Author: M. Monica. Parker. Park. Anna. Whatever. Wanna archive? Sure, just ask. I don't bite... Too hard.

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Disclaimer: Story is mine. Characters are the Universe's (In other words, NBC's.. TNT's. God. Whoever.)

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The Rescue
3/?
by  -M.

Traffic: Truly the meaning of Hell on Earth. Jarod stood still, waiting patiently in traffic as he moved slowly towards nowhere.

"Come on!" He shouted, his grated voice scratching the window in front of him. "Move it!"

Groaning in disgust, Jarod leaned back and wondered again why the hell he was such a pacifist. If Miss Parker had been in this situation—There he went again. Miss Parker. He had thought about her 30 times in the last ten minutes.

Hooooonkkkk. A Corvette and it’s human honked from behind. Jarod growled, and turned around, flashing the driving a deadly stare. Up went the birdie.

Jarod loosened his tie and threw it behind him.

That shows how smart men are, Miss Parker retorted once as a teenager, They wake up to tie a noose around their necks. Jarod smiled to himself. When had she said that? Oh, yes… When Jarod had scrounged around Raines’ office and stolen a battered tie from him. Sneaking into his room to try it on, he was confronted by the 16-year-old Parker, who crossed her arms and smirked.

"Want to be a man, already, Jarod?" She asked gently, her smirk changing into that of a rueful grin.

"Yeah…" Jarod had admitted his voice already that of the man he would be when he was older. Miss Parker’s smile disappeared as she stared him, 5’9", his baby fat gone, and hair already beginning to grow on his chest. And she had stared at him, her eyes no longer jeering or remorseful, but of almost fear.

But fear of what? Jarod asked himself as the traffic began to loosen up.

*~*

It was the fear of him becoming a man.

"Ahh--" Miss Parker cried out, her voice strangled by the blow dealt to her a second later. No sooner had the angry stranger left her, had he come back in, this time accompanied by another man, this one with deep brown eyes, and dark red-brown hair. He too was well built, a few inches taller than the blond/green eyed man was, and with much colder, more decisive thoughts behind his eyes. He watched as the smaller man grabbed Parker by the shoulders and threw against the wall.

"Sonofabitch!" Miss Parker shouted, her reeling head not preventing her from lunging at the man and socking him once, twice and almost three times before he grabbed the arm about to hit him and jerked it hard, pulling up slightly as he did.

Miss Parker yelled in pain as he yanked her arm (She could have sworn she heard a pop) and angry, bitter tears sprung to her livid blue eyes as she kicked him in the groin, slipped her leg through his two and dropped, tripping him in the process.

Although her respectful attempts were to be admired, the man wasted no time in jumping up and on top of her, grabbing her by the collar of her shirt, lifting her up and slamming her onto the ground, her head hitting the concrete/linoleum underneath with a hollow thump.

"Oh!" Miss Parker said in a moan. She stopped moving and gave up, her head throbbing, aching and stinging: three things she never thought could happen all at once.

"That was fun.." The man decided, getting up from the fallen figure, he moved to the other man and clapped him on his shoulder. "Have fun with her…. But don’t bang up my new to toy much.." He left.

The man with the brown eyes stared down at her.

"So… You’re the famous Miss Parker." Brown eyes declared, looking down at her. He moved quietly over to her and nudged her crumpled form with his foot. "Pitiful. I thought you would be in better shape…"

Miss Parker got to her knees slowly, drawing strength from recesses she didn’t even know she had.

Brown eyes Hmmpfed. "Ah, well.. You’ll have to do." He concluded, shaking his head silently.
Miss Parker turned her eyes up at him, her face contorted into a grotesque mask of pain and disbelief.

"What do you want with me?" She droned, her eyes filling with pain. Brown eyes smirked.

"Your father." He informed her gaily.

****

Jarod breathed deeply in relief as the traffic broke up and he could continue his drive to the address given to him.

"Where are you..? Where are you..?" Jarod whispered as he neared the store he was supposed to go to.

1892 NE 15th Ave… 1892 NE 15th Ave…

A house, house, another house, ‘nother house, for sale, not for sale, foreclosure. Wait! Foreclosure! 1892 NE 15th Ave!

"What the…?" Jarod asked as the shabby gray house passed him by. He slammed his foot down, his tires _screeeeeching_ on the asphalt below him. He backed up quickly, and read the number on the house. "1892. Great."

He turned off the car quickly and hopped out, surveying the outside surroundings before moving up quickly to the front of the gray, broken down house before him. Off white gravel surrounded the entrance to the house, while the overgrown jungles of grass created a difficult obstacle to get around: stickers and other delightful buggers that stuck to your clothes were lying deep within the deepest pits of the mound of grass. Jarod trudged across the grass and straight up to the paint chipped door. He put his hand to the handle and turned it. Open.

He pushed.
 
 

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TBC