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Chapter or Story 
Chapter or Story
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: Let’s play.
Precious Blood
Part IX: The Hunter Kings Begins
Matrea Nara
The Centre: Arin’s Space
I was never afraid. I came close once or twice, that much I admit and proudly, because my reason for fear was mine alone. After I had healed from my ordeal I felt, deep down to my center, that the horror that had caused it was still affecting the one who brought that pain on me. It was one of two people, and the Centre has never told me which. I didn’t ask. My concerns were closer then.
Luke recovered slowly, having to his own injuries and the wounds suffered upon whoever had struck us down that fateful day. He did recover though, completely. We were allowed a week’s rest after the infirmary discharged him before the tests began again in earnest.
A year it’s been now, and low and behold I like and thrive. This place is the devil’s own, but I’ve made short work of the few sweepers fool enough to go against Lyle’s advice and try anything with me. One had the misfortune of making once such attempt within Luca’s reach, and I believe their still cleaning pieces of him off the ceiling. That was a damned bloody mess if ever there was one.
The pain in my chest and stomach, the ache in my leg, dulled and gradually disappeared entirely. I was still getting stomachaches, comparably mild, up until a month ago, when they stopped all together. Since then we’ve been getting stronger, feeling a hope not entirely our own taking root and swelling in our hearts. It’s Ryker of course, and our parents. The strong emotions of all three combined make for one hell of a high. Luke says it’s even worse on him; my relief every time I see him hits him like a divine wind he says, and fades only after several hours of me reassuring myself my twin still lives, had regained his health.
Today my uncle is with me, and Luca as well. My brother sits with his back to the wall, knees bent and arms draped across them, one hand clutching the opposite wrist. His eyes never leave our uncle, leaning against the doorjamb with his arms folded across his chest and his legs crossed at the ankles. We can easily overpower him between us, as we tried once, but we learned the hard way that he knows that as well and there’s a veritable army of sweepers lurking outside that door. I lounge on my cot, giving the impression as one totally at ease, though my heart is racing as it always does when Uncle Lyle is within ten feet of me. I may not like it, but I’m related to him and his effect on me is there, though less potent than some.
I wonder what he wants but do not ask. There is no reason to give him the slightest suspicious that his presence in my cell unnerves me in the least. He already knows, of that I can be certain.
“Are they still alive?” he asks. The man can get to the point sure enough, there’s no faulting him that.
“Whoever can you mean uncle?” I croon sweetly. Luke grins lopsidedly at Lyle, who raises an amused eyebrow at him. We’ve come to an unspoken agreement, the three of is; this is the dance, and so far we’re all perfectly in step.
“You know who I mean.”
“I’m afraid not.” Go on, say it. Say their names, I dare you. “Not as sharp as I used to be I guess.” In the year I have been hear I’ve never once hear him call them by their names, like they’re not people, not deserving of the honor. He doesn’t call us by our names either, and perhaps it’s just as well. He’s not deserving of that honor.
It soon becomes apparent that, while he may humor me on other occasions, he will not be manipulated here. Well enough. It’s all the same to me. “Alas good sister,” Luke chirps with a smirk. “Could Uncle Bobby mean our poor estranged parents?”
“Oh aye, and baby brother as well I suspect.” Lyle had darkened a peculiar shade of red while Luke was speaking, either because my twin had purposefully referred to him as “Bobby”, a name we were never supposed to use, or because it was apparent we had gone out of our way to avoid saying the names of the three persons he was concerned with. I love that we can goad him like this. He has no such advantage over us.
“But why would he be asking us that?” As he speaks, Luke keeps a wary eye on Lyle, aware that we were pushing and not wanting to be caught off guard by a sudden burst of rage. “We’ve not seen Pop or the squirt in a year.”
“And mother never.”
“Just so.”
“So?” Luke raises a brow at Lyle, mimicking his earlier expression. “Only desperation could bring you here.” Of course he must be desperate. It has, after all, been a year. Lyle was standing ramrod straight now, though neither Luke nor I have moved, and all traces of playful amusement are gone from his face. This is a dance, but Uncle Lyle hates being led. Too bad. I hate being locked up too, for all the good that gets me.
“Are they still alive?”
“And if they are? What good does telling you get us? What good does not telling you get us?” I glance at my brother, communicating in a language of expression none but we two will ever understand. Tread carefully Luca. We go too far. He meets my eyes, holds them. “Yes,” says he, not looking away. “They still live.”
“Where?” Was that hope in his voice now? What pressures had been laid upon him that he so suddenly wanted them back so badly, far more so than he had before?
“Even we can’t tell you that,” I tell him honestly. “If it was Luke out there I might be able to tell you, as he could if it were me, but our bonds are not so strong with the others.” I hesitate, but briefly. “What do they have on you?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” So now it’s his turn to be evasive. There’s no reason why he cant’ pull a one eighty and leave us now that he has the answers he came for, yet he remains. Luke speculated to me once that maybe our uncle enjoys our company more than he lets on, views us as kindred spirits, and maybe he’s right.
“You never cared about them so much before,” I venture. “You always said we were worth ten of him, that his life was no longer of any value. You said they were hunting him and if they found him they’d kill him, but never anything more than that. You never seemed to care. So what do they have on you now that you suddenly care again?”
“Assuming I ever cared before.”
“Oh you did Uncle.” My link to him is weak, but still there. He cannot hide such things from me. “Fear for that pinky again do you?”
“With good reason. The eye of the storm is moving past us, and I don’t want to get hit when the winds come up again.” With that, what he seems to consider explanation enough for the likes of us, he turns on his heel and marches out of the cells, his sweepers folding in around him as the door is closed. I meet Luke’s eyes again.
So, Uncle Bobby and the Centre think the relative calm of the past year is over, that they are about to be struck and hard. I wonder to myself what could have transpired to give them that idea. Has the family come out of hiding at last? When they’re back in the game life around here promises to get a lot more interesting. I can’t help wondering though, if after having so long to prepare both sides might clash in a battle that will destroy them both. The Centre holds most of the cards I know, and I’m afraid there’s very little help Luke and I have left to offer them.
***
Somewhere in Delaware: Jarod’s Jeep
They’d been driving for hours without pause, and the strain of the trip was telling on all of them. Traveling in two cars, Jarod’s Jeep and a Chevy Suburban rented by Mulder six days ago in Arlington, they made their way steadily northward with their purpose pulling them even as they slept. Parker, out like a light in the passenger seat, muttered in her seat and thrashed, settling only at his touch.
Over the past year Jarod and Miss Parker had remained carefully plutonic, establishing the boundaries early and guarding them well. They’re natural affinity for each other could not be so easily suppressed though, and their uncertain allegiance solidified into unwavering loyalty and friendship. There was no longer any question for Jarod that he loved her, but he put those feelings aside as best he could for the common good.
The common good, to which he had committed himself thoroughly every second of every day (nearly) since his escape, was becoming a vast inconvenience.
Jarod glanced in the rearview, ensuring that the Suburban still tailed them and that Ryker slept soundly. The boy had done a lot of growing up this past year, physically as well as emotionally and mentally. There was no new idea he was not open to, no concept he could not grasp with effort, no emotion he did not feel potently and display vividly. Ryker, on top of that, was built like a brick wall, solid muscle, sure and steady. With a smile, he recalled a conversation he and Parker had had recently regarding the physical development of their son.
“He’s growing up strong,” Jarod had said. He had thrown out the statement offhand over dinner, unable to bear the silence and searching for a conversation piece.
“He works out a lot lately,” she noted, her voice as sullen as he had ever heard it. “Like a soldier in training.” And it was true, but not so different from Jarod, who was still trying to get back to full strength.
“He’s got a body like I did at his age, and his workouts aren’t even mandatory or regimented.” He had meant, of course, the strict exercise routines he had been required to do when he was young. When he wasn’t occupied with SIMs he was in the gym or in the pool or at the track, keeping his strength up so he would continue to be able to complete the simulations. Working out had been his favorite part of his day, though he never played games or anything of that nature.
She had laughed then. “Don’t worry Jarod. The kid may be tough but you were ripped and he hasn’t passed you yet.”
It had taken some careful explanation by the more worldly Agent Mulder to explain to him what the word “ripped” referred to in that context before he had gotten the joke, realized he had been complimented.
Ryker sprawled out in the back, his long legs flung over the back of the seat, arms folded across his torso as she slept soundly in his jersey and mesh shorts. How innocent he looked, how much like so many other boys his age Jarod had seen, how blissfully unaware of the world. Ryker had not slept a full night in a year, but when he slept the burdens of his parentage and his troubled life lifted from him and he was just a boy again, not a pretender…just a kid, just his son.
And Parker’s. More Parker’s than his he had discovered.
Jarod’s cell phone trilled at him, and he answered at the first ring.
“We’re an hour or two from Blue Cove present speed if you stay on this road,” Mulder told him. “We’re taking the next exit and cutting around the shot way to get set up.”
They had arranged this, though Parker had protested vehemently when it was decided Ryker would stay with them. If the Centre was on alter and looking for them it would do no good for both teams to get caught together. Jarod and Parker, being most familiar with Blue Cover and the Centre, had been assigned the scouting, while Mulder, Scully, and the LGM went to the safe house to wait for them. The three hackers were itching to see if they could break into the Centre mainframe without Jarod’s help…for a change.
“We know what to do. See you there by six or not at all.” He hung up. It was one now. “Let the games begin.”
As the Suburban turned off on the next exit, Jarod hit the gas and wished them well.
Author’s Note: Let’s play.
Precious Blood
Part IX: The Hunter Kings Begins
Matrea Nara
The Centre: Arin’s Space
I was never afraid. I came close once or twice, that much I admit and proudly, because my reason for fear was mine alone. After I had healed from my ordeal I felt, deep down to my center, that the horror that had caused it was still affecting the one who brought that pain on me. It was one of two people, and the Centre has never told me which. I didn’t ask. My concerns were closer then.
Luke recovered slowly, having to his own injuries and the wounds suffered upon whoever had struck us down that fateful day. He did recover though, completely. We were allowed a week’s rest after the infirmary discharged him before the tests began again in earnest.
A year it’s been now, and low and behold I like and thrive. This place is the devil’s own, but I’ve made short work of the few sweepers fool enough to go against Lyle’s advice and try anything with me. One had the misfortune of making once such attempt within Luca’s reach, and I believe their still cleaning pieces of him off the ceiling. That was a damned bloody mess if ever there was one.
The pain in my chest and stomach, the ache in my leg, dulled and gradually disappeared entirely. I was still getting stomachaches, comparably mild, up until a month ago, when they stopped all together. Since then we’ve been getting stronger, feeling a hope not entirely our own taking root and swelling in our hearts. It’s Ryker of course, and our parents. The strong emotions of all three combined make for one hell of a high. Luke says it’s even worse on him; my relief every time I see him hits him like a divine wind he says, and fades only after several hours of me reassuring myself my twin still lives, had regained his health.
Today my uncle is with me, and Luca as well. My brother sits with his back to the wall, knees bent and arms draped across them, one hand clutching the opposite wrist. His eyes never leave our uncle, leaning against the doorjamb with his arms folded across his chest and his legs crossed at the ankles. We can easily overpower him between us, as we tried once, but we learned the hard way that he knows that as well and there’s a veritable army of sweepers lurking outside that door. I lounge on my cot, giving the impression as one totally at ease, though my heart is racing as it always does when Uncle Lyle is within ten feet of me. I may not like it, but I’m related to him and his effect on me is there, though less potent than some.
I wonder what he wants but do not ask. There is no reason to give him the slightest suspicious that his presence in my cell unnerves me in the least. He already knows, of that I can be certain.
“Are they still alive?” he asks. The man can get to the point sure enough, there’s no faulting him that.
“Whoever can you mean uncle?” I croon sweetly. Luke grins lopsidedly at Lyle, who raises an amused eyebrow at him. We’ve come to an unspoken agreement, the three of is; this is the dance, and so far we’re all perfectly in step.
“You know who I mean.”
“I’m afraid not.” Go on, say it. Say their names, I dare you. “Not as sharp as I used to be I guess.” In the year I have been hear I’ve never once hear him call them by their names, like they’re not people, not deserving of the honor. He doesn’t call us by our names either, and perhaps it’s just as well. He’s not deserving of that honor.
It soon becomes apparent that, while he may humor me on other occasions, he will not be manipulated here. Well enough. It’s all the same to me. “Alas good sister,” Luke chirps with a smirk. “Could Uncle Bobby mean our poor estranged parents?”
“Oh aye, and baby brother as well I suspect.” Lyle had darkened a peculiar shade of red while Luke was speaking, either because my twin had purposefully referred to him as “Bobby”, a name we were never supposed to use, or because it was apparent we had gone out of our way to avoid saying the names of the three persons he was concerned with. I love that we can goad him like this. He has no such advantage over us.
“But why would he be asking us that?” As he speaks, Luke keeps a wary eye on Lyle, aware that we were pushing and not wanting to be caught off guard by a sudden burst of rage. “We’ve not seen Pop or the squirt in a year.”
“And mother never.”
“Just so.”
“So?” Luke raises a brow at Lyle, mimicking his earlier expression. “Only desperation could bring you here.” Of course he must be desperate. It has, after all, been a year. Lyle was standing ramrod straight now, though neither Luke nor I have moved, and all traces of playful amusement are gone from his face. This is a dance, but Uncle Lyle hates being led. Too bad. I hate being locked up too, for all the good that gets me.
“Are they still alive?”
“And if they are? What good does telling you get us? What good does not telling you get us?” I glance at my brother, communicating in a language of expression none but we two will ever understand. Tread carefully Luca. We go too far. He meets my eyes, holds them. “Yes,” says he, not looking away. “They still live.”
“Where?” Was that hope in his voice now? What pressures had been laid upon him that he so suddenly wanted them back so badly, far more so than he had before?
“Even we can’t tell you that,” I tell him honestly. “If it was Luke out there I might be able to tell you, as he could if it were me, but our bonds are not so strong with the others.” I hesitate, but briefly. “What do they have on you?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” So now it’s his turn to be evasive. There’s no reason why he cant’ pull a one eighty and leave us now that he has the answers he came for, yet he remains. Luke speculated to me once that maybe our uncle enjoys our company more than he lets on, views us as kindred spirits, and maybe he’s right.
“You never cared about them so much before,” I venture. “You always said we were worth ten of him, that his life was no longer of any value. You said they were hunting him and if they found him they’d kill him, but never anything more than that. You never seemed to care. So what do they have on you now that you suddenly care again?”
“Assuming I ever cared before.”
“Oh you did Uncle.” My link to him is weak, but still there. He cannot hide such things from me. “Fear for that pinky again do you?”
“With good reason. The eye of the storm is moving past us, and I don’t want to get hit when the winds come up again.” With that, what he seems to consider explanation enough for the likes of us, he turns on his heel and marches out of the cells, his sweepers folding in around him as the door is closed. I meet Luke’s eyes again.
So, Uncle Bobby and the Centre think the relative calm of the past year is over, that they are about to be struck and hard. I wonder to myself what could have transpired to give them that idea. Has the family come out of hiding at last? When they’re back in the game life around here promises to get a lot more interesting. I can’t help wondering though, if after having so long to prepare both sides might clash in a battle that will destroy them both. The Centre holds most of the cards I know, and I’m afraid there’s very little help Luke and I have left to offer them.
***
Somewhere in Delaware: Jarod’s Jeep
They’d been driving for hours without pause, and the strain of the trip was telling on all of them. Traveling in two cars, Jarod’s Jeep and a Chevy Suburban rented by Mulder six days ago in Arlington, they made their way steadily northward with their purpose pulling them even as they slept. Parker, out like a light in the passenger seat, muttered in her seat and thrashed, settling only at his touch.
Over the past year Jarod and Miss Parker had remained carefully plutonic, establishing the boundaries early and guarding them well. They’re natural affinity for each other could not be so easily suppressed though, and their uncertain allegiance solidified into unwavering loyalty and friendship. There was no longer any question for Jarod that he loved her, but he put those feelings aside as best he could for the common good.
The common good, to which he had committed himself thoroughly every second of every day (nearly) since his escape, was becoming a vast inconvenience.
Jarod glanced in the rearview, ensuring that the Suburban still tailed them and that Ryker slept soundly. The boy had done a lot of growing up this past year, physically as well as emotionally and mentally. There was no new idea he was not open to, no concept he could not grasp with effort, no emotion he did not feel potently and display vividly. Ryker, on top of that, was built like a brick wall, solid muscle, sure and steady. With a smile, he recalled a conversation he and Parker had had recently regarding the physical development of their son.
“He’s growing up strong,” Jarod had said. He had thrown out the statement offhand over dinner, unable to bear the silence and searching for a conversation piece.
“He works out a lot lately,” she noted, her voice as sullen as he had ever heard it. “Like a soldier in training.” And it was true, but not so different from Jarod, who was still trying to get back to full strength.
“He’s got a body like I did at his age, and his workouts aren’t even mandatory or regimented.” He had meant, of course, the strict exercise routines he had been required to do when he was young. When he wasn’t occupied with SIMs he was in the gym or in the pool or at the track, keeping his strength up so he would continue to be able to complete the simulations. Working out had been his favorite part of his day, though he never played games or anything of that nature.
She had laughed then. “Don’t worry Jarod. The kid may be tough but you were ripped and he hasn’t passed you yet.”
It had taken some careful explanation by the more worldly Agent Mulder to explain to him what the word “ripped” referred to in that context before he had gotten the joke, realized he had been complimented.
Ryker sprawled out in the back, his long legs flung over the back of the seat, arms folded across his torso as she slept soundly in his jersey and mesh shorts. How innocent he looked, how much like so many other boys his age Jarod had seen, how blissfully unaware of the world. Ryker had not slept a full night in a year, but when he slept the burdens of his parentage and his troubled life lifted from him and he was just a boy again, not a pretender…just a kid, just his son.
And Parker’s. More Parker’s than his he had discovered.
Jarod’s cell phone trilled at him, and he answered at the first ring.
“We’re an hour or two from Blue Cove present speed if you stay on this road,” Mulder told him. “We’re taking the next exit and cutting around the shot way to get set up.”
They had arranged this, though Parker had protested vehemently when it was decided Ryker would stay with them. If the Centre was on alter and looking for them it would do no good for both teams to get caught together. Jarod and Parker, being most familiar with Blue Cover and the Centre, had been assigned the scouting, while Mulder, Scully, and the LGM went to the safe house to wait for them. The three hackers were itching to see if they could break into the Centre mainframe without Jarod’s help…for a change.
“We know what to do. See you there by six or not at all.” He hung up. It was one now. “Let the games begin.”
As the Suburban turned off on the next exit, Jarod hit the gas and wished them well.
