A/N: This is actually a story that I wrote years ago - until now it has been posted on my site. Just felt the need to prove to you all that I am capable of writing a story that does not take years (or dozens of chapters) to complete ;-) Hope you like it.

Disclaimer: All characters and events in this story are fictitious. "The Pretender" is a protected trademark and I'm just borrowing the characters. I'm not making any money from this story or any of the others I've written.

Saying Goodbye
by imagine

"Your father never liked us spending time together. This is just his way of . . ."

"Knock it off. You don't know what you're talking about. My father is doing this because he wants what's best for me. He wants me to have the best education possible. That's what parents do," she insisted, then after a heartbeat, added, "Not everything is about you, Jarod."

"I never said it was."

"Yes, you did," she snapped, "Whenever my father does something, or says something, you don't agree with; you automatically make it about you. You don't know how to react any other way."

He glared at her, briefly narrowing his eyes to match hers, before turning away. Crossing his arms over his chest, he took a few steps away then turned to face her again.

"You should have known I would not like this. How did you expect me to react?"

She released a heavy sigh and shook her head. He was serious. "Like a normal person."

"Normal?" he repeated, dropping his arms to his side.

She nodded, defiantly placing one hand on her hip but said nothing.

Pulling himself to his full height, Jarod took a deep breath and released it slowly before asking, "Okay, so how should I, as a normal person, have reacted to what you just told me?"

"Well, you could have put your feelings aside and wished me good luck," she shot back, "or told me it was be a great opportunity or said you would miss ..."

"Fine," he interrupted, turning away again, "It is a great opportunity for you, Miss Parker. Good luck."

She stood by the door, watching as he crossed the room and lowered himself into the small desk. He'd grown so much in the last year, both in height and in bulk; he suddenly looked odd using the equipment that had been specifically designed for him years before. Deciding she would talk to her father about ordering a new desk, she sighed and began pacing hesitantly, glancing at him as he dropped his eyes to the papers in front of him. After a few minutes, he turned in the chair, draping one arm over the back and leaving the other flat on the desktop.

"Is there something else I can do for you?" he demanded.

"Other than drop the attitude?"

Something in his eyes flashed before he turned away again, effectively dismissing her. "I have work to do."

"Of course you do," she spat, crossing to his side, "You always have work to do, don't you?"

"In case you haven't noticed, I don't have a choice in the matter," he retorted, pushing angrily from the desk.

The sharpness of his tone caught her off guard and her voice trembled slightly, in response, "You always find time for me when I come to visit."

She hated that she sounded like a child, begging for attention, but now that the words were spoken, Miss Parker had no intention of trying to correct herself. Let him think what he wants, she thought.

"Well, this is your last visit, so there's no point in discussing the matter, is there?" he hissed, surprised by the harshness in his voice.

Jarod stood and moved away again, wrapping his arms in front of him and keeping his back to her. He sighed heavily then spoke in a quiet voice, "You are the only person who ever talks to me about the outside, and, until now, I guess I never realized how much I looked forward to your visits. Without you, my life is nothing but simulations and the only people I see are people who want something from me."

Miss Parker was silent, unsure of what she should say or do, to make him feel better.

"You are the only distraction I have," he whispered. "You distract me from thinking about simulations and experiments so that I can concentrate on remembering the life I had before the Centre. Without you, I might never be able to . . ."

Instead of finishing his sentence, the Pretender dropped his eyes to his hands. Biting her lower lip, Miss Parker moved toward him but when she stepped beside him, Jarod suddenly took a shuddered breath and shook his head slightly. She had no idea what he was thinking but it was obvious that he was struggling with a decision.

"Jarod, I don't know what you want me to say."

"You don't have to say anything," he sighed.

For some reason, hearing the sadness in his voice made her glance toward the door before she slid her hand to his shoulder. "You don't need me to remember your family. My mother told me that the people you love are always with you – they're in your heart."

Shooting her a cautious look, the young man reached down and opened the bottom drawer of the desk. With another glance at her, he removed the false bottom. When he stood, he held a thin notebook reverently in his hands. "This is everything I remember about them."

"Why did you hide it?"

"I was didn't want anyone to decide I shouldn't have it, and take it away," he said, moving to the far side of the room.

"Do you trust me, not to tell?"

He nodded but, instead of turning to face her, the Pretender began to carefully sift through the pages of the book.

Miss Parker stepped behind him, placing her hand on his shoulder as she peered at the pencil sketches displayed in the binder. Reaching over his arm, she ran her finger across a page that held three different views of a woman and a man. "Jarod, they don't have any faces."

"I don't remember what they look like," he answered, his voice trembling apologetically, "No matter how hard I try, I can't see their faces or hear their voices. And, now that they're dead, I'll never know if what I remember of my family is real or my imagination."

"But, you have Sydney," she offered softly, "He's kind of like your family, isn't he?"

He let out a strangled laugh and faced her. Though his eyes were moist, Jarod did not run his hand across them. Instead, he silently kept them trained on her until she began to fidget self consciously. She took a deep breath and straightened her stance, returning his glare with a slanted gaze and one raised eyebrow. He knew her well enough to know that she was daring him to refute her comment.

"I'm nothing to Sydney, except a project," he said, finally. Though it was soft, his voice seemed deeper than she had ever heard it.

"You don't believe that, do you?"

"I have to."

"What? Why?"

"Sydney told me I do."

She wanted to tell him he must have misunderstood, but she couldn't find her voice. The idea that the older man might not feel anything for Jarod, was more than her mind could handle and, suddenly, Miss Parker felt nauseous. Since her mother's death, she had trusted that Sydney cared for her as much as he did the Pretender. Now, as Jarod's words sunk in, Miss Parker couldn't help wondering if she might have misjudged the psychiatrist.

"It's all right, Miss Parker." Moving back to the too small desk, he placed the notebook beside the stack of files that made up the simulation he'd been assigned and sighed, "I'm sorry."

"What are you sorry about?"

"I made you feel guilty for leaving," he told her, though his attention seemed to be back on the papers that made up his work, "and that was wrong. You deserve to see things and meet people outside the Centre." Glancing up at her, for only a moment, he added, "Goodbye, Miss Parker, and good luck. I wish you the best."

Without realizing she had done so, Miss Parker took a few steps backward. When she felt the door handle against her arm, she laid her hand on top of it but did not turn away from him. His head was lowered, apparently concentrating on the work in front of him, but Miss Parker knew his eyes were on her. The longer she stood there, watching him watching her, the more she wanted to stay, to find some way of helping him.

"You don't have to be so dramatic, Jarod. I'm just going away to school," she finally announced, "I'll be back. I'll visit you when I come home for vacations, or . . ."

"You will? Why?"

Anxiously, she glanced around the room, her eyes resting on the camera that was positioned on them for only a moment. "Because I know what it feels like to be alone."

He looked away and her gut constricted in guilt. Immediately she realized she had said the wrong thing. He thought she pitied him. "Because you're my friend," she corrected, relaxing her grip on the door handle, "I don't want you to be alone."

"You really think of me as a friend?"

"You didn't know?"

He smiled shyly and shrugged.

"Well, you are my friend," she said, confidently moving to the center of the room, "and friends do things for each other."

"You want me to do something for you?"

He looked up, expectantly, and Miss Parker laughed. It was a nervous laugh, and it escaped her throat in a short high-pitched squeak, but he didn't seem to notice. Shaking her head, she answered, "Not this time. It's my turn to do something for you."

Puzzled, Jarod tilted his head to one side and stared at her.

"I'm going to see what I can find out about your parents," she told him, making the statement quickly, before she had a chance to change her mind, "Their name is Russell, right?"

He nodded. "That's what Sydney told me. But, are you sure this is a good idea? How are you ...?"

"I'll be at school, so no one from the Centre will know what I'm doing. I'll start by looking through newspapers," Miss Parker interrupted, her voice suddenly sounding more confident than she felt. For an instant, she wondered if pretending to be strong could actually make it so, then filed the idea away for a time when she could consider it more.

"Can I have one of your sketches? I know they aren't perfect," she said, when his eyes widened with worry, "but it'll give me something to go on, if I find a picture or something."

He felt his heart pounding against the walls of his chest, as the thought she might be able to find something about his family began to infect his reasoning. Miss Parker had never lied to him. If she believed she could uncover even the smallest fact about his parents, then, he had to believe her. Anxiously, Jarod carefully ripped out the notebook page she had touched earlier. Gazing at it one last time, he said, "We don't know where I lived, before I came to the Centre. Where would you start looking?"

"Well," she took the drawing and turned away, studying it for a few seconds, then pivoted back to face him with a proud smile, "I'll start with newspapers in the North East. I know when your parents died, and I know that they were on their way to . . ."

She stopped herself from completing the statement, noticing he had tensed. Glancing back at the sketch, she finished in a quiet voice, "I know when and how they died. That narrows it down a little."

"It's still not much."

"It's a start," she smiled, reaching for the door, "Don't worry. I'll find out something about them, Jarod. I promise."

For Jarod, it didn't matter if she came back with information about his parents or not. He was more concerned about the other things she had told him that day. She'd said he was her friend and that she wouldn't leave him alone.

The days melted into weeks and then into months and years. Soon, Jarod was unable to make himself ask Sydney about Miss Parker. Each time he did, the answer was the same: She was still abroad. As the time passed, he found he thought of her, and that day, less and less. It wasn't until decades later, though, on a day he'd been told to simulate a plane crash that Jarod realized he had not been able to completely purge her from his memory.

Despite his pleas to be spared the simulation, he was ordered to use his talents to relive the flight through the eyes of the crew and the passengers. Soon, as happened with other such simulations, thoughts of his parents surfaced. Though he supposed he was assigned these kinds of reenactments as a way of hardening his emotions, they always had the reverse affect on him. By the time he was done, the pain and guilt he had felt when Sydney told him of his parent's death had mingled with the emotions of the crew and passengers in the simulation. He was numb.

Noticing his condition, Sydney arranged for him to be taken to a room on one of the upper sub levels to rest. Filled with items from the outside, including a sofa, separate bedroom and computer, the apartment felt more like what Jarod suspected a home would feel like, and less like a cell. Sydney knew the well decorated quarters were perceived as a reward, a refuge from the emotionally strenuous life Jarod had come to know, and the Pretender silently thanked him as the Sweepers led him toward the elevators.

During the trek to the apartment, Jarod was quiet. Over the years, some sweepers had come to think of him as an inanimate object, rather than a human being, and would speak freely of the outside world in front of him. In his exhausted state, he was anxious to hear anything that might take his mind off of his parents and the simulation; but, to his disappointment, the two large men said nothing.

As they entered the elevator, however, a second set of sweepers were already inside. They glanced at the Pretender, and his escorts, briefly, but did not stop their conversation. Immediately, they had Jarod's attention.

The Chairman's daughter was no longer a Cleaner, they said, and, there was no doubt that nepotism had played a role in her promotion. After all, how could she have proven herself in just a few years? What gave her the right to . . .

Jarod stiffened as the doors opened and he was pushed from the car. Despite the tone the men had been using, Jarod wanted to hear everything they had to say about the friend he'd once had. Knowing his desires meant nothing to the men, though, Jarod mutely allowed himself to be led down the hall and into the apartment.

Once he was alone, and locked inside, Jarod leaned against the door and slid to the floor as the words he'd heard in the elevator began to penetrate his mind. Not only had she been back for years, Miss Parker was working for the Centre. She had forgotten him, and her promise to never leave him alone. She had lied when she'd told him she was his friend.

Combined with the emotions he was already feeling, the hurt and disappointment he felt toward her was enhanced. Angrily, he pushed himself to his feet and crossed to the large desk. He didn't need her to find out about his family, he decided. He could do it himself. As his hands retrieved the thick paper he knew was kept in the bottom drawer, his mind developed a plan. By the time the origami figure was complete, Jarod had simulated his escape.

Closing the door behind her, she crossed the office with determined steps and opened the bottom file cabinet. Slipping the square ring from her index finger, she placed it into the indentation at the back of the compartment and twisted it to the right until a soft click sounded. After placing the ring back on her finger, she removed the false bottom and revealed the file that had been wedged in the compartment for years. As she pulled it into the light, Miss Parker's hand began to tremble. She stared at it a moment, then, reaching for a cigarette, opened the folder and began paging through the documents.

Word of Jarod's escape had made it to her office an hour earlier. Her father's demand she lead the search team had arrived a mere ten minutes later. Though he had made it sound as if she had a choice in the matter, she knew better. No one refused assignments at the Centre; not even the Chairman's daughter.

She wondered why Jarod had chosen now to escape. What had finally pushed him to the realization that he had the ability? She shook her head and turned to the next page in the file. The photo was decades out of date, but because the age of the subject, it was obvious that Jarod and the man were related. The resemblance wasn't as strong as it was between her and her mother, but, it was there. She rubbed her forehead and took a long drag from the cigarette, staring at the photo through the smoke that clouded her vision.

She remembered how excited, and confused, she'd been when she'd discovered that Jarod's parents were alive. She couldn't wait to tell him. She couldn't wait to impress him with the fact it had taken her less than a year to locate them. She couldn't wait to see his reaction.

She was so excited, and so full of herself, she had forgotten that the tendrils of the Centre reached a lot farther than Blue Cove. They crossed the ocean and half a country before winding themselves into her private dorm room in Rome. They found and confiscated the documents that proved Jarod and the Russell's were not related. But, they were the first of many who underestimated her. They overlooked the sketches Jarod had given her and the photos she had uncovered of Major Charles and his wife in the Centre archives.

The next day, her father had phoned to tell her how disappointed he was in her; and warned her against compiling any more lies that might put the Pretender Project in danger. At first, she had tried to defend herself, naively believing her father was in the dark about Jarod's parents; but, after an hour of berating, she realized the truth.

"Don't force your way into situations you don't belong, Angel," he said, "You may only end up hurting those you're trying to help."

She sighed and closed the folder. It was bad enough she'd avoided Jarod for more than a decade, because she was too weak to stand up to her father and his thinly veiled threats; but, the thought of bringing her friend back to the Centre, once he had freed himself was incomprehensible.

"I'll do what I can," she whispered, "Goodbye, Jarod, and good luck. I wish you the best."

The End

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