In Transit - by MMB

Chapter One


Miss Parker stared out the window of the corporate jet into the fathomless black of the night sky, just as she had thousands of times before. As she had from time to time since they had taken off, she wondered once more just how late they would be in arriving at the site of Jarod's apparently latest deed of do-gooding this time. This trip was the result of the first clue they'd had on his whereabouts in several weeks, and there was no clear indication of how old the information was. For all she knew - and considering the information came from Lyle and not Broots, for all anybody knew - Jarod may not have been in this spot for a very long time.

Since their adventure on Carthis three months ago, from which they both had barely escaped with their lives and Jarod with his freedom, Jarod had managed to stay below the Centre's radar. He'd managed to avoid Broots' masterful and multi-faceted detection schemes and not even indulged in his regular late-night phone conversations with her, with the exception of one very poignant call not long after her return to the Centre. Even Sydney hadn't heard from him, and she knew that had been a worry for the older man. It was as if the labrat had finally begun tiring of the "you run, I chase" scenario that he'd been playing out with them for years. Miss Parker couldn't honestly say that she didn't blame him. Had the circumstances on her end been any different, she would be toying with the prospect of doing something else in her life as well.

But, of course, the devil in her circumstances was in the details. She didn't have the luxury of just quitting the game and dropping out. This game was for her, she had been told in no uncertain terms, a matter of survival.

She sighed, then looked to the man who sat immediately to her left and just shook her head in amazement. Sydney hadn't lost his ability to make himself comfortable in just about any setting. He had been rousted rather rudely from his bed in the middle of the night by Lyle's phone call, as had the rest of them. But the Flemish psychiatrist's answer to his immediate circumstances and continued fatigue from a tiring day previous had been to simply drop his chin to his chest and close his eyes the moment the jet was in the air. He wasn't quite snoring, but his breathing was slow and deep and steady; and Miss Parker found herself suddenly envious of his apparent lack of concern for his surroundings.

She sighed again; they were three hours out of Los Angeles yet, and there was little to occupy her mind in the interrum with Sydney dozing contentedly next to her and Broots completely dead to the world in the opposite aisle seat. There was always Sam, seated against the forward bulkhead facing backward into the compartment; but in striking up a conversation with him, she'd awaken her other companions. Feeling the lateness of the hour pressing in on her herself, she leaned her head back against the headrest instead, and then straightened back up again immediately with a shiver. There was a blast of cold air, part of the ever-present air conditioning system on the jet, no doubt, that had found its way over her right shoulder and down the neck of her blouse.

Her eyes were drooping more insistently, however, and it was getting more difficult to keep the yawns stifled; so she finally broke down and contemplated her options. She looked over again at Syd, wondering just how deeply asleep he was and whether he would mind the imposition very much, then gave in to her fatigue and the temptation to just lean to the left and carefully rest her head against his shoulder. She closed her eyes and, with a couple of deep breaths, was asleep too.

Sydney roused as the sensation of weight bearing down on his right shoulder eventually insinuated itself into his dreams and dragged him back to awareness, then he smiled softly to himself as he figured out what was going on and shifted slightly so that they both could be more comfortable. There had once been a time when she wouldn't have allowed herself to be caught dead sleeping with her head on his or anybody else's shoulder during a long or boring flight. No, she would have been downing cup after cup of strong coffee to keep her awake and going until the sweep was finished, then sloshing down an equally toxic amount of vodka to counteract the caffeine. Not even a brush with death from a perforated ulcer had given her cause to change her routine.

But then, those had been in the days before the trip to Ireland that she still refused to discuss with anyone, in the days when her father - or at least the man she believed to be her father for most of her life - had still been alive. His body had been discovered about a week after his ill-fated jump into the Atlantic, and the private funeral had marked the beginning of the changes in Miss Parker. Always a loner before, the loss of Mr. Parker had rendered Miss Parker lost in a way that even the death of Thomas had not managed: her face never losing its vague touch of sadness behind those expressive grey eyes.

While still capable of bringing a man to his knees literally and figuratively with a few soft-spoken words, she had begun spending the greater parts of her workdays in the company of the other members of her search team for one reason or another. Greatly appreciated by everyone involved were her efforts at restraining herself when it came to the sarcastic barbs and ridicule with which she had normally treated them. Only the arrival of Lyle or Raines through the door of the Sim Lab would trigger the old bravado, with the barbs aimed in those gentlemen's direction even sharper and more vicious than ever. Lately, at the oddest of moments and in the most private of ways, she had begun reaching out to him and to Broots - reaching out in ways that only those who knew her very well would know demonstrated a decided shift in character. Like now, sitting on a plane in the wee hours of the morning with her head leaning against him, fast asleep.

Syd caught Sam's eye as the sweeper glanced about the interior of the compartment appraisingly. Sam was the accepted fourth member of their task force who was just as loyal to Miss Parker as any of the rest of them were - and like the others, had eventually come to be more loyal to Miss Parker than to the Centre itself. With a couple of silently mouthed words, a glance and a nod, Sydney directed Sam to fetch and then cover Miss Parker with one of the soft blankets from the storage unit above them. She sighed as the warmth of the blanket began to work its magic, and then turned toward Sydney slightly and tucked her right hand into the crook of his elbow to gain a hold on his arm, then nestled down against him as her sleep became truly restful.

Sydney smiled inwardly again, glad that she could accept at least this little comfort from him; and then once more tucked his chin into his chest, closed his eyes and dozed.

In Transit - by MMB

Chapter Two: Arrival


Being the veteran of his share of long-distance flights, Sydney had learned to recognize the subtle changes in cabin pressure that signaled the pilot had begun a slow descent toward the designated airport; and this flight was no different. Rousted from bed to be ordered onto a transcontinental flight to Los Angeles, he had rebelled against the intemperate hour by simply dropping his chin to his chest and napping the greater share of the time. He had finally roused about three minutes earlier at the first hint of cabin pressure change, only to find himself unexpectedly the only person awake in the cabin.

Across the aisle from him, Broots had stretched his seat back as far as it could go and was still sawing logs softly. Sam, otherwise ever-vigilant, had finally leaned his head back against the forward bulkhead and dropped off, although Sydney suspected that the burly sweeper was dozing with one ear on full alert, ready to come awake at a moment's notice or the slightest unusual sound. And still nestled down on Sydney's right arm with her hand tucked into his elbow was Miss Parker, cozy and warm beneath the blanket Syd had gotten Sam to place over her. Syd had to admit that the blanket had helped keep him warm and made his own nap all the more restful, as it had almost half-covered him in order to give Miss Parker the greatest warmth possible.

Sydney found the situation very amusing. Here they were, four tireless hunters once more setting out to track down a clever and elusive quarry, in that quiet time setting that comes before any of them would need to put their skills into action, with three of them dead to the world. There was not a single visible clue to the nature of their task or the individual role any one of them played in that task when awake. All the weapons were out of sight, Broots' computer stowed overhead. To a casual observe, they could have been tired corporate executives on a red-eye flight heading for a shareholders' meeting, rather than a covert retrieval team.

Still, he knew from yet another subtle cabin pressure change that he needed to rouse Miss Parker soon, before any of the others came awake. He was deeply touched that she now trusted him enough that she might be willing to fall asleep on his shoulder when no one else - including him - was looking. But for her to be caught leaning against another, even in sleep... No, he would be wise to awaken her now, before Sam or Broots opened their eyes when the pilot made his inevitable landing announcement. Bad enough he had to awaken her, rather than let her awaken herself to the rest of them still being asleep.

He really regretted having to disturb her. He knew she hadn't been sleeping well of late, as indicated by the amount of coffee she inevitably downed the moment she hit her office and the circles under her eyes that were slowly getting darker and harder to hide with makeup. Were their circumstances any different, were they not under the gun to get to this latest of Jarod's lairs in time to actually catch the Pretender for a change, he'd be pulling medical rank and insisting that she be allowed to sleep herself out. But no, Raines had turned this hunt for Jarod into a contest with survival as the ultimate prize. She had no choices, and at this moment, neither did he.

"Parker," he said softly, leaning over her dark head and putting his lips near her ear. "Parker, its time to wake up now."

She shifted against his shoulder without waking, tightening her grip on his elbow.

Sydney gently smoothed back the stray locks of hair that had fallen into her face, then smoothed the backs of his fingers across a cheek. "C'mon Parker. Open your eyes."

She stirred again. "Go away," she muttered, rubbing at her cheek with her blanket-covered shoulder as if to chase the fingertips away.

He leaned over her again with a chuckle then murmured. "I can't, you've got a death-grip on my arm."

She finally roused, blinking slowly to get her bearings. As she awoke and realized the position she was in, first she blushed, then blanched, then almost unwillingly turned her head and looked up at Sydney with a combination of guilt and surprise.

He smiled softly at her. "There you are. I'd have let you sleep, but I figured you'd prefer to be awake when the pilot announces our landing and wakes up the others." With a sideways jerk of the head, he indicated the still-snoring Broots and the dozing Sam.

Miss Parker lifted her head to glance around at the others, then shot Sydney a look of pure gratitude. She then blushed in embarrassment as she released her tight hold on his arm and pulled away from him. As she straightened, the blanket slipped from her shoulders and let the cooler air of the cabin hit her. She caught at the soft blue blanket before it could hit the floor and turned to Syd again, this time with questions in her eyes.

The psychiatrist merely shrugged at her, finding his right side slightly stiff. "Want some help folding it?"

Miss Parker shook her head while covering a wide yawn with the back of a hand. "No thanks, I've got it." She proved her word, folding the blanket quickly and efficiently, then setting it on her lap and folding her hands demurely on top of it.

"We're making our final descent into Los Angeles," came the captain's voice over the cabin loudspeaker. "We'll be on the ground in about five minutes. There's a limo waiting for you there."

Sam's head came away from the bulkhead at the first crackle of the speaker, and he looked about the cabin in quick assessment before working his muscles as an alternative to stretching. Broots' snoring cut off abruptly with a gurgle, and soon his pale blue eyes were gazing blearily about the cabin while he struggled to return his seat to the upright position.


Miss Parker ran her fingers through her hair, quickly combing it into a semblence of its normal, casual order; while next to her, Sydney straightened his suit jacket and tightened his tie around his neck for a more business-like demeanor. As the engine noise built after touchdown to brake the little jet, she leaned back towards him and said quietly, "Thank you, Sydney... you make a very comfortable pillow."

He leaned towards her until their foreheads nearly touched. "Any time, Miss Parker. My pleasure."

"And thanks for waking me up."

Sydney started chuckling. "And protecting your reputation?" he finished for her in wry amusement, taking a chance that the intimacy of the moment could make a teenie bit of gentle teasing possible between old friends.

Miss Parker blinked at him in surprise at his rarely-displayed impudence, then turned and, with a indulgent grin of her own, punched him very gently in the very shoulder she had rested against.

Broots stared in the surprise at the sight of his boss playfully punching a grinning Sydney for no apparent reason, while Sam - ever the consummate sweeper - sighed and very diplomatically averted his eyes. Miss Parker leaned forward and glared across Sydney at Broots, who sat with mouth gaping. "Do you have a problem?" she asked crisply.

"No, ma'am!" The computer tech turned away quickly and focussed his gaze out the darkened window and the headlights of the waiting limousine near the hanger they were approaching.

She glanced sideways back at her traveling companion. "No, Sydney," she announced with soft and practiced haughtiness, the twitching lips giving away her own amusement, "THAT protected the reputation."

Then she punched him again, a little harder, when his chuckles grew into laughter.

In Transit - by MMB

Chapter Three: Return


The California sun sat warm and still high in the sky, but Sydney was finding the warmth oppressive. He was tired; it had been an extremely long day, and he just wanted to get home and sleep. Lyle's information, which had resulted in the entire primary Pretender search team being rousted from bed and ordered onto a transcontinental flight in the wee hours of the morning, had proven utterly bogus. Not only was there NO lair left behind to search after all, but several hours of interviews of neighbors and assorted business owners had turned up no indication that Jarod had ever even been near the neighborhood to which they'd been sent.

So here they were, back at the airport at mid-afternoon, climbing back onto the corporate jet to fly home empty-handed. Again.

A part of him, hidden so deeply inside that few could ever know or even suspect, was secretly rejoicing that Jarod had apparently eluded them yet again. Another part of him, the part that was an essential facet of his public face, was disappointed that the physical and emotional separation between himself and his surrogate son was going to continue for a while still. Yet another part, the Centre scientist in him, was privately frustrated at the continued interruption in the case study that had become his life's work - the side projects the Centre had been feeding him while waiting for Jarod's return were interesting, but not nearly as absorbing. A final, small and totally independent part of him was sitting back, suspicious of the circumstances that had brought them here in the first place and wondering just what was going on in Delaware that getting the entire team out of the way had been necessary. Nothing good ever came of such situations.

Those four, totally exclusive parts of himself came into conflict every time one of these sweep jobs came up empty. Their individual concerns made for an ambiguous, almost schizophrenic, set of feelings that Sydney had to work through time and time again; only he never truly seemed to be able to reach a satisfactory internal sense of balance. The wish to have Jarod's company again and being able to continue to challenge and probe the Pretender's great genius with impunity battled constantly against the quiet glee at the discomfort Jarod's continued freedom caused the Centre power elite. And through it all, like a consistent thread, ran his deep sense of guilt at having been at least partially responsible that Jarod had been held prisoner all those years.

And somehow, this time Sydney had a sneaky hunch that he wasn't alone in the feeling ambivalent department. Miss Parker had been singularly lacking in frustrated fireworks as the information she was going on was systematically proven false despite being the first clues of Jarod's whereabouts in weeks. Even now, standing on the tarmac in front of the boarding stairs, her tone as she gave her verbal report over the phone to Delaware was resigned, tired. She was taking this defeat less than personally, where before - in the days when Mr. Parker was still alive - every dead end in the search without exception had been treated like a virtual slap in the face.

Finally, whoever it was that she had been talking to on the phone was done with her, and she closed the cell phone with remarkable calmness before sliding it into her jacket pocket. With a nod to Sam, who had stood aside deferentially and diplomatically out of ear-shot waiting for her to finish her call, she turned and climbed the few stairs into the jet and looked around.

Broots, a slender set of black earphones draped over his balding head, already had his laptop open and had hooked into the Centre mainframe by satellite link and was completely engrossed with whatever was spilling across his screen. Behind her, Sam had pulled the hatch closed and sealed it, had informed the pilot of their readiness to depart, and was now getting himself once more settled into his customary seat against the forward bulkhead. Sydney was in his customary aisle seat too, his face as stony and expressionless as it usually was at the start of these return trips.

Miss Parker stepped past the psychiatrist to her usual window seat, murmuring her apology as she nearly trod on his toe in the process, and sat down heavily. Her hands moved to fasten the seat belt without conscious direction, and she leaned toward the window and put her chin in her hand. She was tired, and she felt used. Raines had been altogether too calm at her reported miss on Jarod, and she seriously suspected that not only had the information given them been deliberately misleading, but that Raines had KNOWN about the deception and approved it. In this game of survival she was playing with her unsavory twin, she was getting the sense of playing against loaded dice. It wasn't a good feeling.

She really didn't want to do this at all anymore. As it had with Jarod long ago, the game of "you run, I chase" had finally grown old and tiresome for her too. Besides, her time with Jarod on Carthis had brought so many of her feelings to the surface that she was now constantly careening between secretly cheering Jarod on in his continuing success at thumbing his nose at the Centre on the one extreme and secretly wishing that she had the guts to just end it all on the other.

She was now certain that the Centre would never let her go to make another life for herself, now thoroughly convinced that all the promises ever made to that effect had been nothing but lies and manipulations. The sad fact was that she was as much a prisoner as Jarod ever had been, only she'd never managed to truly escape and, from the indications, never would. This corporate jet, her fine clothes, latest model new car - they were nothing but bars on the gilded cage they had her trapped in, with the illusion of freedom being the cruel lock on the door of that cage. Jarod, for all his sleazy hotels and half-empty warehouse lairs and constantly moving from one end of the country to the other, WAS free.

The engine noise built as the little jet surged into the blue California skies. She looked out the window and down at the rapidly shrinking houses and cars and people on the LA streets below her, knowing them to be the far more lucky ones. She leaned back against the headrest of her seat, finding the little blast of cool air from the air conditioning that was unavoidable in that position uncomfortable - and so completely fitting to the situation. A rebellious tear of utter hopelessness and frustration brewed in an eye and escaped to her cheek before she could squelch it back.

Unexpectedly she felt the gentle pressure of fingers wrapping themselves warmly around hers, and she glanced with wide grey eyes over into the warm chestnut gaze of her travel companion. Sydney's expression was no longer stony, but open and understanding. For a moment she bristled at the audacity of the man to presume to attempt to comfort her and considered jerking her hand away as if burned; but the moment passed quickly, and the emotions that caused it evaporated.

Instead, she gave him a sad smile and patted his hand with her other hand. "I'm OK, Syd," she reassured him none too convincingly, and wiped the errant tear from her face.

His fingers tightened just perceptibly around hers, and he matched her sad smile for sad smile. "I know," was all he replied, and then let go of her hand.

"Syd?" she asked quietly, leaning toward him so that her words were for him alone.

He leaned toward her in response, and once again their foreheads almost touched. "What?"

She shook her head and straightened again. "Nothing," she lied. "Forget it."

He wasn't buying it. "When you're ready," he informed her in quiet tones, still leaning in her direction. Wide grey eyes met chestnut again and were held there by the honest concern in the warm brown depths. "When you're ready," he repeated, then straightened as well and opened the psychiatric journal he had brought along specifically to distract himself from his own ambivalent musings. It had become a practice to bring one on every trip, for he never had the time to read them otherwise...

Miss Parker stared straight ahead for a moment, then shivered under that cruel air-conditioned breeze. In a depressed and philosophical mood, she couldn't help but draw parallels between that vicious blast of air conditioning and the Centre power elite. The only way to escape the discomfort of having to deal with either was to seek haven - to move closer to someone she could trust. It was a choice that held both risk and relief - and as tired as she was, it was a choice she knew the time had come to make. In fact, it was no choice at all.

She looked at Broots and then at Sam. They were members of her team, both of them, and more than once each had demonstrated that their relationship held an element of friendship for her, at least from their perspective. What was more, both of them had learned, over time, that the "Ice Queen" wasn't all the ice and nails she made herself out to be - so she really had very little to hide from them. She thought about Sydney's gentle teasing from that morning, and with a small gulp of reservation, decided to leave worries about her reputation behind when surrounded by her tiny band of colleagues. Friends and colleagues, she amended her thoughts mentally. Oddly, the change in wording was, in itself, almost comforting.

She leaned to the left again. "Sydney? Would you mind very much if... I borrowed... your shoulder again?" she asked hesitantly.

Sydney looked up from his journal and gazed at her in mild surprise over the rims of his glasses. "Why should I mind?" he asked softly, then glanced around at the other people in the cabin. He felt her right hand wrapping itself around his right elbow again as her head settled against his shoulder, as it had that morning. "Parker, are you sure you're OK?" he asked, leaning close to her dark head on his arm.

"I am now," she answered quietly, nestling herself down comfortably against him and feeling him shift in his seat to make himself more comfortable with her added weight on his arm and accommodate her as much as possible.

Sydney looked up and exchanged knowing glances with Sam. The sweeper unbuckled his belt and once more fetched down the soft blue blanket from the overhead compartment and spread it over Miss Parker.

She opened her eyes and smiled up at him as she felt the soft warmth land on her legs and shoulders. "Thanks, Sam," she murmured, then closed her eyes again.

Sam ducked his head in awkward embarrassment, then headed back to his seat. Broots glanced up from his computer screen, distracted by the movement in the cabin; took in the scene, smiled over at Sydney and went back to his work without a word.

Sydney smiled inwardly again as he looked down at the dark head nestled into his right side. The trip hadn't been a total wash after all. This letting down of defenses in front of others was a new step for her - and a big one.

Then with his free left hand, he pushed his glasses back up on his nose and pulled out the journal again and resumed reading.

In Transit - by MMB

Chapter Four: Getting There


The psychiatric journal Sydney had been reading finally slipped free of his inattentive fingers and hit the floor of the jet with a small thunk, and it was enough of a noise to rouse him. Sydney blinked a few times as he raised his chin from his chest, where it had landed when he'd dozed off unexpectedly amid-article, then noticed that sometime in the interim the pilot had dimmed the lights in the cabin to accommodate sleeping passengers. A little more awake now, the psychiatrist glanced around at his fellow travelers.

Once more, Broots had his seat pushed all the way back and was sprawled and snoring softly, slender black headphones still in place but not plugged into anything apparent. The laptop on which he'd been contentedly working before Sydney's nap was nowhere in sight any longer, probably carefully packed away in its carrying case and stowed overhead. Opposite Broots and in the seat against the forward bulkhead, Sam had again leaned his head back and was also snoring softly. The burly sweeper seemed genuinely relaxed and asleep this time, as if knowing that his protective services wouldn't be needed anytime soon.

Sydney looked down as he felt a weight against his arm and found that Miss Parker still had complete control of his right elbow and was dead to the world beneath her blue blanket. As he watched her sleep, she stirred with a tiny moan and tightened her grip on his elbow as she snuggled down closer in to him. Allowing himself to feel ever so slightly protective of her slumber, he leaned and shushed at her very quietly into her ear while he reached over with his left hand and carefully plucked back a lock of dark hair that was threatening to fall into her slightly open mouth.

Looking up over the top of her head, he could see the darkness of the night sky through the small window. All of them were going to have a rip-roaring case of jet lag from this little escapade, he thought to himself wryly - either they will have had too much sleep at the wrong time, or not enough sleep at all. It was a good thing that this fiasco had taken place on a Friday, at least they'd all have the better part of the weekend to get themselves back on their Delaware time rhythm.

Miss Parker moaned and stirred against his arm again, and he looked back down at her. She was dreaming, and whatever the particulars of this one might have been, the overall tone from her physical reactive expressions told him that it wasn't a pleasant dream. Her brow was now folded into an expression of fright or concern, and her hand at his elbow was now clutching at him tightly as if hanging onto something for dear life. She gave a sudden massive shudder, and then her head came up off of his arm as she forced herself out of the nightmare. She blinked a few times as she struggled to get her bearings in unfamiliar surroundings, then settled abruptly back down onto Sydney's arm with a whimpered "Oh God!"

"Bad dream?" he asked quietly, leaning over her again.

She started violently, as if not expecting to hear his voice, and then relaxed and nodded without speaking.

He considered for a moment, knowing better than to ask her about the dream, and aware through experience of how touchy she could get if anyone tried to comfort her when she got upset. He decided to take a chance anyway and moved his free hand beneath the edge of the blanket to gently pat the hand still clutching his arm and then left the hand covering hers warmly, communicating his concern and desire to soothe.

Miss Parker bit her lip. Knowing Sydney, she would have expected him to be gently pressing her to describe the dream, to talk it out so he could psychoanalyze both the dream and her reactions to it. How did he know that what she needed right now more than anything else was someone to just be there and comfort her? She brought her other arm up from where it had lay between them and wrapped it around his elbow from the back, virtually embracing the arm and hugging it close to her. Rarely had she appreciated his presence as much as she did in that moment.

Sydney blinked. The dream must have upset her more than he'd first thought for her to not only accept the comfort he'd offered but actively seek more - and to seek it from HIM, whom she had consistently and repeatedly pushed away nearly every time he'd ever tried to comfort her before. He leaned over her again. "Hey - you OK?"

She nodded against him again, then said in a very quiet voice, "Just... don't..." Her words faltered; how could she tell him that she just needed for him to be near her right now, that she needed him as a constant and stalwart support at her side - now more than ever - without betraying at the same time just how fragile that outer façade of competence of hers had become? How could she possibly make him understand that awakening from reliving the real-life nightmare of her "father's" pulling away from her and taking that suicidal jump to find herself warm and safely nestled into his friendly arm had meant the difference between agonizing, debilitating despair and an aching but bearable grief?

"Don't what?" he pressed very carefully with quiet but vivid concern, stroking her hand on his arm with his.

She shook her head. "Never mind," she murmured back, snuggling back into the arm and looking down so that there would be no way for him to see into her face. "It's nothing, really."

He wasn't buying it this time either, only this time he wasn't going to just let it go. "Uh-uhn," he countered, pulling his left hand from beneath the blanket. He put a gentle forefinger beneath her chin and tipped her face up so that he could see her clearly in the dimly lit cabin, then waited patiently until she relented and opened her eyes and looked at him. "Don't what, Parker?"

Miss Parker gazed with trepidation into those warm chestnut eyes that seemed to hold nothing but concern for her welfare within them and wondered just how far she dared trust him with her secret fear. She thought back over the years she had worked closely with the man and learned his secrets along with her own. Every time she had doubted him, her distrust had eventually been proven unnecessary. Sydney might be a master of survival at the Centre, but he had proven to be painfully scrupulous about maintaining his professional ethics as a psychiatrist as well as never divulging those confidences he had sworn to keep to himself otherwise. He'd kept his own counsel, even when doing otherwise might have benefited him or served his own agenda. Her mother had trusted him implicitly; all she needed to do now was decide if she wanted to follow suit.

Sydney had felt his heart plummet when he'd seen the wariness and hesitancy in her eyes. He'd seen much the same look of distrust and caution in Jarod's eyes often enough since the Pretender's escape - coming from Miss Parker, it cut him to the quick no less painfully. Was this the ultimate price of survival, he berated himself - the price of never really letting others know how much they meant to him? Was this the ultimate price of his keeping his promise to Catherine, even knowing as time went on the hurt and despair it would inevitably cause in the one person she'd sought to protect from such things with that very promise?

He realized in a rush that he couldn't push her - he knew in his heart that he didn't deserve the trust he was asking her to place in him. He removed his finger from beneath her chin and landed his left hand in his lap uselessly, giving her an apologetic smile. "I'm sorry, Parker," he whispered, feeling utterly desolate. He looked away, giving her leave and room to recoil or sit up or do whatever it was she intended to do without any further interference from him. He knew his place, the boundaries of their relationship had been long well-defined, and he wouldn't attempt to stray beyond them again soon.

Miss Parker watched in amazement as intense hurt, insecurity and then a deep and abiding sadness had in turn flitted past in the depths of those warm eyes holding hers, and then she froze in disbelief and dismay as she saw and felt him retreat from her physically and emotionally. It was as if all the tenuous warmth and closeness that had taken an entire day's journey and repartee to build between them had suddenly been extinguished.

Had it not been for the abject apology he'd muttered, she might have thought him angry at her for refusing to answer him. Instead, it suddenly occurred to her that her traveling companion might be just as insecure as she was - as afraid of being rebuffed once more by her as she was of having her weaknesses known by him. The more she considered it, the more she knew she was right; and the very idea gave her the courage to do what she knew she needed to do - what she knew they both needed for her to do.

She untucked her right hand from his elbow and reached out for the hand that lay discarded in his lap. "Don't," she repeated, pulling the hand across his body and securely into her keeping under her chin and over her heart. She knew she'd startled him with the vehemence of her gesture, and felt him look down at her again. "I'm sorry too, Syd," she said finally, raising her head and looking into his confused visage. "Please don't stop trying to help," she explained lamely. "I... need..." She faltered again, stumbling over her own fear of being perceived as weak.

The hand in hers turned and tightened around her fingers, and the warmth was back in the chestnut eyes, although diminished, tentative and wavering. "Just tell me, Parker," he asked in a shaken voice, "and I swear to you, if it's in my power..."

"I just need to know you're here," she whispered, her heart in her mouth as she spoke the words that in essence left her defenseless, "that you'll be here..."

"I'm not going anywhere," Sydney reassured her softly as understanding suddenly dawned.

"That's what they all said." The words were nearly inaudible, but the pain and grief behind them unmistakable. She gazed into his face expectantly, fearfully.

The warmth returned in full measure to his eyes, and he smiled at her gently. "Life sometimes has other plans for us, Parker. Nothing is for certain. But," and his fingers tightened around hers again, "for as long as I have any say in the matter..."

Sydney reclaimed his right arm from her other hand and lifted it invitingly. Miss Parker thought for a moment, then took a deep, relaxing breath, moved closer to him and laid her head down carefully on his chest. She closed her eyes as she felt the arm fold itself across her shoulders and hold her closer after tucking the blanket in more securely around her in her new position.

"OK?" he asked quietly.

"OK," she answered without hesitation, settling down comfortably and contentedly against him and feeling him shift in his seat so he could hold her more comfortably.

Feeling more secure than she had in a long time, and with the comforting sound of his heart beating steadily beneath her ear, Miss Parker soon drifted back to restful, dreamless, sleep. And after sitting quietly and appreciating the resolution of something very important that had been long-standing and never before voiced between the two of them, Sydney too began to droop again. Soon his cheek rested gently against the dark head on his chest, and his breathing became deep and regular.

The cabin was silent once more except for the soft sounds of sleeping as the jet flew onwards into the night sky, back to Delaware and the Centre.

In Transit - by MMB

Chapter Five: Epilogue


When she thought about it later, Miss Parker would never be able to pinpoint the exact reason she had roused from one of the first restful sleeps she'd enjoyed in weeks. She blinked several times, trying to get her bearings, then realized that the pillow beneath her head was moving rhythmically with the act of breathing, and there was something leaning against the top of her head. A little more thought, and she realized that she was nestled down against Sydney, her right arm stretched halfway across him. Both of his arms were folded around her shoulders and holding her close, his embrace like a comfortably warm and heavy blanket; and his head was down, his cheek having landed on the top of her head as he'd dropped off to sleep.

Still half-asleep, she blushed furiously, half-incensed, wondering what could possibly have happened since take-off for the old goat to risk emasculation and embrace her, holding her close to him as she slept as if she were a child. Then, as she came more awake, she remembered - remembered the nightmare, the brief, emotion-charged exchange between them that had followed it, and then remembered moving beneath at least one arm of her own free will. She instantly regretted the fact that her first thoughts of him had been ones filled with suspicion and had included such a derogatory label. She then blushed again, this time in embarrassment with the realization of just how much she had desperately needed the very paternal comfort and closeness he'd so freely offered her at the time. It was a habit she was going to have to break, she decided - automatically thinking badly of him - at least in the privacy of her own thoughts. She knew better now.

She relaxed again and lay quietly against him, listening to the soft sound of his heart in her ear. She knew on a very deep, personal level that somehow many of the emotional obstacles that had ever stood between herself and this very private and complicated man had been removed completely, irrevocably. It was long past time. He had, after all, been a part of her life ever since she could remember - sometimes an ally and sometimes a nemesis. Sometimes he'd been nothing but a damned nuisance when he'd assumed the role of surrogate father without her permission to chide her disapprovingly. Deep down, however, she'd always been touched that at least HE cared enough to communicate his disapproval to her when her own father never seemed to care enough to even notice her in the first place.

She'd taken his presence for granted for years, depended upon his constant support; but at a time when everything and everyone around her seemed to be in a state of flux, she couldn't afford to do that anymore. So he'd given her his word to be there for her, now and for as long as he could - and, knowing him and his record at keeping his promises, she knew he would never let her down for as long as he lived.

But still...

She shifted slightly, withdrew her right arm from across his chest, then shifted again a little more vigorously and felt him finally rousing from her movements. The weight lifted from the top of her head, giving her more freedom of movement, and she straightened and with some reluctance broke the warm circle of his embrace to sit up away from him and meet his waking gaze. Sleepy chestnut met apologetic grey, and first one arm and then the next fell back to his sides as he released her without a word. Then Miss Parker glanced around the passenger cabin; and, as Sydney roused even further and followed suit, he realized what she was doing and why.

Her reputation - what was left of it, under the circumstances - was safe. Broots and Sam were still both softly snoring away cluelessly in their respective seats. But as he and Miss Parker were looking around, the interior lights in the cabin slowly came back up to daytime levels, and Syd felt the first of the subtle pressure changes that signaled that the plane was descending, preparing to land. He realized that only few minutes more and the other two members of the team would have awakened to the sight of his cradling their tough, no-nonsense boss in his arms like a sleeping child. Knowing her and her aversion to being perceived as weak or needy, and even considering the slightly lowered defenses she'd demonstrated to all of them during their journey otherwise, he knew THAT event wasn't something she'd either want or need.

More awake now, he pulled his slightly rumpled clothing into some semblance of order again and straightened up in his seat, then leaned to his right and helped her shrug the blanket from about her shoulders without letting it drop to the floor. Then he bent forward and retrieved the psychiatric journal from where it had landed on the floor when he fell asleep earlier.

Settling back into her seat, Miss Parker quickly folded the blanket again and put it in her lap as she had the last time, folding her hands together on top of it. She turned to her left suddenly and put a gentle hand on his upper arm as it occurred to her that her companion might have misconstrued her suddenly and abruptly distancing herself. She hoped with a gesture to forestall his having any thoughts that she regretted the closeness they had shared that evening. Now was not a time for misunderstanding, and there was precious little time for privacy left.

"Syd?"

Instantly, his left hand covered hers and patted the hand on his arm comfortingly before falling back to the opposite armrest. "Don't worry," he replied quietly, leaning toward her only slightly. "You don't have to explain."

"Good." She smoothed her hand against the material of his suit sleeve, a gesture of fondness once saved solely for her father and now inexplicably appropriate for Sydney. She hoped he'd understand all that she meant by it. "Thanks," she said softly, then returned her hand to her lap.

"My pleasure," he replied in the same tone.

The meaning of her gesture hadn't been lost on him. While he knew without a single doubt that she was going to reassume her "Ice Queen" façade for the benefit of others very shortly, he also knew that she was telling him without words not to be fooled by it. This trip had not been without its accomplishments after all, he acknowledged with an inward smile. It was just that those accomplishments were very personal ones that not only had nothing to do with Jarod but did not ultimately serve the best interests of the Centre either.

Somehow, that fact didn't bother Sydney very much, and he really rather doubted it would bother Miss Parker at all.

As the pilot's voice came over the cabin loudspeaker announcing the impending arrival at the Centre airstrip, the two of them exchanged a quick glance that firmly cemented the new, strong and very private bond between them into a hidden corner of their relationship that only they could see or feel. Then, as if by mutual agreement, they simply looked away from each other and each watched in apparent fascination as both Broots and Sam roused abruptly at the crackle of the pilot's voice. Sydney could sense in the way Miss Parker's posture straightened and stiffened next to him that her public façade of tough independence and spit-fire arrogance was falling effortlessly into place while he, in his turn, just as easily donned his own comfortable and familiar public mask of scientific objectivity and detached, analytical curiosity.

For all intents and purposes, if anybody were to care to look, things would be precisely as they had been all along. She was the boss, the dominatrix, the Chairman's privileged daughter; and he was but a sometime sweeper team member and the psychological consultant to the hunt for the Centre's escaped Pretender. They were colleagues - nothing less, and nothing more. If they were to survive, this is how it would have to be.

After all, they were back in the Centre, where nothing and nobody was ever as they seemed - where lies and deceptions were the rule of the day.

They were home.


Fin.