Fall ended and naturally winter followed. The first snow fall brought with it postcards, photos of winter gatherings, footage of Jarod attending various parades. He'd strategically hidden a code within the gifts and he knew that Parker would decipher it.

She had.

"Damn him!" She hissed to herself. "Why would he give me his number? What if the Centre had found it?"

Jarod stood outside her window, observed as she flipped open her mobile, closed it, and then, opened it once more. He was thankful that he'd had the foresight to switch his own mobile to "vibrate".
"Hello." He said, glancing anxiously into her house. "Hello?" He asked. "Miss Parker?"
Jarod watched her flipped the phone shut.

Patience.

Sydney was quite surprised and relieved when Jarod sent Thanksgiving dinner to the Centre- by the truckloads- all the trimmings included.
"Jarod's reaching out." Sydney smiled.
Parker leaned in. "I believe you mean flipping out." And on that caustic note, she pivoted and left him standing perplexed.

December breezed past. Jarod had sent a variety of sweets and assortment of trees- already decorated. He also sent Gingerbread men hell, an entire gingerbread village. Entirely edible too. Houses, streets, a coffee shop, police station, school and even a chapel. With the edible town, a Miss Parker Edition notebook was sent along. Inside, a letter addressed to her. Most were memories of her, her mother, Timmy. Christmas wishes. Happiness. Health. To be friends. He closed with:
Now is the time.
Always,
-J

Different, yes but Syd's assessment was the same. The never ending search for innocence stolen.
Fortunately, Sydney and Broots had no clue as to the last line. Now is the time. He wanted her to phone him. Now.

"How did he make the snow?" Broots asked, cheerfully curious.
"Flaked coconut." Sydney examined the white stuff closely, dipped a fingertip into the confection and taste. "And white edible glitter."
"And look, Miss Parker, look at the chimney- it looks just like smoke!" Broots chuckled and began humming "Have yourself a merry little Christmas."

The smell of coconut covered licorice streets and fresh baked gingerbread filled her office and for a reason she couldn't understand, Parker felt bitter tears sting her eyes. She hurried out of the room while Broots and Sydney were pulling cinnamon flavored gum drops off the edible roof tops.

Jarod hadn't phoned or visited her, not since their carnival adventure but the cards and letters, the words he wrote were painful reminders of something that neither of them could ever have, a reminder of things she longed for and feared and her greatest fear was voicing her desires because doing so made her vulnerable to additional hurt, additional loss and that thing she feared most: rejection.

Jarod sighed as he stood outside her window, watched as she curled up alone on the sofa. The letters and gifts had not had the desired effect on Parker. She'd phoned once and hadn't spoken and that had been in November. He wanted her but he was in no rush to have his dreams so cruelly crushed again- and so icily- by her.

She was waiting for something, maybe a sign of some sort. Perhaps she was waiting for him to make the next move.

Well, she's just going to have to wait.
He murmured and walked away.

It was time to rethink strategy, time to teach her a thing or two about reckless dalliances.
He broke off all communication with her. No more clues, or gifts. Nothing. And while by all outward appearances, all seemed well, Jarod watched from a distance. He knew better. And that was before he'd planted photos of himself with Zoe that Broots was certain to find during routine scans. The look on Parker's face had been absolutely priceless. He was getting to her, rattling her to the point that every knock at the door caused her to flinch, even when she was working.

"What!" She yelled at her door.
"Ho. Ho. Ho." Lyle chuckled as he entered her office. "I phoned you at home but-"
"What do you want, Lyle?"
"It's Christmas. What are you still doing here?"
"Working, Lyle." She placed her pen on the desk. "What are you doing here? Out of jail? The judge denied bail."
"Yes but my attorney and I spoke with the judge and we finally convinced her otherwise. What can I say, Parker, I'm charming." Lyle winked then pulled a chair and sat across from Parker.
"How have things been here?" He asked.
"The same."
"Any new developments?"
"Such as?"
Lyle smiled. "Any signs of loyalty that I should know about?"
"Oh, you want to know if I have been kissing Raines' ass?"
"Well, that's one way to put it."

"Raines will be throwing snowballs in hell before he receives a sign of loyalty from me."
"Leads?"
Lyle asked.
"None."
"Calls?"
"Not in some time."
"Gifts, cards?"
"Not since the first of this month."
"No presents? Cuddly white bunnies?"
"There was one thing." Parker said. "It was brought in this morning." She explained and then added, her eyes wide in mock joy and amusement. "By Santa."
"Oh and what was that?"

"Nothing, Lyle." Parker gestured towards the cardboard box on her desk. "An entire box of nothing, in fact."
"The rat sent the Centre an empty box for Christmas."
"And an attached card."
Lyle searched the box, then read the card aloud.
"Just returning the only thing you've ever given me. Love, J." Lyle looked at his sister. "The lab-rat has become the Grinch. What the hell does it mean?"
"Emptiness." She whispered as she recalled Sydney's analysis of "the box".

"This empty box, Ms. Parker, symbolizes Jarod's emptiness. He feels unfulfilled, hollow."
Empty.
She had wanted to scream, to spit out some sarcastic remark regarding the Centre's no return policy, that even though the Boy Scout was returning his little gift, he'd never be given back the years or the life that had been stolen from him.

Sorry, Jarod, no refunds. It's the Centre after all, not some over sized, monopolizing giant of a store. There were no customer service representatives waiting with artificial smiles to apologize for Jarod's unsatisfactory experiences.

Instead, she had whispered, still staring at the box, "He decided to give the gift of emptiness?"
"Yes, to the Centre." Sydney whispered. Parker had taken the box and stormed out of his office.

Lyle cleared his throat and observed as his sister stared forlornly at the box.
"I know what you're thinking."
I doubt that." She whispered.
"Our first Christmas without our fath- " Lyle paused. "Without Mr. Parker. I feel the emptiness too. It's here." Lyle pressed his palm to his chest.
"Yeah." Parker nearly gagged.
"We could- we could spend it together."
"I have to work, Lyle."
"It's Christmas, Parker."
"And Jarod isn't going to wrap himself in a huge red bow and place himself under the Blue Spruce down in renewal."
"Well-" Lyle stood, stuck his hands into his pockets. "Keep me updated."
Parker nodded, then watched him exit and turned her attention once again to the box. Emptiness. Her emptiness, Jarod's emptiness. The gift that keeps on giving, courtesy of the Centre.

January breezed past without a word from the Pretender. Jarod spent time catching up with his family, being a son to Margaret and Charles and big brother to Emily, Ethan and Wes. He was learning that the structure, the dynamic of familial relationships and obligations and the roles he was forced to embody were far more complicated than he'd expected. It was not all happiness and sunshine, not after the initial joyful, tearful reunion.

The relationship between Margaret and Charles was strained to say the least. They were essentially a pair of strangers learning to fall in love again but that proved more difficult than anyone could imagine once they'd realized that they'd both changed so much over the years. Worse still, Young Wes, the clone, saw Jarod as a father and Major Charles as a grandfather and that complication alone was enough to increase tensions which rippled over each member of Jarod's family.

Meanwhile, in Centre wonderland, Parker was becoming more reckless, not only with Centre affairs, her unwillingness to follow leads on Jarod but in her personal life as well.
The club scene became an unlikely source of release and in some ways, Sydney felt she was finally experiencing the childhood she'd never been allowed to have- but in a more rebellious adolescent manner. While she had yet to bring anyone home with her, Sydney feared that the unhealthy entanglements would only make her more unhappy.

As if he didn't have enough to worry about.

When February arrived, Sydney feared that Jarod had lost himself in the depression that appeared to have consumed his soul. Wonder boy began calling about that time, a longing in his voice that Sydney recognized all too well.

What is love? Why is love? How, Sydney? What makes it last? How do you know if it's real, if it's right?

The shrink held the phone for a brief moment longer when the conversation ended and finally closed the mobile. It seemed that Jarod was troubled by something other than his stolen childhood.

"No. It can't be." Sydney whispered. "My God." The psychiatrist smiled and shook his head.

Jarod closed his mobile and continued to wait in the darkness of the suite, until finally, he heard footsteps.

Valentine's Eve. It was time to finish what he'd started with a candy heart years ago. They'd suffered enough. She'd been drinking more than ever, losing consciousness at night on the sofa, unable to face the empty bed a night longer. He would simply give her a nudge in the right direction.

Jarod had no idea just how lonely she'd been until he peeked around the corner upon hearing laughter as she entered the suite.

Obviously drunk, Parker was tangled around some "dude" in Michael Anthony western footwear, jeans and a huge buckle he'd won in some bull riding event. It wasn't her style and Jarod really didn't understand the appeal at first, until he realized that the man's hair, eye color and height were all very similar to Thomas'.

With growing disgust, Jarod watched the pair kiss, their bodies pressing into each other obscenely before finally, Parker pulled away to catch her breath.

"Slow down, Cowboy." The slurred words were drawled seductively from under the man's Stetson hat. With a great deal of effort, she attempted to stumble towards the mini bar. "I'll fix us another drink."

But the man was clearly anxious to get on with the business of "knockin' boots" and riding away on his trusty steed at dawn- and well before dawn.

"I'm serious." She said as she found herself pulled back and pinned to the wall, his fingers reaching under the short skirt she wore, his hands grabbing her firm bottom and thrusting her body against his- against the erection straining against his Wrangler's. The bull was ready to leave the pen.

"No, you aren't. I know what you want, baby."
"I want another drink and then-"
More aggressively, the man assaulted her mouth, stifling her words- something Thomas would have never done.
"I said-" She slurred the words and struggled but clearly, she was no match for a guy who wrestled large farm animals for a living, not in her condition anyway. "Stop!" She screamed at the offending hands inching their way up her skirt, grasping at her skin.
Jarod had seen enough. The man had no intention of stopping and she was physically unable to make him stop.

Jarod was across the room in three large strides when the "dude" pulled a knife and moved towards Parker with it.

The Pretender didn't have a chance to even sim out the possibilities. He simply grabbed the "dude" by his neck, yanked him away from the wall that Parker had been pinned against and into the door, effectively knocking the knife out of the man's hands. Jarod then slammed the man's head into the floor , dropping to the floor himself and there, Jarod commenced to beating the bastard to a well deserved bloody pulp.

When he finally pulled himself out of the blind rage he was in, he vaguely remembered Parker dashing past him, a door slamming shut.

Jarod breathed deeply, phoned an old pal in law enforcement that owed him a favor and informed him that a piece of trash would be locked in the janitor's closet and awaiting pick up. Jarod had no doubt that the bastard had a record and Jarod would deal with him later. First, he had to deal with his huntress.

He sighed heavily and returned to the suite to find Parker.

Cautiously, he searched every room except one. The bedroom door was locked and he couldn't seem to convince her to open it.
At his wits end, Jarod picked the lock and opened the door, his gaze immediately locked with Parker's. She stood near the closet, a mini liquor bottle in one hand, a .9 mm in the other- the barrel was leveled directly at him.
He saw the sigh of relief that she tried so desperately to conceal.
"He's gone." Jarod assured her.
Parker's finger flipped the gun to safety. Jarod watched as she placed the weapon on the dresser.
"If you came back to gloat, save it!"
"Parker." He choked out, both shocked and saddened. "Do you honestly believe I'd- No. That's not why I'm here."
"Then why?" She asked.
"You know why." He said simply. "I hear the conference with the Triumvirate went well."
Parker took another sip from the small bottle.
"I'm still alive, aren't I?" Her words slurred.
"Of course", Jarod added, "I'm not sure how pleased they'll be when they receive the mini bar bill." He took several cautious steps towards his huntress. "I think you've had enough to drink. Don't you?"

Parker reached for the lamp, switched it off.
"Why don't you lie down and I'll get you a cool cloth, put some coffee on and phone Syd-"
"Stop talking." She said, her voice like velvet and so very near.
"Miss Parker-"
"Shh." Parker whispered on Jarod's cheek. "Don't. Talk." She hissed into his ear. Slowly, she slid her tongue along his ear lobe while her hand moved to his zipper.
Jarod grabbed her hands, held them tightly and step backwards.
In the darkness, he took the bottle from her, and then felt his way to the bed. Once there, gently coerced her to sit. Jarod then swiftly located the light switch.

"No. Not the light." She closed her eyes and shielded her face with her hands.
"I'm afraid so, Miss-"
"Stop talking. Please, Jarod, please just-"

"I think-" He attempted to interrupt her.
"No. Don't think."
"You're a little lonely, extremely intoxicated and...you want to be loved, loved like you were by Thomas but that man was not Thomas, and I am not him either. And I'm not going to pretend to be." Jarod said firmly.
Her bloodshot eyes filled with tears of frustration.
Jarod sat beside her. "Look at me."
"No."
"Look. At. Me." He cupped her chin in his palm, lifted her head and gazed into her blood shot eyes and though he was uncertain as to whether or not she'd comprehend, he continued. "That guy you brought here?" Jarod sighed. "He could have hurt you. If I hadn't been here, he would have."
"I'm tired of being alone, Jarod." She slurred sadly.
"Listen to me, the last thing you want is a meaningless fling with some stranger." Jarod brushed away gently the lone tear that slipped down her face. "It's just going to leave you feeling even more empty inside. You know that and you know that Thomas wouldn't want you to do this to yourself. And in the morning, you're going to realize that I'm right."

Jarod continued to talk and finally, he convinced her to sleep- or perhaps she'd lost consciousness. He sure as hell wasn't going to complain either way. What Parker wanted of him was cruel, unfair.

If Jarod made love to her, she wasn't going to be stumbling drunk, she was going to damn well know it was him and not a memory, and certainly not some stranger. It was going to be Jarod's name on her lips, and not another man's.

After slipping out of the bed room, he phoned Sydney.

"Oh...." Parker groaned the next morning.
"Aspirin?" Sydney offered.
"Sydney? What- where is-" She wasn't sure what to say, was unsure just how much Sydney knew- or even how much she knew.

"He left a few minutes ago."
"He?"
"Jarod." Sydney clarified.
"So...he was here all night?" She asked.
"Yes."
Parker lowered her face into her hands.

Oh, fuck.

"Yes. He slept on the sofa and checked in on you every so often." Sydney continued.
"Parker, Jarod told me what happened."
"I had everything under control. I was just about to kill the guy when Jarod came along."
"Would you like to talk about it?"
"Not really." She said sheepishly.

The psychiatrist didn't press her and that afternoon, they both returned to Blue Cove, back to "normal", to the career that would surely be the death of her where, once again, she followed a lead, and once again, Jarod escaped. Life had become just a little too predictable.

Another city, another lead.
"Have you seen this man?"
"Of course. That's Jarod Hunt."
"Where is he?"
"Oh, he just checked out." The young lady behind the counter said.
"Did he leave anything? A notebook, perhaps?" Sydney asked as Parker and Broots raced out the door.
"Nothing." The lady smiled.

Outside, Parker searched her surroundings, heard the horn and turned to see Jarod smile and wave before flooring the gas pedal and tearing down the street.
"Damn it!" Parker yelled as Jarod sped away in a red Porsche.
"Sweet ride." Broots smiled.
"Oh, shut up!" Parker snarled.

Back at the Centre three hours later, she glared at the phone ringing.

"What." Parker said after pressing the speaker button.
"That was close. Too close, in fact." Jarod said. "If you'd arrived one second earlier, Miss Parker, we'd having this conversation face to face."
"What do you want, Jarod?" She asked dryly.
"Let's not waste time asking questions that have already been answered, Miss Parker."

"It's Valentine's Day, Jarod. Don't you have something -or should I say someone- else to do?"
"Not particularly."
"Odd. I thought for sure that by now, you and young Dorothy would be holding hands and skipping along happily through a poppy field."
"Dorothy?"

"The red head in the photographs, Jarod."
"Those photos are old."
"Perhaps you should get them updated."
"I realized that I love someone else."
"Then go skip through the poppies with your someone else."
"I can't seem to convince her to join me. Isn't that sad?"
"Tragic. I have to go."

"No you don't. You're the one, Parker. You know it."
"Are you trying to tell me that you're in love with me?"
"Yes."
"Your misfortune."
"That's not fair. I've told you how I felt. Why don't you tell me how you feel?"

"I feel like having another drink. In fact, that's what I'm going-"

"Don't do that." He said angrily. "You won't tell me that you care, you won't tell me that you don't care. I'm not doing this anymore." He hissed. "We need to talk."
"Talk." She demanded.
"Face to-"
The line went dead to Jarod's surprise.
"Face." He said angrily to himself. Well if the mountain won't come to me...

She'd been caught off guard. That was putting it mildly. Nothing out of place, the lights were all off, just as she'd left them. Nothing had screamed "There's a Pretender hiding inside your home!" until the hand was pressed over her mouth. She gasped in surprise when he grabbed her from behind and backed against the door she'd just walked through.

"How dare you hang up on me!" He growled.
"What do you want?" She spat caustically.
"I already told you what I want."
"You're just angry that I changed the rules, aren't you, genius-boy? You expected me to sit home and feel sorry for myself while you were out with...with..." Parker was frustrated that she didn't have a name to go with the photographs he'd sent her.

"No. I'm angry that you're still playing this game. It's. Over. This is our life and-"
"You don't get to decide that. You run, I chase. That's the game!"
"I'm not running anymore, Parker. You are. Stop running. Please." He captured her face in his hands. “Please.” He captured her lips with his, and he, quite literally, captured...her. And then softly broke off the kiss. She was breathless, trembling, she- Parker, the predator, had been captured. Completely. By her prey. And she was fairly certain- as certain as one could be after such an intoxicating kiss- that it was supposed to be the other way around.

He leaned in closer, until their foreheads were pressed together.

"I want you." He whispered, then dropped his gaze to the floor, or to their feet, hell she didn't know. "God help me." Jarod closed his eyes, opened them, met her gaze once again. "I want you to tell me- tell me that you feel the same. Or tell me that you want me to leave and I'll never bother you again."

"The Centre will-"
"This isn't about the Centre. Tell me. Please. Tell me to go to hell, tell me what to do. Tell me now. For once in your life, think of yourself and not the Centre. Please."

Then he whispered her name. Her name.

She gasped, exhaled a nearly inaudible choked whimper. He'd never uttered her name before. Ever. No one had, no one except her mother. And it had been so long that she'd almost forgotten the name herself, forgotten who she was. Was.
She was "Occupant" at the office and "Resident" at home, she was "bitch" to many, she had been "Honey" and "Angel" to Mr. Parker, "little Miss Parker" to Edna Raines, she was "Parker" to Sydney and Lyle, but she was "Miss Parker" to everyone else.

"Say something. Please." He whispered huskily. "Make a decision. Now or never. Tell me what to do, please."
And she did. She told him what she wanted and where to go and precisely what to do, she answered his every question and his prayers, all by whispering one very simple word that was certain to complicate everything.






"Stay."