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."