Disclaimer: Still don't own the rights to Pretender. But I do own all the seasons now!

This is a variation on a theme that I used in a LOST fanfic. It seemed to fit this situation as well. Takes place sometime after the episode "Wake Up." The timeline isn't exactly clear in the episode (or the following one), so if I've gotten something wrong, please let me know. Otherwise, enjoy!

Miss Parker sat alone in the dark. Night had fallen hours ago, but she couldn't bring herself to turn on a light. There was none left in her life, anyway. Not since Tommy had died.

He was murdered by the Centre, Parker told herself. She had to keep the flame of hatred alive and on a slow burn, so she could strike back when they least expected it. The stained-glass portrait Jarod had made for her sat on the opposite end of the couch – its empty heart mocking her.

The knock on the door sounded like a cannon exploding, and Parker jumped. She stayed where she was, trying to calm her breathing, and hoping that whoever was out there would leave her the hell alone. She cradled the gun in her lap. She wasn't in the mood for company.

"I know you're in there, Miss Parker," said a familiar voice. "I can see you. And I can hear you breathing."

"Damn it, Jarod," she murmured, sliding the pistol in between the couch cushions. Rising to her feet, she crossed to the door and flipped on only the outside light, hoping it would blind him for a second. Then she threw open the door, ready to give her "guest" a sample of her best right-cross.

He wasn't there.

Her fist swung through empty air, but she stopped herself before it could connect with the door jamb. She was in no mood for broken knuckles.

"Damn it, Jarod!" she screamed in frustration as he stepped back into view from the right. "How did you know?"

"You looked like you were in the right frame of mind to come out swinging," he said softly.

She shook her head, tired of the cat and mouse games. "What the hell do you want? And don't tell me again to search for the 'missing piece.' I'm in no mood for any of your riddles."

"Tonight I don't have any," he answered, sidling into the house.

Parker sighed and slammed the door behind him, turning on the rest of the lights. "Make yourself at home," she said, gesturing to the room he had already entered. "But unless you're here to turn yourself in, it might be better for you to go."

He turned from his perusal of the living room to face her. "Not tonight." She paused at the earnestness in his voice. "I didn't think you should be alone tonight."

Parker walked back to the couch and let exhaustion and gravity take over. She sank into the soft cushions.

"Why would tonight be any different than the others?" she asked.

"Because it's been two weeks," he answered. Jarod cleared his throat as he sat across from her. "After Kyle died – "

"Don't you mean, after he was murdered by my brother?" Parker interjected. It was a low blow, and she knew it. He acted like she hadn't spoken.

"The first week was full of work. I had to arrange…"

"The transplant," she broke in again.

"… Everything in one day. And after that, I kept myself so busy that I barely had time to register the pain. But after the second week…"

This time her voice was barely a whisper. "You were too tired to pretend anymore."

She saw the ghost of a smile surface on his face from the irony.

"Yes."

Parker cursed the tear that ran down her cheek. "Too tired to keep dreaming that he'll suddenly walk through the door." They both looked over at the entrance.

"Yes." This time there was a touch of pain in his voice. "And I began to wonder why I kept doing it."

"Doing what?" she asked, looking back at him.

"Everything." He met her eyes. "There was an hour or two that I considered turning myself in to the Centre."

She swallowed in disbelief. His gaze turned dark.

"But then I remembered that the Centre was why I no longer had a brother. Or a family."

"And then all you wanted to do was burn it to the ground."

"Essentially."

Parker shook her head. "At the rate things are going, Jarod, you could walk into my office with a big bow around your neck, and I wouldn't even notice."

Jarod laughed softly. "Now that is an interesting picture."

A lonely silence fell between them. As was usual for her lately, all thoughts led back to Tommy. She remembered the photo he'd clipped into her calendar – the one where he'd been naked save a small pillow he'd used to cover himself. Parker reached over on the couch and grabbed the same pillow, hugging it to her chest. She couldn't tell if it still smelled like him, and it made her want to cry again.

"Would you like me to?"

Jarod's voice started her out of her reverie.

"What?"

"Walk into your office with a bow around my neck?"

Parker closed her eyes. "It wouldn't do any good."

"It would get you out of the Centre," he replied.

She looked at him like he'd suddenly grown another head. He couldn't be offering what she thought he was. His freedom for hers? Her eyes narrowed as she waited for the other shoe to drop. It didn't take long.

"I can't promise that I wouldn't escape again. Very quickly."

"Don't be too sure about that," she said with what she had to admit was a bit of pride. "Daddy and I put in some extra security measures."

Jarod shrugged. Parker sighed.

"But even if I thought you were serious, it doesn't matter anymore. My father was never going to let me walk away."

"You're probably right."

"There's really only one way out."

Now his brow furrowed.

"And what's that?"

Parker reached between the cushions and grabbed the gun from its hiding place. She felt some small satisfaction at seeing him flinch, and exhaled in a gust that was almost a chuckle. "What's wrong? Afraid I'm going to miss myself and hit you?"

"More afraid that you'll hit me on purpose. Is that the same – "

"Gun that killed Thomas? No. The police still have it in evidence. This is a new one the Centre got for me. It's identical." She thumbed the safety on and off again. The weapon felt familiar yet foreign in her hand. "That's the Centre for you. Always sending a message." Her voice dropped to a whisper. "Just like the elevator."

Jarod nodded. "The bullet hole."

She looked over at him, incredulous. "Is there anything you don't know?"

His perennially kind eyes stared back. "I know you're not going to shoot yourself," he replied.

"Right," she said sarcastically, looking back at her stained-glass portrait. "What makes you think that?"

"Because you haven't looked at the test yet."

Her eyebrows disappeared into her hairline, but he continued before she could protest.

"And because he wouldn't want you to."

She couldn't stop her eyes from misting over again. Damn you, Jarod, she thought.

"Where is it?"

"Where is what?" she asked, sniffling.

"The test."

She sighed, closing her eyes in capitulation. "Bathroom counter." Her voice didn't even break.

Jarod stood, stopping in front of her. Parker looked up at him in confusion.

"What?"

He held out a hand. Parker looked down at the gun in hers. There were so many reasons to hang on to it, not the least of which was her duty. She was supposed to bring him in.

Just her.

It was always supposed to be her.

"I can't."

Jarod sighed a breath that was half exasperation and half patience as he knelt down in front of her.

"You have to."

She didn't move.

"You need to."

Parker closed her eyes, trying again to find Thomas's scent on the pillow in her arms. She caught it for a second before it disappeared again. But it was enough. Thumbing the safety back on, she let the weapon fall into Jarod's hand. She heard him stand, the leather of his jacket creaking.

"Do you want me to get rid of this?"

She opened her eyes. Jarod held the pistol in the palm of his hand. Letting go the breath she'd been holding, Parker said, "Don't bother. They'll just get me another one." He nodded, turning toward the bathroom.

"Don't!" The shout had come out harsher than she'd intended, and it froze Jarod in his tracks – a feat considering she was now unarmed. It was a shame her voice didn't have that effect when she was chasing him. He turned to look back at her, the gun still in his hand, a half-formed protest on his lips.

"I'll get it," she said quickly, standing. Parker gestured to the gun. "Hide that somewhere I won't find until tomorrow." Jarod nodded, waiting for her to walk away. Turning her back on her armed quarry was harder than she thought it would be, even considering the fact it was Jarod – the last person she'd expect to shoot her in the back.

He was no saint. Damon's blood was on his hands. She knew he was capable of murder. Still, somehow – despite how many times she'd threatened to kill him – she didn't think she'd done anything to earn his wrath. He would let her live.

She was almost disappointed.

Unsteady steps brought her closer to the waiting test. Closer to the only piece of truth that fate had left for her to find. She marched in the room without turning on the light and grabbed the test, walking just as quickly back to Tommy's pillow. Stupid as it was, she wanted it with her when she read the results. It and a ratty shirt were all she had left of him, but he deserved to be there.

She had just settled on the couch again when Jarod returned to the room. Parker had been staring at the floor, so she had no idea where he'd come from. Just as well, she thought. She wasn't exactly Susie-stability at the moment. If Sydney were here, he would've thrown the weapon in the trash. And Broots would have driven the refuse directly to an incinerator. The thought almost made Parker smile.

Her face set itself in a stoic mask as Jarod sat next to her.

"Well?"

She kept her eyes on the pillow in her lap. "I, uh… haven't looked at it yet."

"How late are you?"

"Two weeks." This time, her voice broke.

"Stress can do that to you."

She nodded. "I know. But I have to be sure."

"Of course." A gentle hand touched her shoulder, and her eyes welled up again. "You can do this, Parker. You're strong."

She laughed sardonically. "I am what the Centre made me."

"No." Jarod's fingers were insistent as they turned her face toward his. "You've always been strong. The Centre is trying to take that away from you. But they never will."

He let her go, and she gazed back at the test. Taking a shaky breath of the pillow, she unclenched her fist to read the results.

"One line," she murmured. A sob escaped her throat as her hand became a fist again, breaking the pregnancy test. "One damn line." She swallowed hard. "I'm not pregnant." Her breaths came too fast now. The world spun around her as she began to hyperventilate. "Damn it, I'm not pregnant…"

Jarod held her as she cried. She glimpsed the portrait he had made her through tear-blurred eyes. Parker knew Jarod was doing his best to stop the real missing piece – her heart – from escaping her. But he was losing. She sobbed over and over again until her chest and throat were seared with pain. And all the while he held her tight.

"It's alright," he murmured against her hair. But it wasn't. It wasn't now, and it wouldn't be ever again.

When Parker could finally speak, the words that came took a part of her soul – and Tommy's – with them.

"I just wanted something to remember him by."

xXx

It was five days later that she stood in front of her father as he nearly demanded her congratulations on the announcement of his and Brigitte's baby. She was expected to be happy while she sat there watching everyone else get what they want.

"Happy days, indeed," was what she said.

But inside, she was screaming.

Whoever had killed Tommy – and the top of her list of suspects were standing in the same room – had claimed another casualty in her.

They had killed an innocent man.

They had taken away everything that mattered in her life.

They continued to live out theirs as if nothing was wrong.

While she was alone.

In pieces.

And for that…

There would be hell to pay.

Dang it! Why can I only write angsty things? Well, leave me a note if you liked it. Or hated it. I'm not particular. I just like reviews. ;-)