is."

"It'll be alright, my dear. You'll be together again soon enough," the old woman assured with a confidence that Parker thought either charming or absurd, she wasn't sure which, maybe both. Billie poured herself a cup of coffee then joined Parker at the table. She placed her hand over her great niece's, gave it a gentle squeeze and with a compassionate smile added, "But I imagine it still must be very difficult for you... for you both."

"I hope you're happy old lady," Parker commented wryly.

"Me?" her great replied coyly. "Don't blame me, young lady. You two did plenty of damage on your own. Which reminds me: Am I going to need to have the wall in your mother's room re-plastered?" She raised an eyebrow at her great niece.

"Oh God," Parker groaned, dropping her head to the table once more, burying it in the crook of one arm. "What have I done?" she muttered miserably.

"Don't worry about it, my dear, this house is built to last. It's only plaster. Young Jim O'Connell can see to it in an hour or two for a fair price, although I can just imagine the look on his face when I show him the damage. Then again, it might do wonders for my reputation!" She chuckled heartily, adding, "And I'm just teasing, not judging. As I told Jarod the day you arrived, I'm a lot more modern about these things than people would imagine, particularly since I know what's really going on here. It's written all over your faces. What's more, I'd be willing to bet a year's supply of fiber supplement it's been going on for a good, long while even if you were both too stubborn to admit it. And, for a woman my age, that's serious!" She chuckled again and lowered her voice to a confidential tone. "You know, if I were to remember back a couple centuries, I could recall how it felt to have a man look at me the way Jarod looks at you." Parker lifted her head and cast her an inquiring look.

"I'd like to think we'd have grown old together if my Carl hadn't drowned in an ice fishing accident in Worcester, Massachusetts. Guess the way I figured it at the time, I'd had the best. Or maybe it's that nobody else came along to grab my attention the way he had. Who knows? So here I am, a loony old maid. But let me tell you my dear." This time she lowered her voice to merely a whisper and glanced guiltily around the room, looking for whom or what was anybody's guess, and leaned into to Parker to confess, "You kids didn't invent it, you know. In my day, we just kept our mouths shut about it, that's all." She gave her great niece a wink. Parker raised her eyebrows, smiling briefly before her expression turned grave once again.

"I'm not talking about THAT, auntie."

The old woman smiled at being addressed in such an intimate manner by the beautiful creature she'd only set eyes on a few days before, squeezing her great niece's hand and listening intently as she explained,

"I don't regret THAT; I will NEVER regret that. It's just that I KNOW how he is. He's so literal. Everything is in black and white. Jarod does not DO gray areas. And it's my own damned fault; the way I conducted myself, the signals I sent him. He hasn't been out here in the wide world for all that long, not really. He doesn't have a full grasp of the realities, probably never will about some things."

"You'll have to pardon my ignorance, sweetie, but it seems pretty black and white to me too. The two of you lo..." The flash in Parker's eyes stopped her.

"You don't really know me, Billie. You don't know the type of woman I am, the things I've seen and done. There are so many things..." She thought again of Lyle and her heart sank further. "That you don't know. For instance, there was a time, and not so long ago, that I would have invaded someone's privacy and violated her precious memories the way they did to you. If those had been my orders, I'd have followed them. No questions asked. It was the way I was trained. It's who I am, I'm afraid, and nothing ever can or will change that fact. Nothing will ever undo the things I've done or change the person I am. And that person does not deserve..."

"Nonsense!" the old woman spat, interrupting her. "I'm no fool; I can well imagine how you were raised and, I shouldn't have to tell you this my dear because you're a bright girl and should know better, but there isn't a one among us on God's green earth who hasn't done at least a few things we shouldn't be proud of. I'm willing to hear anything you're prepared to tell me. And without judging because, last time I checked anyway, I was human, not divine. But I will tell you one thing; I DO know you, Margaret Catherine Parker. I know that being with you these past few days has made me happier than I've been in years. And it would be clear to anyone but an imbecile what you mean to him. Last night, I looked into the eyes of a different man than the one who strolled in here a few days ago. Care to guess which one looked happier?"

Parker stiffened and sat back in her chair, folding her arms at her chest.

"What on in God's name is wrong with you, child? I may be 93 years old, but I'm not dead. If you need me to spell it out for you, I will. That boy is as close to perfect as you are ever likely to find, that is, if you're inclined to care about such things. My stars, those big, brown puppy dog eyes alone... and he's built like one of those Greek statues, like those boys from the pictures that Cora's granddaughters go on and on about, and a genius to boot! Okay, so he's a little strange, I'll give you that. But he's got Margaret's heart. And, believe me, you can't do much better than that. Besides, he's obviously completely out of his gourd for you. Call me crazy, but I can't see how that could POSSIBLY be anything but a GOOD thing."

Parker slapped her hands on the table in frustration and bolted from her seat. She snatched up her coffee mug and stalked over to the counter to refill it. She didn't, instead setting the mug down and bracing herself against the counter with both hands. She dropped her head and sighed before muttering,

"People who love me... die."

"Oh, honey," Billie began, "I know your mother's."

"I'm not just talking about my mother," Parker interjected, glancing over her shoulder. She exhaled deeply and shook her head before turning around to lean against the counter.

"There was someone in my life a couple years ago, someone wonderful. His name was Thomas. For reasons I'll never BEGIN to understand, he loved me and wanted to build a life with me, far away from... well, you know, far away from all THAT. He wanted to make a fresh start." She smiled sadly at the memory, "In Oregon, of all places. And I wanted it too, auntie, I really did."

"They did it, didn't they?" Billie asked through a tight jaw. "Dirty bastards," she added under her breath.

"Yes," Parker replied evenly. "Whoever the hell THEY are. I guess we're about to find out... maybe. Which is precisely my point: if Jarod and I do actually manage to get close, then things are going to get dangerous. Actually, I misspoke. Things are ALWAYS dangerous. Things will get LETHAL. Hell, Billie, I can't even guarantee that you haven't already been placed in danger. If anyone comes around here..."

"Then I'll handle it. I think a 93 year old woman who's lived most of those years alone in this house can take care of herself, don't you?" She smiled encouragingly at her great niece and coaxed, "Now come here and sit down with your auntie."

Parker lumbered over to the table and sank down to reclaim her seat. The old woman took one of her great niece's hands tenderly into both of hers and spoke soothingly,

"I am sorry, my dear. I know what it is to lose a man who loves you. There are so many things I don't understand, that after living all this time, I don't think I'll ever understand. So many dark things have gone on that it makes this old carcass shiver in the night just to imagine them. But there is light too. Catherine was a light, Margaret is a light, and you and Jarod shine so brightly that it's something to see, I'll tell you." Billie sighed and continued, "I won't lie to you, what you two face is simply beyond me, just as it's always been. But I'm still placing my money on you and Jarod. I don't know why, maybe it was Catherine's insistence all those years ago - that child always could talk me into just about anything - I don't know, but I just can't help but believe that it's going to be alright."

Brushing aside a tear, Parker confessed, "When I said I was worried about Jarod being unrealistic, I wasn't being entirely honest. I'm starting to want things too, ridiculous things like going to bed with him every night and waking up with him every morning. For two days, I've been thinking these absurd little thoughts, wondering what it would be like to go shopping with him at Christmastime, daydreaming about spending the day at the beach, or raking leaves off a big green lawn and tossing them at each other, or spending lazy winter Sundays curled up together with the newspaper. It's all so pathetic."

"Doesn't sound pathetic to me; sounds beautiful."

"Beautiful, except that in a few short hours I'm going back THERE to don that "Ice Queen" persona, get back to my career, which happens to be hunting a human being, for Christ's sake, and THAT human being to boot, and somehow prepare myself and those around me for lord-knows- what's to come. I don't even have the faintest idea when Jarod and I will see each other again, neither of us does." Shaking her head, Parker added, "Who am I kidding; I don't even know if I can do it, any of it."

"You can and you will because you're smart, you're strong, and you're a Babcock. You're your mother's daughter. And you just keep right on daydreaming, Miss Margaret Catherine Parker!" Billie boomed as she gave her great niece's terry-robe glad knee a genial slap before raising herself from her chair and announcing,

"Well, I can't sit around here all day. I need to see to breakfast, that is if that man of yours hasn't cleaned us out. Don't know where he puts it but I'm sure glad it won't be MY job to keep him fed everyday," she remarked as she headed for the pantry.

Parker opened her mouth to protest the implication that it would ultimately be HER job but what came out instead was,

"Old lady, you're something else."

"So they tell me," Billie called out from the pantry, repeating, "So they tell me."

# # # #
Part 12 by Ginger
I think it only fair to warn you that THIS THING IS NEVER GOING TO END!!!!

I started out writing a delicious little smut-biscuit and now find myself knee-deep in Centre lore. Pay attention, kiddies, because I pack a fair amount into this one.

Oh, and for those of you who INVARIABLY ask, the smut comes in the NEXT installment. I think it's safe to say that poor Miss Parker has her hands full here as it is. But, again, it's not worth the trouble if you can't read the whole thing and, if you start here, I'm afraid you'll find yourself VERY confused. Heck, I'm not sure you won't be even if you've read from the beginning. Man, this PLOT stuff is hard work!

Disclaimer: Oh, heck, why are we even bothering anymore? See part 1.


Billie, Part 12(?)
by Ginger


"As a professional who's had the trust of this community for nearly 20 years, you don't know how sorry I am about this, not to mention livid, Miss Parker... Miss Parker? Are you still there?"

Parker sat dead still on her couch, staring off into space as she clutched the cordless phone to her ear. It had been a harrowing couple of weeks, returning to work after her visit with Billie to pretend that nothing had changed. But she had held it together and things appeared to be falling into place. Well, until she'd returned home that evening to find her telephone ringing.

The first day back had been the worst, her stomach in knots as she faced her father and lied through her teeth to him. It was only then that the full magnitude of it all had hit her; coming events would most certainly pit her against the only family she'd known for most of her life. And to what eventual outcome she wouldn't even venture to guess. By the time she'd headed out of her office for the day, well past seven, she'd felt battered, exhausted, frightened, and depressed. And she might've continued to feel that way had she not run into Sydney, who was also on his way out. Walking silently together through the garage, he'd surreptitiously taken her hand in his and given it a squeeze as if to say, "You're doing just fine, Miss Parker." He'd quickly let go and, when they'd reached her car, bid her an ordinary goodnight. It had been a small gesture, which was all that either of them could risk, but it had served to buoy her to the point that she'd actually managed to get an hour or two of sleep that night.

The next day had been a bit easier, as was the day after that, and the day after that, and, soon, she was acclimated to being back, cool as a cucumber and quite comfortable stalking the halls of an institution she was ostensibly preparing to destroy. But, as the days wore on, she had another, equally disturbing issue to deal with. She missed him. She really missed him. Absurd as it was after only three days, and nights, together, it didn't feel right to climb into bed alone at the end of the day. It felt like he'd been there for years and only absent for a few days, rather than the other way around. So she spent her free time alternating between berating herself for her weakness, wanting to choke the life out of him for getting under her skin, and yearning to be tucked securely in his arms. In a word, she was miserable.

She hadn't heard from him, nor had she expected to, except maybe as part of the normal course of "business." The next move was hers to make when she deemed the time to be right. And for several days, two solid weeks actually, she'd done nothing, knowing they'd be watching her like a hawk after her return, but that afternoon she had learned of a golden opportunity that would present itself the very next day, leaving her feeling content, if not downright cheerful, as she made her way home from work. But now she was on the phone with her pharmacist, listening to him deliver news that might have been shocking to anyone leading a rational, ordinary life. It was somewhat less than so to her.

"It was an entire batch, shipped all over the country. You know the pharmaceutical companies; they tried to keep a lid on it, of course, until some reporter out west got wind of an unprecedented number of what the manufacturer delicately termed, `product failures.' Product failures, can you believe it? We're talking about people's lives here. When I got the call this morning I damned near fell over. Uh, pardon me." He paused and she could hear him swallow hard twice before continuing, "When I traced the SKU numbers to scripts we filled from that batch, I thought of you immediately. Most of my customers fill their prescriptions month to month but, since your work takes you out of town so much, I know you fill yours ahead. Miss Parker, again, I am truly sorry because our records indicate that you most recently filled a script, from that batch, back in April... um, for a four month supply... and..."

"I've been taking what is essentially a placebo for the better part of four months," she interjected calmly, if somewhat distractedly.

He continued to express his profound regret, again apologizing profusely and saying that she was a long-standing and valued customer and that her health and well-being were very important to him. She nodded slowly, still staring off into space as she unconsciously pushed aside the untouched scotch she had poured earlier while waiting for him to get to the point. He went on about investigations and class action lawsuits and she could tell he was worried that she might hold him somehow responsible.

"Mr. Nadler," Parker finally interrupted with a sigh. "It isn't your fault. Short of possessing psychic powers..." She paused in deference to the irony. "I don't know what you could possibly have done to prevent it. It's just one of those things. I'm sure everything will be fine."

There was a tense silence on the other end of the line and she couldn't help but smirk at the confusion and alarm she sensed in him. She was a long-standing customer, if perhaps somewhat less valued than he'd insisted, and he knew her well enough to expect a rather different reaction from her. She couldn't help but feel sorry for the poor bastard, caught up in the cosmic joke being played on her, but the ones she really felt for were the others out there facing the prospect of "product failure." What the hell had they done to deserve getting hit with the lightening bolt intended for her?

"It's okay," she assured in a voice so gentle that she hardly recognized it as her own. "There's nothing to worry about. Thank you for giving me so much of your time, particularly on what I can well imagine has been a very difficult day for you. You're too kind, really. Goodnight."

Hanging up, she emitted a wry chuckle and shook her head. Closing her eyes, she was assaulted by images of their fevered coupling and those moments of release: the way his voice quivered when he called her name, his arching back, his body trembling against hers, that surge of warmth within her. How many times? She found herself counting... four... five... six...

She stopped counting and sank down onto her side, drawing up her legs to curl into a ball on the couch. Wrapping her arms tightly around her, Parker began to laugh. She just kept laughing, until her stomach hurt and she could barely breathe, until tears streamed down her cheeks, until she couldn't laugh any longer and her body began to convulse with deep, shaking sobs.

* * * *

"Are you alright, Miss P?"

"Yes, I'm alright," she snapped, although she was feeling anything but.

Truth be told, she'd had a restless night's sleep, dreaming over and over again about coming upon her mother, sitting on a blanket under a tree with two small boys. Her mother smiled at her then one of the boys, both of whom sat with their backs to Parker, turned his head to smile at her over his shoulder. Something about him was familiar. She finally awoke about dawn to find herself in the same position on the couch she'd curled into the evening before, having slept there all night in her clothing.

"Don't worry about me, just drive. The sooner we get to the Reston storage facility, the sooner we can put this annoying little errand behind us."

She knew she looked like shit. She'd stood in the shower for what seemed like an eternity in an attempt to wash away the ravages of the previous 12 hours. But to no avail: she was ghostly pale, her eyes still puffy from crying herself to sleep, the dark circles beneath them suggesting the quality of that sleep. No amount of makeup could hide it so she hadn't bothered to try, just slapping on a little under eye concealer, blush, and lipstick.

"The breach in security... the usual suspect you think?"

"Probably," she sighed, adding, "the pain in the ass."

As an image of that part of Jarod's anatomy flashed in her mind, she turned her head to look out the passenger window to hide the faint smile gracing her lips. She wondered if he had broken into one of the Centre's remote storage facilities solely to afford her this opportunity. Maybe he was already growing tired of waiting, getting impatient. Maybe he missed her. Or maybe, and this was the most likely of the scenarios, she was out of her fucking mind to be musing like a lovesick schoolgirl when she was about to do something that would likely place not only her own life, but the lives of everyone around her, in grave danger.

"We'll be there in a few minutes, Miss Parker."

"Good," she replied distractedly, her thoughts staying with "the pain in the ass" for the remainder of the trip. God she missed him, ached for him, sweet little ass in all.

* * * *

"What the hell is wrong with you?" Parker asked as she watched her travel companion tug uncomfortably at his shirt collar.

He didn't respond, simply shrugging as he lifted his coffee cup to take a sip. She knew damned well what was wrong with him, noting his surprise when she'd suggested, less than an hour into their trip back to Delaware, that they stop off at a diner outside Bowie, Maryland for a cup of coffee and a bite to eat. In all their years working together, she'd never suggested they share a cup of coffee, a meal, or anything else for that matter.

She swallowed hard in an attempt to quiet the butterflies fluttering in her stomach, cleared her throat, and, looking knowingly into his eyes, asked pointedly,

"So tell me, is there anything interesting you'd like to share, JUNIOR?"

"Jesus!" she yelped as the nearly full cup of coffee he'd dropped shattered into pieces as it hit the table, sending its contents splattering in every direction.

"I'm sorry, Miss Parker," he offered as he motioned for the waitress while pulling napkins out of the napkin holder and tossing them into the puddle between them. "I should have been more prepared for that, given the fact that I've had a fair chunk of a lifetime to prepare. I'm thankful I hadn't just taken a swig of coffee or I might've choked to death and missed seeing this through. Now THAT would have been ironic."

A busboy came over to clear away the mess followed by the waitress who brought and filled a fresh cup. She quickly returned with their food orders, a burger and fries for him and a fresh fruit plate for her. Parker wasn't the least bit hungry but felt compelled to order something healthy all the same. They waited until the commotion around their table had ceased to continue their conversation.

"Well?" Parker asked as she poked at her fruit.

"How much do you know? What does Jarod know? I've been led to believe that only when you two began wor..."

"Not much," she interrupted, not wishing to dwell on that particular topic. "There's a list of names from my mother. Your father's name is on that list."

"So that's what the files contains," he commented with a nod. "I knew your mother had left something for you but I wasn't sure how detailed it was."

"Contained," she corrected. "It self-destructed after we read it. May I assume you are the one responsible for upgrading the software to make sure it remained accessible?"

"Not me personally. That's a little out of my area, Miss P," he said with a chuckle. "But it was done under my supervision, a responsibility I inherited from another when I joined the Centre."

She nodded then there was a long silence between them. He dug into his burger, giving her time to process what she'd learned. He imagined it must be a lot for her to take in all at once so he thought it best to answer her questions only after they'd been asked. When he heard her sigh, he looked up from his plate. She did look awfully tired, he thought. But beautiful nevertheless and so much like that amazing creature he had seen only once but who had dazzled him, all those years ago, when he was just a boy.

"There's just so much I..." Her voice trailed off.

"Perhaps," he offered warmly. "You'd like me to start at the beginning?"

"Yes," she replied through a faint smile. "I'd really appreciate it."

* * * *

"It isn't clear what he was after, perhaps information on his family? If so, I don't think he found anything because the Reston facility isn't `supposed' to be a repository for `those' types of records. But then, you'd know more about that than I would." She let the comment hang in the air for a moment then continued, "You'll have my full report in the morning. Yes, Daddy. Yes, Daddy. I look forward to it too. Goodnight."

Parker clicked off the phone and just stared at it for a moment, frowning and shaking her head, before returning it to its base and shrugging out of her jacket. She'd been keeping things from him for years, more lies of omission than anything else, but she could now feel the gulf between them widening. Soon she would be openly defying him and the last time she did that...

She shuddered. She had never let herself even consider the idea that he might've had a hand in Thomas's murder but the suspicion had always been there, somewhere, in the deep recesses of her mind. Maybe the reason she'd finally let it see the light of day was to assuage her own guilt for shifting her allegiance so suddenly and completely, for deciding to become a Babcock when she'd been a Parker all her life, for letting the man she'd been raised to mistrust into her body and into her heart and, most likely into her life, permanently in one form or another, as the practical realities of the situation would seem to dictate.

"God, I could really use a drink," she muttered as she gazed longingly at the liquor cabinet.

Sighing, she kicked off her shoes and headed into the kitchen in search of something else that might satisfy her. Whatever it was, she knew it would come in a distant second. There was nothing like the Scots with their unparalleled ability to distill single-malt beverages. Oh, how she loved them and, half-heartedly pouring herself a glass of iced mint tea, vowed to never, ever take them for granted again.

Absently sipping her tea, she sat in her kitchen and attempted to process everything she had learned that afternoon. It was nearly beyond comprehension, even for someone who'd had to comprehend the type of crazy shit she'd been dealing with for a lifetime. How could Jarod have possibly missed all this? Some genius! Then again, deepest secrecy was the key to the whole thing. She'd always loved and missed her mother very much but only now was she coming to realize how much she'd underestimated her.

* * * *

As a young man in Italy, Salvatore Mancuso, Sr. had been a highly promising and successful student, demonstrating tremendous ability in all the hard sciences. He had also become known as a prominent humanist and student leader, writing and speaking extensively about the shroud of darkness that was quickly falling over his country, all of Europe, and, indeed, the whole world. By the late 1930s it became clear to him that, if he remained in Italy, he'd face one of two fates: either he would be forced to employ his talents to assist those in power who were perpetrating evil against his country and its people or he'd be killed. Since the first option was out of the question, the second was inevitable. So he fled the country of his birth, the land and people he loved so much, only a few steps ahead of the fascists. Settling in Washington, D.C., he soon joined a group of young expatriate Europeans writing and speaking to warn a largely isolationist America of the ever increasing threat across the ocean.

America eventually caught on and, soon after the war began, Salvatore put his considerable scientific talent and skill to use in the Allied war effort. After the war, he completed his education by getting a Ph.D. in chemistry and, determined to help create a world in which he and other scientists would never again be compelled to work toward the destruction of human life but only toward its protection and enhancement, he joined a think tank in coastal Delaware that he believed operated with the same goal. He fell in love with and married a local woman and, after several years of trying, gave birth to a son in 1958. Unfortunately, his wife was not in good health, she never fully recovered from the pregnancy, and died when the boy was only five years old.

That was 1963, the same year that Salvatore, who'd been growing increasingly uncomfortable with the work of some of his colleagues and was even more disturbed when he began to suspect that those colleagues were poised to gain control of the institution that employed them all, abruptly quit his job. In so many ways it seemed a replay of his experience in Italy and he was disgusted, mortified. But he resolved to do something about it. He knew there were others who felt the same way he did. One in particular leapt to mind: a brilliant, beautiful young woman who had been so very kind to him when his wife was ill, Catherine Parker.

Soon after his departure, things seemed to get even worse at his former place of employment but, undeterred, he and Catherine slowly, secretly set about assembling a group of like-minded people, from all over the world, who would watch and document the activities of the organization until an opportunity arose to do something about it. They had to adopt this cautious approach when, to his horror, Catherine reported that there were now the lives of children at stake. The years passed and he watched helplessly as her anxiety and depression grew. Eventually, he pleaded with her to leave, to disappear if necessary for her sake and for the sake of her daughter, who was obviously her whole world. But she insisted that she needed to remain there because the lives of innocents depended on it.

After years of watching and waiting, things changed abruptly in the fall of 1969, which is when Salvatore Mancuso, Jr. first entered the saga. One Saturday afternoon when father and son were spending a quiet day together at their home in Oberlin, Ohio, where they had relocated so Salvatore could take a chemistry professorship at the college and place some distance between his son and the evil that resided back in Delaware, Catherine Parker appeared at their door. The boy had never seen her but took to her immediately, as most children did. She was breathtakingly beautiful, and warm, and kind. Salvatore knew immediately that something was afoot because their twice-yearly meetings were always carefully orchestrated affairs that never took place anywhere near where either of them resided.

She patiently sat through Salvatore, Jr.'s lengthy and enthusiastic presentation of baseball trophies, insisting over his father's protests that she was indeed interested in and impressed with the boy's accomplishments. Eventually, Salvatore was able to persuade his son to tear his eyes away from their enchanting visitor and go outside to finish his chore of raking leaves.

It would be a decade before the boy would learn of the content of Catherine's conversation with his father that day. All he knew was that the goddess who visited their modest little home gave him a sweet, tender kiss on the cheek before she left. And he grinned for several hours afterwards, until the muscles in his face started to hurt. His father smiled too, seeing the joy in his son's face.

But after that and for the next several months, his father appeared on edge, not sleeping well, and the boy would occasionally catch him looking over his shoulder. This continued until that day in April when he came home from baseball practice to find his father sitting at the kitchen table and weeping. He asked him what was wrong and his father choked out that the woman who had visited them a few months before had been in a terrible accident and was gone. The boy expressed his sorrow, remembering how wonderful she was. It was then that his father pulled him into a tight embrace and made him promise that he would never again speak of her visit, not to him, not to anyone. Alarmed by his father's behavior and frightened, of what he had no idea, the boy made the promise and kept it well into adulthood.

He and his father settled back into the routines of life, although Salvatore, Sr. did continue to go way for two, largely unexplained, business trips a year. As the boy grew up, he came to understand that his father was keeping a secret, a big secret, and he couldn't help but think that this secret had something to do with that lovely, if mysterious, woman who had visited them on that crisp autumn afternoon. When he was old enough to fully grasp such things, he wondered if they had, perhaps, been lovers, but something about that didn't seem right. Time and again, he tried to muster the courage to ask, but just couldn't bring himself to do it.

Then, his senior year of college, Salvatore, Jr. returned home for Thanksgiving break to learn that his father had been diagnosed with renal cancer, that it had already spread, and that the prognosis was not good. He was devastated, of course, and couldn't sleep that night. Heading toward the kitchen, he passed his father's study. The door was ajar and the light was on so he stopped, about to knock when he heard his father speaking into the telephone in a hushed tone.

"I do not believe I have much time left. Therefore, it is critical that we identify my successor as soon as possible. This is my legacy. If I do not see to this while I'm still strong enough to do it, then my entire life's work has been meaningless."

His heart sank at his father's words. Wasn't HE his legacy? Why couldn't HE be his successor? That was it. Then and there he decided to confront his father, knocking and stepping into the study the moment he heard the sound of the telephone receiver being replaced in its cradle. And, that night, his father told him all, about the organization he'd gone to work for with such high hopes, their betrayal of those hopes, and of the efforts of himself, Catherine Parker and others to make it right again. He told him that she had visited their home all those years ago because the time had come to make a bold move, to make the institution what it once was or, if that were not possible, then to destroy it once and for all. Plans had been set in motion, things were happening, and then she was gone. They must have gotten wind of her activities, but she had been so careful, leaving no path leading back to him or the others. She was so very brave, facing them alone in her final moments, sacrificing herself so that others might live.

Those who remained knew they couldn't possibly succeed without the leadership of someone on the inside, someone in a position of at least some authority, that is. Catherine had insisted as much but also predicted the rise of such leadership should she fail. To Salvatore only, she had confided that this leadership would come in the form of her own daughter and a special boy named Jarod, although when that would be she could not say. Seeing his skepticism she had smiled. He was a man of science who had been not at all comfortable with her use of "intuition" or her mention of the "voices" that told her of things to come.

So, after Catherine's death, Salvatore and others resumed watching and waiting, waiting and watching, but Salvatore was now running out of time and needed to secure a replacement. They needed to keep their ranks filled in case some among them became incapacitated, either through illness or accident, or were discovered and "eliminated." This is when Salvatore, Jr. announced that he wanted to be his father's successor, his legacy in every way. His father protested at first; he didn't want his only son to have to face the evil and danger that came with taking on this commitment. But, when he sensed the young man's determination, he finally acquiesced with a heavy sigh, deep pride, and profound love. Removing one of the modest oil paintings that lined his study to reveal a safe his son hadn't even known was there, he opened it to retrieve several file folders, which he handed to the young man, bidding him goodnight.

Within six months, Salvatore Mancuso, Sr. was dead. At his funeral, his son noticed one particularly ostentatious flower arrangement and, after the service had concluded, went back into the church to retrieve the card. His blood ran cold when he read:

In memory of our respected friend and former colleague.
-The Centre

Having taken what would have been his final semester off to care for his dying father, Salvatore returned to college the following autumn to complete his degree, because he had promised his father he would. Then he set about undoing the polish of a middle class upbringing and college education, spending most of his time at a gym in Brooklyn, where he'd settled after selling the house in Ohio. He bulked up, made friends, and through his contacts at the gym, secured gigs as a "bodyguard" or in "private security," oftentimes for less than reputable clients. He built a reputation in that arena over the next few years and, courtesy of some of his more unsavory associates, secured a new identify for himself, all the while fulfilling the secret duty bequeathed to him by his father, watching and waiting until, one day, armed with all the right information and all the right, make that wrong, references to get him through the door, Salvatore Mancuso, Jr. secured a position at the very same institution his father had left in revulsion some twenty years before.

And, thus, the Centre acquired a new sweeper, a man who bore little resemblance to the Salvatore Mancuso, Jr. who had stayed up all night in his father's study, reading the sordid history of the place. Except for one thing: he'd adopted as his legal name the nickname his father had lovingly graced him with when he was a little boy.

Sam.

* * * *

"Well, Momma, here we go," she whispered as she lay on her back in bed, staring up at the ceiling. It was 2:00 a.m. and, at the rate she was going, the bags under her eyes would soon acquire bags of their own.

After replaying Sam's harrowing tale in her head, she'd forced some canned soup down her throat then headed up to her bedroom to get ready for bed. Only when she'd settled beneath the covers had she opened the folded slip of paper that had been left for her at the Reston facility. It read simply:

Mac


It was far more cryptic, and therefore a whole lot safer, than I miss you or I ache for you or I feel like I'm missing a limb because you're not here or any of those things that, much to her chagrin, she was feeling, but it conveyed all that and more. And it terrified her.

Jarod. Billie. Sydney. Sam. It was all too much and she wondered what would come next: Broots the FBI mole? She emitted a dry chuckle then her stomach soured when it occurred to her that Debbie had to be kept safe at all costs. And Billie. And... them. There was so much to worry about now. The world was spinning too fast and she wanted to get off. Far from comforting her, the day's revelations had made her feel even less secure about the world she inhabited. She couldn't even count on the bad guys to be bad guys. Some of them were, in fact, heroically, heartbreakingly honorable. But she didn't have any choice in the matter; the world would keep spinning and there was no getting off.

Sam had warned that, once she gave him the nod to get the ball rolling, things would move fairly quickly. There would be no turning back and it would likely get scary as hell before it was all over. His look of surprise told her that he had expected her to take some time, a few days anyway, to think it over.

"Do it," she had told him. "Do whatever you have to."

Time was a luxury she didn't have. Now that she knew the truth, there was no other course of action left to her anyway, so why wait. She couldn't unring that bell, nor could she unring this one, she thought as rubbed her belly. Her certainty amazed her since the menstrual period she was no longer expecting this week was only a day or two late, a delay that could easily be attributed to stress, of which there was plenty. But that's not what she attributed it to; she knew. She knew that they were there, two weeks old and growing inside her, her babies. Jarod's babies.

She was so certain that when she took a home pregnancy test a week later, she didn't even bat an eyelash at the results. And, when the persistent fatigue and nausea set in a week or so after that, she calmly enlisted the assistance of a stunned and embarrassed Sam, who located a doctor it would be safe for her to visit for her pre-natal care.

"I'll kick his ass for you if you like," he joked to break the tension.

She chuckled and offered lamely, "I'm sorry, Sam. I know this doesn't exactly give us LESS to worry about."

"No, Miss P, it doesn't but it gives us more to fight for."

# # # #

Author's Note: The pharmaceutical disaster is based on a story recounted to me by a good friend in the Navy. Apparently, something like this happened several years back on an aircraft carrier with a, rather unfortunate, unisex crew.
Part 13a by Ginger
Please note the rating, which isn't warranted for part "a" but is for part "b."

Disclaimer: Hey guys, if I was making any money here, then I'd have a new laptop!


Billie, Part 13a
by Ginger


He shouldn't have stayed but he couldn't help himself. He wanted to at least see her even if he couldn't speak to her. What he really wanted to do, of course, was to touch her, to take her in his arms, hold her and tell her how much he missed her. God, how he missed her, counting off the minutes, hours, days, and weeks since he'd left her standing on Billie's porch, looking sleepy and thoughtful, her lips swollen with kisses, his kisses. He carried that image with him everywhere he went, along with others, although he reserved those for late at night when he was all alone and it didn't matter if his mouth went dry, or if his body responded to the memory of hers, so raw, so vivid.

Jarod couldn't think of a single thing he'd experienced since his escape that compared with the sensation of touching her, of being touched by her. She was so very beautiful, intelligent, complex and passionate that it was frightening. Perhaps what made it so scary was what she meant to him; he could no longer imagine a world, a life, without her and that terrified him. He recalled that horrible day on the runway a couple years earlier and shuddered. At the time he'd felt as though he'd been kicked in the stomach, and that was before he had any idea how complete he'd feel just being with her: laughing, sharing meals, solving mysteries, sharing a bed, making love, simply touching, or sleeping in each other's arms. It was all good.

He was wracked with worry, having heard that her stomach was acting up again and that she seemed a little under the weather lately. He knew she wouldn't be taking care of herself and that life at the Centre would be unbearably stressful. Only she would bear it; she always did. He wished he could change places with her but he couldn't. She had her role to play and so did he. But now, as he watched her pace the alley from high atop his perch on the building near the one that she, Broots and a team of sweepers had been sent to investigate, his resolve to keep his distance was quickly weakening.

She did indeed look pale and tired and, to his profound anxiety, appeared to have a dizzy spell, forcing her to brace herself against a brick wall to keep her balance. He watched anxiously as she took deep breaths and crouched down, closing her eyes as she massaged her forehead. Just then Broots came sauntering up the alley and spotted her, picking up his pace to get to her. Crouching down, he took her hand in his and spoke softly to her. She nodded, offering him a brief reply and a faint, fleeting smile. Jarod felt a pang of jealously that was quickly chased away by a profound sense of gratitude. At least she wasn't alone.

But clearly she wasn't well. With a nauseatingly sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach, it occurred to him that someone might have gotten wind of her role in the series of setbacks the Centre had been suffering of late. What if THEY knew and were planning to do away with her? What if THEY were poisoning her, slowly, using one of the deadly chemical agents developed by the Centre that would kill her while leaving little or no trace? His heart began to race and he had just taken his first step toward the edge of the roof, and the fire escape that would carry him down to her, when he felt a strong hand on his shoulder, pulling him back.

* * * *

"But there's something wrong with her! She's doesn't look well!" Jarod insisted as he paced the small room he'd been coaxed into to get him off of the roof and out of view of any potentially prying eyes.

"Well, if I were you, I wouldn't tell HER that," Sam advised with a smile, hoping to quell the fears of a man obviously crazy in love and sick with worry. "Miss Parker has assured me that she is fine," he offered before continuing in a sterner tone, "But she won't be if you do something impulsive and stupid that places you both in danger."

"But she's already in danger! What if they've found out! They might be poisoning her! They have access to all types of lethal..."

"I know exactly what they have access to, Jarod, and I am positively certain that she hasn't been exposed to anything of the kind."

"But how can you be sure? I need to see her, to take blood samples, to examine..."

"Listen, buddy," Sam chimed in again. "Miss Parker is NOT ill." He paused, sighing heavily. She was going to kill him but he figured he had no choice; the guy had worked himself into a state of near panic. With a wry smile, he added, "POISON is not the source of her present condition, kiddo, YOU ARE."

"What?" Jarod muttered distractedly then stopped pacing, placed his hands on his hips, and stared off into space for a long moment. Then his head jerked at the dawning realization and his eyes grew impossibly, comically large, causing Sam to laugh out loud and remark, "If you could only see your face."

"I need to see HER," Jarod said in a tone that indicated he wouldn't take no for an answer.

Sam raised his eyebrows, folded his arms at his chest, and nodded in reply.

* * * *

Parker slumped down on the bed and glanced forlornly around the generic motel room. She'd have given anything to be home, in the comfort of her own bed, but here she was; unable to achieve that objective thanks to a mechanical problem with the Centre jet and a lack of direct commercial flights out of town by the time she tried to book one. She felt like crying but refused to, resolving not to shed another tear the rest of the week. Among the many unpleasant side effects of pregnancy was her inability to keep herself from blubbering like an idiot at the drop of a hat the moment she was out of view of those she would not and could not permit to see her vulnerable. Of course, that didn't stop her from letting loose in front of those she trusted. She'd already lost it completely in front of Syd when he'd come to check on her after a particularly harrowing encounter with her father.

While definitely on edge, his legendary self-preservation skills working overtime, Mr. Parker didn't appear to suspect her role in recent events and, rather ironically, seemed more suspicious of Lyle than of her. Still, one recent afternoon her father had summoned her to his office and gone on a tirade about her inability to find Jarod, which he was absolutely certain would be the solution to the present crisis. She seemed to successfully reassure him that she and her team would redouble their efforts to recapture him and that, once they did, everything would be fine. They parted on good terms but she left his office feeling shaky and guilt-ridden, not to mention nauseated and exhausted, which was a more or less permanent condition these days. She departed work quickly without saying goodbye to anyone and, on the drive home, was shaking so badly that she was forced to pull over once.

Shortly after her arrival home the doorbell rang, which she had every intention of ignoring, only whoever it was persisted. Dragging herself off the couch to answer it, she was profoundly relieved and grateful to find Syd on her doorstep and wordlessly ushered him into the house. As they stood together in her living room, he asked if she were okay in that quiet, gentle tone he reserved for the times she needed it most. It wasn't his detached, clinical voice; it was warm... fatherly. She broke down immediately, flopping awkwardly onto the couch and sobbing helplessly into her hands. He crept toward her and sat down beside her, removing his cap and placing it on the coffee table before pulling her into his arms, rocking her and murmuring softly into her hair,

"Restez tranquille... Sois tranquille, mon petit chou."

Parker smiled and shook her head. She had since learned, to her amusement, the literal translation of his words: "Be still. Don't worry, my little cabbage," a bit odd, to say the least, but apparently not uncommon in French parlance. Besides, there was something so quintessentially Sydney about using a vegetable as a term of endearment that it tugged at her heart. The men in my life, she mused, smiling again as she rubbed her abdomen. The men... so strange and infuriating and, yet, so endearing, compelling her against her better judgment and all her best efforts to l...

She had reacted so quickly to it - a sound, very faint, or maybe it was just a feeling - that she wasn't conscious of it until she found herself crouched down beside the bed with her gun drawn toward the slightly ajar door of the bathroom. Her heart beating so rapidly she could hear the blood thundering in her head, she took a deep, fortifying breath and swallowed hard before calling out in a calm, controlled tone,

"Step out of the bathroom... slowly. And unless you want me to blow a fucking hole through your forehead, I suggest you do it with your arms above your head."

Her heart rate increased further as she watched the door open slowly. When the intruder stepped into the room, she emitted a small gasp, her hands shaking as she struggled to click on the safety before dropping her gun onto the bed and hauling herself up into a standing position. As she watched him approach, Parker broke her resolution not to shed any more tears.
Part 13b by Ginger
See part "a" for disclaimer and PLEASE NOTE THE RATING IN THE SUBJECT LINE which, in case you've somehow missed it, is *****NC-17*****!


Billie, Part 13b
by Ginger


"What are you doing here?" she sobbed against his shoulder as they stood entwined, gently rocking.

"Is it true?" Jarod whispered into her hair, his voice quivering with emotion. "Are you?" She nodded slowly against him.

"I'm sorry frightened you and I didn't mean to make you cry," he offered as a mixture of profound relief and overwhelming joy coursed through him.

Taking a step back, Parker wiped her face with the backs of her hands and remarked, "Don't sweat it. Pregnancy hormones, Jarod, long distance telephone commercials make me cry."

His response was the widest, stupidest grin she had ever seen. She was at about midpoint of rolling her eyes at him when he pulled her back into his arms, so tightly that he lifted her off the floor. Then he kissed her, deeply and passionately, a kiss that seemed to go on forever. When they finally came up for air, he smiled against her lips and mumbled,

"We're going to have a baby."

"No, genius," she smiled and mumbled back. "We're going to have two."

Setting her down, he blinked and asked, "Two?"

Folding her arms at her chest, she quirked an eyebrow at him and replied evenly, "Two."

Emitting a jubilant chuckle, he wrapped his arms around her and lifted her off the floor again, twirling her around.

"Jarod... Jarod... JAROD!" she helplessly protested as he danced her around the room. "Not. the. slickest... move. to. spin. a. woman. in. early. stages. of. pregnancy."

When it finally dawned on him he set her down, keeping an arm on her waist to steady her. "Uh, sorry," he muttered through a Cheshire cat grin.

"After avoiding motherhood all these years, this is the gene pool I end up diving into," she quipped, adding, "I hope they inherit MY common sense."

A look of wonder swept across as his face as though it just occurred to him that the babies they were discussing were, indeed, a product of them both. He sank to his knees in front of her and pressed his face to her abdomen.

"I hope they inherit your... everything," he mumbled against the fabric of her slacks as he rubbed his forehead gently back and forth across her belly.

You make me cry again and I'll kill you, she thought with a sigh as she stroked his hair. What she said was, "Don't bullshit me, Jarod. You mean to tell me you want them to inherit MY temperament?"

"I have no complaints with your temperament. Lately..." He glanced up at her adoringly. "...you've been most agreeable."

"You can say that again," she remarked with a smirk, adding, "But I don't think Broots would be inclined to agree with you. He's spent the last several weeks working with a woman who had to give up coffee and scotch on the same day. If he didn't know the source of my present insanity, I think he might've finally grown the stones to tell me where to go."

"You told Broots?" Jarod asked and she could hear the hurt in his voice. His eyes burned into her, conveying that kicked puppy look she'd spent several years trying to ignore.

"He might have wrung my neck and no jury in the world would convict him. Hell, I feel like slapping myself silly most of the time. Jumping down his throat one minute... okay, that's nothing new but bursting into tears and begging his forgiveness the next is and, as he so eloquently put it, that isn't exactly an improvement."

"And Sydney, of course..."

"I'm sure he'd have guessed if I hadn't told him. He saw us at Billie's and it wouldn't take a mathematician to put two and two together. And he's been my rock, Jarod..." Seeing his hurt look deepen, she hesitated.

"And when exactly," he began, sounding vaguely accusatory, although his arms were still wrapped securely around her. "...did you plan on notifying the FATHER of this development?"

"Oh, him... who knows when I'll get around to telling HIM," she teased hoping it would brighten his mood. It didn't. Stroking his cheek, she explained, "I had to tell Sam immediately because I needed his help to find a doctor it would be safe for me to visit. And Sydney and Broots have both been drafted into this war of ours. I thought it only fair that they be aware their comrade in arms is operating at a bit of a tactical disadvantage these days, for their own safety if nothing else and mine..." She paused, pressing her hand to her belly then continued, "Well... ours... as well. I've been sicker than a dog a few times and they've been brilliant in covering for me. Besides, they both know me better than I'd ever realized. They know when I'm not feeling well and if they weren't aware of the cause, I was afraid that they might start to worry unnecessarily... that it was something else... you know."

"That's what I thought when I saw you in the alley today," Jarod said with a frown, as he unconsciously tightened his hold on her. "It occurred to me that they might be poisoning you and I was terrified. I was just about to go to you when Sam stopped me."

"And that's why I made all three of them swear not to tell you. I KNEW you would do something like... like THIS."

Pressing his cheek into her palm, he said, "Please don't be angry with Sam. I didn't really leave him much choice."

"He's off the hook. I know what a pain-in-the..." She paused for a yawn and continued, "...ass you are. I'm the world's leading expert on that topic, actually." She gave him a sleepy smile and yawned again.

Jarod stood, kissed her forehead, and advised, "I think it's time you get ready for bed. You need your rest."

"I guess you should probably get going. Sam finds you here he'll knock our heads together."

"Nope," he responded with a grin. "I am pleased to report this is an officially-sanctioned visit. Sam's the one who arranged the `mechanical trouble' with the jet. In return, he has my solemn oath to be gone by sunrise. Now," he continued, placing his hands on her shoulders and turning her in the direction of the bed. "You need to get off your feet. Sam is sending someone over with food; should be here shortly. Have you eaten?"

He grimaced at her answering shrug. "Now, what I am supposed to interpret from that response?"

"A bottle of chocolate milk and smallish bag of salt and vinegar potato chips," Parker drowsily clarified as she lumbered over to the bed.

"Salt and vinegar...?" he muttered, wrinkling his nose as he followed her. She took a seat on the end of the bed and he crouched down to remove her shoes. Looking up, he noticed her eyeing him mischievously.

"Yes?" he inquired, raising an eyebrow.

"Um, we have a slight problem here. I didn't plan on spending the night so I didn't bring anything to sleep in."

"Now that really is a pity," he crooned with a seductive smile, his eyes dancing with hers.

* * * *

"I can't believe this," Jarod whispered dreamily as he lay on his side with his head propped up, tracking the gentle rise and fall of Parker's chest as she dozed beside him. He resolved to ignore his restless body and content himself with watching over her as she slept. That in itself was a rare privilege under the circumstances.

Smiling, he recalled her annoyance when she'd caught him staring as she consumed a bowl of vegetable soup, half a turkey sandwich, and a granny smith apple. True to his word, Sam had arranged a delivery from a local deli and Parker seemed to approve of the menu, pointing out that it didn't contain a single item that made her gag, which was, apparently, no small feat. Sam was taking very good care of her, as was Sydney and Broots.

He frowned, mourning the loss of the first eight weeks of his children's existence and hating the fact that he wasn't looking after the woman who literally carried their future inside of her. Yet another experience robbed of him by the Centre, he thought bitterly and had to remind himself that this was all in service of a higher goal. It wasn't easy as he gazed upon the astoundingly beautiful woman who until recently had been his huntress, bane of his existence, but had suddenly become his family, everything he wanted in the world. Right now, he didn't give a damn about any of that; all he wanted to do was take her away with him, far away, where nobody could find them.

"Soon," he whispered, tenderly brushing her check.

"Hmmm?" Parker hummed as her eyelids fluttered open and fell warmly upon him.

"Nothing," he replied sweetly, snuggling against her. "You go back to sleep."

"I don't want to sleep," she said with a stretch, the blankets sliding down her body as she turned to face him.

The blouse she'd managed to unbutton but not remove before drifting off dropped open and Jarod took the opportunity to run his hand lovingly along her ribcage.

"Looks like you might've lost a pound or two," he observed, his voice betraying a hint of concern.

"Doctor says it isn't unusual during the first trimester because of appetite changes and morning sickness."

Pondering a moment, Jarod shrugged and concurred, "It isn't."

"I'm glad you agree, doctor," Parker quipped with a smile then flopped onto her back, stretching again and drawing his eyes to her torso.

"The morning sickness should begin to abate soon," he advised distractedly, his eyes settling upon her lace-encased breasts.

"Already has a bit. I've actually been getting hungry the last couple days and this morning Broots said he's noticed that I... hey, monkeyboy, what are you staring at?"

"I stand corrected," Jarod announced with a toothy grin. "You have put on weight."

"Oh grow up," Parker remarked rolling her eyes. "Whatever else you are, you're definitely a red-blooded American male."

He gazed covetously at the fastener to her bra then hopefully into her eyes, sending a current of heat straight to her pelvis. Another side effect of pregnancy was that when she wasn't either exhausted or nauseous or both then she was horny as hell. And it had been a very long eight weeks. She nodded slowly, smiling seductively at him. His grin widened, arousing her further.

Parker bit her lip as she watched Jarod carefully unhook her bra and gently push aside the cups. The look of intensity on his face threatened to make her cry again. She swallowed back the tears and whispered, "I want you to take your shirt off."

Nodding, Jarod quickly sat up and pulled off his long-sleeve t-shirt, tossing it over his shoulder before kneeling astride her body and hovering, careful not to place any weight on her abdomen. He gazed in wonder at the changes already apparent in a body with which he had grown so intimately familiar in such a very short period of time, changes wrought by him.

"Fuller..." he whispered then dipped his head to press a sweet kiss to the top of each breast, just above the nipple.

Feeling her shudder beneath him, he glanced up to meet her eyes and said, "I know your breasts are hyper-sensitive right now so please tell me if it's too much." She nodded languidly in response.

"Darkened areola," he observed before sinking down again.

"Oooh," she sighed when his tongue made contact with her flesh, tantalizingly circling her nipple. He smiled up at her.

"Don't be s... so smug, wonderboy," Parker stuttered as he repeated the action on her other breast. "They're always hard. I swear it's like walking around with marbles in my bra."

He chuckled and observed, "Veins becoming more pronounced due to increased blood flow to the region," then did the most splendid thing she could have imagined; he ran his tongue the length of a vein running up the underside of her left breast to her nipple, closed his mouth over it, and suckled tenderly.

"Holy fucking shit!" Parker gasped, her body arching toward him as she reached up to grab hold of a meaty shoulder.

"Mac," he chided playfully. "Is that any kind of language for a mother to use?"

"Hell, yeah," she panted. "It's like I've got twice the nerves there now."

He gave her that look again. Feeling her chest constrict, she stroked his cheek and offered, "Okay, you can say it. But, do me a favor, hurry up and get it over with."

Even as he smirked and shook his head, his eyes filled with tears. He took a deep breath and declared, "I love you, Margaret Catherine Parker. I love you, Mac."

"I didn't say you could say it TWICE!" she teased, slapping him on the shoulder as she felt her own tears run down the sides of her face and into her hair. And then...

"We love you too, Jarod."

Wait a minute, Parker thought as she watched Jarod's eyes grow wide, who said that? She couldn't recall having decided to say it. It seemed as though the words had been expelled by her body against her will. Maybe it was them... perhaps they had made her say it... splendid. Did she have control of anything anymore? It suddenly dawned on her that she was now outnumbered three to one... perfect.

"Perfect," she hissed, slipping her fingers into his hair as she felt his lips and tongue reconnecting with her skin and blazing a trail from her breasts to her navel.

"I love you... I love you... I love you..." he muttered against her skin as he kissed her belly and lapped his own salty tears from her flesh.

"Alright, now you're starting to piss me off," she remarked tenderly as she felt his happiness seeping into her body through her pores. Almost frightening in its intensity, it compelled her to believe in a future, their future, despite the overwhelming odds against it.

Shimmying down the bed, he swept his hand across her flat abdomen then stared intently at it with for a moment, his forehead wrinkled with concentration. "I can't wait until you start to show."

"I can, but it'll happen soon enough. Besides, we've got a lot to do before I can disappear for good. Doctor says I've got another four, six weeks tops before it becomes tricky to conceal. Maybe a little more because it's my first pregnancy; then again, I'm carrying two. I know I look like shit but she assures me that the boys are doing fine."

"Of course they are. They're inside you." He smiled sweetly and leaned forward to place a kiss below her belly button then added, "And you look beautiful, Mac, just beautiful."

"Now," he continued, his voice deep and seductive and his eyes dark with desire as he slipped his fingers into the waistband of her panties. "What can daddy do for mommy this evening?"

Parker's lips parted slightly but she didn't speak, lifting her hips to assist in the removal of her underwear and watching through heavy eyelids as Jarod climbed off the bed to swiftly shed his jeans and boxers, fully revealing his deliciously aroused body. Now there's a sight for sore eyes, she mused as he slowly approached, parting her legs with his warm, soft hands to settle between them.

She gasped as he began to gently probe her wet skin, his eyes never leaving hers as he gauged her reaction to each and every stroke of his fingers. He smiled warmly and whispered, "You feel so good, Mac. Nothing in the world feels like you do."

Casting a devilishly sexy look, he dipped his head between her legs. Clutching helplessly at the sheets, Parker whimpered and moaned. It was so intense it bordered on pain; she could feel it bearing down on her quickly. Too quickly, compelling her to call out frantically,

"Stop... please... PLEASE!"

Jarod lifted his head and, looking alarmed, asked "I'm sorry, did I..."

"I don't want... to..." she interrupted breathlessly, licking her lips before continuing, "...until you're inside me. Please, Jarod."

His only response was a quick nod as he scrambled up the bed to lie beside her. Tucking her body into his, he maneuvered them both onto their sides so that they lay chest to chest. Lifting her leg and slinging it over his hip, he positioned himself to enter her.

"Okay?" he whispered as he brushed aside her hair to kiss her forehead. Again, all she could do was nod in response, sucking in a breath as she felt him slide inside of her.

He rocked slowly as she lay enveloped in his arms, murmuring how much he'd missed her and how beautiful she was. When he sensed a desire on her part to set the pace, he rolled onto his back taking her with him. He reached up to divest her of her open blouse and bra as she began to move in an exquisite rhythm.

Out of her mind with lust as she picked up the pace, Parker felt a wave of possessiveness wash over her and growled, "Promise me!"

"Huh?" Jarod responded, finding it difficult to concentrate on anything but the way it felt to be inside her again.

"Promise. me. you'll. a. always. ah. want. this. when. I'm. ooh. fat. old. ah. wrinkled. fuck!"

"Love... you." he managed to croak out.

"Promise!" she hissed again, clenching her quivering muscles around him.

"I promise!" he cried out, having absolutely no idea what he was promising and not giving a damn.

* * * *

Smiling blissfully, Jarod stroked his hands down the silky smooth skin of Parker's back. Sated and sleepy, neither had moved a muscle for several minutes as she lay on top of his body, her face tucked under his chin.

"Mac?" he whispered.

"Hmmm?" she replied.

"You said boys."

"Hmmm?"

"Boys... earlier you said the `boys' are doing fine."

"Did I?" she asked drowsily.

"Yes, but you're only eight weeks pregnant so I don't know how the doctor could have definitively concluded."

"She didn't. The only thing of which she was certain is that she saw two amniotic sacs, indicating twins."

"So why did you say boys?"

"I don't know, Jarod. I'm pregnant and stupid and I was horny as hell. I'm surprised I managed to call out the right name." She lifted her head and kissed his chin then added, "At least I think I did."

"Can't help you; I doubt I was cognizant of my own name at the time."

Parker smiled, kissing him lingeringly before snuggling back into his warmth and falling into a deep, dreamless sleep. When she awoke a few hours later, she bolted upright in bed, her heart sinking.

"I wouldn't leave without saying goodbye," Jarod whispered as he approached the bed, now fully dressed. "As much as I'd have hated to wake you, I do value my life," he joked before sitting down and taking her into his arms.

"I hate this," he muttered into her hair as he held her. "I don't want to miss a minute of this. It isn't fair. We should be together."

"If you make me cry again, so help me, I'll shoot you," she threatened.

Slipping his hand onto her bare abdomen, he advised, "I know this flies in the face of your nature, but don't be foolishly independent and stubborn. If you need help or feel as though there's any danger, then scream bloody murder for Sam, Sydney, Broots, Angelo..."

"Same goes for you, genius," she replied. "If you decide to play the hero, get yourself killed and leave me saddled with two kids, I swear I'll piss on your grave."

"You have such a way with words," he quipped then kissed her. Pulling back he warned, "I'm going to say it again."

"Yeah... yeah... yeah," she teased.

"I love you."

"I love you too, asshole. Now get out of here before Sam knocks are heads together."

* * * *

Opening the door, Parker donned her typical exterior and offered a chilly, "Well, it's about time."

"Sorry, Miss P.," Sam replied sheepishly as he stepped into the room. "The jet's ready to go."

She turned to see two chamber maids follow him into the room and cast an inquisitive look. He peered into the parking lot then closed the door and, with a shrug, explained, "Precautions," as the women set about stripping the bed.

"You have GOT to be kidding me," a mortified Parker protested.

"In troubled times, paranoia gets free reign at the Centre. You never know; they may be checking up on you. And if there's a level they won't sink to, I haven't found it yet. Unless," he continued, raising an eyebrow at her, "you mean to suggest that they wouldn't find anything."

"Take the sheets," Parker muttered with a sigh, pinching the bridge of her nose as she sank into a chair and pondered whether she and her dignity would remain permanently estranged in this bizarre new phase of her life.

# # # #
Part 14 by Ginger
No, I'm NOT kidding. This is for real!

See part 1 for disclaimer. (And I've got you beat, Lisa. Archaelogists have just discovered Part 1 of "Billie," in the form of neolithic cave paintings, in the French Alps!)

Author's note: This one doesn't rate above PG-13 - heck, it may even qualify as G. However, if you've been sticking with this one from the beginning (then you REALLY need to get a life... KIDDING!) the you've already endured bucket loads of nookie... and it ain't over yet!

By the way, I'm REALLY sleepy right now so I apologize for any silly little errors. Any large, significant errors... well, I guess I'm sorry for those too. What AM I going on about, anyway?


Billie, Part 14 by Turg, the Caveman
(Aka, Ginger)


Broots was so startled by Parker's sudden, late-night appearance that she was forced to clamp her hand over his mouth to keep him from screaming while reaching out to steady the lamp he'd nearly succeeded in knocking over.

"Do you WANT to wake up Debbie?" she warned in a whispered growl.

He shook his head slowly in response and she removed her hand from his mouth. Flicking on the spared lamp, she took in his attire: bright red flannel pajamas with polar bears all over them. To her raised eyebrow, he felt compelled to explain,

"The cold weather has settled in early this year."

"I guess so," she replied, rolling her eyes and shaking her head as she turned and made her way to the sofa.

"I'm sorry, Miss P," he said as he followed behind her. "I tend to get a little jumpy when I hear someone in my house at 2:00 a.m. Besides, I wasn't expecting you."

Parker flopped onto the couch. Broots remained standing, fidgeting nervously as he eyed her intently. Concern crept across his face. Gesturing around the room with his head, he mouthed,

"Okay to talk?"

"Yes. Sam's already swept for bugs. Haven't you, Sam?" she called over her shoulder. Sam stepped into the room and nodded to Broots then quickly retreated back into the darkened hallway.

"Have a seat, Broots," Parker offered then smiled wistfully because it was so typical of their relationship that she would offer him a seat in his own home. This was going to be harder than she thought. She had grown rather attached to her loveable moron.

In truth, he was nothing of the sort. He was intelligent and highly competent, as well as kind, loyal, funny and, above all, brave... yes, brave. It was one thing to put up with the Centre's sick nonsense when one was raised in that twisted environment and, therefore, didn't know any better. It was quite another to do so having been raised in civilized society by decent people who clearly instilled in their son a very strong sense of right and wrong. Most importantly, he was one heck of a parent; Debbie was clear evidence of that. And he was doing it on his own. Now, more than ever, Parker was in awe of his ability to create a safe, nurturing environment for his daughter while dealing daily with the house of horrors that was his place of employment. She sighed heavily.

"Is everything okay, Miss P? I mean... with you... and the baby... babies?"

Turning her head to look at him, she managed a weary smile then replied, "I'm a wreck but I'm assured that they're just fine... but they are the reason I'm here, partly anyway." Patting her abdomen, she continued, "It's time to go, Broots. We can't stick around here any longer; it's not safe. I've taken my wardrobe to its limit and, in another week or so, it will be impossible to conceal. Besides, things are heating up at the Centre and Jarod's team had a serious run-in with some triumvirate flunkies in Africa while putting a few crucial elements in place. There were..." She frowned then added softly, "casualties."

"Jesus!" Broots blurted. "Is Jarod okay?"

"He's shaken and upset but fine... thank God. But someone else isn't. Someone else who has people who love him, people he'll never go home to. What is it, Broots?" she inquired in response to her colleague's strange facial expression.

Reddening, he averted his eyes and replied, "It's just that... well OBVIOUSLY." He gestured awkwardly in the general vicinity of her belly and continued to stammer, "You're... you're... fond... of... of... each other but this is the first time you've... you've used the term love... um, never mind," he muttered under his breath.

Straightening in her seat and clearing her throat, she offered, "I know this is all... beyond weird and... BELIEVE ME... I wish... I wish I could have kept the personal stuff... strictly... that... but... circumstances."

Parker gave up when she realized she wasn't making any more sense than he was. They sat, side by side, in awkward silence until they heard Sam clearing his throat and turned to find that he had reentered the room.

"I'm sorry, Miss Parker, but we really should get going and Mr. Broots needs to be cleared out of here before dawn."

"Cleared out?" Broots repeated quizzically.

"When I said we needed to get out, I meant all of us. We have a team here to help you and Debbie pack up and get safely away. Only essentials for now; when it's safe, you can come back and get the rest or, I guess, resume life here if you like, although I can't imagine why you'd want to do that."

"Santa Cruz," he muttered distractedly.

"What?" Parker asked softly.

"When I brought up the `hypothetical' prospect of leaving the area, I asked her where she might like to live. A couple nights ago, she saw a show on the Travel Channel about Santa Cruz and, ever since, she keeps bringing it up. She says they have a roller coaster on the beach and a train that takes you into the Redwood forest. It's not too far from Silicon Valley so I guess I wouldn't have too much trouble finding work there. Maybe I could telecommute or something. It sure would be nice to be there when Debbie comes home from school. Wow," he added, looking knowingly into Parker's eyes. "I've been concentrating so hard on trying to prepare her for a major life change that I guess I never took the time to prepare myself."

Placing her hand over his she gave it a gentle squeeze before releasing it and standing. Turning to him, she took a deep breath and reassured, "You'll be fine, Broots, and so will Debbie. You'll both be safe; I promise you that. Right, Sam?"

She glanced up to share a small, encouraging smile with her sweeper, who replied, "Sure thing, Miss P."

"Sam, you can go ahead and let them in the back way but please tell them to be quiet. I don't want anyone waking Debbie before it's absolutely necessary."

"Wait a minute," Broots interjected as he bolted from his seat. "You're not going to leave without saying goodbye to her, are you?"

Squeezing her eyes tightly shut, Parker shook her head and explained, "I can't." Digging into her jacket pocket, she produced a pretty, lavender colored envelope adorned with dried flowers and pressed it into his hand then continued, "It's going to be difficult enough for her as it is and she needs her rest. Please give this to her and tell her that it isn't `Goodbye.' I want to see her, to see you both, as soon as it's no longer necessary to be scattered to the four winds. Are we clear here?"

Her closing question was delivered in typical Parker fashion. Broots smiled and nodded in response.

"Okay then," she said, setting her jaw. "Time to blow this joint."

She moved around her friend and colleague and in the direction of the hallway. Turning to him, she offered a sincere, heartfelt,

"Thank you, Broots."

"For what?"

"For what?" she repeated incredulously. "Are you kidding?"

"No," he replied, shaking his head and looking genuinely bemused.

"Then you really are a moron," she declared with an affectionate smile before swiftly re-crossing the room to give him a quick hug and a peck on the cheek, leaving the poor man stunned and speechless.

On her way out again, she turned back once more and remarked coolly, "Well, there's another small mercy."

"Huh?" Broots managed in reply as he struggled to recover from her sudden display of affection.

"If you relocate to a warmer climate, then you can burn those."

She nodded at his colorful sleepwear then turned away from him and disappeared into the darkness. Broots stared after her for a moment then looked down at his pajamas and shrugged.

* * * *

Sydney looked up from the book he was reading and smiled warmly. Parker returned the smile as Sam electronically scanned the doctor's study for listening devices. When the sweeper nodded to her, Parker took the seat in front his desk and remarked, "Burning the midnight oil, Freud?"

"I've never been a very good sleeper," he explained as he closed the book and pushed it aside. "As I'm growing older, I find I require even less."

"You don't seem very surprised to see me. I startled Broots so badly that he nearly demolished his living room."

Smiling, the doctor replied, "No, I am not. I was expecting this." Turning serious, he stated, "It's time."

"Yes," she concurred with a bittersweet smile. "It is."

Sydney glanced around the room and emitted a wry, weary chuckle then began softly, "What is it? What is it they say about familiar misery?"

Parker shook her head in response.

"Ah, well," he said with a sigh. He pulled off his reading glasses and rubbed his eyes then met her eyes again and, smiling, continued, "It doesn't matter. For the first time in a very long time, things are as they should be, or at least, are well on the way to being so."

Noticing her slightly pained expression, he asked, "What is it, Miss Parker? Is something wrong?"

Glancing down at her shoes, she replied, "There was some trouble... in Africa."

"Jarod?" Sydney inquired with alarm in his voice.

"He's okay but..." she continued to contemplate her colleague's oriental rug. "I thought my life was stressful BEFORE... when I didn't care what happened to him or..."

"Pretended not to?" the doctor offered with a hint of humor in his voice.

In reply, Parker cast him a look that made him laugh out loud before proceeding,

"This morning I was thinking about an experiment Jarod and I ran together when he was a boy. I believe you remember it. It involved." He paused for dramatic effect before adding, with a raised eyebrow, "Rabbits."

She folded her arms at her chest and, suppressing a smile, replied in an even tone, "Yes, I VAGUELY remember it."

"Then you MIGHT remember that he did something that invalidated the experiment, which represented the loss of several weeks worth of work."

Parker shrugged and rolled her eyes.

"But what I remember finding most startling at the time was his attitude."

"Really?" she commented, cocking her head.

"Up to that point, Jarod had generally been so eager to please, and so remorseful when he'd done something that he knew he shouldn't. But in that case." Sydney gazed off into the distance and smiled.

"Well," he continued, shaking his head. "The only word I can use to describe his attitude is unrepentant. When I finally managed to get him to admit that what he'd done was wrong... he was particularly obstinate on that point... the best he could do was to grunt an apology. And I knew..."

"What?" Parker asked skeptically.

"I KNEW that if he'd had an opportunity to do it all over again, he would have."

"There better be a point to this, Syd," she warned, the warmth of her tone belying the words. "We don't have all night," she added as she rose from her chair then smoothed her jacket.

Taking her cue, Sydney also stood and, as he moved around his desk toward her, observed,

"For all his gifts and talents, Jarod is, on some level, a remarkably uncomplicated creature. As a boy, he met a bright, pretty girl with dark hair, blue eyes and a passionate soul, and concluded that nothing could be more important, or rewarding, than making her smile."

Now standing right in front of her, the doctor took Parker's hand in his and continued softly, "And, despite all his experiences out there in the world, I do not believe that part of him has changed much, if at all. I think he could be content devoting the rest of his life to making her smile."

"Why?" she asked in a tone that indicated she was sincerely seeking an answer.

"Jarod once posed a similar question and I'm afraid I may not have answered it to his satisfaction. This is a bit beyond my area of expertise, Miss Parker. Despite great advances in the behavioral sciences, the human capacity to love remains largely uncharted territory, which is, perhaps, as it should be. We scientists have our place in the world, as do the philosophers and poets. All I can say is that a connection like the one you and he share, well... it defies rational explanation. It is indeed a mystery... a beautiful mystery... a wonder..." He shrugged and added, "A miracle."

"Miss Parker?" Sam interrupted in an apologetic tone from the doorway.

"I know," she responded, quickly regaining her composure as she turned to address the sweeper. "We'll just be another minute."

Sam nodded in assent and promptly disappeared.

Turning back to Sydney, she advised, "You'll only be able to take a few things." Glancing around the room she continued, "I'm sorry. You'll have to leave all your books but, later, when it's..."

"It's fine. Really, it is," he soothed with a reassuring smile and a gentle squeeze of her hand.

"You'll be safe. I promise. Michelle... Nicholas... We've taken every precaution."

"I know," he replied with a nod then advised, "Now go. We don't want to force Sam to come back in here, do we?"

Shaking her head, Parker managed a small smile before Sydney leaned in and said, "Pardon me, Miss Parker, if I may be so bold."

He placed a gentle kiss to her forehead and whispered, "Etre bien, mon petit chou," before stepping back and gesturing toward the door.

Her response was a smile so evocative of her mother that Sydney was briefly transported back to the night, some thirty years earlier, when a dear friend had paid him a visit. *It looks like we did it, Catherine,* he offered up in a silent prayer.

*We did it.*

"Etre bien, mon cher ami."

Parker's words - spoken in perfect, unaccented French - broke his reverie and Sydney smiled in admiration as he watched her stride confidently out of his study.

"Etre bien..." he repeated in a whisper then quickly turned back to the desk and leaned over to grab the book he'd been reading when she arrived. He would be taking that one with him. It was a compelling story and he had no intention of waiting to see how it ended.

* * * *

Pulling up in front of the imposing residence, Sam turned to Parker and, with a sympathetic smile, announced, "Last stop, Miss P."

She nodded and took a deep, shuddering breath.

"Are you sure about this?"

With a bitter laugh she replied, "As sure as I've ever been about anything when it comes to him. Are YOU sure about... you know?"

"My team followed the paper trail to the highest levels and could find no evidence that Mr. Parker had any prior knowledge of the plan to assasinate Thomas Gates. At what point after the fact he became aware of Brigette's role is unclear."

With another deep breath, Parker offered, "Thank you, Sam. I guess I'll have to add this to the rather long list of good deeds for which I'll be eternally in your debt."

"Nah," he replied with a shrug. "Just consider it repayment for all the fun you and Jarod have given me over the years."

The shared a brief, genuine chuckle then Parker opened the door and climbed out of the car.

Leaning into the vehicle, she said, "I won't be long."

"We've got your back, Miss P. We won't let him hurt you."

With a wry smile she remarked, "Jeez... Where were you when I was ten... or sixteen... or twenty-one?" then closed the door and turned to face her father's fortress.

"Now or never," she muttered under her breath then proceeded up the stone path leading to the front entrance.

Strangely enough, with every step she took her anxiety dissipated and her resolve grew until, when she reached the porch steps, she had to stop herself from taking them two at a time. She pressed the doorbell hard, and kept right on pressing when she saw light illuminating a window on the second floor. Her finger remained on the button until the hallway light went on and she heard muttered swearing on the other side of the door.

"This had better be damned important or someone will... Angel! What the hell are you doing here at this hour?"

"I need to speak with you, Daddy," she announced curtly, breezing past her father before he'd even had a chance to invite her in.

"O... okay," he replied, shutting the door absently behind him.

Mr. Parker didn't say anything else as he followed her down the long hallway to his den. Entering the room, she flicked on the wall switch to the overhead light, paced to the center of the room, spun around, and folded her arms at her chest.

"Anything going on I need to know about?" she asked.

Frowning he answered, "I was hoping I wouldn't HAVE to bother you with this right now but if you INSIST..."

"Oh, I insist," she interjected through a tight jaw.

"I'm afraid there's been some trouble in Africa."

"Trouble?"

"Trouble... and Jarod was right in the middle of it... of course. But I guess you probably already know that. I assume he's the little bird that chirped in your ear. That would explain the hour. This is about the time you usually hear from him, isn't it?"

"Usually," she replied, narrowing her eyes slightly.

"Ah, hell, Angel." He sighed and slumped down into a leather arm chair. "I don't know what to make of any of this. Things have gotten downright dangerous and the timing's just awful. Thanksgiving's just a couple weeks away and I was hoping to have a real family holiday, here at the house. Now I don't know if we can..."

"Don't upset yourself over it, Daddy. I won't be in town for the holiday and the reason I'm here tonight is to STRONGLY suggest that you not be either."

"What?" he asked, blinking up at her and looking genuinely bewildered.

"It's over, Daddy, or rather it will be, very soon."

"What the hell are you going on about, Angel?" he growled, scratching his temple as he struggled to process what she was telling him.

"I would very much appreciate it if you'd stop calling me that. My name is Margaret."

Her father's head snapped up and he just stared, gap-jawed and incredulous, into her eyes. It was finally beginning to sink in. After what seemed like a lifetime of silence, his voice trembled with anger or shock or both as he demanded,

"Good God, Angel, what have you done!"

"I've asked you not to call me that. My name is Margaret, Margaret Catherine. And I've done something that I should have done a long time ago. I'm finishing what Momma started."

He was visibly trembling, his eyes darting nervously around the room as he sputtered, "My God, you'll get us all killed... just like your mother... just like your mother was determined to do."

"Not this time, Daddy." Parker's voice was fortified with steel as she continued, "I have every intention of surviving this. And I'm sure you can too. Your survival skills are top notch."

Stealing a sideward glance at his desk, Mr. Parker's voice was more controlled when he asked,

"And what makes you think I'm just going to let you walk out of here, Angel?"

Setting her jaw, she replied, "I guess the same thing that brought me here in the first place. I believe that somewhere in there, somewhere deep down inside, you love me. In your own way and as much as you're capable, you love me. Maybe it's something I HAVE to believe in order to justify my worthless, pitiful existence on this planet thus far, and maybe I'm wrong. But I believe it nevertheless."

What she left unspoken was that her loaded 9mm was tucked into the waistband of her slacks and, while she might not be capable of firing it at him to save her own sorry ass, she wouldn't think twice about doing so to protect the lives of her unborn children. She had no intention of sharing that fact with him, though. She wanted... no, she NEEDED to know if he'd let her go for the RIGHT reasons.

"Damn it!" he growled. "There is no LOYALTY in the world! My own wife put the interests of another woman's family before her own and now it appears that you've done the same thing! It's that damned boy's fault! I was always afraid of something like this... afraid that Jarod would succeed in tainting you with his lies!"

Parker could do nothing but shake her head.

"Well go on!" he yelled as he hauled himself out of the chair and motioned violently toward the door. "Get out! Get out of my house! I never want to see you again!"

"As you wish," she said evenly then headed for the door.

"I always knew you would disappoint me one day," he remarked as she reached the doorway.

Smiling bitterly she stopped and, turning her head just enough to so he could hear, Parker replied,

"Funny... so did I."

She stepped into the hallway and paused another moment to listen, waiting until she heard him sink back into the armchair to proceed down the hallway. With every step she took away from her father, and life as she'd known it for as long as she could remember, the pressure of her unshed tears increased until, by the time she reached the car, it bordered on pain.

And yet, without looking back, she climbed into the car and calmly requested, "Sam, please get me the hell away from here."

"My pleasure, Miss P," he replied softly then started the engine.

They drove more or less in silence, except for a couple mild pleas from Sam that she try to get some rest. As exhausted as she was, Parker could not bring herself to shut her eyes. To occupy herself she alternated between staring down at the roadway striping and up into the clear night sky. When she read a large sign informing her that they were leaving the State of Delaware it finally registered: she had been spared the ordeal of killing her father.

Parker pressed her head against the passenger window, closed her eyes, and released the tears she'd been holding back. They ran down her face in a steady stream until she finally descended into a deep, merciful sleep.

# # # #
Part 15 by Ginger
Good Morning!

I was planning to post this last night as a little Valentine's gift to y'all but, once again, I conked out at a pathetically early hour (jeez, what an old fart I'm becoming) and never did get to it.

So... consider this my way of saying Happy Belated Valentine's Day!

It's a holiday weekend here in the U.S. and, even though I must once again head upstate to deal with family commitments, I do hope to spend at least part of the day on Monday writing and hope to have more posted soon.

See disclaimer in part 1... please note rating (again, not for this part but, you guessed it, for the next)... yadda, yadda, yadda and hey nonny nonny.


Billie, Part 15
By Ginger


Agony.

The waiting was agony. Since his arrival at the cozy, secluded house in Dorset, Vermont, Jarod had managed to occupy himself by doing everything in his power to make it a home for her. He had kept busy for two solid days but now there was simply nothing left to do but wait, and it was driving him nuts.

He'd spent hours chopping firewood so they would have an ample supply, and even inspected and cleaned the chimney. He'd cleaned the house until there wasn't a speck of dirt to be found anywhere. He'd stocked the kitchen cupboards and frigerator then checked and rechecked to see if there might be anything lacking. He'd placed fresh flowers in vases in every room, as well as a bowl of fresh gardenia petals in the bathroom, along with a few hand-made, lightly scented candles from a little shop in town.

Abandoning the pretense that he would be able to get a wink of sleep, he had climbed out of bed well before dawn, stripped it down to the mattress and remade it with the expensive flannel sheets he had purchased the day before on his final shopping excursion into Manchester. The saleslady had insisted they were the very best he could find anywhere. After that, he'd spent much of the morning wandering from room to room, making sure that he hadn't forgotten anything. As he completed his fifth pass through what was, after all, a rather small house, he was forced to admit to himself that there was nothing more to do.

Having passed several excruciating hours pacing the living room, glancing anxiously out the window and folding, unfolding, and refolding a blanket he had slung over one arm of the sofa, Jarod concluded that this was worse than any torture he'd endured at the Centre. Nothing Lyle or Raines had ever dreamt up could compare with the misery of waiting... waiting... waiting.

For nearly all of his life, as long as he could remember anyway, Jarod had been a spectator. Even in the years since his escape, with everything he'd experienced out there in the wide world, he'd largely remained an observer rather than a participant. Of course, one could easily ascribe that to the rather "unorthodox" circumstances of his existence. It wasn't as though he could have put down roots anywhere, at least not without disappearing completely, an option he'd never seriously considered... not even once.

He'd always told himself that he needed to remain in contact in order to find his family and to keep an eye on the Centre to prevent it from doing further harm. What he now understood was that any true sense of belonging he'd felt came from his connection to the individuals charged with bringing him back. He needed Sydney's counsel as he navigated a strange and unpredictable world, just as he needed to share his discoveries and accomplishments with the man who'd raised him. Broots's skill and intelligence provided a weird sort of camaraderie; the fact that he was always there to get the joke made the game more tolerable and, on occasion, fun.

And her... he needed her... period. Parker was as fundamental to his existence as air and water and, regardless of how disappointed and angry he'd been with her over the years, the idea of a world without her in it had always been incomprehensible to him. Now that she had let him into her life with the promise of everything he'd ever wanted, what was previously incomprehensible had now become terrifying. Jarod was no longer a spectator in the game of life; he was now a player and, for the first time, fully grasped the stakes.

That point had been driven home rather dramatically when, only days earlier, Jarod held a dying man's hand and listened intently to his last words. The man confessed to having kept the woman he loved, and who loved him, at arm's length because of the dangerous life he led. In facing death, he realized what a mistake that had been. "Life is to be lived," he advised before shutting his eyes for the last time.

Jarod had been devastated. Even in its death throes, the Centre still managed to claim victims. Thankfully, it appeared that the others who were injured would fully recover. The mission was ultimately successful, which meant that his colleague had not died in vain. Nevertheless, he'd been deeply shaken by the ordeal, convincing himself that something would happen to keep him from the woman he loved and the life he so wanted to live, the life that was finally within reach.

He'd managed to work himself into such a state that it must have come to the attention of those around him because, eventually, Parker got wind of it. Jarod smiled as he recalled the relief and joy he felt in receiving an unexpected call from her. From across an ocean, her voice had warmed him through.

"Just a few mores days," she'd promised. "And then you'll have me all to yourself for a while. You'll finally have the opportunity to worship me like the goddess I am."

"I look forward to it," he'd replied with a small chuckle as he clutched the phone to his ear like a lifeline.

Their conversation had lasted all of three minutes and he'd been living on those three minutes ever since... working, traveling, preparing and, finally, waiting. Pressing his forehead to the windowpane he closed his eyes and whispered,

"Hurry. Please hurry."

* * * *

As Sam made the turn onto Vermont Route 30, bringing them to the final leg of their journey, his passenger stirred.

"Almost there, Miss P. Just a couple more miles," he advised.

"Really?" she replied with a yawn, stretching. Sitting up straight and glancing around she added, "Last I knew, we were still in New York State. Sorry about the grand tour of rest stops along the Eastern Seaboard; hazard of the condition, I guess."

"Not a problem, although your lab rat is probably climbing the walls by now." He didn't have to look at her to know that she was smiling.

"Uh, Sam?"

"Yes, Miss P?"

"After everything you've done, would it be imposing too much on our friendship to ask... oh, never mind."

"What?" He turned to look at her and smiled, warmed by the fact that she now considered him a friend.

"How... how do I look?" she asked tentatively as she smoothed her hair.

What a question, he thought. The lady had always been a looker; on her worst day she was drop dead gorgeous. Still, nothing compared to the way she looked now. Miss Parker was in love, carrying healthy babies, and on her way to begin the new life she had the courage to create for herself. She was strong and she was beautiful.

"All I can say is that I only ever met one other that even came close..." He turned to her again and, smiling, continued, "And that was a long time ago."

"Thank you," she said but her smile was all the thanks he needed... beautiful.

She turned away to gaze out her window and silence reigned for the rest of the journey until they turned onto a tree-lined dirt road with a mailbox on one side of it.

Parker straightened in her seat and anxiously looked around then asked, "S... so, this is it?"

"I believe so, Miss Parker," he replied with a smirk that he didn't bother to conceal because he knew she wouldn't notice.

Who would have believed he'd live to see the notorious Ice Queen behaving like an excited school girl, or that he'd be delivering her into the loving arms of the man who had once glued them both to the floor. He'd gone from Centre thug to captain of the Love Boat in a matter of weeks. It really was too much; sure felt good, though.

As they proceeded up the drive, Parker muttered impatiently, "How long is this freakin' road, anyway? Leave it to monkeyboy to drag me to the middle of the jungle."

Sam placed that question squarely in the rhetorical category and drove on, emitting a grateful sigh as they rounded a bend and the house came into view. Man, the guy must have radar, he thought as he noticed Jarod already heading down the front steps even though the car's engine was barely within earshot. Meanwhile, Parker had unhooked her seatbelt and was already clutching the door handle, and he hoped she would at least wait until the car came to a full stop before getting out.

As soon as he did come to a stop, and before he even turned off the engine, the door was wrenched open from the outside and his passenger was gone. By the time he turned to look through the open door, Parker was already wrapped tightly in Jarod's arms. Well, he mused with a wistful smile, Miss Parker has finally caught her pretender.

Shaking his head, he popped the trunk, opened his door, and climbed out of the car then quietly proceeded toward the back of the vehicle. As he dutifully removed her bags from the trunk, he heard Jarod utter raggedly,

"What took you so long? The waiting was driving me crazy."

"Well, that wouldn't be a very long trip, would it?" Parker replied softly and Sam could hear the tears in her voice. He couldn't help but smile. He felt both awkward to be intruding on this tender reunion and thankful to be witnessing it.

"Like just about everything else, it's YOUR fault," she continued. "I have to pee every five minutes because YOU knocked me up. Poor Sam had to stop at every... shit... Sam!"

"Right here, Miss P," he called out before slamming the trunk shut.

"I'm sorry, let me get that," Parker offered, wiping the tears from her cheeks as she approached him.

"No, I'LL get that," Jarod stated from his position exactly one pace behind her. Sam figured that was about as far as he was likely to be for some time.

"Two bags... that's it?" the pretender asked, looking puzzled.

"That's it, and it's mostly mementos, things of my mother's, and my medical records from my doctor in Delaware. I left most of my clothing behind. Nothing fits anymore, thanks to you."

Jarod grinned broadly and reached around her to place his hands on her belly. Parker turned her head to smile back at him. Again, Sam was feeling like a fifth wheel and decided it was time to make a swift exit. Clearing his throat, he announced,

"Since I think the big guy here can handle the bags, I'll be on my way."

"Are you sure?" Parker asked, "You've been driving for over eight hours. Can we invite you in for coffee, a bite to eat, or anything?"

"Not on your life, Miss P.," Sam replied with a knowing smile. "I'll be back in a few days, when it's time to discuss what comes next. In the meantime, you two take care of each other but, do me a favor?"

"Anything, Sam," Jarod responded with a warm smile as he tightened his arms around Parker.

"Try to get at least a LITTLE sleep. We'll need all the brainpower we can get our hands on for the next phase of our work," the sweeper teased with a wink, and was rewarded with the sight of a beet red pretender and a look of incensed embarrassment from his former boss.

"I'll take that as my cue to leave," he added with a smirk then turned away from them.

He slid into the car and closed the door, and was about to lean across the passenger seat to pull the other door shut when Jarod leaned in and said, "Thank you, Sam. I'll never be able to..."

"Just take care of her, Jarod," he interrupted then added with a smirk, "That's YOUR job from now on, thank heaven!"

Sam jumped at the sound of knocking on his window and turned to find Parker standing there with her arms folded and bearing a stern expression. He rolled down his window. Placing her hands on either side of the window frame, she leaned in to say,

"I heard that, Sam."

She then placed a gentle kiss on his cheek and added, "Watch your back."

"Will do, Miss P.," he replied through a crooked smile then started the engine and raised the window.

Jarod closed the passenger door, Parker moved around the front of the car to join him, and both waved as Sam drove off. Glancing into the rearview mirror, he was able to catch of glimpse of them turning toward each other and melting into an embrace, their lips meeting in a kiss. They remained as such for as long as he watched, until he rounded the bend and they were no longer in view.

Maybe when this is all over, he thought as headed out to the main road, I ought to think about getting myself a life.

# # # #

Author's Note: You'll note that I'm being fairly vague about the actual execution of the plan to bring down the Centre. I think it only right to advise that if you're waiting to hear more then you'll be disappointed. I personally find all the Centre crap to be the LEAST interesting part of tP and couldn't write it under pain of death. For me, it's all about the characters and how they interact with one another. If I've left anyone hanging on this, I'm sorry.


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