fic: broken glasses [the pretender] [pg]
Jan. 9th, 2005 10:56 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
bantha_foddertitle: Broken Glasses
author: bantha_fodder
disclaimer: alas, not mine. if they were mine, there would have been less of that 'inner sense' shit.
rating: PG
fandom: The Pretender
this is a stupid, tiny thing. it remains, for now, unbetaed.
for cgb. it was just an idea that occurred to me when zane said to bring the csi(s) in.
09 Jan 2005
*
They meet in a hotel in Maryland.
This week he is a dentist, and has spent the last five days at a conference. He was investigating the disappearance of a little girl; he threatened her dentist with surgery sans anesthesia, and his mystery was solved.
His voice on her message bank leaves the clue, and he curls an arm around her waist as she fights with the clerk at the front desk.
"My wife," he says to the clerk, with what he assumes is a friendly smile. The clerk hears 'my mistress,' but it is nothing that the hotel has not seen before.
He has her gun before she can turn around, and has her in the elevator before she can struggle free. He does not release her as the elevator ascends.
"You alone?" he asks. The answer is irrelevant: he has already checked, and she knows it.
"Never," she answers, and it is the truth.
Room 942, and she wonders if the numbers are another clue.
He reaches for her blouse, but she stops him. She reaches for his tie, and smiles like this is a game.
He smiles back. It's not.
She leaves off at the tie, and undresses herself. She does not want to lose these buttons.
He pushes her to the bed, and unprepared, silent, she tumbles backwards. Before she can move, he pushes down and bites her skin.
She scratches in return. He does not draw blood, but she does.
He twists her arm and cuffs it to the bed head. She glares but does not speak. He bites her nipple as he comes, and twists until she does too.
He leaves her cuffed to the bed. She throws the bedding; the Gideon bible from the side table; everything in reach she throws at him whilst he dresses. He smiles and blows her a kiss.
It takes her five minutes to dislocate her thumb. It hurts like fuck, but at least she has one. She goes home without searching the room. She watched him leave: he did not leave behind any clues that he did not write on her skin with his tongue.
Four hours sleep and she returns to the Centre.
"Parker," Lyle calls as she crosses the lobby. He chases after her. "We've had a Jarod-sighting," he says, grabbing her arm. She pulls the finger at him, and he laughs. "Don't forget, I gave you this chance, Sis." He gives her arm a squeeze, and walks out the door. A team of sweepers follow him.
She spends the day in her office, not looking at the paper work in front of her. She returns from five minutes in the toilet, time well spent staring at the cigarettes she dare not light, to find Lyle sitting in her guest chair, feet up on her desk.
"What do you want?" she spits as she pushes his feet off.
Lyle smiles. "We had a great time without you, Sis."
"So why are you ruining your day by gracing me with your presence?"
Lyle pushes to his feet. She thinks he looks almost happy. "Jarod's not as smart as he likes to think."
She shakes her head in non-comprehension, and mimes his stupidity.
"We got there before the hotel cleaners did." He laughs and will tell her no more. He walks out of her office.
Miss Parker sits in her seat, and meditates on his words. She pictures the hotel room as she left it, sure that Jarod did not leave a clue. Not in the side table or on the bed; nothing in the cupboard. She did not check the drawers in the bathroom, and wonders if that was a mistake. She looks at her nails as she thinks, and is reminded of the skin she found beneath them when she showered.
Skin. Sweat. Saliva and semen. Fingerprints, eyelashes, strands of hair.
She is screwed. Screwed so hard and she has no where to go. Screwed by Jarod, screwed by Sydney, Broots. Lyle. She is glad her father will not be around to see the end, when it comes for her. One twin killed by the other's ambition and her own stupidity.
Miss Parker pulls out her cigarettes and lights one up. She closes her eyes.
She prepares to continue the Parker tradition.
She prepares to run.
author: bantha_fodder
disclaimer: alas, not mine. if they were mine, there would have been less of that 'inner sense' shit.
rating: PG
fandom: The Pretender
this is a stupid, tiny thing. it remains, for now, unbetaed.
for cgb. it was just an idea that occurred to me when zane said to bring the csi(s) in.
09 Jan 2005
*
They meet in a hotel in Maryland.
This week he is a dentist, and has spent the last five days at a conference. He was investigating the disappearance of a little girl; he threatened her dentist with surgery sans anesthesia, and his mystery was solved.
His voice on her message bank leaves the clue, and he curls an arm around her waist as she fights with the clerk at the front desk.
"My wife," he says to the clerk, with what he assumes is a friendly smile. The clerk hears 'my mistress,' but it is nothing that the hotel has not seen before.
He has her gun before she can turn around, and has her in the elevator before she can struggle free. He does not release her as the elevator ascends.
"You alone?" he asks. The answer is irrelevant: he has already checked, and she knows it.
"Never," she answers, and it is the truth.
Room 942, and she wonders if the numbers are another clue.
He reaches for her blouse, but she stops him. She reaches for his tie, and smiles like this is a game.
He smiles back. It's not.
She leaves off at the tie, and undresses herself. She does not want to lose these buttons.
He pushes her to the bed, and unprepared, silent, she tumbles backwards. Before she can move, he pushes down and bites her skin.
She scratches in return. He does not draw blood, but she does.
He twists her arm and cuffs it to the bed head. She glares but does not speak. He bites her nipple as he comes, and twists until she does too.
He leaves her cuffed to the bed. She throws the bedding; the Gideon bible from the side table; everything in reach she throws at him whilst he dresses. He smiles and blows her a kiss.
It takes her five minutes to dislocate her thumb. It hurts like fuck, but at least she has one. She goes home without searching the room. She watched him leave: he did not leave behind any clues that he did not write on her skin with his tongue.
Four hours sleep and she returns to the Centre.
"Parker," Lyle calls as she crosses the lobby. He chases after her. "We've had a Jarod-sighting," he says, grabbing her arm. She pulls the finger at him, and he laughs. "Don't forget, I gave you this chance, Sis." He gives her arm a squeeze, and walks out the door. A team of sweepers follow him.
She spends the day in her office, not looking at the paper work in front of her. She returns from five minutes in the toilet, time well spent staring at the cigarettes she dare not light, to find Lyle sitting in her guest chair, feet up on her desk.
"What do you want?" she spits as she pushes his feet off.
Lyle smiles. "We had a great time without you, Sis."
"So why are you ruining your day by gracing me with your presence?"
Lyle pushes to his feet. She thinks he looks almost happy. "Jarod's not as smart as he likes to think."
She shakes her head in non-comprehension, and mimes his stupidity.
"We got there before the hotel cleaners did." He laughs and will tell her no more. He walks out of her office.
Miss Parker sits in her seat, and meditates on his words. She pictures the hotel room as she left it, sure that Jarod did not leave a clue. Not in the side table or on the bed; nothing in the cupboard. She did not check the drawers in the bathroom, and wonders if that was a mistake. She looks at her nails as she thinks, and is reminded of the skin she found beneath them when she showered.
Skin. Sweat. Saliva and semen. Fingerprints, eyelashes, strands of hair.
She is screwed. Screwed so hard and she has no where to go. Screwed by Jarod, screwed by Sydney, Broots. Lyle. She is glad her father will not be around to see the end, when it comes for her. One twin killed by the other's ambition and her own stupidity.
Miss Parker pulls out her cigarettes and lights one up. She closes her eyes.
She prepares to continue the Parker tradition.
She prepares to run.
