Chapter 7 - Confessions and Insights

Miss Parker jerked awake, abruptly pulling herself out of the nightmare and then lying against her pillow, breathing hard. Just variations on a theme, she told herself ruefully — now that she'd admitted to herself and to Jarod that she cared for Sydney far more than she'd ever been willing to acknowledge, it was logical that her nightmares would exploit that new and fresh vulnerability to the maximum. She couldn't remember many of the details, but the last thing she could remember was being faced off with Jarod over Sydney's open grave, listening to the Pretender's accusations of "why didn't you take care of him better?" That had been more than enough.

She threw the covers back and rose, reaching for the sweatshirt that Jarod had loaned her while her good clothes had dried. It had been too much of a temptation for her to hang onto those oversized garments in which she positively swam — and now she was glad that she still had them. Pulling on the sweatpants for warmth and tying the string tightly around her waist so they wouldn't fall off her slender hips, she opened the door and started down the corridor toward the stairs. But before she set foot on the top step, she turned around and headed back the way she came, past her own bedroom door to Sydney's, and opened it after knocking very softly. The sounds of soft snoring came from amid tumbled covers, reassuring her that he truly was still there — not laid out in a grave somewhere. She moved like a shadow across the darkened room to stand over him with her arms folded across her chest as she watched him sleep.

She had sometimes stood and watched Tommy sleep like this on those nights when her dreams hadn't given her any respite. And now that so much of her sense of well being was wrapped up in this man, she felt driven to stand guard over his rest just as she had stood guard over Tommy. Not that she had done Tommy much good in protecting him from being murdered by the Centre, however. As Sydney rolled onto his side toward her in his sleep, and his snoring faded away to just soft breathing, she suddenly realized what she was doing and was mortified. What if he should awaken to see her in his bedroom standing over him? How could she hope to begin to explain what had driven her to enter his room uninvited? She backed out the way she had come before he could be roused and then pulled the door very softly closed, giving him back his privacy.

Once more she set off down the corridor, and this time walked down the steps. She cringed at the thought of waking somebody as the step third from the bottom creaked beneath her weight. She headed toward the back of the house and the kitchen, turning on the light and going to the cupboard for a glass for a drink of water. Once she had that, she walked over, sat down heavily at the kitchen table and leaned her forehead into her hand tiredly. After a few moments, she took up the glass and half-drained it, and then set it down again and played absently with a tendril of wavy blonde hair that had fallen down her cheek.

It was a strange feeling, trying to rediscover who she really was on the inside while doing her best to become someone else on the outside. Syd would have a field day analyzing the psychological ramifications of her dilemma, were he in any shape to practice any psychiatry right now — and knowing him, all she'd have to do would be mention how she was feeling, and he'd be ready and willing to try anyway. But that was just a superficial consideration – the bigger question was one with which nobody could truly help her, and she knew it.

Who WAS she? Jarod kept telling her that the way she'd been behaving all these years and the things she'd been saying weren't really her — but how did he know? All he knew was those parts of a lonely pre-teenaged girl who had wandered the corridors of the Centre sub-levels with him after hours — and that girl had not existed for over twenty-five years now. Had she ever existed as a "real" person, or had she always been nothing but a Centre construct to begin with?

She ran her fingers through her hair, drawing it back from her face in a habitual gesture, and then pulled more of it forward where she stared at it for a long moment. Then she threw it back over her shoulder and cradling her water glass as it sat on the table. Not knowing who she really was would soon have to take a back seat to other, more urgent, considerations. In a while, with any luck at all, she would be the guardian of a small child — her little brother — whom she hadn't seen in months now.

It was hard to believe that she'd managed to forget him so easily when the time had come for her to escape the Centre and take a fragile Sydney with her. While she'd not exactly been close to the child, she had tried to be around enough that he'd feel he knew her as he grew up. Then Raines had stepped in and forbid her from spending time with the boy. She'd tried several times to demand access to him anyway — and had actually been carried bodily from Raines' office the last time by Willy and set down again outside the frosted glass doors with a stern warning never, EVER, to try that again — all to no avail. Nobody would tell her where he'd been taken in the labyrinthine sub-levels, and no amount of pushing Broots had gotten her past the security surrounding his whereabouts within the computer system. The glimpse of him the day before on Jarod's laptop had been her first in longer than she wanted to admit — and the boy had grown quite a bit since last she'd seen him.

Thinking of her cowardly but valiant computer technician reminded her that the first time she'd been in a position of taking care of a child, however reluctantly, it had been Broots' daughter Debbie. She'd been so confident of her skills that after less than a day she'd run down to the Sim Lab begging a very busy Sydney to take the load from her. "I don't 'do' Mommy!" had been her plea – but Sydney had been too busy to take over and had just given her what little advice she'd used to make the episode more of a success then she truly deserved. She'd been a little less reluctant when circumstances dictated that she take care of the girl again — and then she had abdicated the responsibility for the child by putting Sam in charge of the job while she continued unhampered. What made her think that she was any more ready to take on a permanent 'Mommy' job for a toddler NOW than she'd been to baby-sit a half-grown and well-behaved young lady back then?

Then again, what would she do about Angelo? He'd literally lived his entirely life underground, mostly haunting the ventilation ducts and air conditioning vents that made the sub-levels like a rabbit warren. Even Mr. Raines didn't know how to find him three quarters of the time — and she'd long since come to the conclusion that those times that Raines had actually found him had been times when Angelo had actually wanted to be found. Taking him away from the only home he'd known — with the exception of the brief time he'd spent outside with Jarod while still under the influence of the therapy that Sydney had given him — could prove very hard on her old friend. If she had the little boy to care for, she wouldn't be able to give Angelo the kind of care he might need — and it was questionable if Sydney would be in any condition to pick up the slack.

She sagged. For once in her life, she wasn't sure she was up to the challenge that had been set for her — not alone, at any rate. There was no doubt that, if asked, Sydney would help her as much as he was able. But that was assuming that he could regain most of his health and strength in the few days of peace and calm remaining before… before whatever it was that Jarod would put in motion started to roll on its own. From Jarod's manner, she could easily see that the Pretender was worried that Sydney wouldn't manage that feat, and her worries were built upon his. Jarod would know — for while she was keeping track of Sydney's emotional health, Jarod was by far more informed about the man's physical wellbeing.

The possibility that frightened her the most, now, was that once everything was over and done with, Jarod would decide to just vanish again. After all, since his escape, Jarod had been the ideal manifestation of a will o' the wisp — never staying long enough in one place to establish any kind of ties or roots. There was literally nothing guaranteeing that he would stick around once Sydney's health had resolved itself one way or another and after the rescue attempt was concluded. This stint with them on the banks of Lake Superior was most likely nothing more than just a slightly more personal Pretend for him. The fact was that Jarod still had a family yet to find and a fierce if not obsessive dedication to doing precisely that, no matter what. All things considered, she couldn't really blame him if he decided to go back to that search once her safety and that of Sydney and the boy and Angelo were settled.

God, she'd miss him…

The sound of shuffling feet behind her roused her from her uncomfortable musings, and she turned to look in surprise as a disheveled-looking Sydney came into the kitchen. A button-down flannel shirt hung limply over trousers from which the suspenders dangled and his face was coarsely bristled and in desperate need of a shave. "What are you doing up at this hour, Freud?" she asked him as he made his way to the cupboard and, as she had not long before, took down a glass for some water. "I thought that pill would have put you down for the count."

"It did, for a while," he replied, filling the glass and carrying it over to the table to take a seat close to hers. "I'm not exactly sure what did wake me up – but I decided I needed at least a glass of water before I'd be able to sleep some more." His warm but sleepy chestnut eyes studied her expression. "What's your excuse?"

"Nightmares," she stated with a dismissive shrug, "and wondering what the hell I think I'm doing getting ready to take on the job of raising my little brother." She looked at him without flinching. "Remember back when I told you 'I don't do Mommy?' I'm just afraid that I'll botch things…"

"Nonsense," Sydney shook his head. "You didn't know Debbie when you took on the job of taking care of her – but that isn't the case with your little brother. You've felt close to him ever since the day he was born, I've seen it in your face." He picked up the glass of water and paused before putting it to his lips. "The connection you already feel for him will carry you through – you'll do just fine, Parker." He took a sip.

"Not alone." The qualifier slipped out before she could stop it.

"As you and Jarod keep reminding me, you're not alone," Sydney told her gently. "You have both Jarod and me…"

"For as long as Jarod wants to be with us," she added in a wry tone. "All it will take will be for him to get the itch to find his own mom and dad again, and you know damned well that he'll dump us the moment he thinks we're in a safe and secure place."

"Yes, I suppose that is a possibility," he allowed with a nod and then sipped at his water again thoughtfully for a moment. "But that still doesn't leave you alone. I'd still be there for you as much as I can – I have no intention of walking away and leaving you, Parker, especially now. I told you before, you're all I have left in the world — besides Jarod." He looked down. "You two are the only family I have anymore."

"I know," she conceded as she put out a hand to him and had him take her hand in hers. "But you have to admit, it's a big challenge to think that I… we… would be able to handle a toddler and Angelo at the same time. You'd have your hands full with Angelo."

"Hmmmm…" Sydney could see where she was coming from. "I don't know that Angelo would be as difficult as you fear – he's not very verbally expressive, but I seriously doubt that he would deliberately cause problems. On the contrary, I think he'd be a bigger help with your brother because he'd be able to read the boy's emotions so much easier than we could, not to mention that playing together could be good for both of them." He squeezed the hand he was holding and then let it go. "'Sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof,' Parker. Let's not borrow trouble that hasn't found us yet. We still have to get those boys and Angelo away from the Centre, remember."

"I know," she sighed and sank her chin in her hand.

He watched her for a long moment. "What is it that you HAVEN'T told me?" he asked softly.

Her grey eyes flicked up to meet his and then returned to their study of the outside of her water glass. "I don't think I can handle it," she stated finally in a soft voice, "and I don't like the idea that I can't handle it. I feel like I'm losing control of my life."

"What don't you think you can handle?"

Her forefinger circled the top of the glass absently. "Being an instant parent." She looked up at him again. "I mean, I haven't exactly had the best of role models to work from…"

"How much do you remember of your mother?" Sydney responded after a moment's thought.

"That's…"

"That's exactly what you do, provided you keep the memories of how your mother treated you and acted in relationship to you in the front of your mind when you interact with your little brother," he insisted. "We learn how to parent by example – abusive parenting results, the majority of the time, in another generation of abusive parenting. Your mother was most loving to you…"

"But Daddy…"

"He wasn't the most important figure in your life when you were small, Parker – your mother WAS. Work from your memories of her. BECOME her. I know you can."

"But to become an instant parent…"

"Tell me about it," he replied with a slightly crooked smile, his tone causing her to look up at him again sharply. He shrugged under her gaze. "For as long as I have thought of you and Jarod as if you were my own, I don't think I could have prepared for such a thing actually becoming anything close to reality. It was a very… complicated… moment."

"If you don't want…" Miss Parker pulled back and gazed at him, hurt.

"No, no!" Sydney reached out to her again and hung on. "I want, Parker, I want very much — don't you ever think I don't! I've wanted for a very long time, and I wouldn't trade the experience of having it happen for real for anything in the world. What I'm trying to tell you, however, is that it wasn't anything I could have prepared for — and while I did lose control of my life for an instant, I got that control back in the very next instant. I had no idea what it would mean to me or feel like to not only consider you like a daughter but to have you actually return the sentiment. It was one of the most frightening… and satisfying… things I've ever had happen to me."

"I do love you, Sydney," she whispered in a hesitant voice, unused to expressing that kind of emotion to him and yet compelled by his narrative to try.

"I… I know you do," he tightened his hold on her hand as he realized how hard it was for her to say such a thing — easily as hard for her as it was for him. Even now, the "I love you too" that should have been the natural response had stuck in his throat, held there by his habitual reluctance to make himself too vulnerable to her, despite everything. But still, she needed something more from him… "I'm sure that just as I'll be able to handle whatever comes my way as the result of having you as an instant daughter, you'll be able to handle whatever comes your way with your accepting your role as Instant Mommy to your little brother. I know you already love him, so intent will never be an issue."

"I'm still afraid I'll screw up."

He shook his head. "Not going to happen, Parker. I have faith in you."

Wide and vulnerable grey eyes flew up to gaze urgently at his face. "Really?"

"Really." He smiled at her as he patted her hand. How cruel her upbringing had been, to make her feel so unworthy that the smallest phrase of approval or confidence could buoy her so easily! "I always have had faith in you — well, at least, most of the time…"

She smiled back hesitantly, and clung tightly to the hand that had hers pinned to the table. "Thanks. I guess… I guess I just needed to hear it said."

"Anytime, Parker, anytime." He patted her hand again and then carefully withdrew his hand from her keeping. "Drink up now — we both could use a little more sleep, and you could use some rest without the nightmare." He followed his own advice, draining the last of the water from his glass and then rising and waiting for her to finish hers. He took her glass from her and carried it with his back to the sink, and then turned to find her waiting for him next to the doorway. "Feel any better?"

"I think so." Miss Parker slipped her left hand into the crook of his elbow while she reached with her right for the light switch and then circled his arm tightly with both hands.

Sydney could feel the near desperation in her grasp as he walked with her to the front of the house. "I'm not going anywhere, Parker," he reassured her as he freed himself from her hold so that she could lead the way up the narrow stairs. "I promise."

The shiver of deja vu nearly made her stumble. "Don't… ever promise that, Syd," she said sharply, pausing and half-turning toward him. "Just… don't."

His large hand landed warmly at her shoulder. "It will be all right. Trust me."

She reluctantly resumed her upward journey and then paused in front of her closed bedroom door. "It's hard to learn to trust, when it comes to that," she admitted in a whisper so as not to disturb Jarod's rest. "The last person who told me… who promised me… that nothing would happen and that he wouldn't be leaving me was dead very soon afterwards."

Even through the whisper, the grief in her voice was palpable. Sydney could tell that this was evidence of her tenuous trust in him now, for she hadn't given the slightest clue about how much Tommy's death hurt her for years — and evidently, it still did. "I know it's hard to learn not to live life fearing repeats of the past. It's hard to learn to trust again," Sydney whispered in return and kissed her cheek. "But it's a lesson we both have to learn, n'est pas?"

"I suppose…"

"Sleep well, Parker." He bent slightly so she could return the kiss to the cheek and then watched her retire behind her closed door before he continued on down the hallway.

oOoOo

"But I know how to swim…" Jarod complained as Sydney held out the life jacket.

"That's not the point. It's called water safety, and you should have learned it a long time ago — when you did that stint with the Coast Guard." Sydney didn't budge. "Or didn't you pay attention to the regulations you were Pretending to enforce?"

"Don't you know how to swim?" Jarod asked, eyeing the jacket that Sydney had already donned over his flannel shirt and knit vest.

"Of course I do." Sydney sighed. "Jarod, we're going out on the water fully clothed, where if we fall in, the clothing will drag us down or tire us out. The life jacket keeps us afloat even when we're too tired to tread water. Now stop arguing and put it on." Had Jarod always been this stubborn about things — or was his stubbornness an unexpected side effect of being free and out from underneath anybody's authority? It was an interesting line of thought that hadn't occurred until now, when he was back in Jarod's company on a continuing basis…

Jarod reluctantly took the bright orange and overstuffed collar from his mentor and draped it around his neck, then sighed as Sydney stepped forward to fasten the buckles for him when he once more balked. "It's uncomfortable," he complained softly, "and inhibits mobility."

Warm chestnut eyes that held a touch of exasperation touched his gaze as the last buckle snapped into place. "You're the one who wanted to go fishing — well, this is a part of it. And mobility is the least of your needs while fishing. The key to fishing is patience."

"The key to a lot of things is patience," Jarod retorted under his breath. He looked into the small boat that was tied securely to the dock. "Do we have everything we need?"

Sydney came to stand next to him. "We have poles, lures, bobbers, basket, oars and an outboard motor. And Parker packed a lunch and some canned drinks in that cooler for us while we're out there, so that should do it." He fished in the pocket of his trousers and hauled out a tube of something. "Better put this on your face and hands — you don't need to come back from this little trip looking more like a lobster than a fisherman. I found it in the medicine cabinet this morning while I was shaving."

"After you…" Jarod held the tube out to him first.

Sydney shook his head. "Already have mine on — put it on before we left the house." He waited and watched as Jarod carefully oiled himself with the sun screen lotion and then pocketed the tube when it was returned to him. "Now we're ready."

The two men carefully climbed into the small boat. Jarod tugged hard and untied the rope that held it to the dock while Sydney took a place at the back near the motor. A couple of good, hard yanks had the motor purring and the boat nosing it's way carefully away from shore. "How far out are we going?" Jarod asked, enjoying the sensation of the wind on his face. It reminded him of freedom, and was a vivid sensual contrast to the sensations he'd been allowed while an inmate of the Centre. In fact, the entire experience of being in a small boat, putting across the water with the wind in his face with an experienced and paternal figure at the helm steering the boat was one filled with nuances that would take him a very long time to dissect later on.

"Not that far," Sydney replied after a short pause to consider just how far out would be both safe and productive fishing-wise. "I'm not all that familiar with how to read a big body of water like this for active fishing spots — and this is a damned big lake. We'll have to take our chances close to shore, I think."

"This is quite a bit bigger than White Cloud," Jarod agreed, "that's for sure." He'd been on the ocean in that Pretend in the Coast Guard years ago — Superior gave some of the same feelings, although there was no saltwater tang to the air. "You fished at the cabin, didn't you?"

"Yes, but when I'd fish at White Cloud, I'd fish from the pier," Sydney told him, raising his voice a little to be heard over the growl of the motor. "But then, that would be more like fly-fishing than what we'll be doing today…"

Jarod turned around. "What's the difference? Isn't fishing fishing?"

Sydney shook his head. "Fly fishing takes a bit more practice to learn to cast properly. Today we'll just be working on efficiency of motion to get the hooks and lures as far from the boat as possible. Fly fishing uses the slow reeling in of the hooks and flies to mimic the action of insects in the water that would be food for the fish. The lures in the box here are meant to look real while the line is hanging still in the water."

His protégé looked impressed. "Here and I thought it was just a question of putting a hook in the water…"

Sydney shook his head in belief. "It's a whole lot more complicated than that." He continued to aim the little boat toward the endless horizon, and then abruptly cut the motor. "This should do it." He gave a glance back to shore, and the house that was considerably smaller.

Jarod turned around carefully on his seat, dug in his sweatshirt pocket and pulled out a fly and handed it to the back of the boat. "What would this be used for, then?"

The older man examined the expert tying and design of the fly. "Somebody put a lot of time and effort into this one," he commented, impressed. "It's a handmade fly-fishing lure, and a fine one." He handed it back carefully. "Where did you get it?"

"A friend gave it to me as a memento," Jarod replied vaguely as he tucked it carefully back into his pocket, wondering briefly how that father and son team were doing in the time that had passed since he'd left them.

"We'd have to find a good fly-fishing stream for me to show you how to use that one," Sydney informed him. "For today, however, it will be just basic lake fishing."

Sydney opened the tackle box that was on the floor of the boat between them and pointed out the various paraphernalia and explained the uses of each, then took up a rod and began rigging the line and instructing Jarod on how to take care of his own. Jarod watched carefully and mimicked the actions of his former mentor, and still needed to hand over his line once for adjustment and correction combined with praise for his other work.

It was the first time he had been in the position of student of Sydney's for a very long time. So much of their time together in those last years at the Centre had been in the position of mentor and trained performer — Sydney presenting the SIM situation and keeping him focused as he went through the mental and emotional hoops and ladders required to draw forth the desired information. Experiencing Sydney as teacher again — presenting new information and guiding the learning steps — brought back feelings and memories of feelings that Jarod had thought long dead. Sydney was patient, explaining every step of the process and watching him take his attempts with understanding. THIS was the Sydney that he had wanted so desperately to have as his family.

"Who taught you to fish?" he asked as Sydney made the final adjustments to his own line.

"My father," the older man answered after a long moment. "Our house wasn't far from the Rhone River. He took Jacob and me out several times before the war."

This was a side of Sydney Jarod rarely saw, the private man with a life history and a family… "Tell me about him… your father."

Chestnut eyes came up and gazed into his in surprise. "Why?"

"Because you never have," Jarod answered with a shrug, "and because the experience obviously meant a great deal to you."

Sydney looked back down and rechecked the last of his knots as he debated whether or not to answer the question. He hadn't thought about that time in years… "My father was a schoolteacher and poet," he finally said in a quiet voice. "He was a big man, much taller than my mother, with a deep voice and big, barreled chest. When he laughed, the whole house vibrated." A small, private smile stole over his face. "And yet, when Maman spoke, he did exactly what she told him."

Jarod's hands had fallen idle into his lap, listening to the quiet memories. "And he took you fishing?"

Sydney glanced up and nodded, and then busied himself setting the rod aside and closing down the tackle box. "As much as he could. It wasn't exactly safe to eat the fish from the river — but he told us that it was a life skill that every man should have. He said, 'if you give a man a fish, you feed him for a day; but teach a man to fish,…'"

"'…and you feed him for a lifetime.' I've heard that," Jarod responded. "So, you went… fly-fishing?"

"No," Sydney chuckled. "That's a uniquely American wrinkle on the sport. No, he took us out in a small boat, much like this one — only we didn't have a motor, he had to row us out and then drop an anchor so we wouldn't get swept too far downstream — with a tackle box not so very different than this one. And we sat there and fished."

He handed Jarod his rod. "Speaking of which, time to get your line in the water." He pointed out the switch that allowed for free play of the line and explained how and when to use the switch. Jarod went to wave his rod over his head, only to have Sydney's hand catch him before he could make the big move. "You do that, you run the risk of catching one of us with your hook and doing some real harm. Use the water off the end of the boat and make it a sideways cast — like this." He swung his rod back over the motor end of the boat, then made a sideways motion that had the sinkers and hooks flying in a neat line several yards from the boat to plunk into the water. "Now you try."

Jarod narrowed his eyes and made a similar movement, but didn't hit the switch properly so his line plunked into the water only a few feet from the boat. "This isn't as easy as it looks," he commented as he carefully reeled the line in.

"Like so much else in life, it takes practice," Sydney agreed with a soft chuckle. "Try it again, only this time, remember to hit the switch." Jarod nodded and tried it again, and this time his line played out a fair distance before plunking into the water. "Verrrry good, Jarod," Sydney nodded approvingly. "You're getting the hang of it now."

"If you didn't eat the fish you caught, what would you do with them?" Jarod was curious.

"We'd throw them back," Sydney shrugged. "Papa taught us how to get the hooks out of the fish's mouths with as little damage as possible — and then we'd let them go."

"What would you have for supper then?" The chocolate eyes were wide.

"Whatever my mother had planned for that evening's meal otherwise," his mentor chuckled. "We'd joke around the supper table sometimes about how strange the fish tasted that evening…" His face had grown soft with the memories of days long gone.

"I can imagine," Jarod remarked softly.

Sydney's face flickered with the tiniest flash of guilt as the Belgian realized that imagining that kind of family gathering was the closest Jarod had been able to come to such an experience to date. "You'll get your chance to be with your family someday," he reassured his protégé gently.

"I didn't mean it that way," Jarod replied immediately, contrite. "But tell me, why is fishing a father and son activity? Wouldn't it do to teach a girl…"

"Ah — but it is a father's place to teach his son to provide for the family," Sydney explained, grateful for the skillful detour in topic. "A daughter's place is at her mother's side, learning to keep the house and prepare the food the father provides."

"I can just imagine Miss Parker glued to her mother's side learning how to cook and clean," Jarod quipped. "She thinks that if it gets out that she can cook, her reputation is ruined."

"She was raised by her father though," Sydney reminded him, "and raised to take over the reins of the Centre when the time came. Cooking and cleaning were the province of domestics."

"So if she'd been a boy, then Mr. Parker would have taken her out fishing?"

Sydney shook his head at the verbal image that arose. "I seriously doubt it. Mr. Parker's life was the Centre — not his family." He glanced at his former student. "Do you really imagine that he took Lyle fishing after that relationship was discovered?"

Jarod's eyes widened, and then he shook his head in answer. "No… That just doesn't seem like something either one of them would do."

Sydney nodded agreement and stared out over the sparkling water for a long moment. It was quiet out here on the lake — the lack of pressure from anybody actually wanting something from him was a relief. The Centre seemed like it was an entire world removed from him, which in itself was a great release.

"So what do fathers and sons DO while sitting here and waiting for the fish to bite?" Jarod wanted to know.

"Sit, talk, there are no interruptions from telephones, wives, babies, co-workers… A man can take the time to teach a son how to BE a man out in a small boat… or can come to accept a son AS a man in a man's world."

"How so?" Jarod's head had tipped as he grew intrigued by the idea.

Sydney gazed at him evenly. "By letting some of the things that normally inhibit fall away," he said thoughtfully. "By answering questions or discussing situations within the family unit that are on-going, a man teaches by example. Fishing teaches patience and perseverance — concepts that are often best learned by experience."

Jarod stared out over the water, his eyes catching on the blotch of white at the shoreline that he knew was the house he was sharing with Parker and Sydney. Parker had been right — he felt closer to Sydney now, without the agonized and desperate soul-searching, than he had ever felt before. And yet, there was something missing, a connection. Sydney had said in his letter to Parker that he'd always loved him as a son. He'd eventually admitted as much aloud. But what did that mean to HIM? What did it mean to BE a son?

"Sydney?"

"Hmm?"

"I need to know…" No, that wasn't the right way to broach the subject. Jarod kicked himself for the self-centered way he'd approached the problem before him.

"What is that?" Sydney asked mildly. Jarod had grown quiet, so he knew something was brewing. When he didn't get an answer, he looked over at his former protégé. "What do you need to know?" he asked again.

"You said," Jarod decided to try again, "that while fishing, a man can teach his son to be a man. But how does a person learn how to be a son?"

Sydney's shoulders sagged. "I honestly don't know," he answered sadly, "anymore than I know how a man learns to be a father. I think it's something that happens over time — as one moves from infancy to childhood and then beyond."

"So it's more than just… emotional attachment or dependence?"

"Family ties are the most complex social structures we have as human beings, Jarod," Sydney replied, retreating into his psychiatric and mentor's persona out of self-defense. "A child's first ties to a parent are ones of trust — trust that the parent will provide food and shelter being first, with everything else springing from there. Eventually it is a very complex mixture of love, respect, trust, companionship, shared experience…" Sydney's voice died away.

"Is that why you wouldn't let me be a son, then? Because you knew that I couldn't be allowed to trust…"

"Jarod…"

"I just wanted someone that I could call my own — someone to belong to…"

There was no argument with the emotions of the child that Jarod had once been. This was the inevitable consequence of maintaining that distance that had enabled Jarod to eventually find his freedom. "I know," Sydney muttered softly.

"And so now, after I'm already grown, is it that I can't grow those connections? Is it something wrong with me now?"

"Jarod," Sydney said again, then propped his rod between his knees against a rib on the floor of the boat so he could have his hands free to put on a slumped shoulder turned away from him. "It isn't you — it was never you. When the time comes, and you find your father, you'll be able to slowly put those connections into play."

"But I can never make them with you, is that it?" The chocolate eyes came around accusingly.

Sydney was stunned. "After all this time, after everything I did, I can't imagine why you'd want to. You HAVE a father — your real father — and when the time comes, you have the start of that relationship with the man with whom you should have had that relationship all along."

That was when the truth of the situation finally dawned on Jarod — Sydney wasn't saying that the connections couldn't be made, he was denying himself the opportunity of having them made with HIM in order to clear the way for Jarod to connect with his real father. Once more, he was setting his own desires aside to make it possible for Jarod to walk away without needing to look back.

"But I need – I want – that relationship with you too," Jarod replied with quiet vehemence. "I told you, all of my childhood memories include you – you taught me all the important things. I'll have whatever kind of father-son relationship I can cobble together with my real dad eventually – if the Centre is no longer an issue for our being together, that is – but every time I think this through, YOU are the one I think of automatically when I think of an authority figure. You're my dad in here," he touched himself in the chest, "and that's not going to change. Is there no way that I can have that kind of relationship with you now?"

"I always thought that staying out of the way of your relationship with your real father would be the only way for you to connect with him," Sydney replied slowly.

"I think that the only way I'll know how to go about constructing something other than a relationship built solely on genetics with him is by learning how to be a son to the only man I've ever looked up to as a role model." Jarod gazed imploringly at his former mentor. "Please help me."

"But everything I did – everything I allowed to happen to you…"

"Doesn't change the way I feel."

Sydney gazed at him for a long moment, and then looked away. "What about trust, Jarod?"

"What about it?"

"I haven't exactly done anything to earn yours. I didn't protect you at the Centre – I didn't provide for you, or take obvious interest in your welfare…"

"Is it that you don't want me as a son, then?" Jarod felt deeply wounded by his mentor's continuing to hold him at arm's length.

Sydney looked up at him sharply. "No! It isn't that at all!"

"Then what?"

"I told you – I don't deserve to have you as a son!" Sydney burst out, unable to keep silent about it anymore. "Don't you understand? I am so proud of you – of what you have accomplished and done since you escaped – and I know I had no part of it."

"But Sydney," Jarod propped his rod in a similar fashion and this time reached out to his old mentor, "you DID have a part in it – a rather big part in it. If it hadn't been for you, I'd never have thought about helping the little guy…"

"I didn't teach you that…"

"Yes, you did! You did it by NOT teaching me that I was better than everyone else, or that I deserved to be waited on hand and foot. My sense of right and wrong came straight from you!"

Once more, Sydney found that he had no counter to his protégé's argument. "I always thought," he said instead, "that it came from inside you."

"Maybe it did," Jarod shrugged, "but you nourished it. All of my ideas of what it meant to be a man I learned from you – and not even during fishing trips." He looked at his mentor with muted pain. "Is it so much to ask to be allowed to love you – and maybe get a little love in return? Why can you love Parker, and not…"

"That's not the way it is," Sydney stated slowly, understanding a little bit more with that broken, revealing question. "The way I feel about Parker has nothing to do with…"

"You love her because it's safe to love her — it doesn't hurt to love her." Jarod watched Sydney's face closely. "Why can't you love me, even just a little?"

"But I already do – more than you can ever know." The admission was almost a whisper. "But on the day that you find your real father and begin to make those connections with him, your connection with me must necessarily fade away. I don't…" He gazed with an almost frantic plea for understanding at Jarod's face. "I'm afraid that if I let myself get used to you being as close to me as a son, the day that you connect with your father and walk away will be the day I begin to die a little inside and keep on dying until there's nothing left. And I don't want you avoiding the chance to be a son to your father simply to save me grief."

Jarod stared. Was the situation really that simple – that Sydney was afraid of being hurt and protecting himself from future loss? "Sydney, even if I connect with my real father, I will never be able to walk away from the fact that it was YOU who raised me, and not him. Whatever relationship I have with him eventually will be in addition to the relationship I have with you – NOT instead of." He thought for a bit. "Maybe there's a question of trust in this too. Can you trust me to not walk away and shut you out?"

"I don't know that I dare," Sydney admitted with hesitant honesty. "And I know Parker shares the same doubts. She's terrified that once everything you've set up in regards to the Centre is concluded, that you'll just vanish again like you always do."

That stung. "I wouldn't do that…"

"She doesn't know that, and neither do I. In fact, I thought I've been training you to do exactly that – walk away from the Centre and all involved the moment you get the chance. That includes Parker and me."

"Been there, done that, Sydney," Jarod replied. "And when it comes to you two, I don't think I can do it anymore."

"So you say now. But what will happen when, if your plan to bring the Centre down is successful, your father and mother and sister come to collect you? You deserve the chance to put together a life with them too – and without having to worry about Parker and me." He shook his head and took up his fishing pole again. "Our losing you eventually to your real family is the price we'll have to pay for your having been stolen from them in the first place."

The idea that Parker and Sydney were preparing themselves to lose him gave Jarod an intense feeling of emptiness. He couldn't blame them for protecting themselves against that – only offer them a promise for the future. "My family will just have to understand that I don't come without attachments," Jarod argued gently.

"You don't want…"

"Yes, I do." Jarod's voice was very firm, very certain. "Sydney, when you said those things to Parker in your letter, you did it because you thought you'd never be able to see it happen in reality. What you said… was something I'd been waiting almost my whole life to hear. There's no way I could just walk away you — from either of you — now. Not without doing myself an injury that would never heal in the process. You have to trust me."

"Do you understand what you're asking me – the both of us – to risk?" Sydney's gaze was piercing.

"I think I do," Jarod replied. "I don't want this connection to be one-sided, Sydney. All I'm asking is for permission to love you the way I've always wanted, and maybe have it returned to me a little bit for once."

Sydney began to reel his line in. "Jarod, there is no way that I can prevent you from feeling anything, anymore than the Centre and my worries about what would happen could have prevented me from secretly becoming v… from loving you back when."

"What about now?"

"My feelings towards you haven't changed over the years, Jarod." The chestnut eyes were steady.

"But I don't want you to feel guilty anymore when you think of me either – I want you just to love me a little."

"I told you, I already do – and more than just a little. The guilt is just a natural part of that, because of what we've been through together."

Jarod was silent for a long moment, studying the way the sunlight glinted on the waves in the distance. "If I can accept that what happened was necessary to make me the person I am today, can't you accept that too?" Jarod asked gently. "Ultimately, it didn't end up THAT badly — I'm alive, I'm here…"

It was such a simple statement, and yet deeper than Sydney had expected. Jarod was right – when viewed in terms of present-day circumstances, everything that had gone before hadn't ended that badly. It was quite an amazing revelation, one that took a while to fully appreciate and respond to. "Jarod, I think you're on your way to being a very wise man."

"I don't know about that," the Pretender hedged. "It depends upon whether I have just spent the last half hour out here talking and fishing with my dad – or with an old friend."

Sydney looked across the sparkling water at the far horizon. It all came down to a question of trust. To make the arguments he had, Jarod had needed to trust that Sydney wouldn't betray him again later on down the line by pushing him away again. Jarod had laid his heart on the line and bartered with it. Could he trust that Jarod wouldn't betray him either? Was he willing to put his heart on the line too? The choice he made now would direct his life, and his relationship with Jarod, from now on. And in that case, there really wasn't a choice — because that decision had been made decades ago and kept carefully hidden away where it couldn't be used against either of them.

"C'mon, my boy, pull in your line. I don't think the fish are biting here."

Jarod's lips twitched, and then he had a broad smile on his face as he followed suit and soon had his lines safely stowed in the boat. "Are we heading in to shore already, or just going to try somewhere else?"

"This is your fishing trip, Jarod. What do you want to do?"

The chocolate eyes were warm. "I think I'm enjoying learning how to fish and I really don't want it to end yet. Let's try somewhere else and see what we can catch."

Sydney turned to give the rope on the outboard motor its swift yanks with a sudden warm feeling in his heart and mind. This was what he'd never been allowed with Nicholas, what he'd denied himself when it came to Jarod until now: the closeness of knowing that the sentiment he felt was returned in full measure. Even now he could feel the need to punish himself for what he'd been a part of during Jarod's youth fading a little; not completely, but finally it had ebbed a little. He pointed to a nonspecific place just a little further from shore. "All right — how about over there?"

"You're the expert," Jarod replied with a light heart and then turned so that the wind once more could wash across his face as Sydney skillfully piloted the boat to the new fishing spot.