Disclaimer: The Pretender and the Profiler belong to their respective intellectual property owners.

A/N 1: This is my flashback chapter. Warning: it's very long. Also I created a OC for this chapter since I locked up poor Sydney.

Chapter 11

"Now, is that the way you greet your favorite therapist, Jarod?" asked the short, thin Indian man, smiling enigmatically. Shrewd brown eyes were already evaluating Jarod. "Not a good morning for me? I'm hurt," displaying a moue for Jarod.

Annoyance, irritation, and resentment boiled through Jarod upon seeing his psychiatrist. Dr. Balaji Tushar was nothing like Sydney. He wasn't one to encourage a father/son relationship since Tushar was a decade younger than him. Tushar didn't believe in a warm and soothing doctor/patient relationship like he had with Sydney. Plus, he had a personality that just got under Jarod's skin.

Repeating his earlier question, Jarod folded his arms across his chest. "What the hell do you want, doc?" He knew that Tushar frowned on using the shortened title which was why Jarod used it on him.

"Ah, well, you see I got a copy of your incident report…" began Tushar, starting to spread his arms, noticing Jarod's attempt to irritate him.

"So naturally you just had to rush over here to see how I'm feeling about it?" interrupted Jarod. He tried to forget that Tushar was on the distribution list for the incident report but, obviously with the good shrink standing in front of him, that didn't work.

Slowly, shaking his head, the Indian-American psychiatrist shook his head bemusedly. "Actually, I was coming over to ask how you feel about Miss Parker appearing in your life again."

Jarod was appalled to see that Dr. Tushar was actually rubbing his hands together and leaning forward eagerly to await his answer. This bastard got a lot of nerve…

"This doesn't concern you, doc" Jarod angrily said. "She's none of your damn business."

Tushar didn't deign to reply as he brusquely brushed past the obviously pissed off Pretender.

Jarod felt his hands formed into fists but knew he wouldn't assault his psychiatrist. No matter how deserving he might be.

The psychiatrist arrogantly headed towards the living room and sat in the same sofa that Miss Parker occupied last night. Looking around the living room, he remarked, "So, Jarod, nothing has changed since Rachel died, eh?" Arms spread wide and leaning back in the sofa, the Indian doctor gave a very good impression of a cat toying with a mouse.

Jarod steeled himself for another of Tushar's unscheduled and, certainly, uninvited therapy sessions. But no matter how grateful he felt for the psychiatrist who helped him on the road to recovery after the Sears Tower attack, Jarod just wasn't in the mood for another gut-wrenching examination of his psyche.

Dr. Tushar carefully examined the Pretender. Ah, Jarod, you're not the only one who can pretend. To effectively treat Jarod, Tushar, after examining the DSA archive which Rachel gave him to watch, he took on the persona of, what he jokingly told his lover, an arrogant prick with people eagerly lining up to beat the living shit out of him.

The exact opposite of Dr. Sydney Greene. May you roast slowly and painfully in hell, Dr. Greene, fumed an incensed Tushar After over six years, the mental and emotional wounds Jarod bore still had to be treated. He thought he closed his file on Jarod after his marriage to Rachel.

But that was not to be. When Rachel died, he had to hand off all of his current cases to his partner, who was also his lover as well as a few other psychiatrists who came close to his level of competence, in order to treat Jarod exclusively.

What no one can accuse the good doctor of was low self-esteem. But his confidence, verging on cockiness, was well earned. That was why his practice was flourishing with the nation's law enforcement and national security communities who were his exclusive clients. He still took on a few private patients though, who came to him by word of mouth after hearing about his skills through their connections in the government. But Tushar found his niche treating the mentally and emotionally wounded civil servants. Right now, with Jarod, all of his skills were put to the test.

Tushar had to have him admitted, after examining him, into one of the low profile psychiatric treatment centers maintained by the government for its spies, commandos, and covert operatives. Jarod was catatonic and had shut down by the time he arrived at the hospital where Rachel died.

Reluctantly, Tushar had him put in restraints for his own safety and placed on 24/7 suicide watch.

When DNI, Jarod's employer, found out the extent of Jarod's breakdown, it gave Tushar all the resources needed to help Jarod recover. Of course, Tushar cynically noted, Uncle Sam didn't do it out of his altruistic nature. They wanted him for his unique abilities but were ambivalent at the same time due to his background.

Oh, yes, Tushar remembered. Once they found out about Jarod's chameleon-like skills, they had Jarod put through the same Personnel Reliability Program that people working with nuclear weapons had to go through before they even got near one. The government was interested in using him but weren't sure of his mental and emotional stability due to the years of abuse at the hands of the Centre.

But after he passed the program, the government welcomed him into its bosom and promptly sent him out to fight its enemies.

When Rachel died, Jarod wasn't only the one who felt her loss. Jarod would have been surprised at the real Dr. Tushar, a warm and empathic doctor who also mourned the loss of the forceful and driven FBI agent. But because Tushar adopted such an odious personality that repulsed Jarod, he never bothered to find out Tushar's true personality.

An odious personality because Tushar wanted to be the exact opposite of Dr. Sydney Greene, a leading candidate for the Dr. Frankenstein Award.

"The silent treatment, Jarod?" questioned Tushar, raising one eyebrow. Motioning with his left forefinger, he pointed at the recliner which the doctor knew was Jarod's favorite chair. "Have a seat."

Jarod wanted to say no just out of principle and as a sign of his autonomy. But storming out of the house, leaving the doctor sitting there all smug and composed alone in his house, was not something he wanted. The Pretender was afraid the doctor might go through his house looking for any nuggets of information or clues to psychiatrically dissect him.

His hope for a stress relieving run vanishing, he sat on the recliner and glared at his shrink. "I'm not interested in your help, doc," Jarod said in a pouting and aggrieved manner.

"Of course not, Jarod." A mocking smile pasted on his clean shaven face, Tushar pulled himself forward and looked intently at his long time patient. "I'm just a friendly ear for you, Jarod. I've known about your troubled relationship with Miss Parker in the past."

"What Parker and I have is nothing for you to stick your nose into," Jarod insisted, his guard up.

"Is that how you feel about me and anyone else asking about the two of you? Why is that?"

Jarod was flustered at the very perceptive question. He didn't want to answer Tushar's question because it was too personal and private for anyone else to know or understand.

Ever since he was kidnapped from his parents by the Centre, his every move, every action, and every word was recorded, analyzed, and studied by people who didn't care one damn bit about him. Only in what he can do for them.

Parker underwent something similar to what Jarod experienced at the Centre. While she wasn't subjected to the cruel whims of Dr. Raines and the gentle manipulations of Sydney, Parker endured the fake suicide of her mother, the emotional manipulations of her daddy, and working under the microscope in the hellish atmosphere that was the Centre.

Both of them, Jarod knew, never had a moment's peace or solitude to relax, to let down their guard, and be able to express themselves as a free man and a free woman without worrying about the consequences.

"Jarod?" persisted the enigmatic Indian. Watching Jarod struggled to answer him in one way or another, Tushar thought back when he first encounter this gentle but hard luck man.


6.5 years ago

Dr. Balaji Tushar waited for his newest patient to show up. Picking the thin manila folder, he noticed the name written on it. Jarod Russell.

He sighed tiredly, emotionally exhausted. Another victim of the Sears Tower attack to be treated. Another victim to try to put back together, at least emotionally and mentally, for the people in his field. The physical healing was dealt with by other medical colleagues working in other fields.

For him, today, he was asked to see if he can patch up a Jarod Russell found buried in the basement of the Sears Tower.

Reading through the report of his eventual discovery and rescue caused a shudder to go through this thoughtful and caring doctor.

To be impaled by a piece of steel rod through his left eye, losing his left arm, and then to be buried under tons of concrete rubble, he couldn't imagine what it felt like to go through something like that. But Jarod did. And it was his job to find out what those feelings were.

There was more though. After meeting Dr. Rachel Burke for the first time, Jarod's friend and, if his instincts were correct, more than that, and hearing what she had to say, he had a unique person in his care.

A person that the government was showing signs of increasing interest. Coming out of his coma slightly over three months ago, Jarod started beginning his physical therapy. But he was having problems adjusting to his new condition. A condition that now included a missing left eye, an amputated left arm, and disfiguring scars criss crossing his face as well as the rest of his body.

Picking up and looking at the two pictures of Jarod, the before and after Sears Tower, he could understand Jarod's anguish and sense of denial. It was his responsibility to get Jarod out of the ghetto of self pity and convince him to adjust to his suddenly changed appearance and live out a life that was worth living for.

A tall order even for a summa cum laude graduate of the Stanford Medical School.

Letting out another sigh, he waited in the spartan room provided by the hospital for his patients. No stereotypical couch. There was no room for one. All it had were a padded green rolling chair for him and an ugly orange chair with a plastic surface that was cracking showing the white stuffing inside.

Looking up when he heard the door handle being turned, Dr. Tushar stood up. He always stood up for his patients as a form of respect and an icebreaker. He also preferred to shake their hands if it were possible.

The man he was expecting didn't enter his office. Rather, it was Rachel Burke who walked in. The red headed FBI agent looked him over and smiled wanly at him.

Giving her an inquisitive look, Dr. Tushar said, "Dr. Burke, an unexpected pleasure. Is there something I can help you with?"

Shaking her head, Rachel answered. "No, doctor. Instead, I believe I can help you," lifting the silver Halliburton case and putting it on the psychiatrist's desk.

"What is it?" Tushar asked between glances at the case and his unexpected guest.

"Jarod's life," Rachel intoned, with an intense look on her face as she stared at the silver case. Uninvited she sat down on the orange chair and looked up at him.

Sighing inwardly, Dr. Tushar walked around the steel gray government-issued battered desk and sat in his chair. Leaning forward a bit and resting his hands on the case, he said, "Can you clarify what you just said, Dr. Burke, or do you prefer, Agent Burke?"

"As I told you before, please call me Rachel."

Tushar gave her a small grin. "Of course, than please call me Balaji."

Crossing her shapely legs with her hands folded in her lap, Rachel also leaned forward. She began to explain to the psychiatrist what the case represented. "For starters, Balaji, Jarod's life isn't normal. He was kidnapped when he was a boy…"

Dr. Tushar listened incredulously to Rachel's explanation. He couldn't believe that such an organization existed within the borders of the United States. What she told him alternately angered and frightened him. While feeling these emotions, he also was furiously revising his treatment plan for Jarod. His attention was brought back to Rachel as she concluded her explanation.

"That," pointing towards the case, "is Jarod's life as recorded by the Centre." Rachel sat back in her chair worried and nervous of how the doctor would react to what she just said.

Running his hand through his jet black hair, a nervous gesture from his childhood, Tushar looked at the tense woman sitting opposite him. "Does Jarod know that you have this?" indicating the silver case lying between them.

"Um, no, he doesn't," Rachel answered slowly, unsure of why he was asking this question.

Unsettled and uneasy at his realization, Tushar nevertheless spoke out what was on his mind. "Dr. Burke, um Rachel, we're skirting the line between ethical and unethical behavior." Touching the Halliburton case, he continued. "Jarod should have given us his permission to look at this."

Rachel was embarrassed and angry, both at herself and the Indian doctor for pointing out her lapses in judgment but she had a good reason for what she was doing.

She was in love with him.

Saving Jarod's life was her overriding imperative now. Rachel didn't want a debate about medical ethics with the Indian while Jarod was in the depression and self-hate he was engulfed in.

Grunting, she pinned Tushar with a hard stare. "In a perfect world, Balaji, we would have gotten his permission." Standing up, she continued. "But this isn't a perfect world. For argument's sake, I can say to you that by wasting time trying to convince Jarod to let us look at his life, which by the way he won't, it would conflict with our first obligation to our patient. First, do no harm."

Standing up also, Tushar returned her glare with one of his own. "Do no harm? Is betraying his trust in his medical providers justified to poke and prod around in his private life, Rachel?" Crossing his arms, he asked, "Give me one good reason why I should be convince to go through that," indicating the enigmatic silver case.

"So you can successfully treat him," replied Rachel heatedly. She was getting agitated at Tushar's obstinacy.

Tushar sighed in frustration. "That's too general, Rachel. Not enough of a reason for me to violate Jarod's privacy."

Striding forward until there was only the desk between the two doctors, Rachel bit out, "Jarod won't open up to anyone. He's been analyzed, studied, and probed for almost his entire life." Jabbing a finger into the silent man's chest, "He knows how to hide and protect his feelings and thoughts from everyone. You'll be the latest in a long line of people trying to figure him out, especially psychiatrists and psychologists. You'll also be the latest in failing to understand him unless" slapping the Haliburton loudly, "you study what's in it."

She took a step back and glared balefully at the Indian doctor daring him to contradict her.

Tushar looked at the red head. Her reasoning was well thought out, he noted. She probably had prepared for this confrontation with him before she even first stepped into the austere office of his. "You sound so sure that I'll fail with him. I've treated a lot of people successfully," he pointed out with confidence, "I know I can do the same with Jarod." He cocked an eyebrow at her, challenging her assertions.

Rachel was prepared for his smug response. She'd known too many psychiatrists like Balaji who claimed they can treat anybody successfully but they never met anyone like Jarod who can outwit them if he put his mind to it. "Have you ever treated someone who can successfully pretend to be a psychiatrist and a psychologist? Convinced hospitals, mental health clinics, and world class medical schools that he is a real mental health care giver and that everyone," she emphasized, "in those places considered him to be one of their own? Jarod did and did it so well that no one was ever the wiser."

Without saying a contradictory word to her, Tushar sat back in his chair and giving Rachel a thoughtful look for a long moment, he bent his head down and proceeded to open the Haliburton. "How do I operate this thing?" he asked, looking carefully over the machine in front of him.

"I'll show you." Walking around the desk, Rachel leaned over, grabbed the oldest DSA, and inserted it into the slot. She pointed at the play button. "Press this and the Digital Simulation Archive, DSA for short, will play." Standing erect, she softly told him, "There are years worth of DSAs to view, Balaji. They recorded everything about him." She stepped away from him, "I'll let you view them alone." She strode out of the room leaving the man to watch Jarod's life as recorded by the Centre.

Once the door closed behind the departing Rachel Burke, Dr. Tushar pressed the play button. Stroking his chin, the psychiatrist sat back in his care worn chair and prepared to learn who Jarod was and what made him the man he is now.


A male nurse entered first, followed by a shuffling Jarod, then behind the patient, another male nurse made up the entourage. The three stopped in front of the doctor. Tushar nodded towards the quiet nurses while holding out his right hand to Jarod expecting a handshake. When Jarod didn't move to shake his hand, Tushar wordlessly let it drop back to his side. "Jarod, why don't you sit there" indicating the orange chair, "and we can begin."

Jarod didn't say anything but did as Tushar requested. He sat down, keeping his gaze pinned to the floor, ignoring everyone else in that room.

"Thank you, gentlemen." The nurses gave him a muttered "your welcomes" and quickly departed.

Once the door closed behind the burly nurses, Tushar went over to his chair and sat down. What he immediately saw was Jarod's bristly scalp.

Tushar settled on an innocuous opening question. "How are you feeling, Jarod? Are you comfortable in your room? Is the food alright?"

Jarod didn't answer. Tushar carefully observed his body language. Jarod was cradling the stump of his left arm with his right arm. The muscles were tensed. His posture was half bent leaning forward in almost a fetal position. Hmm, doesn't want to attach his prosthetic limb to his arm.

Deciding not to push him too far, too fast, Tushar decided to do all the talking for now but sooner or later he expected Jarod to talk to him. Otherwise, he would have to write Jarod off as a hopeless case. Something that he wasn't willing to do, not with his skills and abilities which his fellow medical students and instructors admiringly noted. As far as Tushar was concerned, Jarod would be his greatest case and, if he can help Jarod, he can help anyone.

Grabbing a pen and notepad, he sat back in the unyielding chair back. Tushar then took out a micro recorder, turned on the voice activated feature, and sat it on the battered gray desk next to him.

"Jarod, you're an interesting patient," he began. No response. "You know, Jarod, a lot of my patients give me the silent treatment but eventually I always coaxed them to speak to me." Getting out of his chair, kneeling down and with his head craned upward until their eyes met, "Always," Tushar emphasized before sitting back in his chair again. The confident air about him was evident even to a shut down Jarod.

Again, there was no response from the wounded and traumatized Jarod. For the next hour and a half, until the nurses came by to take him back to his room, Tushar probed Jarod by asking a series of sharp and pointed questions, all designed to coax a response out of the unresponsive patient. The psychiatrist never lost his patience but did carefully display his frustration. What Tushar didn't want was to lose control to Jarod. After a week long viewing marathon watching Jarod's DSAs, he knew Jarod was skilled enough and brilliant enough to subvert him.

But Tushar didn't need to worry. Jarod never looked up from the position he was in during the session.

Frustrated and tired, Tushar was relieved that the nurses took him away. He felt the tightness in his shoulders and in his neck. Time to prescribe some Motrin, he thought, dreading the onset of another tension headache. Ever since he was brought onboard to help with counseling the Sears Tower victims, he's been afflicted with them at least once a week.

Unexpectedly, the door opened. Tushar snapped open his eyes and stared at who the uninvited person was.

"Rachel," he stated tiredly. He already knew why she was in his office. What she asked didn't surprise him.

"I just wanted to ask how the session with Jarod went," Rachel said, stepping into the room. She was gripping a coffee mug and was shifting nervously on her feet.

Seeing her nervousness, Tushar, for a moment hesitated to answer, but she was almost as good a psychiatrist as he was and a profiler to boot and can tell when someone was trying to avoid answering an uncomfortable question. "He didn't respond to me at all. Non communicative despite the standard verbal stimuli."

Rachel frowned worriedly. She knew what the next step was in the standard treatment. "Which antipsychotics are you going to prescribed?"

Getting up from his chair, he grabbed the chair that Jarod recently vacated, planted it in front of his desk. Indicating the chair, Tushar told her, "Please have a seat." Sitting back down in his chair, he looked at the FBI agent. "Rachel," Tushar grunted irritably, "I'm his shrink. Not you. But to answer your question, I won't be prescribing any drugs right now. I want to try something different than what the textbooks say I should do next."

Curiosity and unease surged through her at what the Indian-American just said. "What is it that you're planning on?" She drank some of the hot coffee to calm her suddenly tense body.

Giving Rachel a solemn look, he told her, "I'm going to do what Jarod has been doing for almost all his life. I'm going to do a pretend."

Rachel blinked her eyes in confusion. "Excuse me, doctor? What do you mean by that?" What the hell are you talking about, she wondered.

Folding his hands on the desk, Tushar calmly answered her. "I assume that you've been through Jarod's DSAs? Also, that you've watched how Dr. Sydney Greene has been treating his victim," the contempt in the psychiatrist's voice was very obvious, "during the time he was held in the Centre?"

She nodded, "Yes," mentally urging him to get to the point.

Letting his breath out slowly and feeling a bit giddy because what he was going to tell her was something that wasn't taught in any medical school, Tushar explained his unorthodox plan to save Jarod.

"Dr. Greene has a certain way for dealing with Jarod. He was subtle and, before Jarod even knew it, imprinted himself into Jarod's psyche. I intend to do the opposite. My hope is that this will break through the shell that Jarod has put up around himself."

Rachel was skeptical and told him so. "Jarod's been through all kinds of psychotherapy, hell, he posed as a shrink several times," shaking her head, "so he'll know that you're going to pull a reverse psychology on him."

"I know that," he argued in a guttural tone, "but he's going to have to listen to me before he rejects anything that I have to say." Pressing his case, he continued, "His subconscious is going to help me because he'll be processing what I'll be telling him. Also," giving her a knowing look, "you'll be helping me reinforce my treatment for him."

Rachel squirmed under his gaze. Under the ruse of sipping coffee, she considered what Tushar told her. What he just described just might possibly work. She knew for a fact that the standard treatment wouldn't work for such a unique personality as Jarod. Rachel hid her worries well from the other doctor but she knew that if Jarod doesn't come out of his fugue state very soon then he might never will. "How will I help him?"

"He'll remember you, no matter what state he's in," pointing out something obvious to both of them, "so Jarod will get more reinforcement in his treatment." This was a good time, he told himself, to take the Motrin. Opening one of the drawers in his desk, he grabbed the bottle of pills and poured out two capsules and swallowed them aided by the bottle of water sitting on his desk. After swallowing them, he raised his right eyebrow, "Are you in?"

Hiding her unease but with a glimmer of hope showing in her eyes she said, "Alright, I'm in. Let's go over your treatment plan."


The treatment session was held in Jarod's room. The room, as one would expect it, was bare and painted white with a bed, a pillow without the pillowcase, and rip proof bedsheets designed to prevent suicidal patients from killing themselves; a sink, toilet, and mirror made out of stainless steel. This was Jarod's residence as of now. Just like his cell in the Centre including the ever present cameras, Rachel forlornly thought to herself. Depressed about Jarod trading one cell for another, she watched and listened to the two occupants of the room from the close circuit TV monitor.

Dr. Tushar was standing facing Jarod who was sitting on the bed with his legs drawn to his chest, slowly rocking back and forth. He was warming up, noted Rachel. She concentrated on what he was saying to the mute and guilt racked Pretender.

"Dr. Greene, Jarod. What is he to you?" persisted the psychiatrist. Tushar was acting out of character for him. Pretending to be someone he wasn't. Leaning in to whisper into Jarod's ear, "I'm going to help you, Jarod, by telling you what he is," when Jarod didn't respond to his prodding. "He's a mind fucker. He fucked your mind for over thirty years without worrying about how it might have affected you."

Jarod rocked faster and began to shake his head. Tushar was pleased. Words right now couldn't describe what he was feeling about this pretend thing. But he could see how it was affecting Jarod. A step forward, he thought, pleased. Tushar continued in his grating and harsh voice, "He made you believe that all the sims that you've done was for the benefit of humanity, when, in fact, they were sold to the worse sort of scum this planet had ever seen."

Making sure to keep his body away from blocking the fiber optic cameras that was sending the feed to where Rachel was, Tushar lowered his voice, "Jarod, you're listening to me. A very good sign. We're starting to making progress now." Rubbing his hands together, ensuring that Jarod saw the motion, he bent down again and pressed his argument about Sydney.

"Dr. Greene rejected your attempts at forging a closer relationship, didn't he, Jarod? He was the closest thing to a father you had growing up but he always treated you like a lab specimen rather than as a boy who desperately needed love and affection." Kneeling until he was eyeball to eyeball with the suddenly agitated Jarod, he continued to press his case against Sydney. "Dr. Greene couldn't even protect you from Dr. Raines or anyone else from the Centre that wanted to experiment on you, right Jarod? What kind of doctor would let someone under his care suffer that kind of agony and pretend, no pun intended, all was well?"

Rachel saw him get up from his kneeling position. The slender man paused as he let Jarod stew over what he just said. After a few moments, Tushar proceeded with his nontraditional therapy session. "He made you believe that you're special, with the so-called "pretender" gene. Hell, they all did at the Centre." Stretching the kinks out of his wearied body, Tushar carefully noted Jarod's body language. Jarod was doing something that both Rachel and Tushar hadn't done before, shaking his head in a negative manner. Not bad.

Rachel watched with grudging admiration as Tushar slowly sand down the emotional barriers Jarod erected to protect himself.

Tushar glanced down at the still rocking Jarod, seeing that there was also now a furrow in his forehead. Another step forward. "A pretender. Someone able to be anyone whoever he wants to be. You have to be a genius, right? After all, the Centre has been chasing you for years, never giving you any peace, constantly reinforcing your ego that you're special. BULLSHIT!"

Tushar's sudden exclamation caused both Jarod and Rachel to flinch. "They fooled you, Jarod." With a sudden gleam in his eyes, the slight, wispy Indian proclaimed to Jarod, "I'll tell you what you truly are."

Pausing to heighten the suspense, both Tushar and Rachel saw that Jarod had stopped rocking on his bed and was tilting his head slightly to listen to the mental health care provider. "You are a one trick pony; an oddity; a carnival sideshow freak that a sick and twisted organization convinced itself was a unique and special specimen to be exploited."

"No." The single word echoed in the small, cramped room. Both doctors snapped their heads to Jarod. He finally had spoken.

Dr. Tushar carefully put on a contemptuous expression on his face. He was still in his pretend role. "Yes, Jarod," he countered. "You have a gift or," pausing to put his right hand and gently grasping Jarod's chin, forcing him to look into the doctor's brown eyes, "a curse."

Rubbing with his left hand on his chin, Tushar contemplated what he just told Jarod. "More of a curse, I would say. Kidnapped from your parents; watching your brother, Kyle, wasn't that his name, murdered before your own eyes; your sister Emily pushed out of a window and almost killed, being cloned, and your parents forcibly separated from each other and still separated even while I'm talking to you right now."

Jarod grunted as the doctor recited what he already knew by heart. Every sad little word of it.

Shaking his head, Tushar put on a gleeful smile, even though inside he was saddened by what Jarod's family had to go through, "You're worth several articles for me, Jarod. Hell, even a medical textbook fully devoted to you. You, my friend, are going to boost my career big time."

Letting go of Jarod's chin and standing up again, Tushar signaled to Rachel that this session was over. Okay, Jarod, you should be pissed by now. I hope you are, otherwise, this treatment isn't going anywhere.


The treatment plan that both Tushar and Rachel devised for Jarod was working, albeit, with starts and stops along the way. Jarod finally was aggravated and mad enough to push back against Tushar's arrogant and condescending manners.

While Dr. Balaji Tushar was picking at Jarod's battered psyche, Rachel was soothing Jarod with gentle and kind words. In effect, Rachel was the good cop, while Tushar was the bad cop. A worn out cliché but a highly effective one.

In the course of his treatment, Rachel was daily by his side except for the sessions with Dr. Tushar. She would lend him her sympathetic ear as he vented his anger and frustration at the Indian psychiatrist for dredging up his past and for making him question his deeply held beliefs and feelings regarding Sydney, Miss Parker, and the others at the Centre. Also, Jarod hated the constant refrain coming from Balaji about how medical textbooks had to be rewritten and the outpouring of articles that will appear in medical journals once the medical community knows about Jarod's existence.

After Jarod was told by a nervous and guilt racked Rachel about her and Tushar going through his DSAs and violating his privacy, he raged and stormed at both of them and refused to neither speak to either of them nor attend the therapy sessions for a few weeks.

When Rachel expressed her concerns to Tushar, he bluntly told her, "He'll get over it. It's a good sign that he's pissed at both of us. I would be more concern if he didn't give a damn about us rummaging through his DSA archive."


Tushar was right. Jarod did got over it. Things were smoothed out a lot by Rachel patiently enduring his rants and self-pitying about her and Tushar violating his privacy and by forcibly challenging him to find another way of saving his life without going through his DSAs.

Jarod sulked when he couldn't find a different way. He hated being bested by anyone but it was especially worse when it was by someone he cared very much about.

He cared very much about Rachel. Carefully, she managed to get by his barriers and entered his heart. Jarod couldn't tell exactly the moment he allowed her in but now she was a constant in his life. He couldn't imagine a day without her now.

Jarod bit his lips. This wasn't how it was supposed to be. Miss Parker was the woman who owned his heart. Not this warm, open, and caring redhead. But with the therapy sessions with that annoying Indian, the quiet discussions with Rachel, and the free time he had on his hands, he had a lot of time to think about his beliefs, values, and morals.

The nightmares persisted, even Tushar acknowledged they would never go away, but with the doctor's help, he was able to manage them. What wouldn't go away was the rage at the Centre and the Triumvirate. The thousands of deaths weighed on him, haunted him, and wouldn't let go of him.

They'll pay, he vowed. He'll use the Pretender skills that they coveted so badly to bring them to justice and see them behind bars or pushing up daisies.

That included Miss Parker. He struggled in coming to this conclusion but there was no getting around the fact that when he offered, begged, and pleaded with her to leave that hellish institution, she refused.

Jarod contemplated why she wouldn't leave the Centre. It couldn't be because of Daddy, could it? Was it something else that bound her to that place where they grew up together until they were torn apart? Were the secrets of the Centre worth staying for? Couldn't Parker feel and see the love he always held for her? Didn't she understand that he would spend the rest of his life caring for her, seeing to her needs, and providing her with anything she desired? That she deserves some happiness in her life?

But it was his next to last session with Tushar that finally convinced Jarod that he can love Rachel and letting go of his hopeless dream of loving Miss Parker.


"Who are you?"

Jarod gave the slender Indian a puzzled look. "I'm Jarod," he answered, settling comfortably into his padded chair. Both patient and doctor were in Tushar's nondescript office, the window blinds opened to let in sunlight, giving the office a cheery, light atmosphere.

"No, Jarod. I mean who are you?" asked Tushar, shifting in his swivel chair, notepad in hand. "You were a firefighter, surgeon, pilot, bomb disposal expert, race car driver," ticking off his fingers of some of the occupations that Jarod pretended to be in his past. "You've spent almost your entire life pretending to be others that you have never been given the opportunity to be yourself, to find out what you wanted to be when you grew up." Pausing to let that sink in, he then continued, "Am I right, Jarod?"

Jarod was silent, not answering immediately to what the psychiatrist had asked him and trying to ignore the observations that Tushar just pointed out to him.

Sensing Jarod's reluctance as a sign that he hit the mark, Tushar went in to exploit this opening. "You know Jarod, you've violated the laws of the states that you've done your pretends in." Going through his notebook until he came to the page that he was looking for, he looked at his patient and gave him a sly smile at the look Jarod gave him. "Yes, Jarod, in fact there are several names for what you are besides the Centre's giving you the title of Pretender."

"Really, doctor, just what are the names you've found for me," Jarod asked aggressively. He was curious to hear what the damn shrink had thought up to annoy him now.

Getting Jarod's attention, Tushar gleefully stated what he wrote in his notebook. "You, Jarod, are an imposter, a fraud, a con man, a liar, and a grifter." He stopped and looked at Jarod, curious to see how these words affected him. Giving Jarod a speculative look, "Hmm, I wonder how much I can make by turning you in."

Sitting straight up in his chair, Jarod shot back, "No, you're wrong. I'm not any of those things." Putting on a furious expression, Jarod went on, "I did what I have to do to bring justice to those who deserve it and to help those people who've been wronged and abused." His eyes blazed with fury at Tushar's slanders.

Tushar noted that fury as well as the clenched fists of Jarod's. "Good, Jarod," Tushar was pleased at his reaction, "you're expressing your feelings very well." He jotted down some notes on his notepad, than looked back up at the steaming Pretender. "But would the courts and law enforcement community adopt your position? I understand they take a dim view of people falsely impersonating others, especially if they're cops and lawyers."

Jarod took a deep breath, trying to control his anger, before answering the patiently waiting doctor. "If they know the particulars of my deeds, why I did what I did, they would take that into consideration. After what I went through at the Centre, doctor, having no voice to shout out that this is wrong, denied my freedom, and deprived my rights as a human being, I vowed that no one else, no one else," he emphasized with a wagging finger at Tushar, "will ever suffer like that if I can help it." Doesn't he understand that there are people who need to be brought to justice for what they've done to others?

"Let's for the sake of argument, Jarod, that you are in the right, that still brings up something that's been bothering me about your pretends while you were on the run from the Centre." Putting the notebook on the desk behind him, Tushar gave Jarod a thoughtful look.

"What did I do that bothers you, doc?" Jarod hid his pleasure at seeing the annoyance on Tushar's face at his use of the shortened title. Ever since finding out that the irritating Indian hated being called that, Jarod used it whenever the psychiatrist went too far in their sessions. Like now.

Letting go of his irritation with Jarod's use of doc, a real annoyance which Tushar had, pretending or otherwise, he answered Jarod. "Trust, Jarod. People trusted in who you claim to be; they trusted you with their secrets, hopes, and dreams; they trusted you in what you can do for them. In the wrong person, that trust can be betrayed and taken advantage of."

Jarod mulled over what Tushar just brought up. The people he helped did trust him and they were never sorry nor regretted giving him their trust. The only ones who were angry about trusting him were the bastards who've hurt others in the name of greed, power, and lust, among other sins. "That trust goes two ways, doctor. I trusted the people whom I helped to tell me the truth before I made the decision to help. Once I decided to help, I never betrayed their trust. Nor take advantage of them." He threw a challenging glare at Tushar, daring him to contradict his answer.

Tushar took up the dare. If this was the only way to get inside Jarod's head and heart, then he'll do it. "But did they know who you really are Jarod? When you say that you're a cop, a fireman, or whatever you are during a pretend, they believe you are who you claim to be. Would they open up to you if they knew that you never went to a police academy, entrust their children's lives to a surgeon who never graduated from a medical school, or entrust their retirement nest egg to a financial planner who never attended an Ivy League graduate business school?" He stopped to get a drink of water before continuing, "If you were a parent who has a child who needed surgery, Jarod, would you stake that child's life with a Pretender? Or with a real surgeon who devoted his entire adult life to learn the skills and techniques to save the life of a child?"

Jarod heatedly defended himself at the implied insinuation. "I never put anyone's life in jeopardy or have someone died on me, Dr. Tushar." His brown eyes clearly expressed the defensiveness he was feeling as well as the beginnings of what Tushar has sowed in him. "I rather die first than let that happen to anyone in my care," Jarod murmured.

"You may not have that choice, Jarod," Tushar said, attacking Jarod's defense. "You dabble in everything Jarod, a dilettante at all things, yet only a master of one skill. To be a pretender of everyone else who've devoted their lives to master a set of skills, knowledge, and abilities to be a productive member of society." Pointing his right forefinger, Tushar felt righteous outrage at Jarod. "Be an actor, Jarod, or a fraud, be honest in your fakery, you can finally earn a damn living imitating other people's lives."

Jarod felt his mouth open at what he heard from Tushar. He sucked in a deep breath. What Tushar just said opened up a side of him that he rarely examined. Only a couple of times did he dare to look at what Tushar openly brought out. If he examined it too deeply, then his carefully crafted persona would come tumbling down. Am I just a fake, like Tushar said?

"Is that what you think I should be, doctor?"

"I can't decide for you, Jarod. It's up to you to find out what you want to be and finally figure out who you are."

Giving Tushar a determined look, he told him, "Then I guess I better get to work finding out who I am."

Tushar mentally breathed a sigh of relief. Things were progressing very well. I just might try this pretend for some of my other patients. Jarod's treatment was almost over. But there was still one last major step for Jarod to take.

"There's another interesting factor that you have to considered."

A curious and cautious Jarod asked him, "Oh, and what would that be?"

"You've been on the run for over four years, always on the move, never having a chance to put down roots." Seeing Jarod was about to respond, Tushar held up his right hand, motioning Jarod to let him finish his observation. "Now, you've got a chance, a real opportunity, to settle down and to find out who you are and what you to be."

Seeing that his doctor was done, Jarod forcefully told him, "The Centre has never given me any chance to settle down, to let me reunite my family, and to live out the rest of our lives in peace."

"But the Centre doesn't know that you're here, Jarod. They can't find you if they don't know where you are." Tushar glanced at his wall clock. A few more minutes before he can go home and unwind. Jarod always left him exhausted after their grueling therapy sessions.

"That won't stop them, doctor. They never give up," Jarod told him in a morose voice.

"Only because you insist on playing your infantile, stupid, and extremely dangerous game with the Centre," Tushar argued forcefully and truthfully. "It's never been their choice to continue this sign of arrested development, Jarod." Leaning forward to touch his left knee, Tushar got Jarod's undivided attention. "The choice was always yours, Jarod." He continued, "It's time for you to decide to grow up or remain half man/half child. Take some time to mull it over."

"I will," Jarod replied. He had a lot to think about and decisions to be made. He made as to rise from his chair, thinking their session was over when Tushar raised his right hand.

"Almost done but not yet, Jarod," giving him a slightly apologetic smile.

Jarod sat back down in his chair and waited for the next salvo from the psychiatrist.

"Rachel." That name hung in the air between them. Jarod's heart started beating a little faster, while Tushar carefully waited to see how Jarod would react to his mention of the FBI agent.

"What about her," Jarod asked, carefully keeping a neutral expression on his face.

Keeping in mind his pretender persona, Tushar went on the offensive when he noticed Jarod's studied lack of interest at the mention of Rachel's name.

"Rachel loves you. And, from my observations of you, Jarod, you reciprocate her feelings."

"I don't know what you're talking about, doc," Jarod said in a flat tone. He wasn't going to let Tushar probed his almost non-existent love life.

Tushar obviously didn't know about Jarod's determination and, if he did, he would have ignored it. "You're a fucking liar, Jarod. You can call me a lot of things but one of them isn't shit-for-brains." Tushar wasn't pretending when he let his anger show over Jarod's show of ignorance.

Ticking points off on his fingers, Tushar informed Jarod what he observed. "Rachel was here every day when she found out that you seriously injured, more to the point she took a leave of absence to be with you, she's burned through her savings so she can stay here in Chicago to be by your side, she was a punching bag for your verbal abuse and constant self-pitying, Rachel encouraged you during your rehab, she supported you when you wouldn't help yourself." Stopping only long enough to sip some water again and glaring at Jarod to say that he wasn't finished he went on, "Rachel also took care of the insurance paperwork and making sure that the Centre wouldn't discover that you're here. And you know what, Jarod? She did it all with a smile on her face and a cheerful attitude." He asked the Pretender, "Is that love to you, Jarod?"

Sitting in the suddenly uncomfortable chair, Jarod didn't want to make eye contact with his doctor but Jarod knew that Tushar wouldn't hesitate to walk over and forcefully make eye contact if he had to. The points Tushar raised were things that Jarod also noticed. Most but not all. For example, he didn't know that Rachel was protecting him from the Centre or seeing his huge hospital bills were being paid.

Jarod ran both of his hands, both real and plastic, through his shorn head. Finally, with a sigh, he made eye contact with the Indian. "I love her." This simple declaration was like a weight was being lifted from his shoulders. He also was feeling a warmth that he felt only once before spreading throughout his entire body.

The tired but satisfied psychiatrist looked at the sudden change in Jarod's mood. Unfortunately, he was going to pour cold water on Jarod's new found discovery. "That's good, Jarod. I'm pleased with your admission but you do know there's more to it than that."

"What are you talking about?" Jarod asked, his mood shifting crazily from one end to another. Tushar always made him go off balance.

"Commitment."

"Commitment?" echoed Jarod.

"Yes, commitment." With an earnest look on his face, Tushar explained to Jarod what he meant. "You've been running ever since you've escaped from the Centre and, before that, you were held captive there for over thirty years. Jarod," Tushar couldn't hide his sad sigh, "do you know how to stay in a committed relationship? I don't know if you can."

Jarod gathered his thoughts before replying. His first thought was, yes, he can commit to a relationship but he frowned, which Tushar immediately noticed, as he went over his life. There was never a time for him to settle down, not with his huntress and the Centre an ever present fact in his life. Nia, Zoë, and a few others he fleetingly thought about settling down for. But one thing or another prevented that from happening.

"What do you want me to say, doctor?" asked a deflated Jarod. "That I can't love someone? I'm not capable of caring? Afraid of attachment?"

"No, Jarod," Tushar said, dropping his pretender mode. "There is a woman by the name of Rachel Burke who loves you waiting outside my office. She's ready to make a big change in her life for you." In a kind and soothing voice, Tushar intoned, "The questions that you need to answer includes are you going to run when the going gets tough? Will you be there when she needs you, or the family that she will eventually dream of?"

Jarod gaped at Tushar. He hadn't thought that far. Admittedly, Rachel and he had had great sex when they worked together, now the psychiatrist was talking about the whole enchilada rather going to first base.

He listened as Tushar continued, "Are you going to run away from your problems? From your responsiblities? From the role of husband and father? Will Rachel wake up to see you gone? Or will she see the man that she fell in love with? A man who knows his responsibilites, obligations, and duties?"

After Tushar finished, Jarod replied in a thoughtful voice. Gazing directly into the enigmatic brown eyes of the shrink, "I can do it, doctor. It will not be easy; I've never been through this before, so I can't say what will happen. I just don't know." Jarod shrugged, uneasy because this is something he can sim and pretend but with the developing relationship between him and Rachel, it was becoming something real.

Tushar was inwardly pleased. The taxing and trying months with Jarod finally was bearing fruit. His admissions that he didn't have all the answers and his inability to pretend a real loving relationship were signs of Jarod's recovery. "Now, you know what the rest of the human race goes through, Jarod. We don't have all the answers, we do our best, and we hope that things will work out."

Signaling the end of their session, Tushar stood up, quickly copied by Jarod. Turning off his recorder, he escorted Jarod towards the door. Just as Jarod was putting his right hand on the door knob, Tushar asked him again, "Do you love Rachel?"

The question was simple in its brevity but loaded with unspoken complications. Jarod knew why Dr. Tushar was repeating this question. And, after what he went through in their session, he didn't hesitate in answering. With a calm and confident look in his brown eyes, Jarod replied, "Yes."


Present day

"Miss Parker and I have had our lives scrutinized, observed, and examined since we were children," Jarod finally told the Indian. "We don't need anymore of that."

Tushar nodded at this since he went through the DSAs and knew what he was talking about. "Hmm, what about the fact that she's an ex-con, Jarod? This is a red flag for your superiors."

"I'll tell them that she's not a threat to us or pose a risk to the nation." His promise to protect her was beginning now.

"I'll leave that argument up to you and your bosses, Jarod. But I am curious to know why right after being released from prison, she headed straight towards you?"

Jarod clenched his jaw, recalling what happened a few hours ago in this same room. The tears in Parker's eyes, that little girl he thought he buried in his heart, and her pleas to start over again brought back the emotional turmoil.

Boring his hard gaze into the doctor's, he responded. "It's personal. I'll tell you that, I'll tell my bosses that, I'll tell any son of a bitch who keeps asking me about why she was here."

Rachel and Miss Parker. Miss Parker and Rachel. The two women in his life. One dead, one very much alive. Both demanding his undivided love and loyalty. He was on an emotional roller coaster ride and couldn't get off it. He needed time to think and feel. Having Tushar on his case right now wasn't helping at all.

Abruptly, Jarod stood up. Looking down on his long time psychiatrist, a friend as well as a nuisance, he told Tushar in a no nonsense voice, "Leave, doctor. I'm not going to ask twice."

Seeing the uncompromising look on Jarod's scarred face, Tushar didn't bother to argue. Years of treating Jarod left him knowing when to push and when to pull back. This was a situation that called for him to pull back.

Standing smoothly up from the sofa, Tushar walked to the front door unerringly since he's been in Jarod's house many times before. Before leaving, he turned around to look at the silent Pretender. "I'm setting up a session with you, Jarod. Call my secretary for the time." Seeing the refusal in Jarod's eyes, he pressed his point, "This is mandatory, Jarod. DNI will be getting a synopsis after our session." Without waiting for an answer, he opened the door and left.


A/N 2: This chapter was a bear to write. I'm not a shrink so I don't know if what I wrote about treatments is correct or not. I mainly wrote this chapter because I'm curious about whether Jarod can actually settle down, love some woman, and have a family after constantly being on the run as well as solving a problem then moving on to the next problem in a different location. Can a peripatetic person like Jarod be able to stay in one place, year after year? As I wrote in Ch 8, Jarod never grew up in a family environment, so whether he can have and start a family in a loving environment is a question mark. I believe he can with psychiatric counseling as depicted in this chapter. If he didn't have any help, I wonder…

Next chapter will be the start of JMPR unless my muse tells me otherwise. I hope to post it in either October or November. Most likely November.

As always, please read and review. I'm hoping to hit 50 reviews with this chapter. Thanks for all my reviewers for their kind and thoughtful words. I hope I didn't let any of you down.