This story doesn't really fit into canon, but if you place it after "Wake Up" it's workable. It's rated NC-17 for language and sex. The sex isn't entirely explicit, and might truly be more worth an R rating, but I'd rather be cautious. If you're under 17, best look elsewhere.

None of these characters belong to me. If they did, there would be a heck of a lot more B plot and buckets of nookie. This story is for entertainment purposes only, and no infringement is intended. Feel free to distribute this electronically with all comments and disclaimers in place and without revision. Please do not reproduce in print without my permission. Please do not archive; archive links are welcome.

Thanks to Kelly, as always, for beta-reading, for being incredibly patient, and for supporting the wonderful tradition of Wednesday Porn Days. Karen's comments were also muchly appreciated.

Feedback encouraged and always, always welcome at kirbyfest@yahoo.com.

***

Time marched on. Miss Parker hated that. It should stop, somehow, when you lost someone that mattered to you.

But time didn't stop. Thomas was still dead. She still worked at the Centre, where no one especially cared that she'd found her lover shot on her porch; if they couldn't frame her for the murder, they just wanted to make sure she showed up and continued to track down everyone's favorite genius.

So Parker met their expectations. She came to work, she participated in meetings, she pretended to care when Broots said he'd gotten a lead on Jarod. Miss Parker didn't bother to tell Broots that Jarod had been pretty damn near Blue Cove just a week ago.

It didn't seem to matter at the moment.

She'd taken the gift that Jarod had left at the cemetery and put it away in her closet, along with the portrait Jarod had painted of her as a child. Thomas had never commented on the portrait. Maybe he hadn't even noticed it tucked in the back, face to the wall. Some things hurt too much to look at every day. Some things were better kept out of sight. Tuck them away, Parker, where they don't
remind you of what you can't have.

She was making a halfhearted attempt to read another endless report from the accounting department when Sydney knocked softly on her office door. "Miss Parker?"

"Yes?" Her voice was as dull and flat as her eyes. She just wasn't in the mood to snap at him.

He came into her office, and she could see him taking in the nearly empty desk. "Have you absorbed even one word from that report?"

"Probably not, since it's all numbers." She leaned back in her chair and ran one hand through her hair, not really caring if she disturbed the carefully sprayed style. "What can I do for you, Sydney?"

He sat down carefully in the chair in front of her desk, still watching her. It was wearing, sometimes, to work with someone who tried to be so in tune with the emotions of others. She knew he cared about her, about Broots. Not to mention Sydney's Dr. Feelgood routine. He was always probing, always asking. Very paternal. Very annoying, even if part of her appreciated his concern.

But emotions led to responsibilities-- as much as she tried not to give a damn about these people, about her little work "family," she did; it was a burden she resented frequently.

"I wanted to see how you were," he said finally, leaning back in the chair. "Since Thomas' death" remained unspoken, but hung in the air between them, almost a visible thing.

Parker supposed she should say something dismissive that would end the conversation right away-- after all, she was the one who'd asserted she didn't need therapy. Instead, she rested her elbows on the desk, chin in her hands. "I'm managing," she murmured, not bothering with pretense.

"Are you sleeping well?"

She wasn't sleeping at all, actually, and the circles under her eyes that couldn't be covered by all the makeup in Delaware probably made that perfectly clear. The little sleep she did get was restless and full of dreams straight out of Stephen King. This, however, was not something she was up to discussing with the good Doctor. "Like a log," she said tersely.

"Hrmm." He saw through her, as always, and his smile let her know that. "Perhaps you should take some time off, Parker."

"I'm fine," she snapped, a bit of her usual abruptness returning. "I'm not a goddamned piece of china that everyone has to handle with care."

"Of course you're not." Sydney's voice was deliberately soothing. "But you've lost someone important to you, and perhaps you need some time to recuperate."

She had to stifle a laugh. Time? Would time make her feel any better, any more human? For the second time in her life she'd found someone she cared about shot, bleeding... murdered. Thirty years after her mother's death, that image still had the power to devastate her. Time didn't help. Time just turned the memories into black-and-white home movies that played over and over in your head, until you wanted to shoot the projectionist.

Sydney almost certainly knew that, too. He had his own home movies, and they probably weren't any more pleasant than hers were.

Miss Parker realized she'd been quiet for a long time. Sydney hadn't moved, but was still relaxed and thoughtful.

"I don't think anyone would begrudge you a day or two to yourself," Sydney suggested gently. "Not even the Centre would deny you that."

"Wouldn't they?" She pushed the report aside. Maybe Sydney was right. Maybe if she went home, took a double dose of sleeping pills, and shut the blinds, she'd finally get a decent eight hours of sleep.

She stood abruptly, part of her amused that Sydney scrambled to stand with her. Always the gentleman. "Maybe you're right." She pulled her purse out of a desk drawer, slinging it over her shoulder. "If anyone asks, they can reach me at home."

She was halfway out the door when she paused and turned. "Thank you, Sydney," she said roughly, her hair falling in front of her face and hiding it from him.

***

Back in his office, a fresh cup of coffee in hand, Sydney settled in at his desk with a satisfied half-smile on his face. He hadn't thought he had a chance in hell of convincing Parker to go home-- he'd been sure he was just going to beat his head against that particular wall, but he had to try. It was probably a sign of how deeply drained she truly was that she'd consented at all.

Away from the Centre-- which sucked the humanity out of everyone it touched-- she had a shot at making it through this. She needed time to heal, to find her way back to herself.

His cell phone rang, startling him out of his reverie.

"Sydney." It was Jarod. Hearing Jarod's voice always brought Sydney a flash of pure, bright relief-- he was alive, he was well. He hadn't been caught yet.

"Jarod."

"I was trying to reach Miss Parker, but they said she'd left." Jarod was doing his best to keep his voice neutral, but Sydney knew him well enough to hear the tension underneath. "How is she, really?"

Sydney took a moment before he replied. He'd been part of the lives of these two since they were children, and he'd watched them watching each other. There had always been a fascination there, long before they became the hunter and the hunted. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Sydney thought there always would be something between the two of them that no one would understand, even them.

"She's very tired," Sydney said, his words measured and careful. "She's not a wreck, but she's close. I convinced her to go home and take some time off. She needs rest." Sydney paused, listening to the silence on the other end of the line. "She's lost, Jarod."

"We're all lost, Sydney," Jarod said grimly, and the line went dead.

Sydney held the receiver for several long minutes, his forehead furrowed in thought.

As he set the phone down, he started whistling softly.

***

Home. The house was still a refuge for her, even with everything that had happened here. In her bedroom she stripped off her suit, tossing it on a chair and slipping on a robe. So what if it was the middle of the day? She was going to sit in her dimly lit house and feel sorry for herself, and miss Thomas, and there wasn't a damn thing anyone could do about it.

Miss Parker stopped in the kitchen, briefly, opening the fridge and contemplating a frosty bottle of Pinot Grigio. Thomas had brought it over the week before last, to have with dinner, but neither of them had been in the mood for wine and they'd just left the bottle for another evening.

So much for that plan.

Hmm. She could sit, feel sorry for herself, and drink. That would be productive. Problem was, she didn't need or want to drink. Everything felt surreal and disconnected already-- drinking would just make it worse. Swinging the refrigerator door shut, she padded into the living room and stopped at the doorway.

Jarod was stretched out in one of the chairs, watching her.

Oddly, she wasn't at all surprised. He was just another piece of this surreal day, of her bizarre life. Somewhere inside, she'd known Jarod would turn up.

"Jarod. How nice to see you again." Acutely aware that she had almost nothing on underneath her robe, Parker pulled it a little more tightly around herself and sat down on the far end of the sofa, glaring at the man who looked entirely too comfortable in her living room.

He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, his eyes fixed on her face. "How are you doing?" There was genuine concern in Jarod's voice, and Parker knew without a doubt that he was truly worried for her. He'd dropped whatever crusade he was in the middle of to get to Delaware to see her-- to make sure that she was still there, still hanging on through this loss.

"I'm managing." She tucked her hair behind her ear.

"I'm sorry I couldn't help you find any answers about Thomas' death."

She laughed, the sound harsh in the quiet room. "Still too many missing pieces. They covered it up too well."

"They always do."

"And what they did to him..." Parker's voice trailed off and she was back in time, seeing him again. "No one should die like that. It was like..."

"It was like finding your mother," Jarod murmured, rubbing his forehead with one hand. "All over again."

There as nothing to say to that-- it was the truth, and some truths hurt too much to be discussed any more.

The thought flashed through Miss Parker's mind that normally she'd be looking for her gun, or her cell phone, or both. Jarod, the man she'd chased forever, was sitting in her living room. She'd seen him more in the past few weeks than she'd seen him since he got out of the Centre. But she wasn't going for her gun or her phone, and Jarod seemed to know that he was safe, right now, right here.

This was time out of time. Death did that-- it changed things, created exceptions. Tomorrow, she'd probably be back to chasing and shooting and capturing, but not today.

They sat silently in the living room for what seemed like a very long time, both lost in thought. When Jarod finally spoke, his low voice somehow didn't startle her-- it was as if she'd been expecting the question.

"Did you love him?"

She should probably be insulted by the question, by how personal it was. She wasn't, for some reason. Had she loved Thomas? She'd cared deeply about him, missed him when he wasn't there-- but love? Parker wasn't even sure what the word meant any more.

She looked into the familiar eyes opposite her and answered as honestly as she knew how. "I don't know."

Jarod nodded, respecting her answer.

"I cared about him." Why was she still talking? She'd answered his question, told him what he wanted to know. Maybe she needed to clarify it for herself, and for some reason talking to Jarod might helped her set things in order. "He was a wonderful person. He made me happy."

If it was possible, Jarod's eyes had grown even darker as she spoke, liquid with compassion, and the sight of that compassion brought her back down to earth. Hard. Lock everything up, deep inside, because the minute you let it out you lose it-- it dies, it's taken from you. She had learned her lessons well.

But this time the ache wasn't going away.

"It's all right to talk about it," Jarod said, leaning toward her as if he'd heard her thoughts.

"It doesn't do any good," she said, and the little girl she'd once been echoed in her voice before she could catch herself. Ice, Parker. Ice. "And why should I talk about it to you?"

"Because I'm here," Jarod said simply. "Because I know you, and because I've lost, too."

"Fucking pop psychology." Suddenly, painfully, she wanted a cigarette as badly as she'd wanted anything in her life. "Why are you here, Jarod? What do you want?"

"To see..."

"To see how I was doing. Make sure Miss Parker is alive and well so that this little game of cat-and-mouse that we play can go on." She felt tears welling in her eyes, but she ignored them and kept her face hard. "I'm just fine. I don't need your concern."

He stood, hurt flashing across his face. "I just wanted to make sure you were doing all right," he said stiffly. "My concern was obviously misplaced. I'll get out of your way now."

His long legs had him halfway to the door before she managed to scramble off the couch and follow him. "Goddamnit, you are not just going to walk out!" Out of nowhere, she was furious. He always did this-- escaped, got away from her before they finished anything. It was probably his way of controlling situations, since he hadn't had control over anything in his life-- but it drove her nuts.

Jarod had paused, his back still to her, but she could tell off his back as well as anything else. "You hang up on me. On everyone. You disappear the minute I turn my back. You don't ever bother to fucking finish anything, Jarod."

"What would you like me to finish?" He half turned his head, his profile shadowed and unreadable.

"This conversation! Any conversation! What's wrong with saying goodbye once in a while?" She was just getting up a good head of steam here, and though she knew the anger was coming from a far deeper source than just Jarod's conversational habits, it didn't seem to matter. Letting it out was liberating. "You talk in code. You click off the phone with some smart-ass remark. You know perfectly well what you're getting at, but you never bother to tell us mere mortals what the hell is going on. Let us figure it out. Let us muddle around in our stupid primitive little lives and maybe eventually we'll reach the same conclusions as your exalted Pretender genius self."

She saw his shoulders hitch, as if she'd hit a nerve. Good. He turned around, and Parker took an involuntary half-step back before catching herself-- his eyes were black, darker than she'd ever seen them, full of emotions she couldn't categorize. She had hit a nerve. "Is that how you see it, Miss Parker?"

Parker felt threatened, suddenly, which was ridiculous. Jarod wouldn't hurt her. He couldn't. She raised her chin higher in response, refusing to break eye contact even though the look in his narrowed gaze was making her stomach do strange gymnastics. "Should I see it another way, Jarod?"

He was silent, with just those eyes glaring at her. He was so in control. She wanted him to be as angry as she was, to hurt as much as she did. "Tell me how I should interpret it, genius boy."

Jarod's face was all cold, hard angles. "Maybe I don't have the luxury of finishing conversations. I never know when I might get locked up again by a group of psychotic, murdering bastards that want to keep me from ever finding out the truth about myself. Who'd rather see me dead than free." He paused, putting one hand to his cheek in false surprise, mocking her, his voice becoming even more biting. "Oh, wait. You work for them. How convenient. One stop shopping-- they kill your mother, they kill your boyfriend..."

Her arm was up to slap him before she realized it-- and he caught her hand mid- air, holding it back from his face seemingly without effort.

"Bastard," she snarled, trying to wrench her arm free. He held it firmly until she stopped struggling. "Let me go, Jarod." The anger was gone from her voice, abruptly, leaving it quiet and uneven-- almost defeated.

There was an almost perceptible shift in Jarod's expression, and he loosened his grip on her wrist. Deliberately, carefully, he slid his hand down her arm, pushing the robe back. The heat, the rough feel of his hand on the sensitive skin of her inner arm was electrifying. She shivered, closing her eyes, fighting the warmth in the pit of her stomach that flared at his touch.

"There," he murmured, his face close to hers, his hand warm through the robe on the side of her breast where he could surely feel her heart, beating painfully fast. "You're free."

She didn't move, couldn't move as his hand stroked down her side then around and up, soft as a feather over her stomach, her breasts, up to her neck, over her face. He was drawing on her as if she was his masterpiece, the tips of his fingers incredibly gentle, incredibly arousing, leaving lines of gooseflesh wherever they went. He trailed across her jaw, down her neck. Parker's neck arched involuntarily, everything in her focused on his hands.

"Did he touch you like this?"

Miss Parker's breath caught, but the rush of anger at the mention of Thomas disappeared as quickly as it had come, pushed back by the feeling of Jarod's fingers drawing lazy circles on her breasts through the thin satin of the robe.

"Did he?" Jarod murmured, his breath hot on her cheek.

Was she going to let this happen? His thumbs were flicking over the outline of her hardened nipples, and her body surged towards him, out of her control, only wanting more.

Hell yes, she was going to let this happen. She was going to make this happen, because right now the thought of finally having Jarod touch her, having him inside her was the only thought in her mind. No Thomas, no loss, no anger. Just raw need that erased all the death and all the blackness, filling the empty spaces with warmth and sensation.

Parker opened her eyes, finally. His hands stilled as their gazes met, seeing the desire reflecting in each other. The reasons were probably different, but that didn't matter right now.

All that mattered was Jarod, and she leaned forward to kiss him, the boy she'd kissed first in her life. It was like an electric shock. His kiss was everything-- insistent and sweet and devouring, and she snaked one arm around his neck, bringing him closer to her, finally. Finally.

Jarod was slipping the robe off her shoulders, and with a little help from her it slid off her entirely, pooling on the floor at their feet. His hands were everywhere, sliding down the skin of her back, cupping her buttocks, pulling her up against him, warm and wanting. She could lose herself in him. Jarod knew all of her, even the parts that Thomas had never gotten close to, and perhaps because of that he seemed to know exactly where to touch her, how to make her gasp against his mouth and wish that this would never end.

Miss Parker tugged on Jarod's shirt, untucking it. She ignored his laughter as she pulled the shirt over his head, impatient as he had to help her get the arms off. Skin on skin, both of them paused at the sensation, not quite believing it-- her breasts pressed against his chest, their arms wrapped around each other.

Jarod was breathing heavily. "I never thought..."

"Shut up," Parker growled, reclaiming his mouth. This wasn't the time for discussion. Discussion meant thought.

Despite her protests, Jarod pulled away from her, working on the button of his jeans. Without the distraction of his mouth on hers, Miss Parker looked around and realized they were about to have sex either on the couch or on the floor. She was perfectly capable of either-- and right now, she wasn't looking to delay this a moment longer than necessary-- but, somehow, this wasn't where she
wanted it to happen.

She was down to her panties, but she didn't care. She hooked one finger through a belt loop on Jarod's pants and hauled him after her, up the stairs.

"Why, Miss Parker..." He was grinning when they reached her bedroom, his face flushed.

She ran her hands down his chest, down over the straining bulge at the front of his jeans, delighting in his shuddering response. "It's far more comfortable in bed, Jarod," she purred, stroking him through the denim and smiling at his involuntary moan. Without wasting any more time she unzipped his fly and helped him wiggle out of the pants, watching as he kicked them away from his ankles-- admiring what she'd only imagined before.

Without warning, Miss Parker suddenly saw Thomas standing in the same place, laughing at something she'd said. His hair had caught the sun, and he'd been buttoning up one of his plaid shirts...

God, no. Please don't let me think of him right now. She couldn't look Jarod in the eyes just then; she'd see understanding and compassion mixed with his still-present hunger. He knew what she was doing, and why she was doing it.

And neither one of them gave a damn.

Pushing everything to the back of her mind, Parker raised her chin, took a deep breath, and rested one hand in the middle of Jarod's chest. His heartbeat was strong and steady, if rapid, and he caught his breath at her touch.

She smiled at him, finally meeting his eyes, and the last thoughts of Thomas disappeared as Jarod smiled back at her. It was the smile of the boy she'd known, of the man she'd wondered about for years, and it was a smile she'd wanted to see for what seemed like her entire life. Miss Parker brought her other hand to him and ran both hands slowly up his chest, to his shoulders, then twined
them around his neck and pulled him down to the bed with her.

Finally, they were next to each other. There was a time of damp, tangled limbs and heated kisses, until Jarod took the opportunity to explore; all she could do was grab at the sheets with her clenched hands and wish he'd never stop. He slid down, kissing his way over her breasts, her stomach-- and then laughed, low and deep in his throat.

"Hrmm?" She wasn't capable of much rational conversation right now; his mouth and hands were very thorough. Very. Thorough.

"Underpants." Jarod slipped his hands into the sides of the thin silk panties, his hands like warm velvet on her hips. "Time to go."

He slid the panties down and she gratefully kicked them off her ankles, then gasped as his mouth trailed up the inside of her leg, her thigh, to her very center. He lingered there just long enough to make her feel like her body was melting. She was lost in the sensation, feeling the heat building within her. She didn’t have the strength to object when he moved up to her mouth again, holding her face in his hands and kissing her with equal parts passion and tenderness.

She could feel him, hard against her, and realized he was as ready as she was. Without conscious thought, she grasped Jarod’s shoulders and rolled him over, straddling him with a smooth movement. She held herself just barely over him, hands on his chest. She could see Jarod swallow hard, the muscles in his neck standing out in sharp relief as he fought to keep himself from rearing up towards her, from making the connection before she was ready.

Enough of that. This was all about losing control, wasn't it? About forgetting what made sense, what was logical? She had lived on just this side of wanting for such a long, long time...

She dipped, just slightly, brushing against him. His gasp, the look of pure intensity on Jarod’s face, gave her what she needed to lower herself onto him, to bring him finally and totally inside her where they'd both always known he would be. Their eyes met for a heartbeat of stillness, of unbelievable completeness, and then every shred of control that either one of them had been hanging onto
disappeared.

This wasn't kind, or gentle. Technique be damned. This was the explosion of years upon years of wanting and wondering, and it was hard and fierce and painfully satisfying. He'd have scratches, she'd have bruises, but this was what was meant to happen-- what needed to happen, for so many reasons. With or without Thomas they would have reached this place; it was as inevitable as breathing. It was the one thing that neither of them could plan, or control, or Pretend. And that was right.

Later, Jarod was gentle. The sun was setting, and in the dimming light he mapped her body with his mouth, his hands, as if committing it to memory. She could do little but moan incoherently, but that seemed to be all the reward he needed for a very long time. His skin was warm against the cool white sheets, warm against her, warm inside her.

As night fell, she drifted off to sleep wrapped in Jarod’s arms, surrounded by the smell and feel of him.

***

It was dark when she woke. The room was cool and quiet-- and empty.

Jarod was gone. All he'd left behind was the musky scent of him, a faint bruise on one arm, and a mild, not unpleasant soreness that reminded her how she'd spent the afternoon.

Miss Parker reached out and rested her hand on the sheets next to her where Jarod had been, not long ago. Where Thomas had slept, just days ago-- empty now, bare and white and rumpled.

She didn't realize she was crying until she felt the damp pillowcase beneath her face and reached up to touch her cheek. The tears must have been flowing for a while. They might have started even before she woke up, while Jarod was still there.

With a shuddering sigh, she sat up, clutching a pillow to her chest, and in the silent darkness of her empty bedroom she cried with deep, wracking sobs. Miss Parker cried for Thomas, for her mother, for everything she'd given up in her life to become who she was. She cried for Jarod, who she kept losing over and over in different ways, more painfully each time.

When she'd cried herself out of tears, when she'd let herself feel everything she'd tried so hard to push away, she finally fell into a deep, peaceful sleep. If there were dreams, they didn't wake her.

***

"Good morning, Miss Parker." Sydney stood in her office door.

"Sydney." She glanced up at him, marking her place in a background report with one finger. "Can I help you?"

His eyes studied her, searching for a long minute, and then he smiled; that rare smile that seemed to light up his entire face. "No. Never mind."

She looked after him, puzzled, and as the door swung closed she could hear him whistling as he walked away.

Sydney? Whistling?

Wonders would never cease.

***

The end

Note: Really smart people use condoms. This is just a story.

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