-CLEAN HANDS-

"I gave you a chance, Grace, and you blew it.

I just wanted to make sure you knew that."

In the end, the blood stained her hands as much as it did his.

What have I done? Oh dear God, what have I done?

Parker stared at the screen in silence, his jaw clamped shut and his arms folded tightly across his chest. Every explosion felt like a blow to the stomach.

Na'vi children fled their home, screaming and crying for their fallen family. It was carnage—and it was his fault.

Dimly he heard sobbing in the background as the Avatar drivers clutched each other for support.

That's Simmons, he thought absently, recognizing the feminine voice in the back consoling the youngest driver, a twenty-two-year-old woman-child.

Chancing a furtive look around the room, he was startled to see Ryder, one of Quaritch's men, breathing hard with tears shinning in his normally flinty eyes.

There are families in there. There are children, babies.

This is ridiculous, Parker scoffed half-heartedly. They're just a bunch of backwards blue monkeys too stubborn for their own good. It's not like they're human. Those savages had their chance to get out and they didn't listen. Not my problem.

Throat startlingly raw, he rasped, "Pull the plug," out of the side of his mouth to the female officer Quaritch had lent him.

Fulson was the name sewn on her uniform, but he didn't care who she was as long as she did her job. She was paid to do the dirty work, the hard work Parker didn't have the guts to do himself. They both knew it, but neither mentioned it. After all, she wasn't paid to talk.

Are you going to kill children?

The Avatar drivers snapped to attention, horror etched on their faces and anger gleaming in their eyes at his words. Spellman especially was a problem, even going so far as to punch Ryder in the mouth when the officer tried to get to Sully's pod. Eventually Quaritch's people had to handcuff the scientist to the rail. Even then, he continued to yell himself hoarse.

You don't want that kind of blood on your hands.

When Ryder and Hampton yanked Augustine out of her pod, Parker stood there numbly. The woman's voice was mere static in his ears as he stared sightlessly at the screens.

"You murderer!" Grace screamed, struggling to free her arms from the young men barely holding her back.

Flames. Missiles. Destruction. Death. Blood.

But on whose hands?

Only when the soldiers dragged a dazed Sully from his pod and threw him over their shoulders did Parker realize what was happening.

"Careful now. I'm sure Quaritch wouldn't want you to damage his prisoners," he commented casually, hiding a wince when an angry officer jerked Augustine's head back by her hair.

You've got one hour. Unless you want your girlfriend in there when the ax comes down, you get them to evacuate. One. Hour.

Looking back, he knew that an hour wasn't enough, would have never been enough. It had been the best he could do, though. Diplomacy had failed. Quaritch had won.

It was over.

"Take 'em to the holding bay. Room four, get a move on people. I haven't got all day you know," snapped Parker, a scowl on his face. "Oh, come on. He's a cripple for Pete's sake! Just drag him or something. It's not rocket science!"

I'm surrounded by morons.

When they finally reached the holding bay-usually used for sobering up drunken officers, not caging idiotic, self-righteousness science geeks-Parker leaned forward, his breath fogging the glass as he stared at Augustine on the other side.

"I gave you a chance, Grace, and you blew it. I just wanted to make sure you knew that. The savages' blood is on your hands now."

Spellman opened his mouth furiously, ready to defend his mentor. He snapped it shut, however, when Grace raised her hand to ward off his words.

She lifted her head slowly, staring Parker straight in the eyes. Her voice didn't shake, not so much as tremble. It was steady and true, just like she always had been.

Where did everything go so wrong?

"No, Parker. It's on our hands now."

In many ways, it would've been easier if she had continued yelling or even spit at him. This saddened, defeated Grace was not the Dr. Augustine he knew. Her chin was tight with grief and her normally fiery eyes were now a dull, dirty brown, full of acceptance. The old Grace would have threatened him and screamed curses that would make even Quaritch blush.

Holding a shaky hand up to the glass wall that separated them, Parker swallowed dryly, gazing at Grace and ignoring the other two men.

At that moment, as she looked back at him, Grace realized something—something with the potential to be the most important discovery of her life.

Yes, he was an egotistical, power-hungry monster who cared more for money than people's lives, but he was also still human. Still like her. And oh, how her heart ached for what could have been if she had only tried harder to make him see, to make him understand.

Parker sensed her shifting mood, and this time, he did understand—and that's what pained him the most.

"I know, Grace," he whispered, sagging against the wall and resting his forehead on it. "Believe me, I know."

Nothing will ever be the same