Situation by planet p
Disclaimer I don't own the Pretender or any of its characters.
Jarod glanced down at his watch, waiting for the time to tick by until it was 4 A.M. He'd have liked to have called sooner, but 4 A.M. had become his calling card, and so he stuck with it. He had some news for Miss Parker that he thought she might like to hear, and perhaps she'd be gracious enough to let him in on her reply. After all, it applied to them both and effected him as much as her. He just wondered how she might take it.
He picked up his phone eagerly and began dialling. Miss Parker picked up on the third ring, answering, this time, with, "I know it's you. Don't try to be sneaky, I happen to recognise your voice over the telephone."
"Who didn't you recognise?" he asked, figuring that such a comment can only have come from the fact that she'd mucked up somewhere along the lines that day, or the day before – any number of days in between his last call, really – and hadn't recognised someone who'd obviously thought she ought have.
"Who do you think, genius!" she replied irritably. "That idiot who has the disgusting humour to call himself my brother!"
"You didn't recognise him over the phone? Why was he phoning you?"
"No, I didn't, or else I would have promptly hung up, as is your forte, I should remind you; I can learn new things, too. As to why he was calling; I have no fucking idea whatsoever! When I did catch on to who he was, I hung up. Why waste my effort asking why he's ringing, when it's easy, just put the phone down, and then he's not ringing any more, is he? Quick thinking, that's what it's called. Why the fuck are we talking about me? Why the fuck, I should say, am I talking about me? You're the walking mouth, you do some of the talking! My mouth's tired."
"The walking mouth?"
"Don't complain, I could've said something else. Smile and spit out whatever crap it was you were going to spit out before I interrupted like the ignoramus I am when I've just be woken rudely at four in the morning and yet find myself in a surprisingly forgiving mood."
Jarod suppressed a sigh, deciding that he'd just jump in or else she'd probably go on. He didn't know what medication she was currently taking, but if there was a drug that could make you a bit of a chatterbox, it was that. "You mightn't know this, in fact, I doubt it very much, and I just found it out, but..."
"You have a clone."
"I do?" Miss Parker replied with scepticism.
"You do," he answered.
"Why would... I have a clone?"
"That makes a good question, I realise. Well, first thing's first, you do have the anomaly."
"No I don't."
"All right, what's your theory, then, wonder boy?"
"Do you know something?"
"Something, naturally; but what you're thinking right now, no!"
"You've got to think up something more original than 'wonder boy'; it's really starting to get on my nerves."
"That's why I like it!"
"Well, think of something else. It sounds like I'm a walking advert for a bakery or something."
Miss Parker sighed, from the other end of the line. "There are some places that your mind goes that I just don't want to know about, wonder boy," she told him.
"Is there something particularly menacing about a bakery?"
"Not particularly, no. Go on; what's your theory?"
"Mr. Parker is no longer around to stop, say, anyone who had the means and who wanted to, from training your clone as a Pretender. That's my theory, in a nutshell."
"A valid point. And I assume you know who's bright idea this was?"
"Bollocks, a real bitch!"
"B.A.R.B.; Barb. She's a bitch. Trust me, I know. We've met: Bitch! Chair of the Alabama branch, numerous awards for her great and extensive work in redefining the meaning of bitch; Barb Loginov, who, I might add, isn't Russian. Ergo, it's doubtful that you'd be able to fill her full of vodka and tell a few jokes, make sure there's a little something to snack on, and – what do you know – suddenly you've got Happy Barb! No, never! Her second husband was Russian, not Barb, and he's dead. Her daughter, I would hasten to add, is also dead. Oh, and her son."
"Her daughter and her son?"
"Her daughter and her son!" Miss Parker confirmed. "Alex, who I don't have words to describe in this language."
"No! So, who the fuck gave her the keys to the mad scientist's laboratory and what the fuck where they on?"
"Stop thinking!" Miss Parker snapped. "If anyone's going to rescue this kid, it'll be Lyle. Because I want him dead! Yes! And his clearance is, regrettably, far snazzier than mine."
"And how are you going to swing that one?"
"Are you forgetting his inappropriate obsession with me?"
"Are you forgetting that you despise him?"
"I'll just have to work something out, then, won't I? How old is this kid, just out of interest's sake?"
"Two and a half."
"Kids don't deserve shit like that, Jarod! No kid does! And does it make any difference that she's practically my baby sister? Well, shit, yes, it does! Leave it with me and I'll work something out, but don't think I'm handing her over to you when I do; no way, genius. I'll work my own little something out, thank you."
"You're as pleased as ever to hear from me, I hear."
"You would be too if you'd just been put into the situation I'm in. Smile and wave!" She hung up.
Jarod looked at the phone, displeased. She'd hung up on him! More than that, though, he didn't like the sounds of her making do or working something out, at all.