This vignette is set mid-third season, some time before "The Assassin." There's one scene that might be disturbing to some people-- it was certainly disturbing to me-- so for safety this is rated PG-13 for implied violence, sexual allusions and language.

The title is from Sarah McLachlan's song "Possession" (probably the most-used song in the history of fanfic!); I'm not entirely sure why the line stuck to this story, since I didn't write while listening to that song and this is NOT songfic, but it did.

I didn't create and don't own these characters or the premise of the show. This story is for entertainment purposes only, and no nfringement is intended. Feel free to distribute this electronically with all comments and disclaimers in place and without revision. Please do not reproduce in print without my permission. Please do not archive. Archive links are welcome to this page.

Thanks to Kelly and Karen for reading and commenting. Constructive criticism, praise or extravagant gifts to kirbyfest@yahoo.com; as always, please let me know what you think. Feedback is good for your karma. :)

***

Another hideous hotel room in another dull town, chasing after yet another lead that they got five minutes too late to do any good.

This was her life, Miss Parker reflected drearily as she kicked off her shoes and headed for the bathroom. Some women had social lives, or family lives. She chased after a man who was eternally three steps ahead of her... and who she wasn't even entirely certain she wanted to catch.

The cool water felt good on her dusty face. Jarod had spent his time here on a construction job, and traipsing around the site talking to the various people he'd worked with had been hell on her skin and her Magli pumps.

The room telephone rang, and she grabbed a towel on her way out of the bathroom.

"Yes?"

"It's Sydney." As if she wouldn't recognize his voice. "Would you care to join me for dinner?"

She pressed the towel against her cheek-- it was rough and smelled of cheap floral soap. This wasn't exactly a four-star hotel. "I'm sure there's a lovely Big Boy nearby."

Sydney chuckled. "The desk clerk actually recommended a local steak house-- it won't be gourmet cuisine, but it's better than a chain restaurant."

"Fine. Should we invite Mr. Lyle?" Her voice dripped sarcasm. Lyle had attached himself to them for this trip, and his presence had made things more unpleasant than usual. Ah, the joy of finding one's brother-- and finding out he was a repulsive snake.

Sydney didn't answer. "I'll meet you in the lobby in ten minutes."

***

The steak house was unexpectedly appealing-- dark, but with cozy booths, candles, and plenty of atmosphere. Both Miss Parker and Sydney ordered steaks with all the trimmings, and though Sydney didn't comment she knew he was surprised. She had no problem with red meat, especially in cattle country.

They talked very little until after the waitress had brought their salads and drinks. One of the reasons Parker didn't mind Sydney's company was that he didn't feel compelled to talk all the time. The silences between them were comfortable and familiar.

"You and Mr. Lyle seem to be working together well," Sydney commented, finally. He took a piece of bread from the basket and broke off a bit, watching her.

Miss Parker was noncommittal. "I haven't killed him yet." She raised one eyebrow. "Give it time."

Sydney laughed, shaking his head. "He's not the easiest man to know."

She smiled, more to herself than for Sydney. "And he's my brother. Lucky me." She took a long drink of her scotch, then caught the waitresses' eye and indicated she wanted another.

"Family ties don't necessarily mean friendship, Parker. Not everyone likes their siblings."

Yes, but how many people had a sibling like Lyle?

Miss Parker eyed her salad without interest. She hated to admit it-- even to herself, even in the privacy of her own mind-- but brother or no, Lyle still looked at her like he was picturing her naked. Mr. Lyle had given her the chills before she found out he was her twin. Now, their familial relationship added a whole new dimension of perversion to his gaze.

She glanced back up at Sydney, who was still watching her, his eyes warm on her face. Did he know what was running through her head? Probably not-- Sydney was perceptive, but this was something that a woman was far more likely to pick up on.

"It must be difficult, suddenly having a brother after being an only child."

She looked back down at her glass, running her finger along the rim. "You have no idea," she murmured darkly. Parker pushed the glass away from her, shaking her head as if to clear it. "You're a twin," she said abruptly, not quite knowing where she was going. "And you've certainly studied enough of them. Is there always a bond between twins?"

"No, though it's more common than not." Sydney took a bite of his overdressed salad. "Twins raised apart often have much in common-- I certainly don't see that in your case," he added hastily.

Miss Parker knew there were differences, and was grateful for them. But they did have some things in common, unfortunately. "I had some advantages that Mr. Lyle didn't have," she mused.

"You had your mother." Sydney's voice was gentle. "You were very lucky."

Her smile, the absolute warmth of her love, the scents of perfume and vanilla and Ivory soap, the hair that brushed across her face when she'd leaned down to kiss her daughter good night-- all those memories that Lyle would never have. She had been lucky. "I was." Miss Parker half-smiled at Sydney. "But a lousy childhood doesn't give Lyle an excuse to be a monster."

"I often wonder if Mr. Lyle is jealous." Sydney made the comment in a casual tone of voice, but she knew Sydney well enough to know there was nothing offhand about it.

"Jealous?"

"That you had your mother, and he did not."

Jealous? That was something she'd never considered, and she thought about it as she looked away from Sydney, out over the busy restaurant. How would she feel, if she were Lyle? Hearing about the beautiful, generous woman that had raised one child and never known the other existed?

Parker felt a pang of sympathy for her brother-- but pushed it away as quickly as it had come. Her brother was a monster; nothing changed that. "Jealousy doesn't give him an excuse, either, Sydney."

"No." Sydney's voice was firm in his agreement. "But perhaps it helps you understand some of his motivation."

***

Back in her hotel room after dinner, Miss Parker was exhausted. Sleep wouldn't be a problem tonight. She was happy to strip off her suit and slip into her robe; even a hotel mattress was something to look forward to this evening.

The knock on her door was unexpected, and less than welcome. "Yes?" she asked sharply, going to the peephole.

"It's Lyle." A look through the glass confirmed it-- he was there in all his snake-like glory.

Oh, goody. A perfect end to a perfect day. She opened the door a crack and raised an eyebrow at her brother. "May I help you?"

Lyle smiled. He probably meant the smile to be ingratiating, but it just made Miss Parker want to slam the door on it and break his nose. "You had dinner?"

"You said you were tired." Parker didn't bother to sound convinced of her excuse; Lyle knew perfectly well how little she enjoyed his company.

Lyle's face got closer to the opening. His smile grew even wider, and for some reason Miss Parker thought of the wolf in Little Red Riding Hood. The better to... "Me? Tired?"

Perhaps if she gave him some Halloween candy, he would go away. She rubbed her eyes, wishing for some peace and quiet. "What do you want, Lyle?"

Maybe it was because she wasn't expecting it, maybe it was the scotch, but in what seemed like the blink of an eye Lyle had kicked the door open, slamming her back against the wall, off-balance. Before she could recover, the door was shut and she was pinned against the wall, hands over her head. The look in Lyle's eyes wasn't something any woman would mistake for harmless.

The hazy effect of the scotch was gone, just like that. Who needed black coffee?

"How nice of you to invite me in, sis," Lyle drawled, and he let his eyes do a long, slow run up and down her body. Her robe was loose, and his eyes lingered on the curves of her breasts. If his hands had been free, Miss Parker knew perfectly well what they'd be doing.

If those hands touched her, she might throw up.

Panic bubbled in the back of her mind, but she held it back as firmly as she could. Panic didn't belong here-- it led to stupid choices and negative outcomes. Lyle was stronger than she was, but she still had a chance. As long as she breathed, she still had a chance. She was not going to let this go any further without a serious fight.

"You're sicker and more disgusting than I thought you were," she snarled at him, not bothering to struggle. He had her completely pinned against the wall, and she knew that her struggling would only turn him on. Amazing how well he could keep her restrained, even with his damaged hand. If she got a chance, more would be damaged than just his fucking hand.

Sydney's earnest voice flashed through her mind. Motivation, my ass, she thought angrily. There is no motivation for this. Ever.

Lyle's face moved closer to hers, and his breath was hot and sharp on her face-- he'd been drinking, as if that was any excuse. Miss Parker steeled herself so she wouldn't flinch.

"Disgusting? Now, why would you say that?"

"Pick a reason. Any reason." Keep him talking, Parker, she thought to herself. If he's talking, he can't put those hands anywhere else. If he's talking, he can't touch me. If he's talking, he can't...

The telephone rang, startling both of them and distracting Lyle just enough to give her an advantage. Her hands slipped free, and an elbow to his jaw, along with a sharp knee to his crotch, sent him tumbling to the ground. His gasping moans brought a satisfied smile to her mouth as she got the hell away from him-- he'd feel that for days to come. Maybe, if she was lucky, she'd broken his jaw. Smashing his face into the wall would have been more fun, though.

There was plenty of time for that.

She grabbed the phone, keeping her eyes on Lyle. "Yes?" One hand slipped open the nightstand drawer, waiting.

"Miss Parker." It was Jarod. For just a second, she wondered if he had somehow known exactly when to call her-- but she dismissed that thought quickly. Jarod was many things, but he wasn't psychic.

"Hello." She kept her tone neutral, watching Lyle as he struggled up from the floor, still doubled over. He was gingerly prodding his jaw where she'd hit him, grimacing. "One moment, please." She rested the receiver on her shoulder. "This is a personal call," she informed him, her words cold.

He smiled, the smile slightly twisted by pain, and something about that smile took away the last of the fear and sharpened her anger to a fine point. "I can wait."

In one fluid movement, her gun was out of the drawer and in her hand, safety off, barrel pointing directly at his crotch. "No, you can't. Get out."

He didn't move, assessing how serious she was. Whatever he saw in Parker's face-- and possibly in the steady hold she had on her gun-- convinced him to turn and leave without a word.

When the door closed behind him, Miss Parker let out a long breath that she hadn't even known she was holding. "Just a second," she murmured into the phone, tossing the receiver onto the bed without listening for a response.

Door lock, deadbolt, chain-- and for good measure, she dragged the desk chair up under the knob. Looking down, she realized that her hands were shaking; she flicked the safety back on the gun and leaned against the chair for a moment, taking deep breaths. She was fine, and now that she knew what that man-- her brother-- was capable of, this wouldn't happen again. She wouldn't let it.

Deep breaths.

Walking carefully back to the bed, she set the gun down on the nightstand and picked up the receiver. "Jarod."

"What's wrong?" There was concern in his voice, raw and tense.

For some reason, her knees gave out at the sound and she sank to the bed, slowly curling into a ball with the phone tucked between her shoulder and her ear. "How could there possibly be anything wrong?" she muttered, aware that her voice didn't have quite the bite it usually did. "I'm stuck in some nowhere town, following your trail of bread crumbs. Life is perfect."

His voice took on an edge. "Lyle was in your room." So much hate imbued in that one name.

"He's gone."

"You had to point a gun at him to get him to leave?"

Damn, his hearing was good. "He's a slow learner."

"What was he..." Jarod's voice trailed off, and though she couldn't see him she knew, somehow, that he shivered.

She was cold. Very cold, in fact, and she wriggled under the blankets, keeping the phone firmly by her ear.

Jarod was quiet, but it didn't feel like dead air. She knew (without wondering exactly how she knew) that he was angry. Those dark eyes of his were probably narrowed, with a thousand thoughts visible in their depths-- for a Pretender, he was remarkably poor at hiding his emotions when he was angry. He was so protective of anyone threatened, anyone in trouble, and though she knew she could take care of herself it was suddenly very reassuring to know that someone else, somewhere, cared enough to be angry for her.

She certainly couldn't tell anyone else what had happened tonight. Another secret between her and Jarod-- how many did they have already? How many more would they gather?

When Jarod spoke again, his voice was measured and even, as if it took every ounce of his strength to sound calm. "You're all right?"

"Of course."

"Door locked?"

She laughed, though it sounded oddly like a sob. "Locked tight."

"Good."

They were quiet, and Miss Parker used the silence to pull the covers more closely around her, collecting a bit of composure as she did so. "Why were you calling, Jarod?"

"It's not important."

"Oh." She should press him, try to find out why he was calling or where he was or... Or something. She should do something, shouldn't she? Besides huddling under the blankets, shivering like a child?

"You sound exhausted."

Fat chance she had of getting any sleep tonight. "I'm fine."

"You're always fine, Miss Parker, but you should get some rest. Stress..." He paused, and she knew he was angry again. "Stress has a funny way of draining a person."

"I don't know if I can get to sleep," she said, and the admission came out of someplace very deep inside her. "I don't think I can."

She could hear him breathing, miles and years away from her, on to his next project, the next person that needed saving. "I'll stay on the line with you until you fall asleep."

Parker tried to laugh, but wasn't entirely successful. She was just starting to feel warm under the thin hotel blanket. Exactly why Jarod's offer made her feel better wasn't something she wanted to analyze. "Thanks for the offer, but it's not necessary."

"I'm sure it isn't. Humor me."

Against her will, her eyes were half-closed-- the events of the day, and especially of the evening, must have finally taken their toll on her. "I'm not tired," she mumbled, and she heard his chuckle in response.

"Of course you're not."

Jarod began telling her about his latest crusade. He seemed to be doing something involving birds, which made no sense but which might be useful information if she could just focus. The sound of his voice was soothing and somehow relaxing; it was low and gentle, almost like he was telling her a story, or singing her a lullaby.

She was falling asleep, and after a split second of trying to fight it, she gave up. Drifting into sleep was easier. It was warm, and safe. There was no Lyle, no one slamming her against the wall, no eyes running hot and wanting over her body.

As she slipped over the edge into sleep, she half-heard Jarod's voice. "Sleep tight, Miss Parker. Sweet dreams."

Her sleep was deep and peaceful.

When she woke in the morning to the sun shining through the hotel window, she was disoriented for a moment. What was under her back? Rummaging through the bedclothes, she dug out the receiver, and remembered.

Putting it to her ear, she could hear Jarod's steady, deep breathing on the other end of the line. He'd stayed on the phone with her all night, even as he fell asleep.

Miss Parker kept the telephone to her ear for several minutes, listening, hating to sever the connection. She could trace the call. She should trace the call.

Instead, she smiled as she heard something that sounded suspiciously like a snore. A moment later, she brushed her fingers lightly over the button on the phone's base, breaking the connection.

Whoops.

Hanging up the phone, she took a deep breath and threw back her shoulders. Time for a shower, and coffee. Time, also, to find a way to leave Lyle behind. He'd manage to make it back to the Centre, she had no doubt. But he needed to be taught a lesson.

Killing her brother wasn't an option, unfortunately-- not this time. But he'd pay, a thousand times in a thousand different ways, for what he'd intended to do. The bastard was in for years of grief, delivered in exciting and innovative ways.

And she would never, never, ever allow herself to be put at risk from Lyle again. Next time, her gun wouldn't be out of reach. In fact, there wouldn't be a next time.

If there was, she would kill him.

The end

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