Dusk
by Jill Kirby

This is alternate universe and is the sequel to my story "Morning Light." You really need to read that first story for this one to make any sense. It's rated PG-13 for a bit of language and innuendo; nothing specific.

Spoilers: None. It's AU, after all.

Please do not archive. Archive links to my page are welcome. I didn't create and don't own these characters or the premise of the show. This story is for entertainment purposes only, no infringement is intended, and absolutely no money is being made from this. Please do not reproduce electronically or in print without my permission.

Since I've already started a third story in this universe, I think this is going to have to be officially considered a series. Gah! Sorry. More notes at the end.

***

What a day.

After that restless night full of dark dreams, after waking to find things were dramatically different from how she thought they should be, Miss Parker had done her best to keep her mouth shut and learn everything she could about this bright world she had fallen into. Fortunately, she had spent the afternoon with two people who loved to talk, and loved to talk to each other, and didn't seem to mind that the third party was quiet and watchful.

About all she was able to glean was that they were involved in doing whatever they could to damage the Centre. From the sound of it, this Centre was significantly smaller and less powerful than the one she'd dreamed about. Her father was nowhere to be seen, and never mentioned-- Parker noted that her mother no longer wore a wedding ring, but was afraid to ask much more than that. Jarod had escaped from the Centre much earlier here, too; from a couple of casual remarks it sounded like Catherine had gotten him out well before his 20th birthday. Other than that, not much made sense-- except the pure joy she still felt every time she looked at her mother.

Once or twice, she had to leave the room because the emotion was so sharp that it was painful. Seeing her mother-- so alive, so beautiful, so there-- was still shocking, somehow, though logically she knew the dreams of the night before must have been just that-- dreams. Painful, realistic, but dreams. Jarod was there, too, teasing Catherine gently about something, the two of them laughing with the familiarity and affection of close friends. Family.

Once, when she'd gone into the bedroom and sat on her bed for a moment, breathing deeply and trying to regain her equilibrium, Jarod had followed her.

"What's wrong? Still bothered by the dream?" He sat next to her on the bed, slinging an arm around her shoulders.

The warmth was welcome, but Parker still had to stop herself from flinching. "I guess so." It sounded so crazy, to believe so wholly in a dream world. This was her world, wasn't it? "Silly, I know."

Jarod's arm squeezed her shoulder, quickly. "Not silly. Understandable. Just because we've seen some terrible things, doing what we do, doesn't mean dreams can't shake us up."

What exactly do we do, Jarod? She desperately wanted to ask, but it wasn't the time. She'd listen, and learn, and surely she'd remember everything soon.

She had to, or it meant the other world was the real one.

He leaned over and kissed her lightly on the cheek; it took everything in her not to shiver at the touch of his lips. "You should probably shower-- we have to head out again in a couple of hours."

"Thanks."

She'd watched him leave the room, and wondered.

Now, hours later, they'd left her mother (and that wasn't an easy thing for her to do), gotten on a plane, and were in a motel room outside Toronto. Jarod had handled all the details with casual ease, and she went along with it, watching and listening all the way. They had a meeting with someone, and since she was probably supposed to know who the "him" was, she didn't ask.

They'd only gotten one motel room. This was apparently standard practice when they traveled together. From his casual familiarity with her-- the kiss, the way he touched her lightly every so often, the lack of personal space between them that she had to fight against creating-- it was clear that they were involved, and probably had been for some time. Goddamnit, why couldn't she remember? Why was it that every time she looked at Jarod she saw herself chasing him, stalking him-- even shooting at him?

Miss Parker sat cross-legged on the hotel bed, looking around the room while Jarod worked on his laptop. She'd changed into a simple nightshirt, taking longer in the bathroom than was necessary-- but it had helped her catch her breath, a little. However weird this world was, it was hers, and she wasn't going to be a passive participant. If they were fighting the Centre, she'd fight the Centre with everything she had.

She absently filed a ragged nail, her eyes unconsciously fixed on Jarod. He'd changed out of his clothes and thrown on a pair of sweat pants-- just bottoms; her eyes idly traced the play of muscles in his arms. And his chest. Damn, shouldn't she remember a chest like that? What was wrong with her?

"Hey," the subject of her troubled musings called softly to her. "Penny for your thoughts?"

"They're not worth that much." Parker grimaced, tossing the file onto the nightstand.

Jarod glanced back at the laptop, hit a few keys, and shut the lid. Flopping down on his back next to her on the bed, he gazed up at her face. "Tell me about the dream."

How did he-- of course he knew. He was a Pretender, after all. She ran one hand through her hair. "It's just a dream. It's not worth talking about."

"If it bothers you, it's worth talking about."

Parker looked down at his face, and something from the dream swam back to the surface of her memory. He had helped people. He used his gift, went into their lives, and made things right for them.

"It was a very different world," she said finally, and with one hand she bunched pillows up behind her so she could lean against the headboard comfortably. "I was working for the Centre."

"No wonder you're so upset." Jarod shivered theatrically, grinning.

"No. I'm serious." His face stilled immediately. "I was working on catching you."

"Catching?"

Parker shook her head. "It's not clear. I think you'd gotten away somehow... But not because of Mom. And I was trying to bring you back." She quirked one eyebrow. "I seem to remember shooting at you."

"I don't like the sound of this dream." He played with a loose thread from the bedspread, not taking his eyes off her.

"It was horrible." How could she communicate to him how the dream still felt so real, even as the specifics dimmed? "It was... dark. And angry. And my mother was dead..." She paused as Jarod reached out and took one of her hands in his; the reassurance in his grasp was wonderful. "It was just so real. Even now it feels like memories, not a dream."

Miss Parker was quiet for a long moment, and Jarod wisely let her be. Finally, she squeezed his hand and let it go. "I probably just need a good night's sleep."

Jarod patted the bed between them. "It's not the Ritz-Carlton, but it's a bed. Sleep, and I promise not to snore."

"Fat chance." Suddenly, welcome like the sun coming through the window after a rainstorm, she knew. Jarod snored. He snored, and she couldn't know that if she truly lived in the dark, violent world of her dreams. "I should have brought earplugs."

He pretended to look offended, and she knew-- again, she knew-- that this was a familiar dialogue between them; part of their relationship-- like him trying to make her eat breakfast every day, or her always wanting to see obscure foreign films that bored him to tears.

He wrapped his arms around her as they slipped under the thin hotel blankets, bringing her close to him, and she nestled against him like they'd slept that way for years-- which, maybe, they had.

Jarod sighed deeply, contentedly. "That's better. No bad dreams tonight, I bet."

Miss Parker smiled against his chest. "I hope not." She could hear the steady beat of his heart, soothing her to sleep.

***

There were no dreams that night, and when Parker woke in the morning the hotel room was familiar, remembered. Jarod wasn't next to her, but from the sound of off-key humming and shower water coming from the bathroom, there wasn't much mystery regarding where he was.

There was evidently little time for talk; their meeting was early and Jarod loaded things into the car while Parker showered and dressed.

Riding in the sunlight with Jarod-- in a convertible, no less-- was like living some kind of high school fantasy. Any minute they'd pull up at her house and her mother would come out with a plate of cookies, she'd be elected Prom Queen, and Jarod would give her his varsity letter sweater.

The wind whipped through her hair, tossing it in a thousand different directions. Uncaring, Parker threw her head back, eyes shut, face to the sun, unable to hold back a smile.

They reached their destination too quickly. The tiny diner was barely visible from the road, but Jarod obviously knew where it was. There were only a few cars in the lot. Jarod parked off to one side (away from where anyone on the road could see them, Miss Parker noticed) and they headed in to the diner. Jarod took her hand as they walked; it may have been a habit for him, but it still felt very new to her.

They slipped into a corner booth, ordering coffee from a waitress who remembered them-- well, remembered Jarod anyway; her bright smile certainly wasn't for Parker's benefit.

"You gonna eat anything today, sugar?" she asked, managing to include Parker with a quick glance.

Jarod didn't even need to look at the menu. "Western omelet and toast. Parker?" She shook her head.

Jarod grinned at the waitress. "She'll have toast-- if I don't order her some now, she'll just eat all of mine."

The waitress left, chuckling at Jarod's fabulous sense of humor, and Parker glared at him. "I don't eat your toast."

"Yes, you do." He was serene, ignoring her annoyance as he poured what looked like half the contents of the sugar shaker into his coffee.

The bell on the diner door rang faintly, and both of them looked up. With a jolt, Parker recognized the man walking toward them with a smile on his face.

It was Sydney. Looking almost the same as the Syd from her dream-- but less careworn, with more color in his cheeks and more spring in his step.

"Jarod." Sydney hugged Jarod, who'd risen to greet him, then leaned over and kissed Parker first on one cheek, then the other, his lips warm and dry. He smelled different, too-- vaguely like peppermint and tobacco, with none of the usual nose-tickling aftershave.

As they all settled into the booth, Sydney gestured to the waitress for coffee. "So. Tell me how it went. The installation was completely disabled?"

As Jarod replied, his face animated but his voice low, Parker leaned back against the end of the booth and regarded the newcomer with an odd feeling in the bottom of her stomach.

This wasn't Sydney. This man was Jacob. Just how she knew, she wasn't entirely sure, but it was-- the voice was different, and something about his word choices wasn't right.

"This is fantastic," Jacob said as Parker tuned back in to their conversation. "Their surveillance capabilities in Canada are almost totally decimated now, and today will finish it off. Good work."

The waitress approached the table again, and Jarod slid out of the booth to go to the washroom while Jacob placed his breakfast order. After the waitress left, Jacob rubbed his hands over his face, and Parker realized that he looked far more tired than he had just moments before.

"Are you all right?" she asked, concerned.

"I am fine." Jacob looked sideways at her and smiled, but it was a weary smile, dimmed by some conflict inside him. "There are just things I don't want to burden Jarod with."

God, she hated not knowing what the hell was going on. Her best bet was to look puzzled and ask some seriously leading questions. "Such as..."

"What else?" he shrugged, still half-smiling. "Sydney. It still hurts Jarod to talk about him. So I bother you."

"You can bother me any time," Parker reassured him, reaching over to touch his arm. She desperately wanted to ask exactly why this topic was painful to Jarod, but that was something she apparently knew already. She'd remember eventually. She had to. "Did something new happen?" Hopefully, the question was vague enough.

"Not really." Jacob took a long drink of coffee before he continued. "We came so close to him with that last installation attack, and it's been heavy on my mind. No matter what he's turned into, he's my brother. The thought of him being hurt, or killed, is still hard for me to deal with."

A hard, flat voice interrupted Jacob. "He runs the Centre. It's a risk he's prepared to take." Jarod had returned without either of them noticing, and he slipped back into the booth opposite them. "How many times has he almost killed you? All of us?"

Sydney was running the Centre? No wonder talking about him upset Jarod. Every line in his body was tense, now, where he'd been relaxed and positive earlier. Even his hand was clenched around his water class, knuckles so white that Parker hoped he wouldn't crush the glass to bits.

The waitress, with an impeccable sense of timing, chose that moment to bring over their meals. The next few minutes were taken up with the welcome logistics of three people assembling their various breakfast needs- butter, syrup, jam. Once Jarod had a few bites of his eggs, Parker heard him let out a deep breath.

"I'm sorry, Jacob."

"There is no need for you to apologize."

"Yes, there is," said Jarod. "You can't turn off your feelings for someone you love, even when they hurt you. We're not machines."

Parker watched the interplay between the two men with a lump in her throat, her toast forgotten.

***

Jarod emerged from the motel room's bathroom in what could only be described as bad utilityman uniform wear, and Parker laughed before she could stop herself. Jarod faked a glare at her.

"This is the latest style in telephone company repair wear, I'll have you know," he said sternly, the smile in his eyes belying his tone.

"Oh, yes," Parker chuckled. "You look great." She watched as he gathered a variety of things into a satchel-- tools, a manual, several electronic devices that she didn't recognize. She kept quiet until he pulled out a gleaming automatic and checked the magazine. "Jarod, let me come with you."

He was distracted, his gaze focused on the weapon. "This is a one person job, Parker. I drew the short straw." He slipped the automatic into a hidden holster and straightened, smiling at her. "I'll be back before you know it." Dropping a kiss on the top of her head, he slipped out the door.

After several minutes, she crawled over to the other side of the bed and picked up the telephone, dialing from a scrap of paper she'd tucked into her purse.

"Mom?"

They talked for a long time; Parker let her mother do most of the talking, and sometimes found herself just letting the sound of her mother's voice roll over her like warm water. Once, she covered the mouthpiece so her mother wouldn't hear her crying. It was like a gift-- to have lost her mother, even in a dream, and awaken to find her here.

When Jarod came back, early that evening, Parker was curled up in a chair, immersed in the information she'd found on the laptop's hard drive. Reports, schedules, schematics-- Jarod was a careful recordkeeper. So was she, evidently; there was plenty of information in here with her name on it. There was a lot to read, to take in-- to catch up on.

"Hi." Jarod brushed his hand against her shoulder before heading into the bathroom, where she could hear him washing up.

"How did it go?" she called.

"Great." He came out of the bathroom, toweling off his face.

"I wish you'd have let me go with you."

"Someone is always telling me that some actions are best done alone," he reminded her, a smile in his voice.

"Have you had dinner?" she asked absently. She was already half-lost in an incredibly detailed report and didn't realize Jarod was behind her until she felt his mouth, warm on the side of her neck.

"Dinner?" he asked, his voice rumbling against her skin, tickling. "Are you hungry?"

"Hungry?" Suddenly, she was breathless. "I thought, after..."

"We could always..." He reached around her, closing the laptop and moving it onto the table, then bringing his hands back to her shoulders. "Order something in." He kissed the side of her neck. "Later."

They both stood up, Parker turning to face Jarod-- and finding him right there, right in front of her, facing her with that lazy grin that made her throat tighten and something deep inside her go on alert.

"So, you're not hungry?" she asked, searching his face, feeling ridiculously young and unsure.

"Will I sound like a bad movie if I say I'm not hungry for food?" he murmured, and then he was kissing her, warm and dark and rich, new and yet completely familiar.

Was she really going to do this with a man she didn't remember much about-- except things from that dream world? This man whose mouth was on hers, whose still-damp hands were undoing the buttons on her blouse and sliding over the skin beneath?

A strange memory from that other life inserted itself-- Jarod's face only a few inches from hers, wet with rain or sweat, looking at her with an intensity that she could still feel even now, worlds away.

And in this world, her world, her arms slipped around Jarod and pulled him to her. Yes. She was going to take every opportunity to build the memories that she wanted to have. Memories that mattered. Memories of her mother's smile, of holding Jarod's hand, of knowing that the Centre had no power here, of the way Jarod's hands felt like fire on her skin.

Yes.

***

The phone was ringing.

It rang and rang, breaking through the fog of sleep and blankets. Why didn't Jarod answer the damn thing? Well, they'd both been up pretty damn late last night. She couldn't expect him to be any more alert than she was.

Throwing one hand behind her, she realized she was alone in the bed. "Fuck," she mumbled. She had to answer the phone. Rolling over, face buried in the pillow, she waved her hand around until it connected with the receiver.

"Hello?"

"Miss Parker?"

The voice sounded familiar. "Whosis?" she asked, half-rolling over and rubbing her eyes with her free hand.

"Miss Parker, it's Broots. You were supposed to be here for a meeting at ten..."

Broots.

Parker sat straight up, the sheet falling away from her, and stared around the room in disbelief. It couldn't be.

It was. This wasn't a little hotel room outside Toronto; this wasn't the bed she'd fallen asleep in last night, happily tired and sweaty, wrapped in Jarod's arms. This was her bed in Blue Cove, in her house, in her dimly lit bedroom only a few miles from a powerful and dangerous Centre.

"Miss Parker?" Broots had just figured out that she wasn't listening to him. Oh, if he only knew.

"I'll be there as soon as I can, Broots," she murmured, hanging up the receiver and cutting off his frantic response.

For several minutes, all Parker could do was stare blankly around the room at the surroundings that were so familiar, yet completely horrifying at the same time.

She was back.

She'd been dreaming the whole time, thinking that this was a dream. Her mother, Jacob, Jarod-- they were all a dream. Her mother was still dead. Jarod was someone she chased for a living. This was her world. This was her life, and the days of warmth and sunshine had all been a fantasy. Pathetic, weak wishful thinking. Anything that felt too good to be true probably was.

Feeling frozen, she rose from the bed and walked into the bathroom. Her movements were stiff as she turned on the shower and stood under the spray, face upturned.

They weren't memories. They were dreams. Her mother's smile, her voice, the affection that had been even sweeter than she'd remembered from her childhood. Her own face upturned to the sun. Falling asleep with her cheek against Jarod's chest, his hand resting on the curve of her hip, fitting against each other as if...

No.

Parker shook her head, spraying water around the shower stall, then grabbed a washcloth and started scrubbing at her skin. She kept scrubbing until the hot water faded to cold and her skin was red and painful.

Slamming off the faucet, Parker walked into her bedroom, dripping onto the carpet and not giving a damn. As if she were on auto pilot, she wrapped a robe around herself and went about the business of getting dressed and ready for the day. Her day at the Centre.

Years ago, she'd tried parasailing on an ill-advised vacation with a man she should have realized was good only for sex, and not much good for that. The idiot driving the boat was bad enough, but the worst was the feeling that there was nothing underneath her feet but miles of air. No support, no purchase, nothing.

Right now felt just like that. Yes, it had been a dream. It had been a stupid fucking dream that, by all rights, she should have shaken off by now. But the memories she was trying to relegate to dream status were memories she didn't want to lose.

Makeup. Hair. Underwear. Nylons. Camisole. Blouse. Black suit. Armor, protection, normalcy. Earrings… Going through her dresser drawer, searching for jewelry, her hand jostled something cool. Beads. Her mother's rosary.

She pulled the chain out of the drawer and looked at it, gleaming in the light. This was almost all she had of her mother now. This, and some pictures. Sinking down on the bed, she stared at the rosary, unmoving for several long minutes, desperately trying to catch her breath.

She was losing her fucking mind. Dreams weren't supposed to hurt like this; they were supposed to go away when you woke up. They were supposed to fade away like smoke, and be barely remembered by noon.

She knew with absolute certainty that these dreams weren't going to fade away any time soon.

***

End notes:

To anyone who has read Susan Garrett's wonderful fiction, this story owes a significant debt to Susan's fabulous "Intimations of Mortality," the Forever Knight novel that started out as a fanzine. This doesn't follow the same conventions, true, but there's no question that this universe was inspired by hers.

Thanks to Karen and Kelly for the beta, long ago as it was.