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Jarod emerged from the washroom refreshed, and decidedly optimistic. He was still alive, after all- a bit bruised, but alive, and he was certain that the latter was entirely unrelated to his lifting Parker's gun while she'd been preoccupied with Sydney.

He immediately sought out his nemesis and childhood friend, a woman he wanted to trust implicitly, a woman whose trust he'd never tested, at least not to the degree he soon would, and found her sitting erect in an upright chair, wrapped snugly in his bathrobe, ostensibly waiting patiently, indifferently, for him.

"I trust you're comfortable," he announced.

Parker tossed him a petulant glare, folded her arms across her chest, and meaningfully swung her gaze to the several thousand dollars worth of apparel that had been haphazardly draped over a door to dry.

She had trashed the irreparably damaged coat, hand-washed the shirt and slacks, scraped the mud from her heels, and had eagerly searched every square inch of the lodge for her gun, all the while murmuring obscenities.

Jarod perceived her anger, endeavored to stoically trudge ahead all the same. 

"If you're cold-" he said, reacting swifty when she shuddered.

"I'm not," came Parker's brusque interruption, and another shudder.

"Are you sure?" Jarod asked, observing, with growing impatience, Parker pinch imaginary lint from the robe. His robe.

Jarod had vowed to himself that he would not, under any circumstance, apologize to Parker for walking away, which is why he was rather appalled to find himself doing precisely that.

"There are decisions," he said softly, dropping to a crouch, "difficult decisions that can feel right at the time. It's only later, in retrospect," he continued, his dark, doleful eyes boring into hers, "that we realize-"

"Sorry," Parker interrupted coolly, leveling a steely glare at him, "will suffice." With that said, she averted her gaze from him, or more specifically, from his hands, the tentative, conciliatory, gestures.

"I am. I am sorry," Jarod repeated with a single, nearly imperceptible, nod. "I am truly sorry if I hurt you."

Parker wanted to assure Jarod that he'd done no such thing, and maybe issue a threat, or, at the very least, fire off a caustic retort, but for some inexplicable reason, she felt that she might choke on her own inhalations. She felt empty and stripped bare without her gun, and felt a strange and persistent pressure in her chest, as well a sharp agonizing pain that was tantamount to a blade in her midsection. And she couldn't make any sense at all of the tears blurring her vision.

Her current emotional state, as baffling as it was to her, simply would not permit speech. But not because I was hurt, she assured herself, and gingerly pressed a discreet palm to her abdomen, and listened as Jarod continued, haltingly.

"Because," he continued, dropping his voice to a soft whisper, "because that's precisely what I was trying to avoid when I left. You made your decision and I wanted to respect it. I wanted to. I wanted to give you what you wanted, and I wasn't confident that I," Jarod paused, shook his head, and swallowed the knot of apprehension, "that I could adhere to the rules anymore, to-"

Parker moved suddenly, to no doubt eject herself from the chair, seek refuge at Sydney's side, and, Jarod opined, leave him alone and sulking.

He needed her help, as loath as he was to admit it, and had no desire to resume old games, fall back into worn patterns,  banter, limbo, nor did he have the time or inclination for lengthy explanations. Besides, words didn't carry much weight with Parker anymore.

Actions, however-

Jarod dropped his gaze to her right hand, noted the way she clutched the battered arm rest, and his resolve was solidified. He, unceremoniously, covered her hand with his, and observed her eyes widen. The rest of her recoiled. She threw herself as far back into the chair, and away from him, as she possibly could.

She hadn't forgotten the brief moment they'd shared in Glasgow. As fleeting as the moment had been, her hand still bore his touch— indiscernible to the eye, indelible as a scar.

Jarod thought it odd her rejection should still sting, that time hadn't healed all wounds after all. Not his, not hers. Especially not hers.

It wasn't anger staring back at him, and before he identify what, precisely, he'd seen, it was gone. Her features changed, the wall of indifference had gone back up. 

"This," Jarod said with a meaningful gesture-- not towards her, but rather the ever-present space between them, "is why I left. Your job was to pursue me. Have you ever asked yourself what would have happened had I stayed?"

She gaped at him in apparent confusion.

"Had I stayed and chosen not to run anymore," Jarod clarified with one dark, arched brow. "Chosen not to run from you?" He observed as realization touched her features, and slowly rose. "So, you see now," he said, "why I had to leave? Yes?"

Parker answered with a somber nod.

"I thought you might," he said with a slight smirk, and sat in an armchair. "Have you given any thought at all to my proposition."

"Feasibility of implementation is questionable at best-"

"Just let me worry about implementation," he interrupted, somewhat condescendingly.

"You asked for my help," she reminded.

"Yes, I did, not because I wanted to, but because I have no choice. This isn't easy for me either. Leaving my family, my life, coming back here-" He paused. "I had no intention of disrupting your life this way, yours or Sydney's. Asking you for help is the last thing I've ever wanted to do. I'm desperate."

"Indubitably," Parker said. "What you are proposing, Jarod," she purred, mingling in her voice her unique brand of overt arch-mockery with a rather deep-seated comradeship, "is madness."

She observed the change in him, the hardness take shape in his dark eyes.

"Am I to assume then your answer is no?" He asked, rising. "I should have known," he groused, "that this would be a waste a time. I was a fool to return to Blue Cove, to even consider asking you for anything."

"I don't object to saving the young man," Parker said.

"Then what is it you object to?" Jarod inquired, harsher than he'd intended.

"I don't mean to be the proverbial pin in your inflated ego, Jarod," Parker declared rather matter-of-factly, "but there's, invariably, more madness in your method than actual method. I guess some things never change," she said. "Some things, on the other hand," she continued, "have. The Centre has. Those old blueprints will no longer aid you in traversing the maze of vents, and you certainly won't be tunneling your way off the premises again, Mario, and getting in and out the way you always have. 

Not to mention your source," Parker added, and promptly fell silent.

"My source?" Jarod asked.

"Angelo has vanished."

"Vanished," Jarod repeated softly.

"You have no one on the inside now that Syd's out of commission, no exit plan-"

"I'll find a way," came his impassioned interruption.

"You won't be able to help yourself, let alone the young man, and that's why I must object to this lunacy. Have you given any thought to the repercussions if-"

"Raines has my brother's heart," Jarod choked on the words. "You know what that means. Perhaps you should give some thought to the repercussions if he is successful."

"If I am going to help you-"

"No," Jarod interrupted hotly, although, his heart soared at her words. If. She was at least willing, and Jarod was buoyed by hope, and yet, was still wary. "No, you will not insert conditions." 

"I know that I asked for your help, but I'm only asking you to help me to an extent, and I think you'll agree you have much to gain from this- this temporary alliance. Remember, I had no intention of even including you in this- well", he amended, "in part of the implementation, yes, but not in the planning phase."

"Why are you including me at all," she asked, coolly, still mentally retracing her steps and finally reaching the unpleasant conclusion that she'd left her gun on washroom counter. She was feeling anything but cool.

She couldn't recall removing the holster and placing the gun on the counter. In fact, she was confident that she'd last seen her gun when she was in the car

Damn him.

"There's no one else I can trust," Jarod answered earnestly.

"Oh," she said with a mirthless snort, "so you believe you can trust me now?"

"Your mother's voice," Jarod said softly, casually revealing Parker's gun, "is still inside you."

Parker blinked at the gun and then looked up into the face of her- captor, is it, now, Jarod? towering over her.

Parker found the idea comical. She stifled the laugh, studied her gun in Jarod's hand. His outstretched hand.

She was transported to another time, to her home.

Trust your inner sense, Miss Parker. I do.

Enough to give me the gun, to know I won't kill or return him to the Centre.

Jarod's confidence bordered smug, and piqued her anger.

Parker wordlessly accepted the gun.

"So, you'll help me then?" Jarod asked, wearing a look of consummate satisfaction.

"And just how do I know that I can trust you?" She asked pointedly.

Jarod hadn't considered that she'd have reservations about trusting him, but it was the Centre, after all, and her concerns were valid.

If he could prove her disloyalty, usurp Raines by swinging a deal with Lyle, he'd not only score points, he'd probably be handed the chairmanship. And Parker would no doubt pay with her freedom, possibly even her life because unlike Jarod, she was, presumably, expendable.

The stakes were much higher for her. They always had been.

"There's only one way to find out," Jarod answered flatly.

"And just what way is that," Parker asked, obviously dreading Jarod's answer.

"Trust me." 

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