Disclaimer: Rights to The Pretender world and all its characters belong to creators Craig Van Sickle and Steven Mitchell. NBC owns a share, as do Twentieth Century Fox and TNT. (Even though they aren't going to air anymore re-runs – the bastards.) The point is I'm borrowing someone else's creation. No profit is being made and no copyright infringement is intended.
Admitting Hope pt 8By Phenyx
12/05/2005
"Hope begins in the dark, the stubborn hope that if you just show up and try to do the right thing, the dawn will come." – Anne Lamott.
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"You have got to be the most obstinate woman on the planet!" Jarod was angry. He was so infuriated that he could barely think straight. Miss Parker just stood there, staring at him, with her arms folded across her chest.
"You agreed," she reminded him. "The two days is up."
"But we still don't know who is Eidolon," Jarod pleaded. "I need more time."
"You gave me your word."
Miss Parker's quietly phrased statement made Jarod flinch. He sighed in resignation. She knew he would keep his promise, no matter how much it pained him to do so. But that fact didn't stop him from arguing his point.
"I don't understand why you insist upon making this easy for them," Jarod said. "You don't have to go back."
"Yes," Miss Parker frowned. "I do."
"Why?"
"The Centre is where I belong," she explained.
"They… will… kill… you." Jarod ground out each word individually as if explaining it to a very small child.
"Not if I kill them first."
"Then you'll become one of them," Jarod said sadly. "And they win."
Miss Parker sighed. "I am one of them, Jarod."
"I don't believe that." Jarod shook his head. "No. You aren't like them."
"I am."
"You're not!" Jarod's anger flared again. No one else could make him lose his temper like this woman did. "Why can't you admit it? You still have a conscience. You still recognize right from wrong. There are limits to what you are willing to do to achieve a goal. Admit it!"
Miss Parker's voice rose to match Jarod's until they were yelling at each other. "I'm sick and tired of you trying to tell me who I am! I've spent my life building my career and your manipulative prattle isn't going to change anything."
Jarod seemed to wilt as his fury abruptly vanished. "Does your life mean so little to you? Is this some weird kind of self-destructive behavior on your part?"
"Don't get all Freudian on me, rat. Leave the psychoanalysis to Sydney."
"There are people in this world who care about what happens to you Miss Parker," Jarod said softly. "Even if you don't."
"Like who?" She sneered at him. "You?"
"Yes me," Jarod admitted. He stepped closer, raised his hand and with one finger tucked a lock of her hair behind her ear. "Is that so hard to believe?"
Miss Parker flinched away from Jarod's touch, quickly backing away.
"There it is." Jarod threw up his hands in resignation. "That damned glass wall still stands between us. Why is that?"
"Because it has always been there," Miss Parker replied. "And always will be."
Jarod turned away. He ran his hands through his hair as he tried to reign in his turbulent emotions. He couldn't give up. He'd promised to protect her and yet he'd sworn to Miss Parker that he'd release her after forty-eight hours. His time was up. He had to find a way to keep both vows.
"Jarod." Miss Parker voice was soft but firm. "Take me home, Jarod."
In a flash of frustrated impotence, Jarod responded with venom. "Your home has been reduced to rubble. Remember?"
"Jarod." The tone of warning in Miss Parker's voice indicated she would not be distracted from her goal. No matter how viciously Jarod baited her.
Jarod muttered a curse foul enough to raise Miss Parker's eyebrows. He grabbed his things from the table and stomped toward the front door.
"There's no need to sulk," Miss Parker snapped. "We had an agreement."
Jarod didn't respond. He simply trudged to the car and tossed his belongings into the back seat. Sliding behind the steering wheel, Jarod glared straight ahead as he waited for Miss Parker to settle into the seat beside him.
As soon as she had fastened her seatbelt, Jarod put the car in gear and drove down the road. Neither of them spoke. They had been on the highway for half an hour before Jarod finally broke the silence.
"It doesn't have to be this way," he whispered.
Miss Parker was startled by the sound of his voice and she glanced at him warily. "Yes it does."
"Why?"
Miss Parker sighed. For a long moment she thought about the words that could express how wrong this could be. "We were never meant to be close. Everyone who has ever gotten close to you has been hurt, has had their lives irrevocably altered, their families destroyed. Everyone who has ever gotten close to me has been killed outright. The Centre has cursed us both."
"I'm still here, Miss Parker," Jarod pointed out. "No one has killed me."
"Yet," Miss Parker replied.
Jarod smiled sadly. "Yet," he agreed.
She shrugged. "Then again, you and I aren't close. Keep it that way and you may survive to irritate me for years."
"I disagree," Jarod said. "I think you and I are closer to each other than we are to anyone else in the world."
"That wouldn't take much."
"Perhaps not," Jarod went on. "But you must admit that we make a good team. We are like oil and vinegar, you and I. Separately we are fine, and have many strengths but together we compliment each other perfectly."
"Sweet talking me with food analogies won't buy you more time, Rat."
Jarod took his eyes from the road long enough to cast Miss Parker a soulful glance. "I won't break my promise."
"I know," she said quietly.
"You realize what that means." Jarod's response was more of a statement than a question.
"Yes."
Jarod nodded and turned his full attention back to the road. As the car filled with silence once more, Jarod leaned forward and turned on the radio. They didn't exchange words again until they reached Dover.
When Jarod eased the car against the curb and stopped, Miss Parker smirked. That they had parked in front of the Dover Town Bank was no coincidence. Rat-boy wasn't particularly well known for subtlety.
"Here." Jarod reached across the car and handed Miss Parker a twenty-dollar bill.
She frowned. "What's this for?"
"I can't leave you stranded on the street corner with nothing but the borrowed clothes on your back." He raked his gaze across the over-sized leather jacket and baggy sweats she was wearing. There had been no time to get her any clothes of her own.
"Chivalry isn't dead," Miss Parker drawled as she rolled her eyes.
"Merely wounded," Jarod smiled. "And in need of therapy perhaps."
Miss Parker laughed. She folded the bill in half and stuck it in her pocket as she spoke. "A feeble gesture, Einstein. One Andrew Jackson doesn't get you very far these days."
"Buy yourself an ice cream cone," Jarod told her. "You'll think of something before you've finished eating it."
Miss Parker shook her head. As she flung open the door and stepped out of the car Jarod called after her. "Take care of yourself, Miss Parker."
"I will."
"If you need anything…"
"I know Jarod."
A moment later, the door closed between them and the car pulled away from the sidewalk. Miss Parker watched the vehicle until it disappeared around the corner at the next block. She ran both hands through her hair and sighed. Then, turning in the opposite direction, Miss Parker began to walk. She tucked her hands into the pockets of the jacket Jarod was never getting back and began the last leg of her journey home.
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End part 8
