Disclaimer: You know the drill, as well as I do. I don't own these characters and don't claim to. More importantly, I'm not trying to make money off of this story. This is just something my muse insisted I write.
Home
by imagine
"What is it like?"
With one arm in her jacket sleeve, she looked up at him. When he didn't respond to the confusion on her face, she tilted her head to one side and asked, "Jarod, you have to be more specific. My father is waiting for me so we can go home. What is what like?"
"Home," he said softly. "I cannot remember a time when I was anywhere but here."
Shrugging the coat over her shoulders, Miss Parker averted her eyes from his and began straightening the laboratory table. "Well, it is definitely different than here."
"I know," he sighed, annoyance seeping into his voice, "but, I don't remember how. Tell me."
"Why?"
Startled by the question, Jarod took a step back and stared at the girl. Her eyes held his, wide and sincerely curious while, he thought, still sparkling with the knowledge that she knew something he did not.
"Why do you want me to tell you? If I told you home was a place where you feel safe, a place where everything is perfect and no one yells or hits or makes you do things you don't want to do, wouldn't it make you feel bad?"
"Is it?"
"What?"
"Is it like you just said?"
Sighing heavily, Miss Parker shook her head and dropped her eyes to the books on the table. Scooping them into her arms, she said, "Home is a place I keep my things. It is the place I sleep and eat my breakfast."
"There has to be more," he said, skeptically.
"Why?"
"Because ... well, because it has to be. I remember ..."
"You have been at the Centre for ten years," she interrupted, "You could not possibly remember anything from before you came here."
"Yes, I can," he insisted.
"No. You just think you do," she countered. "My father told me that you are imagining things and convincing yourself . ."
"Your father is wrong."
Jarod's voice was not loud; but it was suddenly deep and, in the moment before he turned away, she saw an expression cross his face that she could not identify. It wasn't sadness, or anger, or even frustration - not completely. Not one of the emotions fit and, yet, they all did.
Glancing at her watch, Miss Parker sighed, and relieved herself of the heavy jacket that was part of her school uniform. She pulled at the heavy chair that was snuggled beneath the table, purposely allowing the legs to scrape on the cement floor, and lowered herself to the seat. Slowly, Jarod turned to face her.
"I thought your father was waiting."
"He is," she nodded. "But, you asked me a question. Don't you want me to answer it properly?"
His eyes darted between the door and the girl, then hesitantly moved toward her. He said nothing but, when she dared to look at him, she saw his anxiousness. His hands were folded neatly in his lap and he leaned forward, as if she were about to tell him the secrets of the universe.
"When my mother was alive," she started, "she used to say that home was where the heart was."
He raised an eyebrow and leaned back slightly in the chair. "Is that it? Is that all you are going to tell me?"
She shook her head and looked at her hands. The face of her watch stared up at her and, for a brief second, she was reminded that her father would be angry she was late. Then, suddenly, the thought was gone - replaced by memories of her mother.
"The house was always bright, not dark like it is here. Even during the worst storms, during power outages, the rooms seemed to glow," she said. Shrugging her shoulders, she sighed and shook her head again. "I guess that's why, when I think of home, I think of bright rooms. And laughter," she added softly, "my mother's laughter."
He waited, instinctively knowing she had more to say but, after a moment of silence that seemed excruciating, Jarod became suddenly unsure. He saw her fingers run across the crystal of her watch, then hide it completely in her palm.
"You should go," he said, softly. "Your father is waiting. I do not want you getting into trouble because of me."
Her eyes sparkled as they took in the confusion spreading across his face.
"I do not need you to get into trouble with my father, Jarod," she told him. Though he knew she was not ridiculing him, her voice was laced with scorn. "I manage to do it on a fairly regular basis, without any help."
Before he could decide whether he should apologize or ask her to explain, Miss Parker stood and moved to the other side of the table. Though her head was down, and she was absently rearranging the beakers they had been using to conduct a simple experiment, he could see her watching him through her eyelashes. When he stood, she took a deep breath and picked up her end of the conversation, using a much more somber tone.
"Home is where you feel safe, protected from the outside world; and I don't just mean the weather. You feel as if you can do anything, say anything, and it won't be held against you."
"A refuge?"
She looked at him for a long moment, then nodded. "Something like that."
He waited a heartbeat, then asked, "So, that is what home feels like, to you?"
"It used to," she answered, scooping up her belongings.
An instant later, Miss Parker was stepping into the hall, pulling the door closed behind her.
She stopped the DSA and stared at the frozen image of a much younger Jarod. After the conversation they'd had, upon returning from Carthis, Jarod had disappeared. It had been over a year since she, or anyone at the Centre, had heard from him. At first, she'd been annoyed; but, as time progressed, like Sydney, she began to worry. Although it was not out of the realm of possibility that he had decided to break all ties with them, she had always believed he would say goodbye.
Looking back at the envelope that had held the DSA, she could not help but wonder if, maybe, that was what he was doing now.
Though she refused to admit she had forgotten about that day, she would concede that many of the details had faded with time. She moved to the bay window and stared at the falling snow. It was heavy and wet; the kind that most kids hoped would accumulate rapidly, forcing the closing of the schools. It was the same kind of weather they'd had that day, one of the few snow days her school had ever honored, and the reason she had spent most of the day at the Centre, with Jarod.
Despite Jarod's abilities, she doubted that the Pretender could manipulate the weather, but blaming the Fates, or coincidence, never seemed right when he was involved. Miss Parker took a step back and poked at the fire in the hearth, sending small sparks of burning wood into the ash. As she stared into the flames, memories floated back and, soon, she found herself hypnotized by the past.
She remembered asking him for help with a school experiment and, though the subject had been easy for him and he'd had plenty of his own work to do, Jarod had complied. Patiently, he explained what she did not understand several times, then sat back and watched her work out the problem herself. When she was done, and the results made sense, he had rewarded her with a bright smile and a warm hug.
She could not remember if she returned the hug or the smile; however, she remembered leaving him standing, alone, in the middle of the Sim lab. After promising to answer his question properly, she had given him half an answer and run out on him when the memories of her mother became difficult. Jarod never asked her for an explanation, nor did he ever ask her about home again. Until now, it never occurred to her to ask him why.
With a soft sigh, she slid her hand into the bubble wrap interior of the mailer and pulled out a second, only slightly smaller, envelope. On the front, Jarod hand neatly printed her full name; on the back, he had sealed the top of the flap with a heart-shaped wax stamp. Frowning, she moved back to the desk as she broke the seal and removed a thick, handmade card.
It unfolded easily, revealing a 3-D pop-up of her house. From the steep gables to the plants that bordered the porch, Jarod had managed to sculpt a detailed model from nothing but paint and stiff, light colored paper. While lightly tracing the intricate design along the edge of the house, she carefully pushed at the paper door and was rewarded with the chimed notes to a familiar song - a tune her doorbell did not have in its memory.
"Be it ever so humble, there's no place like home," she whispered.
The ringing telephone broke her concentration but it did not startle her in the least. Instead, it made her insides twist with uncertainty. It had been a long time since she'd spoken to him and, suddenly, she wasn't sure talking to him, now, was a wise move. She glanced at the paper house, then at the paper heart, and answered the phone on the third ring, forcing herself to greet the caller in typical fashion.
"What?"
Though her voice was harsh, she slid the cardboard house on to the mantle with great care. As she did, something slid from inside the model.
"You're needed at the Centre, immediately."
Not expecting Lyle's voice, Miss Parker frowned and, in that moment, her emotions ran the gamut of disappointment to anger to annoyance. Bending down, she retrieved the object - a small paper heart - that had fallen from the mantle and turned it over in her hand before placing it at the edge of the mantle.
"This had better be good," she warned, "In case you haven't looked out a window recently, there is over a foot of snow and it is not showing signs of stopping. I have no intention of getting caught . ."
"Jarod has been sighted."
"When? Where?"
"He was seen in Blue Cove, about an hour ago," Lyle explained. "One of the nurses from the Renewal Wing was visiting family in Dover. She saw him as she was driving home. He was walking downtown, just before noon, headed east. I have a Sweeper team combing the area; but Dad wants you here within the hour. He thinks Boy Wonder might be planning to sneak inside the Centre to steal information about the scrolls."
Lifting the mailer that had been delivered earlier that morning, she looked at the postmark and threw it on to the desk.
"I'll get there, when I get there and not a moment before," she snapped, "In fact, tell Raines to wait in his office. Because if Jarod plans to sneak inside the Centre, it's not to steal information - it's to destroy the whole damn thing and I wouldn't want him to miss the fireworks."
Before he could respond, she disconnected the call. As she laid the phone back in its cradle, she dropped her eyes back on the envelope and shook her head. The postmark was two days ago - and it was mailed from Blue Cove.
"Some things never change, I see. The Centre calls and you come running."
Startled by the deep voice, she spun toward it as he moved slowly from the shadow at the end of the hall. The first thing she noticed was that his hands were buried deep within the pockets of his coat and a dark colored scarf circled his neck. He was dressed all in black, but his form was outlined by the contrast of melting snow that laced his hair and shoulders. A thin, ragged beard covered his jaw but his cheeks were raw from the wind.
"What the hell are you doing here?" she asked. Her tone was harsher than she intended but, even after he flinched, she did not correct herself. "Do you know that every available Sweeper is scouring this town for you?"
"Yes. That's why I am here."
"You want to get caught?"
"I want to come home."
Stiffening at the calmness in his voice, Miss Parker watched, silently, as he moved to the edge of the living room. With his hands still in his pockets, and his eyes still trained unnervingly on her, she shifted anxiously, waiting for him to elaborate. When he was silent, she raised an eyebrow and crossed her arms in front of her.
"Home. You're telling me that, after all these years, you've finally started thinking of the Centre as home."
"No."
"What?"
"I said no," he said simply, "That place will never be my home."
This time, because she had no intention of trying to make sense of his visit, Miss Parker let the silence linger on for almost ten full minutes. Finally, Jarod sighed and moved to her sofa. Raking his hands through his hair, he unbuttoned the wool peacoat he wore and lowered himself into cushions. He looked up at the mantle and smiled softly at the paper house, then dropped his eyes to where she stood.
"I see you got my gifts."
She nodded.
"Do you remember the conversation we had, all those years ago, about home?"
Sensing that he did not want her to respond verbally, she nodded.
"I did, too," he said, "It took me months to find the DSA that recorded it, though."
He sighed heavily and wiped his face with both hands. When he looked up again, Jarod looked tired. For the first time, she saw the dark circles under his eyes and the way his lids drooped, covering more of the brown orbs than they should.
"Ever since Carthis, something has been bothering me," he admitted. "And it's taken me this long to figure out what it was."
She furrowed her brows, confused about subject change. "What?"
"That day," he said, motioning to the DSA player, "That day has been haunting me for over a year. More precisely, your definition of 'home' has been haunting me."
Using the edge of the desk to push him into a standing position, Jarod began pacing the width of the room at a very slow gait. With one hand over the back of his neck, he massaged the muscle as he walked, and kept his head down.
"You said that home was a place where you feel safe and protected from the outside world. You said that you feel as if you can do anything, say anything, and it won't be held against you." Stopping at the entrance to the room her mother had used to paint, Jarod looked up at her. "I need to know if you meant it."
"Jarod, what is this all about? What . .?"
"Did you mean it?"
"I was thirteen but, yes, I meant it. At that time in my life, I believed a home was just as I described. What does that have to do with Carthis?"
He smiled sardonically and looked away. "Nothing. It has to do with something much more important. You see, Parker, I've had that feeling - that feeling of being home."
"Well, bully for you. I'm glad you and your father are getting along so well," she spat.
"Not from my father," he whispered.
She hesitated slightly, then began poking at the fire, keeping her back to him. "Then, you've found your mother. I'm happy for you," she said softly.
She heard the floorboard squeak in protest as he moved behind her, but did not turn around. He stood so close, she could feel his breath on her neck as he reached around her and gently lifted the paper heart from the edge of the mantle. Without hesitation, he slipped the three dimensional object into the house and whispered, "No, I haven't found my mother."
His hands slid to her shoulders and, though he felt her tense, tentatively turned Miss Parker to face him. With the flames dancing behind her, his body positioned only inches in front of her, and his breaths softly caressing her cheek, Miss Parker swallowed hard and closed her eyes. When she opened them, he smiled and ran a finger through her hair.
"I've had the feeling more times than I can count," he told her, keeping his voice barely a whisper, "but, it wasn't until we were together, on Carthis, that I understood what it meant."
His hand dropped to her waist and pulled her closer. His body was warm. His eyes were glistening with uncertainty. And, as he spoke, she found she could not take her eyes off of his lips.
"The only time I feel safe, protected and as if I have the freedom to do anything and say anything, is when I'm with you," he told her. Then, moving his mouth closer to hers, he added, "You are my home, Parker. All I ask is that you let me in."
The End
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