Disclaimer: The characters herein belong to the world by default. As they continue to fill the thoughts of viewers, new and old alike, they have become irrevocably wound up in our reality and, as such, live on indefinitely by memory and film archive.

Summary: The evolution of Miss Parker and Jarod’s phone conversations after their escapade on Carthis.

Bloom

By Bec-Bec

December 17th, 2001

"What?" Miss Parker answered the electronic ring of her cell phone in a sleep-hazed voice, after groping around in the dark for it.

"Have you found any answers yet?" Jarod’s voice was soft and inquisitive, just as it had been a week ago when he’d called after their adventure on Carthis.

Miss Parker leaned over and switched on the lamp next to her bed, sitting up with a deep sigh. "I’m beginning to think there are no real answers; not any that I’ll find anyway."

Something in their phone conversations had evolved. They no longer taunted each other with bitter words. It seemed, for once, that they were actually talking.

"If there weren’t any real answers, they wouldn’t be working so hard to stop us from finding them."

"Do you think we’ll ever find the whole truth, Jarod? Or will we spend the rest of our lives searching, picking up breadcrumbs here and there?"

"I don’t know." He paused. "But I know the truth we’re looking for is out there somewhere and, as long as it is, I’ll be looking for it."

The line was silent for a moment. "Any trace of your mother?" Miss Parker asked softly.

There was a pause. "Not yet. But, I’ll find her and, when I do, I’ll have everything they’re hoping I won’t ever know."

"And, what about the scrolls?"

Another pause. "They hold the key to our past. I’m as certain of that as I am that the Centre doesn’t want us to have them."

Miss Parker sighed and brushed her fingers over a rose sitting on her side table. "We held my- Mr. Parker’s- funeral a few days ago."

"I know. I visited the graveside after everyone left. I’m sorry, Miss Parker," Jarod said sympathetically.

A tear slipped down her cheek and she wiped it away slowly, smiling sadly. "Another empty Parker grave." Her smile slipped away. "They never found his body."

"Well, wherever he is, he took any answers he had with him."

"Raines and Lyle told the Triumvirate that you stole the scrolls. They’ve stepped up their search for you."

"Back to normal." Jarod sighed deeply.

"Only, this time, the first one to the answers lives," Miss Parker replied softly. "Jarod, if we ever do find all of the answers, the truth about who we are, maybe our story will finally change.

"I’m counting on it."

The line went dead and Miss Parker flipped her cell phone shut, turning it over in her hands before bringing it to her face and pressing her lips against it softly.

Flicking off the lamp at her side, she put her cell phone back on the side table and curled up under her comforter, her arms wrapped around a pillow. Despite what she knew she had to face the next day, she slept peacefully, the rose on her nightstand caught in a sliver of moonlight.

The flower had come from a bunch that had arrived at the Centre from an anonymous source expressing their sympathies over Mr. Parker’s death. There was no doubt that the anonymous source had been Jarod.

The flowers had been sent off to the lab for analysis while Broots tracked down the delivery company. When Miss Parker had returned to her office, a single red bud had been sitting on her desk. Looking around, she had seen eyes gleaming back at her from the air vent. "Thank you, Angelo." She wasn’t sure if he had smiled or not but she knew he had crawled off through the air ducts now that she had received the gift.

That night, she had taken the bud home and placed it in a small vase next to her bed. Several days later, as she slept, it had bloomed.

Author’s Note: It’s been ages since I’ve posted anything so, I figured I’d send everyone a little gift to mark the occasion of my birthday on Monday. There is a companion piece to this story, however, it is sadly unfinished. Hopefully, I’ll have both the time and inclination to work on it soon. Thank you for reading.

Author’s Note: This a companion piece to "Bloom" in a series I call "Adagio."

Adagio [noun]:

Music. A slow passage, movement, or work, especially one using adagio as the direction. A section of a pas de deux in which the ballerina and her partner perform steps requiring lyricism and great skill in lifting, balancing, and turning.
Luna

By Bec-Bec

December 22, 2001

"What?" Miss Parker flipped open her cell phone smoothly.

"How are things at the Centre?" Jarod asked in a soft voice.

"Twisted, as usual." Miss Parker sat up further in bed. The lamp at her side was already on. "Raines has taken his new found power to an extreme. If the Triumvirate doesn’t remove him, I expect someone from the Tower will attempt an assassination."

"And how are you?" Jarod asked with gentle concern.

Miss Parker paused. "Tired," she admitted.

" ‘No rest for the weary,’ " Jarod sighed. "I believe I heard that somewhere."

There was a light chuckle from Miss Parker. "It’s ‘no rest for the wicked,’ Jarod."

Jarod laughed softly as well. "Ironic that we’re the ones who can’t sleep at night."

Miss Parker’s smile fell away at Jarod’s unintended reminder of who she was working for. "I get woken up by so many different things. Nightmares, fear." Miss Parker looked at the empty crystal vase on her night table. "Unanswered questions."

"We will find the answers," Jarod said with conviction.

"You can’t say that with anymore certainty than I can say that Mr. Parker was really my father," Miss Parker replied seriously.

"He’ll always be your father, Miss Parker. No paternity test in the world can erase the childhood that you spent with him."

"That childhood is becoming more and more illusory with each new piece of information that we uncover." She looked out her bedroom window from her position on the bed. It was cloudy outside and light seemed to be reflecting softly off of the vapor. "Sometimes I wonder if I ever really believed it was the truth. Some part of me always knew it was a lie."

"Your mother loved you. The childhood that she gave you was never a lie."

"But you can’t say the same of my father," Miss Parker said evenly. "What he gave me—what the Centre gave us—secrets and lies."

"Your father may not have given you the truth but, in the end, the only thing that matters is that you believe in what you felt—what you feel now," Jarod replied sternly.

"I don’t know what to believe anymore, Jarod. Every truth we find seems to be shrouded in more lies. And, every time we get closer to the answers, my life only becomes more complicated and grotesque. Sometimes I wish I hadn’t looked for the answers at all."

"No. No, you don’t. The answers to the past, the truth about who you are, who your mother was, you want them more than anything. And, until you find them, you’ll always feel…incomplete—missing that piece of your identity."

Miss Parker was silent. The clouds outside of her window had darkened and she wondered if it would rain.

"Any word on your mother?" she asked quietly.

"Not yet. I had a lead, but it didn’t follow through."

"It will be even harder to find her now."

"I know. But I won’t give up." Cool determination laced Jarod’s words.

Miss Parker turned to the window again. Her voice remained soft, pensive. "The Centre expects that you’ll devote more time to searching for her." She paused and was met with silence. "It won’t be easy."

"It never was."

Jarod disconnected the call and Miss Parker let the phone dangle in her hand a moment, the dial tone droning on somewhere in the back of her mind.

The sky had erupted into a steady downpour. The world outside of Miss Parker’s window was shrouded in darkness as the moon was devoured by the heavy, grey, storm clouds.

She glanced at her side table again. The empty vase met her eyes, looking forlorn. She turned away from it and concentrated on the window again. Something drew her to the cool glass and she flipped her phone shut distractedly, dropping it on her rumpled sheets and walking to the window.

The ground and trees behind her house looked bare and bleak, glassy through the clear panes. Long moments passed without movement, when the clouds suddenly parted and a circle of moonlight filtered through. The rain continued on steadily, dancing in the soft glow.