Fic: Thou Art Thyself (The Pretender)
Feb. 13th, 2010 05:01 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
inmyriadbitsFandom: The Pretender
Rating: G
Pairing/Characters: Miss Parker, Jarod; Parker/Jarod
Summary: Act II, scene ii, line 43. Miss Parker stands under glass in the middle of a desert, and she is surrounded by roses.
Notes: No spoilers, really; I wrote this while playing with ideas for a longer post-series piece, but as that has stalled out for the moment and this stands rather nicely on its own, I thought I'd post it. Also posted here at AO3.
Thou Art Thyself
Miss Parker stands under glass in the middle of a desert, and she is surrounded by roses.
The greenhouse owner – sporting the truly original name of Bob – is winding up a standard tale of how brilliant and helpful that Mr. Jarod Montague was, with the solar panels and the windmills, and that whole mess with the patent lawyers. Parker prowls through the plant life as he chatters on (and on, and on) before she is caught by the familiar sight of a red notebook, slid amidst an orderly row of pots.
"Aren't they remarkable?" Bob says, noticing her pause. "Jarod grew them himself as a special project, some new variety or other. I started calling 'em the Capulets, hah."
At Parker's bitingly questioning look, he hurries to elaborate. "You know, Romeo and Juliet? On account of how often they snagged him, since he wouldn't get rid of the thorns. Mr. Montague would just say that they served a purpose. Once said it reminded him of some lady he knows." Bob laughs and scratches at his arm. "Guy had kind of a weird sense of humor."
The blooms are slim and blood-red, their stems indeed well-armed with thorns. Parker takes one with her as they leave.
She arrives home to find an envelope of seeds and a copy of Romeo and Juliet waiting on her coffee table. The book is small, leather-bound and worn, and it has Catherine Parker's name written inside the cover. A bookmark lies forgotten between the pages of Act II, scene 2.
When Jarod calls, she has the scent of old, clean paper in her nose and a warm childhood memory running through her mind. Parker says thank you and means it.
Then she calls him a sap, and hangs up mid-pedantic sentence when he starts talking about the etymology of the word "sap."
(If she smiles at her mother's book and her own rose seeds while she does it, no one's telling. And if she sleeps soundly through the night with the rose's perfume filling her bedroom from its place on her nightstand, and dreams of Jarod's eyes and hands, well. Parker has practice with keeping secrets.)
Two weeks later, when the next lead on Jarod takes them to a community theater company producing Romeo and Juliet, Parker is not surprised.
*****
Rating: G
Pairing/Characters: Miss Parker, Jarod; Parker/Jarod
Summary: Act II, scene ii, line 43. Miss Parker stands under glass in the middle of a desert, and she is surrounded by roses.
Notes: No spoilers, really; I wrote this while playing with ideas for a longer post-series piece, but as that has stalled out for the moment and this stands rather nicely on its own, I thought I'd post it. Also posted here at AO3.
Miss Parker stands under glass in the middle of a desert, and she is surrounded by roses.
The greenhouse owner – sporting the truly original name of Bob – is winding up a standard tale of how brilliant and helpful that Mr. Jarod Montague was, with the solar panels and the windmills, and that whole mess with the patent lawyers. Parker prowls through the plant life as he chatters on (and on, and on) before she is caught by the familiar sight of a red notebook, slid amidst an orderly row of pots.
"Aren't they remarkable?" Bob says, noticing her pause. "Jarod grew them himself as a special project, some new variety or other. I started calling 'em the Capulets, hah."
At Parker's bitingly questioning look, he hurries to elaborate. "You know, Romeo and Juliet? On account of how often they snagged him, since he wouldn't get rid of the thorns. Mr. Montague would just say that they served a purpose. Once said it reminded him of some lady he knows." Bob laughs and scratches at his arm. "Guy had kind of a weird sense of humor."
The blooms are slim and blood-red, their stems indeed well-armed with thorns. Parker takes one with her as they leave.
She arrives home to find an envelope of seeds and a copy of Romeo and Juliet waiting on her coffee table. The book is small, leather-bound and worn, and it has Catherine Parker's name written inside the cover. A bookmark lies forgotten between the pages of Act II, scene 2.
When Jarod calls, she has the scent of old, clean paper in her nose and a warm childhood memory running through her mind. Parker says thank you and means it.
Then she calls him a sap, and hangs up mid-pedantic sentence when he starts talking about the etymology of the word "sap."
(If she smiles at her mother's book and her own rose seeds while she does it, no one's telling. And if she sleeps soundly through the night with the rose's perfume filling her bedroom from its place on her nightstand, and dreams of Jarod's eyes and hands, well. Parker has practice with keeping secrets.)
Two weeks later, when the next lead on Jarod takes them to a community theater company producing Romeo and Juliet, Parker is not surprised.