Disclaimer: The characters Miss Parker, Sydney, Jarod, Broots etc. and the fictional Centre, are all property of MTM, TNT and NBC Productions and used without permission. I'm not making any money out of this and no infringement is intended.

Author's Note: Hey. I got this idea after a bitchfest with my best buddygal Missa. She brought up the idea that she could believe that Raines was P's father, but that Jarod's was some other guy (not Charles). I countered with the concept that MP's dad might not have been introduced yet. Well, here is the result of months of thought and weeks of proofreading. Thanx 2 Missa for helping fuel my creative fires in substitute of my muses, all but one of whom were destroyed when they fought over the last cigarette.

FEEDBACK!!! AND ARCHIVE WHERE EVA YA WANT!!
Enjoy.





Hunter
part 1
by P_Effect



My mother named me Jonathan M. Hunter while I was still in the womb. George Hunter, my father, argued that if it was a girl, she would be up the creak without a paddle, to which my mother replied that I was a boy, and if he didn't like it, tough shit.

And Catie wondered where I got my stubborn streak from... I'm getting way ahead of myself. Sorry, but the mind tends to drift when you've been locked down in SL-29 for this long. Has it only been thirty years? It seems like centuries ago. Ages since I was ripped from power, my dreams shot down in front of me and my life with my daughter taken from me before it had a chance to start...

My daughter. My little girl. My angel. Of course, now she's HIS angel. HIS daughter.

But she'll never be his child.

This gives me the only speck of hope that I can keep alive down here. She'll always be my child, not even he can take that away from me. No one can! Not that Cigarette Smoking Asswipe Raines, or that Lying Sonavabitch Parker! SHE'S MY LITTLE GIRL!!!

see what I mean about getting side tracked? I'm supposed to be starting at the beginning. I guess it's the right place to begin-- as good as any other.

I was born Jonathan M. Hunter, or Jack for short. My mother was a secretary for a law firm, my father a captain in the Capilucci crime family. Growing up, I was exposed to the worst and best of the world, morals coming in from all sides. But despite what they were, my parents loved each other. My father always said that there were two kinds of women in the world: bitches, and the ones that aren't worth messin' with. And that my mother was a bitch, right down to her core. This always earned him a playful glare and a kiss from my mother.

I played, I learned, I lived. I was a good student, quarterback for the football team, all American boy. I grew up and went into one of the more...unique professions. Bounty Hunting. Yes, I know, not exactly the most honorable line of work. But the money was good, and I was doing something I had always loved.

Hunting.

Ironic, considering my name, but nonetheless I had always loved relying on my instincts and God given talents to get what I wanted. I was good at it too-- brought back so many criminals I lost count, and each time I got better and better.

I came to realize that I had some very special abilities after some time. I could hear someone breathe from 100 yards away if I focused-- could smell someone's sweat over the stench of rotting fish heads and putrid garbage. To this day I refer to it as my "Baser Instincts," not knowing anything more correct to term it. That's what they are-- instinctual abilities and feelings left to me by my ancestors.

Things were going great-- I liked my job, life, and friends. Everything in my life was going perfectly...

And, of course, every all American boy, eventually meets an all American girl.
Catherine Jamison. The most beautiful woman I've ever met.

Hair like chocolate, eyes like emeralds, skin like porcelain. I met her after my grandfather had a heart attack-- she was a nurse in the hospital. I was so depressed about the whole incident, sitting in the hallway with my head in my hands...and she came up to me, took my hand, and led me down to the cafeteria to get some coffee.

Her voice held such soft concern-- such complete and utter caring-- that it made my chest feel tight with adoration, my throat closing up in happiness.
We got married exactly a year later.

Catherine confided her dreams to me. She said that the only thing she really wanted to achieve in life was helping others, and that she had gotten together with two other women-- a Ms. Edna Tulen and Ms. Margaret Downing-- and had designed a plan to help make their dreams come true. They bought an old apartment building, fixed it up, and set up shop. I named it The Centre, after an old deli.

The one Catherine had taken me into to get me a sandwich when my grandfather had taken a turn for the worst.

We worked out all right for a while, getting donations from the local businesses and the government. Children with illnesses and no families came to stay with us, getting treatment and love.
I hoped it would never end.

Catherine opened a wing for gifted children-- ones with special abilities. Ones like her. She had told me of her "Inner Sense" when we had gotten married, wanting to let me know just in case she ever seemed out of it. To make sure I didn't worry too much.

Not like that stopped me.

I think they approached Edna first... No, it was Margaret. I remember, because Margaret and Catherine had always been the best of friends, and as much as she loved Edna, Margaret's opinion always took top billing.

A company from Africa called the Triumvirate had looked at what we were doing, and had decided we looked like a good investment. All we had to do was let them run some medical experiments on labrats and help them with their research. We agreed, signing over our souls to the devil we knew.

They bought us a compound by the sea, filled with sublevels and huge offices. We had the medical facilities to treat and house hundreds of thousands of children! Oh, I still remember the happy look on Catherine's face, the shine in her eyes, and the tremor of joy in her voice as she told me of their productivity.

Their productivity...and my daughter.

A daughter. MY daughter...I was going to be a daddy. My cheeks had been spread so wide that I felt certain that I would never be able to wipe the shit eating grin off my lips. I went around showing her ultrasound to everyone from the mailman to the highest members of the Triumvirate. I hovered over Catherine like a hawk, at her side 24/7, only leaving when she laughingly shoved me out, or when Edna and Margaret dragged me away-- either them or their husbands. Have I mentioned them?

Edna married a man named William Raines, a Doctor...and not to speak ill of Edna's tastes, but even back then I got a really creepy feeling around him. He always seemed a bit too...Dr. Frankenstein.

Now Margaret's hubby-- he was a different story. Major Charles Russell, United States Air Force. One of my best buds.

Charles always seemed to know what to do or say. He used to claim that one day Catherine would come to her senses and marry some nice military man. I, in turn, would say that one day Margaret would wake up and dump his sorry ass for a nice Jewish doctor.

As I said, the perfect friend.

They had a son too-- what was his name again...Some mix of James and Nimrod...Jarod! That was it. A nicer child you've never met-- he was content to sit in a corner and color in a book. And smart too--he knew how to play a better game of chess than I did. Beat the pants off me!

I remember how he had stared at Catherine's growing belly, until he had been allowed to touch it and feel my daughter kicking. He used to love to sit on her lap-- Margaret was so bony she didn't really have one to speak of, and Jarod always loved to sit in Catherine's comforting embrace while Margaret looked on in amusement.

I only remember this, because one day, my daughter, still in Catherine's womb, kicked him off.

It was Charles who introduced me to Dr. Jacob Green, a Holocaust survivor whose trials and horrific past had only served to strengthen his love of life and his fierce love of all things good. Jacob had a twin brother-- Dr. Sydney Green-- who, though just as protective of life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness, always seemed a little less strong willed. Sydney was more in the category of going with the flow, while Jacob would stand up and fight at the smallest indecency. Somewhere in between the two was the perfect man, one who knew when to stand up, but also when to shut up and enjoy the ride. However, for both of their faults, Catherine and I trusted and cared about them.

Things were going grand. Raines and Charles had started working at the Centre. Sydney and Jacob had done wonders with the gifted children-- helping them gain control and power over their gifts. Productivity was through the roof, my wife was going to give birth in 9 months, and all the people around me were good hearted.

And then he came along...

Mr. James Parker was an operative from the Triumvirate, who took one look at Catherine and started salivating. I saw it and Charles saw it, but Catherine, who had never been aware of her power over people, was ignorant to his attractions. I saw it though. I saw every look at her legs, every gaze at her ass, every sweep of his fingers over hers when he handed her something.

I hated him for it.

I still do.

But, I was secure in my position, or so I thought. Catherine loved me-- she told me so every morning, every night, and a million times in between. I had a daughter on the way-- a beautiful little girl who'd call me dad and who'd be there for me to shower love and attention upon. I would get to have a glorious life with my two favorite women and our friends.

And then that bastard made his move.

I was attacked by some of Parker's men when I walked out of my office. I wasn't paying attention to them-- I should have been-- but judging by the news I had just heard, you really couldn't have expected me to.
I'd found a file in the mainframe called "NuAge," and in it I read about a future.

A future of pain and suffering for the innocent, one of undermining the government, disreguarding morals and the value of human lives, playing God for a whole future generation...

Starting with my daughter and Jarod.

The little boy who knew how to play chess was aparently one of the special children that the Centre housed-- but to a much larger degree. The records talked of how the Triumvirate had been monitoring the child's growth and progress...

And how they planned to use my daughter to bring about a new era in the Centre.

So I was distracted, as you can well imagine and as I claimed. They never would have taken me alive otherwise.

I was dragged to a room down in an empty sublevel and beaten within an inch of my life. My ribs, which remained unset, still bear the scars. My back was ripped into by chains and torn bloody by the boots and knives of the men in black suits. I could feel my life being stolen away from my body...and then he came.

James leaned down and smiled at me, a smile of true evil. "Jacky my boy, there just isn't enough room in Catherine's life for the both of us. And unfortunately for you, I intend on being the champion of this little shindig." I can remember everything about that moment-- the stench of his breath, the look of power in his eyes, my own blood filling my mouth.

"You'll never get away with this. My friends will come looking for me, Catherine will come looking for me-- my daughter will come looking for me!" Parker laughed and shook his head.

"Intelligence never was one of your strong suits, was it my friend," he leaned in close and grinned, his eyes crinkling in humor. "They won't remember you. I can make sure of it. Charles and Margaret will have never met you, Catherine will praise me as her husband, and as for your daughter, well, she'll be my angel, not yours. Her and her brother." My head swam, and not just because of the blood loss. "Brother?"

"I wanted a son. And Raines wanted a test subject. Catherine received an already implanted ova during her last test, and your child and mine are growing quite happily inside her." I felt the anger fill me, and with the last dregs of my waning strength, I grabbed him. "You'll never get away with this-" He shoved me back down. "I already have, Jacky boy. Don't be so cliche. And as for the fact that she's your daughter, well, no one's perfect." And with that, he rose and gave me one last kick, and then walked out, leaving me on the floor.

The heavy door slammed closed and the locked slid into place with deep reverberating thunks.

I've been here ever since.

I spent the first few years in mourning. Mourning for the life I'd lost, the wife I'd been stolen from, the daughter I'd never see grow up. I wondered a lot about her-- I still do.

Did Catherine name her Morganna like we'd agreed on? Or did James take that from us too?

Did Jarod become the plaything of the Triumvirate like they planned? Or did Charles keep him safe?

Did Catherine ever remember me?

Yes, I refer to Catherine in the past tense. I heard some of the men in black talking as they brought my food in, one day many years ago.

"...right in front of the little girl? Man, Raines has balls." "Or no soul. I liked Catherine-- she baked all of our team cookies for Martin's birthday."
"Yep, too bad she had to kick. Nice ass on her too."

Have I mentioned, recently, that being stuck down in SL-29 sucks ass? No?
Being stuck down in SL-29 sucks ass. Especially when the object of your rage isn't in SL-29, and is somewhere out in the world causing chaos and pain to all those who he comes near.

I swear to God, when I get out of here, Raines and Parker are going to hell so quickly that they won't have time to try and bribe the Grim Reaper.

Disclaimer: The characters Miss Parker, Sydney, Jarod, Broots etc. and the fictional Centre, are all property of MTM, TNT and NBC Productions and used without permission. I'm not making any money out of this and no infringement is intended.

Author's Note: OMG-- FEEDBACK! U guys actually like it! *Sigh* This is such a fantastic ego boost!
FEEDBACK!!!




Hunter
part 2
by P_Effect




I heard them coming one day; coming earlier than usual. Even being locked up in a cell has never been able to throw my internal clock off, one of the few things Parker hadn't ripped from me. I head the thump of one pair of male shoes, and the padding along of a pair or sneakers, coming closer to me...But these were going much slower, much more cautiously in their steps...And there was another noise accompanying them...the click of heels, high ones from the sound of it.

Their voices swam to my ears, making their way through the blaze of pain that was surrounding me. The bones that had been broken during my initial subdument had never been taken care of, and even 29 levels down, I could feel the pressure in the atmosphere that yelled to me that it was about to rain. The woman's, low and strong, speaking of strength and power was husky with the intensity she was demanding from it. The first male's voice was old and wise, speaking of fatherly concern for those around him. The second male's was jittery and nervous, a squirrel on caffeine who was watching for the neighbor's cat anxiously.

"...sure? I mean, this place is really, really creepy!"

"Don't be such a spineless puddle of geek goo, Broots. I'm going to find out why I didn't know about this level if it lands my ass in a T-Board."

"I don't think that is what Broots is worried about. I believe he is more concerned about *his* ass landing in a T-Board."

"I know. But I really don't care about his ass as much as my own, so Brootsie boy, you're along for the ride. Freud, however, can back out anytime he wants to."

"You question my courage?"

"No, I question if your insane enough to want to do this with me."

The lights flashed under the door. "Hold up, give me a hand with these locks." I sensed, more than heard, the rusty locks creak open. The pain was intense now, screaming in my brain and burning my nerves. The door was pulled open, and light searched the room. "I don't see any...oh my God..."

The light burned against my tightly closed eyelids. I groaned in agony, the combination of the brightness against my so long unused eyes and the pain from the pressure finally causing me to react vocally. Heels walked in, and a cool hand checked my pulse. The pain was so intense!

"Help me...plea..." The hand withdrew quickly, and the Shoes and Sneakers came in.

"My God, how long has he been down here?"

"No idea. But I think it's about time he got a glimpse at sunlight, don't you?" Heels turned her voice back to me. "Can you hear me?"

I nodded. "Yes..."

"Do you think you can stand?" I swallowed thickly, my mind quickly weighing the pain against my abilities. "I think so..." Shoes and Sneakers grabbed a hold of both of my shoulders, while Heels helped keep my neck from flopping all over. My teeth remained grit hard in pain, my eyes clenched hard together.

"Turn your light out, Broots," Heel's ordered. He did as commanded, and I could now give Sneaker's a proper name. Heels gently touched my cheek. "Open your eyes, mister..."

"Hunter," I grunted as I tried to comply. "Jonathan Hunt..."

My eyes, now opened, were staring into a face that I recognized with such complete clarity, that I felt my head spin.

"Catherine..."

The world went black, and I lost my grip on everything but that face, ignorant to every stimuli except the chilling cold that those ice blue eyes sent down my spine.

*Unconsciousness is becoming too close of a friend to me*, was my last thought as I greeted it once again.

Disclaimer: The characters Miss Parker, Sydney, Jarod, Broots etc. and the fictional Centre, are all property of MTM, TNT and NBC Productions and used without permission. I'm not making any money out of this and no infringement is intended.

Author's Note: Hey. I got this idea after a bitchfest with my best buddygal Missa. She brought up the idea that she could believe that Raines was P's father, but that Jarod's was some other guy (not Charles). I countered with the concept that MP's dad might not have been introduced yet. Well, here is the result of months of thought and weeks of proofreading. Thanx 2 Missa for helping fuel my creative fires in substitute of my muses, all but one of whom were destroyed when they fought over the last cigarette.

FEEDBACK!!! AND ARCHIVE WHERE EVA YA WANT!!

Enjoy.





Hunter
part 3
by P_Effect






I awoke with the slamming of a door, and suddenly felt on ends about my current position. So new, so vividly distracting, so many stimuli pounding into my skull-- and for the first time ever, I yearned for my prison. I didn't miss my cell, but more missed the reassurement and the known boundaries they had set for me. Before, at least I had known exactly where I stood and where I was always going to be, in contrast to the strange environment I now found myself in.

A few computers sat dormant in the corner, a pattern of flying toasters playing over the screens. A pair of heavy steel reinforced doors were the main entrance, and a sub office lay behind me, hidden by two glass double doors, frosted with abstract designs. The room had a strange mix of elegance and "warehouse" to it, not at all unbecoming.

I was lying on a black leather couch, staring up at the ceiling, which had the patterns of water playing over them in a glorious cycle. A glass of water was sitting on the low table in front of me, and I gulped it down gladly, then lifted the leather jacket on the table gingerly, smiling in thanks as I did.

A gun. 9MM to be precise.

Suddenly, the heavy steel doors automatically slid open with a flourish, revealing three men, accompanied by a pair of women. I grabbed the gun off the table, rising and pointing it steadily at them.

"Who are you and what do you want?"

The elder of the two men held his hands up soothingly, and the two women bustled around me, ignoring the gun in my hand.

"They're going to get you cleaned up, Mr. Hunter. We mean you no harm."

I looked at him for a moment, then slowly lowered the gun. The two women pushed me into a chair, then took out scissors and combs and set to work on my hair, all the while the elderly man talking to me.

"You'll be perfectly safe here, you have my word."

I looked him up and down critically. He didn't really look very strong, or able to keep me safe from anything that I wasn't able to keep away myself. As if sensing my thoughts, he motioned to one of the other men with him, one with a stony complexion and a black suit.

"Sam is a Sweeper. He's trustworthy and fully trained in the use of weapons and unarmed defense." I nodded suspiciously towards him, and was rewarded with a nick on the chin from the woman shaving my beard off.

"Sit still," she chastisized. I sighed and looked towards the nervous man looking over his shoulder in 3 second intervals.

"Who's the chipmunk on crack?" The old man smiled, and the jittery balding man looked up.

"W-Who me?" I ignored the query and looked towards the elder. He chuckled.

"This is Broots. He's a technological advisor, and one of the most trustworthy people in the Centre."

"That isn't saying much, sir. And if you don't mind, I'd like your name as well?"

He smiled. "I'm Sydney."

I gasped, feeling Parker's works swim up into my mind. "They won't remember you. I can make sure of it."

I rubbed the back of my newly cut head. "Damn it, he was right."

Sydney raised an eyebrow. "Excuse me, Mr. Hunter?"

"You don't remember me, do you?"

He shook his head. "I'm sorry, have we met before?"

I smiled ruefully, feeling the bile rise in my throat. "I knew you...a life time ago."

"I'm sorry, but I don't recall it-"

"No, you wouldn't." I swallowed the sickening taste in my mouth down, and sighed.

The women began to pack their tools up. One of them handed me a suit and pointed towards a screen (one that hadn't been there when I made my initial assesment, but I can't see where it might have come from) which I was then unceremoniusly shoved behind. As I slid the suit on, the thoughts I had had down in that cell; the ones that raved that I'd never be shoved into a suit like the ones my captors sported, they all chose that moment to flood my mind. I forcefully quashed them and slid into the shoes, then stepped out from behind the dressing screen. The women clicked their tongues in disapproval, and set about bringing the cuffs up, straightening the tie, and rearranging the way the shoulders fit. I let them whirl around me awkwardly, listening with half an ear to the talk between Sydney and Broots.

"Syd, when's she getting in?"

"She said she was making sure it was safe. Knowing her as I do, that means that she's loading up her guns and sliding her knife and brass knuckles into her pockets."

"Do you think Jarod knows?"

"If he did, and he didn't tell her, I would not want to be in his shoes when she receives his next tease. Because if she puts her mind to it, she can track him down like a dog."

"Then there's no way in hell I'd want to be Jarod right about now-" The doors slid open with a hiss.

"You'd never want to be Jarod, Brootsie. Because that'd mean that I'd actually have an excuse to shoot you."

The two women bowed to the figure in the door and left, taking their tools with them. I suddenly missed them and their silent bustling, as opposed to this hissing voice. Sydney simply smiled and even Broots didn't seem to take it seriously.

"Is everything all right, Miss Parker?"

She stepped into view, one eyebrow raised. "Is anything ever all right around here, Syd?"

I gasped and quickly rose, the gun again in my hand.

Catherine's face looked back at me once more...but it was accompanied by the name of my enemy.

She looked at me solemnly, her eyes quickly taking in my appearance, position, and weapon. All done within a fraction of a second-- anyone else would never have noticed. I only did because this woman did it in the same style I did; quick and coolly. And then, in a voice that could freeze Hellfire and turn lava into the polar ice caps, she addressed me.

"Mr. Hunter, I've killed men for less. Whatever links you may have had to my mother, she is dead, and I don't need your information badly enough to suffer having a gun pointed at me."

She descended the stairway with the ease and stalk of a predator, her hips swaying gently, her shoulders held high, her eyes glued to mine. I was frozen in place, swallowing spastically. A hunter-- that's exactly what she was. A kindred spirit.

She walked until she was face to face with me, ignoring the gun I had pointed at her, giving it no more notice than a lion would a beetle. "Now," her voice was even lower and icier, "are you going to put the gun away, or do I have to have your dental records handy so they can identify you."

I let the gun drop to my side, and she took it, and turned away from me, handing the weapon to a shaking Broots. With a wave of her hand, she compelled me to sit in the nearby chair, and then turned back to me, handing me a cup of coffee, then sipping at her own. I looked at her cautiously, sniffed the coffee, and tasted it suspiciously. She didn't look up to affirm me, simply stated, "The only drug in there is caffeine."

I drank.

We sat in silence for a few moments, my thoughts going a million miles an hour. Who was she? Obviously a relation of James, hence the MISS Parker. Early thirties with a distinct look of power about her. The face of Catherine. The instincts of...me.

"Oh my God," I muttered under my breath. She looked up, one brow raised, and I swallowed thickly. Sam, sensing the tension, came down the stairs to stand behind her chair, one hand on the back of it in a manner of a protective brother. I didn't care.

He'd said he'd raise my daughter as his own...That she'd call him daddy instead of me...That Catherine wouldn't remember me...

I remembered the conversation I'd overheard informing me about Catherine's passing. *"...right in front of the little girl? Man, Raines has balls."* Catherine had had my daughter. Parker claimed her.

"You're Catie's daughter...Morganna." She rose quickly, the chair overturning in her haste. Sam grasped her arm in reassurance and looked down into her face calmly. Sydney ran down the stairs and Sam turned her over to the older man. Syd grasped her shoulders in his hands, squeezing to bring her back to reality. She breathed shakily and looked at him in fear. He whispered something to her that evened her breathing and calmed her erratically darting eyes. She took several deep breaths, and then turned back to me, her face no longer as uncaring or cold as it was before.

"How did you know my name?" I felt a burst of happiness. Catherine's subconscious had remembered-- I had been given a place in my child's life.

"That was what she wanted to call you. It was my grandmother's name, and Catie always loved the Celtic feel to it. Said it reminded her of mystic knights, and Merlin, and red-haired princesses...She and I agreed that you'd be nothing short of that, a princess."

She looked at me with confused eyes, her lips parted softly. "Who...who are you?" I swallowed and looked her straight in the eyes. My daughter had been lied to her entire life-- and I was going to give her the only thing I could offer her.

The truth.

"I am the founder of the Centre-- the last remnants of the time when this was a place of good will and honesty. Before James Parker took over," okay, even I have to admit that was rather melodramatic, "before the Triumvirate began to rule everything...Before I lost Catie and my life...

"My name is Jonathan Hunter. I'm your father."

The once overpowering force before me looked at me in silence for a few moments, then swallowed thickly. Sam grasped her hand in an offering of strength, but her fingers were loose and unresponsive. She looked at me, and then lowered her eyes.

"Excuse me," she murmured and turned away from us all, walking back into her office and closing the doors behind her.

Sam turned on me. "I swear to God, Mister, if your just playing with her, I will rip your body into bite sized shreds and feed them to rotwillers on Level 4." Then with a final glare in my direction, he walked through the frosted glass doors, closing them firmly behind him.

The lights coming out from under the door dimmed, and I was left in the glowing light from the computer terminals, bathed along with Broots and Sydney in the artificial sunshine.

Disclaimer: The characters Miss Parker, Sydney, Jarod, Broots etc. and the fictional Centre, are all property of MTM, TNT and NBC Productions and used without permission. I'm not making any money out of this and no infringement is intended.

Notes: This part was inspired by a story I wrote in one of my marble notebooks over a year ago, in which I viewed Sam as a... well, as a mix of Broots and Jarod. A man caught between fear, fierce loyalty, and his desires to #&$@ Miss Parker till his head explodes. This part was somewhat hard to write, so give me some feedback, if u don't mind. =) May the Parker Effect be good to u.
Long Live Evil!


Enjoy.



Hunter
part 4
by P_Effect



I hate it when the shit begins to stink. Every goddamned time this happens, I hate it even more, and now is no exception.

Oh, don't get me wrong, I want the truth about everything that happens in this place. Jarod's folks, Catherine Parker, Mr. Lyle's extra curricular activities... All of them deserve to be told to my three trustworthy coworkers in complete and uncensored detail.

Except that every time the truth comes out, I see her die just a little.

I ease Miss Parker down onto the couch and pull a blanket up over her to stop the shakes that are going through her lithe body. I suspect, however, that they are not shakes of cold, rather, of shock. She's received a great one this afternoon-- one that would make anyone else crumble into hysterical screams and sobs.

But not her.

Miss Parker has always been unique. Mainly because of her own strength. I mean, I've seen this woman reduce fully grown men to tears without raising her voice above a whisper. That alone is proof of her strength-- or maybe it's proof of her scariness-- and it's all the proof anyone should need from her that she could take on the world without breaking a sweat.

Unfortunately, she's been forced to provide more than just a husky whisper and a killer stride.

In the time I have known her, Miss Parker has been shot twice, blown up three times, had a perforated ulcer, been held hostage in a bank, been through five T-Boards (only one of them with Sydney and Broots), had her lover killed, and has dealt with psychopaths, mobsters, gang members, sweepers, cleaners, and assassins. Not to mention the emotional stress she's been under. She has a genius to chase after and catch before she can leave-- a not very courteous genius-- who keeps rubbing his freedom and her family's past in her face, she's helped her stepmother give birth, she's been ordered to "kill" her brother (up until then, she was still a virgin when it came to shooting to kill-- at least that's what the grapevine said, though I doubt it), a lying father who as it turns out isn't her real father, a psychopathic brother who murders Asian women, and the combined force of the Triumvirate and Mr. Raines waiting for her to slip up so they can have an excuse to strike her down. When one thinks of all the shit she's been through, it's sorta clear that this was the proverbial straw that broke the camels back.

There is one other way she's unique: she commands my loyalty--a feat no one else has yet to achieve.

My father was an alcoholic bastard who used to hit both me and my mother. He'd come home drunk and yell for us to come to him, then beat the crap out of us if we were even a second late or if he decided we had been faulty in our ways. And after it was all done, he'd start to cry, bawling like a pathetic beast that he was sorry and that he loved us and that it would never happen again. I don't know which was worse: his drunkenness or his pathetic attempts at self reassurement that he wasn't a bad person.

To this day I haven't touched more than an occasional drink, fearing that the wheels of fate might turn and crush me under the heavy bulk of alcoholism.

My mother never commanded my loyalty either. The first real memory I have of hating her was when I was 15. My father had gotten up in her face for something, and had slapped her with all his might. I rose, out of some misguided sense of love, and whacked him back. But when I turned for praise, my mother backhanded me with such force my teeth rattled in my head.

"What are you doing," I cried out in frustration and confusion, "I'm protecting you!" She looked at me with such utter hatred in her eyes that I felt my walls crumble, and tears threaten to drag me down into an abyss of sorrow.

"He's your father," she said quietly, and sat down beside him, checking his face for any painful marks I might have left.

She lost my loyalty from that day forth.

I buried my heart underneath a wall of concrete, hid my loyalty in a safe, and built up walls of emotional barriers to protect me from pain. I went to work at the Centre, figuring that I had grown up around so much violence, that it was the one thing I was sure to be good at. I worked my way up to Sweeper, never forming emotional attachments, never showing favor towards anyone. I did my job well-- I had had so much training in it, that it was easy.

That's probably why I was called to Mr. Parker's office that day-- he thought I wouldn't get attached to Miss Parker-- that I would remain loyal to him alone.

The best laid plans...

I remember everything about that day-- the feel of the cool mahogany wood at the secretary's desk, the whoosh of the double doors, my distorted reflection in the frosted glass. I stepped inside and let the giant glass slide closed behind me, then walked until I was right in front of Mr. Parker's desk, my back straight and my eyes blank and emotionless.

"You wanted to see me, sir?"

The man looked to me like someone who was trying to convey the image that he was untouchable. Someone who was trying too hard, and not getting enough effect. Despite all the fearful whisperings of my coworkers and the hushed conversations about his wrath, I couldn't be afraid of this man. He was just too...moronic looking.

"Yes, Sam." He pulled a thick file out of a drawer and held it up for me to see. "Your supervisors say you're one of their best." I didn't know what to say to that, so I remained silent. He nodded gently, as if he understood something that had been troubling him for some time, and smiled at me, though it looked forced and rather fake.

"I suppose you have heard of my daughter."

I swallowed and thought back to the gossip pool. *Eyes that could kill Sammyboy, and a body that has killed. Mark my words, she'll run this place one day, and she'll do it a lot better than her father has.*

"Yes, sir."

"Good. And you've heard, of course, of the Jarod escape."

"Yes, sir."

"Very good. You'll be assisting on it. You're to report to my daughter's office first thing this afternoon, understand?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good. You may go."

I turned on my heel and went to leave, when the doors opened forcefully, and I hand to stand back to allow a power filled burst to pass me. I turned my head to follow the movement, and my breath caught.

She was gorgeous. Drop dead gorgeous. Her hair was perfectly done, her nails immaculate and clean, her lips painted deep crimson lipstick. The stride presented ensured two things. One, that anyone in the way would do anything to get out of it. And two, that the delightfully tiny skirt she was wearing would slip up with every step, showing even more thigh than she already did. I would have been quite content to sit there and stare all day if it had been permitted.

However, as high on this woman as I was, it had not escaped my fuzy mind as to he identity. Patience shorter than her skirt-- gotta be Miss Parker. She shoved past me without making contact once, the indomitable force that surrounded her doing the movement for her.

Walking over to her father's desk, she slapped the papers she had been holding down in front of him with a resounding crack.

"What's the meaning of this?" She hissed angrily, and I found myself captivated by the danger in the tone.

Mr. Parker simply looked up at her, one brow raised. "Angel-"

"Don't you 'Angel' me-- you played me! You knew that I would never agree to this if you told me, and you played me!" He rose, his face purpling a bit.

"Listen-"

"No, you listen! I will not be a pawn for ANYONE-- you, the Centre, fuckin' God Almighty-- I am no one's stepping stone, and I refuse to be treated as such. Get it straight!" She whirrled around and slammed out the door, one which I had just recently stepped out of. The door flew open so quickly I had to jump out of its path. Her legs propelling her foward with such strength that I had to stumble out of her way with all the power in my body. She stopped and looked at me, one brow raised.

"You're Sam Renald, aren't you?"

"Yes Miss Parker."

"You've been assigned to my team, according to the grapevine."

"Yes ma'am."

"Good. We'll get along just fine, Sammyboy, if you follow a few guidelines."

"Yes?"

"Do you smoke?"

"No ma'am."

"Carry a lighter, alright?"

"Yes." "Do you have any problem with working late?"

"No."

"Early?"

"No."

"Any issues with reporting to me?"

"Not all all."

"Good. Any issues with following my orders?"

"It seems that's what my job is, Miss Parker."

She looked at me, and for a long moment I thought I had said something that would earn me a long and painful death... And then a miracle happened-- her lips turned up in a delicate smile.

That was the first time I ever saw Miss Parker smile, and I resolved in that heart beat not to make it the last.

"Yes, I think we'll get along fine. You can go-- report to my office tomorrow."

"Your father informed me I should report today."

She raised a brow. "First lesson-- you report to me. I deal with my father, but unless I say otherwise, my orders are more weightbearing than his."

I nodded, thunderstruck that she knew how weak her father was, yet still managed to keep from disrespecting him directly.

I turned to go, and was a few steps down the hall before she called after me.

"Oh and Sam?" I turned instantly, my heart thumping heavily with hope.

*Gimmesomethingtodoforyouletmehelpyouohgodalmightyletmehelpyou...* "Yes Miss Parker?"

"Change that tie." I looked down at the offending object, then turned back to her... but she was gone. The faintest traces of Chanel hung in the air, and I don't know how long I stood there inhaling the sweet smell and fingering the silk of my tie.

I haven't changed in some respects over the past five years-- I still inhale her scent every chance I get.

My ties have improved.

Miss Parker looks up at me, her body coming off the shock rush of the previous half hour. "Sam?"

"Right here, Miss Parker."

"Sam, could you have my man in the lab do a paternity test for me?"

"Right away, Miss Parker. But first, you sleep." I pull the blanket over her, and she looks up at me through exhausted eyes.

"So now you're my boss?"

I feel a smile come onto my lips, and I let it shine through. "Yes, because at this point in time I know what's good for you. And sleep is good."

She gives me a weak smile, curling up and surrendering to her fatigue. "Thank you *yawn* Sam."

"Anytime, Miss Parker." I have the insane urge to do something like lean over and kiss her forehead, so I move away quickly before I can do anything castration worthy. She is, when lying like that, right at the level she needs to be at to assure that I produce no offspring, and I wouldn't want to wake the sleeping and "not a morning person" lioness that lies before me.

I draw a chair over to the table and sit, close enough to soothe her nightmares, but far enough to remain appropriate should she wake up or the door open. I pick up a magazine off the table and flip through it idly, scanning the articles in silence. No one's going to hurt her on my watch, no siree.

And yes, I know that sounded like an Andy Griffith reject.

I have always been loyal to Miss Parker's wants and requests. Anything she wants-- it's hers. If she wants a certain brother of her's bumped off her Stress List, he's dead the next day. If she needs me to get her something out of Raines's office, it's in her hands within the hour. If she asks me to fuck her hard and fast on the desk until she forgets her name (please God, I'll be a good boy FOREVER if she'll just ask me for that) well then I guess the desk is going to be seeing some action, ain't it!

Crush? Nah, what crush?

I seriously would do anything to help her, though, as much as everyone else might not be aware of it. I would die for her, take a bullet for her, and make a fool of myself for her. Watching over her while she sleeps doesn't even scratch the surface of my dedication for this woman. I wonder if she even knows how I feel about her and her requests.

Probably not. To her, I'm just the big muscle behind her who always backs her up. A friend, at best, but not lover material.

Damn my luck-- why couldn't I be less head over heels in lust with her? Not much less, just less enough so that I didn't feel the stinging guilt that comes along with my thoughts of "Ha! She's still all mine, Tommy, you little carpenter asswipe! She's my chick, and you're dead so you don't even have half the chance that I do of being with her!" Another reason she won't become mine-- if those blue eyes ever develope the ESP they've been threatening to achieve, I'd be flayed alive to make a throwrug for her office.

Happy thoughts, 'taint they?

Hunter, Chapter 5


@#@#@#@#@#@#@#@#@#@#@#@#@#@#@#@#@

I have come to an epiphany on today, this day of days. A Thursday. A day where I did absolutely nothing for anyone else. This is something I love about the world. A normal, boring, run of the mill day can turn out to be a great turning point in life. Back in my cell, everyday was the same, and my
epiphanies, which were few and far between, were always given at the whim ofmy captors, never naturally occurring.

However, I now am blessed with the luxury of being able to form my own life and experience my own revelations. And so, exercising this newly allowed human right, I have come to a very important conclusion about my life and myself.

Cherry PEZ are my favorite. My phone is pressing against my chest from its resting place in my left pocket, and I feel a sudden urge to alert someone as to my newest charactertrait. Hmm, who shall it be tonight, I wonder to myself as I pull it out and look at the speed dial buttons.

1-Miss Parker's Home
2-Miss Parker's Cell
3-Miss Parker's Car Phone
4-Miss Parker's Office
5-Sydney

Such a wide variety to chose from, I reflect with a smile, and look down at the Bugs Bunny watch on my wrist. 10pm. Better make it her office. I press the number and wait for the connection, taking one of the little sweets that have triggered my urge to call her between my lips and sitting back with a smile of anticipation.

The ringing stops as someone picks up, and a decidedly exhausted voice answers, with more than a hint of longing for bed.

"What?"

"Still haven't mastered the simple science of the word 'hello' I see." She gives a groan and a heavy sigh.

"Jarod, I'm really not in the mood."

"Mood? Well, at least you get to chose what mood to be in. Unlike some of us, who are adjusting to having a choice in the matter for the first time in year-"

"Listen PEZ head, today is quite possibly the worst day you could have chosen to call me."

"Aw, is my Huntress feeling a bit over worked? Odd, considering I'm the one who does all the run-"

"Jarod, I have something to tell you."

My heart leaps and she continues, oblivious to my pounding pulse.

"Now, what I am going to say is very important and very crucial to your future. Are you listening?"

"Yes, go ahead Parker."

Information on my family, at last! What had changed her mind about telling me about my past? What had caused her to come to an epiphany much like my own, about what she needed to do for me to even up the score-

"Jarod...There is a labrat in the next room, there is no alcohol in my system, and I am experiencing a severe case of shock. At this point in time, you are a minor to do thing on my list, so back off and wait your turn, you twisted little man."

And with that, my huntress ends the call, and I heard a resounding click in my ear that reverberated through my skull.

She hung up on me... Me! Her prey! Her quarry! Her sole reason for going to work in the morning! Miss Parker disconnected a call with ME. She could miss important clues as to where I am, or hints as to my next pretend, or
something about her mother...

Well if THAT'S the way she wants to be, then she won't be hearing from me for a good week! So there Parker!

...Why do I feel so empty all of a sudden?

Hunter: Chapter 6
by P_effect


She returns an hour later, looking much more refreshed and able to deal with the trials of the upcoming minutes. Her blue eyes, the clones of my own, look at me sparingly, preferring to focus on Sydney and Mr. Broots. Her whole posture speaks of strength, however temporary it is.

"Mr. Hunter?"

I jump out of my thoughts and look towards...my daughter. God, this is gonna take a little getting used to.

"Yes?"

She motions towards a chair, one which I take. She sits across from me, crossing her legs elegantly. She's got Catherine's grace and my poise, I realize with a small smile.
Sam comes over carrying a black box very gently, careful not to jar or shake it. He sets it down and she opens it up and a purpose, her hands firm and quick. Two hypodermic needles lie before us, bands to help find veins lying next to them. She pulls one out, wrenching her sleeve up and wrapping
it around with one hand, pulling it tight with her teeth in a savage manner.

With her now free hand, she picks up and needle and jams it in roughly, never wincing or flinching once. God she even has my pain threshold. I do the same with a bit less anger and gentler motions, and together we watch the blood fill the vials attached to the needles. The humor of the situation strikes me with all the subtlety of a Mack truck. Most fathers and daughters go out for lunch together so he can meet her latest beau. We draw blood to prove our heritage.

One happy little Centre family. She removes her needle and pulls a cotton ball to the wound, bending her arm up to start the clotting, and handing the blood filled glass tube to Sam.
I offer it to him as well, and he takes it and places them back in the box.

My daughter looks at him with a warning glare.

"With your life, Sam. Understood?"

"Yes Miss Parker. I'll watch them do it all."

"Thank you Sam." He leaves, the doors sliding closed behind him. Broots rises next, fumbling with his hands nervously.

"Ah, Miss Parker?"

"Yes Broots, you can go for the day."

"Are you coming to Debbie's dance recital? She's been begging me to make you."

She allows a small smile.

"Wouldn't miss it for a bound and gagged Wonderboy, Broots. Tell her I'll be there, front and center."

He smiles.

"Tha-thank you, Miss Parker. 'Night."

"Good night Broots," Sydney bids with a smile, and Parker simply nods in acknowledgment. The doors slide open and closed again, and the three of us sit back in the silence.
"I could use a drink," she announces, getting up and going over to a chest and pulling out a bottle of vodka

"Anything, Sydney?"

"I'll take cognac, if you have it."

"Syd, this is my liquor cabinet. Of course I have it." Sydney smiles, and she turns to me, an eyebrow cocked in a devil-may-care motion.

"Anything?"

"What'd you got?"

"Whatever you want. This career choice requires a fully stocked chest." "Bourbon."

She prepares the necessary drinks with the ease of someone who does it on a regular basis, and I can't help but wonder if she moonlighted as a bartender in her college years.

The liquid melts my mouth and makes my insides whizz. Ah, this is one of the many creature comforts I missed. Alcohol.

Not that I was ever an alcoholic, mind you, but I did my share of binge drinking in my days and enjoying a glass of brandy or bourbon late at night with an open book on my lap was one of my favorite pastimes. My daughter gulps hers down with the ease of someone who drank 230 pound line backers under the table, and pours herself a second neat, sipping at this one more moderately. Then she lets out a little sigh of exhaustion, and sits back with a satisfied look on her face.
It's the little things in life you treasure.

Sydney rises next, placing his empty glass on the liquor cabinet. "Parker, can I leave you here and trust you not to kill anyone?"

She ponders the question deeply for a moment, then nods quite seriously.

"I'll restrain myself, Syd."

"Good. I have to finish filling out the twin's most recent result forms."

She smiles at him softly, and he turns to leave.

"Oh, and expect to hear from Wonderboy." He turns. "Jarod?"
"He decided to give me a call and bitch." "I take it this didn't last long."

"I told him to stick it where the sun don't shine."

He smiles, more of affectionate scolding than of anger, and it hits me that this man has probably been the one who raised my daughter for me. I'll have to ask him about it later. The doors open and close once more, leaving us in silence.
And then there were two.

She sighs and leans back, rubbing her face with one hand and watching me out of the corner of her eye. I look down at my drink, examining the nuisances of the ice and the colors that flicker over the surface of the liquor.

It occurs to me that in this moment, the one I've been waiting for for over three decades, has finally come... and I haven't a clue what to say.

I've got no experience in these types of things, and I doubt Doctor Spock has any ideas on the subject either. *What To Say To A Daughter You Just Met After 35 Years of Being Locked In A Cellar By The Man She's Called Daddy*. I
almost laugh.

This would be funny if it wasn't so depressing, I realize. I've been aching to see her, chomping at the bit for a moment alone with her when I can apoligize and talk to her, ask her everything about her life and what I've missed.

All I can do is sip at my drink. She lets out a small sigh, and I look up, only to see her hunched over, her fingers pressed to her temples.

"Shutupshutupshutupshutup..."

Her mantra is achingly familiar. On more than one night, Catherine would sit in her overstuffed armchair, her arms and legs curled up in one large tangle, her head bowed, her voice calling out to silence the invisible voices in her head. Come to think of it, she grasped her temples in much the same
way our daughter is right now.

"What are they saying?"

She looks up at me, but doesn't say anything. I sigh.

"Catie had much the same problem at night-- she couldn't silence them enough for her to sleep."

"I can't silence them enough for me to *think*," she grumbles, and I smile in sympathy. She lets out a bone shaking sigh and looks at me for a moment more before responding.

"It's not them talking. It's Her." I catch my breath. "You hear her? You hear Catie?"

"Yes," she replies with a hissing breath. I'm almost afraid to ask, but I gather up what courage I can and voice my
question in a voice that isn't quite as strong as I hoped.

"What's she saying?"

She looks up at me with her ice colored eyes, one's which are looking a lot older than their 32 years. Her voice is no more stable than mine was as she responds to the query.

"She's telling me...that you're my father."

I sit back, gulping down the remains of my drink. She refills it without a question as I take a deep breath.

"Do you believe her?"

She lets out a long sigh and takes another sip of her vodka.
"I... I think so. I mean, it does make a little bit of sense. I never
really connected with Daddy, even before I came to work at the Centre... As a child, after Momma died, I used to dream that some knight in shinning armor would come along and tell me that I was actually adopted, and that my real parents were nice and kind people who had been searching everywhere for me, and who worked normal jobs and in anticipation of my arrival owned a white rabbit named
Sarah."

She looks up, sensing my confusion at the last bit.

"Daddy never let me have any pets, and the closest I got was playing with the rabbits at the Centre."

"Ah." She lets out a sigh.

"There's something else bothering you."

"Yes."

"Tell me?"

She lets out another sigh and rubs her neck. "Momma never lied to me. And her voice has always steered me down the
right path... And if she's telling me that you're my father, it means that you're my father."

"This is a... bad thing?"

She leans back and looks up at the water designs playing across the ceiling.

"Not entirely. It would mean that now I would know why I always felt weird when I was with Daddy... But it would also mean that it's another lie to add onto the many that surround me. One more untruth in a long line of them, and one more part of me that I thought was real which turned out to be
false."

"I...I'm sure that the part which replaces it wouldn't be all that
bad...In fact, I think, it might be better than what's there now."
She looks up at me, her eyes meeting mine, and for a long moment, I find clarity.

My daughter doesn't want to change anything else. She may hate the lies that surround her with a burning passion that rivals the fires of Hell, but she's afraid of giving them up as well. Being destroyed piece by piece isn't a nice thing, even if a substitute for the removed piece is provided.

Morganna is scared of being torn into pieces in her search for the truth-- afraid of losing the things she's always held to be true.Freedom caries sacrifice, love.

"I... I'm sorry," I whisper, my vocal cords losing their stability. She looks up suddenly.

"Why?"

"I... I've missed so much. I don't even know what to say to my own daughter, and she doesn't know what to talk to me about." I rub my eyes and take another sip, hoping to firm up my voice. "I missed your first steps, first words, first day of school. I wasn't there for graduations and birthdays and ballet recitals. I... I couldn't even be here to help you
through your mother's death." I shake my head, feeling more inadequate than I ever have before.

"Neither was he." I look up, and she looks down at her drink. "I'm just saying... Daddy was here, and even he never came to those things, or saw those times, or helped me through mama's death. Hell, the last time I saw him
outside of the Centre was over two years ago, when he broke into my house so he and his wife could have some place to shower." She gives a hard laugh, and rests her head on her hand.

"Even if you had come back... I'm not used to having a father who might actually care what I do even if it doesn't affect him." She looks up, suddenly aware that she's let too much slip.

"That's even assuming that you are my father, and not just some psyco Raines created." She sips her drink again, and I give a solemn nod of understanding.

"You...you are my father, aren't you." Her voice is soft, and somewhat scared. I swallow and bite my lip.

It's more of a statement than a question, but I nod any way.

"Yes."

She contemplates this for a moment, her crimson lips pursed in thought and her hand holding her glass delicately. Then, with a frame shaking sigh, she looks up and offers me a weak smile.

"I need another drink."

I feel a smile come onto my face and rise, walking over and taking her glass...and then I place my hand on her shoulder, offering some comfort through osmosis. I can't help it-- she just looks so lost, and after all, I'm her father; it's my job to be the comforter and protector. She remains silent, but reaches up one of her hands to cover mine, her long fingers
interlocking with my own.

Serenity.

I depart from her side reluctantly and refill the glass, then fill my own up. I retake my chair with a feeling of closure, letting out a sigh as my bone creak. She looks up and raises her glass. I do the same.

"Salud," we proclaim in unison, and with a soft smile, I drink the first burning gulp.

"It's gonna take a while," she says with a bone weary sigh, and I look up.

"Yes, it will."

"But it's farther than we had before, wasn't it?"

"A hell of a lot farther. We at least know each other's faces now. That seems like an important thing to know."

"It does, doesn't it." We sit back in silence for a long moment, a mutual understanding reached. It's not gonna be perfect, but it's our relationship. It starts now, and I very much doubt it will be easy or quickly perfected. But when Sam comes back with the results, three hours latter, all she does is look at them before smiling with satisfaction and burning them in the
ashtray. We already knew the results.

I have my daughter back.

Hunter

Chapter 7

She's coming again. Mom. Mom is coming to see me-- I can feel it inside. With her long walk and her pretty eyes, she's coming for me.

Yay!

I wonder if she'll bring me something-- she always does, but I wonder if she will every time. Maybe, one day, she'll forget. Or maybe, one night, she won't come at all.

*sob*
The woman rises from her chair at the sound of my cries, looking quite annoyed. She picks me up, more roughly than I want her to, and looks me up and down. I give a protest when she pulls my pants down to see if I need a change, but she ignores it and looks at me with confusion.

"What do you want..."

Duh!

I. Want. My. MOM!

"Listen kid, you have to stop crying-- there's nothing wrong with you! You just ate, I burped you, there's nothing in your diapper-"

"Maybe he just wants you to be more gentle with him."

Mom! She's heeeeere! The woman grumbles something, and I open my eyes to see Mom coming over, her dark hair shinning in the light and her eyes determined.

She picks me out of the nurse's arms, and I instantly stop crying. Woman looks sourly at us, muttering something about unauthorized visits.

"Well then, let's just keep in mind who's paying for your kid's braces," my Mommie says, and the woman walks away in a huff.

I don't care-- Mom's here, and she always makes life better.

Turning her full attention towards me, she smiles and kisses my forehead.

"How's my boy?" I giggle in responce.

"Mommie!" She sighs and shakes her head.

"No, Dameon-- Sister. I'm not mommie."

See, this happens some times. Mommie gets confused. As if she can't feel that I'm her son and she's my Mommie. This always makes me laugh-- it's just so obvious that she's my Mom, I can feel it in my skin and in my tummy. I guess her tummy must not be as all knowing as mine. It's a tiny tummy, so I guess that hurts her chances of feeling how I'm her son, but it's a fun tummy to sleep on, and I think that she does feel that feeling whenever I make my tummy touch hers. Like, maybe I can send her whatever I'm feeling.

I think too much. My head hurts.

Mom smiles at me and repeats that she's my sister and not my mommie. I just laugh and shake my head.

"Mommie came!" I cry and cling to the front of her shirt. She sighs and rubs my back with a smile.

"Okay, we'll work on that latter."

Mommie pulls me away with a smile, and I suddenly realize she didn't come alone. She motions for a man to come out of the shadows, and I look up at him, hearing the voice in the back of my head give this man a name.

"'ack!"

Both Mommie and Jack look at each other in shock.

"How did he..."

"I have no idea," she replies in a awed voice.

"Dameon, how did you know his name was Jack?"

"Voice 'old me. Can Mommie play?"

She swallows and nods slowly.

"Uh, sure Dameon, I'll play..."

"Mommie?"

"Yeah?"

"Bring me 'n'thin'?"

The tension breaks. Both Mommie and Jack burst into laughter, and Mommie hands me over to Jack so she can search through her bag. I love that bag-- it always brings me something soft and loads of fun. Jack and I look at each other, and I reach up a hand (I hate that my hands are so tiny and chubby-- they're too small to do anything cool), and touch his cheek. He seems shocked, but I like the way it feels-- all rough and spiky.

"'ack."

"Yeah, little guy. That's me."

"Not 'ittle." He laughs and shakes his head.

"Of course not-- whose son is he?"

She continues her search through the bag, and I watch eagerly.

"Daddy's and Brigette's-- the wife I mentioned. A cleaner who had a thing for lollypops, power, and guys twice her age."

"Had?"

"Kicked after I delivered Dameon."

"You delivered him? Doesn't sound like you liked her much-- why'd you help her?"

"I didn't plan it. I went there to kill her-- ah ha!"

She pulls a large black teddy bear out of her bag, and I cry out in joy. She grins and hands it over to me, watching in amusement as I try to wrap my arms around it. Stupid arms-- way too small. One day I'll be big, even bigger than Mom and Jack, and I'll be able to wrap my arms and hands around all kinds of stuff...

But until then, I'm still small.

Mom picks me out of Jack's arms and carries me and my new friend over to the soft play mat, laying me down and stroking my back a few times before walking back over to Jack. I stroke my bear's nose and play with his arms, barely hearing what they're sayings. I hate this sometimes-- I always seem to wanna hear and understand and explore everything. I get in trouble, and I don't like getting in trouble. It's not fun.

"This is what you need to stay here for?"

"I can't let him grow up like my generation of Centre children did. I have to make sure they stay away from him."

"You can't take him away from all this?"

"I could try. They'd hunt us until we were both dead or captured. Constantly on the run, hiding from an ever-present enemy... that's no life for a child."

"I agree," he says with a sigh, and Mom gives him a weak smile before looking down at her watch.

"So now what?"

He gives me a smile before sitting down beside me and handing me the right peg for the hole that bear and I are trying to fit something into.

"Now I want to sit here and have some fun with this fine example of all that's right with the world. Have a seat 'Anna."

She laughs and sits down beside me. *sigh*

I looooooooove attention!

Hunter

Chapter 8



I suppose I should have expected his return. Hell, I should have been on guard the entire time-- I should have learned by now never to under estimate

Hunter.

Hindsight and all that.

Looking back at it now, it seems unbelievably foolish that I didn't make extra sure that no one would ever find him. Why didn't I lock him in a vault somewhere hidden behind three brick walls and a steel slab? Put laser bars around his box? Swallow the key to his door and have him take his meals through a slot?

Of course, even that wouldn't have stopped her.

Angel was made for greatness--something I made sure of before turning down the option of aborting her and replacing her with Lyle. Fantastic stock; even I have to admit this as much as I hate Hunter. She couldn't be more perfect if we had engineered her to be. As it was, our attempts at altering her appearance failed miserably; we tried to block the blue eyes from her genes, knowing that no one in Catherine's family had them, and that Lyle's pair of hazel would leave questions in both of their minds. We avoided the inevitable clash of features by eliminating Lyle for a time, but Angel's loss of faith and belief in me required the introduction of her "brother."

It was genius, if I do say so myself--bring in someone for her to compete with, someone she felt like she had to better in everything, including my affections.
But even that didn't do much.

Deep down inside, Angel has always know she wasn't a Parker. Oh, she had all the traits that our blood line values, but she was ruled by a Jamison heart and a Hunter soul. Try as I might, I couldn't seem to quash either trait in her.

They're standing in front of me now--proud and tall, the both of them. His hand is gently touching the back of hers, and the place where they meet is blurry with the pure untainted energy they radiate. God, she's always been this power; this force that knocks everything out of her way. I used to hope she got it from being raised by and learning from me. I was wrong.

She was born with it.

Hunter is looking at me with an air of "so this is what its come to," and I ache to wipe that expression out of his eyes. I know I don't look like much in this position. Our little encounter with Alex left me weakened, and no amount of care seems to inspire my bones to get out of this bed.
He looks down at me for a long moment, his eyes calm and his jaw clenching. She refuses to look me in the eyes, simply examines her manicured fingernails. He swallows before speaking.

"Why hellooooo James!"

His voice was jovial, yet exhausted, and he sounded as if he met with his arch rivals on a daily basis. Angel scrutinizes her cuticles. I clear my throat and offer a smile.

"Jack. You're looking well." He smiles softly.

"I have my daughter to thank for that. You know my daughter, don't you James? I do believe you've met."

"I...I can explain-"

"There's nothing to explain, James. You stole my life, took my wife, and raised my child as your own. It all seems rather clean cut to me."
I swallow thickly, the bile rising in the back of my throat.

Angel flicks a piece of lint off her cuff with a nail, before glancing at her watch and at Jack.

"We have about 10 more minutes before the override goes off," she informs him in a low voice, and he nods.

"That's all we'll need."

They turn back to me, and she meets my eyes for the first time. The ice blue rakes over me calmly, and my last hope is gone. I had prayed that I might find pity with her--that she might hold some speck of love for me--might be the voice of pity that would reach his ears...but no.

She hates me even more than he does.

"How... how could you do such a thing?"

Her voice is breathy and soft, like a child whose beloved godmother has just shot her in the chest. Pretty fitting simile. I swallow and offer her a smile, begging that she'll accept my pleas of remorse.

"Angel, sweetheart, I-"

"Every time I hugged you; every kiss I gave you... a little part of me died, because I felt nothing for you. I've lived with the sin of apathy towards my 'father' since I was three...

"You've done such horrible things, Daddy: you manipulated momma's womb, you let Raines hit her, you let Bridgett die, you took Jarod from his family, you stole Bobby from me, you've covered up Lyle's crimes, you had Thomas taken away, you let Angelo be created..."

She sniffles and rubs her eyes, smearing her mascara slightly, and then looks up again and speaks in a voice that's full of confusion at her own words and the truth in them, revealing the secrets that no one else has known.

"You let Raines turn me into his personal assassin--God, do you have any idea how much acid I dropped to try and erase those ten years? When most children were opening up lemonade stands, I was learning how to shoot a . 22. When my friends were going out to try out for the volleyball team and getting fitted for softball gloves, you had him showing me the proper way to clean up from a decapitation. You took away my partner--remember Richard? You saw how close we were getting and you took him away from me; held him over me in order to keep me obedient to Raines.

"You kept me here, holding my hand and holding me down so I could never rise above your level. Every time I threatened to become something more, you squashed my hopes and dreams under the power you held over me. I gave you my life, my future, my love...and you gave me nothing but excuses and missed dates and pain."

She sniffles again, and he offers her a handkerchief. She takes it and wipes her eyes, calming herself before speaking one last time.

"But before compounding all those horrors on me, you did the one thing that decided the course of my life and yours; you sealed your own fate with the first of many grievances against me..."

She and Jack share a look, and he squeezes her shoulder. She looks up at him, tears running down her cheeks.

"You took away my father, Daddy. And for that, you're not going to live past this meeting."

She pulls her trench coat aside, and I feel my heartbeat stop for a long moment, then speed ahead. She looks down at the gun in her hand, then raises it up, unlatching the safety. Jack looks at her, voicing his thoughts gently.

"Are you sure you want to do this?"

She looks at him, her eyes filled with tears and disbelief, taking his hand, before looking back at me.

"You see this? This is my father. This is what you could never be."

And then her finger pulls back the slender hook of metal, and my whole body goes still.

My life flashes before my eyes-- cliche but true.

Catie, and her lovely legs and soft green eyes.

Angel and Lyle as they lay together in my wife's belly.

Jarod and Angel on the DSA filmed on the day of his 15th birthday, splitting a box of Cracker Jacks and professing their love for each other.
The tears in Angel's eyes as I sent her to boarding school, away from the pretender.

The letters my girl wrote back to the labrat, lying in my fireplace as the brandy ran across my tongue

Angel as she appeared to me for the first time after Raines's training, powerful and all in black and answering only to Miss Parker.
Jack glaring up at me through his blood...

Morganna and Jack, hands barely touching, power dripping off them in waves of immense strength.

Darkness.

Darkness.

Darkn...

Hunter

Chapter 9



The lights are on when I finally reach the summer cottage. The lights are on, the Boxter is in the driveway, and the shades are open.

Not a good sign.

In all the time I have known her, Parker has never had her lights on after midnight. Her vision is fantastic by any standards, human or animal, and she moves just as skillfully at night as she does during the day. She has never in her life left her car in the driveway, of all places. It's a Porsche after all, and it happens to be her pride and joy. It gets stored in her garage every night, shining with its weekly coat of wax. And ever since that whole thing with the pictures of her and Thomas in bed, her shades are religiously closed each evening at eleven. So naturally, when I saw my partner's house, I assumed she was in trouble--that these little nuances of her personality had been deliberately left out for me to see and to react to.

So being the white knight that I am, I quickly drew my gun and picklocks, setting to work on the back door, kneeling down on the cold doorstep. No one was going to hurt my best friend on MY watch!

...My feet are beginning to fall asleep.

There?

No.

There?

Nyet.

How 'bout here?

Nada.

Arg!

Just as I am about to pull my gun out and mimic that Masterlock commercial, my pick hits the sweet spot, and I feel the door unlock under my fingers. Victory wiggle time!

"Uh huh, uh huh, uh huh uh huh uh huh!" I whisper softly with a shake of my shoulders and gyration of my hips. Damn, I feel like a high school kid who just hit his date's G-spot on his first thrust. Who's good? I'm good--recognize the skills, baby!

The knob is cold in my hand, and I focus all of my energy and attention into trying to turn it without alerting whomever might be holding Parker captive. Easy now, eaaaaaaaaaasy...

The knob turns by itself, and the door is yanked open, light spilling out, outlining the figure in the doorway. The gun metal is cool against my forehead, brushing for just a moment, before being withdrawn and shoved into a waistband.

"Rich, why, may I ask, are you crouched at my backdoor picking my lock?"

I blink up at her, and she scowls before pulling me in and stripping me of my coat, throwing it over her arm and padding barefoot to the living room.
What just happened here?

I follow, my lips pursed, my hand still on the butt of my gun. Hey, you never know--she could be a fembot who's replaced the real Parker. Hm...If she is electronic, wonder if she'll have a shag with me.

Oh be-have!

"Rich," she says calmly, looking me up and down. "Why didn't you just use your key?"

I sniff the air, searching it for danger--cologne. Her assailant was hiding somewhere in the shadows. I'd put a stop to that!

Ignoring her question completely, I pull my gun out and hold it straight out, listening to the air very carefully, ignoring her indignant, "Rich!"
There, in the corner.

Swinging my gun up to face the shadowy intersection of walls, I speak in what I hope is a commanding voice, my unique accent becoming more pronounced with the growl.

"You! Stand up nice and slow and come out with your hands up. Any sudden movements and I'll blow your head off." Parker looks at me and puts her hands on her hips.

"Richard Gordon Cox, you put that gun down right now, or I swear to God--I'll bitch slap you into next Tuesday!"

Uh oh. Full name. I am in deep shit. And the worst thing is-- I haven't even done anything wrong to deserve it!

I put my gun down, glaring at her, and the man comes out of the shadows. I swing my eyes around to meet his, and gasp at what I see.

"By God, those eyes!" He stares at me, and Parker pushes me down onto the couch before going over to him.

"Rich, I'd like you to meet Mr. Jonathan Hunter. He's my father." She says this all in a '2+2=4' sort of tone, and I wipe my brow with my sleeve.

"Your father."

"Yes."

I swallow and rub my eyes, feeling strangely deflated at this statement.

"Parker, love, I came here to tell you that your father's *dead*. Mr. Parker was found shot in his hospital bed by a Centre issue 9MM. The cameras were looped, the guards were gone, and the nurses didn't hear anything."

Silence.

Her face has gone quite pale, and wow-- I didn't know her eyes could turn that color. The gray currently tinting the ice blue irises looks like something I've seen on battleships, and I mentally add it to my list of "Parker Unique Thingies." She swallows, then sits down beside me.

"I... I honestly don't know how to take this," she says with a whimper, before opening one palm, face up on her knee. Hunter seems to sense what she's doing before she does it, and reaches over to grasp her hand, tightly. Damn. If my mental facilities are still functioning right, they're telling me this guy really is her father. If he isn't, he's sure doing a better job that Mr. P ever did. I mean, even I could see that guy wasn't fulfilling any of his parental responsibilities, and I've only met him during my rebirth as Mr. Cox.

The phone rings, and Parker rises to answer it. No doubt it's one of her two stooges calling to tell her what I just did. She picks it up and answers in a rough voice, "What?"

Her face twists as she hears the voice, and I give a rueful grin as I realize who it is. Wonderboy is just asking for a pre-mortem autopsy.

"Listen-- I meant it when I said this wasn't the right time to call me. Go save Timmy from the well and leave me the hell alone, got it?" She slams the phone down and reaches down to pull the phone cord out. Hunter and I share a smirk, and she turns back around to flop down on the couch, blowing out heavily. I slide my arm over her shoulder, and she nuzzles up to my chest with a groan.

"Is it really his purpose in life to fuck with me? Does he honestly have nothing better to do?"

I shrug. "Apparently not."

"I mean, there has got to be some innocent he could go save, some kitten to rescue from a tree, some old lady to walk across the street--is he really that stretched for ideas?" I smile and hug her shoulders.

Hunter rises and touches her shoulder. She gestures upwards. "Up the stairs, third door to the right." He nods and picks up his jacket off the couch.

"Don't stay up too late, all right?"

"I just got you back and already you're acting all concerned and parental?"

"Well, I've got a lot of time to make up for."

"If you start threatening to beat up sweepers for taking my lunch, I swear to God I'll have an aneurysm."

He laughs and pats her back, before turning and walking up the stair with a soft "goodnight." We're left alone, accompanied by the sound of the clock ticking on the mantle.

There's a rustle from the kitchen, and I turn, my gun ready and aimed...

"Oh, hey Holmes."

The large golden retriever I got her after the whole Thomas thing walks in, wagging his shaggy tail before walking over to us and nudging Parker impatiently. She smiles and looks at me.

"You're in his spot."

"Well, sucks to be him, don't it."

She laughs and shifts over to let the dog up, and I wait until he settles in before looking down at her and beginning the conversation. Almost unconsciously, I slip into my native Italian, the language we spoke in during out "errands" for Raines during our teen years.

"Lo avete ucciso?" *Did you kill him?* It lacks the finesse most of my words have, but it is a question that deserves to be asked.

She looks up at me, her calm blue eyes holding none of her earlier shock at hearing of his death. The battleship gray is gone, replaced with ice colored eyes. I know the answer. I won't ask her to say it.

"Quale piano d'azione era esso? Tredici o venticinque?" *Which scenario was it? Thirteen or twenty-five?*

For the life of me, I can't remember what the designation for such a simulation was. Raines had us tittle them all with number codes, and we obeyed, going through each method of execution painstakingly and with sharp attention to details. My fingers ache at the memory of those long hours, copying down out plans and plots into the pocket sized black notebooks he provided us with, writing each one in Aramaic for fear a sweeper or another doctor would find them and raise questions; resulting in a beating for us.

God the beatings...

Shaking my head to get rid of the topic, I look expectantly at her. She sighs.

"Era quindici. Richard, il dottore Billy sarebbe in modo da deludente in voi." *It was fifteen. Richard, Doctor Billy would be so disappointed in you.*
"And how it wounds me to think of his disapproval!" I roll my eyes and smirk at her, slipping back into English.

Parker laughs and leans against me, her eyes closing gently. I press a chaste kiss against her porcelain forehead and wrap my arm around her shoulders.
"I'm glad you're not going to pass judgment on me, Richard."

"Like I'm sinless enough to cast the first stone. Plus I can't really push the blame on you. YOU didn't do it. He pulled the trigger the day he stepped into the Centre and decided to try and be a key player. And," I add, for the benefit of anyone who might be listening, "who ever it was that killed him, he had a making in it from start to finish."

She smiles at me, her eyes filled with tears of relief, and I pull her to me so I don't have to look at them. God--her tears would unravel my carefully gathered control, and I have no doubt that I'd soon be doing whatever humanly possible to take her mind off of her problems.

As good of fuck buddies as we are, I very much doubt she'd appreciate me putting the moves on her with her father upstairs.

"Thank you, Richard."

"No problem, 'Anna. Now, close those little eyes, and rest your little head on my shoulder, and don't worry that little heart of your-- ow!" She punches my shoulder playfully, and I grin at her. "Just get some rest, Parker."

"I suppose it's Hunter, now."

"Well, everyone else has gone through at least one name change-- I guess you deserve one. Get some rest *Hunter*. Happy?"

"Very-" *YAWN* "-Good night Richard."

I smile and kiss her forehead. "Night."

She drifts off to sleep with her head in my lap, and I stroke her hair idly until I drift off to sleep, one hand in her hair...and the other on my gun.

Hey, it ain't paranoia if they're really out to get you.

Hunter

Chapter 10



Love is a funny thing. It has so many different types, and yet each one is just a pure and all consuming as the next. Puppy love, friend love, maternal love, paternal love, intellectual love, passionate love. Each type, when done right, takes up as much space that each person can spare, until they literally become victims of love, living hosts that house the overpowering feelings of affection and adoration.

And lust. Let's not forget lust.

My relationship with Miss Parker started out when she was still Morganna--before Mr. Parker sent her away from me, 'protecting' his little girl from the big bad labrat. I didn't love her at first. When I first saw her, through that glass, all I could feel was relief.

I'd finally have some contact with the much rumored but never encountered "female sex." Those elusive beasts I'd only seen in simulations. And of course with Mom...but were mom's girls? That was a very disturbing thought; that my mother had once been something like the little girl standing in front of me with her hand against the glass. The concept of the them being the same species bothered me for some days.

But Morganna...wow. She was pretty, and when I finally got to speak to her, I discovered she was smart as well. Not as deeply intellectual as the doctors who surrounded me (a fantastic change of pace, in my opinion), but easily as smart as I was (she had real potential as a pretender if they would only train her), and loaded down with common sense and street smarts, and enough information about the outside world to keep me busy for an eternity with daydreams and unauthorized SIMS.

She got me in trouble. Grasping my hand, and looking at me with pretty blue eyes, she manipulated me into going on adventures with me. We snuck out of the labs through the ventilation system and went off to peer into board meetings, examine the pictures in Raines's medical books with disgust at the cancer blobs and disfigured livers, and slipped inside the cafeteria to grab slices of cake and bottles of what she later told me was soda. I knew, of course, that what we were doing was very wrong and bad in the eyes of the Centre, and I feared them finding out and punishing me...

But whenever we got caught, and Sydney would look sternly at me and speak with disappointed words, all I heard was Morganna's tinkling laughter, and all I saw were those blue eyes with the long sooty lashes.

I loved her when I was 12, and I told her when I was 15. She smiled at me, repeated the words with adoration and feeling in her voice, then snuggled up to me and shared a box of Angelo's Cracker Jacks. I doubted I could be happier, and even entertained the idea of staying in this lab forever with her head on my chest and her sweet kisses on my lips.

And then the sweepers came.

They dragged us apart, forcing me to the ground and holding me down. Two of them grabbed Morganna, grabbing her arms and twisting them behind her back. She struggled vainly, and I tasted blood, watching her fight with the warmth in my mouth trickling down my throat.

"Now now, Angel." Mr. Parker walked in, his big meaty hands folded neatly in front of him, Raines trailing behind him. She looked at him and her eyes went wide in fear, though I couldn't be sure if she was more afraid of Parker of Raines. The sweepers let go of her, and she rose on unsteady legs, her hair falling in front of her eyes.

"Daddy, what-" She was cut off by his fist making contact with the side of her face, the force of the impact knocking her to the ground in a heap. The sweeper's guns cut into my back with the force of my struggling.

"Angel, I'm disappointed in you!" She didn't answer, but sat still, clutching the side of her face in pain. Waiting a moment to see if he was going to say something more, she gathered her courage and responded.

"But Daddy... I love him-"

A swift kick to her ribs stopped those claims and her voice. She let out a raspy breath and coughed hoarsely, her hair falling down once more to shield her face.

And with this last bit of violence, I lost it.

I saw red--the red of Morganna's blood, the red of Mr. Parker's tie, the red of the toy surprise wrapper from the Cracker Jack box. I bit at the Sweepers holding me, forcing them off and lunging at Mr. Parker.

I didn't care that I was 15 and scrawny, didn't care that Mr. Parker had a good 100 pounds on me and over a foot in height, didn't care that the Sweepers would pound my face to a bloody pulp for this attack. Morganna was bleeding, and everything else became insignificant.

I managed to get my hands around his throat and squeeze with all my might for a bare second before they pulled me off and slammed me back to the ground, whamming my head against the cold floor. Consciousness quickly disappearing and the taste of blood filling my mouth, I focused solely on the look of adoration in Morganna's eyes; the love she held for me.

It was the memory of that look that kept me sane for the next 15 years of my life.

It kept me from dying when she left for boarding school.

It kept me from killing myself when she returned and didn't know me anymore.

It kept me from murder when she walked past me in the hall and I could smell the fresh sex on her.

Those two clear blue eyes, filled with tears and love were the reason I gathered enough courage to escape the Centre. The knowledge that while I was in there I would never get a chance to see those eyes look at me like that again forced me to rebel and go out into the world.

I was determined to become as independent as she had been; to hurt her as much as she had me the first time I had smelled her without her virginity intact. I went through Nia, Zoe, Rachel; each time making sure that Sydney, and therefore Parker, knew of my conquests.

As I used them to hurt her, I also gathered experience. My rational side knew and still does know that Miss Parker is every straight man's wet dream, and that since she had probably fucked a great deal of them, inexperience would not be the best thing to bring to the bed the first time we were together. I used my lovers as practice for the main event; something which even now sends a pang of deep guilt through me, but not deep enough to make me abandon my quest of turning all this unresolved tension into sexual activity. Nothing would ever cut that deeply. Not something that I would do, not something that she would do; nothing.

I discovered, less than an hour ago, that Mr. Parker is dead--murdered.

And since I haven't been inside the Centre in over two years, I'll give you three guesses who is responsible.

This is another one of those secrets that I will take with me to the grave. This falls into line with her first name, her affection for Broots, Sydney, and Angelo, and the drink she offered to share with me when Thomas died. Mind you, this seems like a bigger secret, but in the matter of trust, this is just as important as the others and just as strongly guarded.

I discovered an hour ago that Mr. Parker is dead, murdered by Miss Parker.

Catherine has been avenged, Bobby's been given his pound of flesh, Morganna will be allowed to sleep the sleep of the free, and Thomas's ghost will be allowed to rest.

And after I tuck Morganna into bed, so can I.

Which is my reason for being outside her house at 3 in the morning, on my knees by her backdoor, picking the lock.

Hunter

Chapter 11



The noises downstairs awake both me and the labrador I find by the foot of my bed. We exchange a long suffering look, then get out of the warm bed, the dog running downstairs instantly, while I struggle into a pair of pants and grab the gun Anna gave to me from under my pillow.

It must be the PTBs, coming to kill us all. They must have discovered my absence and known this was where I'd be. My daughter, well, from what I gathered they were just waiting for an excuse to kill her, so this must be their two for the price of one deal. And as for Richard, he was associated with Morganna. That was all the reason the Centre would need to take him out.

My heart in my throat and my thoughts random and nonsensible, I run downstairs. After unlatching the safety, I whirl to face the couch...to find Richard holding a gun on a man dressed all in black. Anna is siting on the couch, her arms crossed over her chest, looking at the man in annoyance.

The man in black looks at the three of us, giving a curious look towards me, and a suspicious one towards Richard. Anna sighs and strokes the dog's back to soothe his growling.

"Anna," I question, "Who's this?"

She smiles at the question, and rises, pushing Richard's gun down to his side, before going to stand in front of the strange man. He looks down at her with dark eyes, and she touches his cheek gently with the back of her hand.

"He's a little lost labrat, who thought he'd come and tuck me into bed."

He looks at her, sighing deeply, and scrutnizing her face.

"Parker, I heard."

She looks at him, one eyebrow raised, and I swallow thickly. Even I can sense the sexual tension in the room, and it awakens a parental feeling I had never thought I'd get a chance to feel.

Suddenly, my daughter is a teenager, showing me her first boyfriend, and the urge to castrate him is overwelming.

He glowers at her. "Was it hard for you to do it? Or did you send him off to his final resting place with the same disreguard with which he sent Catherine to hers."

Morganna looks at him calmly, her eyes calm and her face void of any emotions. I have to admire her controll, but feel sorrow at the same time. Parker must have been a really horrible father for her not to even question her decision.

"Jarod," ah, Nimrod boy, "for a genius, you're acting pretty stupid. It's 3 in the morning, you don't carry a gun, and you're standing in my living room acting coy."

"And you're trusting Cox. Not an Einstein decision on your part either, Parker."

"Who I trust is my own buisness. You seem to forget that a lot."

"It's my buisness as well.Your friends inevitably end up either dying or hunting me."

Anna flinches at the verbal barb, her fists clenching and her eyes slitting. I've seen that look before. My own face mirrored in the pupils of the men I tracked down, showing me the pure unadulterated bloodlust I in my eyes. I have to stop her. There's been too much bloodshed tonite already.

Stepping between the two of them, I steer her away from him gently, ignoring the shocked look on his face and the indignant one on hers.

"Well this has all been very nice and tension-filled, but I fear we have more pressing matters to attend to. So if you'll kindly leave, kid, we can carry on with our buisness."

Jarod's face as being called "kid" is priceless, and I bite my cheek to keep from laughing and ruining the whole serious mood I've set around us. He looks around me at Anna, his nostrils flarring.

"Call him off. Now."

"And why should I? He brings up a very good point: you shouldn't be here. Go save a kitten from a tree and help orphans find nice families to adopt them and get the Hell out of my house."

I grin wolfishly at him, and Richard smirks behind his hand. Jarod glares at us all, but looks especially angry at me.

"Your fucktoys are getting older, Parker. Freud would have a field day with this relationship."

Fucktoy? FUCKTOY? I'LL SHOW HIM FUCKTOY!

Grabbing him by his jacket, I shove him up against the wall, feeling the bloodlust so long dormant awaken in my soul. The side of me that relishes in the power I hold over people cackles evily, while the part of me that wants to give everyone I meet a hug tries to push me away from him.

Jarod's eyes go wide as my gun presses against his forehead and my arm goes on his throat, keeping him pinned like a butterfly against the wall.

"You listen here, KID. You may be the child of Margaret and Charlie, but no one, and I mean NO ONE, talks to her OR me like that. And if you do it again, you'll regret your ancestors were ever spawned under that rock in the primordial ooze. Do we have an understanding? Am I making myself clear?" He nods desperately, his face purpling a bit. Morganna watches in silence, then steps foward to touch my arm lovingly.

"Let him go, Dad."

"He insulted you."

"He's Jarod. He may have a record breaking IQ, but he's not the brightest crayon in the box."

With a bark of laughter, I let him drop to the ground, enjoying his gasps for air with far too much glee. Well, its no castration, but it'll have to do.
Anna smiles thankfully at me, and Jarod's still breathy voice intrudes on the glow I feel at seeing her face lite up like that.

"D-D-Dad?"

Anna looks at him, then grins and links arms with me, resting her head on my shoulder. I grin back at her, my heart swelling with adoration and pride. My daughter. Ah, what a wonderful feeling it is to finally know her.

"Now who's got a kick ass family?"

"B-But how..."

"You'd be surprised what you can find down in SL-28. The most interesting people are often right underneath our noses. Or the floor. Sometimes they're under the floor."

Jarod is looking very much like a fish out of water, while Richard is collapsed on the couch, laughing hysterically and clutching his sides. The dog has lost interest, and is curled up by his feet, licking his paws.

And here we stand, together and happy.

Morganna gives my hand one last sqeeze, then walks out of the room, retreating to the kitchen. Jarod takes a few unsteady steps towards the nearest chair, and Richard takes pity on him, kicking it underneath his legs so he doesn't collapse on the floor.

"Take a load off Wonderboy. You're awfuly pale--you look like you swallowed a bug. Have you tried breathing? I've heard it works wonders for your complexion and adds years onto your lifespan." Jarod inhales deeply, and Richard smirks. "Atta boy. Anna? Bring out some smelling salts for our little genius here?"

"I'll get him something better." She emerges from the kitchen with a glass of bourbon, and hands it to Jarod. He takes it in shaky hands and swallows a gulp down, then gasps for breath again and rubs his eyes. Richard laughs gently and lies back, rolling his head on the couch. I close the open door firmly and lock it in three places before returning to them.

Jarod has apparently regained his breath, for he is now staring openly at Morganna.

"Parker...I...I'm sor...My apologies." Morganna laughs softly.

"You can't even admit it, can you? You just can't admit to yourself that this time, I'm the one with the power; I have the answers and its ME who decides whether or not YOU get them."

"You're really enjoying this, aren't you," he grumbles and she grins widely.

"Damn straight." I clear my throat.

"Technically, I'm the one with the answers, Anna, but I'll let it slide. Now, one of you three is going to tell me this whole exciting story of how my daughter came to be the hunter of my best friends' son. I already know the whole Pretender tale-- it got me locked up for over thirty years." Cox smirks softly.

"The Centre took Jarod from his family and used him for thirty or so years. He finally figured out they were bad news (took him long enough) and ran away. Mr. Parker decided the best person to track him down would be the ones who had known him the longest. Thus, Sydney, Morganna, and Broots have been chasing Jarod for about five years now." He takes a breath and a sip of his drink, then inquires after how Debbie did at her recital.

"Lovely. My little girl danced like an angel-" Jarod clears his throat.

"As entranced as this conversation has me, I think it might be better if we saved this for another time. In case you haven't noticed, this man has all the answers we've been looking for." I grin.

"Flattery will get you everywhere." Morganna smiles and looks up at me.

"Dad...mom keeps telling me something about completing her plan."

"Drawing a blank."

"I thought you would, but rumor has it she left a DSA explaining the whole thing. Do you have any idea where she would hide something like that? So no one could find it unless she wanted them to?" I close my eyes for a moment and think back.

"She did keep several safe deposit boxes. Get me a pen and a piece of paper." Cox grabs one for me, and I write the numbers and the locations down.

"Don't know what good it will do-- someone has probably already cleared them out." Jarod looks at the numbers and sighs.

"I'm sorry, Parker, I've already gotten to all of these." Morganna's face fell, and I try and think of something else.

"If, and this is just an if, Catie's plan was to take down the Centre...She'd do it through the government." Three breaths stop, and I continue, sensing this is a delicate and unthought of subject. "Catie believed very strongly in the system. She thought that evil should be handled by it, not by a few renagade; a coo would only cause more problems in her mind, creating tensions on loyalties and forming more enemies.

"Catie would have wanted someone to get the FBI or CIA on the Triumvirate's tails, to get forces started that couldn't be stopped by a few deaths." I look up and feel myself become even more sure in my words. "Go to the government. That's Catie's way."

Hunter

Chapter 12



For as far back as I can remember, I have been a libertarian. You don't fuck with me, and I won't fuck with you has basically been the structure of my life. It's how you act within the Centre-- try and stay out of people's crosshairs unless you can crush them without a problem.

The government. Ugg.

Well, at least Catherine was patriotic, I reason with myself. Deciding to let the state handle problems instead of simply seizing power-- she was a Constitutional framer's wet dream.

Jarod is nodding his approval-- you'd think the boy would learn to avoid the government, considering how many laws he breaks on each of his pretends. Morganna is looking like someone just told her that Raines is fantastic in bed.

"You're shitting me." I agree silently. That pretty much sums it up. Let the government into Centre affairs-- like that'll happen anytime soon. Let me know when it does, so I can come into work in a toga and go around kissing everyone before offering them a doogie. Government. Yeah, right.

"I'm serious. That's what Catie would have wanted. It's up to you, of course, but that's what she would want. It would ensure the least possible cassualties."
Okay, so he does have a point there. But who says cassualties are neccessarily a bad thing? I know I sure as fuck wouldn't lose any sleep if Willie was to be accidentally shot repeatedly after being accidentally hit over the head with a led pipe and accidentally dragged twelve miles by a mini-van full of screaming soccer brats eating McDonalds.

Accidentally, of course.

"That's the first plan that actually makes sense," Jarod whispers softly, and Parker glares at him. "It is!" He persists. "No one would get hurt, or if they were it would all be minimal. We could take down the Triumvirate and the Centre in one fell swoop; with all the men the CIA would provide for us-"
"You're thinking of the television CIA. They're great. The real CIA, however... They're grossly lacking supplies," I remind them all. "Their budget is what I make in a week; they couldn't handle something like this."

"So the FBI, the NSA-- we'd find someone who could take care of us, and I'll go in and tell my life story."

SMACK! Parker's hand makes contact with the back of Jarod's head, and I grin. Love that sound. Love that woman.

"You really are dumber than a sack of hair, aren't you? Every government agency you've ever been in has it out for you. You came, you fucked around a bit, and then you left them with a hogtide confessed killer, who could always claim coercion because you had him hanging over a pit of acid until he gave in and told you he'd killed or raped or framed someone. If you step foot inside a government agency headquarters, you'll be bound and frisked away to the nearest holding cell." She rolls her eyes. "God, you really don't have any brains at all, do you Wonderboy."

I smirk and Jarod glares at her. "Maybe not. But you're the one who's never been able to catch me; who's lacking in brains more? The dumb or the dumber." Uh oh.

After prying Parker off of Jarod, and comiting the color his face has turned to memory (I always thought that ocean blue would be a nice paint for my kitchen), we are all considerably calmer. Parker glares at Jarod, then looks at me.

"What about you?"

"Me? Illegal immigrant, remember? The Centre never bothered to have me registered." She sighs and looks at Hunter. He shakes his head.

"I don't know half of what's gone on while I've been gone; thirty years is a lot of conspiracy to miss out on." Well, Hunty's out. So that just leaves...

"No. Absolutely possotively fucking not." I laugh.

"Come on-"

"No."

"You're the-"

"NO."

Jarod rolls his eyes. "You're the only one who can do it."

Silence.

"I don't wanna do it. I hate those goddamned government agencies-- do you have any idea how much effort and time becoming a double agent will demand? A lot." Jarod sighs and I pat her on the back.

"Give it a shot, Kela. Worse comes to worse, I'll just go in and shoot your handler, and you'll walk out clean." Jarod sputters on his drink.

"NO KILLING!" I force a pout, and Mikela laughs delightedly. Good-- she needs a laugh.

"Well go and spoil ALL my fun, why don't you Wonderboy!" I take a sip of my drink and form soothing circles on Mikela's back. "Just try it. I'll even come with you for moral support," she gives me a warry eye. "We have to at least try, Kela. And Wonderboy (I'll say this quietly) has a point. How long do you think it'll take for someone to decide our rule is getting in their way and use some disgruntled sweepers to take us down? We can take them all out in one fell swoop."

Silence.

"Fine," she grumbles. "I'll do it." Wonderboy lets out a cheer, Hunter and I smile at her. She raises a hand. "But this is worth major salvation points." Glaring up at the ceiling, she continues. "You hear me you big bastard? I want a choice cloud when I get up there, and St. Peter bowing down as I show up." She sits back with a angry sigh.

Yep, Catherine was one special lady to make someone like Kela. But I don't think I'll mention that to Parker right now. I doubt she'd be very grateful in this state of mind.