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It was compact and lightweight and secured neatly in burgundy gift wrap, and was still atop Miss Parker's desk when Broots stumbled into her office on Christmas Eve to stammer out a broken request to leave early.

He couldn't imagine why she hadn't opened it or why she refused to discuss it which most likely meant, he opined, that Jarod was somehow involved. And he wasn't altogether incorrect.

"Careful, Broots." Parker cautioned.

She had no intention of clarifying how she came to be in possession of the object of Broots' rumination or of assuring the technical wizard that Jarod's role in her doing so had been not only minute, but entirely unforeseen. De trop. Typical. And altogether atypical. Happenstance.

Had the Pretender known that Parker booked a red-eye flight to Denver he'd have spent the holidays some place warmer. Santa Monica, perhaps. He might have gone anywhere; he had that luxury. She did not. Nor did she have an abundance of time with which to complete her holiday shopping. Two birds, one stone.

The emporium was abounding with camouflage-clad patrons, and Parker was tetchy and jet-lagged, but- - over the resounding chorus of Salvation Army bells wafting in from outdoors- - Ella Fitzgerald assured shoppers that they'd "muddle through somehow" and, in some small way, that compensated for the migraine and the profusion of shoppers- through which Parker unapologetically pushed a labyrinthine path- - despite the litany of sibilant, vulgar protests and glares of disapproval- - towards the desired department.

Upon her arrival- - as if on cue- - the sun slanted obliquely through the skylights, diffuse and mote-flecked. In the insipid light, she stretched to reach the item on the top shelf. Instead- - and as par for her recent course- - she pushed the intended gift farther away and, perhaps inevitably, out of her reach.

Unbeknownst to her, a gentleman who had arrived on scene observed her dance of frustration, the futile stretching-on-tips-of-toes; her fingertips yielded emptiness, and then she chipped a nail occasioning a gasp of surprised pain.

Before Parker could do herself any more harm, the gentleman intervened and effortlessly seized the item.

"There we are." He announced, jovially, and then pivoted around and- - suddenly on the verge of a crise des nerfs- - froze in trepidation. "Ah," He said, sheepishly, and affected an easy smile. Tentatively, he handed over the box and choked out her name. And then he gulped, and lowered his gaze modestly and took several compensatory steps away from her.

She was alone, Jarod realized, and ostensibly surprised. He became- - exponentially- - more comfortable, although not to the extent that his attention was divided, or his defenses lowered, and his reasons were legitimate and absolute- to wit: she was his huntress. The reel of memory told the sordid tale: you run, I chase.

"Small world." Came his prefatory remark.

"Apparently."

Jarod noted the dry intonation, the incredulous smile that wandered over her lips.

"What brings you to Denver?" He asked, solicitously, and offered her an amiable smile that widened when Parker returned the gesture by composing a reserved smile of her own- if only it were that easy to reach a détente.

Of all the shops in all the cities in all the world, Frankenboy walks into this one. She stifled a snort of hilarity. The lines are four hundred miles long anyway. Why the hell not?

"Business."

"Of course." Jarod said with a nod of comprehension and a sympathetic smile. "Mr. Scrooge sent you here to chase leads, and during the holidays of all times. That's not fair." He added softly.

Parker shrugged noncommittally. Life's not fair.

"Doctor Scrooge." She corrected. "And you?" She inquired. "What brings you to Denver?"

"Work." Jarod peeled back the coat, revealed the badge and gestured at the box Parker held. "I trust you intend to pay for that, ma'am." He ventured, authoritatively, with an impish grin tugging at his lips.

"Mhm." she affirmed sedately. "You'll have to find someone else to fill your arrest quota."

Jarod brightened at once and chuckled in faint amusement.

"I won't keep you." She said with a perfunctory glance- - and a tired smile- - to the uniform he wore, and then unceremoniously pivoted into the throng of last minute shoppers.

"We could," Jarod stammered hastily, and observed as Parker swung her gaze at him, "uh, there's a diner across the street," he explained, hanging a thumb over his shoulder as he spoke, "that serves the best chocolate cream pie in the contiguous United States."

Parker politely declined, observed Jarod's contrite nod, and walked-  ever mindful of her precarious footing in the two worlds she straddled.

The drive back to Blue Cove was interminable; she was weary, and somewhat perturbed by the inclement weather that had grounded flights out of Denver; notwithstanding those minor trifles, however, she was not without purpose and was satisfied with her purchase.

The aforementioned had since been wrapped with care, and adorned with a rather whimsical ribbon of silver and black. And Raines was clearly affected- - although perhaps only ostentatiously- - by Parker's largesse when she offered it to him on Christmas Day.

"I didn't get you anything."

"That's all right, Mr. Raines." The look on your face will be gift enough. "Go ahead." She insisted with cloying sweetness. "Open it."

He did precisely that and then fixed her with a rather bemused gaze.

"Hollow point rounds." He observed with a creased brow. "The box is empty." He rasped.

"Indeed," Parker softly confirmed, "the box is empty; the magazine, however, is not."

"Hollow point rounds?" He repeated, uncomprehendingly.

"Mm," She purred, and slowly drew the 9mm, "because I care enough," she continued, punctuating her words by racking the slide. Here, she paused meaningfully, until, at last, she looked down the sights to see Raines fondle his Glock, "to send the very best."

She tallied bodies, clones, endless Machiavellian endeavors, and considered the child in SL-20 (her child) and could think of no gift more fitting.

The gift, Parker opined as she irreverently stepped over Raines' twisted body, that keeps on giving.  

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