![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Entry tags:
Ficlet: Where the Birds Always Sing, The Pretender, Miss Parker
Title: Where the Birds Always Sing
Fandom: The Pretender
Character: Miss Parker
Length: 460 words
Genre: angst, character study
Spoilers: Season three.
Notes: I had the title first, and I was really not expecting to have the ficlet be Miss Parker. But for some reason, the title made me thing of, well, there's a scene or two from late season three that really stuck with me (I made icons, ok). And that was where I started from.
Summary: She visits once a year, without fail.
She makes the journey once a year, without fail. Chasing Jarod, wrangling idiots, bullying her subordinates, never being good enough for her father. All of that falls by the wayside once a year. Rain, sun, sleet or shine - better than the postal service, really. Though there are sometimes complications with work.
One year, she'd been in the Antarctic and had to skip visiting until two weeks later. She'd not been pleased with herself.
Miss Parker walked slowly through the grass towards the gravestone. There were fresh flowers, of course. She wasn't the only one who remembered.
Peonies and gladioli; Thomas would have liked those, she thought.
Kneeling in front of them, she reached out to stroke one of the petals before turning her gaze to the gravestone.
"I shouldn't be so sentimental," she murmured. It was the truth, of course. This once a year anniversary should fade into obscurity, should be one more emotional box that she closed completely and forgot. Buried under the tangle of her mother's death and her father's infidelity, and the strange connection she and Jarod have.
But she is open, about this. Allows it once a year.
A bit like taking out an old scar and poking it with a stick. Tears stung her eyes for a moment, then are gone, lost behind the mask again.
She's said everything she can, over the years. How unfair it was, how she would have loved him forever, how they would have grown old together and she would have hated growing old, but born it with him at her side. How he made her laugh and discover something wonderful in the simplicity of being loved.
And perhaps they wouldn't have lasted, perhaps she would have grown bitter. She doubted that he would have arranged for her murder, of course.
He didn't come from that sort of family.
"I don't miss you anymore."
The words were a lie and she sucked in a deep breath against the knife in her chest. The mask didn't abandon her, and the tears remained only a fleeting thought.
Reaching out, she picked up the few leaves that had gathered around the base of the stone. More for something than to do than to clean. She crushed them in her hand, smelling the swift tang of green and dust and death permeate the air.
You weren't supposed to leave me.
Miss Parker closed her eyes and stood, face a composed mask that wouldn't break again.
As she left the grass and stepped towards the tarmac, she could hear the birds singing. Her hand closed on the handle of the car door, and she ignored them. There were always birds singing, one couldn't escape them when there were trees and open sky.
She just wished they didn't sound so damn cheerful.
Fandom: The Pretender
Character: Miss Parker
Length: 460 words
Genre: angst, character study
Spoilers: Season three.
Notes: I had the title first, and I was really not expecting to have the ficlet be Miss Parker. But for some reason, the title made me thing of, well, there's a scene or two from late season three that really stuck with me (I made icons, ok). And that was where I started from.
Summary: She visits once a year, without fail.
She makes the journey once a year, without fail. Chasing Jarod, wrangling idiots, bullying her subordinates, never being good enough for her father. All of that falls by the wayside once a year. Rain, sun, sleet or shine - better than the postal service, really. Though there are sometimes complications with work.
One year, she'd been in the Antarctic and had to skip visiting until two weeks later. She'd not been pleased with herself.
Miss Parker walked slowly through the grass towards the gravestone. There were fresh flowers, of course. She wasn't the only one who remembered.
Peonies and gladioli; Thomas would have liked those, she thought.
Kneeling in front of them, she reached out to stroke one of the petals before turning her gaze to the gravestone.
"I shouldn't be so sentimental," she murmured. It was the truth, of course. This once a year anniversary should fade into obscurity, should be one more emotional box that she closed completely and forgot. Buried under the tangle of her mother's death and her father's infidelity, and the strange connection she and Jarod have.
But she is open, about this. Allows it once a year.
A bit like taking out an old scar and poking it with a stick. Tears stung her eyes for a moment, then are gone, lost behind the mask again.
She's said everything she can, over the years. How unfair it was, how she would have loved him forever, how they would have grown old together and she would have hated growing old, but born it with him at her side. How he made her laugh and discover something wonderful in the simplicity of being loved.
And perhaps they wouldn't have lasted, perhaps she would have grown bitter. She doubted that he would have arranged for her murder, of course.
He didn't come from that sort of family.
"I don't miss you anymore."
The words were a lie and she sucked in a deep breath against the knife in her chest. The mask didn't abandon her, and the tears remained only a fleeting thought.
Reaching out, she picked up the few leaves that had gathered around the base of the stone. More for something than to do than to clean. She crushed them in her hand, smelling the swift tang of green and dust and death permeate the air.
You weren't supposed to leave me.
Miss Parker closed her eyes and stood, face a composed mask that wouldn't break again.
As she left the grass and stepped towards the tarmac, she could hear the birds singing. Her hand closed on the handle of the car door, and she ignored them. There were always birds singing, one couldn't escape them when there were trees and open sky.
She just wished they didn't sound so damn cheerful.