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Disclaimer: The characters don't belong to me, no infringement is intended and no money is being made.

A/N: Thanks to Nancy for betaing and for title ideas and for looking after the muses and....

This is a sequel of sorts to A Moment of Weakness


Twilight


Melanie-Anne

This is the best part of the day. It's that in between time just before the sun rises; not dark and not light. I prop myself up on one elbow and look down at the man sleeping next to me. It was a good night last night – no nightmares.

For either of us.

If I had known that being with him would give me a peaceful night's sleep, I would have invited him into my bed months ago.

Well, maybe not. If only life were that simple.

It's funny how we managed to find each other in this mess of a world. I made a mistake on the Island. I let my guard down and I let him see how I really felt about him. Five years of keeping walls up around my heart and all it takes is one look into those eyes and I'm ready to—

But that's beside the point.

When I finally stopped fighting, I couldn't remember why I'd even been fighting in the first place.

I wasn't sure if he'd even gotten safely out of Morocco until he called. And then I used that same tired refrain that's defined our lives: 'You run, I chase.' Maybe if I hadn't been feeling so guilty about my attitude in the back of the car, or if I hadn't still been reeling in shock at the discovery of my biological father's identity… maybe I would have just thrown in the towel and run away right then.

But things have never been that simple when it comes to the two of us.

When I was told it was bring him back or die, I went home, loaded my gun and put the barrel between my teeth. I think I sat like that for an hour. If Jarod hadn't come in, I think I might have sat like that all night.

And I still don't know if I would have pulled the trigger or not.

He didn't ask or say anything, but just put his arms around me and crushed me against his chest. I didn't have the energy to fight him. Besides, it was kind of nice to be held like that.

I looked up at him and a tear rolled off his cheek and splashed onto my forehead. He was crying.

He was crying for me.

Later, he told me that of all the things I'd done to hurt him, this one act would have been unforgivable. And then he broke. He demanded to know how I could be so selfish, what I thought I expected to accomplish, how I could think of leaving him to deal with them by himself.

I just sat there and let him rail at me. Numb. Empty. When he finally ran out of things to say he collapsed at my feet, his head in my lap. I finally found my voice.

"They're going to kill me anyway."

He looked up, confused. Shaking his head in denial.

"I won't take you back there," I said.

I couldn't. The look in his eyes when Dad- when Mr. Parker walked into the crypt to take him back…. I didn't want to see that look ever again.

Besides, it's not like the deal I made about leaving was still in place.

He cried again at my words. And told me how sorry he was that my life had taken this course. He asked me why I'd felt that I only had one avenue of escape….

He didn't get it.

Some genius, huh?

I lifted his hand from my lap and kissed it. I was so tired of fighting. He looked up again and ran his thumb across my bottom lip, as if he was making sure he hadn't imagined it.

I knelt on the floor next to him. Looking back, I suppose it was a gesture of submission. To him. Where was the old Miss Parker who would have died before giving in to anybody?

Maybe I did kill her when I put the gun in my mouth.

But you know what? I don't miss her, not one bit.

Kissing Jarod was like coming home.

I didn't care that lying on the floor would ruin my expensive suit, or that I'd get dust in my hair. I didn't care what 'Daddy' or Raines or the Triumvirate would think of me sleeping with their prize lab rat.

And afterwards, as I lay in his arms and looked into his chocolate eyes, I realized that I didn't have to be afraid of my feelings anymore.

I was fortunate to have escaped when I did. The Africans weren't happy with Raines or Lyle and losing the scrolls was the final straw. Sydney and Broots had been following a lead on our whereabouts when the bombs exploded. Those at the scene said that no one had survived the blast. Angelo was found watching from a hill – he'd somehow known what was going to happen and had set up the clues that would keep Sydney and Broots safely out of harm's way.

So the end was far less dramatic than we'd expected it to be. It was almost an anti-climax. Jarod and I traveled up a day or so later to see for ourselves.

And just like that, we were free.

A year later we find ourselves drawn back to where it all began. Jarod is still looking for his mother. He hasn't seen her since that day on the Island but he hasn't given up hope.

The sun is out now, already warming the room. Jarod likes sleeping with the curtains open – he insists that there's nothing more romantic than making love in the moonlight. I have to agree with him. It's odd, I find myself doing that more often these days.

Our son is awake. I can hear him babbling to himself in the next room. I kiss my sleeping husband, and then get up to check on his namesake. Between the two of them I hardly get a moment's peace, but I wouldn't have it any other way.









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