This story is set after the season three finale, "Donoterase," and is an (enormous!) alternative to the way the show continued. It's been on my hard drive, unfinished, since shortly after the episode aired, but the missing pieces only just got filled in.

Rated PG-13 for adult language. While I don't like (and won't use) headers that give away specific plot details, I will say that this is not a happy story. Please consider yourself warned.

The title comes from Sarah MacLachlan's song "Full of Grace," from "Surfacing."

Many thanks to Kelly and Karen, who are far better beta readers (and friends) than I deserve. Thanks, y'all, for your patience and your honesty. And Karen, I promise the next story will meet your criteria. ;)

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

Feedback is yummy-est; you can send it to kirbyfest@yahoo.com.

***

"I want to go home."

Miss Parker didn't give a shit if she did sound like a five year old. She was tired of being in the Centre infirmary. Tired of the expressionless nurses and doctors. Tired of not being allowed to have non- family visitors and of being told nothing by anyone, not even her father, who was looking at her at that moment with that familiar mixture of stress, annoyance and concern on his face. At least she hoped there was concern there; it was entirely possible there was nothing but stress and annoyance.

"Angel..."

"Don't 'Angel' me, Daddy." She used one arm to hitch herself up a little higher in the hospital bed, noting with relief that the pain was down to a very dull roar. God bless pain medication. "I'm feeling fine. There's no reason to keep me here."

"The doctors want you to stay just a few more days." They both knew this was a lie; Raines probably wanted Miss Parker under in-house surveillance. "We all want to make sure you're completely recovered."

Don't give in too easily, Parker, or they'll know what you're really aiming for. "I can finish recovering at home." She buried her face in her hands, aware that this was a performance being viewed certainly by Raines, and probably by at least a few others. It needed to be Oscar-worthy; fortunately, she had a lifetime of practice. "I'm going to go stir crazy if I stay in here," she murmured, trying to inject the right plaintive note into her voice. When she lifted her face, her eyes were sparkling with tears. "Please, Daddy."

Her father studied her. Parker could almost see him running different options through his mind, and mentally she crossed her fingers. He finally leaned down and kissed the top of her head. "Let's see about getting you some visitors. That should brighten things up, hmm?"

As her father left, Miss Parker let out a deep breath. If the ever-present camera hadn't been somewhere in the room, she'd have allowed herself to smile.

She hadn't expected to be let out yet. But visitors-- Sydney, Broots-- could give her at least some of the answers, finally, to the questions that had been plaguing her ever since she'd struggled out of her anaesthesia-induced fog.

***

It was another two days before any visitors were actually allowed in. Days were endless in the infirmary. There was only so much daytime television that anyone could stand without going insane, and Miss Parker had never been the soap opera type. It had almost been better when she was still druggy from the surgery-- at least then she'd slept most of the time.

The gentle knock on the door came just after Miss Parker had turned the television off in exasperation. "What?" she snapped, expecting yet another stone-faced attendant brandishing a needle.

Instead, an enormous bouquet of flowers poked in, closely followed by Sydney and Broots, who was looking marginally less nervous than usual. She sat up, a real smile coming to her lips for the first time since she'd woken up down here.

"Miss Parker!" Sydney came forward to clasp her outstretched hand as Broots set the flowers carefully down on the bedside table. "It is good to see you looking so well."

"We were pretty worried there, Miss Parker," Broots added. He touched her arm briefly, tentatively, before pulling away and glancing at his watch.

"Well, I'm back among the living." She examined the faces in front of her, re-committing them to her memory. Broots looked like Broots always had. Sydney, on the other hand-- Miss Parker felt a flash of concern as she realized how hollow his face had become, how shadowed his eyes were. My God. What had been going on while she'd been trapped in this damn bed?

Broots pulled an envelope out from behind the flowers. "This is from Debbie," he said nervously, watching as Miss Parker opened the envelope to reveal a brightly colored construction paper card, trailing glitter. "She insisted."

Miss Parker read the message inside, then glanced up at Broots with a smile. "Please tell her thank you. It's beautiful." Her eyes narrowed as she caught Broots glancing at his watch. Again. "In a rush, Broots?" she asked, ignoring a pang of hurt. He just couldn't wait to get away from her, apparently.

"Shh." Broots shook his head. "Hang on." His eyes were glued to the watch for another few seconds, and then he breathed a sigh of relief. "We're clear."

"What?"

"Angelo has disabled the camera in your room for us," Sydney explained, watching as Broots went over to the door and made sure it was closed. "We have about ten minutes of relative privacy."

"Unless someone barges in," muttered Broots.

Sydney leaned against the foot of her bed. "We thought you'd have questions."

"You were right." They only had a few minutes, but Miss Parker knew what they had gone through to get her even that. "Thank you."

Sydney nodded. Broots just hunched his shoulders and glanced nervously at the door, but his cheeks flushed.

When she spoke again, all sentiment was gone from her voice. "What's happened?"

"Tell me what you remember, Miss Parker."

She frowned, digging back through the fuzzy memories she'd had weeks to dissect but that still didn't entirely make sense. "I remember going to the air strip. Raines was going to kill Daddy. Jarod was there, with his father and the boy..." She shuddered, slightly; the memory of that child and how he'd been brought into the world still disturbed her. "And there was a helicopter. After that, it's pretty much a blank." Miss Parker waved one hand at her torso. "Other than the obvious fact that I was shot, and have been stuck down here like a goddamned prisoner for weeks."

Broots and Sydney exchanged glances. "So you don't remember anything else?" Sydney asked gently. She shook her head.

"Major Charles escaped with the boy." Sydney rubbed one hand along his forehead, and Miss Parker realized that the hand wasn't entirely steady.

"And Jarod?" she demanded. "Did he go with them?"

Sydney looked away from her, and Broots stepped in. "No. I guess..." Broots paused. "I guess he saw you get shot. Then he distracted the sweepers so his father could get away."

"Where is Jarod now?" Miss Parker asked, that sick feeling getting worse as she realized what the answer would be. "Where?"

"He's here, at the Centre." The simple words-- the words that technically described what Miss Parker's goal had been for the last several years of her life-- hit her like a punch in the stomach, and she realized why Sydney looked like death warmed over.

"Why the hell didn't he go with his father?" she demanded, trying to understand the logic behind what had happened.

"Well, he wanted his father and the child to get away, and Jarod was able to divert attention from their plane." Broots didn't seem to be able to find anything to do with his hands; they hovered in front of him like they were searching for a nonexistent keyboard. "They caught him and brought him back."

"They allowed Jarod to give you medical care on the flight back here." Sydney finally rejoined the conversation.

"They?"

"Actually, your father. He didn't give them a choice. Neither did Jarod. You would have died, Miss Parker," Sydney said quietly.

She fought back the sick feeling in her stomach. "You were there, Sydney."

"I'm not exactly a trauma surgeon," he reminded her with the ghost of a smile.

"Neither is Jarod." Broots laughed, then silenced as he saw no one else in the room was finding anything especially funny right then.

"Raines?"

"Doesn't seem to have paid a penalty for ordering your father's execution," Sydney remarked wryly. "From what I understand there were some Triumvirate meetings, but everything seems to be status quo. Just another day of doing business at the Centre."

Miss Parker leaned back, trying to take it all in. Jarod had lost his chance to get away. The boy was free, though who knew how many other Frankenstein monsters the Centre would create.

When she spoke again, her voice was low and steady. "What are they doing to him?"

"The usual tests. I'm not being allowed to participate, though in the beginning they allowed me to watch the DSAs after the fact." The pain in his voice was raw and tangible, and Parker saw Broots look away from Sydney. "Lyle's involved, and Jarod is not cooperating. They no longer let me watch DSAs."

"They've had to restrain him," Broots added, head ducked.

"Drugs," murmured Miss Parker, knowing how the Centre worked. "They're using drugs on him, too." He'd certainly be able to escape, otherwise.

Sydney didn't say anything. He didn't have to.

Broots gestured towards his watch. "Time's almost up."

"We should be in the middle of a conversation when the camera comes back on," Miss Parker said suddenly, sharply.

And they were.

***

She knew what she had to do. Step one was get out of here and accelerate her recovery; lying in bed didn't do anyone any good. It certainly didn't help her-- she felt like a caged animal. Her physical therapist even commented approvingly on her increased activity level. She didn't tell him that it hurt like hell. As long as her stitches didn't rip open, she didn't give a damn.

Even with the extra work, it took her a while to reach her real objective. She wasn't at full capacity, and even she knew it. But after two weeks out of the infirmary, back in her office working on all kinds of exciting non-Jarod projects (she knew perfectly well the only reason they hadn't sent her back to Corporate was because her father didn't want her going anywhere just yet), she was ready. She just needed a little help.

If Angelo hadn't come to her, she would have sought him out.

***

She put her hand against the cold steel of the door. Although she'd given up an incredible number of favors for this, risked Angelo's life, bartered and threatened and stolen to get to this point without interference, she was suddenly afraid to go inside. What would she see? Worse, what could she feel?

Parker had never been one to give in to fear, though, and she wasn't about to start wasting precious time on it now. She glanced at her watch one last time, touched her pocket to reconfirm what she'd checked a dozen times, and then with a steady hand punched in the stolen access code. It was memorized, the scrap of paper it had been scribbled on long since destroyed. Part of the code was her mother’s month and day of birth; another coincidence.

The light on the keypad stayed red for one terrifying instant, then blinked to green. Parker heard the latches on the door click open, one by one, metal rolling out of metal and allowing the door to swing slowly open. She stepped through the doorway into the dark room and the door slid shut behind her-- fortunately, she didn't hear the latches lock again. She should be safe, at least for a short while.

The room was almost completely silent, with the faint hum of machines the only sound disturbing the silence. No camera was contributing to that noise; thanks to Angelo she had at least fifteen minutes camera-free. She had no such guarantees on the door locks.

There was very little light, and it took her eyes a long moment to adjust to the shadows, to orient herself to the room. It wasn't much bigger than a large walk-in closet. Standing just inside the door, Parker was only a few feet away from the table to which they had Jarod strapped.

She'd known how he was being kept. Sydney had told her as much as he was able-- his voice, his hands shaking badly the entire time. But hearing about it hadn't been adequate preparation for seeing Jarod strapped flat to the bed in front of her. He was dressed in shapeless white scrubs, his face turned away from the door. If it hadn't been for the silent monitors on one side displaying his heartbeats in crisp green lines, she wouldn’t have known if Jarod was dead or alive.

Parker was frozen by the sight, fighting back nausea, when he spoke.

"Miss Parker." Jarod’s voice was faint and scratchy, and it sounded like it had taken all his strength just to speak her name.

His voice snapped her out of immobility. In a few steps she was at the side of his bed, her breath catching at the twinge that flashed through her at the rapid movement. She should know better, but she kept forgetting that her body wasn't yet quite as sharp as her mind. "Jarod…"

"Are you all right?" he interrupted her. He turned his head towards her, and though his eyes were still shut (how had he known it was her?), now that she was next to him Miss Parker could see in the greenish light from the monitors how thin his face was, the new lines that were drawn there. Up close, she could also see that Jarod's body beneath the scrubs was so lean that it was almost emaciated. His skin was patterned with dark, ugly bruises around the IV needle-- and not just around the needle. There were bruises all over his arms, on his neck, even a few on his face. Some bruises were new, some were old and fading.

Oh, God.

"I'm fine." She wanted to touch his arm, for some reason, but the restraints and the bruises made her hesitate. He looked so fragile, so frail-- things she would never have thought Jarod could possibly be.

"Not quite." He opened his eyes, and she wished she could see the expression in them. "There's still some pain. I heard you."

He was still too damn aware. "At least I'm alive. I understand you had something to do with that."

Jarod's mouth twisted. "They caught me. I wasn't going to sit on the plane while you bled to death on the way to the Centre."

"Why didn't you leave with your father and the boy?" The child was a victim of this place, perhaps more than any of them. At least he was out.

"Had to distract Raines-- let them get away. He has a chance at a life, and a father now." The ghost of a smile crossed Jarod's face. "I'm a lost cause. He's not."

The hollow, hopeless tone in his voice made her angry, suddenly. "Bullshit."

"What, that I'm a lost cause?" His fingers moved, and Parker knew that if his arms hadn't been restrained he would have been gesturing around the room, reminding her of the surroundings. "Here I am. I'm not optimistic at the moment, Miss Parker."

"I'm surprised you haven't escaped."

"They were smart this time, thanks to your brother." He did something with one hand, the hand closest to her, and suddenly it was out of the restraint. "This is about as far as I can get before someone comes in and sticks another needle into me." Jarod's unrestrained hand fell limply onto his chest, and it took him a moment to work up the strength to speak again. "Now, they don't need to watch me so closely. Even if I could get out of all the restraints, it wouldn't do any good."

"You're too weak to get anywhere," Parker murmured, finally understanding. They'd drugged the shit out of Jarod from the moment he got back, eliminating the escape risk but effectively making Jarod's mind completely useless.

And Jarod's mind was what the Centre had always said they wanted.

Parker didn't think it was possible for her to feel any more sick than she already felt, but there was a shadow on the edge of her consciousness. She was about to figure out what it was, and she wasn't going to like it. Not one bit.

"Didn't they try to..."

"Get me to run sims?" Jarod sighed. "No. They made a show of trying once or twice, early on, but I think that was mostly to keep Sydney quiet until they'd done some damage. Between my lack of cooperation and the drugs I wasn't much use, anyway. Now, they keep me alive so that Lyle can play torture games with me." Jarod was so weak that she heard only a faint echo of hatred in his voice when he spoke her brother's name. "They've written me off, Miss Parker."

"They wrote you off the moment you were captured," she whispered, almost more to herself than to him. "They didn't want you out there as a risk factor. They never expected you to be cooperative when you came back."

"What did you think they'd do if they caught me? Throw a party?"

"I didn't think about it," Parker admitted, knowing how senseless that sounded.

Jarod closed his eyes. "Now you know."

The force of the knowledge hit her, leaving her breathless and decimated.

The tiny pager attached to her belt let out a soft chime, and Parker jumped at the sound. Jarod just opened his eyes. "Your free time's almost up, Miss Parker. You'd better get out of here while you can."

The air going in and out of her lungs hurt, scalded, and she couldn't think of anything to say. What could she say, anyway? She'd thought, maybe...

Whatever she'd thought, whatever she'd hoped, there was nothing she could do for this man. She couldn't help him escape; between the physical difficulties and the security that her scheming had only pushed back-- not gotten rid of-- there wasn't a chance in hell of success.

Looking at him, Parker wasn't sure Jarod would survive for long, even if by some miracle she could get him out of here. In the greenish light, she imagined she could see the bones through his skin, and she shivered.

There was nothing she could say, and almost nothing she could do. She was half-turning away from him, trying to decide what to do, when she heard Jarod's whispered voice.

"Why did you come down here?"

Parker stopped, staring at the exit door. The light was still green. Turning back, she stared at Jarod's shadowed face. She had minutes-- no, seconds. She had to get out of here, go back upstairs where there was sunlight and warm air...

She let out a sigh that felt like it came from the bottom of her soul.

"I'm here because you saved my life," she said softly, turning back toward him. "I'm here because I never wanted you to end up like this. I'm here because Sydney loves you. And I'm here because you were my friend."

With one swift movement, she pulled a tiny packet out of her pocket and slipped it into Jarod's hand, the hand that was still free of restraints. Shivering at the chill of his dry skin, she grasped his hand for one brief moment, then pulled away before she could find it too damn hard to let go.

A few short steps, and she was at the door of the room-- the light was still green, mercifully, but she was pushing it. She'd been pushing it for two minutes, at least, and at the Centre two minutes was an eternity.

But she paused at the door anyway, though she didn't look back.

"Goodbye, Jarod," she whispered.

***

Back in her office, Parker pulled out a bottle of liquor-- vodka? Gin? Whatever it was, she didn't care; it just served to wash down two Percocet. They'd help take the edge off. Maybe they'd help her feel less like her insides had been put through a food processor, less like she was on the edge of screaming until she had no voice left.

The alcohol burned going down her throat. The pills stopped somewhere on the way down, hard and painful. It took most of the liquid in the glass to dislodge them, but the bitter aftertaste lingered in her mouth.

Parker stowed the bottle back in the drawer, downing the last swallow from the glass before leaving it on the console table and returning to her desk. Sitting down, she carefully arranged herself in the chair. Centering herself in front of the desk, she smoothed her skirt, crossed her ankles, and folded her hands precisely in front of her like a Catholic schoolgirl at morning prayers.

Unmoving, she waited for the telephone to ring.

***

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