notmonica: (Fire away baby.)
Parker sneered, stubbed out her cigarette. "Do you really think I'd be *here*?"
notmonica: (Loyalty.)
When in panic, or in doubt/run in circles, scream and shout!

Parker didn't panic. The crawling, jittery sensation that sometimes curled up and down her spine when she realized, again, the impossibility of the task her father had given her -- red file or not, Parker wasn't a Pretender, she'd never be anything but just a little bit special, and she wasn't sure who she sometimes hated for that -- wasn't panic. It was just anger, and Parker's perfectly-kept nails curled into her palms until she could convince herself of that and get back to work, getting herself out of whatever mess Jarod had decided she needed to learn a lesson from *this* week.

Parker didn't panic. The sour taste on the back of her tongue when Lyle smiled at her, slow and friendly, (you're beautiful when you're angry, and they both knew that was what she was remembering) was scorn and contempt and dislike. It wasn't fear, and it wasn't anything like recognition. He might have her blood; he wasn't her brother. (If family didn't mean blood, she never let herself wonder, what did it mean?)

Parker didn't panic. The heavy weight in her stomach when her father frowned at her was anger and disappointment, in him or in herself, she didn't let herself think about it, but it wasn't ever worry over what would happen if the Triumvirate ever really decided she was getting to the point when someone else would do her job better. Or over what would happen next time her father decided she was the right bone to throw to the wolves. She hadn't panicked at the T-board, either, and she knew if she ever spotted Sydney again from wherever he'd run to, he'd tell her she should do a better job of lying.

Parker didn't panic. She didn't doubt. She knew her job and her name and who she was; she didn't need to know anything else.

She really did need to do a better job of lying. These days she wasn't even fooling herself anymore.
notmonica: (Mommy?)
She'd heard there was supposed to be a party at the Musing Way. Toni had tried to persuade her to come. Persuade, hell, cajoled and bribed and finally given up in aggravated despair.

She didn't understand.
Read more... )
notmonica: (Default)
I don't talk about my work. If I did... I wouldn't kill you.

Someone else might.
notmonica: (Mommy?)
" -- you have to want it more than anything in the world, angel."

And wasn't that just the million-dollar question. What the hell she *did* want.

Justice for her mother. This was Parker's new driving force, the heartbeat that pulsed behind daily life at the Centre. Did you know, she wondered, watching her father's contemporaries. Did you like it? she hissed in her mind when she saw Raines, and briefly hated Sydney for missing.

Did you know, she wondered, looking at her father's face while they discussed the Jarod assignment.

She wasn't sure she still wanted to bring him home.
notmonica: (Mommy?)
If Parker had been asked this question before, she would have lied.

She wouldn't, for once, have known she was lying. But she would have said some old teacher, or a friend, or murmured, "Myself," through a sneering curl of her lip.

Everyone else had lied to *her*. Her mother had been very strong.
notmonica: (Loyalty.)
He did it again --


'You're my legacy.'


'You're so sure of that, Miss Parker.'


I thought he threw it away --


'I told him I didn't know.'

'You lied to him.'

'Like father, like daughter.'



'I have a son... '


'How can you still trust him?'


'The medical report wasn't false.'


'If you don't protect me, angel, I can't protect you.'


Mommy?


I have no issues with my father.

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March 2010

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