Miss Parker sat in the quiet of her office, feeling even more empty and abandoned than she had in the last few weeks. The dull ache in her lower abdomen peaked briefly, and the twinge brought unexpected tears threateningly close to spilling over.

It was only three weeks since Tommy - her Tommy - had been murdered; three weeks when the only thought that had kept her going and given her a reason to get up in the morning was the hope that he wasn't completely dead - that he could live again in the child he would never know but had given her to remember him by despite all her efforts to the contrary. Such things did happen. But that comforting dream had ended perfunctorily as she had awakened that morning to find her body going through its cycle right on schedule. Not even a single day late. Regular as clockwork, she had thought to herself bitterly at the time. Damn it... Brigitte was going to have a child - why couldn't she?

Now, dully, she tried to focus on the information in Broots' latest status report on the hunt for Jarod with little success - not that there had been much new information in the report anyway. Jarod, it seemed had gone very successfully to ground without leaving the slightest trace of his whereabouts. Jarod - she had tried desperately so many times of late to summon up her usual icy determination to win the battle of minds that existed between them in order to trade his freedom from The Centre for her own. But his soft, sometimes needling voice in her ear on those evenings when she most needed the voice of a friend who understood pain and loss had of late taken even the edge from that. In many ways, the unspoken caring behind the verbal thrust-and-parry had resulted in his becoming a constant nagging presence in the back of her mind which reminded her of how Thomas had entered her life - Tommy. A tear managed to escape and and began to trickle down one impeccable cheek. She dashed it away quickly, before anyone could see it.

Sydney cleared his throat from the open door and watched Parker's carefully crafted and polished cold facade slam violently into place to hide the mortally wounded creature behind it from all but very discerning eyes. "Miss Parker?"

"What is it, Syd? Did Broots finally manage to get a fix on our Boy Wonder?"

"Are you alright?" he asked condescendingly, but not without genuine concern.

Parker sighed silently to herself. Sydney had the most amazing ability to ignore the job at hand, or the intimidation power of her facade, at the most inopportune moments - and she could never quite be certain when his expressions of concern were the words of the master psychologist as opposed to when they were the worries of an old and dear friend. "Just fine, Syd, just fine." She threw on a deliberately false predatory smile that displayed more teeth than levity. "See?"

Sydney approached her desk, his expression behind the heavily lidded eyes unreadable. "C'mon, Parker," he cajoled carefully. "This is me, remember?"

The smile faded immediately into a frown. "Cut the shrink act, Syd. I'm not in the mood." She picked up the thin folder and waved it at him. "Is this all we have to show for two weeks' work?"

"I talked to your father this morning," Sydney continued as if he hadn't heard her question. Parker's eyebrows raised; she dropped the folder back onto her desk and sat back tiredly in her chair to wait for the other shoe to fall. It was useless to continue when Sydney got in moods like this; even her substancial and well-honed skill at intimidation had no impact with him at this point. She could only humor his line of thought until she could claim the upper hand of the situation again. "I told him that you needed some time off - time to put your life back into perspective." She listened to his lightly accented voice with only half her attention.

"I'm sure Daddy was thrilled." Her voice had a tone of exhaustion in it that caught Sydney's attention immediately, but he restrained himself from showing the worry it sparked in him.

"As a matter of fact, he wasn't. But I made him see reason."

She heard that, and it brought her up straighter in her chair. It was rare that Sydney had much to do with the elder Parker in the first place; so his standing up to him on her behalf was remarkable on more than one count. It deserved her full attention.

For his part, Sydney smiled at her abrupt shift into alertness. It had been a long time - three long weeks - since he had seen her so focussed. "Ah. I thought that would interest you."

"Why?"

Her usual workplace facade had abruptly dropped away, but Sydney wasn't sure who it was that had taken her place. Like Jarod, Miss Parker was capable of being many different people in quick succession - after all, she too had been a Pretender candidate. And as with Jarod, in those unnerving times when that unguarded, vulnerable real person unexpectedly looked out from storm-sky eyes in blunt question, the best answer was always the complete and utter truth. "Because you need space to put your life back together. I reminded him that you needed to handle your grief in your own way, rather than be forced to handle it the way he wanted you to - that to get back your edge in the hunt for Jarod, you needed to get away for a while."

Parker was now staring at him, flabbergasted at his audacity. "And he agreed?!"

Sydney's smile spoke volumes. "Eventually." There were times he allowed himself to be proud of his skills as psychologist and manipulator of wills - and this was one of them. He had faced the elder Parker's formidable displeasure down without the slightest apparent twinge of fear; and in doing so had won the younger Parker a much-needed reprieve. But it wasn't something he would soon do again - he had been very specifically and firmly warned against a repeat performance in this lifetime, a warning he didn't dare not take to heart.

He reached into his pocket and tossed a single key on top of the closed folder on the desk. "This is the key to my cabin. Take it and use it. Its quiet up there - your father has promised me that nobody will bother you there, no sweepers, no bugs, no cameras. You have two weeks of uninterrupted leave, beginning now, to work things through. And when you come back, you'll be expected to be right on top of things again - and not distracted." Sydney pointed to the wadded Kleenex on the desk from her last short weeping spell, which Parker immediately swept out of sight and into the trashcan.

"And what about Jarod?" Parker stared first down at the key, then back up at the older man in front of her. "What if you figure out where he is while I'm away?"

"Don't worry, Miss Parker. I'll make sure you're in on the capture if we find him," Sydney reassured her quickly. "Take your cell phone. I'll call if we get anything concrete."

~~~~~~~~

The cell phone on the seat next to her chirped brightly, and Miss Parker reached for it with her free hand with a deep sigh. Belatedly she reconsidered the wisdom of staying within the touch of The Centre during her vacation, and for a quick moment considered tossing the cell phone from the window of the car rather than answering it. Habit, however, had her punching the receive button with a thumb and putting it to her ear. "This had better be good, Syd..."

"Running away, Miss Parker?"

"Jarod!" It was both recognition and curse.

"Don't tell me you've actually quit The Centre and are going to make a new life for yourself!" The mocking tone in his voice riled the already considerable nausea in the pit of her stomach that was half cramps and half ulcer.

"You wish!" She didn't dare qualify his statement with more than the quick and lethal hiss.

On the other end of the line, Jarod was unexpectedly silent for a long moment. Parker was about to terminate the call when: "Are you alright?" The question was soft, the mocking tone completely absent.

She closed her eyes briefly in frustration, but not long enough to endanger her driving. "So many people are so concerned with my welfare today" she spat at him. "Yes, Jarod, I'm fine. I'm just taking a much-needed vacation - away from you, from Sydney, from Broots, from The Centre - everything. Hell - what am I telling you for?" She was half-angry at herself for giving away that much, and half-angry that she could admit to herself that her "normal" life was one she needed to escape.

"I'm glad you're taking some time off, Miss Parker." It was an honest statement with no apparent agendas hidden between the lines.

Parker suddenly ran out of energy to continue the sparring match. Her own tone became more even, more honest, almost pleading. "Look, do me favor - forget this number for the next two weeks, OK?"

Why was she not surprised that he disconnected rather than answer her?

~~~~~~~~

"This is Sydney."

"Where is she going?" The voice on the phone was tightly controlled - Sydney had rarely heard that particular inflection in Jarod's voice before. "She left the Centre this morning, stopped at her house just long enough to pick up a suitcase, got into her car and left in a hurry." Jarod's voice gained an accusatory tone. "She says she's going on vacation, but I know better than to believe it could be that simple."

"You can believe her this time," Sydney smiled into the phone, attempting to communicate his confidence. "She's safe, Jarod - she really did go on leave for a while to put her life back together now that Thomas is dead." He sighed; sometimes it was so hard to explain these things to Jarod - his inexperience or immaturity could be formidable obstacles. "Its for her own good. Leave her alone for a while, and let her heal."

"Where is she going?" The tightness of Jarod's tone had abated some, but the determination hadn't vanished yet.

"She has to work through this for herself," Sydney hedged, not answer the question. "You can't help her."

"Where is she going?" It was a quiet demand, but it was a demand nonetheless.

"Someplace peaceful, away from The Centre and everything else. Someplace where she has the space to grieve, and the space to heal."

"Where?"

"Jarod." Sydney sighed. "Listen to me. Leave her alone. Don't call her, don't look for her. Just let her be. For the next two weeks, just let her be!"

"She shouldn't be alone." Jarod's voice was adamant, and the click of the disconnect would echo in his ears for a long time.

Sydney sat back in the darkness of his after-hours office for a long time, tapping the closed cell phone to his pursed lips thoughtfully. He could call her himself and warn her, and violate that fragile private space he himself had fought so hard to win for her. No. Miss Parker knew all too well Jarod's unpredictable talent for discovering what others wanted kept secret. Even wounded, she'd understand how things had come about.

Maybe she could use a friend in her space as much as she needed the space itself. He could only hope so, just as he would have to trust that Jarod would not intentionally do her any harm by entering her space uninvited.

~~~~~~~~

Parker stretched and breathed in deeply of the pine-scented air, opened her eyes and looked out from the porch of Syd's comfortable hunting cabin to the outline of the forest on the other side of the mountain lake. There had been no dreams that night, no nightmares; and awakening that next morning had been a gentle act, brought about by one of the most restful nights she had had since... since... She wrapped her arms around herself tightly as if doing so would protect her from her own thoughts, and she swallowed hard. No. She wasn't going to go there yet. Later, but not now.

It was difficult, while surrounded by the magnificent silence and grandeur of nature itself, to remember her "normal" life of alarm clocks, guns, conspiracies and secrets. The Centre seemed another world entirely - and not for the first time did she send her unspoken gratitude in the direction of Sydney for this haven of time and isolation. She closed her eyes, leaned against a porch support and followed the warbling songs of birds she would normally be too busy to pay attention to as they added sparkle to the air. Tommy would have loved this place; the thought came unbidden, as did the tear that followed close behind.

The silence and private intimacy of the secluded cabin and the gentle peace of the morning had finally managed to work their magic of stripping her of all the protective facades she used to cope at work or especially at home lately - where the memories of Tommy were agonizingly close at hand: memories of love; memories of death. She looked for a reason to hide from the pain, from the grief, from her loss - something to control or intimidate that would force her back into a pretense of strength - but she only had the song of birds and the brisk morning air to look to for answers, and they were being decidedly uncooperative. More tears began to flow, and she found her legs suddenly incapable of supporting her. She sank to her knees, still leaning heavily into the rough-hewn beam, and let loose a sobbing wail of utter desolation.

~~~~~~~~

"Sydney!"

Broots came crashing through the door of the psychologist's office, a frantic look on his face. He managed to trip on his own feet and stumble clumsily against one of the chairs facing the older man.

"Broots! Calm down and tell me what's wrong."

Broots' face was pale, and he kept his voice lowered. "I was on my way from data processing to the archive library when I heard Dr. Raines talking with Mr. Parker about Miss Parker."

"Indeed?" Sydney frowned. This certainly didn't bode well. "Did they know you were there?" Broots shook his head vehemently, and Sydney felt a twinge of relief. "Well, then, out with it - what were they saying?"

"Raines was doing most of the talking; he kept repeating that maybe Miss Parker had compromised the security of The Centre. He was insisting that she be brought back to be examined at length by his team of psychologists, and maybe even have to sit through another T-board inquiry." Broots took a deep breath. "Raines wants to make sure that Miss Parker didn't spill any of The Centre's beans to Thomas while he was alive - and to find out if Thomas had any contacts that hadn't been uncovered when The Centre did their security report on him a few months ago."

"What did Mr Parker say to all of this?"

"That if there were anymore loose ends to this business, that Raines had better finish what he started." Broots looked around suspiciously, then leaned down and whispered, "then he told the good doctor where Miss Parker had gone. Raines then said he'd be sending sweepers out in a couple of days - that letting Miss Parker relax and lower her defenses might just be a good thing."

Sydney sat back in his chair, shocked into silence. Broots hovered worriedly. "What can we do?" The whisper was barely audible.

"Nothing at this point, Broots."

Broots glanced in nervousness at the ever-present surveillance camera as he bumbled his way out of the office. Sydney shook his head, marvelling. Miss Parker had certainly managed to acquire an unlikely ally in the computer systems specialist that she normally treated like dirt. And from the sounds of it, she was going to need the help of all the friends she could get.

~~~~~~~~

From the protective cover of trees, Jarod flinched at the agony communicated in the sound of Miss Parker's wordless cry. Something in the way Sydney had not offered him easy answers to his questions had made him cautious in approaching the cabin after diligently and methodically following the paper trail of credit card purchases of gas and food she had left behind her. Now he was glad he had waited to see how things really were with her. Even though he had spoken to her several times since all of the events surrounding Thomas' death had ended, she had somehow managed to keep the real depth of her pain hidden away behind caustic replies. Now, however, with no reason to hide it from the world, her collapse and sobbing shocked him more than her icy determination at the side of Thomas' grave as she swore she would "make them pay" ever had. This was a Miss Parker he didn't know, couldn't know, a Miss Parker out of control of the situation. Yes, murmured that voice inside him, but this is also an old friend in pain. You can't just walk away from her.

But he still waited for the long moments of desperate sobbing to end, waited for Parker to pick up the shattered pieces of her world and begin to move again. He would wait in the cover of trees until the tearing sobbing had ended and an obviously depleted and emotionally drained Parker had painstakingly pushed herself back to her feet and slouched inconsolably into the cabin again. No matter how much he ached for her, he realized from his own painful grieving for his murdered brother that there still needed to be those private moments of cleansing grief that made it possible for life to go on. He just had never realized how painful it could be to watch someone go through that grief.

Life must go on. Jarod winced - those were the words Parker had told him once that her father had said upon the death of his wife Catherine, words which from that evil and heartless man seemed the epitome of denial and inhumanity - and yet expressed the necessary acceptance of the inevitable and undeniable. Somehow he was going to have to help Miss Parker move beyond her loss to that sad acceptance, an acceptance that she had yet to achieve with the loss of her beloved mother. But how to approach her without making the situation worse? This wasn't going to be as easy as he had thought...

~~~~~~~~

"This is Sydney."

"Sydney..."

Sydney's heart dropped. Jarod's voice was unsure, and that didn't bode well for Miss Parker either. He felt a rush of illogical paternal protectiveness, and his voice was sharper than normal. "If you have hurt her, Jarod, I swear I'll..."

"I haven't talked to her; she doesn't even know I'm here." Jarod's voice hesitated, then continued softly, "Sydney, I don't know what to say to her. I want to help, but I don't know how." His pause was profound. "I never simmed anything like this..."

Sydney relaxed with a deep sigh of relief, then focussed on Jarod's pain. "I tried to tell you that this grief is something we each need to work through by ourselves - and that Miss Parker is no exception. Nobody can go through this process for her, and nobody can make things all better again. One can only accept the death of a loved one. You know that much..."

"But she has nobody to turn to, Sydney. Her father, her brother..."

Sydney remembered all too well the expressions on the faces of those two gentlemen as the last person who could have led them to the truth behind Thomas' murder had been found dead in the trunk of a car. And he remembered that the old man was quite capable of approving the order canceling her respite and even dragging her in front of another T-board inquiry when she was most vulnerable, despite his promise to leave her alone. "She's strong, and she's strong-willed, Jarod. She's a survivor." She has to be, or she won't survive this; Sydney carefully kept that thought to himself. "Besides, she's a control-freak - to show the least sign of weakness to anyone is something she simply can't allow herself. She may have nobody to turn to; but even if she did, she wouldn't allow herself to do it in the first place."

"This is tearing her apart." The voice in the phone was tragic, agonized.

That made Sydney's psychologist's awareness snap to full attention. Jarod's ability to empathize and merge his understanding with that of another person could have dangerous consequences if not controlled very carefully. That was, after all, the reason Jarod belonged back at The Centre - where he could be protected against the very real dangers of his own uncontrolled Pretending. Intervention was needed to snap Jarod back out of Miss Parker's grieving before he became lost in it - and it was needed now.

"Do you think the loss of your brother did any less to you?"

That stopped Jarod cold, jarring him abruptly away from Miss Parker and his drowning in her pain and submerging him just as abruptly in his own pain instead. Kyle's murder was still recent enough that not all the scars had healed yet, and Sydney generally knew better than to tread on this tender ground. "But I made his death have meaning," Jarod pleaded, as much to himself as to his former mentor. A little boy was alive, thanks to the heart that had once been his brother's.

Sydney's response was soft, but adamant. "If there is meaning to be found in Thomas' death, Jarod, it is Miss Parker who will need to find it for herself."

Jarod sighed in acquiescence, and Sydney finally released the knot of worry that had formed in his stomach. "So what do I do to help?" Jarod asked quietly.

Sydney blinked; a gift of possibilities that he couldn't afford to waste had just been handed to him on a platter - he would be a fool not to take advantage of it. "Give her space, Jarod - just as The Centre has apparently given her space. But if you would be a true friend, just watch over her to see that nobody invades her space - and don't do it yourself unless absolutely necessary. She's supposed to have two weeks of peace...." He left the sentence unfinished, knowing Jarod's experience with The Centre would allow him to draw the proper conclusion from the omission. Sydney closed his eyes and hoped beyond hope that neither the room nor the phone line was bugged by anyone who knew how to listen between the lines.

On the other end of the line, Jarod was silent and allowing all the nuances of Sydney's voice and the possibilities that lay between the lines of the older man's unfinished advice to penetrate. He didn't like what he was hearing, but he was grateful for the information. "Thanks, Sydney."

Again the phone clicked as Jarod disconnected abruptly. But this time, Sydney smiled to himself smugly. If Jarod's actions on behalf of protecting others since he had escaped were any indication, he would prove to be a vigilant and faithful watchdog for Miss Parker - more than a match for everyday sweepers who weren't prepared to face his protecting her personally. He, Sydney, had done what he could.

~~~~~~~~

Sydney had been right in his warning. Late the third afternoon, Jarod watched from his vantage point as Sam and another sweeper named Greg moved through the trees past him without seeing him and then settled down behind a shrub on the very edge of the cabin's clearing to wait for darkness. They were well armed and looked quite determined - no doubt they had a car waiting not far away to whisk them back to Blue Cove with their prey in tow.

Jarod felt a rush of excitement; his time of patient waiting for usefulness was ended, and he had a clear path of action to take. Using the afternoon breezes rustling the leaves as cover, he made his way around the back of the cabin and found an unlocked window. As carefully as he could, he open the window noiselessly and climbed into the cabin, moved to the door of the back room and peeked through the curtain into the spacious livingroom.

Miss Parker lay on the sofa with her eyes closed, signs of recent tears dried on her sleeping face. She shifted slightly, demonstrating the depth of her slumber - and Jarod took the opportunity to quickly move to the window and peek carefully out in the direction he knew the sweepers would come at her from. The setting sun had already sunk below the horizon of the far mountaintops, and in the fading twilight, the sweepers' movements in the bushes were now becoming obvious - they were getting ready to move on the cabin. There was going to be little time to get Miss Parker awake and alert to her danger, and cooperating in her own defense.

Wishing there were some other, gentler way to rouse her, Jarod knelt by her side and covered her mouth with one hand while shaking her with the other. "Wake up, Miss Parker!" he whispered urgently. "Wake up!"

She jerked awake against his restraining hand on her face, tear-reddened eyes wide with momentary fright that quickly turned to hot anger. Jarod shook his head at the anger, dismissing it. "Raines has sweepers coming to pick you up, and I'm willing to bet Centre funds that Daddy approved it. You have about two minutes before Sam and Greg come through that door with guns drawn." He saw her taking in his words, and cautiously removed his hand from her mouth.

"Jarod! What the hell are you doing here?" she demanded in a rough whisper even as she struggled to sit up. "I told you to leave me alone! Don't you ever listen??"

"I'm just making sure you get the space you need right now," Jarod retorted while pulling on her arm to get her to her feet. "I talked to Sydney - he didn't trust the goon squad to leave you alone, and neither do I now. Sam and Greg are getting ready even as we stand here arguing..."

"I was supposed to get two weeks..." she complained in confusion, then flinched as Jarod thrust her purse at her.

"You can take that up with Daddy when you go home. He's supposed to be the one with Raines on a leash - not the other way around. In the meanwhile, you may need your gun..."

"I left it at home..." She retorted in her turn, causing Jarod to turn and face her in surprise.

"Miss Parker without her Smith & Wesson is like Brigitte without her lollipop..." The stinging comment slid out without him even thinking about it.

For a change, however, she didn't rise to the bait. "I really didn't think I'd be needing it up here..." Jarod blinked as he realized he was suddenly speaking to that unknown Parker he had seen grieving earlier. But even as he recognized the new and unfamiliar persona, the walls and facades of the efficient Centre operative crashed into place as the sound of soft footsteps on the porch steps brought the both of them up straight.

Parker motioned to Jarod to take up a hiding place behind where the front door would open, while she slumped herself back deceptively into the sofa again as if asleep sitting down. He didn't need for her to tell her to be careful; he knew both of them were vividly aware of how dangerous the next few moments were going to be.

The door opened quietly and slowly, and the two sweepers stepped slowly and quietly into the room - assuming only one occupant of the room and never turning to look around. That was their mistake, for as Sam nudged Miss Parker with the muzzle of his gun and grumbled "Wake up!" at her, she pushed herself straight past the gun and into his face - claws raking painfully at his unguarded eyes - while Jarod stepped out from behind the open door and cold-cocked the second sweeper with his clenched-together fists applied as hard as he could to the back of the man's skull. The sound of his partner hitting the floor caught Sam off-guard, and gave Miss Parker the split second of distraction she needed to grab his gun from his surprise-numbed hand and to apply the butt viciously against the side of his head. He dropped like a rock.

"Are there any more of them?" she asked in her best Centre operative's tone, not quite breathing hard from the exertion.

Jarod shook his head while shaking out his aching hands. "Not that I've seen," he admitted, "but that doesn't mean that Raines wouldn't be sending in backup..."

Parker turned the gun around in her hand and pointed it at Jarod. "I should take the opportunity to take you back to The Centre while I've got you," she commented coldly, then blinked as the facade she'd relied upon to protect her thawed unexpectedly back into that new and unreadable persona and and lowered the gun. "But I owe you one for this." She looked down at the two unconscious men, then backed up. "You've done your good deed for the day, Superman. Scram while you can - while I'm feeling generous."

The acid words were still there, but the impetus behind the acid was oddly missing. It was as if she were going through the motions of hostility on auto-pilot, and it felt wrong - even to her. She seated herself on the edge of the sofa as the rush of adrenaline abated, leaving her without the will or strength to stand. She drooped even further as the full implications of what had just happened to her sank in - her father's betrayal, and Raines' paranoia.

Jarod expelled the breath he had held since the gun's muzzle had turned in his direction. Miss Parker was a dangerous friend, but she was still a friend and still in danger - he couldn't just leave now. Very carefully he sat down on the sofa next to her. "You can't stay here any longer," he said softly as he very carefully and gently took the sweeper's gun from her fingers and put it behind her on the sofa. "Raines will have more of his goons here soon to finish what Sam started - you know it and I know it. And," he added, brushing her hair away from the cheek closest to him so he could see her face, "you still deserve your time alone."

Parker looked at Jarod, her grey eyes clear and vulnerable and confused. "Why are you doing this?"

"Because you're a friend, and right now I think you could use one," he replied simply, honestly, without the mocking tone he reserved for most of their repartee.

"Syd's gonna wonder what happened..." she began.

"No he won't," Jarod said with a conviction so solid that Parker instantly knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that Sydney was behind Jarod's rescue attempt - and that he would also know that if she escaped the sweepers, she would most likely be with Jarod for as long as it took Jarod to make sure she would be safe.

"Raines will wonder..." she began again, this time with a sly smile.

Jarod's eyes twinkled dangerously as he smiled back at her. "Let him."

~~~~~~~~

Jarod glanced over briefly at Miss Parker for yet another countless time as a streetlight illuminated her profile. She had pulled into a hard, uncommunicative shell not long after they had climbed into his convertible, and she hadn't said a word to him since - and even now stared straight forward and into the darkness of the night without seeming to notice anything. The feeling of conspiratorial alliance with which they had helped each other tie up the sweepers to be found by the backup in the cabin was long since gone, faded away during the dark and stumbling tramp through the forest to reclaim Jarod's car from where he had left it. Jarod blinked away his annoyance at the fleeting nature of that alliance and turned his mind back to his driving.

"Stop that." Her voice was flat, cold, without inflection.

"Stop what?"

"Stop looking at me like that."

"I haven't..." He began, then paused. As if deliberately flaunting disobedience, he glanced back at her again as another lamp brightened the interior of the little car, and he found her regarding him back with extreme annoyance. He took a deep breath to discard his disappointment, then allowed a thin, hard shell to drop over his own feelings as well. "Have it your way," he said with an answering nonchalance, shrugging to give his comment more sharpness.

Parker straightened up in her seat and ran a thoroughly frustrated hand through her hair to brush it out of her face. "Tell me, Jarod, what in the hell am I doing here, driving off into the wild countryside headed God knows where - with YOU, of all people?" she asked, not without a note of quiet desperation. She took her own, covert glance in Jarod's direction and found his profile apparently maintaining tight concentration on the road. She shifted in the now-uncomfortable bucket seat to maneuver her seatbelt to where it didn't threaten to choke her, then ran her fingers back through her hair again. "I don't want your help. I don't NEED your help."

"Excuse me?" Jarod's voice was incredulous.

"I said," she lowered her voice into the dangerous tone that normally intimidated all who heard it, "I don't need your help." She repeated the last words slowly and carefully.

"That's what I thought you said." Jarod shook his head in exasperation.

"And what is THAT supposed to mean?" Parker snapped.

"This is neither the time nor the place for this discussion," Jarod snapped back in a tone far colder than she had heard in a long time. "You're tired, and I'm tired, and we have thirty miles of interstate to travel to the next town, and then I gotta figure out a safe place where you can stay where Raines won't find you for a while. So shut up and let me drive, will ya?"

"I didn't ask you to do this," she hissed back at him. "I told you I don't NEED...."

Jarod braked suddenly and violently, skillfully bringing the convertible to a screeching stop on the shoulder. "Fine." He reached across her and worked the door handle so that the door next to her popped open. "Get out."

Now it was Parker’s turn to be incredulous. "Excuse ME?!"

"I said get out." Jarod's voice was low and heartless. "You say you don't NEED my help, then get your ass out of my car and fend for yourself. I should have just let Sam and Greg haul your sorry butt back to Blue Cove in the trunk of their company sedan!" He reached up and scratched at his short hair with both hands and then pounded them back onto the steering wheel in extreme frustration. "I don't know WHAT I thought I was doing, thinking you could actually be human enough to be just a little grateful." He glared back at her again, infuriated almost beyond caring anymore.

They stared at each other, seething - but it was Parker who looked down first in admission that Jarod had a valid point. If he hadn't awakened her, and then helped her, Sam and Greg WOULD have her in the trunk of their car headed back to Delaware. She hated it, she REALLY hated it, when Jarod did something nice for her; but she really did owe him a debt of gratitude for saving her from the indignity The Centre had sought to visit on her. She threw her head back to stare up at the ceiling of the car for a moment, then - without looking at him - reached out and pulled the door closed again, plunging them back into darkness.

"I'm sorry." Her voice from the darkness was chastened, but still filled with frustrated and impotent anger at her inability to be in control of her own destiny at the moment. "Thank you."

Jarod thought for a while, then wordlessly revved the engine and put them back on the interstate. It took a surprisingly long time for him to let go of the anger she had managed to bring up in him to be able to say, "You're welcome" and come halfway close to meaning it. It was going to be a VERY long night.

~~~~~~~~

The mountain cabin over a hundred miles to the south where they eventually landed was in a spot just as isolated, just as beautiful, as Sydney's had been - but the time spent there was destined to be no more idyllic than the car ride to get there had been. Jarod did his best to stay out of Miss Parker's way as much as possible - busying himself in the connected woodshop at the rear of the cabin and playing with the carpentry and wood carving tools - but many times that wasn't enough. Everytime either of them came within speaking distance of each other, they found an excuse to bicker and snipe at each other. Whether it was over whose turn it was to cook that evening, over whether or not to build a fire to warm the cabin in the evening, or even whose turn it was to use the bathroom - they managed to disagree consistently.

Even as Jarod steered clear of her to avoid the conflicts and give her the "space" he felt she needed, Miss Parker found no comfort in being left to her own devices for most of any day. While alone, she had no excuse not to face and be challenged by the immense loss Thomas' murder had dealt her - which was rapidly turning into something she would do anything to avoid if at all possible. Her spats with Jarod, then, were comforting oases of distraction in the midst of the desert of grief. They allowed her to regain a semblence of strength within the arguing that alone she couldn't seem to evoke from within herself. Those other times, when Jarod did finally make it abundantly clear that HE wanted and needed "space" away from her, she would find herself ending up curled into a tight little ball on the leather sofa Jarod called his bed, clutching his pillow to her because it smelled faintly of a maleness the like of which she missed so dreadfully, and struggling vainly against tearing sobs of overwhelming grief she could no longer shut away.

Jarod had quickly resigned himself to not being allowed to be the kind of healer for Miss Parker that he had so desperately wanted for himself in those first few weeks after Kyle's murder. As he would stomp away from her furiously yet again in the direction of the woodshop that had become his haven, he would again hear Sydney's "she can't allow herself to appear weak in front of anyone else" in the back of his mind - and his anger would temper and cool. As more days went by and she began to seek out his company occasionally despite the shop's closed door in order to pick yet another argument with him, he realized more clearly the full implication of that astute analysis. And if being able to convince herself she was still strong and in control was what she needed to heal, then he threw himself into the arguments that resulted with gusto. From time to time, however, his remarks answering her barb would be unexpectedly lacking in heat, startling her out of her rut of hostile repartee, and a short and cautious truce would result between them. It was a delicate balance between them, to be sure; and it was bound to fracture eventually.

She had awakened that morning in a thoroughly foul mood and found occasion to complain about every little detail of their isolated existence in the cabin. The coffee was too strong, or too hot. The toast was too cold, or had too much butter on it. It was too quiet with no radio. There was no fresh salad for lunch the way she wanted. Jarod batted the complaints back at her nonchalantly at first, giving her no satisfaction of her barbs hitting anything sensitive, and then later he retreated to the shop where he was putting the end touches on a bas-relief carving - but his patience was finally beginning to wear thin.

The breaking point was his coming out of the shop to take his turn at supper duties that evening to find that Miss Parker had emptied every cupboard of its contents, covering the meager counter space and their diningtable in dusty, tumbled chaos. She was sitting, fuming, staring at the mess she had made in utter dissatisfaction.

"What the hell did you think you were doing?" The exasperation and frustration slipped out without his even thinking about it.

"I thought there might have been a bottle or two squirrelled away behind everything else - and I need a DRINK," she hissed at him. "I've been cooped up in this rustic cage with a refugee from the Boy Scouts of Hell for over a week and I can't stand it anymore. I need a DRINK!" she repeated.

Jarod chose to try to ignore the insult, and began putting things away again. "In the first place, it will only make your ulcer act up - and in the second, its a crutch."

"I need a cigarette," she mumbled just loud enough to be heard.

He slammed a heavy can of beans back where it belonged and then turned to glare at her - all semblence of patience gone. "More crutches, Miss Parker? Was that what Thomas was for you - a crutch to take the place of a proper “real life”?" Jarod's eyes blazed into hers, then he went back to slamming pantry items back into their cupboards. Grief he could handle. The self-pity was getting VERY old. Something went incredibly cold inside him.

"You leave Thomas out of this..." she spat softly, feeling threatened but determined to defend herself properly.

"Why? So that you can use this fight to avoid thinking about him again?" He turned angrily to face her again - putting his face in her face in a way that she could in no way avoid him. Those dark eyes narrowed dangerously, and angrily. "Maybe so you can avoid thinking about how you and your beloved Centre loyalties got him killed..."

"Stop it." Her voice was almost inaudible, it was shaking so badly - in fury or pain, Jarod would never know. At that moment, he no longer cared. That something cold had consumed him utterly, leaving no pity, no compassion, in him.

"Raines wants to pick you into itty-bitty pieces because he thinks you're a fuck-up as a cleaner and a security risk to boot; Daddy hands you over to him wrapped up like a pretty package and tied with a bow while Lyle and Brigitte smile and laugh at you; the only reason you're out HERE wanting booze and cigarettes rather than in some Centre test-tube squashed into emotional jello is because Broots and Sydney - sad sacks, both of them - keep running interference for you when things get dicey - and I keep conveniently coming along behind to play your nursemaid and save your ass."

The grey eyes had narrowed as the diatribe had gone on; and the stinging slap, powered with every ounce of strength she had left behind it, seemed to come out of nowhere and staggered him back. "You have no right..." she managed around teeth clenched tightly in fury.

Jarod straightened up, his empty hand tightening into a fist and then opening again even as his voice got lower, softer, deadlier. "Thomas was a fool - and so am I for being here in the middle of bloody nowhere putting up with your bullshit day after day. I don't know what in the hell I was thinking of." He slammed the cannister of flour back down on the table in front of her so hard it made her jump. "I just lost my appetite. If you're hungry, you can cook it yourself," he hissed at her lethally and then stalked off in the direction of the workshop again.

Parker sat there for a very long time, stunned by the vicious verbal drubbing Jarod had just administered - and by the fact that not only had he been apparently unmoved by her striking him but he had turned his back on her and walked out, abandoning her in her own self-serving mess of chaotic pantry items and shattered emotions. It had been a long time since anyone had managed to so thoroughly intimidate and cow her practically into silence, and Jarod's performance had fascinated and terrified her in a way very few things ever had in her adult life.

He had never before allowed her to see the strength his own character had developed since he'd been out in the world on his own, except in the limited sense that their previous give and take sparring had been becoming more evenhanded than she had thought possible. But this was a Jarod in a full flying fury with only barely restrained violence the like of which she had only before seen from her father - and that only rarely. Certainly it wasn't the same Jarod that had escaped the Centre in grief over the murder of a friend. That Jarod was a wounded creature, this Jarod had been strong and forceful - and a dangerous man to cross.

Eventually she arose and began finishing the job of putting things away again that Jarod had barely started, although the bottom had fallen out of her world entirely. It was the only thing she could think of that might assuage Jarod's fury, which was the only thing besides contemplating what he had told her about herself that she could rally her shattered wits to focus on. Shaking more and more badly as time passed, the tears of self-guilt and accusation finally flowed freely down her cheeks. Jarod had held up a very cruel mirror and dared her to look within, and he had been right - she had been using him, just as she had used the booze and the cigarettes before, as a crutch to keep from facing the emptiness of her own life. Even Thomas - as much as she loved him, had been a crutch against the loss of a mother's love and absence of a father's love. Jarod hadn't said anything that she hadn't been avoiding thinking about herself for a long time before then. Broots, Sydney, Thomas... all of them were fools for trying to help her. Even her mother. She WASN'T worth it.

As the door of the woodshop had slammed behind him, Jarod had felt that inhuman coldness slipping away, leaving him shocked at the memory of his own cruelty. Shaking in worry at what he might have done, he sat down heavily at the workbench and studied the bas-relief carving of Miss Parker's likeness he had put into a rough plank. How could he have said such things to her - how could he have thought to destroy a friend like that? It was so utterly contrary to all the values he'd managed to scrape together in his life. He rubbed his cheek ruefully to ease the stinging, reflecting on how he should have expected her to try to deck him - or at least give him a black eye for his efforts. He would have deserved it. Sydney had been right - he should have just left her alone.

When he heard a short, soft sob, he knew he couldn't leave her like that - torn apart and bleeding internally from mortal wounds he himself had inflicted. He quietly opened the door and walked to the kitchen. The table was again cleared and clean, and Miss Parker had her back to him, putting the last of the small bottles of seasonings back into their proper place. She was moving slowly, and her back convulsed with barely-controlled sobs.

Jarod paused, then moved behind her and placed gentle, apologetic hands on her shoulders. "I'm sorry," he said softly. "That was heartless and cruel of me, and you didn't deserve that."

Her shoulders convulsed again as she choked back another bitter sob, but otherwise didn't respond. Jarod tightened his hold on her trembling shoulders. "When my brother died, I thought I had gone completely empty inside, you know? All I wanted was someone to care the way I cared, to be there for me when the hurting got too bad, and to let me find some peace eventually." He turned her in his grasp and cupped her face between his hands. "You've been my strength more often than I can count. I swear I won't think any less of you if you let me be your strength for a little while."

Her tears spilled over his fingers as she looked up into his dark eyes as if frightened that he would turn on her again. "I can't do that," she admitted slowly, her voice choked into a whisper.

Jarod's heart wrenched, feeling the full weight of her pain and anguish - some of it directly his fault - hit him square in the face. At least he could try to put aright that which he himself had harmed. He pulled her into his arms and held her to him tightly. "Look, don't ever let anyone put a guilt-trip on you - least of all, me. You DIDN'T kill Thomas, Parker. Very evil people did that, people capable of orchestrating his death and then using it to get to you. You were not responsible." He buried his face briefly in her fragrant hair as he felt her finally lean into his embrace a little and circle his waist lightly with her arms, then pulled back a little to kiss her forehead very gently. "Let me tell you something. Sydney and Broots help you because they see see who you are - and they like what they see, just as I do. The real Miss Parker isn't the corporate bitch you pretend to be at work to get the job done, even though you are VERY good at playing the bitch."

He felt her attempt to chuckle at his last comment, but the chuckle caught in her throat and became yet another choked sob. So he stopped trying to talk to her altogether and just tightened his arms around her even more, rocking ever so slightly back and forth and shushing her as he would a child. He could feel the tension building in her, her resistance to letting down all her defenses, her continuing to try to shut out the pain, her choking the sobs back even as they threatened to tear her apart. Being strong right now was incredibly hard for her, but just as Sydney had warned him, she was unable to show him anymore weakness than she already had. To recognize and react to her vulnerability any further would do more harm than good. He would have to be content to being allowed in only as far as SHE would let him, to comfort her only in those ways SHE would allow, to hold her until she was ready to try to stand on her own again and to let her go when she needed or was ready to stand alone.

~~~~~~~~

The cruel and strikingly vivid nightmare took her directly back to relive the horrible memory of first slipping on the warm blood in the doorway and then discovering Tommy lying sprawled against the woodpile on her front porch with open, vacant, dead eyes and blood like crimson tendrils covering his face and pooling everywhere on the polished floor. And again. And again. Miss Parker awoke from that repeated vision of death screaming, only to find a sleep-tousled yet very concerned Jarod close at her bedside ready to once more wrap his arms around her and hold her tightly to him while she trembled and sobbed and relived her horror. Only half-awake, she found she couldn't rally her defenses to be strong at all; yet the arms that held her seemed to cast no judgement and were just THERE, supporting her and holding her together when it would have been easiest to fall completely apart. In her dream-tossed confusion, those arms became the stalwart support to which she clung desperately. Jarod murmured soft words of comfort into her ear, knowing that she couldn't hear them, and smoothed her hair back from her face as the nightmare-bred hysteria abated.

She finally fell asleep, exhausted by her ordeal, while still cradled in his arms; secure in the comforting and undemanding embrace. Awakening very early the next morning, she found herself once more alone, blankets carefully tucked in around her, with Jarod snoring softly on the couch in the living room again.

She slid into her bathrobe and, smoothing her hair back out of her face, went out in the soft light of the dawning sun to sit down on the coffeetable and study his face close up while it was still relaxed in slumber. She knew she didn't have long before decades of internal sensors and Centre paranoia would bring him awake, and she wanted to see what an unguarded Jarod looked like - as if seeing him without any of his facile masks would help her get a better glimpse of herself. As he began to rouse at the unconscious awareness of being watched, she realized that he was no more comfortable in his own vulnerability than she was in hers. It was an insight that would stay with her for a long time.

Jarod started up at seeing her so near. "Miss Parker! What's wrong?" he struggled to blink away the rest of his slumber.

Miss Parker shook her head calmly. "Nothing. I'm sorry I woke you." She really was sorry - she had disturbed his sleep once already, and badly too.

Dark eyes grew confused, and then Jarod settled back to propping his head on a hand to wait for her to explain what she was doing there. It was apparent that Miss Parker was working through something difficult to voice - and that the best thing to do for him was to see whether she was going to share, or pull back into her shell again. That she was here at all was extraordinary, that it was the vulnerable side of her as well was beyond belief. All drowsiness dropped away.

"I..." she began, then moved her hands vaguely, then sank her head in her hands in frustration before looking up at him again. "Hell, I don't know how to..."

"Its OK," he reassured her quietly, his free hand reaching for one of hers.

The touch was comforting, and she smiled at him weakly for a moment as she returned the pressure of the grasp. Then she shook her head and lowered her gaze to study the woodgrain in the floorboards. "No, Jarod, its not OK."

"What isn't OK?"

"That I don't know how to be strong without being a bitch." The admission hurt, but was oddly cleansing too. She looked back up into his clear gaze and saw acceptance, and not judgement, looking back at her. As she watched him ponder his reply, she was very aware that his thumb had begun moving back and forth across the back of her hand in a subtle caress.

"That's the Centre talking, robbing you of your right to be who you are," he said finally, softly yet firmly. "Being hardnosed and aggressive in a hardnosed and aggressive corporation is a survival skill, but a very wearing one. And because it isn't who you are, you need crutches to keep up the act - crutches you can't afford anymore healthwise. If you're going to survive, you're going to have to learn to be hardnosed and aggressive without them. You don't have to let being a bitch kill you, you know..."

"And Tommy?" The question was whispered, almost too softly to hear.

Jarod's grip on her hand tightened. "Thomas was your escape attempt, Miss Parker, your chance to break loose of who and what The Centre wanted you to be, your chance to find out who you really are - through his eyes. And because you were finally beginning to find out these things when he was stolen from you, you're gonna have to finish figuring it out for yourself, if you're gonna do it at all." The thumb resumed its caress. "Thomas wasn't a crutch, Miss Parker. He was a door, and a invitation to go through it. The invitation has been destroyed -but the door he gave you is still open. Its up to you whether you want to go through it or not, and whether you want to go through it now or later on."

"What's on the other side of that door, Jarod?"

Jarod smiled gently and shook his head. "I don't know, Miss Parker. Your door is your door; my door was mine. I do know that it takes strength to decide for yourself when the time is right to go through it; and I have faith that you'll not let anyone else make that decision for you anymore. Not me, not your father, not Raines - not anybody." He shook her captured hand for emphasis. "You're stronger than you think you are; I know it, even if you don't yet. Have a little faith in yourself, Parker."

She stared at him for a long time, letting his words sink in, their clasped hands a warm and vital link between them. For the briefest of moments, she considered moving to the couch next to him and letting herself be held again - there was comfort and strength in his arms that was very inviting right now. But his avowal of faith in her strength had taken quick root, and she refused to let the moment descend into the maudlin. If there was one thing she knew about herself, it was that she disliked maudlin immensely.

She shook the hand she held, then reluctantly let it go as she got to her feet. "Its my turn at breakfast," she announced, dashing at her eyes with a palm to staunch any threatening tears. "Coffee?"

Jarod smiled, allowing her to retreat from her moment with grace. "Love some." He stretched and threw back his blanket, then rose as she moved toward the kitchen. "And Parker?" She paused and looked back at him over a shoulder. "Can we call a cease-fire, please? I don't want to fight anymore."

"I'll try," she responded with the beginnings of a smile of her own, "but no promises. Old habits die hard - and you are fun to bicker with, all things considered..."

~~~~~~~~

They stood quietly side by side watching the sun go down over the distant rise of the western mountains. The last few days of the two weeks had passed quietly and relatively peacefully. What bickering had passed between them had been far more light-hearted and like the teasing of siblings rather than attempts to cause each other pain. But their time was coming to an end. "I'm going back tomorrow," she had said softly, not wanting to look at him.

"I know," he replied just as softly, not looking at her either.

"If I survive my return, if Raines doesn't dissect me for getting away from Sam," she began again, and now Jarod turned to look at her, "I'm going to have to go back to trying to bring you back to The Centre." She didn't look particularly happy about this. "Its my job."

"I know," he repeated, watching her face carefully.

Parker turned and studied Jarod's face closely in the fading light of the sunset. It was going to be difficult to set aside her memories of Jarod as a gentleman and a stalwart friend or brother, the constant rock against which she had leaned so many times in the last few days. It would be even more difficult for her to return to the role of his huntress. Not for the first time did she regret the task The Centre had set her. "You're a good man, Jarod," she said after a long moment, "and I'm sorry it has to be like this."

"I know," he said yet again even more softly, in a voice shimmering with sad forgiveness.

With that, a tear fell from one emerald eye. "God, but I wish it was you who was my brother, and not that Lyle person!" When he silently mouthed another "I know," she tossed aside all considerations of whether it was maudlin or not. "Hold me."

Jarod opened his arms to her, and she walked into them to be enfolded tightly to him, wrapping her own arms around him as if to never let him go. He knew in time that she was weeping again, because her chest would heave occasionally; but this time it was a cleansing, healing cry rather than the tearing, wrenching sobs that had so often punctuated the silence of their shared cabin. Gradually the weeping abated; and then she simply stood enfolded in the arms of her friend, enfolding him back in gratitude even as she drank in his comfort and caring.

"You remind me of Thomas," she began, her head on his shoulder and not looking at him at all. "He was a fix-it man too, you know, of people as well as houses - and I was as much a mess as my roof was at first. He didn't let me chase him away either by being a bitch, didn't stop when I told him to stay away from things I... didn't think I was ready to face. He helped me find the strength to reopen my mother's studio at the house, and he helped me find the strength to try to escape The Centre."

"He was a good man," Jarod's voice rumbled low near her ear. He was genuinely touched at her sharing her emotions with him, knowing that her opening to him was her effort to find meaning. "I could see it when I saw you two together; he loved you very much. You were very lucky."

"I miss him." She drew in a ragged breath. "I love him with all my heart, and I'll miss him for the rest of my life." Jarod stood silent, honoring her grief and declaration by withholding unnecessary comment. For a long moment, that was all she said. Then: "I'm ready to go home and begin my life again, though."

"That's as it should be," he answered gently, not moving.

She swallowed hard. "I will never be able to repay you for what you've done; but I can't stop being who I am."

"Don't worry about it," he rumbled at her again, smoothing her hair for her before returning his arm to its place around her shoulder. "What happened here has no meaning in that other world; just as that other world doesn't have an meaning here or now. Just remember that."

"But life goes on, doesn't it?"

Jarod's arms tightened around her briefly, then resumed their comforting hold on her. "Life goes on", those were her father's words exactly - but from her they were spoken with humanity and feeling and that tired acceptance of the undeniable that was the essential building block of healing. He closed his eyes and allowed himself to relax and simply enjoy the sensation of holding her close for the short time that remained to their peacefully isolated truce. Yes, she was going to be OK, and when he let go of her this time, he really could let go. "Yes, it does, Miss Parker. It does indeed."

They stood, arms around each other in mutual comfort and support, until the stars came out and shone brightly above them. It was the chilled night breeze that eventually drove them back into the cabin, still holding hands. "Its late, and you have a long drive ahead of you," Jarod said quietly, his words a simple declaration of fact. The time had come to let go, and yet he was finding it difficult.

"You won't be here when I wake up tomorrow, will you." It wasn't a question; it was a statement.

He shook his head wordlessly, and felt her hand in his tighten. He turned to her and cupped her cheek with his other hand. "Goodnight, Miss Parker," he said very softly, then kissed her gently - the kiss of a loving brother or dear friend. Then he released her and backed away.

"Goodbye, Jarod," Miss Parker whispered just as softly, "and thank you." She turned and went into her bedroom, closing the door softly behind her. For some reason, the cabin seemed emptier already; and she huddled beneath her blankets unable to sleep for a long time. When she awoke very early the next morning, Jarod was already gone, as she had expected - leaving only a neatly folded blanket on the couch where he had slept and the keys to their rental car on the dining table next to a single yellow rose in a vase, with a card beside it that said "Remember."

~~~~~~~~

"This is Sydney"

"Take care of her for me."

Jarod had disconnected before Sydney could manage a reply to the unexpected impression that a "changing of the guard" had just occurred. The familiar click of high heels approaching down the hall toward his office door then caught his attention, and closing the cell phone, he smiled as a much-rested Miss Parker stepped briskly into his office. "You're back, I see, nice and rested too," he smiled at her. "I'm sure Dr. Raines will be interested to hear where you got off to after you took out Sam and Greg in my cabin."

Miss Parker smiled, and it was a cold smile. "I'm sure he would like to know. But I think he could use a little mystery in his life now and then - this will just have to be one of them." Knowing there was little time for sentiment in this otherwise cold and cruel place, she allowed her facade to slip just long enough for him to recognize the real person behind it and see that she was, truly, alright. "Thanks again, Syd, for all your help. I owe you one." The facade slipped flawlessly back into place even as Sydney nodded slightly in understanding, relieved that the many levels of meaning hidden within that simple phrase would hopefully escape the men behind the cameras that watched their every move.

Then Sydney began to chuckle in genuine relief and pleasure at seeing Miss Parker once again apparently ready to face the world and all takers as Broots stumbled through the office door and brought the quintessential corporate persona back to life. "Uh, Miss Parker? Your father wants to see you in his office ASAP." Broots himself didn't know whether to flinch or cheer when the cold gaze he was so familiar with was turned on him in full volume.

"I took the time to read your latest status report on Wonder Boy last night after I got back," she said in that lethally soft voice of hers. I'm hoping that there's more up here," she tapped his forehead smartly, "than there is on paper, because your next boss probably won't be half as forgiving of your incompetence as I am." She slapped the report into his chest, forcing him to grab it awkwardly before it scattered across the office floor. "And you had better pray that I'm not up for replacement because you can't do your job - because I'll make you pay for it, so help me God!"

She stalked from the room, hearing Broots' stammered "Its good to have you back, Miss Parker," through the closing doorway. With her corporate bitch persona firmly and comfortably in place, she moved down the hall and watched the people move out of her way nervously - content to allow the facade to do the talking and intimidating for her for today and from now on. She would play the game, work on the clues Jarod left behind him, and put in her time protected by the mask of whom and what The Centre wanted her to be. She would even face her father - or a T-board, if that was what her future held - protected by this facade or another similar to it.

Tonight, she promised herself, she would take off the facades much as she would wash off her daily makeup, sit quietly in her mother's parlor and remember the many evenings she and Tommy had sat in that room together making plans for a future that would never happen. Tommy had had faith in her - he had loved her - and with his love had given her a yearning for another, less harsh, existence. Tonight, as she would head for her solitary bedroom, she would pause near the heavy dictionary on the mantle which held tightly between its pages the yellow rose and its companion card that she had brought back with her from the mountain cabin and remember the friend whose faith in her was teaching her to have faith in herself. And someday, a rough-hewn plank with a bas-relief carving which still rested in the storage shed outside would have a proper place to be installed, a sign that it was time to begin finding herself again. She owed it to them both, and to herself, to decide to go through that door eventually.

Finally, sometime in the near future she knew for certain she'd get another mocking, baiting call from Jarod, just to remind her that she was still alive - and that life does indeed go on. Knowing Jarod as well as she did, she knew he wouldn't be able to resist taunting her for long. They had, after all, re-entered that other world again he had spoken of that last evening - the world of their heated contest to see who would remain free and who imprisoned by The Centre - and the taunting was part of the game. He knew that as well as she did, and she found herself counting on his not disappointing her by remaining silent for too long.

She knew with equal certainty, however, that there would be those times when the sparring would pause unexpectedly, and for an all-too-brief moment she would commune with her friend about important things. Not often enough, though; and she would have to be strong enough to manage between those brief exchanges. He had faith in her, though - he had told her so in so many words - and maybe it was time to trust him on that, even if just a little, and do what was necessary to prove his faith was not misplaced.

She paused briefly outside her father's office doors, straightening her spine and setting her mouth in the plastic smile of bravado and confidence she knew her father preferred from her in this place where all was bravado and illusion and secrets and conspiracies and power games. Life goes on. She pushed open the doors and sailed grandly through them as if she hadn't a care in the world. "Hello, Daddy. I'm back... Broots said you wanted to see me?"

END

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