Timeline-wise, this story takes place approximately thirty years after the events of "The Inner Sense;" the movies
never happened. It's rated PG-13 for some mild language.

The poetry at the beginning and end of this story was written in 1915 by Anna Akhmatova, from "White Flock."

Many thanks to Karen for the beta.

I didn't create and don't own these characters or the premise of the show; I'm just borrowing them for a little bit. 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. Archive links to this page are welcome.

Feedback, as always, is received with great joy at kirbyfest@yahoo.com.

***

The evening light is ripe and clear,
The touch of April's cool caressing.
You are late to come by many a year,
But still to me you come a blessing.

***

Afternoons were cold in Maine, even with summer on the way, and Parker drew her sweater more closely around her as she walked. Even with the chill, it was a gorgeous afternoon, and for once the doctor-mandated walk didn't feel like some kind of punishment.

Her goal was the little park overlooking the ocean, just past the town square. Once, this trip would have been just a warmup for real exercise; she'd have taken it at a run and would have barely broken a sweat. But things changed with time, and now she would be happy just to reach the park and sit down.

Parker nodded at a few people she knew in town, glad that none of them wanted to talk, and rounded a corner. The park was in front of her, where she could sit and listen to the ocean. It was one of the few places she could truly relax for a moment or two.

Unfortunately, today there was someone sitting on her bench. Goddamnit. Parker pushed back a wave of irritation. She could always sit somewhere else-- there were six benches in the park, after all, but that one had the best view of the ocean and was removed enough from the bike path that there was some peace.

Slowing down, taking deep breaths, she headed towards a different bench, casting one last resentful glance at her normal perch... and paused.

The old man on the bench looked familiar, but it wasn't anyone from town that she recognized. There was just something about the slant of his shoulders, the curve of his jaw that rang a bell, far down in her memory. Ah, hell. Who was she kidding? Her memory wasn't worth crap. She'd been here ten years now, and she still couldn't remember the name of her across-the-street neighbor.

Settling onto the alternate bench, Parker sighed (acknowledging the lesser quality of the view from this location) and opened her bottle of water, wishing it was coffee. Decaf tasted like shit, and since regular coffee was no longer allowed she'd given it up entirely.

She allowed herself a fourth of the bottle, and was recapping it when she saw the interloper stand. Good. She could head over there-- except that he was headed over here. The sun was behind him, shining through his silver hair. She couldn't see his face, but damn, something about him still looked familiar; the shape of him, his height slightly touched with the stooped shoulders of age.

Parker froze.

The man was only a few feet away from her now, and he moved to one side so that the sun no longer shone behind him.

"Miss Parker."

The voice was rougher, and he had nearly as many lines on his face as she had on hers. He was thinner, though still a few years away from frail. But his eyes-- those were the same. Just the same, dark and expressive, with that spark she'd recognize anywhere, taking her in just as she did him.

"Jarod."

"I'm surprised you remember."

She laughed, and was relieved that she didn't sound as shaky as she felt. "Give me some credit."

Jarod smiled-- and that, too, was the same. "I've always given you plenty of credit." He gestured towards the bench. "May I sit down?"

"Of course."

He sat, using far more care than he'd had to use the last time she saw him. Things had certainly changed. They'd given up on Jarod... what? Thirty years ago? After the train exploded, after finding the charred body of the half-brother she never knew, and bits of another body with just enough DNA material to match Jarod's records.

She'd grieved for them. Both of them, and the depth of the loss she'd felt had surprised her.

It was a long time before he spoke. "You look well," Jarod said finally, shifting his body to face her.

She waved a hand at him, dismissing his words. "I look old. So do you."

"I never thought I'd get the chance to grow old," Jarod said with a shrug. "It's better than the alternative."

"Not everyone got the chance." Parker tilted her head. "Ethan? Did he really die in the explosion?"

"Yes." There was still grief left in Jarod, after all these years, and Parker was oddly glad she wasn't the only one who mourned those long dead. "He died instantly."

"I wish we'd been able to know him," Parker said, her voice soft. "I'd have liked that."

Jarod bowed his head, acknowledging her words, and they were quiet again. A man accompanied by a massive black dog walked past them, raising a hand to Parker in a greeting that she returned.

This time, she was the one who broke the silence. "How is your family?"

"My father's gone, of course. Emily's well. She's a grandmother now." He half-smiled. "Time flies."

"Your mother?" As soon as Parker asked the question, she knew the answer-- it was written all over his face. Someone else that Jarod still grieved for. "You never found her?"

"Not alive."

She recognized the pain in those words; it was still all too familiar, even though her mother had died half a century ago. "I'm sorry."

"I had my father, at least. And Emily," Jarod said, his voice lighter. "And family's not all about blood. It took me too long to realize that."

Parker glanced over at Jarod's left hand and saw the thin band of gold glinting in the sunlight. His eyes followed hers.

"Suzanne."

"She must be very special."

"She was." Jarod glanced out at the water. "She died four years ago."

"I'm sorry." She was having to say that a lot today. "Do you have children?"

"No. Suzanne had two from her first marriage, so we focused on them. I didn't think..." He looked back at her, and the wounded teenage boy he'd been almost fifty years ago was so clearly superimposed on his face that Parker flinched. "I didn't think it was fair to pass my 'gift' to another generation. It's not much of a legacy."

Jesus. The Centre had destroyed both their lives, in a hundred different ways. A thousand. It had left a dark smudge deep inside them before they were old enough to fight it.

"You never married." Jarod wasn't asking her a question.

"You kept tabs on me?" Parker asked, startled.

Jarod smiled. "Why are you surprised? I kept tabs on you, on Sydney, on Raines-- on everyone who might figure out I was still alive."

Of course he had. His life had been at stake. "So you know what happened to everyone, then."

He moved a little closer, his eyes fixed on hers. "I know the major things, but I couldn't get near enough to know the details."

She didn't want to tell Jarod the details. The details were what hurt, what haunted her nights. Details about life, about death, about all the losses that were inevitable for anyone involved with the Centre. No, she hadn't married. There had been men. But the Centre had been her real spouse, the demanding partner that snapped apart the fragile strands of the rest of her life whenever they threatened to grow too strong. There wasn't a man alive who could compete with it.

He didn't want to know the details. Could she tell him about Sydney? About how he'd shut down after they found Jarod's body? He'd worked out the rest of his life with barely enough emotion to keep his heart beating. He'd come alive every so often when he saw Nicholas, and eventually his grandchildren, but Parker knew he'd already lost the son that mattered most to him.

Family, to Sydney, had nothing to do with blood and everything to do with love.

Jarod was watching her closely, and she wondered if he could read her well enough to understand what was going through her mind. Probably not. He'd never been especially good at reading her, despite his Pretender skills-- he'd had trouble interpreting the motives of anyone he'd been too close to.

Parker cleared her throat. "Details... I don't think you want to hear them, Jarod."

"I do," he said simply. "But only when you're ready to share them."

She didn't think they had enough time left on this earth for her to be ready to share.

"Why are you here, Jarod?" Was he here to gloat, to remind her that she'd dedicated her life to an organization that had never gone back to doing good, no matter how hard she'd tried? That she was nearly 70 years old, alone, with no family and barely a handful of people to care if she lived or died?

"Neither one of us is going to last forever." The wind off the ocean blew his hair slightly, the silver glinting. "I didn't think it was fair that I knew your side of the story, and you didn't know the truth about me."

She smiled, but it was bitter in the sunlight. "It wasn't much of a story for you to know."

"You did some good."

"Not enough." Never enough, never enough to make up for the deaths, for the children taken from their homes. No matter what she'd done, no matter how many hours she'd worked, it had never been enough.

He met her eyes. "Neither one of us did enough." She heard it in his voice, saw it in every line of his face-- that same pain, that same regret for what had been done by the Centre in their name. They hadn't had a choice in the matter, but that didn't make much of a difference.

Neither of them had ever been able to make up for what had been done to them, or for what they had done to others. It was their shared burden, even at the end of their lives linking them in a way they'd never been linked to anyone else, and something in the gaze between them acknowledged that.

Finally, Parker looked away. "Well, we survived. That's something."

Jarod nodded. "It is." He turned away from her on the bench, settling against the back. "Nice view. I can understand why you retired here."

"I was too used to the Northeast to go anywhere else." Parker tucked a strand of hair behind one ear. "I don't think I'd have done well in Florida."

"I don't think you would have, either," Jarod chuckled. "I headed west."

"Smart. Get as far from the Centre as you could?"

"Exactly."

The wind picked up a bit, bringing with it the salty smell of the ocean, and both Jarod and Parker instinctively lifted their faces to meet the scent, faces warming in the sun.

Parker hadn't known much peace in her life. She'd come to terms years ago with what her life had been, but that wasn't peace. Now, though, looking out at the ocean with Jarod next to her-- well, that was probably as close to peace as this old lady was likely to get.

He'd leave, eventually, and go back to his life. She'd go back to hers.

But not just yet.

***

Forgive my having done much grieving
And found small joy in skies of blue.
Forgive, forgive me for believing
Too many others to be you.

***

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