Table of Contents [Report This]
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.
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?
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.
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?
