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Apr. 22nd, 2005 01:12 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
krazykitkatI was into introspection and first person (and bloody long paragraphs)...now I avoid them like the plague.
Title: Where Have All The Real Men Gone (1/1)
Author: Katrina McDonnell
Rating: PG
Spoilers: Slight spoiler for 'At The Hour of Our Deaths'
Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters and places are the property of MTM and NBC Television. This piece of fan fiction was created for entertainment, not monetary purposes, and no infringement on copyrights or trademarks was intended. Previously unrecognized characters and places, and this story, are copyrighted to the author.
Summary: Exactly what are Miss Parker's feelings towards Broots?
Author's Note: This is dedicated to Gilly and Maria. Thank you girls for opening my eyes to the wonderful world of Brootsie.
All feedback is appreciated...all flames will be dealt with by Miss Parker...
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Just to look at him you wouldn't think of him as being a real man. A mouse maybe, a geek, anything but a real man. Hell, even I spend most of my time taunting, tormenting, emasculating him. Yet he is one of only a few real men I actually know. Why he's here, in purgatory, I still haven't worked that one out. All I know is that he deserves better than this. And I'll do everything in my power to make sure that he survives. It's the least I can do for him. It's amusing to think of me as a protector, the one who has always been the hunter, the predator. But something about him, much to my disgust, touches a part of me that I've kept buried for a lifetime. I hate him for doing that to me, for making me care, making me want to protect. It goes against everything that has been drummed into me over the past thirty years. He scares me. I'd much rather face a T-board or be locked in a room with Mr. Wheeze. Those are situations I know how to handle. He is so far out of my field of experience. A sweet, real man, with no agenda but to keep himself and his little girl breathing. It seems ludicrous, but he is the biggest threat to my psyche, more so than anything the Centre can throw at me. Even the other real men in my life don't pose as much a danger. With Syd and Jarod there is a history to be drawn upon, incidents that reinforce my battlements, agendas to be considered. I can negate the danger they pose to a manageable level. Yes, they still get through sometimes, but I know how to combat them, defuse their threat. I don't know what to do with him.
He is a man you would pass by on the street without a second glance. Definitely not model material, nothing even remotely special to look at. Balding, on the thin, you could say scrawny side, a fashion fatality if I ever met one. A gift certificate for deportment classes wouldn't go astray. His bearing, his body language, all suggest submissiveness. He rarely looks people in the eye, tends to squirm under their gaze. Not the type of man I usually associate myself with. Sure, I do like to dominate, to be on top. But even the submissive ones usually have their bodies or dress sense going for them.
That's how I saw him when he was first assigned to me. Someone to be browbeaten, ground into the floor with my heel. I soon discovered something else about him, a part of him that I would never have guessed existed beneath that exterior. Push him too far, threaten his daughter in any way, and he turns into Papa Bear. The first time it happened shocked the hell out of me. He backed down pretty quickly but it made an impression. Most of the time he'll do exactly what he's told, but he will stand up to me. He makes me question myself, my actions. And that's something I'm not comfortable with. He even protects me, he didn't want me to see that DSA of Kyle being trained to hate mom. When he said that he knew I didn't respect him, it tore at me. And it forced me to do something I rarely do. I told him that I did respect him. And that was, and still is, the truth. No one knows how difficult it was for me to admit that. Praise isn't something that I bestow easily, admiration is even harder.
I was taught that the best way to handle the proletariat was to be tough on them, to intimidate. If you show any form of weakness, someone will take advantage of the chink in your armour and use it against you. Well he still managed to find that chink and worm his way through it. And as hard as I've tried to drive him out, he's parked himself in his bunker and won't move. I've had to accept, grudgingly, that he's here to stay and it's my responsibility, my duty, to keep him and Debbie safe. But no one, especially not him, is allowed to know that. They can't be allowed to possess the knowledge that the Ice Princess's fortress is penetrable. I can't leave myself open to an attack like that and they can't be allowed to use my feelings for him and Debbie against me.
Debbie...as I told Broots and Syd, I don't do mommy. And I honestly didn't know what to do with her. Children are an enigma to me, I have had no practical experience with them. I've spent my life surrounded by adults, I sometimes can't even remember if I was ever a child myself. I certainly never had a "normal" childhood. I had few, if any friends and you certainly couldn't call Jarod, Angelo and Faith a traditional peer group. I couldn't relate to children then, so how am I expected to understand them now. But there's something about Debbie...she's me...who I could have been. Even after being deserted by her mother, the danger of her father's work, she still possesses her childhood, her innocence. And that is entirely due to Broots. Watching them together, it's beautiful but it's...it's painful. That should have been me. A little girl needs her father's love, his protection, his strength. To be held close when she's sad, to feel his hand gently brush away her tears, the warmth of his body against her cheek as she's cocooned in his arms. To know, without words, that she's good enough, that his love is unconditional, that he's there for her no matter what.
Debbie will always know that, he will make sure of it. He's both father and mother to her. Watching her, watching him, I see what a family really is. And I'm as jealous as hell. Yet it makes me want to be closer to them. I don't know why, am I trying to relive my life through Debbie? So I can have a happily ever after? Is Broots the father I wish I'd had?
My feelings towards Broots confuse me to no end. Do I see him as a father figure? I once told Lyle that Broots was more of a brother to me than he would ever be. Is that what Broots is, a sibling? But these are familial relationships and some of the feelings, urges, I have towards Broots are anything but familial. The Centre has given me a pretty warped outlook on life, but I don't think it quite extends to incest. Now Lyle I could believe it of, I've noticed the way he inspects me, his eyes roaming over my body makes my skin crawl. But me and Broots...
Most of the time it's just a working alliance, verging on friendship. But he's still the subordinate and I'm still the boss. There are times though when something else creeps into the relationship, comfortable but sexually charged, domestic yet dangerous. Staying in that hotel room with him was one of the most difficult nights of my life. Who would have thought that a woman with a track-record of conquests would find a platonic night so hard. Standing in front of the mirror putting on my make-up, him doing his tie, I saw flashes of what might have been. And it scared me. Actually what scared me most was that I was having these fantasies about him. Him and me, the really odd couple.
I've imagined what it would be like to be his partner, a mother to Debbie. To feel his body pressed against mine, my hands, his hands, exploring, stroking, caressing. He'd be a considerate lover, different from my others, but I could always teach him. And he could teach me. To know that when he loves he loves completely, that I was the only one. To go to sleep and wake up beside him, to see, reflected in his eyes, me. To possess each other completely, moving in unison, him within me, all barriers destroyed...
What a load of sentimental bullshit! A square peg can't fit into a round hole. We aren't compatible in any way. He...deserves...better than me, a real woman. Someone who can love him as he loves her. Someone who actually has a life of her own. These fantasies, these emotions are dangerous. They make me less effective. And working for the Centre I need all my wits about me. I can't be distracted by visions of fairytales, a most implausible Prince Charming. Happily ever after is a cruel myth. I have to survive in this reality, where dreams, hopes and wishes are enough to sign your death warrant.
And if I'm not here there won't be anyone to protect them. For Broots' and Debbie's sakes, as well as my own, I must maintain at least a semblance of detachment. This is as close as I dare go, any closer and this taste of a real man, a real life, will vanish in a puff of smoke and the squeak of an oxygen tank wheel. They've taken everything I've ever loved away from me, I won't let them take you.
I'm sorry Broots, but for your own survival, I must continue to abuse and victimise you. You may despise me for it but I'm doing this for you. I hope that one day you will see through the facade, the pretend, and realise what you mean to me. I wouldn't do this for just anyone you know. I will admit there is a degree of selfishness involved, I am doing this for me too. If anything ever happened to you or Debbie...you are my rock, my hope, my life line. Looking at those shoulders, that body, that personality, I'm sure that some higher power is having a joke at my expense. But somehow I know that you are my real chance for deliverance.
Title: Where Have All The Real Men Gone (1/1)
Author: Katrina McDonnell
Rating: PG
Spoilers: Slight spoiler for 'At The Hour of Our Deaths'
Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters and places are the property of MTM and NBC Television. This piece of fan fiction was created for entertainment, not monetary purposes, and no infringement on copyrights or trademarks was intended. Previously unrecognized characters and places, and this story, are copyrighted to the author.
Summary: Exactly what are Miss Parker's feelings towards Broots?
Author's Note: This is dedicated to Gilly and Maria. Thank you girls for opening my eyes to the wonderful world of Brootsie.
All feedback is appreciated...all flames will be dealt with by Miss Parker...
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Just to look at him you wouldn't think of him as being a real man. A mouse maybe, a geek, anything but a real man. Hell, even I spend most of my time taunting, tormenting, emasculating him. Yet he is one of only a few real men I actually know. Why he's here, in purgatory, I still haven't worked that one out. All I know is that he deserves better than this. And I'll do everything in my power to make sure that he survives. It's the least I can do for him. It's amusing to think of me as a protector, the one who has always been the hunter, the predator. But something about him, much to my disgust, touches a part of me that I've kept buried for a lifetime. I hate him for doing that to me, for making me care, making me want to protect. It goes against everything that has been drummed into me over the past thirty years. He scares me. I'd much rather face a T-board or be locked in a room with Mr. Wheeze. Those are situations I know how to handle. He is so far out of my field of experience. A sweet, real man, with no agenda but to keep himself and his little girl breathing. It seems ludicrous, but he is the biggest threat to my psyche, more so than anything the Centre can throw at me. Even the other real men in my life don't pose as much a danger. With Syd and Jarod there is a history to be drawn upon, incidents that reinforce my battlements, agendas to be considered. I can negate the danger they pose to a manageable level. Yes, they still get through sometimes, but I know how to combat them, defuse their threat. I don't know what to do with him.
He is a man you would pass by on the street without a second glance. Definitely not model material, nothing even remotely special to look at. Balding, on the thin, you could say scrawny side, a fashion fatality if I ever met one. A gift certificate for deportment classes wouldn't go astray. His bearing, his body language, all suggest submissiveness. He rarely looks people in the eye, tends to squirm under their gaze. Not the type of man I usually associate myself with. Sure, I do like to dominate, to be on top. But even the submissive ones usually have their bodies or dress sense going for them.
That's how I saw him when he was first assigned to me. Someone to be browbeaten, ground into the floor with my heel. I soon discovered something else about him, a part of him that I would never have guessed existed beneath that exterior. Push him too far, threaten his daughter in any way, and he turns into Papa Bear. The first time it happened shocked the hell out of me. He backed down pretty quickly but it made an impression. Most of the time he'll do exactly what he's told, but he will stand up to me. He makes me question myself, my actions. And that's something I'm not comfortable with. He even protects me, he didn't want me to see that DSA of Kyle being trained to hate mom. When he said that he knew I didn't respect him, it tore at me. And it forced me to do something I rarely do. I told him that I did respect him. And that was, and still is, the truth. No one knows how difficult it was for me to admit that. Praise isn't something that I bestow easily, admiration is even harder.
I was taught that the best way to handle the proletariat was to be tough on them, to intimidate. If you show any form of weakness, someone will take advantage of the chink in your armour and use it against you. Well he still managed to find that chink and worm his way through it. And as hard as I've tried to drive him out, he's parked himself in his bunker and won't move. I've had to accept, grudgingly, that he's here to stay and it's my responsibility, my duty, to keep him and Debbie safe. But no one, especially not him, is allowed to know that. They can't be allowed to possess the knowledge that the Ice Princess's fortress is penetrable. I can't leave myself open to an attack like that and they can't be allowed to use my feelings for him and Debbie against me.
Debbie...as I told Broots and Syd, I don't do mommy. And I honestly didn't know what to do with her. Children are an enigma to me, I have had no practical experience with them. I've spent my life surrounded by adults, I sometimes can't even remember if I was ever a child myself. I certainly never had a "normal" childhood. I had few, if any friends and you certainly couldn't call Jarod, Angelo and Faith a traditional peer group. I couldn't relate to children then, so how am I expected to understand them now. But there's something about Debbie...she's me...who I could have been. Even after being deserted by her mother, the danger of her father's work, she still possesses her childhood, her innocence. And that is entirely due to Broots. Watching them together, it's beautiful but it's...it's painful. That should have been me. A little girl needs her father's love, his protection, his strength. To be held close when she's sad, to feel his hand gently brush away her tears, the warmth of his body against her cheek as she's cocooned in his arms. To know, without words, that she's good enough, that his love is unconditional, that he's there for her no matter what.
Debbie will always know that, he will make sure of it. He's both father and mother to her. Watching her, watching him, I see what a family really is. And I'm as jealous as hell. Yet it makes me want to be closer to them. I don't know why, am I trying to relive my life through Debbie? So I can have a happily ever after? Is Broots the father I wish I'd had?
My feelings towards Broots confuse me to no end. Do I see him as a father figure? I once told Lyle that Broots was more of a brother to me than he would ever be. Is that what Broots is, a sibling? But these are familial relationships and some of the feelings, urges, I have towards Broots are anything but familial. The Centre has given me a pretty warped outlook on life, but I don't think it quite extends to incest. Now Lyle I could believe it of, I've noticed the way he inspects me, his eyes roaming over my body makes my skin crawl. But me and Broots...
Most of the time it's just a working alliance, verging on friendship. But he's still the subordinate and I'm still the boss. There are times though when something else creeps into the relationship, comfortable but sexually charged, domestic yet dangerous. Staying in that hotel room with him was one of the most difficult nights of my life. Who would have thought that a woman with a track-record of conquests would find a platonic night so hard. Standing in front of the mirror putting on my make-up, him doing his tie, I saw flashes of what might have been. And it scared me. Actually what scared me most was that I was having these fantasies about him. Him and me, the really odd couple.
I've imagined what it would be like to be his partner, a mother to Debbie. To feel his body pressed against mine, my hands, his hands, exploring, stroking, caressing. He'd be a considerate lover, different from my others, but I could always teach him. And he could teach me. To know that when he loves he loves completely, that I was the only one. To go to sleep and wake up beside him, to see, reflected in his eyes, me. To possess each other completely, moving in unison, him within me, all barriers destroyed...
What a load of sentimental bullshit! A square peg can't fit into a round hole. We aren't compatible in any way. He...deserves...better than me, a real woman. Someone who can love him as he loves her. Someone who actually has a life of her own. These fantasies, these emotions are dangerous. They make me less effective. And working for the Centre I need all my wits about me. I can't be distracted by visions of fairytales, a most implausible Prince Charming. Happily ever after is a cruel myth. I have to survive in this reality, where dreams, hopes and wishes are enough to sign your death warrant.
And if I'm not here there won't be anyone to protect them. For Broots' and Debbie's sakes, as well as my own, I must maintain at least a semblance of detachment. This is as close as I dare go, any closer and this taste of a real man, a real life, will vanish in a puff of smoke and the squeak of an oxygen tank wheel. They've taken everything I've ever loved away from me, I won't let them take you.
I'm sorry Broots, but for your own survival, I must continue to abuse and victimise you. You may despise me for it but I'm doing this for you. I hope that one day you will see through the facade, the pretend, and realise what you mean to me. I wouldn't do this for just anyone you know. I will admit there is a degree of selfishness involved, I am doing this for me too. If anything ever happened to you or Debbie...you are my rock, my hope, my life line. Looking at those shoulders, that body, that personality, I'm sure that some higher power is having a joke at my expense. But somehow I know that you are my real chance for deliverance.
