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Chapter or Story 
Chapter or StoryAuthor's Chapter Notes:
Takes place right after the phone conversation after Carthis. I wrote it a while ago, still undecided whether to leave it as a stand-alone piece or continue it. Decisions!
Disclaimer: the characters and backstory are not mine, no copyright infringement is intended. I'm certainly not making any money out of this!
*
“You run, I chase.”
The words echoed in Miss Parker’s head over and over again.
Her words.
And her tone, edged with bitterness, exhaustion.
Resignation.
She drove the familiar route from the Centre to her house without once taking in her surroundings. Instead her mind relayed the happenings of the past few days: the Isle of Carthis; her father; and her conversation with Jarod, terminated not even an hour ago.
“You run, I chase.”
She sighed.
*
A certain chill tugged at her as Miss Parker entered the summerhouse, though she couldn’t be sure whether the coldness she felt originated in the house, or from within her. She flicked on a lamp in the entrance, illuminating the room softly and dimly. She certainly wasn’t in a bright and cheerful mood. Rubbing at her face and shaking her head lightly, she wandered straight over to the liquor cabinet. Parker splashed a generous amount of twelve year old scotch in the glass which she kept conveniently perched by the bottle for moods like this, which were becoming more frequent as the years marched on and the questions seemed to multiply while the answers seemed to diminish. She swallowed it in one gulp, closing her eyes as she enjoyed the burn down her throat. It warmed her, but only slightly. It certainly didn’t reach the chill in her bones.
Miss Parker poured another, but let it sit on the side table. She kicked off her shoes and pulled off her jacket, peeling her sweater over her head as she trudged into her bedroom and away from the dim lighting the lamp offered. The lamp gave light and she moved towards the cold darkness. Story of her life. She smirked.
Her leather skirt slid down her long legs and she stepped out of it as she made her way blindly through her bedroom and into the bathroom. She hit the switch on the wall with more force than intended, illuminating the room harshly.
Parker squinted in the bright light. She looked thinner, paler in the cold light, and her dark lingerie only served to emphasise the dark circles forming beneath her eyes. She eyed her reflection in the mirror.
Catherine Parker never looked like this.
She shook the thought from her head as she slid out of her remaining clothing and stepped into the scalding shower.
*
Miss Parker could always tell when Jarod was nearby. It was there during the early days of the chase, yet she mistook it for simple adrenaline, the thrill of catching him. Now she recognised it as something different. She couldn’t pinpoint the feeling, whether it was the hairs on the back of her neck, or a tingling inside, or a quickened heartbeat, or all of the above. She just knew.
And she’d had the feeling ever since arriving back in Delaware.
So when she re-entered her living room, she was hardly surprised to see the fireplace lit and the room filled with warmth. Jarod was kneeling in front of the fire dressed in his usual black and resting back on his heels. She paused where she was, folding her arms across her chest and leaning against the doorframe. He appeared oddly comfortable stoking the fire in her house – which both peeved and pleased her – and was seemingly oblivious to her presence.
‘What better sign of loyalty?’, she thought bitterly to herself. And then immediately thought better of offering any show of loyalty to Raines.
“I still can’t shake that chill from my bones after the devil’s storm,” he stated suddenly, breaking her thoughts. He hadn’t moved, hadn’t turned around even. His tone was even and conversational. She frowned.
“What?” She snapped irritably, pushing off the doorframe and stalking into the room towards her forgotten glass of scotch.
“The chill,” he repeated, casting a quick gaze in her direction. “What better way to warm up than by a fireplace?”
He winked. She rolled her eyes.
“Mind telling me why the hell you had to choose mine?”
Jarod shrugged, still sitting with his back to her.
“Why not?”
She could practically hear his smirk. It was indeed a far cry from the broken voice she had heard earlier than night on the phone, lamenting their fates just as she had. Well, two could play this game. If he was back to being a smartass lab rat, she could just as easily be the Centre bitch. The scotch slid down her throat with ease.
“Don’t worry, I’ll personally make sure you get your very own fireplace in your hole at the Centre,” she stated coldly with a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. The threat was empty, they both knew that, but it was there. Still.
He sighed, standing and turning to face her.
“Why do we always have to do this dance?”
Parker narrowed her eyes at him.
“You’re the one dancing here Jarod...breaking and entering, talking in code. I’m just along for the ride, as always,” She stated bitterly, crossing her arms defensively over her pyjamas.
The banter was token and tired, practically obligatory by now. But she knew as well as he did that they didn’t need to speak; that all that was truly important was spoken through tone, stance and often what wasn’t said; very rarely through words.
Jarod gazed at her knowingly. She suddenly felt exposed under his watchful eye, folding her arms a little tighter. He misconstrued her gesture for one of coldness, moving from the fire and lifting a throw from the couch. He gently draped it over shoulders and she snatched it away from him, pulling it tightly across her as if to ward him off. He shifted uncomfortably where he stood and neither of them said a word.
Parker found herself unconsciously moving towards the glowing hearth, and Jarod unconsciously followed her. She stood still, watching the flames lick greedily at the logs. The irony of the situation was not lost on her. She and Jarod side by side in front of a fire. A blanket which he placed over her shoulders. Her in a vague state of undress. Parker felt a migraine pinching behind her eyes.
“What are you doing here, Jarod?” She asked the flames, refusing to turn to face him. Her voice was timid and far weaker than she’d intended it to be, with none of the Miss Parker bite that one usually came to expect whenever she opened her mouth. Herself included.
Emotion clouded his chocolate eyes and he reached out to touch her, but paused halfway. He knew she did not have her gun nearby, he’d already taken care of that. But he also knew that this was Miss Parker, and she that knew 101 ways to kill a man sans gun, without so much as breaking a sweat. That was okay though because he was a genius – he knew 101 ways to avoid death, by her hand even. And even if he didn’t...well, it was the old risk-return conundrum. And what a return it could be. The hand rested gently on her shoulder.
To his surprise, his hand stayed intact. As did the rest of him.
“Nothing has changed.” Her stance remained stoic, yet her voiced faltered in a way that only Jarod could detect. He circled around Parker to face her.
“Everything has changed.”
“It was a moment of weakness,” she whispered determinedly with her eyes cast down, avoiding his intent gaze. Jarod shook his head amiably and leaned in closer to her.
“Do you really believe that?” He murmured, his breath warm on her skin. Miss Parker’s eyes flicked up to meet his and would have certainly betrayed her if her voice hadn’t already. Jarod leaned in and kissed her cheek gently. “Do you?” Her eyes closed and she didn’t answer as his lips brushed her other cheek. He smelled of male spice and warmth. He smelled just like she remembered he did, so close to her on Carthis. “Do you?” He repeated again, her eyes still shut as her hands held on tightly to the blanket around her shoulders. His lips drifted slowly to the corner of her mouth and it was at that point that Parker gave in. Defences be damned, she knew as well as he did that the dance was up. She dropped the blanket, grabbed his chin firmly with one hand and kissed him square on the mouth.
The kiss was demanding to say the least. It was full of years of pent up emotion and anger and frustration and loneliness and desire. Their teeth clashed and their tongues fought for control; their lips bruised and their bodies melded together. So very different from the tentative, innocent kiss they’d shared as children. But despite its harsh intensity, it felt natural. It felt real. It felt right.
They pressed their bodies urgently together as they stretched out on the floor in front of the fire. Their hands were everywhere, each groping for as much heated skin as they could find, both in and around their clothes. Their lips never parted until her hand found him and Jarod managed to gasp into her open mouth: “Are you sure?”
Miss Parker grinned as her nose pressed against his, pushing her tongue into his mouth and straddling him (not gently) in response.
They fucked right there on the floor in front of the fire. It wasn’t sweet or loving – it was desperate and intense and brutal and honest. It left a stain on her rug and a sense of completion within them both.
And afterwards Jarod didn’t ask to stay, nor did Parker invite him to. They simply stood in the light of the dying fire, naked and unashamed, and remembered who they were and what they had to do.
*
*
“You run, I chase.”
The words echoed in Miss Parker’s head over and over again.
Her words.
And her tone, edged with bitterness, exhaustion.
Resignation.
She drove the familiar route from the Centre to her house without once taking in her surroundings. Instead her mind relayed the happenings of the past few days: the Isle of Carthis; her father; and her conversation with Jarod, terminated not even an hour ago.
“You run, I chase.”
She sighed.
*
A certain chill tugged at her as Miss Parker entered the summerhouse, though she couldn’t be sure whether the coldness she felt originated in the house, or from within her. She flicked on a lamp in the entrance, illuminating the room softly and dimly. She certainly wasn’t in a bright and cheerful mood. Rubbing at her face and shaking her head lightly, she wandered straight over to the liquor cabinet. Parker splashed a generous amount of twelve year old scotch in the glass which she kept conveniently perched by the bottle for moods like this, which were becoming more frequent as the years marched on and the questions seemed to multiply while the answers seemed to diminish. She swallowed it in one gulp, closing her eyes as she enjoyed the burn down her throat. It warmed her, but only slightly. It certainly didn’t reach the chill in her bones.
Miss Parker poured another, but let it sit on the side table. She kicked off her shoes and pulled off her jacket, peeling her sweater over her head as she trudged into her bedroom and away from the dim lighting the lamp offered. The lamp gave light and she moved towards the cold darkness. Story of her life. She smirked.
Her leather skirt slid down her long legs and she stepped out of it as she made her way blindly through her bedroom and into the bathroom. She hit the switch on the wall with more force than intended, illuminating the room harshly.
Parker squinted in the bright light. She looked thinner, paler in the cold light, and her dark lingerie only served to emphasise the dark circles forming beneath her eyes. She eyed her reflection in the mirror.
Catherine Parker never looked like this.
She shook the thought from her head as she slid out of her remaining clothing and stepped into the scalding shower.
*
Miss Parker could always tell when Jarod was nearby. It was there during the early days of the chase, yet she mistook it for simple adrenaline, the thrill of catching him. Now she recognised it as something different. She couldn’t pinpoint the feeling, whether it was the hairs on the back of her neck, or a tingling inside, or a quickened heartbeat, or all of the above. She just knew.
And she’d had the feeling ever since arriving back in Delaware.
So when she re-entered her living room, she was hardly surprised to see the fireplace lit and the room filled with warmth. Jarod was kneeling in front of the fire dressed in his usual black and resting back on his heels. She paused where she was, folding her arms across her chest and leaning against the doorframe. He appeared oddly comfortable stoking the fire in her house – which both peeved and pleased her – and was seemingly oblivious to her presence.
‘What better sign of loyalty?’, she thought bitterly to herself. And then immediately thought better of offering any show of loyalty to Raines.
“I still can’t shake that chill from my bones after the devil’s storm,” he stated suddenly, breaking her thoughts. He hadn’t moved, hadn’t turned around even. His tone was even and conversational. She frowned.
“What?” She snapped irritably, pushing off the doorframe and stalking into the room towards her forgotten glass of scotch.
“The chill,” he repeated, casting a quick gaze in her direction. “What better way to warm up than by a fireplace?”
He winked. She rolled her eyes.
“Mind telling me why the hell you had to choose mine?”
Jarod shrugged, still sitting with his back to her.
“Why not?”
She could practically hear his smirk. It was indeed a far cry from the broken voice she had heard earlier than night on the phone, lamenting their fates just as she had. Well, two could play this game. If he was back to being a smartass lab rat, she could just as easily be the Centre bitch. The scotch slid down her throat with ease.
“Don’t worry, I’ll personally make sure you get your very own fireplace in your hole at the Centre,” she stated coldly with a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. The threat was empty, they both knew that, but it was there. Still.
He sighed, standing and turning to face her.
“Why do we always have to do this dance?”
Parker narrowed her eyes at him.
“You’re the one dancing here Jarod...breaking and entering, talking in code. I’m just along for the ride, as always,” She stated bitterly, crossing her arms defensively over her pyjamas.
The banter was token and tired, practically obligatory by now. But she knew as well as he did that they didn’t need to speak; that all that was truly important was spoken through tone, stance and often what wasn’t said; very rarely through words.
Jarod gazed at her knowingly. She suddenly felt exposed under his watchful eye, folding her arms a little tighter. He misconstrued her gesture for one of coldness, moving from the fire and lifting a throw from the couch. He gently draped it over shoulders and she snatched it away from him, pulling it tightly across her as if to ward him off. He shifted uncomfortably where he stood and neither of them said a word.
Parker found herself unconsciously moving towards the glowing hearth, and Jarod unconsciously followed her. She stood still, watching the flames lick greedily at the logs. The irony of the situation was not lost on her. She and Jarod side by side in front of a fire. A blanket which he placed over her shoulders. Her in a vague state of undress. Parker felt a migraine pinching behind her eyes.
“What are you doing here, Jarod?” She asked the flames, refusing to turn to face him. Her voice was timid and far weaker than she’d intended it to be, with none of the Miss Parker bite that one usually came to expect whenever she opened her mouth. Herself included.
Emotion clouded his chocolate eyes and he reached out to touch her, but paused halfway. He knew she did not have her gun nearby, he’d already taken care of that. But he also knew that this was Miss Parker, and she that knew 101 ways to kill a man sans gun, without so much as breaking a sweat. That was okay though because he was a genius – he knew 101 ways to avoid death, by her hand even. And even if he didn’t...well, it was the old risk-return conundrum. And what a return it could be. The hand rested gently on her shoulder.
To his surprise, his hand stayed intact. As did the rest of him.
“Nothing has changed.” Her stance remained stoic, yet her voiced faltered in a way that only Jarod could detect. He circled around Parker to face her.
“Everything has changed.”
“It was a moment of weakness,” she whispered determinedly with her eyes cast down, avoiding his intent gaze. Jarod shook his head amiably and leaned in closer to her.
“Do you really believe that?” He murmured, his breath warm on her skin. Miss Parker’s eyes flicked up to meet his and would have certainly betrayed her if her voice hadn’t already. Jarod leaned in and kissed her cheek gently. “Do you?” Her eyes closed and she didn’t answer as his lips brushed her other cheek. He smelled of male spice and warmth. He smelled just like she remembered he did, so close to her on Carthis. “Do you?” He repeated again, her eyes still shut as her hands held on tightly to the blanket around her shoulders. His lips drifted slowly to the corner of her mouth and it was at that point that Parker gave in. Defences be damned, she knew as well as he did that the dance was up. She dropped the blanket, grabbed his chin firmly with one hand and kissed him square on the mouth.
The kiss was demanding to say the least. It was full of years of pent up emotion and anger and frustration and loneliness and desire. Their teeth clashed and their tongues fought for control; their lips bruised and their bodies melded together. So very different from the tentative, innocent kiss they’d shared as children. But despite its harsh intensity, it felt natural. It felt real. It felt right.
They pressed their bodies urgently together as they stretched out on the floor in front of the fire. Their hands were everywhere, each groping for as much heated skin as they could find, both in and around their clothes. Their lips never parted until her hand found him and Jarod managed to gasp into her open mouth: “Are you sure?”
Miss Parker grinned as her nose pressed against his, pushing her tongue into his mouth and straddling him (not gently) in response.
They fucked right there on the floor in front of the fire. It wasn’t sweet or loving – it was desperate and intense and brutal and honest. It left a stain on her rug and a sense of completion within them both.
And afterwards Jarod didn’t ask to stay, nor did Parker invite him to. They simply stood in the light of the dying fire, naked and unashamed, and remembered who they were and what they had to do.
*
