Disclaimer: As ever, these characters aren't mine.

Summary: Once upon a time, everything was beautiful and nothing hurt. But that was never their reality. In their world, you died horrifically. But Parker and Jarod refuse to leave that as their legacy.

Author's Note: Sorry about the wait! I've been dreadfully busy with two jobs... and am actually in Europe right now on vacation. What do I do on my vacation? Write and read Pretender fic :-p Even when I'm in some of the most beautiful cities in the world.

Cheers for now!

The Final Legacy

By Bec-Bec

Chapter 4

A New Legacy

--

tick tick

Miss Parker's eyes fluttered. She felt warm. Safe. Coccooned.

tick tick

She opened her eyes and looked around. She was wrapped snugly in four blankets.

Jarod laid next to her at a respectful and gentlemanly distance from her side of the bed, save for his right arm which had splayed across her pillow near her head. His watch ticked softly in her ear.

She inched up in the bed.

Jarod shifted with a groan, his eyes opening slowly. He saw Miss Parker and blinked, sitting up.

"How do you feel?" His voice was still gruff with sleep.

"Alright." She paused. "Warm."

He could feel her, pulling back inside of herself, reorganizing everything that had spilled out the night before. He wanted to help her come to terms, but he knew from personal experience that it was a solitary and internal journey she would need to make for herself. No one could give you your identity.

He hesitated for a moment, then said softly. "It will take time..." he paused. "figuring out the answer. Who you are... Who we are..."

She turned her head away.

Jarod read the silent gesture, stood, and grabbed his jacket from a nearby chair. "You'll know where to find me."

He made his way to the door, opened it, and left.

Just as the door hit the jamb, so low that he was barely certain her had actually heard it, the words "Thank you, Jarod" slid through the door.

A half-smile turned the corner of his lips.

--

Miss Parker spent most of the day sleeping, drifting in and out of dreams. Some severe and awful enough that she woke up crying. Others soothing and calming her. Her mind seemed to be lost at sea, battling against itself.

She was finally awoken by a loud knock at the door. A cold sweat rose on her skin. She searched under her pillow for her gun, but didn't find it there.

Spiteful thoughts toward Jarod were chopped off by a second knock.

"Room service," a muffled voice called.

Miss Parker sighed, then answered "Just a second."

She slid out of the covers, pause a moment to make sure that her robe was securely fastened and cautiousy opene the door.

Sure enough, she was greeted by a hotel attendant pushing a large silver cart. A heavenly aroma wafted into her room.

"I didn't order any--"

The attendant cut her off. "The gentleman in room 312 wished to pay his compliments."

Miss Parker sighed. "Of course he did."

She opened the door, and gestured for the attendant to enter.

While he unloaded the cart, she went to pull a tip from her wallet, but the attendant waved her off. "It's been taken care of, ma'am. Bon appetit."

He wheeled his cart out and left the room.

Miss Parker turned to the table, curious about what Jarod would have ordered, and why there was so much of it. Three large trays covered her table. Just as she was about to remove the top of the closest tray, the phone rang.

She strode over to it "What?"

"Traumatic situations can deplete your body of essential vitamins and minerals. It's important that you replace them as soon as possible. In other words, dig in!"

The phone clicked.

"Of course," she said snidely, hanging the phone back up. "Cheeky bastard." Though, she had to hand it to him, she was quite hungry.

-

Half an hour later, Miss Parker had only managed to make it through a tiny portion of each plate. She silently berated Jarod each time she lifted the cover of a tray only to discover another culinary rarity -- and favorite -- that he must have special ordered for her.

When she was certain that she couldn't eat another bite, she cleaned up and wandered down the hall to Sydney and Broots' room.

After a light knock, Sydney opened the door.

"Miss Parker!" he exclaimed. "Jarod said you were a bit under the weather. How are you feeling?"

"Fine," she answered shortly.

Sydney held the door open for her.

As she walked into the room, she saw Jarod and Broots staring at a chess board in deep concentration.

After a moment, Broots moved a pawn.

"Well played, Mr. Broots!" Jarod smiled. He turned and caught sight of Miss Parker. "Did you enjoy your fois gras?"

"Indeed. And the feasant. But, if you boys are about done with your games, we should get down to business," she said starkly.

Jarod turned back to the chess board and moved a piece. "Checkmate," he declared.

"How is that... I mean, you just said what a great move I had made..." Broots stammered.

Jarod stood and patted Broots on the back. "It was a great move for you, Mr. Broots. But it didn't block mine."

Broots looked at Sydney who simply shrugged in response.

Jarod turned back to Miss Parker. "Shall we, then?" He gestured toward the hallway.

--

Despite Sydney's disapproval of being removed from their discussion, Jarod had escorted Miss Parker to Room 312 privately.

Inside, he had set up a number of computers to do various tasks. File folders were scattered on every available surface, bursting with stacks of information. Pez dispensers and boxes of donuts were scattered in the mess.

"How long have you been here?" Miss Parker asked curiously.

"As long as you have," Jarod sat at his laptop, typing in commands.

Miss Parker cocked an eyebrow. "Did you really think it was wise to stay in a Centre-approved hotel?"

"Just because it's Centre-approved doesn't mean it's Centre-loyal," Jarod said distractedly. He turned back to her. "In actuality, this hotel is helping me fight against the Centre. But that's part of the bigger picture."

"And just what is the bigger picture?" Miss Parker asked. "Or will I have decipher a message in ancient sanskrit spelled out with macaroni."

Jarod chuckled. "That's a good one, Parker."

She scowled.

He looked at her more seriously. "Before I show you any of this, you have to understand what you are giving up."

"I don't have anything left to give up, Jarod," she said coldly.

"You do, Parker, you just aren't aware of it," he stared at her. "Sydney, Broots, Debbie, your house, all of your mother's belongings... me."

She blinked.

"We'll be gambling everything." His gaze was penetrating. "And once we're in, there's no going back."

She turned away from his eyes.

"We're stronger as allies. The Centre knows that. They will do everything that they can to pull us apart."

"And if we lose it all?"

"At least we'll have the legacy we were meant to. The legacy that your mother wanted for us."

"What's the point of a legacy if there's no one to remember it, Jarod?" She asked sadly.

Jarod smiled at her gravely. "More people than you know will remember it, Miss Parker. More people than you know."

Miss Parker nodded. "Then I guess it's time to change the Parker legacy," she answered slowly

"You've already changed it, Parker. More than you realize."

--

Sydney stared at the sky, wishing the haze of city lights had done less to dim the stars. When he was a boy, his Granmére had gazed upwards with him, naming each of the constellations in the clear Belgian air. He had admired each one of them as a separate story. A mysterious cosmic tale, etched into the sky for all eternity. Glimmering with hope.

So often, he had recognized that same glimmer in Jarod's eyes. The longing to teach others, and be taught by them. The longing to remember and be remembered. The same shine that Sydney's Granmére had so affectionately seen in his eyes.

"Je t'aime, ma étoile," Sydney repated softly to the sky.

Sydney drifted off in reverie, remembering his boyhood.

It was only later as the sky opened and poured rain down on him that he was broken from his thoughts.

Difficult times lay ahead. He could feel it in his bones.