With Jarod, there were no coincidences.

The story is set after "Island of the Haunted." This story contains adult material and explicit sexual situations; please don't read it if you're under 17. Really.

Please do not reproduce in print. Please do not archive. Archive links to my website 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.

Thanks to Karen and AJ for beta. Because. And thanks to Pen for catching a bit at the end.

I love feedback, and you can send it to kirbyfest@yahoo.com.

Note: There is actually an Ocee, Georgia, but I can almost guarantee it's nothing like the one I portray here.

***

Fuck. Middle of the night in the middle of nowhere, and it had to start raining like Noah was around the next bend.

Miss Parker glared at the windshield and wished that she still smoked. A cigarette sounded pretty damn good right now. So did a drink or four. But no. She was somewhere in backwater Georgia on a badly paved road, in a crappy rental car with shocks that had probably given out five years ago and a radio that only seemed to be able to get programs about Jesus or gun safety. She'd show these assholes some gun safety.

The rain got heavier, and Parker slowed down as the car sloshed through a puddle. It was pitch black, and there was no sense in dying in the middle of nowhere. And she was not going to die in this car, thank you. The gum-chewing over-Aqua-Netted woman at the rental counter had seemed to take a great deal of pleasure in giving Parker the most hideous car she'd ever seen. "That's all that's left, punkin," she'd drawled in a way that made Parker want to smack her on the head with the nearest Confederate flag. "You can always wait 'till tomorrow and see what shows up, but I'm not holdin' my breath here."

Parker had resisted telling her that she should be holdin' her breath-- whatever the woman had eaten for dinner, it didn't smell appetizing any more-- and had taken the car. The orange car. The orange hatchback.

The Centre had reduced her to this-- driving in the middle of night in this fucking nightmare of a car so that she could check into a crappy hotel, sleep for a couple of hours, and spend the day with Sydney and Broots digging through a just-discovered storage space that allegedly belonged to Jarod. Of course, Syd and Broots hadn't gotten dragged into the same late afternoon meeting that she had gotten stuck in, and had been able to fly in at a civilized hour; they'd probably had an elegant dinner at the local Ponderosa and were sound asleep right now.

If she'd been able to get a cell signal out here, she'd have called and woken one of them up; that might have made her feel a little bit better.

"Shit." Parker tapped the brake as greenish-silver disks darted across the road in front of her, dancing through her headlights-- animal eyes of some kind. She swerved slightly, avoiding whatever it was scuttling towards the tree line, and slowed down to about 35. Driving at night in the rain wasn't easy, even in a well-lit area. It was worse out here in the boonies; fortunately, she had plenty of gas and was wide awake. Last minute Centre meetings about Jarod tended to make her tense enough that falling asleep wasn't possible for, well, days on end. Her being stuck out here? All Jarod's fault. Everything was, ultimately.

"Jarod, you always manage to be a son of a bitch, don't you?" she murmured under her breath. "You are gifted."

The rain was now driving down in sheets against her windshield, and even going 35 miles an hour was too fast. If this got any worse, she was going to have to pull over. Of course, where in the hell was there to stop? Parker sighed, peering ahead through the downpour. Hopefully it would ease up. If not, she'd just have to wait it out on the side of the road.

Suddenly, caught in her headlights, Parker saw a road sign. It was the first sign she'd seen in who knew how many miles, and she pulled over and slowed to a stop in front of it. Hallelujah-- maybe there was a town somewhere along here.

Ocee
15 mi

The arrow on the sign pointed to the right, down what appeared to be an even less-passable road.

Parker sat motionless for a long moment, with just the sound of the rain and the regular thumping of the wiper blades keeping time with her thoughts.

The warehouse was in a tiny town in rural Georgia. This was the only road to that tiny town from Atlanta.

It couldn't be a coincidence. Could it?

She gripped the steering wheel so hard that her knuckles hurt, staring at the watery patterns of her headlights on the sign. She didn't buy into the idea that she had an inner sense, no matter what her mother had thought; Parker preferred to think of it as having good instincts. Common sense told her to keep driving, get to the hotel, get some sleep and spend tomorrow at the warehouse with Syd and Broots. It was the middle of the fucking night, and she was driving through a monsoon.

Instinct was telling her that, with Jarod, there were no coincidences.

After six... no, eight months of not hearing a word from him or finding a single breadcrumb on his trail, there was suddenly a warehouse. And on the way to the warehouse, this.

Feeling vaguely like she was dreaming, Parker put the car back into gear and pulled back on the road.

Not letting herself think about it too hard, she turned right at the sign.

***

Twenty minutes later, and Parker was cursing her fucking instinct. This road was hardly paved, and she'd only just avoided several potholes the size of small European nations. There were no houses, no lights, no further street signs. She was in Hell, if Hell was anything like rural Georgia.

Was that a light up ahead?

Craning her neck, trying to see through the dark and the rain, Parker leaned forward-- and there was a sickening thud as the car slammed straight into a sinkhole. She went forward, her head nearly touching the windshield, and came back hard, banging the underside of her chin on the steering wheel so hard that her teeth shook.

The car lurched forward with a sloshy sound, then sputtered and died.

Rubbing her chin, Parker took a deep breath. The rain on the roof of the car was nearly deafening, and the white noise helped her get herself under control. Her head throbbed from the impact, and she took several more long breaths before she felt like she could actually try moving the car.

Turning the key, Parker waited for the engine to respond. It made a sluggish attempt to turn, then died. Waterlogged.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck." That was a popular word with her tonight, and from the looks of things it was going to continue to be at the top of the list. Middle of nowhere, car dead, no cell... It really couldn't get much worse, short of someone from "Deliverance" showing up.

Glaring out the windshield, Parker realized with a start that it was a light up ahead. A long way up, but there was something there. With any luck it would be a gas station with a land line-- but who was she kidding? She had no luck. She hadn't had any for a very long time.

There was no sense in taking her luggage; it was safer (and drier) locked in the trunk. Parker put everything she could in her purse, held it close to herself, and headed out towards the light.

The light was farther than it looked, and by the time Parker got close enough to see that the light was coming from a gas station, she was drenched and shivering. It got cold at night, even in Georgia, especially when you were soaked through. Her shoes were actually sloshing with each step. If she got out of this nightmare without pneumonia she'd be thrilled.

The gas station was closed, and the light had come from the line of soda machines against the outside wall, still keeping their contents cold in the middle of the deluge. Parker considered kicking one, but it was too much effort. Besides, she was shaking too hard.

Shivering under the station's canopy, looking around what was probably the downtown of Ocee, Parker knew she was well and truly screwed. There was a post office-- closed. The gas station-- closed. There was a pay phone-- with no receiver, just wires poking out. Not a house, not a car to be seen.

There was, however, probably a phone inside the gas station. She could find a brick, break a window, and call for help. Wrapping her arms more tightly around herself, Parker left the canopy's shelter and scanned the ground, looking for a rock or a brick or a handy pipe wrench.

Nothing. Parker kept walking, trying to ignore the chills that were making it hard to walk in a straight line, blinking hard through the water running down her face. As she turned the corner to the back of the gas station, she glanced up-- and saw a motel.

There was what looked to be at least a 20 room motel in the back of Al's Gas and Go, and she'd missed it? She was slipping. She'd been slipping.

Parker set off at an awkward trot towards the motel. It was dark, and didn't look especially well-kept, but it was a motel. There would be people there. If nothing else, there might be heat, and a bathroom and some blankets. Maybe even a cockroach-free room in which she could get a few hours of blessed sleep.

The office wasn't far, fortunately, and Parker got under the overhang in front of the door as quickly as she could. There didn't seem to be a bell to ring, so she tried the handle and let out a sigh of relief when it turned.

Walking into the office was like stepping into something designed by Elvis on happy pills-- the walls were covered in orange and green fabric, the reception desk was metal, acrylic and gold-painted wood, and the carpet was a thick orange shag that had probably cost a fortune. In 1973.

The lights were dim, and Parker peered around; the room seemed to be empty. "Hello?" she called, her voice high and shaky. God, she needed heat. Hot shower, hot tub, hot anything to make her stop thinking about how damn cold she was.

"Miss Parker?" She shouldn't have been surprised, but she was; Jarod seemed to appear out of nowhere. Half in shadow, he was near the desk (she hadn't noticed a door back there, but then she wasn't at her best) and watching her, a can of something in one hand.

"Jarod." Shouldn't she do something? Shoot him? Call a sweeper team? But her gun was in her purse, and she couldn't get her arms moving to pull it out; all she could do was stand just inside the doorway, shaking. Her voice sounded all wrong, and her lips were so cold they didn't seem to work. Goddamnit.

"Are you all right?" He stepped out from the shadows, taking a closer look at her, and she could see the shock in his eyes. Whatever he had been waiting for, this wasn't it. He had probably expected the usual Miss Parker, large and in charge, not a drowned rat who could hardly stand from shaking.

To his credit, it took Jarod about half a second to change direction. "You're freezing. Sit down." Jarod pushed her unceremoniously into a chair, and before she could protest he had a blanket out from somewhere and had wrapped it around her shoulders. It smelled musty, but it was warm, and Parker shut her eyes, trying to stop from shaking, trying to draw a breath that didn't hurt while Jarod tucked in the edges of the blanket around her, then draped a towel over her head.

He rubbed the towel on her hair briefly, then went over to the desk. He was back quickly, holding a steaming Styrofoam cup. "Here. Drink." She gave it a suspicious look before inching out her hands from under the blanket and taking the cup. Tea. It was weak-- he'd hardly dipped a tea bag in it-- but the warmth of the water coursed through her, welcome and reviving, and she held on to the cup like a lifeline.

Jarod, meanwhile, was earning his Boy Scout merit badges, disappearing and returning with different things each time. Towels on the first trip, a sweatshirt on the second. Kneeling in front of her, he pulled off her shoes and tossed them aside. Parker didn't bother protesting, but kept her face just over the cup, letting the steam rise. She knew a pair of dead Maglis when she saw them, and her feet stood a better chance of warming up now that the wet leather was gone. Jarod wrapped another towel around them and used it to rub them methodically, glancing up every now and then.

"Better?" Parker nodded, but a fresh wave of chills made Jarod's frown deepen. "How far did you walk?"

"Maybe a mile." Her mouth seemed to be working, at least, and her cheeks were tingling with warmth. She might survive this yet. Parker stretched her neck to one side, then the other. "Georgia's usually warmer than this."

"Spring's late this year." Jarod looked relieved that she was, apparently, recovering. He stood up, leaving the towel around her feet. "More tea?"

Parker shook her head. "No." She watched as Jarod pulled up a chair opposite hers. "Where is everyone, anyway?"

"There's no one here. The motel has been shut down for months-- Al's looking for a buyer. He let me stay here in return for fifty bucks a week and keeping an eye on things."

"I think you've been cheated."

Jarod shrugged. "It's private, and I can come and go as I need to without a desk clerk noticing. That's important, thanks to you and your... friends, Miss Parker."

The chill that had started to leave returned with a vengeance at Jarod's comment, and Parker hunched lower inside her blanket cave, shutting her eyes for a moment, wishing she was anywhere but here. Wishing that this game could end any other way but how she knew it had to end.

Opening her eyes, she saw Jarod watching her. His face was calm, but every line of his body screamed tension; it practically radiated from him. He didn't want this any more than she did.

Jarod finally broke the silence. "Where is your car? And where are Sydney and Broots?"

"They came in earlier. I left the car about a mile west of town. If this is a town." Parker drained the last of the hot water, and took a deep breath. "I hit a sinkhole, and it won't move. Either something is broken, or it's flooded. Or both." Moving the blanket slightly, she leaned down and set the empty cup on the floor next to her chair. "Hell of a plan, Jarod."

His face was inscrutable. "Why do you think there was a plan?"

"Oh, for Christ's sake." Now that she had feeling back in her extremities, she could snipe at Jarod again. "You always have a plan. We haven't heard a thing from you in eight months, and all of a sudden there's a whole goddamn warehouse of your crap just north of Ocee, Georgia." His eyes narrowed, just a touch. "I'm not a nuclear physicist, but some things are clear even to me."

"And why would I do that?"

"How the hell should I know? I don't know how your mind works, Jarod." She was too tired, too cold, too shaky to play the cat-and-mouse game, but at the same time telling the truth was more than she had strength for just then. Not to mention the truth was still something she wasn't sure she knew.

Shifting in the chair, Parker realized that her purse was still in her lap. Her purse, with her gun inside. That was unusually sloppy of Jarod; he'd been completely focused on getting her warm-- not disarming her. Hm.

"So your car's in a sinkhole, and you're stuck here with me."

"And orange shag carpeting." She would laugh, but she was afraid if she started laughing she wouldn't be able to stop. "Orange seems to be the theme tonight."

Jarod opened his mouth-- probably to ask what the hell she was talking about-- but stopped himself, and the two of them sat there for several endless minutes without speaking. Parker was acutely aware that Jarod's eyes hardly left her, but she didn't look up. She didn't want to.

This time, she spoke first. "So. Where the hell have you been since Scotland, Jarod?"

"Oh, I've been having a great time. Took a vacation, hung out on the beach and got a tan." Leaning back in his chair, he folded his hands behind his head, still watching her; the relaxed pose was ruined by his watchful stare.

Putting her hands to her cheeks, trying to warm them, Parker shook her head. "Eight months without a breadcrumb? It's not like you to stop torturing the Centre for that long."

"Did you miss me?" he asked, his tone light but miles of meaning behind the question.

Suddenly, sharply, the memory of him taking her hands in his came into her mind, as it had so many times since that afternoon in the limousine. Parker swallowed, pushing back the useless thought. "Sydney worried. I knew you'd be back when you damn well felt like it."

Jarod was quiet for a moment, then leaned forward, elbows on his knees. "I tried to..." He paused, clearing his throat. "I tried to find the scrolls."

Parker's eyes narrowed. "And?"

"Nothing," he said, his shoulders slumping. "Nothing at all."

Of course there was nothing. That was all either of them was ever going to get, and if he hadn't figured that out by now, she certainly wouldn't able to convince him. "They're gone, Jarod. Give it up." She glanced away, blinking hard. "They're gone, with my father."

"Your father." The word was steeped in bitterness. "Was he your father?"

God, she hated it when he used that tone of voice with her-- that pontificating asshole tone, that I-know-way-better-than-you tone. He did not understand. "He raised me."

"And he was so good to you." Jarod stood, turning from her, running one hand over his hair. "Did he ever tell you the truth?"

She should have thrown something at him, or said something that would cut him, but all she could do was squeeze her eyes shut, balling her hands in the blanket. Don't cry, Parker; you're just tired and cold, and everything feels so... fresh right now.

Jarod sighed. "I'm sorry, Parker. I just..." Opening her eyes, she saw him rest his head in his hands. "We always end up having the same conversation, don't we?"

They were trapped, held back by her loyalty to a limestone prison and his need to find out why his life had been shattered. Neither one of them had the least bit of control over their lives, and never would. Jarod thought he did, by looking for answers, but the answers couldn't repair what had been done to him. Or her. "We do." Coughing, it took a moment before she had enough breath to speak. "Next, you'll lecture me on all the lousy choices I've made in my life."

He lifted his head, and she'd have sworn he looked hurt. "We could change it. We could change the conversation."

What had he said that day? Something about changing the story. "I doubt it."

"Couldn't we talk? Find answers... Answers that get us out of this track?"

"Not any more."

"The prophecies could..."

"I don't care about prophecies." Jarod started to speak, and she cut him off. "I don't care. People are dead, and those fucking scrolls are underwater somewhere. They are fish food, and they're not helping us... either of us." Parker pushed the towel off her head and stood up, keeping the blanket around herself, purse still safely hidden. "You know what the scrolls say? Do you want to know?"

Jarod, certainly sensing that saying anything just then was a bad idea, didn't respond.

"The scrolls say 'There are no fucking prophecies.' They say that we're going to be doing this for the rest of our lives. That we're trapped." Parker walked towards the front door, all barely contained energy and anger. "They say that this is all we're ever going to have. That's what they say, Jarod. That's what they're always going to say."

"You don't want to find them?"

"Why?" She turned; he was leaning against the check-in counter, watching her, and she lost track of her thoughts for just a moment at the look on his face-- thoughtful, gentle, wondering. He was listening to her. He wasn't thinking about the Centre or everything that she'd done to him for years, or that she might have a gun hidden under her blanket. He was listening, and Parker knew that was why he'd gotten the two of them in one place. If she wasn't so fucking angry, she'd want to cry. "Why should I want to find them?"

"To know?"

"Jarod, you still think there are going to be answers, don't you?"

"Aren't there?"

"There should be." Pulling the blanket more closely around her, she shivered. "There won't be."

"When we talked last..." Jarod paused, and there was something in his voice, in the way he was holding his shoulders that made her want to find a way to smooth those lines out of his forehead. Stop it, Parker. Stop it. "You asked about the scrolls. If they had answers. What's changed your mind since Carthis?"

Her life since Carthis wasn't something she could talk to Jarod about. It was hers to hold close; Sydney probably suspected some of it, but that was as much as anyone was going to get. The sleepless nights, all the painful waiting for some sign of Jarod, the carrot in the hideous race she was running with her own brother. She couldn't tell him how Lyle treated her every day, how Raines spoke to her. She wouldn't tell him how she'd mourned the man she thought was her father, what that grief-- however illogical-- had done to her. And she absolutely would not tell Jarod about her dreams, about what woke her almost every night gasping for breath. About how every day without a word or a sign from him had stretched her taut, and how the nightmares got progressively worse.

Maybe some of it echoed in her voice when she answered. "I've had a lot of time to think." More time than she'd ever wanted, all of it alone. "I want answers. Of course I do. But I don't know how we're ever going to find them, Jarod. Every time we get close, something else comes up. Every time we have something in our hands, it gets taken away." He flinched as she laughed. "I can't keep running after this brass ring. I can't."

"So you run after me instead."

"That's my job. This is how it has to be." She pushed her hair back from her face. God, if she could just be anywhere but here. Anywhere.

"Run and chase."

"Run and fucking chase."

"And if you catch me, you beat Lyle."

She half-turned from him, choking back a retort. Did he really believe that mattered to her? "I don't care about beating Lyle. I care about getting out. I care about ending this."

"And you don't care what they'll do to me if they get me back to the Centre?"

The answer to that question had figured prominently in more than one of Parker's nightmares, but that was none of his business. She couldn't think about that, so she did what usually came next in this endless fucking dance. Letting the blanket slip from her shoulders, she took out her gun and pointed it at him.

Her arm was surprisingly steady.

The temperature in the room seemed to drop ten degrees with that piece of metal between them, and Jarod's face went blank. "We can talk all we want, but it doesn't change the fact that we don't have any choices." She gestured towards the lobby door with the gun. "I am marching your ass out of here and we are getting this over with."

"We have choices, Miss Parker. We just have to have the guts to make them." His voice was absolutely flat. "Besides, your car is flooded, and it's practically a hurricane out there. We're not going anywhere."

The weather was a reality she couldn't change. She'd played her hand too soon; as usual, he threw her off balance. "Fuck!" Parker stalked over to the window, walking just sideways enough that she could keep an eye on him. The rain hadn't let up.

"Such language, Miss Parker." For some reason, his voice was making her head ache. She debated shooting him just to shut him the hell up. "So. Are you going to hold a gun on me all night?"

"I could." She should kick his ass out into this hurricane and let him figure out how to survive. He could do it, after all. He was a Pretender. Let him survive out there, and she could try to find a clean bed in this hellhole and maybe get a decent night's sleep.

"Really." Parker turned, her eyes narrowed, she didn't like the sudden change in Jarod's tone, though she couldn't pin down just why. "You're going to be able to stay awake all night? You're exhausted."

"I'll manage."

"Of course you will. You always do." He looked old, suddenly; there was grey in his hair that she was sure hadn't been there eight months earlier. "You always manage to avoid dealing with how you really feel. It's nice to have the Centre as a shield."

"I don't…"

"You do. You always have, ever since we were kids. It's safer for you, isn't it?" He'd moved closer to her without her noticing, and it was hard to stop from backing away. "Never admit that you work for monsters-- monsters that killed your mother, that created a clone of me for more destruction and death…" Jarod laughed, short and harsh. "It's easier to wall yourself off and not listen to the truth."

Something crackled inside her, and Parker realized that she wanted to kill him. Or beat the shit out of him. Either one would work just fine, thank you, because this man was going to be the death of her and she had no idea how to end it without one of them dying. She didn't know how to end this, or stop this, or change this, and the thought of this dance going on and on was too goddamn much for her to take.

Hardly thinking any more, Parker swung her arm and the gun ended up only inches from Jarod's nose. "The truth? The truth is that you are a pain in my fucking ass, and putting you away for good is the only way to end it." She tightened her grip on the gun. "And do not talk about my mother. Ever."

"You spend a lot of time telling me what I can't do."

"It's a long list."

"It doesn't have to be."

"Well, it is. And keep my mother out of it."

"At least you knew your mother."

There was something in his voice… "You still haven't found Margaret?"

Jarod shook his head, his mouth tight. "No."

After coming so close on Carthis, it didn't make sense. Parker's eyes narrowed. "All I can imagine is that she doesn't want to be found, Jarod, because I've been finding your ass for years now."

As soon as she'd said it, Parker knew she'd gone too far.

Everything that happened next felt like a slow-motion scene from a Japanese movie. Jarod trying to get the gun out of her hand, a hard and certainly painful kick to his side that sent him spinning around, until he somehow kicked her legs out from under her, sending her flying ungracefully to the floor and landing pretty damn hard on her ass. Before she could do anything-- sit up, catch her breath-- Jarod had her arms pinned over her head with one hand, and with the other he held her gun. One bent knee was over her legs.

Her hands were pretty firmly restrained-- damn, he was strong, and the weight of him on her legs meant she couldn't kick, couldn't struggle enough to get free.

"You leave my mother out of it."

"Let me go," she hissed. The carpet was rough on her arms, and he was heavy enough that she felt slightly short of breath. Or was it the look in his eyes?

"I don't think so," Jarod murmured. "If I let you go, you'll just use this again." He waved her gun at her. "I get so tired of having your gun in my face."

"I think it's a damn good place for my gun."

He stilled, and something inside Parker started to hurt. "I can think of better places for it," he replied, his voice low and rough. "Much better." Leaning forward, he laid it lengthwise against her throat, with just the slightest bit of pressure; she couldn't stop herself from flinching at the cold of the metal, at the weight on her skin. "Why do you always have to think with your gun?"

She didn't answer, but just glared at him, ignoring the way his voice was making her stomach twist. How could he sound so menacing and yet so... so damn sad at the same time?

"There are so many other things that can be done with guns." Jarod turned the gun in his hands , and suddenly the tip of the gun was tracing down the side of her neck.

Parker wasn't sure if what she felt was fury or fear, and she didn't analyze it. "You son of a bitch," she said, and her voice didn't sound like her own. "What the..."

"Oh, the safety's on, Miss Parker," Jarod drawled, not meeting her eyes. He was busy making patterns on her skin with the tip of the gun. "Gun safety is very important."

It took everything in her to stay still as he traced his way down her throat, twirling the gun around the hollow of her throat, trailing down. Down to her chest, to the top of her breasts, cold through her shirt.

The safety is on. The safety is on. She knew the safety was on, and that the tip of the weapon was as safe as it was going to get, but the fact remained that Jarod was rubbing the tip of her own fucking gun against her skin and oh, dear God, she was turned on. Powerfully.

This was new.

The gun moved in a straight line between her breasts, down, around, back up. It was a little harder to breathe right now, but Jarod's focus on his artistic endeavor was such that he didn't seem to notice. He also didn't seem to notice her obvious arousal. He just moved the gun, drawing his invisible pictures on her skin, every now and then sliding the cool metal across her breasts.

She'd have thought that this was an entirely clinical exercise for him-- except for the look in his eyes.

"Now," he murmured, "Isn't this a better use for your gun?" He leaned closer, trailing the gun up the side of her neck. She felt the warmth of his breath on her skin, saw his eyes on her lips.

"I..." she opened her mouth to retort, and he kissed her.

This was what they had been denied in Scotland. This is what she had pulled away from in the limousine at the airport. This is what it was like to kiss as adults, not as children, not as awkward teenagers just starting to feel their power. This was what Jarod tasted like, how they felt together, and in that moment Parker knew there could never be any going back.

Jarod broke away, and she saw it in his face, too. They stared at each other for a moment, and he cleared his throat. "Do you really want to know where I've been for eight months?" he said, his voice low and urgent. He didn't wait for her to answer. "I've been trying to figure out how to get you the hell out of my head. I can't. I can Pretend myself into or out of anything except you, Parker. Anything."

Her heart was pounding so hard he could probably hear it, but all she could do was stare up at him. God, his eyes-- he was telling the truth, and the time since Carthis had been killing him. Just like it had been killing her.

"I can't," he whispered, his voice desperate, on the edge of tears, and he kissed her again.

Kissing usually didn't make every nerve in her body wake up and scream for mercy. Then again, she wasn't usually kissing someone who had her pinned on the ground with a gun. Yes, Parker could honestly say that this was an entirely new experience for her, and while she wasn't happy about being pinned down, it was... really fucking hot.

Jarod's mouth moved to her neck, to the hollow of her throat, and she let herself focus on the sensation, arching toward him as much as her current position would allow, deliberately pushing away the nagging voice in the back of her mind that was reminding her that this was Jarod, the man she had to catch or the Centre would...

Oh, hell, she didn't care what the Centre would do. The Centre wasn't here, and couldn't feel Jarod's weight on her, didn't know what Jarod's lips felt like on her skin. They hadn't heard his voice.

That was why he'd brought her here, after all, though he might not have expected it to go quite like this.

Jarod, focusing on other things, had let his grip on her hands slip, and with a quick movement Parker slid away from him, put her hands on his shoulders, and flipped him onto his back, straddling him. Grunting with surprise, he tried to move, but this time she was too quick for him, catching his forearms before he could reverse their positions.

She was strong, too. "Now, you're stuck on the goddamn carpeting."

Jarod could probably have toppled her if he'd wanted to, but he went still. He still had her gun, but he wasn't about to use it. His eyes were intent on his face, and she could feel him trembling; he needed some indication of where she was going with this. What she wanted, or didn't.

That, she could give him.

Leaning down, she kissed him, harder than she really needed to-- whether it was payback or just felt good, she didn't care. Letting go of his wrists, she cradled his face in her hands, her kiss telling him all he needed to know. Trailing her mouth down over his neck, she kissed the hollow of his throat, breathing in the damp scent of him. She could feel his heartbeat, so fast. "I think," she said, deliberately keeping her mouth very close to his skin, "You can put the gun down."

"Are you sure about that?" His voice was hoarse. "It sounds risky to me."

"What, this isn't risky?" Parker ran her hands down Jarod's chest, then sat down on him hard enough that he let out a surprised huff. "And you're not going to be able to take off your shirt if you keep holding the damn gun."

His eyes sparked, and he put the gun down on the carpet, moving it away from them with a push of his hand.

"Of course," Parker said as if she were talking to herself, "I think it's easier if I take off your shirt for you."

She took her time with the buttons on his shirt, acutely aware of the fact that she was sitting on his crotch; from the feel of things, it wasn't especially comfortable for him. As she slipped open another button, Parker deliberately moved, settling down more firmly, her skirt hiking up to the tops of her thighs. Jarod groaned, and she smiled.

"You're killing me," he said through clenched teeth.

Parker tugged the shirt out of the waistband of his jeans. "Too bad," she said casually, shifting on him, rocking against him. It wasn't just torturing him, of course; she wanted that pressure for herself, too. But she wasn't going to tell Jarod that. "You were using a gun-- my gun-- for foreplay."

He grinned. "And that bothered you?"

"Bothered is one way to put it." Parker opened his shirt entirely, deliberately running her hands over his chest as she did so. God, he felt good. "How would you like it..." She trailed her index fingers along his skin, circling his nipples, tracing down over his stomach and lingering as it tightened in response. "If I did that with a gun, Jarod?"

He didn't have a good answer for that; his hands were gripping at the carpet, and his eyes burned on her face.

"Why, I don't think you'd like it at all." Parker's voice was low, soothing. "Not a bit. It might lead you to exact... revenge, perhaps." She hooked her fingers under the waistband of his jeans, rubbing them back and forth, ignoring his stifled gasp.

Parker moved on to Jarod's jeans, scooting down. Button fly, dammit. On one hand, it was more time to torture his crotch. On the other hand, she wanted progress involving herself, not just Jarod. His fly open, she slipped her hand in and pressed hard against him, wanting to explore.

"God, Parker." At this point, he was hardly intelligible, and Parker felt a flash of pleasure at the power she had over him.

"Revenge, Jarod."

Really, as fun as this was, Parker wanted to get to the good part, and apparently, Jarod agreed. With a push of his arms, he moved himself into a sitting position, and she slid into his lap, legs around his hips, skirt now entirely bunched around her waist.

He was barely upright, she was barely back in balance before he was kissing her again. It was amazing, sweet and painful and wonderful. The heat of his body was magic; it was the first time she'd been warm in what seemed like a hundred years.

She pushed his shirt off his shoulders, and he shook it off, then his hands were back around her waist, fire on her skin, pushing up her loose shirt. Parker raised her arms to help and he pulled the top over her head, throwing it to one side and returning his mouth, his hands to her almost before she knew they had left.

Cupping her breasts through the bra, his hands were rough in their eagerness, and she reached back and yanked open the clasp, pulling the fabric away and giving him full access. The bra ended up somewhere by the check-in counter, but Parker didn't care; all she could think about was his hands, his mouth on her neck, her breast.

"You're beautiful," Jarod whispered against her skin. "So beautiful."

Parker wanted to tell him that he was beautiful, too. She wanted to tell him that him being there, his hands on her, all of this hardly seemed real, that she'd wanted him for her entire life. But she couldn't tell him any of that, because she couldn't find words as he gently laid her back, his hands stroking her body, worshipping her.

Somehow, they'd ended up on damp, discarded towels and the blanket she'd tossed off while they argued; as soon as her back hit the fabric he was leaning over her, kissing his way down her stomach. He was leaning on one elbow, his other hand moving over the angle of her hip, and it wasn't enough. Could he ever touch her enough?

There was almost no way she could possibly be any hotter for him, any more ready. God, they were going to fuck in the lobby of a lousy hotel, on shag carpeting that probably hadn't been cleaned in... Jesus, she didn't care, because Jarod was parting her legs with one hand, tickling the sensitive flesh of her inner thighs, and she was already halfway there and he was just running the flat of his palm over her.

It was good that there was no one around for miles, because Parker wasn't sure she'd ever made quite that sound before.

The tiny coherent part of her brain that was left reminded her that underwear should be off, and Parker tugged at the waistband, relieved when Jarod hooked his fingers through them and, sitting up, pulled them down and off, then did the same with her skirt. Turning, he was obviously about to finish what he'd started, but Parker put one hand on his chest and pushed him back.

The look on his face was priceless, and she had to stop herself from laughing. "Jarod, take off your pants."

"Oh." He grinned-- a big, stupid, relieved grin-- and complied. Very quickly. How she loved a man who followed directions, especially when he didn't waste any time getting back to business. Especially when he seemed to know exactly where and how to touch her.

It was amazing, and Parker forgot about the carpet and the cold and the rain and the Centre and the gun and let herself feel, let herself get swept along in the touch of his hand, his fingers inside her. He was a little rough, and she half-wondered how he knew that was exactly how she liked it before she was drowned in heat and sensation, lost for those few moments, crying out his name.

Opening her eyes, still feeling a little hazy in general, she met Jarod's gaze and her stomach twisted. His eyes were dark and liquid and completely focused on her, like she was every Christmas present he'd never received, every ice cream cone he'd been denied his entire life. It was scary and intense, and it made her feel even more short of breath than she already was.

All she could do was smile at him, aware that her mouth might be trembling, just a little.

Jarod leaned down and kissed her, very softly, and she reached up to cup the back of his neck, her other hand stroking down his back, resting at his hip. He was all muscle and warm skin, and she wanted to know every inch of him. Already, he tasted familiar, and even with everything that loomed outside this little orange room, Parker knew that this was exactly where they were supposed to be.

Moving against him, Parker realized that Jarod, in focusing so much on her, was ignoring his own obvious need. Well, that wouldn't do. That wouldn't do at all. Besides, the thought of Jarod inside her, after all the years and all the history...

Not breaking the kiss, Parker shifted against Jarod, adjusting the angles until he was in a much better position without even realizing he'd gotten there. She could feel him, hard against her. As she bent one leg up, he broke away from her lips with a grunt of surprise.

Pushing himself up and away, he studied her face. Looking up at him, Parker thought he might just be the most amazing thing she'd ever seen-- dark and flushed, his lips full from her kisses, his eyes soft. Had that softness always been there?

Reaching up, she ran her hand along his jawline, cupping his chin, and smiled at him. When he smiled back, she thought she might break open, right there.

She ran one foot down the side of his leg, hooking it around his, using it to pull him closer. If he had been waiting for an invitation, this was obviously it, and as she spread her legs further apart he slid inside her with what sounded like a laugh rumbling deep in his chest. Parker smiled against his shoulder as the feel of him turned everything upside down, until she could do nothing but gasp his name and forget everything in her life but that moment.

***

Post-coital bliss definitely lost something when you experienced it on top of a pile of damp towels on the floor of a motel lobby. Not to mention, Parker liked to go to sleep after sex, and there was no way in hell she was going to sleep here.

For just a moment, though, it was nice to stretch her body out against Jarod's. The smell of them together-- rain and sex and sweat-- was oddly comforting.

Realizing that he was probably afraid to move, or to say anything, Parker leaned up on one elbow and glared at him. "Please tell me there's a bed in this hellhole. With sheets."

His grin was lazy and made her want to kiss him breathless, for no apparent reason. "There is. I think the sheets are even clean."

"Anything's cleaner than this damn carpet. It's disgusting."

"I didn't notice."

Parker sat up, looking at the clothes scattered around them. If she saw a roach, she'd throw up. "That's because you were busy drop-kicking me on my ass."

"Among other things." Jarod sat up next to her, wrinkling his nose as he looked around. "You're right. This carpeting is filthy."

"Even a bed in this dump has to be better than the floor."

"I think the floor did just fine." This time, the grin was definitely self-satisfied. And satisfied, in general.

It was hard, but she resisted putting her arms around him, pulling him close. She was getting awfully fucking sentimental in her old age. "Jarod, a girl likes a bed."

"Then bed it is." Scooting up onto his knees, he scooped her up in his arms, ignoring her shriek. "Wow, you're noisy," he commented as he rose and strolled toward a door in the back of the lobby, hardly seeming to notice that he was carrying her.

"Put me down!"

He shouldered open the door and walked into what was apparently his room; it was small, but warm and neat. "You want down?"

She struggled, more of a token than anything; she wouldn't admit it without torture, but it was unusual-- and fun-- to be carried, especially when the man carrying her seemed to think she weighed practically nothing. "Yes."

"Fine." Jarod dropped her on the bed like a pile of laundry, then stood over her, grinning.

"Ow! Jarod, did you have to drop me on my ass again?"

He was instantly contrite, leaning down in concern. "Are you all right?

"I'm fine." Sitting up, she looked down at the bed. "Oh, god, it's a bedspread. You've seen the news reports about what's on these bedspreads, haven't you?" He looked blank, and she sighed. "Never mind." Getting up, she flipped the bedspread down and off the bed, then turned the sheets back. "It's not turn-down service at the Fairmont, but it'll do," she remarked, climbing over and leaning comfortably against the headboard. As she settled in, wiggling a pillow behind her, Parker looked up and saw Jarod staring at her. "What?"

He didn't stop staring at her. It wasn't the ice-cream-Christmas-present stare of earlier, but it still gave her an odd feeling in her stomach. Not to mention, he was standing in front of her stark naked, and it was the first time she'd had the chance to really look at him. Before, she'd been rather... involved. Now, if she weren't beginning to be irritated at him for the staring thing, she'd have to start noticing all the pieces of him that were right there, all for her to notice and appreciate.

Well, she'd noticed some pieces before. She'd been chasing him, not dead.

"What?"

Jarod walked around to the side of the bed and sat down on the edge, finally looking away from her. "This should be weird, shouldn't it?"

"This?"

"This." Jarod waved one hand at her, at the bed. "We went from fighting to..."

He probably wouldn't like it if she added the natural next word there. Men generally didn't. "That we did."

"It doesn't fix anything, does it."

Of course-- this was Jarod; he'd want to talk it to death. He was Sydney Junior. The possibility of hours of conversation about this made her even more exhausted than she already was. "Sex never does, Jarod. You must have learned that by now." She patted the bed, shivering. "Climb in. It's cold out there."

"Let me get you a t-shirt. You should wear something-- you were pretty shaky earlier." Jarod rummaged through a drawer and brought over a black t-shirt, holding it out to her.

Parker raised an eyebrow, but didn't comment. Yesterday, if someone had told her she'd be putting on one of Jarod's nine thousand black t-shirts-- at all, let alone after what had just happened between them-- she'd have shot them. Instead, she slipped the shirt over her head. It smelled like fabric softener, and Jarod, and it skimmed against her skin like satin.

He got in the bed as she was putting on the shirt, and stayed as far over on his side as he could, still looking at her. She did feel warmer, even with just the thin t-shirt material on; it crossed her mind that she'd be even warmer if she were right up next to Jarod. Possibilities, indeed.

"So."

Jarod reached over, covering one of her hands with his. "So. What next?"

His skin looked so dark on hers, next to the white of the sheets. Parker sighed. "Do we have to figure that out right this minute?" All she wanted to do, really, was sleep. Stop the race and the thinking for just a little while.

"No." He had that funny set to his jaw, the one that Parker recognized meant he was worried. "I just... We are going to talk, aren't we?"

Parker wasn't quite sure what he was really trying to ask. "Yes." Still holding his hand, she laid down and settled on the thin hotel pillow, trying to get comfortable. "I think that's a requirement, at this point."

He shifted a little, his thumb stroking the side of her hand, and Parker could practically feel the awkwardness radiating from him. It hit her, suddenly, just what was bothering him. Sitting back up, she met his eyes. "I'm not going to disappear, Jarod. It's just been... well, one hell of a day." His eyes searched her face, and she poked at his arm. "Anyway, aren't you the one who usually sneaks out when I'm not looking?"

He smiled, and she could practically feel the tension recede. "I'm not going anywhere." He brushed the back of his hand over her cheek. "How could I?"

There it was again-- that look. How could he look at her like that, with everything they'd done to each other over the years? With everything she'd done to him over the years?

Jarod slid down in the bed as Parker pulled the covers up over them, and when Jarod stretched out one arm, Parker curled up against him without thinking about it. They fit together so well, with none of that first-night awkwardness of arms and legs and bedclothes. His skin was warm on hers, his arms solid around her, and as she slipped into sleep she could feel his heart beating.

***

Light pressing on her eyelids pulled Parker unwillingly from sleep. There was a long moment of disorientation before memories of the previous night returned, rushing back in a jumble of images and sensation.

Well.

It was just a guess, but the arm thrown over her back, the leg heavy on hers-- Jarod. Peering out from under the messy veil of her hair, she saw him sound asleep next to her, snuffling softly into his pillow. One piece of his hair was standing straight up in very Dennis the Menace fashion, and Parker had to press her lips together to stop a very un-Parker-esque laugh.

What a difference one evening made.

Remembering the previous night, Parker closed her eyes, breathing in the scents of bleach and detergent from the bed linens, mixing with a musky, cinnamon-y scent that tickled her nose and shivered up her spine. Jarod. Already, she knew how he smelled, how he tasted. He'd said last night it should be weird, and he was right-- it should have been. But it wasn't. It felt right, like something falling into place that had been wrong for far too long.

Jarod had felt it too. Even if Parker wanted to, she wasn't getting out of this one. When he woke up, he was going to want to talk-- which had been the whole point of getting them down to Georgia; he had wanted to force the conversation that hadn't happened in Scotland. Had the warehouse been the real thing? Or another empty lead, just to drag Sydney and Broots and her…

Sydney and Broots. "Shit."

She'd spoken without realizing it, and Jarod's eyes opened. "Good morning to you, too," he said tentatively, his voice rough from sleep.

Parker pushed her hair out of her face. "What time is it? The cavalry is going to be here any minute."

Lifting himself up on his elbow, Jarod looked over her shoulder. "It's just after seven. And..." God, he looked about five when he got that guilty look on his face. "I called their hotel last night and left a message with the front desk that you were staying in a hotel near the airport. I didn't want Sydney or Broots to worry."

"Good." Parker rolled over on her back, staring at the faintly water-stained ceiling.

"Plus, all the roads between here and there are flooded, so they won't be expecting you for a while. You don't have to rush out." He flopped back down on his pillow, rubbing his face with his hands. "Unless you want to."

A small part of her thought that getting the hell out of there didn't sound like a bad idea, but running away wasn't going to make any of this more clear. "I'm only rushing out if you don't have any coffee."

Jarod laughed. "Will instant do?"

"I'll manage."

"Be right back."

It was very domestic, listening to him around the corner, clinking around in what was probably a tiny kitchenette. It was nice, actually, to wake up a little sore, and have a man make her coffee. That hadn't happened in a long time. Since Thomas.

She sighed, and it seemed like the sigh came from very deep inside.

When Jarod returned, a mug in each hand, Parker leaned forward in disbelief. At some point in the night, he'd put on boxers. "I'm sorry. Jarod, are those frogs on your shorts?"

Handing her one of the mugs, he got back into bed. "Yes. Why?"

Parker stifled a giggle. "Why frogs?"

Jarod looked down, apparently puzzled at her reaction. "They were on sale at Wal-Mart."

"All my illusions are shattered," Parker said, mock-serious. "You shop at Wal-Mart. I thought you'd be an Armani aficionado, what with all the money you've stolen from the Centre over the years."

"I prefer to call the money 'reclaimed.' And why not Wal-Mart?" He brushed at the navy cotton, picking off a bit of string. "There's no sense in spending all the money."

He'd have to buy a lot of expensive underwear to spend a fraction of the money he'd siphoned away from Centre accounts, but this didn't seem the time or place to go into financial planning. Parker took a long drink of the coffee-- not bad, for instant. Just the right amount of sweetener, too. "Thanks."

It struck Parker again, as she sipped coffee next to Jarod, that what should have been incredibly strange and awkward... Wasn't.

"You know," Jarod said, resting his mug on the bed next to him, "I never really expected..."

It shouldn't surprise her that he was thinking along the same lines. Looking over at him, she raised one eyebrow. "When have we ever done anything the usual way?"

"True." His head tilted, suddenly. "Oh..." He leaned over, touching her chin. Parker winced. "That's not from..."

"Ow. It must be from when my car went into the pothole from hell. I hit the steering wheel pretty hard." She reached up, touching the spot gingerly. "How bad is it?

"About the size of a quarter. Not too bad. I just didn't know where you'd gotten it." His fingers were so gentle. "I'm glad it wasn't from me."

"You know, I'd have been amazed if we hadn't come out of this with a few bruises and scratches." Not to mention rug burn, but she wasn't going there.

"Scratches?"

"You can't see your back."

He craned his neck, then flushed. "Ah."

"Sorry." She managed to sound completely unrepentant.

"No, you're not."

"You pinned me to the ground with my gun." Parker smiled so that he'd know the words had no real sting behind them. "A few scratches..."

"Oh, they're worth it."

So was the rug burn. "Tell me. Is that your stuff in that warehouse?"

"Warehouse?" Jarod tried to look innocent and failed miserably. Parker kicked him.

"Yes. Warehouse. Or wild goose chase?"

He grinned. "It's the real thing. It's been a while since you've caught up with me, after all. There are all kinds of things there to keep Broots and Sydney busy."

"And me?"

"I have much better things with which to keep you busy, Miss Parker." He made a terrible attempt at a leer, and though he failed miserably, making her laugh seemed to cheer him up. A lot.

"Well, there's at least one thing you can't do, Jarod."

His grin got even wider. "It's good to know my limitations."

"So. You wanted to get us down here?"

Jarod shrugged, picking at the sheet. "I didn't plan... this." He gestured at her, at the two of them together. "In fact, you weren't supposed to show up last night at all. I thought you'd be coming in with Sydney and Broots today. I had something fairly... elaborate planned for later today." His forehead creased for a moment. "I'd better make some calls."

Parker pressed her lips together, trying not to laugh. "Fairly elaborate" probably involved something that would scare the pants off Broots.

"I just thought that if we could get in the same place..." He sighed, sounding about a hundred years old. "I just wanted to talk. Without getting interrupted by anyone from the Centre."

She had always used the Centre as her shield. He'd been right about that. "Talking doesn't change anything."

"No. But I was telling the truth last night." He set his coffee down on the nightstand and turned toward her. "Since Scotland, I've tried everything. Everything, and I couldn't stop…" He moved one hand in the air, a helpless gesture. "I couldn't figure out how to get past it. Past you."

"Me?"

"All I could think about was how well we worked together. How it was… nice to have you trust me. How we were…"

"A good team," Parker whispered.

Jarod nodded, reaching over and tracing a pattern on the back of her hand with one finger. "I didn't know what else to do. I tried cold turkey, and that didn't work. So I tried this."

"Hell of a plan," she said, echoing the previous night. Jarod sighed and rested his hand on hers, hooking their fingers together. She didn't pull away, and they both stared down at their intertwined hands.

"I…" Parker cleared her throat. "You weren't the only one who couldn't forget. I just… I couldn't think of any way out of it." All she'd been able to see were the Centre walls. Raines. Lyle. Everything had stretched out in front of her, endlessly the same. "This isn't a way out either, Jarod. Nothing has changed."

"But everything changes." He squeezed her hand, leaning closer. "And at least I don't have to imagine what it would have been like if Ocee hadn't had such lousy timing."

"She could have waited five minutes," Parker said, smiling, remembering.

"If she had, we wouldn't be here. And I wouldn't be able to do this." Jarod leaned forward, brushing his lips against hers. Instinct, habit, something tightened her chest, holding her back until she threw instinct out the window and let herself lean forward, falling into the feel and taste of him.

Pulling away was hard in ways she didn't want to think about, and it took her a moment to catch her breath. "We're still in the same situation, Jarod. We can talk all we want, but the Centre is still hunting you, and I'm still... part of it."

He was flushed; from the kiss or from the conversation, she didn't know. "Then how do we break out?"

This man was impossible. One night, and it was "we," and that brought with it all kinds of possibilities. "You could break away, if you wanted to. You're the smart guy, after all. Couldn't you just disappear?" She'd wondered this before, over the years. He was a genius. He had plenty of money. At this point, he knew about everything he was going to get from the Centre; keeping in touch-- any touch-- with it wasn't the smartest of ideas.

"I could, I guess. But it's not so much about getting information from the Centre. I think it's turned into finding ways to stop it."

Parker shivered. "Before they clone you again?"

"Or do who knows what else," Jarod agreed.

"But you could work on stopping it without putting yourself so close to things. Without putting yourself at risk?"

"Probably."

"So why don't you?"

Somewhere, she already knew the answer to the question, and when Jarod flushed and looked down and away, she half-wished she hadn't asked. It was a lot to work her mind around-- that she was why, that the reason this man couldn't find his family and disappear to live his own life was that the connection between the two of them was something they had to explore.

But then, Jarod was the reason she couldn't move forward. They were both tied to each other by secrets, and truths, and lives so tangled together it was hard to see where one of them ended and the other began.

All of that was in Jarod's eyes when he met hers again. "At first, it was revenge. And I wanted to know about my family, about where they were and why I was taken." He shrugged, and the lines in his face looked more pronounced. "But I know that if I'm going to get answers, they're not going to come from anyone at the Centre. Including you."

"I don't know..."

"I know." That was a relief, at least. "I know that. And now I've found my father and my sister, and we will find my mother."

"I'm sorry I said that about your mother last night."

"You didn't say anything I haven't thought myself." The pain in his face was so raw that Parker reached over and took his hand again, and he closed his fingers around hers with obvious relief. "I haven't been able to say that to my father. But I've thought it."

"Not a sign of her?"

"We've come close once or twice." He looked away, then back at her. "But not close enough. I don't think she wants to be found."

"She must have her reasons."

"I'd like to know what they are."

"Something must have happened on Carthis, Jarod."

"I know. I just don't know what."

"You will."

He half-smiled. "Thanks." He took a deep breath. "So why don't you leave?"

Good to know she wasn't the only one who changed the subject when things cut too close. "I don't think it's possible for me to get out. If I leave, Raines has made it pretty clear he'll have me killed." Jarod started to speak, and she held up one hand. "He would. We both know he would."

"I know he'll do whatever he has to do." His voice was layered with anger and loss; one man had taken so much from both of them. "I'm just tired of letting that son of a bitch determine how I live."

"Tell me about it."

"Aren't you? Tired of it, I mean?" When she was quiet, Jarod pressed on. "There has to be more. More than I run, you chase."

She smiled. "I think we've found at least one way to stop the chasing."

"I'm serious," he said, his mouth quirking in a smile. "There's got to be more than just getting by, Parker."

Getting by. That was a generous description of her life since Carthis, and even of her life before that. "It's a nice idea, Jarod. I just can't think of a way to make it work. The Centre's not going to change. They're not going to stop hunting your ass down, and they're not going to let me stop the hunt."

"So if the Centre's not going to change... how can we change the Centre?"

Parker looked at him, her mouth hanging open. How could someone so smart be so fucking naive? "You've lost your mind, Jarod."

"I've never been exactly sane, Parker. After all, I had a difficult childhood." He grinned at her. "How do we go about changing them?"

"Change the Centre? That's impossible." Parker sat up, moving over to sit on the edge of the bed, her back to Jarod. She couldn't look at him, couldn't bear the hope on his face. How could he have hope? After everything that had been done to him over the years, how the hell could he still find a way to want something more?

How the hell could he want her?

She shivered.

Behind her, she could feel Jarod moving, and a moment later he was draping a blanket over her shoulders. It was scratchy and smelled like her grandmother's attic, but the warmth was welcome.

When Jarod laid his cheek against her hair, she had to draw a deep breath at everything his touch stirred up. "I'm really tired of hearing about what's impossible. I've done a hundred things that no one ever thought were possible."

"Impersonating agents from just about every Federal agency, among other things."

He laughed. "That was easy. This..." He put his arms around her and she leaned back against him. "This is the kind of impossible I'm talking about."

Parker closed her eyes, glad he couldn't see her face.

"If we can be here, like this... Don't tell me anything's impossible."

They were quiet; Parker didn't know how to respond to this. To any of this, to this impossible frustrating brilliant beautiful man who already knew more of her than she wanted anyone to know.

"Since I've been out of the Centre, I've figured something out," Jarod said, finally breaking the silence.

"That you like red notebooks?"

His chest rumbled with laughter. "No. I've figured out that to change anyone, or anything, all you have to do is one simple thing."

"What?"

"Figure out what they want, and give it to them. Or at least make them think they're getting it."

Parker squirmed out of Jarod's embrace, turning to face him. "So, what? We figure out what the Centre wants and all our problems go away?"

"It's not exactly that easy, but yes."

"Unfortunately, what they want is you. You're saying we should hand the Centre your ass on a platter and everything will work out?" Parker frowned. "That might get me out, but it doesn't do much for you."

"They don't really want me. Well, they do." He reached forward, pulling the blanket closer around her. "But what the Centre really wants is money. And power."

"Which they think they'll get through you, Jarod."

He nodded. "Yes. And I'm definitely one way to get it. But there are a thousand ways for the Centre to get what they want-- without me. There are other ways to earn the Centre money. Legitimate ways."

Again with the naive. "Sure there are. But they're so busy hunting you, and cloning you, and looking for fucking ancient prophecies... They're too busy being evil." She sounded bitter and tired, and didn't care.

"They weren't always so bad. They've done some good over the years. The cancer medicine they tested on Faith, for instance." She nodded. "But now, it's hard to think of them as anything but the evil empire."

That was a good way to put it. "There's got to be a way to use all those resources for something more positive again."

"I'm sure there is." Jarod shrugged, half-smiling. "They could be no more-- or less-- evil than any other multinational corporation."

"Someone has to want them to go in that direction." Parker took a deep breath. "And you think you could... lead them in that direction somehow?"

"I think we could." His eyes on hers were dark and gentle, but deadly serious. "Over time. You working from the inside, me from the outside. If we give them legitimate opportunities, and they make money..."

"Eventually, they divert more and more of their resources from the hunt for you." When Jarod was in front of her, this all made sense. But it didn't. Any hope at all that the Centre could change had to be stomped upon, killed immediately, because... "Jarod, this is just crazy."

"I'm not saying it would be easy. Or fast. But couldn't we at least try... together?"

Together. She and Jarod, sharing information rather than fighting every step of the way. Trying to guide the Centre back to something else. Maybe, someday, to a world where Jarod wasn't job one. The two of them, without all the anger and the fear. There wasn't a chance in hell it could work.

When he spoke again, it was hardly more than a whisper. "Aren't you tired of just getting by?"

She was exhausted and achy and wanted nothing more than to pretend the Centre had never existed, but Parker had learned a long time ago that wishes didn't come true. "Of course I am. But there's just no way, Jarod. I mean, how..."

"We don't have to figure everything out right this minute." Somehow, she knew he was trying very hard to sound calm. "We can take it one step at a time."

There was no way it could work, no matter how smart he was.

"Parker. Look at me."

He sounded half an inch from angry, and she opened her eyes from surprise more than anything else. His eyes-- Jesus, she could get lost in them-- were solemn. "I don't know if it can work. But I can't go back to what those eight months were." He looked away, then back at her. "Can you?"

"No."

Where the hell had that come from?

His smile was amazing; he looked like he was lit from inside. When he leaned forward to kiss her, she could practically feel energy rolling off him, sparking against her skin.

When his lips left hers, she drew a ragged breath and tried to smile. "Well. This should be interesting."

"That's a Chinese curse, isn't it? May you live in interesting times?"

"Then we're two of the most cursed people on the planet."

Looking at each other, Parker was sure Jarod was thinking the same thing she was-- that they had about one chance in a thousand of success. One in a million, even.

What the hell.

Glancing at her watch, she thought for a moment. "How far am I from the warehouse?"

"Maybe an hour at most, depending on the roads." There was still concern in his face. She felt it too; the chances of this working-- whatever this was-- were slim. Could they have any impact on the Centre? Maybe not. Could they safely communicate, let alone see each other? Possibly. Would this increase the chance of Jarod's capture-- was she putting him at risk?

She couldn't go back to what her life had been since Scotland. She couldn't. She was alive and warm for the first time in months, and going back to that bleak winter was not an option.

"I'm just trying to figure out if I need to leave right away."

"Maybe you should."

He was probably right. "When you left the message at their hotel, did you mention what hotel I was allegedly staying at?"

"No," said Jarod, and he started to smile as he realized where she was going. "I didn't."

"Then I have an hour before I call for a tow."

Jarod pushed the sheet back with one foot. "We could try to find some breakfast."

Oh, he had a lot to learn, didn't he? "We could." Parker pulled her arms inside her borrowed t-shirt, then pushed it up and over her head. "I wasn't exactly thinking about English muffins." Throwing the shirt deliberately at his chest, she raised her eyebrows at a very interested Jarod. "Unless you prefer them."

The boy learned fast. As he moved to ease her back onto the bed, Parker pushed at his shoulders. "Oh, no."

Jarod laid back with a smile, closing his eyes as her hair brushed over his face, as she kissed his mouth, his jaw, his neck. As she continued her exploration, he paused her with one hand on her shoulder. Parker lifted her head.

"With everything going on last night, I didn't bring up…"

"Don't worry." She ran her fingers over his lips, silencing him. "I'm on the pill, and I suspect we're both tested within an inch of our lives." He was a warm toasty color all over, and as she slid down his body she thought that he might just smell better than anyone she'd ever met. "If you're not, just tell me to stop doing this."

She was pretty sure that sound didn't mean "stop." So she didn't.

***

Ten months later

***

It had been another endless day at the Centre. Jarod had, apparently, gone so far underground-- and had stopped leaving breadcrumbs of any kind-- that the Triumvirate, and other leaders, were busy seeking out new ways to generate income. If the Pretender Project and all its slimy outgrowths weren't going to buoy revenues, they'd find something that would.

Parker spent a lot of time working toward that goal. At least two of her recommended investment companies had, so far, produced impressive results, and neither of them had a thing to do with genetics or kidnapping children. No one was ready to let her off the Jarod search team (and she wouldn't have allowed it if they had tried) but there were other opportunities, other possibilities. Unfortunately, this meant that she was essentially doing two jobs, which made for very long days and late nights.

Elbowing the door shut behind her, Parker was flipping through a stack of mail when she looked up, saw Jarod, and shrieked in surprise.

Jarod grinned. "Long day at the office, dear?"

Parker looked around the room, eyes frantic, but he shook his head. "We're fine. Blinds closed, drapes drawn, and I've swept the house." He held up a small, twisted silver disk. "Kitchen. And they've gotten sloppy. Besides, who'd put a bug in the kitchen for you?"

With a deep sigh of relief that felt like it came from a hundred miles below ground, Parker dropped everything she was carrying and stepped into the circle of Jarod's arms. Resting her head against his chest, she breathed him in, relief running through her body and making her weak. "This," she murmured, "is much better than coming home to an empty house. Even if you do give me shit about my cooking."

"I've missed you." He kissed the top of her head. "Six weeks is too damn long."

He smelled warm and faintly like citrus, and Parker thought she'd like to stay just like that for the next twenty years or so. "It is." Leaning her head back, she looked up at him. "You're all right? I hadn't heard from you in a week."

"Russia," he said, as if that should explain everything. He ran one hand over her hair, smoothing it back from her face. "You look exhausted."

"Long day. But we've made progress."

"We can talk about progress later." Jarod eyed her critically. "When did you last eat?"

"Um..." She tried to remember if she'd eaten anything at all that day-- food was low on her priority list, especially when her stomach was knotted and burning with worry-- and brightened at a memory. "I had half a bagel for breakfast."

"And probably fifteen cups of coffee after that," Jarod said, shaking his head. He took her hand and pulled her toward the kitchen. "Food first. Conversation later."

"Just conversation?"

His laugh was the best sound she'd heard in... well, in six weeks. "Food first."

Half an hour later, full of pasta and strategy conversation, and sipping the last of a very good merlot, Parker perched on the kitchen counter watching as Jarod cleaned up. He was very precise in the kitchen-- now that he'd moved on from Twinkies and processed foods, he'd embraced Julia Child, Nigella Lawson and some blonde guy on the Food Channel that he thought was funny. Combined, they'd turned him into an inventive cook who wouldn't let her lift a finger. Which was wise, considering.

"There." Jarod carefully dried the last knife, slipping it back into the drawer. He always left the kitchen immaculate. Turning around, he dried his hands on a red and white checked dish towel. He must have brought it with him; Parker wasn't even sure she owned a dish towel, let alone one that cheerful. "You look better."

"I didn't even know I was hungry."

"You should add 'lunch' to your calendar," Jarod said, throwing the towel aside and leaning on the counter next to her. "Then maybe you'd remember. You need to take better care of yourself."

"Now you sound like Sydney."

"I'm glad someone worries about you when I'm not around." The corners of his eyes crinkled.

"When he's not worrying about you." Jarod glanced away; Sydney was one topic that, even now, he didn't like to discuss. "He does."

He looked down, then back at her, and for a moment his eyes were those of the teenager he'd been so long ago. Just for a moment-- Jarod masked it well, but it was there, and she reached out and laid her hand against his cheek, stroking his skin with her thumb as he leaned against her warmth.

"You look good in my kitchen."

He turned, kissing the palm of her hand. "You just like having someone serve you."

"Well, not just anyone."

"True." He ran one hand up her leg, under the hem of her skirt, tickling her thigh. "Some cook you hired off the street might make a better alfredo sauce, but they couldn't do this, for instance." His eyes were dancing, and his hand was fire on her skin. Parker shivered.

"Getting fresh, are we?"

"That's not fresh." He slipped his hand up further, between her legs, and she jumped as his fingers slid against silk. "Now, this is fresh."

God, he barely had to touch her and she was ready. Pathetic. Unsteadily, she put her empty wine glass down and braced her hands on his shoulders, spreading her knees further apart. "In the kitchen, Jarod?"

Leaning forward, he kissed her temple. "Anywhere, Parker." He increased the pressure, pressing through the thin fabric of her panties, the tips of his fingers tugging at the edge, then stealing underneath. "What's wrong with the kitchen, anyway?"

"Nothing's..." Talking was difficult when every cell in her body was focused on what his fingers were doing to her. "I am not doing this... Jesus." She gripped his shoulders so tightly that it had to hurt him. "I have a bed, you know."

"I'm aware of that. At some point, we'll get there." He kissed the side of her neck. "We always seem to have good luck when we start somewhere other than the bedroom, Parker. I figured it was time to give the kitchen a try."

He was obviously forgetting Sausalito, but she wasn't in any shape to remind him. "Could we... Oh, god." She leaned forward, resting her forehead on his shoulder. This man. What he could do to her... Her need for him never seemed to subside. Pushing against his hand, hanging on to him for dear life...

"Could we move to the bedroom? Sure." Jarod backed away, not coincidentally removing his hand at precisely the last moment he could do so. Grinning at her like an innocent schoolboy, he wiggled his fingers in the air.

Gasping, she caught at the edge of the counter. "I am going to kick your ass, Jarod..."

"Sure you are." He leaned forward, kissed her quickly, then turned and headed out of the kitchen. "Of course, you'll have to catch me first, and you were never very good at that..."

***

Somewhere in the middle of the night, Parker called the Centre and left a message on her assistant's voice mail. Migraine; she'd try to be in sometime early afternoon. "That buys us a few hours," she mumbled to Jarod just before she fell asleep wrapped in his arms.

It seemed like five minutes later that she woke to Jarod standing over the bed, holding two large glasses of juice and smiling.

She really fucking hated morning people. "I can't believe you went grocery shopping."

"You never have any food in the house, Parker." He handed her one of the glasses and, taking a sip from the other, climbed back into bed beside her. "A man does work up an appetite, and I can't live on coffee and week-old Chinese."

"Well, I do have performance standards. If you're weak, you can't meet them."

He grinned, a touch of self-satisfaction tinting the edges. "How am I doing?"

Oh, so smug. She pretended to think about it. "Hm. You're acceptable."

"Acceptable?" There was a hint of real concern mixed in.

God, men and their fragile egos. He had no idea, did he? "If I had any complaints, you'd have heard them by now, Jarod." She kicked him, hard enough to make him jump. "Insecurity doesn't suit you, genius boy."

He reached over with his free hand and took hers, lacing their fingers together. Their time together was so limited, and generally so occupied with planning or just the logistics of getting to the same place; it was rare to have time to just sit in the sunshine and talk about little mundane things like where Parker had gone for dinner a few nights earlier, or the book Jarod had read a couple of weeks ago that he thought she'd like.

They had so few ordinary moments. When Parker let herself think about that, it made her restless and uncomfortable. It hurt.

It had been nearly a year since Georgia, and amidst the constant stress and subterfuge something amazing had happened: two people who'd never had a chance in hell had found, together, a small measure of peace. It wasn't anything like either of them had expected. It was more. Even as the uncertainty ate away at her, even as they took greater and greater risks to be with each other, even as the nights alone grew longer and more difficult.

Eventually, the pleasant fantasy, the normal conversation had to come to an end. "How long do you think it's safe to stay?" She hated to ask, but she had to. She needed to know. She needed to be able to prepare herself.

"I don't know." Jarod set his glass down on the bedside table, then laid back down on his side, head propped in his hand. "I think I can leave tomorrow morning, and it should be all right. I can get work done today while you're gone, I think. And we can talk about some of the next-stage planning when you're home later."

"I may just play hooky entirely," Parker said smugly, stretching her arms out in front of her.

He grinned, his teeth almost as white as the pillowcase. "I like that idea."

"Of course, I'm not sure you'd be able to get anything done." She shook her head, pretending concern. "Hm. Maybe I should go in. I wouldn't want to distract you."

Jarod tried very hard to look innocent. "You? Distract me?" He raised his eyebrows. "And just how would you do that?"

She was pretty sure she still had a few things up her sleeve that would distract the living hell out of him-- but then, she could distract him with nothing more than the tip of her finger. "Well." She rolled onto her side, wriggling the length of her body closer. "I just might have to take advantage of you. Use you for my own personal satisfaction."

"I feel so cheap." His smile couldn't get much bigger, even as he tried to look serious.

"You're expensive. Don't worry." She dragged one fingernail up his thigh, pressing just a little harder than she had to, and he shuddered. "I like expensive."

"You like a lot of things."

"All at once, preferably." Parker rested her hand on his side, right at the little ridge between hip and torso. If someone had asked her to pick her favorite spot on Jarod's body, this spot would have been high on the list, though she couldn't have explained why.

Pretending to yawn, Parker scooted back, just a bit. "Oh, I should probably go in. It might be boring to stay home, anyway."

"So now I'm boring?" he murmured, and the glint in his eye told Parker exactly what was coming next. Whatever she might have offered in reply was muffled by his mouth on hers, stopped mid-word as he rolled her onto her back, straddling her, without breaking the kiss. When he finally did, they were both breathless. "If you're worried about being bored, I could tie you to the bedpost," he whispered against her ear.

"That's fine for me, but wouldn't you rather have my hands free?" Parker turned her head, catching Jarod's earlobe in her mouth, skimming her hands over his skin, down to his hips.

"Good point." His voice was raspy.

He kissed her again, his hands moving over her body, and Parker let herself get lost in the feel and taste and scent of him. He never seemed to tire of her; sometimes, in fact, she had to take over the situation to make sure it was a more even playing field. That was fun.

But so was this.

When the doorbell rang, it came at an especially inconvenient moment. With a groan, Parker glanced over at the clock on her nightstand. 9:30.

"Ignore it," Jarod murmured against her stomach. "Too early. Too busy." He slid his hands around, into the small of her back, pulling her toward him.

The doorbell rang again. "Oh, hell." Parker looked towards the bedroom door, trying to pull her mind away from Jarod's very distracting mouth.

"Do you have to get it?"

"It's just a salesman. Or a Jehovah's Witness, maybe."

"Your soul does need saving."

"Shut up." The doorbell rang again, accompanied by knocking. Whoever it was, they weren't going away.

Parker sighed and pushed against Jarod's shoulders. He rolled over, sprawling on his back and muttering something about interruptus. "I'll get rid of them. You..." she glanced around at Jarod, who looked pretty damn cranky. "You, stay here."

"Yes, ma'am," he called after her as she headed into the hallway, grabbing a robe on the way.

Tying the robe snugly around herself, she went to the door and squinted through the peephole.

Shit. It was Lyle.

Taking a deep breath-- and hoping that Jarod would do as he'd been told, for once in his life-- Parker opened the front door. "Hello, Lyle," she said, her voice a touch louder than it had to be. If you're listening, Jarod, stay back.

"Parker." Lyle smiled. He really had a nice smile for a cannibalistic serial killer. "May we come in?"

"We?"

Without waiting for her response, Lyle pushed open the door, and she had to catch at it to keep from falling. Three sweepers spilled into her house, immediately fanning out beyond the living room without waiting for so much as a nod of greeting or word of permission.

"What in the hell is this, Lyle?"

He ignored her question, walking into the living room and looking around like he belonged there. "How are you feeling?"

"I'm feeling like I'm going to fucking beat you into a pulp if you don't tell me what is going on." Parker grabbed Lyle's arm, swinging him around to face her. "Sweepers? In my house?"

"Someone saw a man near your house that looked like Jarod. When you called in this morning, we were worried." Lyle shrugged. "I was worried."

Parker couldn't tell whether he was lying or not. She rarely could with Lyle, and it made her crazy. "I'm fine. I've been home all night."

The first of the sweepers stuck his head back in from the kitchen. "All clear in here, sir."

"Good." Without looking back at her, Lyle walked towards the bedroom.

"Lyle, what the hell..."

"I want to make sure everything's all right." His voice was suspiciously even, and Parker realized that he must know, or must at least suspect something. Her brother wouldn't search her house if he didn't; he certainly wouldn't go into her bedroom.

She wanted to tell him to get the fuck out of her bedroom, to get out of her house. Please, let Jarod be gone. Parker tried to breathe deeply, to stay calm, but her heart was racing as she followed Lyle.

Nothing. The bedroom was empty. Only a single empty juice glass was out, lonely on the nightstand where she'd left it. The bed was rumpled on one side-- just as if one person had slept there. The window was open a crack, with a light breeze coming in. It looked like it looked most mornings.

In a rush, Parker understood why Jarod always washed up after cooking and put everything back where it belonged, right down to the last spoon. Why he never left books or papers lying around her house, but tucked them back into whatever bag he was carrying.

This was her home; in her mind, they were safe here; all they had to do was sweep for bugs, and all was well. Jarod knew otherwise. He'd always known.

The sight of Lyle opening her closet door startled her out of her thoughts. "What..."

"Someone could be hiding in your closet." Lyle didn't even bother to try to make his voice sound sincere, but stood in the closet doorway assessing the neatly hung clothes in front of him. "I don't think you have enough black suits, Parker." He reached out, lifting the sleeve of one of her blouses, letting the silk slide over his finger. "Now, this is nice. Silk looks good on you."

He should get his fucking hands off her clothes before she shot him. That would be nice, not to mention creep her out a lot less. "Unless you're planning on asking me for cross-dressing advice, Lyle, get the hell out of here. Now."

Lyle gave the sleeve one more stroke before stepping back. It was all Parker could do to stop from throwing up. Lyle looked at her, up and down, and it took everything in Parker to stand still when she wanted to rip his throat out and watch him drown in his own blood on her bedroom floor.

He wasn't worth it, she told herself, and her inner voice sounded convincing enough that she almost believed it.

Not getting a reaction, Lyle looked her up and down one more time, then went into the hallway to have a word with one of the sweepers.

Parker glanced at the open window, trying to push back the rage. It was a nice touch, and had certainly worked for the sweepers and Lyle-- freshening a room that smelled not just like her but like Jarod, like the two of them together. The fresh air didn't work for her, though. She could still smell him, could tell he'd been there even with the window open. But then, she'd be able to find him blindfolded in the midst of a hundred people.

The sweeper murmured one last thing to Lyle, then turned to go. Lyle sighed, then looked over at Parker. "All clear."

"Thank you," Parker replied, her voice laced with sarcasm. "I feel much safer now."

Lyle raised one eyebrow at her. "Relax. Take care of that headache."

Parker followed him back to the front door; the sweepers were already on the front drive, watching them. Parker leaned against the door frame. "Lyle?"

Her brother turned. "Yes?"

She smiled, and out of the corner of her eye caught one of the sweepers taking a step back at the sight. "The next time you want to search my house, you'd better be ready to use your fucking gun to try."

Without bothering to wait for a response, Parker backed into the house, slamming the front door. After a moment of steadying her hands against the wood, she slipped on the chain.

Leaning her back against the door, she took several deep breaths, willing her heart to stay inside her chest. With Lyle gone, the fear-- no, the sheer fucking terror she'd felt came rushing back. It had been close, too damn close. In her own house, just hours after an all-too-rare night with Jarod. And Lyle...

Pressing one hand to her mouth, she looked around her living room. It was quiet and cool. Empty. Jarod was gone, somewhere, and she was alone. They hadn't even had a chance to say goodbye.

Parker walked over to the sofa and flopped down, feeling like all the air had been let out of her.

This wasn't how it was supposed to be. But then, nothing about their relationship had ever been normal, from the moment of their carefully arranged meeting as children. They'd never had a chance at normal; now was no different. Normal wasn't an option. It would never be.

She was so. Damn. Tired.

Parker rubbed the back of her neck, trying to order her thoughts, make some sense out of this day, out of her life. What were the alternatives? She'd thought of a thousand, and none of them were acceptable.

A floorboard creaked, and Parker turned, her breath catching. It was Jarod, holding his juice glass, grinning from ear to ear. He was tiptoeing in an exaggerated fashion, and laid one finger across his mouth in the universal gesture for quiet. He was right; the sweepers had probably left new bugs in their wake.

Jarod looked like he thought this was all great fun.

Parker started to tell him that this wasn't funny-- but she couldn't, because someone might hear. She couldn't talk to Jarod in her own goddamn house. They couldn't sit on the back patio and drink iced tea in the middle of a steamy Delaware summer, watching fireflies dance in and out of her mother's rose bushes. They couldn't go to the movies, or take walks, or live any semblance of a normal life. After a night together, they could be greeted by her brother and a bunch of men with guns searching her house without permission.

She didn't realize that she was crying until a tear splotched down onto one hand, twisted into the folds of her robe. She stared down at the tear, fascinated, as another and then another joined it. Finally, she covered her face with her hands.

Years of practice meant that Parker made very little noise when she cried, but Jarod still clicked on the television and turned up the volume before getting to the sofa and wrapping his arms around her, half-pulling her into his lap. She cried against his chest, tears burning on her cheeks, her hands balled up like a child's and pushing against him as if the pressure would help.

He shouldn't have to see this, she thought with some detached part of her mind. He already had so much to worry about, to do; his life was far more difficult than hers, and he didn't need this. She fucking hated crying, but she couldn't stop.

"Shh. It's fine," he whispered against her hair. "Everything's fine." All she could do was shake her head, which wasn't easy to do when it was buried against his chest.

It seemed like forever before she was able to stop crying, and she wiped at her face with shaky hands. She was probably red and blotchy and didn't give a shit. Looking up at Jarod, she tried to smile; he pulled her closer and kissed her forehead. Which, of course, made the tears threaten to return.

Jarod put his mouth by her ear. "I'm going to go kill the bugs. Are you all right for a minute?"

She nodded, wiping her eyes with the sleeve of her robe. I'm fine, she mouthed, knowing it was a lie. Jarod knew it too, but he nodded and headed off.

The time it took Jarod to sweep for bugs gave Parker a chance to collect herself. He didn't need to deal with a stupid hysterical woman. Especially this stupid hysterical woman. She had been so careful to show Jarod that she was in control, able to handle this, able to balance the clandestine nature of their relationship and her job at the Centre. She'd worked so hard to keep her fear, her anger away from him-- he was already under such incredible stress. She hated putting any more of a burden on him. He didn't need to know what this was doing to her; it was hard for both of them.

By the time Jarod came back, Parker had-- mostly-- her composure back. "How many?" she asked, impressed despite herself at how calm she sounded.

"Three. They were busy-- I almost missed the one in the bathroom." Jarod deposited the handful of mangled metal on the coffee table and handed her several tissues before settling down on the couch, as close to her as he could get.

"I don't think you coming here is a good idea any more." She sounded good. She sounded sharp and serene, at least until she blew her nose. "Lyle suspects something."

"Yeah." He sighed. "You're probably right. I just hate to give it up."

Parker nodded. There was nowhere personal they could be now; Jarod had his hidey-holes, but she refused to know where they were. Just in case. Her entire fucking life was "just in case." "So. Where the hell were you?"

"About two feet from you and Lyle." He smiled at the look on her face. "In the back of your closet."

What was he talking about? "You weren't exactly standing behind the shoe tree, Jarod."

"I built a false back in your closet. There was space back there, under the eaves, and I thought it might come in handy." Jarod looked very pleased with himself. Clever Jarod. Problem-solving Jarod.

"So you suspected this might happen?"

"Not specifically today, but I knew it would happen eventually."

Parker leaned back, knuckles white around the tissues. "When were you going to mention this to me? This hiding place?"

"I was going to surprise you. Come out of the closet." Jarod was trying to be funny, but she could see the tension in his face. "I know that's a loaded phrase..."

"Jesus Christ." Parker threw the tissues down as she got up from the couch, pushing his arms away from her, wanting to run. Or hit something. "A false back to my closet. You built a false back." Pacing back and forth, she could hear the volume of her voice rising, and couldn't do a thing to stop it. "We are now living in fucking Nazi Germany that I have to have a false back in my closet so that you can hide there when my fucked-up brother shows up to search my goddamn fucking house. What the fuck is wrong with this picture, Jarod?"

"You know, you overuse the word 'fuck' when you're angry," Jarod said, his voice mild.

"Fuck you."

"See what I mean?"

Her steps halted and she whirled, considering throwing something at Jarod, but he'd come up behind her. He put his hands on her shoulders; they were solid and steady, and in the midst of her breathless fury they grounded her. Parker took a deep breath, trying to slow her heart rate, still not meeting his eyes. Breathe, Parker. You're not angry at him, or at his carpentry skills. Breathe.

Jarod's voice sounded like music. "It's all right."

"I'm sorry."

"I know."

"It's just..." She laughed, and there was more than an edge of hysteria there. "You had to build a false back in my closet. Does that strike you as ridiculous?"

"What's ridiculous is that I had to stay back there and listen to Lyle go through your clothes." Jarod tried to keep his hatred of Lyle under check around her, but every now and then it bled through, making his voice dark and ragged. He couldn't help it. "I wanted to kill him."

"You don't want me to tell you what I thought about doing to him. It would completely ruin your image of me."

"I doubt it." He squeezed her shoulders, just a little. "Come on. Sit down."

God, she still wanted to hit something. Badly. But she let Jarod lead her back to the couch. It was hard not to feel better with his arm around her shoulders.

It was several long minutes before Jarod sighed, rubbing one hand over his face. He looked exhausted, the planes of his face in sharp relief. "I'm sorry this happened. I'm sorry it threw you so much."

"I shouldn't have lost it like that."

"No. This isn't easy for either of us." He rested his cheek against her hair. "I hate that you have to live like this."

"Don't worry about me. I manage."

"I know you can. You just shouldn't have to. And if it bothers you, we need to talk about it."

"We don't need to talk everything to death, Jarod." She was being unnecessarily prickly, and she knew it. So did Jarod.

"No. But we need to talk about this."

She pressed her face into his t-shirt. Talking wouldn't fix a goddamn thing, but Jarod was Mister Verbal. Talk talk talk; he was always the one who wanted to have Deep Meaningful Conversations. But then, that's just who he was.

"If I was going to talk about it, what would I say?" She sat up, pulling away from Jarod even though she wanted to stay curled up next to him for at least another two days. "I can't say that any of this is a surprise, because it's not. I should have known. You knew, obviously." The words tumbled out of her, too fast for Jarod to get a word in even if he'd wanted to. "I should know better. I should know better than to think my house is safe." She gestured towards the front door. "I mean, Tommy died on the front porch. This isn't exactly a haven."

He was quiet, watching her with those enormous dark eyes, letting her talk.

"I just thought..." She had thought a lot of things; saying them in any kind of coherent fashion was the challenge. "I just thought that maybe we could have a few hours for ourselves every now and then, even here." Her laugh was short and bitter. "I should know better. I should know better than to think we have any fucking chance at normal."

He sighed. "No. We don't. We knew that from that first night, didn't we?"

"I think we've known it for longer that that," Parker said. Scooting to the end of the couch, she leaned against the armrest and drew up her feet. "I got born into it and you got kidnapped into it, but the result is exactly the same."

Jarod moved, angling next to her and pulling her legs over his lap. "So what now?" He was calm, and Parker nearly smiled as she realized he had moved into a counseling/headshrink Pretend mindset.

"I don't know. I know we're moving towards change, but we both know that will take time. And in the meantime..."

"In the meantime, your brother can still come through the front door with a pack of sweepers."

"We don't have control over anything. And we won't for years." Parker curled her toes against the fabric on the couch. "I hate this."

Even though she wasn't looking at him, she knew his eyes were searching her face, looking for clues. Signs. "How much do you hate it?"

"A lot," Parker said, looking back up at him and, for once, not hiding any of her anger or her fear. "A lot."

"Do you..." Jarod was so rarely at a loss for words, but she could see him struggling now. He was trying his best to stay calm, but just the set of his shoulders told her what this must be costing him. "Should we take a break? From each other, I mean?"

God, if she were good, if she were selfless, she'd say "yes." She'd tell him she was tired of sneaking around, that she was scared, that this was killing her. He had a chance at a life without her-- he could go to ground, far from the Centre and Lyle and Raines. And her.

He'd have a chance to build something of his own. He could be safe.

"I should say yes."

He looked stricken, lost. "Why do you think you should..."

"Because we're still trapped, Jarod. We're just trapped in a different way." Oh, shit, she was crying again; hormones had to be playing a part, because this was not like her. "That first morning in Georgia, you said you could disappear if you wanted to. We both know you could. But with me in the picture, you don't." Finding one of the damp, rumpled tissues, she wiped at her eyes. "You don't have a chance at a life as long as you're... tied to me. You know that."

"And what kind of life would I have?" he asked, his voice harsh. When he cupped her chin, tilting it up, his fingers were a touch firmer than they really needed to be. "Look at me, Parker."

Unwillingly, she met his eyes.

"Of course I could disappear. I could go so far underground I'd never be found. But that's not a life. That's not my life." He looked around them-- at the living room, back at her. "This is my life. With you."

"Where we barely get to see each other? Where my brother would shoot you without stopping to think about it? Where we meet up in sleazy motels for a few hours at a time?" She shook her head, tossing the tissue in the general direction of the coffee table. "Hell of a life you have here, Jarod."

"No." His hand went to her shoulder, and the grip was almost painful. "It's not how it should be." Jarod leaned forward, his lips barely skimming her cheekbone, and she closed her eyes against all the ways that made her feel. "But this is more than I ever thought I'd have, Parker. Don't you know that?"

He was an idiot, but Parker couldn't stop the rush of happiness at his words. Swallowing hard, she tried to remember that she needed to be the practical one in this relationship.

"So this is it. This is how we're supposed to live the rest of our lives?"

He went very still, and it was several moments before he replied. Later, Parker would realize that it was the first time she had mentioned anything farther out than the next time they'd meet. They talked a lot about long-term strategies having to do with bringing down the Centre, but when it came to their relationship, whatever it was, she had kept it carefully short-term.

"No." He reached over, tucking a strand of hair back behind her ear. "Someday, we're going to find a way into something better than this. But..." His eyes dropped from hers; he always looked like the shy twelve-year-old he'd once been whenever he went into deeply personal territory. "Right now, I'll take this. The alternative is life without you, and I'm not willing to live like that." They were quiet for a moment before he spoke again. "Are you?"

She didn't answer, but turned so that she rested her head against him. They stayed like that for a long time, her head buried in the curve of his neck, his arms holding her tight against him. When Parker finally moved, it was reluctantly, and she sat back with a sigh.

"Well. I can tell you one thing," she said, slamming one hand down on the couch with a decisive thump. "I am not going in to work today."

Jarod stared at her, open-mouthed, for a long moment before he started laughing.

***

They had what could pass for a normal day, for them. The blinds stayed closed, the curtains tightly drawn while Jarod worked. Parker did some research, reviewed papers, wandered around the house, but mostly watched Jarod when he wasn't aware of it. She liked watching him work. He looked as if he were playing the piano, sometimes, rather than typing on a laptop.

In the early afternoon, Jarod came looking for her and found her sitting on the side of her bed, staring at the closet; the door was open, and she'd pulled out the shoe racks. He sat down next to her.

"I couldn't figure out how to close the door," she said matter-of-factly. "I got it open, but couldn't get it to shut."

"You press the button three times."

"There's a button mounted inside, too?"

Jarod nodded, and they were both quiet for several minutes, just looking at the small dark opening on her back closet wall.

Finally, Parker sighed. "I wanted to see it."

"It's not the Ritz."

"No."

Her hands were resting on her knees. When he reached over to cover one of them with one of his, she didn't move.

***

He was going to have to leave that night; they both knew it. He had to take advantage of the cover of darkness, and couldn't risk another day here.

Midafternoon, he made tomato soup and grilled cheese, his Nick at Nite-inspired idea of comfort food. Parker wasn't hungry, but ate anyway; he worried less when she did so. Afterwards, she cleaned up. He had things to do, and the busy work was good for her. She washed and dried every utensil, every dish, every pan, and carefully hung the dish towel over the side of the sink to dry when she was done. There was, as usual, no sign that they'd shared a meal.

Parker stayed in the kitchen longer than she needed to. When she went back into the living room, Jarod was working on the sofa, frowning at the laptop screen.

"You look intense," she remarked.

"Just trying to figure out the China investment plan," he said, not taking his eyes away from the screen.

Parker stood a little ways from the sofa, watching him. The light from the laptop screen threw his face into sharp relief, highlighting his tired eyes. Highlighting the lines. When had they formed on his face? She reached up, touching her own face, knowing that he wasn't the only one aging. How much time did they have, really? Enough time to save the world?

Jarod, finally realizing she was staring, looked up. "You okay?"

She nodded, and when he patted the cushion next to him, she joined him on the sofa. Looping one arm over her shoulders, he pulled her close, and continued working with his free hand.

Squinting at the screen, she smiled. "Showoff."

"Hm?"

"You don't have to write the whole thing in Chinese."

"I am customizing this for the audience."

"Like I said. Showoff."

Parker watched him work for several more minutes, then reached forward and, sliding her fingers on the touchpad, hit "save" on the spreadsheet and shut the laptop down.

"What…"

Carefully, she set the laptop on the coffee table. "What time do you think you should leave?" she asked, her tone light as she turned back towards him.

"After midnight, probably." His head was tilted, and he was clearly trying to figure out what she was doing. It was good that she could still surprise him.

Parker took his hand, weaving their fingers together. "You can work on China any time-- their labor rates aren't going to go up any time soon." Leaning forward, she rested her cheek against his. "Come on."

The sun was setting, glowing through the bedroom curtains as they undressed. Parker sat on the edge of the bed, watching as Jarod carefully folded his clothes, setting them on the chair. Neat. Readily accessible.

When Jarod climbed into bed, she reached for him and he took her in his arms, pulling her close. Skin warm on skin, they stayed like that for several long breaths.

"I promise I'll tell you if I build any more secret rooms," he said, his face buried in her hair.

She nodded, her cheek against his chest, glad he couldn't see her face.

"And you promise to talk about things with me, and not let them build up?"

Sure. She could talk to him if she knew where he was, or if they had a secure line, or if they ever had five fucking minutes together. "Repressing emotions is my birthright, Jarod. It's what we WASPs do, you know."

She loved the way laughter rumbled in his chest. "At least promise you'll try."

"I can do that."

His hand stroked down her back once, then again. His touch was fire on her skin, but she hated to let him go. They could talk all day, and it could only come to this: he was all she had, and she couldn't give him up.

In the fading light, they made love like they'd never touched before and never would again; it was always this way just before he left, with a faint edge of dread tinting every touch. Just like always, Parker pushed away the worry and let herself get lost in him.

As he worked his way down, all she could do was grab helplessly at the sheets.

"Oh, god. Jarod."

He hummed against her and she nearly levitated off the bed; she wanted to tell him it was too much, but all that came out was a moan that sounded an awful lot like "more."

God, she always wished she could remember details later, to keep her warm when she was alone. She never could; everything blurred. Jarod's mouth on her, Jarod inside her, the feel and smell and taste of him.

She had waited her entire life for this, it seemed. They both had. It wasn't enough. It couldn't be, until they could find a way out of the Centre's ties.

But until then, his touch, his face as he gasped out her name-- these things would have to do.

***

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