I have no idea where this little bit of a vignette came from, but here it is. It's rated PG for some mild language, and is set after "Ghosts of the Past" (though it's not especially dependent on that episode).

The Usual Disclaimer: didn't invent them, don't own them, I'm not making any money off of them, and this is for entertainment purposes only. 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 their comments. Feedback accepted with joy and embarrassing yelping noises at kirbyfest@yahoo.com.

***

The nurse was a bitch.

Miss Parker was sure that she was the most highly qualified, security-cleared baby nurse on the Eastern seaboard. Watching her, it was apparent that on the technical side, the woman had it down-- she diapered quickly and neatly, bottle-fed the baby before he knew he was hungry, and kept him so clean that diaper rash wouldn't dare to come within ten miles.

But Parker had never seen the woman really touch the baby. When the nurse held the baby, it was in the perfect position for head support and digestive maximization. There was little warmth, no affection. Parker had never seen the nurse kiss the baby. She'd never heard the nurse talk to the baby, or coo at him, or babble in that annoying baby talk that even Miss Parker couldn't seem to resist falling into.

It was like her baby brother-- her half-brother-- was being cared for by a machine.

Parker had tried broaching the subject with her father once or twice. That had been a complete waste of time. Daddy looked at the situation and saw that his son was being cared for by a competent woman. Period. Affection wasn't an issue.

But watching her baby brother live in a sterile world, without the benefit of a mother-- though whether Brigitte would have been any kind of loving mother was a question that would never be answered now-- wasn't easy for Miss Parker. It bothered her in ways she didn't know she could be bothered, pushing its way up at odd times, into little empty spaces in her mind.

When the nurse walked by her office door that afternoon, Miss Parker was in the middle of a meeting with Sydney. The sight of the woman raised Parker's head from a thick budget proposal and diverted her attention completely. The meeting was long and boring anyway, all about some new study for which Syd wanted funding. General cognitive research, blessedly; nothing to do with Pretenders or Jarod or anything else that would dig up old ghosts and old memories that were better left buried.

Parker's gaze tracked the woman until she was out of sight. "Have you had any contact with the baby's nurse, Sydney?" Miss Parker asked abruptly, not noticing that Sydney was in the middle of a sentence.

As usual, Sydney smoothly switched gears, unruffled by the twist in conversation. "Nothing beyond basic pleasantries." He put down his pen and leaned back in the chair. "Is something bothering you, Miss Parker?"

"No." She moved a paper clip carefully to the corner of a pad of paper, aligning the edges with great precision. "Yes." A flick of one nail sent the paper clip flying off the desk. "I don't know, Sydney. She's just so... cold."

"That is normal for the Centre," Sydney reminded her. "This is not exactly a nurturing place in which to raise a child."

Almost no one knew that better than she did. "I know. It's just..." Parker shook her head, aware that she wasn't making much sense. "Don't babies need affection? Haven't there been studies?"

"Absolutely. There's a good deal of data on this topic. Babies who don't properly bond with someone have slower growth rates, for one thing. They are also more nervous and high-strung as they get older, and there are some studies that prove there are higher disease and mortality rates as well." Sydney always had information like this filed away in that brain-- things you didn't necessarily want to know, but that you needed to know, and he told it to you in that detached clinical voice that made you want to throw something at him. "Have you spoken to your father?"

Miss Parker pushed herself away from her desk, turning towards the window. "Yes. He's happy with the standard of care that the baby is getting." Her tone was more mocking than she'd meant it to be. She shivered in the faint draft from the window, crossing her arms over her chest. "I'm not."

She could feel Sydney's eyes on her-- assessing, evaluating, trying to determine where this was going. As much as she trusted him, as many times as she'd relied on his sane counsel and objective eye, it was always a challenge with the good Doctor. He was so careful, so politically astute, that except in the rare moments where emotion overtook him he was difficult-- if not impossible-- to read. Just like everybody else in this damn place.

"Have you thought of becoming more involved in the child's care?" Sydney asked the question carefully, almost hesitantly.

"Yes." Miss Parker turned away from the window to face Sydney, aware that her arms were still wrapped tightly around herself. "Daddy probably wouldn't mind me spending more time with the baby."

"I'm sure he wouldn't, Miss Parker."

"I don't have much experience with babies, Sydney." She laughed, the sound echoing harshly around the room. "Try none. And I don't know that I'd do him much good, anyway."

Parker settled herself back into her desk chair, watching as Sydney collated his reports and slipped them back into the appropriate folders. Somehow, he managed to do this without really taking his eyes off her face.

"You're his sister, Parker. I'm sure if you spent time with the baby it would be good for him."

"I don't know about that." God, she was babbling like some kind of half-wit; she hadn't made an intelligent point yet. Sydney must think she was insane.

"Miss Parker." Sydney leaned forward, his gaze warm on her face. "Does the thought of spending time with your brother disturb you for some reason?"

"Any time with Lyle certainly disturbs me," she muttered with a half-smile that Sydney reciprocated. She was quiet for a long moment, her eyes fixed on a spot over Sydney's shoulder. "The baby... why in the world should being involved with the baby disturb me?"

Sydney shook his head. "That's a question that only you can answer, Parker." He gathered up the folders and stood. "We'll finish this later, if that's all right."

Parker watched Syd leave, staring moodily at the door for several minutes after he exited. She hated him. He was inscrutable and annoying.

He was also one of the most important people in her life, and he was right. This back-and-forth on her littlest brother-- why in the world did she get this uncomfortable, swirling feeling in her stomach when she thought of spending more time with the baby? Why did it make her want to pace around her office and down some scotch, straight and warm from any available cup?

Because she didn't want to love that baby.

The realization came to her, clear and sharp. She didn't want to know him, didn't want to need that little baby face and breathe in the sweet smell of his skin, to worry about him and miss him when he wasn't around. Soon enough, she'd have to watch him get sucked into the great black yawning hole that was the Centre. The possibilities were endless: he could take after Lyle; he could be used as an experiment; he could turn into a cold unfeeling robot of a human being who did nothing but what the Centre commanded him to do. She'd watch it happen, and it would eat up another part of her, and there wouldn't be a damn thing she could do to stop it. Even if she tried, she'd lose.

Parker stood abruptly, nearly knocking her desk chair over. Leaning against the cool glass of the desk, she took several long breaths. She would love the baby, and she would get hurt. It was inevitable, like all the other losses in her life had certainly been.

Shouldn't there come a time when she stopped losing everyone she loved?

Parker stalked out of her office, not entirely sure where she was headed but needing the motion, needing the sharp sound of her heels against the cold Centre tile.

When she walked by the small room where the baby and his nurse were housed during the day, she kept right on walking.

End

Back to the main Pretender fiction page