Or maybe it's Part 11. At this hour I could SWEAR it's Part 4956.
Anyhoo...
See part 1 (if you can find it, I believe it was written some time early in the Crimean War) for full disclaimer.
Note: This one probably rates an "R" but, again, what's the point of reading every third or fourth installment of a fic. It's me after all so, rest assured, this one will get down and dirty again before it's over. By the way, I am hoping THAT will happen some time before we colonize Mars.
Billie, Part 11
by Ginger
Parker had shed her pants and was sitting on the edge of the bed in her sweater and underwear as she stared into the circular dispenser, silently counting off days. Nope, she thought, emitting a sigh of relief, I haven't missed one. She punched the small orange pill through the foil and popped it into her mouth then snapped the container shut and pressed it to her lips for an appreciative kiss. Flopping onto her back, she exhaled deeply and pondered the ceiling.
Of course she hadn't missed one; she hadn't missed one in twenty years. They went with her everywhere, always in her purse not her luggage, just in case. Besides, she wasn't getting any younger and all those new studies were suggesting that female ovaries pretty much age in dog years. She probably had, like, half a viable egg left, if that. She silently chided herself for her earlier hysteria, for getting carried away with the intensity and emotion of the moment. Life was about to get plenty interesting without worrying about fantasy children. Or maybe they were real but someone else's. Maybe they were HIS children with someone else. Perhaps what she (and, ostensibly, her mother) had gotten a glimpse of was a future she wouldn't be a part of... a future she wouldn't be around to see.
"Well, THAT'S depressing," she muttered, hauling herself up to put the small plastic case back into her bag, while trying to ignore the little voice in the back of her mind that warned: Then again, if there's a man alive who could fertilize that shriveled up half of an egg, it's Jarod, if only to annoy the living crap out of you.
As if on cue, there was a soft knock on the door. Parker emitted a wry chuckle then called out, "That you, genius?"
"Who else?" he answered, sounding genuinely perplexed. "Can I come in?"
"Sure, why not. What harm could it possibly do," she replied with a smirk. Glancing heavenward and shaking her head, she flopped down to retake her position on the edge of the bed, this time leaning back on her palms and crossing her outstretched legs at the ankles before turning her head to face the door.
"I'm all." Jarod paused a moment to register the lack of attire on the lower half of her body and was either unaware of the gleeful smile that appeared on his lips or didn't find it necessary to stifle it.
"You were saying," she prodded, raising an eyebrow.
"I'm packed and I've already said goodbye to Billie."
"Do you have to leave right away?" Parker asked softly, her tone now serious.
"No," Jarod replied with a sweet smile. "Daybreak will be fine."
"Good," she said with a yawn then stood and stretched. "You can come to bed," she tacked on then pulled her sweater over her head and tossed it aside.
* * * *
As she lazily traced the lines and crevices of Jarod's left hand with her tongue, Parker noted to herself that the day's events seemed to add a dimension to their physical relationship. It was damned good from the start but it now seemed even more... something, she wasn't sure what. Drawing his forefinger into her mouth, she suckled lovingly. He groaned and shifted beneath her. She answered with a shuddering breath. He was ready again and so was she. Neither wanted to squander a moment of those last, few, precious hours together before he had to disappear, she had to go back, and they had to prepare for whatever came next.
Parker pushed herself up to kneel astride him, grasping him firmly and stroking tenderly to elicit one of those deep, delicious moans that conveyed so much raw need; as though he were critically ill and she were the only cure, his hands reaching for her, clutching at her with an almost desperate urgency. She smiled, taking a moment to commit the sound of his voice and the feel of his touch to memory before sinking down on him, biting her lip and humming approvingly at what had already become one of her favorite things: the sublimely pleasurable sensation of Jarod's body gliding deep inside of hers.
She rocked slowly... excruciatingly, devastatingly slowly... trying to hold onto the moment for as long as possible. She was practically holding her breath, trying to keep it at bay, hoping to stop time, but it just kept building. She stopped moving altogether, emitting a small whimper.
"Mac?" he whispered as he tenderly stroked her thigh. "What's wrong?"
"You haven't... that name... it's been so long," she replied, shuddering as her body, primed and aching, protested the sudden lack of motion.
Jarod slowly raised himself into a sitting position and wrapped his arms around her, drawing her into a tender embrace while their bodies remained joined. "You like it?" he murmured against her ear.
"I love it," she panted before engaging him in a lingering, passionate kiss. And that was the absolute truth; she loved hearing him call her by the nickname he'd secretly graced her with when they were kids. It sounded beautiful in the deep, masculine voice of a grown man, a voice quivering with passion and so far beyond the imagining of the girl who last heard it spoken aloud.
She could be still no longer. She had to move. It was impossible to stay still with that man inside her. Jarod had always been her catalyst, forcing her to open her eyes, to question everything she'd been raised to believe, to challenge her notions about the world and her place in it. And now he was her catalyst to move. So move she did... until the world splintered into a million pieces pierced by blinding light. And pleasure... so much pleasure.
* * * *
Parker could feel the warmth of the morning rays on the top her head, which rested on her folded arms on the kitchen table. She lifted her head and blinked in the brightness, catching sight of the ceramic mug bearing lukewarm coffee. She sighed then reached up to touch her lips as she recalled those last few kisses, out there on the porch. Jarod had just kept kissing and kissing her, making each and every one count. He was resolute: conveying an oath with one kiss, extracting a promise with another, branding her bruised and swollen lips with his. Echoing in her ears were the his softly whispered pleas of "Be safe, Mac, please be safe," and assurances that, "I'll be in touch, I'm not going anywhere, you'll never get rid of me."
Now what, she thought as she considered refreshing her mug. The answer was quite simple, really. She would go back to Blue Cove, back to work, and lay low, as if nothing had changed. Then, when she deemed the time was right, she would make that important contact. Meanwhile, she would have to learn to live with wanting him, with aching for him. She already understood this for the ache was already beginning to grow with each and every mile he placed between them.
"He's gone, isn't he?"
Parker turned to smile sadly at Billie who had silently slipped into the room. "Yes, he is."
"It'll be alright, my dear. You'll be together again soon enough," the old woman assured with a confidence that Parker thought either charming or absurd, she wasn't sure which, maybe both. Billie poured herself a cup of coffee then joined Parker at the table. She placed her hand over her great niece's, gave it a gentle squeeze and with a compassionate smile added, "But I imagine it still must be very difficult for you... for you both."
"I hope you're happy old lady," Parker commented wryly.
"Me?" her great replied coyly. "Don't blame me, young lady. You two did plenty of damage on your own. Which reminds me: Am I going to need to have the wall in your mother's room re-plastered?" She raised an eyebrow at her great niece.
"Oh God," Parker groaned, dropping her head to the table once more, burying it in the crook of one arm. "What have I done?" she muttered miserably.
"Don't worry about it, my dear, this house is built to last. It's only plaster. Young Jim O'Connell can see to it in an hour or two for a fair price, although I can just imagine the look on his face when I show him the damage. Then again, it might do wonders for my reputation!" She chuckled heartily, adding, "And I'm just teasing, not judging. As I told Jarod the day you arrived, I'm a lot more modern about these things than people would imagine, particularly since I know what's really going on here. It's written all over your faces. What's more, I'd be willing to bet a year's supply of fiber supplement it's been going on for a good, long while even if you were both too stubborn to admit it. And, for a woman my age, that's serious!" She chuckled again and lowered her voice to a confidential tone. "You know, if I were to remember back a couple centuries, I could recall how it felt to have a man look at me the way Jarod looks at you." Parker lifted her head and cast her an inquiring look.
"I'd like to think we'd have grown old together if my Carl hadn't drowned in an ice fishing accident in Worcester, Massachusetts. Guess the way I figured it at the time, I'd had the best. Or maybe it's that nobody else came along to grab my attention the way he had. Who knows? So here I am, a loony old maid. But let me tell you my dear." This time she lowered her voice to merely a whisper and glanced guiltily around the room, looking for whom or what was anybody's guess, and leaned into to Parker to confess, "You kids didn't invent it, you know. In my day, we just kept our mouths shut about it, that's all." She gave her great niece a wink. Parker raised her eyebrows, smiling briefly before her expression turned grave once again.
"I'm not talking about THAT, auntie."
The old woman smiled at being addressed in such an intimate manner by the beautiful creature she'd only set eyes on a few days before, squeezing her great niece's hand and listening intently as she explained,
"I don't regret THAT; I will NEVER regret that. It's just that I KNOW how he is. He's so literal. Everything is in black and white. Jarod does not DO gray areas. And it's my own damned fault; the way I conducted myself, the signals I sent him. He hasn't been out here in the wide world for all that long, not really. He doesn't have a full grasp of the realities, probably never will about some things."
"You'll have to pardon my ignorance, sweetie, but it seems pretty black and white to me too. The two of you lo..." The flash in Parker's eyes stopped her.
"You don't really know me, Billie. You don't know the type of woman I am, the things I've seen and done. There are so many things..." She thought again of Lyle and her heart sank further. "That you don't know. For instance, there was a time, and not so long ago, that I would have invaded someone's privacy and violated her precious memories the way they did to you. If those had been my orders, I'd have followed them. No questions asked. It was the way I was trained. It's who I am, I'm afraid, and nothing ever can or will change that fact. Nothing will ever undo the things I've done or change the person I am. And that person does not deserve..."
"Nonsense!" the old woman spat, interrupting her. "I'm no fool; I can well imagine how you were raised and, I shouldn't have to tell you this my dear because you're a bright girl and should know better, but there isn't a one among us on God's green earth who hasn't done at least a few things we shouldn't be proud of. I'm willing to hear anything you're prepared to tell me. And without judging because, last time I checked anyway, I was human, not divine. But I will tell you one thing; I DO know you, Margaret Catherine Parker. I know that being with you these past few days has made me happier than I've been in years. And it would be clear to anyone but an imbecile what you mean to him. Last night, I looked into the eyes of a different man than the one who strolled in here a few days ago. Care to guess which one looked happier?"
Parker stiffened and sat back in her chair, folding her arms at her chest.
"What on in God's name is wrong with you, child? I may be 93 years old, but I'm not dead. If you need me to spell it out for you, I will. That boy is as close to perfect as you are ever likely to find, that is, if you're inclined to care about such things. My stars, those big, brown puppy dog eyes alone... and he's built like one of those Greek statues, like those boys from the pictures that Cora's granddaughters go on and on about, and a genius to boot! Okay, so he's a little strange, I'll give you that. But he's got Margaret's heart. And, believe me, you can't do much better than that. Besides, he's obviously completely out of his gourd for you. Call me crazy, but I can't see how that could POSSIBLY be anything but a GOOD thing."
Parker slapped her hands on the table in frustration and bolted from her seat. She snatched up her coffee mug and stalked over to the counter to refill it. She didn't, instead setting the mug down and bracing herself against the counter with both hands. She dropped her head and sighed before muttering,
"People who love me... die."
"Oh, honey," Billie began, "I know your mother's."
"I'm not just talking about my mother," Parker interjected, glancing over her shoulder. She exhaled deeply and shook her head before turning around to lean against the counter.
"There was someone in my life a couple years ago, someone wonderful. His name was Thomas. For reasons I'll never BEGIN to understand, he loved me and wanted to build a life with me, far away from... well, you know, far away from all THAT. He wanted to make a fresh start." She smiled sadly at the memory, "In Oregon, of all places. And I wanted it too, auntie, I really did."
"They did it, didn't they?" Billie asked through a tight jaw. "Dirty bastards," she added under her breath.
"Yes," Parker replied evenly. "Whoever the hell THEY are. I guess we're about to find out... maybe. Which is precisely my point: if Jarod and I do actually manage to get close, then things are going to get dangerous. Actually, I misspoke. Things are ALWAYS dangerous. Things will get LETHAL. Hell, Billie, I can't even guarantee that you haven't already been placed in danger. If anyone comes around here..."
"Then I'll handle it. I think a 93 year old woman who's lived most of those years alone in this house can take care of herself, don't you?" She smiled encouragingly at her great niece and coaxed, "Now come here and sit down with your auntie."
Parker lumbered over to the table and sank down to reclaim her seat. The old woman took one of her great niece's hands tenderly into both of hers and spoke soothingly,
"I am sorry, my dear. I know what it is to lose a man who loves you. There are so many things I don't understand, that after living all this time, I don't think I'll ever understand. So many dark things have gone on that it makes this old carcass shiver in the night just to imagine them. But there is light too. Catherine was a light, Margaret is a light, and you and Jarod shine so brightly that it's something to see, I'll tell you." Billie sighed and continued, "I won't lie to you, what you two face is simply beyond me, just as it's always been. But I'm still placing my money on you and Jarod. I don't know why, maybe it was Catherine's insistence all those years ago - that child always could talk me into just about anything - I don't know, but I just can't help but believe that it's going to be alright."
Brushing aside a tear, Parker confessed, "When I said I was worried about Jarod being unrealistic, I wasn't being entirely honest. I'm starting to want things too, ridiculous things like going to bed with him every night and waking up with him every morning. For two days, I've been thinking these absurd little thoughts, wondering what it would be like to go shopping with him at Christmastime, daydreaming about spending the day at the beach, or raking leaves off a big green lawn and tossing them at each other, or spending lazy winter Sundays curled up together with the newspaper. It's all so pathetic."
"Doesn't sound pathetic to me; sounds beautiful."
"Beautiful, except that in a few short hours I'm going back THERE to don that "Ice Queen" persona, get back to my career, which happens to be hunting a human being, for Christ's sake, and THAT human being to boot, and somehow prepare myself and those around me for lord-knows- what's to come. I don't even have the faintest idea when Jarod and I will see each other again, neither of us does." Shaking her head, Parker added, "Who am I kidding; I don't even know if I can do it, any of it."
"You can and you will because you're smart, you're strong, and you're a Babcock. You're your mother's daughter. And you just keep right on daydreaming, Miss Margaret Catherine Parker!" Billie boomed as she gave her great niece's terry-robe glad knee a genial slap before raising herself from her chair and announcing,
"Well, I can't sit around here all day. I need to see to breakfast, that is if that man of yours hasn't cleaned us out. Don't know where he puts it but I'm sure glad it won't be MY job to keep him fed everyday," she remarked as she headed for the pantry.
Parker opened her mouth to protest the implication that it would ultimately be HER job but what came out instead was,
"Old lady, you're something else."
"So they tell me," Billie called out from the pantry, repeating, "So they tell me."
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