Asha's Arrival
by pari106

pari106@hotmail.com
http://www.geocities.com/pari106/damain.html

Disclaimer: It all belongs to FOX (except Parker and Mike). The way the upcoming season is looking…I
might not want it anyway.
Rating: PG

Warning: Spoilers for Season 2

A/N: Okay, I heard about this character, and the "controversy" about her (is her coming to the show a good
thing or a bad thing?) I can't decide either. So I thought I'd take a shot at her and see if that helps. Here is
is: my spoiler-inspired interpretation of the Asha character. Let me know what you think.

Summary: Asha, Logan. Asha Copeland loses everyone she cares about…except for one man. And they
lost each other long ago. Now she must find Logan Cale and ask for his help. But, after all this time, can
she still trust him?






A/A/N: Notice, I put: Asha, Logan…NOT Asha/Logan. There's a difference. Believe me.




Asha's Arrival
by pari106



It was one of those moments of truth, and I knew it. One of those decisions that change your life.

I looked around the dingy little hotel I'd been hiding out in until I could make up my mind. I looked
around at the empty room. It wasn't right. So many men and women; so many *good* men and women.
All we'd been trying to do was to make a difference. To do the right thing. And now they're all dead.

If I stay here, I'll be dead, too.

So, really…what choice do I have?

I hesitate a moment longer, then look up at Parker, the set of my jaw and the gling in my eyes telling him
I'd made my decision.

"I'm sure," I tell him.

Parker is older than me – about 55 or so, though his hair hasn't grayed and his face carries only a few
wrinkles at the corners of his eyes and mouth. He has dark hair and dark eyes. He was one of my brother's
two most trusted friends at Yale, and soon, through the organization, he became mine, as well. Now my
brother is dead, an all we have is each other.

And, perhaps, one other. Though Parker has grown too weary of the world to believe it.

He sighs.

"Ash…

He sits down next to me on the bed, and for just a moment the mask slips. The worry in his expression taps
into my own anxiety; my fear and grief. No, my terror. My hands shake and my eyes sting, but I try to
hold all of that back. And, eventually, the sensations subside and the mask is back in place.

Now is not the time to loose control.

"Asha, it's been a long time," he tells me.

And despite the situation, I have to smile, remembering.

Yes, it's been a long time. About a decade, I imagine. A decade ago I was 19 years old. Parker was 45 –
an oddity at the ivy league university. He'd just lost his wife three years before, and had returned to school
shortly after. Perhaps just to have something to take his mind off his grief more than anything else. He'd
gone to high school with the dean of the campus.

At the same time, my brother was 22. So was Logan.

Logan Cale.

The only friend I have left.

I know what Parker is saying. I know he's questioning whether we can trust Logan. It's been a long time,
and time can change people, especially in this corrupt world of ours.

But I can't accept that it's changed Logan. Not Logan. Even back at Yale, before I left to study abroad,
when he was really more my brother's friend than mine, I knew if anyone could survive this world
unchanged, it was Logan. He never let anything change him. Not his socialist kin, not his self-centered,
socialist peers. He was good. Like my brother, Mike.

I have to believe that goodness still exists.

If for no other reason than that my life depends on it.

"We're talking about Logan, Park," I say.

"Logan's a person, Asha," he responds. "Just like you or me. Time changes people. The world changes
people," he says, as I knew he would.

"Not Logan," I tell him, but I don't sound as sure as I'd like.

Parker's insecurities are beginning to wear off on me. And I think I can trust Logan Cale, but then, I used
to think a lot of things that aren't true. I used to think that I could make a difference. I used to think we
could make a difference – me and Mike and the organization. Now it's just me and Parker. And all we've
done is watch our friends die.

"Mike loved him, Parker," I say now, and it's the truth. Mike had loved Logan like a brother. He'd loved
the Cales, who were so unlike our own disapproving, hypocritical parents. And Mike had always been a
good judge of character.

It was I who always made the mistakes.

Parker just looks at me, and I know he knows it's true. But the look he gives me says that he thinks he
knows something else, as well.

'Mike wasn't the only one," he says quietly. And I sigh.

"Parker…" My voice is playfully teasing, and he raises his hands in the air.

"Hey, it's true," he says.

The situation isn't quite such that I can laugh, but I do shake my head.

"I had a crush on him, Parker," I say, firmly. "When I was 19 years old. Don't make something out of
nothing. Logan's my friend."

He's the guy that took me to my senior prom, because no one else dared incur the wrath of my father.
Daddy had wanted me to go with Brandon Erikson or Marshal Peters. Young men just as stuck up and self-
centered as my old man.

Logan was the guy I stayed up with on late nights, way into the next morning. He's always been a true
insomniac. We'd watch old movies and cuddle up on the couch, eating sinful amounts of pizza.

He was the guy who showed up at my high school graduation party in blue jeans, just because I mentioned,
maybe once, how out of place I felt next to my mother in our expensive evening gowns. My mother had
always been able to pull off the debutante look without a hitch, but I was never one for formal wear. Logan
caused a scandal on the society pages that night, but I never thought, not even once, during that whole
evening, about the stiff couture my mother had stuffed me in for the occasion.

Logan's just my friend. The very best friend I have left, besides Parker.

Parker just shakes his head, but I can see him wavering. The truth is, he loved Logan, too. He'd loved
Mike, and it had hurt him when my brother was killed. He knows if I don't leave Chicago that I will be
killed, as well, and he doesn't want that to happen.

He doesn't really have a choice, either.

I rest my hand on his, looking at him with mutual affection and concern.

"You should come with me," I say. But I know he will shake his head even before he does, and my eyes
begin to sting again.

"My daughter's still here in the city somewhere," he reminds me. Odd that Parker is a father, but it's true.
Despite his age, I don't think any of us ever really saw him as being that much older than us. Age was
inconsequential. In college, he drank just like we did, he dated just like we did, and he thumbed his nose at
society just like we did. He was always just our friend Park. And his daughter was like a favorite neice
who we'd take turns babysitting on those rare occassions when Parker actually went out. I never saw him
as a father figure, though I suppose I could have used one.

He brushes a lock of hair out of my eyes.

"I can't leave," he tells me, and I see he is upset, too. It's not safe for him here. He knows it and I know it.
It's not safe for his daughter here. In fact, there's a very good chance that his daughter is no longer here,
speaking in the definitive sense. But there's also the slimmest chance that she is. And he won't leave until
he finds out which.

All I can do is nod.

Then the tears start to fall, and we hold each other as I cry.

Finally, after some time, I pull back, stemming the flow. I can't just keep crying like this. I would cry
forever if I could.

"Let's go," I say quietly, in some imitation of control.

And we leave the dingy little hotel in the cover of night, hoping that I'm not wrong.


























One more author's note: Okay, there you have it. After I started writing this, I kind of forgot why I started. Does anyone even care about the Asha character? Let me know if I should write any more of this.