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Disclaimer is that I don't own them but I needed them . . . . .picks up were season four ended. . . . Feedback is always appreciated. . . .Thank you for all the feedback on the first part, it's nice to now that my stories are being read. . . . .




Despite, Herself
part 2
Harsh Reality
by Trish







A woman screamed, at least he thought it was a woman that screamed. Picking her up. Her eyes hung wide, the pupils rolling back so that only white shows, and as he holds her he feels scarcely any pulse. He's afraid she's dead-struck down by the Centre's treachery. He carries her away from the flames and the searing heat, and sets her down on dirty wet concrete. He rubs her cheeks and her hands, and he feels her flesh cold under his. He kisses her and wills her to live; he could no longer imagine life without her. But she remains supine, still as a corpse. Breathing life into her again, his eyes pleading, his voice, scratchy, begging her to come back. It's not time for her to die. Fight.

He drifts, unsure what is real and what are fantasies produced by his wounds. He does not think that he is dead because at times he hurts too much, as if his body was turned on a spit, flames licking over his flesh. He thinks he cried out, or at least moaned, and gentle hands stroke him and set cool cloths against his face or drip some liquid that tasted too bitter to be only water between cracked lips. Voices, he thought he recognized speak to him, soothingly, and sometimes he sees worrisome blue eyes or dark sad eyes bend over him, but when he tries to speak he can only mumble and they shake their heads and don't answer and he drifts off again into darkness or dreams.

Sometime later, Jarod opens his eyes or thinks he has and see shadows. He is sore and gripped by pain. He has seen enough of death, to know that he's badly hurt, and in these brief moments of lucidity, he knows that he is fevered. He wills himself to live, for he can not leave Parker and Ethan alone to face whatever should come next.

Jarod awakens to the light on his face, and the sound of birds chirping outside the room's window. He opens his eyes and sees Sydney slumped in a chair beside the bed. Even in sleep his face is haggard, and Jarod struggles to sit up through the pain, Sydney wakes with a start, eyes springing open in alarm. Jarod sees that they are underlined with dark and weary crescents of puffy flesh.

"Sydney!"

Rising stiffly, slowly flexing his shoulders, he reachs for a cloth, water, coming toward the bed to bathe the warm forehead. Jarod lifts an arm and sees that he is swathed in bandages. His mouth dry and sandy, lips cracked, and head pounding.

"How long have I been like this?"

"Weeks."

"What happened? NO-wait. Parker, Ethan," he croaks, trying to get up, only to be held in place by hands stronger than the battered body that's laying on the bed," I dreamed Parker. . . . was dead. Tell me the truth. Quickly, Sydney, is Miss Parker dead? Our brother? "

"Miss Parker's recovering. You saved her life, Jarod. As for Ethan, there was no trace of him in the subway tunnels."

"Captive, once more," he murmurs as his eyes grow heavy and close.




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